Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s not coming. 

The thought moves from a probability in your mind to an actual statement of fact: you’d agreed to meet at 9pm, it’s already half past.

He’s not fucking coming. 

Great. 

Your phone chimes. It’s not your obviously-not-coming date, but your best friend, Taehyung. You question whether you can face the embarrassment of telling him that he was right all along; for long minutes you mull over whether you should reply or not, but in the end you cave, as you always do, and tell him everything.

Within moments, the situation is resolved and Taehyung is on his way.

As you wait for him in the rain, you wonder what you’re going to do when he leaves for Seoul: who’ll be your knight in a battered, ancient Hyundai Marcia then?

You’ve known Taehyung almost your entire life. He’s a year older than you, the same age as your brother, Jimin, and you’ve always been close.

On the surface, your relationship with him and your brother seems surprising. You’ve never argued and you’ve always been close friends. Jimin isn’t actually your brother by blood: your mother, a biomedical researcher, met Jimin’s father on a flight to Busan. 

Jimin’s father was returning home from a trip to London where he was visiting an old school friend; your mother was attending a conference there. It was a long flight and both of them were drawn to the sadness they could sense in the other: they both had lost their spouse within months of each other to accident and illness. Jimin’s father was left grieving with an infant son. Your mother left grieving and heavily pregnant. Love blossomed between them in their desperate circumstances and it has lasted the test of time.

Your mother found work in Daegu, Jimin’s father relocated from Busan, and in their new adopted city they forged a new family life out of the broken pieces they’d been trying to desperately hold together. Alone, it had been too much for either of them to handle, but together they were able to find strength, peace and an unexpected new happiness.

Another reason you supposed you, Jimin and Taehyung never got sick of each other because you never spent summers together: Taehyung would leave the city for his grandparents’ strawberry farm, Jimin would go to his family in Busan and you would go to London. You all had independent parts of yourselves and independent dreams for your futures.

At 15, Jimin’s dream started to come true. He left you and Taehyung behind and went to live in Seoul to attend a prestigious dance academy. Just as it had with your parents, grief drew you and Taehyung closer, drawn together by your mutual sadness at the absence of your brother.

Taehyung, for his part, always looked out for you like he too was your brother, though you didn’t see him that way. Often you wished you did, but no, because you’ve loved him for as long as you can remember and it’s become something of an open secret in your families.

You’ve never confessed, you’ve never told anyone, not even written it in a diary, but your lovesickness is plain for all to see, though nobody even mentions it: you are peacefully oblivious and have no idea that everyone, including Taehyung, knows your most closely guarded secret.

When his car pulls up you notice how tired Taehyung looks, his vivid blue hair drawing out the dark shadows under his eyes.

You feel a rush of sympathy for him: he’s recently broken up with his girlfriend, Sana. They were a good match, but not strong enough to survive the distance of him departing for Seoul soon and had decided to call it quits.

Sana was Daegu through and through for generations. An only child, she was heir to her family’s super successful pub and she had no intention of doing anything other than staying put and taking it over.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has always wanted more. At 18, it’s his turn for his dream to come true. It’s so close he can almost taste it. He is desperate to get to Seoul now and to begin the life he’s always dreamed of.

It all happened on a visit to see Jimin in Seoul a few months before, he’d been scouted by an agency, tried out and they offered to make him a singer. His pure, raw talent and beautiful face must have made won signs light up in their eyes. Taehyung had no interest in becoming a boy band idol; he didn’t want to wait that long for fame or debut. His only dream is to be a singer, one who doesn’t have to share the limelight, that was precisely what he wanted and what he was offered.

You were happy for him and proud of what both he and your brother had achieved without a shred of envy. You had a decent enough singing voice and could dance, but nothing like the talent they had. Your gift was your brain; your teachers constantly called you gifted and you had never been ranked anything other than number one in school: now you have one year left and then you’ll be heading back to the UK for University. 

That was your dream: the plan had always been set, you would attend Cambridge, probably Trinity, the same college your mother and biological father had met at.

Taehyung smiles kindly at you as you climb in the car, pushing your wet hair from your face.

“So…” he says, letting the word linger as he pulls away from the curb.

“No, thank you,” you interrupt, “don’t need or want to talk about it.”

“Ok,” he smiles, “You coming over mine?”

“Please, I can’t face explaining to my parents, it’s just too embarrassing,” you sigh, leaning your head against the car window so you can watch the raindrops race each other across the glass.

Later, a little giddy from Taehyung’s stash of fruit-flavoured soju, you lie beside him on his bed, staring at the ceiling and talking about nothing and everything: in that moment, you wonder if it’s your biggest mistake that you’ve never revealed how you’ve felt.

Unluckily for you, it’s a question that will be answered tonight. Not telling Taehyung isn’t your biggest mistake at all: your biggest mistake is tonight and it’s getting drunk with him.

A couple of hours later, Taehyung is offering to open yet another bottle of soju.

“Thanks, but no, I have to get home,” you say, “But where is all this coming from? Did you spend your entire company advance on soju?”

Taehyung’s laughs as he clambers off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself, “Gave most of it to my parents and grandparents - but let’s just say I spent my bit wisely,” he smirks, holding a hand out to you.

Taehyung helps you up from the bed and you wobble a little and stagger against each other.

You know you’re too close to him, you step back and he reaches for your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Y’know,” he breathes softly pausing for what seems an age, “I know you like me,” he confesses in a low, seductive voice.

It comes out of nowhere. It was the last thing you expected him to say and you’re floored by it; you flush bright red, too embarrassed to speak.

“Don’t be shy,” he says softly, stepping even closer to you, “It’s ok.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead you just look at your feet, your heart racing beyond your control.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he sighs, “C’mon, we’ve known each other forever! It really doesn’t matter. I’m leaving next month…”

At that statement, you look up at him, “What’s that got to do with anything?” you ask slowly, your head feels thick and fuzzy which makes you feel stupid and dull; you can’t work out quite what’s happening or what he means.

“I just don’t want you to feel bad,” he slurs and he takes one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, which you’re embarrassed to find is hardening.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?” you stutter out, shocked.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be anything serious. I mean, you’re Jimin’s little sister - nothing real can actually happen between us,” he laughs loudly, “But I know it’s gonna be tough for you with me gone. I want to make this last bit of time fun for us.”

”Fun?” you ask numbly, disbelief rendering you almost immobile.

Dense through alcohol, Taehyung interprets your question as agreement with him, “Yeah, so I was thinking, if you want you could suck me off or something? A way to remember me?”

He smiles kindly at you, clearly under the impression he’s offering you something of a treat.

Your heart doesn’t break, it shatters like broken glass. You can almost hear the cold fracturing noise as the cracks spread like fault lines and then it implodes: you have never known pain like it.

Drunk or not, Taehyung sees the change in you and releases your hand though he keeps smiling stupidly at you, not knowing what else to do.

The humiliation is too much to bear and so is rapidly submerged by a tidal wave of pure fury: you never expected him to love you back, not once, but you always assumed he valued you, or at least respected you as one of his oldest friends, but no. The evidence speaks for itself: he knows the truth of your feelings and he finds it funny. 

Taehyung, the first boy you’ve ever loved, finds you ridiculous. A joke to be laughed at and mocked.

You snatch your hand back from his crotch, then without thought but with pure, unmitigated fury, you form a fist and punch it back where it came from.

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to implode, collapsing in on himself as he wheezes in shock. Staggering over his prone and whimpering body you rush from his house, grateful his parents are nowhere to be seen.

Pelting rain assaults your face, stinging whips that burn your skin as you run all the way back to your house. Blinded by rain and tears you wrench open the kitchen door where you find your mother, working even after this late hour at the table, diligently typing away at her laptop.

She looks up over her glasses, taking in your bedraggled appearance and the pain on your face. Instantly she reacts, calling your name loudly in surprise, before jumping to her feet and pulling a towel from the dry laundry basket on the chair behind her.

Wrapping the towel around you she pulls you into her, against the warmth and security of her body. Stroking your wet hair, she speaks in a voice heavy with concern, “What’s happened?”

Your father appears in the doorway, looking on in concern. Over your mother’s shoulder you meet his eyes.

“I just punched Taehyung in the dick,” you utter meekly.

Your mother gasps in shock, but your father simply sets his jaw and nods, “Well, I’m sure he deserved it,” he says simply, crossing the room to take hold of you.

Sandwiched between your loving parents, you cry your poor, broken heart out.

Your parents take care of everything: it’s the end of the school year anyway so they simply bring your flight forward and put you on a plane the next day. Nursing a slight hangover and a shattered heart, it’s all you could ask for.

You’re at Incheon before Taehyung even gets out of his bed the next day; he tries to text and call you only to find he’s been blocked. You also block the boy who stood you up, he’s the same age as your brother and Taehyung and off to medical school so you know you won’t have to see him in the near future either.

Everything is explained to Jimin by your parents, and then by Taehyung separately, and it is agreed that none of it will be spoken of again.

That has stayed true for over eight years now: the last time you saw Taehyung or even spoke his name was that night. Like so much from your childhood, he’s consigned to the past and barely ever thought of. On the rare occasion when you do, it’s only with a twinge of pain, laced with bitterness.

Chapter Text

“Hi Dad, I get in at 4pm,” you say softly, trying to be discreet.

You hate it when people are noisy on their phones in public but you have no choice but to make this call now. You know your Dad is climbing the walls with worry at the moment and you’re not going to put your embarrassment above him.

Opposite you sits a man who is watching you carefully. To begin he was only looking for distraction from the plastic seats of discomfort that are somehow universally endemic to airport terminals but now he can’t help but listen to your conversation, no matter how polite and quiet he realises you’re trying to be.

He’s not overly nosey by nature: his attention was grabbed by your pretty face but held by the expression he found there: you look like you’re hanging in by a thread, face taut and nervous. He knows he should stop listening, but he can’t bring himself to. You’re a stranger to him, yet he can’t help but feel concerned for you.

“To Incheon, yes,” you say, a pause follows as your father responds, “No! That’s insane! Nobody is driving from Daegu with everything that’s going on. I’ll be fine - I’ll get the train home and Jimin can come get me from the station.”

Another pause and the man realises he’s holding his breath.

He notes the frown of concern on your face as you continue, “I’m not at all, you’re the strong one but you take on too much, let me just do this. It’s all fine. Can I speak to Mum?” another pause, “Thanks - Hey Dad? Before you hand me over, I just wanted to say that I love you.”

Another pause comes and he watches as you visibly steel yourself, taking a deep breath and rolling your shoulders back to straighten your posture.

“Mum, how are you?” a much longer pause, “Don’t worry, it’s all in hand, I’ve spoken to Dr Gong at length, he has seniority so he’ll take over the PI role, I’ll take over your research and the science. The grant will be fine and the lab here can spare me. You know I want to have better links in Daegu anyway, it’ll be good for me.”

“Mum, I want to do this for you,” your tone becomes quieter, “You have to focus on the operation and your recovery. That comes first. Your work is safe in my hands.”

You let out an unexpected giggle, “I am not better than them Mum, nor am I a  genius, you’re biased because I’m your kid.”

“I know, I love you too. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry, it’s going to be ok.”

Your tone is positively chirpy and oozes calm confidence, but then, as soon as you’ve said your goodbyes and your phone is pocketed he watches you take in a deep, shuddering breath, the trembling shockwaves moving from the epicentre of your chest, through your whole body. As your body stills, he sees you try your best to conceal your face as tears run down your face in a silent stream.

Yoongi is not by nature an affectionate or touchy person, but even he feels the need to give you a hug.

When you board the plane you’re grateful that Dr Gong managed to persuade the university to splash out on business class for you, you know it’ll make the long-haul flight from Heathrow more comfortable. Taking your seat at the window, you hope that the one next to you remains unoccupied.

It doesn’t.

You sneak a glance at the man who settles beside you. He’s lean, with soft features and possibly the clearest, most luminous skin you’ve ever seen. He almost glows and you, blotchy now from crying and hormonally spotty from the stress of the past few weeks, are very envious.

He looks at you and you know it’s too late to look away, “Hi,” he says in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Hello,” you nod, not altogether warmly, “Nice to meet you.”

“Min Yoongi,” he states, smiling slightly.

You give your name in response and you awkwardly shake hands. You’re sure your palm must be sweaty, but his isn’t. The fingers are calloused, but his hands are smooth and the fingers are long and elegant. You wonder if he plays piano, though his fingers feel like he plays guitar.

“You have the hands of a pianist,” you say without even thinking.

“I do play,” he smiles.

“You’re a musician?” you enquire.

“Mostly,” he smiles, “I’m a producer mainly, amongst other things. It’s all music though.”

You smile, you want to ask if that’s what brought him to London but you don’t want to be nosy.

“Sorry,” he begins, “I just have to say that I heard you on the phone earlier. I didn’t mean to -”

“Oh God,” you say putting a hand to your mouth in embarrassment, “I’m very sorry, I was trying to be quiet, it was so rude to talk there I know -”

It’s Yoongi who now interrupts, “Don’t apologise,” he says kindly, but firmly enough to quieten you, “I have an offer for you.”

You eye him with suspicion as he continues, “The agency where I work is sending a car for me. It’s totally above board, but they’ll get me to Daegu, and quickly. I can take you, I promise I’m not a weirdo or a psycho.”

“That’s exactly what a weirdo or psycho would say though, right?” you smile weakly and you receive a broad gummy smile in return.

He gives you his business card and you google the company: it seems legitimate and there’s his name, not just an employee you note, but a co-owner. You can certainly send all these details to Jimin along with the car information as protection, you suppose.

What is it that you’re feeling right now as he smiles reassuringly at you? What’s holding you in the gaze of those dark, perfectly shaped eyes? You can’t place it but it suffuses your face with colour and causes your stomach to flutter. Your mind tells you that it’s safest to say no, but it feels a safe option and you’re desperate to get home.

“I’m not in the habit of offering lifts to strangers,” he says honestly, “But from what I understand of your circumstances, it feels right.”

Yoongi expected that after the initial pleasantries that a peaceful silence would fall between you, but instead you talk late into the night until you’re exhausted and sleep finally claims you.

When you wake, he looks exhausted and you wonder if he slept at all. Then the conversation continues and flows through disembarking, luggage reclaim and the car ride to Daegu.

He’s agreed to drop you at Dongdaegu station where your brother is going to collect you and in these last few minutes of the journey as you near the station, quiet has blanketed you both. You’re both exhausted, but he suspects your quietness comes more from nervous tension and the anticipation of getting home to your ill mother so he maintains a respectful silence.

As he tries not to stare at you, he reflects on the journey. He’s amazed at how easy talking to you has been; how smoothly the conversation flowed; the steady, solid gentleness of it all.

He feels a little ashamed of feeling attracted to you when you’re so clearly in a difficult place, but he knows he is. He also knows he genuinely likes you and thinks that you feel the same towards him.

As the car finally approaches the entrance to the station he knows he should ask for your number at the very least, but he doesn’t know how: he’s cautious of seeming to take advantage of the situation of doing a favour, not to mention your obvious vulnerability at the moment.

He settles on doing nothing: nothing as he helps you and the driver with your bags; nothing as you thank him and he says it was no trouble; nothing when you wish him luck with the record he’s working on; nothing when he wishes you well and the best of luck for your mother’s operation; and finally nothing when you thank him one final time and walk away from him.

His grandmother used to call this the dumb idleness of the Min men, men who would sit in silence, and stand idly by when they should take action: Yoongi is not so harsh in self-judgement though. 

He knows sometimes his inaction comes from fear or mistrust or any one of a slew of complicated reasons, but never laziness, foolishness or cruelty. Right now, it stems from simply not knowing the right thing to do.

Still, as he loses sight of you and the driver ushers him back in the car, he feels a sickening wave of regret, enough to confirm, if he didn’t already know it, that he’s made the wrong decision.

It’s not until much later that night, when you’re finally tucked into your childhood bed, that you think of him again.

Emotionally, you’re too exhausted to process any feeling beyond remembering you have his business card and feeling a desire to send him something by way of thanks. You have neither the emotional capacity right now, nor the emotional experience, to understand how you might feel about Yoongi.

As a girl, you built high, defensive walls around your heart after the humiliation with Taehyung: it wasn’t the devastation of his amusement or disrespect that made it such a formative experience for you, rather it was finding out that everyone you cared for and loved had known about your foolish crush.

 Having a whole audience for your humiliation was too much, and somewhere within your mind you formed the belief that love was an exposing and dangerous thing and that clever mind of yours set about protecting you from experiencing that kind of pain again.

You’re not entirely innocent, you’ve had relationships, albeit brief ones, and you know how to please and care for people and to be pleased and cared for in return, but you don’t ever love. 

No longer a girl, as a woman you no longer open your heart to the love of others and nor do you give it. That isn’t to say you’re a loveless husk though; you still love freely, deeply and sincerely, but only in a familial or friendly way: you haven’t been in romantic love since Taehyung.

You have no regrets over your choices because you simply never consider them. You have no desire to have a deep romantic relationship because the life you’ve built would barely allow for it anyway. You hardly have the time for your impressive scientific career in the same field of research as your mother and your family and friendships: it’s tiring managing a career across UCL in London and SNU in Seoul, as well as l the different friends and family that are spread across both the UK and Korea.

Nonetheless, hard-hearted as you are, when you drift into a deep sleep aided by jet lag and sheer exhaustion, a particular gummy smile floods your subconscious mind.

Across the city, Yoongi gently punches his pillow in frustration as yet another sleepless night stretches in front of him. In the spinning cycle of frustrating thoughts that whirl through his mind, one keeps recurring, and that’s that he only has your first name and no conceivable way of ever being able to contact you again.

Chapter Text

Cruelly insistent, the first light of morning jabs sharp blades through the tiny gap left in your heavy curtains. You’d wanted to let cool air in the room to help soothe you, but now, far from lulling you into rest, that breeze swirls about you, carrying your dreams away with it, pulling you from peaceful reverie into the tumult of your waking thoughts.

The sound of soft movement at your door is the final thing your subconsciousness needs to submit before it capitulates entirely, pulling you from the depths of your sleep up to the waking surface, the light beaming through at you as you start to break through from peaceful blue beneath.

Suddenly, you jerk your head to one side as you wake up, violently pulled through the surface of your sleep by the sensation of something tickling across your forehead.

Your eyes fly open, you see the smiling face of your brother, his bleached blonde hair sticking up in every direction. His whole face is puffy and tired, but he manages a lazy smile at you as he pulls back the fingers he’d been drumming on your head.

“Lucky I put those down first,” he says, gesturing to the coffee on your bedside table with his alongside it; your mug is a rich sea foam green, Jimin’s a blush pink, both have your names on them in neat script.

Your father has always been a man of many virtues and talents but stillness is not one of them. Over the years he’s accumulated a lot of hobbies and skills to fulfil his spare time and to keep his busy mind, and thirst to create and learn, satiated: one such diversion was his foray into amateur pottery.

It says a lot about your father that the first thing he did as soon as he was reasonably proficient was to make these two mugs for his children. Yes, they are undeniably wonky, yet they’re oddly charming, but most importantly love bonds each molecule of them in place. Neither you nor Jimin would ever use a different mug for the world.

Jimin sits on the bed beside you as you straighten up your sleep tee and sit up in bed. You cover your mouth as you yawn widely, dropping your hand only to take the coffee from him as he passes it to you before cradling his own.

“Thanks, Ji,” you say fondly, “What’s the plan for today?”

“The local doctor is coming over with pain meds for Mum in a few hours - she wants us out of the house for the appointment for some reason. Then this afternoon me, you and Dad are going to meet the oncologist.”

You nod, though you’ve accepted your mother’s diagnosis, the details around it, the paperwork, appointments, the administration of it all, still feels surreal to you. Jimin nods at you knowingly and you sit in silence for long moments, drinking your coffee and finding comfort in being back together.

“When’re you going to the lab?” he asks after a while.

“Monday,” you say and smile, “It’s Friday today, right? My brain is scrambled,” you laugh.

“Yeah, it’s Friday,” he says, “Do you want to head to Jung-gu this morning? Do some shopping?”

A thought sparks in your mind as you nod your agreement, “Hey, that girl you liked, when we were kids, Iseul, I think? Does she still run that bakery delivery place there?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, “That was a million years ago, but yeah she does. Why, you want cake?”

You smile, “No, I want to send one,” you smile, finishing your coffee, “Now shoo so I can shower and we can go.”

You flinch back as Jimin reaches for you, you expect that he’ll flick your forehead for being annoying, as is his habit, but instead he hugs you close to him, mumbling into your shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here now.”

When he pulls back you notice the bright dampness of his eyes, yours are the same.

“Me too, I’ve missed you,” you sniff.

“We’ve got each other now,” he says supportively, “Together we’ll get Mum and Dad through this.”

You nod, pressing your lips together in a tight smile to stop the tears from falling. 

Jimin steels himself, giving himself a little shake, “Ok ok ok, hurry up then, we want to get a move on.”

Was it Shakespeare who compared a day as an unravelling sleeve that is then knitted back together by sleep? he wonders.

A phrase comes to him, sleep as ‘the balm of hurt minds’. God knows, his mind hurts and he feels as though he is unravelling. Sleepless night rolls into sleepless night and there is no balm to soothe him.

He moans to himself slightly as he takes off the heavy headphones and lays them on the console in front of him; he knows he has to take a break, to do something to ease his tired mind for at least a little while.

“Yoongi?” calls a voice along with a soft tap to his studio door.

Slowly, Yoongi revolves in his large, comfortable black leather chair. He pushes his overgrown black hair back from his eyes; it’s beginning to frustrate him, in need of a cut. Just another thing that needs to be done , he thinks.

“What’s that?” he asks Namjoon, noting the pale pink box in his friend’s hands.

“It’s for you, just delivered to the front desk,” he says as he passes the box to Yoongi, “There’s a card too.”

Within the box is a cake, iced white; it has a design of small oranges and a piped message reading, ‘Thanks for not murdering me!’ in a cheerful, curly script.

He grins, already suspecting what the card will say, but he can’t see it in the box.

“Where’s the card, RM?” he asks his friend, using his stage alias.

Namjoon twirls the small envelope in his fingers, “Don’t be so mysterious - may I read it aloud?”

Reluctantly, Yoongi nods and Namjoon grins, clearing his throat with feigned grandiosity before reading the message on the card out loud:

“Min Yoongi - I hope this doesn’t embarrass you but I had to say a proper thank you for your kindness on the flight and for the ride back home. I was, and am, more grateful than I can express. I remembered that you ate more tangerines on the flight than I’ve ever seen one human eat, so I hope you enjoy this orange drizzle cake! Thanks again for your kindness.”

When he’s done reading, Namjoon smiles. “The mystery girl from the plane?” he confirms as Yoongi smiles.

“The tangerines… ‘I hope this doesn’t embarrass you’… - she really has you figured out, huh?” Namjoon grins.

“Well, we got on well,” Yoongi says evasively, holding his hand out for the card and turning it over thoughtfully in his fingers, reading your name and hoping.

“Sorry mate,” Namjoon says perceptively, “No number.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes in frustration.

The sun is high in the sky, and though there’s a chill in the spring air, you can feel the promise of summer carried on the breeze. You’re grateful for the tang of fresh air as you trek up the hill back to your home arm-in-arm with your brother. Your shopping trip had been a nice chance for you to spend time together and for you to talk about the things you needed to about your mother’s condition and how to make your father take it a little easier without being overheard.

You’ve also been surprised to find yourself glad to be back in Daegu, in the last eight years you haven’t been home that often. Usually your work would take you to Seoul where you’d stay with your brother, your parents joining you in the capital. On the rare occasion you’ve come home, it’s been for brief visits where you’ve barely left the house. So exploring today has been fun for both you and Jimin, taking you back to your teenage years. Even now, labouring up this hill you’re reminded of the springs of the past, Jimin ahead teasing you for falling behind and then -

Though you have spent a fair amount of the day reminiscing, your brother never brings up Taehyung, though you know they’re still in touch and still see each other. Nobody speaks of him in your presence and you’re comfortable with that, even if, in this moment, you can’t help but recall his boxy smile as he’d carry you up this steep hill on his back without complaint.

As you reach your front door, stretching for the handle, both the thoughts of Taehyung and the handle slip away from you as the door opens from the other side. You and Jimin stand to one side quickly and you find the local doctor exiting, your father thanking him. It’s only as he passes you that you notice who it is; his face is bright and handsome and he looks genuinely glad to see you.

Calling your name in surprise, he smiles widely, “It’s been a while!”

Of course it’s been a while: you’ve avoided him for years and the very few times you’ve seen him you’ve been careful to scurry away before having to talk.

“Taecyeon, how nice to see you,” you reply stiffly.

He reads the discomfort in you and how you suddenly stiffen, as well as the scowl that appears on Jimin’s face as he steps protectively closer to you.

“Do you think we could talk for a minute?” he asks.

You look at Jimin, who checks his watch, “We don’t need to leave for a couple of hours so you have the time. If you want to, that is,” he adds, still scowling at the doctor.

Your brain quickly processes the best thing to do and in the end you’re pragmatic: keeping the local doctor on your side is important for your mother and that concern trumps everything else.

“Sure, shall we go to DamBam? It’s only a few minutes walk,” you ask.

He nods gratefully and you depart together, Jimin still scowling at him in your wake.

Sipping your coffee carefully, you stare over your cup at him.

“I don’t want to be blunt, Dr Ok, but why are we here?”

He smiles at your candour, “Well, fellow Dr,” he starts smoothly and you wonder if it was your mother who told him about your PhD and how much he actually knows about your life.

His voice loses certainty though as he continues, “I wanted to talk about that night actually. We’ll see a lot of each now and I don’t like it hanging in the air.”

“It was years ago,” you say tersely, “I think we’ve both moved past it,” you nod, indicating his wedding band and trying to smile.

“I know you were hardly pining for me, even then, especially with -” he stops himself short and you know he was going to say Taehyung.

Jesus , you think, Did everyone know you were into him?

He carries on, “I know it’s in the past but I behaved like an idiot and I don’t like how that makes you think of me: I need to tell you what happened, if you’ll hear me out. You’ll probably still think I’m an idiot but hopefully less of an asshole.”

He looks genuinely unhappy about it all and you soften, saying gently, “I don’t bear a grudge against you, not at all, Taecyeon. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

He looks earnest and so you relent, letting him explain. Each word he utters is a revelation that brings your blood incrementally closer to boiling point.

By the end, you actually feel quite sorry for Taecyeon and are reminded of why you’d liked him so much as a teenager. When you leave, the two of you agree to catch up again and that you’ll go over for dinner and meet his growing family.

When you get home, Jimin greets you. He’s sat outside playing with the family cat, a fickle little demon that is sometimes loving and often truly malevolent. Right now Jiji is in a loving mood as Jimin scratches beneath her chin, ruffling her black fur as a deep, rumbling purr emits from her.

“Does he still live?” your brother asks dramatically.

“He does,” you smile, “He’s a good guy and he’s a good doctor. I’m going to go over to his parents for dinner to meet his wife and kids next week. His cousin works in the lab with Mum actually, so we’ll make it a thing and it’ll be a good chance to get to know someone I’m working with.”

Jimin nods, “Sounds cool. I’ll be nicer to him then. What did he have to say for himself?”

You laugh, “Many things, it was all very silly really, best just left in the past where it belongs.”

You’re surprised at how well you lie to your brother; though you feel a touch of guilt, you really don’t want to share the truth of what Taecyeon just told you with him yet, maybe in the future. For now, it’s a drama you’d rather not face.

Chapter Text

Weeks pass in a mad flurry of activity; you’re in a steady routine of working at the lab and attending your mother’s hospital appointments. Jimin, who’s on hiatus from his dance troupe does most of it while you work, but you still contribute, actively wanting to help.

Truthfully, it leaves you spread a little thin, but you conceal this carefully from everyone around you. What else can be done? Jimin, your father, Taecyeon… they’re all doing everything that they can, so you simply have to step up. Nonetheless, the nervous exhaustion is slowly seeping into your bones, but you push it from your mind. You know the bill will come due eventually, but you can’t afford to think of the consequences right now.

In the time you’ve been home, you see the benefit it’s had on your father, who looks a little less worn and stressed and you’re grateful for that because you are worried far more for him than yourself.

There has been one drawback to helping your father though, the extra energy he has means he has the chance to interfere in yours and Jimin’s lives: it’s your mother’s operation next week and your father insists you and your brother go out at the weekend and unwind. It’s of little interest to either of you but your father is relentless and it’s easier for you both simply to give in.

In the end, his insistence turns out to be well timed: you receive a call from an old friend asking you to go with them to a hip hop event in one of the big clubs downtown - they’re based in Seoul so you know they’re making the effort to come to Daegu just for you.

The friend in question is someone you’d never say no to; his Dad works at the same lab at SNU as where you spend your time when you’re in Seoul. Years ago, his dad had tried hard to get you two to date; though there was no chance of that happening you’d somehow made great friends and still tried to see each other when you could. You’re touched that he’d make the trip from Seoul for you and so you agree, forcing Jimin along too.

You’d also be lying if you didn’t admit that when it was suggested to you that your mind flickered straight to Yoongi. You know he mainly works with rappers through your conversation on the plane and you feel strangely hopeful that he might be there. You want to see him again and you curse your cowardice for not putting your number on the card you sent with the cake. You’d wanted to, but you could bring yourself to do it, afraid that putting your number would suggest that you expected him to send a thank you message in return, which would make you feel embarrassed so you had chosen to do nothing instead, even if you wish you had.

Sat at a table in the plush club, Jimin is glad you forced him out. Hip hop isn’t really his thing, but the vibe in the club is cool and he’s enjoying himself.

The club is busy, throngs of people gather around the large stage which will be the centre of the performance. Set off to one side is a raised area with booths and tables, directly opposite the entrance, which is where Jimin sits now. From where he’s sat he can also see across the hazy, smoky light of the club to the VIP area, guarded by an intimidating man with a clipboard and a woman who looks like she could break your neck with her thumb and index finger.

There’s a knot of tension in Jimin’s stomach. The knot has been there for months now, a constant weight there as he worries and frets for your parents. Tonight though, the knot pulls tighter for a new reason as he worries about the consequences of what might happen after the surprise he’s received: he’s text you about it but you haven’t replied and, though you said you’d be arriving later with your friend, Jimin wonders if you’ll bail.

Finally, a text comes through, “I want to have a good night - you do your things and I’ll do mine. I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

Jimin knows you’re not mad from the sign off and though a little disappointed that he won’t party with you tonight, he understands why and accepts it.

An hour later and Jimin is a little frustrated, “Why do you keep staring at every group of women who come through the door?” he huffs.

He was ambushed by his friend tonight; he told him about his plans a few days ago and suddenly he’d made himself part of them and crashed the night.

“We never see each other and you’re seriously just thinking about getting laid? Especially looking like that?” Jimin grumbles.

“I’m not looking to get laid,” is the defensive response, “You said she was coming with her friends, I am just looking to see if she’s arrived. And don’t mock my look, you know I’ll be mobbed if I’m recognised.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, “I doubt many of your fans are at a rap showcase night,” he sighs, “Anyway, she’s here already.”

“I didn’t see her come in!” he replies, craning his next about the club looking for you.

Jimin glares at his friend, waiting for him to relax. He’s wearing an enormous black tracksuit that drowns his lithe figure and a black cap pulled low over his face to hide his identity; Jimin has to acknowledge that even like this his friend is still stupidly handsome. However, stupidly handsome or not, it doesn’t change that Jimin is pissed off at him right now; his friend picks up on immediately as he finally looks back at him.

“You don’t need to - you don’t need to see her and you’re not going to talk to her,” Jimin says, the warning evident in his clipped tone. Still, with a small amount of pity, he gestures across the bar to the cordoned off VIP section.

You’re laughing as your friend passes you a drink and you guide him closer to speak in his ear.

You look good - really, really good. You were pretty as a teenager but now he thinks you’re beautiful, and the shimmering dress you’re wearing accentuates every detail of your body, your shapely legs (he’s got a thing for legs), your -

“Yah! Stop fucking ogling my sister!” shouts Jimin, pulling him from his thoughts.

Before he replies to your brother he sees the guy you’re talking to and his stomach knots.

“Is that Zico she’s with? The Zico?” he demands.

“Yeah, he’s opening tonight,” smiles Jimin, “They’ve been friends for years, she wor with his Dad at SNU.”

“They’re just friends?”

Jimin glowers, “I don’t know what their deal is. Maybe they fucked about a bit before deciding to just be friends but I don’t know. Why do you care? Are you trying to tell me that you still want my sister to suck your dick?”

“Low blow,” he mutters.

“I leave those to her,” Jimin smirks and he winces at the memory of the punch.

“I won’t tell you again, stay away from her, Taehyung,” Jimin says firmly, fixing him with a steely glare.

Taehyung does leave you alone, but it burns him to do so.

He watches you, as subtly as he is able to. Luckily, some very drunk women, who thankfully don’t recognise him, have attached themselves to him and Jimin. Taehyung isn’t interested but Jimin is enjoying the attention even if he has no intention of taking it further either: Taehyung is simply grateful that his friend is distracted enough not to notice how much attention he is paying to you.

He can’t help but look at you; you’d once been his best friend in the years after Jimin left and to this day he’s never replaced your warm friendship and kindness. He never realised what he had in you and, even now, after all this time, he regrets the loss and how one foolish mistake wrecked his friendship with you and damaged his with Jimin for years.

As everyone crowds to the dance floor at the stage he sees you in the section that’s cordoned off. It’s you he watches as Zico takes to the stage; it’s you he focuses on as the rapper launches into verse.

He keeps watching even as it starts to make him feel sick, openly staring as Zico leans off the stage towards you as he delivers the line ‘ You are so beautiful, and I said Eureka ,’ directly to you as you beam at him and dance for him, moving your hips in a manner Taehyung considers practically criminal in public.

“Yeah, they’re fucking,” Taehyung mutters bitterly to himself.

Waiting for Zico to re-emerge from backstage after his set, you sip your drink. You keep your eyes focused on the VIP area; you know that Taehyung is in the club and you desperately do not want to see him, though you trust Jimin to keep him away from you. You’re having a good night and his face haunting you is not what you need, you’ve seen it on enough billboards over the years on your visits to Seoul.

The next act has taken to the stage and your attention is pulled by a voice that is distantly familiar. Before you know it you’re back on your feet and are at the stage edge again.

Three men are on stage: two you don’t recognise, one is tall, broad and muscular, the other smaller, with a fine featured face and the body of a dancer. You barely spare them more than a glance though: your eyes are focused on the third man. He’s shorter than the other two, all in black with a silver chain about his neck. 

It’s Yoongi.

His flow is incredible, his voice, his words, his movement, all of it comes together and hypnotises you. The song itself is powerful, as he raps about malicious people spreading rumours and you can’t take your eyes off him.

When the song ends, the other two leave the stage and the next beat is slower and more chilled.

It’s when he starts to sing, his smooth voice taking you by surprise, that you realise something: as the words ‘Well, what if it hurts?’ glide from his mouth you know what that feeling in the plane was; what the tug was when you turned to see him disappearing back inside his car was; what the giddy feeling as you picked the cake to have sent to his office was… you like him.

Obviously, you’ve had crushes and relationships since your unrequited love for Taehyung, but this depth of feeling and attraction to someone feels new to you and your heart races.

Behind you, Zico watches your face and smiles. His smirk only grows wider when Yoongi finishes his set and his eyes light on you. He can’t quite tell what passes between you in that moment, but there’s a spark of recognition and warmth. You give a shy wave and he waves back as he exits the stage, a slight blush on his cheeks.

Zico still remembers meeting you vividly, your nervous shyness and absolute honesty. You’d come to a family dinner and he could see immediately that his father adored you and was clearly thinking how he’d like you for a daughter. Zico was forced to admit you were everything his father had promised: clever, gorgeous, funny, thoughtful…

Later in the evening you’d found yourselves alone, clearly by design, but within ten minutes Zico realised he was making a real friend. He was taken aback by your honesty, you admitted immediately that you were a huge fan of his and so had no interest at all in dating him because it would feel odd but that you’d like to be his friend. He was taken aback but explained his own reluctance and told you he was secretly dating someone so you’d agreed to be doubly discreet to help him out. You shared plenty of laughs that night and by the end of the night the early seeds of friendship were already sprouting and unfurling.

After some years now, Zico knows a lot about you, especially your belief that you are incapable of falling in love. Politely, he’s affirmed that he thinks that’s total horseshit, but he’s watched you derail every relationship you’ve come near to having and he thinks there might be something to what you’re saying. That said, he’s never seen you glow quite like you do now, giddy in delight at Yoongi’s small wave. 

Zico has never played matchmaker, but he thinks he’ll give it a go tonight.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn back from the stage; you hope that when he’s done backstage that he’ll come talk to you. You see Zico waiting for you and rush to congratulate him.

“So, a fan of Agust D then?” he teases.

“Who?” you ask confused.

“The rapper you were making heart eyes over just now?” he teases.

You nod in recognition: the MC gave three names at the start of the set, Agust D, RM and J-Hope, and you couldn’t work out which one was linked to Yoongi.

“I know him as Yoongi,” you say, “Why do you guys have to have so many names, Jiho?” you smile.

Zico laughs, “it’s a rapper thing, so tell me how you know Yoongi?”

Zico is excited for you as you explain the connection. You’ve been friends with Zico for a few years now and, despite what Taehyung might imagine, it’s never been anything more.

He doesn’t know Yoongi well, but he’s never seen him as affected by a pretty face as he seemed to be by you. He knows Yoongi is a good, honest guy and he can imagine the two of you together working out. Yoongi is quiet and a little taciturn, but he’s solid and dependable too, things Zico knows you need and he thinks you’d make a good pair.

The next act plays some very catchy songs with baselines begging to be danced to and so Zico guides you to the small dance floor within the VIP area. You haven’t been dancing long when Zico feels eyes burning into him from across the room. Attempting to ignore it, he shoots a few looks across the room until he’s able to discern that the man robed all in black is actually Kim Taehyung and the look on he’s casting Zico is pure loathing.

When they make eye contact, Zico smirks at him and pulls you closer before looking away: he knows all about Taehyung and you, you’d told him the story one drunken night and you’d both collapsed with laughter. It’s been the hardest secret to keep; so many times Zico has seen Taehyung swanning around at award shows and industry events, always handsome, always cool, always ready with a smile and he can’t help but picture the guy as a teenager, in a foetal ball of agony. He finds it hard to keep a straight face and so they’ve never really spoken.

Only when he sees Taehyung led away by your clearly drunk brother does Zico allow you to change positions on the dance floor and it’s then that, over your shoulder, he sees Yoongi at the VIP bar.

“Let’s go say hi,” he says, taking you by the elbow and leading you along, out of sight of the rest of the club.

It could be hours later, you’re not sure; you’ve lost all track of time and all sense of the people around you as you talk to Yoongi. You talk about everything: his gratitude for the cake; your mother; Daegu; his performance; your relationship with Zico and a hundred other things.

Yoongi is enraptured with you. He knew he was attracted to you before, but tonight, all dressed up and much happier than he’d seen you before, you glow, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted to you he is. It’s not just that he wants you though, it’s everything about you. He realises he wants to see more of you, even date maybe, and wonders how best to make his approach.

You smile at him, unaware of the turmoil within him from his impassive face: he seems to like you enough to pass time with, but beyond that you can’t read him at all.

“So, how are you sleeping?” you ask.

“I’m not,” he laughs humourlessly, swirling his drink, the ice cubes clinking against each other, “What about you, still waking up?”

“All the fucking time,” you sigh, “It’s a bitch.”

“It really is,” he sighs, but smiles as you tap your glass against his in an ironic toast, before you both drink to your demons.

You’re unaware of Zico waving your brother through the VIP area, and so you jump as Jimin’s arms wrap around you. You smell the alcohol on his breath but you miss Yoongi’s eyes narrowing.

“I’m done,” he says drunkenly, “I’m heading out, you good or you coming?”

“I’m good,” you smile, “I want to hang out with Zico a bit more, his driver is taking him back to Seoul tonight. You safe to get home?”

“Tae -,” he catches himself, “I’m being taken home,” he says.

You nod and squeeze the hand on your shoulder. Jimin hasn’t even noticed Yoongi, he just kisses you on the head and shambles away.

“Your boyfriend?” Yoongi asks as casually as he can.

He’s a bit too successful though; it’s so casual and unbothered that you feel more certain again that he has very little, if any, interest in you.

You force a laugh, “Gross, no, my brother!”

“Jimin, the dancer,” he says, remembering your conversation from the car ride.

You nod, touched that he remembered. “He’s drunk,” you say apologetically, “he didn’t mean to be rude or ignore you.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says honestly, “I don’t blame him for letting loose, you’re both under a lot of pressure.”

Your lip wobbles slightly but you smile gratefully.

“Zico came from Seoul for this tonight,” you say softly and hopefully, willing Yoongi just to do something that might suggest he wants to see you again, if only as friends, “I ought to spend more time with him, he’s one of my best friends -,” you let your voice drift off.

Yoongi blinks at you slowly, face as inscrutable as ever, “Sure,” he says.

You feel sick at his dismissiveness, but you’re tipsy enough to be bold, at least by your standards.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say as you lower yourself from your bar stool, “I don’t really know that many people here, and I like talking to you. Do you think maybe we could get coffee sometime?”

Your heart pounds out of your chest as you wait for your answer and you’re grateful when he gives you a genuine smile.

“I’d like that,” he says, his voice is husky from his performance and you find it incredibly attractive, your pulse beating faster.

You exchange numbers before returning to Zico, who makes room beside him, before throwing a comfortable arm round your shoulders. Yoongi watches as he moves to join Namjoon and Hoseok, wishing he could be as relaxed with you as Zico is.

A little while later and you’re preparing to leave. You head out to Zico’s car with his driver, grateful for the transport home, while Zico excuses himself for a moment.

When you’re out of sight, he approaches Yoongi and his friends.

“Hey man,” he smiles, “It was good to see you, I’m heading out now.”

Yoongi introduces him to Namjoon and Hoseok, who are both a little starstruck.

Zico is polite but pulls Yoongi to one side as he leaves, “I say this with the greatest respect Yoongi, but you have to know she’s into you,” he says, it being obvious who he means.

“She’s pure gold and anyone would be lucky to have her,” he says affectionately, “but she’s shy and she’s just as hesitant as you are, so if you want her, you’re going to actually have to show it, because right now she thinks you’re about as into her as you are into watching fucking paint dry.”

Yoongi simply nods, “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“It’s cool man,” Zico grins, “Do right by her.”

“I doubt you’re the only one interested in her,” he says, “I don’t know if you spotted Kim Taehyung in the crowd tonight? But he definitely saw her, in fact, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.”

“He was in the main club,” Zico continues, “With her brother.”

His final words stay with Yoongi, “Don’t make her wait.”

Yoongi’s thoughts flick Taehyung for a moment. He wonders what the singer’s interest in you is and what his connection to your brother might be.

When he rejoins his friends, they’re quick to ask him what’s going on: tongue loosened by alcohol, Yoongi is reasonably honest with them, telling them what Zico said and about seeing Taehyung.

“I don’t know,” says Yoongi distractedly, “I’m not sure about it. Maybe she’s not even into me, and if Kim fucking-perfect-face Taehyung wants her then what’s the point even trying?”

“Oh fuck off,” groans Namjoon, “Why bother?! That excuse is tired and it’s time you fucking took action, man! She sent you a cake. She’s shy and she asked for your number - help the girl out!”

Yoongi frowns at the outburst, silencing his friend. Though, as he finishes his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he texts his driver to pull around, he knows Namjoon is right.

He realises fate was kind enough to give him another chance and bring you here tonight, he might not get another one.

Guided by that, and his regret as he watched you walk away at the train station and the disappointment at not finding your number in with the cake, he decides there’s been enough excuses, he will do something this time.

He bids his friends good night and pulls on his jacket as he leaves the club.

The tail lights dim as Zico’s car moves away down your street.

You wave from the pavement outside your house, pulling your coat more tightly around you.

It’s then that you hear a car door shut behind you and, aware of your tipsiness and the time, you turn quickly to go inside your home.

A husky voice calls your name softly from behind you.

Yoongi, you hope, turning with a smile on your face.

Chapter Text

Your smile is met with his, it’s bright and full of hope and promise: in the streetlight his dark eyes sparkle and a strange, nervous energy seems to run through him, you feel the waves of it rolling off him like mist from the sea. It envelops too and you give a small shudder.

His eyes are wide, he seems as surprised to be there as you are to see him, clearly the decision to seek you out was an impulsive one. Nonetheless, despite his clear tension his smile remains, the soft eagerness in it encouraging you to return it.

You don’t.

Every millimetre of it makes you feel sick and the smile that was teasing the corners of your mouth swiftly disappears.

“Kim Taehyung, I’m tired, I don’t have time right now,” you say flatly and dismissively, turning away.

Calling your name in a plea, he closes the distance between you, his hand closing around your arm, “Please, I’ve been waiting in the car for you since I dropped Jimin home. Please just come get some ramen with me.”

You look at him coldly, you say nothing but you stare at his hand as though it burns into your flesh.

He releases your arm, “Ok, ok, ok,” he smiles, “But please, can we just talk? It’s about Jimin.”

Maybe it’s that you’re a little drunk, or that you are worried about your brother, but something makes you relent.

“We’ll go to the convenience store round the corner,” you say, “You have half an hour, no more.”

He nods in agreement and goes into his car to retrieve a thick, woollen scarf to wrap around you.

Shivering, you accept it begrudgingly, looking up at the night sky as he tucks it about you. As usual in the city, there are no stars to be seen, but anything is better than looking at him right now, especially at this close a proximity: you don’t trust yourself to look at him when he’s so close to you because, in the last eight years, he’s become even more beautiful and you hate how attractive he still is to you.

“It’s nice to see you,” he says almost sheepishly as you walk in silence to the store. 

“Let’s not bother with any of that,” you say tersely, “Talk to me about my brother.”

Under the neon lights of the narrow alley where you sit at a plastic picnic table, Taehyung does talk about Jimin, but not for long. 

His concerns were no different to those you already have. You have been monitoring him closely, making sure he eats and isn’t overdoing it as he often does. He has a habit of working himself into a frenzy, and eventually he’ll burn out under the strain of it all. You know the pattern well because you do the same thing, but whilst your brother tends to end up sick and feverish, you just collapse in on yourself totally, nobody knows of course, what business is it of theirs?

You grew up living in two different realities: the British girl spending summers in the English rain, rowing on the local river, drinking cider in picturesque pubs and enjoying freedom; in Korea you were quieter, more diligent, had fewer friends but were still happy, still free, just in a different sort of way. 

Maintaining both realities meant you became adept at being two different people. As you grew up it changed and the two identities blurred together more, but that dislocating sense of difference never left. The more you forced your feelings aside, pushed them down to protect your heart, the more you solidified two distinct personas with distinct purposes.

One you present to everyone: the person who has everything together; the ’genius’ in the lab; the granddaughter who visits regularly always says the right thing in front of her grandmother’s judgemental, snobbish friends; the sister who always has good advice; the friend who always listens to someone in need; the woman who never needs more than a simple hook up… to everyone that’s who you are.

But then there is the other you, and somehow that other one feels more real to you, and you conceal it like a secret shame: the girl who feels on the verge of falling apart; the girl who is terrified of being anything less than the best and so works herself to the bone, always pushing, pushing, pushing until she collapses; the girl who has to make her family proud and is hyper-alert of the people around her, reading and their expectations them, delivery exactly what she anticipates people want to hear; the girl who needs her brother desperately and never wants to disappoint so when he needs her she pours her heart and soul into whatever he asks of her; the friend who doesn’t want to be left behind and so prioritises everyone before herself; the girl who is terrified of rejection and being laughed at so never allows there to be a chance for that to happen.

Sat here now with Taehyung that separation of selves is clear to you. You are pouring all your energy into seeming aloof and distant, shutting down the voice inside you that wants to ask why, after all this time, he still makes your heart race. 

Luckily for you, everything Taehyung says raises your temperature, but with annoyance rather than attraction. Frankly, you find his conversation irritating and patronising: Does he really think he knows your brother better than you do?

“Thanks for letting me know,” you say, slurping your ramen, “I don’t mean to be rude, but you do realise that I do actually know my brother, right? I know what he’s like. Of course I’m going to watch out for him.”

“There’s something else,” Taehyung says, tonelessly. You can’t tell from his expression how he’s taken your bitchy comments as you continue to avoid looking at him.

You simply raise an eyebrow to acknowledge he’s spoken and continue eating.

“I know you’re really busy doing your mother’s research and I know there’s a lot that needs doing at your home,” he pauses, seemingly preparing himself, “I’m on an extended holiday at the moment so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me being around a bit more, just helping Jimin out, and you too, if you’ll let me,” he sounds eager for your approval, not just your consent.

You consider your answer carefully, wanting to control how he perceives you, “I’m sure Jimin and my parents will ask you for help if they need it, and if you want to help then thank you on their behalf. But, whilst I appreciate your offer, I don’t need any help, thanks.”

Taehyung realises how much you’ve changed: the girl he knew was so unguarded and open; the woman in front of him is so defensive and reserved. He wonders if this is all down to him.

“What I did that night was so stupid,” he says hurriedly and you brace yourself.

You suspected that this was coming, that he would need to bring that night up. You wonder to yourself how nearly a decade passed without those events being brought up and yet within a couple of weeks you’ve had to face both the men involved - it feels like the universe is out to tie up loose ends.

He looks at you pleadingly, “Can we move past it? It was silly and impulsive and I was a bit drunk -”

“Stop,” you interrupt firmly, finally looking him in the eye. He gapes at you, shocked. 

You always loved that nonplussed expression of his, the downward curve of his open mouth and his large eyes, it always made you soft for him. Now, all it does is cause the fire burning within you to turn white hot and your rage spills out like a forest fire, ready to consume everything in its path.

“Just don’t, Taehyung. Don’t you dare sit there and lecture me about my brother and the need to take care of my family like a sanctimonious fucking ass and then have the sheer fucking temerity to lie to me!” you practically shout.

“Lie? It’s not a lie,” he insists.

You narrow your eyes dangerously at him, “Define the word impulsive, Taehyung.”

He squirms awkwardly but relents, “A spur of the moment -, uh, a moment of madness sort of thing, I guess.”

“Hmmm, ok… let me tell you a story I heard a little while ago,” you begin.

You relay what Taecyeon told you, enjoying how each word makes Taehyung look more and more uncomfortable.

The afternoon of the planned date, Taehyung visited Taecyeon at his parents’ store. He spun out a long story about your fragility: how he, your best friend, was so worried about leaving you; how he worried that losing a potential boyfriend at the same time might be too much for you; how he didn’t think it was good for Taecyeon to lead you on. All of this made Taecyeon concerned for you, but it didn’t put him off.

That wasn’t the full extent of Taehyung’s scheme though, no, the pièce de résistance was the insinuation that Taehyung had a lot of money to spend that day. Taecyeon’s parents were struggling financially, he had a scholarship to medical school, but without him to work in the business times would be difficult. Taehyung had a list of all the things he’d need for Seoul and a large wad of won in his hands to pay for it. 

During his café confession, Taecyeon told you that he’d liked you and that it pained him to go along with Taehyung’s plan to call off your date, but where his parents were concerned, he literally couldn’t afford to have the pride. He was adamant though that that was the plan - to call off the date, never to stand you up. He’d promised you that Taehyung had told him he’d break the news to you, he never knew that Taehyung let you spend half an hour in the rain so he could play the white knight.

When you’re finished, you’re pleased that Taehyung has the good grace to look ashamed when you finish relating the tale. 

“So you talked to Taecyeon,” he says awkwardly, “I guess he got his revenge then. Did you two reconcile?”

“I wouldn’t call telling me the truth ‘getting revenge’, and yes we’re reconciled in so far as we’re talking, we have dinner together - y’know, the things normal people do when they’re old friends.”

“Cosy,” he sneers, before he looks like he instantly regrets it.

“Not really, he has young kids and they’re rowdy. His wife is lovely too… Wait - maybe that was his revenge!” you snort back, wanting to twist the knife now.

“Huh?” he asks, confused.

“He’s married to Sana.”

“Who?” Taehyung asks dumbly, before remembering his old girlfriend, “Oh, right, Sana, yeah…”

You just stare at him. God, he’s terrible with women, you think.

“If you’ve made up with Taecyeon, couldn’t we make up?” he asks.

“He didn’t do anything wrong though, did he? Whereas you laughed in my face and lied to me. So answer this, was it really ‘impulsive’, Taehyung? Or was it a wider scheme to humiliate me?” you ask, making little air quotes.

“That wasn’t it…” he begins feebly.

“Actually, Taehyung,” you laugh a little wildly as you start to feel like you’re losing control, “I really don’t care! I don’t want the answer. Undoubtedly, it’ll be some other shitty thing than makes me feel terrible and I’m not that pathetic teen simping over you anymore and I don’t want to feel like her.”

“You were never pathetic,” he reassures earnestly.

As you look at him, taking in the soft curls of his hair and his wide eyes, you realise that actually you don’t give two shits what he thinks or what he has to say and it’s liberating. Taehyung really is nothing more than just a pretty face and a disappointing person: you’ve lived by that opinion the last 8 years and you have no intention of relinquishing it now.

“Oh, Fuck off,Taehyung,” you scoff and you collect your empty ramen, discarding it in the trash as you pull his scarf from around your neck and toss it back to him.

“I don’t see any need to prolong this. I’m going home.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just follows two steps behind you until you reach your door.

“Will you ever let me explain?” he asks sadly.

“No,” you say, honestly, “It’s done. It’s the past and it can stay there. You and I are strangers to each other now. You can visit my family, see my brother, do as you will. I won’t be difficult or make scenes, I won’t be rude or ignore you, but I am not your friend and I don’t want to be. Deal with that, and we’ll be fine.”

You look at him coldly, looking for his assent.

“Ok,” he says, “I understand.”

“Good,” you turn your back on him again as you make your way to your door, only pausing when he calls your name softly.

“You’ll wake them all if you go in now,” he indicates through the window, where your father lies sleeping on the couch.

You sigh audibly, frustrated that he’s right.

“I’ll boost you,” he says, with a gentle smile.

You roll your eyes internally, you don’t want his help but, similarly, you don’t want to wake your Dad for a second time that night, certain Jimin must have made a racket.

“Thanks,” you say without sincerity.

Your house is on a hill so although it’s only one story, your bedroom is still a decent height from the ground below. You look up at your window, glad you’re still in the habit of leaving it open a touch. You slip your heels off and pass them to Taehyung who puts one in each large coat pocket.

He crouches down slightly, threading his hands together, “Go ahead,” he invites. 

You blush slightly, “I can’t do this in my coat,” you say, and you shrug it off before placing a foot carefully in his hands. He lifts you then and you’re able to reach your sash window and push it open. 

You use your strength to haul yourself up, so that you’re sitting on your windowsill looking down at him. 

His flushed expression tells you exactly where he was looking as you clambered about. He collects himself and slips your shoes back on your feet, like some kind of fairy tale prince -you have to stop yourself from scoffing aloud.

You’re careful to keep your dress pressed down between your legs as you curl each leg upwards in turn to remove the shoes so you can place them inside the room behind you.

He looks at you, holding your coat, then throws it up to you and you catch it in mid air, “It’s been a while since we did this,” he smiles.

You only hum in response, adding “Thanks anyway, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says resignedly, and you watch him turn the corner back to his car before you climb into your room.

Closing the window, you pull the curtains closed rapidly.

When Taehyung drives past, he looks at your window, but he can only see a faint glow of light around the heavy curtain that blocks you from view. Literally shutting me out, you don’t give a fucking inch… he thinks.

He’s embarrassed by the tightness in his pants after boosting you, your small feet in his hands, the quick flash of your lacy underwear from beneath, your smooth legs and thighs…

He groans aloud and is grateful that his family are at the strawberry farm for a couple of weeks so they don’t witness him coming home with a raging hard on. He huffs air through his nose when he pulls into the driveway of his family home, leaning his head back against the headrest before getting out of the car. He’s about to shut the car door when he pauses, reaching back inside to grab the scarf he loaned you.

A little while later and Taehyung has given in to the urge that’s been driving him crazy. He’s back in his childhood bedroom, repeating an old routine, this time playing a video of you that he grabbed from Instagram, Jimin posted it last summer, and it’s now on loop. 

On his bed, he’s changed into a loose tee shirt that’s pulled up his chest, his sweats pooled below his knees. Stretched on his back, his head is turned to look at the video, propped on the bed beside him, the scarf he loaned you loosely wrapped about his neck so he can bury his nose in the smell that’s now so distinctly of you, of your perfume, shampoo and underneath it all, your natural scent that’s still achingly familiar.

His hand is coated in his spit and precum as he grasps his cock firmly, jerking and twisting his wrist as he slides up and down his length at a desperate, frantic pace.

He chases his high frantically, as he feels it approach he knows he should grab the tissues he’s laid beside him but he’s fixated on the video, your body twisting as you stretch in the hot sun, breasts lifting, your abdomen stretching, legs tensing and releasing… exactly how imagines you must look coming down from an orgasm: suddenly, he’s exploding in his hand, ropes of sticky hot cum spurting everywhere, over his hand, stomach, thighs and sheets.

When he comes down to reality, he wipes his hand across his sticky tee, looking at the mess he’s made. 

Fuck, he thinks.

He feels like that teenager of eight years ago. The boy who wanted his best friend desperately and didn’t know how to tell her and somehow, in trying to preserve the lie that her love was one-sided managed to break their friendship, her heart and his dick, all in one fell swoop.

Taehyung strips himself and his bed and traipses to his bathroom to clean up, feeling ashamed. 

It’s a feeling he’s very familiar with, the shame pulls him closer, like an old friend, as he climbs under the scalding heat of the shower.

Chapter Text

Bone-achingly tired from a long stint at the lab, your shoulders sag further as you open the door to the sound of Taehyung’s voice; it’s been a few days now of constantly seeing Taehyung at your house when you get home from work. You wonder how late you need to be to avoid him, but somehow he’s always there and there’s always food he tries to tempt you into eating, usually with minimal luck as you slink away to the privacy of your mother’s room or your own.

Tonight though, there’s no way to avoid him: your mother goes into hospital tomorrow and so you all sit together for a family meal, which Taehyung, thankfully, will not be at. Looking at your watch, you try to gauge when he might leave and if a quick shower might help you avoid him entirely. It doesn’t really matter what you do though, the reprieve from his company won’t last long, not after the conversation you had with your mother earlier.

“Your father is convinced I’m going to die during the operation,” she said bluntly when you two were alone this morning.

“Oh,” was all you could say. 

You knew that after a car had barrelled into your biological father’s at an junction (intersection) that he’d died on the operating table. Jimin’s father had also lost his first wife to an aggressively rare heart condition so all in all, he had more than enough reason to feel afraid.

“I think it just needs to be just me and him this evening,” she said, “We’ll all have family time together when I’m admitted. There’ll be at least a day before the actual procedure, but tonight, in our home, he needs me.”

You nodded in understanding and agreement, “Of course, Mum,” but then for a moment you were puzzled, “Wait, you said I wouldn’t like what you had to tell me.”

Guilt written across her face, you knew what she was going to say before she said it, “I’ve asked Taehyung to put you two up for the night.”

You closed your eyes to prevent you from rolling them, clenched your teeth and breathed deeply through your nose, reminding yourself that this was about what your parents needed, not you.

When you finally opened your eyes you could meet your mother’s wary expression with a composed smile, “It’s fine Mum, no problem at all.”

“Fuck,” she laughed loudly in admiration, “I’ve raised a badass daughter who’s a convincing liar!” she grinned proudly.

It drew a genuine laugh from you, “Well, ok, I hate it, but I’ll do it for you, Mum.”

“You have my full permission to punch him in the dick again if the situation calls for it,” she smiled.

