angle of refraction(Chapter 3: free working distance)

...free working distance: [in close up photography] the distance between the front of the lens and (usually shy or dangerous) the subject...

... ...

...Eight in the morning finds Jungkook and Taehyung in Saint Etoile again, deciding to make their way down to the bakery café a little earlier to indulge in a wider, and fresher array of bread and pastries. It’s a crisp, clean day; warm sunlight spilling in pleasant hums onto Jungkook's skin, and the breeze doesn’t compel him to abandon his camera in favour of tucking his hands into his pockets....

Taehyung's obsession with the curry doughnuts have sent him into conversation with the cashier, and Jungkook steals glances at him every once in a while, catching snippets of “kare— pan” and “oishii”, that much he understands.

“So, did you manage to charm the secret recipe out of them?” Jungkook lifts his paper cup to his lips and takes a sip of his latte, raising a brow at Taehyung from behind the rim in blatant mockery, and Taehyung pinches some bread crumbs up and tosses them futilely at the younger, who lets out an indignant squawk.

“No,” Taehyung finally mumbles, feigning hurt, though his eyes express anything but that, crinkling up at the sides. When he flicks his gaze up, Jungkook's breath catches in his throat, because it’s been a while. It’s been a while since someone has smiled at him like that.

Jungkook makes a noncommittal noise and looks away, tries to reason the sudden spike in his pulse into the caffeine thrumming as adrenaline through his veins.

The silence isn’t anything uncomfortable per se, but Taehyung eventually clears his throat, and at Jungkook's amusement, he says “what?” in his defense, lips quirking up into a soft smile right after. “It’s been what, four days,” Taehyung pauses, and Jungkook almost hears him doing his math again. “Four days. And you haven’t told me much about yourself.”

“There’s nothing much to tell.”

There’s a twinkle in Taehyung's eyes, and Jungkook realizes that the other has been expecting such an answer. “There’s always something to tell. You can tell me your favourite colour,” he chews on his lip, hopeful, and Jungkook caves.

“Red.”

“That’s… a loud colour.” Taehyung's got that rectangular shaped smile on again, his eyes almost disappearing into crescents. “Ah, wouldn’t have guessed it.” At the look that’s starting to fester on Jungkook's face, he adds, “you seemed like you would have liked blue, at first impression.”

Jungkook grunts, but doesn’t give him grief. “What about yours?” he leans in, wicked smirk on his lips as he rests his chin on his hands. “Yellow?”

“Green,” Taehyung has scrunched his nose up at that, almost comically so, and Jungkook has to press his lips together to swallow his snort. “Not that I have anything against yellow, but,” there’s a long pause, and Jungkook watches Taehyung take a bite of his curry doughnut, chewing. “But, yellow? Really?”

Jungkook simply replies with, “first impression”, and allows himself to be pelted by more bread crumbs.

Taehyung is two seconds away from announcing that they’re probably lost, when Jungkook tugs him into a narrow alley towards their left.

The metre-wide path opens up into a street, and it’s teeming with people. People, and the fragrance of caramel, butter and everything else. Taehyung's eyes light up, and Jungkook realizes that he’s been expecting (hoping for) it, his eyes gaze trained on Taehyung until the older man makes a noise of awe, hooking his arm with Jungkook's.

He gasps out, “prawn and butter fishcakes!” and Jungkook laughs because you’re behaving like a kid on a trip to the market.

Nishiki Market is a food haven. Jungkook knows this from his extensive research session a few nights ago, when Taehyung had been typing up his blog entry and there’s a stretch of silence that’s not uncomfortable, but foreign (because Taehyung is always talking and there’s a feeling of something missing when he’s not, and Jungkook's learnt that although not often, when Taehyung is serious, he is serious).

“Hurry,” Taehyung says, and then they’re slipping into the crowd, but it doesn’t feel as if they’re blending in. There’s just something about Taehyung that Jungkook can’t classify as being in the background. It’s not just his unorthodox choice of hair colour, but the way he seems to be so in love with life that it’s impossible for Jungkook not to notice the little things in everything.

Taehyung, Jungkook concludes, brings everything to life.

When the older man throws himself into a queue (of ridiculous length) for soft serve ice cream, Jungkook stands against the wall, watching him. Taehyung lowers his head to dig through his wallet, and a strand of lilac drifts over his eyes. Jungkook's hands move on their own accord, lifts his Nikon to his face and takes a picture, the click of the shutter lost in the buzz of the surrounding conversation.

(“Fuck me, they have potato filled fishcakes.”

“You’re not going to get that, right—”

“Hold my polaroid camera.”

“—since you just had a prawn and butter one. Right, I figured.”)

Their visit to Kinkakuji temple is a short one, and is summarized into a ten minute hike (as Taehyung insists) uphill along the path and a long climb up the flight of stairs, only to realize that there is an entrance fee to actually enter the temple.

