Chapter Text
Rain pours outside the window, slightly open, letting in mist and the smell of rain on warm concrete. Petrichor, Taehyung remembers, for some reason. Some pretentious English word Namjoon had used once, teasingly, or maybe completely serious. That part Taehyung doesn’t remember as well. The sound of thick rain droplets falling is rapid, loud, and repetitive in his ears, but he keeps his eyes trained out the car window, watching the droplets race down the pane. The road whizzes by. Taehyung stares at the lines on the shoulder of the road, dizzy with their still movements rushing by.
He snaps out of his trance when there is a warm body leaning over him, stretching an arm out to roll the window back up. Within the second it’s closed, Taehyung already misses the fresh air and its smell.
“It’s getting cold in here,” Jeongguk says, hair wisps in front of his eyes, dark and beautiful. Taehyung’s eyes trail back to the rain. Steady. Harsh. Temporary. When he focuses his eyes on the window, the whole picture, not the individual raindrops, he sees Jeongguk’s face reflected in the glass. There are lines carved in between his eyebrows, teeth biting down on pink lips. Taehyung lets his eyes linger on the maknae’s lips for just a moment; it’s just a reflection, no one will know. So, he indulges himself.
Because no one can know.
Not even Jeongguk. (Maybe not even Taehyung).
His body burns when Jeongguk places a hand on his leg. Jeongguk’s fingers are long, they curve around Taehyung’s thigh, barely grazing the inside. He needs Jeongguk to pull away. He needs Jeongguk to hold him tighter. He wants Jeongguk to stay away from him. He wants to beg Jeongguk to never leave.
He keeps looking out the window.
Jeongguk’s thumb moves across Taehyung’s denim covered thigh. He shivers, and he tells himself (and anyone else who asks) that it’s because of the cold.
“We’re almost there. About ten minutes,” their manager’s voice swims through Taehyung’s brain like a thick fog, like the steam he can see where the road embraces each droplet of water.
Warm. Warm like Jeongguk’s hand, warm like the air between them when they’re wrapped in each other’s arms in a hotel bed, unknown words on Taehyung’s lips. He doesn’t know where to begin, what words to say, how to say what he’s feeling at all. He can’t put a name on it, can’t shove it in a box with a label and stuff it away. He can’t let it out, either. He’s not sure what ‘it’ is; Taehyung is Pandora and every time Jeongguk touches him it tempts him to open the box and let out all of the words he hasn’t found. Taehyung is Eve and Jeongguk is the apple and the snake, the tempter and the temptation and everything in between.
The group, consisting of himself, Jeongguk, and a couple managers (Taehyung’s and most of Jeongguk’s team), walks through the heavy rain, umbrellas overhead, to get back into their hotel for the next few days. Taehyung’s eyes are heavy from hours in the air and a couple more on wheels on a bumpy road.
His glasses are all fogged up when they reach the lobby, and when he removes them to swipe off the fog, a hand rests on the small of his back, feather-light, guiding him to the elevator. He never has to ask.
It’s funny, really. Jeongguk guides him to his own hotel room. Taehyung has his own room, of course, and his suitcases are no doubt waiting for him. The separate rooms are a formality more than anything else; it’s unspoken, but even their managers know Taehyung is only here for Jeongguk. They’re both busy with solo promotions, but were blessed with just enough time for Taehyung to accompany Jeongguk for one of his Golden schedules.
“Tired, Taehyungie-hyung?” Jeongguk’s voice is sweet like honey and just as smooth; soothing like a warm cup of tea.
“Yeah,” he nods, allowing Jeongguk to guide him into the room. Jeongguk locks it twice behind them (the latch on the top and the one on the doorknob), and throws his keycard on the countertop of the kitchenette.
“Couch or bed?”
“Couch,” Taehyung replies. “Clothes are dirty.”
Jeongguk smiles fondly, all love and stars and bunny teeth. “You know you can always borrow mine.” The younger brushes a strand of Taehyung’s hair, blonde and slightly coarse from bleaching, behind his ear. Taehyung huffs out a laugh that ends up shifting Jeongguk’s hair, so he reciprocates and brushes it away.
He really loves Jeongguk’s hair right now; long and black, a little choppy. It emphasizes his jaw, his eyes, his newest piercings. Jeongguk would say it makes him look sexier, and less cute. Taehyung would agree with sexier, but nothing could ever take away Jeongguk’s cuteness. It’s not just the fans that relish in his duality.
