Archive of Our Own

Light leaks in through the reeled-up window, muted brightness near undetectable if not for the comparably darker night. It comes in flashes, its luminosity fading as fast as it appears. Sometimes, it burns orange, or pink, or yellow. Sometimes, it glows a warm blue.

Jeongguk shifts in his seat, and the lights shift with him.

The rest of the sky is pitch black, darkness running endlessly ahead of them. It only serves to enhance the neon signs hanging by the side of isolated shops along the road.

They pass another diner, one where the sign is half broken. It reads as Old Guk.

Jeongguk frowns. Squints at it, trying to make out the original name of the diner, the part where the light has gone out and is replaced with a dull grey. But the minivan drives past the diner before he can blink away the sleepiness from his eyes.

Inside the minivan, the faint lights illuminate a few faces. Jeongguk sees Mai take another sip of her coffee, her fourth cup of the day by now, if Jeongguk remembers correctly. Beside her, Ruien has completely passed out. Her snores are soft, almost inaudible. The radio has stopped playing, and in its place is a soothing song—almost akin to a lullaby—shuffled on from Mai’s playlist.

The tune is interrupted by a quiet groan. When Jeongguk cranks his neck to his left, he spots Diego, head tossed back and mouth slightly agape as he sleeps. Occasionally, he’ll close his mouth, make some intelligible munching sounds, then open his mouth again.

The light changes, pinker in hue. The minivan drives past yet another diner, this one looking like it’s pulled straight out of the sixties. Jeongguk thinks that someday, if they ever come back here, he’d like to stop by this place and soak in the ambiance. Write a song about the new place while he’s at it. Give it a tacky old name.

Outside, the shops are becoming fewer, placed farther apart from each other. Light is rare, and Jeongguk catches the last bit of neon before they head into a long winding road with only street lights.

Beside him, someone shifts. The looming yellow lights peek in from the outside, casting their warm faded rays on the person sitting beside Jeongguk. Taehyung is sleeping, head tilted to gently rest on Jeongguk’s shoulders. When the lights illuminate his features, he scrunches his nose slightly, before easing back into a peaceful expression. Then, he shuffles closer, heat radiating from his side—the side pressed right against Jeongguk’s, shoulder to shoulder.

Jeongguk blinks, eyes droopy. Welcomes the additional warmth. It reminds him of his grandmother’s quilt blanket and the tingling heat of the sun. The soft sand. The beach.

Mai drinks more of her coffee.

As they drive further into darkness, leaving the shops with their bright neon signs behind, the song changes again to yet another slow one. Jeongguk falls back to sleep.

The next time Jeongguk wakes up, he’s greeted by brighter lights, courtesy of the rising sun. Mai and Diego have switched places, with Mai catching up on her sleep and Diego taking over the wheel for the rest of their journey. Ruien is up, head bent and scrolling through her phone.

The weight resting on Jeongguk’s shoulders remains, and a quick glance to his left tells him that Taehyung is still fast asleep. He seems even closer to Jeongguk than he was previously, if that is even possible. As time passes, Jeongguk’s shoulder grows numb, but it’s not until they’ve stopped at a local diner for breakfast that he wakes Taehyung up.

“Hey sleepyhead, time for food.”

Taehyung groans in response, nuzzling closer to Jeongguk.

“You two can just stay inside. We’ll buy breakfast back,” Ruien offers. “You can keep an eye on Mai too.”

She leaves no room for arguments as Diego and her leave the minivan, not that there’s any to make. So Jeongguk just nods, feeling the heaviness of the weight on his shoulder. Feels light anyways.

The minivan grows quieter, the sound system completely switched off. All that’s left is the warm heat radiating from the sunlight as it sneaks in through the window, casting a gentle glow on the interiors of the car. There's a faint buzz coming from the air conditioning, accompanied by the sounds of shallow breathing. In the morning sunlight, Taehyung’s skin is a pretty shade of golden, his long eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly while he sleeps. If Jeongguk leans in close enough, he thinks he might just be able to count the tiny freckles dusting Taehyung’s cheeks.

The sunlight dances across Taehyung’s features, similar to the neon lights but significantly brighter. Jeongguk traces his gaze down to an adorable pout—a habit of Taehyung’s when he’s fast asleep. His eyes linger on the full and plush lips, pretty and pink.

The light changes as the sun rise fully into the sky, and suddenly, everything is infinitely brighter. And Taehyung—

He dazzles like the ocean waves caught under sunlight, capturing the galaxy’s attention with each push and pull of the tides. Glitters, softly, diamonds rippling under the surface of the water.

And it’s like Jeongguk is caught in a trance, and all he can do is continue staring at the stunning features of his best friend.

He’s broken out of his reverie when the door opens, and Diego slides back into his seat. Ruien joins them a moment later with more bags of food, and instantly, the delicious smell of breakfast fills up the confined air. It wakes Taehyung and Mai up.

In the very last moment, Jeongguk tears his gaze away, and digs into his ham and cheese sandwich instead. They continue to drive on.

Jeongguk’s life is divided into two parts: before the band, and now.

In the months prior to the band, his entire life consisted of high school, feet grounded in soft sand, all the way back home in this quiet town in South California. There was a straight path drawn out for him, like any other kid going to their school, like any other kid scoring the same grades as he was. But now, right now, his entire life—and the future mapped out in it—is staying on the road, driving past neon lights, and eating cheap ham and cheese sandwiches.

And while his life, and almost all the minute details of it, has taken a three-sixty, Taehyung has been the only constant in it.

Georgia isn’t all that different from California. As with all cities modernized by technology in America, the once vast differences between each state shaped by nature have now merged into a congregation of bustling metropolitan areas. 

Yet, with each new city, something different always presents itself. Like a different accent, a slightly different cuisine, or just a different atmosphere.

They stop outside a small motel located in Atlanta, a shabby-looking place that most people will overlook after a quick glance. Diego goes to park the minivan in the car park, while the rest of them head into the motel to check into the rooms.

It’s only midday, but after many hours of driving up from Louisiana, coupled with the less than pleasant makeshift bed and rather bumpy ride, Jeongguk feels like he’s mere minutes away from passing out. They split rooms fast, with Taehyung and Jeongguk in one room, Mai and Ruien in the second, and Diego getting one all to himself. Within a few weeks of traveling from place to place, sleeping in small inns and old motels, they’ve long figured out each other’s sleeping habits and have decided to stick to this rooming arrangement.

(Initially, Diego had offered to room doubles with either him or Taehyung. The motel rooms are not big enough to fit three in a room, and single rooming is always more spacious and private than twin rooming. But they never took up the offer, and an unspoken agreement was formed.)

The air is humid, a sticky sort of feeling lingering in the atmosphere. When Jeongguk unlocks the room, the poor ventilation inside hits him like a whiplash. He coughs, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose while the other goes to push the door wide open. Taehyung comes up behind him, tugging their luggage along, as they enter the room together.

The room is just like any motel room they’ve been to. Same old yellow curtains, same paint flaking off the off-white walls, same dusty carpeted floors. There’s a loud hum as the air-conditioning begins operating, filling the once stifling air with a bout of freshness.

Taehyung makes a face, and shrugs, before toeing off his sneakers and diving face-first onto the bed. He wiggles to one side of the queen-sized bed placed—a generous upgrade from the super single they used to share in their previous rooms—leaving ample space for Jeongguk to join him on it.

“Set the alarm,” Taehyung says, voice muffled by the bedsheets. There’s more shuffling as he finds a comfortable position to doze off to sleep.

Jeongguk huffs, making a small noise of protest. Sets the alarm on his phone anyway. Five-minute intervals between ten separate alarms, just in case.

When he sets down his phone on the bedside table, he hears a muffled “Thanks”. Then he flops down onto the bed, joining Taehyung as they both drift off to sleep once again.

They sleep through all ten alarms, and only wake up to the frantic knocking on their door.

Jeongguk peeks one eye open as he hears the muted yelling of what seems to be Mai’s voice. Beside him, Taehyung is still fast asleep. Usually, Jeongguk is a light sleeper, waking up easily when his sleep is disturbed by noisy sounds. But the recent weeks have been hectic, running from one location to the next with barely any break in between. It’s a good thing, getting more gigs and more opportunities. It also means earning more money. But the downside to it all is the sheer amount of exhaustion weighing on him after days of barely enough rest and the poor sleep quality.

He checks his phone for the time, and nearly drops his phone when he sees that they’re left with only three hours before the start of their next performance.

Hurriedly, he shakes Taehyung awake, and the both of them get out of bed to change out into their performance outfits as fast as they can.

Mai glares at them when they open the door with a rush of apologies falling from their lips. But it must have been the dark eye circles under their eyes that she gives up on the scolding and settles for a “Hurry, let’s go.”

They are lucky that this time round, their motel is a quick twenty minutes drive to the music venue where their gig is held. Terminal West is quiet in the late afternoon, and the group hurry inside to set up for their performance later. The technical crew is already inside, adjusting the lights and preparing the sound system.

Over the next hour or so, they rehearse their songs, testing the microphones and making sure the sound works just fine. Afterwards, they take a break to get ready for their performance, all five of them squeezed into the rather tiny changing room behind the stage.

Taehyung bumps his shoulders with Jeongguk’s, passing him a bottle of water as he settles down beside him.

“Are you nervous?”

Jeongguk shrugs. Twists open the cap of the bottle to take a large gulp of water. Closes the bottle again and rolls it between his palms. Taehyung watches him carefully through it all.

“When am I never?”

It makes Taehyung chuckle, as he leans back further in the seat, sinking into the couch. Head tossed back, he stares at the ceiling.

“Did you hear? We almost sold out Terminal West.”

“How’s that supposed to ease my nerves?”

Taehyung laughs a little harder now, the corner of his lips tugging up to a bigger grin. He has always been like this—easy laughs, easy smiles. Jeongguk can’t help but feel his own face betraying a similar smile.

“That must mean we’re doing something right, right?”

“Who knows,” Jeongguk replies, passing the bottle of water back to Taehyung. He tosses it to Diego across the couch, and the elder catches it easily.

“Who knows,” Taehyung echoes, before bumping Jeongguk by the shoulder again.

Standing up, he turns back to look at Jeongguk, his eyes gleaming like wildfire, unbridled and reckless. The warmth simmers under Jeongguk’s skin, flames alight as adrenaline rushes through his veins. When Taehyung cocks his head to the side and smiles, Jeongguk thinks it’s been a long time since he’s caught in the bright burn of his grin. The familiar smile has turned from scalding heat to a light source he gravitates toward subconsciously.

“But let’s make tonight a good one.”

The crowd, albeit small, is pumped up and full of energy. Their band feeds off the vitality of the crowd, each song louder and louder than the previous. In front of Jeongguk, Diego and Ruien are on either side of the stage, bodies rocking along to the music as they play their guitars. To his right, Mai is playing the keyboard, back slightly hunched as she focuses on bringing the best to their audience. And in the center of it all, Taehyung is there, hopping about and interacting with the crowd as he sings into his microphone. The crowd sways with him, singing along as their attentions are all focused on the lead singer of the band.

Jeongguk smiles as he watches Taehyung, and the rest of his band, lose themselves to their music. Watches them soak in the ambiance, the roaring cheers, from their songs and their songs alone. Then, he returns his focus to his drum set, drumsticks hitting away to the rhythm of their music.

At the end of their setlist, Jeongguk is breathless, arms aching in protest. Yet, a warm and contented feeling fills his chest, spreading out to a soft tingle at his fingertips.

“Atlanta, thank you for coming here tonight! We’re Haven, goodnight!” Taehyung shouts into the microphone, and the crowd responds with a raucous cheer, chanting words of praise and encouragement. He laughs a little, sounding breathless as he waves to the crowd. When the entire band approaches the front of the stage and bows to the audience, the crowd roars even louder. With each bow, the clapping and cheers only grow louder, filling their ears and the atmosphere with liveliness and vivacity.

Then they all step towards the back of the stage, except Taehyung, who remains at the front and center, waving energetically to the crowd. Taehyung has said before that he wants to remember each of their listeners’ faces, as if that is enough to convey his gratitude. And with the way he smiles so earnestly at the crowd, basking in the attention and spotlight, right where he belongs, Jeongguk thinks the audience can feel it too.

They are still laughing as they stumble backstage, sweaty and full of adrenaline. Jeongguk tosses a bottle of water to Taehyung, who chugs it all down in a quick few mouthfuls before asking for another bottle. His eyes are wide and sparkly, the way it always gets after a show like this.

“Did you see that? Did you see that?” Taehyung says excitedly, eyes bright as he nudges Jeongguk in the side.

His hair is slicked back, revealing his forehead and leaving his sharp features on wide display. Sweat glistens down his temple, and his dress shirt sticks to his body like a second skin. He’s mesmerizing, in how he carries himself and how he dresses. In the captivating aura he exudes while riding on a concert high.

Jeongguk catches a glimpse of his chest, a sliver of golden skin, where the third button of the shirt is popped open. He tears his gaze away.

“Jeongguk? You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. See what?”

“The banner! Slogan! I don’t know what they call that, but someone was bringing a poster-banner-looking thing.”

“What did it say?” Jeongguk asks, not understanding where this conversation is going. For all it knows, it might have been a puppy printed on the slogan that had gotten Taehyung so excited over it.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but the smile dancing across his face betrays the false annoyance reflected in his action. “Your name, of course!”

Jeongguk stares, unable to find the words to say. His mouth feels dry, voice muted by—the surprise, happiness, excitement, anticipation —crashing over him.

“Aye.” Taehyung grins. Nudges Jeongguk again on the side. “Don’t be so shocked, our darling drummer. It’s got all our names too.”

Jeongguk blinks. Taehyung is trying to stifle his laughter, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes crinkle in the corners. 

Caught in Taehyung’s captivating features, it takes Jeongguk a second longer to realize that he’s been teased.

“You’re horrible,” Jeongguk says, but there’s no bite to his words.

Grinning, he jabs Taehyung in the side, right where he knows he’s the most ticklish. It makes the elder sway to the side, yelping loudly, unexpecting the sudden attack. But laughter is light when it falls from his lips, eyes alight with fire.

Jeongguk swings an arm over Taehyung’s shoulder, tugging him close. “One day, mine’s gonna be in bold all over the billboards.”

Taehyung smiles, softer now.

Sometimes, Taehyung’s smile gets so terribly soft like this, and Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do. His hands, and heart, and mind, and chest are numbed by the gentle aching that tingles through him, coursing through his veins.

But Taehyung doesn’t know that.

So the elder smiles, that same tender smile, and says, “I’d like to see that.”

The band spends the remainder of the night with drinks and greasy snacks at a local club. Their next scheduled gig is a good two weeks away, all the way in New York City. It will be a rather long drive, but they’ve enough time in between to take pit stops instead of rushing from one location to another.

Taehyung has one arm slung around Jeongguk’s shoulder, the alcohol clearly gotten to him despite just a couple of drinks in. His cheeks are flushed red, crimson dulled by the dark lighting inside the club. Ruien has also gotten too many drinks in, but amongst all of them, the youngest has always been the best at holding her liquor. In comparison, the drunken flush from the drinks is less outstanding on her skin.

Even Mai and Diego have drunk a tiny bit, their words a little slurred and shoulders a little less tense. Not enough to be completely drunk, as Taehyung will soon be if no one watches his alcohol intake, but enough to let themselves loose, even if just by the slightest bit.

As the eldest two of the band, most—if not all—of the responsibility is on them. From finding gig opportunities, to driving, to planning out their schedules, the two of them do it all. The rest of them try to help, just to ease the workload a little, but sometimes Mai and Diego are just too fast in their action that they finish settling everything on their own.

It’s nice to be able to do something for them tonight, even if it’s just something as simple as being designated driver and making sure they all get back to the motel safely. Sure, Jeongguk won’t be able to drink, but he’s never been a fan of drinking much anyway. Plus, he’s positive he’d have been too worried about Taehyung getting overly drunk that he’d have still avoided drinking just to be able to watch out for him.

Right now, Taehyung has somehow successfully dragged Ruien towards the center of the club, and is actively engaging her in what seems to be a self-initiated dance contest. Ruien laughs, limbs loose as she wobbles about the dance area, muscle memory from her time as a school club dancer making her drunken dance still manage to look good.

Next to her, Taehyung is dancing too, head tilted back in a laugh as he lets his body go with the flow. The music is loud—pounding—and each beat hits in a quick rhythm. And Taehyung moves with it, smooth and elegant, wild and dangerous. His dress shirt is silky against his skin, top few buttons unopened to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. When the lights hit from above, letting the purple, pink and blue neon mix together to create an intoxicating spotlight, Taehyung shines beneath it like a dazzling star.

And then he glances up, eyes dark and murky, gaze zeroed in on the rest of the band lounging around at the bar. The intensity of his stare falls on Jeongguk.

Jeongguk swallows, feeling the heat rise up in his cheeks. He tears his gaze away to focus on the lemon water cupped in his hand, watches the thin slice of lemon bob around in the glass. When he looks back up, Taehyung has already looked away, his attention directed elsewhere as he loses himself in the music.

Ruien takes over the planning of their schedule for the following two weeks of free time before their next gig. Usually, Mai will fuss over it, preferring to schedule it herself just to be safe. She’s a bit of a perfectionist, and a lot of a worrier, but this time, she lets Ruien take things into her own hand, choosing to sit back and enjoy the free time.

Now, Ruien is excitedly telling them her very detailed plan for their sort-of road trip, which includes, unsurprisingly, a lot of food. Judging from Mai’s expression, though, she’s really impressed by the schedule, which has somehow managed to cater to everyone’s interests.

There are plans to attend music festivals, of course, and a trip down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, just to satisfy Mai’s love for all genres of art. She has also allocated time to drive up a little further north to visit Taehyung’s aunt who lives in Boston, and a few days to go see a few iconic historical sites around the east side because Diego is actually a sucker for history. And while Jeongguk isn’t picky about where they are going, it’s a nice sentiment seeing Ruien list down the East Hampton as one of their destinations because, in her words, “I know you sometimes miss the California sand.”

Ruien has gladly taken over driving, Diego and her seated at the front, humming along to one of their tracks. It’s the kind of song that gets the whole crowd singing along, the kind where the drumming is quieter, almost gentle—just a soothing beat to accompany the melody.

As much as Jeongguk loves the rocking vibes to their louder, wilder songs, he also loves being able to sit back and watch the crowd indulge themselves in the softer music. To watch his bandmates sway to the lullaby-like tune. And mostly, to watch Taehyung—eyes closed and brows pinched together slightly, body moving from side to side with the melody—sing his heart out in their song.

“Mai,” Jeongguk says, keeping his voice low. Beside him, Taehyung has already fallen asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake the elder up.

Mai looks up from her phone, eyebrows raised.

“What?” She whispers back, careful to keep the volume hushed.

“Can you—” Jeongguk flushes, feeling the way his skin warms. “Uhm.”

The words fall flat on his tongue.

Mai frowns. Sneaks a glance at the sleeping Taehyung, before looking towards the front seats to see Diego and Ruien completely engrossed in their makeshift whispered carpool karaoke.

She turns back to look at Jeongguk. “Spit it.”

“Can you listen to this? For me?”

Mai’s frown deepens. “Why are you being so sneaky then?”

And—she’s right. Jeongguk is one of the main lyricists, composers, and producers of the band, alongside Mai and Taehyung. All five of them do a little bit of writing and producing here and there, but the trio is mainly the ones doing so.

It’s not weird for him to write something and show it to Mai to take a look at, except—

“I—There’s this part that is too… obvious. But, the words fit just nice and—I don’t know how to change it.”

I don’t want to change it, he stops himself from adding. 

Mai sighs, gaze softening. Jeongguk has to look away so that he won’t see the mixture of sympathy and sadness held in the elder’s eyes.

Amongst all the members, only Mai knows. Knows that Jeongguk’s songs, almost all of them, are about one person. Call it a result of her perceptiveness, a natural intuition from being the leader of the group, but Mai is the only one who saw through Jeongguk.

Usually, Jeongguk’s songs are vague. Neutral. Love songs that are up in the air, tossed to the crowd, could be anyone’s love story.

He tries to keep it that way. Tries not to write specific lyrics into his songs—nothing about a beautiful boy, standing before a crowd, singing his heart out.

He tends to scrape aside the songs that are too obvious. Change them up. Take out bits and pieces that are too close to his heart.

But this piece—this one he’s showing to Mai right now—is his hard work. It’s one of his most personal pieces by far. If he can only perform one last song to the world, he thinks it would be this. There’s just something about this song that he cannot bear to put it aside.

It’s almost as if the song itself wants to be heard by the world.

Or maybe it’s Jeongguk’s innate selfish desire—to confess his feelings to the universe. To tell the boy he’s been watching from the background that he, Jeon Jeongguk, is in love with him, Kim Taehyung.

Yes, Taehyung, lead vocalist of Haven, and Jeongguk’s very own best friend.

Jeongguk doesn’t remember when he had first looked at Taehyung and thought—

Beautiful.

He thinks maybe Taehyung has always been captivating, in his own beautiful and magnificent way, and that it was simply a matter of time before the world paused and took notice of his beauty.

But he takes pride in the fact that he is, if not the very first, then at least one of the first few who have always known about Taehyung’s beauty. Back then, before the band, fifteen years young and toes digging into the sand, Jeongguk had already taken notice of Taehyung’s attractiveness. They were in their first year of high school, the age where boys grow taller, voices get deeper, and their features change. 

Even before puberty, Taehyung’s looks had always been breathtaking. And at sixteen, his features sharpened, and he carried himself with an air of confidence that commanded all attention.

Yet, despite it all, he had never been arrogant about it. Had always treated everyone around him with a heart of pure gold. If Jeongguk has to pick the reason he fell for his best friend, then he’s sure his answer would, without a doubt, be his inner beauty.

It’s in the way he laughs and sings. The way he loves and forgives. And the way that, regardless of Jeongguk’s flaws and imperfections, Taehyung is always so ready to stick by him.

It's cliché and cheesy, and sometimes, Jeongguk stays up late at night thinking how he got himself stuck in this age-old cliché one-sided love story.

Loving your best friend and being in love with them, however, are two very different things.

Because Jeongguk knows, all too clearly, the very first moment he had taken a look at Taehyung and thought, “I want to kiss him.”

It was their first gig outside of their home state. In a new place, a foreign city. The stages were unfamiliar, bigger, and they were doing rehearsals.

Clad in a plain shirt and shorts, barefaced and hair unstyled, Taehyung was in awe with the way the purple lights hit the stage from above.

It’s not a new sight. Fancy lighting is common back in California’s own clubs and music arenas, but Taehyung has always managed to find everything around him fascinating. It’s one of the endless things Jeongguk likes— loves —about him.

And when the purple lights tilted and cast towards the stage, its lavender rays bouncing off Taehyung’s silhouette, Taehyung laughed so brilliantly and so brightly. Brighter than all the stars in the universe combined together, enough to rival starburst.

At that moment, Jeongguk couldn’t take his eyes off Taehyung, even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

Because that Taehyung, honest and good and in his very own element, was a stunning sight to behold. In the quietness of the music venue, the technical team rushing around to set up the performance stage, Taehyung held captive of Jeongguk’s attention.

And from then on, he has never given Jeongguk a chance nor a reason not to stay.

East Hampton is beautiful, a perfect blend of gold and blue as the sky meets the shoreline. Their minivan is parked at the side, and before Ruien can even start a tour guide-like introduction to destination number one, Taehyung quite literally throws the door open, leaping out to welcome the ocean breeze. The sand is soft, moulding itself around their feet, and when Jeongguk walks towards the sea, tiny specks of sand stick onto him.

Even though East Hampton is different from the beach back home, it is no less striking.

Near the shoreline, where the waters hit the beach in gentle waves, Taehyung’s arms are outstretched, reaching up, up, up for the skies. The sun is shining at its highest peak, warming the sand beneath their feet, and when Taehyung looks up, his head tilted back to embrace the sunlight, gold lines his features in a mesmerizing hue. The wind pushes his hair back, letting the light caress his cheeks, casting a halo around the crown of his head.

Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat.

Caught in Taehyung’s gravity, pulled into his space, Jeongguk steps towards him. Reaches out his hand, yearning. He wants to feel the warmth of the sun on Taehyung’s skin, feel the way the sea’s afternoon breeze chills him. Closer, closer, Jeongguk feels the way the sunlight beats down on his skin, the way the wind smells so distinctly of salt and sea.

And Taehyung turns back to look at him, eyes bright and captivating, locking his gaze on him. Jeongguk is thrown right back to the same moment in the club, except now, the lights are brighter, sharper, molten gold instead of neon purple. It’s the same look, the one Jeongguk—even after all these years—can never quite decipher.

He blinks, and Taehyung is smiling at him, his arms flailing wildly in the air as he beckons him over.

Jeongguk goes without hesitation.

They continue on their journey after a long afternoon spent at the beach. Tired out from playing in the water, they head towards the nearest burger joint for dinner.

“Let’s play a game,” Ruien declares.

Every time Jeongguk almost forgets about the incredible amount of energy Ruien always has, the youngest never fails to remind him.

Diego raises an eyebrow, intrigued by what Ruien has in mind. It seems to be a devilish idea, judging for the all-too-innocent smile split across her face.

“I’m in,” Taehyung says, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table.

Ruien’s gaze alternates between the remaining two, eyes pleading and—it must be some type of joke, how Ruien, at almost twenty, manages to look so much like a little puppy.

Mai succumbs, as she always eventually does. Jeongguk is usually game for any type of game, but the past few days have been really tiring, and he stayed up late the night before trying to finish writing the song, and— 

Taehyung nudges him, and heavens—that look on his face; Jeongguk will do anything for him.

He gives in, shoulders slumping as Ruien and Taehyung high five in their victory.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do… truth or dare.” 

Mai rolls her eyes. “I should have known.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“What don’t we know about each other now?”

“Uhm, plenty?”

“Like?”

“Like how the color of Diego’s underwear right now is leopard print.”

Diego bursts into raucous laughter as Mai makes a face, a cross between disgust and absolute horror.

“God, Rui, I didn’t need to know that.” She pauses, like she’s deliberating if she should say it or not. Says it in the end. “Plus, I knew that already. Diego was literally swinging it in our faces earlier.”

Diego whoops, cheering, all too happy given the situation. “Neat! I knew I could count on my best buds to know what color my underwear is.”

“I regret life,” Mai mumbles under her breath, all the energy drained out of her in an instant.

Taehyung hums in agreement, patting Mai on the back empathetically.

“Back to the game, who wants to start first?” Ruien says, ignoring the both of them, in favor of getting the ball rolling.

 “I’ll do it,” Jeongguk volunteers. 

The questions and dares tend to be less harsh at the start of the game, and he’d rather not be caught at the short end of the stick. He’d really not like to do something like streaking down the road or anything horrendous like that. Not that he hasn’t been made to do it before.

(Eight months ago, back in California, late at night in Santa Monica, Jeongguk was dared to run fully naked down the beach. In Winter. Worst experience of his life. Ten out of ten would not recommend—)

“Wow, wow, wow. We have a brave soul right here,” Ruien announces, and god, how does she manage to make everything sound so ridiculous.

But Taehyung giggles, and—Jeongguk is just a weak, weak man.

“What’s your pick, young man?”

“Dare.”

Ruien smirks, and Jeongguk has to hold back from calling it quits. Showing weakness in front of your bandmate who knows you awfully well is never a good choice when playing such a game.

“I dare you… to ask the girls two tables down for three french fries.”

“Weird, but okay,” Jeongguk says, already standing up and ready for his dare. It’s a surprisingly mild one, but he's definitely not complaining.

The girls at the other table don’t seem to notice him walking over until he stops right in front of their table.

“Hey, can I get three of your fries?” He asks, sneaking a quick glance back to see Diego suppressing his laughter and Ruien looking all too excited for this dare.

The two girls look stunned, exchanging a quick look between themselves.

Then, one of them nods. “Uh, sure, go ahead.”

“Cool, thanks.”

While Jeongguk is neatly piling three—exactly three, no more and no less—fries onto a thin paper napkin, one of the girls taps him on his arm.

“Hey, can I get your number too?” She asks. Jeongguk blinks, eyebrows raising up in surprise. “I mean, for taking our fries. Y’know. To be fair.”

She’s a confident one, and it’s admirable. But Jeongguk isn’t interested at all.

“Uh, I’m not—”

“Oh c’mon. It’s just a number.”

Jeongguk shrugs, typing his number into her phone. It’s not like he’s obligated to reply to her messages or anything like that anyway. She seems all too pleased nonetheless, waving to him when he leaves their table to walk back to his own.

He’s instantly bombarded by questions when he settles back down in his seat.

“Woah, what was that?” Ruien asks with a mouthful after taking the fries over from Jeongguk and immediately chomping on them.

“Yeah, you were there for a pretty long time,” Mai adds.

“She just asked for my number, no big deal.”

It really isn’t, and he doesn’t want to make it one either.

“Boring,” Ruien says, leaning back in his seat. They seem to lay off him for a bit, and Jeongguk is eager to get the game moving to divert the focus away from him.

But the next thing takes him entirely by surprise.

“Maybe you’ll get something out of it,” Taehyung suggests, eyes all too bright while he slurps on his Pepsi.

“Huh?” Jeongguk frowns, turning to face Taehyung. “I’m not interested.”

“Eh, but she’s pretty.”

He doesn’t know what makes it so different. Doesn’t know if it's because of what Taehyung said, or because Taehyung said it. Nonetheless, irritation grows and he feels restless all of a sudden.

“I already said I don’t like her,” he replies sharply, voice hardened at the edges. It comes out harsher than he intended.

Taehyung looks surprised, eyes widening as he leans a little away. Somehow, the action cuts deeper than the words. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I’m just saying.”

Jeongguk tongues his cheeks, letting his irritation simmer, before his shoulders slump and he gives in entirely.

“It’s okay, I just got too defensive.”

That seems to appease Taehyung, who quickly leans back into Jeongguk’s space, closing the distance between them. Ruien and Diego didn’t seem to have noticed the conversation between them, too engrossed in their own debate on whether Coke or Pepsi is the better soft drink.

From the corner of his eyes, however, Jeongguk notices that Mai is looking at him, having paid attention to the entire exchange between the two.

Jeongguk looks away, not wanting to know what Mai thinks of it.

Ruien’s loud clap brings all their attention back to the center of the table, where she excitedly asks Diego to pick between truth or dare. The elder chooses truth, to which he’s forced to retell the story of when he last did something embarrassing in front of his crush—a heartbreaking tale of him puking all over her brand new dress.

Ruien’s own dare is to sing one of their songs very loudly. She does it without hesitation—seems even proud and glad to be doing so. It both embarrasses Jeongguk and makes him proud at the same time. For Mai, she’s made to tie up her fringe, coconut tree style, and keep it that way for the next hour. It’s not a difficult dare, and their leader expectedly rocks the look—in a really adorable way—though the pinkish blush on her cheeks suggests that this does embarrass her slightly.

Taehyung looks all pumped up and eager for his turn, and it takes them all by surprise when he chooses truth instead.

“Aw, I thought you’d do a dare!” Ruien complains, lips puckering up in an over-exaggerated pout.

Taehyung returns the expression, pouting as he shakes his head mockingly.

“I know you’ll make me do hip rolls in front of every table here, and I’m not falling for that.”

“Hey, how did you know that?”

Mai raises an eyebrow, looking completely unimpressed. “You've told us that you want to see Taehyung do that, like, every day? You’re losing your touch, Rui.” 

Ruien huffs, palms crossed over his chest. “You hurt my feelings.”

Before Ruien can come up with a terrible question to torture Taehyung with, Diego asks, “I want to know, what’s your ideal type?”

“Can you come up with a more boring question?” Ruien whines, glaring at Diego in disbelief. Though she turns back to Taehyung quickly after, saying, “But hey, I’m kinda interested to know too.”

Taehyung shrugs, drinking more of his Pepsi. 

“Well…” Taehyung starts, words a slow drawl as he thinks.

Jeongguk perks up, listening intently, although he tries not to seem too eager to find out the answer. It’s just not something he and Taehyung have ever talked about before, despite having shared with each other about a lot of things. This is something he has always wondered about, though.

“I want someone who is a good match for me? Someone who is kind and sweet to me. Someone who takes care of me. Hopefully someone who is passionate about music too.”

Jeongguk’s heart stutters. The hope that flickers in his chest sparks alive. He might not be the kindest, nor the sweetest, nor the best at taking care of people. But he thinks, at the very least, he’s got enough of each quality to amount to something.

“That’s so generic. Give us more, Tae,” Diego says, leaning in now to listen better.

The atmosphere has turned quiet, the rowdy energy from earlier fading to a more private conversation. And out of the four, Jeongguk is the most eager to hear his answer. He waits with bated breath, heart thundering in his chest.

“Uh.” Taehyung pauses, and he’s turning a little pink now. Jeongguk has rarely seen him so shy before, especially not in front of the band members. “I’ve this… fantasy? Someone who likes to stand before a crowd while playing music as the light shines on them, someone who would capture the entire audience’s focus. Y’know. Someone who commands attention and is so—dazzling.” Taehyung’s eyes glaze over a little as he describes his perfect, ideal hypothetical partner, and he looks so incredibly in love already that Jeongguk nearly stops breathing. “If I see someone like that, I think… I’d fall in love.”

The flicker in Jeongguk’s chest diminishes, snuffed out by Taehyung’s words.

Because, sure, Jeongguk is a musician. He is kind of sweet, kind of nice, and kind of knows how to take care of people. But Jeongguk isn’t the type who will stand at the very front of the stage, he isn’t the type who captures people’s attention nor dazzles the crowd.

Because Jeongguk likes to sit all the way back, playing the beats to the song as he watches the dazzling one who can captivate the audience. Knows only to stay in the shadows and pine after the starlight. Knows only to yearn for Taehyung, the way sunflowers yearn for the sun.

If Taehyung is the earth, grounded in beauty, then Jeongguk is the moon who gravitates around him. And no matter what, the earth will always orbit around the sun, leaving the moon chasing after it.

Jeongguk should have known that only the brightest star in the universe can match up to Taehyung. What’s a faded moonlight that can’t shine on its own?

“Damn,” Ruien says, reaching across the table to bump Taehyung’s shoulder. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Jeongguk scuffs the soles of his sneakers against the tiled floors of the burger joint, listening to the faint shuffling sounds of friction they make. The rest of the conversation blurs out, and everything becomes a muted buzz, white noise in the background. He no longer hears what they are saying.

All he hears is the slowed-down beating of his heart, a painful thud, each beat ringing in his ear.

And he knows. Knows Mai is looking at him from across the table. Can feel the stare, the same look she always wears on her face. They say ignorance is bliss, and really, Mai is simply too perceptive.

Months have passed since Mai found out, since Mai first asked him why he refused to confess, since Mai heard his answer. The look on her face back then, hearing it—it’s the same look she has right now, the same look she always has when things are like this.

Because Jeongguk is chasing but Taehyung is running too fast—has always been miles and miles ahead.

Jeongguk met Taehyung back in high school, when he was only fifteen. In a new environment with a bigger school campus and different people, high school was both an exciting adventure and a nightmare.

Jeongguk hadn’t always lived in California, having just moved all the way from Busan after his father got a new job in America. He had plenty of adjusting to do, and he was lucky his mother had been strict about the fluency of his English, though he still stuck out like a sore thumb in school. As the kid who looked different, acted different, and talked different, he almost couldn’t quite fit in.

And then, sitting right in front of him in class, was this other Korean boy who fit right in. Surrounded by a bunch of classmates who were always eager to be in his presence, he was like the sun, and everyone else was merely planets who orbited in his gravity.

“Hey, you’re the new kid right?” The other boy had asked, his chair turned halfway so that he could face Jeongguk properly.

Jeongguk nodded, and the smile he saw afterwards was brighter than all the stars in the universe combined together. He wonders now if back then, he was already predestined to fall for the sun.

“I’m Taehyung! Do you like music?”

They had hit it off right off the bat, talking endlessly about the music they listened to, the music they loved, the music they played. While most people were engrossed with sports, or games, or make up, or food, Jeongguk and Taehyung went on and on about music. That was all that was needed for them to turn into best friends. 

Through high school, Taehyung helped Jeongguk adjust to the new environment—to the sunny beaches, warm weather, and everything else California has to offer. He helped Jeongguk fall in love with the ocean, the soft sand, and the warmest blue sky.

When he turned seventeen, however, that was the year Jeongguk fell in love with the drumset. That was the year Jeongguk taught himself to play, to pull out all the bits and pieces of music he used to write and turn them into songs; the year Taehyung took a step forward and sang in front of the crowd at their local town end of year festival; the year Taehyung and Jeongguk decided to play music together, roping in three seniors from a music club.

That was the year Haven was formed in the garage of Mai’s house.

Before he knew it, they were performing in bars, singing on the streets, seeking any opportunity to prove themselves to the world. Juggling school work and the band’s schedules was tough, but not enough to make any of them give it up. It continued until Mai, Diego and Taehyung graduated, and then went on until even Jeongguk and Ruien were done with school.

Afterwards, things were different. Playing and making music as adults meant larger responsibilities, greater consequences, bigger fights back home about how playing in a band is not a lucrative career.

It changed everything—and nothing.

Jeongguk was well on his way to studying engineering, something his father had pushed him for. There’s a future in the engineering sector, his father had said, even if anyone who saw Jeongguk knew, all along, his heart lies in music.

And it took everything—and nothing—to give up his all, to give up his safe track to a stable career in exchange for a lifetime full of adventures.

Soon enough, they were constantly travelling, always on the road, going from one town to another, one city to another, in California. It seemed like, despite all the challenges and obstacles thrown their way, they were riding on a high that would never ever end. 

Almost as if all their hopes and dreams were heard, within a year, they were out of the home state, and on a tour across America.

New York is all tall structures and the fast-paced buzz of life. Now, in the present, they find themselves in a new motel in New York City, the cheapest one they can find in this very expensive place.

The motel is a quaint little place, sticking out amidst the cafes lined up along the street. Outside, the walls are painted a musty pink, a stark contrast to the dark green walls on the inside. Thin cracks line the ceiling, bits and pieces of paint chipped off with old age.

Once again, they split into the same rooming arrangement as always. They agree to meet back at the lobby later on for dinner together, but for the time being, they are all free to do whatever they want.

Knowing Mai, she’ll probably hit the sheets once she gets to the room. On the other hand, Ruien is dragging her next victim, Diego, out to the New York Hall of Science with her. In exchange, Ruien has to accompany Diego to a Mexican food tasting festival.

Ruien did offer Jeongguk and Taehyung to join them, but Taehyung has never really favored looking at science inventions, and Jeongguk—

He’ll go wherever Taehyung wants to go.

They eventually decide to just take the afternoon easy, opting to check out the local shops and cafes rather than travel to a particular tourist spot.

The streets are quiet, New Yorkers caught in the hustle and bustle of work. Given how their motel is in a more secluded area of the city, there are very few tourists around, leaving the place oddly serene. 

Taehyung tends to walk a little faster, tiny echoes of his excitement. Jeongguk naturally falls behind, but he puts in a consistent effort to speed up his pace in order to match Taehyung’s.

He appreciates when his friend makes it a point to slow down, just a bit, so that they can walk side by side, footsteps falling tandem. At one point in time, a subconscious effort by Jeongguk, their footsteps fall in sync. Left, right, left, right, left—their soles hit the ground in a light tap. Beneath their steps, the sun warms up the grey pavement, golden light seeping into the sidewalks’ cracks.

As the evening approaches, the sun begins lowering, casting long shadows against their silhouette. It reflects onto the darkened pavement, shapes of their body moving along with them. Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice their shadows, too engrossed with the quaint unique shops lining the street. He’s perfectly content with snapping photos of the exterior of the shops, making oohs and ahhs at almost every interval.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, has his mind elsewhere.

Eyes on their shadows, he stares at the way their silhouettes shift with each and every movement. The more he looks at it, the more his chest tingles with a warm feeling, that tiny bit of euphoria and contentment. And he smiles to himself, softened by the simplest of things. Like how his steps have fallen in line with Taehyung’s. Or how the sleeves of their shirts brush against each other when they walk. Or how, in the stretched-out silhouettes, cast by the evening sunlight, their shadows seem to be holding hands.

It makes him glance to his left where Taehyung is walking alongside him. Makes him wonder how it’d be like to hold Taehyung’s hand, fingers interlocked as they stroll down the streets of New York City.

It’s not that he hasn’t held Taehyung’s hand before. He has, post-show when they’re standing in a row and Jeongguk tries to stand beside Taehyung every time just so he could use that as an opportunity to hold his hand before they bow. He has, when they do their signature handshake, perfected from years of being best friends.

But he wants to hold Taehyung’s hand, not just as a bandmate or a best friend. He wants to hold it for no reason at all; wants to hold it just because.

Jeongguk doesn’t. Instead, he tucks his hands in the pocket of his jeans, spending the rest of the walk forcing the thought of Taehyung and hand-holding out of his mind.

Taehyung may not enjoy looking at works of scientific inventions much, but he, like Ruien, is a big fan of art. At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, he’s in awe of the pieces of art displayed in the museum, from the extensive galleries of paintings and sculptures to the tremendous architecture work. And though Jeongguk does love art as well, while Taehyung looks at the art, Jeongguk finds most of his attention is on him.

It’s ridiculous, how Jeongguk’s gaze never seems to be able to leave him.

Every single painting, every single sculpture, is all crafted to perfection. Each piece of artwork is astounding on its own, and placed together, the entire museum is a wonderland to be in.

Yet, all that fills Jeongguk’s mind is how Taehyung fits right in among all this amazing art.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. While, in Jeongguk’s very objective opinion, he thinks Taehyung is very objectively beautiful, he also thinks his mess of feelings is the reason why all these majestic art pieces fade in comparison.

It’s probably also because, for the past few nights, as a result of editing the lyrics to his song, he’s been staying up late thinking of Taehyung way too much.

He’s snapped out of his train of thoughts when Ruien throws an arm across his shoulder, tugging him close.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“You seem distracted.”

Jeongguk sneaks a glance to where Taehyung is standing a few feet apart from him, tiptoeing as he looks at a huge oil painting of Madame X—yes, Jeongguk knows his fair share about famous artworks.

“I’m not. I’m good.”

Ruien pulls away a little, brows furrowing, so that she can look directly into Jeongguk’s eyes. Jeongguk stares back, unaffected, eyes as dead and emotionless. He gives nothing away, and eventually, Ruien concedes defeat.

“Okay,” Ruien says, still not quite believing Jeongguk’s words but having no other reason for doing so. “Only if you say so.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Go look at your things.”

“Don’t call them things. They are glorious, beautiful, valuable pieces of art. Art, Jeongguk!”

