Chapter Text
When Jungkook hears it, he’s balancing carefully on the thin line between awake and asleep.
Glass shattering.
He sits up in his bed - or well, his mattress that’s sitting on the cold wooden floor - and rubs both of his eyes.
He hasn’t closed the blinds for the window that’s been placed ever so meticulously in the exact spot where the sun will most definitely be when it rises in the morning, promptly waking Jungkook up - perks of living in a studio apartment. But it’s way too hot, that he has sacrificed a morning lie-in for the cool(er) night time breeze that is wafting in through the open window, none of it being blocked by the blinds. Not to mention that Jungkook is a sucker for the pretty view of Seoul’s night time skyline where he can see each individual light that is still switched on in the highest floors of the tallest buildings, no doubt being office workers staying late to finish up their paperwork and powerpoint presentations.
Jungkook pushes himself up and off of the mattress, taking a few steps forward until he’s right in front of said window. He pushes it open a little bit more and then sticks his head out, looking down to see if he can find the cause of the sound he’d heard, assuming it’s probably some drunken passerby who has just smashed their empty beer bottle onto the hard concrete pavement below. He doesn’t know how he could have heard such a thing from the twelfth floor but he’s tired and he blames it on that for his not-very-cleverness.
As expected, though, he finds nothing but cars that look like toys from this high up.
Jungkook yawns, scratching the side of his face, and winces slightly when he accidentally rubs over the healing scab at his cheek. He lets his eyes trail over the view one more time. There’s a lone star up in the sky blinking down at him, one that hasn’t been tarnished by Seoul’s unforgivably polluted air. It’s pretty.
Then he pulls his eyes away from the beautiful sight, listening for any more shattering glass or suspicious noises, before taking a step away from the window. He was probably dreaming.
A sudden sound has him nearly falling out of his window as he rushes back over. It’s definitely somebody crying. It’s soft at first, Jungkook is surprised that he even heard it, but as he sticks his head out further, looking up to try and get a better view, it gets louder and louder. Sniffling becomes whimpering and whimpering becomes sobbing.
Now, Jungkook is not one to intrude on other people’s business. He knows that he hates it when mere acquaintances ask questions like ‘where did you get that scar from?’ and hates it even more when they insist on trying to get him help.
You see, Jungkook is a boxer. He’s used to having attention directed at him but that’s only when he’s in the ring, fighting and probably beating his opponent. He’ll even accept the few interviews he gives after winning, and he’s seen his face on way too many news channels and magazine articles. He does modelling too sometimes (mostly for well-known underwear brands) and he’s okay with people seeing those pictures but much prefers not to look at them himself. But as soon as he gets any sort of attention outside of the ring with people assuming things, he hates it more than anything.
But he feels like this is a completely different situation. Because the crying doesn’t stop. It goes on and on and starts to get more and more pained. Jungkook doesn’t mean to be a hypocrite but he decides then and there that he’s going to go and see what’s wrong with this boy.
He quickly slips into a grey t-shirt and sweats, wincing slightly at the way his arms ache. It’s okay, sleep can wait. Before he knows it, he’s in the elevator, tapping his foot in hopes of making time go by faster. He wants to get there as quickly as he can and that desperation is what forces him to jog down the hallway.
But once he’s made it to the apartment door that he knows is directly above his own, he takes a moment. Should he really be here? What if he’d just heard wrong? What if-
No. Jungkook is here to help.
He knocks on the door a couple of times and then he waits. He taps his foot and he waits.
What waits for him on the other side is not what he would have expected, though. Ever. It’s a man, who looks to be around the same age as Jungkook, curly black hair sticking out from underneath his hood. His eyes are bloodshot, filled with unshed tears yet there’s just a complete emptiness to them, no hint of feeling laced in his irises.
(The stars in the sky observe with him.)
Jungkook realises he’s probably been staring for too long and clears his throat. “Hello,” he says, keeping his voice quiet and soft. “I’m Jungkook, I live downstairs.”
The man can’t seem to make eye contact. “Taehyung,” is all he says.
“Hi, Taehyung. I just- I’m sorry to disturb but as I was in bed I think I heard something. Glass, maybe?”
Taehyung gulps then takes a moment to turn his head and look into his apartment. Within seconds he’s turning back to Jungkook again, closing the door slightly so that only half of his face is visible, the other half covered by the door. He doesn’t say anything so Jungkook continues.
“It sounded like glass had shattered and I was wondering if you heard anything?” Jungkook feels so awkward standing here because it’s obvious he isn’t welcome, yet he still carries on. It’s the look on Taehyung’s face that urges him to carry on. “I was wondering if you were okay?”
“Your ears must be playing tricks on you,” Taehyung says, voice hoarse and quiet, with his fleece hoodie zipped all the way up to his chin. “I have to go back inside but I’m sorry, Jungkook-ssi, I didn’t hear anything.” Finally, Taehyung smiles. It’s small, barely even there, but Jungkook sees it. But something about it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel authentic. “It must have been the wind?”
Then without even waiting for a reply, Taehyung shuts the door in Jungkook’s face, leaving him to stand in the dark hallway with nothing but his thoughts and the lingering feeling of dread.
It’s just the fact that Taehyung is most certainly hiding something - behind his own apartment door seemingly - that has Jungkook wanting to knock again. It’s the swollen eyes and the dark circles, stained with drying tears. It’s the croakiness of his voice, so obviously having been overused.
It’s the fake smile that was supposed to be reassuring but only showcased… nothing.
Jungkook reluctantly turns away from the door, letting his feet drag slowly down the hallway in case he does hear something else on his way. But he doesn’t.
Once he’s made it back to his own home, he doesn’t hear anything more either. He snuggles up into his pillows and still doesn’t hear anything. He looks up at the ceiling, waiting, but he doesn’t hear anything. All is still. All is silent. It’s eerily silent, in Jungkook’s opinion.
Jungkook doesn’t want to jump to conclusions because he isn’t like that. He’s someone who prefers to learn all the nitty gritty and details of something before he picks a side. But this. This is different. Because Jungkook knows for a fact that he heard right.
Something about Taehyung seems different and Jungkook has a sneaking suspicion that there is a lot more going on behind those closed doors.
Because in what world does shattering glass sound like wind?
☆
“You fucking see that? You see what happens when you cry like a fucking baby?”
Taehyung flinches at the utter ferocity in his manager's voice, causing his hand to slip where he’s cleaning up the mess. The glass nicks the skin on the tip of his index finger, bright red blood seeping out, but he pays no mind to the injury as he continues to pick up the remaining pieces of what was once his flower vase.
“I’m sorry, Hangyeol-nim.”
His mother had gotten him the vase right before he left.
“You better be awake for five am tomorrow. Or I swear to fucking god.”
“Yes, Hangyeol-nim.”
Hangyeol isn’t shouting anymore, not like how he’d been shouting earlier. But there’s something about the way he speaks now, words slipping through his clenched teeth, that gives off the exact same feel of his shouting. In fact, it seems even more angry in a way.
Taehyung sniffles, doing his best to keep it as quiet as possible. His eyes sting, his head hurts and his feet are aching from the amount of practice he’d done today. His vase is broken, yes, the water that had been filling it has spilled, yes, and the pale purple anemones lay strewn around the floor, petals already wilting away, yes.
But Hangyeol isn’t shouting anymore, not like how he’d been shouting earlier.
“And stay the fuck away from that guy.”
Not like how he’d been shouting before Jungkook knocked on Taehyung’s door.
☆
“Yep.” Jungkook browses the various ramen packs displayed on the shelf. “Yep.” He’s pretty certain he’s tried every single one of these already. “Yep.” He's getting bored at this point. “Yep.”
“Jungkook, I didn’t even say anything!”
Jungkook pauses with his shuffling to lift his phone up closer to his ear, wedging it right into the crook of his shoulder as he bends his neck in quite the awkward position. “Sorry, noona,” he says sheepishly to his agent, before going back to picking his dinner. “It’s just, every time you call me to tell me about a new modelling opportunity, there’s not really a choice for me to say no, is there?”
He hears Areum sigh and he has no doubt that she’s leaning back in her chair right now, contemplating whether or not she should fire him. “Kook, you know that’s not true.”
And Jungkook feels a little bad now. “I know. I know, noona,” he replies, smiling slightly and hoping she can hear it in his voice. “I just- I don’t know if we should carry on with the underwear photoshoots when my body is cut and bruised most days.”
Jungkook takes Areum’s slight pause to glance around the convenience store he’s in. Luckily, it’s not too packed tonight and so nobody could have heard and been suspicious of what he’d just said. Not that he cares, really.
“I mean, the companies don’t mind with all the access to photoshop and good lighting they have nowadays. I guess it’s a win-win, no?” After another pause she seemingly decides to add on, “and all those horny teenage girls are crazy for your body so it’s not like the companies have any other choice.”
Jungkook scoffs. “Noona, you hear how dumb that sounds, right? Why the fuck would teenage girls be the main target market for men’s underwear?” It’s crazy to Jungkook that there are more people out there that know him for his body rather than his boxing. It’s not like he minds, per se, because he’s worked really hard to sculpt his body to look the way it does. And he’s proud of it. Isn’t afraid to show off a little skin. But he just doesn’t want to become one of those people that are known as ‘hot-shot breakthrough models’ when his real passion lies in boxing. “I mean, we’re living in the twenty-first century, and if they want to wear men’s underwear, I completely understand. But the thirst tweets I get about how they want me to choke them with my thighs, says otherwise.”
He’s happy to pull a laugh out of Areum with that one. Recently she’s been really stressed, trying to set up as many sponsorships with (non-underwear) brands and companies, before Jungkook’s fight next month. It’s how they make most of their money and he knows how tough it actually is, if going off of the way she seems to be sitting at her desk in front of her computer for a minimum of fifteen hours everyday. Even when her girlfriend, Siyeon, pushes her away from it for a few hours, she’s back there again as soon as she can be. It’s how hard-working she is and how appreciative of her he is that pushes Jungkook to constantly try to make her as happy as he can.
“Okay, noona,” Jungkook says, those thoughts still clear in his mind, “I’ll do it, even if it’s another underwear ad.”
“But, Jungkook,” Areum emphasises. Something about the tone of her voice has Jungkook perking up, hands immediately dropping from the rows and rows of ramen. “It’s not underwear this time! It’s for some sort of theatre, dance venue thing!”
“Dance? Noona, I don’t dance.”
“I know you can.”
“Not a chance, no.”
They both crack up at that, a sort of banter easily built up between them after years of working together. Jungkook really likes her and wouldn't want anybody else as an agent. I mean, who else would sing High School Musical songs with him?
“Anyway, back to business,” Areum announces, though Jungkook can still hear the hint of a smile in her voice. “You won’t have to dance! They have an important performance production coming up soon and they need posters but the second lead is on a business trip in Japan. And apparently it’s urgent enough for them to hire a-somewhat-look-alike.”
“A look-alike?”
Areum chuckles, obviously because of Jungkook’s sudden intrigue. “They need a, and I quote, ‘black swan-esque male with a muscled yet slim body build, and an attraction to other males’ and I thought, wow, gay little Jungkook is perfect for this role.”
Jungkook can’t help but splutter, glancing around quickly, happy to find that nobody has noticed. He bends down so he’s ducked behind the shelf of ramen. “Why is it so specific? What the fuck!”
“That’s what I was thinking but they said they need it to be as filled with chemistry and as authentic as possible. The performance is apparently a story of forbidden love between two men.” Jungkook doesn’t reply to that, hating the fact that he’s actually considering this. If he does accept, he’ll most probably waste away an entire day to take pictures with his supposed love interest, someone he’s never met nor ever been intimate enough to dance with. Jungkook doesn’t dance! “Don’t worry,” Areum interrupts, apparently having the ability to read his thoughts now, “you seriously won’t have to dance. Plus they insisted that it will be very dark so your face will hardly be visible.”
“They’re going for a mysterious silhouette concept, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“How unique.” Areum tuts at Jungkook’s sarcastic reply in that voice that tells him to ‘be nice’ and so he adds on, “okay, I’ll do it.”
“Really?” Areum just about screams down his ear. “You’ll love it, I know you will! They’re offering a tonne of sponsorship money too!”
“Okay, okay,” Jungkook chuckles, “can I go and get my dinner now?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re eating too many of those convenience store noodles again? You know Donghoonie oppa will have a field day if he finds out!”
Ah Donghoon, Jungkook’s good ‘ole personal trainer, coach and dietician. A man of many talents. A triple threat, if you will.
He doesn’t have to find out.
“He doesn’t have to find out,” Jungkook says, suggestively.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your secret’s safe with me.”
They say their goodbyes with Areum insisting a few more times that Jungkook won’t regret taking this opportunity, and then Jungkook turns his attention back to the noodles. He picks out one at random, finally too bored of deciding and stands to go and pay for the contents in his basket.
He keeps his eye on the red laser light as the cashier scans through his things and takes the time to wonder.
Will he regret this?
☆
Just as the music begins reaching the crescendo, and Taehyung builds up the speed and power in his spin, it stops. The abruptness of it is enough to knock Taehyung down to his knees, hands slapping down onto the stage floor as he breathes heavily.
“Spins need to be faster! More fluid!” Hangyeol seethes from where he sits in the front row, the music player in his hand enough to tell Taehyung that he’s the one who turned the music off so suddenly. “Leg needs to be higher.”
Taehyung’s breathing is staggered at this point, his words coming out weak and almost inaudible. “I’m sorry, my feet are just too tired.”
Hangyeol doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you ate your body weight in fried chicken!”
Taehyung can’t help but whimper at that, eyes stinging as a single tear betrays him and slips down his cheek and onto the polished floor he’s still staring at. There had been a sort of gnawing at his stomach since the moment he woke up and he thought he could slip one piece of chicken into his mouth, maybe settle his hunger just a little bit. But Hangyeol had caught him, and had smacked the barely touched chicken bone out of Taehyung’s hand. It was only one piece of chicken!
But that‘s not what Taehyung says as he roughly wipes his cheek and pushes off of the floor. “I’m sorry, Hang-”
“Faster and more fluid. Now!”
