[wip post] giving up on these
Mar. 17th, 2021 09:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
permutativeclearing out these wips because it's pretty clear that i won't be able to write them... fair warning my first draft writing is like extremely unfiltered and horrendous.
untitled
fandom/pairing: txt, soobin/kai
premise: hunger games au where yeonbin do fanservice to win the games but soobin's true feelings lie in the boy he left behind in the districts...
notes: lol initially meant for k but literally what was i thinking
[interview before the Games]
INTERVIEWER: Everyone’s seen the clips. It’s quite heartwarming, really -- you volunteered as tribute for another in your district, right? How would you describe your relationship with Kai Huening?
SOOBIN: Kai is… how do I put it. He’s someone who has gone through a lot of hardship in his life. We’ve been best friends for years. He’s my safe haven.
--
Soobin’s barely aware of his surroundings when he’s airlifted out of the arena. He’s still holding hands with Yeonjun, a tenuous tether to reality, until one of the nurses drags him away to administer treatment. He hears screaming when they deliver a series of shots to his arm; it’s only once he’s hooked up to an IV that he realizes that the sounds came from him.
“Calm down,” one of the nurses tells him, gentle and admonishing. Clearly new to her job. “You lovebirds will be reunited in no time.”
The reminder that he’s lovebirds with Yeonjun Choi doesn’t help with the pain. Soobin closes his eyes and brings up the one memory he’s often called up at times of trouble in the arena. He’s spent so much time smoothing over the fine details of it, poring over every moment, that sometimes it feels more like something he had fabricated rather than a figment of his past life.
It’s like this: it’s the last day of school before the summer, the one free day before Soobin starts up at his internship at the robotics facility and Kai begins his summer job at the convenience store. The sun’s shining bright in their faces, and the day rings with promise. Kai closes his eyes, basking in the golden light, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. Soobin remembers thinking, in that moment, that he’d rather be nowhere else other than here--
The nurse gives him another shot. When Soobin opens an eye, glaring up at her, she shrugs. “Sedative,” she says. “We need to operate on--”
This time, when Soobin falls asleep, he doesn’t dare dream.
--
[interviewer before the Games]
INTERVIEWER: Yeonjun, you’re quite close in age with the other alternate in your district, right? Were you two familiar with each other before the Games?
YEONJUN: Yes -- I was always in the grade above him. Even though we didn’t talk to each other, I knew who he was. [laughs self-consciously] I mean, it’s to be expected, isn’t it? He’s just so handsome.
INTERVIEWER: Was there anyone in particular you were interested in, within District 5?
YEONJUN: Ah, of course. It’s a little awkward, actually; he’s in this room right now.
--
Taehyun runs up and embraces him as soon as they disembark from the plane. Soobin can’t help but collapse into it. Before the Games, he had always seen Taehyun as powerful yet small, shorter than him and Kai, but now he’s aware of just how solid and grounded Taehyun feels. In contrast, he’s near incorporeal -- underweight from weeks of starvation, weak and dehydrated even after the IV drip, mind bordering on insanity.
“You made it,” Taehyun whispers into his ear, proud. It reminds him of their last conversation before he stepped into the Arena, that fierce determination glinting in his eyes as Taehyun told him remember what you are fighting for.
“Taehyun,” Soobin says, faint. The relief must be clear in his voice, for Taehyun’s grip on him tightens. Suddenly Taehyun’s fingers are clawing against his waist, harsh and unyielding.
“But don’t forget.” Taehyun’s voice remains light even when he holds onto Soobin with more force than he’s ever experienced before. He’s afraid, Soobin realizes suddenly. Despite the way Taehyun had greeted him with a smile, his first successful mentorship, he’s afraid.
“Just because the Games are over, doesn’t mean that this is over, alright?” Taehyun continues. He lets go of Soobin, then, both of them looking over to where Yeonjun talks quietly with Jungkook. “This is for life.”
Something dark settles into the pit of Soobin’s stomach as Yeonjun glances over. They’re both exhausted, barely recovered from the Arena, and in the need of sleep, but Yeonjun still manages to muster up a smile to send his way.
You chose this, Soobin reminds himself. Not that there was much of a choice to make between dying at Yeonjun’s hands or surviving as Yeonjun’s false lover.
Soobin blinks at him, then turns to face Taehyun again. “How long until I can go home?” he asks.
“Touring the districts, formalities at the Capitol -- It’ll be another month, at best,” Taehyun replies. “Maybe even longer. You two have made history, after all.”
Soobin winces at that. All he had ever wanted was to protect the people he loves, to go back to living a quiet life.
He finally voices the most pressing concern on his mind: “Taehyun, how’s Kai do--”
“Later,” Taehyun interrupts firmly. He crosses his arms, eyes shining with some remorse, and Soobin can tell that he’s refusing to say anything for fear of revealing too much to anyone else. “And be careful what you say about him. It doesn’t do well for your whole”--he gestures vaguely towards Yeonjun--”image, really.”
Right. Soobin might have won the Games, but that doesn’t mean he gets everything he wants.
--
There’s only one bed in the Victory Suite. Taehyun gives them a sheepish look when they arrive, rubbing the back of his neck.
“They usually have it prepared for one person,” he explains. “And, well, you two are supposed to…”
Are supposed to be in a relationship, Soobin finishes in his head. Yeonjun gives him a cautious look out of the corner of his eye. A silent are you okay with this, because in the Arena they had mastered the art of nonverbal communication. The way to keep some semblance of truth between themselves despite the presence of an invasive camera wherever they went.
Soobin nods. They may not care for each other as much as the Capitol viewers might think, a friendship borne out of circumstance and desperation to survive, but Soobin has spent so many nights with his body pressed against Yeonjun’s, shivering from the cold, that he no longer has any sense of privacy anymore.
Taehyun leaves the suite after that. Soobin gets ready for bed quickly, almost mechanically, Yeonjun following suit. They turn the lights off, and settle into the large, king-sized bed, and--
“Is it weird that I can’t sleep?” Yeonjun asks, voice quiet and scratchy. “The bed feels too soft, or something.”
Soobin doesn’t respond for a couple of moments. If he closes his eyes he sees the burning fire of the Arena, he sees the bloodlust he had just barely escaped, he sees Kai facing the sun, the one pure thing where everything else was tainted.
Everything has become tainted, now. His first kiss taken, his first love supposedly a boy he hadn’t cared for until the circumstances had shoved them both together. Why would he bother sleeping after that?
“Soobin? You awake?”
It's clear that they are both awake. After weeks spent in the arena together, they’ve become accustomed to each others’ sounds of sleeping and waking. Yeonjun’s just filling up the silence with his chatter, at that point.
Yeonjun reaches out and touches his shoulder; Soobin flinches.
“We’re on the same side,” Yeonjun continues, quiet. “Never forget that.”
“I know,” Soobin replies. Even if he’ll never quite understand why Yeonjun had given him those berries instead of just killing him on the spot. Even if the thought of living this lie forever left him with an overwhelming sense of dread, dark and heavy in his gut.
Yeonjun sighs. “Good night, then.”
untitled
fandom/pairing: nct, txt, jisung/taehyun
premise: they're best friends and jisung is getting over an unrequited crush on chenle?
notes: initially meant for r's birthday... sorry for being terrible
Taehyun stops by his house a day after New Year’s with a box of cookies in his hands. His fingers are red-tipped from the cold, eyelashes dappled with snowflakes.
“You came,” Jisung says. He reaches out to brush some snow out of Taehyun’s hair, marveling at how fast it melts against his fingers. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” Jisung had woken up half past noon today, the bright whiteness of the snowstorm finally too prominent to ignore, and resigned the rest of his day to vegetating in his bedroom. That is, until Taehyun rang the doorbell.
“I promised,” Taehyun replies simply. He’s looking at Jisung, the sort of look that feels like an unfurling within him. Jisung imagines Taehyun taking him apart like plucking petals from a flower--what’s he wishing for?
