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Blues. Greens. Neon strings of light flash in and out of sight as Taehyung presses his thumbs harder into his eyelids.
“Excuse me?”
The voice can’t be speaking to him, no matter that he’s the only one in the waiting room. Still, he sighs and lets his hands fall into his lap.
He doesn't open his eyes right away, not ready to be confronted with the room around him, instead taking one long breath, slow in and slow out. He imagines smoke filling his lungs the way it used to when he was in college, before he quit, before things got so hard. When did everything get so hard?
“Taehyung-ah?”
That’s me. Slowly, reluctantly, Taehyung opens his eyes. The greens fade into nothingness and black is replaced by shades of gray, muted reds, beige walls and the smattering of signage typical of a 24 hour medical clinic.
He blinks once and clears his throat to speak, sure his voice will be hoarse from the time he spent crying earlier in the evening. He turns to where the voice came from to find a man sitting across the room where there was only an empty chair before.
“Do I know you?” he asks. The sound of his own voice almost startles him, clear and sharp where the rest of the room has yet to fade back into focus. It's coming back together piece by piece, first the hum of fluorescent lighting, next the giggles of his infant daughter next to him, mysteriously replacing the cries that permeated their household throughout the day.
“Kim Namjoon. Chonnam?” the man says. Taehyung blinks. Kim Namjoon. Rings a bell. But to say that out loud would be unwise.
“University? I’m not sure I remember,” he says, frowning.
“We had freshman bio together. We used to sneak out of the labs early,” the man says, persistent. He frowns. “Do you really not remember?”
It’s the frown that does it, the pure opposite of the smile he remembers best, the giddy face of the boy he used to stare at during the lecture in place of taking notes. How could he forget Kim Namjoon, the classmate he begged to be paired with, the one whose hairbrained schemes colored his entire freshman year?
He can singularly peg his B- on the man that now sits across from him. Taehyung purses his lips.
“I remember now,” he whispers. Somehow, his voice carries. Namjoon grins.
“I’m glad! It’s been so many years, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”
“Not so many,” Taehyung interjects. “Only—” Nine. It’s been nine years. He swallows. “Not—not that many,” he finishes. The man laughs.
“If you say so,” he says, looking off at a corner of the room as if reminiscing. Taehyung’s brain takes the sight as its cue. Immediately, he’s hit with memories long buried, those immediately preceding his meeting Jihye, back when he was looser with himself, more willing to try, to explore, to experiment.
He remembers bumming his first smoke off of Namjoon. He remembers kissing him right after.
“So what have you been up to for ‘not that long’?” Namjoon asks. Taehyung wonders if he remembers. He wonders if that’s what he’s thinking about right now, confronted by his past, by the sight of Taehyung undressed, a sight admittedly few know. Taehyung swallows.
“Not that much,” he says. He wonders if the average life of graduating, marrying young, having a child, keeping a steady job counts as anything at all. To him, it doesn’t. He’s lost most of it now, anyway. He rocks Jian’s carrier.
“Oh! I didn't see,” Namjoon exclaims. He gestures with his chin. “Yours?”
Taehyung screws up his face in confusion. He looks down and back up again.
“Who else's would she be?”
“You said you hadn’t done much. I’m no expert, but I think having a kid counts.”
Taehyung shrugs.
“To some people, maybe.”
“Maybe? That’s a human being, Taehyung-ah!”
Something in Taehyung melts at being referred to informally. No one else knows him that well, these days. It’s selfish, but he’ll hang onto it, even though he knows he’s not supposed to. Taehyung-ah. His brain supplies him with the terrible fact that Namjoon is a good kisser.
“Is something wrong?” Namjoon asks.
“Why?”
“Because we’re here.”
Taehyung looks around, once again surprised by his surroundings. He looks down at Jian.
“She looks pretty happy now,” Namjoon says after a moment. Taehyung gives him a wry laugh.
“I'm sure she does, yeah. She was torturing me all night, though.”
