Chapter Text
“Dad? You home?”
The sound of his daughter’s voice echoes into the hallway, and for a second, Jeongguk considers pretending that he isn’t, just to scare the absolute shit out of her. She’d do the same if the shoe was on the other foot, but he’s missed her a little too much, so he doesn’t.
“In the kitchen,” he calls, shutting the fridge as he waits for her to round the corner.
The patter of her feet against the floor has him smiling before she even comes into view, and he knows his daughter is going to ask for a cup of coffee before she blesses him with a greeting. In anticipation, he pulls another glass out of the cabinet.
He has just set it down on the counter as she rounds the corner.
“Ah, are you making—”
“Hi, Ari-yah! It’s lovely to see you, too. I had a great time on my business trip, thank you for asking,” Jeongguk cuts her off, warming at the eyeroll he receives in return. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And yes, I am making coffee, but greet me properly first.”
She launches into his arms, and no matter how old she grows, Jeongguk is convinced she’ll always give the best hugs. Or he’s biased—too far gone for the girl who stole his heart nineteen years ago, and hasn’t bothered returning it since.
It’s hard to believe that she is the age he was when she was born, and now they are here, nineteen years later, and the girl who kept him up—forcing him to be sleepless in college during the first two years of her life—now has her own apartment and an actual, real-paying job.
Jeongguk hasn’t done a lot of things right in his life, but she is the best thing he’s ever done. He’ll fight anyone who disagrees.
“Sorry, dad,” she laughs into his hold, but he can feel her peering over his shoulder when she stands on her tippy-toes, undoubtedly to check the status of the espresso machine. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by.”
Ari is never in the neighborhood. She lives on the other side of town, and she doesn’t get paid for another ten days. He commends her efforts, though. There is correlation between her creative lies and her dwindling bank account balance.
“What you mean to tell me is that you’re hungry, and you want to go to lunch?”
Ari’s nose scrunches when she smiles. She has her mother's eyes—kind, soft and beautiful, but she has his nose and lips, and if Jeongguk is being completely honest here, those are her best features. Her intellect is pretty amazing, too, but she must have picked that up from someone else. Definitely not her parents.
“Yes, but first we finish the coffee.”
Never one to miss a beat, she ducks under his arm, then she snatches his iced Americano off the machine, sighing contentedly when she steals the first sip of the beverage.
“Gimmie that,” he scolds. Ari must know what’s best for her, because she holds the drink out, sharing it with him. “Where do you want to go eat, you leech?”
As though she’s contemplating her options, she tilts her head. Her hair is shorter than the last time he saw her, perfectly blown out and pulled back into a ponytail. She has been more muted in her aesthetic choices lately, courtesy of her position at work, and sometimes, he misses their crazy, hair-dyeing adventures.
“Thai?”
Of course she picks Thai. It’s below the belt, choosing his favorite. His daughter is nothing but well-versed in getting what she wants.
“You really had it all planned out, didn’t you?”
She smiles again, shrugging her shoulders with indifference. There’s nothing spontaneous about this outing, and he bets she even called Yoongi beforehand to make sure that he was home. He knows this to be true without asking her, because Jeongguk changed the passcode to his apartment yesterday, and he was about to text her the new one today. Clearly, her godfather had no qualms about handing over the code. He’s the only one who has the new one.
“I did not.”
“So Yoongi-hyung didn’t give you the passcode?”
When she remains quiet, he snorts.
“Your silence is loud. That man is too fucking whipped for you. Hasn’t told you ‘no’ once since you were born.”
It’s not far from the truth, but how can he be mad at someone who loves his daughter as much as he does?
“He told me ‘no’ for lunch today. Said he’s busy.”
This fucking girl.
“Wow! I’m your second choice?”
“Yes?”
She says it like it’s a given.
“Let’s go before I change my mind. You’re lucky I’m hungry.”
As always, Ari has something to show him on his phone. This time, it’s the latest design she’s working on, some sort of stage piece for a singer that has commissioned her stage outfits through the designer house.
His daughter has inherited her mother’s creativity, and the internship she landed herself in her first year of college has now turned into a full-time designer job. The gown she has created for a recent project is nothing but stunning. It’s a deep red with a breathtaking lace piece woven into it, no doubt perfect for the singer who will wear it on stage.
There’s a commotion happening in the hallway, but they’re too engrossed in her screen to pay attention to it until Jeongguk collides with something. Ari emits a shriek of surprise at the collision, while Jeongguk at least remains a bit more composed, managing to catch the man he just ran straight into as he had his head buried in the smartphone.
It happens so quickly he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed.
“Oh, fuck,” the man yelps in surprise, laughing as Jeongguk catches him by the waist. “Oh. Shit! I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, as if he was the one who caused it.
There’s something familiar about the voice, a deep drawl, but he can’t quite place it right now, a little too startled with embarrassment.
