Chapter Text
Taehyung can’t even lie to himself about it anymore. He is absolutely, unequivocally vegging.
There’d been stuff to do, at first, that had kept him busy, tied him to the reigns of normality. He’d had to clean up the yard, because the weeds were getting to a point that their grimy old lawnmower could barely handle them, and it was so brutally hot outside that he had to work on it in short spurts, in the morning and late afternoon. And then there was the closet in his old bedroom, still crammed with his old papers and clothes and memorabilia even after four years of college, because his mom had basically stuffed everything in there at some point. He’d tackled it in chunks, scattering papers from elementary and middle school all over his bedroom floor, contemplating the merits of progress reports and popsicle stick art. There was the urge to keep absolutely everything, because every little doodle and science fair project was a time traveler, a piece of the past he’d never get back again. And then there was the competing urge to just chuck it all, because it was useless and overwhelming, and he couldn’t imagine wanting to go through the effort of looking at it all again.
So that had taken almost a week of whole entire afternoons, and he was always oddly tired and sore afterward, throwing together dinner and binge-watching anime. Eventually he’d gotten it under control, though—it helped to not have to worry about his mom seeing all the stuff he was shoving into big plastic trash bags, that he still kind of worried was actually precious and irreplaceable—he’d never get to look at that fifth grade math test again now—and now the closet is actually fairly clean, most everything fitting into a big plastic tub at the bottom, the only remaining box a bunch of high school stuff that he figures he can get to eventually. So that’s done, and he’d even taken the cat to the vet on the sneaking suspicion that his mom hasn’t been keeping up with her yearly checkups.
And he’d meant to keep going like that, doing productive stuff. He needs to find a job, of course. His mom’s gone on another business trip, but she keeps emailing him all these listings that seem way too ambitious for someone who’s just graduated and whose only real experience is in food and customer service. He tries to take them seriously, to put together an application, but every time he reads the jargon-y job descriptions he ends up overwhelmed and also giggling that people still use the word “synergy.” This is his future, he knows, promising people ‘business solutions’ with a straight face, but he’d at least imagined it would be tied to something he likes, as opposed to a company that—what do they even do? Besides offering solutions? Taehyung’s head hurts from trying to sort through it all.
So he avoids writing cover letters and messes around in the kitchen instead. He makes experimental dishes, tries a bunch of overly involved recipes, like a whole long vegan ramen process that involves infusing his own mushroom oil. His sleep schedule creeps later and later. It always feels like there’s so much to do at 1am—there’s a whole fascinating corner of YouTube just for slow-mo videos, and then all those things being squished by the hydraulic press, and how exactly are Cheetos made? Does anyone know? He needs to solve that mystery. And all those chef documentaries, with dramatic shots of burly white men flipping meat over open flames. He’s made his own mushroom-infused oil now, and yeah, maybe he got tired halfway through the whole vegan ramen process and has a bunch of charred eggplants stuffed in the fridge to deal with later, but also maybe cooking is his calling and he should move to France. That’s what Julia Child did, and look at her now. Well, maybe she’s dead now. But the point is that she lived her dream, and Taehyung should too. He’s suddenly starving—he cuts open a package of instant ramen and munches on the hard noodles while he sits in bed. Zimzim weaves around him to sniff the crumbs, shoves her fluffy white tail into his face while he’s trying to watch some British person make the perfect Victoria sponge.
It’s when he’s on his fourth day in a row of waking up in the afternoon and wiping a dirty pan out with a paper towel before cracking an egg into it that he admits, yeah, he’s vegging. It was only a month ago, he realizes, when he was sitting in a folding chair in a giant auditorium, listening to a guest speaker wax poetic about how today’s graduates would shape tomorrow’s world. He’ll get it together soon, really. There’s just this whole documentary about polar bears he needs to watch first.
~~~
He wakes up woozily one day to a sharp clanging from the kitchen, and even though it could very well be a robber with a penchant for dishware, he’s genuinely too out of it to fear for his life. He grabs his glasses and shuffles out of his bedroom. There’s the sound of water running, the creak of the floor. He hopes the robber doesn’t judge him for the mess.
