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It was a childish, high school thing to do, but Yoongi was tickled. Literally tickled as the pen in Taehyung’s hand skipped and scratched against his palm. Who still did this anymore? Wrote phone numbers down instead of just texting it like civilized humans? Apparently some kid named Taehyung who had grabbed his hand and produced a pen from somewhere unfathomable and proceeded to scratch out his name and telephone number onto Yoongi’s hand in the middle of the student center like it was some sort of club.
Yoongi was also charmed. It was charming, almost old fashioned… or just nostalgic for the days when you actually memorized phone numbers instead of just putting them into your phone and trusting the omniscience of the cloud, or whatever. Yoongi had shrugged and walked away as soon as it was over, cramming his hands in his pockets and trying to forget about it.
He didn’t have to use the number just because he had it. Sure, Jimin was a sweet kid for trying to hook him up with a fellow Daegu boy to spend the bus ride home with, but Yoongi had made the ride alone so often it wasn’t even a big deal anymore. He preferred the company of his headphones over some overeager undergrad with a boxy grin.
But he used the number anyway, the following Thursday. Sent a text telling Taehyung which bus he was taking home. It wasn’t even really an invitation. Just information. Let the kid do with it what he wanted.
Standing at the bus station though, he kept looking around for him. Or what he thought he remembered of him. A tall, lanky kid with a summer tan and dark hair. Wide grin. Kind eyes. A red snapback and skinny jeans. Taehyung appeared out of the crowd, smiling and waving in a way that Yoongi usually found embarrassing and annoying. It was still embarrassing, but it was also kind of sweet. Jimin was softening him up. This is what happens when you befriend little bundles of sunshine. They make you smile at dorks at the bus station.
“Hi! Thanks for the invite. I brought a book and my phone is loaded with new music, so I’ll just make myself small and you won’t even notice I’m there,” Taehyung said in a rush. Yoongi just nodded.
“Your handwriting is terrible,” he said, unconsciously rubbing at his palm, though the ink had washed off days ago.
“Yeah. I know. It’s bad, but I had such a hard time reading, I was always more worried about getting the thoughts out onto the paper than with making them look pretty, you know?”
“You have a hard time reading, but you brought a book? Are you getting extra practice in?” Yoongi squinted and tilted his head just a little. He was curious.
That was a good sign. Jimin had said Yoongi was something of an oyster--hard to get to open, but with a pearl inside. It was a dumb metaphor but Taehyung didn’t want to chase him away, so he was going to be on his best behavior. For Jimin. This was Jimin’s friend and he would be a good friend and not talk too much. But Yoongi was curious and asking questions and it would be rude not to answer.
“Not anymore. But I did. As a kid. It took me forever to be able to really read. My mom said I just couldn’t sit still long enough to absorb the words, but it’s really the words that wouldn’t sit still. Like they squirmed around on the page, but it’s way better now. Only really happens when I’m tired or stressed, but I’m good right now. Full belly, quiet heart. Should be able to settle in, no problem. I’ll be quiet, I promise,” Taehyung finished in a rush. He was rambling. He was going to embarrass himself and Jimin. Jimin was so proud of Yoongi, the super-cool senior who worked in the student center bookstore with him and showed him around. Taehyung smiled and locked his teeth together. No more talking.
Yoongi lifted one shoulder and adjusted his backpack, rolling his ankle in a pair of scuffed Converse while looking intensely at the ground. Taehyung stared at the part of Yoongi's dark hair. He was used to this kind of height difference with Jimin, but it felt a little odd to see the top of a senior's head.
Yoongi's voice was a soft rumble, familiar already with the sounds of home. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just used to making this trip alone. It’s not like I hate people. Or talking. I just… don’t. Much.” Thankfully the bus arrived and spared Yoongi any further awkward explanations. He jerked his head towards the bus and walked to the doors, hoping Taehyung would follow. Or not. Maybe they’d just ride the same bus but in different seats and go their separate ways. Either way was fine.