“That’s food money,” Taehyung says, dragging Jungkook back down the stairs despite the younger’s protests. “Temples all look the same, go back to Seoul and visit one there.”

Jungkook's placated the moment Taehyung promises to pay for dinner, though, and they find themselves huddled up in a ramen shop, both hands around their bowls for warmth and throwing friendly banter across the table to each other.

Taehyung has a beautiful smile, and Jungkook lets that slip somewhere in between their conversation. He holds his breath, notices the flicker across Taehyung's features that hold a stunning semblance to sadness. “Thanks,” a smile ghosts across Taehyung's lips, but it doesn’t rise to his eyes.

The silence is unnerving, and Jungkook is grateful when Taehyung finally speaks again.

“So, why are you on this trip,” Taehyung looks up from his food, resting his cheek on his hand and locking his gaze with Jungkook's. “Not that I don’t know that it’s a vacation, but why are you here alone?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“No ask backs.”

“I like being alone,” Jungkook smiles, it’s a faint quirk at the sides of his lips. “Just me and my camera in places that we’ve never been. It’s quiet, it’s easy to lose myself in the foreignness of everything. It’s a getaway from reality, and I need that. Sometimes I just get too caught up with responsibilities and I think,” Jungkook looks away, but Taehyung doesn’t. “I need to break away from everything familiar for that to happen.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of people entering and leaving the shop, but Taehyung reaches out to tap the back of Jungkook's hand. “I get it,” he murmurs, and Jungkook's never felt more relieved. “Because that means you’re all right with me, right? I’m a stranger, I’m not familiar.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook swallows, his words suddenly breaking up into a mess of questions. “Yeah, you’re all right.”

“Do you have any plans for the future?” Taehyung has gone back to stirring his spoon in his bowl of ramen, and Jungkook realizes that he misses the flutter of the other’s touch on his hand.

“I thought it would be obvious.” Jungkook lets out a low chuckle, finishing up the rest of his food and holding his glass of water instead. “I’m going to be a photographer. Professionally. You could say that this trip also contributes to my portfolio.”

“Were you always going to be a photographer?”

Jungkook wasn’t. It had been a tough fight, but he doesn’t regret any aspect of it. There is a reason why he chose photography and journalism over law school, and it isn’t rebellion for the sake of rebelling. Law is too structured, condensed, and permanent.

“My parents paved a future for me in law school,” Jungkook murmurs, and Taehyung stills. “But I wouldn’t go.”

Jungkook doesn’t like permanent. He likes fleeting, temporary, ephemeral. There’s something about the way a photograph could be the only representation of a moment. A moment impossible to be recreated, except through memory. Jungkook lives and breathes uncertainty; he thrives in the thrill of it, loves the exhilaration.

Maybe he’s going to end up as the starving artist trying to secure an exhibition slot, but Jungkook thinks it’s all right. It’s what he loves, and he’s only going to pursue something that he knows will secure happiness.

And Taehyung understands. He smiles, but doesn’t look Jungkook in the eye. “I think,” his voice is low, quiet. Envious. “You’re very brave.”

(Taehyung stops by the vending machine for more canned soup, and Jungkook stands behind him, wondering how on earth someone who is so happy, could have eyes that hold all the sadness in the universe.)

That night, just as Jungkook's drifting off to sleep, he hears his screen door sliding open, and the sound of muffled footsteps shuffling over the floor. He cracks an eyes open, and sees Taehyung's silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the hanging light above their dining table.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, carefully dropping to a squat beside Jungkook's futon, and the younger shifts to face him. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Jungkook pauses to make sure that he hasn’t heard anything wrong, then wordlessly lifts the end of his blanket, gesturing Taehyung in. When Taehyung's settled on the pillow and on his side, Jungkook feels the tickle of his exhales against his cheek, suddenly aware of their proximity (and lack thereof).

“Did anything happen?” Jungkook mumbles, careful not to sound as if he’s particularly pressing for detail.

“Just overthinking.” Taehyung shows him a smile and drops his gaze to focus on Jungkook's jaw. “It got bad and I needed someone. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.”

Jungkook shakes his head and finds it in himself to prod at Taehyung's cheek in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

They fall silent, then, and in the space between reality and dream, Jungkook hears Taehyung's voice, a barely there whisper, as if he’s talking to himself.

“She died.”

Jungkook stills, he’s holding his breath and he’s not sure if he should let Taehyung know that he’s awake, he’s still listening.

“I couldn’t save her.”

Taehyung's voice is thick with unshed tears, muffled under the hem of the covers. Jungkook thinks, **** it, and gathers Taehyung against his chest, guiding his head to rest in the crook of his neck. “It’s all right,” Jungkook whispers, a hollowed helplessness expanding in his chest because he’s terrible, he’s terrible at comforting someone else. “You’re fine.”