“Eomma?” he calls, and a familiar laugh drifts down the hall.
“That’s me.”
He feels a bleary sort of relief, goes to the kitchen to find his best friend at the sink, soap suds trickling down from his elbows. “Morning, Jiminie,” he says contentedly, easing onto a bar stool. “How’d you get in?”
“Garage code’s the same,” Jimin says, rinsing off a spatula.
“You could’ve texted.”
“I did. Have been since like 9.”
Taehyung squints at the clock on the microwave, winces when he sees the time. “Whoops.” Jimin shoots him a look, exasperated and fond, and grabs a giant wok that’s covered in a frankly frightening layer of burned black bits. Taehyung winces again. “You don’t have to do this. I was gonna get to it.”
Jimin shoves the wok under the water with both hands. “S’ok. God knows you’ve done it for me.”
Taehyung feels guilty, sags with his elbows on the kitchen bar. “That’s different. You have actual stuff to deal with. I’m just being lazy.”
Jimin shrugs. “’Actual stuff’ is relative.”
Taehyung lays his head in the crook of his elbow and watches him work. “How was apartment hunting?”
“Shitty. Everything I can afford is tiny and super creepy. This one place, I kid you not, had a shower in the kitchen. With just, like, a curtain around it.”
“Weird.”
“The guy showing me around kept talking everything up in the most hilarious ways. Like ‘great community atmosphere here.’ Because we could literally hear two different families through the wall.”
Taehyung snorts. “That’s incredible. Please tell me everything he said.”
Jimin gives him more examples of the guy’s spin until they both agree that he’s the hardest working man in Seoul.
“Anyway. It’s back to the drawing board, I guess.” Taehyung hums into his forearm, resists the urge to tell him for the millionth time that his plan of moving to the city without any connections doesn’t seem very feasible. “Everything would be easier with two,” he adds lightly, and Taehyung frowns a little instead of answering. “Make me lunch?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung slides off the stool, stands yawning at the fridge trying to figure out what he can do with the weird assortment of leftovers he’s accumulated. He’d made his own tofu for the first time at like 11 last night, and it definitely wasn’t worth the effort for the little brick he’d gotten out of it, but probably it would be good over fried rice. He grabs the wok off the drying rack, sets it on the stove and roots through a cabinet for the sesame oil.
“By the way,” Jimin says later, when they’re both hunched over their steaming plates at the little dining room table, “I heard that new coffee shop downtown is hiring. You know Cups?” Taehyung shovels more rice into his mouth, shrugs. “Apparently some guy who was a few years above us at the Academy is running it. Kim Namjoon, I think? So you’d have an easy in if you worked that angle.”
“Don’t wanna work an angle,” Taehyung says, mouth full.
“Everyone else does. We might as well.” Taehyung knows he’s right. Part of the appeal of the fancy private high school his and Jimin’s parents had worked their asses off to send them to was supposed to be the networking. It’s not like it’s what got them into college or anything, but Taehyung’s still surprised by how often it comes up, how many times he’s seen someone’s expression change when they find out he went there. It always makes him feel kind of icky, even if it’s useful. “It’s not a big deal. Just go downtown and talk to him.”
“I guess.”
“You have big plans today or something?”
“Might go see Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung says noncommittally.
“You gotta do something, Tae. You’re death spiraling here.”
Taehyung frowns, pulls his oversized t-shirt back up onto his shoulder. He realizes he should probably shower. “Don’t judge my alternative lifestyle.” Jimin shakes his head sadly, like Taehyung’s a lost cause, but Taehyung knows that Jimin, of all people, gets it. “I’m hibernating right now,” he posits. “And then I’m gonna burst up out of the ground as a beautiful flower with everything all figured out.”
Jimin rakes his chopsticks across his plate. “That sounds pretty nice, actually.”
“Do you want to see a good anime? It’s so queer bait-y that I think it maybe crosses the line into actually queer. I’d start it over to watch with you.”
