❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ
↝ And perhaps that was the problem, if he only said something after the riddle, as he liked to refer to it, started to come together under his trembling fingers led by his own heart, Jungkook’s foot would not land in the middle of the puzzle and break it. The careless, free-spirited laugh coming after, and disappearing somewhere behind the door where Jimin’s back had vanished, hurt the most.
Don't look! Close your eyes!
ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ
Credits
↝ "Plot can explore the close relationship between taekook in early years and when jungkook starts getting closer to jimin, v starts feeling sad and left out. Maybe can have yoongi as a confidant character & reaches out to v to make him feel better. Jungkook slowly realizes he misses V but V no longer feels he can just be his close friend & always feels like a third wheel between him & jimin. So he pulls himself away from them and the story can then explore how V overcomes being depressed over jungkook, finds confidence/comfort in his own self, his art and wooga squad. Maybe have V find someone else, and jungkook realize that what he felt for v was much more than close friendship but there's nothing he can do about it now."
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ ⥏ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ
↝ taekook, idol⥏ taehyung x idol⥏ jungkook
↝ jikook (friends), idol⥏ jungkook x idol⥏ jimin
↝ idol⥏ taehyung x original male character
↝ choi wooshik
↝ park seojoon
↝ min yoongi
ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⥏ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ
↝ no taekook endgame
↝ nlz jikook
ᴛᴀɢꜱ ⥏ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ
↝ unrequited love, hurt/comfort, self-discovery, one-sided love, angst, emotional hurt, personal growth, broken heart, depression, moving on
↝ canon
❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
Sometimes Taehyung opened his eyes and got the feeling he could see everything, or at least more than others. The feeling wasn’t physical; an object his eyes could run over until they memorised its shape and size, so he was hesitant over the verb to see and many others that were related to vision. Taehyung thought that even if he was born blind and stripped of the form the world had decided to take, he still would be able to sense it. On some days, he even wished to fight with his ability to see, with a certain centre of his brain, so it would discipline him with the no sight for a week punishment; similar to how his mother forbade him to play on his console after he and his cousin had taken their competitiveness a step further and instead of facing their flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, her eyes feared to fall of their sockets after she noticed the state they had left her living room in.
The expressions and emotions on people’s faces could be overwhelming. Only then, he remembered what Jungkook once said, “Be careful what you wish for.” Taehyung was aware that he shouldn't take his words too literally. But if he accidentally brought them up, the rest of the group would raise their eyebrows so high that all the wrinkles on their foreheads would smooth up, as Jungkook made a comment about Jin not being able to finish all the food on his plate years ago.
And then, Jungkook was the reason he pulled at his eyelids with his knuckles even if the colours of another bright day threatened to flood his senses. Taehyung’s eyes were following every gush of air, as if they could see it materializing into a smoke, rushing behind the younger wherever his curiosity armed with youth took him. They were busy being a witness of Jungkook leaning over the coffee table with his nose almost touching the dishes lying there in their variety or chasing after Jimin in between the furniture, to watch his own step. Strangely enough, every time Taehyung’s face collided with a wall or floor, the next thing he saw after blinking away the white coat flying around him or wiping away the mud from his cheeks, was a pair of deep brown, round eyes either narrowed down with interest or widened with worry; it depended if a bruise had hurried up to paint Taehyung’s skin or if he was only coughing with embarrassment. Taehyung was unable to piece together the feeling of being watched as closely as he chased Jungkook into correct, meaningful and clear pictures. And perhaps that was the problem, if he only said something after that chaos; the riddle as he liked to refer to it; started to come together under his trembling fingers led by his own heart, Jungkook’s foot would not land in the middle of the puzzle and break it. The careless, free-spirited laugh coming after, and disappearing somewhere behind the door where Jimin’s back had vanished, hurt the most. The pain was intense, a constant ache that seemed to spread through every delicate nerve in his body, reaching all the way to his fingertips, so in the end those were his own hands, trying to shake off the agony, which tore the riddle beyond repair. Once, the scream coming to surface from his throat as cries, would be followed by Jungkook’s panicking gaze regardless of the blurred world because of the speed of his run. Now, their echoes were fading in the background of Jungkook's new world. The Taehyung's one felt foreign and unfamiliar without the presence of Jungkook by his side. And seeing him skip behind its borders forced a breath out of his lungs.
Don't look, close your eyes !
Only, his own heart must have been a masochist. He could no more.
Taehyung couldn’t pinpoint when it began. Maybe it crept up on him slowly, always staying at least ten feet away and hiding behind bushes. Or perhaps it struck suddenly, punching him in the middle of his chest just at the moment when his lungs expanded to hold back the panic. Or maybe it had been there all along.
Only, what mattered wasn’t the start, even though he wished he knew beforehand so he could prevent it, how could one change what the past made a present and some smog of a shaping future? He couldn’t bother to spare the first brick a look, he didn’t think it would hurt him any less.
There was a great weight over Taehyung’s legs; another body on top of his pushing down on his knees with the back of the head and shifting every time the hard part of Taehyung’s kneecaps pressed on the protruding bone above the shoulders. He wiggled his toes as the world wrapped in what had to be an early morning, judging by the long dark shadows touching the wall opposite the windows, teased his senses. His mouth opened and he heard a low, achy grunt, yet the familiar throbbing feeling against his throat of the voice that was trying to wake up was absent. He could feel his muscles straining as he furrowed his eyebrows in one straight line in confusion.
The hot air was touching his skin, prodding at his sweat glands, and he remembered he forgot to push on the AC buttons before nuzzling into his blankets. His arms and legs, despite something heavy lying over them, jerked and then rubbed against the bed sheets, he felt the thin fabric of the covers between his toes and tried to throw off his blanket, but instead, the same voice that groaned a minute ago went off again, “Can you stop moving so much?” someone, lying from his knees down to his ankles, moaned, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s calves to stop him from shifting on his bed. A breath lingering over the blanket weted the fabric.
“Jung’oo?” Taehyung’s tongue simply felt too big inside his mouth, hitting the back of his teeth. A rush of air whistled in his lungs, opening his chest, he managed to bend his wrist but was too slow to cover up the yawn stretching his lips. “What are you doin’ere?” he mumbled almost inaudibly, worrying Jungkook would not be able to hear him, yet the shuffling of bed sheets and the weight disappearing told him otherwise.
“Jin hyung,’ Jungkook said simply in one breath, as if that could answer the confusion written in the position of Taehyung’s eyebrows, however, that only moved them closer. “He said we should not be sleeping for too long even if it is our day off,” he continued. Suddenly, there was a painful pressure over Taehyung’s legs, not less than strength of two elephants trying to crush them. The sigh that escaped Taehyung's lips sounded as sore as his body felt when he lifted his head to look down. Two big palms were pushing down on his dull blanket with fingers wrapped around what had to be his shins showing under the fabric. Jungkook hoisted himself up, hovering above him for two curt blinks of Taehyung's eyes, before he pushed his body back and sat on his heels at the edge of Taehyung's back. “Told me to wake you up and... I guess,’ his eyes ran all over the crumpled sheets, ‘I guess I fell asleep instead,” Jungkook cleared his throat as if the embarrassment of using the bones in Taehyung's legs as his pillow for morning slumber, laid some sort of obstacle there.
Taehyung couldn't help but smile, noting the deep and pink creases of the younger's cheeks. He thought he could see the pattern sewn with thick thread rising on his skin although he knew it was impossible as said earlier, the blanket was rather dull and plain. But it were details like this that would later remind him of the warmth behind the heartbreak. But did they make it worth it?
“You woke up late as well, didn't you?” muttered Taehyung with a knowing smirk. Memories from last night slowly came back to him in bits; the pieces of his puzzle were falling into place. There was one thing missing over the dining table while stuffed his cheeks with Yoongi's food - Jungkook's youthful energy shining yellow, like a laugh of the midday summer sun.
“Oh,’ Jungkook quickly raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, but it was more of a reflex to hide the soft, gentle smile deepening a dimple in the corner of his mouth while the sparkle glimmering on the surface of his eyes looked the same fond and shy, ‘Jiminie hyung asked me to stay back and help him with the choreography. He feels behind after the last week, even said he's still a bit sick.” Jungkook's face blushed a deeper shade of pink and he avoided Taehyung's gaze, focusing on Taehyung's bare toes sticking out under the blanket instead.
Taehyung nodded, humming in understanding. There was a simple explanation behind the flushed skin and the eyes that seemed to be counting Taehyung's toes, making sure his feet were still intact. As confident, composed and gifted as Jungkook was in the way his limbs carried him across the stage, not a step behind or ahead but in perfect harmony with the music, he always shredded his arrogance and became humble away when it came to sharing the secret of his talent to others. And perhaps as he let go of his self-pride a stain of dark red was left behind as it released its grip on him both mentally and physically. Taehyung finally sat up in bed, boring his hands into the mattress behind his back for support and the loud pop as the bones in his elbow touched spiralled around his thoughts.
Taehyung knew better. He knew that behind the facade of humility, there was a burning desire to improve and exceed expectations. Jungkook was never one to settle for mediocrity, even when it came to his own abilities. It was in moments like these, when he sacrificed his free time to help others, that Taehyung truly saw the depth of Jungkook's self-critique and drive.
