Chapter Text
oh, come on, angel
come on, come on, darlin'
let's exchange the experience
Jungkook
As Incheon’s many neon lights painted his face purple, Jungkook wasn’t really sure that the job interview was going to hit off. He had found the offer as a bodyguard and bouncer for a local club on social media, in an online post that seemed quite sketchy, to be honest with himself. However, the Lucky Strike was standing right in front of him and after that long walk, it was worth it at least to try. Jungkook didn’t really mind, nor did he care that the Lucky Strike was one of the few queer bars in town. The pay was more than enough for him to send his miserable résumé to a certain Kim Namjoon, who, by the way, replied immediately. Maybe he was lucky enough to be the first, maybe they really needed somebody. Anybody. Even a twenty-two year old without a diploma.
It was September fifth, 2024, a Thursday, five days after another lonely birthday of his, where his parents worked a night shift as he looked after Jiwoo, his baby brother. Working an inhumane amount of hours in places both mentally and physically straining, taking care of his younger sibling and the house was the only way he had to repay them, for everything. But his last occupation as a construction worker was a complete disaster. He ended up hurting himself more than once a day, without any certainty that if he died there his family would at least be compensated for it. He ended up giving up, although money was really needed. Then he found the ad, and what he had to do wasn’t as difficult as his past experiences at all. Maybe that place was really going to be lucky, after all. He stood right in front of the club for a few minutes, wondering whether he should have entered or not. It was a bit early since he wanted to make a nice first impression, but maybe too early. If he had to be honest, he really didn’t know how to behave in a club. His youth was ripped from him at a young age, or, well, he ripped it himself. He never had the time to enjoy his short life, truthfully, nor did he feel the need to after the accident. But he wasn’t there to enjoy something, he was there to work as hard as he could, bring money home and make sure his family had proper meals for all duration of the month. Then repeat. He would have adapted.
He always did.
As he got close, Jungkook could hear muffled voices and music coming from inside. It was a popular song from the Eighties he knew well. The street was practically empty, strangely. He was about to knock on the red metallic door, its color faded in some spots, when a gentle, cold breeze caressed his cheeks as it opened beyond him. What came out of it was a young woman, her hair black and short to her shoulder, her eyes of a deep brown, whose elongated shape gave her a fierce, yet incredibly wretched appearance. He never saw anyone that looked so melancholic, yet so incredibly beautiful. She was shorter than him, surely slighter and wore a long green dress, with an opening on the side that barely covered her defined legs. Her upper body was covered by a fur stole that perfectly matched the color of her garment. They both looked at each other for a moment that seemed like an hour. Somehow he couldn’t stop finding details in her that made her look eerier, scarily angelic. Her plump brownish colored lips, her cheeks, her chipped tooth that was momentarily barely visible from her mouth, when startled by his presence, she opened it in surprise. Jungkook had always been good at focusing on things other people didn’t look at. His teachers used to say he was a distracted, absent kid. Maybe too stupid to be able to achieve something. His parents were called as frequently as they were mortified, always in the same ways, yet they never scolded him. But in the end, he still ended up believing there was nothing good he could do in this world.
The heavy sound of the door closing behind that girl’s back made them both unfreeze. She barely bowed, he did the same, and without really saying nothing, walked away, giving him her naked back on which a tattoo of the various moon phases was imprinted on. He thought it really suited her, truly. It was different from his own tattoos, that he himself carved into the skin of his right when he was just a bit more than a kid. Some of them already faded a bit, others he managed to cover with proper tools. Now covered by his jacket, he wondered whether she would have liked them, if she saw them. As that old song kept playing from inside, Jungkook couldn’t stop staring. Not until she leaned against the club’s wall. He still kept an eye on her as she rummaged in her purse, until she found a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, almost finished. Her small fingers extracted one single smoke, that she gracefully took to her lips. A fast, intrusive thought made Jungkook want to know how it must have felt to be touched by those lips. He didn’t give it much attention. She lit up the top of her cigarette, then exhaled at the same time. A grey cloud briefly covered her face and when it disappeared, Jungkook quickly realized she was staring right back at him. As his heart skipped a beat, he knew he had to speak and try to dissimulate the weird need he felt to catch a glimpse of her.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I am looking for Kim Namjoon. I had to meet him at 11 p.m. Do you perhaps know him?”
