Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The villain is right between his hands, Taehyung can just feel it at the tips of his fingers.

The villain, your typical bad guy, robbing a bank. Someone who isn’t a NEXT, no superhuman abilities, just a normal greedy human who wants more money than he knows how to spend. Banks are unfortunately an easy target to break into, made that way intentionally, so heroes’ roles can be played up in society. That also makes it an easy case, part of a normal day of work for a hero, a rather boring one too, if Taehyung is being honest. None of the other notoriously known heroes are on the case, Taehyung knows that he’ll be able to catch this guy.

Or maybe this case was left to him because it’s easy and isn’t glamorous enough to garner the media nor the heroes’ time and attention, but Taehyung tries not to focus on those minor details.

Hell, even a cop could catch this guy, and everybody knows how useless those guys basically are in this day and age. How could a human with nothing but a gun and a bulletproof vest compete against actual heroes, the people with NEXT abilities, abilities that can vary from water control to mind manipulation? Forget that, how is a normal human supposed to fare against a villain with NEXT abilities? Villains who could probably kill them with nothing more than a flick of a finger, guns and laws rendered useless against them, laughing all the while as well.

Yeah, they just can’t.

Taehyung’s eyes flicker to the timer on his watch – the time limit left on his NEXT ability is another three minutes and thirty-four seconds – he can get this guy in that time frame. He hopes so, desperately hopes so, because he hasn’t arrested anyone successfully in almost five months now. The last arrest being a kid trying to pull a fast one on a cashier at a supermarket, not very impressive in the least. Just barely making a small headline on page fifteen of the newspaper, Taehyung’s awkward smile gracing the black and white picture, let alone any TV press.

The thief turns his head, panicking as he sees Taehyung hot on his trail, Taehyung’s super speed almost matching that of a speeding car. He picks up the speed and Taehyung grunts, trying to run faster, but he’s starting to feel winded. A way he shouldn’t feel while he has his NEXT ability activated.

The thief's accomplice tosses his head out the window, cursing when he sees Taehyung, shooting at him with a rifle. The bullet hits him square in the chest, but it just bounces off, and Taehyung considers himself lucky that he isn’t a normal human right now, elsewise that would have been quite lethal. He likes that they are panicking though, that they are desperately trying to throw him off their trail, it makes him think back to his glory days when he had more arrests under his belt than most of the other pretentious younger heroes around nowadays.

When people actually cared about saving people rather than accumulating popularity points with the media. When Taehyung did this job because he was actually passionate about it, and not because he’s supposed to since that’s the expectation of his life as a NEXT.

He’s just caught up with the car, catapults himself onto the roof with a heavy thud that punches the air out of his chest, but gives the dramatic effect he was going for. There’s screaming coming from within the van now, Taehyung’s added weight causing a dent in the heavy metal of the van. They try to shoot bullets through the roof to get at him, swerving the car left and right to get him to fall off, but Taehyung’s grip is stronger.

He smirks, “Your time is up, petty villains, for Wild Tiger is here.”

It’s a stupid catch phrase, but every superhero needs one nowadays, makes them more memorable. Something for the kids to chant at fan-signs when they cue up for hours just to get their favorite action figure or hero card autographed. Taehyung’s lines are always devastatingly empty these days, only a few older stragglers who’ve been following him since he was younger cue up to see him every year. He at least has loyal fans, that’s what matters, right?

More screams resound from within the van and Taehyung feels his pride swell with them, punches a hole in the roof of the van, ripping the metal apart to peer at their horror painted onto their expressions.

Taehyung grins at them manically, a rush of euphoria filling his chest, because he’s caught them red handed. He starts to think that maybe things are starting to turn around for him, the lucky break he’s needed for much too long, just needed an easy case to push out of his rut.

He’s about to make them stop the van so he can arrest them, go through the protocols of getting them handed over to the police and getting the money restored to the bank, when Taehyung feels his NEXT ability abandon him before the signs even appear on his face.

 He feels the compact muscles dwindle, the super strength and speed leave him, his eyes stinging as the blue fades back to brown. In short, he feels like a normal human again. A normal human atop a speeding van with two villains carrying armed guns while he has no protection on him at all.

He feels his own eyes widen marginally, normal brown now instead of the electric blue it should be while his five minutes NEXT super strength possess him. Betrayal overwhelms him as he glances at his watch, notes that it hasn’t even been a full five minutes, that his time ran out early. At the worst possible time imaginable, too.

Again. Like it has been doing for months now.

Now, Taehyung is nothing more than an average 33-year-old guy with no armor and nothing to defend himself with, even more useless than the police he was just making fun of. He swallows, because he’s in pretty deep shit now for a case that was supposed to be incredibly easy – an arrest that was supposed to be so in the bag that even the other heroes didn’t care to show up to take care of it.

A case that even the cops could take care of, huh? Now, Taehyung is weaker than even the lowest denominator.

The villains notice it too, that he’s run out of time, their previous expressions of horror melting into something more sinister.

“Wild Tiger, eh? You’re nothing more than a has-been, man,” the villain laughs and Taehyung feels a speckle of spit hit him on the cheek as a gun is pointed in his direction.

The words are cruel, make his stomach twist into knots even though he knows he shouldn’t care what a petty criminal says about him, but the words hit too close to home. Somehow, that shitty feeling manages to obscure the fear he should be feeling at a gun being pointed at his now very vulnerable chest.

He shoots at him, a horrifically loud sound to his human ears that make them pop, reeling backwards from the throbbing pain of it. Nothing but Taehyung’s quick reflexes from years on the job helps him avoid a critical hit so that it’s just a graze on his cheek instead. The other villain twists the steaming wheel swerving the van again. This time, Taehyung isn’t strong enough to keep holding on, he loses his grip and falls off the moving car and tumbles straight to the asphalt with a painful thud that punches the breath out of his chest. It’s not even a graceful fall. Taehyung rolls several times, his skin scraping against cement and thinks he sprained his wrist from his desperate yet failed attempt to grab at the van’s metal railing as he fell.

Taehyung knows he must have several bruises and cuts littering his body right now, feels himself bleeding in more than one place from the fall, but none of that matters. No, nothing hurts more than the humiliation and self-loathing he feels as he watches the van speed away – the laughter of the two villains and their parting words haunting him long after they are gone. He slams his fist into the ground, not caring when the cold asphalt breaks his skin and spills his blood onto it. The pain it brings is welcome, distracts him from the distraught and overwhelming urge to sob in frustration.

Because that’s something Taehyung has learned during his many years on the job. That the good guys don’t always save the day, sometimes the villains do get away with it, and he’s often left as the loser. At least in his case.

“Fuck,” Taehyung swears, almost screams it, doesn’t care who hears him or if nobody hears him at all. Doesn’t care if the media picks it up, airs his humiliation for the whole world to see. “Fuck it all.”

A whole life learning how to become a hero and thirteen years into the job – the frustration, the anger, the sadness of it all – and it still doesn’t hurt any less.

⚜️

Taehyung takes in a deep breath, slow albeit shaky, as he tries to calm his racing heart. Jackhammering in his chest, his ribcage far too tight for it, Taehyung feels his heart pushing against it with each beat as if trying to escape his body altogether.

The door with the name Takada Shinchiro embedded on a gold plaque looms before him, intimidating him, makes his hands clammy and an innate need to vomit overwhelming him. He rubs the palms of his hands on his slacks, takes another shuddering breath before he hesitantly knocks on the wooden door twice. The sound comes off too soft so he knocks two more times and hopes he’s not being too annoying.

He laughs at himself mirthlessly because he’s faced off against much worse villains than the man he calls boss, but somehow he still intimidates him more than all of those bad guys combined. Hell, he would much rather face off against an overpowered NEXT villain despite his shitty odds than face his boss right now.

“Come in,” resounds Takada’s familiar strict voice from behind the door.

Taehyung counts to five in his head, takes in one more deep breath, and opens the door. Better to rip off the band-aid, right?

Takada is seated behind his desk in a pressed suit, not in one of his conference calls for once, but still typing away on his computer with a speed that feels reminiscent to Taehyung with his NEXT ability activated. The grind never stops for Takada, and Taehyung doesn’t envy him any, doesn’t imagine being the CEO of the top superhero association in Tokyo would be an easy task. All the heroes’ cause property damage on the daily, unfortunate casualties that have to be dealt with, villains who got arrested need to be processed, and the ones who escape need to be documented. Heroes need to be followed up by him, to follow up their stats and make sure they aren’t abusing their NEXT abilities for anything other than saving people, and he manages their publicity events.

He scares the hell out of Taehyung, but he also respects him for everything he’s done. Sort of. Taehyung has mixed thoughts about what the hero profession has turned into in the current day and age, but now isn’t the time for that, not when he’s worried if Takada has called him in here to get fired.

Taehyung waits for Takada to say something, anything about why he’s called him here today, but he doesn’t. He continues to type away on his keyboard, seems to be content pretending that Taehyung is nothing more than thin air. He lets the silence stretch, taking off his beret so he can have something to clutch between his nervous hands, a stress ball of sorts. It doesn’t quite work, however, Taehyung can still feel his anxiety escalate by the second, so he decides to break the silence himself.

“Boss? You called me in?” Taehyung prompts tentatively.

Takada types for another minute, fully ignoring him, until he finishes what he’s doing and pushes away slightly from his desk. He rests his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his folded hands, the way he always does when he’s about to say something Taehyung doesn’t particularly want to hear. Usually along the lines of a dock in his paycheck because of damaged property or a cut to his TV time because he hasn’t been getting them enough ratings lately. A drop of sweat scales down the length of his neck and Taehyung  squeezes his hands tightly around the fabric of his beret so his anxiety isn’t too obvious from the way his fingers twitch.

