Work Text:
Jungkook doesn’t really think it’s an accident when Seokjin says he forgot the Q train suspended late-night service that weekend.
“It’s like I haven’t lived here for seven years or something. Please don’t revoke my New York card. I know I’m attractive, but I want to be cool also,” says Seokjin.
“You’ll never be cool, hyung,” says Hoseok, not unkindly. Somehow Hoseok is still at Jungkook’s apartment, too, despite the hour. He’s drinking a Brooklyn Lager. Several other beer cans are littered across the table in front of him. They’d all done their part to drink those—cheap IPAs with a metallic aftertaste. The air feels too warm and sticky for September, but Jungkook knows it’s partly the alcohol causing sweat to prick at his neck and armpits.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook says to Seokjin. He points at the couch. “I was expecting someone to stay.”
“I have you well trained. One of these days, you have to tell me to get my act together.”
It doesn’t take too long for Hobi to finally shuffle out, the last of the leftovers. Taehyung and Jimin had disappeared hours earlier, claiming dog duty.
“Never get a dog, Jungkook,” counsels Seokjin. “Or children. You’ll think the dog is a good substitute for a child, but it's really just a gateway drug.”
Jungkook laughs and challenges Seokjin to another game of Smash. Finally, when Seokjin falls asleep with his mouth open and the Legend of Zelda theme still playing on the TV, Jungkook pulls out a blanket and covers Seokjin with it, despite the warm breeze coming from the open window. He pushes Seokjin down lightly to tuck it in on all sides. As an afterthought, Jungkook places a pillow and a glass of water on the floor by the couch. Seokjin mumbles something and turns his head into the cushion behind him. Jungkook freezes and watches Seokjin, wondering if maybe he should force him to come to bed.
“You don’t need to worry about me…” murmurs Seokjin. There’s drool on the corner of Seokjin’s full bottom lip. He mumbles something else that Jungkook can’t make out.
Finally, Jungkook mumbles, “You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep.”
Seokjin grumbles and slumps sideways on the couch. A car honks outside, and someone shouts a slur. Jungkook wonders if Seokjin will wake up, but all he does is shift his head, and when Jungkook finally walks to his room, it’s with the nagging feeling that he’s forgetting something.
One thing is true. Jungkook has spent the last three months “not worrying” about Seokjin. He’s getting very tired of it.
*
The first time it happens, Jungkook almost wonders if he’s hallucinating.
“You don’t do drugs,” he half-whispers, affronted. He wonders briefly if anyone at the party noticed when Seokjin followed him into Jimin’s bathroom. People have been smoking for hours, passing a blunt back and forth as Simone Biles has a redemption arc on the high beam. Still, they might have noticed.
He stares at the white powder like it’s an unwelcome houseguest. A mouse. Seokjin should know better than bringing a mouse to an Olympics watch party.
“This isn’t drugs, really. It’s ‘social high’, like ‘social drinking,’” says Seokjin.
Jungkook hardly thinks it’s the same thing. He tells Seokjin as much.
“Well, if you don’t want to do it, fine.” Seokjin shrugs like he doesn’t care. The sweater he’s wearing is large enough that it drowns his whole frame. The raw-hemmed ends of it cover the butt pocket that the coke came out of. His eyes have small bruises under them. Jungkook imagines placing a small cucumber over each; or a face mask. Maybe a kiss.
Jungkook thinks Seokjin looks thin. Thinner than normal, at least, but it might also be the sweater playing a trick on Jungkook’s eyes. “Okay. Just this once.”
Jungkook pinches the coke between his fingers and snorts it awkwardly.
Seokjin tuts and uses his pinky to scoop the powder out. “Like this.”
Jungkook tries again, this time more adeptly, and Seokjin smiles. The implicit praise rattles unwelcome in Jungkook’s chest. The coke leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat, but the high is nearly immediate. It would be easy to get used to this, Jungkook thinks; it's not too dissimilar from when he first started taking Adderall in middle school. Except instead of the coke quieting his mind, like Adderall, it makes it feel full of angry bees.
Jungkook watches him as Seokjin leaves the bathroom to rejoin the party and wonders where he got the little packet. From a dealer? From a friend? From a family member?
Did they see Seokjin cry and decide a party drug would help him? Jungkook has words for whoever they are. Seokjin needs to eat more and take a nap—which Jungkook would gladly force him to do if only Seokjin would listen.
However, for all of Seokjin’s talents, he’s not a great listener, and Jungkook’s never been that good at talking.
*
It’s not something they really talk about, but technically, Seokjin’s mother died last year. Technically last calendar year, but also only ten months ago. It takes less time to give birth to a baby, but only slightly.
Sometimes, Seokjin jokes about the size of his grief. Now it’s an orange! Now it’s a grape. Like he’s giving birth in reverse. He didn’t use to joke about it at all, and now he does.
Jungkook kind of wishes he would go back to not joking.
*
The day Jungkook attends his first interview for the firm, he’s only slept five hours. It is his second year at the company, and Jungkook is barely hanging on, or at least he feels as though he’s barely hanging on. He’d been lucky to get the job right out of university, lucky to have gone to a prestigious university in the first place, lucky to be graduating free of a recession. He feels these things acutely, and the pressure of the chances he’s been given feels more like a burden than a gift.
He’s on the second hour of fixing a broken Excel doc when his boss pulls him into his office.