“It better not have fifteen seasons.”
“Uh. Only like…four.” Jimin cranes his neck in annoyance. “It’s so good, I promise. You’ll love it.”
“Fine. I can’t binge-watch all day, though. I gotta go on a run—my body’s going to fall apart before I even audition for anything.” Taehyung’s already up, heading to his room to grab his laptop. He has it out on the dining room table for them, opening credits rolling, when Jimin says: “I heard Jungkook’s in town, by the way.”
“Oh,” Taehyung says flatly.
“Just didn’t want you to run into him on accident or something.”
Taehyung’s frustrated. Probably because Jimin’s talking over the theme song, and Taehyung really likes the theme song. “Unlikely.”
“Hmm?”
Taehyung tries to shake off his moodiness. “He’s probably off doing rich people stuff. Like he’s on a yacht…uh…”
Jimin hits the spacebar to pause the show. “You have to finish that sentence. I have to know what the rich people do.”
Taehyung bites back a smile and continues gamely: “He’s on a yacht wearing ray bans and playing…shuffleboard. With champagne.”
Jimin grins. “Is that what rich people do or what retired people do?”
Taehyung gives him a big, goofy shrug. “I have no idea.” He clicks over to skip back in the episode. “You have to actually listen to the theme song—it’s really good.”
~~~
A few episodes later, Jimin leaves for his run, even though they’re right in the middle of a really good story arc. Every once in a while, when all the stars align, Taehyung can actually get Jimin into a show with him, like that time they’d marathoned Yuri on Ice and both cried at the end. But most of the time he’s just mildly interested, detached. It drives Taehyung a little bit up the wall, and he should really give up trying to get him into stuff, but he never quite can. He searches online for that coffee shop out of curiosity, and it actually looks really cute. So he drags himself off the couch, showers, and drives downtown.
A wave of cool air and coffee smell hits him when he steps inside, holding a folder with copies of his resume. It’s bright in here, big windows facing the street of the cozy little downtown, and it seems like everything is white or pastel, small clean tables, light blue counter, a glass case by the register with muffins. It’s empty except for a teenager with a heart-shaped face and dirty blonde hair who fumbles around on the register when Taehyung orders a chai latte.
“Sorry—haven’t had anyone ask for that yet.” It makes Taehyung feel a little steadier—Taehyung may not be able to offer any business solutions, but he can work a register, at least—and he asks if they’re hiring. It all happens pretty fast after that. The kid—Beomgyu, according to his nametag—goes to the back, and a taller man in a pastel polo emerges, and then Taehyung’s bowing and sitting down with him at one of the little white tables. Taehyung introduces himself, pulls a resume out of his folder and tries to act like someone capable of working their way up to management as opposed to someone who was crying about polar bears at 3am last night.
“High school at the Academy? Me too,” the man—Kim Namjoon—says musingly, scanning the paper. Taehyung grimaces to himself—should he take that off of his resume? “Lots of food service—good.” His bleached hair is combed back from his face, and he has this kind of calming, competent energy. Taehyung’s nervous, keeps scalding his tongue on the chai latte, but he thinks maybe this is going well. A few minutes later Taehyung’s bowing again, and now he has a job, a start date, even the promise that he’ll be considered for management once he’s trained on everything.
“We should be able to get you to full time once business picks up,” Namjoon’s saying, and Taehyung bows again, but he’s looking out the big windows, his expression satisfied. “Downtown’s really on the rise. We’re going to do well here.”
~~~
Taehyung goes to visit Yoongi afterwards, a bubble of hope in his chest. The music store Yoongi works at is only a few blocks over from the coffee shop. It’s one of the mainstays of the original downtown strip, and it looks that way, with its old brick façade and faded sign promising “big hits.” Taehyung’s thrown off by the garish yellow “final liquidation” signs stuck up in the large, grimy windows, even though he knows they’re going to be there. Inside it’s surprisingly airy, creaky wood floors packed with racks of cds and records, plus that little corner with band shirts and pop figurines that the owner had added to try to pull in more business. Taehyung tries to ignore the racks that are empty now, wanders over to where his hyung is ringing someone up. He looks small and impassive there behind the long wood counter, but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly when he sees Taehyung.
