Work Text:
"Out of bleach?"
Jeongguk frowns at the flimsy sign taped to the laundromat’s detergent dispenser, glancing down at the stained hoodie in his hands. Somewhere along finishing a sketch for a final assignment in the midst of the midnight hour, a pen explosion had occurred, soaking the sleeve of his favourite white hoodie a deep pink. It had happened at the worst possible time, too — just a day after he had done his laundry.
Sighing, he had tried his best to scrub the stain out to no avail, and ultimately ended up slumped against the bathroom sink, shirtless and suppressing a large sigh. He had quickly realized that this was a job that called for an actual washing machine, and not just Jeongguk’s own two hands.
The hoodie was the best piece of clothing he had ever owned — fitting in all the right places, and just the thing that he needed to fall asleep, even on warm Seoul nights. Maybe it was because it reminded Jeongguk of its previous owner — a lingering trace of the days where Jeongguk didn’t need things like comfortable clothes to fall asleep, because he had a warm set of arms wrapped around him instead. Even though that relationship had ended three whole years ago, Jeongguk just couldn’t bring himself to sleep in anything else. Maybe it was sensory memory, or just a strange attachment to things gone by. Whatever it was, he had built up a reliance.
And so, maybe it was that same nostalgia that carried him to the only place that he knew would be open at this hour to help him, in which he's currently standing.
The laundromat was a 24/7 establishment, illuminated by soft pink hues that bathed the room in a warm glow. In the bright lighting, Jeongguk catches a glimpse of his reflection in the storefront windowpane. His hair is matted to his forehead as a product of the Seoul summer rain, and he's unceremoniously dressed in a T-shirt he'd haphazardly slapped on before running out the door.
Outside the laundromat, the city has fallen into a hushed silence, with only a couple flickers of light coming from apartment windows here and there. Jeongguk imagines that in each one of those homes, there's someone watching TV after a long day of work, while another home will have a mother kissing her child goodnight, and yet another will have two lovers tangled up underneath the warm glow of glow-in-the-dark stars taped to the ceiling.
In a city like Seoul, where the air pollution hangs in the air and greedily hogs the sight of the real stars to itself, the sticky neon stars would have to suffice. Sometimes the real thing was too far away; too unattainable.
Lost in his thoughts, Jeongguk fiddles with the material tag inside the soft hoodie. It instructs him to wash it on a delicate rinse cycle, alongside one line of text printed in a cursive font — Please take care of me!
Humming, Jeongguk folds the hoodie over his arm and bends down to examine the washing machine's settings. To his relief, nothing's changed, and he hopes that the machine can get the stain out, despite the laundromat's lack of bleach. He hadn't been to this laundromat in ages; since he'd moved into his new apartment, he had no need to do his laundry outside, as the apartment had come with both a washing machine and a new roommate by the name of Jimin.
However, it was currently 1:37 am, and Jeongguk had felt bad about running the clunky washer in the small apartment at this ungodly hour while his roommate was surely comatose.
Before he knew it, his legs had carried him to the laundromat on the opposite side of the city. It was the only one that he knew would be open, as he used to frequent it years ago, at odd hours with someone whose schedule was completely opposite from most people — a jazz singer by the name of Taehyung, who was most active at night and slept during the day — usually with Jeongguk's head buried in his chest.
They would come here together after Taehyung's gigs, giggling as they propped each other up on the washing machines, legs swinging in the air amidst the scent of cotton detergent erasing the faint wisps of cigarette smoke that had seeped into their clothes from whatever dimly lit bar they had been in just beforehand. The spin cycle normally took exactly fifty-eight minutes, and that left them fifty-eight minutes to discover new parts of each other, souls and stories laid out on the linoleum floor.
Within this laundromat's four walls, they had laughed, they had cried, and they had shared kisses so sweet that it closed the distance between them with a buzzing air of electricity, the liquored taste of the open bar still grazing their lips.
When the washing machine jingled to alert them that their clothes were finished, they would reach into the machine — with one of Taehyung's ring-clad hands entwined with Jeongguk's own, and the other clinking against the metal basin as he pulled out the white hoodie that was currently in Jeongguk's arms.
Yet, the thing about spin cycles was that they only lasted fifty-eight minutes, and not infinity. Eventually, they would end, and so would the kisses and stories and hand-holding.
One day, they would end for good — when Taehyung got a job halfway across the world, out of sight but definitely not out of mind. It was a touring gig with some of the most prominent names in jazz, and it would be stupid for him to deny it. Taehyung knew it, and so did Jeongguk. Yet, the latter was stuck in Seoul, grinding towards his degree. University was only possible due to a full-ride scholarship in the first place, so moving had been out of the question.
With that, the two laundromat lovers had bid each other goodbye, their spin cycle coming to an end, with nothing but the white hoodie and the lingering ghost of Taehyung on Jeongguk's lips to prove that he had ever been in Seoul at all.
There was no bad blood, no misunderstandings or uneven tearing of hearts in two. Jeongguk was happy for Taehyung, and Taehyung for Jeongguk. Yet, there was a lingering feeling in the pit of Jeongguk's stomach that never left since he hugged his ex-boyfriend goodbye at the airport. As Taehyung boarded that flight and the plane took him further and further away, it had felt as if Jeongguk had lost sight of the twinkling stars in Seoul's sky, left only with glow-in-the-dark ones stuck to his fingertips instead.