You both erupted into laughter again, the noise drawing both your brother and father into the room to try and find out why, not that either of you would tell.

After dinner, you sit cross-legged on your bed, neatly tucking your things into an overnight bag ready to head to Taehyung’s. 

As you fold your large, unrevealing and frankly unappealing pyjamas (a deliberate choice, selected by your brother), you see your phone light up on the bed next to the bag and you smile.

It’s Yoongi, asking how your day has been. He text the morning after you saw him at the club and you’ve been texting regularly ever since; you’ve tried to arrange a couple of meet ups but somehow the timings never work out.

Yoongi’s texts are friendly, they make you smile; conversation between you flows as easily as it does in person. Yet you’d hoped that maybe, via the relative safety and distance of texting, he might flirt a little with you, but there’s been nothing. You can only conclude that he has no interest in you other than friendship. 

You feel conflicted about him and try to avoid thinking about him for too long: on one hand, everything about him pulls you in, you just want to be near him to talk to him, to listen to what he has to say, to just be with him; on the other, you realise that you feel exposed with him, you met at a vulnerable time for you and the late night texting hasn’t helped, you know that you don’t present the same persona with Yoongi as you do with everyone else… Somehow, despite having only known each other for weeks and only having met twice in person, Yoongi has seen more of you than some of your closest friends; you’ve drawn back the curtain and he’s seen that other girl that you keep so carefully concealed from everyone. 

It terrifies you but you don’t want to shut him out: it’s clear he doesn’t want you but that he does want your friendship, so perhaps it’s worth the risk of being your actual, vulnerable self?

Across town, Yoongi drops his phone in frustration and gently bangs his head on his console.  

He’s been texting you daily, and you and he are growing closer and closer.

He’s learnt that you struggle to stay asleep at night, waking frequently with worries about your mother. He’s shared his insomnia with you and it’s been a comfort to him when you send him random memes and messages in the small hours.

He likes you more than he cares to admit now, aware that he is falling for you. He’s hungry to spend time with you face to face again, he just has to think of a way to make it happen. He’s aware that things have stalled; but you’re busy all day at work and in the early evening with family and he works until late into the night so that coffee never seems to come.

“Everything all right there?” calls Hoseok from the doorway.

“Unghnhghngh” is the only noise that he gains by way of reply.

“Let me guess, the cake girl?” he keeps his tone light though his eyebrows knit in concern as he takes a seat on the comfortable black velvet couch behind Yoongi.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” Yoongi moans, unusually open, “I like her, I think she wants more from me, but I can’t flirt with her when her mother is about to have a serious operation, right? It would be weird. A weirdo move, yeah?”

“It would be if you were a creep about it,” smiles Hobi, “But not if you just go for the coffee and see where it leads.”

“Or,” adds Namjoon from the doorway, “You could just carry on as you are until she gives up on you completely.”

Yoongi nods in a kind of muffled acceptance, “I’ll text her tomorrow, check in about her mother’s op and take it from there.Now though, I need a fucking drink,” he mutters.

“Let’s go!” chime Hobi and Namjoon in unison.

Jimin snores softly on your shoulder, noticing Taehyung smiles at you - it’s only eight and he’s already asleep.

“I know sleeping pills aren’t ideal,” he says, “But I’m glad he’s getting rest.”

“We won’t let him become dependent,” you say. Taehyung smiles to himself, liking the sound of the ‘we’.

“Let’s put him to bed,” Taehyung says, lifting Jimin off you and staggering with him to his brother’s room where he’ll be sleeping that night.

You follow and tuck your brother in as Taehyung leaves, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair from his face. He looks so peaceful but you know his thoughts are anything but. Even if he wasn’t your brother, and you were simply an unbiased stranger, you’d still argue that your brother was one of the most loving, caring people in the world, in need of all the kindness one can give. 

You smile at his peaceful sleep, and quietly wish him sweet dreams before leaving yourself and shutting the door behind you silently.

Taehyung is emerging from the kitchen as you take pains to close the door silently, and for a weird moment he imagines a domestic life with you. Would this be how you looked tending to your children? He marvels that he’s even having the thought.

“Are you ok?” you ask, looking at him; he looks both baffled and surprised and you’re not sure what’s going on.

He holds a bottle of fruit soju in one hand and two glasses in the other, and smiles at you, “Drink with me?”

You smile despite yourself, over the last few days of being around Taehyung you realised how much you missed him. You wonder if you’re just living in the past now that the three of you are reunited again, but regardless, you still miss the boy who’d been your best friend. The question is, is that who Taehyung still is? You’re certainly not that girl anymore.

“Let’s go to my room,” he says softly, “We won’t wake him there.”

You agree and follow him to the other end of the hall where you adopt the same position you have so many times before in the past, the same position as that fateful night. You don’t think about that though, instead you hardly drink and you talk non-stop. 

You don’t realise that whilst supporting your mother, father and Jimin as well as the worried staff at the lab, that you haven’t had anyone to share your fears with other than Yoongi. A lot of it spills out now and Taehyung simply listens, letting you talk and only speaking when he knows you need to hear something.

“Another drink?” he asks after a lull in conversation.

“No, I should go,” you reply, getting up as he helps you and then you both freeze, standing face to face at his bed.

“Déjà vu,” he breathes huskily, his breathing, like yours is deep and shallow and the tension thrums through the room like a baseline.

As he reaches forward and tucks your hair behind your ear, you notice that his hand trembles slightly.

“Say it,” he pleads in a voice so low it’s almost a moan.

“Say what?” you almost whisper back.

“You know,” he pleads, his voice a husky whine.

You let yourself slip back into your past, the years washing away like a tide.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?” you say, echoing your words from years ago.

He reaches around you, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m telling my friend that I was fucking heartbroken at the thought of leaving her that night.”

You shudder and he runs his hands up your back.

“I’m telling her that I was mad with jealousy at the thought of Taecyeon touching her.”

You sigh and he pulls you a little closer.

“I’m telling her that I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship, or fuck her and leave her, so I said some really stupid shit because I was a stupid teenager that was drunk and horny and desperate for her.”

Your arms have been limply hanging at your sides until now, but you raise them at his words, and gently stroke his waist.

He takes a ragged breath at your touch, “I’m telling her that what I really wanted to say was, please don’t leave me tonight, stay and let me kiss you and touch you and show you that I love you in my own way too.” 

You pull away from his forehead that’s pressed against yours and move to fully hug him; you both wrap your arms around each other tightly and he buries his head in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His lips press into your skin, but he doesn’t attempt to kiss you.

“What do you want to say now?” you ask gently, stroking his back in firm lines with your fingertips as he used to love, playing with the curls at his nape with the other.

He hums happily into you. Taehyung has always been a tactile person, always sought comfort from touch and contact and affection, you’ve always known how to provide it and you wouldn’t deny him it now.

“I’m saying,” he says, lifting his lips from your skin and emphasising the word carefully, “I want you to stay and let me kiss you and touch you and show you that even now, I still have feelings for you. What I want doesn’t matter though, what do you want? What do you need tonight?”

You say nothing and he presses his lips back into your neck. His hand creeps up the back of your oversized tee, using the very little nail he has to scratch gentle soft circles across your skin, something he knows you’ve always loved.

You stay that way for several minutes, just enjoying the closeness of each other and basking in the comfort of the touches the other one knows exactly how to give.

When Taehyung breaks the silence to speak this time he makes no effort to remove his lips, rather he uses the words as an excuse to kiss the sensitive area.

“Please say something,” he mumbles.

Emotionally fraught and overwhelmed, the truth slips from your lips easily, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

You feel his lips turn into a soft smile, while he waits hopefully for what you might say next.

“I want to stay like this,” you admit in little more than a whisper.

His soft smile turns into a grin of relief, “I’m not going to try to fuck you, just stay with me. I’ll hold you all night. Is that what you want?” he checks.

“Yes,” you say without any hesitation and it’s as easy as the breath you take.

You move fluidly around each other when you break apart, clearing the glasses and soju away, washing up, brushing your teeth and readying for sleep. Taehyung slinks into the hall to lock his sister’s bedroom by using a knife to turn the lock from the outside. You catch him with a puzzled look.

“In case Jimin wakes in the night,” he says awkwardly and you nod, locking his door behind him when he returns to the bedroom.

Soon, you’re spooned into his body as he curls around you, nuzzling your hair and you’re surprised by how quickly you fall asleep.

In the comfort of Taehyung’s arms, you sleep through the night. The messages from Yoongi that light up your phone in the dark of your forgotten handbag go unanswered.

When you wake, the sun is barely rising. Sensing a warm body deep asleep behind you, you recall the events of the night before. Turning to face him, you find him fast asleep in full pout behind you. Look at him in the growing light, you wonder how a man can be so breathtakingly sexy one moment and so damn cute the next; whatever passed between you last night was momentous and you realise you don’t feel an ounce of regret. 

Turning on your back, you know it’s almost inevitable that you two will have sex. Rather than feeling concerned about it, you yearn for it. You want him at a primal level and in these coming days you know you’ll benefit from the distraction. It doesn’t need to be anything more; you’re confident that it can be just sex, comfort and nothing more. In fact, you’re certain that there’s no way Kim Taehyung will ever find his way back into your heart. Smiling to yourself, you realise that even thinking about this is distracting you from what lies ahead today.

As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung’s arm extends around you and he pulls you closer to him, “Morning,” he growls in the raspy voice of someone not fully awake.

“Go back to sleep,” you say, brushing his hair tenderly from his face and banishing the thoughts of your mother, “It’s too early.”

“You’re not going to sleep again though, are you?” he asks, sitting up and leaning over you, stroking your cheek gently.

“No, not today,” you admit, leaning into his hand and his comfort.

“I’ll make us tea,” he smiles, “English Breakfast, just for you,” he grins.

For some reason you can’t understand, all the fear in you chooses that moment to bubble over and your lower lip begins to tremble. He strokes it tenderly with the soft pad of his thumb.

“No, no… Not yet, hold on a bit longer, ok? You can let it out when the surgery happens,” he reassures you.

You know he’s right, yet the trembling intensifies. Instinct taking over, Taehyung catches your lip in between his own, kissing you softly. Soft kisses become deeper as you yield utterly to him. His tongue flicks experimentally into your mouth and you chase it with your own, drawing a low, rumbling moan from him. 

He doesn’t try to take it further, he doesn’t pull you closer or grind into you as he wants to, instead he just basks in the moment he never thought would be his, enjoying the feel of you, your soft skin under his admittedly wandering hands, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Eventually after what feels to be an eternity, breathless and swollen-lipped, you break apart to the risen sun.

He groans deeply and it seems to come from somewhere deep with him. He wants you with a fierce desire, but daren’t give voice to that, unsure of how you feel.

Reading his uncertainty, you you kiss him softly, pulling him on top of you, your hips undulating against his until you begin making out again, grinding slowly against each other until neither of you can take the teasing any longer.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you -” he trails off, “But that can wait,” he says, smiling at your puffy lips and trying to ignore the desire in your eyes which makes his aching cock even harder.

“It has to wait,” he clarifies.

“Not just yet,” you say with a smile and he can’t resist kissing you again.

“No, not yet,” he breathes against your lips, “But really fucking soon,” 

He smirks at the giggle you release and feels proud that he’s distracted you and even made you smile.

“I’ll go boil the kettle,” you say, picking up the knife from the night before, “And I’ll ruffle the bed sheets up a bit so it looks like I slept there. You, um, take care of yourself? I’ll see you in the kitchen,” you leave, blushing a little.

Groaning in frustration, he heads to the bathroom.

When he joins you in the kitchen, he finds you with your brother and, together, as you all did as kids, you prepare for the day ahead.

Yoongi groans groggily, smacking his tongue in his dry, furred mouth with growing awareness of his burgeoning hangover.

He staggers to his bathroom, cleans his face and teeth and heads to his kitchen for a much needed coffee.

As he sits on the couch, he spies his phone by his keys on the console table by his door and a horrifying recollection from the night before floods his waking sense: he’s off his feet and grabbing the phone before he’s even finished the thought.

He reads the messages he sent you last night:

2:56am Hope you asleep and not awake but I wanted 2 say I rly like you 

2:56am Like a lot 

2:57am A lot a lot a lot

3:06am We should coffee

3:11am You and me coffee?

3:17am I know I don’t say enough and I am too quiet but I honestly think you are amazing honestly

3:18am And you are so hot

3:18am So so hot

3:33am Sleep well beautiful Dr cake girl I might be drunk but I still mean it all I promise

Yoongi feels sick and physically slaps his head, then groans as his hangover causes his brain to reverberate and throb in his skull.

“FUCK!” he yells, scaring his dog who yaps in a surprise from his curled sleep in his basket.

“Sorry, Holly,” he mutters and the dog looks at him in betrayal before getting out of his basket and coming to lick at his owner’s hand.

As he contemplates how to deal with the embarrassment he wonders why you haven’t replied and it’s then that he notices a key detail - not one of the messages have little ticks; not one message has been read.

He sets to work on damage control.

Your brother goes to shower while you finish your second cup of tea with Taehyung. You pick at your breakfast, too anxious about the day ahead to eat.

As soon as the bathroom door locks behind Jimin, Taehyung’s hand rests over yours, “You’ve got this today. I will be with you every step of the way and if you need to let it out when she goes in, I’ll be there then too.”

You lace your fingers into his, “Thank you,” you say genuinely, and it feels like the years have rolled away, your heart softening, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says softly, his long fingers gripping your hand before releasing you, “Now finish all your breakfast - you need your strength today.”

Your handbag hangs on a hook at the door, where you left it last night. Within, the messages on your neglected phone disappear from your screen one by one.

Within the app a series of bubbles simply read ‘This message was deleted’.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, but I’m hot, hot!” your father wails tunelessly but enthusiastically, causing a general cheer through the car.

Your mother takes the next part, singing about how all women want her number, drawing a sort of stunned silence from Taehyung beside her in the driver’s seat.

Wedged in the back between your brother and father, you meet their expectant looks as you mother turns and gestures at you to take your friend Zico’s part and so you attempt to rap about your supposed popularity before Taehyung interrupts you to take P.O’s part about being perfect before you all wail along to the chorus.

Jimin puts the window down to sing “Nali-nali-nalina” at some very confused old ladies, one of whom gives him the finger slyly, which brings the sing-a-long to an end and replaces it with fits of laughter.

Your mother is still wheezing with mirth when you pull up at the private entrance to the hospital. It’s a strange experience for everyone except Taehyung; you feel a little like you do when you enter a club with Zico, with the attentive and almost servile treatment which unsettles you and makes the whole day feel even more surreal than it already did. 

You begin to feel dizzy when a strong hand presses into the small of your back, grounding and centring you; you turn to see Taehyung smiling reassuringly at you and you pull yourself together.

The VIP experience continues as your mother is negotiated into a wheelchair; she insists firmly on her ability to walk and it is only the desperate pleas of your father that makes her eventually submit to the nervous-looking nurse. 

Of course, the whole thing has been arranged by Taehyung. In the area of the city where you live, people afford him his privacy in respect for him and his family, but he’s more guarded in other places. Luckily, the hospital staff are bound by confidentiality, though you notice they watch him keenly and you step away from him as you enter the lift that will take you to your mother’s private room.

Hours later, you sit in the hospital room, waiting. Taehyung has gone to get lunch to give you time together. Your mother’s fingers thread through your hair; as you sit with your head laying on her hospital bed. The wait for her to be taken into theatre seemingly endless.

When she’s taken into surgery it all passes in a strange blur as you kiss her and watch as the surgical team wheel her away. In her absence a heavy silence falls on the room, blanketing you all beneath it. Your father stares out of the window into the grassy and wooded paths of the greenery around the hospital. Your brother paces and you sit and stare at her bedside table unseeingly.

After several long minutes, you notice that her glasses are clouded and grubby with finger prints and so take them to wash them in the sink in the bathroom. As you soap them beneath the tap, the anti-glare film on them sparkles with a pinkish-purple iridescence that matches the sheen of your nail polish: under the bright white light, it hypnotises you and your mind simply disconnects from yourself as the overwhelming stress of the situation consumes you. You stay at the sink, tears silently running down your face as you hold the glasses under the tap.

You’re still there 20 minutes later, fingers wrinkling under the water as you stare unmovingly at the lenses through tear-blurred eyes. Taehyung, who has returned, watches you from the doorway.

“Jimin,” he says quietly to his friend, who is unpacking the food, and gestures at you, “I’m going to take her to that relatives’ day room I booked. I think she needs some alone time.”

Jimin looks concerned but knows Taehyung is probably right. He knows you hate for anyone to see you struggle and that you would want to be alone.

Jimin watches as Taehyung stands behind you at the sink and turns the tap off, before taking the glasses from you and laying them to one side. You don’t shrink from his touch, as Jimin thought you might, instead, you lean backwards into him and seem to melt.

He continues to watch as, from behind you, Taehyung dries your hands softly. Jimin can’t help but watch his friend’s face as he does so, watching the expression of gentle tenderness written all over his features. His stomach gives a gentle twist of concern, but he pushes the thought from his mind as he watches Taehyung turn you gently, cradling your head, as he pulls you into a warm hug. When he releases you, he cups your face softly and mumbles something Jimin can’t hear and you murmur back. Then he gently steers you in your semi-catatonic state from the room up to the room he arranged.

“I’ll be back soon,” Taehyung says as he guides you out of the door and Jimin can only nod, struck dumb in shock.

The strong, steady rhythm of Taehyung’s heartbeat pulls your wandering mind back into your body and anchors you there.

As you come back to yourself fully you take in what’s happening around you; you are curled up on Taehyung’s lap on a large sofa, his arms are around you and your head is resting against his chest. He seems to be focused on watching TV and holding you close to him, cradling you protectively.

“Taehyung,” you say softly, and he hums lowly in response as you raise your head from his chest to look at him.

One arm releases you, and for a moment you think he’s going to push you off him, but instead he reaches and pushes your hair back from your face, trailing the back of his fingers across your cheek.

He reads your anxious face, the doe-eyed look of discomfort and sadness written there and he reacts instinctively, seeking to bring you the only comfort he knows will work with you right now: he takes your chin in his thumb and index finger and kisses you. 

It’s a tender kiss, slow and warm. When your lips yield to his own, your tongues make gentle contact and play against each other lightly. Just like the kisses you shared hours before in his bed, it’s full of the memories of the way you loved each other as children; kisses aren’t friendly, but the love that is in this kiss is the love of friendship and it’s why neither you break away, it’s why Taehyung’s hand fixes in your hair and cradles your head, it’s why you reach for him and grip gently onto his hoodie with one hand and caress the back of his neck with the other.

When you finally break apart several minutes later, you keep your eyes closed for a moment and Taehyung kisses both your eyelids with the most featherlight of touches, drawing a smile from you. When your eyes flutter open, he’s smiling softly back at you and, without thinking, you deliver the softest graze of the tip of your nose against his before gently pecking the tip, which draws a soft chuckle from Taehyung.

“You feeling more yourself now?” he asks gently, he no longer cradles your head, but his hand lingers at your back.

“Yeah -” you begin, embarrassed, your cheeks flooding with colour.

His lips suddenly press against one cheek and then the other. He speaks in a firm, reassuring tone, “Hey, hey, none of that. There’s no rule for how anyone is supposed to deal with or cope with something like this. Don’t be embarrassed, especially not with me.”

“Thank you,” you sigh in genuine gratitude, not just for his lack of judgement, or gentleness, but for everything: the way he holds you; the way he kisses you; the support; the arrangements at the hospital; all of it. 

When your eyes meet, you know he understands exactly what you mean and soon you’re wordlessly in agreement, kissing each other again, more deeply this time, but with the same tenderness.

As he kisses you, Taehyung doesn’t feel the struggle he did this morning against taking it further, instead he is content just to kiss you and enjoy the moment. 

His company allows him date, but only secretly and so Taehyung’s relationships, like yours, have mostly been transactional and brief, focused on satisfying his desires. Taehyung doesn’t remember the last time he made out with someone where it wasn’t foreplay and his heart melts into the sensation. In this moment, all he feels is you and he isn’t thinking about a desperate need to fuck you, but instead a keening desire to hold you close to him and to keep you there: he realises that he could kiss you forever and that would be enough. He doesn’t want to let you go.

You are lost in the warmth of Taehyung, and you sense something from him in the way that he kisses you but you don’t know what it is - it doesn’t feel like lust or desire. Whatever it is, it envelops you like a warm blanket and you surrender completely to it, knowing that whatever else might happen, you feel safe and protected. You don’t give any of it any conscious thought, all you think of is the feeling of safety and comfort, his warmth and the desire to just keep kissing him.

Neither of you know how much time passes but eventually, lips puffy and tender, you break apart and you send Taehyung back to your brother and father, while your mind returns to thoughts of your mother.

After a long, cathartic cry which helps loosen the knotted tension within you, you retrieve your phone from your bag and respond to the messages there from friends and coworkers.

Eventually, you reach a message from Yoongi and fall into a conversation.  

Yoongi: Hope you’re ok. Hope it all goes well.

You: She’s in surgery now. So it’s now a waiting game. What was with all the deleted messages?

Yoongi: I was drunk and thought I was texting a different friend. Sorry. Deleted them not to cause confusion.

You: That’s ok, no need to apologise. So we’re friends then? I’m glad! We already have our midnight chats so feel free to add drunken ones in too!

Yoongi: Ofc we’re friends. I’ll add you to my drunk chat list, but remember you asked for it! Did you manage to sleep?

You: Jimin and I crashed at a friend of ours that I haven’t seen in years so it was all a bit strange. Sleep like the dead though! It was good to be together again, the three of us used to hang out all the time when we were kids.

Yoongi: I’m glad. It’s important to have that. How come you didn’t stay in touch?

You: Hmm. A long story for another day. Take it you didn’t sleep?

Yoongi: Oh I did, when I was dead drunk.

You: How are you feeling now? Hope you’re not suffering too badly!

Yoongi: Don’t worry about me! You’ve got more than enough on your mind. My battery is gonna die soon and I’m nowhere near a charger. Can I call?

 

You take the initiative and call him; you talk mindlessly for a few moments, but Yoongi knows that’s not valuable. 

“I want to say something before my phone dies that I think you might need to hear,” he offers gently.

“Ok,” you say, a hint of trepidation in your voice.

“Nobody could do more for their mother than you are doing right now. You are doing your best and that is more than enough. Your family loves you and you are enough. You don’t need to worry. You are not letting anyone down and it’s not selfish or weak to need time just for you.”

You give a small sniffle and an even smaller laugh, “How do you know what’s going on in my head?”

“How did I know that you were beating yourself up?” he says with a soft laugh, “Because we’re friends and we share our deep, dark secrets. Just trust me, you are doing a great job.”

You realise that you do trust him, that when he tells you something you believe him instantly and you suddenly wish that he was here beside you.

“Thank you,” you say.

“You don’t -” is as far as he gets before his phone dies.

It doesn’t matter to either of you though because he’s happy that he’s done his best to reassure you and you’re happier because he succeeded.

The night begins to fall as you twist a tissue in your hands. The room you’re in feels like a hotel suite; there’s a large en-suite shower room attached to the living space you’re in, which has several armchairs, a long, wide sofa that’s larger than your bed at home as well as an enormous TV on the wall, a coffee machine sits on a counter with a kettle, a different selection of teas, coffees, biscuits and fruit gathered alongside. Several magazines are scattered on the coffee table in front of you, covering all interests from gardening to architecture and on a shelf beside you are a collection of novels and biographies. You wonder to yourself if this is what life is like for the super wealthy.

Yet, other than drinking more cups of coffee than could be considered sensible, you haven’t touched anything, too consumed by your racing thoughts and fears.

You brave a look at the clock on the wall and suspect that your mother will be out of surgery soon. You’re just deciding whether or not you should rejoin your father and brother when there’s a knock at the door.

You open it to be greeted by Taehyung’s beaming face, he enters the room and shuts the door behind him.

“The surgeon came by, the operation was a success and your mother is in recovery. We’ll know more tomorrow when she’s awake. They’ll bring her back to the room in a few hours but she won’t be conscious for a while,” he tells you, repeating the surgeon’s words precisely, knowing you’d want absolute clarity.

“You’re serious?” you say breathlessly and sheer relief makes your legs feel like jelly.You can feel yourself collapsing.

You don’t fall far before Taehyung’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you up and close to him, softly murmuring words of comfort until he feels you come back to yourself.

“Are you ok now?” he asks, relaxing his grip enough to look you in the eye. 

“I’m just so relieved,” you say.

He watches as the tension and fear leaves your face, the furrowed brow being replaced with bright, sparkling eyes and a broad smile he hasn’t seen directed towards him in years.

As you smile at Taehyung, you notice his expression shifts from concern to something soft and undefinable.

“Your Dad and Jimin have gone home to update people and clean up, they’ll be back in a few hours. Do you want to eat? Celebrate? Go home?” he asks, he knows he should let you go, but he doesn’t want to, instead he lets his hands wander over you.

You shake your head, “No, I just want this feeling to last,” you smile.

“I don’t often feel good,” you continue, all you feel is relief and you are suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of his hands on your body and you look at him in hunger, “I just want to feel good.”

You don’t think about what you do next, let alone the consequences. Last night the two of you disturbed the ashes of your friendship and kindled the embers that lingered there, you don’t realise what it will mean to kick up the fire.

You press into him and he pulls you closer as you do, your mouth meeting his as you kiss him. It’s not a violent kiss, but, unlike the soft ones you’ve shared so far, this one speaks more of the hunger inside you; it’s slow, lingering, full of desire and the flames of your shared passion. Taehyung doesn’t deny you, kissing you back with the same keening need, his blood thundering in his veins.

When you break apart you both pant slightly. There’s no other way to describe the look Taehyung fixes you with other than dangerous: his pupils are dilated, and he looks ready to eat you alive.

“I can make you feel good,” Taehyung states in his deep baritone and you both silently acknowledge it as a simple statement of fact. 

You move out of his hold and move to the door, twisting the lock and pressing the button that illuminates the ‘do not disturb’ sign outside before you turn back to him.

“I know you can,” you say thickly, caught in a daze of lust and anticipation. He glances at the long wide couch that earlier you’d been huddled on and then back to you.

He discards his zip up hoodie and jerks his chin slightly up, before commanding you in a deep, sultry voice that has the precise timbre of sex, “Come to me.”

You discard your sweater as you cross the room to him, and he pulls his t-shirt off too, as soon as you reach him he yanks you to him, mouth seeking yours hungrily, his hands flying to your back to undo your bra. He flings it away as though it offends him and then pulls your closer, groaning into your mouth at the feel of your bare breasts against his body.

“I don’t have a condom, I didn’t expect this,” he suddenly moans.

“I don’t care,” is your response as you yank at his sweats, “I have an IUD and I trust you.”

“Good,” he hisses in desire as he pulls down your yoga pants and your underwear with them. He doesn’t know why, but you saying that you trust him drives him even more wild in his desire for you.

In no time at all, you’re flat on the sofa with Taehyung’s naked body pressing into you, feeling his cock harden and twitch against your thigh with every roll of his tongue in your mouth, every squeeze of your tits. 

Several times he tries to slow the pace: he tries kissing you slowly, tries to go down on you, but you keep fighting against him.

He fingers you slowly, while pinning down your jerking hips, as you try to increase his speed. In response, you reach for his cock, and, as soon as it’s silky with precum and your spit, you grip him firmly and jerk him off aggressively, causing him to groan and falter before he gives in and rubs your clit furiously, now using three fingers to fuck you whilst his hip buck into your tight, twisting grip.

Suddenly, he pulls back, “Fuck, keep that up and I’ll come in a minute,” he pants, his fingers still curling inside you.

“We’ve waited for this for years,” he says, forcing you to make eye contact with him, “What’s the rush? Can’t we take our time?”

His face is so sweet and genuine that you relent, “We can take our time tonight, I promise. But not here, not right now - now I just need you to fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“Tonight? You promise?” he asks excitedly.

“Yes,” you smile.

“Fuck, ok then,” he smiles and then his fingers are replaced with his throbbing cock, and you wince at the intrusion as he starts to drive himself in.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, biting into your neck as he lies over you, supporting his weight on one arm as he guides himself into you with the other, “tell me if it’s too much.”

“So big,” you whimper, “But don’t you dare fucking stop!” You feel him giggle into the sensitive flesh of your neck.

When he’s fully seated in you, he pauses for a moment and you grin at each other. He knows you need a moment to adjust to him but you are both revelling in the moment. He loves the feel of your tightness around him, his balls pressed against you and you love the stretch, the feeling of fullness and the joy of it all.

He kisses you then and underneath the hunger and desire is that sense of something more, something that expands in both your chests that isn’t ready to be named. 

As his heart pounds, Taehyung is glad to have finally subdued you a little: he promised to fuck you without holding back, and he will, in fact, he’s certain that the raging desire in him wouldn’t allow him to fuck you any other way - he feels an almost animalistic desire to claim your body. Despite that though, he’s cum into his fist and into other women too many times while he’s pictured you and so, ravenous or not, he’s going to take time to enjoy that this is finally happening. 

As your tongues play in each others’ mouths, Taehyung slowly begins to roll his hips into you, drawing a filthy moan of sheer desire from you which he swallows eagerly.

He returns a lustful groan of his own and he reaches between you to rub your clit, slowly rocking his hips into you, hardly withdrawing at all, maintaining the closeness of your bodies and hitting a place deep inside you.

You’ve never fucked anyone as big as him and in this moment, you don’t give a shit about any of your assertions earlier; you realise that you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you.

“You’re coming like this,” he growls, “Then I’ll rail you into this couch, ok?”

You moan in response and can only breathily repeat, “You’re so good” in a shallow pant over and over.

Taehyung drives harder, wanting to be as deep in you as he can, he feels an overwhelming need to join with you as closely as he can.

“Do you want it faster?” he says, licking the corner of your mouth.

You catch his lip in yours and kiss him quickly but deeply, “Yes, but fuck Taehyung, do whatever you want to me, just keep fucking me this good, you’re fucking amazing.”

That’s enough for Taehyung, the growl he lets out in response is almost feral as he attacks your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, “I’m amazing?” he scoffs.

He feels your cunt tightening around him and he keeps driving deeply, increasing the pressure of his fingers on your clit as well, as he moans, “Your cunt is what’s amazing, fucking sucking me in, so tight, fucking made to take my cock…”

You wail in response, both in agreement at the perfect fit and your approaching orgasm.

Taehyung feels you spasm madly around his cock, as your nails scratch at his back and you hold back your scream.

“No,” he hisses pressing his mouth to yours, “Fucking scream for me.” 

And you do: pure, unadulterated ecstasy flows through your body and turns into a wail of pleasure. Taehyung catches it with his mouth, muffling your whimpers as he starts to pull his cock from you before driving it back.

He fucks you through your orgasm at a brutal pace; it’s faster than he wants it to be but he knows he won’t last much longer and he wants to give you what you want in the hope that you’ll let him do this with you again and again and again.

He pulls your legs up so they dangle over his shoulders letting him drive deeper and harder into you. You writhe and moan for him, loving the feeling of him stretching your walls and hitting every spot you need. 

His name keeps falling from your lips and it fuels each of his thrusts before he’s coming violently and without warning, groaning your name. Without thinking, he grabs the nearest thing to him, which happens to be your sweater, and jams in under your ass ready to catch the cum that will spill out. 

He knows from your face and the feel of you around him that you were close to coming again, so he keeps driving into you, his cock suffering from the oversensitivity.

You can read his pained expression beneath his determination, “Tae, it’s ok, you can pull out,” you say breathlessly but comfortingly.

Taehyung merely growls at you, “You’re coming for me again.” 

He pulls out and the next thing you know he’s on the floor beside the couch, yanking the sweater and your ass closer to him.

He throws your legs over your his shoulders and attacks your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his fingers pressing into you, his cum and your wetness make a mess and the sound of squelching, combined with his lusty groans and slurping, is obscene.

You cry out for him and it’s not long before you’re unravelling for him again, stroking your hands through his hair to prize his mouth from your sensitive sex.

When he pulls back and looks at you you don’t think you’ll ever forget the sight: his pupils are blown out with desire and his eyes are utterly focused on destroying you, his mouth and chin are wet and glistening with your release and his own cum - it’s filthy and yet it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Good?” he asks teasingly, rising from his knees.

“Amazing,” you gasp, laying your head back and gasping for air.

You’re surprised to feel the couch dip as he climbs back on, and you turn your gaze to find him semi-hard and moving back between your legs.

“One more,” he says, flipping you over as the thrusts back into you. Your clit is sore and swollen and, even though his fingers rolling against you are light, it’s enough to drag back to the edge again. Your face and upper body are pressed into the sofa, only your ass in the air. He grips your hips fiercely as he ruts into you.

You do your best to keep up with him, pushing your hips back but his pace is punishingly fast and you struggle. 

You keep coming, small, baby orgasms that flutter rather than spasm through your walls, but you’re so tight around Taehyung though that he feels each one and shortly after he spills what’s left in his balls into you, collapsing on your back, and sloppily kissing what he can reach of your mouth.

“Tae,” you whine into his mouth, between his weight on top of you and his mouth on yours, you’re struggling for air, “I can’t breathe.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry babe,” he says, rapidly clambering off you and his cock slipping from you with another obscene sound.

You say nothing. Did he just call you babe? You dismiss it as a moment of sex-induced brain fog.

“Uh, just stay there,” he says, “we’ve made a bit of a mess. I’ll clean you up.”

He disappears into the bathroom and returns with damp cotton pads and toilet roll to wipe you up. 

When he’s finished you stagger to your feet, and wrap his hoodie around you before going to the bathroom to finish cleaning up.

When you return he’s tidied up, the couch not seemingly marked or stained to your relief, though Taehyung, now dressed in his sweats and tee, is frantically dabbing at the front of your sweater which is sticky with both of your releases.

He looks at you, panicked, “Fuck - I’m sorry!”

You simply laugh and he loves the sound, loves how you slightly bite your tongue between your teeth as you giggle. He can’t draw his eyes from you and ceases his dabbing, his eyes drawn to your smooth legs, and your body encased in his hoodie… he realises he’s falling fast.

“Better mine than yours, Taetae,” you smile, oblivious to his thoughts, which only intensify at the sound of childhood nickname falling from your lips again, “This hoodie must be more than a million won, that sweater was nothing in comparison!”

“But it’s yours,” he says sadly as you pull your underwear and yoga pants on. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you smile gently, and take it from him, regarding the mess.

“Hey, can I borrow your hoodie? I promise I’ll have it dry cleaned or whatever’s necessary.”

“Of course,” he says quickly, “but you don’t have to clean it, it’s the least I can do.”

You smile, “Thanks,” and in puzzlement he watches as you pick up the coffee cup on the table, swirl it about a bit before pouring it over the front of your sweater and mushing it in to the dampness, then you fold it up in such a way that the coffee stain is visible.

“Um, why?” he asks, puzzled.

“Even if this hospital is discreet, me leaving in your clothes is going to generate questions whichever way we look at it,” you say, “If I’m holding a jumper clearly covered in coffee they can assume you as a gentleman offered me your hoodie. We should also bag up the tissues and pads, and put them in the rubbish elsewhere, in case they snoop,”

He nods in understanding and is touched by how considerate you are about his circumstances.

“If only they knew that you’re not much of a gent at all,” you giggle, “Using my sweater as an cum-reservoir while you fucked me stupid,” you laugh.

He blushes at that and you stand before him, stroking your hands through his mussed and sweaty hair.

“Tae, I was joking, I’m sorry, hey! -” you cry out as he pulls you down onto his lap, your legs held either side of him as he kisses your lips. 

“I made you come more times than I can count…” he mutters as he unzips his hoodie and kisses down your bare breasts. Your nipples harden instantly for him before he sucks one into his mouth and rolls his tongue around it before nipping it gently, drawing a gasp from you.

Releasing it from his teeth, he looks at you dangerously, “…was that not gentlemanly?”

He loves how you bite your lip, “Fucking quit it, Taehyung,” you say in a low moan, “I’ll soak through my clothes.”

He smiles as he kisses you again, “So, tonight?” he asks, making his way to your neck as he pushes the hoodie further off you, kissing the soft spot that makes you judder.

“Dad is going to stay in the cot in Mum’s room if they let him come back, Jimin and I should stay with you again. There’s no spare room at ours,” you say lowly, fingers tangling in his hair, enjoying his mouth on your neck and the feeling of his large hands roaming over your bare skin.

After long minutes you break away from each other and you retrieve your bra before putting his hoodie back on.

“Are you going to be cold?” you ask with concern.

“Better me than you,” he smiles softly, then he turns off the ‘do not disturb’ sign off and moves to the end of the couch, relaxing back into it, before turning on the TV and keeping the volume low, “the doctor should be around in a couple of hours for an update,”

He lays a cushion on his lap, “Have a nap,”

You lay on your side, placing your head on his lap and curl up; you wrap the arm underneath you over your shoulder and he lays his arm over you, interlacing his fingers with yours.

Placing your other hand on his knee, you drift into sleep.

Namjoon feels like a bit of a creep wandering the hospital corridors whilst he waits for his girlfriend, a radiologist at the hospital, to get off work.

Yoongi asked him to let him know if he saw you and how you looked. He knows that Yoongi doesn’t want him to stalk the corridors looking for you, but he also knows that to even ask suggests that Yoongi is very concerned about you and he’d do anything for his friend.

Suddenly, as he turns the corner, there you are, further down the long corridor speaking with a doctor. You look exhausted but calm, and Namjoon notices how you make little sweater paws in the enormous hoodie you are wearing. In fact, it’s so large it undoubtedly is not yours and far more likely belongs to the man standing behind you wearing only a t-shirt, who you lean against for support.

That’s Kim-fucking-Taehyung, Namjoon realises.

You nod seriously at the doctor, a tight but relieved smile on your face as she departs; Namjoon is walking slowly but he’s close enough to be able to hear you now as you thank the doctor.

Still standing behind you supportively, Taehyung squeezes your shoulders gently, pecking a kiss to your temple. Namjoon wonders at the intimacy of that gesture.

“I’ll go and fetch your Dad and Jimin,” Taehyung says to you.

You nod, clearly grateful, “Will you take my sweater and throw it in my laundry basket? Ask Jimin to grab me something to wear? Is that ok?”

He smiles, taking a coffee-stained sweater from you, “Keep that on, it looks good on you. I have a spare in the car for me.”

“Thank you, Tae,” you smile gratefully.

“I’ll be back soon,” he smiles and pulls you into a hug before he leaves you.

There’s clearly an easy familiarity between the two of you that puts Namjoon on guard. Luckily, Taehyung heads the opposite way down the corridor to Namjoon and misses the man’s small frown as he wonders about the nature of your relationship.

A moment later the doctor reappears, “You can go in now, but she won’t be conscious until tomorrow, but you can sit with her.”

You nod gratefully, thanking the doctor and following her to your mother’s room.

Namjoon really can’t figure out the relationship. Friends? Family? He wonders if he should tell Yoongi that Taehyung was here at the hospital with you.

He can’t help himself, his feet lead him to follow you. After you go in the room he lingers in the hallway, after several minutes he comes to a decision and looks in at the window.

You’re holding your mother’s hand and are smiling gently at her, though you’re crying softly. 

He’s about to turn, embarrassed at intruding on such a private moment, when he sees you hug yourself with one arm, but it’s what you do next that he really wishes he didn’t see: you clasp the edge of the hoodie and bury your face into it, breathing the scent in and you smile slightly, an expression of comfort on your face.

Well, shit, he thinks as he walks away, What the fuck do I tell Yoongi?

Namjoon and his girlfriend are surprised to find two intimidating security guards waiting for them as they reach the exit of the hospital; one of whom looks strangely familiar to him.

In shock, he looks apologetically at his girlfriend who indicates she’ll be waiting. He allows himself to be firmly and wordlessly escorted to the Head of Security’s office.

Behind a large meeting table sits a middle-aged man with an air of years of military service about him, he wears a well-cut dark suit, has brutally short hair and an unreadable expression, in short, everything you would expect from a man in private security. He doesn’t surprise Namjoon. 

The fact that you are sat beside him, stately despite being clothed in a huge hoodie, however, is a surprise. You couldn’t cut more of a contrast against each other: older man and younger woman; smart against casual; inscrutable against simmering anger.

The security guard smiles at you and Namjoon watches you nod respectfully back, drawing an approving hum from both guards. What’s that about? thinks Namjoon.

Namjoon sits in silence, he has the sense to understand that the older man will speak first, and that it will ease things if Namjoon allows him to.

“Thank you for joining us,” the man says smoothly, “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but a relative of one of our patients has raised some concerns. She will address you directly,” he says gesticulating at you.

“I also thank you for agreeing to come to this meeting,” you say with evident control and obvious awareness that there really wasn’t a lot of choice in it for him.

You continue, “I must ask,” you say addressing Namjoon, “are you a member of the media? Do you have recording equipment on you? It would be unwise to lie.”

“No,” says Namjoon instantly and with clear confusion, “Why would you think that?”

“I saw you in the corridor where I was with a friend who happens to be famous,” you say coldly, “then you followed me and watched me through the window of my mother’s hospital room. I assume you were so bold because you falsely imagine a story more exciting than a childhood friend offering support.”

Namjoon has the grace to blush and you narrow your eyes.

“I can explain -” he begins, the admission makes the director’s eyes narrow now and he interrupts.

“I think you better had,” he says, all traces of smoothness and civility are gone and the tone is one of distaste and distrust.

“I shouldn’t have looked in,” he says apologetically, “It wasn’t Kim Taehyung I was focused on, but you.”

Your frown deepens, “Explain,” you demand in a quiet voice and Namjoon actually feels intimidated, which is rare for him. In fact, there is something in your quiet manner and your control that reminds him eerily of Yoongi; no wonder his friend likes you.

“I know you from the hip hop showcase,” he explains, “I actually performed, with my friend Yoongi,” the moment he says Yoongi’s name he sees you soften slightly. So, he thinks, you like Yoongi back.

“Your friendship with him doesn’t explain what you were doing following me,” you reply.

“After his phone died he was worried. I meet my girlfriend here regularly, Dr Oh, she’s a radiologist,” he says nodding at the director, “I was meeting her today so Yoongi asked me to check in on you and perhaps I took it a little too far.”

He can see you carefully evaluating him.

“Would you submit to a search?” asks the director and Namjoon agrees.

Later, when both you and the director are satisfied, you are left alone with Namjoon and you turn to him.

“I’m sorry about that,” you say, “But privacy is very important for Taehyung and as it’s my mother he’s helping out here, I feel responsible for protecting him.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry for looking in,” he concedes.

“Please don’t be. I’m sorry that this is how we met,” you say.

“Yoongi is really fond of you,” Namjoon ventures, “he’s not very expressive but he really does like you.”

You smile, it’s bright and genuine and now that you’re not subjecting him to an inquisition he sees why Yoongi is so attracted to you. 

“I’m very fond of him too, he’s a really great guy,” you say honestly.

As you soften, he decides he can be bold enough to satisfy at least some of hiscuriosity.

“I have to ask, what was that with you and the security guard?” he asks, “It was a real mafia moment!”

You laugh loudly, “Ah, she’ll love that,” you giggle, “that’s Cho-won, she moonlights from her job here as security in the club. I met her there, she’s a big fan of Zico,” you laugh again before you turn serious.

“I have to apologise to your girlfriend and explain,” you add, “It’s the least I can do.”

Together, you walk to the exit and he appreciates the gesture and decides he likes you; he thinks he’ll keep his suspicions about you and Taehyung to himself. 

He reasons that all they are: they are only suspicions, and Yoongi doesn’t need any further reason to hold back. There’s an honesty to you that tells him that if he’s wrong, and you are with Taehyung, that you won’t lie to Yoongi about it.

Much later in the evening you reluctantly left the hospital so your father could settle and sleep. You said nothing to Taehyung or your Dad or brother about the moment with Namjoon and you’d all sat in a sort of peaceful silence at your mother’s bedside.

Now back in Taehyung’s house,the three of you sprawl on the sofas in his lounge. 

“I’m too wired to sleep,” Jimin explains, “I have all this nervous energy.”

Taehyung’s nostrils flare slightly in poorly concealed frustration, but when he speaks his voice is understanding, “Of course, of course, we’ll stay up as long as you need.”

“By ‘we’ he means you and him,” you smile and stretch, “Because I am going to bed.” 

You’re sat between the two, when you stand, you block Jimin’s view of Taehyung so he’s free to shoot you a look of betrayal, reminding you of your promise from earlier; you simply wink in response, turning back to your brother and kissing him on the top of his head.

“We have to be at the hospital early for Dad’s sake, so don’t be too late to bed,” you remind him warmly.

“I won’t,” he says appeasingly.

“Good night,” Taehyung says, a little grumpily.

“Night, Tae,” you say quite sweetly, “Sleep well, thanks for everything you did today.”

He can only swallow, thinking of the details of what he’s done for you, done to you.

As you enter the bathroom to wash up, you hear your brother saying in a low, confidential voice, “So you two are friends again now? How did that happen?”

You wait in the doorway, lingering, awaiting his response, “I think all of this with your mother is more important than our history. You know your sister, she never puts herself first. I don’t think she’s my friend, not yet anyway, she’s just doing what’s necessary for everyone to get through this.”

Your heart sinks, you know he’s trying to conceal the truth from your brother but you also feel guilty that he doesn’t realise that you’ve forgiven him; you resolve to fix that.

“I saw you two in the bathroom, Tae, it’s more than her just tolerating you. What do you want from her?” Jimin asks, and you hear the slight edge in his voice.

“Should we talk about this?” Taehyung says seriously.

“I’m not going to ask if you still feel the same about her,” Jimin says, “I don’t want to know how if you have those sort of feelings for my sister,” you can hear the shudder in his voice.

“What do you want to know then?” Taehyung’s confusion is evident in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Jimin sighs, “I’m just worried,” he admits.

“I won’t hurt her again,” Taehyung says seriously, “I promise.”

“Well, I guess that’s good enough for now,” replies your brother.

When you leave the bathroom you ensure that the coast is clear before you use the edge of your keys to lock his sister’s room from the outside, as Taehyung did the night before, before you slip silently into Taehyung’s room.

You haven’t forgotten your phone tonight, so you use it to text Taehyung as you slide between the covers. 

Why the look of betrayal? I’m offended… I’m in your bed btw. I’m going to sleep now but I want you to wake me when you join me. I keep my promises Kim Taehyung 😜

You giggle to yourself as you put your phone on the beside table and cuddle into the duvet before falling soundly asleep.

Taehyung feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and can’t contain his smirk when he reads your message, grateful that your brother is in the toilet at the time.

When he finally persuades an emotional and exhausted Jimin to go to bed, Taehyung slips into his bedroom in the darkness, careful not to wake you.

The soundtrack of your gentle, deep breaths comforts him as he strips to his underwear. He’s about to peel back the duvet and slide in beside you when suddenly a rectangle of white light illuminates the bedside table. Without thinking he looks at the screen and sees the latest in a series of messages all from the same sender. He scans down all the alerts in backwards order, frustrated that he can’t see the entirety of each message: 

11:15pm I hope you sleep well and sleep through the night x

11:12pm Let me know, when you decide. I just really want to see you in …

11:10pm So coffee at the weekend? Anytime that works for you is fine …

11:08pm I hope everything went well today for your mother. I was …

It takes Taehyung a moment to realise that the hot feeling coursing through his a mixture of jealousy and anger. 

Who the fucking fuck is Yoongi? he thinks as he turns the phone over and climbs into bed with you, spooning into your back and wrapping his arms about you.

He forces himself to calm down, reminding himself that whoever this guy is, it’s Taehyung’s arms that you’re in right now: it was his name that you were screaming earlier; it’s him that fits perfectly inside you; him that you’d begged to rail you senseless; him that you came undone for.

You stir slightly and he kisses the back of your neck, drawing a gentle shudder from you that travels straight to his cock and so he does it again and again.

You let a low moan, half asleep and half awake, “Taehyung,” you whisper softly.

His cock twitches against you at that: it’s him, Taehyung, that you’re thinking of right now. 

He appreciates that you’re only in your underwear, and he allows a hand to travel up to the lace of your bralette before cupping your breast and kneading it, whilst moaning into your neck.

He realises you’re fully awake as your small hand clutches on to his and you push your ass back against his twitching cock.

“Want to fuck you like this,” he moans deeply.

“You can fuck me any way you want,” is your husky, whispered reply, the words laced with desperation and desire.

“Any way I want?” he teases, rutting into you.

“Every way you want,” you moan.

Taehyung smirks as he starts to ease your underwear down your legs.

Chapter Text

Summer draws ever nearer, yet the chilly spring mornings endure; this morning a white frost coats branches outside, painting the grass a snowy, crisp white that glimmers and glistens like glitter in the rays of the rising sun.

A cold breeze washes over the ground, disturbing the frigid, frozen flakes and yet again it creeps to open windows and swirls through, making a chilly vortex in the room and causing you to pull the blankets closer around you.

“Hey,” cries Taehyung, “My feet are getting cold,” he complains from above you as you hike the blanket up his back.

You shush him desperately, “Don’t, Jimin will hear,” you hiss.

In reply he rolls his hips slowly and deliberately, drawing a moan from you.

“Fuck, Taehyung, right there,” you plead.

“Don’t,” he grins cheekily, kissing your throat, “Jimin will hear.”

You glare at him, albeit playfully, “Bastard,” you mutter.

He gives you another deep roll and begins a steady, deep, thrusting pace. He’s so close to you that it feels like every inch of your bare skin is in contact with him. You can feel the beat of his heart, the soft flesh of his body over the taut muscle beneath; his nipples, pebbled in the cold, graze your breasts and his hot breath fans your neck where his head is nuzzled into the crook of neck and shoulder. It’s all so intimate that it scares you a little. 

You realise that the sensation of him inside you is something you’ll never tire of, he’s too big to get used to easily, but each time he fucks you the painful adjustment becomes easier to bear and you’re more quickly lost to the ecstasy of the way he fills you so perfectly. Taehyung didn’t lie when he told you he could make you feel good; the multiple times he took you last night and now again this morning have shown that he knows exactly how to use his, and your, body. You’re not ready to admit it to him, but it’s the best sex you’ve ever had. 

At this very moment, you’re beginning to feel overwhelmed by sensation, not just the agonisingly delicious slow drag of his cock, or the steady, relentless pace but the keening intimacy of the moment and you start to panic a little.

Taehyung feels the change in you instantly; a moment ago you were soft beneath him, rolling your hips into his as he lost himself in the softness of your skin, the heady smell of you and the addictive sounds of your quiet moans. Taehyung is rapidly becoming obsessed with your vice-like cunt which sucks his cock in so well that he’s amazed he can find the ability not to come in you after a couple of pumps. He wants to fuck you like this forever, but he can feel you tense beneath him, your breathy pants turning ragged, he lifts his face to look at you, seeing the panic forming in the black depths of your widening pupils.

No, no, no, he thinks as he moves to draw you back, to keep you secure in this moment with him: he’s waited years to have you like this and it can’t let it end yet.

Your breath stutters in your chest as Taehyung removes his mouth from your neck, moving to your lips, supporting himself on his forearms either side of your head.

He whispers soothing words to you as he keeps fucking you, gentler than before, but maintaining the same slow, deep thrusts. As you start to relax again, he weaves his fingers gently into your hair and licks your lips before kissing you. It grounds you and you wrap your arms tightly about him as he rocks into you more powerfully, kissing you deeply as he brings you slowly to both your highs. You buck up into him as you come, your spasming walls milking him as you gasp into each others’ mouths.

You come down from your orgasms together and giggle, pressing your sweaty foreheads to each others’, bodies slick with the afterglow of sex. Whatever nervousness you felt before is dissolved by the bliss of your orgasm: oxytocin counteracting cortisol.

When your eyes meet his, the look you exchange is entirely too soft, but before you can truly comprehend it, his mouth is back on yours as you feel him push deeper into you, causing you to clench around him. You feel his cum spill out a little.

“I’m not pulling out,” he whines desperately against your mouth, “We’re going again,” you feel his spent cock begin to twitch as he deepens the kiss, keeping his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he takes both your hands and intertwines your fingers together.

Whatever danger you felt before, you now ignore. This is what you want, this is what you need . Slowly, and with determination, Taehyung is filling you, body and soul. As his hungry mouth claims yours, you give yourself up to him without thought.

“I swear, every word is true!” he laughs drily, smiling as you wheeze and clutch the table as you giggle.

“How did you get out though?” you squeak out between laughs.

“A creative arrangements of crates,” he smiles, earning more laughter from you.

In the time you’ve been sitting together the sky has shifted from a soft, shell pink to a rich indigo, the last licks of orange lapping at the horizon. Yoongi hasn’t even noticed that hours have passed, instead it feels like no time at all; he’s lost in a pleasant haze where you flood all his senses and he cannot see anything but you.

You sigh in satisfaction, breaking his reverie, “I’m glad we finally had this coffee,” you smile, swirling your cup.

“Can we do this again?,” he asks swiftly, then feels a little embarrassed at his eagerness. You’re bright eyed though, and seemingly eager.

“I’d love that,” you smile, “In fact, what are your plans now?” you ask.

“I have none,” he admits, “I was just going to head back to work, I have some mindless jobs to do. I was hoping Hobi would come keep me company but he has a date.”

“How rude of him,” you smile lazily, “How about take-out and I’ll come keep you company?”

Yoongi beams at you, a pure gummy smile that makes you feel warm and agrees with your plan.

You text your brother to tell him to have film night at Taehyung’s without you; you’ve been taking it in shifts to sleep at the hospital over the last couple of weeks and tonight it was your Dad’s turn so you, Jimin and Taehyung had planned to hang out to distract yourselves from your worries. Your mother is recovering, but it’s a little slower than anyone expected. Tonight, thanks  Yoongi, you can put your concerns from your mind.

Back in Taehyung’s house, Jimin gets your message and bounds off the couch to update Taehyung, who’s doing laundry. Jimin wonders how Taehyung will take it, he knows his friend isn’t particularly jealous but imagines that he won’t like the thought of you out for dinner with the white knight who saved you on the flight home.

As he approaches the laundry room, he smiles to himself, thinking how cute it is that you and Taehyung honestly believe that nobody knows you’re at it like rabbits. As the perfectly annoying big brother that he is, he’s storing the information away so he can use it to embarrass you as much as possible when the right opportunity presents itself. Despite his desire to see you both squirm, and his horror at hearing the sounds Taehyung draws out of you, overall, he’s just glad to see the both of you happy and finding comfort somewhere, though a niggling voice within makes him apprehensive about where it could all lead, and the myriad ways it could go disastrously wrong.

He’s just about to reach the doorway when he hears the sound his friend’s voice, hushed and obviously deliberately quiet. He wonders if you’ve called him to explain and he presses himself against the wall, eager to gather more ammunition for when he exposes the two of you, he feels a little ashamed but it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“I know, I know, babe,” comes the soft sound of Taehyung’s voice and Jimin smirks. It’s only when he hears the other voice that he realises his friend is on a video call and finds that all shame he may have felt has gone. 

Jimin feels the sound of the guy fucking his sister calling another woman ‘babe’ gives him every right to eavesdrop.

“I miss you, Taehyungie,” whines the woman, “it’s been ages since I saw you and I’m really missing you,” she simpers.

“I’m sorry, beautiful,” says Taehyung gently, “But it’s more complicated here than I can explain.”

“Try to,” she insists.

“Ok,” begins Taehyung and Jimin listens carefully to each word that follows. Over the course of the conversation so many different feelings bloom in his chest: worry, confusion, dread, fear and anger and he seems to career between them all like a pinball.

As the conversation ends, Jimin realises he can’t bear to look at Taehyung and moves silently back to the living room before calling out, “Shit Tae, I’ve gotta head out, I have some dance shit to sort out and my sister’s cancelled on us, let’s postpone yeah? See ya bro!”

He doesn’t even wait for Taehyung’s reply before he staggers from the house, breathless and confused. He knows he needs to talk to you, but he doesn’t know where to begin.

Hours later, you’re still in Yoongi’s studio; his work for the day is long finished but you remain. You sit like bookends either end of his studio couch, facing each other, knees up in front of you and toes pressing into the soft material beneath you.

Yoongi regards you in the low neon lights of the room as the two of you talk the night away, your face is half pink, half green and it feels like he’s in a dream, the unreal feeling from the café seeming to spill over into his studio. He can’t believe that he’s actually having the butterflies-in-the-stomach, sweaty palms, fluttering heart feelings over someone. He thought he left those dizzying feelings behind him with his teenage years, but nonetheless, here you are, and his heart is pounding in his chest every time your knee knocks into his, his breath catching every time you smile for him and he feels giddy every time he makes you laugh.

He tells you about how two o’clock in the morning is his nemesis, the hour that taunts him most in his sleeplessness and how he’s come to approach it with something akin to dread. His heart warms at how concerned and sympathetic you are.

You talk long into the night and eventually you persuade him to put a movie on the big monitor and to stretch out on the couch, placing a pillow on your lap for him to rest on. You had needed it when Taehyung did it for you and you see it as good karma to repay the deed for another soul in need.

Somewhere around midnight, Yoongi stops talking as you gently run your fingers through his messy black hair, soothing him. Mid stroke, you hesitate, trying to interpret the strange feeling overcoming you. Suddenly you realise it’s guilt: What if Taehyung saw this?  

You know you and Taehyung are just having sex, you’re not even dating, but even so, the intimacy of stroking another man’s hair feels wrong. Drawing your hand back, you frown to yourself, pushing away the questions in your mind about what Taehyung means to you. In the silence of the room you fall into an uneasy nap.

It’s with no small joy that you notice Yoongi’s deep, even breathing when you wake at 1:45am. You know you should leave, or at least go back to sleep but you remember Yoongi’s words, so you endure until 2:30am comes around and he’s still dead to the world, when you finally allow yourself to drift back to sleep.

It’s 6am when you wake again and he’s still sleeping soundly, though you have a stiff and painful neck. You can’t bear to wake him while he’s so peaceful and so you manoeuvre expertly around him, leaving a note on the large whiteboard adjacent to his console before quietly slipping away and making your quiet way home. Your body aches and you’re exhausted but you feel lighter from your time with him, somehow a little less weighed down by the burdens on you.

When you arrive home an hour and a half later, having to take a circuitous route because of the early hour, you enter your house to find your brother cross-legged on the couch, stroking Jiji, who’s curled into his lap, looking for all the world like a comic version of a Bond villain. You wish he had a spinning chair he could circle around in, which would suit the look of disappointment both he, and somehow inexplicably, the cat, seem to throw at you.

“Where have you been?” questions Jimin, sounding unimpressed.

“Sorry, Dad,” you drone flatly and sarcastically, “I was with a friend.”

“What friend?” he asks suspiciously, and you realise you actually have to explain yourself.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” you appease him, “Tea?” you offer and he nods.

You return with your mugs and seat yourself on the sofa. In his eagerness to hear your explanation Jimin has neglected Jiji, who scornfully abandons him, making her way to you and politely presenting you with her ass in your face, demanding scratches above her tail.

“Jeez, Jiji,” you laugh, moving the cat whilst giving into her petting demands. As she settles on your lap and you stroke her soft, midnight-black fur, you’re inexplicably reminded of Yoongi asleep on your lap and a soft smile plays on your face.

The sound of your name pulls you back from your daydreaming, and you look at Jimin, “What?” you say stupidly.

“Explain where you’ve been all night!” he demands impatiently, and so you do: you explain honestly all about your friendship with Yoongi, while Jimin’s face remains passive and unreadable. When you finish speaking, your brother opens his mouth to reply when Taehyung’s car pulls up outside, and you see the colour drain from Jimin’s face.

“Ji?,” you ask, worried, “What’s up? Did you fall out with Tae? Do you want me to get the door?”