He straightened his back until the elastic band of his sleep shorts wasn't tightly wrapped around his pelvis and leaned forward for two reasons, to stretch his tight hamstrings and to better see the hands of his round clock nailed to the wall, tick-tocking over Jungkook’s head. He realised it was already past noon.
The familiar lazy smile brightened the emotion in his eyes that were seeing further, far beyond the physical walls of the time trapped in his room. “So, wanna do something wasteful together to annoy Jin hyung?” he suggested.
Jungkook's head snapped up, his eyes finally meeting Taehyung's gaze. The blush on his cheeks deepened even further and his lips parted before his teeth sank into them. He looked sorry and nervous with guilt. Taehyung's shoulders sank with prediction even before he could say something, “I am sorry hyung, Jimin hyung asked me for lunch. He said he would order takeout and we could eat it outside as a thank-you for helping him out.”
The breathy oh blowing air into Jungkook's face could not reflect the stab the rejection left him with.
He clenched his fists, pulling the edge of his blanket tightly against his body as if trying to hide the bleeding wound, but the fabric stayed as dull and grey as ever. In the weeks that followed, Taehyung would wish for them to be visible.
He recovered quickly, pressing his fingers against his sternum and the ache of his nails leaving half moon marks there under his T-shirt prod him to smile. “It's alright, Kookie, when Jimin offers money you should always take it.” His laugh sounded forced to his ears, yet Jungkook visibly relaxed at his words, clear relief washing over his features. “I promise we’ll find some time later to do something together, hyung.” He reached out and gave a squeeze to Taehyung’s knee.
Taehyung’s throat felt raw, the boiling air, heavy with the mix of body odours of sweaty bodies radiating with excitement, stung its way down its dry walls. The heels of his sneakers caught against the corner of the rug lying down under the short glass table as he moved forward, rubbing the back of his thighs against the squeaking leather of the worn-out sofa.
The fingers of his extended arm wrapped around the plastic cup, and he turned it bottom up, sighing with relief and satisfaction when a few drops of cool liquid soothed his thirst. Yet, it soon was over, and he pouted, looking around the tiny room where the only source of light was the dimmed lamp in the far corner and the bright TV screen set on the wide shelf. The screen was throwing vivid colours of the rainbow as the faded lyrics of the song, playing from the speakers, filled in just in time to match Hoseok’s voice. He was screaming into the microphone clutched in his fist, nearly touching his bottom lip. Jumping with passion, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and playing with the cable spiralling all over the floor with the other, Jungkook was awaiting his part. His score, written down on the plain napkin lying on the short glass table with its edges slightly crumpled from the many times it had been passed around for updates, had not a match.
As Hoseok’s voice soared through the room once again and for the last time, Taehyung turned to Jin, sitting at the end of the sofa with a hand under his chin, playing with the growing stubble along his jaw. The sly smile completed the naughty glint in his eyes. It was he who had come up with the game — the karaoke scores. The member with the lowest score at the end of the night would be in charge of dishwashing for an entire week.
“Having fun?” asked a voice above him just as Jin’s sweaty palms met against each other in an excited applause. Yoongi grabbed the jacket, lying by Taehyung’s hip, by its hood and before the gush of air could mess up their hair as it flew through the room, he sat down, the leather protesting loudly under his jeans.
“Hm...” was all Taehyung’s throat could say if he didn’t want to spend the next minutes leaning over his knees in a coughing fit.
“Isn’t it pretty obvious?” Yoongi crossed his ankles, tapping his shoe just above the rugged floor, his fingers intertwined behind his head in a relaxed gesture.
“Who’s going to lose. But it’s still fun. Watching us making idiots of ourselves I mean,” he smiled dryly and rolled his eyes impatiently, or perhaps, thought Taehyung, the ordinary white (appearing dark grey, almost black in the shadows) ceiling drew his attention with its old unrepaired cracks. In the center of the cramped room hung a disco light, round as a ball but being as far as possible from one in its flashy, silvery armour. In its reflection, Taehyung could see Namjoon's wild haircut taking on even more ridiculous shapes with each of his dance moves.
Only, pumping his hands enthusiastically as if he could see himself surrounded by gym equipment instead of the cozy karaoke room and hopping on his toes, Namjoon - whose score was not nearly as low as everyone predicted it to be - was hitting the notes with a shocking precise, probably to his own surprise, and collecting the highest score for his pronunciation in English songs.
“Jimin, of course. He still hasn’t recovered from the cold has he?” said Yoongi after a while, nodding towards the figure sitting by the shelf’s legs and hugging his knees.
Without looking at him, but keeping an eye on Jimin, Yoongi muttered just loud enough for Taehyung to hear, “I heard Jungkook say he cried for hours after they came back from recording.”
Despite nodding along to the upbeat song playing from the speakers, Jimin's eyes were still swollen and red from tears - or possibly from laughing too hard at Jungkook, who was struggling to keep up with the lyrics rolling on the TV screen for the first time that night. His gaze wasn't leaving the younger, posing a nose away from the flat screen and squinting at the words while his lips moved so fast they appeared to be just a straight line on his concentrated face.
Taehyung awkwardly moved around on the couch, the shame felt hot pouring down his neck and disappearing behind the collar of his shirt, sticking the flannel to his naked back, yet he still shivered and the fine hair rose on his forearms as he suddenly bathed in a freezing guilt.
To them, the idea of getting sick during the touring season was almost laughable and calling it 'seasonal sickness' was just an inside joke or perhaps a desperate attempt to cling onto some pretence of normalcy in lives where putting on a fake dumb smile for candid (not really) photos, just to not show their true human faces, was as ordinary as waving for a bus on a requested stop. Each member had their own way of dealing with being sick, but yet, treating a sore throat as a fatal and extremely contagious disease was something they had in common, as well as pretending everything was fine. It was just easier that way. So the lack of support and comfort during Jimin's breakdowns was a shit move.
Leaning closer to Yoongi, Taehyung whispered, “Do you think he’s okay?”
Yoongi’s quiet grunt of “Will be,” sounded more like ‘He doesn’t really have a choice.’ Neither of their eyes were leaving Jimin’s pitiful kneeling form.
“Maybe I should,' Taehyung's palm was already pushing down onto the too soft cushion as he spoke, 'talk to him." He could sense Jin's curious look following his rising figure and he smiled thankfully when Yoongi's hand pat his back and helped him to stand up with a gentle shove.
Maybe if he didn't kick at the folded corner of the rug until it lay nice flat and completed the square on the floor, he would be shifting nervously next to Jimin before the roaring melody faded with the last tones of Jungkook's falsetto into the echo of Jin's powerful clapping that sounded more like mocking towards the complaining Hoseok stomping his feet.
Jungkook raised his arm, still gripping the microphone tightly, playing Jin's silly game of competition. He smirked Taehyung's way when he noticed him watching.
The sudden movement caused the cable to fling upwards, spiralling through the air before hitting Jungkook in the face, causing his dark hair to sway and his eyes to widen in startle. But the fleshy slap vanished behind Jungkook's surprised 'Ow'.
Jimin's lips split into a wide toothy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his cheeks turning pink with amusement. As Jimin threw his head back, nearly hitting the wooden shelf above him, and his high-pitched giggles and deep belly laughs echoed through the room, Jungkook spun around. Taehyung wished he hadn't moved so quickly he became only a blur of colours before his wide back was facing Taehyung again.
“Hyung!” Taehyung heard Jungkook cry out and a heavy weight seemed to drop down his throat, taking his heart with it to the pit of his stomach, as soon as Jungkook's knees bent and he leaned over, so close to Jimin that their breaths were almost touching. “Let's sing something together,” Jungkook's suggestion was meant to soothe Jimin, his hand lightly pulling on the sleeve of Jimin's jacket meant to cheer him up and the selection of slow, romantic song filling the space in the next second was innocent. Everyone knew Jimin's playlists were full of those.
Jungkook's smooth vocals blended with Jimin's effortlessly, as if their voices were meant to be heard together. His arms encircled Jimin's waist in a way that seemed perfect and unbreakable. Taehyung couldn't tear his gaze away from the two of them singing, feeling a knot form in his stomach.
“Too slow?” chuckled Yoongi, sounding too knowingly for his liking, when Taehyung plopped back down on his still warm cushion beside him.
“Hm,” Taehyung replied with an annoyed hum.
Jin let out a teasing whistle and slammed his fist onto the glass table as Jungkook's lips brushed against Jimin's ear, singing the lyrics to him instead of into a mic.
The standing hairs on Jimin’s nape were visible despite the dim lighting.
Yoongi was right, Jimin ended up being the last on Jin’s Superstar Napkin Board, leaving the karaoke room late after midnight accompanied by Namjoon’s dance of celebratory. Namjoon’s good mood lasted until the next evening as they pulled into the company car. If Taehyung had to take a guess, he would bet 291 would become Namjoon’s new favourite number.
