Chapter Text
The party was crowded.
All of the windows were open, but they were the kind of windows that were small and narrow and barely opened wide enough to stick a hand out. The party was also on the third floor of an old apartment without any air conditioning, and it was the middle of the summer, and Jungkook's compression vest was beginning to feel more like a bathing suit did right after stepping out of a jacuzzi than something that was supposed to help with recovery and healing and good things like that.
Two weeks, he thought to himself. Two weeks, and I can be free of this thing...
Most people after undergoing top surgery had to wear some form of compression afterwards, for up to two months; sometimes more. Luckily Jungkook's recovery was going really well, according to his surgeon, and he had been able to start dancing again. The compression, though, was non-negotiable. It was doing funny things to his mind. He knew that, in some ways, this was the last lap... but part of him still didn't believe that there would ever come a time when he would be free from all this.
As he reached the top of a staircase that was as steeply sloped as the windows were narrow, all he could think about was cooling down. He pinched the front of his shirt and pulled out, allowing a sliver of air to slip between his compression vest and his skin. It was almost good enough to justify the moist, suffocating feeling of the vest snapping back into place when he let go. He hurried to the end of the hall, passing an array of paintings and sculptures, and pushed through a door leading out onto the rooftop.
"Good god," he sighed, holding out his arms. The night air was much cooler than the inside of the party. He took a few lazy steps forward, still holding his arms out, like bedraggled wings, and tilted his head back. "That is a serious relief."
"Is it?" came a deep voice.
Jungkook jumped so hard he went careening backwards into the door.
"Oh my god," he gasped, clapping a hand to his chest. "I didn't see you there."
Most people in his position might have apologized but the boy sitting on the edge of an empty flower-pot, with his hands resting on one of his knees and his fingers laced together, merely observed Jungkook with a pleasant gaze.
"Sorry," Jungkook said, because he figured at least someone should apologize.
"Oh my god," the boy said. "That was really funny."
Jungkook took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. The boy in front of him was dressed in loose pants, a baggy button down, and a beret. A single glance around the rooftop told him that the two of them were alone. The rooftop wasn't very large. Jungkook wondered distractedly how this person had survived even five minutes of the party with all those clothes on. All Jungkook was wearing was a t-shirt and shorts and he was pretty sure he would've passed out if he hadn't escaped for some air.
Right. But he isn't wearing a compression vest...
"What are you doing up here?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
"Enjoying the stars," the boy said dreamily. He leaned back and rested his palms on the opposite edge of the flower pot. "Aren't they nice?"
Jungkook crossed his arms, reflexively. One arm across his ribs; the other criss-crossed over his chest in a diagonal, up to the opposite shoulder. It was something he used to do when he wasn't sure if his binder was flattening everything correctly, or in those times when, despite his meticulous planning, he was caught without a binder on at all. Old habits died hard. Plus, it had only been a month since he'd woken up from surgery, and the compression vest felt a bit like a binder—especially when it was adhered to his torso with several applications of his own sweat—and sometimes, if he really wasn't paying attention, he'd have a bizarre moment where he would forget he'd even had top surgery at all.
Because he needed more time to cool off anyway, he tipped his head back and gave the sky a look.
They were in the middle of downtown. The horizon was blotted out with the warm glow of urbanity, but right above them a patch of stars was visible, drifting like an ocean floor behind shifting clouds. The rooftop jutted out above an alley and there weren't quite as many streetlamps around to block the view.
"Yeah," he admitted. "It is."
"And the moon..."
"Is it full?"
"Yeah, I think so."
The two of them were silent for a while. Jungkook took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
"I'm Taehyung, by the way."
Jungkook opened his eyes and glanced to the side. He didn't know it, but the glass of wine he'd had earlier had stained his lips red. His pitchy hair ruffled in the breeze, not enough to blow his bangs entirely back, but enough to cause them to stir around his face.
"I'm Jungkook."
"Nice to meet you." Taehyung smiled. It was a different smile from before, Jungkook noted. Before, Taehyung's lips had been closed and his eyes crinkled, as he gazed up at the starry sky. It had been a peaceful expression, a relaxed expression.
Now, his lips were slightly open, and his eyes much wider. There was a question in those eyes, but what specifically, Jungkook could not tell.
