My Church Offers No Absolutes(Taekook, Yoonmin) Part:2

A crinkle of the eyes, and Taehyung's curling his fingers into the front of Jungkook's shirt, pulling him into the backseat with him, and Jungkook goes with it, numb, heartbeat pounding in his ears. There’s a whisper, Taehyung's whispering, lips grazing the shell of his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. He says, “worship in the bedroom.”

“This is hardly a bedroom,” but Jungkook's growling and pulling away so he can stare down at Taehyung and Jesus fucking Christ, Taehyung is the embodiment of perfection with his cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded, unfocused. He is beautiful, and Jungkook's absolutely fucking sure that no angel could have fallen as sweet.

It’s a struggle, Jungkook's car is a small, silver Volvo, paint peeling near the bumpers and random scratches along the sides with probably his own keys or jeans buttons (because Taehyung enjoys making out on the hood), but they make do.

They’ve learnt to take everything that they’ve been given, making the best out of them for any current situation, like now when Taehyung's leg is slung over Jungkook's shoulder, his shirt rucked up to his chest as his lips part in small, breathless moans while Jungkook's mouth is on his left ******, tracing around the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.

“God,” Taehyung gasps out, and Jungkook moves up to steal any subsequent syllable right from the back of his throat.

When he pulls back, Jungkook's smirking, clumsily tearing open a packet of lube that he’s (predictably) found in Taehyung's back pocket. “I’d appreciate if you called the right name.”

Taehyung takes two fingers right away, keening against Jungkook's shoulder as the younger presses the pads of his digits around, teasingly scraping with his nail, half drunk on the abrupt, uncontrolled mewls that Taehyung's desperately trying to subdue.

And with the pleasure, Jungkook's aware of just how sacrilegious what they’re doing is. The metal crucifix that’s fixed on the sloped roof of the church building casts a shadow over the car, ominous, as if in warning.

(“Have you ever thought that maybe we should stop?”)

“Jungkook,” Taehyung whines, and then Jungkook doesn’t care anymore, barely registering the gentle movements of the car that moves along with every rock of his hips into Taehyung's.

It’s slow. It’s so slow, and so careful. Jungkook takes his time, watching the way Taehyung unravels beneath him, back arching whenever Jungkook presses back in, deep and hard. He says “please, please, please” like he’s begging for salvation, and Jungkook isn’t about to deny him, pitching them both off the edge of an unknown, not knowing where they’d end up.

Taehyung's quiet after that, as Jungkook balls tissues up and uses them to clean up. Jungkook presses his lips to Taehyung’s, and they kiss slow, warm and wet, only pulling away when the clock tower chimes for noon.

“Why,” Jungkook breathes, “why is this a sin?”

Silence dusts over them, and Taehyung doesn’t meet Jungkook's eyes for a whole few minutes.

“How could this,” Jungkook reaches over, clasping his hands with Taehyung's, and he can feel just how hard the other is trembling, he can see it now, the small, weak shake of Taehyung's shoulders and the tightness of his lips sealed in a line, as if he’s afraid of what he should say. “How could love be a sin?”

“Jungkook—”

“I love you. I fucking love you.”

Taehyung starts to cry, and Jungkook gathers him into his arms, breathing in the scent of Taehyung's skin until they’ve both calmed down, their exhales like static in the confinement of Jungkook's car.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung finally whispers, and it borders on a sob. “I’m sorry for tainting your halo.”

(It’s only a few hours later when Jungkook's having dinner with his parents that he realizes Taehyung never said “I love you” back.)

(“Stop what?”

“This. Us.”

“Never. Have you?”

“Every single time.”

“Oh.”

“You shouldn’t have met me. I’m going to destroy you. You’re perfect, so perfect, and I love you so fucking much, but I’m not worth losing your wings for.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m going to drag you down to hell, with me.”

“I’d go anywhere with you. You know that. Nothing is worth it without you there.”

“You can have the sky, the stars. The sun. You can have the world.”

“Maybe I can, now. But I wouldn’t have them if you hadn’t shown them to me.”

