Chapter Text
The final game rolls around quickly, but this time, Seokjin feels prepared. Their team has practiced harder than ever for this, even giving up precious hours of studying to extend their usual training under Seokjin’s supervision (he makes sure they don’t overexert themselves, of course—not after what happened to him in middle school). At this point, he’s sure that if they give it everything they’ve got, they have more than just a high chance of winning.
Their coach gives them his ritual pep talk, though he adds an extra-strong I believe in you all at the end. Seokjin thinks it works, though, when he sees the determination on his teammates’ faces.
They will win.
With the screech of the referee’s whistle, the game begins.
Seokjin can’t take his eyes off the court, can’t even afford to blink for fear of missing a crucial move. It’s a brilliant game, showcasing the skills and efforts of each player, but also the coordination and trust of the teams overall. Both schools are amazing in their own right, and Seokjin honestly can’t tell in whose favour the game will progress, because as soon as one team seems to gain the upperhand, the other quickly makes a comeback to even the score.
And that’s what makes it all the more exciting.
During half-time, Seokjin finds Jeongguk among the players chugging down water near the end of the bench and slings a towel over his head. “Good job, Gguk. Keep it up.”
Jeongguk nods, wiping the sweat from his neck and face. “Hyung, if we win . . .” He hesitates, but then finishes with, “remind me to tell you something.”
Confused, Seokjin asks, “Why can’t you just tell me anyways?”
But Jeongguk shakes his head and heads over to where their teammates are beginning to gather in a huddle as they await the coach’s instructions.
Needless to say, Seokjin is curious, but his attention shifts back to the game as the third quarter counts down towards the last twelve minutes that could decide everything.
They enter the second half with a two-point lead and end it with a five-point deficit.
Come on, Seokjin urges as the fourth quarter commences. I believe in you.
The scoreboard remains in Seokjin’s sight all through the rest of the game. He watches as the numbers balance, tip towards one team, then balance again, until another shot goes in. His fists are clenched anxiously as he mentally encourages his teammates, almost compelling them to carry each other to victory.
In the last five minutes, he turns his focus to the players instead—namely, Jeongguk. Seokjin finds something oddly exhilarating in watching Jeongguk play, from his expression of focus to his gaze filled with challenge as he confronts an opposing player. It’s as if his eyes are lit aflame as he crosses from one side of the court to another, fearlessly exhibiting all that he can and providing support while demonstrating his individual prowess.
Seokjin doesn’t notice how much time has passed until the crowd begins to count down.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
He glances at the scoreboard, fingers tightening in his lap.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
His eyes flit back to Jeongguk as the boy receives a pass.
Four.
Three.
He dribbles, then stops.
Two.
The ball leaves his hands.
One.
Seokjin glances at the hoop.
Zero.
The scoreboard reads 65 on Cheongil’s side.
Cheers of victory erupt throughout the stadium.
On the other side, the scoreboard reads 67.
As Jeongguk walks off the court, Seokjin stands and welcomes the boy into his arms, wrapping him in a comforting embrace. He can yell at me for this later, he thinks. But let me do this for him.
Jeongguk doesn't resist, leaning into Seokjin’s body. Seokjin feels a wet patch forming on his shirt where Jeongguk's face is tucked into his shoulder, though he isn't sure if it's from sweat or tears (he doesn't mind, not when Jeongguk is trusting him enough for this).
Soon, the silence turns into quiet sniffles, and a pair of arms slowly snake around Seokjin's torso. Seokjin lifts a hand to pat Jeongguk's head, carding his fingers through his hair. Neither speak, remaining still until Namjoon calls for them to line up.
Seokjin gently coaxes Jeongguk into letting go. “Come on, we need to line up,” he murmurs, settling a hand on Jeongguk's back to guide him.
Jeongguk drags a hand over his eyes and follows Seokjin's lead towards the centre of the court.
They shake hands with the opposing team, teary-eyed but defiant. They've come much further than most years, and Seokjin knows they should be proud of the achievement, but there is the underlying bitterness that they couldn't win this last game, and can't call themselves the champions.
There's still the Fall Tournament, a voice whispers in his head, but Seokjin knows it won't be the same. He won't ever again play in a tournament with his current teammates, with whom he has bonded over their losses and celebrated their victories. The other third-years might not participate then either, considering the proximity of university entrance exams around that time.
