Chapter Text
no one wanted to play with me as a little kid.
It would be very easy to remain anchored to the readings of our youth. It would be simpler to still read our favorite books over and over again, and pretend that the illusions transcribed on the blank pages can somehow become our reality. Every reader enjoys this kind of magic for some time; they open a new book (carefully or frantically chosen) because the internet told them to, then they look for the right moment and eventually start chasing the words so that in their minds they can finally start to make sense. Taehyung was never able to make sense of them quickly, too caught up in the reality around him, almost forced to break that magic from the beginning and never being able to experience the illusion of literature. In the end, his life was longer and more dangerous than a book. He was never given permission to be bored, his mother ran too far from one side to another to get used to the schools or the gardens or the faces of his classmates - then his mother had stopped too soon, too fast, to bore him with her company. At this point in the resecount of his life, Taehyung would like to have the skills to remember his mother's face in great detail. He would like to be able to tell for sure how she wore her hair, what her favorite color was, whether she preferred to wear baggy clothes or tight pants. No, Taehyung couldn't retrieve his memories but he knew that his mother smelled of fabric softener all the time, that her already fine face one day had gotten too thin, and that she had closed her eyes before Taehyung could turn fourteen.
What Taehyung knew very well, without any indulgence, was that his mother had died of exhaustion and that exhaustion had been caused by the poverty into which she had been thrown when the man she loved abandoned her (and him as well).
Taehyung's father had never been a topic of discussion during his childhood. Until school began, Taehyung didn't even realize that a seemingly vital piece was missing from his family. Nevertheless, he never made a big deal out of it. His mother made him feel safe, cared for, even though work made her exhausted. Sure, he was just an infant unable to understand his mother's difficulties or why the walls of their home were so cold, but he never complained, never cried, never stomped his feet on the floor because his classmates had laughed at him due to his worn-out clothes. Those weren't important things, nothing was as important as being able to go home and hide under his mother's clothes - and yet life had set a trap for him anyway, snatching away the one important thing Taehyung knew the value of. Hyejin was slowly taken away from him because of an illness that left no way out, because of a simple pain in her back from the endless hours of her work shifts, a pain that had been neglected in order to set aside the money needed to buy a new uniform just for Taehyung, who didn't even want it, who couldn't even wear it anymore. Death knocked on his door like that and Taehyung tried hard not to answer it, to close his eyes, to shake his head to keep from believing what was happening but eventually he found himself dressed in white at his mother's funeral, next to people he had never seen in his life, with his hand clasped in the large one of an aunt who rarely called home and who was now shedding her tears until they wet the ground. The aunt cried a lot, for a long time, instead Taehyung's eyes remained dry and perhaps that gesture caused a punishment ( "Taehyung, my little one, unfortunately I can't keep you with me but I'm sure someone else will know how to love you as much as your mother," ) and so, just like that, he found himself locked in an orphanage until he was eighteen.
No one ever speaks well of orphanages. Art and literature world often portrays them as dark places, small or large prisons where children are brought up in suffering or loneliness. Taehyung didn't expect anything different, but he didn't object to that either. His meek disposition petrified him at the news, and his little body - stunned by the grief - thought only of clinging to something, anything , to keep himself alive. His was still an immature heart, but he had learned something. If love had been forcibly taken from him, then he would draw his power from something else entirely - then he would anchor himself in hatred . Surely he couldn't have directed his hatred at an aunt that was foolish enough to believe that an orphanage would be the safest choice for an orphaned child; so for a second Taehyung thought about hating his own mother, her kindness, her goodness, and then he tried to hate his classmates who had mocked him to such an extent that they had spurned Hyejin to work more shifts and take more jobs - but in the end, the puzzle was completed on its own as Taehyung began to accumulate in a small suitcase his personal affections, the few he was allowed to take with him to that dark place.
His fingers had been trembling from the moment he had thrown a fistful of dirt on Hyejin's grave; they hadn't stopped trembling for days, even while he slept. They even trembled as they folded clothes, searched for the worn storybook she used to read every night before falling asleep and the jewelry Hyejin kept hidden among the sweaters in her closet for emergencies. Taehyung had no memory of ever seeing them on her, no memory of ever seeing her mother decked out like the women in the movies or like those moms who gather in front of the school gates. The thought that his mother had never been happy made him lose his breath, trampling his chest and almost forcing him to tears but Taehyung wouldn't have succumbed to that gesture, wouldn't have made it real by crying; he would only have been content to dig through Hyejin's things, to sniff with his little nose what was left of her perfume and then - and then something had caught his attention.