Brought back to the present by the sound of the washer scolding him with a light beep, Jeongguk leans forward and sighs, his head meeting the washing machine door with a gentle thud. Stepping into this laundromat felt like finding an old stone that contained all of his past memories, edges eroded by the scent of detergent and rhythmic beeping to unsheathe that protective layer and remind Jeongguk of every tender touch, and the sound of baritone laughter harmonizing with Jeongguk's own airy giggles.
Shaking his head, Jeongguk gently pops the machine's door open, laying the clothing piece inside. His hand hesitates as it lingers over the hoodie, which looks helplessly small and alone in the wide basin of the washing machine.
The laundromat didn't even have bleach, and he didn't know how effective soaking the hoodie without that key stain remover would even be. But he was already here, body drenched thoroughly with summer rain and mind full of nostalgic memories. He figures that there was no harm in lingering here for a little while longer. Just fifty-eight minutes to perch himself atop the machine and swing his legs out, like a bird remembering how to fly.
Yet, as Jeongguk's hand moves to close the washer door, he's interrupted by another hand holding the door open. It's a hand clad in rings that are hauntingly familiar to Jeongguk, and suddenly the scent of detergent and the taste of liquored kisses feel so much more potent. As Jeongguk's eyes trace the hand's owner up to their face, his eyes widen and he steps backwards, gripping the laundry machine for support. Maybe it was the sleepy, dream-like feeling that being out this late had brought, or maybe the surreal nature of being back in the laundromat was causing Jeongguk to hallucinate, because in front of him was —
"Taehyung?" He croaks, the words falling out of his mouth with a rounded sense of curiosity and panic, all wrapped into one.
The man laughs, eyes glinting like the dazzle of his rings. As Jeongguk gets a better look at the man's hands, he realizes that the latter is clutching a small pile of clothes to his chest, with an eccentric red polo shirt sticking out. "Is that a question or a statement?"
"...Question."
"Should be a statement." The man scoffs playfully, and there’s something in his voice that makes Jeongguk realize that he’s not hallucinating. It’s soft and low, grounding Jeongguk and bringing his dizzy head back into the four walls of the neon laundromat. It’s a voice that he knew intimately, sometimes hearing it in his dreams, or on nights where the sky seemed clear enough to catch a glimpse at the hazy stars outside.
It was definitely Taehyung. The same Taehyung that had held Jeongguk, the same Taehyung whose shoulder had been a pillow for Jeongguk three years ago, and his arms a blanket.
Taehyung gently nudges Jeongguk aside and throws his own pile of clothes into the washer. There's an unreadable expression that flickers across his expression as he sees the white hoodie inside, but he doesn't mention it explicitly.
"Don’t know what I was expecting to see on a midnight walk, but it definitely wasn’t you,” Taehyung teases, but there’s a cautious note in his voice. “Saw you when I walked in and figured it was a waste of water and electricity to do a whole load just for one hoodie, so I thought I'd make things easier and combine our clothes."
Humming, Taehyung shuts the door and hits a button without even looking, as if muscle memory were guiding him. Jeongguk catches a glance at the panel and sees that it's been set to ‘delicate.’ The machine starts to rumble, and Jeongguk affixes his glance to the suds starting to bubble up within, before turning back to Taehyung.
"Well if that's a statement, then I have a question." Jeongguk blinks slowly, staring at the other man. Even after three years, Taehyung looks amazing. He's dressed in a button down shirt that's tucked into tapered pants, and he seems to have grown into his features. He's more chiseled, and had evidently spent time somewhere sunny, made obvious by a tan that only made his pretty features more prominent. Yet, clearly his personality hadn't changed, judging by the way that he had nonchalantly walked over and shoved his clothes into the washer as if they had never broken up and spent what seemed like lifetimes apart.
"Ask away," Taehyung nods, fluffy hair falling over his eyes.
"What are you doing in Seoul? Shouldn't you be someone across the world, serenading a bunch of VIPs?" Jeongguk asks, slightly slack-jawed at the sheer thought of Taehyung standing in a royal hall, mic cord wrapped languidly around his slender fingers as his voice pours into the chamber like liquid velvet.
For a fleeting moment, Jeongguk wants to reach out and entwine his hand with those same fingers, but he pushes the thought away, fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt to keep those fidgety hands occupied instead.
"Oh." The carefree look on Taehyung's shifts into a contorted one for a brief moment, but it's gone as soon as it comes. "It was fun while it lasted, but I realized that there were more important things to me than traveling and singing." Clearing his throat, Taehyung breaks eye contact, staring at the laundry machine instead.
"Ah." Jeongguk nods slowly, biting his lower lip. Next to him, the machine lightly shakes, the sound of their clothes clanging against the metal basin balanced out by the soft sound of water being pulled through each piece. “But you loved traveling and singing,” he coaxes gently.
Taehyung nods carefully, mulling over his words. “Sure. But there’s other things I love that are much harder to find abroad.”
Jeongguk’s breath hitches at this, and he swallows a lump of hope in his throat. Don’t be stupid, Jeongguk, he tells himself. It’s been three years.
“Like the rice cakes at the stall in Seodaemun...and the nice snack house run by the ahjumma near my sister’s place,” Taehyung continues, and Jeongguk bites down on his lip harder, trying to mask his disappointment. There it was.
