Archive of Our Own ^beta

NGC 6503

"Jungkook? We've been expecting you."

Jungkook looks up with a tight smile, walking towards the receptionist's desk. He hands the woman a stack of forms with sweaty hands, wiping them on the sides of his jeans when her eyes flicker down curiously. It’s too late — she’s already seen them. "That’s me. I hope I'm not late."

"Not at all," she reassures cheerfully. She's bright-eyed and pleasant, with curly hair that sticks out in all directions. It’s too wild to be natural but too messy to be done professionally, her bangs held back by a purple clip — a controlled kind of chaos that matches the organization on her desk, or rather, lack thereof. She types something on her computer before turning back towards him. "Dr. Kim is always running behind schedule anyway. That's just how he is. Even if you show up late, he's probably going to be later than you."

She speaks casually like Dr. Kim is someone familiar to them — someone they both know. Jungkook laughs politely because he feels like that’s what he’s supposed to do, and it hangs suspended in the air between them, an invisible cloud of heavy smoke. He glances down at the front of his shirt to check for stains, tapping his fingers nervously against his pockets. The room is warm, making the frames of his glasses fog up. The woman's face blurs behind the frames. It’s like looking at someone through aquarium glass.

"Dr. Kim will meet with you in a moment. Go ahead and let yourself into his lab. He'll join you when he's ready,” she says cheerfully, and Jungkook nods.

She doesn't mention the reason he's here. 

Jungkook wonders if she knows. He searches her face for any suggestion of recognition, but all he sees is kindness. He wonders what his case file says on her computer, but it’s something kept strangely from himself. It’s not for him to see, and he’s never had the courage to ask.

The woman leads him over to a door marked with a plaque that reads DR. KIM, and under it, DEPARTMENT OF PSYCHOLOGY. She unlocks it with a key and holds it open, shutting it behind Jungkook with a soft click. It’s over in seconds, too quick for his brain to calibrate. Too quick to adjust to the change in temperature, the change in smell. 

Then, he's alone.

The room is a small university lab managed by a handful of professors and researchers tucked at the back of the mostly quiet building. The equipment is outdated and the tables have started to show signs of wear, but it reminds Jungkook of when he was an undergraduate student at this same university. A handful of microscopes are stuffed into a corner, and there's a rack of plants growing under a buzzing fluorescent light, making the room uncomfortably humid despite the draft sweeping under the door. Sweat beads under Jungkook’s collar. He guesses the university never got around to fixing the exhaust fans.

Arabidopsis, he recalls faintly, looking at the curled, green leaves. Used in most of the first-year labs. These ones are suffering from fertilizer burn. He’s surprised he remembers after how poorly he did in his second-year plant physiology class. He barely scraped by with a C.

A clock is mounted on the wall above him, ticking softly. It reads half-past five. It’s late afternoon, so most classes have finished for the day. He wonders if Dr. Kim lectures, too, or if he uses the university strictly for research. He hadn’t thought to search his name under the university’s alumni. It would feel like overstepping, in a way, even though it shouldn’t. It’s there for a reason, but it felt intrusive to look after graduation like that door had shut itself and locked behind him on his way off the stage.

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, Jungkook takes a seat at one of the tables, waiting for Dr. Kim to arrive. 

He doesn't like meetings like this. 

Jungkook had seen the research opportunity on the subway when he was coming home from work. The advertisement for the study was covered with a bright stock image of a galaxy, milky and blue. The text was bolded in white, filling the page as it spelled out:

ARE YOU EXPERIENCING UNREQUITED LOVE? HAVE YOU SUFFERED UNEXPLAINED OR UNUSUAL SIDE EFFECTS?

Tacky, was his first thought. A quickly pieced-together advertisement from a student struggling to meet a deadline. At first, Jungkook thought it was a joke, and seeing it made his heart twinge. But, his eyes lingered on the washed-out print of the galaxy as the subway slowed to a stop, the screech of metal on metal grating through the tunnel. The doors slid open, and when Jungkook stood up to step through the doors, he snapped a quick picture of the poster on his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

Then, he forgot about it.

Living near campus, Jungkook is used to seeing advertisements for research, usually, thesis projects run by graduate students. Jungkook never signed up for them even when he could’ve, and he blames his anxiety, though a part of him knows it’s more than that. He’d been part of running one himself and remembers the tightness in his chest interviewing the patients. The compensation had been fifty dollars in gift cards, and Jungkook thinks it was a pitiful reward for sacrificing so much dignity. 

He hadn’t gotten a very good mark on the project, but he never looked at his professor’s feedback to find out why.  

Jungkook told himself he didn’t care about the poster — that it was only a joke made by a student to mock the other research advertisements littering the floor of the subway station, muddied with footprints and the damp smell of earth and sweat. It was notorious for that — fake advertisements and graffiti where real ones had been torn down. 

Jungkook only remembered it when he was swiping through his camera roll to find photos he took at the beach. His fingers froze over the picture, zooming in and out on the pixelated stars. Maybe as an instinct from using his phone too much, his fingers spread across the screen above the letters at the top to read. 

ARE YOU EXPERIENCING UNREQUITED LOVE? HAVE YOU SUFFERED UNEXPLAINED OR UNUSUAL SIDE EFFECTS?

If you are experiencing any of the listed symptoms as a result of unrequited love:

headaches

dizziness

fatigue

or any other unexpected side-effect

You may be eligible to participate in a research project studying a novel disease. Must be aged 18-65. All participants will be compensated for their time.

At the very bottom of the poster were a phone number and an e-mail. 

It didn’t seem like a joke, and yet, Jungkook treated it like one when he applied. A coping mechanism, maybe, or blunt curiousity. 

Too shy to call, he’d opted for the latter option. He kept it brief, giving only his name and contact information, stating he preferred to discuss his symptoms in person. 

Someone had emailed him back the next day with a list of appointments for Jungkook to choose from. They explained that the research project was being managed by a professor named Dr. Kim at the university. Not a student, like he originally thought. It was a private, closed study with a limited pool of patients and selection was only guaranteed after an introductory interview. The e-mail didn’t disclose the criteria.

It’s the most anxious Jungkook has been for an interview in years. Since moving out of his parent's house, he’s purposely avoided things like his doctor and the counsellor he met through school, cutting them off entirely. Too introverted to apply for jobs, he stayed at the one he got through an internship, even though it’s never made him happy — even though he gets the sense his boss wishes he’d just finally quit.

But Jungkook likes to stay in one place, unchanging, unmoving. He doesn’t like to leave his bubble.

Like this, he’s managed to drift through his life without confronting the things that make him anxious. And yet, he doesn’t remember the last time he wasn’t anxious.

Has living like this really made it easier? Or has it only made it harder?

Jungkook's startled out of his thoughts at the sound of the doorknob turning. The door swings open, revealing a tall, slender man in a starchy, white lab coat. A pair of thin, wire-frame glasses perch on the edge of his nose, giving him a serious, intelligent appearance. When he sees Jungkook, his face stretches into a smile and his eyes light up.

"Hello," he says. He places a clipboard on a desk marked DR. KIM squished into the corner of the room and pulls a pen out from behind his ear to scribble something down. It’s missing its cap. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Jungkook forces a smile, considerably more strained than the one he'd given the receptionist. When his heart starts to pound harder in his chest, he feels his hands starting to sweat again in his lap. Oblivious to Jungkook's anxiety, Dr. Kim approaches him with an outstretched hand, waiting to shake his. It takes Jungkook a moment to return it. When he does, Dr. Kim’s hand feels cold. 

He recognizes Dr. Kim’s face.

"Wait a moment," Dr. Kim says, doing a double-take when he sees Jungkook up close. "I recognize you! We went to school together, right?"

Jungkook nods shakily. He swallows, feeling a panic attack coming on. It’s a terrifying feeling — knowing it’s coming and not being able to do anything about it. His breath catches in his throat, clinging to the roof of his mouth. It doesn’t want to go down. No air in, no air out. "Yes. We were both in the neuroscience program. We took introductory psychology together, and then we were in a few of the same research modules,” he manages to say. It’s too easy to recall the memory that it comes out sounding rehearsed. Robotic. 

Dr. Kim blinks like he’s surprised Jungkook remembers. "Wow, I don't remember it that clearly, but I knew I recognized your face. How have you been?"

Jungkook wilts a little. "Things have been good. I've been working at an office for the last ten or so years. I really like it."

He doesn’t. It shows on his face. It always does.

Dr. Kim tilts his head. Jungkook knows what question is coming next. "You didn't go into anything related to research?"

Something inside Jungkook cracks a little. "No. I would've needed at least a Master's degree and everything is so competitive these days, so..."

There's an awkward pause. It’s a sensitive subject for Jungkook — one he avoids bringing up if he doesn’t have to. He’s been carrying the shame of not doing something with his degree ever since he left university. 

He doesn’t really talk about it with anyone. He doesn’t want to talk about it with Dr. Kim.

That’s not why we’re here, he wants to snap if just to get him to stop looking at him like that. But maybe, in a way, it is. 

"Well," Dr. Kim says, but there’s no judgment in his voice. "That makes sense." 

There’s another pause between them. It scratches at Jungkook’s nerves, leaving bruises in his chest.

“You work here now?” Jungkook asks, desperate to change the subject. 

Dr. Kim grins, taking the bait. “In exchange for having the space and funding for my research, I teach an upper-level course on the psychology behind love, sex, and attraction. It’s really interesting stuff. It’s what led to this project.”

Jungkook nods silently. Dr. Kim flips through a few pages on his clipboard before dragging over a stool in front of Jungkook to sit down. It scrapes over the tile, too loudly. He pushes up his glasses with his thumb, smearing the lens slightly. Jungkook has to rip his eyes away.

"So, let's get started, shall we?" Dr. Kim says cheerfully, seamlessly easing into business. “Do you mind if I tell you a little more about my research?”

“Please,” Jungkook says, flushing when his voice comes out thick. 

Dr. Kim looks excited. Jungkook can tell already that he’s passionate about his work, and it makes his heart lurch. He’s happy his classmate ended up doing what he wanted, even if Jungkook didn’t. A part of him wants to ask more, but it’s better if he doesn’t. Being happy for him doesn’t make it sting any less to be reminded he hasn’t done as well for himself.

“To keep it short, a while back I began investigating the concept of unrequited love. Almost everyone knows what it’s like to have someone not return our feelings at some point,” Dr. Kim says, pausing to smile. Jungkook wonders if it’s meant to be reassuring — a way of breaking down his walls. It has the opposite effect.

“In such cases,” Dr. Kim continues. “The patient experiences the expected side effects. Sadness, mild depression, loss of motivation, and so on. We’ve come to accept that as the body’s natural reaction to rejection, however upset they may be.”

Jungkook nods. 

“But,” Dr. Kim says, his voice rising an octave as his eyes widen. “What if there was more? What if there are certain situations in which the patient actually becomes inflicted with a chronic disease? One where their symptoms become unusual and severe, affecting their ability to function and live day-to-day life, surpassing the threshold which is considered normal. Early research has suggested that such a phenomenon could exist, we just don’t fully understand how it happens or how it’s cured.”

“A disease?” Jungkook parrots. Dr. Kim nods.

“The word disease sounds scary, but we don’t have a better term for it yet. By comparison, many things are considered a disease that arguably, shouldn’t be. In gathering patients who could be afflicted by this condition, however, we hope to better understand it. Right now, we are only at the very beginning of figuring out what we’re working with.”

Jungkook’s chest feels very small, and he sucks in a shaky breath. 

Dr. Kim glances down, oblivious. "I have a few notes written down here about you. Just some basic information like your medical history. You didn't give us details over email, but you said you're exhibiting odd symptoms in relation to unrequited love."

Jungkook nods again. Dr. Kim is bright and sunny, but it only makes the conversation slightly easier. Maybe it would be easier if it was anyone else "Yes."

Dr. Kim underlines something with his pen. "First of all, I'm sorry to hear that. It's always difficult working with cases like this because as exciting as they are from a research perspective, there's a degree of misery that comes with it, too. On the bright side, the goal of this research is to find a potential cure for your condition."

Jungkook looks away. He hasn't really thought long-term about his unrequited love. He wasn’t really sure what he thinking when he signed up for this, at all. 

Dr. Kim flips to a fresh page, scratching across the clipboard. "So, tell me, Jungkook. When did your symptoms begin?"

Jungkook takes a deep breath. It’s too loud, rattling in his chest like a jar of marbles that has tipped over. They pitter-patter to the pit of his stomach, rolling to the bottom. "I noticed them in college, actually." Dr. Kim’s eyes widen at that. Jungkook watches him do the mental math, realizing it’s been almost ten years. "Back then, the symptoms were mild. I'd wake up feeling fatigued, or I'd have symptoms of anxiety, like chest pain. I didn't think much of it because being in love can make you feel miserable. It's not always something deeper than that. Plus, I was in school, so it was only natural that I felt anxiety about assignments and exams."

The scraping of Dr. Kim’s pen on the paper fills the gaps between Jungkook's words. It sounds like mice chewing. Jungkook shivers.

"I ignored it for years, writing it off as isolated incidents. I blamed it on my job, on the stress of bills, or whatever felt fitting at the moment. It was easy to ignore because it didn't take up a big part of my life."

Dr. Kim nods slowly. His attention is centred on Jungkook, entirely focused. It’s disorienting. "What changed? What made you realize it was something more?"

Jungkook pauses. "I don't want you to write me off as a joke, Dr. Kim. I understand that there isn't a lot of research being done in this area and most doctors don't recognize it as a legitimate condition. Really, you're one of the only people to take a genuine interest in it, which is why I volunteered."

Dr. Kim’s back straightens at Jungkook’s words. Jungkook wonders if he’s doing it subconsciously, or if it’s just a strategy to make himself look open. To coax Jungkook to say more. It’s part of why Jungkook has always struggled with his psychiatrist — he’s always paranoid every movement means something else. 

Jungkook hesitates. "Maybe it's better if I just show you. I'm not really sure how to put it into words."

Dr. Kim looks surprised at that, but he pushes his stool back, giving Jungkook an encouraging nod. It’s an endless back and forth — the bobbing of their heads. "By all means, go ahead."

Jungkook takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He squeezes them to the point of being painful, waiting for the familiar burn behind his eyelids. It doesn't take long for his eyes to start watering, and when he opens them the room has started to blur — fuzzy around the edges like he’s looking through a magnifying glass. He blinks, letting a tear slide down the side of his cheek.

Dr. Kim's mouth parts in surprise. It’s soundless. 

Jungkook catches the tear on his thumb. It's iridescent, taking on almost an opal-like appearance when the colours catch the harsh laboratory lights, as brilliant as a suncatcher. If Jungkook peers deeper, he can see what looks like small galaxies caught inside it, swirling in orbit.

"This started to happen about a year ago."

"May I?" Dr. Kim asks, leaning in closer. 

When Jungkook holds out his thumb in permission, Dr. Kim takes off his glasses to get a better look. He’s visibly fascinated by it, gasping when the sparkles explode like a dying sun at the touch of his finger. The tear appears to evaporate into thin air, leaving Jungkook’s finger with only a smear of lingering wetness.

"I did a lot of Internet research. I know you're not supposed to do that, but I knew no doctor would take me seriously if I went to them,” Jungkook rambles. “I found a small group of people on a forum who claimed to be experiencing the same thing as me. They have all experienced unrequited love, too, as well as the symptoms listed on your poster."

Dr. Kim feverishly begins writing on his clipboard again. Jungkook pauses to let him finish. 

"They identified other symptoms, too. The longer they cried these stars, the worse their vision became. They started to need glasses, then a walking cane, before eventually becoming completely blind. They said instead of their eyes becoming milky and blue, they became black," Jungkook murmurs, losing confidence. He trails off, leaving it at that.

"That's fascinating," Dr. Kim murmurs. "Almost like a black hole.”

“A black hole?” Jungkook echoes.

Dr. Kim doesn’t seem to hear him. “Is it curable by laser eye surgery?"

Jungkook shrugs helplessly. "I don't think anyone’s ever gotten that far. There aren't many of us. At least, not that I know of."

“I mean, it’s been ten years,” Dr. Kim says carefully, a mixture of confusion and awe. “What made you sure it was because of unrequited love? For it to not improve at all…”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “I just know.”

Dr. Kim looks overwhelmed by the information. "Well, you certainly have a unique case, Jungkook. One that is very valuable to my research. I promise that unlike any doctors you may have encountered, I will take it very seriously. If you don't mind, please email me links to these forums you're a part of. I'd like to take a look."

"Okay," Jungkook says quietly. Dr. Kim’s voice sounds like water in his ears. He worries if he breathes, he’ll drown. 

"And your vision now, how is it?"

Jungkook stares down into his lap, the weight of his glasses digging into his nose. "It started to get worse at about the same time I started having the strange tears. I’ve had perfect vision all my life, but now I have trouble seeing things at a distance. It's not too bad right now, but—"

Dr. Kim frowns sympathetically. “You think it’s going to get worse.”

