Chapter Text
first part
“all grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it.” antoine de saint-exupéry, the little prince
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chapter three - tales of the broken pen and the lost bunny
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The night is well-settled in the sky, however it isn’t dark yet ; under these steel blue clouds, this school he doesn’t know yet appears to be a dusty, haunted place with ghostly lights. Namjoon loves it: he imagines small spirits resting under each lamp, besides each tall plant, under each seat. This night is made for magic and he hopes that he will provide a good, bewitching lullaby for them with his performance. Next to him, his brother is standing and agitating his right leg every damn second, boiling with stress on his narrow chair.
“I’m going to be alright,” he murmurs to Taehyung and he takes his hand. His brother’s leg stills at this contact.
Taehyung gives him a strained smile, “Oh, I know you are. But I’m… I feel full of bubbles, like boiling water. In my stomach there are bubbles of worry and happiness and pride. It’s hard to contain! You’re just so, so cool, Joon-hyung!”
“I’m not,” Namjoon chuckles with modesty, but his cheeks blush, and pleasure invades his chest. It’s beautiful to be admired by the person you love the most in the whole world.
“You are,” Taehyung insists. “You are going to win, I know you will!”
“Shut up,” Namjoon answers fondly, passing his hand in his brother’s hair, “you’re going to provoke my bad luck. It doesn’t matter if I win or not. I just want you to listen.”
They’re currently sitting on uncomfortable, cheap seats in the middle of a school playground, in the biggest high school in Busan. Feeling his feet on the ground of a high school even though he’s a middle schooler freshly out of primary school makes him feel like someone big, someone older than the rocks next to his shoes. The place is enormous: the building has at least three stores and is so long that Namjoon can’t even count all the windows - they’re so numerous… Are there a hundred windows here? - and it’s packed with students and their families.
Grandma and Grandpa are next to Taehyung, on his left, and they’re holding hands, their fingers intertwined like messy old threads. Grandma is pretty: she’s wearing a beautiful burgundy dress bought just for this occasion and a thin golden collar is shining around her neck and her long white hair is melting together in a graceful, impressive bun (like he often does, Namjoon sees traces of Mom on her, in the aura that surrounds her. He closes his eyes for a second). Grandpa’s broad shoulders are highlighted by his light brown suit and he has a soft expression that makes him look younger - will Namjoon look like that, one day? Right now it seems impossible for so many reasons - and for once his salt and pepper hair is not covered by one of his infamous flat hats. Namjoon always feels shocked when he remembers that Grandpa’s hair still isn’t fully white. Taehyung is a mini-Grandpa: he looks good in his white, almost pink, shirt and his beige straight pants, and his dark chocolate brown curls are flowing in the air like pretty lost feathers. Namjoon has decided to wear, for this dreamy night, classy grey pants and a blue t-shirt. Grandma tried to convince him to wear something even more elegant but he refused - and he doesn’t want to seduce the crowd with someone that he isn’t. People will have to love him for what he is, or he will banish them from his mind.
Since Namjoon is one of the young children performing tonight, they’re in one of the front rows, and Namjoon’s eyes catch glances of a man that was presented as the mayor of Busan and other people apparently important a few seats before them. He makes a mental note not to look at them at any moment when he will climb on the stage. The event began about half an hour ago, and he has heard some children besides him complain about his height, saying they couldn’t see anything and, to be honest, it made him laugh quietly.
This is a talent contest between students of the entire country and Namjoon has been chosen for his poems, which made Grandma, Grandpa and Taehyung gloat and shine. Grandpa has talked about this to probably whoever came to buy eggs or cheese in their cute shop of fresh products. Namjoon just tells himself that this is as insignificant and chill as a dream on a late morning.
