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“I’ve had it up to here,” Taehyung began with both arms waving about wildly and anger swiftly sharpening his tongue. “Up to here, Jin! An hour late, and not a word from him about it. I won’t stand for it, I won’t!”
“I’m sure he’s on his way as we speak,” Seokjin monotoned whilst dodging Taehyung’s swinging limbs. He looked at Taehyung with a blankness that transcended patience and instead emanated indifference. Taehyung recognized the dreaded tyrannical nature of his tantrum and in the same breath saw the way it would soldier on like its own autonomous beast.
“I know you insisted on me taking him on for this shoot, but dear God if I don’t loathe that man,” Taehyung continued much to the dismay of Seokjin. “I can’t do this.”
“Taehyung, as your agent –“ Seokjin’s voice took on a more urgent tone, a nervous smile erupting over the barely-concealed frustration surely building on the back of his tongue.
“Yes, yes, I know, as my agent,” Taehyung interrupted as he sank down into the chair in front of his dressing table. He brought his hands up to his forehead, rubbing circles into his skin and ignoring the sharp intake of breath from his make-up artist from across the room as she watched him wipe clean through the layers of foundation she had placed on him. Seokjin turned and motioned for her to leave them alone for a moment and she walked out in pained silence, slow and sulking. “Listen, I’ll do anything else. Anything else, I swear. I’ll take that commercial you pitched last week, the one with t-the dogs on a plane or whatever –“
“It’s ghosts on a cruise ship, but that’s not the point right now,” Seokjin hissed. “Taehyung, you are doing this shoot. It’s fucking Vogue for God’s sake, this is nonnegotiable. As your agent, I cannot advise you to give up a fucking cover shoot over a petty feud.”
“I take offense to that,” Taehyung whined. Seokjin took the clipboard in his hands (itself struggling not to be snapped in half in Seokjin’s increasingly anxious state) and smacked it against Taehyung’s arm in impatience. He swung it hard enough to elicit a shocked gasp from Taehyung’s lips but not enough for Taehyung to actually feel its biting impact through the thick fabric of his coat. “It’s not just a shoot,” Taehyung continued with furrowed brow. “It’s just the beginning and you know it. To do a whole play with him… I wonder if it’s worth the loss of my peace of mind.”
“Kim Taehyung,” Seokjin began imperiously. He leaned down towards Taehyung, fire blazing in the depths of his eyes as he raised one accusing finger at him. “You will not back out of this on my watch.”
“You point your finger at me, sir?” Taehyung’s whisper carried dramatically through the green room, so ill-concealed as to have been akin to shouting.
“I do point my finger at you, sir,” Seokjin seethed in response. “You listen to me Taehyung, this is Broadway. B – r – o – a – d – w – a – y. You are going to do this play with him, and you are going to like it. And at the end of it all you are going to buy me a bottle of the finest Dom you can find and kiss the ring on my finger in adoration.”
“But Jin,” Taehyung whined but offered no further protest. He knew in his heart that the play was a good decision, as were all of Seokjin’s career moves. It was Seokjin’s unique privilege (though he would scarcely call it as such himself) to have known Taehyung from his childhood, and to have watched him grow into the stardom that had been his birthright after being born into a family of performers. Taehyung took pride in being able to call Seokjin his confidante and his closest advisor, but you’d be hard pressed to find him admitting to it. To ask Taehyung about his feelings towards working with his best friend for so long would elicit only one response – it was his great error to have grown into a man of so many whims that Seokjin was the only agent in existence who could ever manage him.
Today had been no different. Taehyung woke from his too-brief slumber to prepare for the Vogue shoot early in the morning. Full of fancies as he was, he still understood the importance of a timeline. Bright and early, they had told him, and bright and early he had been. But his co-star (and by extension shoot partner) appeared not to have gotten the memo. Taehyung could boast of about five minutes of patience in his artillery for any such man; but for a man whom he had claimed as his arch enemy, no allowances existed. Min Yoongi, an actor who thus far had earned the honor of being called up-and-coming by every major magazine and newspaper that deigned to write theater reviews.
That past year, he had made his screen debut with a stellar critical reception and had popped up at every party that a budding young actor could want to be seen at. Taehyung had first met him at a Vanity Fair party when he was already three champagnes and a gin & tonic deep at the open bar. He had greeted him with all his usual flourishing splendor. Yoongi had returned his greeting with his usual stoic formalities, shaking Taehyung’s hand with all the ease of a man who never has need to gather his bearings. Taehyung had taken him in properly then, or as well as he could with the faint buzz of alcohol already clouding his perceptions. He was a striking man with the kind of ethereal beauty that placed a vice grip around Taehyung’s drunken heart. Min Yoongi with his gentle aura and the silvery glow that seemed to follow him around even in the dim lighting. Min Yoongi with his impeccable posture, his perfectly styled fringe, and his disquieting reserve as he shook Taehyung’s hand firmly and surely.
Taehyung had disliked him immediately.
Seokjin had received the call from Jimin, Yoongi’s agent, that morning, explaining that the shoot would have to be delayed. He had steeled himself for Taehyung’s potent disapproval immediately. His worries were not amiss – Taehyung had listened to Seokjin explaining to him that Yoongi would be late, had watched the way he grimaced in response. Taehyung had grumbled, rolled his eyes, and even looked oddly disappointed before launching into his tirade. Now Taehyung sat in front of him, stewing in his own antipathy as he waited for his colleague for the day to arrive. “Min Yoongi,” he sneered with such feeling that only Seokjin’s well-trained eye could spot the performative nature of it. “Add a disregard for other people’s time to his long list of offenses.”
“List of offenses,” Seokjin repeated under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between two spindly fingers. “List of offenses, he says, of all the nerve. What’s he even done to you?” He could feel a tension headache beginning to build behind his eyes. When he spoke again, it was in response to Taehyung’s sullen silence. “He’s not so bad. He’s had an emergency, that’s all.”
“What, did his hair finally start to fall out after all that ridiculous bleaching?” Taehyung scoffed just as the green room door creaked open.
“No, actually,” said a voice from the doorway. “I just had to take my dog to the vet urgently. My apologies for disregarding your time.”
