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It’s late.
Late enough that the subways are very nearly empty, despite having a few more hours left being open.
Taehyung likes that.
Likes that there is no one to stare blatantly at the bruises blossoming bright against his eye. No one to ask him silly questions, the fluff filled no one really cares the answer to silly silly questions; Taehyung likes that. Shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, Taehyung sniffs gingerly. Metal coats his nostrils as he smells the familiar tang of blood, and doesn’t even blink when he nearly stumbles down the stairs because of the dizziness still swirling in his head. His father must’ve gotten a good headshot in. That’s going to take a while to heal, maybe he should sit down—sit down and make sure his feet won’t slip from beneath him like everything else in his life.
Like his sister: a shell of her former self since their mother passed.
Like his father: a burning husk of a man filled with grief and two children to take his anger out on.
Taehyung laughs. It’s brittle, bitter, metallic as he pauses in the middle of the subway. He wonders if Namjoon is awake—he should be, now that Taehyung is thinking about it. He did remember that Namjoon had that other job now, at the gas station so perhaps he’ll be around. Maybe Namjoon will be up for some sort of tagging if he tries wheedling hard enough. Namjoon really had a soft spot for Taehyung, he’s noticed—he’s noticed the way Namjoon glances at him and takes care of him and how he’s the only person to care.
Somewhere he hears Namjoon tell him that’s not true, everyone else cares too. Seokjin-hyung. Jiminie. Hoseok-hyung. Yoongi-hyung. Jungkookie. They care; Taehyung knows this and somehow, despite the way his brain tells him otherwise, the advice helps.
Taehyung glances around the empty subway station and frowns. The last bits of his laughter bounces off the tiled walls as Taehyung plops down on a bench. Digging his phone from the depths of his pockets, Taehyung checks the time. The subways will stay open a few more hours, just enough time for Taehyung to cool his head off and maybe crash at someone’s place. If not, well, there’s his favorite spot to hide in—a subway bench near the exit he would usually get off at to meet with Namjoon and the others.
When Taehyung looks down at his phone again, he’s not surprised to see a flurry of texts from his sister. He wonders if she even realizes that she sounds like two different people; a virtual sister who cared and apologized versus the real thing, who looks past Taehyung even when he’s bruised darker than the cheap bananas he buys with the small amount of won he can pocket from his father when he’s passed out. He doesn’t answer. She knows it’ll all repeat again, later and harsher and Taehyung doesn’t want to be at home for the next few days. Taehyung feels the numbness of the bruises when he shifts on the bench he sits on.
His phone dings again.
taehyung-ah you free?
for you hyung, always
The reply makes Taehyung’s face warm. He realizes he didn’t even think about the reply, just immediately replied to Namjoon. Honest. It’s the dizziness, the trauma of having a father who hates you so much you’re desperate for any kind of affection; from someone who works four jobs just to barely keep himself afloat let along spoil a dongsaeng who clung too hard.
where are you at?
line 6, the bench
i’m coming, taehyung-ah
Taehyung sniffs again, feels the familiar tang of blood in his nostrils as he wipes gingerly at his face. It’s tender. Taehyung isn’t sure if tender is the word he wants to use, for his face or for his heart, because when Taehyung reads the next text, he wants to jump for the call button. Wants to hear the way Namjoon lilts his name, especially when he’s concerned.
Then, the doubt comes barreling in, makes Taehyung pause and clutch his phone close to his chest. Thinks about how Namjoon always seemed ready to drop everything for him, to come patch him up after particularly rough nights his father drank a bit too much and his sister was blessedly gone from the apartment. Taehyung wonders why Namjoon stays, and then shakes his head—a mistake, considering how badly his head spins at the movement now—at the thought because he’s gone over this with Namjoon multiple times.
The tile against his back is hard, cold seeping through the fabric of his flannel jacket. It’s thick enough to keep the worst chill out but it still bleeds cold against his back as Taehyung tries to untense himself. The subway rolls into the stop Taehyung is at and when Taehyung focuses on the train hard enough, he thinks he can sort of see the familiar silhouette of Namjoon’s. Tall, with the baseball cap he almost always had on him at any given time, and then the silhouette is moving, stepping off the train and—
“Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung wonders when his eyes slipped closed. Cracking them slightly, he glances through his eyelashes at the shape of Namjoon standing over him. The fluorescent lighting coats Namjoon in shadow; intimidating, dark, like his father. And then, there’s a flash of white-hot panic that zips through his veins at the looming figure above him, and then Taehyung’s gasping for breath when he jerks upright.