“Really? Kind of hard to believe,” Namjoon mutters, cooing at a smiling Jian.
Taehyung sighs. There's no point in trying to explain it all to someone who may as well be a stranger. It’s simply too much: his falling out with Jihye, the unique stresses of becoming a new parent, having to be a hero and consistently falling short, feeling like his daughter is both the best and hardest thing that's ever happened to him. There's no point.
“She is,” he agrees, simply.
“Still, must've been pretty bad to send you here at—” he checks his watch, “—3:47 in the morning. Jesus, it's almost four.”
Taehyung nods and lets his head tip back to look up at the ceiling. He starts counting panels.
“Almost four,” he echoes.
He thinks about the moon he saw on the drive there, a mere sliver, almost new. What he wouldn't give to be new.
“Are you her only parent or…?”
“No. She has a mother.”
Namjoon’s eyes go wide.
“Oh! Wonderful! Why isn't she here?”
“Sick. But we’re not—”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he interrupts. He retreats, backing into his chair.
“It’s fine. We’re just—not.”
Taehyung hears him take a breath to speak again. Something in him snaps.
“How are you so talkative at four in the morning?” Taehyung asks, his head snapping up to face him. Namjoon shrugs, wringing his wrist.
“I'm usually up around now. I'm a baker.”
So much for that biochem degree. Then again, Namjoon was never much of a studier, always saying he preferred Taehyung’s ‘pretty face’ to any study guide.
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. He takes in Namjoon for the first time, looks him up and down. He has an unusually strong build, obviously toned under his t-shirt, brown, corduroy jacket, dark blue jeans. Taehyung makes an effort to hide his lanky limbs, soft from years of disuse. At some point, Namjoon went from a skinny nerd to a strong, defined man. How unfair.
His face is kind, polite, well-structured, intense eyes over strong cheekbones. Taehyung’s gaze lingers on his nose. He specifically doesn't look at his lips, won't give him the wrong impression.
“You're a baker.”
“Yes.”
Taehyung’s gaze travels back down his body.
“Is that why you’re so…strong?”
“Why I’m…? Oh!” Namjoon says, looking down at his body as if his muscles suddenly appeared under him for the first time. He laughs. “This is all for show.”
“Really?” Taehyung asks, skeptical.
“Yeah. I mean, it could be functional, if…” Namjoon trails off, looking off to the side.
“If…”
Oh. That. Taehyung busies himself by fidgeting his fingers and looking anywhere but the man. His eyes land on Jian, fast asleep.
It's been a long time since he was intimate with anyone, long enough that he isn't sure he entirely remembers the motions. He didn't have room for anyone else in his life anyway after meeting Jihye. They were perfect for each other.
He isn't even sure what he's embarrassed about, only that he is, on some level, deeply ashamed, sitting in front of this admittedly attractive man with only his daughter and sorry self to show for it. These aren’t even his normal custody hours.
“Sorry to pry,” he tries, after a minute of silence.
“Not at all! I'm sorry for bringing it up. I don't even know if you still like men.”
“I do,” Taehyung clarifies, too quickly. He doesn’t need a near-stranger questioning his bisexuality in the middle of the night. Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up.
“You do?”
Taehyung nods.
“Are you recently single?”
“Kind of. Why do you want to know?”
The man opens his mouth and closes it again.
“Because I'm caught. There's something about you…I can't tell what it is…”
“Pity?” Taehyung suggests. He would probably pity himself too. When things were simpler and all he knew was the taste of Namjoon he was pretty, delicate, just on the verge of blossoming. He never did blossom, and he’s not pretty anymore. Years of depression took their toll.
“No.” The man shakes his head. “I just—it's like I can see all of you just by looking in your eyes. You really have beautiful eyes, you know? Has anyone ever told you that?”
You. Taehyung wore his bangs down in college. Namjoon always liked to push them aside.
“My ex-wife.”
