Chapter Text
APRIL 3RD, MONDAY, 7:15AM
Last week, Jeongguk decided, as he woke up with a shattering headache and puffy eyes, was the absolute worst.
Jeongguk wasn’t one to complain, not usually, but these past days had really been working against him. He’d managed to sprain his knee during practice, and — much to his coach’s disappointment — would be out of commission for a couple more weeks. Seeing that his place in the school mostly depended on the scholarship he was getting as the team’s star player, Jeongguk was noticeably stressing out about his recovery, and it showed in his ability to focus in class. Not to mention he needed to be working twice as hard to not fail said classes, because unlike many of his fellow classmates, Jeongguk didn’t get in on grades and smarts alone.
And — as if this wasn’t enough — his long-time girlfriend decided to break up with him just yesterday, and Jeongguk was just sad and heartbroken.
He’d seen it coming — at least he should have. Jeongguk was an average student in a school known for their smarts and low acceptance rates, and having gotten in on a sports scholarship wasn’t impressive at all to most of his peers. His ex wasn’t the only person who thought this; Jeongguk’s asshole of a roommate was the exact same, and unfortunately they shared a living space where Jeongguk couldn’t avoid him. No doubt his roommate had heard him sobbing through the night, too, and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing him this morning.
However, it was inevitable. Jeongguk would be going to the gym as per usual, even if he couldn’t do anything to strain his knee; his roommate was always up early, either because of morning classes or all-nighters, so they met in the kitchen every weekday at 7:30 am without fail. It wasn’t a routine Jeongguk liked, mostly because he could feel his roommate’s distaste for him whenever they were in the same room, but it was still routine, and after such a stressful few days Jeongguk was happy about a bit of normality.
When Jeongguk walked into their shared living space that morning, his roommate was shoving an entire fist of Lucky Charms into his mouth.
Jeongguk grimaced. “You’re ruining your damn body,” he told him, out of the goodness of his heart.
“Fuck off,” Kim Taehyung spat.
Gross.
Taehyung, as far as Jeongguk knew, was some sort of genius. It’s not like he had been stalking his roommate or anything, but most of the student body knew who Kim Taehyung was based on his academic achievements alone. Which was impressive, considering the size of their campus and how many different departments they had. He was one of the few that managed to get into the school with a 100% on the entrance exam, and was studying business like a tool. Taehyung was, without doubt, one of the blandest people Jeongguk had ever met, blending into the background despite his name being a hot topic. Jeongguk had never seen him hang out with friends, or bring over company, or ever do anything but study.
Most people, despite how studious they were in high school, lost a bit of the perfection mentality in college. Sure, grades were still important, but even the kids in the mathematics department swapped night classes for bottles of soju and a good time.
The underlying issue about his and Taehyung’s rivalry was more about them not understanding each other rather than out-right hate, or at least Jeongguk believed so. Jeongguk couldn’t remember them actually sitting down to talk, ever, but their differences had separated them from the beginning, and at this point it was probably too late to salvage. Their entire relationship was already based on passive-aggressive comments and snarky insults.
“It’s also not how you eat cereal,” Jeongguk helpfully added, “do you need a how-to-guide? A PowerPoint presentation? You’re supposed to put milk with it.”
“You’re being awfully brave for someone who’s been crying the entire night,” Taehyung snidely commented, and Jeongguk tried not make it look like it affected him. “Also I’m lactose intolerant, check your privilege.”
Jeongguk made sure to roll his eyes back into his damn brain as he opened their fridge. Even though they shared a kitchen, Taehyung barely used the actual kitchen appliances, and most of the proper cooking was Jeongguk’s doing. Even if Jeongguk wasn’t particularly fond of Taehyung, he was growing increasingly worried about the mountain of take-out boxes piling up outside his roommate’s door.
Not that it was his problem. He was just naturally worried about what other people put in their bodies.
“Why were you crying, anyway?” Taehyung asked as Jeongguk pulled out the ingredients for his morning meal. “Drop a protein shake on the floor?”
The fact that Taehyung thought all of Jeongguk’s issues were superficial and stupid probably pissed him off the most. It was like Taehyung was reducing Jeongguk to some pea-sized brain asshole jock, like Jeongguk was nothing to him but his interest in sports. He supposed it was fair, though, since Jeongguk didn’t really see Taehyung as something other than the boot-licking teacher’s pets he’d hated in high school. The same people who told Jeongguk he couldn’t make it to this school.
Well, Jeongguk was here. He was here out of sheer and utter pettiness. And he was staying, despite everything, for the same damn reasons.
“Also forgot to buy my kale,” Jeongguk said sarcastically, not really in the mood to start a big argument. All the crying last night had really drained his energy, and he just wanted to eat his omelette in peace and have an energising workout before his classes. “Tragic, really.”
Taehyung hummed. “No mean retort? I’m patient, I’ll wait for you to come up with something clever, big guy.”
Shaking his head, Jeongguk merely sighed. “Not in the mood, Kim.”
“… Is something really wro—”
Taehyung’s words were cut off by the loud ringing of Jeongguk’s cellphone. Jeongguk reached for where he had left it on the counter, a little startled upon seeing his sister’s name flash on the screen. She didn’t usually call him.
“Uh, hey?”
“Good morning, bro,” Eunbi chirped on the other end of the line. Jeongguk put the speakerphone on, not really caring about whether Taehyung minded or not. “Knew you’d be awake. You have classes today?”
“A couple,” Jeongguk confirmed, cracking up the heat on the stove. “Not until the afternoon, though. Why? Something wrong?”
Eunbi studied at a different department than him, so they didn’t really meet up that often anymore despite being in the same school. Ever since Jeongguk returned from the military, they hadn’t hung out that much. Jeongguk missed it, but he knew he couldn’t complain when he was to blame for their falling out.
