Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You'll leave me first," he says, arm wrapping tighter around Jungkook's midsection. The bunny-print top Jungkook is wearing has ridden up to expose the bump of his hip and the cut of his lower abdominals.

"If you say so," Jungkook says through a sleepy smile. 

Taehyung works one hand under the soft cotton and lets his fingers trickle down the groove of each vertebra. "I know so, that's always what happens." 

His arm gets knocked loose as Jungkook twists until they face one another. Pretty, dark lashes kiss the edge of Jungkook's cheek as he languidly blinks. Then he presses his face into Taehyung's chest while one hand traces circles along Tae's waist. 

Jungkook wiggles his toes against Taehyung’s calf, "we'd have to be together first, for you to lose me"

"Can we?” Taehyung gazes blankly at the wall over the crown of Jungkook’s head, “Be together I mean. Will you be with me?" 

Jungkook smiles softly against Tae's chest, kisses along the creamy expanse of skin there until he's made his way to Tae's collarbone. He nips at the area lightly and sighs happily at the way Taehyung holds his breath. 

Then he’s leaning back and holding himself poised on an elbow half-covering Taehyung. His face is serious, open, kind, caring. "I can't, Tae."

Taehyung tenses, eyes closing, shielding himself from soft Jungkook, who hooks a hand along Tae's jaw. 

"I'm not rejecting you, Tae" Jungkook kisses the side of his mouth and Taehyung nearly chases, but he doesn't want Jungkook to taste the bitterness that lines his mouth. "I want nothing more in this world than to be with you. But now’s not right for you."

"I want it, I promise!" Taehyung opens his eyes, shifting them between Jungkook's.

Jungkook shakes his head and smiles small, but sweet, "I know. I know you want it, but wanting it doesn't mean you're ready for it."

"I don’t…" he doesn't understand.

Jungkook kisses him square on the lips, lingering still. "I need you to see the things in yourself that I see in you."

Taehyung quiets, but his mind is loud. He wants to ask, but he's scared of the answer. 

"Do you want to know what I see?" Jungkook asks.

"Yes,”

The pads of Jungkook’s fingers paint pretty spirals along Tae's stomach. He settles along Taehyung's entire body, leg hooking between Taehyung’s, cores touching, and fingers twining together. 

"Taetae is beautiful.”

Taehyung blushes at the compliment and runs his free hand through Jungkook’s feather locks, which bounce back into loose curls along his head. 

“Taetae is outgoing, caring, funny, and passionate.”

The compliments turn from surface to something more complex and authentic. There’s a shift within Taehyung from acceptance to resistance. The resistance barrels against him and he’s dizzy from the feeling alone. Despite the inner turmoil, Taehyung’s face remains placid, impassive, as Jungkook continues on. 

“Tae is someone I can have fun with, someone I can trust, someone I care about, and someone I value”

You're wrong, he thinks, you're wrong. I'm not those things. I'm not a good person. I'm a terrible person. I'll hurt you. You'll hate me. He wants to scream it, his insides churn all fire and soot and he feels it burn insistently along his jagged limbs. It begs to be released, it taunts him to be set free. He wants to voice it, to tell Jungkook he's wrong, to set the record straight, to be seen as the pathetic piece of shit that he is. He's not those things. He's shattered glass and ash. He's sharp and dirty. He'll leave lacerations and stains. He's ruined. He'll ruin Jungkook. He wants to say it, to scream it out...but he's scared. 

Worse than those truths is the fear that Jungkook will agree, or will wake from the daze he's in and see Taehyung clearly for the first time. Jungkook will leave him first. Jungkook will hate him as much as he hates himself. Then he'll be faced with it again, the awful discovery of self. He'll have to see the ugly beneath his facade. 

“Tae is good enough; Tae is worthy.”

Taehyung feels the air whoosh out of his lungs, he feels a crushing weight drag him down, and he feels entirely empty. “Oh.”

His voice is small, he feels small. He feels unworthy of the praise. He knows that some level of humbleness is normal, but he feels wrong accepting the praise. He feels like it’s not possible, as if he doesn’t deserve to feel that way about himself. 

He understands now. He knows it to be true: he’s not ready. 

His heart stutters and squeezes at the realization, feeling broken despite Jungkook’s sweet words. It feels impossible, how will he ever feel those things about himself? He’ll never be good enough for Jungkook. Except that Jungkook already thinks he’s good enough. Jungkook believes those things about him.

“Do you believe me?” Jungkook asks, his tone soft, gentle as if he carries something precious and breakable.

Taehyung feels a tear glide down the side of his face and wants to wipe it away, but his hands are occupied and he doesn’t want Jungkook to know. “No”

There are a few moments of silence, “I know.”

More silence. “I’m not rejecting you Tae, does it still feel like I am?”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

Taehyung holds Jungkook tight as if having Jungkook physically encased will make him believe the words, but it doesn’t. It’s hard and his thoughts just swirl dangerously in his head; shifting between understanding and knowing that Jungkook has said what he believes. On some level, he knows that Jungkook would never lie to him, but he can’t pick the thought up, it’s too heavy and he’s not strong enough. So it sits below a lake of water, which is quickly filling and overflowing his head and diving down feels impossible and he can’t see the thought anymore, barely knows it’s there. 

