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Seokjin stares at himself in the mirror, fingers dancing across his skin, his face curving down in confusion, as he picks out a stray white thread of hair.
Days like these, he wished he didn’t have to face the constant reality of growing up, aging and then, withering. As BTS grows up and they become worldwide superstars, Seokjin kind of wishes he had the chance to experience this forever.
Immortality would make him happy.
(No, says the voice in his head, it wouldn’t.)
1940, Busan, South Korea - “ for all this, i could blame you, but it was i who fell in love, now it is i, who must suffer the force of that fall”
Seokjin turns around, smile lifting up at the corner of his lips, “Hello Jeongguk-shi.”
The said man is presumably 18 and already the talk of the neighborhood, every family with an eligible daughter plans to marry them off into the Jeon family. What better match would be Jeon Jeongguk, youngest son of the family, intelligent and hard-working, one of the most dedicated men to roam the valley.
The two of them have never really talked, but their families were close and Seokjin knew of the Jeon’s oldest son, one of the boys he had grew up with.
Jeongguk bows, smiling brightly and lingering before his mother urges him forward, Ms. Jeon also bows, voicing nothing but sweet concerns and giving the small gift of an apple into the hands of Seokjin. Seokjin thanks her, brushing his fingers over the slight dust that covers the ruby red fruit.
In this little conversation, Jeongguk does not talk and Seokjin does not spare him all that much attention, he does not, by any means, linger on the tip of Jeongguk’s nose or the wonderful red flesh that reminds him of the apple in his hand, that dots the cheek of the man. He does not, feel a stir in his stomach, or something tempting in the way Jeongguk smiles.
-
Their beginning starts on a Sunday afternoon when Seokjin’s mother sends him with a basket of treats in exchange for the Jeon’s apples, Jeongguk answers the door and smiles, bright and blaring and Seokjin stills.
One of them leans in, and it is in the dark of the night that Seokjin feels the taste of a man’s lips on his, it is supple, soft and they mold together with a feeling in Seokjin’s stomach he cannot decipher.
He should respond with some disgust, but there is nothing, and Seokjin finds himself pressing forward to Jeongguk’s eagerness.
“This is wrong,” he says after leaning back, “We’re men and men… don’t kiss each other.”
Jeongguk’s smile dims, eyes brimming with something shiny. He opens his mouth as if to talk, but he pauses, grabbing the small basket of apples and handing it to Seokjin.
“Well, I want to kiss you.”
-
Spending time with Jeon Jeongguk was something very unconventional, there was something awkward about how their community doesn’t quite accept their friendship, doesn’t quite really like how Seokjin always finds a way to visit the Jeon’s apple field and how Jeongguk always picks the ripest apples for him.
There is a wave of disapproval floating around their heads, but the two of them speak not too much of it. This is something they get to have for themselves, a moment in time where traditions do not exist and the boundaries of love run all the way across the sea.
But Seokjin can understand the disapproval, he is a man 5 years Jeongguk’s senior, not yet married nor does he have any kids. Jeongguk is the freshest of the batch, the most eligible and best choice for this year’s selection of grooms, and Seokjin, with his stance out of cultural traditions, is probably the one, in many people’s eyes, preventing Jeongguk from stepping out and choosing his bride.
Jeongguk places an apple in front of him, sitting down cross-legged in front of Seokjin.
Seokjin takes a bite and Jeongguk leans back onto the grass and closes his eyes.
“I’m getting married to Chaeyoung, eomma likes her.”
There it is. The pure, delicate white flesh gleaming in the sunlight, naked and exposed, lying in Seokjin’s hands. Somehow, the sweet bite of the apple is drained, leaving nothing but an ashy taste and an sticky texture, rolling around in Seokjin’s mouth.
“Oh,” Seokjin says, “Chaeyoung is a nice girl. Treat her well.”
They say nothing more, and that is that.
-
“Not today,” Seokjin says, shaking his head, “Not today.”
Jeongguk looks away from him, “Then when? When? I’m getting married to her soon, we won’t have any moments together.. I- Hyung.. please.”
Seokjin doesn’t dare to look at Jeongguk’s face, but the man’s hands come up to hold Seokjin’s cheeks, leaning in before both of them could get a word in. Seokjin’s body relaxes into the kiss, fingers gently coming and brushing Jeongguk’s hair, and it is in the dark, hidden away from everything else, that they find love.
“You’re growing taller than me, Gukkie-ah.”
A loud crash comes from behind them, and Seokjin turns his head to see Ms. Jeon with her apples all on the floor, ruby red color bruised and brown, her basket tilting out of her hands. Her eyes are blown out in a size that doesn’t suit her, and the anger that settles on her face gives Seokjin a very clear image of what is the rest to come.
