Chapter Text
2022
September 9th
Namjoon was quoting Karl Marx when he told Jeongguk once that all great historical facts appear twice: the first time as tragedy and the second as farce. It might have been a misquote, or Jeongguk might be overestimating his own importance in the grand scheme of things, but considering that he and Jimin are both worldwide known, top-tier tennis players, he wonders if what is happening now qualifies as a historical farce.
He can't believe he let himself be fooled again, by the same person, under similar circumstances. With only one blow, Jimin managed to hit his pride and his confidence. Jeongguk will not admit to the strike to his heart. But it hurts, not only in his chest but everywhere, and Jeongguk will drag himself out of this stadium if he needs to, but he won't stay a single moment within a five-kilometer radius of Jimin anymore.
As if summoned, his rival dashes into the recovery room. Jeongguk clutches his sides closely and gets up, and Jin doesn't need to be told a single word before carrying Jeongguk's bags to accompany him on the way out.
"Wait, Jeongguk! This is not what you think it is,” he pants. “Please let me explain."
Jeongguk turns around, runs his eyes over his distressed features—beautiful, so damn beautiful. A trick on logic, a honey trap set to deceive.
"We have nothing to talk about, Park. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? It is what it is."
"It's not like that. This is the farthest thing from what I wanted. Jeongguk—don’t you remember the things we talked about? What we did together? I would never do this."
“Apparently you would.”
“I wouldn’t,” Jimin shakes his head. His eyes well up with tears, and he wipes one that slips past the seam of his eyes. Jeongguk’s heart clenches, but then he remembers it’s fake.
It’s not real. Stop looking.
“You have to believe me, Gguk-ah.”
Believe him? After everything? But the thing is, Jimin is good at what he does. He cries, the sniffles increasing in frequency the longer Jeongguk takes to reply. Coaches, hitters, physios, staff, press, guests, ball boys and girls; they’re all filtering into the room and taking in the scene, but Jimin isn’t hindered by it in the slightest.
Acting. This is just a farce. 'Gotta keep your adversary guessing. One up them,’ remember? He said that. You’re just another person he’s lying to, Jeongguk.
"I actually hope you win on Sunday. Get that trophy if you want it so fucking much. Fucking marry it. And then pretend we never met, because that's exactly what I'm gonna do, starting today."
Jeongguk wonders what’s in it for Jimin this time, why he wants to keep the lie going after it’s served its purpose. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The cycle has finished, everything played out the way it should, twice between them. It is what it is.
He takes one last look at the face of the person who for the past nine years he’s wanted to destroy just because he couldn’t become one with it. The worst thing is that there’s still a part of him that wants to be with Jimin. But even that part isn’t enough to make him stay, so he doesn’t.
When Jeongguk leaves, Jimin doesn't follow.