Chapter Text
“Is it on?” Suniel asks, squinting at the little red light blinking on the side. His bushy eyebrows smash together as he checks himself on the flip-out screen.
Taehyung looms over him. “Yup.” He sighs. “Rolling.” Urgency runs through his veins. “C’mon, guys.”
“We should find another setting for… whatever this is,” Aker, Suniel’s cousin, says, gesturing around the abandoned classroom they’re in. He pushes himself off the wall, cleaning the dust from his shirt. “This place is a dump.”
“But it’s private,” Taehyung states. “Now, can we start?”
Aker pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, the big mole on his lip moving when he asks, “Who’s gonna go first?”
“Suniel,” Whitley says, lying on the ground as he skims through a sports magazine. He’s wearing his pants like shorts, streaks of sunlight touching his legs as they sneak between the newspapers plastered on the windows.
“Why me?”
“‘Cause you’re the funniest,” Whitley points out. His copper hair is curled at the top. “Just answer the questions, Sunny.”
Taehyung grabs Suniel by the shoulders, forcing him to be in the center of the shot. This has to look good. “Okay. Say your name and age and why you’re here.”
“Hey,” Suniel says to the lens, voice quivering at first. “My name’s Sunny. I’m 16.” He peeks at the other boys, clears his throat. “And a half, and I’m here to tell you who’s gonna win the finals.”
Taehyung nods at him to continue.
“Okay, so… The Cadets.”
“Jesus Christ.” Aker laughs out loud, stroking his hair, then messing it up. “They’ve lost all the games!”
“Not all of them,” Suniel says.
Aker shows him a mocking face, sucking his lollipop.
“Who’s next?” Taehyung asks, positioning himself behind the camera, picking it up from the dusty chair and adjusting the zoom.
“Okay.” Aker lifts his hands, asking for silence. “The Sharks.”
Still engrossed in the sports magazine, Whitley snorts from the floor.
“What?” Aker’s the one sounding defensive now. “They’re the best!”
Shaking his head, Suniel walks over to Taehyung, snatching the camcorder and putting the lens on his face. “The Cadets will win. You’ll see.”
That’s when Whitley looks up. “They won’t.”
“Thank you,” Aker says, standing straight, chest out.
Taehyung ignores his friends’ bickering and takes the camera back. “What about the Blue Velvets? They’re good.”
A chorus of groans fills the room.
Aker waves his hands in the air. “We’re done. That’s it.”
“C’mon!” Taehyung pans on Suniel. “What do we think, Sunny? The Blue Velvets have strength. Spark.”
Suniel pokes at his cheek with his tongue. He seems scared to talk. “In that case, the Hoppers are better.”
“What?” Whitley jumps to his feet, throwing the magazine away. It flips and falls on a chair with only three legs. “Stop the video right now. This is embarrassing.”
“Why?” Suniel opens his palms, watching Aker toss his lollipop in an empty trash can. “You know I’m right!”
Whitley clings to Taehyung’s shoulders, making sure only his face shows on the flip-out screen. “Cut. Cut the video. Cut it out!”
“No,” Taehyung says, letting out a breathy laugh.
A bell cuts through the chalky air, ringing in the distance.
Suniel flinches and hops in his spot. “Coach’s gonna kill us!”
“Who cares?” Aker kicks some chairs on his way to the door. “It’s just gym class.”
“We can’t be late again, dumbass.” Whitley scrambles to get the magazine, his pants rolling down his legs as he rushes out of the room. “Move!”
Lips stretched out wide, heart pounding against his ribs, Taehyung hesitates before turning the camera off.
He wishes he could keep filming.
The heavy doors slightly open as they sneak inside the gym, but the hinges squeak so loud, the sound is enough for Coach Rani to notice.
“Stop right there!”
The P.E. class has already begun. Balls of different sizes skip on the polished floor, sneakers sliding from side to side, students shouting above the noise.
“What happened?” Coach asks, approaching Taehyung and his friends with his big frame, the whistle around his neck shining with spit. His eyes are sharp.
“I was feeling sick,” Suniel says, touching his stomach. “They helped me get to the infirmary. Sorry, Coach.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Taehyung tries to sound honest, but he can’t avoid his lips twisting into a grin. Aker is behind him, nudging his back. It tickles.
Voices get louder in the background. No one cares about them being late to class, probably because it isn’t the first time.
“If it happens again, you’re seeing the principal,” Coach Rani says, pointing an accusatory finger at them. “You two, jump rope. Kim and Whitley, pull-ups. Now.”
As they walk away, Taehyung smacks Aker’s palms, then Sunniel’s, letting out a chuckle before jogging a few steps ahead. He sees Jeon Mido in the line in front of the pull-up bar, her twin, Jungkook, right behind her.
“Can you go first?” Whitley asks, whispering close to Taehyung’s face. He’s been flirting with Mido for the past three weeks. He takes every opportunity to talk to her.
“Whatever.” Taehyung snorts. When he moves, he knocks Jungkook’s shoulder by mistake. “Sorry.”
“Watch it,” Jungkook says, folding his arms.
The words land on Taehyung like a missed rebound smacking his head. The tone doesn’t make it any better. He scoffs.
When Coach Rani blows the whistle, Mido approaches the bar. She barely does 4 pull-ups out of 10, her skinny arms failing at holding her up.
“No big deal,” Whitley says when she’s back in the line. “You’ll crash it next time.”
Jumping in place, Jungkook gets ready.
He rubs his hands, the few back muscles he has flexing. Taehyung’s gaze is fixed on him, in the way he takes his time, the way his hair almost touches his shoulders.
The first 3 pull-ups look easy. By the time Jungkook reaches 8, Coach Rani claps.
“Just like that, Jeon! Two more!”
Jungkook does the last two without much effort, and instead of stopping, he adds a few more.
“Wait.” Whitley stops talking to Mido to join the other students in a circle staring at Jungkook, eyes open wide.
A crowd forms around him.
“Tae!” Suniel calls his name from the other side of the gym. He makes some exaggerated gestures with his hands, imitating Jungkook and making Taehyung laugh.
“That’s good! C’mon, Jeon!” Coach Rani’s sounding too excited.
Ever since Jungkook changed schools and arrived here four months ago, he’s everything the man focuses on. All he talks about.
The Golden Boy.
Letting out a snort, Taehyung watches Jungkook fall to the ground on both feet, receiving cheers from everybody like it’s a show.
For a split second, Taehyung’s intimidated, especially after Jungkook walks past him with a smirk.
When his turn comes, he swallows down, settles under the bar, exhaling through his nose.
No one counts his pull-ups.
With his hair wet from the showers, Taehyung forces the tip of his pen into the corner of his desk.
At first, he’s slow, carving doodles on the wood, listening to Miss Unna talk about everyone’s math homework. Then, he does it harder, enough to make a chirring sound.
“Taehyung?” Miss Unna searches for his face. The blackboard behind her is filled with chalk, an abandoned mid-sentence on it. The ceiling fans rattle overhead. “Do you want me to talk about your homework?”
Aker kicks one of the metallic legs of Taehyung’s chair.