Jisung swallows. “Yeah, you did.” After a week holed up in his room, finishing the last of his college applications, after the past month spent barely even seeing Taehyun in the afternoons due to their disparate schedules, this is--it feels like a lot. Something he needs to accustom himself to once again, the ease of being around his best friend.
--
Taehyun hadn’t always been his best friend. For years upon years, Jisung firmly believed that title would only go to one person in his life: Chenle Zhong, next door neighbor and dashing theater kid, bright and funny (not that Jisung would ever admit it to his face). Then high school came along, and with it, the realization that maybe proximity couldn’t override everything--Chenle, a grade older and swamped with tech week, became someone he could only watch from a distance, under bright lights--and that he was probably in love with him.
That’s where Taehyun came in. Unlike most of Jisung’s other friends, Taehyun actually had a quality one might call common sense, and they first became close as Taehyun encouraged him to pursue his crush on Chenle.
Even now, the refrain has become a routine for the two of them. As soon as they enter Jisung’s room, shutting the door behind them, Taehyun flops down onto Jisung’s bed and asks, “So, what are you going to do about the Chenle problem?”
It’s been a while since Jisung has heard those words from Taehyun, though. College applications have taken a toll on both of them; even Taehyun, normally so competent and on top of things, had his moments of minor breakdown and general exhaustion.
Jisung looks away from Taehyun and realizes that his room is a bit of a mess--some shirts left on the floor, stacks of college essay drafts strewn across his desk, and an empty mug of coffee on his nightstand.
“There is no Chenle problem,” Jisung replies, busying himself with the process of tidying up their surroundings. He can still feel the weight of Taehyun’s stare against the back of his neck.
“Did you see him during break?”
“Yeah.” Jisung arranges all of the essay printouts into one stack and then turns back to face the bed. Taehyun scooches over to make room for him, then pats the top of the blanket expectantly.
> what was it like? seeing him again
> it’s weird. college changes things i think. but seeing him in person really confirmed it for me
> confirmed what?
> that i didn’t like him anymore. for so long it had been a constant thing, a fact of life -- such an odd thing, for things to shift and change like that
--
Jisung’s favorite subject in math was always geometry. Not because he was any good at it, but because Chenle had been. Jisung remembers spending the entire beginning of freshman year hanging over Chenle’s shoulder, looking on attentively and trying not to zone out as Chenle explained postulates and theorems and axioms. Nowadays, Jisung scrounges up homework solutions from Taehyun Kang who sits diagonal from him in Spanish. Nowadays, Jisung doesn’t remember much of what he learned from then, fourteen and stupid in all the wrong ways.
only echoes linger
fandom/pairing: txt, beomgyu/taehyun
premise: taehyun is beomgyu's bodyguard? beomgyu is an asshole? nothing else makes any sense
notes: based off of a bl kdrama... also this is like embarrassingly insane. also there are random female OCs that just exist here for no reason.
“Hold still,” Taehyun orders as he dabs on the ointment. Beomgyu’s perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, eyes wide and expectant as he tilts Beomgyu’s chin up with his other hand. In the afternoon light, Beomgyu’s skin shines, golden and blemished from the aftermath of the fight: paper-cut thin lines on his cheek, a slowly forming bruise, careless violence. Taehyun does not meander in his treatment, tries to be as methodical and efficient as possible—no lingering, he thinks, even as he makes his touch gentle, as if that lightness could override whatever had faced Beomgyu earlier.
Taehyun hands Beomgyu an icepack, and only then—after making sure that Beomgyu hadn’t been harmed elsewhere, even suffering through Beomgyu’s smirk as Taehyun briefly looked over Beomgyu’s chest and legs for more scrapes—does he ask, long-suffering and weary, “What did you do this time, hyung?”
It’s always Beomgyu who starts the fight, even if he isn’t the one to throw the first punch.
Beomgyu rests an elbow on the kitchen counter, propping his head up as he watches Taehyun. As always there’s a look there that Taehyun doesn’t quite know how to read, a certain shrewdness hiding behind that unadulterated mirth. “Oh, nothing,” he says lightly.
“Really,” Taehyun replies, raising his eyebrows. “Do you want me to make something up when I call your father? Or is the truth better?” He thinks of the end-of-week report he’ll have to make to Beomgyu’s father, the punishment he will most definitely be given as a result of Beomgyu’s injuries, Beomgyu’s foolishness. No—it was Taehyun’s foolishness, to think he could leave Beomgyu unattended without stirring up some trouble.
Beomgyu laughs at that. “Fine, I’ll tell you what happened,” he says. “You didn’t miss out on much, Taehyun.”
When Taehyun had finally arrived to the service entrance of their high school—out of breath from sprinting down the halls, only knowing where to head because of that shy underclassman telling him, haltingly, that his “best friend” was about to get cornered in a fight—he had found Beomgyu leaning against the wall, easy smile still set in place despite his split lip, and Yang Jungwon—first year, and well-known taekwondo athlete—eyeing Beomgyu with disgust.
“First years don’t normally go around beating people up.” Taehyun thinks of the way Jungwon had looked at him when he’d stepped in to break up the fight, that mix of confusion and fear. He knew, then, that Jungwon wasn’t fighting his own battle, even if his malice towards Beomgyu had seemed genuine enough. “I think I missed out on a lot, then.”
Beomgyu shrugs. A practiced, casual thing. “Not my fault that Jongseong’s girlfriend thinks I’m cute, right?”
Taehyun moves to the kitchen sink, washing the ointment from his hands. “I thought you stopped doing that,” he says, back to Beomgyu. He tries to conjure up an image of Lee Mina, feel some sympathy for that girl—and he does, to an extent, for he does not wish anyone to have romantic feelings for Choi Beomgyu—but his hands are still tense with anger as he runs hot water over them. “It’s not good to flirt with other people’s girlfriends, hyung.”
“It wasn’t flirting,” Beomgyu protests. “It was just—we just talked, for a bit.”
Taehyun knows exactly what Beomgyu means by talking. This image of Beomgyu—charming, handsome, rose-filtered through the perspective of someone who doesn’t know any better—comes to his mind much more easily. Too easily, it scares him. Taehyun’s still thinking about that dichotomy of the two selves. That beautiful Beomgyu of every girl’s fantasy, and the real one who sits mere meters away from him in the kitchen.
“At least Mina likes to spend time with me,” Beomgyu continues. “Unlike other people.”
So that’s what this is about. He isn’t sure if the truth makes him feel better or worse. Taehyun shuts off the water and turns around, takes in Beomgyu’s petulant expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks coolly. If Beomgyu’s going to do this to him, then he might as well milk it for all that it’s worth.
“Where were you during lunch?” Beomgyu shoots back. A seeming non-sequitur, but only a confirmation of Taehyun’s suspicions.
“Where I always am,” Taehyun replies. In the photography lab with Kai, that dark, quiet space ensconced in the middle of their school. He doesn’t bother repeating the offer he’s already made several times, the suggestion that Beomgyu join them there. Beomgyu has never taken a liking to Kai, pastes on his overly-wide fake smile and barks out his overly-loud fake laugh when they’re together—as if in the face of Kai’s open earnestness, he’s determined to seem even more facetious. “You know that.”
“Still, Taehyun-ah—you’ve been distant, lately.” Beomgyu gets up from his seat at the counter, walking over to the other side so that they face each other more directly. He takes one of Taehyun’s hands, grasps it between his palms. “Normally, this wouldn’t have happened.”
What Taehyun hates the most is the fact that Beomgyu’s right. He can’t look at Beomgyu’s face, at the marks left there, without thinking of how he has failed his first and foremost duty—to protect Beomgyu. Yet still, he hides his shame behind something else, transforms it into indignant anger. Because it does anger him, the idea that he can’t be—that he isn’t—good enough.
“What, was this some test?” Taehyun says, ignoring the way his pulse jumps at Beomgyu’s touch. “Trying to see if I’m capable of protecting you?” Suddenly, he feels tired. So, so tired. Facing Beomgyu like this, being so blatantly reminded of all that he wishes for and all that he cannot have, hiding the things that Beomgyu flaunts so carelessly—it’s exhausting. “Look, hyung, if you want a new bodyguard, then you know your father’s number. It’s as simple as that.” Taehyun wrenches his hand from Beomgyu’s grip.