“Yeah, whatever, go do your thing.” Jeongguk pushes Ruien away lightly, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ruien huffs, but she’s smiling too when she says, “Hey, Tae, keep an eye on Jeongguk. He will definitely get lost in the MET.”

Standing closer to them now, Taehyung hears him and nods in reply, before watching Ruien excitedly walk—is that a skip in her steps?—towards the next gallery, leaving them behind in the one with huge portrait paintings.

“You good? Why’s she being so random?” Taehyung asks, nudging Jeongguk slightly.

“Yeah, I don’t know. You know she’s a bit of a weirdo sometimes.”

Taehyung chuckles, eyes crinkling in the corners as a grin splits across his face, making his cheeks puff up adorably. Jeongguk’s heart does a swoop in his chest, a quick swipe that leaves him aching.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “She won’t if you don’t spill.”

“Eh.” Taehyung smirks, pulling Jeongguk in by his shoulder, letting their shoulders bump together. “What’s the incentive?”

The part where their bodies touch, even that slight contact, is enough to send a warm tingle down Jeongguk’s spine.

“I’ll accompany you around the MET?”

“You already are, Mister I-have-zero-sense-of-direction.”

“I’ll let you use the shower first?”

Taehyung snorts. “You always do that anyway.”

“I’ll watch the rom-com you wanted me to watch with you.”

At this, Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You hate cliche romance.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, consider the job done and my lips sealed!” Taehyung says, extending his pinky out to hook it with Jeongguk’s.

Once again, the momentary contact is enough for Jeongguk’s heart to skip a beat in his chest.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, but a smile is already tugging at the corner of his lips. “That was stupid, by the way.”

“Yeah, it is,” Taehyung agrees, beaming. They both know, deal or not, Jeongguk would have watched the romantic comedy with Taehyung anyway. “But whatever. Let’s go. Apparently, there’s a mummy coffin here, and I really want to see that.”

They hit the bar again at night, because that’s what they always seem to do. Play music, write songs, get drunk, tour, perform, get drunk. Rinse and repeat, over and over. Sometimes, Jeongguk wonders if it’s sort of like a prerequisite. That, together with the high, playing in a band comes with vices.

Young adults in their twenties with no commitment—nothing weighing them down. Wild, young, and free.

He wonders if, with all the good things, the bad must come. Black and white. Yin and yang. A balance.

He’s on his third drink of the night, and some part of him craves a fourth. The numb excitement spreading through him is intoxicating, the way he lets himself go. Lets his mind wander to things he never lets himself think about anymore.

“Will you ever confess?”

The bar is noisy with chatter and music, drowning out most voices. Yet, Jeongguk hears Mai loud and clear. He makes a questioning sound, looking up from his glass of beer.

Mai is looking away from him, back leaning against the counter as she watches the live band perform. They used to be like this—playing in the local pubs until the evening runs late into the night.

The eldest downs the rest of her drink back, smacking her lips a few times before she turns her head to face Jeongguk.

“Will you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Jeongguk swirls the drink in his hand, watching the alcohol slosh around the interior of the glass, ice cubes clinking silently against each other. Drums his fingers against the glass, the beer inside swaying with his action. Tips the drink back, letting the alcohol burn his throat. A practiced movement.

“You know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Me, confessing…” Jeongguk falters, drawing his words out as he thinks. Pictures the scenario. Sees the one way it can succeed and the thousand other ways it won’t. Chances, numbers, the percentage. Jeongguk was an engineer-to-be. Basic mathematics, he knows. The odds have never been in his favor. “I've got too much to lose.”

“But what if—”

“Mai.” It ends in a painful punctuation, cutting Mai’s words off. “There is no what-if. ”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t. But—” And it pains him to say so, to lay out the truth because Jeongguk knows Mai means well but not everything can work out so easily. There is the other side of things. A bigger what-if. The what if that Jeongguk simply cannot bear to begin imagining. “—I cannot afford to lose him.”

“Jeongguk. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes.”

Jeongguk remains quiet, letting Mai’s words sink in. They feel like bubbles, delicate and untouchable.

“And you know that I have seen how you look at him, and that I know what that look means. So why don’t you believe me when I say he feels the same, too?”

Mai’s voice is still hushed, only loud enough for Jeongguk to hear her. Jeongguk sneaks a peek at the other side of the bar where Diego, Ruien, and Taehyung seem to be engrossed in some mild drinking game, not noticing the other two members are in a private conversation of their own.

He turns his gaze back, mumbling, “You always say that.”

“That’s because I’m trying to tell you it’s possible!”

“You don’t understand. At first I—” He shuts his mouth, gritting his teeth as he forces the surge of emotions back down. Forces the painful aching in his heart away. His voice is significantly softer when he says, “I thought so too.”

Mai is watching him quietly, brows drawn together in a frown.

“But I tried and—I see it for myself. He doesn’t—” He doesn’t look at me like that. He doesn’t like me that way. He doesn’t love me back. “You heard him, Mai. That day. When he talked about his ideal type.”

And god, does he feel the way his heart constricts in his chest, a dull painful thrum. His eyes sting, but he squashes down the feeling, blinking away the fresh tears. The alcohol must be doing something horrible to his brain, because Jeongguk doesn’t cry easily.

He itches for another glass anyway.

“Do you really think so, or are you just lying to yourself? Denying yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Mai’s lips twist down, frowning even more. “You think you don’t deserve him.”

And there it is—the pinpoint stab in his heart. Salt on his wound.

“I…” Jeongguk looks back at his empty glass of beer, avoiding Mai’s eyes. “I know I don’t.”

“Jeongguk.”

“Mai. It’s impossible.”

He has spent the past two years of his life convincing himself of this. Knowing this.

In the years that he has taken to fall in love with Taehyung, and then some more, the idea of him being undeserving of Taehyung has become an irrefutable fact.

Mai sighs, looking like she wants to say more. Eventually, she drops the topic, ordering another two glasses of beer for themselves as they stand in silence and watch the band perform.

Hangover hits him hard, and Jeongguk wakes up feeling torn between dunking his head in water or straight up smashing it against the wall. He groans, shifting a little to turn away from the sunlight peeking in through the huge glass windows of the motel room. The flimsy old curtains, washed out and thin from years of use, does nothing to block out the sunlight.

When he moves, the warm weight resting on part of his arm and torso shifts too, pressing closer against him. Legs tangle with his, bodies pressed together as Taehyung practically snuggles against Jeongguk. The heat is not unbearable, given that the ventilation of the room is not the worst and there’s still a bit of air conditioning in the works. But the pounding headache in the back of his head, paired with the knowledge that this—this warm heat right next to him—is Taehyung, sends him jolting up, gently pushing the elder off him.

Taehyung frowns slightly, but his eyes remain closed as he grabs his next victim of a pillow and continues sleeping.

They’ve slept like this before, cuddled so often that sometimes, Jeongguk forgets that the person snuggling up to him is someone he really, really likes. It’s become a sort of normalcy to them, skinship common in the band after years of playing together. Though, occasionally, when the aching in his chest gets incredibly numb, Jeongguk’s mind only thinks of how soft Taehyung looks in the wan sunlight and how much he’d like to kiss him.

He shoves the thought away, and gets out of bed to search for some Advil and take a quick cold shower.

The hangover medicine works like magic, and the cold shower calms his jittery nerves. Erases the sensation of warmth and heat against his skin from the early morning. Leaning against the glass panel of the shower, Jeongguk lets the cold water shake him awake. The pitter-patter of the water droplets hitting the floor drowns out the loud roaring in Jeongguk’s mind. It’s easier like this—for something to distract him. For something to take his mind away from the constant mental pendulum between Taehyung and home back in California.

When he gets out of the shower, Taehyung has already woken up, hair fluffed up and face still a little puffy from sleep. The morning light illuminates his skin, making him glow so wonderfully under the gentle sunlight. He blinks, slowly, clearly still caught between dreamland and reality. A moment later, when he finally seems to become fully awake, Taehyung sits there in a bundle of white bedsheets and pillows, and he smiles.

His smile is so incredibly soft and tender, his eyes turning into crescents as his cheeks puff out in his grin. In the early morning, specks of dust dancing in the stale air of their motel room, Taehyung looks like he’s carved from marble, sculpted by the hands of God.

And Jeongguk finds himself just staring, unable to tear his gaze away. His heartbeat halts to a complete stop, before speeding up again and racing towards infinity. The thud, thud, thud in his ribcage resound in his mind, pushing away all other thoughts and filling it with new ones.

Like how much he wishes he could have this forever. To fall asleep and wake up with Taehyung. To be the last person to say goodnight to him, and to be the first to greet him good morning when dawn breaks. To see him standing at the front of the stage with the crowd cheering for him, and to see him at his softest moments, where there’s no one else but just the two of them.

Mai’s words flash across his mind, haunting. For a brief moment in time, Jeongguk thinks maybe he can have this. Maybe, just maybe, life will be kind enough to him.

He blinks, and the moment is gone. The light shifts—less golden and more a musty yellow now. Taehyung shuffles out of bed, holding back a yawn as he drags his feet across the room and towards the bathroom.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles as he walks past Jeongguk, voice still hoarse from sleep.

The filter cast across the very scene before Jeongguk disappears. Everything turns significantly blander, returning to something much closer to reality. Yet, Jeongguk thinks he'd take any way he can have Taehyung. Even if it’s just as his best friend, he’d rather that than have nothing at all.

When Taehyung gets out of the shower, and they’re both less hungover from the previous night’s alcohol, they hit a downtown cafe for some breakfast and coffee. The cafe has a minimalistic design—the interior carrying various tones of black, grey, white—and Taehyung snaps a bunch of photos for his personal Instagram. As expected, the food and beverages there are extremely pricey, and it puts a dent in Jeongguk’s wallet. Playing in a band that is still pretty much unknown to most people means that they’ve no stable source of income. While they’re one of the considerably luckier ones who managed to make it out of their home state to a bigger audience, their gigs are still sporadic and don’t pay significantly well.

It’s why, till now, Mai has decided to cut down the costs of hiring a manager and chauffeur by taking on the role herself. If they’re fortunate enough, they’ll soon be noticed by a music production company. Production, recording, touring—it will all be easier than now. But until then, all they can do is to manage everything on their own and hope for the best.

They are here in New York City to open for a bigger solo artist—a Korean American who made it big after going viral online for his amazing voice. It’s a precious opportunity that gives them the chance to perform on a bigger platform and reach out to a bigger crowd.

“I’m so excited to meet Jimin,” Taehyung says, leaning forward in his one-seater couch as he digs into his breakfast waffles.

“Me too, he’s, like, really good. I've heard his songs.”

“He must be so good to be able to hire other artists to open for him. That’s so cool.”

“Someone make us go viral, please,” Jeongguk jokes, chuckling as he sips on his iced chocolate. 

Taehyung taps on his phone screen, tilting it towards Jeongguk to show him the Instagram page. “I’m trying to.”

“Any success?”

“People love Mai’s white shirt, black jeans boring combination.”

That one picture, taken by Ruien after one of their gigs, earned them a few thousand followers on Instagram overnight. Mai is equal parts horrified and egotistic about it.

“It’s her stupid face.”

“You’re right. Why aren’t you viral then?”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling my face stupid?”

“No, you’re handsome,” Taehyung says in a matter-of-fact way. Jeongguk’s heart still thunders in his chest regardless, a terrible reminder of all his bottled-up feelings. He thinks he might choke. “Okay, stop looking at me. You look kinda stupid right now.”

“You’re the one with the silly face,” Jeongguk retorts, turning away.

He sips his iced chocolate, and it tastes sickeningly sweet. His face feels warm, and he tries to keep his expression neutral. Knows he probably still has the same stupid, in love, look on his face.

Sometimes, when he looks at Taehyung too long, he can physically feel the adoration, the pining, the love all displayed in his expression.

He doesn’t know if he should be thankful that Taehyung is entirely oblivious to the fact that Jeongguk is awfully in love with him, or feel hurt that Taehyung doesn’t seem to recognize such a possibility. It’s telling enough what the elder feels and thinks about him. About them. 

They fall back into easy conversation after that, and the whole time, Jeongguk tries his best not to look so painfully in love.

Ellis Island is breezy, cooler than the humid heat on the mainland. Diego vanishes upon stepping foot on the island after travelling via the ferry.

Mai watches their guitarist rush off into the distance, headed straight for the museum. “I forgot how he’s such a nerd for historical sites.”

“Eh, whatever. Mai, take photos of me with this seagull!” Ruien drags Mai away, leaving Taehyung and Jeongguk standing near the port, unsure of what to do.

“Wanna go check out the museum?” Jeongguk asks.

“Sure. Must be good if it’s gotten Diego so excited.”

They follow a guided tour around the place, and learn more than they ever expected about the history of the island. At the end of the tour, they head outside to take advantage of the beautiful scenery, Taehyung commenting on how he wants a new photo for their Instagram.

“It’s to keep our fans updated,” he explains.

Jeongguk alights the stairs first, joining Mai and Ruien on ground level where the youngest still seems to be engaging with a seagull. Mai looks way too tired, brows pinching together, torn between pulling Ruien away from the possibly aggressive bird and letting her have her “fun”. Diego, on the other hand, is closer towards the waters in a less crowded area, taking photographs of the sky and sea blending together.

When Jeongguk turns back, he sees Taehyung still standing on the stairs, arms outstretched as he lets the gentle breeze caress his face. He’s only wearing a simple white shirt and black ripped jeans, hair lightly styled and mostly tousled by the wind. Yet, he looks as though he had walked straight out of a fashion magazine.

“Tae, don’t move!” Jeongguk yells, much to the elder’s confusion.

Jogging down the pathway, Jeongguk makes his way towards Diego who is busy snapping photos of the scenery.

“Diego, lend me your camera?”

“What? No, this is my baby and I’ll not let you spoil it with your—”

“It’ll be super fast. Please? Please, I promise I’ll take good care of it. Now just lend it to me for a quick second.”

“You’re insufferable,” Diego groans, but still removes the camera strap around his neck to place it on Jeongguk instead. “I swear, if you break it, you’ve to get me the newest high-quality DSLR and—”

“Thanks, Diego!” Jeongguk cuts him off by sending an exaggerated flying kiss at him. The elder will definitely whoop him later for his mischief when Jeongguk isn't holding onto his precious camera, but for now, he ignores all that in favor of hurrying back to Taehyung.

The elder is still standing there, an eyebrow raised as he looks down at Jeongguk who’s standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay! Don’t move. Let me just—” Jeongguk raises the camera to his eye level, shutting an eye as he looks into the tiny camera viewfinder. The background blurs and the world begins to fade as the camera focuses, putting Taehyung in the foreground, making him stand out amongst the crowd, amongst the tourists and everyone else.

Realization dawns upon Taehyung when he sees what Jeongguk is doing, and he beams, lips curling up in a bright grin as he looks directly at the camera. At Jeongguk. 

The world seems to come to a standstill.

Time stops, but Jeongguk’s races into infinity. The pounding in his chest is loud and clear in his ear.

As the clouds drift away, letting the sunlight cast its rays from above, the lighting splits into a thousand colors, exposing the film with extra light. The light diffuses, causing the camera lenses to reflect in a different way. A long strip of molten gold blended with pink dances across the picture. Light leaks, and as Jeongguk presses on the shutter, the moment is captured, frozen in a single frame.

The clock runs again, and Jeongguk can hear his roaring heartbeat, like ocean waves, tugging and tugging.

He looks at the photo taken on Diego’s camera, at all the colors and lines piecing together the perfect picture.

“Is it any good?” Taehyung asks, making his way down the steps to join Jeongguk at the bottom. “Show me! I want to see it!”

Jeongguk looks up from the picture displayed on the screen. The light hits Taehyung the same, still, like a constant spotlight casting on him, making him glow.

Looking back down at the photo again, the corners of Jeongguk’s lips tug up in a contented smile. He feels so light and giddy all over from just a photo, in the best way possible.

“You’re smiling so stupidly, oh god, is it a horrible one. I bet it is—”

Taehyung reaches for the camera, but Jeongguk pulls back.

“Nope!”

“Jeongguk, show me—”

Jeongguk dodges again, putting the camera out of the elder’s reach. Laughs when Taehyung stumbles a little, arms flailing as he tries to reach for the camera. In the background, he vaguely hears Diego's string of chiding as he worries for the safety of his camera.

“You are so mean, show it!”

“No way.” Laughter is light, falling easily from his lips as he runs away from Taehyung towards Diego. “I’m not showing it to you!”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you–”

Jeongguk runs, as fast as the winds can carry him, and Taehyung—

Taehyung chases after him.

Back in California, before the band started touring and Jeongguk’s life shifted from the ordinary track to a road less travelled, everything seemed so simple. Every day was a cycle, a nonstop routine of school, lessons, club activities, studying, band, studying. He spent a lot of time studying and doing school work, not wanting to lag behind his classmates as they headed towards final exams and graduation. The flimsy certificate with his grades printed on it felt like it had the power to decide everything in his life.

Or maybe he just gave it a lot of power and control to do so, as all his other classmates did. Because with the grades, without the certificate, they felt as though they had nothing. They felt like they were nothing.

School was his focus, his priority, and everything else, including the band—especially the band—were only secondary. All Jeongguk knew back then was that he had to achieve the best results possible, and playing in the band was only something akin to a hobby to him.

Yet, Jeongguk should have realized that back then, even after club activities and school work had drained him of all his energy, he would always go back to playing music. Being in the band rejuvenated him, gave him energy. Gave him a purpose in his otherwise mundane, ordinary life.

There’s nothing wrong with the mundane. We give meaning to things we see the purpose of.

And for Jeongguk, music was—and still is—his purpose.

He realized that when he was nearing graduation, straight As on the gold certificate, fancy and extravagant. An acceptance letter to the University of California, Berkeley, one of the best in the entire country. Engineering, because his Mathematics and Physics were good, because it’s a safe career. Scholarship, because he was a straight As student, for god’s sake, with a list of achievements he can no longer remember attaining. All for the profile, all for the portfolio.

He was so ready to accept that. Everything felt perfect, like life had finally slotted into place with a clear path for him to walk on.

And then Mai received a call. One of their first-ever self-produced songs, Radio, had gotten attention. There was something about being invited to play on bigger stages, no longer just in pubs and bars but in actual music venues. Not quite the large concert venues yet, and still in their home state, but it was no longer just in Santa Cruz. Names of locations were dropped, like San Diego, and Santa Clara, and Los Angeles.

Everyone was ready. Ruien was waiting for her university acceptance letters. Mai and Diego were all taking a gap year before starting university. Now, with the new opportunity, all thoughts of starting school again were shoved right out the door. Taehyung was offered an education degree, but nothing called to him more than music.

And to them, it was this—either Jeongguk joined them, or they would find a new drummer. Another member. Someone to fill in the spot Jeongguk would be leaving behind because he would be well on his way to becoming an engineer.

It was like being offered two things and being forced to make a choice. One on hand, it was a life full of stability—so ideal and seemingly perfect—handed onto him on a gold platter, and on the other, it was Taehyung’s outstretched hand, beckoning him.

His family’s decision was simple: accept the university offer and the scholarship. To them, there was nothing clearer and more obvious than to choose an option that was something so many desired. And they can’t entirely be blamed for thinking so. For sticking to the traditional stable jobs that offer financial security. For wanting the same for Jeongguk.

Find a good job with a good salary. Find a good partner. Marry them. Settle down. Start a family. Keep it going until you’re on your deathbed, children and grandchildren by your side as they hold your hand and wait for you to die.

It’s not bad, but it’s not what Jeongguk wants.

Back then, before the band even considered the possibility of being big enough to start touring, to earn their money from playing music, Jeongguk didn’t know what he wanted.

But now, it seems so simple, the answer zooming into clarity.

He took Taehyung’s hand, and from then on, he never looked back.

They’re on the road again, this time with Diego taking the wheel as they head further up north. Boston is a few hours away from New York City, and seeing that they still have quite a few days left to spare before their next performance, they made it a point to let Taehyung drop by his aunt’s house for a visit.

Taehyung’s aunt lives in a nice, small house in a fairly quiet neighborhood. She’s already waiting for them on the porch of her house when they arrive at her place, waving excitedly at them with a warm grin on her face.

Taehyung exits the minivan fast, practically running towards his aunt as he quite literally leaps into her arms. She laughs, catching his weight as they embrace each other in a tight hug. When she giggles at something Taehyung whispers in her ear, Jeongguk can see the resemblance between Taehyung and her. The same eyes, the same smile, the same warmth radiating off their presence. Taehyung’s mother has the same features too, and it’s easy to see who Taehyung inherited them from.

“I’m Jisoo, Taehyung’s aunt. Come on in!” She ushers them into her house, letting Namjoon park in her garage as the rest of them join her in her house.

Inside, her house smells of freshly baked cookies and citrus air fresheners, fitting in perfectly with the pastel yellow shade of paint on the interior walls. Stepping into the living room, Jeongguk notices that she had even prepared snacks—home-baked cookies—and some drinks for them, all laid out neatly on the table.

“You didn’t have to!” Taehyung says.

In response, she pinches his cheeks endearingly, beaming wider as she tells him that she wanted to be a good host to them.

“Come on Tae ah, introduce your friends to me.”

Taehyung nods, stepping to the side so that he can introduce them one by one.

“This is Mai—she’s our leader and plays the keyboard,” Taehyung says, pointing to Mai.

“Ah, yes. I think I remember.”

“That’s Diego, our guitarist.” Diego nods, waving to Taehyung’s aunt.

Before Taehyung can say anything else, the youngest bumbles over to introduce herself to Jisoo. “And I’m Ruien! I play the guitar too. And wow, your house is beautiful!” 

Jisoo smiles, pleased by the compliment. “Thank you, dear. You’re so sweet.” Then she turns to Jeongguk who is standing at the most far right of the line. “Who’s that handsome young man there then?”

Jeongguk flushes, not used to being complimented so outrightly. Feels his cheeks warm and the tips of his ears tingle in embarrassment. He ducks his head, hiding his blush, as he hears Taehyung stifle a giggle.

“That’s Jeongguk, our drummer and our second lead singer. He’s hella good at what he does.”

“Why does he get an added compliment?” Diego jokingly complains. The group laughs even louder when he quite shamelessly turns to Taehyung’s aunt and says, “I’m also hella good at what I do.”

“I’m sure you are all amazing,” Jisoo says, looking proud of them.

From what Taehyung has told them about her, she’s been incredibly supportive of his pursuit of music in the band, despite most of Taehyung’s family side-eyeing his choice of career. Taehyung’s parents and younger brother are also supportive of his decision, and while they do worry—about whether he’s eating enough, whether he’s tired—they do their best to provide him all the support and love he needs.

Taehyung’s thankful for them and appreciates them with his whole heart, though he doesn’t mention it often in front of Jeongguk. That’s something he vehemently avoids, all too aware of not rubbing salt into the wound, knowing it hurts tenfold when the open cut is right across Jeongguk’s heart.

“So, where have you all been?” Jisoo asks as she sits across them on the couch, sipping her tea.

The fragrance of chamomile and honey is sleep-inducing, and coupled with the light hum of the ceiling fan and summer breeze, Jeongguk feels himself relax entirely, sinking further into the cushion of their seat.

Taehyung begins recounting the past few weeks of touring to her, from the gigs to the sightseeing, making sure to fit in as many details as he can.

The rest of them add on to the conversation, making sure to sneak in some tidbits of information targeted to embarrass Taehyung.

(Two months ago, in Texas, when Taehyung mistook the beer as water and chugged the whole can down in a few minutes, before passing straight out on the floor. Thankfully, Jeongguk had been there to catch him before he landed on the ground and suffered head injuries, Taehyung’s head lolling as he dozed off instantly.)

(Three months ago, in Arizona, closer to home than they are now, Taehyung ripped open his shirt mid-performance in his excitement while tugging at it as he hopped about the stage. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder, but Jeongguk was quick to grab a jacket and threw it over Taehyung.)

(Five months back, still in California before they started their America tour, Taehyung volunteered to be designated driver. Both for practice and for fun, so that he would be able to help drive them to let the rest take breaks on their tour. They are pretty big for a small self-funded band, but not rich enough to afford another person on the team. Taehyung proceeded to ruin the minivan’s tire and trigger the air cushion system.)

Taehyung laughs with them, making harmless threats about how later, when they don’t have Jisoo to protect them, they will suffer from his wrath for betraying him. Mai merely pokes Taehyung in the cheek, saying, “You’re just our harmless little bean.”

It’s cozy and comfortable, and for a long time coming, Jeongguk has never felt so at home. It’s only been a few months since they’ve left California, their third country tour by now, but it feels like forever. Or maybe it’s the fact that, every time they return to California to rest, recharge, record, and push out new songs, Jeongguk does not go home.

Initially, he would crash at Taehyung’s house, an extended sleepover that only ends when they’ve to tour again. Mai, Ruien, and Taehyung still stay with their family when they go back to California, but Diego’s family moved back to Spain a year ago. Then, when Diego started looking for a tiny apartment to rent, Jeongguk offered to move in with him, splitting the rental fee and costs between the two of them. 

Sometimes, Jeongguk wonders if his parents want him to return home. He wonders what it would feel like—to step back onto the porch, ring the doorbell. Hear the familiar ding-dong echoing through the house. Relieve the image of the plain white walls, the fresh fragrance of the detergent his mother likes to use. 

Ever since the day he stepped out of his house, his clothes, his belongings, everything thrown into his bags and suitcases, he has not once returned. He thinks he might be cruel—to so easily break off all ties with his parents. To easily let go of his family in exchange for the path full of uncertainties.

They say passion is fickle, and family is forever, but music—and the band, and performing, and Taehyung —is his constant. And the longer he stays away from his family, the longer he stops talking to them, the harder it becomes for him to go back.

Jeongguk is snapped out of his trance when Jisoo stands up, clapping her hands together as she announces that it’s time for dinner. She heads to the kitchen to prepare for dinner and Ruien follows after her to offer her help. Meanwhile, Taehyung sidles up to Jeongguk, nudging him on the side.

“Hey, you good?”

Jeongguk raises his brows, angling himself to face Taehyung properly. “Hm?”

“You were just really quiet, is all.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. A little sleepy, I guess.”

“You can nap for a bit while we wait for dinner.”

Jeongguk furrows his brows. “I should go help.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Nah, we offered, but she kicked us all out. Something about too many cooks spoiling the broth.”

“She kept Rui though.”

Taehyung purses his lips, hiding his smile. “Y’know it. Everyone loves Rui. But you...”

Jeongguk snorts, shoving Taehyung by the shoulders lightly. The elder falls back against the seat, chuckling.

“But, really though, you can just nap. The others have already gone out for a walk and to buy dessert.”

“All the more I should help. I’m going to end up being the only one who’s done nothing since we got here.”

“No? How does that even—ugh,” Taehyung groans, rolling his eyes. Standing up abruptly, he tugs Jeongguk up by the sleeves. Jeongguk follows him easily, not knowing where they are going as Taehyung drags him across the living room.

“We’re heading up to rest!” Taehyung hollers towards the kitchen, and they hear a muffled “Okay,” followed by the sound of Jisoo’s very endeared cooing.

Taehyung makes a face that says, “See? Told you.” and drags Jeongguk further up the flight the stairs into what seems to be a guest room. The walls are stripped bare, and the room appears mostly unused. But the room is kept very clean, not a speck of dust in sight.

“Now. Go to sleep. We’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“I’m going to look like a terrible and lazy guest.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Your aunt’s not going to like me after this.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes again, grumbling under his breath. Jeongguk can’t hear very clearly what he’s saying, but it seems to consist of words like “Stupid”, “Idiot” and “He’s going to be the death of me”.

“Trust me, she already loves you to bits.”

“And you know that?”

“I do.”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow in disbelief. Outside, the sky has turned a deep orange as it approaches afternoon. The window is pushed open, its curtains fluttering against the breeze, offering the slightly humid room some ventilation.

Taehyung merely huffs in mild annoyance, pushing Jeongguk towards the bed and forcefully sitting him down at the edge. Then, he pushes him backwards, making him lie down in an awkward position, before pulling the blankets over him and tucking him into bed. Jeongguk follows without protest, letting Taehyung do whatever he likes, partly due to lethargy and partly due to the fact that it’s Taehyung who’s doing all of this.

“Good. Sleep.”

It’s now, while he’s lying in bed, the soft mattress sucking him in, that Jeongguk feels all the exhaustion catching up to him. All of a sudden, he feels so, so sleepy.

And what about you? He thinks in his mind, eyelids heavy and drooping.

He must have accidentally said it out loud, because Taehyung huffs again, before kneeling down to pull out an air mattress from beneath the bed frame.

“I’m going to nap too, of course.” There’s the sound of more shuffling, then the opening and closing of doors as Taehyung grabs a set of pillows and a blanket from the wardrobe. When he lies down a moment later, a soft thump as the mattress sinks under his weight, he says, “Sleep well, Jeongguk.”

And then, before he knows it, Jeongguk falls asleep.

Jeongguk wakes up before Taehyung does, when the lights have dimmed as the sun sets into the horizon. Outside, the skies are a blend of orange and deep blue, the lighter shades diminishing more and more as night falls.

Sitting up, he stretches, feeling his muscles ache in soreness. Cramped up on the minivan, travelling from place to place, sleeping on less than comfortable cheap motel beds—sometimes they take a toll on his body. He stifles a yawn, gaze landing on the sleeping figure on the floor.

Taehyung is curled on the air mattress, face pressed flush against the bedsheet as he snores into the pillow. His hair fans across his face, covering his features slightly and his clothes are a little wrinkled with sleep. In the distance, a car honks as it speeds down the street, but the noise doesn’t wake Taehyung up, the elder continuing sleeping peacefully.

Jeongguk, like the absolute disaster he is, can’t help but just stare, gaze tracing each and every feature on Taehyung’s face. Maps out on the constellation across Taehyung’s countenance, stars pieced together to perfection.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Jeongguk jolts, falling backwards onto the back again as his head knocks against the wall. He yelps, wincing, feeling the growing bump when he rubs the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, eyes laced with concern as he climbs onto the bed to check on Jeongguk.

“I’m—” Jeongguk starts, but the words die on his tongue, heavy.

Taehyung’s face is close, way too close, just mere inches away from his. From up close, Jeongguk can see the tiny freckles dotting his cheeks, the way his long eyelashes flutter slightly when he blinks. Feels the soft exhale as Taehyung breathes, lips pretty and pink. Eyes wide, irises a chocolate brown, Taehyung is so gorgeous , Jeongguk thinks he just might get lost in his eyes—if he hasn’t already.

Time ticks slowly, the air rushing against his ear, loud and roaring. A quiet moment passes and Jeongguk inhales, not daring to let his breath out. Because—because if Jeongguk leans in towards Taehyung, just by a tiny little bit, he would be able to close the distance between them and kiss him.

There’s a pause, before Jeongguk tears his gaze away, desperate to stop the heat rising in his cheeks. He stamps down the wild beating in his chest, afraid that, so close, Taehyung might be able to hear it.

The warmth feels too much all of a sudden, the air too tight. It’s only then does Jeongguk realize that in his fit of worry, Taehyung has practically clambered right onto his lap, knees spread apart and palms splayed at the side as he checks on Jeongguk worriedly. They’re not touching—no, but if Jeongguk shifts too much, their bodies would touch, and that’s not something Jeongguk is sure his body can handle.

“I’m fine,” Jeongguk says, voice surprisingly stable. He’s thankful it doesn’t betray the rapid pounding of his heart, or the fact that his fingers tingle with a pleasantly warm feeling of having Taehyung so close.

Stupid, traitorous heart.

“You sure?”

Jeongguk nods, gently poking at Taehyung’s shoulder to hint him to move back. Taehyung shifts away, climbing off him and the bed as he stands fully. He doesn’t seem to have noticed how the entire interaction for the past three minutes has sent Jeongguk’s heart into a frenzy. To him, it’s probably a perfectly normal and natural thing—to go up close and check on your friend who might have possibly gotten a head concussion.

Taehyung also seems to have forgotten that Jeongguk had been staring at him sleeping earlier on, and he’s thankful for the diversion of attention. He’s not sure how he’ll deal with Taehyung’s questioning—to lie, or to risk exposing his feelings.

Nonetheless, the decision has been made for him, and he’s glad for it.

They head down the stairs to the living room again, joining the rest for dinner.

Jisoo has just finished preparing the food, and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to help her carry it out to the dining area and set the table for dinner.

“Thank you for everything,” Jisoo says, as the two of them set about laying out the cutlery and plates on the table.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Jeongguk replies. “It’s the least I can do for letting us stay with you and for cooking for us.”

“No, dear, I meant thank you for taking care of our Taehyung.”

Jeongguk sets down the last of the plates, eyebrows raised in surprise as he turns to look at Jisoo. 

“I—He’s my best friend after all. All of us take care of each other. And, he takes good care of us too.”

Jisoo smiles. “I know. But you do that the most. Taehyung tells us about it all the time.”

I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes.

Jeongguk blinks, shaking the thought out of his mind. It nags at him, a constant replay, as if the throbbing reminder in his chest and the weak flicker of hope aren’t enough to remind him of what he wants— desires —but cannot have.

“It’s the least I can do,” Jeongguk says, again, for lack of better words.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what Jisoo’s words mean. Doesn’t know if there’s a veiled meaning behind what she says.

“It’s a good thing,” Jisoo reassures him. “Tae ah, he’s a wild one. My sister worries a lot for him, but we’re all thankful to you for being there for him.”

I have seen how you look at him, and that I know what that look means.

“The others are the ones who do the most, actually.”

Jisoo’s eyes soften, and she nods a few times, less in response to Jeongguk’s statement and more to herself. Like she has something more she wants to say.

But she doesn’t, and instead, tells him to call the others for dinner. As Jeongguk exits the dining area to call the others for dinner, some part of him nags at him that there’s more to Jisoo’s words than she says.

Why don’t you believe me when I say he feels the same, too?

Jeongguk grits his teeth, pushing the thought away. His desperation has led to his delusions that something can be possible between him and Taehyung.

“Jeongguk, come help!” Diego hollers from outside, where Mai and he are holding bags of dessert near the front gate at the porch.

His words snap Jeongguk out of his trance, and Jeongguk pushes all other thoughts to the back of his mind. Taehyung has already unlocked the door and crossed the threshold, ambling over to help them while commenting how Jisoo will scold them for buying too many snacks.

“Y’all really bought too much, and she’s going to yell at me for that.”

“We couldn’t pick, and we didn’t know what she likes best, so we got a little bit of everything,” Diego says, shrugging.

The tote bags he’s holding slip a bit, and Jeongguk rushes over to grab a few bags from him.

“Come over quickly, the food will grow cold,” Ruien yells from inside the house, where she’s bringing out the hot dishes onto the table. 

The delicious fragrance of roasted chicken and other dishes waft in the air, and all their stomachs collectively grumble in response.

It doesn’t take another word before Diego and Mai hurry back into the house, eager to start dinner. Watching them, Taehyung grins, then nudges Jeongguk on the side. A habit.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Jisoo’s cooking is amazing, and dinner was so delicious that Jeongguk helped himself to multiple servings of the good food. They stay the night at Jisoo’s house, taking up the two guest rooms at her place.

The next morning, after having breakfast with her at a nearby breakfast place that serves incredible pancakes and bagels, they hit the road again, heading back to New York City.

The day runs long, and they spend most of it in the minivan, going back to the usual routine of Mai and Diego taking turns to drive so that neither of them wears out in the few days leading up to their next performance.

Back in New York City, they head to a hotel, booked and paid for by the management team of the singer they are opening for. It’s artist welfare, the email had mentioned, and Mai doesn’t say it, but Jeongguk knows their leader wonders how long is it before they have enough fame and resources to hire and sponsor an opening act. Maybe soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

And that’s the thing about fame. It is fickle, volatile, and it changes with the winds, rises and falls with the tides. Jeongguk would be lying if he says he doesn’t want—if he says he hasn’t dreamed of it. Because fame means fans, and fans mean people love their music—loves it enough to stay. Stick around for more. Radio, their hit single. Holo, their first ep. Avalanche, their first full-length album, the one they all stayed up late at night eager to complete. People loving their music is everything to him.

But beyond that, right here, right now, with his band members by his side as they chase after a common dream, Jeongguk thinks this is more than enough.

The hotel is much fancier than all the cheap motels or sleep inns they are used to staying in. Posh decorations line the walls and ceilings of the hotel interior, and the fragrance of a floral air freshener fills the lobby, a stark contrast to the other musty and run-down motels. A bellboy greets them at the entrance, offering to carry their luggage up to their room. They decline the offer politely, because they don’t have much baggage on them in the first place, and the mere thought of it feels weird. Makes them feel strangely entitled.

The check-in process is speedy, and before long, they are ushered into the elevator and headed for their rooms. The management has booked five rooms, one for each person, which means that all of them finally get to have their own room. The privacy and personal space are not unwelcome.

But for Jeongguk, who has spent months on the road with Taehyung by his side, the sudden space that he’s been given feels colder than anything.

He’s become so accustomed to having Taehyung around him that Jeongguk thinks, in the back of his mind, Taehyung has long been acquainted with the feeling of comfort, home, and familiarity. He likes rooming with him. Likes falling asleep and waking up to him.

In the time he’s become who he is, growing into his features, he has gotten attached to Taehyung, and the thought scares him.

Some day, he will wake up, and this will all be a fever dream. He’ll be back in a nine-to-five office job, slaving off at his desk. He’ll wake up to an empty bed, no warm body pressed against his back.

And maybe they will still be friends. Maybe they’ll become strangers. Estranged acquaintances who share the youthful memories of what felt like forever.

As they enter the elevator, Ruien gushes about how she’s going to roll around on her bed now that she’s finally getting her own room. Mai chides her about keeping it clean now that she’s not there to clean up after the youngest, to which Ruien retorts with a “There’s housekeeping anyway!”

Beside him, Taehyung is quiet, eyes droopy in the way they always get when he’s about to fall asleep. Jeongguk hates that he knows it. Hates that he loves it. Hates that he might not be the only one who will get to see it, get to know Taehyung in this intimate way.

As the elevator reaches the eleventh floor, the doors slide open with a loud ding. With the five rooms separated on two different floors, two of them being on level eleven, Rui and Mai decide to stay together on the lower floor. After all, the lower levels are strictly non-smoking floors, and both of them strongly detest the smell of cigarettes.

Exiting the elevator, they bid the rest goodbye before heading to their rooms, while the other three travel further up towards the twenty-seventh.

As the door slides to a close, Jeongguk glances towards the elder, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. Wonders if Taehyung is happy to finally have a room to himself for a change.

The elevator ascends quickly as it rises up the floors. Twenty. Twenty-one. Their rooms are on the twenty-seventh floor.

His mind is full of thoughts, thinking, thinking, thinking. Sifts through the selfish parts, the parts that want Taehyung, always.

Is being selfish okay?

Jeongguk doesn’t know.

Sometimes, when he lets his mind dwell, he thinks too much. Thinks too hard about the unnecessary things, a side effect of his jumbled-up feelings. A side effect from choosing between music and family.

He’s been told before by Mai that he does that a lot, like he’s thinking for the world and not enough for himself. Like he’s afraid of making decisions, because a part of him is scared that maybe back then, when he chose to leave, he didn’t think enough for others.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. The elevator is playing a catchy jingle, the quiet kind that nobody really notices that it’s there.

The elevator dings as they finally arrive at their level, and they head towards their respective rooms.

Room 2703. Diego goes first, his room being the closest one to the elevator.

The hallway is playing yet another classical jazz music, filling the empty corridors with a lighthearted tune. As they walk nearer and nearer towards their own, Jeongguk counts the rooms. His mind juggles the pros and cons, the consequences. Knows what he wants but doesn’t know if it's something he can get.

Finally, they come to a stop, standing right in front of their rooms. It’s just nice that their rooms are directly opposite one another’s, Room 2721 and Room 2723 reflecting each other.

Taehyung taps his keycard against the electronic lock, and Jeongguk watches as the elder pushes open the door and guides his luggage in. He’s one foot into the room when Jeongguk calls out, in a desperate impulsive last-minute reaction.

Lately, all he feels is desperation.

“Yeah?” Taehyung asks, using his luggage to hold the door open. One hand slides the keycard into place to turn on the lights in the room while the other presses against the doorframe in a half-twisted posture.

“Uhm. I—” Jeongguk licks his lips, nervous. “I haven’t really roomed on my own in a while and—I can totally do that. Of course. Yeah. But—”

“Wanna room together?”

Jeongguk blinks, confused.

Taehyung leans into the doorframe, yawning as he blinks back, soft and sleepy. Jeongguk wishes to chase away the sleep demon pursuing him.

“Jeongguk, do you want to?”

“Yes!” Jeongguk clears his throat, faintly embarrassed. “I mean, yeah. Okay.”

“So? Yours or mine?”

Jeongguk blinks some more. Then, gathering his composure, he hurriedly drags his luggage over toward Taehyung’s room. Catches the slight grin on Taehyung’s face as the elder goes into the room and holds the door open for Jeongguk to enter after him. The door slides shut behind them in a soft click.

Once they are inside their room, Taehyung pushes his luggage to the side and flops onto the bed, something he likes to do whenever they get to a new room. He calls it his mattress-testing ritual.

Thankfully, the huge bed in the room is actually two single beds pushed together to become one, large enough to fit the both of them and at the same time, able to be separated into two smaller ones. Jeongguk doesn’t want to have to suffer the embarrassment of heading back to his own designated room when they realize the bed is too small to fit.

As Taehyung proceeds to roll around the bed and Jeongguk goes to settle down in their new hotel room, the elder speaks from where he’s lying face-up on the mattress.

“I’m so glad we’re rooming together.”

Jeongguk looks up from where he’s sitting on the carpeted floor, unpacking his things from his luggage.

“Huh? Why?”

Taehyung sits up, then lies down in the other direction, this time facing Jeongguk instead.

“Just because.”

“Just because?”

Taehyung nods. Rests his cheek against his outstretched arm, hands making grabby motions.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung starts, and Jeongguk’s heart does a backflip, squeezing. The way his name falls from Taehyung’s lips never fails to mess with his heart. He’s weak, so weak. “It’s always the best when I room with you.”

Taehyung grins, and Jeongguk can feel his own adoration in his expression as he smiles back at the elder.

And Jeongguk should have known it’s always been so easy when it comes to Taehyung.

“Glad to hear that.”

It’s like Mai has planted a seed inside Jeongguk’s mind, and now, he can’t ever get the thought out.

Heart guarded, he observes Taehyung more closely, less of just admiring his beauty and more of watching the way he looks back at Jeongguk. He tries seeing it from an outsider's perspective, tries to think—does he like me back?

It’s hard to tell. Hard to decipher what’s love and what’s friendship.

The fine line between the two is easy to cross, and while Jeongguk has completely crossed into the other threshold, Taehyung seems to be toeing the line.