A voice in the back of his mind that sounds an awful lot like Ari mutters something about tearing his eyes away from his phone screen as he walks. He makes a note to not scold her for it for at least a month.
“God, I’m sorry. My dad never pays attention,” Ari pipes up, inappropriate and too fucking cheeky. If they weren’t in public, he’d smack her upside the head for that one. “Ah, you must be moving in! How exciting.”
Jeongguk takes a step back to assess the situation, finally looking up at the person whom he almost took out in their collision.
A tall, lean man stands in front of him, dressed in slacks and a loose linen shirt. It’s immaculately put together, not an outfit appropriate for moving. It doesn’t really matter, because what catches Jeongguk’s attention the most is how well the man wears it.
It isn’t until he looks at his face that it dawns on him why he recognized the voice.
“Holy shit,” Jeongguk chuckles. It’s been years since he last saw him, but he would never forget that face. “Taehyungie-hyung?”
Kim Taehyung has aged well. The cheekbones that both men and women fawned over in college are even more pronounced now, and though he is about nineteen years older than the last time they saw each other, his eyes still sparkle like they did in college. Taehyung was attractive in their university days, but his late thirties really seem to suit him.
“Jeon Jeongguk?” Taehyung breathes out, clearly taken by surprise. His eyes widen, then he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll be damned.”
Taehyung pulls him into a hug, albeit a brief one, but it’s familiar, something they’ve done countless times in their past. When they pull away, Jeongguk sees Taehyung’s eyes lingering on his face, then trailing down his body. He’s not imagining it. Taehyung is checking him out.
“Care to fill a girl in?”
Ari breaks their moment. That’s another slap to add to the metaphorical tally. Good God.
Jeongguk laughs, suddenly finding himself a bit nervous.
“We were roommates for a year at SNU,” Taehyung fills in, and a rush of memories come flooding back to Jeongguk in an instant. Memories he hasn’t thought about in years—the ones he calls ‘pre-Ari’—because the sleep deprivation washed many of them down the drain. “Then I moved abroad to finish my studies, and we fell out of touch.”
It feels like a lifetime ago, and in a sense, it was. Jeongguk has lived all of Ari’s lifetime since then.
“Oh, the year before you knocked mom up, when you were still young and free.”
Jeongguk presses his eyes shut at his daughter’s commentary.
At this rate, she is paying for their lunch, but Yoongi has probably sent her money again, so she won’t even feel the effects of that. To avoid saying something he’ll regret later, he takes a breath to steady himself.
“Hyung, please meet my lovely daughter,” he sighs, gesturing toward Ari. “This is Jeon Ari. A thorn in my side, but it’s too late to get rid of her now.”
He doesn’t miss the surprise on Taehyung’s face—how his eyes go just slightly wide at the realization as he undoubtedly does some quick mental math. Most people do when they realize he is her father and not her older brother.
At this point in his life, he’s past caring about it. She’s grown to be a fantastic human being, albeit a brat, and he considers himself a better person for having her in his life. If Taehyung wants to ask how old he was when she was born, he is more than welcome to, but it seems Taehyung doesn’t seem too interested in that knowledge.
“It’s great to meet you, Ari-ssi,” he says instead as he bows his head in greeting. Even Ari seems a bit enthralled by him when he extends a hand, politely shaking hers.
Jeongguk is just about to ask him if he needs help with the massive couch that’s wedged between the door and the hallway when the elevator door dings open.
A young, exuberant man barrels through the door, precariously balancing three drinks and a cup of ramen in his arms.
“Dad, I ran into your fucking ex in the corner store. That nerdy guy? What was his na—”
“Jeongin-ah,” Taehyung abruptly interrupts his sentence, and this time, it’s Jeongguk’s lips that part in surprise. “Mind your language, dude.”
The newcomer stops in his tracks, and when he looks up to see the three of them standing there, he brings a hand behind his neck, rubbing it as he offers a sheepish smile.
The resemblance to Taehyung is uncanny. The big, boxy smile, and the way his eyes scrunch when chuckles at himself.
Holy shit.
It seems that Jeongguk has missed quite a few chapters in Taehyung’s life.
Back in their university days, they used to joke that they were two peas in a pod. They got into trouble together—always down to do what the other suggested, no matter how ludicrous—and it seems they found themselves in a similar situation, even when they were apart.
Jeongguk missed him terribly when he moved abroad during his second year, but back then, staying in touch wasn’t as simple as it is today. There weren’t iPhones and iMessage, barely even Skype, and shortly after Taehyung left, Jeongguk’s own life took a drastic turn.
Though it seems as if Taehyung’s life took a turn, too, and now it all makes sense why neither of them really tried to reach out to each other after that. He’s always wondered about Taehyung—about what he’d been up to, and what he made of himself.
“Jeongguk-ssi, Ari-ssi, please meet my son.”
