Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jungkook uses the word "love" like a secret weapon, an expression that carries the weight of jest and friendship. He tosses it into the conversation carelessly, enjoying the ripples it causes on Taehyung's face.

In one moment, his tone is drenched in playful superiority, and in another, his voice turns sour, all playfulness draining from it, until scorn is the only thing he means by that word.

It starts as a jest and a jibe. It's only that, a secret weapon Jungkook wields carelessly. And then, as if gravity shifts, Jungkook slips. It's when the word "love" sheds its old intention, becoming a confession wrapped in a single word.

x

A passing bus disturbs a couple of thin branches as it speeds by a tree. The engine of the vehicle sounds under the cloudy night sky; the sound of it drums inside the head of a man who is standing at the front of the bus aisle. A bunch of heavy-eyed college kids are blinking at him, their heavy lids lowering over the bloodshot orbs as they struggle to keep up with his monologue.

He is tall and well-built, a gray-bearded gentleman with no hair on his head and a permanent scowl on his wrinkly face. He calls himself "Coach," a nickname that's stuck so long that people have forgotten his birth name, and sometimes even he himself forgets that he didn't always go by it.

A flash of street lighting illuminates the man’s face every time the bus speeds by. The faint light pours over his features at even intervals, illuminating the deep frown that emerges from the darkness before being swallowed up by it again.

Coach scowls in the middle of his theatrical speech, telling The Busan Sharks about the whereabouts of their roguish teammate. 

The man already narrated the naughty tale of Mingyu, who dared to carry funny smoke in his bag, and now, he was in the middle of reporting the story of the missing point guard.

Silence prevails, only to be suddenly shattered. A surge of cheers erupts, crashing like a tide at Coach's very feet. He sighs, a mix of disappointment and mild frustration etching his expression, as he observes his team's exuberant outburst. A bunch of spirited students, certainly talented individuals - there's no denying that - but such enthusiasm won't shield them from the rigorous training that awaits come Monday's practice.

"Alright, alright," he waves his hand dismissively. "Well, these players have just earned all of you a practice session exclusively dedicated to suicides! I'm sure you're thrilled about that, Jaehyun."

Jaheyun startles, whining, "What’d I do?"

The older man scoffs, ignoring the shooting guard's sulking.

He has greater worries at the moment. The biggest worry is none other than Jeon Jungkook. He was supposed to be crowned the best player of the Daejeon Winter Tournament, but the bastard was busy elsewhere - this particular gentleman had his hands full with two brunettes and a blonde, so yes, Jeon Jungkook, born and raised in Busan, was quite busy and therefore missed the ceremony.

"Jungkook," the man drones, summoning the boy's mischievous gaze, "Keep it in your pants, boy."

"Least he's getting some action," Jaehyun gripes, and another chorus of laughter engulfs Coach. He releases a disappointed sigh, watching every face contort into infuriating smirks. His disapproving eyes leisurely traverse from one countenance to the next, until, tucked within the shadows of the farthest corner, in the deepest obscurity, he glimpses a wisp of black hair peeking out behind a seat. "That boy," the man murmurs softly, before diverting his gaze from the hunched rookie who seldom engages with anyone on the team. Though, they do engage with him, it's just that the boy is forever engrossed in gaming on his blasted cell phone.

Kim Taehyung, just like Coach's likeness, is not laughing; somehow the boy does not even notice the chaos unfolding around him. Coach wishes the boy would join his rowdy teammates, fit in, and be normal.

But that boy is none of his businesses.

As he settles back into his seat, Coach reminds himself he can't save everyone. Not that Kim Taehyung needs saving; it seems like the boy needs a push, a big one. 

As for the rest of the Busan Sharks, some need a muzzle, and others need a leash; Coach muses while looking at them over the edge of his seat, only his eyes visible.