Seokjin winced at the sound, then hurriedly put on a polite smile as Yoongi himself entered the room, Jimin following silently behind him. The fellow agent nodded at Seokjin, grave-faced and shivering slightly, a sort of nervous tick born out of constant stress. Jimin’s expression looked as though he wanted to say something, or else to let out his tension in the form of a scream, but he simply pursed his lips as Yoongi and Taehyung entered into what could only be described as a battle of wills fought out with their mirthless stares. Taehyung was ashen-faced but managed to maintain eye contact with a sort of feigned impassivity. Yoongi in contrast was smiling, but there was a peculiar expression in his eyes. Seokjin knew that had each of them been asked what Yoongi’s curious gaze meant, they would have each answered differently. A few more moments of silence passed in the electric room before Taehyung spoke.
“I apologize,” Taehyung said. His cheeks colored red, but the words left his mouth as though they had been hauled forth with a particular roughness. “Is your dog alright?”
“Yes,” Yoongi said. “He’s alright now, thanks. Shall we get on with this?”
Seokjin could tell by the way that Taehyung’s spine went ramrod straight and the way his left eye narrowed almost imperceptibly that it took everything in his power to do nothing but nod in assent. Twenty minutes of speed-round hair and make-up later, they were all positioned in a great hall blazing with spotlights and bustling with staff in matching black uniforms wielding ubiquitous clipboards. Assistants barked orders at interns and one or two members of staff snuck away to the catering table to nibble on snacks between takes. Seokjin and Jimin lingered near there as well, the former munching on some sort of matcha filled pastry with relish. Jimin stood next to him with his arms crossed as he watched the shooting sequence.
Taehyung and Yoongi were shooting a series of promotional stills and adverts with partners of their stage company in preparation for their upcoming Broadway run. To kick things off, they were flown to England to model for a cover shoot clad in everyone’s favorite beige check print as an homage to the play’s London setting. They were surrounded by a wash of crimson velvet reaching up towards alabaster archways running across the entire circumference of the ellipse. Above it all loomed a great dome of wrought iron and glass, washing them in the diffuse gold light of late morning. Taehyung had his face turned into the glow, his heavy lids half shut and his lips parted as if he were drinking in the sun like falling drops of dew. He held his upturned palm away from himself, allowing his partner’s cool fingers to brush against the soft skin like a whisper. Through his narrowed eyes, he could see Yoongi posing as well. His face held all the cold luminescence of divinity preserved in marble. Taehyung felt his expression trying to shift as he gazed upon his partner, and he struggled to maintain it for the shot. Instead, he heard the quiet hiss of air leaving someone’s lungs as the harsh light of a flash bounced off a light stand umbrella in the background.
“Taehyung,” sighed their creative director. Jungkook was a young but frighteningly accomplished man with a knack for bringing even the most convoluted visions to life with expertise. Above all, his flair for the eccentric in his shoots and the relative difficulty of such concepts made him a man with an abundance of patience. The look on his face now was enough to make Taehyung lower his head apologetically. Jungkook stood in front of them with one hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked solemnly into Taehyung’s eyes. “You’re frowning,” he said. “Again.”
“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled. He sucked in his lips and sucked in his cheeks as if trying to stretch them out before trying for the kind of regal pout Jungkook had asked him to deliver. Jungkook merely let out a frustrated groan. He turned to his assistant, a lamppost of a man with a camera so old it looked as if Jungkook had pulled it out of an antiques shop specializing in Victorian fare.
“Namjoon,” Jungkook asked the man as he pulled his eye away from the viewfinder – if you could call it that – of the ancient contraption. “Did you get anything useable there?”
“I’d err on the side of caution and say no,” Namjoon answered grimly. Taehyung shot him a pleading look but Namjoon shrugged and put his hands up in defeat. “The lens doesn’t lie.”
“Alright,” Jungkook huffed. “Alright. Okay. Let’s try this differently, let’s just – let’s just pump out the good ol’ fashioned chemistry, yeah?”
“Of course,” Yoongi replied pleasantly, shifting closer to Taehyung immediately. Taehyung took two steps back in response, a panicked noise escaping from his throat on impulse. Yoongi scowled at him in response, flexing the fingers of his outstretched hand as if to bring light to the noted emptiness of his palm.
“W-well, what does that entail, exactly?” Taehyung stuttered and Yoongi’s head lolled back to his shoulders in exasperation.
“What do you mean?” Jungkook asked carefully. “Just… intimacy, really.”
“That seems a bit drastic,” Taehyung squawked and Jungkook buried his head in his hands.
“How is it drastic? For God’s sake!” Jungkook said. “You just have to stand close to each other. Aren’t you doing this to promote a play? You’re going to have to stand next to each other a lot, Taehyung.”
“That’s different, we’re in character then,” Taehyung argued.
“Just pretend you’re in character as someone who doesn’t hate me for now,” Yoongi said under his breath. “You’re an actor after all.”
Taehyung felt blood return to his cheeks once more, and he bit back the sarcastic comment burning to drop from his mouth. “Fine,” he said instead. “Fine, let’s just do it.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook monotoned. He turned back to Namjoon and whispered instructions to him. Namjoon nodded along in understanding, repositioning the camera as the light in the auditorium changed with the movement of the sun. Taehyung ignored the glare he could feel burning into the back of his head from Seokjin and stepped closer to Yoongi again. Yoongi was the one frowning now, his brow furrowed so that his face turned into all sharp angles. His lips were cherry red and perfectly round as he pouted, with one corner sucked into his mouth as he chewed on the skin impatiently. Taehyung looked away and shook his head as if trying to shake the image from his head. So annoying, he told himself. Then he stepped up to Yoongi and placed one hand on his waist gently, as if testing out the feeling of his fingers resting there. Yoongi looked up at him instantly.
If Yoongi felt any discomfort, it was hidden somewhere in the shadows of the gray depths of his dark eyes. He blinked slowly up at Taehyung, then raised his stray hand up to Taehyung’s face. His other hand was clutching at the curve of Taehyung’s arm. Yoongi’s fingers were turned in so that his hand formed a delicate shell. He rested his cupped hand against Taehyung’s warm cheek, held it there like a caress frozen in time. Taehyung breathed in once, deep and slow, and trapped the air in his lungs for a moment before exhaling just as slowly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of a flash going off again, of assistants running to another part of the set to get the light to refract just right for the shot, of the vacant whispering of someone else’s voice behind them. It all dimmed in comparison to the tangible buzz of energy coming off of Yoongi’s form and electrifying Taehyung’s palm, his cheek, the tips of his toes where Yoongi’s shoes had just barely grazed his own. Taehyung heard Jungkook’s voice commanding them as if from somewhere very far away. When Yoongi began to move again, the words came more clearly to Taehyung’s mind.