“Yes, Hangyeol-nim.”
☆
Jungkook should have expected this. He should have mentally prepared for this.
Areum had walked him to the venue because surprisingly, it wasn’t very far from his home, and then had left him here to fend for himself. Don’t get him wrong, everyone is lovely and they’ve obviously tried hard to make him feel comfortable. Some of the stylists and staff had even gushed over how handsome he is in real life, asking him for pictures and autographs. He was pleasantly surprised to find that some even asked questions about boxing, how it was going, when his next fight would be. And that was all nice, really boosting his self-esteem.
But, this. This is not something Jungkook expected at all.
The excitement from the staff had quickly disappeared and now Jungkook is sitting in a chair, staring at the mirror in front of him, while the sweet scents of so many different designer perfumes waft around him with each person that rushes by. He’s got two people fiddling around with his hair, one holding a makeup brush to his face, and even somebody moisturising his hands?
Jungkook has worn makeup before and he’s definitely been styled up for a photoshoot, but it’s never been to this extent. The dressing room he’d been ushered into is bustling with life and the stylists seem to be on a mission to make him look the exact way it had been envisioned for him to look.
So yes, Jungkook probably should have prepared for this. Because truth be told, he’s pretty out of his element like this and doesn’t even know where to put his eyes. There’s only so much time that he can pass staring at himself in the mirror as his hair gets sprayed into place. All the action going on around him is enough to distract.
One distraction, the most distracting distraction, is in fact the costume rack that Jungkook can see behind him in the mirror. It’s mostly filled with black and navy blue pieces, the rows and rows of dark, sparkling material catching his eye more than once.
It’s even more surprising to him when about half an hour later, Jungkook is shoved into his costume, just as glittery and black as the ones he’d seen on the rack. He’s left alone for all but a minute and he uses that time to appreciate how well the stylists have done, eyeing the tight black slacks and the sequined blazer over top the silk shirt. Not to mention the corset that hugs his waist perfectly, if he does say so himself. His eye makeup is dark yet minimal and his hair is pushed to the side in a slick yet casual style and he has half the mind to ask the stylist about it later so he can maybe try it out for himself.
It isn’t long before a staff member - Yoona if he remembers correctly - comes back into the room only to lead him out of it. She doesn’t speak much but the air she gives off is nothing but comfort, almost like she’s known Jungkook for years and doesn’t need to say anything to him for the presence to be bearable. She takes him through several hallways and they somehow end up at a back entrance that leads right onto a black, polished stage, so large that Jungkook is in shock for a moment.
From the well hidden entrance, he catches sight of somebody’s back, white stage lights shining down on him as he seemingly gets touch-ups for his makeup. Come to think of it, why would the both of them need makeup anyway because as far as Jungkook is aware, their faces won’t even be visible in the images.
Beside his co-model, stands another male, short and stocky, who seems to be deep in a conversation with him. Jungkook can clearly see his face as he has his back to the rows and rows of seats, and something about it sends chills down his spine.
Jungkook has seen a lot of intimidating men. It’s usually the only facial expression he’ll see while he’s in a ring, faced with his opponent. But it seems that barely heeled scabs and animalistic snarls are nothing compared to this man’s piercing eyes and authoritative stance.
“That’s the star of the show. One of the best dancers I’ve ever gotten to see,” Yoona speaks up for the first time. Jungkook presumes she’s talking about the man who seems to be getting told off by the other, while he gets his makeup done. “Don’t worry, he’s lovely. He can be a little quiet but he’s super nice. And he’s pretty too.”
“Is he okay?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, watching the way the shorter male goes on and on while the dancer stays quiet. “It looks like he’s getting told off.”
Yoona hums. “That’s his manager and dance mentor. It’s normal for them.”
Despite how wary Jungkook is, because this guy is really going at the dancer now, digging his index finger harshly into his upper arm, he doesn’t question it anymore. Instead, he follows Yoona onto the stage and lets his eyes wander around so he isn’t intruding on their ‘conversation’ any longer.
There’s a whole array of cameras and professional lights scattered around, as well as so many people. They all rush about to ready the equipment and there’s even someone mopping up the stage floor as if it isn’t shiny enough.
Yoona leads him closer and closer to the dancer he’ll be doing the photoshoot with, and it’s only then that he allows his eyes to go back to them. The manager is quiet now and weirdly enough, his eyes are on Jungkook. It causes another shiver to run down Jungkook’s spine.
Once they are close enough, he sticks a hand out in front of Jungkook, a smile at his lips that Jungkook can tell is fake and practised. “Hello, Jeon Jungkook?” he says, in an oddly chirpy voice despite the fact that Jungkook had witnessed him shouting just moments before. “It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Oh Hangyeol.” He seems so fake.
Jungkook shakes the man’s hand, pushing his suspicions to the side. “Nice to meet you too,” he says politely. Afterall, this guy is probably very important, judging by the way he’s dressed in a full on fancy and expensive-looking suit.
“Apologies again, for bringing you here on such short notice,” Hangyeol continues, tone of voice seemingly friendly and professional. “You’ve probably already been told, but my second lead is away on a business trip and I really needed to get these posters out for publicity. This show is very important to me.”
My. I. Me. Something about it doesn’t sit right with Jungkook.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook insists, tucking his hands into the pocket of his blazer, subtly wiping away the dampness the other man’s hand had left. “I’ll say I’m really excited for this though. I’ve never done a dance performance photoshoot before. Thank you for having me.” He puts on his interview smile, the one that he is usually forced to put on after being punched a countless amount of times in a match.
Hangyeol’s eyes widen the slightest bit. “Oh my,” he says, tapping the dancer’s shoulder who still has his back turned, even after the stylist has walked away. “You really do look like Eunwoo-ssi when you smile. He’ll be jealous when he comes back from Japan, knowing there’s someone as handsome as him, taking his spot.” Jungkook pays hardly any attention to the man’s words and instead focuses on the way his tapping becomes more insistent, more harsh. The dancer still hasn’t turned around and Jungkook sees the way his back physically stiffens up the moment Hangyeol’s hand stills sharply on his shoulder. “Look, Taehyung.”
He turns around immediately at that demand, eyes coming to lock with Jungkook’s. And the moment of recognition is instant.
(The stars hold their breaths, predicting despair even if it’s not what they want.)
Taehyung looks different when he doesn’t have a jumper covering up half of his face. He looks different when his hair is neatly styled and when his makeup is dark and shadowy, accentuating his feline-like eye shape. He looks different when he isn’t crying.
But no amount of styling, no amount of makeup, can change the way his eyes, his irises, are empty. Emotionless. Dead.
Jungkook hears his own breath hitch, feels his own hands clench into fists in the safety of his pockets.
That look in Taehyung’s eyes, the way they flicker slightly with a hint of warning. That twitch of his lips, a habit that stops him from saying the wrong things. That barely there and barely concealed pleading in his expression.
It’s all enough to have Jungkook vowing to himself that he is never going to willingly touch Hangyeol’s dirty hand ever again.
“Jungkook-ssi.” Taehyung slices the moment with one word. One name. “It’s so nice to meet you.” Jungkook hears the hidden, we’ve never met before.
“Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook says with a nod. “Nice to meet you too. I’m looking forward to working with you.” Because they’ve never met before.
“Good, it seems like you two will get along,” Hangyeol cuts in. “Jungkook-ssi, just an apology on his behalf. He can be a little bit aloof. A few screws loose in the head. But he’ll work well with you, I can assure you of that. At least you’ll only need to work with him for today, right?” It’s said with a chuckle, as if it’s the funniest joke he’s ever made. As if deciding to work with Taehyung every day is the worst decision he’s ever made. As if Taehyung isn’t right there.
Jungkook just about manages to hold back a scoff. “Oh no, I’d love to work with you again in the future,” he says directly to the dancer. Because Taehyung is right there. “I’ve seen a few of your dances online actually-” he hasn’t “-and you’re amazing. Also, I can be a bit quiet too. Us introverts should stick together, no?”
Taehyung very obviously intakes a sharp breath of air. Jungkook has surprised him.
“Taehyung doesn’t even have enough of a personality to be called introverted,” Hangyeol laughs yet again, knife piercing through Jungkook’s chest to get to Taehyung hidden behind him.
Jungkook isn’t letting that happen. “I don’t have many friends,” he admits. “I spend my days alone, punching bags in a gym. Guess that makes two of us without much personality.”
Hangyeol lets out another chuckle, a genuine one this time. He really thinks Jungkook is joking around with him right now, when all he wants to do is let his burning fist rip a hole through his blazer pockets. “Explains why you’re so good at what you do!” he points out heartily, dirty, dirty hand coming up to grip one of Jungkook’s biceps. Funny. If he knows how good Jungkook is at what he does, Hangyeol should be scared.
“Can we have our stars only on the stage, please?” comes a muffled voice being spoken through a megaphone. It’s odd being called a ‘star’ but he guesses that’s popular in the world of dance. Ballet, if he remembers correctly. “Let’s get this shoot started.”
Jungkook feels good to have Hangyeol out of reach. The second he smiles that disgusting smile his way, then steps off the stage, Jungkook is left feeling calmer. And with Taehyung still here he feels oddly warm despite his seemingly cold exterior.
Nobody has really briefed Jungkook on what he’s supposed to be doing. All he knows is that they’re going to be part of a few different posters for the show, each conveying different emotions, that will be put up around the city and online too. Great marketing strategy to get people to come and watch the performance.
He watches as Taehyung silently moves to remove his shoes, letting them drop off the side of the stage. Jungkook follows, slips off his trainers and eyes Taehyung who nods at him once, before letting it drop too. They land with a thump, easily cutting through the hustle and bustle going on around them. Well, at least for them it does. For them, there’s not a single sound after those shoes fall to the floor.
“You’ll only need to hold me in a few positions,” Taehyung explains, easily turning away to walk to the middle of the stage. Again, mindlessly, Jungkook follows. “He’ll give us instructions and all you have to do is hold me in the different positions he says.”
“Aren’t you the dancer though?” It slips out before Jungkook can think it through. “Isn’t this your show?”
Because as a boxer, as someone who beats people up for money, there isn’t much that anybody could do or say that would change the way Jungkook does things. Sure, he was taught the right techniques and sure, his trainer is the one who guides him through where and when each fist needs to be used. But when it comes to the real thing, when Jungkook is faced with an overly sweaty man who has his paws held out in front of him, it becomes Jungkook’s. That ring becomes his.
And with the little he’s heard about dance, ballet particularly, this stage should be the star’s. This stage should be Taehyung’s.
The dancer himself doesn’t say anything in response to Jungkook’s question. Instead, he lets his eyes dance around, looking at anything and everything there is to look at except for the curiosity in a young boxer’s eyes.
Jungkook doesn’t have any time to take it back, maybe even apologise for stepping beyond an obvious boundary, because in an instant they are all left in complete pitch blackness. It’s only then that Jungkook hears the tail end of the sound of a switch, and everything (that doesn’t revolve around Taehyung) comes back to him. He has half the mind to panic a little because there’s no way in hell he’s coming back another day to get so much done to his face, hair and clothes, just because of a power cut. He doesn’t think he can hear Taehyung move a muscle though so maybe there’s not much for him to worry about.
His thoughts are only reinforced when suddenly he’s blinded by a huge circular light switching on at the very back of the stage. It easily replaces the main stage lights and adds a sort of ominous atmosphere. Jungkook rubs his eyes, rids himself of the stars, before glancing at the real star in front of him. Taehyung looks completely unbothered, as he stretches his legs, getting them ready for these ‘positions’ he speaks of. He doesn’t even pay Jungkook a single ounce of attention, his focus solely on reaching his toes.
Jungkook doesn’t know much about photography, couldn’t care less about shooting when his chosen weapon is usually his fists. But he understands. They are being back lit so that only their silhouettes will be visible in the images. Areum had been right after all.
(Jungkook just barely holds back an unimpressed huff at the impending breakout he’ll get on his face due to how much was caked on, only for it not to be seen anyway.)
“Arabesque!” comes that irritating voice, as Hangyeol very much barks an order through the megaphone. Jungkook already misses the previous voice that had rung through it, despite how shrilly it had sounded. Anything is better than that.
It’s not a term he’s heard of before, doesn’t think he’ll ever hear it again after today, but Jungkook has to admit that he’s pretty curious. Especially when Taehyung easily comes to stand in front of him with not even a hair’s breadth between them, giving him a mere blink, before turning around to face the cameras.
Jungkook is momentarily stunned when his admittedly rather large nose comes into contact with curly, black hair, so soft and freshly scented. Although Jungkook knows for a fact the size has nothing to do with how his nose is practically buried in Taehyung’s hair, not when the dancer stands as close to him as he does. Jungkook hates that his mind drifts in that direction, but this position, the way Taehyung seems completely comfortable with his body pressed against Jungkook’s, makes him remember all those times he’s brought people home. People who thought a mattress on the floor wouldn't be as fun as the wall right beside it.
“Loosen up,” Taehyung mumbles, voice calm with not even an ounce of realisation. Of course, Taehyung is a lot more used to such a position compared to Jungkook, what with the countless duets he probably has done.
Jungkook isn’t nervous per se, he’s just a little bit out of his element.
Jungkook hears the telltale sound of cameras snapping.
“Can’t exactly loosen up when I’ve never danced ballet a day in my life,” Jungkook retorts, right into Taehyung’s hair.
He hears the way Taehyung sighs- no, he feels the way Taehyung sighs, low and heavy almost like he knew this would come up sooner or later. Well, Jungkook thinks with a mental chuckle, better sooner than later, right? Jungkook is still completely stunned at the fact that these people hired him when they could have easily hired another dancer who knows what he’s doing.
“We’re not even dancing,” Taehyung points out, keeping his eyes locked with the snapping cameras in front of them. Jungkook only startles slightly when he feels gentle hands being placed on top of his own, guiding them up to rest at Taehyung’s hips. “Like this. Just imagine you’re trying out a new sex position or something, Jungkook.”
