Chapter Text
“I can only love someone so much who isn’t mine.”
“But that’s not the point, Tae. You haven’t eaten, you’ve barely slept, your water’s been sitting there since this morning.”
“So?”
“I’m telling you this is wrong .”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life, Jimin. If you don’t want to be around me, go stay at Yoongi’s and Netflix and chill or whatever it is people in relationships do.” A soft hand cupped his cheek, forcing him to pull back, pink lips parted, aghast because he hadn’t realized he was crying. The hand brushed the droplets free-falling, crystaled lashes blinking fervently with a slew of curses. “I’m powerless. I’m fucking powerless. I can’t save him—hahaha in what kind of fucked up fantasy do I live in? He doesn’t love me. He loves the idea of me. And here I am, still alone in my fucking pajamas. I can’t even remember the last time I showered.”
“Is that why you stink?” Taehyung wrinkled his own nose at Jimin’s comment and huffed, looking away, the foul smell of saline filling his nostrils and covering the scent of his own rotten mushrooms and patchouli. The combination honestly made his stomach twist, but Jimin, ever the quiet empath, seemed unfazed.
“Rude.”
They laughed. But it wasn’t real laughter.
He’d have to see him today—have to talk to him today. Of all the places to work, he just had to be at the same shoot as Jeon Jungkook. Taehyung already nearly lost his breakfast on the ride over, dieting speculations phasing through his manager’s eyes right into the empty, churning pit of his stomach. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t eaten this morning. It was Jungkook’s. Everything was Jungkook’s fault. He wished—he wished he’d leave him the fuck alone, but every time he closed his eyes, his doe eyes bore straight through him like an unexpected sneeze—the kind that made your eyes wet.
“Tae—Taehyung? Seriously, are you okay? If you want we can-“
“No. I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll do it. I just need to look pretty, right? Play my perfect self, yeah? Act out my role to the T. Of course I can do it. I’m a professional.”
“Yeah-yeah, once you’re done pep-talking yourself, you’re fifteen minutes late, Mr. Professional.”
“Shit.”
The padding of supermodel Taehyung’s boots sounded loudly across the waxed, glittering floor of the hotel they would be shooting at. He’d practiced his poses, and gotten the content down solidly, but nothing would prepare him for the gaping hole that shot through his chest the moment Jungkook manifested in real life in front of him, a casual smile.
Right, everything in the world was right for him. Everything was fine for him. He could look at Tae all he wanted, imagine a make-believe fantasy he could insert himself into just like he had his tongue into his mouth that night, a wedding ring still on his finger. What in the goddamn fuck made any of this okay?!
Exasperated, Taehyung threw back his manicured brown curls to reveal the grimace coloring his face a nasty rouge of jealousy and self-loathing. He wanted to punch that fucker in the face and shove him against a wall to wrap his legs around him at the same time and it was maddening enough to slit his mind in two.
“Good to see you again, Kim Taehyung.”
That voice—that high, clear velveteen ringing voice that practically haunted him. He felt his eyebrow twitch, the practiced mask falling over his face with ease that disgusted him. He was not okay.
“And yourself.” His tongue felt empty and thick and spongy and dry. It was like it was trying to remember the other man’s taste inside him.
“We’ll have you over here for the first shots if you will…”
Flashes of the street lights overhead through foggy car windows, his back hitting the horn while straddling his lap. The smell of scotch.
“What if I won’t?” He ventured to tease, long languid fingers tracing the hem of the director’s shirt as he breezed by in the direction he indicated. His only hope was that his touch would make him realize—make him know how much this ruse was killing him.
“I know you’re a good boy,” his whisper wafted against the model and his knees practically buckled, a rough flush making his whole body hot. He hated him. Hated him. Hated what he’d become because of him. It wasn’t fair. He’d return to an empty bed while Jeon Jungkook shared not just a last name with another, but his bed as well. It made him sick.
