anatomy of space

by storeboughtlavender

Summary:

Jungkook’s lungs don’t work well. Taehyung forgets to breathe sometimes. They learn.

Notes:

• In response to a prompt by ifyoudontlisten in the tk jock fest season 2 collection.

pardon my Italian
playlist
please read the tags and the chapter endnotes for content warnings!

Chapter 1: warm-up

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July 2024

The first time it happens, Jungkook is trying not to throw up a lung.

Thank you for choosing Aurora. We wish you an aura-ful day. Please listen to the options carefully, as our menu has changed recently—

Fuck you.

The day burns hot and hard against the bare skin of his back. He lets his phone drop to the table with an angry clatter. Red flashes before his eyes, turning hazy like the Gwangwandaegyo on a rainy night, as sweat drips down his forehead. He settles into a committed rhythm: 1–2–3–2. Using the momentum he’s created after the left hook, he shifts onto his right leg and twists into a straight right. 1–2–3–2. 1–2–3–2. His knuckles make satisfying thwicks against the leather, until they don’t, until he starts to—Stop.

Breathing ragged, he hammers at the bag hanging from the beam. 1–2–3–2. All around him, green stretches on for as far as the eye can see. Sunlight reflects off the water in a clear, emerald hue. He blinks. The mirage disappears. In its place, ruby dances, a ghastly bokeh—Stop—and a pained grunt escapes him. He misses, huffing as the bag comes swinging at him.

Cursing loudly, he snaps the earphone out of his right ear, the sun’s glare making him squint. He forces the rhythm back upon himself, inhaling sharply through his nose. The pine floorboards creak under his feet as he shifts stance. 1–2–3–2. The control that his body surrenders to evades his thoughts. He tries to remember how to breathe, tries to ground himself. But, it’s too late, and he’s spiraling, down, down, down—The bridge reflecting the city, red. Stop. Ssiat hotteok exploding in his mouth. Four AM runs along the sea. Sand under his feet. The wicked stench of the locker room. The wind in his hair as he chases across the pitch. A sharp clap on his back–The cheers in the stands—STOP.

A jab snaps out, and his knuckles connect with a dull crack. The rage bubbles over, and he turns sloppy with the way he lunges. The bag slams back into its chains. Jungkook chases after it, his careful form lost, fueled forward solely by heat. The hook that follows has his whole torso swinging, making the bag sway outward, toward the lake. His back muscles scream in protest, telling him he’s been out here too long. The morning daze has turned sweltering, as unforgiving as his exercise regimen. Grunting, Jungkook ignores the pain and switches to a sudden, more challenging rhythm. 3–4–5–4–1. His reckless left uppercut reverberates across the surface of the water, sending the bag swinging wildly over the side of the porch, and he loses it. Fucking fuck–Stupid, fucking brain—STOP. Fucking stop.

Focus entirely lost, he ducks as the bag comes back to get the side of his head. His throat twists in a familiar knot that travels downward, to his chest, pulling and yanking until he’s starting to gasp. You’re never going to get it to stop. It’s never going to get better. You’ll never get him out—

A distractingly loud splash on his left pulls him out of his spiral. Eyebrows furrowing, Jungkook follows the sound, looking over the side of the porch. A stranger, a man in deep red swimming trunks from the looks of it, just jumped into the water. Huh. That’s new.

Considering it's peak season, swimmers are a common sight. In fact, on especially warm days, the lake is teeming with enthusiasts, locals and tourists alike, looking to find respite from the heat. Jungkook himself has been in and out since he got here; sometimes, he paddles Seokjin’s kayak for hours, other times, he drifts in the water until the sun bakes his brain cells into blobs, relieved at dodging the possibility of any thought occurring.

So, it isn’t the presence of a man in the water that surprises Jungkook, but his proximity to his cabin. This part of the lake is secluded as tourists rarely venture this far out. He’s pretty sure the man jumped off the shared little dock that juts out between Jungkook’s cabin and the adjacent one. As far as Jungkook knows, the neighboring house has been long vacant. Fran at the souvenir store downtown, as much as Jungkook adores her, is a terrible gossip. One slow evening, she went as far as blurting—Good riddance—loose-tongued under the influence of cheap port wine, about Jungkook’s ex-neighbor. He’s moved into a home… just outside of Throop. They say his brain is not right anymore. Found him wandering the streets in the dead of winter, in mismatched pajamas. He has no family, and I’ll tell you, I’m not surprised. Good riddance. What a wretched temper he had, that Seongsu Kim!

Jungkook watches the man gliding through the water, simultaneously languid and precise, moving with a kind of ease that can only come with years of practice. For a boy who grew up by the beach, Jungkook had surprisingly limited exposure to water. His days and evenings were always busy juggling school, practice, and games, leaving no time for other hobbies. The opposite is true for this man; he looks like he’s lived in water his whole life. He swims like a fish! One-two, one-two, one-two. The water parts cleanly for him, a sense of calm settling around the lake as he finds his way through.

Jungkook loses track of time, listening to the swshh-swshh until his limbs ease and the pounding ebbs—both in his veins and in his head. Swsh-swsh, swsh-swsh, swsh-swsh, he counts in time with the man’s strokes. He pauses to tread water lightly and send deliberate ripples Jungkook’s way. In fact, Jungkook swears he sees him lock his fingers and squirt, creating a mini fountain, but then Jungkook blinks, and he’s gone. It was probably the sunlight playing tricks on Jungkook’s mind. Minutes pass, maybe hours. It’s only when the man starts to make his way back to the dock that Jungkook turns away. This time, when he returns to his routine, the rhythm comes naturally. Satisfied with how sore he feels, he decides to finish up for the day with one last straight right. The bag keeps swaying as he braces his hands on his thighs, breath sawing in and out.

When he shuts his eyes—a test—all he sees is the green glitter of the water. The knot has disappeared. It leaves him stunned, but Jungkook doesn’t question the shocking control he’s managed and files it for later, to be discussed during his appointment.

He makes the most of this unexpected victory, seizing the day with fervor. He whistles through his shower, padding across the creaking floor to make a quick breakfast, and wolfs it down. Realizing he’s out of both milk and eggs, he hops on his bike to make a trip to Butlers, maybe stop by Fran’s for some entertainment. On a whim, he loads up his basket in preparation for a spaghetti dinner. He gets roped into helping Kim unload a new shipment of what looks like mainly Tabasco and mustard while checking out. They shrug at his questioning eyebrow raise, renouncing association with the rest of the town and their weird tastes. While he's there, he stacks the shelves alongside Kim, too, earning a series of grateful smiles. He likes them a lot; they’re shy and rarely say much, which suits him perfectly well. Besides, they have some sick ink, and he’s been meaning to ask them for their artist’s number.

“Frannie! What’s the latest? Dish, dish.” The bell jangles behind him when he enters Fran’s. He’s been looking forward to this part of his day, although he’ll vehemently deny it. “Ciao, bella.” It makes her especially giggly when he calls her that.

Val will be proud of how easily he’s made friends, even in this, and he’s quoting, “buco di merda.”

To his horror, he gets more than he bargained for. The trio has assembled, and it’s Mrs. Garcia, who responds. “Yunkook!” She hasn’t quite figured out how to pronounce his name yet. “You’re early today. What a pleasant face! Made my morning pleasant.”

“You’re right on time, hun,” Fran says. “We’re just about to do today’s personality quiz.”

Jungkook can get behind that. He likes quiz time. Last week, he found out that his K-pop mafia boyfriend would be Kim Namjoon, and he’s been riding that high since.

Unfortunately, the women have different plans. They crowd him, fussing, quiz forgotten. He endures their incessant cooing about his overbite and their prodding and poking at his piercings, and soldiers through the hail of matches they shoot his way. For a town so small, they know too many young women looking for “reliable” lovers. Some nights, he startles awake, dreading the day they find out who he really is. Bless their complacent little American souls and their sheer absence of interest in anything outside of their gorgeous small town. Jungkook’s eyes widen in alarm when Mrs. Lee moves on to asking for his birth time—again—and is saved by the bell. New customers, a family of five in matching Lake Emerald t-shirts, saunter in, and Jungkook uses the commotion to escape, pulling his hat low on his forehead. He ends up leaving without gossip and his favorite banana-coconut milk drink.

In the quiet of the evening, as he does the dishes, he hears a faint tune on the other side of his kitchen. The nights here feel too still, so the music comes as a pleasant surprise, and before he knows it, he’s humming along. He’s homesick as fuck, but he’s well-fed, satisfyingly sore, and the wretched knot that doesn’t let him breathe has not come back. Despite his meager spoils and the awkward start, it’s been an almost-great day—

—until his phone chimes an incoming message from Junho. Bile rises in his throat as he skims the headline. Injury or scandal? Coach Choi asserts his Golden Star will be back soon, stronger and fitter after a much-needed break.

The knot fucking apparates into his chest with an obnoxious bang. He tries to remember Val’s advice and his five-step plan. But the spell is broken, and it’s a long couple of hours until the nausea passes. He spends them on the kitchen floor, counting the leaves on the tiles that Seokjin keeps threatening to replace, cardio routine forgotten.

Unable to sleep, he mulls over the concerned message that had popped up earlier, way past midnight in Seoul.

Today 14:34

Call me.

Pls. Worried.

 

Miss you.

Feeling wrung dry, Jungkook pushes his earphones in and turns the volume all the way up, hoping to drown the buzzing.

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Injury or scandal? Seoul Dulls Without Starboy

By Son Jin-woo

2024, July 2

Seoul, South Korea — Seoul is buzzing with nervous speculation after the sudden, unexplained disappearance of the nation’s beloved football phenom, Jeon Jungkook. There is no proud citizen who doesn’t know Busan’s Golden Star: the astute Number 7 plays right-winger for both the national team and FC Napoli.

Amidst growing chatter about the 2026 FIFA World Cup, hosted by Canada, Mexico, and the United States, Seoul seems shrouded in shadows without its shining star. Sports fans have been especially devastated after the national teams failed to qualify for the upcoming summer Olympics in Paris. The Korea Football Association finally announced last week that the 23-year-old winger has taken an “extended break for rest and recovery,” but offered no further details. Having come weeks after the player’s disappearance, the statement did little to settle our minds and hearts. Silence from officials is rarely a good sign, and the ambiguity has only intensified the horde of unanswered questions. On that note, sources say Napoli has offered no additional information about their missing star’s whereabouts or condition, choosing to remain tight-lipped.

Even more confusing is that this news comes soon after the player's sudden breakup with girlfriend, fashion designer Min Jiwon, earlier this year. Of course, much of this chatter remains squarely in the realm of rumor and anxious imagination. But that hasn’t stopped social media from exploding with theories ranging from an undisclosed injury to burnout, to more scandalous tales involving tense team spats and secret relationships.

A Nation Holding Its Breath

South Korea’s hopes for the World Cup rest heavily, perhaps too much, on the sturdy shoulders of Busan’s Starboy. His goals carried the nation through the qualifiers, and his absence is already sending ripples of worry through fan communities. Sports analysts note that the timing is “unusual,” given the upcoming World Cup preparations and Napoli’s ongoing season. In a rushed statement, Coach Choi... Click to read further

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July 2024

The next time it happens, Jungkook is, once again, trying not to throw up a lung; this time, looking like a drowned rat.

A placid sun pours out onto the water as he paddles along the lake. The town is deserted this weekend. If Jungkook weren’t grateful for the quiet, he’d start having lone-survivor-in-an-apocalypse nightmares. The locals are participating in the annual Paddle Fest hosted by their sister lake, and the visitors are excited about having an organized schedule to look forward to. Jungkook, of course, is steering clear. He avoids the crowds—sleepy as this town is, the likelihood of getting spotted by an overenthusiastic tourist is high, and he doesn’t want to risk it. He’d hate having to move so soon.

In the absence of the usual summer shenanigans, Jungkook swears the lake air glitters especially green around him. He lets the rhythm take over his body, sighing in relief as his brain gets some much-needed rest. Kayaking comes strongly, therapist-recommended—full-body meditation, Val called it—and Jungkook is glad he listened. His kayak has started to feel like life support now. The repetitive, symmetric motion of the paddles soothes his mind, and after an hour or so, he feels it in his deltoids too: a satisfactory ache.

Like clockwork, a loud splash under the shared dock alerts him to the fact that he’s not alone in the water. It’s become a familiar routine now.

He’s been hearing clattering and banging, sometimes ominous-sounding, from the other side of his kitchen wall, morning and night. The cabins are old, and the builders seemed to have prioritized things other than soundproofing. There is no railing between the two structures, just a telltale shift in the pattern of the floorboards. Seokjin has maintained his side well, ensuring the house gets the repairs it needs, upgrading the interiors to keep with the times; the other side, however, looks worse for wear, unkempt and forgotten. Considering they share the strange porch—it wraps around his home, all the way, and continues seamlessly into the one next door—Jungkook has been preparing himself to hear and see his new neighbor often.

It’s evident that Jungkook has company; it’s here to stay and has a penchant for dangerous kitchen experiments. At least, he hopes his neighbor is cooking food in there, and nothing illegal.

Three days after his first sighting, the man had started appearing on his side of the porch, early enough to catch Jungkook’s warm-up. He was always humming, voice honey-sweet like a lullaby. He was also always ripping off his shirt, too soon, before Jungkook could brace himself for the flash of sun-tarnished gold.

Fuck Jungkook’s stupid gay life.

He had to pep-talk himself all week that it would be okay, praying to whatever gods existed, that the man lived under a rock and had no knowledge of organized sports whatsoever. As luck would have it, the exact opposite of that turned out to be true. Jungkook had ended up as next-door-neighbors with some kind of fitness nut who was always working out, both in and out of the water. (Coming from Jungkook, that was saying something.) Either that, or he was a mermaid. He was pretty enough to be one.

Now, curiosity makes Jungkook turn in his direction. He pulls out his earphones, content with the sounds of the water as they circle each other, man and kayak. His neighbor seems to suffer from the same problem because he’s also always looking. The pine-filtered sunlight ripples around the man’s limbs, breaking the surface, and Jungkook can’t deny that’s how the inside of his brain feels lately, too. Green. Val was pleased to hear his reports, but not for long, because Jungkook canceled yesterday and Monday before that.

Eventually, they opt for opposite routes to give each other space. That doesn’t stop Jungkook from looking over his shoulder, sneaking more than a few surreptitious glances to marvel at the man’s form. He understands now why he swims the way he does, looking like his ancestors might have graced the throne of some ancient, underwater city. There’s something powerful about how he cuts through the water, even while he's like this: unhurried. Jungkook is especially awestruck when he breaks into a butterfly—he sucks at that one.

Watching him arc into a smooth turn, Jungkook bites back a laugh. Show-off. Even this is routine now.

Usually, they warm up side by side, and then Jungkook either batters his bag or takes the kayak out, depending on how loud the buzzing inside his head is. The man always swims. It’s cute how he can’t wait to dive into the water, impatient with his “land” exercises. Every once in a while, he makes Jungkook click his tongue in disapproval as he rushes through the last of the push-ups. But he’s meticulous in the water. He’d started slow, about ninety minutes of steady swimming—not that Jungkook’s been counting, he’s too busy with his own shit—and then buoys had appeared in strategic positions one morning. Since then, he’s moved on to a strict routine, an elaborate warm-up in the water, followed by a series of diligently timed sets complete with a pace clock. Butterfly, back, breast, and freestyle. Sometimes, reverse. Sometimes, dedicated sets for specific strokes.

Fine—one time, Jungkook counted 200 laps, because the swimmer had kept going, and Jungkook had to see it to believe it.

On days like today, the mood is lax, and the man plays the role of entertainer, twisting in dramatic spins, engaging in underwater party tricks. Much to Jungkook’s amusement. Some days, however, Jungkook is left alone on the porch to repeat his rhythms, and only in the deep afternoon shadows does he hear the splash. These days stick out like sore thumbs in the green daze of familiarity that has settled around them. The strokes are aggressive, and the water ripples with desperation around him. The man swims punishing lengths, the rest intervals getting shorter and shorter between repetitions, until Jungkook hears grunts of frustration.

Despite their aligned schedules, they haven’t spoken yet. They have exchanged looks. Many, many looks. In fact, Jungkook finds it hard not to look every time the man hauls himself out of the water, skin speckled with sun-glitter, and hair a beautiful, damp mess of curls.