“There is no way out of hell. You know that, right?”

“I know. Your father reminds us every week.”)

It is said that the worst things arrive, like delayed cargo at a harbour, when you’re least guarded. Sneak up on you, cold fingers that circle around the ankles and pull at you with so much force that you lose your centre of gravity. The calm before a storm. They come unasked, unannounced, and whatever built them has designed them to destroy.

Jungkook's only just stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist and hair still damp, when it happens.

His father stands at the foot of his bed, Jungkook's phone in his hand, the screen still lit up with a new text. He lifts his head, and Jungkook sees the storm brewing in his eyes, sees the calm slowly stretching into cracks from just fissures in bulletproof stained glass.

“What have you done?”

It’s not a question, because Jungkook knows that his father only ever asks “what have you done?” as something rhetorical, when he already knows what the exact crime is. He knows this, and he can still feel the split of bamboo on his thigh from when he was eight years old and he had skipped school to play soccer with his friends.

Silence is safe. Silence is good, because it gives his father nothing to hold against him, nothing to bite back on and nothing to counter. So, Jungkook is silent.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

The screen is facing Jungkook now, and his blank stare drops to focus on his own lock screen. It’s Taehyung kissing him on his cheek as Jungkook half turns to look at him, the sides of his eyes crinkling with a gaze so full of adoration that the blind can tell just how much they’re in love with each other.

His father’s gaze plummets down from Jungkook's face, and Jungkook feels the prickle on his bare collarbones, realizing with a jolt and delayed panic that they’re not as bare as he’d thought them to be. The marks that Taehyung had left just that morning feel as if they’re burning into his skin, white hot, angry red, dirty black, like coal on white cloth.

“We told you not to be around him. We told you he’s not like others, that it’s risky for you.”

“I—”

“Why won’t you listen? Will you ever start to think rationally and consider the consequences of your own actions? All we wanted was the best for you!” His father has stepped closer now, and Jungkook suddenly feels so small, so vulnerable. “Look at you,” and it sounds more of a sneer than anger now. “So easily influenced by sin. It’s not too late if you stop and beg God for forgiveness now.”

Then, Jungkook says, “I love him.”

His father lifts a hand and there’s a sting against his cheek, on the same cheek that Taehyung had kissed him on, in his lock screen.

“Get out,” his father’s voice is low, tightly controlled. “Get out of this house, and don’t you dare come back.”

When Jungkook's closing the front door, his fingers trembling, he hears it. He hears it loud and clear despite the hushed angry tone of his father speaking to his mother.

“He was born sick.”

Taehyung must have been hurting so much, growing up with that.

“Jungkook?”

Taehyung peers around the doorway, his hair slightly mussed up, wearing a pair of rectangular, black framed glasses and a hoodie so oversized it slips off one shoulder. He looks confused, as if he’d been doing something (probably his senior year thesis) and is still in the process of resurfacing into reality.

When Jungkook offers no response, he blinks and stands a little straighter, reaching for the younger’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook's grateful that Taehyung's the way he is. He never presses for answers, and if Jungkook reaches for a hug, Taehyung would oblige. Wordlessly, protectively. Taehyung could make Jungkook feel small in his arms, and he could make Jungkook feel like he has an entire world within his chest.

They stay that way, Jungkook's face against the crook of Taehyung's neck, until he speaks, quietly. “My father found out about us. He told me to get the **** out of the house.”

And this is when Taehyung tenses up. He says, “oh.”

A long, careful breath.

“So I’ve decided to move out,” Jungkook pulls back, hands lifting to cup Taehyung's face, and the older boy flinches a little, lips slowly paling. “To be with you. Let’s just be the two of us, Taehyung. Together, always.”

“Jungkook…”

“No one is going to tell us no. We can love with no boundaries, no fear. Taehyung,” Jungkook tightens his arms around him, but Taehyung pushes at his shoulders.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook drops his hands, because he can hear it in his voice, hear Taehyung telling him to keep a distance. “You know that’s not possible. Things don’t go the way we want them to, and life is unfair.”