The more he dwells on it, the more conflicted he becomes, unable to tell the difference between what’s simply the intimacy and familiarity of being best friends for many years and what’s more.

Because when Taehyung hugs him, when Taehyung holds his hand, when Taehyung falls asleep beside him on their shared bed, it feels as though it’s merely something normal between close friends. 

I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes, he hears, in the echoes of his mind.

But Jeongguk wants to tell Mai—

It feels like he only looks at me as a friend.

On a late morning a few days after arriving in New York City, they head to rehearsals, where the stage production team is already busy rushing around preparing the sound system and the lighting. The concert is at a much, much grander scale than what they’ve ever had, the capacity of the stadium enough to fit at least twenty-thousand people.

Clearly, the preparations required for it are much more than their tiny gigs and occasionally bigger performances.

They’re just an opening act for the main performer, so they only need to rehearse for a while and test out the sound system to make sure it works well. It’s also the first time they will be meeting the singer in person, and they are all jittery with nerves at the thought of it.

When they arrive at the stadium, the sound of someone singing echoes throughout the arena. On the stage, in the middle of it all, Jimin is rehearsing his latest hit single.

Jeongguk knows him. Has seen him on the television, heard him on the radio. A young rising Korean American singer who grew to fame from posting his song covers and other self-produced songs on youtube, Jimin is an inspiration. His amazing and soothing voice, coupled with his talent in writing his own songs, his striking visuals as well as his funny personality left the world wanting for more. And in real life, he’s even more handsome, voice smooth like honey.

When Jimin notices their arrival, he immediately rushes down the stage to greet them, arms outstretched as he pulls them in for a hug. 

“Hi! I’m Jimin! I love your music. Haven is one of my favorite bands!” He gushes, smile warm and welcoming. “I’m so glad you guys could open my concert!”

“Wow, thanks. Wow,” Mai says, looking a little stunned. None of them expected Jimin to be a fan of them, or at least, not to this extent. “This means a lot to us, really.”

“No! I’m so excited to be meeting y’all like, this is really happening.”

“You are really, really good,” Taehyung tells him, eyes wide with admiration. Out of all of them, Taehyung loves Jimin’s songs the most. He sees Jimin as an inspiration, so this opportunity means the most to him. “I love your voice so much!”

“Really? Look, I’m a huge fan of yours.”

And it’s predicted that the two would hit it off instantly, moving away to the side to converse more about singing techniques and their favorite vocalists. At the end of rehearsals, Taehyung has already gotten Jimin’s personal contact number, and on the way back to the hotel, Taehyung doesn’t stop texting his new friend.

“You and Jimin got so close,” Jeongguk comments offhandedly while packing his luggage.

He likes keeping it neat to save the trouble of packing rushedly on the last day.

“Yeah! He’s so fun to talk to.”

They fall into silence, and Jeongguk deliberates asking. The thought nags at him, tugging at his heartstrings. Jimin is stunning in all ways and when he sings—in front of the crowd, center of attention—Jeongguk can’t help but remember what Taehyung said the other night before. About how, when he meets someone like that, he will fall in love.

“Will you date him?” Jeongguk asks, hoping to sound as nonchalant as possible. Pretends to be interested in folding his clothes and piling them together.

His heart squeezes in fearful anticipation.

“Nah, we’re just friends.”

“In the future?”

“Not possible.”

“Why? He’s cute.”

“Not interested,” Taehyung shoots back decisively. “Hey, you were the one who was all upset about me asking if you would want to date that girl.”

Jeongguk sighs in relief, catching himself at the last moment so that it doesn’t look too obvious that he was afraid of Taehyung saying yes.

“Eh, sorry,” he says, shrugging. “My bad.”

“Why are you asking anyway?” Taehyung asks now, tone switching up to one that’s a little more teasing in nature. “Interested?”

Jeongguk looks up at him and makes a face. “Not my type.”

“Hm. Okay.”

There’s a pause, and Jeongguk can practically hear the way Taehyung’s gears are turning in his head. He looks as if he wants to probe him further on the matter, but he’s thankful when Taehyung drops the topic on what’s his type entirely, distracted by a new message from who Jeongguk guesses must be Jimin. 

And when the sky gets darker and they are back in their own rooms, getting ready to turn in for the night, Taehyung lies down and puts his phone away.

“Jeongguk, c’mere.”

Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow, turning to look at Taehyung from the other bed. They’ve separated the bed into their smaller single-sized ones so that each of them can have a super single bed to themselves, with the softest sheets and comfiest mattresses. It smells flowery, like spring, and Jeongguk can lie down, stretch out his arms, and still have space.

“What?”

“It’s cold.”

Jeongguk gets out of bed and walks towards the remote to adjust the air conditioning. “I’ll turn up the temperature.”

“Okay. But still, come over.”

“Why?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Jeongguk sighs, shaking his head. “Too much coffee? I told you to tone down on the drinking.”

“Don’t know. Don’t need your nagging. I get enough of it from Mai.” A pause, and the air is palpable. “I need a human bolster,” Taehyung adds, as an afterthought.

“Is that what I am to you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I’m offended,” Jeongguk says, but he’s already walking over to Taehyung’s bed, grabbing his own set of pillows and blanket from his bed on the way. “Want to push the two beds together?”

“No need. Lazy. Just squeeze with me.”

“Why should I sacrifice my comfort for you?” Jeongguk grumbles as he puts his pillow down.

In response, Taehyung merely chuckles. Doesn’t bother with an explanation. They both know what Taehyung wants, Taehyung gets.

“Scoot over,” Jeongguk says as he gets into bed with him, settling down comfortably and taking up the other half of the bed.

The bed is just nice for the two of them, leaving no more room for either of them to move around much. Like that, they are so close, nearly every part of them pressed together, side by side. Taehyung throws an arm around Jeongguk’s waist as he hugs him from the back, pulling them even closer to each other. And Jeongguk’s heart would have combusted on the spot, if not for the fact that Taehyung’s a well-known cuddler and they’ve done this multiple times before from all the times they’ve shared a bed in their cheap motel rooms on tour.

“You’re warm,” Taehyung murmurs, voice soft and drowsy as sleepiness creeps into him. “A human heater.”

Jeongguk snorts. His chest feels warm. Somewhere in his core, there’s a fuzzy feeling that makes him feel soft. “I’m starting to feel really used right now.”

The air conditioning hums quietly in the room as they fall into silence. The room is in complete darkness, lest for the faint borrowed light from the moon. 

Taehyung makes a non-committal sound and simply snuggles closer to Jeongguk as he shares his warmth. Sighs contentedly into the shared space between them, his exhale warming Jeongguk’s nape.

Jeongguk doesn’t think much of it, barely gives it a second thought.

But when Taehyung drops a lazy kiss to the back of his head, a mumbled ‘ Jeongguk’ falling from his lips, Jeongguk can’t help but wonder if Mai might be right after all.

The concert concludes successfully.

At the end of the show, Jimin invites them out on stage again to show his appreciation. The applause is astounding, louder than any of them have experienced.

Taehyung is standing right beside Jeongguk, and as the crowd’s cheer echoes in their ears, the elder glances at him, eyes softening ever so slightly. He mouths something Jeongguk can’t quite make out amidst the deafening applause, but his smile tells Jeongguk all that he needs to know.

For a second, paused in time and in this moment of pure happiness, Jeongguk feels as though he can have this. The fans. The music. Taehyung. He can stand in front of a crowd, spotlight hitting him from above, Taehyung by his side. And the audience’s eyes are on him—on them. For a second, Jeongguk feels as though he’s worthy.

And as they bow to the crowd, Taehyung takes Jeongguk’s hand in his, fingers interlocked tightly. He doesn’t let go until they’re leaving the stage, until they’re ushered back to the artist studio.

Overnight, their followers on Instagram and Twitter increased tenfold, powered by Jimin’s fame. There are lots of new fans showing their support to each and every one of them, stating their appreciation for Ruien and Diego’s guitar skills, Mai’s playing, Jeongguk’s drumming, and Taehyung’s singing.

Jimin congratulates them on it, and gives an additional bolster of support by shouting them out on his page. Taehyung is near tears, ever the emotional one, when Jimin’s tour group packs up their things and prepares for the next concert which is all the way in Canada. It’s in a few days’ time, so the singer has to leave on the next earliest flight.

“I’ll miss you,” Taehyung tells Jimin as he pulls him in for a hug. The latter promises to keep in contact, and before they know it, Jimin’s off on a flight headed straight for Toronto.

That night, the band retreats to their hotel, hoping to get an early rest before they plan out their next journey. In the end, high on the adrenaline rush post-concert, they eventually crash in Mai’s room for a mini-celebration.

They order in some late-night snacks and a couple of drinks, bonding over food and funny anecdotes of each other’s lives that they’ve heard about a bunch of times. It’s familiar and comforting, and even though Jeongguk has heard the story of Ruien accidentally punching Mai in her sleep seven times by now, he doesn’t mind it all that much.

Gathered together, Taehyung also takes the opportunity to snap a picture of Mai again—still in a white shirt and washed out jeans because that’s basically her fashion branding. The picture, as expected, garners a lot of attention, multiplied many more times by the new fans from the concert.

“Tae, stop taking photos of me like that!” Mai chides, eyebrows pinched together in a frown. She’s staring at the most recent photo Taehyung uploaded onto Instagram of her, watching the likes go up, up, up.

“Mai, embrace it. You’re beautiful, the fans love it, we make use of your visuals to publicize the band,” Taehyung says as matter of fact, not even batting an eye to the complaint.

He’s curled up on the couch, thigh pressed against Jeongguk’s as they squeeze together on the cushion. Taehyung is warm, an added flush to his cheeks from the drinks.

“I want to be known for being good at playing the keyboard and producing songs not—” She groans. Gestures wildly to the picture on the screen. “ This !”

Beside her, Diego shrugs, grinning. “You can use both your musical talent and looks to appeal to the public.”

At the same time, Ruien says all too gleefully, “Look, Mai, you’re on the famous ulzzang Tumblr page!”

“Hello? Do y’all see the comments? None of them are complimenting my keyboard skills, only—”

“Mai, don’t lie. I caught you smiling to yourself earlier on while scrolling through the comments.”

The room goes silent, before everyone bursts into laughter, Diego falling onto the ground as he doubles over in laughter. Mai sighs audibly, shoulders slumping as she sinks further into the seat and shakes her head, though a grin tugs at her face.

“All of you—demon children.”

“Mai, look at the comments!” Ruien says, eyes glued to her phone screen. It’s almost expected when she begins reading out some of the worst comments under the photo. “‘ Wow, you’re so goddamn hot.’ Oh and, ‘Who’s this hottie over here? Loving the sweat on you.’ and—oh my god, listen. Someone said, ‘ You’re so sexy, have my ba— ”

She’s thankfully cut off by Mai’s very embarrassed yelp, followed by the eldest unapologetically smacking her on the back of her head.

“Mai, be honest,” Taehyung says, eyes glinting and smiling all too mischievous for what he’s about to say to be anything good. He begins to stand now, and Jeongguk wants to ask where he's going. “You’re actually really narcissistic, aren’t you?”

He bolts out of the room after that, faster than Mai can yell at him and throw a pillow in his direction. He gets himself locked out of the room when Mai refuses to let him back in, and spends the next minute or so pleading.

Eventually, Jeongguk gets up from the comfort of the couch to open the door for him, hearing Ruien laugh in her tipsy state as she says,

“Jeongguk, you’re always so soft for him.”

Jeongguk—in his late-night frenzy, drunk on cheap hotel beer and the feeling of love—can’t stop thinking.

His mind buzzes with alcohol, a faint hum in the back of his head that is torn between being electrifying and being soothing. The tip of his fingers tingle, and his face feels flushed, heated. Mai’s words echo inside his head, a constant repetition, played out like a broken radio.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes.

They’re back in their own room, Taehyung passed out on his own bed from both the exhaustion and the alcohol. He’s lying in the middle of the bed, spread eagle and leaving no room for Jeongguk to squeeze in and sleep beside him. So Jeongguk relocates to his original bed, head propped up by the fluffy pillows as he lets his mind whir.

The room is dark, lest for the yellowish night light illuminating some part of the room. The clock on his left reads two-forty in the morning, certainly an undesirable time for Jeongguk to be wide awake and thinking. He can’t fall asleep, his incessant thoughts louder than the nagging voice telling him to just go to sleep.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes.

Jeongguk glances to his left. Taehyung is snoring softly now, completely lost in dreamland.

Everything is hitting him like a train wreck, crashing upon his senses the way waves hit the shores. For a moment, every single thing seems to piece together, separated puzzle pieces finding their place on the puzzle board again. Mai’s words. Jisoo’s words. Taehyung’s words. The what-if grows louder, turning from an impossibility to something that’s so much closer to reality.

For the first time in a long, long time, Jeongguk lets himself consider it—the possibility of what once felt impossible.

What if, what if, what if. What if, not in another alternative universe but in this very reality they are in, Taehyung actually likes him back?

Without thinking, Jeongguk picks up his phone and dials a number. The call rings once, twice—and Jeongguk thinks it’s probably a bad idea to call now, at such a late hour. But the other end of the call picks up, a quiet beep followed by a croaky, “What ?”

“Mai.”

“On god, what’s the time—fuck you. If this isn’t important, I’ll storm over right now and murder you.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just—Mai, I don’t know what to do.”

And it must be the weak desperation in Jeongguk’s voice that makes Mai pause for a long time, before the elder says gently, “What is it? Is everything okay? ”

“I think—maybe—does Taehyung like me?”

There’s a longer pause, and then the sounds of shuffling. A muffled voice comes through the call, warped with static and sounding like Ruien’s voice. Mai whispers something back in a hushed voice, something that sounds like “Go back to sleep. ” There’s more shuffling, and then—

“Is this a conversation you must have at three in the goddamn morning?”

“No. I mean, yes? I’m—I can’t sleep. I’m freaking out,” Jeongguk blurts out, unfiltered. And then, in a softer voice, “Sorry. Sorry, Mai.”

Mai sighs audibly. “ It’s okay. I don’t know what brought this on but, it’s okay. Right now, though, just go to sleep.”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts.”

“What if he really likes me back?”

Mai groans. “Fuck you. That’s what I’ve been trying to say, you chicken pie. ”

“So what should I—”

“Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The call ends, punctuated by a long dragged out monotonous beep. Jeongguk stares at his phone screen, before locking it and putting it aside. Then, he fluffs his pillows, lying further down the bed so that he’s no longer sitting up. Within minutes, he falls asleep, letting his mind wander to a universe where Taehyung is in love with him.

Mai calls him at the crack of dawn, his phone ringing to the tunes of one of their self-produced songs.

The eldest voice is still hoarse with sleep when she says, “See you on the rooftop in fifteen.”

Jeongguk gets out of bed, slipping into the soft slippers placed beside the frame. The room is still cast in darkness, bare hints of the rising sun sneaking in through the window between the gaps of fluttering curtains.

Taehyung is fast asleep, unaware of what’s happening around him. Somewhere along the night, his blanket has slipped down, half lying on the carpeted floors and half tangled around his legs. Jeongguk walks towards him, pulling the blanket up and tucking it properly around Taehyung, covering him. Then, he freshens up in the bathroom, making sure to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake Taehyung up.

Within a few minutes, Jeongguk is out of the room, the door locking silently behind him.

The elevator is still playing the same jingle—catchy and played on loop at the back of Jeongguk’s mind. The lighting inside the elevator is a warm orange, the interior design slightly tackier in nature but much fancier than the rusty old lifts in motels and sleep inns. Jeongguk gets out at the highest floor, before taking another flight of steps towards the rooftop.

Mai is already there, waiting for him. Two cups of what seems to be coffee in her hands, Mai, as best as she can, waves Jeongguk over.

“Mai,” Jeongguk greets, taking a cup from her. The drink is still warm, likely brewed just earlier in the morning.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

Jeongguk takes a sip of his coffee. It’s a little on the sweeter side, the way Mai takes her coffee. “Why did you want to talk so early?”

Mai gives him a look. “Can’t have the entire band waking up and asking where we’re going, can we?”

Jeongguk nods, chuckling. Smiles into the rim of his coffee as he takes another sip.

“So, spit it,” Mai says, looking straight ahead as the sky lightens with the rising sun.

Jeongguk looks up from the coffee to stare into the horizon instead. The sky is a blend of pink, orange, gold—a morning paintbrush dipped into the brightest warmest colors to brighten up the night sky.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s a first.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “I’ve been thinking, what if—what if Taehyung does, y’know. Like me back.”

“That is precisely what I’ve been saying?”

“I know, Mai, but—”

“What brought this on?”

Nothing and— everything. Because Jimin’s concert feels like something they—given time, and space, and all the possibilities—can actually achieve.

“I—I finally feel like I might be good enough. Like, I might deserve this. This love, this feeling, this happiness .” The words stumble out of him, spilling from his lips easily. “And—I did what you said. I really, really looked. It’s just—sometimes, I think he looks at me differently. I don’t know if I’m thinking too much into it, but it—I feel like maybe he always liked me a little bit, and I’ve just not been brave enough to see it.”

Mai has gone quiet.

Jeongguk licks his lips nervously, the awful feeling of wanting to cry washing over him abruptly. His hands tremble where they are holding onto his cup of coffee, the liquid sloshing gently against the interior of the cup.

“Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk looks up, meeting Mai’s eyes.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Tears gather in his eyes, stinging, and it takes all of him not to throw his coffee aside and pull Mai into a tight embrace.

Jeongguk nods, blinking back the tears.

“What are you going to do now then?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk answers truthfully.

“Do you want to confess?”

“I… I really don’t know.”

“You know what I think? I think you two deserve happiness.”

Jeongguk drums his fingers against the cup. His mind is racing miles per minute, thinking, thinking, thinking. Sifts through all the possible scenarios, the happy ones and the sad ones. The fractions of possibilities. But this time, the fantasy that he’s crafted out in the secrets of his own mind feels so bright, so stunning. 

So real.

“I think I’ll tell him.”

“Yeah?”

Jeongguk smiles, feeling as though a huge burden has been lifted off his chest. The sun is hanging high in the sky now, fully risen as morning comes. All of a sudden, loving feels so easy. Loving Taehyung has always been so easy.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk has a plan, or as much of one he can possibly come up with given the circumstances. The band is making a detour back down south, from east to west, before heading home to California again. In a few weeks’ time, they will be back home for a break. After that, Taehyung will be off to Japan on holiday for two weeks with his family in celebration of his younger brother’s graduation.

Jeongguk has got it down to a T—

He will confess after their very last gig, right before Taehyung flies off to Hokkaido. If things work out in his favor, Jeongguk will be happily waiting for Taehyung’s return. And if things don’t… then at least he will have two weeks of reprieve to dry up his tears. Pick himself back up and hope things go back to how they were before, so that the band can continue playing together.

It’s not a foolproof plan, filled with loopholes and what-ifs that Jeongguk can neither predict nor prepare for. All he can do is hope for the best, and hope his instincts are right.

And if the worst comes to worst, and Jeongguk and Taehyung can no longer play together in a band—then Jeongguk knows one of them will have to give up their dream. Between the two of them, Jeongguk already knows who will be the one to leave.

There’s a lot at stake, a lot to lose. But at the same time, there’s so much more to gain, so much more to win. And in a game of fifty-fifty, Jeongguk is willing to put his heart on the bet.

Jeongguk has never been particularly good with words. For someone who writes songs and lyrics, it is amazing how often words fail him. But while he can’t convey his thoughts and feelings with words, he can do so with a song.

In the following nights after he’s set his heart on confessing, he spends every waking moment working on the perfect love song. Perfect, not by the standards of the world, but by its ability to tell Taehyung how he has stolen his heart, his breath, since the very beginning.

It starts with a tune, a simple melody, inspired by the soft neon lights that dance across Taehyung’s cheeks. He sees it everywhere—when they’re on the road, when they’re on the stage, when they’re in the quiet comforts of their shared bed.

He comes up with the lyrics over a rainy night, inspired by the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the rooftop.

It is I love you in every way possible, etched into every word, every consonant, every note that carries the song to its end.

And one night, curled up in bed beside Taehyung, who has long fallen fast asleep, the title comes to him in a drowsy dream-like trance.

He calls it Lights.

(In the quiet of the room, glancing between the CD with his love song—a confession—and a sleeping Taehyung, Jeongguk believes that things will change after this.

He just hopes they change for the better.)

Things do change when they get to Arizona.

Somehow, along the way, more people hear of them and scramble for tickets to catch a glimpse of them. For the first time ever, they sell out.

Crescent Ballroom is filled with people, crowded to the brim, as they sing for the crowd. It doesn’t feel all that different, having a venue full of people as compared to a smaller gig at a local bar. They still sing the same way, still feel the same rush of passion when they perform their songs. But it’s also different, because the audience cheers louder, sings along louder, wants to be here—right here, right now—with them.

At the end of the concert, they stumble backstage towards their changing room, high on adrenaline and shaking with happiness. The corridor is quiet, blocking out the sounds of the concertgoers who are slowly leaving the venue outside. As they make their way to their designated room, Mai and Diego are in the lead, with Ruien tagging behind them and Taehyung and Jeongguk at the back. Ruien is completely engrossed in texting on her phone, ignoring the two eldest as they talk, but snippets of their conversation catch Taehyung and Jeongguk’s attention.

They talk about the profits earned from the past few weeks, and about how they should consider engaging a manager. Driving on tour and doing all the planning clearly takes a toll on all of them, especially the eldest two who are in charge of the band.

Jeongguk doesn’t mind it. It’s about time they hire people to help them in management—he’s seen the way Diego stays up late at night, calculating profits, budgeting, and making sure they are earning enough to sustain. Mai’s the leader, but Diego was offered an accounting degree. So, with the excuse that he’s the best man for the job, he took it upon himself to spare Mai the burden of keeping the accounts, effectively lifting a huge load off her shoulders.

If they are considering hiring a manager, it’s a good thing. It’s a sign that they’re doing well as a band, earning enough to be able to consider better things for themselves.

Things are really becoming better for them.

“Mr Jeon?”

Jeongguk turns, and Taehyung—who has one arm sling around Jeongguk’s shoulder, habitual—turns as well.

A woman, dressed in a suit, long hair tied up in a high ponytail, is standing behind them, calling him. She looks like a businesswoman, or at least, someone who works in an office. She definitely does not look like a concertgoer who managed to sneak in.

“May I speak to you?” She asks, looking directly at Jeongguk.

Jeongguk blinks. Turns to glance at Taehyung, who shares with him an equally confused expression. Jeongguk turns back, nodding.

“Yeah? Uh—go ahead.”

“Privately, please.” Her tone is clipped, words enunciated perfectly. Each consonant and vowel is hard-hitting, stern in the way a discipline master would speak to students in a school setting. Her words are not short of politeness, but the way she says them feels slightly demeaning.

She does not spare Taehyung a single glance.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Taehyung says, arm slipping off Jeongguk’s shoulder. The entire situation feels weirdly wrong. “I’ll catch you around later.”

“This room, please,” the lady says the moment Taehyung is out of hearing range and out of sight. She ushers Jeongguk into an empty room, one that looks identical to the changing room they were assigned to for this show.

Taking a seat on a couch, she invites him to sit opposite her. The door closes behind them, shut by someone who seems to be her assistant, whom she ignores as well.

“Mr Jeon, correct?” She asks, more of a formality than anything. Jeongguk nods tersely. The atmosphere is strangely tense. “I am Francesca Miller. I am from Warner Records—surely you have heard of us before?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I have,” Jeongguk says.

Of course he has. Warner Records is one of the largest record labels in America, with a long list of successful music artists under their company. This half-explains the domineering and intimidating aura Francesca radiates.

“Good.” Francesca looks away from him, focusing on a document held in her hand instead.

Scanning the document, she says, “I was watching you perform earlier. I understand that you produce all the songs for the band, play as a drummer, and sing as well, is that correct?”

“Not all, only some. The rest of my bandmates write and produce songs too. But yes, I play the drum set.”

She waves him off, dismissive. She doesn’t look at him, eyes still glued on the fine prints of her documents as she says, “Yes, yes. Of course. The band.”

Jeongguk stamps down the weird feeling rising in his chest from her tone and her words. The harshness and disregard in them.

“So, currently, how much are you earning from the band?”

“I’m—not quite sure? Diego does the accounts. We split at the end of each tour.”

“Diego? I believe he’s one of your guitarists?”

Jeongguk nods.

“I’ve read your page. But, never mind that. Surely, nothing will be more than this,” Francesca says, sliding the document across the table towards Jeongguk. Leaning back, she crosses one leg over the other, chin tilted up in a faint air of arrogance. It irks Jeongguk the more he stays in the room, sharing the space with her. “Read it.”

Jeongguk is tempted to just stand up and leave. Walk away from Francesca and her rude attitude. But he picks up the document nonetheless, eyes quickly scanning the lines of words printed in black.

“This is…” He looks up slowly, meeting Francesca in the eyes. She is smiling, blood-red lips curled up in a sharp grin, too smug and cocky.

“Yes. A contract.”

“For…?”

“You. But, only you.”

Jeongguk frowns. Nothing makes sense to him. “Why?”

“Because—” Francesca leans forward, her smile reminding Jeongguk of a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. It sends a slight shiver down his spine. “—we only sign the best into our company.”

“I play in a band. Haven—it’s my everything.”

“Boy,” Francesca says, and the word has every intention to ridicule and mock. “We do not waste money on ordinary people. Slightly more ordinary, at best. We’re a for-profit company, not charity.”

“I reject this.”

“Are you so sure you want to make a decision so hastily? Have you looked at the details? Your own solo album. Your own concerts. Your own recording and production studio. Your own songs, only.”

“I love playing in Haven, I love playing all of our songs. The members—they’re my family.”

“Of course. How loyal,” she says, but even then, he feels ridiculed. “But on your own, you can do so much more. With Warner Records, we will give you all the resources and support you need. You won’t have to play at local pubs anymore, but stadiums. I’m talking about big venues, thirty thousand people, just for you.”

Her lips curl up further, and somehow, Jeongguk feels like he’s already at the losing end.

“Big money.” She leans back again, arms crossing across her chest. “Do you want to play in a… mediocre band for good? Or do you want to be world-famous and make your parents proud?”

Make your parents proud.

Jeongguk stands up abruptly. “I—”

Make your parents proud.

Francesca is watching him, a nonchalant and calm look on her face. Then, her gaze flits down to Jeongguk’s hands, and her smile widens ever so slightly.

Jeongguk follows her line of sight, down to his hands and the document. He’s still holding onto the thin stack of papers, stapled neatly together at the corner, tight grip. His fingers are trembling. He feels weak.

“Don’t make such a swift and hurried decision. Take your time, brood on it. We’re not in a rush. Number’s at the bottom of the contract, you know how to contact me.”

Then, she stands, dusting the lint off her suit pants. Walks towards the door, leaving Jeongguk behind. Right before she exits the room, she turns, heels scratching against the floor as she says, “Choose wisely.”

The door closes with a soft click behind her, and even in the empty room, her presence is still so suffocating. Her words linger in the air, like frozen ice sharpened into dagger-like icicles.

Jeongguk inhales. Exhales. Feels each breath punched out of him.

It’s like the events of three years ago are repeating, presenting the same set of choices before him. And this time, Jeongguk has to make yet another decision again.

His phone rings at this very moment, cutting right through his train of endless thoughts. Jeongguk fumbles for his phone in his pocket, swiping right to pick up the call.

“You done? We’re leaving soon. ”

“Yeah.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See you.”

The call ends, and Jeongguk slips his phone back into his jeans pocket. He must have just stood there for another good five minutes, before he leaves the room, heading towards the car park where their minivan is parked. The document is folded, folded, and folded again to become a much smaller deck of papers, shoved into his other back pocket.

Taehyung must not have told the other members anything, because they don’t question him where he was at for the past ten to fifteen minutes. As they pile into the minivan, Mai and Diego at the front and the rest at the back, Taehyung lets Ruien get in first, before following her to sit in the middle. Jeongguk gets in last, closing the car door and leaning his head against the window.

Taehyung is perceptive enough to leave him be for now, not bombarding him with questions Jeongguk is sure he’s dying to know the answers to.

Instead, Taehyung reaches over, taking Jeongguk’s hand in his and squeezing it tightly. Once, twice. It’s warm, and the contact makes his skin tingle in a comforting way. Then Taehyung pulls away, giving him space.

For the rest of the journey back to the hotel, they travel in mostly silence, but Jeongguk’s thoughts are louder than ever.

Jeongguk knows Taehyung has been itching to ask him questions ever since they returned to their hotel room. The elder had not so subtly lingered around Jeongguk as he went around the room gathering his things, packing them before they head off to the next state.

Then, Jeongguk had jumped straight into the bathroom to shower and cool his mind. It’s a good fifteen minutes later when Jeongguk gets out of the shower, and before Taehyung could say anything, he asked if he’d like to shower, to which the elder took it as his reluctance to talk.

Now, many minutes later, they are both on their phones, Jeongguk sitting on the floor beside his luggage while Taehyung is on his own bed.

“What’s on your mind?”

Jeongguk looks up from his phone, blinking slowly as his gaze traces back to the owner of the voice. The blue light from his phone screen dims, before turning black completely as it switches off.

“Nothing.”

Taehyung blinks back at him, before sitting up from where he was lying on his stomach on the bed. For the past twenty minutes or so, Jeongguk has been staring at his phone. He doesn’t even remember what Taehyung has been doing since he got out of the shower.

“It’s not nothing,” Taehyung says, glancing towards Jeongguk’s phone. “I’ve been watching you stare at your phone for the past I don’t know how long, and you didn’t even realize it.”

“Why were you staring at me?” Jeongguk deflects, but the downward twist in Taehyung’s lips tells him the elder sees through his little stunt.

“Jeongguk, you were just, like, zoning out. In a weird, freakish way.”

“You do that too, sometimes.”

“No, I don’t,” Taehyung retorts. “Okay, maybe I do, but the point is—Jeongguk, something’s wrong. I can tell.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. Taehyung’s frown deepens.

“Jeongguk-ah, you haven’t been yourself since that lady spoke to you. And—okay, I may be thinking too much into it, but my instincts tell me something happened, and it’s bothering you.”

“I—”

The words are so hard to get out. Because once spoken, it becomes so startlingly clear how the entire thing is a lose-lose situation, and Jeongguk is the villain here. It’s selfishness in both ways, to different people.

Is it selfish if, on some nights, Jeongguk misses his father’s voice? If Jeongguk wishes that, maybe, on the night he left, he didn’t, and instead went to university as his parents so desperately hoped for?

(“There is no future in music. Who do you think you are? You have no money, nothing. Unless you can become successful, you are nothing .”

“I will prove myself to you. I will be famous, and touring, and I’ll be happier than I ever could be if I was stuck in an engineering degree only you wanted because you couldn’t make it!”

A slap. It stings. Jeongguk’s eyes sting too. His vision blurs slightly, a thin veil of tears twisting his sight.

“I don’t have a son like you. Leave. Go out the door. But don’t you dare come back.”

His grip on his luggage handle tightens. His mother’s muted sobs fade. Jeongguk leaves, and never goes back.)

“Jeongguk?”

Taehyung has gotten off the bed, and is now sitting down cross-legged on the floor, right across Jeongguk. Under the murky orange light of the motel room, Taehyung still shines golden.

Jeongguk pulls out the folded document from his luggage, raising it up so that Taehyung can take it.

“Read this.”

And Taehyung does. He reads it. There’s not a single expression on his face despite how much of an open book he is to Jeongguk by now. Jeongguk has always taken pride in the fact that he knows Taehyung best and can almost always tell what he’s thinking and feeling. (Except, when it comes to things about love.)

When Taehyung is done, he gives the document back to Jeongguk. He looks at Jeongguk for a long time, and Jeongguk looks away, not knowing how to look his best friend in the eye.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

Jeongguk’s heart squeezes.

“This is amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Jeongguk turns his head so quickly he almost gets whiplash, eyes meeting Taehyung’s. The elder’s eyes are so soft and kind and gentle—hints of pride and happiness reflected in his dark irises.

“But—” Jeongguk swallows. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He pauses. Tries again. “But, if I… if I accept this, then I’ll have to leave.”

“And you will get all the opportunities and recognition you deserve!”

“But I’ll have to leave.”

“And that’s okay. Jeongguk—we’ve spent the past three, four, I don’t know, maybe even five years doing this.” Taehyung pauses, leaning forward a little more. Looks straight into Jeongguk’s eyes so that this time, he can’t look away. “It’s time you thought for yourself.”

“I can’t do this to the band. I can’t do this to you .”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Taehyung says, and Jeongguk doesn’t realize his hands have been trembling until Taehyung takes them in his smaller ones, holding them tightly. In the wildest storms, Taehyung is his anchor. “The band… we’ll be okay.”

Jeongguk looks at Taehyung, and the conviction in his eyes almost convinces him to go ahead. Sign the contract, pursue his own success. But Jeongguk also feels the slight tremor in Taehyung’s hands, the barely-there quiver.

“Tae, I—” His voice drops into a whisper. “What if they get upset?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Whatever you choose to do, trust that all of us will support you. I will support you. But, whatever it is, don’t do it for us, do it for yourself.”

Is it okay to be selfish? Jeongguk doesn’t know.

But Taehyung doesn’t know that to Jeongguk, he’s more than just an anchor. In a raging storm, Taehyung is his northern light, the star guiding him home.

The band takes the news surprisingly well. Other than Diego choking on his sandwich and Ruien yelling a very loud “What?”, nobody seems eager to punch him. Yet.

It had taken Jeongguk a whole week and five performances before he finally broke the news to the band after their last concert in Utah. And now, they are here, scattered around the artist room backstage of The Depot, all eyes on him.

The attention feels a little overwhelming.

“How did this—woah. Have you made a decision yet?” Mai asks while patting Diego on the back. Diego is still coughing slightly after a piece of bacon bits went down the wrong pipe.

“No, I have not. I just… don’t really know what to do.”

“Do you know what you want more?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Wow. Okay. Wow,” Ruien says, brows pinching together slightly the way they always do when she's thinking really hard. “Have you weighed the pros and cons?”

“I wanted to—” Jeongguk gestures at them, scuffing the sole of his shoes against the floor. His voice is a mumble when he says, “I—y’know. Wanted to ask what y’all thought.”

“I say go for it,” Mai says.

The entire band turns to look at her, surprise coloring their expressions.

Mai shrugs. “I mean, it’s a really big opportunity. And, of course it’s going to be different in the band, without you…” Mai winces, as if the thought of it pains her. Pains her the same way it does Jeongguk. “But, as I said, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Diego, a few gulps of water later, nods. “I agree. It’s… hell, I don’t want you to go. But, it’d be selfish for me to keep you.”

Jeongguk turns to Ruien, waiting. The youngest smiles a little, the corner of her eyes still pulled down by sadness. She’s always been the most expressive of them all, the one who speaks the thoughts in their minds. The eldest two may try to think what’s best for him, but he trusts that Ruien will be the one to be honest and blunt with him.

“It’s not that we don’t want you to stay. We just don’t want to be holding you back from something that might be better for you.”

Taehyung nudges Jeongguk on the side, smiling softly. “I told you, didn’t I?”

And Taehyung is right. All of them are so incredibly supportive of this, to the point where Jeongguk feels like his world is spinning because—it doesn’t feel right. Everything feels so sudden, so abrupt. As though he’s just been uprooted from what he has come to know as home, and thrown into somewhere foreign.

There’s no arguments, no fighting. No Mai scolding him for even considering leaving, no Diego feeling disappointed. No Ruien getting angry at him, no Taehyung giving him the cold shoulder.

Unless you become successful, you are nothing.

And what is success measured by? By the number of people chanting Jeongguk’s name? By the amount of money cashed into his bank account?

Jeongguk doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

“I’ll think about it more, I really—don’t know.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mai says. “We do want you to stay, though.”

The rest murmur their agreement, and then the conversation is over, as simple as that.

Under the strong recommendation of their event host in Salt Lake City, they head down to a particular bar called the Beerhive Pub. The lights of the bar are turned down low, the yellow lighting bouncing off the crystal clear glass cabinets. A sultry voice sings as the background music in the bar, voice low and seductive. It adds to the ambiance of the place, but Jeongguk isn't interested. Instead, he takes another sip of his alcohol, letting the burning liquid wash down his throat.

Diego’s there to stop him from ordering another drink when he’s done with the third, telling him he’s already getting a little too tipsy.

“What’s wrong? You never drink much.”

Jeongguk sets the empty cup down onto the counter. It makes a quiet clink with the glass surface of the bar top table.

“Tastes good.”

Diego gives him a look. “You know that’s the stupidest thing you could have said, right?”

“I know.”

“Bro, tell me.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

Even if Diego is not as observant and perceptive as Mai, Jeongguk still hates how the elder can see through him most of the time. He’s surprised Diego has not caught up to his hidden feelings for their bandmate yet, but given how the crush in question who supposedly knows Jeongguk best doesn’t even realize it himself, it’s not all that shocking after all.

Tonight, however, isn’t about Taehyung. Their lead singer is leaning against the counter a few seats away, engaged in a hushed conversation with the other two of the band. Jeongguk sneaks a look at him, feeling the way his heart rate spikes at the mere glance. He squashes down the feeling, attributing his quickened heartbeat to the alcohol.

“Is it about the contract?”

Jeongguk winces. Chooses not to reply as he reaches over to steal Diego’s glass of cocktail. He downs the drink in one quick mouthful despite his protest, before returning the glass back to the elder, cup empty. He knows his silence is enough of an answer.

Diego places the cup on the counter, pushing away both their glasses. “No more alcohol for you tonight.”

He supposes that amongst all the bands, the ones reaching for fame, amongst all the reckless people who make stupid decisions, he’s lucky to have his team. They ground each other, keeping one another afloat and preventing them from sinking.

They all have their bad habits, their vices. But it’s one thing to lose yourself to them and another to still be sober, to know that you’ve not fallen to your devils.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Diego looks at him, concern marked deep in the furrow of his brows.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. No.”

“What’s stopping you?” The elder presses on.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jeongguk says, and the way his voice trembles makes him feel so, so weak. “Please.”

Diego backs off him. “Okay. But if you need someone, I’m here. We’re all here.”

Jeongguk nods. His mind spins.

What does he do if he’s alone, and there’s no one there anymore? What does he do if he’s had one too many drinks at night, and no one’s there to stop him?

“I’m heading to the washroom,” Jeongguk says, pushing away from the counter. He doesn’t leave any room for argument when he adds, “I’ll be okay on my own.”

The washroom is brighter than the bar, yellow light bouncing off the checkered tiled walls. Gold, white, gold, white, the colors alternate. There’s no one else in the washroom, other than him.

When Jeongguk locks himself in the last cubicle at the end of the washroom, he takes his phone out from the back pocket of his jeans. The screen lights up instantly as a new message appears at the top, pushing all the other notifications below it. He ignores it in favor of pulling up the phone call application, waiting.

Is it selfish if he misses his mother’s voice? If right now, he’s thinking of leaving his band, his newfound family, just to make his parents proud again?

The screen darkens as it remains idle. With a sigh, Jeongguk slides his phone back into his pocket, the screen locking with a silent click.

The side effects of the alcohol are getting to him now, making his head pound in the worst ways possible. Sitting down onto the toilet seat cover, he rests his head in his palms, hoping that the imminent headache and the subtle aching in his heart will subside with time.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Why me? Why not the band? Why just me?”

Taehyung frowns. “What do you mean?”

He’s beautiful like this. Bare-faced, plain white shirt paired with beach shorts cut at his knees. He’s golden and bright, and Jeongguk doesn’t know how the world can’t see his blinding light.

“I don’t get it. I don’t think I’m good enough on my own.”

There’s a pause, and Taehyung’s frown fades away to a smile caught between gentle and teasing. “Hey, stop rubbing it in my face.”

“I’m—I’m not, I’m only—”

“I know, I know. Just teasing. You’re really good, you know that? You’re really talented.” Taehyung’s smile softens, and it’s so unbearably beautiful that Jeongguk’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. “You write so many amazing songs, the ones that brought us to where we are today. And you play the drum so well, and you know how to write the different parts to put all our instruments and voices together.”

A pause, a moment stopped in time. The world stills in anticipation. Taehying’s voice is unbearably soft when he says, “Jeongguk-ah, you don’t see it, of course you don’t. But when you’re on the stage, playing, you’re so, so captivating, you know?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen a little, breath trapped in his lungs. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it sounded a lot like a confession.

The plain old lights of the rickety motel room are dull, a boring shade of yellow that makes the scene feel like it’s pulled straight out of a nineties low-budget movie. But Taehyung is a crystal clear image, silhouette sharpened by the faded lights.

“So, what I’m trying to say is,” Taehyung continues. “You have it in you. The shine. The sparkle. The X-factor. Whatever, I’m not trying to be a poet here. But you have it in you.”

One, two, three seconds pass by. The light shifts, and air rushes back into his lungs again.

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Okay.”

And Jeongguk thinks, no matter where he goes—to Warner Records or to stay in Haven—he wants this (these dusty hotel rooms, this state-to-state driving on the roads, and Taehyung) for just a little longer.

They are lucky enough to perform a few nights in Las Vegas, sharing stages with other bands and performers. There, they meet another local band called the Quart—a hip hop group of four, consisting of Michael, Hoseok, Rika, and Becky—and a Canadian band called Peach Pit. They also get to know two soloists, Wynn and Meredith, who are also trying to make a name for themselves in this competitive music industry.

Las Vegas music venues are hard to book and hard to engage, but together, all the performers have enough appeal combined to pull a few shows with a more than decent size of audience.

Jeongguk knows Las Vegas holds a special spot in Taehyung’s heart. For a few years of his childhood, Taehyung had stayed in Las Vegas after his father was deployed to a branch office here in Nevada. It was temporary, only a short couple of years, before their entire family moved back to California, but those few years remain precious to Taehyung.

Backstage, after the concert, two of Taehyung’s middle school friends stopped by to see him. Taehyung has mentioned them before, and the last tour, when the band stopped by Las Vegas to perform, they came by to watch them too. Even now, they still keep in close contact with Taehyung, just like how Jeongguk tries his best to phone his friends back in South Korea at least once a month.

He thinks it’s interesting how Taehyung’s friends in Las Vegas are quite like him in terms of their outgoing and friendly personalities. Valeria is a tiny girl with short-cropped hair, a sunny attitude, and raps a thousand times better than Jeongguk ever can. She’s one of the coolest people he has ever met, and Jeongguk has met a lot of cool people. Similarly, Mateo is warm and affectionate, with a great sense of fashion highlighting his good looks.

Tonight, all of them hit the club downtown, led by Valeria and Mateo, who claim they know the city inside out. The club fills up quickly, crowded partly because of the performance crew, making the place even more lively than before. Taehyung mostly spends the night catching up with his good friends, while the rest of them mingle with the other performers to make some new friends.