“That’s okay,” Taehyung says, with a big smile, flipping his pen in his friend’s way, hitting a girl in the back by mistake. “Sorry.”
The girl laughs, followed by everybody else in the classroom, except for Jungkook. The boy just stares, eyes lingering on Taehyung, not making any noise.
“Mr Kim.” A simple warning.
He stares at his teacher’s exasperated frown. “I didn’t finish my homework,” he mutters.
“I know. May I ask why?”
“It was too hard.”
Laughter sounds louder this time. Taehyung feels like the class clown once again.
“Besides, tomorrow’s the game,” he adds.
Miss Unna’s eyebrows are down, her mouth closed in a thin line. She looks disappointed. “You’re getting the lowest grade. Next time, I’ll call your dad.”
Taehyung wishes those words didn’t have an impact on him. But they do. Resting back on his chair, he clasps his hands together and nods.
“Jungkook?” All heads turn at him. The new student who’s always been right. “What about you?”
Jungkook shrugs, his wild hair moving as he leans on his desk. “It didn’t take me long. I used different methods to get to the same result.”
“I noticed. It was very proactive of you. Good job.”
Aker nudges Taehyung’s ribs with the pen he lost. They face each other, sharing a look.
“Mr Kim.” Miss Unna walks towards Taehyung and stands right in front of him. “See? It’s not that hard. I know you like basketball more than math. But just like Mr Jeon here”—she points at the boy—“you can be good at both.”
When Taehyung shoots Jungkook a glare, he sees him sporting a smirk. The same one from this morning. Tight. Crooked, like he’s happy the teacher compared them because he knows he’s better than him.
“Who wants to go next?”
Taehyung’s eyebrows snatch together, his gut twisting with irritation as he looks away. Miss Unna addresses someone else next, the rest of the voices in the classroom fading.
Taehyung sits in the usual bench next to the naked man statue, where he likes to hang out with his friends. They’re all missing right now, so Taehyung eats his hotdog alone.
Bored, he pulls out his camcorder from his backpack and turns it on.
“A typical day in San Aureo High,” he says, looking through the viewfinder at the yard.
The tables are all filled with kids. No empty seats. There are crowds of people even lying on the grass under the trees. Some students balance their trays as they walk over to their friends.
“People love to eat in groups.” Taehyung zooms in, filming everyone’s faces as they laugh and eat.
To the right, a girl tosses a soda can into a trash can, followed by three girls laughing as they walk away. A boy tries to drink from a water fountain, but it’s dry. He gives up, jogging back to his friends.
“It’s like kids are scared to eat alone,” Taehyung continues. “As if those who eat alone are sad people. Which is a lie. I eat alone sometimes… I’m eating alone now. And I’m having fun!” He bends his wrist, turning the camera to focus on his face. He smiles. “I think some kids don’t know how to have fun with themselves, y’know?” Looking at the tiny monitor, he does a sweep of the place. “They’re just so—”
Words get trapped in his throat. In the back, close to the school doors, Taehyung’s eyes find Jungkook sharing a table with a large group. A book in his hands. The Iliad.
Taehyung snorts. The same irritation from before rises up his throat. “Some people are so fake,” he states. Without thinking, Taehyung starts bouncing a leg. “Like this dude. He’s reading a book during lunch, surrounded by friends. Who does that?”
Jungkook looks up, lips arch in a frown, the sunlight touching his face.
Without worrying about being seen, Taehyung takes his time to look at him. Ripped jeans, black sneakers, a white t-shirt with Scooby Doo on his chest. His hair falls on his brown eyes.
“He’s such a nerd,” Taehyung whispers, zooming in on Jungkook’s face.
After a minute, Jungkook laughs at someone’s joke, then scans the yard. When his gaze finds Taehyung’s camera, Taehyung’s heart rate picks up. It gets worse when Jungkook closes his book, curling his hands into fists and covering half of his mouth with them. The hint of a grin appears.
Taehyung clicks the stop button, lowers his camcorder, and in one bite, he finishes his food.
The bus stop is busy with students waiting to go home.
With each bus that comes, Taehyung zooms in. He likes to focus on the people sleeping, cheeks pressed against the glass, the white light inside quivering each time the vehicle moves.
An old lady waves at him. Two little girls, perched on their father’s lap, share a smile. The tattoo on someone’s face looks like a cat’s paw.
The camcorder is cold against Taehyung’s cheek.
When his bus pulls up, he stops recording, taking out his student card. After he pays, he finds a free seat at the back, next to a boy with piercings and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
As he sits down, Taehyung closes his eyes, swallowing down a groan before taking out his math homework.
Two small folding aluminium tables wait in front of the couch. The TV hums low in the background, more light than sound flickering over the carpet and walls.
“Bring the sauce!” Taehyung shouts, sitting on the cushion with his plate filled with beans and rice.
His father comes into the room, holding two glasses of soda and a bottle of red chili. “This episode better be good.”
“Hope it’s not a filler one.”
“I can’t keep waiting an entire week just to see the main character buy groceries and learn about hope because his favorite juice is back in stock.”
Taehyung laughs. His camcorder is resting to his side, turned off. Just in case.
“Hey, before this starts.” His dad eats a handful of food. After chewing a few times, he swallows. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?”
A bean of rice sticks to his beard. “This lady I’m seeing.”
“Dad.” This is the last thing Taehyung wants to talk about. “It won’t last. Just like last time. I saw her once and you broke up.”
“This time, I’m serious.” His father scoffs. “She’s nice. Kind. Sweet. I really want you two to meet. Don’t think it’s hard that you—”
“It’s on!” The light from the TV blinks. Taehyung prefers to look at it than at his dad’s face. “This better be good.”
His father keeps his eyes on him. Like a camera, Taehyung can feel him as he eats.
It’s 10 pm when he sneaks out of the apartment, filming his walk to the local basketball court next to the abandoned pasta factory his dad showed him once.
His grandfather used to work there. Until he turned 80 and the company closed.
It holds history. The Kims’ history.
Taehyung zooms in on the rusty name on the building, reading it out loud. Carozzi. Each letter makes it to the video, as well as Taehyung’s brief sigh.
“Who knows,” he says, zooming out. “In another life, I’d be working here.”
“Tae!”
He twists around, framing Aker’s eyes as they open wide for the video, tongue coming out.
“Here comes the king,” Taehyung says.
“I don’t see you playing.”
“You have the ball.” Taehyung puts his camcorder down and lifts an eyebrow.
Aker spins the worn-out basketball on his index finger, a smirk stretching his lips. Behind him, Suniel laughs.
“This dude couldn’t stop kissing himself in the mirror. That’s why.”
The court is empty at this time of night. A rare thing, considering there’s another one forty minutes away from here. By bus.
Taehyung’s friends don’t seem to appreciate it.
“So, Aker to the left,” he orders, leaving his backpack on the metal bench, his camcorder on top. “Sunny to the right.”
Aker rolls his eyes. “I go to the right. Whitley to the left.”
“Wait.” Suniel flips his water bottle, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “Where’s Whitley?”
“Probably with Mido,” Aker says. “He’s into boobs lately.”
“Don’t let him hear you.”
