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Taehyung and Jeongguk meet a total of ten times over the course of their youth and every single time it’s whatever the hell the opposite of a meet-cute is. 

Their first encounter is brazenly tattooed into Jeongguk’s memories, everything except for Taehyung that is. Taehyung, conversely, has little to no recollection of the event ever occurring. The former had just turned three a few weeks ago when it took place. Described as a peculiar little boy by his parents, Jeongguk was already running around the house with rather impressive speed and agility while his walk would be categorised as more of a waddle. Well, that and the fact that he fought a puppy on their front lawn. At three years old.

They’re not really sure about the logistics of the fight, all his mother knows is one minute he was kicking a soccer ball into the makeshift net his dad had made and the next she’s yanking him away from a puppy she’s never seen before. His face is flushed, angry tears tracking down his cheeks.  The salty substance is tinged with red—ramifications of the sharp nail of a dog cutting across his cheek. It stings.

Frantic, his mom immediately pulls him onto their porch, making sure it doesn’t come near them. She’s about to ask him if he’s okay when she hears a child call for ‘Soonshim’. He appears in her line of vision just as she looks up, eyes darting around. When he spots the dog on the lawn his face breaks into an unconventionally square-shaped smile. 

“Soonshim, no running away,” the boy scolds. He must be four or five but with his hands on his hips he carries the authority of a grown man. Which is probably why the puppy immediately forgoes trying to bite the soccer ball and runs to its owner.

It’s only then that he looks up and sees Jeongguk and his mom on the porch, he offers a wave to the boy and does a slight bow for Mrs Jeon, his mom. A very upset Jeongguk barely spares him a glance, curling into his mother instead.

Taehyung, completely unaware of what had transpired a few minutes earlier, deflates a bit. He thought he could make a new friend but the other boy doesn’t seem to want to. He takes Soonshim and goes home and a few days later, forgets all about it.

✧

They’re four (Jeongguk) and six (Taehyung) the second time, both of their families at a park near both of their homes. Taehyung’s shaggy brown hair sways in and out of his eyes as he runs around with his family dog, excitedly laughing every time the Korean jindo pup charges his way. 

A few feet away, Jeongguk runs his hands through his cat’s inky fur. Every affectionate purr draws the corners of his smile higher. He loves Stark very much.

Everything comes to a head when someone throws a tennis ball that lands on the grass, just about the same distance from the cat and the dog. They notice. Before anyone even has the time to comprehend, they’re both bounding towards the ball. 

Taehyung’s puppy, Soonshim, reaches the ball first. At six he doesn’t know if dogs are capable of experiencing emotions like pride, but he definitely looks proud of himself as he bares the tennis ball between his canines. That is until a random cat scratches at his side. 

The whimper the dog emits rings loud in Taehyung’s ears, eyes wide as he immediately takes to his feet to get to him. In the few seconds it had taken him to reach the dog, another kid had taken the cat into their hold. 

“Your cat is mean!” is the first thing he says, as furious as he has ever been in his six years of existence.

The other boy’s frown intensifies. “Stark is not mean!”

Taehyung stomps his feet, yes it is! “Then why did it scratch Soonshim?”

Jeongguk’s brow is knitted, still clearly angry, but his head tilts in confusion. 

“Stark didn’t scratch your dog - your dog hit her in the face with its tail.” 

Taehyung unfolds his arms to point to the small scratch on Soonshim’s side, “Then what is that?”

The younger of the two’s mouth falls open with realisation, Stark had scratched the puppy. Though if Jeongguk is anything, he's stubborn and ridiculously loyal to his cat. “She was scared of your dog and didn’t mean it - you should say sorry for your dog.”

The brunet huffs. As if, this boy should apologise to him and Soonshim !

Before they can continue their seemingly endless cycle of blaming, both of their parents call for them.

Jeongguk hopes Taehyung has a very bad day. Then he feels bad and immediately retracts his statement. He does, however, return the gesture when the older boy sticks his tongue out at him. 

✧

The third meeting is a few months later. 

Jeongguk’s mushroom haircut is still going strong while Taehyung has gotten a trim.

The former is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he skips to class, his exuberance a product of his new blue shirt. Blue is his favourite colour ever, it always reminds him of the ocean and the sky and he likes that a whole lot. 

He is rounding the corner before his class when he feels something bump against him. Then he feels something cold against his chest, cold and wet. When he peers down, he sees red paint soaking his blue shirt.

“Hey! You need to watch where you’re going,” an unfamiliar voice tells him.

Lips trembling as he realises his new shirt is ruined, he pushes the person in front of him. The push is intended to have him fall over, but he simply staggers backwards. It makes Jeongguk that much angrier. 

“You messed up my shirt!” he yells. When he looks up and meets the other boy's eyes, it seems familiar, like those cousins he sees only once a year. 

When Taehyung’s eyes land on the shirt and sees the crimson splotches splattered across the front of it, he does feel bad. An apology is on his lips but then his gaze travels to the now empty paint bucket in his hands, and it’s his turn to be infuriated. His paint!

He’d done extra chores for three whole weeks to get his parents to get him really good paint and now all of the red, his favourite colour at the time, is gone. All because some kid didn’t look where he was going. 

It’s not fair.

“You spilled all my paint,” he reprimands. 

He knows he is frowning but he steels himself so he doesn’t cry. 

“It was an accident.”

And logically, they both know it was an accident, but they’re kindergartners - they’re not ruled by logic. They’re ruled by emotions and playtime. 

“Still you should-”

The bell ringing interrupts his sentence, and both of them already in their sour moods, trod in opposite directions back to class. 

When Taehyung gets back he paints his heart purple, he figures it’s the next best thing since he’d used the pink for flowers. 

✧

Round four takes place years later when they’re both in primary school. Taehyung is in his final year while Jeongguk is in grade four. The former is lanky and in that awkward place where he hasn’t quite grown into his features but he is sociable and charming and thus is considered a social butterfly amongst his peers. Cute as a button, with large doe eyes and full cheeks, one would think Jeongguk is also pretty popular. But his shyness is often mistaken for standoffishness so save for a few friends here and there, he keeps to himself. 

It’s during a soccer game that he’d been invited (read: coerced) to join, where he once again comes into contact with the older boy. He is playing forward and is pretty good at it, his natural affinity for picking up talents once again shining through. His team has scored five goals and conceded two thus far, the lead easing him into the game so he can play more comfortably.

He’s just made a successful interception and is ready to pass to Mingyu -their team’s striker- but when he sees how crowded he is, he knows that they’ll lose possession. He quickly decides to make the risky decision to do a long pass to their winger, Jaebeom. 

But he had completely underestimated his own strength, the force behind the kick sending the ball into the air. The curve only reaches its peak when it’s already at the end of the field, so he knows it’ll be out of range. He just hopes it’s not too far, running after balls is tiresome for whoever has to do it. 

He should’ve hoped that it wouldn’t hit anyone.

Because it did. 

It hit Kim Taehyung. 

And god is the moment when his face and the ball make contact loud as hell. 

Jeongguk grimaces, that is definitely going to leave a mark. And when the ball drops, after what feels like eons later, he is proven correct. Scarlet paints the right side of his features as well as his ear. 

Taehyung turns his head, brown eyes searching for who is responsible, and everyone is either staring at him or one other person. A boy he’s relatively unfamiliar with, he's seen him around the school a few times, knows he is a few grades below Taehyung’s own. 

He scrutinizes the younger’s face, investigating for even a hint of satisfaction or amusement. But guilt washes over the latterm in waves instead. His anger is no longer flaring, just simmering. He picks up the ball, throws it into the air, and kicks it back onto the soccer pitch where Jeongguk and the rest of his peers are. 

“I don’t know how badly you need to suck to be that off-side but you should work on that,” he hollers. A pause, and then he adds. “Dickhead!”

It takes Jeongguk a few seconds to process his reaction. He’d expected much worse and yet, something about the condescending tone drives him up a wall. “Asshole,” he mutters.

✧

Taehyung is fifteen when he is dubbed the king of their local gaming cafe, his Overwatch and Heroes of the Storm stats are unmatched. As a result, there’s almost always a small group of people congregating around him whenever he is at the cafe, cheering and jeering whenever it’s appropropriate. Free food is also almost always coming his way, which he gratefully accepts. 

These breadcheeks don’t just happen. 

“It’s a good life,” he says to himself, stretching in the black and green gaming chair. He likes moments like these, when he feels like he is the main character of some coming of age movie and he likes playing into this feeling even more. It’s nice, content. 

