Work Text:
and if you are to love,
love as the moon loves;
it does not steal the night,
it only unveils the beauty
of the dark.
[isra al-tibeh]
There is something bittersweet about silence. It washes gently over the empty gap between speech, either leaving a puddle of what could have been, what was missing now that they were gone, and how much it hurts, or a lake of appreciation for the way his eyes glitter brighter than her ones ever did. And sometimes, this shore, covered in sand littered with pebbles, while the ocean of emptiness laps at it gently, leaks from the corners of dreams and makes damp the bed they share.
As if the stars were only inches above them, Jimin reaches his fingers out to the ceiling. His eyes are half-lidded, his face delicately illuminated by the nighttime glow slipping through the gap in the curtains. His mouth - soft and the source of the smiles and jokes that brighten the day - curves upwards in a slight smile, content with the arms wrapped around him, the body curled around his own. On his shoulders, the white shirt he sleeps in slips down and pools on the mattress around him, the left sleeve catching on the pillowcase. He is beautiful.
Next to him, with drool lingering on the corner of his mouth and sticky tear-tracks glinting in the faint light, is Taehyung. His fingers are curled around the fabric of Jimin's shirt as he sleeps, either subconsciously holding onto Jimin and their delicate relationship, or in the knowledge that his entire world could be gone if he lets go. Despite his recent shower, eye make-up is clinging to his lashes, the way it often does if you don't remember to wash it quite right. He looks ethereal in the darkness.
Not wanting to be too intrusive, or too force his way around him too roughly, Jimin tangles his hands in Taehyung's messy bed hair as gently as he possibly can, trying not to wake him but making sure he knows that Jimin is still right there next to him. Before he succumbed to sleep, the younger had looked at him with glassy eyes, tears still evident on his face, and made him promise not to leave without him. They need each other more than the fox needs the cover of darkness, or the ink needs the page.
Still, the entire scenario is all so wrong.
By day, Jimin is a dancer and singer, maneuvering around difficult turns and hitting high notes. His other members talk to him, about how he's enjoying the choreography, and what kind of food he wants to eat for lunch, and how is his girlfriend. And he nods and smiles but he knows for a fact that the nights he doesn't spend with her are spent with him instead.
Deep in sleep, Taehyung sniffles. Jimin runs his hand through his hair with more intent. "You're so beautiful." And he is.
Taehyung is a strange kind of wonderful. He is a bright fireworks display on a Winter's night, blue and orange and red and pink and white, glowing and exploding and reflecting in the eyes of those who choose to watch, and with him he carries a bag of gunpowder, ready to go off whenever he is called upon to do so. At the same time, he is a physical manifestation of what the word 'poetry' looks like. His eyes are shiny and vacant but also full, his lips are frowning when he smiles, his hands are together even when they hang limp by his sides, and his chest falls when it rises. A moving contradiction of what it means to be beautiful.
Beauty is subjective of course - and Jimin is biased - but looking at Taehyung, really looking, he can see why so many people, all over the world, feel his beauty too. Each aspect of his being, from his legs to his ears, are fit together in harmony, like a musical piece. He is a musical piece. Jimin wrote Lie about Taehyung and how much it hurts.
Not that anyone knows, obviously, because he's much too good at keeping secrets and abstaining from blurting out what lingers in his mind. He can't imagine the ensuing isolation he'd receive from the others if they knew about these late-night moments of passing silence, curled up under the blankets after checking for hidden cameras with his entire universe breathing steadily beside him. Not because they'd be disgusted by their love, but because they'd be disgusted that Jimin never mentioned it. Never said, 'I love him'.
Down his cheek, a single tear slips and runs down the length of his face until it hangs on his chin. He wonders whether he cries as prettily as Taehyung, who looks delicate even when his words turn into choking. He can shelter him, he knows he can.
Around them, the bedroom is messy. Clothes and towels and books are scattered across the floor, a mess, but it fits.
Jimin is an atheist, not one to believe in God, but he's certain that him and Taehyung were supposed to be together. They'd united, confused about their feelings, scared about what it meant, and yearning desperately for love and affection, and after all the years and the crying and the kissing even when they know they shouldn't, somehow they're still together, whatever their 'together' may be. So maybe this love has turned Jimin agnostic, maybe it has made him wonder, seriously, if there is some greater power in this world fitting together the events of his life and the people that he leads it with. And he thinks, that maybe he wants to believe.
In his arms, Taehyung scrunches up his face, like he knows he is being watched intently, and blinks his right eye open. His left is stuck together. Confused and sleepy, he mumbles incoherently, before he finally, finally, makes sense. He says, "Jiminie, hold me, hold me tighter."
And so Jimin does.
He winds his arms more firmly around him, grounding him, protecting him, and he presses his lips to the crown of Taehyung's head. Against his chest, Taehyung breathes out in a soft puff of air, and Jimin can feel his mouth stretch into a smile. On behalf of Taehyung, Jimin feels vulnerable. He can look at his boyfriend, and stare, but he can never feel his pain for him, or fight his battles for him. Where Taehyung is vulnerable, Jimin asks him not to venture, but he does so regardless.