On Saturday, running behind schedule, Jungkook stumbled out onto his porch, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and almost fell over, distracted by the stunning view on the other side: with his limbs stretched into a complex yoga position, water still dripping down his skin, the swimmer looked as if Apollo had had a baby with a queen of sirens.

He’s impossibly gorgeous—wet hair should never look like that, it’s unfair—and Jungkook has eyes. Besides, his new neighbor seems to like an audience, never one to shy away from looking back at Jungkook.

It’s what finally got Jungkook to text Jimin back, much to his friend’s chagrin.

 

Wednesday 11:28

 

i have a new neighbor.

It’s been twelve days. twelve fucking days!

i have a new neighbor.

Who is it?

Did they recognize u?

think he’s a mermaid

What???????

Your neighbor is a mermaid?

Jungkook, did you buy a cheap hallucinogen at the general store again?

no. he’s real. i see him every day

he’s always in the water

he keeps looking at me

also, Brandon’s gummies were amazing and didn’t cause hallucinations

remove the stick that’s up ur ridiculous butt

 

Who is it? Have you spoken? I’m worried. what if he tells someone

it’s okay, don’t think he knows me

i know him tho

Who????????

Also it’s a merman

huh??

A man who is a mermaid is a merman

jimin ur delirious bye

Don’t you dare

maybe he’s a siren

What????

Jungkook come back

I hate you

좆 좀 드세요

 

Ridiculously, despite all the looking and staring, discreet and otherwise, it took Jungkook three sightings to recognize him. Ridiculous because it should be a crime not to instantly identify a face like that. Also, because he’s more of a big deal than Jungkook ever will be—which, not to toot his own horn, is saying something. Jungkook has done his part at bringing pride to the nation and all that, too. But this guy, he’s in a whole different league. Jungkook is far away from achieving the podium at the fricking Olympics.

Now, he emerges after being underwater for way too long—seriously, he has to be at least part-fish. How the fuck does a human have that lung capacity?—and Jungkook can’t help but twist too far right to get another look at his gorgeous, siren face. One second, Jungkook is straining his neck to see, and the next, he’s swallowing mouthfuls of water as he falls in with a loud splash. The kayak capsizes behind him and hits him squarely in the jaw. “Argh–”

Sputtering, he scrambles to get his phone out of his pocket. “Ma che cazzo!” He holds it up, in one raised hand, while he struggles to set the kayak right again. “Cazzo!”

He chokes as he pushes his damp hair out of his face. It sticks to his face in an annoying, straggly, drowned-rat-tails manner and hinders his vision, making him struggle harder. When he thinks he has managed to climb back on, the kayak gets him in the face again and flips over with another resounding splat. “Fuck me!”

A deep, breathy guffaw breaks out, reverberating across the lake. Taehyung Kim continues to laugh as he pulls himself out of the water and sits on the dock, watching Jungkook rub his nose and cough up water, like there’s nothing else he’d rather do. He slicks his damp hair back in one smooth motion, and Jungkook chokes harder, like he’s stuck in some sickening Baywatch alternate reality, sans the beach.

Fuck his stupid gay life.

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Jimin

Today 00:14

 

 

[Link]

What’s this?

i’m having a terrible day comfort me

What happened? Are you okay?????

i fell in the lake today and he laughed at me

sucks to be you

WAIT

This is your neighbor???

Olympic medalist TAEHYUNG KIM?????

he thinks I am a clown

a clown who almost drowned

im so sad it’s making me rhyme

You are shitting me

Fuck are you lucky

Get me his number

He’s so sexy

i’m telling hobi

 

Hobi

Today 00:20

ur fiancé is acting up

he’s thirsting again

Love that for us

The swimmer is hot

Miss u baby

Come home soon

bought u a sick jacket, amo

<3

STOP TEXTING HIM REPLY TO ME

 

Jimin

Today 00:21

 

REPLY TO ME JEON

stop yelling

sto morendo

You lucky bastard

jimin i need to run away

find me a new hideout

You’re not funny at all

Sohee said you skipped the last two sessions

i’ve been feeling better

that’s not how this works

You need consistency

Keep going anyway

fine

stop nagging

I’m worried

I miss you

sorry

ilove you fra

Love you too

gross

I hate you똥멍청이

the opposite of what ur mom said last night

oh my god why did I say that

sorry eomonim

Get a grip

you bring out the worst in me

bye

 

He video calls Jimin, demanding to see his baby. When Bam goes to bed, leaving him alone in his, Jungkook bursts into tears.

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FC Napoli

Press Release | 17/07/2024

FC Napoli announces that Jungkook Jeon will be unavailable for an extended period this season due to personal and health reasons. The club, while fully respecting the player's privacy, guarantees him its full support during his recovery.

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July 2024

The third time it happens, Jungkook is, unsurprisingly, trying not to throw up a lung. He’s also praying for the ground to open up and swallow him.

1–2–1–2–3–2–1. 1–2–1–2–3–He turns up the volume as high as it can go. It’s a red day. The sun is melting his skin and making a meal out of it. He lost his shirt hours ago, anxious to get rid of the icky material plastered to his body.

Last night, he’d finally shown up at his appointment with Val, and it had sucked him dry. Despite all the green days he’s had recently, yesterday really put him through the wringer. He slept late, woke up late, ran down to the quad for too many 50/50s—back to square one.

To make matters worse, there’s been an influx of messages on the club group chat. Napoli had finally posted their official statement. No one except Coach Conte, their manager, and his captain seemed to know still, and Jungkook is grateful they have kept it that way. But that only means inquiries and interrogations, and Jungkook’s hands have been shaking all morning.

He’s been out here for three hours now. Alone. Evidently, it’s a bad day on both sides of the porch. And the lack of a warm-up buddy has soured his mood further. 

Exhaustion drips from every pore as he attacks the bag, arms protesting after all the push-ups he put them through. Still, he goes on, breaking the set with pure speed, 1–2–1–2–hands moving in a flurry of activity. His form is beginning to fray, elbows drifting, guard sagging, but he refuses to stop. Just a little more.1–2–1–2–

Finally, the familiar splash.

It makes him turn around. The relief that washes over his body once he’s verified it’s Taehyung is strange. Jungkook succumbs to it, letting his arms drop, and collapses to the floor in a pool of his own sweat.

Thank you for choosing Aurora. We wish you an aura-ful day. Please listen to the options carefully, as our menu has changed recently—

His phone clatters to the ground next to him as he rips his AirPods out in frustration.

The sun is blinding above him, making red spots dance behind his eyelids. He waits for the calming swsh, swsh, swsh, swsh, the soft piano from the living room next door. Instead, the sounds are aggressive from the start; Taehyung seems to have skipped his warm-up altogether, land or otherwise. Jungkook’s brow furrows in concern. He sits up and watches the water while he unwraps his hands, its calm surface shattering under Taehyung’s ragged bursts of effort. He surges through a series of lengths between the shorter buoys, each faster than the last, as if he’s chasing something, a pace he used to command easily. The strain in his shoulders as he fights to stay ahead of the silent clock only he can hear is visible across the distance. Eventually, his tempo eases, just until he slips into a steady grind across the expanse of the lake. He tries to pull his scattered focus back into order, but not for long. Shifting gears again, he goes hard and fast to complete a descending interval set, each length demanding more from his already-tired frame.

Even from Jungkook’s limited view, he can see him struggle, the little hitch in his right side when he drives forward. He pushes anyway, stubborn, almost punishing, his usual precision missing when he settles into a new set. Each pull is too hard, too fast, trying to prove a point—Jungkook recognizes desperation when he sees it. It’s a familiar ache, one that thrums under his skin every morning. Discomfited, Jungkook turns away and pushes the AirPods back in, focusing on unrolling the cloth from his palms, wincing when his wrist still stings from yesterday. The music is not helping today. Breathe. In. Hold. Out.

It’s not going great, but he doesn’t get to try for too long. Below, there’s a sharp cry before Taehyung’s head disappears under the surface.

Jungkook jumps into the water before you can say TWICE.

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With an awfully unbecoming water-logged cough, Jungkook helps Taehyung sit up against his porch chairs, wincing in sync with him. He looks mostly unhurt, terribly exhausted, terribly frustrated.

“You’re Taehyung Kim.” Jungkook bears down on his ankles, hovering. The world feels off-kilter. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. “I know you,” he says, stupidly. “Of course, I know you. Who doesn’t!”

His mind buzzes as he checks for signs of injury, teetering on the edge, poised to fall. Until he knows Taehyung is fine, he can’t settle.

Taehyung looks at him. Up close, his face is ridiculous. It’s distracting how good-looking he is, damp curls tousled in a way people pay hundreds of dollars for. Water glistens on the tip of his nose, on his brow, along the dip of his collarbone. With a shudder, Jungkook looks away from the dangerous trail it follows down Taehyung’s tan chest.

“And you’re Jungkook Jeon, Number 7.”

Miserably, Jungkook tugs at his drowned-rat hair and tries to tuck it behind his ears as best he can. Then, he coughs up more water, narrowly missing Taehyung’s perfect foot. This is going fabulously.

“You play football, and apparently, you can swim, too. Carrying a grown man.”

Now, Jungkook is stressing about his form in the water. It’s not like he can’t swim; he’s way better than average at it, like he is at everything else. The ocean is his bitch! But this is Taehyung Kim, for crying out loud, and Jungkook had to fish him out of the water, and he seems quite embarrassed about it.

Fuck, Taehyung is waiting for him to say something.

“Fancy seeing you here! I saw you on TV. They’ve been talking about how you disappeared–” Stupid, stupid mouth.

Jungkook chokes on the residual water in his lungs.

Taehyung cocks a perfect eyebrow. Holy fuck, it’s perfect, Jungkook doesn’t deserve to exist in its vicinity—He once again wishes the floor would swallow him whole. His stupid fucking mouth. Fancy seeing you here? Parroting horrible speculative tabloids?! Besides, who is he to ask? Pot, meet kettle?!

“Sorry. That was–Sorry. Oh my god. The words say me, sometimes. I mean–Nothing,” he groans. “Sorry. No filter, this thing–”

“It’s alright,” Taehyung says, smiling at Jungkook’s verbal vomit.

Jungkook has barely removed his foot from his mouth, when—

“WHAT IS LOVE?!”

It takes him four seconds to process what’s happening. He looks around blankly, wondering who was butchering the tranquility of the day with their terrible lake etiquette.

Wait–Ma che cazzo?

A terrifying realization dawns on him. He scratches his knees and palms in his scramble to turn off the song. Where the fuck is his fucking phone?!

“Right there, by the table.”

Apparently, he’d said that out loud. “Oh my god.”

He’d jumped in with his fucking AirPods in, and they’d chosen this precise moment to malfunction horribly, blasting his stupid music to the world. To Taehyung Kim.

“I WANNA KNOW, KNOW, KNOW!”

“Ma che cazzo–” Jungkook whines, diving to his side to retrieve his godforsaken phone and finally end this ordeal. His life just flashed before his eyes. “Fucking fuck.”

When he turns back at Taehyung, he’s dissolved into a soundless fit of giggles, different from his usual breathy guffaws. His face is red from laughing too hard. Maybe this is a nightmare. Jungkook pinches his thigh—Ow. Today fucking sucks.

“Twice, huh?” Taehyung manages between the snorts. Jungkook is bewitched by his constantly evolving laughter. “That’s what you listen to while you punch the shit out of that bag?”

“Fuck my life,” Jungkook whimpers, face burning. He decides to own it, the best he can. There’s nowhere to hide. “Yes, Twice! They’re cool!” he defends.

“That they are. Geogi neo, I fancy you, fancy you,” Taehyung giggles, doing the point step.

He looks relaxed now, less embarrassed as he winks at Jungkook. Jungkook’s clearly stolen his thunder. He finally stops laughing and appraises Jungkook, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“You okay?” Jungkook points with his chin at Taehyung’s right leg, lying stretched out in front of him at an angle that looks uncomfortable.

“I’m yeah–Fine.” He pulls his leg in, tucks it under himself, wincing even as he says it. “Just a cramp. Get those sometimes. How long have you been here?”

It’s clear he knows Jungkook just as well as Jungkook knows him—from the TV, the tabloids, the gossip subreddits. But he has incredible self-restraint. Every thought running through his head doesn’t just spill out of his mouth, unchecked. Jungkook would be unstoppable with that superpower. He’d be the world champion. Of everything.

“A little over a month. What are the odds?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Sounds like it’s a great hideout spot. So, I did well picking it? Anyone recognize you yet?”

Jungkook shakes his head no. “They live in their little green bubble.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out of Taehyung. “What are the odds, indeed!”

Jungkook can’t help joining in. “It’s been pretty good. Very lowkey.”

“Lowkey, huh?” Taehyung laughs, easily amused by everything Jungkook says.

“The folk downtown are super chill. And it’s quiet here. Just me and my emotional support kayak against the world.”

“Oh, you mean that thing that has a personal vendetta against you?”

Jungkook pouts, rubbing his nose at the memory. “Low blow, dude. We just met.”

“Call it even for your faux pas earlier? Thanks for–You know?” Taehyung gestures at the lake.

“Yeah, no problem. Of course.”

“Busan’s Starboy, Jungkook Jeon!”

“Stop, please. You’re one to say.”

“It’s nice to have a neighbor.” Taehyung looks around, examining Jungkook’s floorboards. “Wow, you keep things in apple-pie order around here.”

“Huh?”

Taehyung winces again as he moves his leg, bending his knees. Jungkook tries to ignore his visible discomfort.

“Your side is really nice. Those pine floorboards look fancy.”

“Ah,” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Jin stays on top of things. My brother, he lives in Seattle. The cabin is his. Was. He gave it to me.”

“I see. It’s gorgeous. Jin has an eye for interior design.”

“He’s been keeping secrets. Never told me he was neighbors with an Olympic swimmer!”

An involuntary gasp escapes Taehyung when he leans backwards onto his palms. It’s sudden; the way the energy seems to zap out of him. In place of the friendly curiosity, now all that remains in his gaze is a bleary stupor. He’s still glistening, and Jungkook realizes later that it was from the heat.

“Your leg–I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“Too hot,” Taehyung grunts. “Shower, need a cold shower.” He shifts his weight off his hands again, bringing the right one up to slowly extend his fingers and then flex them into a fist.

Does it hurt? Jungkook thought the cramp was in his leg.

“Dai!” Jungkook pushes himself off the floor as concern tingles up his spine. Taehyung looks beat. “Let me help you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Come on, I want to see how different yours looks. The townies told me two brothers built these cabins for their families. People came and went often, I guess,” Jungkook says, waving his hand between the two sides of the porch. “I’m curious.”

Taehyung looks like he wants to protest, but can’t muster enough energy to do even that. Wordlessly, he takes the shoulder Jungkook offers him, throwing his right arm over it, and lets himself be walked to his house.

“Well,” he declares, as Jungkook eyes the living room: an inverted replica of his own. “It’s a dump.”

It’s a bit run-down for sure. Jungkook takes in the kitchen wallpaper that’s peeling off, the couch that has seen better days, and more notably, the water-damaged floorboards. But beyond that, it feels lived-in. Jungkook sees potential. “It has character.”

Taehyung sighs, barely hiding his eye roll. “You sound like him.”

Jungkook shakes his head in confusion.

“It was my father’s. Or–the man who brought me to life,” he explains, unbothered by how brusque he is being. He massages the small of his back, arm twisted at a weird angle, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “He wasn’t my father. Anyway, he’s sick, and he left this place to me.”

“Ah.” Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I see it, too. Potential. It needs some work, but it’ll get there. I’m going to do it up. First, this shower.”

Stubbornly, Taehyung gets up from where Jungkook has deposited him on the couch, unsteady on his feet. Jungkook worries his lip, imagining him in the shower by himself, just him and the slippery floors. He’ll have to listen extra carefully today, he decides, even if that is a little creepy.

“I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything.”

Taehyung smiles, a bright, real thing, and Jungkook feels his own knees falter. “Thank you, Jungkook. It’s really nice to meet you.”

At the door, Jungkook turns. “I mean it,” he adds, feeling a little silly. “Call me! Anything!”

“You too,” Taehyung winks, but Jungkook knows he’s being serious. “Anything.”

“Welcome, neighbor.”

That night, when Jungkook marks the day on his little journal, he puts a red blob next to the date. Ends up digging in the drawer for the green marker and drips it over the red, making a horrifically yellow-brown mess. Green. It was a green day.

______

 

Jungkook has strawberries on his mind.

