Chapter Text
Fourteen
☐☐
Taehyung tries to spend his first anniversary without Jeongguk - because he still holds on to that anniversary, the now-triple anniversary of their dating and proposal and the disaster that came after, even now that he is alone - back home. Back in the country, where he’d always promised to visit, but never managed to go quite often enough. Where he can have his parents and grandma and dog and home-cooked food to distract him from inevitably painful thoughts.
But when Taehyung steps off the train and onto the platform, everything is unfamiliar.
He looks around, confused. There are cold grey counters and distant posters and people milling about, and he cannot recognise any of it. Everything looks rain-soaked and washed out, colors faded and corners chipped, walls and doors in all the wrong places. He blinks, and frowns. Nothing looks quite like the childhood home he remembers, always so sun-drenched and yellow. But then again it has been years since he last visited in person, and anything could have happened. Anything can always happen.
It takes one minute, a large signboard and two street maps for Taehyung to realise that he is, actually, completely and utterly lost beyond belief.
He almost laughs, but can’t quite bring himself to. He's tired, and it’s hard to laugh in a town like this - where everything looks just a little too stagnant, a little too worn out and forgotten. So instead he fishes out his phone, send a text of apology to his family, and makes a call.
“Yoongi,” he says into the receiver, when the line is picked up on the second ring. “I’m lost.”
(Taehyung doesn’t know when it was that Yoongi became the number he first calls, even though he still only has home and Gukkie saved in his speed dial. Somehow, in the undertow of Jeongguk's absence, at some point in time between the first day he woke up in the hospital and now, Yoongi has become a strange pillar of support. A quiet, sort of bent kind of pillar, who answers calls in the dead of night and gives him high quality neck pillows and reminds him to keep his windows closed at night, and actually listens - really listens and doesn’t talk - when Taehyung just needs someone to.)
“How the fuck?” Comes the reply. He sounds sleepy, but sober. “How lost are we talking?”
“Like, I took the trains in the opposite direction lost.”
Yoongi pauses. “Trains? Plural?”
“I was tired, okay,” insists Taehyung. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s never been good with schedules and directions and making sense of maps, and it has been nothing short of a luck-fueled miracle that he hasn’t already done something like this in his more-than-two decades of existence. “It looked like the right way.”
“Fucking idiot,” Yoongi says. He’s laughing, a bit, and Taehyung pouts even though Yoongi cannot see him. “Do you know how to get back?”
“Uh,” says Taehyung. “I think so? I just have to take everything backwards, right?”
“Taehyung, I’m pretty fucking sure it’s harder than that.” Yoongi says, with an exasperated snort. “Ask the staff, or something. You have to check for the best timings. And when the last train is, too. It’s late. And if you get stranded in some shady hooker district, you bet your sorry ass I’m not driving over to get you.”
“Okay,” says Taehyung, solemnly. “I’ll ask. But if I end up kidnapped, you’d better pay my ransom.”
“No promises,” replies Yoongi. “Jimin’s been getting on my case for spending too much lately.”
“Fuck you,” laughs Taehyung, and ends the call.
Then he reads more signboards, and searches on his phone, and talks to five different people and one stray dog. And soon he realises that, as Yoongi forewarned, the last train won’t get him where he needs to go before the next one stops operating. Because of all the trains, plural, he took in the wrong way. Taehyung frowns. He considers for a moment if he should just get on a train, anyway, and try his luck with late-night hitchhiking. But then again, trying his luck was what got him lost in the first place. Luck never seems to work right when he mosts needs it to.
Adjusting his grip on his luggage, Taehyung walks out of the platform, and starts asking around for where to find a cheap motel room instead.
-
From morning to night, Jeongguk repeats to himself that it is just another ordinary day. That, even though his heart jumps whenever he sees the month and date in neat tangible print on the edge of the online newspaper, and his fingers gravitate to key in a phone number and hover over the call button again and again and again, and a part of him wants so desperately to take the four trains back to a place he must never go back to, as if returning will make the memories hurt any less (what a fucking joke) it is still just an ordinary day.
It doesn’t work, and by nightfall Jeongguk has had four meltdowns and three flashbacks, and kind of wants to nuke himself off the planet.