“No,” he barks, in a sharper voice than he intends, and you look puzzled, “You should go shower,” he says in a softer voice, reminding you that you’re heading to the hospital soon.

You know Jimin needs you out of the room for some reason and you know it’ll be for a good one knowing him, so you indulge him. You ease Jiji off your lap, earning a hiss from the little devil. You feel no guilt, she prefers Tae anyway and would have abandoned you immediately for him. You straighten your clothes, brushing off the cat hair as you stand and make your way down the hall to the bathroom.

When you emerge from the shower and have dressed in what you’ve come to think of as your hospital-wear, which is essential very baggy athleisure, you towel your hair and wander into the living room to greet Taehyung. However, only Jimin sits on the couch.

“Tae didn’t stick around?” you ask.

“No,” he states firmly, “He’s got stuff on today, you know he has to go to Tokyo soon for his new record, right? Well, he needs to get ready for that.”

Jimin looks at you closely, trying to read your reaction, but you remain inscrutable as you drag your fingers through your wet hair, “Yeah, I guess that’s soon right?” you say softly.

Jimin fixes you with a probing stare and you feel your stomach drop, “I think today is the day of confessions,” he laughs, but it’s dry and you feel nervous about what’s coming next.

Oddly, so does he, and he takes a deep breath before he speaks, “I think I need you to tell me what exactly is going on with you and Taehyung,” he says seriously.

Your brother might be the softest-hearted man in the world, considerate beyond compare with an endless capacity for love and kindness, but he is also shockingly blunt and direct at times and can often speak without really thinking. Now is one of those direct times, except he really is thinking; it’s evident that he already knows far more about you and Taehyung than you could have suspected and you feel suddenly exposed and caught out. There’s no judgement written on his face, but neither is there amusement, instead there’s a kind of nervous curiosity that sets you more on edge than either of the other feelings.

“Well?” he prompts, and it’s then that you’re saved by the opening of the front door.

You’ve never been more grateful in your days for your father arriving home, and both you and Jimin rush to welcome, settle and make him comfortable. As you hang your Dad’s jacket on the hook, your brother shoots you a look that suggests the conversation is far from over and you can only gulp.

Yoongi is woken by the sounds of movement outside his studio, looking around for you before realising he’s alone, his stomach sinks a little.

As he comes around, he realises the sounds that woke him are people coming into work: he looks at the clock and sees that it’s 7:30am. He’s in absolute disbelief: he slept through the night. He takes a moment to marvel at the thought as he stretches out on the sofa, well-rested from the most sleep he’s had in a long time.

He continues his stretch as he stands, extending his arms over his head and behind him. His eyes are drawn to the whiteboard, and he laughs aloud at what’s written there:

Thanks for a lovely evening and night - I had a great time! Text me when you wake up and congrats on beating 2 o’clock!

Smiling, he picks up his phone and texts you, that giddy feeling suffusing through him again. In this one moment Yoongi knows he could easily fall in love with you, and it doesn’t scare him at all. Instead, he welcomes it and silently, unconsciously, he decides to let himself fall.

Chapter Text

Your bedroom is a temple to the gods of sleep: you lie prone in freshly laundered and pressed sheets; the sound of the ocean flows out from the white noise machine beside you; your humidifier swirls the gentle scent of lavender about you; a perfect breeze comes through the window; the room is ink-black and free from noise and distraction. It’s all designed for a perfect night’s sleep.

It’s not enough.

It hasn’t been enough for months now. You’re not sure what it was about Taehyung’s presence that allowed you to sleep, whether it was the comfort of his arms or pure exhaustion from your attempts to satisfy your seemingly insatiable appetite for each other. Either way, here now, alone, sleep refuses to come and before you pick your phone up to inform Yoongi that Operation Sleep attempt number 93 has failed, you realise that you miss Taehyung. 

You consider texting him too, but decide not to. You text often, but it’s all innocuous enough, since that odd morning with Jimin you’ve both danced around each other, awkward and uncomfortable, if anyone read the texts you exchange they’d be amazed to find you’d ever had sex.

You wonder what will happen when Taehyung gets back in a few weeks, will you go back to fucking or pretend like it never happened? What will happen with Jimin? The latter puzzles you beyond comprehension. In the days after that strange morning, he’d spent every waking moment with Taehyung, insisting he needed his friend’s support, sleeping in the same room and doing everything together, making it impossible for you to see Taehyung alone at all.

You were certain that Jimin knew something was going on, but after his initial threat, he seemed to change his mind entirely about getting the truth out of you and simply refused to speak about it, instead focusing his attention and efforts on keeping you and Taehyung as far from each other as possible.

It’s then that your thoughts turn back to how much you long for Taehyung. Your mind and hand drift; you replay the last time you saw him in your head, your fingers slipping between your legs. 

The day of Taehyung’s departure for Japan was supremely awkward. Your father insisted on driving him to the airport as a thank you for all he had done for your mother and so the four of you bundled into the car and drove to Seoul.

Your father has always been a quiet, but perceptive, man. He had no idea what was happening and why Jimin was so keen on coming between you and Taehyung. Though sure his son would have good reasons, he couldn’t help but pity Taehyung; your father hasn’t missed the longing in the young man’s eyes. In fact, he has mentioned it more than once to your mother, the fact that Taehyung’s eyes are never far from you, especially when he thinks neither you or your brother are paying attention. Smitten: that’s the word he uses.

So, manufacturing a need to pick something up from nearby as well as the need for Jimin’s help, he pushed you and Taehyung out of the car at the entrance to the airport giving Jimin no opportunity to object, telling you he’ll collect you in a couple of hours before hurtling away, Jimin glaring daggers from the back seat.

Unsettled, you and Taehyung entered the airport separately to avoid the cameras that gather around him. Tracing your way through the labyrinthine ‘regular’ entry to the airport, by the time you arrived at the VIP lounge Taehyung was surrounded by people; there was a whole team of assistants, stylists and other staff briefing him on his trip, thronging around him in a hive of activity. 

Watching as he was manoeuvred through the doors, you thought it best to simply disappear and save yourself the embarrassment of security attacking you should you approach. Hesitating for a moment, you pulled out your phone to let  Taehyung know when a woman approached you, calling your name questioningly. Moments later, she’d directed you to some private work booths and pressed a key card into your hand, “On three knocks, open the door,” she instructed, ushering you on forcefully.

That’s how you found yourself sliding up and down the tiny cubicle wall as Taehyung pistoned into you as if his life depended on it, his hands on your ass, your legs wrapped around him; it was a tricky position but Taehyung was so absolutely feral that he could have made anything work.

You struggled to contain your moans; in response he only nuzzled against your face, not easing his pace at all, “Shhh, baby, you need to be quiet for me, yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” you whined quietly, “So intense…”

”Yeah?” He grins against you, turning his head to kiss your cheek sloppily, barely coherent, “Haven’t been able to get near you, driving me mad… Gonna miss you so bad, need you…”

There wasn’t too much talking after that. With the limited time you had he fucked you with a fury that left you sore for days afterwards, kissing everything he could reach in a mess of tongue and teeth and before he brought you both to a desperate, sticky high. Breathlessly, you rushed to clean up, barely exchanging words beyond promising to text daily. 

Now, remembering that moment as you lay in bed, you can almost hear his deep grunts in your ear again as your fingers, so much less satisfying than his, bring you finally to your high. Behind your closed eyes you can see every detail of his grinning, fucked out face when he finally came in you, the sweaty glow of his skin and the tiny mole at the tip of his nose.

If you thought about it, which you don’t, you’d realise that you’ve memorised every inch of Taehyung’s face, every tiny facial expression and what each means. But you don’t, instead you linger on the frustration you feel that your orgasm hasn’t eased. You realise it’s not enough: not enough to make you sleep; not even enough to satisfy you, though after having now experienced everything Taehyung can do, whatever could be? 

He presses the pads of his fingers into his closed eyes, they prickle, dry and itchy from too much time staring at a screen and too little sleep. Removing his fingers, his blurred vision resolves as he looks at the clock and notes the lateness of the hour. However, instead of frustration setting in, a little leap of excitement flips his stomach and he looks at his phone; obligingly, within moments it lights up and he knows it’s the beginning of your nightly text exchanges.

He’s unsurprised that your attempt to create a sleep sanctuary failed, but nonetheless is disappointed on your behalf. He suspects the reason for your sleeplessness is based on the stress and anxiety of your daily life and the hours you spend attending to your mother in her recovery on top of the strenuous work you put in at the lab. It’s all taking an observable toll on you; you look more tired every time he sees you. He wants to help but the idea that he, as a veteran insomniac, has anything useful to offer is laughable to him.

The one thing he can offer you is his time and his support and he gives them both freely. In the last few months he has spent endless hours with you and it’s still not enough to satisfy him. For now he accepts that being your friend is the best pathway to your clearly well-guarded heart, but it’s a difficult thing to maintain when all he wants, every minute of every day, is you.

You smile as you turn over in bed, comforted by Yoongi’s messages; he’s taking you to the basketball tomorrow night and you’re excited. You’ve never been before and, though you have no interest in the sport whatsoever, you’re carried away on the tide of Yoongi’s enthusiasm. At this stage of your friendship with him, there’s little you could do together that you wouldn’t enjoy; you find his company soothing and there’s an easy comfort to the time you spend together which always leaves you feeling a warm glow of happiness.

Slowly, without you even realising, he is chipping away at the wall around your heart. 

“Fry?” Yoongi offers, waving the cone at you, and you smile as you take one from him. They’re doused in thick ketchup which drips over your fingers as you pop the fry in your mouth, meaning you have to lick your fingers clean.

You notice Yoongi looking at you strangely and you return your full attention to the game, asking a question about the player with the ball. He has astounded you with his patience tonight, taking the time to explain the rules of the game when you’re sure he must want to cheer and enjoy it, but sat beside each other, heads pressed together in discussion is the best way to spend the evening as far as you are concerned.

“I hope I didn’t bore you senseless tonight,” he says softly as the game ends and you prepare to leave.

You deny ever being bored, expressing for the hundredth time how much you enjoy the time you and he spend together. 

“Still,” he says, “I suspect basketball isn’t your thing. I appreciate you coming though, Namjoon usually comes with me, but he’s in Japan working on a track with Kim Taehyung if you can believe it,” he laughs. 

You smile then quickly change the subject.

Neither you nor Yoongi are ready for the night to end, so you walk through Duryu park together, enjoying the lights. He can feel the tension slowly release from you that seemed to come out of nowhere after the basketball and he feels relieved.

He worries about you, you seem to exist on the very edge of a precipice at the moment, and he wonders how long you can maintain the fragile balance you’re holding before you fall off the edge. Right now though his primary concern is that he feels like you are pulling away from him and it’s distance he feels he can ill afford.

“You ok?” he asks tentatively as you take a seat in front of a brightly lit display of flowers. 

You smile in response, and there’s a lazy, slightly dream-like quality to it, “I was just remembering something.”

He’s intrigued by the change in your demeanour and pushes you to confide in him. You tell him about how you’ve had problems with sleep all your life, and how, after your brother left for Seoul, your best friend would be waiting for you in park not far from your house, just as the sun started to rise, getting up early to spend a few hours with you before your days started so you felt less alone. You explain how it was the highlight of your days, watching the sun rise together while you’d talk, sing your favourite songs or whistle along with the wakening songbirds.

“She must have been a good friend,” he says, “Did you stay in touch?”

“He,” you correct honestly, though you’re deliberately evasive with your follow up, “We didn’t really see each other after he moved to Seoul too a few years later.”

Yoongi nods, but he can see you’re holding back; gamely, he pushes on despite being nervous of your answer, “You should reconnect with him - it sounds like he was an important person to you.”

“We have,” you squirm, “It’s complicated,” you sigh pathetically.

Yoongi’s heart sinks; he knows what that means. He now realises why things are moving so slowly with you two and that it’s not all down to him and his slowness, that actually, part of it is down to you. He knows ‘complicated’ means that whoever this guy is, you’ve definitely fucked him. 

Fuck, he thinks, You might still be fucking him.

Yoongi doesn’t yet despair: yes, you’re clearly involved with this guy in some way, but there’s still a powerful connection growing between you and him. Yoongi might be slow to act, uncertain of the right thing to do, but he’s not stupid, nor naïve; he is a quick-witted, clever and introspective man and he knows that when you’re with him you’re happy, that he makes you feel comfortable and relaxed and that you enjoy being with him. He also knows you’re intelligent and so like him in many ways and he has faith that you’ll find your way to him. 

You feel discomfited suddenly; you don’t know why you don’t want Yoongi to know about you and Taehyung, but you don’t. It leaves you feeling unsettled; you decided long ago that Yoongi had no interest in you beyond friendship and you’d accepted that, So why are you feeling this way? 

If you ever listened to your heart you’d probably realise it’s because the initial feelings you had for him have only deepened and started to take root in your heart, but you don’t, instead you breeze over the awkwardness quickly, changing the subject.

Though Yoongi wants to know more, to masochistically explore the depths of your relationship with this guy from your childhood, he lets it go. He realises he has given you no clue about his feelings for you and that you may well be oblivious; he’s still sure that you’re not ready for his confession yet and so he resolves to do nothing for the time being. His grandmother’s taunt about the Min men echoes through the years back to him again, but he ignores it, certain that you simply need time.

Confusion abounds over the rest of your night.

When Yoongi finally dropped you home with a lingering hug that you accepted more readily than he anticipated he felt confused. Confused because, despite all his belief in the importance of giving you time and waiting, all he wanted to do was hold you even closer. As the gentle scent of you surrounded him, and the warmth of your body pressed into his, the desire to kiss you as he pulled away was overwhelming. He attempted to satisfy himself with a chaste peck on your cheek and was satisfied to see you blush prettily in under the street light before you recovered yourself, said goodbye and turned into your house.

Watching from the window, Jimin is confused by what he sees. So , he thinks, this is Yoongi . His first thought is that this guy is nothing like Taehyung, but that thought is rapidly passed over when he sees how comfortable you are with him, the easy chemistry with each other and the softness with which you smile and mirror each other’s movements. He can’t deny that you make a convincing looking couple and he doesn’t get it; you’d insisted to him that after your initial attraction to Yoongi had come to nothing that friendship was all that existed between you. 

Jimin doesn’t mistrust you, he knows you weren’t lying, not deliberately anyway, but he knows you too well, he knows that you never listen to your heart when it comes to romance and that you may well be oblivious to the fact that there is clearly something between you and this man who looks at you with a warmth that Jimin knows comes from deep affection.

When you come in, Jimin is heading to his room, “Good night?”” he asks, more gruffly than you’d expect.

“Yeah,” you reply, a little taken aback, “I don’t think basketball is my thing, but we had a good time.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow slightly, “I’m glad, you’re late back? Thought you’d be home sooner,” you find it hard to read his tone, it sounds light, but his face suggests a darker meaning.

“We went for a walk in the park afterwards,” you say with feigned nonchalance, as you try to get a read on him.

“Sounds like a date,” he smiles, it should sound teasing, but it doesn’t, all you can read is the tension beneath.

Your laugh is genuine, “Ha! Definitely not,” you scoff, “There’s something really brotherly about the way he treats me, I promise he could not be less interested and I gave up on him a long time ago. He’s a good friend, Ji. I feel lucky for that flight and having met him.”

A serious tone creeps into your voice. You don’t know what is going on with Jimin but you want to make it clear that your friendship with Yoongi is important to you and not something you want made light of. Rapidly, Yoongi is becoming someone you really care about and you don’t want your brother to underestimate that.

“Hmph,” is the only sound Jimin makes, it’s meant to sound dismissive but you know your brother and his anger is palpable. You also know him well enough to know whatever it is that’s angering him, he’s not in a space to share it now.

“Good night then,” you say softly.

“Yeah, sleep well,” he says, with clear effort as he struggles with civility before turning from you and stalking down the hallway to his room.

As you prepare for bed, texting Yoongi to thank him for the evening before checking in with Taehyung. He’s been having a tough time in the studio so you tell him about being in the park tonight and your memories of your shared childhood and watching the sunrise together. 

As you fall into easy conversation reminiscing about the past with Taehyung, you try to put your brother’s anger from your mind, it only puzzles you and there are no answers. You hope with a night’s rest he might find words for how he’s feeling, but for now all you can feel is complete and utter confusion.

Chapter Text

By the time Taehyung is due to return several weeks later things have fallen back into a steady rhythm. Jimin has calmed and seems superficially fine, though you suspect that beneath the surface there is still something being unsaid. However, just as with his question about you and Taehyung, he seems keen to pretend it never happened and so you oblige him, though you begin to worry about how he is bottling so much up and worry for the consequences when it all overspills.

You try to write some of his strangeness off as concern about your mother. She’s out of hospital now but still not quite well enough to come home, instead she’s in a convalescence centre just outside of the city in a beautiful, wooded area while she recovers, there are medical staff there and she is well taken care of, but her slow recovery and constant fatigue are a worry to you all and fret for her. The facility has small apartments that it lets out, and so as a family you’ve taken one so that you can all visit easily; your father pretty much spends all of his time there and Jimin is there often too. You visit as often as you can, but your work at the lab seems to occupy most of your time. Luckily, you have Yoongi to keep you company on the evenings you find yourself alone.

Tonight you put careful effort into your appearance. You’re heading back to the same club you’d been to with Zico months previously, this time though it’s because Taehyung is performing there and you know Yoongi’s friend Namjoon will be involved too, though you don’t know the details, Taehyung seemingly deliberately vague. 

Yoongi has told you he’ll be overseeing some of the stage production and so it’ll be unlikely that you’ll see much of him. It saddens you, but you’re consoled by the thought of seeing Taehyung again after so long and spending the evening with your brother, Taecyeon and his cousin, Dongyeon, who works at the lab with you. 

You’re sad that Sana can’t make it, but she argues that childcare comes first and going to see her ex-boyfriend perform with her husband alongside her feels weird.

Taehyung is electric on stage. He’s absolutely beautiful, thick, curled raven locks falling in his eyes, a loose, thin shirt tucked into tight black jeans; his voice and movements simply ooze sex appeal and you can suddenly understand why he’s quite so famous as he is.

When the songs start, you realise that you’ve done him a disservice. You always knew he could sing, but now you’re blown away by the depth of his talent. Most of his songs are slow, jazzy and have a ballad-like feel and he holds the crowd’s attention easily; he’s totally magnetic, the power of his voice, his aura, his stage presence, everything about him shows why he’s such a megawatt star and the four of you barely speak, all equally transfixed.

His talents aren’t merely deep though, they’re expansive too; there are some more upbeat songs, where he brings on other guest artists and singers, switching his tone, pitch and style to suit each track and the crowd dance more to those songs, and you vibe with your brother and friends along to the music.

“Did he literally just point at his dick?” you hear Taecyeon say to Jimin, he seems both amused and a little disgusted.

“Yeah,” laughs Jimin easily, “He loves that move.”

“So do the majority of people in here,” laughs Dongyeon, sweeping his hand out to indicate the flushed, smiling faces of the people around and you force yourself to laugh lightly, though you can’t help but blush for another reason, thinking to yourself that Taehyung has good reason to show off what he’s got in his pants.

You can’t see Yoongi in the production booth that overhangs the back of the club from the balcony, but he sees you and notices far more than makes him comfortable. You look perfect, your dress, your make up, your hair, it’s all beautiful and you glow; he’s desperate to make time to see you tonight. You’re clearly having a good time too, dancing, laughing, enjoying the performance. 

It’s clear to him that you’re a fan of Taehyung, but he doesn’t judge, nearly everyone is. Like he thought the last time he saw you here, fuck Taehyung and his perfect fucking face and perfect everything else if his dick-pointing confidence is to be believed. 

Nothing about you or Taehyung makes him uncomfortable: the things that set him on edge are the way your brother shoots you furtive glances when you’re not looking, like he’s trying to work something out. Yoongi knows there’s something seriously troubling your brother, but has no way to discern what it is. 

The other thing, which is more irritating than anything else, is that it’s apparent that one of the other men you’re with has got an evident crush on you; he knows the guy, Dong-something-or-other, he met him briefly when he picked you up from work, so he knows he’s a colleague of yours. You’re clearly oblivious though and the guy looks far too uncertain for Yoongi to worry that he’ll make a move, nevertheless, as Yoongi’s affection for you grows, he doesn’t like seeing another man who ogle you and get your attention even if you are apparently uninterested.

After a quick glance at the checklist he sees that the song Namjoon has written with Taehyung is coming up and they’ll be performing it together soon. Yoongi is overjoyed for his friend; Namjoon normally shares all of his music with Yoongi and they work together on it and so he knows working with a new collaborator, especially one as famous as Taehyung and so musically different to their normal style, will have been a challenge for him. He knows that Namjoon is really proud of the song and is proud that Taehyung has placed so much trust in him with a song that is apparently very personal and meaningful to him. Yoongi is excited to hear it and so he makes his way down to the dance floor, taking a place to the right of the stage at the end of the main bar, which is slightly elevated giving him an excellent view of the stage and, perhaps not entirely coincidentally, you too.

You notice him after a few minutes and with a series of smiles and complicated gestures you indicate that you’ll catch up with each other when the performance has ended.

“It’s time for the last song,” says Taehyung into his microphone, to cries of protestation from the crowd.

“Don’t be sad,” he says in his low, seductive voice, “I’ve saved you a special treat for last,” the crowd shivers with anticipation.

Taehyung grins, knowing he has them in the palm of his hand. He’s eager to seek you out, desperate to meet your eyes for what he’s about to say, but he knows it’s too dangerous. What if a fan sees? What if Jimin does? No, it’s better not to look.

“This song is new, but it goes back into my past and some beautiful memories with one of my best friends,” he explains, drawing a sweet, sentimental hum from the audience, “I am also really proud to share the stage with Kim Namjoon, known to many of you as RM, a local rap legend here, who wrote this song with me and will be performing it.”

He beams at the audience as Namjoon joins him on stage, encouraging their whoops of applause, “Thanks for coming,” he says with feeling, his eyes filling, “I’ve had the best time and. Hope you have too. I hope you enjoy this song as much as I do, this is 4 o’clock,” and the crowd whoop and holler their joy and enthusiasm before being hushed by the opening melody.

Silence falls, then the melody comes in again as Taehyung gives one final smile and sings immediately with the start of the song in a soft, husky tone, “I wrote a long letter to the moon one day…” and the crowd are immediately transfixed, but none more so than you and Jimin, both of you working out rapidly what the song is about.

You melt into the song for a moment until you remember your conversation in the park with Yoongi and you start to panic. You’ve been fastidious about protecting Taehyung’s privacy and now you realise that you and Taehyung have just accidentally revealed a moment from Taehyung’s youth, yes, he may have admitted that much on stage, but you know his fans wouldn’t react well to finding out that the object of the song was a girl, not a boy, and a girl he’s fucked makes it unbelievably worse. Yoongi would never say anything though, you reason, would he?

At the bar, Yoongi listens to the lyrics, the mention of singing, watching the sun rise, a park at dawn, being alone… he listens to it all without really thinking and then suddenly, like he’s been doused in freezing water, Yoongi’s heart constricts and he realises what’s happening. 

He looks at you, you’re gazing adoringly at Taehyung and he knows. He knows that Taehyung has written this song about you. True, the words are a declaration of friendship only, not true love or anything like that, but the way Taehyung sings it, the way he smiles softly and closes his eyes, the raw emotion in each note tells him that his instincts in the park were right. You have fucked that childhood friend, maybe still are fucking him and it’s not just any man, it’s Kim Taehyung. 

Yet, there’s worse than that, so, so much worse; the worst thing is that it’s plain to see that Taehyung has feelings for you from the way he sings. 

Yoongi knew he was falling for you: he knew that each text message and meet up saw him parcelling off little portions of his heart and delivering them to you. So far, you’d kept those pieces secreted away and he believed that they were tucked alongside your heart, kept warm and safe there. Right now however, he’s suddenly aware of just how much of his heart he’s given away, because it’s not safe right now, it’s there on stage being crushed by Kim Taehyung. 

Oddly, he thinks of the Roberta Flack song, he can hear the lyric ‘killing me softly with his song,’ but the only soft thing about the damage that Taehyung is inflicting on him is his voice, nothing else, because the pain Yoongi feels in his chest is excruciating as the realisation dawns that you may never actually be his, that in fact, there may never have been any chance at all because all that time he’s been waiting and giving you his heart, you may well have given yours to Taehyung. 

As the song ends, he turns to head backstage to congratulate Namjoon and to pretend to Taehyung that he’s unaffected. As he moves though, he realises you’re looking at him and you make momentary eye contact before he can escape you.

You look across the room, back at Yoongi, and his expression is devastating, he looks crushed and you can’t fathom why. Your eyes meet and he sets his lower jaw to one side, looking askance and shaking his head in disappointment before turning away. 

You’re not sure what’s happening, nor why he’s so upset with you, but you resolve to follow him and find out. As you move towards his departing back, noticing the tightness in his shoulders, a hand closes around your forearm and you turn to see the scowling face of your brother.

“We need to talk. Outside, now,” he hisses, dragging you to the nearby fire exit while you can only shoot apologetic looks at Taecyeon and Dongyeon.

The alleyway is dimly lit, illuminated only by the harsh red light indicating the fire escape and the other red lights marking the path back to the street beyond. It casts a surreal, but unsettling light on everything, especially your brother’s dark eyes.

You shiver despite yourself, partly from the cold wind that whips around the alley, sheets of newspaper and other detritus scuffling along the ground, but also from the fury you feel emanating from Jimin.

He calls you by your name, making you latch your eyes to his, “I can’t take this anymore,” he almost yells, “I need the truth now, about this Yoongi guy and about Taehyung.”

In the face of your brother’s distress, you speak honestly, “Yoongi and I are friends, like I said. I don’t think he has any interest in me beyond that. He’s never said anything to me or shown any signs of wanting anything more than a friend. I told you that he treats me like a sister.”

“So why that look then?” he barks, and, forcing yourself to remain calm, you convince yourself he must have a good reason for this behaviour. 

You explain about telling him about your morning trips to the park and how he’s clearly just figured out that the unnamed friend in question was Taehyung.

“Why did that upset him so much if nothing’s going on?” Jimin presses.

“I don’t know!” you yell, finally snapping, “I was on my way to try to find out when you hauled me out here. Why did you do that?”

His tone and volume matches your own, “Because of Taehyung! Or are you going to tell me he just sees you as a friend too?”

That shocks you into silence for a moment, and when you speak again, it’s in a softer, more restrained voice.

“I think you already know the answer to that question,” you say perceptively, cocking your head slightly.

“I want to hear it from you,” he says, though his tone too has levelled out and he’s calmer.

“Fine,” you say, drawing a deep breath, “Taehyung and I started having sex a while ago, when we started talking again.”

“So you’re dating?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, swiftly, “I don’t know what we are. It’s just been sex and finding some comfort in each other. There’s been nothing more to it. We haven’t talked about it or put any kind of label on it. I think it’s just sex.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, “Are you ok with it just being sex?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” you say honestly, “You know I’m not great at relationships and well, Taehyung is the Kim Taehyung, isn’t he? I doubt he’s looking for anything more than friendship and sex.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, “Really? That’s what you think?”

“Jimin, he didn’t want more than a blowjob from me when we were best friends when I was 17, I don’t think he’s after anything more now,” you try to say lightheartedly, but somehow saying it aloud makes you feel dirty.

Is that what has happened? Have you let Taehyung use you for sex without a second thought? Does it matter, if you were also using him? Were you using him? Why do you suddenly feel exposed and vulnerable and like you’ve done something shameful? The questions swirl in your mind as Jimin draws breath, looking like he needs to choose his words carefully.

“I think you’re just saying that because you’re a coward,” he says firmly.

It floors you. It feels so unexpected and you have no idea what’s going on.

“What?” you ask stupidly, “Are you having a go at me? What’s happening here?”

“The whole reason I asked you what was happening between you and Taehyung is because I heard him on a video call with his fuckbuddy in Seoul that night you stayed at Yoongi’s studio.”

Your stomach sinks, “So, it is just sex for him then,” you try to say lightly, “So why are you laying in to me?”

‘Because of what he said,” Jimin says, exasperation flowing through him, “For eight years I’ve been on his back about fucking my sister over and now this happens and I don’t know what to say to him.”

There are no words to explain your absolute lack of understanding of what the hell is going on, “Ji, I don’t understand. Why are you annoyed? What did he say?”

Jimin regards you coldly, wanting to take in every single detail of how you react to what he next has to tell you.

“This girl was simping hard for him, desperate for him to come back to her,” he begins and you shudder, the thought of Taehyung with another woman making you feel sick, which is a new realisation for you.

“He told her he wouldn’t be back in Seoul for a while, and that when he got there that he probably wouldn’t be hooking up with her again. He was really sweet about it.”

“I still don’t understand,” you say.

“The reason why explains it. It’s because of you,” Jimin says sadly, “We both know what a hopeless romantic Taehyung is. I listened to him tell her about reconnecting with his first love, about how he has always imagined that his first love would be his last love and that now, finally, that might be the case.”

Your legs feel unsteady, and you place a palm on the bricks of the alley to support yourself as Jimin continues.

“He said everything was complicated and that he was afraid of losing you, of scaring you away, but that his whole universe had lit up and he was happier than he’d been in years.”

Jimin’s eyes fill with tears, “He said he was in love with you. And then there’s you, spending all your time with this Yoongi guy, listening to our oldest friend Taehyung pour his heart out on stage while you chase after him instead of going to Taehyung… How can I face my best friend when now, after all this time it looks like my sister is going to do to him what he did to her and break his heart?”

You can only stare at Jimin in shock, drawing trembling breaths as he wipes away the tears.

“Go home,” he says, “I can’t talk about this anymore and I’ll make up a good excuse for Taehyung and the others.”

“Why are you being so cold with me?” you ask, “I didn’t know any of this.”

He simply shakes his head, “Because if you didn’t have a fucking barricade around your heart you WOULD have known this and you SHOULD have known. It’s not fair to people to fuck their feelings over because you’re so afraid of your own.”

He continues, losing his temper and shouting at you, “I know you, you’re going to break his fucking heart and it will be cruel and unfair even if you don’t mean it to be and I’ll be ashamed of you because you are my sister and you should know better.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he walks away, heading back into the club.

Silently, tears roll down your face as you struggle to process everything you’ve heard: Taehyung’s true feelings; Jimin’s opinion of you; the true and previously unconsidered consequences of your choices and actions.

Collecting yourself, you turn down the alleyway and decide to do as Jimin instructed and go home. But there, at the end of the alley, illuminated brightly from behind by the light of the street, is Yoongi. A dark red shadow falls across his face.

You sigh, “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you say apologetically.

“I think you needed to hear that,” he says, and there is a cold detachment in his voice that you’ve never heard before and it sends a shiver of unhappiness through you.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, confused by his meaning as you walk towards him. The wind now whipping your hair in your face, and you stop walking as you struggle to control it.

“Your brother is right,” he says in that same, flat voice, “You should know what you’re doing to people and their feelings.”

Your hair now under control, you can only open your mouth to speak, though no words come; you’re only able to cast a hopeless, pleading look at him.

The breeze swirls around you again. Though it’s summer, autumn bites at the air now though the cold chill that sweeps across your skin and sinks it to your bones comes from more than just the weather.

For a long moment, you and Yoongi regard each other, each of you encompassed in your own, impenetrable spheres of pain. 

Finally, as he senses that you seem to want to move towards him again, the fingers of your hands almost imperceptibly reaching towards him, he offers you the same, disappointed head shake as he did in the club. 

He turns and is gone, leaving you alone on the windy street.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, but you’re name isn’t on the list,” frowns the woman, “There’s no Park Jimin here.”

Yoongi watches Jimin struggling with the security guard who stands watch over the backstage area as he approaches.

Jimin sighs, running his hand through his hair, “I hate Taehyung, y’know,” he says, while she stares at him impassively.

“I bet my sister’s name is on there,” he complains, saying your name.

Cho-won smiles, with recognition, “Oh, I know your sister, she’s cool,” she says, scanning down the list and finding your name there.

She leans closer to Jimin and says in a low, conspiratorial whisper, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but there’s a name next to your sister’s that’s a bit like yours. Might Mr Kim have used another name?”

Jimin groans audibly, before muttering quietly, “Jiminie pabo?”

Cho-won smirks, “Go on through, Mr Pab-, I mean Mr Park,”

A grateful, but grumpy, Jimin moves past her as she greets Yoongi, “Good evening, Min Yoongi!” she calls brightly, stepping to one side.

Hearing her, Jimin turns, and Yoongi calls to him.

“Park Jimin,” he nods, “I’m friends with your sister.”

Jimin forces a smile, “It seems everyone here is,” he shrugs, before remembering his manners, “You’re a good friend to her, she says good things. Nice to meet you.”

Yoongi hates that that makes him feel warm, especially after the way he just left you. Immediately ashamed of letting his disappointment get the better of him, he walked off his frustration, returning to the alley way to apologise, but you’d already gone. 

Together, he and Jimin move together through the corridor towards the backstage lounge.

“I know she’s your sister and it’s none of my business, but I don’t think you should have spoken to her like that,” Yoongi offers carefully as they approach the door.

Jimin turns and looks at him sharply, “You heard that?” he snaps, then suddenly his face softens and seems to crumple slightly, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have.” 

They move through the door and before them, sitting on a couch, surrounded by admirers, is Taehyung. Lounging back, with his drink in hand and legs spread obscenely wide, he looks devastatingly handsome, and oddly regal, like some sort of modern day Roman emperor.

Yoongi moves to say something more, but is set upon by an excited Namjoon who greets him loudly, jumping up from one of the seats around Taehyung. 

“Yoongi!” he blurts out enthusiastically, enveloping the smaller man in a tight, quick hug. If he wasn’t being squished by Namjoon, Yoongi might have noticed the dark look Taehyung gave him at the sound of his name.

Taehyung’s attention is rapidly snatched back to Jimin though when his friend calls, “Jiminie pabo, Tae? Really? ”

Taehyung smirks, patting the couch beside him as he draws his knees together, “Couldn’t resist, sorry,” 

Jimin notices that Taehyung stiffens and his expression of nonchalant disinterest is a little too studied, the tone a little too breezy, “Your sister’s not with you?”

Jimin is a less-skilled liar, and his face gives away his upset feelings, “We had a bit of a falling out,” he says underplaying the moment as he takes a seat, “She’s gone home.”

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to fail in acting, his concern apparent as he leans forward, “Is she ok? I mean, are you ok, are you both ok? What happened?” his words tumble over each other as a flush creeps up his neck.

Namjoon has moved to get Yoongi a drink, and so Yoongi listens in to Jimin and Taehyung’s conversation as he waits. 

“I heard you on the phone in the laundry room,” Jimin almost whispers, staring at his hands as they tangle nervously together, “I had to -”

Taehyung interrupts, “How much did you hear? What did you tell her?” he asks quietly, panic lacing his words.

Jimin looks at him hopelessly, “Everything and everything.”

Taehyung is suddenly on his feet, a tight, fake, smile on his face, “Sorry everyone,” he says loudly to all those around, “I have something I really need to do. Thanks for everything tonight.”

”Taehyung -” Jimin begins carefully.

”I’m sorry,” Taehyung interrupts, shrugging hopelessly as he heads towards the door, “We’ll talk but right now I need to see her.”

His driver, ever attentive, gets to his feet and swiftly follows Taehyung through the back door out into the parking lot.

“That was dramatic,” grins Hobi, coming through the door and approaching Yoongi, “Jimin? What are you doing here?” he asks, gesturing him to come over to them.

“It seems we all know each other,” says Yoongi awkwardly as he and Jimin share a look. When Namjoon joins them they all sit down for a beer together whilst Hobi explains how Jimin and he attend the same dance studio while Jimin tries to keep in shape on his sabbatical from Seoul. 

Though there’s a tension between Yoongi and Jimin, the four get along surprisingly well and as they move into the VIP section. Yoongi sends for someone to fetch Taecyeon and Dongyeon to join them.

Taehyung’s panic increases: he can’t find you anywhere. You’re not at home nor at any of the usual convenience stores he’d expect to find you at.

He collapses on to a plastic lawn chair outside the last store he checked, and sends you another message, noticing that the others he’s sent remain unread. His head hangs low as he fills with disappointment. 

He can’t believe that after all these years that this would be how it ends: his great love story ending with a whimper. He suspected that his feelings were one-sided for now; you seemed too closed off for Taehyung to believe you’d fallen for him, but he knew you got comfort from him and that you liked being with him and that was the start of something, surely?

He tries to think like you: you’ve just found out your friend and current fuckbuddy is in love with you, you argue with your brother and you flee… Where do you go? Not to your mother, you wouldn’t want to upset her. Not to your friend Yoongi, he’s still at the club and Taehyung is reassured by that. So, where then?

He throws his head back as he groans in despair and stares at the tiny sliver of moon. A thought begins to grow as he lifts his head, noticing that there’s a lightening of the darkness at the horizon, a softening from black to a hazy indigo; without prompting a line jumps into his head ‘ the blue shade that stayed with me disappears. ’

Instantly, he’s on his feet; he thinks he knows where you are.

He grins as he breaks into a jog, singing ‘me and you’, to himself softly, filled with hope that you’ll be where he expects, because if you are, then you’d know he’d look for you there. It will mean that you don’t mind being found by him - his heart lifts. 

He stops singing and breaks into a run.

Your bare toes skim the cold asphalt as you move lazily on the swing in the dark park of your childhood. You’re lost in your thoughts, cycling between the warm, last look Taehyung gave you in the airport as he left, your brother telling you he’d be ashamed of you and calling you a coward and Yoongi’s pained look as he judged and turned his back on you. All three repeatedly stab at your heart and silent tears track down your cheeks.

You close your eyes, and hang your head, letting the thoughts chase each other around your mind. The night breeze swirls about you, fluttering the hem of your dress and the strands of your hair. So lost are you in your thoughts that your eyes fly open in surprise when your legs gently collide with something in front of you.

Taehyung, on his knees before you, grips your legs at each side to steady you, before guiding your heels to hook around his thighs. His hands travel to your face, taming your hair and brushing it with his fingertips where it clings to the tracks of your tears.

Your lip trembles as he cups your face gently, using his thumbs to catch the drops that fall down your cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” he asks gently, as though anything more would break you.

“Jimin told you then?” you realise you’ve made more of a statement than a question, and you meet Taehyung’s eyes, “Taehyung, I -” but you are silenced by the absolute panic in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he cries out desperately, “Please, don’t,” his eyes shine, filling with tears. His hands drop your thighs and he squeezes them.

“Don’t say anything,”he says rapidly, “We don’t need to talk about it right now, we don’t need to speak about it yet baby, please -” he’s almost incoherent in his fear of you ending things before they’ve even begun.

Again you think of Jimin, of what he said. Now here is Taehyung, already in pain in anticipation of what you might do. Desperate not to be the cold-hearted monster your brother seems to think you are capable of being, you realise this is a situation you can take ownership of. Taehyung is suffering because of you, but you have the ability to put his feelings before your own; a golden chance to prove you do understand other people’s hearts.

You release the chains of the swing so you can hold his face, “It’s ok, it’s ok,” you breathe gently, “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”  

You guide his mouth to yours instinctively. He deepens the kiss instantly, his tongue licking at your lips to draw your mouth open so he can taste you, running his tongue along your teeth before flicking at your tongue, which yields to him. His hands move to your waist as he guides you off the swing whilst he settles to sit back against his heels, sitting you on his lap. You tighten your legs around him as your hands tangle in his hair, your tongue playing against his before you gently suck his lower lip into your mouth, nibbling at it gently while he wraps one arm around you, drawing you to him tightly, and places the other on the back of your neck, eager to keep your mouth on his: you make out, hungrily, passionately yet slowly, for ages and you feel Taehyung grow painfully hard beneath you as you soak through your underwear.

Finally, you break apart, breathless and you’re aware that dawn is on its way as the birds start to sing. You nuzzle into Taehyung’s neck, kissing softly at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, whispering “ Here comes the red morning ,” before you bite his earlobe playfully.

“Did you like the song?” he moans deeply, struggling to hide his desire.

“I loved it,” you whisper, as you return your attention to his neck, sucking on the skin. 

Taehyung fills with warmth for you; he knows loving the song isn’t the same thing as loving him, but God knows, if that’s what he can get for now, he’ll take it.

As he hums happily in response, and your heart swells. Him feeling good makes you feel good , you realise. You know the words he wants to hear from you now, the reassurance he needs and so you offer it. 

“It’s been so much harder without you here, I didn’t realise how much I relied on you,” you murmur, “I’ve missed you so much, Tae. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…”

“You’re all I ever think about,” he confesses. Gripping your hips, he rocks you over him, his cock throbbing and desperate for attention. Your breath escapes you and you gasp as his hard crotch rubs against you, just where you need it and you grind on him a little harder. Underneath your desire lies a realisation you don’t know how to process: you’re glad you are all he thinks about because everything you told him is actually more true than you realised. Not only have you missed him, but it’s been with an almost desperate longing.

He moans as you press into him, but it’s a different kind of moan than the lust-laced ones you’ve come to adore, instead it’s pained.

“My legs are dead,” he cries out and you push yourself back off him as he keels over, wincing as you kneel beside him, massaging his calves and thighs until his pain dissipates.

“I think we should leave before we’re arrested for public indecency. Can we go back to yours?” you ask, knowing no further explanation is needed. He nods enthusiastically, and you help him to his feet before retrieving your shoes from the other swing.

Taehyung withdraws his phone from his pocket to see a series of concerned messages from Jimin, he keeps his response brief but clear, “She’s with me and I’ll take care of her. She won’t be home today. Please, don’t come over. We need time.”

As he pockets his phone, you look at him, “Jimin?”

“He cares about you,” he says by way of explanation, noting your frown of annoyance, “I’ve told him you’ll be with me today, he’s going to give you space.”

You smile softly and extend your hand towards his, he takes it, interlacing your fingers together.

“Let’s go home,” you smile and he smiles right back at you, leading the way back to his, enjoying the idea of the two of you sharing a home together, even whilst he realises that that is still very much only a dream.

“Fuck, yes, right there, right there, oh God, don’t stop, please…” Taehyung whines pitifully, his husky baritone now little more than a squeak as your mouth glides tightly up and down his rigid shaft whilst one hand tugs and rolls his balls in all the ways he likes, the nails of the other hand digging pleasurably into his ass.

“Wanna fuck your throat,” he whimpers, trying to control the bucking of his hips as he tangles his hands in your hair, “Please, please,” he begs, looking down at you with fire in his eyes.

You look up at him, not ceasing your attentions, and his breath catches at the sight of your wide, innocent eyes, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth and your soft lips curved around his throbbing cock. He growls like an animal in heat as you give a nod.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hisses as he tightens his grip on your hair and begins to pump into your eager mouth. He feels you relax your throat and thrusts deeper into your hot tightness, feeling your tongue press against him as you take him as deeply as you can, your nose pressing into his pubic bone, the hair tickling at your nostrils.

Taehyung grunts in pleasure as he fucks your mouth, he’s never had anyone deep-throat him like this before and even the best head he’s received couldn’t compare to the sight of his cock in your mouth as he prepares to let go.

“I’m gonna come baby,” he stutters out, “Can I come down your throat?” he pleads.

His lust-blown, black eyes meet yours and he knows your answer, which is only confirmed by the tightening squeeze you give to his asscheek. He watches in confusion as you release his ass and drop your hand dawn between your legs, seeking out your folds. He thinks you’re going to finger yourself, but your hand returns moments later, your index finger shiny, coated and dripping with your wetness. You’re reach behind him and you tease at the rim of his asshole while raising your brows in a silent question. 

He can’t breathe, he only pants and nods his head desperately, crying out loudly as you slip you finger in, pumping it slightly before finally curling it and reaching his prostate, drawing a yelp from him. You focus your attention on that sweet spot in response, increasing the pressure.

That does it for him, and he actually screams out, coming explosively down your throat, forcing your face into his body, his ass clenching hungrily around your finger.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moans, in long, drawn out syllables of satisfaction as you release his softening cock from your mouth, gasping for breath as you ease your finger from his tight ass.

He smiles down at you lazily as you wipe your mouth, a satisfied smile on your face.

“Yeah, you should smile,” he laughs, “You are fucking amazing at that. Fuck me, that was something else.”

You giggle, rocking back onto your ass from your kneeling position, rubbing your sore knees, whilst pulling the sanitising wipes from the small table beside you and cleaning yourself up. He leans back against the front door, his legs are weak, but he’s too giddy from his orgasm to pull-up his trousers and and underwear which lie pooled around his ankles.

“We didn’t make it very far, did we?” he jokes.

You give him a serious look, and he knows he’s a complete sucker for you looking up at him like that, “The whole walk home, all I could think about was tasting you,” you tease, “I couldn’t wait any longer. I guess we’re lucky your parents are still at the farm.”

He laughs, “Yeah, I don’t think my parents want to wake up to the sight of their son with a finger up his ass while he fucks his girl’s face,” 

He realises what he’s said as you stiffen slightly. Internally, he punches himself and he closes his eyes only opening them as he feels his trousers shifting at his ankles, realising that you are freeing his belt from the loops.

Your stand up, and for a mad moment, Taehyung wonders if you’re going to spank him for calling you his girlfriend. Yet he’s more shocked at what you actually do, looping the belt around his neck, and pulling it just short of uncomfortably tight, before you reach around him, ensuring the door is locked. You release the belt only to undo his shirt, your mouth kissing at his chest and straying to flick your tongue against his nipples before helping him shrug it off.

You take up the end of the belt in your hand again, “I think we need some rest before you repay me,” you say as you use it to lead him to the bedroom as he stumbles behind you, stepping out of his trousers as you lead the way to his room.

“Normally, I’m the dominant one,” Taehyung mutters, but he still plods behind you obediently. 

You laugh, “That’s good to know,” and the excitement is evident despite your attempt to conceal it.

You guide him to his room, now illuminated by the glowing orange sky outside. Sitting him on his bed, you move to the window, drawing the curtains and leaving the room in soft darkness before you come to stand between his legs again. 

He watches, mouth open and panting slightly as you undress before him, his eyes utterly focused on your dark silhouette and he’s transfixed. On any other occasion he’d touch you, pulling your clothes off for you, but here and now, with his belt as a collar about his neck, he sits compliant and unmoving, his deep breaths the only give-away to his ravenous lust.

Naked before him, you take the belt from around his neck, and roll it up, placing it on the bedside table, “For when you dominate me later,” you exhale against the shell of his ear before you kiss and lap at the skin of his neck. 

It’s when your hard nipples graze his chest that he snaps out of his reverie and pulls you to him, his cock twitching as he throws himself back on the bed drawing a surprised gasp from you. He shimmies up the bed, his head colliding with the wall as he lies on it horizontally, and drags you with him. He’s touched when you reach for his pillows and help prop him up as you straddle him, your cunt tantalisingly lurking just out of reach of him between his thighs that you sit astride.

“Fuck sleep for now,” he asserts, “I’ll be hard again in a minute, just kiss me.”

“There’s my bossy man,” you grin, as you lean forward and catch his mouth with yours as his hands rove over your body.

Not long later you’re riding Taehyung with deep rolls of your hips as you gasp for breath, he moves you with one large hand splayed on your hip. His other hand is where you’re joined together, his skilled fingers working your clit.

He’s moved from his reclined position and sits up to face you, his mouth biting and sucking at the flesh of your neck, leaving purple and red bruises that match those you gave to him earlier in the park, whilst you cling to him needily.

You feel your high nearing as you collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder.

“Tired baby?” he asks gently, as his arms move to hold you.

“Sorry, no stamina,” you pant.

“You’ve got plenty,” he says, reassuring you as he leans back, bringing you with him, “Let me help you.” 

As you lay across his chest, kissing at every inch of flesh you can reach, he starts pumping into you furiously from underneath you, grunting like a man possessed as he grips your hips firmly so that he can drive deep and hard with each thrust.

“Good?” he demands between grunts, not pausing his rapid assault on your cunt.

“So fucking good, Tae,” you sigh out between the sinful moans he draws out of you.

“Yeah?,” he teases, “You miss my cock, baby? Miss my thick dick splitting you open? What’d you want me to do to you?” it’s a demand, but the undertone is pleading. You know Taehyung has a filthy mouth, but he obviously likes dirty talk more than you realised. 

You don’t care, you’re drunk on his cock and you’re not ashamed to tell him, “Missed it too much, please don’t stop… want you to fill me up,” you whimper, desperation and desire infusing each sound, “Ruin me.” 

His hand slides between you to work your clit again as he continues to piston into you.  He feels his release approach and he’ll be damned if he’s not getting you there first.

“Good girl,” he groans soothingly, “I’ll give you everything you want, babe, I’ll fill your tight cunt, I’ll own you with my cum, I’ll be leaking out of you for days, don’t worry,” he says, somehow increasing his battering pace.

“Need you to come for me now, baby,” he stutters desperately, “This cunt was made for me, you were made for me, you’re the best fuck of my life and I need you to come on my fucking cock now,” he cries out, his fingers rapidly circling your clit as he pounds you into a brainless, crying mess.

Then it hits you and you scream as you lift away from him, throwing your head back. His hands fly to your tits, kneading them as he feels you spasm tightly around his cock, pushing him over the edge and his cry joins yours as he shoots rope after rope of thick cum inside you, overcome with bliss.

When you finally collapse back on his chest, tears leak out of both his and your eyes and he kisses you with all the tender affection in his heart, stroking your face.

Moments later, as your eyes uncloud and you both return to this dimension, Taehyung can’t contain himself.

“I know Jimin told you about the phone call,” he blurts out, suddenly looking anxious, “The woman, she’s wasn’t my girlfriend, it was just a casual non-exclusive thing and it’s over. I haven’t been with anyone since we first had sex. There’s only you. I only want you,” he declares with an earnest sort of desperation.

You simply smile and nod, moved by his declaration and honesty, but he still seems troubled, “What’s wrong?” you ask gently.

He tells you about seeing Yoongi’s name on your phone and the unease he felt at the amount of time you spent with the guy, especially when he was away from you in Japan. You repay his frankness with your own and, whilst he doesn’t like to hear you admit that you’d been attracted to Yoongi, he’s relieved that nothing ever happened and that Yoongi seemed disinterested.

You weigh up whether you should omit the words exchanged on the windy street, you don’t know what they mean yourself and it seems unfair and a betrayal of Yoongi to share that moment with Taehyung. Still to say nothing seems like lying too.

”There was a moment tonight,” you hesitate, “Something he said that confused me. I don’t really want to go into it, but I’m no longer absolutely certain that he has no feelings at all for me.”

“Ok,” Taehyung mumbles, biting his lip nervously, “How do you feel about that?”

You know you have to be honest, so you speak from the heart, “I don’t know,” you admit, “I haven’t thought about it at all. I don’t want to think about it right now.”

”Look at me, please,” Taehyung asks, stroking your hair. 

You lift your head from his chest and look at him softly but seriously.

”Do you think you might still have feelings for him?”

You pause, “There’s no space for that right now,” you pause as he looks at you confused, “I mean, there’s no space to have feelings for anyone else.”

Still nonplussed, Taehyung tilts his head, “Because of everything you have going on?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “No, I mean there’s no space for feelings for anyone other than you,” leaning in closer to him, his eyes sparkling happily your tone turns serious, echoing his earlier words back to him, “There’s only you.”

Grinning, he pulls you to him and ends the conversation with a soft kiss. You make out lazily for several minutes, breaking away only to lay quietly, smiling at each other. He opens his mouth to speak, but it simply hangs open for a moment as he looks into your wide eyes, “I won’t say it, not yet,” he mutters.

You stroke his face and you try to reassure him, “Not yet.”

He smiles softly, not yet isn’t never. If anything, the way you say it seems more like a future invitation. He gathers you to him, ready to sleep.

Cuddling close to him, you nuzzle into his chest, “I don’t want to sleep. I want this feeling to last. Hold me close,” you murmur.

Pulling you closer and entangling your bodies, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Always.”

It’s afternoon when you wake up. Sprawled on your back, Taehyung is wrapped around you like a sloth, his head resting on your chest as he sleeps with his beautiful pout.

You try not to disturb him as you move uncomfortably. Honouring your words, it was long into the new day before Taehyung let you sleep. You rub at your wrists, stiff from being bound to the headboard with his belt while he ate you out, heaving orgasm after orgasm from your oversensitive cunt while you squirmed, screamed and wept. He claimed he’d comfort you after, which turned out only to come in the form of him thrusting his throbbing hot length back inside you and fucking you slowly and desperately before filling you again with his cum as you weakly shuddered through your own body-wracking orgasm.

Gently you stroke the hair from his eyes, admiring the way his lashes cast long shadows on his smooth cheeks from the light that rudely intrudes through the edges of the curtains.

Taehyung is undoubtedly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, probably the most beautiful man to ever draw breath in most objective opinions, but do you love him? That though begins to niggle at you, especially as your brother’s words haunt you: if you didn’t have a fucking barricade around you heart you WOULD have known this and you SHOULD have known. It’s not fair to people to fuck their feelings over because you’re so afraid of your own.  

You know Jimin is right and it forces you to question the whole way you’ve lived your life. You’ve always thought of your detachedness as a source of strength. You decided long ago that it was the better way to live, not subject to the vagaries of the whims of others, but independent and protected. Now, as Taehyung lies in your arms you wonder if you’d be happier if you were like that 17-year-old girl again, vulnerable and exposed, but so full of love. 

Right now, you have everything she ever wanted, a good degree, a fulfilling career in your dream field, the respect of your scientific peers and your mother and now this… Taehyung, full of love for you, lying in your arms. Could you be like her again? Unprompted, Yoongi’s face swims in front of you and you push it away as Taehyung’s eyes flutter open only to see the turbulence in yours.

You’re ashamed to see apprehensiveness bloom in his eyes as he holds you closer, physically flinching as you open your mouth to speak. Is this how people see you? you think sadly, Some cold monster who can so easily inflict hurt on others?

You decide you want to be different, to stop overthinking and lean into impulse, “Tae?” you ask warmly, feeling him relax infinitesimally, though he’s still clearly bracing himself for a blow.

“Last night,” you say, the words coming out as a whisper as your voice cracks, “The thing we said we wouldn’t talk about yet, the thing Jimin heard you say -” you hesitate and Taehyung’s heart beats faster against you.

He says your name with uncertainty, “We don’t have to -”

“No,” you interrupt, “I know, but I want you to, I want you to tell me.”

He’s out of your arms instantly as he sits up, straddling you, supporting his weight on his legs, “Are you sure?”

You nod nervously, “Please, tell me.”

Stroking your hair from your face, he smiles gently at you, “I’m crazy about you. I want to be with you.”

Face flushing, your bottom lip trembles as you make your reply in little more than a whispered breath, “So do I.”

His hands cradle your face, “What?” he asks excitedly, “Say that again!”

You laugh shyly, “Tae, I’m dying here,” you cringe.

He laughs kindly and covers your face with soft kisses, softly saying your name between each kiss like a prayer before latching his eyes on to yours, “I feel like a teenager again,” he laughs and it’s deep rumble from his core, then he recovers himself and asks you in his deep, velvety, serious tone “Let me help - will you be mine and give this thing between us a chance?”

“Yes, that’s what I want,” you say definitively before he kisses you with all the love in his heart before he flumps off you to the side, doing a funny little horizontal spasmy dance of joy while you giggle at his exhilaration.

After a moment, he stops and looks at you, and the two of you share a soft look and you feel your heart stir. I think this might be love , you ponder and he reads the thought in your eyes and it’s everything he wants.

Propping himself up beside you, he strokes a finger up and down your breastbone, “This thing between us,” he begins hesitantly, “What is it to you? I think you already know what it is to me.”

”I’m not great at understanding my feelings,” you admit sheepishly, “But I feel like I used to… I think it’s, y’know… I think I’m falling…” you hesitate, unable to overcome the vulnerability of saying a four letter word that feels like it carries the weight of the universe.

”Love,” Taehyung supplies smiling, “Do you think it’s love?”

You nod, “Yes, I think it might be,” you admit nervously.

He sighs happily, “Don’t worry baby, we’ll take it slow. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. We’ll work it out together. It’s you and me now.”

He kisses you as if sealing a promise, his cock hardening against you. Without breaking your kisses he moves on top of you, guiding himself inside you, fucking you with the same slow determination as the morning after your mother’s surgery. This time though, you don’t panic at the intimacy, instead you embrace it, clinging to him until you both come undone.

Later, after you’ve showered and eaten, you cuddle together on his couch.

“This is embarrassing,” he blushes, “But do you mind if I call my Dad?” 

“Your Dad?” 

“Yeah,” he says, growing redder, the blush moving from his neck to his cheeks and suffusing his whole face, “He knows how I feel about you, I’ve confided all my feelings in him. I’m just so happy, I need to tell him.”

That stirring feeling in your heart expands and you reach out to stroke his face, “Oh baby,” you smile, “You don’t need to ask that, go ahead.”

His smile turns serious, “I can’t explain how much I love it when you call me baby,” he sighs.

“Call your Dad, honey,” you say, your face splitting into a grin, “I need to text my brother.”

You try not to listen in, but you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s pride and enthusiasm as he tells his dad about the two of you.

Your brother pleads with you to come home, all apologies and apparently ecstatic with the news about you and Taehyung. You agree that you’ll come home so the three of you can have dinner together at yours before you head to see your mother at the convalescent home the next day.

Chapter Text

The lunch with your parents passes well, both your parents are pleased to see you and Taehyung together, though less exuberantly than his parents and Jimin seemed perhaps, but given your mother’s condition and the toll that’s taken on both of them it’s not unexpected.

Taehyung tells them of the villa he’s rented out in a couple of weeks’ time on Jeju Island where he’d planned to holiday with his family for a fortnight. Though his whole family are coming, including aunts, uncles and cousins, the place he’s rented is palatial, with several private mini-villas and has more space than they need. He asks you and your family to join, insisting he’ll pay for the private nurse that cares for your mother exclusively to join you too, as well as his wife and their young son.

Nobody is overly surprised by Taehyung’s generosity as it’s always been a defining characteristic of his. Though everybody is overawed at the offer, it’s impossible to deny him when he’s simply so desperately eager to bring you all together. Family is everything to Taehyung and to see your two families close again means so much to him.

As you sit at the dining table, your brother excitedly making plans with your mother, your Dad smiles benignly at you and Taehyung, who sits beside you, his arm around the back of your chair, whilst his thumb traces slow, small circles on your bare shoulder. Underneath the table, your hand rests on his knee and your father’s heart is warmed by how natural you are together.

The next weeks are a flurry of activity as you prepare for the holiday, putting in extraordinary hours at the lab to make sure you can spare the time to not have to work remotely from Jeju. Dongyeon, aware of your relationship with Taehyung, but sworn to silence by Taehyung’s terrifying agent and the forced signing of an NDA, helps you out massively. 

What Yoongi and your brother had assumed was a massive crush on you was only partly correct; yes, Dongyeon was a little weak-kneed for you, however it wasn’t a romantic crush but a professional one. In the time you’d been working with him, you’d supported him and he could feel his career flourishing with your tutelage and he was massively grateful for you and how you used your greater experience to carry him along with you. He’d also been nervous of how hard you pushed yourself, and so was keen to see you take a break, now considering you a friend. Dongyeon would be crushed if he knew that it was assumed that he liked you in that way, when secretly his affection is purely directed towards your sadly oblivious brother.

You sit cross-legged on your bed as you pack your bag, thinking back to preparing for that first night spent at Taehyung’s and a silly smile creeps across your face. It’s then your phone lights up and you hope it’s Yoongi, even though you realised days ago, when you finally tried to call him after endless ignored messages, that he wasn’t just ignoring you but that he’d blocked you. Your heart still aches in sadness.