Jungkook nods. "Isn't it obvious that it will?"

Dr. Kim rests his pen and clipboard down on the desk and scoots forward, the legs of his stool dragging on the floor. He places a warm hand on Jungkook's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Hey, I'm gonna do what I can to help, okay? Your condition isn't helpless and your fate isn't written in stone. We can change this. You have more options than you think."

Jungkook fades away, giving into his tendency to dissociate whenever the attention is on him. Instead of hearing Dr. Kim’s words, he’s drawn to the way the professor’s legs stick out from the stool, oversized and gangly. It looks like something from a cartoon. 

Until now, Jungkook hadn't told anyone about his condition. His medical records are blank — his last appointment being a health check-up when he was still in college. He knew there was nothing a doctor could do to help him other than urge him to get over it. At best, they would’ve referred him to a therapist. Jungkook doesn’t trust himself to go. 

After almost ten years, Jungkook has accepted that whatever’s wrong with him isn’t going away. 

"Have you had success with patients in the past?" Jungkook asks. It's mostly out of curiosity — wondering who has sat in his place before, telling the same story.

Dr. Kim nods. "Most recover, but I'll be honest and say that all of my patients have milder symptoms than yours. I'm not a miracle worker, but I have a pretty good reputation with this stuff. I feel positive about your case."

Jungkook plays with the skin on the side of his thumb, red and raw from his incessant picking. He shifts his legs, knocking his knees together. What about the ones who don’t recover? "That's good to hear."

Dr. Kim finally takes his hand away. Jungkook had forgotten it was still on his leg, but he misses the warmth as soon as it's gone. "Thank you for taking the first step in meeting me. That's the hardest part."

Jungkook tries to nod, but his head feels stuck. He speaks before he can stop himself. “And what actually is the disease? The one I might have?”

Dr. Kim pauses, and Jungkook senses he’s hesitating. He doesn’t want to tell Jungkook, but it’s the truth or risk losing his trust. He chooses the former. “I believe it’s the human’s way of self-destructing in response to emotional grief. A psychological disorder in which mental function becomes so compromised the body starts to suffer. And while a psychiatrist may write that off as depression, this goes deeper. It’s the body’s attack on its own systems.”

“Does it have a name?” Jungkook asks, surprised when all he feels is empty. 

Dr. Kim shakes his head. “I haven’t decided on one yet. Right now, it has no name.”

It’s the end of the conversation. 

On the subway home, Jungkook hangs his head low, avoiding the flickering lights of the train. With every shift of the cart, he can feel the glasses on his nose dig a little deeper into his skin. They still feel unfamiliar to him — like he’s watching the world through a window instead of existing in it. If he's in a hurry, he'll forget to put them on, only noticing they're missing when he has to squint to make out the writing on his computer screen. 

He doesn’t want to accept them as a part of himself. Not when he’s gone so long without needing them.

When Jungkook reaches his apartment, he tosses his coat onto the arm of his couch and kicks off his shoes, letting them fall into a haphazard pile. He used to keep them lined up neatly, but now it’s an afterthought. Something he doesn’t even consider.

Seeing Dr. Kim today resurfaced old memories Jungkook has been trying to forget for years.

Kim Taehyung is his name. Jungkook had been careful not to use it during their meeting — scared to say it out loud because acknowledging it would make it real . 

Had he known Taehyung was the one leading the research project, he wouldn't have gone. He thinks it's an act of sick, cruel irony that he'd meet Taehyung again after so much time has passed since university. 

Jungkook thought when he graduated, it would be over. 

His feelings for Taehyung started back when they were taking the same classes. There was no assigned seating, but Taehyung would sit in the same seat beside Jungkook every day, and Jungkook would glance at the side of his face when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes they would share a pen or a calculator, or talk about how they think they did on the quiz, and Jungkook thought about those moments too much.

It was too embarrassing to admit to himself.  

Taehyung had no trouble making friends, and he was the only person Jungkook ever felt comfortable talking to in that class. Jungkook's heart would beat a little faster every time Taehyung would smile and laugh, as brilliant as the sun, warm even after the trees would start to curl into themselves and wilt through the lecture hall windows. Jungkook’s crush was childlike and innocent; the kind of infatuation he associates with love songs — unselfish and delicate. 

Jungkook let himself daydream.

He expected the light, fluttery feelings to pass as soon as the semester ended, but they didn't. He kept seeing Taehyung around campus, and each time he saw him he'd feel the same rush of endorphins, dizzying and warm. He started to get a little addicted to it, waiting in the library where Taehyung would sit so they could study together, hoping Taehyung would ask him to get coffee after class. They never truly became close friends, but just being around Taehyung was enough to make Jungkook feel a little less cold.

When it started to snow and Jungkook started wearing a scarf tucked into the collar of his coat where the zipper didn’t go all the way up, they bumped into each other at the campus bar. Jungkook was alone, sitting on the edge of someone else’s conversation listening in, drinking a watered-down cocktail with too much ice next to a bartender who didn’t believe he was really nineteen.

It’s weird to go to bars alone, but Jungkook didn’t know if it was a curse or a blessing that no one cared when it was him. He remembers scraping at the side of his glass with his straw, the pink paper umbrella starting to sag where liquid had splashed. It melted in his hand.

“Hi! Jungkook?”

The surge in Jungkook’s chest is warm. Familiar. He doesn’t have time to hide his smile before Taehyung is pulling him into a hug like they’re friends, small, powdery clumps of snow falling into Jungkook’s lap with his heart. He hugs Taehyung back awkwardly with one arm, never really knowing what to do in that situation.

“Hi,” Jungkook says, biting his lip where it threatens to curl up. He spins the pink paper umbrella between his fingers to give them something to do. “What’s up?”

“Just meeting with some friends,” Taehyung says breathily. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, soft black hair falling in front of his eyes. He’d gotten it cut recently, so now all Jungkook can focus on are his eyes. Maybe it was a bad idea to look. “You?”

Jungkook shrugs helplessly. He could have lied, but sometimes he thinks he’s so forgettable there’s no point. He won’t linger in Taehyung’s memories. “I’m just having a drink before I go back to the dorms.”

Taehyung smiles, sliding into the chair next to him. The bar is crowded, but space opens up for Taehyung wherever he goes. “Are you sure? Do you wanna stick around and meet some of my friends? It’s still early.”

And the foolish part of Jungkook wants to leap on the idea — worm his way into Taehyung’s circle where he’ll be noticed and get to soak up Taehyung’s attention for a little longer, but he knows it’s a bad idea. It’s a bad idea because once Taehyung gets to know him, he might not like him as much anymore. It’s easier to be a stranger — there’s nothing for Taehyung to judge.

“That’s okay, maybe next time,” Jungkook says, knowing Taehyung will just forget. He sees the thought flicker and pass over Taehyung’s face before it disappears, and in a few minutes, it’ll be like the conversation never happened. 

“Don’t be so shy,” Taehyung teases, reaching over the bar to squeeze Jungkook’s arm. It’s an innocent touch, but all Jungkook can feel is the sensation of his fingers through his coat, warm and gentle. “It would be a waste if we sat together all semester just to say goodbye like that.”

But the alternate is drawing it out longer — hanging onto Taehyung until the friendship fizzles out. Jungkook’s sexuality isn’t something he’s ever told anyone, and he doesn’t know enough about Taehyung to know if it’s worth the risk of trying, or even just letting him know. Every option is dangerous. 

Someone calls Taehyung’s name, and like that, he’s gone, slipping out of the chair. His elbow accidentally nudges Jungkook’s drink, causing it to ripple, rising and falling like an ocean swell. Jungkook feels like a fish trapped in the glass, waiting for the current to pull him under. 

When he walks back to the dorm drunk, half-past midnight and warm with too many feelings that want to burst out, he flops onto his back on the grass to look up at the sky, ignoring the chill of the snow underneath. His stomach is starting to churn with the urge to throw up and everything is spinning. The sky is the only thing that’s sobering.

He counts the stars one by one, keeping track before the clouds move over and bury them under their mist. 

A week later, he hears one of his classmates talking about how Taehyung started dating a girl from his tennis class. 

Jungkook didn't think you could fall in love with someone you didn't really know. Taehyung was almost a stranger — someone passing by in Jungkook’s life just to fall between the cracks. His presence was fleeting and bright — like a star before it goes out. Jungkook doesn’t understand why he had such a hard time letting go.

Maybe it was because Taehyung was one of the only people to be truly kind to him. He was one of the only people that really noticed Jungkook, even if it was only on the surface. Jungkook filled a space in lectures and did his role in labs, but he never really became someone like Taehyung did. His degree hangs on his wall, representing nothing other than the four years he attended long enough to have his name in writing. 

Their lives had briefly crossed, intertwined, and Jungkook never forgot.

Why him? Jungkook used to wonder, but then the question became why not him? Why would it be anyone else when there was no one else? Jungkook never met enough people for there to be anyone else. 

The tightness in his chest began only a day after graduation, hitting him in full force when he tried to sit up in bed. Jungkook had stood over his sink for what felt like hours, struggling to suck in air. With shaking hands, he'd shoved open the window and stuck his head out in the cool air to gasp for breath. It took a while for the feeling to pass, but he still called off sick from work, confused and afraid. He was too out of it to understand what his boss was saying, only making out a short apology before hanging up. 

Taehyung was, pathetically, one of the only things Jungkook had left to think about. He had no other memories to hold onto from university — no friends, no close professors, or clubs he belonged to. Taehyung was the only stamp on his record in those four years, so Jungkook didn’t feel too guilty for still holding onto him. 

Still, he didn’t blame Taehyung for the pain in his chest at first. He blamed it on the overwhelming emptiness of walking across the stage with his diploma, quietly getting into his mom’s car just to realize that this is really it. It’s over, and now he has to move on. 

Jungkook used to think there wouldn’t be anything more hopeless than the feeling of walking into an exam, but when he sat on the cold leather of the car seat as his mother reversed out of the campus parking lot for the last time, he realized there were much worse feelings. University was miserable, but he could depend on it. It was unchanging and familiar. 

He’d give anything to go back to it now. 

The pain in his chest came back again and again until Jungkook got used to it — even beginning to expect it on days he didn’t eat enough, sleep enough. He got used to the headaches too, and the days when it was impossible to get out of bed. He knew a doctor would've given him medication for it if he asked, but going that far felt like acknowledging there was a problem.

Jungkook didn't want to believe there was a problem. He didn’t want to think that it had anything to do with Taehyung.

His life stabilized, and Jungkook learned to live with it. He held a steady job and made his rent on time. He went on dates a few times a year, and let himself be invited out to dinner with coworkers and family until people got the hint he wasn’t really there. 

Jungkook got comfortable with being alone, too.

It took until the fourth blind date for him to put two and two together, and maybe he knew all along that what he was going through was heartbreak — he just didn’t want to see it. The girl he’d been set up with was one of Taehyung’s ex-girlfriends — not the one from his tennis class but a girl who used to go to the same gym as him. She was beautiful and put-together, organized in a way Jungkook could never seem to be. 

Normally, Jungkook wouldn’t have agreed to go out, but he was still in denial about himself, desperate to find any kind of normality to feel a little less like an outsider. 

She picked him up in a silver Jeep, stepping out in a pale blue pantsuit with earrings long enough to brush her shoulders. Her skin was darker than Jungkook remembered — browned from the sun from a two-week vacation in Spain with her family. Bubbly and sweet, she was the kind of person that anyone could like, regardless of their type. 

“I remember you,” she had said, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair — bleached blonde like an actress from a movie. “From university. You were pretty quiet, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook had laughed, trying to play it off, but all he’d done so far is look out the window, his body turned away from her. Thinking about how Taehyung had once liked her enough to take her out on nights like this.

“You haven’t changed at all,” she joked. “That’s okay. I’m into mysterious, moody guys.”

“You dated Taehyung for a few months,” Jungkook pointed out, not realizing how out of place saying something like that was.

She looked at him strangely then, before laughing nervously like she thought it was a jab. “That was forever ago, I haven’t talked to him in almost two years. What about him?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says, because that’s all it should be. “I just remembered all of a sudden. I haven’t spoken to him since graduation.”

The thought didn’t leave for the rest of the date, and when she tried to kiss him at the end of the night, it all felt wrong. 

It was embarrassing to think that Jungkook had become someone like this. The more he thought about Taehyung and the date, the more he started to admit to himself that yeah, none of this is healthy, but knowing it doesn’t make it go away any easier.

He’d debated messaging him, if just for closure, but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to look up Taehyung’s social media out of shame, afraid of what he might see. Afraid of who Taehyung might be in love with now.

While everyone else had moved on, Jungkook was still stuck in the same place, suspended in orbit around someone he barely knew. 

It took a few more years for him to feel anything other than the occasional breathless panic attack in his bathroom. By then, Jungkook could forget the cause — could almost forget Taehyung entirely. He lost his virginity, shotgunned beer at a party with his coworkers, and went to the gym for a few months until the payments for his membership started bouncing back. 

He thought he was delirious when he saw the first glittering tear run down his cheek at the end of a sad movie. His chest tightened in a way it never had before, and Jungkook fumbled for a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, swallowing them dry before looking down at his fingers, sparkling and wet from the tears.

There were stars in them. 

Jungkook had spent hours researching what could be wrong with him, and when he found the forum of other people going through the same thing, the only other thing they had in common was unrequited love. Like everything in Jungkook’s life, it traced back to Taehyung, tying a red string between them that only became more and more tangled with time. 

Everything he’d felt up until now — all his years of suffering — were because of unrequited love, and there was no one Jungkook had ever had eyes for other than Taehyung.

That was when Jungkook finally allowed himself to check Taehyung’s social media just to find that he’d gotten married that day. He posted a smiling photo next to his wife, elegant and beautiful in a white dress. Jungkook blocked him before he could check the comments. 

He told himself to needed to start trying to move on. 

That was four years ago.

Why is this happening to me? Jungkook remembers thinking miserably, halfway through a bottle of wine in his apartment. The TV is on mute, playing an episode of a show Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to focus on. He became hyperaware of the yellow walls around him — tobacco-stained wallpaper from the tenant before him, clashing with the couch he bought just because it’s what he could afford. I don’t even know you. 

He’d called off work that day, too. 

Jungkook felt himself break all over again when he saw Taehyung again today. Seeing Taehyung in person has only made Jungkook more aware of how different they are. Taehyung had gone on to be successful, leading his university in research, and Jungkook had lost sight of the ambitions he had when he was a student. He isn't anything more than he was before he started.

It makes him feel like he’s failed. 

Jungkook knows he can’t tell Taehyung about his feelings for him — feelings that shouldn’t be there at all. Even though Jungkook is here as his patient, nothing good will come from confessing. Years ago, Jungkook might have wanted another chance. Now, he knows that door has closed.

All he can do is let himself be part of Taehyung's research. If he can be of some use to Taehyung, that's enough for him.

Jungkook takes off his glasses and rests them on the nightstand next to his bed. The room fades out of focus, the writing on his posters hazing over into a blur of colour. It's terrifying to imagine that one day his vision might worsen — that one day he might not see anything at all. 

There's no one he can confide in, no one he can ask for help other than faceless strangers on internet forums. He can talk to Taehyung, but Taehyung will never truly understand. Ten years of unrequited love isn’t something relatable he can share with someone. It doesn’t even make sense to himself. 

Taehyung is a star in the middle of the galaxy, millions of light years away from the next galaxy; within sight — but not in reach.

Jungkook flops back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The warm, fluttery feelings Jungkook had back in college have started to reignite in his stomach as if they’d only been in dormancy, waiting to resurface. It's been years since he's felt anything like this and it makes him feel like he's gone back in time. 

Only now, the feelings make him miserable. 

Their next meeting is arranged for the following week. It’s unspoken, but the implication is that he’s made it through the applications and been chosen as one of Taehyung’s patients. Jungkook shouldn’t be surprised, but he still stares at the e-mail for too long before closing the tab, pressing his hand over his chest and half-expecting a phantom twinge of pain. 

He knows it’s only self-destructive, but he puts a little more effort into his appearance this time, fixing the collar of one of his nicer button-downs and matching it with a pair of jeans he splurged on a few years ago back when was younger and cared about being seen. They're a little tight around his thighs now, but they make him feel more comfortable. More at home in his skin. 

He shaves before he leaves, adding a splash of aftershave and cologne before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. 

The receptionist gives him a friendly wave when she sees him. It's the same girl as last time, and she doesn't bother to check his ID before pointing at the door. Already, it’s become routine. Jungkook likes routines — routines are comfortable and familiar.

"Dr. Kim is running late again today," she says apologetically. "Just let yourself inside, he knows you'll be there."

"Thank you," Jungkook mumbles. He makes an effort not to stare at the ground, forcing himself to meet her eyes. He counts down the seconds until it’s acceptable to look away.