It’s the way in which Taehyung says his name, the way his words drip with not honey, but sweat and bedroom eyes, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. As if he knows exactly what Jungkook is thinking.
“That I can do,” Jungkook assures, letting his hands rest more firmly at Taehyung’s waist just as he moves to get into position.
The dance position looks somewhat strenuous. Taehyung keeps one foot rooted to the ground while the other lifts up in a perfectly straight line behind him, arm following to hover in the air parallel to his leg. His other arm stretches out in front of him, so straight and so far that it looks like he’s reaching for something that could save his life.
Jungkook alters his hold slightly to make it more comfortable, one hand staying at Taehyung’s hip while the other edges up to rest over his outstretched thigh. Like this he can feel all the muscle, lean yet still apparent, underneath the dancer’s skin. The sequins on the material of his clothes do little to distract from how perfect his body feels underneath Jungkook’s touch.
“You’re really taking what I said seriously, aren’t you?” he hears Taehyung say, voice breathy yet slightly strained with how he continues to hold himself in position. Jungkook chooses to ignore the obvious amusement hidden in between his words.
He drags his fingers along Taehyung’s clothed thigh, turning his head so that he’s faced with the other’s cheek. They’re so close that he can see the slight moisture to Taehyung’s eyes, glistening in the little light they have surrounding them. “Well, this should be how you want it to be, shouldn’t it?” he counters back. He doesn’t know why but he feels the need to drill that into Taehyung’s brain. The star’s brain. And it’s true because he hasn’t been paying attention to any of the background noise coming in through the megaphone since he’s had Taehyung in his reach.
Yet again, Taehyung doesn’t say a word to that. He doesn’t even turn his head that little distance he would need to, to get their eyes to connect. He continues to stare off into the distance, arm tensing and stretching even further, as if the thing he wants so badly is getting away.
Jungkook follows his arms with his eyes, all the way up to his fingers. They’re long, so soft looking and they hold nothing but want. They don’t even seem to be grazing that thing they want so badly, yet they still stay strong, not even shaking a small amount at the force holding them up.
“Yeah, just like this,” Taehyung whispers, probably sensing Jungkook’s gaze in his hands. “We’re both reaching for the same thing. We both want to love each other, no matter what anyone says. We’re both just two boys in love,” he continues, voice edging on sensual rather than calm and collected. “We’re just two boys making love, Jungkook.”
Jungkook feels himself freeze for a moment, hand unconsciously tightening around Taehyung’s thigh. It’s just confirmed to Jungkook that the dancer is actually doing this. He must feel the tension rolling off of Jungkook’s skin and he sort of hates himself for it, for letting attraction get in the way of such an important shoot.
Dragging his eyes over Taehyung’s face is easy. The hard edges of his jaw yet the soft curves of his plush lips isn’t something he’s noticed, not when he first saw Taehyung at his apartment door and not when they had reintroduced themselves in front of Hangyeol. Now though, with Taehyung held so close against his body, it’s like Jungkook can’t stop looking. Slowly, painstakingly so, his gaze finds its way moving up. Up and up, skipping over the slight quirk of his lips and the way his nose sticks up in the air, up and up, all the way to his eyes.
It’s scary how empty they are.
“-fucking deaf! Can you not hear me?”
The shouting is suddenly all too apparent in this silent headspace. Jungkook falters, hand slipping off of Taehyung’s thigh as he pushes away from his body. The dancer looks to break out of the stupor too, dropping his leg and standing in a normal position. Jungkook can physically see the backs of his shoulder blades, pulling together underneath the thin material of his black shirt as his entire body tenses up.
“Sorry,” Taehyung says, voice suddenly far from sensual and barely audible with the way he shies in on himself.
“I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes and you haven’t heard a word!” Hangyeol continues to shout. His voice is so loud and booming that Jungkook is certain he sees a few of the staff members flinch. Some of them look completely nonchalant though and that doesn’t sit right with Jungkook. How often does this man shout at Taehyung like this?
“Sorry, I was just trying to-”
“Shut the fuck up, Taehyung,” Hangyeol growls, the words fierce, cutting. “I’ve been saying to change positions but you always insist on not listening to me! We don’t want to see your ugly face anymore so get the fuck to your next position.”
Jungkook feels his breath hitch in his throat. What is going on?
He watches the way Taehyung averts his eyes, looks down at his clothed feet, so overused yet so graceful. He stares and stares, a stabbing feeling at his chest making itself known when he realises how painful they must be. He can’t help but wonder, why Taehyung doesn’t use those overused feet of his to walk all over Hangyeol.
“Hangyeol-ssi,” Jungkook pipes up, the name tasting bitter and disgusting in his mouth, “isn’t that a bit-”
He cuts himself off as he’s suddenly faced with a stern look accompanied by ever so empty eyes. Taehyung is very obviously telling him to keep his mouth shut, to not get involved. His eyes are empty. They are so empty. That’s what Jungkook keeps telling himself for Taehyung’s sake. They are eyes that are empty. But as he looks deeper into them, as he properly studies them up close, Jungkook understands.
They are eyes that are so terrifying, yet so terrified.
So he stays silent. He doesn’t finish whatever comment he was going to throw at Hangyeol and instead brings his hand back up to rest at Taehyung’s hip.
The next few images are rather odd in Jungkook’s opinion. Instead of showcasing Taehyung’s dance moves, he spends majority of the time with his back to the cameras. His cold, delicate hands are placed at the side of Jungkook’s neck as he leans his head down onto his shoulder, forcefully keeping Jungkook facing his hair. Like this both of their faces are hidden but he doesn’t doubt the pictures are coming out magnificent, breath-taking.
However there is still that part of Jungkook, unsure and slightly suspicious about why. Why they’re not letting the star shine.
☆
“Make him want it,” Hangyeol had said while Taehyung had been allowed to eat one half of a sandwich filled with dry chunks of chicken breast. “Just like with Eunwoo, make yourself of use.”
That had Taehyung halting, brown bread squishing and twisting between his fingers much like his gut at the unexpected confrontation. “What?” he asked, as the stylist wordlessly curled his hair, obviously completely used to being stuck in a situation where the star had it’s light beaten out of it.
“You thought I wouldn’t know?” Hangyeol asked, the bat in his hand still not tired of being swung. “You thought I’d be dumb enough not to find out?”
“No!” Taehyung rushed out. “That isn’t-”
“I had one of those boys watch you. Jisung, was it?” Taehyung easily recognised the name of one of the apartment complex security guards that had hit on him once. After Taehyung had rejected him, any friendly attitude he used to have towards the ‘beautiful ballet dancer who would look amazing using his moves in the bedroom’ (his words, not Taehyung’s) was gone. “Told me he saw you bring in a boy, looking all lovey-dovey.”
Taehyung looked down at his lap, sandwich and appetite long forgotten. “We were just- it was just one night.” Because it had only been one night. Eunwoo had taken him out on a a walk after a short meeting with the upcoming show’s stylist crew, and that and the memory of how their bodies worked perfectly together while dancing, had been enough to escalate the situation.
“Yeah, one night when you could have been practising.” Hangyeol laughed like he’d just made the most hilarious joke yet still, there was not an ounce of humour in his tone. An odd contradiction that had Taehyung’s mind running at a hundred miles per hour. “But I suggest you do the same to this guy who’ll be modelling in Eunwoo’s place. Just be your normal self. A slut.”
The words had hurt more than they should have. Especially since Hangyeol had referred to him as much worse things.
Taehyung fought back the urge to argue back, insist that he’s not a slut, but just a normal person with normal desires. He wanted to argue that although he and Eunwoo danced well together, after spending a night with each it wasn’t long before they realised dancing and sex were two very different things, and sometimes two people just weren’t fit to be so intimate with one another. He wanted to argue that he and Eunwoo hadn’t touched each other in the same way since.
Yet he had stayed quiet. Just like always.
And so here he is, with Jungkook on top of him, arching his body up off the floor and into the other man’s chest. Jungkook stares down at him with eyes so hooded that Taehyung feels a bit bad.
“Are you- is this-'' Jungkook sputters out, his thigh admittedly fitting perfectly between both of Taehyung’s. He clears his throat then adjusts his body weight so that their crotches aren’t almost touching. “Are you sure this is okay?”
Taehyung knows this man isn’t innocent and not only because he’s stayed in position after Taehyung’s pulled him down to the floor. He can tell he isn't innocent by the way his tongue unconsciously slips out to wet his lips every so often. By the way he shamelessly bites his bottom lip while staring down at Taehyung with dark, dark eyes. By the way he leans ever so slightly closer, brushing the tips of their noses together. But Taehyung can also tell that this is never what he would have expected when he got a call telling him to model for a little ballet boy.
“This is perfect,” Taehyung purrs, hoping his facial expression shows just enough for Hangyeol to see. He hears the background noise of camera shutters going off.
It actually is a dance move that he and Eunwoo will be performing in front of hundreds. Definitely more on the explicit side, but a dance move nonetheless. It’s a scene that’s supposed to portray the push and pull between their characters’ consciences as they make love when they know they should not be. But somehow, doing the move with a guy he’s only just officially met (plus the other time that they didn’t actually meet) makes it all the more scandalous.
Taehyung arches his back further off the ground, making sure to point his toes out so that they are pointing towards the other end of the stage. The other end of this game of push and pull.
It’s a given that Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly at the unexpected closeness, when all his efforts to keep their crotches far from each other are put to waste.
Taehyung puts on one of his best show-stopping smirks, a look that is reserved for the rows and rows of onlookers that insist on coming to watch the meteor shower. A look that he only uses when completely necessary, a slight quirk of lips that allows that last bit of fire to shine through and capture the crowds. A look that he hopes to enrapture an unknowing, yet not-so-innocent Jungkook with, just like the rest of them. A look that used to mean so much to Taehyung. A look that, now, means nothing at all.
Taehyung lets his free hand - the one that isn’t clutching onto Jungkook’s sturdy thigh - glide over an unfamiliar, caked face. He lets his thumb kiss short yet wispy lashes, smoothing over them and forcing the eyes behind them to relax more. He almost regrets it when he has dark, hooded eyes looking down at him again. More camera shutters.
Taehyung doesn’t know this man, doesn't know the curves and edges of his handsome face. He doesn’t know, and despite the tinge of fakeness to his smile, he finds himself enjoying dragging his fingertips over his skin. Like this he can feel the blemishes and imperfections hidden by makeup. He thinks he even feels lumps and bumps of scabs perhaps, scabs that he wants to but also doesn’t want to learn the reason behind.
Taehyung doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know if he works and if so what he does for a living. He doesn’t know whether he’s had experience with this sort of thing or not, whether he’s experienced someone like Taehyung before or not. He likes to think that yes, yes he has dealt with people like Taehyung before. Take from that sentence any connotations you will. Because Taehyung doesn’t know this man but he definitely does know a man with a dirty private life when he sees one. He can tell by the way this man looks at him, the way his fingers find purchase at Taehyung’s thigh, the way he seems to be physically holding himself back from connecting their lips.
Taehyung doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know where his morals lie or if he even has morals at all. He doesn’t know if he has realised how Taehyung’s manager does anything but manage. He doesn’t know if he has realised how much he hates said manager.
Taehyung doesn’t know him. Yet still, after the shoot, once Hangyeol has dashed out with a warning for Taehyung to remember to practise, he finds himself saying yes to dinner with Jeon Jungkook.
☆
Jungkook doesn’t ask why Taehyung insists they eat in his home. He also doesn’t ask why Taehyung insists they walk through the lobby of the apartment block separately.
Either way, they’re here now, Jungkook carrying bags filled with takeout food containers. It’s the only sound that surrounds them, the crinkling of the plastic bags. But for some reason, Jungkook can’t find it within himself to feel uncomfortable in any way and assumes Taehyung is just somebody who prefers silence in general.
His apartment is exactly the same as Jungkook’s. From the wide, open plan creating one big bedroom to the small kitchen area tucked in the corner, from the wooden laminate flooring to the cream colour of the walls, from the clothes littered all over the floor to the heart-shaped plush toy sitting prim and proper on the bed (looking like it could become good friends with Jungkook’s Cooky), from the small round table standing as one of the only pieces of proper furniture to the window right beside it, glancing out at Seoul’s night skyline.
Jungkook stands where he is for a moment, not wanting to intrude on a house (that already feels too similar to home), as he watches Taehyung speed walk in a haste to push the window ajar. The second he does that, a gust of night summer wind rushes by Jungkook’s ears, making him all the more aware of how alone the two of them are right now.
“Here is fine,” Taehyung says shortly, merely gesturing towards one of the chairs beside the table with his long and elegant fingers. He does so as he stands in the kitchen area, fumbling about with what looks like a small china teapot.
Jungkook finally moves to occupy one of the two chairs. Before he can even think about placing the food down though, his attention is diverted by the wilting bunch of purple flowers splayed carelessly over the table. Jungkook doesn’t know much about flowers so he couldn’t tell you what type they are, but something he does know for sure is that the short, stumpy petals should not be browning around the edges.
Jungkook stares at the bundle of purple (bundle of dying) for a little longer, as he begins to mindlessly pull out the takeout boxes. There was probably a time where they were beautiful, a vibrant purple with all the food and sunlight they could ask for. There was probably a time where they weren’t left to die.
Jungkook can’t help but think these poor flowers would look better in a vase. A glass vase perhaps.
The thoughts are taken away from him the very second the bunch of flowers are snatched off the table. “I forgot to get rid of these,” Taehyung mumbles as he brings the bunch with him to the kitchen.
Jungkook’s attention is yet again taken by the star before him, momentarily forgetting about the food he’s supposed to be setting out. He clears his throat, feeling the need to fill in the loud silence. “They’re pretty,” he says, despite the obvious lack of life in the bunch.
“They were prettier before,” Taehyung replies curtly. He lets his fingers carefully flitter over the weak petals, staring down at them with his full lips downturned. “My co-star, Eunwoo, got them for me before he left for Japan.” That is mere seconds before he’s dropping the flowers into the bin as if he hadn’t just been touching them in the most delicate of ways. He’s like a complete oxymoron.
