Chapter Text
A figure stands at the end of the room.
He is underneath a high ceiling of stained glass. The walls are made of wood, the floor of marble.
Is this a chapel or an empty room in a lonesome and majestic manor in the middle of nowhere?
It didn’t matter.
The feeling it evokes is the same: this is where sinners come to repent and pray.
The figure is draped in white and black, expensive and crisp fabric covering his skin. He’s standing on his side, his long legs showcasing its beautiful line, feet pointed to the ground as if he’s ready to take off in flight or dance or both. His right hand is inside the pocket of his pants, the other holding what appears to be a long stick.
Getting closer, you start to notice the perfect placement of the black eyeliner on his lids mixed with black eyeshadow. It doesn’t distract from how the lighting of the room, warm and orange, bounces off his pale skin and high cheekbones.
You are so close now that you realize what he is holding isn’t what you thought it was. It’s a rifle, and he is not posed to dance, but to strike. You find yourself at the receiving end of the weapon, and your heart can only flutter as your entire being quivers, at the fear this excites in you.
Anything that makes the heart move in imperfect beats is beautiful.
One is pushed to wonder if this is what divine retribution looks like.
At this point, you don’t know if you’re too close or too far.
Yet, you hear the words the person says loud and clear:
“This is for ruining me, Jungkook-ah. Ruining me for everyone else, and for yourself.”
A white ceiling is what Jungkook opens his eyes to. It’s too intricate to be the hospital’s.
He feels hot and cold at the same time. He’s shirtless, and he’s more tanned than ever.
He’s not alone.
There’s a blonde head laying on his stomach, long hair sprawled all over him and the bed. Their hand is resting on top of his own. He pulls back quickly.
On his side is another body, their nakedness emphasized by the golden sun shining through the windowless and doorless balcony.
Eyes fluttering rapidly in disbelief, Jungkook rolls off the bed, grabs the fluffy white robe hanging on an armour, and exits the room.
Once outside, he blinks in surprise at the exterior. All the windows are open, silk curtains fluttering, and too much light. The entire place is painted brown and white, more wood than concrete.
“Master Jungkook!” A voice squeaks out in surprise.
Jungkook’s head snaps to them, and he sees someone carrying a bunch of towels in their hands. They’re young. Jungkook has never seen them in his life.
“Where am I?” He asks.
They blink at him in confusion. They speak to him in another language, and Jungkook rephrases his question using it. They brighten up and immediately reply to his question.
“Malta, Master Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s eyes travel around the place, no idea or recollection how he got here.
“What… happened?”
“You arrived last night, Sir, along with a couple of friends.”
“Last night?”
Last night, if Jungkook’s memory serves him right, he was in a sky lounge in Berlin hanging out with local and international DJs.
“We were informed beforehand that you were coming. According to what I heard, your private plane came from Berlin.”
The hangover makes itself known. Jungkook clutches his head, thumb and forefinger digging on his temples.
“I know you probably have stuff to do, but can you get someone to arrange a flight for me?”
“Of course! But…” They trail off, unsure on how to pose the question. “To where, Sir?”
Jungkook is confused as well. Eyes narrowed because of the throbbing in his head, he winces before saying, “To home?”
“Apologies, Master Jungkook, but… which one?”
Right.
Jungkook is reminded of the reason he flew out to Berlin last night on a whim in a helicopter. He remembers popping wine bottles open on the way and was lightheaded the moment they landed on the helipad. He tells them where, and he’s already dreading being there, but he has to be.
“What about your friends, Sir?”
“Who?”
“The two people you brought here?”
“Oh.” Jungkook bites his lip. “Let them stay as long as they like. Take them wherever they want after.”
“Your other plane, Sir?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jungkook finds himself in the air.
His hair is messy and he’s in a floral polo shirt and brown shorts. The weather situation of his destination just so happens to be rain and thunderstorms. He stares out the window and he barely notices time passing by.
Soon enough, dark clouds engulf the view. He’s almost there. He doesn’t bother checking his phone for the time. Time zones are a bitch whose calls Jungkook never bothered returning.