“I'm glad, then, because you should know. But they also look like—like there's something about you I should know but I can't begin to guess what it is. But I guess I'm the fool for looking for love at four o’clock in a clinic with a messed up hand.”
“Your hand?” Taehyung hadn't noticed anything visibly wrong until now. He watches as he stops wringing his wrist to show him his right hand, covered in blood, half-dry.
“How—”
“Chopping carrots. I've been trying to meal prep. So much for that,” the man chuckles and hides his hand once again. “It's not as bad as it looks. I don't think I'll even need stitches.”
“I doubt that,” Taehyung says, incredulous. The man shrugs.
“We'll see when we get there, won't we?”
Jian chooses that minute to wake back up, cries contorting into a screech the moment she does.
“Shh, shh,” Taehyung soothes, unstrapping her from her carrier and moving her into his lap. It does nothing to stop the screams.
“Do you need help?” Namjoon calls over, standing up.
“You're not touching my baby,” Taehyung snaps, holding her closer to his chest.
“Alright. Sorry,” Namjoon says, sitting back down.
Taehyung ducks his forehead down to hers and feels for the fever that was there earlier. It's still raging high. His arms feel like jello, exhausted from rocking and burping and holding and rocking her all day, but he clutches her tight nonetheless, strokes her soft, sparse hair. She's his Jian, his daughter, and he will be dead underground before he lets some strange man touch her, no matter how nice his hands used to feel.
He doesn’t notice Namjoon crossing the room until he’s sat down next to him. He angles his daughter away from their shared arm rest.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I thought maybe all the loud talking was disturbing her. I thought I’d come closer.”
Taehyung can feel his body heat. He hadn’t realized he was cold.
“Well as long as you stay there it’s fine, I guess. You don’t want to catch her fever,” he says, bouncing a slightly calmer Jian in his lap.
“I’ll stay put, I promise! You won’t get me to move even if you try,” Namjoon says. Taehyung laughs.
“I doubt that,” he says. He had Namjoon wrapped around his finger back in the day.
“Why’s that?” Namjoon asks. Taehyung turns to him, fresh out of words. Namjoon is waiting expectantly, as if he knows the answer. It could be innocent, a line of questioning leading to nowhere, but why, then, would Namjoon’s eyes be flickering down to his lips? Why would his hands grip the arm rest so tightly?
It occurs to him, finally, that Namjoon’s excellent posture may not be an effect of habit, but a means of showing off. He’s preening for Taehyung, posing under his gaze. He wants something from him, even now, at four in the morning. Taehyung frowns.
“What?” Namjoon asks. He reaches out and brushes Taehyung’s hair from his eyes. Taehyung closes his eyes instinctively, a direct consequence of memory. Shit.
“I just—Everything is so different now… hyung.” Taehyung speaks the last word slowly, finality in his voice. It feels strange in his mouth, having been absent for so long. The last time he spoke it to Namjoon it was broken, breathy. He imagines it lands the same way now.
“Is it?” Namjoon asks, leaning in closer. His eyes flicker down once again. Taehyung can feel his will breaking, his resolve begin to fall away.
“Different enough,” he says. Jian coughs and he turns to appraise her. She looks more sleepy than anything and he decides to put her back in her carrier. When he sits up again Namjoon has leaned over to crowd his space, his warmth seeping through everything, the smell, size, shape of him immediate, close. Taehyung’s breathing grows labored.
“What are you thinking about?” Namjoon asks, quiet. Taehyung hums.
“Nothing,” he answers, coy, as if the soft touch of Namjoon’s breath isn’t the only thing on his mind, familiar but so ancient it may as well be new.
“Do you know what I’m thinking about, then?”
“What’s that?” Taehyung asks, something thick in his throat. Namjoon rests a hand on his cheek.
“Fate,” Namjoon answers, simply. Taehyung tilts his head, skeptical.
“Fate? You think this is fate?”
“I don’t know what else I would call it,” Namjoon says, looking around the room. “You, me, in the unlikeliest of places in the strangest of circumstances but still it’s me, you. Maybe it always was?”
Taehyung shakes his head.
“I loved you, then I loved her. It’s that simple.”
“And could you love me again, Taehyung-ah? You don’t have to answer tonight. But in the meantime,” Namjoon begins, shifting even closer. Taehyung holds his breath, inches from his face. “I think you’d really like to kiss me.”
All the blood drains from Taehyung’s face.
“I didn’t—I—”
“It’s okay, Taehyung-ah. I just thought you should know that I can see the way you look at me and I choose to read into it, if that’s alright. If it helps, you can pretend that we’re 19 again on top of the computer science building. Do you even smoke anymore?” Namjoon asks, chuckling.
“No,” Taehyung answers, truthfully. He’d kicked the habit once he’d found out he was going to be a father. This is the first time he’s ached for a cigarette since.
“Good for you,” Namjoon sighs. Taehyung closes his eyes. He thinks about opening them again, but decides against it. He puts it in the hands of fate, now, whatever happens next.
“Namjoon-hyung,” he says, slowly.
“Yes, baby?” Namjoon says. Taehyung sighs.
“Can you kiss me please?”
“In this clinic?” Namjoon says. Taehyung opens his eyes to see him shaking his head. He readies himself to take it all back. Before he can, Namjoon speaks again.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
There’s no room, no air for more words before Namjoon’s lips are on his. They’re soft, decadent like crushed velvet, sweet like candy, tart where he can taste them. This close, he smells sugar, flour, the telltale signs of baking, sweetness filling his nose.
Namjoon separates and immediately Taehyung pushes in, kissing him once again, his thoughts slipping from raging questions, thoughts, feelings and memories to quiet, raging anxiety evaporating into the simplicity of experience, a kind of normalcy that hasn’t been his normal for many years.
He sighs into his mouth and Namjoon brings him closer. From here, he can smell smoke, almost taste it on his tongue. He wants to taste Namjoon, truly, formally, far better than he can right now. He opens his mouth to let him in, but Namjoon doesn’t budge, won’t acquiesce, stays closed.
Taehyung’s eyebrows draw together. Why can’t he have what he wants? The only thing he wants? The only thing he’s dared to ask for in years? Why can’t he just have this?
Namjoon pulls back and Taehyung is left whining. It’s unbecoming for the circumstances, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
“Not here. Not now,” Namjoon says.
“Why?” Taehyung pouts, petulant. Namjoon sighs.
“We’re not in college anymore, Taehyung-ah.”
Namjoon reaches for Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung snatches his away. He knows that.
“I know that,” he voices.
“We’re never going to be there again,” Namjoon continues.
“I know that,” Taehyung repeats, frustrated. “So what?”
“So,” Namjoon begins. “Things are different now. You’re different now. I’ve lived a life too, and in that time I’ve learned that I like people kissing me when they know me, when I know they’ll hold me, when they…you know. You know.”
Taehyung doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. He opens his mouth to speak when a voice from the opposite end of the room interrupts him.
“Kim Namjoon!” it speaks, far too loud and bright for the hour. Namjoon’s head shoots up and he looks toward the doorway, now occupied by an individual in a pair of scrubs. Taehyung’s head is spinning too quickly to notice anything else.
“That’s me,” Namjoon says, standing up and leaning away. Taehyung reaches out to grab him. He misses.
“See you around,” Namjoon says, with a wink, turning back around to follow the nurse through the door. It shuts behind him, leaving weak fluorescence behind.
And Taehyung is left behind, once again. He almost laughs. That figures.
Taehyung is alone, as he has been, until he’s called into the doorway, walked down the hall and placed in a cramped exam room for another thirty minutes. When someone walks in he almost hopes it’s Namjoon, wishes and pleads that it’s him, but no, it’s a white coat and a handful of instructions on how to care for croup in children, something about home care and cold air. That explains why she perked up in the car.
The drive home is mercifully silent. The apartment he’s greeted with is mercilessly empty.