“Heard that place is good,” Jeongguk mutters, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.
“It is.” Jeongguk wonders if Taehyung is going to follow up with that, part of him holding out for an invitation. Instead, all he gets from Taehyung is an offhand remark.
“You should try it sometime.”
After Jeongguk promises that he will, Taehyung turns towards him, a light smile dusted across his face. “Now it’s my turn to ask you something.” Taehyung’s eyes hold a spark of curiosity as he draws the question out from his lips. “What are you doing in a laundromat at this hour?” In the gap between his smile and his eyes, there’s a space that seems to ask something in that widening silence instead: why this laundromat in particular?
“Oh. Well. You know,” Jeongguk laughs awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the nape of his neck as he stares at the floor. “I guess I...panicked?” He lets out a small laugh, cheeks dusted a rosy shade of pink in embarrassment. “It was the only one I knew would be open... and I don’t live alone, so doing laundry at home would’ve been a loud nuisance at this time.”
At this, Taehyung stiffens slightly, a strange expression flickering over his face before it flattens into a grin that doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “You live with someone?”
Jeongguk blinks slowly, sucking a breath between his teeth as he realizes what Taehyung must be thinking. “In Itaewon. With my roommate, Jimin. A good...friend.” He draws the last part out, emphasizing each syllable and its platonic nature. “I’m not seeing anyone,” he adds, voice slightly panicked.
After the words leave his mouth, Jeongguk frowns. He isn’t sure why he’s so adamant in letting Taehyung know that he was still single. They had been broken up for three years now. Three years with no contact, and three years in which each of them had surely grown into different people, with different interests — whether in hobbies, or love.
Yet, Taehyung’s warm disposition that was so alike the Taehyung from three years ago gave Jeongguk a tiny flicker of hope that he tried desperately to bury among the soapy suds in the washer.
“That’s not my business,” A rare, flustered look coats Taehyung’s face as his pupils go wide and he shakes his head. His fluffy locks fall over his eyes as he does, and Jeongguk vividly remembers the feeling of that same hair brushing against his own face whenever Taehyung would press their foreheads together, grinning as he would tilt Jeongguk’s chin up and seal that bubbling laughter with a gentle kiss.
“I’ve always wondered about how you’ve been, though." As if realizing that he comes across sounding rather eager, Taehyung’s expression switches to one that’s more cordial, yet slightly distant. “Was planning to start looking for you, but looks like I’ve found you right where it all began, haven’t I?” Before Jeongguk can react, Taehyung merely smiles.
"We still have fifty minutes left on this spin cycle, so might as well catch up, hey?” Taehyung gestures to the washing machine, and Jeongguk realizes that he doesn't even check the time on the machine when he makes this suggestion.
Yet, Jeongguk knows that Taehyung is correct. Despite the years that had gone by, each of them could still distinctly pinpoint how much time the washer had left. It was just something that was as innate as breathing, and something that neither of them could ever forget.
Jeongguk smiles softly. "Sounds like a plan. Let’s grab a seat." Taehyung matches his smile, and the two of them look at the row of hard, plastic chairs lined up by the window, their shiny surfaces reflecting the streetlights and the low-hanging Open 24/7 neon sign that was flashing on the laundromat door.
A memory floats to the top of Jeongguk's conscience as he looks at those chairs, and he wonders if Taehyung is thinking of it, too. Jeongguk firmly recalls one of the first nights that they had come to the laundromat, tipsily lugging in a bag of clothes.
Let's sit there, Jeongguk had suggested after they had thrown their laundry into the washer, laughing as he pointed at the row of chairs. Taehyung had scrunched his nose in distaste, instead smirking as he wrapped his arms around Jeongguk's waist and hauled the younger on top of the laundry machine instead, tip-toeing to bury his face into the crook of Jeongguk's neck as the latter giggled.
Isn't this more comfortable? Taehyung had purred, gaining a blush from Jeongguk that was redder than a handful of the clothes in the very washer below.
Now in the present situation, neither of them make any effort to move. The same arms that Taehyung had once used to carry Jeongguk were now firmly crossed against his taut chest, and Jeongguk had his own hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets, eyes fixed to the ground as he anxiously shuffles his weight from side to side.
Then, a ring-clad hand reaches out to Jeongguk, and the latter steps back in surprise as he looks up to see Taehyung offering his arm out, cocking his head towards the washing machine. "Sit up here." Taehyung grins, a wave of nostalgia seeming to blanket them both. "It's more comfortable. C'mon, I'll help you up."
Gingerly, Jeongguk slips his fingers between Taehyung's, and for a moment, neither of them speak. It's as if in that moment, everything that Jeongguk had been missing had slotted itself back between the empty gaps, sealing them shut with the gentle way that Taehyung's hand seemed to envelop Jeongguk's, almost as if he were afraid to let go.
Quietly, Taehyung guides Jeongguk onto the washing machine, awkwardly trying to use one hand to support the latter's weight. Sighing as he realizes that it's not working, he wraps his arms around Jeongguk's waist as the latter's breath hitches, his legs leaving the floor as Taehyung effortlessly leans him onto the top of the washer.
Blinking in realization, Taehyung stands up straight and rubs his palms across his tapered pants. "Sorry," he laughs, that signature baritone velvet pouring out onto the laundromat floor, tugging a string inside Jeongguk's already rapidly pounding heart. "Old habit, I guess."