He waves in Jeongin’s direction, sounding just as done with him as Jeongguk did when he introduced Ari.
The young man looks to be Ari’s age, maybe a year or two younger. Carefully, he shuffles the items in his hold, handing them over to his father, then he reaches a hand out, his eyes round as he looks between Jeongguk and Ari.
“Noona?”
There is familiarity in the way Taehyung’s son addresses Ari.
What the fuck?
“You two know each other?” Taehyung questions, looking curiously between the two young adults. He looks as confused as Jeongguk feels, his brows drawn close as he tries to make sense of the situation. “How?”
There is no way that his daughter knows Taehyung’s son. There is just no way, the odds of what way too small to be reality.
“You two know each other,” Jeongin parrots his father, looking between Jeongguk and Taehyung, then he looks to Ari, repeating himself in a statement this time around. “Our dads know each other.”
“Yeah. Turns out they went to university together,” she shrugs, seeming a bit unimpressed at the fact she just uncovered, though the smallest smile tugs at her lips. Jeongguk knows something is coming before she even has to say it. “But you could have told me your dad is a DILF, dude? Damn.”
Mortified, Jeongguk clears his throat.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jeongguk interrupts, feeling his cheeks flame with heat at his daughter’s brazen words. She’s not wrong, but now is not the time. “Christ, Ari, do you have no filter?”
A deep, resounding laugh echoes in the hallway when Taehyung belts out a laugh. The three of them can’t help but join him, a bit overcome with the peculiar coincidence that has just happened.
Thankfully, his daughter settles quickly, and they do manage to carry a normal conversation. Apparently, Taehyung’s son is an intern at the fashion house where Ari works—a job he apparently landed by his dad’s connections, seeing as he is an investor in the brand. Taehyung has made a name for himself in the fashion industry, and Jeongguk’s mind swirls with questions he wants to ask him, but he knows now isn’t the time.
Taehyung must feel the same way, because he smiles softly at Jeongguk when they are done with their quick game of ‘how do we all know each other yet none of us knew that we did.’
The universe certainly works in curious ways, and this is nothing even his wildest dreams could conjure. It’s fitting, when he thinks about it, how their kids are about the same age they were when they met. And somehow, they know each other.
Too many questions lie at the tip of his tongue, and Jeongguk can’t deny the obvious pull. He wants to see Taehyung again. He wants to ask about the last two decades of their lives, and where he’s at now. Maybe even over a couple of beers and some chicken, just for old time’s sake.
He wouldn’t hesitate to ask if they were alone, but they aren’t. Ari’s here, and so is Taehyung’s son. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic, feeling unusually out of his depth, and right as he’s about to bid him goodbye in the hopes that fate will intervene again, Taehyung speaks.
“Is there any chance you’d want to catch up someday soon?” Taehyung asks, and Jeongguk says a silent prayer to whatever deities are listening that his daughter does not take this moment and ruin it for him. “I mean, if you can spare the long trek to come see me?”
He nods in the direction of Jeongguk’s door, three down from his own. They aren’t quite roommates this time around, but it’s pretty dang close.
A flutter of excitement buzzes under his skin.
“Yeah, I’d love to,” Jeongguk responds, feeling oddly put on the spot as his daughter’s eyes study him. He digs his hand into his pocket, producing his wallet, then he slides a business card out. “Here’s my business card. My phone number is on there. Just text me.”
Their hands brush as he hands it over, and Jeongguk does his best to not stare at the long, slender fingers that grasp the card.
With a hum, Taehyung raises his eyebrows.
“Chief Marketing Officer, huh?” He taps the card in his palm as he looks up at Jeongguk. “You always were a master bullshitter. I’m not at all surprised by this.”
Ari snorts, then she breaks their moment yet again.
“Alright, you two can flirt when the innocent ears aren’t around. It was lovely meeting you, Taehyung-ssi.” She bids him goodbye, apparently deciding for him that their moment is done, then she turns to Jeongin. “I’ll see you on Monday morning. Don’t be late.”
Both Jeongin and Taehyung laugh at her demand, and it’s the last thing he hears as they step into the elevator. He waits until the door clicks shut behind them until he speaks, but of course his daughter beats him to it.
“Your game is so weak! That was bad, dad.”
The audacity of this girl. They have raised her to be fierce and independent, but this is bordering on downright disrespectful.
“What the fuck?” Jeongguk counters. “You are out here calling Kim Taehyung a DILF. You were about to ruin it before I could even get started!”
When he woke up this morning, he did not think words such as “DILF” would be coming out of his mouth, nor did he think he’d have a conversation of the like with his daughter, of all people.
“Oh, did you not see how he looked at you?” she fires back, and she sounds too much like her mother when she argues like this. “He was basically eye-fucking you.”
Now she has taken it too far.
“Ari-yah!”