“Yes, yes I did,” Takada says calmly, albeit belatedly. “How are your injuries?”

The question is most likely a formality, he hardly doubts Takada cares how he’s dealing with the pain. Taehyung looks at his arm, bandaged in medical gauze because of the graze he got from the asphalt last night, his wrist in a cast from the sprain, and resists the urge to touch the three stitches he has on his cheek. They sting, but Taehyung is used to pain, he’s gotten all kinds of injuries in this line of work so these really aren’t anything special. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse because his ability ran out on him so early.

Honestly, with that villain’s aim, Taehyung is lucky that he’s standing in Takada’s office and not six feet under right now.

“They’re fine,” Taehyung says. Short and to the point because Takada hates lots of small talk, always wants to cut to the chase, too busy for chitchat or beating around the bush. “Thank you for asking.”

“Good to know,” Takada nods, wordlessly motioning to the chair for Taehyung to sit, which he does. He’s closer to Takada this way and Taehyung leans slightly in to study the lines of his face and the grey hair that peppers the black. Takada's poker face isn’t any easier to read up close, only reads disapproval wafting off him strongly, which does little to help abate his frazzled nerves. “We need to talk about last night, Wild Tiger.”

“I guess we should,” Taehyung nods.

“Last night’s case involved two armed villains who robbed a bank, no NEXT abilities. You pursued them alone but failed to catch them, correct?” Takada tells him.

“Yes,” Taehyung confirms, wincing.

The wound is still fresh, and Takada has no problem whatsoever rubbing salt into it. As blunt as ever with his wording.

“Fortunately, the police managed to arrest them, so nothing detrimental happened,” Takada tells him, and just a small weight is alleviated from Taehyung's chest. His chest still feels heavy though, still weighted down by how useless and incompetent he feels, but at least he can breathe easily knowing  that those goons aren’t roaming the streets doing who knows what. It stings though, that the police managed to arrest those assholes, yet Taehyung couldn’t. “But some things still need to be discussed.”

Taehyung nods, readying himself for the blow. He knows they weren’t here for idle chit chat about his injuries, their conversation could be anything ranging from a dock in payment to being let go.

“You haven’t made a successful arrest in five months, Wild Tiger. The last villain you managed to arrest with a NEXT ability was eight months ago. This concerns me,” Takada says, reclining in his chair.

“I’m sorry, boss, I’ll try to get myself together,” Taehyung promises, bowing his head slightly.

Taehyung knows that he can’t tell him the truth, why he keeps on fucking up his cases, why he hasn’t been able to do any successful arrests lately. He won’t find any sympathy from Takada, just scorn, and he’s already ashamed enough as it is.

Scorn and a lost job.

“That’s what you’ve been telling me for almost a year now. I’m disinclined to believe you for any longer,” Takada replies, no sympathy on his cold features.

What Taehyung used to respect about Takada, about him being professional, never cracking under the stress of running this huge company is turning against him now. Right now, Takada is going to fire him, and he’ll have no choice but to accept it because business is business.

“I – I don’t know what to tell you,” Taehyung finally says, at a loss for words.

“I think you need to take a break, Tiger,” Takada tells him, resorting to informalities. He knows his real name, but he never uses it, nobody ever does really. He spends more time as a hero, trying to be a hero, than he ever spends as Taehyung. “You’re still young, clearly this line of work is burning you out, so you should take a break from it before it extinguishes whatever flame you have left completely.”

“For how long?” Taehyung questions, eyes falling from Takada’s cold unfeeling face and down to his desk. There’s not much personality on it – just a neat stack of papers, a cup with several pens, his computer, he doesn’t think Takada ever got married or started a family of his own – nothing to distract him from the turbulent feelings warring in his chest right now.

“We don’t have to put a date on it,” Takada says dismissively.

“Are you firing me?” Taehyung asks, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Taehyung came in here expecting that he might get fired, but hearing it phrased so politely hurts even more. Expecting it is one thing, but actually hearing and experiencing it is another. His nerves are replaced with something else, his heart dropping in his chest, feels like he’s just been punched in the stomach.

“That isn’t the term I would use,” Takada replies.

A profound sense of hollow sadness overwhelms him, his chest feels like there’s a gaping hole in it, because he knows that Takada isn’t a man to be argued with. He still tries anyway, a desperate desire to cling to this, to the only thing he knows taking over all his cognitive thinking.

“But that’s what it is,” Taehyung argues, feeling a little helpless as he looks at him. “Boss – I – I’ve been working for you for thirteen years. Please, please just give me one more chance. I’ll be better, I promise, you know me, boss.”

“Many a chance has been given precisely because of those thirteen years, and you have let me down each time. I have no need for a hero who can’t do his job,” Takada says. “I don’t mix sentiments with work, Tiger.”

Taehyung’s eyes burn. Fired . He’s getting fired from being a hero. What is he supposed to do now? Being a hero is the only thing he knows how to do. He doesn’t have any other skills, hobbies, his whole life has just been a blur of fighting crime and catching the bad guys.

And now that life, the only life he’s ever known, has come to a sudden halt because he’s not good enough to do it anymore.

He stands up, resigned, he has no intention to argue with Takada because he knows he won’t budge on this.

“I guess that’s true,” Taehyung says. "It was a pleasure working with you, boss, sir.”

The words feel hollow, more of a formality than anything else, Taehyung  bows his head so Takada doesn’t see his eyes swimming with barely unshed tears. He’s sure that even if he doesn’t see the tears, he can hear the tears inflicted his voice, the way Taehyung’s voice cracks over the words.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Takada replies, and suddenly Taehyung realizes how much Takada has aged in these past years. Lines of stress accentuate his eyes, streaks of gray coloring his hair that was once all black. He looks tired too, this line of work harrowing away at him more than he let on outwardly. “It was a pleasure working with you for these past thirteen years.”

He wonders if that’s true. It probably isn’t. Taehyung has caused so much property damage, had low stats, and didn’t arrest enough criminals – he probably wasn’t anything more than a headache to Takada – and now he’s decided to let him go once liability outweighed whatever loyalty he felt towards him.

The worst part is that Taehyung doesn’t even blame him for firing him, because really, who would want to pay a hero who can’t be a proper hero?

“I’ll hand in my hero ID and suit,” Taehyung says, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. His eyes flicker to his hero watch that sits on his wrist, wonders if anyone would notice if he kept it as a token. “Goodbye, sir.”

Taehyung nods once, heading towards the door, realizing that this will probably be the last time he enters this office or even sees Takada again. Somehow, despite the trepidation he always felt when he’d be summoned to this office, just that thought alone fills his chest with another wave of sadness.

“Goodbye, Tiger, take care of yourself,” Takada says.

Taehyung doesn’t even know how he’ll do that, but he nods one last time before he leaves without another word.

⚜️

That night, Taehyung drinks himself into a stupor in the solace of his empty apartment, in a shitty attempt to drown out all the bad feelings.

In a way, it works, because he gets too buzzed to coherently think about the things he usually thinks about. Like how he’s a failure, how he’s nothing more than a has been hero, tacking onto that now he’s not even a hero anymore.

Eventually, it works, Taehyung gets so drunk that he doesn’t even remember why he was sad in the first place, though somehow that hollow feeling in his chest prevails all the same. The bottles of alcohol he downed doing little to distract him from the quiet of his apartment.

He never noticed how quiet it was here, rarely spending any time at home because most of his time was spent patrolling the streets and chasing after bad guys. Now, not even the alcohol can obscure just how quiet it is, doesn’t stop the lack of sound from driving him crazy, how it made him think too much.

So he just blasts some jazz music to drown out that silence, drinks some more until he passes out on the floor in the middle of a mess of empty wine bottles and crumpled up damp tissues.

⚜️

It takes a week of nothing but crying, getting drunk, falling asleep, and waking up hungover for Taehyung to start getting sick of that cycle.

He doesn’t want to spend all his days like this, a pitiful version of himself, just because he got fired from doing the only thing he knows how to do. He needs to be proactive, learn to be with himself, Taehyung, not Wild Tiger.

Thing is that he doesn’t particularly know who that even is, he’s spent so many years behind the mask of Wild Tiger, that he no longer knows who Taehyung is anymore. He spends days at home, in his sparsely decorated apartment, and he’s not even sure what his hobbies are. How did he spend his free time anyway? Mostly, he just worked because crime never rested, so neither could he. He’d be out patrolling the streets, on guard for any bad guys, or called into a crime scene instead. Afterwards, he’d be stuck with all the annoying paperwork, but it all kept him busy enough to not care too much that he didn’t have much of a life outside of work.

It made him tired too.

His life became his job, all he ever did was work and when he wasn’t working, he was trying to catch up on some dearly needed sleep. He never really had time to date, never got married despite his parents’ concerns about him being lonely or rather their concern that they wouldn’t have any grandchildren, and that was all fine. He didn’t have time to be lonely or sad, being single didn’t really matter, nor did he ever feel any particular urge to be a parent any time soon. Like that, he hardly noticed the years passing by until he started to find several strands of grey amid his black curls, faint lines appearing at the corners of his eyes where there hadn’t been any before, body starting to fail him in the form of creaky bones and a NEXT ability that timed out at shorter and shorter intervals.

Now, all Taehyung has is time, an abundance of it that he doesn’t know what to do with. Time often spent sleeping and getting drunk off his ass and suffice to say – it wasn’t giving him the kind of satisfaction he needs.

He has a hole in his chest, and he doesn’t know how to fill it, wants to fill it before that emptiness consumes him whole.