They fall asleep. Jungkook falls asleep first and Taehyung stays awake with his hand tangled in Jungkook’s hair. He wants to leave it there forever, become knotted by and surrounded by Jungkook. When he does eventually let slumber in, the birds have begun their first chirps, and the sun’s peeking over the horizon. 

The next morning he shuffles half-asleep and still cocooned in the duvet, to where Jungkook stands in the kitchen pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. His arms encircle Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook leans back into the warmth and tilts his head back against Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“Morning, Taetae.” 

Taehyung grunts, kisses Jungkook’s neck, then speaks lowly, “I want to, Kook.” 

“I know.”

♙ (f4) -> ♞ (f6)

Chapter Text

True to his word, Jungkook hadn’t been rejecting Taehyung. He still comes over, greets Taehyung with kisses in the morning, and sleeps tucked in and around Tae’s body. Nothing’s actually changed between them. They still laugh easily, still get loud over video games, and still jointly complain about cleaning. 

Taehyung’s hip is pressed into the counter as he reaches between Jimin’s arm to snatch a raw carrot, skinned and chopped. Jimin giggles and rolls his eyes, but continues to chop the carrots regardless. “I don’t know why I bother making things presentable if all you do is eat them before Jungkookie can even get here.” 

Leaning back once more, Taehyung smirks, “because you’d have no friends otherwise.” 

Jimin squawks and Taehyung laughs; it feels deliciously familiar. Taehyung’s learning how to appreciate familiarity, even more, these days.   

He’d feared waking up cold in a room too big for him. In fact, what he faces isn’t nearly as disorienting. Despite how mundane everything stays, there is a tinge of unfamiliarity. Sometimes there’s this look that trains Jungkook’s face into the perfect blend of yearning and hesitation. It’s not all the time, only occasionally, like when they’re intimate or affectionate. Taehyung wants nothing more than to fill Jungkook up and buoy him away from whatever causes that momentary tentativeness. He just doesn’t know how. 

“I asked Jungkook out the other day.”

Hair falling forward, the silk swoop of lavender shields Jimin’s eyes as he laser focuses on his task. “Oh? What did he say?”

Pouting and bending forward, Taehyung answers that Jungkook said no. He looks past the curtain of hair to spot the thin line that only ever appears between Jimin’s brows when he’s trying hard to not say something. “Spill.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” Jimin puts the knife down and plops a carrot in his mouth, purposefully crunching down as loudly as he can. 

“He said I wasn’t ready yet.” 

“What do you think?” The line is gone, smoothed back to porcelain. 

Taehyung sighs, “he’s right. I’m not ready. I think all of my previous romantic relationships are proof enough.” 

“Just your romantic ones?” 

Taehyung’s jaw hangs open in honest shock, “I…”

“Checkmate,” Jimin makes a show of bowing, which leads Taehyung to playfully smack his arm. Jimin is crying about how his arm hurts too much to cook, and dinner will never be ready when the door lock sings out and the heavy boots signal Jungkook’s return. 

One day, about a week later, while scrolling through his phone on the loveseat, a personalized ad displays on Taehyung’s SNS feed. It’s a direct link to an article called “5 ways to gain lasting self-esteem” .

He clicks it and scans through the items, which include: 

1. Positive affirmations
2. Identify your competencies and develop them
3. Learn to accept compliments
4. Eliminate self-criticism and introduce self-compassion
5. Affirm your real worth

There’s humming from behind him, and he opens the ad in his browser before closing the application altogether. Two arms, painted pretty with dark tattoos, dangle around his shoulders, “Whatcha looking at?” 

“Just a dumb ad, wondering how they find out all your information to send you ones that scarily match your wants and needs.”

Jungkook laughs, “right? The other day I was talking to Yoongi-hyung about his favorite basketball team, and that night I got an ad for Red Bull!”

“That’s odd,” Taehyung mumbles but his mind is reeling with guilt for having covered part of the truth and confusion over the connection between basketball and Red Bull. Later Jungkook makes fun of him for not knowing that Yoongi’s favorite team is the Chicago Bulls, so Taehyung tackles him onto the bed. They half wrestle, half tickle, and Taehyung feels a little better.

♙ (f4) -> ♞ (f6)

Chapter Text

1. Positive affirmations

Wake up. Tell himself he’s successful. 
Work.
Wash up. Feel worthless. 
Rinse. Repeat.

By the third night, he stands in front of the mirror and feels dead. He feels heavy and burdened. Jungkook looks up from beside him, they meet gazes in the mirror, colliding. Taehyung shrinks inside himself.

“Tae?” Jungkook fades away from him. 

He’s standing beside himself, as Jungkook, but is himself. He sees his body that he’s not inside. 

The other him, that’s no longer him, speaks, words hollow and meaningless, “I am going to be successful.” 

They rewind, except he’s inside his body and in Jungkook’s place is a happy clone of himself. 

He says, the real him, feeling inside himself, but not feeling like himself, “I am not successful.” 