They’re friends now. Sort of. No, definitely friends.

Last evening, Taehyung had arrived with two trays of cookies—chocolate-chip, mostly burnt. All afternoon, Jungkook had heard pots and pans banging, followed by a concerningly loud explosion, and then ridiculous amounts of smoke. It took him all his willpower not to barge in there with a fire extinguisher and his own dinner. All things considered, seeing Taehyung alive and kicking was a win, and burnt or not, Jungkook ate four cookies at the door. It took some insistence on his part, but Taehyung stayed for dinner. Feeding him a proper meal felt like another accomplishment—Jungkook does make a mean lasagna, and Taehyung had almost wept into it. They had ice cream sandwiches on the porch, watching the lamplights reflected in the water. Taehyung had squealed when Jungkook brought them out.

“Strawberry! It’s my favorite!” 

“Found them at Butler’s. I can show you, one of these days.”

“Yeah? Please. This brand is legit. I used to have these every day at Berkley.”

Today, the morning rolls in slow and foggy, and a pleasant breeze flits around Jungkook while he stretches in his porch chair. He makes himself coffee with second-hand music in the background, yet another piano instrumental that wafts from the other side of the porch. The kayaks thump against the dock posts, in tune.

Taehyung smiles at him when he shows up, dressed in a loose tank top and grey shorts for their side-by-side warm-up. He’s late today, a little after 7, so Jungkook is back from his run and almost done with his core workout. He’s just finishing his final Russian twist rep when Taehyung comes back with his resistance bands. He’s always humming.

Jungkook perks up. The day has already been pretty good, but Taehyung doing band work is truly something to write home about. He does, sending Jimin hasty one-handed texts while Taehyung sets up his workout.

Today 07:18

 

he’s wearing grey sweats

Fuck you

actually shorts

Come on!

how’s the meeting with the planner?

Who cares, tell me about his shorts

Wait I bet he’s shaved clean always

Swimmer legs and all that

ur unbelievable

hobi’s too good for u

I hate her, she’s trying to gaslight me into saying yes to carnations

… And that’s a crime because???

Carnations!!!!??????

 

“Jungkook?”

“Boh,” Jungkook shrugs out of habit. He blinks in surprise, having lost track of time while admiring Taehyung’s form. It’s impressive how many push-up reps he manages with a full range of motion—Jungkook stopped counting after reporting 41 to Jimin. He missed Taehyung’s question. “Sorry–”

“You’re sweaty already,” Taehyung repeats. He doesn’t sound even remotely out of breath. “When did you start?”

 

his lung capacity is amazing

 

Fuck you

 

“A little over an hour ago,” Jungkook grins at Taehyung’s impressed eyebrow raise.

“Damn, that’s early. Can never beat you. Except that one day.”

“Oh, is it a competition, then?”

“Maybe,” Taehyung laughs.

Now that Jungkook is out of his stupor, he feels restless, not knowing what to do with his limbs. He’s been lounging around for too long, ogling like a rake, so he forces himself to focus on his cool-down, starting with calf raises. He’s glad for Taehyung’s conversation, but he’s starting to miss the humming.

“I like to start ahead of the downtown rush,” he explains. “It gets too crowded after seven.”

“Where do you go?”

“There’s a really nice trail, down by Walla Walla Point. Runs along the lake. I can take you, if you like!”

“I’m so down. I miss running. I should be soaking in the outdoors. Honestly, haven’t been out much, except to get groceries.” He makes a face, scrunching up his nose. Jungkook thinks it’s incredibly cute. “And to the gym downtown. Once. It wasn’t the best.”

“Rookie mistake. Brandon will hook you up with the one by the golf course. I can show you all the cool spots, neighbor!” Jungkook huffs. “Sometimes I go down to the high school quad. It’s. Empty. School’s. Out.” He’s starting to feel stupid, grunting like a pig, when Taehyung makes it sound like it’s a walk in the park.

“That’s–actually–so–smart,” Taehyung says. “Make use of all that space.”

When Jungkook looks over, he forgets what they’re discussing. His brain slips into slow-motion mode, slapping on a soft-blur filter, as Taehyung eases into the final rep of hip thrusts and starts stretching against the bands. His legs go on for days, Jungkook notes, his jaw dropping. His hamstrings tense under the effort as he drives forward. At the top of the thrust, his glutes smooth out beautifully. He’s truly one of the most gorgeous humans Jungkook has ever laid eyes on.

The sharp cry jolts Jungkook out of his reverie. He shuts his mouth with a snap, hoping he hasn’t been drooling.

Taehyung has moved on to the upper body, twisting this way and that, trying to settle his problematic shoulder. Jungkook recognizes the strain easily now because this happens often. Too often for his liking.

“Swimmer’s shoulder,” Taehyung shrugs, before Jungkook can inquire. As always, he’s quick to dismiss his pain. “Occupational hazard.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Tokyo was hell,” Taehyung laughs. “The worst timing ever. Thought I was dying!”

“You miss it?”

“Over-chlorinated water and hunger pangs and nightmares about missing the starting signal? Sure. What’s not to miss?”

Jungkook tuts, a faint familiarity sparking inside him, but he is quick to squash it.

“I’m kidding. Of course, I miss it. It’s the only way I’ve known to live,” Taehyung says. “It’s basically my life.”

Red, red, red, a flash of regret, guilt sinking through. Jungkook’s knot makes its presence known, chafing, scratching.

Taehyung’s voice is soft as he drags him out of the quicksand, sure and deliberate. “Don’t look so upset, I’ll learn. We always do. Humans,” he shrugs. “Fucking indestructible.”

He almost makes it seem easy. “What movie did you watch last night?”

Jungkook shakes his head at the sudden shift in subject. “Heretic. It’s something. Had to call Hobi to discuss the ending.”

“Oh? Do you recommend?”

“It’s an… interesting watch, yeah. Go for it!”

“I’m still catching up on The Bear. Never had so much free time. Dunno what to do with it.” Taehyung laughs wryly, but Jungkook wants to cry.

The threatening pressure starts to build back in Jungkook’s throat. He swallows several times to will it away.

“Let me know when you’re all caught up. Don’t want to accidentally spoil anything, but I have much to say about Carmy. The state of that man’s mind–Che palle! Someone get him to therapy asap.”

Taehyung laughs, an easy, rumbling sound that echoes over the lake.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s cute when you do that.”

Jungkook feels himself reddening quickly, cursing his traitorous skin that never plays for the team. His kryptonite, his stupid blush. “Do what?”

“When the Italian slips out.”

“Oh,” Jungkook shrugs. “I didn’t realize. Sorry. Guess it just happens. It’s been what, eight years? I’ll be honest, though, Neapolitan has bested me. I have no clue what they say over there; it’s like Greek. Lucca will say something, and I’m–Oh–”

Jungkook gasps audibly at the way his heart skips several beats before it starts to pound painfully. The knot forces its way up his windpipe, and then it’s difficult to breathe, and he can’t—

“Hey, Jungkook?” Taehyung asks gently. He’s walked over to where the floorboards change color. “Wanna kayak together today? Race you there!”

And just like that, Jungkook’s lungs figure out how to work again. Traitors, finally playing for their team.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung says. “You’re okay. Race?”

“Dai!”

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______

August 2024

Jungkook gains a child named Jonah, and loses little bits of his heart.

The town is small enough that they run into each other all the time, especially since Jungkook’s spots are now Taehyung’s too. Taehyung tells him he’s very generous with his space, and it makes Jungkook laugh, because he’s notoriously territorial. Jimin has taunted him for it all his life.

Earlier that week, after they almost took each other out on the trail twice, twin trains running in opposite directions on the same track as a result of some gross miscommunication, Jungkook found Taehyung waiting for him on his side of the porch, at 5:59 AM, on the dot.

“Thought we should just go together to avoid that inevitable crash,” he'd grinned.

Jungkook had been only slightly speechless because he was sporting yet another tank top (red) and a backwards South Korea baseball cap (red).

The trail is especially pretty in the summer, meandering through the pines, and Taehyung stops to take frequent pictures on their way back; a habit that Jungkook finds endearing, considering they took the same route every day. On their first day down there, he practically had to drag Taehyung away from what he had named the Little Green Star. Tucked into the edge of a steep stretch of hills, the hidden cove where the lake lapped quietly against the stones, with its odd, asymmetric edges, reminded Jungkook of a starfish flopped over in the sand like the one he’d seen years ago at Hauendae. Taehyung had been content to count the emerald flashes in the water, the sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead.

“Co-ffee. Co-ffee.”

Jungkook, growing more restless every passing second, had resorted to whining and crazy noises.

Dissolving into his characteristic laugh, Taehyung had watched Jungkook slowly mutate into a crazy coffee fiend as they ran back.

“I’m like an alien. My 12-hour supply runs out, and I’m out here making beep-beep-boop-boop noises. Co-ffee. Co-ffeee. Oh, thank fuck! We’re here.”

Taehyung, he found out, was the true alien, maybe the patron saint of self-control up at Alien Nation, who survived without any caffeine whatsoever. Jungkook eyed his berry smoothie with suspicion.

“Are you sure you’re not made up? Who doesn’t have caffeine?”

He noticed how Taehyung mirrored him whenever he adjusted his cap, pulling it lower over his face, equally jittery about being exposed.

In the two months he’d been here, Jungkook had never known She’s All That! to serve smoothies, but of course, Taehyung had only had to smile, and Taliyah was whipping some berries out of nowhere.

“It makes my insomnia worse,” Taehyung shrugged.

“Oh.” And then, Jungkook felt like a dick. Of course. Taehyung made it easy to forget he’s sick, but Jungkook wanted to be considerate. “Can’t believe you got Tali to make you a smoothie. She barely glances in my direction. Had to commit a ritual sacrifice to get her to start stocking cocoa for me.”

At that, Taehyung’s eyebrows disappeared into his perfect hair. “You’re so full of it. She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“Ah, she knows.”

“Hmm?”

“She recognized me the first time I came in. She’s been super cool about it. Hasn’t told a soul.”

“That’s nice of her. Must be all those tattoos. Hard to miss them,” Taehyung teased. “Come on. I wanna know, know, know!”

“Please, stop!”

So, they’re running buddies now, in addition to warm-up buddies, and kayaking buddies. Taehyung disappears into the foliage to find himself a flower, and beats Jungkook to the finish with a field daisy tucked behind his ear. He teasingly tugs one of Jungkook’s earphones (Jungkook had chucked his useless AirPods in the lake after that day) and plugs it into his own ear, demanding to know what he’s listening to.

“Is it from the latest comeback?” He purses up his lips, failing horribly at holding back his giggle. “Warning, warning, wa-warning me so loud! Real catchy.”

Jungkook notices the way Taehyung’s limbs protest some days. He needs to go slower as fatigue thrums when his feet hit the ground, but he says nothing. Jungkook is quick to adjust his pace, feigning over-exhaustion from the previous day’s workout. Taehyung doesn’t call him out on it, and Jungkook returns the favor by not saying anything when Taehyung works extra hard to keep up with his moods.

All things considered, Thursday doesn’t come as much of a surprise when Jungkook walks into the rice and grains aisle at Butler's and sees Taehyung there, debating over two brands of jasmine. He practically skips there, in tune with the song in his earphones.

“Get the blue one,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung startles, dropping both boxes. His hair is damp, curling in that breathtaking manner, into his nape—it’s grown in the weeks Jungkook has known him. A faint shadow dusts his jaw. He’s wearing a thick black headband and an oversized t-shirt. Pretty is the first word that pops into Jungkook’s head, and then, handsome. Really, really handsome. He’s simultaneously soft and sharp, his features balancing each other out to dance between delicate and striking.

“Whoops! Sorry, didn’t mean to creep up on you,” Jungkook says, grabbing the blue box off the floor and holding it out to him. “Swear I’m not stalking you.”

“Oh, yeah? Explain why you’re in the background in every single one of my running selfies lately, then?”

“You sure you’re not the one stalking me?”

“I was here first.”

“Hah, so much for being a good Samaritan and sharing all my spots with the newbie.”

“Like I have a choice. Is there any other place to shop around here?”

They bicker back and forth while they shop, Jungkook eyeing Taehyung’s choices with raised eyebrows.

“Being ambitious, aren’t we?” he teases, nudging Taehyung’s cart with his, as Taehyung piles radishes over the noodles.

“Been craving naengmyeon,” Taehyung sighs. “Yoongi sent a recipe. Don’t look at me like that–like I’m hopeless. What, I’m not! We’ll only know if I try!”

Jungkook stiffens at the way that name rankles. It’s always Yoongi this, Yoongi that, and never Jungkook, you’re the only one I think about, and without you, I feel lost. Ignoring the absurdity of his own thoughts, he makes a note to ask Seokjin to come over with double the kimchi batches this time. Taehyung should have home-made kimchi. Jennie is an angel, but these store-bought knock-offs can never compare.

Their shoulders brush when they make their way through the narrow aisle at the end. Jungkook is super chill about it, until he catches a whiff of Taehyung—pine, salt, and lavender. If Taehyung were a candle, Jungkook would light the shit out of him. Sue him for liking pretty scents.

“I commend your spirit. Thank me, though. They didn’t have these noodles before I got here, but they’re real sweethearts. I pouted about it to Jennie, and they had them next week.”

“Of course, they did. Who could resist that pout?”

Jungkook’s stupid blush betrays him instantly.

“Putting the pocket knives next to the water floaties was certainly a choice,” Taehyung comments. “They have handmade soap here?!”

“The real question is what do they not have here, fra.” 

Taehyung laughs at him as he empties most of the refrigerator into his cart, excited about the new matcha ice cream sandwich flavor. When he hums next to Jungkook, their elbows rubbing, Jungkook feels his deep rumble crawl up his arm.

At checkout, Jungkook nudges Taehyung over to the slushie station, insisting he has to try the grape. Taehyung comes back with a cup and watches with pursed lips as Jungkook grabs both the large bags and hands him a small one. He says nothing, but keeps thrusting the slushie in Jungkook’s face every five seconds.

“Don’t you want any?”

“Oh, no way, I’m not wasting my sugar quota on that!”

“You evil man, you tricked me so you can have the larger share of the ice cream sandwiches.”

Later, Jungkook helps him buy supplies for the house, reaching for things from the shelves while Taehyung reads out from a list. Sawdust follows them as they find their way at the end of the hardware store, looking for paint. The buzzing fluorescent lights don’t make it easy to pick, but Jungkook smiles when Taehyung eventually chooses a pretty Fern—it matches the kitchen tiles over at Jungkook’s. He adds Dove White and River Blue, and Jungkook sees it all come together beautifully in his head. Taehyung has an eye for interior design, too.

“What do you think of the tiles, honey?” Taehyung demands, turning to look at Jungkook expectantly when the store assistant squeezes by them to reshelve tiles. The man, John, according to the nametag, has been following them around in a pesky manner, starting to get on Jungkook’s nerves. He bites his nails, only for Taehyung to spot him and whack his hand away twice.

“Wha–Huh?”

Taehyung’s brow furrows crossly. “You always do this! Never have an opinion on anything about me or our lives!”

“And you always go around, making a scene,” Jungkook complains loudly, catching on. “Get the pink.”

“The pink?! Why the pink?”

“Why ask if you never want to listen!”

The store assistant looks around nervously as their volumes rise, offering Jungkook a wan smile. Jungkook ignores him pointedly, thrusting a garish pink floral sample at Taehyung.

“The pink reminds me of the time you refused to clean Jonah’s puke off the couch, and it just stayed there, festering, for weeks,” Taehyung remarks with a blank look in his eyes. Jungkook is sort of terrified by how good he is at acting.

“Well, it reminds me of the lilies you bought me as an apology after you told me you cheated!” Jungkook ends with a shriek. John drops the box he’s supposedly stacking with a loud crash and scurries off to the backroom.

Taehyung raises a brow. “Too much? A cheater?! You made me a cheater?”

“How could you!” Jungkook shrugs, too deep in it now. “With Jonah’s kindergarten teacher?!”

“Jonah is our Pomeranian, Jungkook.”

They place an order for new floorboards to be delivered to replace the porch. John finally gives them a wide berth, eager for them to leave, as they get rung up. “Here you go,” Taehyung smiles as he hands over the paint cans. “Wife-approved.”

“I'm the wife?!” Jungkook protests in the background.

“Fixing up the place?” the elderly clerk with the sweetest dent in her cheek asks them.

