Archive of Our Own

Taehyung has lived a pretty fair life at the age of twenty-two.

Capitalism is one of them, albeit the Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx, and the millennial mentality of being woke whilst not really understanding anything from Economy class back in high school. Fairness is all about perspective, after all, and how he swindles monetarily almost always ends on the good receiving end, so he doesn’t really complain much.

Sejeong, his roommate, does however.

“When you told me you were an art major, I expected to trip over paintbrushes and the like, you know? But here I am, tripping over Gucci bags and—what’s this—a Valentino scarf. Taehyung, what’s a Valentino scarf doing here.”

Taehyung swings his office chair all the way to the doorframe of his room, finishing the ham and cheese kariman he found in one of his drawers, wiping the grease that stuck to his palm on his sweatpants. “That Gucci bag is for you, by the way. Bought it at Chungdam-dong earlier.”

Sejeong sighs, “Which one?”

“Whichever you want,” Taehyung shrugs. “I got my paycheck today, so.”

“Paycheck,” Sejeong says slowly. “Right. Paycheck,” she picks up the top handle bag. The price tag is nowhere to be found as per courtesy of Taehyung, but she’s sure it’s worth a semester of college.

“If someone—other than me, that is—comes home to this bourgeoisie mess, one would think you’re a rip-off or something.”

“Jimin visits often and he’s fine with it,” he stretches his arms upwards, the ends of his sweatshirt riding above his bellybutton. “And all of these are authentic. People can think whatever they want.”

Sejeong sighs. “Don’t tell me your sweatshirt is branded, too.”

“Just Topman,” he pads towards Sejeong, snatching the take-out from her hands. “Is this from Udongchon?”

“Yeah, I was craving for udon. The spicy one is for you.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung says thoughtfully, “and Sejeong?”

“Hm?” Sejeong hums while she rubbed the cloth of inside of the bag with her thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t pay for dinner anymore. I’ll take care of it. Even the bills.”

Sejeong purses her lips, placing the bag on the breakfast counter, a small cluck of the tongue leaving her mouth. She drags the chair opposite Taehyung, and breaks the wooden chopsticks apart. “No way in hell am I going to let you do that. Your family needs all the money they can get, and it’s my duty as your roommate to pay for the bills we agreed on. My pride is kind of on the line, you know.”

“But you’ve covered for mine multiple times,” Taehyung argues. “I have to pay you back in some way, Sejeong.”

Sejeong, with food gathered against her right inner cheek, chews earnestly, and swallows. “Sugar daddies don’t last forever. You can pay me back by dropping all of them, and it’s not like I have anything against it. I’m just looking out for your safety.”

“Oh my God,” Taehyung groans.

“I’m just saying!” Sejeong lays both of her hands down. “You can’t have sugar daddies forever, Taehyung, unless you want to settle down with one—like you know, with feelings and all.”

“Have you seen me walking around with any notably older men?”

“No, not really.”

“See?” Taehyung explains, “I don’t exactly have… sugar daddies? I just talk to them online, have them send me money, break it off before they’d even want to meet in real life. Most of them are weird anyway. And they have other sugar babies as well. It’s like a carpool. I’m just the first one who gets off.”

“I’m not even going to comment about the carpool thing,” Sejeong says. “And what would you do if they actually meet you in real life? Rich people have their ways.”

“They won’t really invest their time on that kind of thing, unless they’re really obsessive and desperate. Thank God I haven’t encountered anyone under that trope, but,” he bites his lip. Taehyung laughs nervously, “They won’t be able to find me. I’m sure.”

“But don’t you send them pictures of you?” She emphasizes, “Nudes?”

“About that,” Taehyung says, and suddenly Viola Davis’ voice rings in his head, almost mimicking it out loud with the same melodramatic sentiment. How to Get Away with Scamming, she says, in lieu of murder. “Some sugar daddies just want company, and most of the time, it’s really nothing sexual—in a week or two, they’d start to look for something more than that, so before they even ask for that something, you should’ve already gotten the figures you wanted, and then break it off.”

“But the pictures, the nudes,” Sejeong urges. “Taehyung, you could get in trouble for this.”

“I don’t send nudes. If they ask for it, I break it off.” Taehyung says. “Plus, I don’t give out my real name.”

Sejeong points an accusing finger at him. “You. You. You’re a scammer!”

“I prefer the term catfish, but not exactly. I pull out a random name, print fake IDs if they wanted proof, photoshop my own selcas to make myself literally unnoticeable, and I make quite the effort to—”

“Stop, I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

“But don’t worry, I’m not enough to make it a lifestyle,” Taehyung assures—tries to. “I still have that donut store job, and I’m just in it for the fun. It wouldn’t hurt to get a few quick extra cash.”

The thing is, he’s lying. He’s been in the industry for more than a year now. Tops. He has earned far more than what his donut store job can offer in a decade, and his freelance gig for the printing shop his cousin owns. It’s bad, he knows, to be fully dependent on strangers with credit cards behind the screen. But he’s picky, and he just mostly sticks to those who often complain about their wives, or how lonely they were—and while Taehyung crams his animation projects, he tries his best to at least make them feel better. He was still getting paid.

Sejeong doesn’t seem fazed. Taehyung doesn’t blame her, but he still keeps his stance. “Okay,” Sejeong says. “But no more sugar daddies, okay? Break it all off.”

Cramped inside the stock room of the donut store he worked for, licking glaze worth 1,200 won off his fingers, Taehyung realizes that Sejeong may be right. She’s always right, a voice tells him right at the back of his mind, later realizing that it’s his own, but pushes it away, just because.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder about change though, since his lunch time is only up until thirty, and the stock room isn’t really the best place to accept a new arrangement from a new sugar daddy. It’s hot, stuffy, and the edge of the shelf is digging onto his hip, but who is he to complain, anyway. He types in a simple, ‘hello’ with a friendly smiley, shutting his phone, deciding not to pointedly wait for a reply, and offs to finish the discounted donut Jimin bought for him. Employee privileges.

Jimin, one of his best friends, enters the room without knocking, fully knowing that it was him who’s occupying the room along with mops and dustpans. He hands him an iced cappuccino, and asks, “So, how are the arrangements going?”

“This isn’t exactly the stellar place to discuss this, but okay,” Taehyung says, taking the drink. “But it’s going fantastic,” Taehyung says, pocketing the donut wrapper in his back pocket. “I earned three thousand dollars in a week, I think? Or four.”

“Not bad. All from one person?”

“Nope, two. Though I broke it up with the two of them last week,” he swings his phone in front of Jimin’s face. “I’m getting a new one right now.”

Jimin often checks up on him, and it should be a session of good ‘ol owing and slight probing—but it isn’t, which makes Taehyung a little grateful. And it’s not like Jimin needs something expensive from him as a payback; he has a few sponsors under his fingertips—well that is until he found one that can amount to all of them, and maybe even twice as much. His boyfriend, as what Jimin now refers him to—rich boyfriend—goes to the same uni as them and is two years older, majoring in business. Taehyung had met Yoongi a couple of times, and he had always been pleasant, spoiling Jimin at any given chance. It makes Taehyung envious—having a constant—but he shakes the feelings off as soon as it crept. He focuses on what’s important: money.

“Look, Tae,” Jimin says. “I know I’m the one who introduced you to all of this, but I think it’s about time to stop? The internet is getting scarier by the day, and I’m just looking out for you.”

“Sejeong said the same thing. This,” his phone lights up, and he slides upward to open the notification from Seeking Arrangement. “Is my last. I promise.”

hi, my name is jeongguk. you must be v?

***

“It’s early in the morning, hyung. What are you doing.”

“Well, remember that app I told you about? Seeking Arrangement? A sugar baby just messaged me last night.”

“As long as I don’t get directly involved,” Jeongguk mumbles, uncapping a box of milk, sighing when it spilled right over the edge of the bowl full of flakes. He wipes it with his finger, quickly supping. It’s an opportunity for Hoseok to make a suggestive joke, but he doesn’t, because he’s too immersed in Seeking Arrangement that he doesn’t even notice how soggy his flakes are already turning. 

It isn’t exactly a dating app, per se, and judging from the way Hoseok has been obsessing over it last night, it might as well be something far more exciting than Tinder, which by the way, he has been on for more than a solid year, so it makes Jeongguk question the sudden change of preference. The difference, he learns, is that this one is more of like a business deal; it involves money, credit card billings, and a bright dash of commitment. Jeongguk visibly shudders.

“But do you have the money, though,” Jeongguk asks. “It’s not like you can just get away with that. I mean, that’s what they sign up for, after all.”

“You ask the most important questions,” Hoseok says. “Of course, I don’t have money, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it away to some stranger.”

Jeongguk raises his brows, and waits for a further explanation—to which Hoseok decidedly entertains, “I’m just screwing around, relax.”

“Screwing around as in you’re—”

“Scamming,” Hoseok finishes. “Yeah, but it’s not that deep. I’m on my third now.”

“You’re using my selcas and my name, Hoseok. What if one of your sugar babies suddenly finds me?”

“Just your first name,” Hoseok says. “Come on, Jeongguk, these people live on the other side of the country, so I don’t think they’d make the effort to fly over to where we are right now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hoseok purses his lips.

“This was a bad idea,” Jeongguk snatches the phone from Hoseok’s hand. The table rattles, and both of their bowls of cereal spill completely. “I’m going to delete the account.”

“No!”