The chat over the food’s steam, fogging their satisfied, leisurely expressions and Hoseok glasses, was a rich buzz inside Taehyung’s ears while his head gave a short, stern nod every time Namjoon’s voice, introducing him to his own enthusiasm, seemed to fade out. He wasn’t really listening, his starved brain too high on food fumes to form human’s throaty noises into meaningful words. Concentrating on how his teeth crushed, tore and ground the meat filling his cheeks, or how his tongue moved the remains drenched in his saliva down his slick throat, helped him to distance himself from the table.
He stuck the narrowed tip of his chopstick inside the chicken, digging a hole around the bone, instead of picking it up and pushing it around his plate and up its rising edges. Up and down until the white porcelain was stained oily brown from the juices. Playing a painter who couldn't afford to leave a millimetre of his canvas blank, was a great excuse to not answer Jimin's stealing glances. He was sitting across the table with remnants of laughter lines still lingering on his face as if the karaoke night continued to echo even in his sleep and daydreams.
Taehyung wished to dissociate from his body, he believed he managed to teach it enough habits in his short span of living to lead him through the rest of the night successfully. The thrill of grasping the chair’s back before anyone else could and dragging it across the floor next to the gap between Jungkook’s seat and the table’s leg with a sound so loud it matched his excitement, had already died. The remains of its erratics were invisible on the fried crumbs of the chicken drumstick Jungkook offered to him but clear in the way Taehyung’s hand shook when he led it towards his open lips.
It was not easy to forget the difference between Jungkook’s gentle warm fingers caressing his chin and his clumsy hand holding the piece of food between two sticks while he used to feed him. If gums could bruise easily, Taehyung’s would be marked with small circular spots seven times a week. And somehow this time, Jungkook's arm reaching over the pot as he effortlessly picked up rice with his chopsticks, the grains taking on a yellow hue from the pot's steam before disappearing behind Jimin's plump lips, looked more skilful and steady. Jimin accepted the meal with a grin and asked for more as if a bowl of hot rice wasn’t heating the fabric hanging loosely from his elbow.
Taehyung sank his teeth into his chicken, but the meat became so dry over the time he spent playing with it that he couldn’t reach the bone. The meaty handle rolled between the metal and hit the bottom of his plate with a cling attracting everyone’s attention.
“Hyung, are you not hungry?” Taehyung could feel the warmth of Jungkook’s deep brown eyes on his still-stuffed cheek. He wanted to spit it out, his mouth seemed to dry out and the flavours stopped prodding on his taste buds. It felt like trying to dissolve the tasteless rigid rubber rather than food. He could count each and every fibre when he forced his muscles to swallow the piece.
“I guess I ate too much,” said Taehyung to his plate, his hand patted his belly to emphasize the convincing tone he was trying to achieve. “Jimin can have it.”
“Oh, but Jimin hyung said he can’t even smell the chicken. You know how he was made to eat it and nothing else for over a week.” Jimin turned his head, perhaps counting the acne patches on the left side of Hoseok's face; Jungkook was talking as if Jimin’s blushing, embarrassed face wasn’t just a pot steam away. But Taehyung wasn't listening, he thought even Namjoon had noticed as he exchanged talking for a glass of cool beverage.
“Right,” Taehyung interrupted him abruptly, the single word coming out harsher than he intended. He took a moment to compose himself, inhaling deeply and allowing the air, pushing through the gaps between his clutched teeth, to control his emotions before continuing. “Well, still, I will just...” He let the gesture of folding the unused napkin and patting his lips with it, speak for him. “Enjoy the dishwashing,” he attempted a joke, forcing the corner of his smile into a fake smirk Jimin's way and stood up.
“Wait,” it was Jungkook again, his warm, gentle fingers clutched tightly around his shaking wrist. Their skin always seemed to have a stark contrast -Jungkook’s was milky and smooth, while Taehyung’s was honey-tanned and slightly rough. But now, as Taehyung watched Jungkook’s knuckles turn white from the pressure of his grip, he couldn’t help but notice how thin his own wrist and fingers looked under the stretched skin. The trembles in his hand were barely visible, and Taehyung wondered if Jungkook noticed them.
He ran his gaze up Jungkook's arm and shoulder, stopping on his face. His expression was one of concern, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted as if he wanted to speak.
The thumps of Taehyung’s heart were loud in his ears, twenty, twenty one,... thirty, and after what seemed to be an eternity, Jungkook broke it. “Overwatch?” his words were barely audible over the clanking of dishes in the background.
Taehyung couldn't help but smile. “I will wait in my room.”
Maybe he was hungry after all, though Taehyung as he lay down the snacks in front of the spread pillows he snatched from his bed. The foil wrapping was rustling under his fingers as he stuck one bag on another under the TV that was already playing the familiar soothing melody. Taehyung had always found it quite odd how he could relax and let his body move to the rhythm of the loading screen music, only to be immediately filled with adrenaline as gunshots and air-gushing noises around the fighting movements took over during gameplay.
Or maybe, he added an extra pillow and blanket to the pile because he knew Jungkook’s feet got cold easily, his appetite came with Jungkook.
The pillow under his butt was too soft, he could feel the hard floor through its filling, but he couldn’t care less. He knew that after he and Jungkook got too immersed in killing the opposite team, they would end up tangled on top of each other. And in Taehyung’s opinion, there was no more comfortable place than Jungkook’s lap (or arms).
The time continued to tick; Taehyung’s wall clock seemed to be having the best minutes of his life. However, Taehyung had never been a fan of waiting, one dragging second was equal to ten. He wondered if the thinnest of the clock hands weren’t making fun of him.
The room, once vibrant with warmth and anticipation, now felt cold and empty as Taehyung's gaze constantly darted towards the entrance. Did he accidentally lock it out of habit? But then, Jungkook surely knew how to knock, even if he was aware he didn’t prefer it. Still, Taehyung pushed down on his bent knee and hurried towards the door, the snack bags were flying around his ankles. He twisted the handle and yanked the door open wide. The swift movement attracted the sensitive movement detector’s attention, and it shone a light over the empty corridor lined up with doors of the other member’s rooms.
The voices continued to shout and argue in a frenzy from the kitchen, and Taehyung couldn't even recall how much food had been laid out on the table, but he knew they wouldn't leave until their plates were licked clean.
He settled back into his pillows and rearranged the snacks, using the thumbstick to keep the screen from turning off. The clock continued to tick.
He had fallen asleep. The hurried steps woke him up and he found himself with his mouth open, damping the creases of the pillowcase. Taehyung coughed awkwardly, watching the wet spot on the light fabric, he turned it around without too much thought. He could make out his own expecting blush in the reflection of the handle. The steps faded with the slam of the nearby door and a silence spread around again.
The frustration got the best of him as he sat up, rubbing his eyes to shake off the remnants of sleep. He pushed himself off the floor and made his way towards the kitchen, his steps careful and light so as not to disturb anyone. As he reached where narrow corridor was opening into a wide living space, he could hear faint voices and the sound of running water.
There, at the sink, stood Jungkook alongside Jimin, both wearing aprons splattered with suds. They seemed to be working in harmony. Jungkook's brows were knitted together as he concentrated on scrubbing a stubborn stain from a plate. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his strong forearms glistening with droplets of water. Jimin stood beside him, drying the plates and placing them neatly on the cloth spread on the empty cabinet. The sight took Taehyung by surprise, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
He stood there for a moment, watching the scene unfold before him. The soft lighting of the kitchen created a glow around Jungkook and Jimin, as if they were characters in a dream. Taehyung couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, a wave of longing washed over him or maybe it was splash from the running tab.
Taehyung had always been the one who shared these little moments with Jungkook—the late-night gaming sessions, the stolen glances, the secret smiles that only they knew the meaning behind. But now, seeing Jungkook and Jimin together, it made him question everything.
Close your eyes! The voice echoed in his mind, louder and more urgent than ever. Don't look!
Taehyung saw the veins popping out on his own hand as he clenched his fists in frustration. His vision blurred with tears as he stared and watched.
“Hey! Watch out! What are you doing?!” The grip on Taehyung’s shoulders felt painful and the sudden harsh tug pushed a breath out of his lungs, he heaved.
He forced his eyelids from each other only out of habit and because of the urgency that seemed to be slipping from Yoongi’s tone. A wall, a firm, solid wall made of concrete was nearly touching the tip of his nose. He was so close he could make the pattern made with a broom decorating it.
“Oh,” he gasped lowly in surprise. “Sorry.”
Taehyung turned around, an almost empty street was curling around the tall buildings ending somewhere above their heads and clouds, leading towards the busy road. The street lamp on the corner had been turned off since morning. Standing motionless, it seemed to be forced into its position by the building. It could be about thirty or forty steps away.
Taehyung took a deep breath of fresh air and prepared to count his steps. Beginning at one, he could his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he closed his eyes again.
Just as his heels threatened to make more cracks in the already broken pavement, a hand firmly grasped his elbow, four fingers out of five digging deep into his muscle. “Taehyung-ah! What the hell?” Taehyung thought he could always recognise Yoongi by cursing. “Open your eyes, will you? This is not the time for games, we have a place to be.”
“I’d rather not,” he muttered, catching glimpses of one person carrying another on their back through the creases of his eyes. He squeezed them shut even tighter.