Yoongi’s always said that he only tolerates Taehyung because he’d weaseled his way into Yoongi’s good graces when they were young, and now he’s just used to him. But Taehyung secretly thinks that Yoongi would like him anyway. There weren’t very many kids in their high school that took every art class that was offered, so Yoongi and Taehyung always ended up in classes together even though Yoongi’s a few years older. And there weren’t many kids who wanted to stay after school all the time and work in the studio, so they ended up spending a lot of time working side by side. They were like oil and water at first—Yoongi moody and dismissive, Taehyung high energy and attention seeking—and then eventually it was like they figured each other out. They still stuck with their own separate friend groups—for some reason Yoongi’s idea of fun was not going to the arcade and playing DDR for three hours straight—but they kept in contact, even through college, when Taehyung lost track of most everyone from the Academy except Jimin.
Taehyung waves brightly, sets his to-go cup next to a stack of cds on the counter and edges around it to give Yoongi a big obnoxious hug while he’s trying to punch something into the register.
“I’m helping a paying customer here, kid,” Yoongi gripes.
“I missed you,” Taehyung protests, leaning his head between Yoongi’s shoulder blades, arms around his middle. He and the paying customer make eye contact, and the man looks away awkwardly.
“That why you’ve been home for a month and haven’t come to see me?”
“You didn’t come to my graduation,” Taehyung accuses. He doesn’t actually mind, but he’s not above using it as leverage.
“It’s hours of watching people I don’t know walk across a stage so I can cheer for you one time.” Yoongi elbows him a little so he can start ringing up a second stack of cds. “Go walk across the front of the store, and I’ll cheer really loud.”
“Nah. I’ll just hold it against you forever.”
“Are you going to want bags for these?” Yoongi asks the paying customer. The man says yes, pushes Taehyung’s latte pointedly to the side with his credit card. Taehyung stubbornly stays attached to Yoongi’s back.
“I just got a job,” he says happily, chin on his shoulder. “Over at that new coffee place. Supposedly I can be a manager eventually, put my degree to use.” Yoongi hums approvingly. “I can’t believe you’re leaving right when I’m back in town for good.” He actually means it this time, when he gets a little pouty.
“Store’s closing. Seems like the right time.” The register clacks as Yoongi punches numbers in.
“Yeah,” Taehyung says heavily. “Sorry about that.”
Yoongi shrugs. “This downtown is failing.”
Taehyung considers it, watches over his shoulder as he expertly works the old register. “I’m glad you’re chasing your dreams, hyung.”
“You’re adding the extra discount, right?” the customer asks peevishly.
Yoongi takes Taehyung to the back, later, to show him his new setup. Yoongi’s been working here for years, first as a summer job in high school and eventually full time after college, and at some point the owner started letting him use one of the back rooms as a makeshift studio. It’s darker back here, dust motes dancing across brick walls, just a few barred windows looking into the alleyway, but there’s still that airy high ceiling, and Yoongi has a soft rug and foam soundproofing on the wall by his workstation. All his gear looks really nice—large computer monitor with speakers on each side, a few mics with pop filters, a full-sized keyboard along the wall and various black boxes with knobs that seem high-tech and important.
“You’re so legit, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung says appreciatively, holding his latte with both hands because he knows Yoongi will end his life if he spills it. Yoongi shrugs, hands in his pockets, but he looks happy about it.
“Been saving up.” Taehyung sits on the rug, and Yoongi plays him some stuff he’s been working on, drifting periodically back out to the store to check for customers. Taehyung jiggles his leg along to the beats and really likes them all—the weirder the better. Yoongi’s been trying out different rapping styles, upbeat and melodic instead of his trademark laidback snarl. Taehyung gushes about a track that has a bunch of exotic animal noises in the background until Yoongi looks both pleased and annoyed.
“Is this all on soundcloud?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, slouching in the office chair in front of the monitor. “It’s doing decent. It’ll help if I get more collabs, once I’m in Seoul and can actually meet people.”