“Is he coming with her?” Taehyung asks, because if she’s coming, then Taehyung knows who’s also headed here.
“What do you think?” Aker pulls a face.
Taehyung groans really loud. “I can’t stand him. He thinks he’s so perfect.”
“Jungkook?” Suniel shrugs. “He kinda is. Just a little annoying.”
“A little? He knows he’s perfect and always acts like it.”
“Who cares?” With his free hand, Aker lifts his ankle behind his back and starts stretching. “As long as he makes us win.”
“Yeah.” Suniel nods his way.
Taming down the urge to kick his friends, Taehyung jogs to the center of the court. The rubber soles of his sneakers scrape the asphalt. “I’ll stand here. Sunny, you go over there.”
“Right.”
“And who will be who?” Aker asks.
Taehyung shrugs. That’s the last thing he cares about. “You decide.”
“Sunny?”
“I don’t know. Hunie Joe.”
Aker frowns. “What? That loser?”
“Hey, I like him.”
“He doesn’t even have a ring!”
“He’s going to,” Suniel counters. “You’ll see.”
Aker shows a mocking face.
“Aker?” Taehyung shakes a leg, glancing at the camcorder from time to time. “Who?”
“I’m choosing B.B. He’s the best from the Sharks and can throw a ball as if God gave him that superpower.”
Suniel scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“What?”
“Dwer’s the best from the Sharks. Everybody knows that.”
“I’m going with Olly,” Taehyung says, clapping his hands and asking Aker for the ball with his palms up. “Let’s go.”
“Nah.” Aker gestures at him to wait. “Dwer? You serious?”
With a smirk, Suniel crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, so?”
Aker holds his head with both hands, the ball falling to the ground and skipping towards the bench. “Fuck me, Sunny.” He grips his curly strands of hair, looking at Taehyung. “Can I beat the shit out of him? Can I?”
“C’mon!” Taehyung runs to the ball. He whines. “You guys are the worst!”
“They are.”
Taehyung hears Whitley’s voice, looking up to find his friend with his team jacket hanging from his shoulder, his ginger hair tied in a bun.
“You’re late,” Taehyung says, not caring about how snappy he sounds. He picks up the ball and breathes out. When he looks again, he realizes Whitley’s not alone.
Mido’s chatting with a girlfriend a few steps away. Behind them, Jeon Jungkook’s figure looms. The yellow lights surrounding the court blur into the night air around him.
“Sorry,” Whitley says. “We were at the mall.” Under everyone’s curious eyes, he gestures over his shoulder. “I invited him to play.”
Jungkook’s holding a clean basketball, wearing his hair short. His signature long strands are gone. The perfect look he had going on doesn’t seem so perfect anymore. He looks… different. Sharp. Raw.
Taehyung stares the other way, his stomach twisting. “Fine.” He lifts his chin at Whitley. “Who are you choosing?”
“B.B.”
“Not available,” Aker says, dropping to the ground as he peels off one sneaker and shakes it, little rocks scattering around.
“P. Bark, then.” Whitley opens his arms wide. “Okay?”
“Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, not looking at him.
Jungkook shifts his basketball to his other arm. “I don’t get it.”
Taehyung snorts, almost rolling his eyes.
“You gotta choose a player from the big leagues,” Suniel says. “We always do it when we play.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes, glancing up at the dark sky, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Taehyung can’t stop staring at him. “Amir,” Jungkook says. “From the Blue Velvets.”
Aker makes a surprised face, nodding his head. “Alright.”
Taehyung curses at himself for not picking that one first. He loves the Blue Velvets, even though they’ve lost the majority of their games. They’re currently the last on the list, but Amir has played well. He might get traded to the Sharks, and that’s huge.
“Can we start now?” Whitley asks.
After throwing him the ball, Taehyung points at the camcorder with his chin. “Do your best.”
Whitley smirks, then leaps high, arms stretched out, scoring with a clean shot.
In the background, Jungkook takes off his jacket, leaving it near the bench beside his ball. Aker passes him the dirty one, almost hitting him in the head.
“Sorry.”
“No worries.” Jungkook shuffles to the center, his sneakers white and clean. A smug grin takes over his face. “You ready?”
His confidence strikes Taehyung’s patience like a match. “Just go,” he says.
Without a word, Jungkook follows his orders. He quickly shoulders across the court, jumps up and grabs the hoop as the ball falls through. He hangs for a second there, shouting, “That’s right!”
A mix of praises float around. Taehyung isn’t part of them.
“How do you do it?” he asks, making himself a space next to Mido, watching her smile at her twin. “Living with a person like that?”
Surprise flashes on her face, black hair falling over her forehead. “Like what?”
“Like… he’s the best.”
She pulls her neck back. “But he is,” she says, sounding offended. “Maybe you should get to know him.”
Taehyung exhales, both hands on his hips as he walks away. Yeah, right.
The walls of the tiny restroom outside the court have mold stains, fluorescent graffiti, and depressive messages Taehyung tries to ignore. At least the faucet still has water, though it comes out brown. The mirror is cracked, probably by someone who punched it hard more than once.
“Kim.”
Taehyung cringes at the nickname. Only Coach Rani calls him that. He wonders if Jungkook talked to his former teammates that way back in his old school.
“This isn’t your neighborhood,” he says, turning around and finding Jungkook under the frame where a door is supposed to be. “Came all the way down just to shoot some ball?” Because the Jeons live in a mansion far away from here. At least that’s what Whitley said.
“I have to practice. For the game.”
A snort slips out of Taehyung’s mouth. “You can learn by watching us play.”
“Who? Everybody left.”
Great. Taehyung’s friends always do that. “Of course.”
“I’m staying.”
“Okay.” Taehyung wets his hair, then presses his shirt on his face to swipe off the sweat. “Do whatever you want.”
“I saw you filming me today.”
That makes Taehyung pause. “What?” His body turns cold.
“During lunch.”
He lies, “I didn’t.”
“Can you film me now?”
Holding his breath, Taehyung feels like his head’s about to explode. He frowns. “Why?”
“My mom says the footage could win me a few scouts. And I wanna see how I look.”
Jungkook’s eyes are big. Round. They don’t fit the indifference on his face. They scream ‘Please’ as if his life depended on it.
“What do you have to offer?” Taehyung asks, because the only way he would say yes is if he gets something in return.
“I don’t know.”
He wants to roll his eyes. “Then no.”
“Okay… I have snacks.”
Taehyung wants to roll his eyes and drag them through the mud and scream. Why is Jungkook asking him this? The fact he’s even doing it in the first place is strange. Still, it piques Taehyung’s interest. He can’t lie. “Fine.” He acts like he’s thinking. “Stop acting like you own the place and I’ll film you.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
Jungkook takes a step back. “What do you mean?”
“Acting like you’re better than the rest. It’s annoying.”
“I am better.”
Taehyung groans. “You’re not.”
“I work hard to be the best ‘cause I know what I want.”
“See? You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re rude.”
“Fine.” Taehyung lifts his shoulders. “I’m not filming you.”
Jungkook laughs. “Fine!” A spontaneous smile changes his entire face. A genuine one. Taehyung has never seen it on Jungkook before. With his hair gone, his soft gaze, his rawness exposed. Taehyung has to break eye contact.