So he lies down on the ground, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, jazz music playing on the record player once again to drown out the silence that’s threatening to suffocate him. Who knew that silence could be so loud? He keeps his hero watch on his wrist, hasn’t mustered up the courage to take it off till now, his skin a lighter shade underneath it since he never took it off in the past thirteen years except for when he was showering, but the constant silence his watch offers him only disheartens him. Takada had taken him off the hero alert, so nothing came his way anymore. He had gotten so used to always being called, several times per day sometimes, to the scene and he’d always go because that’s what he had to do. He grew to hate that buzzing sound, would sigh every time he’d have to drop whatever he’s doing to run to whatever part of town needs him.

Especially since he rarely ever carried out the arrest himself, was nothing more than an extra to a bigger hero’s one man show, apprehending a criminal with a charming smile and catch phrase while Taehyung was forgotten in the background.

Now, the watch is permanently quiet, and he can’t believe he misses that dumb buzzing sound. His TV is kept off too, because seeing the other heroes still actively protecting the city while he’s just bumming it out at home, will only make him feel more depressed than he already is.

Is thirty-three too early to be having a mid-life crisis? Probably, but Taehyung feels a lot older than thirty-three most of the time, anyway, and there isn’t much else for him to look forward to nor does he know how to find himself.

Restlessly, he gets up from his position on the cold wooden floor, and shuffles around his room. There isn’t anything much here, just more dated wine bottles, but that’s not what he’s looking for. He wants something, anything to do to fill his time. Surely, he must have some personal possessions, he’d even settle for a Rubik cube even if he never managed to finish one before. He finds a lot of the wrong things though; old magazines with his face on the cover, some of his merch that never sold, and heaps of paperwork that he either once lost or forgot to hand in.

He doesn’t want to look at them though, feels his heart ache when he’s reminded of his past glory.

Although, amid all that clutter, he finds an old photo album. It’s dusty, forgotten at the back of the bottom drawer of his desk, in the middle of outdated paperwork he never handed in. He blows on the cover, sneezing when he accidentally inhales the dust, and cracks it open hesitantly.

Taehyung sees pictures of a childhood he hardly remembers anymore, too distant to connect anything more than a vague memory to them, which could be entirely consisting of projections. Him playing in the snow in Daegu, picking up strawberries, standing next to his parents while they are decked out in their hero suits. Taehyung at a sports tournament, coming out first place, eyes glowing blue with his activated NEXT ability. The day he got awarded with a certificate allowing him to be a hero, his boxy grin filled with happiness.

Most of these pictures are taken in Seoul, before he moved to Tokyo permanently because the hero association thought he had too much potential that would be stifled in Korea. Back then, Japan had a much more up and going hero system than Korea did, many hero agencies to their name and Taehyung was quickly recruited to the best under Takada’s tutelage. He was proud, arrogant, and accepted the offer too easily even if it meant he’d be leaving all his friends and family behind. It didn’t matter, because he had a dream, a dream to be a hero and that was all that mattered. Taehyung had potential, he was special, he was full of ambition that he was going to become the best hero – he believed it and for a time, he really was the best.

He wonders how much of that dream was his own, and how much of it was passed down to him because he’s come from a long family line of heroes, and being a hero is the only thing that he was expected to become. It’s a question he’s asked himself more than a few times in the past, but never came up with a concrete answer, or maybe he was just afraid of the answer.

None of that really matters anymore, though, not when he’s gotten fired so his feelings on the matter aren’t even relevant anymore.

He hasn’t told his parents yet either, knows they’ll be disappointed, failure of a son and all that. Although he’s sure they’ll find out eventually when he stops showing up on TV altogether, but he’ll leave that can of worms for another day.

Still, he considers the pictures, the past he hardly remembers anymore. He used to be happy once, and he wasn’t a hero then, even if that path was shaping him into one. That’s probably partially due to the innocence of youth, but there’s probably more to it than that. He wishes he knew, desperately needs that something to fill his heart again, but he doesn’t find any useful memories to help him.

He doesn’t know, but maybe, maybe he should go back to Seoul. It’s not like there’s anything tying him to Tokyo anymore. After all, he had only come here to become a hero, and that chapter of his life has now come to an end. It might be time to go back home if that’s even something he can call it now, if maybe one day it could be. Try to find out who Taehyung is and what he wants to do with his life.

He’s a little tipsy when he books the first flight to Seoul, but his heart beguns to fill with hope and he has a gut feeling that he’s going to find what he needs there.

And one thing he’s learned over the years he’s spent being a hero, is that his gut instinct is never wrong.

⚜️

Being back in Seoul gives Taehyung a sense of whiplash he never anticipated.

It feels reminiscent to the way he felt when he was a bright eyed young adult, just turned twenty, moving alone to the big city of Tokyo to become a hero in a place where he hardly spoke the language. He hadn’t expected to feel that way coming back to his home country, but he supposes that it’s been over thirteen years since he’s last lived here, that things change and life moves on regardless of Taehyung being there to witness it or not. Still, he didn’t imagine that the city could change this much, how modernized everything has become. The skyscrapers in place of the small shops, the huge mega malls and the crowds of people flocking from one place to another – always in a rush because there doesn’t seem to be enough time in their day to get everything done. The huge billboards on the buildings, showcasing commercials, footage of the prominent heroes fighting the big bad villains to keep their city safe.

The hero scene in Seoul is definitely booming now in comparison to back then. Taehyung doesn’t know any of them – doesn’t know a JJK or a J-Hope or any of these flashy heroes on screen – but seeing polished clips of them so valiantly saving other people playing on the massive billboards while he’s just sightseeing just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sometimes, it’s strange how well integrated heroes are in the current day and age, how they’ve become such a normalcy that nobody bats an eye at them anymore. It didn’t always used to be that way, Taehyung grew up catching the tail end of the NEXT discrimination before a movement to accept them became more popularized. NEXTS – humans born with rare special abilities that differentiated them from everyone else, usually hereditary, sometimes it’s not. They were labeled as such to show their superiority to other normal humans, or maybe just to ostracize them more, depends on the narrative of the person defining it.

For centuries, NEXTS were ostracized from society, treated like freaks and were forced to hide their abilities to fit in with everyone else. Then came the demand for heroes, society thinking that these freaks of nature owed them for just letting them exist, that they should put their lives on the line to protect the same society that mocked and ridiculed them. That mentality still persists till this day and age, hero work is really the only line of work for NEXTS anyway, and the irony of it isn’t lost on Taehyung. Well the only job they can do aside from turning to crime and villainy which a lot of other NEXTS do, a lot of them believing in their natural superiority over the rest of the population. Those NEXTS don’t particularly help them look any better to the public eye.

The discrimination against their kind is still very present till this day, society has just gotten better at hiding it. At least the media, as horrible as they can be, helps portray them in a slightly better light even if they aren’t much more than dogs of the government.

Thinking about heroes makes him bitter though, because despite all its flaws, it’s the only thing he knew how to do. It’s hard not to think about it though, not when there are hero ads everywhere, when he sees hero merch being sold at every corner shop.

So, he mostly stays inside. He doesn’t really leave the small and sparsely decorated flat that he picked on a whim online, too drafty and the heater doesn’t work, but it’s close to the street so the sounds of cars and traffic help with the quiet that irked him back in Tokyo. It’s easier to ignore everything here, to busy himself with unpacking his belongings, put a bit of his own personality on the walls of his new apartment.

He doesn’t know what he was looking for, what compelled him to come here, but he hopes he finds it.

He does go to the bar though, a change of pace he desperately needs, especially since he hasn’t had the time to go buy alcohol yet. It’s a bit weird being outside as Taehyung and not Wild Tiger, no mask covering his face, because concealing his identity is no longer a necessity. He’s in a different country, he’s no longer a hero, so there’s obviously no need for the mask even if he feels naked without it. The watch stays on, however, the one item he’s still unable to relinquish his attachment to.

Taehyung is able to separate his discomfort with his exposed identity at the bar, the haze of alcohol and sweet wine manages to temp down the insufferably loud sound of his thoughts. Rarely, does he get drunk or even tipsy outside of the comfort of his own home, but he does like that pleasant buzz that makes the void in his chest a little bit easier to ignore. He gets used to it though, enough to become a bit of a regular here too in the two weeks he’s spent in Seoul, the bartender – a lovely guy called Jimin – doesn’t tease him too much about his accent.

It’s embarrassing if he’s being honest that he has an accent in his mother tongue now, but he never had much use for Korean in Tokyo. He only ever used it when he called his parents on their biweekly phone calls, but that’s about it, so he’s more than a little rusty. Taehyung often spends more time trying to find the right words and trying to make sure they roll off his tongue the right way. Most of the time, the right words escape him, making him feel like an idiot in his own mother tongue.

Bilingual? Hah, more like bye lingual.

“What will it be tonight, Taehyung-ssi?” Jimin asks, a pleasant smile adorning his features. “Feeling safe or adventurous?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Taehyung smiles.

“A man can dream,” Jimin rolls his eyes. He goes behind the counter and fetches a bottle of wine, uncorks it, and leaves it in front of Taehyung per his request with a glass. “We have a lot of other great drinks you can try here, too, you know. I can whip up a mean martini.”

Taehyung wrinkles his nose in distaste despite himself. “Too old to start now and wine is the only alcoholic drink that I find palatable.”

“Hey, age has nothing to do with it,” Jimin shrugs. “Just boring. I will leave you to it though.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not taking any offense to Jimin’s words, he knows that Jimin is just a tease. Of course, being a hero with little to no time to socialize, Taehyung didn’t have many people in his life to call a friend. This tentative banter he has with Jimin over his order is probably as pathetically close Taehyung could get to calling someone a friend, so he enjoys it.

His eyes follow Jimin for a moment after he goes away, watching him converse with the other patrons of the bar as he mixes a drink for them, before they wander back to the TV hanging over the bar counter. Even at the bar, the news is on, a hero story playing on screen, a hell Taehyung can’t seem to escape even when he just wants to get buzzed. Nobody else seems to care enough to watch the news, that’s not why they are here. Taehyung doesn’t have much better to do except nurse the drink in his hand so he finds his eyes wandering to the TV despite his best intentions to avoid it.