They land at the airport. His arrival is discrete and treated with the highest importance. He doesn’t bother changing, only requests for a long coat. It gets handed to him within five minutes. It even had the price tag still attached to it.
A heavily tinted car drives him out of the airport and into the city where the roads are slippery and rainwater pools on the pavements. He stares outside. Beside him is his phone, dead and useless. For a brief second, he wonders if this is already in the news. Maybe the people he was with already spoke to the press, or the two he brought with him to bed are gushing to whoever may listen about how he fucked them.
Jungkook only realizes that the radio is turned on and playing because of the sudden familiar beat. He knows what color he will see the moment it plays. He remembers being hunched down writing it and the sleepless nights in studios trying to produce an artificial version of what he sees when… that person speaks.
Jungkook instructs hastily, “Turn that off.”
The car stops at the parking lot behind a tall building. Jungkook doesn’t need to think or lift a finger; someone’s already opening the door for him.
He’s joined by a familiar but forgettable face. His attorney. There’s a hoard of them following behind, all quiet and their shoes clacking on the polished floor of the building.
Jungkook would prefer to go about today like this; the time unknown, strangers making decisions for him, and on autopilot.
Life loves fucking with him, Jungkook believes. The steel elevator doors were almost closed. It stops, parts open once more, and the new arrivals ruffle the feathers of those who came in the elevator before them.
“You’re late.” One of them tells Jungkook’s lawyers. “We came down for some food because we’ve been waiting too long.”
“Watch your mouth,” Someone snaps at them.
They only laugh. “You used to say that too when we were still in law school.”
Arriving at the floor, Jungkook keeps his pace and walks behind the group. Trying to get into his good graces, they tell him to take as much time as he needs before they could begin.
He can tell they’re lying. He knows he’s late and being really impolite, but he cannot find it in him to give a shit. He wishes he could, he really does. It’s like he’s watching himself act this way and he’s shouting at himself to stop but he can’t.
Jungkook enters a spacious meeting room. There’s a long brown table in it and floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcasing the dark sky and pouring rain. The lights are turned off, a humidifier is turned on by the side, and the smell of hot coffee fills the room.
Sitting on the other side of the table is Jungkook’s demise.
Seokjin looks up at him.
Maybe, salvation.
His hair is black and long and suits him so well. He’s wearing those formal and lifeless suits of his. Jungkook would feel silly in his get-up if he cared about it.
Jungkook strides over to his seat and the room falls into a hush. Seokjin’s watching him. He knows because he’s looking back. He can see how Seokjin’s eyes trace whatever skin of his can be seen from the coat. He knows what it looks like, they both do.
Their lawyers begin the meeting and drone on and on. Jungkook’s brain defeans their noise. If he could skip this meeting he would. He ends up with his elbow on the table, palm cradling his chin, and eyes downcast. Maybe he shouldn’t have left Malta with haste.
“And there is one thing. My client’s surname.”
“What about it?”
“Oh, quit it. We all know you’re slowing down the process!”
Jungkook sighs. He starts tapping his forefinger on the table. He wonders if silence has a color or it’s supposed to be like this: nothing.
“I’m sure your client will regain their old surname after the divorce is finalized.”
The word divorce instills murky black in Jungkook’s mind. If he could read Seokjin’s mind, and usually he can, then he knows it’s the same for him. No matter how good or okay they seem on the surface, separating like this is distasteful and messy. You can say it’s for the best, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it.
Gustation is a human ability developed by lightyears of evolution so that one can know whether something is poisonous or not.
And yet, Jungkook wants to get up from his seat, lay his palms flat on the long table, and lean closer towards Seokjin for a taste.
It’ll be sweet, like milk and honey, and when he trails his tongue across that jaw, he'll elicit a shiver and Seokjin’s beautiful crooked hands on his shoulders.
Not pushing him away, never, just laying there. It’s another thought process. The fact that Seokjin can never deny him.
He entertains the idea of announcing that he doesn’t want this anymore.