Presently his watch reads 11.08pm , and Jeongguk grimaces. He looks from his computer screen, to the darkening sky outside the window. It’s getting late, and his eyes are beginning to feel heavy on top of hurting, and he is running out of mechanical work to distract himself with. But he cannot afford to sleep, not on this night of all nights, when he already knows he will get nightmares, and he’s running low on sleeping pills, anyway. He is running out of money, too, so a bar is equally out of question. But he is feeling a strange panic mounting, and his work is running out, and he cannot stay in his flat anymore. It is too stuffy and too cold, and sick with the smell of his own vomit, and Jeongguk needs to get out.
So he grabs a jacket, and does just that.
The night air is cold outside his door, wind strong and air still wet from the earlier rain. Jeongguk shivers, and walks. He snakes down empty streets, always choosing the dimmest-lit alleyways, the ones that never contain people, in the direction of he-really-doesn’t-know-or-care. The town is quiet, as it always is. Dark and still and dull, silent except for a rare distant bird call. A cat runs somewhere, ducking past a wall, and Jeongguk watches its tail disappear in a diffused patch of blackness. Black cat to match his bad luck. Jeongguk almost smiles. The night air is cold, and he feels a little bit okay, just a little, for the first time since waking up in the morning.
He counts bricks as he walks, in the walls and in the floor. Then twigs, and graffiti words, and bricks again. Anything to distract himself, to stop thinking. He wishes he had enough to get alcohol but he doesn’t, so he counts whatever he can and tries to match words together by sound and does not think back to that night, a year ago, does not see Taehyung’s long wet lashes bright in the street light, the tangle of green in his bangs, the angle of his lips stretched into a smile. Does not feel the cold ring in his palm, silver and gold and speckled with blood, a few dark drops still wet against his skin. Does not remember the glass and the tires and Taehyung’s mouth going oh, a million times backward and forward in slow-motion in his mind. It’s getting hard to breathe again. He counts the bricks.
Jeongguk is on the twenty-third, after losing count somewhere long before, when he takes a turn into a more open street and all of a sudden a sharp gust of wind cuts across his body, and an open newspaper page - a full-sized spread-open one - hits him flat in the face.
Startled, Jeongguk stumbles a half-step back, then reaches up to pull it off. The paper flaps uncooperatively in the wind, and it is a while before he holds it away with both hands. Squinting in the faint light, he sees that it is a copy of the night paper. There is some headline about a boat, and ocean waters, but he doesn’t get to read it. Because there is the quick sound of footsteps, loud in the night, a faint call of apology, and Jeongguk realises a moment slow that someone else is somewhere near.
And then the footsteps are right before him, and an unseen hand is grabbing the newspaper page by the middle, and Jeongguk lets go on instinct. Then the headline about the boat shrinks and folds away, out of his vision, and Jeongguk comes face to face with a ghost.
Standing before him, different but the same, is Kim Taehyung.
Taehyung, Kim Taehyung. Hair a light brown with the roots growing out, wind-swept and tangled in the front. Eyes widening and lips lightly parted in shock. And it can’t be him, he can’t be here, but he is. He is.
The first thing that hits Jeongguk is that Taehyung is alive, he is alive and standing on his own two feet before him, thinner and more haggard than Jeongguk remembers but so definitely alive. And Jeongguk feels like crying, just at this, because it is so much worse but so much better than checking the obituaries. He is alive. Taehyung is alive - alive and so beautiful, just as beautiful, just as meltingly explosively beautiful as he always has been, even with the eye-bags and hollower cheeks and mess of hair. And Jeongguk’s heart beats, fast and fervent, not in the cold shaking way he has gotten used to but hot, hot, so blood-hot, because Kim Taehyung is alive and right in front of him, in a sweater he recognises as his own, still wearing the goddamn useless clover necklace, eyes so wide and warm and so beautiful, so damn beautiful he looks unreal. And Jeongguk feels like he is breathing, actually breathing, for the first time in a year, and he is stunned into inaction, unable to think or do anything but drink up every last detail for a whole too-long-frozen edge-of-the-cliff moment.
But then Taehyung’s expression is changing, and his eyes look wetter and his hand is coming up to his mouth. And he’s saying, “Jeongguk? Jeon Jeongguk?”
And it is like a switch is flipped as Jeongguk remembers everything else, everything around and between and behind them both. The glass and the ring and the screech of the tires. And the blood, the blood everywhere, red on his palms, red on the pavement, red on Taehyung’s crumpled body, red and wet and unforgiving. Everything is red, red where it shouldn't be, red the only colour he can see.