The reporter’s commentary is on a hero-villain fight, someone called JJK in a form fitting red suit facing off against a pyromaniac NEXT. JJK throws a punch at the pyromaniac, seemingly not minding the flame enveloping the villain, grinning manically as the villain skids backwards to shield himself from the brunt of his punch. Probably has an enhancing NEXT ability, Taehyung surmises, despite not being overly impressed by what he sees. The reason for that being that he can tell it’s staged, despite the live recording button on the corner of the screen, because of the surroundings. That car in the background was there two nights ago, but not tonight, he knows since he passed by it on his way to the bar. That, and well, the villain’s moves seem too stiff, yielding too easily to the punches JJK packs without giving much back in form of retaliation or even the telltale signs of fear and irritation that he might get arrested.

It’s not strange nor is it a foreign concept that they film crime scenes and broadcast them later at times when they know there will be a higher viewership. It’s also not strange that these crime scenes be staged altogether, a bought out villain to make sure that the fights look real – keeps the viewers on the edges of their seats as they root for the hero to win in the end – and they always do.

Because nobody wants to see the hero lose, nobody wants the villains to win at the end of the day. That would break every moral of the story they’ve ever learned since they were toddlers in elementary school. Reality doesn’t matter as long as they get views, as long as the citizens are both safe and entertained, as long as there’s always a need for heroes in their society. That perfect mixture of fiction and reality that is an easy source of money and publicity for both the media and the heroes performing their acts.

Taehyung has been in the game long enough to know all of this, but it never really bothered him, because he was part of that system. Benefitted from that system, both financially and in terms of the famous glory he once had. Now, something about it rubs him the wrong way. Maybe that makes him a hypocrite since he was complicit as long as there was something in it for him, but oh well, they’re just thoughts so they won’t hurt anyone.

Sighing, he takes his eyes off the TV, not really caring to watch this staged fight with a predictable result. It’s like he can’t go anywhere without always being reminded of heroes and villains, of their triumphs, his own failures.

He takes a hefty swig of wine, bittersweet tangy taste bursting on his tastebuds, a decent distraction from the news and the bitterness that fills his chest, when he sees someone sit down on the stool next to him. It’s a bit odd that someone would take the seat right next to his own when there are literally four empty seats to his right and three to his left, but he’ll digress.

Taehyung is only allowed three more minutes of silence before the stranger speaks up and he sighs. He really doesn’t want to make small talk, doesn’t want to make friends like this, hopefully this stranger will get the hint if he’s clipped with his tone.

“Hey there, handsome,” the guy says, voice smooth like honey, leaning in close. “What’s a pretty face like you doing drinking all alone on a Wednesday night?”

Taehyung’s fingers twitch around his glass, surprise washing over him. Is he being picked up right now? He can’t remember the last time someone tried to pick him up, years ago probably, but he feels very much out of his depth right now. Somehow, the thought that drinking alone in a bar would lead to someone trying to seduce him never crossed his mind, let alone that person being a guy.

He side-eyes the stranger, ready to politely yet firmly tell him ‘sorry, but I’m not interested’ and continue drinking this bottle of wine to completion when the words dry on his tongue. This guy, he’s much more attractive than Taehyung is willing to admit, attractive in a way that is almost alarming, snatching the words from the tip of his tongue and clearing his head from any coherent thought. Devastating what with the longish wavy black hair that curls near the ends, the tattoos decorating his toned arms, and the piercings that line his ears and eyebrow. Pressed red button-down shirt that are rolled up to his elbows, ripped black skinny jeans that accentuate his thighs in a way that leaves little to the imagination, tucked into chunky combat boots. Literally everything about him screams ‘I’m a bad boy and I can and will break your heart if I want to.’

The most devastating part about him, however, is how wide his eyes are or maybe it’s the annoying smirk painted onto his features. He also looks younger than him, probably twenty-four or twenty-six at the most.

This guy looks like a disaster waiting to happen, just a gut feeling, and Taehyung doesn’t want to touch that with a six-foot pole.

Shrugging noncommittally, he takes another sip of his wine. “Is there a rule book that says I’m not allowed to drink alone?”

And yet, he finds himself carrying the conversation anyway instead of immediately shutting it down, despite his better judgement.

The stranger grins, his eyes scrunching up a bit at the edges, exposing front teeth that are just slightly large. He practically looks like a bunny, only thing missing are the ears, so he decides to dub him Bunny in his head for now.

“Hmm, no, but there’s something sad about drinking alone, right?” Bunny muses, tapping his fingers against the bar. He wags his eyebrows, “Absolutely criminal when you look as good as you do, too.”

Taehyung is in fact sad, has been sad for a while now, even before he got fired. He figures Bunny doesn’t want to hear that though, so he shrugs, ignoring the blatant attempt at flattery. A lot of people used to praise him for his looks when he was younger, in his early twenties, but not so much anymore. He’s not ugly or anything, but he’s older now, tired. Whatever boyish charm he once had has faded, his age obvious in his appearance, looks even older than he is.

He doesn’t know what Bunny sees in him, especially since he could probably pick up any person in this bar with those looks.

“You’re alone too, aren’t you?” Taehyung points out.

Bunny shakes his head, pointing at some people in the back. They are all incredibly attractive, people who look like they belong on the cover of a magazine than in a lowkey bar in Itaewon. It makes sense that Bunny would run in circles of people who look just like him. Rich, attractive, privileged.

“Those are my friends, we all decided to go out for drinks after work tonight,” Bunny says, smiling softly as he regards them.

Taehyung looks at them too, sees that they seem to be engaged in some sort of shots battle, loud laughter echoing in the bar loudly enough to reach Taehyung and his Bunny companion. Save for one who supervises all of it, who doesn’t touch any drink at all. The tall and handsome one with the broad shoulders, looks like he could be an actor, is probably their designated driver.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night, they finally pushed me into approaching you first,” Bunny continues breathily. “Took a little bit of liquid courage.”

“You say that as if I was going to approach you eventually,” Taehyung replies, returning his attention back on Bunny.

“Most people do at one point or another,” Bunny says. The words don’t sound cocky, just stated as a matter of fact, but it still makes Taehyung roll his eyes.

“You famous or somethin’?” He asks. With the tattoo sleeves and multiple piercings lining his ears, the one in his eyebrow, Taehyung guesses he’s not an actor or a model since they often have a cleaner look. “Singer?”

“Flattered, but not really,” Bunny hums, quirking his lips. It’s a mysterious smile, makes Taehyung curious to know who he is, what his story is. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to?” Taehyung implores.

“No, but most people do,” Bunny shakes his head. “You not from Seoul? Can’t put a finger to your accent.”

Taehyung blushes again at the reminder of how rusty he is with his dialect despite Korean being his first language, supposedly. “I am, but I’ve spent a few years in Tokyo.”

“That’s awesome, I love Japan,” Bunny smiles, a more genuine one that isn’t meant to seduce or charm him. It looks better on him, Taehyung thinks, makes him shine. Radiant. “They’ve got a pretty strong hero system over there.”

And of course, they end up talking about heroes, it’s not like anything else matters anymore. The whole world revolves around heroes, people follow and idolize them, kiss their asses. Essentially gods on earth.

And Taehyung who was once one of those Gods, is now a normal human once more. Or well, he’s on his way there anyway.

“Yeah, I guess they do,” Taehyung concedes.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Bunny asks, teasing.

“There isn’t much to say,” Taehyung replies.

Conversation doesn’t come easily to him anymore, doesn’t have many interesting thoughts or commentary to share with people. Not when he’s spent so many years living in solitude, not when he’s at a constant mood state of sad, hollow vacancy where his heart is supposed to be.

“I get that, sometimes the world becomes too much, y’know?” Bunny says, sipping on the beer he brought with him. “The world gets too loud, too demanding, and it’s suffocating. The quiet feels pretty welcome then.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicker back to the screen, his eyes glazing over the bogus fight on the screen, and focusing on the news strip at the bottom. The part that most people tend to ignore when watching the news,and reads that another murder just happened around Gangnam, a CEO of a pharmaceutical company dying of a mysterious cause. The strip saying that this is only one of several murders of similar deaths that’s been happening around town, but Taehyung is too distracted by the current conversation to dissect the information any further than that.

“You’re like twenty, what would you know about that?” Taehyung scoffs.

“I’m twenty-five, thank you very much,” Bunny nudges him slightly, his elbow searing hot against Taehyung’s green sweater. He makes a conscious effort not to recoil and move his arm away. “I know quite a lot about how the world works, maybe even more than you, old man.”

“Old man?” Taehyung sputters. “I’m only thirty-three, what the hell?”

It’s okay when Taehyung calls himself old, but he feels downright insulted when a hot stranger at a bar calls him as much.

Bunny just smirks at him smugly, “Don’t worry, you’re still hot even if you’re old.”

And they’re back to the flirting apparently.

“You really want to take me home? For a guy who was just age shaming me, you are awfully bold aren't you?” Taehyung muses.

“Not age shaming, just teasing,” Bunny says, poking his cheek slyly.

He seems to have no problem whatsoever about showing physical affection, it’s honestly a lot more than Taehyung has received in years, and he’s ashamed to admit how touch deprived he’s been. How even the slightest touch makes him shudder, flushing warmth consuming him and staining his cheeks red, and he’s sure that Bunny has noticed.

Then he leans in to whisper directly against his ear, hot breath warming over the shell of his ear, strands of hair tickling his cheek. “But yes, yes, I do wanna take you home with me. Is that bad?”

Taehyung’s hands are suddenly feeling a bit clammy, rubs them against his slacks, but that doesn’t help much. He can’t believe this boy, this wannabe singer or whoever the hell he is, is making him feel shy. He’s too fucking old for this.