"Well, I guess I better... get back inside."
"Okay."
Jungkook took a few steps towards the door. With his fingers gripped around the handle, he could have easily kept going, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the tone of Taehyung's voice. He paused, glancing back at Taehyung.
"Do you come out here often?" He winced the second the words left his mouth, realizing only after the fact that his question sounded a little bizarre. This wasn't a bar or a cafe to be casually frequented. It was a little dingy rooftop, on top of someone's apartment—someone Jungkook didn't know. He'd been peripherally invited to the party by one of his dancer friends.
Amazingly Taehyung didn't bat an eye. "All the time."
"Oh?"
"I live here." Taehyung pointed to a small window overlooking the alley below. An orange light glowed behind a pink curtain. "In that room, right there."
"Oh, I didn't realize," Jungkook said. And then, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Jungkook. Jung. Kook," Taehyung said, standing up. The motion illuminated various aspects of the other boy to Jungkook, most of which were oddly contradictory. A beam of light sneaking out the door lapped over Taehyung's face, and if Jungkook had had any doubt before, which he hadn't really, he now knew for certain that Taehyung was absolutely stunning. Not just cute or hot, but classically beautiful, in the most unfair way. Perfect eyes. Perfect mouth. Perfect jaw. This, along with his artsy outfit, clashed with the utterly goofy way he was bobbing his arms at his sides, baring his teeth like he'd just told the most cringe-worthy joke of all time. "Do you mind if I call you Kook?"
"No, that's fine," Jungkook said.
"Okay, cool."
Jungkook still hadn't taken his hand off the door. He didn't know what to do with it, at this point, or any other part of his body for that matter.
The thing was, being into boys made life a little difficult as a trans guy. Enough guys had shown interest in Jungkook for the wrong reasons that it almost felt like a good thing to be ignored. He'd spent years of his life like that, ignoring guys he thought were cute, waiting for his first binder to arrive in the mail, waiting for his paperwork to process, waiting for the testosterone to start to deepen his voice, waiting until he'd worked out enough that his shoulders were wider, waiting, waiting, so much waiting that he'd almost forgotten what it was he wanted, but not quite. It was hard to entirely forget something like that with his good friend loneliness always being such a pal and reminding him about it.
So right now, standing on this god-forsaken rooftop, with his god-forsaken compression vest holding in parts of his swollen chest, pretty sure he might be on the verge of getting his period—he'd stopped taking testosterone four months ago, once his voice had deepened to a place he was satisfied with—his automatic response was to do the easiest thing and to walk away.
"Okay, well, maybe I'll be on my—"
"Hey," Taehyung said suddenly.
Jungkook took a step back, crossing his arms once again. The screen door creaked back into place. He watched it close until it was entirely motionless and he could not possibly justify staring at it any longer, and then he looked up and met Taehyung's eye.
Taehyung was watching him. He'd probably been watching him for a while. Taehyung opened and closed his mouth a few times, both his hands twisting and turning in front of him, and then he asked, "I was wondering if I could get your number?"
Jungkook blinked.
Taehyung blinked too.
"Sorry," Jungkook said. "What?"
"Um," Taehyung said, biting his lip. "Your number. Could I, uh, get it? I know it's really sudden, but..." He made that wincy face again. "Unless you don't feel comfortable, then I totally understand—"
"No," Jungkook interrupted, and then promptly he realized he didn't know what he had been planning to say next. He quirked his head to the side, feigning the confidence he did not in fact possess at that moment, and brushed hair out of his eyes with a hand.
The side-benefits of being a performer.
"It's fine," he said nonchalantly, holding out his hand.
If I just get this over with quickly, he thought distantly, then I can put this behind me, and return to life as normal—
Which was what, exactly?
Vibrant, yes. Full of fellow artists and dancers and inspiration, yes.
But also isolating and confusing and lonely as hell.
"Oh," Taehyung said, fishing around in his pockets.
A moment later he pulled his phone out, swiped the screen, and loaded up a new contact. He placed it in Jungkook's open palm. Jungkook entered his information. The rooftop felt very silent in contrast to the babble emanating from within. Once he was finished, Jungkook gave the information a careful once-over, making sure it was right.
"There you go," he said, holding it out.
