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Summary
Taehyung tilts his head, taking his lower lip between his teeth. “It stings, doesn’t it?”
Jeongguk tsks, looking at him. “Don’t get too cocky with me, Kim Taehyung. You know I’m capable of making you regret it.”
Or
Getting tangled in each other’s sheets after every game, no matter the outcome, wasn’t ever supposed to become something more. Jeongguk should want this. Jeongguk should fight for his long-term dream. He spent the better part of his life trying to prove that he belongs on the field, that he's made for it, even.
Why is it, then, that when Taehyung smiles—all true, crinkly, boxy and awfully sincere Jeongguk seems to lose track of all else?
And he'd drown, God, he'd beg, plead, vanish completely in the depth of eyes, distinctly brown and so expressive, no longer in search of success and recognition.
Seeking Taehyung, always Taehyung.