“You’re so quiet today,” Jeongguk observes when they’re on the couch, thigh to thigh. He notices everything when it comes to Taehyung, sometimes without so much as their eyes meeting. Taheyung isn’t sure how to respond, his thoughts drowned out by the sound of rain that continues to pour even harder. He focuses on the contact of his body against Jeongguk’s, afraid that if he detaches himself he will sink and sink and be swept away with the rain. A strong arm tightens around his shoulder, and foreign voices from the television drown out the rhythm of water beating against floor-to-ceiling windows shielded behind curtains. Layers upon layers that work to hide him and Jeongguk from the world.
“Is it the rain?” It’s not really a question, because Jeongguk knows. He always does. Taehyung hadn’t used to be as quiet as he sometimes gets now, but the man beside him never questioned it, never did anything other than adjust to what Taehyung needed. Because of Jeongguk’s silence, Taehyung was always there, too. They’re each other's interpreter, guardian, friend, vice. “Food, shower, or sleep?” Jeongguk offers the choice like an open hand.
He thinks for a moment. “Shower,” Taehyung replies.
Jeongguk smiles, squeezes Taehyung’s shoulder, takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom; large with a steam shower that looks nothing short of heavenly. “I’ll go grab you some clothes and a towel. Be right back.”
Taehyung smiles to no one but himself, fidgeting with the shower handle to figure out how it turns on and which way is hot and which is cold. Why does every hotel have a different shower handle?
Stripped bare and stood under the hot water, steam already forming, he has little reaction when Jeongguk returns and strips his own clothes off, stepping into the shower with him. It’s not their first time showering together, it certainly isn’t the last.
They rinse the airport off their skin, and even though Taehyung is bare and vulnerable before the other, Jeongguk’s eyes only stay on Taehyung’s face. Two pairs of eyes flicker to two pairs of lips, the sound of pouring water no longer outside a thick paned window but pounding on tile and skin.
Taehyung wishes he could lean in; wonders what Jeongguk’s lips feel like, what he tastes like. He thinks about it a little too often, lately. He wishes he could figure out something to say that would convey the storm curling in his stomach, the thunder that echoes in his chest and the lightning strikes jolting from his brain through his spine.
“‘Guk,” Taehyung begins, before Jeongguk cuts him off with a soft smile; one without teeth, but no less endearing, no less loving, no less happy. Content.
“Shh,” he hushes the older, “You don’t need to talk, Tae,” he says Taehyung’s name like he wishes he could say something else.
And god if Taehyung’s heart doesn’t skip when he hears that. And god if his stomach doesn’t sink when he realizes he can’t kiss Jeongguk in lieu of words, can’t turn ‘I love you’ into ‘I love you.’
When they’re out of the water, having patted each other dry with their fluffy hotel towels, Taehyung presses his lips to where Jeongguk’s shoulder meets his neck; soft, fleeting, barely there. Still, he smells the hotel body wash and tastes the freshly clean, starkly soft skin. He doesn’t need to see Jeongguk to know he’s smiling, but when Taehyung picks up his head to meet the other’s eyes he is met once again with the sweetest smile, only it doesn’t quite reach Jeongguk’s eyes.
Taehyung wonders if that simple kiss is enough of an ‘I love you.’ The longer he looks at Jeongguk the more unsure he is.
There’s a flicker there, in the darkness of his irises. It’s a flicker they both see on one another, one Taehyung knows all too well. No matter the happiness with each other, no matter the softness of the kiss (that’s never on the lips) or the sweetness of the smile, there’s the twisting of their stomach that comes with the harsh reality of the world they live in.
They don’t dwell on it–they can’t.
So, instead, Jeongguk helps Taehyung into a loose-fitting black t-shirt. It’s unscented, because Jeongguk has never liked the overpowering smell of fabric softeners, but somehow it still smells like him. Taehyung combs his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, organizing the strands so they dry in the right direction. They get each other ready for bed, comb through each other’s hair, and end up in the sheets together, a laptop resting half on Jeongguk’s thigh and half on Taehyung’s.
One of their favorite shows is playing in the background, and despite the purposeful space between them, Taehyung’s head ends up on Jeongguk’s shoulder and his fingers end up intertwined with Jeongguk’s, too.
