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Chapter Text

2022

September 9th

Namjoon was quoting Karl Marx when he told Jeongguk once that all great historical facts appear twice: the first time as tragedy and the second as farce. It might have been a misquote, or Jeongguk might be overestimating his own importance in the grand scheme of things, but considering that he and Jimin are both worldwide known, top-tier tennis players, he wonders if what is happening now qualifies as a historical farce.

He can't believe he let himself be fooled again, by the same person, under similar circumstances. With only one blow, Jimin managed to hit his pride and his confidence. Jeongguk will not admit to the strike to his heart. But it hurts, not only in his chest but everywhere, and Jeongguk will drag himself out of this stadium if he needs to, but he won't stay a single moment within a five-kilometer radius of Jimin anymore.

As if summoned, his rival dashes into the recovery room. Jeongguk clutches his sides closely and gets up, and Jin doesn't need to be told a single word before carrying Jeongguk's bags to accompany him on the way out.

"Wait, Jeongguk! This is not what you think it is,” he pants. “Please let me explain."

Jeongguk turns around, runs his eyes over his distressed features—beautiful, so damn beautiful. A trick on logic, a honey trap set to deceive.

"We have nothing to talk about, Park. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? It is what it is."

"It's not like that. This is the farthest thing from what I wanted. Jeongguk—don’t you remember the things we talked about? What we did together? I would never do this."

“Apparently you would.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jimin shakes his head. His eyes well up with tears, and he wipes one that slips past the seam of his eyes. Jeongguk’s heart clenches, but then he remembers it’s fake.

It’s not real. Stop looking.

“You have to believe me, Gguk-ah.”

Believe him? After everything? But the thing is, Jimin is good at what he does. He cries, the sniffles increasing in frequency the longer Jeongguk takes to reply. Coaches, hitters, physios, staff, press, guests, ball boys and girls; they’re all filtering into the room and taking in the scene, but Jimin isn’t hindered by it in the slightest.

Acting. This is just a farce. 'Gotta keep your adversary guessing. One up them,’ remember? He said that. You’re just another person he’s lying to, Jeongguk.

"I actually hope you win on Sunday. Get that trophy if you want it so fucking much. Fucking marry it. And then pretend we never met, because that's exactly what I'm gonna do, starting today."

Jeongguk wonders what’s in it for Jimin this time, why he wants to keep the lie going after it’s served its purpose. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The cycle has finished, everything played out the way it should, twice between them. It is what it is. 

He takes one last look at the face of the person who for the past nine years he’s wanted to destroy just because he couldn’t become one with it. The worst thing is that there’s still a part of him that wants to be with Jimin. But even that part isn’t enough to make him stay, so he doesn’t.

When Jeongguk leaves, Jimin doesn't follow.

Chapter Text

"Violent antipathies are always suspicious, and betray a secret affinity."

—William Hazlitt

May

Nadal adjusted his clothes, bouncing the ball on the clay ground as the audience hushed the more excited cheerers. He tossed it up into the air, brow creasing in concentration, and then whacked it with a loud grunt, serving across the court at 112 mph. Federer returned it without a hitch at the same angle, the ball going back and forth thrice before Nadal changed the trajectory with a backhanded shot down the line.

Jeongguk could recite all the points of that match with his eyes closed, but he still liked to watch, leg shaking as he gripped his phone tighter, trying to avoid the luminosity of the long windows in the Côte D’Azur departure lounge. Federer dashed to the side, sending the ball back with amazing topspin, and Nadal changed the angle again cross-court. His opponent caught it and changed the trajectory this time, shooting down the line. They rallied back and forth—cross-court, down the line, cross-court twice.

Down the line twice, up in the middle. An angled shot from Federer rebutted by Nadal’s inspired slice that led to Federer’s mistake; a long shot landing outside the court. A seventeen-shot-long rally that put 19-year-old Rafael Nadal into his first French Open final—a first out of dozens during a brilliant career.

As soon as the fluorescent yellow ball hit behind the baseline, the youngest man dropped to the ground with arms wide, staining his white pants and green shirt with the red clay without a worry in the world. The crowd rose to their feet, fists shaking into the air, palms clapping, and throats screaming at the feat they had just witnessed.

Imagine making it to the finals of such a championship at nineteen. Nadal was four years younger than Jeongguk then and would come to win his first Grand Slam in two days. Did he have any idea what was going to happen? That his victory would be the first of many; that he would become one of the three greatest tennis players of all time? That he would inspire Jeongguk to become more than the punching bag he'd once been?

Jeongguk sighed, slumping back against the cream-colored armchair, eyes skirting over the other eleven identical chairs, light sandalwood tiles, white tables and walls which despite the calming intent did nothing to stop his leg from bouncing on his heels. He looked left through the floor-to-ceiling windows, trying to find some peace in the tarmac or the azure sea beyond it.

As much as he tried, his mind kept going back to that match, and to his game in a couple of days. Jeongguk wanted to pull off something like Nadal did at nineteen, sweeping everyone off their feet as an underdog surged up to take the prize.

He wanted to strike a shot so fierce and so strong, but also so precise and constructed so artfully that the crowd would jump off their seats with their jaws on the floor, stupefied ‘aahh's leaving their mouths like a chorus soundtrack in a movie where he played the main role.

Clapping would follow the gasps, and he would raise his arms to receive the cheers like he could feel the sound curling around his fingers; like prestige was something tangible that he could grab onto and shoot into his veins to get him high off it, floating on the clay, soaring above Court Philippe Chatrier.

He wanted to hit a winner so perfect, so uniquely remarkable that a woman in a spaghetti strap summer dress with yellow daisies—a smile on her face as she wound her hand around the arm of her husband’s prim shirt which didn’t match his worn soles—would still remember it, fifty or sixty years later, sitting on the porch of a blue cottage somewhere in Dordogne, amidst high meadows dotted with pink and yellow wildflowers (like the daisies in her dress on that day in the court) between bites of camembert and sips of wine. She would turn to her napping husband who would be almost too old to remember anything, and even so she’d urge him to pull up the exact moment Jeongguk hit that winner, and the old man's wilting brain would give one last breath of vivacity at the memory, his lips pulling into a worn smile just like the underlayer of his shoes back then at the film playing in his mind’s eye.

His voice would tremble when he spoke, "I remember, Élise. I do."

This is what Jeongguk wanted to achieve. Victory was mandatory, but as a means to an end—to reach immortality in the form of carving his deeds in the book of history and the memories of people, becoming an inspiration for generations to come.

It was no small feat and he knew it.

Looking back at the screen of his phone, Jeongguk replayed again the movements hopping between pixels, watching the perfect birth of an immortal, envying every second of his existence.

He didn't want to die. Jeongguk didn't want to be finite like the others, and he most definitely didn't want to let anyone believe he was ephemeral; like a match that catches fire and fizzles out before it can even light up a room.

No. He wanted to burn like a star, for as long as life existed—and for longer. He knew that fire burned inside him already, but it hadn’t reached its full potential yet.

Jeongguk looked out of the vertical windows once more, taking in the perfect blue of the sea at the edge of the land, deep and vivid, shiny and full of life given by the flaming star that the world swirls around. This is who he wanted to be. And if he couldn't become the literal sun, at least he wanted to be one in the galaxy of world tennis, in the system of South Korea.

He'd be great. He'd turn night into day and grow seeds into frondose trees. And just because he could, he would grow daisies in some old French lady's backyard every now and then, making her remember him all over again.

Jeongguk sighed, stroking his heart over his ribs, asking it to calm down. All that fire was great for the court, but it had no use on these cream-colored seats. Someone ought to kick him out if he made a scene here. He was alone in the waiting room since Daewon and Seungri had flown ahead to Paris, leaving only him and his coach behind. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that he’d been left with only his thoughts at the brink of the Roland Garros tournament.

'Channel your strengths, Jeongguk', his coach repeated like a mantra. It was good advice, but the number of times he'd heard it and the nagging voice saying it made him want to groan. 'Direct your power into your shots and there'll be no one to beat you.'

Jeongguk wanted to see that so much; he could barely wait. But in the end, he was going to Paris, wasn't he? He'd worked his way up to this point. There were only a few dozen people in the world who could get in his way, but that was the last time he checked. Things had probably changed. He would beat them soon.

Although… there was one person who could—

"Are you done glaring at the chair? What's it done to you?" his coach interrupted his thoughts with. He smiled, teeth wide and ungracious, and swapped Jeongguk's crossed legs with a newspaper.

He uncrossed them, setting his phone aside and glaring at the other man instead. "I was watching the 2005 semi-final."

His coach raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Again?"

Jeongguk pursed his lips, nodding. The other snorted, shaking the newspaper open with the kind of wet sound only this particular kind of publication manages to create, which surprisingly went along quite well with his coach's licked remnants of hair and his overall boomer look—who read physical newspapers anymore these days?

"That was a great game, but it's in the past. You play like that is gonna get you nowhere."

It still works for Nadal—

"And don't tell me about how it works for Nadal. He's Nadal. You gotta work your ass off if you ever wanna be like him."

Jeongguk wanted to tell him that he could do that. No, in fact, he would do that. Just watch him. But he'd had this argument with his coach one too many times, and he did not want a discussion right now to rain on his parade. He was floating. Part of him still imagined himself above the clay and above Paris, hovering perfectly and eternally among the galleries of unforgettable stars of tennis.

He bit his cheek, staring out the window for what he thought would be the remainder of their wait. But as people in the lounge kept creating sounds of their existence around him—shuffling in and out of the room, tinkling cutlery by the buffet, ruffling magazine pages and the seldom snore of a prospective passenger who'd relaxed a bit too much—his leg got jittery again, signaling to his brain and to everyone around him that he was nervous, fingers combing through the red tips of his hair.

His coach either didn't notice it this time or ignored him on purpose, but that was fine. It's not like he would reach out to him seeking understanding anyway, right? He had texted Namjoon earlier, but he was more of an acquaintance than a friend and he was busy, so the conversation faded out quickly. Jeongguk could call Jin, but at this hour he was probably deep asleep. Jeongguk just had to suck it up, it was that easy. Easy, he thought, finger pads tapping on his phone's display.

He looked down when the screen lit up with a notification from Reddit. Popular on tennis: What are your bets for…

He clicked on the tab to read the rest.

r/tennis * posted by u/only-shallow * 10 hours ago

What are your bets for Roland Garros this year? 

I know we have a pinned session for predictions, but I wanna know the reason behind your choices. I'm guessing the majority will go with Nadal or Djoko as usual but are there any novelties? Any new players you have your eyes on? I think Alcaraz has been doing great this season, so I'd go for him, although I'd never expect him to win over one of the others. How about you?

Jeongguk knew it was a bad idea to look at the replies, but there was something magnetic about scrolling down and searching for someone that might mention his name. Besides, it's not like he had anything better to do.

“Hyunsikssi?”

“Hm?” his coach replied, eyes never leaving the black and white expanse of paper in front of him.

“How much longer until the plane arrives?”

The man clicked his tongue, turning a lazy page. “About an hour. It got delayed.”

Jeongguk held back another sigh, returning to his phone with an acknowledging grunt. Fantastic. At least now he had an excuse to do what he was going to do anyway.

[WhitneyNadal] Yeah I'm betting on Nadal, of course. Kind of stupid to bet on anyone else when it comes to clay.

» [nico968] Preach.

[TonyBotz] I'm going for Djoko. Man got unfairly kicked out of AUS Open and he's coming for blood this time.

» [SwissChoco] cut the crap, he had it coming, it was his own fault

» [TonyBotz] So you think it's fair for the no. 1 to get kicked out of a tournament he would surely win? What a shame. You must be… (see more).

» [Mod] Thread locked and users suspended for not following the rules of this sub.

Jeongguk swiped his thumb down to various similar comments, going faster and faster until they were just a blur and he wasn't reading anything anymore. Amidst the indistinct blunder, something caught his eye, and he scrolled up slowly to find it.

[ENTPatrick] Men's singles are pretty boring, it's always the same people. I'm betting on Raducanu among the women, or maybe Halep. Unless something unexpected happens, Nadal will take the one on the men's side.