Taehyung reaches a hand out towards him, and Jeongguk jerks away and whips around and runs.
“Wait,” Taehyung is calling, footsteps pounding behind Jeongguk, and Jeongguk bites his lip and runs faster, slams against the ground and runs, anywhere, brick walls streaking past him in a dull blur. And Taehyung is calling his name, voice a little fainter each time, and Jeongguk wants to cry and scream and run faster and disappear, and give up and turn around and stop altogether.
“Jeongguk, slow down,” comes Taehyung’s voice, again, softer than before. “Fuck, I can’t run so goddamn fast.”
He sounds tired. Tired and breathless, and all of a sudden Jeongguk feels his blood stop moving. Because he has no idea what happened to Taehyung since the crash - how he could have been hurt - and he sounds so breathless, so damn breathless, and Jeongguk is weak and weak and weak and so he stops in his tracks and turns back around, chest heaving.
Taehyung catches up, panting. He reaches out a hand again, barely afters slowing his stumbling footsteps, but Jeongguk steps away sharply, again. Too close, too fucking close. Jeongguk doesn’t know how to feel. Doesn’t want to know how.
“Don’t run,” says Jeongguk. He stares at his feet, and keeps his voice cold, double-edged sword disguised as a dagger. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
And then he starts to leave, but Taehyung has stepped forwards towards him, eyes flashing wet. He lunges out a hand and grabs at Jeongguk’s arm, fingers curling tight in his elbow, and Jeongguk feels panic slice up his chest at the contact. Too close. He jerks free, like he’s been burned, and steps away again. A few extra steps, to be safe. This time Taehyung doesn’t follow.
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Jeongguk,” his voice is cracking, a little. Pleading.
“No.” Jeongguk cannot look at him, he can’t. He stares at the ground, brick and cement. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”
“Jeongguk, please,” Taehyung sounds so tired. “Can’t we just talk?”
“Taehyung,” says Jeongguk, and the word is so sharp and bitter on his tongue, liquor turned to poison turned to glass. “There’s nothing to say. I need to go.”
“Please-”
Jeongguk turns away. He can’t look at him. It’s all over if he looks at him. He’s in slow-motion, now, again, one teetering breath from the cycle of weakness, the cycle of mistakes. The glass and blood and tires. If he looks at Taehyung, everything will only be glass and blood and tires, again and again and again. Jeongguk knows this, better than he wants to.
But Taehyung is right there and he feels a year younger, a year weaker. E verything hurts, but he missed Taehyung. He missed him so much.
He swallows. Weak.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” says Jeongguk, and it means I love you.
“Come home,” replies Taehyung, and Jeongguk is breaking because he knows it means the same.
“No. Taehyung, you have to go.”
“Jeongguk, come home.”
“I can’t.”
“Please.” Taehyung’s voice sounds tight, wound thin like he’s trying not to cry. “I missed you.”
“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says. “But I can’t.”
“No, Jeongguk, don’t-”
“Listen, Taehyung,” Jeongguk tries to breathe. “I cannot be with you. You know I can’t. I can’t be with anyone.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Taehyung sounds angry, sad and angry.
“Taehyung, you know. I hurt you. I can’t do it again. You can’t let me do it again.” Jeongguk swallows, coughs up more sour words. “Just let me go. You’re lucky. You'll find someone better. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
“ Jeongguk,” says Taehyung again, and Jeongguk wants to cry hearing the sharp note in his voice. “Enough, Jeongguk, there's no one-”
“No.”
“Please-”
“Taehyung, don’t-”
“Jeon Jeongguk-”
“Stop-”
“Fucking hell, Jeongguk, just listen to me.” Taehyung snaps, and Jeongguk falls silent. “I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it. You, Jeon Jeongguk, you could never be bad luck to me. I don’t give a fuck about your damn power, because there’s nothing else in the world that I need more than what we had. There is nothing else in the world like what we had. Please, Jeongguk. Come home.”
Jeongguk feels Taehyung’s grip on his arm, again, long fingers wrapping around his elbow, warm even through the fabric of his jacket. And he wants nothing more than to let them stay there, let Taehyung win like he always does, always has.
But he still sees Taehyung covered in blood and glass, Taehyung holding the ring illuminated in the headlights. So he snatches his arm away, shrinks from the touch.