Taehyung followed, walking down the aisle behind him. “You want the window?” Yoongi asked over his shoulder.
“Whatever. Either way is fine. You choose.” Yoongi nodded and walked past the seats, then turned, waving Taehyung into the window seat while he moved his backpack around to his chest, digging his headphones and neck pillow out. They settled into their seats and true to his word, Taehyung pulled out a book and slipped in a pair of earbuds and was quiet for the entire two hour and fifteen minute ride. Yoongi did the same, ignoring the way Taehyung would sneak glances at him more than he did out the window.
Yoongi was way more fascinating than the scenery, but Taehyung couldn't stare at him as long or as easily. He tried to limit his curious glances to when he turned a page. It was like a reward. Yoongi looked like he'd spent the entire summer inside. His hair was dark and untouched by the soft highlights Taehyung knew he had from long hours at his grandmother's farm. Where Taehyung was tan and rough, Yoongi looked soft and pale. Like a painting, with his tiny mouth and sleepy eyes. Jimin thought Yoongi was pretty and Taehyung could see why. But he needed to behave, so he forced himself to read more pages and look less.
As they filed out of the bus, Yoongi turned to say goodbye, but Taehyung was already walking away, head down and shoulders curled in. “Hey! Yah, Taehyung!” he called, rushing to catch up to the long, swift strides Taehyung was making. Yoongi mentally cursed whatever had gone wrong during his youth that robbed him of his additional height. He caught up and pulled on Taehyung’s sleeve, spinning him around slightly less than gently. “Hey, wait up.”
Yoongi fell into step next to them as they exited the station, the warm night air pressing around them. “So, um, I’m probably going to head back Sunday afternoon. Early. Sort of early. I have to work the night shift, so…”
Taehyung nodded without looking up, hands digging in his pocket. Then he reached for Yoongi’s hand and Yoongi saw the pen. He offered his palm, a smile tugging at his mouth. Taehyung scrawled, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, then he smiled. He waved and turned around, racing off towards a battered looking truck and climbing inside while Yoongi stood on the sidewalk, trying to decipher the words on his palm.
There was an address and Taehyung’s name. That much was clear or at least less tricky. It took him most of the next day to decipher the rest. He finally decided to go with what he’d managed to piece together and give in and text Taehyung for clarification.
Yoongi [16:41]
Caterpillar debacle the microphone?
Taehyung [16:41]
That doesn’t make any sense
Yoongi [16:43]
I know. What the hell did you write on my hand??
Taehyung [16:45]
I want cake. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go get a snack or something. I really like cake.
Yoongi rolled his eyes. Taehyung’s handwriting was really a mess. He didn’t really have plans for the weekend. He was just here to get some stuff that he had forgotten at the start of the semester. And to try to make his dad happy by visiting more often. Which wasn’t working at all. He was visiting, but his dad wasn’t any happier. Trying to get into grad school was not his father's idea of a productive life choice, so maybe getting out of the house was a good idea after all.
Yoongi [16:52]
Sure. I like cake too. Your handwriting is still horrible
Taehyung [16:53]
I know. I’ll buy you cake to make up for it
Taehyung grinned at his phone. He wasn’t sure Yoongi would take the time to try and figure out the message Taehyung had left, purposefully messy. It was a challenge. A test. And Yoongi was curious. Taehyung grinned. He wasn’t sure which he was more excited about, Yoongi or cake.
Yoongi showed up at the little store early, face pressed to the display case, hands tucked into his pockets. Taehyung suppressed the urge to run up and startle him. He just walked quietly, standing near, but not too near, until Yoongi noticed him. It was a fool-proof plan, but apparently Taehyung was a bigger fool than he’d planned for. Yoongi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, did a double take, stumbled backwards and squeaked. It was adorable and Taehyung had to fight the laugh that was threatening to ruin everything.