“That’s not what I meant,” Beomgyu says softly. “And you know that.”
Beomgyu leaves the kitchen first, most likely to disappear into his studio. Taehyun watches his retreating back—that rigid, confident posture, because he’d been raised knowing he deserved everything—and he does not think about anything in particular.
—
Taehyun had been designated the role of Beomgyu’s “bodyguard” ever since he was ten and Beomgyu eleven. Granted, he hadn’t done much protecting at first—his father, who had worked and lived at the Choi estate his entire life, had died before he could pass on most of his knowledge to Taehyun—but instead was tasked with keeping Beomgyu company and making sure he stayed out of trouble.
He still remembers their first meeting vividly. Eavesdropping on the maids, who’d been gossiping about Mr. Choi’s illegitimate son coming to the estate. Apparently his mother—not Mr. Choi’s wife, but someone else—had died. Taehyun didn’t know what to expect when he was called to Mr. Choi’s rooms, far away on the other side of the estate, a long distance from the windowless servant’s quarters where Taehyun spent his time inbetween school.
But the sight of Mr. Choi’s—his face all red and twisted, ugly sobbing—had sparked something in Taehyun. He’d cried so openly, so loudly, with the luxury of someone who had clearly never been silenced his entire life. Taehyun thought of when his father had died, the silent tears he’d shed while he tried to sleep at night, the strong face he had held up in face of fear.
In that moment, Taehyun hated this boy. Hated him because he showed so plainly all the things Taehyun never could. But, more powerful than that resentment, Taehyun felt bad for him, pitied him for how he showed his vulnerabilities so blatantly to everyone present. In front of Mr. Choi, no less.
“This is my son, Beomgyu,” Mr. Choi told Taehyun. He did not tack on illegitimate or improper or any of the other whispered venom Taehyun had eavesdropped earlier that day. “He’s eleven. From now on, you’ll have to look after him, Taehyun.” He paused, then added: “Keep him out of trouble—if I have to punish him, I’ll punish you instead.”
Beomgyu flinched at that, but his cries didn’t abate. How irritating, Taehyun thought. But he knew it was an important duty, the same type of job his father had taken on before his death—even though, surely, he started it later on than Taehyun did.
Taehyun’d known, then, that his life would change. Not because of Beomgyu himself, no. Taehyun paid little attention to the boy after a cursory glance-over. But it was the way that Mr. Choi had looked at him then—that trust, that wariness, that idea he could possible carry someone else’s life in his hands—that haunted him so much.
The first words Taehyun said to Beomgyu were: “Stop crying.” It was once the two boys had been dismissed from Mr. Choi’s quarters, the maids ushering Beomgyu to his new room. Taehyun had taken one look at the room: the floor to ceiling bookshelves, lined with novels and maths textbooks and even a stack of comics one side; the tall windows, drapes tied back at the sides so that natural light could be let in; the spacious bed, which no doubt was as soft and inviting as it looked. All these things were material, mere things in the face of something so immense as death, but Taehyun couldn’t discount the envy he felt.
Beomgyu only cried louder, uglier. Taehyun’s ears were starting to hurt from it. He tried again: “Your crying doesn’t work on me, hyung.”
That denial only seemed to encourage Beomgyu more, and Beomgyu only finally stoped crying when Taehyun said, “Do you want to see a magic trick?”
Finally, finally, Beomgyu shut up. It didn’t take long for Taehyun to find a deck of cards in Beomgyu’s lavish bedroom—it had been nestled in a shelf alongside Monopoli and a baduk board—and soon Beomgyu was entranced by the sleights of hand, the different maneuvers Taehyun had been practicing on and off for days. Back then, he dreamed of a new profession to pursue every couple of months; he hadn’t quite decided on his dream path—mathematics—just yet.
It hadn’t been protecting in the traditional sense of the word—no, that would come much later, once Beomgyu and him had moved away from the Choi estate and into the city, where Taehyun would fracture his collarbone for the first time while saving Beomgyu’s life—but Taehyun still remembers the importance of it. The way that red flush had faded from Beomgyu’s face as he calmed down, slowly and imperceptibly, until all that was left was a reddish tint to Beomgyu’s nose. Looking up from yet another card trick, seeing Beomgyu’s fascinated smile, and realizing that this Beomgyu boy maybe wouldn’t be so bad. That he was actually sort of nice-looking, if he wasn’t crying his heart out.
—
As Beomgyu’s bodyguard, there are certain things that have always been implicitly required of him: keeping track of Beomgyu’s whereabouts; reporting on whether he’s been doing alright in school; defending him from the nationally-ranked taekwondo athlete that Jay managed to befriend. Some things are easier than others. By now, it’s second nature to walk behind Beomgyu when they enter buildings, to shield him from the street when they walk down a sidewalk. But the aspects that Taehyun finds difficult, he isn’t sure if they’ll ever get easier.
Like the fact he’d seen Beomgyu’s first kiss, had to look on as Beomgyu held onto Choi Yumi from Class 2-A’s hand and giggled in the darkness, because protection necessitates a lack of privacy. He still remembers every second of it, being fifteen and seething with a confused sort of jealousy because he knew he’d never be able to have that same type of hapless first love.
Like right now. He keeps watch through the apartment window as Beomgyu talks to Jay’s girlfriend
He can’t hear anything, thankfully, but even watching the shadows feels excruciating sometimes. For as much as he tries to brush off every flirtatious remark, every hidden bit of gentleness Beomgyu sends his way--it still hurts to see that tender emotion reflected at someone else.
Lee Mina stops by after a couple of hours. As is protocol, Mina doesn’t step inside—instead, Beomgyu leaves outside, and Taehyun stands watch by the window, supposedly monitoring for anything untoward. He doesn’t like watching, never has enjoyed bearing witness to every moonlit conversation Beomgyu’s exchanged in the name of safety and protection. He’s sure Beomgyu must feel the same way—having him intrude on his most personal moments like this—but even if it does bother Beomgyu, he’s never said anything outright.
He never says anything outright, but things become obvious enough anyways.
Regardless: Taehyun stands there, by the window. On the inside looking out, trapped behind glass, on what could be considered a ??? of young love: Beomgyu perfectly taller than Mina, his smile outlined in the moonlight. Taehyun can’t hear anything about what they’re saying—can barely make out the outlines of their faces in the dim light—but the positions of their figures are enough. So picturesque, perfect.
Taehyun wishes he could turn away, but it’s in the nature of his duty to Beomgyu: no matter what, he can never turn away. And really, he’s not sure if he would look away, turn his back to this scene, if given the choice—this glimpse at young love is fascinating, even if it feels voyeuristic—but it’s the option, the agency of it, that matters.
Instead Taehyun is trapped, constantly, in his every day life: by the things Beomgyu says, by the things Taehyun can’t. By the things Beomgyu does, by the things Taehyun must bear witness to. It’s a difficult existence, but he’s never known anything else but this, not for several years.
—
Beomgyu breaks his silence in the most expected of ways, in the middle of the night when they’re both supposed to be sleeping. “Taehyun-ah,” he says.
“Taehyun-ah,” Beomgyu repeats. “Are you awake?”
“Mm,” Taehyun replies. He’d been awake, too, still thinking about what he’d seen earlier.
They’re sleeping the way they always do: Beomgyu on one side of his queen sized bed, Taehyun on the other side, a pillow placed carefully between their bodies—by Taehyun, of course by him—so that they don’t touch. Taehyun has a futon he could use, but Beomgyu had insisted as soon as they moved into this apartment together.
“I’m cold,” Beomgyu continues, voice already starting to take on a whiny tinge. Taehyun tenses. For this, too, isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it’s been a while—since before both of them took the suneun, even—since Beomgyu’s voice has taken on this plaintive tone at this hour of the night.
“So what, hyung?” Taehyun can already guess what’s coming, but if Beomgyu’s going to try and lure him onto his side of the bed, he should at least put a little more effort into it.