This was their last chance. And now, it’s over.
It takes them twenty minutes to regain enough strength and willpower to leave the locker room. Seokjin doesn’t stay with Jeongguk, gluing himself to Yoongi and Hoseok instead and watching as the first-year receives a tearful hug from Jimin. His best friends are more composed than some of the others, having experienced this loss before, but Seokjin knows better.
He knows their failure to take this final step forward is wrenching at their hearts more painfully than ever.
The coach takes them all out to dinner, but not to celebrate. It’s a dinner that speaks of endings and beginnings, of disappointment and anticipation, of all the blood, sweat, and tears they’ve shed since not only the beginning of the semester, but for however many years they’ve committed to this sport, this lifestyle.
It’s a dinner that Seokjin thinks is more depressing than such an affair should be. They made it to second place, after all—better than many of the teams across South Korea, placing higher than their team ever has in the last five years, at least. Don’t their accomplishments deserve a bit more acknowledgement than this?
Seokjin understands the dissatisfaction of losing the last battle, but in his opinion, they’ve won the war.
And that’s the most important thing.
Jeongguk quietly excuses himself halfway through the dinner and leaves the table, the quiet scraping of his chair against the floor acting as an audible sign of his departure. The others don’t seem to notice, absorbed in their own conversations or still replaying the game in their minds. Seokjin, on the other hand, follows him outside the restaurant.
They don’t speak, leaning on the brick wall of the establishment as the rush of the city roars around them. Jeongguk’s face is illuminated by the multitude of streetlights and colourful signs, clearly defining each angle of his features. (Seokjin doesn’t think he has ever been more beautiful.)
“Hyung, do you think we could’ve done better?” Jeongguk asks, after minutes have gone by.
Seokjin ponders the question before responding, “Who is to say what could have happened? In an alternate universe, it’s possible that a meteor could have struck the other team’s bench last minute, but that didn’t happen.”
The idea merits a chuckle from Jeongguk.
“You tried your best, didn’t you?” Seokjin questions, though it’s mostly rhetorical. “And so did the rest of the team. You’ll get your chance again in fall.”
Jeongguk murmurs something under his breath that Seokjin asks him to repeat. “But it won’t be with you.”
Seokjin’s eyes widen and he is struck momentarily speechless.
Hurriedly, Jeongguk adds, “I mean, Yoongi-hyung and Hoseok-hyung, and Jaehwan-sunbae, too. The third-years won’t be playing, right? Because university applications and stuff.”
Seokjin nods slowly, but his mind is still fixated upon Jeongguk’s earlier words.
But it won’t be with you.
He is suddenly reminded of the intensity of his feelings for Jeongguk, and he thinks that maybe—if it could be considered a possibility at all—he could be in love with him.
Seokjin revises the thought after a second’s deliberation. It isn’t just a maybe.
He is in love with Jeon Jeongguk.
“You’ll have the rest of the team,” he hears himself say aloud. “Namjoon will lead you all much better than we could, and the second-years are promising. You could make a serious comeback in the fall.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “I mean what I said, hyung. It’s not going to be the same without you.”
This time, he doesn’t bother to change his words.
And Seokjin’s heart flutters at the hope that he might have a chance for this love after all.
---
Seokjin makes an effort to ensure he's earning back Jeongguk’s forgiveness, little by little. He can tell that Jeongguk still trusts him at least somewhat, so he takes it slow, allowing Jeongguk to make the first move in resurrecting their lunches on the roof and eventually going over to Seokjin's house for dinner or eating out together. Sometimes, however, there remains an awkward tension between them that Seokjin tries his hardest to break, but can't always do so.
Jeongguk seems slightly more reserved around him now, but at the same time not as much. They make less small talk about their days or their go-to filler topics, but often discuss more serious subjects, such as their vision for the future—though that's only when they converse at all. Seokjin finds that simply sitting in silence with Jeongguk by his side is enjoyable as well, especially on the days where they sit by the riverbank near the school and listen to the sound of rushing water, usually after grabbing a snack or eating a meal together.
It's one such a day that Seokjin finds himself in a particularly self-deprecating mood, unable to stop the flood of guilt and shame reminding him of all his mistakes. It begins with thoughts about Jeongguk’s brother, how he was so unfairly injured because Seokjin wanted to win and forgot about honest sportsmanship for that one instant. Then, he thinks of his insecurities about his position after meeting Jeongguk and scoffs at himself, Look how it turned out anyways. His injury invades his mind, mocking the fruits of his hard work. And finally, he remembers his cruel words towards the first-year, who didn't deserve any of what Seokjin told him that day.
