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The kind of pain that hurts the most is never heartbreak, but the longing.
The unreturned stares, quiet beats of silence where you think: What if.
What if.
What if I leaned in a little closer, let the words break the harmony between us before I’m able to catch them by the wrist? What if I ran my fingers over your knuckles and looked a little too close?
What if I held you a little tighter today, Taehyung?
What then?
But it is a mindless inquisition, Jeongguk realises with a pitiful smile, catching Taehyung’s bright eyes across the bonfire with a concealed grin of his own. It is a mindless inquisition, because people like Taehyung can only be held in the palm of your hands for fleeting moments, like sunlight trickling past the clouds to warm up your being, until it’s gone. Taehyung is very real and very mouldable, yet, like this, his lips a cherry red and a pink flush across his cheeks, alcohol in his breath and a breathless laugh wracking his lungs, he seems unreachable.
Jeongguk has long since learnt how to deal with himself, with these unadulterated feelings that make their way past the confines of his ribs, yet his mind wanders, as a mind does.
And he thinks, as he stares at Taehyung like this, head knocking into his shoulder— perhaps a little drunk, does he truly not know?
Because Taehyung has that look, that look he gives Jeongguk that he gives no one else. A look that lasts for moments he could count on his fingers, during which he could barely take an entire breath— but then again, he can barely breathe when Taehyung is around in the first place, yet seems to be running out of air without him.
And so he wonders, fingers curling into the material of Taehyung’s sweater as he attempts to get him to walk straight, whether it would be different if Taehyung knew. Whether he could close the gap between them just like this, with the light filtering past Taehyung and haloing around him dully.
He’s not quite an angel, someone like him, but that’s alright Jeongguk thinks. He doesn’t like to dream too big, and Taehyung is just barely unfathomable enough to have him longing, but never daring.
Never daring to close that gap between them once and for all, even when Taehyung brushes a thumb across Jeongguk’s cheekbone and giggles.
Tells him, “I have an inkling.” It’s a broken sentence, because Taehyung barely has the attention span to string together a fully functional sentence when sober, and he’s an enigma when intoxicated.
“Yeah?” Jeongguk asks, and Taehyung is humming.
Doesn’t answer until he’s wrestled himself onto his mattress, underneath the covers, Jeongguk at the door, seconds away from leaving.
He drapes the comforter over his head, warm, fuzzy, and says, “I think you like me.”
But Jeongguk never hears, or pretends not to.
Because it’s easier this way.
Because it’s easier to wake up the next day and pretend he’s not constantly revolving around Taehyung, a star, and all Jeongguk can do is bathe in his light.
In his warmth which never lasts for long enough, stuck in a boundless orbit.
But it doesn’t quite ache the way it should. Settles somewhere deep into his bones, love, he calls it, but can something which threatens to tear you apart shred by shred really be named something so gentle?
It’s— destructive. This love for Taehyung is.
Because everytime Jeongguk trudges past the sickening grip Taehyung has around his heart, thinks he doesn’t need it anymore, he turns around and finds Taehyung smiling at him once more, and Jeongguk thinks what he finds most beautiful in it is it’s familiarity.
Like perfume, one that he can’t quite place his finger on, but remembers regardless.
Yes, that’s what Taehyung is, Jeongguk realises.
His familiar.
His one and only.