Camcorder in hand and a nasty word stuck in his throat, Taehyung records Jungkook on the court.
He hates himself for agreeing, but something poked at him to go ahead. To watch Jungkook. Spend a little more time with him. Someone who always acts so distant in class, during practice, like he’s untouchable, now is right here, showing Taehyung a different side of him.
Besides, if Taehyung can get him on camera messing up, he’ll have evidence for Coach.
But Jungkook’s good.
Annoyingly good.
After all the games they’ve played together at school, sharing the same uniform, it feels like Taehyung’s watching him for the very first time.
He doesn’t say anything. No compliments leave his mouth. He just films him dribbling and sinking the ball into the worn-out hoop, the rims looking like they’re about to break.
“One more time,” Jungkook says, after sharing a sneer. He uses his arm to clean the drops of sweat sliding down his forehead. “I can do better.”
“That was bad?”
The question slips before Taehyung can stop it.
Jungkook takes too long to reply. “No. Not bad. Mediocre? Yes.”
With both eyebrows arched, Taehyung puts his camera down. “You’re crazy.”
“Why?”
The idea of saying one simple nice thing to Jungkook has Taehyung squeezing his entire face. He uses the camcorder to hide himself, keeping his distance. “‘Cause you’re not mediocre.”
“Not mediocre doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s why you’re crazy.”
Jungkook scoffs. “I wanna be the best,” he says, shrugging as he follows the ball. He scoops it up. “If that’s crazy, then I’m crazy.”
“You make no sense,” Taehyung admits. Maybe that’s why he’s still standing here. “Anyway, you’ll never be the best.” He sets the camera on the bench, angling it towards them before rushing to Jungkook’s side and lifting his palms. “‘Cause I am.”
Jungkook half-grins. “If you say so, Kim.”
They share a silent moment where they agree to play. A nod. An eyebrow raised.
When it’s time, Taehyung smacks the ball to the ground and lunges right.
Jungkook cages him, arms wide as Taehyung takes a moment to get used to his presence. To the charge of energy radiating through his clothes.
The boy isn’t better than Taehyung. Nor fast enough. Not strong enough. That’s what Taehyung tells himself. Again and again, even if it’s a lie. He believes it with his whole heart. It gives him the spark to hop sideways with both feet, then swerve low. Aiming for the backboard, he makes a pass to himself. A quick, smooth one, which has Jungkook gasping for air.
As the ball bounces back, Taehyung pivots into a spin, arm steady like the way he holds his camera when he films. It works. The ball falls perfectly into his hand. Without breaking rhythm, he shoots for the hoop this time, the ball slipping in.
“Shit.” After failing to block the play, Jungkook stumbles backwards, hitting the fence that lines the court. The entire thing rattles. “Where did you learn that?”
The ball skips in the background. Taehyung smirks, warm pride filling his chest.
“So cool,” Jungkook says out of breath, standing straight and resting his hands on his hips. He swallows. “Teach me?”
A laugh escapes Taehyung’s lips. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
Jungkook’s face is serious, too.
Not wanting to look at him for too long, Taehyung gets to the ball and stops it with his feet. “Maybe next time.”
Taehyung pulls off his shoes, ambling down the dark hall to his room and flipping the light on.
Snoring drifts through the chipped paint on the walls. He checks the alarm clock on his nightstand, seeing it’s 1 am. His backpack lands on his unmade bed, his t-shirt on the creaky floor. He smells himself, disgust shaking his body from head to toe. It’s too late to shower, so he searches for his deodorant bar and rubs it on.
Shoving the things on his second-hand desk to the side, he turns on his computer and connects the camcorder with an old USB. He downloads the content. The pictures and videos. Everything from today.
One file pokes him on the chest.
He clicks on it, leaning closer to the screen, shoulders hunched.
“One more time,” the Jungkook in the video says.
Taehyung watches him, the way he frowns before a shot, the way his jaw locks when the ball hits the board, the way he bounces on his heels after scoring a point.
Drumming his fingers on the desk, Taehyung itches to rewind and watch it all over again.
Then his past self puts the camera on the bench. Coming next is the move he’s been working on, the moment he showed it to Jungkook. However, the video stops. Taehyung must have pressed the wrong button.
He groans, disconnects the camcorder and smacks his laptop shut.
Lying on the bed, he closes his eyes, remembering how he felt finally showing that move to someone. How his body shivered when he threw the ball, got it back, slipped it into the hoop. He remembers the way Jungkook looked at him. Wide-eyed. Lips up. ‘So cool… Teach me?’
Pride runs through Taehyung’s body again. He smirks.
Without changing clothes, he pulls the covers up, a particular face staying in the back of his head as he falls asleep.
The tiny kitchen smells like mung bean cake.
Taehyung sits down on the round stool with the scratches on the edges, done by Lyna, his father’s late cat. There are still hairs from her stuck around the apartment.
“How was your night?” Taehyung’s dad asks him, putting the mung bean cakes on a silver platter. The only fancy thing they have.
“Short. Yours?”
“Could’ve been better if someone hadn’t arrived so late.”
Taehyung makes a face. “Sorry.” He looks out the open window, facing the alley where the big trash bins rest. They’re full. “The garbage truck hasn’t come in two weeks.”
“I know.” His dad puts the plates and spoons in the sink, opens the faucet and lets water pour out for a bit. “Here,” he says, taking the platter with him to the table and sitting on the other stool. “Try one.”
“Did you change Mom’s recipe?”
“No.” His father shakes his head. “But I put them in the freezer for a little longer. C’mon.” He gestures at the food.
The cakes are brown, with some burnt spots on the sides. “Looks good,” Taehyung says, snatching one and taking a bite. He nods. “Sweet.”
It’s not like the ones his mother used to make, sometimes in green, yellow, red. But after she died, Taehyung’s father wanted to keep the tradition alive. Every morning of an important game, there are mung bean cakes ready.
Taehyung knows how much his dad cares.
“Great.” A smile spreads on his father’s lips. He bends forward, placing his elbows on the edge of the table and watching his son. “I hope you win your game tonight.”
“Will you come watch me play?”
“If I can leave early from work, of course. But son, I don’t want to promise anything.”
“I know.”
His father nudges his chin with his fist. “You’ll do great, Cheep. Like always.”
“I am so sorry,” a woman says, with disheveled hair, pale lips, dark bags under her eyes. She’s holding a child with both arms, trying to keep them steady. Ice cream drips down the baby’s chin.
Half an hour into Taehyung’s shift and there’s already pink ice cream on the supermarket floor. The spotless floor, which he cleaned five minutes ago.
“Don’t worry, ma’am.” He can feel Mr Guzmán watching him from the counter, like every afternoon Taehyung works his shift. For eight months, the man’s been hating his guts, always calling him out, telling him how to behave. At least he keeps him busy. Employed. “Need help with anything else?”
“No. Thank you. I’m so sorry again.” She walks to the register, leaving the pink melting ice cream on the floor.
Ava, one of the cashiers that makes him company when they share breaks, shows him a ‘What can you do?’ face. She’s nice, almost like a big sister to Taehyung, even though she could be his mom.”