Taehyung accepted his phone with two hands, tilting his head slightly. Something about the motion struck Jungkook as oddly flirty, respectful and proper as it was. Perhaps it was the expression on Taehyung's face. It looked like he was fighting back a smile.
"Okay."
"Alright."
"See you later," Jungkook said, opening the door once again.
"Yeah," Taehyung said, with a dreamy bob of his head. "Sounds good to me. Kook."
***
Jungkook stood in front of the mirror.
His phone was on the counter.
He wished he could have claimed that last night was a blur, but in truth, he'd had nowhere near enough wine to blot out the memory of what had happened on the rooftop.
The first month he'd stopped taking testosterone, it had been exhausting to do even one push-up. He'd broken out harder than ever before as his body worked to rearrange its hormone systems once again. Even so, he'd forced himself to perform the numbers he had committed to for the winter showcase.
Really it was nothing. Nothing had happened. He'd gone outside for a breath of fresh air and had a brief conversation with somebody. That was all.
Now, he'd regained the muscle he'd lost in those months, and his shoulders were looking nice and broad. Sculpted. Even now, on the first day of his period, his six pack was visible. It didn't come easy, but it came easier than it did for some people. He was lucky enough to genuinely love physical exercise.
The only thing was, the person he'd had a conversation with on the rooftop had looked at him in a way that he hadn't been looked at in a long, long time. The last time he had been looked at like that was before any of this had begun, and he had still appeared to most people as a girl, and he had been naive enough to let somebody in, naive enough to think that a straight cisgender guy could ever be okay with his secret yearning to be a boy...
He quirked his neck to the side, stretching his shoulder, exhaling through bared teeth as the memory faded like an acrid smell. He reached a hand up and massaged his neck, and then ran his palm over his chest. Things were starting to look pretty good. He had had the keyhole surgery, so the main scarring was around the nipples, as well as under each arm, where a small scar marked the spots his drains had fed out of. The swelling was going down. There was only a bit of redness around each nipple.
Really, he did look like a guy now, in so far as he had always wanted to—the vision of the Jungkook he had always dreamt of—so it was unlikely that Taehyung had been looking at him like that because he had thought of Jungkook as a girl. But if that were the case, and the curiosity in Taehyung's eyes had been for Jungkook as a boy, then, then...
Jungkook allowed his eyes to trail further down. Muscular shoulders led down to toned arms. Olive-tan skin stretched over those abs he'd worked so hard on, down to...
He sighed, allowing his eyes to linger on his nakedness.
If Taehyung wanted his boy body, well, he didn't have a typical one of those either.
After a moment, he blinked, shaking his head from side-to-side, and allowed each separate part of himself to meld back into a single image. When it really came down to it, Jungkook liked his appearance—at least on the bare bones level of aesthetics. He didn't flinch when he looked in the mirror. He didn't even flinch when he thought about other people looking at his body. He was used to people looking at him dancing all the time. It was only when he thought about other people looking at his body in certain ways, without any clothes on, that he started to feel that old familiar feeling...
"Five minutes," he said aloud, squaring his shoulders. "The conversation was five minutes, if that." He strode forward and tossed his towel over the rack, picking up his phone in a businesslike manner. "I need to let this go." He flipped his phone over and glanced at the screen.
Hello Kook. Seen any more stars since we last spoke?
Jungkook stared at the screen with wide eyes. His expression was almost accusatory. Part of it had to do with the fact that his heart rate had doubled in less than a second, but then there was also the fact that now, following his own directives and wisely letting all of this go was going to be a whole lot harder. He glanced up at the ceiling, and then back at his phone, sighing in disbelief.
He found himself smiling.
"Stop," he grunted, literally wiping the smile off his mouth with a hand.
Maybe a few. How about you?
It was a boring response, but it would have to do. Jungkook had never been the prince of wit. Most of his charm derived itself from his genuine reactions to things; a form of charm that was almost impossible to convey via text message.
No, surprisingly enough.
Jungkook stared at the screen. Taehyung must have had an android, because he couldn't tell if the other boy was still typing or not. After a moment, he hesitantly replied,
That's too bad.
Taehyung's reply came almost instantly.
It is. I really like stars. Are you planning on becoming one? I heard you dance.