Somehow, the moment he had made her aware of his existence, he couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore, he never did, with anyone. His heart couldn’t stop beating way too fast.
“Oh, you must be the new kid” her voice was deeper than he expected, yet soft, low. He almost didn’t hear her, so he took a small step towards her.
“Namjoon is inside, I’ll lead you to him, but can you please let me finish this first?” She looked at the cigarette burning between her fingers.
“You are twenty-five minutes early, so don’t worry”. A smile briefly lit up her face. It was strange, anyway, the fact that she would smile and still look incredibly hurt. Weird, at most, how her eyes were full of sadness. But how pretty she was.
“I’m sorry” he murmured. Jungkook couldn’t really understand if she was upset with him or not. Once again, he never did. He thought he had never possessed the ability to read people, find meaning between words. Find truths between what was untold.
“Don’t be. It’s nice, you know? I’ll tell Namjoon I kept you waiting. What’s your name again? Sorry, he told me, but I can’t remember” she seemed to enunciate words like she was whispering, then inhaled some smoke and let it slip between her lips.
“Jungkook”. He responded, fast, almost as he was scared to say his own name out loud, scared to be heard. “Jeon Jungkook. And yours?”
“Jungkook is such a rare name. Mine is Park Jimin” once again, she smiled, briefly. There was truly something heartbreaking about that beauty of hers, Jungkook thought. Her body, so elegant, so appealing to him, seemed so out of place, like something ripped out of heaven and put between mortals, between their misery. Maybe it was true. There was a moment of silence, interrupted by the engine of the car passing by, when she inhaled through the filter again, expelling the smoke through her nose right after. Jungkook found it fascinating the way she made a simple gesture look so cinematic.
“I like the name Jimin. It suits you, if that makes sense” Jungkook said, watching the smoke slowly make its way and disappear in the air. He leaned his back on the wall, next to her so he could look directly on the street beyond them. A playful laugh slipped from her mouth.
“I think it makes perfect sense. Some things are just meant to be called in a certain way. What does Jungkook mean?” Jungkook could catch the curious expression on her face with the corner of his eye.
“Pillar of the nation. But it’s funny, right? I don’t think this nation wants to be sustained by me at all” she laughed again, louder. And for the first time, her eyes got rid of that impending unease for a brief moment. He couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Well, if the Nation saw you standing right in front of a bar where they overplay the same Madonna album a ridiculous amount of times I believe it wouldn’t have wanted to be sustained by you either, but fortunately there’s no one around tonight. It has been kinda dead for a Friday”. She stubbed out what was left of her cigarette on the sidewalk where they both were standing, then threw the filter marked with lipstick in a bin close to the door. “Lucky me” Everything about how she moved made Jungkook curious in a way he never felt about anyone.
“C’mon, I’ll take you to Namjoon. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
Running up that Hill. That was the name of the song he heard. Jimin just made him remember it, for some reason. The Lucky Strike was very different on the inside. Lights were suffused, always colored purple, pink or red. On the right side of the place there was a lounge bar, same color palette as the lights, where a few people sat while drinking and chatting. On the left side, there was a stage, a singer who had just started performing. Listening to him a large crowd, enchanted by that deep voice of his, which Jungkook found mysteriously beautiful. Someone was slowly dancing, holding their partner close, almost all same sex couples. He found it lovable, actually, because Jungkook really didn’t know what to expect, but surely it wasn't that peaceful atmosphere. He felt remotely out of place, and realized that maybe he should’ve dressed a little better: his father’s jeans and leather jacket and a white t-shirt, then his long hair that he kept tied in a bun. Compared to Jimin, who was walking in front of him, the fur slowly caressing her spine, Jungkook looked like someone who got lost. If they take me I’ll dress better next time, I promise, he whispered to himself, almost like he was already too affectionate to the place to let it go.
“Hyung!” he heard shouting, from the lounge, in his direction. It was impossible that it was directed to him, firstly because he didn’t really know anybody, and mostly because last time someone recognized him it wasn’t pleasant. Nor for him, nor for his mother. Still, Jimin waved her hand right at the tall man that was walking towards them. He must have heard it wrong, then.
