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On a brisk Wednesday evening, forty minutes or so before dusk, rain pours down on the city. Dripping from the edges of street signs and colourful umbrellas, its descent mimicking the echo of tap dancers on a stage, it patters down on the cobblestone road. Namjoon and Seokin, with Jeongguk in tow, press close together on the footpath and try to stay under the shelter of the eaves of the buildings they walk past.
Jin eyes the youngest reaching into the downpour, his arms damp from elbow to palm on either side, sleeves fortunately pushed up enough to keep them dry, and tugs on the back of his puffer jacket to drag him out of the rain.
“You’ll catch your death of a cold,” he scolds, smacking Jeongguk’s shoulder lightly. “Where’s your self-preservation?”
Namjoon mumbles something about freshmen college students lacking the ability to develop self-preservation. Jin ignores him.
Wiping his arms down, Jeongguk pouts sheepishly at Jin. “Sorry, hyung.” He pushes his lower lip out a little further and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, knowing how soft his oldest hyung is for him when he looks like steamed mandu, all tucked up and warm with his red cheeks squished by his hood and nose scrunching up. He plays on this, leans up into it, and grins in triumph when Seokjin rolls his eyes and reaches out to tug on his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Jin grumbles, turning away and starting to march away, but not before getting a grip on Jeongguk’s jacket and making sure he toddles along behind. “You’d never survive without me, I swear.”
He’s only joking, of course, but the statement rings true in Jeongguk’s ears. He’d only been newly eighteen when he fled his home for Seoul to start university, fueled on a full-ride scholarship and a couple hundred thousand won to pay his way, and he had no clue what to do or even how to live when he’d gotten there. His life was threatening to crumble around him in failure when he’d met Namjoon while lost on campus trying to find one of his first-week lectures. The older boy had shown him the way to the lecture hall and Jeongguk had gone inside with a new contact in his phone and the order to text Namjoon whenever he needed help again. That had led to regular texting conversations and then regular meet-ups, and then Namjoon had introduced Jeongguk to Seokjin, who had taken the youngest under his wing immediately and cementing the three of them together. Once Jeongguk had explained his whole situation to them–slowly, with pieces over time, a little through tears–of how he’d been stuck in an awful home situation and had to run, Namjoon and Seokjin vowed to teach Jeongguk everything that he would need to know to succeed in adult life. For the most part, he’s slowly begun to heal and adjust to his reality.
But of course, there’s still things that Jeongguk struggles with, and fear of money is one of those things. He has a part-time job like most students, one that gives him an okay wage and decent hours, but he still doesn’t have very much in his savings, and he’s constantly paranoid about using all of it up.
Which leads here.
Jeongguk wishes he knew this part of the city better. Small but well-lit roads wind around towering apartment complexes and office buildings with restaurants and cafés and noraebangs lining the lower levels and neon signs and boards attached to street poles and balconies.There are people everywhere, walking, running, standing still—couples and families and those all on their own. The chaos is slightly overwhelming, but Jeongguk sticks close to Namjoon and Seokjin and tries to take in the sights with a more positive approach than he’s wont to and pretends there’s no way he’ll get lost if he manages to be separated from them.
On a first, casual glance, this street could be any old street near the university and the college dorms–just a little busier and a little brighter–but if one was to look closer, they’d notice the type of people in this particular area are different to the type of people who tend to frequent the streets Jeongguk is more familiar with. They’re dressed in finer, fancier clothing, and by their appearance and the way they hold themselves, the type of vehicles they drive, they’re of a higher pay bracket and far wealthier than anyone further south-west. (Than Jeongguk.) They’re the sort of people who grew up in families who never had to worry about whether they had enough money for something or not.
So, Jeongguk feels horribly out of place.
“Here, children!” Jin calls back to Jeongguk and Namjoon, waiting for them in front of a door with a sign in blinking pink neon letters that advertises ‘Authentic Japanese food!’. “I wanted us to try something a little different than we normally do. The meat here is always absolutely divine.”
Jeongguk perks up at the mention of meat. He’s had a long, long day at university and he hadn’t eaten lunch because he was trying to save money for tonight, so he’s eager to see what this restaurant has to offer. As soon as they’re directed to a booth seat by the window with beautiful views of the bustling street, he has the menu open to scrutinise it while the other two shove at each other on the other side of the table playfully with muffled laughter.