"No, no. That's alright." Jeongguk mumbles, looking away as Taehyung clears his throat, fidgeting with one of the rings on his finger. It was something that he used to do when he was nervous, or unsure about something. Jeongguk had often caught Taehyung doing it before a gig, sliding a ring up and down his finger and biting his lip. It was something that could be easily mitigated by a chaste peck to those same lips, and a sweet whisper of encouragement woven between kisses. You got this. Deeper. Slower, Softer. I love you.
"What about you?" Jeongguk says quickly, and Taehyung stops fidgeting, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean, why are you here at this hour? It's almost two a.m." Jeongguk asks, eyes searching Taehyung's face.
Taehyung seems slightly caught off guard at the question, but he ultimately shrugs. "I just moved back a couple days ago. Just getting reacquainted with my old neighbourhood, I guess." He grins, gesturing towards the basin of the washer. "Also happened to find some clothes that needed a wash and figured they would make for a good nighttime walk." Avoiding Jeongguk’s gaze, he continues. “Plus, I mean, I’ve always done my laundry at this hour. Like I said, guess I’m falling into lots of old habits.”
"Now you," Taehyung clears his throat, turning back and playfully jabbing a finger into Jeongguk's chest. "Care to tell me why you're only washing one piece of clothing?" Taehyung laughs, as if eager to turn the subject back to Jeongguk and off of himself. "Seems like you really went out of your way for that old thing."
"Pen explosion," Jeongguk mutters. "It's a nice hoodie," he frowns, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.
"I know," Taehyung smirks. "It's mine, after all." Before Jeongguk can react, a flash of realization brightens up Taehyung's face. "Pen explosion?" Grinning, he regards Jeongguk with a proud smile. "Were you drawing?"
Jeongguk nods slowly, a smile waxing across his own lips. "Yeah. Was in the middle of cleaning up my final assignment."
It's silent for a moment, as Taehyung calculates something in his head. "This is your final year, isn't it?" Drumming his fingers atop the washing machine, Taehyung leans his weight against its door as he stares at Jeongguk, wide-eyed. "You're graduating!"
Jeongguk nods, feeling the soft rumble of the spin cycle underneath him as Taehyung continues to search his face. "Shit," Taehyung manages, voice low as he gently pats Jeongguk's leg. "Time really flies, huh. Congrads." He smiles wistfully, hand lingering on the fabric of Jeongguk's pants, before he lifts it back and crosses his arms again.
There's an expression on his face that Jeongguk can't read before Taehyung smiles again, although there's a lingering sadness in his eyes that could easily be a trick of the neon laundromat lighting.
“Tell me something, Gguk,” Taehyung posits, subconsciously fidgeting with the ring on his index finger. “Did those pretentious art school critiques ever get better?”
At this, Jeongguk can’t help but laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure people would have something rude to say, no matter if I brought in a blank canvas or a Picasso.”
“What about Jang songsaengnim? She was one of the few people who was willing to swallow their jealousy and tell you to your face that you were good, wasn’t she?”
Jeongguk blinks slowly, wondering how Taehyung managed to remember all this. Nodding, he grins. “I’m sure it wasn’t jealousy. Honestly, I just wasn’t very good, but Jang songsaengnim was the only person who believed in me and vocalized it.”
Well, there was one more person. And he was currently staring Jeongguk in the eye, a pleased smile on his face.
“Jang songsaengnim is a person with a keen eye for talent, obviously. And Jeongguk?”
“Mm?”
“You’re good. More than just good, actually.” Taehyung’s hand is on Jeongguk’s thigh again, lightly grazing the fabric between his fingers as he searches Jeongguk’s eyes. “You’re the best artist I’ve ever met to date...and I’ve performed at gallery openings in New York.”
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass,” Jeongguk blushes, eyes fixed on Taehyung’s hand on his lap.
“It’s true! Have you ever pinned me for a liar? Even your own mom said that I would never tell a lie.” With that, Taehyung crosses his arms indignantly, and Jeongguk feels almost disappointed at the feeling of Taehyung’s gentle touch leaving him. “Tell me a single time I’ve ever lied.” The elder huffs, cocking his head as he waits for an answer among the churning of the washing machine.
As Jeongguk wracks his brain, he can’t think of a single time that Taehyung had blatantly lied to him. The elder was always honest, and it was part of what made him charming.
But at the same time, there was one memory that felt like a grey area for Jeongguk.
He remembers laying in bed with Taehyung, fingers entwined together and hearts laid bare. In the midnight glow, Taehyung had rolled over, an endeared expression on his face as the quickening beat of his heart had mirrored Jeongguk’s own.
I’m going to love you forever, he’d said, bringing their entwined hands together and planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s ring finger. And that’s a promise.
“No.” Jeongguk says quietly, staring at his own hands as he drowns the memory out, much like he had done in the past three years. Pressing his hands against the surface of the washing machine, he waits for the soft rumble to calm him down. “Can’t say that anything comes to mind.”
“1-0, Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung beams, and the smile burns a hole right through Jeongguk’s heart.
“Don’t get so cocky,” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, but he avoids looking at Taehyung. “It’s not like people have my work framed in their houses. Nepotistic validation with nothing to show for it doesn’t exactly go a long way.”