» [CommentBooster] You're being just as short-sighted as everyone in this sub. No one looks outside the European-American circuit, do they? There's a very promising South Korean player up and coming. He might not win, but he can reach the quarters or semis at the very least. Top 10 better watch out for the next Grand Slams. (see more replies)

Jeongguk almost leaped out of his seat with excitement. A Korean player? That was more like it. He clicked to see more replies before he could think twice about it.

» [ENTPatrick] who are you talking about?

» [CommentBoster] Park Jimin, of course. Do your research.

Ah, fuck no. Not him.

Jeongguk was about to hurl his phone across the room, hopefully getting someone else nervous or angry besides himself, but he looked down just in time to see that there were more hidden answers under the last one. His thumb hovered over the screen as his brain weighed the pros and cons of going down that rabbit hole. As with everything online, there was always a fifty-fifty chance of things escalating for the best or going horribly wrong.

He should avoid it. Close the app and put on some heavy metal to channel the aggressiveness brimming inside of him.

Jeongguk peeked at Hyunsik, still engrossed in that stale newspaper. Did he even know French? Or maybe they sold newspapers in English at an airport. Either way, Jeongguk was too far away to be able to tell the language. The only thing he was 100% sure of was that it was not Korean.

It would be useless to ask his coach for advice. Should he engage in it or skip it? Hyunsik would probably tell him to stop worrying about nonsense. What matters is what you do in the court, not outside it. Solid advice, if unhelpful.

Because Jeongguk wanted to click. And despite all the cons, he made his decision and opened the rest of the thread.

» [ENTPatrick] Hm, I just looked him up after you said that. I’d forgotten his name but he reached the quarter-finals of the Australian Open, right?

» [CommentBooster] Do you even watch tennis? How come you forgot someone who won the round of eight?

» [ENTPatrick] sorry I’m not a computer

» [CommentBooster] Mark his name. He’s the only one with potential outside the western circuits.

Oh yeah, this is what he was trying to avoid. Great move, Jeongguk. Not only was his last appearance unremarkable—he reached the third round and nobody remembered players who leave at the third round no matter how big a fan they might be—but his one national rival got a much better result on the same occasion.

Privileged, sheltered Park Jimin who played tennis since he was in diapers. Perfect Park Jimin whose veins pumped success rather than blood, son of a former tennis player who retired to take care of him and be his coach.

Unshakable Park Jimin who could laugh in the face of tragedy. He would cause it. But had he ever experienced it for himself? Not like Jeongguk, he’d bet.

Ruthless Park Jimin who wrapped anyone he wanted around his finger with a smile and a wink, not caring if his victims might get hit by the debris and carry the remnants of his attack for years like a fragment of a bullet lodged into one’s shoulder, the skin around it too numb to be felt but not too dead to be completely forgotten, just tender enough to hurt after a Reddit commenter pokes at the wound, unbeknownst of what lies underneath.

Jeongguk gripped his phone as he looked unseeingly out the window once again, daydreaming about taking Park Jimin down with his bare hands. If Jeongguk were to float above the court, he wished the same court became Jimin’s grave. If Jeongguk turned into the Sun, he wanted to burn Jimin to ashes. Maybe he could shoot a serve violent enough to crack his skull in half—

His phone slipped from his palm and Jeongguk grappled after it, stroking the screen accidentally in the process. He ended up liking the last comment he read, the one about Jimin being the only one who could make a dent in how things were. His blood was still boiling when his eyes skimmed down, reading a reply he'd skipped before.

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Jimin’s okay, ig. But he’s been at it for longer. When it comes to South Korea, I think Jeon Jeongguk has been having a fantastic season. He’s a younger Chung Hyeon.

» [CommentBooster] Chung Hyeon disappeared after 2018. What the hell are you talking about?

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] You’re right! Jeon Jeongguk is better.

His heart hopped in joy at the last reply. As much as he longed for something of the sort, actually finding a comment like that was unexpected.

And amazing. Jeongguk didn’t soar into the air, but he might have experienced a bit of a hover. He was levitating, for sure. Is that what recognition felt like? He wanted to prolong the feeling for as long as he could, afraid that he would crash to the ground without whatever force was lifting him up.

Without hesitating, he typed a reply under the last one.

» [LordOfTheTennisDance] Chung only disappeared because he got injured, he was a great player. Comparing Jeongguk to him must mean a lot. I don’t know much about him, though.

Feigning ignorance about his own existence was not one of his best moments, but Jeongguk justified that he couldn't simply waltz into a tennis subreddit and reveal that the 35th-best tennis player in the world was among them. He looked at his own reply, a mix of excitement and embarrassment churning in his stomach.

What was he doing, fishing for compliments like that?

Jeongguk slumped in the chair and stared at the far ocean again. Despite feeling self-conscious, at least he wasn’t nervous anymore. His leg didn’t bounce and his heartbeat calmed down. He refreshed the thread hoping for a reply under his comment, locking his phone and closing his eyes after the thirteenth attempt, choosing to keep quiet at least until his flight was called.

This was a good sign. A great one, even. He had just played in Nice and won another ATP 250 on the clay, but his fingers tingled and his feet ached to feel the sandy ground beneath him. He couldn’t wait to play again.

Jimin sagged on the fine Egyptian cotton sheets of his hotel suite, the yield of the mattress just comfortable enough. He sighed, recounting the things he needed.

White boxers, white dry-fit shorts, long-sleeved shirt, his contacts, lots and lots of sunscreen, socks, sliding tennis shoes, a couple of rackets, a pack of balls… Everything was in order, right?

“Shit, the wristbands.”

He crossed the room and delved into his racket bag, but even after removing all the contents, there was still no sign of them. He went to his luggage, shucking everything out of the way and throwing it around the room. Jimin was halfway through his bag when he finally found them in an internal pocket beneath the socks and underwear. “Aha!”

Someone, who he guessed was his mom, knocked on the door and he cursed, taking in the state of his room. She had always been an organization freak—unlike his father who was more like him—but for better or worse, Jimin had lived with her for all his life and knew she would flip once she saw the state of his quarters, with almost every surface covered in a piece of clothing. 

There was no time to tidy all that. He unlocked the door with an apology ready on his lips.

“Sorry, eomma, I was trying to find the wristbands—”

His speech was cut off by a body colliding with him and toppling them to the ground. Jimin frowned until he looked at the face above him—very, very close to his own.

“Jimin-ah!”

“Taehyung-ah!” he smiled, hugging his friend. He hadn’t seen him in ages. The last time they met was when Jimin introduced him to Sungwoon and Taemin over two years ago. They’d cowered away from Taehyung, who had been too eccentric for a couple of calm aspiring musicians.

One could always trust Taehyung to leave a lasting impression.

“Damn, I missed you.”

He hummed. “I can feel it in your pelvis.”

“Ay, shut up,” Jimin said, trying to push the other away but not really. His grin wouldn’t leave his face. “I can’t believe you’re here. Did you come to watch me play?”

The other snorted and slid away from him, stretching a hand to hoist him up. “As if.”

“Ouch? I thought you loved playing doubles with me.”

“I did before you abandoned me.”

“Tae-yah…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung said, closing the door and leaning against it. He grinned, his lips forming the rectangular shape that Jimin loved so much. “This is why I’m here, actually. I’m playing!”

“What?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not—I mean, I am, just— how did I not know that?”

Taehyung sighed, draping an arm around Jimin’s shoulders and tapping his chest with a thin-lipped smile. “Singles players are so arrogant, they forget we doubles players exist. Did you know Alcaraz is playing?”

“Of course.”

“Norrie?”

“Yeah.”

“Berritini?”

“Well—he’s not playing this time.”

“See?” he exclaimed, pushing Jimin half-heartedly. “You look at the schedule! You would’ve known I was playing if you’d checked the doubles, too.”

Jimin took his friend’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over their back. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Who are you playing with?”

“His name is Kim Namjoon. He used to play with his sister, but she got pregnant so she had to step away. It was a bit rushed, but we’ve been training together for the past few months and the rest is history.”

“Wow,” Jimin smiled, then frowned when the name of Taehyung’s partner registered. “Wait, he’s Korean?”

“Yup.”

“I didn’t know there were any male Korean players at this level.”

“You mean besides you and,” Taehyung waved his fingers in Jimin’s direction, “Jeongguk-ie.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, pushing Taehyung until he flopped back on the bed. His face burned and he looked away to hide it. “Shut up.”

“More proof y’all don’t care about us.”

“I already apologized. I didn’t have much of a reason to look at the doubles schedule, but I’ll do it now that I know you’re there.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung said, opening his arms. Jimin crawled down beside him, tucking himself under his chin. “He’s Korean-American, that might be why he got swept under your radar. He’s lived in the US his entire life.”

Oh. “Does he even speak Korean?”

“He does, actually. English and French too.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah. He’s very… smart. In general. It’s good, you know? Playing with him.”

It should be a random observation, but there was a particular inflection to Taehyung’s voice that made Jimin think there might be more to it. He braced himself on his forearms and looked down at his friend.

“You sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am.”

“A bit too much, maybe?”

Taehyung stared back at him with his usual poker face. It was impossible to win a staring contest against Taehyung unless he was drunk or you were Jimin, the only person who knew his tells. Taehyung blinked a few more times than usual, but that wasn’t a dead giveaway yet. Jimin smiled slowly, knowing that that would either make him smile along or try so hard to keep it in that he would burst in some other manner, thus revealing that he was hiding something.

In the end, a mix of all those things happened. Taehyung licked his lips and looked away, just as the corner of his mouth tugged up almost imperceptibly. Jimin slapped his chest with a gasp.

“I knew it! Are you two fucking?”

“No.”

“You totally are!”

“We totally aren’t,” Taehyung countered, still looking away. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh my God,” Jimin exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’re mixing business with pleasure.”

Taehyung crossed his arms. “I didn’t come here to be chastised, I came to tell you I’m competing.”

“With your fuckbuddy!”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” he said and tried to get up, but Jimin pushed him right back onto the mattress. “Let me go.”

“No! C’mon, you gotta tell me about it. What's he like? How did this happen?”

“You know, sometimes you remind me of one of those curious ajummas who can’t wait to hear about the sordid details of the love life of their offspring,” Taehyung said, finally looking at Jimin again. There was the faintest trace of a blush on his cheeks. “You should wear a visor the next time you're out.”

“I like my cap just fine. You should tell me what happened.”

“It just happened.”

“Oh, c’mon! You didn’t come all the way here just to keep this from me. Tell me.”

“I didn’t come here to tell you about this either!”

Jimin’s teasing smile froze on his face, then slowly wilted and he turned away. He hadn’t thought that Taehyung might not want to tell him at all. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was like this.”

His friend surprised him by hugging him from behind. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it’s,” Taehyung released a long-suffering breath beside Jimin’s ear. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jimin turned back around and faced the other. “You do realize now you have to tell me, right?”

“Please, no.”

He shoved Taehyung back, straddling his waist and pinning his arms above his head. “Tell me, Taehyung-ah.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“It’s 9 am.”

“I need drinks in me.”

Jimin raised a palm like a claw, grinning as Taehyung’s eyes bulged out with fear. “Tell me.”

“Don't, I beg you.”

“Last chance.”

“Jimin-ah,” he pleaded, but it was no use. Jimin’s hand descended on his torso, tickling his haunches and neck and trying to be everywhere at once. Taehyung howled with laughter, trying to free his wrists as his body jerked between orders of ‘tell me!’ which fell on deaf ears. His friend was just too stubborn for his own good.

Jimin was caught off guard when Taehyung rolled them and pinned him down instead. The surprise was such that his grip slackened and Taehyung freed himself, paying back the assault in full. They were a giggling and twisting mess on each other, Jimin heaving from the attack like he’d run a marathon.

It would have gone on for quite a while if not for the throat clearing from the doorway, somehow sounding both soft and stern. They sprung apart, Jimin trying to make himself presentable in front of his mother.

“Taehyung-ah,” she said, giving a perfunctory smile. Sunghee tilted her head, performing curiosity, her dark short bob dangling sideways. “Long time no see.”

“Eomma,” he replied, bowing while sitting and thus almost folding himself in half. “I’m glad to see you again.”

Her smile never left her lips as she turned her attention to Jimin, but there was an edge of dissatisfaction in her features. “Jimin-ah, you’re late for practice. I can’t believe I still have to fetch you at 25.”