The message isn’t from Yoongi, as you knew it wouldn’t be, instead it’s Zico. He’s thrilled to hear that you and Taehyung are together; he and Taehyung belong to the same agency and so he’d found out the news through his own excited agent. You exchange a string of messages before you set to finish your packing, interrupted again by your brother who stages a fashion show of all the prospective outfits he could take. You’re grateful when Taehyung appears, clambering onto your bed behind you and pulling you back to lie between his legs, kissing the top of your head and offering his critique to Jimin. You need only nod and feign occasional interest whilst you nuzzle happily into Taehyung, whose strong arms wrap around you; eventually you drift into sleep, soothed but the rumble of his voice deep in his chest and the steady rhythm of his heart. 

A fleet of sleek black cars sweeps your family and Taehyung’s from the airport to the exclusive conclave Taehyung has arranged. 

Rather than the scenery, you focus on your brother and father, both of whom gawp and gawk at each passing scene with child-like wonder; your mother catches your eye and you realise you’ve both been moved by the sight and you share a tender smile. It relieves you to see your mother happy and relaxed, you’d worried that, even with Taehyung’s precautions, that the trip might be too taxing for her, but seeing her calm happiness now reassures you.

On arrival, the generous staff lead your family and the nurse’s to your villa and show you around, indicating which bedrooms are for whom. The final room is reached and the neatly dressed staff member smiles at your mother’s nurse, Dohyun, telling him it’s a vacant room that will be kept ready for him in case he is needed in the night and doesn’t wish to disturb his wife’s rest.

Slightly puzzled, you smile, “I’m sorry,” you say quietly as your family direct the porters with their bags and you’re left alone with the bespectacled man, “Where is my room?”

He smiles passively, “I’m so sorry, miss. If you could tell me your name I can help. We don’t have anyone else listed for this villa.”

You flush, beginning to worry as you give your name, and he flicks through the clipboard clutched in his hands, reassuring that there is no need to worry and that any oversight can be easily resolved.

“Ah,” he smiles finally, “You are Mr Kim Taehyung’s partner, are you not? You are in the master suite of the main villa with him, where your bags will have been taken,” he gestures at the space where the luggage was before being distributed and there is nothing left.

You smile awkwardly, drawing a fatherly smile from him, “I’d like to believe my daughter would also want to stay with her family rather than her boyfriend, miss,” he says kindly, “Let me escort you to the main house.”

You explain the situation to your parents and Jimin, none of whom are as surprised as you and think it makes perfect sense. When you arrive at Taehyung’s grand suite a little later, he thinks your confusion is sweet.

As soon as the kind gentleman closes the door discreetly behind him, Taehyung pulls you to him, covering you in kisses and happily explaining how far away his room is from the others in the villa, a key selling point for him as he mouths at your neck, his hands roaming over you.

You wake up the next morning in a position you’ve swiftly become used to: you’re curled almost foetally on your side; Taehyung’s larger body is wrapped around yours; your head lies on his folded arm, his hand beneath the pillow supporting his head; his other arm is slung heavily over you, the hand loosely clasped around your shin, cradling you and holding you close. You shift about slightly as you wake, with that feeling that always comes from sleeping somewhere new, the moment of confusion where you struggle to remember where you are.

Taehyung’s warmth breath teases the back of your neck as he strokes your leg, freeing his other arm to pull you closer together, taking the opportunity to massage your naked breasts, “Good morning,” he says, his voice thick with more than sleepiness as he gently, but purposefully grinds his erection against your ass.

“Good morning,” you reply, pushing back against him and altering the angle of your body to make the inevitable easier for him.

His hand slips to his hard cock to guide it, but still he hesitates, stroking himself as he mouths at your shoulder.

“Tae,” you whine needing, knowing exactly what he wants to hear, “I need you baby,”

“Need me where?” he asks with a smile clear in his voice, his dominant nature pleased by your pleading tone.

“Inside me,” you say breathily. 

The last syllable barely leaves your mouth he presses in; it’s a little uncomfortable as you’re not quite wet enough, but after a few deep strokes and his practised fingers at your clit, you’re soon reaching behind you to cling to him as he fucks you with powerful, deep strokes that run thrills through your body. It’s all at a languid, lazy pace; he takes his sweet time as he drives into you, leaving you both glistening with your own and each others’ sweat as he wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you before emptying himself inside you with one of his deep, pornographically sexy groans that would be enough to push you over the edge on its own.

After you both totter to the bathroom, you lay between his legs in the enormous tub, discussing your plans for the day together as he nibbles at your ear and spends far longer than necessary soaping your lovebitten breasts. You’re spending the morning poolside with your Mum, whilst the rest of them head to the beach. You’ll head to join them later in the day, but the mornings are difficult for your mother and so you’ll stay with her and Dohyun while she builds her strength through her morning physical therapy. 

As ever, Taehyung is understanding, though he knows from your shyness at dinner the night before that it’s as much about easing yourself into spending time with his family as it is about spending time with yours; it’s plain to see that you still feel a little awkward around his parents and siblings, barely having spent any time with them since the fateful night when you punched him in the dick and fled from their lives.

Later in the morning, beside the pool, Dohyun has finished your mother’s exercises and discreetly excuses himself to help the kitchen staff with the right food to pack for your mother when you take lunch for everyone along to the beach with you.

Your mother says your name softly, calling your attention from the book you’d been reading. You look up, and she beckons you from her wicker chair to join you at the one beside her. As you sit, she smiles at you serenely.

“I think it’s time you told me what you’ve been up to,” she says, the tone is warm but the expectation of total honesty from you is obvious too, “You’ve been excellent in keeping me informed about the lab, as has Dongyeon. I’m so proud of you. Yet, there’s a lot you’re not telling me about life outside the lab - I haven’t wanted to press you around your father or brother, but Jimin was keeping me informed of everything and I want to know many things about you and Taehyung, and also who this Yoongi fellow is and what he is to you. Your brother had some interesting theories,” she concludes, drawing breath.

You look a little awkwardly at her for a moment, and she puts her tone into words, “The absolute truth, young lady. It’s a sin to lie to one’s mother,” she laughs, quoting her mother’s most often used phrase, drawing a laugh from you in response.

You pour you both another cup of jasmine tea, take her hand and kiss the back of it as a sign of both love and respect, and you tell her everything, beginning with Yoongi and ending with Taehyung finding you in the park. As you give your account, you look out over the pool and so miss the myriad expressions that cross your mother’s face as you speak, some of which would have warmed your heart, others that would have made it twinge; by the time you finish speaking though and look to her, the serene smile is back in place and she asks you a few, careful questions which give little away of her thoughts but your answers tell her all she needs to know. 

Her sharp mind then goes to work on the information you’ve given her, and like the scientist she is, she sifts through it, finding the key components of the data before formulating her hypotheses.

As with all good times, the holiday flies by and before you’re even aware, the second week of the holiday draws to a close. You sit beside the large pool on a table with your family, while the others are scattered around their own tables as you eat your dinner. You feel that you’ve been re-inducted into Taehyung’s family over the holiday after the years that have passed and they’ve been nothing other than warm and generous with you.

You smile at the scene before you, the children playing, the lights glimmering in the pool, edging the paths and patio and hanging in the trees. The air is heavily perfumed with jasmine and other sweet scents. The night is warm but fresh and the music plays gently, mixing with the sounds of the conversation and laughter. You sense rather see Taehyung’s eyes on you, your feeling confirmed when your eyes meet and he smiles at you softly and full of warmth, making you feel a little lightheaded.

A few hours later, the children are in bed and most people have peeled off to their own rooms or to other amusements inside. The lights twinkle more now and the music can be heard more clearly as you hum thoughtlessly along to the new song. A gentle tap on your shoulder interrupts you, and you smile to see Taehyung offering an outstretched hand as he guides you beside the pool and draws you close to him, one arm tightly around your back, the other entwined with your own hand, holding your bodies close as you rest your other arm on his shoulder.

He rests his cheek against you. You sway with him as he sings softly to you and you both disappear into a world where only the two of you exist.

Taehyung’s mother smiles as she watches her son sing to you about how he wants to love you with the strength he felt at 17 when your both in your old age**. She touches your mother gently on the forearm, “An appropriate song for them, don’t you think?” she says with a smile.

“Indeed,” your mother smiles, “it’s very sweet.”

Taehyung’s father leans over, “It’s a beautiful love story,” he says before leaning back and smiling sentimentally at his son, “Our Taehyung has always wanted to lead a romantic life.”

Your mother nods, yet the uneasy feeling that has sat with her since you announced your relationship stirs in her chest again, tightening there like icy fingers around her heart. She looks over to you where you’ve melted into Taehyung, and the gentle glow of warmth coming from him as he nuzzles into your hair as he serenades you; she has carefully considered all you told her at the start of the holiday and she knows she must speak with you and, though she dreads having the conversation, she’s very aware that it needs to happen sooner rather than later.

As the song ends, your mother indicates that she’d quite like to return to her villa and that she’d like you to escort her. Obligingly, Taehyung’s mother approaches you and Taehyung and asks to cut in, freeing you to take your mother back.

As she takes your arm, she waves off Dohyun and your father in turn and simply indicates for Jimin to follow and he takes her other arm.

Back in the villa she sits you both down in the neat sitting area, and you both wriggle in your seats a little apprehensively, carried back in time to being small children waiting in anticipation of being scolded.

“Jimin,” your mother begins, “Most of what I have to say is for your sister, but I want you here to hear what I am saying because it is your role to support her. I know you care for your friend, and that your sister can make some terrible decisions, but ultimately as her big brother, you have to have her back.”

“I always do!” Jimin protests, not dissimilarly to how he would as a child.

“Really?” questions your mother with a cocked eyebrow, “you’re not ashamed of her?” her arch tone and the stressed word are enough to silence Jimin, whose cowed expression shows that he understands.

It’s then that your mother addresses you, and, as she expected, you don’t want to hear any of it. Nonetheless, you sit through it and she knows you’ve listened to what she has to say. 

Jimin has nothing to say; he realises he has a lot to think about, instead he only promises that his place will always be beside you.

Jimin is about to slope to bed when your mother tells him to wait, “I want to talk to you about something else,” she smiles and she sends you on your way.

You take a longer route to avoid passing the pool and those gathered there and you’re not sorry that you don’t run into anyone on your way back to your room. Inside, you quickly change into your light cotton pyjamas, cleanse your face and brush your teeth in a rush and quickly ease between the sheets, willing sleep to come quickly for you.

“You’re sure Jimin is at Dongyeon’s tonight?” Taehyung checks as his fingers hook into the elastic of your underwear.

“I’m certain, we spoke just before you got in,” you confirm, releasing the knife you’d been using to chop the vegetables for tonight’s dinner. You push the chopping board to one side, kicking off the underwear Taehyung has yanked down before he pushes your legs apart and shoves you over the counter.

“I’m getting in now,” he says, laughing at his own terrible joke, as he drops to his knees and turns, resting his back against the cupboards. He pulls you closer to him and begins to work his mouth and fingers inside you, all the while stroking his own, throbbing length which is desperate for relief. He brings you to the right to the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time. 

“Close, so close,” you whine and, for the first time since your first time with him, he denies you your orgasm, making your cry out as he slides his fingers from you and unseen by you, rubs the slick coating them along his hard shaft.

“Not yet baby, I’ve missed you the last few days, I need to watch your fall apart on my cock,” he says as he stands and pulls you behind him to the bedroom.

The last days have been difficult for him: he’d travelled to Seoul to meet with his company to discuss delaying the release of his new record. You only have six months more before you’re due to return to London and as your mother grows stronger every day in the convalescent home, it seems likely that you’ll return as planned. Taehyung’s album launch and comeback would mean that you would be unlikely to see anything of each other during the time left and he’s told you he’s not prepared to do that. 

What he hasn’t told you is that he believes he can’t afford the time away from you, worried that the distance would separate the two of you emotionally and would make it easier for you to leave him, something that outright terrifies him.

“Fucking come for me, come on baby, come on,” he cries out impatiently and almost angrily over an hour later as he continues to fuck you without respite. He pounds into you relentlessly from between your tired legs that you can barely keep wrapped around his waist. One arm supports himself at the elbow above you, the other is between you as he rubs at your clit. 

Sweat runs off his face and drops on to you as you moan weakly beneath him as you claw at his back, “I can’t again, Tae, I can’t take it,” you shudder from the overstimulation.

“You can, you can,” he moans, both demandingly and encouragingly, “One more time for me and I’ll fill you up, baby.”

You nod feebly and he redoubles his thrusts and his fingers work you faster, “Fucking come,” he growls and moments later, he grins in satisfaction as you whine in a thin, reedy, exhausted voice and he feels you tighten, clenching and spasming around him.

“This fucking cunt,” he growls again in satisfaction, “Will be the death of me,” and he moans lowly as he throws his head back, pleasure etched all over his face as he empties himself inside you, rocking his hips slowly to push himself flush against you as he forces his cum as far as he can reach within you before collapsing in a sweaty mess on your chest.

“My girl,” he says happily, licking messily at your neck while he crushes you and regains his breath. When he finally slides out, he helps support your weak body to the bathroom so you can clean yourself up. As you soothe yourself, he changes the sheets that are sticky with the three times he came and the many times you did. In bed together, he holds you to him, all thoughts of dinner forgotten as you immediately pass out into a deep sleep. Taehyung smiles in satisfaction as he eases away from your exhausted body and creeps from the room to let you sleep. 

It all started when you got back from Jeju, he thinks to himself, the sleeplessness and the waking in the night. He knows that problems with sleep have plagued you for years but he had thought you’d conquered it when you two started sleeping together. Apparently not though, as the problem now seems to be as bad as ever and he’s determined to help through it, he won’t complain if so far the best strategy has proven to be fucking you into oblivion.

You don’t wake until the early hours, and after lying still in Taehyung’s comforting embrace for a while, you realise no more sleep will come and so you creep out from his hold to make yourself tea and to make a head start on the day’s work from the kitchen table. Taehyung is unsurprised to find you typing away there hours later when he wakes and finds his arms empty and your side of the bed cold. He places breakfast another cup of tea beside you, making you jump, with headphones in and your brain fully focused on work, you weren’t even aware he was awake. You swiftly pull your headphones off and wrap your arms about him, resting your head against his lower stomach, kissing the soft flesh there as he wanders about only in tracksuit bottoms.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” you say of the tea.

He runs his fingers through your hair, “You’re welcome, beautiful,” he smiles, “What’s the plan for today?”

“Lab all day,” you sigh.

“Tell Dongyeon that he and Jimin should come over here once in a while,” Taehyung smiles.

Yes, Dongyeon and Jimin. After you headed back to the main villa in those final days of holiday your mother had kept Jimin back to tell him that Dongyeon’s constant pining over him on his visits and phone calls was beginning to drive her, in her own words, ‘doolally tap’. She had told him kindly that the young man was absolutely smitten with him and that he really needed to either act on it or let him down gently.

Things suddenly made more sense to Jimin: he’d found out at the club that Namjoon was friends with Taecyeon and Dongyeon and so they all started hanging out more, going out together with Yoongi and Hobi, to the basketball and the driving range and he realised that Dongyeon always seemed a little nervous and tongue-tied around him, which Yoongi had put down to suspecting Dongyeon fancied you and was awkward around your brother. Wrong sibling , thought Jimin as your mother’s words sank in. 

Jimin is not as slow to act as you and so within days of your return from Jeju he’d called Dongyeon and planned their first date. Weeks on, they’re going strong but spend most of their time at Dongyeon’s because, as Jimin says, you and Taehyung fuck like animals and it makes him feel sick.

“I‘ll do my best,” you agree, “but I think we both know it’s Jimin who makes the final decisions in that relationship.”

Taehyung laughs, “Yeah, it’s not quite as balanced as ours,” he nods.

“We’re balanced?” you question.

“Aren’t we?” he says pulling away from you slightly, looking a little puzzled and worried. You wonder to yourself when that fear will leave Taehyung; he seems so unsure still of your feelings and commitment to him. 

Still, if you were to consider it, are you sure of those things? But you don’t consider it and you don’t want to. Your mother’s words from that night still sit with you. They’re the main thing that wake you at night when you’re subconscious mind goes to work and deals with the thoughts you push away in the day.

You simply smile at him, “We are babe, but maybe not in the bedroom,” you tail off with a cheeky smile, stretching your hand out to stroke him softly through his sweats.

He looks at the clock before he pulls away, “Fuck, we don’t have time,” he groans, “I’ve got a meeting this morning.”

“Who says I’d let you fuck me after everything you put me through last night?” you tease.

He only grins and leans in for a kiss, “Hm, but then we’re not balanced in the bedroom, are we?” he teases, before a little concern creeps into his voice, “Is my baby girl sore from my massive cock?”

You scoff, “You, sir, are a massive cock, you smug git, and yeah I am a little,” you complain, earning another kiss from him.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he whispers against your lips.

“We don’t have time,” you say smugly, pushing him away, “What meeting is this?”

He explains about his the wider effects of his planned hiatus and how he wants to release 4 o’clock separately from the rest of the record; he knows the song is a big opportunity for Namjoon and that it’s something the guy is eager to capitalise on which he won’t be able to do with Taehyung’s hiatus so he’s meeting him to discuss plans.

“You’re so thoughtful,” you say honestly, smiling at him as he heads to the shower.

Moments later, Taehyung jumps as the shower door opens behind him and you slink in.

”I thought we didn’t have time?” he teases watching as you sink to your knees, grinning wickedly at him.

”You got me thinking of this,” you say smoothly as you gently pump his cock.

”Thinking what about it?” he asks, his bravado failing beneath his excitement.

“No questions,” you smile, licking the twitching tip of his cock, “It’s rude to talk when one’s mouth is full…” His only reply is a long groan of satisfaction as you take him in your mouth.

Taehyung didn’t come down your throat as you expected, instead choosing to pull you to you feet so he could fuck you passionately against the slick tiles of the shower wall. Reminding you of the feral lust he took you ith at the airport all those months ago.

Later, fucked out but clean, you both hurry to get ready for his meeting and your departure for work.

Moments away from leaving, Taehyung calls your attention, “Min Yoongi will be at the meeting, is there anything you want me to pass on?” Though his tone is light, his expression is a little strained and his smile is decidedly fixed.

“No, nothing. Yoongi doesn’t talk to me anymore,” you say as straightforwardly as you can, “I guess our friendship ran its course,” you add, careful to keep all emotion from your voice.

“Are you ok with that?” Taehyung presses. He doesn’t know why he asks, it’s like picking at an unhealed wound, he knows it might sting but he feels an itchy desire to do so anyway.

“I have you,” you smile and it’s a touch placating, but he doesn’t know whether you’re trying to soothe him or yourself. You smile and correct yourself, “I mean to say, I don’t have much free time and the time I do have I want to give to you.”

It’s enough to satisfy Taehyung, for now at least.

“That was generous of you,” Yoongi says evenly. 

He’s trying to be polite, wondering how he’s ended up alone with Taehyung at the end of the meeting and whether that’s what the other man planned for.Taehyung had been all smiles and amiability in the meeting but now, alone with Yoongi, he’s different  altogether, seemingly far colder and inscrutable. It seems to Yoongi that Taehyung definitely has some kind of agenda.

 “I’m a nice guy,” Taehyung replies flatly, “You’d know that if you were still friends with my girlfriend.”

Your involvement with Taehyung is no surprise to Yoongi. Jimin and Dongyeon have shared the information, though only as a sort of open secret. He is glad nobody speaks of it openly, unsure that he’d be able to conceal his feelings about it. Yoongi suspects that he might have driven you towards Taehyung that night on the windy street and so the desperate unhappiness he feels now may largely be his own fault. 

When he doesn’t speak, his silence tells Taehyung all he needs to hear.

“I’m not a stupid man, but I’m not the genius my girlfriend is,” Taehyung begins and Yoongi can’t help but bristle at Taehyung’s apparent need to assert repeatedly what feels like his ownership of you.

Taehyung registers Yoongi’s irritation but continues on, determined to make his point, “But I can see things she obviously can’t. To her, you were a supportive friend with no interest in her at all. Even without meeting you, I suspected there was more to your feelings, now, having met you it’s pretty obvious that you clearly had feelings for her but for whatever reason didn’t act on them.”

Yoongi still says nothing, giving Taehyung a hard stare, wondering where all this is going.

“I can’t understand why you never made a move, though. Surely she’s worth the risk?” Taehyung prompts, receiving only stony silence in reply.

Taehyung relaxes back in his chair, unperturbed, “Well, it’s a shame you couldn’t have at least stayed her friend, you’re missing out on a lot,” he concludes, and Yoongi realises he’s genuine; Taehyung really does seem to pity him and it makes him feel sick, “She’s really fucking special. More special than you realise.”

Yoongi snaps. He can’t stand the patronising expression across Taehyung’s obscenely handsome face, “Really? AYou’d be fine with that? All that time when you were in Japan, you weren’t threatened at all by our relationship?” he scoffs.

“Well, she and I weren’t together then,” Taehyung pauses, smiling, “I mean, yeah, we’d been fucking for months, but we weren’t official yet at that point… But to answer your question no, I’ve never been concerned, not in the least,” he smirks.

Yoongi wants to wipe his face clean of his smugness with his fist and so, unthinkingly, he invites his own pain, “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Taehyung’s smile disappears and is replaced with total seriousness, “Many reasons - it was always inevitable that we’d end up getting together from when we were just kids. I know her, she was my best friend for years, she’d never have worked out that you liked her. Even if she liked you back, she never would have made the first move and for some reason you didn’t make the effort to. Though, even if you had, I doubt she’d have accepted you, not if that meant rejecting me - since we reconnected we’ve filled each other’s lives,” Taehyung pauses, counting ideas on his fingers, smiling to himself.

“Right, that’s a fair few reasons, but I haven’t said the most important ones. Our families are tied together; Jimin and I are like brothers. Finally, and most importantly I guess, she’s the love of my fucking life and I won’t ever give her up,” he finishes speaking with a dull finality that can’t be argued with.

“Ok,” it’s the only word Yoongi can find to say against the weight of evidence Taehyung offers. He might loathe Taehyung at this moment, but he can’t deny the intensity or honesty of Taehyung’s feelings for you.

“I guess we have nothing more to say to each other,” Taehyung finishes, “Honestly, it was nice to finally meet you,” Taehyung says with a final unsettlingly genuine smile before he breezes from the room leaving a confused and furious Yoongi in his wake.

Moments later in the lab, your phone lights up in your locker. The message simply reads, “Hey. It’s been a while, too long. How have you been?”

Chapter Text

Your chest rises and falls gently as you sleep, a strand of hair fluttering around your face as you breathe in and exhale. Through the flames of the fire pit, he watches the feather-light strand float, sink and rise again. He’s not even aware that he’s staring: watching you now through the dancing sparks of the fire, the light playing across the angles of your face, time seems to stop for him. 

He could never tire of the sight of you, though it’s not these moments when he loves you most. No, those are when you’re awake: your bright eyes sparkling every time you become animated and excited about something. Or the gentle curve of your lips as you listen to every word he says to you, devoting all your attention and interest to him in that moment as if nobody else existed. Or the gentle twitch of your nose and the furrowing of your brow as you pour over a paper or email, concentrating and focusing your attention. 

Yet, perhaps it’s none of those things, either. As much as he loves every line, curve and angle of your face and body, it’s the the geometry of your personality, your soul, that he is most in love with, the shapes of your thoughts, feelings, ideas, humour, foibles, habits and each detail that makes you you : it’s the way all those things tessellate against his own shapes, forming something new and unexpected, something far more beautiful than he could ever have imagined or hoped for.

Under these stars, where the chilly night breeze is held at bay by the warmth of the fire, he only sees you: he is so desperately, painfully in love with you.

He watches as the large, elegant hand that lay on your shoulder moves to your face, a finger hooking the stray hair away from you and bringing it to rest behind your ear with almost impossible delicacy before, with a touch that seems a light as bird’s wing, the backs of the fingers skim across your cheekbone. It’s the gentle sigh you give then, one of pure contentment, that breaks the egg-shell thin barrier that separates his timeless moment from the world beyond. 

Suddenly, it feels as though he is flooded by sensation other than the sight of you: the smell of the crackling fire, the sound of laughter around him over the steady soundtrack of lapping tide beyond, the stale taste of his mouth, his tongue coated with beer, the feel of the cold breeze ruffling the back of his hair as it attempts to intrude on them out of reach of the fire’s warmth. 

Another unnamed sense pulls on his attention too, like an anxious child on a parent’s sleeve, and he’s aware he’s being watched. He moves his gaze away from you to meet the dark eyes that stare at him through the flames.

Unlike their last time alone together, there’s nothing inscrutable about his expression now. Taehyung’s look is clear and it’s one of pure loathing. 

Yoongi gives Taehyung a wry smile, but receives nothing back. His eyes never shifting from Yoongi, Taehyung moves slightly, shifting your body where you sleep between his legs. He slides his hand from your shoulder where it had rested, beneath the blanket over you. From the movement of the blanket it’s clear that his hand comes to rest on your inner thigh, in a proprietary gesture. Yoongi thinks it’s the human equivalent of a dog pissing to mark its territory and he’d laugh aloud if it didn’t sicken him so much.

Fuck you, asshole, his mind growls: he hates Taehyung with every fibre of his being.

Across the wall of flame and ember, Taehyung draws circles with his fingertips on the soft skin of your inner thigh underneath the soft hem of the small shorts you have on over your bikini. It’s the same one you’d worn in the video he’d masturbated to countless times, which pleased him immensely when he watched you put it on this afternoon, thinking of at least a dozen ways he could fuck you in it.

He’s not thinking of the bikini now though, but of Min Yoongi. After that meeting he’d realised Yoongi probably had strong feelings for you, but watching his face just now, there’s no denying it. Around the fire, the reflected flames dance across every pair of eyes, but the warmth in Yoongi’s as he gazed at you was no reflection, instead it emanated from somewhere deep within. Taehyung knows the sensation because it’s a mirror, not of the flames, but of his own feelings. There’s no avoiding the realisation now; Yoongi is undeniably deeply in love with you.

Taehyung suspects that he pushed Yoongi too far the day of the meeting and that’s what brought the man back into your life. He can hardly object, after all, he was the one who criticised Yoongi for letting your friendship go. Nonetheless, Taehyung really doesn’t like that he’s back in your life.

As he glares resentfully at the older man, a moment from earlier in the day pops unbidden into his mind: you, Namjoon, Zico and Yoongi gathered at the breakfast table discussing books you’d recently been reading and recommending them to each other. He’d watched as you darted from the table, returning with one of the books you’d brought with you, pressing it on to Yoongi, telling him how he’d love it. The enthusiasm rolled off you in waves, your smile vivid and your eyes bright. The four of you were lost in your world of words for the whole of breakfast and you didn’t look at Taehyung beside you once.

Taehyung isn’t petty or so possessive that he’d be jealous over the loss of your attention, rather it was that this was a side of you that he couldn’t share in, having admitted to you once that books made him sleepy. He knows you can’t have the exact same interests; he’s fine with the fact that you only like about half of the jazz that he does and simply tolerate the rest, but he can’t stand that there’s something that Yoongi shares with you so effortlessly. 

Yoongi demurs and looks away, starting a conversation with Zico, who sits beside Taehyung, though Taehyung notes, with a spiteful twinge of satisfaction, that his cat-like glance flicks occasionally to the movement of Taehyung’s fingers beneath the blanket.

A little later in the night you’ve awoken and are a little revived, joining in the conversation around the fire. When Zico had invited you all to a massive house he’d rented by the beach for a party and a long weekend you’d been uncertain but Taehyung talked you into it. You are mostly glad you came, the only downside has been the clear tension between Yoongi and Taehyung.

You’ve done everything you can to avoid naming or putting a label on the tension between them, choosing simply to ignore the problem, but, if the pointed looks Zico keeps throwing you are anything to go by, you realise you’re going to have to have at least one conversation about it.

Sat around the fire on the beach, you lean against Taehyung. Very few people are left now as it gets late, most having gone to bed, exhausted from the party the night before and preparing for the bigger one to follow. You move closer to him and speak softly into his ear, “I think I’m ready for bed.”

He smiles, facing you, “I don’t mind coming with you if you want to go to sleep, babe.”

“It’s not sleep I want,” you whisper.

“What is it that you want then?” he asks, dropping his voice to a quiet, husky tone that makes you squeeze your legs together, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him as he offers a sexy smirk.

“You,” you say plainly in reply, and his flirty smile shifts to a wolfish grin of pure desire.

The next second, he’s on his feet, pulling you by the hand off the sand as he stalks across the beach to the changing hut.

Taehyung arrives at the hut before you and silently enters. Within, he notices that one of the stalls at the far end, in the shadow of darkness, has the curtain pulled closed and when he listens carefully he can hear the soft sound of someone drawing on a a cigarette of some kind, and he can guess what’s happening within: he was sure that he’d seen Yoongi disappear in here a few minutes ago to be alone. Taehyung creeps undetected back to the doorway as you appear there.

“There’s nobody here,” he whispers, kissing your neck before shutting the door behind you, sliding the bolt over the door, shutting you, and Yoongi, in.

In front of the row of stalls there’s a long, double-width sun lounger stored, with a soft, downy cover on it. Taehyung gestures to it and you slip off your shorts and tee shirt.  You’re about to continue undressing when he speaks surprisingly loudly.

“Leave the bikini on,” the dominance in his voice thrills you and you simply nod.

“Good girl,” he growls, “We can’t be long, how do you want it?”

You can barely contain the moan in your voice as you flood your bikini bottoms, “Any way you want to give it to me, baby.”

“Fuck,” he groans lustily, “You’re too fucking perfect for me. Ok, ok, ok, I promise I’ll fucking worship you when we get to bed, but I just need to rail you now, get on your hands and knees.”

You smile and kiss him before doing as you’re told.

“Tae baby,” you say softly as you position yourself at the edge of the lounger so he can stand behind you, “Fuck me hard, don’t hold back.”

He yanks your bikini bottoms to one side and runs a finger through your folds, before sucking his digits loudly and lewdly, “So fucking wet for me already baby,” he grins as he strips before taking his cock in hand and guiding it to your hole, pushing the tip in and groaning throatily at your soft mewl in response as he breaches you. He then places his hands on your waist and pushes into you smoothly in one fluid stroke, pulling you back onto him at the same time he pushes in.

When he’s fully seated in you, his pelvis pressed against your ass and his cock filling you so deliciously, you both cry out.

“You’re so tight,” he sighs, luxuriating in the gripping hot wetness of your cunt as you adjust to him, “You ok? Does it feel good?”

“It’s a lot to take in this position,” you admit, breathing heavily as you adjust.

“Too much?” he asks, his voice full of concern, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can hurt me a little,” you laugh seductively, “I’m just at my limit, but I love it.”

He groans as he feels you start to move slowly, pulling a little way off him before pushing back, each stroke ending with a gentle roll of your hips.

He didn’t expect this, but he lets you ride against him with your teasingly slow thrusting. The noises of your wet cunt, and the moans you both make, quickly becoming loud and obscene.

“What are you doing to me?” he groans helplessly as you push back into him, doing everything in his power not to snap and rail you.

You drop your upper body down on to your forearms, raising your ass and altering the angle and it’s almost too much for him as he groans, “Fuck I’m so deep babe, is this ok?”

“Fucking rail me,” you demand, your voice thick with desire and you giggle with anticipation as his large hands grips your hips tightly, digging in tightly before he starts to fuck into you, beginning with a slow, staccato rhythm of powerful, deep, sharp strokes that have you cry out at the snap of his hips each time, stuttering ‘yes’, with increasing desperation as he pounds you, almost violently. 

“Good?” he demands, snorting with the effort.

“I fucking love your cock, Kim Taehyung,” you cry out.

In response he starts fucking you with abandon, his strokes faster and more powerful, and you couldn’t put a coherent sentence together now if you tried. Under the force of his fucking all you can do is cry out and moan while he grunts and groans like a man possessed behind you.

“Gonna come,” he stutters out, “Will get you there in our room, babe, ok?,” he asks desperately as his rhythm falters as he chases his high.

“Come in me,” you manage to moan, “Need it,” you hiss weakly.

“You love it, don’t you?” he teases breathily as he feels his orgasm nearing, “Is that all you love?”

“No,” you whisper.

It’s all overwhelming, you’re not close to coming, but the feel of his cock dragging your walls in this position is exhilarating, and the brutality of the way he claims you, coupled with the soundtrack of his throaty moans is your favourite thing in the world. Your hungry body and full heart feel as one in this moment and you know it’s within your power to give Taehyung everything he wants and you know you need to, for you, as much as for him.

“No?” he questions, still driving into you erratically, the sloppy sounds of your fluids echoing obscenely as flesh slaps against flesh.

“I love you, Taehyung, I love all of you,” you cry out, clearly, desperately, and full of feeling.

The noise he lets out is feral and almost a scream as he comes violently inside you at that precise moment, filling you with his cum. He continues to pump in into you, groaning deeply as he collapses on to your back, spilling everything he has to give inside you.

His cheek presses into yours and you feel the dampness there and realise they are tears. Before you can say anything, he’s sliding out of out with a slick, wet noise and flipping you off your sore knees and onto your back, before he’s back on top of you, pressing his spent cock back in, plugging his cum inside you.

He supports most of his weight off you, but moves close to you, kissing all over your face gently and softly before whispering, “Did you just say what I thought you did?”

You stroke his sweaty hair from his face, and run your fingers through the thick locks as you smile reassuringly, “I love you,” you repeat clearly.

“You’re my whole world,” Taehyung smiles, his grin so wide he feels his face and heart might explode, “I love you so much,” and then he kisses you and starts to gently pump his hardening cock into you again.

Taehyung almost loses himself in the feel of you before he remembers what he’s doing. He hasn’t made you come yet because he doesn’t want Yoongi to ever hear the sound of you coming undone, but now he’s accidentally heard you two declare your love for the first time: Taehyung won’t allow himself, or you, to share anymore with him.

Taehyung’s hips still, “We don’t want to get caught,” he hisses, kissing your neck, “Let’s get back to our room and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life,” he promises.

“You always do,” you smile, pulling your clothes back on as he hurries you and you follow him from the hut as he declares his love for you again and again.

In his stall, Yoongi grits his teeth, embarrassed to find himself hard. He ignores the tears that have started to track down his cheeks.

“There are too many famous people at this party,” hisses Dongyeon to you from the corner of his mouth.

“I know! I thought the first night was insane, but Jiho’s gone all out for this,” you whisper, drawing closer to him and together you discuss all the people you’ve seen and how weird it is for you both.  It’s then that your brother and Taehyung appear.

You smile at Taehyung; he’s breathtaking tonight: he’s in tight black jeans, a loose black and white printed shirt, his tousled hair held back by a black and white bandana.You could eat him alive and from the look in his eyes as he appraises you in the dress he picked and bought for you, the feeling is mutual.

“Guess who just arrived?” Jimin says excitedly, and speaks before either of you can guess, “Hwasa!”

Dongyeon rolls his eyes, “Is there anyone you don’t have a crush on, Jimin?”

Jimin grins, “Not really, but I like you the most,” he says sweetly, earning a huff, but nonetheless the colour in Dongyeon’s cheeks shows that he is mollified.

“Guess who she came with?” Jimin smiles, his attention back on you.

“I don’t know,” you laugh, humouring him.

He grins slyly, anticipating your reaction, before he grabs your elbows and almost shrieks, “Mino!”

You squeal in joy and grab both his forearms as you both jump about, “Oh my God!” you freak out, “I can’t cope. I wouldn’t know what to say…” 

“A fan then?” Taehyung deadpans, reminding you of his existence with an amused smile.

“I should say,” interrupts Zico, appearing and snaking his arm around your waist, “Come say hi,” he says, not giving you a choice as he leads you away, your fingers grazing against Taehyung’s as you pass him.

Left alone, Taehyung falls into conversation with Namjoon and Hobi who join them, Yoongi occupied behind the decks, doing his stint as DJ.

A little while later, Hwasa approaches Taehyung, “I hear you’re here with a date, Taehyung,” she teases, “I had to come see this rare sight for myself.”

He smiles, “Then prepare yourself, she’s not a date, she’s my girlfriend,” he beams, “I thought you were here with a date yourself? Where’s he?”

She punches him gently in the arm, “Good for you, man! My date isn’t a date or a boyfriend, just Song Minho, and he’s found someone he’s more interested in. He’s dancing with her now.”

“I doubt he’s found someone more interesting than you,” Taehyung says kindly, “and I can’t believe he’s hitting on someone when he came as your date,” he adds in friendly disbelief.

“No,” she grins, “Though I wouldn’t blame him because she’s hot, but no, she’s just a huge fan, with a boyfriend she’s crazy about, according to her. He’s dating someone anyway too. Look,” she indicates towards the dance floor that’s been made. At the edge, in animated conversation, stand you and Mino.

He nudges Hwasa, “She is really hot and really is crazy about her boyfriend,” he laughs.

Hwasa laughs, “Your girlfriend?” she grins, “Then he really never stood a chance! Zico said she’s some scientist genius though - how did you meet her?” she teases.

“Hey I did well in school, y’know,” he mock-protests, “She did better though - we’ve been friends since we were kids,” he says, smiling proudly.

“Oh Tae,” she says with genuine feeling, laying her hand on his arm, “is she the one? Your first love that you said you’d never get over?”

He nods his head happily and they move on to discuss other things, Taehyung’s eyes shifting occasionally to you as you and Mino take to the floor.

Yoongi watches you with Mino, then watches Taehyung standing a way off, taking with a group of people, including Hwasa, but his attention is constantly shifting to you. Yoongi smiles to himself, if Taehyung is nervous about you dancing with one of your favourite rappers, then why not give him a show? He changes his plans for the next track and instead plays Jessi’s ‘What Type of X’, knowing exactly the effect that it’ll have on you.

Taehyung watches you dance to Jessi with an undeniable stirring in his gut and a little lower too; he already knows what you can do with your hips from experience but watching you now is magnetic. Yoongi’s intentions fail though because Taehyung simply isn’t going to get jealous. He may have been jealous of what you and Yoongi have, but now that he knows you’re in love with him, he knows nobody can take you from him. He trusts you completely, right now anyone can see how hot you and Mino are together, but neither of you ever even comes close to touching the other, maintaining a respectful, and obvious, distance.

When the song ends, Mino and you make your way to the expanding group of people around Taehyung and you greet them all. Mino makes a point of inviting you and Taehyung together, to his exhibition which opens next month in Seoul before they end up in an involved conversation about art.

Later, when Namjoon has taken to the decks to autoplay chilled music to match the oncoming dawn, you sit with your head on your brother’s shoulder as he watches his boyfriend in animated drunken conversation with Hwasa, who is equally wasted.

Taehyung looks as exhausted as you feel, and the party is clearly winding down as the few of you who are left come to form a group.

“Hey Zi-a-co,” says Mino lazily, “Do you know who would really love to meet your friend here?” he smiles, nudging your foot with his toe, drawing a chuckle from you and a small huff from Jimin who’s started to doze off.

Zico smiles, “I know who you mean, I’ve thought it a bunch of times, but she hid in the toilets at a party once when I tried to introduce her to him,” and you blush in response.

Taehyung smiles, “Who?”

“Kwon Jiyong,” smiles Mino, “They’re really similar, they talk about the same things in the same way. They’d get on really well,”

Taehyung smiles, “Hmm, fantastic baby.”

Jimin, now fully awake, sings, “I wanna dance, dance, dance…” as you and Taehyung make the same moves from your seated position before you pause and smile at the confused expressions around you, “We used to go mad for that song as teenagers,” you laugh by way of explanation.

Mino laughs with you, “Then you must meet him!”

Jimin snorts, “If she can talk,” he says teasingly, turning his attention to Taehyung, “She called me and it was hilarious, ‘Ji, you have to help me,’” he giggles, imitating your voice.

He continues, “‘I’m trapped in the toilets because Woo Jiho wants me to say hi to G-Dragon and I can’t even fucking breathe!’, she was so flustered!” he laughs.

“Yes, yes,” you smile, laughing at yourself, “I was an idiot and Jiho had to lure me back out and promise he wouldn’t make me say hi.”

Mino smiles, nudging Yoongi who sits silently beside him, “We’ll all go to dinner sometime in Seoul so you don’t have to face the big bad dragon alone,” he laughs.

“Who’s actually a sweetie,” smiles Hwasa kindly, while Yoongi just nods.

You try to catch Yoongi’s eye, but without success. Since he text you that time and got back in contact things haven’t quite been the same with you and him. You’re friendly again but he seems keen to keep you at arm’s length, preferring to see you and talk to you when other people are around. He never texts you at night or the early morning anymore. It makes you sad, but after ages pondering on it you conclude that he just doesn’t want to be that close with you. 

You accept that you may never understand what he meant that night on the windy street and you reason that he maybe only gave you so much time because he worried for you when you were so caught up with your mother’s illness and immediate recovery. Then, when it was done and she was a little better, and you had Taehyung to support you, he felt he could step back. You wish it wasn’t the case as you formed a kinship with him that felt deep to you, but you conclude that if this is all Yoongi wants to offer you then you’ll be content to take it.

Still, he has been unusually quiet since last night and it hurts you that you’re no longer close enough to enquire why. You’re not even aware that you’re watching him so closely until your eyes meet and he holds your gaze, his expression is unreadable for moments as he does his slow, cat-blinks that you love so much. Eventually, as he sees the concern swimming in your eyes, his soften in reply and you smile gently at each other before Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you from your reverie.

“The sun’s rising,” he says to the group, prompting Namjoon to start singing 4 o’clock and Yoongi immediately looks away from you; a painful tug in your chest suggests he pulls a little of your heart with him.

Your brother locks his arm with yours, “Let’s go to the beach and watch it,” he grins.

The sun is a hazy, dancing orange orb on the horizon, obscured by the rolling waves of the sea and the haze from surface; the sky is already a soft, tangerine orange in a rising tide of it’s own above it, pushing the inky shades of blue up and out, like a stage curtain.

You sit on the cold sand, but it doesn’t bother you as you curl your feet, tired from dancing, into the soft, wet grains enjoying the soothing relief. You don’t feel the chill as you’re warmed by your brother’s body pressed to you on one side and Taehyung’s on the other, your arms linked through theirs.

“Hey boys,” you say softly and they both rest their heads on your shoulders, “I really fucking love you two,” you say sentimentally.

“I love you two silly arses too,” giggles Jimin, “You’re my soulmates,”

“I love you both, too,” Taehyung chimes in, “More than anything,” and he turns his face to kiss your shoulder.

The other side of Jimin, Dongyeon smiles as does Hobi, the other side of Taehyung. The line of you all then sit in silence as the dark blue transmutes into paleness, and the fiery orange glow settles to a softer yellow than nonetheless spreads warmth over your faces. 

Just as light pours into the sky, your heart floods with contentment, the warmth rising to all but the darkest corners where the tide can only lap at the edges. That’s where you keep the things you wish to ignore: your worries about your mother; the conversation with her on Jeju; the way you feel when Yoongi looks into your eyes; all things you refuse to think about.

“I’m so grateful we got a driver rather than bringing ourselves,” Hobi moans, stretching in the seat, “I am so fucking tired,” he whines.

Namjoon smiles, “You went to bed early though?”

He looks askance, wordlessly gesturing towards Yoongi, who stares outside the window, “I just didn’t sleep well,” he says cagily.

Namjoon frowns, but Yoongi, who has been listening, interrupts them, “He’s trying to avoid saying that he was in the room next to Kim Taehyung and -,” his voice trails off, not able to say your name.

Hobi takes the hint, “His voice really carries, just listening to him growling and, uh, other stuff, was exhausting,”

Namjoon decides to ignore the hint, “Can we stop dancing around this shit and talk about what the fuck is going on with you and her, Yoongi?”

“Nothing is going on,” Yoongi replies coldly.

“Do you ‘like’ like her?” Namjoon presses.

Yoongi scoffs, “What are we? School kids? She’s a friend. We’re friends. Am I attracted to her? Yes, of course I am, but she’s with Taehyung for now so it doesn’t matter”

“What does ‘for now’ mean, exactly?” asks Hobi, picking up on the tiny emphasis.

Yoongi finally tears his stare from the window and regards his friends calmly and evenly, as though he was describing the weather, “She and I are good friends, I know her well now and I know what she’s like. The longer I’m forced to spend with Kim Taehyung, the more I understand him too. He’s just like Jimin describes.”

”Explain more,” Hobi prompts.

Yoongi sighs, “I just don’t think they’re well-suited: he wants a ring on her finger, the perfect family with a bunch of kids; she has a career, a whole life in England, neither of which I think she wants to give up. Sooner or later, it’ll come to an end without anyone needing to interfere.”

“And you’ll be waiting?” says Namjoon, keeping his voice steady. He likes Taehyung and he doesn’t want to think that his new friend, who has obviously given you his heart completely, might end up getting it thrown back at his feet.

“Yes,” Yoongi replies simply, returning his gaze to the changing landscape beyond the glass of the car window.

“I’ll never get used to the size of this city,” you say, a little awestruck as you gaze over the night skyline, one hand on the railing, the other holding the stem of your champagne glass.

A strong arm wraps around you, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he shares your view, “It’s massive, I know,” he smiles, “it’s beautiful too - though I miss the stars,” he says as he looks up at the night sky.

You turn your face and kiss his cheek, “Yeah, me too. But I guess we can’t live in the middle of nowhere yet though.”

You notice his smile falter momentarily, but then it’s back in place, “We’re tied to the city for now,” is all he can offer before a gentle cough draws you both back to the table, where dessert has just been served, you smile and thank the waiter as Taehyung takes your arm and walks you back to the table and away from the edge, in more ways than one.

The night has been magical, after the time at the beach you’ve come to Seoul for a few days so Taehyung can share his home with you and it’s as lavish as you’d expect. The scale of everything is a little much to take in even if it is all tasteful: the huge canvasses on the walls, the massive mirror outside his apartment adjacent to his private elevator, the couch that could sit at least a dozen people. It’s all a little overwhelming.

Tonight’s date has probably been the most overwhelming of all the moments so far; a private gallery visit this evening, just the two of you and the curator and now, a private catered dinner on it’s rooftop, surrounded by lights and sculpture and that breathtaking city view.

Taehyung smiles at you as he teases his lips with his dessert spoon, “I’d planned on telling you that I loved you here tonight,” he chuckles softly, “But I guess you beat me to it.”

You giggle, “I think you’ve got me beat on location, timing and overall romance though.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a wicked grin, “But I was really enjoying myself at the time.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile falls when you see how serious his expression now is - that unreadable face he’s so good at that freezes you,  “Is everything ok, Tae?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, using his deeper voice, “You do know that, don’t you?” 

“That you love me?” you check as he gives you a small nod, his gaze unrelenting and you feel exposed beneath it, “I think so.”

He reaches for your hand and encloses it in his much larger one, his fingers stroking your wrist, “I am so fucking in love with you that it terrifies me. I don’t have any control over my heart now, my happiness, my life, it’s all in your hands now. This is it for me; you’re it. You are everything to me and I need to know if it’s the same for you.”

You breathe and try to still yourself, though you feel panic rising through your body.

“You don’t,” he whispers, reading your nervous expression.

“No, no, Tae,” you rush to reassure him, clasping tightly on to his hand as he tries to withdraw from your grasp, “I’m not as fearless as you, I can’t help it. I’ve spent so long guarding my heart that this is a big step for me, but I do love you, and only you baby. I don’t want anything else but us.”

“You’re committed to me and to us being together?” he presses.

“Yes,” you say quickly, “yes, completely.”

He smiles, relieved, “That’s all I need.”

As soon as you separate from the driver and are in Taehyung’s elevator alone he’s on you, his hands pulling at your clothes, his hot breath and fervent kisses all over your skin as he ruts against you like a dog in heat.

When your reach his floor you’re both breathless, giddy and panting. He pulls you behind him but you stop him as he tries to key in his door code, pushing him back against the wall beside him, hands fisted into his coat, as you kiss his neck. 

You shrug your own coat off and place it at his feet to cushion your knees: you know he loves it when you blow him, and the sounds he makes are almost enough to get you off too, making you drip for him. You know that here, though it is a private hallway, carries a small risk of being caught, and you know that will turn him on, as will watching back the private CCTV footage. You know the thing that will get him off most though is seeing his reflection in the enormous mirror opposite.

You’re right, when he finally comes down your throat it’s with a hoarse, needy moan and you’re satisfied at making him come undone, smirking up at him as you wipe the spit and cum from the corners of your mouth as he helps you to your feet, wobbling slightly on his weak knees.

“Fuck,” he moans, as he rests his sweaty forehead against you, “You’re so fucking good at that, baby girl.”

You smile as he wraps an arm about you, leaning into you as he keys in his code, “I’m going to eat you out until you scream,” he laughs, pulling you through the door with him and yanking you towards the bedroom.

Minutes later, you’re naked on his bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders as his tongue licks a long, wide path through your folds and you arch your back wantonly, making him pause to grab your breasts that have been thrust upwards in an invitation he can’t ignore, before he pulls you by the thighs back to his eager mouth. With awful, teasing gentleness his tongue gently circles your hole before pushing in, lapping at your walls, his nose rubbing against your clit causing you to moan sinfully for him. 

After several minutes of the desperate torture, your hands in his hair, your hips bucking into his face he suddenly, and without warning, wraps his lips over your clit and sucks hard whilst sliding two fingers into your leaking hole, pumping you with smooth, curving strokes, causing you to cry out in desperate pleasure. He quickly sets a rhythm of fingering, sucking, licking and nibbling that causes your thighs to tremble and you feel the smirk of his lips against you when you whimper that you’re close.

He eases his attentions, sucking more gently and fingering you slower as he fucks you through your orgasm. You shudder and pant and he chuckles to himself as he watches you come undone. Lying beside you as you come down, he admires how you shiver, the film of sweat covering you turning cold, and he leans over to suck your nipple into his mouth. He uses both hand to fondle your breasts, his expert mouth seemingly untiring as he moves back between your thighs, kissing and sucking at your breasts, leaving a trail of messy purple bruises as he paints a canvas of his desire over you.

“Tae,” you moan hungrily, and he smiles as he slides up you, capturing your lips in a kiss at the exact same time as he guides his throbbing, hard cock inside you, surprising you and making you whimper into his mouth.

Taehyung has fucked you countless times now, in countless positions, but never before like this. He supports himself above you, kissing you constantly as he maintains slow, deep thrusts into you,  fucking you for what feels like hours. It’s the most loving sex you’ve ever had, it feels as though your bodies have melted one into the other as you breath as one, your hips rolling to meet each thrust of his, taking his breath into your mouth and exhaling it back into his.

In this moment, your two bodies feel like the only things that exist: Taehyung surrounds you, his thick cock fills you, his musky, spiced smell envelopes you, his strong, steady heartbeat pounds against your chest. Everything is him and as you gaze adoringly into his eyes, the whole universe seems to be hung in those dark pupils, wide with pleasure and love. 

“I’m gonna come,” he whines, painfully.

“Then do it baby,” you say breathlessly, “Come in me.”

“I want this to last forever,” he groans lowly, with another deep roll of his hips.

“Let go, Tae; I’m not going anywhere,” you smile tiredly, and then his mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing against yours as he breathes raggedly, one hand moving in between you, moving against your clit in every way you crave and need: he’s so familiar now with your body that he knows exactly how to make it sing for him.

You come undone beneath him, clinging to his biceps as you moan for him, your cries almost a wail. The tightening and spasming of your walls around him is enough and he slams into you as deeply as he can before his hips jerk and he finds his release with a groan. He continues to thrust shallowly within you, enjoying your spasming walls and milking each moment of pleasure he can from his high as your tight walls milk him.

Finally, he stills and almost collapses on top of you, being careful not to crush you beneath his weight. He pants shallowly against you and you can feel his tired smile against the soft flesh of your breast as you brush his sweaty hair from his face, kissing the top of his head and stroking his back. 

“I really fucking love you,” you say as he shifts off you, allowing you to go to bathroom to clean yourself up. You expect to find him passed out when you return to the bedroom, but he’s sat up, waiting for you, a broad smile on his face, his arms stretched out waiting to welcome you into his embrace.

 You wake several hours later to find yourself unusually alone in bed; you’re sprawled on your front and your core still aches from your last exertions, a tightness running through your thighs and hips. You run a hand out over the crumpled sheets beside you and find Taehyung’s still warm, it’s then that you hear the toilet flush and he appears, and you feel him enter the room and climb back into bed as his weight shifts it and he comes to place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades.

“Hey baby,” he mumbles, kissing your back again, trailing his lips down your spine, enjoying the shiver it draws from you.

“Hey,” you say sleepily, but you know there’s no point, especially when you feel his cock twitch against your ass.

“Want it like this,” he groans into your shoulder, his large hands splayed at your waist, pushing you into the mattress.

“Need to warm up,” you mumble out, and he flips you onto your back, his fingers playing at your folds as he kisses you hungrily, unconcerned about stale breath or anything other than getting you wet and needy for him. As ever, it works, and soon your cunt squelches around his long fingers and he’s flipping you back over, pressing you into the mattress. 

He slides his rock hard length between your folds, using the position and his weight to fuck you with all the force he can muster; his strokes are as slow and measured as last night’s, but whereas the aim then was to draw it all out into an eternity of intimate bliss, his mission now is to get as deep inside you as he can, to feel the press of his balls against your ass, and to have absolute control over your body. 

There’s nothing you can contribute other than a soundtrack of lewd noises of your desire and pleasure, you can’t even raise your ass or push back against his thrusts and he uses his weight to pin you in place, coupled with one hand pushing down on your hip, the other on the small of your back as he fucks you at his leisure. 

You’re surprised by how much you get off on being used like this, the crumpled duvet beneath you rubbing against your clit with each one of his forceful driving thrusts as you near your high. Not for the first time, Taehyung seems to read your mind, leaning over you to hiss in your ear.

“Are you getting off on being used, baby?” he teases.

You blush but mumble out, “Maybe.”

Taehyung’s voice seems to drop several octaves, “Oh, my sweet girl wants to be used like she’s my cumslut, eh?” and he chuckles as you moan desperately.

He smiles, he loves dirty talk and he loves that you want to play along, “What do you want, baby? Want me to rail you like a whore?”

“Fuck, yes,” you moan, “Take me.”

It’s then he realises what you’re getting off on, its not being used, it’s finally being able to surrender control. It’s fine with him, he wants the control, he wants all of it, all of you and he’s happy to show you what giving yourself to him means.

“Yeah, you’ll take what I give you, you fucking gorgeous girl. I’m going to fuck your perfect cunt full of my cum and you’re going to take it like the good girl you are, aren’t you?” he growls, his voice almost shaking with desire.

“Yes, Tae, yes, I’ll be good for you,” you moan desperately.

“Yeah you will,” he says, snapping his hips into you with barely restrained violence, setting a new rapid pace as he seems intent on reaching places inside you that have never been reached by a cock before, hammering into you unrelentingly, causing you to cry out as your orgasm takes you by surprise.

“Fuck,” he groans as you spasming walls clench around him, making the drag and thrust of his movements more of a strain, but he steels himself and only fucks you harder as your eyes begin to water at the overstimulation. Taehyung is too far gone to care, he pants, grunts and snorts like a bull over you as he fucks you like a man possessed, only to pause for moments to edge himself, as you’re wracked with orgasm after orgasm, all smaller than the first, but all unbearably intense as he pistons into you through each one.

Above you, Taehyung is in seventh heaven, desperately chasing his high now. He could be given a lifetime and he would never be able to fully describe the feeling of being inside you: the velvet warmth; the barely-yielding tightness he feels at the first thrust; the feeling of stretching you out and your tight walls squeezing him like your body was tailor made to fit about his; the agonising joy of the thrills that run through you when you cum. He loves it all, the feel of you, the taste of you, the noises you make and the way you want him too, the force of your desire and hunger for him in response to his greed for you. 

Right now, as he drives you into the mattress, watching your ass shake with his thrusts, your hands fisting the sheets beside your head and your desperate panting he wants nothing more than to paint the smooth expanse of your back with his cum, but he can’t bring himself to pull out. He’s not once failed to come inside you, the unrestrained pleasure of fucking his cum into you as he rides out his high is unmatched for him. 

He’s never taken the risk of fucking anyone raw before, has never really wanted to, but seeing your cunt leak with his cum is one of the hottest sights he’s seen and it’s a high he can’t, and won’t, deny himself. He’s never before felt so proprietary, but he’s convinced that you two are made for each other and that your cunt belongs to him.

Beneath him, you can only spasm weakly now, spent with the force of your orgasms and exhausted from the overstimulation. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, “you’ve taken my hard cock so well baby, you’ve been such a good girl, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” he preens, his voice seductive while his hips maintain their assault.

“Fill me up, Taehyung, please. Please, come for me,” you stutter out weakly.

“Your wish is my command baby,” he says softly, but his actions are anything but as he loses all control in his chase for his own high; all rhythm and restraint are abandoned as he pumps into you, driven by a mad need to orgasm, hitting you so deeply in so many good places that all you can do is scream for him and cry out. 

Finally, after edging himself painfully throughout this fuck, he gives in to his approaching orgasm and it hits him with the force of a juggernaut; he sees stars and his hearing fades out, all sensation contained in the glorious feel of release as he shoots his cum deep inside your hot, throbbing cunt. His mind goes blank and he collapses on to your back, pushing his cock deep inside you to plug his cum in you. After a few seconds, his mind clears and he tunes into your gentle protests of being crushed and rolls off you, pushing his sweaty hair from his eyes.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking in love with you,” he laughs lazily as you lift your exhausted body from the bed.

You smile, and kiss the tip of his nose as his eyelids flutter shut, giving in to the sleep that’s desperate to claim him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, freshly showered and dressed, you eat breakfast with Taehyung at his large dining table, the warm golden light of morning reflecting over the surfaces.

You’re chattering away mindlessly together about your plans for the day; he’s going into his agency, you are heading to the lab at SNU.  He takes your hand and toys gently with your fingers before he casually says, “So, love of my life, maybe you could talk to them about making your position there full time so you can move to Seoul.”

You choke slightly on your coffee, “What?” you splutter, “Move to Seoul?”

He smiles at you as though you’ve clearly misunderstood something obvious, “Baby, we’re together now, we’re committed to each other. We can talk about the details, but I just assumed moving to Seoul permanently and doing your work here would make the most sense. With my career and the agency, it’s not like I can move to London,” he says as it’s as though it’s plain as day, a relaxed, gentle smile on his face.

You force your face into a soft smile back as you watch the golden light reflect in his warm eyes as the calm peacefulness of the morning shatters within you. For a moment, in that rising sun a line from Robert Frost surfaces up from your subconscious to trouble your waking mind: So dawn goes down into day, Nothing gold can stay.

Nothing Taehyung has said is a lie: he can’t move to London and only last night, your hands clinging together on that rooftop, you reassured him that you were committed to him. So why do his words knock the air from your lungs?

“It’s ok, we’ve got time to work out the details before you’re expected back in London,” he says in that same relaxed tone, though it sounds to you as though his voice is echoing through water.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, fighting to keep a neutral tone to your voice as dread and panic rises through your suddenly taut body, “There’s a lot to think about.”

The rest of the morning passes in a haze. You share a brief kiss with Taehyung when he drops you at SNU, moving in a daze until you’re in the building. Then, away from Taehyung, you’re hit by a wave of clarity: you keep your meeting at SNU brief and rearrange plans with Zico’s dad, cutting your visit short. Before long, you’re on your way back to Taehyung’s place, and within the space of a few hours, with plenty of time to spare before he gets home, your bag is packed and you’re boarding the train at Seoul station, heading back to Daegu.

You call Taehyung, but he doesn’t answer and you know he must be in meetings. You leave a long voicemail explaining that you’re in shock and overwhelmed by the decisions to be made and so you just need some breathing time, a few days to yourself, to get your head around what is happening and what you are going to do. 