He doesn't realize he's squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pinching into a frown, until he feels a gentle finger easing the wrinkles between his brows.
“What are you thinking, hyung?” Jeongguk asks.
Seokjin opens his eyes but keeps them firmly fixed on the water. “Just . . . I'm sorry. Not just for yelling at you, but for hurting your brother too. I don't think I can say it enough, Gguk, I—I'm really, really sorry.” He allows his voice to fade, unsure of how to express his apology further.
When it becomes apparent that Seokjin isn’t planning to continue, Jeongguk says, “Hyung, I told you, I’ve already forgiven you for my brother’s injury. It was an accident, and he doesn’t blame you either—he’s put it behind him and moved on.” He takes a deep breath. “I forgive you for that day too, hyung. I was hurt at the time because I was afraid that you really only thought of me as ‘the younger brother of a person I once hurt, who only wants to get revenge on me,’ but you’ve shown me that it isn’t true.”
Seokjin turns to look at him and finds Jeongguk is already staring.
The younger smiles. “Thank you, hyung.”
Seokjin’s lips part slightly in shock. “Jeongguk, are you sure? I—”
“Hyung. Stop.” Jeongguk holds his gaze steadily. “I forgive you.”
Seokjin can feel a warmth spreading inside him from the words. He smiles as well, noticing for the first time today how elegantly the sunlight frames Jeongguk’s handsome features, accentuating the pinkness of his lips and the shine in his eyes.
And before he can stop himself, he’s leaning in, his movements slow but deliberate enough that Jeongguk must know what he’s doing.
He doesn’t stop Seokjin.
Their lips meet in the chastest of kisses, unhurried and simple. Seokjin notes with some amusement that while Jeongguk’s mouth is as soft as he imagined, he tastes of cookies and cream, courtesy of the ice cream they shared earlier. It’s the perfect flavour for Jeongguk, sweet and spunky at the same time.
After a few seconds, Seokjin pulls away. He treated the lack of objection earlier as Jeongguk’s assent, but looking at the blank expression on the younger’s face causes nerves to erupt in his stomach.
“Um, sorry,” Seokjin squeaks. “I’ll just, uh—”
He turns away, ready to flee, but a hand on his sleeve stops him. Seokjin whirls around to face a wide-eyed Jeongguk, who tightens his grip on his arm.
“Hyung,” says Jeongguk, his voice strangled and awed all at once, “do that again.”
(And really, how could Seokjin refuse?)
He dips his head down and Jeongguk leans up to meet him halfway.
It’s a little different this time. Seokjin can feel Jeongguk’s confidence building as his lips push upwards almost impatiently, and he responds in earnest, his hand moving to tangle itself in Jeongguk’s hair. They don’t go further than the pressing of their mouths against each other, but Seokjin has never felt as satisfied when he breaks the contact to breathe.
Then, he chuckles. “Isn’t there a rule about not asking your crush for love advice?”
Jeongguk blinks, pouting once he understands the reference. “Hyung, that’s different—I’ve never liked a boy before, okay?”
Seokjin leans his forehead against Jeongguk’s and whispers, “It’s more than okay.”
(“Hyung, are we dating?”
Seokjin glances at the boy resting his head in his lap, absentmindedly playing with Jeongguk’s brown locks. “Do you want us to be?”
“I . . . do.” There is a faint blush creeping up Jeongguk’s neck, all the way to his ears.
Seokjin smiles. “Then we are.”)
Their friends find out when Jeongguk walks into Seokjin’s classroom for lunch the next day and the third-year pulls him into his lap, laughing at his half-hearted protests and the redness of his cheeks.
“About time,” Yoongi mutters through Hoseok’s suggestive Ooh, accompanied by a smirk and excessive eyebrow-wiggling, and Namjoon’s confused sputtering about how this even happened.
Taehyung and Jimin, who aren’t able to stay for all of lunch break due to extra lessons with their math teacher, voice their joy of seeing that they’ve finally figured things out between them, though they give Seokjin a couple obligatory lines of If you hurt our best friend, we’ll make you regret it.