Here, it’s easy to forget about Francesca, the contract, and all the worries that have been clouding Jeongguk’s mind for the past many nights. It’s nice to acquaint himself with other artists from the music industry, to be able to relate to their struggles of forging a new path for themselves despite the obstacles faced when creating music. There are challenges that they—all of them—have conquered, in order to be here, today.

It’s one thing to make music for yourself, and another to put your music out there in the world for people to scrutinize and judge. Amidst the many, many people trying their best to succeed, Jeongguk thinks Haven is fortunate enough to have the opportunities they get and the chance to tour America.

The club is pounding with loud music, people dancing to the songs as they lose themselves to the rhythm and the beats. Jeongguk, together with Wynn and Rika, watches as Mai and Hoseok enter a non-competitive, good-humored rap battle, which is rather random but nonetheless very entertaining. Beside them, Diego and Michael have hit it off, their combined sense of humor—which is debatable—making the rest laugh.

That’s the fun part of making music and being on the road, performing. To meet new people, acquaint yourself with other performers, and just have an amazing time doing what you love. It’s the best when Taehyung is with him, beside him, laughing at all the jokes and listening in on all the stories. 

Halfway through the night, Rika slides into the seat beside Jeongguk, offering him a glass of cocktail. Most of their friends have gone off onto the dance floor, or disappeared elsewhere to do god knows what.

“Here. I saw your glass is empty.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

Jeongguk turns to face Rika properly. The cocktail is sweet, the alcohol a good punch as he sips the drink.

“Yeah? What do you want to ask?”

“You like anyone?”

As if on cue, Jeongguk sputters, choking on his drink. His glass tips, some spilling onto his pants. In response, Rika pats him on the back and passes him a glass of water.

“Woah, calm down.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jeongguk says in between wiping himself with a serviette, cleaning up the partly spilled drink from his jeans. “I didn’t expect that, that's all.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Rika laughs, taking a sip of her own cocktail. “Shouldn’t have sprung that upon you. Was just curious.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Oh, don't look at me like that. I’m not hitting on you. I just thought…” She pauses, eyes flitting over to the other booth—the booth where Taehyung, Valeria, and Mateo are at. Shrugs. “Y’know.”

Jeongguk stares. “Huh?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Your friend. Bandmate. Tayhung? Is that his name?”

Jeongguk gulps. “Yeah, uhm. Close. Taehyung, he’s called Taehyung. And uh—”

His brain stalls, mind going blank. Rika’s the second person to call him out on his feelings for his best friend. Jeongguk’s amazed at how fast she picked that up. Was he that obvious?

“People have told me I’m good at this. Picking up on it. You’re actually kinda subtle. But—” She knocks back the rest of her alcohol, grinning. “I’m a pro.”

“Thanks?” Jeongguk says, more of a question. His mind is going into overdrive, trying to process her words.

Rika laughs again, the loud kind that sort of booms and radiates happiness. “What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Confess? Date? I don’t know, make that boy yours?”

“Oh. Oh, uhm—” Jeongguk scrambles for the right words. Comes up short. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me, we’ve got all night.”

So he does. Jeongguk tells her everything. Tells her how he fell in love, and hard. Tells her how he doesn’t know if he’ll ever love someone as much. Rika listens through it all with a quiet inquisition, paying close attention as he shares his not-quite-interesting story.

“But yeah, I think—I think I’m going to confess. Soon.” Jeongguk licks his lips. Just the thought of it makes him nervous. “I've a plan for our last concert of the tour. Yeah.”

In the time Jeongguk takes to tell his story, Rika has gotten a refill for her cup, and she tips back more of the alcohol. Sets the glass down on the table with a muted clink. A grin tugs at the corner of her lips when she says, “Take my word for it, okay? You want to do it, you do it fast.”

“What?”

Rika’s smile turns gentle. “Kid’s not gonna be waiting around for you all day. He’s a good catch. I don’t think you’re the only one who likes him.”

Jeongguk’s heart thuds in his chest. 

Rika is right, and Jeongguk knows it himself. He’s been scared the past few years of his life, wondering when Taehyung will be snatched away by someone else who will love him better than Jeongguk can.

He’s lucky enough that Taehyung has remained single for the past years, short of the one time he had a girlfriend for a few months in their final year of high school. It was one of the worst times of Jeongguk’s life, even though back then he hadn’t known it was because of love. He thought he was just jealous that Taehyung got a girlfriend before he did.

(Jeongguk did get one a few months later, and realized he was completely not interested and only cared about hanging out with Taehyung after school.)

Surprisingly, neither Taehyung nor he hooks up with strangers on tours and such, even though these are the best times to meet and date new people. From what Jeongguk has heard, although he desperately wants to unhear it, only Diego has dated—and hooked up with people—after graduation.

Rika’s words make Jeongguk think. There’s only a month or so left until their final performance of this tour. In these short few weeks, Jeongguk will be playing with the chance of Taehyung still being single and free.

If he confesses early, and Taehyung rejects him, they will have to suffer the awkwardness throughout the remaining concerts. If he confesses late, and Taehyung is already taken, Jeongguk will be left with nothing but heartbreak.

The lights of the club dim, turning neon. Jeongguk sneaks a peek at the other booth, watching Taehyung toss his head back as he laughs at something Valeria said. He must have been staring for too long because Taehyung turns to look at him, catching Jeongguk by surprise. Before Jeongguk gets the chance to dodge his gaze, Taehyung smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Jeongguk’s heart clenches tightly, squeezing. He cannot afford to lose this.

He’s then hit by the sudden realization that if he gives up the band, if he signs the contract, there’s even more to lose. If he puts distance—not just the physical—between them, then there’s no saying what will happen between him and Taehyung.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but can absence born out of selfishness harvest love? Jeongguk doesn’t know.

And, given a choice, he will not take the gamble.

But life is full of vices, gambling being one of the most vicious of all.

Jeongguk gets a call three days later that changes everything. It’s a familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

“ Hello ?”

Jeongguk nearly drops his phone in surprise.

“ Hello? Is anyone there? I—Jeongguk-ah?”

His jaw drops open, words caught in his throat. He has almost forgotten the way she calls his name.

“Hello.”

There’s a pause, a long one that makes him think maybe she has ended the call. Static travels through the call, warped by the distance, and then there's the sound of a choked gasp.

“ Jeongguk-ah, can you—we—” Her voice trembles, soft with a tinge of desperation. “ You know your dad, he was laid off from work recently and the stocks he invested in, they’re not doing well. Your dad—he lost a lot of money. Can you help us? Will you? We have nothing left.”

The first call he’s gotten from them in so long, and it’s not to ask about him.

Jeongguk’s grip on his phone tightens. Anger and worry wash over him, fury crashing through him in waves. Despite it all, it hurts—hurts to hear his mother in pain, hurts to know that the only reason they call is because they need something from him.

“ Jeongguk-ah. Please. We really have nothing left.”

He grits his teeth. The words feel like sharp stabs to his heart. Back then, when his father let him go, she did not say no. She watched him go.

But now—

“What do you need?”

Because even now, hearing her voice again, he cannot say no. Because she is still his mother, because somewhere, deep down, he always misses her.

And in spite of everything, for the first many years of his life, she had been a good mother to him. Not amazing, but good enough.

“ We need some money. Not a lot, just—just enough .”

“How much?”

“ We… are losing the house. He mortgaged the house to invest. It’s all because of the investment stocks.”

“That—” He exhales, breath shaky. “That’s a lot of money.”

He hears a pained sob. “ I know. I… Jeongguk-ah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have been such a terrible mother. I’m sorry I did not call you once ever since you left. And, I’m sorry that this is the reason I’m calling you for.”

“Ma…” It’s the first time in three years since he called her. The name slips past his lips, more out of habit than anything. Go long enough without saying a word and it loses its meaning. “Where will I even get this much money?”

Even if the band is starting to do well, they won’t have that kind of money.

“ I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m— ”

Jeongguk sighs. Shuts his eyes. Feels the shallow inhale and exhale of his breath. Counts to three.

“I’ll find the money.”

“ Thank you. Jeongguk-ah, thank you. Your father—”

“Don’t mention him anymore.”

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry, and thank you.”

The call ends with a beep. The silence that greets him is astounding. And Jeongguk is left all alone again, his thoughts roaring louder than the air conditioning.

Taehyung is still in the shower, the pitter-patter of water audible through the glass door of the bathroom. ‘Georgia’ is playing in the background, part of his shower playlist. Jeongguk knows it means that Taehyung has just started conditioning his hair.

There’s still some time before he’s done showering.

Quietly, Jeongguk reaches into his luggage, in search of one thing. He finds it tucked in between the pages of his notebook filled with lyrics and song compositions.

The phone number is printed at the bottom of the page, a small part of it scratched and worn out by the travel. But for the most part, the numbers are still clearly visible.

Without a second thought, Jeongguk keys the numbers into his phone. He breathes. Inhales, exhales. It hurts more than it should, doing this.

But before the next song in Taehyung’s playlist comes on, Jeongguk presses dial.

California is just like always. Blue skies, sea breeze, and warm pavements. It’s not all beaches and parties, but a mixture of the brown, blue, green of nature, blending to form a beautiful scenery.

Every gig and concert in California takes them closer to the end of their concert, closer to home. And as much as the band says that they are each other’s newfound home, nothing beats the familiarity of their home state and their own family.

It always gets like this—

Jeongguk, clutching tightly onto his phone that never rings, heart heavy and body weary from the thought of being alone despite coming back to California. It’s been a few years ever since he left, and not once did his parents call him to go back.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders if it’s all worth it in the end. Because it hurts—to gain the opportunities of playing in the band and touring, at the cost of losing his family.

And the last time his mother called him… Jeongguk doesn’t want to think about it, just yet.

Their last concert of their tour in California, right back home in Santa Cruz, is held at the Boardwalk Bandstand. The evening sunset paints the sky a myriad of purple, orange and blue, setting a beautiful backdrop to their concert at the forefront of the view. The crowd is buzzed with energy, anticipation and exhilaration filling the air as they perform their songs for the last time on this tour.

“Santa Cruz, thank you! Thank you for being here tonight, with us, at our very last concert of the tour!” Taehyung says into the microphone, and the crowd cheers, their vibrant energy reaching a high. Taehyung laughs, the bright and beautiful one that never fails to send Jeongguk’s heart racing miles and miles ahead into infinity. And when Taehyung turns back, both hands still on the microphone stand, feet grounded but body twisting back to face them, Jeongguk can barely catch his breath.

His smile is radiant, more dazzling than the afternoon sun, eyes warm with happiness as he grins at them. Then he meets Jeongguk in the eyes, and Jeongguk could have sworn that his eyes turn softer and his smile grows wider. A second later, Taehyung has turned back to face the crowd, hands letting go of the microphone stand as he raises them up towards the sky. “We’re Haven, goodnight!”

Jeongguk’s heart pounds. The sounds of the audience cheering fade into the background, and all he can hear is the loud roaring of his own heart.

It stays like this when they form a row at the front of the stage to bow to the crowd, all the way to the backstage of the venue, in a mini camper van as their makeshift changing room.

The changing room is a little on the tinier side, all of them cramped up in the small space as they pack their things. They’re heading to a bar to celebrate for the night, before they all go back to their own homes.

Jeongguk scuffs the sole of his shoes against the floor, the scratching sound muted against the beating of his heart.

“Taehyung,” he says, at the same time the elder calls out his name.

Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just—can we talk? Outside? I’ve something to tell you.”

Taehyung arches an eyebrow, head tilting slightly in question. But he follows him out without question. 

In the time it had taken from when Jeongguk had first decided to confess, to now, when his life has spun entirely out of his prediction, he has retreated into the comfortable shell of thinking that he’s too selfish for Taehyung. That he will never be good enough, still. 

Any hope and any courage he’s had, have been dashed away by the reality of having to make a decision between Taehyung and someone else, again.

It’s ironic how everything has changed. A month ago, he was thinking about confessing to Taehyung right here, at this very moment. To finally spill the bottled-up feelings in his heart, choked up from the years of loving him.

Outside, the sun has fully set, the road lit up by the street lamps, casting a dusky glow on the streets. It is quiet, and no one in the near distance can overhear their conversation.

“You said you’ve something to tell me?” Taehyung asks, leaning against one of the lamp posts.

The light draws out a long shadow on the ground, their silhouettes meeting in the middle in the space between them.

Taehyung is also beautiful like this, a contented exhaustion from a performance, mixed with the artful smudge of his eyeliner, giving him a mysterious and seductive appearance.

“I do. Uh—” Jeongguk pauses, licking his lips nervously. His palms are clammy with sweat, and he wipes them against his jeans. The action does nothing to help the soft tremble at his fingertips. “Y’know.”

Taehyung‘s brows pinch together, but the corner of his lips turns up, the way it always does when he’s feeling confused. A half-smile, half-frown.

Jeongguk wishes to only see Taehyung smile.

“I don’t actually. What’s the matter?”

The younger inhales. Exhales. His breath is shaky when he finally says, “I… I’m going to sign the contract.”

He feels the jarring clash of muted relief and aching pain after getting the words out, as though, now, after saying it out loud, the future has been set in stone. Irreversible. A burden off his chest but a stab at his heart.

And Taehyung’s smile, the one torn between pride and sadness, will always be ingrained in the back of his mind.

This is not what he meant when he said he wishes to only see Taehyung smile.

His mind tells him that this is the right decision to do this. Even if it hurts to tell his bandmates, to bid goodbye as his path in life takes a sharp turn away from them.

And yet, everything in him screams to take his words back. To go back to how they were before.

Maybe all along, he’s had to make a decision like this. Maybe all along, life has always been a win-lose situation. You gain some, you lose some. And this—this is a final push for him to make a choice.

“Really? I’m so… wow, I’m so surprised but so happy for you. I… certainly wasn’t expecting that though.”

“Yeah? I—” I didn’t want this. I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t this. It’s my family, it’s my father. He chose this for me. In a twisted way of things, this wasn’t my decision to begin with. I have choices, but it feels like I have none all the same. And I— “I can’t quite believe this too.”

Somehow, it feels so hard to get the words out. Somehow, it feels so hard to tell Taehyung that my family needs the money. Only the contract can give me enough money.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Taehyung. He does. But it’s humiliating, that out of them all, it’s Jeongguk who’s doing this for the very people who pushed him away when he needed their support the most.

“When are you going to—wow. I need some time to process this. Uhm, when are you going to tell the rest? And, when are you, y’know, leaving.”

“I… don’t know. Later, maybe. I’m signing the contract uh—tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Taehyung asks. In the darkness of the approaching night, he shines so brightly like an evening star. “That’s so soon.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a—a last-minute decision. That kinda thing.”

Taehyung nods understandingly. “Cool. Cool, cool.”

Silence falls between them, in the quiet moments where Jeongguk feels like his heart has been crushed repeatedly. Over and over again, until it’s left in smithereens. He doesn’t know how he will ever pick up the broken shards of his heart.

“Then, from tomorrow onwards…” Taehyung stops, ducking his head. Shaking his head slightly, he chuckles softly under his breath. “From tomorrow on, we will no longer be bandmates?”

Jeongguk feels his breath caught in his throat. Feels his heart squeeze tightly. Time seems to pause, stretched into impossibly long seconds, the only intention to prolong the unbearable pain Jeongguk feels in his chest.

We’ll still be best friends, Jeongguk wants to say. I still love you, he wants to say.

But the words bear too much responsibility. Sounds too much like a promise. And right now, when the world feels like it’s been flipped on its axis, there’s nothing Jeongguk can guarantee.

I cannot have you, but have my heart, secretly, and maybe always.

So he swallows back the words, holds back the emotions. The love that only brings pain because he simply cannot have it.

And his answer—short, breathy, empty —comes out as a shallow exhale. A shaky laugh, one that matches Taehyung’s. It grates against his ear, vanishing into the air in slithering smoke and flicker.

“Yeah.”

Afterwards, things start to feel like nothing more than a necessary procedure. Jeongguk becomes numb to it, going through the process like a daily routine.

In a way, things were unbelievably simple—

Tell his bandmates. Watch the disappointment on their faces. Hear the expected “I’m happy for you, I truly am”. Jeongguk believes them.

Then, it was the signing of the contract. Going to the luxurious office, a skyscraper. Ushered into a meeting room, where he meets Francesca again. He wants to wipe the smug smile off her face, but endures it all and grits through the pain. There’s the usual procedure of explaining the contract details to him, the same lines he had pored over the past few nights. Then a pen was handed to him, and he signed the contract. As easy as that.

He goes back to his shared apartment with Diego, packs his things. Diego hugs him goodbye at the doorway. Signed musicians have their own private apartments nearer to the main office headquarters.

On the way to his new place, he drops by the bank to transfer all the new money earned into his mother’s bank account. It’s mostly on loan, a contract fee, in which Jeongguk either has to pay with success, or in cash, with interest, if he fails to succeed.

It’s only when he gets to his new apartment—an unfurnished place, much bigger and emptier than the one he had with Diego—does it finally sink into his mind that everything has changed.

Things accelerate out of motion after that.

First, it was meeting the big directors. Then it was going through the stylist. Then it was to the production studio. Then it was meetings, and meetings, and more meetings.

It’s no longer the slow but fun months Jeongguk had with the band. No more lying in bed in cheap motels, scribbling fragments of lyrics, of love, people, and the people he loves. No more hitting the local bars for drinks, for parties. No more living.

Because there’s a deadline for everything, a schedule to keep. First song by August, a released single. Following that will be a debut EP, six songs if he can, four songs if he fails. A music video. They’ll plan for photoshoots. For interviews. They’ve even gotten the headline decided: Self-producing Soloist.

It’s tacky, sticky to his fingertips the way super glue is. And Jeongguk hates it, all of it, the superficiality of things, but each song repays the debt he’s in. The legally binding contract he had no choice but to sign. (Or maybe he had, but some choices have always been easier to make.)

Cassandra, his newly assigned manager, is there to keep him on track, keep him up to task. She’s there to check on his progress, make sure he’s fulfilling his side of the agreement. And she’s not harsh or unkind, just a very pragmatic woman who’s used to the fast-paced unforgiving nature of the monetized entertainment industry.

And it’s so fast, he loses track of the time. The months fly past him in swiftly flipped pages of a calendar. Like Jeongguk blinking his eyes and suddenly, it’s August. Suddenly his first single is out there, in the world.

Imperfections. It’s a partial attempt at poetry and minimalism, but somehow, it appeals to the public. And in an almost impossible way, the song blows up. It’s played on radio stations, it’s played at the local market, it’s added to popular Spotify playlists.

Emotional. Touching. Raw. Real. That’s what the articles say.

When he releases the EP—five songs, a fine balance between good and failure—it’s well-received. Better than his company expected.

Yearbook, the EP. It hits two hundred thousand sales, good enough for a starting soloist.

He sells. They earn. A fair agreement.

They let him opt out of showing his face in the music video for now. For different reasons—“Good idea. We’ll build the suspense, everyone will be even more eager to see your face.”—but the same result anyway.

Jeongguk prepares for interview questions the way he used to prepare for the scholarship and university ones. The ones asking about his strengths, his dreams, the thing that drives him forward.

My friends. Our band. Taehyung.

He doesn’t say all these in favor of the scripted lines.

Q: “How do you come up with the songs, the lyrics?”

Love.

A: “It just comes naturally to me.”

Q: “You’ve become famous overnight. All your songs are love songs. Is there someone you’re writing about?”

Taehyung.

A: “Maybe.”

(“Good, good. This mysterious aura you have. The fans will love it.”)

Q: “Is there something you want to say to your fans?”

I don’t want to be here. I want to go home—to Taehyung.

A: “I’m so thankful for all of you.”

They’re not complete lies, just half-truths fitted into black lines. Is a half-truth a lie? Jeongguk doesn’t know.

And amidst his changing life, Jeongguk uses his busy schedule as equal parts of a good reason and an excuse to things. Like saying no to gatherings. Like not replying to Mai's texts, Taehyung’s calls.

Fame doesn’t change him (there’s none, to begin with), but shame does.

Sometimes, when he’s in the car, driving through downtown California, he wonders if his friends hear his music. When he turns on the radio, and he hears one of the songs from the Yearbook EP, he wonders if they hear him.

(He can no longer find it in his heart to care about what his parents think—because it was never truly about him in the first place.)

He wonders if, in a twisted and selfish way, his friends are proud of him.

Because at the end of the day, when he’s standing in the middle of the studio, and the lights are dimmed down and all the recording staff members have left, Jeongguk is left with no one but himself.

He sees them in the articles sometimes. Hears their music sometimes.

A couple of new songs, as good as always, even without him. A short but still wonderful tour, with more recognition and a growing fanbase. But they remain a band of four members, no more and no less, and some selfish part of Jeongguk finds relief in it.

As luck would have it, Jeongguk meets Taehyung at a café in Santa Cruz, a quaint little place that’s tucked in a corner of a fairly quiet street. Looking back, it’s been nearly a whole year since Jeongguk has joined the company and left the band. Time slips past us easily when we’re not looking.

It’s as awkward as it can be, Jeongguk getting caught in a dilemma between pretending he didn’t see his (ex—?) best friend or going up to make conversation with him. But Taehyung decides for the both of them, stepping closer to him with hurried steps.

At the very last moment, Jeongguk thinks he should have considered that maybe Taehyung just really wants to punch him, and that maybe he should dodge the attack because while he thinks he deserves it, Cassandra thinks it’ll be bad for future publicity.

He fails, though, to do anything, except to stay rooted at his spot, as Taehyung comes closer and closer and—

Taehyung pulls him into a hug, the warmest tightest embrace Jeongguk has been in since the last day before he officially left the band.

Hugging Taehyung is like coming home. It’s like returning to the place which makes him feel the safest and the happiest. Where worth is weighted in love and laughter, not sale numbers and profit.

“Tae,” Jeongguk says, a mere whisper, and it wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. And he thinks he just might—if not for the fact that they’re still in a public place, standing in the middle of a cafe, Jeongguk’s manager still standing at the side waiting awkwardly.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, sounding equally in awe. He pulls back, hands on Jeongguk’s shoulder as he takes a good long look at him. “Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Look at you.”

And Jeongguk nearly loses it then, seeing the tears brimming in Taehyung’s eye. The way his eyes glaze over with unshed tears, an unfiltered sense of pride coloring his expression. Jeongguk doesn’t know why, but he searches for the anger, the resentment, the hatred. Searches for any semblance of fury—anything to balance out the guilt weighing down his chest.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk repeats, for lack of better words.

“Yeah? I’m… wow. I can’t believe I finally got to see you again. It’s been so long.”

Too long. Far too long. It signifies the widening distance between now and then—between him and them.

I’m sorry, Jeongguk wants to say. But he thinks words will not suffice, words will not convey the shame and guilt Jeongguk feels. And somehow, the longer he waits, the more the guilt weighs, the harder it is to get the words out.

“How are you?” He asks instead, for all the apologies he isn’t ready to say.

“I’m good. We’re good. The band—” Taehyung smiles, the softest kind, the kind he always has when he’s talking about the band. His band. Their band. “We’re all good. Y’know how it is. Playing. It’s a bit better now, more gigs and all that. Less shitty motels—Y’know Diego is actually really damn good at budgeting and stuff?”

“Good. That’s good. I mean—” Jeongguk shrugs. “I’m happy for you.”

There’s this lingering awkwardness and unspoken tension in the air, a painful reminder that they’re no longer what they were. The places they stand, the lives they lead—everything has changed.

Taehyung is still Taehyung, Haven’s lead vocalist. And to some extent, Jeongguk is still Jeongguk. But Jeongguk is no longer Haven’s drummer. No longer Haven’s band member. Maybe even no longer Taehyung’s best friend.

And maybe, just maybe, Taehyung might not even be Taehyung. Taehyung is a year older now, almost twenty-four, just short of a few months. Taehyung is slightly broader now, carrying himself with an even greater depth of charisma and confidence. And, Taehyung is even more handsome now, hair swept back to reveal his captivating features.

Stripped of their identities and the silhouettes that mark them the same, they’ve become so different.

“How are you? How’ve you been?”

Why haven’t you called? Jeongguk hears amidst the words.

“Busy. Things have been a bit... chaotic.”

Bad. Bad. Nothing is good without you.

“A good chaos?” Taehyung says, smile teasing at the corner of his lips. Nudges Jeongguk on the side, the way he always did.

For old time’s sake.

Jeongguk shrugs, caught between a half nod and a shake of his head. Taehyung must have taken it as a yes because his smile widens, and somehow, it only makes Jeongguk’s heart ache further.

The warm light from the outside of the shop dims with the passing clouds, and the cafe turns a tone darker.

Cassandra clears her throat, and suddenly, they’re reminded of how things are no longer the same. They’re reminded that they’re only two people who once were. Two people who once shared a single path. Two people who once had time.

Now, Jeongguk is running a race, all by himself, without a single teammate. His coach is yelling at the side, telling him to run, run, and run. And Taehyung is in a relay, a four-member race. He’s running on another track, maybe in another stadium altogether. And the two of them are in two completely different games.

“I’ve to go—”

“Of course!” Taehyung rushes to say, stepping back. The space between them widens, in more than just the literal way. “Of course.”

“Uh—”

“It’s really nice to see you. Y’know. After so long. I know you’ve been busy. And, that’s good. It is. I just—we—” Taehyung fidgets, words stumbling over each other. Jeongguk desperately wants to reach over and pull him closer, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t know how to. Doesn’t know if he can anymore. “We just miss you, is what I’m trying to say.” And, with greater conviction, because that’s just the way Taehyung is, he adds, “I miss you.”

Jeongguk scuffs the soles of his shoes against the wooden floor, feeling the condensation from his iced coffee drip off the sides and onto his fingers, wound tightly around the plastic cup.

Cassandra doesn’t cough, but Jeongguk feels the heat of her gaze, one that reads, hurry, we need to go, now.

Time ticks by, and Jeongguk thinks, time has never been forgiving towards him in the first place. Or maybe it was, but he never knew to cherish it.

“Hey, look. I’ll… I’ll find time and call back. Sometimes.” Jeongguk swallows hard. “Is that okay?”

Taehyung breaks out into a bright grin, eyes crinkling at the corners, stars dusted in his irises. He nods, smiles a little wider, then nods again. And time may not be forgiving, but Taehyung is. Always.

Jeongguk is the one to take a step back this time. “I have to go—”

“Yeah! Of course. Don’t let me hold you back any longer.”

Jeongguk nods, though the words don’t sound right in his ear. But he doesn’t get to say more before Cassandra is leading him out of the cafe towards the car waiting to pick them up. The least he can do is turn back to wave Taehyung goodbye, but by then, Taehyung has already looked away.

With the success of his first EP, the company plans to ride on the rise of his fame. Better to die a momentary firework than to live long but have never been a spark in the sky, is what one of the directors on his managing team says.

His identity has been mostly hidden from the crowd, some sort of suspense technique that gets the fans wondering and craving to know more about the person who wrote, produced, and sang the songs on Yearbook.

“It’s like a game,” Cassandra explains, finger still typing away on her phone as she keys in his new schedule for the coming months. “The more you don’t give it to them, the more they want it.”

Jeongguk gets it, for the most part. It’s the allure of someone seemingly so mysterious and unknown. Plays with the curiosity and inquisitiveness of the mind.

“And if I don’t deliver?”

Because in truth, he’s scared of disappointing people. Funny, because it’s what he seems to be good at doing, but it is also one of his greatest fears. And Jeongguk would be lying if he says he doesn’t care at all about the fame, but a greater part of him is afraid that Haven will look at him and think, we’re better off without him anyway.

It’s all about priorities.

Cassandra pauses in her typing and looks up at him, poker face on and looking extra intimidating.

“You’ve got the face. The crowd will like it. I’m not going to lie because we’re both past the ages of lying about this. Talent is important but in this dog-eat-dog industry, looks play a big part fifty percent of the time.”

Pretty privilege.

“Okay,” Jeongguk settles on saying, as lame as it sounds. It doesn’t matter, because Cassandra's attention has returned to her phone anyway.

Jeongguk finds out soon enough that Cassandra is right. In the new and upcoming second EP in the making, the company releases a pre-EP single that comes with a music video. It’s a simple video, nothing too fancy, supposedly to fit with his quiet, cool, mysterious allure.

The video starts off with a few shots of an average-looking room, zooming in on the polaroids hanging on the walls. The polaroids do not have people in it, just snapshots of random scenery. The scene that pans to the ground, where the sounds of someone entering the room and the door closing behind them echo in the empty space. The camera follows footsteps across the room, where the same person has taken a seat on the edge of the bed. Then, there’s the strum of guitar chords, the opening tune, before the camera pans up to reveal Jeongguk playing and singing on the guitar.

It reminds him of those part country part pop music videos of the early 2010s, a rather common concept. But it must be equally nostalgia evoking, or some other reasons Jeongguk isn’t sure of, because the music video is just as much of a hit with the public as his previous EP. And this time, beyond the usual praises and critiques of the melody, the lyrics, and his voice, there’re comments on his looks. On him.

Fame chases after him and spins out of control, and his second EP sells even more. It’s both good and bad. Good, because the amount he owes the company dwindles at a much faster rate he expected. Still a long way to go, but less time than he initially thought. Bad, because all of a sudden, there are paparazzi following him. There are fans running after him no matter where he goes. Some of these people who chase him are not even his listeners, just people who have seen his face, recognise him as someone famous, and are eager to share a moment of popularity in his space.

While the affirmation and recognition feel like a good sooth to his pride and a huge boost in his confidence, Jeongguk thinks he has never missed the simpler times with his friends now more than ever.

Jeongguk gets a call from Taehyung one night, when he’s lying on his bed, exhausted from an entire day of interviews. The interview questions have slowly started to shift from “What is your aspiration?” to “Are you dating anyone currently and who?”.

Being an artist, a celebrity, is half about the music and half about the gossip. Half about the songs he writes and the music he sings, and half about how he dresses and who is his ideal type.

Jeongguk has an answer to everything, for the most part. But there are questions he answers easily and questions he dodges with uneasy smiles.

His phone rings, just once, but it has Jeongguk clambering off his mattress to grab his phone which was lying on the table beside his bed. The ringtone is set to the tune of one of Haven’s songs, Goldrush. It’s one of his favorites, one of the first few songs he wrote about the person he likes. And it is admittedly cheesy, but he had set it to Taehyung’s contact, just his, so that every single time Taehyung calls, Jeongguk would automatically know who is calling.

It’s only when he’s holding onto his phone, finger hovering over the green button, that he hesitates for a moment. Ever since he left, Jeongguk hasn’t picked up Taehyung’s call once. Occasionally, they text, because texting is always easier than talking on the phone, because Jeongguk doesn’t have to hear Taehyung’s voice and think, I want to go home.

For the past year, he always declined the calls, coming up with some half-assed excuse about being too busy or having company. It didn’t take long for Taehyung to take a hint, so a few months in, the calls stopped coming.

This is the first time Taehyung is calling Jeongguk again, and he guesses that the accidental meeting with Taehyung a few weeks ago must have changed something between them.

“Hello?” He says after picking up the call, voice still tinged with a bit of hesitation.

“Hey.” Taehyung’s voice travels through the call. Despite the staticky warp to his voice, he still sounds as lovely as ever. “Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up?”

“Are you in Malibu now?”

“No. No, I’m in New York. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Oh.” Jeongguk hears Taehyung exhale. “You’re so far away.”

Jeongguk licks his lips, heart jittery. The only thing that fills his mind is yes, I’m so far, too far, and I don’t know how to go home.

“Yeah. For promos,” he says instead.

“Oh, right. Yes, of course,” Taehyung says, and Jeongguk can imagine he’s nodding to himself right now. The call goes quiet for a moment, just the shallow sound of their breathing, before Taehyung starts again. “I saw it. Earlier. We were in the car and I saw it. You, on the billboard.”

He briefly remembers Cassandra talking about it, but Jeongguk has lost track of the marketing and promotional strategies his team has planned.

“Have you seen it?”

“No. I don’t think so. Which is it?”

Cassandra must have sent it, in one of his many emails, but Jeongguk always clicks away from the ones with his face on full blast, photoshopped to near perfection by the professional editors at the company.

“Oh, I have it. Here. Wait.” There’s the sound of rustling, before his phone chimes with the notification of a new message. “I just sent it. Can you see?”

It’s the one Jeongguk had a photoshoot for a few weeks back, black shirt blue jeans, hair tousled to seem casual but had actually gone through the workings of two hairstylists. Now, the same photo is filtered in monochrome, plastered all over the billboard advertisements in Malibu.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay.”

“I think it’s pretty,” Taehyung says, voice soft. “Jeongguk, you’re a real star now.”

And Jeongguk doesn’t want to, but he’s reminded of the time when Taehyung and he joked about having their names and faces put up all over the billboards. Back then, when life seemed so simple, it had always been about all of them together and not just him.

It feels like a sour punch to his gut, to see his face plastered all over the city like that, to see only his name, even though all he really wants is for all of them to stand on the same stage again.

Jeongguk exhales, breath shaky. “I guess so.”

And it hurts even more when he hears Taehyung laugh into the call gently, the light giggle he saves for the softest moments.

“You guess so? ” Taehyung says, teasing. “Anyway, I just wanted to say, I’m really proud of you. You made it, Jeongguk. You made it.”

He made it, but at what cost?

“Thank you.”

“Hey, you must be busy or something, right? Sorry to take up your time. Just—I got excited to share with you. Y’know. Face on a billboard and all that jazz.”

Taehyung laughs again, breathy. Jeongguk’s heart squeezes tighter. He wishes he could hear him laugh in person again.

Again, again, again. He’s living in the present but all he thinks about lately is the past.

“I’m good, just a little tired from promos.”

“Yeah. Of course. I’ve been watching your interviews! God, Jeongguk, you’re still so shy sometimes. But it’s okay, practice makes perfect! Oh, and I saw—What? Okay, I’m coming—Jeongguk, I gotta go, but we’ll talk again?”

Jeongguk nods, then realizes Taehyung can’t see him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool! Okay, bye!”

The call ends with a click, and the room is filled with silence once more. Lights turned down, the night sky offering only a hint of moonlight, the room is dark, the air almost suffocating. In the quietness of the hotel room, too big for Jeongguk alone, the air conditioning hums a rhythm in sync with the slow beating of his heart.

Moments later, Jeongguk unlocks his phone again, clicking into the chat with Taehyung. The photo, blurred at the edges, hazy with Malibu’s bright city lights, is still crystal clear.

Jeongguk closes his eyes. Pictures the same background, the same billboard poster. Pictures the same black and white photograph. Except, this time, there are five people instead of just one. Amongst them all, one shines the brightest—the one Jeongguk has always had his eyes on.

The light shifts. The room darkens. His phone screen turns black as it locks up again from disuse. And Jeongguk falls asleep like that—to the sound of his breathing and the fantasy that his friends are right here with him.

“Jeongguk-ah, your dad and I—we saw you on the ads today.”

“Okay.”

“We’re so proud of you. Really. Your dad is.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know why he used to care so much, when in reality, when it comes down to it—this moment he’s been yearning for—it doesn’t matter anymore. The words are cotton candy to his ears, overly sweet and fluffy, but dissolves with a single touch. Disappears into wispy nothings.

All this time, he has craved for their approval, ingrained in him to always make them proud. School results, co-curricular achievements, university acceptance letters, the scholarship. Some parts were for him, but the bigger part was for them.

He’s thankful for all his parents have done for him, and in a way, he’ll always be indebted to them, with a desire to be filial to the people who made sacrifices to raise him. But gratitude and the aftermath are separate things, and at the end of it all, Jeongguk’s life is his to live out and carry.

He may not have been the best son, and they have not been the best parents. But they’re all learning to be better than who they once were. And that is all that really matters.

So Jeongguk exhales, softly, and says, “thank you.”

No more and no less.

“Hello?”

“Happy birthday.”

They’ve somewhat returned to the familiar friendship, where Jeongguk has enough courage to pick up the phone. The first time he calls, he’s filled with a certain trepidation that settles deep in his bones. A fear of rejection, born from the countless nights he’s spent thinking of all the ways he’s become alone.

But Taehyung picks up after the first ring, never lets Jeongguk go to voicemail, and that in itself is the greatest reassurance he can seek.

“Thanks! You’re the first to wish me, still.”

“Just keeping to traditions.”

“You sound like a grandpa. By the way, are you, y’know, in Cali?”

“No. I’m in Arizona. Some collab thing, maybe. How are you celebrating?”

“Oh! Cool. Cool, that’s cool. And, well, the usual. Mai planned a mini surprise party, but Diego exposed it so… oh! Mateo and Valeria are coming too.”

“Oh, yeah, Ruien texted me about it. Sorry, I can’t make it.”

They call more often after that, falling back into the easy exchanges they once shared as the closest of friends. It gets easier over time, in the days where Jeongguk learns how not to feel guilt over the sound of his bandmates through the static of the call.

“It’s okay! Busy man. I’m super understanding. Just a huge cheque with a million dollars to Kim Taehyung will do.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I know you snickered, Jeon Jeongguk, I know you did.”

“Did not!”

“Liar.”

“It’s late, aren’t you tired?”

“Not really. A bit, just a little bit only.”

Jeongguk smiles, despite himself. “Old age must be catching up to you. Go sleep.”

“I want to talk to you more.”

“We can, another time.”

It is the closest thing to a promise.

“...Okay then. You must be tired too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tae.”

The success of his albums takes Jeongguk on a tour around North America. He’s not quite sure if it’s good luck or the unspeakable burden the universe is determined he must have, but his tour route aligns with Haven’s.

They play on different stages, on different dates, but his friends are never too far a distance away.

As time passes, as they slip into new shoes, familiarise themselves with the soles and lining, Jeongguk finds it easier to talk to his ex-bandmates again.

There will always be the heavyweight of guilt in his chest, but now, he can call Taehyung after a concert to talk about mundane things like the weather. He can text the other members to hear them share new music, or a viral youtube video, or just a lame joke that only Diego finds funny. (Which, really, Jeongguk finds endearing.)

And when they’re lucky enough, they’ll all have time to meet up at an after-concert party. Different places, different things, but the same old habits.

Play music. Hit a bar. Drink. Rinse and repeat.

Tonight’s just like that. With more meetups like this, it gets easier. Feels like someday, Jeongguk will fit back in again, like a well-worn shirt from the old days. Feels like maybe, just maybe, Haven will become a five-member band again.

It’s not until he has lost it does he realize what’s truly precious to him. Or maybe he has known all along, and it takes leaving the band to realize it.

Amidst it all, one thing remains constant. And while a part of Jeongguk thinks it’s too late, much too late, for the reckless beating of his heart, he knows he will love Taehyung for a long, long time to come.

Life feels surreal like this—a tug of war between everything and nothing. Because every single time he thinks Taehyung is just within reach and so, so close to him, the man drifts unbearably far away. Separated by Jeongguk’s mess of emotions, separated by the physical distance, separated by the impossibility of life’s obstructions. Like Jeongguk has always been destined to only look at Taehyung from afar, for the rest of life.

Tonight, he stops himself on the fourth drink, a self-restraint. Stops himself before he loses his mind to his damned heart and does something stupid.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung calls, and Jeongguk nearly gives in to all his tipsy yearnings.

It’s just the two of them at the bar now, and Jeongguk wonders how he seems to manage to always find himself alone with Taehyung. Thinks law of gravitation, but in the metaphorical love sense of the word. He knows nothing about physics—ridiculous given how he almost pursued a career related to it—but he sure knows how, in a crowd, his eyes will always search for Taehyung.

“Hm?” He replies, more a sound than an actual word.

“How long until this is over?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “Huh? Dunno. The bar closes at two? Three?”

“No. I mean, this .”

There’s something about Taehyung’s tone that makes Jeongguk turn to look at him. Soft, yet insistent.

“This?”

“The contract.”

Jeongguk blinks. The lights are hazy, turned down to create a sultry atmosphere in the pub. Blinks again, focusing back on Taehyung.

“Uh. I don’t—know. Uh, five?”

Not five, exactly, but five, give or take.

The contract is not written down to the specific years, but tied down to how fast he can pay back the money he borrowed from the company. With the way his albums are selling, the predicted time has been reduced to approximately three years. If he wants to, he can stay, way after he no longer owes the label. But Jeongguk thinks, once the debts are cleared, he will quit the label. Go back to Santa Cruz. Join Haven again, if they will have him still.

It’s almost two years now, and Jeongguk wonders how he had skipped from point A to point B. Time has blurred the days and weeks and months, until he finds himself here, nearly two years later, on a tour all by himself.

One more year, and then he will have enough to purchase the apartment he’s currently staying in and still have a little more.

“Five, huh?” Taehyung lifts his fingers to his face, counting God knows what as Jeongguk watches him, confused. “Five, and then more. Of course there will be more.”

Jeongguk’s frown deepens. “What?”

Taehyung looks up, a small smile on his face. Then, he shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing.”

Jeongguk finds out that, once he stops counting the time, it washes over him faster than ocean waves. In the following year, he releases a full album and yet another EP. The music industry gives him all sorts of nicknames, from music prodigy to song-writing monster. He takes it as a compliment, though some twist it to be an insult. 

He earns more than he expected, more than enough to pay off the loan. Lost Ones, his full album, and Fickle, his third EP, sell just as well as his first two releases. It’s affirmative in the best of ways, and Jeongguk thinks his biggest takeaway from this is the fans who have come and stayed.

His company also loves that he is mostly scandal-free, not a single messy relationship nor a hook up with someone who kissed and told. And while Cassandra sometimes judges him for mostly being a homebody, she also mentions that she’s thankful she doesn’t have more paperwork to deal with. His team and directors chalk it up to a good innocent humble singer-composer image, but Jeongguk knows it’s because he can never look at someone else the way he does with Taehyung.

As the amount he owes dwindles, Jeongguk thinks he’s finally, finally, going home.

Between playing music and breathing, there’s a space in Jeongguk’s life that always feels empty. Not painfully so, but a gap that drains the warmth from him and replaces it with the cold.

Jeongguk knows it’s because it’s shaped in a way only a particular person can fit right into, to bridge the space between living and existing.

(The two are often the same, but only one makes him feel like he’s actually breathing.)

“Hello.”

He’s lying on his bed, sprawled like a starfish on the bedsheet, phone on speaker mode as it sits at the juncture between his ear and shoulder.

“Jeongguk? Hey. What’s up? ”

Jeongguk counts to three. Waiting. Sneaks a glance at the scribbled mess on paper at the edge of his bed, half-written songs that are more mechanical than thoughts, more work than heart.

Halfway between writing down the lines to his next song and giving up to settle on staring at the ceiling, he realizes there’s something he never got to do. There’s a question he never got to ask, an answer he never got to hear.

“Jeongguk?”