It’s cold, when Jungkook tries to reach for Taehyung's hand, because his fingers close around nothing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” and Taehyung takes a deep breath, a wry smile on his lips, (and Jungkook swallows his pleas of “please don’t”, the words tasting bitter on the back of his tongue) “that we should stop now.”

Even as he’s asking stop what? What are you going on about? Taehyung, Jungkook knows. He knows exactly what’s going on.

“Us. We should stop seeing each other. We were never meant to be, anyway.”

“We—”

“We’re not right, Jungkook,” Taehyung's voice is thick now, low, and Jungkook catches a hint of anger in it. Anger at the world, anger at Jungkook. “We’re not even supposed to be in love.”

“You know that’s not true.” Jungkook's fingers have curled into his palms, clenching into fists with so much force that his arms visibly tremble, knuckles going white. “We’ve talked about this. We’re all right. You’re all right.”

“I am not,” Taehyung bites out, “Jungkook.”

“God, please. Don’t do this right now, Taehyung.”

“Let’s just stop,” Taehyung turns away, running a hand through his hair, exasperation spelt out in the cinch of his brows. “It was never going to be a permanent thing, anyway. We’ve had enough fun, I’ve had enough fun. Let’s move on to better things.”

“Taehyung.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, just steps back into his apartment and starts to close to door. He stops when it’s two inches from shutting, and Jungkook is looking at him through the sliver of space between the frame and the door.

“I love you,” Jungkook says, his throat closes up and his nose is burning, he can’t even see clearly because he’s fucking tearing up. He’s fucking crying. “I love you, Taehyung. Please, stop, we’ll work this out.”

“Go home,” Taehyung finally whispers. “Forget about us. Repent, God will forgive you, Jungkook.”

It is when he’s facing a closed door that Jungkook starts to believe, for the first time, that perhaps everything in the universe is already predestined, and it doesn’t matter how much he fights against it, because everything will be directed to the same outcome, no matter which route he takes.

(“I told you, I was born sick.”)

A few years later, Jungkook will theorize that people either make orbits, or join existing ones, depending on their gravitational force. Jungkook will accept that if he doesn’t have enough strength to pull Taehyung into his orbit, then Taehyung should, of course, be free to gravitate towards greater attractions.

“Going home?”

Jungkook looks up from his laptop, the screen cluttered with numerous tabs—visual studios, command prompt windows, Google Chrome and an open word document alongside PDF files of past research projects that he has dragged all over the place, fitting them into whichever space he can so that he can refer to them while writing his own research paper (something about measuring time according to the movements of the solar system).

Jimin is small, but Jungkook's never met anyone with a smile so big that it’s impossible not to return (he does, really, but the memory in question wears a strange rectangular grin, and is more infectious in areas apart from his smile).

“Yeah.” Leaning back in his swivel chair, Jungkook glances around the lab and sees that the other interns have all left, and that his workspace is the only area bathed in the white, fluorescent glow of his table lamp. “I should go soon.”

“I’m meeting Yoongi for dinner, want to come with?” Jimin helps gather up the messy scatter of documents all over Jungkook's desk, and Jungkook rubs at his nape sheepishly, nodding. “We thought we’d go have black bean noodles, then to a bar.”

“A bar?” Jungkook's brows raise in amusement as he saves all his current work and types “shutdown /l” into the command prompt of his laptop, a circle of dots spinning in slow seconds before the screen promptly goes black. “Is it really such a good idea to turn up for work with a hangover?”

Jimin gives him a long look, almost exasperatedly, then he shoves Jungkook's jacket into his arms. “Since you seem to be forgetting, it’s a Friday.”

Jungkook just dips his head, “ah.”

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“If you guys don’t mind me third wheeling, I’m game.”

“Great! I’ve already gotten Yoongi to order three portions, actually. Would be a terrible waste if you’d rejected us.”

If anything else, Jimin is also one of the most impulsive people that Jungkook has met.