“Both of us could get in trouble for this!” Jeongguk argues, trying to free himself from Hoseok’s grip, whose knee is already on the table, boxers wet, one arm wrapped around Jeongguk’s stomach. “Hyung, let go!”

“No, give it back to me!”

Both come into a sudden halt then. Solbin, who just emerged from her bedroom with a towel wrapped atop her hair, doesn’t hesitate to pull both of the sides of their hair down. “You two are so noisy, what the fuck.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jeongguk repeatedly pats Solbin’s gripping hand. “Let go of my hair.”

Solbin does, and while both men stood unguarded, she takes it upon herself to take the phone she assumes they’ve been fighting over. Hoseok and Jeongguk doesn’t budge, which is a good decision in both of their books.

“Seeking Arrangment?” she easily guesses Hoseok’s password, and goes to the app. “What are you doing with a sugar daddy dating app?”

“It’s just for fun,” Hoseok explains.

“It’s not fun if he’s scamming and using my selcas.”

“Then why did you allow me to use your selcas?”

“Because I thought you were going to sign up as a sugar baby! I thought I was going to help you earn money!”

“What?” Hoseok yells, “Jeongguk, you’re daddy as fuck. If I wanted to be a sugar baby, I would use any selca but yours.”

Jeongguk pauses. “Bro.”

“Bro.”

Solbin groans. “You two are so insufferable,” she frowns. “And the V guy replied. He said ‘yes.’”

“Yes to what?” Jeongguk asks.

Hoseok laughs nervously. “I joked about wanting to meet up. I guess he took it seriously.”

“No way in hell am I going to meet with him,” Jeongguk says. “Hyung, fix this.”

“You don’t need to worry, because I was going to stand him up anyway. I mean, you, since I was using your selcas,” Hoseok shrugs, taking the phone from Solbin, almost slipping when he moved a foot. It’s a miracle that the ceramic bowls they used are still alive, one just by the edge of the table, and it’s very much like Jeongguk five seconds ago. “Here, I’m going to delete the thread. Happy?”

“Very much,” Jeongguk and Solbin reply simultaneously.

Jeongguk helps Solbin clean up the mess after the sugar baby fiasco. Jeongguk hands her a dry rug, while he sets the dishes in the sink. Solbin, whose hair is half-dry and still uncombed, says, “I still have a 9 AM class. Can you please take care of this?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jeongguk says. “Just leave it there.”

“Thanks,” she does a low kick with both of her legs before it gets too strained. Hoseok’s by the living room scrolling through his phone, while the television rests on a sports channel. Solbin tips her toes to check on Hoseok’s phone, sighing in relief when she’s met with his Twitter on night mode. “And stop Hoseok from using Seeking Arrangement unless he’s willing to be a legit sugar daddy.”

Hoseok hears. “I don’t have money! Jeongguk can be one, though!”

“No thanks,” Jeongguk says. “Okay, I’ll take it from here. Good luck. Text me if you’re going home a little bit late.”

“Yeah, sure, I will.”

He, Solbin and Hoseok live together under one big, eco roof. Thanks to his parents, who are renowned landlords, he doesn’t have to worry about rent and bills. So, it’s one less problem for him. He did try to dorm back in his freshman year, though. That’s how he met Hoseok. Due to their formed friendship over instant ramyun, kimchi bought from convenience stores, and being less annoying than their past roommates (just Hoseok’s, for that matter), they make a pact. Solbin, however, despite how often she spends her classes in the Arts building, had been friends with them from the start, so everything just went from there.

Not much has changed. Solbin’s still Solbin, his art major of a best friend, and Hoseok’s still Hoseok, except he’s gotten into a frat earlier this academic year, and parties more than ever.

And him? Well, he juggles in between both business terminologies and philosophical concepts, and answers his mother’s call not exceeding three rings. His dog is doing well back in Busan, and he keeps his control freakiness in check. Humbly, he then thinks, he should live humbly and well.

***

“If you were looking for a hook-up, then there’s an app for that!” Jimin says with matching hand gestures. Their manager looks at them funny, Jimin then bowing his head in quick apology. “It’s called Tinder,” he emphasizes the two syllables just a few seconds after their manager turned away. “And it’s definitely not Seeking Arrangement,” syllabizes him again.

“It just happened, okay!” Taehyung says, slamming his locker. Jimin even scolded him whilst changing shirts, and so much for the friendship, really—sarcasm aside. “And he stood me up, so no need to fuss about it.”

“Why did you even in the first place?”

“Because,” Taehyung bites his lower lip. “Have you seen him, Jimin? He’s like Adonis incarnate, and his abs are probably carved by Zeus himself.”

Jimin groans. “So? What if he did show up? How are you going to explain that you have history of scamming sugar daddies? He’s going to find out one way or another.”

“Not if I delete all of my threads and never mention it to him.”

“Okay,” Jimin says with consideration. “And since you want to meet him, I’m guessing you showed him a real picture of yours already.”

“Just…half of my face.”

“Taehyung.”

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!” Taehyung says. “I just thought that maybe it was about time to settle with a legitimate sugar daddy, you know? And he seemed perfect for it, because he’s good-looking, sweet, and looks relatively young, closer to my age. We’ve been talking for a week straight now, and I think he’s pretty decent.”

“Honey, back in Jesus’ time we call this the serpent that tempted Eve to take the forbidden fruit,” Jimin says. “What if he’s a scammer, too, hm?”

Taehyung deflates, realizing the possibility. “Well, he hasn’t been replying to me for days now, so I guess it’s a sign that maybe I should stop altogether? And live my life without Gucci and Valentino.”

Jimin nods, repeating, “Without Gucci and Valentino.”

After filling in his shift in the donut store, he meets up with Solbin to work on their animation project together. It’s just for extra credit, but Taehyung knows his professor well enough to not take it lightly. Besides, animation is his specialty, and he may or may not have sold his soul for the gift.

“How about I do the coloring and the textures?” Solbin suggests. “I can’t do animation, but I can do digital pretty well.”

“Yeah, that would be fine,” Taehyung says, writing it down on his planner, right below the concepts they’ve planned. “And I think that’s it? We’ll start tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sure. We can do it at my house! Though I have two housemates, one’s a frat boy and one’s loaded, but trust me, they aren’t assholes.”

Taehyung laughs at that. He’d know. “Yeah, okay, Solbin. Can you write down your address and number here?”

“Sure,” Solbin clicks her pen. “The landmark is pretty obvious,” she says while writing. “We don’t have a fence, and we’re just right across a bicycle shop. Weird location for a house, right? But it works.” She finishes, “There. See you around at maybe lunch time?”

“Lunch time would do. I’m only at five, though. Work starts at six, and my boss can be such an ass sometimes.”

Solbin nods. “Okay wait, I really have to give you a run-through of my roommates, so that you won’t be kind of put off when they’re around. Hoseok is the eldest among us and he can get really loud—so when we work, or when your shifts allow you, he can really be noisy. Either he took someone home or he’s playing some video game. And Jeongguk—”

Suddenly he’s the Arthur meme, clenching his phone with the Seeking Arrangment app on.

“He likes keeping things clean, so naturally, we have to keep it that way.”

“Solbin, really, it’s fine. I’ve had a fair share of weird roommates as well,” he pauses, thinking of Sejeong, who’s decent enough. “Not really, but I can deal with weird.”

“Okay,” Solbin says. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be. I’d give you the same run-through if you were to enter my humble abode,” he jokes. “So your roommates—they must be overprotective, huh?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I don’t mind it. I only go out for projects, and rarely for parties and dates. You don’t really have much time to socialize especially when you have tons of requirements to finish,” she sips her mango shake. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you go on parties and dates?”

“I don’t party, but um, I do sort of date, but none of them has ever gotten close to serious,” Taehyung says. “It’s fine, though.”

“Yeah,” Solbin laughs, and then looks past his shoulder, waving her hands in the air. “Oh, and look! It’s one of my roommates. I’ll introduce him to you.”

Taehyung follows her line of sight, and chokes.

“Jeongguk, hey! Come over here!”

Jeongguk, all cladded with Adidas merchandise, walks towards them deliberately, hand in one of his bomber jacket’s pockets, while the other gripped his phone, jet black and complete with tempered glass. Jeongguk flicks his eyes towards him, squinting, and then back onto Solbin. “Who’s this?”

Excuse me? questions Taehyung internally, gripping his knee, right where his jeans were ripped. Have you not been sexting me the whole week?

This Jeongguk, the real one, looks nothing more but an ordinary college student. If he’s going to stereotype, he’d look like a sports junkie or a person who keeps his Instagram feed neat with all that monotone aesthetic. If it hadn’t been for the selcas he’d been sending him in Seeking Arrangement, Taehyung wouldn’t have guessed that he was a sugar daddy—a college student at that.

(His money was on a fresh graduate looking for some fun and has got nothing to do with the money his parents left him. He owes Sejeong now.)

Taehyung’s good at these kinds of things, and while there’s a huge percentage of him being wrong, the same goes for how he’s most probably right. Adidas, check. The latest version of the iPhone—well, there you go. So, he gapes there, blinking, wondering if he’d recognize him, but alas, he doesn’t—not even a small spark of recognition or a twitch in his brows. Jeongguk urges Solbin to move for space, casually drinking from the rim of her mango shake, thereafter wiping it with tissue.

“This is Kim Taehyung. He’s my project partner. We’ve been groupmates before, and with him, the team’s productivity just goes over the roof.”

Jeongguk nods mutely, and says, “Solbin, can you buy me an avocado shake? My legs are dead tired from working out.”