"You look nice today," she says in between the pause. The words are encouraging, but it only makes Jungkook aware of how transparent he’s been by dressing up. 

"Thank you," he says, unsure how to respond. Already, he’s self-conscious. "You look nice, too."

Her eyes crinkle up at the corners in a smile, almost like she thinks Jungkook is making a joke. Jungkook doesn't know how to fix it, so he quickly shuffles into the laboratory, relieved when the door shuts itself behind him. 

Taehyung is almost on time today. He breezes into the room like a hurricane, carrying a box of glass jars in his arms. They’re sticky with tape residue and half-rubbed marker. He rests them on a table and gives Jungkook a warm smile, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants. 

"Hello, Jungkook," he says brightly. "It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Jungkook says. He folds his hands in his lap nervously, feeling butterflies batter against his ribs. 

Taehyung is dressed casually today in a maroon long-sleeve shirt tucked into dark, fitted jeans. No lab coat this time, so Jungkook guesses he must have just finished a lecture, a detail he knows only from seeing his picture on the wall in the psychology building, posed with a group of students. He takes a seat in front of Jungkook, this time without his pen and clipboard.

"How are you feeling?" Taehyung starts.

"I'm doing well. Nothing has changed,” Jungkook says. His glasses dig into the bridge of his nose, and he adjusts them self-consciously. He can’t seem to stop fidgeting with them. 

Taehyung looks relieved. "I'm happy to hear that. I made up a daily check-in sheet for you to fill out online. It's completely digital and accessible from your phone. It tracks your symptoms and their severity."

Jungkook nods wordlessly.

Taehyung glances over his shoulder as he continues to fuss with the jars. They rattle against each other like a glass xylophone. "If you could complete it daily it would be a huge help to my research. I'll send it to your email after our session."

"Okay, thank you."

Jungkook's eyes wander down to Taehyung's hands, which move animatedly as he speaks. He hadn't noticed it last week, but on one of Taehyung's fingers is a gold wedding band. It makes Jungkook's stomach twist.

"You're married now?" Jungkook asks without thinking, cutting off what Taehyung was going to say. He already knew, so he doesn’t know why he asks. Maybe out of morbid curiosity — maybe hoping Taehyung will tell him more than what he saw in his Instagram post before blocking him.

A bit shyly, Taehyung flexes his fingers, looking down at the ring. He curls his hand into a fist and turns it away from Jungkook. "Yes, I got married a few years back." The words come out flat — sounding more like a matter-of-fact statement than anything else. Jungkook wonders if Taehyung’s bothered by the question — if he sees it as a breach of boundaries. He shrinks into himself with shame. He shouldn’t have said anything. 

"Congratulations," Jungkook says softly, trying not to look miserable. 

Of course, Taehyung would have been married by now. Love tends to gravitate around people like Taehyung. Now that he’s in his early thirties, Jungkook is one of the only people he knows that hasn't settled down and started a family yet. 

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, but it’s strained. Jungkook doesn’t miss the look of sadness in his eyes and it makes him prickle with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. He doesn’t want Taehyung to think just the mention of relationships is a sensitive subject for him.

Jungkook continues to stare as Taehyung organizes a stack of papers on the table. When he leans over, Jungkook can make out the tag on his shirt — an expensive brand that he recognizes from the mall. He wonders how much money Taehyung makes at the university. 

“Today, I want to take a closer look at the tears you’ve been crying,” Taehyung explains, his expression turning serious. “Specifically, I’d like to take a few samples in hopes of understanding why they’ve been affecting your vision, or if they’re the reason behind your worsening vision at all. Chemistry isn’t really my forté, but it’s a necessary evil. I brought a few jars to collect the samples.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says. He leans closer to take a look as Taehyung unscrews the cap on the jar. Taehyung grabs a pair of gloves from a box and slides them over his fingers. Jungkook’s heart aches when the rubber gets caught on the edge of his wedding band. Taehyung quickly fixes it.

“You’ll need to deposit them into this jar. Try to induce crying as you did last time, but if you have trouble I can provide assistance. There are a few areas on the face that can be stimulated to make your eyes water.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Jungkook takes the jar into his hands, inspecting it. The glass is cool against his hands, smudging when Jungkook’s fingers brush over the rim. 

“Would you prefer to be alone for this part?” Taehyung asks. There’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t present during their last meeting, and it makes Jungkook wonder just how deep Taehyung’s pity runs for him.

“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook reassures. He thinks the pressure of being alone would make it worse. 

When Taehyung doesn’t reply, Jungkook closes his eyes and squeezes, waiting for the familiar feeling of watering behind his eyelids. Jungkook only opens them when he feels the first tear beading in his tear duct, hot and stinging. He leans forward, letting it fall into the jar.

It’s strange, watching it happen. The star-like tears don’t feel any different from regular tears, but when Jungkook sees them fall, the tears are dazzling and beautiful. When Taehyung motions for him to stop, Jungkook screws the lid back on tightly.

“Do they hurt?” Taehyung asks curiously.

Jungkook shakes his head. “They don’t feel like anything at all. A bit warm, just like normal tears.”

He watches in awe as the tears begin to rise from the bottom of the jar, coagulating in the centre. They swirl around each other, moving in closer and close until they seem to explode — the little pieces shooting out in all directions. A galaxy forms inside the jar made up of what looks like hundreds of tiny stars.

“Has that ever happened before?” Taehyung sounds stunned. He takes the jar from Jungkook’s hands, holding it up to his eyes to inspect.

“Never,” Jungkook says. He’s as amazed by it as Taehyung. “I’ve never tried to keep them before. I usually just wipe them away.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Taehyung says, awed. He shakes the jar lightly, watching the galaxy swirl and reform. The tears are drawn to the warmth of Taehyung’s fingers, chasing after them like something alive. “It defies all logic and physics. Just what kind of chemical composition could cause this? What reaction in the body?”

Jungkook shrugs helplessly. Again, he’s reminded of his failed dreams of research. Years ago, he might’ve had the curiosity to investigate this question. Now, he’s useless.

“They’re absolutely beautiful,” Taehyung breathes. He rests the jar back down on the table. “It’s a shame they’re caused by misery.”

Jungkook curls into himself, unsure how to respond.

“Aside from collecting your tears, there’s one more thing I wanted to speak to you about,” Taehyung says. The excitement dims from his eyes, replaced by something more hesitant. “I’d like to ask you a little bit about your unrequited love itself if you don’t mind. The person behind all of this,” he adds at the end.

Jungkook stiffens. He knew the question was coming, but he still wasn’t ready for it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be.

“Your condition has remained relatively stagnant over the last few years. To be honest, yours is the longest ongoing case I’ve seen, and I’m curious as to why that might be. I want to investigate the reasons why this has persisted. Do you have any clue?” Taehyung tilts his head at the question. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve tried everything I can. I haven’t seen the person in years and we weren’t very close, so it took me a long time to realize they were the reason this was happening. I wish I knew.” The ambiguity of Jungkook’s response isn’t lost on Taehyung, but he’s perceptive enough to know not to pry. 

The corners of his lips sag down at that. Jungkook doesn’t like how it looks on him.

“Have you tried speaking with a therapist?” Taehyung asks gently. He looks like he’s debating reaching out and squeezing Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook wonders what would happen if he did.

“No,” Jungkook admits. “I don’t have the money for it and the waitlist is almost six months. I figured there was nothing they could tell me that I haven’t heard on the internet already, and since my condition was stable I thought it was okay to let it be. It wasn’t hurting me in any way I couldn’t handle.”

“But now it is,” Taehyung points out. “What’s six months when it’s already been ten years?”

Jungkook shrugs again. “That’s why I came to you, right?”

Taehyung leans forward, bracing his chin on his hand, looking at Jungkook thoughtfully. There’s a ghost of dark stubble on his chin and around his mouth. “What’s your motive behind coming to see me? Was it to truly get better, or was it something else?” 

Jungkook’s chest tightens again. 

“I wanted to help your research, that’s all,” he says, and even he isn’t sure if it’s the truth. “I wasn’t thinking of myself when I reached out. I want answers, maybe, but I wasn’t hopeful for a solution. I’ve lived like this for so long that it’s just become an extension of who I am. I don’t really think about curing it anymore. To be honest, I don’t see it as a possibility.”

“Do you think that may play a part in why you haven’t been able to overcome it?” Taehyung suggests gently. He says the words very delicately. “Your body has stopped fighting it, and now it shares a space inside you. Like a virus, you have to let your body kill it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook doesn’t know. When he had put all his effort into trying to get over Taehyung, it hadn’t made a difference. “I haven’t always had this attitude towards it.”

Taehyung nods, suddenly drawing back. He grabs a pad of paper and a pen, writing something down. The letters are hard to make out. His penmanship is messy, characteristic of someone who thinks faster than they can write. “You mentioned the waitlists for therapy are long and money is an issue. However, the university covers the appointments through its own insurance. Normally, it’s reserved for students and alumni, but because you’re my patient it will be covered as part of my work.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says weakly. It’s barely audible. He doesn’t mention he’s been to therapy before, though it must be on his medical record. Maybe Taehyung forgot. 

Taehyung hands Jungkook a phone number. A name is written underneath it. “I’m close friends with a therapist who works through the school. If you like, I can have her fit you into her schedule within the next few weeks.”

“Sure.” Jungkook swallows. Takes a deep breath. He knows he should say yes. The whole point of these meetings with Taehyung is to find a cure for his condition. This is the first step. “How would that work?”

Taehyung smiles. Maybe he expected Jungkook to resist. “She’d meet with you once a week alongside our sessions. You’d pick a day that works for you. Nothing you two talk about would be shared with me or integrated into my research. It would just be a way for you to unpack your feelings and help understand why your condition may be so persistent.”

“I see.” It was hard enough to work up the courage to meet Taehyung. It would be even harder to work up the courage to meet another stranger, let alone commit to seeing them regularly. Taehyung doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

“I think it would really help you unpack the reason behind why you’ve felt this way for so long for someone who was only in your life for a short time,” Taehyung goes on. “We can both acknowledge it’s abnormal — though certainly not your fault. We, unfortunately, retain very little control over our subconscious.”

“Sleep on it,” Taehyung adds, sensing Jungkook’s hesitance. Jungkook gently folds the note in half and tucks it into his pocket. The sharp edge of the paper digs into his thigh through his pants. “You don’t have to make a decision right away, and you certainly don’t have to agree. This is more for you — not me. You don’t need to tell me if you decide to go, either. It’s completely confidential.”

“I understand,” Jungkook says. He forces a smile. “Thank you, Dr. Kim.”

Taehyung gives him a funny smile. “It’s a bit weird being called Dr. Kim by someone I know. Makes me feel like a physician.” It’s permission to use his first name, Jungkook knows, but he’s hesitant to take it. 

Banter doesn’t come easily to Jungkook. He glances up at the clock instead of replying, seeing that they only have a few minutes left in their session.

“So, do you have anything to ask me before you leave?”

Jungkook shakes his head. The session has left his head blissfully blank, and now all he wants to do is go home. The longer he spends with Taehyung, the harder it is to ignore all the things that made Jungkook like him in the first place. He’s too kind — too tender with Jungkook. It hurts.

“No, that’s everything,” Jungkook says quietly.

“Alright,” Taehyung says warmly. He stands, and Jungkook does the same. He’s led over to the door with Taehyung trailing at his side. “Well, it was nice meeting with you today. I feel like we got quite a bit accomplished, even if it was only introductory. Same time next week, okay?”

“Okay,” Jungkook says. He pauses. “It was nice meeting with you, too,” he adds, not wanting to sound short.

“See you later, Jungkook,” Taehyung smiles, and that’s the last he sees before the door shuts behind him and he’s standing outside in the hallway alone. It’s over. 

The light fixtures buzz above him, flickering white, and somewhere in the distance, someone taps away on a keyboard.

Jungkook begins the long walk back to the subway. Slow, mechanical, familiar. 

“You’re using the wrong buffer.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up, startled. The pipette in his hand is positioned above the test tube, ready to push down on the plunger. 

“You add that part in the second step, not now,” Taehyung corrects, laughing lightly. His face blocks Jungkook’s view, all teeth and smiles as he gently takes the tube from Jungkook’s hand. Their gloves brush together, latex on latex, but Jungkook still feels the warmth. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says, not knowing what else to say. 

“Sorry for stepping in,” Taehyung apologizes. “I know I’m not your lab partner, but it’s just a pain to have to do it over. It’ll really fuck up your results if you add it now, and we’ve already been here two hours, so.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees. 

Taehyung adds the correct buffer for him, swirling the tube lightly before putting it back in the tray. He looks a bit ridiculous like this, his glasses squished underneath his oversized goggles, hair falling loose from where he’d tied it back. The collar of his lab coat is only folded on one side, and Jungkook is reaching out before he can think to fix it.

Taehyung jumps at the touch, his hip knocking against the table, but he laughs it off once he sees what Jungkook is doing. Cheeks burning, Jungkook smooths down the cloth until it’s even, drawing his hands back. His fingers tingle where they’d accidentally touched Taehyung’s neck. 

“Thanks, the TA always gives me shit for not having it folded right,” Taehyung says. He reaches up to cup his neck where Jungkook had touched, rubbing over the spot. His cheeks are tinged pink. “Hey, before I forget, are you interested in space at all?”

Jungkook isn’t sure. He’s never really thought about it before. 

“Like, the planets and stuff. Not just aliens. Well, maybe aliens because I kind of like them, too. But I mean—” Taehyung pauses, catching his thoughts. “There’s a club night for astronomy coming up this Friday. Free food and drinks if you need motivation. I was thinking of checking it out if you want to come.”

“I don’t really know much about that stuff,” Jungkook confesses. 

“Neither do I,” Taehyung says. “That’s why it would be cool to bring someone else who doesn’t know anything either. Not that I thought you didn’t know anything, it’s just—” He trails off. “I don’t know. It would be cool, don’t you think?”

Him? Jungkook? 

“I bought a telescope a few months ago,” Taehyung goes on, leaning against the back of the table. When he bends his legs, his knee makes contact with Jungkook’s. It’s all he can focus on. “To start looking for planets in my backyard. It’s nothing special, but it’s really fascinating seeing the stuff out there. It’s one thing to see it in photos online, but there’s something different seeing it fuzzy and overexposed with your own eyes. It makes it real .”

“I’ve never used a telescope before,” is what Jungkook says. 

Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Do you want to try?”

Does he want to? It’s an unspoken invitation, but it’s dangerous. Dangerous because he’ll have to be alone with Taehyung, thinking of things to say. 

“I could give it a try,” Jungkook relents. His collar feels tight around his neck. He can feel time passing, losing seconds before the lab is over. Taehyung doesn’t know how behind he is on the experiment. 

“I promise I’ll try to make it fun,” Taehyung says, picking up one of the Jungkook’s pipettes and playing with the dial. Jungkook watches the numbers spin, going up and up. “I feel like I never see you around campus anymore, so this would be a good way to catch up, right?”

Jungkook nods, woozy and infatuated. 

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and it sounds like he really means it. “I’ll give you a paper with the address.”

When Jungkook wakes up, his eyes blink open slowly, fuzzily, and he waits for them to go into focus. They don’t.

With shaking hands, he puts on his glasses, but the walls stay murky like they’ve been submerged in water. 

Heart racing, he sits up. The posters on his wall are smeared blotches of colour, and it takes palming along the surface of his nightstand to find his phone. He presses the power button out of muscle memory, relieved when he can make out the time.

The clock reads 8:23 a.m.

It takes Jungkook a long time to get out of bed. He’s slow to get dressed, and even slower to pour himself a cup of coffee. He has to lean in and squint to make out the symbols on the coffee maker, then fumbles in the fridge trying to find the milk. Things that have been in the same spot forever suddenly feel misplaced. Everything is wrong. 

He cries in the kitchen as he chokes down his cheap, watery coffee, trying to decide what’s next.

His first instinct is to call Taehyung, but he knows there’s nothing he can do. Taehyung isn’t trained in eyes — he doesn’t know the first thing about working with vision. He’d tell Jungkook to book an appointment with his optometrist or even go to the hospital, which means hours of waiting and appointments and talking to strangers.

Jungkook can’t handle any more of it. He’s already pushed himself as far as he can go. 

Instead, he takes the subway to the shopping centre, terrified and overwhelmed by how much the world changes when it’s out of focus. The buildings are a disorienting blur of colour and the little mosaic of stones in the pavement fuzz over into one. All the detail that makes up the city is wiped away like a wet canvas someone had smeared with a brush. 

Jungkook apologizes when he almost bumps into a woman trying to pass by. She looks at him strangely, mumbling under her breath before walking away. She’s wearing a patterned dress, but Jungkook can’t tell if it’s made up of flowers or checkers. 

His eyes burn with tears, and he wipes them quickly, not wanting to attract attention to himself.