Taehyung would forget a few things over time; the memory of adolescence and adulthood would erode from his memory the most insignificant or fundamental details of his mother but, almost as a punishment, nothing was going to save him from remembering that exact moment. His embraces stretched over a pearl green box, a box yellowed by time, then his fingers moved to open its lid and his eyes adjusted to the sight of photos, letters, memories that were not his.
The photos were almost all in black and white, telling of moments that had been hinted at by his mother but of which he didn't know the background (his mother wearing a red dress, his mother wearing heavy makeup, his mother laughing happily, his mother with the jewelry she had hidden, his mother in the arms of a man). Taehyung didn't know who the man was but his heart understood anyway; it could only be his father. The man in question was looking away, toward the camera lens, while Taehyung's mother's eyes were fixed on him, filled with an unrecognizable glint. Was that perhaps that kind of love - the kind that is talked about, the kind that is sung about, the kind that had brought him into the world to see his mother die and life slip from his fingers that now clutched photos and letters of something that had never fully blossomed. And while, perhaps, Taehyung might have been able to forgive the man for disappearing, he couldn't forgive him for the letters he found right after those pictures. Hyejin's thick handwriting was difficult to read but not incomprehensible. Taehyung had a lifetime to learn it, and now he found himself mourning it, losing himself in those one-sided love letters that followed each other over the years without ever receiving a reply.
Dear Richard,
I have lost you many months ago, yet I cannot move on. Our meeting in this country was a miracle but falling in love with you was a choice that, in spite of everything, I can hardly regret. I know very well that I should not send you this letter so compromising for your life but I cannot forget, I cannot keep breathing without trying to ask you why? Why did you lie to me all this time? Why did you never tell me that you had an American wife back home waiting for you? What was I to you? Did you think I would become your Korean wife? The saddest thing, maybe even the most pathetic one, is if you had asked me... But you found out I was pregnant, and then I stopped exerting any kind of attraction on you. That's precisely why I shouldn't tell you, but I still love you and I forgive you. Come back to me and our baby.
Yours, Hyejin.
Dear Richard,
pregnancy is not as easy as I thought it would be. Money is starting to run short, my parents have disowned me, not that I expected a different turn of events. I don't know how it works in your godforsaken land, but here families disown their daughters if they dare to conceive outside of marriage. I tried lying, telling them you were coming back to marry me but no one believed me. Perhaps it is for the best that this was the case, how could I have justified your continued absence and how could I have convinced my family that one of the richest men in the world chose me? If only for a few months, if only for a second. Was it my eyes? My demureness? My body? All fragile things that you would now despise. Our baby has made my hips softer, my belly wider, and my face more tired. You may wonder why I keep writing to you but the answer is simple: I miss you, I miss our time together, I think I will miss you all my life.
Yours, Hyejin.
Dear Richard,
his name is Taehyung.
Yours, Hyejin.
Dear Richard,
I wish I could have told you about his first smile, the first time he walked, and when he called me 'mom' for the first time. I wanted to write to you every night because one letter a year would not be enough, however, my friends advised me to let you go as well as you did. I am trying to do that, I am trying to be a good mother but I must confess to you that sometimes I fear that my parents were right and that a family without a father cannot really be one. I am trying hard not to let him lack anything and I know I am not succeeding perfectly but today he asked me why his classmates have a daddy and I felt like the worst mom in the world. Today I hate you, tomorrow I will continue to love you, but today let me hate you.
Yours, Hyejin.
Dear Richard,
this letter will come to you like a slap in the face. You thought I had disappeared and you are not on the wrong track, I will soon disappear and no one will be able to do anything about it. I promised myself that I would no longer give in to paper, letters, pretty words but although I have stopped loving you, I continue to act out of love and this last one is dedicated only on behalf of my only son. I humble myself here, between these lines, to beg you to do something. Please no longer ignore my calls, Taehyung deserves a future in which I can no longer be there. Richie, I am dying, it is time for you to regain your place.
Yours, Hyejin.
Taehyung read the letters rapidly, drowning himself in information that overwhelmed him until he was shaking with cold, anger, confusion. The first reading was followed by others that were slower, deeper, more careful. There was no sentence or word that wasn't weighed by Taehyung's mind, and the disgust, mortification, and sorrow he felt over those letters was something he could never explain in words. It was a sentiment bigger than himself, something that stirred a tear within him.
Richard. That was his name, that was the name of the man who had broken his mother's heart and condemned them both to this hell. Richard had received each of those letters and had decided to ignore them, to let death and life sweep that unwanted woman and child from his path.
