Chapter Text
When Jeongguk was twelve years old, Taehyung moved away. Not to be dramatic or anything, but it was the worst day of Jeongguk’s life. At that point, Jeongguk hadn’t experienced any real loss- his grandparents were all healthy, his dog was still young, and even lower-level losses like his baseball team losing a game were few and far between. So watching his best friend drive away, not even an address or phone number to write down, was practically damaging for adolescent Jeongguk.
It took him way too many years to realize it, but Jeongguk’s pretty sure what he felt for Taehyung wasn’t just friendship. He found out the hard way that he liked boys thanks to a game of spin the bottle when he was fifteen. He’s still grateful to Yugyeom for helping with that character development even if it was mortifying at the time. It’s thanks to Jeongguk’s therapist that he thought maybe he had loved Taehyung.
People deal with loss differently, Jeongguk. What you’re describing sounds like what my older patients describe when their spouse dies.
Oh…
Do you want to explore this more? Or do you want to move on?
I suppose we can talk more about it…
Still, it’s hard to know, even with the help of his therapist, what exactly Jeongguk felt, or feels, for Kim Taehyung. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of each other in, what, fifteen years? How old is Jeongguk again? He just turned thirty in the fall… whatever, he’s too gay for math anyway. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Taehyung. They didn’t keep in touch, obviously.
So Jeongguk pegs it down to fate when he sees Kim Taehyung’s face in a facebook ad. The fucking algorithm just knows. Jeongguk is absolutely certain this is the Kim Taehyung he grew up with, the same Kim Taehyung he was friends with for at least ten years as toddlers and children. This is his Kim Taehyung taking up an entire ad about… a musical?
Kim Taehyung is a Broadway star, apparently.
Jeongguk supposes it makes sense. While all the other kids grumbled about participating in the compulsory 6th grade play, Taehyung had practiced his seven lines earnestly. He loved to sing, at least when he was a kid, and wasn’t half bad at it if Jeongguk remembers correctly. He clicks the ad, algorithm be damned.
Hadestown on Broadway. A musical starring, in part, Kim Taehyung as Orpheus.
Call him impulsive, but Jeongguk buys a ticket to the show and then goes to see what airfare is like. He might know someone from high school who lives in New York, maybe he can crash on their couch.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk greets when the line connects.
“How’s it going, Jeongguk?” Namjoon’s voice is tinny through the phone.
“I’m fine,” Jeongguk answers. How it’s going is not the point. “Didn’t you move to New York for a teaching job?”
“Yeah, in Buffalo,” Namjoon says. Jeongguk doesn’t mean to swear at his hyung, but that’s what comes out of his mouth. “What? Buffalo is perfectly respectable.”
“No, sorry, that wasn’t directed at you,” Jeongguk apologizes. “I’m trying to go to New York City for a Broadway performance of Hadestown.”
“That… is not the sentence I expected to come out of your mouth,” Namjoon says in disbelief. “How about you start from the beginning.”
“Uh, that could take a while,” Jeongguk warns him.
“It’s fine, I’ve got time.”
So Jeongguk explains growing up with Taehyung as his best friend. He explains Taehyung moving away, the lack of technology or accountability to remain in touch. Jeongguk explains kissing Yugyeom when he was fifteen, his therapist bringing to light the depth of his feelings. And most of all Jeongguk explains the way the facebook algorithm is intertwined with fate and that Jeongguk needs to go to Taehyung like a romantic movie lead because this might be his only chance to try and reconnect with the person who might be the love of his life but he can’t be certain unless he tries.
“Oh, wow…”
Namjoon doesn’t say anything else but that for at least a solid minute. Jeongguk checks his phone screen to see that the call is still connected.
“Please say something,” Jeongguk says. “I’m not crazy. Right? Please tell me I’m not crazy.”
“Jeongguk, you’re just a little bit crazy,” Namjoon responds. “But that’s for your therapist to work out with you, not for me to judge. How about this…”
And so, together they make a plan to meet in New York City. Jeongguk learns about stagedooring. Namjoon learns what attractions are nearby the theater, since he does not have a ticket to see the show. They split the cost of a hotel. They plan a specific time for Jeongguk to feel utter despair and disappointment the day after the show, just in case it was all for naught. They pay money for a guided tour around New York City, because how often will they be in New York City? Jeongguk’s wallet hurts by the time he gets off the phone with Namjoon.