“Sorry, eomeoni.”

“Instead of being sorry, show up on time tomorrow, how about that?” she said, turning halfway to leave before facing him again. “In fact, we should start earlier tomorrow. By as much time as you are late today.”

“I’m sorry for distracting him-–”

“Yes, coach, ” Jimin cut through Taehyung’s apology since there was no use in defending Jimin from something that would be pinned on him anyway. He was satisfied by the annoyed tick on his mother's face at being addressed like that, in front of Taehyung no less. He knew she didn’t like it and that he’d hear about it later.

He slid out of bed, gathering his scattered belongings under his mom’s watchful gaze. Awkwardness swelled in the silent room, only Jimin's shuffling and the whirring air conditioner filling the air. He stood up once he was done, placing the baseball cap on his head and bidding Taehyung goodbye.

“Come watch us play. I’ll never talk to you again if you don’t,” Taehyung said with a smirk. He was trying to lighten up the mood, so often having to do that when they played doubles.

“We can go out sometime. After the championship is over, of course,” Jimin added, painfully aware of his mom’s presence by his side. He fully intended to go out tomorrow if Taehyung agreed, but what his mom didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. Taehyung’s eyes glinted in understanding.

“Sure. Just hit me up,” he said, making a phone with his hand and bowing one last time before stalking down the corridor. He took the stairs, and Jimin snorted. He had to ask Taehyung where he was staying and how the hell he knew his room number.

He also had to find an excuse to stay locked in his room and not be bothered after the match tomorrow. Jimin would sneak out and meet Taehyung; it went without saying at this point. 

He could not wait to explore the night of the city of lights with his friend.

“Code violation, unsportsmanlike conduct. Point penalty, Mr. Jeon,” sounded the chair umpire’s voice, Hugh Carmichael, through the speakers of court fourteen.

“Oh, come on!” Jeongguk bemoaned, at the last moment holding himself back from smashing the racket on the ground again. He walked to his side of the court, zipping the teal racket bag open with more aggression than needed and taking a new racket out. He plopped down on the bench and wrapped the overgrip around the handle, a scowl scrunching up his features the entire time.

“It’s the rule, Mr. Jeon. You should know that by now.”

“I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Please, stop. This is a warning.”

“Asshole judge getting my fucking points when I’m already having a hard time breaking defense,” he said under his breath, in Korean.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Carmichael stayed silent for the remainder of the break while Jeongguk shoved a mouthful of grapefruit gums into his mouth, getting up at the umpire's low tell that the time was up.

Jeongguk stepped behind the baseline on the right side, spreading his legs and bending forward as he twirled the racket in wait for his opponent to serve. Borna Coric missed his first attempt but aced the second, thus ending the game in his favor. Jeongguk had to bite his tongue to avoid getting punished once more, heavy sweat drops gliding down the side of his face as he switched ends of the court with Borna.

Coric was a fucking wall in Jeongguk’s way. Not only did he catch every shot meant to break him, but ever since the third set, he’d been shooting drop balls just to destabilize him—and it was working.

Jeongguk opened the match by winning two sets to zero, inflating with confidence. He thought he might win this one easily, which soon turned out not to be the case. Mentally, he blamed the heat, as well as Seokjin’s premature arrival, watching Jeongguk’s game from the bleachers two days before he was supposed to make an appearance on Parisian soil.

Jeongguk had no idea why his informal sponsor had traveled in early, and even though there was a chance he simply wanted to catch his earlier matches, the apprehension for a more negative reason distracted Jeongguk enough that by the time he focused again, he’d already lost the third set and was on his way to losing the fourth one, too.

He couldn’t stop making mistakes. Jeongguk wanted to fire a torpedo-like shot that cracked the court open and blew Coric up, but for some reason, he kept missing the court and the balls showed no explosive properties whatsoever. That was how his racket, the only possible victim in sight, ended up suffering the brunt of his frustration.

Jeongguk took a deep breath, getting ready to serve in the new game. He could not afford to leave in the second round. Five months of training since the Australian Open only to perform worse? He hit the ball in the air with all his might, rolling his left shoulder after.

Ace. “Fifteen-love,” the umpire pronounced.

Deep breaths.

The sheer humiliation. Imagine going back home and having to hear his father’s tirade about tennis not being a viable career, all over again?

“Thirty-love.”

Okay, this is more like it. You can win this game, Jeongguk. Deep breaths. Just give me another ace. He served once more.

“Out!” the line umpire bellowed.

“Fuck!”

He hit a slower serve for his second attempt, which Coric returned without much trouble. He gave it back with as much topspin as he could muster, legs tense since he could have to dash quickly at any moment. As if on cue, Borna sent a drop shot close to the net, and Jeongguk rushed forward to return it, growling with a raised fist when the short ball he sent back bounced twice on his opponent’s side of the court.

“Forty-love.”

Seokjin’s watching. I can’t let him see me lose. He’d never let me hear the end of it.

Tossing the ball into the air, Jeongguk served again.

Ace! “Game, Jeon.”

“Fuck yes!” he screamed in Korean, already walking back to his bench and looking for Seokjin’s face in the audience. The man stood as poised as ever in cream slacks, a light pink polo shirt, and a white fedora, clapping composedly with an amused twist to his lips. Not too troubled, then—a good sign. He mouthed ‘fighting’ back to Jeongguk and he smiled, gearing himself up to crunch Coric.

“That was an easy one,” Seokjin commented.

“Shut up. I almost lost it in the fourth set.”

“And then you won,” Seokjin snorted. “Besides, you always lose it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean—”

A large, heavy hand landed on Jeongguk’s shoulder as his coach joined them in the white corridors by the lockers. He stiffened, trying hard not to disentangle from Hyunsik’s grasp too obviously. He had told the man several times that he wasn’t very fond of physical touch, but things like that were always brushed off when it came to his coach.

“You did well today, kid. All you gotta do is keep that up from now on.”

Easier said than done. “I got it covered, don’t worry.”

Seokjin raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Do you, really?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

Hyunsik squeezed Jeongguk’s shoulder to the point it hurt as if to emphasize his next words. “There’s no one as precise as this boy, except for the top three players.”

Jeongguk smiled, albeit awkwardly. “Thank you, coa—”

“What can I say? He was trained by the best!” Hyunsik exclaimed with a guffaw. As if clasping Jeongguk’s shoulder wasn’t enough, his coach clapped his nape twice for good measure, making his head bob forward with it. “You will go far if only you stop making so many mistakes.”

Seokjin laughed along, grabbing Jeongguk’s other arm just as the trio was about to leave the stadium for the car that would take them back to the hotel.

“Jeongguk, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“I mean, we’re already talking.”

“In my car. You can ride with me.”

He looked at his coach, who shrugged. “Sure.”

They veered off to a dark gray, sleek SUV Maserati, with warm brown leather seats, soft to the touch. The driver waited for them as Jeongguk got inside, taking in the heady smell, exuding luxury from every corner. The car was silent except for the way it purred under him.

“Was all this really necessary?” Jeongguk asked in Korean after Seokjin joined him in the backseat and told the driver where they were going.

“All the best to my protegé.”

Jeongguk snorted. “You mean the best for you.”

“You know what I really love about being your agent slash friend? The gratitude I receive.”

“I am grateful. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Probably not.”

Jeongguk sighed, looking at the road to focus on something else besides the sting of the truth. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Your sponsor dropped out.”

“You’re my sponsor.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I meant the other one.”

“Lynx? Why?”

“They’re bankrupt, essentially. They haven’t shut down yet, but it’s underway. In any case, they won’t last past the end of this tennis season.”

Not the most exciting news, for sure. But not the most concerning, either. Lynx was a nice addition to Jeongguk’s long list of two sponsors including Seokjin, but his agent and friend was responsible for most of the expenses regarding his career.

“Okay. What about it?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You need a new sponsor. Sponsors, plural, would be even better.”

Jeongguk frowned, leaning back to stare Seokjin in the face. “Again, you’re my sponsor.”

“I have been, haven’t I? But I can’t pay for everything,” he said, later adding “not yet,” with a whisper.

“Why not? You were the only one backing me up when I first started.”

“Things have changed since then, Jeongguk. You’re not just playing at the challenger tour anymore, and you’re not just in Asia either. You have a physio and a hitter now, and a coach of course. You will need an even bigger team if you wanna improve. I simply cannot afford all that.”

Whatever high he still felt after winning over Borna Coric slipped away, and Jeongguk slumped back in the seat, tilting his head back. What a downer.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“How the hell am I gonna walk out of this?” he half asked, half lamented, staring out the windows of the moving car to watch the landscape of Paris rushing by. To an outside observer, he might look like the filthy rich protagonist of a movie who lost his Louis Vuitton luggage filled to the brim with expensive trinkets, crying on his way to a luxury master suite where he would lie on silk sheets and drown his sorrows with limited edition champagne.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth—not only was Jeongguk not filthy rich, but he had also struggled to get to this point. If not for Seokjin, he wouldn’t be here, but it seemed that the obstacles never stopped coming.

He hoped that one day he could chase his dreams without the pressing worry of financial hardship on his back. If only his parents backed him up on this.

"Can I be honest with you?" Seokjin asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Ok, I'm gonna be honest with you."

"Great."

"You need to work on your image. You have to cut the angry player act. Tennis isn't the sport for it and Kyrgios got that spot already. You gotta mellow yourself and get your head in place, otherwise, do you know how many brands will want to associate themselves with you?"

"I don't know, about five?"

"Five? Five, Jeongguk?"

"Isn't that the number of sponsors that Sascha has?"

Seokjin snorted so loud that Jeongguk thought he might start coughing. "You are not Sascha!"

Unimportant, but hurtful all the same. He started late, what could he do? Compensate, of course. 

"It's a matter of time until I reach his level."

Seokjin laughed even louder, muttering expletives under his breath. "You're so full of yourself, Jeongguk. Okay, you might not be Sascha yet, but this is still your current reality. You're not in the top 10 and you gotta deal with it. You need sponsors, and you need sponsors now, and you can bet Wilson won't like to see you breaking their rackets in a fit of anger in front of a huge semi-final crowd."

Well, that...

Was true. But Seokjin had no idea what went through one's head during a match. Each point lost took twice the effort to revert, and there was no coming back from a lost match. It was either kill or get killed—desperation inevitably entered the equation in that scenario.

"It's hard to control, okay? Do you think I don't tell myself 'hey, Jeongguk, maybe breaking the racket isn't the best idea—"

"Getting fined doesn't help either."

"I know!"

"You need a therapist, that’s what you need."

"Well then, get me one!"

"I could do that, but you still need a new sponsor!"

"Fuck!" Jeongguk growled, pulling his hair, head between his knees. This was going unexpectedly downhill. "Are we close to the hotel yet?"

"Don't try to change the subject."

"I'm not. But this doesn't sound easy to solve and I can't think right now."

Seokjin hummed in response and shut his mouth. Jeongguk sighed, leaning back against his seat and closing his eyes again. It wasn't like Seokjin to give up this easily.

Actually, not at all.

"What are you not saying?"

"There might be a solution for this. A way to put you under the spotlight so brands will want to choose you."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"SBS is making a doc on Korean tennis players this season. They'd follow you around, and you'd have to give some interviews."

That doesn't sound bad at all. "Why didn't you start with that?" Jeongguk asked, watching Seokjin's lips getting thin. "There's a catch, isn't there?"

The other nods. "Some of the shoots will be individual, like during matches. But the point of the doc is to promote tennis in Korea, and that means creating a team atmosphere in a sport where the biggest stars play in singles. There will be group interviews and activities to show rapport among the members of such a 'team'."

Oh. Jeongguk hadn't paid attention to the players in Roland Garros this year, the only occasion where he didn't obsess over something in order to not frail his nerves about it. But participating in the doc meant joining the other players, which shouldn't be too bad, except Seokjin omitted that part for a reason. So that could only mean—

"Namjoon is here, his new partner as well. They're okay," Jeongguk said, licking his lips. "Please tell me Park Jimin broke his neck trying to pull his head out of his ass and is not playing in Roland Garros this year."

"Firstly, stop cussing the poor guy. And secondly, Park Jimin is a lovely individual who is definitely playing in Roland Garros this year."