“A little closer now, please,” Jungkook had said.
Yoongi had obliged, moving in closer and balancing on the balls of his feet so that he was closer to Taehyung’s height. His face was close enough now that Taehyung could count each individual lash fluttering against Yoongi’s rosy cheeks. He could feel the unfamiliar warmth of Yoongi’s arms circling his waist inside his trench coat, of Yoongi’s chest hovering less than an inch away from his own so that Taehyung was afraid he would feel the erratic rhythm building behind his ribcage. Yoongi leaned his face forward then, shadows playing against his pale skin, and move so that his lips could almost brush against Taehyung’s ear.
Taehyung held for one moment, then two, ignoring the way Yoongi was trying to lean against him for support to maintain the way he was stretched up on his toes. Then, as if all the feeling was suddenly returning to his numb limbs, Taehyung pulled away, half-shoving Yoongi so that the shorter man stumbled back and nearly off their raised platform. He scowled at Taehyung, some phantom emotion flashing in his eyes as shock parted his lips. Taehyung sputtered in response, his hands reaching forward automatically as if to ask if the other man was okay. Yoongi looked ready to swat his hand away and Jungkook let out a wounded sound at the sight of them both.
“Holy fuck, Taehyung,” Jungkook said, somehow still keeping his voice steady. “It’s just a photoshoot, you don’t have to kill each other.”
“I’m, I’m truly sorry,” Taehyung said in a small voice but Jungkook was waving away his apologies and turning instead to Seokjin.
“I can’t work like this, Jin-ssi,” Jungkook said. Seokjin was already halfway between the catering table and Namjoon. He was stony faced, ready for a fight as always.
“My client was not made aware of the intimate nature of this shoot beforehand,” Seokjin said carefully. “Give him some time to adjust.”
“Adjust?” It was Jimin who was up in arms now, looking at Yoongi placatingly despite the latter remaining frighteningly calm and quiet. “Taehyung has been nothing but disrespectful to my client since we arrived -“
“Over an hour late, I might add,” Seokjin countered with feeling, even though he'd been the one to beg Taehyung's calm over the situation earlir. Jimin turned as red as an overripe tomato in response. Taehyung gulped on Seokjin's behalf. Everyone knew Jimin’s temper was a sight to behold and Seokjin’s persistence in the face of it was truly a testament to his resolve. But it was clear as day that Seokjin’s being assaulted by such anger from all sides was Taehyung’s fault and Taehyung’s fault alone. Again.
Seokjin caught his eye over Jimin’s shoulder and shook his head at him almost imperceptibly. There was a forlorn look in Seokjin’s expression when he looked at Taehyung, like he couldn’t even find the energy to scold him. Jimin was rambling off his list of complaints and Seokjin was dishing out his own, but Taehyung couldn't stand to listen to Seokjin defend him with his false arguments. Taehyung looked away quickly and turned to check on Yoongi, to apologize for his sudden overreaction. But when Taehyung turned around, Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon sat on the dais where they had been positioned for the shoot and fiddled with a digital camera, the older contraption abandoned on its tripod. He caught Taehyung looking at him and tilted his head towards the hall hidden on the far end of the auditorium with an insistent air.
Taehyung spun around immediately, his feet carrying him towards the stairs almost of his own accord. The hall leading out was all red brick, cool in the shadows and eerie without the usual press of bodies present in the passage whenever the venue was hosting a show. He emerged on the other side of the hall and felt as if he had been doused in cold water by the way the silence fell over him. He couldn’t hear the squabbling of agents and staff here. The sound of flashing cameras finally felt distant. Taehyung felt no peace, however, and he found himself frantically turning in circles as if doing so would bring him to where he needed to be. His feet finally found their way forward and he began walking again, his hands running against the porous surface of the walls so that the roughness rubbed his skin raw.
Finally, he came to a staircase tucked away into a dark corner. Behind the ornate marble bannister and dusky orange stones, he could see one lone shadow just barely shifting away from the others. Taehyung’s feet moved timidly on and he found himself sticking the upper half of his body around the bannister before he had come up with the words he wanted to say. His fingers dug into the marble almost painfully and his waist felt bent at an awkward angle. Two eyes peered back at him, glowing in the semi-darkness. Yoongi had leaned back onto his elbows so that his back pressed into the rough stone of the staircase. He held a cigarette loosely between two fingers, looking like he was more interested in watching the smoke drift up from it in lazy clouds than anything else. He started when he noticed Taehyung peering at him from around the solid wall of terracotta that made up the outer railing.
“Hey,” Taehyung said as soon as Yoongi showed sign of acknowledging his presence.
“Hey,” Yoongi managed, turning his face back towards the ceiling to study the patterns of the frescos glinting back at him.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Taehyung whispered. Yoongi turned back to him then and afforded him a single withering glance.
“I don’t, usually,” was all he said, but Taehyung could hear the rest of his sentence lost in the bitter silence that followed. Unless you’re around me, Taehyung finished in his head.
“Look, I’m… I’m really sorry about before,” Taehyung muttered. His voice sounded pathetically small, as if it would be swallowed up by the unforgiving vastness of the hall. “I didn’t mean to push you like that, I just kind of –“
“Why do you hate me so much?” Yoongi interrupted. Taehyung stammered at the sudden question and found after a moment that his words had fizzled out. Yoongi was looking in his direction but his unfocused gaze made Taehyung feel like he was looking right through him instead. Like Taehyung was some spectral monster come to torment him.
“I don’t,” Taehyung was whispering again. “I don’t hate you.”
“Bullshit,” Yoongi laughed. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his foot, frowning as if upset at having to leave it there. He seemed to look more directly at Taehyung as he contradicted him but the next moment he was withdrawn again, wandering somewhere in his own thoughts. “Long list of offenses,” Yoongi repeated Taehyung’s earlier words with a frown. Taehyung felt a sharp pang in his stomach as he watched Yoongi’s expression. “What offenses have I paid you?”