“About time,” Taehyung laughs. “Can’t wait to get the porch redone. The way it sags, you know, by the little green table, makes me so nervous. Every morning, I wonder if this lunge is the one that does it in.”

Worry buzzes in Jungkook’s mind as he thinks back to all the cone jumps he’s done on the other side. What if he’s the reason Taehyung’s porch crashes into the lake one day?! He squares his shoulders in determination.

“We must fix it asap. Let me help,” he says earnestly. “I’ll never leave vomit on the couch again. I’ll help.”

“I’d never cheat on you, baby,” Taehyung says sweetly, reaching over to tuck a misplaced strand of hair behind his ear. Jungkook has to blink away his daze, reeling under the full force of his smile. “Only an idiot would.”

They giggle about the sign in the store, arguing about who the wife would be in the relationship.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the wistful stare the clerk sends Taehyung’s way. It’s almost subconscious how he lets his free hand land on his waist, drawing him closer.

Taehyung is distracted, looking at him suspiciously as he hauls most of the goods over his shoulder. When he starts to protest, Jungkook is saved by the bell, literally. An over-enthusiastic greeting follows from the store next door.

“Yunkook, come on over, hun!”

Groaning, Jungkook bows at Mrs. Garcia and Lee, who are waving at him from Fran’s. They have kind of manic, matching smiles stretched across their faces, and their hands are moving so fast they’re blurring.

“I guess it’s time for you to meet Frannie and the girls,” he tells Taehyung, dragging him over. “Beware, they love pretty boys!”

“So, you think you’re pretty?” Taehyung sniggers. “Wait, you think I’m pretty?”

Cheeks darkening instantly, Jungkook breaks off into a sprint, leaving Taehyung laughing behind him. He gets teased all the way back home for his little tita fan club.

“They’re even learning Korean on their little auntie phones for you!”

Jungkook can’t help but roll his eyes. As much as he’d like to agree with Taehyung, today, the trio barely gave Jungkook any of their attention, too busy fawning over his handsome friend.

“He has such a perfect jawline! What a great nose! He has the kind of face people would paint on the ceilings of monuments.”

Sulking hard, Jungkook had to remind them that they said his smile made them feel grateful to be alive.

“Ooh, he’s even more polite than you, Yunkook! You must come over for Tambola Night, Tae.”

He tells Taehyung that and endures more teasing.

“Wait, you think I’m handsome?”

By the time they’re done, twilight sets in, bringing back the fog. Everything is tinted green in the summer. They take the long way home along the lake, walking in companionable silence, the clanging of the paint cans over Jungkook’s back and Taehyung’s faint humming the only sounds they share.

“I wanna know, know, know! What is love?!” Taehyung breaks into a corny dance when they reach the cabins.

Jungkook groans.

“Good night, neighbor. I wanna know, know, know–”

Jungkook eats too many strawberries for dinner. Plugging in Seokjin’s karaoke machine, he video-calls Jimin.

“I could kiss your ugly mug right now, Jeon Jungkook. You saved me!” Apparently, he’d been having a terrible time with the wedding planner, yet again. “I swear she’s a demon who was crafted in hell, especially to torment me. She’s convinced everyone we need a fourth “sit-down” dinner with Hobi’s horrible extended family.”

Soon, they’re knee-deep in their feelings, belting out an overenthusiastic rendition of Stay With Me, having fought each other to do Chanyeol’s rap—Jimin won. When Jungkook finishes with a dramatic high-pitched flourish, he hears a rich chuckle building up on the other side of the wall. Taehyung hoots and claps for him, laughing deep and unguarded, making Jungkook’s skin buzz with something warm.

Green, Jungkook thinks, right before he sleeps. Green, green, green.

__

 

Jungkook dreams of a forest. He catches flashes of green as he runs through the trees, carving out an easy path through the dense canopy. He’s running, but his feet barely touch the grass beneath him; maybe he’s floating. The branches cooperate with his pace, parting just in time for him as he moves along the damp, springy trail. He’s searching, searching, for the little star, huffing in satisfaction when he finally gets there. The water gleams especially clear around the stones Jungkook chucks into the cove. He looks up to find the sun playing hide-and-seek through the trees, birthing dappled figures that dance across the lake. The wide plane of blue-green glass burns brighter and brighter until it’s a flash of gold.

Jungkook is bathed in sunshine and pine. He turns over, limbs entangling further, skin brushing against skin. Underneath the forest, there’s a hint of freshness, lavender blooming delicately. Stretching like a cat, he chases the warmth. The answering kisses send sparks climbing up his spine; a hint of stubble grazes his shoulders, the small of his back, lingering at his birthmark, making him shudder. Gentle touches, wandering hands; a pleasant calm washes over him, unhurried, like dipping his toes in the water. There’s a whisper at his nape, too tender for how filthy the words are, a familiar happy rumble breathed into his shoulder, bold fingers dancing down his sides. When they turn inwards and find his navel, his breath hitches. He squeezes his eyes shut, emerald spots blurring his vision as it dips lower, lower, lower. Ripples of pleasure erupt, traveling down to his toes, to the tips of his fingers. The calm pressure starts to build into something explosive. Jungkook whines, arching into it, seeking more—

The walls come crashing down on him. They are bleeding, dripping ruby onto him, staining him. Flames lap at the window, and the room is red, but Jungkook is freezing. He wants to sleep, but the horrible squeak of the chair keeps waking him up.

It smells awful, like ash and whiskey and strong musk. He drifts in and out of consciousness. It’s suffocating. There’s a knot in his throat, and the air tries to squeeze past it, claws its way up.

Let me out, he screams, voice raw. No, no, no, no, no—

Jungkook is stuck. His body is stone. He’s stuck. 

We don’t have to tell him, hmm?

__

 

He wakes up in tears, scrubbing them from his face until it hurts. He does the same in the shower, letting the scalding water pour down until his skin is rubbed raw.

The repetitive motion of chopping vegetables calms him down. Being extra careful, he ensures the onions are even and the garlic is as thinly sliced as it can be. He’s in the middle of flipping his omelet when he suddenly freezes. The utensils clatter against the counter as he rushes to the bedroom. Diving into the closet, he fishes out shirt after shirt, cursing himself for being obsessed with black. They all look the same. He reaches for his phone with shaky hands.

As soon as he hears his brother’s voice, all the progress of his morning goes flying out the window. An overwhelming feeling comes crashing down upon him, a hasty mix of everything at once, and later, when Jungkook meets Val, he will label it homesickness.

“Gguk?”

His answer is wobblier than he wants it to be. “Hyung.”

“Hyung is here. Tell me, aegi?”

“Hyung. Hyung.” Jungkook wishes he could latch onto Seokjin’s back, climb on, and demand that he be carried everywhere Seokjin goes. I’m your curse—Jungkook would chirp. You can’t ever escape me. “I can’t find the shirt. Is it at yours?”

“What shirt?” Seokjin sounds tired; Jungkook can’t remember what timezone he is in. “What’s up? You good?”

“The–My black shirt. It’s a little see-through, with the buttons on the–I can’t find it! Hyung, can you check?”

Seokjin explains that he’s in Naples, negotiating with the management—again, and Jungkook tries not to buckle under the guilt that washes over him, spiking past his anxiety.

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Seokjin tuts, somehow reading Jungkook’s expression across oceans. “It’s my job, Gguk. I’m just doing my job.”

“I know, thank you. How’s it going?”

“They’re–they’re on board. Almost there. They want to resume after fall break, but I’m working on it–Do you want to?”

Jungkook stutters, fumbling. Does he want to? His feet itch, his legs ache, desperate. For a brief second, he lets himself feel the wind in his hair again, the rush of chasing after the ball and receiving it—He fucking wants to, so bad. It’s fucking unfair. Can he? Is he able to?

“I don’t know–”

“Don’t stress, we’ll decide when we need to.”

“Okay.”

“Let's talk about it later. Before the transfer window ends–They have a replacement in mind–”

Jungkook’s pulse spikes—of course, they’d have to replace him at some point. Everyone’s fucking replaceable, he thinks, his mouth burning from the nasty bitterness. Even JJK7.

“Tell them yes. Go ahead with it.”

“We’ll talk about this–You don’t have to worry, aegi. Hyung is taking care of it. Are you eating well? Don’t skip meals.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Jungkook-ah? Will you call Appa once in a while? They worry.”

Fresh guilt rises from the middle of Jungkook’s bedroom, threatening to drown everything and everyone in here.

“I will–tell them I’m sorry–”

“Don’t worry. Hyung will talk to them. Don’t worry about anything.”

Seokjin tells him he’ll have someone call him back after looking for the shirt. So, he makes his next call.

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Jungkook comes back to his kitchen, hazy with smoke, and it’s a miracle his house hasn’t burnt down. The omelet is ruined, so he hastily scrambles his eggs and scarfs them down, aided by gulps of coffee. He does five batches of laundry; he washes everything, even the curtains, leaving the windows bare, and the house starts to bake at noon. Sweaty and overstimulated, he whips off his shirt, punching in the numbers angrily while he waits for the dryer to go off.

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By the time Seokjin calls back with a report, it’s already evening.

“Gguk? There’s no black shirt at mine.”

Panic starts to build in his throat, fast and hard, until he’s not sure what words he’s saying out loud and which ones are buzzing in his head. “It’s a black shirt. It has to be there, Jimin sent all my stuff–Hyung! Hyung, please, I need to find that shirt and–”

“Okay, okay, let’s think about this, yeah? Hyung will help you find it. Maybe it’s here? In Italy? What about here, hmm?”

“Can you go to the apartment and–” He’s crying again, and he doesn’t know why.

“Hyung is on his way. Can you stay on the phone, Gguk? What did you eat today?”

Seokjin talks about this and that for the fifteen minutes it takes him to get to Jungkook’s apartment, and Jungkook focuses on his voice, the smooth cadence of it, the familiar way it wraps around consonants, where it turns high-pitched. It does that a lot when it’s Jungkook on the receiving end; Seokjin is often exasperated. Through the chatter, Jungkook retains that slimy Conte got slimier, Lang has a new buzz cut, and Seokjin caught the bell tower fireworks. The heavy “everything” feeling starts to settle in his chest again, so he makes himself focus on just the sounds, not the words.

He tunes back in for the running commentary of Seokjin examining everything inside Jungkook’s closet.

“Everything you own is black,” Seokjin tsks. “You have a problem.”

Jungkook is momentarily distracted by a different kind of panic when Seokjin finds his secret drawer.

“My eyes! Gguk, my eyes!”

“Shut up! Who asked you to open it even after I warned you?”

“You–Deviant–My fucking eyes!

When they’ve gone through everything, Jungkook feels the painful thing inside his throat threaten to explode again. It does and streams down his face, salty and wet. “I don’t–Please. Have to find the shirt. Don’t want it, never wanted it, I don’t want it–Hyung.”

“Gguk, listen to hyung! What is happening? Tell me, walk me through it.”

“I just don’t want the shirt. It’s the black shirt that I was–it’s the shirt–” Jungkook struggles with words; they refuse to cooperate, taking strange and unfamiliar shapes in his mouth.

He hears the click in Seokjin’s brain on the other side of the world. “Gguk, it’s okay. We got rid of the shirt, remember? In Seoul, when Jimin was helping us pack, we got rid of it. It’s gone.”

“We got rid of it.”

Jungkook remembers now, and all of a sudden, he zaps out of it. It’s like the strings tying him together were suddenly snapped, the ribbon undone inside him, and now all his organs are floating around, loose and somewhat lost. His chest doesn’t feel tight anymore; the pressure in his throat disappears.

“Yup, we did.”

“Okay, okay, that’s all I wanted for now! Thanks, hyung! Bye–”

“Jungkook! Wait–How–You feeling better? Should we call Val?”

“I’m talking to her tomorrow, I’ll be okay!” Jungkook shakes his leg impatiently, counting the times his knee misses the kitchen island.

“Dr. Ahmed–”

“I’m okay, hyung. No meds. Not yet.”

“Okay. Gguk, take care. Call if you need something. I–Hyung loves you.”

“Okay!”

“Jungkook.”

Sighing hard, Jungkook replies in a pliant, singsong voice, “Love you too, hyung! Bye!”

He starts dialing the number immediately.

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“FUCK YOU!” Jungkook yells into his phone, ending the call and chucking his phone at the wall.

The sun has already set when he steps onto the porch and starts battering his bag, completely out of rhythm. He doesn’t think of form, simply lets the punches fly out of him.

He hears the other door open behind him, but Taehyung doesn’t follow him out.

Instead, the piano instrumental turns up, and Jungkook falls asleep on his couch, buried underneath a throw, foot tapping to Taehyung’s music. The two doors stay open through the night, and the morning fog sneaks into his home, rousing him from a surprisingly relaxing sleep.

____

 

Taehyung is a man on a mission. As soon as he gets his delivery, he begins an abridged morning routine, making time to get down to business with the porch—he still runs with Jungkook, challenging him to a race now and then. Jungkook is way faster; there is no contest, not even close. But Taehyung can last forever; he has the stamina of a fucking bull, and he plays to his strengths. It’s an even fifty-fifty for who comes first.

The water is as clear as green glass again today. Jeongguk watches the sun beating down on Taehyung’s back, still glistening from his swim. A frown forms between his brow as he drags his knuckles along a water-eaten plank. They are ready to replace them, having measured and prepared everything while they waited for the delivery. He slides the pry bar into the gap between two boards. The plank comes loose with a sharp crack, nails whining as they surrender. A piano instrumental thrums in the background—it’s one Jungkook hasn’t heard before. Pausing, Taehyung adjusts his stance, setting the baseball cap the right way; then pulls again, the muscles in his shoulders tightening and rolling as the board finally gives way. Sweat drips into his gorgeous eyes, scrunched up against the glare of the afternoon. The old porch complains under his bare feet, protesting its inevitably sad fate.

Jungkook tsks in worry, hands and legs starting to beg. It’s too hot, he thinks.

He goes over with berry smoothies and one of his spare fans. If he’s started to stock up on too many strawberries recently, no one needs to know.

“Hope you sunscreened up well,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You think I don’t know SPF care? Me? The face of BananaBoat?”

He does accept the shoes that Jungkook brought from inside and slips them on hastily, crumpling the ends. Jungkook tsks again. “You’re terrible about safety.”

Up close, the damage is obvious on the far end of the deck, away from Jungkook’s side. The gray boards here are splintered at the edges, some of them soft enough to flake under probing limbs. In a few places, the grain has opened into dark seams where rot has taken hold, turning the wood swollen from years of lake air. The smell of old wood rises, unmistakably musty.

Taehyung hands Jungkook the hammer and gets back to setting a fresh board against the opening he’s just cleared. Jungkook adjusts the fan so that it’s facing Taehyung.

“It gets my hair everywhere, ugh.”

“Why bring it then?”

Jungkook hums along with the piano.

“It’s no Twice or, what’s it called? Candy in My Ears,” Taehyung teases. “But it’s something, hmm?”

“Se serio?” Jungkook groans, plotting a way for a Jungkook-sized hole to open up in the floor. He’s always putting his foot in his mouth around Taehyung. “We need to redo the walls before anything else. Soundproof that shit! Please never bring up my drunken stupidity again.”

“Why? You’re vastly entertaining. Besides, you do a great Baek Ji-young! Nae gwie kaendi–”

“Fucking Jimin! He always wins the rap bits.”

“I bet he murders that shit.”

Taehyung is besties with Jimin now, much to Jungkook’s chagrin. After all, Jungkook had introduced the two, claiming Jimin was a fan. He’d done them both a favor by leaving out that Taehyung’s ass in Speedos was the reason for the fan club’s initiation.

“I beT he MurdErs tHat shIT,” Jungkook parrots, crankily. “If it were up to you, Jimin would be king of the world.”

“It should be up to me,” Taehyung concurs. “Jimin would make an amazing king. I have great ideas. And you have the worst comebacks.”

Together, they work quickly, in easy synchrony, stacking the ruined planks to one side, brushing sweat with the backs of their hands as they replace them with fresh ones. As always, the heat gets to Jungkook, and he can’t get rid of his shirt fast enough. He thinks he imagines the way their fingers brush against each other’s, every time they pass a tool back and forth, and stay for too long.

Taehyung refuses to slow down, but Jungkook notices the way his deliberate strikes lose their focus; the tightening of his calves each time he gets out of his crouch; the way he lays a subconscious palm to his chest, listening to its overactive thump.