“Nothing’s really wrong, but I got a favour to ask of you, I thought we could meet up for some coffee? When do your classes start?”
“1PM.”
She made a sound of approval. Jeongguk barely looked over his shoulder to see Taehyung sitting at their small, shared dining table, elbow deep in the cereal box. Eavesdropping, no doubt. Whatever. “Wanna meet at 10, 10:30-ish? At the big Twosome Place outside the subway station,” Eunbi said. “We should catch up.”
They probably wouldn’t. At best they’d pretend everything was the same as in high school. Jeongguk hoped so, at least. “Sure,” he said, throat feeling a little tight. “Coffee’s on me.”
“Sweet!” she cheered, and Jeongguk knew she had been waiting for him to offer. Demon. “You going home over summer break, by the way?”
“Probably,” Jeongguk hummed. “You?”
“Yeah, probably. Depends.”
“On what?”
Eunbi cackled. “I guess you’ll find out. See you!”
She hung up, the kitchen suddenly quiet. Jeongguk’s breakfast ingredients laid forgotten on the counter. Taehyung broke the silence, clearing his throat through a mouthful of sugary cereal. “Who’s that?”
Jeongguk wondered why he even bothered to ask. It wasn’t like him. Outside his major and academic prowess, Jeongguk knew nothing about Taehyung, so why was he even interested? Blackmail? More things to make fun of him for? Either way, Jeongguk wasn’t going to give in.
“Eat your death rings and mind your own business.”
“Rude.”
.
.
APRIL 3RD, MONDAY, 10:12AM
Jeongguk hadn’t really seen Eunbi in weeks, not since they both last visited their parents.
It was weird that despite the distance they now had from each other’s lives Jeongguk still felt so close to Eunbi. He never felt awkward seeing her, no matter how far and in-between they met. Especially since they both knew they had a lot of things they really, really needed to talk about, yet they were both skirting around the issue.
“Your hair is pink,” Jeongguk said, dumbfounded, once he spotted Eunbi. She had hogged a table too big for them, one surrounded by several comfy chairs.
“Very observant of you,” Eunbi mocked, slurping her coffee loudly. It was weird seeing her with any hair colour but black, the soft pink standing out against her monochrome wardrobe. She pushed an iced americano in Jeongguk’s direction. “Got one for you.”
“Thought I said I’d pay.” Jeongguk shrugged his jacket off, sitting down on the opposite side of her. She had gotten his favourite, and knowing her she’d already added the sugars, too. They had the same taste.
“You were taking too long.” Eunbi gave him a look once he started sipping his drink, the knowing look Jeongguk knew all too well. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Jeongguk didn’t even try to protest against it. “How do you always know?”
“We’re twins, I can tell that sort of shit,” Eunbi said, matter-of-factly. “Also your eyes are red, and you walked in here with your shoulders slumped and everything. Now tell me what’s eating you.”
Taking another small sip of his coffee, Jeongguk mumbled a quiet, “Ahreum broke up with me.”
“Oh thank God.”
Jeongguk raised his brows at her quick and relieved reply. “What?”
“I mean,” Eunbi cleared her throat, loudly and dramatically, “oh no. How tragic. I’m so sorry your garbage girlfriend finally broke up with you when you should have dumped her ages ago.”
Grimacing, Jeongguk slumped further into the comfy leather chair. He knew Ahreum wasn’t exactly the nicest partner he’d ever had, at least she wasn’t very good for Jeongguk, and it hadn’t taken long to figure that out. However, being with her meant he was automatically part of her group of friends, and it had just been so easy. Jeongguk wasn’t the best at taking initiative and making connections, and part of the reason this hurt so much was because he felt like he lost so much more than her.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened, though; even back when he was younger, Eunbi had been the sociable one, and Jeongguk mostly tagged along, riding off his sister’s popularity. Maybe he could admit the situation with Ahreum was similar. Maybe.
That didn’t mean it hurt any less. “Fine. She was kind of a bitch,” Jeongguk admitted.
“She literally said she loved arguing with you because you always let her win,” Eunbi stated. “Fuck her, honestly, Jeongguk. She’s not worth being upset over.”
“That was a long time ago,” Jeongguk mumbled.
“And you’re telling me she never said anything similar ever again?” Pursing his lips, Jeongguk played with the straw in his coffee cup, avoiding his sister’s eyes. Eunbi crossed her arms, but her eyes were soft with understanding. “You’re too nice, Jeongguk. I know you didn’t want to fight with her, but you let her walk all over you. You’re always like this! With Ahreum, with Eunha, with Jimin —”
“I got it,” Jeongguk grumbled, not wanting to bring up his past relationships in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. “I’m a doormat. Thanks.”
Sighing, Eunbi leaned over the table, reaching out of gently ruffle Jeongguk’s hair. “I’m telling you to take care of yourself, brother. You’re making me worry about you every time I see you, now. Which isn’t even that often.”
Right. “I’ll try,” Jeongguk said, because he couldn’t really make empty promises. He didn’t want to address the last part, though, because that was his own fault, and he didn’t feel like discussing it. Not yet, at least. “So — what was the favour about? You talked about it on the phone but you didn’t elaborate.”
“Oh, right,” Eunbi said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I want you to join me later, for band practice.”
“Oh.” Jeongguk gulped. He already saw where this was going. “I see. I always forget your band is still a thing.”
Eunbi kicked him from under the table. “Don’t undermine my interests. It’s not just a thing, we might actually compete in Seoul Band Battle this year. Depends.”
“Depends?”
Eunbi’s eyes were suddenly sparkling. “We need a drummer.”
Jeongguk slurped up the remainder of his coffee and slammed it onto the table dramatically. “That’s my cue to leave, bye little sister — have fun at band practice, without me.” He didn’t even get to reach for his jacket before Eunbi placed two well-aimed kicks to his kneecaps, making him drop back into his chair with an ungraceful thump. His injury didn’t make those kicks hurt any less. “Ow.”