Namjoon never expected to be praised for his writing. He has been inventing stories since he has learnt how to talk when he was and he has been pretending to be the hero of his little fantasies for at least the last five past years. But writing them… But locking his thoughts away in written syllabes, letting the paper hear them… He started doing that when Mom went away. Sometimes he thinks this desire to write is born out of Taehyung’s words, of the murmurs he let out, such as “The Sun won’t touch us again”. He heard him say that in his sleep once or twice and became obsessed with it. The feeling of the sun. The light and how it eats and swallows the world. One morning - perhaps the morning that followed, or a morning weeks later - he wrote a short story. It started like this : “Somewhere, somewhere between my right cheek and the ambient air, or maybe near the borders of the Pacific Ocean, I’ve lost my shadow.” He remembers writing and writing and almost forgetting to breathe and suddenly being eaten by relief. “Ah ”, he thought, and he could hear his mind gently sighing, “ah, ah, I am here for a reason after all .” The world regained a little bit of light when he discovered writing that day.
And then, he never stopped. Grandma and Grandpa were quite confused at first with Namjoon and Taehyung’s demands - his brother started drawing everywhere and on everything not so long after Namjoon had started asking for more notebooks all the time, drawing even on the walls of his room, which had annoyed Grandpa to no end. But unlike Taehyung, who liked to draw their grandparents and their world and pin his works everywhere in the house, Namjoon never showed what he wrote to his family. Showing them to strangers once a while was easier, so he never hesitated to read his assignments in front of the whole class whenever the teacher asked to produce a text about their future self or something like that. But giving his words to these people who knew him and telling them that he had hidden small parts of him from them? It was hard and whenever Namjoon thought about it, his palms would get sweaty and cranky, and his fingers would itch to write his discomfort somewhere.
This is a dream, nothing more than a dream , Namjoon reminds himself, they won’t hear what you’re saying. They will hear the cheers and the whispers of the crowd, the reactions of important adults and maybe the claps, but don’t worry, Joon, they won’t hear the pain.
“And now,” the host of the night announces with a strange voice (he’s tall and lean, and looks somehow ridiculous in his expensive-looking black suit. His blue bow tie is awkwardly put and seems to be strangling him), “our next performer, a real piano prodigy, Min Yoongi, from a school in Daegu!”
From the row in front of the Kims, at the left of the stage, a small boy emerges. He’s a phenomenon, a growing force: he’s absolutely not wearing a suit or anything appropriate for such an event. On the contrary, he’s hugged by a large black hoodie covered with a worn-looking basketball jersey that Namjoon has never seen before, even though he’s fairly familiar with the NBA league because he has read about the history of the sports - it’s an electric blue jersey with a pretty rainbow on it). His black pants are low and too large and he wears sneakers. The hood of his jumper is covering his head, yet it reveals most of his thick hair: it’s dyed, mint green - just like the mint chocolate ice cream Taehyung likes and Namjoon detests more than the taste of toothpaste! He doesn’t look like a piano prodigy at all and Namjoon loves it.
“What’s this,” Grandpa says in a lowkey judgemental tone when Taehyung whispers at the same time, “Wow…. his hair is so cool!” and Namjoon silently agrees.
Once in the spotlights, the boy named Min Yoongi lowers his hood and his hair shines under the colourful rays of light. His face is captivating: he seems older than what his height would let most people assume, his skin quite pale and covered with golden-like freckles, and his lips form a happy smirk. Namjoon wishes he was as glorious as this boy. The host seems even more mock-worthy next to this impressive aura.
“Good evening, Min Yoongi,” the man says, with surprise evident on his face, “we’re very glad to welcome you here. Could you maybe tell us something about you?”
The boy grins. “Min Yoongi, fourteen, genius. These words should suffice,” he answers and the entire crowd gasps.
The host lets out a shaky laugh, “Alright, alright. And what are you going to present to us tonight?”
Min Yoongi passes his hand in his hair. “I’m going to blow your mind with my own version of the Lullaby by Brahms.” He immediately sits in front of the luxurious black piano and the light dims. Silence takes over the place, stuck in everyone’s throats. And then. And then, his fingers fall on the keys and something in Namjoon’s heart soars.