“Let’s stop now, please?” With a loud clatter, Jungkook chucks the hammer to the ground and collapses. “I’m dying for some ice cream.”

Taehyung straightens his back, rattling the bucket of nails, and shakes his head with a laugh. Jungkook definitely isn’t as slick as he thinks he is, but he never gets called out on it.

“Fine, but I’m all out.”

Jungkook brings some over for them, handing Taehyung the strawberry. His eyes shine like a five-year-old’s, and Jungkook’s day shines brighter. He finishes his matcha in two huge bites, and Taehyung brands him a psychopath. Their hands are side by side on the porch railing, and Jungkook has the oddest urge to grab Taehyung’s. His fingers betray his thoughts, inching closer.

“The first time I placed at the LSC meet, my mom took me to have a sundae–my first ever! I’d had ice cream, of course, but never one of those over-the-top sundaes. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. She was a nurse, always working, but she always came to my meets. Anyway, strawberry was her favorite, but she insisted I get my favorite, and we shared, so I always got strawberry.”

Jungkook’s heart swells. “She sounds lovely. But chocolate’s elite.”

“I’ll let her know next time I visit,” Taehyung says, nose scrunched up. There’s a tiny smear of strawberry ice cream on its tip. Jungkook’s heart turns upside down inside his chest, skipping several beats.

“Did she swim too?” Jungkook asks, stupidly. He just wants Taehyung to keep talking for the rest of his life. His fingers act of their own accord, shifting towards Taehyung’s. He looks down at their hands, and wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him again—Taehyung twitches closer to him, like he’s a slave to the same unhinged thoughts as Jungkook.   

“Nah, but I would drag her into the ocean with me when we moved to California! She hated it!”

“You’re a menace in the water,” Jungkook nods. “Will you actually tell her about me?”

“Sure. She would have loved you. She never stood a chance against a pretty pout, either.”

Instant heat darkens Jungkook’s cheeks, and he fans himself, cursing the sun loudly. They fight over the third sandwich, and Jungkook, oddly thrilled and distracted by the fact that he’s finally holding Taehyung’s hand, ends up tripping over one of the old planks and dropping the ice cream into the water.

“Argh, stop littering, Starboy!”

The sun sets over them, Taehyung bursting into an unintelligible version of the song every few minutes.

“I wanna know, know, know! What is love?!”

They stay up late to tune into the Olympics, agreeing to forgo everything except the run tomorrow. The living room glows blue, reflecting the water on-screen. Taehyung watches the games, wholly invested, and Jungkook watches him, marveling at how brave he is, at how strong his heart is. Jungkook has avoided any news about the men’s tournament like the plague, and the one time Junho did send updates about Italy in the group chat, Jimin threatened to play hockey with his balls. Taehyung is a great sport and a hilarious commentator, making Jungkook explode into giggles more than once. He finally sulks when the USA barely qualifies in the 100m butterfly.

“He made it,” Jungkook consoles, wanting to squish his pout away, or enhance it, one of the two. 

“Barely! I almost jumped off the porch!”

“You’d just fall into the water and swim your way out.”

The moon is a perfect circle in the lake. Much later, in bed, Jungkook turns Taehyung’s words over and over in his head. “She never stood a chance against a pretty pout, either.” Either. Either?

__

 

“I dreamed about my neighbor.”

“You dreamed about your neighbor.”

“Yeah, I had a dream. I was in the forest, and then he was there, and then we were not in the forest anymore–We were–It was. I, er, had a sex dream. And then I panicked.”

“Okay, first of all, good job telling me about it. This is progress, do you agree? It’s a step toward what we’ve discussed.”

“Sure. Past Jungkook would have lied to you. He’s a dumbfuck.”

“What have we said about this? Let’s be kind to Past Jungkook, too. He was trying his best, just as you are now. Secondly, you panicked. Did you panic about the sex, or the fact that it was your neighbor, or something else?”

It takes Jungkook a while to answer. Sheepishly, he offers, “About something else. The dream was–good. Some parts were good.”

“Okay, we’ll come back to that. But can you tell me what it was that had you panicking?”

“What came after. I had a nightmare. It was the same one, where I was stuck, in the red room.”

Val doesn’t go easy on him; she never does. She makes him say all the words, voice the thoughts clouding his mind since last week, process his feelings—Eurgh. Jungkook wants to vomit at least three times, even getting up to fetch the bin once, but she tells him to soldier on and praises him for trying.

“I was so angry. I felt like I was going to explode like one of those annoying fireworks, ones that are too loud and go on forever.”

“We’ve discussed this before, but humor me. Why do you feel so angry?”

“I–the stupid gift–Customer service sucks–won’t cancel the fucking thing–”

“Why do you really feel angry, Jungkook?”

“Be–Because–I feel betrayed. He took advantage of my trust and betrayed me.”

In the end, it’s worth it. He knows he doesn’t need to feel shame for dreaming of Taehyung like that. He knows his body gets stuck sometimes, in this endless loop of shame and regret and guilt, but it wasn’t his fault. He knows that now, after all of this work with Val. It’s just hard to remember it all the time.

It’s the other stuff that has his cheeks flaming; has him wishing he could be anywhere other than here. Val makes him talk about how Taehyung feels—warm—and how he feels about him—confused, but buzzy, like there are butterflies in his tummy. Like he’s walking on sunshine.

“He plays me his music sometimes, and I–settle.”

“Mm. Can you tell me more about that, Jungkook? How do you settle? What does the music do?”

“Boh.” Jungkook squirms. He hates words. “Can we–”

“Try.”

That’s what it feels like; like Jungkook has been flowing, and flowing for hours, restless and lost, and finally, he turns over the rocks and pours into the quiet cove, settling. It’s happened more than once now: Jungkook going at his bag, red flashing in front of his eyes, and Taehyung finding the right music, just the right volume, for the red to disperse. He never asks, and Jungkook is so grateful for it.

The other thing is, Taehyung is pretty, and he’s handsome, and his legs might be the eighth wonder of the world, if it were up to Jungkook. He’s really fucking hot, and Jungkook can’t help but admit he’s attracted to him—the way water clings to his clavicle after he pulls up on the porch, and the one expression he makes when he’s thinking hard, his brow furrowed, just like that in a serious twist, and the way he adjusts his baseball cap in that swift motion. Taehyung is so attractive when he licks his lips, and Jungkook can’t help but wonder how they’ll feel against his. His hands, they’ll envelop Jungkook’s. Taehyung is so pretty, and sometimes Jungkook imagines himself stroking the tender skin under his eyes. He can’t help but admit he’s attracted to him—the way he squints when he stares directly at the sun, and the way he sometimes flips onto his back, drifting along the flow of the water for hours, and his determination to bake a perfect dessert, despite having no acumen for it. His endless patience with Jungkook and the world, the considerate empathy that lets him see things no one else does, his thoughtfulness about the little things, his child-like whimsy and his easy smiles, his generosity with affection, he’s so unstingy—

“I like him,” Jungkook finally admits. “And it doesn’t make me feel–bad. I’m not scared. I like him.”

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______

September 2024

 

Fall sets in slowly at first, and then, all at once. The pines at the top of the hills stay as green as ever, but the lake finds a soft gradient of sunset along its shore.

Jungkook is whisked away to Hawaii by Jimin and Hobi for his birthday. Taehyung declines the invitation since it clashes with Yoongi’s vacation, and Jungkook feels like a deflated balloon for the first half of the trip—until Taehyung video-calls him to wish him and reveals his gift: his experiments from the pottery session he went to with Yoongi, matching dessert dishes, chocolate, and strawberry. He can’t stop smiling after that, and Jimin makes him wear a World’s Biggest Loser crown instead of his birthday one. Hobi is kind, and he scratches out the “S” and replaces it with a “V.” Seokjin and team make good on their promise. Fall break comes and goes, and Napoli reviews and extends Jungkook’s medical absence until January, citing Jungkook’s health as their priority. In a goodwill gesture, Jungkook voluntarily waives his appearance bonuses until he’s back in training. They go ahead with a short-term replacement, promoting Ricci. As much as it stings, a weight lifts off Jungkook’s back. Besides, Ricci has brilliant potential; his IQ on the field is excellent, and he’s happy for him. They’re moving on, and he’s not holding them back. He dives into the new season, feeling buoyant.

The water usually remains tepid until the end of October, something Taehyung tells him he had deliberately sought out. It was serendipitous that his estranged father (“The one good decision he made!”) had settled here. Taehyung makes the most of it, spending his mornings gliding through the water, determined on some days, reckless on others; and his afternoons and evenings redoing the porch. Jungkook’s company remains constant through the days, both in the water and outside of it.

The kayaks begin to collect dust when Jungkook realizes he can swim instead. It relaxes him in the same way paddling does; plus, he gets to listen to Taehyung’s breaths and time his sets for him. It’s strangely satisfying to be useful.

“You’re annoyingly fast,” Taehyung complains.

Jungkook’s eyebrow raises. The audacity!

“No, but you’re already faster on land. The water’s supposed to be my thing.”

“You’re so annoying! Beating everyone in the world isn’t enough for you?”

“That was in 2016! It’s been years since I was best at anything.”

“So fucking annoying.”

“Stop acting like you’re not competitive, Starboy–Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like my medals too.”

“And your Golden Boot,” Taehyung teases.

“I love my Golden Boot,” Jungkook concedes. “It’s fucking awesome.”

During their designated renovation efforts, Jungkook jumps on any opportunity to do the heavy-lifting, scurrying off every few hours to get Taehyung refreshments, and feigning boredom to sneak in a break. Taehyung is as stubborn as a toddler with a fixation, and it’s hard to get him to listen, but he usually folds under the force of Jungkook’s weaponized pout. On the days that he gives in easily, Jungkook’s throat squeezes tight with worry. He tries to note what hurts and when—right shoulder, upper back, right side, right ankle, both calves, hands, temples; when it’s too hot, worsens in the evenings, but not always. There isn’t a clear pattern. All Jungkook can do is be observant, be useful.

They’ve slowly started migrating indoors, replacing the peeling plaster on the walls with a fresh coat. Thursday evening is more eventful than most. Jungkook spends most of it crouched precariously over Taehyung’s shower stall, legs dangling over it and butt hanging off the other side, while he scrapes off what he hopes isn’t black mold off the ceiling.

“You can pretend you’re Michelangelo,” Taehyung cheers, turning up the piano instrumental. “Nice ambient music.”

He tries to express his gratitude by baking Jungkook an apple pie—Fran’s family recipe—and it ends in disaster. Laughing till his stomach hurts, Jungkook tries to salvage it best he can, fishing out the least-burnt apple slices and popping them into his mouth, while Taehyung sulks on the counter, covered in flour.

“Go find us a movie to watch,” Jungkook smiles, hopelessly endeared. “I’ll make us dinner.”

“But you did all the moldy work!” Taehyung whines. He has a heart-shaped flour imprint on his butt when he turns around.

Jungkook’s heart somersaults at the casual way Taehyung accepts it, like they’ve always had dinner together, like Jungkook will cook for him for the rest of their lives.

They have loads of TV dinners. Taehyung has a lot to learn about movies, and Jungkook decides to take him under his wing. They have movie dates with Jimin and Hoseok. Yoongi joins them, too. As much as Jungkook tried to dislike him at first, he couldn’t help but admit he has excellent taste in films. On the especially foggy days (that’s what Jungkook calls them), when Taehyung looks like he’s stuck in a daze for hours, unable to finish anything he starts, it’s Yoongi he turns to. He loves Taehyung ferociously, and Taehyung lets him, letting go in a way he never does in Yoongi’s presence. Besides, Yoongi dotes on Jungkook. He shows up to video calls in a number 7 kit and everything! It’s hard not to like someone who wears your name across their back.

“The wedding’s off,” Hoseok calls them to say, one evening, sighing deeply.

“WHAT?! Where’s Jimin?!”

“The wedding’s fucking off!” Jimin titters, snatching the phone. It’s noon in Seoul, but he looks like he’s on his way to four back-to-back hangovers. “Because I fired the fucking planner. We’re fucking eloping!”

“Say that first, assholes!”

“I WAS SHITTING MYSELF.”

“Oh, please. As if he’s ever moving on from me,” Jimin gurgles, planting an incredibly filthy kiss on Hoseok’s overwhelmed, red face.

“Come here! Elope here!”

“Yes, yes, we’ll throw you a porch reception! Please, please, pretty please? Hyungs!”

Some nights, the credits roll in, but Jungkook lingers, settling deeper into the ratty couch. (Taehyung spends hours on his Pinterest moodboards, insisting the right replacement couch will find him when it does).

“What is this one?” Jungkook asks, stroking his knuckles. They’re tender, but not as much as his heart. His legs inch closer to Taehyung’s.

“Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence,” Taehyung whispers. “Coach would play it for me. Every day. Back when I was training for London.”

“2012? How was that?”

“He said all I was missing was control. He was right. He usually is. He’s a hard-ass, ran that shit like the Navy. Hated him at first. I work my butt off for that first World Championship trial, do it, and this man has not one nice word to say. Instead, he goes: We’re doing it wrong. Focus on the 200-meter butterfly. That’s the goal. After everything–Can you imagine! Anyway, he was right, and god, did he bite my ear off about it. Even now, I told you so! It’s the first thing he says to me.”

“He reminds me of my–” Jungkook’s mouth works faster than his brain. All of him seizes up, fists clenching, tugging hard, clutching at the unfortunate rips in the upholstery. Suddenly, there’s water flooding his lungs. He’s drowning.

When Taehyung calls his name, Jungkook startles. His voice is a gentle breeze; Jungkook clings to it, but he’s still under, sinking. “It’s okay. You’re good.”

Shakily, he nods at Taehyung; follows his voice out of the dark pool. Breathes the way he knows to. He knows how to. It’s breathing, and he’s Korea’s Golden Star. He’s JJK7. He can do anything.

“Five things you can see?”

“The TV, half-eaten ramen, the TV remote, your dying succulent, that ugly rat dog picture frame–”

Taehyung’s smile is encouraging.

“Four things I can touch. My sweatpants, this ratty couch, the coffee table–”

Taehyung’s right hand hesitates, hovering over his left. Jungkook reaches for it. It’s cool, smooth, unlike Jungkook’s, calloused and bruised, from the rough treatment he gives it. Jungkook takes it and comes up, loud and determined, and air greets him dearly.

“Your hand.”

It’s strangely satisfying to fill green dots in his journal calendar after a day full of Taehyung; to notice that his green days coincide with Taehyung’s good, non-foggy ones, the ones where he falls asleep easily, in the middle of their movie, just the right amount of sore from the effort of the day.

Later, when he tosses and turns, trying to fall asleep, he realizes they’ve started to spend every waking minute together. He likes seeing Taehyung’s smile first thing in the morning, and carries his whispered Night, Jungkook, with him to bed. Yet, it’s never enough, and it’s usually Taehyung who calls it a night, ducking into his living room, leaving Jungkook behind to deal with the crazy acrobatics inside his chest.

 

____

 

On the third Wednesday of September, Taehyung doesn’t show up all morning. By noon, Jungkook is losing it. They’ve never discussed it, and of course, he’s entitled to his own space and time, but a horrible feeling lurks in the pit of his stomach. He half-asses his warm-up, skipping the run entirely—something he hasn’t done in years, maybe a decade. Then, he fucking explodes at his bag, completely out of form, just throwing full-power punches at it. His knuckles fucking hurt all morning, and he realizes he forgot to wrap his hands. They’re red and raw, a lost cause. He ignores them while he cooks up a storm. The horrible feeling has quit lurking in his stomach, and is now an ostentatious parasite in his body, fizzing around in Jungkook’s veins, and settling in different parts.

 

Jimin

Today 00:21

 

Go over

Go check on him

should I?

what if he just wants to be on his own?

away from me

I’m sighing

Loudly

Gguk, ur his friend

And he probably knows about ur massive crush on him bcoz u are extremely obvious

and he hangs out with you all the time

He won’t think that about u

 

He’s definitely thought of all the reasons Taehyung needs time away—from him. He was too clingy, hogging all his time, when he’s here to relax and figure himself out. He was too much, his moods too annoying to deal with, his stupid, impossible-to-control panicky reactions—

 

but

No

Stop it

And stop worrying

Go find out if he’s okay

Now I’m worried

Isn’t he

You know, sick?

What if he needs help and u have left him alone all day?

