When Jeongguk was younger, he had the habit of picking at the skin on his left thumb whenever he was scared or nervous. When Jeongguk was younger, his left thumb was always raw and bleeding, the new layers that were trying to form peeled away before they could hide the red underneath. 

Yoongi had stopped that habit when he - against all of Namjoon’s initial protests - handed Jeongguk a gun and told him to shoot. 

Jeongguk had ended up trading one comfort for another and, for a while, it worked. He worked out his frustration, his sense of insufficiency and fear, with a gun in his hand and, finally, he had felt some semblance of control over his life. For a while, everything was okay. 

That is, until now. 

It’s been two days since Taehyung disappeared. Two days since Taehyung left and didn’t return.

Jimin keeps telling Jeongguk that it’s not his fault but the guilt ripping away at Jeongguk’s insides has him believing otherwise. 

Everyone has been on the lookout, but they haven’t been able to reach out to their usual contacts since Taehyung is supposed to be dead. 

He may actually be dead, a nasty little voice in Jeongguk’s head whispers, and Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, a wave of nausea overwhelming him. The image of Taehyung - beautiful Taehyung, lying in a dark alley, throat slit, body peppered with bullet holes, eyes staring off into the distance, cold and unseeing - manifests from the darkness.

The frustration and anger of being completely helpless - absolutely and utterly useless - kills Jeongguk. The uncertainty, the inability to contribute, the knowledge that he’s the reason Taehyung is gone… He can’t focus during his missions, can’t bring himself to eat, can’t sleep at night.

Every time he tries to close his eyes, the image of Taehyung’s thin frame, crumpled on the floor - broken, reaching out to him, imploring, begging - burns into the blackness, stings at his eyes and stabs at his heart until he can’t breathe.

If I could only go back in time… Take back what I said… Forget what I felt… 

Pulled the trigger…

Jeongguk immediately regrets thinking it, but it digs its claws into his mind, its vice-like grip piercing his thoughts, and refuses to let go. It’s wrong. It’s selfish and cruel and so incredibly wrong - but Jeongguk wishes for it anyway because anything would be better than what he’s feeling right now. 

If he could only stop feeling…

Jeongguk’s feet are moving before his mind has a chance to react, his body responding before his brain can, as usual. 

The sun is setting outside, streaking the sky with an inky violet, the hollow moon glowing weakly. It’s getting dark but Jeongguk doesn’t care. His gun is tucked safely in his waistband and his left thumb is bleeding again, his mind registering the familiar stinging with a sinking resignation. 

The streets under his shoes slowly darken, stained with danger and some unidentified substance. The air turns a bit thicker, more difficult to breathe in, sticking to the inside of his lungs. A dim streetlight flickers pathetically as a small creature scurries out of his path and into an alleyway. 

The few people littering the streets glare at him as he passes - they know he’s not from around here - but Jeongguk sets his jaw and silently dares anyone to stop him. The courage burning in his gut gives way as easily as the skin on his finger to his nails, but he’s good enough at faking his bravado that no one approaches him. 

The road opens up to reveal a large parking lot, two or three rusted and worn-down cars parked between the fading lines of once-white paint on the asphalt. An abandoned warehouse, large enough to fit a few hundred people, stands across the lot, its frame poking out in places where its veneer has decomposed, empty and crumbling and exhausted. 

Jeongguk strides forward, somehow remembering the way. The floor underneath his feet is not entirely foreign, but he’s never been here alone. The jeering starts to become audible as he makes his way down the stairs, muffled shouts and hoots and raucous laughs ringing in his ears as the soles of his shoes thud against the metal steps. A loud banging sound, then a dull thud. Suddenly, the crowd erupts in noise with a renewed fervor. 

There are many fight clubs in the city - everyone likes to bleed the same - all underground, all hotspots of illegal activity, but Jeongguk chooses this one for no particular reason. He doesn’t like to make a fuss when picking his own poison. 

The heavy, metal door resists just barely as Jeongguk shoves it open, immediately assaulted by an onslaught of yells and screams and the clang of a loud gong. Unfamiliar faces flicker in and out of focus as the low-hanging lights buzz faintly overhead, inaudible over the unruly mob shoving forward to get closer to the arena at the center of the underground room. 

