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taehyung met seokjin on a bad day.
april showers bring may flowers , the self-coping phrase people mumble to themselves during the days they didn’t see the sun. a sprinkle(a shower, a monsoon) of hope, knowing that in a few short weeks the air would be sweet and dry kept people motivated. taehyung mumbled it to himself that very morning when he slept through his alarm because fuck, rain pattering against the window was the sweetest lullaby how could he be blamed?
he said it again when he stepped ankle deep into a murky puddle.
another time when he caught sight of himself in a storefront, realizing he was walking into work looking like a drowned rat (the roses would laugh at him again).
one more, right after emptying the contents of his newly purchased coffee tray all over the table nearest him.
sat at said table happened to be the most celestial looking man taehyung had ever seen, which truly was saying something. how often was celestial used to physically describe another human being? that day was the first for him, he saw seokjin sitting there, the word came to his head and then it just decided to never leave again. when he looked at seokjin he saw the moon, the sun and all of the stars.
as a romantic, taehyung always did precisely what that word implies. he romanticized just about everything from nighttime bus rides home to the soft, secret glances shared between the two baristas behind the counter; while not the most clandestine person by nature, taehyung didn’t often like to admit to his rom-com-esque fantasies. they were a lovers daydream, it was unrealistic and taehyung knew that.
(but he wished and wished ).
taehyung regularly found himself at odds with reality and daydreams, what he wanted so badly to happen and the actual greyscale of what was real. and usually he could win the battle, he’d find a reasonable commonground and he’d function as a normal human being like he was supposed to. rose tinted glasses hide a lot of red flags, something he’d often times considered tattooing on his fucking forehead.
but all logic and reason went out the window when he met seokjin.
from the first moment his ankle caught the leg of that chair, taehyung dreamed of what would come next-- the paper mugs exploding across the tabletop, the honey skinned boy would jump up unscathed and assure taehyung with a genuine smile that it was alright and you can make it up to me by coming back tomorrow .
the proceeding events didn’t turn out the way taehyung had dreamed of during lectures or written down at the bus stop, it was him stuttering out shit, i’m sorry , a firm grip catching his bicep and hi sorry, i’m seokjin.
seokjin was(is still) glamorously handsome, a new kind of allure that taehyung had never experienced before, he couldn’t believe that a person like seokjin could possibly exist, let alone exist and look that handsome in a hawaiian print shirt and poorly dyed purple hair. but the most serendipitous part of all, beneath those yardstick shoulders and opulent lips, seokjin was a creature of divine oddities, a person who laughed so hard at his own joke that he started choking. a person who instantly made taehyung’s insides feel all loosey-goosey and april showers bring may flowers.
after taehyung apologized again(and again), when he was halfway out the door he heard someone patter up behind him, a hand on his shoulder and hey sorry, do you by chance have any nicknames?
taehyung had laughed, because seokjin had this goofy smile and twinkling eyes(and a twinkling watch), a small smear of cappuccino foam on his upper lip. he held the door open for taehyung like a gentleman would and repeated the name, kim taehyung, with a solarflare of a smile, kim taehyung, when can i see you again?
with seokjin dancing around in his chest and in his safe haven at the greenhouse, taehyung finally felt the sun break through the clouds.
when seokjin walked into taehyung’s shop a week later it was like he walked with the sun on his heels and the intent to stay.
⇤⇥
two years and six days later, seokjin walked out of their apartment for the last time.
the thing about taehyung’s romanticism is that it umbrellaed over everything , including their breakup. to him, they were indestructible. they were taehyung and seokjin, they were a team, they were the stars of their own love story. seokjin would leave, he’d leave but he’d come back and pull taehyung to his chest that way he did, soft lips against his hair and whispers of it’s okay, we’ll be okay .
but seokjin didn’t come back and the rose glass shattered.
a small part of taehyung held onto hope for days, weeks, and months that he’d come home one day to the smell of homemade sweetbread and seokjin’s singing voice echoing from the shower.
it was in his nature, to hope and to wait, to love until there wasn’t any love left.