 

The words cause sharp, jagged-edged spiders to crawl up Jungkook’s spine, sending him down yet another anxious spiral. What if Taehyung has been really sick? Too sick to eat, get out of bed? What if he hurt himself in the shower—He really wants to go check on him, but what if he’s sick of Jungkook? What if—

By evening, when he hasn’t heard a single note of piano music, Jungkook decides to go over. Jimin’s words prod at his brain for hours, and finally, worry about Taehyung defeats his insecurities. He must really like him. But, he’ll be so casual about it, just bringing some of the ridiculous amount of mul-naengmyeon he has ended up with to a neighbor. Pretending like his heart is not in his throat, Jungkook crosses into Taehyung’s side, padding softly across the brand-new wood. He’s so nonchalant. His brow furrows. The door to Taehyung’s living room is ajar. He knocks anyway.

He finds Taehyung on his couch, the TV on, but he isn’t really watching. His eyes have that glazed-over look in them that they sometimes do.

“Jungkook, hi.” He smiles wonkily at Jungkook.

Some of the annoying, leeching anxiousness leaves Jungkook. Just looking at him makes him feel settled. Jimin’s wrong; he has a massive, major, miserably monumental crush.

Still, he shuffles his feet uselessly. Feeling awkward as hell, as if he’s never been in here, Jungkook holds up the food.

“Hi. Brought some naengmyeon. Made too much. Have you eaten yet?”

Taehyung shrugs, checking the time. “Oh. It’s dinner time.” He smiles again, like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, or like he’s just learned how to do it, and Jungkook is his first attempt. His eyes are unfocused. “Thank you.”

Jungkook starts to set up bowls and chopsticks, just to give his hands something to do. Over his shoulder, he tells Taehyung about his day, this and that, his phone call with Jin, and how Jimin cheated at Rocket League. Taehyung follows his voice, but doesn’t say much. When Jungkook sets the bowls in front of him, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Taehyung? Ready to eat?”

“Oh. Okay.”

He still doesn’t move, and Jungkook’s parasitic companion returns, uninvited. “Tae? Is something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmh.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?”

A blush appears on Taehyung’s face, not the fun kind, the embarrassed kind. Jungkook kneels beside the couch, more than concerned. Has he not eaten all day? Jungkook should have come sooner. He’s a shitty friend, and a shitty neighbor, and the shittiest crush-er, or whatever you call it, person with a crush. Dumb, so fucking dumb.

“Tae? You sure you’re okay?”

“I–uh–”

“You seem a little out of it.”

“I dunno–Tired.”

“You–Do you want me to call Yoongi?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen in alarm at that, the name registering immediately. “No! No, don’t, please! He–he worries too much. Lectures–”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook says easily. “I’m here anyway. Tell me, what’s up?”

Taehyung looks away as his cheeks grow darker. “Sorry. It’s the–I took some meds. I had to switch to new ones, and they make me–funny. Like this. Sorry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Hate them.”

“No, that’s okay. Aren’t they good for you?”

“Only take them when I can’t help it. They make me–Useless.”

The ache in Jungkook’s bruised knuckles flares up inside his chest. Was he in too much pain today? Useless. Jungkook wants to tell him how useful he is to him. How much he helps, just with his calming presence.

“No, Tae,” Jungkook says, trying not to gasp. “It’s good you listened to your body. Anyway, I’m starving. Shall we?”

He puts the bowl in Taehyung’s hands. It takes Taehyung too long to grip the chopsticks. He finally manages to slurp some noodles, the bowl incredibly unstable in his hands. Most of the noodles slip out of the chopsticks’ grasp. Taehyung looks at Jungkook. He has a bit of scallion on his chin.

“You’re doing it all wrong!” Jungkook sighs, pushing the bangchan closer to him.

“Mmh?”

“The naengmyeon. Here, can I? Let me–” Jungkook takes the bowl from him and holds out some noodles. Taehyung accepts them easily, like he can’t think of what he should do instead. “You’ve got to eat it with the boiled egg.”

Jungkook loads up some bangchan and feeds him another bite. “And the dongchimi. Jin would be upset if you didn’t have it.”

“It’s good,” Taehyung says, around the noodles.

“Yeah?”

He slurps noodles quickly, making Jungkook laugh when he looks up to find his mouth open wide, waiting. It causes a sheepish smile to appear on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Just–Famished. Couldn’t eat all day. Too nauseated.”

Jungkook wants to kick past-Jungkook. Past-Jungkook deserves to be thrown over the porch into the lake. Instead, he shifts closer to Taehyung, feeding him the rest of the noodles, and just to be safe, his portion of the boiled egg, too. When Taehyung asks for water, he feels awfully pleased with himself, like he’s just scored a goal––Oh. Nevermind.

“Thank you.”

Jungkook snaps back to the present. He’s here for Taehyung. “Hey, you want some strawberry ice cream?” he asks. “Here–You’ve got some–”

He reaches over to get the scallion, letting his thumb helplessly linger at Taehyung’s chin to stroke the soft skin. Just once, twice––Fuck, it takes him all his willpower to stop, especially since Taehyung leans into it.

Taehyung comes alive, somewhat, when Jungkook unwraps the ice cream sandwich. “This is where all the strawberry ones went. You’ve been hoarding them.”

Jungkook doesn’t bother denying it, rubbing the back of his neck. “What if there’s a zombie breakout and we can’t get more?”

Taehyung looks at him, mouth twisting with genuine confusion. “Thought you liked chocolate.”

“Oh. They’re for you.” His cheeks get hot instantly, of course. “Uh, wanna watch a movie? Zombies? Lots of gore?”

Taehyung simply nods. They’ve moved closer on the couch, and now he leans against Jungkook’s shoulder, like he can’t help himself.

Jungkook’s hands shake as he finds the movie, and his voice comes out breathy despite his best efforts to be composed. “Okay, strap in. There are three of them. This one has Cillian Murphy, so it’s kinda perfect.”

“Mm.”

Taehyung lets him yap, giving him unnecessary lore about how cool Cillian Murphy is. Once, he accidentally spoils something major, but Taehyung realizes too late, so it doesn’t matter. He’s incredibly warm against Jungkook’s left shoulder. After a while, Jungkook forgets he has other body parts. All he is is his left shoulder, and it’s warm. 

“Is this okay?” Taehyung whispers, as if only thinking now to ask. “Tired.”

“It’s–” Jungkook wants to hug him close. Lovely. Perfect. Never move. “It’s okay, you’re good.” He shifts deeper into the back of the couch so Taehyung can lean more.

“Thank you.”

When the travelers on-screen reach Manchester, Jungkook squeezes Taehyung’s other arm. “Oh my god, watch carefully! Something’s going to–”

Taehyung looks up at Jungkook, instead, and the smile is back. His eyes are still less bright than usual, but he’s smiling at Jungkook like he’s happy to have him here.

“What?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve watched this movie before. I know the dad dies now.”

“You’ve–Oh.” Jungkook groans. “Why didn’t you say something earlier!”

“’S nice to watch it. With you.”

He’s starting to slur, so Jungkook moves just a little further, causing him to fall against him. Taehyung pulls up his legs and curls into himself. His hand rubs subconscious circles against his right knee. 

“I’ve been going on and on about it!”

“Yeah, it’s funny. Cute. You talk a lot while watching. Remind me of Swati.”

“Who’s Swati?”

“My roommate at Berkley. She was a yapper. Owe her my life. She’s the reason I have a college degree. I was always at practice or meets, but she got me through somehow.”

Jungkook tries to imagine Taehyung at college, running to class in grey sweats and the red ball cap. Tries to imagine a world where he went to college, too, with him. Maybe Taehyung would hang out by the football—soccer—field after practice, his hair still damp, curls falling into his eyes. Would they be friends?

“Damn, wish I had a Swati. Maybe I would have a college degree too. All I had was a Jimin, and that was not helpful.”

“Everyone needs a Swati.” His brain finally catches up. “Hey! No Jimin slander under my roof.”

Jungkook catches his hand, rubbing at his knee. “Does it hurt?”

Taehyung sighs. “Not today. The medication makes me… numb. Oh no, they’re about to get captured by the weird rapist breeders…”

Jungkook shifts further down the couch, Taehyung’s head resting against his left thigh. He falls asleep mid-sentence. Jungkook tries to watch the movie, ignoring the mess that is his heart right now. He’s overwhelmed by how suddenly it’s hitting him—how much he likes Taehyung, and how much he wishes he could help him, wishes he were not in pain.

The credits roll while Jungkook watches Taehyung’s chest rising and falling, the soft curls that fall into his eyes, his slightly parted mouth—he’ll never get tired of looking at him. Netflix starts blasting the teaser for some annoying movie about kissing in booths, and Jungkook hastens to turn it off. He decides to let Taehyung sleep on the couch, worried about disturbing his elusive rest. The late September chill has set in, so he covers him with the throw, making sure to leave his feet out because he knows he hates them covered. He can’t help but steal another glance before he leaves, kneeling beside him. His hand reaches out of its own accord to stroke some of his hair out of his eyes. Taehyung sighs. He’s so pretty. Jungkook’s heart does a trapeze act. He stays there for too long, until his knees start to protest. But when he’s about to get up, hating the thought of his stupid, empty, king-sized bed, Taehyung’s fingers curl around his wrist.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “Will you? For a bit.”

So, Jungkook settles down on his ankles and rests his head on the arm of the couch.

“Sleep better when you’re here.”

How could he leave?

______

 

The porch is nearly done. The only thing remaining is for them to apply the sealant. For some reason, Taehyung keeps putting it off. They’ve moved on to making smaller upgrades to the interiors. Kitchen Painting day dawns bright and clear, and Jungkook nearly dies from how cute Taehyung looks in overalls and a bandana. The piano is upbeat. They get distracted often. Taehyung decides to paint Jungkook’s nose Fern, so Jungkook retaliates by spraying his hair with Dove White.

“You look like Shrek.”

“At least I’m not trying to turn poor Dalmations into coats!”

It happens suddenly. Taehyung shuts down, one part at a time. Jungkook watches it in real-time as an obstinate wave presses down on him, pushing him under. One minute, he’s threatening Jungkook with green hair, and the next, he’s crouching, holding a shaking hand to his right temple.

“What is it? What hurts?”

“Everything,” he whispers. “All over.”

Jungkook wants to help, but Taehyung is not having it this time. He insists on getting his own lunch, snapping at Jungkook when he tries to chop the onions for him. “I’ve got it!”

Miserably, Jungkook bites his nails while Taehyung struggles with the knife, and then with the pan, but somehow makes himself some fried rice.

Jungkook turns the music on, hoping the piano will calm Taehyung the way it does him. Unable to sit and watch any longer, he busies himself with putting away the paint supplies and cleaning the kitchen so it’s safe to eat in there. 

“Do you–Will the medication help?”

It’s the worst thing he could have said.

Irritation sparks in Taehyung’s eyes. “I said I’ve got it.”

Jungkook knows he should go home, but he can’t get himself to leave Taehyung. He knows this is not about him. His need to help Taehyung does not matter, not when Taehyung is in pain and struggling with it. Whatever helps Taehyung get by. That’s what is important. Chastised, he folds some laundry he spots in the hamper while Taehyung eats.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says finally.

Jungkook’s heart is already shriveling up. Taehyung looks exhausted. He looks like he’s going to fall apart.

“I’m tired. I think I’m going to nap.”

He leaves Jungkook alone in the living room, wondering what he should have said instead. A million other things, nothing, perhaps. Definitely should not have presumed he knows better what Taehyung needs. Or acted like he could not take care of himself.

Jungkook sleeps horribly; wakes up crying, the red room trapping him again.

The next morning, Taehyung is late. The weather is unexpectedly warm compared to last week. He finds Jungkook going at his bag, watches him shudder through the last of his carefully imposed rhythm. Without a word, he settles on the floor. When Jungkook looks over, he finds him carefully slotting jigsaw pieces into one another. By the time Jungkook finishes up, he’s put enough pieces in the bottom right for it to look like a green lottery ticket. There are orange flecks in his hair. Jungkook pulls out a leaf and shows it to him; the vine maple next to the cabins is shedding.

“Wanna do a puzzle?” Taehyung asks. “I’m skipping the workout today.”

All of Jungkook’s knots ease up. Taehyung looks better, and he doesn’t seem to be done with Jungkook. He doesn’t hate Jungkook for being a terribly unsupportive, presumptuous friend. He’s so pretty with his bedhead and sleep-droopy eyes. His tank top (red) has slipped off his shoulder, exposing too much of his collarbone.

Jungkook pulls off his gloves, wincing when he flexes his fingers. He forgot to wrap again. Fucking hell.

It takes him a while to figure out what it is. Taehyung looks very pleased at his delighted reaction.

“It’s a bodega cat!” At Jungkook’s blank stare, Taehyung gasps. “You know, in New York?”

“Boh,” Jungkook shrugs. “It’s cute! I wanna do her nose.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“‘Coz I just know.”

Taehyung finds her nose first, but he pushes the piece at Jungkook. Their fingers graze over the mostly done puzzle, lingering for longer than necessary.

They complete it much sooner than Jungkook expects to. Taehyung reaches over to stroke the letters on Jungkook’s knuckles, distorted by the smattering of red and purple, as he fits the last piece into its place. Their hands stay where they are for a bit.

“When did you get this one?” he asks, thumb lingering on the ‘H’ in the Home. He says it like he knows when each of Jungkook’s tattoos appeared.

“Earlier this summer. It’s the newest.”

“Does it hurt?”

Jungkook shrugs. “The knuckles, usually.”

“I’ve always wanted one.”

“What would you get?”

“Haven’t been able to decide. Probably my dog’s nose–he had a small birthmark on it.”

“I miss my dog,” Jungkook says suddenly.

Taehyung smiles, nose scrunching up, in that adorable way. He loves Bam, demanding frequent pictures from Jimin. Jungkook suspects he gets more updates than Jungkook himself. Jimin’s a fucking brat.

“You ever think of going home?”

Home? Where’s that? Jungkook tenses, white-knuckling the puzzle box with his left hand. The letters distort. Sick.

“Just for a bit? To visit him?”

“Maybe. Maybe, for his birthday.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung’s smile widens.

“It’s in May.”

“You’ll have to video call me.” Taehyung purses up his lips. “Sorry about yesterday.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s nothing. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Embarrassed.”

“By that logic, I should never show my face around here again.”

Taehyung pushes himself off the ground. “Wanna go swimming?”

Jungkook bites the impulse to ask him if he feels okay enough to. He knows his body best.

“Dai!” he demands, stripping off his tank top in one swift motion to hold out his hand.

Jungkook takes it, hopelessly endeared.

It’s not a normal swim day. They’re holding hands. In the water. Taehyung loops in and out, in languorous motions across the water, all the while guiding Jungkook along. Jungkook feels the overwhelming rush of everything all at once, that confusing cocktail of emotions, but it’s not homesickness this time. It’s something else, his stupid, massive mega crush, intensified a thousand times over, along with a disarming sense of relief that Taehyung is fine.

“Will you ever stop?” Jungkook asks.

“Of course, not. It’s my only dream. It’s like home. I can’t stop coming back.”

It’s not what Jungkook means, but he says nothing.

Minutes, maybe hours, pass by in a crystal-green, punch-drunk daze, as Jungkook floats around watching Taehyung flip onto his back, when they finally let go. He rarely does the backstroke, and Jungkook feels like he’s being let in on a secret. He twists and turns, following Taehyung as he swims in wide circles, a satellite in the orbit of a planet.

This is how a jellyfish probably feels. No thoughts, just floaty-floaty.

Is it the weightlessness of being in the water, or the weightlessness of being around Taehyung, that has his organs doing a zero-gravity routine inside his body?

“Enough!” Taehyung yells, sneaking up behind Jungkook and sending a volley of splashes at him, unprovoked. “Enough daydreaming. Race me? 20 lengths. To that buoy over there.”

“How is that fair?! Race you, in the water?!”

Taehyung blows a raspberry. “Boo. Thought you’re always up for a challenge. Boring! Buzzkill.”

Jungkook sputters. How dare he?!

“Okay, what’s your best stroke?”

“Freestyle. Duh.”

“Okay, you go freestyle. I’ll do breast. That’s my worst. Happy?”

“I don’t want pity rules!”

“You do want pity rules, you asked for them! Dai–”

Jungkook shoots off before Taehyung completes his sentence. “A cheater and a whiner! Never expected this from you, Jungkook Jeon!”