There’s a bright light hanging directly over the square ring, spotlighting the two figures inside, staggering toward each other, both breathing heavily and glistening with exertion. One of them has a bloodied nose, cuts littering his face, his jaw angled unnaturally. He has a slight limp as he circles the ring and a strange wheezing noise rattles out of his misshapen mouth every time he breathes. The other seems fine other than the ring of black surround his left eye. 

There’s no referee, no judge. There are no rules except that anything goes. 

The fight ends when someone can’t get back up. Or when they never get back up. 

The man with the bruised eye suddenly feints to the left, his opponent reacting expectedly, and he lashes out with his right, catching the bleeding man across the cheek. The crowd roars in anticipation, surging closer as the man lets out a pained grunt, his head snapping to the side and his feet stumbling underneath him. 

Two more quick punches straight to the face, knocking the man back a few feet each time, a stiff jab to the gut that leaves him doubled over, and one more to the head and the man crumbles to the floor, eyes rolling back in their sockets. The crowd goes wild, some cheering, some cursing. Someone drags the limp body out of the ring. Money changes hands, drinks are poured, some scuffles break out amongst the mob, quickly broken up. The atmosphere simmers as the excitement of the last fight slowly dies, the buzzing intensity fading to a low hum.

Jeongguk watches all of this in grim silence, blood pounding loudly in his ears, drowning out any sense of logic or any inking of rational thought. The visceral adrenaline that thrums throughout the crowded space is animalistic, infectious.

The victor raises both arms above his head, his thick muscles rippling with the movement, lips parting to reveal a set of yellowed, mostly-missing teeth. His left eye is swollen now and his right wrist is flecked by blood, knuckles split and raw. A large, heavyset, and well-muscled man with a closely-shaven head and overgrown stubble, his chest heaves as he glares into the crowd, a maniacal grin cracking, lopsided, across his face. Bloodlust glints in his eyes. 

“WHO’S NEXT?”

The crowd fidgets in anticipation. There are no volunteers.

“WELL? WHO’S BRAVE ENOUGH TO TAKE ME ON?”

There are a few nervous titters. The man standing next to Jeongguk barks out a quiet laugh and mutters to his friend beside him, “More like who’s stupid enough to take him on… He’s been undefeated for the past seven months.”

“COME ON!” he roars, “THERE MUST BE SOMEONE OUT THERE WHO DARES TO CHALLENGE ME!”

“I do.” 

The words slip past Jeongguk’s lips before he can stop himself and, suddenly, he’s stepping forward, the crowd jostling to part before him, quiet whispers and murmurs rumbling through the throngs of faceless spectators. Recognition sparks in a few people within the mob and his name flickers through the crowd as he strides forward, hushed incredulity washing through the room. Jeongguk’s mind is numb, his chin jutted out in what he hopes to be taken as defiance. 

A smirk dances across the man’s lips as and his eyes slit, locking onto the figure of Jeongguk walking through the crowd. His stance turns predatory. “Ah, my next sacrifice,” the man chuckles lowly, vocal chords grating like rough gravel. 

This is stupid, dangerous. Every fiber of Jeongguk’s being is telling him to turn around, but the anger and guilt fester in his heart like venom and force him to put one foot in front of the other. Taehyung’s name lingers on his tongue - he can almost feel the syllables rolling through his lips - and when he closes his eyes, he can still see Taehyung’s look of utter betrayal, shattered beyond repair. 

This is so stupid, so dangerous, and if Namjoon knew what he was doing, he’d probably shoot him on the spot, but he can’t bring himself to feel even more guilty because his brain is about to short-circuit from sheer frustration, the bitter remorse seemingly blackening his lungs, burning in his heart, ripping through his veins. Belatedly, Jeongguk realizes that he’s not actually breathing and he forces himself to take in a shallow gasp of air. 

If he could only stop feeling for one goddamn second…

Jeongguk is greeted with a terrifying grin as he steps into the ring, ducking under the rope separating the the fighters from the crowd. 