Fuck the divorce. Fuck their bickering lawyers. Fuck Seokjin’s family and their meddling.
Jungkook feels the familiar scrutiny he’s been under countless times. He raises his head and looks straight back at Seokjin.
And fuck Seokjin too.
In the literal and metaphorical sense.
That emotion that he has been keeping at the pit of his stomach creeps up his spine to present itself as a headache. He doesn’t have a name for it. Or maybe he does. He just doesn’t want to voice it outloud. He’s already disgraced himself enough, Jungkook believes, to let it fully sink into the crevices of his skull.
For the first time in his life, he’s not getting what he wants.
And it’s laughable, because it is what he wanted most.
Before he knows it, papers encased in a plain cream folder are being placed in front of him and Seokjin. Jungkook signs them without a second thought. Seokjin takes the time to dissect each paragraph and confirm the terms of their divorce with his lawyer.
He’s halfway from getting out of his chair but is stopped and told he needs to wait for Seokjin to sign it too.
Jungkook scowls and looks to the side impatiently. He catches Seokjin leaning over towards his lawyer, a hand covering his mouth, and whispering something to them.
The lawyer clears his throat and says, “My client wants to keep something in his possession.”
“Is it part of the exceptions?” One of Jungkook’s lawyers asked in a drawl.
“It is not, but my client is willing to negotiate with the other party for the object.”
“Then it’s a no.”
“As mentioned, we are willing to negotiate with Jeon Jungkook-sshi for this.”
Jungkook cuts off his lawyer who was about to respond. He shifts his gaze to Seokjin.
“What do you want, Jin?”
Seokjin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He glances at his lawyer, and Jungkook interrupts him too by adding, “Ask me directly.”
He hates this back-and-forth so much.
He hates the way Seokjin bites his lip and he hates the anticipation he still gets, this endless thirst of wanting to give Seokjin everything he wants even when he’s not the one Seokjin needs.
“The pearl necklace,” Seokjin finally says. “If you’ll allow it… I would like to keep it.”
Despite it being a gift, the necklace was bought with money Jungkook took out from his trust fund. Hence, now that they are parting ways, it is part of the possessions he gets to take back from Seokjin.
Jungkook’s mind conjures up an image of heat from the equator bouncing off warm skin marked from head to toe by his lips. He remembers lounging in bed with Seokjin, the other wearing nothing but that necklace, and he remembers it so vividly it hurts.
“Fine.”
Their lawyers squabble around the room, hunched over their laptops and typing rapidly, the sound of the printer whirring to life, and folders once again sliding across the table for them to sign.
They sign the papers quickly, and before Jungkook knows it, he’s once again getting out of the chair. This time around, no one stops him. He’s the first one out of the room. He’s greeted outside by bodyguards, and he knows he doesn’t need to ask to know that a car is already waiting for him.
“Jungkook.”
His world is engulfed in beauty yet his heart clenches in pain at the sight.
Jungkook stops walking. He doesn’t turn around. He hears Seokjin sigh despite the softness.
“Thank you.”
There’s nothing he wouldn’t give Seokjin. Sometimes, in the dead of the night when it’s only his thoughts keeping him company, Jungkook admits to himself he is more than willing to take Seokjin back.
Willing to learn and play all the Mendelssohns and Schummans in the world for Seokjin if he wants it. But that’s not what Seokjin needs. What Seokjin needs is bigger than who he is and what he can give.
Jungkook doesn’t look back and keeps moving forward.
The world is Jungkook’s oyster.
If he were asked to choose his own metaphor, he’d compare it to playing a video game. He can imagine sitting in a dark room, a large television playing, and its light glaring at him. His eyes would be blown wide while watching the screen, yet he doesn’t need a controller. He imagines sitting on the carpeted floor and being bored.
It was fascinating for a few good years until it has simmered down, the chromesthesia that he has to live with.
Music, sound, color, and emotion. Everything comes hand in hand and with that, there is nothing hard in the world. Things become boring, all in due time.
Not Seokjin though.
Never him.