His heart does a backflip treacherously. The way Taehyung says his name is still the same.

“Are you home?”

“I am. Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just—” Jeongguk exhales. “Are you free? To meet?”

“Sure, when—oh. Now? ”

“Yeah.”

“Let me just— ” There’s the sound of rustling, static through the call. Then—“Betty’s? ”

“Okay.”

“Cool! See you in ten.”

Betty’s is an old twenty-four-hour diner three streets down Taehyung’s house. It’s a little rundown, but still holds itself up on its tattered seats and neon lights. The food there is subpar, but cheap enough that students will always come back for more. Over the years, Betty’s has become commonplace for people—people like Jeongguk and Taehyung—to hang out.

The quirk of an eyebrow is the only sign that the waitress recognizes him as more than just the boy who comes by for food. She doesn’t bother him with an autograph though, and Jeongguk is thankful for that.

There’s no music playing in the diner, just the sharp clanking of cutlery against glass plates. The diner is mostly empty, save for a young lady and another couple sitting on the other side of the place. It’s only when he’s sitting across Taehyung that Jeongguk realizes he doesn’t have anything planned out. He has no words scripted beforehand, nothing to guide him on the right words to say. All he has are the emotions crashing over him in waves.

A part of him fears that he will stutter and forget what he wants to say out of nerves, but the greater part of him pushes him on because it’s just Taehyung, right?

It’s Taehyung, his best friend of many years. It’s Taehyung, the one who, despite everything, has never given Jeongguk a reason to stop loving him.

Belatedly, he thinks maybe he should have planned this properly. Thinks maybe he should have gotten a gift. A flower. Something to make this confession significantly more romantic.

(The CD remains hidden in his drawer, under a pile of honest, lyrical confessions in the form of song compositions.)

“So, what’s up? It’s like, one in the morning.”

“I know. Were you going to sleep?”

“Nope. I was going to watch Netflix. Have you heard of the new show? Spinning Out. It’s pretty good.”

“Oh? What’s it about?”

“Figure skating. For the most part. Mental health, family problems, a lot of things.”

“Sounds heavy.”

“Quite. But it’s good, really. You should watch it.” Taehyung pauses, as if he has just realized something. Jeongguk doesn’t catch on until he says, “Oh, but you’re probably busy.”

“I’m okay. It’s not as busy now.” He checks his heartbeat. Counts to three, again. He still wants it. Really, really wants it. Some part of him tells him it’s now or never. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Oh?” Taehyung leans forward in his seat, shoulders hunching up adorably. “Actually, there’s something I want to tell you too.”

Jeongguk inhales. On his next exhale, he says, “Okay, you go first then.”

He needs more time. Just a bit more, to calm his nerves. Breathe in, breathe out. Just a bit more time.

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing much.”

“What is it?”

There’s a low exhale, and Jeongguk answers with a soft one of his own.

“Okay, so. It’s not a big deal. Mostly, Mai told me I should tell you, and I wanted to, too. You won’t believe this but—” And it’s like Taehyung has run out of breath, and Jeongguk is busy chasing him after the rush of words. The pause stretches infinitely long. Taehyung’s breathless—or it might just be the roaring in Jeongguk’s ear—when he says, “I got a boyfriend.”

Then, Taehyung smiles, the same one Jeongguk sometimes sees on his face, the one where his smile softens considerably and his eyes crinkle in the corners. The one that has Jeongguk’s heart thudding in his chest, bursting from the fullness of love.

Jeongguk’s heart stops beating altogether. Or maybe it still does, because he’s sitting upright and he’s looking at Taehyung and Taehyung is still smiling back at him in an unbearably blissful and happy way.

And—

Oh. Jeongguk realizes very belatedly that the gift, the flowers, the confession—none of it would have mattered anyway.

(The CD remains hidden in his drawer, now and maybe forever.)

It must be some kind of sheer willpower that allows him to say, “Really? Congrats.” And it grates at his heart for him to add, “I’m happy for you.”

His voice sounds steadier than he feels, solid in comparison to the hollow feeling in his chest. It must have been convincing enough because Taehyung smiles even brighter, and Jeongguk realizes, again, that the smile was never meant for him in the first place. His heart skips traitorously anyway, the way it does every time Jeongguk falls deeper and deeper in love with Taehyung.

“Thanks. It’s Mateo, you know, my friend! He confessed to me a while ago—and it felt right. I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for so long for… something. And here it is, finally!”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk feels the inevitable clench in his chest. “Finally.”

The diner suddenly feels too quiet, the pounding of his heart louder than the music playing in the background. The lighting is a sticky yellow, the kind rusty with age. When Jeongguk meets Taehyung in the eyes, the latter is looking at him, an indescribable expression on his face.

“Are you happy?” Jeongguk asks, because a part of him—the one who loves, loves, loves Taehyung without expecting anything in return—still wishes for happiness for him. In this unpredictable thing called Life, he hopes at least one of them is happy.

Taehyung nods, smile blooming. It feels like a gunshot straight into Jeongguk’s heart. “I am! I really am.”

The song that plays in the diner is too cheerful, brighter than the muddy atmosphere and the situation Jeongguk has caught himself in. It’s too late, far too late, because Jeongguk is one step slower, on the wrong track, headed a different way.

“That’s great,” he says, and Taehyung seems convinced by the fake happiness he injects into the words.

It’s not, but along the way, Jeongguk has gotten good at lying. Bury his feelings, replace them with something less real and more manufactured. Smile for the camera.

He can do the same for Taehyung here.

“Yeah. I didn’t know when to tell you, I mean—it’s so sudden! And you’re so busy. So…” Taehyung trails off, still smiling. Jeongguk wishes the smile was for him. “By the way, what were you going to tell me?”

“Oh. It’s nothing. I was just—” I like you. I love you. I’m in love with you. And I’ve been in love with you for the past countless years. I’ve dreamt of us together for countless years, only for us to fall short at the very moment I become brave enough to tell you I love you.

“Jeongguk?”

It’s the way Taehyung calls his name, the tenderness of it that Jeongguk has mistaken for something more than friendship.

His mind blanks, his heart hurts. He wants nothing more than to escape this cycle of falling in love with his best friend—one he cannot have. In a game of love, with a chance of fifty-fifty, Jeongguk has lost the bet.

The scale tips. Balance shifts. Jeongguk thinks maybe there’s still hope for him, just elsewhere. Right now, all he can think about is leaving, escaping, running away. All he can think about is writing love songs—all these lyrics—about someone he cannot have.

“It’s nothing.”

“You called me out at one in the morning, it can't be nothing.”

“No, really, it’s nothing. I just—couldn’t sleep.”

“That's all?”

“Yeah and I—” He scrambles to find an excuse. Comes up with none that doesn’t run along the lines of I’m in love with you. The lighting inside the diner is dim, turned down by the darkness of the sky outside. Jeongguk scuffs the sole of his shoe against the floor tiles, kicking a half squashed french fry. “I mean, there’s this new EP. I don’t know what I want to name it.”

A lame excuse, but Taehyung buys it.

“Oh. Oh my god, okay. Cool, cool. You’re asking for my opinion, right?”

Jeongguk nods. His heart feels heavy.

“What’s it like? The album, I mean.”

“It’s mostly about, y'know. Love. Life.” He shrugs. His heart still hurts, terribly. “I’m not doing a very good job at explaining it.”

“No, no it’s fine. What’s the genre of the song? Like your usual?“

“Yeah, pretty much. You know me.”

“Wow, cool. I’ll brainstorm it.”

Eventually, their food comes, oily fried with burnt toast. Jeongguk isn’t hungry, has no appetite at all, but he’s glad at least he has something to occupy himself with. Taehyung suggests different names, and Jeongguk nods when it feels like he should, laughs at the right places. Everything feels like mush, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to sense that anything is wrong.

In the end, Taehyung decides his one AM brain is no good for generating album names, and Jeongguk leaves it as that.

“Hey, is everything good?”

For a second, Jeongguk is afraid Taehyung might have seen through him. They’re walking back to their own homes now, standing at the crossroad splitting their paths into two. The traffic light is red, but few cars zoom down the street in front of them. After, when the lights give them the go, they’ll turn onto different paths, headed in different directions.

Maybe life has always been this way, and Jeongguk has always been too blind to read the signs.

Now, Taehyung is looking at him, the way he always does, eyes soft and lips smiling. For a brief moment, Jeongguk forgets that the smile is no longer just for him. Forgets that they’re no longer traveling on the same road, playing music, and eating greasy fish and chips. Forgets that his heart has been smashed into smithereens.

Then the light shifts. The traffic light turns green.

They cross the road, stopping at the curved pavement where Taehyung will then turn left while Jeongguk turns right.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk lies, words slipping out of him heavily. “Everything’s good.”

i got it, Taehyung’s text message reads. The notification flashes brightly on Jeongguk’s phone against the darkness of his room. lights!

Very, very belatedly, Jeongguk realizes that all along, Rika was right.

The phone beeps. A familiar voice travels through the call.

Jeongguk misses home.

“He’s gone, Mai. He’s gone.”

A faint rustle, and then a voice that is kind and comforting, but does nothing to soothe the ache in his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. You’ll be okay.”

Jeongguk really, really misses home.

“But I let him go.”

Luckily—or unluckily—for Jeongguk, pain is the fuel for art. In the following months where he’s left with nothing except for a broken heart, Jeongguk writes and writes and writes.

The lyrics spill out of him onto lined paper, coffee-stained pages filling up with words. The melody comes easy too, and Cassandra is beyond satisfied that he’s written at least twenty songs, of which most can be fine-tuned for release in his next album.

His success in his second full-length album pushes him further, and he finds himself lined up with schedules for months and months after.

With everything spiraling beyond their once ordinary and simple lives, Jeongguk and Taehyung have less and less time to talk, let alone hang out. Jeongguk knows he’s mostly to be blamed for this to happen again, because his busy schedule and reluctance to talk or face his best friend have made it harder for the two to fall back to the friendship they used to have.

Life has pushed them into two vastly different directions, and when Jeongguk looks back, Taehyung is already happily settled on walking his own path.

Jeongguk hardly realizes that the months have blurred again until it’s December, and Mai’s calling him, asking if he wants to come for Taehyung’s birthday celebration. He has turned down the other members’ birthday dinners, and with Taehyung’s, he does it again.

It’s not a complete lie to say he cannot make it, because he’ll be all the way in Tokyo for a special feature on that day. But, amidst it all, Jeongguk wouldn’t have tried to make himself available on that day anyway.

If Taehyung senses something, he doesn’t say it. Neither do any of the other members, not even Mai who won’t hesitate to slap some sense into him.

Something—many things—have changed, and perhaps it’s to a point beyond any of their control. To a point where it’s almost irreversible, and they can only watch as time takes them to different places.

Jeongguk wonders if it’s selfish if he’s lying in bed in Tokyo at night, fingers hovering over the keyboard of his phone. He wonders if it’s selfish if he eventually clicks out of the chat, shuts his phone, and turns to his side as he tries to fall asleep. And he wonders if it’s selfish if it’s the thirty-first, and then new year’s, and then it’s far too late to wish happy birthday.

He doesn’t know, but heartbreak decides for him.

After that, life is just a repetition. 

Write songs. Record. Play music. Filming. Photoshoot. Interviews. Again, again, and again.

It robs him of time, and it’s a year, and another, and then Jeongguk realizes it’s been five years since he left Haven.

By now, he has cleared his debt and profited a lot out of his career. Indigo, his second full-length album, has pushed him to grow even more in the music industry. He’s nominated for music awards, and invited to perform at award shows he once thought impossible for him to attend. He’s traveling on tours, performing in cities and on stages he didn’t think he would ever get to be at.

Drifting apart is a natural occurrence Jeongguk expected but didn’t realize will hurt him this much. In truth, all of it is his fault, marked down to the moments where he turned down their calls and ignored their messages. It is easy to remain elusive, to stay away from the places he knows they frequent. Just like that, their lives now run in parallel lines, on a straight track, close but never touching.

Maybe a more mature and sensible him would have sucked it up, picked up the broken pieces of his heart, and stayed friends. But the side that hurts so badly because life has never seemed fair just wants to stay away from the very person who has held the key to Jeongguk’s heart all this while. Still does, even now.

With time, he has come to a stalemate with his heart. He’s come to accept that his chance, if there ever was one, is long gone. Life is as it is, so is love. He only lets his heart feel it once in a long while, the heartache that steals the breath from his lungs.

Five years is a very long time. It’s a long time to still feel like he doesn’t quite fit in at his current record label. It’s a long time to be away from Haven, the home away from home. Jeongguk has awards in his bag, his name all over the news headlines. But everything feels empty, even when he’s standing on the stage, singing into the crowd. And life—

Life is just a repetition.

Their paths cross again on a Monday morning, when the sunlight is too bright for a working day and Jeongguk feels like his head has been smashed in by a hammer. The previous night of alcohol and partying to celebrate the release of his new album concluded on a high note. Now, the next day, Jeongguk has to pay for it—with imminent headaches and a groggy feeling in his chest.

His bed, like always, is too big. Too empty. King-sized just for one him.

Last night, he had pushed away Laura, another soloist singer from the label, when she clung onto his arm and whispered honeyed comments in his ear. She’s smart, talented, and honestly a beautiful person to be with. But the last time Jeongguk tried to take someone home to his bed or take someone out on a date, he stopped halfway, feeling a sense of uneasiness at the back of his head.

So here he is, bed empty, the right side cold, because him alone is not enough to warm the entire bed.

Being an award-winning, famous singer-songwriter means that Jeongguk doesn’t have strict schedules to adhere to. There’s no nine to six work life, no office where he’s shackled to. As long as he’s cleared of schedule, no meetings nor interviews lined up, then he’s good to take the day off to do whatever he likes.

The flip side is he’d often find himself up late at night, scribbling lyrics and stray melodies onto paper when inspiration strikes. He finds he does that a lot recently, when thoughts about a particular person still haunt his mind.

It’s one in the afternoon, too late to start the day but too early for his hungover state. Nevertheless, Jeongguk rolls out of bed, heading straight for the shower. The warm water wakes him up a little, clearing his head more as he gets over his hangover. Slightly soberer, Jeongguk gets out of the shower, pulls on a clean set of clothes, and searches through his kitchen for food. He’s unsurprised to find nothing in the fridge or the cabinets, because five years and this place still doesn’t feel like home. Looking around, the apartment doesn’t look lived in, save for the random mess Jeongguk leaves behind when he’s too lazy to clean up after himself.

He doesn’t know what brought this on, but Jeongguk finds himself walking to Betty’s for breakfast. Shades on, hoodie pulled over, Jeongguk looks more like an escaping criminal than a famous singer. But it works, and other than a few suspicious stares, no one comes up to him for autographs or pictures. Years of having zero gossips surrounding him also mean that the paparazzi have gotten bored of tracking him. After all, Kim Kardashian’s daily life has way more drama than Jeongguk for the whole year.

Settling into a booth tucked at the corner, Jeongguk doesn’t have to read the menu before ordering what he wants. The waitress, one who Jeongguk doesn’t recognize, probably a new staff, takes his order while giving him the I recognize you from somewhere look in her eyes. But Jeongguk is not that mainstream yet, and she maintains her professionalism, so he gets his food and she gets a nice tip along the way.

He’s halfway into his bacon and toast when the door to the diner opens, the bell jingling to signal a new customer. Jeongguk doesn’t look up, and is instead engrossed in the sixty-two post-long Instagram story his friend had put up, detailing a very ridiculous adventure of him passing off as Brad Pitt at a high society tea party. Very ridiculous, not that funny, but Jeongguk finds humor in the little things these days. Nothing really makes him laugh as hard anymore, though.

“Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk looks up, blinking. Takes in the sight before him. Feels the breath get punched out of his lungs, a winded feeling leaving his chest squeezing unbearably.

“Oh. Hi.” The words are sluggish in his mouth. “Taehyung,” he adds, unnecessarily, just to say his name.

He says it at night sometimes, when it gets especially dark and lonely and empty in his apartment. He says it in the morning sometimes, when he just woke up and he misses the feeling of a warm body pressed up against him. The feeling of home.

Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung. Along the way, he has become synonymous with the word home.

“Are you—” Taehyung glances around the diner. The other diner-goers are busy doing their own things, and no one has noticed the two of them. “You’re—uh, do you have company? Can I—?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Jeongguk nods at the empty seat across from him in the booth. “Go ahead.”

“Cool. Okay.”

Taehyung sits down. The light in the diner is brighter than when it’s dark, but still murky. Some would say it’s vintage, some would say it’s old and dirty.

There’s the elephant in the room neither of them wishes to address, so Taehyung orders his sausage and pancake and they wait for his food.

Taehyung breaks the silence first, because all along, he’s always been the more proactive one between the two.

“So.” He stops. Licks his lips nervously, gaze flitting between Jeongguk and the large glass window beside them. It makes Jeongguk equally nervous, seeing him like this.

It doesn’t feel polite to continue eating while Taehyung is still sitting across from him, waiting for his food, so Jeongguk settles on tucking his hands in his lap, wringing his fingers together as he waits for Taehyung to continue talking.

“How’ve you been?”

“I’m… okay.”

I missed you. I miss you. Now, even when you are here, I still miss you.

“Good. That’s good. You just—you’re very busy and all. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Yeah. I am.” It’s partly true, because as much as Jeongguk wants to say that life without Taehyung has been a mess, he hasn’t thrown himself into irrational partying and drinking and all the other bad vices. In a very disorganized and detached state of his life, Jeongguk is still living decently. “Is that—what about you?”

“I’m good too.”

“How’s—”

“The others? We’re all good. Diego’s got a girlfriend now.”

“I saw. On Instagram.”

Taehyung makes a face, half endeared and half cringing. It’s a funny expression but he makes it look ridiculously adorable. “So cheesy right? But they’re cute, I'll have to give them that.”

“They are.”

“Oh, and. We’ve a manager now! Luis. Good guy.” Taehyung drums his fingers on the table. A quick rap that synchronizes with the beating of Jeongguk’s heart. The food comes, the smell of buttery toast wafting in the air. Taehyung doesn’t dig in immediately, but says, “We’re a little bit bigger now. This year we toured Europe. A small one, but—” He cuts a piece of sausage and brings it to his mouth. Softness melts on his face and he sighs contentedly. “This is still so good.”

Jeongguk nods. “Europe tour? That’s amazing. I’m proud.”

The sound of metal cutlery clinking against glass plates echoes softly around them.

Taehyung grins, a lopsided smile. “Thanks.”

Like that, sitting together, eating together, at this diner that holds all their memories together, Jeongguk can pretend things have not changed.

“How’s touring and stuff?” Taehyung asks.

“It’s okay. Tiring but—the experience makes it worthwhile.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know where he should draw the line. Whether between them, Taehyung has ever felt like things are unfair. Bitterness is an easy emotion, Jeongguk affirms from personal experience, and to think that Taehyung has not once felt bitter about their circumstance is an amazing feat in itself.

“You’re doing great! I see the posters and—actually, we wanted to—” Taehyung cuts a piece of his sausage and puts it on Jeongguk’s plate. Cuts a piece of Jeongguk’s bacon and takes it over. Only stops when what he has done dawns upon him in belated realization. It’s a habit they used to have, sharing food so they can try more things. More flavors, Taehyung would call it. “Oh. Sorry, I—”

“No. It’s fine.” Jeongguk picks up the piece of sausage and eats it. Feels Taehyung stare at him for some time. Then, Taehyung relaxes, sinking easier into the seat. Into their booth. The tension in the air seems to dissipate. The elephant in the room is shrinking. “You were saying?”

“We wanted to go to your concert. Actually. But, y’know.” Taehyung laughs. It’s light and melodic and Jeongguk has missed this sound. “Tickets are hard to get. Especially for three people.”

It’s not bitter. It’s not mocking. It’s a plain fact, laid out as it is.

“I’ve spare. I always do. For family and friends.”

“Don’t you need those for—”

“No, I don’t.” It bites, unintentionally so. Jeongguk shifts forward a little, scuffing the soles of his shoe against the floor. Soothes his words over with, “Not really. I can give you some. If you want.”

Taehyung blinks. Nods. There’s a bit of whipped cream at the corner of his lips, and his tongue darts out to lick it away. Jeongguk’s eyes follow the movement. Lingers long enough to feel the three solemn beats of his heart. Then, he tears his gaze away, heart pounding.

“Okay. Cool,” Taehyung says. “That’ll be cool.”

The air is silent again, just the sound of music playing in the background. Jeongguk thinks he hates it. Hates how they’ve come to this—to sitting across each other and finding that they’ve nothing to talk about.

“How’s—”

“Are you—”

Jeongguk cuts himself off, just as Taehyung does. Their eyes meet, and then Taehyung splits into a wide grin, boyish and charming and tempting Jeongguk to just lean over and kiss it off him. It pulls a small chuckle out of Jeongguk, makes his heart feel that same warm tingling it felt years ago. Has always felt so.

“You first,” Jeongguk says.

“Are you with anyone now, or?” Taehyung asks, shrugging. Easy. Casual.

Jeongguk swallows another piece of toast. It feels embarrassing to say it out loud, but he finds no reason to lie about it. “No. I’m not.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“What about before?”

Jeongguk digs the heel of his shoe into the floor. Crosses his legs underneath the table, trying to stop the jittering. “Nope. None at all.” He shrugs. “There’s no one that—yeah.”

“Oh,” Taehyung says again, like it's something he can’t quite believe.

“You? How’s you and—”

“Mateo?”

Jeongguk nods. It’s not a competition, and Taehyung isn’t a trophy to be won, but he still feels like he has lost. Feels like he has lost to someone he barely knows.

“Oh,” Taehyung laughs, a nervous lilt in it. “We’re not together anymore.”

Jeongguk looks up, surprised.

“What?”

“Yeah. It didn’t work out. We’re better off friends, I think.” Taehyung nods to himself, a faraway look in his eyes. “It was an amicable breakup, though. We’re still good friends. He’s dating this other guy at his work—I think his name was Cain? Or something.”

“When did all this…?”

“Almost one and a half years ago, actually. We were together for like, a few months. Then, done.” Taehyung eats another piece of sausage, like all of this is not a big deal. Maybe it isn’t. “I don’t know. It hurt less than I thought? I wasn’t in love, I know that for sure.”

“And now?”

“Single pringle, ready to mingle.”

“That’s an awful phrase and you know it.”

“It’s not! It’s very fitting of my current status, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Jeongguk sips his coffee, the drink sweeter than he thought it’d be. A small part of him feels an impossible sense of relief. A sense of desperate, desperate hope. He hides his smile against the rim of his cup, willing his heart to stop thundering wildly.

A question nags at the back of his mind, however, and he can’t help but ask, “How do you know you weren’t in love?”

It’s Taehyung’s turn to look surprised now, lips forming an ‘o’.

“Oh, uhm. It’s—actually, a few weeks after we got together, I just. It didn’t feel completely right. I mean—” Taehyung laughs, more to himself than anything. “I know I said finally and all and I’ve no experience in such things but—it didn’t feel like love. I didn’t picture a future with him, if you get me.”

“I do. Kinda.” Jeongguk pauses. “What kind of future do you picture?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. “Playing in the band, until I’m old and my voice becomes hoarse and no one wants to watch an old wrinkly dude singing. And, also have a family, in a small apartment. Y’know? Not the big lavish kind but something small and nice. Cozy. There’d be so much music in our house. Always singing, always making music. Silence is filled with music and music is filled with laughter. That kind of thing.”

Jeongguk pictures it. Sunlight filtering in through the windows into a small house, filling the place with light and laughter. There’s singing, or some music playing in the background. Taehyung, in all his beauty, aged finely with a gentle touch of youth. There’s a child, he imagines, or two. Or maybe even three, because Taehyung loves children and Jeongguk doesn’t really mind. And of course, Jeongguk’s there, because of course his mind would do this to him—conjure a perfect image of him and Taehyung and their happy little family.

“What’s on your mind?” Taehyung asks, snapping Jeongguk out of his thoughts. His fantasy.

“Nothing much.” He eats more of his bacon and toast, the last bits, finishing up his food. “Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It’s you. You and me. Us. Together. In a world where you love me just as I love you and there’s nothing stopping us from being together. Another world that’s not like this one, one where we’re separated by the distance and the guilt and burden weighing on my shoulders. One where I won’t find it so hard to go to you. To love you. Boldly. Freely.

“Just—would you be free? Like, next month? I’m starting my tour and—it’d be nice if you guys can come.”

It’s the first time Jeongguk has ever reached out like this. Maybe it’s because of the flicker of hope in his chest, or the mere fact that these past years without Taehyung have felt far too long. Even if Jeongguk can’t have him, he still wants to keep him close. Have a friend rather than nothing at all.

“Yes, yes! I mean—” Taehyung clears his throat, sitting straighter. Jeongguk feels the fierce tug in his chest, to be completely alive again. “That’d be great.”

And as the light shines in, the diner a rather fanciful vintage backdrop, Taehyung basks in the warm early sunlight, shining.

So easily, their lives converge again, not quite identical but running along close symmetrical lines.

Jeongguk picks up the stray thread of their friendship, and pulls himself closer to Taehyung, the second time he’s had to learn to become friends again.

“Hello? ”

“It’s me. Jeongguk.”

A chuckle echoes through the call. “I know.”

“Just wanted to say happy birthday.”

“Thanks. You’re the first, again.”

“Yeah. I—sorry I missed some.”

Quiet. Then, “It’s okay. You’re back now. That’s all I really care about.”

Sometimes, they call for no reason, other than to talk. On Jeongguk’s side, all he wants is to hear Taehyung’s voice.

“Thoughts about Aurora?”

“It’s really good. Tell Ruien I’m so proud.”

“I know! She’ll be so happy to hear that. She worked real hard on that song—was kinda scared to let you listen.”

“No, no. I really like it.”

“Great! Buy our album when it’s out, okay? Totally not me forcing you to do so.”

Laughter resounds in Jeongguk’s ear.

“Definitely.”

Then—

“I got you the tickets. Check your email.”

“Oh my god, great! I’ll tell them—wait. Are you kidding? VIP seats?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Heck, this is so cool. Thanks. Wow.”

“I should be thanking you for coming.”

“Nah, it’s our honor. Your latest album… it’s really something special.”

Jeongguk is nervous, to say the least. He’s practically shaking, jittery with nerves as he thinks about his friends coming to watch his concert later. He has given them VIP tickets, which means front row seats to his performance, which then translates to them being able to pick up on any mistake he makes.

It’s strange like this, him on stage and them as the audience. For so long they’ve all been side by side, taking the world together in their own tiny storm.

But even that is a distant memory.

Five years can change a person. He’s been alone longer than he’s played with them, and still, he can’t quite get used to the loneliness. To be alone doesn’t mean to be lonely, but these two words have become one and the same to him.

Jeongguk takes the stage, and the crowd comes alive at his appearance. He searches through the sea of people for the familiar faces, and finds comfort in seeing his old band members standing front and center.

He spots Taehyung, all bright grins and crinkled-eye smiles. The elder waves at him excitedly, calling out his name, but the voice drowns out in the cheers of his fans. Then, as if suddenly realizing the frantic wave of his arms might be blocking the people behind him, Taehyung quickly puts them down, shoulders hunching the way it does when he gets embarrassed. Taehyung turns, gives the fans behind him a few polite nods, before turning back to look at Jeongguk. It should be impossible, but his smile widens then, stretching across his beautiful countenance the way a rainbow takes over the sky after a thunderstorm.

And Jeongguk is the star of the concert tonight, but in his eyes, the only star he sees is Taehyung.

The lights dim. The crowd grows quiet. There is a hushed exhilaration thrumming through his veins, simmering beneath his skin. For the first time, he sees Taehyung watching him.

As the first song begins, and Jeongguk sings, not once does his gaze stray from Taehyung.

Jeongguk meets them backstage, when the lights have gone down and the crowd has departed. The packed concert venue has quietened down to the murmurs of the technical team packing up the stage. The ghost of the songs he has just sung to the audience echoes in the emptiness.

“Jeongguk! That was awesome!” Diego says, tossing him a bottle of water.

He catches it easily. Twists the cap open and chugs it all down in a few mouthfuls, dehydrated from performing the entire night.

“Slow down. Be careful you don’t choke,” Taehyung says from beside him.

Even now, his smile is terribly soft, and his gaze holds a look of endearment that Jeongguk can’t quite understand. Misplaced, it must be, if it's a look directed at him.

He doesn’t get the opportunity to say anything before someone pounces on his back. Ruien pokes his cheek, laughing as Jeongguk groans at the sudden weight.

“You were so cool, watching you live is so different from the videos.”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. “You watch my concert videos?”

He wishes he knew that. Wishes he knew his old band members were thinking of him as much as he thought of them; that despite what he did, a betrayal of sorts, they never turned him away.

Mai snorts. “Taehyung kept showing it to us. I mean, the rest of us probably didn’t catch every show, but Taehyung has probably seen most of them.”

“You can say it, Mai,” Ruien chimes in. She clambers off Jeongguk’s back, only to skip over to Taehyung’s side and toss an arm across his shoulder. Taehyung slumps at the sudden weight, letting out a soft ‘oof’. “Taehyung is obsessed.”

“Come on guys, they were good alright? And we should support Jeongguk, no?” Taehyung retorts, lips jutting out in a half-frown.

Jeongguk wishes he could kiss the frown away. Bring back the smile.

He shoves the thought to the very back of his mind.

“Thanks for coming,” he says instead. “Means a lot to me.”

“Please. It’s the high in demand VIP tickets to the one and only Jeon Jeongguk’s concert. I’m not wasting that golden ticket to flex to your fans,” Diego jokes.

“I snapped a photo of my ticket on my personal Instagram and got a flood of messages asking if they can buy it from me,” Mai says. Her grin widens, full of mischief. “You’re lucky I didn’t sell it off in exchange for some good money.”

“As if you’d ever do that,” Ruien says, snickering. “We all know you’ve got a soft spot for Jeongguk.”

“Not as much as Taehyung though.”

“Oh, you wish,” Taehyung mumbles, crossing his arms. He rolls his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays his words. 

Jeongguk smiles as laughter fill the room, and the scene takes him right back to the beginning, where times were simpler, just the five of them together again.

Post-concert calls for celebratory drinks, a habit that none of them seem to shake after all these years. But getting drunk from the joy of being with his friends again beats the lonely drinking in his own apartment by miles.

Diego and Ruien knock out fast as light, and Mai calls a taxi to take the three of them back to the hotel they’re staying in. She tries to get a tipsy Taehyung out of the bar too, but the latter clings tightly onto Jeongguk’s arm, refusing to let go. Whispers into Jeongguk’s ear, something about how he hasn’t seen him for a long time. How he misses him.

Jeongguk flushes, equal parts from the alcohol thrumming in him and the warm breath against the shell of his ear.

“I’ll take him back later, just send me the hotel address,” he says, and he’s left with Taehyung hanging by his side, happily waving Mai goodbye.

“When do you want to go back?” Jeongguk asks.

He’s beginning to feel more than just the slightest bit tipsy, and he’s afraid the longer they stay, the less sober he’ll become. Even the soft strum of the guitar by the band playing at the side is starting to hurt his head.

Taehyung leans into his space. This close, Jeongguk can count the moles mapping his face, constellations painted on his visage—Taehyung’s always been somewhat of a galaxy.

Under the changing lights of the bar, Taehyung looks like heaven. A sin. A fallen angel, the deadly concoction of paradise and purgatory.

Jeongguk wants to kiss him. Wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, wonders if he can taste the bittersweet alcohol from his lips. Knows if he just leans in slightly, closing the gap between them, he can.

“To your place?”

Taehyung’s voice is low, alluring, tipsy on the sweet, sweet alcohol.

Jeongguk almost kisses him.

But he doesn’t. Tears his gaze away instead, saying, “No. I mean back to your hotel, Tae.”

Taehyung pulls away. Jeongguk misses the warmth he takes with him, and holds back the urge to pull him back.

“You’re leaving?”

“No, I’m taking you back to your room, and then I’m going back to my hotel.”

“You can stay with me.”

Jeongguk smiles, terribly fond. “I can’t. How am I going to fit on the bed with you? And Diego’s rooming with you too, right?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Then we’ll go to yours.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk starts, and it breaks his heart that they’ve come to this point. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I can’t? Why?”

“Because—” I want you too much. It’s been seven, eight, nine years, and I still want you so much. I want to hold you. Kiss you. Love you. And I’m afraid, so afraid, that in my less-than-sober state, I won’t have any self-control left. “Because I promised Mai I’ll send you back.”

Taehyung chuckles, ringing with a deep timbre. Pulls out his phone and sends out a text. Receives one in return, notified by the soft ping of the messaging application.

“See?” He raises his phone, the brightness of the screen jarring against the turned-down lights of the bar. Jeongguk blinks, squinting as he focuses on the message. “Mai said to just meet them back at the motel on Monday morning.”

Jeongguk nibbles on his bottom lip, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. His hesitance must be spelled out in bold all across his face because Taehyung backs away, the corners of his lips slightly twisted down in a small frown.

“Sorry, I was being pushy. I just wish we could spend more time together.” Taehyung cards his fingers through his hair, strong features on full display. When sober, his eyes always carry a sharp glint, not fierce but focused. Now, shaken by the alcohol pulsing through his veins, the deep brown is softer, murkier, the way it gets in the early morning when he just wakes. “Do you want to leave now? I will call a cab back.”

“I’ll take you back.”

Taehyung chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks like he wants to say something. But Jeongguk never hears it because all he does is nod and say, “Okay.”

The night air is chilly when they step out of the bar, and Jeongguk shudders against the evening breeze. The warmth flush from the alcohol is fading, replaced by the faint sickness that comes with drinking a bit too much. He sniffles, rubbing at his nose as he stares down at the pavement.

Warmth encases him the next moment. Jeongguk looks up from the ground to meet Taehyung in the eyes. The elder’s jacket is draped over his shoulders, and the soft fragrance of sandalwood—so distinctly Taehyung—surrounds him.

“Don’t catch a cold now.”

Taehyung’s eyes are still soft. Warm. Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s ever seen it cold.

“You’re not cold?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m okay.” Nudges Jeongguk on the side, like old times. Jeongguk misses this, among many things. His voice is like honey, teasing when he says, “Not like you. I can handle a bit of wind.”

The taxi rolls onto the street, and Taehyung opens the door. Turns around, his hair tousled by the evening wind, as he smiles at Jeongguk.

“Thank you for tonight, really.”

Then he gets into the cab, pulling the door shut after him.

Jeongguk, in his dreamlike trance despite being sobered by the chilly evening, moves on impulse. He thinks not with his mind but with his heart as he reaches out to keep the door open.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, but does not say a single word as Jeongguk gets into the car with him.

“Heading to Comfort Inn, is that right?” The driver asks, checking against the booking screen on his phone.

“No, Marriott please. I’ll pay double.”

The ride to his hotel is filled with silence, comfortable despite Jeongguk’s sudden change of mind. He watches as Taehyung rests his head against the glass window, looking at the passing streets and the blurring city lights.

He feels like a fool. A lovesick, homesick fool, but a fool nonetheless.

He does not know where to go from here, only knows that his heart is pleading and his mind is too tipsy to disagree.

Marriott is a grand hotel, luxurious in its decor. It is miles fancier than the cheap motel his old bandmates are staying in, evident in the way Taehyung’s eyes widen at the sight of the architecture. 

The elder follows him into the lift wordlessly, eyes taking in the grandeur the hotel has to offer. It’s a famous five-star hotel for the rich and the wealthy, and though Jeongguk is not filthy rich, his company has deemed it befitting of his status as a decently popular celebrity.

The hotel room he’s given is spacious, with more than enough room to fit two people. There’s only one bed, king-sized with a generous number of pillows, and Jeongguk’s certain Taehyung wouldn't mind having to share a bed.

“You can borrow my clothes for the night,” Jeongguk says, reaching into his luggage to dig up a shirt and a pair of shorts. “Bathroom’s on the left. There should be a spare towel in there.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung says, before disappearing into the shower.

Moments pass, and then the sound of water against tiled floors could be heard. Faintly, a familiar song plays, one Jeongguk recognizes belongs in Taehyung’s shower playlist.

He makes his way to the bathroom, knocking twice on the door. 

“Tae? I brought you clothes.”

No one answers, except for Mariah Carey singing her heart out. He twists the doorknob, finding that the door’s not locked.

“Tae, I’m coming in.”

Jeongguk keeps his eyes glued to the floor, hoping to offer Taehyung some privacy. The bathroom is misty with steam, warmed up by the heat of the water. 

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” He answers, but it comes out more as a squeak.

“Can you pass me your face wash? I think I saw it near the sink.”

Jeongguk searches the basin area, finding the tube of face wash Taehyung is referring to. It’s the same one he has used since he was just a teenager, no older than fifteen. The same one he brings on their band tours. The same one Taehyung steals from him all the time because he says it smells good.

“Here,” he says, arm reaching out past the curtains toward Taehyung. 

The shower curtains are drawn, but through the translucent material, Jeongguk can pick up on a distinct silhouette. The image is by no means obscene, nothing close to erotic, but still, Jeongguk finds a blush rising high in his cheeks.

He snaps out of the trance the next second, overcome by the shame settling under his skin when he hears Taehyung say, “Thanks.”

“I’ll be right outside,” Jeongguk says, face flushed and it feels as though he has downed another glass of strong vodka. His head spins from the warm steam.

The heat doesn’t go away until Taehyung is out of the shower, dressed in his clothes. The shirt fits him perfectly, tighter near the shoulders but baggier at the upper arms. Where Taehyung is broad, Jeongguk is bulkier.

He looks beautiful like this too, soft from the shower, caught between the ends of tipsy and the beginnings of sleepiness.

He’s always beautiful.

Jeongguk should have known that seeing Taehyung in his clothes would send his weak heart crumbling. He feels weak.

“You can use the shower now,” Taehyung says as he dries his hair, not noticing the brief panic Jeongguk is experiencing.

Jeongguk nods absentmindedly, desperate for a moment’s reprieve. He grabs his clothes, hurriedly heading for the bathroom, only to pass by Taehyung on his way. The room is not as big as he thought, after all.

The air between them feels sickeningly sweet as he catches a whiff of the lavender shampoo Taehyung used. The same one Jeongguk uses.

And he hates that his heart leaps at the split-second thought that Taehyung smells like him.

He spends the rest of the shower willing his blush away, trying not to think about the refreshing scent of lemon in Taehyung's hair.

When he gets out of the shower, Taehyung has made himself comfortable on the bed. He’s watching the television, but Jeongguk can tell he’s not really paying it any attention.

He looks over when he hears Jeongguk walking toward the bed.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning Jeongguk over.

The younger follows as if caught in a spell, until he’s right at the edges of the bed frame. His knees hit the side of the mattress, before Taehyung reaches out to wrap his fingers around his wrist and tug him closer toward the bed. Jeongguk sits on the edge, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Taking the towel in Jeongguk’s hand, Taehyung places it on the younger’s head. His fingers are deft with expertise as he towels Jeongguk’s hair dry, massaging his scalp while he’s at it. He does this often for Jeongguk when they used to tour together with the band, always chiding him for not drying his hair before he goes to sleep. Jeongguk hasn’t realized how this simple thing has become a habit by now, one that hasn’t been shaken despite the years.

All the tension weighing on Jeongguk’s shoulders ease with it, and he settles back against Taehyung’s chest, lulled to a state of drowsiness by the comforting motion.

He almost wishes it would never end.

Eventually, Taehyung picks up the towel again, tossing it carelessly to the side. It lands nicely on the armrest of a couch. He shuffles backward, back hitting the headboard.

“Come sleep,” he says, reaching out and attempting to pull Jeongguk closer, but misses. Settles for lightly swatting at his shoulders as he tries to get Jeongguk to move up further on the bed beside him.

But Jeongguk follows his beckoning, clambering onto the empty space beside Taehyung. It’s warm in his belly, not from the alcohol but from the tingling feeling of them being in such close proximity. Their elbows knock against each other, and their ankles cross, as they settle into bed, finding a comfortable position to sleep in. Eventually, they drift off to sleep like this—Taehyung’s hand resting at the small of Jeongguk’s back, and Jeongguk’s head tucked in the nook of Taehyung’s shoulder.

Jeongguk doesn’t wake up with a hangover, and he attributes it to his restraint against drinking back an exceeding amount of alcohol the night before. But the sight of Taehyung softly snoring beside him feels too surreal, unaccomplishable without some degree of alcohol thrumming in his veins.

It takes everything in him to pull away from the warmth of the bed, from the space they’ve shared throughout the night. The carpeted floor is chilly from the air-conditioning, and Jeongguk holds back a shiver. The thin material of his shirt does nothing to block out the cold. He wants to crawl back into bed. Snuggle under the duvet. Stay in the comforting warmth, for more reasons than one.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he makes his way to the bathroom, unable to hold back the shiver when the chilliness from the tiled flooring seeps through his bare foot and into his bones. The splash of tap water is refreshing, though icy, and Jeongguk sneezes at the chill that wrecks through him. Taehyung is right, he’s always been the one more susceptible to the cold.

He catches his reflection in the mirror, and wonders for the first time how he’s changed so much over the years. The differences are subtle, and for the most part, he looks the same as before. But upon closer inspection, he notices the parts of himself that have become different.

For one, the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes are deeper now. Not enough to make him look old, not enough to count as aging wrinkles, but enough to make him look more mature. The dark circles that frame his eyes have made themselves a permanence, not from the wild partying of youth, but from the sleepless nights that take over his consciousness.

In the dingy light of the bathroom, his reflection stares back at him like a ghost. Jeongguk doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he last looked at himself so carefully in the mirror.

His cheeks are flushed a faint pink from the morning chill. There’s a bit of stubble on his chin. Tiny specks of red are sprinkled across his face, a culmination of poor sleep and stress.

Jeongguk scratches his face lightly. The yellow hue of the bathroom light is unflattering. For the first time in a long while, he is afraid to meet Taehyung like this—bare-faced and raw, nothing like the fancy billboards seen along the city streets.

Maybe he should put on some concealer. Or some eye cream. Anything to hide the sunken exhaustion and the growing redness on his sensitive skin. He doesn’t usually have any makeup products with him, but he thinks he might be able to find one or two that the makeup artists have left behind after his concert.

He’s startled by a sharp knock on the bathroom door. It’s followed by a “Jeongguk, are you in there?”, voice raspy, the way it always gets when Taehyung just wakes up.

He loves that he knows it, hates that he’s not the only one. The unmerited jealousy and possessiveness that he feels are terrifying. Jeongguk does not want to be the kind of person, the kind of friend, who will tie Taehyung down.

Some people are meant to spread their wings and fly.

“Yeah, I’m—just hold on a minute, I’ll—” Jeongguk fumbles through the drawers, but there’s nothing in there that can hide his blemishes. He’s never been one to care much about being bare-faced, but after so long, waking up to Taehyung in the morning again has made him feel all too self-conscious. He cares too much.