-
It is, but the selfishness of family that Ms. Jeon exposes him but not Jeongguk to the world, exposes his status to the grabby hands and salivating mouths of the village, to the people who have not had good gossip for much too long.
The villagers call him names, mothers who used to boast about wanting to have Seokjin as their son-in-law hurriedly drag their kids away when he comes by. The young boys and girls whisper as he passes by, the elders look down on him with distaste. They are all telling a secret that is a secret no more.
From the looks of it, the village chief has already talked to his father, who had come home with his head hung low, refusing to look Seokjin in the eye at all, and his brother avoids his touches, his mother no longer picking out the biggest pieces of meat out of the dish for him.
This is disappointment in its subtlest ways, and Seokjin would rather face the angry mobs of villagers, the people they’ve celebrated every festival with, the people who used to have nothing but good words to say about their family than this. He’d rather face them and let them throw their stones, let them call him a disgrace, a curse, then to see his family shatter their trust for him, bit by bit and piece by piece.
His mother pulls him aside after dinner, when his father goes out to the yard to smoke, and she clutches his hand in hers, wrinkles etched between her eyes.
They do not speak, for she is conveying a message that they can’t afford to say out loud, and he is learning to read it, through her eyes and closed lips, through her cold hands that are grasping for something that isn’t quite there.
“Was it Jeongguk?”
Seokjin looks away, and bites down on his tongue.
“No,” he says, “It’s not Jeongguk.”
Seokjin’s mother looks at him, he can see her from the corner of his eye, and she sighs, loud and clear and disappointed, “You never really did like that Yoojung girl from next door. I guess, that’s why we never really arranged you to someone.”
She lets go of his hand, and suddenly he is yearning for the warmth once more.
In the quiet night, she treads back into her room, and comes back with a piece of blue cloth, she pushes it into Seokjin’s hands, folding his fingers over it, hiding it from the world.
“This is enough for you to get out of here. Take this, take this and go Seokjin, don’t come back.”
She traces a finger over his cheek, and Seokjin has never noticed how old she seems, how pale her hair is getting and how her skin is no longer silky smooth. It is but a fold of layers, trapping all the effort she has put to raise him and his brother. They are all aging, but physically, he never will.
In the quiet night, him and his mother start crying, his brother is in his room ignoring the world and his father is outside smoking away his worries, pretending he couldn’t hear what was coming from inside.
-
The next morning, he is woken up by his brother who shoves a bag into his hands, “Inside is all your stuff, eomma has gotten the delivery boy to give you a ride to the city. She’s got you a job too. You’ll survive well.”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything, fingers numb from leaving it out of the blanket last night. He buttons his shirt and tugs on his pants, stuffing the money in his cloth bag before following his brother. He stops when they pass by their parent’s room, but Seokjung drags him away, forbidding him to say a single word.
The delivery boy is outside, the back of his truck filled with baskets of fruit, yet there is enough space for Seokjin to squeeze in. The boy seems tired, eyes flickering to Seokjin only once before turning on the engine, waiting for Seokjin to hop on.
He hoists himself up, crashing slightly into the nearby baskets, and he turns back, neck whipping around in realization.
“Wait!” he calls out, “I haven’t said goodbye yet!”
Seokjung moves away from him and shakes his head, “Go, just go, don’t come back here. I’ll say goodbye for you.”
The truck jolts in movement, and Seokjin sees two shadows appearing behind Seokjung, holding each other tightly as if they were afraid they’d break so easily. His brother stands there like a tree rooted in it’s soil, never wavering, strong as the wind continues to blow it apart.
All he has ever known disappears from sight and Seokjin looks away, sneaks an apple out of one of its basket and takes a bite, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The sweet juice floods his tastebuds. It is a bitter goodbye tainted with the crunch of an apple he could not afford. The color is not red, but a pale yellow and green. Sour apples were good for forgetting things, and Seokjin supposes that’s the only thing he’ll need right now.
1950, Busan, South Korea - “ i realize with every step of the way, i cannot age in the way you can”
Seokjin does like the life out here in more high-tech Busan, he doesn’t like how the city folk talk and how it’s so easy to distinguish between them and him, the city folk walk with some sort of pristine air, in their nice, shiny shoes that would cost Seokjin his entire life savings.
He doesn’t like how the city folk women shimmy up to him, like he’s an escort, but he learns to like it, when they giggle at him and shove him so much money that he’ll never have to work again, he learns to like it because this is how’s going to live in the modern day where everything is moving without him.
It is only an offhanded comment, from this lady who’s been asking for his company for more than 2 years, that makes him realize things.
She grabs on his hand, and murmurs, “How old are you supposed to be?”