“Daddy issues?” Taehyung asks. He swallows, feeling his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His throat feels oddly dry, takes another sip of wine, but it doesn’t help much.

“No,” Bunny shakes his head. His voice drops to a whisper, “I just think that older guys are just better in bed, s’all.”

Taehyung feels his whole body heat up, a flame lit within, licking at his insides as it looks for its outlet.

He isn’t one for one-night stands, not really, but there’s something about this whole situation that’s so tempting . He can’t even chalk it up to the three glasses of wine he had, he’s not even tipsy honestly, but more so drunk due to the effortless charm Bunny exudes. In the confident way he holds himself, how attractive he is, the fact that he knows it.

Insufferable but attractive.

Attractive, apparently famous, and yet he wants Taehyung. Wants Taehyung, old and boring man that he is, showering him with all this misguided attention. He finds himself liking it more than he should.

He licks his lips, “That so?”

“Very much so,” Bunny confirms. “Will you let me show you a good time tonight, handsome?”

Visuals of two bodies pressed against each other in a way that can only be deemed as filthy, no space left in between them pervade his senses. Wet kisses, bruising marks, the kind of fullness that only comes from sex.

He hasn’t had sex in a few years if he’s being honest, he was always busy and it was never a priority, Taehyung was just pretty well acquainted with his hand by now. That, and well, Taehyung isn’t very fond of one-night stands in general because he’s always preferred his intimacy to be  shared with someone special. But damn if he isn’t suddenly craving it now, missing that warmth, that completeness that comes from the intimacy only sex can offer.

Maybe it’ll even fill up that void in his chest, make him feel something besides murky and sad for just a little while.

“Can I ask you a question first?” Taehyung says instead.

“Ask and I may answer. No promises though,” Bunny grins slyly, covering his lips with a finger.

“Who’s your favorite hero?” Taehyung asks.

A dumb question. He doesn’t know why he’s asking, but still he wants to know the answer.

Bunny hums, tapping his fingers against the bar again before his eyes flicker to the screen. Taehyung’s eyes follow his, seeing the hero JJK standing with the pyromaniac villain cuffed in front of him, proudly telling the reporter about how it’s his duty as a hero to catch all the bad guys. That while being a rookie hero, he plans to be the best hero by the time the year is out, phrases it like a promise rather than some faraway dream or ambition.

He pops his lips, “Him, he’s my favorite hero.”

JJK strikes Taehyung as someone who the public deem reliable, strong, a symbol of justice. Charming, too, with that smooth charisma and confidence. To him, he just seems flashy, a dog to the system, all glamor and no substance underneath. A mirror of his past self.

“Fitting choice,” Taehyung replies shortly. “Shall we?”

“Let’s go,” Bunny nods, putting enough money to cover three times whatever beer he was having and the whole bottle of wine Taehyung was having. He turns to Taehyung as they leave the bar, cold winter air biting their cheeks to contrast against the warmth in the bar. “I’m Jungkook by the way. Better remember it, sweetheart.”

Jungkook? The name suits him, he guesses, not as much as Bunny but he’ll use that instead.

And here he thought they were going to do the whole fucking with no strings attached thing, no names, nothing relevant. He guesses names are basic information for most people to share though, most people who aren’t heroes, who don’t have identities they are supposed to hide behind a steel wall lest the wrong people find out. He knows that that doesn’t apply to him anymore, but it’s still hard for him to adapt to it.

He hesitates for a moment, considers lying and giving a fake name, shakes his head from the thought instead. There’s no need to do that, his hero days are over now. It’s just taking him some time to actually learn how to adapt to that.

“Taehyung,” he supplies.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taehyung,” Jungkook smiles warmly, bumping his arm against Taehyung’s amicably.

He just hopes he doesn’t regret this too much, hopes he doesn’t do anything dumb, like get attached. 

⚜️

The walk to Jungkook’s place is a long one, tense too, because Jungkook no longer indulges him in random small talk and the gravity of what they are about to do weighs heavily on Taehyung’s mind. He supposes that part of the night is over now, now that he’s snagged Taehyung into going home with him, he no longer needs to fill the space with witty banter. Taehyung doesn't mind, he likes the quiet, gives him time to think, to clear his head of any slight tipsiness that might be affecting his thought process. 

Surprisingly, despite sobering up quickly, Taehyung’s feet remain warm and the desire to make up a quick excuse and go home doesn’t clamber up his throat like he expects it to.

Rather, Taehyung focuses on Jungkook, eyes catching on his captivating frame. The distance between them is polite, almost making them feel like strangers, which they are. Not for the first time, he wonders who he is, what his story is. He doesn’t think he likes Jungkook’s personality all that much, is wary of people who are too charming and handsome, especially those who are aware of it and have the inflated egos to match.

“Like what you see?” Jungkook winks at him when Taehyung’s gaze lingers for too long. He points down at himself. “Don’t blame you if I may say so myself.”

Taehyung scoffs, face prickling with warmth at being caught red-handed, his point has been proven completely.

“I admire your confidence,” Taehyung says wryly, “You seem to have an abundance of it.”

“You sound quite salty about it,” Jungkook muses.

“Pardon?” Taehyung implores, brows furrowing.

His reaction elicits a laugh from Jungkook, a light and airy sound that carries in the night breeze, makes the blush on Taehyung’s cheeks deepen in color. He thanks his lucky stars hanging overhead that it’s too dark for Jungkook to see the evidence of his searing hot embarrassment.

Jungkook has an uncanny way of reminding him astutely of how old he is.

“Sorry, forgot you’re an old man,” Jungkook says, throwing an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. All prior appropriate distance has disappeared from between them, Jungkook seemingly not caring about any false pretenses anymore, making his intentions clear as he noses over Taehyung’s ear. A whisper breathed against his ear, tickles him, ignites a flame within him that he assumed had long since been put out. “It’s cute though, I like it.”

The statement is punctuated with a kiss pressed to his cheek, a kiss that would feel chaste if not for the way it lingers, if not for the promise their night holds. A tingle of warmth thrums underneath his skin spreads – from where Jungkook kissed him, whispered in his ear, touches him so casually – consuming his whole body. He swallows, closing his eyes as he feels that ignited inferno roll over him, a small whimper falling from his lips.

“I guess, I guess that’s a good thing,” Taehyung replies lamely, thoughts stunted.

Jungkook is flirting with him, seducing him, and Taehyung hasn’t the faintest idea how to respond in kind. All he gets in reply is an amused laugh, but the tension weighs heavier on them, feels much more sexual than the awkward air that hung over them up to this point.

Seven more minutes, and Taehyung starts to notice that they’re in a rather fancy neighborhood in Seoul now. Tall apartment buildings with portmen, high end cars, fewer people and tacky billboards with hero ads being blasted everywhere. It seems that Jungkook isn’t just a cocky and handsome heartbreaker, but a rich one, too, how typical. His hypothesis that Jungkook is a famous singer or idol rises at the back of his mind again, doesn’t think anyone else could afford to live in an area like this.

In this moment, however, Taehyung can’t bring himself to care too much. In this moment, all he cares about is that they’ve come to a slow stop in front of one fancy apartment building, meaning they’ve finally reached their destination. Horny and nervous anticipation thrums through Taehyung’s veins, growing exponentially as Jungkook cards his way through, and Taehyung follows. A rush of shame washes through him when the portman nods at Jungkook, shame and arousal because it’s obvious what they’re about to do, something that feels so wrong yet so right at the same time.  

The elevator is empty, but Jungkook doesn’t press him against the wall to kiss him or anything cliché like that. He doesn’t do that, but he doesn’t keep his eyes to himself though, Taehyung feels like he’s being undressed and ravished just by the way Jungkook is looking at him. It makes a rush of hot arousal pool to the base of his stomach, not at all used to anyone looking at him with such unbridled desire. Especially not a guy who is younger than him, a guy who looks the way Jungkook is, who lives in a fancy high-rise apartment like this. It’s almost as if Jungkook doesn’t just want him, he needs him, and that thought alone is sufficient to make his chest constrict around his heart that beats a little bit faster than it should.

Maybe Taehyung needs a little as well.

It’s only in the privacy of Jungkook’s flat, does all that lust, sexual tension, and arousal rise and overflow to the surface.

“Finally have you all to myself, Handsome,” Jungkook murmurs between kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his jaw. “Wanted you all night, since the moment I saw you.”

Taehyung gasps as he gets pressed to the door with a strong grip against his waist,  lips crashing against his own. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to nip at his bottom lip, seeking access which Taehyung readily gives him, their tongues roaming over each other in a way that’s both wet and filthy. He feels a ball of metal against his own tongue, groans when he realizes through a haze of heat and lust that Jungkook has a tongue piercing, and fuck if that’s not the hottest thing ever.

Jungkook tastes like the beer he had, bitter, but there’s also a tinge of sweetness to it. Something he shouldn’t notice, nor should he focus on when he’s with a one-night stand, but he can’t help it. He always notices everything, his eyes attuned to everything in his line of sight, dissecting and analyzing them till they start to make sense. A knack he’s never been able to turn off, can’t turn it off now when he’s being pressed against a door, mouth ravaged and dirty sweet nothings being pressed against his ear.

Jungkook doesn’t make sense to him, he can’t figure him out, and he’s not quite sure he wants to.

Taehyung lets Jungkook press wet kisses against the line of his throat, lets him leave bruises and hickeys that won’t fade for days with his pierced tongue, lets him do whatever he wants. He feels like Jungkook is trying to dominate him, but the way he clutches at Taehyung’s waist, bringing him closer like Taehyung is his anchor tells him it’s quite the opposite. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands though, it’s been so long since he’s ever been with anyone like this, so he just fastens them around Jungkook’s shoulders. One hand making its way to his wavy dark hair, even softer than it looks, fingers tangling between the black locks and making a mess of Jungkook’s immaculately styled hair.  