Yoongi didn’t fall over. He caught himself on a table, standing and tugging his shirt down, smoothing his hands over his pants, trying to remove the memory of the awful high-pitched noise he’d made when he realized that the shadow lurking next to him was a person and that person was Taehyung grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Hi,” Yoongi said, not wanting to give into the urge to smile back.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Taehyung said sweetly. Yoongi jerked his chin towards the menu on the wall.
“What’s good here?”
“I was totally craving bingsu,” Taehyung said, bouncing on his toes.
“Never had it,” Yoongi said, scanning the menu for something familiar. What was the point of coming home if not to fill up on comforting favorites?
“Are you serious? You’ve never… I mean, it’s bingsu !”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s just bingsu. And I don’t really like--”
“How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Come on, it’s so good. You have to at least try it. The mango and strawberry is the best. I’ll get one and you can have a bite.” Yoongi couldn’t help himself. He was smiling now. He’d just get a red bean bun and let Taehyung have his bingsu. He’d try it, though cold fruit and sweet red bean paste sounded like an awful combination. Plus shaved ice was just a waste of good dessert space. But Taehyung was so excited. Yoongi could indulge him. It wouldn’t hurt him to try something new.
As it turned out, cold fruit and sweet red bean paste wasn’t actually horrible. Yoongi left most of the shaved ice for Taehyung, who scooped it up gleefully. They didn’t talk much, just stuffed their faces and smiled at each other. It was nice. As the bottom of the bowl slowly appeared, Taehyung told Yoongi about some of his other favorites. Not just food at the cafe, but animals (basically anything large and furry), hobbies (stargazing, which was totally more doable here at home than in the city), places to nap (Yoongi decided he could really like this kid).
Taehyung’s voice was quiet and careful as he revealed his little factoids, bit by bit. He tried to read Yoongi’s responses, to see when he reached the “too weird to be cute” line, but Yoongi was harder to read. He was relaxing though, shoulders slowly dropping and spine uncurling as Taehyung talked. He pushed his beanie back and didn’t re-adjust it over his ears, which Taehyung took as a small victory. Yoongi was getting comfortable, which was great.
Taehyung hadn’t had a challenge like this in a while. Most of the people he met at university either brushed him off entirely or were completely charmed from the beginning. He hadn’t had to win someone over like this and while he felt a bit rusty, he was delighted, too.
In the end, Yoongi paid for the cake after all, saying he was older so he should pay, but Taehyung didn’t miss the way he tried to hide his smile when he said it.
“I’m glad you lived on this side of town. I don’t know if I’d have driven much farther for cake,” Yoongi said, tugging his beanie down a smidge. “But this was, you know… it was good.”
“I’m telling you, bingsu is amazing and you should have it more often.”
“Only if you’re there to eat the cold bits.”
“Deal!” Taehyung said with a wide smile. Yoongi shifted his weight from foot to foot, grinning back in spite of himself. He hated the awkward goodbye part. It was rude to just turn around and leave, but anything that he said would be cheesy and weird. He moved to put his hands in his pockets, but Taehyung reached out and grabbed one. Yoongi felt his smile stretch, going gummy and soft. He hated this smile--the real one when he was having real, unguarded feelings--but his face seemed determined to betray him.
“What are you even--” Yoongi stopped as Taehyung leaned forward, pen in hand, and scribbled something into his palm. It didn’t tickle this time, but Yoongi was still tickled by this tiny quirk.
“Thanks for coming,” Taehyung said, then turned on his heel and just walked away. It should have been rude. If Yoongi had done it, it most certainly would have been--dismissive and uncaring. Taehyung though, he seemed able to soften the blow with that smile, and the smiley face he’d drawn on Yoongi’s palm. A smiley face and… did that say your smile is cute because if so, Yoongi was going to chase Taehyung down and… probably smile at him some more. Damnit. First that Jimin kind, and now this. When did he start collecting grinning undergrads?
He pulled out his phone and kept all comments about smiles and things that were cute to himself.
Yoongi [21:06]
What’s with the hand writing thing? That’s weird.