he eventually realized that all of the love left when seokjin left.
they were both to blame, at least in taehyung’s eyes.
they fell out of sync and couldn’t find their way back, they yelled instead of talked and spent nights on the sofa instead of together. but they tried, they both put everything they had into it, they’d scream until their throats were raw and then fall to their knees on the kitchen floor.
seokjin would wipe his tears and kiss his cheeks and i love you, i love you.
there are days when taehyung wishes he hated seokjin or even that seokjin hated him . even that would be easier than knowing they’d loved one another until there was nothing left and it still wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough for them to make it.
it started like a small hole in your favorite sweater, harmless until you start picking at the seams. miniscule arguments about which drawer produce should go in and shoes in the hallway, but slowly those turned into selfish and hotheaded , and then i don’t know how much longer we can do this and this is destroying us .
it was like they had forgotten how to just be .
as it happens, being in love is a lot like doing just about everything else, you do it for so long that it becomes routine or like a job, it becomes second nature. they lost their genuity, maybe they somehow lost part of themselves, whatever it was that clicked them together.
bad nights were more frequent than good nights, eventually.
they’d go out and one of them would drink too much or they both would, someone would get too handsy at the bar or someone would get too jealous. they’d fight and scream and kiss hard enough to bruise, the next morning they’d have breakfast together and this is okay, everything is okay . it would be okay because together, they’d make it through. the rough patch would pass, they had to hope.
one night after several slammed doors and venomous words, when taehyung was curled up on namjoon’s sofa it was taehyung, sometimes even the things we love most become bad for us and sometimes when you love someone too much you have to let them go, even if it hurts.
but what happens after i let him go?
you hope that someday he comes back.
six weeks later, tangled together beneath the covers, it was taehyung tracing shapes on seokjin’s chest with i need to let you go but all i want to do is ask you to stay and seokjin’s soft, careful voice, so ask me.
seokjin moved his things out only a month later. he did it slowly, sometimes would invite jimin or jungkook over to help, piece by piece. it was easier for taehyung that way, so seokjin did it even if it was worse for himself. he was good like that.
but during the nights, after bouts of silence or soft whispers, seokjin would curl against his back and sniffle-- he wouldn’t cry, or at least wouldn’t let taehyung catch him. taehyung pretended not to notice his puffy eyes and stained cheeks, and seokjin pretended that his world wasn’t crumbling. for the first time taehyung felt seokjin’s wet cheek against his shoulder, he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped seokjin’s arms around him.
that night it was seokjin holding him tight and you are my stars, taehyung, taehyung choked back his sob and my moon, you are my moon hyung.
the best he could do was try to be grateful for those last days they spent together, where seokjin would make a silly joke and taehyung would laugh until he snorted, those brief moments where they’d forget that everything was changing. seokjin would look at taehyung the way he did the first day that they met, their first date and the first night that taehyung moved in. he’d look at taehyung like he held nebulas in his eyes, but still the next day the dresser would be emptied and the closet barren.
the day seokjin left, taehyung sat at the small kitchen table. he felt eerily calm even as seokjin packed up the last of his things into his backpack, he couldn’t even move until he finally heard the front door open.
seokjin caught taehyung against his chest, letting his backpack thump to the floor at his feet. it was please don’t go and please make me stay .
but seokjin still left, and suddenly the apartment was too big.
seokjin left, and taehyung had to learn how to be okay again.
⇤⇥
there are two sure ways of measuring time in terms of taehyung’s life, the before seokjin and the after seokjin.
sometimes the before felt a little bit easier, thinking about the days when he didn’t expect to wake up to someone beside him, when he did the grocery shopping on his own and when he wasn’t used to the sound of squeaking laughter and singing. sometimes it was easier to pretend that he never met seokjin at all. taehyung quit the cafe where they met-- that was stupid, he knows that. everyone told him that. seokjin wouldn’t dare to show up, he wouldn’t dare to give taehyung hope where there wasn’t any, but taehyung couldn’t. he just couldn’t. because even when the hope was gone, he’d still walk in, tie that ugly apron around his waist, and try to fight back the tiny part of him that wished .