“W-what?”
“What offenses, Taehyung?” Yoongi sat up straight just as Taehyung moved the rest of his person around the bannister and kneeled at the foot of the stairs. Yoongi brought his face down closer to Taehyung’s, frowned again when Taehyung instantly flinched. “You know I asked to work with you on this play?”
“You did?” Taehyung heard the incredulity of his own voice echoing down the hall.
“I didn’t want to do this play at first at all,” Yoongi sighed. “It’s wonderful, yes, but I’ve done so much theater the past few years and I was ready for something different. But I wanted to work with you. I had such respect for your work. What have I done to deserve so much ire from you?”
“You… you,” Taehyung started but he found the words slipping away from him like water. “I just – when we met that first time, you seemed so uninterested.”
“Uninterested?” Yoongi repeated in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“And then we saw each other around so many times after that, and you were always so cold –“
“Taehyung –“
“And so I thought you didn’t like me,” Taehyung continued despite the icy stillness taking over Yoongi. “And then we met a few times, you know, at events and group shoots and stuff and you were still kind of distant so I –“
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Taehyung,” Yoongi interrupted and Taehyung jumped in surprise. “I was fucking shy.”
“Shy?”
“Yes, shy,” Yoongi continued. “I’m not good around new people, okay? And I met you at my first ever official wrap party and you were this great actor that I’d admired for years and I couldn’t just be open with you from the get-go. And those other shoots? That’s just who I am, Taehyung. I’m here to do a job and so I do it and I don’t expect people to hold it against me!”
Taehyung sputtered in response, the last bits of his memory struggling to grasp at other examples. This wasn’t it, he thought. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. Yoongi hated him, that had always been his truth. Yoongi was the one who hated him, and he bit back in kind. Yoongi was not this shy, reserved newcomer; not this man who appreciated him, who tried to approach him with diffident steps. He was the man who greeted him with a chilly nod, the one who set his insides to twisting into uncomfortable knots as soon as Taehyung laid eyes on him. In a last moment of sheer horror, Taehyung found himself forming whatever words he could use to hang onto that image in his head.
“I, well, it’s – you’re just so hard to work with,” he finally spat out. Yoongi’s face turned ashen at this.
“I’m hard to work with?” he scoffed, and Taehyung tried to give him an appeasing look which came across more like a grimace. “You won’t even touch me without showing disgust.”
“It’s not like that,” Taehyung nearly whimpered. “I just can’t handle it.”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that,” Yoongi monotoned. He had drawn further away from Taehyung by now, his arms crossed as if to ward off the conversation. Yoongi was truly like some great work of art in that hall, like silver-veined marble smoothed by the hands of Michelanglo himself, and with all the concealed fury of a flame captured in stone. Taehyung couldn’t help but keep letting the words flow from his tongue unbidden, struggling to explain his thoughts even to himself.
“You’re just,” he continued. “I just can’t bear that you feel so unreachable.”
“That’s not on me,” Yoongi argued. “It’s you that thinks I’m distant.”
“Well, how can I not?” Taehyung cried in response. “You and your damned restraint. You and your quiet voice and your steady hands and your face like a fucking stone carving. It’s like as soon as you walk into a room, my mind goes so blank and my hands start shaking, and every fiber of my being feels like it’s going to crumble into dust if I so much as look at you for more than five seconds.”
“Taehyung,” Yoongi hissed, but a dam had broken in Taehyung and the words were bursting forth at last.
“And you know what? I can’t stand,” Taehyung found himself saying. “How you always tap your fingers on any countertop we see the second no one’s talking to you, or how you kind of just glide over the floor like you’re not stepping on it at all. And how your eyelashes are long enough that they tickle my cheek if we have to be close up for a shot, and how you always chew on your lip between takes. And your hands are always so damn cold a-and your waist is so small it’s like my hand’s gonna swallow it up if I touch you. And –“
“Taehyung,” Yoongi repeated. His voice was rough, his hands shaking as he held his gaze. There was a strange emotion hidden in Yoongi’s eyes, an inferno building in his irises and a pained look twisting his lips into a scowl. Taehyung realized then that all those times he had thought Yoongi was looking at him coldly, he had been mistaken. This was the face of his true rage, the reality of his aversion. Where before Yoongi had been reserved, professional, maybe even – to Taehyung’s dismay – a little nervous, he was now looking at Taehyung as he never had before. The way he glowered at him in that moment sent a shockwave running up Taehyung’s spine. There was anger, yes, and a sudden frightful understanding, but something else also grew in Yoongi’s gaze and fed the distance between them, something unnamable. “I’m sorry that I’ve inconvenienced you with my existence.”
“No, that’s not it,” Taehyung pleaded, but Yoongi was hearing none of it.
“No, I suppose it isn’t,” he laughed. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here and be punished because of – of what? A playground crush? I mean, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You, kicking and screaming and throwing a tantrum like a child because you can’t manage your own feelings. Well,” he stood up and bypassed Taehyung on the stairs. “I’m not going to put up with your infantile inability to understand your own feelings, and I certainly won’t let them get in the way of our job.”
“I – I… it’s not a crush,” Taehyung insisted weakly even as the erratic thumping of his heart seemed to be whispering quite the opposite to him. Yoongi shook his head and started walking down the hall.
“I’ll see you in New York, Taehyung,” he called out. Then, with a last withering glance over his shoulder, “If you can pull yourself together by then.”
Taehyung watched him walk away until he was out of sight. He sat in the stairs even as Jimin ran out moments later, whispering something into his cell phone and just barely sparing a glance at Taehyung. It wasn’t until Seokjin came out five minutes later, took one look at Taehyung’s shell-shocked face, and sat down on the step below his in loyal silence, that Taehyung finally moved again. He let out a sound like a wail, covering his face with his hands in despair as that last look in Yoongi’s eyes scorched his memories like wildfire.
Disappointment. That’s what he’d seen in Yoongi’s eyes then. Behind the outrage and the hurt – the faint flickering realization that Taehyung had let him down.
“I’m an idiot,” Taehyung finally said, his voice muffled by his palms. Seokjin reached up to pat him on the knee.
“Oh, honey,” he answered. “I know.”