“It’s a round-table interview,” Marshall says before instructing him where to go. It’s unusual for first-year hires to attend these things, but Marshall says he values Jungkook’s opinion and wants to prepare him for a management role. Another small burden in the shape of a gift, adding weight to the load on Jungkook’s back.
The candidate is up for a position as an external hire into their legal team, a fact Jungkook only understands halfway through the interview. At the end of the hour, Jungkook feels sure he bungled his role. He’d missed the cue to ask the question the head of HR assigned. It was such a small responsibility in the first place, but he hadn’t pulled it off, and he’s ninety percent sure the head of HR had avoided shaking his hand when she stood up to leave. Would she say something to Marshall? Suggest a decrease in his responsibilities? He jiggles his bottom leg as he checks his email to see what he missed in the last hour.
He’s brought out of his spiral when the candidate—Seokjin—coughs.
“So, how’d I do for a career changer?”
During the interview, Seokjin revealed he’d gone to school for acting but, in his late twenties, gave up the dream and returned to school to complete his law degree. It makes perfect sense to Jungkook that Seokjin should be an actor. He has beautiful, large features and an expressive face. It’s a shame Seokjin didn’t make it, thinks Jungkook, remembering how Seokjin smiled over-bright when he joked about the transition from reading scripts to reading textbooks. A shame.
“Great, um, yeah. Great,” Jungkook stutters. They are the last ones in the room. Seokjin is still gathering his things. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of options.”
“Ouch, is that your way of saying ‘I hope you have other options?’” says Seokjin. He must see the dismayed look on Jungkook’s face because he quickly follows it up with, “I’m kidding! Are there any good spots to eat around here, Mr. Jeon?”
Jungkook likes the way his last name sounds on Seokjin’s lips. Warm and a little nasal. The change in subject is so smooth it feels like a sleight of hand. He directs Seokjin to a Mediterranean lunch counter that serves falafel. Jungkook visited it once on a rare occasion he left the office to eat. That had been four months ago, but Jungkook wishes Seokjin good luck; he hopes the place is still good.
Seokjin gives him a crooked little smile and leaves.
Later that night, Jungkook sits in front of his laptop. The screen illuminates his face so that any onlooker can see him through his bedroom’s narrow window—a young man with shaggy hair wearing a tank with deep armpit holes. His window fan lets in early summer air, not yet hot enough to warrant an AC but enough to be uncomfortable. The wifi is slow, and he considers moving into his living room for a better connection but thinks better of it. His roommate is an NYU student who regularly complains that his gaming is driving the electricity bill, even though it has been months since he touched his PS5. He doesn’t like to talk to her for fear that she might accost him with a request for money or, worse, threaten to move out.
He types Seokjin’s name into the search bar and watches the little blue bar churn away at the bottom of the screen. Several Kim Seokjins pop up, but only one is located in New York, New York, with Columbia listed as their alma mater. Jungkook opens incognito mode to ensure he's logged out of LinkedIn and then clicks the link.
Five minutes later, Jungkook finds Seokjin’s Instagram. To Jungkook’s surprise, it’s public. Maybe it’s a relic of his acting days, or maybe Seokjin is just that trusting. Some people might find that privileged, but Jungkook finds it endearing. It seems like a sign that Seokjin doesn’t expect his Gen-Z interviewer to cyber-stalk him.
Seokjin’s profile has only a handful of posts, most dated more than a year ago: a hiking pic, Seokjin holding a fish, a flower, and a group of highly-pixelated people in caps and gowns. The fifth picture is of Seokjin and a blond man with a short buzz cut. Seokjin is leaning toward the man and laughing. The man’s smiling back at him, hand outstretched. One of his thumbs pressed into the curve of Seokjin’s cheek. The caption is three blue hearts.
It could be anything, Jungkook reasons. It could also be something—Seokjin wouldn’t be the first man to be outwardly gay at the firm. However, he would be in the minority. The backslapping politics of finance cultures just wasn’t—well, it has a ways to go. To be so outwardly open about it? A public Instagram, even. It's bold, isn't it? It’s a risky move.
Suddenly, Jungkook feels like he’s overstepping a boundary. He closes the computer, cheeks burning. He feels like he’d just been caught watching porn.
*
A couple of weeks later, Jungkook is buying coffee at the food truck on the corner of 8th and 35th when someone taps him on the shoulder.
Jungkook flinches and turns around. Being in New York leaves him feeling perpetually exposed, even though he’d moved there from Boston more than a year ago. There are too many sights, sounds and smells accosting his senses, and sometimes Jungkook wonders if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of people constantly surrounding him—of the inability to hear the wind or walk down the block without dodging trash or pedestrians. Jungkook has never been great with too much stimulation, but now that sense of inadequacy cuts at him every time he steps out of his front door.
It's the handsome man from the interview. Seokjin is grinning at him like he is genuinely happy to see him. “Sorry to startle you. Remember me?” Seokjin says, his eyes crinkling up at the corners like an accordion. Jungkook squints at him through the morning sun. He’d forgotten his sunglasses at his desk, and the sun backlights Seokjin painfully.
Jungkook doesn’t know if should let on how well he remembers Seokjin. What if Seokjin could sense Jungkook googled him? Thought about him after work? Boggled over a picture of him and a blond man who may or may not be his boyfriend? “...Seokjin?” he settles on.
“The very same! Let me buy you coffee.” Seokjin is still smiling so hard, Jungkook kind of feels blinded by it.