“Aren’t you supposed to protect me?” Beomgyu says. Not from the cold, Taehyun thinks. “I can’t sleep.” When Taehyun doesn’t reply immediately, he tacks on: “Please, Taehyun-ah.”
Taehyun sighs, reaching over to grab the pillow that separates the two of them. As expected, the material is cold against his fingers; he chucks it to the foot of the bed. “If you keep talking, I’ll probably lose my job.”
“Why?” Beomgyu asks.
“Because, hyung,” Taehyun says, as he scooches closer to Beomgyu. Arm over Beomgyu’s side, leg over Beomgyu’s calves, ignoring a wince as he accidentally makes contact with Beomgyu’s ice-cold feet. Beomgyu smells so comforting, something slightly sharp combined with the fancy bodywash he likes to lather on in the shower. “I’ll have to shut you up for good.”
Beomgyu laughs at that. “Sounds fun, Taehyun-ah.”
“You’re crazy,” Taehyun tells him. The bantering makes it easier, at least, even if it feels like Beomgyu is all around him, surrounding him, when he’s the one who’s holding on in the first place. Taehyun closes his eyes to avoid straining his eyes to take in the curve of Beomgyu’s smile in the darkness. “Now shut up and sleep.”
“As you wish,” Beomgyu replies sweetly.
It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to drift off, thankfully. Taehyun listens to Beomgyu’s steady in and out breathing. He already knows he won’t be able to fall asleep for a very long time.
—
Taehyun feels guilty enough seeing Beomgyu’s face in the morning, peaceful but still mottled with the scars of the fight in the early morning light. He thinks of smoothing out Beomgyu’s bangs—nearly reaches a hand up to Beomgyu’s face to do it—but then second-guesses himself and pads over to the kitchen.
He’s the one who rises the earliest, out of the two of them.
As they walk to school, Taehyun thinks over how best to deal with the events of yesterday. He’d already spent the entire night considering his options—exactly how much he could tell Mr. Choi in roder to minimize the damage all around, why Jungwon, that young first year, was so caught up on fighting Jongseong’s battles in the first place. Obviously making Beomgyu promise to not do it again didn’t work the first time, and he’s not sure if securing a second promise from Beomgyu in the middle of the night was the best idea. He needs a backup, a safeguard, and he knows that Jongseong is a wimp, really, even if he clashes with Beomgyu sometimes.
So Jungwon is who Taehyun focuses his attention on. Not because he needs to, but rather, because he’d rather not have to deal with the alternatives just yet.
He asks Park Sunghoon from the class next door to pass the message along, and as expected, Jungwon’s waiting for him by the physical education fields during their lunch break.
“Hey, Jungwon-ah,” Taehyun says, raising a hand in greeting. They sit down on the stands together, overlooking the field. Spectating, watching—isn’t that where both of them are, usually?
“Why’d you want to talk, hyung?” Jungwon asks, straight to the point. He’s wary, understandably so; they’ve never had the opportunity to talk outside of their infrequent physical altercations, never had any reason to. “Is this about yesterday?”
“I’m not here to fight,” Taehyun assures him.
“Then why are you here?” Jungwon asks. He adds, sheepishly, “I’m trying to stop fighting outside of my official tournaments, you know.”
“Then why do you fight Jay’s battles?” Taehyun replies. If Jungwon’s going to be direct, then he might as well follow up. A confrontation of words instead of by fists. “It isn’t really your business in the first place.”
Jungwon’s silent for a couple moments. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says finally. He doesn’t look at Taehyun, just glances out across the field, the striped neat orderly rows, the different shades of green. It’s a beautiful day, maybe. How many times had Taehyun seen Jongseong and Jungwon walk together across this field, their paths crossing with his as all of them left the school? How many times?
Taehyun blinks. “Huh?”
Jungwon sighs. “Listen, hyung,” he says, plainly, simply. “I do it because I want to. Isn’t that enough?”
It occurs to him that he isn’t making such a good case for discouraging Jungwon from fighting, that maybe Taehyun needs to make it sound less appealing.
“Ah, I see,” Taehyun says, tone slightly derisive. Casual, carefully placed, as he adds: “There’s no accounting for bad taste, I guess.” He watches, satisifed, as Jungwon’s face reddens. He’d never known for sure, seeing the two of them together—especially with Jongseong’s dating habits—but it was gratifying to know that his shot in the dark had actually landed somewhere, could inflict some damage.
Nonetheless, Jungwon regains his composure quickly, pressing his lips together until he’s calmed down. “Hey, hyung,” he finally starts, leaning forward and patting Taehyun’s shoulder. “At least I’m not some glorified thug for hire, hm?”
Taehyun’s blood runs cold, voice frigid as he says: “What do you mean by for hire?” One of the first things he learned as soon as he took on the role of a bodyguard is that he needed to keep the nature of his true relationship to Beomgyu a secret. To the others, anyone who might know Beomgyu, they’re just close friends, best friends—anyways, no one else knows Beomgyu well enough for more than that. If they did know that Taehyun was his bodyguard, then they’d start to wonder why Beomgyu was worth guarding in the first place. And down that path lay trouble.
But there’s no way Jungwon knows, right? Their school is an elite foreign language high school, specialized with its own admissions exam that Taehyun had breezed through and Beomgyu had barely made the cut for after intensive tutoring.
“What do you mean?” Jungwon parrots back at him, eyes wide with mocking innocence. Usually Jungwon is so adorable, so cute but with his features twisted like this Taehyun remembers how hard he can hit, too. “Unless… you can’t be serious, hyung. You actually like being around that asshole?”
Taehyun opens his mouth to defend himself, but finds himself speechless, instead. Jungwon seems to take it as an indication that the conversation is over, and gets up to leave, beginning to walk away.
As he leaves, though, he calls out over his shoulder: “I can’t believe you were the one talking about bad taste, hyung!”
—
Taehyun’s feelings for Beomgyu aren’t bad taste, he thinks. Surely there’s no way it’s completely bad, considering how many girls flock to Beomgyu, the way his arms are laden with presents on White Day. But, all those girls, anyone outside of him, really—they don’t know Beomgyu well. And if they do—if they see the flashes of Beomgyu’s more wretched, ugly side, the way Jungwon had encountered in his scrabble with Beomgyu, the way Jongseong has unfortunately been acquainted with ever since Beomgyu stole his first girlfriend—then they think Beomgyu is completely terrible, a total 180 from the popularity myth.
There’s a certain romanticism in that, in believing in black and white, yin and yang, polar opposites—but with Choi Beomgyu, things are never as simple as that.
Regardless: Taehyun wouldn’t consider it to be bad taste, but he would call it an acquired one, for sure. Shared history, shared scars: all the times Taehyun had been beaten and punished for something Beomgyu was responsible for, all the times Beomgyu has sought him out, crying in the middle of the night.
Walking back from his talk with Jungwon, he came across this realization—that no one knows Beomgyu quite like he does. He isn’t sure whether that’s comforting or horrifying, to be close to something that could hurt him, a blade wielded both ways.
—
But if there’s anyone who does the wielding, then surely, it must be Beomgyu. Beomgyu, who manages to slice through reality like a knife, cut it up into tiny little bits and arrange into a jigsaw of his choosing.
—
“Is it okay to like a bad person?” Taehyun asks Kai the next time he sees him. It’s a couple days later, he’s tried to spend more of his time with Beomgyu—not that Kai had asked him for an explanation, for Kai doesn’t have those same expectations of him that Beomgyu does—but this lunch Beomgyu had been called to their Sociology teacher’s office and Taehyun had taken the opportunity to head down to the photography lab instead. It’s dark here, and despite the chemical smell that had seemed so strange to him at first, he feels comforted here.
Kai’s silent for a while, and Taehyun can’t tell whether that’s because he’s absorbed in his printmaking or because he’s thinking about the answer to Taehyun’s question. “What does that even mean?” Kai asks. “Is anyone you know—unequivocally a bad person?”