The bright rays of the sun that rose over the tops of mountains and reflected off the shiny, sharp tip of the Namsan Tower, seemed to bury or perhaps dissolve all the shadows.
It felt killing on Taehyung’s bared skin, burning down the last layer of sunscreen he covered his entire body and face with. The hair under his hat was wet and gross while a salty stream of sweat was running down his forehead. He raised his arm in the air and wiped the droplets collected there with the back of his hand, huffing in relief when the cold, damp skin of his arm came to contact with his feverish head.
Namjoon was chasing butterflies, a net attached to the long plastic stick high in the air. The drying grass, fading towards the yellow dying strands, was rising and breaking between his bare toes as he ran up the rising field. Thick sunglasses were jumping on his nose, their dark glasses hitting close to his eyeballs and he shouted a half-ass apology behind his shoulder as he stumbled over Jin and his picnic basket he put down on a flannel shirt.
“Glasses, Joon! Glasses!” yelled Jin back, then erupted into laughter, as if his remark was the most hilarious thing ever said.
Taehyung’s sunglasses, which he usually wore folded on the collar of his top or dangling from the back of his neck (as long as he avoided laying down they were safe), were left behind at home, the only pair gathering dust since the last winter.
The grass crunched under Taehyung's sandals as he followed Namjoon up the hill to be as close to the boiling star as possible. He could hear the soft rustle of butterfly wings and the distant laughter of his friends as well as Namjoon’s big, long feet slamming against the ground.
Taehyung had always loved moments like these, where time seemed to stand still despite its constant movement; Namjoon's arms were swaying around his body almost comically.
He blinked and let his eyes close before he lifted his face towards the sky. The caress of the hot rays was more similar to a slap than a gentle love. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he cracked one eye open just a sliver. A searing beam of sunlight pierced through, blinding him momentarily. Blinking rapidly, he adjusted to the intensity and opened his eyes wider.
The world around him had transformed into a kaleidoscope of colours; swirls of yellow, green, red, and white danced on every surface, creating a mesmerizing display for the eyes.
Yet amidst the chaos, the boiling white light seemed to consume everything else, gradually sucking in all other hues until it stood alone as the sole source of brightness.
According to his online research, it would only take under five minutes for the fragile cells in his retina to be irreparably damaged from staring directly into that black circle. But when had it become completely black? Wasn't there once a glimmer of light, a speck of colour in the centre?
Someone was screaming, a piercing scream split through the air, sounding like a desperate plea for help. He would scream too, but he was in so much pain that everything but its presence was irrelevant.
“That was fucking stupid. What the hell were you thinking, Tae hyung?” Taehyung smiled, he said it earlier, the lack of napkin in front of his mouth made Yoongi stand up despite the layers of bandages forcing darkness over Taehyung’s eyes. “You could have lost your vision permanently!”
Once hot and liquid tears, leaving bloody trails mixed with salt down his cheeks and staining his T-shirt light pink, were now dried on his swollen face. If Taehyung had to take a guess, he would say they reminded the red marks the sharp nails would leave on their way towards his jaw. The thought made him shiver, and he had to resist the urge to claw at his own eyes. He would scratch them out if he had enough courage, but he feared the power of his basic instinct; self-preservation.
Now, sitting on the lifted-up hospital bed with his legs swaying in the air and hitting the rough examination paper, probably falling from the edge, with regularity, without a sense of how high or low the ground was, Taehyung really felt stupid, and yet, he couldn’t even cry in his own pitifulness.
Maybe Taehyung was lying when he claimed he could survive without his vision, or maybe he didn't fully understand the impact of his words at the time. He remembered stumbling and bumping into objects and walls in his way while he tried to place a foot in front of foot in a straight line, only, his balance was thrown off. With a soft touch on his arm he asked, “Who is it?” and the voice answered, “Jungkook, it’s Jungkook, hyung.” But Taehyung didn’t dare to believe the voice, Jungkook’s eyes were seeing only Jimin.
But his eyes were open, he didn’t lose the awareness of his muscles, he could feel the sting of the air hitting his eyeballs as those hands pushed him forward...and more stumbles and walls and objects. Taehyung’s upper body bent over his toes, he was losing his balance quickly.
It was not like he couldn’t see at all, if he concentrated enough and grind his teeth through the pain to see behind the black boiling ball, he was able to make out hazy shapes and shadows, but the colours were too bright and vivid for his nerves.
The ball was jumping, or was it thumping? It reminded him of his annoying, too tall and too wide to be sitting in the first row, classmate back from his high school; throwing her hair and making it impossible for him to see his teacher writing with chalk on the board.
The fabric of the jacket someone draped around his shoulders ticked his face as he raised his hands that were gripping the edge of the bed for stability and brought them closer, until the earthy smell that lingered on his skin wasn’t the only smell in his nostrils, and up above him nose where bandages were pressing down, just above its tip. He could feel their soft, knitted pattern under his fingertips as he tried to rub them off.
“Tae hyung, stop! You can’t do that.”
“I need to see,” he begged, the nail of his index finger torn the fabric, but another layer caught on the sharp snagged part. How many layers would he have to get through until the nail left a scratch mark over his eyelids?
“You will, only not yet. C’mon, stop it!”
“Yoongi hyung,” Taehyung thought his voice sounded strange echoing through the rhythmic beeping of heart monitors and shushing the muffled conversations creating the background hum around him. Perhaps its undertone of vulnerability disrupted the casual flow of discussions. “Are you still here?”
He was mistaken. The clicking of ballpoint pens and the sound of gagging continued - a familiar outcome of flat, wide wooden sticks being forced down the patients’ throats. And only after the soft rustle of something heavy and rubbery unfolding accompanied the cold swish ruffling his hair, was the first time since he had been brought to this bed that he got the feeling his dignity was shielded only by a flimsy hospital curtain hanging from the metal bars all around him.
He tried to move his arms and wrap them around his torso, but they felt weighty as if instead of being made of solid bones and muscles, they were filled with a mixture of dense sand and water.
“Yoongi hyung!” there was a hint of urgency and the unmistakable, stripping of the safety panic in his tone this time, as his desperate cry for the explanation reached behind the curtain.
He wiggled his toes and shuddered uncomfortably when the rough fabric attempted to scrape on his dry skin. The relief was indescribable, perhaps filling him with too much adrenaline, he still could move his legs despite his arms feeling like useless garden pipes lying among grass straws. If he had a needle, a stream of water would surely gush out after a single stab. With one kick the scratchy blanket fell to the floor.
“Hey, hey, hey!” an alarmed voice yelling from his left did nothing but add sparkle to his fear. His heels should have been bouncing from the mattress under him but they barely flew to the air; the bed seemed to be made from something solid rather than soft and comfy. Or maybe the biceps of the stranger’s arms, pushing all his strength to the fingers wrapped around Taehyung’s shins, were holding him down. “Shit. Taehyung-ah, calm down. I am here. It’s alright.” A warm breath rose droplets of sweat on his cold skin.
“Yoongi hyung?” Taehyung stopped fighting, lying completely flat on his back, the calmness soothed down the fire the adrenaline burnt his overreacting fast-twitch fibers.
A pillow raised above his tensed shoulders when they sagged back with relief. The movement must have been involuntary as his upper body still felt paralysed or nailed down. But as the warmth of Yoongi’s long bony fingers lifted, he bent his knees and locked the slim hand between his thighs. “No, don’t leave,” he pleaded while his messy hair rubbed against the pillow case as he began to throw his head from side to side.
“Taehyung, please.” The fingers pressed marks into the muscle in their attempt to break free from their confinement. “You have to calm down, I am going nowhere, just...” he didn’t finish, nor manage to get out from the iron hold of Taehyung’s legs, but Taehyung could still feel the heat of his body shifting away as if he was reaching for something. Taehyung almost felt his ears rotating in their place when he tried to imagine the world around him. The familiar rough blanket fell on his bare legs after a tired sigh of strain. “The nurse told me to keep you warm,” said Yoongi, sounding a bit breathless. “Please, let me go. I won’t leave, I promise.”
Imagining the fabric falling as walls of a tent where most of Yoongi’s arm was crushed by his muscles, he slowly let his knees fall down, but remained wary, listening to every detail of Yoongi’s cautious steps until his heels weren’t thumping close to his head, the sound travelling up the bed construction.
“Can you touch me so I-’ he began but another question was already pushing behind, ‘What happened? Why can’t I move? My hands.” Taehyung tried to explain, ignoring the pain, he lifted his head until his chin fell on his collar bones, searching for the garden water pipes resembling his flesh. He momentarily forgot about the darkness in front of his eyes.
“Taehyung-ah, they had to restrain you because you were trying to scratch your eyes. I know it's frustrating, but it's for your safety.”
“Restrain? No, hyung, you don't understand, I can’t...” Taehyung’s panic swelled as he felt trapped in his own body. The fear of paralysis gripped him, making his voice tremble. Every fibre of his being screamed for freedom, for control over his own limbs. In that moment of despair, Yoongi's hand found his under the blanket and their fingers intertwined. Suddenly, Taehyung became aware of a sensation around his wrists. The silky straps like elastic were holding him down gently yet firmly. The realisation brought a sense of calm, and he squeezed Yoongi's hand back with relief. His own fingertips tingled with the sensation of tickling as he dug his nails into Yoongi's soft palm.