“Thanks, but, uh, don’t worry about it.”
“No, really. Starting today, I’ll be your colleague.”
Jungkook can’t help it; he smiles. Seokjin also smiles at him, and so there they stand, in the middle of midtown, grinning like a couple of idiots until Jungkook pulls himself together.
“Uh, congratulations, we’re excited to have you on the team,” Jungkook says, feeling like a corporate robot. He coughs. “Okay, you can buy me a coffee.”
Seokjin does, and then he asks Jungkook so many questions about the firm that Jungkook doesn’t have any time to think about how awkward he usually feels around new people. By the time they make it to the office, Jungkook realizes he hasn't learned anything new about Seokjin. He should probably ask something.
“What’re you doing after work?”
“I don’t have plans. Why?”
Jungkook nearly fumbles, but he pulls himself together at the last minute. “Wanna grab a drink?” Seokjin smiles even brighter than before, and Jungkook feels like his face will melt from the force of his blush. It occurs to him that it might sound like he’s coming on to Seokjin, so he adds, “To celebrate your new job here.”
Seokjin slides a hand behind Jungkook’s back. Slaps it once. Shoots him another wink.
“Of course. Thanks for welcoming me to the team.”
*
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Sometimes people ask Jungkook how they became best friends. Jungkook isn’t really sure; he kinda thinks he just got really, really lucky. Seokjin’s friendship is just another gift on top of all the others he’s been given in life—something precious yet unearned. Jungkook tries not to think about it too much so that he doesn’t buckle under the knowledge that he doesn’t deserve Seokjin.
First, Jungkook’s singular friend in the city, Jimin, learns about Seokjin, and he can’t stop fucking talking about him. Then Jimin’s boyfriend, Taehyung. Finally, even Jungkook’s parents, which seems weird. Why would parents want to know a grown man’s friend? His mother and father met Seokjin on one of their family vacations to visit Jungkook, and ever since his mom can’t stop talking about him (That Seokjin! so polite, so handsome!). Seokjin is insanely likable, though, which is what Jungkook chalks it up to. He always remembers gifts when he visits people, even if it’s just a face mask. He always remembers petty drama, whether it’s Jungkook’s mother's book club or the night Taehyung blacked out in Tribeca and woke up at the end of the A train. In any case, months pass, and suddenly it’s like Jungkook can’t remember how the weeks bled together without Seokjin’s presence weaving through them, tying the days together.
“What d’you think? Garlic or plain,” asks Seokjin one weekend, nine months after the fateful interview.
“Garlic,” says Jungkook absently, referring to their naan order.
Seokjin waves a hand in front of him. “Are you even listening?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook isn’t, though. Instead, he’s staring at Seokjin’s mouth, which is expressive, with lips a bit too plump for a man. Sometimes Jungkook thinks about what his bottom lip might feel like if he were to clamp his incisor on the largest, most tender part of it.
“Okay, I’m ordering the lamb vindaloo—here,” Seokjin says with an eye-roll before passing the phone to Jungkook. Jungkook reaches to take it, but when he does, he accidentally closes the app, catching sight of Seokjin’s home screen. A picture of two men grinning and hugging each other meets his eye. One is Seokjin, and the other is—
“I thought your boyfriend was blond,” says Jungkook before he can catch himself.
Seokjin glances over at Jungkook. He looks surprised for a second but before laughing loudly. “You mean Michèle? We broke up years ago; he moved back to France.”
The Instagram post had been dated a year and seven months ago, though, thinks Jungkook, sometime in the winter. He has a good memory, and he’s almost sure of it. The black and white lettering of the date and the snow-filled background of the picture is crisply imprinted in his memory, along with the three blue hearts. “Oh,” he says, simply because there’s nothing else to say. Who’s this new guy, he thinks.
Seokjin twists around and grabs the phone from Jungkook. Jungkook almost flinches from it, expecting a reprimand. How did you know about Michele? Did you stalk me online?
Instead, Seokjin takes three photos with the front face cam before Jungkook can process what he’s doing. Seokjin is holding a peace sign, and one of his eyes is cut off in the photo; Jungkook is slightly pouting in the background.
“There!” says Seokjin, satisfied. “You’ll be my new wallpaper.”
“What?” says Jungkook. Absolutely not! He writhes on the couch and grabs for the phone. Seokjin holds it out of reach with his long arms; bastard. Jungkook wriggles more and accidentally kicks him.
“Ow!”
Jungkook might be smaller, but he’s stronger. He finally has his legs underneath him, and he uses them to launch himself at Seokjin’s phone. Seokjin retaliates by elbowing him in the chest.
They end up on the floor, giggling. Jungkook is slapping Seokjin’s ass. “Drop it!”
“This isn’t appropriate!” Seokjin wheezes amidst laughs.
“Seokjin—”
“I’m going to report you to HR.”
“Seokjin!”
“The report will say: young employee violates HR regulations by engaging in a game of slap ass with his older, but far more handsome colleague.”
“Seokjin!” Jungkook starts tickling Seokjin's armpits.
Finally, Jungkook has a hold of Seokjin’s phone. He runs out of the room while Seokjin clutches his side and groans on the floor.
Once outside, He swipes to the first picture, his hand hovering above delete. Before he can stop himself, he airdrops the photo to his own phone, coloring as he does so. Whatever! It’s a photo of him, he deserves it. Briefly, he pauses, wondering whether to delete the photo, but he closes the phone, leaving the photo intact.