Taehyung was almost fourteen years old, but he knew how to find the right information, knew how to look up who that man might be, and knew how to connect the photos found in that box to a country far away from Korea. Richard, on the other hand, was clearly not Asian and the address used for the letters suggested he came from the States. His mother had fallen in love with a foreign man, a married man, a man who had never loved her back. The realization made him flee to the nearby bathroom to vomit and then prompted him to rise to his feet, rinse his mouth out with tap water, and decide that if love had deserted him, then hate would keep him alive.
Sometimes Taehyung imagines that if those letters had not been there, he wouldn't have survived. If he had no purpose before entering that place, he wouldn’t have the strength to get through it. Richard Anderson - the internet gladly helped him to know his father’s full name - gave him a purpose.
The moment he entered that orphanage things could have gone in two ways, either he would have been overwhelmed by the unfair adoption system or he would have fought it, adjusting to that stage of his life that he had to overcome in order to achieve his real purpose. So Taehyung nodded at any question, even those in which he was required to articulate a few more words. He was transferred to an orphanage near Busan and thrown into a room shared with twenty other children who were about his age. They were called the unacceptable ones, that is, those who would never have a foster family. Not that adoptions were easy there, not that the children could really rebuild their lives after stepping foot in there. The exclusion from the world, the isolation, the awareness of the rights to the family that each of them had been deprived of generally caused angry growth and unruly behavior but Taehyung didn't get involved with those kids. At first some tried to approach but Taehyung kept them away, almost frightening them away with his quietness ( "That one is out of his mind, he doesn't think of anything, he's empty-headed. He looks at you as if he doesn't see you at all," and in part that was also true since Taehyung spent every second of his time re-reading those letters).
Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard, Dear Richard.
Once a week he was forced into a private session with the orphanage's therapist, and in that hour or so Taehyung found himself forced to sit in a gray chair that smelled of the sweat of a thousand other children from whom secrets, fears or tears were being extorted. Taehyung was probably their favorite with his ever-ready answers, little body hidden by a moth-eaten plaid, and warm smile as soon as the therapist spoke to him ("Taehyung, you are so expansive with me, yet my colleagues tell me you have failed to make friends here. You must know that we care about these things too,"). The little boy hated the company of anyone, he couldn't share space with anyone his own age because the memory of his stolen childhood would make him lose his mind and he had to remain clear-headed, he had to know how to bide his time. He had underestimated this friendship thing and on the fifth recall in just four months he had to get on with it, he certainly didn't want to attract the wrong attention and be forced to swallow those pills that knocked out two little boys that were in the same room as him. It was at that point that Taehyung picked up a black marker and a purple card from the floor of the common room during art day, it was on that sunny morning that he sat in a corner to jot down a list of things to do as if his had become a movie script or the grocery list his mother would never do again.
1) Find a friend (it doesn't matter who, as long as they are not intrusive);
2) Get internet access to keep an eye on Richard;
3) Study enough to get a well-paying job when you get out of here;
4) Move to America;
5) Destroy Richard.
"What are you drawing?" Taehyung jerked as soon as he heard that question, dropping the marker on the ground and clutching the paper tightly against his chest. Here he was, he had shown himself to be a dabbler among his enemies. He had decided to devise a diabolical plan only a few months ago, he couldn't already be a perfect antagonist, but organizing his goals in such an unsafe space - jolting at an innocuous question - showed he wasn’t that clever. Taehyung may not have been cut out for that lifestyle. "Um, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I don't know anyone and you seemed like the least weird one in the group, maybe one of the few who is my age or something." The voice that kept addressing him was that of another young boy. Taehyung loosened his grip on the paper without letting go, finally raising his face to meet that of the stranger who had stood before him.
"Do I look like the less weird one?" Taehyung muttered, almost surprised by his voice. He never spoke outside of sessions or requests from facility directors. Talking was useless if he had nothing important to say, if his purpose was no longer to have friends, to have a life, to live as a normal person. Normalcy had been ripped away from him and now Taehyung could only act accordingly.
Yet the little boy smiled without retort. His lips were the same pink as strawberry bubblegum and his face was heart-shaped. His black hair was a little long, who knows how long it had been since he had cut it, and at that thought Taehyung touched the long strands that fell over his own shoulders. It was his mother who cut his hair, and the memory squeezed his heart. Being normal was for those who didn't have that muscle ripped out.
"Of course, you're the only one who doesn't like this place. I already hate it," he said, sitting down abruptly next to Taehyung and letting out a weary sigh. "Not that the family that has kept me so far was any better, but at least I could sneak away at night. Here I will never see the sunlight again."
"There is a garden in which we are given permission—"
"I was just kidding," the little boy chuckled, "Now don't tell me you spend your days in the garden sunbathing and picking flowers."
Taehyung squinted his eyes, almost forgetting his hatred and contempt and desire for revenge. Since his mother had died, this was the first time he allowed himself to be surprised by life and intrigued by people. "Of course not, I'd rather grumble and scour this place until I have it memorized."
