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Across the bar, cast under the unholy red glow of an exit sign, Jeongguk laughs hard enough that his head thumps back against the brick facade of the wall. Taehyung stops breathing. His eyes trail from Jeongguk’s hand, wrapped tight around a beer, to the thread-worn sleeve of his t-shirt, committing to memory dark ink against skin and the years during which he’d lost the right to know those changes.
As Taehyung whips around towards his friends, he reminds himself that it’s okay. It’s not as if they had a break-out fight or something. They just—grew up. With Taehyung off to uni and Jeongguk stuck in highschool for another two years, they drifted apart as naturally and unforgivingly as the passage of time itself. One day Taehyung knew everything there was to know about Jeon Jeongguk and the next day the calls stopped coming and the next day became the next week, month, year. No one did anything wrong.
This reminder doesn’t stop Taehyung’s heart from trying to beat out of his chest and fly across the room. Jimin shoots him a worried look, but Taehyung just shakes his head. No one did anything wrong. The percentage of people who actually manage to stay in touch with their childhood best friends is probably abysmal. There’s no reason for Taehyung to be feeling like this.
Taehyung sneaks another glance at Jeongguk. The tattoos were the biggest change, but his hair is also longer and he’s finally grown into his nose. In a delicate move, Jeongguk tucks his hair behind his ear, and Taehyung sees a line of piercings. Taehyung smiles a little because the Jeongguk that he knew would find this version of himself to be unbearably cool.
There’s no reason. Except maybe that deep down Taehyung has always missed Jeongguk a little bit. Last week, Taehyung finally had his wisdom teeth removed, and the thought of Jeon Jeongguk had returned to him unbidden, so that missing is closer to the surface than it usually is. And now Jeongguk’s right here in front of him. The universe’s timing is impeccable.
When Jeongguk was sixteen and Taehyung was barely any wiser at eighteen, Jeongguk had tossed Taehyung the keys to his dad’s old sedan, his face swollen from the wisdom teeth removal and his feet wobbly from the pain medication.
In a half-lit driveway, Jeongguk had tossed Taehyung the keys and said with a dopey grin, “I want a doughnut.”
“Are you even allowed to eat solid food right now?” Taehyung laughed while half-heartedly attempting to push Jeongguk back into his house.
“I can chew on my right side,” Jeongguk said and, in a doughnut-inspired moment of grace, darted past Taehyung’s arms.
Taehyung crossed his arms and bit back a smile. “You’re gonna start bleeding again.”
“Worth it for all that sugary goodness.” Jeongguk threw open the door and all but fell into the passenger seat. He looked back at Taehyung with pleading eyes that shined under the harsh street lights.
“Fine, I’ll drive you, you big baby.” Taehyung jogged around to the driver’s door and grinned to himself as Jeongguk whooped.
“Doughnut, doughnut, doughnut,” Jeongguk chanted, slapping his thighs to the beat.
Later that night, after a short drive-thru trip, they sat in that old sedan under an orange street light in the parking lot. Jeongguk had taken more pain meds in preparation for his doughnut, and between that and the sheer exhausted absurdity of midnight snacking, his head was slumped against the passenger seat. Taehyung had his legs pulled under him as he faced Jeongguk, who looked close to impossible in that cold, fiery glow. Taehyung ripped up pieces of a plain doughnut, small enough to not hurt so bad, and fed it to Jeongguk. And he swore that it was something like love. The gentle care of it all.
Because that’s the kicker, isn’t it? In retrospect, which always hurts like a bitch, Jeongguk was Taehyung’s first love that he never actually got to have.
“Taehyung?”
Taehyung feels that voice from his toes all the way up to the crown of his head in a shiver. He turns his head slowly, and there at their booth was Jeongguk in all his long-haired, pierced eared, tattooed glory.
Jeongguk smiles, and it’s like a snapshot into the past, into late night snack runs and sticky fingers that Taehyung can still feel now. “It is you,” he says.
“Jeongguk, hey.” Which sounds inane, but Taehyung’s a little lost on what to do, what to say.
“Hey,” Jeongguk says back. He ruffles the hair at the back of his head, looking shy for a moment. Taehyung remembers Jeongguk shy. Fourteen and a freshman and too afraid to look Taehyung in the eyes when he asked to borrow a pen. Taehyung remembers Jeongguk shy, and so he suddenly knows exactly what he should do.
Taehyung smiles up at a time-capsule of a boy and says, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Come sit with us for a bit.”