Work Text:
A glass bottle slips purposefully from the fire escape on the fourth storey of the apartment building. It hits the pavement, shattering into tens of fragments with a small crash. The sound echoes between the walls of the building and its neighbor, loud enough to be heard from the third storey. Loud enough to wake Krystal, which in any other case, it wouldn’t. But in this case, it always does.
Rolling from her side onto her back, she stares up at the ceiling. A tiny part of her hopes her senses are just conditioned to the noise and it’s a reflex response to nothing. Another part knows that it isn’t, and that she’ll have to clean up the mess tomorrow morning, after dealing with the one on the fire escape. She likes the latter part more.
Getting up, she heads to the back door, unlocking it and peering up. It’s not a particularly cold night, but there are goosebumps on the back of her neck.
Boots quietly descend the metal stairs. Boots attached to slender legs and a slender torso, clad in black, and then the handsome face of their owner. The only source of light comes from the streetlamp shining into the alleyway, hitting the metal at an angle and casting shadows across his features, illuminating some of the ash blond of his hair, a cheekbone, the tip of his nose, the piercings of his left ear. Darkness pools in the hollow of a collarbone for a moment, and then Taehyung steps forward and out of the dimly-lit space.
“Surprise,” he sing-songs lowly. It isn’t really, and as he holds his hands out in a lame attempt at jazz hands Krystal reaches for a wrist, carefully pulling him into the kitchen and her arms.
“I’m getting used to your dumb signal,” she says to his chest.
“It’s not dumb, it’s cool.”
She laughs into the soft fabric of his T-shirt, between the lapels of his leather jacket. “I’m also getting used to cleaning up all the fucking glass though, which isn’t cool. You have my number, asshole.”
A hand comes up, cupping her face before tucking her chin between his forefinger and thumb and making her look up into his twinkling eyes.
“Aw,” he coos, pouting a little. “But calling you is no fun, doll.”
Shaking her head, Krystal pulls away from him and leads him to her tiny bathroom, switching the light on and opening the mirror cabinet for the First Aid kit while Taehyung takes off his boots and makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bathtub, where he’s sat too many times to count. She approaches, getting a proper look at him as she sits down.
A bruise is already forming on his right cheekbone, around a ring-shaped cut that matches the one on the bridge of his nose. His left eyebrow is also bleeding, but there are no black eyes, which is a relief. They’re still fresh wounds, meaning he was pretty close by when it happened. She doesn’t think about what else that means, as she gets out the cotton wipes and near-empty bottle of isopropyl, and he pulls out a piece of gum from his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. He raises an eyebrow, a silent offer of another piece for her, but she shakes her head.
“A lot less damage this time, even though he was wearing rings,” she muses, fighting a smile as he winces at the touch of the alcohol to his cheek.
“Can’t say the same about less damage for the other guy. You should see the state of him,” he jokes.
“Depends. Will I have to drive all the way to A&E to get a look at him?” She jokes.
“Nah, not this time,” he assures, blowing a tiny, watermelon-flavoured bubble before popping it and continuing. “You’re right about the rings though. Getting good at observing, baby.”
Krystal blushes a little at the nickname, but recovers with an arrogant snort. “Of course I am. Been dealing with your battered ass for too long now, haven’t I? I could actually become a nurse.”
He hums his agreement. “You could, but I’d prefer you only fixin’ me up after a fight.”
“Why,” she teases, “You worried that I might patch up a badder boy than you and run off with him?”
“Nah,” he denies arrogantly, shooting her a smirk that’s both playful and serious. “I’m the only one bad enough for you, baby.”
The nickname makes her blush again, a giggle slipping out, and Taehyung grins cheekily as he turns his head for her to work on his brow. “Will that need stitches?”
“Nah, not this time,” is her reply, and their eyes meet for a second as they share a slightly elated smile. They both enjoy this routine a little too much to be healthy, maybe.
They continue in silence as Krystal puts a dressing on his eyebrow and some antiseptic cream and a Band-Aid on each of his nose and cheek cuts. Taehyung insists on skin-coloured plasters for those, and an Eeyore one for the tooth-shaped cut just below the second knuckle of the middle finger on his right hand. Knowing better than to question it, Krystal complies, and he beams at her. The knuckles on his right hand are red and beginning to bruise, so she gets an ice pack from her freezer as he goes to sit on the edge of her bed.
“I’ve got a question for you,” he drawls, pausing to chew a few times. “Real philosophical-like.”
Krystal rolls her eyes, pressing the pack to his knuckles and holding it there, the ice and his hand between both of hers.
“Fire,” she sighs, and he smirks, tilting his head back and looking down his nose at her.
“What came first, love itself or the lover?” The digital clock in the hallway reads 3:48AM.
“What came first, the chicken or the dickhead?” She shoots back. Taehyung snorts, his fingers squeezing her hand lightly.
“Good one! But seriously, this is different to that,” he insists, face turning serious. “Joonie asked all of us and it really got me thinking.”
“Oh God,” she groans, feigning horror. “He finally got through to you guys with all the philosophy.”
“Not all of us. Yoongi was wasted, puttin’ his hands on his ears, yellin’ ‘La la la, Namjoon is full of shit!’ It was hilarious.”
“And you managed to pay attention to Namjoon while this was happening?” Krystal teases, earning a whine from Taehyung.