He is on a break, talking to one of his friends about their chemistry homework when they hear loud hollering to the left of them. Their heads move in time to see what is going on. 

When he registers the numbers on the screen, and what they mean, his jaw locks. Someone beat his skill rating, thus beating his #1 streak. A streak he has maintained for months, smashed to smithereens by someone he hasn’t even seen in the pc cafe before today.

The PVC leather of his chair feels cold and rough under his fingernails. 

“You good?” Yoongi, his best friend, asks. 

The brunet swiftly nods, shoving a thumbs up in his direction. His slumped shoulders and downcast gaze are easy giveaways though.

“You could always beat him, it’s not like once your SR is a new record it’s unbeatable.”

The thing is, while Taehyung knows his best friend is right, the fact that he is right is also the cause of his current mood. In his head he built himself up as unbeatable, untouchable in his gaming endeavours. This is his one thing, the one thing he could comfortably say he’d be the best at. He wore his rank like a fucking miss universe sash. 

Now his sash has not only been ripped from his bare skin (he is aware that he is not shirtless but chooses to ignore that specific point) but it feels like much less of an achievement now.

He’s also a little bit of a sore loser

“I guess,” is all he can muster without sounding like a pouty kid. 

Sighing, he takes a closer look at the guy who had beat him. If he was asked to describe said boy in one word, it would be circular. His cheeks cushion his features adorably and his black hair is cut and styled like a mushroom. 

Taehyung notices how he bites his lip in concentration, pupils rapidly moving as he plays. He’s cute, in the same way a puppy or bunny is cute. 

Cute or not though, Taehyung holds a grudge. 

✧

Jeongguk is positively buzzing, he's pretty sure he could physically be bouncing off the wall with all of the energy and anticipation rushing through his veins. Today is the day Timberland launches their all-black premium boots, with only twenty pairs in his size, he needs to get his hands on one.

He has his older brother drive him to the shopping mall, still a year away from being able to obtain his driving permit. There is a bit of a line when he reaches the outside of the mall, but that's okay, only about 15 people or so are in front of him. He fishes out his phone from his back pocket to scroll on Twitter to pass the time, he eventually ends up on Kim Namjoon's account (which he likes to pretend isn't where he regularly ends up when on this app) and goes to the media tab so he can, to be frank, ogle at him.

No offense to Namjoon, but he wasn't really interested in the top 50 great philosophers of our time or his 'botany tip of the day'. He is shameless, and self-aware, enough to admit he is here for the eye candy and eye candy alone.

But then someone jostles against him, and his thumb accidentally presses down on the outlined heart so that it turns red.

"Man, what the hell?"

The offending person takes a minute to regain their balance before they turn to him. The deja vu hits him so hard he's almost dizzy with it. He squints as he tries to recall when anything similar has happened, but even after a few minutes, he comes up short.

The guy in front of him has a mask on his face and a baseball cap on his head, so he can't really see much of him. Nothing jogs his memory of the little that he can see.

"I'm so sorry, I tend to trip over my feet sometimes, and I guess today it had me colliding with you," his laugh is nervous, and so is the hand that goes to scratch at his nape.

Still mortified from liking a 3-month-old post, he really does not want to accept the apology. In fact, he'd like to take the apology, scrunch it up and then attempt a free-throw with it at the nearest waste bin. But he doesn't do that, because the guy is sort of stepping from side to side as if he’s waiting for some acknowledgement of the apology.

"It's whatever."

The two words light a fire under him, posture almost instantly straightening, making him look somewhat more self-assured. "Cool."

Jeongguk doesn't say much else, returning his attention back to his phone. When he checks the time, he sees there are less than five minutes to go before they're opening their doors. It lifts his spirits up again.

There's a bit of a fuss, in the beginning, everyone sort of bumping and pushing into each other, so much so that the security has to intervene and limit access—by the time he gets into the shop, a bunch of people have already bagged their own pair of shoes. But, luck seems to be on his side, since he quickly spots a box with his size and advances towards it.

He's got the box under his fingertips, ready to grab it from the pile, when lithe fingers enclose around the opposite side of it. Annoyed, he applies more pressure as he pulls at it.

Still, the other person is unrelenting, also pulling. With part of the box still in his grasp, he sidesteps to see who is holding the box, and of course, it's the very same guy who'd bumped into him minutes prior.

"Can you let go?" he grits out, annoyance rising.

A shake of the head, "I can't do that."

"Listen, I don't know if you think this is funny or something but I woke up at the ass crack of dawn just to find out when these shoes would be available. So, I'm taking them." With one final, effortful pull, he manages to get the box into his possession.

He opens the lid and his heart soars when he sees the beauty inside - there's something seriously special about fresh kicks. Ready to saunter to the till he hears the guy mutter. "That's the last pair in that size."

What he should do is ignore him, he does not owe him anything, and he's been waiting for these shoes forever. So he should just get to the till and pay for these babies. For whatever reason, he does the complete opposite. Eyes trail the length of the guy, and when his gaze lands on his feet, he raises a curious brow.

"You're at least two sizes bigger," he points out.

The guy lifts his hat so a little more is visible, though the hair that falls almost into his eyes still covers a lot of the top half of his face. "It's not for me."

"What do you mean?" he asks, despite his own internal objections.

This is what his friends call his one mortal flaw, his naivete, always willing to hear people out and believe them without much hassle. He doesn't think it's being naïve, just decency. Why not give others the benefit of the doubt?

"It's for my best friend, his birthday is coming up, and he's been eyeing these shoes since their release. He doesn't really get pocket money or anything so I figured I would get it for him."

He already feels a crack in his resolve. But he tries to think of what his friends would do in this situation. "Must be one hell of a friendship then, all of this effort."

It's an attempt to poke holes in his story, but it is not a successful attempt in the slightest. With a mask still on his face, and hair falling into his eyes, he can't really see his smile. But he can see the movement when his cheeks bunch up, and how his eyes form little crescents.

"He's my best friend, ever since I was yay high," he holds his hand, palm facing the ground, to the side of his thigh, "Last year for my birthday he made me a mixtape. So, I really wanted to get him something good."

He should join the circus, really, with how ready he is to be a clown. His shoulders slump, he knows if he holds onto the shoes the guilt will eat him whole. With one last look at the boots, he stretches his arms out with the box in his hands in the guy's direction.

"Wait, are you serious?"

There's a part of him, a part of his brain, that's yelling 'no no no' and 'mine mine mine' but it's minuscule compared to the voice telling him this is the right thing to do. Even though it fucking sucks right now.

"Yeah, just take it." When he doesn't make any move to reach for the box, clearly still hesitant, Jeongguk adds. "I'm sure your best friend will love them."

Another smile appears, and he even goes as far as to lean forward in a slight bow. "Yoongi really will, thank you so much."

So, with empty hands, Jeongguk watches him pay and walk out of the store with the shoes he'd been eyeing for over a year. It's a brutal feeling of loss that is amplified by it being his first big disappointment. He can only hope the guy wasn't lying, though even if his story was true, he really wouldn't like to meet him again. Not if it means him feeling this distraught again.

A few weeks later, Min Yoongi turns 18, and his best friend Taehyung gifts him the premium 6-inch fully black Timberlands. It's those shoes that adorn his feet on his first day of university, trudging through unforgiving weather in winter and when he gets his first studio. 

✧

“See students, this is what you call an exemplary trooper of a student. One who would sacrifice their own time for the betterment of the arts,” the teacher announces. Mrs Min is a well-respected teacher at the high school, and somehow she’s also managed to be well-liked by the students. To achieve both is a rare feat and as a result, Jeongguk thinks the 12th grade teacher is pretty cool. 

However, he can’t help biting his lip to keep from spilling his guts. Because Jeongguk is almost incapable of not blurting out the truth and the truth is that he is doing this more for the money and not so much as an art enthusiast. 

Because he is sixteen and the shared experience amongst sixteen-year-olds (at least from his, albeit limited, perspective) is that they’re always in need of more money. He is no exception, rather he is a fine example of someone who constantly needs money.

This is not to say his parents were struggling, they lived comfortably and he never felt like they didn’t have enough of anything. The issue lies in the fact that Jeongguk excels in a multitude of areas, the downside of which is the fleeting nature of his interest in these activities. He'd be absorbed in an activity or object just until he mastered it, then would move on to the next thing that caught his attention. Each time with the same amount of passion and vigour.