Everything fades. 

He shifts and turns onto his side, away from the heated mass beside him, before finally opening his eyes. They feel wet, and he feels groggy. It’s dark in the room as he feels for his phone on the bedside table. It lights up as his fingers brush along the edge of it. He flips it until the time reads 3:44 AM before his face. 

He wants to decompose in the bed, let his body leave a dirty imprint, and disintegrate. He groans low instead and pushes up because the press of his bladder can’t be ignored. 

In the harsh light before the sink, he stares at his reflection and thinks he should feel a sense of Deja Vu, but there is no Jungkook, and there is no second him. He is himself. 

Returning to bed is easier than getting out after he’s splashed his face with cool water, but it’s the getting in part that scares him. Not because he thinks he’ll have another dream - read as nightmare - but something below the surface, something that floats at the back of his brain. Every time he tries to grasp the thought, it pushes further away like an optical illusion. 

It’s in the quiet of the eve, where Jungkook sits up and reaches out for him with one, limp hand. Taehyung doesn’t want to touch Jungkook with his frigid fingers. He’s got one knee on the bed when Jungkook flops forward and tugs him into an awkward hug. Jungkook’s face floats in front of Taehyung’s navel, arms loose around his waist. Taehyung pats at the junction between shoulder blade and spine. Then at the insistent squeeze around his hips, he lets two fingers dig in. 

Jungkook whimpers at the touch and releases his hold, in order to fling himself onto his belly. Taking the less than subtle hint, Taehyung begins his ministrations anew. He’s only moments in when the muffled intones of Jungkook’s words reach his ears. 

“What’s haunting you so late in the evening? Don’t ghosts know it’s time to sleep?” 

Taehyung huffs, repositioning his hips against the recipient of his massage. “Am I dead, Jungkook?” 

“Are you? Have I been sleeping with a ghost?” 

Taehyung feels his throat restrict, his pace quicken, is he? “No.”

He plies his hand down until it reaches the swell of Jungkook’s butt, then pushes back up again. Jungkook sighs as his body loosens further. Jungkook is close to falling back asleep. 

“Am I successful, Kook?” 

When there isn’t an immediate reply, he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his head against the small of Jungkook’s back. He wants to be buried here. 

“Is anyone? What even is successful? However you calculate it, I don’t think you’ll get immediate gratification like in games, Tae.” 

He takes a second to breathe in Jungkook’s scent, his words, his meaning. When he releases his breath, Taehyung presses in further aligning his mouth along the edge of a vertebra. The kiss lingers and Jungkook shivers. Taehyung wants to melt. 

So he does melt into Jungkook’s warm embrace; they tangle together like the roots of a tree. 

The next morning he looks himself dead in the eye and utters, “I’m going to persevere until I succeed.”

♙ (f4) -> ♞ (f6)

Chapter Text

2. Identify your competencies and develop them

He likes minimalism. He enjoys empty streets or skylines, the shots where only one object calls attention and it’s small and tiny - how he feels - but leaves the impression of being important. Like it’s the focal point for a reason. He likes making small things feel big. He wishes he could photograph himself like that and make himself feel important too. 

His favorite photographs are the ones that have a frame within a frame; a story is just beginning instead of coming to a close. When he likes his outfit and snaps a cheeky mirror shot, where the majority of his face is covered by the lens of his film camera, he feels safe. He feels like reality can’t reach him in those photos; he cherishes them and develops them with equal care to the others. 

Amongst the entire process, his favorite step is developing the film. He likes standing in the darkroom (a walk-in closet with no prior purpose). He'd to ruined the door to cover as many of the creases on the outside as he could. Despite his efforts, he still has to toe a towel under the frame to block the remnants of light. There's still probably some minuscule light that seeps into the room, but his film turns out okay, so he’s not complaining. 

He’s standing there now, the space big enough to turn around in. It’s got one shelf at waist level that was haphazardly installed by himself and Jungkook. To be fair, the space is probably not the safest place to be if a fire breaks out. Despite the possible danger, he feels a weight get lifted every time the door closes. In the oppressive darkness, he feels the gasses built between each bone seep away. 

With nimble fingers, he pulls at the film so that it unravels from the spool it’s tucked safely in. Feeling for the pair of scissors he knows are just before him, his hand grasps the finger hole, and he lifts them to cut the end. With practiced ease, he inserts the correct end into the developing reel. When he’s sure that the film is hooked, he spools the rest, slow and steady. Sometimes the film still snags partway through, but today the process is smooth. Once he’s reached the original canister center, he finds the scissors again and snips them clean off. 

The plastic reel is placed into the empty developing canister, and the special, light locking lid is twisted into place. 

There’s not much left to do now. First, soak the film in water, add the chemical solution, gently agitate for the first little while, then let sit for about 5 minutes. He doesn’t use a stop bath, just runs water through the tank for a few minutes, then another 5 minutes with different chemicals, and another rinse with lukewarm water. Finally, he hangs the film (safe for light exposure now) in an old metal cabinet so that particles don’t stick to it while it dries. 