On the other side of the spectrum, there is Jimin's boyfriend (though recently turned fiancé), Yoongi, who looks as if he’s given up on injecting enthusiasm into anything he does (unless it involves a certain Park Jimin) because he’s seen all the terrible things this world has to offer and he’s made it his life’s dream to return the negativity tenfold, hundredfold, whatever.

Jimin waves when they’re nearing the shop, and Yoongi lifts a hand in acknowledgement from the table he’s at, standing up with his arms open almost as if it’s a habit (and it is, it really is), letting Jimin tuck himself against his chest.

Jungkook can’t help the small sting in his chest, between his ribs, when Yoongi presses a small kiss to Jimin's temple, returning the younger’s adoring gaze with a fond smile of his own. They look so content and comfortable in each other’s presence, and there’s no denying that they’re perfect for each other. Jungkook's happy for them, so happy for them, but he’s also envious (because once upon a time, long ago, he’d been so sure that he’s found his own happiness, too).

(“Why do you think there are certain types of love that’s classified as sin?”)

He eats his noodles in between nods and muted hums to Jimin's idle chatter, listening to his colleague and also best friend tell his fiancé about his own research project, what he’d found, what sucked, and what he’s so close to finding. Yoongi just smiles distractedly, and they all know he’s bored, but he doesn’t tell Jimin to shut up, just listens.

It’s Jimin who’d picked him up when Jungkook had fallen, at the possibly lowest point of his existence. Second year of college, when Jungkook had to start learning how to breathe again, without Taehyung beside him. They’d been only acquaintances in the dance crew, then. Jimin had found Jungkook when he’d returned to get his water bottle, curled up into himself in the corner of the studio, quietly choking on his sobs.

Jimin showed Jungkook that times are changing; love’s boundaries have been stretched. He’s free to love whomever he wants. He never says empty words, he proves it. He understands, tells Jungkook that people only refuse to accept differences because they’re afraid of uncertainties. They’re afraid of change. Change is new, change is not safe, because change has no guarantee.

“Fuck everyone who tells you that different is bad,” Jimin had said, once. “You’re you, you are whatever you want yourself to be.”

Jungkook completed his degree, that way. Jimin took two years off to work fulltime, and then they’d enrolled into their Masters together, shaking hands on collaborating in the R&D sector in the future, because nothing exhilarates them more than the universe and everything that it has (and yet) to offer.

Jungkook was there when Jimin told his parents that he’s in love, when he’s on his knees and in tears because he’s in love with a boy, and he’s scared. So scared. Jungkook was there when Jimin's parents pulled their son into an embrace so tight and powerful that Jungkook had stepped away. He was there when Jimin's parents told Jimin that it doesn’t matter who he’s in love with, because he will always be their son. Jungkook was there, when Yoongi proposed, and Jimin cried in his arms for an entire hour.

He tries not to think about Taehyung, but there are things about him that haunt Jungkook, no matter how hard he tries to forget. Jungkook's picked up little habits from him; leaving the toothbrush in the glass, toothpaste tube facing down. Hanging his towel only on the right side of the rack, or always leaving the door of the shower cubicle open when not in use. Things that Jungkook has to do every day, fragments of Taehyung cling to everything, as if desperate not to let go.

It gets better, though, as the years pass. Like overwritten data, Jungkook tries to make new habits, he does different things. He moves out, finally, when he’d finished his undergraduate degree. He makes new habits in a new environment, and everything is well.

He stopped going to church, because Jungkook doesn’t want to see the very faces who are the cause of his torment, doesn’t want to listen to spear-pointed words that degrade his entire existence or beg a god who has probably forgotten his name. Jungkook only believes in “forgive, but don’t forget”.

God never forgets, and Jungkook has yet to ask for forgiveness of something that he doesn’t regret.

So Jungkook is always curious, because why should something be predetermined? Everything is subjected to change, any action or thought can influence the future.

Jungkook watches Yoongi dab at the corners of Jimin's lips with a napkin, his brows cinching as he complains about how Jimin should start learning how to eat like decent person because you’re twenty six, for god’s sake, do I have to wipe your mouth forever?