Jeongguk banged his head against the too-comfortable seat. He couldn't even be properly angry; the foam was so soft. Too soft. So damn perfect it was infuriating. He would never agree to spend time with Park Jimin.

“So, what’s your call? Should I tell Min Yoongi you’re doing the doc?”

Jeongguk snorted. Park Jimin? "Not a chance."

"Thought so," Seokjin said, turning forward with finality. He patted Jeongguk's thigh, looking out the window. "You better get to the quarterfinals at the very least, then. Make sure people look at you."

"Don't worry, hyung. I will."

Chapter Text

His mom sighed. “You’re still getting it wrong.”

“I’m sorry, eomeoni.”

“What do I always tell you?”

It was his time to sigh. “Don’t be sorry, just do it right.”

“Exactly,” she said, tossing him another ball. “Do it again.”

He served three more times, trying to hit both hard and at an angle. His last attempt hit the line and his mom walked over to see the mark on the clay and confirm it was in.

“It was okay. Now try to hit at a safer spot so you don’t miss it in a real game. Gotta make those first serves work.”

Instead of doing as told, Jimin propped his racket on the ground, leaning forward on it with both hands. “Can’t we get Youngjae? I think I should be practicing for rallies instead of this.”

“And do the same you’ve always done? No,” she shook her head. “You have to improve your volley, but for that, you need to have a good serve first.”

“My serve is fine.”

“I’m telling you it isn’t.”

“It works with my strategy! What else do you want me to do?”

“You can’t rely on playing defense the whole time, Jimin! Be an all-rounder or be nothing. You’ll never win a grand slam if you keep going like this.”

She didn’t give him time to reply, tossing a ball in such a way that he had to catch it or get hit in the face.

“Keep your reflexes sharp. Do it again.”

It was no use arguing with his mother, he knew that. But sometimes, under the scorching sun, after having played a four-set game two days ago and having another one tomorrow, Jimin was all nerves and tiredness. He couldn’t help his mouth.

He served again, and again, and again, and each time he prayed for a godsent reprieve. Something to stop this torture. Did he even want to win a grand slam? If he had it his way, he would probably just keep doing ‘the same as always’ as his mom put it, and if he got to win a prize for it, great.

If not, it wouldn’t change his life. Nothing changed his life anyway.

And just when he thought he couldn’t keep going, whatever entity existed seemed to hear his silent prayers and sent just the solution for his problems in the form of Jeongguk’s coach storming into the court, face as red as the clay under his feet.

Jimin saw him before his mom did and stopped moving, thus making her notice the invader. He knew they’d start arguing the moment they were close enough to exchange words, and that would occupy his mom for the next ten minutes or so, giving him plenty of time for a distraction. He looked down the way the coach had come from, waiting for Jeongguk’s entrance, vibrating beneath his skin, discreetly adjusting his clothes and drying his face, removing his cap and putting it back on again—until he arrived.

He wore black shorts and a white t-shirt with some tribal markings on it. A headband swept back his fringe and exposed his beautiful forehead—seriously, how can such a plain area be so damn attractive?—and despite having just arrived, his cheeks carried a faint blush like he’d been working out previously to entering the court.

“What are you doing here?” Hyunsik asked.

“I should be the one asking you this. You’re interrupting Jimin’s practice.”

“Well, you shouldn’t even be practicing. I reserved the court for Jeongguk!”

His mom snorted. “You’re ridiculous. Obviously, I booked it, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“You arrived early just to snatch it from me!”

“We’ve been here for hours, you scoundrel!”

The discussion went on and on as expected and Jimin waved Jeongguk closer with the racket, walking to the net. The other seemed reluctant, but since both their coaches were occupied trying to one-up the other with insults, there wasn’t much they could do at the moment. Their coaches were rivals much like Jimin and Jeongguk, but he didn’t know which rivalry started first—at this point, both seemed to have existed forever.

“What is it?”

“You wanted to see me?”

Jeongguk raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. It seems to be the other way around, no? You called me over.”

“After you showed up during my practice.”

“That you shouldn’t have been doing during my slot in the first place. Coach booked it for me.”

Jimin rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Listen, let them fight about schedules, okay? We don’t have to. You can just admit you wanted to be around me,” he smiled.

Jeongguk’s face closed off. It was not Jimin’s preferred look, but it got Jeongguk’s eyes on him, and that had to be enough for now, especially when it took the other a couple of seconds of intense staring before he could utter a single word.

“In your dreams.”

“I haven’t dreamed a lot about you lately, Jeon, but I can try. Your suggestion is a bit out of place, though, why is that? Have you been dreaming about me?”

“In your—shut up. ”

“Ooh. That wasn’t very polite to your hyung, was it?”

“Please, don’t ever refer to yourself as my hyung again.”

“See, that is much better. I like to see you beg.”

Jeongguk’s lips curled in a snarl and he leaned forward, fingers gripping the net band. Jimin’s breath hitched at the veins popping in his arms and at how close their heads suddenly were, Jeongguk’s breath fanning his face as he spoke.

“I will never submit to you.”

His skin was flushed, whether from the sun or anger—or something else—Jimin didn’t know. He’d keep that sight stored inside his brain for later musings mainly involving the last option.

Leaning even closer, Jimin grinned and swiped a quick finger along Jeongguk’s jaw. “You already submitted to me the moment we started talking, darling.”

The other recoiled as if he’d been stung by Jimin’s touch, his complexion darkening even more. It took effort for Jimin not to drop his smile. It was always hard to keep up the facade whenever Jeongguk showed just how much contempt he had for him, for no good reason whatsoever. Jeongguk heaved, and he seemed ready to retaliate somehow, but at the last moment he took a deep breath and reeled himself in, hands balled into fists.

Huh. If only he had that much self-restraint when he was playing.

“You’re lucky I can’t do anything with you here.”

Jimin’s mind went awry with that particular choice of words, but he figured he’d teased the other enough already. If he prodded any more, Jeongguk was bound to explode. He might as well try to be constructive.

“No, you can’t. Clay can be difficult if you’re a hard-hitter. It basically undoes all your work and gives the advantage to the other side. You can’t rush the point, you gotta work for it,” he said, hoping to sound smooth enough that the other would have no choice but to accept it.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jimin looked at Jeongguk again, surprised to find a grimace there. “It means exactly what you think it means.”

“So you mean to say that I don’t work for it?” he snorted, “I’m not you, okay? I actually had to work to get here. I didn’t have mommy to back me up.”

He frowned. “Eomeoni helped me, but she didn’t play for me. I did it myself.”

“Sure.”

“I am serious!”

Jeongguk laughed, turning and walking away from him. “I can’t talk to you, you’re a joke.”

Why was he so, so, so frustrating? Jimin understood Jeongguk’s anger, even if their bickering was pure teasing on his part—which, okay, unnecessary, but sometimes he couldn’t hold himself when he saw those eyes and that jaw—but why couldn’t Jeongguk listen when Jimin was just trying to help?

“Okay, we figured out what happened. The receptionist scheduled from 8 to 10 am for ‘Park’, but since we’re both Park,” Jimin’s mom waved between her and Hyunsik, “she got it confused.”

“Fucking foreigners,” Hyunsik spit.

“Technically, we’re the foreigners.”

“Whatever.”

“So what we’re going to do is Jimin is going to practice until 10 and Jeongguk and his coach can book another court for tomorrow,” Sunghee said.

“What? This is not what we agreed on.”

“We didn’t agree on anything, Hyunsikssi. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”

“That is not what’s going to happen!”

As they appeared ready to get into a new discussion, Jimin butted in. “Why don’t we practice together? We don’t need a hitter if we can bounce off of each other.”

“I don’t wanna play with you,” Jeongguk complained.

“Why not? You might learn a thing or two,” he replied with a wink, back into teasing mode.

“As if I have anything to learn from you.”

“Oh, you do. You do. You have no idea how much—”

“I don’t like this idea either,” his mom interrupted. “He’s going to see your strategy.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jimin replied. “Knowing my strategy means nothing if he can’t beat me, right?”

“You fucking wish, Park.”

“In my dreams, is that what you said? Or in yours?”

“Fuck off.”

“Happy to! If you can beat me first.”

Jeongguk snorted, shaking his head but walking to the baseline. At this point, Jimin knew he was just pretending to resist, but wouldn’t say no. Jeongguk was obsessed with proving he could be better than everyone around him, and poking at that spot was a sure way to get his attention.

Jimin knew it. He’d done that dozens of times.

“I’ve beaten you before, Park. In Shanghai, remember?”

“Of course, I do. It was the only time you ever did it, how could I forget?”

Jeongguk pursed his lips, brow pinched with annoyance. “It won’t be the last.”

Jimin stared across the court and spread his feet on the clay, bending forward in wait for Jeongguk to serve. His eyes were trained on every flex of Jeongguk’s muscles, on the way he marched to the deuce side, the way the tips of his long fingers pushed the spare ball into his pocket making his shorts tighter around his back and evidencing his ass, the way he locked eyes with Jimin as he bounced the ball on the ground, preparing to serve.

Jimin smirked and winked out of habit. “Bring it on, darling.”

Jimin should sue Alcaraz for almost killing him, but he figured he wouldn’t get very far with a lawsuit like that. He won the round of sixteen in the end and nobody pities a winner, right?

His muscles were heavy after the four-hour-long game in the afternoon after which he had to stay ten minutes soaking in freezing water. Jimin almost literally crawled his way into bed when he returned to the hotel, falling face-first into the pillows. It didn’t help that when he was about to slip out to the Caveau des Oubliettes his mom popped into his room to talk about strategies again.

It had been happening for the past 3 days. No meeting Taehyung for drinks and screamo, then.

His phone pinged beside his head and he unlocked it, squinting at the blurry symbols on the screen. Accio glasses.

They didn’t fly into his hand. How homophobic.

Jimin leaned over to the bedside table with a groan, retrieving his glasses and propping himself back against the pillows to peruse his phone.

The notification had been from a Reddit post summing up the players who got past the round of sixteen, his name amidst them. He scrolled down to see the same posts as always, praising the same players, making the same bets. He was about to close the tab when the title of one of the posts caught his eye and he expanded the thread.

r/tennis * Posted by u/theguywithacamera * 2 hours ago

Jeon Jeongguk got past the third round. Now what?

I don’t know if you guys have been paying attention, but the last time Jeon Jeongguk (Korean) played in a Grand Slam he got defeated in the third round. He beat Schwarzman this time, which is a big deal for someone who’s just popping up for the first time, and tomorrow he’ll play in the round of sixteen against Djokovic. I think it’s a given he’s going to lose against the #1 in the world, but what if he can telepathically make Djoko break a handful of rackets until he’s kicked out of the game? Lol.

Thoughts?

Jimin scrolled down the replies in the thread, mouth twisting at the dismissive tones and sometimes mocking comments from most people. The best ones were uncertain at most, reminding that some big players started from the bottom just like Jeongguk—but they were shut down quickly under a mountain of downvotes.

That didn’t sit well with him. He reached the end of the thread in the hopes that he could find something more positive, but to no avail. Jimin’s fingers itched, and before noticing, he was writing his own reply beneath the original post.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Since you asked for thoughts: to be honest, I think it’s unlikely that he’ll win tomorrow, but that’s for now. I’ve been keeping track of Jeongguk for years, and he’s gained so much proficiency even though he started as late as he did. Give it one or two years and your question won’t make any sense anymore. He has an excellent serve and a killer forehand, both potent down the line and skilled in applying topspin. If there’s anything I think he needs to get better at, that would be variation. He’s aggressive all the time, but when that doesn’t work he gets angry and loses his precision. He needs to focus on returning the ball more than hitting winners, to force the mistake from the other part. Most matches are won by making fewer mistakes than the opponent, after all.

He sent the reply and kept staring at it, reading it over and over again to check if it sounded okay. Jimin did it for so long that he spaced out, being ripped out of his trance by his phone screaming with an incoming phone call whose ID he didn’t check before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Are you in your room?”

“Yes?”

“I got everything covered. We’re going out tonight. Be ready to leave in 10.”

Jimin groaned, sliding down on the bed. “Tae-yah, did it have to be today? I’m like, exhausted.”

“I’m paying.”