In the midst of his piercing stare at Jaehyun, Coach's eyes unexpectedly lock onto Jeon Jungkook's. The boy, in Coach's discerning view, requires both a muzzle and a leash. A frown etches Coach's face- a blend of annoyance and an unexpected sense of pride. This one, seemingly polite and charming, hides a layer of cunning and selfishness, rendering him a perilous presence.

Jungkook grins.

Ah, here we go, the older man rolls his eyes as he turns around.

Jungkook's grin widens. He doesn't relish annoying the Coach, but he excels at being a troublemaker. Or struggles with being virtuous. It's just the way things unfold - never intentional, never a planned objective. Some things just are; like Daejeon babes being game, and him being down for it. 

"How'd you pull three chicks?" Jaehyun hisses.

Evading a direct response, Jungkook cockily winks as he twists his body to get a vision of the back of the bus, where he knows Kim Taehyung is. "Maybe if you weren't such an ugly motherfucker," he tosses back with a carefree grin, unresponsive to Jaehyun's impatient elbow jab. Without granting Jaehyun eye contact, Jungkook remains engrossed, fixated on glimpsing Taehyung, who is hunched over something; well, his cell phone.

Everyone is well aware of Taehyung's inclination for mobile games.

And berets. 

Jungkook is oddly fascinated by the impressive collection, strangely endeared by how they look atop Taehyung's fluffy hair. The younger boy appears somewhat mystical with the round cap, as if he belongs in a dreamy cartoon - truly fascinating. Jungkook can't explain why he's so interested in this boy.

Must be the berets. And that silly addiction to mobile games.

Jaehyun punches him, muttering a sharp, "Fuck off," and Jungkook obliges. Literally. He clambers over Jaehyun, the same grin plastered on his face.

"Where are you going?" the other boy hisses, voice tight as Jungkook accidentally elbows him.

"On my way to annoy Taehyung," he tosses back over his shoulder.

"He's like mute or whatever."

Jungkook brushes off the remark, striding down the aisle toward where Taehyung is seated, sharing earphones with Jimin, who spots him before he can reach them.

Taehyung, on the other hand, doesn’t acknowledge him.

"What do you want?" Jimin drones unimpressed, lips curling into a sardonic smile.

"Change seats with me," he demands.

Jimin leans back in his seat, a pompous expression clouding his sharp features as he moves dramatically in a blatant display of wanting to be more comfortable. "I don't think I will," he announces petulantly.

"I am not asking," Jungkook leans closer, one hand reaching out behind Jimin's head to clutch the back seat, lips almost grazing Jimin's ear, and then he inhales sharply, "I am begging you. C'mon, Jimin. I want to have a chat with the lil' one there, see how he's doing, and stuff."

Jungkook's eyes dart over to Taehyung's bent figure, naively hoping that he's finally caught the younger boy's attention, but Taehyung is still staring at that damned device.

Jungkook frowns and Jimin snickers, "Oh, he’s so eager to have a chat with you, Jungkook," the point guard's eyes hood when he looks back at Jimin, who is, to Jungkook’s dismay, still speaking, "You know what? Here, I'll grant you your wish. I mean, I really do enjoy this, you know? You sulking because a goddamn freshman is not giving you attention," he says, standing up and pushing Jungkook in the process. "Have a blast." And then he is gone.

He sighs before looking down at Taehyung, who is still slamming his fingers over the glowing screen. Jungkook grins when he sits down next to the boy. 

"Whatcha got there?" he leans closer, his shoulder bumping into Taehyung's, disturbing him slightly. The boy grunts, but other than that, he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

The older boy frowns.

"Taehyung," he calls sternly, "Won't you look at me? Hyung wants to talk to you."

"I'm playing," the boy dismisses. 

Right. Jungkook sighs as he sits back in his seat, settling for watching Taehyung play his game.

The boy is a whisper in the bustling world, the kind of person who walks through life on their tippy toes, whose presence leaves an imprint so gentle it could easily be forgotten. Only Taehyung is a little too endearing to be overlooked by his teammates and other students. He is shy, and at times it's painful both for him and everyone around him, but he is still so loved. It took him two months to charm so many people with his humility and cartoon eyes that never stop wondering. He is curious, has a penchant for staring, and when caught, he blushes so prettily it's impossible to stay indiferent.