He walks back to Seokjin. “You need to work out more.”
Seokjin pants. “I work out plenty. Mario Kart. COD. Great for your fingers and mental acuity. Plus, there are other ways to work out.” He waggles his eyebrows.
Jungkook’s neck prickles with heat. He tosses the phone to Seokjin, who glances at it.
“You didn’t delete it.” Seokjin sounds happily surprised.
Jungkook shrugs. “Just remember, I’m stronger than you, hyung.”
Seokjin licks his lips and looks Jungkook up and down. There’s a brief pause that feels loaded, or maybe it just feels loaded to Jungkook. Then Seokjin laughs and yells at Jungkook to sit down already—he’s finally going to have his ass kicked at Smash, the only sport that really matters. Jungkook’s face is hot as he grabs the remote, and he loses the first five games in a row.
The next day, Jungkook runs into Seokjin at the Starbucks in the lobby of their office building. He’s ordering a large pink Refresher, and when he brings his phone out to tap Apple Pay, the picture of Seokjin and Jungkook flashes on the screen briefly.
Jungkook feels like a balloon is expanding in his stomach, like he’s too full and not full enough at the same time.
*
“Aren’t you worried?” asks Jimin.
He and Jimin are warming up on the treadmill—slick stickiness coats Jungkook’s thighs, his upper lip, and the small of his back. The gym has air conditioning, but running a two-miler at a seven-minute pace pushes Jungkook, and now his body is drenched in sweat. He likes it, though; the burn, the way it makes his focus narrow to the feeling of his clenching thighs and shaking breath. He wants to focus singularly on the tired ache of his muscles, the hollow pit of his stomach.
Jungkook grunts; wipes some sweat off his face. “About what? Wanna go another five?”
Jimin huffs out a name between pants. “Seokjin.”
Of course, it’s Seokjin. Jungkook already knew that, though, because everyone’s been worried about Seokjin since his mother died, not just him.
Jungkook pushes the speed up by one on the treadmill. Sweat pools between his pointer and middle finger. “What about him?”
“I don’t know. He seems off. Aren’t you worried?”
Jungkook frowns at the numbers on the treadmill. Maybe he can push it a bit more? “He’s a grown adult.” He pushes the button.
“Right, we’re all grown adults.” Jimin pants. “But who does Seokjin talk to?”
Everyone. Seokjin talks to all the junior analysts. The interns. He talks to the man at Starbucks who somehow, miraculously can correctly spell Seokjin’s name, but not Jungkook's (who always receives a cup that reads “John Cook.” The first time Seokjin saw it he laughed so hard he dropped his latte).
“He’s extroverted,” says Jungkook. “Everyone likes him.”
“...Right.” Jimin does not sound convinced.
Finally, they power off the treadmills. Jungkook grabs the small gym towel and throws it across his sweat-slicked shoulders. Jimin stands for him by the bench press. Waits for him to grab forty-five-pound plates and place them on the bar. Jungkook lays back and settles his hands on the metal.
“I think Seokjin talks a lot, but it’s like he’s not really talking,” says Jimin.
Jungkook's muscles strain as he pushes. He grunts. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he huffs once he finishes the rep.
Jimin puts his hands on his hips accusatorily as Jungkook repositions himself. “Of course it makes sense. You do the same thing.”
“What?” Jungkook re-releases the bar, panting.
“Yeah. It’s like you guys are friends, but you’re just shoulder-to-shoulder friends.”
“What does that mean?” ask Junkook.
“You’re friends when you’re playing video games, but like, when do you actually talk about anything real?”
Jungkook stares at Jimin. Then the ceiling. He notices one of the lights is flickering and wonders why he pays so much for a gym with shitty fluorescent. Maybe he should upgrade to Equinox. He certainly makes enough to afford it. “Can you focus on spotting me?”
Jimin sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”
*
It’s not that Jungkook doesn’t want to talk to Seokjin. Jungkook loves talking to Seokjin; he likes describing his day to him because somehow Seokjin always laughs at his stories, even when he’s just stating his honest opinions. One time he told Seokjin the firm’s CEO looks like Tyra Banks delivering performance reviews, and Seokjin snorted water out both nostrils. Jungkook hadn’t even been trying to be funny. The whole experience had him feeling warm and jittery on the inside for the rest of the day.
Jungkook just thinks that if he really tries to talk to Seokjin about feelings, then well—more than what he wants to say might come out.
Like, one time—only several months into their friendship—he met Seokjin at a pub in Hell’s Kitchen after a date, and the whole thing was a disaster. Even though they didn’t know each other that well, Seokjin was intent on grilling Jungkook about his love life.
“Well, what’d she look like?”
“It was. Um,” Jungkook pauses, nervous to correct the pronoun. He takes a steadying breath. “He has a bunch of tattoos?”
“Oh,” Seokjin takes the revelation of Jungkook’s partner in stride. If he is curious or surprised by Jungkook’s sexuality, he doesn’t say it. “Like you, then.”
“Yeah, like me.”
“How many tattoos do you have?” asks Seokjin suddenly, like he’s just considering it now. He’s staring at Jungkook’s arm, where the curling dark edges of a tattoo peak out from behind the gray fabric. The one on Jungkook’s forearm is noticeable in the office when he rolls his sleeves up. He only does this around colleagues, never his boss or during meetings.