“Of course,” Jimin chirps, taking initiative by swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “That’s why you proposed to me, right?”

“Why are you such a brat?”

“You love this brat.”

They maintain their friendly banter even as they paid for their food and made their way across to the next street where the bar is, only stopping for peace when they’re searching for seats. Jungkook eventually finds a single stool at the counter, turning around to voice it when he realizes that both Yoongi and Jimin are no longer behind him.

“I have great friends,” Jungkook says, though mostly to himself, settles into his seat and orders a bourbon (neat, because it’s a Friday and Jungkook thinks he can afford to not give a **** on Fridays).

He’s on his third drink when he hears him.

Jungkook's got a rather decent level of alcohol tolerance, so he’s sure he’s not even close to getting drunk, not yet. But there’s no mistake, because when he turns (snaps his head around so fast that he gets a crick in his neck), there’s Taehyung, speaking into his phone in a hushed tone, fingers wrapped around a drink that looks like a margarita.

His hair is a shock of loud orange, bangs falling over his eyes; Taehyung is everything that Jungkook remembers him as. Expressive eyes that crinkle at the sides when he smiles, and Taehyung is smiling now, laughing quietly at whatever the person on the other side of the line is saying, and Jungkook catches the familiar rectangular grin.

Jungkook doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping on his glass until the bartender asks if he’s okay, and Taehyung turns, catching his stare.

“Jungkook?”

(“I want to study the universe.”

“You want to study the universe?”

“I want to know why God created the world the way he did, why he made things the way they are. Why some things are right, and why some things are wrong.”

“You can’t change anything, though.”

“Oh, but I will.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to change things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Love. I’m going to **** **** right.”

“It has never been wrong.”

“I’m going to make us right.”)

“Taehyung.”

(“Have you ever thought that maybe we should stop?”

“Stop what?”

“This. Us.”)

Taehyung stares at him, lips parted in what Jungkook wryly notes must be disbelief. It’s understandable, though. They haven’t seen each other in almost six years, haven’t spoken a single word. Seoul is a small city, but it’s big enough for two people who have no intention of meeting, to not brush shoulders at all.

“You seem well,” Taehyung finally says, his voice small, gaze dropping onto the bar top.

“I’m well.” Jungkook is aware of how painful the silence is this time, a vacuum that exists only in the space between him and Taehyung, and all the noise outside will not reverberate in place of their lack of speech.

Taehyung lifts his drink and takes a sip, touching his tongue to the salt that rims his glass. He’s thinking so hard, and Jungkook can almost see the gears clicking in his head. “I’m glad you’re doing all right.”

“Thank you.”

Jungkook buys a fourth drink, holds it between his palms until it warms and tastes strange on his tongue.

He likes to think of himself as an organized individual. Jungkook keeps all his notes and books tabbed, specific colours for specific things, puts all his things into folders and keeps the number of rows of icons on his desktop to a maximum of three. He has everything planned out, and he knows exactly what he wants to happen.

Taehyung throws him off in ways that he cannot comprehend, leaves him breathless as if he’d tripped and fallen and he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be headed anymore. Taehyung has always had this effect on him (and Jungkook learns that he still does).

“I missed you,” and Jungkook realizes his mistake only five seconds too late when Taehyung stands up and dips his head, curt and polite, distanced.

He says, “nice meeting you, Jungkook.”

“You’re just going to go?” Jungkook knows he sounds desperate, but he’s angry, maybe just a little bit in denial, because he’s tried. He tried six years to get over Kim Taehyung only to have him reappear in his life and pretend that they’re strangers. He’s not having it.

“I have a deadline,” Taehyung mumbles, tucking his lower lip behind his teeth, and Jungkook recognizes it as a habit of his, Taehyung's nervous. “I have to send it in by tomorrow afternoon.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, thinks about what an idiot he is, and says, “I’ll drive you.”

There’s a short blank of time, then Taehyung lowers his head and sighs. “Yeah, all right. Thank you.”