"Sounds like fun," the nameless boy nodded, meeting Taehyung's face, "What are you going to do with all this information? Escape? You don't leave these places until the government gives us permission, or don't you want your 5,000 dollars?"
"I want them," Taehyung said without even having to think about it. As soon as he turned eighteen, he would be kicked out of the orphanage as an adult and get an incentive of 5,000 dollars from the government to start his new life - except Taehyung would use it to destroy someone else's.
"Then don't try to run away because there are two of us who want that money." The little boy continued talking and Taehyung turned his full attention to him, "My name is Jimin, by the way."
"Why? What do you need it for?" Taehyung asked him point-blank without introducing himself in turn. He felt a visceral need to seek an answer from Jimin, from the little boy who seemed not only to be his age but also to have the same fire in his eyes. Sadly, he realized that someone had to tear out even Jimin's own heart to make him look so much like himself.
"To start living, preferably away from this country," Jimin never stopped smiling but his lips curved sinisterly. Taehyung instinctively squeezed the paper with his notes between his fingers until it crumpled.
"What did that family do to you?" Taehyung dared to investigate.
"What did yours do to you?" Jimin challenged him, dropping his gaze on that paper. If only he had wanted to, Jimin could have snatched it from his hands. But none of this happened because Jimin would respect his secrets, and in that instant, just as that realization dawned on Taehyung, the latter decided that he too would respect the secrets of the little boy who hadn't been afraid of him, who had extended his hand to him, who had told him his name.
"My name is Taehyung," he finally said and Jimin stepped closer, sitting down next to him, "My name is Taehyung and I want to go to America."
Jimin nodded, "Good, then that's where we will go."
One day you plot with your first and only friend how to conquer the world, and five years later the doors of an entire orphanage close behind you. Throughout all that time Taehyung and Jimin had not forgotten that strange pact, and the two of them had managed to make it the push they needed to keep going, to survive the loneliness of a place that wasn't meant to give any kind of color to all those little boys and children. Not that Taehyung or Jimin needed it - not that Taehyung hadn't understood Jimin's deep sadness when the latter had slowly talked to him, year after year, about the way his biological parents had abandoned him when he was only five years old, making that trauma the source of his heartbreak. Taehyung had almost felt guilty having enjoyed his mother's warmth, albeit for only a few years, while listening to Jimin's story; the story of a child far too cute to not have a good family. He was adopted two times and during both experiences, the chosen families weren't good enough for him; none of them loved him sincerely, and none of them kept their hands down. Eventually orphanages had become his refuge and no matter how much he changed, in the end they were all the same and no one dared to hit him again. Taehyung would never hit him, at most he would offer him his hand to hold when the nightmares wouldn't leave him alone at night and in turn he would be hugged by Jimin when the anniversary of his mother's death came.
It was destiny that their first kiss would happen between them, after stealing the orphanage's ground floor janitor's liquor and drinking far too many glasses of it. It was natural to find each other like that, to kiss while laughing and then stop because Taehyung loved Jimin and Jimin loved Taehyung but their love came from two chasms, from two tears that would never be filled enough to give something to the other. It was unfair to limit themselves like that and as a result that moment of tenderness became just a memory that hardly ever surfaced but wouldn't embarrass them. Nothing was going to stop them from walking out of that orphanage together and that was what happened.
As Taehyung walked out of the institution, one hand in Jimin's and another clutching a tiny suitcase with the prepaid card containing the promised money inside, he felt almost close to what could have been happiness if only he had an intact heart. As a matter of fact, Jimin's smile at the moment would remain with him forever, as would the first few months of hardship and hard work - the apartment too cramped for one person, let alone for two; the inability of both of them to cook; the impossible jobs that paid a misery because of their young age; the admission tests for American university programs. For the last subject, Taehyung and Jimin had studied hard since their horrible fourteen years, devoting their studies within the orphanage to a kind of knowledge that would allow them to excel. The teachers there and their therapists had encouraged that commitment, and soon Taehyung and Jimin were provided with books, time, and space to continue studying until it was time to attempt their first test.
Of course, the first attempt was a bust. Neither of them had ever come into contact with the outside school environment, and the crowds of people, the smell of competition, and papers full of questions had disrupted their brains' functioning, causing a short circuit that ended in failure but also in the spark they needed to try again with more tenacity. On the second try, a year later, they both got through it without being the least bit surprised, and in the evening they got as drunk as when they were just two kids - but there was no kissing this time. It was for the best and it was better not to think about the past when the present was there, ready to move them right back to the United States of America.