“It’s alright, it’s fine. You are okay,” Yoongi masked the surprised yelp as a response to pain with words. And although their repetition brought nothing new, he felt less scared with another person close to him. Taehyung could picture this chaotic day or night as a peaceful evening inside Yoongi’s cramped studio, on the old couch with cushions so soft that the springs poked at his sides. Usually, Taehyung's eyelids would drop as he gazed at the blue screen perched at the perfect height above Yoongi's desk to prevent him from developing a hunchback. Yoongi never said much, but his low hums and the tapping of his fingers on the wooden surface created a pacific harmony.
“I know you want to see,’ the image of the vibrating columns of melody on the blue screen Taehyung couldn’t hear because of the huge headphones flatting Yoongi’s hair and ears, disappeared around the understanding in Yoongi’s voice, ‘But right now, your eyes are too sensitive to handle any light. The doctor said it could cause further damage.”
As they sat there in what Taehyung pictured to be a bright makeshift, cramped cubicle lit by fluorescent lights, casting everything in a harsh, white glow, walled by boring hospital curtains and the various machines and IV drop, while Yoongi's fingers moved to stroke the back of his hand to ease his fast breathing, a soft sigh escaped Yoongi’s lips, “You do realize how fucking lucky you were, right?’ Taehyung could hear the weariness in his voice, ‘Staring at the sun so dumbly for minutes. Were you trying to blind yourself?” Yoongi murmured, his tone filled with a blend of frustration and astonishment over Taehyung's actions. There was no doubt Jin didn’t let him leave without a script to follow. For all Taehyung knew, Yoongi could be reading Jin’s handwriting from a piece of paper.“Taehyung, why in the world would you even consider such a... fucking stupid idea?” Or maybe they were truly Yoongi’s words after all.
Taehyung turned towards Yoongi, even though he couldn't see him only to lift his nose towards the ceiling out of habit again. “I don't know,” he whispered, thinking how long he could walk around the truth. But Yoongi's silence made his anxiety touch, punch and get through the roof. He didn't know what it meant.
“Yoongi hyung,” Taehyung started again, the steady beep of the heart monitors accompanying his words. Yoongi’s simple “Hm?” offered him a metaphorical green light to carry on.
“I need to tell you something,” he continued, fingers of his empty hand fidgeting with the edge of the hospital blanket. “About Jungkook and...,’ the quiet rustle of clothes hint him his hesitance didn’t go unnoticed, ‘and Jimin.” Yoongi’s grip on Taehyung’s hand tightened ever so slightly. Taehyung appreciated this silent encouragement.
“I never meant to look,’ Taehyung confessed, his voice cracking, he wished for a pattern feelable on the surface of the smooth fabric, ‘I mean, I didn't want to see them together like that. It hurts, hyung. It hurts so much,’ he paused, struggling to find the right words, the raw honesty bubbling up within him, ‘I thought I could handle it, you know? I tried to be okay with Jungkook finding happiness, even if it wasn’t with me. But seeing them... it's like, it’s like... someone is ripping my heart out.” He wished at least one of his arm could be free. The moment the words escaped his lips, he felt a sharp stinging sensation as if claws were sliding down his chest. He fought back the urge to scream. How could he be certain there wasn’t an unknown hand above him with the bandages pushing blackness over his eyes?
“I like Jungkook, hyung,” Taehyung admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it hurts to see him with someone else. I wished I hadn't seen them together. I wished I could just erase it from my mind.” he was repeating himself. “I just don’t want to see it anymore, hyung. I want to close my eyes and pretend it's not happening. But I can't. I can't unsee it.”
Yoongi’s eyes must have welled up with tears, Taehyung jerked when hot drops started to fall and soak through his blanket. The beeping of the heart monitor seemed to quicken its pace.
“Why, Taehyung-ah? Why would you go to such lengths?” Yoongi's voice trembled and Taehyung recognised fear behind the disbelief.
“I couldn't take it, hyung. I thought losing my vision would make it all go away.”
Taehyung's hand trembled as Yoongi squeezed it tightly, his knuckles were soon left without a single remembrance of blood; they felt stiff and icy from the pressure. Such a contrast to his burning eyes; the black boiling circle left them over-sensitive even to his own tears.
“Tae, that's not the solution. Hurting yourself won't make the pain disappear.”
Taehyung nodded, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. “I know, hyung... I know. But in that moment, it felt like the only escape.”
Yoongi's tears were falling freely now as he pulled Taehyung into a tight embrace, ignoring the strings binding Taehyung's wrist to the metal side rails. “I’m here for you, Tae. Always,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held onto him for dear life. “No matter how long it takes, we'll find a way through this together.”
Yoongi thought it was a good idea, but Taehyung, still facing dark with new layers of meters-long folded fabric over his eyes, called it a waste of time. With water spilt from the plastic cup Yoongi so cautiously placed on his desk, damping his pant leg and socks, and the sticky, slimy paint that used to shine in pretty shades he asked for but, if his experience with art taught him something, was muddy brown now, he felt like a child. Yet, not even during his childhood years he liked to create a mess.
Maybe it was his fault after all and Yoongi’s idea of finding his way back to who he used to be before he devoted his life to Jungkook’s recognition, would have worked if hadn’t bordered his world with narrow hallways always following Jungkook's heels. Jungkook's acknowledgement had become his prison; a place where he was forced to confront his own masochistic part. Taehyung would gladly wrap and tie a scarf around his head and let himself be challenged to paint detailed landscapes on a normal day if he would at least hope for Jungkook's praise with the last brush stroke. Living for Jungkook and the things that made him happy became such a habit that he couldn't even imagine living for himself. Jungkook, Taehyung used to think, must be the key to his salvation. The knowledge that he could raise the corners' of Jungkook's lips and make him show his big front teeth, even though it caused him immense pain, was what kept the water in his veins from boiling over.
Taehyung wasn't cautious when he asked Yoongi for red and blue. Purple used to be Taehyung's favourite colour, he liked to buy his T-shirts and pants in purple, he loved watching Jungkook slowly turning his world into the colours of the purple universe. However he had forbidden himself to surround himself with Jungkook, so he asked Yoongi for green, then yellow and later brown. He tried to find sense in simplicity. He adored Yoongi for his simple lifestyle, perhaps probably because he didn't let disturbing elements mingle with his harmony. Jungkook was the disturbing element for his previously unstained heart.
If there was someone else with Taehyung right now, for example standing by the window opened in the hope of attracting in the imaginary breeze, they would return to their earlier suggestion to make Taehyung talk to a counsellor. Taehyung felt for the flipped-over plastic cup and seized it in his fingers before leading it towards his chest and pouring the remains of tap water over himself, aiming for the left side. He planned to hide his T-shirt from Jin's Sunday rooms' check-up and save the clothing item from the washing machine. Hopefully, he would see purple rivers staining the fabric after doctors unwrapped the heavy bandages from his eyes.
The brush had as first fallen victim to his temporary blindness. Taehyung still remembered its faint clatter against the hard studio floor echoing through the room after it slipped from his fingers. He didn't wish for bruises, he could only guess how sharp the edge of the desk was. He turned his hand over as if he wanted to look at it. His fingers were already covered in paint and he had always found a lack of control in pens and pencils.
He used his fingertip to apply the mud-brown onto the canvas, feeling a strange sort of freedom with each moment of resistance against the tiny bumps on the surface. He couldn't possibly know what he was painting, the added colours only blended to the created chaos. But he heard healing had never been pretty.
There was a hole in the middle of the painted cloth stretched over the wooden frame until elastic. Taehyung could feel it on the naked skin of his forearm; the textil was too blunt to cut it but too washed with colours to leave it unmarked. He also felt the canvas’ resistance when his knuckles collided with it only a minute ago. The strength of his punch and the barrier forced the thin paintbrush from his grasp. It would slip into his sleeve, only Taehyung preferred to wear tank tops during hot summers.
It was the third painting he had destroyed this morning, he could feel the remains of the other two as splints of wood and cloths close to his feet.
Jungkook had visited him earlier, knocking on the doors of his studio turned atelier and entered without calling or at least clearing his throat. Taehyung should have recognised the knocking, so gentle and repetitive to mirror the boy’s joyfulness, so distinct from Yoongi’s. His heart was still beating for Jungkook’s kind praises, too weak for the melody of his velvety voice. Jungkook had found the purple he had let to dry on the windowsill days ago, Taehyung remembered the sound of Jungkook’s silliness as he attempted to rehydrate it, yet the clump of paint was too stubborn to react to Jungkook’s pitiful tries of moisture absorption. Just like Taehyung's fingers, which struggled to open tubes of forgotten red and blue paint. Eventually, Jungkook dipped the tip of his brush into a fresh blend of purple and placed it firmly in Taehyung's hand. As their fingers intertwined, Taehyung couldn't help but notice how soft Jungkook's skin felt against his own. He hated how he concentrated on every detail of his fingertips drawing circles on his knuckles, even on the healing cut on the side of his ring finger.