It almost happens again as he’s entering the store. He keeps close to the wall, avoiding the tight aisles until he finds the spinning display of cheap glasses at the back. He has no way of knowing his prescription, but his vision finally clears on the fourth pair he tries on. Glancing at the tag, he realizes it’s the strongest prescription the store sells. He swallows, grabbing his wallet.

The cashier looks confused when Jungkook wears them to the cash, only taking them off for her to scan the tag. With shaking hands, Jungkook quickly rips off the sticker, flustering when it sticks to his fingers. He pushes the glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and thanks the woman, quickly leaving the store. He forgets to ask for his change, ignoring the woman when she calls after him.

Outside, his phone dings with a notification. Jungkook glances down to see a reminder of his meeting with Taehyung, remembering he forgot to fill in his daily health check-up. He knows he won’t be able to avoid talking about his vision at their meeting, but talking about it will only cement the fact that this is real. 

For years, his condition has been stagnant — more of a thing that lived with Jungkook than a condition he owned. Now, he understands what Taehyung called it a disease because he can feel it draining away at him slowly, taking his senses away.

His body has betrayed him, punishing him just for wanting someone.  

For a long moment, Jungkook stands motionless in the street, wondering if he should skip the meeting altogether. He considers sending Taehyung an e-mail telling him he can’t do it anymore and cutting off all contact. He doesn’t have much to lose in his life, but he’s starting to run out of what little he has.

His vision is a lot to lose. Jungkook had taken it for granted until now. 

Looking up at the sky, it’s too bright to make out any of the stars, even if they were there. It’s an endless expanse of blue, cloudless and brilliant, but Jungkook can’t remember the last time he’d been able to see the stars, anyway. 

The way space is infinite, expanding forever out around him, he thinks loneliness is, too. Loneliness is the same vastness — the same emptiness, where he is the only light at the centre.

Walking back to the subway, Jungkook catches his reflection in a passing window. It’s difficult to recognize himself, but even through the thick lenses, he can see the dark bags under his eyes. He knows how it must look to Taehyung, and he wants to argue that he’s been coping better than he really has, but can he truly say that?

He doesn’t know anymore. Maybe it’s been getting worse for a while, and he’s only noticing now. 

Jungkook hangs his head low when he arrives at Taehyung’s laboratory. Taehyung is there early for once, filling out a stack of papers. He doesn’t notice Jungkook when he walks in, too engrossed in what he’s doing to register the sound of his footsteps. Jungkook quietly sits down, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans.

After a minute, Taehyung sets down his pen. He yawns, rubbing his nose, then finally spots Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” he says loudly, standing up. His stack of papers flutters. “I was just marking some essays for my class. Am I late?”

“No, I’m just early,” Jungkook says, grateful that his voice comes out steady. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taehyung quickly clears his desk, inviting Jungkook over to sit in front of him. Wordlessly, Jungkook obeys. It’s difficult to make his legs move. They’re heavy in his shoes, thick and solid like lead. 

“Did you forget to fill out your form today?” Taehyung asks. He doesn’t seem to notice anything is off, more curious than suspicious. The truth looms over Jungkook. He feels like he’s sinking.

“Yes,” Jungkook says. It’s partially the truth.

“That’s okay,” Taehyung says. “I can input the information myself. I’ll just ask you a few general questions.”

Jungkook nods. His throat feels thick.

Taehyung begins to ramble off the questions. Basic, elementary questions like do you feel feverish? Are you abnormally fatigued? Do you have any muscle soreness?

No, not feverish. I’m a bit tired today, but I had to stay up late finishing a project for work. Muscle soreness? My neck is a little sore, but it’s probably from sitting at my desk all night.

“Has your condition worsened in any way?”

There’s a heavy pause between them. Taehyung notices Jungkook doesn’t answer as quickly as he had for the other questions. He looks up from his clipboard, studying Jungkook’s face closely. The words echo in Jungkook’s ears, expanding into thick cotton.

He tries to speak, but the words don’t come out.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung asks. His voice is gentle. Too gentle.

“Yes,” Jungkook says. It comes out as a croak. “It’s gotten worse.”

“In what way?”

The clock on the wall steadily ticks, unfaltering. It’s distracting. 

“I woke up today and I couldn’t see the posters on my wall anymore,” Jungkook manages to get out. He feels his eyes starting to burn. “I had to buy new glasses.”

Taehyung’s hand pauses where it was beginning to write something down. Realization dawns on his face when he sees Jungkook’s thicker frames — taking up new space on his face. 

“I thought maybe—” Taehyung begins, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs, his face falling. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.” It sounds too honest. Too sincere. 

Jungkook’s shoulders slump. His emotions gather at the base of his throat, itching to come out like something he couldn’t swallow. “It happened overnight. I woke up today and it was like this. I don’t know what to do. I went to get new glasses, but what if it gets worse tomorrow? What if it gets worse before I even get home?”

“What happened? Your condition was stable for so long.” Taehyung isn’t trying to make it sound that way, but it feels like an accusation.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. It comes out broken. “I don’t know why this is happening to me.”

The reason is sitting right in front of him, but Jungkook doesn’t know why.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but we should.”

Jungkook sniffles. He didn’t even notice that he’d started to cry. The room becomes blurry around him but for an entirely different reason than before. This time he doesn’t wipe his eyes. “Okay."

“Do you know what prescription you bought today?”

Jungkook nods. It’s burned into the back of his mind, printed behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. “Negative four point zero.”

Taehyung’s hand falters on his clipboard for a moment — a detail Jungkook doesn’t miss. He knows his answer caught Taehyung off guard. “And… you found that prescription restored your vision?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says softly. “It was the strongest prescription the store sold.”

“A proper optical outlet will have lenses much stronger,” Taehyung points out. “Should you ever need them.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the implication behind the words. “I know,” he says gloomily. “But isn’t it bad enough already?”

“There will always be resources for you.”

But Jungkook knows that once their meetings end, he won’t have those resources. He’ll have endless referrals to doctors and specialists, but none of them will be able to tell him anything he hasn’t heard already. They’ll look over his case in fascination, then shrug their shoulders when they realize there’s nothing they can do. Jungkook will be an outlet for others’ research without any meaningful compensation for himself.  

Jungkook wishes he could say he’s being selfless, but that’s not really it. It’s only Taehyung he wants to help. 

“You shouldn’t wear cheap glasses, you should get yourself tested at a proper office,” Taehyung points out. “Else you risk using the wrong prescription.”

“I don’t have the money for that right now,” Jungkook mumbles. It hurts to say it out loud because Taehyung knows money is tight for him — he’d mentioned it in his form. He shrinks into himself a little more each time he has to bring up his finances. He’d gotten a glance at Taehyung’s expensive frames before and hadn’t thought much of them, but now it only makes him hyperaware of how Taehyung will never have to worry about his body changing the way Jungkook does. “Otherwise I would have. And if my vision just gets worse, I’ll have spent the money for nothing.”

“Still, there could be other things wrong that we can’t see. A proper doctor will be able to screen for them.”

Jungkook shrugs. “What can I do? I can’t afford it,” he says, almost bitterly. Taehyung just doesn’t get it. Things don’t become affordable just because they’re essential. He has no savings — no backup plan. All he has is what’s left over at the end of the month. 

Taehyung bites his lower lip, thinking. “I should be able to get you in with one of the doctors affiliated with the university. Because it’s for the sake of research, you’ll be seen quickly.”

“How much would it cost?” Jungkook asks, seeing no way out. 

Taehyung smiles slightly. “Nothing. The university would pay for it. It will be considered part of my research.”

Jungkook tingles all over with something that feels like happiness, but it’s too watered down to take the right form. It’s more like relief — like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders. It’s quickly replaced by guilt. 

“Okay,” Jungkook gives in. “If it’s covered by the university.” 

He doesn’t feel good about accepting the handout, but he’s been backed into a corner. What else can he do?

“Do you mind if I—?” Taehyung lets the question hang in the air — open for refusal. He’s always careful not to push too far. 

Jungkook just blinks, not understanding. “What?”

“Your eyes,” Taehyung gestures, rolling his chair closer to Jungkook. It’s a constant back-and-forth motion — the rolling of his chair. Jungkook’s chest immediately tightens. “Could I have a look myself?”

Jungkook knows he can say no and Taehyung would back away, but at the same time, he knows he has no right to refuse — not when Taehyung has invested so much time and money into his own research. Jungkook is here to help him, so he nods, letting Taehyung into his space as much as he knows it’s a bad idea. 

Gently, Taehyung’s fingers wrap around the frames of Jungkook’s cheap glasses and pull them away from his face. Taehyung rests them on his desk with too much care, the warmth from his fingers brushing against Jungkook’s cheeks. He moves in even closer, peering into Jungkook’s eyes with unabashed curiosity. He doesn’t try to mask his fascination. 

“Your eyes are so big and round,” Taehyung chuckles, reaching out to trace his thumb along Jungkook’s lashline. “I feel like I can see everything in them.”

Jungkook swallows, trying not to blink. Butterflies flutter against the walls of his stomach, happily trembling at the contact. It’s the first time Taehyung has ever touched him in any form other than a handshake during their meetings. 

Jungkook wishes it had been under different circumstances. He wishes Taehyung had touched him like this back when they were in university and Jungkook actually had a chance. 

“Thankfully, they look healthy,” Taehyung muses. His breath ghosts across Jungkook’s mouth as he speaks. “Look up at the ceiling for me.”

Jungkook obeys, rolling his eyes back. He sits there pliantly as Taehyung presses here and there, painfully gentle. He pulls on the skin around Jungkook’s eyes, then prods at his eyelids, ignoring the tracks left behind by his tears. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find. 

“Look to the side,” Taehyung quietly murmurs. Jungkook looks to the left. Taehyung touches some more. “And to the right.” The process repeats. 

Taehyung’s touch is soothing. Jungkook wants to lean into it so much that he aches, but he knows it’s not reserved for him. Taehyung is being professional — he’s only trying to do his research, but here Jungkook is — thinking about how he’d love nothing more than to feel this touch again and again. He really hasn’t changed at all, and Jungkook wants to laugh at himself for ever thinking he did. 

Taehyung is too good for him, and Jungkook is just pitiful.

Taehyung leans forward, the ring on his finger glinting in the light. Stupidly, Jungkook’s eyes are drawn to it. It’s addicting to hurt. “And what about transportation? Did you find it hard to get to our meeting today?”

Jungkook only remembers to blink when his eyes start to get dry. His eyelids drag over his pupils, slow to wet them again. “I took the subway like I always did, but it was difficult.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to get home now?”

“Yes,” Jungkook nods. “I can make out the street signs again.” Taehyung hasn’t given him his glasses back yet, so all Jungkook can see is the vague shape of his face. It terrifies him, but he doesn’t say that out loud. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to wear those glasses until you’re sure of your prescription,” Taehyung says, folding the pair of glasses in his hand and resting them down on the table.

The words confuse Jungkook. “Then how am I meant to get home?” 

“Do you want me to drive you?”

Jungkook is stunned by the offer. He gapes, thinking for a moment that Taehyung is joking. If it’s a joke, then it’s a cruel one, even if Taehyung has no idea how cruel it is. “Sorry?”

“It’s not a problem if you feel like that’s a breach of boundaries,” Taehyung corrects, looking flustered for the first time. “But I would feel much better if I made sure you got home safely.”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. It’s a bad idea — one that will lead to no good. Spending time with Taehyung is dangerous. “I can call a cab.”

“The cabs from the university are expensive,” Taehyung protests. He stands, pushing his chair back. Jungkook looks up at him, feeling very small. “I’m going in the same direction, it’s no problem at all.”

Jungkook wants to ask how Taehyung knows his address until he remembers that it’s on his file. It’s weirdly personal — knowing that Taehyung has access to everything about him when he doesn’t know anything about Taehyung at all. Taehyung treats Jungkook as though he has boundaries, but Jungkook knows realistically, he has none. The power exchange will never be equal.

But then, he asks himself why he cares — why he’s even trying to protect his dignity. 

Whether Jungkook lives in poverty or wealth, it won’t change how Taehyung sees him. 

So, he nods hesitantly, giving in. “Okay, thank you. It means a lot to me.”

Smiling, Taehyung grabs his keys from on top of his desk. Jungkook recognizes the logo as belonging to a foreign brand from overseas. He wonders again just how much money Taehyung makes. “Let’s go, then.”

It’s awkward. As they walk down the hallway, a group of students stop to greet Taehyung, asking about the material from one of the lectures. Taehyung is warm and friendly, and Jungkook notices that he remembers each of the students’ names. Even with his students, he’s relaxed like he’s talking to a friend, and Jungkook understands why Taehyung is so successful. It’s hard not to like someone like him.

His character hasn’t changed at all, even if the person in front of Jungkook is so much more mature than he was in university. He’d gotten smarter, more confident, but he’s still the same person deep down. 

They step into the elevator, and Taehyung presses the button for the lobby. Jungkook tucks his hands into his pockets, hating how he can’t read the numbers anymore. Even the bright, red sign reading out the floor as the elevator begins to drop is too blurry to be more than a vague suggestion. He only knows when they’ve reached the lobby when the doors slide open with a quiet hiss.

The sun is starting to break through the clouds when they reach the parking lot. There are clusters of students gathered around the doors, chatting. It makes Jungkook’s stomach church with nostalgia, remembering when it was him in their place. He wonders if Taehyung ever looks at his students and misses being one of them, or if he ever sees himself in them. Jungkook never would have said it back then, but life was easier.

He wonders if part of the reason some people become teachers is to stay in that bubble of peace a little longer, clinging to nostalgia. 

“Just to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with you, Jungkook,” Taehyung says seriously like he can hear Jungkook’s thoughts. The words come suddenly, and he keeps his voice low enough for none of the students to overhear.

Jungkook feels himself flush from his cheeks to his chest. He’s grateful that the wind is blowing his hair across his face enough to cover it. It burns.

“Then how would you describe it?” Jungkook asks, laughing softly. He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding self-deprecating, but it’s too late to take it back.

“You’re hurting, that’s all,” Taehyung says, infuriatingly calm. “And we’re trying to find out how to make it better. There’s nothing wrong with feeling hurt.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply. He follows Taehyung to his car, embarrassed when Taehyung holds the passenger side door open for him.

“I’ll call you when I’ve set up an appointment with an optometrist,” Taehyung says. His long, slender fingers look good wrapped around the steering wheel. Comfortable. When Jungkook inhales deeply, he can smell the leather of the seats and the faint burn of Taehyung’s cologne lingering on the upholstery. It’s different from the one he wore as a student — sharper with an amber undertone. Jungkook has been wearing the same one since he was fifteen. “Are there any days that you’re not available?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Aside from when I’m at work or our appointments, I’m free.” Then, he stiffens, realizing how pathetic that sounds.

“Take the rest of the afternoon to rest your eyes then,” Taehyung suggests after a pause. His eyes are focused on the road, but he looks relaxed. At ease around him. “It probably won’t improve your vision, but it will be good for your mental health. Avoid using the glasses until you have a prescription, but of course, you’ll need them for some things.”

“Like work,” Jungkook offers emptily.

Taehyung nods. “Like work, running errands, or leaving the house.”

Jungkook sighs, quiet enough for Taehyung to miss it. He leans back against the leather seat, realizing how long it’s been since he sat somewhere other than a subway cart. He’s missed things like this. There are so many things about his past he wishes he could change.

When he was young and stupid, he told himself that money didn’t matter. Now, it’s the only thing that would make his life easier. 

Jungkook curls into the seat further as they drive away from the cozy, sloping homes around campus and toward downtown, where the buildings have been painted so many times the brick is smoothed over and the windows are covered by bedsheets instead of curtains. Even the smell of the air is different — like all the smog and grit of the city settles here in the clouds. 

It takes Taehyung a while to find a place to park, ignoring the NO STOPPING sign outside of Jungkook’s building. There’s a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart by the entrance, covered in layers of thick jackets. Jungkook is embarrassed, even though she’s a stranger. She stops to look at them, staring like she’s considering coming over to ask for change, and Jungkook is grateful she doesn’t. 

“This is my place,” Jungkook says unnecessarily, clutching his bag closer to him.

Taehyung smiles without judgment. Jungkook can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Will you be okay to get to your room by yourself?”

Jungkook nods. “I should be fine from here, I have the path memorized. I could find it with my eyes closed,” he jokes, but it falls flat. 

“Well,” Taehyung says, taking his hand off the steering wheel. He splays his fingers out on the console between them, dangerously close to Jungkook’s hand. “Give me a call if anything changes. You have my personal landline.”

Jungkook does but he’s never thought to call it. He doesn’t think he ever will.

“I will, thank you,” Jungkook says. He gives Taehyung one last smile, feeling tingly and fluttery all over even though he knows he shouldn’t — he knows that Taehyung has only been kind by offering. Still, his heart doesn’t listen. He wishes it would.

