Work Text:
i.
taehyung and jimin often get asked whether or not they are dating. the short answer, if they must, is no. or yes, occasionally, to efficiently get rid of an unwanted suitor, or even just for the hell of it. a slightly longer and a little bit truer answer is eeeehh with a wildly varying intonation and a shrug.
the long answer is that when they were eleven, they lived next door to each other on a street with dying zelkovas that made it look like it was always fall with their scanty leaves and dried up wood. they shared a bedroom wall on the ground floor in a building with a heating problem and windows that jammed. they were located in the midpoint of two elementary schools, and of course they went to different ones; but after school, they would meet in the playground or, more often than not, the library in their neighborhood, and it would be the highlight of taehyung’s day. maybe it’s odd for eleven-year-olds to voluntarily spend that much time in a library; but taehyung didn’t find it odd at all because every moment spent with jimin was an adventure. it’s a terrible and clichéd thing to say. but it’s very accurately what he felt back then.
jimin loved books and stories, and taehyung maybe not as much, but he loved the way jimin would pull him in, the worlds they would create, and he loved learning, especially when it came to things and facts dismissed as useless and waste of time simply because there is no way to profit from them. he doesn’t see how that makes them not worth knowing, though. he likes his world vast and colorful and full of neat trivia.
jimin never told him it was useless. jimin always regarded him with a kind of awe, the same kind he had for jimin. and maybe they were slightly in love with each other, but they were kids and it didn’t seem so important to pick apart their feelings and put a name to them.
it was his idea to learn morse code. it was a fun way to talk through the wall, exciting because of how secret it felt, how theirs. a short knock means a dot, a drag of knuckles against wall means a dash. they got gradually better at it, and by the time fall rolled in and the zelkovas started to look like they belonged, taehyung didn’t even have to translate every word on paper first. they would have grammatically wildly incorrect conversations, simplified and shortened for efficiency—when they couldn’t sleep, or when they were sick, or when they weren’t allowed to go outside. when taehyung hid in his room because the kids at school made fun of him for living with his grandmother and wearing weird clothes, and pushed too hard, drawing blood.
... .- .-- / ..- / -... .-.. . . -.. / .-- .- - / .... .- .--. .--. . -. ..--.. ( saw / u / bleed / wat / happen?)
--. --- - / .--. ..- ... .... . -.. / ... -.- --- --- .-.. / .. -- / --- -.- (got / pushed / skool / im / ok)
.... ..- .-. - ... ..--.. (hurts?)
-. --- / .. -- / - --- ..- --. .... (no / im / tough)
.-.. .. .- .-. (liar)
or when jimin’s parents were fighting so loudly taehyung could hear every word, and jimin was waiting for it to blow over, alone in his room, anxious and maybe a little bit scared. taehyung would crawl the width of the bed, press up against the wall and repeat, u / ok? / jimin / ok? until jimin knocked back. it was the most comforting thing in the world, back then. to hear him knock back.
one night in september, the sounds of a marriage falling apart next door had taehyung holding his breath and squirming uneasy in his room. there were doors slamming in addition to the booming voices, something shattering. taehyung never had a lot of hate inside him. but at times like these, he hated jimin’s parents, for how they made jimin feel. that night, he knocked until he wasn’t even forming real letters, and jimin wasn’t responding; until, finally, he did.
it was the same group of letters over and over again.
... --- … / ... --- … / ... --- … / ... --- … / ... --- ...
(SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS)
taehyung threw a garden gnome through jimin’s window that night. looked for a rock in the little square of a communal garden which was as dead as the zelkovas, but the decorative stones were either too small or too heavy. so he picked up a garden gnome the size of his forearm, waved it around wildly in order to get jimin to move away from the window, lifted it over and behind his head, and propelled it through the air.
it may have been a drastic course of action. but when you’re eleven and your best friend is sending you a frantic sos message, you don’t think before you act.