He makes lunch in the meantime. The gochujang sauce is in one hand and chopsticks in the other, poised and ready to put the finishing touches on his bibimbap, when a call comes through on his cell phone. He sends the mass of food a longing look, before setting the bottle down and resting his chopsticks along the edge of the bowl. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, my name is Lindsey Ryklief. I’m a photographer based in Seoul. I got your number from a friend, Han Man-hee, I hope you don’t mind me calling so suddenly.” His food forgotten, Taehyung stands and looks around, as if an object would help calm his heart rate.

He hadn’t expected his old professor, Han Man-hee, to have kept his information, let alone seemingly have it on hand to give out. If he's surprised to hear that his number has been shared, that pales in comparison to just whose hands the digits have landed in, Lindsey Rykleif. 

Rykleif, commonly going by Ligrye on social media and in interviews, is a well-known photographer in the scene. Most notably, outside of being South-African born, is the fact that the man is one of Korea’s leading LGBTQ+ photographers. Taehyung had kept careful tabs on Ligrye’s recent project, Boys of Seoul, which features some of the most beautifully captured portraits he’s ever seen. 

Finding his voice, Taehyung assures the man, “it’s no problem at all. How can I help?”

“I was speaking with Han Man-hee about a new special project that I’m working on when I expressed my wishes to collaborate with someone, and he showed me some of your work. If you’re interested in collaborating, we could schedule a meeting and go over it in more detail.”

His heart sinks, shutters, falters. This could have been the chance of a lifetime, but here he is, stuck in a dead-end job. He has not honed his craft at all. Foolish. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what prints Professor Man-hee might have shown you, but I don’t think that my style would fit your needs. I don’t take photographs like that anymore.”  I never put in the time to practice. 

The other end is silent for a moment, one that feels so long that Taehyung pulls the phone from his ear to check that the call is still connected. When he places the plastic back against his ear, Ligrye speaks again. “No, I think I’ve seen the most recent stuff...unless you’ve been posting old content on your social media accounts.” 

“My,” Taehyung rips the phone from his ear and quickly sorts through it until he could pull up an account, any account, and look under his notifications. Sure enough, @ligyre is following him. “Fuck. I mean, I-”

“Are you just not interested?”

“No. I mean no, I am interested. Very. I follow your work closely. I just- why?”

A bark of laughter erupts from the other end, “your style fits the concept well. I like your eye.”

“I...I would very much like to meet.”

♙ (f4) -> ♞ (f6)

Chapter Text

3. Learn to accept compliments 

“You don’t actually have to be in the photos if they make you uncomfortable, Taehyung-ah.”

He twists on the stool to look over his shoulder. Ligrye has his DSLR in hand and is smiling kindly as he approaches the bar. 

Taehyung smiles, but doesn’t feel the tension in his shoulders fade, “ah, it’s not a big deal...I mean, I just- I haven’t told-”

It’s the last day, and they’re at the last location. Three whole months of scouting places, finalizing their concept, and hiring models (of every gender and orientation) to pose pretty for Ligrye. Technically, Taehyung’s part is complete, well the photos are taken - film of course - and the film has been developed and scanned onto his computer. His photos will stand in contrast to Ligrye’s. They are supposed to show the disparagement between place and people, to reflect the great divide between larger society and individual freedom of expression and being. 

Taehyung even went as far as to ask Jungkook if he wants to model for Ligrye, for which he received a prompt slap for, “if you’re playing with me, I swear you’ll regret it.” He supposed it was a good response, and it must have been because Jungkook sways to the dancefloor as soon as they enter. He’s supposed to be out there too, or in the lounge area, but it’s a bit stifling. Returning quickly had been the plan, yet here he is sitting with an untouched drink in his hands, ice melted. 

“I see, well that Jungkook of yours is certainly pretty enough to make up for your absence.” 

“He’s not mine,” Taehyung mumbles into the lip of his glass, intending to gulp the warming liquid down. 

Ligrye studies him with that intense gaze he always has, coming naturally with his large eyes and high brows. “I haven’t seen a boy so taken in my life. He looks at you with a whole galaxy in his eyes.” 

Taehyung wants to deny the claim, but he’s not unaware of how Jungkook’s gaze has followed him the whole night, beckoning him to move closer. Like gravity, it feels natural to fall into it, but he’s been resisting, as usual. 

“Well,” his partner pushes toward him slightly, “your portion of the project is beautiful already, but mine is yet to be finished! Do me a favor though? Make your decision before that precious boy loses all hope.”

Ligrye turns to leave, but pauses, before turning back, “Taehyung-ah?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a great photographer," he winks and hoists his own camera in the air, "you're also easy to get along with. No wonder that boy has starry eyes."

"Thank you, hyung. That means a lot to me."

"Do you believe me?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

Ligyre smiles wide and kind and continues away. For his part, Taehyung stays seated, but he feels delightful bubbles in his stomach. He taps his glass a few times, then abandons the drink altogether. There are more pressing matters to be dealt with. 

It's not hard locating Jungkook, a wildflower amongst roses. His natural, dark locks adorn his head like a twined crown of flowers. Taehyung wants to dig in until he meets scalp then further until they're one.