“Come on Jeongguk!” Eunbi groaned, cupping her own cheeks in her hands and pouting. If Jeongguk wasn’t already so used to Eunbi’s techniques of persuasion he might have caved, however you get quite desensitised when you’ve been in the womb with someone. “We’re in a pinch. We need a drummer to even apply for SBB, and I think we are genuinely cursed. We’ve lost three drummers in two months!”
“That sounds like a you problem,” Jeongguk grunted. “I’m not joining your nerd band.”
Another kick to Jeongguk’s still-good knee. Eunbi wasn’t the captain of her middle school football team for nothing.
“I’m injured, you dick!” Jeongguk cried.
Eunbi ignored him. “You fucking founded this nerd band, you ass,” she hissed. Jeongguk grimaced, because she technically wasn’t lying. Back in high school the two of them had started a band with a couple of other friends just for fun; they played together for nearly two years until they graduated and Jeongguk left to do his military service. He didn’t even know Eunbi had kept the band going — though with different members — while Jeongguk was gone. She might have expressed disappointment when Jeongguk returned and said he didn’t want to join again, which Jeongguk understood. It was their thing back in high school, one of the only things they kept going despite having different after-school activities and the teachers forcing them into separate classes.
Either way, the original band was all Jeongguk and Eunbi’s idea; Yuna, their childhood friend was still the guitarist as far as Jeongguk knew, but that was about what was left of their high school’s shitty little rock band. Jeongguk didn’t even know if Eunbi kept their old band name.
“You know a bunch of music students here on campus, I’m sure finding a drummer won’t be that difficult,” Jeongguk voiced. It’s not that he hated the idea, but he was already struggling in a few of his classes, and he had to maintain his spot on the handball team once his knee got better. Did he even want to dust off his old drum set? Was he willing to miss out on parties for band practice?
Nah.
“We’ve tried, okay?” Eunbi groaned. “At this point we’re getting desperate. We just need someone to at least take a temporary position for a month, just so we can apply and perform at the qualification rounds at the end of April. SBB isn't until June, we’ll find someone else by then!” She brought her hands together, pleading. “I told the rest of the band about you and they’re really hopeful, okay. Please? It’ll be one month, and like… three gigs? At most!”
Technically Jeongguk didn’t have anything too important going on until the end of May, when all his exams were due, and if Eunbi was speaking the truth he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He supposed one month of playing drums again wouldn’t be so bad, but… “I’m so out of practice,” Jeongguk said, still hesitating. He hadn’t played in over two years, and as far as he knew SBB might as well stand for Serious Bloody Business. “I honestly don’t think I’d do a good job for you guys if you’re planning on competing.”
They had done a few casual shows and competitions back when they were younger, but nothing so serious that Jeongguk had been very nervous before getting on stage. Mostly Jeongguk performed for fun, even if some of the other members were more ambitious and competitive.
“Where’d your confidence go?” Eunbi laughed. “You used to say you were the best drummer on this side of the Han River.”
Mumbling under his breath, Jeongguk defiantly crossed his arms over his chest. Sure, he said that, but that’s when he was seventeen and genuinely thought he could drum-solo his way out of every problem he had. Eunbi was grinning across of him now, as if she knew she had him. “Listen,” she said, “we have band practice at 9 at Studio R — you know that place, right? Off campus, next to Chicken Bop. Stop by, we’ll try playing a few songs on the drum kit that’s there. If anything this is a good chance for you to just forget about this whole Ahreum-business.”
She was right, probably. Eunbi knew he got stuck in his own head sometimes, and had a tendency to blame himself when things got rough. He would probably be out of commission from the handball team for at least a couple more weeks anyway, and knowing himself Jeongguk would grow restless and bored quickly without a schedule.
Sighing, Jeongguk dragged a hand over his face. He really didn’t see a way out of this, and it wasn’t like he didn’t miss playing sometimes. Maybe getting a hobby would help him feel like he was doing something with his life.
“Fine.”
.
.
.
Studio R was a live venue and bar, mostly reserved for small bands and underground rappers. Jeongguk had been there once, and it hadn’t been for the live show but rather the free drinks. It had been crowded, and dark, and that’s really all Jeongguk remembered. He’d also been completely shit-faced, and whatever impression Studio R had on him was a drunken one. It looked a lot different in daylight however, he knew that much. The bar wasn’t manned, and it looked almost cozy without a bunch of sweaty young adults dancing around.
“Hey, you’re here!”
Eunbi was already tuning her bass, legs dangling from the side of the elevated stage; her pink hair was tied into a ponytail, and she looked very comfortable between all the audio equipment. It was a little nostalgic seeing her with the bass in her hands, Jeongguk would admit.
Still, it felt awkward, because suddenly the three other people in the room were also staring. Yuna hadn’t changed much since Jeongguk last saw her, and the smile on her face was genuine and wide as usual. “Jeongguk!” she exclaimed, hurriedly placing her guitar down to come greet him. “I thought Eunbi was bluffing when she said you were coming!”
“Nah, I’m here. Heard you were in a pinch, I agreed to help out for the qualification rounds at least,” Jeongguk said. Yuna was all smiles, skipping up to Jeongguk to give him a hug. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other at all since Jeongguk got released from the military, but it had only been a few times here and there. Yuna didn’t attend the same university as them either, so seeing her on campus wasn’t usual.
“Okay guys — this is my twin brother Jeongguk. Yes, we don’t look alike, we’re fraternal, don’t mention it. Jeongguk, this is Yoongi, keyboard —” a rather small-statured man with a pale, soft face and cat-like eyes waved at him; he looked bored, Jeongguk wondered if it was just his face, “and Taehyung, our vocalist.”
There are many Taehyung’s in the world, Jeongguk thought, thinking it a funny coincidence. There was absolutely no way he expected to turn around and see his shell-shocked roommate sitting there, eyes wide and mouth open in horror.