“33, miss.”
The women’s eyes widen, “You don’t look anywhere near 30, you look 20… You look the exact same when I had met you...”
Seokjin’s blood runs cold, but he doesn’t know why.
1960, Busan, South Korea - “i think about you sometimes, i think about your life and i wonder if you’re happy, because i’m not, not really”
Seokjin is supposed to be 43, but he does not look a year above 20, he does not have growing white hair nor are there any wrinkles to dignify his age with a label.
He is not aging, and something in this makes Seokjin want to puke.
-
Seokjin is not sure why he’s visiting, knowing that his mother and father have already died, his brother has died because of a tumor they were too poor to afford, so he’s not sure why he’s visiting when he knows there will be no one there left for him.
He ponders if he should wear a mask in fear that someone will recognize, but none of the children, the adults and elders passing him are from his generation, no one in the village has ever lived past 70. Some are taken away into heaven or hell, much earlier. Seokjin shoves his hands into his pockets, as the villagers pay him no mind.
His mindless strolling ends up in him wandering into the Jeon’s household, the door left ajar and the inside seems empty so Seokjin steps in, and when he does, he wants to cry.
There, on the bed, lies Jeongguk, old and frail and fragile but still Jeon Jeongguk, in all his glory, breathing and coughing.
Seokjin doesn’t move but Jeongguk turns at the sound of his footsteps.
His eyes widen, and Seokjin looks away.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, voice barely above a whisper, croaking out in breaths like they’re his last, “Hyung.”
Seokjin shuffles closer, grasping Jeongguk’s hands tightly. He can feel the years of pain in it, calloused and rough against Seokjin’s own skin.
“I’m here, Guk-ah, I’m here.”
Jeongguk closes his eyes, smiling, skin so pale that it molds so nicely with his white hair, “You have come and visited me. Is this heaven?”
It’s silent, because Seokjin has no response, he only feels hot tears dripping down his cheeks, onto his entwined hand with Jeongguk, turning the cold skin just a tad bit warmer, for a second in time.
The man opens his eyes, brazen and lit and so alike to when Seokjin first met him, except there’s something more confident stirring in it, something sad and happy all at once. Jeongguk squeezes Seokjin’s hands tighter, thumb brushing over his fingers, “Don’t cry for me hyung, don’t cry.”
Jeongguk is not as handsome as he was when he was young, but his lips still draw into a stubborn line, eyes still twinkle with amusement and his smile is still dipped with mellow warmth, yet there’s something bitter laced at the edges, just a tad bit. You can find all that, if you searched hard enough, through the wisp of white hair that covers Jeongguk’s eyes, the layers of wrinkles that pour like a waterfall down his face, and the crooked posture of his tired body.
Now, Jeongguk has white hair that flows down to his shoulders, tied back with a single ribbon, and hands that once felt rough and calloused are nothing more but layers of wrinkles stacked upon each other. His face, what has once been youthful now be shielded by the fall of his skin, the growing lines across his face and the tired look in his eyes.
To Seokjin, Jeongguk is beautiful.
Jeongguk closes his eyes again, “You’re still so beautiful, just like when I first met you. I had throught you to be the one of the most beautiful people in the world. Eomma had thought I was crazy.”
His vision blurs with tears, and he grabs onto Jeongguk tighter, shaking his head furiously, “Guk-ah, guk-ah, don’t go, don’t go.”
“It’s old age hyung, nothing to do about that. It’s okay, heaven will be beautiful as long as you’re there. I’ll see you soon.”
Jeongguk smiles, fingers losing grip on Seokjin’s hand and Seokjin sobs, ugly and wretched and loud, Jeongguk’s hand pulls itself out Seokjin’s grasp and it falls, limply against the bed.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, and then he is gone.
-
To Seokjin, Jeongguk was beautiful.
-
He sneaks out before Chaeyoung comes back, and he watches from the side as she enters the house, followed soon after by a loud crash and an heartbreaking wail. Seokjin leans on the apple tree and plucks out one of the fruit, biting into it. It was not yet ripe, not at all sweet but Seokjin doesn’t need the sugar right now.
The color is a pale yellow and green.
1970, Paris, France - “i used to love sweets, but now, they taste like mush that makes my heart sore”
He moves to Paris, no knowledge of french or the culture there, only there because the same woman who had asked about his age sought him out again after those years and told him that she could take him to Paris when he absentmindedly blurted out that he didn’t want to be in South Korea anymore.
She gives him an address and connections, if he ever needed work and then she disappears off into the crowd. Seokjin supposes, he might’ve never survived without Seulgi’s deep pockets and kindness in the city, so he owes her, quite a lot for that. But when he brings it up, Seulgi only smiles, “You were there when my betrothed was not. You do not owe me anything, but for keeping this secret.”