Taehyung [21:06]
I’m weird
Yoongi scrunched his nose up, but nodded at his phone anyway. It was as good an answer as any.
The rest of the weekend was boring and uneventful. He put some stuff in a duffel bag, talked to his mom while she cooked and tried to avoid having to say anything at all to his father. Yoongi rarely thought of himself as a coward, but for all the respect and affection he had for his father, it was all tempered with residual fear from the years when his father was little more than a booming voice in the evenings telling him to go play somewhere else. Even now, as an adult, after too many conversations that felt like screaming at a brick wall, he’d discovered that his father saw the world so completely differently that trying to talk about the way he wanted to live was futile. He might as well be speaking Cantonese at his father for all the difference it made. Not that Yoongi could speak Cantonese either.
He texted Taehyung to coordinate the bus ride home and found himself looking forward to it. To company. To maybe talking to Taehyung. It had to be easier than talking to his dad.
They stood in awkward silence at the bus stop, friendly greetings behind them and the two hour bus ride ahead. Yoongi was crap at small talk. He didn’t care about the weather or what people had had to eat last week. He searched his brain for something to say. Something to open a conversation.
He jerked his chin towards the phone in Taehyung’s hand. “You,” he stopped to clear his throat, “you said you had new music on there. What do you listen to?”
“Lots of stuff. I know everyone thinks they’ve got the best taste in music, but I really like all kinds of stuff. Trot and old American jazz. I got some pop stuff on here, and I finally went and bought Tablo’s full album instead of just the two songs I knew. There’s a lot more English on it than I understand, but I really like the sound.” Taehyung talked with his hands, long fingers spread wide as he gestured.
Yoongi nodded as the bus pulled up and thought carefully as they boarded. He pushed Taehyung into the window seat without ceremony this time and began digging in his backpack. He might regret this. He should just stick to being silent, or making small talk. Or being silent. Instead, he pulled out his headphones (not the good ones, but the travel ones which were still pretty decent) and a splitter, twisting it in his fingers as he waved it near Taehyung’s nose.
“So. Show me what you like.” Taehyung grinned then, the wide smile that looked like it might break into a million pieces of infectious laughter at the slightest provocation, but he took the splitter and plugged his own headphones in and began thumbing through his playlists. The music was good, if random. It was the best bus ride Yoongi could remember having. Ever. And he was more than a little pissed that his gamble had paid off, because instead of being able to write Taehyung off as a lost cause, he’d have to go tell Jimin that he’d been right all along. Yoongi liked being right. He hated telling other people they were.
He tucked his headphones away as they pulled into the station and this time wasn’t even a little surprised when Taehyung reached for his hand. He watched him scribbling away, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. He waited until Taehyung had waved and wandered off on his own path home before trying to read the message.
See you around, hyung!
It was actually legible this time. Yoongi pushed his lips together in a frog-like smile, full of patience and not at all annoyed at the fact that he just knew he’d be texting Taehyung later, against his better judgement. He didn’t have long before he graduated. He didn’t need to be collecting new friends like commemorative shot glasses. He just needed to keep his head down, his grades up and finish well.
Two more semesters to go--if he could get registered for and actually pay for the right mix of classes--and one tedious application followed by an anxiety-laced waiting period. Then Yoongi would be accepted into the graduate program. He’d have his degree--that his father insisted was a waste of time and money--and could begin the climb to getting his real job. His dream job. A real architect. ( No, Dad, I can’t just start slinging lumber and banging nails and become an architect. That’s a carpenter, and even a master carpenter is different, though no less noble, of course. Yoongi still had the argument in his head almost daily.)
But now there was Taehyung. He hung around the student center a lot. Yoongi wondered if he always had and Yoongi was just now noticing, or if maybe the kid was hanging around to see him just as much as he was waiting for Jimin to finish his shift. They didn’t talk much. Texted less, but every time Yoongi exchanged words with Taehyung in person, he left with more of them on his hand. At least his handwriting was improving.