When Taehyung’s eyes flutter with sleep, struggling to stay awake, Jeongguk runs his fingers through his hyung’s hair where it meets the nape of his neck the way he knows calms Taehyung down.
Taehyung is nearly knocked out when he hears a whisper from above; “Goodnight, jagiya,” it’s warm like a surprise and cold like a realization.
Taehyung falls asleep.
It’s by instinct that he wakes up a few hours later, tangled in Jeongguk’s strong arms. He traces Jeongguk’s tattoos, not worried about waking the other up when he sleeps like a rock. He plays with Jeongguk’s long fingers, picking them up and letting them fall against his skin with a thump.
It’s time, he knows.
He slips out of the sheets, pulling away from Jeongguk’s warmth with a sad smile. The other looks so cute when asleep, lips slightly parted, crinkles at the corners of his big eyes. Taehyung fumbles for his own phone, clicking it on to check the time. 4:23am.
With a sigh, he gets himself moving, gathering his clothes, jacket, bag, and hotel room keycard. If he kisses the top of Jeongguk’s head before he sneaks out, then that’s a secret for only him to keep. He smiles, because no one else can see Jeongguk like this.
A frown follows quickly, mood plummeting, because not even he can–should–see Jeongguk like this. It’s the reason for the sneaking around, for the whispers, for the barely held boundaries between friends and bandmates and something else.
The hotel room door, heavy and cold, slips shut behind him and he allows himself to breathe, in and out for just a second. Jeongguk will have to wake for his schedule early, as they usually do, so he can’t waste anymore time in walking down the hall and finding his own suite.
It’s empty and dark and lonely. The bed is cold and uncomfortable regardless of the undoubtedly expensive mattress and blankets. The room has an air of wrong.
Because nothing feels quite right when Jeongguk isn’t there. He tosses and turns, blankets crumpling around him. He knows he has to wake up not long after Jeongguk, follow him to his car and the photoshoot and the live recording he will be watching in secret from backstage.
Everything is always a secret.
Clutching the pillow, he wishes he could spill his guts to the world–to Jeongguk.
How can he tell the boy he met before debut, the man he knows now, that he would do anything for him? How can he lean in and hug one of his best friends and say ‘I would give it all up for you, for us’?
He can’t. He knows. Of course he knows.
That’s why music speaks for him, why his album is filled with words he could never say to Jeongguk’s face.
It’s still raining. Rainy days, I think about you; Jeongguk who, in the other room, soundly asleep, will wake up without Taehyung in the bed beside him. Jeongguk will heave his heavy disappointed sigh and bite his lip, he’ll look at Taehyung the next time they meet with big sad doe-eyes even though he knows.
What to say?
What to say, when nothing will ever be enough, when saying anything risks their futures, their careers, their relationship.
Wish I could find a way, right back to you.
Taehyung will always return to Jeongguk, and maybe that’s the worst part. The time lost in their distance, kept for their own sanity through fear and desire and desperation, the days waiting for Jeongguk to call him, for his phone to ring and for him to pick up and hear those pretty words leave the maknae’s lips. Let me make up for all the time we lost. He’s trying to–but the time lost can’t be made up, certainly not in the way either of them want.
It hurts to be together, to hug and have to pull apart after just a few seconds, but it hurts even more to be apart.
Jeongguk, who claps as he laughs at Taehyung's jokes, who smiles like the sun shining through clouds made of grey.
Of course, there was a moment, when they were still barely adults, that they never thought about these things. They weren’t international stars, they weren’t monitored daily and stalked and analyzed the way they are now. There was a moment when, naively, they pressed their lips together and stayed attached in bed through the whole night, where they woke up together in the early morning. Despite the heartache that comes with the memories, there’s not a shred of regret.
Can we go back to that moment again?
His music speaks a language only he and one other person knows. It says, I can feel your touch, I remember your kiss, and even with the fallout that came with their naive love, their hope of never getting caught, of being free, I miss you.
He remembers when Jeongguk first heard Rainy Days. Taehyung had sent him the audio file, their schedules too mis-matched to meet in a studio for it.
He remembers getting a text that night.
It sounds beautiful. (You’re beautiful.)
I’ll always think of you when it rains. (Find your way back to me, always.)
Thank you, Taehyungie-hyung. (I miss you, too.)