“You will,” Taehyung says fervently, balancing his drink on his knee. “You’re legit.”
Yoongi swivels his chair and looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Don’t spill that on my rug.” The drink wobbles, and Taehyung grabs it quickly. “You working on anything?”
“I did those giant projects for my final portfolio. But nothing, like, for fun.”
Yoongi taps the floor with a dirty converse. “You should come by when you want. I’ve got like a month left here—you could set up your painting stuff.”
Taehyung’s eyes go a little wide. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s a nice place to work.”
Taehyung looks around at the swirling dust motes, feels oddly excited. “Ok.”
“I will kick you out if you get paint on my equipment.”
Taehyung grins. “I know.” Yoongi clicks around on his computer, messing with the synths on a track. “Do you wanna taste the worst chai latte you’ve ever had?”
Yoongi nods, and Taehyung gets up and hands it over, watches a grimace pass over his face as he takes a sip.
“Are you sure that’s a chai latte?”
~~~
Taehyung’s new boss Namjoon is busy during Taehyung’s first week—doing inventory, visiting nearby bakeries to try to strike a deal, taking over the espresso machine during the early morning rush, having what sounds like tense phone conversations in the back with suppliers. So it’s Beomgyu, earnest and lackadaisical, who attempts to train Taehyung on the register. It’s pretty easy for Taehyung to figure everything out, once he gets past the brain fog of having wake up at ass o’clock in the morning for his shift, and Beomgyu willingly retreats to hunch over on a chair messing with his phone when Taehyung says he’s got it.
Taehyung doesn’t mind working the register. It’s not an important job or anything, but he likes being fast and polite, seeing the line dwindle as he gets through orders efficiently. Maybe it’s cheesy of him, but it’s kind of nice to be able to make everyone who comes by feel at least a little good, just for a minute, by being cheerful and getting their order right. He can’t stop climate change or poaching, but he can at least remember that that one woman with the briefcase always wants skim milk.
They’re in that slump one day between breakfast and lunch, Beomgyu practically laying across the back counter with his phone in front of his eyes, when Taehyung hears the rattle of the door and the click of shoes on the linoleum, looks up to greet a man in a dark blue sports coat. The man nods with an easy confidence and studies the menu on the back wall. There are plenty of business people who come through the shop, but there’s something about this guy that seems especially put-together. He tilts his head, black hair framing his long face—can a haircut look expensive?—and then Taehyung recognizes him. He’d been a few years above Taehyung at the Academy, firmly ensconced in the rich crowd. He steps decisively to the register, orders an Americano. Then he glances noticeably at Taehyung’s magnetic nametag.
“Taehyung—Kim Taehyung?” he asks.
“That’s me,” Taehyung says brightly, trying not to get sidetracked by the giant Rolex peeking out from his sleeve as he thumbs through his wallet. He’s not taller than Taehyung, but it feels like he is.
“You might not remember me, but I think we were both at the Academy together,” he says, handing over a matte black credit card that feels oddly heavy in Taehyung’s hand. “Jung Hoseok.”
Taehyung doesn’t really get the point of this introduction—it’s not like they’re going to go yachting together or something—but he smiles gamely and says it’s nice to see him again.
Luckily Beomgyu can make a decent Americano—if a decent Americano is a thing that exists—and Hoseok looks satisfied when he picks his drink up at the end of the bar. Taehyung’s shuffling through the menu that he’s supposed to memorize when Hoseok stops by the register again.
“I’m having a get-together in a few days with some old friends. You should come.”
Taehyung looks up, eyes round. “I should come?”
Hoseok looks faintly amused. “Yeah.” He pulls a business card out of his wallet, grabs a pen from a cup by the register and scribbles an address on the back. His gold bracelet keeps clacking against the countertop. “Here,” he says, holding it out between his fingers. Taehyung takes it, resists the urge to bow. “This Friday at 6. Hope to see you there.” His shoes click over the floor again.