For Jungkook, avoiding him is impossible, and the same holds true for the cheer team and even a couple of exchange students from Japan. It's strange how people gravitate towards him, despite his small presence in corners, always quiet, always silent. The boy is incredibly shy - so much so that he can't undress in front of other players. This shyness shapes every bond he forms into something quiet and seemingly one-sided.

Initially, Jungkook misunderstood him, thinking Taehyung believed he was bigger than the world, above everyone else. It wasn't until Coach paired them up for an exercise that Jungkook realized he had been so wrong about him. Taehyung is a whisper in a bustling world, he goes through life on his tippy toes, but when in the embrace of acceptance, he is warm and endearing. 

Still, coaxing Taehyung always seems necessary.

As the screen flashes with big red letters reading LOSER, Taehyung groans in frustration, only to yelp when Jungkook snaps the phone from his hands. The younger boy tries to recover it from Jungkook's sticky fingers. "Hyung!" he scoffs, "Give it back."

"I'm feeling needy," Jungkook grins, pocketing the phone into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Taehuyng stares at it, his mouth opening and closing helplessly. 

"Please?"

"No," Jungkook laghs, "Didn't you hear me? I'm needy, entertain me." 

The little guy stares, stunned. For a moment, Jungkook fears he crossed a line, so he hurries to pacify him, saying, "Want to listen to music?"

It's not exactly what he had in mind, but Taehyung needs some coaxing and Jungkook can be patient.

Sharing earphones, a gesture Jungkook hasn't done in years, feels strangely satisfying. For some reason, he likes the idea of doing this with Taehyung.

"Any wishes?" he asks the younger as he plugs the earphones into his own phone, still keeping Taehyung's phone in his front pocket.

"Um, no, I don't know."

"How about some Frank Ocean?"

"I like Frank Ocean." Taehyung murmurs, glancing at Jungkook curiously.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by darkness and the shared music in their ears, Tehyung and Jungkook find themselves in a world of their own. Rows of their teammates are tucked away in slumber, leaving an atmosphere of tranquility. The melody becomes a bridge between them, a fragile connection that has Taehyung relaxing in his seat, and in that moment, Jungkook feels the boy sinking into the seat where they touch side by side. When Taehuyng leans against the window, Jungkook shifts slightly so the earbud doesn't slip from the younger boy's ear with the movement. The boy doesn't look at him, but he smiles to himself. Jungkook studies his profile - the elegant slope of his nose, his fluttering lashes, then, he fouces on his own heart pulsating only a little faster.

"Is that Michale Cera on your lockscreen?"

"Huh? Oh," he says through a yawn, "Yeah. He's fabulous."

Taehyung only nods.

"Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is my favorite movie. One of." he elaborates as he laughs.

"Oh," Taehyung tilts his head, "At least it's not Fight Club. Or American Psycho."

"What's wrong with Fight Club and American Psycho?"

"Nothing. They're great," Taehuyng mumbles, looking away. Jungkook finds it hilarious how little Taehyung says.

"No, tell me."

"It's," he shifts awkwardly, and under the muted glow of the overhead light, he still looks good, "It's nothing. I don't know why I said that."

"You're an oddball," Jungkook grins.

As the bus continues its journey through the night, Jungkook lets the rhythm of the music lull him to sleep. His mind is slowly losing its focus, picturing things that challenge reality. It is when none of his thoughts are logical anymore, just a ghost of wit, that he feels Taehyung shuffling, and the last thing he remembers is music stopping, and the earbud being pulled out of his ear.

