Chapter Text
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Wild Geese , by Mary Oliver
❄
Someone once told him twenty-seven is the greatest age before the thirties. Taehyung still doesn't understand why. Perhaps twenty-seven is that middle ground. You are not that young anymore, but you’re not thirty yet, the age you have to have your shit together. So, maybe twenty-seven is the last call to make something of your life.
Seven days have passed since he finally turned twenty-seven, and Taehyung still doesn’t have the vaguest idea of how to do that. To make something out of his life.
Taehyung also hates the pressure.
He likes to take his time to feel, to know, to breathe. Just like now, while he's staring at the painting in front of him. The thick layers of oil-based ink took several days to try, forcing the artist to wait until adding a new coat. If Taehyung isn’t mistaken, the artist — a young woman from Turkey — said to him it took her thirty-seven days to finish this piece. Without the waiting time, it should probably take her four to six days to finish the painting. Basically, all she did to conclude the artwork was waiting.
It makes Taehyung think that waiting years to have a good life is not so bad. Most good things take time. Maybe he doesn’t enjoy numbers that much, to quantify how long it takes for something to happen, how many years you need to accomplish something. Maybe Taehyung likes to notice time passing by seasons, by fruits changing in the produce aisle, by new artists showing up, by listening to how long a song lasts.
Maybe that’s why Taehyung is still here. Not counting the time, but giving it time.
Taehyung blinks a few times, shoves his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his desk. The laptop in front of him screams for his attention. He knows he has to update the spreadsheets with information about the new work they just received, but he can’t avoid daydreaming for a little bit.
Winter months are not the best for more commercial art galleries. London is soggy and grey most of the time, the sharp wind scares the customers and the tourists. Everything is slow, and Taehyung appreciates it because when it is cold outside, it means all the windows and doors are sealed and then there’s a comfortable silence. It almost feels like nothing can disrupt him.
The cup of tea he made a few hours ago stares at him, and he takes a sip. It is cold and bitter — tastes a lot like his life — but he continues to drink it anyway.
A ruffle of cold air bursts inside when the door is opened, the street noises invading the quietness of the gallery. It’s a violent disruption, makes Taehyung jolt in his chair. The confusion lasts for a couple of seconds, just until he cracks his neck, pushes a big smile to welcome the new visitor.
“Welcome,” he says. The other man replies with a short nod and a matching polite smile. He looks younger and fancy in his black slacks, black turtleneck, and long black overcoat. Taehyung watches with careful eyes as the man stomps his wet boots on the rug and steps inside, inspecting every inch of the space.
Taehyung knows better than to just go and offer help. Most people just come to look at the art displayed and leave, so he waits, eyes focusing on the screen in front of him again.
His attention doesn’t last in the numbers and names, the presence of the stranger too strong to go unnoticed. He has a stark beauty, not an obvious one, though. His nose is a bit too big, but Taehyung thinks a big nose builds character. His eyes are huge and black, almost doe, makes him think of a baby deer and the dark universe.
It’s probably too soon to say it, for Taehyung can’t really see his body, but he can tell the man is well-built. Not that he is paying too much attention to the way his thighs hold the fabric of the dark slacks perfectly, or how his shoulders are large. He is definitely not looking for someone right now.
As much as he knows better, Taehyung finds himself standing up, hands shoved in the pockets of his beige slacks. In two seconds, he is beside the stranger and in front of the same painting he himself was contemplating earlier.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” says Taehyung.
The man seems to not have noticed he was so close because he cracks his neck, body going slightly rigid like he is spooked.
“Huh?”
“The painting.” Taehyung points at it, fingers aching to touch the texture on the canvas. As an art historian, he more than understands why you cannot touch it. His fingers tingle every time he gets close to an artwork, nonetheless. There is something about tactual feeling art that could never compare to just watching it. “I find it beautiful, don’t you?”
The man’s eyes drag slowly from the painting to Taehyung, as if he is reluctant to take his gaze off the canvas. But it seems he can’t resist looking at Taehyung, either. His big dark orbits are enough to engulf Taehyung’s whole body, penetrating, maybe trying to recognize him from somewhere else.
Taehyung stares back. Feels like floating, like drowning.
“I— I guess so,” the stranger replies with a low voice.
If Taehyung didn’t know better, he would think the stranger is nervous.
Taehyung cocks his head to the side. The man observes the painting with big eyes, lower lip trapped in between his teeth, a hint of uncertainty in the way he stands in front of the work.
He can say with confidence that he is not someone very familiar with this kind of art.
He decides to ask anyway. “Are you interested in something?”
Like it is the stupidest question he has ever heard, the man looks at Taehyung with raised brows. “Actually, yes.” His answer contradicts his face, but then he adds, “Inspiration.”
His eyes sparkle under the dull white light of the gallery. He stares openly at Taehyung like he is intrigued by him, when, in fact, it is the complete opposite. The stranger is a loud presence in the room, his dark clothes contrasting the whiteness of the environment, the sterileness of it.
“Oh,” Taehyung looks interested. “Do you paint?”
The man then snorts a gentle laugh that is more like an amused breath. It is a nice sound. It fills up the silent gallery, just like his presence does. He shakes his head, soft dark hair dangling.
“No. I write.”
If Taehyung thinks he is doing a good job of hiding his confusion, the stranger clearly thinks the opposite, because he adds, “I am writing an essay about a man who doesn’t see beauty in anything.”
Now that he has spoken a full sentence, Taehyung notices they share the same accent. None of them dare to not speak English anyway.
Taehyung gapes, a wrinkle growing on his forehead because he still can’t get it. “And how looking at beautiful things will help you with that?”
The man shrugs, darting his gaze once again to the colourful painting in front of him. Taehyung traces the lines of his face, his sharp jaw, the present nose, his slightly swollen eyelids.
If he needs to look at beautiful things, he should be looking in the mirror.
When the stranger turns back to him, his eyes are so intense that now Taehyung is the one to look back at the painting. Suddenly, the controlled air of the gallery seems too thick, the sterility of the environment contaminated with something unknown, but very intense.
“It helps me understand what he is missing in life,” he replies.
Taehyung hums, pulling at his earlobe. “I can’t grasp how someone could not find beauty in anything.”
“Neither do I,” the man replies, his eyes burning holes in the side of Taehyung’s face.
He finally turns, finding the courage to face those black orbits again. He shifts in his stance, more intrigued by the second. “And how can you write about something you don’t understand?”
“I think writing about it helps me figure it out,” the stranger says. He licks his lips slowly. Taehyung notices how he has this small mole under his lower lip, and darts his gaze back up again because there are too many details. Too many distracting details on his face.
“Right.”
As if deciding this is enough, the man steps to the next painting. The urge to follow him consumes Taehyung, but the gallery phone rings at the same time new people cross the glass door. He is forced back to reality and walks to the front desk with the same welcoming smile.
By the time he finds himself free again, he looks around in search of the man, but the gallery is just an empty stale space again.
❄
The wind is sharp.
Taehyung loops the caramel scarf around his neck, burying his chin in the soft fabric. Tapping his feet on the frozen pavement, he waits for Jimin outside of the cafe. He can see through the glass doors that he is talking to a young girl, probably the new barista he mentioned he is training.
He could get in and wait inside, even though the cafe is already closed — perks of being friends with the manager —, but Taehyung appreciates the cold biting his cheeks. His mom says it is because he was born in the winter. That’s why he can endure low temperatures, can find joy in the freezing cold.
Probably it is the familiarity winter brings. When it is cold, London reminds him of home. The naked trees, the grey landscapes, the long coats, and the hot drinks. It’s all very comforting, all very known to him, and the feeling of familiarity in a strange place is priceless.
He saw early in the forecast that it would snow tonight, but when he turns up to the sky, the white mass of clouds looks the same as every day. Snow in London is rare, like one of those flowers that only bloom once a year. Global warming is making it even worse. He can’t help but think he would like this place more if it snowed frequently. In all the years he has lived in this city, he can count on one hand the amount of time the streets turned white. He can count the number of times he felt truly comfortable in this sharp cold that is all but white.
When he looks inside again, Jimin is coming his way, a large smile and soft eyes on his tired face.
“Sorry to make you wait, baby,” he says as soon as he closes the door behind him, pulling Taehyung in a tight embrace. “Where are Namjoon and Seokjin?”
“Didn’t you check the group chat?” Taehyung asks, tucking one black lock behind Jimin’s ear.
“I didn’t have time,” Jimin says, and then raises both eyebrows, his eyes open wide. “Oh shit, did they get it?”
Taehyung bites his lower lip to contain his smile and nods enthusiastically, watching as Jimin fumbles with his gloves to unlock his phone.
“Oh my God, it’s happening!!!” Jimin yells when he reads the group chat, slapping one hand over his mouth in shock. When he tears his eyes from the screen, he launches forward, looping his arms around Taehyung’s neck, and starts jumping and spinning. Taehyung lets out a loud laugh, letting himself be dragged in this weird swirling in the middle of the sidewalk. He throws his head back and feels the warmth of Jimin’s body and his happy laugh. “We’re gonna be fucking uncles!”
Taehyung squeals back in excitement, reliving the warm feeling of seeing the message for the first time. He did it a couple of hours ago at work, and yelled in the middle of the gallery, almost giving Virginia a heart attack.
This is the furthest in the process Namjoon and Seokjin have gotten after more than two years of trying to adopt a baby. They had already taken the mandatory course, done all the medical examinations and police checks, and Taehyung and Jimin were happy to be their referees in a very long interview process.
In Taehyung’s humble opinion, they were the perfect candidates: married, with good, stable jobs and a beautiful home in Tooting Bec. Nonetheless, the waiting list for newborns was huge, and it could take years for the agency to find a good match.
“I know!” Taehyung yelps, holding his friend by the shoulders. He takes a deep breath, trying to do what Seokjin and Namjoon advised, “But let’s remain calm, it’s just a meeting, we don’t know anything yet.”
“Who wouldn’t want Namjoon and Seokjin as parents? I surely want them to be my daddies,” Jimin jokes, letting go of Taehyung and starting their way down the street.
Shaking his head in disapproval, Taehyung bumps him in the shoulder. “They’re a respectful family, Jimin-ah.”
“I’m nothing but respectful.” Jimin glares at him. “Come on, I know they aren’t coming, but this shouldn’t stop us from celebrating. Maybe tonight is the night.” He pokes Taehyung in the ribs.
Taehyung squirms and tightens his coat around his torso, breathing a foggy laugh in the cold.
Jimin has been insufferable about finding someone for him for months now, but Taehyung is not in a hurry. He’s not looking forward to speaking love in English anytime soon.
If he is honest with himself, he doesn’t believe there is love for him in this city anymore. At least, not a British one. He is surprised after everything that happened, Jimin still believes he could find it. But he can’t blame his friend, Jimin has always been the most romantic out of the two of them, always waiting for that kind of ravishing love that knocks the air out of your lungs, sweeps you off your feet. Taehyung would rather have it serene, like a juicy peach on a nice summer afternoon.
Being alive is enough of an adrenaline rush sometimes.
So he’s giving his heart time. To heal, to be open without being torn apart.
“I assume you already have a place in mind,” Taehyung says as Jimin takes the lead and turns left.