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fandom/pairing: txt, soobin/kai
premise: hunger games au where yeonbin do fanservice to win the games but soobin's true feelings lie in the boy he left behind in the districts...
notes: lol initially meant for k but literally what was i thinking
He doesn't dare dream.
[interview before the Games]
INTERVIEWER: Everyone’s seen the clips. It’s quite heartwarming, really -- you volunteered as tribute for another in your district, right? How would you describe your relationship with Kai Huening?
SOOBIN: Kai is… how do I put it. He’s someone who has gone through a lot of hardship in his life. We’ve been best friends for years. He’s my safe haven.
--
Soobin’s barely aware of his surroundings when he’s airlifted out of the arena. He’s still holding hands with Yeonjun, a tenuous tether to reality, until one of the nurses drags him away to administer treatment. He hears screaming when they deliver a series of shots to his arm; it’s only once he’s hooked up to an IV that he realizes that the sounds came from him.
“Calm down,” one of the nurses tells him, gentle and admonishing. Clearly new to her job. “You lovebirds will be reunited in no time.”
The reminder that he’s lovebirds with Yeonjun Choi doesn’t help with the pain. Soobin closes his eyes and brings up the one memory he’s often called up at times of trouble in the arena. He’s spent so much time smoothing over the fine details of it, poring over every moment, that sometimes it feels more like something he had fabricated rather than a figment of his past life.
It’s like this: it’s the last day of school before the summer, the one free day before Soobin starts up at his internship at the robotics facility and Kai begins his summer job at the convenience store. The sun’s shining bright in their faces, and the day rings with promise. Kai closes his eyes, basking in the golden light, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. Soobin remembers thinking, in that moment, that he’d rather be nowhere else other than here--
The nurse gives him another shot. When Soobin opens an eye, glaring up at her, she shrugs. “Sedative,” she says. “We need to operate on--”
This time, when Soobin falls asleep, he doesn’t dare dream.
--
[interviewer before the Games]
INTERVIEWER: Yeonjun, you’re quite close in age with the other alternate in your district, right? Were you two familiar with each other before the Games?
YEONJUN: Yes -- I was always in the grade above him. Even though we didn’t talk to each other, I knew who he was. [laughs self-consciously] I mean, it’s to be expected, isn’t it? He’s just so handsome.
INTERVIEWER: Was there anyone in particular you were interested in, within District 5?
YEONJUN: Ah, of course. It’s a little awkward, actually; he’s in this room right now.
--
Taehyun runs up and embraces him as soon as they disembark from the plane. Soobin can’t help but collapse into it. Before the Games, he had always seen Taehyun as powerful yet small, shorter than him and Kai, but now he’s aware of just how solid and grounded Taehyun feels. In contrast, he’s near incorporeal -- underweight from weeks of starvation, weak and dehydrated even after the IV drip, mind bordering on insanity.
“You made it,” Taehyun whispers into his ear, proud. It reminds him of their last conversation before he stepped into the Arena, that fierce determination glinting in his eyes as Taehyun told him remember what you are fighting for.
“Taehyun,” Soobin says, faint. The relief must be clear in his voice, for Taehyun’s grip on him tightens. Suddenly Taehyun’s fingers are clawing against his waist, harsh and unyielding.
“But don’t forget.” Taehyun’s voice remains light even when he holds onto Soobin with more force than he’s ever experienced before. He’s afraid, Soobin realizes suddenly. Despite the way Taehyun had greeted him with a smile, his first successful mentorship, he’s afraid.
“Just because the Games are over, doesn’t mean that this is over, alright?” Taehyun continues. He lets go of Soobin, then, both of them looking over to where Yeonjun talks quietly with Jungkook. “This is for life.”
Something dark settles into the pit of Soobin’s stomach as Yeonjun glances over. They’re both exhausted, barely recovered from the Arena, and in the need of sleep, but Yeonjun still manages to muster up a smile to send his way.
You chose this, Soobin reminds himself. Not that there was much of a choice to make between dying at Yeonjun’s hands or surviving as Yeonjun’s false lover.
Soobin blinks at him, then turns to face Taehyun again. “How long until I can go home?” he asks.
“Touring the districts, formalities at the Capitol -- It’ll be another month, at best,” Taehyun replies. “Maybe even longer. You two have made history, after all.”
Soobin winces at that. All he had ever wanted was to protect the people he loves, to go back to living a quiet life.
He finally voices the most pressing concern on his mind: “Taehyun, how’s Kai do--”
“Later,” Taehyun interrupts firmly. He crosses his arms, eyes shining with some remorse, and Soobin can tell that he’s refusing to say anything for fear of revealing too much to anyone else. “And be careful what you say about him. It doesn’t do well for your whole”--he gestures vaguely towards Yeonjun--”image, really.”
Right. Soobin might have won the Games, but that doesn’t mean he gets everything he wants.
--
There’s only one bed in the Victory Suite. Taehyun gives them a sheepish look when they arrive, rubbing the back of his neck.
“They usually have it prepared for one person,” he explains. “And, well, you two are supposed to…”
Are supposed to be in a relationship, Soobin finishes in his head. Yeonjun gives him a cautious look out of the corner of his eye. A silent are you okay with this, because in the Arena they had mastered the art of nonverbal communication. The way to keep some semblance of truth between themselves despite the presence of an invasive camera wherever they went.
Soobin nods. They may not care for each other as much as the Capitol viewers might think, a friendship borne out of circumstance and desperation to survive, but Soobin has spent so many nights with his body pressed against Yeonjun’s, shivering from the cold, that he no longer has any sense of privacy anymore.
Taehyun leaves the suite after that. Soobin gets ready for bed quickly, almost mechanically, Yeonjun following suit. They turn the lights off, and settle into the large, king-sized bed, and--
“Is it weird that I can’t sleep?” Yeonjun asks, voice quiet and scratchy. “The bed feels too soft, or something.”
Soobin doesn’t respond for a couple of moments. If he closes his eyes he sees the burning fire of the Arena, he sees the bloodlust he had just barely escaped, he sees Kai facing the sun, the one pure thing where everything else was tainted.
Everything has become tainted, now. His first kiss taken, his first love supposedly a boy he hadn’t cared for until the circumstances had shoved them both together. Why would he bother sleeping after that?
“Soobin? You awake?”
It's clear that they are both awake. After weeks spent in the arena together, they’ve become accustomed to each others’ sounds of sleeping and waking. Yeonjun’s just filling up the silence with his chatter, at that point.
Yeonjun reaches out and touches his shoulder; Soobin flinches.
“We’re on the same side,” Yeonjun continues, quiet. “Never forget that.”
“I know,” Soobin replies. Even if he’ll never quite understand why Yeonjun had given him those berries instead of just killing him on the spot. Even if the thought of living this lie forever left him with an overwhelming sense of dread, dark and heavy in his gut.
Yeonjun sighs. “Good night, then.”
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fandom/pairing: nct, txt, jisung/taehyun
premise: they're best friends and jisung is getting over an unrequited crush on chenle?
notes: initially meant for r's birthday... sorry for being terrible
Jisung imagines Taehyun taking him apart like plucking petals from a flower--what’s he wishing for?
Taehyun stops by his house a day after New Year’s with a box of cookies in his hands. His fingers are red-tipped from the cold, eyelashes dappled with snowflakes.
“You came,” Jisung says. He reaches out to brush some snow out of Taehyun’s hair, marveling at how fast it melts against his fingers. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” Jisung had woken up half past noon today, the bright whiteness of the snowstorm finally too prominent to ignore, and resigned the rest of his day to vegetating in his bedroom. That is, until Taehyun rang the doorbell.
“I promised,” Taehyun replies simply. He’s looking at Jisung, the sort of look that feels like an unfurling within him. Jisung imagines Taehyun taking him apart like plucking petals from a flower--what’s he wishing for?
Jisung swallows. “Yeah, you did.” After a week holed up in his room, finishing the last of his college applications, after the past month spent barely even seeing Taehyun in the afternoons due to their disparate schedules, this is--it feels like a lot. Something he needs to accustom himself to once again, the ease of being around his best friend.