The ravenet is equal parts multi-talented and inconsistent. He is chuffed whenever he is described as the former, and can't help but agree when faced with the latter. This does make his parents more hesitant to spend money on these interests, knowing he might not make use of them after a couple of months. Like his set of drums, his sketchbook, his soccer boots, his make up kit, his collection of sudoku puzzles, his baseball uniform, his console, his—well, you get the picture. 

His current interest is skateboarding, and while his parents had been enthusiastic about it, they made it very clear he was not getting a skateboard from them.

So despite his own diffidence—a result of not quite yet growing into his features, being a little short for his age and just being a teenager—he decided to pose as a model for the senior classes who needed to practice observational drawing of real people. 

It is quick money and puts him that much closer to his skateboard goal.

Though as he stands next to Mrs Min, in front of the class, he very much feels like a prey under their intense gazes which are all zeroed in on his form. All of them are about two years older than him, and he has to stop himself from doing a 90 degree bow out of pure intimidation.

There is someone though, situated farthest from him. He can’t really see much of their face because of the canvas in front of them. What he does see is, well, feels would be more accurate, is them peering at him -  curious and gentle.

He doesn’t mind the weight of their gaze on him, in fact, he feels drawn to it. For reasons he can’t really place, he considers it somewhat of a privilege.

When their eyes meet, the umber irises that are looking back at him are familiar. He tries to place them somewhere in his memory catalogue but comes up short sans some blurry recollections that prove to be no help whatsoever. 

‘It’s probably because you saw them around school,’ he reminds himself.

Mrs Min announcing for the students to get their drawing utensils ready brings him back to reality, and he makes himself comfortable. This is a two-hour long class. 

Throughout the time he can’t help but steal little looks at the person, or well the eyes of the person, at the back of the class. There’s something about the way their pupils dilate the same when the sun rays that hit their face pass and when they lose themselves in drawing Jeongguk’s portrait. He has to force himself not to smile. 

It’s really difficult. 

When they finish, his jaw feels non-existent. He has to massage it with his hand to get some feeling back - maybe calling it easy money was not a correct assumption on his part.

“Okay, so I don’t expect you all to be finished but please turn all your sketchpads around so I can figure out where most of you are with the piece,” the teacher announces.

Truth be told, Jeongguk doesn’t really want to look at it. He isn’t all too fond of looking in the mirror and this seems like it has a higher probability of being self-esteem shattering. 

Still, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he takes a peek. He can’t lie, he is pretty impressed with the level at which the students are drawing. Despite being younger he does have a good eye for art. 

The only thing is the nose. His nose.

He doesn’t know if it is a projection of his own insecurities but he can’t help but grimace at how big it is on almost every single sketch. Disproportionately big. 

He feels like he’d been punched.

And because the universe seems intent on having him suffer, Pretty Eyes from earlier walks up to him right at that moment. 

He busies himself with slinging his bag over his shoulder and smoothing out his shirt and uniform pants. 

“Hi, your nose is-”

Call it protective, preventative or cowardice even, he doesn’t really care. Pretty Eyes has an even prettier face, which he didn’t know was possible, and Jeongguk can not for the life of him have someone who looks like that comment on how big his nose is. He knows it might be shallow, and he shouldn’t care about what a stranger says about his face anyways. He just doesn’t want to hear it.

“I know,” he interjects, immediately turning on his heel and exiting the classroom. 

Perplexed, Taehyung watches his retreating form get smaller and smaller until it is no longer in his line of vision. He wonders if he had said anything wrong, doubtful considering he got no more than four words out. He supposes the guy could just be having a bad day or was busy. None of this makes his response any less confusing though.

All he’d wanted to do was compliment him on the slope of his nose, it really was one of the most artistically satisfying things he’d ever drawn. He has a high nose bridge that gives way to the slightest of curves until it reaches the furthest point from the raven-haired boy’s face, at the tip of his nose begins another sharp decline until the point of his septum. 

A gift from the gods of a nose. 

It’s a pity he couldn’t tell that to the owner of said feature, though he supposes starting off a conversation by mentioning someone’s nose could come off rather strong.  

✧

Jeongguk wakes up on the 1st September for the 18th time of his life and feels exactly the same. Right until the moment he sits down for breakfast and rather than the usual banana milk, a single shot of soju is placed next to his breakfast. 

His eyes dart between his parents, his older brother and the glass. All of them, glass included, look at him expectantly. 

So, completely unprepared for the slight burning sensation that comes with drinking liquor, he downs it like he sees in the movies. It does not go down like the movies, it goes down like battery acid and he almost dies. But his family seem unperturbed, proud even, so he figures this is tradition. You turn 18 and embarrass the shit out of yourself first thing in the morning. A realistic introduction to adulthood yeah. 

The day itself passes in a flurry of birthday wishes and gifts, because Jeongguk’s older now, he’s grown into his features, and in the process grown into popularity. His hair doesn't fall into his face in attempts to cover his eyes anymore, which he'd like to say was a scene phase, but truth be told, it was just him being shy. Now he parts his hair, confident fingers styling it so that it shapes his face rather nicely. Most of his baby fat has given way to a sharp jaw, a result of all of the sports teams he'd participated in. He’s also found his personal aesthetic: black and bucket hats. Simple, but it works. It must work considering how he can't walk through a hallway without someone wishing him a happy birthday and the surplus of gifts stuffed into his locker.

He's thankful for it all, but what he's really looking forward to is tonight. He'll finally be able to drink with his best friends - who are all at least two years older than him. It shouldn't be as big of a deal, he thinks, but he's always been worried about being left out (and ultimately, forgotten) so it really means a lot to him.

They end up going to 15feetunder , a club Hoseok frequents. It's loud enough that the ground underneath them seems to shake with the beat of the music streaming through the speakers - and that's when they pull up to the front of the club. The four friends share a smile, it's going to be one hell of a night. As soon as they cross the threshold to enter the building, Jimin's already making a bee-line for the bar, Namjoon in tow. Jeongguk looks over at Hoseok, unsure of what to do with himself - his confidence may have grown over the years, but he's still like a fish out of water in new environments.

Hoseok must notice this, reaching over to grab his shoulders. "Why do you look like you're about to book it out of here the minute I turn my head?"

"I just might," Jeongguk says, glancing at the glowing amber sign that reads EXIT.

This has Hoseok laughing, "Don't worry, it's a lot your first time-" the image of a very intimate couple gyrating just over his shoulder really driving his words home, "- but I can assure you, it's a good time."

He nods, easily following him to where Jimin and Namjoon are seated. It's a small, circular table - the surface of it almost covered with shot glasses, long-necked soju bottles and multi-coloured bottles of vodkas and tequilas. He raises a curious brow, "Is all of this really necessary?" It seems infallible to think they'd be able to finish it all.

But Jimin just chuckles, loud and boisterous, "Jeongguk-ah, only you would find a problem with copious amounts of alcohol."

"Just enjoy it, it's your birthday - and thus, your right to get absolutely wasted."

And Namjoon's word is law, so he does just that.

Somewhere between his eighth shot of soju and second glass of whatever the fuck Jimin was putting into his concoctions - he finds himself making his way to the dancefloor. It's a bit of a struggle, the club had gotten even more packed since they arrived, so it's a lot of bumping into and pushing against other people before he reaches someplace near the middle - where the speakers are loud enough to drown out the little inhibition the alcohol didn't take care of.

He wishes he'd gotten one of his friends to join him, the way the music courses through him is definitely putting him in the mood to dance but he's not intoxicated enough to get into dancing by himself without getting self-conscious. Just as he's about to go back to the table, someone bumps into him, and his arm is covered in a sticky liquid.

It's uncomfortable, but more pressing is the feeling of deja vu as he watches the liquid trickle down his arm - when his eyes lock on the guy whose drink is dripping down his arm, it's only intensified. He knows those eyes, even in the unfamiliar iridescent lighting. He just doesn't remember from where.

The guy's gaze is apologetic as it lands on his arm. "I'm so sorry, I got pushed and - it doesn't matter. Can I buy you a drink?" His smile is hopeful, cute.

Jeongguk's lips part. "You don't have to, it's okay-"

"I want to," he insists, head jerking to the bar.

In all his 18 years of being alive, he's never been able to deny a pretty boy. And this one, this one is fucking irresistible. His feet follow before he even has to think about it and soon enough he is standing by the bar.

Irresistible turns to him, "What would you like?"

"Something fruity," he answers, in desperate need of something sweet.

He doesn't expect the way his tone goes up a few octaves when he giggles. "I could feel you staring at my ass, I know you're gay."