Jimin cried when the plane lifted off the ground (Taehyung cried when they landed on the USA soil).
When his plan had taken shape in his teenage head, Taehyung hadn't thought about having someone beside him for the duration of that madness. He didn't know how things would turn out, whether he would get into trouble, and the idea of taking Jimin down with him terrified him but he couldn't let go. Jimin was the only person he had left, the only thing keeping him human. Whatever was left of his empathy or emotional intelligence was due to Jimin - precisely why his best friend knew nothing about his plans. Jimin had never asked him why he was obsessed with the United States, and Taehyung had always been good at clearing his computer and phone history. In short, it was going to be a bit difficult to explain why he was obsessed with Richard Anderson and his silly empire of as much as $100 billion.
Anderson had come from nothing, he was a self-made man and other bullshit that the new capitalist bourgeoisie was spouting in the glossy newspapers of the day to make people believe that anyone could reach their level with a little effort and the right crypto investment. What Anderson forgot to report was that his father came from a long lineage connected to the old landed aristocracy, the one that enslaved minorities to earn maximum profits. Beyond the origins of gold and blood, Anderson boasted the privilege of having parents largely connected to the world of politics and finance so it won't shock to learn that the self-made little man majored in financial economics and then implemented the right investments at the most propitious times. His technique was as simple as it was effective - hitting a company during a time of economic instability by alarming its investors, forcing them to back out, and then taking their place. Anderson was famous for acquiring these staggering companies, which, as soon as they were bought by him, would shine again, earning him three times the initial sum. The icing on the cake was the investment in the crypto market, NFt and the acquisition of one of the most popular social networks among millennials that was now back in vogue surpassing Facebook and Twitter. Taehyung up to that point had not even known what social networks were, but Jimin had been ready to step in to make up for his shortcomings by forcing him to create his own MySpace profile - that's right, Anderson had even managed to resurrect that social network.
Taehyung hated leaving traces of his existence, but Jimin had left him no choice and that led him to open his first social account. As a result, he had been forced to use a profile photo in which his face was almost hidden by the shadows of the night during one of their first walks in New York. His name was prominently displayed, but Taehyung was not at all frightened by it, even while he was using that wacky social media just to keep up with Richard's life. He didn't believe it was possible for a billionaire to spy on users who signed up on a digital platform just as he didn't believe his name would ever trigger Richard. It was obvious that Richard knew nothing about him because he had never intended to know anything about him. Now he would pay the consequences, although that "now" seemed to take its time.
"Don't get too lost in your own head," Jimin told him, running a hand through his black hair until Taehyung himself shook his head to get rid of it, "We are in America, our dream has come true, enjoy these college days."
Taehyung squeezed himself inside his heavy camel-colored coat, the New York air was heavy and hit his face like a slap, preventing him from breathing slowly. "Don't worry, I'm just... nervous about the first exam session." He tried to reassure his best friend, who glared at him as their pace continued toward the university.
"There's no need to lie to me, you know I respect your secrets," Jimin took his hand and Taehyung let him squeeze it without retort, "And if there should be a grain of truth in your words, we are studying like crazy despite our part-time jobs."
It was true, their time had wearily split between different commitments, and Taehyung was striving to meet them all without falling behind. Some would have found his tenacity to be admired but no one knew that it concealed darker, crueler intentions. Taehyung didn't dream of working in digital communications or finance, but he had nonetheless spent his teenage years studying the subjects that best suited that major, that specific degree program with a second location in the United States and which contained among its pivotal elements precisely the activation of a training internship that would allow him to put both feet in the Anderson offices that were located near Central Park. Taehyung had seen the building in person, once with Jimin as they looked around to discover the city of their dreams and then alone, in the middle of the night, when of the entire gray skyscraper only a few rooms on the top floor were lit up. They had appeared to him as stars, untouchable offices containing underpaid or privileged people exploiting the rest of the human capital. Who knew if there were any of his colleagues within those walls, boys and girls in their early twenties running from floor to floor without being paid - internship was training, it was learning, it was experience. That night Taehyung vomited in the bushes of that imposing building, his stomach could only turn at the thought that in three years he too would be penetrating those spaces. And then what would happen? He was still not sure, he hoped to find out as he went on his way.
"You're lost in your own head again!" Jimin patted him on the back but he wasn't laughing, his tone was perfectly serious, "You're starting to worry me, I thought after leaving Seoul you would blossom."