jimin’s parents were so caught up in their fight they didn’t even hear the window break at first. jimin was okay, unharmed but frightened and completely astounded that taehyung would do that. taehyung helped him over the jagged window frame and into his own rubber boots he had snatched from the hallway, taking into consideration jimin wouldn’t be wearing shoes. it was the first and only time taehyung ran away from home. he had prepared, in his eleven-year-old opinion, quite well: had emptied his school bag on his floor and filled it with 1. socks in case they step in puddles 2. a sweater in case jimin gets cold 3. a toothbrush, singular, he only had one but figured they could share 4. all of his money, approximately 7,000 won in change 5. cereal bars and juice boxes he had raided from the kitchen before sneaking out.
they were found less than three hours later, couldn’t get very far with essentially no money and jimin’s parents in a state of complete frenzy after finding the bedroom looking like a murder scene. which is understandable, in retrospect. they both got into trouble but taehyung more so for launching the garden gnome through the window. they thought he was aggressive, a troublemaker, and wouldn’t listen when he tried to explain he had only wanted to protect jimin. he didn’t really realize back then, but jimin’s parents could easily have pressed charges. they didn’t, but taehyung’s grandmother had to pay for the window and taehyung was severely grounded for weeks.
a couple of weeks later, jimin messaged him in morse for the last time.
--. --- .. -. --. / .- .-- .- -.-- (going / away)
.-- .... .- - (what)
-- --- -- / .-.. . .- ...- .. -. --. / - .- -.- .. -. --. / -- . / .-- .. - .... (mom / leaving / taking / me / with)
.-- .... . -. (when)
- -- .-. .-- (tmrw)
“jimin,” taehyung said out loud. he pressed all up against the wall, but there was no sound. “can you talk to me, jimin, please?”
-.-. .- -. - / .. -- / -.-. .-. -.-- .. -. --. (cant / im / crying)
“what do you mean you—where are you going?”
... . --- ..- .-.. (seoul)
seoul was far, he knew, all the way across south korea.
“don’t—” don’t go, don’t leave me, nothing sounded right, and taehyung was way too small for the things he was feeling. tried his best to compress everything into a single sentence, and came out with: “i’ll come with you.”
“you can’t,” came jimin’s voice, muffled and strangled and wrong. “you have to take care of your grandma.”
“will i—will we see each other again?”
“of course,” jimin said immediately, fierce despite the tears. “i’ll send you letters, tae. i’ll send you letters all the time. and i’ll send you my address so you can write me back, or visit me.”
“i’m sorry i was so bad at running away,” taehyung sniffed, curling into a ball back against the wall, scraped knees hugged to his chest. faintly, heard jimin sniff too.
“it’s okay. tae, it’s okay. thank you for trying.”
the last thing sent from jimin’s room to taehyung’s on dying zelkova street was
.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- (i / will / miss / you)
he didn’t see jimin leave. they left early in the morning, and the next thing he knew, no one was knocking back.
it was the first time taehyung started associating home not with a place but with a person.
they finally got rid of the decaying zelkovas, and it felt a little bit like that. it was weird to see a gaping nothing where the trees used to stand, but it was for the best. they had been dead on their feet, and this was a chance for something new to grow. it was weird to have no one knock back, but it was for the best, probably, for jimin. things had often been bad for him on dying zelkova street. maybe he’d have a chance to grow now, too, wherever he was.
.. / .... --- .--. . / - .... . / - .-. . . ... / .- .-. . / .- .-.. .. ...- . / .-- .... . .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . (i hope the trees are alive where you are)
shortly after, taehyung’s grandmother got sick and taehyung had to move back to daegu to live with his aunt, and if jimin ever sent him letters, he didn’t get them. things moved on, ruthless and unforgiving. even though they’d very much lost touch, taehyung kept up his morse, felt like it was what was left of jimin; fingers tapping out the alphabet when he was studying, or listening to music, or—or sometimes when he was lying awake in bed at night, he would send out random little messages, knowing there was no one on the other side of the wall.