“I spent years in medical school, got a perfect internship grade, but I couldn’t save her,” Taehyung's gasping now, and Jungkook's scared to know just how raw his emotions are, the little hiccups, the trembling. “I watched her die, watched her pulse get weaker until there were only flat lines.”

“Taehyung.”

“She was only fifteen,” Taehyung's fingers curl into the front of Jungkook's shirt, angry fists. Jungkook senses his anger, at the world, at everything. Mostly, at himself. “She didn’t deserve to die.”

“People die all the time, Taehyung. Sometimes it’s not up to other people to decide if they get to live.” Jungkook grips his shoulder, shakes him. “You couldn’t have stopped it, you tried. And that’s all you can do. You try.”

“Bullshit,” Taehyung croaks, but the tears have stopped, just a blank gaze, defeated, beaten down. “That’s so fucked up.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, just holds Taehyung as close as he can until the trembling stops and Taehyung's hitched breaths have evened out into slow inhales. When he watches Taehyung, Jungkook realizes just how small the man with the wide smile is, curled up against him.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Jungkook murmurs into Taehyung's hair, silence seeping in from the night.

Later, when Jungkook's asleep, Taehyung opens his eyes and whispers, “thank you.”

Only when Jungkook's hands are freezing does he finally admit how ridiculous Taehyung can be. The other is holding a ladle and pouring water over his own hand, squinting at a laminated instruction sheet that’s fixed on a small basin in front of the shrine they’re currently at. Apparently Fushimi Inari shrine is a must-see.

“It’s for good luck,” Taehyung had insisted, “the gods will bless us.”

“Why don’t they keep the water warm, then?” Jungkook plucks the ladle out of Taehyung's hands and hangs it back up by the basin. “Nobody is doing this because it’s not the season for it, dumbass.”

“They’re the dumb ones.”

They find a counter selling souvenirs and Taehyung gets a mini plaque made in resemblance to the temple, scribbling little lines of wishes down over the varnished, orange-painted wood. “They say it’ll come true if I hook it up here,” Taehyung mumbles, and Jungkook watches him wander around the outside of the shrine until he finds out where to hang his wishes.

Jungkook buys two amulets for the fun of it, and hands one to Taehyung when he comes back, shoulders bumping.

“What’s this for?”

“Protection from danger,” Jungkook deadpans, and Taehyung tosses him a dirty look. “You seem like you’ll need it.”

(“Will you stop taking five hundred shots of that wall in every angle? They all look the same. It’s the same wall.”

“Don’t talk to me, you took four Polaroids with trees that other time.”

“They’re different trees.”

“These are different angles.”)

Nara is a bitch to navigate, especially when it’s drizzling and the cashier from the convenience store had pointed them to the longer way. All they wanted was to see some deer at the park, for god’s sake.

Jungkook has almost given up when Taehyung lets out the most inhuman screech that Jungkook has ever had the pleasure of hearing from any human being, ever.

“I see it!”

Then Taehyung's slipping his fingers with Jungkook's and half tugging, half dragging the younger along, right across the pedestrian crossing and Jungkook's having a hard time processing anything, thinking, because Taehyung's holding his hand, and it’s absurd just how much his brain is overreacting from this because they’d spent the last night sleeping together, in a sense.

Jungkook's impression of deer goes right down into the gutter the moment one of the evil creatures tried to chew on the pocket of his hundred-and-forty-six dollar pullover. “Holy,” he yelps, and Taehyung just laughs, trying to touch another deer on the head.

Their antlers have been trimmed off into short, blunt stumps, and no matter how much they’d tried to eat Jungkook's belongings, he feels a surge of pity for them. He wonders if the deer feel like flightless birds, and when he reaches out to touch one of the stumps, he’s surprised to find out that it’s warm, soft. Antlers aren’t cold bone. It must have hurt.

And Taehyung, Taehyung's face is alight with excitement, holding out anything he can to lure the deer to him, and Jungkook's content with just standing at the side lines, watching him smile. He lifts his Nikon, trains it on Taehyung and his deer.

Taehyung laughs, and the shutter clicks. Taehyung looks up, then, smiles straight at the camera, and Jungkook forgets what he’s doing.

While Jungkook’s still reeling from the emotional mess that he’s found himself in, Taehyung waves at him, sheepishly.

“I,” Taehyung says (Jungkook's suddenly nervous, because he thinks he might have gotten too attached to Taehyung, too), “I kind of fed it our map.”

Jungkook stares at him in disbelief. “You did what?”

“I’m sorry! I was just waving the map at it and it snatched it right up, chomped on it and then the map is gone!”

“Jesus shit, Taehyung.”

But it’s all right, though. Jungkook learns that Taehyung likes to hold hands when his fingers are cold, and even though he’s guilty for finding relief in Taehyung's pain (“Fuck, Jungkook, it feels like I’m getting frostbite.”), getting lost with Taehyung is something that Jungkook doesn't mind doing, over and over again.

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