The rest of the day passed by Taehyung in a blur of angry conversation. Jungkook squabbled with Seokjin, who defended Taehyung in turn. Namjoon watched it all whilst sitting cross-legged on the ground next to him. Taehyung was, for his part, spread eagled on the cold ground with his eyes glued to the patterns formed by the dimpled glass of the dome.
“I don’t deserve it,” Taehyung sighed.
“Don’t deserve what?” Namjoon asked.
“Seokjin’s support,” Taehyung nearly cried, turning his head into the inside of his arm. Namjoon sighed in response and leaned back so that he was level with Taehyung’s face.
“What exactly did you say to him?”
Taehyung knew that by ‘him’, he meant Yoongi, and that by avoiding his name, he really meant that Taehyung had fucked up so much that day that Yoongi’s very existence had become temporarily unutterable to them all.
“I think I kind of sort of accidentally said that I liked him?” Taehyung whispered, his voice inching up to a foreign octave. “But, like, in the most insulting way possible.”
“You what?” Namjoon groaned.
“It all kind of happened so fast,” Taehyung instantly replied, then seemed to think better of it. “Or I guess it didn’t… I’ve been an ass to him, haven’t I?”
“Nice of you to notice.”
“I know, I know, I suck,” Taehyung said. “I don’t know, he was asking me why I hated him, and it caught me off guard. I kind of just started listing off weirdly specific things and then it kind of clicked for both of us that I didn’t dislike him at all, quite the opposite in fact, and it didn’t go over well with him and I was too freaked to really process it myself and then –“
“Slow down,” Namjoon said patiently.
“Right, yeah, yes. Well… anyway, he basically just said I was being immature. He’s right, honestly. I guess all this time, I’ve been misplacing my, uh, my… feelings… for him. Like the first time I saw him I had all the sense knocked out of me. And I was just projecting all this ridiculous inner turmoil onto him because, well, he was just intimidating to be around.”
“Like a playground bully,” Namjoon said, nodding his head sagely. Taehyung winced at that. Yoongi had implied much the same during their own chat.
“I’m the worst.”
“You are.”
“Would’ve been nice if I came to this realization on my own,” Taehyung murmured. “Instead of giving him the worst confession of all time.”
“Can’t have been that bad, surely,” Namjoon soothed.
“I basically yelled ‘it’s not a crush’ at him,” Taehyung said and Namjoon let out a soft ‘ah’ and fell silent. “Saw right through me, he did. Told me to get ahold of myself before the rehearsals for the play start. Wish I’d come to my senses beforehand so I could’ve been prepared for it instead of saying it to him like I did –“
“Said what to him exactly?” asked another voice.
Taehyung and Namjoon both shot up at the sound of it, balancing on their elbows at the sudden presence. Jungkook and Seokjin loomed over them, the former with his hands on his hips as he frowned down at them. Seokjin was looking inquisitively at Taehyung as they awaited his response.
“What did you say that made him leave the set so suddenly?” Jungkook asked again.
“It was…” Taehyung’s voice trailed off as Jungkook’s expression darkened. “I didn’t mean to… but we were talking and then suddenly I was going on about – about, I don’t know, his eyelashes and things and he –“
“Oh, wonderful,” Jungkook seethed. Then, he turned to Seokjin. “Jin, you promised he wouldn’t go blabbing about his crush before the run for this play was over.”
“Sorry, what?” Taehyung sat up straight at that, but Seokjin and Jungkook went on.
“No, no, no,” Seokjin argued. “I distinctly remember saying he wouldn’t figure it out during the shoot, but I fully expected him to come to his senses during the play.”
“Now hang on –“
“Granted,” Seokjin continued. “I didn’t anticipate it going over so badly.”
“Well, I certainly did,” Jungkook said. “And regardless, your timeline’s all off and we’ve spent the whole day to get just one useful shot –“
“EXCUSE ME,” Taehyung yelled. Their conversations stopped at that and all three of them turned to look at him, as if he’d just reminded them of his presence. “Have you known all along?”
“Obviously,” they replied in unison.
“Please, I’m your best friend,” Seokjin said. “And beyond that, I’m your agent. ‘Course I knew.”
“Well how come no one said anything?” Taehyung asked.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve handled that so well, hearing someone call you out on your lovesickness,” Namjoon said. “What, with the panicking and the denial and then the panicking again.”
“Fair point,” Taehyung grumbled. “I’ll make it right. I’ll apologize, I’ll explain myself, I-I’ll…”
“Leave it be,” Seokjin said.
“How can I?” The words were like a desperate prayer, like he hoped someone of the three could give him the answers he needed, or wanted, to hear. But Seokjin merely shook his head in finality.
“Trust me on this, Taehyung,” he said. “Give him space.”
“Right,” Taehyung said in a whisper. “You’re right. Time and space.”
Time and space felt impossibly vast indeed to Taehyung’s peculiarly affected heart.
❖
There was something to be said about finding solace in the rain.
Taehyung couldn’t help but remember the day those words were said to him. He had been in rehearsals one day, weeks ago, and found himself staring out the high windows of the studio with a wistful look on his face. The sound of the drops pit-pattering against the glass had sent him into a daze, like a child lulled to the edge of sleep by a lullaby. Then, quite suddenly, Yoongi’s voice had drifted into his consciousness like the sweet notes of a reed flute. There’s something to be said about finding solace in the rain. Those had been the first words, and the last, that Yoongi had said to him outside of running lines or drills for their play since their encounter on the stairs two months ago. Just as quickly as he’d said it, he had stolen back to the rest of the crew, leaving Taehyung alone with the memory of the foreign softness of his voice and the curiously open expression in his eyes.
Taehyung mulled over that memory as he stood on the corner of Christopher and Greenwich with the collar of his trench coat turned up against the fine mist. New York City took on a certain ethereal quality in this gloomy weather. Rainwater did well to diffuse the lights, of which there was forever and excess no matter the street corner or time of day. Despite the chill in the air and the damp beneath their feet, the people of the city were still carrying on. A couple scurried along the sidewalk opposite him while a young girl around his age held her jacket aloft to cover both herself and the pile of textbooks cradled in her free arm. Taehyung watched them all go by as if entranced. The persistent buzz of his phone in his pocket pulled him from his reverie. He glanced at the screen, holding it under his palm to protect it from the drizzle. A message previewed at the top of his screen. The name Kim Seokjin, accompanied by a string of hearts and flowers, brought with it the following message: final run thru in 30. Get here NOW. A missed call from the Seokjin floated beneath it. Taehyung pocketed his phone again with a sigh and made for the subway with his head turned down and away from the mist.