You briefly text your brother and parents too, giving them a watered down version, only explaining that you are coming home early, alone, that you and Taehyung are fine, but you have some important work decisions to make that need your complete focus. 

Silencing your phone, you rest your head against the window and let the tears flow freely down your face, just as you did, all those years ago when you fled on a plane to London.

Across the table, Yoongi watches Jimin’s face knot in worry, while Hobi sips his coffee and shares a concerned look with him as Jimin’s frown deepens.

“Something up?” Hobi asks.

Jimin forces a relaxed expression on his face, “No, it’s nothing. Just my sister coming home early, that’s all. She’s wondering if I can pick her up at the train station.”

“Oh,” says Namjoon, the final member of their brunch date, “Taehyung’s driver isn’t bringing them?”

“No,” Jimin says, and despite himself the concern creeps into his voice, “She has work stuff so it’s just her. She gets in at three, isn’t that when we have class?” he asks Hobi distractedly.

“Yeah, we’re leading the contemporary session, remember?” Hobi volunteers.

“It’s cool,” Yoongi interrupts, “I can get her, just tell her to wait outside the station and the pick up point.”

Jimin smiles at him in relief as he texts you back, “Thanks man, that’s a big help,” he says to Yoongi as he texts. In his distraction, he fails to mention to you that it won’t be him collecting you.

Hobi takes another sip of his coffee, this time deliberately long, watching Yoongi’s impassive face and thinking to himself that whatever his friend has planned is probably not a wise idea. Across the table, his eyes raise to meet Namjoon’s and he finds the same concern written there.

Chapter Text

Up over the the verdant lawn, skittering over the white pebbles of the pathway, up and fluttering through the outstretched fingers of the small boy, and, finally, skimming over the salt and pepper hair of the woman sipping tea, the single petal of pear blossom comes to rest on a fuschia petal of a camellia bush. 

Moments later it is pinned in place by the feather-light body of a swallowtail butterfly, itself coming to rest after flitting between the bright flowers, drawn to the sweet nectar of the violently pink camellia, the white and blues of its colouring thrown suddenly into sharp contrast.

The sight draws a smile to the tea-drinker’s face and she draws Minjun’s attention with a small wave. The little boy follows her pointed finger and squeals in excitement to his mother, who hold him in her arms, smiling, “Yes,” she says with warmth, “It’s a butterfly,”

“Butterfly,” he repeats slowly, rolling the word on his tongue, frowning to get the sounds out in the right order as he learns his way around words.

“Very good,” your mother smiles, and the little boy beams with pride, before her attention is then called away by her nurse, Dohyun, striding along the pathway. 

Beside your mother, Dohyun’s wife smiles broadly at him and the little boy gives another squeal of delight as he calls out for his father. Dohyun swoops the little boy into his arms before greeting his patient, a phone in his outstretched hand.

“It’s the tenth missed call from Mrs Kim,” he says apologetically.

Your mother smiles apologetically at Dohyun’s wife, “Finish the tea and cake, my dear, I’ll have to go and speak with her; she’s a lovely woman, but persistent.”

Minseo nods in understanding, knowing that Mrs Kim was indeed a lovely woman, but incredibly determined, as she’d witnessed in Jeju. She’d observed how the matriarch held the final say in the family, deferred to by all except her husband, with whom she seemed to have an equal, respectful relationship that Minseo admired.

Minseo had been a little overawed at the start of the holiday, she’d assumed that she and Dohyun would be treated as staff and that the whole thing would be an awkward affair, instead it turned out to be a wonderful holiday. Yes, Kim Taehyung was impossibly handsome and she was starstruck, but he was also sweet and funny, and both families were kind, warm and down-to-earth. She’d made fast friends with the other young mothers there and had been treated as one of them. 

A hopeless romantic, she’d instantly been swept up in the warmth that overspilled between you and Taehyung, and she hoped, for both your sakes, that it would flourish into something more. Romantic or not though, Minseo is a shrewd woman, and so she’d quickly discerned that Taehyung’s family seemed as invested in the relationship as she was, whereas your own seemed more reserved. 

She shared her theories with Dohyun, who agreed, yet both were in equal agreement that your sagacious parents, especially your mother, were sure to be right and so they formed the wise opinion that it would be best for them to not interfere and so anytime either was asked by a Kim to comment on how sweet you Taehyung seemed, or anything else, they both remained polite and non-committal.

Taking the phone from Dohyun, your mother indicates for him to take her seat. She wanders a short distance along the flower-lined verge before coming to rest under the shade of a pear tree, its white blossoms buzzing with insects. She looks over the picturesque view in front of her, a large, ornamental pond, stocked with koi and water lilies; a scene begging to be painted, if one had the talent.

As she calls her long-time friend back, she thinks of the conversations they have shared over the years until the wedge that came between them al those summers ago, when she was so evasive with her about the reason for your sudden departure for England and why both you and your brother were not speaking with Taehyung.

Your mother pled ignorance at the time, falsely reassuring Taehyung’s mother that it was probably nothing other than a childish spat between friends, and would be quick to resolve. Luckily, at least in the case of Jimin and Taehyung, it had been true, the two boys reconnecting in Seoul under the firm understanding that Taehyung would have to keep your name out of his mouth, or Jimin would punch him in it.

The phone is answered almost immediately when she dials and several minutes of pleasantries ensue, checking on the health and wellbeing of each other and each others’ families, reminiscing about the holiday and all the other expected and usual topics that everyone must go through for some universal reason nobody quite understands.

“Yes, Jeju was lovely,” Taehyung’s mother says, before her voice drops as though she is about to divulge a secret, “Though it gave me hope that we might be hearing those high bells again soon,” she says laughingly.

“Sorry, I don’t follow,” your mother asks in confusion, “High bells?”

Taehyung’s mother continues to laugh warmly, “Yes, yes, have I got it wrong? At the end of your wedding, the bells rang at the church, as I recall.”

“Ah, yes,” says your mother in understanding, “The sound of wedding bells is what we say,” she explains.

“Of course,” confirms Taehyung’s mother, “So I expect we’ll be hearing the sound of wedding bells soon,” she says, her voice tinged with repressed excitement.

Your mother’s confusion clears, she knows precisely what is meant, but decides to dissimulate nonetheless, “Really? For whom?” she asks in a neutral tone, careful to keep her tone light and airy so as not to incur any offence.

“Oh, come now,” Taehyung’s mother insists, “Between your sweet girl and my Taehyung, of course! You saw them together on Jeju as much as I did, they’re love’s young dream for goodness’ sake! They are so in love!”

Your mother only hums, acknowledging the words but not indicating any form of agreement or disagreement, besides, she knows her friend isn’t done talking.

“It’s like my dear husband always says,” she continues, “Our Taehyung is such a romantic boy, it has always been your girl for him, we think. Perhaps ever since he realised when he lost her how much he cared, the silly, silly boy. I suppose it’s true that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone! I can’t imagine now that he’s got her back - finally - that he’ll ever let her go again.” 

Your mother decides to evade the talk about marriage by picking up on the revelation that her friend knew all about what had happened, “What do you mean ‘when he lost her?’” she asks.

“Hasn’t she told you yet? I’m sure she must have! Well, anyway, Taehyung told us after she came back to Daegu and they reconnected about everything that happened before she went away to England that summer and he moved to Seoul. He told us that he’d upset her, and behaved badly and had broken her heart. It was then that he realised that the little crush he thought he had on her was actually something a lot deeper,” Taehyung’s mother pauses, lost in thought for a moment before she continues.

“You know, I think he might have been waiting for her all these years! Isn’t it romantic?” she concludes, her excitement no longer concealed.

“Yes, very,” your mother says, trying to ensure she sounds enthusiastic, “They are still young though, and they also have their careers to think of, we’ll have to be careful not to pressure them,” she finishes cautiously, implying that she too approves of the theoretical union.

“Naturally,” Taehyung’s mother agrees, “But I don’t think that will stand in their way. Very little ever stands in our boy’s way for long!” she laughs.

Your mother forces a laugh in response, “Yes, he’s a very determined and successful young man, you must be proud to have him as a son,” she says, knowing precisely what to say to placate her friend.

As Taehyung’s mother confirms her pride, your’s indicates that she must end the call, claiming she needs to attend physical therapy; the call ends with Taehyung’s mother feeling cheerful and no less convinced of an impending engagement. Your mother, on the other hand, feels unease settle in her heart, icy fingers tightening their grip, just as on Jeju.

She thinks of all you’ve achieved so far in your career, how well it has gone for you and how much hope there is for your future where you’re based in London, far more than exists for you in either Seoul or Daegu. She knows that here, away from the network you’ve built, you would be certainly overlooked for promotion, having no immediate connections, being a foreigner and sadly, also being a woman. That’s not to say the opportunities wouldn’t be there for someone of your capability and talent, but they won’t be as plentiful as in London, nor as obviously laid beneath your feet as they are now.

Ultimately, she wonders how much you’d sacrifice for a life with Taehyung, and how much else you might lose without realising it. She knows the life of a wife of a star is an enviable one for many women, and she does not judge those who aspire to that, but she knows you, her daughter, and she’s certain that it’s not the life you’d choose, nor want, for yourself.

Finally, as she gazes out on the water, her eyes drawn to the gentle ripples caused by the soft white blossoms that fall from above her like tiny bridal veils onto the still surface of the water, she thinks of all she had to say to you that night in Jeju, all the things she asked you that you could not answer, all the things she told you that you did not want to hear and she worries for you.

Your mother possesses a wisdom that you don’t yet have; whilst you repress and push away all your worries, afraid of your feelings and of dealing with them, she tackles her concerns head-on. She knows she cannot reach you yet, that you’re not ready to discuss these things with her, yet she knows something must be done. She knows she needs more information; there is more data to be collected and collated. Forming a plan of action, she pulls another contact from her phone and waits as it rings.

“Hello, it’s wonderful to hear from you,” greets the voice at the other end of the phone, “Are you checking up on me again, Boss?”

She laughs warmly, “You don’t have to call me boss, Yoo! And no, I’m out checking up on you - I have absolute faith in you, and the team and, of course, my daughter,” she says.

“As you should,” he asserts with both pride and warmth in his voice, “It’s going very well and your daughter has been an excellent addition, not least for how she’s brought Dongyeon along - he’s doing so well now.”

The exchange notes about the lab for a while, and discuss your mother’s wellbeing as well as his, and his family’s, before your mother finally reaches the point.

“I am calling with an ulterior motive, of course,” your mother laughs.

“Yes, I guessed,” he replies, clearly amused, “Go ahead.”

“I need a favour, and it’s a rather strange one but easy enough, if you’re game? I need the help of someone in Daegu, specifically, someone discreet,” she says.

“Sounds intriguing,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “As long as it’s not illegal or unethical, I’m in. What do you need?” he offers.

Your mother smiles broadly, “Excellent, get a pen,” she instructs, “This is what I need you to do…”

When he hangs up the phone, Gong Yoo looks at the notepad in front of him, the instructions there confuse him, as does the need for secrecy, but such is his respect for your mother he doesn’t question it.

There’s a soft knock at his door, through the glass he sees Dongyeon clutching a lab report. He tears the page from the pad, folding it in half and tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt, out of sight and safe, before calling Dongyeon in.

“I’m not disturbing you am I, sir?” asks Dongyeon, “I just needed to ask a few quick questions,”

Yoo smiles kindly, “No problem at all, but they really must be quick,” he says, gesturing for Dongyeon to take a seat, “I’m afraid I have quite an important errand to run.”

Chapter Text

“Where is my brother?” you ask, puzzled, before you remember your manners; you are more like Jimin than you realise sometimes.

“Sorry, that was rude, it’s just that I was just expecting Jimin,” you explain weakly, each word feels like a massive effort, you’re exhausted from crying the whole journey home and from bearing the weight of your aching heart which seems to get heavier with every breath that you take.

“He had other plans, so I offered,” he says quickly, brushing over your rudeness, “We didn’t realise that something was wrong or else he would have come,” he lies.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, a little too rapidly to be believable, even as you speak the words you realise precisely how stupid the assertion is; you saw your reflection in the train window and you know you must look terrible. Though it’s not like you care; strangely at the moment you don’t really seem to care about anything. Your mind, in its usual way, seeks to protect you and your heart and simply disconnects from your feelings: it’s not that you feel fine, no, you feel agonisingly sad, but in a numb, distant kind of way and the world feels slightly blurry, as though you’re viewing it through fogged glass.

Yoongi is tactful enough not to contradict you, but as he takes your luggage from you and puts it in his car boot, he asks gently, “Has Kim Taehyung done something?”

You don’t seem to care about rudeness now as you give a terse reply, “Of course not. Taehyung would never!” As defensiveness streams out from you, your look is fierce.

Yoongi simply hums, realising from your reaction that it’s more likely that you are the reason of your own unhappiness and that it will do no good to probe further. He also realises, with a heavy weight in his own heart, how in love with Taehyung you actually are.

As you climb in the car beside him, he looks at you as he places his hand on the gear stick. “Where should I take you? I’ll drive you anywhere you want, even if that’s back to Seoul,” he says with a knowing look.

Your puffy eyes narrow as you appraise him, then you give a sigh that speaks of your capitulation, “Ok, we both know you’re not stupid, Yoongi, so I might as well admit that I have behaved badly and I’ve basically run away from Seoul. I am a massive fucking coward, which you already know from my brother’s accusations. I can’t go back, not yet,” you say, sounding tired with yourself.

“I understand, and I’m not going to judge,” he offers generously, “So where?”

“If you were really prepared to drive to Seoul, then maybe I could ask you to drive me a bit further than my house? Do you think you might be able to take me to the place my mother is staying at? I know it’s a bit of a drive, but I really want to see my Mum,” you ask softly, your voice cracking.

“Sure, it’s not that far,” he says, “Let’s go.”

You’re just as sharp as he is though, and his words provoke you instantly, “How do you know that?” you ask.

“I’ve been there before visiting relatives,” he says, “I knew the place when Jimin mentioned it,” he lies again, just as smoothly.

You nod contentedly as he pulls out of his parking space, “I understand, thank you,” you intone as he drives away.

It’s not a lie that he’s been to the convalescent home; the lie is that he’d been there for the first time mere weeks ago and it wasn’t to see family, but to see your mother.

Weeks before (after Jeju, but before Taehyung’s meeting with Namjoon and Yoongi):

A tall, handsome man who looks to be in his early 40s stands at the reception desk of Yoongi’s studio. His manner is relaxed and calm as he speaks politely with the receptionist.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment,” he is saying apologetically, “but I would like to see Mr Min Yoongi please, if possible, or to make an appointment with him.”

Yoongi catches the conversation as he enters the building, “I’m Min Yoongi,” he states simply in a low voice, “How can I help you?”

The man smiles at the receptionist and gives a nod of thanks before turning his attention to Yoongi, “Mr Min Yoongi, a pleasure to meet you. I am Dr Gong Yoo and I’d like to speak with you about a private matter. I’ve come on behalf of a colleague of mine at the University, I believe you know her daughter, and her son?” he says, giving your names.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Yes, I do,” he confirms, gesturing for Dr Gong to follow him, “Let’s take this conversation somewhere more private then.”

Within the meeting room where once Yoongi had sat eating the cake you sent him with his friends, Dr Gong explains that your mother has been in touch with him, asking him to find Min Yoongi to ask him to take the time to visit her at the convalescent home.

“I know it’s strange request,” the academic man smiles slightly awkwardly, “but she seemed to think you wouldn’t mind.” 

Yoongi detects the apologetic tone that creeps into Gong Yoo’s voice, “She was insistent and fairly certain you’d agree. She would also like the meeting to be discreet,” he says confidentially, “and for her daughter and son not to be made aware.”

Yoongi continues to remain silent, offering only small nods of understanding. 

“May I give you her contact details?” Dr Gong asks.

Yoongi nods again as he receives the card from the man, finally speaking, “Thank you for visiting, Dr Gong, and for carrying out this favour. I will get in touch with her today, and I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he smirks.

---

Yoongi admires the elegant layout of the whitewashed buildings of the convalescent home; the manicured lawns, meandering white gravelled pathways and the neat symmetry of the buildings lends the whole place a peaceful, relaxed air. He understands that this is a perfect place in which to recuperate.

After being signed in by attentive staff in starched white uniforms, he’s led to a patio, surrounded by verdant foliage, dappled in warm light. Sat at a small table, dressed in white linen, looking like some kind of serene oracle, sits a stately, attractive woman with intelligent eyes and thoughtful face. Immediately he knows her for your mother, recognising aspects of your face in the angles and forms of hers.

She smiles at him as he approaches behind the man that’s guided him, “Thank you, Dohyun,” she turns her attention to Yoongi as the nurse nods and departs, “So, Min Yoongi, I presume?” she says.

Yoongi nods and bows respectfully, greeting her back.

She smiles widely at him, her eyes, while clearly appraising him, are nonetheless kind and gentle, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you and I’m so grateful that you took my invitation to come and visit, I appreciate it’s quite the journey and that you’re a busy man.”

He shrugs he effort off and explains that he really doesn’t mind; as he speaks he realises that there’s no point lying to this woman, or trying to conceal anything, because she’s just as perceptive as you are, and so he’s honest, “Truthfully, I came because I was curious. I wondered why you would want to see me.”

She nods approvingly, “I’ll be frank then. We’ve just got back from a lovely time in Jeju with our friends, and while we were there, in paradise, surrounded by laughter, good food, beautiful scenery and good company, the happiest - by which I mean, the most excited, most animated and most alive - So, yes, the happiest that I saw my daughter was when she was talking about you.”

Yoongi blushes furiously under her direct stare, until he realises he’s expected to speak, “I see, well, we became quite close, I suppose, we have a lot in common,” he says meanderingly; he’s careful to use the past tense, ‘we became’, having cut you out of his life, he’s not sure he wants to admit that though, and so he is unsure of what the best thing to say is.

“Bullshit,” you mother interrupts, and he raises his wandering eyes to meet hers, surprised at her coarse language.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “I know my daughter has the mouth of a pirate, so don’t look so shocked at a bit of cursing,” she says, her words may be harsh, but her tone is light and teasing. 

God, she reminds him so much of you, he thinks with a pang in his heart. Was it the right thing to do? he wonders, To remove you from his life when it hurts as badly as this?

Your mother may give the impression she can read minds, though obviously she cannot, but she can correctly read an expression and she finds Yoongi’s face as open as book, the words clearly laid out for her to read: for whatever reason, when he thinks of you, it causes him a lot of pain. It doesn’t take a genius to make the leap as to what the cause may be.

“Shall I get to the point, Mr Min?” she asks, “Would you prefer the direct route or the polite route where you and I do a dance around the main point of this meeting?”

Yoongi offers her one of his genuine and rare gummy smiles as he rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, and he receives a broad, genuine smile from your mother in return, as well as a familiar, melodious laugh.

“Go for it,” he says, in mock defeat, opening his hands and offering his palms up.

She nods agreeably, “Let’s start with the most relevant question and take it from there then,” she says as though she’s approaching a scientific conundrum, to which he can only nod.

“Excellent,” she says, clapping her hands together and leaning towards him, fixing him in her penetrating gaze, “Tell me how long you’ve been in love with my daughter,” she begins with an inviting smile.

“Shall I put music on?” he asks gently, not looking at you but keeping his eyes on the road ahead and the busy traffic around you.

“Yes, please,” you say in a soft voice, almost as if the sadness in you has crushed it down into a feeble whisper.

“Anything in particular?” he asks.

“Anything you’ve been working on would be good,” you say, a slight lift in your voice, “I like your work, you know, both your tracks and the way you produce.”

You say the words so easily, so simply, as though you’re telling him you like how he cooks or something else equally meaningless and mundane. It’s almost flippant and he doesn’t understand how you can say it so casually when it means so much to him. His heart fills instantly at the words, threatening to overspill.

Wordlessly, he chooses some tracks of Hobi’s that he’s been working on that are finished and plays those, watching as you nod along. He knew they’d be a good choice, lively, upbeat, perfect for distracting you from your feelings.

The rest of the ride passes in a reasonably comfortable silence. Yoongi wants desperately to talk to you, but he knows now isn’t the time, you need support, not anything else and so he decides it’s better to just keep his mouth shut. It’s something he seems to be doing an increasing amount of these days, he thinks to himself as he navigates the forest roads.

When he finally pulls into the convalescent home, your parents, who you’d been keeping up to date on your journey, are waiting for you. 

You smile at Yoongi, “I’ll be right back, thank you for this,” you say as you stumble from the car in your eagerness to reach your parents, who pull you into a group hug. Yoongi notices though that you still seem to hold yourself back though, keen to hide the extent of your suffering.

He gets out of the car and waits, leaning against the hood, a polite distance away. When you break from the hug, you introduce Yoongi to your parents and both he and your mother put on a marvellously convincing show of being strangers. 

It’s then that you hug him, it’s a warm hug filled with affection and gratitude and he sighs gently, collapsing into it a little before he makes himself let you go, shooing you to leave with your father and brushing off your repeated thanks and compliments.

“I’m just going to thank this young man,” your mother says as your father guides you away, and you depart with no suspicion but only a final wave as your father takes you by the arm.

When you’re beyond sight, Yoongi’s attention is drawn back to your mother’s penetrating gaze as she evaluates him, “Thank you for bringing her, on behalf of both my children. If it had been Jimin I think it would have been a tougher journey for them - it’s a hard thing to be in the middle of your sister and best friend,” she says thoughtfully.

Yoongi nods, and moves to leave.

“One more thing, Min Yoongi,” she says, and he gives her his attention, “I know you’re eager and I know it seems that the finish line is within touching distance, but it’s not the right time to make your move.”

He smiles awkwardly, “No, I obviously know that she’s not ready to move on right now -” he begins before your mother interjects.

“Not right now and not for some time,” she asserts, stepping closer and laying her hand on his forearm, “Whether it suits us or not, it is simply a fact that she loves Taehyung. She needs time, because if you push her now, you could lose her, and even if you didn’t it would still be too soon and later, she may well curse you for having taken advantage of her vulnerability. It’s best to give her some space for now.”

Your mother is right in so many ways: it doesn’t suit Yoongi, not at all, and he doesn’t want to hear it; he knows you love Taehyung, for weeks he’s been haunted by the sound of your declaration to him as he fucked you; he also knows that making a move too soon would be disastrous.

With a small scowl, he acknowledges your mother’s wisdom, “I know you’re right,” he says grudgingly.

“Still sucks though, right?” she says kindly.

“Yeah,” he says, bidding her goodbye with a respectful bow, “It still sucks.”

Again, Yoongi does what he feels is best, and gives you the space and time he thinks you need over the coming weeks by leaving your messages unread and unanswered.

For weeks now you have lived in a frenzied dervish of activity, all your effort is channelled into your work and into avoiding Jimin and Taehyung. You simply work at the lab until you’re exhausted, spending several days a week sleeping on the couch of your mother’s office, and if you’re not there, then you’re at the convalescent home with your parents, only going to your house when you know your brother will be away so that you can get fresh clothing.

You do everything in your power not to think too much about Taehyung and the situation you’re in, and he is admirably, and heart-achingly, supportive of you. When you finally spoke to him after fleeing Seoul, he was understanding, apologetic for catching you unawares and springing his ideas on you, repeating over and over that he loves you and that you should take your time to get your thoughts in order: every word made the shame in your chest grow expansively and you torture yourself over what you’re doing to him.

In your absence, Jimin is there to support him, and he too offers no words of criticism to you; the conversation on Jeju with your mother echoes in his mind and he stays true to his word and keeps his position beside you, albeit silently for the time being as you avoid everything and everyone. 

It all feels startling easy: your brother gives you space, Taehyung accepts your need for distance, Yoongi seems to have lost interest in you again and has ignored your last few messages, only Zico checks in on you with any regularity. That omits Dongyeon though, who you still see daily at work.

As the weeks stretch on though, you too become a little too stretched, worn thin by exhaustion and fatigue.  You’ve been running a long race against the thoughts that seek to overwhelm you, and you can feel them now nipping at your heels. You know you’re on the edge, yet you seem powerless to do anything about it, instead, you doggedly stay the course, trudging on, too afraid to pause and look behind you.

Tonight, exhausted, you lay on your mothers bed as she sits up, crocheting a baby’s hat for the newly pregnant Sana as she and Taecyeon expand their family. You’re lying with your head in her lap in peaceful quiet, before your mother starts to share her thoughts with you.

“I know that you don’t want to face your problems right now,”she says softly, “and that’s fine, I understand. I can shield you and field Mrs Kim’s barrage of concerned calls about your relationship with her boy until hell itself freezes over because you’re my daughter, that’s the job,” she jokes.

“Yet, I have to repeat what I said on Jeju, daughter dearest,” again, she keeps her voice gentle and soothing, “Because I love you and I care. You don’t need to reply or say anything, ok? Just listen to your mother, who is quite wise, you know? Just listen, and when you make your decision, take into account what I’ve said and let that help you.”

“Of course I will, Mum,” you say, “I know you only want the best for me.”

“I just want you to be happy, my precious baby girl, that’s all I want,” she reasserts before she outlines what she told you on Jeju again.

Your mother doesn’t believe Taehyung is the man for you. She thinks he is lovely, adorable, sweet, kind, caring and too handsome by half, but nonetheless, not the man for you. Her reasoning is simple: your lives are not compatible. Taehyung sees marriage, children and family as the primary goals for his life, when his music career ends he’ll move into acting and he’ll want a wife and family by his side then. But you? You have always been driven by your career, by hunger to be the absolute best in your field and she knows, as well as you do, that that future exists in the UK only, where you have always been happiest. Now knowing that Taehyung wants you to move to Seoul, she has some questions for you to consider.

“I’m going to be blunt,” she says fairly, “Because these are the things I think you need to consider. What future can you really have in Seoul? And how many of your own hopes and dreams are you willing to sacrifice for Taehyung?”

She then takes a breath, “What I suppose I fear is this: that being with Taehyung won’t mean giving up your dreams, it will mean effacing them and letting him write his own over them. You’ve never wanted kids, darling, I can’t see how you will become the brood mare Taehyung will want you to be for the small herd of children he seems to desire,” she laughs weakly at her joke, but you know it’s underpinned by real concern and fear.

“He’s a very beautiful man, and he loves you very much; I’m sure he makes you feel very happy when you’re with him, but what is that love really based on, my dear? Does he challenge you? Does he see you for who you are? Will he support you in becoming the woman you want to be as your father has done for me, or will he hold you back? Do you really love him or do you live that he loves you? Perhaps is it that you love that he reminds you maybe of a time when you were younger and carefree?”

She sighs as she runs out of breath and feels the gentle tremble of your curled body as you weep, “I don’t want to upset you, my love,” she says, stroking your hair, “I just want you to find happiness with someone who stands beside you, not holds you back,” she concludes, before falling into silence as she tries to comfort you. 

She knows what she’s said is hard for you to hear. She knows you’re not ready to confront these realities, but she is ever the scientist, and she wants you to consider every possible angle and piece of information before you make any decisions that could alter the course of your life forever.

Over the coming days, your mother’s words haunt you and you redouble your efforts at the lab to avoid thinking too much about things you can hardly bear.

You feel yourself giving in to the pressure surrounding you; your control slips through your fingers like sand. Nearly every day you find yourself nearly staggering into your office, knees weak and chest tight before your vision blurs, your hearing fades in and out and your body collapses. 

You’re never unconscious for long, and you always manage to get yourself into a safe space, but you know something has to give soon. You’ve had the problem for years, but always irregularly, now though, the frequency and severity of these episodes is beginning to concern you and you contemplate reaching out to Taecyeon for advice. Nonetheless, you’ve recently been working on some interesting results and decide that you can put it off for just a few more days. Fate though, as ever, has very different ideas.

The sound of your name being called gently, and the steady trickle of water into your hairline wakes you up.

Your eyes flutter open and you feel the fingers on your wrist that has been monitoring your pulse relax. You realise you’re laid out on the couch in your mother’s office with a cold compress on your head, beside you on a chair sits Taecyeon, watching you carefully, his brow knotted in concern, behind him Dongyeon paces and you notice Dr Gong leaning against the desk.

“And she lives,” says Taecyeon with a smile, though he still looks troubled. It draws a sigh of relief from both Dongyeon and Dr Gong.

“What’s going on?” you ask groggily, struggling to sit u. Taecyeon moves rapidly to assist you.

“You collapsed,” Dongyeon says, panicked.

“So?” you say casually, “Goodness, that’s  no need for all this fuss,” you laugh lightly, your embarrassment evident.

“It’s serious!” Dongyeon protests, “I watched you go down like a sack of potatoes, you just sort of crumpled on your way to your office, it was frightening.”

You flush, “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “That must have been upsetting.  Are you ok?”

“It’s not me we should be worried about -” Dongyeon says with a nervous voice, before he’s interrupted by his observant cousin.

“How long has this been happening,” Taecyeon asks perceptively. You open your mouth to reply, but he speaks again, “Don’t bother trying to lie to me.”

You shut your mouth and swallow before you speak, “It’s been happening for years when I get stressed out,” you admit, “But recently more often. I usually make it into my office in time,” you say with a blush before panic sets in again.

“You haven’t told my brother, or mother?” you say suddenly, looking between the three men.

Dr Gong breathes deeply though his nose, “For goodness’ sake,” he says with barely concealed frustration, “the issue here is not that you were seen passing out, or whether people find out, it’s that it happened!” beneath his annoyance with you his concern is clear.

You feel a little better now though, and you’re belligerent in your concern for your family, “Yes ok, but still my parents and Jimin don’t know, do they? They’d worry so much!,” you plead, “They have too much on their plates, they can’t know!”

Taecyeon nods, “I’m not duly concerned about your physical health,” he says gently, “I think this is mainly your body’s way of trying to get you to slow down. Your mind has had enough. Still, it would be wise just to get it checked out,” he concludes.

Reluctantly, as you capitulate and agree to receive help, all three confirm that they’re the only ones who know and that they’ll agree to keep their mouths shut under several conditions: firstly, you will attend some appointments at the hospital in Seoul which Taecyeon will organise; secondly, you’ll cut back on some of your workload, which Dongyeon will pick up along with others; thirdly, you’ll stop rushing between locations and will stay in Seoul and do some work in the SNU lab, which Dr Gong will arrange. Dongyeon confirming he’ll call Zico to take you under his wing and watch over you.

By lunchtime the next day all the arrangements, taken out of your hands, have been made, including the excuse of needing equipment at SNU, and by the evening, you’re beside Zico, in the back of his car, while his driver takes you both back to Seoul.

“I’m gonna babysit the shit out of you,” Zico says affectionately, offering an outstretched arm so that you can cuddle into him.

As you wrap yourself into his cosy hoodie and he tightens his grip around you, he kisses the top of your head, “So, Dongyeon told me all about these hospital tests,” he says with concern, “I think it’s about time you told me everything that’s going on - don’t you?” 

His tone is light, but you know it’s not a request, and so, feeling the burden lift with each word you speak, you tell him everything, from running from Taehyung to getting in the car right now with him as he listens carefully to you.

When you’re finally done, with many tears shed, you start to give in to sleep. The final thing you hear before your slumber claims you is Zico’s soft voice, “Sleep now, we’re going to fix everything babe, we’ll get you well again, don’t worry,” and you close your eyes and doze off in the comfort of your friend’s arms.

Chapter Text

Taehyung sits nursing a beer that he has no real interest in, he doesn’t like the taste, he doesn’t really even want to get drunk, he just wants something to do, seeking distraction from the yawning chasm within him.

He feels as though he’s been hollowed out, as though someone has taken a knife and carved out everything within him. Hearing your voicemail was the first stab of the knife, taking him completely and violently by surprise. The hollowing out came after he listened to the message over and over again, trying to make sense of what was happening.  After several listens, and a lot of thinking time, he realised several things. 

The first was that you aren’t in the same place as him; he’d been taking long strides down the path of your relationship and you’d been stumbling behind him and he’d never realised. He worries now that he may have left you too far behind, would you wander off the path, or would you simply turn back and be lost to him once more? 

The second thing he realises, from the tone of your voice, is that you are more frightened than he’s ever heard you before and that makes his stomach twist in dread, fearing you may make rash decisions and simply run.

His third and final realisation is that, despite your repeated reassurance, that there’s no way you’ll only need the ‘few days’ you’d asked for. He knows you’ll need longer. How much longer is the question - the last time he gave you space the silence lasted 8 years. He knows now being punched in the dick is infinitely preferable to being abandoned.

Taehyung knows that there are huge differences between the two of you, yet they’re mostly meaningless to him. He believes that the two of you work well despite, or even because of, them. He knows he sees the world differently to you, that by nature he’s far more romantically inclined, more susceptible to believing that things are fated to be, but what does that matter in the end? Similarly, he also knows your careers dominate both your lives, that too he knows can be overcome with a little effort, a lot of love and some compromise. 

The only difference between you that Taehyung truly fears is that whilst he knows and understands his nature, aware of his strengths and flaws, and accepting of who he is, you are the opposite. You don’t know who you are, you fear your nature and shy away from confronting yourself: Taehyung is the personification of self-confidence and you are the epitome of self-doubt. It’s this central difference that Taehyung knows could be the undoing of the two of you, because you can only find a way forward together if you are as secure about what you want and need as he is. Perhaps, in this, Taehyung has more wisdom, and understanding of you, than your mother does.

Right now though, Taehyung isn’t thinking of any of that. He’s only thinking about how much he misses you. He takes a final mouthful of his beer before he places the empty bottle on the coffee table in front of him, his attention then piqued by Jimin staring intently at his phone.

“What’s that?” Taehyung asks suspiciously, eyeing Jimin’s phone.

“Nothing,” says Jimin, though he’s incapable of lying to Taehyung, “Well, it’s just Zico’s Insta feed,” he says softly and Taehyung instantly knows there’s more to it.

Sat on the couch at Taehyung’s house, Jimin and Dongyeon eye each other nervously over their beers as Taehyung picks up his own phone and navigates to Zico’s post.

He finds what he’s looking for quickly, the image is from the exhibition Mino mentioned; clearly Zico took you along because, though you’re wearing a floppy hat and large, dark glasses, Taehyung would know you from a mile away.

You’re stood between two men: on your right stands Mino, your arm is interlinked with his as you smile at the camera, your other arm is raised in a peace sign, held in front of your face; on your left, with his arm wrapped tightly about your waist is another man, Taehyung squints his tired eyes, trying to make out the face beneath the mass of hair and the bucket hat that’s pulled low.

“That’s who I think it is, yeah?” he says in a defeated, rather than angry way, sliding his thumb over the screen. The next picture is of a long table in the private dining room of a high-end restaurant. He can’t make you out clearly as you’re at the end of the table beside the man who had his hand around your waist; Zico and Mino also surround you and again you aim to obscure your face, this time with a glass of champagne. The man beside you has shed his hat in this picture, as have you, your heads tightly together in conversation.

“G-Dragon,” he breathes out hopelessly, before some venom creeps into his voice, “She’s really struggling, yeah?” he says, to nobody in particular, scowling and running his hands through his hair roughly in frustration.

Jimin says nothing, but Dongyeon, watching the tears fill Taehyung’s eyes, can’t bring himself to watch the man suffer.

He texts Taehyung, “Get rid of Jimin for a couple of minutes.”

Taehyung reads the message impassively and does nothing for a few minutes before he disappears to the kitchen. Moments later he asks Jimin if he wouldn’t mind going to the store for more instant ramen, whilst asking Dongyeon for help. Ever helpful, Jimin agrees and rushes out, leaving Taehyung and Dongyeon alone.

Taehyung appraises the younger man coldly, “I don’t like lying to Jimin,” he says as an opening invitation for Dongyeon to speak, which the other man does, rapidly. 

Dongyeon quickly explains that both he and Jimin had agreed to stay silent and neutral in this situation between you and Taehyung, but that he couldn’t let Taehyung have a false impression. He then shows him the photos you’d sent him privately, including selfies of you with G-Dragon, Zico and Mino. Taehyung asks for his phone to look at them more closely.

Under the close up lens of the camera, you look terrible: you’re smiling but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are hollow, dull and a little glazed; your skin lacks its usual glow and is wan; your lips, usually plump and soft look dry and a little chapped. To put it politely, you look like shit. Only minutes ago, Taehyung had wanted to see you struggling, not enjoying yourself at all, but now faced with the reality of that his heart breaks for you.

“My girl,” he mutters sadly, more to himself than Dongyeon.

“She is struggling, Taehyung,” Dongyeon emphasises. 

He chooses his next words carefully, hoping Taehyung will get the hint, “There’s so much more that I wish I could tell you, but Jimin would kill me, as would my cousin.”

Taehyung’s mind is clouded, but he eventually processes the implication of Dongyeon’s words, “Wait, you mean Taecyeon? What does he have to do with it?” as he says it, the meaning dawns on him.

“She didn’t go to Seoul by choice,” is all that Dongyeon offers, but from Taehyung’s expression, his ashen face and obviously racing mind, he realises that it’s enough.

“What does she need?” he asks Dongyeon desperately, his hands clenching around the phone and his clothes, tense and nervous.

“I don’t know,” Dongyeon sighs honestly, scratching at his jaw, “I really don’t. I can only say what I think she needs.”

“That’s good enough,” Taehyung interjects quickly.

“You,” Dongyeon says firmly, his large concerned eyes meeting Taehyung’s own anxious ones, “I think she needs you, Taehyung.”

Sat in a large velvet armchair, your legs tucked under you, you’re surprised by how peaceful Zico’s studio is. He works busily at his console, headphones on, while people mill in and out, you let it all wash over you, like a stream over the rocks beneath.

You have a hot cup of tea beside you, an assistant to Zico who checks in with you, and brings you fresh drinks and snacks without being asked, and a good book in your hand. You’re almost relaxed. It’s Saturday, and Zico has been firmly instructed by his father to keep you out of the lab to make sure you unwind and are taken care of; Zico has taken the instruction seriously and is behaving as though he is babysitting a small child.

You stay in your comfortable seat, engrossed in your book, until you feel the back of gentle fingers brush softly against your hair, which startles you slightly and breaks your attention from your reading. 

Zico smiles guiltily at you, “Sorry, I was trying not to frighten you,” he grins.

You smile, “It’s ok, there’s no easy way to get my attention when I’m absorbed in a book.”

He nods, “We have to pop to the recording section for a hour or so, are you ok here?” he asks. 

You look at the fresh basket of pastries, fresh fruit and steaming cafetière of coffee that’s been laid beside you and smile broadly at Zico, “I’m fine, thanks, I hope it goes well.”

He kisses you on the cheek and departs, “Jeongmi,” you say to the girl trailing behind him, “You’re an absolute superstar, thank you.”

She approaches you quietly and lay her hand on top of yours, “It’s not my place, nor my business,” she says softly, and as you study her you realise she’s a fair few years older than you, “But whatever you’re going through, I hope it will get better,” she says with a gentle smile, squeezing your hand as your eyes fill.

“Thank you,” you say in a broken voice, your eyes filling, and with a final smile she leaves you.

You think for a moment about returning to your book, but instead you turn your mind to the mess you’ve gotten yourself into and think about how on earth you are to resolve it.

A little later and you’re in the middle of the sticky process of unswirling a cinnamon swirl and ripping off small pieces like a rodent, before popping them in your mouth between mouthfuls of the strong, delicious coffee. So absorbed are you in licking the sticky, sugary mess from your finger tips that you barely notice the studio door open; when you finally look up, you freeze in shock, middle finger in your mouth, eyes wide in surprise.

“I knew you weren’t expecting to see me,” he says in a gruff voice, “But you don’t have to flip me off,” he chuckles as he pulls a chair closer to you and pours coffee into the cup he entered with.

“Jeongmi, I think her name was, “ he supplies in response to your quizzical frown, “Handed this to me on my way in, really nice of her, I thought,” he says, far more relaxed than you are.

“Jeongmi’s wonderful,” you say, finally, finding your voice, “I didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you to Seoul?” you ask trying to sound breezy and neutral.

“You,” he says simply, “Zico invited me, he thought you would want to see me and I wanted to see you.”

“Really, Yoongi?” you ask.

“Really,” he confirms, as he picks up a tangerine and peels it.

You smile, but it’s forced, “I’m surprised,” you say honestly before your tone turns a little snide, “How long will this desire to see me last, I wonder, just today? Tomorrow will I find my texts going unanswered or will I be blocked? I don’t understand you at all. I thought we were friends once but you went from texting me every night to not speaking to me at all, then you started again, only to leave me back out in the cold. I’m not a toy, Yoongi, to be picked up when you feel the interest and dropped when you don’t.”

He scoffs slightly, “I see. I figured you were too busy to be interested in spending time with me when you started seeing the Kim Taehyung,” he says.

“That makes no sense,” you say, irritation creeping in your tone, “You didn’t even take the chance to find out! You called me out in that street, and then just stopped speaking to me.”

He has no answer for you.

“I never wanted to stop hanging out with you, Yoongi,” you say softly, trying to invite warmth from him.

“So you’re telling me you’d be answering my early hour calls while you were banging Kim Taehyung then?” he asks in a patronising tone.

You’re shocked by his phrasing, but decide to let it slide, “Fine, it’s actually not true, but if that’s what you thought, why did you then get back in touch when Taehyung and I got together? Why pick me up at the train station?”

“It was his suggestion that you and I be friends,” he says, bending the truth slightly, “and I missed you.”

You sigh and look at him hopelessly, “I missed you too, so why did you cut me out this time then?”

“You needed time to work out what was happening with you and Taehyung,” he says evasively.

“Yeah,” you say with a short bark of a laugh, “Still needing that time, as it turns out. You’re going to have to explain to me why our friendship is so dependent on what’s going on with me and Taehyung, because it really doesn’t make any sense to me why it is,” you ask, your frustration and confusion evident. 

“Are you seriously telling me you were still interested in hanging out with me when you were fucking him?” he sneers. 

“Don’t be so crude,” you correct firmly.

“Why?” he laughs, thinking of your mother and her saying you had the mouth of a pirate.

“Because it’s beneath you,” you state simply, knocking the air from his lungs and seizing the upper ground.

You’re in safe but simultaneously very dangerous territory now: this is a game you’ve always played well, you stow your feelings and heart away behind high walls and defend them with whatever it takes. The danger comes from the ruthlessness and cruelty that brings; if you’re not careful you’ll push Yoongi, as you have countless others, too far away and he’ll be lost to you. You don’t consider that right now though, you only want to cut this thread of conversation.

“Fine,” he capitulates, “But don’t tell me you’d have been tucking me in at my studio in the early hours when you were seeing him.”

Your nostrils flare, “His name is Taehyung, not ‘him’ not ‘ the Kim Taehyung’, simply Taehyung. He might be a star but he’s also a fucking person, not some thing designed to come between me and my friends,” you say firmly, “And your tense is wrong; I’m still seeing him.”

Yoongi holds you in his gaze for long moments, evaluating you, and breathing carefully.

“I don’t understand any of this,” you say more kindly, “I don’t understand what you want from me or why you’re here if it’s simply to argue with me. All I wanted, all I want, from that plane journey to right now, Min Yoongi, is to be your friend. It was all so easy for us, why has it become so hard?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, “I wish it wasn’t. I care so much about you,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

“I care about you too,” you reply with equal honesty, “So why is it that Taehyung’s existence is a barrier for us?”

“Do you love him?” he asks, sidestepping your question. As he does, he realises the futility of his evasion because he sees the realisation grow in your eyes; what starts as a tiny spark in your inky, starry pupils spreads wider, like catching fire until your whole expression is ablaze with understanding. In that moment, without a word being spoken, or a gesture being made, it is clear to him that you now know he’s in love with you. 

He can only hold his breath because, as devastating as that is, worse could be to come. He hears your mother’s voice in his head from his first meeting with her: 

You’ll need to prepare yourself for when she finds out because it’s not easy to work out how she’s going to react, your mother warned.

Seeing your slightly parted lips now and wide eyes, he knows was is right, he has no idea how you’ll react to the revelation and he braces himself against it, good or ill.

She might get angry, in which case she’ll just seethe; or she will run away; or maybe she’ll take it in her stride and you’ll be able to discuss it, your mother explained.

What he doesn’t expect, and isn’t prepared for, is for nothing to happen. But that’s precisely what he gets. You simply do not react. A shutter seems to form, and slides down your mind, he can see it in the emptying of your expression, the fire there now extinguished behind an unreadable, blank mask. Ah yes, he thinks, the final option your mother offered, and his heart sinks.

The very worst thing that might happen, she had said, is that she closes down; she’ll rock shut on herself like an oyster shell, and there’ll be no getting to her then, no matter how hard you try, your mother foretold.

Finally, you speak, immune and unresponsive to the truth you’ve just learned, “Of course I love him,” you say flatly.

“Are you sure?” he presses, he knows it’s reckless but he you two are trapped in this moment together now, however it turns out, whether the fire that’s raging inside you both is quelled or explodes into an inferno is now impossible to tell, yet with the flames now licking at the door, what does he have to lose?

“Because,” he continues, “I’m not sure that he’s the man for you. Does he love you as you are now, or the romantic idea of you that he’s had in his head for years?”

Your eyes narrow dangerously, but your words are more measured, “I don’t know, but maybe I want to be the woman he thinks I am, maybe that’s who I am, really, not this person, who’s shut off from her feelings all the time, maybe I can be romantic like him.”

“But you’re not,” he says plainly, “and I don’t want you to change.”

“That’s not your decision to make though,” you say, detachment creeping into your voice.

“Why him?” he asks, in one last, mad gamble, “Because you’d be his whole world? Because he’s romantic? Because you love his fucking cock? Because he’ll run your life for you? Because you want to be who you were at 17 again?” he sees your eyes flicker as he speaks, he recognises the look as the one you always give when you’ve worked something out.

“You’ve been speaking to my mother,” you say, your tone clear that you’re simply stating a fact, “And I suspect that you were somehow listening when Tae fucked me in those changing rooms at the beach, weren’t you?”

“Your mother wants you to be happy,” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from the embarrassment of his voyeurism.

“Everyone wants the people they love to be happy,” you say dispassionately, “But our happiness is in our own hands.”

“Then why are you putting yours in Taehyung’s?” he pleads.

You’re frustrated now, and struggling to keep control. You feel overwhelmed and confused. You want to say to him that you’re not sure that you are putting your happiness in Taehyung’s hands, that that’s what all this is about, the running away, the hiding out in Seoul, all of it. It’s all a massive exercise in you trying to sort your shit out. 

None of that comes out though, instead you want him to stop badgering you, to stop making you confront these things before you’re ready to and so you say the worst possible thing, without even thinking, which makes it so much more awful.

“As opposed to yours?” you say bluntly, “Is that what you’re asking, Yoongi?”

He reacts as though you’ve spat on him, and in all reality, you may as well have, for it does the same damage. It’s not that the question itself is hurtful, for in the end, it’s the truth. He wants to be beside you, he wants to bring you happiness. No, the pain comes from the cold delivery, your words, flat expression and demeanour all coalescing to suggest that the idea of you loving him is somehow ridiculous.

It’s not what you mean, not at all, but you’re no longer in control, and just as both he and Jimin asserted in that windy street, you always fuck over other people’s feelings to protect your own.

“I think it’s what I was going to ask,” he says evenly, “But I can see now how stupid that would have been.”

You say nothing as he stands and walks to the door. As he turns the handle he turns back to you, and he’s pleased that you have the grace to look ashamed of yourself.

“Why even bother with what you’re doing right now, this pretence of dating? You should just get on with it and marry Taehyung,” he says flatly, “Go ahead and shape yourself into the person you think he wants you to be because I think we both know you’re too much of a coward to work out what you want for yourself.”

You don’t say anything; you feel the tears rise in you, but you hold them at bay, simply staring vacantly at him.

“You won’t hear from me again,” are the last words he speaks to you before he’s gone.

After the door closes, you sit silently for long moments, staring emptily at the two abandoned cups of coffee, the half-dissected pastry and peeled, uneaten tangerine, before suddenly, and without warning, your whole body starts to tremble. You rush from the room urgently, making it to the toilet in the restrooms in just enough time to be violently sick.

When you finally emerge from the toilet stall, you find Jeongmi waiting patiently at the sink, a facecloth, toothbrush and toothpaste in her hands, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” she asks.

She waits quietly whilst you clean your face and brush your teeth, only then asking if she should call a doctor, as well as several other gentle questions that confuse you until you realise what she’s alluding to.

“Ah, no!” you say rapidly, waving your hand back and forth, “No, no, no. I am not pregnant,” you insist, before crumbling and explaining the real reason you were sick.

She nods in understanding as you explain that Yoongi is, or rather, was, a friend and the intensity of a rather nasty argument led to your reaction, explaining that you haven’t been well of late.

Jeongmi takes control, before you know it you’re whisked into her car as she calls Zico saying she has an urgent errand with you and you’re on your way to the train station; she’d organised the cab for Yoongi when he left and so knows the details and timings of the train he’s getting back to Daegu.

It all happens in such a blur: you arrive; she tells you where she’ll wait for you; you run to the platform; you see him and call to him and then you’re before him as he stares at you, his face devoid of emotion, but a puffiness around his eyes and a flush to his cheeks suggests he is as upset by your parting as you are.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly as he steps back, looking as though he’s going to turn away from you, “You’re right. I am a coward - I’ve been running away from anything that hurts me for so long that I don’t know how to face it anymore,” you say, your eyes fill as you speak, tears leaking out in fat little droplets from your lash line, unbidden and beyond your control.

Yoongi says nothing, simply continuing to stare.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” you say with a dry laugh as the tears run freely down your face, it’s not a lie, you don’t know why you’re there, you seem to be driven by some instinct that you can’t name and don’t recognise in yourself. You take a breath and continue, “All I know is that I run away from pain, but you’ve hurt me and for some bloody reason I don’t understand I’m running towards you.”

His expression softens minutely, and you risk a cautious smile, “Yoongi, please,” you plead, “Please be my friend, please don’t leave me,” your voice cracks on the final syllable as you swallow your sob.

He steps towards you then, driven by the same instinct that brought you to him; he drops the bag in his hand and pulls you to him, holding you close as you press your face into his shoulder.

After what feels like both an eternity and yet no time at all, Yoongi releases you and pulls away to stare into your eyes, “I can’t just be your friend,” he almost whispers and the softening of your own eyes is the only cue he needs as he leans closer to you, one hand coming to grip your chin lightly as he guides his face towards yours.

His intense eyes close, and his lips are so close to yours that only a hair’s breadth separates them, when you step backwards, out of his grasp, gasping for air.

“I can’t,” you say suddenly, a desperate exhalation of pure apology, “I can’t,” you repeat.

“Because of Taehyung,” he says coldly, and it’s not even a question.

You just nod; of course you couldn’t do it to Taehyung. Yoongi already knows that. Hell, he wouldn’t be in love with you if you were the kind of person who could so easily cheat, but still, it doesn’t make the heartache of the rejection any easier to bear.

After thinking carefully, Yoongi finally speaks, “You have to make a choice.”

Your shoulders shake as you sob silently, “I’m trying,” you croak, “I don’t have any easy answers about how I feel, I’m trying to work it out,” you say honestly.

Yoongi only shakes his head, “I know what I’m worth,” he says, in that same cold, flat voice he uses when he’s protecting his feelings, “and I deserve better than waiting in vain while you’re wrapped around Taehyung’s -,” he doesn’t finish the sentence but you both know where it was going.

He shakes his head, as if to clear the thought, and memory, of that damn beach hut from his mind, “I deserve better than this,” he says clearly, looking at your devastated face.

“I deserve better than you,” he concludes.

As soon as he says the words he regrets them, but that regret doubles when he watches your reaction. You don’t sob, or cry, or lash out at him, you simply nod and smile weakly. It’s a smile that carries the force of a hundred ton weight bulldozing his heart though and he knows that he has never felt worse about himself than he does in this moment.

He watches, dumbstruck and frozen in shame as you bend over and pick up his bag and offer it to him, which he takes from you silently, still unable to speak. He watches as you stand up a little straighter, correcting your posture, and wiping the tears from your face, though when you look at him they’re still shining brightly, the tears there clearly ready to spill again.

When you speak, your voice is soft and gentle, though it trembles with repressed pain and he knows you are fighting the need to sob, “Of course you do,” you say, clasping your hands together in front of you, “I’m a selfish person. I was only thinking of myself, of how much I like you and value your friendship. I never even stopped to think that I was getting far more out of it than you were. You’re right, you deserve better friends than me,” you say nodding your head, as though you’re convincing yourself of the truth of that.

You breathe out, and as you do, a sob escapes you, which you try to conceal behind a laugh, “Well,” you say, your voice falsely bright as the tears again spill forth uncontrollably, “Your train will be here any minute,” you say as you walk backwards and away from him.

You give him a final smile, now several feet away from him, “Take care of yourself,” you manage to say as he can only stare at you, frozen to the spot, then you turn and stride rapidly away from him.

You can barely see Jeongmi waiting at the car through the blur of your tears but you see her shape striding towards you, then feel her hands close about your elbows as she seeks to prop you up, and you close yours around hers as she speaks to you soothingly and guides you into the car before you pass out. 

She calls Zico as she drives straight to the hospital, a now unconscious you in the back of the car.

As the train enters a black tunnel,  Yoongi’s reflection is suddenly thrown into sharp relief against the window and he takes in his puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The first thing that comes into his mind is picking you up at the train station and how defeated you looked. For the first time, he imagines how difficult that must have been for you, to suddenly realise that something wasn’t quite right with you and Taehyung and to step away, holding back the tide of your intense relationship to try to figure out your feelings. 

Suddenly he realises that there was some bravery in that and then his mind explodes into a rapid fury of connections: you coming after him after he’d hurt you, you admitting you had no answers, you taking his anger and accepting it, and finally, the image of you at the airport the first time he saw you, swallowing your own pain to support your parents. All the connections come together to form one unshakeable realisation in his mind: you’re not a coward, in fact, you’re the opposite: you’re brave, of course you are, because you are terrified and yet somehow you just keep doing what is necessary and right. 

As the train emerges from the tunnel and dazzling light forces him to screw his eyes shut, he realises he has made the worst mistake of his life. 

Rarely has Yoongi has the time or the inclination to make have a proper relationship, preferring to stick to casual dates and finding that satisfying enough; he has never been lonely, but now, realising fully now that you are lost to him, he is struck with the profound and instantaneous grief of being alone.

Yet, it’s not until he’s back on his couch in Daegu, Holly curled on his lap, that he finally takes out the business card from his pocket, it bears the title ‘Executive Assistant’ and the name ‘Kang Jeongmi’. With one final stroke of Holly’s soft fur, he picks up his phone and texts the number.

It’s been three, agonising days since he last saw you: three days of meetings where he could barely pay attention; three days of tasteless food; three days of inattentive conversations; three days of barely any sleep; three days of only coming to life when Jeongmi’s name sporadically appeared on his phone in reply to his bombardment of messages.

Now, back in Seoul, climbing out of a cab in Itaewon, he makes his way towards the LUA lounge, where he knows you’ll be eating tonight with Zico and your friends thanks to Jeongmi’s information, though it took days to bring her around to agreeing to help him out. He admires the woman, she’s clearly very fond of you, with a big and kind heart. It was only his complete admission that he had done something terrible and desperately needed to apologise that finally led to her agreeing to tell him your schedule. He follows her instructions precisely: the fire station comes into sight, and there opposite he sees the bar and enters, looking everywhere for you. 

Finally, on the rooftop, sat at a table surrounded by people, he sees you, the light from the strings of bright, golden bulbs reflected in your large, tired eyes as you turn towards him.

Chapter Text

Shit, this hurts, you think; the tightness around your arm is beginning to sting, digging into your flesh as your arm begins to ache. He huffs in disapproval; you struggle not to cut your eyes at him.

You feel like you’ve been here forever, answering his every question, accepting every manoeuvre he makes to your body, remaining impassive in the face of his frowns and seemingly silent judgement. Your body aches, your mind aches and you’re desperate for this to be over.

“A little low,” he evaluates, undoing the cuff and you rub your upper arm, grateful for the release: you’re unperturbed and simply nod to show you understand.

“You’ll be ok in the short term,” the doctor says, “There’s nothing seriously wrong with you physically. The most likely solution is that these fainting episodes are a physiological response to stress.”

You try to hide your frustration at your wasted morning; it’s nothing you didn’t already know. You make a mental note to thank Taecyeon for wasting your time before a twinge of shame twists in you. You remember the worried looks of the men in that office that night and you remember, yet again, that you can’t keep living as selfishly as you have been, prioritising your feelings over everybody else’s. 

Your mind is flooded with the images that continually haunt you: your brother in that alley way; Yoongi at the train station; Taehyung’s sad face, anticipating how you’d hurt him and the growing silence between you now.  You push the images from your mind and focus your attention back on the doctor.

“Thank you,” you say politely, readying yourself to leave.

“I’m not done,” the doctor says firmly, indicating for you to retake your seat, which you reluctantly do.

“Taecyeon was a good student of mine and I intend to be thorough on his behalf,” he says patiently, before warning you that your current lifestyle is unsustainable ( no shit , you think to yourself) and that there would be longer term harm to come if you didn’t make some kind of adjustment.

“I know,” you say compliantly, “I understand that, I really do.”

After a further, more frank conversation, he gives you the number of a therapist who he believes will be able to help you and you take the card gratefully before leaving the room to rejoin Zico, who waits nervously in the corridor. He’s leaning, one leg swinging and colliding with the wall but pushes himself off to greet you. You tell him a brief summary of what the doctor said, focusing only on the good news, and he hugs you in relief.

“Thank God,” he beams, “We’re going to go to dinner tonight, I’ll take you to my friend’s place in Itaewon, you’ll love it!”

“You’re too good to me,” you say as he slings an arm around your shoulders, “I’ll need to rest first though. I’ve been scanned, jabbed, poked and prodded for hours - I need a rest!”

He laughs, “A long bath and a nap at d’hôtel Jiho coming up, for Madame Lab Rat,” he says, guiding you out of the hospital and back to his sanctuary where, slowly but surely, he’s getting you back on your feet.

On the rooftop of the LUA lounge, Yoongi’s heart aches to see you. He watches your eyes move towards him and his breath catches in his chest: Will you be pleased? Will you be annoyed? Whatever you are, he decides, it will be worth it just to have your eyes back on him again. He’s desperate for something to efface the image seared on his memory of your tight, sad smile, your tear-filled eyes and broken spirit before you fled the train station and were lost to him.

Three days have never felt so long.

Yet, mere feet from him, your eyes pause and your face splits into a wide smile as you abruptly stand up from your spot on the bench and circle the table you’re at, arms outstretched. Yoongi’s stomach sinks as he follows your eyes to find who you’re looking towards, a worried suspicion forming in his mind. It’s then he sees Jeongmi moving through the crowd towards you, before the two of you embrace in a tight hug. Relief floods through his body.

Yoongi pauses now, deciding to give you a few moments. He turns from you and heads to the bar, where he is joined minutes later by the woman herself.

“Min Yoongi,” she says with a smile.

“Kang Jeongmi,” he replies with a wry smile.

“Sorry to be blunt, but I hope you really are here to apologise,” she says stiffly, “She really needs her friends’ kindness right now, not their anger.”

He winces slightly, “That I deserve,” he acknowledges, “I’m not here to make her unhappy,” he says sincerely, turning towards Jeongmi.

“In fact, all I want to do is make her happy. I’ve been such an idiot,” he admits; the slight quiver in his voice showing the depth of his feelings.

Jeongmi’s mouth drops open,”Oh, you -” she begins as the realisation settles for her and she turns a little pale.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes detect it immediately, he’s about to ask her what’s wrong, but finds he doesn’t need to as he hears two laughing men approach the bar at the other end; he quickly steps back, using the other people as camouflage.  