“Okay,” Solbin takes the credit card from him. “Anything else?”

“How about your friend here? Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

Solbin gives him a thumbs-up, and disappears among the crowd, right where the long line is. Jeongguk rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to be straight with you—”

Taehyung gulps. Without control, as if it’s an automatic response, he hears a voice in his head: no thanks, I’d want you to bang me, so I don’t really want you to be straight with me. Disguised as his conscience, he realizes its Sejeong’s voice, and he shudders.

And then he thinks, this might be it. The confrontation. He gulps and—

“What are your intentions with Solbin?”

“What?”

Jeongguk whistles, leaning back against the chair, folded hands over his stomach—abs. “I’ve seen a handful of guys trying to hit on Solbin by being her groupmate. What’s so special about you?”

Taehyung frowns. “Okay first of all, I’m a pretty good groupmate. I pass things on time, and I’m good at what I do. And lastly, I’m not hitting on Solbin.”

Jeongguk snorts.

“How could you even—” Taehyung runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “You. You have been sexting me over the course of the week, and even told me my eyes were pretty. You even stood me up the other day when you said you wanted to meet! Now, you ask me if I was hitting on your roommate?”

“Wait, what?”

“Choi Jeongguk, isn’t it? Well, I’m done. Good bye. I’m out.” He gathers his things, not caring whether his pencils would fall from his case. It does, haphazardly, and almost comically. It’s a mechanical pencil Sejeong got for him for last year’s Christmas.

He bolts out of the café then, bumping whoever’s shoulders, clutching his bag against his chest. The café, thankfully, is within the university’s place, and so is his apartment. Getting there isn’t much of a problem. The ends of his denim jacket flaps behind him while he struggled to hang the strap of his bag over his other shoulder. Chest heaving, feeling flammable, it's the most exercise he has ever done for over two years. He comes home to Sejeong wearing a toe separator, and a nail polish-smelling air.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes, hooking his finger on the tip of his shoes, taking it off. “You wouldn’t believe what happened.”

Sejeong twists the nail polish brush clockwise, catching her phone as she rolled her shoulders down. “I’ll call you back later, babe. Taehyung’s home. Bye, bye.”

“Who were you talking to?”

Sejeong stares at him as if to say duh. “Nayoung.”

“Which one?”

“You make me sound like I’m that main character from that John Green novel,” Sejeong says. “The Im one.”

“Weren’t you dating the Kim one just a month ago?”

“As I’ve said, An Abundance of Nayoungs. I really do like her, though. It’s just—she had the same name as my ex.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So, what has gotten your knickers in a twist?” Sejeong asks. “You look like you participated in a triathlon.”

“I might as well,” Taehyung says, plopping down on the couch, uncapping the mint-colored nail polish, applying it on Sejeong’s unpainted toe. “I fucked up.”

“Fucked up? How?”

“I met him.”

Sejeong gasps. “The sugar daddy? Jeongguk?”

“Yeah, and fuck, you’re right. He is a college student and he goes to our university. He isn’t some fresh graduate who owns an empire or something. Shit, he’s my group partner’s roommate, and I have to go to their house tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that great? You’ve been dying to meet him, right?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t recognize me, and he even asked me if I was hitting on Solbin. I wasn’t, obviously,” he taps on his watch. “Because the last time I checked, I didn’t swing that way.”

“Don’t tell me you snapped at him.”

“I snapped at him.”

“Okay,” Sejeong nods. “I’m not going to scold nor blame you for that, because if I were you, I’d get frustrated, too.”

“Thanks,” he says, applying the quick-dry. “What do I do?”

“What do you feel like doing?”

“I don’t know, ignore him?”

“Then go ignore him. He doesn’t deserve you, Taehyung.”

“You’re right,” he nods, still bothered, but it’s better to deceive himself of the simplicity of it all. “I’m just going to ignore him. That’s a perfect plan.”

“Choi Jeongguk,” he repeats, staring off to space. “Choi Jeongguk.”

“Hey, where did Taehyung go?” Solbin asks, placing the avocado shake before Jeongguk. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jeongguk says, slightly bewildered, wrapping a handful of tissues around the moist glass. “He just—he just left.”

“Alright,” Solbin says slowly. “So, what do you think about him? Isn’t he cute? And I’m not asking for myself, I’m asking for you.”

Jeongguk, in trance, “Who’s he again?”

“Kim Taehyung. He’s our senior.”

“So, why are you asking me if I find him cute?”

“I don’t know,” Solbin shrugs. “It’s just…you haven’t dated for a while now, and I thought maybe Taehyung would be perfect for you,” she holds up her fingers to count, tapping it with the others as she goes. “One, he’s handsome. Two, he’s really talented. Three, you two would look great together!”

“Did you plan this?”

“I texted you to come here, didn’t I?”

Solbin snickers. “You don’t need Tinder when I’m right here. Or even Seeking Arrangement, because I know a lot of broke people. That is, if you’re willing to sponsor them or something. Taehyung’s at the top of my recommendations, by the way, though I’m not sure if he’s in it for all that sugar daddy and baby jazz. I’ve been watching him.”

“Alright, Solbin, but I’m not interested.”

“Really? Because you looked really shook when you saw him.”

“Did I?” he must’ve and it’s for entirely different reasons. He mulls over his avocado shake, thankful that it’s ripe and doesn’t have a bitter aftertaste. “Yeah, he’s cute, but I’m not looking for anyone right now.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

He decides not to tell Solbin that he just met with one of Hoseok’s sugar babies, scammed and believing. He would’ve if it was a completely different person, but this person is someone close to Solbin. It’d be awkward if he did. After all, the whole situation just boils down to Hoseok’s schemes. He shouldn’t involve himself further, right? This isn’t his problem.

Solbin could get really pushy with her set-ups, though, but she knows her boundaries. This isn’t one of them. Jeongguk should’ve tried harder.

“I’d be sleeping like a baby, then.”

Solbin heats up dinner, just in case Hoseok gets home early and sober. If Jeongguk isn’t mistaken, he’s attending a house party right now in celebration of Namjoon’s birthday, who’s a good acquaintance of his, since he’s his senior in the Philosophy department. They often meet during org meetings, and the department often likes to attend talks outside the uni, so they stick together.

And it’s good that Hoseok isn’t home yet with Solbin awake. He’d probably yell at the older for putting him into such a predicament, and then whine for a next move—like ignoring Taehyung when he visits Solbin for their project even if Communication is Key™, and ignorance isn’t really a bliss. Solbin bids him good night, climbing the stairs with her bunny slippers softly padding against the wood.

***

Hoseok’s passed out on the couch when Taehyung arrives.

“I told you, you needed that run-through,” Solbin says. “Anyway, feel at home! If you want water, you can get some in the kitchen. I’m just going to prepare our stuff in the studio—” he takes Taehyung’s tablet. “We have juice, too, if you want, and some cupcakes if you’re feeling hungry.”

“No thanks, I’m fine. I’ll just get water.”

“Okay,” Solbin smiles. “Straight ahead and then a left.”

“Thank you.”

Overwhelmed with the hospitality, Taehyung finds his way to the kitchen, curling himself when the cold breeze of the refrigerator hits him as he reaches for the pitcher. He side-steps for a glass, neatly placed by threes on the rack, gently kicking the refrigerator’s door close. When he deliberately pours the water, it doesn’t shoot, instead it runs to the very end of the pitcher, wetting the marble counter.

Without any other choice, he untucks his shirt, lifting it to wipe the counter dry. But before he could, a voice pops in and says, “The rags are inside the top right cabinet.”

Taehyung freezes.

Jeongguk walks towards to where he is, left shoulder paralleling his right, reaching for a dry rag, and then wiping the mess Taehyung made. “And it’s Jeon Jeongguk,” he murmurs. “Not Choi.”

“What?”

“You called me Choi yesterday. That’s not my surname.”

Realization dawns Taehyung. “Oh, shit.”

“That’s why I was confused,” Jeongguk says, twisting the rag above the sink, and then laying it out on the edge of the counter. “Guess you were scammed.”

“Oh my God,” Taehyung laughs, and Jeongguk isn’t sure what kind it was, but he’s positive it isn’t anything funny. “I’m—holy shit.”

Jesus take the wheel, sings Carrie Underwood somewhere in the background. A walking superlative of embarrassment, that’s what Taehyung is, and all he wants to do right now is tuck himself under a sea of blanket, screaming for Sejeong to buy more Ben and Jerry’s. It’s a day for mourning. RIP in pieces, Taehyung’s dignity, may your soul rest with rhyming redundancies.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk says. He holds out his hand, “anyway I’m Jeon Jeongguk. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Kim Taehyung,” he takes it after a few moments of regaining his composure. His hand is rough but warm. “Art major, obviously.”

“Business and Philosophy.”

“Double major?” Taehyung says, letting go of his hand. It’s a good ice breaker, he thinks. He should be anything but awkward—as he should be in a situation like this—but sometimes acceptance is the first step to self-actualization; he always thought karma would get him one day. Today’s that day. “That’s amazing.”

“The workload isn’t, but I can manage,” Jeongguk says, pouring Taehyung a glass of water. He hands it to him, and it’s just then Taehyung realized he isn’t thirsty anymore. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone that you, er, were scammed. Which app was it?”

“Seeking Arrangement. The sugar daddy app. It’s embarrassing, I know, and thanks,” he says, taking a sip. “Not just for the water but for, you know.”

“It’s chill,” Jeongguk shrugs. “See you around, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung pauses. “See you around.”