“A lot. I’m not sure exactly. I have a sleeve.”
“You do?!” Seokjin’s eyes widen. “Cool!”
Jungkook girds himself for Seokjin to say something like, ‘would have never expected that from you!’ or, ‘can’t tell a book by its cover.’ It wouldn’t be the first time. He knows his outward personality is at odds with what a tattoo signifies.
Instead, Seokjin says, “Will you let me see?!” and something tightly coiled releases in Jungkook’s chest.
“Sure.” Jungkook extends his arm. He’s still wearing the cashmere sweater from his date. He doesn’t really know what to wear out; his work outfits are all suit jackets and button-down shirts. He’d done away with the punky remnants of his teenage years when he arrived in New York. Besides, he’d only shipped a box or two of his clothing from Boston. Everything else he bought after joining the firm. Unfortunately, this means he often looks like he just stepped out of a fashion shoot for Land’s End.
Seokjin rolls Jungkook’s sleeve up further. Touches the tanned, inked skin underneath with crooked fingers. Jungkook skin prickles at every point of contact.
“Is this an eye?” Seokjin says, tracing a delicate line of black with his fingertip. Warm puffs of Seokjin’s breath tickle the tiny hairs on Jungkook’s arm.
“That one took two sessions,” says Jungkook.
“Did it hurt?”
Of course it did. Jungkook doesn’t say that, though. “A little bit.”
“Can I see the rest?”
Jungkook pulls the sweater off. Once the outer layers are gone, Seokjin grasps his arm again. The touch is gentle. Jungkook’s toes curl and relax from nerves.
Seokjin traces a finger up the curve of Jungkook’s bicep. “Wow,” he breathes. “This is art. You kinda make me want a tattoo.”
Jungkook’s face flushes. Unintentionally, he tenses his arm. “Your skin is so beautiful, though. Why mark it up?”
Seokjin blinks at him. His face is very close. “You don’t think I could pull it off?”
“I think you could pull anything off.” Jungkook says honestly.
Seokjin blinks rapidly. He pulls his hands away and grabs his half-forgotten beer. The amber liquid sloshes a bit as he pulls it to his lips and takes a long slug. “Uh-huh. Of course, I do. This face was made for acting, or at the very least, OnlyFans. I’m more of a soft boy, though, aren’t I?”
Jungkook takes in Seokjin’s fringed bangs and the polo shirt he’s wearing unironically. It looks great on him, though. “Sure, you are.”
“So, how was the date?”
Jungkook shrugs. “Fine. S’kinda boring.”
“Oh? Why boring?”
Because Jungkook doesn’t have anything interesting to say, and when Jay—his date—was speaking, Jungkook was busy thinking over what follow-up question he could ask so that the conversation wouldn’t fall flat. He’d left the date after two beers feeling exhausted, jittery and bored.
Jungkook shrugs. “I guess we didn’t really hit it off. I’m not easy to date.” He thinks about how he struggles to relax after work and how he sometimes goes into the office on weekends even when he doesn’t have a project to do. Even last week, Marshall slapped his back and asked if he had weekend plans, and all Jungkook did was mumble something about being behind on his work.
“Jungkook! New York is for the young! Don’t let it pass you by. Carpe diem, right?” And despite the cliche Latin, Jungkook knew Marshall was right.
Seokjin frowns. “Really? You’re an Ivy League-educated, super-smart guy with a bunch of tattoos. Not to mention you look the way you do. You know?”
No, Jungkook does not know. “Most people don’t really like hearing about where I went to school.”
“I get it. I don’t, either. But, like objectively, you’re a catch.”
“I don’t think there’s anything objective about it.”
“That’s not true. I’m objectively a ten. Watch.”
Jungkook gives Seokjin a skeptical look as Seokjin swivels on his stool to the guys behind them. There’s nothing overtly gay about them, but Seokjin must have sensed something because twenty seconds later, the guy is laughing and calling a round of shots over to their table.
“See?” says Seokjin, eyebrows raised.
Jungkook sees. They raise the shots together and tilt them back— the alcohol burns a zingy trail down Jungkook’s throat and he watches the men at the other table watch Seokjin as he sets the shot down.
Later—when they’ve had four more shots—and Seokjin is making out with their shot-patron against the wall outside the bar, Jungkook decides it’s time to go home.
“Let’s go,” Jungkook announces. His mouth feels sloppy and uncoordinated from the shots and he feels a hot tug of annoyance in his gut. Seokjin is too beautiful to be making out with some good-for-nothing bro who would kiss him against a wall before taking him out on a date. No, Seokjin is meant for far grander gestures of affection.
Seokjin peels himself off the guy (what was his name again? Something with an ‘A’ Jungkook thinks. Aaron? Aiden?).
“Already? Oh wow, the time.” Seokjin murmurs something apologetic to the guy and stumbles over to Jungkook.
“Hey! Let me get your number!” calls Allen. Adam?
Seokjin leans into the guy, reaches into his wallet, and pulls out a business card. He hands it to the guy, in a move so smooth Jungkook would never have thought of it himself. Adrian! His name is Adrian, Jungkook is sure of it.
Adrian closes his hand around the business card like it’s something precious, and Jungkook has the urge to rip it from his hand. This guy doesn’t deserve Seokjin’s attention, something Jungkook is starting to realize feels like a precious resource. Before Jungkook can do something dire, Seokjin pulls on his arm, leading them away from the bar. They trip their way towards the 7 train, past neon-signed weed stores and crowded outdoor patios.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” says Seokjin, sounding breathless and giddy. Referring to the business card, presumably.