“Namjoon! I met Jungkook right out, can you believe it? Someone actually showed up. I’m going to get changed. It’s fucking freezing outside and I can’t. Treat him well” and, without letting Jungkook even have the time to realize what was happening, Jimin quickly looked back at him, smiled again - one of those courtesy smiles of her, barely believable -, and left him alone with whom it seemed to be Namjoon. For some reason, he thought he was going to be older, way less attractive than the young tall man that was standing next to him. Namjoon was, in fact, handsome. His big, tired, witty eyes, his cool silver hair, his dimples, his tan bronze skin were familiar, welcoming, made him want to fight to stay in that place.
“It’s nice to see you there. As Jimin said, it’s nice that you showed up. Many people don’t after they find out for whom this place really is intended for, so I’m glad it doesn’t bother you”, he said, close to his ear because of the music, one and on his shoulder, almost like a warm thank you. Jungkook wasn’t really fond of physical contact. Namjoon’s, however, didn't seem to bother him. He wondered why someone would care about that anyway and felt sorry for the man standing in front of him. How many times must he have been hurt by a simple refusal? Maybe that is why Namjoon was talking way too fast, like he had the urge to keep Jungkook there.
“Before we settle down I need to make sure you understand it isn’t always like this here” Jungkook was listening, but he kept staring at his surroundings, like he was studying closely. He couldn’t find a bad thing about that place, really. The furniture - lamps, tables, chairs, posters on the wall - had shades of brown, red and sometimes orange. All vintage. It felt like someone spent years collecting them all and creating the perfect atmosphere. Maybe those who turned off the offer never had to work where he had to.
“Sometimes people get drunk, touchy, annoying, especially with our performers. We have nobody that can deal with it at the moment. Your job is to keep this place safe, and to keep far away from here those who may disturb everyone’s peace. Do you think you can do it? And most importantly, do you want to?” Jungkook kept listening to him talk in silence, overwhelmed by his conscience. He had thought about it for days. Physically, of course he could do that, he had always been strong, too strong. There was a part of him that was terrified by the possibility of losing control again. But he really hadn’t a choice in any other place, since no one wanted to be associated with him once they discovered who he was and what he had done. Namjoon didn’t check, Jungkook was sure, If he knew, he would have never taken him in. Jungkook could just pray for it not to happen.
“I can do it. I’ll do it. Please.” and as the last word left his lips, he felt pathetic.
“Then you start tomorrow. I’ll send you your contract. Thank you, Jungkook, really. We need help. The reason I wanted to meet you this late is to show you what it really feels like to be here. So please, have a seat, drinks are on Jimin tonight. And I’m glad you already met him…”
Him?
“…He’s the heart of this place. I can't wait to introduce you to the others.”
He?
For all of his life he had never been treated this kindly from anyone but the people who brought him into this world. All that kindness, Namjoon’s smile, his compassion and tolerance felt so overwhelming he didn’t know how to respond. Not because he wasn’t grateful, he was. He had never been this grateful. But because it had been years since he really felt something different than fear, guilt, boredom and nothing at all. And what was feeling now, the one he couldn’t even put into words? Excitement? Hope? Desperation? Amusement? He couldn’t really tell. That man, so well spoken, so well mannered, wanting him to stay. It was so surreal he almost felt he couldn’t trust any of them, that they would have disappeared. He followed Namjoon to the counter, then sat down on the stool on which the oldest pointed. His eyes didn’t know what to focus on first, so he kept looking at the older man, now leaning with both of his hands on the surface of the counter, his muscled arms visible. Jungkook’s head was the same chaos of thoughts as always. Like thousands of voices speaking on top of each other, too fast to elaborate. He had so many questions, yet couldn’t really form a sentence. And the only thing he could focus on, the only clear image, anyway, was the girl he had just met. There were some details he wanted to make sure about his work shift.