Sleep is scant for Taehyung and Jian alike that night, made worse by the increasingly vivid images of the past Taehyung is slammed with. He’s hit with sensation after sensation, the warmth of the sun in Namjoon’s kiss, the burn of it on his skin like the heat of a cigarette. Every thump, crack, and wail throughout the night, the sound of footsteps rounding a corner when he’s out with Jian on their daily walk could be Namjoon. It could be, but it isn’t.
Memory is cruel, and he’d like to shut it off completely, but holding it back over the years seems to only have made it stronger. Strong, like Namjoon. Severe, like Namjoon. It holds him the way Namjoon used to: tight, close, vulnerable. Would Namjoon still cradle his face after they fuck?
But the days go on with no sign of him. And after all that time, Taehyung begins to crave a little sweetness on his tongue.
This time he’s out with Jihye and Jian together, part of their co-parenting agreement. Jian has healed nicely, and so has Jihye. It’s good to see her smiling, more alive than when they were together. Taehyung wishes he could say the same.
Maybe it’s the anxiety medication he finally remembered to take right before Jihye arrived, or it could be the pleasant weather, summer transitioning into early fall. Maybe it’s the sound of Jian’s laughter replacing her earlier cries. He decides it’s the smell of sugar wafting through the air, landing sticky on the group.
It leads them into a small shop, mostly unremarkable, save for the blue theme, what appears to be a koala logo on the front door. Taehyung holds open the door for his family, ushers them inside, and wipes his forehead, relieved at the air conditioning. He approaches the counter and waits for someone to help them.
He turns away to look outside the glass, take in passersby, the gentle roar of the city muted. He smiles.
“What can I get for you?”
Taehyung freezes. No.
“Taehyung-ah?”
That voice.
Taehyung slowly turns. He faces him, Namjoon, for the first time since that night. Panicked, he runs one hand through his overgrown hair in a half-attempt to make himself more attractive. Namjoon doesn’t react, simply waits expectantly.
“Do I have to guess what you and your pretty face are here for?” he asks, breaking into a smile.
“I’m not pretty anymore,” Taehyung answers, quiet, shocked. Namjoon laughs.
“I don’t think you get to decide that,” he says, pushing Taehyung’s hair aside.
“I—”
“Now now, let’s not argue in front of your family. What can I get you, Taehyung-ah?”
“Uh—” Taehyung stutters, looking between his family and Namjoon. Jihye is tickling Jian’s foot, Jian letting out peels of laughter. She’s wearing yellow and red today, something to the effect of Winnie the Pooh. It was Jihye’s idea. It’s adorable.
Taehyung’s gaze settles back on Namjoon. He used to call him his bear. He swallows.
“Honestly?” he asks, quiet. Namjoon nods. “Your number and a cigarette.”
Namjoon laughs.
“I must have misheard you! That was two croissants and iced americanos to go—” he says, punching the order into the screen in front of him. Taehyung’s face burns at the subtle rejection. Namjoon looks back up at him.
“But in case I didn’t, sure. I think I can do that. Meet me here at 3:30? Just you and your pretty face?”
Taehyung is robbed of speech, caught by Namjoon’s eyes, his kindness, by memory and the present. He looks around.
Things are different now. They’ll never be that young again, it’s true. He doesn’t remember half of what he learned in biology. But who is he to deny fate?
He nods.
“I’d like that very much.”
Namjoon bites back a smile and looks down at the screen. He hands Taehyung his receipt.
“You’re order 104. On the house, by the way,” he says, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Taehyung doesn’t get a chance to thank him, not then, but when the walk ends and the drinks are finished. Jian is back at Jihye’s and the evening tumbles forward into talking, laughing, holding Namjoon, into whispered reassurances and moans and whimpers that fade up into the night, Taehyung knows that he’ll have time to say all he likes, that old things can be new, that he likes the view from his apartment just as much as the view from the computer science building as long as Namjoon is there.
And against all odds, Namjoon is there.