Damn, he feels like such a virgin right now. No, scratch that, he feels more like a virgin now than he did when he was having his first time. At least back then, he already had some experience with fooling around, so it wasn’t like he was fumbling around in the dark.

Jungkook’s eyes are hooded when he regards him, lips bitten red and glistening with spit, before he captures his lips again. Taehyung shudders, can’t help but bring him closer, take everything that Jungkook is willing to give him. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind his inexperience though, that or he doesn’t notice, pressing his hardness against Taehyung’s crotch. It makes Taehyung gasp, somehow he wasn’t expecting that, involuntarily rutting his own boner against him as he tugs on Jungkook’s hair again, eliciting a gasp from Jungkook in turn.

He breaks away to lean his forehead against Taehyung’s, both of them sweaty and breathless from doing nothing more than make out. Jungkook kisses his face though, peppers kisses on his cheeks, his ears, anywhere he can touch. It’s intimate, more than he expects out of sex with a stranger, with a stranger like Jungkook.

“You’re so perfect,” Jungkook whispers against his ear, before he bites it. “So hot.”

The praise makes Taehyung whimper, the innate desire to cover his face with his hands overwhelms him, but he can’t move. No, he can’t move when he’s basically pinned under Jungkook’s lust filled gaze.

It turns out that he doesn’t have to move at all, because Jungkook drops to his knees with an audible thud, hands roaming all over Taehyung’s chest and hips on his way down. He looks at Taehyung with wide eyes, eyes glimmering in the dim moonlight that illuminates the dark of Jungkook’s apartment.

“Can I blow you?” Jungkook asks, already kneading his nose against Taehyung’s crotch. Hands clutching his hips tightly, so needy.

“God, yes, please,” Taehyung says, nodding too fast. The words come out strangled, eager, and he dies a little bit inside at the way Jungkook laughs at him.

But then he’s taking his belt off, unbuttoning his slacks, and all rational thought flies out the window. The sound of the zipper coming down turns him on more than it should, but then Jungkook is nuzzling against his cock in his boxers right over the wet patch from where he’s been dripping pre-come, and he tries not to whimper. It gets even harder when he takes in the closed tip between his mouth, doesn’t fail to take his eyes off Taehyung the whole time. Piercing rolling over it teasingly, could swear that Jungkook would be smirking at him if his mouth wasn’t already preoccupied.

Yeah, his hand really hasn’t managed to feel anything like this.

Taking off his boxers, Jungkook groans when he sees his cock, and Taehyung thinks he’s blushing so hard he might just self-combust.

“You’re so big ,” Jungkook mumbles, kissing up the edge of his cock. The words go straight to his dick, twitching under Jungkook’s ministrations. “Fuck, I can’t wait till I have that in me.”

And then his mouth envelops his tip, and it takes all his willpower not to come right then and there. Especially with Jungkook having that stupid tongue piercing, rubs the ball over the slit, swallowing each drop of pre-come as it falls. He goes down on Taehyung, doesn’t hesitate to take him in as deeply as he can, his cheek bulging obscenely, and tears streaming down his cheeks. His mouth is so hot, so wet and tight, and it makes him groan with how much he wants to fuck into it.

Taehyung wants to touch, wants to push in further, the urge overwhelming him, but he doesn’t know if he should. If he’s allowed to. What’s the proper etiquette for a one-night stand anyway? He hesitates for a moment, before he lets his hand tangle in the messy long curls but doesn’t apply any pressure. He just wants to touch, something to anchor him, and the way Jungkook moans around his cock tells him that he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Wet sucking sounds fill the quiet of the room, along with the sounds of Taehyung’s gasps and Jungkook’s groans. It’s erotic, the sounds turning him on even more. His hair is so soft, he can’t help but tug, relishing the way Jungkook moans again. He’s so close, thinks he might just come as his balls start to tighten, but then Jungkook pulls away. He sucks at the tip one more time, catching the pre-come on his tongue. He trails the metal piercing against the side of his cock up to the frenulum, swallowing the stray drops of pre-come, before pulling off much to Taehyung’s disgruntlement. He wants to cry from being edged like this, was so close to coming, fuck.

“Jungkook, please,” Taehyung whispers.

He tightens his grasp on Jungkook’s hair, trying to bring Jungkook closer again, but Jungkook merely shakes his head much to Taehyung’s frustration. Jungkook’s lips are cherry red, and his eyes bloodshot as he shakily gets up. Taehyung bemoans the loss of warmth, was so close to coming, but then Jungkook is kissing him again and that calms him down a bit. He tastes himself on Jungkook’s tongue, salty and bitter, just like him. He doesn’t hate the taste.

“Hmm, I want you to fuck me instead,” Jungkook tells him, breaking away as he starts dragging Taehyung towards the direction of his room. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be able to get it up twice ‘cause you’re so old.”

“S’fine,” Taehyung replies breathlessly, not even caring for the jab Jungkook makes at his expense. He’s too horny, feels like his body is on fire with the want to come, to touch, to fuck, stumbling as he follows Jungkook through the darkness.

For once, Taehyung’s eyes aren’t on the surroundings, aren’t taking everything in and filing information away for later use. No, right now, Taehyung is fully present in the current moment. Engrossed in his lust and arousal, enamored by Jungkook, to pay much attention to anything else.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Jungkook flicks the light on by clapping his hands twice, and Taehyung is shocked by the luxury of it. The large maroon four poster bed, the floor to ceiling windows, the flat screen TV. It’s incredibly neat too, makes him wonder if it’s because Jungkook is a neat person or if he has a cleaning lady, he seems rich enough to have one.

His train of thought is cut off with Jungkook bounding back on him. He pushes him onto the bed, his back sinking into the plush mattress with a winded gasp. Taehyung barely has a moment to right himself, Jungkook climbing onto the bed to straddle his lap, Taehyung’s hands immediately wrapping around the small of Jungkook’s waist. An instinctual movement, Taehyung marvels at how small his waist is underneath his hands, or maybe his hands are just too big. Either way, it makes him feel a certain kind of way.

“Fuck, love your hands,” Jungkook says, grinding against Taehyung. “So big like your dick.”

The absolute filth falling from Jungkook’s mouth accompanied by the small movements elicits a breathless moan to fall from Taehyung’s lips. He watches helplessly, his hands tightening around Jungkook’s tiny waist as he grinds against him, throwing his head back in pleasure as he ruts his cock against Taehyung’s. Pleasure explodes under Taehyung’s skin despite the chafe of denim against his cock, feels so touch starved, and the visual Jungkook gives him is quite possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Flushed cheeks, blown out eyes, mussed up wavy hair exposing a very sexy undercut underneath. His shirt is askew too, three more buttons have somehow been undone to expose more dark ink and a toned chest that makes Taehyung’s mouth water. The desire to see, to touch, to mark overwhelming him.

“Want to see you, Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers, voice hoarse.

“Then do something about it, Handsome,” Jungkook challenges, lip curling in amusement.

The connotation behind his words is obvious, Jungkook resting languidly in Taehyung’s lap, with no intention to move. A whole brat is what Jungkook is, apparently, though Taehyung must admit that he enjoys it more than he should. With fumbling hands, Taehyung moves his too big hands to Jungkook’s chest, fingers shaking ever so slightly as he pushes each button out of its hole. With each button of his red shirt unbuttoned, another piece of Jungkook’s inked chest is revealed, Taehyung’s touch lingering longer each time. Entranced, captivated, Taehyung feels his pulse quicken and his cock throb underneath Jungkook. It almost feels like Taehyung is uncovering the missing puzzle pieces, placing them together to form a gorgeous image, one he couldn’t look away from even if he tried.

Once Taehyung has finished unbuttoning his shirt, pushes the shirt over Jungkook’s shoulders, all the while unable to meet the dark expression on Jungkook’s face. Can’t bear to see the desire written all over his face reflected at him in Jungkook’s pretty dark eyes. Jungkook helps him out, however, by shimmying himself out of his skintight jeans to reveal creamy white thick thighs. Like this, Jungkook sits confident in Taehyung’s lap, like a prince sitting on his throne, a beautiful image of sin that sears itself to the back of Taehyung’s eyelids and dries the words from his tongue.

Because Jungkook is a very attractive man, covered in tattoos and tight corded muscle that could have only been gained through years of constant working out. He doesn’t really have the presence of mind to take in the intricacies of his body art, though he sees enough to tell they’ve done with excellent detail and craftmanship. He particularly likes the tattoo on his chest, right above his heart, of an hourglass – a time turner maybe – that has ‘My Time’ written underneath it in loopy letters.

He’s also got a lot of scars, most of them old and scabbed over, but some of them are fresh. He just barely catches a hint of them underneath the tattoos, the black ink doing a good job of covering them up, but the scar tissue catches Taehyung’s eye regardless. Mostly because there’s so many of them, his whole body covered in them. It makes him wonder, wonder where they came from, hopes that it’s nothing along the lines of an abusive relationship but it’s not his place to pry.

“Take a picture, it might last longer,” Jungkook smirks at him. “Though that might be a tad too kinky for our first time.”

The words make Taehyung recoil in embarrassment, even if they don’t have the desired cocky effect they should. Jungkook’s words falling short when his face is so flushed, cock flushed red and twitching, his eyes fluttering as he regards him.

“Maybe I will,” Taehyung muses, trying for praise. Trying to play it off so he doesn’t sound as affected as he is, like he can be smooth too, rather than an old man struggling to keep up. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes.”

“Fuck, you can’t say stuff like that,” Jungkook whines, straddling him properly.