Namjoon startles, hands hovering over Taehyung hesitantly, before Taehyung shakes his head. There is no looming figure of his father, just Namjoon. Who seems to be at a loss at how to console Taehyung—he doesn’t want him to, doesn’t want the false niceties or the comfort not yet at least not on pity terms, Taehyung wants it because Namjoon chose to hold Taehyung carefully, tenderly, not out of some obligation to calm the frightened boy down—at least, until Taehyung glances back up at Namjoon’s face.
Fierce brown eyes stare him down as Namjoon says his name again. Taehyung watches Namjoon’s mouth move, watches the syllables form his name. The way Namjoon’s lips cup Taehyung’s name seems to mesmerize him enough that his breathing is trying to slow, to match the steady up and down motion of Namjoon’s hands against his back. When did they get there?
The white hot panic is fading into a buzz that happens almost exclusively after nights with his father, and Taehyung hates feeling this. Eventually his breathing evens out into something manageable and Namjoon’s voice blurs together into something like a lullaby. Taehyung thinks there’s a lot wrong and not enough time to unpack it all; Namjoon definitely would have a field day with this, he’s smart and knows so many things, but this is something Taehyung doesn’t think he wants Namjoon to know about at all.
“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, voice cracking, lips wobbling, and Namjoon beams. Taehyung focuses on the way his dimples divot in his cheeks, deep and somehow an extremely comforting sight. Namjoon smiles again, rubs Taehyung’s back one last time, and then Namjoon is sitting next to Taehyung on the bench. There’s a satchel on the ground in front of Taehyung now that he’s aware of things. There are probably a couple cans of spray paint, a notebook or five, and plenty of pens, pencils, and other miscellaneous items to draw with.
“There you are, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon says. Taehyung treasures the way Namjoon speaks his name, with a fondness that keeps him on his toes keeps him hoping and keeps him wondering if Namjoon knows Taehyung would do anything for him. Would paint the town red and blue, black and purple, all for him. Taehyung knows that it might be a lost cause, that Namjoon is only around because of the fact he’s the elder and Taehyung the younger; though that is a flimsy excuse, a weak attempt at trying to keep the hope from burning Taehyung to the bone.
“Sorry, hyung,” Taehyung says, blood in his mouth as he realizes he might have bit his tongue in his sudden movements. Metal coats his taste buds, making a face at the tang. Namjoon snickers, only a few times before he’s handing Taehyung a water bottle, “You’re fine Taehyung, I should’ve let you get your eyes open first. Know better than that.”
The water is cold when Taehyung takes a sip. First he swishes the water around, to rid his mouth of the blood he’s used to having on his tongue. Second, he takes another swig to drown the taste when he swallows. Taehyung thinks he can still taste blood.
Namjoon looks satisfied at least and that leaves Taehyung’s body warm, warmer than what his flimsy jacket does to protect from the cold; Namjoon’s thigh is touching Taehyung’s. Everything else around him—the rattling of the train that comes and goes, the weight of Namjoon’s satchel against his ankle, the glare of fluorescent lighting against his eyes—seems to slow down to a crawl and focus directly on their point of contact. Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice the internal dilemma. He’s leaning against the wall, quiet and letting Taehyung readjust to being grounded again; Taehyung learns that Namjoon is quiet almost always, but whenever he’s with Taehyung it’s a different kind of quiet.
A quiet that is also loud but comforting and disconcerting all at the same time in a paradoxical kind of way. Taehyung likes that. Likes that it’s complicated but also simple. A mixture of both that leaves his heart racing with fear but also excitement. The same kind of feeling he gets when he’s painting the alleyways of Seoul together with Namjoon, right before the police try to stop them. Taehyung runs his hand through his hair, wincing once when it brushes against bruises, and lets his hand drop on his thigh. Taehyung sighs. Thinks about how close the two of them are and thinks about the hopefully not so obvious crush he has on Namjoon.