His voice raises, but she doesn’t pay him any mind.
“Don’t be dense,” she says, waving him off, and Jeongguk is both stunned and confused that she wants to have this conversation with him. He does not want to have it, thank you very much. “Were the two of you a thing in university, or what?”
Memories he has tucked away into the depths of his mind resurface at the mention of their university days, but he shuts it down before he can get lost in them. Still, he knows he’s been made with his sudden, prolonged silence.
“I’m not having this discussion with you.”
As he suspected, it doesn’t deter his daughter. She should have been an attorney.
She draws in a dramatic breath, then she launches into a whole fucking spiel.
“Please tell me he was your gay-awakening. I can just see it! You were obsessed with him, weren’t you? Pained, tortured college student who pined after his roommate. But you know… gay panic, right? So in an attempt to convince yourself you weren’t into him, you went out to find a one-night-stand, only to get her pregnant.”
When Eunji got pregnant, they decided that they’d always be honest about the nature of their relationship.
They’ve never lied to Ari.
Early on, they decided that wasn’t something they’d ever do. They were open with her about what they were to each other. They never had been, nor will they ever be, romantically involved with each other. But what they did do was forge a friendship. A solid one—a great one—and it’s the foundation they built so they could co-parent an independent, hilarious, and fiercely intelligent daughter. Few people get as lucky as they did.
When Ari asked questions about their relationship, they answered her honestly, and Jeongguk hopes that she’s never felt any less loved than he is. She is the best thing to ever have happened to him.
Jeongguk has never lied to Ari, but he considers lying now.
He can’t remember if he’s spoken about Taehyung in any other way than as his first-year roommate. There’s no way he would have. That secret he tucked away into the depths of himself—a part of him that belonged to a different version of him. The only one who knows about his conundrum is Min Yoongi, and Jeongguk has sworn him to silence in a whole blood ritual, and all. It’s best to not ask, but in their defense, they were drunk when that took place.
Ari’s account of events is not what happened. Jeongguk was still figuring himself out, not sure what or who he was at the time, but his daughter’s brazen commentary has him at a loss for words.
Jeongguk rarely finds himself tongue-tied. Right now, though, he has no fucking clue what to say. How to even begin to respond to her.
She notices. Of course she notices.
“Holy fucking shit!” she shrieks at the realization, and normally, he’d scold her for the language. He is not any better himself, but he wants better for her. “Oh. My. God.” Each word is punctuated by a dramatic breath. “Jeongin’s dad is your gay awakening!”
He tries his very best to remain impassive, but he knows his answer comes too quickly.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to?!” Ari paces in the tiny elevator. “It’s written all over your face, dad. Oh. My. God. Does mom know?”
“Of course she knows I’m gay.”
She can’t even be bothered to groan at his stupid joke like she normally would.
“Does she know you tried to fuck the gay out of your system and knocked her up in the process?”
This time, there is bite to his tone when he draws the line.
“That’s enough.”
Ari scrunches her eyes closed, realizing her mistake as she comes to a stop.
“I am sorry, dad. That was brash.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jeongguk laughs nervously, but he softens when she shuffles closer to tip her head on his shoulder in apology. “I am not going to confirm nor deny your statement of how you were conceived, because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, gay panic or not.”
She snorts into his shoulder.
“Mm, I love you, too, dad,” she says, and Jeongguk will never not think that she isn’t the most beautiful woman to grace this planet. Especially not when she smiles at him like she does now, all big and bold with her sparkling eyes. “Can I offer one last piece of advice, though?”
He sighs, yet he glances down on her with an expectant look. She’s tiny, just like her mother, barely reaching up his collarbone.
“You’re going to offer it even if I say no, so go ahead. Why the hell not?”
She giggles at him, then she pulls him out of the elevator by a grab of his hand. Jeongguk can tell that whatever this advice is, it likely won’t be sound.
“Please shoot your shot with the DILF. I want to make sure I have another chance to meet him, just so I can thank him for my existence, you know?”
She doesn’t let him stop in his tracks, tugging more violently on his hand as she leads him out of the building. He slaps her upside the head for that comment—and the ones before—then he takes her to lunch, because Jeon Ari has the uncanny ability to always get her way.
Maybe she realizes what’s in her best interest, because the topic of Kim Taehyung doesn’t resurface again during their lunch. When he returns home later that afternoon without his daughter, his new neighbor is nowhere to be seen. The furniture that was stacked in the hallway has been moved inside, and Jeongguk pretends he isn’t disappointed. But he is, and even more so when he doesn’t receive a text message later that evening.
****
“Anything new going on in your life that I should be aware of?”
Min Yoongi leans his elbows on the table, his eyes narrowing in on him as he plops a piece of pork belly into his mouth.
“What are you, my fucking therapist?” Jeongguk counters, because he has a feeling he knows where this is heading. “Give me your glass.”