Taehyung turned his head to look at Jimin's pink profile, his cheeks a little flushed with annoyance, his eyes fixed on his way so as not to stutter before his gaze. Jimin was infatuated with him, Taehyung knew that, and in a different reality he would have reciprocated the sentiment. Christ, maybe Jimin was the only one Taehyung could have loved but half-loving someone was not right (just as it wasn't right to keep depending on him despite being aware of his real feelings). "Don't worry too much about me, Jimin-ah! In order to lose myself I should have found myself at least once, and for the time being..." Taehyung chuckled trying to ease the tension, "I'll tell you what, whoever comes last in the cafeteria has to buy breakfast for the other." And as soon as those words were spoken, Taehyung sprinted forward, letting the New York wind slap him in the face and opening his mouth to the dust of the world and the amused shouts of Jimin who was already running after him.
The first thing Taehyung had learned when he arrived at the NYU building was that things are not as they appear in the movies. Of course, this wasn't earth-shattering news, but a part of him, the part that remained innocent in spite of everything, had latched onto Jimin's hopes. Perhaps by changing countries, changing languages, changing homes and coming to a prestigious place like that he would realize that life had to mean more than a bloody revenge. This dreadful and frightening thought had never been uttered aloud by Taehyung, but there was no need for it since it vanished as soon as his eyes landed on the department of business where his courses would be held. He had chosen Digital Marketing just to get as close to Richard as possible, and Jimin had indulged him because he had been captivated by the world of finance just as Taehyung had wrapped it up for him ("We'll make so much money Jiminie, we won't have to fear anything anymore, not even loneliness"). The building itself was not ugly; it was an agglomeration of bricks that looked like terra cotta and topped by a huge dome. His university had the flavor of antiquity and held all the keys capitalism had in order to gain control of the world. Here, when he saw NYU for the first time, Taehyung didn't feel free or reborn - he felt more trapped than ever.
This didn't deprive him of the delicious milk and hot chocolate he indulged in before his morning classes together with Jimin. The cafeteria that stood a few steps away from the University was the perfect place to wake up, gather his thoughts and pretend to be a normal person. It was a pretty place that was located in an equally old building; it must have once been a major hotel but was now divided into several inhabited floors of which the last one housed the very famous cafeteria at which Taehyung had arrived first, winning the bet he had arranged just before and losing his lungs at the same time.
"You're a fool!" Jimin clung to his shoulders to keep from falling, arriving a few seconds after him inside the cafeteria and breathing heavily from exertion. Taehyung laughed genuinely at that gesture, trying to slow his own breathing.
"A fool who won a bet," Taehyung looked over his shoulder at him, continuing to smile at the image of Jimin with his blond hair completely messed up. He had decided to dye it a few days after arriving in New York. Blond looked particularly good on him, and Taehyung had been tempted to follow his example, but there was a perfect pattern in his mind, and it involved him staying the same as himself, the same as his mother, and for Richard to recognize him before ripping him apart.
"And who would ever take that bet?" Jimin pouted, listlessly pulling away from Taehyung's shoulders and trying to fix his hair with his hands, "Now I'm a mess and my throat hurts."
Taehyung rolled his eyes, "I won't give you any compliments to feed your ego. Don't worry, take our usual place, I'll pay for this morning but don't make it a habit." Not that Taehyung had any intention of actually letting Jimin be the one to approach the cashier during that particular morning.
"Oh, please!" Jimin mouthed to him but didn't object, quickly letting him go toward the counter while he took his usual seat in front of the display case. Taehyung and Jimin liked to sip their hot drink while watching people walk by; it made them feel part of a movie comedy. "Remember, I'll have—"
"A double espresso and hot chocolate, please." Taehyung concluded, ignoring Jimin and turning directly to the barista standing in front of the cash register. By now it was a standing order that was hard to forget but Jimin had to make his voice ring throughout the bar for it to be recognized by the dimpled boy who was shyly smiling at Taehyung. His name was Namjoon but Jimin preferred to call him his future boyfriend - too bad that as soon as Jimin happened to be in front of the bartender, he couldn't get a word in edgewise.
"Good morning Taehyung," Namjoon replied as usual, "You don't even need to tell me your order now." His eyes searched for something, or rather someone, behind Taehyung's back. The latter smiled courteously.
"By now you know well what Jimin is like," Taehyung rested both arms on his glass counter, "He always fears that he won't get the proper attention... to his order."
Namjoon blushed visibly, "H—Have I gotten his order wrong? I am mortified, I must have been careless for a moment! Unfortunately, between my doctoral thesis and the various jobs I'm forced to do to support myself in New York—"
"Um, no!" Taehyung interrupted him, feeling guilty for trying to help his foolish friend. Namjoon was deeply shy, needing his own time and reassurance that Jimin's silence mixed with his sudden bursts of exuberance were not giving him. "Sorry, that's not what I meant! You never got our orders wrong, it was just a... a figure of speech?" Taehyung hated himself; he couldn't lie, at least not about such trivial things. Who knows how he would hold up the next few years.