Days later, Taehyung's eyes no longer burned, they felt rather ordinary, even though there were times when Taehyung got scared he would lose his ability to force his eyelids apart after days of not blinking. His tears were streaming down his cheeks as they soaked through his bandages; without the thick layer of cotton, they were free to fall and force to swell as they pleased. He wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand, smearing paint across his skin as he did so. The third frame dropped to the floor with a sickening crunch, its broken pieces sprawled across the studio floor in a mess.
Perhaps the loud trash disturbed someone’s peace or they all, Taehyung thought it was most likely, were waiting, with ears ready on door or walls, for his breakdown, when He could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching, and Taehyung knew that someone would soon be upon him. With a deep breath, he tried to control his shutting, trembling body, hoping to appear as if he had merely lost focus on his work.
As Yoongi entered the room, Taehyung's pounding heart was the only sound in his ears. He could feel the weight of Yoongi's gaze on him. He knew he lost before Yoongi said a word.
“What happened here?” Yoongi asked, his voice filled with concern and confusion. He had probably looked around at the mess, his eyes taking in the destroyed canvases, splatters of paint, and the general disarray of the room. He was able to see the chaos of purple burying the purity of nature under their manufactured tones, thought Taehyung, so why was he asking?
Taehyung raised his head, showing Yoongi his pained expression. “I just... I lost control,” sobbed Taehyung before collapsing to the ground, perhaps hoping to find his purple heart there. But his hands grasped at the shattered canvas instead and he lifted it up, muttering, “Healing is so fucking ugly.”
Wooshik’s laughter was ringing in his ears, filling them like a symphony of thousands of Christmas bells. Taehyung folded his arms over his chest although it proved to be difficult over the barrier of his puffer jacket zipped high under his chin. Taehyung’s days with disability were stretching towards loneliness as the rest of the members were busy with their schedules. Even if no one complained about his carefully slow steps or confused balance, Taehyung soon found out the only job he was good at, crushing the others’ toes in his disorientation, became annoying after the first hours. At the beginning he didn’t mind the lonely presence of four walls or the unresponsiveness of his art supplies, he even preferred their lack of brains and holes through which the resemblance of his healing couch reach their comprehension. But soon he found the isolation maddening and not enough for distraction. The temperatures were breaking records on the day he decided to record a long but short in explaining voice message to his friends outside the group. Wooshik and Seojoon despite their packed day planners showed up on the doorstep of the hot dorm almost immediately, fanning themselves with the first objects that came under their hands after Taehyung pulled them in.
They played with the button of the AC but only managed to break it. The fan was spinning faster than Taehyung thought it should be allowed to, blowing the prediction of sore ears into their faces. The only jacket with a hood strong enough to save Taehyung from the future ache was his winter puffer.
“Don’t laugh,” Taehyung’s tone, shaped by the prominent pout of his forward-pulled lips, was lacking any accusation, but he still pointed his long index finger somewhere in the space, hoping it would land in Wooshik’s direction.
“No, man,’ Wooshik’s voice was coming from his right, and Taehyung’s extended finger dabbed into something solid in his violent turn, ‘I mean, after all this,’ he seemed to be thinking for a while, ‘nonsense with blind people creating stunning paintings of things they have not seen once in their life... and this,’ Taehyung guessed he was looking at his artwork, ‘is the reality?”
Somewhere behind him, probably still trying to fix the broken AC, Seojoon burst out laughing. Taehyung was grinning too much to be mad at Wooshik's comment. He knew they were teasing him out of love, trying to bring some lightness into his heavy heart.
“Just wait until I paint one, especially for you and force you to hang it above your bed,” replied Taehyung savagely, his eyebrows’ hair pushing out from behind the knitted fabric over his eyes.
Seojoon's laughter grew louder, echoing through the room, “That's actually not a bad idea! You could create a whole series for us and your members and call it 'The Art of the Unseen.'” Taehyung could almost imagine Seojoon speaking vividly, the height of his excitement accompanied by the gestures of his hands which were revealing the name between his moving away palms.
Wooshik let out a laugh, “So you're saying you’d actually put this up permanently without any objections and not just when you know Taetae is coming over?”
Maybe because the puffed layer over Taehyung's ears was so thick or because of the still blasting stubborn AC, Taehyung failed to hear the quick steps moving towards him. Their echo fell on his ears only after Seojoon had crossed his personal space and with the force that caused Taehyung’s back to bend backwards a little, he threw his arms around his neck, showing his head under his chin next. “Everything for this baby.” Fingers got stuck among his hair strands when a hand ruffled his head in what was meant to be a father-like gesture.
As Seojoon wrapped his arms around Taehyung, he could feel the warmth but also the distance that had grown between them. Taehyung had been pushing everyone away because of a man whose love existed only in his dreams. Perhaps that was the reason others had decided not to come, leaving a message that they were too busy after Wooshik.
Taehyung was thankful for his art, and for the escape it provided, but he also understood that he needed his friends in order to truly let go. Their support was a light he had left on that sunny summer field, guiding him no matter how lost he might feel.
“You guys are the best,’ Taehyung whispered, his voice muffled by Seojoon’s shirt, he could almost taste the flowery fabric detergent on his tongue, ’I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Wooshik was in an unusually cheerful mood today as another soft chuckle tickled Taehyung's cheek before it fell flat on Seojoon's chest. He gave Taehyung a friendly pat on the back, the heat of his hand easily felt through the layers of his clothes. “Don’t worry, baby. We are there for you.”
“How can I be sure you are not lying and this,’ Taehyung’s fingers squeezed the tube of the thick paint Seojoon placed onto his open palms, the resistance against his muscles assured him his hands would stay clean and dry, ‘is a coral shade and not some ugly mustard-y?”
The liberation, filling Taehyung's body through his nostrils after he breathed in the air infected by the smell of living, moving society represented by the emissions burning and poisonous even through his face mask, had diffused past his lungs and blended with his bloodstream long since Wooshik's voice and Seojoon's hand had helped him down the concrete staircase, out of the shadow of the apartment building and into one of their cars.
He hadn't experienced this level of freedom in a long time. The bandages over his eyes and glasses secured by string and knot behind his head came with an aftertaste of normality that had been stripped away by years of being in the public eye, turning it into something almost unreal, like a fantasy.
“Hyung?” Taehyung spun around, holding the edge of a shelve tightly while his feet were moving on the floor slowly without his soles lifting from the ground. Suddenly, he became hyperaware of the lack of tight pressure in the dip of his waist, just above his hip, and the only source of sound being the shuffling of his feet with the occasional hollow bump when his shoes collided with the furniture.
There was a moment of confusion before Taehyung called again, “Wooshik hyung? Seojoon hyung?” His heart began to beat a little faster with his rising panic thumping over his voice in the silence that echoed in the room and bounced off the shelve he was holding.
He had been in this store before, remembering the art shop as a small and cosy place, hidden away in a quiet corner of the city. The shelves full of colourful tubes of paint, sketchbooks, and various artistic tools, were pushed or nailed to the walls, while the cardboard boxes scattered underfoot were creating a maze-like path through, their countless amount made it nearly impossible to move freely without ending up on all fours.
Taehyung hesitated for a moment, considering hard whether to take another step or stay rooted to his safe spot. The absence of familiar laughter and voices made the empty shop feel emptier than before.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the shelf, seeking a sense of stability or perhaps courage.
“Wooshik hyung? Seojoon hyung?’ he repeated, ‘This is not funny!” he called out.
With an uncertain step forward, the dull edge of the shelve pushed the skin of his fingertips a bit over his nails before his hand dropped behind his back.
Taehyung was unaware of the cardboard box tower waggling nearly by his left. As he took that step, something smooth yet firm hitting his outstretched hand was unexpected. A chain reaction when the boxes started to fall, creating a domino effect as each box hit the next in a harmony of thuds and rustling, began in front of unsuspecting Taehyung, shifting from one foot to another right under it.
“Hey! Watch out!” Taehyung thought if he could see, watching the shelves and paint of the walls blurring into a chaotic smudge of colours, his head would spin from how fast he whipped around towards the unfamiliar voice shouting in panic.
He yelped when someone grabbed his arm out of the blue. He could feel an uncomfortable nudge under his navel when his body was pulled, causing his entire weight to be shifted on the outer part of his right foot. The cardboard boxes continued to tumble down, creating a mess on the floor where Taehyung had been standing just moments before.
Taehyung, still caught in the adrenaline of the unexpectedness, steadied himself with the stranger's help. The grip tightened above his elbow, almost as if the stranger holding him, was trying to pull him away from the chaos. "Hey, are you okay? Did you get hurt?" he asked, the concern in his voice touched Taehyung's face as a warm vapour of breath. It smelled of fresh lemons with a whiff of sweetness that reminded Taehyung of chewing gum which would explain the squelching smack behind each word.
“I.. I...” Taehyung stuttered, the inside of his mouth and his lips were left dry while the air remained trapped, still heaving somewhere in the middle of his throat. It was too dense to be gulped down, yet too much to escape him without an embarrassing burp. “I guess so? I feel fine? What was that? What happened?’ each of his sentences ended in a high questioning tone, ‘Who are you?”
