Chapter Text
Taehyung had been playing over and over the same musical segment in the Vivaldi piece. His thick brows were furrowed in a concentrated frown. His hair, which he had been carefully growing out, was ruffled in a very Beethovenian style.
He put down the flute on the worn down leather couch in his living room. His thighs stuck to the cushions and he peeled himself off with a pained, sucked-in breath. Tae checked his fingers, investigating the damage. He stretched them out one by one like a new-born baby tarantula, his brows going back to the original concentrated frown. The phone in his pocket vibrated with a new text.
Jimin: Hey! You still in the apartment?
Jimin: Stop being closed off and come to the party with me tonight. 7PM Pre @ my place
Taehyung rolled his eyes. He would normally be happy to go out with Jimin. They had been best friends for 3 years now. They met in the first semester of university, in Musical Theory 201. Taehyung was ever so grateful to the professor that asked everyone to exchange contact information with their deskmates. A practice which he had initially dreaded, was in fact his blessing in disguise. The phone vibrated again:
Jimin: BTW Jungkook’s bringing his tall “friend”. *eyes emoji*
Taehyung scoffed at the remark and texted Jimin back a simple alright and a puke emoji. He slid on his jacket and took out his keys. At least this made for a great excuse for him to go thrift shopping. He had a… “peculiar” fashion sense as Jungkook so kindly pointed out. He liked clothes with history, old clothes with personality. You can smell the passing of time on them.
With a green beanie rolled at the rim, in a sailor’s fashion, a pair of faded beige Vans, long white socks rolled past his ankles, cargo pants and an over-used, past-its-prime tank top, he really looked like he belonged to Concordia’s Fine Arts Department. Concordia University wasn’t his first choice when he applied, but everything fell into place perfectly once he moved to Montreal. The weather, the energy of the city, the annual Jazz festival, they all fit him like a glove. And more than anyone in his department, he looked like he belonged, like he was born to study here, to have friends here.
Taehyung rounded the corner on Saint Catherine’s Street, passed all the restaurants that filled the popular stretch, reaching his favourite thrift store. He found there, on several occasions, vintage Gucci shirts, a pair of barely worn Dr. Martens with a rose embroidered on the side, and all his berets collection was from there too.
His mind was playing the same tune that his professor assigned. The same tune he will have to play for his final. The same tune he couldn’t get quite right in his apartment earlier. Taehyung will have to write a paper on it for midterms and play it at the end-of-year Italian Baroque Concert. Learning to play the flute was on-a-whim kind of decision (like most of his decisions) which he had started to regret. Tae studies Jazz and his minor is in percussion, but the flute was really a random choice that had no connection to his career.
The store smelled as it always did; like old books, worn leather and a strange artificial jasmine fragrance which he now always associated with the place. He started wandering the aisles stopping in all the P sections (Petite meaning small sizes). Almost on automatic, he went to the button-ups rack, a popular station for Taehyung. His eyes scanned the patterns attentively while his long fingers moved the hangers one by one producing a terrible screech of metal on metal. Taehyung let his hands slide down the arm of a dark blue shirt with a long, 70s collar. He stretched it out for size and checked it out for any holes and stains.
The few people that worked there grew accustomed to seeing the young man wandering the aisles with his pick in hand as if he was on Fifth Avenue. He was always so thorough in his searches and took even half a day just to find exactly what he was looking for. As he perused, he liked to imagine the story behind the items. Whenever he found clothes that were well kept from 50s and 60s, even 70s, he assumed that they were from elderly people that maybe gave into their children’s constant pestering, and cleared out their closets of things they haven’t worn in literal decades. Or maybe they had to move to an old folks home. Maybe some even passed away.
Since whatever he picked were, most times, well-kept, he would always make a promise to the former owner that he would take good care of them too. Taehyung liked to think that energies, others’ energies, lingered around in the items they left behind. Their use, our personality, will always be reflected in the way they were worn down. A tiny secret history written in scratches, scuffs, and stains.
A friendly, if not overly-excited, cashier was smiling brightly from behind the counter, fingers tapping on the scratched out glass with the energy of a 3 year old. Taehyung waved at him, a grin creeping in.
“What’s up, man?” the cashier beamed at the somewhat less peeved Taehyung.
His name was Hoseok, he was studying Journalism with an undetermined minor. Although he had spent most of his time on the other side of the town, in the UNiversity’s Loyola Campus, his major gave him quite a bit of leeway to spend his studies and team projects in the downtown campus. To earn himself some money, he took the job at the thrift store, since getting shot at the 24/7 pharmacy near the Business School building was not an option. They became friends after Taehyung saved him several times from bums that tried to steal from the shop on Hoseok’s shift. Also, Taehyung’s habit of being at the store at least once a week buying books, clothes, records, etc. played a big game into it.
“Nothing much, just next time I meet an Italian dude I will murder him.”
“Ah…” Hoseok’s smile turned almost into a compassionate pout. “Love problems.”
“If trying to play a flute to the rhythms of Vivaldi is love problems, then yes.” Taehyung plopped the shirt onto the counter, the hanger leaving one more scratch on the poor glass display case.
“I mean… my flute has been played to the rhythms of Drake plenty of times and it only caused me love problems,” Hoseok snickered.
“Tch,” Taehyung clicked his tongue in response and chuckled. “You’re disgusting. Now, what’s happening with you?”
“Besides me trying to avoid my parents sending me back to Korea if I don’t decide on a minor by the end of the semester… Nothing much. I am , though, writing a good piece on paranormal investigation and fraud for my investigative reporting class.”
“Wow. Korea, huh? Don’t you live in the suburbs with your parents? Like North Shore or something?”
Hoseok straightened up a bit. “South. But yeah,” he scratched his ear. “My aunt is still in Gwangju. I told you, my parents were super unhappy with me following Journalism. Then I took a low paying job, which again drove them crazy because God forbid I work until I finish studies, and, finally, I am in my third year and no minor declared. They were really hoping that I would at least declare Political Science like my cousin YoonJae who is now running for office in La Prairie.”
“Your sister must be super glad she is the ‘good’ kid now.” Taehyung was poking at Hoseok’s desperation, who of course bit and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Ha! And they thought starting a style blog was a bad decision. Now she has her own business and she has been in talks with Ssense to become their Creative Director,” his bright smile faded and he leaned on his elbows with a distant look. “All I can hope is that my internship with CBC will pan out this summer cause if not your boy will be sending you postcards starting with ‘Anyeong!’”
Taehyung doubled over with laughter. “Your accent is hilarious!”