Jungkook notices his approach early, standing straight and watching, always watching. Maybe Ligyre had been using hyperbole in his assessment, but Taehyung spots a familiar spark in Jungkook’s gaze. It used to make him feel shy. Now he feels it set his body ablaze. To be considered so fully, to be seen as a whole person. It lights his soul on fire. He decides at that moment that he wants to spend the rest of his days being seen in this way. It’s more of a reaffirmation from the first time he made Jungkook laugh, but the point still stands. He doesn’t want to shrink inside himself anymore, he wants to grow until at last, he fits inside himself. 

"Taetae," a soft smile spreads, "I missed you."

Fuck. Taehyung pushes his hands into Jungkook’s hair. It feels like silken petals running along with the pads of his fingers. Immediately, Jungkook’s body loosens and Taehyung wants so much. 

First, he circles his thumb along the contours of Jungkook’s cheeks, then hooks under the defined mandible. Jungkook breathes in through his nose, eyes dancing. Without prompting he tilts his head up and shivers as Taehyung's hand falls to rest along Jungkook’s slender neck. His thumb tracks down until it traces Jungkook’s Adam's apple. Taehyung bends forward.

"I missed you too," he whispers, then kisses the earring before him. 

They’re pressed so firmly against one another that Taehyung can actually feel the shiver that runs along Jungkook’s spine. One hand falls down Jungkook’s back, chasing the shiver. Taehyung wants to capture it, swallow it. Instead, he lays his open mouth hot below Jungkook’s ear and gently sucks, as if it will pull back the shiver. It doesn’t, but it does elicit a tiny gasp.

He wants to take everything that makes Jungkook into his hands and shape it, build him higher and higher.

“I,” he’s speaking into Junkook’s neck, lips dragging over skin as he shapes words, “am happy.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook breathes into his shoulder, two arms coming up around his back and squeezing at his silky, floral shirt. 

“I’m succeeding in my career.” 

“Yes.”

He’s dragging his lips lower still, feeling a smooth, hard clavicle beneath them, “I’m good with film photography.”

“Yes.”

“I deserve this.” 

Jungkook is pulling at his shoulders now, “yes.”

He pulls back, thinking Jungkook needs air or space, but Jungkook needs none of those things. Instead, his beautiful dark eyes, framed by fluttering lashes, look deep, endless, and hungry. Taehyung breathes in and the action seems to draw Jungkook forward magnetically. There’s no hesitation as Jungkook smooths their lips together and Taehyung responds by pressing in further. Taehyung wants to be closer until he’s surrounded by Jungkook. He wants to filter himself through Jungkook’s granules and come out feeling clean. He wants to rest himself here, let himself be still at last. 

They’re in this position, Jungkook’s head tilted slightly back from Taehyung’s hold and kissing sweet when there’s a single, bright flash. Taehyung is aware of it, but in a distant sort of way, because almost every thought is focused on Jungkook.

♙ (f4) -> ♞ (f6)

Chapter Text

4. Eliminate self-criticism and introduce self-compassion 

There’s no turning back now.

Well, there are always alternative options, but none of them feel authentic or real. In fact, he had so many possible avenues he could have gone down before this very moment arrived. Taehyung likes things to be so real that he can grasp them between his fingers. So here he is clutching DUIRO, the shiny cover hosting one of Ligrye’s beautiful portraits. Inside is their spread, his minimalistic film photographs opening, closing, and dispersed between Ligrye’s club photos. It’s a visual story with a short interview that they both participated in following thereafter. 

He lays the magazine down on the low table between himself and his parents. “I collaborated with a photographer who goes by Ligrye. We have a 10-page, front and back, spread and a two-page interview after. By the end of the month, we’re having a gallery show where individual prints, as well as the original, full 34-photo collection, will be available for sale.” 

“That’s wonderful Tae, I’m so proud of you,” his mother smiles wide and boxy at him, her pretty curls bouncing as she leans forward to pick up the magazine. “I’ve never heard of DUIRO before, is it a new magazine?”

“It’s been around since 2016 actually,” Taehyung watches her hands as she flips to the page he has marked with a sticky note. The opening shot is simple: black and white film, two closed doors in a bar with face-height windows. Behind one door, the viewer can see a person, but that person is turned away from the camera. It feels like there is a lot going on, but it also feels lonely. His mother glosses her hand over the page.

“It must not be a very popular magazine.” 

Taehyung keeps his gaze trained on his mother's hand, fingers traveling toward a corner, “it is immensely popular amongst its target audience.” 

“Target audience?” His father leans back in his chair, ice in his glass clinking. 

The page is only half-turned when his mother gasps, it’s not what she’s expecting, this is exactly what Taehyung’s expecting. His father moves again and Taehyung glances over in time to see the way his father’s wide eyes turn to slits. 

He knows that the back of his page is safe, just two hands clasped together, but the next page shows one man hanging over another’s back and smiling into the seated man’s neck. They’re too close, too familiar, too sweet for the reality to be mistaken, but Taehyung thinks that it will take a few more pages until his mother understands. Judging by the way his father has shifted uncomfortably away from the magazine, Taehyung knows that his father understands the intention behind the content. 