That idea sits poorly on his gut whenever he thinks about it.
Taehyung turns around, approaches the other side of the counter where the mop lies, still wet. When he looks up, Mr Guzmán is staring at him, one eyebrow raised like this was his fault.
Ignoring him, Taehyung scrubs the beige porcelain tiles, glancing at one of the security cameras on the ceiling angled at the aisle he’s in. A red light flickers.
Once he finishes, he picks up the forgotten short wooden stick, pink stains on it, and catches sight of the trash can next to the few shopping carts no one takes.
Taehyung steps back, smirks at the camera, then throws the stick like a ball and scores.
“Did you see it?” he asks, shutting the door to the backroom, the broken monitors on the shelves watching him walk in. Eight months working here and they still give him the creeps.
Mr Guzmán’s younger brother, Berry, sits in his usual chair, on the verge of collapsing, wearing the store’s green shirt, sunglasses on his head, piercings on his lips. “10 outta 10,” he says, eyes shining under the orange light that makes the room feel like a horror movie. “When’s the big day?”
“Tonight.”
“And practice?”
“It’s been good. Coach said the other day I’m getting better. Said ‘Kim’”—Taehyung makes a face—“‘keep it up.’” He shakes his ass, which has Berry laughing, head back and all. “I have a new move. I’ve been working on it for the past month.”
“Yeah? Bet it’s the best one you’ve come up with yet.” Berry smacks his thigh. “It’s time for you to show them.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Taehyung sits on the wooden panel that works as a desk, metal boxes and old computers as support. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“C’mon, dude. I’ve seen you play. You’re great.”
The words carve a warm place deep down in Taehyung’s chest.
“I need to get better at school.”
“Yeah? How was math?” Berry asks, because he knows how much Taehyung suffers in that class, no matter how hard he tries.
“Don’t wanna talk about it.” The topic sours Taehyung’s mood. He just offers a scoff and crosses his arms, fixing his eyes at the screen Berry’s watching. It shows people roaming the aisles, carrying shopping baskets, picking the cheaper options and reading the labels with care. “Any shoplifters?”
“Not yet.”
“Remember I took karate classes when I was 6.”
Berry smiles at him. “Good to know.”
The locker room reeks of tension, suspended in the air as everybody changes clothes. Outside, the sky has turned black, barely any stars visible.
“This is an important game,” Coach Rani says. He walks around the room, smacking the boys’ shoulders, clapping his hands from time to time. His face is serious, his voice coming out strong. “We lost against these guys last month at their school. If we want to go to the next round, we gotta win today. Here. At home. Are y’all ready to do that, or what?”
The first cheers are low, as if fear was keeping everybody’s excitement under the rug. Taehyung decides to shout, be the one who motivates the rest. “Yes!” he says, raising his fists then punching his chest.
Aker laughs. Suniel stomps his feet on the vinyl floor.
“I need you to be a real team,” Coach adds, hands inside the pockets of his pants, half-grinning. “If one of you wants to shine tonight, do it only if it gets us points.” He scans the room. “Understood?”
Nodding, Taehyung can feel a charge of adrenaline coursing through him. He cheers again, joined now by most of the team. The sound of claps and chuckles bounce against the lockers and walls. The only person who’s silent is Jungkook.
He has a poker face, eyes sharp on the floor. His short hair drenched in gel shines under the ceiling lamps.
“Okay.” Coach Rani lifts his two index fingers, pointing up. “Be prepared for anything.”
Three quarters down, one more to go, and Taehyung’s team is losing.
The bright lights in the gym spill over people’s heads as they watch the game, shouting at the players to do something. Taehyung doesn’t hear them at first, then the voices start to get louder than the sound of his rubber soles against the floor, the ring of the buzzer going off, the ball sinking in the hoop every time the rival team scores.
Taehyung’s chest is heaving, his jersey sticking to his ribs. He wipes his palms against his shorts and jogs into position, waiting for the next play. Coach Rani orders Aker and Suniel to cut inside when another player drives the ball, yelling at Jungkook to take the shot if it’s open. Instead, the other team tightens their defense and closes the passing lanes.
Once again, the opponents score. Their players on the bench jump and cheer. It was an easy fast-break point.
Taehyung looks at the time. Three minutes left.
His team is down by 2 points. The crowd groans like it’s all set and done. But it isn’t. At least not to Taehyung.
He’s trying to think of how he can use his move to turn this around. He knows he should forget about it and stick to Coach’s plan, but he really wants to win. He needs to win, even though his dad isn’t here to see him. Tonight and every night, he’s doing it for his mom. The one person who never missed his games. Ever.
The ball has his full attention now. He sees it in the visitors’ captain’s hands, charging against Suniel holding his ground. Taehyung breaks into a sprint before anything can happen, running across the court, tapping Whitley on his shoulder to let him know he’s switching marks.
He can hear Jungkook shouting for the ball, but Taehyung ignores him. He knows he can do this. He knows he can shoot and turn the whole game around. Prove himself what he’s capable of.
But the forward from the other team blocks his shot, cradling the ball. Taehyung loses his balance, palms open as he crashes to the floor, which is embarrassing enough to draw laughs from the crowd.
His cheeks flush.
When he crawls to his feet, he sees Jungkook cutting to the left, snagging the ball and leaving the forward behind. He runs ahead, shoots at the backboard, making a pass to himself.
Fourteen seconds.
The defense from the other team scrambles around him, but they’re not as fast. When the ball bounces back, Jungkook spins, getting it and aiming for the hoop just as the buzzer ticks.
It’s in. The ball is in before it skips away.
Everybody in the stands hop on their feet, yelling Jungkook’s name. Aker, Whitley and Suniel run towards him, followed by the rest of the team, jumping over him, smacking his arms, messing with his hair. Coach Rani pats Jungkook’s back, glancing over his shoulder at Taehyung.
Taehyung’s still in the same spot, shoulders hunched, arms hanging on his sides, his mouth wide open.
Jungkook’s winning play repeats in his head. Non-stop. Over and over. And every time it does, it looks more familiar. The spin, the ball against the backboard, the pass to himself.
Realization starts to bubble up in his gut.
Until it happens.
Something snaps.
Jungkook just saved the night. He got them the win they needed using Taehyung’s move. In front of their parents, Coach, and the entire school.
Taehyung wants to kill him.
Jungkook’s nowhere to be seen. He skipped the showers and didn’t say goodbye to Coach.
After looking for him for more than fifteen minutes, Taehyung finds him behind a tree outside the gym.
“You jerk!” Taehyung shoves him with both hands against his chest. Jungkook falls back, ass on the grass. “You stole my move! Stupid prick! Hiding here ‘cause you know I’m gonna punch your freaking face!”
“I’m waiting for my mom!”
Taehyung scoffs, taking off his duffel bag and throwing it on the ground. “Tell her to come watch, then.”
“Wait!” Jungkook puts his palms up, fear perched on his face. His eyes are bigger than normal, eyebrows pulled together, mouth wide. “Just wait!”
Before Taehyung can lunge over him, a woman’s voice reaches out.
“What’s going on here?”