Jeongguk kind of wants to throw up. Hadestown the musical is great, obviously. He loved seeing Taehyung even from afar, clearly in his element as he performs a determined love-struck fool. And his voice… Jeongguk’s memory was correct. Taehyung’s voice is amazing. His stage presence is amazing, his acting is amazing, everything about him is amazing.
But now Jeongguk stands outside the stage door, right along the barricade, ready to vomit. He’s got his playbill in his hand and a backup pen, and he knows what he’s going to say. He will get Taehyung’s attention, and he will get his second chance at potential love. Jeongguk hadn’t even waited for the bows to be completely over, which is kind of a theater no-no, but he wanted to get to the stage door.
The other people around him start squealing when the door opens, revealing first Persephone, and then Hades, and then Eurydice. The door closes. Persephone, Hades, and Eurydice are all smiling, taking photos, signing playbills, but Jeongguk can’t feel anything but a lump in his stomach. Maybe the staff had been lying about Taehyung coming out the stagedoor tonight. He smiles politely when Persephone reaches him, offering his playbill for her to sign.
The door opens again, and Jeongguk nearly breaks his neck looking towards it.
It’s Taehyung. Oh, god, it’s Taehyung. It’s really him. Not that he’d doubted, but Jeongguk is absolutely certain this is his Kim Taehyung. It’s his eyes, his smile, the mole on his nose… Jeongguk might actually cry.
“TaeTae Hyung!” he screams, startling Persephone, who’s handing back his playbill, but it’s worth it because it immediately gets Taehyung’s attention.
Their eyes meet, and Jeongguk prays to every heavenly being and Namjoon that Taehyung recognizes him. He sees Taehyung’s eyebrows knit together, confusion evident on his face. Who is this guy who’s calling his childhood nickname? Can it really be considered a nickname if only one person ever called him that? And if this guy knows that nickname, that must mean…
Confusion gives way to disbelief when Taehyung recognizes him. Jeongguk can read that much. But then Taehyung’s job, his duty to the fans at the door, takes over and he’s smiling pleasantly, accepting playbills and taking pictures. He’s sure to give everyone a proper conversation, even if it’s just a few words. He slowly makes his way down the line. Jeongguk waits in agony.
“Thanks so much for coming out tonight!” Taehyung says. He’s said the same thing to just about everyone, and Jeongguk can’t help but feel disappointed.
“It was a great show,” Jeongguk says, since they’re apparently going this route of talking like complete strangers. “You make a really great Orpheus.”
“Thank you! That means a lot!” Taehyung smiles. He signs Jeongguk’s playbill and hands it back. “Thanks again!”
And then he’s moving down the line, having the same conversation with other fans, signing other playbills, and smiling at everyone just the way he’d smiled at Jeongguk. He tries not to feel so defeated, but it’s clear that his plan was a bust. Oh well. That was part of the point of making this trip, wasn’t it? To see whether or not Jeongguk’s gut was right.
Even if the facebook algorithm is intertwined with fate, Jeongguk and Taehyung clearly are not.
He finds Namjoon on the sidewalk a block or two away from the theater, their predetermined meeting location. Namjoon doesn’t even bother asking how it went, since it’s so clearly written on Jeongguk’s face. He sighs, claps Jeongguk’s shoulder, and pulls out his phone to get them an uber.
“Do you want a playbill to a show you didn’t see, signed by Persephone and Orpheus?” Jeongguk asks dryly, handing the playbill to Namjoon. When Namjoon doesn’t joke back, he turns towards him. “Hyung?”
“Did you, perchance, bother reading this?” Namjoon asks, handing back the playbill.
Jeongguk looks down. A signature he assumes is Persephone’s is scribbled across the top. The other signature, Taehyung’s is…
Accompanied by a phone number? That’s a phone number alright. The ink is slightly smudged, but not so much that Jeongguk can’t make out the numbers.