“I wanted to-”
Jungkook’s question was interrupted almost immediately, when he felt someone sit next to him. A man, bleached blonde long hair, like his own, tied into a ponytail that peaked from the hole at the back of his cap. His upper body covered in a grey hoodie, sleeves way too long for his arms, baggy jeans and converse on his feet.
“Namjoon, could you make me a Firestarter, please” that soft spoken voice, once again. And those eyes, once again. The saddest, most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen looking back at him, once again.
“It’s sad that you don’t want to be in drag for more than two or three hours. If I didn’t know you I’d assume that you don’t like it anymore” Namjoon said, piling up three bottles of three different types of alcohol.
“I don’t like it. I do it because you ask me. And because Jin loved it” Jimin was now looking at Namjoon, while his hands played with the hem of his right sleeve. Jungkook never felt more stupid. All the previous considerations he thought of Jimin were repeating in his head, making his cheeks and ears red. How could he have not noticed? He couldn’t even look at him.
“You used to love it. And you look good in it” Namjoon was still preparing their drinks with such care, like it was some kind of dark arts he mastered. Jungkook, instead, was fighting the urge to leave them both and go home. Even his name, everything about him was…
“Thank you. But I’m way too old. Even dancing out of drag is starting to become straining”
…everything about him made Jungkook so confused. Who was that person, anyway? Why did he care? Why did he feel like orbiting around him?
“You really do look good in it” Jungkook added, fast and direct, almost like he was trying to convince himself he got tricked by Jimin’s androgynous features, so it could have not been his fault. The sudden realization that he found Jimin pretty even in that specific moment was immediately repulsed back into a remote part of his brain, in shame. “I almost couldn’t tell.”
“Thank you, Jungkook. Why don’t you make him something too, it’s on me.” There was sweetness in that calming voice of his and in his gaze too. Was it compassion? He didn’t want to look like he needed compassion.
“Almost everything I drank tonight was on you too” Namjoon laughed, his dimples visible.
“I hate you” that comment could only make Namjoon laugh more and paint a little smile on Jimin’s face, his eyes turning into crescents. Jungkook looked away, his palms sweating. “Have you told him to Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung yet?” Jimin pointed at the singer behind them, then squinted his eyes like he was searching for someone he couldn’t find.
“Not yet, I didn’t want to overwhelm him. Hoseok and Yoongi aren’t here anyway and well…” Namjoon gently laid two glasses beyond them, Jungkook’s one being colorful, while Jimin’s one being of a dark brown “...Taehyung is performing”. So that voice had a name. Now sitting, in a chair right on the stage, he blended perfectly with the jazz instrumental that was playing. Everyone under the stage was listening to him like they were lured by something out of this world. It was, in fact, very pleasant. The three of them both looked at Taehyung in silence for a minute. Jimin took a sip of his drink, Jungkook copied him right after. He wasn’t used to it, to any of it. How to act, how to move, clubbing, bodies slamming against his own in dances he didn’t want to participate in. Drinking tho, he knew far too well how to drink. All his life he had felt like a hare between a bunch of rabbits, trying to imitate them, to feel like them. What came out of those attempts was, he thought, a ridiculous caricature of a human. Until he discovered, barely seventeen, that drinking made him feel normal.
“You see, Jungkook. Me, Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Taehyung share properties on this place. We kinda built it together. The six of us…”
An incredibly mortified look almost changed Namjoon’s features, he quickly looked at Jimin’s face, who seemed to not be listening to what was being told. He was, in fact, holding the cold glass with both of his hands, a single silver ring on his ringfinger. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how soft they seem and how small they were, compared to his own callused palms. It seemed like Jimin’s attention was fixating on something on the counter, and was incredibly plain. The need to ask him if he was okay was slowly overcoming the embarrassment he felt earlier. But he didn’t.
“...The five of us are also, well… Yoongi and I are bartenders. Taehyung is a singer, Hoseok and Jimin are dancers and excellent drag artists too. There are many other people who usually perform here. ”
“I used to be an excellent drag artist. But the others are really great. You should see them. Well, you’re going to” So he was listening.
Two sips and Jungkook’s drink was gone. So it was the uncertainty about that job. It was going to be way easier than all of his previous ones, for a much higher pay too. And he would have said yes anyway, only because he felt sorry for Namjoon.