“I can’t believe I was born here and they are trying to send me there. And you , an international student from the middle of nowhere, Korea-”
“Yah! Daegu s a HUGE city.”
Hoseok ignored the interruption and continued, “who studies jazz out of all professions, has his parents over the moon. What the hell?”
Taehyung felt for Hoseok to a certain extent. “My parents are just really proud. Plus, my scholarship makes it look like I am really successful,” he said almost apologetically.
“Incredible! Anyway… Let’s drop it for now.” The sly smile of a car salesman spread across his face. “I got a bunch of really cool jewelry, all sterling silver, ” his hands motioned as if he was the genie that will fulfill all of Taehyung’s wishes.
“And you complained to me about Gwangju for 10 min? Couldn’t you open with that?”
Hoseok waved his words away. He took out a key off a long keychain. “Since I have been promoted to supervisor, I have access to the jewelry case.”
“Did you tell your parents that too?” Taehyung snickered and followed him to a long glass display case tucked in the corner opposite the entrance.
“You are joking, but really I did. I was thinking it will make things better since it shows more responsibility but… it really didn’t,” his voice was high, almost child-like in naivete. Taehyung loved this almost-baby side of Hoseok.
“TA-DA! Ladies and gentlemen, the new arrivals!” he brought out a tray lined with green felt. On it, pairs of earrings, bracelets, and necklaces glittered temptingly like the hidden treasures in Aladdin. Taehyung’s hungry hands touched them all, trying them on or at least picking them up for inspection.
“Those would fit you so well, Hobi!” Taehyung brought up a pair of dangling earrings with a spike and bolt hanging from the loop.
“‘Cause I needed more reasons for my dad to pack me to Korea.”
“I mean, at least you will go in style, and if you put it in the right earlobe, you will let your dad know what you really like.”
“ Oh my God! That was one time. One time. I kiss one dude from my Political Science class at a party…” Hoseok’s ears were red, arms flailing in distress.
“That’s how it all starts.” Taehyung rapped on him.
Hoseok’s eyes narrowed and he made a move to take the tray away, in retaliation.
“Hoseokah, I was joking. My beautiful and handsome Hoseokie hyung! Don’t take it away,” his voice was small and whining, impossible to say no to.
“Fine, just stop bringing that up.”
Taehyung’s eyes fell on a glittery pendant. It seemed a bit kitsch. A flip-flop with its bottom all covered in a blue-turquoise precious stone. As he turned it into the light, the stone looked as if waves were caught in it. The chain attached to the pendant was thick and weaved in an intricate design. He ran the bud of his index finger on the aqua stone. A shudder washed over him. It was inexplicable but he stopped breathing for a short second, like the millisecond before you pass out. Taehyung’s heart was racing now, the pulse way above the ‘Staying Alive’ steady beat that he learnt CPR on.
The pendant was unmoved on the felt tray, its waters stopped moving inside the stone. Just a kitschy flip-flop pendant made of silver, the telling ‘925’ marked on its side.
“Ha! I thought you might like that one! I had a bet with Margaret on which one you would choose. If any.” Hoseok was all smiles, putting away the tray and sweeping the necklace in the palm of his hand. “Best part is that it’s all silver and only 30$. As for the stone… I don’t really know to be truthful. Bill worked at a pawn shop before, and he said it might be an Australian blue opal.”
That was Hoseok. A sweet guy who will sense if you are low or having a bad day. You’d stop talking and he would talk for you. Maybe sometimes he’d say whatever just to loosen you up, give you a breather, trust him in the conversation. He was a great reporter.
Taehyung’s lips tugged into a smile once more. “Okay, Hobi. Let’s do this! Lay the taxes on me. How much is it!?”
The register came up with the total after a few hurrs and weird eers. The number flashed: 32.50$
“Oh, sorry! Forgot the shirt. Going somewhere with it?”
“Jimin is dragging me to a party tonight, you know? You should come! You should finally meet my friends,” Taehyung said, preparing to take out two bills of 20$ from his roughly worn leather wallet. A gift from his grandmother.
“I’ll see. I have a date tonight, so we will see how that goes. Text you later?” Hoseok rang up the numbers and slid the items in a recyclable paper bag. “It’s gonna be 40$ and 21 cents.”
Tae reached into his back pocket and pulled out a loonie. “Here you go, get yourself something nice with the rest!”
Officially 1 hour left before the party, Taehyung sat down on the leather couch, paper bag deserted on the coffee-table. He looked lazily, or maybe defeatedly, at the flute next to him, the music sheets left in a pile on the wide window sill. Autumn was setting in nicely, the leaves already turned yellow at the edges, the maple trees all a bronze colour that only nature could create. Somehow the death of so many plants didn’t seem so sad in Montreal.
Taehyung felt desolate, maybe even heartbroken during fall in Daegu. He always associated it with the end of boundless warm days and summery freedom. The shades of brown and the endless rainy days made him hate this season the most. Things changed when he came to study in Montreal.
The trees were full of colours, tainted like a watercolour bouquet of greens, yellows, burnt reds, an orangey-bronze colour that soothed his soul, even the occasional black maple made him understand autumn’s mystery. Nothing was truly dying but merely falling in a long slumber only to wake up some 6 odd months later.
The city never really hibernated during autumn. Rather, it was at its utmost active. With it being more of a student city, the streets were full with college and university seniors, kids starting school, FROSH parties thrown for the freshmen, Halloween parties. It was all dry maple leaves crunching under Doc Martens and rainboots, all infinity scarves and olive green army jackets. Hands holding cups of Pumpkin Spice Latte and London Fogs. Autumn filled the city well and now it covered his soul, too, like a warm blanket.
6:30PM. Taehyung finally got out of his thoughts and got ready. Since Jimin lived near the Papineau metro station - in the middle of the Gay Village - it would take him a nice 15 minutes to get there. Tae was lucky enough to score a prime apartment in the rez next to the Sir George Williams Campus, on Guy Street. Living downtown had its perks for a newcomer, though now, 3 years later, he was far from being one. Most importantly, it was a strategic positioning for any uni student since parties were always organized close by.
He arranged his collar in the mirror and tousled his honey coloured hair. The dark shirt contrasted beautifully with his skin. He didn’t get to spend much time outside over the summer and it truly showed.
The pendant was gleaming from over on the coffee table, where Taehyung left it. He was watching it from the hallway mirror. Should he add it? He looked down to his black vans and tight black jeans that were starting to tear at the knee after Tae experimented hand-made styles on them.
He sat the necklace on his collar bones and attached the latch at the back. Instinctively, he raised his hand to cover the pendant, like a woman in a 50s movie clutching her pearls in surprise. It worked, it fit him well in an odd way.