Just as the last piece of their massive set was being rolled on stage, Taehyung arrived in a flurry of rain-soaked fabric and cold air bursting into the hall. Seokjin and Jimin stood off to one side, exchanging notes in soft voices as the crew moved around them in a ceaseless rush. Taehyung caught Seokjin’s eye as he strode down the center aisle of the theater, apologetic in the face of Seokjin’s look of warning. Five minutes, Seokjin mouthed at him with a tap-tap-tapping of his watch, and Taehyung hurried along until he came to a stop at the foot of the stage. A picturesque Victorian style parlor loomed over him, all gold and rosewood with an array of elaborate portraits and landscapes decorating every possible inch of the walls. Hanging low over the set, an ornate bronze chandelier casted an eerie glow over the stage hands and practicing cast members. Taehyung felt an unnatural chill settle over him as he took in the scene. Just as well, he thought to himself. It was the perfect setting for the play.
The process of preparing the play had been an adventure all its own. Hours upon hours of running lines, researching the character, getting fitted for costumes – painstaking as it had been, Taehyung had been glad to be a part of the director’s vision. The director was a young man by the name of Hoseok with a spirited disposition and an almost uncharacteristic taste for the macabre. Hoseok was a unique talent bursting with the vigor and curiosity of young blood whilst clinging to a love for classics. He had approached Taehyung with his project – a revival of The Picture of Dorian Gray for the stage – and his adaptation had been so irresistible that Taehyung had accepted Dorian’s part immediately. Oscar Wilde had been a favorite of Taehyung’s since his early teens, but he had as of yet never had a chance to act out any of his plays, let alone bring his most infamous novel to life. Now, after months of preparation and weeks of rehearsals, the opening was upon them.
Taehyung had loved every minute of the process… for the most part. He had enjoyed trying his hand at becoming the beautiful and monstrous Dorian but found it a strange twist of events to be acting as such in the presence of the very man to whom he had been so uncharacteristically unjust mere months before. Yoongi played opposite him as the talented but self-contained Basil Hallward, whose innocent adoration eventually fell victim to Dorian’s ever-growing callousness. The irony of it all was enough to make his heart drop; but on top of that, he found he and Yoongi were barely speaking at all. In a way, it was reminiscent of the time before the ordeal when he simply thought they didn’t get along. But the knowledge that it was his fault, his baseless biases, his own inability to deal with his affections maturely – that was what really twisted his stomach into knots.
He had tried to set things right on the first day of rehearsals. Standing in the doorway to Yoongi’s dressing room, he had apologized profusely for his behavior. Yoongi had watched silently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. When Taehyung finished, he simply said that he accepted his apology and promptly shut the door in Taehyung’s face with an awful sense of finality. It was the last true conversation they had had, and it had largely been one sided. From that point forward, they spoke only of their lines, of notes on their performances, or of suggestions for logistical adjustments. Despite the formal air between them, Taehyung found himself with a tentative smile in his presence, especially when he had the unique pleasure of watching him act out his solo scenes. Yoongi occasionally seemed almost as though he would smile back, the corners of his mouth turning up of their own accord. In the end, though, he always pursed his lips and looked away. Still, Taehyung felt once or twice as though he could feel Yoongi’s eyes on him when he wasn’t looking. He could sense someone’s gaze burning into his back when he was bent over his script or when he was laughing with a gaggle of cast and crew members; but whenever he turned around, Yoongi was determinedly looking anywhere but at him.
So there he was, standing under the shadow of Dorian Gray’s accursed mansion, watching Yoongi flit across the stage whilst ignoring the swooping feeling in his chest, when Hoseok’s voice cut across the auditorium to him. “Taehyung!” he called, and Taehyung turned at the sound. He smiled brightly at Hoseok, pleased to see him as always. Hoseok came bounding up to him with his arms held aloft and teeth flashing in the dim lighting. He wore a Victorian-style overcoat (“- custom by Dior, darling, to set the tone for the evening,” he had drawled to them earlier that week), undoubtedly in the midst of having it fitted to perfection before opening night if the stout man circling around him with a measuring tape and a frightening amount of bobby pins in his mouth was any indication. “There you are, my wonderful Adonis,” he said. Then he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The time has come.”
“You’re excited for opening night?” Taehyung laughed. Hoseok waved his hands around wildly, drawing Taehyung’s vision back to the magnificent set.
“Beyond excited,” Hoseok said. “However! I meant that the time has come for the pre-show tradition.”
“Pre-show tradition?” Taehyung asked cautiously.
“Final rehearsal is upon us, that means my lovely leads need to get together and have a little pre-dress talk.”
“Sorry, what?” Taehyung sputtered and Hoseok gave him another wide grin.
“Five minutes of conversation,” he continued.
“Oh, no, no Hoseok,” Taehyung protested. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Nonsense,” Hoseok said. He patted Taehyung’s cheeks, then leaned in closer to whisper to him. “Listen, I know you two have been… weird around each other lately. This is the time to let it all out, Tae.”
“But what would we even talk about?” Taehyung asked desperately. Hoseok shrugged his shoulders and his tailor bounced up with him.
“The play,” he suggested. “For a start, at least. Work out your different perspectives. Swap notes, shed some tears. Whatever works.”
“Works for what?”
“You know what,” Hoseok said. “On you go now, he’s already waiting for you in the back room.” He sauntered away, the long sleeves of his coat wafting along as he went. “Oh!” he paused halfway down the aisle, so suddenly that the poor tailor nearly walked right into him. “And I’ve already cleared this with Jin, so don’t think you’re getting out of it with him!”
Seokjin himself had managed to sneak up behind him in time to whisper a half-hearted apology to Taehyung. “It had to be done.”
“It most certainly didn’t,” Taehyung hissed back, but Seokjin was already shuffling him up the stairs and behind the stage until he was face to face with a white door. Jimin stood off to the side smiling sheepishly at them both. A bronze placard had been installed in the wood and Yoongi’s name glinted ominously upon it. Before Taehyung could so much as think about what was happening, Seokjin was pushing the door open and shuffling Taehyung forward. Then, he and Jimin both patted him on his shoulder before moving a little way down the hall.