Taehyung’s back is then turned to Jungkook as he fumbles around with two cups and the teapot, so he takes that as an end to whatever conversation Jungkook wanted to start up about the flowers.
Eunwoo. A name Jungkook has heard one too many times today, a name he’s even been compared to when he’s never even met the guy. “This Eunwoo,” he starts, out of sheer curiosity, “do I really look that much like him?” Taehyung turns merely to raise a perfectly sculpted brow at him before going back to his tea. “It’s just that, I’ve always been interested in that doppelgänger shit.”
Jungkook busies himself by going back to laying out containers of food, just so he no longer needs to stare at Taehyung’s cinched waist and broad back. He unconsciously puts more of the dishes closer to the other side where Taehyung will soon sit. It’s something he’s noticed ever since meeting the guy. He’s thin, almost unhealthily so, and Jungkook - being the boxer he is, who eats more food than imaginable - feels pains of hunger in his own stomach at the mere sight of the ballerino.
“When my team found you on such short notice, they were over the moon,” Taehyung admits, his voice accompanied by the sound of the teaspoon clinking against the china of the cup. “But when they showed me photos of you, it was a little underwhelming.”
Jungkook is taken aback by how straightforward Taehyung is. His looks - which he is usually quite confident in - have, for the first time in his life, been referred to as underwhelming.
“Oh, wow,” Jungkook can’t help but chuckle, watching carefully as Taehyung sets the teapot and cups down on the table between them. “I’ve never been called ugly in such a considerate way.”
It seems that Taehyung only realises what he’s just said once he’s seated opposite Jungkook. “Shit,” he says quickly, “that’s not what I meant.”
Taehyung remains straight-faced despite the obvious pinkness to his cheeks. It only makes Jungkook laugh louder. “Seriously, it’s fine,” he assures, deciding to hold back the fact that he thinks Taehyung is one of the most attractive people he’s ever met. “Everyone has their own type.” Taehyung is the epitome of his type.
“No, that isn’t- that came out wrong.” Taehyung pauses to sigh, perfect hands wrapping around his cup filled to the brim with what smells like peppermint tea. It’s the only thing that he seems to acknowledge even though all the food waits for him. “I think you’re very handsome.” Now that feeds right into Jungkook’s ego. “I meant it in the sense that you two look alike but not as alike as they were making it out to be. Although, I might just be biased since I see and touch his face and body almost everyday.”
Jungkook pauses, chopsticks mid-air and holding up a piece of gimbap. “You two must be close then?” he asks slowly, wanting to know more about Taehyung without having him shutting the door in his face again.
“We need to be for our roles. We’ve fucked once before too-” Taehyung clamps his mouth shut suddenly, eyes darting around to look everywhere but Jungkook’s face. So, he wasn’t supposed to say that? “There’s nothing between us though,” he adds quickly before taking a short sip of his tea.
Jungkook follows suit but instead stuffs his mouth with rice, crab meat and dried seaweed. He doesn’t understand why his body reacts so weirdly to Taehyung’s words. He doesn’t understand why he has grown so curious about the life of somebody he’s only just officially met today. He doesn’t understand why this one boy has managed to worm his way into every nook and cranny of Jungkook’s thoughts. He doesn’t understand why his mind is running at the pace of a track gold medalist. So, he’s that close to this Eunwoo he speaks of? They see and touch each other everyday and they’ve fucked too? Why does Jungkook’s stomach turn at the imagery? Why does Taehyung feel the need to reassure Jungkook there’s nothing between them? Why would Eunwoo give Taehyung flowers if there is nothing between them? Jungkook knows for a fact that no man would give somebody he’s fucked before, flowers without meaning anything by it. Jungkook hasn’t met Eunwoo but suddenly he wants to meet him, see what’s so special about this dude and then ask him all the questions that race through his brain. He wonders if Eunwoo knows how to box. Wonders if-
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Jungkook rushes out, cutting off his own intrusive thoughts. What the fuck, Jungkook? You literally just met him, calm down. “You should eat.”
He loads up one of the plates with as much food as he can. His wallet had screamed at him when he was buying such a hefty amount of food; he even thinks he heard Areum tutting at him from her office desk, asking him why he doesn’t spend this much money on his own meals and instead opts for ramen every night. But for some reason (Hangyeol’s greasy hand snatching away Taehyung’s box of fucking mixed nuts during their break, while everybody else had been eating burgers and fries), he feels inclined to feeding Taehyung. He wants to feed Taehyung.
Taehyung's eyes widen. Although it’s still difficult for Jungkook to pick-point specific emotions in his irises, it’s obvious that he’s genuinely confused at Jungkook’s statement. “I can?” he asks, taking the plate from him albeit reluctantly.
“Of course you can, Taehyung,” Jungkook says with nothing but conviction in his tone. Just for the hell of it, he stacks a few more beef pieces onto Taehyung’s already full plate. “I bought it all for you.”
Taehyung picks up the spare pair of chopsticks, holding them up with an obvious lack of knowledge on where to start, if he should start at all. Jungkook doesn’t know much about Taehyung, the dancer, or Taehyung, the person, but for some reason unbeknownst to himself, his heart breaks at the sight of the other’s elegant fingers shaking.
Taehyung looks back and forth between the plate in front of him and Jungkook’s urging eyes. “No carbs, right?” he asks, as if to make sure of something he already knows. “Maybe I should take the meat out and eat it? And should I move the rice aside? Maybe the-”
“No, Taehyung.” Jungkook has set his own chopsticks down at this point, disbelieving of just how worried Taehyung seems to be. “No,” he repeats softly. “You can eat whatever you’d like, however you’d like. I’m not going to stop you.” I’m not going to let anyone stop you.
Taehyung looks to be just as disbelieving as Jungkook though. His brows are furrowed as he stares down at the food, tongue darting out to wet his lips every so often. It makes Jungkook wonder, how many times has Taehyung gone out with ‘friends’, only to be reminded of what he can and cannot eat? Makes him wonder how many times Eunwoo may have been one of those friends.
Jungkook hasn’t been in a relationship for a long time. It’s gotten to the point where his heart has gone stone cold, with not even an ounce of longing for intimacy or love. Usually he wouldn’t care for anybody else’s business, opting to keep out of it just like he would prefer others to keep out of his own. But sitting in front of Taehyung in this time and place feels different. It has his heart melting a little, the ice in his heart slowly but surely thawing. It has him wanting to learn everything there is to know about Kim Taehyung and then some. It genuinely makes him feel a tingling in his chest that he felt last with his first love, long ago in high school.
Through the window, Seoul’s night sky - the blackened clouds, the barely visible pinpricks of light - watches Jungkook as he watches Taehyung shovel down spoonful after spoonful. The very same sky watches as Jungkook wordlessly puts more food onto Taehyung’s plate the very second he’s wiped it clean.
Jungkook decides right then and there that maybe it is time to stop eating ramen alone every night. Maybe it is time to start eating more filling meals with Taehyung and his stuffed cheeks.
For the first time since they’ve met, Jungkook notices something faint in Taehyung’s eyes. When he says faint, he really means faint because one second he sees it and the next it’s gone like it’d never been there to begin with. But Jungkook has looked into those dark, empty eyes one too many times to miss it or even doubt himself.
A sparkle.
Yes, Jungkook thinks, it’s definitely time to give ramen up once and for all.
Because a star should be allowed to shine.
☆
“Sorry about earlier,” Taehyung says, swaying slowly to the crackled sound of a male voice. He loves this song. On Me by Haeil, a song that not many people know but a song that Taehyung loves to listen to when he’s feeling himself. When he’s tipsy. The red wine in his glass swishes around hazardously but he’s done this way too many times for it to turn into an actual danger.
Jungkook, seated on the sofa nursing his own glass, stares up at him. Taehyung decides to try not to take too much notice of the way he sits with his legs spread wide open, so boyish, so sexy. “What?” he asks with a genuinely curious lilt in his voice. He doesn’t seem to realise exactly what he’s doing to Taehyung.
Taehyung sets his glass down on the floor just so he can flaunt around a little better, moving his head and arms with his body and the sensual sound of the music. He’s a ballet dancer but there are other forms of dance he enjoys just as much. “I said I’m sorry about earlier,” he repeats, letting his eyes slip shut. His lips get a little looser when he’s drinking too; he has no reason to apologise when none of this was his fault!
Earlier in the evening, Taehyung had weirdly felt very comfortable around Jungkook as the two of them ate in near silence. He stuffed his face with food in a way he hasn’t done in years, feeling no need to hide such a thing, even from somebody so handsome. To make matters even more difficult for him to understand, Jungkook continued to watch him the entire time, not with a look of disgust but with a look of satisfaction? As if Taehyung pigging out was doing him a favour. The thought was enough to have Taehyung pushing the china teapot aside and bringing out the fancy red wine that Eunwoo had gifted him, instead. Anything to make this at least a little easier to understand or possibly just forget entirely.
“What happened earlier?” Jungkook asks slowly, voice slightly breathy just like the voice that drifts through Taehyung’s speakers. He can hear the way the other’s words are slightly slurred as he too teeters on the edge of being sober.
Taehyung peeks open his eyes for just a split second, catching Jungkook’s wandering eyes as they snap up from his hips. “At the shoot,” he reiterates, moving more comfortably with the chill music. Moving more comfortably with the knowledge that he’s watching. “All the touching and the way I spoke to you.”
Jungkook merely makes a noise of confusion and so Taehyung continues.
“I was told to ‘make you want it’ by my manager.” Nobody can stop Taehyung and his loose lips now. “It’s why I was so straight forward with it, because we needed to try to show as much chemistry as possible. We needed to try to show that we’d touched each other like that before, even though we hadn’t. And I’m sorry that I may have been a bit pushy with it.”
“Wait, it was-”
“See, Eunwoo and I have fucked,” Taehyung continues, quickly speaking as if to act like he hasn’t heard Jungkook trying to speak. He’s way too embarrassed about what he may have tried to say. “Although it wasn’t the best sex ever, we’ve touched each other, held each other. We’re somewhat comfortable around each other. You and I on the other hand…” Taehyung drifts off for a moment, wrapping his own arms around his middle as he sways some more. He doesn’t want to say that today was the first time they met, yet he also doesn’t want to bring up the fact that they’ve met before. “We needed to fake it and there was no way we were going to fake it well if you knew I was going to act that way.”
“Wait, that was fake?” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. With his words comes the abrupt ending of the song, leaving them in a sort of stunned silence.
Taehyung stops moving, finally opening his eyes properly. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of the sofa, wine glass long forgotten on the floor because Taehyung doesn’t have the luxury of owning a coffee table. His eyebrow slit is almost hidden with the way his brows are furrowed into such an indescribable shape, and his pretty pink lips with the drying scab, are pouted out into an ‘o’ shape, almost perfectly matching his doe-like eyes.
Taehyung, even in his non-sober state, is momentarily taken aback. He doesn’t know how to reply, didn't think Jungkook would react in such a way for him to reply to. The other man holds an expression that’s new to Taehyung but he can tell that it is obviously one of shock, confusion, disbelief. Jungkook is genuinely surprised at the fact that Taehyung had been faking everything, at least to some extent. It means the way he had reacted to everything, the way he had held Taehyung’s hips with gentle yet experienced fingers, the way his pupils had blown and his eyelids had become hooded. All of that was a true reaction from Jungkook. True arousal.
Taehyung moves to pick up his phone, only to repeat the same song again. He quite literally has to hold back a genuine laugh at the way Jungkook is still staring at him with his mouth now hanging open, to make a proposal. “Jungkook, why don’t you come up here and dance with me?” he asks shamelessly, moving to the slow beat again. His oversized striped cardigan moves with him, fluttering around from the force of the movement coming from his hips.
That seems to snap Jungkook out of it, all thoughts about the photoshoot earlier visibly flying out of his head. “I’m a boxer, I can’t dance.”
So, he’s a boxer? Suddenly all the lumps, bumps, scabs and muscles make sense to Taehyung. “Sure you can,” Taehyung insists, taking a careful step towards the other. Careful in the way he doesn’t allow his legs to brush Jungkook’s knees but brings them close enough to faintly smell the other’s faded cologne. “Anybody who has arms, legs, and the ability to move without assistance, can dance. It’s just a matter of being good or bad at it.”
“Unfortunately, it’s the latter for me,” Jungkook replies with a wonky grin that is awfully attractive to Taehyung. “Can’t dance for shit.” Taehyung watches attentively as the boxer stands from the sofa, shoulders wide and chest puffed out in what could only be described as perfect posture. Taehyung would know. He’s a ballerina.
Taehyung holds out a hand, sending the other a smirk when he grabs it without question, calloused fingers juxtaposing thrillingly with Taehyung’s flawless ones.
“All you have to do is follow my lead, big guy,” he speaks lowly. He waits for Jungkook to take another step closer, but the other merely rubs his thumb over Taehyung’s.
“Maybe another day.” With that, any contact between their bodies is gone. Taehyung’s stomach flips at the tingle left behind by the feeling of Jungkook’s bare skin against his own, the very second the other pulls his hand away. “I should probably head home now. Got training early in the morning.”
Taehyung and his loose lips are impossible to stop at this point. “You’re leaving?”
“Mm,” Jungkook hums, the noise causing the walls to vibrate, the floors to wobble, Taehyung’s heart to stutter. “Donghoon hyung is really strict about being punctual. He doesn’t give a shit if I’ve overslept or been run over by a bicycle. He wants me there and he wants me there on time.”
A laugh falls from Taehyung’s lips before he can even try to hold it back. Just like that, Jungkook - a man he barely knows - is forgiven. He nods once at said man, before going back into dancing with the beat of the music, tilting his head back just to show Jungkook what he’s missing out on. He doesn’t even feel the need to show Jungkook - again, a man he barely knows - to the front door, hoping he’s comfortable enough to go by himself.
The rougher it gets, the more you tryna comfortable.
Taehyung doesn’t try to drown out the explicit lyrics filtering through the speakers. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that they are being sung into this room in the first place. Sung to just Taehyung and Jungkook.