-
Seokjin looks down at the letters on the paper, the words smudged, but he’s learned a bit from Seulgi’s friend, Wendy, who was fluent in french, had taught him out of fun, and he remembered all of it, just in case. It’s something about a pastry shop, and when he’s sure he’s got the right location, he pushes open the door, greeted with a man in a dark suit, hair brushed back, standing behind the counter.
When Seokjin looks, the man smiles, a dimple coming up to form on his cheeks.
-
Jimin had enough money and his life in Korea wasn’t satisfying enough so he had left it in search of something new, something better. Jimin’s love for cooking had produced a little pastry shop. He hired some people, and Seulgi had told Seokjin that Jimin needed extra workers.
Seokjin’s given an apron, pushed away into the kitchen to be taught by a man named Jaehwan, and there, in this little pastry shop, he makes friends.
It is one late night when he’s up decorating a cake that Jimin comes in, hesitant and uneasy, before confessing to Seokjin about how… in love he was. With Seokjin. It was weird, and Seokjin didn’t quite have a response. But Jimin’s staring at him, and asking if he could kiss him and Seokjin finds himself nodding, even though there was a searing pain at the back of his neck, and at the bottom of his heart.
-
Jimin’s lips tastes like cherries.
-
It hasn’t been a few years since he met Jimin, hasn’t been a whole year since Jimin had confessed, so they were moving fast and Seokjin was happy but then he remembers he can’t stay. Immortality is constant.
Seokjin wasn’t going to leave, but he had planned to, telling Jimin that he needed to head back to Korea, knowing Jimin won’t want to head back with him. He knows Jimin’s in the kitchen, and he gently pushes the door open, before he hears Jaehwan’s loud voice, “Just propose to him already Jimin! Don’t you love him?”
Seokjin’s heart stops.
“Yeah.. Yeah. Do you think he’d accept?”
“Of course… he loves you, I mean- maybe he doesn’t say it but it shows on his face. Just do it Jimin, I know you can.”
“Alright Jaehwan… I’ll… I’m planning it for next week.”
“There we go!”
With the door slightly ajar, Seokjin peeks in to see the warm smile resting on Jimin’s face, sees the content in which the man was doused, sees the love. Jaehwan’s eyes flicker to him and his smile is uneasy. Seokjin closes the door and looks away. He’ll have to leave earlier than expected.
-
Seokjin rolls away from the warmth of Jimin’s embrace, he gets up from the bed and drags out his already packed luggage from the closet, tugs on his clothes and goes downstairs to the pastry shop. He leaves a letter to Jimin, and without looking back, he heads out of the shop. Jaehwan is waiting for him with his car parked to one side, and Jaehwan only shakes his head at him, offering no other comment. He places Seokjin’s luggage onto the car and Seokjin opens the car door. The engine roars, and the car is a few meters away from the shop when Seokjin, looks down at the rear-view mirror and he sees Jimin running out, bare foot against the cold cement, something Seokjin would rather not look into so evident on his face.
1990, Daegu, South Korea - “and this is how, i break you and i am sorry, that this is how it ends”
Here he is again, escaping and running away from something who will always catch up to him.
The farm side holds so much more warmth than Seokjin could’ve ever thought, wrapped tightly in it’s curving valleys and rusty white fences. Seokjin had found a small house for rent in the newspaper, the perfect size for him. He had grabbed it on a whim, thought the location was nice enough, far enough.
The morning after he moves in, still lying on his un-assembled mattress under a knitted blanket, his doorbell rings. Seokjin stumbles through his unpacked bags and garbage that littered the floor, hands still rubbing his eyes as he opens the door. A young man stands in front of him, no older than 18, at the most. He’s dressed in a pair of dirty overalls, cheeks covered in soot and a warm smile, brown hair peeking out from under a straw hat. The man was beautiful, shining under the morning light with an aura Seokjin wants to deem innocent.
“Hi,” The man says, “My name’s Taehyung! I’m your neighbor! The one that lives in the yellow house over there, I live with my grandma, we have a strawberry farm.” The man, Taehyung, brings one hand to cup under the basket, and points excitedly to the left. He looks back, and his smile grows bigger. “Here, have some of our strawberries, they’re really, really good!”
Seokjin blinks at the overly-enthusiastic smile and back down at the basket of strawberries that were just shoved into his hands. Seokjin smiles, trying not to let his tiredness show, “Thank you for the strawberries, Taehyung.”
He rushes back in the house as fast as he can, the door following his trail. Except a hand comes out and stops it, the door merely inches from shutting close. Seokjin looks up, and Taehyung is peering at him through the little gap of the door, pushing it out wider, smile still plastered on his face.