"Oh—" Namjoon was still red, visibly embarrassed, but the tension seemed to ease, "I've gone off the deep end again, haven't I? Unfortunately I tend to do that a lot, especially when I'm stressed," he laughed nervously, "But don't worry about me, you can go back to your table, I'll bring you your order in a little while, okay?"
"Sure, take your time, we're a good bit early!" Taehyung chirped to help Namjoon relax, "In fact, if you want to join us you know you are welcome." The hook had been cast, now Taehyung just had to wait with the most welcoming of smiles.
Namjoon opened his mouth in surprise and suddenly another voice joined the conversation, "Taehyung is right."
At that point Taehyung felt his heart burst with joy and then nodded in greeting to Seokjin, probably the oldest employee in the cafeteria but still far too young to pass as a manager in that context. Yet that's what New York was all about, too, seeing guys as young as twenty-eight run an entire café in the name of some buyer who, after making his investment, wanted nothing to do with it beyond monthly earnings.
"But my shift has just started and all the students will be here soon," Namjoon tried to object but Jin shrugged as if it was nonsense. To him it had to be. One afternoon Taehyung had found himself talking more and less with Jin - he had been born in the United States, raised among those streets and educated for great things but his degree in Asian literature had only allowed him to get dust and the part-time job in that cafeteria had suddenly become his full-time job. He had told them about it with sarcasm but Taehyung had only sensed anger, a deep anger.
"Joon-ah, go sit with the guys, you've been working late into the night and this afternoon you have to meet with your professor. A cup of coffee and a chat can only do you good." Tenderness masquerading as carelessness came well to Jin, Taehyung recognized it well. It was the same one he used with Jimin when he reminded him to wear a heavier scarf, when he left him a cup of coffee at the bookstore, when he reminded him that he didn't have to stay in during weekends to watch television with him. There was a life outside, a life that Taehyung had a long time ago decided to deprive himself of but that didn't mean the same had to happen for Jimin. And here, here was the same concern surfacing in Jin's gestures that he probably saw himself in Namjoon and at the same time hoped for a better future for him.
Namjoon groaned, rousing Taehyung from his thoughts, "Let it be just the time for a cup of coffee!"
"And a hot chocolate and a double espresso." Taehyung added, waiting for Namjoon to make his way around the counter to follow him to the table where Jimin was seated, who was now looking at them with wide eyes and a suddenly tight mouth.
"Jimin-ah, you don't mind Namjoon having coffee with us, do you?" The question was as rhetorical as it was sarcastic, but Jimin seemed to have lost all sense of interpretation.
"There is no third chair!" He said only, almost shouting and stiffening the figure of Namjoon who remained motionless, his head lowered because of his shyness. Taehyung never had bad thoughts about Jimin, but his best friend had to learn not to tamper with his plans.
"If I'm too much—" Namjoon muttered but before Taehyung could save the day again, Jimin grabbed a chair from the table at their side and dragged it noisily next to Taehyung's.
"Good, problem solved." Jimin added mechanically, his face was stoic and ready to cross anything but Namjoon's. Now it was Taehyung who was uncomfortable; in the long run he would have to learn to plan his goals better. He didn't intend to wear Namjoon down, to frighten him; on the contrary, he needed his cooperation. This was the only time he would be able to discuss the topic with Namjoon in a genuine and natural way; so as soon as they both settled down and their order was served on the table, Taehyung attempted to reopen the conversation.
"So, Namjoon, I thought you only worked here." Taehyung started by going straight to the point and clutching the steaming cup tightly in his hands. The smell of chocolate relaxed him, stung his brain in all the right places, and reminded him of winters with his mother.
"Oh, yes, I also work at a caterer that participates in various events held in the city. It is an odd job but they pay you well and it always helps to round up at the end of the month. I think you both can understand me." No way, Taehyung thought, I knew absolutely nothing about it. At the same time, Namjoon cast a fleeting glance at Jimin, who barely nodded, his face now soaked in his coffee. There, that was a smell that nauseated Taehyung. The memories it brought back were cold, painful.
"We understand you very well. Jimin and I serve as waiters on weekends at a little restaurant that pretends to cook Italian," Taehyung said, "Also, Jimin corrects some theses for a fee, and he's very good at writing and doing research."
"Really?" Namjoon raised his eyebrows, heading fully toward Jimin, who in turn painfully crushed Taehyung's foot. The latter groaned inwardly and congratulated himself on being a very good friend. "You're both first-years and—do you correct other people's theses?"