The light is much too bright against the pitch-black backdrop and Jeongguk has to squint in order to see his opponent properly. Jeongguk’s heart sinks slightly when he realizes he’s even bigger up close. Uglier, too. His bruised eye looks worse from this distance and his smile is absolutely gruesome, more empty space than rotting teeth. 

“So you think you can take me on, little boy?” The man growls threateningly.  The crowd chuckles in the background, shifting and watching the two figures intently.

The charged air seems to stick to his skin, adrenaline setting his nerves on fire. There’s a buzzing in Jeongguk’s ears and, as he strips off his shirt and throws it behind him, some remote corner of his brain realizes that he doesn’t actually know how to box. He hasn’t trained in hand-to-hand combat in years. 

“No guns allowed,” someone from the crowd calls out, and for a split second, Jeongguk falters. His glock is still tucked safely into his waistband - always is - but he’s come too far to back out now. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the fear that stabs through his body, Jeongguk leaves the gun at the corner of the ring, just out of reach.

The victor leers at him, eyes narrowed nastily, “I can’t wait to up your pretty, little face.”

Jeongguk swallows down the bile accumulating in his throat and forces himself to smile coyly. “You think I’m pretty?”

The grin melts off the man’s face and he snarls, “You won’t be when I’m done with you.”

Jeongguk’s brain scrambles to remember how to fight as they touch fists, his opponent’s menacing growl rattling through his joints as they pull back into their respective corners. Keep your distance, protect your face, focus on accuracy… He’s stronger but you’re faster. Stay out of the way long enough for him to tire and you may have a chance.

Suddenly, the gong sounds, reverberating through the room, and Jeongguk’s instincts kick in. The man charges forward right away, but Jeongguk expects it, knows that he’s being underestimated. Quickly darting out of the way, Jeongguk takes the time to notice that the man’s movements have gotten sloppier, careless. His opponent thinks this is going to be an easy win but Jeongguk knows how to put up a fight. 

As Jeongguk continues dodging hits, his problems start to melt from his mind - his only concern is staying alive. Sidestepping a wide punch, Jeongguk manages to land the first hit of the match, his knuckles connecting with the side of the man’s face - the side with the black eye. The crowd screams and the atmosphere thickens as the man stumbles back, shaking his head and blinking rapidly. Pain blooms through his stiffened fingers but a sick sense of satisfaction burns through Jeongguk’s veins when he sees the red staining his knuckles and, for a moment, he let’s himself get caught up in the excitement, the carnal bloodlust, the erse gratification that only violence can offer. Something grossly animal and savage rears its head in Jeongguk and his vision tints red. 

The man turns to look at Jeongguk as if seeing him in a different light, and Jeongguk watches as his eyes narrow. Be careful, Jeongguk reminds himself, pulling himself back from the rush of depraved pleasure, warily keeping his distance, you’ve lost the advantage of his underestimation.

They circle each other carefully, each waiting for the other to make a mistake, a small misstep. The giddiness of his small success is fading away now and Jeongguk is left feeling even more strung out, fists clenched so hard his hands are shaking. 

All of a sudden, the man is directly in front of him, right hand flashing toward his face. Jeongguk stumbles back, left hand coming up to protect himself, but he’s not quick enough and the hit lands with a sickening crunch, leaving Jeongguk dazed with spots dancing wildly in his vision. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head, but his opponent refuses to let him catch his breath. 

Jeongguk gasps as the man jams his left fist into his gut, all of the air rushing out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. He staggers backward, arms held up in a weak attempt to block his face, but it does little good as the man knocks him in the face again. He’s bleeding - he can taste the blood on his split lips - and something in his lower abdomen throbs unnaturally, sends spikes of pain shooting through his body. 

A faint hint of panic flutters through the back of Jeongguk’s mind, screaming at him, What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? But Jeongguk blinks rapidly, the crowd roaring around him fading to a dull murmur, and the feeling disappears. 

In fact, suddenly, he can’t feel anything. 

Finally, there is nothing except the blood rushing in his veins, nothing except the man in front of him, nothing except staying alive. Or not.