Jungkook speaks only once Taehyung begins thinking he has already left.
“You’ll see me again.”
It’s a simple and assured statement followed by the click and beep of Taehyung’s front door.
(The stars blink, their predictions having been changed.)
Taehyung lets his hands roam over his body again as he sways some more. He smiles.
☆
“Hyung, look. I’m sorry. I-”
“Did you not hear me, Jeon Jungkook? A hundred push-ups. Now.”
“Can you just hear me out?” Jungkook whines, head throbbing at both the sound of the music blasting in the gym and his seemingly everlasting hangover. He didn’t even drink that much last night, fuck! “First can we turn this shit down though? Who the fuck is listening to this bull-”
“I will not repeat myself, Jungkook,” Donghoon interrupts calmly, bulky arms crossed over his chest. “I waited here for you since eight thirty in the morning. You can’t just show up a whole hour late and expect everything to be fine. You know that’s not how we work around here. You know that-”
“Hyung, please,” Jungkook groans. He’s pushing his luck now, he knows, but his head is killing itself. “I drank wine for the first time in ages last night, almost jizzed in my pants from watching a guy sway his hips, blue-balled myself and then went to bed without even a sip of water. Please have mercy on me. Please just-”
“I didn’t ask to hear about how horny you are, Jeon Jungkook. A hundred and fifty push-ups.”
“You said only a hundred, five seconds ago!”
“Do you want it to become two hundred because I won’t fucking hesi-”
“Okay, okay. Fine. Jesus!” His voice echoes around the entire room, husky and very obviously exhausted. To add to it, he can’t help but kick at one of the medicine balls, watching it roll away with a brand new shoe mark decorating it. Not that Donghoon gives a shit.
That’s how Jungkook finds himself being told off then punished like a little child, barely being able to hold back the pout that graces his lips. The few other people that are training around him - whether it be using the gym equipment to build up their muscles or the mats for simple stretches - don’t spare him or Donghoon a single glance. They’re all used to the chaos at this point and to be honest, Jungkook shouldn’t be complaining about being punished when he knew it would happen. When he’s used to it too. He’s been tasked to do more push-ups in the last few years than he has in his entire teen years, the years when he was obsessed with exercise. He’s been late to Donghoon’s sessions one too many times, yet he never seems to learn.
“Now that you’ve calmed down a bit,” Donghoon muses, a mint flavoured toothpick hanging out of his mouth, “we can get started.”
Jungkook should also be aware that this is Donghoon’s technique to get him to ‘calm down’ when he’s feeling a bit rougher than usual.
See, Jungkook isn’t much of a morning person. Being forced to wake up because of the blaring alarm on his phone or even worse, the sunshine (the only star he is capable of despising) peeking through his curtains and practically blinding him in the process, is one of the worst feelings in his opinion. But add either one of those (or both) to the fact that he had been consuming alcohol the night before, and you get absolute hell. Because when Jungkook is sleepy and slightly hungover, he is anything but calm.
“Sorry I kicked the medicine ball,” Jungkook mumbles as he gulps down ice cold water. The bench he sits on is hard against his ass and does little to ease his muscles after just rushing through a hundred and fifty push-ups. “I shouldn’t have been late.”
Donghoon sighs before taking a seat beside Jungkook. “Kook, you know I only do these things to help you, right? Do you think I want to watch you suffer?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“You’re not wrong.”
That pulls out a laugh from Jungkook and makes him feel a little bit lighter. Jungkook has known Donghoon for years and the older man had been by his side throughout it all, training him and bringing him to where he is today. No matter how much he makes him suffer, he loves his hyung dearly.
“I met someone,” he blurts out. His eyes are trained onto his own trainer clad feet, hands fidgeting with the corner of the towel he’d just used to wipe his sweat with. Donghoon doesn’t reply so Jungkook clarifies with, “I’m only telling you because you’re probably wondering who could have possibly gotten me to drink after a month of being sober.”
“Let’s be honest though, you wouldn’t have lasted the rest of the week even if you hadn’t met this ‘someone’ of yours.” Donghoon has a point. Jungkook loves a good beer. “Tell me about them.”
Jungkook snaps his attention to the other, taking in the way his toothpick is kept at the corner of his lips now. It’s another one of his solutions for attempting to stop smoking, after having read online that mint toothpicks would help. Jungkook is rooting for his hyung but he doesn’t think it’ll last very long.
Jungkook clears his throat. “He’s a dancer.” He pauses then adds more specifically, “a ballet dancer.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jungkook,” Donghoon exclaims with a raspy chuckle. “Back at it with all your cliché bullshit?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jungkook questions. He feels the way his eyebrows furrow at the other man but he doesn’t seem to care for him being offended.
“A boxer and a ballerina?” Donghoon scoffs, albeit half heartedly. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me that he taught you how to dance which made you realise your bodies fit perfectly together, and that seeing the stage lights reflecting off of his eyes gave you heartburn.”
Jungkook groans. Then despite himself, he admits, “you’re partially right.” Donghoon raises a bushy eyebrow at him. “Well, he offered to dance but I declined. But we did a photoshoot together and that’s when I realised our bodies fit perfectly together. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to feel anything towards me. He said he faked it.”
“You know what? I won’t even ask.” Donghoon says quickly. “What else?”
“I did see a little glimmer in his eyes and that alone did make me feel something. Something I’ve never felt before.” Jungkook pauses, picturing that exact glimmer. He remembers being so dazed when that happened, being so out of it that all of a sudden he was a puppet on strings for Taehyung. He remembers nearly losing his mind. “Other than that though, they’re always empty. He doesn’t let me see or know anything.”
“Kook…” Donghoon starts, trailing off slightly. He sounds pitiful. “So you met him yesterday? Or?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jungkook sighs. He knows how this sounds. His brain is in overdrive trying to rid of all these thoughts because he knows exactly how it sounds. “How can I be so attached so quickly? Don’t worry, I’m not. I just- there’s something about him. He won’t let anybody in, doesn’t want anybody to get involved. But there’s this something. Something that makes me want to stay.”
“Kook…” This time Donghoon doesn’t continue.
“Seriously, hyung,” Jungkook assures, standing up and shaking his legs out as he prepares to start their training. He hasn’t been in a relationship since high school and Donghoon knows as such. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. We’ll probably just end up friends if he ever does let me in.”
Donghoon rarely looks at Jungkook like this, his lips pouted out in question and his eyes soft with worry. He’s even thrown away his toothpick. “Jungkook,” he says, switching from his coach voice to his hyung voice, “please be careful.”
Because no matter how many tough men he’s knocked out, no matter how many scars he’s caused for others, no matter how fearless he is when it comes to fighting in a ring, Jungkook is still human. A human who has been alone for the majority of his life.
A human with a strong exterior but a weak heart.
“I will, hyung.”
☆
It’s while Taehyung has his limited furniture pushed to the side, in the middle of practicing a fouétte, that he hears the doorbell. It’s brief, almost like the person outside has just accidentally brushed their finger against the buzzer.
Taehyung stops, intaking a few breaths of air before pausing the piece playing through his speakers. Just like that, the sound of violins seizes, leaving only an echo in his chest.
That can’t be Hangyeol. The man had been the one to wake Taehyung up, finding him passed out on the sofa that a certain somebody had been occupying only a few hours back. Luckily, Taehyung, despite his tipsiness, had been smart enough to wash the wine glasses and stash the bottle away before falling unconscious on something that was way too comfortable and smelt way too good. Hangyeol had basically forced him awake with a loud and disappointed tone, telling him to get up and practice because ‘no class doesn’t mean no practice’ in his words. Then the greasy haired man had left, voicing that he didn’t have time to supervise Taehyung as if he was some child. So, no, that can’t be Hangyeol. Even if it was him, he would have stormed in without ringing anyway.
Taehyung waits it out, twisting around his ankle to ease the bone and muscle there after balancing on it for so long. He’s wearing his older shoes, the ones that are worn out and tearing at the seams because these also happen to be the most comfortable pair he's ever owned, the only pair that will get him through hours and hours of practice with ease. Taehyung waits it out, imagining every scenario of what could be on the other side of that door. Possibly a delivery person with a bag full of food that was supposed to be sent next door? A distant cousin of the girl down the hall who plays the bass guitar, here in Seoul for the first time to have a sleepover after not seeing each other in months? A booty call of the guy that lives on this very floor, living out his life like a high school student when everybody knows he’s in his mid thirties with a knack for doing girls with big boobs and a big bum, girls who deserve better?
The bell comes again, this time slightly longer with a lot more purpose, a lot less hesitation. It can’t be.
Taehyung walks slowly to the door, each step creating a tiny earthquake of dread. No. It’s only been one day. It can’t be. It just can’t be him, right? It can’t be. It just can’t be him because Taehyung hasn’t had enough time to reflect on exactly what he said, exactly what he did, exactly what he started, exactly what he insinuated. Taehyung has a problem. No matter how drunk he is, he never forgets what transpires on the nights where he decides to let loose. No. It can’t be. That’s the reason why it just cannot be him outside his door. Because if it is, he’s only coming to say he wants nothing to do with Taehyung. That he was uncomfortable. That Taehyung went way too far. Fuck. It can’t-
“I bought some fried chicken.”
Yet Jungkook is the epitome of unbothered.
Tonight he looks exactly how one would imagine a boxer to look, so much so that Taehyung is sure that if this was their first meeting, he’d know of the other’s profession in an instant. Jungkook stands wide in his stance, feet spread apart and covered in tatty, well-used trainers. His calves are bare and thick, skin milky and on show with his legs clad in nothing but long, loose shorts. They reach just below his knees and as Taehyung drags his eyes up the man’s attire, he can’t help but wonder what his thighs look like. Jungkook’s hair is very obviously wet- wet with sweat from working out or water from just showering, Taehyung doesn’t know. All he does know is that the shortly cut locks drape over his silver lined ears and his sharp eyebrows, shiny in dampness. He’s in a simple, oversized black t-shirt but the article of clothing does wonders in accentuating his arms, covered in both a gallery of art, tattoos that he has undoubtedly placed so much meaning behind, and a beautiful landscape of rivers filled with blood, prominent veins running underneath skin. Jungkook hasn’t moved since Taehyung opened the door. His hand and knuckles are wrapped in some sort of dressing, much like the ones doctors use to treat a patient with a cut or broken arm. Yet his hand seems to be fine in the way it is frozen in the air where he holds up a bag filled with-
“Fried chicken,” Jungkook repeats. “It’s fried chicken. I’ve been craving it the entire day.”
Why isn’t he saying anything? Why hasn’t he commented on the fact that Taehyung is no longer hungry after having eaten him with his eyes?
“Fried chicken?” Taehyung asks dumbly, unsure of what Jungkook and his fried chicken might be here for.
Jungkook finally drops his hand, yet still clutches the bag tightly in his grip. “Yeah.”
They stand there for a long while, doing nothing but taking each other’s presence in. See, Taehyung isn’t one to break silences, only because he doesn’t think he would have anything interesting to say. Plus, he much prefers silence over unnecessary small talk. So he stays silent, locking eyes with Jungkook, and simply waits.
His eyes are peculiar, Taehyung thinks. He stands out there in such a dimly lit hallway, yet his eyes seem as bright as ever. To make things even more peculiar, he holds eye contact with Taehyung like it’s nothing. Like nobody has ever really done before.
“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats, bringing their silence to an end. “Do you want to eat it with me?” He’s so straight forward, very obviously here to not mess around. Taehyung likes it. He likes it a lot.
And so he steps aside, doing nothing else apart from keeping their eyes locked. Jungkook takes the hint easily, and walks in, leaving Taehyung with the most intoxicating smell, so fresh, so indescribable. So Jungkook. Oh, Taehyung realises, it’s water from showering.
“I can’t eat any,” Taehyung speaks up. The door clicks, shutting them out from the outside world. “But I can watch you.”
Jungkook scoffs as he settles down onto the hardwood floor where Taehyung had just been practising. He doesn’t mention the spread out furniture, doesn’t even seem to bat an eye at it. He just makes himself comfortable and begins pulling out the contents of the bag. Right there on the floor.
“Like hell you’re going to watch me,” he says, raising an eyebrow in that unnecessarily handsome way.
Taehyung shuffles along the remaining distance before plopping down right in front of Jungkook. He stares.
“Nobody misses out on fried chicken. Not on my watch,” he’s saying, not noticing the eyes on him. “It’s not about the ‘I can't do this, I can't do that’ bullshit. If you want fried chicken, then you eat the fucking fried chicken.”
Taehyung stares some more, slightly enthralled by the stray water droplet that loses grip of Jungkook’s fringe, slipping down the side of his temple. Amateur, he thinks shamelessly, I would hold on and never let go. He pushes such thoughts out of his brain the second he imagines his own fingers tangled up in wet, black locks.
“There’s gochujang sauce as well, if you want that,” Jungkook continues mindlessly, pulling out container after container and setting them down on the floor. “Or mayo. Ketchup too. No mustard because who the fuck actually likes mustard?”
It’s actually quite satisfying, watching the other man bring out so much food, food that he has brought for the both of them to share, food that he has undoubtedly paid for himself. It probably should be unsettling that a man he doesn’t even know is willing to spend so much money on food for him, but it isn’t. In fact, it’s the opposite. It makes Taehyung feel comfortable, like he’s known Jungkook for years. Taehyung isn’t supposed to be eating. Hell, he would be in so much trouble if Hangyeol found out about all the food he ate last night. Not to mention fried chicken is significantly worse, so much fat and oil. But then Jungkook looks up at him again, hands pausing where they had been busy setting a bowl of chicken in front of Taehyung.
“What?” the other asks, bright eyes wide and curious. “You like mustard?”
Taehyung can't for the life of him hold in the chuckle that bubbles past his lips. Fuck, he sounds way too much like a giggly school boy. “No, I don’t like mustard.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Jungkook shouldn’t be sighing so dramatically, in turn causing Taehyung’s stomach to flip. “If you did like mustard I would have taken all this chicken back with me.”