Seokjin is a garden wherein the seasons change everyday. Seokjin is absolute yet never boring. He’s all hard edges and soft colors, twinkling and pretty, creating concentric circles right in front of Jungkook’s eyes.
“Jungkook-ah, stop following me.”
A xylophone and baby blues.
“You made this for me? Thank you.”
Blue irises.
And his laugh?
All the poets and literary writers probably wish they had a living and breathing muse like Jungkook does.
The little game room he’s been sitting in, bored out of his mind, gains a door. Upon twisting the knob and pushing it open, sunlight swallows the darkness. There must be birds chirping from a distance. There’s a tall concrete wall, and the sides are lined with bushes of pastel and roses. Seokjin’s there on his knees, gloves on his hands and a sunhat on his head. Everything is out in the open. There isn’t anything people can hide from Jungkook, especially Seokjin. He didn’t need stolen glances or truths hidden behind spite.
“What are you staring at?”
Seokjin’s question hangs in the air as Jungkook keeps doing it.
They’re in the library of Jungkook’s house. Manor, as Seokjin likes to call it. Jungkook doesn’t know the difference. There’s a heavy tome in front of Seokjin, eyes focused on it even as he spoke. Jungkook on the other hand has a colorful comic book in front of him.
Sitting across from the older one, Jungkook is treated to the view of Seokjin and the large window behind him, the afternoon sun flooding the room. Seokjin’s still using his wheelchair. He’s leaving next week and coming home. Jungkook misses him already.
“What are you reading, Jin?”
A page is turned.
“Are you interested in what I’m reading or are you avoiding the question?”
“Isn’t your question rhetorical? I’m staring at you, of course.”
Seokjin chuckles. Every time he blinks, his eyelashes bestow butterfly kisses on his skin.
“What are you thinking about then?”
“You.”
Seokjin makes an Ah! sound and goes back to reading. He leaves it at that.
Jungkook is left feeling unsatisfied. He’s been feeling that kind of way with Seokjin lately. Every time he comes close, Seokjin pulls back, and it only serves to encourage the insatiable thirst he has. He’s getting greedy and he knows it.
“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook asks, throwing the question back at Seokjin.
“History,” Seokjin simply says. “Family. Duty.” Then, he lets out an exhale of breath that is the personification of longing and daydreams. “South Korea.”
Jungkook perks up at that.
“What’s in South Korea?”
Seokjin shrugs. “Nothing, really. Everything there in South Korea can also be found here.”
“Then why are you thinking about it?”
“I guess you can say I miss it.”
“But why?”
Seokjin smooths his palm over the browned page of the book. “It was fun. It was fun being there.”
“So is it not fun here?”
Seokjin finally looks up at Jungkook. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s nice here. But… it was different being there.”
“Different how?”
“The people. The plants. How the sun shines in the afternoon.” Seokjin moves around his seat. He closes the book and rests his arms on top of it. He leans forward and his eyes sparkle in a way Jungkook has not seen before. “You should visit sometime. You’ll know what I mean.”
“I’m not interested,” Jungkook hastily announces. He doesn’t know why but it instills harsh and ugly emotions in him. “You can just get whatever you like there and bring it here.”
“But that defeats the purpose of being there. And don’t make your decision too quickly; you haven’t visited yet.”
“I don’t need to.” Jungkook huffs.
Seokjin laughs. “Why are you mad, Jungkookie?”
“I’m not!”
Seokjin smiles. He places his chin on top of his arms and watches Jungkook fidget in his seat.
“Spit it out.”
Jungkook glares at him and Seokjin only tilts his head to the side.
“Did you get a girlfriend there?”
Seokjin purses his lips together, holding back another bout of laughter.
“I did not.”
“A boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look so in love with it?”
Seokjin raises a brow. “Look?”
Jungkook waves one hand in the air, gesturing to what he sees and what Seokjin cannot.
“Ah. The colors.” Seokjin hmms and looks at the table in contemplation. “Why do you care?”
Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock. “So you did?! Left someone behind there?!”
“I know where your train of thought is leading. Worry about it when you’re closer to my height.”