Taehyung watches him even after he enters his apartment. Jungkook sneaks a glance up at him as he fishes his keys out of his pocket, seeing his car still idling in the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder again when he presses the button to call the elevator, unable to make out Taehyung’s face through the window but able to see enough to know that it’s him.

His heart aches again.

Jungkook lets himself truly, properly sink into his feelings for Taehyung. Chest heaving, he admits to himself that he likes Taehyung and has never stopped. He likes him so much it's hard to breathe, and it's the only thing he has left to hold onto. Taehyung is beautiful and easy to love, and Jungkook is someone who loves him. He hasn't gotten over him at all. 

For once, he doesn't try to fight his self-deprecation. He lets himself get devoured by it until he's crying again, the elevator rattling under his feet as stars scatter around him, running down his cheeks to his neck. It feels heavier than he remembers, burdened by so many years of pretending it didn't exist. He is miserable and pathetic, and too afraid to do anything about it. 

It's easier to admit to himself now than it’s ever been. 

Jungkook feels lonelier than ever when he crawls back into his bed, looking up at the ceiling with blurry eyes. He can no longer count the tiles to distract himself from his thoughts, so he rolls onto his side and pulls his blanket up to his shoulders, closing his eyes. There are still stars behind his eyelids when he squeezes them, colourful sparks that ache until they fade. Then, it’s only darkness. 

Jungkook thinks it’s ironic.

The universe is endless and empty, and yet he is entirely alone on the only planet he has company. 

 “You just look through the eyepiece here,” Taehyung explains, pulling back to let Jungkook try. Shyly, Jungkook leans in, playing with the dial until the planet comes into focus.

The weather is warm — warmer than usual for this time of year, and the breeze feels nice on the back of Jungkook’s neck. He can hear crickets and spring peepers coming from the pond in Taehyung’s backyard, and when he feels something tickle his finger, he looks down to see a lightning bug crawling across his nail, glowing green. 

“The sky is clear tonight, so we’ll have good visibility,” Taehyung says excitedly. Carefully, he adjusts the placement of Jungkook’s hand, his voice next to his ear. “It’s the best time of year to see Saturn. Normally, people think all they can see from their house is the moon and the North Star, but you can see a lot more than that.”

Jungkook struggles to get the planet into view, and at first, all he sees is a faint white blob, vaguely circular. 

“Boring, isn’t it?” Taehyung chuckles. “But wait. Let me change the lens.”

Taehyung pulls away, and Jungkook hears the rustle of fabric as Taehyung pulls something out, a faint click as he switches the lenses, and suddenly his view changes entirely. 

“You’ll have to play with it a bit,” Taehyung says. “To get it to look good. It could take you a few minutes.”

The zoom cuts off most of the planet, but Jungkook gets it back into the centre by moving the scope slightly. It’s much bigger this time, and Jungkook can make out a pale yellow colour. 

“If we’re lucky, we’ll even be able to see the rings,” Taehyung says. “Tell me what you see.”

“Yellow,” Jungkook says plainly, and Taehyung laughs. “Wait, hold on, I think I see something.”

“Yeah? What do you see?”

“Holy shit, I see the rings,” Jungkook gasps. When the image finally clears, he can see a thin band wrapping around the planet. It’s still too small for him to make out more detail, but he can see it. It’s really there. It’s right there, seen from Taehyung’s backyard. 

“Let me look,” Taehyung breathes, nudging Jungkook to the side. Jungkook gives up the telescope without protest, biting back a smile at Taehyung’s open mouth. He must not even realize he’s doing it. 

Jungkook looks up at the sky in the direction the telescope is pointed, but with his eyes, all he can see is a tiny white spot, no different from any of the stars. He wonders if it’s looking back at them, too.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Taehyung asks. “How things like that are real and we’re alive to see them? It’s one thing to see it in a magazine, but it’s different like this. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“No, I get it,” Jungkook agrees. The planet was perfect and round, almost to the point of being unreal. But it’s there, floating in space with them. 

When he finally looks away, he finds Taehyung staring at him, closer than he was before.

“What was your first thought when you saw it?” Taehyung asks. 

Jungkook thinks for a moment, trying to put it into words. He’d thought of so many things at once that nothing he could say would do it justice. 

“The earth is definitely flat,” he says plainly, breaking out into laughter at Taehyung’s scandalized expression. 

“Ah, Jungkook,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He’s warm. “How could you say that? You’re a science student.”

Jungkook had something to say, but it’s lost when Taehyung leans in closer, close enough Jungkook can feel his breath against his mouth. His heart is racing, but it’s drowned out by the frogs croaking in unison and the trickle of water from the pond fountain. It feels like they’re in another world. 

The moment breaks. 

“Let me show you Mars,” Taehyung decides, but his fingers press a little harder into Jungkook’s shoulder as he says it like he’s trying to hold on longer. If he was just an inch closer, his nose would touch Jungkook’s cheek. “It has such a beautiful colour. I think you’ll like it, even if this isn’t the best time of year to see it.”

“Okay,” Jungkook agrees, buzzing all over. He’d let Taehyung show him anything. 

Taehyung doesn’t know it, but he’s had him in the palm of his hand since the beginning. 

“Tell me which one is clearer. One or two.”

The frames switch in front of Jungkook’s eyes. He looks through the lens at the blurry letters in front of him, trying not to squint. Two is better, but he can’t read the writing on either. 

“Two,” he says. He swallows when his throat feels dry.

The lens switches again. “Three or four.”

The voice is calm and clinical. Reserved.

After a moment, Jungkook answers. “Four.”

The lenses keep changing. Gradually, the writing comes into focus until Jungkook has trouble telling the difference between them. His hands are tingly at his sides, claustrophobic in the raised leather chair he’s sitting in. The room is sterile and bare — smelling faint of rubbing alcohol. He can hear chatter from the waiting room mixed with music quietly playing through the walls, and it’s overstimulating. Overbearing.

“Nine or ten.”

“Nine,” Jungkook says, hoping it’s the end. It is. 

The eye doctor steps away for a minute, walking over to a small book on his desk. He begins to write something down. 

“Your prescription has significantly worsened since your last visit. What made you wait so long to get your vision checked?” the doctor asks conversationally. Jungkook can’t make out what’s written on his name tag.

“I’ve been busy with work,” Jungkook lies, not wanting to admit how quickly his vision had deteriorated. He wonders if it’s a believable excuse, or if the doctor sees right through him. 

The doctor frowns. Jungkook’s stomach sinks. “I imagine it would have caused a lot of problems in your daily life. Your old prescription wouldn’t have made much difference. Do you drive?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“If aesthetics are an issue, we do offer contact lenses. Patients often feel more confident in them.”

“Which is cheaper?” Jungkook asks. It’s the only thing that matters.

The doctor hums. He hands Jungkook a piece of paper. Jungkook has to hold it up close to his eyes to read. “Contacts are cheaper initially, but as they need to be replaced frequently, the costs can eventually become more than glasses. They also require more careful upkeep, with daily cleaning and hand-washing before insertion and removal. This can be a barrier to patients who are concerned about infection.”

“And glasses?” Jungkook asks.

“A cheap pair of frames start at a hundred thousand won. More expensive frames or additional features such as scratch-resistant lenses can raise the cost significantly.”

Jungkook has less than that in his bank account.

Sensing Jungkook’s reluctance, the doctor continues. “But, we do offer payment plans and accept most insurance companies. If cost is a barrier, you’re not out of options.”

Eventually, Jungkook picks out a pair of cheap wireframes and charges them on his credit card instead of billing through Taehyung’s university. He doesn’t feel good about the cost when he leaves the store, but, when he puts them on, it’s a relief to see. He wonders how long it will last before his vision worsens again. 

Walking to the subway, he glances down at the prescription the doctor had scribbled down on the piece of paper. Negative six point zero, it says. Jungkook doesn’t know what that means, but it seems like a lot.

When he catches a glimpse of himself in a store window reflection, his self-esteem takes another hit at the bug-like appearance of his eyes. His eyes have always been his best feature, but even now, they look freakishly large, like two magnifying glasses have been put in place of his lenses.

It’s a small detail, but one that makes Jungkook crumble further. He didn’t think his esteem had further to fall. 

“How have your new glasses been holding up?”

Jungkook looks down at his hands in his lap. He knows he looks away too much, but he can’t seem to stop himself from doing it. “They’re good.”

Taehyung hums. He stands over his desk, fitting a bouquet of flowers into a glass vase. Jungkook wonders who bought them — if it was Taehyung or if they were a gift from whoever he’s married to. Maybe they were a present from a student.

“That’s good to hear,” Taehyung says, offering a small smile that’s meant to be comforting. “I always feel better with a new pair of glasses.”

“Does it ever scare you?” Jungkook asks. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “The idea that one day you could go blind?”

Taehyung pauses for a moment. The flowers hang over the side of the vase, bright and optimistic. They’re the colour of spring. “I suppose I’ve considered it. I worried about it a lot more when I was younger, but as I got older I learned to accept the possibility.”

“Doesn’t it make you nervous? At all?”

“I like to think that everyone is counting down to the days before having some kind of disability — whether it’s blindness or something else. I think we forget that with age comes changes and that it’s not a matter of if, but when.”

“I’m not older though,” Jungkook murmurs. “I still feel like a kid.”

Taehyung frowns. “It never feels like the right time. I hope it isn’t the right time for you, either. I want us to overcome this.”

But wanting isn’t enough.

Their meetings become repetitive. Predictable. They go through Jungkook’s checklist each meeting and Taehyung takes his notes. Taehyung asks him a lot of questions, and Jungkook avoids telling more of the truth than he needs. Maybe he’s deceiving Taehyung in a way by refusing to address the elephant in the room that it’s Taehyung that’s doing this to him. He wonders if Taehyung has figured him out, or if Jungkook has him fooled.

It doesn’t feel like they’re making progress at all. Jungkook feels the last chunks of his hope beginning to loosen, ready to break away. He’s a melting iceberg, running out of time. 

He’s wasting both of their times.

“I think more than the blindness, I’m scared of the feelings being forever,” Jungkook mumbles. “The emptiness — the feeling of being alone — is worse than any of the physical side effects. The symptoms you can see are just proof that this is happening to me.”

“Well,” Taehyung says. He pauses. “Do you want to get over the feelings? Or do you want to get over the physical symptoms so that it’s easier to ignore them?”

At first, Jungkook doesn’t answer. The question stumps him, making him consider Taehyung’s words. He knows what he should say, but he can’t bring himself to say them.

I want to get over my feelings, he should say, but he doesn’t. 

“I don’t know,” he says instead. 

“That’s the problem then,” Taehyung says, leaning forward on his elbows. He smells warm; like coffee and autumn. 

Jungkook feels his eyes starting to burn. He’s always run away from his problems, but this one hasn’t gotten tired of following him. He’s starting to lose his breath. 

“You know, have you considered meeting your unrequited love again?”

Jungkook swallows. Dread creeps up the back of his spine. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung gets up to circle around the room, never confining himself to his chair. He walks slowly with his arms crossed, his shoes clicking on the linoleum because that’s who Taehyung is — someone greater than his chair. Greater than this room. “You haven’t had contact with this person in years, but all your effort has been to get over them. It may be worth trying the opposite — meeting this person again and trying to rebuild a connection.”

“Ah—” Jungkook starts to say. He doesn’t know how to tell Taehyung how wrong he is.

“Who knows, seeing how they’ve changed and grown apart from you can be a good step in healing.”

If only Taehyung knew. Maybe he should, the voice in Jungkook’s head hisses, but he doesn’t listen.

“They’re— they’re married,” Jungkook cuts in. “I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to reach out, especially given the context.”

“I see,” Taehyung says. He pauses. “If you don’t feel comfortable doing it, I won’t suggest it.”

That’s not quite it, but Jungkook doesn’t press. He’s grateful to let the topic drop, hating how guilty he feels knowing he’s reached out to Taehyung — has deceived him in the worst way possible out of shame. If he’d told Taehyung the truth, he may have been closer to getting over his feelings. Knowing Taehyung, he would have felt nothing but empathy for Jungkook. 

But that’s what Jungkook is afraid of.

Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels a tear hit the top of his thigh. It bleeds into the denim of his jeans, feathering out. He freezes, embarrassed.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Taehyung sighs, his voice filled with concern. It makes Jungkook ache in all the wrong ways. 

Taehyung drops to his knees in front of Jungkook, his clean dress pants pressing into the dust on the floor. It feels wrong. He shouldn’t have to kneel.

Taehyung reaches out before Jungkook can say anything, cupping his cheeks with warm hands. Jungkook is unable to keep back his gasp of surprise, caught off guard by the sudden touch. 

“Come on, don’t cry. It’ll make me cry, too,” Taehyung jokes, but Jungkook can tell that it’s strained. Unconsciously, Jungkook leans into the touch. Just feeling Taehyung’s hands like this makes warmth tingle under his skin. It makes him want to cry even more. 

He wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this. Too long, he thinks. He hates that something as innocent as someone cradling his jaw is enough to make him spiral. To want more. 

It makes him want what he can’t have. It will never be enough.

He makes eye contact with Taehyung for a moment before he loses courage, looking back down at the tiled floor. He feels Taehyung’s thumb swipe across his cheek, wiping away his tears before they reach his chin. They catch on his finger, glittery and white. 

Jungkook thinks it’s a miracle of the universe that someone as beautiful as Taehyung exists at the same time as him. It’s the only thing it got right.

It’s almost as good as a hug when Taehyung’s fingers drag against his jaw before he pulls away, taking his warmth with him. Jungkook nearly chases the touch.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say this,” Taehyung begins, laughing a bit nervously. It’s strange to see him look shy. “But whoever doesn’t return your feelings doesn’t deserve you, you know that, right? You deserve someone who sees everything you have to offer.”

Jungkook wants to laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat. “I don’t blame them. What kind of person pines after someone for so long? In a way, I think I deserve this.”

Taehyung frowns. “You’re a good person, Jungkook. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that.

Slowly, Taehyung stands up, dusting off his pants. It’s tense between them — like something has frosted over. 

Jungkook glances up at the clock. It’s the end of the meeting. 

“Will you be able to get home alright?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow furrowing with concern. Jungkook knows better than to think Taehyung’s concern is reserved for him. He’s seen the way Taehyung talks to his students. 

It doesn’t make Jungkook feel any less warm.

“Yes,” he says quietly. He stands, checking his pocket for his wallet and keys. They’re there like they always are. 

“See you next week,” Taehyung says. He walks Jungkook to the door, holding it open for him. That’s new. He’s never done that before. 

“See you,” Jungkook whispers. He hears the door shut behind him when he steps into the hallway. Then, he’s alone again. The receptionist has left for the night, her desk bare.

He feels emptier than ever on the subway home.  

When Jungkook’s vision starts to blur again, even with his new prescription, he doesn’t feel anything.

He sits on the floor of his shower, the lenses fogging up from the heat as he watches the water swirl down the drain. The soap foams and bubbles around his feet, sickly sweet. He’s shaky on his legs when he finally stands to turn the water off, reaching for the towel draped over the toilet. 

He struggles to get the buttons done on his shirt. 

During their next meeting, Jungkook keeps a careful distance from Taehyung. He blames himself for it all, hating how he let himself lean into Taehyung’s touch when he held his cheek — hating how he let his heart fill with hope. He tells himself that it’s things like this that are keeping him healing. Getting better. 

He doesn’t tell any of this to Taehyung. 

Jungkook can sense Taehyung’s concern even though he doesn’t mention it. Taehyung leans in closer, studying Jungkook’s face carefully while he speaks. It feels invasive, in a way, even though Jungkook knows that Taehyung is only doing his job.

Still, Jungkook doesn’t want to be seen. 

When Jungkook looks over Taehyung’s shoulder, he sees the jar of his tears sitting on Taehyung’s shelf, sparkling softly. It scatters little beams of light across Taehyung’s cheek, and for a moment it looks like he’s standing in the cast of the sun. Space has never looked so bright. 

They don’t make any progress during that meeting. 

When he gets home, he finds a letter from the university in his mailbox. He reads it as he rides the elevator to his floor, the dim, flickering lighting making the print blur. 

It’s a letter from the therapist Taehyung had referred him to. They’re a woman named Mrs. Choi — a recent Ph.D. graduate accepting new patients who is interested in Jungkook’s case. She lists her phone number at the bottom, encouraging Jungkook to call so they can set up a meeting. Feeling anxiety starting to bubble in his chest, Jungkook folds up the letter and tucks it into his pocket. 

He doesn’t call her, even though he promised Taehyung he would.

Jungkook spends the weekend in his apartment alone. He watches the pictures on his TV become blurrier and blurrier until it becomes too difficult to read the subtitles at all. It becomes a way of keeping track of his condition, until seeing it makes him feel too sick to look. Eyes burning, he unplugs his TV and closes his eyes, curling up on the corner of the couch. He doesn’t open them for a long time.