“The studio’s ready!” Solbin says. “Sorry if I took so long. I did a last-minute clean up.”

“What?” Jeongguk frowns. “Your studio is always clean. I just cleaned it up yesterday morning.”

“Maybe you missed a spot, then,” Solbin shrugs, linking her arm with Taehyung’s. “Let’s go?”

“Sure,” Taehyung nods. “Bye, Jeongguk. It was nice meeting you.”

Jeongguk glares at Solbin, and then makes a sound of reply. “Same here.”

not interested my ass. I watched long enough to see you shooting heart eyes at him

okay so maybe I find him cute. happy?

and aren’t you supposed to be working????

we’re taking a break. u can come up here if u want ;)

no thanks

and hoseok’s awake

“How did I get here?”

“You punched in the code, got in, and passed out on the couch.”

Hoseok blinks. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeongguk says, wiping the sweat on his forehead, his other hand occupied with a mop. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come home. Namjoon hyung called around midnight and said you’d stay over.”

“But I’m here now,” he yawns, breath smelling of beer. “And you know, there’s no place like home,” he stands up and stretches his back, arms falling to encircle Jeongguk’s broad shoulders. “Especially if it’s with you.”

Hoseok elongates the last word, nuzzling his face against Jeongguk’s cheek. He was about to comment how he just took a bath when Taehyung, followed by Solbin, appears before them.

“Did we enter at the wrong time?”

“No, they’re usually like this.”

“Just him,” Jeongguk pushes Hoseok off, uncaring of how he slipped on the floor. “Going home already?”

“To work,” Taehyung tips his toes carefully, clutching his bag. “My boss called in earlier than usual, and I’m running late, so—”

“I could drive you to your work.”

He owes Taehyung that much. It’s on the behalf of Hoseok as well, whose face is planted against the wet floor, hangover biting him in the ass, completely oblivious of the context of his offer. It’s better that he doesn’t know.

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” he urges. “Come on,” he places the mop upright against one of the breakfast counter chairs. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Then take a left…and we’re here,” Taehyung takes off the seatbelt, giving Jeongguk a small bow. “Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to…but thanks.”

Jeongguk laughs, ending with a purse. “Don’t go on weird apps again.”

“But if I do, I’ll hit you up once someone catfishes as you again,” Taehyung says. “I have to go. Be safe on the drive back.”

Jeongguk nods, staying until Taehyung has entered the donut shop. But before the latter could, his hand resting on the door handle, Jeongguk says, “oh and Taehyung?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t mind if I ask your number from Solbin?”

Taehyung laughs. “I don’t mind.”

hey this is jeongguk. heres my number

“I can’t believe this,” Solbin says. “The Great Jeon Jeongguk is finally taking interest in someone, and that someone being brought to you by me, Ahn Solbin.”

“And Jung Hoseok, an audience who is absolutely late to the party,” Hoseok points an accusatory spoon at him, dripping with seaweed soup. “Jeongguk?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” and it really isn’t, because he’s not taking actual interest on the guy in such a romantic sense. It’s more of like cleansing his conscience, because in some way, he was behind all of this—the lying, and just for the fun of it at that. “I just felt bad for him, that’s all.” Now that’s a form of truth, but neither Solbin nor Hoseok are having any of it. It’s like the Boy Who Cried Wolf.

“Really now,” Hoseok says, but doesn’t push. He just sips his drink, nudging Solbin.

“Alright, Jeongguk. Whatever you say.”                                                                      

Taehyung comes over the next day, and the day after that, but he doesn’t see much of Jeongguk around, dropping a trail of disappointment at the pit of his stomach. But then again, it’s better as it is. Jeongguk’s a prevalent reminder of what once was his dignity.

And it’s going great actually. Over time, he fuses himself with work, packed with batteries for his stylus, his tablet being surprisingly accommodating. Also, Solbin might just be the best groupmate the art department gods could ever give him.

A storm hits on a particular Wednesday night, and Taehyung’s forced to stay in their house longer than he should have. Now, if Jeongguk wasn’t in the household, then he would’ve laid comfortably on their couch, thanking Solbin with a smile, and maybe even extending it to Hoseok. (Really, he has no shame, kicking out the owner of his own house in return of his personal needs.)

“It’s a good thing I only have two classes tomorrow,” Taehyung says in reference of the storm. Walking on wet pavements with the sun beating down at him are sometimes a good occasion, but he hates it when the air is dense and when he steps on puddles. “I could just commute, and leave my tablet here. I wouldn’t want it to get wet.”

“Do you have work tonight?” Solbin asks.

“No, I just finished my shift earlier this morning, and it’s my day off tomorrow.”

“That’s good, but commuting in the rain would be such a hassle for you. Why don’t you stay a little longer and just wait for it to calm down?”

Taehyung fidgets in his seat. Solbin looked very adamant, so he just sighs, obliging. Lowkey, he wanted to stay, but really, Jeongguk. “If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s fine with me,” Solbin says. “And it’d be fine for you as well, Jeongguk, right?”

Jeongguk hears a piano note an octave lower, losing yet another round of Piano Tiles, albeit only playing it ostentatiously, pretending to not be interested in the whole ordeal. Vivaldi be damned. He shrugs and says, “Yeah, of course.”

“When the rain calms down, can you drive him home?”

“No, Solbin, it’s fine—”

“Or Taehyung could just stay the night,” Jeongguk suggests, and just like that, he blows his cover, a thin sheet of fragmented coldness. “We have an extra room.”

“Really, you guys, it’s fine. I don’t want to be a bother,” Taehyung says. “You two have done so much for me, and I don’t know how to repay you guys.”

Solbin laughs. “You don’t have to repay us. Life isn’t a one big business deal, you know?” she puts the couch’s pillow behind her, and stands up. “I’ll go up now to prepare the room.”

When Solbin disappears to the second floor, Jeongguk taps his feet whilst hoisting himself up on the arm rest, as if the couch itself didn’t exist for him to sit on. “You don’t have to feel bad. It’s not a big deal.”

“But it is for me.”

“You know, the core of Levinas’ philosophy is to help people without expecting any kind of reciprocity, and the mere act of helping someone is enough to define your existence,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung frowns at him. He understands the reaction, because it’s not every day someone turns a conversation into a philosophical lecture. “However, I’m not much of a Levinas fanatic, so I want you to pay me back.”

Taehyung gulps. “Sure, of course. I will.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk says, a small smile gracing his lips. “You can pay me back by not feeling bad every time you’re around me. I know you’re still embarrassed of the thing, but trust me when I say you shouldn’t be.”

Taehyung clenches his fist. He didn’t exactly have stellar grades in Mathematics back in high school, but right now, he’s very much certain that what he’s about to do is a one plus one is equals to two, while the two may still be a question mark to Jeongguk. “Let’s go out for lunch.”

Jeongguk raises his eyebrows. “Lunch?”

“Yeah, lunch,” Taehyung confirms. “Or dinner. Take your pick. You told me I shouldn’t be embarrassed of what happened, but I still am. This is my way of dispersing it, of dispersing that image of you as someone I supposedly thought was someone else.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk replies easily. “I’ll go out on lunches with you. Plural.”

“Yeah, plural.”

The next morning, Taehyung leaves the residence with the caution of fleeing before Jeongguk and Solbin could wake up. Fleeing is a big word, but given how he tiptoed his way to the main door, grabbing his belongings as quietly as he could, paranoid of every little rattle he’s making, then it might as well be fitting.

He exits successfully, leaning against the door to catch his breath. And expect the unexpected: right in front of him, Jeongguk’s very much awake, carrying a plastic full of groceries. Taehyung suddenly feels like a vigilant caught in the middle of a crime, like, take him right there, cuff him, and put him to jail.

“Going home?”

“My roommate’s sick worried,” he excuses, even though Sejeong is very much fine with him staying over to his supposed sugar daddy’s home. Remember to use protection! “Sejeong, my roommate, she’s like my mother, an older sister—and uh, I have to go.”

“But I’m going to cook breakfast today. I promise it’d be edible, at least.”

“Fine,” Taehyung says defeatedly. He didn’t know how it happened—he’s very much aware that he’d been running away from him, but it seemed as if he was running to him all this time. He reminds himself that his days would soon be consumed with scenes like this, and that he should throw his automatic response of flinching whenever Jeongguk’s a good foot away from him down the gutter. 

Breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, too.

That’s what Jeongguk says while entering the house, Taehyung closely trailing after him all the way to the kitchen. His steps are meek, watching Jeongguk’s back.

“Solbin went to class already,” Jeongguk informs. “Hoseok’s staying in his… partner’s… place for the whole week, so it’s just us here,” he hands Taehyung an apron. “Can you tie it for me?”

Taehyung does, a little surprised. He double-ties a ribbon, but not too tightly. “You must like cooking a lot. Meanwhile I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I can’t really help you around that much.”

Jeongguk laughs, facing him. “It’s alright. Just watch me make the best cheesy macaroni ever. I’ll feel like I’m in Master Chef or something.”

“Then I’m going to be very objective about your dish,” Taehyung decides. This is a good start. “Blow me away.”

Jeongguk’s macaroni is undoubtedly the best one has he has ever tasted. He’s on his third serving now, Jeongguk opposite him, the top of his apron hanging down, supported by the tie around his waist. “I found the recipe on Facebook, and added some of my own.”

“It tastes—” he clears his throat. “Nice.”

“Just nice? That’s your fourth serving.”