Jeongguk splutters, eyes widening at the implication of his own words. That's not what he meant in the slightest. "I didn't mean-"

The other shushes him, pressing a finger to his lips. His nails are purple.

"Don't stress, I'm pretty gay myself. That's why it rhymes with Tae, I'm pretty sure, which is me." A wide grin is directed Jeongguk's way and he's pretty sure this must be what it's like staring directly at the sun. So much uninhibited light.

"Jeongguk."

He says his name a few times as if he is testing the sound, the weight of it on his tongue. His eyes crinkle as he nods, must like it. He's almost embarrassed to admit he's never felt this accomplished. Technically, it's his parents' win, since they named him but he must play some role in the way the beautiful stranger enjoys enunciating each syllable.

"So Jeongguk, do you usually stand in the middle of the dancefloor dead still or is today a special day?" Mirth swims in the deep brown of his irises.

Jeongguk hums, "It's my birthday."

Taehyung's eyes widen for a fraction of a second and then narrow, scanning all over his face. "18th birthday?

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. "Let me guess, my baby face gave it away?"

"More like the way you move around this place like Bambi on ice, I can tell it's your first time. With it being your birthday and all, it's not that hard to put two and two together," he says, gesturing for the barman to come over.

He feels his face burn at his own presumption, and it only gets hotter when Tae says, "A strawberry daiquiri for me, and an aviation for Baby Face."

Embarrassment put to the side for a brief moment, he cocks his head. "What's an aviation?"

"A tradition! Every single one of my friends has downed one on our first night out - maybe not the sweetest drink but it's pretty."

With the alcohol flowing through his veins, he feels bold enough to comment, "Well, shouldn't you have one too - to match I mean?"

"You think I'm pretty?" he asks, mimicking the way Jeongguk had tilted his head a few seconds prior.

"Probably the prettiest person I've ever seen in my life," he admits, heat creeping up his neck.

Tae's eyes soften for a fraction of a second before his shoulders shake as he laughs. "Then you haven't met Kim Seokjin." He says it so matter-of-factly, but Jeongguk can't even fathom the idea of anyone coming close to the guy seated in front of him. His eyes map his features - starting from the soft curve of glossy pink lips, to a nose as high as the Hallasan mountain with the cutest mole he'd like to press a kiss against just off the tip, ridiculously long eyelashes that flutter against high cheekbones every time he blinks, wisps of silver hair falling softly against big, round eyes that are almost innocent looking. Almost.

"You know, I don't think that'll change anything," he muses, completely honest. 

It’s cute, the way he immediately busies himself with his drink like his cocktail is the most interesting thing in the world. Jeongguk’s not sure what invigorates his confidence more, the alcohol travelling through his bloodstream or the knowledge he’d made someone that looks like that shy. The why isn’t as important as the existence of the confidence itself, so he leans in, close enough to make his attentions clear. 

“Can I taste?” he asks, the self-assured tone foreign to his own ears. 

But it appears to work in his favour as Tae leans in to press his lips against his own, it’s almost chaste - soft, slow and closed mouth. But when they pull away, Tae has a fervent grip on his hair and his lips feel sticky. He holds his gaze as he swipes his tongue across his top lip, sees the way Tae’s eyes darken, and tastes the sweet and tart tang of strawberries. 

“My turn?” There’s something truly sinful about the way his eyes go so large, almost doe-like when they’re almost black with want. 

He’s about to bring his cup to his lips, to return the favour when Tae reaches his hand out and downs the remaining cocktail - as if it’s child’s play. It’s very hot to Jeongguk who once tried to chug whiskey straight from the bottom and felt like his oesophagus was inflamed for at least an hour after. 

In retaliation, he tries to take Tae’s glass, but he’s stopped. His palm rests on Jeongguk’s arm, just as he opens his mouth to speak the music that had faded into background noise the minute he laid his eyes on this man, reaches an ear-splitting volume. 

He can’t make out what he’s saying over the noise, and he yells just as much. Frustrated, Taehyung leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Can I do a body shot off of you?”

When he turns his head, two things catch his eye. First, Tae’s got his lip between his teeth and he can’t help but think what a privilege . Second, he notices the way his t-shirt falls off his shoulder, exposing the very decadent sight of his collarbones peeking through. And, as self-indulgent as it is, he can’t help but voice his thoughts. 

“Can I do one off of you? I actually think it’s criminal that someone isn’t doing shots off your clavicles at every waking moment.” It’s absolutely ridiculous, yes, but absolutely earnest too.

Tae’s eyes widen a fraction, and Jeongguk thinks he’s fucked up. Then in a swift motion, he shimmies so that the juncture of his neck and collarbones are on display, for him . Knowing that is more intoxicating than anything the barman could whip up for him. 

It takes a little bit of coordination, he can’t exactly drape Tae’s body over the counter, so they have to improvise. It’s sticky and messy when he pours the tequila, carefully, into the crevice of Tae’s collarbones. A skew line of salt is drawn just under his neck and he makes a show of closing his lips around the rind of the lime wedge. Suddenly his eyes are the furthest thing from innocent, his gaze daring him to go for it.

And he does, Tae’s light laughter surrounding them as the taste of tequila and him is all he knows, his tongue swipes across his jugular - the roughness of the salt and softness of his skin making him dizzy. When he gets to the slice of lime, sees the way Tae’s eyes have darkened, he’s positively drunk on him. Their lips touch for the barest of moments as he bites into the lime, sour as he swallows. 

His memory of the rest of the night is a hazy bubble of strobe lights, the type of music Jimin listened to blasting in his ears, and Tae’s body pressed up against his own. He knew he was dancing, swaying, feeling - he didn't know if he was any good, but he was happy. 

Somewhere after three am they find themselves stumbling out of the club, bodies prickling with the beginnings of exhaustion, but stupidly bright smiles still very much visible. His body feels loose, and so is his tongue, when he turns to Tae to ask for his number. Hopeful, he holds his phone out in front of him and waits for him to take it. 

He doesn’t. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Why? He wants to ask, surprised by how a simple sentence can dampen his mood to such a degree. Did he read things wrong, wasn’t he interested? 

He never gets an answer as his friends drag him into an Uber, and he pathetically watches him get smaller and smaller, eventually a simple argent blob in his line of view. And then, he isn’t there anymore. When he wakes up the next day, he knows it’s more than just his head that feels heavy. 

The only reason he thinks he doesn’t dwell on it too much is the fact that he can barely remember the guy’s face as the days go by. He becomes a foggy memory, pretty in an abstract way.

✧

New Year's Day is a time for new beginnings for most, for Taehyung, it’s one of the only consistent things in his life. A result of the day leading up to it, New Year's Eve, Taehyung’s unofficial second birthday according to Min Yoongi. They’ve known each other for as long as Taehyung’s memory trails back, even when they’re fuzzy and disjointed, Yoongi’s been a constant. And since he’s been old enough to hang out with friends, Yoongi’s always made a point to celebrate his birthday on the day after - the actual day usually reserved for his family. 

“So what’s in store for me this year?” Taehyung asks, checking his side mirror. They’re on their way to the university campus, and he’s very carefully straddling the line between going over the speed limit and getting caught in morning traffic.

Yoongi yawns, heavy-lidded eyes failing at blinking away the sleepiness. That’s the thing about trying to get to your campus before the roads get congested - you need to be up before the sun itself. When he slows to a stop by the traffic light, he doesn’t even have to look over to know his hyung is trying to get as much coffee in his flask down his throat. Taehyung can only count the minutes till they reach campus so he can get his own iced latte. 

“Noraebang,” Yoongi replies, a few moments later. Discussion of their plans for New Year’s Eve seems to combat some of his languor. 

Taehyung raises a sceptical brow, “Rather tame.” This is not a complaint, he’s just used to his hyung doing rather out of the ordinary things for his birthday. One year he’d made him a mixtape, when he turned 18 they went to the museum of sex and health at Jeju (the pictures he has are honestly worth gold), they’d done a one-day cruise, did a road trip to Seoul, took a cable car up to Apsan Park, went to Busan and had a bonfire by the beach. A noraebang feels so out of place in comparison, so day-to-day. 

“Well, young padawan.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, Yoongi wasn’t even able to get through the first Star Wars movie. “I think everyone should experience what it’s like to noraebang with a little Mary Jane.”

The younger hums. Well, he’s never been one to turn down an experience, and none of his previous birthdays has been a letdown. 

“As long as we don’t get arrested hyung,” he concedes, reversing into an open parking spot. 