He doesn’t recognize at first, and neither does Taehyung. Min Yoongi is playing two melodies on the same instrument, and these melodies are meeting each other, crashing, melting into each other like butter left outside of the fridge. Piano is an interesting instrument, Namjoon thinks, the music it makes is full of air. It plays with the silence in between the notes. Namjoon listens with attention. And suddenly, Taehyung’s hand takes his arm and it hits him: one of the melodies is the music that comes out of Tete, Taehyung’s old and fragile bunny. It’s that song that they both know by heart, the one that helped them find sleep during even the darkest nights, even those nights broken in pieces by thunder.
As the sun disappears for good and lets the moon reign for the next few hours, Taehyung whispers “Joon, it’s our song, Joon, do you hear it?”
Namjoon nods. He listens, listens, his ears enchanted by the tune, and after a moment he recognizes the other song. It’s a song he has heard once or twice on the radio while Grandpa was driving, a British rock song that managed to sound like classical music called Bittersweet Symphony . The two melodies are so different that they aren’t supposed to work together, and yet it does. Yoongi makes them sing in unison. Namjoon lets his eyes flutter and close, feeling all of a sudden sleepy but in the most wonderful way. Something in him is floating. Too soon, too quickly, the performance ends and he has to land on the ground once again. He opens his eyes and sees a flash of green running away from the stage before the host has time to make any comment.
“That was sublime,” Grandma says.
“That brat sure deserves the title he gave himself,” Grandpa reacts - Namjoon can tell he’s extremely impressed by the tone of his voice and the way his eyebrows are knitted together in a fluffy mass of dark hair - and the four of them laugh together.
The other performances are sadly ignored by his mind. They probably are good but nothing quite manages to snatch his breath away like the focused, skilled fingers of Min Yoongi on the keys did.
“We now have to welcome our last performer of the night, a young boy called Kim Namjoon!” he hears as his thoughts are spinning again in his head, replaying once again the boy’s performance.
“Hyung, hyung,” Taehyung hurries him, pushing him towards the end of the row, “that’s you, go, go now!”
He lifts his body off that chair as if he was lifting a stone. This always happens: whenever he feels stressed, all his blood rushes to his feet and he has the impression that he’s sinking, sinking into the hard ground just like an anchor in the sea. He passes in front of all the knees and faces that he doesn’t dare to look at and finally arrives in front of the stairs that will lead him to the scene. He pauses, his breath stuck somewhere between his ribs and his throat. He slowly advances his feet, one after another, and climbs it. The crowd, once on the stage, appears to be a black, polluted sea, filled with the debris of the faces that he can’t quite distinguish and he wonders if it will swallow him whole.
“Hey there,” the host calls him, “don’t hesitate, come on, come closer” he adds and makes an inviting gesture with his arm.
Namjoon comes to him but stops once the distance isn’t so great anymore, not wanting to be too close. “Good evening,” he utters shyly.
“So, Kim Namjoon, could you try to present yourself to us?”
Namjoon looks at him. “Okay, I’m Kim Namjoon, I’m thirteen and I live in Namha-myeon, it’s in the Geochang county. Writing is one of the things I like the most, along with the sea and my brother Taehyung.” The faces seem to form a huge, moved smile when he says that.
“That’s great!” the host tells him but his expression is not genuine enough to provoke any kind of sympathy in Namjoon’s heart. And he still hates his damn bow tie. “And what have you prepared for us tonight?”
“I’m here to read something I’ve written not so long ago. It’s a,” he pauses a second or two, not knowing how to define his text. “I suppose that it can be called a poem. Its title is Giyeok.”
The host vanishes and the stage abruptly becomes his. He’s alone, perched on this dark and large balustrade, and the world seems so big. Does this crowd even have a limit? Has he suddenly become as small as a frightened insect about to be crushed? His gaze searches for his family. Grandpa is looking at him, still as a statue. Grandma looks warm, as always, and her lips appear to be forming a “Good luck”. And Taehyung is almost on his feet, not sitting correctly, and waving furiously at him, an enormous beam on his face. Namjoon inhales. He can do this. He can.