His best friend smiles as he holds the glass out, and Jeongguk caps him off with the last bit of soju. They’re on their second bottle—a bold choice for a Thursday evening that is followed by an eight o’clock meeting—but Yoongi had asked him out to dinner, and no matter how old Jeongguk grows, he won’t say no to a free meal.
Jeongguk clinks his glass against Yoongi’s, warming as the pineapple flavored liquor washes down his throat.
“Just ask me what you want to ask me,” Jeongguk says when Yoongi remains quiet.
“Ari told me something.”
“Of course she did,” Jeongguk groans, snatching another bottle and pouring more for himself without offering it to Yoongi. “What did my lovely spawn have to say?”
She hadn’t hit him up for any more meals that week, so he can only assume that she got to her godfather instead. Yoongi never says no to her, content to be wrapped around her little finger as she bats her long, dark lashes at him. He is fucking putty in her hands, but Jeongguk can’t even be mad about it.
The months leading up to Ari’s birth are a blur, but what he remembers most vividly from that time in his life is Min Yoongi. Panicked and broke, Jeongguk searched high and low for jobs that would allow him to work the nightshift. The day shifts weren’t an option, because he had lectures to attend, and it left him without a choice.
He isn’t sure what Yoongi saw in him when he staggered into his interview, young, naive and desperate, but he offered him the night shift at an upscale hotel. All he had to do was man the front desk between the hours of ten pm to six am. He doesn’t remember much, but what he does remember are the shifts he was miraculously paid for when he called in sick—and any time he asked Yoongi about it, he played stupid. As it turns out, one has pull when they are the son of the owner of upscale hotel chains, but Jeongguk didn’t find that out until much later.
It was the start of a life-long friendship.
“She mentioned that you ran into Kim Taehyung in your apartment hallway.”
Yoongi has never been one to beat around the bush.
There is no sense in lying to his best friend about this.
“She wasn’t lying.”
Intrigued, Yoongi leans back in the booth. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Is he everything you remember him to be?”
Jeongguk snatches Yoongi’s glass, refilling it again, then he throws his own shot back. He really shouldn’t drink like this, pretending that he’s closer to thirty than he is forty.
“I clearly remember swearing you to secrecy on that particular topic. We sealed our pact in blood,” Jeongguk reminds him, the scar on his thumb visible if he squints. “You better not say a fucking thing to Ari.”
A deep, amused laugh filters into the restaurant.
“So he’s exactly what you remember, then?” Yoongi wags his eyebrows. “Ari told me you were tongue-tied.”
“Ari called him a DILF!”
Yoongi’s laugh bellows, making his shoulders shake. “She’s amazing.”
“A DILF!” Jeongguk continues, groaning as he tips his head back. The memory has replayed in his mind all week. “I was so fucking embarassed, man. There he was, striking as ever, looking even better than he did in college, and she had the audacity to call him a DILF.”
“Striking, huh?” Yoongi doesn’t miss the adjective he didn’t mean to let slip. “So I take it you are not over your crush on the man who made you realize you are into men?”
“I don’t have a crush,” Jeongguk interjects. “I’m almost forty years old. Call it what it is. He’s a good looking man, and I’d very much like to catch up with him. See what he’s been up to over the last fifteen or so years.”
Yoongi is growing bolder as the alcohol clouds his judgment. Jeongguk is, too, and he needs to cut himself off before he finds himself with a hangover in the morning.
“What you want to do is fuck him.”
A zap of excitement runs down his spine, and he isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to embarrass his hyung.
“Nah,” Jeongguk says, and he knows just what to say to shut Yoongi down. “I want him to fuck me.”
Immediately, Yoongi’s face falls, yet he’s quick to pick up the balled-up napkin that lies to his right. It’s lobbed in Jeongguk’s direction, but Yoongi’s hand-eye coordination is a little off after the soju. It lands to his right on the floor.
“Don’t say shit you don’t want to hear the answers to,” Jeongguk points out as he fiddles with the napkin. “And since you and Ari are hell-bent on putting your noses in my business, please do me a solid and don’t share my door codes with her. Not if I have a hot neighbor I’m about to see again, you know.”
Yoongi’s nose scrunches.
“I didn’t sh—”
“You’re the only one who knows the new code, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “Don’t lie to me.”
Defensively, Yoongi holds his hands up in the air.
“Fine, fine,” he laughs, realizing he’s been caught. “I’ll stay out of your business.”
He won’t, and neither will Ari, but at least he’s made his point.
“Well, he hasn’t texted me yet, so there’s that.”
Silence falls over them at his words.
“Are you pouting right now?” Yoongi looks both intrigued and appalled, and Jeongguk quickly clears his throat, not keen on giving that impression. “You were.”
Jeongguk comes to his own defense a little too quickly.