Taehyung wakes up in his hotel bed to a ringing alarm at 6:00am, getting dressed, brushing his hair, washing his face, brushing his teeth, and texting his manager, and then Jeongguk, that he will meet them in the lobby.
Jeongguk is waiting for him there. He’s in an oversized black jacket, half zipped up over a baggy t-shirt with the graphic obscured. His hair seemed to dry well, despite laying down while it was still damp. The bangs are sideswept, hair in the back resting at the bottom of his neck. Taehyung wants to run his fingers through it.
He doesn’t, and they are ushered into a car together and shipped off to Jeongguk’s first schedule.
Jeongguk gets his hair and makeup done.
“So handsome,” Taehyung tells him, a little teasingly, and the makeup artists and managers who hear will write it off as their close-relationship, their honest dynamic. Jeongguk knows what Taehyung really means. Jeongguk is always handsome.
The photoshoot goes by, Taehyung enjoying watching Jeongguk change outfits and pose like a natural; sexy and smug on camera and soft and giggly when he rushes off and squishes Taehyung’s face between his palms.
“Are you excited, Tae?” He asks. And with how excited Jeongguk is, a smile painted wide across his face, how could Taehyung not be?
They spend some time in a dance studio, practicing for a secret cameo Taehyung will have at one of Jeongguk’s performances. He watches Jeongguk dance to Seven, and after admiring for a little too long, Taehyung joins him.
Jeongguk makes pointers, passes off lingering touches as corrections to the choreography. Taehyung knows. Jeongguk gets feedback from a visiting choreographer, and a part of Taehyung wants to point out that Jeongguk is more skilled than the choreographer is, but he keeps his lips sealed until he and Jeongguk have enough distance between themselves and their management for Taehyung to whisper into the younger’s ears, arm draped around his shoulder.
“The dance looks so good.” You look so good. “Don’t even need to practice.”
Ever the perfectionist, Jeongguk huffs out something akin to a laugh. “Of course I need to practice, hyung.”
Taehyung just pinches his cheek and smiles.
Their final stop for today’s schedule is the live recording. It’s a select group of fans, most of them high-profile or relatively rich foreigners, and a few B-list international celebrities. Mostly, its camera crews and sound techs and news magazines, websites, blogs. Things that will be screaming Jeongguk’s name for days, weeks. Cameras that will capture his face in high-quality and upload every angle of his face to Youtube, Twitter, and anywhere else it can reach.
The cameras are in Jeongguk’s face before the music even starts, readjusting his earpiece and his mic, the one Taehyung had helped to tuck the wire away. Taehyung is the one to cheer Jeongguk on from the wings, the one to hand him his water faster than the managers can; but the cameras are the one who get to see the way Jeongguk’s eyes sparkle on stage, the way the sweat drips down his forehead and matts his hair against his head. Taehyung is privy to so much, yet he still seems to fall behind. Against his will, he finds himself questioning his importance in Jeongguk’s life.
Of course, they’re BTS first. He was the one to coax a baby-faced Jeongguk out of his shell, to brush his hair and tell him that his best is good enough. He held his hand and held him at night and sang (read: serenaded) to him.
But he’s still in the wings now. He’s not in the front row, center stage, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes as he sings something Taehyung was the first to hear.
His eyes still never leave Jeongguk. Taehyung’s eyes follow every roll of his hips, every dance step, every time he flicks his bangs from his eyes. No one else catches the quick glance Jeongguk sends him when Seven is over. No one else knows that after this, Taehyung will wipe the makeup off Jeongguk’s face. Taehyung will rinse the salty scent of sweat off of Jeongguk’s skin. He will fall asleep to the feeling of Jeongguk’s breath against his face.
Taehyung wishes he could have more, but he knows he’s selfish. Greedy. Because the crowd can see Jeongguk sweat, they can see him cry, they can obsess over his body. But Taehyung is the one who buries his face in Jeongguk’s shoulder regardless of the sweat, Taehyung is the one who wipes his tears, Taehyung is the one who gets to lay his head on Jeongguk’s bare chest, who gets to trace his tattoos.
When Jeongguk finally leaves the stage, smiling the huge smile he only wears when performing.
Taehyung can’t keep it to himself when Jeongguk approaches him. “You were perfect.”
If possible, Jeongguk beams larger, and takes Taehyung into his arms.