“Giyeok,” he lets out in a long, loud breath. “Giyeok means to remember. I remember almost everything. I remember the pen I broke when she first taught me how to write. I remember her dismal smile and the stars she transmitted to another star that I won’t mention for now. I remember when she cut her hair on her own. I remember her biting her nails. I remember her telling me to stop biting mine. I remember the wind in her voice, the light in her steps, the water in her eyes when she dared to cry in front of us, the fire she once made while attempting to make a cake. I remember. I actually don’t remember the first time I saw him. I don’t remember his reddish skin. I don’t remember his first cry. I don’t remember when his silly little self barged in my bedroom. I don’t remember him stealing her. I don’t remember because he has always been there like the laughing stars in the sky. I only remember what matters: life with him, life bonded with the precious feeling of safety. I remember us sharing the world and bickering for the precious right to own it. I remember the whispered stories at night. I remember the candies eaten and the food puked and the fevers we got. I remember her, him, myself, us in our bubble. I remember the expression she had when we were fighting, as if we were breaking her heart. I remember the way she would tell us that we’re two little princes sharing one kingdom. I remember asking if the kingdom was her heart. I remember her nostalgic laugh after that question and the way she shook her head and murmured ‘Not only that, not only that, baby’. I remembered the day we lost her. I remember thinking for the first time that I might lose him too, one day. I remember how the air left my lungs. I remember how my anger and my pain turned me, who was nothing but love, into the rough edges necessary to be a person. I remember this end of the world. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for all the people in this world who stopped remembering because they’re dead, painfully dead. I wish to be immortal, to never forget. So I hold tightly onto what I remember, like my safety net against death. All these memories are gathered together at the corner of that drawer in my head. They’re staying there forever, like Giyeok, the first consonant of the korean alphabet, this first hangul character I wrote. Like that character, they’re the signs that allow me to speak. I Giyeok memories to keep myself as sane as one can be.”
He stares at the crowd and breathes, breathes. “Thank you,” he says and bows. At first, complete silence. He doesn’t move, still as a statue. And then, as he observes his own feet he hears people applauding him and cheering.
When he goes to his seat, he doesn’t even have the time to say anything because Taehyung is already jumping on him, hugging him hard. At first he doesn’t know what to do with his arms but he ends up enveloping his brother with them too, not letting go. They part and Grandpa ruffles his hair. Grandma takes his hand and squeezes it and he sees tears on her cheeks. They don’t say anything. That’s nice, although there’s a bitter taste in Namjoon’s mouth. The silence is nice. The loving recognition of his supposed talent is nice. Words acknowledging his pain might have been better. He’s not sure.
Time passes like a storm: they eat as the judges are deliberating. The school has organized a buffet and Namjoon and Taehyung’s grandparents are in love with the beautiful, pricey alcohol, the warm dishes and the foreign pastries. Some people come to him and clumsily tell him how much they appreciated his writing. Namjoon doesn’t always know how to answer, so he gives a lot of smiles and hopes they don’t look too tense. He waits to catch the mint-haired boy somewhere but he never finds him. They come back to their seats.
“The time has come,” the host grandiloquently says and people finally hush, “to announce the three winners of the contest! In third place, Choi Seo-ah, for her majestic traditional dance performance!” People clap and the young girl goes to the stage once again and climbs on the improvised podium. “In second place, Min Yoongi, for his beautiful and… well, unsettling version of the Lullaby by Brahms!” The boy was, apparently, already standing ready next to the stairs, his hands in his pockets, and now he goes to the podium too, always wearing the same smirk on his mouth. “And, finally, in first place… Kim Namjoon, for his original, thought-provoking poem Giyeok! Congratulations, Kim Namjoon, the laureate of this edition of the Busan Youth Talent Festival!”
Taehyung screams and Namjoon fondly hits him. He, too - and it feels like something impossible, something surreal - goes to the stage and there he receives from the envelope holding the prize. It’s money, precious money that he can’t wait to give to his family - he never feels better than when he somehow provides for them. He smiles. From his seat, Taehyung makes a silly face, pulling his cheeks and sticking his ridiculous tongue out and Namjoon can’t help but laugh. He hears someone laugh next to him and turns his head. It’s Min Yoongi. They share a smile that belongs to no one else but them.