“Hmm. It is very..-”
“It is very Taehyung,” Jimin chuckled in the meanest and sweetest way, like an evil fairy.
The pre-drink was more of a mini-party itself. It probably started with Jimin inviting a few friends over for the pre and ended up having over 20 people at his apartment. Taehyung smiled at the thought. It was classic Jimin.
“You actually fit in the Montreal scene so well. I swear to God, you cannot be more hipster!” Jimin giggled once more while holding onto the corner of Tae’s shirt for balance. “Are you sure you weren’t secretly born here and your parents adopted you?”
Jimin had thick black hair parted in the middle. His smile was beautiful and bright like a slice of juicy pear, framed by full, pink lips. His strong jaw was sharp and manly which contrasted his soft, small nose and ginger lips. Jimin’s eyes were hooded and puppy-like at all times, turning into beautiful crescents whenever he smiled (which was often). He had a slightly smaller frame than Taehyung, yet he worked out at least 4 times a week and taught a children’s Taekwondo class during the weekends. His thighs were a machine, to say the least, and his core was a powerhouse.
“I look fine, thanks for your compliments! And maybe I wasn’t born here, but my soul was,” Taehyung said, dramatically touching his chest.
Jimin hit his arm playfully. “How is your piece coming along?”
“Honestly, I am sure that I will die by the end of the semester because of the stress and workload. I will never be able to play Vivaldi again.” Taehyung grabbed a red cup and Jimin was already in the process of pouring him a ‘selection’ of drinks for his ‘signature cocktail’. “Why did I take this class?”
“That’s the question I ask myself every single class,” a voice said playfully from behind Jimin. It was Jungkook, standing tall, dark and handsome as always. He was the same year as Jimin, studying Modern Dance. You could easily tell Modern Dance students apart by their Power Thighs. Taehyung didn’t find Jungkook to be his favourite just because, somewhere in his subconscious, Tae was possessive with his friends, and the fact that Jungkook and Jimin had a lot in common did not help his case. Hell, they were even planning to move in together in July when the lease was up for renewal. But recently, he learnt to share a bit more, out of necessity if anything else. The new problem was someone else that came with Jungkook.
“Namjoon! You came!” Jimin squealed with excitement and jumped to hug the tall guy that was shyly holding onto Jungkook’s arm. Namjoon was the newest addition to the Korean Squad, as Jimin so flavourlessly liked to call it. Namjoon was originally from Toronto, he was studying Political Science with a minor in International Business. Basically, a tall brainiac with dimples that made even puppies swoon over him. And Jimin just adored the shy guy; the perfect amount of cute, smart and bashful for Jimin to latch onto and welcome with open arms into his life.
Jungkook was from Vancouver, his accent would come out from time to time, something Jimin would harp on and Taehyung would join in just to tease. Although, frankly, he heard no difference. Apparently, it was in the way he said ‘house’ and ‘about’, practically any word which included the ‘ou’ vowels attached.
However, Jungkook was the only one in the Squad that would be able to speak a clean Korean. Perfect grammar and almost no accent.
“Nice necklace, Taehyung hyung,” Jungkook spoke up in Korean.
“Thanks. Jimin was saying it might be too much. I like it,” instinctively he touched the pendant rubbing its sole once more.
“It’s a conversation starter, that’s for sure.”
Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “So, is he your boyfriend now?” he asked, referring to Namjoon who was being interrogated by Jimin in a corner.
“All of a sudden? That’s a random question. I guess. We don’t know. He finishes his studies this year and then he’s taking an internship with the Canadian embassy in Korea.” Jungkook looked saddened by the subject at hand. To the point that Taehyung felt bad for the low blow.
“Who knows though? A gay liberal from Toronto might be too much for the Canadian Embassy in Seoul,” Taehyung tried to lighten the mood.
“A gay liberal from Toronto will be exactly the angle I’ll use to get that position,” Namjoon’s voice came in strong as the dimply guy laid a friendly hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Jungkook and I have talked about the one-year internship. But all will fall into place once we know some answers,” Namjoon continued in Korean with a slightly unidentifiable accent. “You are a great friend, though,” he switched back to English. “I hope we get to spend more time together throughout the semester.”
Namjoon, who always came off as shy, uncharacteristically winked at Taehyung and offered a dimply smile to which Taehyung responded with a shy boxy grin, two lines tightening around his nostrils like a 3 year old, giddy to go on a ride.
“Okay, enough of that. Namjoon promised me he’ll do a tequila shot with me,” Jungkook interjected, pulling his (maybe) boyfriend away by the arm, to which Jimin giggled.
Taehyung sipped on Jimin’s concoction, grimacing slightly at its overpowering sweetness. At least he didn’t taste the alcohol, which he more than likely had a lot of in his cup. He let the fake taste of strawberry burn at his throat pleasantly. His thoughts and anxieties melting away like butter in a pan.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Jimin jumped on the table to sit on it, feet dangling just slightly off the ground.
“I’ve just been… thinking I guess,” Taehyung replied flatly. There was really nothing more to it.
“About?” Jimin sipped from his own red solo cup and watched his best friend closely.
“I always try to protect others but I never protect myself.” The words slipped out of him like fresh water out of a spring. “I feel so scared of breaking another’s heart that I let them break mine the second they want revenge. And that’s fine. That’s fine. That’s who I am.” He wasn’t sad, no. He was just thinking about the lack of belonging with someone. Or maybe about heartbreak in general.
Jimin interrupted his train of thought. “This is about Jessie, isn’t it?”
Taehyung didn’t reply. It was about a lot of things.
“Listen, Jessie was a great girl. She was definitely hot, her temper unfortunately was just as hot. You are a chill dude, laid back, taking life as it comes. You were incompatible, and that is fine.”
Taehyung nodded. He and Jessie were together on and off for 2 years. At one point he thought they were soulmates, whatever that meant at the time. It took a toll on him after a while, and though he didn’t have the heart to break things off, she felt the distance growing between them. So, she cheated on him with some dude from McGill and sent him a nasty text which he deleted after reading the first sentence.
The truth of the matter was that the break up wasn’t really the one doing him in. It was more the failure of the relationship which brought with it the lack of inspiration he had felt over the past year. Jazz has lots of soul in it. And Taehyung felt that he had none left in him.
Any musician, any artist needs to find a muse. Be it the changing leaves in the autumn, the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore or a gentle heart that makes your heart beat in allegro.