There are people bustling around them, eyes and lenses always watching. Taehyung wriggles from the maknae’s grasp, pushing him away with a whine. “Ew, ‘Gukkie you’re all gross! Get off’a me!”
Jeongguk laughs and ruffles Taehyung’s hair before obeying, retreating to clean up and change.
Taehyung heads to the couch in the corner to wait, taking out his phone and checking his notifications.
Jiminie
— Tete! How’s your trip with Kook-ah?
— Are you getting me a souvenir?
Taehyung
Kook finished his performance a bit ago. —
Getting ready to leave. —
I think there’s two days left in the trip. —
No souvenirs. Buy ur own. —
Jiminie
— So mean :/ is this how you talk to your hyung?
— You're nicer to Jeonggukie than you are to me!
Taehyung
Ur barely my hyung. —
And Gukkie is way nicer than u —
Jiminie
—🖕🖕🖕
— Guess I don’t need to worry if Gukkie is taking care of you.
— Be careful Taehyungie
— Love u <3
Taehyung
Love u too —
“Be careful, Taehyungie.” The meaning goes unsaid, implicit in the conversation, in the way Jimin has seen his two dongsaengs look at each other.
Taehyung scrolls through the dwindling texts from the group chat with other members, the times between text messages growing steadily as solo schedules increase and preparations for mandatory service continue. He tries not to think about it, runs a hand through his hair, messy and blonde and pretty. He clicks his phone off, shoves it in his pocket and forgets about it until Jeongguk strolls back in sporting a comfy-looking black Balenciaga hoodie, and baggy sweatpants that clash where they meetwith his chunky boots. (Taehyung hates those boots. Hates how Jeongguk is noticeably taller than him. Fuck those boots, seriously.)
Taehyung stands to meet the other in the middle of the room. Jeongguk hands Taehyung his bag, somehow finding it before Taehyung had. He takes it with a grateful smile.
“I have a surprise for you, Taehyungie.” He doesn’t add an honorific, and the low, rumbly tone of his tired post-performance voice sends a shiver down Taehyung’s spine.
“A surprise?” Taehyung tilts his head. “What is it?”
“Well, if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
They exchange laughs like their souls are in sync, and it feels like there is no weight on his shoulders, no pressure to be perfect; like he is just Taehyung and the man before him is just Jeongguk. He wishes it could stay this way, but he knows better.
The younger doesn’t say anything more, just takes Taehyung’s hand and drags him back to their car, windows tinted, hiding them away from the world. Obscuring their hands that intertwine and rest on the middle seat.
Jeongguk leans towards Taehyung, who meets him in the middle. He flinches when Jeongguk’s hand touches his face, warm and rough and strong against his cheek. Still gentle, because it’s Jeongguk, and Jeongguk could never be anything but gentle.
“That sweater looks really good on you,” he murmurs like this, the compliment, is the surprise. “Your hair is so pretty, Tae. Have I told you how much I love the blonde?”
Taehyung’s cheeks heat up. Jeongguk has complimented him before, of course, he always does. This feels different, somehow. Like the storm in his stomach has begun to grow, to travel, his heart being the eye of the storm.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Five minutes away, Jeongguk-ssi,” the driver says, and snaps them back to reality.
The sun is about to dip below the horizon when the car stops.
“Where are we going, ‘Guk?”
Jeongguk beams. “I got us a reservation,” he takes Taehyung’s hand in his own once more, squeezes; once, twice. “Just us.”
“Just us?” He repeats.
“Just us,” Jeongguk confirms. “The staff are going to eat in a different room. We have a private one.”
Taehyung’s heart stutters in his chest, and the look in Jeongguk’s eyes, the grin he wears–it’s almost nauseating. Taehyung has the same look in his eyes, he knows.
They look at each other and it says a thousand silent words that all mean the same thing. Because it’s not the words that matter, not anymore. It’s in action, it’s in facial expressions, it’s in music, it’s in everything they do for each other every day. So, even if they want to say it, they don’t need to.
(And if somehow, later, a video of Taehyung pulling Jeongguk towards the door and away from the car goes viral and trends #taekook on twitter, he can’t find it in himself to care. Whatever people think they know, it will never be the full picture.)