Min Yoongi is a stream of thunder that Namjoon doesn’t have the time to catch. Grandma, Grandpa, Taehyung, Namjoon, all the candidates of the festival and their families are packed together in the school to enjoy a grand buffet and Min Yoongi can’t be found anywhere. Namjoon keeps looking for him and he doesn’t see his flashy hair, his smile, his bent back. He looks and he looks. He’s nowhere. He has disappeared and, despite his victory, Namjoon feels sad and somehow, quite alone. Min Yoongi looked like someone to Giyeok , someone who deserved to be the star of many poems.
“Hey, hyung,” Tae says, hitting him gently with his fingers, his face very close to him. “Do you want to look for it?”
“For what,” Namjoon asks, taken aback by the question.
Taehyung grins, and it’s mischievous and indulgent and pretty. “For whatever you have lost? For whatever you need? This wouldn’t be the first time you lost something important in a new place.”
Namjoon doesn’t say anything at first, stunned. And then laughter grows and grows in his lungs and he can’t stop giggling. That’s his brother. That’s really Taehyung in a nutshell, isn’t it? Someone who knows and also doesn’t, someone who notices but not fully and yet cares anyway, someone whose face is an understanding face. Someone that doesn’t know him by heart but who tries. His brother. It’s cool, having a brother, right? Someone similar and different that you will never stop discovering and yet previsible in very odd ways. It’s nice, it’s so nice. He giggles again. “I guess you could say I lost a friend.” He pauses and giggles, and it’s sad and mad and content. He wishes Mom was there to see them laugh. “A friend that I don’t know yet.”
Taehyung giggles too and answers “This doesn’t make any sense, Joon. Anyway. Let’s go.”
“Let’s go where?” Grandpa groans, already worried. He gives them a look and his gaze lingers on Taehyung’s innocent, adorable face. Their grandparents never know how to resist this excited bubble of affection. “I don’t want you to do something silly, boys.” He sighs. “But I guess you deserve some freedom today. Okay, do whatever you planned.” He shrugs and mumbles something about the taste of the fish on his plate.
Taehyung pulls Namjoon’s sleeve and creates a path for themselves through this crowd, pushing the arms and legs that bother them and letting Namjoon give apologies to the people on the behalf of both of them. “Do you think we might find any secrets here?”
Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s just a school,” he says.
“It’s a high school,” Taehyung corrects him, “and it’s even a big one. There must be things to discover.”
They discreetly enter the building, their eyes searching for strange doors and their noses sniffing the air to smell mysteries, and they're grinning. At first glance, the school is boring: the walls are white or beige or sometimes green, and the stairs are old and creak under their steps, the windows are stained with absurd things, sometimes even chewing-gums, and most of the doors are locked. That doesn't stop them from looking for treasure. They run to the highest floor and stare at the dark rooms that they will never enter whenever they pass in front of a glazed wall. They caress the ugly engraved words on them in small corners. The place is very neat, of course, like most schools, but still sometimes they encounter a lost object put in a very random place, and even torn slippers behind an abandoned desk in the middle of some corridor.
“What are they doing here?” Taehyung says out loud, more for himself than his brother, holding them in his hand with only a few fingers, as if it was a trash bag (that's probably the most reasonable thing to do. Who knows where these shows have rested? And besides, everyone knows, Namjoon more than anyone, how much despise Taehyung feels towards shoes.)
“I have no idea. High schoolers are weird like that, I suppose” Namjoon answers.
Namjoon is very disappointed by the lack of elevators in such a good school. Don't people care about the students with disabilities? And what if someone gets hurt? They simply stay at home because they can't use the too numerous stairs? That's dumb, in his opinion, really dumb. They also encounter a creepy broom cupboard, filled with broken lights and terrifying big dolls probably used for random humoristic performances and Taehyung pretends he isn't afraid of the spiders they found there, holding back a shriek, while Namjoon simply admires how big and diverse they are. How do they feed themselves? Do people chase them often? Their longevity and strength are admirable.