“Anyhow, this is not about Jessie, but more about me trying to pass the Dobson class,” Taehyung whined with a childish aegyo to it, something that stuck with him even in a culture that was not accustomed to it.
Jimin’s eyes sparkled with fondness and he quickly pinched Tae’s cheek. “I heard Vivaldi drank whisky sours. That should help you channel his talent,” he spoke playfully to his friend and dragged him back into the crowd.
“That is factually so incorrect,” Taehyung said laughingly as he trailed helplessly behind him.
The Loyola Campus was almost desolate, save for the three students that were studying together at the foot of the First Nations’ Chief statue. The leaves blanketed the ground beautifully like a multi-coloured, woven wool scarf. It was a pleasant autumn day, the wind was lightly blowing, and the air was warm, nice.
Taehyung couldn’t remember for the life of him how or why he ended up on the other side of town. He felt slightly light-headed, like a hangover was shadowing his thoughts. He was clutching onto something: a thick Theory of Blockbusters COMS 225 book and a fragile notebook with a green cover and drawings sketched on the front by its owner.
“Hey!” A stranger waved his hand in front of Taehyung’s eyes. “Sorry, those are mine. I left them on the steps ‘cause I just went in to get a coffee.” The tall stranger pointed towards the Communications Building behind them. An early 2000s construction fashioned in an industrial remake, reminiscent of the 70s architecture that rang throughout all of Concordia’s buildings.
Taehyung couldn’t quite get his eyes to focus on the man before him. “Uh. Sorry, I guess I was going to drop them with security.”
The original owner took back his items and kind of lingered for a few seconds. “Thanks, I appreciate the thought… I guess.”
Taehyung blinked desperately trying to see properly, the way you try to get your eyes clean after a particle of dust irritated your iris. The haze was slowly lifting. The man before him had jet black hair, rounded-out, almond eyes and lips ripe like a strawberry. They would put Jimin’s plump ones to shame , Tae thought to himself.
He wore plain clothes, and round spectacles. He was Korean too. He was very handsome. He smelled like saltwater, and … sweet, floral. Some type of flower, Tae couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Taehyung was so in his head that it felt like a good few minutes had passed while he inspected the handsome stranger. In reality, it might have been just a few seconds.
“I'll see you around, I guess. And… thanks, again,” the stranger went on the large terraced garden steps and sat back down, setting his cup carefully to the side.
Taehyung sat at one of the outdoor tables searching for his phone. The whole situation was pretty strange, the Taehyung type of strange, but even so he felt uneasy. His gaze would go back up to the Korean dude who was now pouting in concentration to the text in front of him, highlighter ready in hand.
What was he doing in the Sherbrooke campus, middle of nowhere? Where was his phone? Why did everything feel like a hazy veil? Why was his vision flaring and burning at the edges like an old film? Those were all questions that never came to his mind. He was mentally floating above everything else. Tae kept searching his pockets for his phone when something felt like it was sucking him in.
Before he knew it, Taehyung woke up on Jimin’s couch with a loud, surprised intake of breath. The type you take after staying at the bottom of a pool for too long.
“Jesus fucking Christ, dude!” Jimin cried from behind the kitchen counter overlooking the living room. His friend was shirtless in the kitchen, one hand clutching his chest in terror while toast was burning to the point that Taehyung was shocked the alarm didn’t go off.
“First, you randomly pass out in the middle of the party-”
“When was that?” Tae interrupted with furrowed brows, suddenly bothered by the blanket that was laid across him.
“Like maybe 12AM. We ended up staying here.” Jimin stopped the toaster and got the charred bread out with a fork.
“That is dangerous. Amber told you like a thousand times to not do that.” Taehyung shook his head. He didn’t have the strength to sit up yet.
“That’s not the important topic here.” Jimin restarted his earlier complaint. “First, you pass out randomly, now you wake up as if you were resuscitated back to life like some Frankenstein monster. Honestly, if I die, it’s all on you.”
Taehyung laughed loudly at his friend’s indignation. A warmth spread across his chest where only seconds ago it felt cold. Leave it to Jimin to make it better. “Are you trying to poison me?” he pointed at the burnt toast.
“It’s good for you,” he said pushing the plate further into Taehyung’s lap.
“Poor Amber. Is she the only one cooking in this apartment? Can’t she teach you how to cook properly? If not for your sake, for mine.”
“I actually know how to cook, I just have no interest in it,” Jimin replied proudly and sat straight on the arm of the couch.
“Where is Amber anyway?” Taehyung asked making a disgusted face as he chewed on the burnt toast. It was abnormally chewable and terribly bitter. Tae sat it down beside him in fear of what it would do to his stomach.
“With her parents. Coming in 2 days.” Jimin slid down on the couch on Taehyung’s legs who quickly made him some space. “I was really worried about you. With you feeling blue and passing out, my mind panicked. Thank God Namjoon took your pulse and confirmed you were alive. He was so quick on his feet in the whole situation. He put you in this ‘ALS’ position,” Jimin gestured small air quotes, ”in case you barfed, you wouldn’t have choked and died. Which, honestly, is the grossest way to die.” Jimin proceeded to bite from the toast absent-mindedly and instantly regretted it, spewing it back into the plate.
“Dude was prepared.”
“He really was. Joon seemed really distressed when he saw you all pale in the middle of my living room. I was scared you OD’d on something.”
“No way! I tried weed once and I still regret it. Maybe I was tired and your whiskey sours wiped me out?” Tae looked at his friend who was now unconsciously pouting. “Awwn, my Jiminie was scared,” Taehyung baby talked. “I am sowwy, Jiminie,” he jokingly pinched the other’s cheeks. “Honestly, I am sure it was just fatigue and lack of sleep. Plus, I just had a strange dream.”
“You need to take things a bit more slowly and get more sleep. Promise me!” Jimin demanded with the babiest pout and most motherly worry in his eyes.
“Promise!” Taehyung extended his pinky.
Being in the downtown campus is great. You can always go home for a nap between classes, you don’t have to spend an hour in commute like Hoseok, and, most importantly, if you have an early class you can always wake up 30 minutes before it starts.
“Mr. Kim, I am glad to see you so bright and early in my class, even if it seems you’ve barely made it in.” Professor Dobson watched a frizzy-haired, sleepy Taehyung sit down in the front row as always.
Mr. Dobson was a short guy who was very proud of being a graduate of Guelph University, a bit too proud for such an underwhelming achievement. He sported a chin strap which had connectivity issues, so it was pretty much just an overgrown goatee. He always wore cargo shorts with various early 2000s white-dad-grocery-shopping, short-sleeved button ups. Basically his fashion sense stopped somewhere in his 30s.