Taehyung can't help but say with a small smile, “but you said no one misses out on fried chicken under your watch.”
Apparently it probably wasn’t a good idea for Taehyung to open his mouth just now because Jungkook’s face drops. He looks disbelieving and you can’t even blame him because when has Taehyung joked around with him the last two times they’ve met? He shouldn’t be joking around in the first place. Hangyeol says it’s childish and unnecessary in the sense that he should focus more on dancing than opening his mouth all the time. He doesn’t like when Taehyung drops a joke, says it is not even funny anyway, and so he’s tried to stop doing that all together. Why should it be any different around Jungkook? The poor boxer is probably cringing right now at the fact that Taehyung’s tried to say something funny and has failed miserably, just like how Hangyeol says he does. His fingers are probably itching to pick everything up and leave, just like Hangyeol says he feels like doing, every time Taehyung opens his mouth and makes a mistake. He’s probably facing second-hand embarrassment at Taehyung’s attempt, just like Hangyeol says he feels, every time he’s forced to walk down the street beside him.
“Sorry, that was-”
“People who like mustard aren’t even people to me.” But it looks like he was wrong. Because Jungkook’s face has evolved once again, this time grinning so large that his bright eyes have disappeared entirely. Taehyung cannot believe what he is witnessing.
Nobody has ever smiled at him in such a way.
Taehyung looks away, suddenly feeling a little out of place. Not because Jungkook is making him feel uncomfortable but just because he doesn’t believe he should be on the receiving end of his jokes and smiles. He doesn’t feel like he’s supposed to be here with Jungkook despite it being his own flat.
“Here,” Taehyung hears, but doesn’t bother looking away from his folded legs.
“I can’t,” Taehyung replies, quite frankly ignoring all that Jungkook had just lectured him about. “I’m on a diet. Fried chicken is one of those things I’m really not allowed to eat.”
“You should take it before it gets cold.” Jungkook ignores him right back.
Taehyung’s head moves unconsciously, in a way that’s way beyond his reach. Jungkook is sitting there on Taehyung’s floor, a plate full of chicken in one hand, a piece of chicken lathered in sauce in the other hand, and two eyes filled with stars. Taehyung likes to think he’s hypnotised into taking that piece of chicken that is being offered to him, taking a tentative bite out of it as if he has no care in the world. As if any thoughts about Hangyeol and his random weight checks are swept from his brain.
“Mm,” he hums, completely unconsciously. His eyes snap open from where they had accidentally slipped shut and he looks at Jungkook with what he presumes are very wide eyes. He hadn’t meant to moan like that, and all that fills him then is shame and thoughts about what he’d done last night. Jungkook didn’t want to hear that, he shouldn’t have had to hear that. He’s going to want to leave now, even more than last time and Taehyung will lose his only chance at making at least one close friend that isn’t a co-star.
But once again, he’s proven wrong when he notices the way Jungkook’s eyes become awfully dark, any sign of stars gone. “I’m sure you can take a bigger bite than that,” he teases, lips curled up at the corner in the most charming smirk Taehyung has ever seen.
Taehyung releases the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Then, without thinking, he says, “I can fit a lot in my mouth.”
Jungkook’s eyes get impossibly darker. “Show me then,” he mumbles, voice lower than usual.
They are once again left in silence after that, as they stare at each other in a competition of sorts. Taehyung’s apartment is pretty dimly lit and the night sky outside isn’t helping much, merely bathing the room in a slight blue tint. Like this, it’s difficult to fully take in Jungkook’s face, all his blemishes and perfect imperfections, all those scars and scabs that Taehyung always finds himself wanting to run his fingers over. Like this, not a single star is in sight.
Taehyung clears his throat, being the first to look away. It’s not that he doesn’t think he’d be able to win this stare off, it’s just that he can’t believe this. He can’t believe that Jungkook has said something so suggestive with not even an ounce of discomfort; not to mention the fact that he’s here with Taehyung in the first place.
Taehyung’s mind is only filled with even more thoughts when he hears Jungkook chuckle, a sound so innocent yet so enticing that he almost isn’t sure what to do with himself. Any uneasiness is diminished entirely when the chuckle is followed by crunching as Jungkook presumably goes back to eating. Taehyung takes that as a green light and immediately digs into his own piece, swallowing down the meat in one go, leaving an empty bone between his fingers. It just tastes so good, fills his stomach perfectly, satisfies all his cravings. He doesn’t think twice before reaching for another and doing the same with that one.
“When was the last time you ate?” Jungkook’s asking then, voice careful like he’s trying not to seem like he’s prying. He’s not because it’s just a simple question. And so Taehyung answers without much thought, more chicken stuffed into his mouth.
“Last night when we brought food.”
“Jesus, Taehyung,” Jungkook breathes out, catching his attention once again. Taehyung doesn’t see the problem, doesn’t understand why Jungkook is looking at him with his mouth agape. So what, he hasn’t eaten in nearly twenty six hours? Hangyeol would praise him for it, a rarity which Taehyung likes to take with pride. Anyway, he’s gone longer.
If Taehyung is so proud of himself for going so long, depriving his body of what it needs, why does his heart race in his chest at the sight of Jungkook loading up his now empty bowl? Why does he take said bowl, scarfing down more and more food while getting words of approval from a man he barely knows? Why do the backs of his eyes sting and threaten to spill salty rivers of relief?
“Taehyung, I’d like it if you ate all of this,” Jungkook admits, very obviously choosing not to mention the sheen to Taehyung’s eyes. “If you want to, I mean, you can have as much of it as you want.”
Taehyung feels slightly guilty, eyes fixed to his crossed legs. “But you bought it. I’m just wasting it all and your barely getting-”
“Food is meant to be eaten. You’re not wasting a thing.” It’s the truthfulness to his words, the softness in his voice. “Anyway, I’m not too hungry.”
“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Why is he still nibbling on the chicken as if there’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing?
Jungkook’s reply is short and to the point, almost like there’s nothing else he could have said. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
☆
It’s one of those days where he doesn’t have to worry about getting up early. He doesn’t have to obey the blinding sun and roll out of bed. He doesn’t have to trudge his way to the gym, hair messy and somehow filled with crumbs from the piece of toast he’d still have in his hand. He can stay in this fetal position, knees tucked up close to his chest - which, mind you, probably isn’t very good for his posture - for as long as he’d like, with no worry about getting to Donghoon’s session on time.
But he doesn’t.
Jungkook is out of bed the second he wakes up, feeling rather energised even after only sleeping for a few restless hours. Even after the damn sun is what has woken him up.
Jungkook doesn’t cook much. He’s much more the type to order in or eat out but cooking isn’t something he’d say he dislikes. When it comes to cooking for a reason other than his own stomach, it’s as if he likes it even more than usual. It’s something he genuinely likes to do for people that he feels somewhat of a connection to, people that make him feel things, people like Taehyung. He has yet to put a name on the feelings he has towards the ballerino and he doesn’t want to say he ‘likes’ him because first of all, it’s way too early for that, and second of all, that’s an emotion way beyond Jungkook’s capability.
Jungkook has definitely hooked up with people before, he’s even made meals for a few of the people he’s been with more than once. But he’s not oblivious enough to not notice that what he has with Taehyung is different.
See, at first Jungkook wasn’t too sure if… whatever this is he’s feeling, was reciprocated or not. He spent way too many hours of the night wondering if the other had also been faking it on the day they drank red wine together, wondering if Taehyung didn’t actually want to dance with him, wondering if those dark, bedroom eyes were a fabricated memory of Jungkook’s (horny) brain. But then yesterday happened. Although there was hardly any of that sensual energy from their wine and dine night, yesterday’s fried chicken night already held a special place in Jungkook’s heart. Because as he had been leaving, the toenail-shaped moon high in the sky, Taehyung had followed him to the door with a seemingly permanent frown on his sauce-stained lips.
“I’ll see you again, right?” he had asked, mirroring almost exactly what Jungkook had tipsily blurted out on their wine night.
Jungkook didn’t even need a second to reply with, “of course you will.”
On today’s menu is something simple, gyeranmari, made with the finest, free-range eggs (from Jungkook’s fridge) and two bowls of rice. The clock merely strikes quarter to eight by the time Jungkook has stuck on a clean pair of sweats and has made it to the lift just down the hallway. He’s careful in the way he carries the tray stacked with food; he really hopes he doesn’t run into anyone right now because he probably looks like a right weirdo, bringing a tray of aromatic food down with him, when most would eat before leaving their house.
Lucky for him, he makes it to the thirteenth floor with no problem, no run in. Within a matter of seconds, he’s standing outside Taehyung’s door, wondering what could be the best possible way to ring the bell without dropping everything. Jungkook must have been a very good man in his past life with how lucky he turns out to be that morning, because all too quickly the door is pulled open and he’s got a face full of what could most definitely be the cutest sight he’s ever seen.
Taehyung is momentarily wide-eyed, mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape when he finds Jungkook waiting at his front door. His hair is not even visible beneath the hood of his brown fleece jacket, wrapping him up and making him look like a huge, cuddly bear. Jungkook takes a moment to wonder, doesn’t he feel hot in that?
“Oh, Jungkook?” the ball of literal fluff asks. It seems to be unconscious, a result of being faced with somebody while seemingly in a rush to leave his house. Jungkook has caught him off guard.
“Taehyung.” Jungkook takes a moment to catch his breath, eyes that had been roaming over the other’s form, coming to latch onto his rich, chocolate brown irises. “Taehyung, good morning.” You take my breath away.
“Oh, good morning. It’s- it’s really early.”
Jungkook shifts his weight between both of his feet. “I- yeah. It’s early. I actually woke up about an hour ago though.” I wanted to see you.
“Really?” Taehyung asks with mild surprise in his tone. Jungkook doesn’t know whether or not he should be offended at the fact that he apparently doesn’t look like somebody who would awaken when the sun does. Even though it is true. “I have practice in a few, so I was just leaving.”
“You’re leaving?” Don’t leave. “It’s just that, I was hoping you would eat breakfast with me.” I don’t want you to leave.
For a moment, there’s nothing between them but the faint breeze of morning summer air, presumably coming from a draft in the hallway. It smells of holidays away from school and eye-watering hay fever, a smell rather distinguishable to Jungkook’s overly sensitive nose. It’s one of his least favourite scents.
“Breakfast?” The faint smell of freshly broken sleep and rushed showers, a smell so obviously Taehyung wafting out from his apartment, is a smell that Jungkook likes significantly more. “You made breakfast?”
And seriously, what the hell was Jungkook thinking? Who in their right mind would unceremoniously show up at somebody’s door, at not even eight in the morning? People have things to do. Nobody is sitting around, waiting for him, and Taehyung has every right to want to leave.
Yet still. “Yeah, breakfast. It’s nothing much.” As if to prove what is already so obvious, he holds up the tray a little higher, directly into Taehyung's line of sight.
The chuckle that Taehyung lets out is surprising, has Jungkook’s heart halting and all. “Most people would ask first,” he points out. “Same goes for dinner, but you insist on skipping the asking parts for both, don’t you?”
“You said you wanted to see me again,” Jungkook counters back.
“I asked if I’d see you again," Taehyung enunciates.
Jungkook purses his lips. “Which insinuates that you wanted to see me again.”
“But I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Are you saying I’m desperate?”
“I never said such a thing.”
Jungkook sighs, hoping that would do at least a little in calming down his rapidly beating heart. Seriously, what is up with that? “I don’t want you to be late, but would you eat breakfast with me?” Jungkook has never been one to beat around the bush. It’s like in the ring, where some boxers will dance around one another for hours, placing no actual impactful punches. Jungkook on the other hand, is always the first to throw a punch, no matter who he’s fighting.
“Now, that’s how you ask.” It’s a little unsettling, seeing Taehyung so playful. He wonders if there’s a possibility that he’s more of a morning person. “Come in.”
Taehyung’s home looks quite different during the day. Any similarities Jungkook may have thought they had while comparing their apartments are completely forgotten. Taehyung’s floor is sparkling clean, not a single speck of dust to be seen. This is the opposite for Jungkook since his floor is always either covered in food crumbs or dirty clothes that he’s put off washing for too long. The curtains are a pure white in colour, pushed aside and allowing every drop of light that the sun has to offer to graze every surface of the room. Jungkook had merely left his grey blinds closed this morning.
“So, why is your sofa and carpet pushed to the side?” Jungkook asks dumbly as a way to fill the silence. Of course he already knows the answer to that but placing the tray down onto the small table, bathed in sunlight, does little to make any noise.
“I’ve been practising,” the dancer says matter of factly, taking a seat first. “It’s sort of difficult to do spins on a carpet and the sofas take up quite a bit of space. So I push them up against the wall when I need to.”
Jungkook hums as he hands Taehyung one of the bowls of rice. Luckily, it’s still warm. “That’s odd. I’ve never heard anything from my room downstairs.” Taehyung raises an inquisitive brow and so Jungkook continues. “When you do your spins and jumps, I mean. Surely, I should be able to hear you landing?”
Taehyung shakes his head. The smirk is evident on his lips in the way they raise ever so slightly in the corner. It’s a new expression. “You would never guess how graceful us ballet dancers are,” he muses, one eyebrow raised in an arch and sharp eyes challenging. It’s attractive.
Jungkook clears his throat. “You should eat,” he suggests, gesturing to the array of dishes. “I made them especially for you.”
Taehyung’s hood has come down now, revealing his curly, dark hair. He uses one slender finger to push back a piece of his fringe that has escaped, carefully tucking it behind his ear. Like this, his whole face is visible, and Jungkook is momentarily left speechless at how perfect he is. His eyebrows, so sharp and expressive, his nose, on the bigger side with a charming mole at the tip, his skin, so glowy and clear, his lips, the prettiest shade of pink and pouty. Even his asymmetrical eyes, one bearing a mono-lid and the other a double-lid, are perfect to Jungkook. An angel. Or even more fitting, a star. A star so beautiful that people would climb a mountain just to catch a glimpse of him.
“I’m not allowed big breakfasts, so I usually just skip.” So, why is it that such a star is made to feel so sad?