They go to a lower floor and they run through it, laughing loudly because no one can hear them. Taehyung executes magnificently ridiculous gliding movements because the floor is a little bit slippery and Namjoon holds him close, afraid he will end up hurting himself, but more amused than ever. They don't find much there. Namjoon doesn't know why they keep searching: it's obvious that Min Yoongi won't be here. He's probably somewhere far away, he's just a fascinating persona that Namjoon will never get to enjoy and brush anymore, and Namjoon clearly has to make his peace with that and stop being secretly disappointed. Yes, yes, it's rare to meet someone who feels so unexpectedly important, to see someone who would just fit by your side, someone who understands without ever talking to you. Yes, yes, it's a pity. Lot of things in Namjoon's life are a pity, right? These gloomy thoughts slowly nibble the laughter Taehyung provokes but he forces himself to smile.
Taehyung, as Namjoon knew he would at some point, falls and hurts himself. But the cries Namjoon hears aren't coming from his brother's mouth. Taehyung is already on his feet, pushing the dust away from his pants with his palms, probably hurting his thighs. The cries don't stop.
“Someone is crying,” Taehyung whispers.
Namjoon's smile comes back a little bit. “Thank you Sherlock for this brilliant observation.”
Taehyung laughs. “Even when you try to be sassy, you sound old.” Namjoon guesses he indeed does. “We have to find where this voice is coming from. Do you think it's a ghost?”
“Of course not, Tae, come on,” Namjoon tells him.
“Lame,” Taehyung says and then shuts up to listen to these quiet, dismal sobs.
“It's coming from somewhere on our right, I think,” they say at the same time. A sibling is someone so similar but so different, Namjoon's inner voice repeats once again. They advance and the sounds get louder.
“Is someone here?” Namjoon says to the void. “Are you alright?”
“Joonie, the person is crying, do you really think they are alright?” Taehyung teases him.
“Oh, shut up!”, he answers because he must admit his question is quite stupid indeed.
They wait. They probably look awkward like that, standing in this place they don't know, talking to someone they can't see.
“Oh…” They hear. “I think I heard people.”
Namjoon snorts and Taehyung says “This ghost isn't very smart,” almost perfectly echoing his thoughts.
“There isn't any ghost here, Tae, sheesh,” he tells his brother, patting his head. “Hey, where are you?” he says then to whoever they have found here.
A head appears from behind a big table. "Oh," the person exclaims again, "there are people! I'm saved!"
It's a boy, from what Namjoon sees, and he's younger than them - it's visible on his face - but probably has the same height as Taehyung already. He has very short black hair, some of it is almost glued on his forehead somehow, maybe with hair gel, and his eyes are small and alert. He looks like a scared animal.
“You look like a bunny,” Taehyung tells the stranger with no shame and Namjoon clearly sees what he means.
Instead of getting vexed by the remark, the boy smiles and his grin is huge compared to his little, very round doe eyes, that the bunny impression definitely imprints itself in Namjoon's mind forever. “That's what my mother says too!”
“Get out of there, alright?” Namjoon demands. “What's your name by the way?”
The boy leaves his hidden spot and rushes to them, relief on his face. “I'm Jungkook. I thought no one would ever come to look for me!”
Taehyung laughs, “Erm,” he scratches his head as he corrects the boy, “technically we didn't. We just found you. What are you doing here?”
That Jungkook boy scratches his head. “You're going to think that I'm silly.”
If Namjoon was his brother, he would find a way to say in a charming way “We kind of already do.” But he isn't, so he just waits. And Taehyung stays surprisingly silent.
“I got lost.”
“Ah? That’s fine. My brother often gets lost too, and he's obviously older than you,” Taehyung answers, taking Jungkook's hand, “so don't worry. You don't remember how we came here, right, Joon?” Namjoon has to admit he doesn't. Taehyung chuckles. “That's alright, I'm there to save the day. Joon, give me your hand. You too, come on.”
Namjoon and the little bunny both look at each other, their faces twisting into awkwardly funny frowns that he can see shining into Taehyung's eyes - they're hesitating. “Erm,” Namjoon lets out.
Taehyung is between them like a string, pulling them into his embrace, never letting go. He thinks once again about the poem he performed in front of all these faces he will forget because they're not as important as the ridiculous smile of his brother. His lips stretch into a small grin.