--
Taehyun hadn’t always been his best friend. For years upon years, Jisung firmly believed that title would only go to one person in his life: Chenle Zhong, next door neighbor and dashing theater kid, bright and funny (not that Jisung would ever admit it to his face). Then high school came along, and with it, the realization that maybe proximity couldn’t override everything--Chenle, a grade older and swamped with tech week, became someone he could only watch from a distance, under bright lights--and that he was probably in love with him.
That’s where Taehyun came in. Unlike most of Jisung’s other friends, Taehyun actually had a quality one might call common sense, and they first became close as Taehyun encouraged him to pursue his crush on Chenle.
Even now, the refrain has become a routine for the two of them. As soon as they enter Jisung’s room, shutting the door behind them, Taehyun flops down onto Jisung’s bed and asks, “So, what are you going to do about the Chenle problem?”
It’s been a while since Jisung has heard those words from Taehyun, though. College applications have taken a toll on both of them; even Taehyun, normally so competent and on top of things, had his moments of minor breakdown and general exhaustion.
Jisung looks away from Taehyun and realizes that his room is a bit of a mess--some shirts left on the floor, stacks of college essay drafts strewn across his desk, and an empty mug of coffee on his nightstand.
“There is no Chenle problem,” Jisung replies, busying himself with the process of tidying up their surroundings. He can still feel the weight of Taehyun’s stare against the back of his neck.
“Did you see him during break?”
“Yeah.” Jisung arranges all of the essay printouts into one stack and then turns back to face the bed. Taehyun scooches over to make room for him, then pats the top of the blanket expectantly.
> what was it like? seeing him again
> it’s weird. college changes things i think. but seeing him in person really confirmed it for me
> confirmed what?
> that i didn’t like him anymore. for so long it had been a constant thing, a fact of life -- such an odd thing, for things to shift and change like that
--
Jisung’s favorite subject in math was always geometry. Not because he was any good at it, but because Chenle had been. Jisung remembers spending the entire beginning of freshman year hanging over Chenle’s shoulder, looking on attentively and trying not to zone out as Chenle explained postulates and theorems and axioms. Nowadays, Jisung scrounges up homework solutions from Taehyun Kang who sits diagonal from him in Spanish. Nowadays, Jisung doesn’t remember much of what he learned from then, fourteen and stupid in all the wrong ways.
only echoes linger
fandom/pairing: txt, beomgyu/taehyun
premise: taehyun is beomgyu's bodyguard? beomgyu is an asshole? nothing else makes any sense
notes: based off of a bl kdrama... also this is like embarrassingly insane. also there are random female OCs that just exist here for no reason.
For as much as he tries to brush off every flirtatious remark, every hidden bit of gentleness Beomgyu sends his way--it still hurts to see that tender emotion reflected at someone else.
“Hold still,” Taehyun orders as he dabs on the ointment. Beomgyu’s perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, eyes wide and expectant as he tilts Beomgyu’s chin up with his other hand. In the afternoon light, Beomgyu’s skin shines, golden and blemished from the aftermath of the fight: paper-cut thin lines on his cheek, a slowly forming bruise, careless violence. Taehyun does not meander in his treatment, tries to be as methodical and efficient as possible—no lingering, he thinks, even as he makes his touch gentle, as if that lightness could override whatever had faced Beomgyu earlier.
Taehyun hands Beomgyu an icepack, and only then—after making sure that Beomgyu hadn’t been harmed elsewhere, even suffering through Beomgyu’s smirk as Taehyun briefly looked over Beomgyu’s chest and legs for more scrapes—does he ask, long-suffering and weary, “What did you do this time, hyung?”
It’s always Beomgyu who starts the fight, even if he isn’t the one to throw the first punch.
Beomgyu rests an elbow on the kitchen counter, propping his head up as he watches Taehyun. As always there’s a look there that Taehyun doesn’t quite know how to read, a certain shrewdness hiding behind that unadulterated mirth. “Oh, nothing,” he says lightly.
“Really,” Taehyun replies, raising his eyebrows. “Do you want me to make something up when I call your father? Or is the truth better?” He thinks of the end-of-week report he’ll have to make to Beomgyu’s father, the punishment he will most definitely be given as a result of Beomgyu’s injuries, Beomgyu’s foolishness. No—it was Taehyun’s foolishness, to think he could leave Beomgyu unattended without stirring up some trouble.
Beomgyu laughs at that. “Fine, I’ll tell you what happened,” he says. “You didn’t miss out on much, Taehyun.”
When Taehyun had finally arrived to the service entrance of their high school—out of breath from sprinting down the halls, only knowing where to head because of that shy underclassman telling him, haltingly, that his “best friend” was about to get cornered in a fight—he had found Beomgyu leaning against the wall, easy smile still set in place despite his split lip, and Yang Jungwon—first year, and well-known taekwondo athlete—eyeing Beomgyu with disgust.
“First years don’t normally go around beating people up.” Taehyun thinks of the way Jungwon had looked at him when he’d stepped in to break up the fight, that mix of confusion and fear. He knew, then, that Jungwon wasn’t fighting his own battle, even if his malice towards Beomgyu had seemed genuine enough. “I think I missed out on a lot, then.”
Beomgyu shrugs. A practiced, casual thing. “Not my fault that Jongseong’s girlfriend thinks I’m cute, right?”
Taehyun moves to the kitchen sink, washing the ointment from his hands. “I thought you stopped doing that,” he says, back to Beomgyu. He tries to conjure up an image of Lee Mina, feel some sympathy for that girl—and he does, to an extent, for he does not wish anyone to have romantic feelings for Choi Beomgyu—but his hands are still tense with anger as he runs hot water over them. “It’s not good to flirt with other people’s girlfriends, hyung.”
“It wasn’t flirting,” Beomgyu protests. “It was just—we just talked, for a bit.”
Taehyun knows exactly what Beomgyu means by talking. This image of Beomgyu—charming, handsome, rose-filtered through the perspective of someone who doesn’t know any better—comes to his mind much more easily. Too easily, it scares him. Taehyun’s still thinking about that dichotomy of the two selves. That beautiful Beomgyu of every girl’s fantasy, and the real one who sits mere meters away from him in the kitchen.
“At least Mina likes to spend time with me,” Beomgyu continues. “Unlike other people.”
So that’s what this is about. He isn’t sure if the truth makes him feel better or worse. Taehyun shuts off the water and turns around, takes in Beomgyu’s petulant expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks coolly. If Beomgyu’s going to do this to him, then he might as well milk it for all that it’s worth.
“Where were you during lunch?” Beomgyu shoots back. A seeming non-sequitur, but only a confirmation of Taehyun’s suspicions.
“Where I always am,” Taehyun replies. In the photography lab with Kai, that dark, quiet space ensconced in the middle of their school. He doesn’t bother repeating the offer he’s already made several times, the suggestion that Beomgyu join them there. Beomgyu has never taken a liking to Kai, pastes on his overly-wide fake smile and barks out his overly-loud fake laugh when they’re together—as if in the face of Kai’s open earnestness, he’s determined to seem even more facetious. “You know that.”
“Still, Taehyun-ah—you’ve been distant, lately.” Beomgyu gets up from his seat at the counter, walking over to the other side so that they face each other more directly. He takes one of Taehyun’s hands, grasps it between his palms. “Normally, this wouldn’t have happened.”
What Taehyun hates the most is the fact that Beomgyu’s right. He can’t look at Beomgyu’s face, at the marks left there, without thinking of how he has failed his first and foremost duty—to protect Beomgyu. Yet still, he hides his shame behind something else, transforms it into indignant anger. Because it does anger him, the idea that he can’t be—that he isn’t—good enough.
“What, was this some test?” Taehyun says, ignoring the way his pulse jumps at Beomgyu’s touch. “Trying to see if I’m capable of protecting you?” Suddenly, he feels tired. So, so tired. Facing Beomgyu like this, being so blatantly reminded of all that he wishes for and all that he cannot have, hiding the things that Beomgyu flaunts so carelessly—it’s exhausting. “Look, hyung, if you want a new bodyguard, then you know your father’s number. It’s as simple as that.” Taehyun wrenches his hand from Beomgyu’s grip.