“Can Jimin come?” Taehyung asks when he’s almost out the door. Hoseok pauses, turns around.
“Hmm?”
“Uh, Park Jimin? He was in my same year,” Taehyung says lamely.
“Oh—of course. I trust your judgment.” And then he’s pushing his way out the door. Taehyung blinks. Why would Jung Hoseok trust his judgment?
~~~
Jungkook gets an old-fashioned. Because you can do that at Hoseok’s parties: casually go up to the woman running the wet bar and ask for an old-fashioned. He can’t help but swirl it around in his hand when he gets it, watching the orange and lemon rabbit ears slide around the large ice cube.
It’s a pretty big group tonight, but the Jung house makes it look small. The property isn’t huge, but the house itself is sprawling—three floors and a basement and a dock out back. The room Jungkook’s in now cuts up through the second story, allowing for long windows that overlook the river. Tonight he can mostly just see the lights along the patio, and then a dark haze above that, scattered lights from houses on the other bank. This whole thing had started off as a party for Hoseok’s high school friends, and then extended out to friends of friends and onward, all these people gathered just because the oldest Jung son happened to be back in town. Jungkook doesn’t know how Hoseok handles this, why he initiates it.
Jungkook should be comfortable here. After all, these are his people, and he doesn’t have to hide the fact that his family went to Paris for Seollal, or watch their attitude change when they notice he’s wearing Dior. But then there are other things that he has to hide from these people, more so now than ever before. So maybe Jungkook doesn’t actually have people. He edges around the back of a leather sofa and leans against the wall, trying to ignore his dad’s voice in his head that he should be networking. “You don’t have to make a big deal about it, Jungkook. It’s just talking to people, looking for a mutual advantage.” Jungkook takes a long sip, simultaneously recognizes the quality of the bourbon and knows that he doesn’t like it.
He sees Hoseok join a nearby circle, lighting everyone up with an easygoing smile, and Jungkook slides along the wall and out of the room, not wanting his hyung to see him and drag him into the conversation. He gravitates automatically to the music, because he’s always happiest when he’s dancing, even if he can’t really dance the way he wants to here. Everything gets around, when everyone’s networking, and Jungkook knows that if he makes a fool of himself his parents will find out from someone else’s parents over brunch by the end of the weekend. Maybe it’s childish, to worry about your parents finding out you’d danced too much at a party. But he doesn’t want to give them the impression that there are things to find out, that they should keep looking.
He’s just coming into the ballroom, exchanging a little wave with Hoseok’s usual DJ in the corner, when he sees them, and his heart takes off thudding. Because right there in the middle of the floor are Taehyung and Jimin. They’re laughing and messing around like nothing at all has changed, like they’ve just been transported through time to here, of all places, Jimin grooving around gracefully and only really letting his skill show when he suddenly executes a drop or a body roll to make Taehyung laugh. And Taehyung—fluffy brown hair flying like it always did, running around Jimin yelling song lyrics and dancing chaotically, even the dumbest moves suiting him oddly well, because he’s always actually had a knack for this. He’s the brightest thing in the room. Literally—he’s wearing yellow pants and a button-down with sunflowers all over it, and everyone else has mostly opted for slinky dark colors. Jungkook has the sudden urge to join them. It’s like muscle memory, like his body is physically craving the familiar rush, the closeness—all those high school dances when they’d been inseparable, trying to act cool and then suddenly becoming the dorkiest kids in the room when Jimin had inevitably dragged them out to the dance floor. He takes another drink, pushes back against the wall. He should leave.
“You’re hiding again, Kook.” Jungkook looks over to see Hoseok settling against the wall at his elbow. It’s embarrassing, because it means Jungkook was too preoccupied to even notice him coming in.
“I’m not,” Jungkook says, eyes flicking over to his old friends despite himself. Hoseok follows his gaze, and Jungkook watches helplessly as he alights on the chaos in the middle of the dance floor, his smile instantly widening.
“Oh. Now I get it.”
“There’s nothing to get,” Jungkook says, finishing his drink with a grimace. “The Chois are here, right? Can you introduce me? I think one of them just got a job at the firm.”