Yoongi laughs, it’s a little scratchy from sleep and no less warm than the drink in his hold, “Ah, Taehyung-ah, we’ve got to get a little thrill from somewhere.” 

When said so simply, so matter-of-factly, how could he disagree?

-

His birthday passes simply, 23 candles on a vanilla cake crowned with tart strawberries, and a cozy dinner with his family. Just like New Year's Eve with Yoongi, birthday dinners are a Kim family tradition. Something is different this year - maybe it’s in the way he notices how tall his younger siblings have gotten, maybe it’s in the way he takes the time to enjoy each bite and pay attention to every single word spoken. Maybe growing up means slowing down, being present in traditions so often taken for granted. Or maybe he’s just a sap. 

He sleeps in the next day, aided by the thundering clouds and heavy rains that fall outside his window. The weather lulls him to sleep like nothing else. 

Eventually, he rises at noon. He pads down the hallway to the bathroom, listening for any sign of Yoongi. Of the two of them, the older one usually sleeps in the latest, which is what tends to happen when you go to sleep in the early AMs of the morning. By the time he’s finished in the bathroom, and drinking water in the kitchenette, he still hasn’t seen or heard from him. 

Just as he’s about to check in his room, he hears keys rattling by the door. He waits the minute it takes for Yoongi to get inside and greets him a good morning. 

“Good afternoon,” his hyung corrects, taking in his bedhead. 

Taehyung sticks his tongue out in retaliation, which earns him an unimpressed stare. “Didn’t you just turn 23?”

“Don’t be ageist hyung,” he mock-scolds, tsking.

Yoongi regards him for a second, “Ageis- you know what I don’t care. Look what I got.” He proudly holds up a bag of gummy bears. 

His eyes narrow, scrutinising the bag for a hint to tell him what has Yoongi looking so chuffed over candy. “Aren’t you supposed to be 25, why are you flexing gummy bears?”

As a hyung, Yoongi is very doting. He always makes sure Taehyung is well taken care of, well-fed and well-loved. Very loved. However, there are times when he looks like he’d pick Taehyung up, put him in his car, only to kick him out and leave him on the side of the road in some destitute, unfamiliar place. This is one of those times.

He turns the bag around, between his middle and ring finger, to reveal the backside. Foil, with a sticker of a green plant - a rather easy to identify plant. 

“Since you can’t stand the smell of weed, I got an alternative,” he explains when he notices Taehyung’s sceptical gaze. 

The younger takes a moment to really grasp it. “You’re trying to tell me those innocent looking gummies are laced ?” He says the last word like he’s scandalised. 

“With the finest buds my dealer could get his hands on.”

He must say, he’s pretty impressed. It’s true that he abhors the scent of it, which is why Yoongi never smokes in their apartment, and hash brownies feel so outdated. This, this is on par with Taehyung's birthday festivities. He also really likes gummy bears.

They try the barbeque place around the corner from the karaoke parlour, the galbi is good and the soju is cheap and it’s a good time. Seokjin and Namjoon, friends he’d acquired through Yoongi, and Seojoon and Wooshik, friends Yoongi had acquired through him, join them. Most of the time, these celebrations would be just the two of them, but if one thing is true about noraebanging - it’s the more the merrier. Taehyung may or may not also have the slightest crush on Seojoon, which his best friend was aware of. 

However, as the night progresses, he can’t help but wonder if that was such a good idea. He’s not exactly crossfaded, but he is obviously tipsy from the shots and the mj has definitely made limb coordination a little more difficult than it needed to be. It doesn’t exactly put him in the best light. But when he looks over, everyone else seems focused on Seokjin and Wooshik singing to Fantastic Baby, and it eases his anxiety. 

When they find one of Yoongi’s songs on the karaoke machine, the room erupts into cheers and hollers of ‘you made it’ with a rather flustered Yoongi waving it off, saying ‘it’s because I’m a local ‘s all.’ The gummy smile doesn’t get past Taehyung though, which is why he pulls his hyung right next to him as they do a ridiculous rendition of his song. They go through all the possible pairings and trios left until it’s Seojoon and Taehyung’s turn. Under the dim lighting, no one notices the mirth swimming in Seokjin’s eyes or the devious smile that pulls at his lips when he selects a romantic duet.

Just as he looks over at him, the door to their room opens. He can’t help but be annoyed when his eyes land on the three strangers by the doorway, unperturbed by the fact that this room is clearly occupied.

He’s about to politely ask them to leave when Namjoon gets up and gestures for them to come in. “These are the people I was telling you about Yoongi, friends from high school.”

“Sorry for crashing in, we were in the area looking for something to do to ring in the new year and saw Namjoon was close by—hope we’re not imposing.” He looks genuinely nervous, words a little rushed at the end. The way he speaks is peculiar, a combination of Daegu satoori and standard Seoul dialect, it’s both familiar and not. He probably moved to Seoul a few years ago. 

Yoongi looks absolutely moon-eyed and he knows it’s not because of the weed. “No, you’re definitely not imposing.” 

His hyung and the stranger share a grin, a look, and he groans internally, he really doesn’t want to sleep over at someone else’s place tonight. 

They introduce themselves; the one that spoke first is Jung Hoseok. Same age as Namjoon, works as a junior choreographer at a dance academy in Seoul. Really looking at him, Taehyung can’t blame Yoongi for his attraction. He’s very easy on the eyes. Flanking him to his left is a guy shorter than him, the shortest of the three actually, with blonde hair - Park Jimin. A pretty boy for sure, he can see him walking across a university campus and people turning just to stare, and with the way he carries himself, he can tell he knows.

Finally, there’s the tallest of the trio. He shrugged off his leather jacket as he settled into the room, now in his hold along with an umbrella. Now, with only a shirt tucked into black jeans, he can see how petite his waist is - making him look even more broad-shouldered. He introduces himself as Jeon Jeongguk, when he repeats it silently to himself, images from a night out clubbing in Seoul flash behind his eyelids. He tries to concentrate on his face, and he is almost sure he’s seen those doe eyes somewhere, can almost feel the plush of his bottom lip between his teeth. But the edibles make everything hazy and the alcohol turns his thoughts into mush. 

It’s over an hour later, introductions feel as if they were years ago, as all of them find common points of interest. Every now and again he can feel Jeongguk’s eyes on him, and when he meets his gaze, it’s like they’re searching to find some familiarity too. But he doesn’t have time to think much of it, not when Seojoon’s eyes are on Jeongguk too.

He knows that look. That wanting. 

Jealousy flares up hot in his abdomen. It only worsens when Seojoon asks Jeongguk to duet with him, Jang Beom June’s Without You By My Side no less. Nobody else seems to notice the younger’s apprehension as they cheer for him to accept the mic in Seojoon’s extended hand. Taehyung watches in horror as their hands brush—and Seojoon does that soft chuckle he does when he’s nervous. 

Then they’re singing and Seojoon is horrible and that’s okay because karaoke is not about serenading—well, unless Jeongguk sings. There was a moment in the beginning when he went too high with the key, but he easily recovers, smoothly transitioning into his lower register and it’s heavenly. 

If he wasn’t so fixated on the way Seojoon was looking at Jeongguk, he’d probably be staring in the exact same way. 

But he’s so caught up in trying to stop the impending beginnings of a relationship that he thoughtlessly yells that he wants to go next when the song has finished. It backfires when Seojoon hands him the mic, and Jeongguk beams at him - mic still in hand. Nobody else makes any move to stand - Yoongi and Hoseok engrossed in conversation, Jimin and Namjoon engrossed in each other & Wooshik and Seojoon are engrossed in the soju. 

“Any requests?” Jeongguk asks, he’s so polite Taehyung almost feels bad for his irrational grudge. 

Taehyung shrugs, casting a glance sideways, to where Seojoon is pouring a shot. “I really don't care.”

The younger cocks his head to the side, “That’s a sudden change.” There’s something about the knowing edge to his voice that pisses him off more, or maybe he’s imagining it - there are too many foreign substances in his brain to discriminate how he feels from what is happening. 

“You pick,” is all he says. 

Jeongguk holds his gaze for a moment, looks like he wants to say something and then he doesn’t. He holds his tongue and flips through the plastic sleeves of the songbook. 

He sways from side to side as he waits for the younger to choose a song. “Jeonggukie does that too,” Jimin says, amused. 

Taehyung’s face must show his confusion as Jimin adds, “He always sways when he waits for things too, like seaweed.” The way he says it makes it sound important, a monumental commonality between the two. But even in his almost-crossfaded state Taehyung presumes there’s probably hundreds of people, in their country alone, that share this trait. 