“Third,” Taehyung corrects, reaching for the spoon, sticking his bowl against the container, half-serving and half-pouring. “Now’s my fourth.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Jeongguk says. “So, what are your favorite dishes? I might know its recipe, and we could always spend lunch or dinner here, if you don’t feel like going to restaurants.”

“I pretty much eat everything,” Taehyung says. “But I’m a huge fan of homemade food, so there’s that. Sejeong and I, we only know the basics—mostly on Sejeong’s part. We just eat restaurant food or instant ramyun, so it’s nice to taste homemade food once in a while.”

Taehyung talks more about dishes, ones that he tasted when he traveled out of country with his parents two years ago, during summer. Jeongguk listens intently, pouring him water, handing him tissue when the sides of his mouth are stained with cheesy sauce. Jeongguk learns that it’s not that hard to have Taehyung open up about his interests; his taste in music, which is very much similar to his, the movie genres he didn’t like, and he rambles about his life as an art student—apart from Solbin’s daily complaints—Taehyung’s stories are much more refreshing. Jeongguk laughs as if isn’t the first time he has heard someone step over paint that doesn’t easily come off.

Jeongguk has deliberately separated the people in his life as: 1) family 2) his friends, namely Hoseok and Solbin 3) miscellaneous. The fourth may just be up for grabs for Taehyung, albeit not having any label yet. The second are for friends, while the third are for his course-mates, professors, and the like. The fourth is just ‘Taehyung’ for now. It’s temporary, because he’s still pondering whether he’d place him at the second, though Hoseok and Solbin are on a completely another level for him. He withdraws for a moment. The system is much like the factions in that YA novel, and it’s kind of over-the-top do such a thing, but Jeongguk likes keeping his life organized, the people in his life not spared.

Taehyung and Solbin have finished their project, meaning Taehyung won’t be around their house that much, if not at all. On a positive note, there’s Taehyung’s offer, but the first time they were supposed to spend lunch together, Taehyung texts:

sorry I couldn’t lunch today D: my boss needed me to fill in for another hour. maybe tomorrow? if you’re free

nah its fine, got some readings to finish anyway

What Jeongguk doesn’t expect is finding himself in front of the donut store Taehyung worked in, car taking about three turns already to find a perfect parking.

You’re in it for the donuts, not Taehyung.

For the donuts.

Not Taehyung.

“Jeongguk?” Taehyung perks from the counter. It’s an unusually busy day for the shop, Jeongguk could tell, because the employees behind the counter are doubled, and almost all of the tables are occupied, empty glazed plates, and half-filled iced coffees.  “What are you doing here?”

Definitely not for you. “Uh, you told me you were working, so I came by to see how you’re doing.” Fuck.

“Really?” Taehyung beams. “That’s very sweet. But you know what’s sweeter?”

“Wait, what? What’s sweeter?” his recuperation comes into a halt. He pauses, frowns, and repeats the question, “What?”

“Our special for today! Our BerryBerry filled donut!” what a segway. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend lunch with you today. We got featured in BuzzFeed, so the store rose all of the sudden.”

“That’s nice,” Jeongguk comments, watching Taehyung place the BerryBerry donut on a small plate, and then onto a tray. “You’ve been working here for how long?”

“Since it opened,” he says, crouching down to get a small pile of tissues. “My boss, Kim Seokjin, is a fresh graduate from our uni. Culinary, of course. He specialized in pastry making. He was my friend, and I needed a job, so it just went from there.”

“Ah,” Jeongguk says. “Well, I’ll wait for you to finish your shift.”

“What? No, you don’t have to.”

“You told me dinner could work, too.”

“But my shift ends an hour later.”

“So?” Jeongguk shrugs. “I could wait. You know the power of mobile data?”

Taehyung smiles from ear-to-ear. Jeongguk thinks it’s pretty. “That would be 1,200 won.”

***

McDonald’s offers many wonders: budget-friendly meals, crispy fries, and considering the fact that it’s just a street away from the uni, it’s filled with college students like them, talking heaps of cholesterol with responsibilities breathing down their necks. The camaraderie comes with their uni shirts, proudly plastered with the usual varsity font, where the last stroke of the letter extends back to the first with a wider brush. It’s a comfortable place to hang out, and he hopes Jeongguk thinks the same.

He forgets that Jeongguk is a college student like him, too, swinging in between business and philosophy lectures like a pendulum. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen him around uni yet, their buildings on literally the far end of each other. He might’ve caught a glimpse of him one time, at the field, the one with the picnic tables where people mostly spend their lunches if not the restaurants surrounding the university’s place. Remembrances come with disastrous events. Taehyung’s was the critic paper he had to cram, rushing to a printing store outside campus, because the one in their library was out of order. If he wanted to say ‘hi,’ then he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to.

“I just realized I never saw you around uni,” Taehyung voices his concerns over his quarter pounder. “I mean, yeah, our department buildings are really far from each other, but I never see you around even in the social hall, library, or anywhere else, really.”

“So does that mean you were looking for me?”

Taehyung gives him a look. “No, it’s just an observation.”

“Sucks. I look for you, though, even if I know you won’t appear in the lecture hall I’m in.”

“Wow, that’s smooth.”

“It could be arranged. If you want. I know my way around your building, since I used to carry some art stuff for Solbin before she specialized in digital. And if I ever get lost, I’ll just give you a call.”

“But you won’t be carrying anything for me, though. I specialize in animation, so I just bring my tablet and my laptop with me.”

“Your hand.”

“What?”

“I’ll carry your hand instead.”

Taehyung laughs, feeling his cheeks flush, and Jeongguk does, too. It’s corny, and if he were an audience, he’d snort over his popcorn. But he’s one of the main characters right now, and this isn’t really a movie, so he allows himself to indulge in the feeling. Besides, he doesn’t think Jeongguk’s being all too serious about it—but he throws him a fry and says, “You, sir, are ten times greasier than all the grease in this restaurant.”

Jeongguk was serious.

They often text each other, and with the package, it comes with Taehyung complaining just for the sake of complaining, craving reports, and informing him of a free cut. 

He stays for a few minutes after the announcement, waiting for the TA to leave whilst gathering his things. Now, it—Jeongguk, he means—happened somewhere along with him rushing out of his Film class, elated that his professor was absent, much to the dismay of some, since his health is probably at stake. Taehyung worries, too, but midterms are near and it’s good to catch breaks once in a while.

Changgu, one of his closest friends in the course, falls into step with him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He’s effortlessly talented, and when they hang out in the study hall, they either earnestly talk about forming a team in the future or he just pretty much rambles about his love life. Taehyung doesn’t mind both topics, because Changgu’s pretty creative, and he lets him borrow his hard drive to watch series. He exercises his counselling skills too, because it helps him weigh the pros and cons between this cute Chinese guy taking Comparative Literature, and a dancer, who he later learns is one of Hoseok’s brothers in the frat, which kind of entertains him to an extent. (He went over their house one time, finding an unfamiliar face in the kitchen. The guy introduces himself as Kang Hyunggu, and informs him how he’s in the same frat as Hoseok and how they’re in the same dance team as well. As if he was there for him—he wasn’t. He was there for the macaroni and Jeongguk.) “Thank God, I mean, I hope he’s doing well but—thank God.”

“Same,” Taehyung says, and animatedly talks about how a TA didn’t even take over. Truly a miracle, a blessing. Never taking this for granted. But practical tests and a late share of powerpoint are the consequences, so it makes him ponder if the free cut was a curse in disguise of a blessing. Changgu agrees, of course, and then—

“Hey, I’ve never seen that guy before.”

Taehyung follows his eyes, and right there, by the limited lockers owned by mostly Architecture students, leans Jeongguk, checking his watch, bangs side-swept, a part of his forehead revealed. The democracy. He moves when a girl takes her T-square out of the locker, and that’s when he sees Taehyung.

“You know that guy?” Changgu asks. “Wait, oh my God, are you dating him? Why didn’t you tell me? You know everything about my love life, Taehyung!”

“We’re not dating,” Taehyung explains, waving back at a grinning Jeongguk. “But I have to go. See you later!”

He ignores Changgu’s teasing yells, running to Jeongguk with a slightly apologetic expression. Jeongguk tells him it’s fine, and that it’s kind of cute. He has that special skill of catching him off guard, and taking him back. If metaphors weren’t real, he’d be a hundred steps away from him already.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. Just five or six minutes.” They start to walk as students file out from their rooms. “Hey, I got coupons from this ramyun place. I’ve been there a couple of times, and they only ever give these babies out when their anniversary is nearing and that one time when they had a soft opening. You in?”

“Of course I am,” Taehyung says. “Is that the isolated one people kept talking about?” Taehyung has a fair share of pictures of the place flooding his timeline in Instagram, and from the hashtags, he could tell that the place was nice; filters evolve over time, and if it’s used with the sepia-like default Instagram filter back in 2012, then maybe he’d reconsider. But ramyun is ramyun, and it’s been a long time since he’s tasted a non-instant one.

“Yeah, it’s hard to find at first, but you know, hidden treasures always serve quality food.”

“I only ever eat in fast food chains.” It’s friendly on the budget, so why not? Other than the influx of McDonald’s and KFC, he’s been to five-star ones, sometimes dragging Sejeong along if he’s gotten his ‘paycheck,’ and most of the time with his grandma, who’s suspicious at times but doesn’t question the glitz and the glamour.