“I love how well you know me.” Jimin turns on his heels, firing finger guns at him with the same silly smile on his face.
❄
Taehyung’s lips are on someone’s mouth. He’s not sure who, and doesn’t really care. As soon as their mouths touch, he questions himself what he is doing. He feels what was supposed to be softness in his tongue, but his brain registers it as dryness. Hands are grabbing his waist, squeezing like they want to pull a piece of flesh with them. Taehyung grimaces, pulls away, mumbles something about going to get a drink, and leaves the faceless stranger behind.
He sighs, smacks his lips to get rid of the rough sensation.
Jimin is nowhere to be seen, probably found some soft warm lips for himself. Taehyung drops his body on a bar stool, orders a pint, says cheers, mate, like people around here do. He doesn’t remember when pubs became places for parties. He isn’t sure it has at all, maybe this is just one of Jimin’s findings. It looks like a pub, it has tables and booths and dark walls, but there’s also sort of a dance floor, although Taehyung feels so weird he barely registers the music.
There’s also an excessiveness of wood around him. Wooden floors, wooden panels, wooden chairs. He misses a less pompous environment. Plastic stools and precarious round tables. He misses the smell of fried food and cigarettes and people yelling in a familiar way. British people yell weirdly, loud but contained.
His eyes search for Jimin once again, they aim for colourful, but find darkness. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothes. His heart does something funny, but he keeps staring at the familiar face until it stares him back and it flashes with recognition, walking his way with a drink in hand.
“Hey, you’re the gallery guy, right?” The not-so-stranger with big doe eyes who makes Taehyung think of deers and the universe smiles at him, waving a hand.
Taehyung can’t help but smile back. He is as beautiful as the first time he saw him, but his expression is less severe this time. Maybe it’s the dim lights of the pub, casting a different glow at him. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is wet and pink, and Taehyung thinks that’s what soft lips should look like.
Fate is not a concept Taehyung is fond of. He doesn't like to believe his life is predestined. It sounds too much like he doesn’t have a choice. If anything, he likes choosing, likes to think he has some control even over it. So, instead of assuming it’s fate, Taehyung chooses to interpret it as coincidence, meeting this stranger again.
“Hi, you’re the inspiration guy.” Taehyung bounces in his seat, takes a sip of his beer. Why is he being so antsy? It’s just a beautiful man.
The familiar stranger chuckles, shyly scraping his nape. The fingers rubbing his skin are tattooed, delicate little dark lines. “Hey, sorry about that day.”
Taehyung looks confused, cocks his head to the side to make it clear he is not following. “About what?”
“You were trying to talk to me and I was being evasive.” He sits down on the stool beside Taehyung, turns his body to better face him, and adds, “I tend to be very quiet when I’m in the middle of a creative process.”
Licking his lips, Taehyung squints. “Aren’t you always?”
“What?” The man doesn’t expect the question, seems to ponder what Taehyung means and answers, “Quiet? No.”
“No, I mean in the middle of a creative process,” Taehyung says, tracing lines on the sweaty glass of beer in front of him with his fingertips.
The man chuckles lightly. “Yeah, you can say I am.” He drinks his beer, a long gulp that makes his Adam’s apple bob. “Are you an artist yourself?”
“Me? No, no,” Taehyung shakes his head, waves his hand. He can’t stop speaking with his whole body. This man makes him want to move. “I’m on the other side, I study your kind.”
“Oh, mad scientist, then?” The man raises one eyebrow. “Should I be worried you’re going to run tests on me?”
Taehyung laughs, feeling light, comfortable for the first time with a stranger since he arrived in this country. Maybe it’s the accent, it has to be. “I’m a grad student in Art History. Well, sort of. Now I’m just working at the gallery you went to the other day.”
Understanding flashes through the other man’s face, and he hums.
“I’m Taehyung, by the way.” He offers a hand but retracts it immediately. Who offers a hand after holding an entire conversation?
The man looks down at his retracted hand, trails his eyes back up to Taehyung’s flushed face, and smiles.
“Taehyung,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable slowly as if just to taste how it sounds in his mouth. Somewhere in Taehyung’s chest, something comes alive. It feels a lot like he’s hearing his name for the first time. “I’m Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you,” he says in Korean.
His voice sounds different, lower and fuller, less nasal. Sounds like the voice of someone who is whole.
“Oh. Jungkook,” Taehyung says his name too. He likes to say that name, it fills his whole mouth, doesn’t leave empty space on the corners of his tongue like Jack or Josh. It is sort of obvious, but he asks anyway, “How did you know?”
“I could notice the way your Vs sounds more like Bs,” Jungkook replies, smiling. “But also, Taehyung is an extremely Korean name.”
Taehyung feels his cheeks warming, too aware of everything. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s slightly embarrassed by his accent, or because he just heard his name slipping from Jungkook’s tongue like raw honey.
The music that Taehyung hadn’t noticed before starts pumping, drunk people pass by them yelling part of the lyrics. He grimaces, and Jungkook seems to notice.
He stands up, tilts his head to the door, and says, “Wanna go outside for a bit?”
Taehyung grabs his beer and jacket, and trails after Jungkook. When he steps outside, the cement on the floor feels rough on the soles of his boots. The cold air fills his nostrils, freezing his lungs. He opens his mouth and fog comes out of it, he giggles to himself, loves to see his breath condensing when it leaves his warm mouth and meets the coldness of the outside world. As he takes a long sip of his drink, Taehyung is suddenly glad British people don’t drink cold beer.
It’s almost silent when compared to the pub. It is always silent in the winter.
Taehyung asks how long Jungkook has been living in London, and is surprised to know he hasn’t been here for long. He seems too comfortable to be a newcomer. Maybe some people just fit into places, are just born to belong to them even if they were born somewhere else. Taehyung would feel jealous of it, but with Jungkook, he can’t find it in him to feel anything but interest in finding out more.
So he does. He does find out that Jungkook is an international correspondent for a Korean newspaper, but his passion is creative writing. He’s about to celebrate his first anniversary in London, or with London . He lives with his cousin who moved to England many, many years ago, who is probably more English than Korean by now. In return, Taehyung tells him about his moving three years ago to get a PhD, and then how he took a short leave and now doesn’t know anymore. He cuts that topic, though, doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, he talks about his job as an assistant in the gallery, about his love for art but how it can be weird sometimes to love something so complex and volatile, to have to deal with big egos, big people, big money.
The more he talks, the more he realises how glad he is to speak Korean, especially so late at night, when his English usually starts to give up on him. He tells Jungkook how happy he is, over and over, and Jungkook laughs, probably thinking he is silly, or a little bit drunk. Taehyung doesn’t care, he is very silly indeed and a bit drunk too. And he likes it better to be silly and drunk in his mother tongue.
The freezing night sky weighs over them, thick clouds like white velvet. The promise of snow hanging over them. But London is always cloudy, so he looks up every now and then, hoping it becomes more than a promise tonight.
“How’s your piece going?” he asks after they talk about all the basic questions one must do when meeting a foreign friend for the first time. Do you like London? Where are you from in Korea? What food do you miss the most? Do you want to go back home? Jungkook answers: yes, Busan, Samgyeopsal, no. Taehyung answers in return: sometimes, Daegu, kimchi jjigae, where’s home?
Jungkook looks confused, downs the rest of his beer, places the glass on the floor, and rubs his cold hands.
“The one about the person who can’t see beauty,” Taehyung supplies, probably way too aware that he shouldn’t be remembering those details.
“Ah, that thing?” Jungkook’s eyes smile before his lips like he is glad Taehyung remembers. Taehyung feels the restlessness inside his stomach quieting down. “I gave up on that idea. Ended up writing about a person who can only see beauty in the most mundane things.”
“Oh, really?” Taehyung finds this more interesting, less sad. He needs something less sad. “Like what?”
Jungkook thinks for a bit, leans back on the brick wall, watches Taehyung with careful eyes, and speaks with even more careful words. “The character can’t find beauty in a Van Gogh piece, or in a Hollywood star's face, you know, obvious concepts of beauty?”
“Like Leonardo DiCaprio in the 90s?” Taehyung says before he thinks. He’s not even drunk, not yet, but he seems incapable of stopping being silly. Maybe it’s the freshness in the air, the promise of snow. As soon as the words come out though, he shuts his mouth, purses his lips in a thin line, waiting for Jungkook to cringe.
He doesn’t.
Jungkook laughs delightfully, and relief floods Taehyung’s body instantly. What a good sound, he thinks.
“Yeah, like DiCaprio in the 90s.” He pauses, the smile lingers on his face. “Instead, they think a bee knocking on the window is the most beautiful thing they have ever laid eyes on, or that a stranger passing by on the street looks like the most fascinating face they’ve ever seen.”
“The details, then?” Taehyung adds, thinking Jungkook has a beautiful face, but his brain looks even more gorgeous.
Something cold lands on the tip of his nose, he crosses his eyes to meet a white snowflake. When he looks up, more of the white flurry falls, swirls in the cold air, and melts on the ground. It is cold, but it still feels like a hug.
“Yeah, always the details,” Jungkook says, looking up at the sky.
❄
The third time he meets Jungkook, Taehyung is having a bad day. One of those days in which everything goes wrong. You wake up after a bad night of sleep, drop the box of cereal on the floor, and almost miss the bus to work. He is tired, that kind of tired you can’t put words together, in any language.
But he has to, and it is a disaster. Three years living abroad and he still struggles, mixes up the don’ts and doesnt’s, has a hard time pronouncing the word month — what’s with English and its obsession with ending words with th?
His shift is almost over now, but he swears to god that if someone else tries to chat with him, he might short-circuit.
He checks the clock, only five minutes until Virginia arrives. He twists his torso, one hand pushing his left knee to help the motion. He hears his vertebrae cracking, one by one, like cherry tomatoes popping in the mouth. It feels good.
The door opens, bringing the cold winter air inside. Taehyung tenses, feeling his spine crumpling again after the stretch. He hopes it’s not another visitor, prays for it to be Virginia arriving early, although she never does. When his eyes land on the man stomping his boots on the doormat, Taehyung feels the weight of the day dissipating in the air.
“Jungkook-ssi,” he says, and it tastes so good in his mouth to not need to elongate any R s to pronounce a name. Jungkook smiles back, almost shy, like he was caught doing something wrong. He is in all black again, same long coat, but a fluffy sweater and black jeans this time. His long dark hair is messy, reaching his cheeks wildly. It’s probably windy out there. “Looking for inspiration again?”
It’s been a couple of weeks since they saw each other at the pub party. Taehyung didn’t offer or ask for a number, Jungkook even less. There was this familiarity amongst them that made him forget they barely knew each other but made him sure Jungkook would show up again, like old friends always do.
“Don’t think I’m ever not looking.” Jungkook's smile grows, dark eyes soft on Taehyung, making him feel warm as if the cold air had turned around and escaped through the cracks of the door, finding its way back to the freezing day. “Please, just Jungkook is fine.”
He walks around the gallery, and Taehyung follows him with his gaze. Jungkook stops at a new painting, one that arrived after his first visit, and pretends he is not there to see Taehyung. Well, maybe he isn’t.