Still, he smiles a perfunctory smile. Which slips off his face as soon as he hears the intro to the song Jeongguk’s chosen - Me After You by Paul Kim. A love song by any other name would be called Me After You. It makes the ballad Seojoon and Jeongguk were dueting sound like a pop song. 

But Jeongguk is looking at him, round eyes so hopeful, and so familiar that he’s already walking to the screen with the subtitles before he even realises he’s moving. Not that he needs the subtitles, he just doesn’t know where else to look. Jeongguk, who starts the song, doesn’t share in this concern - locking his gaze on him. It’s a peculiar thing, the remnants of anger still sizzling under his skin concurrent with his ever-increasing heartbeat as Jeongguk looks at him. Like how Seojoon looked at Jeongguk, only softer, sweeter. Cotton candy dissolving on the tip of your tongue.

The effort it takes to tear his eyes away creates a palpable effect, the gaze feels tangible. Like an invisible string, pulled taut. 

Then it's his turn to sing and he misses the first few words, but nobody else seems to notice - other than Jeongguk that is, who reaches out to hook his curved forefinger under Taehyung's chin - directing his gaze to meet his eyes. 

It's only then that he notices the bright red dusting Jeongguk's cheeks - all the soju shots he'd done expressing their presence. It placates his nerves a bit - takes off some of the unexplainable pressure he feels surrounding them. 

Finally, he joins in and sings his lines just before the chorus. Stare still locked in, bewitched by the constellations in Jeongguk's eyes. It’s probably a by-product of all the mind-altering substances flowing through his veins, but he swears he sees the stars in his eyes cluster as Jeongguk watches him sing. He should know better than to reach out his hand, to hold a stranger’s face in a way that feels so intimate he wants to hide in the crevice of his own heart. But he does it, cups the side of his face, and in that simple touch - soft, soft skin against the pads of his fingers - he is holding the universe. 

And then the song reaches its crescendo, and the instrumental is so loud, but he can still hear the way they’re catching their breath as they chase after the lyrics, the notes, each other. It’s so fucking High School Musical he can’t help but think, as he looks into sings with this guy that he’s never known and feels like it means something. 

But the song ends, and suddenly Seojoon is there, looking past him and waxing lyrical about ‘the pipes on Jeongguk’ and the moment’s over - and Jeongguk’s eyes are brown. Like mud. 

By the time everyone else decides to call it a night, he breathes a sigh of relief. The tipsiness has long ago left his bones, and the high is fading too. It makes him acutely aware of his own emotions, the tiredness that seeps into its place instead. He decides he doesn’t like Jeongguk very much at all. 

His mood only worsens when they’re waiting for a taxi and the clouds above them burst, a smattering of raindrops pelting his bare arms. He feels a whine bubble in his throat, can mentally hear the way each syllable would drag as he cried, ‘I want to go home’. But he’s 23. He’ll be damned if he lets some rain and a man turn him petulant. Then, as if pulled straight out of those dramas his younger sister loves, he sees Seojoon silently offer to share his umbrella with Jeongguk - making sure it covers the extent of his broad shoulders. 

He scoffs, turning away to look at the high rise buildings instead. Daegu, in the city, has a lot of light pollution, making it difficult to stargaze or marvel at a full moon. Still, he’s always appreciated the magic in the way the city lights twinkle, the blurry glow of cars as they rush to their destination and the skyscrapers that tie it all together. He can’t find it in himself to muster up a lot of reverence for it tonight though.

Caught up in his own misery he misses the intricate little dance between his friends as Jeongguk’s jacket gets passed around until Namjoon offers it to him, he drapes it over his shoulders with a grateful smile. He doesn’t see the way Jeongguk’s smile stretches wide as he pulls the jacket around him tighter or when Yoongi offers him the umbrella. Maybe it’s the last remnants of alcohol or weed, or the lack of warmth but at no point does he register that any of the things belong to the newest addition to his list of least favourite people. 

They’re headed home by the time the clock strikes 12, and he watches the fireworks in awe from the windows. He glances over to the side, where Yoongi is practically on Hoseok’s lap - he thinks he’s okay with spending the next year being a third wheel, especially when his best friend looks so happy. 

He shoulders himself into the leather jacket that’s not his, wrapping himself tighter in its warmth as the world around him celebrates a new year. 

✧

A good cause, it’s for a good cause - that’s what he keeps reminding himself as he slowly sips the chardonnay, watching the people around him chitter and chatter about whatever chaebols and politicians talk about. When he was younger, he’d always thought galas were those events that would keep you entertained on the prestige of it alone. But now, having accompanied one of his friends, he finds the whole thing mind-numbingly boring. 

Kim Taehyung, however, is a man that sees things through. So, he straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin and smiles at everyone that meets his eyes. 

Two hours later, with minuscule interaction with his friend who is utilising the hell out of this networking opportunity as he calls it (to which Taehyung had responded with a dry, ‘it’s a charity gala’) and the plastic tag he was too lazy to cut off the collar of his shirt, is now digging into his neck. He’s bored and needs a distraction, desperately.

As he scans the room to find something that’s not so pristine, like the gold cutlery or the sparkling chandelier in the middle of the room that he’s pretty sure has real diamonds hanging from it, he finds himself falling short. The guests are adorned in suits and gowns that probably cost enough to send him to university at least a hundred times over, the servers are all the pinnacle of neatness with slicked-back hair and spotless faces, even the cameraman is adorned in a suit as he snakes through the clusters of people to get good candid shots. As if his gaze is rose-tinted, the second he turns away, there is a crack in the seemingly perfect movement of the room - just as the cameraman approaches him. He loses his footing and stumbles, so focused on making sure he doesn’t drop his camera, he misses the way the champagne he's been nursing since he arrived spills from the glass - which seeps into the sleeves of Taehyung’s coat and shirt. 

For a long moment, they just look at each other, the feeling of deja vu so intense it drowns out everyone around them. Taehyung studies his features - those big, big eyes that are worried and apologetic, the nose he feels like his hands know well enough if he had charcoal and paper he’d replicate it and a mouth that compels a tingling sensation in his lips. He racks his brain as he tries to remember where he’s seen the composition of those moles. 

“I’m so sorry.” Those three words bring him back to his senses, and the sticky liquid dripping down his forearm is rather uncomfortable now that he’s aware. 

Silently, he removes his jacket and hands it to the cameraman, who is clearly perplexed as he watches him. When he takes the jacket, Taehyung gives him a grateful smile. It has the desired effect, the panicked expression slowly giving way to more of soft concern. He rolls up the damp sleeve til his elbow, accepting the handkerchief the cameraman hands him and wipes his forearm till it’s dry. 

“All good.”

His words must read like an invitation to continue his apologies, as the air between them becomes littered with ‘I’m sorry’s’ - granted, the stickiness was annoying but mistakes happen. He says just as much.

“At least let me pay for the dry cleaning,” he pleads. 

It’s the first instance of sincerity he’s experienced since he entered the building. “Another drink will suffice, thank you.”

Then he’s scurrying off, and Taehyung wonders if that’s a norm for the people here, having people rush around to fulfil your requests. It’s not something he can see himself getting used to, at least not anytime soon. 

He’s patting the damp part of his jacket with his own handkerchief when the other man returns, a singular glass of champagne in his hand, that he offers to Taehyung.

“Where’s yours?” he asks.

With a dumbfounded look on his face, he asks. “My what?”

“Your drink, I wasn’t asking you to get me a drink. I was prompting you to share a drink with me,” he clarifies, pushing a stubborn blonde strand away from his eyes. 

Realisation dawns and a slow smile rises. Taehyung feels his own cheeks colouring at the sight. Wordlessly, he turns on his heel, only to return less than a minute later with a drink in hand. 

“So, how does one become a gala photographer?” Taehyung inquires.

Said photographer awards him a lowly chuckle. “That the best pick up line you got?”

“Who says it’s a pickup line? I’m just bored out of my mind, and you seem like the only other person here without a silver spoon in their mouths and a stick up their ass.” The admission is uttered as effortlessly as an exhale. 

“Fair enough.”

They move to a more secluded area, near the stairs. Taehyung can’t help the blissful sigh that escapes him once his weight isn’t on the heels - of his feet and Chelsea boots. 

“Okay so if the how is off-limits how about the why?” 

He shrugs, “It’s a nice place to meet pretty rich guys.”

“If this is an attempt to flirt with me, which would be rather hypocritical considering your previous comment on my so-called pickup line, I regret to inform you I am a mere middle-lower class citizen,” he says in mock sadness, bitterness slightly tinging his words. 

