remember me? 

Sometimes they meet at the prime of their lives, and Taehyung loves these the most, when they  have the longest time to spend in each other’s presence, love like the slow gentle ripple of a brook, water over rock, the soft caress of sea breeze on a flushed cheek. They take these times slow, a lazy lover’s dance, moving apart, and falling together again, two ends of a red string that may tangle, but will never break. Once, Seokjin had not loved him yet, and Taehyung had relished the confused gaze, the curious glance. It was exciting, new — and yet, it was routine. The same melody all over again. Seokjin did not remember, but Taehyung did. 

The very first time, Seokjin had been a redhead. That bright copper coloured hair would ripple in the breeze, a flag, a warning. That time, Seokjin had not loved him back. Those bow-shaped lips, those almond eyes, they were not for him. They would meet eyes, and Seokjin would look away, his visage merely another unfamiliar face in the crowd. But Seokjin was never an unfamiliar face to Taehyung, no. In a room full of people, Taehyung would always look for those eyes. Always. 

And then Seokjin would be a brunette, soft locks falling over his eyes, crescents that held the world in their irises. They held his world, his entire meaning of existence. Without Seokjin, Taehyung would cease to exist, cease to have meaning. In these ones, he would love him back. Taehyung, with a snug black collar around his neck, a shiny little bone-shaped tag that read “V”. Taehyung, upright ears alert and swivelling as the front door opened with the jingling of keys. When he had worked at the shelter so many sunsets ago, he’d learnt that when dogs looked at their owners, they produced an emotion not unlike that of the human emotion of love. Taehyung understood this down to the very nerves and bones of his furry , canine body. No matter the physical entity, that feeling would be the same. 

Taehyung had stopped guessing if the colour of Seokjin’s hair really did hold any significance at all. Because in lives where Seokjin was a stone in the ground, shiny gold words proclaiming him a ‘beloved’, or a black and white picture surrounded by chrysanthemum, Taehyung would love him regardless. It had hurt, to know that he had been a step (or a few more) late. And he would wander the earth, tune under his breath, the leaves changing, the ground white, red and then brown, till he met him again. 

// 

Blues, reds, lilacs. Taehyung always loved flowers. Especially loved giving them. He only really gave them to one person, really. One person over centuries and continents, space and time mere concepts relative to the way his lips curled into that small smile, the way his lashes would fan out when he closed his eyes. Taehyung held the blue blossoms between his fingers, yellow rings in the centre like the setting sun on the endless horizon, a coral in the deep blue sea. 

“Forget-Me-Nots,” he murmured. 

He dusted off his slacks, ruffled his deep chocolate hair, and continued on his way. 

Unbeknownst to him, an apron clad figure was seated on a high stool inside the florists’, observing the peculiar stranger at his outdoor display clad in the most strange clothes. And yet, he could not look away, not from the slope of his nose or his ring-adorned fingers, fingers which held the petals so delicately, as if they would crumble under his touch. 

Behind the counter strewn with baby’s breath, daisies and pruning equipment, the figure smiled, eyes into crescents and lips into the most delicate bow. 

“See you again, Kim Taehyung.” 

Sometimes, Seokjin remembered him too.