“That’s not what I meant,” Beomgyu says softly. “And you know that.”
Beomgyu leaves the kitchen first, most likely to disappear into his studio. Taehyun watches his retreating back—that rigid, confident posture, because he’d been raised knowing he deserved everything—and he does not think about anything in particular.
—
Taehyun had been designated the role of Beomgyu’s “bodyguard” ever since he was ten and Beomgyu eleven. Granted, he hadn’t done much protecting at first—his father, who had worked and lived at the Choi estate his entire life, had died before he could pass on most of his knowledge to Taehyun—but instead was tasked with keeping Beomgyu company and making sure he stayed out of trouble.
He still remembers their first meeting vividly. Eavesdropping on the maids, who’d been gossiping about Mr. Choi’s illegitimate son coming to the estate. Apparently his mother—not Mr. Choi’s wife, but someone else—had died. Taehyun didn’t know what to expect when he was called to Mr. Choi’s rooms, far away on the other side of the estate, a long distance from the windowless servant’s quarters where Taehyun spent his time inbetween school.
But the sight of Mr. Choi’s—his face all red and twisted, ugly sobbing—had sparked something in Taehyun. He’d cried so openly, so loudly, with the luxury of someone who had clearly never been silenced his entire life. Taehyun thought of when his father had died, the silent tears he’d shed while he tried to sleep at night, the strong face he had held up in face of fear.
In that moment, Taehyun hated this boy. Hated him because he showed so plainly all the things Taehyun never could. But, more powerful than that resentment, Taehyun felt bad for him, pitied him for how he showed his vulnerabilities so blatantly to everyone present. In front of Mr. Choi, no less.
“This is my son, Beomgyu,” Mr. Choi told Taehyun. He did not tack on illegitimate or improper or any of the other whispered venom Taehyun had eavesdropped earlier that day. “He’s eleven. From now on, you’ll have to look after him, Taehyun.” He paused, then added: “Keep him out of trouble—if I have to punish him, I’ll punish you instead.”
Beomgyu flinched at that, but his cries didn’t abate. How irritating, Taehyun thought. But he knew it was an important duty, the same type of job his father had taken on before his death—even though, surely, he started it later on than Taehyun did.
Taehyun’d known, then, that his life would change. Not because of Beomgyu himself, no. Taehyun paid little attention to the boy after a cursory glance-over. But it was the way that Mr. Choi had looked at him then—that trust, that wariness, that idea he could possible carry someone else’s life in his hands—that haunted him so much.
The first words Taehyun said to Beomgyu were: “Stop crying.” It was once the two boys had been dismissed from Mr. Choi’s quarters, the maids ushering Beomgyu to his new room. Taehyun had taken one look at the room: the floor to ceiling bookshelves, lined with novels and maths textbooks and even a stack of comics one side; the tall windows, drapes tied back at the sides so that natural light could be let in; the spacious bed, which no doubt was as soft and inviting as it looked. All these things were material, mere things in the face of something so immense as death, but Taehyun couldn’t discount the envy he felt.
Beomgyu only cried louder, uglier. Taehyun’s ears were starting to hurt from it. He tried again: “Your crying doesn’t work on me, hyung.”
That denial only seemed to encourage Beomgyu more, and Beomgyu only finally stoped crying when Taehyun said, “Do you want to see a magic trick?”
Finally, finally, Beomgyu shut up. It didn’t take long for Taehyun to find a deck of cards in Beomgyu’s lavish bedroom—it had been nestled in a shelf alongside Monopoli and a baduk board—and soon Beomgyu was entranced by the sleights of hand, the different maneuvers Taehyun had been practicing on and off for days. Back then, he dreamed of a new profession to pursue every couple of months; he hadn’t quite decided on his dream path—mathematics—just yet.
It hadn’t been protecting in the traditional sense of the word—no, that would come much later, once Beomgyu and him had moved away from the Choi estate and into the city, where Taehyun would fracture his collarbone for the first time while saving Beomgyu’s life—but Taehyun still remembers the importance of it. The way that red flush had faded from Beomgyu’s face as he calmed down, slowly and imperceptibly, until all that was left was a reddish tint to Beomgyu’s nose. Looking up from yet another card trick, seeing Beomgyu’s fascinated smile, and realizing that this Beomgyu boy maybe wouldn’t be so bad. That he was actually sort of nice-looking, if he wasn’t crying his heart out.
—
As Beomgyu’s bodyguard, there are certain things that have always been implicitly required of him: keeping track of Beomgyu’s whereabouts; reporting on whether he’s been doing alright in school; defending him from the nationally-ranked taekwondo athlete that Jay managed to befriend. Some things are easier than others. By now, it’s second nature to walk behind Beomgyu when they enter buildings, to shield him from the street when they walk down a sidewalk. But the aspects that Taehyun finds difficult, he isn’t sure if they’ll ever get easier.
Like the fact he’d seen Beomgyu’s first kiss, had to look on as Beomgyu held onto Choi Yumi from Class 2-A’s hand and giggled in the darkness, because protection necessitates a lack of privacy. He still remembers every second of it, being fifteen and seething with a confused sort of jealousy because he knew he’d never be able to have that same type of hapless first love.
Like right now. He keeps watch through the apartment window as Beomgyu talks to Jay’s girlfriend
He can’t hear anything, thankfully, but even watching the shadows feels excruciating sometimes. For as much as he tries to brush off every flirtatious remark, every hidden bit of gentleness Beomgyu sends his way--it still hurts to see that tender emotion reflected at someone else.
Lee Mina stops by after a couple of hours. As is protocol, Mina doesn’t step inside—instead, Beomgyu leaves outside, and Taehyun stands watch by the window, supposedly monitoring for anything untoward. He doesn’t like watching, never has enjoyed bearing witness to every moonlit conversation Beomgyu’s exchanged in the name of safety and protection. He’s sure Beomgyu must feel the same way—having him intrude on his most personal moments like this—but even if it does bother Beomgyu, he’s never said anything outright.
He never says anything outright, but things become obvious enough anyways.
Regardless: Taehyun stands there, by the window. On the inside looking out, trapped behind glass, on what could be considered a ??? of young love: Beomgyu perfectly taller than Mina, his smile outlined in the moonlight. Taehyun can’t hear anything about what they’re saying—can barely make out the outlines of their faces in the dim light—but the positions of their figures are enough. So picturesque, perfect.
Taehyun wishes he could turn away, but it’s in the nature of his duty to Beomgyu: no matter what, he can never turn away. And really, he’s not sure if he would look away, turn his back to this scene, if given the choice—this glimpse at young love is fascinating, even if it feels voyeuristic—but it’s the option, the agency of it, that matters.
Instead Taehyun is trapped, constantly, in his every day life: by the things Beomgyu says, by the things Taehyun can’t. By the things Beomgyu does, by the things Taehyun must bear witness to. It’s a difficult existence, but he’s never known anything else but this, not for several years.
—
Beomgyu breaks his silence in the most expected of ways, in the middle of the night when they’re both supposed to be sleeping. “Taehyun-ah,” he says.
“Taehyun-ah,” Beomgyu repeats. “Are you awake?”
“Mm,” Taehyun replies. He’d been awake, too, still thinking about what he’d seen earlier.
They’re sleeping the way they always do: Beomgyu on one side of his queen sized bed, Taehyun on the other side, a pillow placed carefully between their bodies—by Taehyun, of course by him—so that they don’t touch. Taehyun has a futon he could use, but Beomgyu had insisted as soon as they moved into this apartment together.
“I’m cold,” Beomgyu continues, voice already starting to take on a whiny tinge. Taehyun tenses. For this, too, isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it’s been a while—since before both of them took the suneun, even—since Beomgyu’s voice has taken on this plaintive tone at this hour of the night.
