follow and homesick

This is a joke, right? It’s just some stupid, ridiculous, sick joke.

Taehyung is wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, fitted slacks, and a black silk tie. He looks taller than you remember, and his hair is the color of Autumn, and his skin looks so warm but you know it’s not.

And he’s smiling at you with such a genuine, muted tenderness that you almost turn nauseous.

“You’re kidding me, right?” you croak out. Taehyung’s brow knits in the center, displeased with your response to his question.

“No, I’m not Kiddingme – I’m Taehyung,” he smooths over. Back to humour. He thinks he can make you crack like that, doesn’t he? The simple fact makes you feel even more horrendous than you already do in this stupid dress at this stupid function–

“I promise. Just one dance. No funny business.”

He’s standing too close. Your breath hitches instantly, and you want to look away but you can’t, and as the soaring melody of Strangers In The Night comes over the expensive speakers you know you’ve lost again. Taehyung is deceptively gentle in the way he takes your hand in his, the way his long fingers fit themselves over the junction of your hip and waist, and with hardly any strength he pulls you nice and close to hide you from the rest of the world in his arms.

But he hasn’t lied yet. There are no cruel, tormenting words – no backhanded compliments, no venomous taunts and crooning words meant to lure you in again. There is just the music and the way he rocks you back and forth, guiding you through minute footsteps like you’re his favourite toy.

When the song comes to an end, he doesn’t stop dancing, though. You both fall into a languid sway, and you’re sure this is the trap.

“There,” he murmurs along the cusp of your ear for only you to know. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

You don’t answer him. Another song has started up – one you don’t know the name of – and Taehyung has not let go yet.

“One more dance,” you whisper against his lapel. You feel his lips curve against your ear, and his chilly hand squeezes your faintly.

“Of course, my lady,” he purrs back.

You take a deep breath, and pretend this isn’t making you happy.

“Taehyung,” you begin gently, careful not to quite look at him and to stare out the window of the bus instead, “do you ever miss home?”

The vampire didn’t move, but he stared at you openly anyway. He was so shameless. You expect him, wholeheartedly, to ignore the silly, passing question; to come up with some ugly, condescending, dismissive reply that will leave you feeling dumb and small.

Taehyung scoops up your hand in his – it’s freezing, of course – and you jump slightly when he kisses your knuckles with surprising tenderness.

“I don’t know,” he says, smiling softly. But his gaze screams yes, a thousand times yes, I do, I am homesick and lonely and afraid.

It’s not the first time you’ve felt strong, visceral pangs of sadness, sympathy for him, and it won’t be the last. It’s not the the first time you shouldn’t, either.

But you squeeze his hand back, and press your forehead gently to the sleeve of his shirt, shutting your eyes in quiet comfort.

You hope your heartbeat soothes the sordid beast inside him. You know it will probably only make things worse.

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