(Seokjin responds in a joking manner, but expresses sincerity in his eyes. He won’t make the same mistakes again.)
The teasing dies down after a while, though not before they target Namjoon for his denseness of not noticing the romantic tension (“And sexual,” Hoseok adds) between Seokjin and Jeongguk. The couple in question don’t move from their position for the rest of lunch, though it’s difficult for either of them to eat their food.
Eventually, Seokjin kicks Jeongguk into a nearby chair, claiming his love for the kimbap his mother makes overrides his love for Jeongguk.
Jeongguk, being the brat that he is, grins and says, “Oh, so you love me, hyung? That wasn’t a very cool confession.”
Seokjin can feel his face flaming as he retorts, “We’re literally dating, Jeongguk.”
“You two were practically dating when you started coming to morning practice together,” Hoseok deadpans.
Jeongguk and Seokjin both ignore his comment.
“Does that mean you don’t love me?” Jeongguk fakes a sniffle, his bottom lip quivering.
In response to his childish antics, Seokjin leans over and pecks his lips, pulling away a mere second later. He relishes in the pink staining Jeongguk’s features, fondly lifting a piece of kimbap towards his mouth.
Jeongguk accepts the offering, grinning brightly as he chews.
“Take your disgusting lovey-doveyness somewhere else,” Yoongi grunts. “This is a PDA-free zone.”
Seokjin sticks his tongue out at his best friend. “Don’t be jealous, Yoongi, green isn’t a good colour on you.”
The latter scoffs. “As if I would want to be as gross as you two.”
“Ah, by the way, hyung, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hoseok interjects. “Which universities are you applying to? I asked Yoongi about this already, but if we end up close to each other, we should just rent a place together to save money.”
Seokjin notices Jeongguk stiffening slightly, but pushes the observation aside for now as he answers, “I’m looking at Konkuk and Chung-Ang, mostly. And maybe Seoul National as well.”
Hoseok whistles in appreciation. “Tough goals, hyung. But with your grades, you’d definitely make it into at least one of those.”
“Let’s hope so.” Turning to Yoongi, Seokjin says, “You never really told me where you decided to apply. Have you figured it out yet?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Still looking, but I wanted to go for Chung-Ang and Seoul Nat too, and probably Seoul-Arts.”
“What about going abroad?” Seokjin suggests. “They have some really prestigious music programs in the States.”
But Yoongi shakes his head and tells him, “I can’t afford to go to school in another country, even with a scholarship.” He gives Seokjin a pointed look.
The elder backtracks and smiles apologetically, redirecting the conversation.
Later, when Seokjin and Jeongguk walk home together, Seokjin communicates the words he was hesitant to speak in the presence of their other friends.
“Jeongguk-ah, I want to make sure you know,” he starts, “I’m not planning to end this when I graduate. It feels like we have a lot of time left, but summer break is just around the corner, and after that, it’s going to be pure studying and exams for us third-years. I can’t promise you we’ll be able to do things like this” —Seokjin gestures to their current positions— “but I’ll do my best to make time for you. And if I’m ever not making you feel as important as you are in my life, please just tell me. Because next to my parents, you’re most important.”
Jeongguk opens and closes his mouth several times, gaping like a fish before finally complaining, “Hyung, that was incredibly cheesy and romantic, but what am I even supposed to say to something like that?”
“That you love me?” Seokjin jokes, smiling.
The first-year replies, very seriously, “I love you, hyung.”
Seokjin freezes in surprise.
A second passes, then two, then three.
And Jeongguk grins. “Damn, I should’ve taken a picture of your face, hyung. You looked so shocked.”
The realization that he’s been tricked dawns on Seokjin, and he nudges Jeongguk off the sidewalk with a huff. “If you wanted a picture of my handsome face, you could’ve just said so.”
Jeongguk laughs. “Why should I do that when I can see the real thing?”
Seokjin pulls him into a headlock. “You cheeky brat, Jeon Jeongguk. Why did I get myself into this?” he laments dramatically.
“Because you love me?” Jeongguk’s eyes are innocent, his tone teasing as he wriggles out of Seokjin’s grasp.
Instead of answering, Seokjin reaches out and takes Jeongguk’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. The younger doesn’t pull away, allowing their hands to remain locked together for the rest of the walk.
I suppose I do, Seokjin thinks, glancing down at his partner affectionately. I’m in love with him, after all.