The drive back to Taehyung's apartment is quiet, save for Jungkook asking for his address and Taehyung's short, fractured reply, as if hesitating to let him know where he lives. It brings Jungkook back to when Taehyung would insist on holding Jungkook's hand while the younger is driving, playing with his fingers and talking his ear off about random things.

He misses it. He misses Taehyung, and he wants everything back.

Then they’re in front of Taehyung's apartment building and Taehyung's scrabbling at the door like he can’t survive being in the same confined space as Jungkook. He slips his hands into his coat pockets and lifts his head, watching when Jungkook walks around to his side of the car.

“Thanks for the—”

Jungkook kisses him. Cages him against the side of the car and steals the words right from the tip of his tongue, and Taehyung's gasp dissipates into a startled moan, his hands curling into the front of Jungkook's jacket, gripping tightly.

“I missed you,” Jungkook whispers against Taehyung's lips, and Taehyung shivers, eyes fluttering half shut. “I missed you so much.” His hands find Taehyung's cheeks, cupping his face as he presses soft kisses to his jaw, mouthing at his neck. So maybe he’s a little drunk, but he’s sober enough to know what he’s doing, and hurling himself back into Taehyung's storm is a bad idea. He knows.

“Stop,” Taehyung's hands push at his shoulders, and Jungkook staggers back, eyes drawn to Taehyung's lips, flushed and still wet. Little wisps of white curl up from them as Taehyung pants, leaning back against the car, as far from Jungkook as possible. “Please,” he says again, breathless, torn. “Don’t.”

They stand there, lost and perhaps almost found, and Jungkook ducks his head, feeling his chest tighten from the cold or from the rejection, he’s not too sure. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, glancing up to catch Taehyung's gaze again before he dips his head, turning to go back to the driver’s seat.

“I'm sorry.” Taehyung reaches out, snagging at the sleeve of his jacket, and Jungkook stops.“Do you want to… come up?”

Jungkook turns, watches him with a shadowed expression.

Taehyung's biting on his lip, running a hand through his hair. “For a drink?”

The words weigh in the air, and Jungkook lets them sink into him before he takes in a deep breath and nods, a faint, wary smile on his lips. “All right. Wait here? I’ll go park the car.”

When Taehyung nods, Jungkook swears that he sees relief in his smile.

Taehyung's apartment looks almost exactly the same as the one he had back in college. Void of colour with the exception of black and white, maybe the occasional splash of furniture or decoration that doesn’t come in Zen. A cactus here, a painting there.

The only object in the entire living area that catches Jungkook's attention is Taehyung's bookshelf. It is tall, made of white painted wood, propped against the wall beside the grey couch. It is lined with books and magazines from bottom to top, save for the top shelf that is at least a head above Taehyung, where Taehyung displays a few plaques.

“You still read,” Jungkook murmurs, more of fondness than surprise, and Taehyung responds with a faint smile that ghosts his lips and a small dip of his head.

“Of course.”

The third shelf is packed with thin spines of a familiar magazine title, and Jungkook’s pulse throbs just slightly, reaching up to pull one of the issues down, thumbing through the pages. “I read this, too.” He glances up, and finds Taehyung watching him with an expression akin to curiosity. “My collection isn’t as impressive as yours, though.”

“I’m a loyal follower,” Taehyung obliges as reply, the sides of his eyes pulling up into crescents, and Jungkook finds himself thrown back into nostalgia all over again. “Not many people read this magazine, though? It’s rather obscure and controversial, after all.”

“I’m aware.”

Jungkook leafs through the issue in silence, then Taehyung speaks again, his voice soft. “Which is your favourite column?”

“Everything is interesting,” there’s the sound of paper, and Jungkook places the magazine into Taehyung's hands, tapping a fingertip on the current page. “But I probably like V’s articles the most.”