He pouted. “I have money too, you know?”

“I’m bringing Namjoon.”

That prompted him out of bed like he’d been shocked into motion, foraging through his luggage for a look to go out. What fit a dingy pub set inside a secular dungeon where no one would know them and the staff would almost certainly only speak French? He stopped halfway through his search when he remembered Namjoon was going with them.

“Are we going to the same place as always?”

“Duh. Of course.”

“I didn’t know, okay? It’s been a while.”

“It’s for old time’s sake. Just be ready,” he said and hung up.

At least he was going to have fun tonight and meet Taehyung’s ‘it’s complicated, we’re fuckbuddies who want to be something more but aren’t even really fuckbuddies yet.’ What would suit such an occasion? He wanted to have fun, but also make an impression. But not too big an impression that he stole the spotlight.

“Goddamn it, Taehyung! This is a big decision, I can’t choose what to wear in ten minutes!”

With a long-suffering sigh, he dug into his luggage for a simple white t-shirt and black pants, throwing a vibrant red leather jacket on top. He stopped at the bathroom to quickly wash his face, put on some moisturizer, lip gloss, and nothing else—skincare was always the best makeup. Jimin styled his hair as fast as he could so the disheveled look would seem at least somewhat intentional.

Back in his room, he donned his black chelsea boots and wore a white gold bracelet on his right arm, seven rings between both his hands, and a necklace set with two pendants: a ruby heart and a hollow one etched with tiny zirconias around it—a treasured gift from an ex-boyfriend.

As soon as the clasp clicked shut, a quiet knock sounded on his door.

“I’m coming!” he said, grabbing a discreet Chanel side bag and pulling it over his head on his way to the entrance. He opened it with a complaint on his lips. “Why do you never warn me in ad—”

“I think I saw your mother in the other corridor, let’s go,” Taehyung said, seizing Jimin’s hand and pulling him along. “Let’s hope she thinks you’re asleep.”

“What?”

“Let’s go! ” he hissed.

So Jimin went.

“So yeah, I’m all for public displays of affection. Sometimes people become uncomfortable, but I think that says more about them than anything else,” Namjoon half-said, half-slurred. “Like with Jeongguk. He said the most outrageous thing last year when we met. I don’t remember it now. All I know is that there was a gay couple making out and he looked as disgusted as one can get.”

Jimin perked up at the mention of Jeongguk. “For real? You know him?”

“Yeah, and kinda.”

All three of them were in the backseat of a cab going back to the hotel from the Oubliettes. Taehyung and Namjoon sat beside each other, with Taehyung at one door and Namjoon in the middle. It was amusing, the way he shrunk his large frame between them, his big blob of blond hair so fair it looked white standing in the way of Jimin seeing a hammered Taehyung at the other side.

He was equally as intoxicated and glad to be so, basking in the loose feel of his limbs and his temporary fish memory that guaranteed he would forget a lot of what they’d been talking about. Thankfully, they were talking in Korean, so the driver was none the wiser and Jimin didn’t have to excuse his friends’ choice of topics to him, too.

Taehyung ignored half of the conversation, pouncing on the only part that mattered to him. “Hm, kinky. Does that mean you’re into exhibitionism?”

“Exhibitionism is hardly a valid social statement,” Namjoon replied.

“It is if you count the public statement of your thick cock drilling my tight ass,” Taehyung countered, batting his eyelashes in a way that did not go along with the words coming out of his mouth.

It got so quiet that the low rumbling of the car and the sound of their breathing were everything Jimin heard. His already rosy cheeks warmed up further from second-hand embarrassment, and he facepalmed with a groan.

“Why did you have to say that, Tae-yah?”

To his surprise, Namjoon started laughing.

“Oh my God,” he said, rapidly losing control of his own hilarity and giggling into the seat. “When you put it that way, I guess this could count as an affirmation of queerness.”

“Does that mean we can do that one day?” Taehyung piped up.

“Please, Tae, don’t get arrested. Namjoon, you’re a nice guy. Don’t listen to Tae," Jimin said, releasing a breath as the taxi parked on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. I can't wait to see my bed. Sexiest piece of furniture in existence. He paid the driver and almost tripped out of the vehicle, his legs much wobblier than he remembered.

Namjoon climbed out after him, leaning on the car for support and then on Taehyung after he came out at last. Their mutual support in each other's arms was precarious at best.

“Don't listen to Jimin. He won't grope you under the table while the vocalist screams the chorus on the stage."

His head snapped to his friend. "You what? I can't believe you did that while I sacrificed myself through the crowd to get us shots."

Taehyung tittered forward and placed a heavy hand on Jimin's shoulder, mouth widening in a mischievous grin. "I did it with you at the table."

Jimin groaned. "Oh, god, no."

"Taehyung Kim?" someone gasped in a high pitch.

The trio swiveled around as a floundering unit to look at the person speaking. The taxi had left; the front of the hotel was empty save for the seldom drunkard or couples scurrying away across the street. There were a group of rowdy teenagers in a park nearby, loud enough to be heard every now and then, but not close enough to be seen. The wind was chilly on Jimin's skin.

And then, there was the woman right in front of them. She had blonde shoulder-length hair and almond-shaped eyes that Jimin was sure would look lovely any other day, but as of now had an edge to them. Something looked off, over the top. She was well dressed, with a low-cut short black dress, long black boots, and a black blazer. But the giant sun hat she donned was jarring, flapping stupidly as she ran over to them.

The woman grabbed Taehyung's face and peppered it with kisses as she spoke. "My love," a kiss, "Taehyung," another, "I missed you so much! I'm so glad you came back—back to me!"

Taehyung seemed a bit out of the loop at first, too shocked to respond, but somewhere in the middle of the sudden assault he screamed and scrambled back, extricating himself from Jimin, Namjoon, and the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing here, Helena?"

"I came to see you, my love!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"But I still love you!"

"We've been over for three years, Helena!"

Oh… so that… that was Taehyung's ex-girlfriend he talked so much about. They'd been together so shortly and then sprung apart so violently after Taehyung realized how mentally unstable she was, that Jimin never got to know her.

"So you're Helena," he said.

Her attention shot to Jimin. "You've heard about me?" then back to Taehyung. "You talk about me?"

There were actual tears in her eyes. She didn't wipe them away, instead raising her hands to a golden heart-shaped locket on her chest. Helena opened it and admired the picture inside before showing it to Taehyung.

"I never forgot about you either, see? I carry you with me everywhere I go, my love."

"Wow," Namjoon said.

"I am not interested. Don't make me call the police like I did that time."

She dropped her arms to her sides. "That wasn't very nice of you."

"Breaking into my apartment wasn't very nice either!" Taehyung flailed.

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"You sure did!—Oh my God, I can't, I can't," Taehyung said, marching towards the entrance to the hotel with a much more balanced gait than when he left the taxi. Namjoon went with him and Helena made to follow, but Jimin stepped in her way.

"I don't think he wants you to go after him."

She looked at him with the most unbelievably confused expression, given the situation. "But I want to show him how much I love him!"

"I think—I think he knows."

Her eyes filled with tears again. "He didn't get the gift I sent him," she sniffed. "Fucking shipping companies," she growled.

Jimin was a bit dizzy from the sudden change and the interaction as a whole. His bones begged to lay on the Egyptian sheets.

"I'm sure you'll be able to give it to him at another opportunity, right? But for now, let's all go back to our places, okay? We should all sleep."

She complied easily enough after looking around and getting no more sight of Taehyung.

"Okay. I'll see him at another time, then," she said and walked away. A few meters down the street she entered a sleek red Maserati and drove away at a crazy speed.

Jimin sighed. Then he got up to his floor and passed out.

The next day came with almost no recollection of what happened the previous night, a pounding headache, and a throat so sore that Jimin could barely talk upon waking up.

Besides a few glimpses of the beginning of the night when Namjoon spieled on and on about the persistent homophobia in sports like tennis—mentioning that despite wanting to affirm his sexuality politically, he'd rather not mention his and Taehyung's involvement to anyone else at this point—and a vague memory of a woman jumping Taehyung's bones by the end of the night, what happened during his drunken hours was completely blank.

Water. He needed water. As Jimin got up to assault the minibar for a bottle of holy water, his gaze landed on his phone again. He checked it after gurgling the second bottle—why were bottles in hotels so tiny? He was thirsty, dammit—and among texts from friends and emails, there was a notification from Reddit.

The same user from a few weeks ago had replied to his comment.

» [LordOfTheTennisDance] I like your take on this, it’s interesting. I’d like to talk more about it. Can I pm you?

‘Sure,’ he replied, already thinking about where he could find some painkillers. ‘I’m too old for this,’ he texted Taehyung before dropping back into bed.

I fucking hate hangovers.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] He has a high-speed topspin, I wish he’d use it more, you know? But he hits hard, especially when he’s angry. He could benefit from just following basic court geometry. Get that ball on the other side. Get the opponent settled so they become impatient and make a mistake, or he could hit a winner or send a drop shot when the other isn’t expecting it.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I mean, I actually feel a bit silly saying this. This is tennis 101 lmao

[LordOfTheTennisDance] You’re not silly, Jihoon. I just wonder if any of that would work against Djokovic.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] He’s number one for a reason, right? He’s an all-rounder. Ngl, it’ll be hard for JK, but he has everything he needs to reach that position if he follows a similar path.

Jeongguk read the words from their conversation yesterday over and over again on his phone, which bounced on his knee. One hand held the device and the other went up time and time again to pick at his lips, and he’d bled a couple of times doing that. He’d forgotten his lip balm in the hotel when he left in a rush for the game. And now it had gotten delayed and he was waiting in the backroom, his nerves eating at him until he could almost hear them.

“You look anxious,” his coach observed brilliantly with a smirk.

“I am nervous.”

“Just be calm. You gotta be calm to play with that guy.”

“I know.”

“Then just chill, Jeongguk. It’s not that hard.”

Yes, it was very fucking hard, thank you very much. “I’m trying, believe me.”

“Want me to play for you?” Hyunsik offered with a grin and slapped his thigh. “I’d end that Serb in two strokes.”

Yeah, two strokes to the head to kill him is how you would do it. “I’m gonna play, don’t worry.”

“That’s my boy,” he patted him, getting up and walking away with a satisfied strut like he did a good job. “Wouldn’t expect you to chicken.”

Hyunsik was of no help in times like this. It was better to bang his head against a wall than to talk to him, sometimes, and Jeongguk was so close to doing just that. The silence in the recovery room was deafening, and no matter the number of comfy cushions or the amount of ambient music and cream-colored walls, Jeongguk was far, far from calm.

If only he had someone to talk to. Daewon was in the bleachers already, and Seungri wasn’t someone Jeongguk was close to. Seokjin wasn’t answering his phone, he must be joining the chorus of cheers in the game before his. Namjoon had been virtually unreachable ever since Jeongguk stepped foot in Paris.

The screen of his phone lit up and an idea popped into his head. It was a bit desperate, but it was the only thing he had right now.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Hey, you there?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] What do you do when you’re anxious and you need to calm down really fast?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] you know what, never mind

[LordOfTheTennisDance] please ignore me

Now he was worrying about the game and the weird-ass message he sent to a stranger online. Fucking great. No more nice talks about strategy with someone with a brain.

“The previous game is over. You’re going on in five minutes,” his coach came to tell him.

His leg started bouncing again. Getting up, Jeongguk drank a whole bottle of water at once, which was good in the stance that it slowed his breathing, and bad, bad when it came to having the right amount of fluid before the game started. He didn’t like to stop the game to go to the bathroom.

“This is it. Let’s go,” Hyunsik said, and Jeongguk grabbed his Yonex racket bag to accompany him. He was almost at the hall where he would meet Djokovic before the court when his phone pinged again with a reply from FloatingBabyAndADollarBill.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I like going for a run when I’m really nervous. If I don’t have the space, then I just run in the same spot. It’s a bit counterintuitive but that’s how I get rid of the excess energy.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] If you don’t have the space or the time, just do some controlled breathing. I call it the three-fours. Four seconds to inspire, another four to hold it, four seconds to exhale. And trust yourself. You can do whatever you need to do :)

He did as told, controlling his breathing as he walked. By the time he saw his opponent, Jeongguk was still nervous, but noticeably less so. Huh. You can do whatever you need to do. He wasn’t used to hearing that, but you know what? Perhaps he could.

