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For the record, Jeongguk wound up here by accident.
Relatively by accident, at least.
It’s a Saturday, again. With what little Jeongguk knows about adulthood, he knows that Saturday’s are the best days for everything. He spends most of his days that aren’t Saturdays wishing it were, while making endless lists of things he never ends up doing, while writing research papers and dozing off on the kitchen counter, it all comes down to Saturday.
Jeongguk isn’t sure exactly when simply being became so difficult. Getting out of bed some mornings is harder than it should be. Sometimes his chest feels a little heavy, and he feels a little like he’s drowning on land, and he isn’t exactly sure when simply being became this difficult. He spends most of his days that aren’t Saturdays missing when things were easier, missing when his friends lived down the block from him, missing when his brother slept by his side. Missing when his friendships were made out of connection rather than convenience. When Jeongguk could step outside the house and not feel as if he’s escaped one prison cell just to stumble into another.
So, casually speaking, Saturdays are his lighthouse in the dark.
A handful of years ago, Jeongguk may have believed that he knew a great deal of things. It was easier to think so when all that was required of him were his times tables and his daydreams and his simple unapologetic existence.
And maybe he did, at some point in time. Maybe he did know everything within his restraint.
Older now, he feels some days that he knows nothing about anything at all. Saturdays are days where he’s allowed to not know anything. He doesn’t have work, where his coworker Jimin is kinder to him than he deserves, where Jeongguk mumbles sometimes and gets orders wrong, (and gets orders wrong, and gets orders wrong). Not his college courses, that were supposed to cram him with information and yet only drained him of it. Not the dance classes with Hoseok who loved too much and expected too little, classes which soon enough Jeongguk lost the funds to afford.
Saturdays wait for Jeongguk. Patiently, carefully, quietly.
So subsequently he spends most of his days that aren’t Saturdays wishing it were, until Saturday rolls around again, as it always does.
He spends most of his Saturday wishing Saturday would stay forever, but the Earth keeps slugging forward, as it always does.
A majority of this Saturday he was spending ignoring the errand list sitting on his fridge. He stares up at his ceiling, plays racing games on his phone, opens some random social network and then exits before the app icon has finished loading.
He caves eventually, when the silence in his lonesome apartment grows unbearably loud, begrudgingly dragging himself out of the fetal position he had situated himself into to fetch the list from where it mocked him.
It’s when he’s slung on his cost and stepped outside, finally, when he squinted down at the slip in his hands, and began to trudge towards his first destination, that he sees it, a small handful of people gathered around a booth of sorts. Jeongguk lets himself be curious for about a single second, craning to see what had made people stop, before he loses interest just as fast, as he usually does, and shrugs along on his way.
It’s when he’s coming back around after finishing his final round of errands, of his Things To Do To Keep Your Head On Your Shoulders list, when the sun is laying itself to rest behind the expansive highs of Seoul’s skyscrapers and the moon is taking over her shift when Jeongguk catches sight of it again, the booth from earlier.
Jeongguk accidentally grows curious again for a lack of any other emotion to feel, and crosses the street without realizing he has until suddenly he’s reached the front of the line.
The boy’s smile is the first thing Jeongguk notices, wide and unusually boxy. It’s in the shape of a welcoming smile when Jeongguk steps up next in line, mumbling an apology as he lets the former person pass by him. The second thing he notices is the boy’s head, a full head of dark, curly hair. Jeongguk feels that familiar curl of anxiety in his stomach he always does, wondering if he should’ve just observed from a distance. Why did he join the line? He should be home now, maybe curating another to-do list, maybe doing something— anything else. What is he doing here?
“Hello,” The boy greats him, extending both hands. Jeongguk startles a bit, before mindlessly stepping forward, letting the boy tug his hand into a handshake. His hands are warm. Jeongguk feels the difference the instant he lets go.
“Hi,” Jeongguk breathes out, his smile is nice, his smile is nice, “Hi, I uh— I don’t know how I got here? I was just curious. I saw a line,” he explains uselessly, as the boy’s eyes fill with mirth. “Don’t laugh,” Jeongguk says weakly, and the boy bites his lip to keep his giggle down.
“I’m sorry,” The boy apologizes genuinely, grinning when Jeongguk frowns indignantly. “My name’s Taehyung. What’s yours?”
Taehyung.
He hums thoughtfully. “Jeongguk.” He thinks he likes the way Taehyung’s eyes scrunch a bit when he repeats after him, “Jeongguk. It’s nice to meet you, Jeongguk. I’m trying to raise money to help homeless pets. It’s getting super chilly, and winter descends on Korea the same way school piles debt onto my name, so a hug is five,” he explains, brightly, “and a kiss is ten.”
Jeongguk blinks a little. “A…kiss?”
“Yup.” Taehyung’s eyes glint a little, “or a hug. Your pick.”
Jeongguk swallows, curls his fingers into his palm, outstretches them again. His gaze subconsciously flickers down a little, taking in Taehyung’s mouth again, relaxed and pink and pretty until they quirk upward a little, and Jeongguk instantly tears his eyes away, face burning hot. He tries to remember if he brought money with him, and then wonders if he’s taking too long to formulate a response, wonders how embarrassing it would be to start searching and come up empty, wonders if he would feel disappointed, wonders if—
“You don’t have to,” Taehyung says gently, breaking Jeongguk out of his withdrawal. Jeongguk’s head shakes no before he registers it, “I want to. You said five for a hug, right, and ten for a...”
“A kiss,” Taehyung finishes for him. “Yeah.”