Taehyung knows he’s been fond of Namjoon for a while. Known since the first time he helped clean Taehyung up from a night with his father. He didn’t ask questions then and he still doesn’t ask the questions Taehyung thinks Namjoon knows the answers to. That Taehyung is being beaten by his own father and runs the streets of Seoul at night just to feel something. Namjoon doesn’t ask and Taehyung doesn’t tell. Yet, at least. Sometimes Taehyung thinks about it, thinks about getting it off his chest, but he wonders about how Namjoon would react. Would he react like his father? With violence and a closed fist? Or would he give him pity? With sad doe eyes that could rival Jungkook’s and a pat on the back?
Taehyung doesn’t think he wants to find out yet.
Taehyung is content to soak up whatever attention Namjoon gives him. When Taehyung glances out of the corner of his eye he notices that Namjoon’s hand is moved. It’s closer to Taehyung’s, where he let it flop on his own thigh, next to Namjoon’s. Namjoon doesn’t seem to react to Taehyung’s hand moving closer. It makes the air in Taehyung’s lungs seem to woosh out in a heavy sigh. Namjoon hums as he watches the train stop and go.
“Did you bring cans tonight?” Taehyung asks, right as the roar of a train slows to a halt. Namjoon’s hand on his thigh twitches at the sound of Taehyung’s voice and it’s in that suspended moment Taehyung thinks about moving his own hand, just barely centimeters from Namjoon’s and, and, and—
“If you’re up for it, but I think my place is closer if you want to just hang out.”
Taehyung freezes in place. His pinky finger barely reaches out towards Namjoon’s own pinky, and in an instant, Taehyung tucks his hand back into his jacket pockets and shrugs the shoulder nearest Namjoon. When he looks at Namjoon, Taehyung doesn't notice much difference in Namjoon’s gaze. If he wanted to be hopeful, he’d play pretend and think that Namjoon briefly looked down at their hands; but he isn’t hopeful, not anymore, and Taehyung wants to believe that Namjoon didn’t notice. It would be great, actually, that way Taehyung can avoid his problems—not that his feelings for Namjoon are a problem at all, he’s known for a while he won’t have anything to do with girls, not since that incident the first time he met Namjoon—a little longer.
“Sure hyung!” Taehyung says, belatedly, as Namjoon tilts his head curiously. Taehyung likes that Namjoon doesn’t ask, would much rather prefer Namjoon didn’t ask anything at all about Taehyung’s behavior; instead he’ll pretend Namjoon chalks it up to a rough night. Taehyung grins, wincing only for a moment at the way it tugs at his split lip, and Namjoon looks faintly concerned.
Namjoon breaks eye contact with Taehyung in favor of picking his satchel up. A piece of paper flutters to the ground at the motion and Taehyung blinks. Taehyung watches Namjoon straighten up, not seeming to notice the paper. Namjoon starts walking and Taehyung grabs the paper quickly. He stuffs it in his pockets before Namjoon turns to him, a spray paint can in hand. There’s a crooked grin on Namjoon’s face, dimples faint with the grin, and Taehyung feels his heart skip a beat. Namjoon tosses the spray paint can (purple, Taehyung’s favorite) at Taehyung who catches it with an unnerving ease for someone who probably has a concussion of sorts. Taehyung won’t question it at least; and he grins and rattles the can. It echoes through the empty subway, and then he’s off.
Taehyung jogs down one of the corridors to the exit of line six, and he hears the startled cry of his name from Namjoon. He does what he does best: he laughs and ignores the thrum of his split lip of the way his head spins once he emerges from the stark white tunnels of the subway and out into the neon glare of Seoul. The piece of paper Namjoon dropped earlier sits at the back of his mind, a weight around his ankles that almost looks like his father looming intimidatingly over him. Taehyung doesn’t think about that.
Instead, Taehyung paints the city purple and pretends that Seoul loves him as much as he desperately wishes Namjoon would love him.