She’s wearing a fancy dress, pearl earrings, high heels. She looks like she’s coming from a gala.
“Mom—”
“Where’s your father? And why are you on the ground?”
Taehyung curls his hands into fists, taming down his anger as Jungkook stands up.
“I fell,” Jungkook says, patting his shorts. He’s still wearing his uniform, even though it’s freezing outside.
The air has changed after Mrs Jeon arrived. Taehyung sees relief on Jungkook’s face, though a hint of panic clings to his eyes.
It bothers Taehyung so much, because he knows Jungkook is lying to his mom on purpose. “Jeon,” he warns. First time calling him that.
“Everything alright?” Jungkook’s mom looks worried. Taehyung has to bite his tongue.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook says, dropping his chin and glancing at his mother with a hand up. “We’re just talking.”
She eyes Taehyung from head to toe. “Who are you?”
“He’s Kim Taehyung,” Jungkook says, answering before Taehyung can speak. “My teammate.”
“Oh.” Realization morphs the lady’s face. She softens everywhere. “You are Lee’s son.”
Startled, Taehyung swallows, drawing his shoulders back. “Yeah.”
“I’m friends with your dad. He’s told me so much about you.”
Heat creeps up Taehyung’s neck as a heavy pressure settles on the tip of his gut. What can he say to that? And how can he punch Jungkook now?
“Mom, can you give us a sec?” Jungkook asks, gripping the straps of his backpack. He peeks at Taehyung, probably worried he’s about to talk.
It dawns on Taehyung right then, the fact that Jungkook doesn’t want his mother to know what he did. And Taehyung wants to tell her, show her the kind of kid she raised. But he hesitates, because she’s friends with his dad. And Jungkook’s fingers are shaking, quick breaths leaving his mouth, a tight crease forming on his forehead.
“No need,” Taehyung says, clenching his jaw. He forces his voice to stay calm, knowing he’ll regret this one day. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I fucking hate him!”
“Same,” Aker says, punching the air. His room walls are plastered with posters of a famous boxer from decades ago. They have the same pose. “I didn’t before but now I do!”
Whitley puts a palm up, lying on Aker’s bed. “Are you sure it was your move?”
“How could I not? I invented it!” Taehyung kicks a shoe on the floor, hitting the nightstand and making the things on top shake. He apologizes.
“I believe you,” Suniel says, staring at his reflection on the TV. “He looks like a thief.”
With an arched eyebrow, Whitley drags himself up and rests his head on the wall. “How does that work?”
“C’mon, dude.” Aker grabs some cables on his desk, drops them on a drawer and slams it close. “Don’t let your obsession with Jungkook’s sister blind you.”
“That’s not what this is.”
Taehyung paces the room. “He saw me doing it the night before, then he used it to win. He knew.”
“Okay.” Whitley shrugs, crossing his arms. “I mean, we won.”
“So?! That means it’s okay?” Taehyung wants to punch Whitley in the face. He’s never done it before. He hopes he never will.
“Fine. Sorry. Whatever you say.”
“Dude.” Aker shakes his head in disapproval.
Suniel doesn’t speak.
“Fine,” Taehyung echoes. With a roll of his eyes, he grabs his backpack next to the door and walks out.
From left to right, then right to left, Taehyung mops the floor at the drinks aisle.
He isn’t thinking about it, just mechanically doing whatever Mr Guzmán told him to. He hasn’t even checked the surveillance camera up next to the boxes on the top shelf. By now, Berry must know something’s up.
They haven’t talked about the game yet, because even though Taehyung’s team won, he feels like he lost.
Having to work on a Sunday makes his mood worse.
“Kid, you missed a spot,” someone says. An old man, wearing baggy clothes and a hat that makes him look like a sailor.
“Thank you, sir.” Taehyung knows Mr Guzmán is always hearing what goes on in his store, so he keeps his voice neutral and his words nice. He hates it, wishing he could yell at people. At least he should’ve yelled at Jungkook some more yesterday. Punched him. Gotten all his pent-up frustration out.
“Hey, love.” Ava walks to one of the freezers and pulls out an apple juice. It matches her green work shirt. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
She looks at him funny, like she doesn’t believe him. “Someone’s waiting for you at my register, by the way. They’re eager to talk to you.”
“Who?”
Ava opens the bottle, taking a sip. Today, she’s put on pink eye shadow and red on her lips. “He said his name’s Jungkook.”
Next to the produce section, Jungkook waits. He’s checking out the kiwis, the pile Taehyung arranged so the better-looking ones sat on top. If he hadn’t done that, he could’ve easily grabbed the ugly ones and thrown them at Jungkook.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Jungkook looks surprised to see him. “I’m here to talk about yesterday.”
“About you stealing my move?”
With a grimace, Jungkook nods. “Yeah.”
Silence takes over as Taehyung waits for Jungkook to proceed. The jerk doesn’t. He stays where he is without uttering a single word.
Taehyung groans. “So?”
Blinking several times, Jungkook opens and closes his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“For what?”
“What?”
Taehyung drops his arms, lifting his chin. “Say it.” He arches an eyebrow. “What you did.”
“What I—?” Jungkook drags a hand through his short hair, breathing out a sigh. “I just said I’m sorry.”
“It’s not enough.” Taehyung shrugs.
“Kim…”
“Say it.”
Jungkook shifts in his spot, lips pressed tight until the words come out, voice low. “I’m sorry for stealing your move.”
“Louder.”
“Come on.”
“Are you sorry or not?”
“I am!”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I don’t know!” Jungkook looks around, as if he were asking for support from the bananas and oranges and the rest of the fruit. “It’s not like you invented it! I’m sure I’ve seen P. Shark use it.”
Taehyung gasps. “It’s a mix of plays. And even if someone else had already used it, I showed it to you!”
“But we needed to win. I know you felt it. The pressure. I— I just did what I had to do.”
“Lame excuse.”
“But we won!” Jungkook opens his palms. “That’s good, right? You should be happy.”
That sentence makes Taehyung’s hair on his arms stand on end. “I should be happy? I—?” He squeezes his entire face, hands curled into fists. “Fuck you, Jeon.” The nickname’s starting to stick. It puts more distance between them, and that’s what Taehyung needs. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”
“What’s up, dude?” Berry’s spinning in his chair, playing with the gas lift as he smiles at Taehyung. “You look like shit.”
Frowning, Taehyung eyes himself, his green t-shirt marked with multiple food stains.
“I’m not talking about your clothes.” Berry stops the chair with both feet, holding the armrests and pulling himself up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Taehyung doesn’t sound convincing, so he avoids looking at Berry’s eyes, checking out the monitors instead. He finds an old lady on one of them, smelling a box of cake mix.
Berry cracks his neck, sitting down. “You know I was your age once, right? Like”—he counts with his fingers—“eight years ago. I’m sure something’s going on. Tell me.”
“Nothing,” Taehyung repeats, sitting on the floor, letting his head fall against a shelf. It shakes. “I swear.”
“How about that kid you were talking to?”
Taehyung can’t hide his surprise. He closes his eyes, running both hands down his cheeks. Of course Berry saw him. “Who?”