Jeongmi follows his sudden, cold glare across the rooftop. Her eyes lighting upon G-Dragon, sleekly dressed in all black with a huge collection of chains about his neck as he saunters to the bar. His arm slung around the man beside him, who is dressed in wide legged camel trousers and a simple white shirt, neatly tucked in, emphasising his small waist and broad shoulders; she turns back to Yoongi.

“Kim Taehyung arrived in Seoul this afternoon,” she says gently, “He called by Jiho’s apartment unexpectedly. She was resting after her hospital visit but she agreed to see him tonight.”

“Hospital visit?” says Yoongi quickly, his quick mind focusing on the crucial detail, suddenly far more important to him than anything to do with you and Taehyung. Jeongmi clicks her tongue and curses herself for letting it slip.

She evaluates his concerned face before she speaks, “She’s fine, just exhausted. I shouldn’t have said that, it’s a secret not known to anyone, including her family.”  

“What’s wrong with her?” he presses, raising his voice slightly in panic, but Jeongmi won’t be drawn on it, only explaining that you’d been unwell due to stress and that there were no underlying illnesses to worry about. Slightly appeased, Yoongi turns his attention back to Taehyung only to find G-Dragon now in conversation with others at the bar and Taehyung nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” growls a deep voice at his shoulder, “Back to make her cry again?” he emphasises.

Yoongi spins and looks at him in shock, receiving a cold, humourless smirk as a response.

“Yeah,” says Taehyung coldly, but with an edge of triumph, “She told me everything.”

You stare across the city skyline, lost in your thoughts, tired and overwhelmed from the day. The city is so vast and expansive, glittering broadly in front of you, as wide as the ocean but with no horizon in sight; you always feel so small and anonymous here and you gain some peace from the quietness of that. 

Occasionally, you force yourself to join in with those around you, to make conversation and smile, but you feel strangely on edge since Taehyung’s arrival this afternoon. You’d been taken by surprise, but he was open and honest with you, explaining his conversation with Dongyeon and his worries about your well-being. 

You were going to tell him that you’d see him tomorrow instead, but then he’d said something that made you want, no, need, to stop excluding him. You had told him about the hospital and that you were absolutely fine and he wasn’t to worry and that you were grateful he’d been so patient with you. It was then that he said it.

“I’ve tried so hard to be, but I’m struggling now,” he’d said sadly, “The longer we’re apart the more likely I think it might be that you’ll go back to London soon and that might be the end of us. The more I think that, the more I can’t stand being apart from you while you’re still in reach.”

That broke you. You’re not sure if it was the words or the way that he said them, but you found yourself reaching for him, pulling him close to you and asking him to join you for dinner with Zico and his friends. He’d begged then to pick you up before, to have some time together first, and you agreed.

When he arrived, handsome as ever, you’d taken a walk in a quiet park and you talked generally for a while, tiptoeing around each other, not knowing what to say or how to move forward. You settled on talking about what you’d been doing in your time apart, and, as you took your turn describing your days, guilt curled and twisted in your stomach like an angry snake.

“Taehyung,” you said, stopping in the shade of a broad-leafed tree, “I have to tell you something.”

He looked at you curiously, his mouth parted a little, and his face seemed to freeze in that inscrutable position, staying perfectly still as you told him about Yoongi’s visit, what he’d had to say to you, chasing after him and finally fleeing when he tried to kiss you.

When you finished you looked at Taehyung with an expression of pure misery and unhappiness, “I’m so sorry, Taehyung,” you’d managed to say.

Finally, his face moved, his expression warm, “Why are you sorry?” he questioned, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You laughed derisively at yourself, “I should never have gone to the train station,” you say honestly, “And I should have told you sooner. I know I haven’t cheated, but it still feels wrong.”

You were shocked when he laughed. It wasn’t a cold laugh as yours had been, but a warm one, full of joy and you had to ask why.

“Because you’re still my girl,” he smiles, “I thought you’d already decided we were over.”

You blushed and, without thinking, you spoke, “I’ve always been your girl, Tae.”

He grinned at that, and seemed to reach for you with a funny little spasm before stepping back. You knew he wanted to kiss you, and you were grateful that he checked the impulse, but you didn’t know why. Some of the awkwardness abated after that and you returned to Zico, journeying to the restaurant all together. 

As you sit now, you realise you’ve barely spoken to Taehyung since. Many of the people here know him and those who don’t quickly come to, his magnetic personality drawing them all in.

Again, you force your attention from the skyline, and turn to see Taehyung approaching from the bar, where he curls a finger towards you, standing a little way off from the table. His eyebrows are knotted and he looks angry, but not at you. Puzzled, you get to your feet and join him.

As you reach him, he pulls you closely to him, his hand in the small of your back as he leans in to speak into the shell of your ear, “Min Yoongi is here.”

He feels you tense beneath his broad palm and splayed fingers, feels the sharp intake of breath where your cheek nearly presses against his own and he strokes your back gently in response to soothe you.

You pull away and look at him, “Is it an accident or is he here to speak to me?” you ask.

“He wants you,” Taehyung says simply, knowing all that that phrase could mean and meaning each of them.

You say nothing but look at him helplessly.

“Whatever you want to do is ok,” Taehyung smiles encouragingly, “I trust you.”

“I don’t want to see him,” you say firmly.

Taehyung takes your chin in one hand, cupping it slightly and tilting it towards his own, before pecking you gently on the lips, “But that’s not who you are,” he says softly, and it’s as though he is given voice to the thoughts you’re trying to ignore.

“Let’s talk to him together,” you suggest.

Taehyung shakes his head, “No, baby,” he smiles, “But I won’t be far, if you need me, just wave and I’ll be there, but you know you need to speak to him yourself.” 

You nod and Taehyung leads you to the bar, you see Yoongi, but avoid looking at him closely, shuffling behind Taehyung. You hear the intimidating tone in Taehyung’s voice, “Here she is, asshole,” he growls, “I’ll be right over there,” he says indicating the other end of the bar with an equally menacing tone.

Yoongi smiles awkwardly at you to no effect as you stare at your feet, “He’s not wrong,” he says with an awkward laugh to deafening silence from you.

He continues, carefully, “About me being an asshole,” he confirms, hesitant, waiting for a response.

You finally look up at him and for some reason that you can’t even explain, your first thought is how beautiful he is and how soft and exposed he looks, nothing like his usual, unreadable self.

“You’re not an asshole,” you say quietly, “You were a bit harsh with me, yeah, but as you said, you deserve better friends, right?”

He’s struck dumb for a moment, not knowing how to respond, and he says your name softly before you interrupt.

“I thought we were done, Yoongi,” you say, “Why are you here?”

He shifts awkwardly, “Because I’ve felt fucking terrible since that day at the train station and I can’t live like this. I can’t explain how I feel about you. I haven’t known you long but I feel like I’ve known you always. We’re so different but somehow the same. We don’t need to speak but I can talk to you about anything,” he muffles a groan of frustration as you stare, wide-eyed at him.

“I’m not a romantic,” he says hopelessly, “But this feeling between us, it feels like something special. It’s rare? Isn’t it?” he asks desperately.

“Maybe,” you admit, “Maybe, in different circumstances, maybe if we’d stuck with it, maybe it really would have turned into something.”

“That’s a lot of maybes,” he says sadly.

“What do you want from me, Yoongi?” you state plainly. You’re so tired and it’s more than you’re able to handle at the moment, your mind retreating, as it always does, to numbness.

Yoongi looks at you and he can see how little you have to give, he’s also aware of Taehyung’s hard glare focused on his with a withering intensity.

“Taehyung really fucking loves you,” he says, shifting from the subject, fearing disappointment.

You smile at that, “Taehyung doesn’t do anything in half measures.”

“Can we pretend none of the mess ever happened?” he asks, in a complete capitulation of his original plan, “Can we just go back to being insomnia pals and be friends again?”

He expects you to scoff at him, or to get angry and so he is surprised to see you smile.

“Why not?” you say kindly, “I always need people in my life who tell me the truth. Just, maybe, a bit more gently in future, yeah?” 

He smiles, that beautiful, rare, gummy smile of his, “I didn’t expect that answer,”

You eye him shrewdly, “Didn’t we agree that I was a coward and selfish?” he winces at your words but you wave away his concern, “Whatever it is you think you’re getting from this friendship, I think I’m getting far more. I don’t think you realise how much you means to me. So yeah, I’m selfish and I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet, Min Yoongi.”

He can’t read exactly what is in the look you give him, but it is full of meaning and feeling and his heart skips a little with a fluttering hopefulness. 

He nods, “Friends then?”

“Friends,” you agree and you shake his hand formally, drawing laughter from you both, before you turn around and call to Taehyung who comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“We all good here?” he asks, eyeing Yoongi with suspicion.

“We are,” you say leaning back against his firm strength, “Let’s join the others,” you say, breaking from Taehyung’s grasp and indicating for them both to follow you. 

You’re unsurprised when Taehyung sits beside you this time, his arm draped behind you in a show of connection and a demonstration of your togetherness. Yoongi however takes a seat next to Jeongmi, and you share a look with her that immediately answers your unspoken question about how Yoongi knew where to find you tonight.

A few hours later, everyone is ready to head home and you lean against Zico’s shoulder, while Taehyung makes plans to go shopping with G-Dragon. Jeongmi, who doesn’t drink, offers Yoongi a lift to his hotel. You wave or hug goodbye to everyone, leaving you, Zico and Taehyung outside as the two men wait for their drivers, Zico’s arriving first.

“Good to see you, Taehyung, glad you came,” he says, with a drunken gesture that’s somewhere between a wave and a salute.

He then turns to you, “I love you, you are my best friend, and I will see you for breakfast,” he declares a little woozily, kissing your cheek before clambering in the car and shutting the door clumsily behind him.

You turn and Taehyung is looking confused, but you only step closer to him and wrap your arms around his neat waist, resting your cheek against his chest and he wraps his arms around you.

“Wasn’t it you who said that we were still together?” you ask, “Why wouldn’t I stay with you?”

He says nothing, only humming happily as he squeezes you in a breath-stealingly tight hug, not releasing you until his own car arrives.

The journey you take back to Taehyung’s is nothing like the last one you took: there’s no desperate clinging to each other or yanking at each other’s clothes. Instead, there’s an odd shyness muffling you both: you stand beside each other silently in the lift, fingers brushing against each others’ and smiling gently. You follow him into his apartment and then stand awkwardly, neither of you sure what to do next.

“It’s late,” you say, “I’m pretty tired. Shall we go to bed?”

Your suggestion is quiet and a little nervous. That’s all Taehyung needs, seeing you so unsure compels him to take control, and its not a position he minds being in at all.

“Let’s go,” he says, catching your fingers with his and leading you with him with a satisfied smile and a devilish lick of his lips.

The bright lights of Seoul beam through the thin voiles at the windows, painting his room in a neon landscape. He extends his fingers before him as lounges on his hotel room bed, knowing he should get up and close the curtains, but as he moves his hand back and forth, he becomes transfixed with the rainbow of lights that plays across the back of his hand, along his fingers, glinting and reflecting off his rings. 

Of course, his mind instantly takes him back to his studio and the memory of your face painted in pink and green like an ethereal dream, of a glorious night and waking from a peaceful sleep with more joy in his heart than he’d felt in an age: he wonders if he has ever been this desperately, hopelessly in love before.

“What if I’d kissed her then?” He asks himself out loud before, in his mind, Taehyung’s voice answers the question: I doubt she’d have accepted you, not if that meant rejecting me - since we reconnected we’ve filled each other’s lives.

Why is it that he remembers with aching accuracy every fucking word that man has said about you? Including, to his shame, those he listened to when Taehyung’s cock was buried in you and you were screaming out from the pleasure he gave you.

God, no matter how polite he forces himself to be, he’s convinced he’ll always hate Taehyung.

He pushes the memory from his mind and returns to torturing himself with the different ways tonight could have played out. He imagines that he told you, that he had followed through with the plan he’d made on his way from Daegu and told you that he loved you, that you told him you loved him too. That Taehyung wasn’t there, or better, that he was and yet you chose him, Yoongi. 

He thinks about it over and over, each time changing the situation slightly, in some he kisses you, in others you make the first move. It goes on and on, as he tortures himself until the scenarios morph into something else entirely.

He imagines the two of you giddily falling into the toilets of the bar, him pressing you into the cubicle, your body hot for him, your lips parting to take his tongue, your cunt tightening around his cock as he drives not you. Lying on the bed, he strokes his cock as he imagines it, soundtracking it with the memory of the sounds you made in the beach hut that night.

Yet, as quickly as the blood flooded to his hardening cock, it leaves, his mind veering sharply to where you are now. He pictures it easily, even though it disgusts him, knowing that you’re probably under Taehyung at this very moment. As he softens, he could vomit at the thought of it. Taehyung’s hands on you, his tongue in your mouth, his cock in your - 

Forcing the unwanted images away, he comforts himself by pulling out the memory of your words from tonight from his mind: I don’t think you realise how much you means to me. So yeah, I’m selfish and I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet, Min Yoongi.

He treasures it like it was made of pure gold: it is this memory, this slim plate of gold, on to which he piles all his hopes and dreams. He reasons with himself, against all reason, that it is still simply a waiting game and that you will, one day, find your way to him. 

Nonetheless, for all his forced hopefulness, and not for the first time, Yoongi feels the tears gather in his eyes and they quickly overspill, track down the sides of his face, the neon lights dancing on them as they roll and disappear into the black roots of his hair.

In Taehyung’s apartment the tears leak out of the corner of your eyes, rolling down the sides of your face, into your hair and the pillow beneath as you sob softly.

“It’s ok, baby,” Taehyung says, in a soft comforting tone, “I’ve got you.”

“Taehyung, please,” you whimper. 

He coos encouragingly at you from between your tired legs as he fucks you hard with deep and slow rolls of his hips, fucking you through your overstimulation.

“What do you want?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward from his kneeling position, your legs slung around his hips. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the hard bud before delivering a sharp nip that has your hips jerking up into him, your back arching desperately. He releases it with a wet sound.

“Use your words,” he commands in his silky baritone.

“I can’t take anymore,” you beg desperately, “Please, no more.”

“One more,” he says with mock sympathy, “My cock has missed this cunt, let me feel you clench for me one more time and then I’ll fill you up, I’m so fucking close,” he groans.

You can only offer a weak whine by way of agreement as his fingers circle you clit and you come again within moments, screaming in both pleasure and the pain from your spent body. He groans long and deep in satisfaction and stills his hips as he enjoys the sensation.

“No, baby,” you cry out needily, “Keep moving, please,” you plead, you need him to finish and you can’t handle him edging himself again and prolonging this intense marathon of fucking you until you’re raw and in agony.

You realise the bedside table drawer is within reach, and therefore the lube, and you reach for it, smothering your fingers as Taehyung pumps you gently. His hips circling agonisingly slowly as he sucks and bites at your neck, one hand in your hair, the other at your breast, his large hand kneading the flesh almost painfully.

You remember making him come undone all that time ago, and so again you reach around him, circling the rim of his tight hole, taking the grunts of desire and eager trembling of his breath as the go-ahead as you slide one finger in, pumping and gently curling before adding a second as his hips start to thump quickly into you. The addition of a third finger and the finding of his sweet spot has him panting like a bitch in heat and he fucks you at a furious pace, his hips pistoning as his cock rams in and out, his balls slapping sweatily against you. 

Every sound in the room is obscene, a mess of squelching, slapping, pounding, whimpers, gasps, moans and groans, but nothing is louder than Taehyung as he chases his high with desperate need and desire.

“I’m coming,” he stutters out desperately, and you keep up the rhythm of pressing and releasing the soft spot within him rapidly, realising it’s getting him there, “Press harder baby, press harder,” he yells.

You do and he comes explosively, his orgasm followed by a series of shudders that run through his whole body as he continues to buck into you, his yell now a wail of pure satisfaction.

Long moments later, he collapses on top of you and you ease your fingers from him, holding them away from you both as Taehyung crushes you. You lie there uncomfortably as he starts to soften knowing he needs the time to recover his strength, for his empty mind to fill again and his thoughts to form into order.

“I’ve never come like that before in my life,” he moans pleasurably as he lifts his weight off you on shaky arms, “It was like one after the other, fucking amazing.”

You can only smile shyly as he fixes you with a serious look, kissing your lips gently, “Fuck babe, your cunt is made for my cock. Only you can make me come like this… I do it to you too, right? We’re made for each other, aren’t we?” he asks.

You smile reassuringly, stroking his sweaty hair from his face with your cleaner hand, “Baby, baby,” you say soothingly, “I have never had sex this good, ever. The way you fuck -,” you pause and shake your head with a smile, indicating you can’t even put it into words, “You’re perfect Tae - sex with you is perfect.”

He grins broadly as he rolls off you and watches his cum seep from your reddened, puffy lips, “It’s not just me,” he asserts passionately, “It’s us together, because we’re so in love, yeah?” he looks to you for confirmation and the need and the sadness in his eyes is so easy to read.

“I don’t know why it is,” you say honestly, “But it’s not just because of how much I love you,” you reassure as you begin to squirm uncomfortably. Noticing, Taehyung reaches for tissues to wipe you up.

“It’s so many things,” you explain, being soft and gentle in your tone, “It’s obviously to do with your massive cock, and your fucking skills and stamina, but I think its also that I trust you completely. I feel safe with you - I’d let you do anything to me.”

He smiles softly at that, “Thank you, baby,” he watches you wince as he wipes you, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah? Then we’ll sleep in the spare room, I’ll change the sheets tomorrow.”

He helps you to your feet and you both stagger to the large en-suite with a wet room at the far end. Under warm jets of water from all angles, you help each other clean your bodies gently and thoroughly until somehow, you’re on your knees again, Taehyung’s broad torso sheltering you from the water as you suck his cock again.

Much later, your breath is deep and slow as you sleep cuddled in to Taehyung’s side where he holds you. He loves this feeling, your soft breath against his skin, your warm body under his hand, the delicious scent of your hair that tickles his nose when he kisses the top of your head. He loves it all: the quiet stillness of the night, you, his love, in his arms. It’s almost enough to drive the shadows back.

As you snuffle in your sleep and snuggle more deeply into him, he pulls you closer, smiling as you hum happily in your sleep, secure in his arms. He thinks of your words: ‘I trust you completely’, you’d said it honestly and he believes you. 

The problem, he realises, is that he’s not sure he can trust you.

Chapter Text

You sigh back into the strong hands kneading your shoulders. Dexterous fingers work at the knotted muscle and tension there, helping you to relax.

“You’re getting better at taking care of yourself, kiddo, but you still need to unwind,” he teases, but a note of caution underlies the tone, “And you need to come back to the party now,” he says.

When he releases your shoulders, you turn the monitor off and swivel the office chair around to face him, “I really hate these sorts of things,” you sigh.

“You get that from me,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Just like your brother, your father smiles with his whole face. He beams as you stand up and plaster a smile on your face, “That’s my girl.”

Your smile becomes genuine, your heart warmed by his comfort, “I love you, Dad,” you say, seemingly out of nowhere, but it’s not. He knows, stepping forward to pull you into one of his warm hugs, something that never fails to soothe you.

Your father is a man of infinite patience and gentleness, so he doesn’t tell you to pull yourself together, nor to keep your chin up, nor to grin and bear it, instead he just says, “Let’s make it through another half hour and we can go. Your tired old man will need his daughter’s help to get home by then,” he schemes with a cheeky glint in his eye.

You laugh and nod at the same time, and follow him out of your office and back to the gathering in the lab; Dongyeon catches sight of you both with a wide grin on his face, putting his drink down so he can bring you both a glass of champagne.

“Jimin’s got himself a good one there,” your Dad whispers to you, and again you laugh, a little more tension releasing from your body.

Dr Gong catches sight of you and smiles before calling out loudly, “I think it’s time for the leaving speeches to start,” he says, as your mother stands beside him, much stronger now with a healthy glow to her cheeks and her usual determination written across her face.

Your Dad whispers to you as you both smile and thank Dongyeon, “I will make you a hundred hotteok for our picnic tomorrow, just keep thinking of that,” he mutters encouragingly, knowing that this level of attention embarrasses you horribly.

You stretch your legs out over the picnic blanket, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your stretched out limbs as you rest your head on your mother’s lap, your hands crossed over your full stomach, moaning slightly in discomfort.

“Just how many of those hotteok did you polish off?” teases your mother.

“It’s my fault,” says your Dad, who has become incredibly protective of you in the last few days, as he always does when you’re about to leave Daegu and he knows it will be some time until he sees you again.

“It’s only your fault that they’re delicious, Dad,” you say, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze, “It’s my fault that I can’t resist them.”

“Neither can I,” groans your equally stuffed brother, whose back presses against your mother’s, the two supporting each other. All three of you - you, your mother and father - all smile happily. 

Now, on the other side of the stress of your mother’s illness and in an established and happy relationship, your brother is eating regularly again and is much healthier, to all of your relief. Jimin’s hiatus has become permanent and he’s decided to stay in Daegu; you suspect that’s the best thing for him. He’s made friends here, he’s found love, has a dance studio that can offer him more work and he’s even begun to sing again under Yoongi’s tutelage and guidance, something he hasn’t done since he gave it up to focus on dance.

There, stretched out in the sun and the joy of the day, you know that you don’t need to worry about your family when you leave Daegu. Yet, it’s equally true that you’ll miss them desperately, more perhaps than you have done in the past.

For long minutes you all sit together, laughing, recalling memories, picking at the remaining food and talking together. The happiness radiates from each of you, wrapping you all in an aura of warmth. In the middle of a particularly funny story of your mother making something particularly inappropriate at one of your Dad’s pottery classes, your phone lights up and chimes with a distinctive personalised tone.

“Taehyung?” your mother pauses to enquire.

You nod, picking up your phone, “Yeah,” you say.

Drifting out of the conversation around you, your mind is pulled back in time.

You wake up the morning after the dinner at the LUA lounge, wrapped in Taehyung’s arms; he lies facing you, his eyes already open, a soft expression on his face as he watches you sleep, startling you slightly as you come into full consciousness.

“Good morning,” he greets you in a gravelly voice, “It’s good to have you back here with me,” and he leans in close, pecking you softly on the forehead, then the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, you can see he’s slept poorly. You can see the tension in his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes.

He laughs dryly at that, rolling on to his back and offering you the broad expanse of his chest. You settle yourself against his chest, enjoying the feel and smell of his warmth.

“You know me so well, eh?” he asks, “Just have some things on my mind. It doesn’t matter.”

You know from his tone that you ought not to pursue the point and so you change it, “I think I’m going to go back to Daegu,” you say, “I need to work on things there. Maybe tomorrow?”

He hums, “I think I’m going to needed to be here for a while.” 

You sit up, lying on your stomach to look at him, “Do you want me to stay longer?”

He reaches for you, smoothing stray hairs from your face before his large palm comes to cup your cheek, his thumb gently sweeping your bottom lip. You watch his face carefully, there’s something in his eyes that suddenly makes your heart beat faster and your breath catch in your throat.

He releases your face and answers, “No, I don’t think I want that.”

You realise what was in his expression then: dread. He had been dreading telling you this. He no longer wants you.

Your lips part slightly and your stomach drops, but you force yourself to speak, “Oh, I see,” is all you’re able to offer. 

Then, suddenly, you’re aware of, and deeply embarrassed by, your nakedness. You roll away from him reaching under the pillow for the oversized tee of his that you keep there, covering yourself quickly. It’s a little ridiculous given all that he’s seen of and done to your body but you feel exposed in a way you never have before with him.

You want to tell him that you have to leave, but all that will come out is “I -, I -, I -” in a staccato burst of disconnected sounds as you begin to panic and try to remove your legs from the tangle of sheets. 

He leans to you and catches your arms underneath your wrists, saying your name soothingly, “Stop, babe, just stop a minute,” you do, eventually breathing normally. Even though you feel his dark eyes burning into you, you can’t look at him.

“You can’t just run away from everything,” he sighs, “We have to talk.”

When you bring your eyes up to meet his, he almost gasps at the expression there: your eyes are alight with pure, unmitigated fury.

“Are you angry?” he asks disbelievingly, almost releasing you.

“No,” you deny, in more of a growl than a voice.

“You look angry,” he insists, as you seethe beneath his grasp.

“Just like sometimes you have to stay instead of running, sometimes you should also tell the truth instead of lying,” he lectures, and something inside you explodes.

“I am fucking angry,” you suddenly hiss, your body trembling with rage as his grip on you tightens. He holds you in place and, careful to keep his weight on his legs and not you, he straddles you, pushing you to the bed.

“For my own safety,” he quips with a brief smile before continuing, “Why are you so angry?”

“I knew I’d fucked everything up,” you rage, “I fucking knew it! And then, for a moment when you came here for me, I thought it would be ok, but of course it’s not because this is what I do! I fuck people over and I hurt their feelings to protect my own and I run away so I don’t have to face it. I knew I’d lose you,” you spit, angry tears begin to roll from your eyes and you shake your head furiously to try and stop them.

Taehyung releases your hands so you can wipe them away, which you do with an almost violent swipe.

“You’re not angry with me?” he says in genuine surprise.

Finally, you look at him, eyes swimming and your rage momentarily calmed by the release of tears, “Only a little bit, because I’m so embarrassed. Why, should I be angry at you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I thought maybe you thought that I was rejecting you?” he says, clearly confused.

You meet his confused look with your own, “Wait? What?” you question, before you quickly assert, “You are rejecting me, and I don’t blame you, I deserve it,” you say, looking away from him again.

He says your name repeatedly, coaxing you to look at him, when you finally do, he speaks, “I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about what’s going on in your head,” he breathes deeply, “Can we talk like this?”

Pinned beneath him, you simply nod.

He takes another deep breath, “I love you. I see us together, always. I can see us getting married and having our own family and growing old together and I want it. I want all of it and only with you. I’ve worked so long and so hard, and I just want some happiness now with the love of my life. The question is, is that the life you want?” he stresses the word carefully.

You look into his wide open eyes, and you want to comfort him, but you know the truth is more important to him right now, “I love you, Taehyung,” you say passionately, “But I don’t know what I want yet. Maybe those things, but maybe not all of them and maybe not yet, I think,” you say gently,

“Thank for telling me the truth, though I guess I already knew it,” he says sadly, “I think we have a problem.”

You close your eyes tightly and brace yourself for the coming blow.

He says your name like a question before clasping your face in his hands, “Look at me,” he commands, but gently.

Your eyes open, again shining with as yet unspilled tears, blurring your vision of his handsome, concerned face, “Just say it, Taehyung,” you almost sob, “We both know it’s true, so just say it,” the tears spill forth and an image of Yoongi at the train station forces its way into your mind.

“Say what?” he asks with concern, wiping at your tears.

“Say ‘I deserve better than you’, we both know you do,” you say as your heart breaks. It’s different to that night all those years ago, when it imploded inside you like shattered glass, now it explodes outwards, with the force of a small bomb, as your body is wracked with sobs.

Taehyung soothes you through your wails, leaning back and pulling you upwards so you can bury your face into his bare chest, wetting it with your tears as he holds you close.

“Baby, no, no no,” he says softly as he holds you and strokes your messy hair, “You’ve got it all wrong, that’s not what I want to say,” he keeps soothing you until you tire yourself out and he knows you’re able to listen. 

He manoeuvres you from under him so that you come to sit in his lap, you wrap your legs around him and you cringe slightly from how close your faces are.

As you look at him through puffy reddened eyes, you see that he too is crying, his heart aching to see you break yours.

“I would never say such a thing to you,” he says, with as much passion as you did asserting your love for him,  “It’s you that deserves better, can’t you see that? You deserve better than giving up the dreams you haven’t yet achieved just to make me happy.”

You try to smile, but your mouth simply seems to twist as more tears push through. He holds you again, kissing the tears from your cheeks, “It’s ok, it’s ok,” he soothes.

“It’s not ok,” you sob weakly, looking deep into his eyes, “You’re it too,” you weep.

He looks at you confused, “I’m what? I don’t understand,” he says, trying to comfort you.

“It’s you, Tae,” you say, your voice weakly bubbling through your sobs, “You’re my dream too.”

You don’t realise it now, but in years to come you’ll be glad you looked at him then and saw the transformation come across his face in this moment: his brow unknits; his downturned mouth gapes open into a D-shape of confusion whilst the realisation settles; then his eyebrows raise; his eyes suddenly sparkle with more than tears and his cheeks push his eyes up as his mouth widens into the shape of a box, until pure, unadulterated joy sits over his features. 

There have never been words he’s wanted to hear more in his life,  “Say it again,” he says with a laugh laced with desperation.

“I have loved you since I was a child,” you say gently, “and these last months - God help me, Taehyung, I am so in love with you that it hurts.”

You’ve barely finished speaking before his mouth crashes on yours and you kiss him back with the same fervent need, as though your souls aim to connect between your lips. You claw furiously at each other to pull together closer, as though being two separate bodies is somehow offensive to the love you share.

Somewhere in the mad scramble of hands stroking at flesh and lips and teeth clashing, your sleep tee is discarded. Taehyung’s hard cock is guided into you, and you rock into him, your legs tightly around him: there’s no thrusting, the position doesn’t allow it, only the deep rolls of your hips and his, your tongues dancing together before you move to suck and bite on each others’ skin, before hungrily seeking the others lips again. His grip is firm on your ass, whilst you keep one arm tight around his shoulder, clinging on as you reach around to play and tug at his balls with the other, pressing your thumb into the sensitive flesh between them, causing him to jerk and gasp into your mouth. 

The force of your shared passion and desire doesn’t allow either of you to last and it’s not much longer before you reach your high together, gasping into each other’s mouths as you tighten and spasm around his thickness. His balls pull up as he releases everything he has to give into you, feeling your snug, warm walls gripping his cock and milking him. When you both come down from your high, the two of you giggle happily, resting your sweaty foreheads against each other and sighing in satisfaction and love.

By the time you meet Zico it’s brunch rather than breakfast, but he’s good humoured about it and comments several times about how happy you and Taehyung seem, how in love you are. So, it’s only much later in the day, when you’re finally alone in Taehyung’s apartment that he is able to bring up the situation between the two of you.

You’re in the kitchen, making yourself a cup of tea when he appears behind you, wrapping his arms around you and saying softly, “We still need to talk.”

He feels your whole body tense, but you nonetheless nod, “I know,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Taehyung pulls you close; you can feel the tension vibrating through his body, as if every muscle is tensed, every nerve pulled taut. You know what’s coming, but you don’t want to hear it.

“No, Tae, don’t say it, plea-,” but he doesn’t even let you finish your desperate plea before he interrupts.

“I think you should go back to London,” he breathes into your hair.

You pull away, confused and you glare at him, “What?” you demand, flabbergasted.

He attempts to smile, but it’s only a grimace, “I want us to be happy,” he says sensibly, “and you need to decide what you want.”

“What are you saying, Taehyung?” you ask, “Are you breaking up with me?”

He sighs and wraps you in his arms again, you submit and let him pull you close, “Seriously? I told you earlier that I wanted to marry you! I just want you to take some time, focus on what you want and think about what you’re prepared to let go of to make us work, and I’ll do the same.”

“Is that really what you want?” you say sceptically, pulling yourself from his arms and trying to maintain an even tone. You’re stunned at his calm detachment whilst you feel like your world is crumbling around you.

“Fuck no!” he laughs, “I want you here, with me, always! But it’s like I said earlier, this isn’t about me, it’s about you and if you stay here and give up everything for me, I think you’ll regret it and that you’ll hate me for it in time,” he explains, his tone becoming more tense as he feels the waves of emotion rolling off you: anger, pain, rejection, humiliation.

He shakes his head and tries to reach for you, as you pull further away, “This is so far from what I want,” he sighs, “But if it means that I get you back in the end, and forever, then it will be worth it. If I lose you, it’ll fucking break me, but I’ll know that I did the right thing.”

You jut your jaw to one side and click your tongue, trying to maintain composure, “Let me get this right,” you say, breathing deeply as you try to stay calm, “You are breaking up with me now because you think if we stay together I’ll regret it and resent you? And you’ve decided that if it works out, then we’ll get back together and if it doesn’t workout, well, that’s okey-fucking-dokey because you will have been the bigger person?” your attempt to stay calm starts to fail you as your emotions get the better of you and your voice raises.

“That’s not exactly it,” he says, trying to sound reasonable, but it’s too late, the emotional rollercoaster of the last days has proved too much for you and you’re on this ride until the end now.

“Isn’t it though?” you say in a slightly mocking tone before you try to check yourself, “I need air, I’m going for a walk.”

You stride from the kitchen towards the apartment door before he clasps your arm, pulling you back towards him.

Instantly, you shake your arm free, “Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss in warning.

He pulls back as though burned, “I don’t think you should leave,” he says his eyes full of concern, “Not when you’re feeling like this.”

You scoff at his reasonableness, “Fine,” you huff, “but I need to process this and I don’t want to say something I regret, so you go.”

“Me?” he asks confused, “But it’s my apartment?” he protests weakly.

An odd, serene calm comes over you, you flare your nostrils but then say, evenly and softly, but with fierce eye contact, “Get the fuck out, Taehyung.”

Something in your manner compels him to listen, and he nods, “Yep, ok,” he says compliantly, and moves to the door, shrugging on his jacket and pushing his feet into his sliders.

As his hand reaches the door he turns and looks at you, “Will you be here when I get back?” he asks with a desperate sort of look.

“Yes,” you say.

As the door shuts behind you, neither of you knows if you’re telling the truth or lying.

When Taehyung gets back from his walk, he sees Zico’s driver having a cigarette around the corner of the building and approaches him.

“He’s come to get her then,” Taehyung states, taking the cigarette that the man offers.

“Yeah,” replies the driver, Minjun, “as I understand it, they’re waiting for you to get back so she can leave. Something about not giving you the satisfaction of her running away.”

Taehyung nods, drawing on the cigarette and puffing the smoke lazily into the air, knowing the smell of it would piss you off because you hate smoking, but realising that it is probably the least of his problems.

“I think I’ve fucked up again,” Taehyung says with a dry, humourless laugh.

Minjun is silent in response, and Taehyung smiles, “No words of encouragement, Ahjussi?” 

“You’re a nice young man,” Minjun says evenly, “But I’ve known the lady a long time now and I’m very fond of her so it wouldn’t be wise for me to comment.”

Taehyung nods, dropping his cigarette and grinding it out with his shoe, “Fuck,” he suddenly exclaims, “Have you got a wipe or a tissue?” he asks Minjun who pulls one from his pocket, watching bemusedly as Taehyung uses it to pick up the cigarette butt before depositing it in the bin.

Taehyung catches the man’s confused expression, “They kill turtles apparently,” he says, blushing, “She’d go crazy if I left it on the ground,” he explains as he starts to walk back to his building’s entrance.

“Forgive me,” Minjun calls after him in a fatherly tone, “But if you love her enough to do things like that, then why are you breaking her heart?” he asks.

Taehyung turns, smiling sadly as he walks backwards for a couple of paces, “It’s because of how much I love her.”

The scene in the apartment was a little messy, but less dramatic than could be expected because of Zico’s lingering presence in the hallway. 

Some unfair accusations were thrown, namely you causing Taehyung of wanting to keep his dick wet, but it all fizzled out quietly, a miserable kind of acceptance coming over the two of you, promising you’d speak with him in a few days. All the fight gone from you, you simply walked out, leaving him feeling more alone than he knew was possible.

That was more than a month ago.

Now you look at his name lighting up your phone, the picture of his smiling face, and you press mute, letting this call, like the dozens before, go answered.

“Are you going to speak to him again?” your father asks you kindly.

You open your mouth to answer, still trying to think of the words to say, before Jimin surprises you all by answering for you.

“Why should she?” he says firmly, reaching for your hand and squeezing it and speaking to all three of you, “Once I thought that she’d be the one to hurt him, but I was wrong. He’s the one who thinks he’s being strong or noble or whatever but he’s a dick and he doesn’t deserve my sister. He was never good enough for her,” he says huffily.

You know that’s not quite fair or true, as does Jimin, but you appreciate the brotherly sentiment; he was cowed by your mother’s words on Jeju and since has given you no reason to suspect him of being less than completely in your corner. You know you’ll have to talk to him about not letting his friendship with Taehyung be affected, but now isn’t the time, instead you smile warmly and squeeze his hand back.

That night, sleep refuses you yet again and instead of glaring at your ceiling in frustration you follow your feet through the city until they come to rest in one of your favourite spots. 

You sit outside the observatory at Apsan Park, looking at twinkling city lights stretching out before you, a shimmering ocean of glittering lights that seem to await you.

“Not your wisest idea to be out this late alone,” calls the man approaching you with a wave, pulling his cap off so you can see his face.

“I’m not alone now though, am I?” you smirk, patting the bench beside you, “Sit with me.”

He sits next to you, following your gaze out over the lights, “It’s one in the morning,” he states as a simple matter of fact.

You scoff, “Sorry, were you asleep when I called?”

He laughs properly at that, and nudges you with his shoulder, “Very funny.”

“I’m fucking hilarious,” you say drily, nudging him back.

“Yeah, a laugh a minute,” he quips back, before pausing and taking a more serious tone, “What’s up, mate? You ok?”

You turn to look at him then, and your eyes instantly fill; a thousand lies are born in your mind but each one dies on your lips as you settle for the truth, “No, I’m really not,” you say with a weak smile, the tears spilling down your cheeks.

He looks at you, his mouth slightly open before he slides away from you, twisting his body towards you so you can lean into him, so that he can almost cradle you as you cry softly against his chest, “Are you sad about leaving?” he asks gently.

You only nod and snuffle, and he pries, “Is that why you called me? For sympathy and to snot on my hoodie?” he chuckles as you laugh a little at his words.

“Is it so unbelievable that I’d come to you for comfort, Min Yoongi?” you ask. 

He wants to ask you why you wouldn’t just ask your boyfriend, but he bites his tongue, “Yeah, it’s definitely just so you can snot on me.”

You laugh at that, “I told you once before,” you say warmly, “I’m selfish. I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet,” you say, repeating the words that are now tattooed on his heart.

He pecks the top of your head: it’s a chaste, friendly kiss, it doesn’t impose, it demands nothing, but the deep, unspoken affection in it screams at you silently. You gently squeeze his arm that’s wrapped around you in your own quiet show of affection. You don’t know why you haven’t told him it’s over between you and Taehyung - it’s never felt like the right time, maybe it never will be.

“Neither am I,” he says softly; it could just be a whisper, but you hear it nonetheless.

“Have you noticed that this is the opposite of when we were at the beach?” you say thoughtfully as you look up at the sky.

He raises his eyebrows at you, “How so?”

“This,” you say waving your arm at the sky above and the city below you, “At the beach, the sky was alive with stars, and the sea was this expanse of blackness, now it’s the other way around, the sky is empty and all that’s before us is light,” you state simply.

He looks at both for a moment and considers them both, before his gaze comes to rest on you, his expression soft, “I guess you’re right,” he says with a smile and barely concealed affection.

“I think a lot has become topsy-turvy since then,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He nods gently and pulls you closer, “Which do you prefer - city or stars?”

“Neither, I think,” you reason after thinking, “I like the sea at night best, all that rolling blackness; I can’t explain just what it is that it makes me feel, but it just makes me feel,” you emphasise.

He nods, “I get that; it makes me feel too,” his heart is warmed by your appreciative hum in response.

You sit together under the heavy sky for hours, talking of everything and nothing. Eventually the sun rises, lifting the blanket of darkness and offering a new day, yet, somehow, there’s less comfort to be found in that than there was in the darkness that settled around you while you lay safe in Yoongi’s arms.

Chapter Text

“So, how does it feel?” squeals the woman beside you, reaching for your left hand and pulling it towards her excitedly.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, giving in to her, “Is it supposed to feel different?” you laugh shyly, though you are glowing with joy, the shock still running through your body.

“Uh yeah!” she laughs happily, overjoyed for you, “Isn’t it a dream come true?”

You pull your hand back and are about to admire it yourself for a moment when a loud shriek of your name comes across the canteen, drawing your attention towards the slightly mad looking woman who has seen the scene and now rushes at you.

“You’re engaged?” she hisses as she approaches, sliding on the bench next to you.

You can only gaze open mouthed at her as your poor hand is now seized by a second person in as many minutes, though you do allow yourself a smirk when her jaw drops open in shock.

“Yeah,” smiles your friend across from you, “That’s exactly what you think it is.”

The shrieking woman gasps, “Oh my goodness,” she says flushed, “Congratulations!” she wheezes.

“Aren’t you going to ask who the lucky guy is?” prompts your friend with a laugh.

“Don’t tease her, Helen” you admonish gently, smiling at both women, before turning to the previously shrieking woman, “Thank you for your congratulations, I appreciate it,” you say kindly, and genuinely, as she flushes with several apologies and leaves, blushing.

“Don’t be mean to her,” you say to Helen as the woman departs.

“Oh, please,” Helen says scoffing, “You know I hate all the people in that lab, they’re always trying to get ahead of our research proposals,” she says irritably, still eyeing the departing woman suspiciously as though at anytime she might sneak back and try to probe the two of you for secret information.

You laugh at her, and she just eyes your hand, “Seriously, keep that safe or she’ll try to prise it out of your fingers,” she says with mock seriousness.

“Oh ha ha,” you say drily, twirling your new ID card in your fingers as a smile creeps across your face, which fills your friend’s heart with delight; it’s been so long since she saw you smile genuinely like that.

“The youngest PI this university has ever seen,” she says, her voice dripping with pride for you and warmth, “And with her own massive research grant. I swear that made her more jealous than any engagement ring ever could! Prof,” she emphasises, and you laugh together.

You smile at her, before you turn your attention back to the card and the new title of Associate Professor emblazoned upon it beside the university’s crest.

“How many women get engaged each day?” she asks seriously, “And how many get made into professors?” she counters, eager that you finally celebrate your achievements.

“Associate professor,” you correct modestly, drawing a scoffing noise from her, before you grin at her, “I have wanted this since I was a little girl,” you say, your eyes sparkling before it gives you an idea and you pose with your card as a newly engaged woman would with a ring whilst Helen takes ever more elaborate and ridiculous photos and you send them to your nearest and dearest, as well as posting them on your social media at Helen’s insistence.

Weeks later you sit in your new office, looking out over the wet and windy streets of London, watching as a swirl of leaves race the loose sheets of a newspaper down the street. You’ve begun to establish yourself in your new role and you’re grateful to be busy, the loneliness you feel settling in your bones. 

You’re in regular contact with home, but you and Yoongi barely speak now, you know he’s missing you and you respect how he needs to deal with that. You still haven’t spoken to Taehyung, and now you’re beginning to doubt if you ever will again.

“Penny for your thoughts,” calls a voice from the doorway, and you turn to see Professor Johnson, your immediate supervisor and the man who recommended you for your promotion, hovering there awkwardly.

You smile, but notice he looks tense, “I’m fine, Bill,” you smile, “What can I do for you? Is something up? How were the interviews?”

He nods his head rapidly and uncomfortably, “Oh, fine, still finishing up, you know how it is. No time to dilly-dally! I come with a message from Helen that I have been told to repeat verbatim,” he sighs, “So here it is: get your arse to the lobby now, because there is a fucking gorgeous man here to see you,” he says with a slightly blush that creeps all the way to the white hair at his temples.

“I can only apologise for her,” you laugh as he waves you off, already departing. Confused, you head to the lift and make your way to the lobby, your stomach knotted in apprehension. You begin to panic that it might be Steve, the godawful blind date you’d agreed to and bailed out early on last week, but you doubt he’d ever be described as ‘fucking gorgeous’.

You steel yourself for what might come next assuming it’s probably just a handsome delivery driver or one of Helen’s unfunny pranks, like the many she pulled when you were at university together as students.

Yet, as soon as you exit the lift, you recognise him immediately as he turns towards you, pushing his thick, glossy hair back, smoothing the edges with the broad palm of his hand. A smile breaks out on your face and his simultaneously as your eyes meet and you beam at each other. You’re about to run towards him when arms close around you from behind and a voice says in your ear, “Did you miss us?”

You cannot contain your shriek of delight as you abandon your destination and turn into the embrace, burying your face into his shoulder and squeaking in delight.

“It’s been far too long,” he says, squeezing you tightly, “I missed you so fucking much!” 

When he releases you, you’re finally able to speak, “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t have a chance to answer though as the man across the lobby has now reached you, “I’m your new researcher!” Dongyeon declares and you look from him to your brother, who still holds you, in delight and confusion.

“You need to explain this to me!” you stutter out as Helen joins you, a wicked, knowing grin on her face.

An hour later, as you all recline, bellies full from the lunch you’ve eaten, you’ve been debriefed: Helen, worried about you and your crushing loneliness, had thought immediately of Dongyeon when Prof Johnson had said they were recruiting for a new researcher. 

She knew you really respected him and so, like all good friends, she reached out to your brother behind your back and now they are here in London, for at least a year and maybe longer. You’re proud of your protégé for securing the job on his own merit and even more proud of your brother who has got himself a teaching and choreography position at one of London’s most respected and prestigious dance schools. 

Lunch revealed the whole extent of the plot as your brother tells you of your parents’ involvement and blessing, given on the grounds that he brings you back over the winter break to see them, an easy sacrifice for you.

Your heart is full and you squeeze the hands of the people around you, grateful for each of them. You feel that void in your heart, the gaping emptiness that has been chewing at your soul for months now, begin to shrink a little, and, for the first time in so very long, you feel hopeful for the future; all thoughts of Kim Taehyung and Min Yoongi far from your mind.

Chapter Text

Sitting on your couch, you absentmindedly stroking the furry pillow on your lap, feeling a sudden pang of sadness in your heart. You realise you’re missing the malevolent little demon, Jiji, who hasn’t been curled up in your lap for many, many months now. 

You’re ashamed that you haven’t thought about her in an age. In fact, you haven’t thought about Korea, or your life there, in an age either. You’ve embraced being back in London, sharing the joys of the city for the very first time with Jimin and Dongyeon has been a massive distraction from your half-homesickness.

Half-homesickness. That’s what you’ve always called it: wherever you are you’re split in half, at home in either place but still missing the other. Your fractured self. There’s no way to cure it, no strategy that makes everything better, all you can do is be present wherever you are. In many ways, that’s been made easier by watching how Jimin and Dongyeon have settled in.

It’s been glorious how the two of them have adapted; it’s now almost a year since their arrival and they’ve settled into London life happily, talking of making the move permanent. They’ve become part of your group of friends here, and you’ve been truly happier in these last months than you’ve been in a long while.

Still, though that yawning chasm has shrunk inside you, now perhaps no more than the tiniest speck, it still exists, a little void at the centre of your soul,  but you’re practised in ignoring it - you did for so many years before, so you can again.

You place the pillow down beside you and stand and stretch. The night darkens around you and the long shadows in your sitting room start to morph into ghostly spectres. You move about the room, turning lamps on as you go, the warm light they throw out masking the chill that’s settling into your bones. 

You move to your long, almost floor-to-ceiling ornate window, the pride and joy of your Georgian apartment, and catch sight of your ghostly reflection in the glass, startling yourself. You’re tempted to pull the curtains against it, but instead you pull them around you, blocking the light from behind you in your apartment, which allows you to look out at your area of London stretching before you under the gathering darkness as the night comes to rest.

With a gentle sigh, you pull your attention away from the city before you and continue your housekeeping, preparing for the imminent arrival of your brother for your monthly sibling night, from which all your friends, even the ever loyal Dongyeon, are banned.

It has turned out to be valuable time for you and your brother. No more misunderstandings occur between you anymore, you’re open and honest about everything and you’ve worked through a great deal of issues, both his and your own, together. You’re closer with Jimin now than you ever have been and, as you now open the wine so it can breathe, you reflect again on how grateful you are to have him here with you.

You’re just washing your hands from a trip to the bathroom when Jimin calls you; you answer the call aas you make your way to the door, “Answer the damn door!,” he shrieks, “It’s freezing outside, let me in the warm!” 

You laugh as you make your way to the door and fumble the lock, “Hear that, you impatient git?” you laugh, “I’m opening it n-,” but the words die in your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’ll explain everything later,” your brother’s voice calls from down the line, and you barely register it even when he hangs up, you just remain, staring dumbly ahead, head clamped to your shoulder, fixing your phone in place whilst you open the door.

It’s not Jimin standing before you. 

It’s him.

“What are you doing here?” you finally say, after long minutes of staring at each other.

“I can’t face a life without you anymore,” he says with a desperate sort of determination and urgency, “I need you. I can’t live like this. I want to see you at the start and end of every day. I love you,” each sentence tumbles over the last like waves breaking on the shore and you’re struck dumb and are powerless in the face of their pure simplicity and truth.

The phone tumbles from your shoulder and he leans forward; your breath catches in your throat as his fingers close around the falling phone. 

You breathe his name in a strangled gasp.

Chapter Text

Relentless light beams ferociously through the tall glass windows of the airport directly into Taehyung’s eyes. He grapples with his passport whilst trying to jam his sunglasses on against the dazzling rays. His head feels ready to split open and he’s oblivious to the simpering smiles of the airport staff as they pass back the passport he roughly thrust at them, too tired to remember his manners. As soon as he’s through passport control, he downs some aspirins with a bottle of water that he swallows in one, before he crumples the bottle and pushes it into the nearby recycling bin, grateful to be on his way home.

Taehyung has been in New Orleans for a week and he’s tired. He’s recently been working on a few jazz tracks in his post-tour lull and one of his all-time heroes had lured him to the home of jazz for a tour of his favourite clubs. He’d enjoyed himself, dancing in smoky, dark venues, twirling through the couples doing the two-step, sometimes alone, sometimes with a faceless and forgettable woman. Getting on the plane, exhausted and feeling a little grubby as he always does after too much meaningless sex, he makes his heavy-footed way to his seat.

He settles into his comfortable bed in first class and reclines into its soft contours, rolling his shoulders back into the yielding softness. Beginning to scroll mindlessly through his phone, he opens his private Instagram and finds a message from Dongyeon, he’s forwarded him a post of yours from today: you hardly ever post and it has him intrigued.

He reads the comments, his attention drawn to one from an account DrHelsBells, surmising that is the friend Helen you would often talk about, it reads: Who needs men? No man is sexier than your brain 🧠 🤤 

He chuckles a little to himself and looks through the photos of you posing with your new ID card, his own smile growing at the broad smile splitting your face. In one photo the card is slotted between your ring and middle finger, and your hand is extended out in front of you as though you’re admiring an engagement ring. Though your face is alive with excitement, your eyes lack the sparkle of the other pictures. Taehyung wonders if in that moment you were wondering what it would have been like to have a ring there beside that ID card, to have everything you ever wanted. Didn’t you say that to him? That he’d been your dream too?

With the weight of a thousand bricks his stomach sinks, sending a tidal wave of shame and guilt flooding through his body, because he knows that he’s the reason why you don’t have everything you want: you don’t have it because he took it from you. 

Now, almost a year on, as full of love for you as he ever was, he struggles to believe that his reasons were good enough and wonders if you’d want him now.

Mind racing, he reclines his head back and lets his eyes flutter closed as he prepares for the long flight back to Seoul. As he does, he plays out in his head what he would say to you if he could.

The second you told me to get the fuck out, that’s when I knew I’d lost you. That this time, worse than putting your hand over my cock as a stupid kid, I’d pushed you too far.

When I came back into the apartment and Zico passed me with the terrifying stare of his, I knew we were done. Why didn’t I tell you then that I was sorry? I could have told you that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. It’s still what I want, to be by your side, always.

I didn’t tell you though because I believed I was right. I knew that it would be cruel to beg you to give up the chances in front of you, the dreams which have now come true, so I could have you. I thought that was the right thing to do then. I think I still do now - look at everything you’ve already achieved now you’ve returned to London. I think in the end, it was the best thing for you. That gave me strength for a while, knowing I was doing something that was for you instead of me. I’ve gained nothing by losing you, only pain. I should be satisfied with the outcome, but the same thought keeps coming back to haunt me: what if there was another way?

I never even thought about what I could give up for you. My comeback has been a massive success; I’m more famous now than I have ever been. Should this be my closing chapter? I’ve always wanted to act, I could maybe do that. Not in England though, any future for me is in Korea.

Fuck, maybe it just won’t work: are our futures on opposites sides of the world?

I can’t answer these questions alone, though, can I? Why didn’t I talk to you about these things properly? Why did we never talk about this? Is that what we need now? To talk it out? To see if, together, we can find a way forward?

It’s an strange thing, but every time I try to think about the future I end up thinking about the past. Why is it that I feel now like I’m back in that clapped out piece-of-shit old Marcia, watching you walk towards me in the rain, your face painted red in embarrassment and your jaw taut as you try not to cry? Maybe it’s because I feel just like I did then, paralysed by all the things I want to tell you and so incapable of saying any of them.

That night, fuck, it hurts to think about it. Not just the punch (which was the worst physical pain I’ve ever known by the way) but the look you gave me when I said those stupid, stupid things.

Imagine if I’d said it better, imagine the night hadn’t ended with each of us crying alone but with you under me. What if that had been the first time we realised that our bodies fit together as two halves of a whole? If that night had been our first time together, I would have shown you how much I loved you. If I could have made you fall apart on my cock then as I’ve done so many times since then, would that have changed things? 

Fuck, I have to think of something disgusting now, don’t want to get hard on a plane like some kind of creep.

Still though, if we’d have fucked that night and realised how we’re made for each other, that could have been the start of us. Maybe you’d never have gone to England but studied at Seoul and always been with me; we’d probably already be married by now.

Maybe.

Or maybe I’d just have stolen away your dreams earlier, then you’d never have studied at your birth father’s university, you’d never have had that connection with him or your family there… 

What’s wrong with us, baby? Why isn’t there a world in which we both get what we want?

I don’t care anymore about how successful I’ve been this year. Every day I have missed you, it sits in the marrow of my bones as a deep ache that I can never be rid of. No amount of awards, sold out concerts or eager fans can make it go away. I wish I could lie and say I haven’t touched another woman in the time we’ve been apart, but I’ve fucked more women than I can count now and never the same woman twice. I’ve tried to date a few times but never wanted a second date. 

Nobody’s you, baby. 

It was hard enough trying to date years ago when, at the back of my mind, an idea of you lurked, my first love who I imagined was perfect in every way. Can you imagine how much harder it is now, knowing that you are just as perfect as imagined you’d be? How can I move on from that?

I wonder if you think of me like I think of you? Did I really live up to the way you’d dreamed of me when you were a teenager? Or, in the end, was I a disappointment?

I wonder how many good relationships I’ve kept you from? What if I’d never lied to you and Taecyeon? I still feel fucking sick to my stomach about how I used my advance to bully him out of dating you. Would you two now be married? You at your lab, him as a doctor in some glamorous Harley Street practice in London? Would you be the mother of his children instead of Sana? Would that have brought Jimin and Dongyeon together sooner and if so, how much sooner could Jimin have been as happy and contented as he is now? I think these things all the time and they torture me.

Maybe it wouldn’t have lasted with Taecyeon. I wonder if it’s the sullen Min Yoongi that’s really the man for you. Would he give up everything and move halfway around the world for you? I think he would. I think that little bastard would crawl over broken glass on bare knees for you, I don’t think you realise that though. If I close my eyes tighter I can probably see his shocked face up on that rooftop in Itaewon. I think he probably intended to confess to you, but I got in the way. Again. I don’t know anymore if that’s a good thing. It is for me, but is it for you?

I know in my heart that he doesn’t love you more than I do. It’s impossible.I’ve loved you so fucking long and I know you inside out. That’s not the point though anymore, is it? In the end, it’s going to come down to what you want. Maybe you could love him more than you loved me, or love me, if you still do. Maybe he’d make you happier than I can. Maybe you’re happiest without me in your life.

All these what ifs are driving me mad, babe, but that’s not what really drives me over-the-edge crazy, though. No, the worst thing about all of this is that no matter how many theories and scenarios I play out where your life is better without me, I still want you and I still believe we’re meant to be together even if everything is stacked against us. There are so many moments: kissing for the first time, holding you while you slept in the hospital, dancing with you on Jeju, holding your hand in the gallery, watching the tiny movements of your face as you wake from deep sleep, the way you smile at me and a thousand more small moments that tell me that your heart beats for me with the same rhythm that mine beats for you. 

We have to be right together; it doesn’t make sense that I could love you as much as I do and it all be for nothing. I can’t let go. I love you with everything I have to give and as I look at these photos of you I know you’re missing me too. Is that sadness in your eyes now, my love?

Do you still want me?

Would you take me back?

Chapter Text

Why does Namjoon have to be so fucking helpful? Yoongi muses despondently as he tries to undo the attempted repair Namjoon inflicted on his broken mic stand, rendering it even more broken than it was to begin with.

Hobi watches with some amusement from his place lounged comfortably on the couch in Yoongi’s studio. He’d tried helping but his offers of assistance were about the same use as poking at a wasp’s nest with a stick and so he retreated to the sidelines to watch the repair from afar. Namjoon was long gone, feeling stung after being thanked for his attempt in the most aggressive terms possible, rendering Yoongi’s attempt to hide his frustration absolutely futile.

At the exact same time as Taehyung scrolls through his phone in the air above the US, Hobi, an expert and almost obsessively-regular user of Instagram, comes across your post for himself and smirks.

“Hey, grumpy cat,” Hobi laughs, extending his phone towards Yoongi, “Check this out!”

Completely unaware of the irony of his action, Yoongi bristles like an annoyed feline at the nickname, before taking the offered phone and seeing your smiling face, softening his scowl automatically and instantly.

He thumbs through the photos, his smile extending and his heart swelling with warmth and pride for you and what you’ve achieved, “She’s done so well,” he says happily to Hobi before his breath catches as he sees the comment from Helen.

His voice is strangled when he turns to Hobi, and he has to swallow several times to soothe his suddenly dry mouth before he’s able to speak clearly, “Read that, please, and tell me what you think it means,” he says, passing the phone to Hobi.

“Read what?” Hobi asks, his eyes roving through the comments.

“The hell’s bells one,” Yoongi says, his voice returning to normal, though his heart seems to have grown powerful little arms, punching at his ribs and seemingly determined to climb into his throat.

“Oh,” says Hobi, his eyebrows raising as he turns to Yoongi.

Instead of speaking to him as Yoongi expects, he looks him in the eye before suddenly shouting, “NAMJOON! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”

When Namjoon, cowed and apologetic looking, gets in the room anticipating a further scolding, he’s surprised to find Hobi thrusting a phone at him. He reviews the comment he makes the same surprised sigh as Hobi.

“What does it mean?” Yoongi asks, trying to keep the desperation and whine from his voice.

“She’s single,” says Hobi with certainty.

“Well, she’s not with Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon states. It should mean the same exact thing, but somehow Namjoon’s statement means much more.

Yoongi fixes Namjoon with a look he has seen so rarely that he can barely recognise it on his friend’s face, it’s utter helplessness and a cry for a kind of assistance that he can’t find the words for.

Namjoon carefully passes Hobi’s phone back to him, before he removes his own room the deep pocket of his sweatpants. He taps away at the screen, playing with the clock app for a moment before holding the phone to his ear, he smiles at Yoongi and, as the other line begins to ring, he offers explanation,  “It’s an ok time in England, I’m calling Dongyeon.”

Over the course of the next hour, truths are spilled that flow through the studio like floodwater. Not that they were in much doubt, but both Hobi and Namjoon now know exactly how Yoongi feels about you.  As for Yoongi, well he knows you’re as much of a liar as he is, and is doesn’t change a thing about how he feels about you.

Hours later, lying sleeplessly on his bed, confined to the far edge as his dog Holly stretches and sprawls out with soft snores, he let’s his eyes flutter closed in the darkness and imagines what he would say to you if he could summon the courage to speak to you honestly again.

So, it looks like you lie as much as I do. Wait, is that unfair? Let’s just say you omit the truth as much as I do.  Is that better? 