With these words, something shifts in the air around them, a weight seeming to settle on their shoulders. The washer rumbles violently underneath Jeongguk, and Taehyung bites his lip, lost in thought.
“Enough about me,” Jeongguk says quickly, words slicing through the thick silence. “Tell me about your time around the world.”
Taehyung blinks, slightly taken aback by Jeongguk’s sudden enthusiasm, but he nods. “I mean, sure.” Pausing as if running through his memories, Taehyung beams as he starts to speak.
“Well, first of all, the Eiffel Tower is way smaller in real life than it is on the Internet.”
“Really? How small?” Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, intrigued.
Taehyung rubs his chin in thought. “Remember Mrs. Choi’s weiner dog? Imagine him standing upright. It’s about that big.”
Jeongguk snorts. “You’re telling me that a cultural landmark is the same size as a two-foot canine?”
Taehyung nods. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Besides that disappointment, France did have some really good food, though.” Laughing, Taehyung rolls his shoulders back, relaxing as nostalgia colours his vision. “One time, I couldn’t decide what kind of cheese to buy, so I panicked and ended up buying all of them.” He hangs his head in mock shame at this, and Jeongguk can’t help but laugh. “Needless to say, I was scared of eating cheese after that for at least a month.” Taehyung continues, dramatically shivering.
“I don’t know why I expected anything else from the same person who gets every flavour of syrup on their snow cone at the amusement park, waiting for five whole minutes while the concession attendant tries their best to fit everything,” Jeongguk muses, and Taehyung claps his hands at this.
“Oh my god, the summer fair in Seoul! I missed that so badly when I was abroad,” Taehyung sighs, pursing his lips.
“You missed it? Really? Which part? Hoarding fair snacks, or dragging me to ride the Ferris Wheel so many times that we were seeing stars?” Jeongguk teases, but he regrets it as soon as the sentiment leaves his mouth.
Taehyung merely regards him with a distant smile, shuffling his weight around as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He seems to ruminate on the question, before settling for a slight laugh. “Just the atmosphere in general, I guess.”
“Oh.” Jeongguk says, pushing away the memory of holding hands with Taehyung on the fairground, swept up in the summer air as a chorus of euphoric laughter left their lips between cotton-candy kisses.
“Anyways,” Taehyung says slowly, as if carefully fitting the words on his tongue. “Wanna know something else about my travels?”
Jeongguk blinks, nostalgic memories snapped up and consumed by the burdening distance between the two men in the present time. “Of course,” he mutters.
“I traveled across the world, and yet, every single city was the exact same.” Taehyung says, a matter-of-fact tone to this voice.
Jeongguk raises his eyebrow. “You’re telling me that Amsterdam is the exact same as Tokyo?”
Taehyung nods enthusiastically, reminding Jeongguk somewhat of a puppy. “The city didn’t matter, Jeongguk, because every single one of them had drab, grey walls that all looked the same. And in every city, no matter how hard I squinted, I couldn’t see the stars from my hotel balcony. But,” he says, a smile gracing his lips, "there was something that I always brought along that somehow made every place feel like home."
Gently pulling his wallet out of his pocket, Taehyung quietly opens it, the worn leather barely making a noise against the washing machine's soft rumble. Then, Jeongguk's breath hitches as he eyes the thin slip of paper that Taehyung carefully takes out, pinched between his fingers as if anxious that he might accidentally ruin it. The sheet is neatly folded, and slightly dogeared at the corners, as if it had been fitted into a frame at some point.
The paper strikes a chord in Jeongguk's heart and mind, and he widens his eyes at the realization. "No way," he exhales sharply, eyes searching Taehyung's. The latter's face is only full of sincerity as he looks at Jeongguk fondly.
"You kept it?" Jeongguk starts to laugh, the sound bubbling up like the suds in the washing machine. "For real?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Taehyung laughs, that low baritone laughter harmonizing with Jeongguk's airy one, like years before. Time was no match for laughter, it seemed, as the four walls of the laundromat remembered these bursts of happiness, echoing as if the building had kept these moments for safekeeping, sealed away and finally thawed out in the neon glow of tonight.
"It's a gorgeous drawing, Gguk, because you’ve always been good. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’m not gonna let you slander your talent. Not while I have a say in it." Taehyung’s voice softens, just like his gaze.
“You really don’t need to hype me up like this,” Jeongguk rubs the nape of his neck anxiously, and Taehyung only grins.
“Of course I do.” Taehyung says quietly. “Isn’t that what friends are for?
Friends. Jeongguk smiles tightly, jaw stiffening as he forces himself to nod. Part of him almost wants to echo the word, to make sure that he had heard correctly. Yet, even the thought of doing so feels bitter on his tongue.
Somehow, someway, the four walls of the laundromat suddenly feel suffocating.
"The whole solar system, laid out in red ink on paper." Taehyung muses, turning Jeongguk’s attention back to the thin slip in his hands, and Jeongguk wonders if the other man was also thinking back to the night that the drawing was finished.
To Jeongguk, the memory was vivid as ever. He had been blocked for weeks. Caught in a major art slump, he just hadn't been able to bring himself to coax anything from the end of his pencil whenever he sat down to draw. In search of a change of scenery, he had come to the laundromat, perched atop a washing machine with his notepad in one hand and a grey pencil in the other, listening to Taehyung hum a familiar jazz tune.