Jungkook's laugh was light and airy, almost like a nervous sigh. There was something strange about these text messages. Thinking back to last night, speaking to Taehyung in person had kind of been the same. There was something intrinsically poetic about everything the other boy said. It struck Jungkook as cheesy, artificial, and intriguing all at the same time.
Once again, so contradictory.
If I can. It's a tough game.
I see, Taehyung replied.
Jungkook lowered himself down onto the toilet seat. The rate at which Taehyung was replying was going to make it hard to do anything else until their chat was over.
What about you? Are you an artist?
He grimaced, tossing his phone from one hand to the other. He knew he was going to ride this out. He wasn't so cynical about romance and love and people in general that he would outright ignore Taehyung, but part of him strongly resisted the notion that he was even here, in his washroom, taking the time to write a cute boy text messages. He didn't want any of this, this, whatever it was, to work its way into his psyche, and throw him off course from his dancing, and seed something dangerous in him like yearning or incompletion or even something as painful as pure, genuine interest.
It hurt to hope.
I don't know if I would call myself an artist. But I do paint. And sculpt.
"Still cryptic," Jungkook muttered, composing a reply.
That's cool. Like minds, but different crafts.
Yes. Exactly.
Were those sculptures yours?
Which sculptures?
The ones in the hallway.
Oh. Those things. In a matter of speaking, yes.
Jungkook clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. Part of him wondered... if Taehyung was so affected that he could hardly answer a simple question without dancing around the point, how on earth could they ever get real enough to have a conversation about Jungkook's body?
If, that is, they were ever in a situation that demanded such a thing.
Jungkook chided himself internally, his smile grim this time. He decided to throw all caution to the wind. Get it over with before it got any of its hooks in him.
Are you ever on campus? he asked, typing plainly. We should get a coffee sometime.
Taehyung's reply was so fast Jungkook almost missed it, shutting off his screen so that his phone cut the beep short.
Are you free today?
"What the serious hell," Jungkook mouthed to himself, standing up. He glanced in the mirror once again, running a hand over his stomach. Abs or no abs, his organs were definitely a little sore today. A tampon string dangled between his muscular thighs like a reminder of how bad of an idea all of this was. His smile shifted from grim to downright machiavellian.
I'm free all day. You pick a spot.
Three o'clock at Starbucks.
Great, Jungkook typed. I'll see you then.
The moment the conversation ended all of the masochistic glee that had fuelled his cocky attitude drained from his body. His arm slid down, gently abandoning his phone on the side of the sink, and he drifted out into his studio apartment, gazing at nothing in particular.
***
By the time he arrived on campus he was a bit of a wreck. He'd done the thing where he obsessed about his appearance so long he didn't even know what he looked like anymore, like saying a word over-and-over until you forget its meaning. He was dressed in a navy-blue button down and tight jeans—a simple culling from the explosion of candidates now littering his bed, his floor, and his office chair. He'd covered up a few zits with concealer, which he was pretty sure had begun to flake off, because of how hard he'd scrubbed his face beforehand to remove the eye make up he had decided not to wear after all.
The Starbucks loomed ahead. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and then removed them. The door handle felt slippery under his touch. He gripped it defiantly and yanked it open.
Yolo, he intoned as an internal mantra. Yolo, yolo, yolo.
Taehyung was sitting at a table off to the side.
The moment Jungkook appeared, Taehyung's head shot up. The two of them locked eyes. Jungkook was taken off guard. Taehyung's expression was everything his text messages were not; vulnerable, open, and uncontrollably raw. His smile was soft, shy, and after an extended moment of eye contact, he ducked his head, staring bashfully into his coffee.
Something shifted ominously in Jungkook's chest.
He strode right up with his performer's confidence and placed a hand on the table, speaking to Taehyung's hunched form. "I'm just going to get a coffee. Be right back, okay?"
Taehyung nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice low and soft.
Paying for the coffee was like trying not to look when someone told you to cover your eyes. The coffee, the barista, and his own wallet were the palms of his hands, and Taehyung was the crinkling of wrapping paper, the sounds of bags opening and presents being arranged on the table in front of him. The desire to turn around was out of control, not only to make sure Taehyung was still there, but to see if he was still blushing, to catch another glimpse of his beautiful face...
"So," he said, sliding into his chair and trying not to stare too hard.
"So," Taehyung repeated.