Jungkook really hates it whenever Seokjin brings that up. Time already moves slowly for him, and it becomes slower every time Seokjin reminds him of it. He promptly closes his comic book and gets out of his chair.
“Where are you going?” Seokjin calls out as Jungkook walks out on him.
“To shooting lessons.”
“Are you leaving me behind?”
Jungkook grumbles and comes back for Seokjin. He swallows his irritation as Seokjin laughs and leans his back on the wheelchair.
Once Jungkook is standing behind the other, hands around the handles of the wheelchair, Seokjin looks up at him and smiles.
“Thanks.”
Seokjin closes his eyes, his head leaning back and now right on Jungkook’s stomach.
It makes his traitorous heart skip a beat. Seokjin is very handsome. He’s too beautiful and everything else that other people simply do not have.
“Jin,” Jungkook begins to say. “Are you in love with someone?”
“I am.”
“Who?”
“South Korea.”
“Oh.”
Jungkook blinks down at him. Seokjin doesn’t move. He’s still settled comfortably against Jungkook’s stomach.
“Do you want to live there?”
“Hm. Maybe.”
Sometimes, Seokjin frustrates Jungkook like no other.
“Why are you never sure about anything?”
“Because wanting and doing are different things.”
“Like how I want to marry you but you won’t let me?”
Seokjin opens his eyes and directs his incredulousness on Jungkook. Seeing the no-nonsense expression on Jungkook’s face, he ends up blinking rapidly in surprise.
“I… yes. It’s kind of like that.”
“I see.”
As Jungkook pushes Seokjin and the wheelchair out of the library and through the hallways, he ends up staring at the top of Seokjin’s head. He hopes one day he can do that while they’re both standing.
The silence almost tricked him into thinking Seokjin had fallen asleep.
“Why so quiet, little king?”
The nickname makes Jungkook blush. It pushes him off-center, like gravity has been wrung right under his feet.
“Huh?”
“Isn’t that what you are? The heir to all of this and more.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“If you say so.”
“I… really don’t.”
Seokjin turns his body around until he’s peering up at Jungkook.
“Wanting and doing are just ends for you, Jungkook. It doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll always get what you want.”
The words coming out of Seokjin’s mouth sounds foreign to Jungkook’s ears. What he said is a fact Jungkook knows well.
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Not everyone is like you,” Seokjin sing-songs teasingly. “You should learn that early on.”
“But what I want is you.”
Seokjin scoffs. “It’ll die out soon. Trust me.”
“You’re being mean, Jin.”
Seokjin continues on with his teasing. “Is hyung being awful?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re not my hyung. I’m not like Jimin.”
It seems to quiet Seokjin, reducing him into another contemplative state. In a whisper, he says, “You aren’t.”
“Isn’t the word of a king considered law?”
“That is what history dictates.”
Satisfaction and comfort bloom in Jungkook’s chest.
Perhaps there is a chance after all.
Seokjin looks up at him again, the grin on his lips nothing short of wicked.
“Unless there is treason.”
Home.
Jungkook gets dropped off at home but it doesn’t feel that way.
The coat that was brand new before it was worn over his frame is now dirtied by rainwater.
A poetic thought of how a place that used to feel small because Seokjin’s presence was enough to fill every nook and cranny now makes its vastness known fills his mind as he goes through billowing staircases and maze-like hallways.
As Jungkook peels off the layers of clothing he is wearing and changes into something he deems more suitable, as he wraps bandages around his knuckles and pulls on them taut, he realizes he is unsentimental.
If he was, he wouldn’t let Seokjin keep the pearl necklace.
If he was, he wouldn’t let this house be sold.
And if he really, truly, is sentimental, then he would’ve never let Seokjin leave that meeting room knowing he lost him.
There is no room for sentiment in an absolute and changing world. The oxymoron is in itself unsentimental. Nothing is ever the same, and there is nothing that will stay the same. Even a quiet pond underneath a sloping bridge welcomes change when rain pitter-patters over its surface.