“Are you going to go on a date with him?” asks Jungkook. He worries the bottom of his lip. The stop is in front of them, and they head downstairs past a woman rolling newspaper into her shoes and the smell of piss. Jungkook is going toward Coney Island and Seokjin to Queens, but they both need to connect at Times Square. Jungkook feels tired enough that he fears he might pass out on the train.
“That was just for fun. I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”
Jungkook thinks about the picture he’d seen on Seokjin's Instagram of the blond man. How happy they’d looked together. Seokjin deserves to look that happy, thinks Jungkook.
“I thought you were objectively a catch,” accuses Jungkook.
They slide their metrocards at the turnstile; Jungkook glitches and he has to swipe again. He feels frustrated and clumsy; a flush of embarrassment is heating up the backside of his neck. Finally, the turnstile lets him in; he jogs to catch up to Seokjin, who was several yards ahead.
“The catching part is easy. It’s all the other stuff that’s hard,” Seokjin says flippantly, but he looks a bit sad to Jungkook’s eyes. They descend the stairs and stop by a pillar on the eastbound platform. Seokjin leans against it in a way that causes his black windbreaker to rise up, exposing a strip of skin underneath.
“I don’t think it should be hard. Not with the right person,” says Jungkook, and because Seokjin is still looking sad he reaches out and places the pad of his thumb against the smooth skin of Seokjin’s earlobe.
Seokjin jerks away. The tips of his earlobes are pink. “What was that for?”
Jungkook shrugs again, embarrassed. Sometimes even he can’t even parse the things he does. He wanted to touch Seokjin, and so he did. “Nothing. I just think you should know that you’re a catch.”
The train arrives, and they get on before Jungkook can derail further. It’s crowded; it’s a Friday night in Manhattan after all, and Jungkook takes that as an opportunity to remain silent. A woman with a baby gets on the train and both he and Seokjin move so she can sit. He twists his hands together nervously at his sides and drums his fingers on his leg. Maybe—maybe Seokjin will want a break now, from this. Their friendship. Or whatever it is. When the doors finally slide open at Times Square they’re still silent, and Jungkook’s palms are sweating. He’s drunk, woozy, and a train ride has never felt so long. They cut through slow-moving walkers and make a diagonal for the platform stairs.
“See you later,” says Jungkook when he sees the sign for the Downtown Q train.
Seokjin nods to him. “Goodnight, Jungkook. Thanks for hanging out.”
Jungkook turns to go, but Seokjin hands him something before he can. The sharp edge of a piece of paper cuts into the palm of his hand. His fingers clench around the object reflexively. “Huh?”
Seokjin smiles crookedly. “I thought you might like a souvenir too.”
In Jungkook’s hand is Seokjin’s business card. His name is written in stark white letters against a gray background. Jungkook stares at it a second before slipping it into his wallet between a coffee punch card and an old pass for the metro-north.
“I already have your number,” Jungkook says dumbly.
“Then think of this as a memento, you deserve it more than that guy, anyway,” Seokjin returns, before disappearing into the crush of uptown commuters.
On the way home, Jungkook can’t stop checking his butt pocket to make sure the wallet is still there; a small smile keeps creeping onto his face.
*
Jimin’s Clinton Hill apartment doesn’t really fit fifteen people, but it’ll have to do. An hour earlier, he, Taehyung and Jungkook manhandled the sofa onto the narrow landing to free up space. Jimin is sure his landlord will fine him. Still, Taehyung has tried to be reassuring (“If he does, I’ll threaten him! I know a couple of guys! Seokjin practices law.”).
Now plastic foldable chairs are crammed into any available corner of the apartment. A long, rectangular table has been dragged in from the bar Taehyung works at. Taehyung invited several of the guys he works at the bar to attend; Hoseok, Jimin’s Zumba friend, is there. A couple of people from Jimin’s office have shown up as well. The apartment feels overstuffed and hot because of it. The pre-war radiator creaks and groans in the corner, adding to the racket and heat.
Seokjin texted Jungkook earlier that he would be there soon. with a pile of food. watch out, I’m a regular martha stewart.
I thought she went to jail
Rude!
My felony isn’t for something as petty as white-collar crime
Jungkook snorts. At least Seokjin’s joking, right? Yeah, they’d thought it might be a bit early to make Seokjin celebrate a family holiday, but it’s better than him being alone.
When Seokjin shows up, festivities are in full swing. The turkey’s been pulled out of Jimin’s oven, who is now fretting over it, nervous it’s over-cooked. Taehyung is flitting around and serving cocktails and appetizers. A rerun of the Macy’s Day Parade is on the TV.
“I come bearing gifts. First my presence, second this japchae,” says Seokjin, setting down an overstuffed Trader Joe’s bag.
“The traditional Thanksgiving tradition of japchae. It came over with the Mayflower,” jokes Taehyung. They don’t talk about their Korean heritage that much, but it’s not surprising how they’ve found each other. Even in a city as big as New York—or perhaps because they live in a city as big as New York—finding someone who you don’t have to explain the basics of your upbringing is comforting.
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong.” Seokjin’s using his Ron Burgundy voice. “It was introduced during the first cold winter in North America, along with smallpox.”
“That’s dark,” says Hoseok, overhearing their conversation.