“Short hair. Black clothes. Face like he was being tortured.” Berry chuckles. “I could see you getting angry, dude. Even with the shitty quality from the security cam.”
Taehyung grits his teeth. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Okay, alright.” Berry gets serious, dragging his chair closer to Taehyung. “If you want to talk about it someday, I’m here.”
“Fine.” Taehyung keeps his eyes on the floor. “That kid, Jungkook, stole my move,” he mutters, deep and low. “At the last minute. We won because of him.”
Once the words are out, they fall on Taehyung’s shoulders like a very heavy jersey he’s unable to slip out of.
It’s done.
He let Jungkook do him wrong and that sucks.
“Damn.” Berry whistles, long and deep. “Do you want me to scare him? I could pay him a visit at your school, drive there in my Yamaha and crack my knuckles while I threaten him.”
At least that makes Taehyung smile. He shakes his head. “I’ll make sure to punch him one day.”
“I’ll support that.”
Taehyung finds Berry’s gaze and pouts. If he had any tears left after his mom died, Taehyung would be crying his eyes out now.
“Hey.” Berry leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You already showed him you’re different. You don’t steal. You play fair.” He clasps his hands together, glancing at the monitors before looking at Taehyung again. “Keep doing you. He’ll continue to be one step behind.”
A shaky breath rolls out of Taehyung’s lips. His cheeks warm up. “Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Five minutes before Taehyung’s shift ends, Aker scares him from behind.
“Jackass.” Taehyung’s anxiety shoots up. He smacks his friend’s butt with the broom he’s been using to clean the floor by the front desk.
Aker points at a sign. “Two for one on sodas?” He lifts an eyebrow, one foot in front of the other. “You’re paying.”
“No way.”
“Fine.” He sinks his hand into his back pocket and unearths some coins. “Get me a cherry one. I’ll wait for you outside.”
The sun’s going down, hiding behind buildings and trees. Their yellow leaves fall onto the street.
At the park a few blocks from the supermarket, Taehyung balances on the curb, an empty soda can on his head.
“I can’t wait for summer,” Aker says, sitting on a bench. He eyes a girl that walks past them with a school uniform Taehyung doesn’t know. “Warm
sand. Girls in bikinis. Sunsets around 10 pm. Piña coladas.”
“When have you drunk piña coladas at the beach?”
“Never. But I will once I turn 18. You too.”
“Sure.” Taehyung loses his balance and tilts his head to the side, the can hitting the floor. He kicks it with his foot and scoffs . “Piece of shit.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I was just imagining that was Jeon’s head.”
Aker laughs. He points towards a small water fountain in the middle of the park. “Look at her.” He smiles. “She’s cute.”
At first, sunlight makes it hard for Taehyung to see. When he puts a hand above his head, he spots the girl Aker’s talking about, with a ponytail and a blue dress, talking with who seems to be her mom.
“Nice,” Taehyung says, though he doesn’t care. He takes out his camcorder from his bag, turns it on.
“Should I go talk to her?”
Pointing at the dented can a few meters away, Taehyung zooms in. A lonely leaf rolls in the background. Blurred. “If you want.”
“She’s way too pretty.”
“She’s okay.”
Aker makes a low sound, similar to a groan. “You’re crazy.”
Taehyung focuses on him, on the way the light makes his hair shine, on his narrowed eyes trying to avoid the sun, how the mole on his lip looks more brown than usual. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not!” Zooming out, Taehyung zig-zags to the bench, shoving the camera on his friend’s face as he laughs.
“Cut it out,” Aker says. He covers the lens with a hand. The last thing Taehyung catches on video is his big, lopsided grin.
Coach Rani blows the whistle for the fifth time. “What did I say? Defense!”
Taehyung’s sweating so much, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. He needs a shower. And a break.
On the other side of the court, Jungkook moves like he has extra batteries on his back, connected to his arms and legs as he runs from left to right and steals the ball like he was paid for it.
“Jeon!” Coach’s voice always sounds different when he talks to Jungkook. A bit lower. Harsh. “Take it down!”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, stopping next to the bench where Suniel’s sitting. “Water. Water, water, water.”
Standing up, Suniel hands him his bottle. “Here.” He crosses his arms and watches the others play. “You’re crushing it.”
Taehyung shakes his head, filling his mouth with water and only drinking it when his breathing calms down. His throat hurts.
“Remember to block him.”
“Jeon?” Taehyung snorts. “He’s impossible to keep up with.”
Suniel smacks Taehyung’s shoulder blades. “You can do it, Tae. Don’t let him win.”
Across the court, Jungkook drives past three players and slams the ball into the hoop. The backboard rattles.
Every time he scores, Taehyung hates him a little more.
“How was school?” Taehyung’s dad asks from the kitchen as soon as Taehyung walks through the front door. The apartment smells like garlic.
“Good.” Dropping his duffel bag on the floor, Taehyung moves towards the small table and sinks in a chair. “I’m hungry.”
His dad chuckles, using a spatula to scrape the bottom of the pan he’s holding. “I thought so. I’m making you scrambled tofu.”
“With onions?”
“Of course.”
Taehyung knows his mother would be proud of his dad if she knew how much he’s been cooking. Making all her recipes. Every time, Taehyung thinks about giving them a try, too. But he always changes his mind. The kitchen feels like a sacred place. He doesn’t want to mess it up.
“Hey, so.” His father leaves the pan on the stove before cleaning his palms on his jeans. He scratches off a stain from his shirt. “We’re going to Mudra this Wednesday afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He turns around, having trouble looking Taehyung in the eye. “I think it’s time for you to meet my girlfriend, son.”
“What?” Taehyung jerks his neck back. “No.”
“Why not?”
He stretches out his arms on the table, leaning forward. “It’s pointless. The last one dumped you after a month.”
“It’s serious this time.” His dad rests his hip on the counter, the sizzling pan behind him. “I think she might be the one.”
“The one?”
“No, not like that.” Checking the tofu, he turns the stove off and stands next to the other chair. “I’m sorry. That sounded wrong.” He sits down. “Your mom was, and will always be, my soulmate. The one that made me the most happy.”
Taehyung listens to the words, his stomach twisting as the hunger fades.
“Now I’ve met a lady who makes me feel a similar way. Not exactly the same,” his dad assures him. “But I’m once again feeling happy around someone, and we both want to find out where this goes.”
Dropping his forehead on the table, Taehyung whines. “Why do I have to meet her?”
“Because you’re my son.” His dad touches his arm, a warmth spreading up his shoulder. “I want you two to meet and get to know each other. Mudra is a nice place to do that. You can order those bread sticks you like.”
Taehyung breathes out through his nose.
“We could give it a try, don’t you think?”
He lifts his head, looking at his father with a pout. “Dad…”
“Can you do that for me, Cheep?”
The nickname always wins him over. Since the day his mother used it for the very first time.
Taehyung can’t say no after that.
“What are you wearing?”
Standing next to his front door, Taehyung eyes himself up and down. “Why?”
“You look like”—Whitley moves a hand in the air—“my sister’s Ken.”
“The doll?”
“It’s the suit.”