"I'll hold you tighter than the moon holds the stars," Jimin promises, his own eyes heavy with his exhaustion. "I'll hold you tighter than the planets orbit the Sun."
Taehyung strokes a finger across Jimin's cheek. "And I'll hold you too."
They lay there, just content with the quiet, quiet sounds of love. It's hard to hear it, but if you close your eyes to block out the world, and strain your ears to listen, you can hear it. Love is a sound, a harmonious, pleasing sound. It it the music of life and of passion, and it becomes the soundtrack of the time Jimin spends in Taehyung's arms, or holding him in his own.
Ironically, it is the same sound as the gentle tapping of fingers dancing across his wrist, or a hum of appreciation, or a peck on the lips under the cover of darkness when the rain can block out this sound. When they can be together and their friends can't hear it.
When he thinks about love, and it's sound, Jimin also thinks about what it looks like. It looks like a galaxy of twinkling stars reflecting in Taehyung's glittering eyes, and being able to watch those eyes and know that they hold the warmth and adoration that Jimin spent his entire childhood hoping for. He wants to stare into those eyes forever and feel safe and loved.
"Jimin, what are you thinking about?" Taehyung asks, his voice soft. Their time together is coming to an end - the others will be home soon, back from their evening celebrating the wins they've had recently, and they'll have to separate.
Jimin closes his eyes and savors the moment as he contemplates his answer. He inhales the scent of Taehyung, listens to his breathing, and says, very honestly. "You."
Taehyung smiles his boxy smile and presses his fingers against his arm, flustered and unable to deal with it. "Ah - you're too cheesy! Don't make me blush over a line I've heard in every drama I've watched ever."
"It's true! I'm being honest!" Laughing, Jimin pushes Taehyung's fingers away and lets a smile settle on his face. They both need to get up soon, as the other's will be more than just confused if they walk in on them both cuddling together, naked spare Jimin's overly expensive boxers. "You just can't handle being a mature adult who has someone who loves them!"
"Yeah, maybe I can't handle having a boyfriend!" Taehyung giggles.
They settle into silence. It's not uncomfortable, but it's still palpable. They very rarely refer to one another as 'boyfriends' because Jimin is supposed to be dating another girl, and they're both supposed to be picture-perfect heterosexuals. Of course, they recognise that it is what it is, and sometimes, things have to be said, because if they never were to see each other as their partner, their relationship would feel even more wrong.
Suddenly, Jimin's phone starts displaying a reminder to start getting ready for when the others return. He curses, "Ah, fuck.", and Taehyung frowns.
But they wrench themselves apart anyway. Taehyung has to run to his bedroom to get some clothes - he'd staggered out of the shower and fallen into Jimin's bed, feeling tired - and Jimin has to go to the kitchen to pretend to be cooking instant noodles for them both. This 'routine' was arranged when the others suggested going out for drinks.
As jarring as it may be, to recognise the white noise sound of another crack on his heart, Jimin clicks the kitchen light on. On the counter, various amounts of general clutter and things that are yet to be thrown away linger aimlessly, looking and seeking for someone to remember them being there and to drop them into the bin as they stroll past it; just like how Jimin expects to be treated when the others find out about this thing he and Taehyung have. It feels strange, gross even, to be pretending to be someone else in front of the rest of his group. The whole idea of it is twisted in an uncomfortable way, and no matter how Jimin tries to convince himself that he is doing the right thing, his lie will be the endmost breaking point of either his time with Taehyung, his girlfriend, or with BTS as a whole.
It's a scary thought, one that Jimin can barely fathom. He's lived this way for so long - it feels surreal to imagine his life any other way.
Nevertheless, he does, and it hurts him less each time. He hopes that by the time it comes around that the media catches wind of his secretive double life, he will be immune to the feeling of rejection. Or maybe, already isolated by the rest of BTS. All he wants is to cause the least pain possible.
Snapping out of his daze, Jimin reaches up to the cabinet for some instant noodles. As he does so, the front door opens in a swift motion, Yoongi stumbling inside looking positively miserable. It takes Jimin three seconds to realize that Yoongi has, at some point during the night, wet himself, and is now suffering from his inability to stop drinking alcohol until he's being removed from the bar and his wallet.
And then Seokjin and Jungkook enter, Seokjin with Jungkook's hand in his own, and they collapse onto the couch without taking their shoes off, looking content with a night where they get to unwind.
Namjoon and Hoseok are last, neither of them particularly drunk, but slightly tipsy. (Probably because they either drink heavily diluted drinks or share something more concentrated). They're fussing over Yoongi so intensely, they barely notice Jimin still leaning upwards as if to take the noodles from the shelf, but knowing he'll somehow end up becoming the person in charge of herding his friends to bed, and, in the morning, handing them all water and painkillers.
But even knowing all this, he can have a dizzying secret to keep to himself. He can struggle through the grueling dance practices, and the snide online comments, and the poking and prodding by his managers and the stylists. He can comfort himself when he's crying, because, after all:
Taehyung is his universe.