He comes very close. But by the time they get to 11, 12, Taehyung’s got about a body length on him. Jungkook kicks harder, even as his arms protest. He’s got this. Long, strong, don’t rush it, just keep swimming. When Taehyung turns the buoy this time, he swears he hears a faint giggle.

One more push. The gap is definitely not shrinking. Taehyung is already on his way back for the final length. Groaning, Jungkook curses his heavy arms, pushing, pushing, pushing. He’s so focused he doesn’t see the obstacle in his way, a 75-kg body in red trunks, and they crash into each other, Taehyung guffaws echoing across the space. “Ma dai!” Jungkook is speechless and sore, his brain reeling from the whiplash of the last couple of hours.

“Who’s the cheater now!” Jungkook cries as they both swim to the dock.

He hoists himself up, holding out a hand to Taehyung. The dock is slippery, and so are they, and that is how he ends up with an armful of wet, half-naked Taehyung, still guffawing. “You sabotaged me!” Jungkook draws him closer, locking his legs behind his back and trapping his arms by his sides. “I’ll have my revenge!”

“I sabotaged you?” Taehyung grins, and Jungkook’s brain short-circuits.

He’s so pretty, and his hair is falling into his eyes in damp ringlets, and the maple behind makes a sunset orange halo around him. There’s water clinging to his lashes, glistening at the top of his collarbone, at the corner of his lip, his plush lower lip—

Jungkook’s limbs go lax, and he lets him go. Taehyung presses closer, hovering over him, mouth wide with laughter. “I was helping you,” he murmurs. Both his arms land on the dock on either side of Jungkook, and Jungkook is driven by pure instinct at this point. He arches towards Taehyung, chasing more—“I forfeited, so you can win.” He feels Taehyung’s words against his face more than he hears them.

He is terrified to blink, because he’s ninety percent sure he’s dreaming, and he doesn’t want this moment to disappear. “You sabotaged me,” he whispers with a half-hearted tussle. Their foreheads bang together, and Taehyung jerks into him. The dampness of his trunks bleeds into Jungkook’s own. Jungkook’s breath stutters against his face.

With an easy motion, Taehyung flips their positions so he’s under Jungkook now, he’s the one with his palms braced against the dock, and Jungkook’s the one holding him down, and their legs are entangled worse than before. Their chests graze, causing goosebumps to travel down Jungkook’s spine. “I forfeit.”

It’s only when Jungkook looks up from Taehyung’s lips that he realizes that Taehyung has been looking at his. He bites down, and Taehyung’s eyes jerk to meet his. “I forfeit, you win.”

Jungkook’s brain has shut down under his body’s screaming—Go for it, go, go, go, go, he wants it, go get it—He’s ninety-nine percent sure Taehyung wants to, too, from the way he’s breathing harder than Jungkook. Jungkook knows what those lungs are capable of. Surely, his sudden inability to draw air is because of the way Jungkook’s wet crotch is pressed up against his. He shouldn’t have thought of that; now it’s all he can think. Groaning, Jungkook looks down at their bodies, at the way Taehyung is leaning into him, just like he was moments ago. Under Jungkook’s watch, he ruts up, and it makes them press closer.

“I win?” From up here, it looks like, maybe, Taehyung has a teeny-tiny crush on Jungkook, too. Not a stupidly massive, mega crush like his, but at least a mini one.

Taehyung nods, a small, almost-shy thing, lighting up all of Jungkook’s synapses at the same time. Maybe the crush is not so mini. The racing inside his chest has synced with Jungkook’s, and surely, he can hear how much Jungkook wants this, too. When Jungkook looks up, Taehyung is still staring at his lips. Holy fuck, is he gorgeous!

Jungkook says fuck it, and shifts his weight to his knees, moves one of his hands to the small of Taehyung’s back. He leans in. “Can–”

It only takes a second for the spell to be broken. Taehyung blinks, shaking his head like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, and pulls away. Jungkook freezes, hovering stupidly.

“I–uh–Should we go eat?” A hesitant, awkward laugh. “Sorry, we should–”

Pins and needles, Jungkook’s brain is all pins and needles, as he lets Taehyung disentangle himself from him. His voice sounds far away.

“I’m famished, fuck, swimming always gets me like this–”

When Jungkook opens his eyes, still sitting there on the porch, unmoving, he thinks he sees the briefest flash of regret on Taehyung’s face.

Rejection stings, Jungkook finds out. He doesn’t think he’s felt it before. But later, when he’s in Taehyung’s kitchen, and Taehyung is still trying to smooth over the tension in the air, rambling, stumbling over his words, in the most un-Taehyung-like way ever, Jungkook shuts his eyes and sees a void.

Blood pulses in his ears, and he can feel it coming—a shutdown. The opposite of that red explosion he often has, Jungkook feels like he’s shut himself in a dark box, where nothing can enter, and nothing can go out.

Noisily, he stumbles out of his chair and excuses himself, leaving Taehyung looking like he’s drowning.

Logically, he knows it isn’t the end of the world. So, they had a moment, or he thought they did, and then Taehyung changed his mind. There could be many reasons why he did. Logically, it’s probably about Taehyung, and not about him. Hell, he doesn’t even know whether Taehyung is single. He knows Yoongi and he broke up, but that sounds like it was years ago, and they’ve never really discussed it. Always strictly stayed in the friend lane, both of them stubbornly denying the lingering tension—until today. Because he swears he saw Taehyung give in, just for a bit, too. So, realistically, Jungkook knows it can’t be true. Still, he ends up at that one, the one that gets stuck in his mind, in a loop, is—

What if he knows, and that’s why he doesn’t want me?

He curls up on his living room rug, and it’s all his brain thinks.

He knows, and he doesn’t want me.

Later, he throws up the meager contents of his stomach in the toilet, tears dripping down his face. If he could only stop thinking—FUCKING STOP.

____

 

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Jungkook’s heart is in his ears; it’s in his mouth. Jungkook’s heart is in his fingertips, pulsing unbearably, until he tucks them under his thighs and presses down hard. He tries to remember how Val said he should breathe, but his lungs are not cooperating. Stupid, fucking, broken-ass organs, useless—

Thank you for choosing Aurora. We wish you an aura-ful day. Please listen to the options carefully, as our menu has changed recently—

Red, red, red. Red. His brain is reeling, hundreds of explosions going off, non-stop, relentless. It hurts, his chest hurts, he can’t—He dives under the dining table to fish out his phone, hands shaking as he dials the number.

“Jimin,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I know it’s so late. I’m sorry. I’m sorry–”

There’s a hasty shuffle at the other end, Jimin startling awake at the sound of Jungkook’s rasping breaths. “Jungkook. What’s happening? Where are you? Gguk, breathe with me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry–”

“Please. Jungkook, please. I can’t–I can’t help you over this goddamn phone if you don’t listen. Please, breathe. With me, come on. In, 1, 2, 3, 4–”

“I can’t–I can’t–” Jungkook heaves, curling into himself as he crouches on the floor.

He hears Jimin trying to gather himself, someone whispering in the background. “Baby, try, keep going. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4–” Jimin’s voice muffles after that. “–Not breathing–What do I–”

Jungkook howls, clutching his chest. “There’s no–I can’t–I can’t–They won’t let me cancel the stupid fucking massage chairs–”

“Gguk, I don’t know what you need. What won’t they let you cancel?”

Jungkook gives up on words, sobbing until he’s wheezing again, sputtering for air.

Through the haze, he realizes Jimin is crying too. “Where are you, please? Can you call someone? Jungkook, you need to call someone. You have to breathe–”

Shuddering, Jungkook sucks in a breath. It seems to work, and Jimin latches on immediately, guiding him. He crawls to his bathroom to hurl over the toilet, desperate to throw up the fucking knot that keeps twisting in his throat. It makes him feel a little better.

“Jin–Jin s–said they’ve set a date–”

“Who? Jungkook, oh–” He hears it when the understanding dawns on Jimin.

“A date.”

“Gguk, we discussed this, remember? It’ll be okay. You don’t–You don’t even have to go in. They said they’ll allow a video recording. You might not have to do anything. Your part is done.”

“Scared–I’m scared.”

“You’ll be safe, hmm? With Jin hyung? He’ll be with you. You’ll use the video link, and then it’ll be over. This will be the last time, they’ve promised that.”

“Not–not, about the follow-up testimony. There’s a date. How long will they be able to keep it–under wraps–”

“Gguk, hyung hired the best team. Okay? They’re legally required to protect your–”

“Jimin.” Jungkook sighs. They both know it’s a miracle there hasn’t already been a leak, considering how much they have discussed his disappearance all summer. The funny thing about the fickle media-memory is that he’s only relevant as long as he stays uncontested. As soon as someone comes along with a bigger scandal for them to sink their vicious teeth into, they forget him pretty quickly—at the end of August, an A-list actor takes one for the team, when his secret family gets unearthed, and Jungkook’s forgotten, at least for now.

“They’ll try their best.”

“Everyone–everyone will know,” Jungkook whispers, the terrifying thought causing his hands to grow cold.

“Gguk, you have options. Remember, it’s whatever you want. You decide.”

Jungkook loves Jimin, but he’s not being real right now. He knows he doesn’t have options—the media are vultures, and once they catch wind of this, it’ll all be over. It’ll be all they talk about for months—Busan’s Starboy? Can you imagine?

At Jungkook’s silence, Jimin sighs too. Jungkook imagines him squaring his shoulders, soft features twisting into that one terrifying expression he makes when his protective instincts are triggered. “Fuck them all, Gguk. Fuck what they say. You’ll always, always have your people. I’ll rip them all new ones if they try to fuck with you–”

At that, Jungkook smiles just a bit, because he knows Jimin would—god help you, if you cross Park Jimin. Sniffling, he scrubs his face. “Scared. Don’t want–don’t want everyone to know. Don’t want their fucking–pity.” Jungkook spits the last word, stomach churning.

He bends over the toilet, just in case. There’s nothing left to throw up, though.

“I know. Just–just know that you’ll always have me. Always. I’m so–You’ve come so far–” His voice is watery.

“Jimin,” Jungkook warns, as he feels another round of full-blown sobs coming on. “Stop it. I know this.”

“Okay, remember it. I know you’re scared. But you’ll never be alone.”

“I just–there’s no way for me to take it back. Sometimes, I wish I’d just–I wish I’d just let it go.”

“That’s fair. It sucks that you’re not allowed to change your mind.”

“I know–I know this is what I would’ve decided either way,” Jungkook sighs. “But. I’m tired. I’m just scared thinking about when it leaks and–”

When, not if.

“We’ll get to it when it does.”

Fresh tears escape him, and he wipes them angrily. He’s so exhausted from crying. Why does he have to feel like this, feel so much? That horribly bitter feeling—the resentment that lurks at the base of his chest—bursts through.

“It’s so unfair!” he yells to Jimin. “It’s so fucking unfair.”

Jimin has nothing to say. That’s the best part about having a Jimin—he never offers Jungkook fake comfort or tries to cajole him with any of that toxic-positivity bullshit. He lets Jungkook feel his real pain and stays with him through it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, and he sounds so sad.

That’s the worst part about having a Jimin—his love for Jungkook feels like a burden sometimes, even though that’s a horrible thing to think. But it kills Jungkook to make him sad by being sad. He wishes it were different, but he’s too in over his head to handle Jimin’s feelings these days.

Jungkook tamps down that ugly feeling, knowing that if he fans it, it’ll lead to another explosion. He’s too tired to deal with another anxiety attack. “They won’t let me cancel the fucking ugly massage chairs,” he weeps.

“What massage chairs? Who?”

“I got them massage chairs for their anniversary–” Jungkook hiccups. “Never gave them, obviously. They’re so fucking ugly, but they won’t let me cancel them. Keep emailing me and asking for a delivery date and address. It’s been seven fucking months.”

“Give me the company’s address and contact number, I’ll talk to them.”

“Jimin, they’re so fucking ugly!”

“Suits him, then,” Jimin mutters under his breath. “Aurora?! The fuck is that? Gguk, you need to do your research before you buy weird shit off the internet.”

“Is this the time?”

“Hobi says he loves you so much.”

“Go sleep, both of you. Sorry for waking you up.”

“Jungkook, can you do something for me?”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to stay by yourself tonight. Can you go over to Taehyung’s?

Jungkook stills. Things are still awkward between them. They’ve gone back to their runs, but it’s not like it used to be. It’s not as easy as breathing. Taehyung’s trying his best, but Jungkook’s walls have come up again, and he doesn’t know how to dismantle them. As always, his mind is betraying him, doing whatever it pleases.

“Please. I know you’re overthinking it. But he really likes having you around. He’ll–he’ll be upset to find out you were upset and he couldn’t help.”

“We’re–”

“Please. For hyung.”

It must be serious for him to play the hyung card.

__

 

So, Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the neighboring porch, a pile of strawberry ice cream sandwiches in his right hand: a peace offering, and a single chocolate one in his left.

Taehyung’s already at his door, waiting.

Jimin.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

He feels on edge, exhausted after the day he’s had, and stressed about not knowing how to act around Taehyung anymore.

“Okay, let’s,” Taehyung agrees easily.

He holds out a hand for Jungkook, as if Jungkook doesn’t know the way to his couch. Jungkook takes it anyway, sighing in relief at the way the tension eases out of his body. He practically melts against Taehyung’s side.

“Why does it feel so good?” he’d demanded from Val. “With him? When he holds my hand?”

“What do you think?”

“It’s–I’ve always loved physical touch. It’s my love language, or whatever.”

“Good. It’s good to know that about yourself, if it helps you. Don’t you think? Helps you set boundaries and expectations. And? What else?”

“I crave it. And since the–since the incident, I’ve locked myself away. Haven’t let anyone see me. Other than Jimin and hyung, and Hobi sometimes. It’s nice, to be held.”

“And?”

“And it’s especially nice to be held by him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s kind, and soft, and patient,” Jungkook sighed. “And because of my massive crush on him.”

“And?”

“And he makes my world quiet.”

Jungkook manages to collect himself from the puddle-on-the-floor he’s turning into under Taehyung’s influence, and makes himself at home.

He eyes the pills lined up on the shelf under the coffee table warily. Guilt flares up, adding to the cocktail of negative emotions brewing inside his brain. Has Taehyung been struggling while Jungkook has been sulking about something as silly as awkwardness? He almost cricks his neck trying to examine Taehyung, figure out if he’s lost weight over the last two days.

“You have something in mind?” Taehyung sounds okay, better than some days.

“This one,” Jungkook says, stopping at the thumbnail on the carousel on-screen. “I like trains.”

“Me too.”

They settle into the plush sand of Taehyung’s brand-new couch—the Pinterest moodboard had finally come through, and the right one had called out to Taehyung. It’s too warm tonight for Taehyung to be under a throw, so Jungkook snuggles under both of them.

Taehyung has, ridiculously, never watched this one.

“You’ve never watched Train to Busan?!”

“No…”

“But Gong Yoo!” Jungkook screeches. It’s unfathomable.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ma Dong-seok???”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you in for a ride, fra!”

It makes the experience more enjoyable, watching Taehyung get more invested every passing minute. He shifts to the edge of his seat, raking his nails over his face in horror when the kid gets stuck in the bathroom with Yumi, and they make their way through the train cars in the dark. They have to pause when Dong-seok sacrifices himself, and Taehyung goes through the five stages of grief.

“You said he’s the hero,” Taehyung cries, tearing up. He’s so fucking cute. Jungkook usually bawls during this scene, but today, he’s too distracted by Taehyung’s sweet, sad whines.

“He was! He fought valiantly and did what a hero would.”

“But he died!”

Jungkook stiffens, just for a moment, when Taehyung throws himself against his shoulder, sniffling. “Jungkook, he died!”

Taehyung catches himself, tuning in immediately to the way Jungkook’s body reacts, and tries to put some distance between them, an apology at his lips, but Jungkook wraps his arm around him and pulls him close, seeming more confident than he feels. “Are you crying for real?”

“It’s so sad,” Taehyung moans. “He’ll never meet his kid!”

Jimin was right. He usually is, but of course, you’d have to rip out Jungkook’s toenails before he’d ever accept that out loud. Sending him over to Taehyung’s was a great distraction, because all Jungkook can think about right now is how cute Taehyung’s nose freckle looks when his nose is pink from sniffling, and how warm he feels against Jungkook’s side. Under Jungkook’s smitten gaze, a tear, an actual, fat tear, escapes the corner of his left eye and drips down his face. Jungkook reaches over to wipe it away.