Taehyung scoffs. “You’re jealous ‘cause I look good.” He puts on the sunglasses he won at a fair, everything turning dark. “Besides.” He shows him the Star Wars hoodie under his jacket.
“Nice.” Whitley laughs, the sound echoing in the hall outside Taehyung’s apartment “Where are you going?”
Taehyung glances over his shoulder, closing the door until it’s ajar. “To meet my step-mom.” He groans, putting on a suffering face. “My dad’s new girlfriend.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Silence takes over. Taehyung doesn’t know what else to say, and things with Whitley have never been like this. They’re best friends. Still, the pang in Taehyung’s chest after Whitley took Jungkook’s side the other day is right there.
“I get the clothes now,” Whitley says, letting out a nervous laugh this time.
Shrugging, Taehyung lifts both eyebrows. “It’s not gonna last, anyway. They’ll break up in three weeks.”
Whitley nods. He runs a hand through his curls. “Hey, do you wanna… maybe hang out later? With the guys. We could go to the court and film some hoops.”
“I don’t know.” Taehyung adjusts his trousers and pulls down the hem of his shirt. “I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Looking at the floor, Whitley presses his lips together, walking away from the door. “Wait.” He stops, turning around. “Just wanted to say… I’m on your side. About what happened with Jungkook.”
Taehyung pokes the inside of his cheek. “Okay.” He wishes the pang eases a bit. But it doesn’t. “Thanks.”
Mudra’s main color is grey. The chairs, the wallpaper, the menus. The rest of the things are golden, like the mirrors and plates. It’s a fancy restaurant, a place Taehyung visits only when his dad is feeling guilty about something.
“We can order juice while we wait,” his father says, sitting next to him at a table for six, the other four chairs free. Taehyung wonders how many people are coming. “Whatever flavor you want.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“You sure?” Slipping on his glasses, Taehyung’s dad checks the menu and hums. “I’d like an orange juice. That’d be nice.”
“Then order it?”
“Tae…”
“Sorry.” Taehyung sinks further down into his chair, arms crossed. His eyes are fixed on the entrance, the glass doors opening every time someone comes in. “I want a lemonade.”
“Good choice.”
“Mom liked them with ginger,” Taehyung says.
His father puts the menu down. “She did.” He rests his hands on his lap, interlocking his fingers together as he faces his son. “You want one with ginger?”
Taehyung glances down at his sneakers under the table, fighting the urge to stand up and walk out. “Yeah.”
“Alright.”
His dad lifts a hand, just when the glass doors open and a lady that looks like Jungkook’s mother walks in.
Taehyung sits up straight, his eyes falling on the Jeon twins trailing right behind her.
“There they are,” his father whispers, holding the edge of the table for support as he rises to his feet.
No way. No freaking way. Taehyung’s chest tightens. His heart drops.
No. It can’t be.
“Lee.” Jungkook’s mother shows a polite smile. When she looks at Taehyung, her face softens. “Hello, Tae. Nice to see you again. I’m Sheen.” Her eyes fall on Taehyung’s father, then back on Taehyung. “I’m sorry. Can I call you Tae?”
Before he can say no, his father speaks. “How was the trip here? Please, sit down.”
Mido takes the spot next to her mom, leaving Jungkook on the far end of the table, away from Taehyung.
“Excuse me,” Taehyung says, pushing his chair back. The sound is loud, making some customers turn their heads.
His dad reaches for his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“Need to pee.”
Mind racing, Taehyung sneaks past the table, feeling Jungkook’s gaze on him.
The restroom is a small place, fully white, with just one toilet and a sink.
When Taehyung’s done thinking of every possible scenario in his head of how wrong this is, he wets his face and opens the door.
Jungkook’s right outside, as if he’s been waiting for him.
“Hey.”
“Did you know?” Taehyung asks, throat tight, the words barely slipping out of his mouth.
“Yes.” Jungkook’s honesty is a punch to the gut. A twist of the knife dug between Taehyung’s ribs.
He freaking hates him.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“My mom asked me not to. She said your dad was gonna talk to you and that one day we would all hang out.”
“So fun.” Taehyung wishes the sarcasm in his voice was heavier. “You’re okay with this, then? With our parents dating?”
“Hell no. But my mom’s happy, and she hasn’t been happy in a long time.”
Squeezing his face, Taehyung dreams of pulling his hair out, strand by strand. “This really sucks.”
“Yeah, but what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Break them up?”
Jungkook snorts. “You’re an idiot.”
“Oh, and you’re so smart, stealing others’ plays to show off. You liar.”
Jungkook curls his hands into fists. “I apologized.”
“Congrats, still being a dick!”
“Better than a coward,” he mutters under his breath.
Taehyung tilts his head in surprise. “What?”
Pressing his tongue against his bottom lip, Jungkook nods. “At least I have guts,” he says. “Yeah, I used your move, but why didn’t you? You had the whole game. I waited til the last minute!” He frowns. “It’s like— You’re a good player, but it’s like you don’t believe it. Like you’re scared.” Jungkook lifts a hand, then lets it fall, hitting his hip. “You lack balls, Kim.”
Taehyung gasps. “You’re a piece of shit.”
“Yeah, well.” Jungkook shrugs one shoulder, arching his eyebrows as he turns around. “I bet you’re no different.”
By the naked man statue, Aker tosses a tennis ball from hand to hand. The sun’s up in the sky. Students crowd the courtyard, enjoying the weather as they wait for the bell to ring.
“Okay,” Suniel says, sitting on the ground with his back against the statue. “Start from the beginning.”
Taehyung groans, long and deep. He covers his face with his arms, stretching out his legs on the bench he’s lying on. “I was talking with my dad and suddenly the Jeons showed up.”
“You’re gonna be family,” Aker says, pointing at him and Whitley, who’s drinking water from his bottle. “You and Jungkook will be brothers, and Whitley will marry Mido, and everybody will live happily ever after.”
“Shut up.” Taehyung kicks the air with his foot. “This is serious.”
“Sorry.” Aker throws the tennis ball at Whitley, rubbing his hands together. “I was joking.”
“Insensitive,” Suniel says, closing his eyes.
Whitley punches him on the chest with the ball. He looks at Taehyung, making a pitiful face. His freckles look darker under the sun. “I’ve met her,” he says. “Because of Mido. And… she’s not so bad. At all.”
“I know.” The comment has Taehyung rolling his eyes. “But why? Why her? Why Jungkook?”
Everybody’s silent. Students talk and laugh in the background.
“You said they’ll break up soon,” Aker says.
“I hope so.”
“Why don’t we make them split?” Suniel asks, throwing the ball up to the sky, catching it when it falls. “We can make a plan.”
“No.” Taehyung doesn’t say he’s thought about it. Because he knows how mean it is. Besides, his mom’s watching. She would never forgive him if he tried to do something like that. “I’ll just stay out of it.”
“Don’t worry, Tae.” Aker walks over to the bench, leaning on the backrest and nudging Taehyung’s head with his knuckles. “They won’t last.”
Suniel nods, lifting the tennis ball high. “Yeah. They’ll break up before you know it. Just wait.”
Relaxing under Aker’s touch, Taehyung hopes that’s true.