Jimin left his coffee to adjust a lock of hair behind his ear. He always did this when he was embarrassed, "It's just about the fundamentals of finance. We've almost passed the course and what I don't know I can easily find in books. It's easier than it looks." Taehyung was interjected; Jimin had never spoken so many words in front of Namjoon, who meanwhile admired him, spellbound.
"I'm shocked," he bit his lip, "Maybe even intimidated? I'm writing a doctoral thesis and everything seems so difficult."
"Oh, no!" Jimin stopped him, "I couldn’t do something like that... I wouldn't have the skills, your skills, to write something so important. I'm sure you're doing your best." Taehyung took a second sip of his chocolate; it tasted like victory.
"You should read a few pages of my work before you can say that, maybe you will find it on the same level as your—clients?" Namjoon shook his head.
"I don't believe it," Jimin hardened the crease in his lips, "You're far too smart to cut yourself down to size like this. You're probably a few pages behind, am I right?"
Namjoon was blushing but this time not with fear, not with shame, "I'm about twenty pages short. The problem is that I can't concentrate anymore, I'm always busy in the cafeteria or at the university for some reason. This weekend's work wasn't needed." Taehyung wanted to cry with excitement, everything was happening as if fate wanted to guide each piece on the right path.
"What work?" Taehyung asked, reminding Namjoon and Jimin that he was also there. Better that way, better for his questions to go unnoticed.
"The catering company called me for a caterer. They're having a charity gala at Rockefeller center this Saturday, and they may be paying well, but it will keep me busy the only days I can really devote to my thesis." What a coincidence, what a pleasant coincidence.
"Namjoon, it breaks my heart to see you so stressed," Taehyung pouted and then held his breath.
"Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about it, I've made a commitment now and I hate to back out." What a coincidence , what a pleasant coincidence.
"What if there is a solution?" Taehyung released his breath, "This weekend Jimin has a shift at the Italian restaurant but there was no room for me. I know catering by now and I don't think a caterer is any different from any other food service. I mean... if you want, I can fill in for you, what do you think?"
Namjoon squinted his eyes, "Taehyung? Would you really do that?" Really, seriously.
"Of course I would, I have a lot more free time than you and I could use some extra money too. If I can then help you graduate, even better!"
"Oh, Taehyung!" Namjoon grabbed both of his hands and Taehyung again held back a groan of pain when Jimin kicked him from under the table, "You don't know how grateful I am, you're saving my life, if I had completely backed out at the last moment they probably would have crossed me off the list of waiters to call!"
"There is no need to thank me," Taehyung released Namjoon's hands as soon as possible, both for Jimin and for himself. He hated being touched by strangers. "Just send me all the details, you know, just to figure out what I should wear, the time, and maybe some general information about the Gala," he said.
"Sure, I'll write it all down now," Namjoon continued, now overwhelmed with happiness, "You've probably heard about its organizer."
"You think so?" Taehyung took the third sip of hot chocolate that had cooled in the meantime, "I'm not very attentive to these things."
"Very true!" Jimin stepped in to be drawn into the conversation, "Taehyung didn't even have a MySpace profile until last month, can you believe it?"
"MySpace?" Namjoon laughed, "Then you won't believe this either, but the one organizing the charity gala is actually the owner of MySpace!"
There, it was about to happen. "Who?" Taehyung pretended to ask.
"Taehyung!" Jimin scolded him as if the lack of that knowledge was embarrassing, "I must have told you his name a thousand times, it's Richard Anderson."
"And on Saturday during the Gala he will announce who will be his heir since he has never had children after his wife passed away," Namjoon added details but Taehyung was already looking elsewhere, out the window. He watched people pass by and admired their fast pace, as if some monster was running after them. Taehyung understood them, he too had a monster behind his back, a living monster that made him quick-witted and smart. That monster had set his brain in motion after reading on Richard's account about his Gala. It had been simple, so simple, to trace all the brands that would attend that evening. Of course, Taehyung couldn't do anything about it, he was no one to collaborate with any of them, and for a while he thought he should let it go. Seeing Richard ahead of time wouldn't do any good, but the monster kept growling, waiting for something, and that waiting had been rewarded when he had heard Namjoon mention a second place where he worked - a second place that had the same name as the company that would be in charge of the food at that stupid Gala.
It had been easy to tread on Namjoon's toes, check his schedule on the bulletin board, locate his only free afternoons, and pay his coworkers to make simple shift changes that would force Namjoon to only get a free Saturday afternoon to dedicate to his thesis. It had all been so simple, Taehyung was almost bored with it.
"Is there any word on who might be his choice?" Jimin asked only to carry on the conversation with Namjoon.
"His name is Min Yoongi." Taehyung whispered.
"What?" Namjoon asked him.
"Nothing."
Let the games begin.