In his defense, Jeongguk did everything in his power. He gave his best until the very last moment, varied his shots to his best ability—his efforts even got recognized by Djokovic on a handful of occasions where he applauded him—but he still lost in the end.

He applied everything he knew and everything he’d just learned from a stranger online and as a result, he played five sets against the world’s best tennis player and only broke two rackets instead of his usual four. It was progress.

But that notion only stayed until Seokjin found him with a pin and bust his bubble with the reminder that he hadn’t made it to the quarterfinals, and he would try, but his chances at getting a new sponsor without it were slim, I told you you should just do the doc, Jeongguk, why are you so damn stubborn?

And then, to make matters worse, his father called when he was already in his hotel room.

“Appa? Isn’t it really early over there? Why are you calling?”

His father sounded gruff on the other side. “I watched your match, Jeongguk.”

He gawked, unable to believe what he was hearing. His father watching him? That had to be a first. “Weren’t you tired?”

“Very. But you looked more tired,” he snorted, and Jeongguk laughed.

It hit him that he didn’t know how to deal with his father watching him play. Did he want to know his opinion? Whether you like it or not and no matter how old you are, what your parents think of you matters. Even if someone tries to deny it, it’s imbued in your psyche, in the very first memories and impressions you make of the world. Their opinion either condones or condemns your life choices in ways that make you second guess yourself and you either give up or push through out of sheer determination to move forward.

How does one ask a father about his performance in a tennis match when he never cared about it before?

Jeongguk took so long to reply that his father simply continued speaking after a yawn.

“I’ll sleep now. Are matches always this long?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t understand why. What’s the point of playing for hours only to lose at the end?”

Jeongguk pursed his lips as thoughts raced through his head. Did his father know that tennis was an amateur sport for most of its history? Did he know how much blood it took to win a match; did he know that giving up made no sense because you’d play until the last second with the intent to win, even if it lasted hours or even days? For the love of the game, he’d play it for much, much longer than he did today.

“I’ll win next time, abeoji.”

“When are you coming back home?”

“I’m. I’m not. Not until December.”

He clicked his tongue. “I can’t believe you’re insisting on this. Your mother and I told you that you can return any time and pick up law school again. We’ll help you.”

“Appa, no.”

There was a pause after his denial, and Jeongguk could imagine his father pursing his lips much like him, a disapproving scowl turning them downwards.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he heard for the second time that day.

“I’m your son, I guess,” he said, picking at his blisters. Why had he ever expected anything different from his father? Did his mother still wholeheartedly agree with him too? “Thank you for watching my game. I’ll play again in a couple of weeks in case you wanna keep up. Have a nice day in court, dad.”

Jeongguk hung up with a familiar tightness in his chest. Control your breathing. Four in, hold it for four, four out. It really worked. He had to thank Jihoon later. Jeongguk plopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, barely feeling the cool sheets on his skin. Yes, he was obstinate. But there wasn’t anything wrong with that, was there? Wasn’t that the motto of Roland Garros?

La victoire appartient au plus opiniâtre. He had it. He was tenacious. He had already quit school and cut ties with almost everyone he knew in order to dedicate himself solely to this. He would do it, even if his father tried to dissuade him from it. Jeongguk would show him and everybody else.

He called Seokjin, who answered after the second ring.

“I’ll do the doc," he said by way of greeting.

He could hear his agent’s eyebrows jumping up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Don’t question it, just arrange it, please? I don’t wanna have the option to back down from it.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, hyung.”

“Night.”

Chapter Text

June

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Imagine that you love your job but you have a coworker that you absolutely despise

[LordOfTheTennisDance] how do you deal with them?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] can’t you, I don’t know, change departments? See them less?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] *sigh* I would love to, but no

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I kind of need to be around them

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Hmm… sounds like you’re stuck, my friend

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” a low voice said by his side with a hand tapping his shoulder. They were at a rented studio in Halle for the first round of interviews between tournaments for the documentary. The room looked fairly plain, but the channel’s crew had arranged a dark gray backdrop behind the white loveseat and armchairs where Jimin sat, a side table, and a tile-red rug to customize it. Jimin looked up from his phone, getting up and hugging the man tightly with a smile.

“Yoongi hyung! It’s been so long. I really missed you, you know?”

“Yeah, I missed you too. I’m glad that everything worked out and the channel approved of this. I can now annoy you around the world too,” he said, amused. Jimin rolled his eyes and slapped him playfully, but not before lingering on the subtle tug of Yoongi's lips.

“Oh, you are never a bother. I’m actually glad you’re here,” he said, leaning in to whisper in Yoongi’s ear. “I can finally introduce you to Taehyung’s fuckbuddy!”

“His fuckbuddy?”

Jimin waved his head this way and that. “It’s a bit complicated since they’re also playmates, but—”

“They’re playmates?” Yoongi exclaimed, whispering. “They’ll be in the interviews! Are you talking about Jeongguk or Namjoon?”

“Namjoon! Jeongguk is—well. They don’t think he swings that way," Jimin said, even if he disagreed. It wasn't his place to disclose any information if the person to whom it pertained had never publicly said anything about it.

“His loss, then. If he ever tried dating someone like my ex, maybe he would change his mind,” Yoongi said, stepping closer and stroking Jimin’s cheek with a delicate finger. Yoongi was just as he had remembered, tending to spring him with bouts of tenderness and unanticipated affection that made him blush every single time.

“What a weird thing to say, hyung. If you guys broke up, I’m sure there were reasons.”

“There were, of course. None of them my own. I didn’t choose to end things.”

Yoongi always knew how to mess with him. Out of all his friends, Sungwoon was a saint, Taemin was an older brat, but Yoongi was the one who knew his buttons more intimately and loved to push them. Bringing their past together was one of his favorite ways to do so, but sometimes he made Jimin wonder how serious he was about the whole ‘I never wanted to break up with you’ ordeal. He ducked his head and stared at his shoes, swiping his thumb absentmindedly on the phone that pinged madly in his pocket.

“Still, things ended, right? Sometimes things just end.”

“But not all things should end,” he retorted. Yoongi placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad I’ll be able to spend more time around you for the next months, Jimin.”

He bit his lip. “Me too.”

Someone clearing their throat nearby made them step away from each other and look toward the noise. Jeongguk was a few steps away with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. As soon as he saw him, Yoongi’s countenance changed to professionalism as he marched to the other player, extending his hand in greeting.

“Jeon Jeongguk, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Min Yoongi, SBS sports journalist, and I’ll be the main reporter responsible for the documentary we’ll be conducting with the Korean team. I’m really glad that you could join us, after all.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” he replied. Yoongi shrugged.

“We really needed all the best Korean tennis players this season. It wouldn’t be the same if you hadn’t agreed to it.”

“Got it,” Jeongguk said. He looked past the top of Yoongi’s head, scanning the room and nodding curtly at Jimin once their eyes met. “Where are the others?”

“They told me they’re coming,” Jimin said. “Maybe they’re running late?”

“Jimin-ah, can you check up on them? I could ask an assistant, but you’re closer to them and we don’t want anyone to get caught in an uncomfortable situation, right?” he questioned flatly. 

Despite his tone, Yoongi's gaze implied everything he needed to know.

Jimin whipped his phone out, already spinning around and excusing himself out of the room to call Taehyung. The line rang eight times and Jimin was afraid it would go straight to voicemail before his friend picked up.

“Please tell me you’re not fucking your coworker’s brains out and you remember the interview we have today.”

“What interview?”

“Taehyung-ah!” Jimin whined. “I can’t believe you forgot about it!”

The other chuckled across the line. “Of course I didn’t. But just so you know, Namjoon does most of the fucking. He has the endurance of a singles player.”

“Spare me the details,” he pinched the skin between his eyebrows in distress. After all the begging he did to know about Taehyung’s involvement with Namjoon, he almost wished he could go back and unlearn what he knew. His friend could be so colorful in his descriptions, and so damn shameless too. Jimin had been too single for too long to hear it. ”Are you on your way?”

“Yeah, we left the hotel about ten minutes ago. We should arrive there in,” his voice became muffled as he asked the driver how long it would take until their destination, “We should be there in fifteen.”

“Great, I’ll let the others know. Hurry,” he said and hung up.

He was about to reenter the interviewing room when his phone pinged again and he decided to check it. It was Junghyun on Reddit. He was still going on and on about his coworker.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I’m about to see them soon, give me strength

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Are you there?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] It doesn’t matter, I’m gonna rant anyway, I hope you can forgive me

[LordOfTheTennisDance] because honestly, who brings their crush to work?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] should this be allowed?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I mean, argh

[LordOfTheTennisDance] he’s infuriating on a daily basis, but flirting with another guy at work is just gross

[LordOfTheTennisDance] they're on a first-name basis and everything

Jimin stared at the texts for a moment before replying.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] do you have a problem with two men flirting?

And it took some time for the other to answer.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] It's complicated. I never got involved with men but I never really did it with women either. I just… Can't picture myself doing that. I don't know. I don't care about it most of the time. It's just him, you know?

Jimin snorted, typing at lightning speed. It was amazing how blind some people could be.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] it sounds like you have a crush on your coworker

[LordOfTheTennisDance] HELL, NO

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] quite the harsh denial there

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I'd look into it if I were you

[LordOfTheTennisDance] No way, really, we have a past, and not a good one

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I would never crush on him

Jimin pushed the door open at last and walked into the room, telling Yoongi about the fifteen-minute delay in Taehyung's and Namjoon's arrival. He sat beside Jeongguk at the white loveseat that they would use for the interview, draping an arm along the back of it. The other looked tense, his jaw set and hands tucked under his thighs. Jimin thought he could use a distraction.

"So, are you ready for the interview?" he asked.

"Um-hm."

"You sure?"

"Do you know Yoongissi?"

Jimin faltered at the clipped tone. "I do, in fact. We met in Korea, he was Jihyun's mentor for a while when he interned. They work together now."

Jeongguk turned to him, pinning him with a glare. Jimin could swear the room went up a few degrees, because what the hell was this? His gaze was intense but it didn't hold the usual belligerence. He almost appeared concerned in a distraught way.

“For how long have you known each other?”

“About four years.”

"You seem close."

"That's because we are."

Jeongguk squinted for a split second. "Why isn't your brother here instead of Yoongi?"

"Has the interview started already?" Jimin asked, chuckling. Why was Jeongguk drilling him with questions? He leaned in, resting his chin on the heel of his hand and keeping the smirk on his lips. "What else do you wanna know about me, Jeon? Besides tennis strategies, I'll tell you just about anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, you ask me."

Jimin observed the handiwork in front of him in the form of a stilted Jeongguk, rendered speechless by being challenged to speak. He couldn't wait to know what he would ask Jimin, and with every passing second, the expectation grew. With every given moment, Jeongguk became more flustered, too.

"Did you—no, do you—does Yoongi…"

"...yes?" Jimin asked, leaning even closer.

Jeongguk jerked away, spasming like his brain and body were carrying two different conversations. He had to be the most interesting person on the planet for Jimin. Who else would react this way after just a bit of teasing?

"Never mind," he said, trying to regain his composure by crossing his arms and staring off at the line of cameras.

Jimin slumped back against the cushions, throwing a leg across Jeongguk's lap. "You're no fun."

Jeongguk stared at his thighs. "I need to go to the bathroom," he mumbled, hastily removing the leg and leaving the studio. 

Jimin sighed. It was almost too easy to ruffle Jeongguk's feathers, but it was frustrating how time and time again, it got him nowhere.

He looked left when Yoongi approached him. "What the hell was that? Is he coming back?"

"He went to the bathroom. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just waiting for Taehyung and Namjoon."

"Good. Do you need anything?"

"No," Yoongi said, already going back behind the cameras. "Just sit there and look pretty."

Jimin flushed with embarrassment, Yoongi's jeering laughter floating back to him. "Hyung!"

He slumped back on the couch, fighting a smile at the reminder of what Yoongi's presence felt like. Jimin loved being serenaded with compliments, and Yoongi loved to indulge him. Jimin unlocked his phone, checking the conversation with LordOfTheTennisDance once more.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] would you like to talk about that?