“I figured I’d go wild with inappropriate jokes here, considering I don’t have a family Thanksgiving to get kicked out of.”
Hoseok’s smile freezes on his face; Jungkook internally winces. Too much, too soon. Or maybe just enough? If Seokjin can make dark jokes, shouldn’t they all be able to handle them? Jungkook shoves his plate of cheese and crackers over to Seokjin. “Try this.”
Seokjin stuffs one into his face, making his cheeks puff out like a squirrel. “Delicious.”
Jungkook fills a glass with prosecco. “And this.”
Several hours pass; glasses are filled and refilled. Food is eaten and then taken away. The table praises the japchae, then the turkey (which is overcooked, but no one makes light of it), and then finally, the pie. Games come out, and it’s midway through a round of spoons that Jungkook realizes Seokjin is missing. Jungkook wanders over to the bathroom, but Seokjin isn’t there. Perhaps the office, which is currently functioning as a coatroom?
Seokjin sits in the middle of a pile of coats, holding his messy Tupperware container. He’s looking at the container as if it holds the mysteries of the universe. Jungkook coughs to announce his presence. The sound is loud in the tiny room.
“I thought that I should maybe leave,” says Seokjin. He looks so small; his wide shoulders are turned inward, and his back is hunched.
Jungkook stands awkwardly in the entryway, unsure of what to do. Seokjin gives a little choked laugh that sounds entirely wrong, and makes Jungkook’s stomach flip upside down.
“The thing is—I thought maybe if I made this taste like the way she—well. I thought it would be nice. To make her japchae.” Seokjin takes a rattling breath. “But it doesn’t taste like hers. I tried to look up the recipe on my phone because I was sure I took a picture, but then I realized I’d lost the photos when I upgraded phones. And now—I don’t—I was trying to see if maybe I backed them up, but—it really doesn’t matter because I don’t think I could ever make it taste like hers—” Seokjin’s voice chokes out, and then his shoulders silently shake.
Jungkook clenches his hands. What do you do? You hold people. That’s what you do in situations like these. He walks over and pushes Hoseok’s coat to the side before tentatively reaching out to snake a hand around Seokjin’s back.
Seokjin heaves like a harsh storm is rocking him.
Jungkook tries to steady him; hopes Seokjin can tell how much he cares about him through the warmth and weight of his arm. What do you say in a time like this? Jungkook’s throat feels clogged up like he’s choking. Outside, the party continues; Jimin shouts something, and Hoseok’s loud laugh filters through the door.
Seokjin laughs, but it sounds all wrong. “You know I haven’t cried this whole time. I took work off for a week because they told me to, but the whole time I couldn’t cry. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” says Jungkook because it feels like the one thing he knows for sure.
“I don’t know,” says Seokjin. “I think there might be; I feel like I’m never going to feel right again.” He pokes at his chest. “It feels like something is missing all the time.”
Jungkook covers Seokjin’s hands with his own so that their hands are stacked like a Jenga puzzle right above his heart. Seokjin doesn’t react; he just shudders harder. Jungkook runs his thumb up and down the valley between Seokjin’s pointer finger and thumb. Maybe there is a perfect thing to say. Jungkook tries to come up with it, but all he has is emptiness. What could he say that Seokjin hasn’t heard? What could he say that would actually work? Make Seokjin feel better? All he has is a vague jumble of feelings, but he doesn’t know how to shape them into something right—something correct.
They sit there for a long time, so long Jungkook can hear the others begin to pack up outside.
Seokjin takes a long, whistling breath that makes it sound like he’s underwater. He disentangles his hand to wipe at some crust on his nose. “I should go.”
“Okay.”
Seokjin stands up, and Jungkook lets his body relax in the empty space Seokjin was just occupying. The spot where Seokjin was sitting is still warm, and Jungkook brushes his hand over it. What should he say? It feels like he’s running out of time and he still can’t come up with any words.
Seokjin does something with his phone; puts on his coat. Glances at his phone again. “My Uber's outside.”
Jungkook nods. The moment is gone.
Seokjin is barely looking at him. “Later.”
“Let me know when you’re home.” I want you to know that I care about your safety. But Jungkook doesn’t say that either. He swallows on nothing, feeling hollow and useless.
Later, as Jungkook is washing dishes, Taehyung sidles up to him. Jimin is in the other room, bagging up cans into the trash.
“You were with Seokjin earlier.”
Jungkook hums agreement.
“I bopped into the coat room and saw you guys,” says Taehyung.
“Oh.” He isn’t sure what to say. What did Taehyung see?
“I don’t know if Jimin’s ever told you this. We met in college through the dance department. We were both in it until I tore my ACL,” says Taehyung, launching into a story. “I lost a lot of friends. Partly because all my friends were other dancers, it was painful being around them. So I just stopped hanging out. But also I had friends who didn’t know how to talk to me, didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to help them say it either. You know—why should I help them? Why should I have to teach someone else how to carry my grief?”
Jungkook nods.
“And sometimes I hated them too. Their privilege of not having to understand that loss. That bitterness, that’s ugly shit.”
Taehyung hands him the pan for the turkey; Jungkook squirts soap on it. Rhythmically moves his hand up and down, ridding the sticky spots of grease and char.
“Anyway, everyone kind of sucked at that time except for Jimin. Jimin came up to me, and he talked to me. It was awkward as shit because he didn’t really know what to say.”