He’s totally naked now save for his boxers while Taehyung is still mostly dressed, but he doesn’t mind that much when Jungkook kisses him again. The kiss is wet, deep, but short. He pulls off quickly to reach in his bedside drawer, grabbing the lube and a condom. He takes off his boxers, his cock bouncing against his abdomen, so hard and basically dripping.

Taehyung licks his lips, because maybe he wants to taste that too.

Jungkook reaches for the lube, generously dropping what seems to be a third of the bottle over his own fingers, before he bites his lip and shakes his head. He grabs Taehyung’s hand, slathering his fingers with cold lube, and he looks at him quizzically.

“I want you to prep me, Handsome, you have really nice hands,” Jungkook tells him, moving to lie down next to him.

“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you?” Taehyung grumbles.

“Not a bad thing to know how to ask for what I want,” Jungkook tells him.

Taehyung flushes with warmth, feeling very much out of his depth as he sits up, fumbling as he takes in Jungkook in all his naked glory. He doesn’t seem shy at all, as he opens his legs for him, everything on display for Taehyung to see. Well, he does seem to be preening under his gaze, makes Taehyung wonder what kind of depraved expression must be on his face.

He really does want him so bad, even if he’s bad at sex talk and all that, still feels very much out of his depth. He feels bad because he knows Jungkook went for him, assuming he has heaps of experience, when really he’s just trying to utilize hazy memories of his sexcapades from his early twenties and teens as a reference.

Hesitantly, he parts Jungkook’s legs, brushing his fingers over his cock lightly – taking pleasure in the way it twitches under his touch. He then moves to his hole, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it, feels it clench. Steadily, he applies more pressure before he lets his index finger breach him. Jungkook’s breath hitches, but Taehyung ignores him, moving his finger in till the knuckle. He’s tight around him, so tight, makes him wonder how he’ll even manage to fuck him. He hopes the stretching out phase is enough, doesn’t want to hurt him, not something he’s into.

He thrusts that finger in until Jungkook becomes pliant under his touch, flustered and borderline whiny. “Another, please.”

And so he complies, ignoring his own arousal, his own cock that’s dripping over Jungkook’s sheets. He gives him another, moving them similarly, before he starts to scissor them so he can stretch him out properly. That seems to be good, because Jungkook becomes more vocal then, staring at him with watery eyes. He moves his fingers methodically, looking for that spot, the one he knows made his partners see stars. His fingers graze against it, just briefly, but the way Jungkook tenses tells him he’s found it.

“Right there, hah, keep going,” Jungkook encourages him, shuddering and falling apart under his touch. Hair sticks to his forehead, sweaty and flushed, body tensing as Taehyung obliges him and repeatedly brushes his fingers against the same spot. “Hmm, feels good.”

Taehyung nods, angling all his thrusts there, giving him a third finger for better effect, and Jungkook stifles his moans with his hand. Taehyung thinks he likes the sound of Jungkook’s unchecked pleasure more, airy and light, sounds like a song he’d want to put on repeat and would never get sick of.

“Enjoying yourself?” Taehyung quirks his eyebrow.

Jungkook nods, clenching around Taehyung’s fingers, and that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. “Too much honestly. Move or I’m gonna come without being able to sit on your monster cock first.”

Taehyung nods, moving his hands back, before Jungkook pushes him back so that he’s lying down. He tugs at Taehyung’s shirt so he can take it off, and he really knows he shouldn’t take it off, but he’s so far gone in his lust that he lets Jungkook undress him with hasty hands. So far gone in his need to please Jungkook the way he wants to be pleased. In the need to fill that void in his chest, and right now, that emptiness is the last thing on his mind.

Jungkook moves his hands all over his chest, over his nipples, over his scars because he has a lot of those, too. It comes with his line of work, fighting villains all the time, saving people from all kinds of mortal danger ranging from burning buildings to high stake hostage situations – he won’t always get away unscathed. Jungkook regards him with an unreadable expression, but he doesn’t seem to mind his scars, just presses a featherlight kiss to the rather large one on his shoulder. The one he got five years ago, when he was facing off against a NEXT with a cloning ability, a fight he was fairly sure he wouldn’t make out of alive.

“Pretty,” Jungkook finally says, the only thing he says before he rips the condom packet open with his teeth. Deftly, he places it over Taehyung, lubes him up before he slowly starts to lower himself on Taehyung’s cock.

Fuck, if he thinks about it, this is the first time anyone has ever rode him.

Once he’s bottomed out, Jungkook lets out a breathy sigh, waiting a moment to adjust before he starts moving. That moment feels like a whole eternity to Taehyung, Jungkook is so tight around him, makes him want so badly to just thrust up into that warmth. Chase the orgasm that he’s been on the precipice of for so long, even before Jungkook got down on his knees for him probably.

But then he starts moving, and Taehyung is quite sure he feels his soul leave his body. His thighs are so muscular and he watches them flex a bit with each movement, with each time he lifts him up slightly only to go back down. He seems to be looking for that spot that made him whine so much, the one that made him teary, or maybe he’s just feeling himself – Taehyung doesn’t really mind.

“Fuck, I feel so full,” Jungkook slurs, bottoming out again.

It’s a pretty image that Jungkook makes; flushed, sweaty, hair sticking to his temple and his cock bobbing against his stomach, leaking precome on Taehyung’s softer stomach. The noises he makes are even better, the whimpers, the praise he gives Taehyung as he fucks himself on Taehyung’s cock.

It makes him feel good, that he’s pleasing such a pretty boy this way, gives him an ego boost. He hopes he doesn’t get addicted to the way this feels, knows this is just for one night, but he can’t help but love the way this feels. How nice it feels to be praised and wanted instead of being treated as a has been joke.

Taehyung places his hands on his small waist, suggestive, but too hesitant to do anything assertive. It makes Jungkook go faster though, makes him move until he finds his own prostate, and starts cursing out expletives. He keeps on going faster, trying to find that same spot again, and Taehyung lets him use him because it feels too good to complain.

“Tae – Taehyung, I can’t, help me,” Jungkook whines, his legs seemingly giving out on him as he just starts to grind and clench on his cock.

“It’s okay, it’s fine, let me take care of you,” Taehyung tells him, rubbing his hand over his back in soothing circles.

It only makes Jungkook clench again, generally turned on by any small touch or movement, and Taehyung can’t blame him because he’s the same. Still, he feels himself get pushed closer and closer over the edge each time he does that, Jungkook already being so tight as it is.

Taehyung shudders, as he shifts their positions so that Jungkook’s back is pressed to the bed and he’s caging him in. He doesn’t look so big and intimidating anymore like this, just needy and high on lust and desire as Taehyung fucks him into the bed. Fingers brushing against Jungkook’s nipples, pert and so enticing, and the high moan Jungkook lets out and his delectable thighs wrapping around his waist when he does, tells Taehyung that he just found one of Jungkook’s erogenous zones. He likes the idea of finding out how Jungkook ticks piece by piece, taking him apart only to pull him together again. Flicks his finger against his nipple, pushing Jungkook further off the edge, finding pleasure in the way Jungkook clenches around him and his eyes roll back. He brings Taehyung close to kiss him again, or tries to kiss him anyway, it’s more like two mouths panting against each other.

“Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.”

The words seem to be whispered in a mantra, one Jungkook isn’t totally aware of, so lost in his own overwhelming lust and pleasure to notice the words falling from his mouth. Taehyung notices, though, the first time his name has ever been used in such a way. Loves the shape of Jungkook’s lips around his name, the taste of his name on Jungkook’s lips, wants to commit them both to memory forever. Makes that simmering heat of arousal in the base of his stomach boil over and consume him entirely.

Moving in a way that feels right, Taehyung keeps going till he’s hitting Jungkook’s prostate on each thrust, and Jungkook is mewling his name underneath him. Each time he bottoms out, Jungkook clenches around him, makes him breathless and so close to coming. He can tell Jungkook is close too if the way he’s so teary, head thrown back, with his hair splayed out over the pillow is any indication.

Reaching between them, Taehyung wraps his hand around Jungkook’s cock, finds it difficult to coordinate his thrusts with his hand. But then one particularly hard thrust, causes Jungkook to moan, digging his fingers into his shoulders as he comes all over his hand – staining both of their stomachs white.

Taehyung would like to say that it’s the way that Jungkook clenches around him, or how far gone he is, having had wanted to come for so long that finally pushes him over the edge but no. It’s really none of that, it’s just the way Jungkook brings him closer in an embrace. And then, “ Taehyung, ”, a broken whisper in his ear as Jungkook starts to be overwhelmed with overstimulation.

It’s that way that he holds him like he’s something special, the way he says his name in the throes of pleasure – a name nobody has called him by in years – that makes him come with a gasp in the crook of his neck. His orgasm hits him like a punch to the stomach, winds him, but feels so good. He fucks into him once, twice, three more times before he finally pulls out. Jungkook groans at the emptiness, but otherwise doesn’t whine much as he curls on his side.

Taehyung luckily finds a trash can right by the bed, throws the used condom in that before he turns back to Jungkook. He also grabs a few tissues to wipe off himself and Jungkook, something Jungkook seems to appreciate because he’s acting like he won’t be able to move an inch for the next year to come. He looks so tired, but also blissful, sighing as he regards Taehyung blearily as he wipes the come off his stomach. It makes Taehyung wonder what should be said, if there isn’t anything to be said at all and maybe he should just leave, after all that’s what one-night stands do, right?

“Thank you,” Jungkook says, wrapping his hand around Taehyung’s in an odd act of kindness. His hands look so different from his, tattooed and nails painted black, contrasted against Taehyung’s pale slender fingers.

“For what?” Taehyung asks.

“You wouldn’t get it but thank you. It was really nice, you were really nice,” Jungkook tells him. He bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before he continues, “Stay the night, please?”