Taehyung gave a crooked smile and leaned back in his chair. 8:30AM classes were tough. Dobson classes at 8:30AM (which, by the way, was the only time he taught because he had tenure) were the toughest. There were 10 people admitted in the course and Taehyung was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Truth be told, he thought it would be a cool class but, truly, the whole department knew that if you pass any Dobson class you will definitely make your name recognisable. Most of his graduates went on to be part of the National Orchestra, The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Montreal Symphony Orchestra, and the list goes on.
“Baroque music has its flourishings and ornaments. Many people are a fan of it because of the reverence it evokes. Why else do you think it stayed one of the favourites?”
“The most known composers were part of it,” said a ginger head boy named Thomas, his hand raised in the air.
“Why else?” Dobson pressed on, scanning the room.
“The fantasy and romance it creates around it?” a voice came from next to Taehyung.
Dobson seemed to be very happy with the answer. ”Exactly! Baroque music awakens a sense of etiquette-strict ladies and lords and love intrigue. There is a passion behind the reverence that the arrangement of the notes carry.”
Taehyung was mindlessly playing with his necklace, the soft pad of his index finger was smoothing over the blue stone.
“The muse-”
You know how when you fall asleep you don’t remember the falling part? You just dream or wake up and that’s how you know you were asleep.Your brain shuts down maybe gradually, maybe suddenly. But it comes to you slowly and all of a sudden.
Taehyung found himself in the same Fine Arts building he was in. He was laying on a couch, head resting on his arm. People with rolled up boards and classic Herschel backpacks in different pastel colours and with an assortment of pins and patches passed by.
That was a short class. Must’ve zoned out through it. God take care of this agnostic soul because if I keep this up I will never pass the class.
His eyes fall on a tall guy he recognized from before. He had the same raven black hair, wide set of shoulders and the smile that could melt the sun itself. Taehyung watched the young man, who was not more than a feet away from him, fiddle with his phone. He seemed to be waiting for someone.
A girl with long blonde hair that flowed effortlessly as she passed people approached him. She thrusted a coffee cup in his face with a bored expression.
“I feel like I am having a deja-brew,” the guy laughed in a surprisingly squeaky voice. It made Taehyung think of a cartoon character and that made him giggle.
The blonde girl rolled her eyes and smiled. “Jin, I always bring you coffee for our rehearsals.”
“And that’s why I love you a latte. By the way, this is a latte, no?” The tall man turned slightly serious. The girl scoffed dramatically and tapped (Gin? Jean? Jin?)’s shoulder.
“Ah, my sweet co-star, Melanie. I cannot espresso how much your act of kindness means to me.”
Taehyung giggled slightly louder than the last time, which prompted the handsome guy to look in his direction. His big almond eyes which Tae remembered looked so innocent, first jumped in surprise and then narrowed in intrigue. The way you look across the room when you can’t find the watch you took out to wear only seconds before.
The warm smell of saltwater and peonies slowly rolled over Taehyung. He froze to the chilly stare and his mouth took a neutral, if not slightly terrified, set. What is he staring at? Does he recognize me? I thought I dreamt of him but maybe we met before.
Jean? Gin? Uh.. the tall guy placed his hand carefully at the small of the girl’s back guiding her towards the escalators. “Let’s get going before we are late for rehearsal.”
Taehyung felt he could breathe again. The handsome guy broke the odd eye contact as he walked away. He took out the small pen he always carried in his pocket together with his pocket notebook and simply jotted down a type of to do: Jin/Jean - actor/theater - search on FB . He shoved it back into his slacks and made way to stand up from the couch with an almost acrobatic push and pull gesture. Within a millisecond his feet touched the ground and his torso stiffened in a straight position.
His eyelids, on the other hand, still felt heavy and, as he was very slowly, with an exaggerated effort, trying to open them, an odd image was forming before his very eyes. A disk, a few music sheets trapped under his elbow and Professor Dobson smiling crudely from the middle of the classroom. A terrible feeling set into his bowels, just torturous. The type of feeling you get after you eat one too many samosas. He fell asleep. In class.
“Mr Kim. Good morning, once more! Hopefully your 5 minute power nap will help you stay awake through the rest of the lecture.” The middle-aged man turned briefly towards the board on which he had scribbled some keywords from today’s discussion.
A different churning was now taking place in Taehyung’s stomach. Did I pass out again? Why do all dreams recently feel so realistic?
His heart was picking up some speed. Anxiety building at his heels for apparently no reason. So, he decided to push away the feeling in his stomach and focus on the lecture. Out of mind…
Jimin sat his backpack down just to get a huge duffle bag out of the locker. Taehyung was sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, keeping company to Jimin’s bags. He had been quiet, more quiet than usual, Jimin noticed.
“How was class?” he asked sliding down to the floor and using the bags as props for arm rests. Taehyung had a distant look in his eyes, almost haunting.
“It was fine,” he muttered. The two sat in silence for a couple of seconds while Jimin was trying to figure out how he could approach another subject or at least find out what happened to begin with. It was not like TaeTae to be so distant without a very obvious motive.
“Dobson is slowly killing me, man,” Taehyung spoke up, eyes trained on a girl who was now running against the direction of the escalator with a huge painting in her arms.
“That, you told me. I am sure even Dobson knows.”
“Of course he knows. He is doing this on purpose. But while a person who majors in Jazz tries to figure out why they took his class, he is giving me nightmares. I think he is giving me major anxiety and stress and I think it’s starting to affect me.”
“Are you sure it’s just him? Why is there so much pressure though?” Jimin was restless.
“Jimin,” Taehyung shifted to face his friend, “if I fail this class my career as a musician is over.”
“And if you develop arrhythmia because of this class, your career is over. Yes, he is a big name. But he is also just another class. You need to balance your life out.”
“I don’t know… Lately I’ve been feeling lackluster. He keeps talking about inspiration and muses and passion. The more I sit in his class, the more I feel unfit. Unworthy to call myself an artist, a musician.”
Jimin gave him a look that would make water boil on demand. “What are you on about? You are one of the most talented saxophone players I have ever heard. It’s as if jazz was made for you.”
“You’re saying it just ‘cause. Being a good player doesn’t equal talent though. I don’t know… He does have a point though. Something is missing. I’ve been feeling it more lately.” Taehyung was picking at his bottom lip. Tiny dry patches of skin would come off leaving behind bright pink, almost bloody red wounds.
Jimin got up and stretched his arms. “Hey, look! You said you wanted to be part of a band. You are now. What happened to the Groove Catz? It would be good to play again. I bet this is what you are missing.” Jimin loaded his back with both bags, resembling now more of a mule than anything.