“Taehyung, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Jungkook informs after subtly shaking his head to get rid of such unnecessary thoughts. “Especially for you. You’re an athlete.”
Taehyung shakes his head, the small piece of fringe coming loose again. “I’m not an athlete. Ballet isn’t a sport, it’s a form of art.”
Great, now Jungkook feels stupid. “Shit, of course,” he rushes to say because the last thing he wants to do is offend this beautiful man, “I’m sorry. Obviously it’s an art. I know it’s an art and not a sp-”
“I’m just messing with you,” Taehyung cuts in, lips spread into a tiny smile now. “It’s okay.”
Jungkook sighs in relief. He only just barely manages to keep stable eye contact with the other man, while everything in his being is telling him to look away. “You should eat,” he repeats, after the pause in conversation has gone on for too long. “You exert yourself and all your energy into dance. You need to fuel your body if you want to keep going.” Stars explode when they run out of fuel.
“Is that what your coach tells you?” Taehyung’s tone has gotten impossibly more teasing, such an unusual feat for him. Though, Jungkook wouldn’t know because they don’t know each other. Yet.
“My coach wants me to eat anything and everything as long as it isn’t instant ramen,” Jungkook admits. He practically lives for the way Taehyung lets out a sharp breath of air at that. A laugh. “You should eat,” he says for the nth time that morning. “It’s eggrolls, packed with protein. That must be good for dancers, no?”
Jungkook doesn’t give Taehyung the chance to decline again, picking up one of the rolls with his own chopsticks and placing it on the bed of rice. Taehyung stares down at it for a long moment, very obviously contemplating whether or not this is a good idea. He even goes as far as inhaling deeply, letting it back out in a shaky exhale. It pains Jungkook to see the way his hands shake where they rest on the table.
He clears his throat. “Don’t make me feed you,” he teases, in hopes to ease him a little. He doesn’t even want to think about how long it must have been since Taehyung ate fucking breakfast if he’s reacting like this.
It takes a little while longer and Jungkook stays quiet for the rest of it. He goes as far as continuing with eating his own breakfast, in an attempt to not put extra pressure on the dancer. Soon, Taehyung’s low voice fills the air around them as he basically whispers, “I’ll eat well.”
He’s a lot more tentative and careful than he was last night with the chicken. The shaking piece of egg is brought to his lips and he takes a small nibble from it, before humming audibly.
“Good?”
Taehyung nods. “It tastes really good.”
“Do you want to try the rice too?”
From there, Taehyung continues to take small bites of food with words of praise every now and then. He continues to eat much slower than Jungkook has seen him eat previously, taking his time and seemingly relishing in the taste. The way his lips move with each bite he takes is so endearing to Jungkook, makes him feel so fulfilled, that he can’t help but set down his own chopsticks just so he can pay all of his attention to the other. It doesn’t help that the sun shines in through the window right beside them, making Taehyung look extra bright. His eyelashes create beautiful wispy shadows on the tops of his cheekbones, adding to how ethereal he looks.
“Thank you for making me this,” Taehyung mumbles. The second he looks up and makes eye contact, he startles a little, obviously not having expected for Jungkook to already be looking at him.
“No need to thank me,” Jungkook says with a smile. Then he does the unthinkable, before his brain can even begin to try to catch up. He reaches over the table to softly tuck that lock of curly hair back behind Taehyung’s ear, with a quick, “I’d make you whatever you want, whenever you want.”
Taehyung clears his throat and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to wake the fuck up from whatever daze he had just been in. He pulls his hand back, almost like that blazing star has burnt him.
“Oh,” Jungkook says dumbly. Taehyung merely blinks at him from across the table. “You have practice, right?” He quickly gathers all the dishes back onto his tray, already standing up, readying to excuse himself.
“Oh. Oh, yeah.” It’s said just as quickly as Jungkook’s busy hands. “Yeah. I have practice.”
Jungkook’s brain decides that Taehyung isn’t nervously repeating words and speaking quickly. He’s most definitely unaffected compared to Jungkook himself. With that information, he braces himself, leaves Taehyung one last smile, and begins to make his way towards the front door. The last thing he wants to do, is outstay his welcome.
But something about this feels wrong. Something so wrong that it has the ability to halt Jungkook in his steps, and force him to turn back around. Taehyung is standing now, wide eyes fixed on Jungkook.
That one last second of eye contact, is enough to calm the both of them down.
“I’ll see you?” Jungkook says more than asks.
Taehyung looks away then, but the barely there smile stays present at his lips. “Yeah. See you, Jungkook.”
☆
Taehyung runs. He runs down the apartment block stairs, completely ignoring the lift, runs down the street, probably looking like an absolute madman to passerbys, runs past the bus stop that he would usually wait at, runs through the park where little children play with their parents, runs into the dance academy with a mere nod at the friendly receptionist, runs into the changing room and strips himself of his sweaty clothes in order to change into something more appropriate for dance, then runs out into the practice room, the sound of the door slamming open, ricocheting around the room.
His heart is racing, yet it has nothing to do with the fact that he has just sprinted here.
“You’re late.”
Contrary to your belief, his racing heart also has nothing to do with the fact that Hangyeol is here, waiting.
“Hangyeol-nim,” he says, desperately trying to hold back his heavy breathing, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“But you did.”
Taehyung bows his head down, hands clasped tightly in front of him. This is embarrassing. The few other people in the room, his fellow dancers, his teacher, stay silent and watch on as Taehyung gets scolded like one of the children from the park.
“I’m so sorry, I woke up later than usual.” The lie leaves his lips effortlessly.
“You woke up late?” Hangyeol asks, voice rough around the edges. “You woke up late?” he repeats, much louder this time that Taehyung catches a few flinches from the others. “We have a show in less than a month! You have the main fucking part and you think slacking off like this will get you anywhere?”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“This is your fucking career, not mine!” Hangyeol shouts, his loud voice booming around the room and causing the mirrors to rattle. “It won’t matter to me if you finish this show and never land a main role again. It won’t matter to me if you retire ten years earlier than you should be because you’re so fucking useless that nobody wants to cast you.” Taehyung keeps his eyes downcast, staring at his feet as his vision begins to cloud. “I didn’t bring you up here so you could saunter in whenever you like, and make all of these people wait for you. I didn’t bring you up here so you could wake up late, you ungrateful child.”
Taehyung takes a deep breath, hating the way it’s shaky and weak. “I apologise. To everybody in here.” Even with his head down, he knows all eyes are on him. “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful with my time management and-”
“You made me wait and you think I’ll stay now?” Hangyeol cuts in. “You think it’s that easy for you? No. I’m leaving. You can stay here and practise, or you can go home and sleep. I don’t fucking care what you do at this point.”
That catches Taehyung's full attention, forcing him to look up at his manager with wide eyes. “Hangyeol-nim, please. I’m sorry-”
He cuts himself off when he notices it won’t help. Hangyeol is already striding towards the door, smart shirt slowly but surely untucking at the back with how aggressively he walks. Hangyeol doesn’t spare anyone another glance and instead leaves them all with a slammed shut door and then a heavy silence straight after.
Taehyung stays put, eyes back down to his feet.
In the end, it’s a gentle hand on his shoulder that brings him back, and gets him to force the tears away. “Taehyung-ah,” Ms Lim says softly, “he’ll eventually come around. Let’s practise.”
Taehyung nods at her, then nods at the rest of his peers, each with their own pitiful smiles. After all, this is something they’ve all seen one too many times. “Yes, seonsaengnim,” he says. “And I’m sorry everyone, for-”
“There’s nothing to apologise for,” she cuts in, maintaining her soft spoken tone. She’s always been like that, kind and patient, yet still professional with her perfectly tied bun and her extensive knowledge on the art of ballet. “You were less than ten minutes late.”
And that’s true because as much time Taehyung had spent at home, eating, it should have barely affected his punctuality, given the fact that he always wakes up earlier than necessary just to make sure he’s on time. He generally makes sure to arrive at the academy half an hour before class starts and it just so happened that today he didn’t make it.
Taehyung hates to think such a thing - especially after Hangyeol has just stormed out - but he doesn’t regret it at all. The way his heart still beats rapidly in his ribcage, due to a mere touch from somebody he barely knows, is proof of it.
Two claps bring him back to reality. Ms Lim is calling out to everybody to begin stretching and so Taehyung gets to work, trying to steer clear of his colleagues. They’re all lovely, all make the effort to talk to him during breaks, all people he would love to call his friends. But Hangyeol says he doesn’t fit in with them. They’re all smiley, bubbly, talkative. Happy. He says that some of them deserve the main role more than him, which Taehyung wholeheartedly agrees with.
“Okay, okay, that’s great!” Ms Lim shouts over the music, bringing them all to a stop.
After a few hours of dancing to their class routine, it is nearing the end of the lesson. Taehyung drops down onto the floor beside his classmates, breathing deep and heavy. All of them are exhausted by the sounds and looks of it, but in the best possible way, after having spent hours perfecting their performance. After getting words of praise from their teacher, it only makes Taehyung feel even more accomplished, even more confident that this performance will be amazing. He glances at his classmates as they all seem to be thinking the same thing with the way they each send him excited nods. Taehyung allows himself a smile.
“That was wonderful everyone!” Ms Lim exclaims from the very front of the room. She claps a few more times and so does the man that had been playing the piano for them. “I don’t doubt that you’ll be a hundred percent ready within these last few weeks. We’re so close to perfection.”
There’s a few murmurs of ‘aw, ssaem,’ and also a few giggles and laughs here and there as they joke around with their teacher. Taehyung stays silent but he can’t for the life of him, hold back the smile that stays at his lips. He always has fun with them; he has even more fun with them when Hangyeol isn’t present.
“Now, I hate to do this because I know you’re all tired,” Ms Lim says, bringing the jokes to an end. “Your show has quite a few solo performances, so I was hoping we could watch a few? See how our stars are getting on?”
As tired as he is, Taehyung agrees with this. He’d love to watch his peers’ solo performances after mostly spending his time practising alone. It’s Hangyeol’s idea to keep him practising separately from the rest because he says that not only will he stay focused, but there’d also be less chance of somebody ‘stealing’ his moves. Taehyung has tried to argue against it many times, saying that he always enjoys working with others because it’s how he learns best, but Hangyeol has always cut him off, ending the conversation there.
“Taehyungie should go!” Gaeun exclaims, clapping her hands in an excited manner.
“Yeah, we haven’t seen hyung perform in so long even though he’s got the main role!” Wook agrees. He’s wiping at the sweat that coats his neck yet he still holds a massive smile with his teeth showing and all. He goes as far as nodding at Taehyung encouragingly.
Taehyung, slightly flustered, looks down at his neatly folded legs. “No,” he declines quietly, “I was actually looking forward to watching someone else.”
“Come on, Tae!” That’s Haeran, sounding just as adamant as the others. In fact, it’s her contribution that prompts the entire room to start doing the same.
Taehyung’s eyes snap up to Ms Lim, pleading with his eyes to get her to do something. He comes to class three times a week while the others are here a minimum of five days a week. He feels like absolute shit, coming in here, stealing the spotlight that’s supposed to be theirs.
“I- I can’t,” he tries, hoping that’s enough to get the attention off of him. “Eunwoo isn’t back yet. Most of my stage time is with him and-”
“But you do have a few solos, no?” And that’s it. Taehyung feels completely and utterly betrayed. “Come on, Taehyung-ah, we all want to see,” Ms Lim says, that simple yet friendly smile gracing her red tinted lips. “I’ll film it for you and send it to Hangyeol-ssi, just to prove to him that-”
Taehyung cuts her off by standing up abruptly. It’s only once he’s up on his feet that he nods, taking a deep breath in before heading to the centre of the room. Like this, all attentive eyes are on him, even his own as he watches himself in the mirror. But that isn’t the problem. He’s used to having eyes in him, in fact he loves it - it’s part of his job - but there’s a time and place. Now may be the place but it is most definitely not the time. Hangyeol would scold him for showing off things that he can’t even do well, would tell him to sit himself down this instant. This is their practice space and he has no right to take it from them, especially not when he has so much left to work on.
“Around The Lonely Lake, T?” the man at the piano - Samuel - asks enthusiastically, fingers already gracing the keys as if unconsciously, as if he’s been ready for this since the beginning of time. It’s the song that Taehyung is supposed to dance to for his second solo of the show. He’s surprised that Samuel knows of this information seeing as he hasn’t performed it in front of them all before.
“Yes please, Sammy,” Taehyung smiles, setting himself up into position with his right leg outstretched in front of him. “Thanks.”
The low baritone of the piano starts and Taehyung is suddenly not there. Instead, it’s his character from their show, moving around the floor that is his stage, as if there is a lake right there. The dance starts off simple, just him moving around with graceful steps, pushing off every now and then to make it seem like he’s chasing something. Then, as the song starts getting faster paced, he lifts off of his feet completely, leaping in the air using the exact technique that Ms Lim once taught him. Then begin the turns, as he spins while balancing on the tip of his left toes. He spins and spins and spins, barely getting dizzy and once that segment of the dance is over, he spins some more but with a lot less rotations. Finally, he’s down on the floor, reaching out with his hands, pretending to dip his fingers into the most inviting, fresh water ever. The music ends with him lying on the floor in a drawn up position, his character having fallen asleep under the moonlight with the lake water kissing the tips of his hair.
The applause comes immediately. Taehyung uses that moment to stand quickly, bowing at a full ninety degrees angle. He feels awkward, doesn’t know what to do with himself as his classmates look up at him, each with clear astonishment in their eyes. Ms Lim has even gone speechless, her red lips pulled down into a surprised ‘o’ shape as she claps along with the rest of them, phone that had previously been recording, forgotten on the floor.
This doesn’t make sense. They must be overreacting, right? They must-
“And that,” Ms Lim says, having come out of her stupor, “is why I went into teaching ballet.”
“W-what?” Taehyung asks, fumbling around with his hands as she comes to stand beside him. The warm hand she places on his shoulder is enough to get him to stop.