/
They don’t get caught by the patrols, but it’s a close call the longer they go. Taehyung feels alive, veins thrumming with excitement even with Namjoon trailing along behind him. Taehyung wants to do more, his head is exploding with ideas, colors, thoughts, feelings he wants to slap onto Seoul’s surface in hopes it’ll stick, it’ll empty his ever swirling thoughts. At a bus stop, Taehyung takes a moment to exhale shakily, wave the empty spray can in the air as he laughs. When Namjoon catches up with him, he’s panting, hands on his thighs. When he looks at Namjoon, Taehyung doesn’t think about them almost holding hands there in the empty subway stop.
Namjoon finally catches his breath, laughing quietly. When he looks up at Taehyung there’s a grin on his face, his eyes wide as he continues to laugh, eventually panting out, “C’mon Taehyung-ah, let’s go back to my place. It’s nearly sun-up.”
Taehyung then realizes once he looks up at the sky that Namjoon’s right. Once he acknowledges the observation, Taehyung feels all the aches and pains from the night. He’s tired. Glancing to the sky and back at the empty can in his hand, Taehyung nods slowly. With a flick of his wrist he tosses the can straight into a trashcan nearby, and relishes in the clatter it makes in the near silent streets. Namjoon shakes his head at the antics, slinging his satchel over his shoulders higher and turning around.
Taehyung follows after Namjoon, swinging his arms back and forth as he walks. The sky is a glowing purple now, lighter than the spray paint Taehyung clung to the entire night, and the sun casts a ethereal glow to the clouds if he stares hard enough through the tall buildings. Namjoon is humming, snippets of a familiar melody coming through as one of his raps he was steadily working on; Taehyung likes the progress so far on it, and mentioning it to Namjoon seemed to make him happy—if the flustered way Namjoon ducked his head and quiet ‘thank you’s is anything to go by.
Taehyung sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. He feels the paper Namjoon had dropped earlier and thinks about asking him about it, but he rethinks it when Namjoon turns down the familiar alley they took to get to Namjoon’s shipping container-cum-apartment. Maybe Taehyung will look at the paper when he's not with Namjoon. Or he'll probably look while Namjoon naps, before he has to go to his first job of the new day. The plan feels elicit in Taehyung's mind but he doesn't think it's anything to get worked up about—whatever it is Namjoon wrote on the paper is probably bits of his rap or poetry he does almost all the time.
When the two of them reach Namjoon’s place, Taehyung feels the weight of his eyelids like a constant pulse. He finds himself blinking more and more, content to lean into Namjoon’s space, against his back as he tries to keep himself upright. Namjoon doesn’t even react to the extra weight, instead he just hums and continues unlocking the door to the shipping container. Taehyung is proud of himself when he only trips once when entering the place, much to Namjoon’s amusement; Namjoon kicks his shoes off near the entryway and begins stripping off his outer layers of clothing. Taehyung is even more proud when he doesn’t stare wistfully at the way Namjoon’s muscles move when he pulls his shirt off.
“D’you want the mattress this time, Taehyung-ah?” Namjoon’s question bursts the bubbles of thought that come unbidden about Namjoon’s state of dress before Taehyung swallows. Exhales shakily. Taehyung looks to Namjoon who looks like he’s waiting before Taehyung drags his own jacket off—not before slipping the piece of paper into his pants pockets—and tossing it on a chair nearby. Taehyung doesn’t answer Namjoon, instead he just drags himself into the makeshift bed of Namjoon’s, tugging on his hand all the while.
“Hyung ‘m tired,” Taehyung mumbles, part honesty part in attempts to get Namjoon to sleep so Taehyung can read whatever it was on the paper. Namjoon chuckles, a look crossing his face before he gives in. He always seems to give in, especially when it’s Jimin or Taehyung (but especially when it’s Taehyung). The two of them crawl onto the mattress, and Namjoon buddies himself dragging as many blankets as physically possible on top of them.
Taehyung grins, a barely there thing before he snuggles further beneath the blankets. Namjoon does the same thing, but not before locking eyes with Taehyung. Namjoon's gaze is heavy, like the weight of Taehyung's eyelids, but there's a fondness that Taehyung can pick out easily and it makes him wonder. But wondering too hard leads to hope and Taehyung doesn't think he wants to think about any outcome that isn't Namjoon positively reacting to Taehyung's confession.