They walk in silence, like worms making their way into a weird maze. Namjoon listens carefully to their almost synchronized breaths. Sometimes, they stop to admire random pictures or objects hung on the walls. They point at it and marvel at all these memories without uttering a word. They're explorators on a mission, on their way to brush the most incredible treasure of the island.
When they're almost outside, where all the grown-ups are waiting for them, the little boy murmurs “People are so scary”. Namjoon really shares the feeling.
“They are, they really are,” Taehyung sighs and Namjoon turns rapidly towards his brother. That’s surprising. He’s so used to the social, smiley, jumpy Taehyung who befriends everything and everyone. He could have never expected such a remark from him.
“Oh, I see my parents!” Jungkook exclaims and throws a blinding smile at them, his shoulders relaxed, obviously relieved. “I hope I’ll see you again, maybe next year? I’ll dance here, maybe.”
“You want to see us?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook smiles even harder. “Yeah, of course. Because you guys, you aren’t scary.”
Namjoon and Taehyung look at each other for a few seconds and then say at the same time, like a practiced chorus, “I’m glad.”
“You’re not going to ditch your brother, right?” Grandpa says again - he has said it at least a hundred times since they woke up this morning to take their breakfast.
“Of course not, I already told you that,” Namjoon answers.
Grandpa groans. “I know, I haven’t lost my mind yet you see.”
Namjoon almost says “Seems like it” but swallows the words back at the very last minute. He doesn’t want to make Grandpa mad, even if he does find him a little annoying today. Taehyung is sleeping beside them, apparently not bothered by his seat belt - he always falls asleep whenever they take the car, it’s a talent of his.
“A concert stadium is a big place,” Grandpa says. “A really big place. Taehyung could easily get lost in it.”
He has to smile at that. “You know I’m the one who easily gets lost in places.”
Grandpa groans again but Namjoon hears a little muffled laugh in it too. “You’re not doing a great job at reassuring me, son.”
Something twists hard in Namjoon’s chest, like a rope being roughly pulled into a knot. It anchors him to the ground and yet it makes him feel so light, as light as a fire. It’s not a pretty feeling. He loves his Grandpa: he loves the golden brown of his eyes and the rough edges of his voice when he gets up in the morning and needs his daily coffee. He loves the way Grandpa keeps trying to teach Namjoon how to build stuff and he loves the way Grandpa sighs when he hurts himself with a tool. He loves the way Grandpa shines when he dances with his wife, the love of his life. But - and isn’t that horrible? isn’t he a horrible person for that? - he wants to scream in his Grandpa’s face, he wants to yell “I’m not your son, I’m not your son, I’ll never be!” He bits his lips as he hears his own voice screeching “You weren’t there! Why weren’t you there for the person that was actually your child?” The question burns his throat.
Their grandparents never talk about it. They never explain why they were so far away, why they had never been in Namjoon’s and Taehyung’s life before Mom’s death - why Namjoon had to slowly witness his Mom’s disappearance and care for her because no one else did. They never say why they abandoned her. It’s a secret, a tacit taboo that voices would whisper about like wizards quietly say You-Know-Who instead of Voldemort. And anger grows in Namjoon at night, despite all the love he feels for them.
Grandpa gasps softly as he turns his head and looks briefly into Namjoon's eyes. Sometimes, not always, it seems like he knows. Namjoon sees the suddenly awkward lines of his mouth, and the hand he raises in the air and that he then lets fall on his thigh. And it makes it worse - because that means Grandpa lies. Can he see Namjoon’s anger? Is he afraid of it? Namjoon surely is.
That’s why he didn’t mention them in his poem, although he has numerous memories of them. Because they’re here, they’re close but they don’t entirely feel there, not like Taehyung does. He’s separated from them. When he was younger, he thought that loving someone meant belonging to them - and technically having them in return. He was obviously wrong: he loves his grandparents but he doesn’t think the three will ever belong to each other. They might get Taehyung, but not him. Never him.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, “I’m not good at this.” And he’s not only talking about reassuring Grandpa, not only about the concert.