A strained chuckle pushes its way past Jeongguk’s lips, a choked sound of amusement, and his opponent pauses, confused. The look on his face is so absurd that Jeongguk starts to giggle. 

“What are you laughing at?”

This whole situation is so ludicrous - Jeongguk can’t remember the last time he was in a fist-fight, doesn’t actually remember how he got here, why he came here. Some barely-conscious part of his mind struggles to remember why he was so upset earlier but he only draws blanks.

Before he knows it, he’s throwing his head back and full-on laughing, cackling maniacally, even though there is absolutely nothing funny about the situation. Even though everything hurts, even though everything got all ed up, even though he can’t feel anything. 

Especially because he can’t feel anything.

Doubt and outrage battle for dominance across the man’s face for a few seconds, and the latter eventually wins. 

Jeongguk doesn’t even bother defending himself as his opponent advances, resigning himself to the pain. The blows rain on his body like accusations, each punch landing like a gavel hitting a desk - the judgement is death, but he can’t remember why he’s guilty. His body aches but his mind is blissfully blank, and the pain is a welcome reprieve from whatever he was feeling before.

This is something that he is good at. The agony is familiar, something he is so well-accustomed to feeling that it almost seems normal. 

One particularly hard punch causes him to lose his balance and he drops to his hands and knees, chest heaving, blood spattering onto the floor. He’s in the middle of realizing that he might actually die when a kick to his ribs leaves him curled on the floor, gasping and wheezing for air. 

The room seems to swim in front of Jeongguk’s eyes and he sees a pair of feet approaching him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jeongguk waits for the worst.

I’m so sorry.

Suddenly, sounds of shock ripple through the crowd around Jeongguk. Cracking his eyes barely open, he sees a small figure standing between him and his opponent, dressed in all black, face hidden in the shadows of a hood.

Jeongguk notices that the man is holding his right hand in the air, body tense and just barely shaking. For a moment, Jeongguk is confused. Then, he sees his gun - his glock - in the newcomer’s hand, cocked and ready to shoot, an unspoken threat.

He rises to protest, weakly struggling to lift his head, and his savior turns around at the noise. 

The last thing Jeongguk sees before blacking out is Taehyung’s look of utter betrayal, shattered beyond repair.

-----

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thing Jeongguk is aware of as he slowly fades back into consciousness.

His muscles immediately tense, and although his body screams in protest, Jeongguk opens his eyes, bleary and dazed, quickly scanning his surroundings out of habit. 

When he realizes that he’s back at home, he allows himself to relax. The smell of Seokjin’s pancakes wafts through the air - breakfast is being made. Then a crash - Namjoon is trying to help. Back in the comfort and safety of home. 

Last night comes to him in bits and pieces - the shouting, the suffocating air, the pain, the adrenaline, the fighting, the stranger. His head aches with the effort of trying to remember. 

A voice jars him out of his effort.

“Awake now, are you?”

Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat, recognizing the voice. Taehyung. He looks around and finally notices him sitting in the corner of the room, lurking in the shadows. A rush of emotions flood through him, almost as painful as last night, and a wave of nausea rises in Jeongguk.

He manages to whisper out a weak, “Taehyung…,” his tongue dry and his mouth still tasting of blood. 

Jeongguk struggles to sit up, but a wave of crippling pain rolls over him and he nearly passes out again. 

“Stay down,” Taehyung’s quiet voice says.

“Taehyu-“

“Shut up.” Taehyung cuts him off, his voice tight. “Shut up, Jeon Jeongguk. I swear to whatever gods exist in this -hole of a universe, if you say another word I’m going to punch you myself.”

Jeongguk lays back, staring up at the ceiling, quiet.

“I’m gone for two days…” Taehyung’s voice is barely audible, “Two ing days, Jeongguk. It’s been two ing days and I come back to find you throwing your life away in an underground fight club! Underground fighting…” Taehyung gets up and starts pacing the room.

“Are you ing kidding me?”

Jeongguk closes his eyes. 

“When was the last time you stepped into an underground fighting ring? When was the last time you practiced hand-to-hand combat? How could you not tell anyone where you were going? How could you even go there, step into that ring? Do you realize that you could have gotten yourself killed?” Taehyung’s voice cracks with anger. 