Thirteen more minutes pass, Virginia arrives rambling apologies for being late — not very British of her. Taehyung says it’s okay, he always says it’s okay. He slips both arms into the sleeves of his brown cocoon coat, gets his messenger bag, but instead of walking out, he goes to the back of the gallery, where Jungkook is absorbed in looking at a sculpture.
Just like the first time, Jungkook doesn’t notice him right away, and almost jumps back when Taehyung asks, “What is it that you’re writing about now?”
“Still not sure, but I want to use synesthetic imagery,” Jungkook replies, eyes locked on the object in front of him.
“Synesthetic as in using all senses??” asks Taehyung, cocking his head to the side.
Jungkook turns to face him, tucks a wild dark lock behind his ear. “Yeah, using them to describe something. Like when you say a voice is chilly grey to mean it’s husky. But it goes beyond that,” he supplies. “The plan is to use these ideas throughout the whole text, to explain the characters and the environment in a nonconventional way.”
Taehyung hums, he likes the idea, and thinks of how he rather uses nonconventional terms to understand his movement through the world. He doesn’t think of it as synesthetic, though, thinks it is just living with his whole body.
“How would you describe what you see right now?” Taehyung asks, looking at the sculpture.
“Snowy aura, sounds like warm honey ginger tea on Sunday evening,” Jungkook replies in a heartbeat, eyes trained on Taehyung, the sculpture completely ignored by his side.
“What does that mean?” Taehyung tries to grasp all that from the glass form in front of him, and fails to think of how a sculpture could sound like sweet tea.
Jungkook shrugs. “Something that is fresh and delicate, but carries itself with some sort of sweet melancholy.”
Taehyung looks at the sculpture and back at Jungkook’s dark orbits. That’s a little too specific for a shapeless form, but he doesn’t contest.
“Isn’t sweet melancholy another synesthesia?” Taehyung cocks his head to the side.
Jungkook laughs a breathy laugh, it rolls to Taheyung’s ears like molasses. Maybe synesthesia is indeed a good tool for navigating the world. “I guess you can only experience the world with all the senses, then.”
After that, they silently look at more pieces. Or, Jungkook looks at more pieces, Taehyung just looks at him. He traces the shape of his face with his eyes, breathes in the soft vanilla smell mixed with fabric softener that comes from Jungkook, and wonders why he is so intrigued by this man. They barely know each other, yet Taehyung wants to stay close for a few more minutes.
They end up staying close for a lot more than a few minutes, and when Jungkook notices Taehyung has a bag and coat, ready to go home, he suggests walking together to the nearest bus stop.
The sky is cloudy and charged as they walk, and when they stop, checking the sign that says his bus is going to arrive in three minutes, Taehyung feels an emptiness he can’t quite explain.
“I should get your number, you know,” Taehyung says, eyes still focused on the electronic panel. Three minutes. He doesn’t have much time. He tucks one strand of hair behind his ear, lets his fingers slide until it reaches his earlobe. He pulls it a couple of times before he lets his hand fall by his side again. “So I can let you know when a new piece comes to the gallery.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, Taehyung feels his stomach flutter. Jungkook smiles large and Taehyung is hypnotised by his grin, the emptiness all gone. It’s almost like every inch of his body is being filled by a thousand flapping wings. Terribly silly of him.
Jungkook looks at him curiously, and thankfully doesn’t comment on the fact that he probably doesn’t need to know about new pieces. “I’d love that, give me your phone,” he says anyway, stretching his hand.
Taehyung gives him his phone, the tip of his fingers lingering against Jungkook’s palm. For a moment, he wishes he could replace the phone with his own hand, press the soft flesh of Jungkook’s palm, trace his life and heart lines with his fingers just to find out how long and curvy they are. To find out what they say about his future.
While Jungkook adds his number, Taehyung wishes the bus is delayed, stuck in traffic, or lost in streets that look all the same. He wants to suggest walking home, but he doesn’t even know where Jungkook lives, doesn’t think it’s wise to walk a couple of miles in this cold.
Jungkook gives him back his phone, and he looks at the screen only to find that Jungkook has already texted himself, just a simple “hi”, written in Hangul. Taehyung grips his phone like it’s the most precious thing, and before he can say anything, the bus is already stopping in front of him.
He moves awkwardly, not sure if they should hug, shake hands, bow, or simply wave, but Jungkook is moving at the same time, raising his index finger and pointing at the tall, red vehicle.
“Well, that’s me,” Jungkook says.
“Oh.” Taehyung stops in his tracks. Fate cannot be a thing, but coincidence is also becoming too weak to describe what is going on. He wonders if that would be written in the lines of Jungkook’s hand, only if he knew how to read them. “Me too!”
“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me for a little longer.” Jungkook grins, gesturing for him to hop on the bus first.
Taehyung chooses a seat on the second level, lucky enough to find the one in front of the windshield, and Jungkook follows suit, plopping on his side.
“Have you lived in Hackney Wick since you got here?” Jungkook is the first to break the silence.
Taehyung follows the curves on the road in front of them for a moment before turning ever so slightly. He notices he has never been so close to Jungkook before, the darkness of his eyes threatens to pull him in.
“Yeah, it was the only good location with ‘reasonable’ rent prices,” Taehyung says, air-quoting the word because he knows rent prices in London are anything but reasonable. “I found a pretty decent one-bedroom. Plus, the first time I saw the canals, I was sure I never wanted to live in any other borough. What about you?”
“Ah, it wasn’t much of a choice. I guess I told you the other day I live here with my cousin Yoongi,” Jungkook says, bending his leg on the seat and turning just slightly to better face him. “He owns a townhouse in the neighbourhood so I moved in with him. That’s the only reason I can afford living in London,” he chuckles a laugh.
“He owns a house?” Taehyung gapes.
“Yeah, his parents came here more than twenty years ago and they bought a house when it was still possible to do so in this city,” Jungkook replies with a shrug. “Now my uncle and my aunt retired and moved to the countryside, but he stayed. Even with the distance, my parents remained very close to his, so yeah, he tolerates me living there.”
“Wow, that’s pretty lucky.” Taehyung’s eyebrows are still raised in surprise.
“Yeah,” Jungkook says vaguely, finally facing the road in front of him, hair falling on his face.
Jungkook’s knee brushes Taehyung’s thigh when he shifts, and the slight touch makes Taehyung completely aware of his whole body. What does he do with his hands? How does he breathe so close to Jungkook?
Jungkook looks serene, so serene it’s almost like one of the paintings Taehyung likes so much. A kind of serenity that is almost unsettling, makes Taehyung nervous, makes him think that this should be awkward, to sit beside a man he barely knows but surprisingly already feels so close to. But it isn’t. Instead, he wants to just trace every crease and ends of Jungkook’s body with his eyes and fingers. He curls his hands into fists, not because he’s tense, he’s just being cautious. He doesn't want to do anything inappropriate, like to accidentally tuck one strand of Jungkook’s hair just because he can’t stop thinking of how soft it looks.
It’s a weird, warm feeling that he hadn’t felt in so long. It makes winter feel balmy
It takes a few stops for Jungkook to talk again, and Taehyung feels like he can breathe once more, he is too close to his stop, doesn’t want to leave on a silent note.
“You know when you’re talking with someone and the conversation dies and you don’t know how to start it again?” Jungkook asks, tucks the black strand behind his ear, the subtle gesture makes Taehyung think he moves so graciously he could be a contemporary dancer. He is glad he wasn’t the one doing it because seeing Jungkook moving like this is a sort of a privilege.
“Yes,” he replies, but it tastes sour in his mouth, a dreadful sensation of rejection although he doesn’t even know if Jungkook has offered him any acceptance at all.
“I feel that with you it never dies,” he smiles shyly, not glancing back at Taehyung, like he is just thinking out loud and not holding a conversation. “I mean, it does, but I feel a lingering continuity, like I can keep talking or not, because it won’t feel uncomfortable either way.”
“Oh.” Taehyung blinks at him, the sourness melting into sweet, sweet honey in his mouth. He presses his lips into a thin line, suppressing a smile, and raises his shoulders, feeling giddy all over.
His stop is getting closer, and he shifts in place to indicate that he needs to get off. Jungkook mumbles something about living two stops further, and when Taehyung leaves his seat, holding onto one of the safety hoops above his head. He feels soft fingers circling the wrist alongside his body.
He looks down, Jungkook and his big dark orbits are facing him.
“We should meet again sometime.” He smiles, front teeth slightly pressing his lower lip.
Taehyung smiles as if his life depends on it. “I’d love that.”
The small pressure on his wrists is gone and Taehyung waves goodbye, still feeling the shadow of the prints on his skin.
When he gets off the bus and walks the close distance to his flat, Taehyung can smell fresh snow even before it starts falling. He wonders what kind of coincidence is this? That fact Jungkook brings the snow with him. He wonders what is this feeling that makes him feel like Jungkook gives him nothing while giving him everything.
❄
The smell of Seokjin’s food is, perhaps, the closest thing to familiarity that Taehyung has in London. He isn’t quite sure if it’s the sesame oil or the fact that the house is always warm and filled with conversation, but whenever he comes over for dinner, Taehyung feels a little at home.
“The mother is lovely, but so young,” Namjoon says, sipping the red wine that leaves his lips stained.
“Don’t forget to tell them she absolutely loves the fact that we are gay!” Seokjin yells from the kitchen counter as if the dining table wasn’t in the same room. Taehyung likes that they didn’t want a proper dining room, eating in the same room the food is made has always felt more intimate, more lively.
Namjoon rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his smile. “Well, yes. She was overly enthusiastic about the possibility of the baby being gay too.”
“The times have indeed changed,” Taehyung whistles, followed by a small laugh.
“Yay progressive straight people,” Jimin mocks, raising one fist in the air before lowering it to fix the cutlery on the table.
“Jimin-ah, I swear to God if you mess my table again.” Seokjin points a knife at him, eyes narrowed. Jimin looks caught, raises his hand in defeat, and plops himself on the chair beside Taehyung. “But yes, people might as well make a line to have us as daddies!”
“Oh, I would—”
“For the love of God, no!” Taehyung clasps a hand over Jimin’s mouth, and Namjoon and Seokjin cackle.
“That ship has sailed, darling.” Namjoon winks and Jimin groans. His voice shifts, goes all warm when he says, “We are soon to be fathers, can you believe that?”
It’s the way his eyes glint at the simple mention of the idea that makes Taehyung’s heart soar. Sometimes, he thinks that if there is someone who deserves all the good things in the world, that someone is Namjoon.
“You’re gonna be the best father,” Taehyung says, leaning forward over the table to pinch his cheek.
“What about me?” Seokjin walks over with a steaming pot and an offended expression.
“Eh.” Taehyung shrugs, earning a death glare from Seokjin.
“Don’t forget I still have time to put an extra ingredient in your food, little brother.”
“Do you mean extra loooove?” Taehyung bats his eyelashes angelically.
“I think he means poison, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon replies in a concerned tone.
“Oh, babe,” Seokjin laughs at his husband’s innocence. He looks at the table and places his hands on his hips, checking if he has everything he needs then claps his hands. “Okay, shall we?”
They move fast. Seokjin’s food is the type of food you jump right into, eat with your eyes, your nose, your mouth, and your heart.