Taehyung has a gut feeling that staying the night is a bad idea, that he’ll get far too attached to this younger pretty boy that he’ll never see again, that it will make saying goodbye in the morning even more difficult. That whatever temporary feeling of completeness he felt will rebound on him, making him feel even emptier than before as he starts to complicate things by getting his heart involved.

“I thought – I thought you’d want me to leave,” Taehyung says, spinning it back on Jungkook. An easy tactic, to project his own concerns on someone else, that way they’re the ones jumping to the defensive instead of offensive.

“No, I don’t like being alone after sex,” Jungkook tells him, cheeks tinging red with the exposed vulnerability. “Makes me crash, in a bad way.”

Taehyung, sap that he is, nods. He concedes to Jungkook’s request even if it’ll make him hurt in the long run, chalks it up to the selflessness that comes along with being a hero. It’s easier to chalk it up to that than the selfishness of wanting to hold Jungkook, a warm body to fill his heart with warmth, to make him feel a little less alone.

The lights go out with another clap, engulfing them in darkness, leaving Taehyung with his thoughts.

“Goodnight, Handsome,” Jungkook mumbles, voice thick with sleep and fatigue. He wraps an arm around Taehyung, bringing him close enough to his chest that Jungkook could probably hear his heart hammering in his chest if he strained his ears enough. “Thank you again for staying.”

“’Night, Bunny,” Taehyung can’t resist using the nickname in turn.

He’s not sure if Jungkook heard him, if he registered the nickname or not, but the small snore that vibrates against his chest tells him that he didn’t. Already out like a night light.

So Taehyung starts to think. Thoughts revolving around his life, how sated he feels right now, the pretty boy in his arms. It’s his first time sleeping next to anyone in years, and he forgot how nice it felt, how a warm body could ward off all the bad thoughts.

Sleep usually doesn’t come easily to him, insomnia being one of his worst enemies, but the light snores permeating the air cause a light ambient sound to purge the silence that befalls them. He likes it, makes it easy to sync his breathing to Jungkook’s, and his eyes start to droop.

He thinks about leaving, that he’s done his part by staying with Jungkook till he’s fallen asleep, but he’s too tired for that now. Bones heavy like lead, eyes drooping, too blissed out from having what was probably the best sex of his life. He wraps his arm around Jungkook tighter, vowing to himself that he’ll leave in the morning, before his heart starts to make a big deal out of this.

But for now, he’ll let himself have this rare moment of tenderness before he has to go back to the real world with all its sobering cruelty.

Before he knows it, sleep claims him easily for the first time in months.

⚜️

Taehyung wakes up at the crack of dawn, a tattooed arm thrown around his waist, the weight of a stranger pressed against his chest as he snores away blissfully because it’s too soon for anyone to be awake yet. It’s not all that surprising to Taehyung that he woke up now, suffocated by the cocoon of warmth that Jungkook has swathed him in. That and the gentle sound of Jungkook’s snores, soothing in its own way. The sound of Seoul waking up to face a new day of work and urban life streaming through the windows, the life outside bustling on while Taehyung had put his on pause for one night to escape, is quite stifling on the other hand.

The sounds are faint, not like the loud hammering noises he’s used to in his dingy flat, but they still grate on his nerves. Remind him that his stint of escapism is over, that a new day has come, and last night is over. Whatever temporary happiness and lightness he felt last night have left him feeling empty again, the crash after the rush, and he’s starting to feel the weight of it on his chest. Asphyxiates him, makes it harder to breathe.  

Sex with Jungkook, as amazing as it may have been, might have filled that void inside for a little bit but it only left him feeling emptier in the light of day. Maybe because he knows it’s a feeling he won’t be able to experience again, not unless he starts to use people as a crutch to achieve it, which isn’t an idea that sits well with him. He’s already too dependent on alcohol as it is. Still, he chest fills with loss, or maybe sex as a coping mechanism isn’t all that it’s cut out to be.

Either way, he knows he has to leave, preferably before Jungkook wakes up.

Gingerly, Taehyung edges out from underneath his arm, ignoring Jungkook’s mewl of disgruntlement. He tries not to look at him as he picks up his clothes, discarded around the room carelessly, but it doesn’t exactly work for long. He can’t help it, can’t help but regard Jungkook’s peaceful sleeping face, shifting to grab Taehyung’s pillow to hold now that Taehyung is gone instead. An act that would be considered endearing if not for the way his muscles flex too as he does so, makes Taehyung swallow, because he’s never felt tattoos look so attractive on a person before last night.

Jungkook looks serene in the early morning light, makes Taehyung’s chest fill with an emotion reminiscent to yearning, but he ignores it. It’s a useless emotion, so he nips it in the bud, because he doesn’t need to get carried away with senseless thoughts and memories.

Because that’s all Jungkook will ever be, a memory.

Quietly, he deftly puts on his sweater again, puts on his underwear and slacks. He can’t find his socks, but they don’t really matter anyway, he’s never particularly liked them. As long as he has his loafers, he’ll be fine.

He’s just about to leave the room, casting one last glance at Jungkook before he leaves, startles when he sees that his eyes are open. Jungkook’s eyes are open, must have been watching him for a while now, quiet for once rather than cocky and teasing.

Taehyung’s heart plummets to his stomach, he feels incredibly awkward all of a sudden, doesn’t know how to deal with the unreadable expression on Jungkook’s face. His dark eyes seem to bore right into his soul too, and he doesn’t like it. It’s fine for him to leave, he reminds himself, it’s not like Jungkook had any different ideas about how their night would pan out. A one-night stand, that’s all this is.

“You’ve been awake for a while?” Taehyung asks.

“Since before you woke up,” Jungkook tells him, voice still hoarse.

Figures since he sucked him off so eagerly last night, the visuals filling his head, which he tries and fails to bat away. It’s hard, especially because he knows Jungkook is still naked underneath that blanket.

Weird, Taehyung was never one for depraved thoughts, but apparently Bunny brought that side out of him.

“Didn’t sleep much then, did you?” Taehyung questions, polite yet painfully awkward.

“Insomnia – I fall asleep easily but can’t sleep through the night. Nightmares mostly,” Jungkook elaborates, sitting up to lean against the bed frame.

Taehyung is the opposite – falling asleep, that’s always the hardest part. Getting his head to shut up, the voices so loud and screaming at him, his heart beating too fast as he tries to calm himself down. Usually, he needs his jazz music and a few glasses of wine to get there, a bit of an alcoholic at this point, but it’s the only thing that works for him anymore.

Apparently, that and sex with Jungkook, but he already has enough bad addictions in his life at this point.

 He doesn’t tell him any of that though, because sharing information about himself with Jungkook doesn’t matter, what he knows and what he doesn’t – this is just all polite small talk to accelerate Taehyung to leaving through the front door.

“Sorry about that, hope you didn’t have any nightmares though,” Taehyung tells him sympathetically.

“Not any that I remember,” Jungkook smiles, splaying his fingers out.

He doesn’t really look that cocky in the morning light anymore, not with the first rays of sunlight streaming through the large ceiling to floor windows to illuminate Jungkook’s frame with its gentle light, wavy hair falling messily over his cheeks. Rather than the charming heart breaker he came across as last night, Jungkook looks soft. It makes him wonder how much of last night was just a front he put on to pick up strangers and how much of it was real.

Soft isn’t the right word, Taehyung surmises, he looks lost. Well, that’s Taehyung judging by the way he fidgets with his fingers and avoids eye contact.

 “Are you leaving?” Jungkook implores quietly.

“Um, yes,” Taehyung replies, doesn’t know why he feels guilty. It’s a one-night stand, there’s literally nothing he should be feeling guilty about.

Yet, everything about this moment feels so wrong, his mouth tasting like ash and his heart sinking heavily in his chest like stone.

“Right,” Jungkook tells him. He starts fidgeting more, wringing his hands, biting his lip – all tells that he’s struggling with something, nervous tics that betray hesitation. “Would you – would you want to – never mind, it’s stupid.”

Taehyung already knows what the question is, can piece it together from his hesitation, but he’s not sure how to answer it. So he doesn’t, he plays dumb, avoids it altogether like he always does whenever anything is just the slightest bit complicated. Pushes it away, pretends it doesn’t exist, until it rises to the surface to strangle him.

“Goodbye, Bunny,” Taehyung whispers, ignoring the twinge of pain in his chest.

Jungkook frowns, but nods, because that clearly wasn’t the answer he wanted. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like the nickname that Taehyung gave him.

“Bye, Handsome,” he mumbles, trying at a half smile that comes out as more of a grimace.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for Taehyung’s reply, turning to lie back down under the covers, obscuring himself from Taehyung. It’s his way of showing that the conversation is over, that their interaction with each other has ended here, and it stings even though that was the only natural resolution to this conversation.

Taehyung leaves, pointedly ignoring looking at any of Jungkook’s décor or how lavish and nice his flat looks, doesn’t want to analyze him anymore than he already has. He leaves, takes the elevator down alone, and tries not to feel too ashamed as the portman’s heavy yet silent gaze follows him out of the building.

His chest aches, making him feel like he’s left a piece of his heart behind in Jungkook’s flat, but that’s just the old romantic in him talking.

So he does what he always does best, he ignores it, and blends in with the morning Seoul rush hour. Ignores everything as he goes to the closest liquor store he can find, buys a bottle of wine, downs it all with the hope that he can blur out the memory of Jungkook and his captivating eyes and touches. Ignores it by sleeping so he could forget the memories of Jungkook whispering his name in his ear the same way he would to a lover, the way nobody else has before.

He ignores the possibility that maybe there could have been more, that Jungkook was delusional enough to want more with someone like him, but Taehyung had resolutely slammed that door in his face.

Taehyung ignores everything, does quite a phenomenal job of failing at it, but he carries on with his life and that’s what matters.