*

 

PART THREE

 

*

 

I remember the day we first met. You attacked me with your overflowing knowledge of cinema, and I was instantly hooked. On what, you might ask? On your voice, the deep timbre of it, the roughness of your lingering satori that cut at the edges, the twinkle in your eye as you smiled, the casualness of your gestures, hands shoved deep into your pockets, your shoulders doing most of the work if anything. I did not know back then, but realization crept up on me quite quickly. I cannot imagine how you saw me that day, but I hope I left enough of myself for you to remember that moment, at least.

 

*

 

Jungkook first gets summoned to Taehyung’s house one afternoon in February. The streets are bleak, the ashen sky looming down over the city with fatigue, but the slowly melting snow that lingers on the concrete softens the blow for Jungkook, slowly crackling beneath his feet. Taehyung’s house is big, built in traditional Korean style, and Jungkook recalls how Jimin had told him once that Taehyung’s family had their hand at ‘something in politics’. Though he tries to remember, Jungkook has to re-ask his friend for direction to the lavatory, having gotten lost in all the nooks and crannies and corridors of the house about two minutes after taking off his shoes. The house is silent – Taehyung had informed him before coming that they would have the place to themselves; something which had been a huge draw for Jungkook, for he was not good at small talk with anyone, let alone adults, let alone the parents of his friends. He enjoys the soft shuffle his fluffy white slippers make against the wooden floors as he navigates his way back to Taehyung’s room.

 

When he opens the bedroom door Taehyung is still sitting on the bed, waiting for him. Al Pacino frowns back at them from at the screen, a plate of fruit Taehyung had made appear from the fridge earlier that evening standing still untouched on the coffee table. Jungkook feels a little uncomfortable about touching anything in this house; as if he were stuck in a museum and accidentally dropping anything would surely mean Very Bad Consequences.

 

‘Hey,’ smiles the other boy, patting the space next to him, ‘sit down, there’s still two more films after this.’

 

‘What? Aren’t those three hours long?’ Jungkook asks, startled.

 

‘Well… yeah. Aren’t you sleeping over?’ the other boy notes, as if this were self-evident. Jungkook feels his cheeks heat up. He doesn’t know why, but he likes how Taehyung has already claimed his presence for the evening; likes how it takes away his otherwise apparent insecurity of ‘do they like me?’ Staying for longer is definitely something Jungkook wants, but he wouldn’t have dared to ask.

 

‘I’d have to call my mum,’ he tells the older.

 

The only answer he gets is a shrug and a lazy smile before a phone is into his hands. Jungkook pretends not to feel the way his heartbeat speeds up as Taehyung slings an arm around his shoulders, how the blood in his veins feels hot, and how there is ticklish excitement in his stomach. Though not unpleasant, they’re all signs of something he doesn’t quite understand, and he fears the answer of his unspoken question is not one he wants to hear.

 

*

 

More moments would come. Moments I hope you remember, and others I wish I could erase from your mind forever. I know I have hurt you. It’s something I will have to live with every day. To ask you only to remember the good things would be selfish as well as impossible. Sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I wonder how our lives would have turned out if only I had been a little different. Then I wonder how I would have turned out if my life would have been a little different. I go back and back and back, until my mind has been running in circles for hours. Yet I know that I wouldn’t want to change anything for the world; because breaking that chain would mean that I would never reach you, and that in itself would make life useless for me. I loved you, and I’m sorry, not that you ended up choosing me, but that we couldn’t make it work – for which I suppose I hold the heavy burden.

 

*

 

Yoongi wakes up at five in the morning. He doesn’t quite wake up; he doesn’t throw the blanket off his feet, doesn’t slap his face awake with a splash of cold water, but rather blinks twice and finds himself in between that state of asleep and on this earth, the surroundings of his bedroom more grey and dark blue hues than anything else. He finds the shape of Jung Hoseok in the distance. As his arm grazes against the other side of the bed, Yoongi finds that the heat that was there has gone missing. The other doesn’t see him, he knows, as he watches the tan man shrug off his boots and his jacket.

 

He sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist.