Taehyung glanced up, almost repentantly, and caught Jungkook's eye. Then the two of them broke down into a fit of nervous laughter.
"I've never actually done this before," Taehyung said after a moment.
"Done what?"
"Asked someone out." Taehyung's voice was barely a whisper.
Jungkook stared at Taehyung. "Really?"
"It's true."
"Come on."
"I'm telling the truth," Taehyung exclaimed, his long fingers balling up handfuls of his pants in a rather childlike manner.
"Well, first of all, I think it was me who asked you out—"
"Well, I asked for your number—"
"Well, I asked you what you were doing on that rooftop—"
"Well, I texted you first—"
"Well, well—" Jungkook struggled to find a good come back. He couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face.
Taehyung laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. His laugh was low and sloppy, almost more like a guffaw. Hearing it gave Jungkook a similar feeling as the one he got right after the curtain lifted.
"But... then..." His smile faded to something more uncertain. "Why me?"
"Um," Taehyung said. "Because."
"Because?"
"You're so cool," Taehyung blurted, covering his cheeks. His blush was still quite visible.
"Cool?" Jungkook asked. He was genuinely surprised. He had been expecting hot, sexy, or maybe cute, but cool was a compliment he hadn't heard for a very long time. "Taehyung," he said desperately, fending off a sickening wave of despair. "What are you looking for?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, in life. With. People." Jungkook didn't think he could be more obvious.
"I'm not really looking for anything."
Jungkook's heart plummeted.
"I mean, I don't have any explicit goals," Taehyung carried on. "I never really do. I work part time. I study part time. I do art when I feel like it, but I'm not like... I have a hard time understanding some people, and so..."
Both their coffees sat abandoned in front of them.
"But when I saw you, I knew that I wanted to get to know you. Do you know what I mean?" Taehyung glanced up. There wasn't a molecule of humour on his face. "So I guess, I do know what I'm looking for, now. I'm looking for you. If that... makes sense."
Jungkook actually wondered if he was in a dream. He blinked several times in lieu of pinching himself.
"Taehyung..." he stammered. "Are you into guys?"
A mysterious bolt of pain ran through Taehyung's features, and then it was gone. Jungkook wondered if that was how his own face looked whenever he overheard a transphobic comment, or something that reminded him of the past.
"I am," Taehyung said carefully.
"Oh."
"Are you?"
"Oh," Jungkook repeated, suddenly cuing in on the cause of Taehyung's reticence. "Yeah, I am. I totally am."
"Oh," Taehyung breathed. "Okay."
"But..." Jungkook stared at the table. He felt his tongue pushing out against his cheek. He abruptly stopped it. In his acting classes, he had learned that if a person controlled their nervous habits, if all the tension that would normally be released through fidgeting was channelled into the script instead, the words would veritably come alive with whichever emotion a person was trying to avoid. When he spoke right then, his voice trembled with undisguised sadness.
"I'm not a real guy."
The statement took him off guard. He hadn't heard himself say something like that for a long time. His journal was packed with positive affirmations. He read scholarly articles that deconstructed sex and gender. He had plenty of trans friends. One of his closest buddies, Jimin, was writing a webcomic that featured a trans boy as the main character. He knew through and through that if somebody felt they were a boy, they were in fact a boy, but it was sometimes harder to apply this knowledge to himself than to others.
"Kook," Taehyung said, leaning forward slightly. "What do you mean?"
Jungkook swallowed, centring his shoulders. His palms were resting on his thighs. He had abnormally good posture for somebody as nervous as he was just then.
"I'm trans."
There was a beat.
Jungkook waited, staring at the boy sitting across from him. Every muscle in Jungkook's body was flexing. His brow was furrowed. He armed himself for the inevitable attack that was coming.
I support that, but you see, I'm not really romantically interested in...
Wait, does that mean that you do or you don't have a—
No matter how many times he heard them, words like this always cut him to the bone. No matter how hard he flexed, how deeply he frowned, no amount of armour could repel the spear that was certain to land in his guts at any second now.
"Oh?" Taehyung said, furrowing his brow. He tilted his head to the side, his mouth sliding into the iconic Obama not bad grimace. He blinked, as though he hadn't quite understood what Jungkook had said. Jungkook prayed that he would not be forced to say it again.