Jeongguk hadn’t even noticed Taehyung, much less recognised him when he first walked in. Taehyung looked a lot different than Jeongguk was used to, with his hair mussed up, dressed in a casual t-shirt and wide-legged pants instead of his ironed chinos and Ralph Lauren shirts. The fact that Taehyung had any sort of hobby outside just studying was genuinely shocking to him.
“Uhh — hi,” Jeongguk voiced, when Taehyung showed no sign of even greeting him normally. He tore his eyes away from him, because them just staring at each other wasn’t going to make this meeting any less awkward. Leaving seemed like a very tempting option, honestly. “Nice to meet you.”
There was a brief silence. “Nice to meet you too,” Taehyung finally said. Pretending like nothing had ever happened between them, like they didn’t see each other just this morning, biting insults at one another. Jeongguk had promised to stay one month, to just help them out, and it already felt like a month too long.
But — he couldn’t break yet another promise to his sister.
“Please excuse my brother,” Eunbi said, “he doesn’t take social cues very well.”
“Shut up?” Jeongguk voiced. “Who are you to talk? We’re basically the same person.”
“No, we’re not, thank God for that,” Eunbi scoffed. “Either way — let’s get to it, shall we?”
.
.
.
In the end, drumming turned out to be a little like cycling. Jeongguk definitively didn’t feel as confident as he used to, but he still remembered, and playing old 2000’s punk rock jogged his memory as well as it filled him with some sweet, sweet nostalgia.
Taehyung’s singing was a surprise. He had a deep voice when he spoke, which translated well when he was singing. He also had a range Jeongguk wasn’t really expecting; Jeongguk would lie if he said he didn’t like it, even if it wasn’t what he expected. His voice was smooth, velvety, and sometimes it had a certain rasp to it that Jeongguk felt in his bones.
So — he had a good voice, Jeongguk would admit that. The way he sang and moved was passionate, like he put his whole body and soul into the music. Jeongguk, as someone who once thought he’d make it big with their shitty little rock band, could appreciate that, but there was no way in hell he was actually going to admit to Taehyung that he liked any aspect of him. Over his dead fucking body.
“I forgot how much of a workout playing drums was,” Jeongguk sighed when they’d decided to finish up for the day. He’d gotten a feel of what it was like to play, and his arms were starting to burn. “I thought I’d handle it better.”
“Guess big biceps don’t automatically make a good drummer,” Eunbi grinned. “Time to lay off the weights, brother.”
“No way,” Jeongguk scoffed. His injury limited his possibilities to work out, so he wasn’t going to drop any of his weightlifting. “I’ll get used to it. It’s different, is all. Damn, it’s hot.”
“Maybe if you wore something other than giant hoodies and sweatpants 24/7 you wouldn’t overheat. It’s a warm spring,” Yuna laughed. “You dress like you are constantly ready to rob a bank. You and Yoongi both.”
Indeed, Yoongi was also wearing a big hoodie, matched with skinny jeans and a beanie. It wasn’t that cold out anymore, spring having hit the city early, but somehow Jeongguk felt like Yoongi also appreciated a good leather jacket in the sweltering summer. “Well,” Yoongi voiced, “you never know when you need some extra cash.”
“Wanna rob a bank together?” Jeongguk asked.
“We’re not there quite yet,” Yoongi said, but Jeongguk could tell he was just clowning him. He thought so, at least. “Learn our songs first, then I’ll consider.”
“Sweet.” Jeongguk stretched behind the drum set, yawn escaping his mouth. He met Taehyung’s eyes as the vocalist briefly looked over to him. They both hurriedly looked away. “I-I’ll have a listen, then. Who writes, anyway?”
“I wrote most of them, but Eunbi has some nice inputs every so often,” Yoongi said. Eunbi looked very flustered where she was putting her bass back in its case. “I have a friend who helps out sometimes, too, he usually comes to our gigs so I’m sure you’ll meet him.”
“Oppa studies music production,” Yuna bragged from next to Yoongi, bringing a hand down to smack Yoongi’s back affectionately. It looked like it hurt from the way Yoongi winced. “He’s pretty amazing, making lyrics and stuff. We tend to help with melodies, to feel like we’re providing something, but really it’s mostly Yoongi-oppa.”
Yoongi’s ears turned a little pink. “Whatever. Yeah, I make most of our songs.”
“He also rearranged a few of the old ones we made a long time ago,” Eunbi said. “We still sing Butterfly.”
Jeongguk spluttered, cheeks heating at the thought of Yoongi, the cool-looking music production student, reading his angsty high school lyrics. “What. Why?”
“It wasn’t bad or anything, figured we could still use it somehow since the arrangement was good,” Yoongi said. “It was pretty nice as it was, even, we just changed the pacing here and there to suit Taehyung’s voice a bit more. Eunbi said most of your vocalists have had a pretty high pitch, so we switched it up accordingly.”
“He also changed some of your cringe-y lyrics,” Eunbi sniggered.
“Shut up, oh my god.”
“Anyway,” Yuna piped in, “I think Eunbi just sent you the ones we’re planning on performing, so it’s not like you’re going to have to learn everything. Not that everything is even that much, Taehyung-oppa joined only… two months ago, was it? Yeah, so we’ve worked through this process with him, too. Most the songs are pretty new to us as well, so we’ll work through it together.”
Yuna was optimistic as usual. She also had a bit too much faith in Jeongguk’s abilities, probably. “Well, alright. I’ll definitively work it out. When’s the next practice?”
“We have Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays here at Studio R, at 4PM,” Eunbi voices, “and Sunday evenings, if there aren’t any performances.”