They stay in the restaurant for a little over two hours. Jeongguk orders for him, and they get a bottle of expensive French wine, and another bottle to take back to the hotel. Any silence present is never uncomfortable, and rather than scolding him, Jeongguk looks at him fondly when Taehyung takes too-big bites and chews too loudly. At one point, Taehyung leans across the table to wipe sauce from the corner of Jeongguk’s smile, and he relishes in the fact that he can touch Jeongguk like this freely, and that he can indulge in the rosy blush that dances across Jeongguk’s bunny-cheeks.
“You’re cute.”
“How many glasses have you had?” Jeongguk teases.
Taehyung pouts. “Two.”
Jeongguk looks like he’s resisting the urge to coo at him, or maybe he’s resisting the same urge as Taehyung; to lean over the table and press their lips together, wine on their breath. Jeongguk knows Taehyung is a lightweight, so he listens when Jeongguk tells him to drink the last glass slowly, because “we have a whole bottle for our hotel room.” Taehyung tries not to linger on our.
Our Our Our.
Jeongguk speaks up again when their plates are empty and their glasses drained, bill paid.
“We should probably head out.”
We We We.
There’s only so long they could stay here. It seems that Taehyung is getting reminded over and over again today that this is not their reality.
“Okay,” he says, instead of what he wants to say, which is more of a discontented whine of complaint than anything resembling words.
Jeongguk keeps smiling that stupid fond smile and guides Taehyung back to the car, bodyguards and managers immediately flanking them. The air is cold and thick, still heavy with moisture from the rain. The smell sticks in Taehyung’s nose until he is seated in the car, watching the lines pass by on the concrete below once again.
This time, Jeongguk sits a little closer. Taehyung can feel his body heat, radiating off of him like light from the sun, warming him in the slight chill. Even though there’s still distance between them, when their eyes meet, Taehyung’s never felt closer.
Their hotel room is the exact same as Taehyung remembers when he snuck out through the dark last night, though the wrinkles in the comforter on the king-sized bed are a reminder of the bodies that had lied beneath it.
Jeongguk locks the door behind them the same way he did the night before, though this time he presses Taehyung into the room with a little more urgency.
He places their bags on the floor and the bottle of wine on the countertop. Shoes slip off their feet and they slip further into the dark room until they’re smooshed together on a couch that could probably fit the whole band.
No words are exchanged, it's just Jeongguk opening his arms and pulling Taehyung in like a magnet, intertwining their legs and burying his face in his neck, fitting perfectly against each other. The silence is heavy, for a while, but never tense. When they’ve finally laid still long enough for the day to pass over them, Jeongguk strokes up and down Taehyung’s back.
“You tired?” Taehyung rasps in the other’s ear, too tired for someone who didn’t do much other than follow Jeongguk around today.
“Hm. A little.” A gentle hand brushes Taehyung’s hair behind his ear, soft touch to match a soft smile.
“How ‘bout a movie and that bottle of wine?” Taehyung rolls over with a mischievous laugh that is cut off with a muffled yawn.
Jeongguk doesn’t reply, just sits up and turns the TV on while Taehyung gets up and grabs the wine, moving towards Jeongguk with a frown pulling at his lips, nearly a pout. “We don’t have any glasses, Jeonggukkie,” he whines, placing the bottle on the table and startling to catch it when it wobbles.
The younger man stifles a laugh. There’s no way this suite didn’t have glasses. Hell, they’re probably made of crystal or handblown glass from the twelfth century or something. Big brown eyes meet his, and they both know they already fucked up, so it’s no suprise that Jeongguk says, “let’s just drink from the bottle.”
Taehyung’s mischievous grin returns, twice as wide.
Of course, he makes Jeongguk open the bottle, not that the younger minds; he would never hesitate to do anything for Taehyung.
The TV flickers in the background like an aurora, but Taehyung’s focus is solely on Jeongguk–everything around him is a blur. He watches Jeongguk’s throat bob as he swallows down one last sip (more of a swig) of wine. The bottle moves, but Taehyung is focused on the wet shine of wine remaining on the maknae’s lips.
“Tae,” Jeongguk rouses him, shaking the bottle a little with a raise of his eyebrow.
Gulping, Taehyung takes the bottle and sips (really sips), having to tilt his head as the bottle empties itself. Maybe he’s not sipping, because the bottle feels lighter and Jeongguk is pulling it from his hands with that damn smile again.
This is torture.
Jeongguk places the near-empty bottle back on the table, and sits back to pull Taehyung into his side.
This is bliss.