“I did, actually.” His indignant expression makes her laugh. “He told us how his professor was talkin’ about how our ability to comprehend love may be “hindered” if we’ve never experienced it before. Somethin’ about how people who are inexperienced with love, or incapable of understanding love are doomed to only ever feel physical desire.
“So it got me thinking, like, would a lover have come first, to recognize and define the love, or did love come first?”
“Well, which do you think came first, Tae?” Krystal prompts, now interested. It’s an open discussion, which she’s awake enough for now, and it’ll be a little while longer before the ice melts enough in her hands. He stands up, hand leaving hers momentarily while he goes to throw his gum away so he can properly talk. When he returns, he slips his hand back between hers and the ice pack and continues.
“I think,” he starts, pausing for a moment to look at her, and then out of the window, collecting his thoughts. “I’m not sure either of ‘em could have come first. I think that lovers before love were just people, and could only become lovers with love, y’know? But you can’t have felt love if you weren’t a lover, right?”
“Probably not. But are we talking about romantic love, or all kinds?”
“Well, all kinds, I guess. But I’m more concerned with the romantic type.” He runs the forefinger of his left hand along a loose thread on the knee of his jeans, tracing around it in slow circles. “The thing the professor mentioned doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Which thing?”
“The thing about the inexperienced people, and people who are incapable of understanding love being unable to feel anything but physical desire,” Taehyung huffs. “I think it’s pretty bullshit.”
“How come?” Krystal fights back a smile, fond of how heated Taehyung gets about his own ideas that contrast the norm. He starts gesturing, and it’s impossible to look away.
“The first people to recognise love would have been inexperienced. When they first felt love, they wouldn’t know what it was, and wouldn’t understand it, but they still would’a felt it. Just ’cause they couldn’t put a name to it before or know what it was before doesn’t mean they were only feeling physical desire!
“And to confirm their revelation, they would’a had to talk to other people about it, get them to identify their feelings of love too, right? That’s when they could’a made sense of love, and begun to understand it a little.
“But awareness of love would need inexperience for it to be experienced for the first time and identified. And I don’t think that applies anymore. Now, the love you feel for your family, for your friends, that’s somethin’ inevitable.
“Romantic love,” he pauses, looking over at Krystal and meeting her eyes for a moment, “Pretty much inevitable too. Unless you're aro, of course. We’ve all been taught about love somehow, and we feel it, even if we haven’t been taught. I don’t think there’s such thing as bein’ incapable of understanding love or bein’ inexperienced anymore.”
“What about babies?” Krystal tries. “Babies are inexperienced until they’re old enough to feel love.”
Taehyung snorts. “That’s true. Can’t fault babies though. They’re cute little babies.”
“You think babies are cute?” She teases. “Cute enough to contradict your own philosophy?”
“Babies contradict a lotta things,” he laughs. “And I think a lotta things are cute. You’re cute, doll.”
Krystal blushes, again, and shakes her head. “I might be, but you’re not.”
“Ouch, that’s cold, babe,” he says, faux-wincing. “Speaking of cold… I think all the ice in this thing has melted.”
“You’re right,” she responds, lifting the ice pack, which is now mostly water. “I’ll go get a bandage and you’ll be good to go.”
Once the pack is back in the freezer, cooling down for the next time Taehyung comes over, Krystal wraps his right hand up in a bandage and clears up. When she’s done and she reenters her bedroom, he’s still sitting on the end of the bed.
“So,” he starts, standing and lifting his non-bandaged hand to rub the back of his neck. “I better get goin’ now, I guess.”
“You wanna ride your bike with that bandaged hand?” Krystal asks, raising her eyebrows, glancing at the clock. “At five A.M.?”
“Done worse,” Taehyung retorts. “But nah, didn’t come here on my bike.”
“Well then you’re definitely not walking home.”
“Oh? Am I crawling home then?”
“You know what I mean,” she replies, rolling her eyes, before continuing softly. “You can stay here.”
He moves to her, both wrapped and non-wrapped hands coming up to cup her head gently as he looks her in the eyes. “You sure you’re not sick of my shit yet?” The upturned curve of his mouth is playful, but there’s a little insecurity in his voice.
She places her hands over his, and looks up. His eyes, black in this darkness, still twinkle like the sun hadn’t set just over nine hours ago. Never.
“I’d be sicker if you went back out there and got your ass kicked a second time tonight.”
“Who says I had my ass kicked? I’m pretty sure I did all the ass-kicking.” He’s indignant, but when he pulls away from her it’s so that he can take off his jacket and place it on the chair by the dresser.
Krystal walks around to the other side of the bed, the spot where she’d been sleeping now long cold as she gets in. Taehyung gets in the other side, jeans still on, before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, her back tucked against his chest. She squirms a little at the feeling of his hands on her stomach.
“Your hands are cold,” she laughs, and hears him hum a long, low note, deep in his chest, vibrating against her back.
“You know, I think that might have somethin’ to do with the ice you just held on ‘em for the last, like, forty minutes.” He drawls sarcastically.
“You know, I think I might kick you out of my bed in the next, like, forty seconds.” She retorts.
His comeback is to hold her a little tighter against his chest. “You might, but you’re so warm and I’m real comfortable right now. So I don’t think that would be a very nice idea.”
“Well then you’re lucky I’m too tired to be anything but nice,” she sighs, her words punctuated by a genuine yawn. “Goodnight, Tae.”
She can feel his wide smile, pearly white teeth of the Big Bad Wolf against her neck.
“Goodnight, love."