That fit almost scarily well into Jeongguk’s nonexistent Tuesday schedule tomorrow. He would have had schedule on Thursdays if he could go to practice, but other than that he’d been unlucky when picking classes and ended up in an early lecture, which meant it would probably work out as well. “Well, I should have enough time tomorrow to pick up my old drum set. Hopefully it’s still in good shape.”
The problem, obviously, would be to actually transport the drum set anywhere. It was (hopefully) still in their parents’ garage, and it shouldn’t be a problem taking a small ride to the other side of the river to get it; however, Jeongguk had no car, Eunbi had no license (something about protecting the pedestrians of Seoul), and their parents only owned a tiny Beetle that barely fit two of them when squeezing real tight. Worst case scenario he’d have to take several trips by subway, or, you know — hire a car. That meant money being spent though, and Jeongguk already had a feeling he’d need to replace a few parts of his old drum set.
“Anyone happen to own a van? That’s free tomorrow morning?” he asked, mostly as a joke.
“You’re saying you won’t try to fit your drum set into our moms’ Beetle?” Eunbi grinned.
“I’m saying it’s not possible,” Jeongguk groaned. “I’ll have space in my dorm to store it, probably, it’s just actually picking it up that’s the issue. And transporting it for gigs, I guess.”
“Doesn’t your uncle own a minivan, Taehyungie?” Yoongi chimed in, and Jeongguk wasn’t lying when he said Taehyung looked livid about Yoongi mentioning it. Honestly, Jeongguk didn’t want Taehyung’s help with anything either, but he also didn’t want to be a bother for the rest of the band by treating Taehyung badly. They could save that for their dorm.
No matter how displeased he looked however, Taehyung sighed and muttered a “yes, my uncle owns a van.” Judging by the tone of his voice, Taehyung didn’t really want to help, which was fair. “I can send him a message, ask about borrowing it. I refuse to drive it, though.”
“It’s okay, if it’s a mini I should be able to drive myself,” Jeongguk said. “Not that it’s a problem if it doesn’t work out. I’ll figure something out.”
There was a very obvious stifling silence where no one really dared to say anything. It looked like Taehyung was still on the verge of refusing to help, and at this point Jeongguk wasn’t sure he wanted it either. Maybe taking several trips by subway could work. Or he could rent a car. Yeah, that sounded doable. “You don’t have to, I can just —”
“I’ll ask him for you,” Taehyung cut him off, “just — I need a way to contact you.”
There was no way anyone could ignore how tense the situation was, but Jeongguk still pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Taehyung. They had lived together for half a year, now, and never exchanged numbers. “Put your number in and I’ll text you, later.”
With a small, almost inaudible sigh, Taehyung accepted. He plotted his number in with a frown, as if Jeongguk didn’t already feel like Taehyung was only agreeing to help because they had an audience. Well, he knew he only agreed because they had an audience. Hell, they didn’t even need to exchange numbers, since they lived together, and Jeongguk wouldn’t be surprised if it was a fake one Taehyung just put in.
“Here.”
Taehyung practically shoved Jeongguk’s phone back at him as soon as he’d finished typing in his number, hurriedly picking up his backpack. “I’m leaving. I have some reading to do for tomorrow.”
“You don’t have classes on Tuesdays, though?” Yoongi called after him. Taehyung didn't reply, only made his way up the stairs of Studio R and out of sight. Well. They would be seeing each other later, and Jeongguk wasn’t particularly looking forward to it.
Whatever.
“… Anyway,” Eunbi drawled after an uncomfortably long silence. “Uhh — I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow? Say hi to mom for me, Jeongguk!”
“Which one?” Jeongguk asked, because that joke never got old.
Eunbi smacked the back of his head on the way out.
.
.
.
On his way back, after assuring Eunbi (read: lying) through text that everything was fine between him and Taehyung — that he was ‘just surprised, since he’d seen Taehyung on campus before’ — Jeongguk took a detour back home through the streets outside campus to avoid confrontation. The thought of going back to the dorm and seeing his roommate was not an appealing one, and he was craving some snacks anyway. It wasn’t even his damn cheat day, but he felt like he deserved some honey butter chips with what hellfire was waiting for him back home.
Jeongguk stopped by the convenience store right outside campus, the one that was solely still running because of hungry and sleep-deprived students, fully intending to buy himself as much snacks as he could with whatever cash he had. However, as he walked inside, he was immediately met with another problem; one he had ignored for a couple of hours thanks to band practice (and being more worried about Taehyung than anything else).
Ahreum.
His ex-girlfriend and her entire posse was there, crowding around the check-out area, arms full of soju and chips. They were laughing, not at all at Jeongguk, but somehow it felt that way with his untimely entrance. Jeongguk thought he could sneak back out — his appetite was already gone and saturated fat wasn’t good for him anyway — but then he met eyes with one of Ahreum’s friends, who immediately fell silent. She slapped Ahreum’s shoulder, and of course his ex turned and looked at Jeongguk immediately, pretty eyes wide in surprise.
Lowering his head, Jeongguk tailed towards the back of the shop, making himself very small by the refreshment aisle. That soju fridge was looking more and more tempting as Ahreum and her friends started talking again, this time quietly, obviously whispering about Jeongguk. Only a week ago Jeongguk had been meeting up with these same people — even without his girlfriend present — to eat lunch with them and just hang out. The fact that it all changed so quickly just because Ahreum didn’t want to be with him anymore — it hurt.
It really did.
When the bell over the door rang and their voices faded outside, Jeongguk exhaled, deeply, and cursed himself for being so god-damn emotional about this. He felt the tears gather in his eyes before he could even tell himself not to fucking cry.
“You alright, dude?”
Jeongguk sniffled, hurriedly wiping any stray tears gathering before turning towards the sound of a slightly familiar voice. Jung Hoseok was standing behind him, worried expression on his face and several packs of instant noodles cradled in his arms. They’d met before, mainly during parties and outings where Ahreum’s whole clique was invited, and while Jeongguk didn’t know Hoseok on a personal level, he knew they’d had a few deep, very drunk conversations together.