The punching bag hanging on the ceiling of the home gymnasium used to be new too. The marks and dents Jungkook has made on it with his fists are now obvious. Whenever he hits the same spot just right, pinpoint accuracy and precision, over and over, his bones are welcomed by the crevices, the hardness digging deeper into the bag.
Jungkook punches until his vision blurs and his mind goes into static. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, his knees aching, thighs going numb as time passes by.
“Be careful. This hand and these fingers are worth billions.”
Not enough, it seems.
This isn’t enough.
Not if Jungkook can still hear Seokjin’s voice and see his face in his mind in perfect clarity. It persists and continues mocking him.
A noise different from the rest halts the physical and mental torture Jungkook was inflicting on himself. He looks up and for a second wonders if it will be who he wishes it to be.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
His heavy breathing and the frown on his face dawns on him.
Jungkook continues heaving and staring at his visitor.
“Your staff let me in.” They tell Jungkook awkwardly.
Jungkook leans on the punching bag for support. Everything burns and the sweat matting his forehead makes his unruly hair stick to his eyes.
“Min Yoongi,” he finally acknowledges. “What brings you here?”
Yoongi nods in small, quick, repetitive beats.
“I was told that I should take care of you.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“And why are you listening to him?”
The two stare at each other for a while.
Yoongi ends up shrugging his shoulders.
“He said you’ll pay good money.”
They pretend that’s all there is to it.
“So?”
Jungkook raises a brow. “So what?”
“Will you let me?”
Taking care of Jungkook is similar to memorizing the positions of pieces on a chess board. Every once and a while, they turn down and fall, and Yoongi has to gently place everything back into place. He has it memorized by now.
Yoongi’s fine with Jungkook fucking up. He’s very lenient in that regard. He knows it doesn’t make him a good publicist like the rest. Most uphold the mantra that it’s better to prevent things before they happen. Yoongi on the other hand is more than okay with simply sweeping happenstances under the rug.
Better if he’s right there on the scene while Jungkook’s late teenage angst happens right before his eyes.
Jungkook is a… dutiful client.
He tells Yoongi whatever he is asked and isn’t shy sparing details.
The conversation they had hours ago was different.
“Where did you go? One second you were in a private lounge, next thing I know I’m getting calls about you exiting the club with someone. The amount of money we had to chunk out to keep the press quiet this time around is frankly insane, Jungkook.”
Jungkook only stared at him, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy. He only shrugs and keeps to himself. They were up in the air, in a one-sided beration while the plane flew over nations and waters.
Yoongi remembers scratching his neck numerous times out of frustration. He eventually gave up, sitting down from across the superstar.
They kept the tabloids quiet, sure. Doesn’t mean the Internet didn’t know what happened. Anybody with a phone that night saw Jungkook exiting the club with someone.
Not just anyone, Yoongi thinks with a heavy sigh.
The noise and the crowd Yoongi is in the middle of shouldn’t be normal.
It’s two in the morning and he’s standing on the sideline watching people cheer and hoot while two cars rev their engines up in the middle of the street.
“I wanna race,” was the only sentence Yoongi managed to elicit from Jungkook after meeting with him.
Jungkook is volatile and reckless, a ticking time bomb that goes off quietly. He’s that but he is also so much more.
Yoongi can only continue watching him.
Jungkook’s leaning on his car, a sports car coated in red candy paint. His hair is a mess, mussed up by the wind and hitting his face every now and then. The leather jacket he’s wearing keeps him warm. He keeps his hands inside its front pockets, talking and chatting with a couple of strangers who are freely smoking joints and bottles of liquor in their hands.
Yoongi finds it funny, seeing Jungkook looking and acting like this. It’s the image everyone sees of him: a young and mysterious rockstar with too much time and money on his hands.
Smoke, leather, musk, dark eyes, and lips curled in a smirk.
As Jungkook’s publicist and babysitter , Yoongi knows him a bit better now. His client doesn’t like drinking heavy liquor, he’s sensitive to the cold and demands blankets and socks, and he’s a hopeless romantic. Even if he pretends he isn’t.