Holy shit.
Taehyung still sorta wants to ram his head against a wall when he gets home. As a general rule, he avoids giving his phone number out to strangers. Except strangers don’t usually look like grown-up versions of his childhood best friend, and strangers definitely don’t call him by his childhood nickname almost exclusively used by his childhood best friend. Like a doofus, Taehyung hadn’t even bothered to ask what the guy’s name was. That’s how certain he was that the stranger at the stage door was Jeon Jeongguk.
He hasn’t seen Jeongguk since he was fourteen. His parents hadn’t allowed him a phone nor social media, and as mean as it sounds, Jeongguk slowly slipped from his mind as he transitioned to a new high school in a new city. He’d had other priorities at the time, and Jeongguk just wasn’t one.
He’d been in college by the time he thought of Jeongguk again. Taehyung doesn’t even remember what spurred him on, but it was when they were doing an exercise on internet presence. His professor had asked the class to search themselves up on the internet to see what came up, and whether they’d be happy with a future employer seeing that. After searching up himself and seeing a few hometown news articles written about high school plays and such, Taehyung had been possessed to search up Jeongguk.
Taehyung didn’t have a lot to go off of, just Jeon Jeongguk and Sacramento and not a whole lot popped up. There was an article about a local scholarship opportunity for sports that he’d been awarded. In what Taehyung guessed was Jeongguk’s senior year of high school, his team won state for baseball. But otherwise, nothing. There weren’t even any worthy photos, just grainy photos of the entire baseball team in which Taehyung had to simply guess which one was Jeongguk.
It was an underwhelming conclusion to the internet search. At the time, Taehyung had sort of considered it case-closed. He didn’t want to get stuck in the past. He and Jeongguk had been best friends. And thinking about it from Jeongguk’s perspective, Taehyung probably wouldn’t even want to think about himself if he’d been left in the dust like he left Jeongguk. What kind of best friend for like ten years just abandons their friend when they move? He didn’t even have an address to give Jeongguk.
But then… Jeongguk was there tonight, standing outside the stage door. He had called to Taehyung in a way that only Taehyung would know. He had, presumably, flown across the country to see a musical knowing Taehyung would be in it.
The thought kind of makes Taehyung’s heart skip a beat, though he’s not totally sure why.
At any rate, he does still want to bang his head against a wall for giving out his number. That feeling continues until he comes out of the shower just as his phone pings. He looks at the screen and sees a text from an unknown number.
Unknown Number
Is this Kim Taehyung from Sacramento
This is Jeon Jeongguk
Taehyung
Yes, it’s me
How do I know it’s really you, though?
Jeongguk
Do you write your number on many playbills?
One time when I was 9, you took me ice skating and I broke my ankle
And instead of getting help, you went and got me an icee from the concessions stand thinking that would make me feel better
Taehyung
If I remember correctly, you DID feel better
I also remember you asking me not to tell your mom because she hadn’t actually given you permission to go ice skating
Jeongguk
Did I pass the test?
Taehyung
Yeah
It’s good to talk to you again, Jeongguk
Jeongguk
I’m in New York for a few more days
Do you have any time to meet up?
Taehyung
We don’t have a matinee show tomorrow
Would you like to go for breakfast? I know a good place
Jeongguk
That sounds great. 8am?
Taehyung
See you then!
(Location sent)
And that’s how Taehyung finds himself sitting across from a thirty year old Jeon Jeongguk in an old school diner, both of them sipping on black coffee and looking like they don’t really know what to say. Taehyung in particular doesn’t know what to make of the Jeongguk sitting in front of him. Although he’d always done sports, the Jeongguk from his childhood wasn’t this… manly. It’s kind of intimidating. But it’s also appalling when Taehyung looks back up at Jeongguk’s face and realizes he’s been checking him out.
“I’m glad you recognized me,” Jeongguk admits. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“How did you find me?” Taehyung asks. “Broadway is a big deal, but I’m not exactly well known.”