Namjoon hums a quiet, “Taehyung-ah?” And Taehyung is helpless to answer, knows if he doesn’t there’ll be questions and Taehyung makes a noise back. He shifts, moves closer to the warmth Namjoon is radiating and pretends it isn’t because he wants to be closer to him. He also pretends the way Namjoon all but melts once Taehyung is closer doesn’t send another blossom of hope in his chest bloom.
“Yeah hyung?” Taehyung asks. Namjoon is quiet as he seems to look all over at Taehyung’s face, even in the shadows of the shipping container turned home, Namjoon seems to always be able to seek Taehyung out, just like how Taehyung always can find Namjoon wherever he is. Eventually their staring contest is interrupted by Taehyung yawning.
There’s an amused huff from Namjoon and then Taehyung blinks back the urge to stare harder at Namjoon’s lips. It’s a useless endeavor anyway, Taehyung thinks faintly, eyes drifting back to Namjoon’s mouth. He sees Namjoon’s gaze flicker and for a moment Taehyung holds his breath and lets himself hope. It feels different in the bed now, and Taehyung isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, what he’s hoping for if he’s being completely honest. He’s just a kid stuck with a father who hates and hits him in equal measure and a sister whom he loves dearly (clearly enough to throw himself in front of fists from his father) who doesn’t seem to realize Taehyung exists. Or is even suffering. She doesn’t do much, really, not since their mother passed and Taehyung wonders if he lost two family members that day long ago.
Namjoon seems to remember that Taehyung had answered him, and when Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, Taehyung feels his chest seize.
“Do you ever think about how you came to be around me?” Namjoon asks, voice subdued and wry. Taehyung blinks and tries to think of a time he didn't have Namjoon somewhere in his orbit. He can't think of an instance and Taehyung makes a curious noise, “You're always with me. If not physically, sometimes I think about you.”
Taehyung feels the air tense. Feels it freeze at the whispered confession and then, only then, does Taehyung realize what he said. He feels his cheeks heat up, and Namjoon could easily spot how much the question flustered Taehyung. Namjoon seems to make a strangled sound, before Namjoon seems to compose himself.
“You think about me?” Namjoon asks. Taehyung hears the wonder in his voice—a fragile, delicate thing—when he shifts to look at Namjoon. The only thing Taehyung can do is nod. It must be an answer enough for Namjoon because there’s nothing else he adds to the question, something that doesn’t quite settle right with Taehyung. So, Taehyung takes it a step further than he probably needs to, but it’s late (bordering on early, really) and Taehyung’s filter makes it pretty obvious he’s running on empty too, when he says, “I really like you, hyung.”
It isn’t the stars and fireworks kind of confession Taehyung was going for, but somewhere in his mind this feels right. Like he’s supposed to be laying on the dingy mattress in Namjoon’s place curled like parentheses around each other. His chest hurts with the intensity that it’s beating, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide; as if he can’t believe the words that come from Taehyung’s mouth.
“You like me?” Namjoon asks, voice quiet while Taehyung hears the blood rushing in his ears to the beating of his heart. Taehyung nods, curling further in on himself while Namjoon seems to have a crisis right before his eyes.
“I get it if you don’t like me back, hyung, I know I’m some ki—”
Namjoon is sitting up now, tugging Taehyung with him, cutting Taehyung off from speaking. Instead, Taehyung jerks at the way Namjoon tugs him and then he’s face to face with Namjoon. There’s a furrow to Namjoon’s brow that doesn’t look right on his face, it’s the kind of look Taehyung sees most often on his face when Namjoon is trying to budget for the few paydays he manages to have some leftover won. It makes Taehyung want to wipe it off his face, and when Namjoon speaks again, Taehyung can’t help the way his mouth drops open.
“You’re not. Taehyung-ah, you’re one of the most important people in my life next to music. And the others. But, you, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon starts, voice quiet in the darkness before it seems to gain intensity, “Taehyung you know more than you give yourself credit for and you’re not just some kid—you’re… you’re…”
Namjoon trails off, looking to the side before looking back at Taehyung. Taehyung can’t help the way his eyes seem to blur, the way they’re filling with tears as he laughs wetly. There’s no way he’s been agonizing over this for so long when Namjoon himself was doing the same thing, “I’m me, huh hyung?”