“I’m not fucking pouting. I’m just saying… there was a moment,” he says, regretting it the second it falls from his lips. “He was definitely checking me out, then he asked to catch up. And now he’s left me hanging. So yeah, I’m confused.”
“You could just go and knock on his door?”
“I’m not desperate.”
He is.
“Your daughter begs to differ.”
“Don’t drag her into this,” Jeongguk warns. She’s already involved herself too much, and he does not need her input, nor Yoongi’s meddling through her. Since the day she could talk, the two of them have been in collusion. He isn’t sure who he trusts less out of the two of them. “And don’t mention a word to her about this conversation.”
His best friend runs his tongue along his bottom teeth as he weighs his words. It’s an empty threat, because Jeongguk has nothing on Yoongi. It’s an awful position to be in.
“What are you going to do?” Yoongi challenges, well aware what position Jeongguk is in.
“Fuck around and find out, hyung.”
With one last threat, he points his chopsticks to Yoongi, waving them around to really drive the point home, but all it does is pull a delighted laugh out of him.
“Just don’t waste the opportunity this time around,” he finally says. “I refuse to engage in another blood pact.”
There is nothing he can say in response, so he busies himself by shoving a giant piece of pork belly into his mouth, deciding that this topic is done with, once and for all.
__________________
It seems that Taehyung isn’t destined to run into Jeongguk again. Maybe their hours just don’t align. He can’t imagine that a Chief Marketing Officer for a Fortune 500 company takes calls at three am, or stays awake into the wee hours of the morning to consult with brands in New York City, subsequently sleeping into the late hours of the afternoon. If Taehyung thinks about this logically, he may realize that is probably why he hasn’t run into Jeongguk again.
This wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t lost the business card. The one thing he had to keep. At this rate, he’s convinced that Jeongin is fucking with him, seeing how desperate he’ll grow as he looks for it. He’s probably hid it somewhere.
“Jeongin-ah, where did you put that pile of mail?” he calls into the living room, his voice echoing over the sad, empty walls of his new pad. He hasn’t gotten around to decorating, anxiously awaiting the day that Jeongin moves out so he can get a sense of his space as it’s meant to be. Finally just his. “From the day we moved in? The pile that was on the console table by the front door.”
The shuffle of Jeongin’s feet drags across the floor. “Fuck if I know.”
“Clean up your language,” Taehyung sighs, sick of having the same conversation over and over. “Can you please make yourself useful? Help me look.”
“Sure. Tell me what we’re looking for and I’ll be happy to help.”
There’s a devilish grin on his son’s face. He knows what they’re looking for, but he’s looking to get a rise out of him. Exhausted, Taehyung runs his hand over his face. He didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night to deal with this.
“It’s none of your business. I just need to find the pile of mail.”
Taehyung knows he put it on the table. He walked through the door, still in a haze from seeing Jeongguk, and he knows for a fact that he put the business card down so he wasn’t tempted to text him right away. He may be desperate, but he isn’t going to show it in the first five minutes of parting ways with his old roommate.
He kind of wishes that he had dared to show just how desperate he was.
A scuffle sounds from the front door, a rapt knocking, and Taehyung isn’t sure who whips their head up faster—he or Jeongin.
When they realize what is happening, they both turn to look at each other.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Taehyung narrows his eyes as he looks at his son. Innocently, Jeongin rocks on his heels, painting the picture of innocence and looking a little too much like his mother.
“Are you expecting someone?” Jeongin parrots. “Is the hot neighbor coming over?”
“Just go get the fucking door,” Taehyung grumbles, and as much as he’d very much like to see his hot neighbor again—his son’s words, not his—this isn’t the time. “Make yourself useful.”
He regrets it the second he hears a voice boom through the hallway. It isn’t his hot neighbor, which is good, because he’s wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt. But it also isn’t good, because Jimin sounds ready to go, clearly caffeinated and eager to seize the day.
“Good morning!” he bellows into the apartment, his bright voice carrying and bouncing on the empty walls. “I am ready for our brunch date with my favorite Kims.”
“Let’s fucking go,” Jeongin cheers immediately, his feet suddenly picked up as he moves. “Dad! Uncle Jiminie is here!”
“I can hear that,” Taehyung answers, a bit defeated by their bouncy energy. “Can you two give me like… ten minutes? I need to get dressed.”
“Why? You looking for something?” Jimin asks, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, which only means one thing. Jeongin has snitched. “Maybe a business card? One you misplaced, and now you’re moping around because you can’t text your old college roommate that you had the hots for? Is that why you’re running behind?”
“Ew,” Jeongin interjects, not allowing Taehyung to answer his best friend. “Who even says ‘the hots’?”
He makes sure to demonstrate with quotation marks as the English flows between the Korean words.
“Someone who is a DILF,” Jimin adds cheekily, which only confirms that Jeongin has snitched. “Go brush your teeth, you heathen. The adults will collect you when we’re ready.”