Taehyung looks at him, and his eyes are full of regret. They’re sad, and Jungkook can’t have that.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Jungkook’s thumb has a mind of its own, stroking the soft skin under Taehyung’s eye, over his mole. He has the prettiest moles Jungkook has ever seen. Taehyung doesn’t attempt to move away at all, staying close, looking, looking, always looking.

“Bello,” Jungkook whispers, stuttering when he sees heat flood Taehyung’s face.

“I know enough Italian to know that,” he says, blushing hard.

Jungkook can’t bring himself to care about being embarrassed. “You caught me. Won’t deny it.”

“Jungkook, I’m sorr–”

“Let’s watch ahead, you have a lot more crying to do.”

“What?!”

“Whoops,” Jungkook says, miming sealing his lips. “Just watch!”

Jungkook maintains a firm grip around Taehyung for the rest of the film, squeezing him extra-tight when he properly weeps at the end.

“You said it was exciting and nerve-wracking, not terribly sad! The dad did everything he could–”

Jungkook could whack himself over his head. He’s terrible at thinking things through, evaluating the consequences of his actions. In his defence, he’s been having a shit day. “Oh, Taehyung, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine–Just a movie. It’s–What a dad is supposed to do, right? Protect his kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Don’t be, it was a great movie,” Taehyung laughs, pressing his fists to his eyes. “Wish Gong Yoo would adopt me.”

“Oh, get in line, dude.”

Taehyung sniffles, dabbing his nose with Jungkook’s t-shirt sleeve. “At least, let me have him!”

Cooing, Jungkook proposes another. “Let’s watch this one now. I promise this one’s not sad.”

They play the second movie, barely watching as Emily Blunt goes through it on-screen. Instead, they keep stealing glances at each other. Jungkook knows Taehyung is looking as much as he is because in their current position—Jungkook’s head draped halfway over Taehyung’s chest—whenever Taehyung looks at him, they both jostle. Taehyung’s smiles are sweet, even when he’s caught in the act. Jungkook’s never watched this one, but Taehyung has read the book, and he insists, “As always, the book was better. Emily saved this shit.”

Jungkook can’t argue; he was very distracted by the circles Taehyung was tracing into the skin of his forearm. Jimin’s a genius.

“What next? More trains?”

“Trains are awesome.”

“Tell me now if you’re lying to me about it being sad.”

“Well, it has all the genre-typical sadness…”

“You’re a monster.”

They switch positions often, Jungkook feigning restlessness, making sure to pay attention to what part of his body Taehyung is subconsiously rubbing. He likes it when Taehyung’s head is on his shoulder, and he’s curled up like a cat. He likes it a lot when Taehyung allows him to put his feet in his lap and take over the massage to his right calf. His hands feel useful, and it gives him something to focus on. The sharp pins and needles that skulk at the edges of his consciousness are banished for a little longer. He’s watched the movie too many times to be fully immersed, but he likes watching Taehyung’s reactions to it.

He likes a-lot-lot when their legs entangle in the middle of the couch, feet touching. Taehyung’s purple compression socks feel warm against Jungkook’s toes. He thinks he’s being chalant about it all, until Taehyung starts pushing back against his subtle toe-touches. He seems to like that they’re holding toes, too.

Jungkook thinks he explodes when his head somehow ends up in Taehyung’s lap, and Taehyung’s hands end up in his hair. For a while, he’s just bits that used to be Jungkook, floating about in the ocean, like jellyfish without a care in the world. He’s so satisfied. He thinks he’ll never worry again.

“Don’t stop,” he whines when Taehyung stops stroking, too invested in Chris Evans’ plan coming to fruition.

“Stop looking at him, you horny freak! He’s annoying!” Jungkook was absurdly affected by Taehyung declaring him hot at the start of the movie.

“You’re not being reasonable. You picked the movie. He is the movie.”

“Whatever, don’t look!”

Taehyung gives him a dopey smile, resuming the stroking, and settling further into the couch, like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

“My mom does it for me,” Jungkook says. “Every time I go home. She says I don’t take care of my hair well, so she gives me a massage.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung’s grin lights up his face. “Sounds about mum.”

“I miss her,” Jungkook says, hesitating, because he knows it is unfair to say that to Taehyung. “I’m sorry, I know you probably–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay for you to miss yours anyway.”

Jungkook bites his lip, feeling like the worst person on the planet, as he pushes off Taehyung’s lap. Taehyung is so kind.

“Tell me about her, please? I promise I’m not upset.”

“It’s really stupid,” Jungkook says, angry at the way his eyes start to leak again. He’s so quick to burst into tears, like a two-year-old who hasn’t understood the world yet, and doesn’t quite know what he’s doing here. “I know I’ve been avoiding her, because, every time I call her these–stupid fucking tears–”

“It’s okay if you cry.”

“I just don’t know how to talk to her anymore. I burst into tears, and then she cries. She’s always so sad I’m sad and it makes me sadder. Oh God, none of this even makes sense to you.”

“She probably can’t help herself because she loves you.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to her. I’ve been such a bad son–”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Taehyung says firmly, holding both of Jungkook’s wrists in his hands. “I don’t know your mom. But, I do know this. She knows you love her. No matter how long it’s been since you’ve told her. I’m not going to project my “wish I hads” on you, but just know she knows.”

Jungkook looks at him, really looks at him, in his star-speckled red, white, and blue Team USA t-shirt and his purple socks; at the faint shadows under his eyes, the bright twist of his mouth despite everything, the strange halo of goodness that seems to emanate from him, and a wave of sadness washes over him.

“Taehyung.” He leans into Taehyung, chasing his warmth, so Taehyung keeps holding his hand, impossibly gentle.

Later, he thinks, Taehyung realizes it before he does, that the confession is coming.

“My Coach’s partner assaulted me. Um–Sexually assaulted me.”

“Jungkook–”

“No, it’s okay. I want to talk about it. Is it okay if I do?”

Taehyung nods, eyes shining intensely, making Jungkook’s own burn. The brightness of his laugh has vanished, and his mouth is drooping slightly with empathy. Not pity, Jungkook recognizes immediately.

“Sorry, it still feels strange to say it out loud.” It's also oddly liberating, like whatever was tying him down has been snapped, and he’s floating towards something good.

“Whatever–Say whatever helps.” Taehyung squeezes his hand, unsure, before he starts to withdraw his touch.

Jungkook hastens to stop him. “Please, can you keep holding my hand?”

Taehyung takes it in his grip firmly, his large hand enveloping Jungkook’s in a way that’s distracting.

“It was at a beach house they’d rented. I’d–I’d met him a bunch of times before. A lot of people from the team were there. He–he came onto me. He knew I–uh–liked men. I dismissed it as too much alcohol,” Jungkook shudders at the memory. Taehyung reacts to it like they’re connected by some invisible thread, instinctively shifting closer. “Everyone was very drunk. I fell asleep in one of the rooms. When I woke up–It felt–I had this weird feeling, this off feeling, like the world had turned upside down, and I was the only one blind to it.”

“Oh, Jungkook–” Taehyung huffs in a shaky breath and then covers his mouth, upset at reacting audibly. “No–Sorry. Go on.”

“Sorry, the only times I’ve been through the details were for the police–and–And my therapist.”

“Only if you’re sure–”

“It’s–Taehyung, I–” Jungkook sighs loudly, struggling with the right words. He doesn’t know why he wants to tell Taehyung. It feels like he’s taken a truth potion, that’s causing him to dredge up all the specifics he’s spent months trying to forget, but it feels like this is the next step, in processing, in moving on. Sharing the terrifying details, stripping himself bare, and he’s so, so sure he’s safe here, in Taehyung’s hands. He can’t have found a better person. “Sorry for trauma-dumping like this–”

Sudden, rare anger flashes in Taehyung’s face. “Don’t–No. It’s not that. I don’t know what that is. We’re–we’re–” Taehyung groans. “… friends,” he finishes weakly. Jungkook scrunches his nose, even in the midst of all this. Taehyung’s expression turns apologetic. “You can tell me things. I want to know things about you. Everything, whatever you want to give me.”

“I know. It feels right. With you. I haven’t told Jimin or Jin or–my mom–all of it, because it felt too hard. Like there were rocks on my chest. But it feels right. Now. This feels right.”

“I’m glad.”

“He told me himself later. I wouldn’t–I didn’t–I wouldn’t even have known for sure if he hadn’t told me. Can you believe it? I didn’t even notice I’d been… He sent me a strange message. We didn’t know each other like that. So, I didn’t know what to make of it. He apologized for it. Later, he met me for coffee and confessed. Said he’d, you know, jacked off–while I was asleep. He said he didn't lay a finger on me–So, it wasn’t as awful–”

“Jungkook–” Taehyung’s voice is thick with something. “Please. Don’t. That’s not–There aren’t levels to this. I’m so sorry.”

Jungkook wipes his tears with the back of his right hand because he daren’t move his right one, carefully clutched between both of Taehyung’s. “You know what the worst part of it is? What I can’t move on from isn't the fact that he took advantage of me like that–What keeps me awake at night is that Coach–he tried to–to–smooth things over, like it was a minor chink in a team strategy. “It’ll be best for everyone if we just communicate and keep things civil,” he said. Like Junho had hesitated for too long and let in a through pass. He kept pushing me to meet up, and talk things over–And acting like it wasn’t this terrible thing that had happened–”

Now, Taehyung’s mouth widens in horror. “Sorry. It’s horrible you had to go through that, and I’m sorry for your pain.”

The anger Jungkook keeps carefully bottled up inside him, because if he doesn’t, red explodes, and leaves him reeling, suddenly comes fizzing to the surface. He’s so fucking angry at Coach. Fuck him and his ugly fucking husband. “They did not like it when I said I was pressing charges. It’s been downhill from there. They changed the narrative. Said the apology was for something else entirely–for leaving me unattended while I was drunk. They put pressure on me not to report it. A lot of–It was fucking crazy. The Association got involved, and they actually tried to back him. No one wants the fucking bad press. You can guess why I’ve been hiding out here.”

“I’m sorry they betrayed your trust like that. Your Coach–Your management–They’re the ones supposed to have your back. It must hurt a lot to have to move on from that. I’m sorry. I wish there was something else I could say.”

“The date for the verdict was announced today. I panicked. I’m scared for when it all comes out.”

“For whatever it’s worth, you’ll have me. To talk to, to cry to, or watch 14 movies in a row with.” Jungkook wheezes out a laugh at that. “However you need me. You’ll have your friends and family.”

“Napoli has been–” Jungkook shakes his head. “Fuck, they’ve been better to me than I deserve. They’ve accepted all my requests, and I keep pushing my return, and they keep going along with it.”

“Yeah, 'cause you’re JJK7. They want you.” Taehyung's voice is firm, then. “You deserve good things. It’s not your fault. You can’t think any of this is remotely your fault.”

“You know the even worse part?” Jungkook asks, letting out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “That weekend–We were there for their fucking anniversary party! Can you beat that?”

Taehyung is silent for a long, long time, brows furrowed. He looks like he’s trying to come up with the most colorful curse, but all he says is, “Let’s watch another train movie.”

Jungkook cry-laughs. Or laugh-cries. One of the two. “How do you feel about gummies?”

Taehyung stares at him in shock for a bit. “Fuck, yeah, I could do that. Have them sometimes for the pain.”

Before Jungkook turns to cross over to his side of the porch, Taehyung follows after him, tugging at his right arm. “Hey. Thank you for telling me. I’m so glad I picked up my dad’s phone that day; that I came here. Because I got to meet you. I’m so glad, Jungkook.”

“Can I–Is it okay to–”

Taehyung hugs him, all his sharp, achey bits, not caring if they poke against Taehyung’s soft curves and edges, and leave horrible marks. Jungkook is so glad, too.

“Hey, Taehyung.”

“Mm?”

“I’m going to call my mom now. I’ll tell her all about our movie marathon. She’ll love you.”

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______

Taehyung Kim Talks Life, Love, and Loss

April 13, 2024

 

S Li: You’ve had an extraordinary career—six Olympic medals and dozens more collected from prestigious championships all over the world. That’s quite a hoard. When you look back, what stands out the most?

T Kim: Honestly, the thing that stands out isn’t the medals. The feeling of being in the water, you know? Nothing replaces that. Swimming was one my first languages, you could say. I spoke it better than anything else. It’s funny, because growing up, I was in the most land-locked place you could be—We ended up in Phoenix. No one in my family had even thought of being a sportsperson; it wasn’t a “safe” career path, not as an immigrant. It’s just not something you did. I was a shy kid. I know, hard to believe, right? The pool was where I felt most myself. My mom always supported it. She used to call me her little mermaid. [laughs]. Making it to Spain, to that first World Championship in 2013, and seeing her in the stands—it meant everything! That feeling stands out still, even after all these years. I didn’t win a medal… she never saw me win a big one, sadly. But I've felt her support through it all, and it means everything. Her face in the stands; that's what stands out the most.

S Li: Three years ago, you got your diagnosis, and much has been said about it since then. We’d like to hear from you: How did it feel?

T Kim: Which diagnosis? The first, the second… [laughs]. I was early for practice… I’d been going hard for months, you know how it gets [laughs]. It happened mid-stroke, in my right arm. It was a sharp tingling feeling, a vibration, almost painful, that radiated down my arm. The feeling didn’t go away all day. You know, how your foot falls asleep? Mine never woke up for days! It had spread all over. I wrote it off as overwork. But, suddenly, I was being told we had to see a neurologist, and that was that. Hearing the words made me numb, like the rest of my body. Suddenly, all the other stuff started making sense: the headaches, the random fatigue…My first thought was: Is it over? It felt like I was in a nightmare, only I wasn’t waking up. But then, they took me to another neurologist, and there were more tests, a new diagnosis. Then, another one. Each time: It’s over. And that’s what they told me for three years, until I finally met Doctor C—Shout out to Doc, she’s the best! She told me there was a path forward and that she had my back, and so I made a decision. I wasn’t going to quit. Swimming isn’t just my job, it’s my identity. So with Dr. C's sign-off and her incredibly supportive medical team, I built a plan. Many plans. We built many plans. They kept going for a toss. They still do.[laughs]. Anyway, I don't know how to answer how I felt. I just kept going. I listened to my body. There are good days and bad days. And through it all, you know, just keep swimming!

S Li: How has living with a chronic illness changed things?

T Kim: Of course, it changed everything. In some ways, it changed nothing. Physically, I had to adapt: shorter training blocks, more recovery, being meticulous about temperature… about fatigue. But mentally, it made me sharper. I became better about taking care of my body. I became hyper-aware of what it was telling me, and I learned to value the days I felt strong. Dr. C has been incredible about helping me find the balance between ambition and safety. I was warned early on of the progressive nature of the illnesses, that there was always a risk that I could end up worse. Still, we worked through it. I said, so far, so good. One day at a time, was what I decided when I first heard it. And that’s what I still follow! One day at a time.

S Li: Things haven’t been very so far, so good this year, though, has it? Retirement right before Paris? It can’t have been easy. How are you processing this moment?

T Kim: It’s been devastating. I won’t sugarcoat it. I’ve been on disease-modifying medication for two years, and it had seemed to be under control. The recent flare-up… things started to go downhill. One evening, my coordination vanished for just a second. And it was all downhill from there. I call Dr. C the Magician, but even she can’t magic her way out of everything. [sighs] Hearing “retirement” at my age… I’m not even 30! It was one of the worst days of my life. I know it was the right decision to stop, the responsible one, but it doesn’t make my heartbreak any smaller. I’ve been devastated.

S Li: As you step into this unexpected chapter, what message do you want to share with other people navigating chronic illness?

T Kim: I want people to know that their story doesn’t end when their body's plan changes. I gave my dream everything I had, and my illness didn’t stop me from fighting for it. It just changed the finish line. For everyone who’s navigating life with a chronic illness, your diagnosis doesn’t define you. Listen to your body, find your support system, and fight. Fight for your body. There’ll be good days and bad days. Some days, you’ll have to fight against yourself. You'll fall, but you'll keep going. Because what else can you do? As for me, I’m still figuring out what comes next, but I know one thing: I’m leaving the sport with gratitude, not regret.

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Notes:

cw: referenced sexual assault, the before and after discussed in the last scene of September, if you want to skip it; PTSD; anxiety attacks