Everyone is silent, just the gentle sweep of pages being turned, at first hesitant, then faster and faster. Then the sounds halt, and he watches as his mother’s emotions play across her face, confusion, shock, and then something he can’t discern. The silence gets louder. 

Taehyung had every chance to ask Ligrye not to use the photo, in fact, the man had offered not to use it himself. He’d gone to visit the studio Ligrye was working at intending to ask the man not to use the photo, but he hadn’t even made it to the room when his original resolve had dissipated. 

“You’re sure?”

“I think it’s time.”

Ligrye had smiled kindly, “for some people, it’s never time.” 

He’d left with a wave, feeling a sense of relief and foreboding. He was successful. He was worthy. 

Sitting across from his parents, Taehyung wonders what happened to all that bravado now that the cards had been dealt. The silence agitates his father, who looks over and freezes. Large hands grab the magazine, fingers too big they cover half of Jungkook’s face, and the movement breaks his mother from staring. 

“Is this a joke?” 

Looking between his parents, only his father looking at him, “I’m going to marry him.” 

What now? That had neither been an answer to the question nor had it been what he’d rehearsed. 

Hours later, the slap of the magazine as it landed on the glass table still stung. Taehyung sits in the dim kitchen, lit only by the laughing moon, and contemplates whether he should head home early or stay the rest of the weekend. He feels the room beneath him, above him, surrounding him, and it feels cool nearly cold. This room used to sit within his chest warm and light. He wonders when it grew too large to sit in, when he’d shrunk enough to fit within it, so small he feels like his body is too big. He wants to cradle the room again when distance made him feel fondness. Maybe he should leave after all. 

“I remember when you used to sit there every night studying,” the low, honeyed voice of his mother falls through the darkness. 

He glances back to see her moving toward the teapot and stove, then faces the wallpaper peppered with illustrations of fruit slices. “I needed to work harder than my siblings.” 

“Your brother has always excelled naturally with mathematics, he gets that from Papa.” 

Taehyung pouts and lets his shoulders drop, “and sister gets her skills with language from you.” 

His mother hums as she always does when they have this conversation, “and you, Taehyung?”

If he’s to act out their skit, then he should lean back and laugh, then say that he got the charming looks from his mother and charisma from his father. He breathes in, but the prepared laugh is hollow in his chest, and he feels wrong playing this script out. He’s more than those attributes. Why does he enter this room, which used to feel too small for him, and suddenly feel too small for the room? 

“I’m nothing.” The offending fruit slices on the wall look faded and grey, so he bends his head until he feels the cold wood of the kitchen table. He tries to focus on his reflection, but he’s too close and it’s too dark, so all he sees are the vague lines of himself. 

There are a few gentle clinks of ceramic as his mother prepares the tea, “That’s what I was afraid of, Tae.” 

He’s momentarily disoriented when a light illuminates directly over the table, but his mother dims it until only a soft, warm glow emanates from above. Then her slippers shuffle along the hard tiles until a teacup and saucer are placed at the crown of his spiraling hair. Taehyung lifts his head when she sits opposite him. 

“Thank you,” he lifts the cup and rests the smooth ceramic along his lips and for a second watches his mother haze out of existence as his gaze focuses on curls of steam. He takes a sip of the liquid honey: ginger tea. His eyes sting. His heart stings. “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” 

“For never being enough,” the words are choked, and his throat burns as he tries to will the tears pooling before his vision into retreat. They don’t. 

His mother frowns and curls a finger through the dainty handle of the flowered cup before her, “Aish, I’m going to strangle that man.” 

“Who?” The words are watery. 

“Your father.”

“It’s not his fault-”

“No, it’s my fault as well, I never should have listened to him. I’m sorry Taehyung.”

His cup clacks as he deposits it, but his confusion is mounting and he doesn’t understand, “What?”

A slender hand clasps his, “Tae, we’ve both known since you were a child that you weren’t like your brother. We knew the moment you introduced Jungkook, all enamored and sparkly-eyed.”

He moves to interject, but she gently squeezes his hand and continues on, “we’ve known that you weren’t...that you were different. Your father knew that you’d be subjected to a life of derision and ridicule, so he thought it best to be hard on you, to expect more from you than your sister and brother. I don’t think he was wrong...but I think that we’ve been remiss in our approach.”

“You’ve…” he sucks in a breath, inhaling tears and snot - is disgusted by how he feels - and continues, “you’ve known? That I was...that I’m not straight?”

“Well...not entirely, but enough to understand that society wouldn’t accept you. Tae, you’re more than enough. You’ve always been enough. Your father and I are proud of you, we love you Tae.”

“But I got a degree in Liberal Arts, and until recently, I haven’t even been using my degree to make money...I’m a disappointment.” 

His mother retracts her warm hand from his and flicks his forehead, “the only way you could disappoint me would be if you didn’t follow through on your promise to marry Jungkook-ah. Though, I do have to say that you’ve got several legal hurdles before that can happen.” 

It feels like he can see through the darkness, “you don’t mind?” 

She smiles, “I don’t mind.”

“And dad?”