“You never told me your name.”
Then Taehyung grins again, tooth and all, hands tucked in the pockets of his overalls, foot hesitantly sliding from one side to the other in a long, dragged out line. He was nervous, and Seokjin watches him carefully before smiling slightly, head tilting to the side, “It’s Jin.”
Seokjin slips back into the door, shutting it tight, lets it fall back in place.
-
Taehyung blows out a raspberry from between his lips, frustration brimming on the surface of his face. He lets his body flop on the couch, voice drawing out in a long whine, “We have too many strawberries. They’ll rot! It’ll be such a waste.”
Seokjin laughs at the pout on Taehyung’s face, looking through the balcony window to see the piles and piles of baskets holding pounds of strawberries, all fresh and ripe from picking. Summer had brought them a harvest, a field of red dotting the land for acres and acres. All of it would be perfect for a cake. Seokjin wonders if he still knows the recipe by heart, wonders if all those years avoiding the oven has still left him with some sort of baking skill. He rolls up his sleeves, takes one last look at the strawberries before turning back to Taehyung, “Come on Tae, let me teach you how to bake.”
He pushes the image of Jimin back into his head.
-
The ingredients for a strawberry cake was simple enough, some milk and heavy cream, flour and sugar with just a tiny bit of yeast sifting into the cake, they didn’t need much to have it taste good. Seokjin knows it was a classic that all the Parisians and tourists that wandered through his little shop loved.
Flour covers the tabletops and counters, strawberry stems and juices mesh up with everything else. They created quite a mess, but it’s worth it when Seokjin sees Taehyung waiting, sitting on the balls of his feet, staring happily into the fire pit, waiting patiently for the dough to rise. Seokjin centres in on Taehyung, flour dusting the tip of his nose and strawberry remnants decorating his fingers, and Seokjin takes a deep breath, fingers twitching at the itch on his back.
***
“You know, I love cake.” Jimin says, finger poking out to swipe at the frosting of the cake Seokjin was decorating, before Seokjin swats his fingers away, dusting the treat with icing sugar.
“Me too.” Seokjin smiles, putting down the sifter and pulling out his neatly cut strawberries, aligning them onto the icing with his tweezer, slowly and gently. The pieces stand out against the soft white of the cake, red ombre centres sinking into the soft pillowy cake. Seokjin tilts his head, letting his hair fall to one side, before he grabs his knife and smoothes some of the edges over. He stands back, and a satisfactory smile dots his lips.
“ Strawberry cake though… It’s one of my favorites.” Seokjin says, “I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it.”
“And I’ll never grow tired of you.” Jimin’s hands wanders up to rest on Seokjin’s waist, chin molding into the groove of his shoulder, and they stand like that, just for a bit. There’s something aching in the bottom of Seokjin’s stomach, his heart feeling like it’s been dropped down stairwells. His fingers twitches, slightly, a millisecond of a pause before he leans back into Jimin. It’s a long pause that was too short to be measured, but it was a hesitation nonetheless.
Jimin’s hands linger, dancing on his waist, spelling out words Seokjin will never have the courage to reciprocate. For that, Seokjin offers no response, and the lights in his shop flickers.
-
With Taehyung, everything is simple. Nothing is ever complex because for all his life, Taehyung has lived a mundane, and ordinary life. In another universe, Seokjin thinks, Taehyung would be a musician. Taehyung has the voice, the deep, vibrating baritone, and he definitely has the visuals, with his cheekbones and upwards nose. But then again, maybe it’s his love for the saxophone, the instrument hidden away in the cupboards, brought out only when he needs to blow off steam, that convinces Seokjin that Taehyung was truly meant to be a musician.
So in this life, Seokjin has lived everything simple and structured. Taehyung has brought him simplicity and amusement, love in the form of strawberries and dirt-stained hands. Taehyung has given him the opportunity to experience the most innocent, and most pure of love, and Seokjin wants to thank him, wants to hold him close, say a thousand sorry’s, and thank him. Because at the end of the day, Seokjin remembers that he’s going to have to leave.
-
After cleaning up the kitchen, Seokjin places a strawberry in his mouth, and lets a sleepy Taehyung drape over him on the couch.
The man presses a kiss to Seokjin’s shoulder, dragging it all the way to his neck, and Seokjin winces, exhaling a shuddering breath as Taehyung murmurs against his skin, the vibrations of his throaty lull leaving a dent in his heart. Taehyung draws out sloppy circles on Seokjin’s arms, and Seokjin feels him smile in content when Seokjin leans into him, as if on instinct.
