Work Text:
Jeongguk scrunches his nose at the chewed gum stuck on the back of some theatre seats. These are going to be a nightmare to clean up. God, this sucks. Jimin is totally going to laugh at him. If he isn’t too busy sucking face with Seokjin, that is.
What a great way to spend Valentine’s Day.
Jeongguk sighs and continues sweeping the aisles, skipping the seats for now. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
A sniffling sound stops him in his tracks. He scans the theatre, but it looks as empty as it did when he came in to clean. There isn’t a person in sight.
He probably just heard the ventilation or something. With a shrug, he returns to his sweeping. There’s tons of trash littering the carpet – popcorn kernels, candy wrappers, ticket stubs, not to mention weirder things that he doesn’t want to examine too closely. He wishes that people would be neater, would throw out their garbage instead of carelessly tossing it onto the ground, but maybe he would be out of a job if they did. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, indeed.
Okay, he definitely hears the sniffling again. Not just sniffling but crying: soft, muffled sobs that seem to resonate in the theatre. Either this place is haunted by a mopey ghost or there’s someone else here.
Jeongguk frowns. Nobody is supposed to be here now. Well, nobody else. The last movie had ended over an hour ago, and he had checked to ensure the theatre was empty before starting to clean.
“Hello?” he calls out. “Who’s there?”
The crying abruptly cuts off. Jeongguk doesn’t know why his presence didn’t bother the crier before, but apparently sweeping doesn’t disturb crying but talking does.
“Uh, I’m part of the cinema staff and I’m cleaning the theatre. The customers were supposed to vacate the premises a while ago.”
He hopes that he doesn’t sound too much like an ass, which is probably the last thing the crying person needs. But he needs to do his job. He’s a college student trying to pay his bills, not some kind of counsellor.
Jeongguk waits for a response, but nothing comes. He feels stupid for talking into the air, but he does anyway to ask another question.
“Where are you?”
Still, no reply. He cranes his neck to look around the theatre again, but he still can’t see anything except empty seats and shadows. Where is the person hiding?
There’s a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, and this time he has his ears pricked so he can pick up that it’s from the back of the theatre. Putting down his broom, Jeongguk makes his way toward the source of the crying, being careful not to bump into anything on the way. He’s sustained his share of bruises from knocking into seats and armrests.
“Hello?” Jeongguk says, feeling ridiculous and determined at the same time. He feels like he’s cornering a stray cat behind an alley.
A head pokes out behind a seat, and Jeongguk freezes. He clears his throat, regaining his composure. “The theatre is closed,” he blurts out the first thing he thought of.
The boy – it’s a boy, that’s all Jeongguk can tell in this dim lighting – sniffs. Jeongguk freezes again. He doesn’t…do crying. He doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t know how to deal with crying people.
“Are you okay?” Jeongguk asks awkwardly. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to get someone?”
The boy shakes his head. He straightens up – he’s tall, about the same height as Jeongguk – and drags his sleeve across his eyes, sniffling again. Jeongguk wants a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him. This wasn’t in the job description.
“Uh.” He should really tell the boy to leave, that’s what he would do to anyone else, but it feels like kicking a puppy. “Was the movie that bad?”
That startles a laugh out of the boy. “No.” Christ, his voice is deep. “It wasn’t the movie.”
“Well…” Jeongguk hunts for something comforting to say. He is the worst at comforting people, literally the worst person on earth. Why couldn’t it be Jimin or Seokjin? Or anyone else, really. Anyone but him. “The popcorn?”
Another laugh. “No, not that either.” A beat. “And it wasn’t my drink, if that’s where you’re going next.”
Jeongguk clears his throat. Well. At least he can save some breath by not having to ask his next question. And at least the boy stopped crying.
“Whatever it was, I hope you can get a refund on it.”
A chuckle, somewhere between bitter and sad. “Kind of hard to get a refund on a relationship.”
Oh. Oh. Of course. There’s nothing like being dumped on Valentine’s Day to make someone cry like that.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says, awkwardness being temporarily displaced by sincerity. “That’s really shitty.”
“Yeah.” His chuckle is definitely more toward bitter this time. “You can say that again.”
“That’s really shitty,” Jeongguk says, and the boy laughs. His laughter is very deep too.
“That’s life for you,” he says quietly. Jeongguk isn’t sure what to say to that, but he’s saved from having to reply when the boy speaks again. “I’m Taehyung.”
“Uh, okay.”
Taehyung walks across the aisle of seats he had been hidden behind and up to Jeongguk. He’s almost exactly the same height as him, and his hair is orange, not obnoxiously so but a soft colour like sunset. He’s dressed in a grey collared shirt and dark skinny jeans, on the nicer side of casual, and his boyish face is a contrast from his husky voice.
“Just so, you know.” Taehyung gives a faint smile. “You can put a name to the person crying in your movie theatre.”
“It’s not like I own this place,” Jeongguk says with a shrug. “I just work here.”
“Sometimes when you’re alone somewhere for a while, don’t you feel like a part of it belongs to you?” Taehyung asks. “Like in this moment, when it’s just you and the air and the silence, it’s kind of like you’re in your own little kingdom.”
Jeongguk stares at him. “Uh…sure.”
Taehyung tilts his head to the side. “No? You don’t get me?”