The reply came a few seconds later.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Maybe some other time.

Jeongguk rolled his shoulder for the fourth time. Something popped and it hurt, but it gave him some relief, at last. “For how long do we have to keep this up?” he asked.

Yoongi stood cross-armed by the side of the grass court alongside the members of his crew—some gathering behind a laptop on a table with lots of cables, others looking through huge camcorders supported on tripods, carrying cameras attached to wheel-looking stabilizers or controlling the six drones that took dynamic shots of him and Jimin. The crew had managed to snatch a time slot where the other back-to-back practice courts in Aorangi were empty, and only their group had to suffer under the English sun. Jeongguk was irritated, sweaty, and his shoulder hurt. As if that wasn’t enough, he had to pretend to be friends with Jimin in front of the cameras, of course.

The journalist-turned-co-director-and-Jimin’s-apparent-BFF remained frozen, only his tongue poking his cheek. “Just enough for us to get a few quality shots.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour. I thought you’d have had enough time to shoot already.”

“We need quality shots,” Yoongi repeated, looking thoughtful. He walked to the net and beckoned Jeongguk and Jimin closer, starting to talk once they were within hearing distance. “I need this to be relatable, somehow. Tennis isn’t the most popular sport worldwide, you know? It can be interesting, but you can’t look like you’re irritated to be alive and expect people to grow a liking. What’s going on?”

The last question was directed at Jeongguk. He shuffled on his feet, feeling the two pairs of eyes on him. “I don’t know. I’m not at my best today.”

“Did something happen?”

“Do you need any help?” Jimin asked.

Jeongguk looked at him, mulling over the irony that Jimin would be the one to offer him help when he was currently the source of all his problems.

He had always thought of Jimin as his rival—except the times when he hadn’t, but he remembered how that ended—and he assumed that that was all there was to it. Having an outsider who had never met either of them think at first glance that Jeongguk had a crush on Jimin was something that shook him to the core and had been stuck to his head for the past week.

It was getting in his way. He kept overthinking what he was doing whenever his eyes lingered for too long on the trenches that Jimin’s fingers dug through his strands of luscious, blond, slightly damp hair, or the way the beads of sweat slid down the column of his neck. Why was he looking, anyway?

Jeongguk tore his gaze away and looked into his eyes, realizing that he’d been caught staring when Jimin raised a questioning eyebrow. He almost whined, defeated. He would love to be anywhere else but here right now.

“I’m just not used to practicing with Jimin, that’s all,” he grunted.

“Perhaps we can try a different approach, then,” Yoongi said, oblivious to his inner suffering. ”We already have a few shots of you tossing the ball to each other, but we’ll need a few more specific ones. Jeongguk, we’ll focus on you to demonstrate the most common types of players. You’re already an aggressive baseliner but you have a great serve too so we'll cover the serve-and-volley as well.”

“Okay.”

“Jimin, you’ll do the job of the counterpuncher, since that’s your normal style. But also,” Yoongi paused, walking closer and squeezing his shoulder, “I would like you to talk about what practicing at your level is like. How many hours you have to put in, the advantages and pushbacks, that kind of thing. Make it real but appealing, okay? If there’s anyone that can charm people, it’s you.”

Jimin laughed and hit him lightly on the arm. “Aish, hyung. You really know how to flatter someone.”

“Only you,” he said. “I’m just stating things the way they are.”

Jeongguk looked from one to the other, asking himself when this became a free flirting session. He cleared his throat to get their attention back. “Should we get going, then?”

Jimin looked up at him with a grin and another raised eyebrow. “Sure.”

He strode back to the baseline without saying another word or discussing what they were going to do first. Jeongguk would get this done and over with and run to the attached gym to run for a good hour after this. Wasn’t this a professional environment? Yes, they were pretending to practice for the sake of the documentary, but this wasn’t a vacation. Wimbledon was in a week and he would like to keep his head in the game, thank you very much.

He waited for the drones to take flight and the other co-director to give him the okay before he tossed the ball into the air and hit a perfect ace with it, giving Jimin no chance to return it to the court.

“Oops,” he said, “I’ll try again.”

But he hit another ace, and then another, and another, and if Jeongguk could hit these many aces during a match, there would be no losing, ever.

“Let’s change it. Jimin-ah, you start now,” Yoongi ordered from the sidelines.

With Jimin serving, the ball got into play. Jeongguk played offensively, taking risks by landing long, harsh shots that had Jimin running like crazy from one side of the court to the other. It made him thrum with excitement. He would send a sequence of slow balls, only to kill the point with a violently flat shot.

Or so he thought. Jimin went after each and every ball, neutralizing the strategies he executed. He played like a patient artist, stroke by painstaking stroke, unfazed by failure and undeterred by hardship.

It was so damn frustrating. Infuriatingly thrilling. Jeongguk wanted to beat Jimin just as much as he wanted to be in his skin because that was the thing about a rival. It was probably the closest to love and hate being two sides of the same coin that anyone would ever experience, the self-centered admiration and acknowledgment of an equal inextricable from the passionate desire to bring them down.

The competitiveness sharpened his vision, tensed his muscles, and made him give all of himself in each hit of the racket against the ball. The rally stretched for minutes, neither of them handing the point. Jeongguk wanted to make those tidy eyebrows frown and those pouty lips jut out even more with discontent at missing a shot. But Jimin was steady and cool-headed, and the longer it took for them to reach a conclusion, the more impatient Jeongguk got—and more spitefully entertained as well.

In the end, he hit a winner down the line that rushed just past the edge of Jimin’s racket even though he flung after it. Jeongguk screamed as if he was in a real match, feeling exhilarated and avenged somehow. Not even his shoulder hurt anymore. As he walked closer to the net, so did Jimin.

“I bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you, Park?”

But opposed to what he expected, Jimin did not look defeated in the slightest. His eyes glinted and the corners of his lips tilted upward. Perhaps he got the same kind of satisfaction from the dispute, but without the added sourness when he lost. Either way, his stability shook Jeongguk in his stead.

“No, I did not. Were you trying to impress me, Jeon?"

Jeongguk skittered to a halt a few steps away from the net. What kind of question was that? He should deny it right away, but he saw himself asking, "Did it work?"

"It was good, but I've seen it before. You should try something different next time.”

“Like what?“

“Like stop brooding and ask me out instead— that would be impressive."

He choked. "What?"

"You think I didn't see you fuming earlier? Jealousy does not look good on you, darling," Jimin said. Jeongguk watched, transfixed, as he raised a hand and flickered his bottom lip, loosening it with his thumb. "There. Stop pouting."

Jeongguk didn’t abhor the touch. In fact, his lips tingled—what the fuck? That mere fact had his cheeks burning and he swatted Jimin’s hand away. "Why the hell would I be jealous?"

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jimin smiled, winking as if he knew more about Jeongguk than himself.

His heart lurched, beating with double speed when no retort came out. The denial got stuck in his throat. What was it with people recently insinuating he had a thing for Jimin? Did they have nothing better to do that they had to make assumptions about his life? That had to be it because the other option was as ludicrous as it was terrifying.

What if they were right?

He shook his head, rejecting the idea right away. Jeongguk tried to come up with something to fill the embarrassing silence between them, praying for divine intervention which came in the form of Yoongi walking up to them by the net.

"Is everything okay? Why did you stop playing?" he looked from one to the other, setting a comforting arm around Jimin's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Spectacular," he smirked.

Jeongguk squinted at Yoongi’s posture but averted his gaze when Jimin glanced at him. He cleared his throat and turned around, squaring his shoulders and getting ready to continue the shoot. ”We’re fine. Let’s keep moving.”

There wasn’t much talking involved for the rest of their filmed practice. They did as instructed by Yoongi, playing in different styles until the cameras caught enough footage, and then changing to Jimin’s short interview at the end. Jeongguk sat on the sidelines, feet naked on the lukewarm grass as he aggressively ate an entire grapefruit and watched the smiles and the looks traded between Jimin and Yoongi from a distance.

He would stay the entire afternoon doing that without noticing if not for Seokjin arriving to distract him. His friend jogged onto the field with his usual garb but none of his regular composure. The man panted, cheeks splotched in red and hair clinging to his forehead under the line of his white Panama hat.

Seokjin spoke between attempts to catch his breath. "They canceled the points of the tournament," a breath, "prizes will be the same but the points won't count,” another heave, “for either the ATP or the WTA rankings."

Jeongguk stopped mid-bite. "What? What the hell, why?"

"The All England Club banned all Russian and Belarusian players from Wimbledon, so they removed the ranking points from the tournament," Seokjin explained. "The ITF, too. A few players are dropping out because of that."

"Goddamn it!"

This was huge. A Grand Slam such as Wimbledon was always a big deal when it came to scoring in the international rankings. Having a competition of this magnitude count no points was probably the biggest occurrence in the entire season. The crew that stood by heard the conversation, and soon a buzz spread out of people commenting on the news and checking their phones for the veracity of it.

That was devastating. But at the same time, it didn’t change much, did it?

“You said they’ll still award the champion, right? There’s no difference there, I should still participate. There are fewer players to beat now.”

“I talked to Seungri on the way here. He actually thinks this came at the right moment. He said you should stay out of Wimbledon.”

Jeongguk frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“It’s been a heavy season. It would be better for you to rest before the US Open.”

“What? No way! And miss a perfectly good chance to win? Medvedev is out, do you have any idea how many times that is going to happen?”

“And how fair will it be if you win under these circumstances?” Seokjin leaned close, whispering to his ear. “Seungri told me about your shoulder. You are in no condition to play at Wimbledon and the US Open. You’ll fluke both of them. It’s better if you let your body recover and arrive better prepared.”

“That’s bull!”

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin admonished. “Don’t throw a tantrum in front of the crew.”

It was the wrong thing to say; Jin should have known that. When hadn’t Jeongguk ever risen to the challenge? He sprung to his feet and threw the grapefruit peels on the grass, disappointed with the way they flopped on the leaves.

“This is absurd! I was going to compete before this, why change it now?”

“Because it’s no longer worth it! You’re hurting yourself needlessly, and you should know that a poorly treated injury will do nothing but snowball out of control. That means treatment, it means costs, and it means even more time out of the courts for you. If you wanna play so badly, you should not be hiding this kind of information from me. As your friend, I am disappointed. And as your main sponsor, at least for the time being, I do not condone that you participate in this tournament!”

Jeongguk’s hands turned into fists. The murmurs ceased as Seokjin scolded him and now he could feel the stares burning his skin. The interview stopped and Jimin loitered close to where he was, head tilted to the side, a crease on his forehead. These were not the circumstances in which he wanted to see that expression. He wanted to put it there intentionally, as a result of his success—not as evidence of his imminent failure.

Jeongguk’s eyes prickled with tears that he blinked away. “You said it well. I hope this documentary works. This way you won’t be my sole sponsor for much longer,” he hissed, picking up his shoes and stalking out of the practice courts.

Jeongguk stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his hotel quarters that night, spread out on a black leather butterfly chair, the whole room shrouded in the darkness behind him. The sea of city lights in front of him blurred into a golden sequin of the urban fabric as his mind tried and failed to forget the discussion with Seokjin earlier.

There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to participate at Wimbledon, but he wasn't happy with the way he talked to his longtime sponsor, business partner, and only friend. Guilt weighed on him almost as much as his shoulder which started hurting much more intensely after his body cooled down.

His physio had come to his room and repeated everything that Seokjin told him. He should stay off the courts for a few days. He should recover and strengthen before returning. But Jeongguk simply couldn't fathom the idea of abandoning what he was doing—what if he lost momentum? What if that made him lose relevance and struggle even more to get sponsors, to climb up the ladder of success?

Would his father say ‘I told you so’ if he dropped out?

Jeongguk breathed heavily and dropped his face in his hands, scratching his scalp as if the action could dispel the questions plaguing his mind. As if those thoughts weren't enough, in the few moments where his brain gave him some type of reprieve, other millings took over, much more dangerous in nature, far more tormenting than the idea of not playing tennis.

Jeongguk had to let it out somehow. He'd called Namjoon earlier, but the line was busy. He was always busy these days, only God knew why. Talking to Seokjin was out of the question unless he was ready to do some heavy apologizing—he wasn't, not yet.