Mostly it was bad jokes that Taehyung jotted down. Awful puns that only crusty old grandfathers would actually laugh at. Sometimes there were riddles that had Yoongi up half the night trying to figure out before he broke down and texted Taehyung, demanding an answer.
Once, Taehyung forgot what day it was and showed up to walk Jimin home, only to find Yoongi there and Jimin texting from their room asking why he wasn’t home to watch their drama. Yoongi laughed at the domesticity of it all and Taehyung brought his hands up to his face, loose fists held to his cheeks.
Taehyung started to make excuses and wander on home, but Yoongi caught his sleeve and asked him to stay the fifteen minutes until his shift ended and Yoongi would walk him home for a change.
The glow of Taehyung’s smile was (stupidly) enough to make Yoongi forget any plans he’d had for the evening as he invited himself in for dramas and ramen. After the first drama finished Jimin excused himself, saying he had to go to the gym for “leg day” to which Yoongi and Taehyung both rolled their eyes expressively.
“Alright boys, don’t have too much fun without me. And Tae, only show him reruns.” Jimin waved on his way out the door and Yoongi sat on his hands, legs folded underneath him, back pressed to the edge of the bed.
“You don’t have to stay on the floor, you know. You can sit on Jimin’s bed. He’s nearly freakishly clean about it. Something about dirty sheets are bad for your skin or whatever,” Taehyung said, pulling his hands inside the sleeves of his hoodie. The weather had turned crisp and blustery. Taehyung seemed to be thriving in the golden autumn, looking cozy and warm in sweaters and layers.
“Nah, it’s fine. I should probably…”
“We can watch the beginning of Secret Garden. It’s like a total classic, and you’ll love Gil Ra Im. She’s an amazing badass. The kind of girl I imagine you’d fall right in love with.”
“Right. Because I look like the kind of athletic hero that wins himself a badass woman,” Yoongi scoffed.
“No, you’re the brainy creative type to fix all her gadgetry. Jimin tells me you fix all sorts of stuff at the student center.”
Yoongi shrugged, not meeting Taehyung’s eyes. He very intently examined the cuff of his faded plaid shirt. “Well, that’s different. That’s just necessary stuff. It’s not fancy.”
“I’m starting the show. You’re going to--” Taehyung’s voice was cut off by the tinny version of “I Am The Best” that served as Taehyung’s text notification. Taehyung stared at his phone, eyebrows creasing in concentration. “Sorry, I’m just going to…” But Taehyung never finished the sentence as his eyes scanned the words on his screen. He was silent in a way that made Yoongi’s skin itch with worry. Why the hell should he be worried? Taehyung was essentially a grown man, give or take, and Yoongi was not in anyway responsible for him.
That didn’t stop him from clearing his throat and speaking anyway.
“Everything okay?”
Taehyung didn’t look up. He shook his head, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. “No, it’s… I mean, yeah. Everything is fine. I just… a friend of mine. Hadn’t heard from him in a while, so I checked on him earlier. He, uh, had some good news.”
Yoongi’s nose scrunched up, twisting his mouth into a lopsided curl. “That doesn’t look like a good news face.”
“Good news for him. Not… not so much for me. I guess. I mean, it doesn’t… it’s not…” Taehyung shrugged. “Lemme start Secret Garden, and we can--”
“Hold on,” Yoongi interrupted, reaching out to wave ineffectually at Taehyung, hoping he would sit down. “You’re doing that thing with your face. Where it goes all blank which means your brain is in overdrive.”
Taehyung’s shoulders curled forward as he tucked his chin down to his chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you want to try… to talk? About it? Or something?” Yoongi was sure it was possible to be more of a bumbling idiot, but at the moment he wasn’t sure how.
“I don’t know what to say,” Taehyung repeated. He looked small. While Yoongi was very often an advocate of the “keep your shit to yourself and don’t burden anyone” method of coping, he knew that it wasn’t really an acceptable method for most of the population. Taehyung didn’t seem the type to do well with bottling things up. The kid needed an outlet. Needed someone to talk to. That someone should be Jimin, but Jimin was off squatting his way to better whatevers and Yoongi was here. An idea flickered in his mind that might just preserve both of their dignity and emotional well being.