Fiddling relentlessly with the drawing utensil, Jeongguk had frowned as he stared at the empty page. Taehyung had been watching him carefully, taking Jeongguk by surprise as he gently tugged the pencil out of Jeongguk's hand, slotting a red pen into his palm instead.
Maybe you should try switching colours, Taehyung had suggested. A new perspective. Grinning, he had planted a soft kiss on Jeongguk’s fingers as they wrapped themselves around the pen. A new beginning.
Staring at Taehyung and noting every glint and sparkle in the elder's eyes, Jeongguk had pressed the pen to parchment. As he watched the red ink seep out, all he had been able to think about was Taehyung. How when he laughed, his eyes creased into crescent moons, and how his eyes were so full of love and light, as if the elder was capable of holding the entire solar system in the palm of his hands.
And with that, Jeongguk had somehow managed to miraculously begin the sketch, finishing it fifty-eight minutes later, smudging the corner by accident when he had leaned on the fresh ink when Taehyung had pulled him forward for a proud kiss while the washer let out a small ding.
Snapping out of the memory, Jeongguk's brought back to the present, and his gaze lingers on that piece of paper, blinking slowly as he shoves away the thought of Taehyung's giant, endeared smile and red ink smudged onto their once entwined hands.
"You know, I almost got this confiscated when I was at the airport in Moscow," Taehyung laughs, gently rubbing the piece of paper. "I had it in a pretty metal frame, and they insisted that the metal was made of some kind of sketchy material." Rolling his eyes, a cheeky grin graces Taehyung's face, full of a youthful vigor. "I told them they could take the frame, because that thing only cost me five bucks anyway. But this?" Taehyung holds the drawing up, the laundromat's neon glow illuminating every pen stroke, every line of labour. "This was priceless."
“You really could have just thrown it out if it was causing you that much trouble,” Jeongguk mutters, heart racing at the thought of Taehyung thinking his messy sketch was good enough to keep around.
Taehyung shakes his head adamantly at this, gently unfolding the paper and smoothing out the edges. “I already told you,” he says gently, “this sketch reminded me of home. In all those lonely cities, with the grey walls and starless skies, this…” Taehyung smiles to himself. “This was all I had.”
Feet dangling off the washing machine, Jeongguk swings them nonchalantly as he takes note of the nostalgic expression on Taehyung’s face. “It’s not like we can see the stars here in Seoul either, hyung.” Jeongguk keeps his voice soft, biting down on his lower lip as a silence falls over them both, with only the low rumble of the washer to be heard. The cycle will be done soon, which Jeongguk knows, and he’s aware that Taehyung knows this, too.
Spin cycles, like love, were finite.
Taehyung folds the paper back, looking up to meet Jeongguk’s gaze. They stare at each other like this, the neon lighting of the laundromat highlighting each of their faces. These same faces had grown into their features within the span of three years, and their eyes had seen so many different things.
Taehyung’s eyes had seen endless audiences and slender fingers wrapped around mics, and his ears had heard music as smooth as water pouring out into concert halls all over the world, with each one having a different velvety carpet, but bringing about feelings of loneliness that Taehyung couldn’t seem to shake — despite all the luxury.
Jeongguk’s eyes had seen countless all-nighters and energy drink cans, scattered among eraser bits and half-sharpened pencils that would roll off his desk and clatter, loudly echoing in the void of his room and reminding him that the minute he set his art supplies down, his hands would be empty, with no one’s ring-clad fingers to be slotted between his own.
Yet, in those three years, the one thing both men had seen everyday, even from opposite ends of the world, was the same sky — one that was streaked with bright ribbons of colour as Taehyung would wake up, patting the right side of his bed out of habit, while somewhere across the globe, Jeongguk got ready for bed, with the white hoodie wrapped around him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
“You can.” Taehyung says softly, eyes glowing in the fluorescent flush of the laundromat. “See the stars in Seoul, I mean.” His gaze doesn’t leave Jeongguk’s, gently searching the younger man’s face instead, as if committing every detail to memory. “You just have to look hard enough.”
Jeongguk doesn’t reply, merely matching Taehyung’s wistful expression. Looking into Taehyung’s face reminded him that he was looking into a face that used to be the last thing Jeongguk saw before he fell asleep at night, and the first thing that he saw in the morning.
It was a face that would sit proudly in the front row of Jeongguk’s art shows, beaming with pride. It was a face with lips that were sweeter than the snow-cones and other treats that they would burn through together during the summer fair, and these lips were also the ones that would whisper in Jeongguk’s ear, lightly dusting against his skin as they said with a definite exhale, I love you.
Yet, these lips were also the ones that sang jazz for a living, and they were attached to a body that had legs and a back that had ultimately turned away and boarded a plane three years ago. With Taehyung’s departure, Jeongguk had spent days staring into the bleak, starless sky, unlearning what it had felt like to be loved.
Without Taehyung as his polaris, he had found himself stumbling through the past three years, clumsily trying to find his way home.
But here, in the soft glow of the laundromat lighting, the very star that he had been desperately chasing after was standing right in front of him, so close that if Jeongguk were to lean forward by only an inch, he would be able to trace his ink-stained fingers over those familiar lips and remember what home felt like.
Nervously, Jeongguk draws in a shaky breath and pulls his hands off the top of the washing machine, reaching out towards Taehyung’s face. The elder’s breath hitches and his eyes widen, but he makes no move to back away, with his eyes not leaving Jeongguk’s face for even a second.