 

‘Hoseok,’ he calls, voice raspy. It catches the other’s attention, who snaps around instantly. Yoongi can’t quite make out his partner’s face in the dark, but he can feel Hoseok’s hesitation. It becomes apparent instantly: like a string bow being tightened, much too taut, until almost it snaps.

 

Yoongi knows what this means, and he despises it. It’s a conversation he doesn’t want to be having, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s this, or it’s a life without Hoseok. He doesn’t want to ponder on the latter just yet, but a small fear in the back of his mind screeches that one day, he might. One day, perhaps sooner than later.

 

‘Did I wake you?’ the other whispers finally, nonchalantly, as if Yoongi has just to his side lazily, as if he’ll simply shut his eyes again and go back to whatever dreams he may have had – as if it’s all that simple.

 

Yoongi feels his hands tighten their grip on the covers, knuckles almost becoming white with frustration. He can’t really think through the anger of past conversations and disappointment of his own belief and trust clouding his mind. He doesn’t quite stand in that moment but watches almost as if from above, as if he were another person entirely, only looking in, completely separated from the rage that engulfs his body.

 

He watches Hoseok as the other stands in clumsy uncertainty, waiting to take off his pants and slip back into the bed – as he would have done unnoticed had it not been for Yoongi’s pause of slumber.

 

‘You know I’m a deep sleeper.’

 

It’s not just a statement; it’s an accusation.

 

‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’

 

Hoseok’s jaw tightens. The other doesn’t say a thing, the silence stretching out between the two of them until it feels suffocating. He watches the other’s black pupils dart around nervously, left to right.  Yoongi knows this is hard for him, too. Much harder than he can imagine, probably, because he knows the other would never mean to hurt him. But intentions never matter much in life, he knows, and he wants to scream. What about me?

 

‘Yoongi…’

 

‘Where is it?’ he asks, slipping out of bed now, not even noticing the cold that hits his feet right as they touch the ground – not even caring to put on his spectacles as he moves around the foggy blurriness towards the figure of Hoseok.

 

Though two arms come to embrace him, to prevent him from reaching what they both know he wants to find, Yoongi still manages to fish the plastic bag out of the pocket of Hoseok’s vest before the other can block his way. Something in the pit of his stomach drops even though it feels like there is fire coursing through his veins, blood pumping in his ear. All he wants is to chug the thing out of the window, set it on fire; anything big and grand and filled with outrage. Instead, he looks the other in the eye and holds the bag over their head. Hoseok’s gaze follows. Yoongi watches as the other man swallows thickly, switching his attention from the bag to Yoongi’s gaze for what appears to be every milisecond.

 

‘Get rid of it.’ Yoongi orders.

 

The silence that follows cuts like a knife. Yoongi can feel Hoseok’s falter; can see the way his pupils fidget uncontrollably, never quite meeting his gaze, yet unable to escape it. Something inside Yoongi breaks. It breaks, even though they’ve been in this situation a thousand times, still it breaks though his common sense tells him that in this decision there’s more of Hoseok’s addiction rather than lack of love, but what use is that? It still hurts.

 

The sound the bag makes as it’s flung onto the ground is not nearly as loud as Yoongi has wanted it to be. He doesn’t know what to do. The entire earth would move if he could make it, but the truth is that he’s as powerless as the man he loves; so Yoongi simply stands in his bedroom, letting himself be engulfed by the silence.

 

One step forward. An arm, rushing upwards. Yoongi pushes the other back.

 

‘Don’t even ing try it.’ He warns.

 

Hoseok’s sienna browns are filled with regret. It pains Yoongi to see the ache on his lover’s face, but the anger of having been put in this situation overpowers it. He balls his fists. This time, he won’t give in. The other man’s pupils aren’t blown; that, Yoongi can tell at least.

 

Hoseok’s lips are shaped like a heart, rose-tinted from the heat running through them. Yoongi loves the dimple on the left side of his face that appears whenever he smiles a little cheekily. He watches as the other opens, then closes his mouth, before letting out a soft sigh. There are lines underneath his eyes, Yoongi notices now. Hoseok’s words are so soft he can barely hear them; can barely believe hearing them.