Yoongi scooted across the floor until his knees bumped against Taehyung’s feet. He shoved his hand, palm up, into Taehyung’s lap. “Then write it down.”
Taehyung shook his head, hair swaying gently. “Nah. There’s not enough space to do that.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t stick.
Yoongi grabbed the phone out of Taehyung’s hand and set it gently aside. He wanted to chuck it across the room, but that wouldn’t help anything. So, instead, he pushed up his sleeve to expose his forearm, revealing more space.
Again, Taehyung shook his head with a failed smile. “Thanks, hyung, but… it’s just a long and complicated thing, I guess. I don’t even know. It’s probably nothing, but, my brain gets kind of twisted around the w...what are you doing?” Taehyung asked, eyebrows lifting along with his voice.
Yoongi was taking off his shirt. Peeling off the soft, faded plaid to reveal the loose t shirt underneath. He slid his left hand up his right arm, pushing the sleeve all the way up to his shoulder. And then he stuck his hand in his backpack, pulled out a pack of washable markers, the kind elementary school kids with brightly colored backpacks would use. “Don’t look at me like that, it helps to color code my notes is all.” Yoongi shook a marker loose and pressed it into Taehyung’s hand. “You’ve got all the space you need. If you want it.”
Taehyung let the words tumble in his head, staring at the marker and Yoongi’s thin arm. He slid off the bed, folding himself up on the floor beside Yoongi. He reached out to hold Yoongi’s hand, palm up, the way he had every other time and thought about how to start the story he needed to tell. Needed to get off his chest.
Namjoon was my first best friend .
It was a simple start, but Taehyung felt the truth, and the hidden things too. It was the start. So he kept writing, pressing the green felt tip against Yoongi’s skin. Yoongi was as still as he could be, letting Taehyung scrawl the story up his forearm and across his bicep, one hand cupped around his arm to keep the soft skin in place.
As Taehyung wrote, the words came easier and he stopped thinking about them, just pushed them out onto Yoongi’s skin.
We were special and we were different. I thought that made us the same. I was wrong.
Those words rested at the top of Yoongi’s shoulder. Taehyung let one hand slide down Yoongi’s arm. He’d have to start writing back down the outside of his arm now to continue the story. Taehyung took a small break, sucking in a deep breath and pushing the back of his hand against his damp cheeks. Yoongi took the tiny opportunity to pull his shirt off. Taehyung didn’t look up, just gasped a little, bending forward to kept writing, pouring his heart out across Yoongi’s clavicles and chest.
I just wanted him to like me. Like I liked him. He was fascinating. I wanted to know everything about him. I told him all the things I felt. We were so close. Eventually, I waited for him to do the same. To tell me why he kept me around. Why I was important to him. He was everything to me.
Taehyung felt a trembling in his stomach as he put words to feelings he had punished himself with for so long they felt like the only truth left to him.
He left. Of course he did. He was always going to. That’s what you do when you graduate. Leave. And suddenly, when I wasn’t there to talk to him, he had nothing left to say to me. He moved away and we didn’t talk like we used to. I kept trying to reminding him all the time that I was still here, still his best friend, still closer to him than anyone in the world, but he just moved on. He left me and he moved on. It’s not his fault. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just a friend and not everyone stays friends forever. He made new friends and I guess he forgot about me. I keep reminding him. I still text him. All the time. I can’t stop myself. It takes him days to respond but if don’t reach out to him, he would never say anything at all. I can’t stand the thought that he might never say anything ever again.