Time moves too slowly between their meetings. He tells himself he doesn’t need to go outside, ignoring a text from a coworker inviting him out for lunch. 

Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a while. There’s a new burger place downtown. Thought you might want to check it out.

Jungkook reads the message, his thumb hovering over his keyboard. He types a few words, then backspaces, tossing his phone on his mattress. He leaves it on read.

The black hole inside his heart grows infinitely bigger in size, slowly devouring him until there’s nothing left. 

When Jungkook trips over the leg of the couch trying to get to his shoes because he could no longer make it out against the pattern of the carpet, he realizes he’s in no condition to leave the house. The fall sprains his ankle, and he limps to the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen vegetables, holding it against the bone.

It’s a difficult phone call to his work, telling them he won’t be able to come in until he gets new glasses. His boss is sympathetic and understanding, but Jungkook can read the tension through the phone. He knows he’s being a burden by calling off. 

It’s an even harder phone call to Taehyung’s office. After he dials the number, he’s put on hold for a few minutes until a woman answers the phone, polite and chipper.

“Hello, this is Dr. Kim’s office, Sohee speaking. How may I help you? ”

Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, trying not to lose his words before they come out. “Hello. This is Jeon Jungkook. Dr. Kim’s patient. I’m just calling to let him know that I won’t be able to make it to our meeting today.”

“Hello, Jungkook,” the woman says brightly. “I understand. Would you like to reschedule?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says, then squeezes his eyes tightly shut, thinking. “But I don’t know when I’ll be able to meet with him again.”

Sohee pauses. “Would you like me to connect you to him? ”

“No,” Jungkook says quickly. He feels like he’s going to throw up. He leans over the arm of the couch, twisting his fingers in his hair until it burns. “You don’t need to do that. Just tell him I’m having some issues with my vision again, that’s all. I’ll let you know when I’ve gotten it sorted out.”

“Okay,” Sohee says, even though Jungkook can sense she wants to say more. “I’ll let him know. Thank you for calling.” 

Jungkook expects that to be the end of it. He spends the rest of the day confined to his apartment, struggling to sort his own laundry and wash the dirty dishes piled up on the counter. It’s one of the few things he can manage. 

He books another appointment with the optometrist online, even though he doesn’t know how he’ll pay for another pair of glasses. Taehyung’s insurance through the university covers the appointment, but not much else. He doesn’t know where he’ll go from here. 

What would giving up feel like?  

The next day is Saturday, so Jungkook doesn’t have to call off work. He orders take-out when he sees the empty state of his fridge, sitting hunched over the kitchen table as he slurps down cheap noodles. They burn his mouth as they go down, salty and greasy in a way that settles to the bottom of his stomach like sludge. It tastes like something he’d make when he was younger. Something he’d make when he was still learning how to navigate the world.

He resists the urge to cry again.

When someone knocks on his apartment door, he stiffens, dropping his chopsticks at the bottom of the bowl. His reflection stares at him through a layer of oily broth, wide-eyed and startled. Quickly wiping his mouth, he walks over to the door, considering it for a moment before opening it. He wonders if he ordered something online and forgot. 

It’s Taehyung. 

Jungkook’s instincts tell him to shut the door, but Taehyung steps into the doorway before he can. 

“Hi, Jungkook,” Taehyung says warmly. He has his briefcase with him. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“You’re not,” Jungkook reassures, but he’s still confused. “Did you get my message?”

Taehyung nods. Jungkook can see him glance over his shoulder into his apartment. Ashamed, he moves so that he’s filling the doorframe more, blocking Taehyung’s view. 

“I got concerned and wanted to meet with you directly. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, it was kind of last minute. I have some paperwork for you, too.”

“Ah,” Jungkook says. He subtly adjusts his hair, wishing he wasn’t still wearing the clothes he slept in. He wishes Taehyung hadn’t come. “I see.”

Taehyung brightens. “Can I come in?”

Jungkook doesn’t know how to say no. He’s never been getting at setting boundaries, whether they were for himself or other people.

He looks back at the mess inside his apartment, hesitating before he asks himself why he cares what Taehyung thinks. It’s a thought he’s been having a lot lately. Taehyung sees him as a patient, not a friend. He’s only trying to help, but Jungkook won’t let him. 

Why don’t you just let him help you?

“Okay,” Jungkook quietly says after a moment, taking a step back to let Taehyung inside. It takes all of his strength. 

The hallway is too narrow for both of them. Taehyung has to duck his head to step inside, shoulders bumping against the coat rack as he shrugs off his scarf, hanging it up like it’s his own home. His eyes are soft when they flicker into the living room, where Jungkook’s unfinished breakfast sits next to his glasses. Here, Jungkook can’t hide the state of his misery. It shows in the way his laundry has piled up on one of his chairs and leftover take-out from a few nights ago rots on the counter. It’s embarrassing and it probably smells, but Jungkook just feels hollow. He has no farther to fall. 

“Do you want to sit on the couch?” Taehyung asks like Jungkook is the guest instead of him. It’s like he knows Jungkook isn’t in a position to make decisions; he would do something stupid like push him away if given the chance. 

Jungkook has only made mistake after mistake. He can’t be trusted to help himself. 

“Okay,” he says again. His legs feel heavy when he sits down. He realizes his socks aren’t matching. There’s a hole on one of the toes he never noticed before. It’s too late to change them. 

The TV plays in the background over their voices. The channel is playing a National Geographic documentary on the universe, and it makes Jungkook feel sick. He can’t get his arm to move to turn it off. 

“Your eyes have gotten worse, haven’t they?” Taehyung asks. 

Jungkook nods. It’s weak.

“It’s okay, Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and it sounds like he really means it. It’s okay, he says, but what’s okay? His eyes? His condition? The state of his apartment? 

Tears burn behind Jungkook’s eyes. When he blinks, they fall down his cheeks, beautiful and white. He looks down at the stars hitting the palms of his hand with wonder. They’re so small and delicate, but they’ve ruined his life. 

Warm hands cup Jungkook’s cheeks, swiping the stars away. Before, Taehyung would have wanted to save them to study, but this time he lets them go to waste, soaking into the fabric of the couch where they’ll be gone forever — forgotten by science. 

The carpet creaks under Taehyung’s weight when he kneels down to meet Jungkook’s eyes. He’s close enough that Jungkook can make out his features. They’re the first thing he’s seen in clarity for weeks. Taehyung’s eyes are a gentle honey brown, his skin warm and tanned from the sun. Jungkook takes in the strands of his hair, soft, overgrown waves framing his face. He hasn’t aged at all. 

“You’re not alone, you know that, right?” Taehyung says. His voice is low and deep, wrapping around Jungkook’s ears like an embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Jungkook lets Taehyung cradle his face because it’s the kind of touch he could only dream about back when they were young. It’s happening in all the wrong ways, but it’s all Jungkook has ever wanted. He lets himself it for as long as it will last, terrified to let go.

The hand touching Jungkook’s cheek glides down to wrap around the back of his neck. It squeezes soothingly before Taehyung is guiding Jungkook forward. Jungkook muffles a gasp when he collides with a warm, solid chest. Taehyung’s other hand curls around his back, rubbing in circles. 

It’s the most intimacy Jungkook has had in years. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this. 

“I hate to see you like this, Jungkook,” Taehyung confesses. He speaks into Jungkook’s hair, his breath ghosting across his skin. “Do you only see me as your doctor? Because I look at you and I see the Jungkook I grew up with. I want to help you so much, but it feels like I haven’t been doing anything right.”

Jungkook can feel his tears wetting the front of Taehyung’s shirt. He feels unbearably heavy, like he’s sinking into Taehyung’s skin. Floating, falling, disappearing entirely.  

“I feel like you haven’t been entirely honest with me, and I don’t know how to navigate around that. Can I help you as a friend, Jungkook? Can I be there for you as a friend?”

Fingers thread through Jungkook’s hair. It’s unwashed and tangled, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to care. He pulls Jungkook in tighter, crushing him against his ribs. Warmth spreads through Jungkook’s body, filling the black hole in his heart. Space is cold, but Jungkook is lit up with sparks, exploding like a planet that’s drifted too close to the sun. He wishes Taehyung would pull just a little harder, and then maybe Jungkook would disintegrate into dust. Fine matter. 

“How about we start small?” Taehyung suggests. “What if I stay with you today and help you clean your apartment?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook whispers, but he goes limp in Taehyung’s arms. The disease in him is finally sated, full for the first time. 

“I know,” Taehyung says. “I don’t want you to think that I’m here because I have to be. Nothing I’ve ever done for you was out of obligation.”

And maybe there’s more to Taehyung’s words than Jungkook picks up on. He could mean this, or he could mean back then, too, when Jungkook was too shy to talk to him between classes. 

Jungkook knows he makes a pitiful sight. He knows his condition pulls on Taehyung’s heartstrings and makes him feel guilty, but Jungkook has tried so hard to hide it for so long that he can’t do it anymore.  

I want to go home, he thinks, but this is home. There isn’t anywhere else. He’s been living here for years. 

“Okay,” he says, and a small, vulnerable part of himself starts to open up for the first time. “Let’s clean my apartment.”

So they clean, and Jungkook learns how to do something without his eyes for the first time. Taehyung stands beside him as they pile the dirty clothes into the laundry, helping him measure the soap, then holds the garbage bag open as Jungkook dumps the rotting take-out, stacking the remaining dishes in the sink. 

It’s like Jungkook has finally peeled all his skin back to show Taehyung what he really looks like on the inside. Every second of it is painful, a searing burn worse than ripping a band-aid off all at once. But once it’s done, it’s done, and Jungkook realizes now why people believe in doing it. 

They stand in front of Jungkook’s fridge, wiped down for the first time since he’s moved in, each drinking from a glass of water because Jungkook didn’t have anything else.

“Hey, do you have a balcony?” Taehyung asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Why?”

Taehyung fidgets. He looks embarrassed. “I can just go down to the parking lot then. I was gonna have a smoke.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, not because he’s judging but because he’s surprised Taehyung smokes at all. He never did in university — he never even smoked weed. “No… you can just do it here. The landlord doesn’t care.”

“Are you sure?” Taehyung asks skeptically. 

Jungkook huffs out a laugh. “The entire lobby smells like smoke. Trust me, it’s fine.”

Taehyung is still hesitant when he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting the end. But Jungkook can tell he’s been craving it for a while when he takes a long drag, relaxing against the fridge. “Sorry, it just gets to me after a while. It kills me because it’s banned everywhere on campus.”

“What made you start?” Jungkook asks, wondering if he’s going too far. “You think you wouldn’t because you know… science professor.”

“I teach psychology, not medicine,” Taehyung teases. “Though I guess that doesn’t make it any better. I guess stress just got to me after a while. Moving out of my parent’s house was a wake-up call that being an adult wasn’t anything like I imagined.”

“Worse, I’m guessing.”

“A bit,” Taehyung admits. He ashes his cigarette in the sink, turning on the tap to flush it down the drain. “I tell myself it’s better than most other vices, like gambling or alcohol, but I think it’s just a coping mechanism. I learned a lot about myself after graduation that I think I was in denial about before. It would have done me a lot of favours to just be honest about it from the beginning and go through the crisis while I was still young.”

“Tell me about it,” Jungkook smiles. 

“To being an adult,” Taehyung says, holding out his glass of water for a toast. They clink together awkwardly. 

The conversation was small — insignificant — but it still makes Jungkook feel better. Like everything with Taehyung, he stores it somewhere safe in his heart as a memory.  

Jungkook lays on soft, clean sheets. They smell like cotton and lemon, fuzzy against his cheek when he shifts. He blinks slowly, staring out his apartment window into the smoggy skyline. He can’t make out the buildings, but he can feel the warmth of the sun on his cheek the glow of light tracing over his hands. 

Taehyung had stayed late into the night, helping Jungkook clean. Then, he’d cooked dinner for them both, helping Jungkook to the table with a hand on his back.

All of it had felt too good. In a sick, twisted way, Jungkook wants Taehyung to dote on him more — to tuck in his sheets, spend the night with him, and make him breakfast. Jungkook has never been more miserable, but Taehyung has never been kinder to him.

He calls work and tells them he won’t be able to come in for the rest of the week. Health emergency, he tells his boss over the phone, promising to bring in the documentation to prove it when he returns. It’s the conversation he dreads the most — having to tell someone else what is happening to him. He doesn’t want to take up any more space in the world than he already does.

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the documentation. He tries not to think about it for now. 

Even if it’s unrealistic, Jungkook had hoped this secret could stay with Taehyung, hidden within the four walls of his lab. Jungkook knows deep down that he hadn’t been hoping for a solution or an end. His heart is still stuck on Taehyung.

He’d wanted somewhere safe to be while his eyes slowly went dark. He wanted to be of use to him to make up for all the years he did nothing.

For the first time, Jungkook is actually part of Taehyung’s life. For once, all his misery means something — has given him what he’s wanted since the beginning, and Jungkook has never wanted much. 

If this is what it takes, then Jungkook is okay with it.  

Taehyung comes over to Jungkook’s apartment again. 

This time, Jungkook has showered, and his hair is dripping onto his shoulders when he answers the door, dressed in sweats and an oversized shirt. Taehyung is wearing a soft, brown cardigan and black pants, similar to what his students wear. He could pass for twenty, and it drives a knife into Jungkook’s chest.

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks. He reaches out to squeeze Jungkook’s hand, and Jungkook leeches off of his warmth.

“Better,” Jungkook says, and for once it isn’t a lie.

“Can I come in?”

Jungkook nods, and this time it’s easier to get his feet to move. He isn’t ashamed when Taehyung sits on his couch, inviting Jungkook to join him. He’d vacuumed this morning — something he hadn’t done in months. It bothered him less that he couldn’t see. It’s not like he needs his eyes very much for something like that. 

“The way you’re dressed reminds me of when you were in college,” Taehyung says, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks almost bashful, his knees knocking against the coffee table when he shifts.

“Ah,” Jungkook says, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s tried to avoid thinking of it — mentioning when they were in college. He was a fly on the wall to Taehyung back then. Jungkook doesn’t want to think of what it means that Taehyung ever thought of him after graduation. Remembered him.

“Only, you look more manly now, instead of like the boy you were back then,” Taehyung teases, playfully bumping Jungkook’s arm. “Did you start going to the gym? Is that what it is?”

Jungkook’s heart thumps helplessly, quickening because of the touch. “No,” he shakes his head, but he wishes he could say that he stuck to the gym. It was one of the things he’s always wanted to do, but he gave up on it a while ago. 

“Oh,” Taehyung says, biting his lower lip. His eyes flicker down to Jungkooks chest, flushing when Jungkook notices and covers it self-consciously. “Huh.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jungkook asks, unsure where to steer the conversation.

Taehyung nods. “Water, please.” His eyebrow furrow and he looks down at his hands like they’re unfamiliar to him. Jungkook doesn’t know how to read the expression on his face. He blames himself for it.

Jungkook excuses himself and comes back with two glasses of water, ice bobbing against the rim. Taehyung looks away when he takes a sip, placing it down on the table carefully.

“How come you never reached out to me after we graduated?” Taehyung asks, and it’s the question Jungkook has been dreading. He angles his knees toward Jungkook, and Jungkook can smell his cologne again, heady and rich. It smells expensive.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, feeling hollow. “I didn’t think I was allowed. We were in two different social ranks and had different goals.”

“I thought about you a lot,” Taehyung admits. He doesn’t break eye contact when he speaks. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the application for my research. In a way, it’s destiny, isn’t it?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Jungkook glances down when he feels Taehyung’s hand wrap around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologizes, his expression quickly darkening. “That was inappropriate of me to say about your situation. I don’t mean that your condition is destiny, I just—”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Jungkook says numbly, but he’s distracted by Taehyung’s fingers, long and slender. He isn’t wearing his wedding ring. “Your ring,” he blurts without thinking.

“Ah,” Taehyung says, yanking his hand back like he’s been burned. Jungkook’s heart plummets, his chest flooding with guilt. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice.”

“Is everything okay?”

Taehyung nods. “I went through a divorce last year, but I didn’t get around to taking off the ring until recently. I think our conversation the other day finally motivated me to do it. It was like a wake-up call that I’d been putting it off too long.”

Jungkook feels numb. He should feel happy, shouldn’t he? “I’m sorry to hear about that.”

Taehyung shrugs. “It is what it is. The divorce was part of why I felt motivated to begin my research, actually. Working with other people’s love problems seemed like a good way to deal with mine,” he rambles. “I tell patients it’s because of my degree, but that’s not really it.”

The numbness spreads through Jungkook’s body, down to his hands. 

“There’s actually something I wanted to discuss with you today,” Taehyung says, quieter now. His voice comes out thick.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks. He looks down at Taehyung’s bare fingers and sees someone who has moved on — has gotten married, found the job of his dreams, and gained purpose. Even though it ended in divorce, it’s more than Jungkook has ever had for himself.