Close, Jeongguk thinks to himself as his fingers hesitantly hover above Taehyung’s cheek. He’s so close.
Taehyung’s eyes search Jeongguk’s face, and he brings his own ring-clad hand up, as if to gently entwine it with Jeongguk’s hovering fingers.
Taehyung opens his mouth as if to say something, when he’s interrupted by a shrill ding.
In that moment, both of them are brought to the jarring reality that their fateful encounter had a timer on it from the very beginning, and that fifty-eight minutes had come to a sweeping close.
In those minutes, their memories and feelings had become dredged out, only to be buried in a sudsy haze.
Blinking slowly, Jeongguk draws his hands back and shoves them in his pockets. “Sorry,” he mumbles, a defeated laugh escaping from his lips. “Guess it was my turn to fall into old habits.”
Taehyung shakes his head, those fluffy locks falling over his eyes again. Biting his lip, he turns away. “Don’t worry about it,” he laughs awkwardly, clearing his throat as he gently reaches to open the washer door. “Looks like our clothes are done, hey?”
“Seems like it,” Jeongguk replies, haphazardly lifting his legs from barricading the machine’s door, perching cross-legged on top of the washer instead.
For a split second as Taehyung maneuvers around him, the elder’s hand grazes against Jeongguk’s pant leg, but Jeongguk kicks his legs up before Taehyung can come any closer.
As Jeongguk hugs his knees to his chest, he looks at their reflections in the laundromat window. Taehyung’s back is to the glass, but Jeongguk can see himself, with his features highlighted in a neon pink glow — every curvature, every languid blink and rise and fall of his chest, and every conscious effort to not jump off this machine and straight into Taehyung’s arms, kicking the washer’s timer on the way down so it never had to stop.
Taehyung pops open the door, and there’s a small hiss as the air that had been pent up in the washer is released, and the rumbling of their clothes banging together comes to a soft close. The scent of detergent feels thick around them, circling around Jeongguk’s head and flooding his mind with blurry memories of the past, blending together with the hazy, liminal glow of the present.
In this moment, with notes of cotton lofty against his nose, Jeongguk allows himself to ponder something.
Spin cycles were finite, but at the same time, they held a sort of duality. On one hand, they were meant to erase remnants of the past, effacing precious things like the scent of cigarette smoke from jazz bars, and the recollections of tipsy kisses. Yet, on the other hand, spin cycles also created a blank slate. They got rid of messy stains and other unfavourable accidents that clung to fabric, making them new again.
They allowed for a second chance.
“Oh shit —” Taehyung’s voice startles Jeongguk, and the elder has a frown etched onto his lips as he starts to pull their clothes out of the washer.
Hitching his breath, Jeongguk watches as Taehyung carefully untangles the beloved hoodie from the pile — except it’s not the same hoodie that Jeongguk had brought to the laundromat an hour earlier.
That hoodie had been a soft shade of white, but the piece of clothing that Taehyung tugs out of the machine is nowhere near that. Instead, it’s a vivacious shade of red, wrapped around an incriminating sanguine shirt that Jeongguk recognizes as the eccentric polo that Taehyung had been holding earlier.
It’s almost unbelievable, with that shade being almost the exact same colour as the red pen that Taehyung had slotted into Jeongguk’s hands all those years back, clearing his art block and reminding him that there was always a different perspective to be considered.
A new beginning.
“Gguk, I’m so sorry, I guess my —”
Before Taehyung can continue his sentence, Jeongguk unfurls his legs from the top of the washer, swinging them out without a care in the world that Taehyung was now trapped right between them.
Reaching out and grabbing Taehyung’s wrist, Jeongguk sweeps his gaze over the elder’s face. “The dryer,” he says urgently, as Taehyung blinks, a confused expression fogging over his eyes.
The washer had taken fifty-eight minutes to spin, but drying the clothes would add at least another half-hour to that time.
Maybe all it would take was an extra cycle to rebuild the best three years of Jeongguk’s life, and affix the word boy to the front of Taehyung’s self-imposed friend status.
“I don’t think putting these through the dryer is gonna change the fact that your hoodie has been coloured to shit,” Taehyung laughs, but Jeongguk notices that the former’s eyes are firmly fixed on Jeongguk’s grip on his wrist.
“Your hoodie,” Jeongguk gently corrects. “It’s technically still yours.” Part of him lingers on that thought, wondering if the unspoken words hanging in the air were weighing as heavily on Taehyung’s mind as they were his own — ideas about to whom the heart pounding within the cage of Jeongguk’s chest actually belonged to.
“Right.” Taehyung lets out a small laugh, but he tears his gaze away from Jeongguk’s hand. “But these are delicate rinse cycle clothes, Jeongguk. They’re meant to be air-dried.” With that, Taehyung softly bundles the hoodie up and hands it to Jeongguk, but he also makes no effort to completely let go of one of its newly reddened sleeves.
Both of them remain like that for a beat, each of them holding onto one end of this piece of clothing, which was strung out between them like a string of fate.
Jeongguk sucks a breath of cotton-scented air between his teeth, gathering the courage to look Taehyung in the eye. As he lifts his head, his heart skips when he realizes that Taehyung is staring straight at him, a forlorn look on his face.