Taehyung looked up with a very decisive expression, only highlighted by his tightly-knit brows. He really hadn’t played since Patrick’s (the keys player) cousin’s wedding. And that was back in June. Everyone went to different places over the summer like tiny mercury balls running out of a broken thermometer.
Sure, he didn’t have lots of free time now, since he took a full course load, but playing some jazz at small events even once a month should help him out. Plus they would restart their weekly practice sessions.
“What’s up with you, though?” Taehyung sprung up from his maroon mood with a confused smile pointed directly at Jimin’s huge practice bags.
“I am meeting ‘Kook to work on our choreo together for our project. It is supposed to make you ‘feel things’ when you watch it. Based on what the professor last said, we all lack everything besides perfect technical execution.” Jimin scoffed as he limped towards the escalator. His right hip kept bumping into the duffle bag which in return hit like a wrecking ball at his toned leg. That will most definitely leave a bruise.
“So you are bringing your emotional baggage to help you. I see. Where is the tiny carry-on labeled ‘Amber & Hidden Feelings’?” Taehyung laughed cruelly.
“Ha. Ha.” Jimin mocked him dryly. “There is about to be a bag with your ass imprinted on it if you keep pressing me on with that subject.”
Taehyung only giggled louder and waved at his friend. “Hey! Good luck with the choreo!”
“You too, man! Just let up on the stress. You are talented.” Jimin yelled back from across the floor.
Taehyung felt his stomach tightening. “Yeah,” he said lowly, followed by a much louder ‘see ya’.
The short walk home was barely memorable. Taehyung had Michel Blanet’s Sonata No2 in B Minor stuck in his head. He even heard it through his odd dream, vaguely. Or maybe it was from before falling asleep. Either, or, the piece was almost hypnotizing, and the flute work was very much remarkable. More than Tae would like to accept.
It was often that the walk home felt like a meditative process. Taehyung would often space out while letting his feet go on automatic, trusting them enough to deliver him home safe and sound. Sure, there were the occasional run-ins with bikes at crosswalks but nothing major to deter the young man from quitting this habit. Maybe a psychologist would categorize it as a coping mechanism for his atychiphobia: the irrational and persistent fear of failing.
The leaves turned earlier this year, so there were plenty to walk on and crunch under your soles. The air was wetter with that specific autumn musk. L’ete indiene (a Quebecer problematic expression that is used to signify a longer summer and late autumn) skipped the city.
Taehyung was fidgeting with the strap attached to his backpack. Nothing wrong with rain and windy weather. His best performance was during such moody times. Something had been bugging him for a few months now, like a dread or stirring that made him want to forget where he was most of the time. He had been learning to be happy, to not let himself be sad. His goal was to live a good life, full of smiles and content with the current situations. His many hobbies he had developed over the years were sitting eagerly on the shelves inside his room, ready to be played with again. Sometimes he would pick them up and feel the joy he first encountered when he discovered them. The first time he threaded a needle, or put his foot on a skateboard, heated up a glue gun or dipped his brush in water. A fleeting moment of those memories, like ghosts made of pearly white teeth and lips stretched from corner to corner, haunted him. Just like they came, they would go just as fast. And in their absence, a terrible dread would settle in.
You are capable and skilled in many. You are, however, lacking terribly in passion. Why bother if there will always be others doing better than you? Why work yourself to the bone in your crafts if you will never truly be an artist? Face yourself. Everything you do is mediocre. Well-executed, but hollow. Everyone can see.
His off-white Vans reached the top of the stairs. Taehyung’s trusty feet got him home safe and sound once more. The apartment was empty, as he left it. He plopped his body on the sofa that let out a human sigh as the air puffed out of the cushions. Like clockwork, Taehyung sighed with it and kicked the blanket on his legs, up to his hips and then shimmied underneath until it came all the way up to his chin. It was cold.
The stress of a university student rumbled in him like the struggling engine of an old car. The blanket worked as a buffer between himself and the reality of the situation. It was easy to overthink when you feel that, at any second, your every move stamps your life forever. Like a terrifying domino effect, the 20s are an odd period in everyone’s life, riddled with overthinking, overdoing and overdrinking.
His heart dreamt of trees in bloom, petals raining spring showers in the wind. A salty smell, like sweaters that were worn at the beach house on cold days, filled him in different ways. It was a pleasant feeling, almost a rush that soothed his soul.
A loud giggle startled him and brought Taehyung back to life. His eyes opened to ebony dark bangs hanging above his nose. Two eyes like moon crescents stared back at him through a grin.
“It’s you again,” the handsome student from his earlier encounters giggled.
Taehyung scrambled up to his feet only to realize that he had been napping on the floor in the Fine Arts building, in the middle of a corridor he hadn’t seen before. His cheeks were burning in embarrassment. He would never just lay on the floor randomly. I mean, sure, he would occasionally sit on the floor with Jimin. But this was different.
“What-uh. What are you doing here?” Taehyung mumbled out.
Jean, or whatever his name was, looked at him bemused. It sorta irritated Taehyung. “Me?” his long finger extended towards Tae’s chest. “That is my locker.” His grin seemed to get bigger.
“Ah,” Tae exhaled emptily with a lost look on his face while he moved to the side.
The tall boy opened his locker while eyeing Taehyung like a horse thief. “We keep bumping into each other. I’m Seokjin, by the way,” his hand was hanging in the air ready for Taehyung to shake.
“Ah.” The same lost stare was now looking past his new friend. “I uh.. My name is Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”
“Kim? Same family name. You’re Korean! Woah, amazing! I haven’t spoken Korean with others in so long!”
Taehyung had his hand wrapped around the other’s still, a shy grin forming lines around his nostrils. Seokjin decided to ignore the awkwardness.
“So, what do you study? I assume you study at Concordia… Unless, you are truly a creep that is just following me around,” his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Taehyung got even redder. “Yes, of course I am a student,” he replied almost indignantly. “And anyway you keep popping everywhere I am. So maybe…” he trailed off when he realized that Seokjin was laughing at his attempt to save his honour. “I am glad this is a joke for you.”
“Relax. You seem tense,” Seokjin moved to close the locker. They were the same height but, somehow, the handsome guy felt taller than Taehyung. “So, you go to Concordia. Fine Arts?”
“Uh... yeah. Jazz. I play saxophone… brass instruments. Recently I took flute.”
“Wow. Must have a powerful mouth then.” Seokjin started walking the corridor and Taehyung followed suit. His cheeks were burning again, and there was a tickle in the arch of his foot.