“Taehyung,” she says delicately, “thank you. Thank you for being so humble about your talent then going up there and stunning us all. You’re a magnificent dancer and you should be proud of yourself.”
Taehyung is now the one who’s left speechless. He doesn’t dare look in the mirror in fear of what embarrassing expression he might see on his own face. “Ssaem,” he mumbles, “thank you, but-”
“I don’t care, Taehyungie,” she cuts in, though her tone stays gentle. “No matter what you say, it won’t change what I’ve just seen, what we’ve all just seen. You’re amazing at what you do and I know you’ll go a long way.”
“Tae, that was fucking sick!” Haeran exclaims, her pony tail swishing around from the force of his head movements. Her white teeth are on full display, so much so that it’s almost blinding.
“Language.” Ms Lim has never liked cursing in her classroom.
Not that anybody cares. “Fuck, watching that makes me even more excited for the show now, hyung!” Wook laughs, jumping up to pat Taehyung on the back. “Guys, imagine that with his costume, his hair and makeup done- fuck!” His words only cause more squealing and excitement.
As his colleagues- his friends, gather up around him and chatter his ear off, he can’t help but think the unthinkable.
Maybe he belongs here more than he thought he did.
☆
“A guy called Park Kangmin.” Areum doesn’t waste time and instead gets straight to business as she sits herself down on the bench.
This place stinks of sweat, hell, the bench is probably covered in it and other bodily fluids, and it definitely isn’t the place for her and her freshly ironed, plaid trousers. Yet she doesn’t seem to give a shit.
“Noona, really?” Jungkook asks, breathing heavily as he tries to wipe up as much sweat from his body as he can. He doesn’t want to smell bad beside her! “Let me catch my breath at least.”
“Same category as you,” she continues, completely ignoring him. “He’s originally from Gwangju. Less wins than you.”
Jungkook sighs. He sends Donghoon a pleading look but the man merely shrugs, before pulling something (that looks suspiciously like a cigarette pack) out of his jacket pocket and legging it out of there. Just like Jungkook, he’s scared shitless of Areum.
Areum pouts down at the notes written in her phone. “Beating him should bring you more attention before the main championship fight in a couple months. It could bring your fan base up by about seven percent.”
“Wow, seven perfect,” Jungkook says sarcastically.
“Shut up,” she hisses, punching him on the arm and barely flinching at the salty wetness that now coats her fist. “That’s a lot and you know it.”
And it is. Of course he knows it is. Such a boost for his followers can bring him a lot more attention than his opponent and possibly even more sponsors. But he won’t admit to it.
“But a fight next week means less preparation and strength for the actual championships,” he argues, leaning back against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. “I’ve never done more than two fights in a month.”
“Jungkookie,” Areum says, now turning to face him and look him in the eye. “This is massive. I know you’ve never done this before but there’s a first time for everything, right?” Areum pauses, then picks up the towel - now completely soaked in sweat - and wipes away at Jungkook’s forehead, no care in the world, not even for her perfectly manicured nails. “You can say no if you really don’t want to do it, but I believe in you, Kook. I know you can do this.” Now that the usual manager-ness of her stare is gone, the assertiveness, the confidence, all that is visible are her dark circles and drooping eyelids.
“Thank you, noona,” Jungkook expresses genuinely. The smile he gets in return is all he could have ever asked for.
“That’s okay,” she assures, shaking her head as if she hasn’t worked her ass off for this. “It my job to-”
“No, really. Thank you for everything.” He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, why he’s feeling so emotional all of a sudden.
(Jungkook won’t admit to anybody that he knows exactly why and that it has everything to do with the most despicable man - a so-called manager - he’s ever met. A man who doesn’t appreciate the most ethereal beauty to walk this earth. A man that doesn’t allow someone basic human needs. A man with disgusting sweaty hands.)
“What is this? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“What?” Jungkook splutters, spitting all over Areum’s face in the process. He never would have expected such words to leave her lips.
Areum wipes the wetness from her cheeks with a scowl at Jungkook. “I said, do you have a boy-”
“I heard what you said!” Jungkook cuts in loudly. “But what does it have to do with anything?”
Areum’s shiny red nails come up as she strokes her chin. “Ah, so I was right. You do have a b-”
“What? No!” Jungkook's face feels way too warm at this point in time. It feels like the sun waking him up in the morning all over again. Just in case you’ve forgotten, he hates that and the feeling that accompanies it. “I don’t have a b- I’m not dating anyone!”
Areum chuckles impishly. “See! You can't even say the word. That means there must be something going on.”
“There’s nothing going on,” Jungkook sighs, looking down at his trainer clad feet now, unable to hold eye contact with her anymore. “There’s just someone I’ve been eating with recently.”
“Eating with?” she asks snarkily.
“Dinner and breakfast. Sometimes.”
Areum laughs that whole-hearted witch cackle of hers. “No lunch?” Jungkook shoves her when she pushes her shoulder against his teasingly. “Speaking of lunch, I have to go and meet Siyeon at the café downtown. I hope this ‘someone’ of yours becomes someone.”
“That literally makes no sense,” Jungkook scoffs, shoving her even harder as she stands up.
“Next Thursday is the match,” she reminds him, already heading past the practice ring and towards the reception area of the gym. “Also I wish you luck. I know it’s that time of the month that eomeonim likes to call you.”
Jungkook groans before replying sarcastically with, “thank you so much for reminding me.” But by then, Areum is already gone.
And as if she’s heard it, all the way from Busan, as if she’s been listening in on their conversations, as if she can read minds, his mother is calling him up that very evening. Actually that’s a lie. For the first time in a whole year, she’s calling him up in person, arriving in the form of a doorbell.
Jungkook has just stepped out of the shower, - with the intention to go and visit Taehyung later in the evening - a towel wrapped tightly around his waist when he hears it. At first he has no idea who that could possibly be because a quick reality check reminds him that A: both Areum and Donghoon don’t ring because they know the lock code, and B: he has no friends that would come to see him.
So, as shameless as he is, he pulls open the door without actually putting clothes on or even looking through the peephole first.
“Eomma!” he shouts, taking a few steps back and helplessly covering his nipples with two of his fingers.
“Oh, adeul, how have you been?” Jeon Jangmi asks, not even waiting for a reply and nonchalantly leaving behind her polished, stiletto-heeled pumps at the door and replacing them with the spare house slippers, before walking into the apartment as if she owns the place. She doesn’t seem to be as embarrassed by Jungkook in his practically naked (if not for the towel) state as he is. “I got the chauffeur to stop at that Chinese restaurant you love.” Jungkook groans. That place costs hundreds and thousands of won. The last time he ate there, he was fifteen years old. “I’ve brought all your favourite dishes and- oh my, what is this mess?”
Jungkook hurriedly shucks some clothes on. “Eomma, please, it’s just-”
“I told you, I could hire you the best maid in the country. Somebody to clean, cook, do your laundry.” Miss Jeon places the food onto the table before shrugging off her royal blue blazer. She places the fancy article of clothing onto the back of the chair with utmost care, looking as if she's handling her newborn baby instead of a mere jacket. She gestures to the other chair then, in a way that Jungkook just can’t decline.
“It’s nice to see you, eomma,” he says, taking a seat and immediately helping her pull out the dishes, “but, what brings you here?”
Jangmi gasps melodramatically. “What? I must have a reason to come and visit my son?”
“Well, this is only the fourth or fifth time you’re visiting me since I moved four years ago,” he insists, trying his best not to come across as defensive. “You usually just call me on the phone, so why?”
Jangmi is poised in the way she brings food to her mouth, wiping away at her lips with a napkin after each bite. She waits until she’s swallowed and wiped before speaking. “I wanted to see if you were still living in such an environment. Seriously, adeul, I’ve told you multiple times that I could buy you the best apartment in Seoul. No need to worry about rent or anything like that.”
Jungkook only just barely manages to contain a groan. It’s the same conversation every single time. “And I’ve told you, eomma. That’s not necessary because I’m happy here. And you don’t need to worry about money, I’m-”
“It’s just that, never in my life would I have expected my son to live in a place where his bed and dishwasher are practically in the same room!” she exclaims, apparently very offended at the mere thought let alone actually being in said room.
“Eomma, I don’t even have a dishwasher.” Jungkook regrets it the second it’s out.
“What?” his mother gasps, her chopsticks dropping down onto the plate as she uses a perfectly manicured hand to cover her agape mouth. “You’ve already tainted your beautiful skin with those tattoos of yours and now you’re telling me that you willingly hand wash your dishes?” she asks, utterly disgruntled at it all. She’s shown her distaste towards Jungkook’s tattoos but it’s been a while, he has to say. “Goodness, remind me to book you in with my nail technician. She does amazing cuticle treatments and-”
“Eomma, forget it,” Jungkook cuts in, giving up on the dumpling entirely as he lets his own chopsticks fall down onto the plate. He’s lost his appetite and as much as he loves his mother, he wants nothing but for her to leave and go back to Busan.
Luckily, she doesn’t continue on with the topic. She does glance around every once in a while with clear disapproval laced on her otherwise pretty features, but it’s okay. Jungkook is used to it. And he should expect nothing less from his mother who has grown up surrounded by wealth and fortune. In a way, Jungkook should be the same. He should be freaked out at the thought of living in a tiny apartment where the heating doesn’t work half the time, but he isn’t. In fact, he likes it here much more than their mansion back in Busan, with hundreds of doors that he hasn’t once been through, too scared as a child and too indifferent as an adult.
The end of that conversation brings about a silence. Finally, Jungkook thinks as he goes back to stuffing his face with the admittedly delicious food. If it stays like this for the rest of the evening, chances are, Jangmi will leave with the promise to visit again soon, even though Jungkook will know that isn’t true. But with all the luck he’s been facing recently, apparently the universe has other plans for him as his mother starts speaking again.
“So, adeul, when will you be going back to university? Isn’t it time to start thinking about joining eomma’s firm?” There it is. The blasted question doesn't fail to come up at least once during every single one of their ‘catch-ups’; in a way, Jungkook had gotten way too comfortable thinking it wouldn’t this time. “I mean look at our Jonghyunie. He’s a successful lawyer at Jeon Enterprise, married the beautiful Somin - who mind you, is the daughter of the most prestigious furniture company owner in South Korea - and they have even given me two beautiful grandchildren.” Two devils in Jungkook’s opinion. “And I know you enjoy that game you play but-”
“It isn’t a game. It is far from a game, you know that, eomma,” Jungkook argues. He doesn’t want this to turn into an argument because he hasn’t seen his mother in a while but this was bound to happen, right?
“Okay, I know,” Jangmi tries, voice coming out softer than it had been. But Jungkook knows it’s all for show. “But think about it, Jungkookie. Throwing punches at somebody else’s son isn’t really a living is it? That won’t bring you good money and it most definitely won’t bring you a beautiful young lady to marry. Oh dear, the others from the committee already say so much about you, worry about how you’ll be able to keep yourself stable if you don’t join the company like your brother did.” She pauses, seemingly realising something, before gasping melodramatically. “Is this about money? Eomma will send you all the money you need and then you can go to university, continue your law degree, get-”
“This has nothing to do with fucking money!”
Jungkook really didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to explode at his mother in a way that will most definitely upset her. But he has no choice at this point. All it’s ever been for Jangmi is money, money, committee, money. Never once has it been what Jungkook wants to do. Sure, she was rather forgiving when he’d first told her that he’d quit university to pursue boxing, sending him a large sum of money each month as an allowance despite how much he declined. She’s been trying to understand what boxing really entails, insisting that she’d seen a match or two of his online. But since the very beginning, she’s only been showing pseudo-support, a tactic that she obviously thought would eventually encourage him to come back to law.
“Have you ever wondered why I live in a place like this?” he continues, voice causing the thin walls to rattle slightly. “It’s because I don’t want you to think I need your money. I’m living in a place like this, a place you so obviously hate, because I worked hard to be here. I pay for it myself, not an ounce of your precious money is going to waste, so don’t worry.”
“Jungkook. Don’t you dare speak to me that way. You think I didn’t work hard to get to where I am?” His mother is using her warning tone now, pointing a manicured index finger at him. “I worked every day and every night to build this for you and your brother. Your asshole of a father was never really your father and that was obvious since the day you were born- no, since your brother was born. It was obvious since he insisted the both of you keep my last name and not his. After he left, things only became harder but I still did it, Jungkook, I worked every single day.”
“Eomma, you’re not seeing the point.” Jungkook puts a hand over his forehead, massaging it slightly to get rid of the ache building up. He is in no way discrediting his mother’s hard work because he for one is proud of her. “You don’t even ask me what I want. You just do things in hopes that those old fuckers in the committee don’t think bad of our family or whatever. I didn’t ask to go to uni, yet you still enrolled me there, only because you wanted me there.”
“Jeon Jungkook! Those ‘old fuckers’ have the power to end me. One little mistake and my entire firm will crumble down to pieces-”
“See, that’s your issue. You care more about that firm of yours than you care about your own son.” He hates this, hates arguing with her like this. But it’s been a long time coming. “Even if it does crumble to pieces, you’ll still be rolling around in won bills because we’re lucky enough to come from a family of fortune. But you don’t seem to care about what would happen if your own son crumbled down to pieces.”
“Jungkook… what do you-”
“That year I spent at uni was the most miserable year of my life,” Jungkook admits, voice dropping down to a mere whisper. “All those smart, ambitious fuckers surrounding me, while all I could do was wish to wither away because of all the anger and the f-”
“Don’t.” Jangmi’s words don’t cut him off, but the sudden glossy coating over her eyes does. “Don’t say that, Jungkookie. You can’t-”
“But it’s true!” he shouts, uncaring for the scratchy ache in his throat. “And you didn’t think once to ask me anything because you were so fucking occupied with that damn firm.”
“Jungkook. I’m so-”
But Jangmi is cut off by the buzz of Jungkook’s doorbell, a sound so loud yet so brief that it leaves them struck speechless for a moment. Jungkook can’t believe that he has had two people at his door in the span of two hours when he hasn’t had even one in the past year.
What he can’t believe even more, is who he finds on the other side of that door.
“Taehyung?”