There is something funny about replicating the taste of home in a different country. The ingredients are the same and the recipe is the same, but it must be something in the water that makes the taste always almost there, never really there. But even so, each bite takes Taehyung back to a home that doesn’t really exist anymore. A home that has more to do with a flavour than a specific location.
It’s not late in the night, but Jimin and Seokjin are already fighting over the last digestive cookie and Taehyung feels warm and full, and a little tipsy too. Good company might be intoxicating, he has been finding out lately.
“Oh, you know what?” Jimin says when he finally settles for breaking the cookie in two. “Remember Danny, my bank manager?”
“Why should we know your bank manager?” Namjoon asks, frowning.
“Maybe because you’ve met him at least three times by now?” Jimin looks at him with a defiant eyebrow.
“Oh, you mean Danny with the loud, weird laugh ?” Realisation crosses Namjoon’s face, and Seokjin snorts, looking at Taehyung with eyes that say I love him so much but also why is he like this?
“Exactly, that Danny, so,” Jimin continues, leaning forward on the table and biting a tiny piece of his cookie. “His birthday is coming up and he invited us to the party.”
“That’s so thoughtful of him, considering Namjoon doesn’t even know who he is,” Seokjin cackles, earning a glare from his husband. “Count us in! We gotta enjoy our freedom while we can, you know, go crazy.”
“Sure thing, I’ll keep that in mind once you’re yawning at ten,” Jimin deadpans, shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth.
“I don’t even know why I keep inviting you two brats over. Seriously, no respect for your elders!” Seokjin points two crooked fingers at them and leaves the table, walking with his head held high and a puffed chest.
Rolling his eyes, Jimin turns to Taehyung. “You, Tae?”
“Can I bring someone?” Taehyung blurts out without even thinking. The only thing is that this is a complete lie. He has been thinking, thinking so much about Jungkook and how to see him again since they last met.
“Uuuuh.” Namjoon waggles his eyebrows. “Seeing someone, Taehyung-ah?”
“How come I don’t know about that?” Jimin’s jaw goes slack.
“No, I am not seeing anyone!” Taehyung adds too fast to be believable, even though it’s true. He shifts in his chair, clears his throat, feeling like dinner is still stuck there. “I just met a guy… A Korean guy.”
“Invite him!” Jimin blurts out, too fast to be casual.
“You don’t even know him,” Taehyung counters, gulping the rest of his wine to see if the lump in his throat goes away. He is not even sure why it is there in the first place. He thinks it makes sense somehow, all the ways his body reacts to Jungkook. “Wouldn’t it be weird? To invite him to a birthday party of someone he doesn’t even know?”
“Considering he is not the only one who doesn’t know the birthday boy, I think he is good.” Seokjin points out with a shit-eating grin and a new bottle of wine in hand.
“Oh, dear god, I will never hear the end of it, will I?” Namjoon mumbles, already reaching for the bottle to pour him some more.
Jimin ignores the banter and turns to Taehyung with curious eyes. “Just tell him it’s a house party, you know Danny won’t mind at all. They live in a townhouse with a backyard for a reason.”
A sprout of something nice and warm grows in Taehyung’s chest, and it’s silly, so silly he has a hard time containing his excited smile. He simply nods, biting his lips and Jimin looks at him like he can see it all. And Taehyung knows he can.
❄
There is no coincidence this time. It’s a choice. He is here to meet Jungkook.
For some reason, Taehyung feels his hands clammy even though the sunny day is not enough to warm up the cold air around him. He opens the heavy glass doors only to find the familiar mess of dark hair inside, seated in one corner of the broad hall.
Smiling instantly, Taehyung steps inside with a newfound confidence.
Jungkook doesn’t notice him, completely focused on writing something in an old notebook, the pages worn out and filled with endless words in dark ink. He looks lost in his own thoughts, just like the first time they met. For a moment, Taehyung is afraid of interrupting, so he tightens his grip on the straps of his tote bag, debating internally if it’s better to say hello or simply sit by his side. Before he can decide on what to do, Jungkook is looking up at him.
It’s the way the smile stretches on his face that does it for Taehyung. He has never seen someone look at him so gently.
“Hi, Taehyung! You came,” Jungkook says his name plainly, no honorifics attached. Just like it came to the world. He drops the pen on the open pages of the notebook when Taehyung approaches. His fingers are stained with black ink, and there are red marks from his grip around the pen.
“Of course I did.” Taehyung looks at him confused. “I was the one who asked you to meet me, why wouldn't I come?”
Jungkook shrugs, and it’s quiet for a while as he closes the notebook, shoves everything on his black messenger’s bag. He rises to his feet and they start walking towards the lift. Taehyung says he likes to start from the top floor and make his way down, it’s a thing for him, and Jungkook doesn’t judge his mannerisms.
The ride up to the seventh floor is silent. It could feel awkward, but then Taehyung remembers when Jungkook told him their conversations never got to that point, and that’s enough to soothe the growing restlessness inside him.
“Wow, this is a nice place,” Jungkook finally says when the lift door slides open with a ding, and he peeks at the glass windows that offer a view of the whole city.
“Hmhm, I really like it here,” Taehyung says, getting in line for the cafe. “And they have good coffee too, but don’t tell Jimin I came here,” Taehyung jokes, but Jungkook tears his eyes from the view and cocks his head, frowning.
“Who’s Jimin?”
“Oh, right. My best friend. He is a manager at a coffee shop,” Taehyung explains, waving a hand in dismissal. “He’s very concerned about where I get my morning fix.”
“I’m assuming you go to Costa more often than he would like.” Jungkook smiles, cleaning a fake sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Taehyung laughs freely. “Considering he wouldn’t like it at all, yes.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it in between us.” Jungkook winks jokingly, but it brings that funny feeling back to Taehyung’s chest and he forces himself to focus back on what to order.
The coffee is nice, as expected, but even better is to see how Jungkook’s eyes light up at the sight of the St Paul’s Cathedral on the other side of the Thames. Even against the never-ending sea of cranes standing tall under the morning sky, it is breathtaking. Especially with the early sun casting an orange light on the landscape. Better than paying to go up on the London Eye, Taehyung thinks and says so out loud.
“You can say a lot of shit about London, but you cannot say this place isn’t beautiful, right?” Taehyung adds with a sigh.
“I never say shit about London.” Jungkook smiles, taking the plastic lid off his coffee cup and blowing the liquid inside. The steam swirls up, and Jungkook pulls his face away, scrunching his nose up.
“Give it time, it will grow on you,” Taehyung teases, tilting his head towards the lift. “Come on, we didn’t come here—”
“Oh dear, I am sorry to interrupt. I’ve been noticing you both and I couldn’t hold myself,” an old lady with grey hair tied in a banana bun interrupts. She looks over her shoulder, waves a hand at an old man waiting a few steps behind. “Honey, come here, look at them, how cute!”
Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other in confusion. The cup of coffee in Taehyung’s hands burns his fingers, but he doesn’t have anywhere to place the drink right now.
“Sweetheart, don’t bother them,” the man says, giving them an apologetic glance.
“Ah, nonsense, I am simply intrigued, honey.” She continues talking to the man, but her eyes are now focused on Taehyung and Jungkook. Her smile is broad, crooked and yellow, and looks more predatory than gentle. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice you were talking in a different language and I was dying to know which one it is.”
Stifling a polite smile, Jungkook says, “It’s Korean, ma’am.”
“Oh, how delightful. See, honey? I said it was an Asian language,” weird smile lady says as if their faces didn’t give that away. “Korean is similar to Japanese, right?” Her face lights up with the question. Somehow, she probably thinks she is being very smart now, which is uncomfortable and cringeworthy to see, but it is even worse to experience, Taehyung thinks.
He clears his throat, shifts the weight of his body from one leg to another. “Not really, just some grammar similarities.”
“Ah, wow, I am impressed. Your English is so good, too. Right, honey?” Old lady tells her husband, who gives her a pointed look. “I am always in awe of people who can speak more than one language. I couldn’t say anything in a different language to save my life.” She laughs, clasps her hands in front of her body, and Jungkook chuckles, offering her a constipated grin.
Taehyung, on the other hand, is holding a laugh so hard his body trembles to keep it. Maybe it is the way the banana bun lady talks to them like they are kids, maybe it’s the false humbleness of her tone, maybe it’s her total lack of good sense.
“Well, you two have a lovely day, my dears.” She smiles even bigger, which is even scarier in Taehyung’s opinion. She even pats Jungkook on the shoulder while Taehyung waves a faint goodbye to her.
“What the fuck was that, honey ?” Jungkook says the last word in English when he turns on his heels, eyes wide and mockery dripping on his tone.
Taehyung finally laughs, has to cover his mouth when the sound escapes his mouth louder than expected. If the woman notices he is laughing at her, he couldn’t care less.
“White, British people and their love for the ‘exotic’, honey .” Taehyung air quotes the word, rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. It’s been three years, he should be used to that by now.
“Ugh, isn’t her complete lack of good sense endearing?” Jungkook says, voice one octave higher, then blinks at Taehyung, a silly smile spreading on his beautiful, beautiful face. “ Honey .”
“And her English is so good, I’m in awe that she can speak one language at all, sweetheart.” Taehyung mocks, making a face that has Jungkook giggling. Taehyung laughs, wholly, takes a sip of his tea. His voice returns to normal when he says, “The worst is that she probably thinks she is being very nice by paying attention to two Asian boys.”
Jungkook resumes their stroll, but guides them to the staircase this time, shrugging just slightly. “At least she stopped to compliment us, and not to yell for us to get back to our country.”
“Well, honey, maybe I should go there and give her kudos,” Taehyung jokes, the bite in his tone not directed at Jungkook at all. “You know, just for not being a total bigot.”
“I’d actually love to see you doing that.” Jungkook looks at him defiantly, brings his drink close to his mouth, the coffee cold enough now for him to take a large gulp. He holds the door open for Taehyung when they reach the sixth floor. “But something tells me you’re too nice to be sarcastic with a poor, old lady.”
“Oh, what tells you that?”
“Your English must be very good, honey, but you’re still very much Korean. You were born and raised to respect your elders.” Jungkook winks, passing Taehyung to once again hold the door open, this time for the sixth-floor gallery.
“You say it as if you were not,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and Jungkook simply laughs, not offering a proper rebuttal. The lack of response makes Taehyung wonder if, despite sharing a language and a culture, Jungkook feels less Korean now that he is here.
A couple of floors down, Taehyung learns that Jungkook is a good listener just as much as he is a good talker. He glows while listening to Taehyung talking about all the art pieces in front of them, even when he doesn’t have much to say beyond a couple lame opinions about hating obvious art. Jungkook simply listens like he is sharing precious information with him.
The Tate Modern has always been Taehyung's favourite place in London since he arrived. It is the transformation from a power station to a museum that intrigues him. To think of its harsh, industrial exterior in contrast with the vibrant, modern interiors. To think of all the ways something can change while remaining the same.
He loves to bring people here, even when they are not as interested in art as him. The building itself is an event, and the permanent collection is so diverse that Taehyung thinks it’s impossible to not have even a little bit of fun.
Luckily, he can feel that Jungkook is enjoying it as much as he is.
“Don’t you wish you could feel it?” Taehyung says when they approach one particular painting that has so much texture it should be a sculpture.