The words spilled down Yoongi’s belly as he lay reclined on his elbows. Then Taehyung spun him around to write more across his back. Yoongi couldn’t read it all. The stuff on his arms and chest he could make out a bit of, but he didn’t want to be too obvious. This wasn’t really about him knowing, but he really wanted to know. He couldn’t see what it was, what went wrong, but he could feel Taehyung shaking as he wrote, could feel the catharsis as he got it out of his system and onto Yoongi’s skin. The marker wasn’t cool anymore and the slight scratch barely registered but Yoongi was intently listening to the sound of Taehyung’s breath. The shudder and gasp. Sometimes a sniffle. The long sigh as his hands came to rest against the small of Yoongi’s back.
Yoongi waited, counted to twenty in his head before turning around. Taehyung had pushed his own sleeves up as he wrote. Now he sat, head down, staring at the marker in his ink-smudged hands.
Yoongi counted again, to ten this time before he hugged him. Just held him and Taehyung was stiff in his arms, even as he wrapped his own arms around Yoongi. Taehyung was hugging him back and that was something, but he felt brittle. Yoongi thought about waiting it out until Taehyung softened, but he couldn’t stand the thought that he was making him uncomfortable, so he peeled back. Taehyung’s arms dropped into his lap and some of the words were pressed into Taehyung’s skin now (along his forearms, where they’d rested against Yoongi’s back), transferred by the soft ink and the heat of their skin.
has a girlfriend now. I’m happy he’s happy but I hate that he doesn’t even miss me.
The words were on his skin and Taehyung was startled. He stood abruptly, eyes racing around the room.
“I’m gonna go,” Yoongi said, unfolding himself from the floor. He shrugged his t shirt back on, but just draped his flannel over his shoulder. He grabbed his bag, not even reaching for the markers that were now scattered on the floor. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Taehyung nodded, swallowing hard. He just wanted to get to the shower and wash the ink off his skin. As Yoongi slipped out the door, Taehyung hoped Yoongi would do the same. Just wash it off without reading it. He brought his hands up to cover his face, wishing he’d told Yoongi to forget it all. He wanted to forget it all. Yoongi was going to graduate soon and then he'd leave too. Taehyung didn't want to have even more reasons to be lonely. He made shower as hot as he could stand. He scrubbed his skin until it was tender and then curled up to sleep before Jimin could ask any questions.
Yoongi stopped outside the closed door and pulled his shirt on, tugging the sleeves down and the collar up. He didn't want anyone looking, trying to see the phrases peeking out. He didn't want to smudge them either.
He made a plan as he walked home. He would take pictures, email then to himself, then delete them off his phone. No one could accidentally see them that way. On his laptop, he could piece the pictures together, flip the ones he'd have to use a mirror to capture, connect the story. He'd find out why Taehyung's face went still and blank and hope he could find a way to stop that from happening ever again.
He didn't see Taehyung for a few days. He didn't know what to say or to text so he didn't. Gave Taehyung space and time. But bits of the story stuck in his head.
I don't know if it was love or just convenient affection.
It wasn't physical at first, but once it was, it felt like that was all it was.
We didn’t do everything, but everything we did do was a first for both of us.
He got off. I didn't. It wasn't on purpose, it just always happened that way.
He wasn't selfish. Not really. I just didn't know how to relax and enjoy it.
Yoongi had a picture in his head of his smiling dongsaeng heartbroken and scared. There was no fixing it, but avoiding it was worse. He maintained his normal schedule and hoped Taehyung would come around.
Taehyung thought about avoiding Yoongi, worried about the awkwardness and the vulnerability he felt whenever he saw Yoongi from across campus, but he didn’t have friends to spare and Yoongi was a good one. So he just smiled wider than he wanted to and pushed ahead. He told Yoongi jokes and silly stories. But no more handwritten messages. No more of that.
Yoongi missed it. He missed the contact, the skinship, even the dumb puns. He didn’t like feeling like he was missing Taehyung when he saw the kid so frequently. So he got a pen, kept it in his pocket. One day, before Taehyung could leave, Yoongi scribbled something onto Taehyung’s palm, his handwriting crisp and precise.
Yah, you punk. I miss you.
And Taehyung smiled the first real smile Yoongi had seen aimed his way in weeks.