It’s nice that they’re talking about these kinds of stuff, of anything under the sun, really, because he likes Jeongguk’s voice, and it’s always interesting if he shares more than what he had asked for. That way, he learns about him. Suddenly, the embarrassment he has been obsessing with is tucked somewhere in a place he doesn’t know, his outburst forgotten, replaced by Jeongguk’s kindness and one-liners. It’s infinitely better that way.

“So can I carry it?”

Lost in his internal reflection, he makes a sound of both confusion and shocked combined. “Huh?”

“Your hand,” Jeongguk says, clucking his tongue, staring at his hand with a pitiful expression. “It looks heavy. Can I carry it for you?”

Taehyung laughs, lightly hitting him on the chest. “Yeah, you can.”

They walk hand-in-hand until they’ve reached the ramyun place. At one point, Taehyung’s palm turned sweaty, and when he tried to retrieve it, Jeongguk just tightens his grip even more. PDA is a normal occurrence, but every time it happens, people would always stare. It’s college, most don’t even give a fuck (it’s a different story when a couple makes out in front of you, though), but it’s nice to be updated with campus couples perpetually—even if he and Jeongguk aren’t really dating.

Holding hands doesn’t seem too harmless. He does it with Sejeong all the time. He’s been out of the romance industry ever since his freshman year, and the last time he dated—or had an actual sugar daddy—only ended up being a burnt page in his book featuring Jimin’s death threats towards the said guy, and an oblivious Sejeong who only learned about the ‘paychecks’ not only until more and more branded things started to pile up in their apartment.

Modern times are weird. Meals don’t start with prayers anymore, but with pictures and a social networking app, and instead of flowers on a first date, people fuck first on soft bedsheets before getting to know each other’s names. And when did money become a foundation of a relationship? It’s not like Taehyung’s a classic person, since he’s guilty of doing such things in the past, but like Jeongguk, some things don’t have to make sense.

“I’m going to have the same order as yours,” Taehyung says. Jeongguk’s looking pretty nice, and he doesn’t hope for romance—not exactly—but he hopes he stays with him for the long run. “It better be as delicious as you say it is.”

Jeongguk hums. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a foodie, so I kind of know my way around these kinds of stuff. Trust me.”

“Alright,” is all he says. Jeongguk goes off to list down all of the ramyun places he has been, and Taehyung, with a fair share of knowledge and Zomato visits, inputs quite a lot to the conversation. He talks and Jeongguk listens, smiles. Even if the topic went to college, and then not talking about it after a millisecond, because it’d stress them out too much.

When the food arrives, they fall into a comfortable silence not long after Taehyung admitted that he was right. The dish is delicious. And Taehyung doesn’t really want to be that person, but his phone vibrates in his pocket. He excuses himself to which Jeongguk didn’t mind, and proceeds to scroll through his phone just to see a notif from Seeking Arrangement.

Think it’s about time we’d meet up?

Taehyung types in a quick reply.

no, sorry. let’s put this into an end

If the sugar daddy ever replies, he’d just ignore it. Besides, there’s nothing he can hold against him, since he didn’t even ask for one penny, and the man hasn’t sent anything but a range of how are you’s. The only reason why Taehyung kept in touch for a while is because he ought to keep his options wide if Choi Jeongguk didn’t work out. He was glad it didn’t, because in return, he had Jeon Jeongguk. And that’s more than he could ever ask for.

***

Taehyung didn’t really give it much thought when he suggested Jeongguk to come over his place sometime. The realization—the branded things he bought from before are scattered around the house, some stacked in his closet, with different sets of colored clothes hung above—dawns upon him around 10 AM, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of Calvin Klein boxers losing a few Zs before he could even catch them.

Sejeong’s right. They do look extremely shady with all the expensive stuff they—he—owns. It just doesn’t fit with their apartment; shabby, good for two or maybe three if the guest is willing to sleep on the floor, and the water maintenance isn’t all that great. So here Sejeong was, screaming at him with toothpaste foam in her mouth, holding a wet toothbrush.

“Taehyung!” she yells, running towards his room. He’s scrolling through Twitter, wearing earphones even if he isn’t listening to anything; just the occasional chance of stumbling upon a Vine, cherishing the last few days of it before it dies.

“What?”

“Your boy—Jeongguk, is it? He’s right in front of our door.”

Taehyung bolts from his bed, running to the living room, picking up whatever he can get his hands on. Meanwhile Sejeong runs to the bathroom to spit the toothpaste foam in her mouth, throwing the towel wrapped around her hair on the back of the couch. She helps Taehyung clean the place up, groaning when a Chanel wallet falls from her arms.

“Taehyung?”

“Uh, wait!” he screams, running back and forth between the living room and Sejeong’s room, placing everything gently yet hurriedly on her bed. “Just doing a last-minute clean up!”

When the place is clear, free from the remnants of his scamming days, Sejeong pats him a quick good luck before going off to her room, switching her hair dryer on, the sound resonating behind her door. Taehyung takes a deep breath, and twists the knob open.

“Hey,” Jeongguk breathes.

“Hey,” he replies dumbly. “Come in. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. You should’ve texted me.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says, stepping inside. From first glance, the apartment is that of a struggling college student incarnate, and from the second glance—well, it still is, but he doesn’t judge. Taehyung’s thankful he didn’t. He has a keen eye for these kinds of things, since he has dealt with figures like him a lot of times, scrolling through profiles, stumbling upon their wives’ expensive jewelries and their cars. But Jeongguk’s not just a figure, he’s not just a bank to him—he’s a friend, a real person, and sometimes, he smacks himself for correlating anything that has to do with money to him. Old habits die hard, but this time, he’s going to die with it if it continues.

“I brought pancakes,” Jeongguk says. It isn’t from Pancake House nor Butterfinger, because the plastic doesn’t have any logo on it, and both restaurants are far from where they are.

“You made it?” Taehyung hooks his chin on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “That smells delicious.”

Jeongguk takes out a bottle of cinnamon and chocolate syrup, briefly patting the side of Taehyung’s head. “Yeah, I woke up early just to make it. You texted me last night. You said you were craving for pancakes.”

“Oh yeah, I did,” he says, remembering. “Fuck.”

“Fuck?” Jeongguk raises a brow. “Why?”

“No, it’s just—” he bits his lower lip, taking a seat as Jeongguk prepares the food, placing the pancakes in front of him, leaving the last Styrofoam for Sejeong. “I just didn’t expect you to actually do it? I mean, even that one time where I tweeted I was craving for a McChicken, and by the next thirty minutes, you had it delivered on my doorstep. At 2 AM, Jeongguk. 2 AM.”

“Well,” Jeongguk smiles, flicking his bangs, turning to look at him. He sits opposite him, handing him a fork, and then a cubed butter he probably saved from the last pancake shop he visited. “I like you, so maybe that’s why I do it.”

Taehyung’s initial reaction was to laugh, but nothing comes out of his mouth except a choked sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. He feels his eyes sting, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, and even if it’s out of place already—in the literal sense—it clenches. Jeongguk acts as if it isn’t a big deal, feigning by urging him to eat, spreading butter all over the pancakes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jeongguk says, all repressed with their midnight snacks, lunches, dinners, breakfasts, and if they’re not having an unsolicited food trip or mulling over recipes from Facebook, they’d lie in bed together, watching Gordon Ramsay’s most memorable moments down to his time in MasterChef junior. “Just let me do this for you, yeah?”

“I don’t know why you’re taking interest in me,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at me, I—” I scam, I’m a liar, and I’m undeserving of whatever you’re giving me. “Jeongguk.”

“I like you,” Jeongguk repeats. “I’m usually emotionally constipated, reserved, and when I usually like someone, I don’t do anything about it. But with you,” he says, pouring cinnamon all over his plate. He looks at him. “I find myself wanting to get closer to you, and if I turn emotionally constipated like how I was before, I’d just subject myself to what ifs, and it’d a lot worse for me because it’d be with you.”

The Taehyung last night wouldn’t even imagine receiving a confession from a person he may like the next morning. This Taehyung, the one eating breakfast with Jeongguk, says, “I don’t know. I may like you, but,” he bites his lip. “Give me time to figure it out. I don’t want to give you a half-assed reciprocation, because for the past few years, it’s all I’m acquainted with, it’s all I’ve ever received. I’m not exactly at the top of my game in the trust department, so. It might take time, and if you ever get tired of waiting, I’d understand.”

“Okay,” he says with a smile. “That’s all I need. But I’ll have you know that I don’t think that day would come.”

He has had a handful of failed relationships, with one being the closest to decent, only to end up as a sob story of infidelity. Maybe that’s the reason why he got into Seeking Arrangement in the first place, not even letting Jimin finish his explanation, already clicking the download button in the app store. Sprinkle a dash of commitment issues, a cup of trust issues, stir, wait for the insecurity to turn into a golden color, and you’ll get Taehyung, all fine with a complementing bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

But Jeongguk is here, and just this once, he tries not to be too hard on himself. “You’re not just a foodie, Jeon Jeongguk. You’re quite the romantic yourself, too.”

***

Breakfasts differ from lunches just how lunches differ from dinners. But if the word ‘formal’ comes into the picture, then it must be another being of its own—suits, buffets, and served glasses of wine, dating back to what Taehyung’s life once, all fine and expensive but with a windfall of debt.

Taehyung’s parents were well off before. They had a swimming pool, house maids, and pretty much everything someone could ever imagine—like their house was once featured in a magazine before. The stock exchange his Father owned soon came crashing when his Father was wrongly accused of embezzlement, which in turn gave them debts upon debts and well, public humiliation.