He finds nothing in the drawers, nothing aside from the usual combs and spare toothbrushes. In his frenzy, his elbow knocks against the marble counter, and pain shoots up his arm, an aching electricity.

“Shit. Ow,” he curses under his breath, rubbing at the soreness that has blossomed after the collision.

“Jeongguk, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just—” He steps back, and nearly slips on the bathroom mat. His hands fly out, fingers grabbing purchase on the counter. It’s wet from when he was washing his face earlier, and he loses grip. He falls further, scrambling to grab onto something—anything—that will help him regain balance. The shower curtains are his last and only option.

But the curtains are flimsy, and his fingers slide down the smooth material until he’s landing butt-first in the bathtub, legs hanging out awkwardly. In his fall, his arm knocked into and twisted the shower tap, and a rush of ice-cold water now rains down on him from the showerhead above.

“Jeongguk, you don’t sound okay. I’m coming in, whether you’re naked or not.”

“Don’t—”

The protest dies in his throat when Taehyung twists the doorknob and opens the door. The elder peeks in, looking down at an utterly disheveled Jeongguk.

So much for wanting to impress. For wanting to look his best.

Faintly, Jeongguk feels like crying. But he doesn’t. There’s nothing wrong with crying, but crying feels too humiliating in this situation. Because nothing’s wrong, the fall barely hurt him, but the thought of Taehyung seeing him, a grown man, looking like a mess in the tiny bathroom under the yellow light is embarrassing.

“Hi there,” Taehyung says.

He stands by the door, seemingly evaluating the situation for a good fifteen seconds. Jeongguk wishes to melt into the ground the entire time the elder stands there.

“Hi,” Jeongguk croaks, and his voice sounds wrecked and wet and he hopes he isn’t crying.

Taehyung steps into the bathroom, turning the shower tap off. Jeongguk shivers again at the blast of cold wind from the air-conditioning that has escaped from the bedroom.

Taehyung’s voice is infinitely softer, gentle when he says, “You okay?”

Jeongguk nods. Tries to get out of the bathtub but he fumbles. The porcelain is slippery beneath his fingertips. 

“Here, grab onto my shoulders.”

They manage to get Jeongguk out of the bathtub, a two-man effort, and it should embarrass him further. But the close proximity with Taehyung, and feeling the warmth emanating from his body, is more comforting than not. Even when he’s close, Jeongguk wants to be closer.

“What happened here?” Taehyung asks, as he grabs a towel from the rack to wrap around Jeongguk.

“I was—” Jeongguk jerks his thumb toward the bathtub. “Trying to shower?”

“With your clothes on?”

“Uh.” Jeongguk glances down at his thoroughly soaked shirt. “I fell.”

Taehyung snorts, and it sounds endeared. It’s enough to tug a small smile from Jeongguk’s lips.

“Clearly. But you’re fine now? Can shower by yourself, without your clothes on?” He pauses, grin widening. “Or do I have to stay here and supervise you?”

“No! I’m fine!” Jeongguk swallows. “I’m fine.” He rubs at the tip of his nose, embarrassed. “God, Tae, I’m not a child.”

And Taehyung chuckles, already backing away toward the door. His laughter is bright, echoing like a melody in the cramped bathroom.

“I know, Jeongguk. Trust me, I know.”

After the entirely embarrassing incident, mostly on Jeongguk’s part, they head out to the city for brunch. The sun is unbearably warm, and they duck into a brunch place near the hotel for food and to escape the summer heat.

“I’ll order, what do you want?” Taehyung says, pushing his shades up into his hair. The action pushes back his fringe, leaving his strong brows on full display. 

In the way that Jeongguk has changed, growing into his own features, so has Taehyung. Where he was once already stunningly beautiful, he now exudes a certain boldness and maturity that complements his beauty. He is intimidating in how attractive he is, to the point where Jeongguk thinks he must be unreal. A beauty like this must be unreal, a figment of his imagination.

“Jeongguk?”

But Taehyung is very real. Real in the deepness of his voice, a honeyed texture to the sound. Real in the warmth he exudes when he lightly touches Jeongguk’s arm, pulling him back to reality.

“Oh, uh… bagels?”

“And your drink? Still iced flat white in the morning?”

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah, same old. Thanks.” He jerks a thumb at the tables, already searching for an empty seat. “I’ll go look for a place to sit.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.”

The place is slightly crowded, caught between the breakfast people and the incoming lunch crowd. Jeongguk, fortunately, finds a small table soon enough, tucked in a corner of the shop. It’s not an ideal seat, squashed between a couple focused more on their phones than each other’s company and an elderly lady drinking tea. But it’s quiet, hidden from most of the crowd, enough for Jeongguk to be at ease and not worry that someone might recognize him.

“Too bright in here?” Taehyung asks, as he slides into the seat across from him.

Jeongguk takes a sip of his iced coffee, a cooling reprieve from the overwhelming heat from the summer sun.

“What?”

“Your shades. Still keeping them on?” Taehyung grins. “Am I too bright for you?”

“Oh. No. I—”

“So I’m not bright enough?”

“No! I mean.” Jeongguk groans. “Tae, stop making fun of me.”

Taehyung smiles, posture relaxed as he leans back into his seat. Sips on his strawberry smoothie, because even now, coffee’s not to his liking. “Hard not to. You’re fun to tease.”

Jeongguk shoves down the warm feeling blooming in his chest, the feeling of nostalgia for the banter they always have. There is a sense of relief from knowing that no matter how many times they drift apart, how many times Jeongguk walks away, they can always come back to this.

And it’s not a lot, it’s nothing close to what Jeongguk truly wants—holding hands and dates and soft kisses—but he’s learned to be contented with this.

“I just don’t want to risk anyone recognizing me,” Jeongguk half-whispers.

“Ah, gotcha.” Taehyung purses his lips, holding back a grin. Jeongguk already knows the words that leave his lips next will all be directed at teasing him. The elder sighs dramatically before he says, “Popstar problems.”

Jeongguk groans again. “Tae.”

“Fine, fine,” Taehyung concedes. “What are your plans after this?”

A waitstaff serves up their food, bagels with scrambled eggs for Jeongguk and toast with sunny side-ups for Taehyung. A quiet warmth settles in his chest at the thought of Taehyung remembering how he likes his eggs cooked.

The staff pauses by their table for a second too long, squinting slightly as she looks at Jeongguk. As if she remembers him from somewhere but can’t quite pinpoint who he is.

“Matthew, eat up,” Taehyung says, and the name must be unfamiliar enough for the wait staff that she walks away after a shrug of her shoulders.

When she’s out of ear’s reach, Jeongguk frowns, saying, “Matthew? Really?”

“Good name, isn’t it? Enough to throw her off.”

Jeongguk cuts into his bagel, bringing a piece to his mouth. “I am so not a Matthew.”

“Okay then, Jonathan.”

“Jonathan?” Jeongguk nearly chokes on his bagel. “That’s worse.”

“Then what do you want me to call you?”

“Hm.” Jeongguk hums around a mouthful of eggs and bagel, the food melting deliciously in his mouth. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Richard?”

Taehyung snorts so loudly that the couple beside them look up from their phones to glare at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes to them, then turns to Jeongguk, voice lower as he says, “look what you’ve done now.”

“I consider that payback,” Jeongguk says, watching as Taehyung falls back into habit, cutting a piece of his ham and toast and putting it on Jeongguk’s plate. Does the same with Jeongguk’s bagel.

He’s taken back to Betty’s, the memory so long ago that Jeongguk recalls it with sepia-tinted lenses now.

“I don’t really have plans for the day. Was just thinking of sleeping the whole day.”

“Are you serious? We’re out of California with free time on our hands and all you want to do is sleep?” Taehyung’s tone softens then, a hint of worry and concern when he adds, “Are you really that tired?”

Jeongguk shrugs. Bites into the piece of sunny side up Taehyung cut from his plate. He’s never really cared for fried eggs, but somehow, it always tastes better when it comes from the other’s plate.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just—It’s not like I can go hang out with my manager now, can I?”

“Jeongguk.” Taehyung sets his cutlery down. Stares at him with a deadpan expression. “Jeongguk. Am I invisible to you?”

“No?”

“Then let’s go somewhere together. Do whatever.”

“Don’t you have plans?”

“Nope. Like Mai said, just got to meet them back at the motel by tomorrow morning. Otherwise, we’ll never make it to our next show in Oregon in time. You’re staying here for a couple more days right?”

Jeongguk nods. “Few more concerts next week, then I’m wrapping up the tour back in California.”

“Huh.” A smudge of strawberry smoothie foam lingers at the corner of Taehyung’s lips. He licks it away, and Jeongguk’s eyes follow the motion. “We might be back in California around the same time then.”

Jeongguk tears his gaze away from Taehyung. He’s lost track of how many times he’s done it—forcing himself to look away from Taehyung after staring at him for too long. But he finds that each time, it gets harder and harder to do so.

Las Vegas is famous for its grand hotels and its even grander casinos. And it would make sense to check out one of the many casinos in the district, like most tourists coming to Las Vegas would. But neither of them are keen on the forbidden grandeur of the gambling dens, so they settle on the next best—

“What starts with a C but isn’t casino?” Taehyung asks as he leads the way down the street.

Jeongguk has to play catch up to the wide strides Taehyung takes, but every once in a while, Taehyung will slow down, matching their steps. The sun is beginning to set, dipping the sky in a charming myriad of orange tones. Las Vegas looks exceptionally pretty with the setting sun as the backdrop, as the neon city lights begin to blink awake amid the descent of the night.

The warm hues of the orangey sunlight are a beautiful look on Taehyung. He wears sunsets well. It takes his golden and makes it brighter, like diamonds under the bejeweled night sky. 

“Cafe?”

“We had brunch at a cafe, went back to the hotel to take a nap—and mind you, that’s a really good bed you got there, cherish it—and now you think I would take you to another cafe?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “I don’t mind it.”

“Okay, but you are wrong. I never take a date to the same place twice. Keep guessing.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, Jeongguk knows, but it still sends his heart stuttering in the many ways it should not.

It’s not a date—it’s not. Jeongguk knows this, because Taehyung calls everything a date. The word does not seem to hold the same meaning for him as it does for Jeongguk. Because if it did, then Jeongguk would have had the privilege to go on countless dates with Taehyung.

Picnicking under the stars in the back of Taehyung’s rickety old truck back when they were younger would have been a date. Hiking in Sequoia National Park, because Taehyung wanted to be closer to nature, would have been a date. Late night snack runs to Betty’s, sharing vanilla milkshakes and soggy fries, would have been a date.

And they do sound like dates—they do. And Jeongguk has spent sleepless nights thinking about each one, obsessing over each moment where it felt like Taehyung and he could be more. But each time he dares to cross the line, venture into the possibility, he’s reminded time and time again why they are not meant to be.

Because years and years later, the CD is still hidden in his drawer.

“Coffee shop… uh, cathedral… uh—” They stop and the answer is right in front of him. “Oh. A carnival.”

Taehyung grins, and it’s infinitely brighter than the blinking lights of the carnival decor. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

The carnival is huge, larger than most Jeongguk fairs had been to. Rows of tents have been set up with a variety of game booths under them, lit up by the twinkling light bulbs strung across the tentage. There are coffee carts of different snacks, the buttery fragrance of popcorn wafting in the air. The atmosphere sizzles with exhilaration and excitement.

“Yeah, wow. How long has it been since we went to one?”

“Right after you graduated, remember? We went upstate to Idaho. Small carnival, nothing like this one.”

Jeongguk lets out a low whistle, recollecting the fond memory. “Yeah, I do. Wow. That’s so long ago already.”

“I thought it’d be nice to come.”

They buy their tickets into the carnival, and it probably is a scam, seeing how all the game booths and food stalls are there to take away more of their money. But the carnival is beautifully set up, and it’s been so long since they’ve been to a fair like this together, that Jeongguk barely blinks at the ten dollars he has to part with.

“How did you find this place?”

“Here? Quick search on google. It’s supposed to be part of some art festival, and I figured you’d like it.”

“I do.” Jeongguk turns to Taehyung. A smile tugs at his lips. “I really do.”

“I’m glad,” Taehyung says. “What do you want to check out first?”

The delicious fragrance of grilled sausages wafts in the air, as a kid runs past them in the direction of the food stand. They turn to each other in perfect synchronization, eyes lighting up as they both blurt out the answer at the same.

“Hot dogs!”

Too many hot dogs and other junk food later, they find themselves heading to one of the game booths. It’s a target shooting game, simple in theory but hard in execution.

“You up for a challenge?” Taehyung grins, lopsided but not any less charming.

For a moment, Jeongguk loses his breath.

“You bet,” he shoots back with a smile of his own, already paying the booth master for a round at the game.

They are given one minute, and the higher the score, the better the prize to be won. Jeongguk hits a target first, bagging ten points, but Taehyung follows after with fifteen points of his own. Their little competition is closely tied till the very last moment, where Taehyung manages to score an extra twenty points on a goal.

And Jeongguk is competitive in nature, but when it comes to Taehyung, he has never minded losing to him.

Jeongguk gets a pick at a candy, but Taehyung’s points earn him a choice of one of the stuffed toys on display.

“Which one’s cute?”

“That one,” Jeongguk points at a heart-shaped stuffed toy. It’s a bright red, and two tiny beads are sewn on for its eyes. The stuffed toy also had ridiculously thick yellow lips, to which Jeongguk laughs and tells Taehyung it resembles the hot dogs they just ate.

The booth master takes the stuffed toy down for them, and Taehyung takes it with bright eyes.

“Jeongguk, look, it’s so lovely!”

“It is.”

Taehyung turns those bright eyes on him, and once again, Jeongguk is hit by how handsome he is.

“This is for you.”

Jeongguk raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Mhm. So you don’t feel so lonely on tour, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes sparkle, but they’re terribly soft, and Jeongguk is left wondering how diamonds, sharp at the edges, can be so gentle all the same. “We can’t be with you all the time, and maybe that’s fine. Maybe you don’t feel lonely at all.” Taehyung places the soft toy in Jeongguk’s hands. “But I’d hope this reminds you that I’m always only a call or a text away.”

Jeongguk blinks. Swallows. Feels his emotions rising in his chest, all choked up in his throat.

“Thanks,” he says eventually, voice almost a whisper, but Taehyung must have heard it anyway, if the mesmerizing grin split across his face says anything.

They end the night in the long queue for the ferris wheel, as all carnival-goers do. The entire time is spent reminiscing about the good old times—times that Jeongguk realizes have long slipped by him. Time is a watery, slippery thing. Evident in the way it marks its passing in his features, in the distance that stands between Taehyung and him.

But time is also forgiving, and maybe Jeongguk hasn’t done anything wrong. Neither of them has. Yet, he thinks he likes the look of second, third, fourth chances on Taehyung, in the way they are able to still spend time together like this, as the best friends they once were.

They slide into a booth on the ferris wheel, and the staff shuts the door behind them. The wheel takes them higher and higher, until the ground is a far distance away and the carnival is a mere speck on land. They are surrounded by the flashing neon lights of Las Vegas, the night view of the city stunning. Here, miles above grown, Las Vegas’ neon lights cannot reach them, but they bounce against the walls of the city’s strip, echoing into the night sky. Touches the moon and returns to earth in softened pastel lights.

This is the city of lights and sin, but all Jeongguk can see right now is how beautiful Las Vegas looks from their height.

Taehyung is as mesmerized by the scenery as he is, eyes wide as he takes in the view.

Somewhere along the ride, Jeongguk’s focus has turned away from Las Vegas, to the alluring man sitting right across from him. The city is a lovely backdrop for Taehyung, the sight before him a page torn from a fashion magazine.

He is, and has always been, irresistibly beautiful.

“Do you ever feel so small sometimes?” Jeongguk hears Taehyung asks. The elder is not looking at Jeongguk, his eyes still glued to the shining lights and miniature buildings miles beneath them. “Sometimes, I think I’m so… so powerful, y’know? Like I can do anything. Take on the world.” Taehyung lightly touches the glass, as though if he reaches out, he can grasp the world in his hands. “But sometimes, I’m reminded I’m just a speck of dust in this big, big universe.”

“Is it such a bad thing? To be small? Almost insignificant?” Jeongguk asks in return.

“It’s not.” Taehyung shakes his head gently. “It’s not a bad thing at all. We always dream so big that we often forget we’re still humans after all.” He turns then, to look at Jeongguk this time. The smile on his face is subdued, contented. “And what makes us humans, if not for our insignificance?”

And looking at Taehyung amid those flashing city lights, Jeongguk can no longer find it in himself to tear his gaze away.

The carnival is surprisingly not too far away from Taehyung’s motel, and the night wind is cooling enough that they opt for taking a walk back. Jeongguk wants to ask Taehyung to go back with him, but finds that he has neither reason nor courage to do so.

Their walk back is quiet, a comfortable silence falling between them. The sounds of party music coming from multiple apartments around them are muted, faded, like listening to them underwater.

As they approach the building, it’s evident that Taehyung’s motel is world’s apart from Jeongguk’s high-end luxury hotel. The place is dilapidated and old, paint chipping off the walls. The neon sign flickers, its yellowed light glitching once in a while, unlike the constant bling of the hotel that reads Mariott in bright and bold letters.

And this is it. This is where they part.

Taehyung hasn’t left yet but Jeongguk already misses him. Misses him in a bone-deep way, right in his core.

He’s afraid he’ll never stop missing him.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung breaks the silence first, and Jeongguk looks up from where he was staring at their footsteps falling in tandem to meet the other in the eyes instead. “Can I just ask, back then, why did you decide to...” He purses his lips, searching for the correct word. “Sign the contract?”

Why did you decide to leave? Jeongguk hears anyway.

He should have known this question was coming. It’s something he’s sure everyone has been wondering about since the beginning. The answer was so hard to say back then, and it isn’t any easier now, but he finds that after everything, all he wants now is to be honest with Taehyung about it.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just curious, that’s all.”

“No, I—” Jeongguk swallows down the tightness in his throat. Stares down at the pavement, finding it hard to look at Taehyung any longer. “I think you deserve an explanation.”

The leaves crunch under the soles of their shoes, swept away by the mellow night breeze.

“I didn’t want to leave. I really didn’t.” Jeongguk looks up again. Taehyung is looking at him, gaze terribly soft. “Trust me, Tae. Trust me.”

“I do, Jeongguk.” His gaze softens even more, and Jeongguk wonders what he has done to be on the receiving end of such tenderness. “I do.”

“I wasn’t planning to call back. I know you said I should give it more consideration, because it’s a big deal and it would really boost my career.” Jeongguk laughs, but the sound is bitter. Grating on the ears. “And it did. Look where I am now.”

“You made it big.”

“I did.” He looks up at the sky, and the starless canvas stares back at him. Only in a night as dark as this does he miss having the twinkling stars as companions. “But Tae—” His footsteps slow to a stop. Beside him, Taehyung has stopped too. Then, Jeongguk turns to look at Taehyung again. “I’m unhappy .”

He sucks in a breath, shaky. “I’m unhappy because this—this success—is not what I wanted. Not when I’m alone. Not without Haven.” An exhale, a tremble in his voice, a bare whisper. “Not without you.”

And in his next words, he tastes salt. Salt from a stray tear trickling down his cheek. “All I feel is this loneliness. This terrible, terrible aching feeling that makes me feel like I have no one. That all I have is myself. That I’m alone.” He chokes back a sob, and his heart feels weak. “Tae, I’m so, so lonely.”

And Jeongguk wishes nothing more than to reach out. Touch Taehyung. Have him in any way he can have him.

But Taehyung moves first, hands reaching out to pull Jeongguk toward him. Wrap him up in the tightest embrace he’s felt for years. It squeezes the breath out of his lungs. Takes all the coldness, the loneliness, and replaces it with something that overflows with warmth and love.

Arms come up behind his back to pull him in closer, and fingers card through his hair, gently guiding his head to rest in the nook of Taehyung’s shoulder. The other hand rubs comforting circles on his back, making him feel warm all over.

“I got you now,” Taehyung murmurs, and his voice is soothing, grounding. “I got you.”

The air is crisp, stale in the humid summer heat. Jeongguk doesn’t know how long they stand there, in the middle of a quiet street in Las Vegas, wrapped in each other’s embrace. He doesn’t know how long he cries, tears streaming down his cheeks, crying until he’s drained of all his tears.

In the aftermath of his breakdown, he tells Taehyung everything. Fills in the gaps of the years where they’ve lost touch, where Jeongguk has found it hard to be honest about himself and their friendship. He tells him about his parents, the money, and how all he wants is to go back. Go home. Return to what he once had.

Taehyung stands there and listens through it all, hugs him through it all. The elder’s arms tighten just the slightest bit around him when Jeongguk tells him he misses home.

When they part, Jeongguk almost wishes they didn’t have to. He involuntarily chases after the warmth that seeps from him the moment Taehyung pulls away, trying to keep all that he’s been given close to him.

His heart chases a ghost.

“I wish I could stay with you,” Taehyung says, and the earnestness in his words makes Jeongguk believe him.

“I wish you could too.”

Taehyung looks at him then, really looks at him. Looks at him for so long that Jeongguk wonders if time has stopped, and that fate has granted him the blessing of being frozen in this frame of time for the rest of eternity.

Then Taehyung lifts his hand up, cupping Jeongguk’s face with one hand. Thumbs away the stray tear that lingers at his eyelashes, the touch so tender, Jeongguk aches in his chest.

“Don’t cry, I’ll see you again soon.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. Rests just the slightest bit into the warmth of Taehyung’s palm. He wishes they could stay like this.

Taehyung feels so close now, and for a split second, Jeongguk thinks he can do it. Lean in and kiss him. The neon lights sizzle, blinking black for a moment before turning back on. The strange flicker of the signboard casts long bright lights against Taehyung’s countenance.

He still looks beautiful like this, despite the soft sadness in his eyes.

Jeongguk leans in, a fraction closer. Enough to see the tiniest freckles on Taehyung’s skin, gifts from the Californian sun. Leans in even closer then, enough to see the flutter of Taehyung’s long eyelashes, the faint smudges of exhaustion at the corners of his eyes.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says into the minimal space between them.

His breath is warm, warmer than Las Vegas’ afternoon summer heat.

Jeongguk almost caves in. Almost kisses him.

A car passes by, honking loudly, and the loud sound pulls Jeongguk out of his reverie. Out of the trance he lost himself in where he almost kissed Taehyung. A foolish dream.

“I should head up,” Taehyung says, pulling away.

Jeongguk nods. Struggles to find the correct words but only manages to utter, “Yeah.”

“Goodnight, Jeongguk.”

Taehyung’s already backing away, walking backward in the direction of the motel entrance. Jeongguk thinks that maybe if he loved him less, parting would not hurt as much as it did each time Taehyung left.

“Goodnight, Tae,” he says, barely a whisper, and lets Taehyung walk away.

He watches until Taehyung disappears past the doors of the entrance, until he can no longer chase a ghost. And he thinks, then, that the saddest word in the world is the word almost.

The three weeks that follow are the most painful three weeks Jeongguk has experienced in a long time. There’s an ache in his chest that claws at his heart every day, counting down to the days where he can see Taehyung again. Now that he has something to look forward to, something to count down to, the days feel as though they drag on slowly, slower than the years he’s spent without Taehyung.

They talk almost every day, squeezing in pockets of free time to call or text. They don’t mention what happened the night they parted, and Jeongguk attributes it to his own delusion, the same one that pushed him to almost kiss Taehyung.

Four days after his last concert of the tour and the day Taehyung is due to return from Haven’s last show of the season, Jeongguk receives a call.

“Are you back in your apartment? ”

Taehyung’s voice is comforting, even if slightly warped through the phone call. Each time they call, Jeongguk misses him even more.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come over later?”

“Later?”

“Yeah. We crossed state lines a few hours ago. Will probably take another hour or two till we get back home.”

“It’s late, don’t you want to rest?”

“No, I’m fine. Slept the whole ride back, we’re just stopping for gas right now.” There’s static, and then the distant sound of cars honking, typical of a gas station. “I really want to see you.”

“Yeah, of course. You can—do you want me to pick you up?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll uber to your place from Mai’s.”

“Okay. Stay safe. Call me when you’re almost here. I’ll go down and pick you up.”

“Okay, I will. And Jeongguk?”

“Hm?”

“I missed you.”

Jeongguk’s heart squeezes in his chest. The tightness is almost unbearable, but the thought of finally seeing Taehyung again is liberating.

Exhaling, he says, “I missed you too.”

Seeing Taehyung is like being able to breathe again. Like the past few weeks have been spent underwater, and now Jeongguk has finally breached the surface, coming up for air.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, in lieu of all the words he wishes to tell Taehyung but can’t say. Words like you’re so beautiful. I want to hug you. Kiss you. Love you. And of the three, only the last one I already have.

He swallows them all down, tucked in the quiet space in his chest.

“Hi yourself,” Taehyung says, and his smile is soft, subdued by the flickering dim lights of the apartment’s lift lobby.

His hair is mussed from the long car ride from Idaho, smudges of sleepiness evident in the corners of his eyes. A suitcase sits beside him, and he rests an arm slightly on the extended trolley handle, standing one foot crossed over the other. 

He is beautiful like this. Bright even under the rickety lights, a star even in a starless night.

And it is instinct, impulse, human nature, that Jeongguk walks over to Taehyung and pulls him into the tightest hug yet. Because Taehyung feels like home and Jeongguk has been lost for what felt like forever.

“Hi again,” he says, breathing in the faintest scent of lavender and cedarwood. It is familiar in every way, grounding in the way it smells so distinctly of Taehyung.

Jeongguk counts the seconds, down to the moment he has to let go. Cherishes each one, each little infinity of warmth the seconds bring. Eventually, he releases Taehyung from the embrace, reluctant to let him go. Knows that any longer would probably be unnatural.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Taehyung says then, and Jeongguk wants nothing more than to pull him back.

But he simply smiles, reaching out for the handle of the elder’s suitcase, and says, “Me too.” 

Jeongguk’s apartment is spacious and relatively empty, a house but not a home. If anything, it looks more like a showroom. But the instant Taehyung steps into the apartment, toeing off his sneakers beside Jeongguk’s slippers and draping his sweater on the armrest of the couch, this house feels warmer. Closer to a home.

“You can sleep in the spare room,” Jeongguk says as he heads for the guest room, lugging the suitcase behind him.

“Oh, no, Jeongguk.” Taehyung moves to stop him. “I just wanted to see you for a while and then go home.”

Jeongguk stills, eyebrows pinching together slightly. Tries not to let disappointment color his expression.

“You’re not staying?”

“I don’t want to intrude. I did ask you pretty last minute if I could come over and I just—wanted to see you, talk to you for a bit, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jeongguk’s grip on the suitcase handle tightens. “We can talk on the couch then. Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

“I’m fine, we ate before I came over,” Taehyung says, and Jeongguk nods, already walking back into the living room.

But Taehyung stops him again.

“Wait, wait. Jeongguk, did you want me to stay?”

And being honest means being vulnerable, but Jeongguk has come to learn that with Taehyung, there is no need to hide.

“I do. I thought that’s what you meant, when you said you’re coming over.” He nibbles on his bottom lip, feeling the heat rise up his cheeks. “I thought—we could hang out, maybe get breakfast together in the morning, or something…” He trails off, embarrassed to say all the things he thought they could do together.

Jeongguk should have known better. That even though Taehyung has told him he’s free for the time being before the band’s next gigs are lined up, it doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to spend all of them with Jeongguk. Jeongguk’s gone and cleared his day’s schedule, only to be spending it alone. As usual.

“Oh, Jeongguk. Jeongguk, hey.” Jeongguk hasn’t even realized he’d looked away, too embarrassed to meet Taehyung in the eyes. Taehyung’s eyes are a soft molten brown, gentle in his gaze as Jeongguk looks at him. “Of course, I can stay. I just have to let Diego know that I won’t be returning home for the night.”

In the years Jeongguk has been away from the band, Taehyung has moved out from his family’s house to share an apartment with Diego. He says it’s all a part and parcel of becoming an adult, especially with how his younger siblings are growing up and wanting their own room.

Jeongguk licks his lips. “Is the guest room okay then?”

Taehyung nods. “Definitely. I was content with sleeping on the couch, but—” He cracks a smile, and it pulls one from Jeongguk too. “A bed would be nice.”

“Who said the guest room has a bed?” Jeongguk teases, but he’s already pulling the suitcase along as he makes his way to the spare room again.

“Ah, Jeongguk, then that means I’ll just have to sleep in yours then.”

Jeongguk opens the door and heads into the room. “So you’re stealing my bed?”

Taehyung follows behind him. “I am.”

“Where do I sleep then?”

He hears Taehyung chuckle, and he turns to see the elder grinning brightly.

“The floor, obviously.”

Jeongguk snorts. “You’re terribly annoying, you know that?”

And it didn’t seem possible, but Taehyung’s smile brightens then, stunning against the muted luminescence of the room.

“You love me anyway,” he says, teasing, as he lies down on the bed, arms and legs spread out in a starfish position.

Taehyung’s eyes are shut, a contented smile on his face, as he sighs happily, sinking into the bed. He’s already made himself comfortable in the room, in the apartment, and it scares Jeongguk how much Taehyung looks like he belongs there.

After Taehyung has freshened up in the shower, he unabashedly declares that he’s feeling hungry. It’s too late to deliver food to the apartment, so Jeongguk shows off his culinary skills in the form of instant ramyeon.

His bowl of noodles is significantly spicier than Taehyung’s, a full packet of chili added to the soup, but the elder is the one sniffing at the spice that fills his senses.

“God, this is—” He sniffs, takes a sip of cold milk, and drinks another spoonful of soup. “So hot, but so good.”

Jeongguk watches as he eats, alternating between cold milk and hot soup, endeared by the way Taehyung’s nose twitches at the spice that hits his taste buds.

“Are you okay?” Jeongguk says, already reaching out to pour Taehyung another glass of milk.

Taehyung makes a non-committal sound, drinks the rest of his soup, and downs the entire glass of milk all at one go.

“Peachy,” he says, with red-rimmed eyes, the tip of his nose flushed pink from the spiciness of the meal.

“Another glass?”

Taehyung nods. “Thanks.”

“Think you finished my entire carton of milk in a day.”

“It was about to expire soon anyway,” Taehyung says, picking up their bowls and taking them to the sink. He glares as best as he can with his teary eyes when Jeongguk makes a sound of protest, wanting to do the dishes. “I’ll wash these, you go sit.”

“But you’re the guest.”

“And a polite one,” Taehyung retorts, using his elbows to nudge Jeongguk back to the kitchen island. “So sit and wait for me to clean these up.”

Jeongguk groans, but sits back onto the tall stool beside the counter. Watches Taehyung as he does the dishes, a determined glint in his eyes as he furiously scrubs the cutlery clean. The sight is strangely domestic, and Jeongguk thinks he must have lost his sanity, thinking of how much he wishes for Taehyung to be here, in his house, not just as a guest but as a permanent presence.

“Jeongguk?” He hears Taehyung say, cutting through his wild train of thoughts. He’s grateful for the distraction.

“Hmm?”

The late-night supper has made him feel warm in the belly, contentment in a way he has not felt in a long time. He thinks he might drift off to sleep just like this, the line between dream and reality blurring.

“I was asking, have you—have you spoken to your parents recently?”

The sleepiness leaves him as quickly as he came, and he straightens up almost immediately, tension in his veins. He feels confrontational in a way he doesn’t have to be, and it takes him a few seconds and Taehyung’s infinite patience for him to relax again.

“No, I have not. Why do you ask?”

Taehyung purses his lips as he dries his hands on his pants, done with washing the dishes already. “After we talked that night, I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“About?”

“The whole situation. Your parents.” Taehyung’s expression softens then, almost fond. Jeongguk doesn’t know why it would be. “You.”

“What—” His voice cracks momentarily, and Jeongguk clears his throat, before continuing. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Taehyung shakes his head, and slides onto the stool across from him. “I just thought that maybe you can talk to your parents about it. About how you felt.”

“I don’t think anything will change,” Jeongguk answers immediately, not an ounce of hesitation in his words.

“It might, it might not, but why not give it a shot?”

“Tae,” Jeongguk says, and hates the way he sounds pained. Vulnerable. Fragile. As if he’s once again the same eighteen-year-old boy walking out of his parent’s house. His old home.

But he’s not. He’s older now, and long gone are the days when he was just a boy, just a child.

“I don’t think it’ll make a difference. Why go through the pain again?” He shakes his head, looking down. Toys at the stray strand of his shirt, an old tee with the name of his favorite band printed on it. “It’s not worth it.”

“When was the last time you spoke to them?” Taehyung asks then, and it’s gentle, tender, not at all interrogative. There’s no judgment in his tone, no accusation. A mere question.

“A few years ago, maybe.” Jeongguk drags his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his nape. “I don’t remember, honestly.”

“Do you ever miss them?”

And this question makes Jeongguk pause. Really thinks through his answer. It is not hesitation that stops him from immediately answering, but the desire to be honest.

“I do. Sometimes, I do.” Jeongguk laughs, and it’s a sad, sad thing. “God, Tae, I hate that I still do.”

“Hey. Hey,” Taehyung says, and long fingers find Jeongguk’s hand to rub soothing circles on his knuckles. “That’s okay. It’s okay to miss them.”

“But they hurt me, Tae. It hurts to admit this, but they really, really hurt me.” Jeongguk’s body quivers with the crushing weight of sadness that burdens him. “Do parents who really love their kids hurt them? What’s the point of me missing them if they don’t even love me?” He looks up from staring at the kitchen counter, only to meet Taehyung’s gentle gaze. Feels like he doesn’t quite deserve it. This. This gentleness that Taehyung regards him with. “God, I feel like such a kid.”

“You’re not, Jeongguk. Hey. How you feel, what you think, they’re all valid. You’re not a kid for feeling this way,” Taehyung softly chides. “And what’s wrong with being a kid anyway? We’re so busy trying to grow up that we forget there’s always the kid in us. Our inner child.”

“Inner child?”

Taehyung nods. “You’re all the years you’ve been. Twenty-five. Eighteen. Eleven. Four. And sometimes, you don’t feel twenty-five at all. Sometimes, you feel like you’re still twelve. Or six. And you are—underneath the year that makes you however old you are.

Like some days you might say something dumb, and that’s the part of you that’s still twelve. And on other days you might need a hug because you’re terrified of this world, and that’s the part of you that’s six. And that’s okay. Because we grow kinda like trees, y’know? With the rings inside a tree trunk that tells us how many years we’ve been through.”

Taehyung shuffles on the stool, leaning closer towards Jeongguk. Like how sunflowers turn to the sun, Jeongguk finds himself inevitably leaning in as well.

“And Jeongguk-ah—” Taehyung smiles then, and it’s a different kind of smile. Soft and private and the one Jeongguk gets to see in the rarest of times, times when he is grateful for the privilege he’s had to witness it. “We’re a culmination of the years we’ve lived.”

Jeongguk thinks maybe his heart breaks and pieces itself together again, reshaping in a way that fits Taehyung and Taehyung only.

He can’t help the soft soundless laughter that leaves his lips, the same moment the heavy weight lifts from his chest. He quivers, but this time, from the newfound comfort he finds in Taehyung’s words.

“Since when have you gotten so wise?”

“Yah, you brat.” Taehyung lifts his hand to flick Jeongguk’s forehead lightly. “I’ve always been this wise.”

The words Taehyung said stick with him, and the next few days are spent deliberating between his two options. Jeongguk has spent the better part of his life running away—maybe it’s time he stopped running.

It’s how he finds himself sitting shotgun in Taehyung’s car, parked outside his parent’s house. It looks the same as always, the same place he grew up in. He doesn’t know if he would have missed it if it were gone, sold to the bank after it was mortgaged by his father.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, eyes swirling with concern.

Jeongguk nods. Shakes his head. Then nods again. “Yeah, I’m just—I guess I’m just nervous.”

“That’s okay.” Taehyung’s smile is a comforting light in the ocean of darkness. A beacon that guides him home. “If it goes well, awesome. If it doesn’t, I’m out here in my shitty old car, and we’ll head straight to Betty’s for banana milkshakes. Deal?”

Jeongguk nods, more sure of himself this time. “Okay.”

“Go on now. I’ll be here.”

“Okay.” Jeongguk pushes the door open and gets out of the car. Doesn’t fully close it as he says, “I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Then Jeongguk shuts the door, before turning to face the house. It looms before him, a gigantic monster before a child. But he’s no longer the kid he once was, is stronger now. It is less daunting, knowing that when he turns around, Taehyung is right there, waiting for him.

It’s with a renewed conviction that he walks up to the front door, breathing in deep before pressing the doorbell. It echoes through the house, the same ring it’s always had since he was a child. A moment later, the sound of footsteps grows louder, hurried as the owner of the house moves to answer the door.

“Hello—” The owner stills, frozen in her words. Then, she gasps, voice wobbly as she says in disbelief, “Jeongguk?”

His mother looks the same, for the most part. The same eyes, the same smile, the same hair she pulls into a tight bun. Except she’s different, too, the way Taehyung is now different and the way Jeongguk is now different.

The faintest of wrinkles are etched near the corner of her eyes, the same crows’ feet Jeongguk has—everyone has always said he inherited her eyes. Her hair is streaked with white and grey, not enough to age her incredibly, but enough to prove that she’s no longer in her youth. There’s exhaustion marked in her eyes, the silent burden that she carries, and for a brief moment, Jeongguk wonders if he’s the one who has failed as a son.

But he shakes the thoughts away before they can consume, misplaced guilt eating away at his soul.

“Are you really—you’re here. My son. Jeongguk, you’re here .”

“I’m here, Ma.”

And the name is foreign, but falls from his lips naturally as if it's found home again after all the years. It still has not quite found its meaning, what it means to be a son to a mother. But he thinks that the way her hands shake before her, as if she’s undecided between wanting to pull him into a hug or giving him space, must show for something that Jeongguk thinks he’s beginning to understand.

“Come in, come in,” Sooah says instead, pushing the door open wider to let him in.

The house is the same—same walls, same decorations, down to the same placement of the furniture. Some things have changed, like the row of albums tucked in the bookshelf, familiar because he knows exactly what they are.

Imperfections. Yearbook. Lost Ones. Fickle. And Indigo—the one he couldn’t bear to name Lights because there’s a song, a sound, a person that has taken over that title.

And there, squashed between Indigo and the Cambridge English Dictionary, is a thinner album. It is a compilation of Haven’s earlier self-produced songs, not quite an official CD, but a personally made album that he’s mailed back home to show them what he’s doing.

They never responded, never called back, and Jeongguk never knew if they kept it—let alone listened to it—or not.

Now, it sits so proudly on the shelves, right beside all his official albums, printed by the company.

“Looks the same, doesn’t it?” His mother says, and he turns to see that she has gone into the kitchen to bring out two cups of tea for the both of them.

He’s never been one for tea, much preferring coffee, but Jeongguk still accepts the cup politely. It’s chamomile tea, with a touch of honey, just the way she has always liked it. Even after all these years, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed.

“It does. You even kept the drawing,” Jeongguk says, looking at the chicken scratches on the wall next to the bookshelf, close to the ground.

The scrawls are a mix of thick and thin lines of mismatched crayon colors, partial semblance to the image two-year-old Jeongguk had in mind when he was vandalizing the wall. It’s his first attempt at a family portrait, blue lines for hair and orange circles for faces. And it’s a far cry from artistic, but it’s the three of them, born out of his younger self’s desire to draw his family.

He remembers getting scolded for drawing on the wall, chubby fingers gripping his accomplice, a purple crayon, tightly. His face was snotty from crying, unsure why he was being reprimanded for something that came from love.

He wonders how he knew what love meant back then.

“We didn’t have the heart to change it,” Sooah says, and it offers nothing close to an explanation.

There are parts of him in this house, this place he once called home, but Jeongguk doesn’t know what these fragments mean when the person himself is never here. If all they care about is the ghost of him, a memory.

“What brings you here?” She asks, moving to sit down on the couch.

Jeongguk takes the empty spot across from her on the armchair, sinking into the old cushion. The colors are washed out now, green and yellow stripes worn out by the years. He sets his cup of tea down on the coffee table, hearing the soft clink as ceramic touches glass.

“I just—” He chews on the inside of his cheek, hands curling into fists where they rest on his lap. “I wanted to talk. About what happened.”

Jeongguk’s mother inhales sharply, tensing at his words.

“Jeongguk—” She begins, and he can already hear the beginnings of an apology slipping past her slips.

But the front door opens and shuts then, followed by the sounds of footsteps coming into the living room of the house.

“I’m home,” comes a voice Jeongguk hasn’t heard in years.

He stills, frozen in his seat. The last time he heard his father speak, the man yelled at him. Threw him out of the house. Disowned him. And as far as he knows, this man is no longer his father, and he is no longer his son.

A part of him wants to bolt from the house. Escape. Run away to a place where nobody can hurt him again. Preferably with Taehyung, because in every setting he imagines himself in, Taehyung is always right there beside him.

But a bigger part of him—the part that is so tired from running—makes him stay. Keeps him rooted to the armchair he’s sitting in.

“What are you doing here?”

Jeongguk doesn’t even realize he’s kept his gaze glued to the ground until he looks up at the booming voice, looking straight into his father’s eyes.

Just like his mother, his father remains mostly unchanged. Aside from the strands of grey hair amidst the black, his father looks the same. The same sharp expression he wears all the time. The same harsh look in his eyes. Even when he speaks, his voice is laced with the undertones of bottled-up anger, and not for the first time, Jeongguk wonders how did his mother fall in love with his father.

He does not see a man who knows how to love.

“Jonghyuk,” his mother says, and her tone is one of appeasement, bordering on desperate. Tries to ease the tension that spiked the moment his father returns home and sees Jeongguk in the living room. “Jeongguk, he—he wants to speak to us.”

His father clenches his jaw, the same habit Jeongguk picked up whenever he’s frustrated. He hates knowing that a part of him bears the same simmering fury as his father.

“What do you want to talk about?” His father says, more like an order than a question, and Jeongguk almost cowers in front of the man.

It commands authority, demands obedience, and nearly a decade later, Jeongguk still hasn’t quite learned how to stand up to him. To talk to his father as an adult, not the quivering child he once was.

Jeongguk swallows, praying for his voice to not betray him. It comes out trembling slightly, but he manages to get the words out before fear gets the better of him.

“I want to talk about what happened the last time I was here. And the time Ma called me because of the situation you got yourself in.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Jeongguk’s father says, tone clipped.

The words crush Jeongguk, and it is devastating to know that nothing has changed. To know that almost ten years later, they are still the people they once were, still the roles they once played. The father who disowned his son, and the son that was never good enough.