A thick bead of sweat rolls down Jungkook's temple. He is completely drenched in sweat, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and the thin shirt is sticking to his skin. True to his word, Coach had subjected them to a relentless cycle of suicides for a full hour and a half. Their limbs hang heavy, knees trembling, and thighs quaking. Yet, the predominant feeling is one of monotony, an unshakable boredom that gnaws at them. Seojoon, their captain, attempted to convince the coach to shift their focus, to work on strategies and practice new moves they hadn't yet incorporated into official games. However, Coach's response was a blatant dismissal, his voice rising above Seojoon's, berating the team with unyielding fervor.

Jungkook is short of breath. His legs feel like lead as he maneuvers his fatigued body down the corridor toward the locker room. The damp shirt clings uncomfortably, prompting him to peel it off his skin. His body feels sticky, exuding an unpleasant odor shared by his teammates. The mere notion of the cold water's embrace, rinsing away the pooled sweat nestled within every contour of his body, already provides solace to his aching muscles.

All of his teammates are in a similar state of undress. Everyone except for Taehyung. Most of the newcomers initially shy away from using the changing room showers, but with time, they outgrow that hesitation. Jungkook never had that specific qualm – he's always been a bit shameless, perhaps more so than the average person. Still, he comprehends why the newcomers opt to wait until the changing room clears out. Yet, it's been nearly three months, and Taehyung's fingers still quiver whenever the moment to change in their presence arises. The boy consistently lingers, engrossing himself in inconsequential tasks, attempting to elongate the span before the changing room empties somewhat. 

"Just take a shower, Taehyung."

"I'll take it home."

"Nothing we haven't seen before," he says without looking at the younger boy.

"You haven't seen me naked." 

Jungkook spares him a glance over his shoulder, a little surprised by the outburst. And he is glad he has. Because Taehyung is huffing and puffing with his arms crossed over his chest, a bit bashful and surprised at the brassiness of his own words.

"Suit yourself, love," he shrugs, thoroughly enjoying how Taehyung momentarily freezes upon hearing the endearment. Jungkook has taken to using such terms beyond their usual context, so it happens naturally, a product of habit without any real intention behind it. Yet, as he observes Taehyung's slightly awkward exit through the door, Jungkook is certain he'll find himself using that term more often.

"Stop messing with him," Seojoon warns.

Jungkook blinks. "I am not messing with him. I'm just," he trails off, "talking."He settles.

"Okay, well," Seojoon starts matter-of-factly, reaching for his briefs, "Don't be a cheeky prick, then."

"Whatever," Jungkook snorts.

Seojoon sighs as he pulls his briefs on; the waistband snaps around his hips, and he adds, "Seriously, Yoongi mentioned he's... anxious. Deals with anxiety, you know. The point is, he's on the sensitive side."

"Yoongi is such a gent for pointing out the obvious," someone snickers from the side.

The flickering fluorescent lights cast an uneven glow on the Busan Sharks. The air hangs heavy, thick with sudden tension, as Jimin's voice slices through it, "And if I point out to your girlfriend that you had a sleepover at Sohye's, I'll be the bad guy."

A collective chortle rings in the locker room, and the mouthy second-year spluters as the embarrassment washes over him. Mingyu pats him on the shoulder, no real sympathy behind it, he's simply taunting the other, and the guy knows it as he shrugs Mingyu's hand off with a glare.

"It's called ribbing," he grits, and before Jimin can interject further, Seojoon cuts through their exchange.

"It was rude," he sighs, "Be a good sport and take it back." Seojoon halts before the young boy, his hip jutting out as his eyes prompt the response he expects.

"Jesus. Fine. I take it back."

As the tension gradually ebbs away, Jimin turns to Jungkook, lowering his voice, "Since you're so desperate to talk to the lil' one and see how he's doing," he says, sounding snobby as he speaks, "At least you could do is defend him when dickheads get mouthy behind his back."

"I didn't think what he said was that terrible," Jungkook counters, matching the hushed tone in Jimin's voice.

Jimin's eyes hold firm, searching, "My bad then," he retorts, raising an eyebrow with a touch of attitude, before he exits the locker room.