“I mean... Yes,” and absentmindedly he touched his lips with the tip of his middle finger. Jin followed the movement, irises dripping with an attention that frightened Taehyung. “I guess your muscles get strong. Hah,” Tae stumbled over his words and let out a tired, shy chuckle.
Seokjin’s ears got red most likely because there were many other follow up sentences that he wanted to let out. Luckily, Taehyung was far too worried about his first impression to see the broad-shouldered man drink in his bashfulness. Seokjin let out a delicious, crystalline laugh, and settled his long fingers on Taehyung’s hand. Tae felt somehow, breathtakingly, comforted. “That’s amazing.”
Taehyung stopped in his tracks, as if just remembering something important. “Wait, what about you?”
Seokjin smiled brightly at the young man before him, as if he was the most endearing puppy he had ever seen. With a dramatic gesture he pointed at the theater’s backstage entrance. “I am a Theatre Major. Currently playing the role of Sweeney Todd.” He bowed in reverence.
Taehyung showed his boxy smile unwillingly, hair getting tousled by his own hand, which now burnt with a purple flame where his friend touched him. He looked closely at his palm, inspecting. The lines and ridges were all there. His chest felt cold, but his hand burnt.
“It’s just really odd…” Taehyung leaned on his knee, hand holding up his chin. The pen was teetering on his upper lip, the tip of his nose helping the balance. His thick brows fell into a pensive frown. He looked like a cartoon, childish with cheeks made of dough.
“I don’t know, man. It sounds like you are just having a repetitive dream. Were you watching dramas again?” Hoseok stretched out his legs on the leather bench.
The Hall building had tall couches with a long table to fit 4 people in between them for students to work and study between classes. It may have been seedy or even overused, but the place was Taehyung’s favourite. It always buzzed with people, the WiFi worked best there, and they were close to Hoseok’s random PoliSci classes. This semester: Canadian Politics POLI 201.
“I was not. ” Taehyung replied pointedly.
Hoseok was working behind his trusty Macbook that had over 50 stickers on it. The New York Times, KAWS, Just Do It, Liberal Party, Missing & Murdered Indigenous Women, Supreme, some odd art ones that Taehyung could not pinpoint, and plenty of Pokemons and social causes. Very Hoseok indeed. He was typing up the last of his piece on paranormal investigators and how millions of grieving families are poached and frauded by them every year. Edgy.
“Sounds like you are really into denying it.”
Taehyung just puffed his cheeks in response. “I am being serious. I see this dude everywhere. Every time I fall asleep he is there. And it all feels so real… It really makes my skin feel all fuzzy and crawly when I wake up. I almost gave Jimin a heart attack.” His arm fell over his term paper that was barely taking shape at this point. “It’s really, really freaky. Hoseok!”
Hobi popped his eyes over the laptop screen and peered at his friend. His hair was mussed up, dark circles decorated his eyes and his fingers were tapping on the papers before him. He needed help, the report could wait a few minutes.
“Listen,” he reached forward and pat Taehyung’s hand. “I am sure it is nothing. But I will do what I do best, and follow your train of thought.” He popped up his notepad and started typing. “When did this first start?”
“Uh.. Like 3 weeks ago.” Taehyung thought about it, brows weaving at his memories. “Ah! It was actually at the party I invited you to. That was the first time I saw him.”
Hoseok nodded as he took a note. “Mhm. Okay. So how often does it happen? Once a day? Several times? Every time you sleep?”
“It’s hard to tell… there isn’t a pattern to it. They come and go randomly. Not every time I sleep. No. It’s, maybe twice a day, sometimes days pass until I see him again.”
“And are they long encounters? Are they significant encounters?”
“It depends. I saw him a total of 10 times or so. Maybe 4 of those times were significant. The rest, he was always there in the background. It’s always at the university.” Taehyung looked into the distance, trying to figure out how they all felt. They felt as if they were more real than him and Hoseok sitting at the table talking in Hall building. They burned purple and smelled of saltwater.
“The necklace. Have you taken it off since you bought it?”
Taehyung looked down surprised, as if caught in the act. His fingers were playing with the pendant again. It was a nervous habit he had developed recently. His lips felt foreign to himself, he felt guilty. “I… uh.” He swallowed nervously and the chain around his neck felt tighter than usual. “No.”
Hoseok watched him with big frightful eyes, and Taehyung felt his own heart beating faster. “But it can’t be this. It’s not. That’s crazy.” Tae waved the foolishness away.
His journalist friend tilted his head and fixed the pendant. “A lot of things that come to us are from different backgrounds. Some were stolen, some were lost, some were from dead people, and God knows we had some cursed shit, too. Billy has some weird stories about the back storage.”
None of the words made Taehyung feel better. “Stop! You’re freaking me out!”
“I am saying this for your own good. Maybe you should stop wearing it or something.”
“But I like it,” Taehyung automatically pouted.
Hoseok looked around for an idea, eyes jumping back and forth through the books and papers in front of him. “Okay!” he clapped loudly like a eureka moment, and his hands started searching through his laptop. “So this guy I interviewed, he is a tarot reader and clairvoyant. He is legit. Believe me, ” he added without needing to see Taehyung to know that he was suspicious of those kinds of things. He was a scaredy cat, and very gullible, but, also, it took him a while to believe he could be involved in something paranormal.
Hoseok scribbled the contact information for the paranormal investigator down on a piece of paper. “Here. You don’t have to do it. But if you want to find out if it’s the pendant or if you were hexed by someone, he is the one.”
Taehyung took the paper and studied it. His anxiety was growing once more. This is the last thing he needed. A curse. Or haunting.
“Taehyung! Fancy bumping into you here.” Jungkook popped up out of nowhere next to their table.
“Jungkookah!” At least he will take his mind away from all this. “What are you doing here?”
“Picking up my boyfrieeeeeeend,” he sang out the end of the sentence with excitement and sat down next to Taehyung.
“Oh! So, he is your boyfriend. Huh,” Tae chuckled and gave Jungkook a friendly pat on the back.
The dancer ignored the banter that was about to start up and directed his attention to Taehyung’s curious friend. His brown hair was neatly parted in the middle with two waves and he sported an almost heart-shaped smile. “I’m Jungkook,” he extended his hand. “People call me JK.”
“Hi! I’m Hoseok. Uhm.. I don’t have an English name. My parents are pretty traditional.” Hoseok closed his laptop and gathered his papers. Obviously, studying was no longer an option. That was fine.
“How do you know our Taehyung hyung?” Jungkook asked in Korean, which only prompted a quizzical look from the new friend.