Hoseok gives him a look, but he pushes off from the wall. “If that’s what you want.”
~~~
Taehyung and Jimin had quickly realized that Hoseok’s definition of a “get-together” is a lot different than theirs. And then Jimin had just as quickly said: “Fuck it—let’s do this,” reminding Taehyung of one of the many reasons why he’s Taehyung’s best friend, and Taehyung had agreed—“Fuck it”—and now they’re both in some majestic ballroom with a nicer dance floor than Jimin’s mom had rented when she got remarried, clutching virgin mojitos with real mint leaves and shouting along to that new Stray Kids single.
“More drinks?” Jimin yells into his ear when the song changes. Taehyung gives him a thumbs up, because even though he’s having fun he doesn’t have anything near Jimin’s stamina. They stumble off the dance floor and back out to the wet bar, weaving around obscenely well-dressed people.
They wait their turn to order—because it’s a professionally-staffed open bar—in someone’s house. Taehyung watches the bartender work, makes sure she’s not adding any alcohol. Jimin’s leaning back against the counter, like he doesn’t at all care how his drink is made.
“You think I could get one of these people to pay off my student loans?” he asks, listlessly scanning the room.
“It’s worth a try.” Taehyung greedily takes their mojitos when the bartender finishes, hands Jimin his and takes a happy sip. “This is magical.”
“It’s pure sugar,” Jimin says flatly, and Taehyung frowns. “You want to go exploring?” he asks, as if to mollify him.
Taehyung perks up. “Yeah.”
Taehyung thinks they’re going to find a bowling alley, and Jimin’s convinced they’re going to find a vault hiding all the Jung family secrets, but they mostly just find more rooms—a long library with untouched Yut and Go games set up on shiny wood tables, a dark dining room that Taehyung is convinced has an ominous vibe, a kitchen that Taehyung’s instantly jealous of and then hears someone refer to as a “kitchenette.” Almost every room has at least a few people drifting around and chatting, looking nonchalant and expensive. He and Jimin find themselves waving a few times—just to siblings of people they went to high school with—but they don’t stop to talk. They go out back to see if there’s a pool, but there’s just a wide patio running the length of the house, and then a dark slope down to the river.
They’re in the thick of it here, buzzing groups spilling out onto the grass, a few silhouettes on the dock. There’s quiet music coming from somewhere—little speakers hidden in the stonework, Taehyung realizes—and a series of old-fashioned lamps along the balustrade. Taehyung’s about to ask Jimin if he wants to go look at the river when someone calls his name.
He and Jimin follow the voice to the far end of the patio. There are a few long porch swings over here, each connected to its own high frame, and a gas flame flickering behind a metal grate in the corner, as if it isn’t already warm outside.
“Taehyung! Hey!” Taehyung realizes it’s Hoseok waving at them from in the middle of the longest swing. All the swings are completely full of people slouching and chatting and leaning into one another.
“Hi!” Taehyung answers, trying to match his energy. They stop in front of the swing on the other side of a low wicker table, and it kind of feels like they’re there to pay court to him or something.
“Glad you made it! You having fun?” A few people on the swing are looking at him now, as if wondering why Hoseok’s giving him the time of day. Or maybe Taehyung’s just wondering that. Taehyung tries to be really positive about everything. He introduces Jimin, who does not try to be positive about everything. “You like dancing? I love dancing!” Hoseok says with a brilliant smile.
There’s something bugging Taehyung, like a heavy blot on the corner of his vision. The blot shifts, takes a drink, and Taehyung looks over and realizes with a jolt that it’s Jeon Jungkook. He’s standing there at the end of the swing, looking down, and maybe it’s weird to think of someone as alone at a party like this, but it somehow seems like he is.
“You guys remember Jungkook?” Hoseok asks sweetly. And Taehyung just blinks at him, because that’s like asking if he remembers the moon, or the existence of fireworks, or the Bengal tiger.
“We sure do,” Jimin says, not sweetly. Jungkook nods at them, but he only briefly makes eye contact. Taehyung registers that he looks older, his jawline sharper.