The stranger played with his gum again, probably stretching it with his tongue or flattening it against his teeth, at least that was would Taehyung would do. “Sorry about that. Looks like those boxes had a mind of their own,’ the popping of tiny bubbles could be heard as he spoke, ‘I'm Heo Jihun, by the way. I work here, at this shop I mean, well obviously,” Heo Jihun laughed nervously, his grip on Taehyung's bicep loosening slightly before he let go of his arm completely. Taehyung frowned and pressed his arm against his chest, massaging the sore muscle with his fingers.
“Oh, um, I’m really sorry for, you know, grabbing you like that,’ Jihun babbled, ‘I mean, those boxes were just, like... doing a gravity test or something, and, uh, you weren’t, uh, moving, and I thought, 'Oh no, danger!' I mean, now I see—oh, wait, I didn't mean to imply... um...” Jihun trailed off, letting his words fade as he quickly realised his slip-up. An air found its way back on Taehyung's face and his naked arms, where his hair was slowly rising. He guessed Jihun had probably taken a step away if the squeak of his shoes hadn't already given it away.
“It's okay,’ Taehyung responded gently, suppressing his laughter so much that he could feel his forehead creasing with the effort, ‘Nothing happened. I am alright. Thank you.” he added cheerfully, reaching into the empty space between them, searching blindly for the man's shoulder.
Jihun popped a bubble rather loudly before speaking again, sounding even more nervous than before, “No, really, I should've been, like, more aware. Let me—uh, let me make it up to you,’ he tripped over his words, ‘How about I, um, guide you around the shop? You can, you know, tell me what you're looking for, and I'll, uh, assist you in finding it. Yeah, that sounds, um, good, right?”
Before Taehyung could answer, Wooshik's concern rushed over to him as his friend closed the distance between him and Jihun. “Hey, what's happening here?” He scanned the fallen boxes with a furrowed brow and Taehyung found himself being manhandled the second time this day.
“Taetae,’ called Seojoon’s panting voice as the man most likely stormed in right behind Wooshik’s heels and pushed the last few fallen boxes aside, ‘are you okay? Did something happen?”
“I am fine. Just a little cardboard incident, nothing serious, see?”
However, Wooshik and Seojoon’s protective instincts kicked in with even more intensity as their eyes shifted to Jihun standing nearby with his chewing mouth and guilty, red face.
“Who's this?” Wooshik asked impatiently and Seojoon, his gaze narrowing at Jihun, added, “Is everything okay, Taetae? Do we need to handle him?”
“No, no, no, hyung, it's all good. This is-”
“Heo Jihun!’ shouted the voice, followed by a smack, in panic, ‘I work here. It's a bit of a long story, but, let’s just say there was some... enthusiastic shopping earlier, and the boxes got a little...um...”
Seojoon, seemingly unconvinced, crossed his arms, “Enthusiastic shopping?”
“Yeah, we had some big orders come in, and, well, things got a little... chaotic.”
Taehyung had no idea what Jihun was trying to say, even Wooshik and Seojoon remained wary. They nodded in acknowledgement of Jihun’s explanation, still keeping a close eye on him before grasping both of Taehyung’s arms. Their fingers closed under his armpits, one big thumb pushing against his flesh with a bit too much force, as if he was a baby and they gently pulled him through the mess on the floor, guiding him towards the exit. Only, as they started to make their way out of the shop, Jihun called after them once more, “Wait! You dropped this!” he hurriedly caught up and placed a tube of paint into Taehyung’s hands.
“Oh, thank you!” Taehyung thought that bowing his head in gratitude should not be such a struggle, even with his shoulders held up by two pairs of hands. He accepted the tube with a shy smile, his fingers tracing its familiar shape. “How much do I owe you for this?”
“Consider it an apology for the boxes,’ began Jihun, waving his hand dismissively, ‘No need to pay for it. Just enjoy creating your art.”
Taehyung smiled shyly, “Thank you, Jihun-ssi. I really appreciate it.”
As the tips of their shoes lifted over the doorstep and the bell above their head rang when Wooshik pushed the door open, Jihun leaned in and whispered into Taehyung’s ear, sounding more confident than a few minutes ago, “By the way, it's a coral shade. No ugly mustard-y business.” Taehyung's eyes widened in surprise and a faint blush coloured his cheeks.
Jungkook hovered his index finger above the milky flesh of an arm thrown over his waist that clenched the fabric of his too-big T-shirt, perhaps in an attempt to rip the threads of the fabric or simply to not let him go. When the heel of Jungkook’s finger finally touched the exposed skin, Jimin’s lips parted and a line of confusion rose under his bangs while similar creases appeared along his nose, but his eyes remained closed. Jungkook let himself breathe again, the lack of air forced his lungs to expand and his mouth opened unwillingly as he yawned.
The apartment had fallen quiet with the last thud or click of the members’ doors. Lying in complete silence, safe for someone’s occasional grunt, Jungkook imagined the walls around the bedrooms, sleeping in darkness, wavering and shuddering as the chests of each of the boys had risen and fallen. Three hours before, judging by the time fading into today’s (tonight’s) date on Jimin’s alarm screen, Jungkook stayed up to count every thud and click behind the members’ heels. He almost got fooled when Jin returned to fill his jug with fresh water. The fifth click of the key raised Jungkook’s pulse and helped him to his feet as he, tripping over Jimin’s clothes, hurried towards the door and sprung it open just in time to catch the light under Jin’s door disappearing. A bitter smile, more similar to a frown, lifted the corners of his lips. The muscles in his neck ached, he could feel the big vein throbbing with each of his nervous gulps. He wasn’t strong enough, his eyes fell on the open door, revealing an empty room, covered from ceiling to parquets in old protective sheets, stained in colours that not even Jin’s washing machine would be able to clean.
The switch flicked up as Jungkook pushed on it with his palm, stumbling through the vacated kitchen and watching his own pale, swollen face in the reflection of the water jug Jin had left on the counter, before it disappeared in the flesh of light turning on above his head aggressively. He rubbed his tired eyes, his fingers felt icy, maybe if he pressed on his skin for long enough, he would be spared of explanation over the dark circles, maybe two drops of concealer would be enough this time.
The bubbles of air swimming up in chaotic rows towards the water surface, attracted his attention. He attentively watched their race, just like a child betting on raindrops on the car windows, and his eyes began to water as his pupils moved up and down. Jungkook wanted to drink, but the fridge was empty of beer cans and the cabinets were missing the barely labelled, clear glass bottles. He checked yesterday night, he checked two nights before. Namjoon made sure to get rid of them after Taehyung attempted to drown himself in the liquid during the first week. Taehyung was better now, thought Jungkook, and his eyes got lost towards the empty bedroom again. He wished Namjoon would restore it.
Jungkook placed his palms down on the counter and hopped up until the marble felt cold and firm through the fabric of his loose pyjama shorts. His naked heels bumped against the drawers and he remembered Taehyung sitting on the tall hospital bed with legs swaying in the air and dried trails of pink tears on his cheeks. He had not really spoken to Jungkook ever since he had called Yoongi's name after he woke up with fresh bandages and bound arms in the hospital. And Jungkook missed him. He had respected Yoongi's wish at first to leave him alone, that Taehyung needed time. But after he got a whiff of what was Taehyung doing, closed for hours in his studio. He didn't know what he did wrong after Yoongi threw the splinted wood and torn purple canvas on the doorstep of his room. Maybe it was an accident; Jimin helped him to glue the destroyed fabric together; he had seen Wooshik and Seojoon leaving Taehyung's studio with paint behind their nails or washed-out stains on their hand, and - Jungkook tried to not think about it - the coral shade could be seen through the thin white of the new guy's T-shirt. Jungkook filled the glass with Jin's water and gulped it down forcefully as if it were something strong.
The new guy, Jungkook hated him. From his foolish, nervous blabbering every time Taehyung had as much as smiled at him, to his tubes of paint he seemed to conjure from his backpack.
The second 'shot' was a breath away from Jungkook's lips when the front door opened and Taehyung, giggling into the phone, slowly walked in, the sound of his laughter was comforting, a reminder of the person Taehyung used to be before the accident.
Taehyung's eyes had healed completely, the doctor unwrapped the thick bandages from his head two months ago, and although they were left with a slightly pink hue for over a week and he was recommended to wear protective glasses every time he went outside for half a year, Taehyung had returned to his daily activities almost immediately.
It took him a while to notice Jungkook sitting on the top of the kitchen counter and sipping on Jin's sparkling water as if it were vodka or whiskey. But when he did so, his eyes opened wide and Jungkook noticed him gulp.
Slowly, the lighted-up screen of his phone making the skin of his ear red, Taehyung approached Jungkook, his steps cautious.
"I will talk to you later," Jungkook heard him whisper towards the speaker and the laughter on the phone faded away as he brought the device down to his side, his gaze never leaving Jungkook's face.
"What are you doing up there?" Taehyung asked, his voice filled with not enough curiosity to mask the anxiety and his chin jerked up.