“Well, Jungkook, I think I told you everything. Do you have any questions?” Jungkook looked back at Namjoon, who, however, was looking at Jimin finishing his glass. “When do I start?” Jungkook said smiling, catching both of his older interlocutors' attention.
“Tomorrow. We are open everyday except for Monday. During the week your work shift will be from 5 pm to 12 am. Then, on weekends, from 7 pm to 2 am. If you need anything, if you have any problems, even if you need someone to talk to, ask any of us, really. I know we may seem weird” and he smiled. But nothing about him was weird, truly “...but we are like a family here. Being different in this city means you have to find your place, and that isn’t easy, you know? Being let out for who you are.”
But Jungkook knew, more than anyone.
“I hope you can find a home here”
“I hope it too” he answered, after a few seconds. He really did. He caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye when Jimin turned to him, and couldn’t help but to do it back. He was pretty. No, he was beautiful. What was the most beautiful thing about him? His lips, no. His eyes. Too sad. Everything. What the hell was his problem? He decided he was going to avoid him at all costs.
“W-Well I think I need to go home.” He got up way too fast, like he really was about to run. It was true, anyway. In a few hours his parents would have started their night shift at the factory where they both worked and he needed to go home to Jiwoo.
“Where do you live? Do you need a ride home?” Jimin asked. Why was everyone so damn kind? Couldn’t they be as shitty as everyone he met? Why was he so kind to him? There was a part of Jungkook that wanted to hate Jimin so badly.
“Oh, thank you. But my house is really close” it wasn’t. “I’ll walk.” He bowed to both of them. “I’ll see you tomorrow then”
“See you tomorrow, kid” Namjoon smiled, as Jimin waved his hand in his direction. He bowed again, then, he walked out the Lucky Strike with a fast pace. The tipsiness definitely was not helping him this time. He leaned on the club’s wall, in the exact same spot Jimin was where he met him. Beside him there was a neon sign that wasn’t on when he first arrived. Loving someone is freedom at the Lucky Strike. He managed to calm down, to breathe and lower his heart rate. He didn’t realize his heart was pumping out of his chest like that and couldn’t even tell why. Like nothing happened, he started walking back home.
Jimin
“Could you make me another drink?” his hands were holding the empty glass he had previously finished. Two sips and it was gone. But he still didn’t feel good enough. He couldn’t stand Namjoon's stare when he was disappointed with him, especially when it was one of those days.
“No, cut it. You had three already” he could feel it. The judgment, the concern in his voice. But when he looked back at Namjoon’s eyes all he saw was the same scared barely adult he saw years before, the night he tried to end it all. That terrifying memory, the thought of Namjoon’s pretty face compressed in fear, was his soft spot and the reason he tried to stay sober, at least when he was present. The youngest ripped the glass out of his hands - Jimin let him do it - then smiled happily, almost like he knew he won.
“What do you think of this Jungkook? I like him, I think we made the right choice, I want everyone who comes here to feel safe. I hope he doesn’t run away when he discovers what a real party here looks like” as he was cleaning the counter, Namjoon kept stealing glances at Jimin who, tired and sleepy, had crossed his arms on the bar counter and let his head fall onto them.
“I don’t think so. He seems kind. And I warned about Hobi’s obsession with Bedtime Stories.” Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “He treated me well when I was in drag too, that usually means a person isn’t a raging homophobe” Taehyung's voice was almost cradling him into a peaceful rest. He wished he could take him home and be sung until he fell asleep like that.
“I don’t think he noticed you were in drag. He was kinda shocked when you came by here. I mean, I thought you were a girl the first time I saw you too” Namjoon added, almost whispering.
“What? Of course he noticed. He even said it” Jimin thought of their interactions that night. When he found him waiting, that brightness in his eyes he found ridiculously cute.
“It’s just that… I don’t know. He was looking at you so intensely” Jimin rolled his eyes and left out a huff.