For some reason, Jeongguk looks embarrassed. Taehyung wonders if he doesn’t have his own version of the Looking You Up Online story, which is definitely a little cringe but not unheard of. He can’t help but think that this Jeongguk, embarrassed and a little unsure of himself, looks a lot more like the twelve year old he left behind in California. The Jeongguk sitting before him is, honestly speaking, way too hot and confident to be his Jeongguk. Of course, a lot can change in nearly twenty years.
“The facebook algorithm got messed up and gave me an ad for the musical,” Jeongguk says. “I don’t know what I could’ve done to make the algorithm think I’d be interested in a musical all the way across the country for me, but at that moment I’d thought it was kind of fate.”
“What do you mean, fate?”
“We haven’t been in touch for, like, fifteen years,” Jeongguk says. “I think part of my soul shriveled up and died the day you moved away. Like, I was devastated, Taehyung. And I’ve sort of held onto that grief for so long, and then suddenly your face was in my newsfeed? Kind of fate-like, I don’t know.”
“I… didn’t know you were so hurt,” Taehyung says, thinking of all the things to immediately address. A life’s worth of grief seems like the most pertinent. “I’m so sorry. I just… I moved on, if you know what I mean? I was starting in a new high school and trying to make friends and do drama… If I’d known you were going to be so torn up about me moving, I would’ve tried harder. But I assumed you would move on like I did.”
“I mean, I did sort of move on, I had to,” Jeongguk shrugs. He’s looking down into his coffee, like he’d rather talk to it than to Taehyung. “I made new friends, but none of them were you.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says again. “I don’t really want to sound heartless, but I can only be held partially responsible for that grief-”
“Oh my god, no, I’m so sorry,” Jeongguk interrupts him frantically. “I didn’t say all of this to, like, make you take accountability, or to unload, no. Oh god, no, that’s what my therapist is for. I’m sorry. We were talking about how all this happened and then I started disclosing too much. You’re not the same person I was friends with, even if you were my best friend. You’re, what, like thirty-two?”
“Thirty-one,” Taehyung tells him. “My birthday’s coming up later this month.”
“Yeah, okay, I knew that,” Jeongguk says to himself. “At any rate, I don’t expect you to take responsibility for my feelings. I don’t know. I just wanted to know if there would even be a chance to reconnect with you. I loved you.”
Jeongguk says the last part like an off-hand tag line. The way you would mention loving your mom, or your pet. It catches Taehyung entirely off guard, and he chokes on his coffee.
“You loved me?”
“I mean… I think I did,” Jeongguk shrinks a little. “I’m gay, and I know I cared about you a lot, and my therapist was kinda like that’s a lot of grief for someone who’s just a friend and so… I don’t know. Maybe.”
“First, you feel irreparable grief over me moving away,” Taehyung sighs. Why isn’t their food here yet? He needs more carbs to handle this conversation. “And then you say you loved me?”
“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk apologizes again. “Neither of those things are particularly appropriate to say to someone you haven’t seen in, like, fifteen years.”
“It’s been closer to twenty,” Taehyung corrects. He doesn't even really know what the end goal of this conversation is supposed to be. To his knowledge, this is not how friends are supposed to catch up after years apart. “Listen, Jeongguk… I know we have history, but can we ignore that for a minute? Let’s just pretend we’re two thirty-year-olds getting breakfast. Let me learn about the current you. Let me get to know the Jeongguk who’s thirty, not the Jeongguk who was lowkey heartbroken by me.”
“That sounds…” Jeongguk hesitates. He looks Taehyung up and down, a little too calculating to be considered checking him out but definitely with a hint of interest. “That sounds like more than I could hope for.”
“Great,” Taehyung smiles. Their food finally is placed in front of them, steaming and delicious. “So, Jeongguk, what do you do for work? Do you have any hobbies?”
Jeongguk smiles back. He downs the last dregs of his coffee and starts telling Taehyung all about his boring office job. He tells Taehyung about how he volunteers with the Little League as a baseball coach. He tells Taehyung about his current friends, one of whom is currently taking a guided tour of New York City without him.
Taehyung kind of likes the sound of this Jeongguk. Maybe they don’t need to reconnect, Taehyung thinks. Maybe they just need to re-meet.