“I guess?” Jungkook cocks his head, but he is looking at Taehyung, not the painting at all. “Doesn’t that ruin the whole idea of art preservation, though?”
Taehyung breathes out a laugh. “It certainly does, but it would give people a whole new experience. You don’t just see a Pollock, you can touch a Pollock.”
“Is that why you are not doing your PhD anymore? They kicked you out for reckless behaviour in a museum?” Jungkook jokes. “Should I be worried about being seen with you?”
It is funny how it doesn’t sting when Jungkook’s voice says it. Maybe he has healing properties. Maybe Taehyung is too comfortable around him.
“Oh, shut it,” Taehyung laughs, and smacks him on the shoulder, noticing how hard Jungkook’s body is, the complete opposite of his soul. “You say that because you can touch all the books you read, you don’t just look at them from a distance.”
“But words, unless you can read braille, you cannot touch either,” Jungkook says in return, walking to the next room. He does this a lot, moves while he talks, and knows Taehyung will follow. There is nothing rude about it, it is almost like he expects the conversation to exist in the flow.
“But you can say them out loud, feel with your mouth, change the intonation. You can also hear them. In a way, you can do that with video art too, but paintings? The most classic form of art we have? All you do is contemplate from a certain distance.”
“Isn’t that enough sometimes? Contemplation.” Jungkook says, there’s something almost meditative in his tone. “Keeps us grounded.”
Taehyung thinks of everything that keeps him grounded.
Warm tea. Jimin’s laugh. The first bite in a croissant. The noise of running water. Jungkook’s voice.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
It isn’t until much later that he has the courage to say it.
Taehyung has postponed as much as he could, but as they reach the first floor again, feet echoing in the open hall that is now crowded with people, he knows there won’t be a better opportunity — or another one at all.
Jungkook pockets his hands in his cargo pants, shrugs his shoulders in a way that suggests well, what do we do now? but doesn’t say anything.
“So, are you doing something next weekend?” Taehyung asks as if he is just continuing a previous topic, trying to disguise how his stomach is flipping inside him.
An easy smile grows on Jungkook’s face, not wide enough to scrunch up his nose but it makes his cheeks rise up. “Already missing me, honey ?”
“Don’t get so full of yourself yet, hon. ” Teehyung laughs. “It’s just that a friend is having a party and I thought you could tag along. If you want to,” he adds fastly.
“Next weekend?” He seems to look for something in his mind, squints his eyes slightly. “Oh, that’s the weekend after Yoongi’s birthday!”
Taehyung tries to not let the disappointment he feels when his stomach starts to drop a little bit be visible on his face when he asks, “Is he doing something?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Jungkook’s answer is so welcoming that his shoulders fall. He didn’t even know he was tensing them up in the first place.
“Well, then bring him along!” Taehyung almost squeals. “It’s gonna be Danny’s birthday, too, we can all celebrate together.”
Jungkook blinks. “And Danny is…?”
“Oh, right! The guy who’s having the party.” Taehyung feels slightly stupid for constantly name-dropping, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to think of it as a flaw.
A lopsided grin forms on Jungkook’s face, and he cocks his hips to the side. “So you’re not only inviting me for the birthday of someone I don’t know, but you’re threatening to ruin his celebration by also making it into a double birthday party? I can’t believe it, honey!”
“When you say it like this, it really sounds bad.” Taehyung ponders, tapping his chin with two fingers. An idea crosses his mind, and he flicks his fingers in the air when he says, “Or, we can all see it as an opportunity to make the party even bigger.”
“I’m in,” Jungkook adds too fast to be true.
“Oh, perfect!” Taehyung feels so enthusiastic he bounces on his feet like a kid. Then he pauses, raises one suspicious eyebrow. “Wait, what convinced you?”
“Annoying Yoongi, of course.” Jungkook smirks, full of teeth and mirth. “He is going to absolutely hate having strangers sing happy birthday to him.”
❄
Taehyung knew Danny’s house would be big, after all, he shares it with three other friends. What he didn’t expect was to see himself in a massive townhouse backyard in a bonfire party situation. Sparkles twirl up against the dark sky as the loud rock n’ roll plays on a portable speaker. An improvised table stands precariously in a corner, its legs wobbly with the incredible amount of alcohol they've managed to put on top of it.
“Legally speaking, can we have a bonfire in the middle of the city?” Jimin asks, leaning too much weight on one leg and holding a glass filled with a strange orange liquid.
Danny laughs loudly, it reverberates through the backyard, and Namjoon was right, he does have a weird laugh, but it is very much contagious. It makes his pink birthday tiara wiggle.
“Of course, Tom here works in the City Hall,” he replies, patting a blond man with a pointed nose in the back and pulling him close.
“Yeah, in IT.” Tom pushes his glasses up in his nose and rolls his eyes. “Don’t see how that’s related.”
“Eh, details.” Danny waves a hand in dismissal. “Tom, you remember Jimin, right? And Tae.”
They smile and wave at each other, but Danny is already going on. “I see Joon and Jin over there, but where are the other friends you said were coming? I got a spare birthday tiara and everything!”
“They should be arriving,” Taehyung says nervously, checking his phone just to reread the same message from forty minutes ago.
He goes for another drink, just to ease his nerves. There is no reason to feel like this, but he can’t avoid the small flips going on inside his stomach.
He is finishing filling his cup with cheap beer when he hears Jimin squealing and Danny whistling. Taehyung laughs, shaking his head, it doesn’t impress him that they are friends at all.
When he turns, though, he faces what they are excited about. Jungkook is standing awkwardly in the backyard with a short man with sharp eyes, waiting by his side. Jungkook seems to be introducing himself and the man who must be Yoongi. Taehyung walks in strides, afraid of what Jimin might say in his absence.
“Oh, so you are the mysterious Korean guy,” Jimin says, sizing up Jungkook. When he’s done giving him a once-over, Jimin turns on his heels very ungracefully, widens his eyes, and mouths at Taehyung he is pretty!
Except he is not as subtle as he thinks he is and Yoongi snorts, bumping shoulders with Jungkook. The tips of his ears get red, and Taehyung feels his own face acquiring a similar colour.
“So, Jungkook, I see you’ve met Jimin,” Taehyung says in an annoyed voice, then gestures a hand to the side, “These are Danny and Tom.”
“You can call me JK. And happy birthday!” Jungkook shakes their hands politely, and gives Danny what looks like a bottle of whisky, and the man offers another wolf whistle in excitement.
The lights in the backyard are precarious. Illumination coming from the house and the huge bonfire, but there’s something in Jungkook that makes him look absurdly pretty under any bad lights. Especially tonight, when he is in a black turtleneck that hugs his chest beautifully and a leather jacket. His hair trapped in a purple beanie, making his huge eyes look even bigger. It does very little to help the stomach flips.
“I am assuming you are Yoongi,” Taehyung says. “Happy late birthday!”
“Ah,” Danny interjects. “So you’re the other birthday boy! Stealing my thunder, eh, mate?”
Yoongi goes livid, glaring at Jungkook who holds a laugh with his whole body. It is clear he is doing a very poor job when a snort escapes his nose.
“Yes, this is Yoongi,” he adds, pushing Yoongi forward in their little circle. The short man almost recoils at the attention and throws daggers at Jungkook with his eyes. Jungkook’s face splits into a wicked grin. “Who certainly knew I told you all about his birthday.”
“Ey, no need to be shy, mate,” Danny adds, seeming oblivious to the fact that Yoongi is not shy but pretty much pissed at Jungkook. “The more the merrier, right? I got an extra tiara and everything for you. DOOOOOUGIE?!”
Yoongi groans audibly, and Jimin laughs by Taehyung’s side. His friend looks like he is having a blast, lips puckered in a pout, eyes narrowed in interest, gawking at Yoongi like he is a cute prey.
Someone yells from the other side of the bonfire, and Danny continues, “My mate Yoons here is not matching the birthday boy attire!” Danny smacks Yoongi’s back and jolts him even more forward.
“There's really no need,” Yoongi finally replies in a perfect British accent, his low voice sounds more bored than pissed. “And it’s Yoongi.”
“Nonsense, Yoons,” Danny replies loudly, smiling in a way that evidences his big front teeth.
A pretty man with long caramel blond hair appears out of thin air in a ridiculous skater outfit too large for his small stature. He’s holding a pink tiara similar to Danny's.
“There you go, Yoons,” Dougie replies in a nasal voice, putting the tiara in Yoongi’s head at the same time he shoves a cup with a suspicious drink in his hands.
“I am sorry about them, Yoongi.” Tom looks apologetically at him, and then at Jungkook. “He’s thirty but he hasn’t reached puberty yet.”
“It’s truly fine,” Jungkook replies with a shit-eating grin. “Yoongi here was dying to celebrate his birthday.”
“I was totally not,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath. It comes out too loud and everyone laughs.
“Oh, poor thing,” Jimin says in a mellow voice, stepping closer and rubbing his palm up and down Yoongi’s biceps. “Let’s get you a better drink than this. No offence, Dougie, but this looks disgusting. Talk to you later, Jungkook. Now if you excuse us.” He winks too suggestively and drags Yoongi to the drink table.
“JK, please make yourself at home, I’m glad you came,” Danny side hugs Jungkook, a smile so wide Taehyung thinks it’s impossible to not like this man.
“Yo, Tom, Danny, Dougie!” A voice shouts from the porch, and they all turn to find a man Taehyung was introduced to earlier, Harry. “Do we have light bulbs? The loo is completely dark and I’m afraid of what might happen.”
“Er, Tom?” Danny turns to the blond man at the same time Dougie slowly walks to the other side of the yard without a word, waving at someone who isn’t waving back.
“Good God, I’m not the only person living in this house!” Tom throws his hands up, walking towards the said house.
“But you’re the mother!” Danny groans, following him.
“I am not the mother!” Tom says, stomping his feet on the floor as they head inside.
“They are quite a group, huh?” Jungkook laughs, watching both men.
“Finding out live, just like you,” Taehyung says, shifts on his feet, and finally, finally looks Jungkook in the eyes and smiles. “Hey, honey . ”
“Hey, honey.” Jungkook scrunches up his nose, eyes reflecting the light of the bonfire in a way that makes Taehyung think of fairies and fireflies. His skin glows, almost like they are under ultraviolet light. “Sorry I’m late, convincing Yoongi was harder than expected.”
“That’s okay, Jimin is making him pay for his sins, I believe,” Taehyung tilts his head to where Jimin is throwing himself at Yoongi. “Let’s get you a drink, you need to meet the others.”
One drink turns into two, and Taehyung introduces Jungkook to everyone. In a group, Jungkook is a lot more introverted than Taehyung had expected, and listens to everyone attentively. And oh, how much Seokjin and Jimin love a good crowd.
“And then a couple of days after I went there to fix this woman’s computer, I got a call from Namjoon saying his computer also needed fixing,” Seokjin explains with wide gestures and a dragged voice. He gulps his beer and continues, “Which you know, was weird because he could’ve just asked the first time.”
“Except that I couldn’t,” Namjoon chimes in.
“Yes, because his computer was fine the first time,” Seokjin adds with a full bodied laugh. “He clicked on a lot of suspicious links and got all sorts of viruses just so I could come back and fix it for him.”
Taehyung has heard this story at least five times, but he still laughs like it’s the first.
“Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, add him on social media like normal people do?” Yoongi deadpans.
“This would not make a good story, Yoongi,” Seokjin points out, giggling. “And that’s the story of how we met, and also the story of how Namjoon lost all his files and almost got fired.”
“But I also gained the love of my life, so worth it.” Namjoon raises his glass, clicks it to Seokjin, and leans in for a quick kiss.
People coo, and Taehyung catches Jungkook looking at the couple with an adoring face. He lifts his cup to take a sip, and that’s when their gazes meet. It is fairly quick, maybe one or two seconds, but his eyes are so warm, it makes Taehyung forget they are outside on a cold night.
“Yeah, you are both disgustingly in love, we all get it.” Jimin rolls his eyes and gulps down his drink. “Now, I have a suggestion for us.”
“Here we go.” Seokjin throws his head back.
“Let’s play a game!” Jimin claps his hands in front of his body. “I think we need to know each other better.”
Seokjin is the only one who expresses some excitement, but it doesn’t discourage Jimin.
“What do you suggest?” Jungkook asks.
“Fuck, marry, kill!” Jimin’s voice comes out high-pitched, and Taehyung laughs.
“How the hell will that make us know each other better?” Yoongi raises a brow.
“Well, darling.” Jimin winks. “I think sexual preferences can say a lot about a person, don’t you agree?”
Yoongi chokes on his beer, and Jungkook has to pat his back until his face turns to its normal colour. Jimin giggles throughout everything, the alcohol increasing his ability to have fun.
“Give him a break, Jimin,” Namjoon breathes out a laugh.
“Okay, let’s go!” Jimin ignores Namjoon’s request, a mischievous grin on his face. “Since we are in the UK, King Charles, Prince William, or ex-Prince Harry. Fuck, marry, kill.”
“Ugh! No way, that’s obvious, Jimin!” Seokjin complains. “Fuck William, marry Harry, and kill Charles.”
“Agreed,” Jungkook says, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t let the mates hear us, though.”
Taehyung and Namjoon nod and laugh at the same time.
“I object,” Yoongi declares, too serious for the situation. “Fuck Harry, Marry William and kill King Charles.”
“Excuse you?” Seokjin looks offended.
“Of course, why would I want to marry someone who will never make it to the throne?” Yoongi says outraged, shaking his head in disbelief when people don’t agree with him.
“Because he’s better looking?” Seokjin states that it’s obvious.
Scoffing, Yoongi rolls his eyes. “He’s not good looking, he’s just white.”
“At least he is not bald!” Seokjin yells.
“I prefer a bald king to a hairy commoner.” Yoongi shrugs, and Jimin follows their banter with glistening eyes.
“Ha! Hairy commoner,” Seokjin cackles, slapping his thigh in amusement. “That one was good! You’re forgiven for your terrible opinions.”
Yoongi glances at him like he has no idea what Seokjin is talking about, and well, he doesn’t know the man enough to understand his antics.
“Good answer, Yoongi,” Jimin points out, fluttering his lashes way too theatrically. “I like an ambitious man. Next: Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Leonardo Dicaprio.”
Taehyung snaps his head fast at Jungkook, sharing this knowing look, this small, concealed giggle.
“Wait, is it nowadays DiCaprio or DiCaprio in the 90s?” Jungkook asks, seriously.
“Does it make a difference?” Namjoon basically squeals, voice high-pitched in a way just a second beer can do for him.
“It’s a crucial difference,” Taehyung protests, looking at him with a twisted expression. It doesn’t faze Namjoon, who swigs down more of his drink.
“Taehyungie and Jungkookie are right,” Jimin says with a stern expression “Time does make a lot of difference in this case.”
“But what if I like my men older?” Namjoon says, trying to wink but just blinking both eyes at Seokjin.
“I’m just two years older than you, Namjoon-ah!” Seokjin protests, swatting Namjoon’s shoulder.
“Oh god, can we just?” Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“No, wait!” Yoongi interjects before anyone can reply. “Where’s the bisexual representation in this game?”
“Oh my fucking— Oh ,” Jimin interrupts himself, his face changing from frustration to mischief in a second. He smiles even wider, seizing up Yoongi. “And you thinking I wouldn’t find out anything about you, huh?”
Yoongi grunts once again, hides his face with his palms, but replies anyway, “Fuck Brad Pitt nowadays, marry DiCaprio in the 90s, and kill Tom Cruise any time.”
Jimin goes on and on, his brain a dictionary for famous names that goes from scientists to actors, to drag queens, to old TV hostesses that neither Taehyung nor Jungkook knows about.
“Now a little improv,” Jimin says, raising his glass. He is clearly drunk, which is evident by the small hiccups he lets out after every sip, but Taehyung can’t judge, one more drink and he will find himself in the same situation. “Fuck, marry, kill. Friend’s edition.”
“What does that even mean?” Yoongi frowns at him like he is insane.
“Are we talking about Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel or Chandler, Joey, and Ross?” Namjoon asks, confused. “Because I am afraid my husband has really strong opinions about the male cast.”
“Wait, can we mix?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “See, Yoongi, there’s the bisexual representation!”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Shush! I’m not talking about the TV show. Out of this circle, who would you fuck, marry or kill?”
“Oh.” Taehyung's face drops a little, and he glances around. Yoongi looks more flustered than before, probably due to the alcohol. He glances at Jungkook, who glances back at him, nervously.
“I’ll start!” Seokjin yells, calling attention to himself. He rises to his feet just to slump down to his seat. “I’d marry my baby Joon,” he leans for a quick peck, “fuck Jimin because look at that ass,” he winks and Jimin winks back, firing finger guns at him, “and kill Yoongi, obviously.”
“What?” Yoongi blinks at him, looking completely offended.
“Yah, not again!” Namjoon rolls his eyes, cutting the banter. “I’d marry my husband, of course, fuck Taehyung and kill Yoongi.”
“Let’s keep beating the dead horse,” Yoongi says more loudly than expected, his words dragged by the alcohol. He opens his arms to the side just to slump them down, his beer spilling from the neck of his bottle.
“Taehyung-ah?” Jimin says, and Taehyung’s cheeks burn.
He feels a little self-conscious, too much on the spot. Because his brain goes directly to places it shouldn’t go, so he decides to play safe. He makes an effort to not make eye contact with Jungkook.
“Fuck Seokjin,” he says, and Namjoon puffs his chest proudly while Seokjin wiggles his brows. “Marry my Jiminie,” he adds and Jimin sends finger hearts his way, singsonging you’re my soulmate.“ And kill, well, sorry Yoongi but we just met and…”
“I’m being attacked on my own birthday!” he spurts out, pointing at the ridiculous tiara on his head.
“Poor Yoongi!” Jimin purrs, leaning against the man’s shoulder. “I’d totally fuck you, Yoongi don’t be sad,” he says too casually, in a mellow voice, and Yoongi chokes on his spit. He seems to do that a lot when it comes to Jimin and it has been just an hour since they met. Jimin lets the words hang in the air for a while too long before adding, “Marry my soulmate Taehyung, of course, and kill Jungkook.”
“Now I am offended!” Jungkook tries to sound like it, but it doesn’t work when he lets out a yelping laugh.
“Well, you’ve been hanging out with my soon-to-be husband behind my back for a while.” Jimin quirks one eyebrow high, sparing him a suspicious glance. “I’m still not sure about you.”
“Please, let me know when you are.” Jungkook grins, unbothered.
“I will, but don’t get your hopes high,” Jimin says with a lopsided grin.
Jungkook shakes his head, swallowing the rest of his drink in one go. Everyone looks at him expectantly, and he shakes his head in surprise, finally getting it’s his turn.
“Uh.” He scratches the back of his nape, his face gaining a new shade of pink that Taehyung thinks suits him very well. “I guess I’d, hm, with all due respect, fuck Namjoon.” The faint shade of pink turns into bright red when Namjoon smiles politely and Seokjin bumps his shoulder to his husband’s, blowing Jungkook a kiss.
His eyes run around the circle, and they land on Taehyung for a couple of seconds before darting away, but they are so round and honest that Taehyung feels exposed.
“I’d marry Taehyung, and kill Yoongi,” he says too quickly.
“What?” Yoongi yells. “I’m basically your brother!!!”
“And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t fuck or marry you!” Jungkook replies exasperatedly, and everyone cracks a loud laugh while Yoongi huffs in annoyance.
Taehyung laughs too, but it’s not as freely as the others, his mind still stuck in the moment Jungkook said so casually he would marry him. He wants to ask why, feels a giddy thing growing in his chest but makes an effort to ignore it. It’s just a game.
“Your turn, Yoons ,” Seokjin teases.
Rolling his eyes, Yoongi says. “I’d simply kill all of you arseholes,” then he stops, pointing at Jimin and winking at him. “Except for Jimin.”
He doesn’t say if he would marry or fuck Jimin, but Taehyung guesses it doesn’t matter much to his friend, who flushes right away but sustains a cocky grin nonetheless.
“May I have your attention?” Danny whistles and then yells in the centre of the yard. He is carrying a guitar while Tom places two sets of chairs close to the bonfire. “If you have attended my birthday party before, you know what time it is.”
A round of whistles and applause goes on, and Jungkook looks at Taehyung in confusion, but he simply shrugs.
“Yes, yes, it’s time to get emotional!” Danny raises his glass to the sky and people mimic him. “Time to thank you all for being here, celebrating with me another year on this planet. You know I love you all, and this year I wrote a song to express all that shit.”
Some surprise gasps fill the night, in one corner, Tom yells while Dougie and Harry let out groaned complaints, and Danny simply laughs, flipping a bird at them.
He sits on the chair Tom placed close to the bonfire and starts tuning the guitar while he talks, “This is a song I wrote a few months ago when I realised how long I have been in this city. If you know me, you know we are countryside boys living big-city dreams. This is called ‘Home is Where the Heart Is’, and it’s a way of me saying you’re all pieces of my heart. Thanks for making London my home. Cheers!” Danny pauses, his lips curling up in a lopsided grin. “Even you two, JK and Yoons!”
Jungkook raises his glass at him, tilting his head in a small bow.
“It’s Yoongi for you!” Yoongi complains loudly, but raises his glass and directs him to a soft gummy smile.
“See? He loves me already.” Danny swipes a hand in the air, and people laugh. “You’re always welcome to join us! Ready?”
They all nod, and he starts playing a soft ballad, people going completely silent as the delicate notes fill the late-night air. Danny’s fingers trail the guitar gently but with purpose, and he closes his eyes and starts singing. His voice is hoarse but deep, probably one of the most beautiful voices Taehyung has ever heard.
I am a lover, I am not a fighter…
“Wow,” Jungkook whispers, breath getting caught in his throat as he leans closer to Taehyung. Their shoulders brush lightly, and Taehyung leans to his side just an inch without even noticing.
“I know.”
He has heard Danny sing before at the cafe where Jimin works. That’s his thing, to live an adult life from 9 to 5 just to play his songs for fun wherever they allow him. Taehyung once asked Danny if he would like to go pro, since he not only has the talent but the charisma too. Danny said it had been once a dream, but that he accepted it was okay to stay like this. As long as he could sing, he would be fine.