Jungkook wishes his sadness had meaning. He wishes it was meaningful the way Taehyung’s is.

“I thought we could consider getting a service dog for you,” Taehyung says. He speaks slowly, letting the words hang in the air. “Not just for your vision, but for emotional support, as well. Someone to help you even after the study has concluded.”

“I see,” Jungkook says. A dog would be nice , he thinks. He looks around his apartment, imagining something living and breathing in his space. Something warm and soft that would look after him. But the dependency is what scares him — the idea that one day he might need the dog just to get dressed and leave his room. 

By then, he’ll have reached the point of no return.

“What do you think of that?”

Jungkook swallows. “It scares me, but I know I shouldn’t ignore the signs.”

“The signs?” Taehyung asks carefully. Sunlight reflects off the lenses of his glasses, whiting out his eyes. Jungkook had forgotten he opened the curtains. It makes the room swelter.

“That I’m going to go blind,” Jungkook says. 

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and the admission makes his stomach lurch. He’s tried to ignore it, but ignoring hasn’t worked. He’s running out of time.

But it feels like he’s been saying this for years.

Jungkook thinks it’s cruel of the universe to do this to him. He thinks it’s cruel to be punished like this for loving someone. The universe is cold and lonely, and Jungkook’s warmth isn’t enough to compensate. 

“You don’t know that,” Taehyung says, but it sounds strained.

It doesn’t make Jungkook feel better or worse. “I do,” he says. “I can feel it, and it’s okay. Nothing is going to change.”

There is no cure, and if there is, Taehyung won’t be able to find it in time. With each moment Jungkook spends with him, helping with his research, he’s only making that day come sooner. Jungkook wonders if he would have been better off not meeting Taehyung again at all, or if this is the best scenario he could have ever hoped for. If not for Taehyung, Jungkook doesn’t think he would have loved anyone, been anyone, and wouldn’t have even had the chance to want someone. 

At least, if nothing else, it makes him feel human. 

Taehyung stares at him for a moment. A look of sadness passes over his face, heavy and burdened with all the things he doesn’t say. It looks like resignation. He knows what Jungkook is thinking. Not just what Jungkook tells him, but what he’s actually thinking, for once. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you,” Taehyung apologizes, and Jungkook can feel the weight of his words. They push on his shoulders, forcing him deeper into the couch. It feels like it’s going to swallow him whole.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. “You did the best you could.”

“Service dogs,” Taehyung croaks, covering it with a cough. Jungkook pretends not to notice. “Let’s look into service dogs. I’ll reach out to some companies today.”

Jungkook doesn’t ask about the money. He doesn’t ask about financing. What’s the point?

“Did you end up watching the space documentary on National Geographic?” Taehyung asks then.

Jungkook looks up. His tongue feels thick in his mouth when he shakes his head. The noise of the TV had faded into the background, lost in their conversation. He’s surprised Taehyung even noticed it. “No.”

“It was about a galaxy that scientists recently discovered,” Taehyung says softly. “Galaxy NGC 6503. It’s 18 million light years away from Earth.”

“Sounds lonely,” Jungkook murmurs, feeling his heart ache for the isolated galaxy. 

“Yet even though it’s completely isolated from everything else, we still saw it and gave it a name,” Taehyung chuckles. “We saw its beautiful colours and decided to make it something. Isn’t it interesting how humans do that?”

“We give a name to everything,” Jungkook points out.

Taehyung nods and Jungkook isn’t quite sure he understands. “We don’t like anything in the universe to feel alone.”

Jungkook gets an e-mail from Taehyung a day later. It lists a handful of dogs in the area looking for owners with links to the website. Jungkook visits their profiles, heart softening at the sight of gentle brown eyes and wagging tails. He can’t remember the last time he had an animal around to keep him company.

The dogs are trained through an agency specializing in seeing-eye dogs. They exist to help, and the thought makes him cry against his desk, burying his face in his arms. But even dogs don’t live forever, and Jungkook wonders why he’s thinking so far ahead when he’s never cared about his future before. He’s been in the past for so long that he’s forgotten anything else. 

His sobs turn into dry heaves. It’s the first time he’s let himself properly cry in a long time and Jungkook lets it happen, shaking in his chair until it subsides. He’s exhausted by the end, and all of his energy is drained. He feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks. 

When it’s over, he wipes the tears away with his sleeve, and the ones that land on his table spread out into a galaxy on the surface, lingering no matter how hard he rubs. They don’t want to leave, and maybe Jungkook doesn’t want to, either. He’s never been happy — doesn’t have anything to look forward to or work for, but he supposes it’s human nature to want to hold on, anyway. Keep living in spite of everything, for everything.

Hugging his arms, Jungkook walks into the kitchen for a glass of water, accidentally knocking his shoulder against the doorframe. It’s been in the same place for years, but as his vision worsens, even the things that are most familiar to him start to feel out of place. 

The world is changing around him, and Jungkook is struggling to keep up.

When Jungkook cries again over the sink, he leaves a trail of stars on his cheeks, his hands, and the rim of the glass. When he cries at night, they burn even brighter, creating a solar system across his ceiling when the moonlight shines through his window like it’s being pulled into it. 

Jungkook places the plants on the table in front of them, small shoots outgrowing the little yogurt containers they were rooted in. 

Creamy strawberry yogurt. Excellent source of probiotics.

“Just those three?”

Jungkook looks up, surprised to see Taehyung behind the counter.

“You work in the greenhouse?” Jungkook asks instead of answering the question.

Taehyung nods, ringing in the plants. He peels off the sticker price tags, flicking them into the trash. “It’s part of my volunteering. Whenever there are extra plants that don’t get used for labs, we sell them dirt cheap to fund the department. Honestly, I don’t think it goes very far, but it’s fun.”

“Oh, cool,” Jungkook says. 

“I didn’t know you liked plants,” Taehyung comments. “Six dollars.”

Jungkook fumbles for his wallet, handing Taehyung a pile of change. Taehyung looks unfazed. “I don’t, normally, but I thought they’d look nice in my dorm room since I’m not allowed to have pets.”

“Plants make good pets,” Taehyung says. “Are you more of a flower or a fern guy?”

“Flowers, I guess,” Jungkook says, blushing. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed. “I don’t know.”

“That was my guess,” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t elaborate. He hands Jungkook his change and Jungkook grabs his plants to leave the line, but Taehyung speaks again. “I can imagine them in your room. They suit you, somehow.”

“Ah, really?” Jungkook asks, not sure what else to say.

“Here,” Taehyung says, reaching behind him for a vase of sunflowers and plucking one out of the water. The stem drips, still fresh and green. “A gift of thanks for supporting the school’s greenhouse. Hope to see you around.”

Jungkook takes the flower hesitantly, holding it up to his nose. 

“Looking good, flower boy,” Taehyung winks, and then the next girl is stepping up to the counter, and Jungkook is drowned out.

He puts the flower in a glass of water when he gets home, turning it toward the sun. It lives for a week, but for that week, Jungkook sees it every morning when he wakes up, brilliant and gold. He’d never thought much about them before, but now they feel special. 

If Taehyung were a colour, it would be yellow. 

Jungkook finds a bouquet of flowers at his doorstep with a card the next morning. Confused, he peels back the envelope, thinking it’s from his work, but then he sees the message, his heart stutters weakly, giving out entirely.

For strength, the note says.

From Taehyung.

Not Dr. Kim. Taehyung.

With shaking hands, Jungkook carries the flowers into his apartment and rests them on the kitchen table. The bouquet is a mix of summer flowers, bright red, orange, and yellow. When he inhales, they’re earthy and fresh, reminding him of his mother’s garden she kept on the balcony of her apartment. Smiling, he rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

You’re killing me, Taehyung, Jungkook thinks. You’re killing me, and you don’t even know it.

Jungkook holds one of the sunflowers up to his nose to inhale, unable to restrain his smile when the petal tickles his nose. Drawing back, he looks down, freezing when he realizes he can make out the details in the flower. He can see the individual seeds, the veins running through the petals, and the prickly texture of the stem. Beautiful, he thinks at first, before numbness takes over. 

Jungkook drops the flower, watching it crumple to the floor. One of the petals becomes loose, ripping away from the centre. From this distance, he can no longer make out more than a smear of yellow on the floor.

If he deludes himself, Jungkook can almost believe for a moment that his vision is getting better. 

When the day for their next meeting comes, Jungkook takes the subway to Taehyung’s laboratory. Taehyung had told him to stay home, but Jungkook is too restless to stay. He needs to know. 

He tries not to focus on the posters taped above the seats, avoiding the glare of the billboards. He’s become afraid of seeing — afraid of whether he’ll be able to make out the words. In that sense, he’s stopped seeing anything at all. He thinks it’s ironic. 

The sky is sunny and clear. He stops for coffee on his way to work, and the wind on the back of Jungkook’s neck makes him feel like he’s left the grey of the city for somewhere new. 

But his boss was waiting for Jungkook at his desk, frowning. 

Your call-offs in the past week were unacceptable. You’ll need to provide documentation to explain your absences, otherwise, you will be terminated.

Jungkook nods and waits to be excused. He promises to bring the documents, but he never got around to asking Taehyung for the paperwork. He doesn’t know if he’ll end up asking — he doesn’t know much about what he’s going to do at all.

I’m going blind, he wants to scream at his boss. I’m going blind and losing one of the only ways I can connect to the world, and all you give a fuck about is your paperwork.

He’d spent most of his shift staring blankly at his work computer, waiting for it to be over. At the end of the day, he avoided talking to his coworkers and submitted his report five minutes later, deciding he didn’t care. No one said anything to him about it because no one notices him. 

As Jungkook walks across campus to Taehyung’s lab, someone mistakes him for another undergraduate student. Distracted, he doesn’t realize he’s being called until he feels someone touching his shoulder. Pulling out an earbud, he turns to face the student in confusion. 

Young, he thinks, when he sees their face. He doesn’t know why he fixates on that. 

“Hi, you’re in Dr. Choi’s class right?” the guy asks, but he looks uncertain now that he’s seen Jungkook’s face. Jungkook wonders what he sees. 

At Jungkook’s blank stare, the student clarifies. “Introduction to psychology. There’s a group project? Aren’t you in it?”

After a moment, Jungkook shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m not in that class.”

I’m not a student here, he should’ve said, but he didn’t.

The student shrinks back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Jungkook can only stare as the student hurries away. 

He thinks about the encounter when he checks in with the receptionist, who smiles at him warmly. She’s wearing a pin of a daisy in her hair today, and Jungkook almost compliments her on it before he loses his nerve. 

“Feeling better this week?”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yes, I’m feeling better now.” 

“He’s inside waiting for you. Let yourself in.” Nothing in her tone suggests anything is different. It’s like Jungkook never stopped coming at all. 

Jungkook lets himself inside quietly, shutting the door behind him. Taehyung is hunched over his desk, typing something on a laptop. His glasses are folded beside him, his lab coat draped over the back of the chair. 

“Dr. Kim?” Jungkook asks softly.

When Taehyung turns around, he looks surprised to see him. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook frowns, wondering if he got the dates for their meetings mixed up. Time has sunk into the background, moving fuzzy and slow, then all of a sudden too fast. He can’t keep up. “Am I interrupting you?”

Taehyung quickly shakes his head, standing up. “Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to come in. It’s too dangerous for you to navigate public transit in your state. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“My eyes felt better today,” Jungkook blurts out. The admission makes Taehyung look up sharply, and they stare at each other in silence for a moment. 

Taehyung freezes. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t know. They just felt different somehow. Better.”

“Why?” Taehyung asks, stepping closer. He studies Jungkook’s face like he might find the answer there. A part of Jungkook wishes he would reach out and touch him again — brushing over his eyelids with his fingers and staring into his pupils with the same intensity he’s looking at him now. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. “I don’t know if it means anything or I’m just imagining it. I don’t know anything.”

“Did your feelings change? Did you see the person you have feelings for again?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My feelings haven’t changed at all.”

I like you more than ever. 

The corners of Taehyung’s lips tug down. It doesn’t seem right to see him that way. Jungkook hates himself for not having a better answer, but he hates himself more when he lies. 

“I think, maybe, I’ve just accepted my fate,” Jungkook says. “Maybe that’s what’s changed.”

And then Taehyung is pulling him into a hug. It reminds Jungkook of the hugs his mother would give him when he was younger — tender and warm, and loving. When their chests bump flush together, Jungkook sighs, his breath hitting the shell of Taehyung’s ear. He lets himself sink into it, pressing his weight over Taehyung’s body. He’s too much of a stranger to be hugged like this, but he wants it. He wants this more than anything. 

“Don’t say things like that,” Taehyung murmurs. Jungkook knows what they’re doing is unprofessional, but the last thing he wants to do is pull away. “Maybe you’ve started to lose your feelings and you just haven’t noticed. Your body might be ahead of your brain.”

Jungkook smiles because Taehyung doesn’t know at all. He wants to shake his head, but Taehyung won’t see it. 

“My feelings aren’t going to change,” Jungkook says softly, mostly to himself. 

“We should celebrate anyway,” Taehyung says, and he sounds so happy that it’s contagious. His hands are big around Jungkook’s waist, cradling him close. Jungkook has never felt small in someone’s arms before, but he understands the appeal of it now. The appeal of being vulnerable. “Have you ever been to the planetarium on campus?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Never, I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“You have me,” Taehyung teases. “You had me back then, too. All you would have had to do is ask.”

Would it have been that easy all along? Looking back, Jungkook remembers all the times he hesitated on asking Taehyung out — all the times he turned Taehyung down because he was too scared to be seen. 

“You had so many friends back then, I didn’t want to take you from them,” Jungkook confesses. 

“You were one of them, Jungkook,” Taehyung laughs. “I’ve always had time for you.”

Is that how Taehyung saw them? Friends? Jungkook wonders then how many of his insecurities were just in his head, holding him back from having what he wanted. 

“Okay,” Jungkook gives in. “Let’s go to the planetarium.”

And in walking around the planetarium on campus, Jungkook is transported back to the day they looked at the planets in Taehyung’s backyard. There’s a telescope here, much larger than the one Taehyung had, and when Jungkook looks in, he can see Saturn much clearer than he did before. It doesn’t make it any more incredible than the first time, but the telescope doesn’t care if Jungkook’s eyes aren’t good. It does all the seeing for him. 

It shouldn’t be anything special, but to Jungkook it is. He feels oversized and awkward among all the students, crowded even after dark when all of the other buildings on campus have closed, but no one looks at him in judgment. He’s just one of them. 

“Remember how I joked about aliens back then?” Taehyung asks, picking up a small figurine of Pluto. It’s separate from the rest of the planets in the solar system. 

Jungkook nods. “I remember.”

“I wasn’t entirely joking,” Taehyung confides, looking a bit embarrassed. “I actually took a trip when I was doing my Masters to look at old cave drawings of spaceships. It didn’t have anything to do with my research, but I spent most of my student loan on it, anyway.”

Jungkook laughs. “Really? Did you find anything neat?”

Taehyung looks at Jungkook softly, and Jungkook sees relief in his eyes. A strange emotion that looks like trust. “I did. I think it’s neat that humans have always been fascinated with the sky — curious about what’s out there. When you look at the sky at night, you see strange things you can’t explain. Things that move too erratically to be comets or shooting stars. Wouldn’t it be neat if we weren’t alone?”

“Do you think there’s something out there?” Jungkook asks. “When I was a kid, I saw a strange light floating above the lake when I was at the beach. I never figured out what it was, but the memory stuck with me for years.”

“Maybe it wanted to be friends,” Taehyung jokes. “It saw you on the beach and wanted to make contact.”

“When we say there’s life in space, I think scientists mean bacteria or small single-celled organisms,” Jungkook says, looking up at the map of the solar system. It takes over the entire wall, wrapping them in darkness. “Do you think there’s actually intelligent life out there?” 

“Who knows?” Taehyung shrugs. “But wouldn’t it be nice if there were more than just rocks floating around in space?”

“Maybe humans are just projecting their desire not to be alone,” Jungkook suggests. 

“But it’s not really projection, is it?” Taehyung muses. “No matter what we believe, we’re never really as alone as we think we are.”

“I want to take you to a park,” Taehyung says at their next meeting. 

Jungkook nods, playing with his fingers. The scabs on his cuticles are starting to heal, fading light pink. 

“The weather is nice, and I think it would be good for your mental health. Since your vision is improving, it might be good to see how well it holds up in a dynamic environment like a park where there’s a lot of texture. Then, I’ll order another eye examination through the university.”

Jungkook can’t hide his smile. His eyes have slowly and steadily gotten better since the trip to the planetarium trip, and while Jungkook doesn’t understand why, he holds onto it with every last bit of hope he has. 

None of it makes sense because he likes Taehyung now more than ever.  