“How’s your summer?” Taehyung asks him uncertainly.
“Fine,” Jungkook says.
“He’s around for a while, before he starts an internship at a firm in Seoul,” Hoseok interjects.
“Oh.” Jimin reaches out to take Taehyung’s hand, and a few people on the swing follow the movement with their eyes, like there’s something wrong with it.
“It’s unpaid,” Jungkook says for some reason. Taehyung tilts his head, but Jungkook’s just swirling his drink, like he’s on Mad Men or something.
“That’s cool,” Jimin says evenly. “Who needs money anyway?”
Taehyung steps briefly on Jimin’s foot. “We really appreciate you inviting us, Hoseok-hyung,” he says, trying to salvage things, or at least end them.
“Hobi-hyung,” Hoseok corrects warmly.
“There’s a get-together at my mom’s house next Saturday—you and your hyung should come,” Jimin says pointedly to Jungkook. “We’ll have all the greatest. Pepero, probably. Video games. Drinks if you bring them.” Taehyung can tell he’s just trying to rub it in, how far they’ve drifted apart. He squeezes Jimin’s hand, wills him to stop. Jungkook nods again, not quite looking at him, and all of it is just so painfully familiar, watching Jungkook shut them out while his rich friends close ranks around him.
“You guys here together?” someone Taehyung doesn’t know asks from the other end of the swing.
Taehyung over at him, surprised. “Uh, yeah?”
“San-ssi,” Hoseok says, his voice suddenly sharp. The guy shrugs, his expression cocky.
“Well, this has been fun. Love this energy,” Jimin says flatly. Taehyung generically thanks Hoseok again, and Jimin tugs his hand, and the conversation is over.
“Dance time?” Taehyung asks weakly.
“I’m getting you a real drink,” Jimin says, pulling him back inside.
~~~
The real drink leads to a few more real drinks for Taehyung and a lot more dancing for both of them, and it’s late by the time Taehyung is insisting that he still wants to go see the river. Jimin plops down on the stone steps at the end of the patio, pushes his sweaty hair out of his face and tells him to just come back for him when he’s done. A few people walk around him, clearly annoyed, and Taehyung feels fuzzy and fond, gives Jimin a giant kiss on the forehead and tells him he’ll be back.
It gets quieter and cooler as Taehyung follows the slope of the lawn. The dock reaches out over the water, a decent-sized boat bobbing next to it, but there’s a group of people on it, and Taehyung instinctively goes instead toward a small bunch of trees at the water’s edge. There’s just enough residual light to be able to pick his way along. Taehyung weirdly wants to touch the water. He always gets these urges when he’s near water like this, to ruin his clothes, to jump in. As a kid, it got him many an ear infection. He’s close enough now to see the flat, shivering expanse of the river, lights reflected on the surface like they’re caught in it. He shuffles across the rocky bank and crouches down next to a tree to dip his fingers in the water. It’s surprisingly cool.
He hears a noise behind him, startlingly close, and he’s turning to go back when he trips over a rock and straight into someone’s chest.
“Shit—sorry,” he says, realizing he’s gotten water on their shirt. The person takes him by the shoulders, helps him straighten up, and then Taehyung goes lightheaded, because it’s Jungkook. He looks surprised, hair in his eyes and hands tight on Taehyung’s shoulders, and everything about him is deeply familiar and just viscerally there. He looks like he might say something, and then he says nothing at all. Taehyung steps out of his grasp, his foot slipping into the shallow water.
“Sorry,” he says again, on instinct.
“Sorry,” Jungkook says. And then Taehyung squelches his foot out of the muddy bank and edges around him, until he’s running back to the patio, one shoe squeaking the whole way.
He makes it to where Jimin’s still lounging on the stone steps, pants there with his hands on his knees for what must be a full minute before Jimin opens his eyes.
“You good?”
“Can we go home?” Jimin sits up.
“Yeah. Why’s your shoe all wet?”
“I just—accidentally ran into Jungkook.”