“And you want to know what’s even worse?”

Jeongguk opens his eyes, silent.

“… you stopped fighting back.”

Jeongguk turns to look at Taehyung and he’s met with a terrible look of mingled fury and fear. It’s terrifying because he’s never seen Taehyung look so mad but he even bring himself to feel sorry, can’t feel anything except overwhelming relief because Taehyung is okay. 

Taehyung is okay.

“You know how to fight, Jeongguk. You could have fought back. You know how to defend yourself…”

Taehyung stares at Jeongguk sadly, his voice defeated, “So why didn’t you?”

Jeongguk holds Taehyung’s gaze for a few seconds before looking away, unable to meet Taehyung’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you fight back? Why did you give up?”

Jeongguk is silent.

“WHY?” Taehyung roars, and Jeongguk finally brings himself to look at Taehyung again. They’re suddenly much closer than before, Taehyung standing right next to the bed, brows knitted in anger and confusion, eyes unreadable. Up close, Jeongguk notices, Taehyung looks exhausted, drained.

“Why..." Taehyung whispers.

The anger appears to have passed, and Taehyung sighs, shoulders slumping. He seems to wilt and Jeongguk’s heart aches. 

“I ran into Jimin on my way back,” Taehyung explains quietly. “He was the one who told me you might be there, said he had a feeling. He didn’t want to tell anyone else because they’d be upset. And he said he couldn’t come himself, wouldn’t say why either, just begged me to go.” 

Jeongguk feels a sharp stab of shame, knowing why, guilt crawling up his throat. Images of Jimin’s tiny frame scrambling to escape an angry hulking mass trapped inside ropes and a seething crowd flashes through Jeongguk’s mind, and he forces them down.

“So I came as fast as I could. And that’s when I found you on the floor. There was so much…” Taehyung’s voice wavers and breaks off. “There was so much blood, Jeongguk…” he whispers. “I thought I was too late… You were just lying there and I wanted to help but I don’t know how to fight and there was nothing I could do but you were just lying there. And when I saw your gun, I didn’t even think, didn’t even breathe. I just… I just-“

Jeongguk notices that Taehyung is still holding the gun, fingers gripped so tightly his knuckles are white. 

Gently, Jeongguk reaches out toward the gun and Taehyung flinches. Jeongguk pauses for a second, gives Taehyung a reassuring look, and closes the distance in between, carefully pulling Taehyung’s fingers away from the trigger. When he tucks the glock behind him, out of sight, Taehyung visibly relaxes, his fingers still trembling slightly. 

“I was so scared, Jeongguk…” Taehyung buries his face in his hands, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jeongguk wants to reach out and hold Taehyung’s hand, wants to tell him that everything is okay and that he’s sorry and that everything will be okay - but something stops him and he lets it. 

Finally, Taehyung gives a weak laugh. “You idiot, Jeon Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk lowers his head, ashamed, “I know…”

“And I’m a ing idiot,” Taehyung shakes his head, angry at himself for being so emotional, so useless.

Jeongguk immediately protests, “You’re not.”

“I leave for two days and-“

“Don’t.” Jeongguk’s mouth is moving before he can think.

“What?” Taehyung snaps, anger and frustration crackling in his voice. 

“Don’t,” Jeongguk finds himself whispering. “Don’t leave.” The fear edges in without his permission, piercing through him suddenly and without warning. Before he can stop himself, he’s squeezing his eyes shut, trying to fight off the overwhelming emotions. “Please don’t leave.”

Taehyung’s anger melts a little. 

“Jeongguk, I was only gone for two days,” Taehyung says gently.

“N-No,” Jeongguk stammers quietly, reaching out to grab Taehyung’s wrist. He can hear the hint of panic in his voice and he resents it with every inch of his being. “You… You don’t understand.”

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung protests, tugging his wrist gently out of Jeongguk’s grip.

“No,” Jeongguk mumbles weakly, his voice struggling to keep steady. “You can’t leave me. Please."