“Mhm,” hums Jungkook. He should probably say something now but doesn’t.
“I don’t even remember what he said, I just remember he tried. There were no words at that point that would fix the loss.”
Jungkook nods, but he feels unmoored. Maybe that’s easy for Jimin, finding words when words aren’t there, but speaking isn’t easy for Jungkook. What if he gets it wrong? He’s not good with imperfection. That’s why he pulls late nights at the office; that’s why he lifts, diets and runs on the treadmill until he can see the results in the finely tuned tendons of his legs. The muscles on his back. There’s an exact science to building muscle, the same as there's an exact science in the numbers he manipulates on Excel docs. Progress is achieved in a precise and systematic way.
Taehyung continues, “Jimin didn’t need to say the right thing because it wasn’t really about Jimin. It wasn’t about him saying the right thing or being perfect. Don’t make perfect the enemy of the good; I know it’s an old expression, but I think it’s hard to live by sometimes.”
Jungkook nods and nods. He realizes the pot has been clean for some while and sets it on the rack next to a French press.
“You guys almost done in there?” calls Jimin.
“Yeah,” shouts Taehyung. He slaps Jungkook on the back and wanders toward the living room.
Later that night, Jungkook lies in his bed. He opens and closes his mouth, making soundless shapes. He imagines what he would say if Seokjin were sitting beside him again. The weight of all those unsaid words sits heavy against his chest.
*
Jungkook isn’t sure why he decides to do it, but ten months after Seokjin’s mother dies and seven months after he really starts to worry about Seokjin, he buys two tickets to the Natural History Museum on Seokjin’s birthday. Seokjin hasn’t expressed an overwhelming interest in the sea, gems or stars, but Jungkook keeps imagining his face illuminated by the lights of the Hayden Planetarium. His body tilted back, watching a movie, surrounded on all sides by a circular dome—protected.
Seokjin agrees to the field trip, and they travel there on a rainy afternoon, meeting in front of the museum. Tourists and school children mill around them as Seokjin closes his umbrella. Jungkook forgot his own, so water is dripping from his hair, and the hem of his jeans is soaked through.
Seokjin’s dry, but he doesn’t look happy. Well, he hasn’t looked happy in a long time, to Jungkook’s eyes, but sometimes it fluctuates. Today is a bad day though, Jungkook has gotten good at spotting them. Nevertheless, they go through the exhibit on black holes and planets and queue up for the movie in the planetarium.
Jungkook reads the description on the brochure for Seokjin’s benefit. “Immersive visualizations of different worlds. I hope they talk about black holes some more. That stuff was always cool growing up.”
Jungkook looks up, but Seokjin is staring at a spot several yards away on the ground. Jungkook wants to say something, but it freezes somewhere between his throat and mouth. Then the time for their showing is announced, the crowd sweeps Jungkook and Seokjin along and the moment is gone.
The lights dim, and their seats tilt back just like Jungkook wanted. He feels like his whole body is being wrapped in a protective blanket. It’s nice. Jungkook hopes Seokjin feels protected, too.
Halfway through the movie, there’s a small noise next to him. Jungkook looks over, and silent tears are streaming down Seokjin’s face. Jungkook’s whole body tenses, aching to do something.
He’s always thought of Seokjin as the hyung, and that’s part of the problem, too. Not showing weakness isn’t the same thing as strength and they’ve both been pretending they're strong for a long time. Everything Jungkook's ever wanted he's gotten conditionally. He wanted to go to good school, so he got in through hard work. He wanted a good job, so he got exceptional grades. He wanted to be fit, so he lifts daily. He strains towards what he wants—all sharp edges and hard trying, but he doesn't feel that way about Seokjin; he feels soft.
As though he’s lifting a heavy weight Jungkook moves his hand over to Seokjin’s shoulders and lightly massages it. When Seokjin doesn’t pull away he rests his hand more heavily there. Presses his fingers down against the skin of Seokjin’s bicep. It shivers and shakes a bit underneath his hand.
Jungkook leans his head against Seokjin’s arm. I’m here; I’m here, I’m here. Maybe if he thinks hard enough, the feeling will transmit through their skin; maybe Jungkook’s feelings are like old starlight, traveling so far it takes them years to come home.
His throat is tight, clutched in a vice grip of frustration. Is it too late? Is it not enough?
He leans forward until his lips skim the shell of Seokjin’s ear and takes a breath. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, it must be so hard for you.”
Seokjin cries harder in big, gasping heaves. Jungkook pulls him up, and they crouch down as they exit the room. Shushes follow them, but Jungkook ignores them. They make their way backward in time from the current year to the Mesozoic era, to the Big Bang, to before that, where there’s only nothingness and particles that exist in opposition to each other. Finally, they are out on the corner of 81st and Park. Jungkook holds Seokjin’s hand, then touches his face. Finally, he leans forward and engulfs Seokjin in a hug, squeezing tight enough to bruise.
I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
“I want you to tell me everything.”
Jungkook feels light. He wants to touch his throat to see if it feels different from before. Seokjin is still crying, but he makes watery eye contact with Jungkook. Seokjin’s not a very cute cryer; his face is blotchy and his voice is even more nasal than before and Jungkook is in love with him, but he’ll think about that another time. He’s not going to go anywhere—and so when Seokjin’s ready he’ll be there, waiting.
“Okay.” Seokjin wipes his eyes. “Well, it started with a phone call from the hospital.”