Jeongguk nods slowly, digging his hands into his pockets. He latches onto a few bills, which he pulls out to count. That’s five...five more....
“I’ve got twenty,” he says, and then makes a face at himself for announcing it. Taehyung giggles again, head tilting to the side. “Yeah? So what’ll it be?”
Jeongguk feels incredibly funny and hot all over. He thinks his mouth has completely seceded from his brain, because he hears instead of feels himself say, “What about both?” and promptly wishes to sink into the earth.
Taehyung looks more than pleased, though, pushing his seat back, stretching up into his full height. He’s barely taller than Jeongguk, and seeing him eye to eye is odd for a second, until it isn’t anymore. Taehyung is across the table before Jeongguk can even think.
And— oh. Of course he’s attractive.
Of course he’s attractive, and Jeongguk is about to get kissed by him for a sum of Jeongguk’s grocery money.
Great , he thinks, transferring fifteen into Taehyung’s hands, pocketing the remaining five. Cool. This is cool.
“You think so?” Taehyung grins, startling Jungkook out of his head.
“Did I—“
“Yeah,” Taehyung laughs breathlessly, taking another step closer to Jeongguk. “You’re cute. I like you.”
Jeongguk’s brain short circuits for a second, hardly registering Taehyung spreading his arms out wide. Jeongguk blinks at him emptily. Taehyung gestures, “You ready for your hug?
“Ah, right,” Jeongguk mumbles, shuffling forward, bumping lightly against Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung’s arms wrap themselves around him instantly, and Jeongguk starts to wonder if it’s healthy to be so cold that a stranger’s embrace is the warmest you’ve felt in a while.
Jeongguk hugs him back. He breathes in slowly, breathes in his loneliness and his regret and Taehyung’s faint vanilla scent and then breathes out, a long breath, breathes out his fear ( he’s scared, why was he so scared? ), and buries his face in Taehyung’s shoulder.
“Seems like you really needed it,” Taehyung remarks, and Jeongguk lurches a little in embarrassment, attempting to step back, but Taehyung’s hold on him doesn’t loosen. He giggles a little, rocking Jeongguk back and forth in his arms. “I’m a good hugger, aren’t I?”
Jeongguk mumbles a little into his shoulder. “You are.”
Taehyung finally pulls away with a smile, just far enough that they weren’t sharing the oxygen between them, just close enough that Jeongguk could pick out a few freckles on his nose. He was a pretty sight up close like this, prettier with every passing second now that his blurred lines and vague corners were rounding in Jeongguk’s memory.
“I’m an even better kisser,” Taehyung comments casually, and Jeongguk’s mouth pops open, buzzing warm again as Taehyung’s mouth quirks, buzzing warm as his hands come to settle on his waist, gently tugging him closer until the two of them were only breaths away.
“Ready?” Taehyung inquires. Jeongguk hasn’t realized how cold he’s been, when he stutters out a Yeah, yeah, I’m ready, when Taehyung smiles softly and closes the distance between them, when the warmth of his lips finally press against his own.
Jeongguk hasn’t realized how cold he‘s been.
He kisses back, and it’s gentle at first, slow and soft and fluttery. Taehyung takes Jeongguk’s bottom lip between his, and Jeongguk makes a noise of surprise as Taehyung bites down gently (oh , oh ) and Jeongguk kisses back a little more feverently, now, a little desperately, maybe. He doesn’t have much time to second guess himself cause Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind at all. He takes it in stride, pressing in a little more firmly, plastering Jeongguk against the entire length of his body, and Jeongguk feels the warmth pool into his body the same way roads fill under rain. He feels it swelling in his body the way healing comes after pain.
The warmth is still lingering when Taehyung gently pulls away, feels it tingling in his fingertips and in his toes. There’s a moment of silence between the breaths they’re sharing. Jeongguk looks at Taehyung, and Taehyung looks back at him.
“I don’t think I paid enough for that,” he says breathlessly, and Taehyung laughs, face scrunching tight. Jeongguk can't help his smile, can’t help wanting to say more things that’ll reward him the pretty sound again.
“Can I ask you something weird?” Taehyung says, biting down a smile. Jeongguk thinks he almost snaps a muscle with the quickness he utilizes to nod his head, and if Taehyung looked even a bit uncertain, all of it instantly melts away.
“Of course,” Jeongguk highlights, feeling foolish and overeager and warm, warm, warm.
Taehyung folds his fingers together, unfolds them. “I’m gonna be here for another hour or so.”
Jeongguk blinks curiously. “Alright.”
“And,” Taehyung continues, “It might get a little lonely.”
“Lonely,” Jeongguk repeats, and then oh , “Oh,” as Taehyung rushes on, “Of course, you probably have things to do. Or places to be. No pressure, I know I’m a stranger and all, and it is getting kind of late, I’d—“
“Of course,” Jeongguk interrupts with a smile, feeling too full for the vessel he’s in, “of course I’ll stay with you.”
Taehyung’s mouth clamps shut, before he mirrors Jeongguk’s smile with something not short of relief, a warm and radiant rendition of it.
With what little Jeongguk knows about adulthood, he knows that Saturdays are the best part. They have to be, he thinks, when Taehyung asks for his company to a nearby coffee shop as recompense for sticking around. They have to be, he thinks, as Taehyung paints stories with his hands and highlights them with laughter along the way, lighting the streets brighter than any of the lamps that follow them. They have to be, he thinks, laughing, too, for the first time in days.
They have to be.