“We could be like this forever,” Taehyung says, quietly, “You always say that it’s too early, that I’m too young but...” Taehyung’s lips drag out against Seokjin’s skin, moving back until his head is resting against Seokjin’s.
“I have enough, the strawberry fields makes enough money to support us, we can get a dog, we can - we can keep baking together until we get sick of those cakes. I don’t have a diamond ring but if you want one, I’ll get one.. I could.” Seokjin ducks his head down, staring at the picture frame that holds a picture of Taehyung and his Grandma.
“Okay,” Seokjin says, tongue plucking out the strawberry stem in his mouth, “Okay.”
Taehyung’s lips curve up before shutting close his eyes, and Seokjin looks away, this heartbreak is for another day.
-
It’s time for him to go.
-
Seokjin cancels his rent on the house, he packs up his stuff and calls for a taxi to the city tomorrow morning. Everything’s well and ready and then Seokjin takes a look out the window, eyes catching a figure on the porch of Taehyung’s house. It’s Taehyung’s grandma, and she’s watching him silently with a book in her hand, chair tipping back and forth. He opens his front door, and she waves, barely visible in the dark, but he can make out the shadows from the porch light. Seokjin waves back, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He turns around to head back, the chilly wind hitting him right in the bones.
Seokjin looks over his shoulder, and she’s still watching him. He utters a quiet sorry and closes the door behind him.
2000, Los Angeles, United States - “you move with passion, i move with a broken heart and guilt”
Seokjin’s roommate in Los Angeles is an aspiring dancer and he’s beautiful. The sunshine hits down on the man at the perfect angle, and Seokjin decides here and then that this man is too much like Taehyung, too much like innocence untainted, and Seokjin moves back, but the man is not discouraged, the man laughs and smiles and ushers Seokjin in like an old friend.
There’s something peculiar about this man, all smiles and hugs, there’s something unsettling about the way Hoseok is so bright and shiny and Seokjin wouldn’t be surprised if the man had something dark stirring in him.
-
With Hoseok, he goes to parties and he gets to get drunk and dance, but the best of all, he gets to see Hoseok dance. When Hoseok dances, it’s this fluid movement that pops and locks, it’s this combination of precision and sharpness, but at the same time, Hoseok moves like a river, smooth and undisturbed.
The only part, he supposes, that he doesn’t like about parties, is the fact that he’s always seeing Hoseok with some random, pretty girl. He’ll see them making out against the walls of the room, he’ll see them giggling and he’ll try not to gag. Then he sees Hoseok escorting the girl upstairs, presumably to one of the bedrooms and that is when, Seokjin asks for more drinks.
This is how Seokjin falls in love and he wonders, how many drinks he can have to numb his heart.
-
"You're kind of weird, hyung," Hoseok says, "Did you know that?"
Hoseok doesn't sound condescending so Seokjin only laughs in response, "Yeah? How so?"
Hoseok looks away, bringing his lips to his cup of coffee, "You look like someone who's a stayer."
Seokjin smiles, "A stayer? What would someone that's a 'stayer' look like?"
There's a long pause, and Seokjin bites out of his cookie.
The younger puts down his coffee cup, and looks back at Seokjin, eyes serious, "Someone who likes holding onto things, someone who has difficulties letting go. Someone who falls in love and gets attached to things easily. That's a stayer."
"But," Hoseok continues, "You run away too much to be an actual person who's committed to staying."
-
Hoseok is the heartbreak that hurts more than it should, because Hoseok is straight, he’s straight and perfect and everything Seokjin has always wanted. But atleast, now, he doesn’t have to worry about breaking his heart, because Hoseok can never really love him, not like that.
Yet, there’s something weird about this. In this, Hoseok runs and Seokjin chases even though it’s a run that’ll leave him tired and drained, and he’ll never reach the finish line. Seokjin supposes this is what the fates have decided for him, and he’s okay, not really, but he will be. Hoseok is the perfect roommate, the most beautiful dancer, and Seokjin wants to cry.
But on another hand, now Seokjin can leave without the guilt of breaking someone’s heart, he can leave without the regret and remorse solely because of the fact, he cannot stay and he will not stay.
He is a constant in the stilled motions of life.
-
Seokjin moves to the East side of LA, and he’s doing his shopping, grocery bags in hand when he spots him.
They lock eyes, Hoseok’s hand is entwined with a girl, pretty and petite and everything Seokjin knows Hoseok likes. Hoseok smiles, but there’s something hesitant, dark, in his eyes and Seokjin finds it in himself to muster a smile back.
But Hoseok looks away before he can see Seokjin’s smile, and Seokjin supposes this is just how they are.