He feels the best he’s felt in months when they walk across the grass, soft and green under their feet. Jungkook looks up at a bright blue sky, stars hiding behind the clouds like it’s his little secret that he knows they’re there, waiting to come out at sunset. 

Taehyung is unusually quiet, kicking at the ground as he walks. Dressed in a beige coat and long pants, he doesn’t look like a professor at a university. He just looks like Taehyung, but older. When Jungkook looks at him properly, he can make out the faint cast of stubble on his chin and lines starting to set next to his eyes. Jungkook never looks at himself in the mirror enough to notice, but he imagines he looks the same way. 

It’s scary how quickly time goes by. 

With the thought comes a wave of sadness. Jungkook knows he isn’t going to get over Taehyung. Not with how gentle and patient Taehyung is with him — with the way he looks after Jungkook like a friend and not a patient. How he’s careful when he talks to him, not because he needs to, but because he cares.  

Jungkook is reminded of all the reasons he fell for Taehyung years ago. He thinks there isn’t anyone he’d rather give his heart to than Taehyung.

After all, who else would it be? Who deserves to be loved more than Taehyung?

Maybe Jungkook is only optimistic because his vision is getting better, or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. The air feels nice on his skin, the sun is warm on his back, and he’s walking in the park with the person he’s wanted ever since he was a teenager. He’s getting the chance he never had before. 

Jungkook sits down under a tree, not expecting Taehyung to join him, but he does. The ground is cold and damp, seeping into the denim of Jungkook’s jeans, but it feels real. Taehyungs sits on the edge of his coat and smiles, all of it directed toward Jungkook.

He lights a smoke, exhaling a thin cloud into the leaves as he watches children play over by the baseball diamond. “It’s such a horrible habit,” he murmurs. “But I can’t seem to stop.”

“It’s hard to let go of bad things when they bring you comfort,” Jungkook says quietly, plucking a dandelion out of the grass. Pulling the petal out one by one, he recites in his head. He loves me, he loves me not. 

“The company found a few service dogs for you,” Taehyung says, tucking his knees up to his chest. Jungkook notices the crinkles in the corners of his eyes even more when he looks at him from the side, wrinkling his skin. “They want you to come in next week and meet them if you have time.”

“Okay,” Jungkook breathes, distracted by Taehyung’s smile. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Taehyung’s expression falls, reaching out to catch the tear on the end of his thumb. Jungkook’s skin tingles when Taehyung touches it. 

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung whispers. “What are you thinking about?”

Jungkook clears his throat. He swallows, looking down because he can’t meet Taehyung’s eyes. “I think I’m still coming to terms with the fact that this is permanent. Before, I think I was in limbo.”

“Is it getting worse again?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “No, but the feelings are the same.”

“It’s not fair,” Taehyung says, and the seriousness in his voice throws Jungkook off. He looks up, mouth parting in surprise when Taehyung cups his jaw. “That the person you like gets to do this to you. What makes them so special?”

Jungkook huffs out a laugh, his cheeks tinging pink. “It’s not like that.”

“You don’t resent them at all?”

Jungkook’s heart aches at that. He doesn’t resent Taehyung at all, but the words still hurt. It’s not Taehyung’s fault that Jungkook wasn’t the one for him. 

“Do you resent the person you divorced?” Jungkook asks, glancing down at Taehyung’s hands. 

Taehyung’s eyes follow Jungkook’s gaze. He flexes his fingers, then squeezes them into fists. “I guess not. I used to, in a way, and then I realized some things just happen because they’re not meant to work out. It was both our fault, yet it was no one’s fault.”

“It’s the same for me,” Jungkook murmurs. “It’s no one’s fault.”

“I think what I resent is I wasted so much time with the wrong person,” Taehyung goes on. “I’d built up this life that I thought was perfect. I told myself I did everything right, but I still felt like I had nothing. Even now, I push myself to do more research and more courses, hoping it gives me a sense of purpose.”

“At the time it felt right, so you shouldn’t look back on it like a mistake,” Jungkook says softly, wishing he had something better to say. 

“Isn’t it a bit late for me to start over?” Taehyung laughs self-deprecatingly. “I feel so old and yet I’m only at the beginning of my thirties. I’m supposed to have everything figured out by now.”

“How is that fair?” Jungkook teases. “You’re not even halfway through life, yet. Look at me, I’ve done even less.”

“Jungkook—” Taehyung sighs, then sucks in a breath, cutting himself off. “Have you been with anyone else? Since them?”

The question leaves Jungkook speechless. He has, but in other ways, he hasn’t. 

“God,” Taehyung groans, pressing his thumb into Jungkook’s cheek. His eyes are hooded but gentle, encompassing so much love and affection. It startles Jungkook, but when he tries to pull back, Taehyung traces his other hand through Jungkook’s hair. “Can I be unprofessional with you?”

Jungkook nods, but he thinks Taehyung has been unprofessional with him already. Unprofessional when he came to his house to see him, unprofessional when he hugged him, and even now when he invited him to this park outside of work. 

Jungkook would never dream of saying no to him. 

“You deserve better, I really mean that,” Taehyung says earnestly. “You deserve someone who sees you for who you are instead of someone that’s in orbit around them, waiting to be noticed.”

“I wish I knew you back then,” Jungkook confesses. “I wish we talked when we were younger the way we do now.”

“I thought about messaging you,” Taehyung says. His knee bumps against Jungkook’s thigh, warm through the fabric of his pants. “I searched your name on social media, but nothing came up.”

Because I blocked you, Jungkook thinks. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m weird, but I thought about you a lot,” Taehyung laughs, light and breathy. “I lost contact with all of my friends from university, but you were the only one that kept coming to mind. I asked myself why? We barely knew each other, and yet we did.”

“I thought about you too,” Jungkook quietly says. There’s a hand threading through his roots, and another on his waist. He feels himself being pulled in closer, and when their shoulders brush, Jungkook’s heart sings. 

“It’s been ten years, but we’re both still trying to find our place. I look at other people I went to school with, and they seem so happy, so natural,” Taehyung says, letting his head against the tree. “Some days I just want to go back. I want to start over.”

“Some days I wish I went back and got my Master’s,” Jungkook whispers like it’s a secret. He wishes he could do his entire undergraduate over. He wishes he cares about it more. He would have cared at the time if he knew how much it would mean to him now. 

Jungkook thinks of all the assignments he procrastinated on, and all the projects he neglected and just feels regret. It meant more to him than he ever imagined. 

“So why don’t you?” Taehyung’s eyes are hooded and soft. Jungkook can see every detail in his irises. “You can, you know. It’s not too late.”

“I don't have the money for it,” Jungkook says. “I barely make enough now.”

“There’s always a way,” Taehyung insists. “I’ll find one for you. You’re not confined to one place. You don’t have to do one thing forever.”

“It's not that easy,” Jungkook argues, but he’s not trying to be confrontational. He was never very good in university, not because he didn’t care but because he was scared. Scared of failure, scared of trying. 

Taehyung shakes his head. “Nothing is easy, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.”

Jungkook hums, closing his eyes. He breathes in the smell of Taehyung’s cigarette, something he would have hated on anyone else, but likes on him. They both have bad habits they can break. 

“Do you think that’s why this has happened to you?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence. “That the reason you’ve been suffering for ten years isn’t just because you want this person, but because your body is telling you you’re not done here yet? That you haven’t done everything you’re meant to do?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook supposes. 

“Maybe it’s not so much that you love this person so much you can’t let go, but that this person is tied in with everything else. They’re a cumulation of everything you’re still longing for. There’s more you can be in love with than just a person, you know.” Taehyung looks at him carefully, a curl of smoke blocking his face. “You might not have to get over your feelings at all. You might just need to go back. ” 

“You could be right,” Jungkook whispers, but he doesn’t see how he could do it. The universe is asking too much of him. 

“In just these few weeks, you’ve spent so much time with me on campus,” Taehyung says. “Walking around, visiting the planetarium, and seeing students. You say your feelings haven’t changed, but your vision has gotten better anyway. Isn’t it a sign you’re doing the right thing?”

But even if it is, what will happen when the meetings end and Jungkook goes back to his job? 

“I want to help you,” Taehyung says again. “Not just now, but for longer than you’re part of my research. We might not have been able to call each other friends back then, but we can now. I mean, I’ve seen you at your worst, haven’t I?” he jokes. 

“I loved the flowers,” Jungkook confesses. “The ones you sent me. I never got to tell you.”

“Did you?” Taehyung asks, and his cheeks flush pink.  

“Why did you get them for me?” Jungkook needs to know to sate the hungry monster in his chest that wants more.  

“I thought you deserved something pretty in your apartment. Something alive.” Taehyung pushes back Jungkook’s bangs, smoothing them down. His palm is warm against his forehead. Smooth, uncalloused. “Something to remind you that nothing is permanent, only transitory.” 

“Thank you, I loved them.” It’s not nearly all of what Jungkook wants to say.

Jungkook’s breath hitches when Taehyung leans more solidly against him, spilling into his space until it’s difficult to breathe. His heart flutters and his fingers twitch, hesitating to reach out and touch despite how much he’s wanted it for years. 

He wants to throw caution to the wind and kiss Taehyung, even though it would hurt. Even though it would end everything they’ve built up to until now.

“If I’m being a bit cheeky, I think you look cuter with glasses now,” Taehyung jokes, pinching Jungkook’s cheek. Jungkook blames his blush on the sting of the pinch. “They suit you.”

“They’re ugly,” Jungkook protests, but his heart is confused. Hopeful. 

“I’m glad you didn’t get contacts. Your glasses make you look a little like a bug.”

“Bugs are ugly,” Jungkook frowns.

Taehyung’s face turns serious. “Never tell a scientist that bugs are ugly.”

They both giggle, causing their heads to knock together. Jungkook gasps, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but it’s cut off when Taehyung’s hand slides down to cup the hand of his neck, pulling him in closer. 

Jungkook swallows a gasp when lips press over his, soft and wet. His hands hover in the air, frozen in surprise. Hazy, he lets it happen, melting into Taehyung’s touch. 

It feels like it’s happening to someone else and Jungkook is just an outsider looking in. He feels like a fly on the wall, watching the kiss happen between two strangers instead of him and Taehyung. 

Taehyung is warm against Jungkook, his breath ghosting across his lips and cheeks. He kisses the way he talks — slow and deep, with each kiss carrying a weight that sinks to the bottom of Jungkook’s chest. He feels like he’s being filled, overflowing with something incredible he’s never had before. Jungkook hasn’t been kissed many times in his life, but this is the only kiss that’s made him feel like he’s loved.  

And it’s been so long since Jungkook’s been kissed that he’s forgotten how to. He’s clumsy at first, sloppy when he tries to kiss Taehyung back. But Taehyung takes it in stride like he does everything else, guiding Jungkook with a warm hand on his nape. 

Jungkook is messy and inexperienced, but Taehyung has never minded Jungkook’s messes. He’s always been there to clean them up. Maybe he’s been like that forever. 

It’s sweet and tentative like a first kiss between teenagers. Jungkook shudders when Taehyung’s hand moves to grip the front of his throat, melting in his arms. He’d let Taehyung take anything. Everything. 

There’s an innocent curiosity to Taehyung’s touches like he’s unsure if he’s allowed. Jungkook wants to scream that Taehyung can have every part of him if that’s what he wants. There’s a hand moving to cup his waist, squeezing through his shirt, and Jungkook has to swallow a moan. The sounds of their mouths are slick, and it makes Jungkook flush, embarrassed, even though he should have outgrown it by now. 

Jungkook should feel embarrassed that he doesn’t question it. He just takes whatever Taehyung is willing to give, knowing it could be the last thing he gets. He’s running out of time, he knows. One day, his eyes will give out entirely, their meetings will be over, and that will be the end. He doesn't question why Taehyung is kissing him — he doesn't even let himself entertain the idea that it could be anything more than a mistake.

For now, Jungkook lets himself unravel in Taehyung’s arms.

Jungkook muffles a moan when Taehyung deepens the kiss, licking softly into his mouth. He forgets that they’re in a park with other people, focused only on the racing of his heart and the feeling of Taehyung’s lips. Taehyung kisses with experience, and Jungkook is ashamed that he can’t keep up. Jungkook can tell he’s loved before just by the way he kisses, and it makes Jungkook’s stomach lurch. He wants to be able to love the way Taehyung has. 

Taehyung sucks Jungkook’s bottom lip into his mouth softly before letting go. When he pulls back. His mouth is slick with spit and swollen, and Jungkook is tingling down into his feet. 

He feels like a supernova — a luminous explosion of a star. He feels like he’s been broken into a thousand pieces and put back together all over again. 

“You don’t deserve to be hung up on someone who doesn’t want you,” Taehyung says when he pulls back, staring at Jungkook with so much heaviness it hurts. “I want to be there for you, Jungkook. I want you to find someone better.”

“What are you saying?” Jungkook asks, breathless. He tries to think, but his head is blissfully empty. For once, he’s in the moment and not somewhere else, waiting for it to be over. 

Taehyung kisses the corner of his mouth, and Jungkook swallows a whimper. “Doesn’t it feel good to take your mind off them? I thought about asking you who your love is, but then I thought it’s better I don’t know.”

Jungkook stares at Taehyung in a daze. If only Taehyung knew. If only he knew Jungkook’s feelings for him ever since the beginning. 

If Taehyung looked a little closer, he’d know it was him all along. 

“I want to give every star in your eyes a name,” Taehyung confesses. “That way, when they’re gone, you’ll have something to remember them by.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says softly. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, face falling as he finally lets go of Jungkook’s cheek. He yanks back like he expects Jungkook to yell at him. Hit him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says again, harder this time, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away. His heart is pounding in his ears, delirious with hope. He never imagined Taehyung liked men, let alone him. He never saw it coming at all. 

“I really don’t know what came over me. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. That was completely inappropriate.” His voice smooths over into the one he’d used when they first met — practiced and eased, only Jungkook knows now that it’s an act. Taehyung is scared. “I never saw you with a girlfriend back then, so I thought maybe, but that doesn’t make it any less wrong. I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

Don’t you see? Jungkook wants to say, but he can’t get the words out. The universe had drawn them back together. It had planned it from the start. When the tears in Taehyung’s jar were drawn toward his hand, it was the universe pulling them into each other’s orbit. 

It was giving them a second chance. 

“What do you want from me, Taehyung?” Jungkook asks, unable to hide the shake in his voice. He’s terrified of Taehyung’s answer. “Did you kiss me because you felt guilty? Is that it? You found out I’m gay and felt bad for me?”

The thought makes Jungkook sick all over again. The thought is worse than rejection — worse than pity. 

Jungkook gasps when he’s pressed down against the grass for Taehyung to straddle his hips. It’s the kind of position adults don’t do in public, but Jungkook doesn’t care. His hair is strewn out around his face, wild and free. 

“I had no idea you were gay,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t even know I liked anything other than women until three years into my marriage, but I never acted on it. I wanted to be there for you, Jungkook,” he insists. He’s out of breath. “Meeting you again after so much time made me realize how much I missed you. Back then, I thought I just wanted to be your friend, but now I realize it’s more than that. I mean, I thought about you for years, Jungkook. It’s not just me, is it? You— you kissed me back. Why? You said your feelings haven’t changed.” 

They haven’t. 

“You know, don’t you?” Jungkook asks, and it’s only a fraction of everything he wants to say. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be brave enough to say the rest. “It’s obvious, right? Don’t say it.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicker with recognition, growing bigger, then closing in pain. He looks wounded.

“It’s not too late, is it?” Taehyung asks, and it sounds like he’s begging. “Starting over, meeting again. You can go back to university, you really can. We can meet again and start over. It’s not too late.”

When Jungkook blinks, Taehyung’s face is the clearest he’s seen it in weeks. His vision is changing right in front of his eyes. 

“It’s not too late,” Jungkook agrees. Taehyung makes it sound so believable, and Jungkook thinks he could believe it if he tries. “We can get to know each other, Taehyung.”

“I want that,” Taehyung whispers. He’s not the same person Jungkook had met in university, but he wants him now. He’d wanted him then, too. There are the beginnings of crow’s feet nest to his eyes and lines beside his lips from smiling at jokes Jungkook never got to hear, but he’s still Taehyung. 

He’s the same, and yet he’s different. Jungkook doesn’t want to be the same person anymore. 

He’s been given a second chance at life, and for the first time, he wants to take it. 

The universe had aligned for them. It had been searching for Taehyung all along. 

When Jungkook applies to go back to university, he enrolls in the school’s psychology program. I want to research my own condition so people don't have to go through what I did, he tells Taehyung. I want to be the person to give it a name. 

Jungkook keeps the jar of his tears from Taehyung's lab on his desk. It's a universe that belongs to him, a quiet secret he sees only when the sunlight hits it the right way. The universe is beautiful and infinite, and so poorly understood.