With a shove between his shoulders, Jimin sends Jeongin on his way. It’s one of the things Taehyung appreciates about his best friend—how he isn’t shy to tell Jeongin what to do, skilled in toeing the line of being a support system for his son, while also reinforcing the rules Taehyung had to implement as a single father.
In an attempt to seek comfort when he moved abroad, Taehyung sought out the only other Korean he had seen around campus. Unlike himself, Jimin wasn’t a lost transplant, born and raised in the heart of Indiana. Sensing that Taehyung was lost, he happily took him in and taught him the ways of American university, and then he introduced him to the only other Korean he knew—the mother of Taehyung’s one and only child.
Throughout the years, Jimin has been there, navigating the challenges of an unplanned child and the shitstorm that followed when Taehyung realized he had a whole sexual identity to wrestle with. Jimin was beside him through heartbreak, and when he tore down the life he thought he was going to live for the rest of his life.
He owes his sanity to Jimin. He owes him so much more, and now he’s here with him, too. It was Jimin’s idea to relocate to Seoul with him, something he didn’t have to do but claimed he wanted to do, and Taehyung realized that the co-dependence reached both ways—not just limited to his end.
For the rest of his days, he will be grateful to his best friend for helping him to be this version of himself. The one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be.
Taehyung has never been happier.
“You okay?” Jimin cautiously checks in with him once Jeongin is out of earshot. “Seriously, Tae?”
Taehyung waves him off. “I’m fine.”
Jimin’s eyes rake over his face, and he must decide that the conversation isn’t meant to be had right now.
“Alright. Hurry up and get dressed, then,” he beckons. “And dress well. You may run into your old roommate.”
Taehyung turns on his heels without another word, and he’s glad that Jimin can’t see how he smiles when he hears his best friend’s unhinged laugh behind him.
It’s a strange thing, being home in the place where he was born and raised, yet feeling oddly out of place. He spent his entire adult life in America, and he isn’t quite sure how that has shaped him compared to the version of him that Jeongguk knew.
It would be so easy to go knock on his door. It would be so easy to grab two beers and walk over, but he isn’t sure they can just pick up where they left off. They’ve lived a whole lifetime of memories between the two of them since they last spoke, and Taehyung is still acclimating to life back in his native country.
Though he isn’t the only one who has lived a lifetime since they knew each other, and he can’t pretend he isn’t interested in that. He’d lie if he said he hadn’t thought about Jeongguk over the years—so much so that he’s kept up with his professional developments, but it’s clear he has kept his private ones just that. He wonders if Jeongguk has thought about him, too. If he wondered what he was up to, what he did for a living and what his life in America was like.
He understands now why they fell out of touch. Taehyung doesn’t know what Jeongguk’s situation was like, but he knows how hard it was to balance work and raising a child at such a young age, or how overwhelming it could be to manage his sanity while not killing his own aspirations, guilt mixed with the desire to make something for himself once he finally moved abroad to continue his studies.
It hadn’t been an easy road, and he wasn’t prepared for the memories of his life before Jeongin to come flooding back to him at the sight of Jeon Jeongguk.
Now it makes sense why he didn’t see his name on the national soccer team, because if his calculations are correct—there wasn’t time to pursue a career in the sport he loved so much once a child entered his life. The sacrifices Jeongguk made were much, much greater than the ones Taehyung made, and he finds himself aching to know how Jeongguk is doing. If he is happy, and how he has been.
“So, what are the odds that you run into Jeon Jeongguk of all people?” Jimin asks once they’ve finally made it to brunch. Jeongin dipped at the last minute after an eager text message from a friend, and Taehyung is relieved it’s just the two of them. “Seriously?”
Taehyung lets out a breath.
“It threw me for a loop.”
“What was the deal between you two? You’ve always been so elusive about the topic, but I feel like there’s definitely a ‘oh my God, they were roommates’ trope going on here.”
A laugh bubbles in Taehyung’s throat.
“You have to stop reading so much.”
“I’m a writer,” Jimin interjects, wrinkling his nose. “I must read so I can write. You need to stop deflecting so much.”
“Then ask me what you want to know. Be specific, ask direct questions and no open ended ones.”
“The executive is coming out of you. It’s gross. We killed him off,” Jimin says, plopping a piece of pastry into his mouth. A bit of powdered sugar dusts his lips, and he brushes it off dramatically. “Anyway, did you fuck him?”
Taehyung chokes on his coffee, spitting it back out into the cup—it must delight Jimin, because his high-pitched laugh carries over the cafe, earning them a few, confused stares from the people around them.
Once he settles, he dabs his napkin against his mouth.
“No.”
“No?” Jimin parrots. “Did you want to?”
Embarrassment stirs in his stomach. “What do you think, romance writer extraordinaire?”