“U-uh, yeah. I’m good,” Jeongguk lied, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. “Got something in my eye, is all.”
“Dust?” Hoseok tried, maybe to help Jeongguk save face. “It’s rampant this time of year.”
“No, feelings,” Jeongguk sighed. Hoseok laughed, albeit little awkwardly. He didn’t seem particularly weirded out by Jeongguk crying in a convenience store, but if what Jeongguk remembered about Hoseok was true, then he was probably just too nice to leave Jeongguk alone. “Sorry, I — haven’t had the best week.”
“It's... Monday?” Hoseok said, grimace on his face. “You wanna — you wanna get some soju? You can talk about it if you want, I’m a great listener.”
… Hoseok’s offer sounded great, actually. Maybe talking to someone like him — someone who was basically a stranger — could help him a little with figuring out what the fuck he was supposed to do with all his emotional problems piling up. “I would like that,” Jeongguk mumbled. “I’ll pay.”
Hoseok shook his head. “I’ll get it, don’t worry. Go outside, we’ll just use the convenience store tables.”
Jeongguk hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah man, don’t worry about it,” Hoseok smiled. He had a soothing sort of grin, one that told you it would all be okay. “You can pay me back some other time. I distinctly remember you telling me once you’re a good cook, though I might have made that up whilst very, very drunk.”
“We seem to have met like that often,” Jeongguk said, sheepishly. Hoseok pulled out a couple of soju — Fresh! guess they were really getting wasted — and clumsily placed them between the many noodle-packages in his arms. “But — yeah, I’ll take you up on that. Seeing your choice of noodles is already a little worrying, that’s a lot of sodium.”
Hoseok threw his head back in laugher. “Oh my God, you’re the absolute worst,” he chided. “Get outside! I’ll pay for everything. Want any snacks?”
While Jeongguk originally had come into the convenience store for snacks, whatever hunger he had was replaced with thirst for bad decisions, and so he shook his head no and made his way outside. The plastic chairs weren’t the most sturdy-looking, and Jeongguk made sure to sit down very carefully in fear of snapping them. He barely managed to take his phone out of his pocket and scroll down a couple of instagram posts before Hoseok exited with their drinks.
“I know you said you didn’t want snacks, but they sold some nogari by the counter and I couldn’t help myself,” Hoseok grinned. He put a couple of paper shot-glasses onto the table and handed Jeongguk one of the bottles. “Wanna do the honours? Think I remember you bein’ younger than me anyways.”
“Ah, yeah… hyung?”
“Hyung’s fine,” Hoseok confirmed. “Now — pour some drinks and talk about your feelings, Jeon Jeongguk.”
.
.
.
APRIL 4TH, TUESDAY, 6:50AM
Taehyung had texted Jeongguk on Tuesday morning — unbearably early, he might add — telling him to meet at a the university’s parking lot. His uncle had agreed to let them borrow the van, thankfully, but not without conditions.
“Basically,” Taehyung started, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants, “he doesn’t like the idea of a stranger borrowing his minivan, so I assured him I’d be there too to watch over it. So I guess I’m joining you.” He was wearing his usual clothes — or at least the ones Jeongguk had grown used to seeing him in — a knitted sweater and khakis and way-too formal-looking shoes.
He didn’t sound the least bit pleased about joining Jeongguk.
“Ah, well — I might need some help carrying stuff, so I’m not saying no,” Jeongguk said, trying to diffuse the tension. Jeongguk had expected them to have a screaming match as soon as they both got back home yesterday, but Taehyung had stayed in his room and didn’t even bother coming out to make fun of Jeongguk’s dinner. Jeongguk — Jeongguk was still in shock, that a goody-two-shoes like Kim Taehyung was a part of a rock band. Obviously Taehyung didn’t seem thrilled at all about Jeongguk joining, but Jeongguk wasn’t about to just let Taehyung win by leaving.
No way.
“How far away is your parents’ house?” Taehyung asked as they climbed into the van. It had been a little while since Jeongguk drove a car this size — actually it had been a while since he was behind the wheel in general — but he was at least used to driving stick-shift. He hoped the fact that he wasn’t feeling hungover from yesterday didn’t mean he was still drunk.
“30 minutes by car, if we’re lucky with the traffic,” Jeongguk said.
“This is Seoul,” Taehyung deadpanned. “You can never be lucky with traffic.”
True. “Yeah, so, one hour? One hour thirty at most.”
A deep sigh escaped Taehyung’s lips. “Great.”
It didn’t take long for the silence to become stifling. Jeongguk could have used the excuse of having to keep his eyes on the road, but really they got stuck in traffic the moment the van rolled onto the highway and there was no reason for them not to speak. Taehyung was staring out the window on his side, and it even looked like he was trying to sit as far away as possible from Jeongguk.
… Great, here goes nothing, Jeongguk thought.
“So… why did you join the band?”
Taehyung scoffed at Jeongguk’s attempt of socialising. “Really? Small talk?”
“Maybe I’m curious,” Jeongguk said, shrugging.
“Maybe I don’t want to share any personal information with you?” Taehyung said, voice slightly condescending. “You planning on us becoming best buds because we’re in the same band, now? Get real.”
Damn. Jeongguk whistled. “Jeez. I’m just trying to be civil. We’ll have to see each other more often and I’m just saying the two of us being at each other’s throats won’t be good for the band.”
“You’re not even actually in the band, why would you care?”
Jeongguk couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re just saying that to get a rise out of me, but obviously I’m doing this for Eunbi. She’s my twin sister, she asked me a favour, and so I’m helping out. I’m not about to let some childish rivalry destroy her dream of attending SBB. She talked about that even back in high school.”
Taehyung hummed. There was a tense pause before he opened his mouth again. “Can I ask you something too, then?”