Jungkook set the glass aside and crossed his ankles, trying to appear cool and collected even though his insides were currently churning. "Just... thinking," he bid back, not breaking Taehyung's gaze. "You are late... again," his voice came out more cold than he intended.
Taehyung bit down on his bottom lip as if he could find the words there, as if the blood bond to soon ooze from the bite was an ink of his voice. His fingers fumbled with the button of his purse and he let his phone slip inside. "Yeah, I had a dinner date,' he said nonchalantly and slid the strap off his shoulder, playing with the loop with his fingers, 'You should try it too."
Jungkook thought if the glass was still in his hold it would shatter into tiny pieces.
"Oh, a dinner date. Must've been so important," he got through his clenched teeth, noting his own sarcasm.
He hoped he imagined the small shy smile tugging on Taehyung's lip in his own pathetic need for masochism before Taehyung uttered, "It was. Jihun hyung's just perfect." The blush of his cheek had to be caused by alcohol. What did they drink, wondered Jungkook, was it whine? That Jihun hyung was getting on his nerves, such an unresponsible guy, Namjoon had surely told him Taehyung was still not allowed to drink. Suddenly, Jungkook found himself hating the guy even more, if it was possible, as on that evening he had discovered him cuddling Taehyung half-naked in his bed.
"Jihunie hyung, huh? Yeah, I've heard about him,' Jungkook's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, 'Just another guy trying to fill in the gaps, right?" his teeth were grinding so hard he got scared they would turn to white sand as Wooshik's and Seojoon's faces appeared like a thin smoke in front of his eyes.
The purse had fallen from Taehyung's shaking fingers and by the sound it made when it met the floor, Jungkook assumed the screen of Taehyung's phone had collided with his keys. "What is that supposed to mean?" Taehyung's face was now boiling red, his voice just below yelling; he seemed to be considerate of the sleeping apartment.
Jungkook's heart raced as he stared into Taehyung's furious eyes. He knew he had crossed a line, but it was too late to take it back now. "Just another guy, yeah,' he repeated, voice laced with venom as he stared Taehyung down, 'I find it amusing how you always seem to find someone new to fill the void," he laughed heartily, listening to how strange his own voice sounded. "It's so easy for you, isn't it? You've got your pretty new friend to distract you, to play with, while me,' Jungkook scoffed and reached for the glass of Jin's offending ordinary water, 'I can't even get a decent drink." He turned the glass bottom up and watched as the last droplet slid down before dropping on his tongue. "So tell me, what were you doing?"
Taehyung's eyes flickered with hurt and anger, but he held his ground. "Jihun hyung isn't like that,' he said defensively and his arms folded on his chest, 'He's been there for me when you weren't."
The base of the glass clanged when it was placed back on the marble. "Right, because meeting up for dinner is the epitome of loyalty and support," Jungkook was scoffing again, his trembling hand reached for the jug's handle, not to lift and pour but to hold onto something, possibly throw.
Taehyung's voice was rising steadily, he no longer seemed to be in control of his emotions, "You don't get to judge my choices anymore, Jungkook," even if Jungkook wasn't looking directly at him, he still caught a sharp movement of Taehyung's pointed finger, dabbing the air towards him, "You lost that privilege when you pushed me away."
Jungkook stared at the blurred, disproportional portrayal of his face swimming inside the still-full jug in disbelief. "I pushed you away?' the anger burned hot within him and his voice got louder to match Taehyung's, 'It's you who is spending most nights away!"
"Well, maybe if someone didn't make me feel like an afterthought, I'd consider spending more time at home."
The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and for a moment, the kitchen was silent except for Taehyung's fast breath and Jungkook's quick heart before Jungkook slammed his fist down on the counter, the force of it echoing through the silence. Taehyung flinched at the sound of the impact, his eyes wide with shock. Jungkook saw it before Taehyung's brain could register the long leather strap twisting around his ankles. When Taehyung bent and lifted his knee, perhaps in desperation to put as much distance between himself and Jungkook, Jungkook's hand had already travelled through the air, only before he could catch him, Taehyung was yelling, "DON'T TOUCH ME!' his voice sounded raw and dry as his chest moved up and down so quickly Jungkook was sure he would soon start to hyperventilate, 'DO NOT PRETEND LIKE YOU SUDDENLY CARE! SO WHAT IF I CRACK MY SKULL AND BLEED OUT?' he cried as he tried to hold his balance, 'YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME OR THE PAIN I'VE BEEN THROUGH!" He took a step forward, his eyes pleading.
Jungkook stared, his chin nearly touching his chest, at the furious figure in front of him. He had never seen Taehyung like this, never seen him so angry, so... vulnerable.
Taehyung brought the back of his hand towards his face first and wiped dry his tears before he coughed to regain his composure before speaking again, his voice now soft but still laced with pain, "I am just trying to live my life. You know, like you're doing."
Jungkook's hands balled into fists at his sides and he jumped off the counter, his posture tense. "You didn't answer my question."
"What question?' Taehyung spat, his tone dropped to a dangerous growl, 'I don't owe you any explanations, Jungkook. What I do with Jihun hyung is MY business, and no one else's."
The apartment was beginning to feel like a pressure cooker. "You've changed. You used to care about us."
"Us?" Jungkook couldn't tell if there were hands on either side of his head pushing and crushing or if he had only imagined them, but Taehyung's sudden outburst of bitter laugh caused it to scream in agony. Jungkook had to shake his head. "There was never an 'us', Jungkook. Just you and Jimin. I used to wish to be blind, you know? Just so I wouldn't have to see you with him. There were times when the pain became too much. When every smile you shared with Jimin felt like a dagger in my heart." Fresh tears were streaming down Taehyung's cheeks, his fingers wiping at them in despair were leaving red lines down his skin. "I wanted to escape, to find a way to make the torture stop. So, in desperation, I chose to stare into that sun, wishing to be blinded."
Jungkook's eyes widen in realization. He looked like he had been punched "Hyung, I-"
"But I'm not that person anymore,' Taehyung raised his hand, his fingertips glistening under the light, 'I don't need you or your love. I've moved on."
Jungkook didn't know where his heart had vanished, at one moment it was powerful against his ribcage and the next second it was sinking. He had never imagined that his actions could cause so much pain to someone he cared about so deeply. He struggled to find the right words to say. But before he could even utter a single apology, Taehyung turned away, his body trembling with a blend of anger and sorrow.
"I don't need your pity, Jungkook,' Taehyung whispered, his voice barely audible, 'I deserve better than this. I met someone who treats me right, someone who makes me happy. And you know what?' his shoulders stopped to shake and his head lifted up on his neck, but he was still not facing Jungkook 'I don't need your approval."
Silence hung heavily in the air as Jungkook watched Taehyung take a step towards the front door. Panic surged within him, and he realized that if Taehyung walked out that door, their relationship might never recover.
"Wait,' Jungkook finally found his voice, it wasn't strong or loud, but just enough for him to speak, 'Please, just give me a chance to make things right. I... I,' Jungkook grabbed Taehyung's arm when he didn't stop, only got further and further, 'Taehyug hyung, I... I realised my feelings."
"Realised your feelings?' he was mocking him now, 'Funny how that works. I hurt for so long thinking it was all one-sided," a single sob got past Taehyung's mouth. "It's too late, Jungkook. I've let go. Maybe it's time you do the same." Jungkook felt the weight of Taehyung's words crash down upon him. His eyes welled up with tears, and he dropped to his knees with a painful expression, but he couldn't care less if the impact had broken his kneecaps. He clenched onto Taehyung's hand, playing with his long fingers, pulling them towards him. "Please, Taehyung. I know I hurt you, but I can't live without you. I love you, and it kills me to see you with someone else."
Taehyung was pulling his hand away, his nails scratching on Jungkook's skin mercilessly and when he opened his mouth he sounded furiously bitter, "Oh, how the tables have turned,' that laugh would tear at Jungkook's heart but he no longer had any, 'Now you know the taste of heartbreak, Jungkook. Every sleepless night, every ache in your chest—welcome to my world. It's a bitter pill to swallow, isn't it?"
Jungkook's eyes pleaded with Taehyung, but all he could see in them was a reflection of his own pain. The sight was too much for him to bear, he got back on his shaking legs only to stumble back, his back hitting the kitchen counter.
"Let me go." Taehyung said, and his voice was so quiet that it barely reached Jungkook's ears. He was still standing in the doorway, his hand on the knob, ready to make his exit towards the summer night. But he hesitated for a moment as if he was considering something.
"What did you expect, Jungkook? That I would patiently wait for you to figure things out? I waited, alright. In that damn room, for hours, for days, always in the same fucking room! I waited for you to come, to acknowledge my existence, or maybe just glance at me. But no, your eyes were reserved for him. I felt like an idiot. You never truly saw me, Jungkook, not really. You were too damn busy with Jimin."
"No, Jungkook. I've found happiness without you."
With that, Taehyung walked away, leaving Jungkook on the kitchen floor alone with his guilt and regret. He knelt there, clutching the spot where Taehyung's hand had been, feeling the imprints of his fingers on his skin.
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