.-- .... . .-. . / -.. --- / -- --- - .... ... / --. --- / .-- .... . -. / - .... . / .-.. .. --. .... - / --. --- . ... / --- ..- - (where do moths go when the light goes out)
it didn’t end there, obviously.
when they met again in high school years later, they were different people.
no, not really. well, taehyung had grown into his ears and jimin was ripped and liked to pick fights, but mostly they were still the same. taehyung still liked to waste his time on absurd trivia and jimin still loved books. taehyung still felt like he was a moth drawn to jimin’s light.
what happened was: taehyung’s aunt moved to seoul for work, and taehyung came in mid-semester in the first year of high school. even though he had thought of jimin at the mention of seoul, never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d be staring him in the eye in biology lab while the teacher in front of the class explained how frogs function. jimin’s jaw dropped so far he looked like a snake preparing to swallow prey.
the first thing taehyung did was bring his knuckles to the desk and, to test it out, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, spell out
-... .. - -.-. .... (bitch)
“what did you call me,” jimin choked, and taehyung legit almost started crying in biology class. everyone thought he was extremely emotional about frogs and he carried that reputation with him all through high school but that was a small price to pay. fast-forward to four minutes later, they were crammed into the lab supply closet with the unsettling taxidermy animals and the fake human skeleton which is arguably one of the worst places to have an intense reunion hug after five years apart, but it was happening.
“i wrote you so many letters,” jimin whispered heatedly, “i wrote them in morse, but they got returned to me—didn’t know how to reach you—” he pulled away to glare at taehyung fiercely and smack his shoulder. “make a fucking facebook, dude.”
to better understand what they are, fast-forward to:
taehyung’s grandmother passing away just a few months later. jimin invited himself over to his aunt’s place, crawled into his bed under his covers, unprompted and unwavering, and just lied with him for hours. said i won’t leave again, not anymore, and then came with taehyung to the funeral in daegu.
taehyung kissing a boy for the first time. he told jimin about it, vented his disappointment because it had been bad, somehow dry and slobbery at the same time, and if it’s always like that, he doesn’t want to kiss guys anymore. it’s not always like that, jimin said, let me show you, you deserve to be kissed well, can i show you. in taehyung’s mind, jimin is his first kiss with a boy.
them trying to figure out what to do after high school, and particularly that one night on the windy roof of jimin’s building, cheap beer and swinging their legs through the railing. jimin told him he wasn’t going to college, at least not yet, it was too expensive and he wasn’t keen on paying off debts for the rest of his life just to study something he didn’t care about. he would get a job at a bookstore and a cheap apartment in the city, and maybe he would make it. i’m not asking you to stay with me, he said, appearing smaller than he was in taehyung’s massive hoodie, i wouldn’t ask you to. if you want to go your own way, you should. i want you to be the happiest you can be . two things were clear to taehyung at that point: 1. he had no idea what to do with his life, and 2. he’d figure it out with jimin or not at all.
taehyung punching someone for the first time ever for saying disgusting things about jimin and the fact that he danced at a club. it was a terrible punch and hurt taehyung at least as much as it hurt the guy, but it’s the thought that counts. just like when taehyung hurled the garden gnome through his window, jimin was still astonished that taehyung would do that for him. that wasn’t necessary, jimin said, you could’ve just ignored him, there are always people like him —but then the guy switched targets and started calling taehyung some really choice names for throwing a weak punch, at which point jimin threw a much better punch that actually knocked him out cold.
fast-forward to—
ii.
“okay, this is getting out of hand.” yoongi rakes a hand through his unusually and temporarily black hair, which stands up as if made of playdough, before starting to deflate sadly. taehyung can’t take his eyes off of it, even as yoongi proceeds to gesture broadly at the living room. “why are there so many people?”
“overpopulation,” hoseok offers mildly.
“poor sex ed,” jimin says from where he’s leaning back against taehyung’s shoulder on the couch across from hoseok, knees bent and ankles crossed, not even looking up from the game of gin rummy the two have going.
“cloning,” taehyung whispers. yoongi, stood at the edge of the room with his playdough hair and striped coffee mug, groans quietly. behind him, namjoon looks slightly troubled, unlike seokjin, who sits rather unbothered on the carpet at the coffee table playing a rhythm game on his phone. up to a few minutes ago, taehyung was entertaining himself by repeatedly messaging seokjin and fucking up his combos, until seokjin threatened to sue him and blocked his number.
“raise your hand if you live here,” yoongi demands, his own spidery fingers pointing towards the ceiling. immediately five hands go up. yoongi lets his hand drop, and looks sort of dead inside. “how did this happen. did i just, like, forget to lock the door and you all just trailed in?”