If the other man notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Actually, I was referring to that guy,” he says, very obviously gesturing to the first, random man he finds. He looks about 50 years their senior and he keeps hacking into a napkin. Not exactly his first choice for a suitor.

But he humours him, “So what I’m hearing is you’re into dilfs?”

“On the contrary, I aspire to be a dilf, it’s on my bucket list and everything.”

“What an… inspiring goal. Truly.”

It’s enough to get both of them to erupt into laughter that earns them a few stares, courtesy of the people passing them. 

“So dilf-to-be, do you have a name?”

“I do.” The boyish smile really works for him, dilf aspirations aside. “I also have a number.”

Taehyung hums. “How about you give me a name and I’ll do you one better and give you a number?”

 “Jeon Jeongguk,” he answers, syllables tumbling over each other as he rushes it out. 

It causes a grin to pull at his own mouth as he extends his hand, “Kim Taehyung.”

“You’re not going to ask for my number?” Taehyung prompts after a few beats have passed.

A shake of the head. “No, I’d like to earn it.”

“Very old school.”

“Dilf-in-training,” he replies, as if it’s all the explanation it needs.

Taehyung reaches for his third glass from a passing server’s tray when he purses his lips, thinking - or more accurately, recalling. “Wait, Jeongguk ?”

He knows that name, his brain knows that name, there’s just a maze in his memory between the recollection of the person and what he currently knows. Granted, Jeongguk is in no way an uncommon name in Korea - but the familiarity of his face makes it too much of a coincidence. 

And then he’s back in Daegu, he’s 23 and smitten for Park Seojoon. 

He gasps, “The enemy!”

Jeongguk’s face is a question and he takes the moment to really look at him - and yes, that’s him, without a doubt. Gone is his long hair tied back with an elastic band, as he now sports a clean-undercut, dark hair combed out of his face with only a few strands falling over his forehead. He looks neat, handsome. Grown up. But his eyes are still as big as they are beautiful. 

“A karaoke room, New Year’s Eve in Daegu, in 2018. Ring any bells?”

His confusion persists and then his face gives way to surprise - eyebrows shooting up and mouth forming an ‘o’. “Hold up,” he looks at him, concentrates on him. “Taehyung, Namjoon’s friend Taehyung?”

“Not the typical identifier, but yeah it’s me.”

A brief silence passes between the two of them before they simultaneously mutter. “I had a grudge against you for the longest time” and “God, I thought you were so pretty.”

To which they both cast questioning gazes. “You thought I was pretty?”

Jeongguk shrugs like it’s no big deal. But his cheeks are pink, and they’re not even tipsy. “Second prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”

It’s his turn to blush. He can’t remember ever picking up on that, but if he’s being completely honest the most he remembers of the night is arguing with Yoongi for his favourite colour gummy bears and the jealousy wreaking havoc in his mind. “You don’t say.”

“I thought I was pretty obvious honestly, with the song selection and giving you my jacket thing,” he admits. 

Taehyung’s breath hitches. “That was your jacket? I still have it, hanging at the back of my closet.”

“Good to know.” He smiles, somehow equal parts smug and fond. “So what about you, why the grudge?”

It’s embarrassing even thinking about it, his mild resentment for a stranger. But, for whatever reason, he feels like Jeongguk won’t judge so he says, “The guy I liked at the time was all over you that night so I disliked you, by proxy.”

He considers this. “Well, does the grudge still hold true?”

“I genuinely forgot about Seojoon a long time ago, so no, it doesn’t hold true.”

Jeongguk lets out a sigh of relief and Taehyung wonders what that means. 

“Who was the first?” he asks, after they’ve acquired two more glasses of champagne, each. 

Jeongguk makes a sound of question. When he downs one glass, he slowly places the other one on the staircase next to him as he crouches to sit on one of the steps himself. Taehyung doesn’t voice his questions such as ‘don’t you think whoever is hiring you isn’t going to appreciate you sitting when you’re supposed to be taking pictures?’ because he’s enjoying his company and selfishly, wants to hold onto it for as long as he can. Instead, he joins him, plopping down on the luxuriously soft carpeting. 

“Who was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen?” he elaborates.

Jeongguk gives him a lop-sided grin. “You’re not going to get jealous?”

It’s silly enough that they both giggle but an amused Taehyung lifts his hand and holds out his pinky, “I swear.”

When their pinkies interlock and the pads of their thumbs press together, it feels important. But neither of them can place why. 

“Well, to be completely honest, I don’t remember much of him. I was already teetering on the edge of drunkenness when I met him and then when we met I’m pretty sure I consumed enough alcohol that it became part of my DNA.” Then his tone drops an octave or two, eyes getting all serious. “But I remember feeling every single atom in my body vibrate having someone like that’s eyes on me, someone so alive. It made him all the more beautiful.”

And suddenly Taehyung feels like an intruder, peeping into a story that wasn’t meant for others to see. Especially when Jeongguk holds that person in such high regard, so close to his heart, it doesn’t seem like something a stranger should know. 

Yet, he can’t help but ask. “So what happened?”

“Who knows?” Wistful words. “All I know is I met someone on the day I turned 18, he rescued me from swaying like a dumbass on the dance floor, I had a blue drink that I’m pretty sure was glow-in-the-dark, did a shot off his collarbones and then never saw him again.” When he finishes he exhales audibly as if the simple retelling of the events of the night winded him. 

“The drink, was it called an aviation?” Taehyung asks - fragments of memories of meeting someone in the middle of a dance floor swirling around his thoughts, a loud and recognisable ‘it’s my birthday’ ringing in his ears. 

“Yeah, how’d you-”

His eyes get impossibly bigger, big enough that the earth could be classified as having two moons. Tae, the single syllable he mulled over for weeks, rushes back. 

Taehyung. Tae. Tae hyung.

Oh. 

“It’s you.” It’s both a question and a realisation. 

Taehyung blinks. Once. Twice. A dozen times. “It’s me ?”

He looks at him a lot like Taehyung had been looking at the brunet earlier, with an intensity only the sun could match. The process reminds him of poetry class with his teacher in 11th year who always insisted that there were things we knew within the unknown, all you needed to do was look. So he looks, and he imagines them in different lighting, and he can see it. The shadows cast by the bridge of his nose and the length of his eyelashes onto his cheek, those hands moving around animatedly, and if he concentrates - the collarbones under his shirt: flowery, nutty and warm under his tongue. His hair is no longer silver, his eyes aren’t blue and his attire is a complete 180 - but it’s him.

Taehyung sees the way his eyes darken as his gaze travels, and the memory rushes back in so vividly he might have stumbled if he wasn’t sitting. 

“It’s a small world,” the older comments. It's lame, he’s aware. But he’s so awestruck at their discovery, thinking up something clever to say feels like an impossible task. 

Jeongguk still looks like he’s trying to process everything when he says. “It’s ironic in a way, how you were holding a grudge towards me when about two years prior I was holding a grudge towards you too.”

He stays silent, waits for him to explain. 

“Heartbreak always feels so life-ending when you’re a teenager, even in the last hours of it, it seems.” His voice is far away, as if only his body is seated next to Taehyung, the essence of him outside that club at 3 am, shoes scuffing against the asphalt. 

"Heartbreak huh?" 

Jeongguk laughs, it takes over the whole of his face, teeth on display. It's a sight. "Bruised ego, bruised heart. It's all the same when you're young and stupid." It's in no way self-deprecating, and Taehyung is inclined to disagree. 

"If it helps, the only reason I didn't give you my number was that was my last day of freedom." 

Jeongguk casts him a sideways glance. 

"Enlistment," he says. "I was enlisting the following day." 

He gives a low whistle. 

"Yeah. Didn't really think it would do well for my pretty boy rankings, sporting a buzz cut and all."

"With a face like that, I think you could make it work." 

"Au contraire," he shivers, features pulled awry in horror. "I looked like an expired egg." 

This time they're both laughing, from their bellies, and it clashes against the sound of the orchestra streaming through the building, but neither of them can find it in them to care. 

"Well," Jeongguk starts, finally sobering up. "At least you know you're somehow first and second place for the most attractive person I've ever met." 

Taehyung raises his palm and places it over his heart, lifting a hand to his forehead. With a salute, he says, "I'll treasure the honour dearly." 

It makes Jeongguk push at his arm, playful but it has enough force that he notes that he is strong, very strong. Is very tempted to feel him up on that very same staircase. 