“I think that answered my question,” Jimin beams, satisfied as he reads between the lines. “You were just friends, then? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“That’s what you’re hearing,” Taehyung confirms. “We hit it off, right off the bat. Had a lot of fun together, but you know… I was young, confused, and, well… I wasn’t about to make a move on my friend and ruin something good. Then I moved abroad before I could sort myself out.”
God, he’s always wondered.
He wondered about the lingering looks from Jeongguk. He wondered if he gave the wrong impression when he draped himself over the younger one in bed after a long night when they were both nursing hangovers. He wondered if their shared, lingering touches were accidental, and if the moments they had were shared due to their intense friendship, or if there was something else.
Looking back now with experience under his belt, Taehyung recognizes it for what it was: it was his first, real interest in a man, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. He didn’t know how to act on the buzzing under his skin that he felt anytime that Jeongguk was near, and how to express the feelings to him in a thoughtful way.
In a sense, he is glad that he didn’t make a move. Jeongguk deserved better—not the confused and scared version of Taehyung that he was back then, no matter how hard he tried to project differently. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it, about what they could have been if he had stayed and didn’t move abroad. It’s not a thought he allowed himself to entertain for more than a few seconds, because his life turned out the way it was supposed to. He wouldn’t have Jeongin, and that is a life he doesn’t want to live.
It makes him buzz with excitement to think that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t read too much into the touches and the stares. Especially not if Jeongguk’s reaction in the hallway was an indication the other day.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“He was the one who got away,” Jimin says as it dawns on him. “Wasn’t he?”
In the words of the romance writer, Taehyung supposes that is true. Jeongguk was the one who got away. The one, brief glimpse he had a different life before he landed himself in his current one. The one that played in the back of his mind when he laid awake at night in a house that didn’t feel like a home, for the one simple reason that Taehyung didn’t feel true to himself.
“He was,” Taehyung finally admits, then he decides to be honest with his best friend. “And I didn’t tell you about that, because it didn’t seem fair, you know? Not when I had so much. It felt useless wondering about something I didn’t have when I already have so many other good things in my life. So yeah—that was Jeongguk. My college roommate.”
It’s nothing he’s ever shared with anyone. He hasn’t dared to go back to that part of his life, even though he isn’t sad about it anymore. It just is what it is, and Taehyung has been blessed with a life greater than any of his expectations. He has an ex-wife who is a partner as they raise their son, and one who helped Taehyung figure himself out as they built the best versions of themselves that they could be. It’s not something he takes for granted—a luxury that isn’t awarded to many people in the same situation as him.
Jimin looks at him without judgment. He always has. Yet, there’s a nervous buzz under his skin now that he’s finally spoken the words out loud.
And there is something exciting about running into Jeongguk again, as if the universe has given him a second chance at knowing the man he never really got to know.
Slowly, Jimin picks up his coffee. He plays with the straw, drawing the stupid tension out, then he takes a sip.
“Jeon Jeongguk is your Roman Empire.”
The anxious buzzing dies in an instant, morphing into resignation instead.
“He’s my what now?”
“Jeon Jeongguk is your Roman Empire.”
“You repeating yourself with more conviction doesn’t actually make it any clearer for me, Jimin-ah.”
A pleased smirk curves on Jimin’s lips.
“Get with the TikTok trends, Taehyung-ah. Ask your son.”
“I will not be doing that.”
Jimin laughs.
“He’s like… the person you think about a lot. Lives in your mind rent-free, type of thing.”
With a sigh, Taehyung tips his head back.
“I’ve had enough of you and Jeongin,” he relents. “You’re not rooted in reality.”
“I didn’t claim to be,” Jimin laughs off, on-brand for the romantic writer with his head in the clouds. “But I now know why you were so desperate to find that business card, I guess.”
Taehyung keeps looking up at the ceiling, not sure he dares to look at his best friend just yet.
“I’ll find it,” he mutters, mainly because he needs to manifest it. “Just you watch.”
“Oh, I will,” Jimin pipes up immediately. “And then I’m going to write this story. It’s just the inspiration I’ve been looking for. Long-lost friends, roommates, giving familiar yet strangers-to-lovers vibes with a dash of chaos sprinkled in. Keep me updated on the progress, will you? I’ve got some scenes in mind but I wa—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Taehyung interjects, but he relents, giving in to the laugh that catches in his throat when he sees his best friend take furious notes on the iPhone in his hands. Fuck it. Jimin can have this, and he figures he may as well say it. “Just make sure it’s explicit. It’s an adult novel this time around. Experienced men, you know? Not college boys trying to figure themselves out.”
He wags his eyebrows for the full effect, pleased to see his best friend’s eyes disappearing on him when his laugh echoes out in the restaurant.
Life unfolded just the way it was meant for Taehyung, but he can’t help but think that the second chapter of his journey will be one of the most exciting ones yet, no matter how it shapes out from here.