Taehyung is silent, taking a good look at Jeongguk, really looking at him. Looking at the terror in his eyes. The years of emotional neglect and psychological abuse. The fear of being left alone, abandoned. 

It suddenly strikes him that this is the first time Jeongguk has shown him any sort of vulnerability, any sign of weakness despite how strong he tries to seem.

It leaves Taehyung feeling somewhat breathless, and in the end, he can only manage to whisper a simple, “Okay.”

Slowly, he moves himself onto the bed so that he can lay himself down next to Jeongguk, Jeongguk moving to make room for him. Taehyung tucks himself into his body, maneuvering himself so that his head can rest in the dip where Jeongguk’s arm meets his body and he can curl into his side. Jeongguk complies numbly, lets him do this without a word, but Taehyung can feel the way Jeongguk’s arm tightens protectively around him.

After a few moments, Taehyung mumbles into Jeongguk’s side, “I can’t live for you, Jeongguk. And you shouldn’t be living for anyone else either, you know?”

But Jeongguk is already asleep, quiet breaths puffing out of his lips, arms tightened around the body at his side. 

-----

The muted sound of waves crashes in rhythm with the low thud of their heartbeats, the slow rise and fall of their chests. The sky is smeared with the hazy colors of sunset, thin, wispy clouds lacing the horizon. The air tastes of salt and hazy dreams that catch in your lungs and take up home in your chest. 

The wooden planks of the boardwalk are hard under Jeongguk thighs, his feet dangling over the edge. Taehyung’s head is in his lap, hoodie pulled low over his face, shrouded in shadow. 

Somewhere from the dark, Taehyung’s breathes out, “Tell me something about yourself, Jeongguk”.

Jeongguk leans back, resting his weight in his palms, and tilts his head toward the pastel sky. He doesn’t quite know what to say. 

What is there to say? 

Taehyung reads his silence as reservation but waits a little longer. He knows to be patient.

“Well…” Jeongguk hums quietly, “I was born in Busan on September fir-“

Taehyung cuts him off with a dry laugh, “I know all of that already. I meant tell me something that I wouldn’t be able to find on your data files. You told me I don’t know you. So tell me something I don’t know.”

Jeongguk frowns, “But I don’t know anything about you.”

Taehyung cracks open one eye to look at Jeongguk, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously, “That’s because I’m a mystery.”

Jeongguk laughs reluctantly, “And I’m an open book?”

Taehyung shrugs noncommittally, not giving an answer. 

“Okay, mystery man,” Jeongguk sighs resignedly, decides to play along, “if you tell me something about yourself that no one else knows, I’ll tell you something about me.”

Taehyung sits up, looking at Jeongguk accusingly, “I asked first!”

Jeongguk shrugs, as if saying take it or leave it.

After a few seconds of an intense stare-off, Taehyung relents. 

He huffs, “Fine,” and takes takes a moment to think.

He looks down at his hands laying in his lap, tugging on a piece of fraying string. Finally, he says, “When I was younger, I used to play the saxophone.”

Jeongguk can barely contain his surprise when he says, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods, “I was pretty good, too, I’ll have you know.”

“Was?”

Taehyung waves his hand through the air ambiguously. “You know…” He fails to elaborate. 

Jeongguk asks softly, “What happened?”

A shadow crosses Taehyung’s face. “I sold it after my parents died so I could get by.”

“Oh… “ Jeongguk winces, “I’m sorry.” 

The words sound hollow in the silence of the waves thrumming against the shore, their hearts pounding in their chests.

Taehyung continues to pick at the fraying thread. Guilt eats away at him but he ignores it. The thread gives way and the fabric begins to unravel, thinning out a patch and revealing the skin underneath. 

“That was a lie,” Taehyung mutters. 

Jeongguk breathes. 

“Oh.”

Taehyung sits on the edge of indecision, fingers still tugging at the thread, wishing it would go away but instead making it worse. Words try to pry their way out of his mouth, his heart tight and lungs dry, his muscles itching to run away and never look back. 

Always trying to run away.

The hole widens. 

“It was the anniversary of my parents’ death three days ago,” Taehyung says slowly.