“i don’t know, yoongi,” jimin says calmly, “but if you’re going to kick someone out, i nominate hobi.”
“forget about that,” hoseok hums, “up the stakes, jiminie. winner stays, loser packs his bags.”
“it’s on,” jimin glares. “just know that i won’t lose.”
“this isn’t an anime, jimin,” taehyung mumbles, eyeing his cards, “your hand sucks. i think you might lose.”
“if i lose, tae comes with me, and you get a room to yourself,” jimin adds. taehyung shoves at his back even though he really probably would.
“perfect,” hoseok says curtly. “can’t wait to get rid of the air purifier.”
“you take that back,” jimin snaps hotly, kicking his legs in order to gain momentum and sit up straight. “the air purifier gives you clean air. how can you be anti clean air.”
“i’m anti terrible noise in my ear 24/7,” hoseok scoffs, and forcefully slaps a card into the pile between them. “you can take your sixteen airplanes taking off all at once sounding noise machine with you when you lose.”
“if you love dust so much why don’t you marry it.”
“guys, enough,” namjoon intervenes.
“come on, namjoon, this was just getting interesting,” seokjin complains airily.
“we’re not kicking anyone out,” namjoon says in a long-suffering tone. he heaves a sigh, folds his arms, and gravitates towards the center of the room. taehyung senses an impromptu and potentially heart-wrenching speech coming. he’s only lived here for a short while, but he’s known namjoon for a couple of years, and he still hasn’t cracked what it is about him, exactly, that commands people’s attention at times without him explicitly doing anything besides looking a bit pensive and being tall; it’s just some kind of natural charisma, taehyung supposes. he’s also seen him walk into the same glass door twice within the span of five minutes, so there’s that.
a sort of hush has taken over as hoseok and jimin let go of their argument with great reluctance on jimin’s part—taehyung doesn’t have to see his face in order to tell there’s a pout on it, and loops his arm around jimin’s chest, pulls him in. jimin falls into him easy as ever. his fingertips touch taehyung’s forearm, merely lingering at first; then tapping, staccato and meaningful, combining with short lines drawn on his skin, and taehyung realizes—it's morse. it’s their morse, how they learned it. a short tap means a dot, a drag means a dash. it strikes a chord buried somewhere deep, and brings back a very specific feeling.
taehyung thinks of tall zelkovas dying on their feet, long summer nights, dusty after-school libraries and bloody noses. thinks of childhood, basically, or at least a part of it. they haven’t used morse in years. not since he called jimin a bitch in high school. it used to mean so much to them, it used to be such a comfort; but after fate threw them at each other again, it just sort of faded. they don’t share walls anymore. there is a very significant lack of walls going on in the bedroom they share with hoseok.
he can still recall the alphabet if he tries very hard, and it’s nice that jimin remembers, too. well, sort of remembers. taehyung’s pretty sure he’s currently saying you are put arm ass great.
taehyung leans closer to his ear to whisper:
“are you telling me i’m good at fisting in morse?”
jimin’s entire body something like convulses in a soundless laughing fit, warm fingers pressing in on the flesh of taehyung’s arm.
across the room, yoongi sags into an armchair, only his sharp eyes visible from behind the huge coffee mug. seokjin’s game plays a sound effect, and he suppresses an embarrassed grin as he silences it. namjoon licks his lips, quickly glancing around the room, brows pulled together in a serious manner.
“we’re not kicking anyone out,” he says again, a certain gravity in his voice, “some of us have already lived through that once or more. we’re all here because we don’t have anywhere else to go. but this is a home, first and foremost. not a lost and found. no more strays. that means people and the literal stray cats you’re harboring in the garage, tae.”
“what cats,” taehyung says, “i don’t know anything about cats. in fact i have never seen a cat in real life. my only knowledge of cats comes from those medieval paintings where they have creepy little human faces.”
“okay,” namjoon says tiredly.
“i saw you holding a kitten in the bushes by the garage,” yoongi pipes in, “everyone saw you.”
“why are you trying to discredit me?” taehyung groans. “now i look like a liar and you look like a snitch. what did you gain?”