Taehyung burst out in laughter. “He doesn’t really speak Korean. He barely understands it.”
“Ah…” Jungkook sounded apologetic, if not disappointed.
“Hey! I understand Korean. I just don’t understand dialects,” Hoseok retorted.
“Yahhh Satoori! Where do you think Gwangju is? Seoul land?” Taehyung got loud and rowdy as usual, making everyone at the table resound in laughter.
“Namjoonie!” Jungkook jumped up to meet his boyfriend.
“I thought that was you guys,” he let out a chuckle. Taehyung had to admit that the tall guy looked good in glasses. “After I finished class I just followed the sound of your voices and here I am. Taehyung, man, are you better? Last time I saw you, I almost called 911.”
“Uh. Yeah. Thanks for that by the way.” Taehyung wanted to avoid the subject that gave him more anxiety than playing that damn flute to Vivaldi. “This is my friend Hoseok!”
Hoseok was caught halfway through getting off the couch and tailing it. “Oh, Hey!” he waved awkwardly. “I need to get going. Haha. But it was great to meet you guys.” He almost slipped away before adding, “Call my contact, Tae!”
Namjoon and Jungkook sat down on the couch with a loud thud. “So, that’s a new friend?” Namjoon said pointing somewhere in the direction of Hoseok’s dust.
“Been friends for a while. He studies Journalism and, actually, he did a few PoliSci classes.”
“Huh… You don’t say.” Namjoon’s eyes fell on Taehyung’s neck. “Is that new?”
“This?” Taehyung touched the pendant and his heart fluttered. “I got it some time ago. Bought it from Hoseok.”
“This Hoseok guy is full of surprises, huh?” Namjoon watched the pendant closely.
“Don’t even think about it. You are my boyfriend.” Jungkook leaned in and kissed Joon on the mouth.
Taehyung rolled his eyes at the two lovebirds. “Aigoo! Enough of this. Let’s get Jimin and go to Reggie’s for a beer.”
Taehyung was on the 14th floor on the staircase in the MB building. The ceiling-to-floor windows covered the whole corner, offering a nice view of lower Montreal and the suburbs beyond the Champlain Bridge. He would often come here to meditate and forget about the world. Seeing the greatness of the city before him always gave him a different perspective on the world around him. He would feel slightly smaller, slightly more in tune with the vibration of his own life. Everything was connected; people walking below, the cars, the hum of the streets, it all brought him closure.
Tae had been waiting there this time, for what he was not sure. Or rather he didn’t want to admit it to himself. The dream was realistic. If this was a dream. He had lost the old movie flicker he initially had when he saw Jin. The transitions from his day to day were smooth into his other timeline. He couldn’t remember how he got up there. But that happened to him often. His automatic legs always lead him where he needed to be. So he was waiting to see if he was alive or just dreaming. Whichever one it was, he felt finally at peace. A feeling which had been hard to reach lately. He felt this dread that he would be failing at everything, just as he had been doing this whole time. Maybe he never dramatically and miserably failed at something, but he didn’t really excel at any one subject either. He was fine. He was a good saxophone player, a good critique, a good friend, a good lover.
There was this hole inside his chest that felt cold at times like this. He was searching, trying to fill it in with something. His lacking showed at all times, and he didn’t really know how to make it better when he couldn't see the end of the road. His path was foggy. Was there something greater for him? In love, in life, career? Something to make his life worth living, not a waste of flesh and bone. Not just another human that lived to see another day.
He was floating in a sea of peace on the 14th floor. The city was almost anesthetized, barely slugging under the multi-colours of the dead autumn leaves. Saltwater. Taehyung closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His heart was beating once more with a purpose. Like he was born for something. Something greater than just breathing.
Taehyung checked his wrist watch. 2PM. His class was starting at 3PM in Loyola. He picked himself off the stairs and pushed through the heavy door, walking calmly to the elevators. The MB building was always so cold and almost sterile, the perfect factory to mass produce square, successful economists. Taehyung hated it.
There was no sign of Seokjin. He was fine. Hoseok was wrong. It wasn’t the pendant, nor was he hexed. He was in the real world and wearing the necklace, with nothing in his dreams to haunt him. He was fine. He took out the paper from his pocket, and smiled in victory. The bell announcing the elevator dinged, and Taehyung stepped in, his mind already preparing for his conversation with Hoseok.
“Which floor?” a voice came from beside him.
“Ground floor,” Taehyung mumbled unknowingly.
His term paper wasn’t even touched since he met up with Hoseok. He put a mental note to start it when he got home.
“I didn’t think of you as a stranger so quickly,” the same voice came in.
Taehyung looked up to see Seokjin leaning against the elevator doors. His bangs covered his thick brows, the round glasses framed his almond eyes as always. But that smile. That smile made Taehyung’s heart stop in its track. Maybe there were several reasons for that.
“What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Seokjin smiled warmly and touched his chest. The coldness went away, replaced by a purple flame. It burned him in the most pleasant way, so Taehyung let it.
“You are always here.”
“I go to school here. It’s a pretty small place.”
Taehyung covered Seokjin’s hands with his. It burned. “I guess it is.”
“Are you done with classes? Want to go to Vieux Port with me? It’s beautiful there this time of the year.” Jin had this honey in his voice that caressed Tae’s earlobe.
Taehyung swallowed. He might as well. He nodded and Seokjin grabbed his arm, guiding him.
Taehyung was waiting in front of an old apartment building near Grey Nuns, one of the residencies downtown. The door frame had an early 19th century arc, with Irish motifs in its architecture. The door itself was made out of hardwood, carved in it the four plants that represented the province: a clover, a rose, a thistle, and a fleur de lys. He had been waiting outside for 5 minutes or so. The cold wind was starting to get through his jacket and into his bones. Taehyung was wobbling from one foot to the other to keep himself warm, mumbling under his breath something about getting back at Hoseok for this one.
The door creaked open after several thuds on the other side as if ancient bolts had to be opened. A platinum-blonde young man peeked from behind the door with a frown knotted on his forehead. He was nothing like Hoseok described him. Moreover, nothing like what he had expected from a clairvoyant.
“Are you Taehyung?” he asked in a thick Daegu dialect. His voice was low, very husky. A total contradiction to his fair skin and ginger lips.
“Uh. Yes. Min Yoongi-ssi? You are the clairvoyant?”
The young man ignored his rhetorical questions and fixed his stare on the pendant which was now gleaming in waves of aqua. Yoongi’s mouth thinned in a line. “I see you brought your friend with you. Come in.”
~END OF PART 1~