It only took him thirty seconds of staring at his phone before he picked it up and opened his Reddit chat.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I can't believe I'm saying this, but

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I think you might be right.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] about what?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] hello to you too, how are you doing, I'm fine thanks

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm sorry. How are you?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Bored out of my mind. Something happened today at work and it really stressed me out but there's nothing I can do about it, so I'm basically stuck overthinking.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I thought a drink could help

[LordOfTheTennisDance] did it help?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Nah… not really. I'm just nauseous.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm sorry

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] it's fine. Anyway, tell me what I was right about, it might lift my mood

Jeongguk's fingers hovered over the screen for an entire minute before he decided to go ahead with this. How bad could it be to tell your innermost secrets to an online stranger? If things went downhill all he had to do was delete his account and pretend that nothing ever happened. Yes.

Telling Jihoon what he was going through was the best, if not the only thing he could do right now.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm not saying you're right, but

[LordOfTheTennisDance] maybe I let the guy I work with affect me more than I should?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] hmm… Tell me more about it.

He took a deep shuddering breath. This was his phone, his email, his account he was using. Perhaps he was being a tad too cautious, but there was nothing wrong with telling a story that only resembled the truth, right?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I met him in highschool. We were best friends and I really, really looked up to him. Once we finished we worked together at the same market while we went to college. We were both cashiers. My family was struggling, but he was fine, he just wanted some independence, even if it made no sense. Teenagers, you know? But then a promotion came and he pulled a fast one on me to get the position. We never talked again.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Wow, that's… Wow. I'm sorry that happened to you :( he sounds like an asshole

It felt so good to get it off his chest and have someone fully support him. He'd never shared this with anyone before—no one but Seokjin, but his hyung had mixed opinions regarding what happened. Jihoon’s sympathy was comforting in ways Jeongguk didn't know he needed.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Yeah, thanks

[LordOfTheTennisDance] anyway, we changed companies, and life went on

[LordOfTheTennisDance] and recently, completely by coincidence, we started working together again

[LordOfTheTennisDance] the problem is, I should be wary of him, and don't get me wrong, a big part of me definitely is

[LordOfTheTennisDance] but there's a growing part that wants to feel like it did back then

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] like what?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] It's complicated. It might not even be anything. Sometimes there are things that get so negatively hammered into us that we unconsciously pursue them.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] it's nothing

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Junghyun... It's probably not nothing if it has you all worried like this

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Come on, you can tell me. I promise I won't tell your mom about it.

Jeongguk chuckled, satisfied by the humored reminder that there was no tracing back to him or Jimin in this situation. So he continued.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] ok, so

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I was a bit… flamboyant as a kid

[LordOfTheTennisDance] in case you don't know what that means, I became a target very fast

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I know what it means :(

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm sorry

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Me too. Keep going.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I was too young to realize that there was even something wrong with me. It took me years to find out that the other boys were annoyed by the way I talked, the way I walked. I fixed it as soon as I was aware, but by then it was too late. Years had passed and at this point they picked on me just for the sake of it, you know?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] It got worse and worse as we grew up. Pushes became shoves, which became punches and kicks. I hid everything from my parents, because what would they say if I told them… you know?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] that you were being bullied because your classmates were a bunch of homophobes in the making that couldn't stand the idea of anyone being anything but straight?

Jeongguk gulped, looking at his phone. Nobody had put it quite like that before. Then again, he'd never told this to anyone. Not even to Seokjin.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] yeah

[LordOfTheTennisDance] one day, they ambushed me outside school and one of the boys came onto me with a knife. I panicked, so I pushed him away. It was the first time I tried defending myself, I think seeing the knife just brought everything to a whole new level for me.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Dammit

[LordOfTheTennisDance] it might have been my reaction or maybe they just really wanted to hurt me, but the boys held me down and the one with the knife stabbed me in the shoulder

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] oh my God

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] That was not your fault, not at all

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] fuck, I'm so, so sorry

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I can't believe this happened to you. This shouldn't happen to anyone, ever. I'm so sorry.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Thanks. We were thirteen so we all panicked when he did this. And he probably didn't know not to pull the blade out, so he did. I was in so much pain and bleeding outside the school. Luckily I had a colleague who was a bit older and found me there. I think his parents were doctors or something, so he knew a bit of first aid. He helped stop the bleeding, close the cut, and I went back home. I was young, so it healed.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Did you have to get surgery? What did your parents do when you told them about it?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] to answer both questions… I didn't.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] WHAT? HOW COME??

[LordOfTheTennisDance] As I said, I didn't want them to know. So I hid it.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Oh, but this!? That's too much! I can't believe you went through all that alone.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I wasn't completely alone, tbh. I said I had an older friend. He knew that I got stabbed, but not why. He stayed around me for the remainder of that year, so I was safe for a while.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Gosh, I don't even know what to say. If I had been there I would gut these bastards myself.

Jeongguk chuckled wetly, wiping tears that he didn't even notice had spilled out as he told Jihoon his story. It felt good to share what happened. It didn't change his past, but it gave him a sense of lightness he wasn't very used to. Was this relief?

Was this what being vulnerable meant? If so, he felt closer to someone called a Floating Baby and a Dollar Bill than he'd ever felt to anyone before, and he could never thank him enough for that.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] yeah, I wanted to do that too. I enrolled in a boxing academy shortly after I recovered, but I was a joke. I spent most of my time letting off steam by punching the sandbag with no technique to it. Still, I became stronger, fitter. Less feminine, so to say. The boys stopped picking on me. I'm still not sure if I intimidated them or if they were too shocked after the episode to let it escalate further. Either way, I was glad.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] me too

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] *sigh* I know the past can't be changed, but… I really wish I could've been there for you. I really am so sorry for what happened to you.

Jeongguk smiled.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Thanks.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] now back to what I was trying to say, lmao. Sorry for the detour.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Don't worry about that, thank you for telling me this. It must have been incredibly hard. And just before you continue, I want you to know that there was nothing wrong with you then—or now. There was nothing to be fixed there besides their fucking criminal attitude. ARGH.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Sorry I'm just

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] how old are you?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] uh, 23?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Great, I'm angry with one decade of delay. Better late than never.

Jeongguk threw his head back with laughter, not really understanding what he was finding funny in such a gloomy conversation. By the time he looked at his phone again, Jihoon had already sent another message.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] anyway, you were saying?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Oh, right, I met the guy I was talking about not long after that. That kind of changed the direction my life was going and I admired him so much at first, you know? I wanted to be like him

[LordOfTheTennisDance] but with time that morphed into wanting to be with him. I don't know. I was terrified that that even crossed my mind.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm not sure if it was legit or if I had been so emphatically expected to come out this way that some part of me just decided to fit into that role.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] nobody really caught my eye this whole time. No girls and no boys, even though I’ve been with girls before. Only he does. And now I don't know what to think.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] isn't it pathetic? I'm 23 and I still don't know shit about myself 

It only occurred to Jeongguk how much pressure he'd put on a complete stranger online—who most likely didn't give a damn about him, but who cared? That was an advantage in this situation—to listen to his sob story and then maybe give him extremely important advice about his life. He considered going back on the things he said and asking FloatingBabyAndADollarBill to forget it, but it was much too late. The other had already replied.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] oh wow, would you look at that… I really was right

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I don't think that with or without what happened your desires would have ended up any differently… You should trust yourself

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] and welcome to the dark side of the moon, my friend

Jeongguk guffawed into the lightless room. The acceptance felt cathartic after he shared such a tender and still unhealed part of himself. It was a breakthrough in the making for years. It was amazing how some of the most life-branding moments could happen with as little fanfare as a lonely night spent in a dark hotel room.

He and Jihoon spent the next several hours chatting because that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was the longest they had talked to each other so far, and they got to know all the small things they didn't know about each other yet.

Well, in parts.

Jeongguk still wasn't very confident about revealing real things about him—what with being a worldwide known tennis player—so he created a persona very close to who he really was, but loosely based on Namjoon.

His name was Kim Junghyun (false). He was Korean-American (half-false). His parents were a lawyer and a judge (true). He was born in Seoul (false). He got a tattoo over the scar on his shoulder (true).

Jeongguk felt so excited about telling the meaning of his tattoo to someone that he sent a picture of the abstract lines and patterns covering the skin from his shoulder blades to the middle of his chest.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] WOW, you're athletic

[LordOfTheTennisDance] why the surprise?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I don't know, I didn't expect that. I don't know what I was expecting.

The next message Jihoon sent was a picture of a lean, toned torso, with a large black 'nevermind' tattoo spanning from his back to his front over his ribs in a styled font.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I also have a tattoo with some history behind it

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] in my case it reminds me that even though I might have to do some things I don't want to in order to get through life, I still get to keep a part of my true self

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] for some reason my seventeen-year-old self thought that that was just the way to express it

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I don't get it anymore, but… I still get the meaning behind it, so it works. Also I really dig Nirvana.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I like Nirvana too, but I prefer Pearl Jam.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] and wow, you're athletic

[LordOfTheTennisDance] got any more tattoos?

It took the other a few seconds to reply.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Huh. Wouldn't you like to know?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] …I would

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Maybe another time. I show you a Nirvana tattoo and you tell me you prefer Pearl Jam? Right in front of my salad?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] and then you ask for more pictures. Have you no shame?

Jeongguk smiled. Not when it came to Jihoon, it seemed. The smile didn’t leave his face for as long as they talked until the city fell asleep and roused again.

July

Yoongi emerged from behind the line of cameras just as Jimin settled down into an armchair, the only seat available, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jeongguk occupying the other ones. The oldest walked over and bent down to hug him. “How did the semi-final go?”

“I lost.”

He hummed, sympathetic. "I’m sorry. I’m sure you did your best.”

Not really; I didn’t. But that was something that no one else had to know but himself. “Thanks."

Jeongguk cleared his throat beside them and Jimin shifted his attention to him. “Hi.”

“Hi. I am also sorry that you lost.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Jeongguk’s tone was as stiff as his words, and the awkwardness of it all had the corners of Jimin’s mouth pulling up in an endeared grin, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded.

Yoongi stared at them for a moment before moving on. “We’ll shoot questions alternating between personal matters and more general ones. I asked Namjoon and Taehyung to arrive earlier so they already replied to their personal questions. In case this takes longer than expected, Jimin-ah, can you stay later so we’ll get yours?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

"Jeongguk?"

The other nodded.

“Okay, so let’s get started,” Yoongi said, returning to his spot in the chair by the camera operator.

They were in a different country, but the staff had decorated the new studio as they did in France. It gave the overall appearance that they were in the same room, the two armchairs, the white loveseat, the side tables, the ash backdrop, and the terra mat identical. Jimin didn't know why, but the sameness bothered him.

"I’ll start with a broader one. For starters, we didn't talk much about what happened in Wimbledon this year. Three out of the four of you dropped out after the ATP decided to remove the ranking points from this year's tournament two weeks ago, and yet there will still be champions who will be awarded as usual. My question is: what guided your decisions to leave or stay in the competition?"

As expected, Namjoon was the first to reply. "In my case, it's funny, because the reason I dropped out sort of agrees on principle with why the All England Club decided to ban Russian and Belarusian players."

"How come?"

"I agree that sports can be political. Everything is, of course. I think of tennis as a sport that changed my life and could change the lives of others, but for that to happen society has to move as a whole, not just myself. I want to attract attention to the sport so that people of color can see it and think 'hey, maybe tennis isn't just for white folks' and take an interest in it. That creates a social demand for incentives that is inherently political. But that chain breaks if I get into an unfair competition where some players aren’t allowed, or if I can't improve my ranking even if I perform well. That’s why I decided to drop out."

Yoongi nodded impassively, but Jimin knew for a fact that the slight tilt to his lips was a sign of how pleased he was by the reply. He turned to Taehyung. "How about you?"

“As Namjoon’s playing partner, we share a lot of opinions," he shrugged. "I agree with everything he said. Couldn’t possibly have said it better."

Namjoon sighed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Kiss-ass.”

Jimin smiled and Yoongi coughed, amused. “Okay, then. Jimin?"

He hadn't decided to compete, had he? His mom had. It felt too embarrassing to admit to that. "Can I skip that one?"

"Sure. