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“Please tell me you aren’t trying to refuck your ex.”
Disintegrating cotton candy on his tongue is the only thing stopping him from making his statement. He is mostly high from sugar and only partially afflicted by poor moral integrity of which he learns when Jimin sees right through his facade. So much for fabricated innocence when he is anything but.
“I’m not trying to refuck anyone,” Jeongguk says and frowns at his sticky blue and pink fingertips, glossy and hardening like glue. How this shit is even edible, Jeongguk will never know, but he is sinfully addicted to textures such as this. Fluffy, like cat fur, but better. “I just want to show him how much he fucked up.”
“Jeongguk, I know your favorite sex position,” Jimin says pointedly. This is new information to him, and he isn’t sure how to feel, whether to be flattered that Jimin knows or disturbed that Jimin knows. Either way, Jeongguk finds it exhaustingly difficult to take him seriously with that neon green monkey draped around his neck, courtesy of Yoongi for winning at cornhole. “Don’t you think I would know when my best friend is scheming shit like, oh, I don’t know, using a goddamn kissing booth to try and get back with Yugyeom?”
College is taxing. College fundraising events to welcome in the new school year are also taxing. Yet here is, letting social interaction and wet t-shirt contests physically exert him into a raisin. He has been handed enough condoms in the past hour to make him feel at least somewhat guilty for being a sexually driven homosapien with more cock sleeves than stamina to make his sex-ed teachers proud. But better safe than sorry, they say. At this rate, he is reasonably worried that their apartment guests will mistake one of them for ramen seasoning. Again. They should probably relocate their rubber stash away from the kitchen, but he makes a mental note for later.
“Is it so bad that I want to prove how much of a mistake he made for dumping me?” Jeongguk frowns. They are still in line for the kissing booth. Yugyeom hasn’t spotted him yet, and Jeongguk has no plans on giving up his spot to the freshmen behind him.
“Yes, it is!” Jimin says exasperatedly, looks at him like he’s stupid. He probably is. “You shouldn’t have to prove anything. He doesn’t deserve you anyway.”
“And I want him to know that.”
“You do realize you’re giving him the upper hand here,” Jimin groans. “There’s practically a sign over your head right now that says, ‘Desperate as fuck, I want you back,’ with a gargantuan red arrow pointing at your sorry ass.”
“That’s absurdly detailed,” Jeongguk says and furrows his brows. “Jimin, just let me do this. I need this for, I don’t know, closure.”
“Vengeful doesn’t look as good on you as it does on Sasuke. You need better influences that aren’t anime.”
“Shut up,” Jeongguk snorts. “This has nothing to do with trying to be effortlessly broody. Or avenging my nonexistent clan.”
“But it is about avenging your now nonexistent love life,” Jimin scoffs, and Jeongguk’s glare is seething. “Okay, but on the real,” he says, seriously this time. Serious does not suit Park Jimin. “This isn’t gonna make you feel better, nor is it gonna make it any easier to move on. But,” Shrug. “You do you, man.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk huffs and drowns out second thoughts with cloud-like consistency.
Fifteen more minutes finds Jeongguk with a finished stick of cotton candy and a few girls away from Yugyeom. If Yugyeom had noticed him in line, he doesn’t show it—this, Jeongguk figures, is what Jimin probably meant by not making him feel better. He’s nervous in that fidgety, unsettling way that twists his insides up in knots, still, even though he’s kissed Yugyeom more times than he can count. Yet in hindsight, the truth says it like this: Jeongguk has never been in-love. In-like, yes, with lust fogging up the harbors of his crowded mind to ever really consider the possibility of love.
His pride tells him he’s level-headed and doesn’t fall so easily, maybe borders on unrelenting. His insecurity tells him he hasn’t found the right person to make him nonsensically impulsive. Granted, relationships were relationships, shitty and dejecting as they may be, and getting dumped still sucked as much as the next break up. It’s only natural that he wants to salvage what’s left of his dignity. Sure, maybe a fraction of this is a sad attempt to get back with an ex, but he refuses to acknowledge any of this.
“Time to bounce,” Jimin says once the line narrows down. “I’ll be near the food trucks with Yoongi, so come find us when you’re done.”
“Will do,” Jeongguk says, stomach flipping with thrumming anxiety.
Jeongguk has never quite seen life as the Enemy—he is a strong believer in the self and the consequences individuals bring upon themselves, as hippie as it may be and as hippie as he is not—but when he glances back at the kissing stand and sees Yugyeom moving aside to switch positions with another male, Jeongguk is convinced the world has just fucked him in more ways than one.
“Wait, this is a joke right,” Jeongguk says, baffled. From the side is Jimin, having not left yet and laughing hysterically at his current predicament. “Timing can’t possibly be this much of bitch. Right?”
“Damn, you just got plot twisted,” Jimin says through laughter tears, failing to catch his breath. “This is a sign from the heavens for you to move on. Hate to say it, but I told you so.”
“Then don’t say it,” Jeongguk groans heavily. “Why is there even a need to change shifts at a college kissing booth? You’re literally getting paid to be a standard college student!”
“Wait, shit, I know him,” Jimin interjects. “That’s Yoongi’s roommate, Taehyung. He's good friends with Hoseok and the others. Have to admit, he's super chill, not to mention hot.” He stands on his tip-toes to get a better look. “Damn, maybe I should get in line, too.”
And okay, if he wasn't pretending to be melodramatically distressed over all of this and platonically stable, he'd admit how entirely untragic all of this was. Taehyung looks friendly, pretty, impossibly delicate. But Taehyung is also sexy in the way that disturbs his hormones, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of this.
“Go get him, tiger,” Jimin purrs when he's next in line, gracefully prancing away with annoying, waggling brows. Jeongguk is considering looking up a BuzzFeed list of the top fourteen ways to sabotage someone, thinks about hiding away his bottle of lube and replacing it with toddler toothpaste to get Jimin really riled—
“Next in line?”
Jeongguk steers his glare away from Jimin’s retreating back and is greeted with squared mirth. He doesn’t need to look around to know that Taehyung’s amused grin is because he is, in fact, the only male in this line until another twenty or so people. Fuck it. He was supposed to be here for Yugyeom anyway.
“‘Next in line’?” Jeongguk snorts and quirks a brow. He walks the tiny distance to the poorly crafted booth that highly resembles a child’s lemonade stand and drops his payment of fifty cents in the jar. “What is this, a coffee shop?”
“Essentially,” Taehyung smiles and leans forward to rest against the booth. “I’ll ring you up.”
Jeongguk tampers down the nerves in his stomach when he glances to the side at Yugyeom, pacing off in the opposition direction and trains the frown off his face. Yugyeom, who does not so much as glance back at Jeongguk the entire way. This, he is sure, is his blaring wake up call to stop pining after his ex, no matter the motive. He hates it when Jimin is not wrong.
“Sorry. You were in line for Yugyeom, weren’t you?” Jeongguk yanks his gaze back to the front, at Taehyung, who is resting his chin in his palm and watching him softly.
“I—yeah, kind of? Sorry, it’s stupid.”
“It’s chill,” Taehyung laughs. “Fifty-cent kissing booth. College. The worst that can happen has yet to come, aka, the group of fratties at the end of the line.”
“Shit. Good luck,” Jeongguk glances behind.
“Thanks, I’ll need it,” Taehyung grimaces. “Anyway, you can leave if you want with your quarters, I won’t be offended. I mean, unless you came to break hearts.”
“Not me this time,” Jeongguk says and shrugs, rests his elbows up on the wooden surface of the setup. “But hey, I waited my turn, so—I’ll have one large kiss, extra vanilla, hold the complications.”
Taehyung chuckles easily at this and leans in. “Coming right up.”
The kiss is more pleasant than Jeongguk had ever anticipated. If he’s being especially honest, a rare feat even coming from himself, he doesn’t think he’s ever kissed anyone quite like this, the way his entire body eases up into mush and melts into one messy pile of chemical reactions that feels a lot like butterflies and cloud nine. He hopes it has nothing to do with the junk food dissolved in his system and everything to do with how much he enjoys kissing this boy.
Taehyung’s mouth tastes as sweet as cotton candy, if not sweeter, more consistent and firm, and his bottom lip is soft like a plush pillow. Jeongguk barely tugs on it with his teeth just to see it spring back and connects their mouths like he’d never imagined stopping. The hand Taehyung cradles against the side of his face is gentle, and Jeongguk can feel the smile more than he sees it, knows he’s not the only one wrapped up in the bliss of all of this. It’s when he discovers just how silky Taehyung’s tongue feels against his own that someone behind him clears her throat.
“Are you guys about to fuck or something?” She says, snarky and particularly freshmany in that “I’m in college now, so fuck everyone else” kind of attitude.
Jeongguk pulls away with a wet noise as their lips separate, stares irritably at her, for being so impatient but mostly for cock blocking the best makeout session of the century. He has long since forgotten about Yugyeom from the warm and dizzying confines of Taehyung’s sinful mouth.
“No, we aren’t, but I also don’t kiss filthy mouths like yours,” Taehyung coos mockingly, the way adults talk to kids. The way Jimin sometimes talks to him, that fucker. All Jeongguk is thinking about is how Taehyung’s lips are swollen from his ministrations. “But I’m feeling good today, so I’ll let your remark slide.”
“Sure it’s not ‘cause your boner?” She raises a brow. Taehyung ignores the comment and turns back to Jeongguk with a small eyeroll.
Hesitantly, with a few seconds of mere eye-contact, he leans across to close the distance, pressing a chaste kiss on Jeongguk’s mouth before pulling away with a smile so content it glitters in his eyes.
“One for the road, free of charge,” he says, reserved for Jeongguk. “Next.”
Jeongguk is, without a doubt, stupidly enamored.
(“Deep-fried oreos or hot dog?” Jimin asks when Jeongguk finally spots them.
“Why?”
“Oreos for the rejection, hot dog for the not-so-celebration,” Jimin says, weighing the two options in his hands for Jeongguk to decide.
Jeongguk snatches the paper tray. “Hot dog.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He grins and does not elaborate. “I’ll tell you about it another time.)
For Jeongguk, club fairs are dangerous. He doesn’t need to step into club fair territory to know he’ll be leaving with his name, email, and phone number scribbled on at least five different sign-up sheets. Dangerous.
But the thing about Club Fair is that there is no escape. He is an officer of one year at the Breakdance Club and is, in his position, required to man their table alongside Hoseok and Jimin. He will hand out fliers until his arms fall off and perform freestyle sets every half hour on their janky setup of cardboard boxes, duct taped to the floor, until the late afternoon—he expects this. And now, with Hoseok granting him a fifteen minute break from his officer duties, Jeongguk braces himself for persuasion and window shops through the clubs.
It all comes down to too much ambition and insufficient motivation. Jeongguk considers his inability to follow through with things until the very end his ugliest flaw and blames it on his fervent interest in everything, really—drawing, dancing, composing, concrete canoeing. The weightlifting club in the corner of his eyes looks like a surefire sign for gym addiction, so he forces himself to keep perusing and steers clear of muscled bros with sweatbands and 2.0 GPA’s that will be him should he decide to join.
And yet the thing about clubs? Jeongguk will only ever attend a few meetings before bailing altogether in favor of crashing apartment parties with Jimin and the others, including Tuesday night turn up with just enough recovery time to make it to his one p.m. hungover. That is to say if he makes it out of bed at all. He’s had more than a few existential breakdowns by now to reconsider college, and the parties are entirely at fault. That hideous flaw always comes back to bite him in the ass when he least expects it.
He is tastefully scrutinizing a flier from the Cheese Club when the paper is all too suddenly crushed between chests as he recklessly collides into someone, also with a stack of fliers. Something about cheese aficionado and gouda, brie, cheddar, happiness!, before the page gets squashed. Sounds like a good time, that is, if he disregards his lack of interest in dairy enough to pretend that he’s a fanatic. But that’s exactly what Club Fair does to people, Jeongguk thinks, gets in his head and makes him think these clubs are funner than they actually are. Dangerous.
“Fuck, sorry about that,” Jeongguk says and falls backwards a few steps from the impact, hand coming up to keep his beanie from jostling.
“No, that was my fau—oh, hey,” It’s Taehyung, of course it is, with sunglasses hanging off the back of his head like he’s about to Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives around town. Jeongguk either has shitty timing or miraculous coincidences.
“Jeongguk, right? I never got your name.”
“Yeah, Jeongguk. And you’re Taehyung?” Jeongguk says more than asks, stuffs the cheese flier in his back pocket.
“That’s me,” Taehyung says. “Hoseok talks a lot about you. Says you’re some kind of kid prodigy or something.”
“Definitely can’t fill those shoes,” Jeongguk laughs and readjusts his stretchy elbow brace. He’d practiced way too many air chairs at last night’s practice for his joints to be in pristine condition for today’s event. “But that’s Hoseok for you—boasts about his friends like we’re all gifted geniuses.”
“True that.” Upon closer inspection without breakup revenge blocking his mind, Jeongguk notices that Taehyung is unmistakably attractive without the context of a kissing booth. It’s not that Jeongguk had doubted this, it’s that he’s painfully reminded. He is also reminded of the nice hum of Taehyung’s voice, a melody Jeongguk wouldn’t mind wrapping himself up in.
“So what brings you here?” Taehyung asks. “Swim Club’s army of hot guys in speedos?”
“Guilty,” Jeongguk jokingly shrugs. “Nah, I’m an officer for Break Club. Hoseok dragged my ass out here to help with the table. You?”
Taehyung holds up the fliers in his hands and waggles his brows. “Art of Anime Club. Take a flier.”
“Wow, I’m so down for this,” Jeongguk snatches the flier. “Like deadass, I’m an out-of-the-closet anime geek—especially for Studio Ghibli.”
“Seriously? Then sign-up! We meet every Wednesday at 6:30 to discuss the artwork behind all those Ghibli masterpieces.”
“P.m. or a.m.?”
“P.m.,” Taehyung drawls questionably.
“Just making sure,” Jeongguk explains and follows Taehyung to the club’s table. “Eat, Pray, Love Club starts in the a.m. Not sure why Seokjin would ever want to start his club so early.”
“That’s too much commitment,” Taehyung frowns. “I wouldn’t ever be able to guarantee not skipping from bitching hangovers.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Jeongguk laughs, leaning down to scribble on the sign-up sheet. “There’s a reason for afternoon classes.”
“I share your sentiments,” Taehyung says, sitting against the edge of the table. “Before we see you for our first meeting, it’s mandatory to ask—what anime are you following right now?”
“Not gonna lie, but I’ve been revisiting Haikyu!! for a second time.”
“Sports anime, huh?”
“Sports and action anime. I’m a sucker for those,” Jeongguk straightens up and checks his phone. “Shit, sorry. I gotta go, like, five minutes ago. Club duties.”
“Oh, sure, go,” Taehyung ushers. He gestures at the fliers. “I’ve got club duties too.”
“I’m freestyle b-boying with Hoseok, Jimin, and a few other members,” Jeongguk says, takes a step backwards and nearly runs into a longboarder. “You should come watch if you have time.”
“For sure, I’ll try to swing by in a bit,” Taehyung smiles and salutes. “You better go or you’ll be late.”
Jeongguk waves and jogs away. What is it about these goddamn Club Fairs.
Art of Anime Club is exceptional with the perfect hippie to furry ratio alongside the dozen or so art majors to make it socially cool. On the other hand, grubbing with Taehyung at Fast Subs has him forgetting about the meeting altogether.
“So what’s the real reason you were at the kissing booth the other day?”
It’s impressive, the way Taehyung still manages to talk even with half a sub stuffed in his face and fries queued up in his hand. He eats like he’s been starved for days and talks like crumbs aren’t threatening to fall straight from his mouth, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind any of this because he thinks it’s cute . He knows for a fact that he’d grimace at Jimin for doing the same. It is the ultimate sign of whipped infatuation.
Jeongguk looks down at his fries, idly tosses the burnt flakes around his plate. “It’s really dumb. Like, buying new underwear instead of doing laundry dumb.”
“You said that already, minus the underwear thing. That’s disgusting,” Taehyung says and sets down his sub. He looks tiny in Jeongguk’s Stussy hoodie, lended because evenings were always chilly on this campus. “Really though, why?”
“Yugyeom is my ex,” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung’s mouth forms an ‘o’. “He dumped me back then, so I ended up planning this elaborate revenge tactic thinking it’d work—I kiss him, and poof , he wants me back. The revenge part was supposed to be me not taking him back, but then you came along.”
Taehyung pouts. “Sorry?”
“No, not like that or anything!” Jeongguk explains, waving his hand aimlessly through the air. “No joke, you made it easier to move on. Made me realize I really did deserve better.”
“I’m glad,” Taehyung says. He picks his legs up off the floor and crosses them on the chair. “For what it’s worth, you look like you deserve the best, anyway.”
Jeongguk doesn’t quite know what blushing is, but he figures the warmth in his cheeks is the sorcery as such—he feels as sappy as a goddamn tree. Jeongguk bites a fry and watches Taehyung stuff down another mouthful. Grease is bad for his skin, even worse for his plummet back into cheap, fast food hell like freshman year, but Taehyung, he thinks, is good company and worth every blemish on his forehead.
“Thanks,” Jeongguk says. “For a lot? For something. I don’t know, I feel like I should be thanking you.”
Taehyung actually takes the few seconds to swallow down his food before speaking.
“Thank yourself. You stayed in line even after I said you could leave, didn’t you?” he says and tosses a wadded napkin at Jeongguk. It hits him square in chest, right where it’s blooming. Jeongguk grabs it from his lap. “I think you were more okay than you credited yourself for.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “It didn’t suck as bad as it could’ve, I guess. But that’s over now, so.” Jeongguk slaps his palms on the table. “Ice cream?”
And Taehyung looks at him like it’s obvious. “Duh?”
This is Taehyung’s first time sitting in on Breakdance Club, and Jeongguk almost kicks him in the face throwing a flare.
First meetings, on a general note, were always overcrowded with just enough freshman to make it a near disaster. He is two more questions of “when do we get to learn the cool stuff?” away from hurling a speaker at someone’s head, preferably the kid front and center with “fuckboy” written four different ways across his t-shirt. The kind of guy who photographs with prayer hands in front of evos. Christ. Taehyung, who’s sitting against the mirror, notices his stilting patience for ignorance. His patience is running so thin.
After an hour of introductions, basic club information and policy, and the first group cypher to gauge everyone’s abilities, Hoseok calls it a day with one last pep talk to motivate the members to come again—God knows only half of this week’s attendees will show up next week and the week after that, and it is, unfortunately, an unparalleled norm. But as officers of the club, it’s his and Jimin’s duties to keep the members coming back. No members, no events, no club sponsorship. Members are the club.
But breakdancing was more hard work than new disciples were prepared for, showing up with stronger aspirations to pick up chicks with cool moves before actually registering the amount of practice and effort it took to perfect even the fundamentals. Jeongguk knows this from firsthand experience, circa frosh days of Obey attire and red piercings, expecting to nail a Nike within the first day. What a joke that had been. Puberty had always been traumatic.
Aside from melodramatics, Jeongguk also knows that post-meeting was the best part of Break Club, the time where everyone, including Hoseok, Jimin, and himself threw down their freestyles for the sake of dancing. This is where Jeongguk nearly breaks Taehyung’s face in half, top-rocking into floor work before gaining momentum in his legs to throw a flare that is only but a few feet away from where Taehyung is sitting. A hair’s width away from that freckled nose.
“Fuck,” Taehyung squeaks, leaning back swiftly and narrowly dodging Jeongguk’s Vans clad feet. “Dude, I’m just trying to have a good time, but I’m literally getting attacked.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongguk says, collapsing to the floor on his side in a fit of apologetic laughter mid-windmill, shoes squeaking on the floor to stop his movements. “Are you okay?”
“A little traumatized, yeah, but I’m good,” Taehyung says dazedly, hands still shielding his chest.
“Damn, that was close,” Hoseok whistles, kneeling and catching his breath. “You were one inch away from sending him to the nurse’s office.”
“Good thing I pulled back at the last second,” Jeongguk pants, dabbing at the sweat trickling down his neck. Ventilation is especially awful in the studio tonight, just enough to keep the mirrors from fogging but not enough for easy breathing. Jeongguk glances at the fan in the corner of the room. Too far. Too lazy. “I still can’t control my flares for shit.”
“I think you need to draw a bigger rotation,” Jimin suggests near the sound system, scrolling through Jeongguk’s phone for music. “You kicked a little low that time.”
“I’ll practice more tomorrow,” Jeongguk says and slides himself up to sit beside Taehyung. “How are we doing?”
“Really good? I can’t believe humans can even do these things with their bodies.”
“Me neither,” Jeongguk leans back on his palms and stretches out his legs. “Honestly I think that’s why I committed myself to it, breakdancing. Because I sucked at it.”
“Challenge seeker, huh,” Taehyung says and props his elbows on his knees. Jeongguk has never seen his forehead quite like this, bangs tucked under a snapback like he’s ready to kill with his eyebrows alone. It makes Jeongguk feel like a sweaty potato, rolling around on hardwood flooring like he’s got nothing to prove. A very unripe potato. “Really, I’m super impressed. You guys are like, ‘Step Up’ talented.”
“That can either be a compliment or an insult, but I’ll stick with the former,” Jeongguk says. He watches Hoseok run through his newest popping set, the way his body jostles with every move, the force of his precision eminent. “It takes hard work and effort, you know? Our blood, sweat, and tears are on this floor.”
“I feel you, man. I mean, I’m an animation major,” Taehyung looks at him pointedly. “All work, no pay, yet we still do it. And for what? Enjoyment and passion.”
“You do what you gotta do if you love it, right?” Jeongguk says. He shakes his head from side to side to cool off the sweat beading on his forehead.
“That’s the life,” Taehyung says with arms spread wide. “Anyway, I should get going. I promised Yoongi I’d help move the furniture around tonight. Something about renovating to cleanse the soul.”
“Sounds about right,” Jeongguk snorts and follows Taehyung to the doors. “You coming to the breakdancing jam in the gym this weekend?”
“Probably. I’ll let you know if I can’t make it,” Taehyung adjusts his backpack and steps back with a wave. “See you guys later!”
“See ya!”
“See you this weekend!”
Taehyung pauses in his retreat. “Oh, and try not to break anyone else’s face tonight!”
“Bye to you too,” Jeongguk frowns. It almost melts into a cheesy smile, but he refrains in favor of prideful composure. Good thing, because when he turns around, there are two sets of eyes grinning back at him, like he’s spiraled into some Cheshire hell with no escape or magical cookies to save him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hoseok shrugs mirthfully and goes back to stretching.
“Yup, nothing.” Jimin grins down at his phone.
Absolutely unbelievable.
The school library is a sad place to be at odd hours of the night. It reeks of last-minute term papers and crammed studies mixed in with tears and red bull, yet Jeongguk and Taehyung find themselves among the stench of suffering, sitting at one of the tables near the back with music humming quietly from Taehyung’s phone. His playlists have quite the variety, and Jeongguk has always been attracted to musically diverse souls.
It is not unusual anymore to hang out with Taehyung like this, most preferably not in a library setting, but close and convenient nonetheless. He’s glad that Taehyung fills up his days where moping around the apartment used to be viable—even with five other close friends, Jeongguk is a slug, partially sloth, a tiny bit human.
“I can’t believe Yoongi sexiled me three nights in a row,” Taehyung grumbles, slouching in his chair and collapsing his head back against the wood. “That’s three nights I haven’t slept in my pajamas.”
“That explains why Jimin hasn’t been home.”
“Lucky you.”
Jeongguk leans his upper body over the table, presses his cheek into his palm. He hates the feeling of chewing on plastic, yet here he is, nibbling at the tip of his straw like chewing gum. It is much less flavorful and has the consistency of fingernails, but it serves to occupy the urges of reaching out to chew on Taehyung’s bottom lip. So very impulsive.
“You can sleep over at my place tonight,” Jeongguk says. The words taste foreign when they don’t hold implications of a one night stand. “I mean, only if you want.”
“Can I really?” Taehyung says and lifts his head. Kind of like what puppies do when excited. Jeongguk wouldn’t mind cuddling the fuck out of him. “Because hell yeah I’ll take you up on that offer. Can I borrow some clothes?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jeongguk shrugs, takes a sip of shake while simultaneously chewing. “You have class tomorrow right?”
“Thursday? Yup. General Communications. The professor makes me want to shove a pineapple down my throat,” Taehyung groans. “I mean, how can someone so monotonous get hired as a morning college professor? Fuck me sideways.”
“Tell me about it,” Jeongguk says around a mouthful of straw, raises his brows in exasperation because he sympathizes completely. “We can go now, by the way. Since there’s no point in waiting in the library until Yoongi nuts.”
“Gross, shut up. Don’t talk about Yoongi and his nuts nutting,” Taehyung snatches at the styrofoam cup and takes a sip. “Anyway, you’re right. Let’s head out.”
But Jeongguk doesn’t move, words stuck in his throat as much as his willingness to get up, to let the moment pass regretfully without having initiated a thing from the desire that burns beneath his skin. He does not get up. He does not breathe. He says, “Hey, Taehyung?”
Taehyung notices the unwillingness and mirrors his position, sinks low in his chair until he’s pressing the side of his face on the surface of the table to face him. “What is it?”
“This is stupid, but—can I take you on a date?” It’s stupid, so otherworldly stupid, the way society makes this a hard question for him to ask. He has only ever depended on the virtual. This scenario lacks the usual winky-eyed emoji, prayer hands emoji, and eggplant (just because), and it is enough to kick his ass outside of his comfort zone.
But Taehyung’s smile is so bright and beautiful. “Go for it,” he says. “I mean, as long as you don’t treat me to dinner at the dining hall, I’m down.”
“Good thing you mentioned it then,” Jeongguk jokes. “Saturday?”
“Saturday.”
“And also.” Jeongguk inhales. “Can I kiss you?”
The words are in the air like a mist of perfume, but they don’t sit comfortably in-between, not on Jeongguk’s end at least. The second he asks, there’s panic in his chest tinged with the need to reach out and snatch the words right back, shove them in his pocket and pretend like they’d never become real. The only thing keeping him sane in the few seconds it takes for Taehyung to respond is that he means it, wants it, has wanted it ever since their run-in at the kissing booth. Fear is not so bad after an honest confession, and Taehyung’s gentle expression is the comforting hand.
“Of course,” Taehyung says. “I thought you’d never ask.”
So Jeongguk leans down and finally, finally refamiliarizes the taste of Taehyung at the back of his throat, stained on his tongue like crystallized sugar, he'd never quite stopped thinking about this. The kiss tastes like strawberry milkshake and something so identifiably Taehyung. The way they melt into each other short circuits Jeongguk’s mush of a brain and shuts down all coherency he’d tried to hold onto. Taehyung’s hand is buried in his hair and Taehyung’s hand is pulling him closer, and Jeongguk can only register the way the kiss deepens an entire ocean’s depth yet it’s not enough. Fuck is Taehyung intoxicating.
And maybe it's a little unconventional, making out at the back of the library in the midst of academia hell with coffee shop tunes lulling from phone speakers, but Jeongguk wouldn't have it any other way. Granted, Taehyung has probably kissed about a hundred people in his entire life thus far, yes, including the kissing booth, but Jeongguk has only ever meant this one, and that’s something. Sure, awkward silences still plague them when they aren’t looking, but kissing Taehyung feels a lot like blissful salvation like he’s never had before.
Taehyung pulls back and says, “As much as I'm open to sexually experimenting, we should head out before the librarian decides to get freaky and asks to join.”
Jeongguk glances towards the woman at the counter, glasses perched atop her nose, looking so disturbingly turned on that he almost expects a wink, a knitted purple and pink sweater to fall to the floor. Prime boner-killing material. Jeongguk clears his throat uncomfortably. “Christ. Let's go.”
But even hours later, with Taehyung sound asleep in Jimin’s bed and cuddled in Jeongguk’s sweater, he wonders how he’d gotten so lucky as to steal the attention of a beautiful boy at a university kissing booth—poorly timed, spontaneous, and sweet like cotton candy. It is the one time he is thankful for exes.
Jeongguk doesn’t know why he still Tells Jimin Things, but fifteen minutes later finds him nursing a growing headache with a pillow draped over his face to the point of suffocation.
“You mean to tell me this all happened because of the kissing booth,” Jimin clarifies, leaning against the wall that Jeongguk’s bed is pushed up against.
“Kind of?”
“What do you mean ‘kind of’!” Jimin says and nudges at Jeongguk’s hip with his foot. “You can’t just say kind of. It either happened because of the kissing booth, or it didn’t.”
“I don’t know, it just happened!”
“You really suck at elaborating, you know that?” Jimin frowns, tosses another pillow at him to add to the growing pile of pillows atop his face. “You do realize you’re the one that called me over to talk.”
“I already told you everything I had to say.”
“Rebound?”
“Dating.”
“Damn.”
Jeongguk removes the pillows for proper oxygen. “I really like him, so shut up.”
“You sure this isn’t another scheme to make Yugyeom jealous?” Jimin asks skeptically, gives him that look that says he better not be fucking himself up.
“It’s not. Seriously,” Jeongguk says. There’s feathers in Jimin’s hair where Jeongguk had clouted him earlier with his pillow, enough for temporary disorientation, but he makes no move to remove them. Jimin will find them eventually, preferably halfway through a lecture. “I wouldn’t waste my time dating if I didn’t see any potential. You know that.”
“I do,” Jimin reassures and pats his leg. “Well hey, I’m happy for you.”
“...but?”
“But you do realize you’re obligated to go on a double date with me and Yoongi.”
“We’re not even—”
“Obligated, Jeongguk, obligated. I’m not taking no for an answer!” Jimin ignores his protests and hops off the bed, so swift Jeongguk barely has time to trip him in his haste. “Anyway, I’ve got class at the other end of campus in two minutes, so we’ll talk restaurant reservations later.” Jimin grabs his bag off the floor and shuts the door behind him with a cheery toodles!
Right. Reservations. Also known as an entire month’s paycheck at a restaurant that will make him feel perpetually broke and unforgivingly middle class. Unfair, really.
“Reservations,” Jeongguk groans and drops the pillow back over his face. “Reservations.”
He is still glazed over and basking in his own lethargy when Taehyung drops by an hour later with sushirritos and effectively wallows his way deeper into Jeongguk’s fat heart.
“What’s up with you?” Taehyung says, setting the bag on the table. He grabs a foil wrapped burrito from the bag and walks over to hop up on the kitchen counter. “You look like Sunday, if Sunday was a twenty year old college student.”