He scans both pages, and his heart drops. All of the food listed here is far, far more expensive than he’d bargained or planned for, and the first wisps of panic begin to prod at his chest. Even the cheapest thing–a simple ramen dish with an egg and a little chicken–will put a dent in his wallet, and he doesn’t know what to do. His teeth dig into his lower lip and he falls deeper and deeper into the overwhelming wave of fuck what do I do what do I do what do I do, tears flooding his eyes and whole body trembling.
“Gguk, you okay?” Namjoon asks, eyeing him carefully from the other side of the table.
At the gentleness in his tone and the evident concern, Jeongguk raises the menu to cover his face and immediately bursts into tears, sobs wracking his body.
Jin moves quickly. He rounds the table and slides in between Jeongguk, pulling the menu away carefully, and, with a murmur in his throat, reaches out to draw the maknae’s hands into his own, his eyebrows twisting inwards in concern and bewilderment. “Honey, what’s wrong? Hyung’s here.”
Jeongguk finds his mouth spilling words unbidden in his distress. “T-too expensive, hyung. Can’t afford it. Can’t afford to eat. Always hungry,” he wails. Jin and Namjoon exchange a matching look of horror.
“What do you mean you can’t afford to eat?” Namjoon asks, and no, no, no, Jeongguk had never wanted to tell his hyungs this, hadn’t wanted to burden them with this knowledge, hadn’t wanted to because he knew they would insist on paying for things for him and that was bad, bad, bad.
He shakes his head. “No, no, no!” he cries. “‘m bad, hyung. ‘M so bad.”
“You’re not bad,” Jin says urgently, pulling Jeongguk closer into him and pressing his head into his shoulder. “Never, Jeongguk, never. Okay? Just tell hyungs, please, please Gguk.”
Jeongguk squirms like he wants to get up and run, but then Namjoon is there too, hemming him in on the other side, not close enough to overwhelm him, but close enough so that he can’t bolt. He shakes in Jin’s grip, two rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks endlessly, silently. “I’m sorry,” he mouths, burying his face further into his hyung’s shoulder to avoid Jin and Namjoon’s searching gazes.
Namjoon’s hands come to settle on his shoulders, two warm points of contact that make Jeongguk settle a little bit, as much as he’s still panicking and upset. “JK, look at me.”
Biting at his lip like an anxious rabbit, Jeongguk shakes his head and shrinks further into himself, his toes curling up in his shoes.
“Please, Ggukie,” Namjoon begs. He squeezes at Jeongguk’s shoulders before using his thumbs to massage gentle circles through the cotton material of his shirt. “We’re not angry at you, I promise.” Jin hums his agreement. “You can trust us with anything.”
Hesitantly, Jeongguk raises his chin a little so he can look Namjoon in the eyes. His nose is blotchy and red, eyes bloodshot and filling with tears. Namjoon gives him a warm smile; he tries to enthuse as much of his love and caring as he can, wishing that Jeongguk could read his mind and see how much he and Jin care.
“I don’t have much in my savings,” Jeongguk admits, and he feels more ashamed than he’s ever felt in his life. “My scholarship only covers my undergraduate degree, so I’m trying to earn money for my master’s, which doesn’t leave much for everyday use. I skip a lot of meals to save money. And I planned for tonight, but the meals were more expensive than I expected, so I panicked. I’m sorry.”
Jin wraps his arms around him tighter. “Oh, my Ggukie. No. Hyung’s sorry. You should never have to apologise for something like that. I should have asked if this was okay or if a cheaper restaurant would have been better.” Namjoon hums in agreement. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Once Jeongguk calms down to the point where his chest no longer heaves with sobs and Jin or Namjoon whispering gentle words in his ears no longer sends tears streaming down his face, they talk. Namjoon and Jin are endlessly patient, and Jeongguk tries his best to be completely honest, and they figure things out, make plans for the future.
Jeongguk agrees for his hyungs to pay for his meal tonight after a great deal of compromise, and everyone concludes that Jin will start to make packed lunches for all of them to take to university. It’s a system that works for all of them–Jin loves to cook and Namjoon also regularly forgets to eat because he gets so fixated on things, and it would do them all well to have at least one good meal a day. Everyone is happy, and Jeongguk feels an acute sense of relief and safety he hasn’t felt in a long while.
“Hyungs have always got you,” Jin whispers to Jeongguk as he drops him off at the door of his dorm later that night. “Always, Jeonggukie.”