“Taehyung,” he says, voice choked and shallow. “Look. I want to, okay? I want to say yes. But I can’t, you fucking know I can’t. I hurt you. I hurt you so bad. You could have died. And you’re supposed to be the lucky one. I can’t let myself go back and hurt you again, I can’t . I’m bad fucking luck, I’m a curse , I can’t - I won’t - I don’t want to hurt anyone again.”
“But Jeongguk,” says Taehyung, voice rough. “I don’t care about getting injured or going to the hospital or anything like that. That isn’t what getting hurt means. You did hurt everyone, that's true. But it had nothing to do with your luck and everything to do with you disappearing off the face of the fucking Earth, just like that, and not telling anyone. Just leaving that fucking terrifying note as if it’s anything close to enough. Jeongguk, do you have any idea how scared I was? How scared we all were? Yoongi cried, in front of me, did you know that? We thought you were dead. I thought I'd lost you.”
And Jeongguk can only shake his head, because Taehyung is wrong. They are all so wrong.
“No, you shouldn’t, don’t-” Jeongguk chokes. “You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth it at all. You need to find someone else. Someone better. Forget me. Why don’t you get it? I’m going to hurt you. I’m no good for you. I’m bad luck. I’ll-”
“Fuck your bad luck.” Taehyung interrupts. His voice is biting, but quivering. “Because, you know what, Jeon Jungkook? It’s all fine and dandy for you to just waltz off like that and tell me to move on, to find someone else and forget everything that happened, as if it’s just that simple. But it isn’t. It fucking isn’t, okay? Moving on was never an option. I can’t move on. I won’t. I was serious when I asked you to marry me, okay?” He pauses, and when he continues his voice is shaky. “It’s you, Jeongguk, it’s you. You and only you. This has nothing to do with luck. I don’t give a fuck about luck. Everything in our lives is already about luck, even if we didn’t have our powers it’s still always about luck. And I’m so fucking sick of it. I don’t care about that, I care about you. I care about us. Stop making it about our goddamned powers. Because even with all the shit that happened and the car crash and all the times our powers messed things up, I was never unhappy. Luck can’t make me happy, but you can. You can and you always have. So if you think your power is any reason we can’t be together, then think the fuck again. Because the luckiest time in my life was when I had you.”
And Jeongguk freezes. His throat is closing up, his ribs crushing in. Because Taehyung can’t be right, not when Jeongguk is danger and pain and ambulances and time running out, luck running out. Taehyung can’t be right, he can’t win, he’ll die one day if Jeongguk lets him win, but Jeongguk wants to believe him. A part of him always wants to believe Taehyung. But it is the foolish part, the weak foolish selfish part, the part that always breaks everything by saying yes.
So Jeongguk shakes his head, again. Takes a breath - weak and thin, because he is turning his back on oxygen.
“Tae,” he says. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how much I want to say yes to you. But I can’t, Tae, I can’t. Not like this. I can’t live the rest of my life afraid that I’m going to break you, all of you. I won’t be able to live with myself at all if I do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish so much that I could but I can't. I'm not going back.”
Silence, for a while.
And then Jeongguk thinks he hears Taehyung sigh, low and soft, tight and faint and buried beneath his breath.
“I’m tired, Jeongguk.” Taehyung finally says, voice low and nearly cracking. “I’m really tired. I missed you so fucking much, you know? I missed you then, and I miss you right now, and I’ll keep on fucking missing you if I don’t get to be see you again. But-” he breathes, tight and shaky. “-I’m so, so, so goddamn fucking tired, baby. I’ve been fighting for us for so long, every time you run away, and I’m tired. Can’t you just make it easy for once?”
And there are words he doesn’t say, but Jeongguk still hears. Fight for us, too, because I can’t do it by myself.
And he realises that Taehyung is right. Taehyung has always been the stronger one, the fighter, the one who convinced Jeongguk time and time again to stay. The one with the always-warm hands and smooth rich voice and the laugh like a hot spring. And Taehyung was right, too, when he said it wasn’t about luck. Because it isn’t, not really. It isn’t but it is, because what it is about is Taehyung, and Taehyung is Jeongguk’s luck. It’s always been about Taehyung, Taehyung and him. Taehyung, Kim Taehyung - not his luck, not Jeongguk’s luck, not even really Jeongguk - just Taehyung. To him, it’s always been about Taehyung.