2010, New York, United States - “ i am a constant burden, moving along to the songs of the decades, do not try and tie me down”
Seokjin liked New York, he might stay here forever if it weren’t for the fact that this city was too busy, too rushed. Everything moves too fast, with or without you, and although this pace was something Seokjin really should take a liking too, he can’t help but drift his thoughts off to the countryside, to his home in South Korea, to all the memories he has left behind. Part of him wants to go back to Daegu, to Busan, but the faces he’ll see will no longer be the people he remembers.
When he had first stepped off the plane, clutching his fake passport with his fake birth date, New York did not welcome him with open arms, in the crowds of people holding signs of people they’re supposed to pick up, none of them were for him, but that was to be a given. In these years of discovering his immortality, he had distanced himself from friends and families, disappearing from everyone so not to be found out. Seokjin could only watch them grow up and away.
Now, Seokjin can call himself a runaway, someone who is unable to stay in one place, but he never made this choice himself, it was just a miracle, one he didn’t want.
-
Seokjin’s english isn’t the greatest, but it gets him places, be it a simple order of a coffee or a destination for the taxi driver. For that, he guess he owes Jimin for all the late nights they spent, Seokjin trying to learn english in the capital of France.
He owes Jimin a lot of things.
-
Seokjin had always thought New York to be interesting, with brand-name celebrities roaming down the streets of Manhattan, all glorious and luxurious as the media depicted to be. But there are places that roam the homeless, dark alleyways and graffiti covered abandoned houses, that Seokjin decides, this is it, he’s found the imperfection in the city every foreigner has admired as chic and cool.
Sometimes he feels a bit uneasy, like if his clothes were too old-fashioned, that people were going to see right through his never aging life. But he’s long adjusted to the ever growing fashion trends in the places he goes. Seokjin feels happy, just a bit, that he’s not the only one wearing ripped jeans on the streets, it comforts him, just a bit.
-
He’s just sitting on the bench in the Central Park, finding amusement in two kids trying to beat the other at a game of tag when there’s a cough coming from the direction in front of him. Seokjin turns his head and finds a young man, jet-black hair gleaming under the sunlight, fiddling with a camera in his hand.
“I.. Hi, I’m Suga, and… Can I take your picture?”
Seokjin blinks at the speed of english emptying out of the man’s mouth, a surprised, “What?” slipping out of his lips.
This man, Suga, blinks in surprise before his shoulders sag in relief, “Oh, you speak korean?”
Seokjin nods, surprised to have found someone he can finally communicate thoroughly with, so fast.
“I’m Suga, I.. I take pictures,” He holds up his camera sheepishly, “And.. I was wondering if I could take yours?”
He blanches, eyes darting down to the camera Suga is holding up, because blatant rejection was never something he was good at, neither does that go for confrontation either. Seokjin does the thing he knows best, and he changes the topic.
“Your legal name.. Is Suga?”
Suga eyes widen in surprise again, before the ghost of a smile dances across his lips, he lowers the camera and shakes his head, “No. Not at all, everyone here pronounces my name really weirdly so I just gave them something easier, it was hilarious hearing them slander my name like that but it gets tiring after a while. I’m.. uh, I’m Yoongi.”
Seokjin nods, smiling lightly, “Ah, I see. Nice to meet you.”
Yoongi smiles back, and Seokjin is slightly stunned, how soft the man now looks compared to his previous image, “And.. You are?”
“Oh. Call me Jin.”
“Jin… Okay,” Yoongi says, flickering to Seokjin’s ripped jeans, “Can I take your picture?”
There’s a pause, and Seokjin shakes his head, looking away as the flash of disappointment flutters onto Yoongi’s face, “No.. I.. Sorry. I don’t like pictures being taken of me.”
“Oh,” Yoongi says, mouth forming a frown, “That’s alright.. Can I sit beside you then?”
Seokjin should’ve said no.
-
Yoongi respects Seokjin in his choice to not get his picture taken, but he is persistent, bringing the topic up every few meetups they have, and Seokjin always replies with a steady, firm, “no”. Yoongi doesn’t ask why, doesn’t push, and Seokjin is thankful.
Seokjin knows he didn’t come to New York to get attached, but he has. He’s selfish, so selfish that he can’t bring himself to leave, because if he doesn’t leave now, he’ll leave later and the end result is just more pain. So it’s like this, everyday waking up, so close to packing his bags and booking the closest ticket to get out of here, until the doorbell rings and his visitor pops in, just Min Yoongi himself, the familiar camera draped around his neck, an invitation on his lips.
It’s been a few months, and Seokjin has gotten a simple job at a small coffee shop just minutes from his rented little apartment, there, he earns some pocket money to support him and Yoongi’s adventures in New York. It’s been a few months, and Seokjin finds out a few things about Yoongi.