Raising one eyebrow, Jeongguk glanced at his roommate from the corner of his eye. “… okay.”
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” Taehyung said. “Is it true you broke up with Han Ahreum?”
Jeongguk gulped. He should have seen that coming. “More like she dumped me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Jeongguk shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if he hadn’t been crying himself to sleep over it. “S’fine, I’ll get over her. Eventually.” He sniffed, fingers tapping the wheel rhythmically. “Sorry about being loud and obnoxious with my crying, I’ll try tone it down.”
“I —” Taehyung cut himself off, huffing, “you don’t have to apologize for being heartbroken. Break-ups suck, I’m not going to be an ass about it. Wouldn’t have been if I knew what it was about. I guess I’m sorry, too. You must have liked her.”
Jeongguk nodded. “Yeah. Guess I did.”
The car was moving painfully slow, Jeongguk thought. It was giving them too much time to talk.
“I joined that band to prove someone wrong,” Taehyung said then, quickly, as if he was just getting it over with. His arms were crossed, defensively, head still turned to the passenger window. “It sounds petty, I know. Feel free to judge.”
“Yeah, it’s petty” Jeongguk agreed. Taehyung scoffed, probably not expecting Jeongguk to immediately agree with him. Which was stupid, considering their entire relationship was based on putting each other down. “Still — I relate to that. It’s why I applied for SNU.”
Jeongguk saw Taehyung turn his head in his peripheral vision. “You applied to SNU out of pettiness?”
“To prove people wrong,” Jeongguk corrected him. “People like you. All my classmates and teachers who told me I couldn’t because I wasn’t made for it back in high school, and everyone who still thinks I don’t deserve to be here because I got in on a sport scholarship. As if the time and effort I spent working to get in means nothing just because of what I’m studying.” He briefly looked over to Taehyung, who immediately avoided Jeongguk’s eyes. “And then — then you act like I stole someone else’s spot, as if I’m not working my ass off to get good grades like the rest of you.”
There was an edge of anger in his voice, and Jeongguk knew he was being unfair. He was pretty sure Taehyung had his prejudices against him, but he probably didn’t argue with Jeongguk out of malicious intent. The way he seemed to sink a little into his seat almost made Jeongguk feel bad for raising his voice. Almost.
“Wanna put on some music? Then we don’t have to talk to each other.”
Maybe he was being rude, but Taehyung had grown completely silent at this point. Unfortunately the car’s audio system was broken, but Taehyung put on a playlist on his phone, angry punk music blaring through the shitty phone speakers as they did their absolute best to ignore each other.
Jeongguk supposed it was better.
The ride there was still awkward, even with the music playing, so when Jeongguk could finally swing into his parents’ neighbourhood he let out a small sigh of relief. The quiet, old complexes were familiar, as were the narrow winding roads of old asphalt leading to his moms’ place. Their home was a narrow, two-story building in red brick, full of memories, to the point where Jeongguk felt nostalgic only looking at it. He remembered running home with his sister and bandmates when they were younger, his moms’ welcoming them with open arms and freshly baked goods.
“Right, this is it,” Jeongguk said, killing the engine. “One of my moms should be home, I’m gonna go knock on the door.”
“One of — what?” Taehyung spluttered.
Ah. Jeongguk had forgotten what it felt like explaining this to everyone who met his parents. When he was younger he’d tell people before coming over, and sometimes even lie that they were just friends, because he heard how the other parents talked about his moms. He’d have classmates say they weren’t allowed to hang out with him and Eunbi because of their parents, and he had been confused and angry and ended up in fights because of it. The amount of fights him and Eunbi got into when they were young was the main reason they were separated in high school.
However, they were both adults, and Jeongguk no longer lied about his parents and who they were. “I said one of my moms might be home. As in I have two moms. Got a problem with that?”
“N-no, why would I — I just didn’t know!” Taehyung said in excuse. “Eunbi never mentioned anything about her family, I didn’t even know you were her brother until yesterday!”
Jeongguk might have felt hurt about that, but it’s not like he talked about Eunbi with his college friends, either. Had he even mentioned her? They were usually on different campuses, they never had classes together, and as much as Jeongguk loved his sister they didn’t hang out as much as they once used to. As for her not mentioning their moms, that wasn’t really surprising, seeing as they’d both gotten used to skirting around the subject. “Alright. You gonna stay in the car?”
It looked like Taehyung hesitated for a second, but then he moved to unfasten his seatbelt. “You might need help lifting stuff," he said.
“I’d appreciate it.”
The very moment Jeongguk slammed the door to the van shut, the door to his parents’ house opened; in the entrance stood one of his mothers, large smile spreading on her face at the sight of her adult son in front of her house.
As per usual, Solji was a very dramatic woman. She skipped down the stairs, floral garments flowing behind her, arms spread wide. “Jeongguk! My dear son, what a surprise!” she exclaimed, quick to pull Jeongguk down to her level to pepper his face with kisses despite his protests. “It’s been so long! Did you grow again?”
A little embarrassed, Jeongguk pushed her off, gently. “Mom, come on,” he complained. “You saw me last week, stop exaggerating. And I told you I was coming!”
“I know, but I miss you all the time no matter how often I see you. Also I like to poke fun at you,” Solji smiled. Her eyes moved over to Taehyung, who was standing awkwardly by the van, hands behind his back. “Eunbi didn’t come with you? Who is this?”
“Ah, he’s in the band too,” Jeongguk said. “It’s his uncle’s van, so he joined to make sure I didn’t crash it or whatnot.”
Solji gave her son a small look from the corner of her eye, and then she strode forward to greet Taehyung. “Hello! I’m Jeongguk and Eunbi’s number one mom. The other one isn’t home right now, so she can’t say otherwise.” Instead of just nodding her head politely like a normal person, Solji went straight for a hug, and Taehyung stuttered while introducing himself, Solji no doubt squeezing the life out of him.