Somewhere in the far off distance, a seagull cries out. His fingers don’t stop pulling. 

“I went to visit their graves like I do every year. Bring them flowers. Pay my respects.”

Jeongguk tilts his head back, raises it to the sky, lets the faded sunlight kiss his face. The smell of sea salt tingles in his nose. Taehyung’s fingers frantically tug at the string until the whole is wide enough to fit his entire finger through. 

“They died in a car accident.”

The wood is rough under Jeongguk’s hands as he leans back against his arms, fingers pressing into the aged planks. It’s a gorgeous sunset, golden and glowing with warmth, a calm breeze sifting through the misty air, tugging away all the worries in the world. 

Taehyung finally stops pulling at the thread. He stares at the damage, feeling empty. 

“That was a lie.” 

Jeongguk nods even though Taehyung can’t see him and he thinks about all the things he wishes he could say. 

“Want to hear something no one else knows about me, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asks, his voice tinted with bitterness.

Jeongguk turns to look at him but Taehyung is looking straight down into his lap, fingers knotted tightly, knuckles straining white.

“I couldn’t bring myself to visit their graves,” Taehyung whispers, shaking his head slightly, “I never can. I tell myself every year I’ll go, but I can never bring myself to take the first step into the cemetery.” His voice weakens, “I always end up standing outside, right outside that ing gate, flowers wilting in my hands… hating myself for being a coward.”

Jeongguk’s heart tugs with an unspoken emotion, and he reaches out to wrap his arms around Taehyung. Taehyung lets himself be folded into Jeongguk’s strength, cheeks stained wet with the ocean mist and uncried tears. 

“You’re not a coward,” Jeongguk says. 

Taehyung is silent, keeping his eyes trained on his hands in his lap, unable to move. Jeongguk pulls away and holds Taehyung by the shoulders, but Taehyung refuses to meet his eye. 

“Look at me, Taehyung… Look at me.”

Jeongguk gently lifts Taehyung’s chin so that their eyes meet. He’s about to say something but suddenly, Jeongguk can barely breathe because Taehyung is so breathtakingly beautiful and his mind goes blank. 

Something raw and tender hangs in the air between them, and Jeongguk swears he might be dying because this is what heaven must look like. He feels like he’s drowning in the unreadable depths of Taehyung’s eyes but he lets himself fall instead of trying to swim. 

Taehyung is silent for a few moments, letting the sound of the waves and their hearts fill the gaps in between. 

Then, he closes his eyes, steels his nerves, and leans forward, closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against Jeongguk’s, fingers coming up to caress his face.

Fireworks explode in Jeongguk’s gut, a euphoric joy tingling throughout his fingers and toes, and he can’t help but kiss back, leaning into Taehyung and pulling his body closer. He can taste Taehyung on his lips, can smell Taehyung in the air, can feel the warmth of his body so close to his. He can barely breathe, his chest is so tight, and he definitely is drowning now, can feel himself sinking deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, Taehyung pulls away and Jeongguk feels like he has been yanked out of the water, disoriented and drunk on excitement. He looks to Taehyung for an explanation but Taehyung’s eyes also seem fuzzy, unfocused. An exhilarated buzz thrums through Jeongguk's veins and he can’t seem to keep the smile from tugging at his lips. 

For a second, both of them try to catch their breath. 

Taehyung’s fingers are still pressed against Jeongguk’s face, trailing the curve of his jaw longingly. Jeongguk leans into his touch. 

“My parents didn’t die in a car accident,” Taehyung mumbles. It’s not the full truth but it’s not a lie either. Jeongguk nods and doesn’t press any further. Taehyung doesn’t elaborate. 

Instead, they sit there, Taehyung pulled in close to Jeongguk’s body, both of them staring into each other’s eyes, the seagulls crying from afar, the waves thudding against the sand, their hearts pounding in their chests. The sun dips a little lower in the sky and the edges of their world being to darken bit by bit. 

When Jeongguk stares out at the shimmering horizon, he thinks to himself that he may be falling in love with the boy wrapped up in his arms. The boy who can’t tell him the truth, but can’t lie to him either.