But that was long ago, back when he was still a child. He didn’t really understand much of the details not until when his Mother explained to him what exactly happened while she churned kimchi in a tub with his silent Father, who just grunted with every chapter of the story. It isn’t really a great past time to reminisce his time in jail, but with the birds chirping outside their small home by the countryside, with Taehyung at the right age already, then it’s the best time out of the others.

So, formal dinners: Taehyung remembers wearing a suit right for his age, slipping an action figurine in his Mother’s bag, whining hour after hour because he missed his bed. He remembers that much, but along with it, comes his parents’ struggle, so when Jeongguk brings a ‘formal dinner’ up in the conversation, he becomes the radial blurred Mr. Krabs picture.

“So, what do you say? Want to be my plus one?”

Taehyung adjusts his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder, and should this be the time to pick on a stuck popcorn on his teeth, it isn’t. Doctor Strange’s car trips over a cliff, and Taehyung whispers, “I’ll think about it. I have some projects coming up, but I’ll see if I have time.”

“No, its fine. I mean, I don’t want to force you or anything. I just thought it’d be nice to have someone—if I have you with me—business parties can get really boring, you know,” Jeongguk whispers. “Plus, there’s a buffet.”

Taehyung laughs. It’s the last week of showing, so there aren’t much people in the cinema, but still, he earns stares from a few. “Okay, you got me there. I’ll try okay? But I’m not going to promise anything.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk nods. “Or I could just ditch the business party and spend the rest of the night with you wherever.”

The thing is, the business party is very important to him. He’s mentioned it at least once or twice, every time after his parents would make a call—mostly during their dates or when Jeongguk picks him up from class. He would wipe his ketchup-stained finger with a tissue, swiping his phone with his pinky, frowning the moment he hears his Mother or Father’s voice.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Taehyung says decisively, sipping what’s left of the root beer. “That buffet better be good.”

“I feel like a mom sending my child to his wedding or something,” Sejeong says, fixing Taehyung’s tie with a few folds. She tells Nayoung, “get the camera, babe! We need to record this.”

“Literally I just asked you to fix my tie.”

“My baby boy’s all grown up,” Sejeong cries. Nayoung appears behind her and does record the whole thing, cackling when Taehyung realizes. “Now you take care, alright? You don’t have any curfew, because if I were you—” she gives Taehyung’s ass a good slap. “I’m going to get that ass. Or dick. Whichever works for you.”

“The latter,” Taehyung says. “But expect me to be home later.”

“Whatever you say, big boy,” Sejeong whistles. 

Jeongguk appears not less than a minute later, knocking on the door. Sejeong and Nayoung bid him good bye, while he warns them to not do the deed on his bed or anywhere besides Sejeong’s bed, because it’s their living quarters and he doesn’t really want to worry about such things when he eats cereal for breakfast or when he lies on the couch marathoning Moonlight Drawn by the Clouds.

The drive to venue was silent, mostly because Jeongguk’s very jittery, adjusting the radio’s volume every other minute, changing stations at an alarming rate, grunting when he can’t find a song he knows. Taehyung opts to change the mode to auxiliary and have his Spotify on shuffle instead to at least calm down Jeongguk’s nerves. He hasn’t seen him like this except when Hoseok came home drunk, and knocked a flower vase over (and it’s imported from Europe! Solbin inputs). Mingyu, the one who took Hoseok home, even helped Jeongguk clean up the mess, feeling apologetic since he was the one who’s got Hoseok around his shoulders. “Sorry, t’was another birthday. I think he may or may not have consumed alcohol that’ll last him for like, a week.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says. “Relax. It’s going to be fine.”

“No, I’m just…I don’t know? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my parents, and I have to shake hands with their business partners and all,” Jeongguk rips open a mint candy, popping it in his mouth when the stop light came on. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s better to talk about these things rather than keeping it all to yourself,” Taehyung squeezes his hand. “I’ll be by your side the whole night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathes. “Thank you.”

They arrive at the venue on time. And as expected, Jeongguk shakes hands with many people, young and old, as if it’s an initiation before getting to meet his parents. The place is a function hall of a hotel, all decorated with yellow-light chandeliers, and velvet curtains that ran all the way to the ground, low house music almost inaudible because of people’s chatter. The buffet’s open already, thank God, and is packed with businessmen and businesswomen, taking light amount of meat and sometimes just vegetables for their plates, all complemented with mashed potato instead of rice.

Jeongguk falls in line with him, keeping him close by resting his hand on his lower back, going off with which delicacies tasted better together, and how it’s a bad move to eat rice on a buffet—a blasphemy, as he calls it, because rice fills up your belly faster than anything. Consequently, he’s become in charge of Taehyung plates, and he lets him. He trusts Jeongguk that much and more.

Once upon a time Jeongguk wanted to be a chef, but all hopes are thrown into the gutter when his parents meddled with his course choices. Business, he learns, are for his parents while Philosophy is just to get by, because at least he’d be doing something he liked.

Before sitting on the 1 table, Jeongguk faces both a man and a woman, whereas the man’s tie matched the color of the woman’s dress. They look too young to be Jeongguk’s parents, and at first glance, they aren’t anything Taehyung had conformed in his mind: scary and intimidating—but instead, they smile. It’s welcoming if he isn’t shitting his pants right now. Jeongguk’s Mother stands up and envelops Taehyung in a warm hug, her necklaces clanking against each other with every move.

“Ah, so you’re the Taehyung Jeongguk can’t shut up about?”

“Please don’t listen to what they’re going to say. All of it are lies.”

“Jeongguk here may seem cold at first, but inside, he’s a very happy person. Are you not, my son?”

“Yeah, he is,” Taehyung agrees.

“He even FaceTimes us every day!”

“I didn’t know that,” Taehyung comments. Sometimes he can’t even call his own parents. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Okay, enough. Mom, I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to be a wing woman for me. Or something.”

“So much for the effort,” his Mother rolls her eyes. “Now, both of you, sit!”

Jeongguk’s Father is quiet, but he reckons he’s just as nice, smiling when his wife speaks to him something about a guest who just greeted him, or when Jeongguk offers to refill his plate.

“Mom’s that usual hip Mom, and Dad’s quiet but he’s just as cool. One time, on my 16^th party, they were even the ones who sponsored the alcoholic drinks. They’re pretty much chill with everything.” Jeongguk says when his Mom and Dad left the table to attend to an important business partner.

“When you told me you haven’t seen them in years, I thought you were going through an angsty phase.”

“Nah,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “I was upset about not letting me take culinary, yes, but they made up for it by enrolling me to cooking workshops. They said I could just make it a hobby.” So, he doesn’t just learn from BuzzFeed or Tasty recipes. “That’s why I couldn’t refuse when they asked me to take Business, you know? I love them and they’re just looking out for me. How about you? What do your parents do?”

“I love my parents, too. They run a convenience store, and stock kimchi for a few local restaurants in the countryside.” He owes Jeongguk this much: “But my Father used to own a stock exchange market, and you know, we were really well off. We used to attend business parties like these, and I had all the action figurines I wanted. Things happened after, and basically, we were in so much debt. My parents paid all of it by selling our house and literally everything we had. We’re fine now, though. I think they’re happy, and I think I am as well,” he pauses and looks at Jeongguk. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“I’m glad you are,” Jeongguk pats his knee, smiling over the rim of the glass of wine. “I’m happy, too, with you especially.”

Taehyung excuses himself for a quick bathroom break. When he exits the cubicle, the flush going off as he washed his hands clean, a figure appears behind him—and it isn’t like a creepy attack-from-behind, or a deadly jump scare Kayako vs Sadako-esque—it’s slow, like how the man’s crisp collar adjusts itself from a fold, realizing that he knew the person who stood before him.

If Taehyung knew he’d be peeing a cubicle away from his first sugar daddy, inclusive of an actual relationship, actual dates, and well, actual intimacy, then he would’ve stayed inside the whole night, never to see the light of the day, rather facing protests of a misunderstood case of LBM. At one point, he called him a boyfriend, precedingly a sponsor, or a person who just pays his tuition fees. Later on, he became his first scamming victim—except he’s just as damaged.

“Taehyung? Long-time no see.” It’s just the two of them inside the washroom, the air conditioning unit slowly humming in its place. A moment later, a janitor appears all equipped with a mop, and a small greeting, sloshing the floor until it’s ashine. Taehyung takes it as his cue to leave.

Minho, however, doesn’t give up. After all, who wouldn’t run after a person who basically stole his money, albeit not directly? Taehyung’s just the same, though, and suddenly it’s a game of Tom and Jerry. He passes by a few waiters, careful enough to not accidentally hit them by the shoulders, and spill beverage all over the floor. The plan was going well until a trolley of plates and all things fragile passes in front of him, the waiter behind the handle craning his neck to see if there were people in his way. Five seconds. Five seconds of hearing dirty plates clank against each other, and smelling the sift of mixed leftovers.

Seeing Minho is something he could deal with, confrontation is of course, another. So, when the older turns him around by the hook of his arm, he deflates, and thinks: this is it. The real karma.       

His tone is hostile. “Fancy seeing you here. Finally found your way up? Who is it this time?”

“Leave me alone,” Taehyung says. “Seriously.”

“You think that’s going to make up for all the things you’ve done?”

“Then what do you want? An apology? Look, I’m sorry. I’ve told you that a million times already, and I mean it. If you want me to pay you back, then fine. I will.”

“Believe me or not, it’s not an apology I’m looking for. Nor money,” he pauses. “I don’t care about the money you stole.”