so he quit his job, and a few weeks after that he moved out of their(his) apartment. he didn’t want to. his neighbors were friendly and quiet, he loved the bay windows and excess of natural light, but someday’s he would wake up and expect to find seokjin waiting for him in the kitchen. or he’d get home from work or a night out and be ready to curl up against his back-- hopeless.
everything reminded him of seokjin, his job, his apartment, his friends.
two of the three he could fix, just slowly shove them away and hide them until maybe, maybe he could just pretend. but pretending was hard when seokjin left, but somehow stayed.
the before was easier because at least then, he didn’t even know that seokjin existed, and as much as he tried(he tried ) to forget about him, nobody else did. he knew that seokjin was now working in the same building as yoongi, he knew that once a week or every other week seokjin would treat jungkook to lunch to catch up-- he was still there.
the after wasn’t as easy, as if any of it were easy at all.
they try not to say his name, but taehyung always knew who they were talking about, who they were going to see. and he understood, because they loved seokjin, how could he blame them when he loved him too. knew all of the reasons why you can’t erase someone like seokjin from your life; maybe it’d be easier if taehyung hated him, if he didn’t understand.
over time it got easier, or at least that was what taehyung told himself.
he gave up, he did. but even after two years, taehyung didn’t find someone else. maybe it was because after seokjin, nobody ever felt like they’d be enough. i’m just working on myself , he’d tell jimin after turning down yet another blind double-date.
you’ve been working on yourself for two years, jimin said, looking almost sad. like he pitied taehyung. don’t you think it’s time to at least give someone a chance?
no . that’s what taehyung wanted to say, but he was over seokjin. he was. so instead he said, i’m too busy to date, jimin .
it wasn’t a lie, not directly. he was busy.
after quitting his job at the cafe and moving to a tiny studio apartment in the city, taehyung found one thing that he could use to escape. he always loved to paint, he loved to use thick lines of black paint but a splash of color, whichever one he was feeling-- and they sold. namjoon convinced him to sell one, and then another. it kept taehyung busy, but it was also his outlet. people came back for unique, one of a kind paintings that looked contemporary and expensive. they meant nothing to the new owners, but to taehyung they held memories, ones that he was trying to rid himself of.
somewhere in someone’s gaudy home, probably hanging over a marble mantle, was a painting of seokjin’s lips. he was happy to sell that one.
a scenic piece of an empty cafe to the press of fingers on someone’s hip, he was happy to sell those, too.
the after seokjin was harder, but slowly, three years later, taehyung felt almost like himself again. like he’d be okay.
⇤⇥
three years after seokjin left, taehyung finally agrees to that blind double-date.
his name is hoseok , jimin says to him between his second and third coat of lipgloss. he’s a dancer, a dancer . he teaches trainees in the city and is beautiful and hilarious and will hopefully fuck me into next week.
disgusting. taehyung says, fluffy his hair a bit. it’s grown long and curly these days, he always hated it before(but seokjin said it was nice). he doesn’t ask about his date, which seems to annoy jimin.
you’re not even going to ask about him? jimin turns around, hands on his hips.
nope . taehyung replies, heading out of the bathroom with jimin on his heels. i’d rather go in with zero expectations, you know?
jimin knew, so he nods.
an hour after that, they’re walking into what appears to be some pretentious winebar. jimin says something about needing to use to restroom and you know how my stomach gets when i’m nervous , so taehyung waits at the mahogany bar. he traces over the elegant wood with the tip of his finger, kind of wishing that his stomach was tied into nervous and excited knots. he didn’t really feel anything. he wasn’t ready.
he weighs the pros and cons of running, and then he’s hopping out of his seat to beeline for the door. except he runs head-on into a broad, hard as a rock form. he stumbles back a bit, immediately apologizing as he realizes the puddle of wine on the floor and the suddenly stained pants of whoever he just mowed down.
shit, i’m sorry.
a hand steadies his elbow, he hears breath hitching, his heart thumps in his ears.
hi sorry, i’m seokjin.