“He’s only just found out that his suspicions are true. He’ll need a little to take it all in...and you weren’t exactly kind in thrusting it on us like that,” Taehyung blushes at his mother’s reprimand, “but I know how much your father loves you, even if you don’t.”

They settle after a little and companionably sip their tea in the orange glow of the light. When both their cups are empty, and Taehyung’s face is dry, his mother takes up the dishware and places them in the sink. On her way out, she pats his shoulder and Tae feels himself grow. He’s neither too small nor too big for the room, he fits right in as if he’s always belonged. 

He stays the rest of the weekend. On Saturday his brother visits in the afternoon and he doesn’t even have to say anything, because as soon as his mother asks for the three of them to sit down and Taehyung says he has news, his brother scoffs, “Is this about that gay magazine?” 

“You know?” Their mom leans forward, and Taehyung assesses his brother in a new light. He wonders what other secrets hide within the folds of his business suit. 

“I think he forgets that Yoon Jisung is a hyung of mine from University.” His brother is giving Taehyung a flat look, communicating that finding out through a former classmate wasn’t exactly on the itinerary. 

Taehyung frowns, “but I was so careful at the office,” 

“I’m not sure how careful kissing someone’s hand is, but that’s what tipped Jisung-hyung off,” his brother is wearing a haughty smirk. 

Taehyung winces as their mother gasps beside them, but maintains eye contact with his smug brother, “I didn’t think anyone was watching, but even so, it could have been a joke.” 

He’s being petulant, he knows, there isn’t a single possibility that he hadn’t locked eyes with Jungkook before pressing his lips against the ink that decorates Kook’s knuckles. He always did that at home and in private, it was so natural for them that he hadn’t considered what other people might see. 

His brother rolls his eyes, “either way, hyung can always tell these things.” 

Taehyung realizes the implication of his brother’s assertion. Oh. “I see.”

Neither of them explains to their mother what the statement means, but Taehyung assuages her curiosity by claiming Yoon Jisung to be very observant of subtleties. 

The day passes with little to no fanfare. It’s nice, and for a moment Taehyung feels like he’s a senior in high school again, the crest before adult stressors tie a person down. He’s light, and in the quiet of the house, he feels calm. Even if his father refuses to eat with them, their mother using the excuse of work for his absence, Taehyung is glad he decided to stay. 

The next day he wakes up early, packs up his small bag in preparation for his departure after breakfast, and then wanders around the familiar home of his youth. The sun is cascading into the sitting room at the back of the house, where large windows are overlooking the small strip of grass and a single tree that make up their backyard. Beyond the backyard is the fence and then jutted up against the property line is their neighbor’s house. 

Taehyung sits down on one of the two dark, ornate chairs that occupy either side of a rather high glass table. At the center of the table sits an impending walnut and deep cherry wood chess set. It’s the same one he used to stare at for hours as a child trying to unlock its secrets. His father had always forbidden him from touching the hand-carved pieces, Taehyung smiles wanly at the memory of watching his younger brother play against their father only a few years later. 

Taehyung lifts one of the white pawns and scoffs at it. He was so afraid of his father and felt so inferior to his brother during that time. For so long, he wanted nothing to do with the game. Three years ago, he finally learned how to play, thanks to Namjoon having roped in even the most resistant of their friends. He still feels embarrassment at the way he had nearly craved the affirmations of progress Namjoon bestowed upon him. 

“I’ve always regretted not teaching you,” a deep voice shocks Taehyung into nearly dropping the pawn, which he immediately deposits back onto the board with a glare. 

His father takes a deep breath and Taehyung feels tense, expects to be reprimanded, but instead finds himself with an opponent on the board. He’s looking between the light pawn, which in his haste he’d placed on F4, and the dark knight that his father slid to F6. 

“Namjoon-hyung taught me,” he states, considering the options. He wants to control the dark squares closest to his pawn, so he takes his own knight and mirrors the move on his side by placing the white horse on F3. 

They don’t talk anymore, just play. His father moves a pawn forward, so too does he. They’re shifting and moving pieces across the board at a leisurely pace, but neither has taken the other’s pieces out yet. By the time they’ve both got at least one bishop hopping along the board and their kings displaced, breakfast is ready and the table set. 

“Taehyung, you should eat before traveling all the way back to Seoul,” his mother picks up the strands at the back of his head and lets them filter through her fingers. 

His father huffs, but stands, “we’ll continue the next time you visit.”

Chapter Text

1. Affirm your real worth 

Jungkook’s eyes are sparkling like they always do and for the briefest of moments, Taehyung allows himself to bask in their glow. Then he laughs into his bowl as a thinly veiled attempt to hide his mirth. 

“What?” Jungkook whines, his toes pressing further underneath Taehyung’s crossed legs. They’re sitting on the loveseat, which is off-centered and angled from their television, but they both seemed to have gravitated there together, wanting to be near. “It’s true! It was so amazing how you two had the room set up, I’m seriously amazed. I loved how you had those divider walls creating a thin pathway that slowly widened until everyone was gathered in the open center. It was beautiful.”