And Taehyung missed him. Taehyung missed him and Taehyung looks so tired.
(But, Jeongguk remembers, he hurt him. The glass and blood and tires. The soft oh falling from Taehyung’s mouth, swallowed by the headlights before he crumples on the windshield like a doll. The wetness in his eyes, right now, before him. And Jeongguk can’t do it, not again. There was glass everywhere. Blood everywhere. Red, too red. He swore never to do it again.)
Even though Taehyung looks so tired. Lonely and too-thin and tired.
Jeongguk tries to take a breath, and turns around. He looks at Taehyung, right before him. The missing piece of his life - or perhaps Jeongguk cannot call Taehyung the missing piece, not when he is the very life of the puzzle, and Jeongguk alone is the broken-off chips and pieces feebly pretending to be a castle - standing right before him and alive and unhurt and so, so beautiful. So beautiful, so beautiful, that he should never be allowed to break.
“I’m sorry,” says Jeongguk. As gently as he can. “I’m sorry, Tae, but it isn’t easy. It’s about us, but it’s also about luck, and luck is never easy. I don’t want it to be about luck, but I can’t change facts. Luck isn’t happiness, and luck isn’t us, but your luck can keep you safe. It can keep you safe from anything but me. And I can’t hurt you. I can’t hurt you, again. You wouldn’t know, because you’ve never hurt anyone before, not like this, but it is the absolute worst fucking feeling in the world. I don’t want it to be about luck any more than you do, I don’t. I want to make it about us, and I want to make it easy for you. So much, you have no fucking idea. But I hurt you - my luck hurt you. And I don't think I can take it if I hurt you anymore.”
And a part of him knows that he is lying. That his heart is weak, after all. That a spineless part of him wants, more than anything, to let it be about them. To grip fate by the lapels and scream that it is wrong.
But there was glass everywhere. Glass and blood, blood and glass, head over tails over blood-speckled heads, both sides meaning bad fucking accursed luck.
Jeongguk knows what mistakes look like, and they always start with yes.
“Are you actually fucking stupid? Did you even hear anything I just said?” Comes Taehyung’s reply. He sounds disappointed. So much that it hurts to listen. “Jeongguk. Don’t do this. Don't give up on us. I’m so fucking tired, baby, please don’t do this anymore.”
“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk starts, but Taehyung cuts him off.
“I’ll ask you one last time, okay?” He says, voice low. “Come home. And if you really don’t want to hurt me, pick you answer carefully.” His eyes look dull. Cold and dull. Disappointment disappointment disappointment. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse than I do right now.”
And Jeongguk knows what he wants to say. And he also knows what he has to say. He bites on his lip, hard.
“I’m sorry, Tae. I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t.”
Silence. Cold and wet. Taehyung lowers his head, a little. Brings a hand to his eyes. Then he looks back up, as if he cannot bear to look away for a moment. As if he knows that the moment is ending, and they will both soon tip off opposite sides of the bridge. His gaze is dark, a fire left to die.
“I,” says Taehyung, voice so soft Jeongguk can barely hear him, “still listen to your song, you know? The one you wrote. The one with your singing. I listen to it all the time. It was the only thing I could listen to, for a while.”
“And I read the obituaries,” replies Jeongguk, just as softly. Just as gently. “From our town. I read them every day to make sure you weren’t there.”
A longer pause. Jeongguk wonders if Taehyung is trying not to start crying, or if it is just himself.
“How about this,” Taehyung finally says. One last desperate plea, all the fight drained from his voice. “If you want it to be about luck, then we’ll make it about luck. Let’s flip a coin.”
Jeongguk freezes. “What?”
“Please, Gukkie. One last chance, that’s all I’m asking for. We’ll see whose powers are stronger, right? Like always. Heads, you stay. Tails, I’ll go. And if luck will have it,” he looks at Jeongguk. His eyes look so hollow. Dead and hollow. “I’ll give up.”
Jeongguk goes quiet. He looks at Taehyung. And tries to commit every last detail to memory, forever.
“Okay,” he says. “Do you have a coin?”
Taehyung presses his lips together, and nods. He fishes in his pocket, pulls out a 100 won coin. Rusted at the edges, but silver enough to blink in the dim light.
Taehyung pinches the coin in his hand, shifts it to rest on the edge of his index finger. Brings the nail of his thumb under the edge.