"Trans," Taehyung said, nodding. "I'm confused. How does that make you not a real guy?"
Jungkook blinked. He realized he had begun to rock back-and-forth in his chair. Perhaps there was just too much emotion here to contain in mere words.
"Um," he said. "Well, I don't have a..."
"Kook," Taehyung said, reaching forward and touching Jungkook's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"
"I'm... just..." Jungkook swallowed. His head was beginning to spin.
"It's okay. It's okay." Taehyung got up and came around, sitting next to Jungkook. He turned towards the dancer, shielding the two of them from the rest of the cafe with his back.
Jungkook rolled his lips inwards. Tears were beginning to well in his eyes.
No, no, no.
Taehyung watched him for a moment, and then touched his leg. "Do you mind if I hug you?"
Jungkook shook his head.
Taehyung reached forward and wrapped Jungkook in his arms. Jungkook ducked his head into the artist's shoulder, grateful to have a place to hide his face. He inhaled shakily. Taehyung smelled like fresh air, coffee, and paint.
"I'm sorry," he groaned.
"It's okay," Taehyung said, cupping the back of Jungkook's head with one of his hands. The fabric of his beret scratched against Jungkook's neck. "It's okay. I understand."
Eventually Jungkook leaned back, gazing uncertainly into Taehyung's eyes. Taehyung reached forward and wiped tears off one of his cheeks.
"You alright?"
"I think so."
"Good," Taehyung said, brushing a lock of hair out of Jungkook's eyes, fretting over his tear-stained face, wiping an eyelash off his nose. His eyes were almost crossed as he examined the dancer's face.
Jungkook had a million questions. He wanted to ask if this meant that Taehyung didn't mind that he was trans. He wanted to ask if Taehyung didn't care that they, as two guys, had been hugging one another in public for over five minutes. He wanted to know if Taehyung was okay with the fact that, at the moment, Jungkook was the absolute antithesis of the cryptic eloquence he seemed so fond of.
But before he could voice any of these questions aloud, Taehyung answered all of them in one fell swoop.
"I really like you," he said softly, his deep voice wrapping around the words like butterscotch.
Jungkook inhaled sharply, covering his mouth with a hand.
"Uh, Taehyung," he said, willing his voice to return to its usual steady, stoic place.
It refused.
Oh well—yolo, right?
"Yeah?"
"Uh," Jungkook said. "I really like you too."
Taehyung's mouth dropped open and he took a deep breath, both his eyes still locked on Jungkook's. He smiled with his mouth open.
"Wow," he sighed.
"Yeah."
They didn't seem to be able to look away from one another.
"Well, Kookie... now that we've gotten that out of the way, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"
Jungkook burst into laughter.
The coffee was cold, but it still tasted alright. Taehyung went and got them a couple pieces of cake, and they hunkered down for the rest of the afternoon, sipping coffee, snacking, and getting to know one another, although it felt like they already strangely did.
A couple hours later Jungkook walked Taehyung back to his apartment. Taehyung smiled, holding both Jungkook's hands in his own. The artist continued to carry himself with an air of elegance, but after speaking with him for the entire afternoon, Jungkook understood more about what that meant. Taehyung's enigmatic affectations were the mere tip of the iceberg of an incredibly complex, thoughtful, and caring personality.
Life hardens us in different ways...
"Let's do this again sometime," Jungkook said.
Taehyung nodded. "I'd like that."
"Alright... well..."
The two of them stared at each other a moment longer. Jungkook turned away, as if to go, and then, when he sensed that Taehyung was still standing there, he turned back.
"Taehyung."
"Yeah?"
"Do you mind if I..."
"Please," Taehyung said softly. "Go ahead."
Jungkook leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Taehyung's lips. Taehyung made a noise, a soft sigh, which immediately caused Jungkook's breath to catch in his throat. When the two of them broke away, a blush had made its way to both of their eyes, leaving them glassy and dazed.
"I'll see you later."
"Bye," Taehyung said.
Jungkook strode away, glancing over his shoulder a couple times, waving at Taehyung, and then he broke into a run. He stretched his arms out to either side, allowing a gust of summer wind to blow straight through him. His hair ripped back from his face and his shirt tossed around his waist like waves on a roiling sea.
For once in his life, hope didn't seem like such a bad thing.