Inside the room, Yoongi sat in waiting. He was perched on his dressing table, one hand clutching the ledge to steady himself. Taehyung entered the room with a peculiar slowness, like he was approaching a fawn that would bolt at the slightest misstep. Yoongi watched him come in with a bemused expression.
“I don’t bite, Taehyung,” he said. He gestured to the empty chair across from him, beckoning him to it. Taehyung quickened his pace at Yoongi’s words. He strode in and sank into the chair, taking time to smooth out a wrinkle in his shirt as he did. He realized too late that he was still wearing his rain-soaked jacket. If Yoongi noticed, he was kind enough to overlook it.
“So,” Taehyung started, but his voice fizzled out just as quick.
“So…”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung blurted out just as Yoongi opened his mouth to say something himself. “Oh, sorry, please go on.”
“No, I interrupted –“
“No, please,” Taehyung insisted. “You first.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” Yoongi said with a small laugh. “I know we haven’t spoken much the past few weeks. And granted, it’s been my fault this time around. It’s just that I haven’t forgotten that day, Taehyung, and it… well, it still confuses me, to say the least. I hope you can understand that.”
“Yes, of course,” Taehyung said hurriedly. “I understand one hundred percent. And I do want to apologize, as much as I need to, for my behavior. Not just that day but for all those times that I misunderstood your intentions. You were right to say I was taking out my own feelings on you. You treated me no differently than anyone else and you always behaved like a professional. And above all, you had expectations from me as an actor and a faith in my work and I flouted those expectations. I am truly, deeply sorry.”
Yoongi mulled over this, absently fiddling with a make-up brush as he watched Taehyung. “Well… thank you for that, I think I needed to hear it. And… and the other thing.” Yoongi looked away then and Taehyung could almost see the rosy beginnings of a blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m sorry I said that thing. About the crush. I didn’t mean to assume things, but I didn’t know what else to think at the time.”
“Ah,” Taehyung whispered. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Well… I think that was something that I needed to hear. Because you were right, it was and is a crush.” Yoongi looked startled at this, and Taehyung tried to soldier on before his courage left him. “I won’t deny that I have feelings for you, Yoongi. I think I have since the first time I saw you at that first party. You walked in and… and my heart dropped in a way that it really never has before. I didn’t know what to do with myself then. Then every time we saw each other, it got worse. You’re beautiful, yes, but you’re also so smart and so talented. So wonderful to be around even though I didn’t know how to be around you. I made a complete ass out of myself, in the end.” Taehyung paused, his eyes growing wide and his voice rising an octave. “Not that any of this is an excuse. It’s not, not at all –“
“Taehyung, I – I appreciate your honesty,” Yoongi interrupted. “For now, I just want you to know this much. Whatever happened in the past, I still admire your work as an actor, and you haven’t let me down. Working on this play with you has been so enlightening. But as for everything else… I still have a lot to think about.”
Taehyung nodded along understandingly. Yoongi was looking at him with the strangest expression in his eyes. To Taehyung in that moment, it almost looked like pity. He took a final shaking breath before standing up. Yoongi stood with him, brow furrowed as Taehyung laughed ever so slightly to himself. “I’m glad we could do this play together,” Taehyung said finally. Yoongi nodded in agreement. “I took the part of Dorian because I thought it would be a good challenge for myself to play the villain for once. Funny, though, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“That I should be the real monster in the end,” Taehyung sighed.
“Don’t I get a say in that?” Yoongi asked quietly. But at that moment a knock sounded at the door and seconds later, Jimin was sticking his head into the room to let Yoongi know they were ready for him. A stage hand followed Jimin in and tried to hurry Yoongi along. “Tae,” Yoongi said just as he was being pulled out the door. “I meant what I said the first time. I accept your apology. Remember that.” Then he was whisked out of the room with his last words still stuck in his throat. Only Jimin remained behind with Taehyung in the imposing silence.
“Did you have a good talk?” Jimin asked. “Sorry to have cut it short.”
“It went well, I think,” Taehyung answered. “Better than expected after all this time spent avoiding each other.”
“That’s good, Tae,” Jimin said supportively.
“Yeah,” Taehyung continued. “Yeah, it’s good. Even if he loathes me as a person, I’m glad he at least still wants to work with me.”
Jimin simply stared at him as if waiting for him to go on. His expression was both expectant and hopeful and Taehyung returned it with a terse smile. When Jimin finally surmised that Taehyung would say nothing else, he left the room in an exasperated huff.
“Idiots,” Jimin mumbled under his breath as he made his way down the hall.
Taehyung watched him go, feeling thoroughly nonplussed. When he exited Yoongi’s dressing room, he found Seokjin still waiting for him in the shadows at the back of the hallway. “Jin,” he said as his friend approached. “I need a stiff drink.”
“I’ll say,” Seokjin agreed.
“What’s got Jimin all riled up?” Taehyung asked, gesturing to where the man had been moments before.
“Oh that,” Seokjin laughed. He placed one hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re an idiot.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Taehyung replied and allowed himself to be pulled back out to the auditorium by a smiling Seokjin.
❖
“Please, Dorian!” Yoongi cried out as Taehyung towered over him with all the malice of a fallen angel. “Is this really the man I knew? Whose kind eyes and gentle smile had once so inspired my senses?”
Rehearsal had been running along seamlessly, with Hoseok trying to pick and choose scenes to review at random in an attempt to see how easily they could be tripped up. They’d gone through all the major points by now – Dorian’s rejection of Sybil Vane, the first time that his portrait changed to reveal the vile and cruel nature within, his initial introduction to Lord Henry Wotton. Only one scene truly remained to go through, the one which Taehyung had been dreading all along. It was time for Basil Hallward to finally confront Dorian for his sins, to implore him one last time to return to that beautiful innocence Basil had once seen in him; and for Dorian to, for the last time, disavow Basil’s loving adoration in the most violent of ways. It was Dorian’s most hateful act, the scene that sent Taehyung’s skin crawling with shame and horror. To be doing it now felt like a nightmare, with the smallest voice in the back of his head whispering to him that he was no different, that he too could so carelessly attack the trust of the ones who loved him. It was ridiculous, he knew, to feel such a horrid kinship with Dorian. The man had done much worse things than Taehyung could ever dream of. But here he was, in the monster’s coat and hat with Yoongi bent at a most painful angle over Dorian’s writing desk and that odious portrait of him watching over them both. Taehyung was there and not there, in Dorian’s mind and watching with disgust from his own.