“I think I just inadvertently signed us up for a double date with our roommates,” Jeongguk mumbles, standing from the couch and trudging to the kitchen. He peers into the bag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nah, it’s on me,” Taehyung waves him off. He peels the foil off in a spiral and takes a bite. “Anyway it can’t be that bad. We hang out with them all the time anyway. Same thing. Plus relationship statuses. But that’s whatever.”
“Except for how much they’re gonna grill us with questions? And thanks, I’ll treat next time,” Jeongguk leans his hip against the counter beside Taehyung, tears off half the foil and flings it into the sink. Bless Kim Taehyung for understanding his mess of food cravings without even realizing. “Just so you know, Jimin’s gonna break us in before we break us in.”
“Then let him break us in like a pair of old sneakers,” Taehyung challenges with a smug expression. “Quit worrying. I’ve already sucked your dick twice, and some, if that’s any indication of how ‘broken in’ we already are. This should be easy and fun.”
“That’s entirely besides the point,” Jeongguk quirks a brow and picks at raw tuna. “Whatever. It is what it is.”
“So you finally told Jimin about us?”
“What?”
“You told Jimin that we’re dating.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jeongguk shrugs. “Like an hour ago actually.”
“About time,” Taehyung scoffs, reaching into the cupboard for a glass. He turns on the faucet and fills it halfway. “Not that everyone didn’t already know. We’re not exactly the most subtle people.”
“Ha, yeah,” Jeongguk grabs the glass Taehyung offers and gulps the rest down. “But sorry, you know, for keeping it a secret. I didn’t want anyone to think you were some kind of rebound.”
“I’m not, right?”
“No! Definitely not,” Jeongguk says and finishes his burrito. “I like you more than I like myself.”
“I call bullshit on that,” Taehyung rejects. “Caught you flexing in the mirror for fifteen minutes the last time I dropped by the dance studio. I swear you almost got hard from your own biceps.” Taehyung crumples up the foil into a tight ball and tosses it into the sink for Jeongguk to deal with later. He’d already done his part, paying for food and all. How tragically domestic and tragically, domestically soon.
“I was probably checking my progress, shove off,” Jeongguk pouts and flicks foil shreds at Taehyung’s leg. “And anyway, I know how weak you get from these bad boys.” Jeongguk smoothly lifts his arm to flex the muscle of his bicep. He smirks for added effect. “Should I remind you what happened last week when I helped you carry that box of supplies for Anime Club?”
“Okay, damn. I get it. Your biceps make both of us hard.”
“That’s not wh—”
“— by the way,” Taehyung interrupts. “Someone asked if I wanted to participate at the kissing booth in the upcoming football game. Raise some fundraising money for the team,” he shrugs, casual, too casual, but there’s a dirty glint in his eyes that Jeongguk wants to frown at. Frown really hard at. “What do you think?”
“Hm, let me think about this,” Jeongguk hums sarcastically then fixes him with a deadpanned glare. “No?”
But apparently, Taehyung’s got jokes today, the little shit. “Not even for a tiny shift?”
“I’ll never let you ride me again.”
“Not sure who gets the short end of the stick, here.”
“Either way, no one’s getting laid.”
“How’s that supposed to solve anything...?”
“Listen. I don’t want to be That One Jealous Boyfriend, but fuck, that’s a lot of people to kiss!”
There’s a pause, and Taehyung looks like he’s just won a million bucks. Jeongguk kind of hates it. “Boyfriend?”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, hey, come here!” Taehyung laughs, grabbing at Jeongguk’s arm and pulling him close, efficiently trapping him between his legs. How Jeongguk wishes he were more slippery. Like soap bars. Maybe live an existential life where he doesn’t accidentally blurt out dumb shit and only bubbles. “Care to repeat that for me?”
“No.”
“Please?”
Jeongguk sighs and feels himself shed a metaphorical tear. “Fine. Boyfriend. I don’t want to be the annoying, jealous boyfriend.”
“I like the sound of that,” Taehyung says, arms wrapped around his neck, happiness radiating off every square inch of his body. His fingers idly mess with the loops of Jeongguk’s earrings, the hair at his temples, the line of his jaw. He nudges their noses together, so sappy, but Jeongguk is such a sucker. “Boyfriends. I can dig it.”
“Yeah?” Jeongguk says and raises a brow unsurely, hands coming up around Taehyung’s waist. The knob of the drawer is digging uncomfortably into his stomach, but who cares, really, when Taehyung is under his fingertips. “Does this guarantee no kissing booths?”
“Will you just shut up and kiss me?”
And Jeongguk does, because he can—free of charge, unlimited, and all to himself. His own personal kissing booth.