“Then what do you want—”

“Taehyung, is this man bothering you?”

Fuck, Taehyung inwardly curses in surprise. Minho raises his eyebrows, eyes darting back and forth between him and Jeongguk. They’re in the middle of a crowd, a fitting time for socialization, somewhere in between actual dinner, a little after the hosts—Jeongguk’s parents—have finished their speech. A jazz band is onstage now, playing a familiar piece, and if he isn’t facing such a situation right now, he would’ve spent a good minute searching it up on Google.

“Is it him?” Minho asks rhetorically.

“Jeongguk, let’s leave,” Taehyung whispers, tugging his sleeve. Jeongguk stays still.

“With all due respect, but who are you?”

“Choi Minho,” he says, and he even had the audacity to grin. Jeongguk, however, is not having any of it, mustering up a smile that turned wry. “You must be Taehyung’s new sugar daddy?”

“Jesus please, Minho, stop,” Taehyung feels an irritation in his nose, throat clogging up with bile. “Fuck please, can you just—”

“I have nothing against you, Taehyung. Really.” Minho says. “But I hope you aren’t scamming this guy, just like how you scammed me and many others.”

It’s a rendition of Funny Valentine. He has heard it once or twice, or more if he had paid more attention to the buzzing radio back home. He doesn’t hear Jeongguk’s reply, or more like, he felt like he didn’t need to. It’s useless to defend him. He wouldn’t even do it for himself, so why would he, in every parallel universe, would think he deserved Jeongguk’s words, or how he took a step forward just to shield him from the person who’s caused him pain—the infidelity sob story, written all over late night dramas but with different characters, sans the fiction.

He runs.

***

Jeongguk hasn’t seen Taehyung in weeks, his messages unseen but delivered, knocks ignored—or if he’s lucky, a tired explanation from Sejeong, who just shakes her head, holding the door ajar.

He isn’t the type to get drunk after a draining fight, or rather, cold shoulder. Hoseok may have suggested to at least ‘treat’ himself once or twice a day, dragging him to random house parties. Alcohol is the worst solution to his problem, and as far as he’s concerned, it wouldn’t help him get Taehyung back.

“I’m proud of you,” Solbin says. “The Jeongguk I used to know would usually think that such things like romance was tiring.”

“Because it’s worth it.”

“Hm?”

“Taehyung’s worth fighting for,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.

The moment Taehyung ran from the scene that night, the Minho guy just sneers, leaving Jeongguk with an unfriendly ‘be careful of that guy’ before going off to his table as if it wasn’t a big deal. He wanted to punch him so bad, and if they weren’t in a formal dinner party built with smiles, handshakes, and underlying business partnerships, then he would’ve. Gandhi would be disappointed, and so much for the ahimsa, really.

He ran after Taehyung, but by the time he reached him, an Uber car had already arrived. And like a sad break up scene in a movie, he still runs after the car, yelling Taehyung’s name, until his legs couldn’t keep up anymore. The cobbled floor, the valet who stared, and a couple who made out behind one of the bushes—he would’ve minded all of it, but his thoughts swirled, face lit up by his phone, calling Taehyung from his speed dial. And he stays there outside shivering under the chilly air, waiting and calling.   

And the people in his life—4 is Taehyung. Just Taehyung. Family is his Mother, Father, and hyung. Friends are for Solbin and Hoseok. Miscellaneous are for casual seniors and course mates. And Taehyung? Taehyung is someone he’s in love with. He doesn’t know exactly when, but maybe it’s somewhere around the time where he was just doodling on his sketchbook on a circular table at some random burger place they found while walking around, or when Jeongguk just stared off to space at one of his major classes, thinking of him.

Before it was just a bite of infatuation that won’t cure itself; a stage wherein he thought of Taehyung as perfection, all personal means unlatched—an idea conformed in his head while Taehyung held his hand or when he laughed at his jokes, accidentally spitting chewed French fry on his own chin. But then later on, he realizes it was love—a growing, potential feeling of home. When you love someone, you realize that person isn’t perfect. It doesn’t mean it’s a degradation of your previous image of that person; it just means that you accept them wholly; loving them no matter what the circumstance is, no matter how flawed they are. That’s what he felt for Taehyung.

Taehyung texts him on a Friday night.

Uni circle. The usual.

Jeongguk arrives half an hour later, hands tucked inside the pockets of his jacket, pacing with a striking feat of a hundred steps—or at least, it’s through the number he expresses his worry. There are still a few students inside the campus, taking night classes, or attending extra-curricular activities. Taehyung arrives, coming from the main building, bag slung over his shoulders, bouncing against his thigh with every step.

“I couldn’t just leave you without an explanation,” Taehyung begins without looking at him. It’s the first time in weeks that they’ve been in a proximity this close. “So here it goes: I scam—” he flicks his eyes over to see his reaction, but Jeongguk just stares at the ground. “I scam people, and if I weren’t working at that stupid donut store, then I would’ve called it a living, because I did it so frequently. Minho, that guy you encountered that night, was my first sugar daddy—and the last person I’ve been in an actual relationship with. It was a long distance one, of course, but we pulled through for a good year. But he cheated on me, so as a revenge, I scammed him—got him to send me money with four figures in dollar count, promising to come over to his place to fuck. I don’t know. Or to come live with him. It doesn’t really matter. I ran away.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just him. I did the same thing to others, except there wasn’t any relationship. And I did it not because I had a major root from the past, I did it because I just simply wanted to.”

“Taehyung…”

“How ironic was it, being in the same group of people that became the reason why my parents suffered. For a moment, I was fine living with it even if I knew what I was doing was bad. Until I met you. Fuck, it took me that long. Jeongguk, you made me want to be a better person, but I just can’t seem to stop beating myself over the past. Every time, it all just comes back to me: the things I’ve done, the people I lied to. You don’t deserve that kind of shit from me, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk nods, pursing his lips. There’s a pregnant pause, and Taehyung fidgets, not knowing whether to leave or not, if Jeongguk had completely given up on him or not.

“How about me?”

“What?”

“How about me? Don’t I have a say on the things I think I deserve?”

“Jeongguk, don’t lie to yourself. I could be lying to your fucking face right now, and you wouldn’t know.”

“But you aren’t, right? You aren’t lying. And if there was a time where you did, then you lied just well enough to make me fall in love with you. But I know you aren’t. You like crispy fries. You hate it when it gets soggy. You like pineapples on your pizza. You scam. For someone who says he doesn’t have any reason in the past to do things like that, you let it define you.” Jeongguk says. “It shouldn’t. And you know what, I love you, but that isn’t the answer to all of this. No, it’s just a simple ‘I don’t care.’ I don’t care if you’ve done this or that in the past, and I don’t care how long I will wait for you. Your past won’t make me love you any less, and it doesn’t just go for me. Your past doesn’t make your friends love you any less, or your parents, because you’re Taehyung, and you make people fall to their knees. You may not know it, but you brighten up the whole fucking city when you smile.” Jeongguk holds his hand. “Taehyung, if you were a moment, then you would be the happiest ones I would ever have.”

Taehyung cries, head falling on his shoulder, gripping Jeongguk’s jacket, the taunting memories that lingered on his mind like a fine print that won’t get off unless with a shaking shout. It’s a wordless reply, but it’s more than enough. Taehyung apologizes over and over, and it’s as if it was addressed to people who lived in penthouses, to his friends, and to his parents who were snoozing off on the floor above their convenience store. Jeongguk doesn’t leave.

***

Happy endings are for fairytales, Taehyung and Jeongguk are for modern times.

Taehyung ditches his shift at the donut store on a weekend, calling in ‘state of shock’ for a reason. He plops on Jeongguk’s couch, head on his lap, staring pointedly at the ceiling. Jeongguk, mildly concerned, asks, “What happened?”

“Jimin’s boyfriend owned the donut shop I work in, and I only knew about it today.”

“How?”

“Well, he visited, and I thought it was just any other visit. Pick Jimin up, drive, and go to some fancy place. But this time, he did an inspection. Like you know the things manager usually do? It was that, except he’s the fucking owner of the whole thing.”

Jeongguk laughs. “So I guess you’re here as a form of apology from them?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods. “I don’t plan on going back for today. I’m all yours.”

“I’m glad,” Jeongguk says. “Oh and Taehyung? I have a confession to make.”

Taehyung frowns at him, sitting up. “What is it?”

“It was Hoseok,” Jeongguk says slowly. “Choi Jeongguk? Yeah, it was him. I let him use my selcas, and I’m—”

Taehyung laughs, leaving Jeongguk confused. He stays like that for a while, slapping his knee, catching his breath with every interval. “Oh my God, I knew!”

“Wait, what?”

“He messaged me around the time when we were seeing each other already,” Taehyung says. “Sexted me actually.”

“Ha ha, I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s okay, he didn’t know,” Taehyung waves off. “But his reaction, though. It was gold. I screenshotted it, wait—” he takes his phone from his pocket, fingers moving fast to access his camera roll. “It was so funny—”

“I love you,” Jeongguk says, and it rushes out along with his soul. “Wow. God.”      

(Their first kiss was warm and gentle. It tastes like the cheeseburger Taehyung ate from McDonald’s during lunch, and Jeongguk’s mouth smelled too much like leftover pasta. And as the song ‘Same Love’ goes, as introduced by Namjoon: love is patient, love is kind.)

“I love you, too,” Taehyung replies after a while.

Jeongguk blinks, and says, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”

“Well,” Taehyung smiles. “I guarantee you that there won’t even be a last.”