Taehyung thinks back to the formation of the idea, how Ligrye and he had wanted the physical space to emulate the collection. They’d wanted it to start off enclosed, small, nearly uncomfortable, and as the collection progressed it would widen until at last everyone was encircled by the loving embrace of the rest of the photographs. It both mimicked the progression of the photographs as well as the individual journeys of those who are ostracized from larger society. 

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Jungkook is chewing, but his excitement is brimming and he can’t contain himself, “I loved it! I was so surprised that our photo sold for as much as it did, do you know who the buyer is?”

Taehyung hums, “S’pose I do.” 

“Who is it?” Jungkook lays his chopsticks across his bowl, resting safely on their stout table. He straightens out and leans forward, face precariously close to the bowl Taehyung holds. 

“Kim Jiwoo,” Jungkook’s face screws up at the name, and his eyes lose focus. Leaning forward, Taehyung slides his hand along the silken curve of Jungkook’s jaw. It’s enough to halt the cogs turning behind his vision and bring Jungkook’s gaze flitting between Taehyung’s eyes and lips. 

He cracks a smile, feels a laugh bubbling up from within, but it’s not a laugh - just something equally as warm. It feels like sunlight filtering through ocean waves, cheery and bouncing pleasantly. Taehyung feels his heart swell along the sweeping curve of a wave’s amplitude, feels like he’s cresting the ambiguous mass. It’s thin but voluminous, sheer but tangible, and every atom shakes with the movement. He licks his lips and thinks about crashing along Jungkook’s shore.

There’s a sudden gasp and Jungkook’s eyes alight, “You know someone with the same name as your mother? That’s so funny!” 

The glee is mounting, Taehyung can tell by the way Jungkook’s eyes squeeze and his nose crinkles. He wants to water it, so he leans forward and presses himself along the fullness of Jungkook’s lips. The smile that had appeared there moments before, slips into something more earnest, wanting. Then Tae pulls back, “I don’t.”

“What?” 

Taehyung waits, watches from the edge of his wave as Jungkook filters through the same expressions as before, almost miming himself. Nearly a minute later, the space between Jungkook’s brow is lined with confusion as he opens his mouth, “I don’t understand TaeTae.”

“Kim Jiwoo bought that photograph.”

“Who is Kim Jiwoo?” Jungkook knows, Taehyung can tell. He thinks maybe Kookie is afraid of the full realization though, doesn’t want to assume, knows the implications. So he helps, “My mother.”

He allows his hand to slide down until he’s cupping Jungkook’s neck, then along the hard bicep, and smooth forearm, and tangling with long, decorated fingers. They twine together like roots. 

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook is frowning, clutching at Taehyung’s hand like he’s scared. 

“It’s okay,” Jungkook is shaking his head, eyes welling despite Taehyung’s assurances. “Kookie, I told mom and dad. It’s okay. I’m okay. Everything is okay.”

“You’re okay?” words watery.

Taehyung chuckles, “Yes, baby, I’m okay. Mom took it very well.”

“Your dad?” Jungkook is watching him, clear, bright eyes misted over. 

“He needs some time, but I know it’ll be okay.”

“You do?”

Taehyung nods and runs his one hand up and down Jungkook’s forearm, his other still rooted. “Yeah, because I’m successful,”

Tiny nods, hair bouncing, “yes, you are.”

“I’m outgoing.”

“Mhm.”

“Caring.”

“Yes.”

“Funny,” he sticks out his tongue because fat tears spill along the slope of Jungkook’s cheeks. It works. Still giggling, sounding thick like hiccups, Jungkook replies, “sometimes.”

“I’m someone you can trust.” 

“Always.”

“I’m,” he stops because the words feel heavy on his tongue, anchoring it momentarily. Jungkook is barely breathing, and despite his red-rimmed eyes, he’s got a galaxy in his gaze. So Taehyung takes a deep breath and wills away the hold that disallows the connection between his sharp self-thoughts and the lightness of speaking his truth out loud. “I’m good enough.”

“More than enough. Taehyung is worthy.” Jungkook leans in lets their foreheads tap together, where they stay, breathing each other in. 

“He’s beginning to see it, slowly, but it’s there.”

Jungkook laughs, “I’m so proud of you.”

Taehyung blushes and smiles shyly, “thank you Kookie, for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“You deserve it.” Jungkook pushes through their linked hands at Taehyung’s knee, insistent, prodding. 

“Oh, I’ll show you how deserving of it I am later.”

Jungkook blushes but then laughs at how wonderful he feels. 

“Kookie,” Taehyung kisses his cheek, still wet from the tears, “I love you.” 

It’s not the first time he’s ever said it, but it’s more than what it’s ever been before, it’s full where it used to have holes, it’s strong where it used to bend, it means the same, but now he believes that he deserves to feel this way. Jungkook must hear the difference in tone or delivery because suddenly he’s choking on another sob, which makes them both laugh, and somewhere between the giggles are stolen kisses and given kisses and touches. 

Gentle caresses that turn searching and sifting until Jungkook is straddling Taehyung’s thighs. Tae washes over him and under him and washes away the granular crystals of Jungkook’s tears, as Jungkook cries into his shoulder, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”