“Jonghyuk, dear,” Sooah starts, and Jeongguk grits his teeth, wondering how the two words can be used synonymously by his mother. “Won’t you just listen to him?”

“I said, there is nothing to talk about.”

“Jonghyuk—”

“Ma, forget it.”

Jeongguk turns to face his father. The man is still as foreign as he once was, even though he carries the same features as Jeongguk. Same nose, same lips, down to the same sharp jaw that frames their countenance. Now, grown into his features as an adult, Jeongguk looks even more like his father.

“I came back because I thought you changed. I changed, and so I thought you did too. I thought that losing your job, your stocks, and almost your home would change you. I thought seeing me succeed in music would change what you thought of me.” Jeongguk’s lips curl into a smile, and it’s a bitter thing. “But I guess I was a fool for thinking so. Someone like you would never change.”

“Jonghyuk, he did repay our debts and save our house,” his mother chimes in, though her voice is quiet. Afraid.

Jeongguk’s father disregards him entirely, turning to his mother instead. “I did not ask him for help. I told you I could do it on my own. I don’t need his money.”

“Jonghyuk—”

“You didn’t need my help? You’re so fucking capable all on your own, aren’t you?” Jeongguk cuts into the conversation, voice sharp.

He bears the same anger, the same fury, the same sharp voice he tries not to use but still inherited.

His mother gasps at the vulgarity, but says nothing. His words are enough for his father to turn to him now, fury flashing red in his eyes. His jaw tenses, clenching, nostrils flared as he finally seems to acknowledge Jeongguk’s presence. When he speaks, his voice booms in the tensed silence in the house, almost as loud as the thunderstorms that sent Jeongguk hiding under his blankets when he was just a child.

“Watch your language,” the man sneers. It is an ugly look on him, twisted on his features. “And I am not speaking to you.”

Jeongguk scoffs, seeing red. The same bottled-up frustration in him threatens to explode.

“You’ve always been like this, you know that?” Jeongguk stands up straighter. Squares his shoulders. He’s slightly taller than his father like this, and the anger coursing through his veins mutes the fear. He thinks he, and the inner child in him, will always be a little afraid of his father. “Selfish. Arrogant.” He grits his teeth. “Do you even know how to love? Do you even know what is love?”

“Watch your tone, son.”

“Son? Son?” Jeongguk scoffs again. “I was no longer your son the moment you disowned me almost ten years ago. You threw me out like I meant nothing to you.”

And his next words are biting, spitting the sentences out almost as if they burn him as much as they are meant to burn.

“It’s because of you. It’s because you never know how to fucking love anyone other than yourself, that’s why I don’t know how to love others. That’s why I thought for the longest time ever that I don’t deserve love.” His eyes sting, his vision blurs, and he’s taken back to seven, eight years ago when he last spoke to his father. His voice is infinitely quieter, almost defeated, when he says, “And that’s why I fuck everything up in my life and lose the only people who ever loved me.”

His father glares at him, and Jeongguk senses it more than he sees it when the man raises his palm to slap him. Jeongguk catches his wrist in time before the palm makes contact with his cheek, and he forces it away, stepping back to put distance between them.

The fury that sears beneath his skin is hot and burning, but the pain of rejection is infinitely more agonizing. And Taehyung is right—that he is as much twenty-five as he is eighteen. That even after all these years, all he ever wanted was for his father to look at him and say he’s proud of him.

“Don’t fucking slap me.” He takes another step away, shaking violently with a mix of anger and sadness. His heart burns in his chest, but this time, he doesn’t know if it’ll ever fully heal again. Beside him, his mother is crying, and the sound of her quiet weeping is drowned out in the spinning in his head. “Don’t you fucking dare .”

When he leaves, no one stops him, and all Jeongguk wishes is to be back in Taehyung’s arms again.

Taehyung knows before he even says a thing, quietly gathering Jeongguk into his arms and running his fingers through his hair. The position is awkward, uncomfortable almost, but they stay like this until Jeongguk stops trembling. The comfort he so desperately seeks is found in Taehyung’s embrace, and he feels like a fool to have left this warm home for a cold shelter back then.

Regret settles in his bones, soothed away by the tender cradle of Taehyung’s hug.

“Betty’s?” Taehyung asks gently, and Jeongguk shakes his head from where he’s got his face hidden in the crook of the elder’s neck. “Where do you want to go then?”

“Home,” Jeongguk answers, voice cracking on the single syllable, and he hates how he sounds—weak and vulnerable.

“Your place?”

Jeongguk nods. His apartment is not a home, but the presence of Taehyung is enough to make the darkest and loneliest spaces feel like home. And home is not a place, but a person, found in the brightest stars and lightest laughter.

When Taehyung pulls away, it takes everything in Jeongguk not to pull him back. The warmth between them dissipates, and Jeongguk holds back a shiver at the sudden chill that wrecks through him. The low hum of the air-conditioning in the car fills the background as Taehyung grips the wheel and takes them out of the neighborhood and away from the house filled with bad memories.

The ride back to the apartment is filled with a comfortable silence, accompanied only by the gentle pitter-patter of water as it begins to rain. The sky cries, turning Santa Cruz into a melancholic grey. Jeongguk rests his head against the window, looking out at the dark clouds gathered in the distance. The raindrops cruising down the window pane blur his vision, and he sniffles, fingers rubbing at his eyes only to come away wet.

Beside him, Taehyung keeps his focus on the road, left hand on the wheel as he makes a turn onto Seventh Avenue. His right hand changes gear as they cruise down the street, before extending towards Jeongguk to give his knee a quick squeeze. It’s gone as fast as it came, but the simmering warmth that envelops Jeongguk stays.

The apartment greets them with more silence, and Jeongguk feels like a heap of bones, barely holding himself together. Exhaustion weighs on his shoulders like an unending burden, a pain he must carry no matter what he does. All he wishes for is to feel light again, to feel that sweet rush of freedom that he once felt—on the road, with the band. His apartment is cold, so cold, and the homely atmosphere that filled the place the last time Taehyung was around has faded into weariness, a bone-deep loneliness Jeongguk doesn’t know how he will cure. Doesn’t know if he ever will, without Taehyung there.

“Are you hungry?” Taehyung asks, toeing his shoes off behind Jeongguk after he locks the door for them.

Jeongguk sinks into the couch, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. His eyes slip shut, tired from the faint stinging of unshed tears. “No, I’m fine.”

It goes quiet for a moment, and Jeongguk counts to ten in his mind, willing the tears away. He is too tired to cry.

Footsteps approach him, before the cushion shifts. It dips further as Taehyung sits down beside him.

“You okay?”

Fingers come up to graze Jeongguk’s brow bone, the touch feather-light. Gentle. And then they press down, massaging his temple. Jeongguk melts into the touch, the deepening pressure that eases away the imminent migraine. Leans into it as Taehyung rubs circles into the side of his head, relieving the tension that has made its presence since his father’s return.

He sighs, sinking further into the cushions of the couch.

“I’m just—” Jeongguk opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. It’s painted a shade between green and grey, came with the apartment when he first moved in. He never thought to change it, but is realizing how dull it is now, as with almost everything that comes with him. “I’m just so tired, Tae.”

The consistent pressure massaging his head doesn’t ease, not until Jeongguk sits up straight and turns to look at Taehyung. The elder’s hand falls away naturally, returning to his own lap.

“Tae,” Jeongguk croaks out, and the unshed tears return, threatening to fall again. “He tried to—he—” He hiccups, choking on his words. The tears don’t fall—not yet.

But Taehyung is reaching forward, eyes so terribly sad for a tragedy that isn’t his. A teardrop slips from Jeongguk’s eye, trickling down his cheek. And it’s like the dam has broken, and more tears follow, and he’s two again, crying because he’s scolded by his father for trying to love. And he’s eighteen again, crying because he’s a child who has never felt the love of his father.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Taehyung says, and his voice feels like an anchor amidst stormy seas.

“All I want—” He swallows, wiping furiously at the tears that refuse to stop falling. “All I ever wanted is to be loved.” His voice cracks on the last word. A fresh wave of tears gathers, but this time, Taehyung is there to catch the teardrops, gently thumbing them away as he cups Jeongguk’s face in his palms. “Am I such a terrible person? I know I’m far from perfect, but—I’m not a bad person, am I?”

And Jeongguk’s voice is soft, barely a whisper, when he says, “Am I so hard to be loved?”

“No. God, no, Jeongguk. Jeongguk, look at me.” Through his blurry vision, he sees Taehyung. The elder’s gaze holds an intensity. Carries an indescribable emotion that Jeongguk has spent years trying to figure out. “You’re not a bad person. You’re—god, you’re one of the best things that has happened to me. You’re so, so good, and I refuse to let anyone tell you otherwise.”

The intensity ten-folds, and Jeongguk almost can’t bear to maintain eye contact. But the glassy shield of his tears takes away some of the intensity, leaving him with enough to keep looking at Taehyung.

“And we love you so much, you know that? Mai, Ruien, Diego, and I—we love you so damn much. Don’t ever forget that.” Taehyung softens then, and something close to a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, painfully tender. “We love you. I love you.”

And it’s too much. It’s all too much.

In the hazy whir of his mind, the broken state of his heart, Jeongguk feels like a lost ship, wandering, floating, sinking. He searches for a lighthouse, searches for shore, and finds it in the only person that has offered him comfort. A shelter. A home.

Caught in the fog of his thunderstorm of emotions, the thread holding him back breaks.

Jeongguk moves before his mind registers it, fingers reaching up to wrap around Taehyung’s wrists, lightly pulling his hands away. And then he’s leaning in, eyes slipping shut as he kisses Taehyung on the lips.

It is soft—softer than he imagined. It is salty, tainted by the tears from his own lips. And the worst of it all is that it almost feels right, as if Jeongguk’s spent his entire life searching for something, and he’s finally, finally, found it.

The moment ends the second he feels Taehyung gasp against his lips, mouth parting slightly in surprise and shock and—

Jeongguk pulls away immediately. His heart thunders in his chest, threatening to burst out of his ribcage. The beating of his heart is loud, loud enough that the constant rapid drumming is the only thing he hears in the silence of the apartment.

“Sorry,” he hears himself saying, but he can’t be sure with the loud roaring in his ears, drowning out any other sound. “Sorry—I’m so sorry. Sorry, please—please leave.” He’s standing up now, getting up from the couch. He wants to run. He wants to hide.

“Jeongguk—”

“Please just go. Please leave.”

He hiccups, and more tears trickle down his cheeks. He finds himself backing away from the couch, backing away from Taehyung, until his back hits the wall and he has nowhere to run.

“Jeongguk, I–” Taehyung takes a step forward towards him, and Jeongguk shuffles back, pressing himself closer to the wall.

“Please.”

Taehyung’s face crumbles, eyes filled with so much hurt that Jeongguk almost wishes to take it all back. 

The words. The tears. The kiss—this, he regrets the most.

A part of him screams at him to tell Taehyung to stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave. But the guilt, the fear, the embarrassment—they stamp it all down until all that’s left is a weak, faint-hearted yearning.

Taehyung steps back, then he turns, heading down the hallway, before the door opens and shuts with a soft click when he leaves. Jeongguk watches him go.

Then, he slides down onto the floor, legs folding beneath him like a house of cards. There is no longer strength in his limbs to hold him up. The apartment is returned to utter silence once more, but the quietness is resounding, and all Jeongguk can think about is how much he misses Taehyung already.

It’s dark out when Jeongguk stirs awake from sleep, having dozed off on the floor, neck craning at an awkward angle. When he straightens himself, unfolding from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in, his neck makes a pop sound that startles him to full alertness. The entire apartment is doused in darkness, only the faintest city lights trickling in from the windows. The stars are gone tonight, lost in the smoke and pollution of lights. Even the moon hides behind clouds, taking with it its luminescent moonlight.

Jeongguk pulls himself up from the floor, lugging his sore body back into his room. He’s tempted to just knock out on the bed, but instead turns his footsteps towards the bathroom. The warm shower does nothing to soothe the ache in his chest, but the heat that rains on him is comforting. Clears his mind of the haze that has taken up his head ever since the morning started. The distinct smell of his shampoo only serves to remind him of Taehyung, and all the terrible pain that comes with having him, only to lose him again.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, soaking in the water. The steam makes him giddy, heat rushing to his toes. His skin is rubbed red and raw when he finally turns off the tap, the sound of water droplets hitting the tiled floors coming to a stop. The water pools around his feet, gathering the washed-off soap bubbles, before carrying it all away—the dirt, the dust, the fatigue.

Jeongguk leaves the shower feeling twice as exhausted as before.

Sinking into his mattress, Jeongguk stares up at the ceiling, the same greyish jade green color as the one in his living room. His eyes flutter close, fatigue settling into him as the drowsiness of sleep pulls him into the edges of slumber.

The ring of his doorbell cuts through the exhaustion, tugging him out of his sleep zone.

Jeongguk scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his franticness to open the front door. His heart beats wildly, from the crippling nervousness and guilt that fill him. A part of him dreams for it to be Taehyung, the small flicker of hope that wishes the elder, by some miracle, has turned back. Has never left. Is right there, waiting at the door.

Jeongguk reaches for the door, twisting the knob.

“Tae—”

It’s not Taehyung. The person standing outside his apartment isn’t who Jeongguk desperately yearned for them to be.

Instead, he comes face to face with the man he thinks he despises the most. The man who bears so much resemblance to himself that Jeongguk wonders how much more he can take before he hates his own features too. The same nose. The same lips, down to the same sharp jaw that’s currently clenched, like he’s unwilling to be here. Like Jeongguk was the one who forced his own father to be standing here, right outside his door.

“Why are you here?” Jeongguk spits out, but it’s less biting and more exhausted.

He’s tired of fighting a battle he cannot win, tired of fighting a war against his own father, with the knowledge that at the end of it all, he remains the same. The same unloved child he will ever be.

“I’ve come to see you,” the man says, tone as clipped as ever.

“There.” Jeongguk takes a step back, away from his father. “You’ve seen me.”

“I want to talk.”

Jeongguk scoffs. “What’s there to talk about? Haven’t you established enough that there’s nothing left to say?”

His father tenses, fists clenching at his sides. The vein at his temple pulses, as if he’s holding back all the anger Jeongguk cannot comprehend. He doesn’t think he will ever figure out how the man seems to carry an eternity of fury in him, walking the path of life with the burden of resentment. How can such a person ever have space for anything else, if his entire heart has been taken over by an inconsolable rage?

“There are things I want to say to you now. Can I come in?”

Jeongguk stares at him. Stares at the blatant audacity of his father.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, you may not.”

“Jeongguk—” His father begins, and it’s the same stern tone that used to force him into obedience.

But he’s no longer a child. Doesn’t bow down at the undeserved authority, at the tone that commands respect, but offers none in return.

“No. And you know why? Because this is my apartment. This is my house, my place.” Jeongguk takes a step forward, and his father inevitably takes one back. “I have the right to decide who I allow into my house, just like how you decided back in your own home.”

The man gapes at him, shock coloring his expression. He seems stunned for a long minute, clearly unexpecting Jeongguk to refuse him at the door. Eventually, he regains composure, straightening his posture again to look at Jeongguk.

“Can we talk here then?”

“Why should we?” Jeongguk smiles, but it is resentful, a cruel twist of his lips. “The last time I tried, you wanted to slap me. Again.” The grimace falls, replaced with a frown. He feels small again. Fragile. “Is that what you want? To come here to slap me? Remind me how I’m no longer your son? No longer part of this family?”

For the first time, Jeongguk’s father shows an expression that isn’t painted with shock or anger. It is less forceful, less potent, and something heavier. Unfamiliar.

All of a sudden, his father looks as though he has aged countless decades. There is no anger, no threat. All that’s left in the cold shell of the man is years of regret. Sadness. Dejection. Guilt.

“I was wrong,” his father says, and the words punch all the air out of Jeongguk’s lungs, leaving him to feel as if he’s been socked in his chest. “It took me a long time, but I’ve come to realize I was wrong.”

“Why—”

“You were right. I had my own dreams that I couldn’t achieve myself, and I forced them onto you. I forgot you had your own dreams too,” the man continues, voice still stoic but holding the most vulnerability Jeongguk has ever heard from him. “And you were also right that I did not know how to love you.” His father sighs, long and weary. “Hitting you was my mistake too. I was embarrassed back then, that you had the courage I didn’t have to pursue your aspirations, and I was embarrassed earlier, that you had the courage to stand up to me and hold your own ground. I should not have raised my hand at you.”

Jeongguk doesn’t respond. Waits for the punchline, the plot twist, the but.

It never comes.

“Why are you saying all this now?” The hurt of being rejected for years doesn’t ease away. An apology like this doesn’t begin to heal the wounds of abandonment. “You disowned me. For years.”

“I know.”

“You were going to hit me again earlier.”

“I know.” His father sounds weary, and Jeongguk echoes his sentiments too. “I want to apologize. You must be wondering what made me come all the way here.”

“I am,” Jeongguk admits. “I don’t understand what changed your mind when clearly so many years you’ve stayed the same.”

“It was something you said,” Jeongguk’s father begins. “You said I made you lose the people who loved you. And I realized then that I was doing the same thing my parents did to me. But I was lucky enough to have met your mother, and believe it or not, I love her.” 

A glimpse of tenderness flits across his father’s eyes, something Jeongguk isn’t sure he has ever seen in his life. He searches through his memories, and finds there might have been moments like this that he has forgotten, buried away by his singular hatred towards his father after the man disowned him when he was eighteen.

“She made me feel loved, and gave me the family I never knew I needed. But I threw it away because I was too prideful to properly talk to my son. And I lost him.”

“You did. You lost me,” Jeongguk says. “But I came back. I came back because I had hoped you’d change. Do you know how much of a fool you made me feel?”

“I am sorry. I did not know how to cope with my emotions. It came as a shock to me to have you back and to have you be honest about our relationship.” His father sighs. “My first reaction was anger, and that drove you away. Only after I calmed down did I really begin to process what you were saying.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You can’t just come back a few hours after you yelled at me and almost hit me, saying you’re sorry and expecting me to just… pretend as if all that didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to pretend. I want to apologize.”

“You know how hard it is for me to believe you, right? That a couple of hours can suddenly change your mind?”

“I am sorry.”

“Stop.” Jeongguk takes a step back. His hands tremble by his side. “Stop saying sorry. Prove you’re sorry.”

“How can I?”

“That’s the thing,” Jeongguk answers, “you can’t. Sometimes, sorry just isn’t enough.” The anger has seeped away, leaving only exhaustion behind. “And you’re my dad. You’ve always been my dad. But dads are not supposed to disown their sons, and when you did that to me… it really hurt.”

“I know I hurt you, and I don’t ask for you to forgive me immediately. You might not ever, and I deserve that.”

“I don’t know if I ever can.”

His father nods. The wrinkles on his forehead are a testament to his age, permanently etched into his skin.

“But—” Jeongguk thinks for himself. Thinks of Taehyung’s words. “Maybe someday, I will find it in myself to forgive you. It is not today, but maybe someday.”

The man’s eyes widen in surprise, and something like hope colors his irises. “Will you come home then, when that day comes?”

Jeongguk nods. “If that day comes, I will go home.”

“Thank you,” his father says. The man stands around for a moment longer, as if there are more things he wishes to say.

“Is that all?”

“What you said to me earlier… it made me realize that I don’t want you to lose what I was fortunate enough to have. Love does not come easily.”

“I think it’s too late now,” Jeongguk says, and he’s surprised at the honesty in his own words. “I pushed them away.”

“It’s never too late, Jeongguk.” The man takes a step forward, and this time, Jeongguk doesn’t have the urge to run away. “If I can be here, after so many years, after all my mistakes, then, my son, it’s never too late.”

Jeongguk’s mind spins in confusion. The conversation with his father was unexpected, and though he remains apprehensive about repairing their relationship and forgiving the man, a part of him is glad it happened. He thinks that now, he’s starting to heal, bit by bit. The process is slow, gradual, but the aching wound in his chest is no longer as sore as before.

The past few days have been a lull, trapped in a trance as he runs the words through his mind over and over. He finds himself lying on his bed often, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the color is so dull, so lifeless.

Where a part of his heart is healing, another part remains a gaping hole.

It’s dark outside, night taking over daylight. His phone pings with the notification of a new message, and Jeongguk reaches across the bed for the device. There are a few work-related emails from his company, two notification alerts of new posts on social media of Haven, and a couple of missed calls from his manager.

He taps into the application, and immediately, the photo of the band pops up on his screen. There are five people in the picture, huddled together to fit in the frame. Their faces are somewhat blurry, a photo taken mid-activity, snapshot framing a single moment frozen in time. Mai’s head is tossed back as she laughs, Diego to her right, one arm slung across her shoulders. Beside him, Ruien’s face is half-hidden as she giggles into Diego’s arm, caught mid-laughter. Taehyung stands on Mai’s left, arm hooked around her waist as he smiles. He’s the only one facing the camera, but even then, his face is hazy, smile dimmed by the poor quality of the lighting in the background.

The last person in the photo is familiar to Jeongguk, the same face he sees daily. The boy in the photo is almost a stranger now, filled with all the youthful recklessness that Jeongguk no longer has. He is smiling as he looks to his right at his bandmates, at Taehyung, because of course, he’s always looking at Taehyung.

And he is happy.

Jeongguk remembers this picture vividly, remembers this day as fresh as if it was just yesterday. It was the day they first received news they could finally go on tour, even though it was only a small one around the state.

The photo was taken in the garage of Mai’s house, their old practice space until they were big enough to afford their own tiny studio, a few streets down from the old place. It has saved them from the screaming complaints of Mai’s neighbors for playing music into the wee hours of the night, but the new studio just never felt quite the same.

Behind the five of them in the photo are their instruments, placed on the makeshift shelf Mai conjured out of nowhere when they just started the band. Jeongguk sees a part of the keyboard in the background, and a guitar to the side, but right at the corner, visible and familiar and almost in full view, is the drum kit. His drum kit.

He plays it sometimes, in some of his songs and performances, but is usually persuaded by his production team at the company to opt for guitar acoustics. A drummer rarely takes the forefront of the stage. At least, not for the genre of songs he writes and sings. But he misses the drum set, missing playing on it. There’s one in the company’s studio, but the feel of it is different, familiar yet unfamiliar in the core.

His old drumsticks are well worn out from the years of playing, scratches on the wood by the force of collision with the drum kit. And there’s a secret only Taehyung and he know, a messy scrawl of the letters JK and TH, each initial on the side of each stick, written in permanent marker by the elder the night he gifted Jeongguk his first pair of drumsticks.

“Tae, why’d you write your name on my drum stick,” he remembers asking, almost a childish whine, not understanding the swoop in his chest is not from the feeling of possessiveness over his new drumsticks but over the sight of their names side by side.

“Drumsticks always come in a pair. You rarely see one without the other. And I wanted you to know that wherever you are, I’ll always be there,” Taehyung had said, and for some reason, that soothed the quiet aching in his heart.

He knows his old drum kit is still in Mai’s old garage, replaced by a newer compact drum kit after they started touring because the old set is too bulky to be carried. He misses the old thing.

Back then, and even now, Mai has always been generous as always. From the moment she’s welcomed them into her garage, she’s given them permission to use it whenever they want.

Taehyung and he have popped by the garage late at night more times than he can count on his fingertips, sometimes just as a place to spend hours fading into the sunrise. This he remembers vividly too, sprawled on the third-hand couch, watching the flickering lights in the ceilings of the garage—the lights are a soft shade of yellow hues.

Jeongguk knows Mai is out of town and on holiday with her family now, and even when she’s not home, she’s opened up her garage for them.

Jeongguk glances down at the photo, the picture of just the five of them. They were happy then, and all he wants now is to be happy again.

Before hesitation weighs him down, Jeongguk throws on a jacket and heads out of the apartment.

The lights are turned off when Jeongguk lets himself into the garage, pulling up the shutters that lead into the old practice room. He switches the lights on, and a dingy yellow fills the room. The garage looks the same, unchanged since the last time he saw it. It looks almost untouched, preserved in a memory meant just for the five of them.

The tacky old couch is still pushed up against one side of the brick walls, small scratches on the material from their wild and reckless youths. An old companion.

Some of the posters of their bands are tipping off at the corners, the bluetack losing its stickiness over the years. Jeongguk strides up to one of them, smoothing his fingers over the edges, pushing them up to stick onto the wall again. It flips back down, rebellious, and he pushes it back up, pressing down harder. The corners stick for a second, before coming off again. Jeongguk steps away and sighs in resignation, looking at the yellowed hues of the posters. Marks of the ages and years they’ve lived to see.

This place is where it all began.

In the corner of the garage, the old drum set sits in patience like an old friend. When Jeongguk settles into the seat, the familiarity of the worn-out cushion under him is welcoming. His fingers graze the sides of the drums, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingertips.

At the side of the kit, a holder carries the drumsticks. He picks up the sticks, fingers finding the small scrawls of their initials easily. The letters are smudged at the edges from the years of running his fingertips over the alphabets, seeking comfort in the little promise they made to each other in their youth.

His foot rests on the pedal, and it’s so easy to fall back into the position again, the same one he falls into before every practice, before every performance. And it’s even easier to look up from the drum kit, poised to play, his eyes searching in front of him for the figure he always, always finds himself looking to.

But Taehyung is not there.

None of his bandmates are.

And Jeongguk is reminded again of how he’s alone now, sitting in the old garage, left with nothing but vivid memories of their time together as a band.

He slumps in his seat, shoulders made heavy by a weight he still doesn’t know how to shrug off. His grip around the drumsticks tightens where they rest in his lap as he stares down at the floor. The grey of the cement floor swirls, and his vision turns hazy with the growing ache in his chest. His heart thuds to the slow and distant drumming he hears, of a faraway memory that was once his present.

The sound of shutters cuts through the quiet beat of his heart.

Jeongguk looks up from the floor, eyes widening when his gaze lands on Taehyung.

The elder freezes by the entrance of the garage, one hand on the base of the shutters in the midst of lifting it up to the ceiling. His eyes are wide with surprise, and a hint of something indecipherable flashes across his eyes, too quick for Jeongguk to properly register.

There is so much sadness in his eyes, that Jeongguk remembers for a moment that he’s not the only one hurting.

Jeongguk stands, body moving on autopilot. “I’ll—” His hand squeezes around the drumsticks, but eventually, he releases his grip, dropping them back into the holder. He moves out from behind the drum kit, head bowed. “I’m leaving. You can stay here, I’ll just—”

“Stay.”

Jeongguk looks up in surprise. Taehyung has already locked the shutter at the top, and is now looking at him, exhaustion marked at the corner of his eyes.

The elder is the first to tear his gaze away, feet shuffling against the floor as he walks into the garage. He heads straight for the sofa, sitting down onto the couch. The cushion sinks lightly beneath his weight as Taehyung tosses his head back to rest against the back, eyes slipping shut.

Jeongguk sits back down onto the chair of the drum kit, gaze never quite leaving Taehyung.

They spend a quiet moment like this, basking in the silence of the garage and the shallow inhales and exhales of their breaths.

Eventually, Taehyung speaks first, eyes slipping open to stare at the ceiling.

“I come here sometimes, whenever I…” He licks his lips, and Jeongguk’s eyes trace the movement. “Whenever I miss the old Haven.”

A beat passes, a palpable silence.

Jeongguk gulps. In a volume that can be passed off as a whisper, he says, “Me too.”

“It’s not that Haven isn’t good now. It is. It's just…” Taehyung is looking at Jeongguk now, and being the focus of the elder’s gaze makes him nervous. “It isn’t like before.”

“I know.”

“And I miss the old Haven so much.” Taehyung blinks, and Jeongguk didn’t think it was possible, but he looks even sadder now. “I miss the old us.”

Jeongguk stares down at his hands, unable to bear the intensity of Taehyung’s sorrowful gaze.

“I miss the old us too,” he says quietly.

“Can we go back to before?” Taehyung says then, and his voice is so terribly small, almost afraid. As if he spoke any louder, he’d shatter the delicate fragility between them. “Jeongguk-ah.” And Jeongguk’s heart squeezes unbearably. “Can we go back to before, please?”

Jeongguk blinks away the unshed tears, nodding jerkily. “Yes. Yes, Tae, I just—” He looks up again, and his chest carries an unspeakable pain. All he wants is to go back to before. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

It’s a loaded word. Carries with it multiple meanings. An apology for a multitude of things.

There are times when sorry isn’t enough. Times when sorry is too much. He can spend all the infinities of time in the universe guessing which meaning fits, wondering if there’s more than one definition attached to it.

Is he sorry for leaving? For loving? For the almost-not-quite-partial kiss they shared in the breath worth only a milli-second?

Jeongguk doesn’t know. There are too many things in the world to apologize for. And the thing is, he finds that it doesn’t matter. Not when Taehyung looks at him like this, like a simple word is more than enough.

“Don’t be sorry, Jeongguk, there is nothing to be sorry about. We’re okay now.”

And there’s the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of Taehyung’s lips now, but it’s enough to elicit the quietest of laughter from Jeongguk amidst the unshed tears.

“Yeah, we’re okay now.”

The rest of the night is spent reminiscing about the old times, the faint memories that never quite manage to slip their minds despite the time.

“You still remember I wrote our initials on your drumsticks?”

“Yeah, here,” Jeongguk says, pointing at the black ink on the sticks in his hand.

“Remember when you got so annoyed because I doodled on your new baby?”

Jeongguk laughs. “I do. I wasn’t annoyed. Just… confused.”

“Yeah, yeah, confused, whatever you say.” Taehyung smiles. “Do you still remember what I said back then?”

Jeongguk smiles back. “Yeah, I do.”

The way Taehyung’s smile brightens in the dim light of the garage rivals even the shiniest diamond in the universe.

When Taehyung asks Jeongguk to play the drum again for him, Jeongguk plays a song he wrote for his own album, the song secretly written for him. All his songs are for Taehyung, in different ways, but this one is for the Taehyung who took Jeongguk’s hand in his and introduced him to the drum kit.

And when Jeongguk asks Taehyung to sing, the elder sings a song Jeongguk secretly wrote about the Taehyung who stands at the front and center of the stage, a blazing sun in the galaxy of orbiting planets.

Halfway through the night, they hear the angry shouts of Mai’s neighbor, complaining about the loud beats of the drum. They giggle at the yelling, shushing each other before breaking out into raucous laughter again.

And Jeongguk wonders how he has forgotten that it’s always been so easy when it comes to Taehyung.

It’s Taehyung who suggests driving to the beach to catch the sunrise.

The elder drove when he came to the garage, and so they find themselves in the rickety old car, cruising down the streets. Jeongguk has an arm propped up on the edge of the reeled-down window, head peeking out to watch the fuzzy Californian lights. His hair is pushed back by the chilly night breeze that brushes against his cheeks, a reprieve from the smothering summer heat.

The lights twist into the ether, long streaks of white and yellow and all the harsh neon of city lights stretching in the starless sky.

He reaches a hand out, reaching for the clouds. The lights. The midnight blue of the sky. But all he grasps is the stale and humid air of Santa Cruz.

“Taehyung,” he says, half in address, half just to hear the sound of the other’s name slipping from his lips.

Behind the wheel, the elder hums in acknowledgment. The neon city lights pulse, switching color.

“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” The lights change again. What was once white has turned blue, and the original red streaks of neon have faded into pink. “Why do you think people always say that?”

“Because there’s only one moon, but an infinite number of stars.”

“But the sun is a star,” Jeongguk says. “And the sun is the brightest of all.”

Beside him, Taehyung hums again.

“What if all I wanted was a star?”

“The sun burns. It burns everything that goes near it,” Taehyung answers easily. The car makes a turn as they drive onto Delaware Avenue. “And sometimes, all we need is the comforting light of the moon.”

The silence that falls between them is comfortable, easy. There has never been a rush for conversation when it comes to them. As Jeongguk ponders over Taehyung’s words, time seems to be suspended indefinitely, disproven only by the changing numbers on the digital clock on the dashboard. In the seconds that follow, Jeongguk finds that he no longer looks at the neon lights, but searches for the gentle and familiar moonlight. A constant in the evening sky.

Taehyung switches gears, and they turn onto the street towards the beach. Traffic is smooth in the hours where most people have yet to be roused from sleep.

“Is the moon enough?” Jeongguk asks eventually, picking up the conversation again.

On the road, the lights grow dimmer as they head further away from the city and closer to the coastline. And when Taehyung hums, it’s less a sound and more a song, a feeling.

“The moon is always enough.”

Natural Bridges State Beach is quiet in the early hours of the morning, untouched by the bustle of the city crowd. The air is murky with the heat of summer over cooler waters as fog covers the entire beach. Closer to the ocean, the skies and the sea have turned a dull grey amidst the hazy mist. 

Taehyung parks some distance away from shore, and the two slip out from the car to embrace the crisp air of the beach. The morning wind is salty from the sea. Sticks to Jeongguk like a second skin.

The tides have receded along with the slow rise of the sun, leaving behind long stretches of soft sand in its wake. Sand folds beneath their feet as they step closer to the coastline, closer towards the sea.

If there are any colors in the sky from the approaching sunrise, they are obscured by the heaviness of the gathered fog.

“So much for sunrise,” Jeongguk remarks, his shoes sinking into soft sand.

The saline breeze whips their hair back as the wind howls mutedly in the early hours.

“It’s still beautiful, isn’t it?” Taehyung asks.

The elder is looking straight ahead towards the ocean, watching the faint ripples across the surface. Water crashes against the shore, a soothing lullaby of nature. Jeongguk follows his gaze, staring out at the horizon, where the sky meets the sea.

“It is,” he agrees, but finds himself turning back to look at Taehyung again, anyway.

Veiled by the rain clouds, hints of the first rays of sunlight peek through the grey. It is not enough to lift the heaviness that has fallen over the beach, but just enough to cast weak shadows against Taehyung’s profile.

They are standing close to each other, almost shoulder to shoulder. Yet, all Jeongguk wants is to be closer.

Jeongguk reaches out, wanting to touch, wanting to feel the warmth of the elder’s presence against his skin. But at the last second, he chickens out, hand dropping back down to his side lamely.

When the sun fully rises, the beach remains the same, dipped in the bleakness of imminent rain. Jeongguk breathes in the freshness of coastal air, catching the beginnings of petrichor. Exhales the bone-deep fatigue and a decade-long regret.

The truth is this:

Jeongguk has loved Taehyung for so long that he doesn’t think he’ll ever love anyone more.

Love is fickle, but years of loving Taehyung have taught him that love is also permanent. Real. Solidified in the mornings when he wakes up and all he wants is to feel Taehyung right beside him.

Love someone long enough and you might stop loving, Jeongguk has heard that before. But loving Taehyung has always been easy, even if the side-effects that come with it are not. The act itself is as simple as breathing.

Because after all these years, they are still like this:

Taehyung, magnificent as ever, and Jeongguk—maybe he’s the leftover stardust, remnants of a bright star exploding.

Or maybe he’s the moon. A moon. Not necessarily earth’s singular moon, but one of the hundreds of moons that orbit in the galaxy.

Is the moon enough? Taehyung said it was, and Jeongguk believes him.

Somewhere down the sandy lane of the beach, birds fly across the rippling ocean, over the cascading waves. The beach is still grey, even as morning dawns upon them by the shore, not uncharacteristic of adulthood.

Being an adult is like waking up to watch the sunrise, hoping for streaks of orange and gold against the sky, only to see the gathering dark clouds.

The smell of petrichor is stronger now, earthy and grounding and Jeongguk thinks it might rain soon. Not yet, but eventually before noon.

When he turns to look at Taehyung, the elder has a pensive expression, eyes watching the edge of the sea, like he sees something there that Jeongguk doesn’t.

And Taehyung looks beautiful like this. Edges softened by the blue and grey of the dulled sky. Fragile in a way that isn’t brittle or vulnerable, but like an art piece demanding to be framed up, admired from afar. Stunning in a way that Jeongguk can see, everyone can see, but maybe only he has the privilege to love.

It’s Taehyung who turns to Jeongguk, looking away from the waters to meet his gaze. It’s Taehyung who reaches out, hand curved as he slides his palm over Jeongguk’s nape, squeezing lightly. There’s a soft, lopsided smile tugging at his lips, like a quiet yet uncontrollable snippet of joy has escaped from his fingertips. His eyes crease at the corners when he smiles, unbearably fond, and not for the first time, Jeongguk wonders how lucky he is to be able to see Taehyung like this.

When his touch slips away, some part of Jeongguk cracks.

Because the second truth is this:

Jeongguk is so, so afraid of losing him.

Love is elusive, but years of loving Taehyung has taught him that love is often found in the places where you’re not looking. He doesn’t think another love like this will ever come around.

And Jeongguk is so tired. Wears lethargy in his veins, on his skin, in the breath that punctuates his lips. He’s tired of second-guessing himself, of waiting around for love. Of dissecting pieces of Taehyung and wondering if there is ever a fragment in the man that loves him.

All he knows is that come one day, Taehyung will wake up to someone who isn’t him. Come one day, Taehyung will build a future with someone who isn’t him. And because Jeongguk knows he will be there, of course he will be there, he’ll watch Taehyung fall in love with someone who isn’t him.

Jeongguk has already seen it once, he’s not sure he’ll survive seeing it a second time.

In the very far distance, the sky rumbles, far enough that the sound could be waved off as white noise. It promises of an incoming downpour, a distant warning sign. Soon, the rain will come, chasing them off the beach and away from the coastline.

But now Taehyung is here, not his, but here. The warmth of his presence is something concrete, something real. Makes Jeongguk cling desperately onto the heat.

He knows this moment, temporary and impermanent, will pass. Will fade like the other moments Jeongguk keeps in his back pocket, too precious to forget but too painful to look at. A feeling close to regret.

There’s a ringing fear that when he wakes up from some twisted makeshift fantasy, this moment would be nothing more than a lucid dream. Another memory to keep. Fear is crippling, but the fear of not knowing if Taehyung ever loves him, ever loved him, ever will love him, is greater.

Jeongguk is not brave, not gentle, not dazzling. He is nothing like the star Taehyung thinks he’ll fall in love with. But the one thing he knows—has ever been so sure of—is that he loves Taehyung fiercely. Quietly. Strongly.

And what is love, if not bravery?

There is no fanfare. No grand romantic gesture. There is only the soft sand beneath them, the lullaby crash of the waves against the shore, and—

“I love you,” Jeongguk blurts out, the words slipping out of him faster than quicksand.

It lacks the eloquence of a planned and perfect confession, and he didn’t intend to say it out loud like this—this hurried and graceless confession filled with all the desperation that has been thrumming through his veins. But Jeongguk has learned that nothing in his life ever quite goes as planned.

It’s too late to take the words back now, too real to pretend they’re nothing but a slip of the tongue. And for the first time, Jeongguk does not leave it up to gamble. Takes fate into his own hands and crafts his own meaning of love. Uncover what it means, every little truth lost to those not listening in.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath. “I’m in love with you,” he says, and the words pour out like a sandstorm. A song. “I think I’ve been since the first day we’ve met, since you first taught me how to fall in love with the Californian sand. I think I’ve been since Haven was formed in Mai’s garage and I took one look at you and saw forever instead. And I’ve been in love with you for almost a decade now but—” He inhales, counts to three, and exhales. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

Taehyung is looking at him, eyes wide with an indescribable emotion coloring his irises. Jeongguk has never quite figured out why it gets like this sometimes, another hidden truth.

“You’re in love with me?” Taehyung asks, voice soft, almost lost to the louder, roaring tides.

Jeongguk nods. “I am. Have always been. And I wanted to tell you, god, Tae, I’ve always wanted to tell you. I wanted to at our last concert, but then my family and the contract and—how could I?”

He frowns, lips downturned by the memory. It feels so long ago, yet it feels like yesterday.

“I was going to leave, and I just couldn’t, because I was afraid that you’d hate me for it. For leaving and for my feelings.” He stares at the sand, the tiny pebbles sticking to the sole of his shoes. “I don’t think I could stand knowing you hate me twice. But I think I hated myself more.”

He digs his heels deeper into the sand, breath shallow. “And then you waited for me and I thought maybe I had a chance—Mai said I had a chance, and stupidly, I thought so too, because I was coming home, Tae, I was coming home. My contract was ending faster than I expected and all I wanted was to come home. But then—”

“Mateo,” Taehyung whispers.

Jeongguk swallows and nods again. “And I should have known, I didn’t stand a chance. I never did. But I never knew how to move on from you.” He looks up, and laughs wetly, every bit broken and filled with melancholy. “I don’t think my heart wants to.”

“Why now then? Jeongguk, why now?” Taehyung croaks out, voice even quieter, and Jeongguk thinks he might be in shock, with the way he’s still staring at him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Jeongguk confesses. His lips are slightly chapped by the chilly coastal breeze, and he swallows the bile in his throat, trembling. “I just—we came here and god, this isn’t even a romantic place, there’s no sunrise today and it’s bleak as hell but I just had this sudden thought that if I didn’t tell you now, I'd lose you. I’d lose you for good. And I’m selfish, I’m so selfish, but I don’t think I can bear seeing you fall in love with someone else. Not without telling you first how I felt. Because you make me feel so loved, and that in itself is the best feeling in the world. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks up again, meeting Taehyung’s gaze. His voice splinters under the weight of his words, unbearably small, when he says, “So this is it, I guess. This is me, telling you I love you.”

“Jeongguk. Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, in lieu of an answer, and his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears, but he’s smiling, he’s smiling, and—

Oh.

Jeongguk wonders how it took him so long to figure it out. 

“I love you too,” Taehyung continues, breathless, like he’s been holding the words back and he’s finally letting them all out. “I’m so in love with you. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. I fell in love with you when we came here—do you remember? We came here because I wanted you to fall in love with California’s beach the same way I did, except I fell in love with the way the sun looked against your skin.”

Taehyung smiles, incredibly soft, and Jeongguk’s heart squeezes in his chest.

“You asked me how I knew I wasn’t in love with Mateo, and the truth is, I knew because he wasn’t you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Jeongguk repeats, mind dizzy and chest numb with the overwhelming emotions. The love that crashes into him comes in waves, valiant in the strong tides.

“I am.”

Drowns out all the white noises, except for the creeping sensation that this might all just be some wild hallucination his desperate heart has conjured in his dreamscape.

“Am I dreaming?” He asks, a whisper, torn between wanting to wake up and wanting to live in this dreamland forever.

“You’re not dreaming,” Taehyung says without pause.

The words burst the little bubble of reverie Jeongguk was trapped in, revealing a reality that is sweeter than dreams.

“Tell me this is real,” he asks, again, because in the million scenarios Jeongguk draws up for himself in the late nights and expanses of his mind, this has always been his greatest wish.

Taehyung’s smile softens, impossibly so, eyes crinkling in the corners in utter fondness. “This is real.”