 

‘I’ll flush it.’

 

Yoongi can feel his heartbeat, somewhere deep inside his chest, speed up.

 

‘What?’

 

‘I’ll flush it. I’ll get rid of it.’

 

It’s like the pointer of a stationary clock has been put into motion again. The first drop of rain has made way for an entire rainstorm. Yoongi can feel a tightness leave his chest, though worry still remains in his mind. This is not at all the end, he knows. But he allows himself this victory at least. He must; he doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t.

 

‘Okay,’ he nods, slowly. He barely feels the heat of Hoseok’s hand as the plastic bag is lifted out of his palm, though his fingers clutch on automatically.

 

The other is already halfway to the bathroom when Yoongi manages a slow but stable ‘I’ll come with you’. The look that Hoseok shoots over his shoulder is something between shame, frustration and something else Yoongi can’t read. Yet after a moment, he nods, the sure gaze in his eyes telling Yoongi he understands. Yoongi curls his fingers around Hoseok’s empty ones, and together they move forward.

 

*

 

The tree that stands outside of the Kim’s bathroom window is immense – its bark thick and mighty, rooted deeply into the ground for over tens of years, while its branches stretch out over the road elegantly, like the flattened lines of a ballerina’s arms, hiding passers-by in its embracing shadows. The moss-green leaves rustle loudly in the dark, ridding themselves of the dew that has collected there under the light of the moon, a quiet rustle spinning through the street as they do so. Jungkook’s hands feel cold from the water that streams out of the tap; he doesn’t quite know how to work the stylish designer-device that has been installed in the Kim bathroom.

 

Gazing out of the window like this, listening quietly to the voices of people – an exclamation here, laughter there – he remembers weekends in the forest at the edge of town, where his uncle used to take him. He realizes he must’ve been no older than six, yet memories of the softened green moss, curling underneath his fingers as he reached into the earth with his hands, brute force of childhood, still linger in his mind as if the feelings were something he felt just yesterday. Worms would wriggle up from the charcoal earth underneath, merciless to Jungkook’s curiosity and piercing grip. His uncle seemed to know everything, back then. The names of every type of tree in the forest; the latin for lady bug (coccinellidae) and how to locate the north just in case they got lost. Jungkook used to love those outings with all of his heart. He doesn’t remember seeing his uncle after the age of twelve-ish, when the older suddenly vanished from the family; no mentioning him, no meeting him no more. He knows that he isn’t supposed to know why, and that when he asks he will be reprimanded, so he doesn’t. Yet every now and then, Jungkook wonders.

 

‘Whatchu doing?’ comes the voice of Taehyung from behind.

 

Jungkook spins around.

 

‘How did you get in here?’ he demands, startled by the sudden intrusion.

 

‘You left the door open and were taking a long time,’ comes the answer.

 

‘Oh.’

 

‘Shouldn’t do that, you know.’

 

‘I know. I don’t… I forgot.’

 

The other boy actually laughs at him, and Jungkook admits he probably looks a fool. Taehyung’s laugh is wide and bright, all teeth showing and eyes forming half moons on his tanned face. Something deep inside of Jungkook’s chest glows happy yet uncomfortably, hot and heavy.

 

‘Idiot.’

 

‘The view from your house is so pretty. You can see the Han river so well.’ Jungkook notes, gesturing towards the view he had been admiring before.

 

‘Really?’ the other boy shrugs. ‘Hadn’t noticed it.’

 

‘Stand here.’ Jungkook tells him, motioning for Taehyung to come and stand in his position. The other boy follows, the younger’s hands on his shoulders guiding him. After a moment, Taehyung twists around again.

 

‘Whatever,’ he shrugs, already pulling Jungkook out of the bathroom by his hand, ‘I think you’re prettier.’

 

The other laughs. It’s a joke. Jungkook laughs too, even as he wills his heart to calm down, prays to the heavens for his palms not to get sweaty. Because there is nothing to get nervous about in the way that Taehyung’s fingers are entangled with his.