You could have told me at the observatory that you weren’t with Taehyung anymore and I could have told you on that rooftop in Itaewon that I wasn’t there to win your friendship back, but to finally admit to you how in love with you I am.

I know you’ll ask me why I didn’t say anything. You might be tempted to assume I didn’t think I could compete with Taehyung, but that’s not it. I know he’s probably the best looking man that ever lived and I know he’s hopelessly in love with you, or was, I don’t know where you guys are right now, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s not the man for you. I know that as clearly as I know that I have never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you. It’s been nearly a year since I last saw you and nothing has changed about how I feel about you, nothing else I’ve done matters in the slightest.

Hear me out, because I need you to understand something: I see you. 

I don’t have you on the high pedestal that I think that Kim Taehyung does. That doesn’t mean you don’’t take my breath away though - I see that you’re so fucking clever, and beautiful, and funny and a million other perfect things, but I see more than that. I see that you are insecure, uncertain, frightened and desperate to run from everything that scares you. I see that you can be a coward sometimes but you can also be so fucking brave that I’m awestruck by you. I see that you can be selfish and cruel when you’re hurt and that it devastates you when you are because you’re so generous and kind by nature. I see all of you and there’s not one bit of you that I don’t love. Those parts of you that you’re afraid of, that make you feel ashamed? I love them the most because they’re part of you and you’re only human.

I think we’d be happy together because I know what it is to feel like you do, I’m more than familiar with that monster of self-loathing and exhaustion that threatens to pull you down and smother you in the darkness. I think you hide that from other people, but you never hid it from me. Sometimes I wonder why, but mostly I’m just grateful you trusted me enough to be yourself. I want all of you, the good and the less good: I am no fucking saint, honey, I’m never going to judge you.

I don’t feel the smallest shred of insecurity about how I feel about you, or any doubt about how happy I can make you. I know that means that I need to explain why I’ve not acted on how I’ve felt with more determination then, don’t I? The answer is simple, because of you.

You opened yourself to me almost totally in the time we were close; I feel like all the doors of your mind were open to me and I’ve walked the labyrinth of your mind, my Ariadne, following the red string you laid out for me to keep me from getting lost. Is that the right metaphor? I like the idea of the red string, because I think we’re bound by fate even if I’ve never really believed in it. It can’t be an accident can it, that we met on a plane just like your parents?

Still, I’m getting sidetracked now, carried away with my own ideas, just like you do. I know what you’d say now, with a big grin on your face, you’d accuse me of being like a cat distracted by playing with string, wouldn’t you? And then you’d laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world the more I frowned, until you felt bad for me and you’d try to coax me into smiling for you: you’re far too attached to the sight of my gums, you know that?

Back to the point then, I might see straight into your mind, but your heart is hidden from my sight. I can’t explain what I’d give to know how you feel about me, that’s all I want.

Wait, another lie. Let’s just be honest. I want to know exactly how you feel about me, because I do know you have feelings for me, but are any of those feelings love? Is it anything like I feel? I don’t care if you don’t love me as much as I love you, how could you? If I didn’t feel this way, I’d believe this amount of love was impossible. 

There’s more: I also need to know how you really feel about Kim Taehyung. That’s the real problem, because whilst I can deal with you loving me less than I love you, I can’t cope with you loving him more than you love me: even though I feel in the depths of my fucking soul that I am better for you than he is, it means fucking nothing if you love him more.

I want to tell you that he might be a nice guy, he might love you as much as I do, he might be impossibly fucking gorgeous, your brother’s best friend and a hundred other disgusting wonderful things, but I don’t care, he still doesn’t deserve you. I hope with every fibre of my will that whatever you’re doing now that you realise that truth.  I don’t give a fuck who he is, he’s not good enough for you. I don’t think I am either, if I’m honest. Who could be? I’m slightly frightened that the right man for you is actually Zico, and I just pray neither of you ever explores that.

Whatever, I still think I’d make you happiest. I’d do anything for you, I don’t think you realise that. I guess I’ve never told you. Maybe I ought to.

God, why couldn’t you have told me the truth about you and Taehyung at the observatory? Why couldn’t I make that possible for you? If I had known I would have said these things to your face and got some answers to these questions that are driving me crazy, none more so than the big one.

Could you love me too?

Chapter Text

When you revive, Jimin is kneeling beside you as you try to get a sense of your surroundings.  Your head feels thick and heavy. You taste a little blood on your tongue, as you swallow it feels sore and you realise you’ve bitten it at some point.

Jimin strokes your hair from your face with affectionate tenderness,  “You fainted,” he explains, quickly adding, “Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” you say in embarrassment, slowly sitting up and casting a quick look around the empty room, “Jeez, Jimin, I think I’m going mad,” you groan as he helps you to sit up. He sits beside you on the couch, offering a shoulder so that you can lean on him.

“I didn’t just faint,” you whisper,  even though you know it’s just the two of you in the apartment, the dread building within you begs you not to give voice to your fear. 

Yet, this is Jimin, your brother, partner-in-crime and lifelong ally and you trust him with your life, “I actually thought there was someone else at the door, I thought I saw them. It was so real,” you rest your head on his shoulder to avoid looking at him as you brace yourself for his response.

“Hey,” he murmurs encouragingly, “You’re not crazy!” he wraps an arm around you and the warmth and love in his voice helps you to relax a little.

“Thanks, Ji,” you murmur, as he rubs up and down your upper arm vigorously, offering you both comfort and encouragement, “I know I’ve said this lots, but it means so much to me that you’re here. I don’t think I could have managed this last year without you.”

He smiles gently, “Thanks,” he says, “but honestly you’re not crazy,’” he emphasises. 

Instantly, you realise what’s happened,you pull away from him so you can look him in the face.

“I didn’t hallucinate then,” you say, your voice surprisingly soft and calm despite the shockwaves of realisation pulsing through you now: he’s here. 

“Where is he?” you manage to say, your voice a little breathier than usual.

Jimin blushes, “He’s sat in the spare room, I thought you’d need space while you came around and I didn’t know where else to put him. I can get rid of him if you want?” he says kindly.

“So much for the honesty between us nowadays, huh?” you reprimand.

Jimin has the good grace to flush, but you don’t notice. Pausing for a long moment, you try to decide what the right thing to do is. Do you really want to see him? 

You’re still resolving on your decision when another knock comes at the front door. 

Instinctively, you look to Jimin, “Dongyeon,” he announces sheepishly.

He seems to read your mind and bounces to his feet to get the door, letting you rest while he makes his way to let him in, “He’s probably here to scold me for interfering,” he says with a slightly nervous laugh.

You neither turn nor look at the door as Jimin answers it, instead you cradle your still dizzy head in your hands.  You know you should greet Dongyeon, but you can’t summon the energy to turn from your position on the couch.

Jimin’s surprised voice cuts through your reverie, “Wait - what the fuck are you doing here?” he says in utter surprise.

Quickly, you jump to your feet, spinning quickly to see who is in your doorway. Too quickly as it turns out and you feel the sound pulse in the room before everything becomes suddenly dark again.

When your eyes next open, you’re lying on your bed with Dongyeon sitting beside you, smoothing your brow with a cold, damp cloth. The sound of slightly raised voices drifts from the living room before your brother’s insistent hiss quietens the sounds.

“What’s going on out there?” you ask with a slight croak, before eyeing Dongyeon.

“It seems both Jimin and I may have conspired to help you out in slightly different ways,” he says awkwardly.

You frown slightly, “Hmm?” 

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, forcing a smile, “I didn’t come alone and those different ways might or might not be talking through some issues in the living room right now.”

You groan, “Tell me my mother isn’t here,” you say with a sigh; you love your mother more than nearly anything but you know her presence will only inflame things.

Dongyeon smiles shiftily, “No, of course not!” he insists, “We’re trying to sort out your love life so your mother was definitely not on the call list.”

You groan at that, “Fuck, Dongyeon, not anther blind date,” you whine.

Again, he shakes his head, “No, not another one -” he begins but you cut him off.

“Jesus Christ, Dongyeon,” you say, the grumpiness in your tone is evident, “Has Hels called Steve again? Look, I’ve tried several dates with him, but my first instincts were right - he’s a fucking nightmare!” you rant hotly.

He laughs at that, “I wish salesman Steve was one of them,” he says lightly, ignoring the rising tide of your anger. He’s well-versed in your brother’s angry outbursts and is largely unmoved by them, “But I think you know which two guys in your life would compete the second they’re in a room together.”

You try to sit up in your eagerness, but he holds you down with strong hands, “Nope, you’re staying put,” he insists.

“Yoongi’s here?” you ask Dongyeon, your eyes alight, “That was him Jimin met at the door? Really?”

Dongyeon waggles his eyebrows knowingly, “I take it that’s good news?” he asks with the mildest of smirks.

You frown as you process his words and the weight of their meaning.

In your living room, Taehyung and Yoongi sit at either end of the modular sofa, both perched at the edge of their seats, looking ready to pounce at each other. Jimin, in the reluctant position of ringmaster, sits between them, trying to moderate proceedings. 

He is certain of three things: if he hadn’t made them sit he has no doubt they’d be prowling around each other now in ever decreasing circles; he also has no doubt that it would rapidly descend to blows; he’d also be willing to bet that neither man has ever been in a physical fight in their lives. Whilst he assumes the brawl would be mild, he doesn’t want to see your living room get trashed or for you to get freaked out.

“We’re going to keep our voices low,” he says firmly, “My sister has now fainted twice, so we’re going to keep things nice and calm,” he says in a steady, strong voice, channeling the energy your mother exudes and he’s surprised by how compliant the two of them are.

“You sound just like your mother when you talk like that,” Yoongi smiles.

Smiling in return, Jimin opens his mouth to speak, but Taehyung beats him to it.

“How would you know what their mother sounds like?” Taehyung snipes, frowning at Yoongi.

Yoongi’s smirk widens, “She asked me to visit her,” he says slowly, looking nonchalant before he fixes Taehyung with a cold stare, “You know how it is - it was the usual things loving mothers want, to check up on how their kid is doing, to encourage the right guy to stick around while she messes around with the wrong one.”

Taehyung jerks suddenly, overcome with the urge to wipe the smirk from Yoongi’s face, but he’s pulled to his senses when Jimin extends his hand and places it on Taehyung’s knee to steady him.

Yoongi laughs dryly, “I’m just repeating her mother’s words,” he says smugly.

Taehyung ignores Yoongi and addresses his response to his oldest friend, “Jimin, is that true? Did your mother say that?”

Jimin can’t bring himself to lie, but he does try soften the blow by adding in details, “Yes, but only because I don’t think she’s ever really forgiven you for the whole ‘suck my dick’ thing and because she’s concerned about the career opportunities that would be lost and the sacrifices that would have to be made,” he rambles, “It’s not like my mother doesn’t love you.”

Taehyung looks so devastated and Yoongi so quietly smug that Jimin is torn: he likes Yoongi and respects him, but Tae is his best friend and seeing him like this physically pains him.

Jimin knows he has to say something more to help his friend, “Also you have to remember that my sister has been in love with you in one way or another all her life, Tae. Seeing you together on Jeju and exactly how madly in love with you she is probably scared my mother a bit - she was just watching out for her and didn’t want her to get hurt.”

It works. 

In fact, it works far more effectively than Jimin could have anticipated or predicted, and it changes the balance in the room completely: Taehyung is now buoyed, his confidence restored, whereas the quiet certainty that Yoongi had is suddenly shaken. Like an apex predator, Taehyung senses he’s drawn blood and presses his advantage.

He speaks with certainty, “Well, love has never been our problem, we’ve spoken about it so many times; I know I’ll never love anyone the way I love her and I know it’s the same for her.” 

He takes a breath and then, to hammer his point home, glares at Yoongi, “The only problem we have is logistical, both of us know nobody will ever compare to the other; other people, well -” he pauses dramatically, “They’re just there to distract us from how we feel about each other.”

Yoongi doesn’t want it to be true, but there’s a certain quality to Taehyung’s words that is undeniable. The weight of evidence is on Taehyung’s side. Yoongi pictures the two of you at the beach, the gentle, warm looks that you constantly exchanged; the soft, passing touches; the exhilaration on your faces as you moved as one on the dance floor; and eventually, to his unforgiving memory, the way you fucked like you were only complete when you were joined together. Nobody could deny the love and connection between the two of you.  Not even him.

Suddenly, Yoongi is flooded with doubt: right now, presented with a choice between two men who love you, logistics aside, how would you ever choose him? Who wouldn’t choose a man they have loved nearly all their life, and who loves them back with the same intensity?

Taehyung sees the doubt in Yoongi’s face and smiles, relaxing back into the couch, stretching an arm out over the back of the cushions and stretching out comfortably. It’s then that he goes for the jugular.

“So, it’s obvious why I’m here,” he states, the implication being that he is the one that belongs in your living room, your life, your heart, “But, Min Yoongi, what are you doing here exactly?” he asks, his stare cold and unforgiving.

Yoongi opens his mouth, he wants to counter but finds he has nothing to offer.

In your room, your patience hangs by the most slender of threads.

“Dongyeon, this is turning into some silly drama that even you and my sappy brother would call too cheesy to watch,” you say with flared nostrils and an irritated tone, “Move out of my way and let me go and sort this out.”

Realising the battle is lost by the way you set your jaw, Dongyeon sighs and capitulates, stepping aside. You quickly make your way to the living room ready to deal with whatever is going on there, though Dongyeon walks beside you, his hand on your arm, slowing your pace and making sure you don’t overexert yourself.

When you enter the room, Jimin seems to fill the space and is the first to speak, “Dongyeon, I think these two need to talk, we should give them space,” to which Dongyeon only nods. From behind Jimin you can see one pair of legs only.

You give Jimin a puzzled look, and he reads your mind, Why is there only one person here?

“You had another visitor,” he says softly, “Yoongi is in town for some business. He thought he’d say hi but he had to go, his girlfriend needed something. He says he’ll call you to arrange a catch up for a time you’re both free.”

Girlfriend? You and Dongyeon share puzzled looks while Jimin shifts awkwardly on his feet. Behind him, the legs move and Taehyung stands.

“Can we talk?” he asks meekly.

His eyes burn into yours with the same intensity as they did when you saw him at your door and your breath catches a little. He’s difficult to read but you notice that his bare toes curl into the rug beneath his feet, alluding to his nervousness: when you look closer you notice that his skin looks a little pallid and under his eyes a little dark, the only hints that he's not in perfect health.

You nod, as you meet his eyes your body instinctively floods with warmth, “Of course, can I get you anything?” 

As Taehyung asks for a beer, Jimin and Dongyeon take it as their cue to leave, and you lead them out, feeling both nervous and confused.

As soon as they are back out on the street, Dongyeon turns to Jimin, “What fucking bullshit was that?” he hisses.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, playing for time more than anything else.

“Don’t try that shit with me,” says Dongyeon passionately, and completely out of character for his usual mild-mannered self, “It was me that spoke to Yoongi and gave him this address! It was me he confided in, saying he needed to see her! Though he might not have been specific about it, the implication was definitely that he wanted to confess to her, not that he had a girlfriend.”

Jimin smiles weakly, but before he can speak Dongyeon is talking again, “Don’t you dare lie to me, Park Jimin, not if you love me.”

Jimin smiles fondly at him and realises Dongyeon is right; he loves him far too much to lie to him and holds his arms out inviting the willing love of his life into a tight embrace. 

He’s comforted for now as he opens his mouth to tell the whole truth, but his conscience screams in the background that there are others he owes honesty to that he’s just lied to.

“I know you’re disappointed that Min Yoongi left,” Taehyung confesses; his voice is calm and measured but his eyes have that too-bright shimmer that you know is the beginning of tears.

You want to comfort him, but you wonder what the use or purpose is in lying anymore. You’re exhausted with it: the lies you’ve told, the lies told to you and the expansive web of manipulation that stretches all around you. You know much of the deceit has been well-meant, designed to shelter and protect and you know that you have told as many lies as everyone else. None of it matters now though, none of the excuses, because in the end, the truth will out and you will have to face it, unvarnished, unsoftened and unrounded. 

You had made the mistake of thinking that those embers that you stirred when you returned to Daegu were love, or passion or simply feeling. You’d assumed it was the love you felt for Taehyung burning within you once again. Whilst that may have been a part of it, it wasn’t the whole. 

No, those embers were in fact the truth; the thing you had run from and been running from ever since, always avoiding facing feelings and what they revealed of the truth hiding in your heart. The inferno that has now spread out is the wildfire of the need for open honesty - the revelation of how you, and those around you, truly feel. 

So, this time, done with the lies, you don’t run, you don’t lie, you simply tell the truth.

“I’ve had feelings for Yoongi for a long time,” you admit.

It’s then that the tears spill over from Taehyung’s eyes. You move towards him but he raises his hand as he blinks them away, simultaneously asking you to go on whilst insisting you keep your distance. 

“Nothing has ever happened between us,” you say reassuringly, “Not even when you broke up with me and I went home. Somehow it’s never really happened and I think perhaps, after tonight, it’s fairly clear that it never will.”

Taehyung looks at his feet, not able to meet your eyes, “Do you love him?”

“No,” you say firmly before your brain rapidly fires an old adage from a distant memory: the truth is rarely pure and never simple.

You realise now that sometimes to be honest you need to tell more than the plain truth and so you elaborate, even knowing it will hurt him, “But I did have a feeling when I was with him, it was the strangest thing, but sometimes it felt like if we took that step, if we were together, that it would just work. I’m not talking soulmates or any of that shit, because I don’t believe in it, but I just felt this pull towards him that said that we’d make each other happy.”

Taehyung sniffs and though you can’t see his eyes through his hair as he keeps his head downturned, you know he’s crying and your heart aches, “This is the complete truth, Taehyung. These are my feelings as I understand them. I’m not ever going to lie to you again, I promise. It never went far enough with Yoongi.”

A long moment passes while you sense the tears spilling from Taehyung. 

Eventually you venture more explanation in the hope of reaching him, “You, of all people, should know that wasn’t the only reason why I could never fully fall for him.”

Taehyung sniffs again, he thinks he knows the reason, but he needs to hear you say it, “Why couldn’t you?” he asks huskily, his voice trembling slightly. He extends his hand and you catch the tips of his long fingers with yours, stroking them gently with your thumb.

“Because of you, you idiot,” you say fondly, “There are things about me that seem to be fixed in place, like they’re part of who I am, and one of those things is that I love you. I don’t even know how I could ever stop.”

He looks up at you then, eyes puffy and reddened, cheeks wet and he releases your fingers so he can fish a tissue from his pocket to wipe his face. He blows his nose with a comically loud trumpet that makes you both laugh. Moving by instinct, you step towards him and wrap your arms around his trim waist, and he loses no time in enclosing you in his bear-like hug.

“You still love me?” he mumbles into your hair.

“Always have, always will,” you say, with your head pressed against his chest as though you are speaking the words directly to his heart - that’s where he receives them, the beats skipping happily before a sobering thought occurs to him.

“It doesn’t make any of our problems go away though, does it?” he questions softly.

“It doesn’t,” you confirm, “I realised a while ago that love wasn’t enough for us and I think you did too, probably around the time you dumped me,” you joke feebly.

“I did,” he admits, prizing you away from him by your shoulders so he is able to look you in the eye, “That’s why I’m here.”

You look at him quizzically, inviting further explanation.

“Neither of us ever worked at making us work, we just let go,” he sighs, before his expression toughens with resolve, “I’m here to do the work.”

Unexpectedly you begin to sob, the tears welling up rapidly and pouring forth in a torrent you can’t fully explain. The loneliness of the past year; the unhealed pain of the way you left things with Taehyung; the bone-aching sadness of missing your parents and your friends: all of it bubbles to the surface and explodes like a geyser from you.

Taehyung pulls you back to him as the tears wrack through your body, wetting his shirt, but his grip on you remains firm. Just like in the hospital so long ago now, it grounds you. Overwhelmed as you are, your heart beats steadily in rhythm with his, as it always has done.

“Will you give us a chance?” he asks, kissing the top of your head, “Can we just try and see if we can make it work, one last time?”

You move your head so that your lips press through the damp material of his thin shirt to the warm skin beneath, and you kiss him softly, “Yes,” you say with a steely resolve.

He giggles then it’s infectious, you soon join in, still held in his arms. You feel him slightly move around, twirling slowly on his spot, pulling your body with him.

“I love this place,” he says warmly as he moves panoramically around the room, taking in your bookcases, your furnishings and decor. He’s never seen a place that is truly yours before and he sees you in every soft fabric and muted hue. He doesn’t know why, but he’s comforted by it. His gaze lingers on the gallery of framed photos, that cover one wall. Mostly they’re of your family and friends and he’s moved that there are photos of both your birth father and Jimin’s mother there too, making his heart swell for you. 

In amongst the host of people that have shaped your life, he realises that both he, and Min Yoongi, are conspicuously absent. Nonetheless, there are a number of landscapes and seascapes of Korea, all of which he recognises because he took them and his heart is moved again. 

Eventually he notices, in the mix, a small photo of a bowl of tangerines in the bright neon lights of a studio and though he doesn’t understand why the fruit would be there he recognises the location, understanding that the image somehow represents Yoongi. His heart begins to sink, but it is lifted again by another picture of the same size; a sun rising through the frame of linked metal chains and a hard rubber seat and he knows that that’s all for him and it’s enough.

He releases you and captures your face in his large hands, cupping it gently as he presses the softest of kisses to your lips and is grateful that you don’t pull away,  “Show me around?” he asks with a smile, before his stomach rumbles slightly, “Maybe start with kitchen?” he jokes.

You laugh, taking his hand and leading him towards the snacks you bought for your night in with Jimin. Taehyung feels a pang in his chest as you lead him by the hand, enjoying your gentle suppressed giggles at his gurgling stomach. 

He realises that you’re in love with Yoongi even if you don’t, but he’s fairly sure that you love him, Taehyung, more. He’s also absolutely certain in his belief that he loves you more than anyone else ever could and he knows he can work with that: he’s resolved that he’ll give everything he has to making this work with you. 

He’ll prove to you that you and he are meant to be.

You wake with a start, confused to find someone in your bed with you; an unfamiliar sensation in this apartment. You wake Taehyung with your jump; the sound of him yawning loudly behind you reminds you of the night before. He wastes no time in pulling you tighter into his body, curling his leg over you as his arms tighten their hold.

“Plans for the day?” Taehyung asks sleepily, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck and enjoying the shudder that runs through you.

“I text Jimin when you passed out last night,” you say gently, reminding him of his exhaustion.

After you’d had snacks and you made him some mild ramen, he’d doze into sleep on the couch several times before he gave in and allowed you to put him to bed. You’d enjoyed his soft warmth as you’d tucked him in and even more, the way, when you joined him a few hours later, that he’d immediately wrapped his arms around you, hooking his leg over you and cuddling you tightly to his body. 

The joy of the warmth he offered and the sheer power of the memory of being in his arms was enough to make you cry again, overwhelmed to have him close after so long. Until that moment, you had no idea how lonely you had been, or how much you’d missed him. 

You go on, “He’s going to take you sightseeing and I’ll meet up with you guys later this afternoon.”

“You’re not coming with us?” he asks with a tone of confusion, sitting up enough to pull you onto your back so that he can look at you.

You strengthen your resolve, silently repeating your mantra of honesty, honesty, honesty in your mind, “I’m actually off to see Yoongi this morning,” you state simply, “He’s got barely any free time before he goes back and so I’d like to make the time to see him, especially as he made the effort yesterday and I fucked it up by being a fainting weirdo.”

“You’re not a weirdo,” Taehyung immediately contradicts, placing a kiss on your forehead, and using the break in eye contact to conceal the unease on his face. He assures himself that Yoongi’s resolve will hold, telling himself that this meeting can only be a good thing: the first step in you letting go of Yoongi.

His eyes return to yours, “That’ll be nice for you both,” he says, acting for all he’s worth, “I’ll miss you though.”

You trace the line of his sharp jaw with the gentlest touch of your fingertips, smiling as his eyes close in satisfaction, “I won’t be long,” you say reassuringly in a soft voice, “Then I’m all yours.”

Taehyung opens his eyes and smirks, “Yeah you are, for the day and for forever,” he says with a gentle laugh as he leans over you to capture your lips in a deep kiss.

“You have a mullet,” you say. Your voice is weirdly toneless, oddly matter-of-fact.

“I do,” he says, flicking it slightly self-consciously, “What do you think?” he asks, trying to get a sense of how you’re feeling.

You tilt your head slightly as you regard him, trying to smother the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists, “It suits you,” you conclude, adding a comical nod of approval, which draws a smile from him.

“I’m sorry that we haven’t kept in touch,” he says gently, addressing the obvious issue, “I guess we were both busy, time zones are hard too -” he lets the sentence drift off; even to his own ears the words sound weak and unbelievable.

You smile halfheartedly, “We left things in a strange place, I think,” you say thoughtfully, “When we said goodbye I suppose it just felt like an ending.”

He nods sagely, and looks a little uncomfortable.

Quickly, you act to soothe him, “Not that I’m not glad to see you!” you insist.

He laughs then, “Why is this so awkward?” he asks plainly, “We’ve never been like this with each other.”

You force a smile on your face and hope he doesn’t see through it, “Don’t make it awkward then,” you tease, “Talk to me, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

He does, at length. He tells you all about work, Namjoon and Hoseok as well as Taecyeon who he still drinks with. You listen with interest, asking questions, probing and laughing with him and hours pass without either of you noticing.

You end up ordering a very late lunch together, and as you eat you ask the question you’ve been dreading asking, “So you’ve told me all about everything, Yoongi, but what about this mystery girlfriend?” you ask.

“It’s early days,” he says with a blush, and then he tells you about Jeongmi. He talks about her in generalities rather than direct aspects, but you see the warmth in his eyes, the passion in his voice and you know he’s a sucker for her.

Of course, you think, remembering Zico’s kind assistant, Of course they’d be a fit. Not today, but in time, you’re sure that you’ll smile at the thought that it was you that brought them together.

That day is not today though, because as he tells you about their love story, you feel something nasty twist in your gut. It feels dark, bubbling like tar, stretching black tendrils through your body. It takes you a while to recognise this sinister, creeping emotion for what it is: jealousy. 

You hardly recognised the feeling and are a little awestruck by the realisation: you’re jealous of Jeongmi. You’re jealous that Yoongi has fallen for her; you’re jealous of the way he speaks of her; you’re jealous of the thought of them together.

You excuse yourself to go to the restroom, and there you stare at your reflection critically, as though you’re seeing yourself for the first time. You feel strangely irritated with all these revelations you seem to keep experiencing, your need for truth first and now, this new understanding that you lacked last night: you’re in love with Yoongi. You feel disgusted with yourself for not understanding sooner and you feel oddly like you’re betraying Taehyung with the realisation.

When you eventually return to the table, having text your brother to explain your delay, Yoongi is watching you carefully, clearly aware that something’s up. You realise you may as well confront the issue head on.

“So,” you say with a smile as you look over the dessert menu, “Dongyeon called you?”

He shifts awkwardly, “Yeah, I think he thought you needed a friend? Maybe he was trying to play matchmaker? He didn’t know about me and Jeongmi, so it’s not his fault.”

He notices how you flush and fan your hot face in embarrassment, “Hey, hey,” he soothes, “Don’t be shy about it. It’s not your fault,” he says awkwardly.

“It’s pretty fucking embarrassing -” you squirm, not meeting his gaze.

“No it isn’t!” he insists, “You know how I felt about you before, it makes sense that he’d try to set us up.”

You meet his eyes then, just as the use of the past tense stabs you in the heart, “Hm,” you hum softly, not knowing what to say.

He grasps your hands in his, and electricity runs through you, “Come on,” he insists, “Don’t do this. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m not!”

He rushes the next words out, knowing it’ll hurt to say them, but deciding it’s the best way to end this difficult impasse for you both, “You can’t be embarrassed anyway, because your knight in shining armour arrived.” 

You smirk then, despite yourself, as the memory of Taehyung in his old battered Marcia rises to the surface of your mind, conveniently you forget the deception behind it.

Yoongi’s heart sinks. That smirk. Is that the answer to one of his most pressing questions that he’d wanted an answer to? That, whatever your feelings for him, you simply just feel more for Taehyung?

He forces himself to continue, almost inviting his own anguish by seeking to confirm his worst fears. He knows it will hurt but he can’t resist, like a child waggling a loose tooth.

“Don’t tell me now that Kim Taehyung isn’t your Prince Charming… I’m here for business, but he crossed the world for you! I could never compete with him,” he aims to sound light-hearted, but realises he’s failing miserably.

You blush, “It was never a competition, Yoongi,” you explain, ignoring his comments about Taehyung. 

He scoffs slightly, but now it’s your turn to be insistent, “Yoongi,” you say firmly, “Don’t do that. I would never compare you to Taehyung. I never have. You are you and you’re incomparable.”

Yoongi’s heart swells with feeling and he seems to lose all control, his most desperate thoughts spilling out of his mouth without warning, “You know I loved you, have you ever loved me?” he’s aware it sounds more like a plea than a question and he regrets it immediately.

Again you think, honesty, honesty, honesty, and your mouth hangs open as you stand on the edge of a precipice. 

Yoongi tries to claw his words back, “Sorry, I don’t know why I -”

Your voice, so small, inaudibly interrupts him.

His eyes narrow, puzzled as his head tilts, “Pardon? I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes,” you repeat with unmistakable clarity. It knocks the breath from his lungs.

He gawps at you for a moment, and just like that bathroom mirror, you seem to really see each other for the first time and the weight of missed opportunity sits heavy in the air.

Worse than that, with sudden alacrity, Yoongi sees through you and he realises that there’s no tense to your declaration. In fact, as he stares into your eyes he realises, with brutal but absolute clarity, that it may be present tense: Are you in love with him right now?

“Really?” he asks eventually, numb with shock, yet his eye contact with you unwavering.

“Yes,” you confirm, “Why would I lie? I don’t think I could understand it for a long time, but yes.”

Yoongi feels the panic growing within him, he wants to say a million things: he wants to tell you he loves you too; he wants to tell you what happened in your apartment last night; he wants to ask you to choose him. But, overwhelmed, he simply sits there, gawping in dumb idleness yet again.

It’s not for long though because he soon becomes aware that you’re speaking again, “Don’t worry about it,” you offer, squirming in embarrassment, “It’s all in the past now, I guess, right?” you ask.

He doesn’t know if it’s rhetorical or if you’re seeking reassurance, but still he can’t speak.

You look at him a little sadly and you seem to draw upon some kind of resolve, “Yeah, it’s in the past.”

Stoically, you piece together a narrative from the fragments of the day, “Like you said, you have Jeongmi now and Taehyung and I -, well, we’ve got a lot to work out but I guess we’re back together. What I’m trying to say is that we’re both in love with other people and so we don’t need to be awkward about whatever is between us,” you say softly, but a little robotically, the words seemingly rehearsed.

‘Is’ not ‘was’: Yoongi’s mind screams at him, but he can’t find the words to stop the inevitable breaking of his heart. You change the subject and speak of nothing that means anything. He sleepwalks through the rest of the conversation until finally you’re standing outside on the street, sharing one final, awkward hug.

He stands outside the café, watching you depart, until the growing darkness swallows you and you’re lost to him.

It’s only when he feels the tickle at his edge of his nose that he realises that tears are streaming down his face, he wipes them away violently, with one thought only on his mind.

What the fuck has he done?

The tube* rattles through the London Underground.  Between the harsh fluorescence of the stations, the dark tunnels reflect your face back at you in the window you stare vacantly through. 

If you were looking you might notice the expression of utter shock across your face, the slightly confused, lightly numbed slackening of your jaw, the glassy film over your eyes and the too slow movement of your breaths, shallow and irregular. 

Opposite you, an old woman smiles kindly but you don’t see her either. Unlike your body, propelled forward through the heat of the tunnels in linear neatness, your mind roams wildly about, your thoughts a tangled mess that you don’t even try to separate out, instead choosing to detach from all of them. 

Endless thoughts of Yoongi, Taehyung, missed opportunities, lies, truth and confusion flood your mind, one pouring over another: you don’t fight the rising tide, instead letting it wash over you. It fills your body with a kind of frenzied anxious energy that swells, roiling to be released.

Finally, you reach your stop, and step off the oppressively hot train. Ascending the escalator in rapid steps, you yearn for escape. 

Freed into the chilly evening air you take deep breaths and stride with purpose to reach Jimin, Dongyeon and Taehyung, awaiting you on the South Bank of the Thames. You hope that their company and need for your attention will allow you to break through the surface of the thoughts that are drowning you. 

The night is full dark now, and no stars punctuate the thick blackness; you keep your eyes turned to the orange glow of the street lights, waiting until the men come into sight. 

Finally, there with his camera in the low evening light, you see Taehyung; he’s leaning over the embankment to try to capture Tower Bridge in all its illumination, its reflected light adding sparkle to the murky river flowing idly beneath. 

Dongyeon is the first to notice you, Jimin is distracted by watching Taehyung. You’re surprised that he jogs quickly towards you, unnoticed by the other men. Realising something is up, you come to a stop. 

When he reaches you, his face is pure concern, “How did it go?” he asks quickly.

You speak without thinking, “I’m in love with him,” you don’t need to specify of whom you speak, Dongyeon knows - why else would he have called him to come to London?

Dongyeon nods, “I thought so,” he says, “He loves you too, right? What does that mean for you and Taehyung?” he questions, shooting a look over his shoulder to check that the other two men are still distracted.

“He loved me once,” you say, emphasising the past tense, “But he’s in love with Jeongmi now, and it’s for the best. I mean, I still love Taehyung so I don’t know what it would have meant if Yoongi felt the same way about me too.”

Dongyeon’s mouth is a thin line and he looks anguished, “I’m so sorry,” he says with deep sincerity, guilt etched across his face, “I thought you and Taehyung were done, and I thought Yoongi and you were a good match, I should never have interfered. I think Taehyung is furious with me, he’s not saying anything but I can feel the hostility.”

It’s then you notice that Jimin has spotted you and you smile at Dongyeon, “They’ve seen us,” you say softly, hooking your arm through his and slowly approaching them, “Don’t apologise for anything, you were doing what you thought was best. Also, don’t worry about Taehyung, he can cut that shit out, I’ll have a word. You’re my friend, my excellent lab mate and you might as well be my brother by now: I’ll always have your back.”

He smiles in relief as do you, grateful that you’re able to mask the turbulent rapids of your thoughts with a convincing mask.

As soon as Taehyung sees you he stretches his arms out and you step into them willingly, warmed by the comfort he’s come to embody for you. 

Perhaps this is how it’s meant to be, your quietened mind wonders, Maybe it really is, and always has been, Taehyung.

Beside you, Jimin smiles at Dongyeon, “They’re meant to be, like you and me,” he says, lacing his fingers with his boyfriend’s. Dongyeon smiles at the sentiment, brushing his thumb over Jimin’s small knuckles. 

Yes, he thinks, He and Jimin are meant to be, but you and Taehyung? Of that he’s far less certain.

Taehyung’s huffed breath tickles at the shell of your ear later that night, your back against his torso as he lays on his side behind you. 

One of his arms is underneath you, so his broad hand can palm at your breasts, the long fingers playing and twisting at your nipples whilst his other is hooked under your knee, holding your leg up and away from you, spreading you wide as he fucks into you slowly. 

You pant with exhaustion: this is round three. The first had been when he fucked you against the door as soon as you got into the apartment, rattling the wood in its frame as he pounded into you with feral determination as though he needed to remind you how well your bodies respond to each other.

The second time was more loving, it expressed his need for closeness. You returned from cleaning yourself up, joining him on your couch to watch TV together but not long later found pull on to his lap, straddling him, riding him with burning thighs as he fucked his cock into you from below.

Now, you’re tired out, but Taehyung needs more from you. You let him use your body as he wills, waiting for him to be fully sated. It’s no great hardship, you’ve missed the closeness of his body to yours, missed the thickness of his cock that fills you oh so well, missed everything about having him inside you.

“Close, ’m close babe,” he mutters in a low groan as he drives into you with more force, causing you to gasp. It’s then that he shifts his hold on your leg, his nimble digits setting to work on your clit, determined that you’ll reach another high with him.

“Taehyung,” you groan lustily and you feel the smirk playing on his lips that are pressed into your neck.

“That’s my girl,” he moans, “give me everything.”

I would give her everything if I could, thinks Yoongi, sitting in the quiet bar of his hotel, whisky in hand. He rolls the glass idly, the cubes clinking together jarringly but he pays it no mind.

A lachrymose pianist tinkles lounge jazz in the corner and makes him think so strongly of Taehyung that he finds it hard not to lob the heavy tumbler at the man and take over. 

His fingers twitch at that, itching to get at the keys; he’s always been at home behind the piano, always finding solace as his fingers dance across the ivories. If only he could play you the dozens of melodies he’s dreamed up whilst thinking of you. For nearly every moment of your relationship, the meeting, the yearning, the misunderstandings and the regret, for all of it, there’s at least one melody that accompanies it.  

You’ve taken residence in his heart and so traces of you can be found across his works, sometimes mere shadows, diaphanous and light as cobwebs, other times solid, present and screaming your name in neon lights. 

Yeah, Yoongi thinks as he downs the last of his drink, He’s royally fucked it.

He wonders what you’re doing now as he glances at his phone, noting the late hour as he gives in and heads to his room. He suspects that if you’re not asleep already that you’re probably being railed by Taehyung. It’s a thought that sickens him and yet he can’t keep it from his mind, that’s why he’s been here in the bar, not lying in bed hoping for some sleep before he catches his rescheduled flight home in the morning.

As Taehyung’s mouth meets yours in a messy kiss, and you strain your head around to meet his mouth, his tongue seeking yours hungrily, Yoongi licks the last of his whisky from his lips. 

As you roll your head back against Taehyung and open your mouth, Yoongi exhales a huffed breath as he steps inside the elevator. 

As Taehyung’s fingers press into your breasts, Yoongi pushes the button for his floor. 

As you scream out, your orgasm rushes through your shaking body, Yoongi reaches his door, stretching his arms and yawning widely, sending shudders through his. 

As Taehyung batters into your prone body, chasing his high, your overstimulated body collapsing forward, Yoongi face-plants into his bed.  

As Taehyung finally comes explosively inside you, pressing his lips against you, muffling his deep moan, Yoongi groans with despair into his pillow.

Later, cleaned up and exhausted, you roll onto your left side, away from the slumbering Taehyung and you conjure Yoongi before you, his inscrutable face and slow, lazy smile. You curse yourself for your selfishness and will yourself to be happy for him and Jeongmi; they both deserve happiness and they both deserve the goodness of each other. 

You resolve to be less of a selfish bitch and decide you have to let him go. Laying the flat of your right hand on the cool sheet beside you, you imagine him placing his hand over yours as he did earlier today. The mirage you conjured of him slowly disappears as you feel tears prick at your eyes.

Across the city, Yoongi rolls onto his right side, mirroring you. He imagines you laying beside him, stretching his left hand out and fisting the duvet, imagining closing his hand over yours as he did earlier today, clinging on to you. He can almost see your face swim before him before it dissolves away in the foggy mist of his gentle tears. 

With a sigh he throws himself restlessly onto his back and wonders why the fuck he ever though it was a good idea to lie to you.

Chapter Text

“Is he ok?” Helen asks, pressing her shoulder into yours as you both lean against the bar. 

You turn your attention from her to Taehyung, he’s smiling benignly at the conversation around him, laughing half-heartedly here and there and nodding intermittently. He looks lost and you know, from the way he makes little surreptitious glances at his phone, that he’s counting the minutes until Dongyeon arrives.

It’s been four months since Taehyung came to settle with you in London; together you’ve been trying to establish if you two can find a way to plot your futures on to the same path. In all the time he’s been here with you, he has only joined you for your post-work Friday drinks with your friends and colleagues a handful of times, and never without Dongyeon there. Tonight, with Dongyeon held back on a conference call, Taehyung is forced to go it alone and you can see how it unsettles him.

You turn your attention back to Helen, smiling, “Everyone talks too fast for him and all at once, it’s not so easy for him to understand,” you explain.

“Are you sure that’s it?” Helen smirks, a cheeky glint in her eye, “I wondered if he was putting it on a bit because, y’know -” she struggles for words for a moment before her eyes light up in Taehyung’s direction.

You look at her in confusion, but the bartender is suddenly asking for your order. She begins to lists the drinks, but she softly presses two fingers against your cheek, guiding your face back in Taehyung’s direction. It’s then you understand what she means about Taehyung trying to avoid conversation deliberately.

Not one, not even two or three, but five women are gathering around him and, far from his usual confident self, he looks lost and a little desperate as they all talk over each other rapidly, fawning over him and trying to out compete each other for his attention.

Your nostrils flare, and you hear Helen beside you, “No, a double please, wait one second -” she leans into you momentarily, “Go save him.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You arrive with him milliseconds later; you can practically smell the lust emanating from the crowd around him. His eyes find you behind the women, as his face moves from panicked puppy to a boxy grin of relief and happiness. You don’t blame them, you don’t think you’ll ever fail to be awed by just how beautiful Taehyung is. Right now, beaming radiantly, he slinks between them evasively, wrapping himself around you and coming to stand behind you like a shy child with a parent.

You tilt your head towards him, running your fingers gently across the fine hairs of his forearm that lies clasped around your waist, “Could you help Helen bring the drinks over? She won’t be able to carry them alone.”

He presses his lips to your temple in response, and leaves for the bar. You glare at the women, your colleagues all now slightly hushed, watching to see what will happen next.

“Ladies?” you ask, prompting them with a raised eyebrow.

Before anything further can be said, Dongyeon comes through the door of the bar and waves to you. In the time that you are distracted by waving him over, the women depart sullenly and, though you were ready to face whatever bitchiness was to follow, you’re grateful for the quick resolution.

Dongyeon pulls you into a quick hug, “Let me guess, they were hitting on Tae?” he grins, reading your irritation easily.

You keep your voice low as you reply, careful not to be overheard, “He’s struggling a bit tonight, come to the bar with me and when I come back with Helen would you stay there and talk to him a bit?”

Dongyeon nods in understanding. He knows London hasn’t been easy for Taehyung, he’s out of his element and has struggled against deep, rolling waves of homesickness. He knows you empathise, but he also knows there’s only so much of Taehyung’s experience that you can understand; you’ve always been a child of two worlds and whilst you miss your home, it’s mainly your friends and family that you pine for. For Taehyung it’s all that and more; he misses a country, a culture and a language too and finds himself floating, a little lost at sea, in a country, a culture and a language he doesn’t fully understand or even enjoy. 

Dongyeon knows you appreciate that it’s difficult for Taehyung, but he’s watched as a distance has grown between you two because, no matter how much you care, you simply can’t fully understand. He knows that Taehyung feels the difference between you deeply. Dongyeon and your brother have spent many evenings discussing their fears for the two of you and their desperate hope that, after so much trouble to finally be together, that the two of you will find your way through.

Together, you move to the bar and you hear Helen asking Taehyung what the Korean words are for various drinks that she points at: you smile warmly at your friend, grateful for her kindness in engaging Taehyung and distracting him. As you arrive, the final drink is poured and you and Helen return to your table, laden with heavy trays.

“He’s ok thouh, isn’t he?” she repeats her question, this time her voice laced with concern. 

Helen likes Taehyung, she likes the two of you together, the easy intimacy of the way you two connect, but she’s watched as, over the months, a sadness has come to sit over Taehyung and worries are beginning to grow in her mind.

You smile at her weakly and you don’t lie, “I really don’t know, but I hope he will be.”

It’s weeks later before Taehyung finally opens up and, when he does, it changes everything. 

A lazy Sunday afternoon finds you cuddled together in the warmth of your apartment, the curtains drawn against the slate grey darkness hanging in the sky and muffling the soundtrack of the pelting rain that hammers against the windows. Taehyung’s splayed across the couch, napping in his open mouthed, slightly open-eyed way, his arms clutched around a cushion and his head resting across your lap. You fluff his hair absentmindedly with one hand, a cup of tea that you sip on in the other.

You only become aware that he’s awake when you feel his hands reach up to stroke at your arm, pulling your attention to him.

You smile down on him, sleepiness still written over his face, visible in his slightly puffy eyes, and pouty lips.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” you grin as he slowly sits up, his back to you, only making grouchy mumbling noises as he stretches and wakes fully.

Eventually he turns his attention back to you, “Sorry,” he apologises, noticing your stiff stance and the way you rub your leg gently, encouraging the blood flow back there, “Were you stuck there all the time I was asleep? You must have been bored senseless.”

You smile, “No, I like watching you sleep,” you whisper in a sinister tone.

He gives a mock shudder, “Funny,” he says drily.

Your smile falters a little, “Actually, I was doing a lot of thinking -” you begin, pausing when you see his brow knot in tension.

“Why do you always look like I’m about to verbally slap you around the face anytime I sound like I might say something serious?” you ask. Normally, your voice sounds light and teasing when you approach Taehyung about these issues but right now an edge of tension, of irritation even, creeps in.

You are frustrated with Taehyung, even though you’d deny it to him. Since Jimin’s explosion in that alleyway, you’ve been careful and considerate in how you talk to others, especially Taehyung, always careful not to protect your own feelings at the expense of theirs.

You take a calming breath and notice that Taehyung is regarding you carefully, an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Out with it,” he demands, in his lower register.

“Out with what?” you ask, your tone affectedly breezy and it doesn’t convince him for one second.

“I’m not stupid,” he says, sighing your name, “You’re pissed off at me. Explain why.”

You consider for a moment and, yet again, that tiresome desire to tell the truth gets in the way, “Alright, then,” you breathe out. 

Strangely, as you prepare to tell him how you really feel, you rapidly become tuned into the quickening of your heart, a moistening of your palms and a churning feeling in your gut; it is then that you realise that you’re not angry at all, no, you’re nervous. 

Surprised and unsettled, you excuse yourself, “I need the loo,” you fib, making your way to the bathroom to buy some thinking time. You’re aware of his expression in your peripheral vision as you flee; he’s clearly unconvinced.

You perch uncomfortably on the edge of the roll top bath, focusing your attention on the teal glazed tiles on the wall; your body deliberately angled to avoid looking at the sink, keeping your eyes from your reflection in the mirror above. You’re aware how many unpleasant revelations have come from facing yourself in mirrors and you choose to reject that right now: you simply don’t want to put yourself through more pain. It’s futile though, because your racing brain is connecting the dots for you regardless of your wishes. 

Why am I nervous? you automatically wonder. Is it because, in all the time you’ve been trying to make a relationship with Taehyung, that he’s actually hurt you more than you’ve hurt him? After all, he was the one who broke up with you. No - whilst that’s clearly true, it’s not quite it. 

It takes a few more minutes for the second undesired realisation to come: you’re afraid of losing Taehyung again. You can feel the distance growing between you and you realise that, somewhere in that growing space, a small, insidious fear has taken root in your heart and in your mind: Taehyung has left you before, it’s more than conceivable that he’d do so again.

You lose track of the time you’ve spent hiding away, wondering what to do next. You know you have to tell Taehyung the truth, but how much of it must you reveal? If you tell him you’re afraid he’ll leave you, will he pity you? Worse, will he hide his feelings from you to try and protect your feelings? You start to feel sick and before you know what you’re doing, you leave the bathroom and head straight to the bedroom, where you lie on the bed, your heart racing and your head spinning.

It’s there, curled on your side, that Taehyung finds you a little while later. Soundlessly, he curls around your back, tessellating into the available space and holding you in his strong arms.

“Baby,” he whispers, “Talk to me, baby,” his voice is gently coaxing.

“Taehyung -” you begin, but you struggle to say anything further and so you let the moment drag out, suspended heavily between you.

In response, Taehyung takes action. He releases you and, with careful tenderness, manoeuvres you around so that you lie face-to-face. He places one hand under his cheek and the other rests at your hip. You mirror him, using the hand you rest your head on to slightly conceal your face, allowing the other to find a home at his waist.

“Go ahead,” he encourages.

You focus your eyes on the mole at the tip of his nose, unable to meet his intense gaze, “I’m not pissed off, not really,” you explain, “I was a bit frustrated because you always act as though I am going to hurt you and I try so hard not to.”

You’re aware that you sound whiny, “It’s not just that,” you plough on, your eyes not wavering from that tiny mole, “it’s also that I love you, I love you so much, and I can feel how unhappy you are, Tae. I can feel the distance growing between us and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Look at me,” he insists and, as you raise your eyes to his, you feel tears prickling at them.

“I’m sorry -” you begin, feeling a little embarrassed as you meet his serious expression. Is that warmth in those rich brown eyes? Or is it the pity that you dread?

“Stop,” he commands, but there’s tenderness beneath the instruction, “Don’t apologise to me. First of all, whatever is going on, whatever I feel, don’t doubt that I love you. I love you more than life itself,” he insists, leaning into you carefully and skimming his lips gently across your forehead before pecking your mouth.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice firm, “I will never hurt you. I’m sorry that I’m so unhappy, but I am not withdrawing from you baby, I won’t ever do that,” he states with urgency, his eyes a little wild.

“Taehyung,” you breathe, “I can’t bear to see you this unhappy. What can I do?” you ask, your own voice slightly desperate now.

“I am not unhappy with you, I love you so fucking much,” he insists. 

It’s these words that hang between you now as you regard each other. You wonder if you’re thinking the same thing:  Yes, you love each other, but is it enough?

He isn’t thinking the same thing as you though, instead his subconscious mind senses, and seizes, the opportunity that’s presenting itself - the chance to voice the question that’s gnawing away inside of him. So, without thought or clear intention, the words simply seem to slip out.

“Can we go home?” he blurts out thoughtlessly.

You read the emotions that play across his face, one following rapidly after the other: shock at having spoken the most desperate desire of his heart; relief that he’d done so; then immediate regret at having spilled it out so plainly; finally, fear, as he awaits your reaction. 

It’s that final emotion which stabs at your heart, as you take in his wide eyes and parted mouth, his shallow breaths and then thin film of sweat that breaks out on his upper lip and across his forehead. It’s your turn now not to think at all before you speak.

“Yes, Tae,” you agree, “We can go home.”

Taehyung’s face breaks into a boxy grin of pure joy, yet, somewhere in the back of mind, in the depths of his gut, a twisting sensation of shame begins to coil, but he suppresses it in favour of kissing you again. 

He’s much less gentle this time, pressing his lips hungrily to yours, whilst drawing your body closer to his, his tongue forcing its entrance to your mouth. His cock twitches as he starts grinding against you, pushing you onto your back as he makes out with you, rutting more deeply against your core with each throaty moan he draws from you.

“I want to fuck you senseless,” Taehyung growls.

He feels a powerful urge to keep your attention totally fixed on him right now, an urge to completely dominate your every thought and feeling and to have you submit totally to him. If he questioned it, he’d realise it’s because he knows that he was wrong to ask you in the way he has, and wrong to take advantage of your agreement. He might even realise that what he’s trying to do is cement your ‘yes’ into an unshakeable promise, a vow that you can’t back down from. Yet, he doesn’t think any of those things, instead the blood seems to flow from his brain to his hardening cock and all he can think about is pushing inside you and the pure ecstasy that comes from the two of you fucking.

Not long later, you lie underneath him, the tattered remains of your clothes around you after Taehyung had ripped your tee down the middle, tearing the waistband of your leggings as he pulled them from your body with unbridled, fierce want. Now, you lie like a rag doll while he fucks into you with a powerful, almost violent desire that you barely understand. 

He's holding you down and his grip is so firm you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. You could ask him to slow down, to go easy, but you don’t think he’d hear you even if you did. He’s lost in the moment and the pleasure he’s getting from using your body as he drives into you voraciously. 

You clench your walls around him, trying to bring him to his end and to gain some respite. Your pulsing, tightening walls push him on and he drives into you desperately, groaning obscenely, thrusting violently; all you can do is cling to him, your hands at his back, your legs around his waist. 

The headboard rattles noisily as it collides with the wall under the force of his hammering, he grips it with one large hand to stop the noise, the other clutching the side of your waist; it’s no relief though, as Taehyung doesn’t hold back and he fucks you into the bed as if his life depends on it.  A sob escapes your lips as you start to feel overwhelmed. He growls at that, his jaw taut, fingertips digging deep into your skin, holding you in place as he continues to drive into you relentlessly.

"Tae," you whimper as he thrusts harder, his cock hammering into you. But it’s still not enough for him and so he releases the headboard again, grabbing your hips harshly again, holding you in place so he can drive deeper.  His grip tightens further as he drives you toward orgasm in a frenzy and you can only pant weakly.

"Take it," he groans, the pressure of his fingers becomes near to unbearable as he pulls your hips back to meet his. His words are ironic, all you can do is take it, holding back screams as his hips slam into you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands suddenly, shaking his sweaty hair from his eyes.

“I love you, Tae, I love you, I love you,” you cry out.

”Tell me you’ll always love me,” he insists, filling you.

”Always,” you whine weakly.

“You’re taking me so fucking well,” Taehyung praises and fire floods your veins, it feels like everything sensation in your body is rushing towards a burning inferno of heat in your core; you scream loudly now and with abandon as your body suddenly explodes with pleasure.

Taehyung can feel his own high baring down on him, the familiar stirring in his gut, but he won’t let it happen: he needs more and so he edges himself, forcing himself to pull out of your tight walls that grip him so deliciously, so perfectly. It’s pure agony to do so; all he wants is to drive himself to the hilt and empty everything in his balls into your velvety cunt.

“Hands and knees,” he commands, rocking back on his heels as you lay, fucked out and numb below him. You don’t stir and he taps your thigh, “Get on your hands and knees, baby,” he repeats, his voice softer but the command still evident.

In the end he has to settle for helping you turn over, raising you onto your knees, while your upper body remains pressed into the mattress. You fist the sheets either side of your head as he pushes into you again, groaning with satisfaction. He starts thrusting slowly, drawing soft moans from you. He grips your hip with one hand and presses the other into the small of your back, angling your ass higher, allowing him to drive deeper inside you and you cry out, clenching around him as he pounds into you.

“Is it good?” he asks, but you can only mumble into the sheets beneath you and he takes a moment to consider your weak body. Then, with surprising gentleness, he leans forward and scoops you up into his arms, pulling you back so your back presses against the hot, hard surface of his chest.

“Stay with me, baby, we’re not done yet,” he moans into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before sucking at the spot, enjoying the shudder of pleasure that it forces through your body, all the while thrusting up into you, his rhythm slow but unrelenting. 

You curl an arm around behind you, fingers entangling in the soft hair that curls at his neck and he loosens his hold on you, one hand kneading at your breasts, the other dropping between your legs as he works your swollen, sore clit, causing you to cry aloud.

"Good girl," he says, peppering kisses on your neck, holding your body tight against him now as he keeps thrusting up into you. As you involuntarily clench around his cock, whimpering pleasure rolling through your body once again, he eases you down to the bed and turns you over, quickly pushing back into you. He’s so close now, but in this position, between your spread thighs, he takes his time chasing his high. He holds both your hands in his above your head, supporting himself on his forearms and kisses you deeply and passionately, breaking the kiss only to hold fiercely intense eye contact with you.

You feel the shift in him, the ravenous desire replaced by a different kind of hunger, “I love you,” you breathe into his mouth, trying to reach him, to reassure him. 

His teeth catch your lower lip, “I love you,” he moans back, pressing his face into your shoulder and biting and sucking into the sensitive flesh there as his pace stutters. 

Moments later he’s grunting into you, moaning your name and finding your mouth again in a sloppily mess of tongues and teeth as ropes of his cum paint your walls.

As his high subsides, he stays on top of you; eventually lifting himself to kiss you once more, a satisfied, stupid, sleepy grin on his face, his hair sweaty and plastered to his forehead.

“It’s you and me forever, yes?” he asks between gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose and mouth. Now soft inside you, and likely to slip out at any moment, he nonetheless feels you clench a little at his words.

“Always,” you repeat, kissing him back tenderly, stroking his hair from his face.

Later, showered and in fresh bed sheets, he holds your exhausted body close to him as you sleep. That twisting feeling of guilt is starting to emerge again, but he’s too far gone to want to acknowledge it now. In this moment, as you snuffle slightly and snuggle in tighter to him, he knows that you two are meant to be. He uses that certainty to silence his misgivings and, as sleep claims him, his thoughts are of finally making the home in Seoul with you that he’s wanted for so, so long.

Taehyung hates the Thames. He’s always disappointed that the great architecture of bridges span over such a grim, green swirling mass of fetid water and detritus. True, it doesn’t smell quite as bad as some other city’s rivers, but it disappoints him nonetheless. However, at night, sparkling with the reflected lights of Parliament, the London Eye and the street-lit banks of the river, he likes it far better he thinks. His eye is drawn from the river to the skyline, the illuminated dome of St Paul’s Cathedral in the distance. He’s just beginning to reminisce about eating lunch in the gardens there with you when a gentle voice draws him from his reverie.

“So, Taehyung,” Professor Johnson begins, “I was hoping I might have a word.”

Taehyung looks at him in surprise and then, instinctively back to the large dining table, looking for you, and therefore implicitly, your support. Tonight is a big night for you and your colleagues, spent in one of the nicer restaurants London has to offer at the top of the OXO tower. Your entire lab, and their partners, are celebrating securing another large grant and, in almost paternal pride, your Prof has decided to treat you all. Right now, you’re smiling happily, deep in conversation with Jimin and Dongyeon and so you are oblivious to Taehyung’s plight.

Beside him, Prof Johnson angles himself so they are both standing at the floor-to-ceiling window staring out at the panorama of London, side-by-side. It’s a clever move: your boss, who hates difficult conversations, doesn’t need to look directly at Taehyung and Taehyung is forced to look forward too, unable to catch the eye of anyone who could come to his aid.

Taehyung is obliged to reply politely and your boss immediately launches into his carefully planned speech, “There’s not much that your wonderful girlfriend conceals from me, Taehyung, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out from some of the questions that she’s been asking that she seems to be planning to move to Seoul.”

It’s a statement, not a question, so Taehyung only offers a small hum of acknowledgment.

“Let me be absolutely clear,” your boss states, his tone much firmer, with an edge of mistrust and obvious displeasure creeping in, “Such a move, even to a lab as prestigious as Professor Woo’s, would be catastrophic for her career. The funding she has here means she really must stay here at least half the year for the next five years, and even that would be detrimental to her. The expertise needed, the equipment needed, it’s all here. Even if that arrangement somehow managed to work, the damage done to her professional reputation and to her research would be irreparable -” he pauses to draw breath, aware that he’s slipping into a slight rant.

Your boss allows himself a side glance at Taehyung and notices the man’s lips are pursed and his body tensed, clearly he understands what is being said and it’s having some kind of effect, though Prof Johnson isn’t entirely sure if it’s the desired one or not. 

Nonetheless, he gamely continues, determined to make his point, “I’m sure the two of you are very deeply in love. I’m sure that your situation must be difficult for you both and I do truly sympathise. I’m also sure that you want the best for her, as I do, and so let me be absolutely clear: she has dedicated years of her life and endless energy to her work, her heart and soul is poured into all that she does. Being a scientist defines her, much as I’m sure being a singer defines you. So, again, to be crystal clear, Taehyung, leaving London is not what is best for her, rather, it is what will be worst for her.”

He finishes with a sigh, and looks to Taehyung, who stays resolutely silent, though he notes that the younger man’s shoulders have dropped slightly, a heavy burden seemingly now upon him. He clasps Taehyung’s shoulder and delivers a couple of firm pats in his usual, fatherly manner.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he sighs, “But it needed to be said.”

Taehyung stays stoically still as Prof Johnson takes his leave. The city skyline blurs before him, and he quickly wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand before he strides rapidly to the restroom. Jimin’s quick eyes shift from Taehyung’s swiftly departing back to the slightly guilty expression on Professor Johnson’s face and his taut, tense jaw. 

He looks back to you and Dongyeon, both still oblivious to what has unfolded and, with a quick smile, he wordlessly slinks away, tracing Taehyung’s footsteps.