“Baby,” he says suddenly, voice cracking under the weight of the word. “Is this what you really want?”
And it hits Jeongguk, in that moment - t hat he doesn’t know.
He knows, but he doesn’t know. And he has to know, soon, because the moment is fast approaching, and no matter what the verdict Jeongguk will have lost by even leaving it up to luck, and he doesn’t know what he really wants, not anymore, because everything he has ever treasured is standing before him, ready to flip up the coin, ready to walk away without him, and-
And there are no more chances, after this. It is a one way road with a fork but no U-turns, and Jeongguk doesn’t know what he wants.
But Taehyung is giving up on him. Taehyung is actually giving up on him, if he gives up on himself. Whatever he decides - whatever the coin decides - Jeongguk will have to live with it. Because if he gets what he thinks he wants, he will have no more home to return to, even if he changes his mind. No takebacks, only reruns.
But this is what he wanted. Isn't it? To have a chance of being given up on, a chance to be left behind. A chance to keep Taehyung safe, even if it means to lose him forever. Taehyung, with the warm smile and big hands, who wakes with cricks in his neck and sings beautifully in the shower and never remembers whose turn it is to do the dishes, no matter how many times Jeongguk reminds him. Taehyung, who likes dogs and children and calls his family almost every day. Taehyung, looking now so tired and so small in Jeongguk's sweater, even though he is the taller one, eyes blank and face shadowed and lips pressed tight and quivering, visibly quivering. Taehyung, who may just give up on them, after the coin falls.
Is this what you really want?
It isn’t about luck - but it is, but it isn’t. Taehyung. What would Taehyung want.
But Jeongguk knows what Taehyung wants, except he doesn’t know if he dares to give it to him, when what he’s asking for is a knife hung over his head, ready to fall at any moment with the drop of the other shoe. But Jeongguk doesn’t know what he wants himself, either, because suddenly the danger feels like nothing beside the real, very real, very palpably terrifyingly real possibility that he will never be with Taehyung again.
Fifty-fifty, with their lives on the line.
Jeongguk is terrified, but every choice is wrong.
And then Taehyung flicks up his thumb and the coin flashes silver as it spins and arches through the air, heads over tails over heads. And the first real tear finally slides down Taehyung’s cheek, tracing a crooked line down to his mouth.
But Jeongguk’s eyes do not follow either trajectory because suddenly he makes his decision - in that one moment, with the sharp flick of Taehyung's thumb, the echoes of everything they've ever said ringing loud in his ears - and the coin in his head is no longer spinning.
He steps forward in a rush. Reaches out both arms to grab Taehyung, hands gripping around the curve of his shoulders crushingly desperately needfully tight, and pulls him in while pushing himself forward. And then Jeongguk presses their lips together, skin on electric skin for the first time in forever. And Taehyung gasps against Jeongguk’s mouth, half-gasp and half-sob, and Jeongguk dives into the movement like he suddenly knows how to swim, drinks in the searing burning honey-sweet contact. And Taehyung is kissing back, suddenly, moaning and crying and tangling hands in Jeongguk’s hair, clutching on like he is holding a lifeline, desperate. More desperate than he has to be, because he doesn’t know it but Jeongguk is not going to leave.
When they run out of air, Taehyung pulls away, first, hands still around Jeongguk’s neck as he leans back to look straight into his eyes. He looks just the slightest bit hesitantly hopeful.
“Jeongguk? What-”
“I’m sorry, Tae.” Jeongguk says, before he can finish the sentence. He brings a hand up from Taehyung’s back, to massage gently at his neck. Runs the other one through his fringe, where the hair is always tangled. “I’ll go home with you. I’m sorry.”
And Taehyung’s eyes are widening, like he cannot believe it, and he leans in, shaking, as more tears start to fall. “Really? You mean it? You really mean it?”
Jeongguk leans forward, rests his forehead gently against Taehyung’s, guiltlessly light, even if just for this one heady moment. “Yes, I mean it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I'm so sorry for everything. But I’ll go home with you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don't know if we'll regret it, but I’ll go home with you.”
And Taehyung lets out a sob, and pulls in to kiss him again. And Jeongguk kisses back, soft and sweet and finally familiar.
Somewhere behind them, some time behind them, the coin clinks to the ground with its final verdict. But nobody cares to check.