“Your senses, your senses!” Taehyung yelled mockingly in Dorian’s voice, one hand clutching at Yoongi’s neck in anger. “You always were a fool, Basil, an utter fool. To have allowed yourself to be so ensnared by beauty, to have not seen the truth of it… and above all to have remained reticent to all else, refused life’s pleasures to chase your damned muse. You enrage me, sir, by your own debasement in search of the innocence I can no longer give you. You give rise to my savagery!”
“You cannot be such a monster of a man!” Yoongi countered. Tears flowed in quick, silvery rivulets and his chest shook with sobs. “You cannot be so cruel as to think – to truly think! I had only the purest affections for you, Dorian, and yet you abuse me so!”
Taehyung felt a tight knot forming in the back of his throat at the sight of Yoongi’s tear-streaked cheeks, the fear in his gaze as Taehyung pushed him back further into the desk. He’s only acting, Taehyung said to himself. It’s the play, just the play! But as Yoongi’s small, gulping sobs continued, Taehyung felt a single tear of his own. He watched as it fell and landed on Yoongi’s cheek, who stopped his own tears instantly. Somewhere in the background, the assistant director asked Hoseok if they should stop the scene, but he merely shushed her in response.
“Taehyung?” Yoongi whispered in his own voice.
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung sniffled in response. “I-I never meant to make you feel this way.”
“Hey now,” Yoongi said, sounding confused. “Tae, it’s only the lines. I don’t – I meant I wouldn’t –“
“But I am, I am just like this man,” Taehyung said. “I know that sounds foolish, but I can’t help but feel it.”
“It does sound foolish,” Yoongi said firmly. “On that we can agree. Didn’t you hear me, Taehyung? I’m not angry anymore. Don’t sell yourself short like this just because we got off on the wrong foot.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered again.
“Stop apologizing,” Yoongi laughed. He reached up to wipe the new tear that had stilled on Taehyung’s cheek.
“I didn’t mean to be so dramatic about it,” Taehyung croaked, and even he had to laugh at the sound of his own voice. “I hope, one day, things can be different.”
“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked uncertainly.
“I’m glad we can work together,” Taehyung said. “I just hope maybe one day, you won’t hate me anymore. Though I understand if… if that doesn’t change.” Yoongi hadn’t moved and Taehyung still had him boxed in against the desk with his hand resting against the pale column of his neck. Taehyung felt the muscle shift as Yoongi sighed.
“You’re an absolute fool,” Yoongi said. Taehyung didn’t answer, just watched as Yoongi reached one hand up and brought it to the back of Taehyung’s head. The world seemed to still in that moment. Even the air felt as though it were holding its breath. Yoongi’s fingers twisted into the dark locks of Taehyung’s hair. Suddenly, he was moving closer and closer still, until he could see the shadows of Yoongi’s eyelashes against his cheeks and could smell the sweet scent of his skin, until there was no space between them at all. The first kiss was brief, a fleeting feeling of something plush and soft moving against his own lips before they pulled apart. It was enough to send a spark through Taehyung, to place them both into a kind of magnetic trance. Taehyung looked into Yoongi’s eyes questioningly, saw the hunger growing in them, and pressed their lips back together. The second kiss sent them tumbling into each other with all the grandeur of thunder and lightning. Taehyung forgot the stage and the words he’d had floating around in his head. In truth, he could have forgotten his own name with the way Yoongi’s lips were moving against his own and his hands were clutching at any inch of bare skin they could find. He could’ve gone on like that forever, reveling in the quiet gasp Yoongi let out when Taehyung took his lower lip between his teeth. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear someone’s shrill voice calling their names.
“Wait, stop, stop, STOP,” Hoseok yelled out and Taehyung finally, finally pushed off the desk after an excruciatingly long moment. Yoongi’s eyes trailed the arc of his body as he straightened up. Taehyung’s leaden limbs ached under his heavy gaze, as though pulling away in that moment had been like lifting the mountains themselves.
“Yes?” Taehyung managed to choke out; his eyes were still focused on the way Yoongi’s mouth had parted to form a perfect ‘O’ after he’d pulled away. Vaguely, he noticed Seokjin and Jimin’s voices from the back of the auditorium. They were standing atop the theater seats, screaming and cheering as they watched.
“So, uh… what was that?” Hoseok asked. He always accompanied his critiques with good-humored laughs by nature. He had an openness, even a kind of thirst, for the volatility of his actors, but even he had his limits. His tone now was tense and careful like a man who had just encountered a land mine.
“Just uh... just a little good ol’ fashioned chemistry,” Yoongi finally answered breathlessly. He was still bent with his back pressed firmly into the desk. His eyes looked unfocused and his hair was spread against the cherry red wood like white feathers. Taehyung would have kissed him again in that second if he could.
“Guys,” Hoseok began, drawing out the syllable. “I know we’re dusting the cobwebs off the homoerotic subtext and all, but this is the murder scene. I do kind of need Dorian to complete the murder.”
“Right,” Taehyung said. Hoseok looked at them both expectantly from his spot at the foot of the stage. After considering the scene before him for a moment, he sighed in defeat.
“Okay,” he said. Then he turned to the rest of the cast and crew, trying not to laugh at their horrified expressions. “Alright, everybody take five and we’ll, uh. We’ll take it from the top.”
Everyone seemed to disperse as quickly as possible, whispering amongst themselves as they went. Yoongi finally got up from the desk only to jump up and sit on it instead so that the top of his head came up to Taehyung’s chin. He watched as Taehyung shifted from foot to foot, then reached out and took his hand in his own.
“So,” Taehyung whispered carefully, swinging they twined hands between them. “You don’t hate me?”
“Taehyung,” Yoongi answered in a steady voice. “Ask me that again, and this will be your murder scene.”
Taehyung leaned in and kissed him again, smiling into their embrace.