“So what, hyung?” Taehyun can already guess what’s coming, but if Beomgyu’s going to try and lure him onto his side of the bed, he should at least put a little more effort into it.
“Aren’t you supposed to protect me?” Beomgyu says. Not from the cold, Taehyun thinks. “I can’t sleep.” When Taehyun doesn’t reply immediately, he tacks on: “Please, Taehyun-ah.”
Taehyun sighs, reaching over to grab the pillow that separates the two of them. As expected, the material is cold against his fingers; he chucks it to the foot of the bed. “If you keep talking, I’ll probably lose my job.”
“Why?” Beomgyu asks.
“Because, hyung,” Taehyun says, as he scooches closer to Beomgyu. Arm over Beomgyu’s side, leg over Beomgyu’s calves, ignoring a wince as he accidentally makes contact with Beomgyu’s ice-cold feet. Beomgyu smells so comforting, something slightly sharp combined with the fancy bodywash he likes to lather on in the shower. “I’ll have to shut you up for good.”
Beomgyu laughs at that. “Sounds fun, Taehyun-ah.”
“You’re crazy,” Taehyun tells him. The bantering makes it easier, at least, even if it feels like Beomgyu is all around him, surrounding him, when he’s the one who’s holding on in the first place. Taehyun closes his eyes to avoid straining his eyes to take in the curve of Beomgyu’s smile in the darkness. “Now shut up and sleep.”
“As you wish,” Beomgyu replies sweetly.
It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to drift off, thankfully. Taehyun listens to Beomgyu’s steady in and out breathing. He already knows he won’t be able to fall asleep for a very long time.
—
Taehyun feels guilty enough seeing Beomgyu’s face in the morning, peaceful but still mottled with the scars of the fight in the early morning light. He thinks of smoothing out Beomgyu’s bangs—nearly reaches a hand up to Beomgyu’s face to do it—but then second-guesses himself and pads over to the kitchen.
He’s the one who rises the earliest, out of the two of them.
As they walk to school, Taehyun thinks over how best to deal with the events of yesterday. He’d already spent the entire night considering his options—exactly how much he could tell Mr. Choi in roder to minimize the damage all around, why Jungwon, that young first year, was so caught up on fighting Jongseong’s battles in the first place. Obviously making Beomgyu promise to not do it again didn’t work the first time, and he’s not sure if securing a second promise from Beomgyu in the middle of the night was the best idea. He needs a backup, a safeguard, and he knows that Jongseong is a wimp, really, even if he clashes with Beomgyu sometimes.
So Jungwon is who Taehyun focuses his attention on. Not because he needs to, but rather, because he’d rather not have to deal with the alternatives just yet.
He asks Park Sunghoon from the class next door to pass the message along, and as expected, Jungwon’s waiting for him by the physical education fields during their lunch break.
“Hey, Jungwon-ah,” Taehyun says, raising a hand in greeting. They sit down on the stands together, overlooking the field. Spectating, watching—isn’t that where both of them are, usually?
“Why’d you want to talk, hyung?” Jungwon asks, straight to the point. He’s wary, understandably so; they’ve never had the opportunity to talk outside of their infrequent physical altercations, never had any reason to. “Is this about yesterday?”
“I’m not here to fight,” Taehyun assures him.
“Then why are you here?” Jungwon asks. He adds, sheepishly, “I’m trying to stop fighting outside of my official tournaments, you know.”
“Then why do you fight Jay’s battles?” Taehyun replies. If Jungwon’s going to be direct, then he might as well follow up. A confrontation of words instead of by fists. “It isn’t really your business in the first place.”
Jungwon’s silent for a couple moments. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says finally. He doesn’t look at Taehyun, just glances out across the field, the striped neat orderly rows, the different shades of green. It’s a beautiful day, maybe. How many times had Taehyun seen Jongseong and Jungwon walk together across this field, their paths crossing with his as all of them left the school? How many times?
Taehyun blinks. “Huh?”
Jungwon sighs. “Listen, hyung,” he says, plainly, simply. “I do it because I want to. Isn’t that enough?”
It occurs to him that he isn’t making such a good case for discouraging Jungwon from fighting, that maybe Taehyun needs to make it sound less appealing.
“Ah, I see,” Taehyun says, tone slightly derisive. Casual, carefully placed, as he adds: “There’s no accounting for bad taste, I guess.” He watches, satisifed, as Jungwon’s face reddens. He’d never known for sure, seeing the two of them together—especially with Jongseong’s dating habits—but it was gratifying to know that his shot in the dark had actually landed somewhere, could inflict some damage.
Nonetheless, Jungwon regains his composure quickly, pressing his lips together until he’s calmed down. “Hey, hyung,” he finally starts, leaning forward and patting Taehyun’s shoulder. “At least I’m not some glorified thug for hire, hm?”
Taehyun’s blood runs cold, voice frigid as he says: “What do you mean by for hire?” One of the first things he learned as soon as he took on the role of a bodyguard is that he needed to keep the nature of his true relationship to Beomgyu a secret. To the others, anyone who might know Beomgyu, they’re just close friends, best friends—anyways, no one else knows Beomgyu well enough for more than that. If they did know that Taehyun was his bodyguard, then they’d start to wonder why Beomgyu was worth guarding in the first place. And down that path lay trouble.
But there’s no way Jungwon knows, right? Their school is an elite foreign language high school, specialized with its own admissions exam that Taehyun had breezed through and Beomgyu had barely made the cut for after intensive tutoring.
“What do you mean?” Jungwon parrots back at him, eyes wide with mocking innocence. Usually Jungwon is so adorable, so cute but with his features twisted like this Taehyun remembers how hard he can hit, too. “Unless… you can’t be serious, hyung. You actually like being around that asshole?”
Taehyun opens his mouth to defend himself, but finds himself speechless, instead. Jungwon seems to take it as an indication that the conversation is over, and gets up to leave, beginning to walk away.
As he leaves, though, he calls out over his shoulder: “I can’t believe you were the one talking about bad taste, hyung!”
—
Taehyun’s feelings for Beomgyu aren’t bad taste, he thinks. Surely there’s no way it’s completely bad, considering how many girls flock to Beomgyu, the way his arms are laden with presents on White Day. But, all those girls, anyone outside of him, really—they don’t know Beomgyu well. And if they do—if they see the flashes of Beomgyu’s more wretched, ugly side, the way Jungwon had encountered in his scrabble with Beomgyu, the way Jongseong has unfortunately been acquainted with ever since Beomgyu stole his first girlfriend—then they think Beomgyu is completely terrible, a total 180 from the popularity myth.
There’s a certain romanticism in that, in believing in black and white, yin and yang, polar opposites—but with Choi Beomgyu, things are never as simple as that.
Regardless: Taehyun wouldn’t consider it to be bad taste, but he would call it an acquired one, for sure. Shared history, shared scars: all the times Taehyun had been beaten and punished for something Beomgyu was responsible for, all the times Beomgyu has sought him out, crying in the middle of the night.
Walking back from his talk with Jungwon, he came across this realization—that no one knows Beomgyu quite like he does. He isn’t sure whether that’s comforting or horrifying, to be close to something that could hurt him, a blade wielded both ways.
—
But if there’s anyone who does the wielding, then surely, it must be Beomgyu. Beomgyu, who manages to slice through reality like a knife, cut it up into tiny little bits and arrange into a jigsaw of his choosing.
—
“Is it okay to like a bad person?” Taehyun asks Kai the next time he sees him. It’s a couple days later, he’s tried to spend more of his time with Beomgyu—not that Kai had asked him for an explanation, for Kai doesn’t have those same expectations of him that Beomgyu does—but this lunch Beomgyu had been called to their Sociology teacher’s office and Taehyun had taken the opportunity to head down to the photography lab instead. It’s dark here, and despite the chemical smell that had seemed so strange to him at first, he feels comforted here.
Kai’s silent for a while, and Taehyun can’t tell whether that’s because he’s absorbed in his printmaking or because he’s thinking about the answer to Taehyun’s question. “What does that even mean?” Kai asks. “Is anyone you know—unequivocally a bad person?”