They don’t say much after that. Namjoon looks at the world through his window: the standing trees, the flying leaves and the ones resting on the floor, at the asphalt under those leaves, at the other cars and the shoes of random people crossing the street. He looks at his own fingers and cracks them. He does that often, without exactly knowing why. He plays with his hands and feels a little bit more real.
“You never said what you love that much about that band you’re going to see,” Grandpa says when they’re almost at the music venue. “Epik High, that’s right? I guess Taehyung likes them just fine, especially when they curse, but I know you’re the real fan of them in our house. You never said why.”
At first Namjoon doesn’t know how to answer. Does he really need a reason? He cracks his fingers and hears one of Epik High’s songs playing in his mind. He does have reasons, though. Plenty of them.
“I still think you two are too young to go to a concert, to be honest,” Grandpa continues and his grasp on the wheel gets tighter. “But I want you to have everything you love.” He smiles. “Grandma convinced me with that damn smile of hers.” He lets out a weird laugh and Namjoon wishes he knew what all of this means, what is going on in his grandfather’s head.
“I like them because they like to write. And because they don’t hide what they feel,” Namjoon finally says and then “You know, they have a song about remembering stuff.”
“Oh, I see,” Grandpa tells him. “You like memories, right? I did too when I was your age.”
Thousands of questions are on Namjoon’s tongue: “So you don’t like them anymore? Is that why you don’t really say anything?” and even “Do you think Taehyung and I will end up like you?”
Eventually they stop and Namjoon wakes up his little brother. “Hey, hey, we’re here. We have to go.”
A concert hall is an impressive place. It’s not that big but it’s very vibrant. Most people are older than them and throw them surprised looks. Taehyung follows him like an excited puppy.
“Do you really like Epik High, Tae?” Namjoon asks out of nowhere when they’re in the queue to enter the hall.
His brother smiles and replies “Of course I do.”
“What do you like the most about them?”
Taehyung tilts his head to his right side and holds his chin - he always does that when he wants to show that he’s deeply thinking. “They make us jump together, and that’s fun.”
He’s right. They do jump and scream at home, repeating the lyrics despite their grandparents’ fond disapproval. He laughs. “So you came to jump? Sometimes their songs are calm too, you know.”
“Duh, I came because they would have never let you go on your own!”
“He would get lost without you”, says someone behind them.
It’s Jungkook, next to a way taller boy who must be his brother. He seems older than Namjoon. Taehyung is elated. “Jungkook, right? The bunny! I remember you. Aren’t you too small to be here?”
The boy grins “I worked extra hard at school to be allowed to come. It wasn’t easy.”
His brother says “Hi, I’m Junghyun. You’re friends with Jungkook? You look familiar. Yeah, he worked well.” He pinches Jungkook’s cheek with affection and then turns to them once again. “I didn’t think he would manage, his brain is as small as a bean!”
“We’re friends,” Taehyung answers while Namjoon simply replies “We’ve met, yes.”
The four of them wait together. Taehyung and Jungkook agree to write letters to each other and meet often. Namjoon is distracted by all these people around them, the lights and the noise.
“I would totally get lost if I was alone,” he says and Taehyung chuckles.
The condition for them to attend the concert was to be in the bleachers instead of the pit - but to be honest, Namjoon had had no intention to ask to go to the pit. Too intimidating. So they go to the stands. Jungkook and his brother are at a row sadly further to the stage than Taehyung and Namjoon’s so they separate at the stairs.
“You will write?” Jungkook demands.
“It’s a promise,” Taehyung says.
“And you?” Jungkook tells Namjoon.
“Me?”
“I’d like to be your friend,” the bunny boy says, blushing a little bit.
“I… Fine.” It’s frankly hard to say no to such cute eyes.
When they finally settle in their seats, Namjoon sees a flash of mint green and hears:
“Didn’t expect to see the little genius here. So you like hip-hop? Interesting.”
Min Yoongi is there, sitting on the seat in front of Namjoon, and he’s smirking. He still looks like someone Namjoon needs to know.