It’s an expression that Jeongguk recognizes intimately, because it was the same face that Jeongguk had whenever he had stared into the bleak, starless sky. It was the kind of face that came when every protective layer that a human being could ever have was shed, unmasking the pain underneath.
And here, in the neon bask of the laundromat, it was the face of wanting to desperately raise new memories from the ashes of the old, birthing a new star to guide them both home.
“Itaewon.” Taehyung says quietly, and Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at Taehyung’s sudden words.
“You said you lived in Itaewon,” Taehyung clarifies, his ring-clad fingers still wrapped around the hoodie’s sleeve. “Right?”
Jeongguk blinks, fidgeting with his end of the hoodie. “Yeah.”
Taehyung nods, biting his lip. “That’s on the opposite side from here,” he says, searching Jeongguk’s eyes. “And it’s late.”
Jeongguk doesn’t reply for a moment, trying to decode Taehyung’s words in his mind. He’s about to protest, insisting he can get home just fine, when Taehyung cuts him off.
“You know, my new place is just around the corner,” he mutters, “and I have a balcony. With a clothesline and all.” Taehyung sheepishly thumbs the hoodie sleeve, and uses his head to gesture to the remaining clothes in the washer.
“Oh.” Jeongguk nods slowly. He wonders about the likelihood of Taehyung having a spare mattress, given that the latter had just moved back to town, but he holds his tongue.
“Mmm. These clothes need to be air-dried, right?” Taehyung laughs, and in that laugh is a flash of the cheeky Taehyung that Jeongguk had known and loved; a Taehyung free of reservations, and a Taehyung that was getting rid of the need to dance around each other.
“They do,” Jeongguk mumbles in agreement, and he watches as Taehyung smiles, relief seeming to wash across the latter’s face.
“So, stay the night.” Taehyung says, and his boldness seems to surprise both of them. “At least until your hoodie dries,” he mutters, looking away.
The thought of the summer rain that had been pouring on Jeongguk's way to the laundromat crosses his mind, and the probability of their clothes drying anytime soon in this weather feels null. Yet, as he carefully looks at Taehyung's face, he realizes that Taehyung knows this.
It was precisely why he had suggested it.
Biting his lip, Jeongguk gently lets go of the sleeve, only to quietly move his hand to rest on top of Taehyung’s instead. “Just until your hoodie dries,” he mutters. “It’s still yours, remember?”
Taehyung’s breath hitches, and Jeongguk bites his lip as he watches as Taehyung hesitantly takes note of Jeongguk’s hand on his own. For a moment, Jeongguk wonders if he had been too bold, and the self-doubt is enough for him to begin to retract his hand.
Yet, before he can fully do so, he’s met with the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers shifting upwards to entwine themselves with his own.
The elder’s hand radiates a familiar sense of warmth — only second to the soft glow in the laundromat, and the fuzzy feeling that had begun to knot itself in the spaces between Jeongguk’s ribs.
“Yeah,” Taehyung says quietly. “Guess it’s still mine.”
As Taehyung speaks, Jeongguk takes note of the way that the elder emphasizes the possessive nature of the last word, and how Taehyung’s gaze doesn’t leave Jeongguk’s face for even a second as he does so.
The washer lets out another ding, as if reprimanding them for neglecting the rest of the clothes, and they both let out a small laugh.
“Better answer that,” Jeongguk murmurs, and Taehyung nods.
“On it.”
As the latter bends to retrieve the rest of the laundry, he doesn’t let go of Jeongguk’s hand. It’s as if in the span of three years, their bodies hadn’t forgotten the natural rhythm of this midnight routine, and Jeongguk closes his eyes and takes in the sound of Taehyung’s rings clinking against the metal basin before the elder sets the clothes down.
When he opens his eyes, he’s met with the sight of Taehyung’s face in front of him, a rosy tint to his cheeks as he gently lets go of their hands. There’s a visible disappointment that radiates in the pockets of space between them when they untwine, but it’s soon replaced by the feeling of Taehyung wrapping his arms around Jeongguk’s waist.
“Let’s get you down from there,” the elder whispers, honeyed words falling from his tongue as he grins and pulls Jeongguk off the washer, his lips brushing against Jeongguk’s ear.
Taehyung’s hands remain there even when Jeongguk’s feet are firmly planted back on the laundromat floor, holding on tight as if making up for lost time. The sensation is so familiar, yet so different. The last time that Jeongguk had been held like this was in the airport the day that they’d said goodbye, three years and lifetimes ago.
But here, in the soft glow of the laundromat, the feeling of Taehyung holding him close doesn’t carry the heavy exhale of a farewell. Instead, amidst the scent of cotton and pink lights, the space between them feels like a warm hello being exchanged for the very first time.
Stepping forward and laying his head on Taehyung’s shoulder, Jeongguk catches a glimpse of their reflections in their laundromat window. They fit together so seamlessly, making it difficult to discern where one man ended and where the other began.
As Jeongguk stares past the windowpane and up into the bleak night sky, he hitches his breath at the sight of something fuzzy in the distance.
Because there in the void — despite Seoul’s greedy haze — twinkles a small star.
Smiling to himself, Jeongguk has a feeling that he’ll be able to see it with even more clarity from the balcony of Taehyung’s nearby apartment — where they’ll hang the precious hoodie from a clothesline, and the feeling of the galaxy will be felt with ring-clad fingertips slotted between his own.