“Maybe if we were somewhere else, but trust me, I’ve seen enough of this place. I don’t want it to be my kingdom.”
“What do you want as your kingdom then?” Taehyung asks. His eyes are still red-rimmed from crying, but now they’re bright with curiosity. Jeongguk can’t remember the last time he saw somebody doing a complete 180 in mood like that.
“I…don’t know? It’s not something that I’ve really thought about.”
Taehyung clucks his tongue. “You’ve gotta think, dude. Hey, what’s your name?”
“Jeongguk,” he replies automatically.
“You’ve gotta think about these things, Jeongguk.”
“Sure.” Jeongguk can’t help a smile. “We can’t all think the way you do, Taehyung.”
Suddenly, Taehyung’s expression turns sad, forlorn. He looks down, his bangs hiding his eyes and casting shadows over his face.
“Taehyung?” Jeongguk asks cautiously.
“That’s what he said,” Taehyung says quietly, “that I—thought differently from him. From most people. That we were too different.”
“Oh.” Jeongguk feels like an ass.
“He used to tell me he liked how unique I was.” Taehyung’s voice sounds like it’s on its way to cracking. “I guess back then being different meant being unique to him. And now it just means being weird. And nobody wants to be with a weirdo.”
“Hey.” Jeongguk doesn’t even know Taehyung’s ex – he doesn’t even know Taehyung – but he already hates the guy. “You can’t believe that.”
Taehyung wipes his arm across his eyes again. “I’m—sorry,” he sniffs.
“It’s okay.” Jeongguk wonders if he should pat Taehyung on the shoulder or something. He raises his hand, hesitantly reaching toward Taehyung, but midway through the motion he feels too awkward and lets his arm drop.
“It’s just…” Half a sigh, half a sniffle. “I really liked him.”
“Well, he sounds kind of like a douchecanoe.”
Taehyung stares at him. “You don’t even know him.”
Jeongguk shrugs. “I don’t need to. Don’t want to, either. What kind of person breaks up with their boyfriend on Valentine’s Day?”
Taehyung’s mouth wobbles, and Jeongguk wonders horrifyingly if he’s going to make Taehyung cry again. But then Taehyung’s expression settles on something close to a smile. “It’s okay,” he says, even though Jeongguk can clearly tell it’s not. “It’s his loss.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Taehyung scratches the back of his head in a sheepish motion. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“It’s fine,” Jeongguk says dismissively.
“No, really.” Taehyung has a very intense gaze. Jeongguk almost has trouble meeting it head-on. “Thanks for listening to me and – you know, being cool.”
Jeongguk waves it off. “Don’t mention it.”
“It must not be how you wanted to spend Valentine’s Day, huh? Comforting some random crying dude in a movie theatre.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a great way to spend Valentine’s Day. Totally movie material.”
Taehyung laughs, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing. His smile looks curiously like a box. “Sorry I interrupted your cleaning.”
“It’s fine, stop apologizing,” Jeongguk says gruffly. “And anyway, it’s not like I was having the time of my life sweeping.”
“Sweeping can totally be fun!” Taehyung says brightly. “I like to pretend I’m going to fly with my broomstick later. You know, Harry Potter style.”
Jeongguk pauses for a moment, absorbing the statement. Then he snorts. “Given everything I’ve touched with this broomstick, I wouldn’t want to fly on it.”
“Well, you can have two! One for sweeping, one for flying.”
Jeongguk shakes his head, but he’s smiling and Taehyung mirrors the expression. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Taehyung.”
Taehyung looks at him with that box-shaped smile. “Yeah?”
You’re weird, unique, different – however you want to put it. And it’s great. Don’t ever change or feel like you have to change.
“I really do have to clean this place now.” Jeongguk smiles a little so it doesn’t sound like he’s kicking Taehyung out. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind talking to Taehyung while he sweeps, but he sure as hell isn’t going to tell Taehyung that. They barely know each other. “So…”
“Oh.” Taehyung looks disappointed. “Do you just have one broom?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t prepared for flying so I didn’t prepare an extra.”
“Well…” Taehyung perks up. “You can sweep and I’ll put the trash in a bag. You know, like one of those cleaning robots but better.”
“What cleaning ro—you want to stay around and help me clean?”
Taehyung’s face falls a little. “Unless you want me to leave?”
“No,” Jeongguk blurts out. He hates how eager he sounds as soon as the word leaves his mouth, but Taehyung’s smile makes it worth it. “I mean. If you don’t mind, I don’t mind either. Cleaning isn’t exactly fun.”
“Anything can be fun if you make it,” Taehyung tells him.
“Even watching paint dry?” Jeongguk asks wryly.
Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Jeongguk.”
“How am I—”
“Anyway,” Taehyung interrupts him. “Things are a lot more fun when you do them with a fun person!”
Jeongguk makes a point out of looking around. “Do you see any?”
Taehyung pouts, and Jeongguk stares for a beat too long. He wonders how stupid Taehyung’s ex must be, for letting go of a person like Taehyung. Not even just letting him go, but actively cutting him out of his life. What an idiot. Like Taehyung said, it’s his loss.
“Jeonggukie, let’s go!”
Jeongguk absently wondears where the endearment came from, but he finds that he doesn’t mind.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Let’s go.”