Fuck you. He wanted to say it. So badly. He wanted to curse him—to tell the world that he was scum. He wasn’t though. He was more amazing of a person than anyone he’d ever met and that, perhaps, only made this harder—more impossible to navigate. It’s why he didn’t eat. It’s why he couldn’t stop himself from showing up even if hiding in the confines of his bed to disappear seemed so—so wonderful right now.
“That’s it. Just like that.” The cameraman. Not Jungkook. Thank god, not Jungkook. If he had to hear that line in his voice, he wouldn’t make it.
He posed. Expertly, he flexed his suggestive stances, hinting at the product in the shot just enough to make it more valuable than money. Money couldn’t buy Jungkook. Nothing could sway him. Nothing could make him see. Nothing could. Tae blinked back the glaze that coated his eyes at the flashes overhead, losing composure quickly. Why was… the world tilting?
“Okay, okay—let’s break there for lunch!” Jungkook? Tae attempted to move from his perch, colors blending into a kaleidoscope of smeared light, twisting off into fringe. It was so beautiful—so transient that it-
He blinked it away and righted his step to stalk away from Jungkook. He was just a fucking side piece. Needed to remember that. He flipped hair wetted from sweat off his face, the makeup artist being called in to fuss over him.
“I’ll just mess it up during lunch again,” he muttered, feeling a pull on his sleeve and finding the fingers attached to it. Just the person he wanted to avoid. “ Please don’t invite me to lu-“
“Will you join me for lunch?”
“Goddammit Jungkook. I’m on a diet.”
“You need to eat. You’re sweating.”
“Food is for the weak.”
“Shit Tae, when's the last time you even ate?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Why’re you doing this to yourself?”
Because I hate you. He growled into a huff instead, deciding to bend on this one singular thing in order to avoid more of the interrogation lest all his inner dark secrets be given some semblance of light. The bad kind—the light at the end of the tunnel kinda light. The kind he hated. Just like this man’s stupid, concerned face.
“God, stop looking at me. I’ll go to lunch. Fine.”
“How am I supposed to go to lunch with you and not look at you?”
“Wear a blindfold I dunno.”
“Kinky.”
“…” Death would be welcomed right now. Someone smite him please. He’d committed a sin surely. Even being in Jungkook’s presence sure felt like one.
This was heaven. Taehyung slurped up a nood between his plush lips, licking the sauce from the edges of them with a contented sigh. Despite filling his belly by nearly finishing his bowl, there was a surmounting emptiness in his chest and a jittery, cold spin happening all around him. A lacquer smile drifted somewhere on his lips and in the space lingering around his detached body and Jungkook. Just watching him—just seeing him. The way he held his chopsticks, so delicately in those punching bag-toughened fingers. So beautiful—the way his eyes glittered with intelligence as he spoke—with wonderment at the simplisticism of the meal. This was Jungkook’s first life and perhaps his only life. And it wouldn’t be with him—wouldn’t be spent waking up in Taehyung arms, would it? He’d made his choice—he’d made his decision to keep going back. But divorce was messy, wasn’t it? It was a cruel and vile thing to do to a family—to tear it apart over what, love? Who was Tae kidding—what fucking worth did he have to tilt the scale? None. The only worth he fucking had was the worth he used to walk the fuck away and keep going.
He just had to…keep going
. Only, the issue was that he felt like he kept going instead of-
“Afggh…” he grated out when his cheek hit that beautiful, glittery floor and the wooden jangle of his chopsticks sounded from their bounce and roll. Gasps. Commotion. A groan— his groan. Oh no—nono this wasn’t happening, his breathing sawing into his lungs erratically, stomach clenching and squeezing around the noodles like writhing worms wanting to climb up his throat. Passing out—he was…gunna…
“Tae!! Tae—oh god. Tae? Someone call an ambulance!” A hand pushed back his hair on his forehead, trying to pull him up. Swirling—swirling even beneath his eyelids that fluttered and rolled, head drooping in the grip. “
FUCK
.”