This time, it’s Jeongguk who reaches out, emboldened by the words and the sinking knowledge that this is real. This is real.

It’s warm when Taehyung takes his hand in his, intertwining their fingers together and giving his palm a light squeeze.

Jeongguk had been wondering how his two-year-old self knew what love was back then, and the honest, whole-hearted truth is—he didn’t.

Love is not a word, not a sound, not a tangible thing. It is a feeling, an emotion, a song that keeps him up at night on some days, and puts him to sleep on others.

And a part of him is still the same two-year-old, the same clueless child who knows nothing about love. But not knowing didn’t stop him from love. Didn’t stop him from loving and falling in love.

And he’s twenty-five now, grown into himself. Not quite the awkward gangly teenager he once was, not quite the bumbling snotty child he used to be. And it means nothing. Just an age, just a number. But the years he’s lived have taught him that maybe what he needed all along was to realize that love can be as gentle as the morning rays of the sun and as brave as the neon lights.

“Can I?” Jeongguk asks, already leaning in, tugged by the gravity of the brightest star.

The sky is still dreary, mostly grey, but the air feels light around them. It may rain—it will rain, but even the heavy clouds cannot hide the lightness in their hearts.

Taehyung laughs, the sound a melody, voice impossibly soft with affection as he leans in too. “Yes. Yes, Jeongguk.” When he exhales into the bare space between them, it’s tangible, the warm breath fanning against Jeongguk’s cheek. “Kiss me, you fool.”

When their lips meet, there are no sparks, no fireworks. There is no fanfare, no grandeur. The romance novels are all lies, but Jeongguk finds some figment of truth in their exaggerated prose. Because the sweet, sweet feeling of homecoming that settles in the cavity of Jeongguk’s chest is tangible. Concrete. Real.

Taehyung’s lips are soft. Pillowy. Tastes of the hint of mint he likes to chew when he’s nervous, and the smudge of honey from the lip balm he always carries.

When their lips slot together, it is clumsy at first, just two new lovers seeking familiarity in each other. Jeongguk’s free hand that isn’t holding Taehyung’s finds purchase in the back of the other’s neck, as he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss. And he thinks this might be his new addiction, the taste so intoxicating, so liberating, that all he feels is an unspoken weight lifting off his shoulders.

Kissing Taehyung is like finding shore after years lost at sea, and Jeongguk is a shipwreck, but the lighthouse is a home for all those who’ve been wandering. He has been drifting for so long, and now, he’s finally, finally home.

Lights, Jeongguk thinks, are infinitely brighter when he’s kissing Taehyung.

In the gentleness of their kiss, Jeongguk is reminded of neon lights, the bright ones that they pass by on their midnight road trips between gigs and shows back when they were still in the band. The kind that spotlights Taehyung, illuminating the stage.

He’s reminded of neon lights, the shimmering ones that they watch from miles above ground together in the carriage of a ferris wheel. The kind that Jeongguk looks at alone from the wide windows of his hotel, the kind Taehyung catches sight of alongside the huge billboard posters.

And he’s reminded that no matter what, no matter how long they both take—

Lights will guide them home.

They stand like that, on California’s grainy sand, in the middle of the beach on a cloudy summer’s day, pressing the softest kisses against each other’s lips. They kiss until the first pitter-patter of raindrops falls onto their skin, tiny drenched spots all over their shirts.

Taehyung breaks away from the kiss first, chuckling lowly when Jeongguk chases after his lips, a quiet groan slipping out of him. Promises of more once they’ve gotten out of the incoming rainstorm, his hand clutching Jeongguk’s tightly as he tugs the younger towards the car, away from the sandy shores.

“Kiss me some more,” Jeongguk says, half a demand, half a plea.

The overwhelming fondness spreading to his fingertips is tingling. Electrifying. He trails after Taehyung slightly, but is never too far behind. Up ahead is the car, the hood dotted with the first trickles of raindrops.

“I’ll kiss you in any way that you want,” Taehyung says, a promise, and doesn’t let Jeongguk’s hand go until they’ve reached the car.

And the final truth is this:

Taehyung has loved Jeongguk for as long as Jeongguk has loved him.

Love is not definite, but sometimes, love is a roundabout. Comes in a full circle to take your hand and welcome you home to its warm embrace.

Jeongguk has spent the better part of a decade searching for the pieces of Taehyung that might love him, not knowing that the elder already has. In full. Complete and whole. A circle.

The sun has always been there, waiting for its moon, never straying too far away.

And the moon—

The moon is enough.

Behind them, the rain clouds gather in a flurry of grey, shedding tears on Santa Cruz. The rain falls in a rhythmic drum onto the streets, a distinct pitter-patter in tandem with the thumping of Jeongguk’s heartbeat.

As Taehyung drives them back to the heart of the city, his free hand finds Jeongguk’s, tangling their fingers together. His eyes are on the road, the other hand on the wheel, but Jeongguk clutches Taehyung’s right hand to his chest like a lifeline, savoring the warmth emanating from the other’s touch. Brings his hand up to his lips to press soft kisses to his knuckles.

Taehyung laughs, and it’s a sound Jeongguk feels inebriated from.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins gradually slows, bringing him down from the earlier constant high to something quieter. Something languid. Jeongguk watches the windshield wiper of the car, the swish from side to side as the wiper sweeps away the falling rainwater.

“Are you tired?” He asks, gaze turning towards Taehyung. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to drop you off at your place or…” Taehyung trails off.

“Come stay at mine?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the ride is a comfortable silence. They don’t let go of each other’s hands the entire time. Only when they’ve arrived at Jeongguk’s apartment, and Taehyung has parked in the car park, does Jeongguk let go. Once they’ve both gotten out of the car, Taehyung is instantly reaching for Jeongguk again, threading their fingers together like the minutes apart have been as cold and foreign for him as it felt for Jeongguk.

In the elevator, Taehyung rests his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder, and it’s at an awkward angle and can’t be too comfortable given their similar heights, but the elder hums happily at the contact. Jeongguk tilts his head too, resting it gently against Taehyung’s. The gesture is so minute, so negligible. Yet, content thrums in his bones. Soothes an ache he hadn’t even known was there.

Their movements are slow, leisurely, as they exit the elevator and make for Jeongguk’s apartment. There’s only one other apartment on the same floor, but in the times Jeongguk has lived here, he hasn’t seen anyone around.

“My dad dropped by that night after I went over,” Jeongguk says as he toes off his shoes and steps into his apartment. He peels off his jacket and hangs them on the rack, and Taehyung follows behind, doing the same. Their two coats hanging side by side immediately makes the house feel less empty, less lonely.

“Are you okay? What did he say?”

“I’m fine.” Jeongguk leads them both to the couch, sitting Taehyung down. “He apologized.”

Taehyung presses faint kisses to his knuckles, gaze focused on Jeongguk as he listens to him recount the conversation with his father. “And what did you tell him?”

“I said I wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.” Jeongguk sighs. “We argued when I was there and a few hours later, he turned back to apologize. I didn’t know what to feel.” Then, in a quieter voice, he adds, “I still don’t.”

“That’s okay.”

“Should I forgive him? Am I being too harsh? He did say what he was sorry for and seemed genuine,” Jeongguk says. Gestures between the two of them, adding, “And look at us. You forgave me so easily.”

Taehyung frowns, eyebrows pinching together tightly. Jeongguk reaches up to smooth away the crease, grazing the elder’s brow.

“That’s different, Jeongguk. It’s not the same. What happened between us? That can’t be compared to what he did to you.” Taehyung squeezes his hand gently, the touch tender and loving. “Baby,” he says, and he sounds pained. “There was nothing for you to be sorry for when it came to us. But with him? That kind of hurt is not something you can forgive nor forget easily.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk whispers. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to say that.”

“I know. But I need you to know that the two situations are incomparable. With your dad, you need to be ready for that. You need to heal.”

Somewhere deep in the crevice of his chest, Jeongguk’s heart no longer has a hole. Healing is a process that takes time, and he had been so afraid to take the step forward to bandage up the open wounds that he’d let it fester and rot. But love makes him brave. Taehyung makes him brave. Suddenly, healing doesn’t seem as daunting and terrifying as before. Suddenly, healing is the bridge towards forgiveness and towards moving on.

“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Jeongguk squeezes Taehyung’s hand back. He wonders if it’s possible to explode from the sheer fullness of love. “Thank you. For always being here for me.”

Love does not come easily, but somehow, Jeongguk has lucked out in this lifetime.

When Taehyung smiles, it is so warm, like the blossom of flowers in spring.

“I’m here, always.”

They fall asleep in Jeongguk’s bed, tired from the all-nighter they pulled in the garage and the whirlwind of emotions that brought them here, sharing the comforts of the quiet apartment.

When morning comes, Jeongguk stirs from the early sunlight that sneaks in through the blinds, casting long streaks against the walls of his room.

The first thing he registers is that it’s cold. Not cold enough to be mistaken for a broken heater in winter, but cold enough for him to realize that the other side of his bed is empty, and he’s all alone in his too-big bed.

He jolts awake, one hand rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, the other hand reaching out to sweep the mattress. There’s a lingering warmth, slowly seeping away, and Jeongguk tries—a futile attempt—to trap the heat with his blanket.

“Tae?” He calls out, and is answered by silence.

He’s sitting upright now, dragging a hand down his face and blinking furiously to fight the tears back. Last night felt like a dream, a wondrous fairytale. Something too good to be true, ripped straight out the winding chapters of Jeongguk’s fantasy.

It felt real. The kiss felt real. The warmth on the other side of his bed—the side that is technically still his, but he has accorded to Taehyung—feels real.

“Tae?” He tries again, and the aching is starting to set in, followed by the resentment that his dreamscape is so much better than reality.

“Jeonfoo?” Taehyung answers, and Jeongguk sags like a pile of bones in relief at the familiar voice, made deeper and huskier from the disuse in his sleep.

Taehyung peeks his head out from the bathroom, hair a ruffled mess, tousled from sleep. There’s a toothbrush dangling between his lips, the spare one he used the last time he slept over which Jeongguk didn’t bear to throw away in hopes of the elder returning again. Foaming toothpaste smears across his lips.

“Whaf if ith?” Taehyung garbles, then chuckles to himself under his breath at the incomprehensible words before stepping back into the bathroom.

Jeongguk hears the sound of running water, the mundane noises of Taehyung freshening up, and sinks deeper into his bed at the relief that everything is real.

Within a minute, Taehyung is back out of the bathroom, free of toothbrush and toothpaste. He grins at Jeongguk as he walks towards him, bright-eyed and glowing. One knee rests on the edge of the bed frame as he lowers himself down to sit halfway on the bed.

“Mornin’,” Taehyung says, his hand sliding along Jeongguk’s jaw, thumbing his cheekbone softly.

Jeongguk leans into the touch, an instinct. A habit. “Morning.”

“Are you hungry?” Taehyung asks. “Or do you want to sleep more?”

“Wanna get breakfast.”

“Mmh, go freshen up. Either I attempt to make breakfast and in the process burn down your lovely kitchen, or we head out for some classic oily American ham and eggs with toast.”

“Kiss?” Jeongguk says in lieu of an answer, his sleep-addled brain making him loose-lipped and brave. The heart wants what it wants, and now, with Taehyung, he’s unafraid to ask for what he desires.

Taehyung shuffles back and away from him on the bed, and Jeongguk groans at the departing touch. The elder’s tone is teasing when he says, “Only after you brush your teeth. I refuse to kiss you with your morning breath.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jeongguk retorts, though he’s already sliding out of bed and leaving the comforts of his mattress. 

“No, that’s the first rule to dating Kim Taehyung. No morning breath kisses.”

“Not even one?”

“Nope.”

Jeongguk laughs as he steps into the bathroom. “I’m starting to reconsider this.”

“Lies. You love me,” he hears Taehyung argue back, laughter in his voice.

Jeongguk picks up his toothbrush and rinses it under the tap. 

“I do,” he admits, soft enough that if his room wasn’t so quiet, Taehyung wouldn’t hear it.

But then the elder laughs, louder this time, and Jeongguk knows Taehyung must have heard it as well because he says, “I love you too.”

There’s the sound of bed sheets rustling, and Jeongguk leans against the doorframe as he brushes his teeth to watch Taehyung make the bed, smoothing out the bedsheet. Fondness takes over the entirety of his faint heart—he’s weak.

“Really a strict no to morning breath kisses?” He asks again after he’s done washing up and has changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Taehyung has also changed out into a new set of shirts and jeans, borrowed from Jeongguk’s closet.

The elder follows him to his laundry area, leaning against the wall as he watches Jeongguk do their laundry, their clothes swirling together in the washing machine. What was once solely Jeongguk’s in this house has slowly become theirs.

“Maybe someday, in the future,” Taehyung says with a laugh, light and airy. As clear as the morning sky, cloudless in a never-ending blue. He pulls Jeongguk in by the waist, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “When I’m too old to care for your stinky morning breath.”

They find themselves back at Betty’s, the diner familiar in the best and worst of ways. It’s the place where they fell together, friends before lovers. It’s the place where they fell apart, twice, broken-hearted. And it’s the place they always find themselves coming back to, the way Jeongguk and Taehyung always go back to each other.

The diner is busy with the morning breakfast crowd, the light clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoing in the background. The cashier at the counter looks bored beyond his wits, and the waitstaff bustling about the tables seem terribly exhausted.

“Your order?” A waitress says as she approaches their table, pen poised to her notepad, ready to take down their orders.

“Toast, a sunny-side-up, and sausages for me,” Taehyung says, without needing to pick up the menu. “And…”

“Same old,” Jeongguk answers.

“And toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon for him. Plus one iced latte for him and one iced chamomile tea.”

“Got it,” the waitress says, one hand on her hip, before she repeats their orders.

Taehyung nods. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t walk off immediately, and instead, squints for a moment, gaze flitting between the two of them. Taehyung smiles at her, his grin bright and cheery. Jeongguk, on the other hand, ducks away, hiding from her scrutiny.

“Are you a celebrity?” She asks eventually, but her question is more so directed to Jeongguk.

“No? Yes? I—” Jeongguk sneaks a glance at Taehyung, eyes wide and slightly panicky.

The elder merely looks at him, chin propped up by his hands, as he hides a smile behind his palm. There’s a telltale glint of mirth in his eyes, the way it always gets when Taehyung’s seconds away from laughing at the expense of Jeongguk.

Jeongguk gulps, and looks back at the waitress. “I sing?”

“Huh.” The waitress frowns. “Think I saw a poster of you on my daughter’s bedroom wall. Can I get an autograph later, just in case?”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says, almost a squeak.

The moment the waitress walks away, Taehyung bursts into laughter, smacking the top of his thigh as he laughs. The wispy lights of the diner cast a faint glow around him, like the halo of an angel.

“How are you still not used to people recognizing you and asking you for pictures or autographs?”

“I am! It just—feels strange,” Jeongguk admits quietly. “When I’m with you, I forget that I’m sort of a celebrity. I feel like I’m just… me.”

Taehyung’s smile melts away, not completely gone, but smaller. Pensive in a way he gets when he’s trying to figure Jeongguk out.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, voice mellow, calm like the jazzy tunes playing in the background.

“No, it’s not.” Jeongguk offers a small smile. “I like it like this.”

“Good,” Taehyung says, his shoes gently nudging Jeongguk’s, and Jeongguk kicks back lightly. Basks in the light giggle escaping the elder’s lips, jazzy in a different way. “I like it like this too.”

The waitress returns with their food and drinks, along with a notebook she likely snagged from her own bag. Jeongguk signs a page on the notebook, addressing it to a ‘Lily’, with pink cheeks. The whole time, he feels the intensity of Taehyung’s gaze on him, and when he’s signed the last word, the waitress walking away with a grateful smile on her tired face, he turns back to face the elder only to see the fondest expression on him.

“You’ve got a heart of gold,” Taehyung says as he divides his sausage in half. Does the same with Jeongguk’s bacon, and shares the food between their plates. His smile is the gentlest light amongst the shadows. “My big softie of a boyfriend.”

Jeongguk’s heart stills, momentarily, as the words sink in. Takes root in his beating heart, his chest. Flowers may bloom from the warmth that spreads through him.

“Boyfriend,” he whispers back, the word slipping past his lips like he’s been dreaming of it for a long, long time.

Taehyung blinks. His hands hover mid-air, cutlery poised to cut the toast into smaller pieces because he claims it’s easier to eat it like that. He sets the fork and butter knife down gently, the metal clinky against the sides of the plate.

“Is that okay? Is it too fast?” Taehyung reaches out for Jeongguk’s hand, slotting their fingers together. The touch feels like hot cocoa on a winter’s day. Eases away a cold Jeongguk hadn’t even known he had. “If you don’t want to put a label yet, that’s okay.”

Taehyung looks at Jeongguk, eyes imploring but patient. Patient still, even though it’s been years and all they had done was waited.

Jeongguk shakes his head, giving Taehyung’s hand a light squeeze. “No, I want that. I want us to be boyfriends.”

He shakes his head some more, and the tiniest laughter slips him, a quiet disbelief. It feels surreal. This—holding Taehyung’s hand, having breakfast with him, calling him his boyfriend—feels surreal.

But the responding chuckle he hears from across the booth is real.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, his feet nudging Taehyung’s underneath the table. Playing footsie, like foolish teenagers in love. Young, and childish. Silly, but wonderful. “We’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t feel like waiting anymore.”

He wishes to put a pause on this moment forever. Stay in this warm light forever. If this moment is a film, a polaroid, he knows it would make for the prettiest picture.

But Time stops for no one, and Jeongguk finds comfort in moving forward in life. Because he knows that somehow, rain or shine, the future will be filled with endless polaroid-worthy memories that can rival the sun.

“I’m going to end the contract,” Jeongguk tells Taehyung as they stroll back towards the apartment, hands interlocked. He’s come to find tranquility in holding Taehyung’s hands, touch-starved after years of yearning.

“Okay,” Taehyung says, simply. As if this is a simple thing.

He doesn’t question why, doesn’t say anything. Just accepts Jeongguk’s decision as the whole, simple truth, because love is simple like this.

In a bizarre way, when Jeongguk thinks about it, it is simple. The process is complicated, sure, but what Jeongguk’s heart desires is simplicity.

The sun hangs high in the sky, marking long silhouettes onto the sidewalk. Beside him, Taehyung hums a tune underneath his breath, familiar. Jeongguk recognizes it as a song from his own album, one of the many written for Taehyung. 

“Do you think I’m making the right decision?” Jeongguk asks, because even after everything, he can never quite escape the niggling fear.

Many would call him a fool for even entertaining a thought like this, especially when he’s at the peak of his success. He shakes the doubts away, and turns to look at Taehyung.

The elder looks deep in thought, brows pinching together slightly as he thinks. Eventually, he turns to meet Jeongguk’s gaze.

“Are you happy now?” He asks back with another question of his own.

“Not when I’m bound to the contract, no.” The answer comes easily without hesitation. There is a certitude in Jeongguk’s words, a surety to them amidst the uncertainty he feels. “Not when I’m away from you, away from everyone.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, the uneven bumps on the path.

Beside him, Taehyung hums noncommittally, drawing circles along the back of Jeongguk’s palm. The touch is comforting. Grounding.

“Then do what makes you happy.”

When Jeongguk looks up again, he sees his apartment building in the distance. It’s not too far, just close enough that he can easily find his way home.

“I like this place,” the elder says when they return to the apartment. The door clicks shut behind them. The light in the hallway flickers on, yellow. Taehyung finds Jeongguk’s hand and links their fingers together, leading him towards the living room. “It’s so… you.”

Jeongguk lets the elder guide him. “I’ve to move soon, actually. This apartment came with the contract, so I’ll have to find a new place.”

Taehyung settles down onto the couch, wriggling to the side to make space, and Jeongguk follows after him. His hands wrap around the elder’s waist, and they shuffle on the sofa for a moment to find a comfortable position to cuddle in.

“Have you thought of where you want to move to?”

“Not really… no.” Jeongguk drops a kiss on Taehyung’s forehead. “Do you want to go apartment-searching with me?”

“Okay,” Taehyung says. “What are you looking for in your new apartment?”

Jeongguk hums as he thinks. A moment later, he says, “A balcony. I always thought it’ll be nice to compose music on a balcony when the weather’s nice.”

“Got it. A balcony.” Taehyung nods like he’s taking mental notes. “What about the kitchen?”

“A big kitchen. I know you like to cook sometimes, and the kitchen at yours is so small.”

Taehyung goes quiet for a second, pensive. Jeongguk doesn’t know what to make of it.

Eventually, the elder nods again. “Okay.”

“And maybe someplace with a bathroom big enough for a bathtub. To relax after a long day, y’know?”

“Sounds good. What else?”

“Maybe somewhere close to a convenience store,” Jeongguk answers. “You always get snacky at odd hours at night, and it’d come in handy to stay near a twenty-four-seven shop.”

Taehyung nods. “I like the sound of that.”

“And—”

“Okay enough of that. You mentioned snacks and I’m hungry now.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk sits up a little. “Do you want food? I can grab something from the kitchen.”

Taehyung shakes his head, sitting up too, only to swing his leg across Jeongguk’s torso to settle on his lap. The smile on his face is nothing short of devious. “No, I want kisses.”

Jeongguk flushes, a faint blush rushing high in his cheeks. But he gives in easily when Taehyung cups his face and tilts his head up for a kiss. 

There’s something about the way Taehyung kisses, like he’s pouring all his love and devotion into the kiss. It’s more than just the way their lips meet, slotting together wonderfully, delightfully sweet. It’s the way Taehyung’s hand finds purchase in Jeongguk’s hair, tugging lightly to deepen the kiss. It’s the way he searches for Jeongguk’s hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing gently.

Kissing Taehyung is something magical, something beautiful, something Jeongguk’s sure he’ll never tire of.

His hand settles on Taehyung’s hip, holding the curve of his waist. Slips under Taehyung’s shirt to caress his soft skin.

Taehyung nips at his lips teasingly in return. Swallows the soft gasps escaping him. Takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further.

Jeongguk moans then, and the sound is so loud in the quiet of his apartment that he pulls away in mild embarrassment. He flips the two of them so that Taehyung is seated on the couch now, Jeongguk hovering over him.

“Pause, pause,” Jeongguk says, breathless from the way Taehyung so easily stole all the breaths straight from his lips. “I need to—” He gulps, and pushes himself upright, away from Taehyung. His skin is flushed, and the living room feels too hot all of a sudden. He’s more than a little embarrassed now at how just kissing Taehyung got him so riled up. “I’ll be back.”

He all but runs off to the bathroom, Taehyung’s bright laughter echoing behind him.

Taehyung pulls him back in for a cuddle when he returns from the bathroom, showering him again with dozens of kisses. They’re innocent enough, and Jeongguk sighs in contentment at being doted on.

“We’ll find somewhere and make it yours,” Taehyung says after a while.

“Ours,” Jeongguk says in a heartbeat, drowsy enough from the kisses and the lazy drawl of the afternoon that he speaks without thinking. 

But Taehyung doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t push him away. Instead, he says, “Okay.”

“I wish you never have to go,” Jeongguk continues, because he always speaks with his heart rather than his mind when he gets sleepy. “Move in with me?”

A pause, a heartbeat. Jeongguk sobers up enough to feel the trepidation as he waits for Taehyung’s response.

Then—

“Okay.” Taehyung cuddles closer, resting his head against the juncture of Jeongguk’s shoulder. “We’ll find somewhere and make it ours.”

When night falls, Taehyung leaves. But he promises to come by soon, dropping kisses along Jeongguk’s cheeks, his hands, and then one last one on his lips.

Even when he goes, and the apartment turns quiet with only the presence of Jeongguk, there’s enough warmth lingering in the rooms. Something long-lasting, something permanent.

A beginning of a new chapter.

He schedules a meeting with Cassandra, and from the way she responds, he thinks that somehow, she knows.

It’s hot out the next morning when he makes his way to the company building. He perspires under the blazing sun, his shirt sticking to his back like a second skin. Sweat trickles down the side of his forehead, and when he steps into the building, the blast of cool air from the air-conditioning in the lobby is a reprieve from the unforgiving heat.

“Jeongguk,” Cassandra greets when she sees him, and there’s a finality in her tone that confirms that she does know. “Let’s go into the meeting room.”

The meeting room’s glass doors leave the interior exposed. Cassandra takes a seat on one side of the long table, and Jeongguk sits opposite her. It’s near-silent in here, except for the muted hum of the air-conditioning buzzing in the background.

“It’s been a long time coming, isn’t it?” Cassandra asks. “I knew you weren’t going to be here for long.”

There is no bite in her words, no accusations. As someone who’s worked in the industry for so long, Cassandra must know that most people quickly come and go. Better to die a momentary firework than to live long but have never been a spark in the sky.

Some choose to stay—for the glory, the love, the fame. For the endless possibilities and the impossible joy from performing for their fans.

But they both know Jeongguk’s happiness comes from his band. The one he left behind but still misses every day.

“It felt very long,” Jeongguk tells her, honesty bleeding into his words. 

Cassandra barks out a laugh, shaking her head. “It was good while we worked together.” Looks at him with an expression that speaks of admiration and respect. “You’re a good kid.”

Looking back now, they’ve worked closely for the better half of a decade. In some way, Cassandra has become a familiar constant, a pillar of support in the times where all Jeongguk wanted to do was to rot away. In the days where he let work consume him, eating away at his soul. In the days where he drank too much, slept too little, and needed someone to knock on his door and say, “Hey kiddo, get your shit together. Things will get better.”

His success is as much hers as it is his, and he thinks he will miss her.

“I don’t say this enough but… thank you,” Jeongguk says, and hopes the words convey all the gratitude he means.

“I know, kid.” Cassandra whips out her tablet, scrolling through what seems to be a long document. “This is going to be a long process until it’s official, but it’s mostly just paperwork. I got our in-house lawyer to take a look at your contract earlier, there shouldn’t be any problems with the termination.” She drums her fingers on the table, her nails rapping sharply against the surface, the way she tends to do when she’s thinking. Then she stops, glancing up from her tablet screen to look at Jeongguk again. “Any plans from here on out?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see where life takes me, I guess.”

Cassandra laughs again, heartily, as though she’s laughing with her whole chest. “You’re a funny one, Jeongguk,” she says, not unkindly, and sighs. “I’ll really miss you.”

“We can still catch up over lunch in the future,” Jeongguk says as earnestly as he can.

The floor they’re on is mostly empty, and all that can be heard is the low hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional beep of the fax machines.

His manager shakes her head. “That’s what they all say.”

“I will do it.” Jeongguk doesn’t know what compels him to do so, but he adds, “I promise.”

She quirks an eyebrow, scrutinizing him. A beat later, she says, “Okay. I’ll hold you to it then, kid.”

The rest of the meeting is kept relatively short, just simple documents for Jeongguk to sign to get the termination process started. Cassandra runs him through the general procedure, but says that the lawyer will get in contact with him to go through the more specific legal details.

Towards the end of their meeting, the door of the room swings open. The sounds of heels tapping against the marble floor echoes loudly in the meeting room.

Jeongguk twists in his chair to look at the intruder, and is unable to keep the frown off his face when he sees Francesca.

Francesca looks the same, dressed impeccably in a simple suit attire, as she leans against the frame of the door. The woman’s smile is vicious, lips twisted in an ugly sneer.

“Back to your old shitty band?” She asks, tone laced with venom, dreadfully poisonous.

There is nothing kind in her voice, and Jeongguk is reminded of how much she has disrespected his band over the years. Every time she sees them, she’ll make snide remarks in passing, unsolicited hurtful comments that she knows digs at Jeongguk’s chest.

Standing up, Jeongguk strides towards her.

“Yes and no,” he says, gritting his teeth.

Anger rises in his chest, but he tamps them down easily. Years in the industry have taught him that people will always talk. They will always say mean things that hurt and hurt, and walk away as if they haven’t just torn down someone’s confidence. But it doesn’t matter, because these people don’t matter.

“Yes, because I’m going back to my band, if they will still have me,” he says, and stands up taller. No longer the wispy boy he once was. “But no, because they’re not a shitty band. They’re some of the most talented and kindest people I’ve ever known, and it’s a privilege to play with them.” Francesca scoffs, rolling her eyes at his words, but Jeongguk learns the most powerful thing he can do is to step away. He takes a step back, saying, “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”

“Goodbye Jeongguk,” Cassandra says, and bidding her goodbye, Jeongguk exits the meeting room, leaving Francesca behind.

The moment he steps out of the office building, Jeongguk scrambles to pull out his phone, dialing Taehyung’s number. The elder picks up on the first ring, as if he too had been on the other end of the line, waiting for Jeongguk to call.

“How did it go?” Taehyung asks in lieu of any other greeting.

Jeongguk laughs wetly, and it’s only when he sniffs a little does he realize he’s crying. But the joy that spreads through him is real, and the weight lifted off his chest is liberating.

“I’m finally coming home.”

The city is dark, street lamps spaced out along the stretch of road barely illuminating the area. Taehyung is standing by the sidewalk, waiting for Jeongguk.

A car honks, zooming down the street, its flashlights casting faint shadows on the elder’s countenance. Jeongguk crosses the road to the other side, stepping onto the pavement.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, arms outstretched and ready to pull Jeongguk in.

Jeongguk follows, caught in his gravity, straight into the soft embrace. Inhales the distinctly familiar scent of Taehyung, and sinks into the comforting hold. His fingers tangle in Taehyung’s hair, tugging him closer.

“I missed you,” he breathes the words into Taehyung’s nape.

“We just saw each other yesterday, silly,” Taehyung says, but his hold on Jeongguk doesn’t loosen for a second. Tightens just a fraction more, fueled by the desire to be closer.

“I know. Still miss you anyway.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to tell him that he’ll always miss him—in a bone-deep, aching way that can only be soothed by the closeness. Has spent the last five years missing him, and it’s all he knows how to do.

A part of him will always seek Taehyung.

“You’re so cheesy,” Taehyung says, pulling away slightly to press a kiss to the corner of Jeongguk’s lips. Peppers kisses all over him. Another one on his jaw, a third on his cheek. A last one on his lips. “I love you.”

Jeongguk smiles, laughter bubbling from his chest. “I love you too.”

Taehyung has arranged for dinner with the rest of Haven, and they all meet up at a hole-in-the-wall barbecue place. Inside, the restaurant is thick with smoke and the distinct fragrance of grilled meat.

The rest of the band is in the reserved booth seats when they arrive, and Jeongguk slides into the seat after Taehyung. Instinctively, he reaches out, seeking the elder’s hand. Finds it quickly, their fingers slotting together easily like a well-worn glove.

Beside Taehyung, Ruien scrunches her nose. A teasing grin tugs at the corner of his lips as she says, “Gross. Now I’ve to witness this public display of affection.”

Taehyung pokes her on the side gently in response, chuckling when she squeals. “How are you twenty-five? Act like the adult you are, Rui.”

It hits Jeongguk then, how much time he has let slip by.

In the mustard light of the restaurant, Jeongguk sees the years his old bandmates have aged. The lines that have worn them down, not their liveliness, but their childish innocence. Same, yet so different.

“Honestly, no one saw that coming, man,” Diego says, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

With a laugh, Mai retorts, saying, “I did.”

Diego sputters, head turning swiftly to stare at her in disbelief. “No way.”

In the background, a group bursts into laughter at something someone said. The chef calls out an order, and a waiter takes orders at another table. But all that is merely white noise to their conversation.

Mai grins, glancing at Jeongguk. Her eyes sparkle with mirth. “Ask Jeongguk.”

The light in the restaurant flickers, weak, but the brightness shining on his bandmates feels sharper than ever. Like they are doused in perpetual limelight.

Jeongguk smiles, squeezing Taehyung’s hand. The elder leans in close to him, shoulders pressed against each other. It’s warm in the restaurant, warm in his chest.

“Yeah,” he answers. “She did.”

“And no one thought to tell me?”

“And me,” Ruien chimes in.

“Nobody asked you, Rui,” Diego says, and the whole group dissolves into laughter.

Their food serves up fast, and they dig in quickly, hungry for the delicious barbecued meat.

“We should come back again, this is so damn good,” Ruien says over a mouthful of grilled chicken.

Taehyung nods in agreement as he takes over the job of grilling the meat from Diego. The meat sizzles on the grill pan, a satisfying crackle when the oil hits the fire.

Taehyung cuts up the meat, picking up the best-grilled pieces and dropping them into Jeongguk’s plate. Across the table, Diego complains about the blatant favoritism, only to have Taehyung argue back that he did the same the last time they ate with Diego’s girlfriend. The guitarist shuts up quickly after that.

Somewhere along the way, the group falls into quiet conversations.

“You did it,” Mai says, not quite looking at Jeongguk, gaze trained on his and Taehyung’s interlocked hands. 

Beside them, Taehyung, Ruien, and Diego are talking about their last tour. The one without Jeongguk. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

Mai looks up, meeting Jeongguk in the eyes.

“Yeah. I did.” Jeongguk takes a sip of his beer. It’s bittersweet, with a malty aftertaste. “After all this time, I finally did it.”

“You never lost him, you know that?” Mai smiles. “He was always yours, just like how you were always his.”

The restaurant is playing some song Jeongguk doesn’t recognize, and all he registers is the way Taehyung laughs beside him, hearty and deep.

At her words, Jeongguk shakes his head.

“No, Mai,” he starts, chest constricting. “I did. I lost him.”

He inhales, and on his next exhale, says, “But losing him scared me so much that I couldn’t lose him again. So this time, I fought for him. He fought for him.” He looks down at their intertwined fingers, then glances back up to look at Taehyung beside him. The elder is laughing, as captivating as ever, despite the unflattering yellow light. “And we found our way back to each other.”

Mai’s smile softens then, and if Jeongguk didn’t know better, he’d think she’s on the verge of tears. But years of friendship teach you a lot, and the truth is, Jeongguk does know better.

“Don’t cry, Mai.”

“I’m not,” she lies, and her voice is wet, but the smile on her face is jubilant. Softly, she says, “I’m so proud of you, have I told you that?”

“I know, Mai.” Jeongguk smiles back. The tightness in his chest eases. “I know.”

As Ruien takes over Taehyung to grill the next batch of meat, claiming how she’s going to prove to the rest of them she’s the best at barbecuing meat, Taehyung sidles up closer to Jeongguk.

“You good?” Taehyung asks, voice kept low so that only Jeongguk can hear him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“No reason, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m fine, really,” Jeongguk says. Leans even closer to Taehyung, simply because he can. “You?”

“I’m happy,” Taehyung murmurs under his breath as he draws closer, pressing a quick kiss to Jeongguk’s temple.

When he leans away, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to steal a kiss from Taehyung’s lips. It tastes like beer and barbecued meat, and the faintest hints of honey-tinted chapstick.

“I’m happy too,” Jeongguk whispers back, and the smile that spreads across Taehyung’s countenance is something Jeongguk would spend an infinity trying to keep.

Throughout dinner, the band reminisces about the old times, and catches up on each others’ lives. The banter doesn’t cease, and for a fraction of a second, it feels like nothing has changed.

Jeongguk misses this feeling. Finds that he wants to keep this forever, if forever is possible.

“There’s something I want to tell you guys,” Jeongguk says, when their plates have mostly cleared.

There’s a low thrum in his veins from the aftermath of alcohol. Keeps him warm, warm, warmer.

Across the table, Diego downs a glass of beer, lips smacking loudly in satisfaction. Mai rolls her eyes, mumbling about him having no dining etiquette under her breath. In return, Diego smacks his lips louder in an obnoxious way, only to have Mai elbow him hard on his side.

They break off into senseless banter, the way families do, until Ruien directs them back to the conversation.

“What is it?” She asks, leaning back against the wall as she nurses her glass of alcohol.

“I—” Jeongguk starts, but stops, the words hiding away. There’s no reason to be nervous, but there’s a sense of trepidation that he can’t seem to shake.

Through the haze, he feels someone gently squeeze his hand, the touch comforting amidst everything. The nervousness eases. Makes way for something tender.

On his next exhale, he says, “I ended the contract.”

Mai’s the first to sit up straight in her seat, eyes wide and nearly bulging from her face from how hard she’s staring at Jeongguk in disbelief.

“What?”

A moment later, Diego and Ruien echo their confusion, as if this is something that’s hard to believe. As if all this time, Jeongguk hasn’t been thinking about being with Haven, and not performing as a soloist.

“You’re talking about your contract with Warner Records, right?” Mai asks.

Jeongguk nods.

The brick walls of the barbecue restaurant are filled with scribbles of previous customers, little drawings of stick men, and confessions of forever. Promises of an eternity of friendship and romance, written on these walls. They cover the entire restaurant, until there’s barely enough space for more doodles. Makes Jeongguk want to somehow squeeze in something, for himself and for the band.

“It just felt right. It was time I left.” He pauses, words caught on his tongue, unable to get out. He sucks in a breath, and counts to ten. If leaving Warner Records was scary, this is terrifying. “And I guess I wanted to ask—” 

“Of course we’ll have you back!” Ruien cuts him off, slamming her own glass of beer on the table. The drink sloshes in the cup, dangerously close to the rim. “You’ll come back to us, right?”

The table goes quiet.

“Hey, don’t force him. He hasn’t even said what he wants,” Mai chides.

But the look on her face when she glances back at Jeongguk is hopeful. Hopeful in the same way Jeongguk has hoped for.

Someone thumbs away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, the touch gentle and familiar. The hand clutching his squeezes yet again. Jeongguk leans into the touch. Lets Taehyung wipe his tears away. Happiness takes root in his chest, blooms in his heart like flowers blossoming in spring.

“Yes,” Jeongguk says, voice thick with emotion, filling him to the brim with pure affection. The joy that seeps through his bones shakes him to his core. “Yes, if you will have me again.”

“You’ve always been a part of Haven, bro,” Diego says, grinning as he clinks his glass against Jeongguk’s lightly. “Feels like you’ve never left.”

The song in the background switches into something Jeongguk recognizes this time around. Something he knows by memory. Even after so many years, Radio remains close to his heart.

Mai laughs then, and her voice is watery, but solid. “We’re five again.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk echoes. “We’re five again.”

Five means playing together as a complete band, touring America again. It’s nothing quite like his tours back when Jeongguk was still with the recording company, but the feeling of having his friends beside him beats any grand stage the studio could offer him.

The crowd is loud tonight, pumped up with energy that reverberates throughout the entire venue. Stepping onto the stage alongside his bandmates feels surreal, like a faraway dream that has become real.

Their fans cheer in exhilaration at their appearance on stage, and it takes Jeongguk back to their very first gig as a band. A smaller stage, a smaller crowd.

This—

This is a testament to how much they’ve grown.

Jeongguk settles into position, at the back of the group. He’s partly hidden by the shadows, but the lights are bright enough that he, too, stays within the circle cast by the neon stage lights. The drumsticks are familiar in his grip, and the first strike of the drum leaves his heart pounding. In front of him, Diego and Ruien are on either side of the stage, guitars strung across their body as they prepare to play. On his right, Mai’s poised over the keyboard, a huge grin across her face as she watches the audience. And in the center of it all, right under the limelight, Taehyung is there, hands wrapped around the stand of the microphone.

“Santa Cruz, hi!” Taehyung says into the microphone, and the crowd roars in response. Purple lights focus on him, putting him under the spotlight. “We’re kicking off tonight with our first song—Lights. Enjoy!”

Then the lights dim, turning into a more muted yellow. Almost gold.

“Neon moulds with the sky as the stars in the universe collide,” Taehyung begins, his deep voice leading the introduction to the song. “You’re singing under the spotlight with those fickle golden lights.”

The crowd quietens as they listen to the song, swaying along to the slow beats. Jeongguk watches as Taehyung loses himself in the music, emotion raw in every word, every note that leaves him.

“Grey meets with white as the colors rush into sight,” he sings, and Jeongguk wonders, for a brief moment, if everyone can tell who the song is written for. If his love is louder than the rush of heartbeat in his chest. “You’re dancing alone tonight, yet the crowd sways by your side.”

The lyrics, the notes, the confession wrapped up in one song. The CD no longer remains hidden in Jeongguk’s drawer.

“Heart light, voice bright, a captured snapshot of our lives,” Taehyung sings, the velvet baritone of his voice echoing throughout the venue. “And all eyes are on you.”

The music ricochets against the walls, and hits back against Jeongguk right in his chest. He plays along with the beats, each thump an echo of his heartbeat.

“Everything feels right, despite the gaps in our lives,” Taehyung sings, turning back for a moment to face them. Their eyes meet, the gaze intense, as Jeongguk mouths along for the next lines, “And my eyes can never leave you.”

The lights turn up now, brighter than before. Purple in its warmest color. Still, Taehyung remains shining brighter than a diamond.

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look away from a sight as mesmerizing as this.

“But when you look at me, the whole world fades away. ” Taehyung beams, and Jeongguk knows, then, that the smile rivals even the sharpest neon lights. “Because light leaks, and all that’s left is gold.”

Faintly, Jeongguk feels his heart skip once, twice. Races into infinity, chasing a dream.

“Because light leaks, and all that’s left is home.”

The band falls back into rhythm, a perfect synchrony, as if the five years Jeongguk was gone never existed.

At the end of their first performance of the tour, the crowd cheers louder than before. The entire band approaches the front of the stage and bows to their fans, Jeongguk’s hand easily finds Taehyung’s as they stand in a line before the audience. The crowd roars even louder then, and the sound is deafening, but all of this—the cheers, the laughter, the brimming affection—is real.

“Santa Cruz, thank you for coming here tonight!” Taehyung shouts into the microphone, his other hand tugging Jeongguk’s along to wave at the crowd.

The crowd waves back, and the sight is heart-stopping. A scene yearning to be captured in permanence in their memories.

“We’re Haven, goodnight!” Jeongguk hears Taehyung say amidst the raucous cheers, but the words sound far away in comparison to the deep and raspy laughter coming from the lead singer.

It ricochets in Jeongguk’s chest, punching the breath from his lungs, leaving him breathless.

He feels breathless.

“We made it,” Taehyung whispers then. Nudges Jeongguk in the side, the gesture so terribly fond and familiar.

Jeongguk nods, tugging Taehyung close as he watches the sea of fans in front of him. The people who came for their show because they love their music.

He turns back to glance at Taehyung, and finds that the elder is already looking at him. Taehyung smiles, eyes curved like crescents, and the look in them is touched by an affection so strong that Jeongguk wonders how he’s missed it all along.

He should have known that, with one look at Taehyung, it’s easy to pick out the pieces of I love you, Jeongguk, I’m so in love with you.

But love is a hard thing to decipher, and an even harder thing to recognize. Yet, beneath the luminescent stage lights, their love outrivals the dazzling neon lights.

Eventually, the light passes, fading away. The yearning in his chest is warm, but the love that spills from his fingertips is electrifying.

And in the back of his mind, Jeongguk thinks, yeah, we made it.