“I-I’m Kim Taehyung. It’s, uhh, it’s nice to meet you?”
“Nice to meet you too, Taehyung!” Solji said. “Eunbi talks about the band a lot, it’s nice to finally meet more of you. We used to have old band over for dinner when the twins were in high school, it was so lovely! Maybe you should all come over sometime, now that Jeongguk is playing again?”
“Mom.”
“Ah — am I getting ahead of myself?” She grinned, sheepishly. “Right, I do that. Ah — I’ll go get the keys to the garage, you kids wait here!”
Solji gave Taehyung a smile, and patted Jeongguk’s shoulder affectionately when she passed him. Jeongguk should have expected her to get excited; she always was very supportive of whatever activities they did, and always showed up when their band had small gigs or performed during school plays. Their other mom — Hyojin — was a lot more realistic about their hobbies, always trying to keep them grounded.
“Your mom is very pretty,” Taehyung commented, breaking the silence. He gave Jeongguk a small look. “Uhh — is your other mom working?”
“Ah, yeah,” Jeongguk nodded, “she’s a music teacher, she works for a couple of the big performance schools around the city so she’s pretty busy. Solji works too, just from home. She paints, makes really nice and interesting pieces. Her stuff is Insta famous, it’s pretty wild, but at least she can relax from home.” Well, maybe Taehyung wasn’t the person to confide to that he was growing increasingly worried about his mothers overworking themselves. “Anyway, yeah. They’re doing what they like, so that’s nice.”
Humming, Taehyung nodded in understanding. “That makes sense, you and Eunbi both seem very artistic, too. You must have gotten it from your parents.”
“Guess so,” Jeongguk shrugged. “I think everyone’s got some kind of artistic talent, though, no matter what. We’re just lucky to have had parents that allow us to express it.”
Taehyung went quiet at that, lips turning into a frown. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
It seemed like Jeongguk might have hit a nerve, but he didn’t try to pry. Taehyung also didn’t elaborate, merely turning his attention away from Jeongguk to stare at the ground. The atmosphere was still awkward. “I — I think I misjudged you, a little,” Taehyung suddenly said, surprising Jeongguk. “A little.”
“Yeah?” Jeongguk voiced. “About what?”
Taehyung shrugged. “Dunno. Some things. Didn’t think you’d be the type to cry after a break-up, for example.”
Jeongguk grimaced. “Why’s that?”
“You don’t seem like the type,” Taehyung said. “But I guess that’s my misconception, thinking you’re some desensitised fuckboy. Guess you really liked her.”
Obviously, there was more to his break-up with Ahreum than that, but that was a can of worms Jeongguk didn’t want to open; not again, and definitively not with Taehyung. “Yeah,” he said instead. “I guess we both have misconceptions about each other, then.”
“… I—”
“Found the keys!”
Solji effectively cut off whatever Taehyung tried to say with her reappearance, jingling the garage keys in her hand as she approached them. She didn’t seem to realise she’d interrupted something. “Here! I checked the garage this morning, it’s still there, but it’s a bit dusty. Why don’t you boys work on getting it in the van and I’ll make you something to eat? Some tea?”
“That’s okay, I — wouldn’t want to intrude,” Taehyung quickly excused, “I also have tutoring in a couple of hours, so…” Well, that meant Jeongguk would have to drive him back anyway. He’d looked forward to his mom’s baking. Darn it.
“Oh, I understand!” Solji smiled. “I’ll just give you something for the road, then. But you better come back for a full meal some day! Bring the whole band!”
Jeongguk sighed. “Thanks, mom, that’s enough,” he said. “Go back to your paintings, now.”
“Brat,” Solji said without malice, giving Jeongguk the keys. “Careful, don’t hurt yourself lifting anything.”
The drum set was terribly dusty, pushed into the farthest corner of the garage, between a ton of art supplies and old bicycles. Still, it seemed like Jeongguk would be able to move it without harming anything else, as long as Taehyung helped out a little. “It shouldn’t be very heavy. How much do you lift?” Jeongguk asked, easily picking up the floor tom; he got a nice whiff of dust in his face, and coughed.
“How much do I what?” Taehyung said from behind him, scoffing. “Do I look like I lift anything, dude-bro?”
“No need to be sassy with me,” Jeongguk mumbles. “Take the toms and the snare drum, then, I’ll get the cymbals. Try not to scratch my moms’ car, yeah?”
Taehyung muttered something under his breath that was probably less than nice, but did as Jeongguk said, moving swiftly past him as Jeongguk exited to put the first load into the van. As expected, it didn’t really take long, though Jeongguk did most of the lifting. Eventually Taehyung ended up just holding the doors open at the back of the minivan, rearranging the drums to fit. They found some straps at the back of the garage to fasten everything, making sure it wouldn’t slide around too much in the back.
“We should probably get a van, honestly,” Taehyung mumbled as Jeongguk slammed the back doors shut. “SBB is gonna be a bit out of the city centre even for the preliminaries. And we need to transport our instruments more effectively.”
Jeongguk nodded. “Yeah. Let’s talk about it with the rest of the band, though. I don’t know how much bigger of a van than this I’m actually allowed to drive with my license.”
Taehyung hummed. “We could paint it. The van. That’d be fun.”
Jeongguk had no idea where this was coming from. He wasn’t about to ask. “Hey — Taehyung.”
“Hm.”
Eloquent.
“Let’s — let’s be civil, yeah? At least in front of the rest of the band. We obviously have our differences, and we don’t need to be friends, but I have no reason to fight you. Really.”
Sighing, Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck, frown prominent on his face.
“Fine.”
Nodding, Jeongguk dusted his palms off on his jeans, and then held a hand out for Taehyung to grab. “To getting along?”
Taehyung rolled his eyes dramatically, but grabbed Jeongguk’s offered hand anyway. “To trying, at least.”