“You say that about anyone that comes here” He hated the fact that he knew Namjoon so well he could identify a relieved look on his face. He hated that he didn’t love him back. Everything else Namjoon wanted, he could have given it to him. But all the love Jimin was once capable of feeling and giving, Seokjin had taken it away. He even thought of trying, once. Try to pretend, let Namjoon have his soul and body, maybe he would’ve learned to love him back. But that thought made Jimin so disgusted with himself he felt like puking. No one deserved this, let alone his Joon of all people. Namjoon needed to move on, because the version of Jimin he fell in love with had been dead for almost a decade.
“Lately you sound like Yoongi, the two of you act like you are eighty-five.”
“Well, I’ll be thirty next month, so almost” Jimin smirked, as Namjoon walked around the counter and took the stool across from the blonde, who turned to be just in front of him.
“Are you okay, Jimin?” The sarcasm was gone.
“Yes, why?” But he wasn’t. And he knew for sure Namjoon didn’t believe him. He also knew that Namjoon wasn’t going to leave him alone if he told him what unbearable hell his mind had given him for the past few weeks.
“I’ll always ask. Why don’t you stop by my place tonight? We could talk about it or watch something together.” As Namjoon whispered those words softly, he got closer.
“Thank you, Joonie. But I really feel the need to stay alone tonight.” He got off his stool, then took his hand to Namjoon’s right cheek, just to poke that little dimple with his thumb. “I know someone who would want to watch a movie with you tonight, tomorrow…” Jimin tilted his head towards Taehyung’s direction, then back to Namjoon and smiled.
“He’s…”
“Pretty, talented, young, gentle and crazy about you.”
“He’s not you”
“Good for him. And good for you too." Sometimes Jimin felt so guilty he wished Seokjin hadn’t been a good person. It would have been easy to forget him, to have an excuse to let him rot in his heart too. In another life, he and Namjoon were happy, Jimin was sure. But in this one Jimin would have never stopped to be devoted to a ghost.
“See you tomorrow, Joon.”
Namjoon didn’t reply, but Jimin felt his dark brown eyes staring, as he exited the Lucky Strike. Loving someone is freedom. That was one of the last things Seokjin has ever said to him. If he could see what his loved ones had become without him, he would have taken that back. Maybe he was the pinnacle of them all, what held them together. He was Jimin’s for sure.
Jimin pulled into the underground parking of his building. He drove home in complete silence, as he felt his usual migraine flare up, burning through the walls of his skull. He got off his car, walked inside the building, took the elevator, and got to his apartment like a machine programmed to repeat the same identical movement everyday, his mind blank. He stopped taking antidepressants years earlier because he hated feeling nothing, nor joy, nor excitement, nor sadness, nor even grief. But not taking them made no difference. He resorted to drinking, which made him at least want to feel alive for barely two hours. He opened the door, removed his shoes carefully, and placed them in the shoe rack next to Seokin’s ones. He never had the courage to give them up, let alone to throw them away. Jimin used to love their house. They purchased it in their twenties, but it was Jin who made that place look like a dream. The cozy atmosphere, the posters, vinyls of their favourite bands decorating the walls, a glimpse of Seoul could be caught by looking through every window, it was all Seokjin. After he died, Jimin realized that all the nice things he knew, Jin introduced them to him. Art stopped being colorful, music stopped being listenable, movies stopped being interesting. Their house had four rooms: an open spaced kitchen connected to the living room, a bathroom, two bedrooms, one for them, one for their future kid, empty. It was the emptiness Jimin couldn’t stand. The echo of everything they did and were planning on doing being so loud it pierced his ears. It made him so angry, so spiteful, a few years prior he even stopped caring about cleaning that place. Rotting into his own trash, into his own misery, only Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok and Taehyung were capable of pulling him out of that limbo. He didn’t want to be saved, but now he had to live for them, because he knew that if he left them they wouldn’t have handled it a second time. Fine.
But sometimes it was too difficult, too heavy. Like that night. He knew he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep if it wasn't for the sedative he just had swallowed with a cup of water. Then headed directly to bed when the dizziness made him unstable. He slowly removed his clothes, threw them on the floor - he was too tired to even think of folding them - put on a shirt and some sweatpants. Since that day Jimin couldn’t turn off the light anymore, because he couldn’t help but think if all that darkness was what Jin saw. He fell asleep crying because his lover’s pillow didn’t smell like him anymore.