 

*

 

They reach the second half of The Godfather II when Taehyung announces they need a midnight-snack break. Jungkook isn’t going to say no. He tiptoes around the Kim kitchen after Taehyung, enjoying the smooth slide of his Iron Man socks against the wooden floor. The smell of ramyun fills the air, spicy and artificial, a pungent whiff of kimchi reaching Jungkook’s nose.

 

‘D’you have eggs? Add eggs,’ he demands, feeling freer now that the other has ensured him there will be no parents coming home tonight. They have the house to themselves; the freedom of this knowledge fills Jungkook with a peculiar kind of excitement. All these empty rooms, hidden nooks and crannies that he’s free to explore, an abyss he could shout into if he wanted so, laughter he can let out without caution. The usual tension in his shoulders is gone. Barrier’s down.

 

Taehyung adds eggs and a shell or two.

 

‘What are you doing!’ Jungkook laughs, rushing towards the counter to save their ramyun from destruction.

 

‘T’was a mistake!’ Taehyung argues vehemently, fingers fishing out the shell just in time before bubbles come to take the strings of ramyun away under a sea of kimchi broth. ‘Ouch!’ he curses, ‘ing hot!’

 

‘The water’s boiling, idiot.’ Jungkook teases, laughing at the other’s expense this time.

 

‘Don’t insult me in my own house. Leave right now.’

 

‘Okay, I’ll go and sleep in the streets.’

 

‘Sounds good. Goodbye.’

 

As Jungkook fake-makes to leave, Taehyung throws a nonchalant ‘goodbye!’ at his back. The younger does a turn somewhere between the hall and the doorway into the kitchen, hastening back to the ramyun. His stomach growles at the sight of the food, and the neon green numbers on the fridge read 1:38 already. He has cram school tomorrow. Today. Yet Jungkook doesn’t care – he’d rather sleep through cram school than close his eyes anytime soon, for as long Taehyung is around he wants to stretch out every moment for as long as he possible can – like tightening the arrow of a bow, until almost it snaps.

 

‘You try it,’ the tanned boy tells Jungkook, handing him a pair of chopsticks.

 

The noodles are hot and the spiciness stings nicely against his lips, bits of kimchi tasting sour and sweet. Diving in further, Jungkook gulfs down another bite, egg mixing in with the broth, addicted to the greasiness and carbohydrates.

 

‘Hey,’ Taehyung calls, loud enough to catch his attention. Jungkook turns around as the last string of ramyun slips between his lips, chopsticks still in his hands, to find Taehyung leaning against one of the huge American refrigerator’s doors. There’s a small, bright green bottle in his hands and a Cheshire grin on his face. Jungkook has definitely come to know that look – and what it means. His hands still instantly. He looks up at the other boy.

 

‘Is that… okay?’ he fumbles.

 

‘Don’t worry, my parents won’t find out. Really.’ Taehyung ensures Jungkook.

 

The small, moss-green bottle blinks back at Jungkook in the light of the kitchen. He’s never drunk before. Jungkook dreads what the taste will be like, but he is curious, too. More than that, it seems like Taehyung has drunk before and is inviting him to join now, a cocky eyebrow raised. Jungkook has never been one to back out of a challenge.

 

‘I’ve never drunk before.’ He admits, deciding to be honest.

 

‘Do you want to try?’

 

Jungkook knows he should really say no. Knows that, on any other night, with any other other, he would’ve. After all, he isn’t even in high school – let alone an adult. Yet there is something that hangs in the air that night, a thrill running through his veins, prickling underneath his skin, which sparks his curiosity and pushes him forward, over the edge.

 

‘Think I can’t out-drink your scrawny ?’ he demands.

 

Taehyung laughs. ‘Wanna bet?’

 

*

 

Do you remember that night in February? I do. If you do, too, I’m certain you won’t have any trouble remembering. Though we never spoke of it afterwards, I felt that then had been the start of something new, but inevitably the end of something we had already built. I had dreaded that one ending, but the excitement of going further, the hope that I had cherished, had made me charge ahead into the dark wide open. If you ask me now whether I’d change anything, I’m not quite sure what I would say. You understand that, I’m sure you do. Because you’ve always understood me, much better than I understand myself.

 

*