“V?” Taehyung's voice is tinged with mirth as he drops his gaze down to trace through the lines of the article. “Why is that? “

“I don’t know.” Jungkook lets out a quiet, hollow laugh. “They write in a way that feels so familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook meets Taehyung's levelled stare. “Don’t you think so? Their take on taboo subjects are derived from points of view of involved parties,” he pauses, tone dipping lower. “Like sexuality. Religion.”

Taehyung flinches, then, and Jungkook doesn’t miss it. “Yeah, they probably are.” He slots the magazine back into place, then pads over to sit on the couch, leaving Jungkook standing by the shelf until he lifts his head and tells him to sit down, why are you making me feel like a terrible host?

“So,” Jungkook says, after a stretch of staring at Taehyung's coffee table. “What have you been up to?”

“Just, around,” Taehyung makes a vague hand gesture, flashing Jungkook a wry smile. “Freelancing here and there, a few project-based contracts. You?”

“I’m good.” Jungkook lets out a soft hum, almost laughs out loud at how distinctly awkward the atmosphere between them is in comparison to six years ago. “I’m doing my internship for my Masters now. I’ll graduate in a few months if everything goes well.”

“Still trying to study the universe on a protonic level?” Taehyung's teasing him, but it sounds forced, and it physically hurts Jungkook.

“Always,” he says, turning to lock his gaze with Taehyung's.

Taehyung seems to hold his breath, then he looks away and Jungkook knows that he’s overstayed his welcome.

“I should go,” He stands, and Taehyung trails after him uncertainly, “so you won’t end up missing your deadline.”

“My deadline,” Taehyung echoes, “yeah.”

Jungkook gives Taehyung a long look, then puts his hand out. “Phone.”

“What?”

“Could we at least be friends again?”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung closes his eyes, rubbing lightly at the bridge of his nose, as if exasperated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You dropped me on a whim.” Jungkook says, and he knows he shouldn’t be dragging it back up now, but he’s desperate. He doesn’t know how to stop. “You owe me that, at least.”

Taehyung's gaze is dark, shadowed beneath his bangs. “There’s nothing interesting about me. Everything there is, you already know.”

“Ninety percent of the universe is still unfounded,” Jungkook takes a step closer, and Taehyung backs himself up against the doorframe, half dazed. “The same goes for you, and if it’s you, Taehyung,” a faint smirk ghosts Jungkook's lips as he drops his gaze, and Taehyung realizes (rather belatedly) that the younger already has Taehyung's phone in hand, giving himself a call. “I don’t mind learning something new every day.”

“What a sleaze,” Taehyung chokes out, but there’s no venom, just plain disbelief and slight amusement.

Jungkook returns him his phone and lets out a soft laugh, stepping back into his shoes and tipping Taehyung an imaginary hat farewell. “I’ll be taking my leave.”

He receives no response, but Jungkook can feel Taehyung's eyes on his back the entire time he’s walking down the corridor to the lift lobby.

(“You go first.”

“All right. Name?”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“Kim?”

“Yeah. I’m the pastor’s son.”

“Right… age?”

“Seventeen.”

“So, you’re older.”

“Yeah. But, please. Call me Taehyung.”

“Taehyung. Favourite book?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“You don’t read?”

“No, of course I read. I just can’t name a favourite, there are too many good books out there.”

“Fair enough.”)

Over the course of the next month, Jungkook learns that Taehyung has stopped drinking mocha every other day, and prefers tea over coffee. He learns that Taehyung's smiles have become a rare occurrence, and that he should be blessed to be graced by even the briefest quirk of his lips.

He learns that Taehyung adores poetry, would spend hours reciting the stanzas of his favourite poem to anyone, even Jungkook, despite the slash in their history.

“We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jungkook learns how to fall in love with him all over again. “We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin.”

“That’s a beautiful poem,” Jungkook glances up, after a while. Most of the patrons in the café have left, the wall clock behind Taehyung reads “22:48”, and Taehyung looks anything but tired. “What’s it called?”

Taehyung hums in thought, a hand around his mug of earl grey, a slight smile on his lips, and he doesn’t answer the question. He asks another, but by this time, Jungkook's already seen it coming. “Would you like to hear another part of it?”

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