Yoongi was born in Daegu, although Seokjin suspected as much, his satoori emerges sometimes, under the layers of common Seoul dialect. Seokjin tries not to be reminded about someone else, who’s voice is also thick with satoori, hands carrying baskets of strawberries, smile never diminishing, brighter than the valley light itself. Yoongi is not Taehyung, but they are both Daegu through and through, that should be where the similarities end, but it doesn’t, and it pains Seokjin sometimes, to be reminded of someone in a person so different, so much colder and precise. Yoongi should not remind Seokjin about Taehyung at all, but he does, and Seokjin’s always doused in a cold bucket of water, flowing with the memories of what happened in Daegu when Yoongi talks, satoori slipping through the cracks.
It’s a few meetups in, hangouts that turn into dates, that Seokjin discovers Yoongi is a professional photographer, famous for his portraits of people, the shots a stilled frame that hold the same perspective, left side profile, face slightly turned in, eyes always looking down. But then Seokjin stumbles across one of his other collections, everything is the same except people look at the camera with a fire Seokjin can’t quite pin down.
They are all beautiful, the subjects and the portraits, and Seokjin falls in love, just a little bit more.
-
Yoongi is a romantic and Seokjin is not surprised, at all, that he is. Yoongi is a package of flowers on any given day, food outings and surprise dates. Yoongi is not bad at all and something in Seokjin wants to stay, hold onto this person he could call his.
The only thing, Seokjin supposes, is that Yoongi was too predictable. He didn’t seem like it, but he was, through and through, and when Seokjin notices his hands fiddling with something in his pants pockets on one of their late-night dates, Seokjin smiles.
“Yoongi. I’m letting you take my picture.”
The reaction would’ve been funny if Seokjin didn’t know how the rest of this night would’ve played out, Yoongi sits there stunned and his hand grabs his camera so fast, in a speed that leaves Seokjin blinking to re-adjust.
Yoongi takes endless pictures of him, all from different angles and it goes all the way into the night even when Seokjin is near asleep, Yoongi is propped up somewhere taking picture after picture. Seokjin smiles for him, but the smile is small, preparing for the worst to come.
They end up in the park, lying down on the grass, and Seokjin hears Yoongi shuffling next to him, so he closes his eyes and braces for everything.
Yoongi hands him the ring, “Will you marry me?”
Seokjin smiles, hand coming to wipe at his eyes. The ring is pretty, and perfect. It is everything Seokjin has dreamt of, it’s simple but it’s so beautiful. If he accepts, he can get an Manhattan condo with Yoongi, he can get that dog he always wanted and they can live life happy.
There’s no hesitation in his words, and Seokjin sits up, looks up into the sky and whispers, “Sorry Yoongi.”
He grabs his bags and he leaves, and Seokjin doesn’t, once, look back at the shadow of Yoongi, heartbreaking framing his face.
-
Seokjin buys a photography magazine, flipping through the pages absentmindedly, and he stops when he sees Yoongi’s face. The title is, simply, “Min Yoongi: A Shift In Genre” and Seokjin looks down, to all the pictures of his works, none of them portraits, none of them Seokjin’s face, all of them scenery and mountains and skies.
Seokjin rips out the page and throws the rest of the magazine in the trash.
If Seokjin read into the details, was able to comprehend the english in font size 12, he would’ve seen the interview, and Yoongi’s answer.
(“So why do you no longer take portraits anymore Mr. Min?”
“Portraits are of people, and what I want is to be able to capture the emotion, capture what they’re thinking. I thought… After all these years, that was something I could do. But I was proved wrong.”
“Will you still take portraits?”
“I took enough for me to look at until the day I die. They are enough.”
“Will those be released?”
“No… For you’d have your heart broken too.”)
-
Seokjin closes his eyes.
“I just want to live a normal life.”
2016, Seoul, South Korea - “we are all together and i suppose nothing has ever felt this right”
Seokjin sometimes feel like he lives in another parallel universe, because sometimes he has dreams of himself in another universe, but they are just that, he thinks, they are just dreams, nothing more and nothing less.
Where else could he belong except here? Where else could he belong other than in Jeongguk’s embrace, in Yoongi and his shared room, in Taehyung’s cuddles or in his EatJin’s with Jimin? Where else could he belong other than in Bangtan, where the 7 of them are a second family, and Seokjin can come home to them knowing that all is well.
But there’s a feeling stirring in his stomach, something about that these people, that is different. Somewhere, he feels like he’s known them way before his time, known them way before the start of BTS.
Hoseok pokes his shoulder, “You alright hyung?”
Seokjin shakes his head, and smiles, “Yeah, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“How perfect we are altogether.”