Namjoon seems to flounder at that, though there’s that moment again where Namjoon looks between Taehyung’s eyes and Taehyung’s mouth; at the motion again, Taehyung meets his gaze. There’s a blush rising on Namjoon’s face the longer Taehyung stares and Taehyung thinks this is it. Taehyung would take on a million more versions of his father and the fists he flings at Taehyung if it means that Namjoon’s company is always available to come back to.
“Y-Yeah,” Namjoon says after a pause, “Taehyung, can I—”
“Please,” Taehyung perks up at the start of the question, his heart pounding as he nods so quickly it makes him dizzy. Or it’s the remnants of the hit to the head he took from his father. Taehyung really doesn’t quite know. It makes Namjoon laugh before Taehyung gets impatient. He brings his hands up to Namjoon’s cheeks, relishes in the way the motion causes Namjoon to pause and go silent and then they’re both leaning forward, tugged by a force that Taehyung didn’t want to call fate but now, now there’s perhaps no way it could be anything else.
Taehyung closes his eyes and takes the plunge, feels the warmth of Namjoon’s breath against his lips. The kiss is chaste, just a soft press of their lips against their lips, but to Taehyung it’s earth shattering. Namjoon makes a noise, his hands reaching up to take Taehyung’s hands off his cheeks. Namjoon doesn’t let Taehyung’s hands go, instead he squeezes and Taehyung squeezes back. They part and it feels like the hardest thing Taehyung has ever done in his entire life.
“Hyung,” Taehyung breathes, and Namjoon looks as dazed as Taehyung feels probably; they stare at each other in the darkness (but is it really a darkness now with the sun rising up, something Taehyung can barely see creeping under the door) before the two of them fall back onto the mattress.
“You like me,” Namjoon says. Taehyung squeezes Namjoon’s hands, once twice thrice, and Namjoon looks at Taehyung. “You like me and I like you and Taehyung-ah I was worrying so much about this. I couldn’t stop writing about this to try and figure out the best way to explain it to you and you—I—”
At the mention of writing, Taehyung remembers the piece of paper Namjoon dropped. Jerking back up to dig in his pockets, Taehyung brings the piece of paper out. It’s crumpled and probably doesn’t look like much to Namjoon, but when Namjoon looks at Taehyung who looks almost a little bit guilty, recognition dawns on Namjoon’s face.
“Hyung, when you said writing, were you…” Taehyung starts, and Namjoon groans. “Taehyung-ah isn’t it time for bed? Weren’t you complaining you were tired?”
Taehyung feels a grin stretch across his face, suddenly feeling a lot better than what he did earlier; the incident with his father is long forgotten, Taehyung too busy teasing Namjoon to really delve much further into it. The two of them stare at one another before a yawn interrupts Taehyung's grin. Namjoon is technically right, but Taehyung is giddy, only a little frightened at this all being a terrible dream that he'll wake up from soon if he isn't staring at Namjoon. Namjoon seems to sense it, or perhaps Taehyung's face gave it away, but Namjoon tugs Taehyung to lay back down with him.
“Hey, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon says quietly. It takes everything in Taehyung to look up at Namjoon, yes curious as Namjoon stares back at him. “I’ll be here in the morning, okay?”
It feels weird, knowing that Namjoon somehow read Taehyung’s mind, but if Namjoon says this then he’ll believe him. For now. He knows how fickle people can be, except Namjoon, his mind helpfully supplies, Namjoon has always been there whenever he could. So, Taehyung lets go of the fear that wants to wash over him again at the idea of falling asleep, and he lets his body relax into the mattress.
Namjoon grins, though Taehyung barely catches it when he feels Namjoon shuffling about. A blanket gets tugged over the both of them, and it feels like seconds go by that Namjoon’s pressing his lips to Taehyung’s forehead. It’s gentle. Safe.
“I’ll still be here.”
It’s the last thing Taehyung hears before he drifts off. He knows now that it’ll be fine in the morning.
He has his hyung.