"I really like your rings," he says after a few moments, of them soaking in the coincidences they've been tangled in, passes. 

Taehyung, seemingly unconsciously, flitters his fingers. The silver jewellery gleaming, especially the amethyst in the one on his index finger a spectacular colour. 

"Thank you. Purple is my favourite colour you know." 

"I remember your nails too!" 

Taehyung raises a brow, "You don't remember my face, but you do remember my nails?" 

"It was the first time I'd seen a guy with painted nails," he shrugs. 

"Fair. I actually never liked the colour much as a kid, but then I bumped into this kid in kindergarten once. Spilt all my red paint - I'm pretty sure the only reason I remember this is because I've retold it so much and the unbridled rage my 6-year-old body felt. Anyway, all my red paint spilt onto this kid's shirt, and then I was forced to paint my hearts purple. "

"Oh, the horror!"

"Right! But eventually, I grew sort of attached to it and it became my thing. Purple."

Jeongguk hums like it's the most interesting piece of information he's ever heard and Taehyung's grateful for it. He’s pretty sure a conversation like that with anyone else in this place would either have them checking out halfway or raising a rather unimpressed brow at the frivolousness of the story. 

“Poor kid though, I remember he was completely devastated about that blue shirt,” Taehyung laments. 

“Blue?”

“Blue. I remember because y'know red and blue make purple.” 

Jeongguk’s eyes bulge out, it makes him sort of look like a fish, and Taehyung’s just about to tease him about it when he says, “That was me!”

“You?”

“The kid in the blue t-shirt you dumped your red paint on.”

He’s pretty sure his face must mimic the younger’s expression, because no way. No way they’ve met this many times throughout their lives with no clue. 

“What the hell?”

Jeongguk’s head bobs up and down. “Right. This is so weird. Like someone freaky friday’ed us or something.”

Thereafter, they walk each other through each other’s childhoods and discover even more encounters; the incident at the sneaker store that had Jeongguk sulking for weeks on end, Jeongguk taking Taehyung’s #1 at their local gaming cafe, their pets brawling at a community picnic when they were toddlers. 

“Just to put it on the record, Soonshim was completely innocent!” Taehyung defends, even more furiously defending his honour since he’d passed on years ago. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Stark simply defended herself.”

He huffs, of course he’d say that. A beat passes and he thinks they must be the two most stubborn people to exist - extending a two-decade-old grudge. 

“You said his name was Soonshim right? Any chance he was a Korean jindo?”

Taehyung finishes the last of the champagne in his glass. “How’d you know?”

“No fucking way,” he mutters, mostly to himself. The older watches the way he drags his fingers over his mouth and then his jaw. 

Curious, he knocks his knee against Jeongguk’s, “What?”

“Your dog scarred me for life. Literally.” He sounds incredulous.

Taehyung scoffs, “What are you on about? ”

So Jeongguk retells a story that had become a running joke in the Jeon family, forever memorialised in the journal his mother kept when he was younger. He tells him about how the dog had bared his teeth at him, and ever the ‘brave’ 2 year old, Jeongguk had bared his teeth right back - granted two were missing on top and one in the bottom - but that to diminish his anger. He explains how much his throat hurt from crying when he realised he was bleeding and how he’d refused to even look at the boy, who they both now knew was Taehyung himself, who came to fetch his dog. All of this, he says with so much emotion, one would swear it was taken straight from his own memories and not the aged pages of the journal his mom had shared with him.

To his benefit, Taehyung doesn’t laugh at him. He does lean in to get a better look at the scar, and then as if that wasn’t enough, he slowly reaches out. But his fingers hover as if asking for permission - to which Jeongguk tilts his chin to give him access to the small cicatrix on his cheekbone. The pads of his fingers are soft and cold against his cheek. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes still on the scar. "Want me to kiss it better?" 

Jeongguk chokes on a cough. He knows Taehyung's words are dripping with tipsy carelessness. Doesn't know him well enough to be absolutely certain, but has a feeling these are not just words said so thoughtlessly.

His reaction makes Taehyung giggle. 

"I think I'm good," he manages. 

It's then that someone Taehyung doesn't recognize asks for him, and he remembers Jeongguk is working the event. He considers, for a second, shadowing him. It could be fun, leaning over his shoulder as he snaps a picture, offering unsolicited advice on angles just to rile him up a bit. But he eventually decides against it, content on his spot on the stairs. 

Instead, he watches Jeongguk, from where he's seated - hands folded on his lap as he waits for another waiter with a tray to pass. Each step is deliberate, not a moment of aimless standing, as he moves from cluster to cluster. Jeongguk just seems to know where is needed and makes his way over. At this distance, he can really take in his form, his figure. His shoulders are broad, highlighted by his cinched waist now on display that he isn't wearing his coat jacket. Lean muscle strains against his shirt and material across his pants, and Taehyung is hit with a sudden - oh, he's grown up beautifully . 

His eyes travel north, over his Adam's apple and defined jawline, the little baby fat still clinging onto his cheeks and landing on the side profile of his nose. He reaches out a hand, and in the air in front of him, traces the shape of it in the air.

And he finds himself back in his senior year of high school, at the back of the class, and he's drawing a portrait. It's of someone vaguely familiar, a junior in their school, sitting pretty in the front of his class.

He specifically remembers how giddy he was when he'd gotten his nose right, the way it dipped sharply at the peak of the bridge. He'd never drawn anyone with a feature so aesthetically satisfying to him and when he nailed it, he almost pumped a victorious fist in the air. 

When he blinks he's back on the stairs and he narrows his eyes. It's not impossible, now that he knows they lived in the same area. But, it is unlikely. 

Then again, everything about their realisations felt unlikely, so that didn't seem to hold much weight. 

So when Jeongguk returns to his spot next to him, he asks him if he'd ever modelled to be drawn, and surprise surprise—he had. 

"Go figure." 

Jeongguk doesn't remember much about the day other than feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious. "Why?" 

"I was one of the kids in the class, I remember drawing you. I'm pretty sure I tried to talk to you after the class too but you brushed me off." 

He frowns, he didn't consider himself the most approachable person in high school, but he was by no means rude. He tries to concentrate, to remember anything, but comes up short. 

"I wanted to compliment you on your nose," Taehyung adds as if he can see the way he's trying to conjure up a memory. 

Oh. That makes more sense. If there's one thing that really got Jeongguk checking out of a conversation, when he was in high school, it was mentions of his nose. 

"You… wanted to compliment me?" 

"Yeah, I really like your nose. It's really satisfying to draw." 

Jeongguk feels a blush creep up his neck, burning up his cheeks. 

"But you practically sprinted away so I never got to tell you." 

It only makes his face warmer. "I was really insecure about my nose when I was younger, it was pretty big. Especially for my face." 

"It had character," Taehyung counters. 

The younger rolls his eyes. "High schoolers don't date noses with character."

"High schoolers date noses?" By the amused tilt of his grin, he's being purposefully obtuse. 

"You know what I mean." 

Taehyung nods. "My friends used to call me Dumbo. As a term of endearment." 

Jeongguk’s brow furrows. 

"Because my ears were big." 

The younger tilts his head to inspect his ears, it's endearing, how he makes no effort to be surreptitious. 

"They seem pretty normal-sized to me," he notes after some investigation. 

"Guess I grew into them," Taehyung remarks, then after a beat, "we both did." 

"Isn't it weird, how entangled we are in each other's lives without even knowing it?" 

"I think what's even more strange is how every single time we've met it's left at least one of us with a grudge, or at least some ill feelings." 

"The universe is conspiring for us to be enemies, I think." 

Taehyung gives him a look. Face blank. "I don't think the universe cares much about two random kids from Daegu." 

Jeongguk shrugs. "I'm just saying there are too many coincidences for them to just be coincidences." 

"Suppose I humour this idea, how do we navigate this fated life of contention?" 

"Well we could part ways forever and hope to never have an unfortunate run-in again or we could go out on a date and if anything goes wrong - we simply blame it on the universe and try again." 

"What if the problem is we don't have chemistry?" 

Jeongguk regards this for a moment. "That won't be a problem,” he ultimately decides.

His self-assurance makes it hard for Taehyung to stifle his smile. So he lets it loose, and it takes over his face. "I don't know if my schedule can handle an unlimited amount of dates." 

"We can work around it." 

"Can I ask why you seem so keen?" 

"Not a lot of people can say they've met one person over 10 times in the same life, I'd like to think that means something." 

"Even if we're destined to hold grudges?” 

"Even then."