You roll you shoulders back, flexing your aching muscles as you drop the shopping bags onto the kitchen surface, “Do you want me to make dinner now or wait until a bit later?” you ask Jimin.

“I dunno,” your brother replies, his voice echoing from the fridge door where he loads the food in and retrieves a cold bottle of water for himself, “Shouldn’t we wait for Tae?”

“Na, he said he wouldn’t be back ’til late. Don’t know what he’s up to today, he was very twitchy this morning,” you reply, putting the other shopping away in cupboards, seemingly unconcerned.

Jimin, however, is very much concerned. After his lengthy conversation with Taehyung in the restroom of the restaurant, he’s been on edge, waiting for Taehyung to have the conversation he promised to have with you. You’re seem to be relaxed though, he takes in your breezy attitude as you move to the kitchen table to stock the fruit bowl. He knows that the conversation has definitely not yet happened, and curses Taehyung.

He takes a long gulp of water from the cool bottle in his hand and is halfway through screwing the cap back on when a sound he has never before heard causes it to slip from his hand. Water chugs slowly from the bottle onto the floor like a jumping pulse yet Jimin barely notices, his attention fixed on you and the noise of pure horror you just released.

Your face is blanched and expressionless now, the only movement coming from your eyes as they move rapidly. One hand hovers at your mouth, like some comical clichéd rendering of shock, the other holds a piece of paper. He takes in the white sheet, the fold in the middle, your name written upside down on it in Taehyung’s distinctive hand. Jimin’s eyes return to your face as you finish reading and your eyes raise to meet his.

You open your mouth to speak, but instead a series of choked, trembling breaths escape you before they’re replaced by a flood of tears and a strangled howl of grief. You hold the letter out to him, eyes wide and confused as if to say ‘explain this to me,’ as the tears pour from your eyes. 

Jimin doesn’t take the letter, instead, he steps forward and collects you into his arms. You collapse into him, trembling as the violence of your pain shakes your body. Together, you sink to the kitchen floor, Jimin’s jeans soaking in the spilled water but he neither notices nor cares.

A long time later, when you’re exhausted from sobbing and the violence of your pain has calmed to a steady, silent stream of tears, Jimin retrieves the letter from your fingers. You don’t react, your face still pressed into his shoulder, lost in the depths of your agony.

He reads the letter over and over again, until you begin to stir in his arms. 

“Gonna be sick,” you blurt out suddenly, and you scramble up and to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind you.

To the soundtrack of your muffled retching, Jimin withdraws his phone from his pocket and calls Dongyeon, “Hey,” he says quietly, not pausing to allow a reply, “You need to come to my sister’s right now. Taehyung’s fucking left her and he’s not coming back.”

In the early hours of the next morning, Jimin covers your sleeping body with a warm blanket, stroking the hair from your tear-stained, puffy face. You’d agreed to a hefty dose of the sleeping pills Jimin rarely takes these days, and eventually slipped into what he hopes is a dreamless sleep. With a final affectionate stroke of your hair he leaves you.

Joining Dongyeon at the kitchen table, they sit together silently, the letter sat face down between them.

Finally, Dongyeon breaks the silence, “What now?”

Jimin replies tonelessly, “I’m going to call him again.”

Dongyeon doesn’t argue and Jimin goes ahead, unsurprised when the answerphone kicks in immediately, “Still off,” he says, “I’m leaving a voicemail this time.”

Dongyeon nods grimly and listens as Jimin speaks after the tone. His voice is alien, cold, detached and with none of the bouncy joy or gentle, musical intonation that is so distinctively him.

“I guess you’re still on the plane. Maybe, maybe not. You said you’d talk to her Taehyung, you said you were going to work through the issues facing you. How could you do this to her?” It’s then that Jimin’s voice cracks and he begins to cry.

“You’ve broken her heart, you fucking bastard, and you’ve broken mine too,” Jimin takes a deep breath, his grief shuddering though his body, “You’re a coward, Kim Taehyung. You’re dead to me now, to all of us. I fucking hate you.”

Dongyeon catches Jimin’s hand in his as his boyfriend ends the call, squeezing gently as Jimin fights to contain his tears. He knows Jimin needs to weep, but they both know they have to hold it together for you. 

When Jimin has collected himself, they begin to plan: they’ll take you home with them in the morning, give you space from this apartment and the obvious absence of Taehyung which is visible everywhere, he’d been thorough, taking every single one of his possessions. Somehow, it makes Jimin hate him more, the organisation of the whole thing sickens him: it’s obvious now that Taehyung planned this carefully and so had every opportunity to explain to you what he was doing and why, but hadn’t. 

Jimin isn’t a violent man, but he wants to hurt Taehyung with a desperate, keening passion, believing he could quite easily rip his former best friend’s heart out with his bare hands if he were before him right now.

Chapter Text

A couple of months later, a grey-skinned, hollow-eyed Taehyung jumps violently as a cup of tea is slammed on to the table before him, hot liquid spilling across the table.

“Sorry,” the waitress apologises unconvincingly. Taehyung pays her no mind, just as he didn’t when he mumbled out his order, oblivious to his surroundings, subsumed beneath his own pain and sadness. Instead he simply takes paper napkins from the dispenser and mops up the tea with a kind of robotic deliberation.

His server doesn’t even notice, returning to the counter where she stands, arms folded. This is her place, and she runs it well. By nature, she’s usually sweet and smart: she has a regular clientele because of her warm and welcoming manner. 

She might have a kind and gentle heart, but as soon as her eyes fixed on Taehyung as he entered, all human sympathy was shelved away. Not even the sight of his sadly hunched shoulders, pallid skin and quiet, but obvious, profound sadness can soften her attitude. She knows what he’s done and hates him for it.

She takes in the raised eyebrows of her husband, who leans across the other side of the counter, sipping on his coffee.

“Don’t judge me,” Sana hisses, “You know what he’s done, the bastard. Tell me how many times does he want to break that girl’s heart?”

”And to think you used to date him,” Taecyeon grins.

”Don’t remind me,” she rolls her eyes, before she becomes thoughtful, “Did I ever tell you about how my granny ended up with her cat?”

”I’m struggling to understand how that’s related, but no, I don’t think you have,” he smiles.

”It was a stray kitten, knocking around the town. I suggested to Taehyung when we were dating that I should give it to Jimin.  He loves cats so much, even if he is allergic. Taehyung said no though, because of her. He told me that when her cat Jiji would accidentally scratch her it would give her a reaction. I remember him explaining in detail how a tiny scratch on her leg that didn’t even bleed became swollen and took days to go down. I don’t think it would have bothered me except he pointed out that nobody had paid any attention to it, not even her. I was suspicious then and so I started noticing how much attention he paid to her. Loads, it turned out. We might all have giggled about how her crush on him, but it definitely wasn’t one-sided. Not even then.”

Taecyeon mulls over her words, “When he spoke to me that day, trying to put me off dating her… If I look back now, it was pretty obvious that he had strong feelings for her.”

Sana bits her lip, twirling a dishcloth in her hand, “It’s funny isn’t it? It was good for us that they loved each other, it meant that we got together in the end. Isn’t it odd that they’re love has made us happy but spoiled everything for them?”

Her husband squeezes her arm, “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Sana shakes her head, her temper igniting again, “I know, but how can he have loved her for so fucking long and then do what he did to her? Her mother told me how he left without saying anything, it’s un-fucking-forgiveable,” she fumes, throwing the dishcloth on the bar with fury, drawing quiet mutters from the customers.

Taecyeon nods, “You’re right, but the other customers here don’t know any of that, do they?” he points out with a sensibility that she understands yet is too annoyed to accept.

She’s about to reply that she could not give less of a shit when Taecyeon draws her attention to the door with a slight nod of the head. 

The bell rings gently as Taehyung’s mother, face drawn, enters, her expression softening as she sees her obviously distraught son. It’s the opposite for the woman behind her, deep frown lines appearing between her brows and her mouth tightening into a grimace: this second woman looks more tired and pained than the first, but her expression remains resolute, anger lurking beneath the surface as she follows Taehyung’s mother to his table and takes a seat opposite the ashen-faced man.

“Hello, Taehyung,” your mother says, her voice so very nearly flat and toneless, if not for the hint of disgust that creeps through, “Your mother says you want to speak to me - so speak.”

“I believe theres a table reserved for two? Room 451?” you ask the maître d’ who waits at the entrance of the hotel’s restaurant.

As he scans the reservation list, you clutch your evening bag just that little bit tighter. You’re grateful that your mother has come so far to see you, but you’re also worried: though she’s healthy now you worry about the toll a long journey will take on her.  You wish Jimin was here, but he’s on a weekend break with Dongyeon and so you’re forced to go it alone. You’re overcome with feelings of guilt, suspecting that it’s solely worry for you that has led her here after you’ve spent months in anguish, mourning the end of you and Taehyung.

The letter was the last contact you’d had with him; you found that he’d blocked you across all platforms and simply disappeared from your life. He’s done the same with Jimin, culling you both like weeds from a garden. Of course, if you wanted you could find out what was going on with him, you’ve enough contacts in Daegu and Seoul to be able to find out but you choose not to. Taehyung walked out on you, he left you and he shut the door tightly behind him; you’re convinced pursuing him for answers or explanations will only bring you more pain.

You glance at your watch and note that your mother is late, you’re a little confused by that as she text not long ago saying she was leaving her room, but you accept it, taking the opportunity to order a glass of wine. You swirl the contents as you wait and try to relax. After a long sip, you place the glass on the table and close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose as you prepare to focus your attention on your mother, not your own self-pity. You’re determined to show her a bright version of yourself; it took you an age to get ready, to conceal the tiredness of your eyes and the changes to your body that the stress of the breakup had inflicted.

The sound of a throat being cleared breaks you from your reverie, and you take a moment to open your eyes; the sound is distinctly male and so you imagine it’s only the waiter with further questions. When you do open your eyes you’re staggered by the sight of the man before you and are struck completely dumb.

You’re so shocked in fact that you can only stare at him for several minutes as he explains that your mother set everything up, and that she is still in Daegu. You remain silent as he orders for you both and, though he’s eager to talk to you, to explain, he accepts that you need time and so sits with you in uncomfortable silence, quailing slightly under your inscrutable glare, as he waits for you to find your voice.

When the appetisers arrive, the spell you’re under breaks, “Why are you here?” you ask in a weak voice, your voice catching a little on the final syllable.

“Your mother and I had a very long talk,” he explains, his words rushing out quickly, grateful that, finally, he can explain his true feelings, “We agreed that the best thing I could do was get on a plane and come and say these things to you face to face. She suspected you wouldn’t want to see me, so we made this plan. I’m sorry for deceiving you.”

You pick up your fork and stab at a piece of lettuce, “I don’t like being tricked,” you state, “Or lied to.”

He blushes at that, and you’re temporarily satisfied, until he speaks again, “It’s not the only lie I’ve told you, though,” he explains, “I’ve come to rectify that and to tell you the truth.”

You look at him quizzically, “What other lies have you told me?”

“Fuck,” he exclaims, “More than I can fucking count. But please let me explain.”

You take all of Yoongi in, his handsome face and intense cat-stare, his black hair that’s much shorter now, and side-parted, a strand falling slightly into his face. You think it’s a good look on him, not that you’ll share that with him right now. No, you want to hear this grand revelation first and you hope, with all the energy within you, that it has nothing to do with Taehyung.

“Go ahead,” you invite with an attempt at a smile that is half successful, half snarl. You’ve not had much desire to smile since Taehyung broke your heart yet again, and the feeling is foreign, the muscle action unfamiliar.

He does. Over the course of the meal, until you’re sipping the last of your after-dinner coffees, he tells you everything.

He explains that he came to London all those months ago to see you, that the business he mentioned was incidental and created as an excuse for him to make his confession.

He explains that he’d been on a couple of dates with Jeongmi after you’d left Daegu, but that it had come to nothing. He liked and respected her and, aware that the feelings he had for you were still burning in his heart, he couldn’t, in all good conscience, keep seeing her and so it ended long before he arrived in London.

He explains that he had been confident that you and he might have some kind of a chance when he arrived until he was faced with Taehyung. He pauses momentarily at that, watching you blanch and your eyes fill at the mention of his name, though in a small voice, you urge him to continue and so he goes on.

He explains that what you and Taehyung had seemed too intense for him to be able to compete with, that is was not only foolish to try, but cruel; it felt wrong to try to come between two people so obviously in love with each other. He doesn’t look at you as he says any of this; he knows that seeing your sadness over the mentioning of Taehyung would stop him in his tracks. He can’t bear to be the cause of any more pain for you.

He continues to avoid looking at you as he reveals the lie that he manufactured with Taehyung and Jimin.

He explains why he lied in the café, how the realisation of your feelings for him came too late, that he’d boxed himself into a corner he couldn’t escape from.

Finally, he explains the regret that has burned in him ever since and how, for the first time in an age, he felt hope bloom in his chest again when he entered his studio and found your mother there, wanting to tell him all about what had happened with you and Taehyung and what she hoped would be the future for you two.

“I know that it won’t be easy,” he concludes, “and I know you might not be ready, but I just want to know if there’s a chance for us,” he implores.

You return his eager, desperate look with one of confusion, and he pushes on, “I’m not asking anything of you right now, all I want to know is if you think you and I might have a chance together in the future. I’ll move here, I’ll do anything for you, I just want to know if there’s some hope for us.”

Across the table, your heart pounds and your mind races: you feel assaulted by the amount of information he’s bombarded you with, each revelation feeling like a bullet whistling through your aching heart. You’re overwhelmed and you feel the panic clawing inside you, rising terribly through your body yet, as you process what he’s told you, the tide is stemmed and another emotion replaces it: white-hot, molten fury. 

Rarely are you as angry as you feel now, in the past, its always been because of, and directed towards, Taehyung, like when he broke your tender teenage heart. Now though, your rage, though provoked by a complex web of different events, is directed with sole focus at Yoongi.

Yoongi notices how your body seems to suddenly still, how you suddenly seem cold and detached and he wonders if you’re doing what you did back in Zico’s studio and shutting yourself off from him. He hopes, with all the energy that he has within him, that that’s not what is happening. 

It’s a foolish hope though, because what’s actually happening is so, so much worse.

Yoongi takes a breath and utters some fateful words, “Are you ok?”

Your rage explodes with the force and terrible silence of a nuclear bomb. Somehow, your voice remains steady, but pure fury emanates from your every pore and Yoongi is almost rendered breathless by the force of it.

“No, Min Yoongi,” you state, “I am not fucking ok. I am so far from fucking ok that I might be in another fucking universe where ok is but a distant, unknowable fucking concept,” you rant.

Yoongi simply gapes as you continue, “You fucking men and all your fucking judgement of me. All three of you making me feel guilty for putting my feelings first and not being honest and this is what you do to me, you fucking liars,” you hiss, drawing breath as you continue on your diatribe. 

“I am a fucking associate fucking professor, not some simple minded fool, so why do the people in my life, including my own fucking mother, feel the need to try to manage me behind my fucking back and manoeuvre me around the board of my own fucking life like I’m a chess piece? Everyone of you fucking lie as easily as you breathe when it comes to me,” you draw another furious breath.

“You all try to fucking control me, you all fucking treat me as a situation to be managed and fucking coddled. Well, fucker, I have some fucking news for you. I will not be coddled, I will not be fucking managed, I will not be manipulated or played and I will not fucking tolerate being fucking lied to!”

Finally you stop, breathing deeply. Your voice did not rise beyond a low volume once during your whole speech, but your outrage and passion are visible across your pained face, and the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to contain your over-spilling emotions, blinking away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“I’m so sorr-” Yoongi begins, but you cut him off.

“Don’t apologise to me,” you growl, “I don’t want to hear it. You asked me if there’s hope for us, and I have an answer for you -”

Now he interrupts you, “Please don’t,” he pleads, “Don’t say something in anger that you’ll regret and break my heart.”

“Who says I’ll regret it?” you hiss with a vindictive smile, yet his words reach you.

Through the thick fog of your consuming rage, his words strike a chord in your battered heart and you pause for a moment. This isn’t you, you’re better than this; you don’t want to say, or do, anything that will later bring you shame. Yoongi sees the change come over you, you seem to deflate a little and he breathes a little more easily.

You take a breath, steady yourself, and continue, “What about my broken heart, Yoongi? What about me? You’re asking me now to make a choice not to hurt you, but you took my choice from me when you lied to me in that café and through every lie you’ve told me since.”

Yoongi knows he deserves that and shakes his head sadly, “Honestly though,” he asks of you, “Even if I had told you the truth then, would you have chosen me over him?”

You appreciate that he avoids saying Taehyung’s name and you drag your heart back in time, trying to remember how you felt then. When you eventually look back at Yoongi your eyes are wide and sparkling with tears and much of your rage seems to have dissipated, “Honestly?” you reply, “Honestly, no, I wouldn’t have chosen you over him.”

He nods sadly, though he knew that would be the case, it still hurts awfully to hear it put into words. His head droops for a moment, only to jerk back up when you begin to elaborate.

“Obviously I can’t say for sure,” you concede, “But I think, given that I was in love with you too, that though I wouldn’t have picked you, I don’t think I would have picked him either. Not with how divided my heart would have been then, knowing you loved me back. I wouldn’t have been able to be with him without feeling like I was lying to him.”

Regret subsumes Yoongi beneath its waves and threatens to drag him under, but your voice anchors him for the moment.

“That’s just it though, isn’t it?” you ask with a dry, humourless laugh, “I couldn’t lie but you, him, Jimin, fuck, even my own mother, have all lied so easily. How could you all do this to me?” 

Yoongi watches helplessly as the embers of fire that had cooled within you are now kicked up, and the fire of your anger breaks loose once more.

“Do you know what, Yoongi?” you ask rhetorically, getting your feet and throwing your serviette on the table beforefollowing it with a handful of bank notes that you tear from your bag, “It doesn’t really matter in the end. Not to me. Not anymore. If this is what love is, I don’t fucking want it. All those years that I lived lovelessly, I was fucking right to! That’s the way to live. You can all fuck off.”

He sits in stunned silence as you storm away from him without a single glance back.

The next morning, Yoongi moves sluggishly around the hotel room, he looks at the instant coffee and immediately rejects it. He needs something far stronger, and tastier, after another sleepless night spent tossing and turning, with a panoply of new things about you and him to torture himself with.

With numb, slow movements he grabs the service menu as he flumps onto the edge of his hotel bed. Room service seems the only option, he can’t face sitting down to breakfast alone, already he feels ill at the thought of the noise and mass of people. 

Having made his choice, he reaches for the phone on the bedside table and is about to lift the handle from the receiver when the cold, cream plastic vibrates in his hand and a shrill cry calls through the room. Startled, he almost fumbles the phone, but manages to gather himself to lift it cautiously to his ear. 

A cheery voice echoes down the phone as the receptionist informs him he has a guest at the front desk and gives your name. He quickly confirms that he’ll be down in mere moments, conveying a sort of mad urgency, seemingly believing that if he lacks haste now that you’ll disappear. 

All hesitance is gone from his movement, all sluggishness departed like the morning dew under the rays of the summer sun. He moves with surprising swiftness and is dressed, made presentable and on his way to the lobby within minutes.

He’s slightly out of breath when he reaches you. You don’t notice him straight away, you’re scrolling through your phone inattentively. He notes that you look tired, recognising that you probably slept as poorly as he did; the understanding saddens him deeply, he wants to go back to the time when you comforted each other through your shared sleeplessness instead of being the cause for it.

It’s then that you look up at him, though your face is drawn and your eyes are tired, they still sparkle when you see him and you offer the smallest, most shy smile. You may as well have entered with a marching band at your tail playing out show tunes though, because the impact it has on Yoongi would have been just as dramatic: his heart soars, hope and relief radiates out from his heart and fills his chest and he beams gummily back at you, making your smile widen in response as you get to your feet and are striding towards him. 

In one smooth motion, you pull him into a tight hug and he doesn’t hesitate to enclose you in his arms, smiling at the warmth of you, of the gentle scent of your hair that somehow reminds him of a beach on  a warm summer day.

“I’m so sorry for yesterday,” you mumble into his shoulder before you release him and move away: he feels your absence immediately; he feels his heart pull away from him, desperate to beat alongside yours; he feels a keening need to pull you back into his arms where you so obviously belong.

If he were Taehyung, he’d do all of those things, but he’s not, he’s Yoongi, and so he releases you and smiles encouragingly, “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I do though,” you insist with a determined frown, “You got every ounce of the anger I’ve been hoarding up, and so very little of it did you deserve.”

He nods slowly, “But I did deserve my share of it,” he confirms.

“Yes,” you offer, “but only your share,” you then look around the lobby and turn back to him, “Do you want to get breakfast somewhere a bit quieter? I know a place nearby,” you ask.

His comfortable smile and nod are all the answer you need and he moves toward the hotel doors before you grasp his arm and pull him back, gooseflesh erupts all over him in response to your touch.

“Hold up there,” you say, “It’s freezing outside, a hoodie isn’t enough - go bundle up.”

He returns a little later with a thin jacket over the top protesting that it’s all he brought with him. He’s touched, and driven half-mad with longing, when you take off your own scarf and wrap it about his neck, insisting your coat is warm enough as you turn the collar up. With one final gentle, lingering glance, you pat the scarf down around his neck and take his hand as you lead him from the hotel.

Hours later, back in his hotel, Yoongi lies, curled foetally on the bed, clutching onto your scarf as his tears soak through the pillow beneath him.

The other side of the city, you sit at the large window in your apartment, staring sightlessly out at the street, oblivious to the passing pedestrians, cyclists and cars as silent tears track down your cheeks.

Your soul aches, it aches in fatigue and desperation. Your talk with Yoongi had been what it needed to be. It was cathartic for you both and freeing. You both spoke truthfully about everything, airing out your feelings now and those you’d harboured in jealous secrecy in the past. You both said the things that needed to be said, until you ended with the final thing that simply had to be said, but that neither of you could really bear to.

After you’d enjoyed a gentle breakfast avoiding any serious talk, the inevitable heartrending talk had happened as you both clutched hot takeaway coffee cups for warmth and comfort as you sat on a bench in the leafy comfort of Hyde Park. Sitting side by side was easier, it took you both back to your evenings and late nights in Daegu’s parks and it meant that you could speak freely, without having to face the unfolding feelings revealed by each other’s eyes.

You established easily that there was something between the two of you, a force that seemed to draw you together and it was as simple as breathing to admit that you felt comfortable together, that a closeness had grown between you without force or effort. 

You both know that your feelings are deep, established and genuine. You also know that they’re significant to both of you, not important, but significant: your friendship and feelings for each other have reshaped each other’s worlds, you’re different people now for having known each other and it’s made both your lives richer. 

It’s also not hard for either of you to admit that you believe you’d make a good couple, with a strong, solid relationship that would probably last the test of time. 

No, none of that is difficult for either of you. You’re both tired of the lies and the dancing around each other in the dark and so you both give yourself over to revealing the absolute truth. The thing that undoes you both is admitting that, despite all the feeling and all the possibility that you share, it doesn’t and won’t work.

It devastates you both to admit, but the truth is undeniable: your relationship has been built around a series of ‘what ifs’ that have never come to anything at all and in the cold light of day, the problems that face you are insurmountable. The question of lifestyles, commitments and geography that destroyed you and Taehyung are just as real for the two of you. 

Taehyung. He, as ever, is the final unsolvable problem. 

Yoongi said that he knew the ghost of Taehyung would haunt the two of you, but you’d corrected him, arguing there was no spectral influence. Rather, Taehyung poured over the pages of your story with Yoongi like spilled ink, obscuring vast passages and soaking through those as yet unwritten. Taehyung was an obliterating force for you and Yoongi, always there in opposition to him and always having undermined Yoongi’s place in your heart. The history itself wasn’t the thing that could just not be overcome though, it was that he tainted any hope of a future. 

Neither you or Yoongi say it, it’s unnecessary, you both just know the truth of it: you still love Taehyung, despite everything, and that is the kiss of death for you and Yoongi.

And so you parted with fond words and a warm embrace: two insomniacs who’d shared a beautiful but diaphanous dream that had danced for ephemeral moments in glorious light, but that could never solidify into something solid and tangible, instead fracturing, dissolving and dissipating in the long, ink-black shadow cast by Kim Taehyung.

In your chilly apartment, curled cat-like in your velvet chair, thoughts race across your mind. You weep for the end of you and Taehyung, the ever-present rending pain in your aching heart and the departing footsteps through the park of the gentle, kind man who you’ll never have the chance to truly love.

Chapter Text

The tiniest hole sits at the centre of the reddened circle. Moments later a small bubble of blood blossoms forth. Immediately you enclose the bleeding digit insides tissue, making soothing sounds.

Wince in exaggerated sympathy, you conjure an impressed tone, “Jeez, that must have stung! You’re very brave!”

Little Jiji, as you all call her, pulls her trembling lip in and, in the soft-syllabled voice of a 4 year old says, “It was only a little thorn.”

You smile at her and wipe her tears with a gentle stroke of your thumb. A little love, some cuddles and play later and she’s back to her usual vibrant self. You watch as she takes off amongst the tables that are grouped around the rose-lined patio, soon finding the other children gathered on the verdant lawn beyond that leads to a large, peaceful lake.  

You’re not duly concerned for her though as the little terrors are being watched over by a group of women in all stages of motherhood: Hobi’s fiancé who’s due in less than a month; Namjoon’s wife with their one year old at her hip; Sana with her small army of Oks circling her and Taehyung’s mother, the experienced matriarch, overseeing everything with her sharp, focused eyes. You smile as Jiji makes straight for Mrs Kim, knowing it has as much to do with the sweets in her pocket as the warm smile on her face.

With a final smile to yourself, you turn away and head off to find your own mother. When you do, she’s inside the sprawling hotel, one of the finest Daegu has to offer, laying out place cards, favours and menus that are to be carried to the outside tables in the morning. She greets you with a confusing array of emotions - relief and happiness are there, yes, but so too is irritation - though when you explain Jiji’s emergency, your mother immediately softens and accepts your help without further complaint, forgiving you for slacking on your other duties. 

She’s hard at work filling tiny gauze bags with sugared almonds when you notice that there’s a slight tremble in her fingers, an almost imperceptible shudder to her intakes of breath and a telltale glistening film over her eyes; you stop what you’re doing and place a gentle hand on her forearm, “Mum?” 

She turns you and places her hand over yours, “I’m a sentimental old fool,” she mumbles as you look at her with concern, “I just can’t believe my baby is getting married tomorrow!”

You smile and pull her into a hug, “C’mon Mum, the wedding happened ages ago at home! This is only the blessing.”

“I know, I know!” she laughs, but she squeezes you just a little bit tighter anyway.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Jimin asks from his place stretched across your bed, his head resting on your lap as you stroke the hair from his forehead.

“Not at all,” you say smoothly and inscrutably, leaving Jimin unable to decipher whether you’re telling the truth or not.

“He text me earlier,” Jimin states. When you don’t reply, he clarifies, “Taehyung - he text me to say he’d arrived at his parents.”

“Really?” you say, again Jimin can’t read your tone or how you’re feeling, “I thought he might have gotten cold feet, y’know, last minute nerves, and not shown at all.”

Jimin laughs at that, “I don’t think that’s likely. Do you?”

You say nothing for a moment before you reply honestly, “I guess not.”

It’s then that your phone rings, and you smile apologetically at Jimin, “I’ll only be a second,” you promise,.

Jiminforcibly lifts the hand that isn’t holding the phone and returns it to his head, indicating that he requires you to keep fussing him, which you give in to.

You really aren’t on the phone long; it’s only Zico confirming arrangements for the next day and checking what time he should be there. He runs through his suit choice again as he seeks reassurance that he’ll be well dressed, after giggling together, you say your goodbyes and confirm how excited you are to see him, months having passed since you last did.

When you hang up, Jimin looks up at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, “Have you ever thought that maybe you and him -”

You don’t let him finish his sentence, “Stop there! No, not ever, we’re friends and that’s it!” you notice your brother is a touch offended at your outburst and so you soften your tone, “Not all of us find the love of our life so certainly like you and Dongyeon, oh darling brother mine. Speaking of, you’ve got a big day tomorrow. You best head to your bed and get some sleep.”

Jimin laughs, but sits up and offers you a mock salute, before turning mushy and pulling you into a sentimental hug, “I love you so fucking much,” he says, squeezing you tightly.

“Best Best Woman ever. I’m so glad you’re my sister,” he insists, kissing you on the cheek before ambling from the room singing ‘I’m getting married in the morning…’ off key, making you chuckle.When he’s gone you lay back on your pillows and let your mind wander. Sadly, it strays straight to Taehyung. 

It’s been three years since you last saw him on that fateful morning when you’d left your apartment to spend the day with your brother and came home to nothing more than a letter and empty drawers. 

Since that day you know that Jimin and your parents have seen and spoken to him, but not you. You decided early on that any dissection of why he’d done what he’d done wouldn’t help and any conversation you had would be of greater benefit to him than you. In the early days, family and friends tried to convince you that closure was needed, but you didn’t think so: what closure could there ever be for you and Taehyung? He was the first man you loved; the only man you thought you would ever love.

So what do you do now? How do you face him tomorrow after so much time? You don’t know what his status is, you assume by now he’s dating but you’ve never seen any gossip. All you know is that Taehyung is coming alone to Jimin’s wedding blessing tomorrow. 

The law in Korea doesn’t permit Jimin and Dongyeon to marry, but UK law does, and so last year they tied the knot in a cute ceremony in Whitechapel. Tomorrow a blessing will allow the extended family and friends that couldn’t make it to the wedding to celebrate with them, including Taehyung. 

It wasn’t that Taehyung couldn’t make the London wedding, but that Jimin didn’t invite him. In any other world, Taehyung would always have been Jimin’s best man but, though their friendship can weather and survive most storms, it was severely tested by what Taehyung had done to you. Yes, they’ve managed to move past it and reconcile, but Taehyung no longer holds the place in Jimin’s heart that he once did. 

So, eschewing tradition entirely, Jimin decided he neither wanted or needed a best man, abolishing the role and instituting a best woman instead: you. Dongyeon had of course asked his cousin, Taecyeon, to be his, a role he flew across the world to perform and one he’ll replay again tomorrow, as will you.

The wedding had been glorious and you’d been amazed by the number of people who flooded into London from Korea to attend: a smile plays out on your lips as you recall the big day.

Breaking out of your reverie, you look at the time and note how late it is and your stomach twists in tension at the thought of seeing Taehyung tomorrow.

I bet Taehyung is shitting himself about it too, You think in a sudden burst of clarity. It’s then that you realise you don’t actually need to play out the awkward reunion tomorrow to the audience of your friends and family, there’s a simple alternative.

With a sigh of resignation and a stoic, grim determination to get it over with you change out of your pyjamas into shorts and a loose shirt, perfect for the sticky heat of the summer night. You head out, telling your Dad, who’s sat reading in the living room, that you’re just getting some air to help you sleep. He doesn’t buy it, but he’s sure you have your reasons for whatever it is that you’re doing, and he turns back to his book.

As you walk the moonlit streets, you’re grateful for the breeze that plays with the loose strands of your hair and kisses your warm skin coolly, it both distracts and grounds you - exactly what you need right now. 

You haven’t tried to contact Taehyung, you simply presume that he, like you, is dreading tomorrow and so will be hoping against hope that you might want to see him beforehand. It’s a gut feeling that doesn’t let you down, because as you approach the darkened park, you see the outline of a man sitting on the swings, moving laconically; in a line up of a thousand men you would easily be able to identify him.

You approach quietly from behind and wordlessly take a seat on the swing beside him, noticing how he jumps slightly, startled by your sudden appearance. It doesn’t surprise you; if you were him, you wouldn’t have expected you to show up either.

You sit for long moments in silence and nerves seem to pour from Taehyung like blood from an open wound. Normally, you’d be content to sit and let him bleed out, but right now you know things have to be said to ensure that tomorrow goes as smoothly as possible for Jimin and Dongyeon. 

Remember that, you think, this is all about them, not you and it’s certainly not about this fucker beside you.

Realising he’s not going to speak, you begin, “Taehyung,” it’s all the greeting he’s going to get from you. 

You’re pleased that your voice doesn’t betray your quickening heart, instead it sounds just as you want it to, detached, cold and nonchalant.

“I didn’t really think you’d come,” he says softly.

“No, neither did I,” you confess, “But tomorrow is about Jimin and Dongyeon, not the history of -” your breath suddenly catches and you realise you can’t bring yourself to say ‘us’. You fake a cough, its terrible as cover ups go, but you desperately want to hide your reaction.

Clearing your throat, you plough on, “Yeah, it’s all about them and there shouldn’t be any sideshow attractions for people to gawp at or gossip about.”

“I understand,” he offers politely and waits in silence. 

He knows it’s not for him to speak, that this needs to be led by you, and so he sits patiently. He knows you were about to say ‘us’ moments ago and couldn’t bring yourself to and the pain it brings is agonising; he feels like a large, strong hand has his heart in a ruthless, iron grip and is clenching tightly. 

The pain is acutely physical and he wants to look at you so desperately, but he can’t quite bring himself to face you, or to face the consequences of what he has done to you; beside him on the swings you are within touching distance and yet somehow an ocean away from him.

As you swing gently beside him, moving mere inches, you know you should look at him, but you can’t quite seem to bring yourself to either. Damn this man, this beautiful, terrible man who you loved so long and so deeply.

You take a breath and speak, “So tomorrow I’ll be busy all day with my duties for Jimin,” you don’t say your role as Best Woman; you don’t see anything to be gained from rubbing salt into the wound of your brother forgoing Taehyung.

“And with the other guests, including Taecyeon’s youngest, Jiji, who’s a bit attached to me,” you’re aware you’re rambling, but you continue on, “Anyway, I’ll be with Taecyeon, Sana, Namjoon, Hobi and Yoongi for the day mostly. You’ll be with your parents I guess and other people so I think we can get through the day without really needing to see each other or speak to each other at all.”

You draw quick breaths as you conclude. So much for nonchalant, you think harshly, berating yourself for falling apart so quickly. Fuck, I haven’t even looked at him yet, how am I supposed to get through tomorrow? you wonder. 

“If that’s what you want,” Taehyung says gently, “I think we both know that nobody apart from Jimin really wants me there. In fact, most people there just plain hate me, so I’ll stay for the ceremony, I’ll pay my respects to the couple and your parents, give my gift and then I’ll leave. I won’t stay for the meal, speeches or dancing. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or unhappy.”

You don’t disagree with him, what would be the point when everything he’s said is so obviously true? Instead, you try to hold your composure and reply, “I think that would be best.”

He knew you wouldn’t contradict him; he knows in his heart you’d probably be happiest if he said he wasn’t going to show at all, still he feels the blow deep in his chest, that iron fist closing a little more tightly. 

The last words you spoke to him before tonight had been delivered with a kiss to his cheek, you’d told him you hoped he would have a good day and that you’d see him that evening when he got home before you’d headed off for your day out with Jimin. You had no idea then that would be the last time you saw him for years. He truly believes in his heart that it was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t regretted it every day since.

“Is there anything else you want to say to me?” he asks gently, wanting to give you whatever you need. He knows it’s the least he can do.

You dig into your heart and to the ground, finding the strength to face him as your heels press into the asphalt, twisting the chains of the swing so the metal links cross over each other, leaving you facing him. He does the same and your eyes meet, the moment knocking the air from both your lungs.

“After three years, Taehyung?” you ask rhetorically, “No, there isn’t. Your letter made it clear why you left me. What more is there to say?”

“I’m sorry,” he almost whispers, his eyes gleam in the moonlight, glassy with unshed tears, reflecting the stars above.

“Yeah, you said that in the letter,” you sigh, twisting around on the swing, the chains knotting further around each other until you face him again, your toes now barely skimming the asphalt.

”So, there really is nothing to say that hasn’t been said before. I get that you think you were being noble and self-sacrificing and whatever else you’ve told yourself by leaving me so I wouldn’t have to leave my career or brother behind. That’s fine. If that’s what you need to tell yourself to feel ok with what you did, that’s fine -” you force yourself to take a deep breath, aware of how fast you’re now talking, how close you are to losing control.

When you speak again, your voice is slower and steadier, “It doesn’t really matter in the end. You made a choice to take my choice away and we’ve both had to move on. There’s nothing more to be said. We’ve made the mistake of kicking up the fire before and look where it led. Let’s just let it lie this time.” 

You meet his eyes with yours and he’s surprised to see that there’s almost a pleading look in them, “Please Taehyung, let’s just leave it here. We’ve made too many mistakes, let’s just not speak again and avoid making any more.”

“We weren’t a mistake,” he rushes out urgently.

You give a cold laugh, “Taehyung,” you say seriously, “Loving you was the worst mistake I ever made.”

You release the swing then, forgetting how tightly wound it is, and you spin wildly around, out of control. When the swing comes to rest you stagger to your feet and are caught by Taehyung, now in front of you, his hands grasping at your elbows. You look up at him, your icy glare meeting his burning one.

“Take that back,” he growls, pulling you tighter to him, “I know I hurt you but only because I fucking love you so much. Don’t you dare say loving me was a mistake.”

Your faces are inches from each other, “I will not take it back. Loving you brought me more pain than happiness over all those years,” you hiss, trying to pull away but finding his grip immovable as it tightens further.

“Stop it!” he almost shouts, tiny flecks of spit hitting your face, “Stop saying that,” it’s then that his tears overspill and run in fat droplets down his face, the tracks glistening in the moonlight.

“Taehyung,” you say softly, a kinder tone in your voice, “Let me go.”

He knows those words have multiple meanings though, and he simply can’t, “I don’t know how to,” he whines.

You don’t know why, but you find yourself wanting to apologise in the face of his grief. You realise his grip is like a finger trap, pulling apart only makes it worse, what you need to do to free yourself is to come together. 

You relax your shoulders and arms and step closer, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him to you in a tight embrace. His grip on your elbows releases instantly, and he wraps his arms about you and weeps into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I shouldn’t have said that, it was cruel. But it’s all in the past now and we have to leave it there.”

“No, please,” he mumbles through tears. You sigh and stroke his back then, realising what the issue is: you’re using the past tense, but he’s using the present. You told him you had loved him, he’s just told you he still loves you.

“Taehyung,” you say again, as he clings to you tightly, “It’s time to let go.”

When he finally releases you, pulling his sleeves over his hands to wipe at his eyes, he has a sad, ironic smile on his face, “I told you in that letter to stop loving me,” he sighs, “I guess you did.”

There’s nothing to be gained by lying to him as you shake your head, “I’ll always love you, Taehyung, I don’t think I can help it. But no, I don’t love you like I used to.”

He presses his lips together to contain his tears, but it does no good, they flow freely anyway. You want to pull him into another hug, you want to comfort him but that’s not your role anymore and you know it won’t really help either of you.

When he’s able to pull himself together, he looks at you hopefully, “I really hope that life is good for you, I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m doing well,” you smile, “I hope you are too.”

All these years on, Taehyung can still read your face like an open book, he sees the discomfort you try to hide.

He says your name softly and, as you meet his eyes, he notes the awkwardness, “You’ve moved on with someone else,” he says, the words making his stomach churn.

You tilt your head in discomfort, but you know you can’t avoid the question, “Not really, but maybe sort of.”

“He’ll be at the wedding tomorrow?” Taehyung asks in a strangled voice.

You nod in confirmation.

“I’m happy for you,” he says softly, and he tries to mean it.

Chapter Text

By the time you arrive at the venue the next day you’re already tired; Jimin is a true perfectionist and so getting him suited, booted and ready took longer than you thought. Of course there’d been a stylist there for hair and makeup, but as his sister and best woman he’d wanted your opinion and presence at every moment. 

The only respite came when the stylist turned their attention to getting you ready, which naturally you found tedious and irritating, though, when they’ve finished you are pleased with how you look; you get out of the chair with your back a little straighter and more of a spring in your step.

Jimin and Dongyeon, both radiantly handsome in their happiness, have posed for photos and are now sat together on a cute little sofa, greeting guests as they arrive and are funnelled through a room almost like a conveyer belt of well-wishers; you’re at the exit, greeting the guests and directing them to their seats ready for the ceremony.

You’ve just dispensed with a contingent of excitable Parks that have travelled in from Busan when you turn back at the sound of your name being spoken by a familiar voice; as you turn towards him your eyes meet and you beam at each other.

“Yoongi,” you say with a smile as he steps forward to hug you and kisses both your cheeks, imitating the European style.

When his cheek brushes against yours, your mind is flooded by a distant memory of hot breath against your ear and deep groans of pleasure. Instantly, you feel hot and flustered as he pulls away.

“Are you ok?” he asks gently, taking in your changed state.

You manage to stutter something out about being overwhelmed and busy and he simply smirks in reply.

With a gentle squeeze of your hand he moves away, “I’ll see you in the ceremony,” he smiles.

Guest upon guest pass by you and you begin to feel exhausted. Finally, a face you’ve been waiting to see swims in front of you.

“You’re finally here,” you say relieved.

Taehyung finishes greeting Jimin and Dongyeon and he is grateful for the ease of their connection, the relaxed way they could greet each other. He knows his friendship with Jimin will never be quite the same as it was, but he’s reassured that they’re on the right track to being as close as they once were at some time in the future.

As he approaches the exit, he sees you and slows his pace. Zico stands before you, your hands are cupped around his face tenderly as he smiles down at you; Taehyung feels the bile rise in his throat. 

The pain is far more than he imagined was possible. From last night he knows you’re seeing someone else and even before that theoretically he understood that it was likely you’d moved on in the years since he last saw you. 

He knows it is obvious that you will have seen other men, even fucked them, though the thought still makes him want to peel the skin from his body in a kind of demented jealousy. Seeing this though, with his own eyes, the warm affection, the closeness of your faces, is devastating. He can’t bring himself to focus on your eyes, he dreads seeing the love that was once written there for him being there for someone else now. 

He reaches the doorway and wonders if he should clear his throat to alert the two of you to his presence but he fears that will only increase the awkwardness tenfold. Cringing, he hovers in the doorway and listens uncomfortably in on your conversation.

“There’s nothing there you absolute madman,” you laugh, “And for goodness’ sake, do not go on about the hormones in your nose.”

Zico laughs as he steps back from you, a satisfied expression across his face, “See you in there,” he smiles as he turns away and heads into the room.

You turn to Taehyung and his heart skips a beat as you smile readily at him, “Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he replies, grateful that there’s nobody in the room behind him, giving him more time with you, “So, you two…” his voice trails off, unable to bring himself to state the obvious.

He’s surprised then when you laugh, “God, no!” you exclaim, “Never been there, never going there. He’s obsessed with the idea that he has obvious nasal hair. It’s ridiculous. I’ve spent more time staring up that guy’s nostrils than is normal in any context,” you laugh again, with an exasperated half-shrug of feigned despair.

Taehyung laughs with you and doesn’t miss the way you respond, the nostalgia and brief pain that passes over your face before it’s masked behind another smile.

You change the subject then, speaking of Jimin and Dongyeon, until Taehyung is almost bowled over by a small ball of pure energy that’s seemingly constructed solely of voluminous layers of pink tuile; he’s moved by your instantaneous reaction as you bend to catch the gambolling child as she throws herself into your arms.

When she’s done blabbering at you in a trying of incomprehensible statements she turns her wide eyed stare on to Taehyung and, safely ensconced in your arms, continues to stare at him, while asking you, in the most adorable way possible, who the ‘pretty man’ is.

“This is my friend Kim Taehyung,” you say kindly and he offers her his hand, drawing a series of shy blushes as she giggles.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Taehyung hears her ask you, causing you now to look horribly uncomfortable as you clearly dread what she says next, “Because mama says Uncle Yoongi should be your boyfriend.”

Your eyes meet and Taehyung sees the truth of the statement in your eyes, he feels his heart sink through the cavity of his chest into some unnameable void. Finally, after years of mistakes, he realises that he’s finally lost you.

“Taehyung isn’t my boyfriend,” you say softly,  turning your attention to her as Taehyung shifts awkwardly, “He is one of my oldest, very best friends,” you say warmly.

“Do you love him?” she asks you and Taehyung holds his breath.

He listens to you list her brothers and sisters, finishing with “I love Taehyung just like you love them.” 

Satisfied with that she hums slightly and offers Taehyung a smile. It’s then that her mother and father join you all. 

It only takes the most brief of glances at Sana’s face to know that his presence is no longer needed, or indeed wanted, and so with a final awkward smile at you he turns away and heads out into the gardens to take his seat for the ceremony. He spies his father immediately, who adopts a sympathetic expression, opening his arms ready to absorb his son into a hug.

The ceremony is beautiful, the soft afternoon sun suffuses the crowd in a soft, amber glow and it illuminates the beaming smiles on everyone’s faces and the happiness of the day.

Taehyung rarely take his eyes from you; your’s are focused on your brother and Dongyeon as you hold Zico’s hand tightly. He’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on: last night you said you’d ‘sort of’ moved on; Sana’s little girl seemed to suggest that Yoongi is the person you’ve moved on with; but here you are, with Zico who you’re definitely not with, according to you. Taehyung knows it’s none his business but he burns to know what is going on with you.

When Jimin and Dongyeon have walked back down the aisle together and are posing for photographs, Taehyung sidles up beside you in the shade of a willow tree where you’re catching a quiet five minutes to yourself between duties. You’re mostly hidden from sight, but Taehyung knows every inch of your body and recognises you immediately between the branches. Checking around him to ensure nobody’s looking, he parts the branches, like curtains, and steps into your secret space.

“I think I’ll be leaving now,” he says softly, as you give him a small smile by way of greeting, “It was really amazing, you did a good job.”

“It was more than just me,” you say dismissively, batting away the compliment.

He knows he should turn and leave, but his mouth is open and words are spewing out beyond his control, “You look beautiful today.”

“Please, don’t,” you frown, and Taehyung realises he’s stepped closer to you, close enough that he could easily swoop in and kiss you.

He takes a breath, “I’d prepared myself to see you with someone else today,” he admits; he knows that he’s not doing a good job of hiding how he’s fishing for information but he simply needs to know.

You think for a moment. You know you don’t owe him anything, but still you feel compelled to tell him the truth, “I said I’d sort of moved on. I didn’t say I was dating anyone.”

He looks at you gently, “What’s going on?” he probes, inviting your confidence. He should be the last man on earth that you would turn to, but somehow you find yourself opening up.

“Something happened between me and Yoongi at the wedding in London,” you divulge, shattering Taehyung’s fragile heart. 

You are unaware as the words pour from you, “We’ve stayed in touch and though we never pretended like it didn’t happen, we’ve also never actually said anything about it happening and it was ages ago now. I can’t stop thinking about him though,” you gulp air as you finish speaking, the words having rushed out and you take in his crestfallen face, “Fuck, Tae, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”

He smiles awkwardly, “No, I asked,” he mumbles as he shifts nervously on his feet. Every cell in Taehyung’s body wants to say, ‘Stop loving him, love only me,’ but he fights it; he knows that, no matter how much he still wants you, it has never worked and will never work. 

He takes another deep breath, “I’d better go, but as a serial asshole who has fucked-up with the only woman he’s ever loved, take some advice from me: talk to him.”

You look at each other for a moment that stretches out, and seems to spin out into an infinity, until, without realising it, you’re in each other’s arms, squeezing each other tightly.

“I’m so sorry for what I did,” he says into your hair.

“I’m sorry that you did it in the way you did too,” you mumble, buried in his shoulder, “But I know you were trying to do the right thing.”

Gently, you step away from him and the two of you stand together, holding both of each other’s hands. Taehyung swings them back and forth gently between you, “Can you forgive me?”

His gaze is intense and so hopeful, and you realise that you don’t even contemplate your answer, “I think I already have,” you smile.

“I want you to be happy,” he says as he pulls you closer to him, “I wish that could have been with me.”

You kiss his cheek softly, “Love was never our problem, Tae… everything else was. You’ll always be my first love, nothing will ever change that,” you state, releasing his hands as you step away. 

He gives you another sad smile then and makes his way out of the branches, before calling back, “You’ll always be mine.”

Yoongi watches as Taehyung steps from the spindly curtain of willow branches and strides towards Jimin and Dongyeon to say his goodbyes before leaving.

Not long later, you emerge, a fake smile spread across your face and you’re soon attacked by the little dervish known as Jiji, sweeping her up as you approach Taecyeon and Sana. He can’t help but notice that there’s the exact same expression in your eyes as was in Taehyung’s. 

He can’t quite put words to it, but if he tried he’d say it was a kind of melancholic acceptance; it doesn’t seem to be a sharp pain, like a new wound, rather more like an old scar than twinges in the cold, an old sadness that sits perhaps less heavily than it once did, but is still there nonetheless.

It’s the acceptance part that gives him hope though, whatever you’ve discussed, it’s fairly clear that there’s going to be no romantic reconciliation between you and Taehyung. 

On this bright sunny day, the shadow cast by Taehyung seems to dissolve into the fragrant air and is carried away on a light, summery zephyr. The breeze swirls about Yoongi, lifting the stray hairs around is face and, simultaneously, his heart: now, so long on from that fateful night in London, Yoongi knows it may finally be time to act.

Closing his eyes for a moment, his mind travels back to the night after Jimin and Dongyeon’s first wedding.

Sat in the hotel bar, rolling his glass of whiskey in his hand, Yoongi is reminded of another time he sat in a London bar, having travelled miles for you, sat in a bar much like this one, drowning his sorrows while you were in the arms of Taehyung. 

Fuck, he thinks, it’s not like the second time was any better either. He’d travelled that time at your mother’s insistence. There was no Taehyung in the way that time, but his shadow loomed too large, was too oppressive and there’d been no escaping it, like spilt ink it spread out over the lines of Yoongi’s hopes and dreams. All he could do in the end was sit there, in dumb idleness, in the face of your explosive anger, again, the shadow of Taehyung was there infecting your heart and mind. 

Only later did he learn the extent of Taehyung’s influence, finding out that the whole reason for your mother prompting his visit was in reaction to her meeting Taehyung at Sana’s pub. With his mother there for moral support, Taehyung had offered his desperate explanations of why he had made the choices that he had and his hopes for your future happiness; to your mother’s mind, that meant you moving on, of course, the meeting in London had proved just how wrong she could be.

Yoongi sighs: he’s barely spoken to you today, you’ve been too busy in your Best Woman duties and he suspects you’re avoiding him. The lovebirds have departed to the honeymoon suite now though, and most of the guests have left; he’s just said goodnight to Hobi who has headed to bed. Namjoon didn’t come as his wife had recently given birth.

He watches as you wave off your friend Helen, who is staggeringly drunk, working in tandem with her date to navigate her into a taxi.

When you return to the bar to collect your things from the barkeeper and close the tab, you finally notice Yoongi lounged at a table, and smile warmly before you approach.

“May I join you?” you ask, your hand hovering hesitantly on the back of the armchair that faces his.

He finds that the gummy smile he shares is beyond his control, “I’d like it if you did.”

You return the enthusiasm of his smile as you sit, both of you a little giddy in your tipsiness. You talk for long minutes about your lives and catch up on what you’ve missed. You’ve stayed in touch as friends, but you only speak irregularly because of time differences; text messages simply aren’t enough to keep a friendship alive.

If either of you drew breath, you might consider how easy it is for the two of you to talk as though no time has passed at all. Given pause, you might comment on the ease of understanding between the two of you, how everything has always been so smooth; yet you don’t, you’re far too caught up in each other, too interested in the other’s thoughts, words and movements to think of anything else.

It’s no surprise then that you’re both startled when the bartender informs you they’re closing. Flustered, you quickly get to your feet and find yourself a little light-headed, Yoongi darts to steady you and the electricity of the contact courses through you both. When your eyes meet, a whole novel of dialogue passes between you in silent understanding.

“Come to my room?” Yoongi says, it’s both an invitation and a plea.

Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you don’t think you can breathe, let alone speak. Instead, you reach up and tenderly stroke the long hair that gathers at the back of his neck. You twirl his raven strands in your fingers and nod gently, watching the fire that had been simmering in his dark pupils spill out, like fire on water, and you’re almost afraid the heat of them will consume you.

“Let’s go,” you says. He catches your hand in his and leads you to his room.

Yoongi has you out of your dress within seconds of the door of his room closing and you are equally speedy in divesting him of his suit, both of you entangled in no time on the bed. Though, as your lips finally meet, the whole pace suddenly slows glacially.

He kisses you with all the tenderness you’d expect from someone who’s wanted to for so long and never thought they would. You return it with all the warmth of someone who had abandoned any hope of feeling loved again.

The make-out goes on for an infinity, the kisses and touches agonisingly gentle but still full of hunger and need. Everything seems to flow naturally from there, as the two of you shed each other’s underwear and his hand slips between your legs and yours slides down the firm flesh of his flat stomach before you close around his length, causing him to gasp into your mouth. It draws soft giggles from you both as you explore each other’s bodies shyly.

Eventually, you’re on your back, with a panting Yoongi guiding himself gently into you. You hiss through your teeth at the intrusion, its been a long time since you last had sex and the stretch is painful: he slows everything down, kissing you and touching you until you relax and he can ease inside you until he’s sunk in to the hilt, his heavy balls pressing against you.

You breathe shallowly, panting his name like a mantra as he kisses your neck before he begins thrusting in you: his strokes are slow and deep and his control is insane. It’s nothing like the pounding of Taehyung, it’s simply different. In the safety of his arms, he fucks you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You buck your hips into him and feel as though you’re being transported to another plane of reality, lost in bliss and sensation, your heart expanding desperately in your chest as you hold his sweaty body as close to yours as you can.

Without thinking, you find yourself wanting to take control; Yoongi seems to read your mind, ceding control to you and helping you on top of him.

Smiling and encouraging you, Yoongi lets you do your thing, riding him with rolling, slow motions. You crying out when you finally reach your high, trembling and screaming his name while he praises you.

Again, he reads your mind as you gesture to him, sitting up to take hold of your body before he rolls you on to your back, thrusting gently inside you.

Sucking and and biting patterns of your affection into his neck and shoulder, you battle overstimulation, tightening around him whilst you try to push him on to his own orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” he whines desperately into your ear, “Where?”

“Inside,” you moan, “It’s safe.”

He immediately groans in satisfaction and after a few more driving thrusts, he comes with a deep moan and collapses on top of you, both of you giggling, sweaty messes.

You stumble together into the large shower to clean off before collapsing into bed together falling into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

The next morning you wake in each other’s arms and fuck again, this time with lazy affection, taking your time to get to know what the other likes and needs.

Jumping in the shower after Yoongi, you miss the knock at the door and are surprised when you find him dressed and ready to leave, Hobi apparently having been and gone, insistent that they leave as soon as possible to avoid reports of traffic problems.

It’s a startling way to leave, but you dress quickly in sweats he gifts you, before you help him pack the last of his things and say your goodbyes with long, lingering kisses.

You speak many times afterwards, but somehow you never address what happened between you. In fact, neither of you speak of it again. 

Often, in the depths of night, Yoongi wonders if you ever think of him, not knowing that the other side of the world, in those mid-mornings in your apartment, you sit in his sweats, phone in hand, wondering how on earth you can bring up what happened, until too much time has passed to even try.

Now, at this second wedding, meal eaten and dispatched and a stage and dance floor set up beside the lake, Yoongi watches as you hand little Jiji to Taecyeon before you take to the dance floor with Zico, swaying together to Big Bang’s Still Life. He wishes desperately that it was his arms you were in. 

Yoongi is as in love with you as ever he was: but you’re the flame to his moth and getting close to you has burned his wings too many times to count. 

He wants desperately to confess to you, again, to try one more time, but something holds him back. He’s given enough sleepless hours of thought to it to realise what it is, simply put. It’s the same thing it ever was: how does he know, how can he know, that you’re not still Taehyung’s girl? Is Yoongi still runner up to Taehyung? They are questions he can’t answer and it leaves him paralysed, unable to see a way forward.

As night begins to fall, the lights on the table are lit and the trees are illuminated with strung lights and lanterns. The wedding takes on a fairytale aspect and everything feels magical and, suddenly, possible. 

Zico takes to the piano then, and another guest takes a mic. Yoongi looks about for you, wondering where you are, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Will you dance with me?” you ask.

He smiles before turning to take your hand, and says nothing as he leads you to the dance floor, holding you in his arms as you waltz together. As the music soars, the words flow out and wash over the two of you: ‘Before I could understand it, you became half of me and now I understand the sadness’, Yoongi meets your eyes and you share a universe of understanding one more time.

‘Find yourself when the skies are blue again. We’ll share the happiness we weren’t able to’: Yoongi wants to tell you that he loves you, if ever there was a moment, this is it, but he hesitates: Is this what you want? Is he who you really want?

He seems to gulp for air and he holds you closer, drawing you near so your cheeks almost touch, his hand splayed against the small of your back, his fingers entwined with yours as your other hand grips his shoulder.

“Until the cruel voice in my melancholy mind stops, stay where you are,” Yoongi listens with bated breath as you sing along softly into his ear. He says nothing, but tilts his head, almost infinitesimally, bringing his cheek into softly grazing contact with yours, sighing gently.

With a soft breath of your own, you speak in a voice that’s little more than a whisper, “I love you, Min Yoongi, will you give me a chance?”

He draws back from you and looks at you in shock, looking for the lie, the sick joke, but all he sees is your vulnerability, the honesty in your wide eyes and the look of hopeful desperation.

Your heart beats irregularly, and you think you might be sick or faint, yet again. Yoongi’s quick eyes scan your face rapidly and thought after thought writes itself across his face: confusion, mistrust, more confusion and, finally, hope. 

As the song dies you give a tiny shrug as if to say, ‘Well?’ though your mind is screaming at you to yell at him for an answer or to run away in shame.

As the song dies, Yoongi takes your face in his hands gently, smilingly, and kisses you deeply to a chorus of yells and claps from those around you, including the distinct whooping of your mother’s voice. When his lips break from yours, he smiles and offers the only words you want to hear, “I love you too.”

The next morning, you cradle your coffee and sit, legs crossed, opposite him on your bed, sore and from the night before. A while ago you might have thought that you could never fuck Yoongi in the bed that Taehyung fucked you in, but the thought didn’t occur to you last night and it doesn’t now.

You don’t, you can’t, see anything other than him.

Yoongi smiles softly at you, dressed in the sweats he gave you in London that you’ve worn constantly, “I want those back,” you insist.

”You can have them,” he agrees solemnly, “But I’m keeping your scarf.”

You think for a moment, searching your memory, “You still have that?”

He rolls his eyes slightly, “Did you expect me to throw it away?”

You blush a little, pressing your lips together shyly, “I guess not.”

He pokes you with his toe, “Guess we’re both more romantic than we thought…”

You only laugh as you sip from the mug your Dad made for you, Yoongi drinks from Jimin’s; your brother isn’t there to object, having stayed at the hotel with Dongyeon, as did your parents, leaving the house empty for you.

“So,” you begin with a broad smile that barely masks the nerves beneath it, “What now?”

Yoongi shrugs, his face calm and relaxed, “It’s simple,” he says, “There are a lot of options. I’ve thought it over a few times. I think the best is that I move my production to the studios I’m linked to in London and move there with you. That’s probably the simplest solution but we can discuss it. Maybe we’ll do half the year in London and half the year here or Seoul… Whatever works. It’ll work out, we’ll figure it out what works best together.”

You gape, open-mouthed at him, while he grins at you, “Not everything has to be a drama, babe,” he reassures you, “I’ll do anything for you, anything to make this work.”

“Yoongi,” you say, with a grin of pure happiness as you put your mug down and crawl over to him, “I really fucking love you.”

He laughs, a melody of silly, giddy boyish joy, rushing to put his mug down before you throw yourself at him.

Enclosing you in his embrace as you pepper kisses across his face, he relaxes into your future.