“you’re making my exact point,” namjoon growls, and everyone shuts up once again. “if you’re going to live here, then you’ll have to live here. like people do. in harmony with everyone else. we obviously can’t keep going like this. fighting all the time. we need ground rules built on mutual respect and human fucking decency.”
there’s a brief, stunned silence.
“you should be president,” taehyung blurts.
“namjoon for president!” seokjin yelps, and they erupt into chants which completely drown out namjoon’s embarrassed groans. one thing taehyung’s already noticed is that they are collectively very good at chanting.
“i’m just basically telling you to clean up after yourselves and stop going to war every five seconds,” he mutters behind his hands. he slides his fingers down, inhales through his nose, and manages to look solemn despite being slightly red. “everyone will take care of the house… and each other. that’s how this will work.”
someone awws quietly. heads slightly nodding all around the room. it’s a very warm and touching moment.
“can you make yoongi stop playing the fucking piano at four a.m. though,” jimin breaks the silence.
“you blast aerobic music at six,” yoongi snaps, “that’s worse. exercise should be banned in this house, or at least limited to like, ten quiet push-ups.”
“guys,” namjoon squeaks, turning his face up at the ceiling like he’s begging for a higher being to strike him down. taehyung’s pretty sure he is.
“gin!” hoseok screams, slamming down his four kings and two runs.
“yes?” seokjin says.
“we weren’t playing!” jimin snarls, his cards scattering all over the floor as he lunges at hoseok.
expecting a bunch of guys in their early to mid-twenties to immediately know how to live with each other is just not realistic. but taehyung has a good feeling about this. he also has a feeling he’ll be violating the no strays rule lots.
at night, he rolls over to jimin’s bed, swiftly pulls the blanket over them, covering them completely, holding it up with his arm like it’s a tent, like it’s summer camp and they’re about to tell ghost stories in jimin’s eerie cell phone light. jimin gives a surprised but warm smile, and taehyung is suddenly weirdly grateful that his soft chubby cheeks never went away.
“hi. what are we doing?” jimin asks, hushed in the blue light because hoseok is sleeping across the room.
“i’m feeling nostalgic,” taehyung explains, letting the blanket deflate in on them a little bit as his arm tires. jimin pushes it up with his own hand. “it’s because you used morse today. i started reminiscing.”
“ah,” jimin breathes in understanding, turning onto his side, elbows and knees brushing taehyung’s. “so we’re reminiscing?”
“precisely,” taehyung says. “remember when i yeeted that gnome through your window and we ran away for like two hours? where would we even have gone?”
jimin grins, all lovely rosy cheeks.
“i think you were set on canada.”
“i had like 7,000 won,” taehyung says disbelievingly. “i had so much ambition. whatever happened to that.”
“adulthood,” jimin shrugs. taehyung makes a noise of agreement. there’s a slight pause as they reminisce silently in their bubble of light and rapidly diminishing oxygen. taehyung cracks the top of the blanket just enough to allow air in. jimin blinks a little bit sleepily, and shifts a little closer. “that’s exactly what i thought about earlier, you know. the time you broke my window to bust me out when i asked for help. i thought… you’re always there… when i need help. and not just me.” he licks his lips. “it’s the same reason you keep rescuing stray cats. you always try to take care of things. you have an innate need to protect.”
taehyung parts his lips.
“and you decided to express that by telling me i’m good at fisting,” is what comes out of his mouth. “no judgement, but interesting choice.”
jimin tries his best to fight a smile, and doesn’t do a very good job.
“if you must know, i was trying to quote johnny cash and say that you are my sunshine.”
“really? wow, you were tremendously off.”
“i know, i need to revise,” jimin sighs. he lets the blanket drop on his side, and throws his arm over taehyung’s waist instead. the cell phone light goes out. “also, i really think we should pick up morse again, just to talk about everyone in front of them.”
“you’re a genius, park jimin,” taehyung hums as jimin yawns against his neck, and he, too, lets go of the blanket.
iii.
the long answer is something like: no, we’re not dating, not really, not the way you mean it.
but he’s the one i’d choose, over and over. he’s what you’d call a soulmate, partner in crime, home.
it’s something like
.-- .. - .... / -.-- --- ..- / --- .-. / -. --- - / .- - / .- .-.. .-.. (with you or not at all)
taehyung has a good feeling about this.