Taehyung still doesn’t know how he looked so serene saying that, like giving up a dream wasn’t something that could shatter your heart. He surely can’t do it himself. But looking at Danny singing in front of all his friends, Taehyung realises that he hasn’t given up on anything.
As the song grows, Taehyung starts swaying his body, bumping into Jungkook, who starts to rock his body side to side as well as the chorus echoes through the backyard.
Home is where the heart is
It’s where we started
Where we belong…
The chorus gains momentum and everyone starts whistling and clapping their hands. Some of the more adventurous join him even though they just learned the lyrics.
Jungkook is one of them, singing gently, his lips barely moving. His face is so soft, and Taehyung is captured by the way his eyes sparkle, reflecting the fire in front of them. Suddenly, all is warm, warm, warm. The cold night wind doesn’t bite Taehyung’s skin anymore, and it might be the fire, or the alcohol, or Jungkook’s body so close to his, or all of them. Who really knows, who really cares?
We are all sisters and brothers…
Danny whispers in a crescendo and Taehyung feels goosebumps erupting on his skin. The people around them are vibing, Danny has always been a moodmaker, and even Yoongi’s face is split into a smile. Seokjin and Namjoon are caught in a side hug, and Jimin suddenly appears on Taehyung’s side, bumps their shoulders together, and directs him a sweet, sweet smile.
Under the dark sky and close to the people he likes the most, the song resonates in Taehyung’s ears, goes straight to his heart, and for the few minutes Danny’s voice echoes in the backyard, Taehyung thinks that maybe, maybe there’s space in this city to feel at home.
Flames flick, dancing in the night sky, swirling up and up until they disappear in the darkness. Danny is still playing songs, some uplifting ones about not being enough to a girl and another one with excessive references to space and NASA stuff.
“Didn’t you say he was a bank manager?” Jungkook asks, two drinks in hand. He offers Taehyung one, which he gladly accepts.
“Oh, he is. But singing is his side gig, sometimes he sings at the cafe where Jimin works.”
“That sounds fun. We should go next time he does,” Jungkook says casually, sipping his drink and looking straight ahead to where Danny is now playing by himself. “He sings a lot about girls, huh?”
Taehyung scoffs. It’s not a topic they have discussed, but something tells Taehyung they don’t really need to. It’s the small hints he gives of feeling freer in the UK, of casually agreeing with all the Leonardo DiCaprio jokes, of saying so casually that he would marry Taehyung.
“Yeah, straight people, honey.”
“They’re so weird.” Jungkook opens his mouth to continue saying something, but his phone starts buzzing. “Sorry.”
“Go ahead.” Taehyung nods.
Jungkook fishes his phone from his pocket, and Taehyung shouldn’t peek, but his curiosity takes the best of him and he catches a glimpse of Jungkook ’s screen. The face of a smiley man with platinum short hair pops up, the name hobi lmol <3 in big letters.
Darting his eyes, Taehyung gulps his overly sweet drink to disguise the weird sour taste that takes over his tongue. He also ignores the easy smile that spreads in Jungkook’s face as he excuses himself to take the call.
He watches as Jungkook walks towards the corner, hands gesturing with enthusiasm as he talks to the love of his life person. Taehyung is not proud of the way he feels petty, of the sudden need to go get some fresh air, away from the smoke and noise.
The crisp night embraces him when he reaches the front yard but it does little to distract him from the intruding thoughts that creep into the corner of his mind.
The familiar but unwelcome feeling of being out of place suddenly takes over. Again.
Of being a nuisance to people, of not knowing how to act or what to expect. Of being dispensable, even though Jungkook gave him no signs of that. He inhales a sharp breath, leaning on the brick wall behind him, and looking up at the sky. He wonders why this crushing weight on his chest always has to come back. He wonders why the intruding thoughts always win, even when he’s having a nice time.
It has been a nice winter, he thought he would have overcome that by now.
“Ah, there you are.” Jungkook’s voice makes him flinch after a few minutes in complete silence, making him feel as if the man could read his thoughts. He leans on the wall beside Taehyung and directs a lopsided smile at him.
“Cheers,” Taehyung raises his drink and says the quintessential British word you use when you don’t have anything else to say.
It amuses Jungkook somehow, because the corners of his big eyes get softer, his smile gentler.
“Sorry I left you there.”
“That’s okay,” Taehyung says, it sounds like a lie but it isn’t. He has no reason to not be okay. “Is— Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Yes.” Jungkook nods, the smile growing bigger on his face. “It was just my best friend,” Jungkook says and Taehyung shouldn’t feel relieved, but he can’t avoid the way his shoulders feel lighter. “He lives in Korea, so our talking schedules are pretty limited.”
“Ah, of course.” Taehyung chews his bottom lip, flicking the edge of his plastic cup with his forefinger. He looks up at Jungkook again. “Have you been friends for long?”
Jungkook keeps holding that serene expression, terribly soft and sincere. It blinds Taehyung a bit. “Not really, almost a year, but it truly feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
Taehyung is not good at maths, but the time span of the friendship can only mean one thing. He raises a curious eyebrow and asks, “Oh, so you met him after moving here?”
An awkward laugh leaves Jungkook’s lips. “Yeah, we met online through this game we play. Since then, he’s been my main company here. We’re planning for him to come visit so we can finally meet each other.”
“Wow, that’s cool!” Taehyung sips his drink, it’s sort of lukewarm now and very sweet in his tongue and he closes his eyes for a second. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had virtual friendships.”
Jungkook presses his lips in a thin line, raising his shoulders just to slump them down.
“I know it sounds silly, but it’s different.” Jungkook is staring at him with those gigantic black orbits as if trying to convince Taehyung he is serious. And Taehyung knows he is, he never expects Jungkook to say something just for the sake of it. His words are always very precise like he has every conversation ready in his mind. “Okay, that sounds silly too,” he lets out an awkward laugh. “But you know how being in another country can be isolating, so I’m really glad to have him, even if there are continents between us.”
Jungkook looks up at him, scratches his neck, and watches him attentively, like waiting for judgement. Of course, it never comes. Taehyung would never do that, especially not to him. Jungkook tilts his head to the side to better take in his expression but Taehyung keeps looking straight ahead, the weight of Jungkook’s gaze too heavy on him.
“That’s not silly at all.” Taehyung nods, knowing all too well about the feeling. He finally turns to face him, asking hesitantly, “But what about Yoongi?”
Jungkook sighs, but he is smiling. This little thing in his suddenly tired face. “Yoongi is great, but he has a very different perspective. He’s been here for a long time, he doesn’t see Korea as home anymore.”
“Do you?” Taehyung asks over the hem of his cup.
“Yeah, of course. Don’t you?”
“Not really,” Taehyung replies, shoulders sinking. He leans back on the wall, looking at the townhouse across the street. It is old and pretty, identical to all the other houses in the street. “Not Korea, not here. Sometimes it feels like there’s no place I can call that anymore.”
Jungkook stares at him for a long while, his nose and cheeks slightly red due to the cold. Taehyung feels almost naked because those eyes have a force he has never seen before. Yet, it is not intimidating, it is almost soothing .
The answer comes after a long while — not really an answer, more like a comment, a small confession, because their conversations always seem to be made of those.
“We’re lucky to be here, but yeah, it never comes without concessions,” Jungkook says, flipping his hand in the air before retracting it back, letting it fall on his side.
“I thought you liked being here.”
“I do. I really do.” Jungkook frowns at him, still offering him a closed lip smile even though his face is nothing but sad. Shows he’s open to the contradictions, to the messy feelings that are conflicting but all welcomed. “But people here are… different. If you know what I mean. They are nice, but that’s all. It makes me feel that people are not interested in me, that I am not interesting, or that I don’t know how to behave. And maybe I don’t. Western culture is weird as shit.” He ruffles an ironic laugh, shrugging.
Taehyung looks at him curiously, Jungkook staring right back, and feels this small thing hanging in the air between them. The shared sensation of not being familiar with anything. For some reason, tonight, Taehyung accepts it with a warm heart.
It takes a while for Jungkook’s words to sink in, for him to let out a breathy laugh. It has a hint of relief in it, the air leaving his lungs like he has been holding it.
“I’m sorry to hear you feel this way but at the same time I’m not?” Taehyung says. “I mean, I understand you too well. I’m twenty-seven, I’ve existed for over a quarter of a century, and it still feels like I don't know how to be in this world. Feels like I’m always lost in translation when I’m here.”
Jungkook squints, turning and leaning sideways on the wall to better face him.
“I don’t feel I will ever belong here, or that I will ever be happy here,” Taehyung confesses. He feels a little bit ashamed to say it out loud and doesn’t want to come off as ungrateful, but maybe there are so many ways you can be grateful and not happy. “I found a family for me here, and honestly, if it wasn’t for Jimin, Namjoon, and Seokjin I guess I would’ve given up a while ago.”
Taehyung stops, glances quickly at Jungkook to see if he has something to say, if his face is betraying him and he thinks Taehyung is ridiculous for thinking like this when he has a good life. What he finds is Jungkook patiently waiting for him to continue, lips pursed in an attentive expression.
A long breath blows out of Taehyung’s chest, a heavy one. Talking about this is never light, it requires an extra ounce of strength to admit you’re not happy. Even if he’s not admitting all the reasons why he isn’t.
As much as talking about it isn’t easy, the hardest part is having people looking at you with eyes full of pity the moment the words fall from your lips. Luckily, this isn’t what he finds in Jungkook’s face.
“I feel out of place like the way I eat is too casual, the way I talk is too loud, the way I think is too slow, the way I exist is too much for others to bear. Everything is so foreign to me. All these years and London is still not a familiar place.” Taehyung almost gasps for air, everything leaving his lips like he’s been holding inside him for too long. “I'm not sure it will ever be.”
“I get it. I guess it’s impossible to be an immigrant and not feel like it too, right? Even when you like the place.” Jungkook nods slowly. “It’s forever an unknown territory, right?”
Taehyung hums, shoulder rising close to his ears before he adds, “It feels like I try to find a home in every corner, but I simply can’t.”
“Well, maybe, home is not a place,” Jungkook says matter of factly, staring at him with so much attention Taehyung is afraid for a second he can read all his thoughts.
Taehyung breathes out a laugh, but then he thinks of all the moments he felt so comfortable in Jimin’s arms, or so safe by Namjoon’s advice, or cared for by Seokjin’s food. Even now, he thinks of how welcomed he feels by Jungkook ’s presence. And yes, perhaps Jungkook is right.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“These are the moments I really miss Korea,” Jungkook says as they walk down the street, Danny’s house getting lost behind them, blending itself with the all identical townhouses on the street. It’s late and Jungkook was hungry, so Taehyung suggested going to a pub to grab a bite. “A convenience store at every corner.”
“Don’t even tell me,” Taehyung laughs, turning his body to push the heavy door of the pub with his shoulders. “Late night fish and chips have nothing against late night rameyon!”
“Hey, are you sure your friends won’t mind that we left the party?” Jungkook asks when they find a small table in the corner. The pub is not so crowded, it’s too late for that in the suburbs, but they avoid the noise of the few drunk patrons anyway.
“Yeah, I texted Jimin,” Taehyung says, taking off his jacket. “I’m more concerned about Yoongi, you left him alone.”