“I think it’s empty, Tae.”
For some reason, Taehyung doesn’t care that he’s lying. Jeongguk is always so warm.
“You’re so warm.” It falls out before Taehyung can catch it with the filter he’s tried so hard to build up over the years, but the wine makes him warm and fuzzy and Jeongguk is warm and fuzzy so nothing else matters.
“You’re so cute,” Jeongguk says for the umpteenth time that day. His voice and face are unreadable to Taehyung and he suddenly feels so out of place. He can always read Jeongguk, and right now he can’t.
“Jeongguk-ah,” he looks up at him through his eyelashes, craning his neck a little to fully see the other man.
Wordlessly, Jeongguk pulls Taehyung fully into his lap so they’re facing each other, nearly forehead to forehead and exchanging wine-flavored breaths. “Yeah?”
“I…” he stops himself quickly. “Kook-ah,” he tries again. Jeongguk presses a finger to his lips with a smile that shows the dimple on his left cheek.
“I know.” Jeongguk presses their foreheads together, eyes still meeting despite the angle.
“Do you-”
“I do.”
Taehyung exhales softly, feeling lighter.
“Can we-”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk interrupts, replying like he knows exactly what Taehyung was asking for. And of course, he does.
They go through the steps of their nightly routine again, showering, slipping on some clean clothes, brushing their teeth, clamoring to the middle of the giant bed, and laughing the whole way.
Unlike last night when they were in bed together, Taehyung has nothing that makes him scared. It’s the slight woozy buzz in his mind leaving him vulnerable to his own whims, to the kind of decisions one makes with the heart and not the brain. Taehyung doesn’t feel like doing much thinking.
“Jeonggukie,” he curls closer, legs tangled, chests pressed together, arms thrown over one another; they’ve already crossed every invisible line there is, so he figures, what’s one more?
“Taehyungie-hyung,” the younger one says and it tells Taehyung that Jeongguk doesn’t mind as much anymore either.
“You’re so pretty, ‘Gukkie,” he cups Jeongguk’s cheeks and brushes his thumbs across his cheekbones, feeling the skin heat beneath his palms. “So cute, so handsome.”
“Taehyung-ah!” Jeongguk is taken aback, flustered, and maybe a bit embarrassed.
“So pretty,” he kisses Jeongguk’s cheek as he pulls away his hands that creep down to (inconspicuously) rest on his biceps.
“Tae, stop,” he almost laughs but he’s not completely joking. Taehyung backs up to make eye contact, backing up with a guilty flush on his face.
“Sorry.”
Jeongguk sighs, “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry Jeonggukkie,” Taehyung sits up, eyebrows knotted. “I just,” he bites his lip. “I’m so tired of this!” He doesn’t need to specify, the exasperation is a familiar presence to both of them.
Taehyung can feel himself pouting, and can feel Jeongguk’s hesitation.
“I know,” he starts, but Taehyung cuts him off with a huff.
“You always say you ‘know.’ I don’t know if you do, because it wouldn’t be so easy for you–”
“It is not easy for me, Tae.” Jeongguk grabs Taehyung’s hand and intertwines their fingers. “God, you know I… You know it’s not easy for me,” he breathes out the mounting tension and focuses on Taehyung instead.
“It’s so frustrating, Jeonggukkie,” Taehyung rants, loose-lipped, “the only thing harder than telling you I love you was not being able to do it.”
Jeongguk stares.
“Please, let me tell you?”
“Okay, hyung.”
Taehyung puts a hand back on Jeongguk’s warm, round cheeks; cute, no matter how much he insists he isn’t.
“I love you, Jeongguk,” the burden of secrets has been somewhat lifted. He looks at Jeongguk, waiting for something, anything.
He doesn’t expect the other to grab his chin and tilt him into a kiss, holding the back of his head and playing with his hair in a manner that felt way too intimate. Still, Taehyung leans into it, places a hand on Jeongguk’s chest and one on his shoulder.
They kiss softly; at some point just enjoying the feeling of each other’s lips touching, kissing to kiss and ignoring the intention.
Taehyung falls asleep not thinking about tomorrow, not thinking about being an idol, not thinking about V; but taking in the feeling of Jeongguk on his lips. Sweet and addictive.
His dreams that night are sweet and lovely and entirely fake, absent of the only three words taehyung is as scared as he is desperate to hear.