“He’s fine, I’m sure.” Jungkook waves a hand in dismissal. “Jimin is keeping him busy. And I think he really enjoyed Danny.”
“How so?” Taehyung shots his eyebrows up in surprise. They have nothing but bantered the whole night, if he remembers correctly.
Opening the menu, Jungkook reads through the options and says without raising his gaze, “He’s a music producer, and Danny is a great singer.”
“Oh.” Taehyung blinks at him. “What are the odds?”
“I know.” He laughs, pointing at something on the plastic pages in front of him. “Fish and chips?” Taehyung nods and Jungkook calls the waiter, ordering one portion to share and two pints. “Your friends are really nice. I liked them.”
“They truly are. They liked you too, I’m sure.” Taehyung smiles, then bites his lower lip and adds, “I know Jimin can be a little intimidating, but he is just protective.”
Jungkook laughs, his nose scrunching up slightly. “As he should be.”
He slumps back in his chair, rolls his necks until it cracks, one hand massaging the muscle of his shoulder. A movement that indicates he’s all guards down. Not that Jungkook has reasons to not be, but it makes Taehyung happy to see that he feels relaxed, that he likes his friends.
“I’m glad you invited me,” he offers after a moment. The waiter brings two pints, and Taehyung takes a sip of his, feeling his head already heavy with alcohol. Jungkook doesn’t drink his, just lifts it to place on top of the coaster. “I have to say I was a bit nervous to come, but I’m glad I did.”
Taehyung cocks his head to the side, looking at him intrigued. “You looked pretty at ease with them.”
“Well, they are welcoming, in their own way, I guess.” Jungkook shakes his head, breathing out a light snicker. Taehyung can’t help but think of how his whole existence is like a breeze, soft and fresh. And maybe it’s the alcohol in his system that makes him see Jungkook so flawlessly under such a bad light. But he is pretty sure Jungkook has always looked like this, since the first time they met. “But social anxiety always hits me when I’m not familiar with the crowd.”
“Oh,” Taehyung startles, sobering up slightly in worry. “You could’ve told me.”
Waving a hand, Jungkook shakes his head again. “Told you they are nice. I’m really glad I came.”
His smile eases Taehyung again, making his mind floaty and maybe that’s the alcohol again, but also… He is pretty sure Jungkook always has this effect on him.
“I’m really glad you came too.” He pauses, the corner of his mouth curving up. “ Honey .”
Jungkook laughs, throws his head back, and bites his lower lip, too amused by the silly joke.
It is impossible to not flush when he brings his chin down again, his eyes looking too fondly at Taehyung. If he thinks about it, he can remember many times he was under such gaze. None of them were with new friends.
Taehyung clears his throat, rolls the tip of the napkin with his pointer finger just to have something to do with his hand.
“Earlier, you said—” he hesitates, licking his lips to gain time when Jungkook frowns. “You said you feel lonely. You know you’re more than welcome among us, right?”
For the first time, Jungkook doesn’t have words, he just stares at him, eyes full of something Taehyung can't read. He hasn’t seen this type of gaze in Jungkook’s face yet.
Taehyung feels stupid, feels inappropriate in his own language, like he always feels when he is with British people.
The waiter chooses this time to bring their food, places the plate in between them with a loud thud. Not very polite of him, but it’s the middle of the night and Taehyung can’t really blame him for being fed up with drunk customers. Jungkook thanks him without taking his eyes off Taehyung, and he only feels more nervous.
He grabs the ketchup, squeezes an enormous amount on the corner of the plate, rushes to add without meeting Jungkook’s gaze, “Only if you want though, I don’t want to impose myself into your life.”
“Your presence is not an imposition, Taehyung,” Jungkook says earnestly, stares at Taehyung with such intensity that he is sure there’s some sort of force in those eyes. He feels his gaze trailing up, like he is being pulled and he doesn’t mind diving into the endless darkness.
“I just feel that I’m always pushing myself onto you.” Taehyung breaths out a laugh to disguise the seriousness of his words. He makes an effort to escape Jungkook’s watchful eyes, retracts his hands to his lap to make himself smaller, and that seems to bother Jungkook because he is now frowning. He’s way too self conscious to stop now, thinking about all the times he rushed to go after Jungkook, how he’s been inviting him to things when he didn’t even know if Jungkook would like to be part of them. “Like I’m always finding my way to bring you into my world.”
Jungkook’s expression lights up, curves lifting slightly like he just heard something pleasing.
“But I'm here because I want to be.” Jungkook crosses his arms on the table, leaning forward just a bit. He said he was hungry, but the food sits in between them untouched. He barely spared it a glance. “I’m here because you allowed me to.”
Taehyung stays quiet for a while. Some drunk man yells in the corner, drops a glass on the floor. Taehyung feels sorry for the tired waiter who has to deal with it but also feels glad when Jungkook snaps his head back to look at what happened. It gives him time to think of what to say.
He often finds himself like that, lacking words to match Jungkook’s honesty. He pulls his bottom lip with his index finger and thumb, presses the soft flesh. He thinks of all the ways Jungkook is the one who allows him to be around but somehow feels like the privilege is his.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jungkook says after a while. He takes a sip of his beer, glancing at Taehyung over his cup. “How sometimes you just know some people just won't stick around?”
“What do you mean?” Taehyung replies with another question, eyes curious over the sudden change of topic.
Jungkook lowers his glass, draws patterns in the sweaty glass with his finger, and licks his lips before putting the words together. Taehyung enjoys how he always takes his time to think, not one to rush anything.
“How sometimes you meet someone and you become friends with them, but you simply know that it won’t last,” he says with such lightness that makes Taehyung wonder how it must feel to easily talk about serious topics like that. “That some people are in your life for the moment, but won't be in the long run.”
Taehyung frowns. A weird, old pang in his chest makes itself too comfortable again. Instinctively, he reaches for his earlobe, pulling it softly. “Is that how you feel about me?”
Jungkook looks at him from the small table. Light like a breeze, Jungkook smiles. “No, I think you are here to stay.”
❄
To: Hobi <[email protected]>
From: Jeon Jungkook <[email protected]>
Subject: Finding new meanings when I’m lost in translation
18 March, London, UK.
Dear Hobi hyung,
Since moving here I think a lot about myself and my relation to the world. It’s funny because in Korea I never had to pay so much attention to myself like I do in the UK. In Korea, I was just me. Even though being me came with a bunch of particularities that aren’t necessarily appreciated in the motherland.
Here, I can be who I am fully, a thing that I couldn’t back home. I can hold whomever’s hands I want, and I can walk around with accessories that are not very subtle about my life choices. I don’t have the pressure to be the perfect son, or to pretend I’m the perfect son. It feels liberating. Isn’t it funny that at the same time, I can fully be myself for the first time in twenty-six years, I also feel that I’m never completely appropriate?
This new language that I speak every day gives me a new sense of freedom, it allows me to finally pronounce every word I want to. It allows me to be loud about who I am and what I believe, but it seems like everything I say here doesn’t translate well. It seems, I am often lost in translation.
As much as I speak their language quite well, I feel like an alien body walking on the streets. Trying to connect with people who don't live in the same world as me even though we are in the same place. Maybe I feel that because British people are reserved. They are so closed, so restrained that I often think they lack joy.
Which is an interesting contrast. The city is so alive and so full of opportunities, but when it comes to human connection, it is completely dry. Quite often, I am left with the impression my ways of relating to people don’t translate well to theirs.
It makes me wonder if, as much as I love this city, I will ever feel completely comfortable in this place. Which is ironic, you know, because I like it here. No. I love it here. London has given me everything I always wanted. Freedom. Space. Light. Yet, all I have are these contradictory feelings, which I guess are okay.
As a writer, I worry too much about making sense all the time. My characters need to be consistent, my stories need to be a steady, logical narrative, when I know — we all know — life is not like this. We hold all sorts of feelings inside us, and sometimes they clash, sometimes they don’t make sense, they take us to uncomfortable places. And that’s okay too. That’s how I feel about London. I love the city, being here is a dream come true in many aspects, but existing here feels weird most of the time.
Sometimes, I look around and I see this immigration thing working so well for other people, and I wonder what I did wrong. I see people from work or university with this group of twenty friends that are always together, and I wonder how the hell they do that, when for me, finding a couple of people that will stick around is so hard. But at the same time I don’t know much about them, I don’t know what kind of concessions they are making to have this social life. Maybe they all hate each other in secret. Who knows? But I know the kind of concessions I am not making. I don’t want to force myself into friendships just because I am lonely. I want to be around people with whom I can be myself with no reservations.
I think that coming to terms with loneliness is one of the hardest things I have ever done. But I had to do it in order to prioritise myself. Trying to be what people expect you to be is exhausting, trying to fit in is draining. That’s when I think of you, of how I wanted you to be here. I wonder if you’d bake me cakes every weekend or if you only do that for your sister. I wonder if you’d get used to the dry heat of the summer, I know you get nosebleeds often. I wonder if we would use so many written words to each other if we could meet in person several times a week.
I wonder about so many things.
There’s something excruciating about having to deal with the loneliness of living far away from everyone you know and love the most. Especially when you are so open to other people and prioritise relationships as I do. To realise you are alone hurts in a very peculiar way. To think that I have a support network that is more than 8 thousand kilometres away but that is closer to me than anyone by my side.
(May Yoongi never read this, he will call me dramatic and ungrateful, and I don’t blame him. He belongs here, like truly belongs here. He wouldn’t get how hard it is to make relationships with Britishes work, he’s basically one of them too.)
But I’m being a little unfair here. This city is made of immigrants, made of people who are constantly lost in translation. I’m not the only one feeling like this here. I know this because I met someone who feels just the same. He is also Korean. I guess that says it all.
There is something very precious about finding someone who shares your own language in another country that it’s often dismissed as convenience. When in fact, familiarity offers much more than convenience to people. It offers a place for you to feel truly comfortable.
That’s what I feel with this new friend. We have a lot in common, much more than just our mother tongue. I know it even when we don’t say things out loud. It feels a lot like we share the same entangled feelings but from slightly different perspectives. He is not lonely, but he is trying so hard to find his place in this world. I think this is my place, but it's a lonesome existence.
In the end, whether you’re alone or not, whether you’re in your place or not, it’s all about finding ways to belong, isn’t it? To a place. To people. Who knows?
You know how sometimes you have to put so much effort into making things work, almost like you’re trying to fit a relationship in a specific box before you even know which form it will have? I think I do this all the time. I meet someone and I get so excited to finally have a chance to connect, that I already assume how our connection will work. Needless to say, it crumbles to the ground before it can get its natural shape.
This time, it’s effortless and gentle, like it’s made of water. Like the shape doesn’t even matter. It doesn’t make me feel anxious and nervous to make it work. I simply feel like it’s working already. Maybe because it’s all very ordinary. Maybe because, for the first time, meeting people here gave me a sense of normalcy.
Maybe it’s too soon to say, but I think I finally have found something that is not terribly ephemeral around here.
Well, I’m sorry for writing another one of these long letters so soon, I know it annoys you when I do it before you get the chance to properly reply to the previous one and I’m already sending you the next, it is just that my mind has been very agitated.
Please, tell me more about the new baker you hired, she seemed nice.
I hope your cakes are coming out as beautiful as your face!
Love,
Jungkook.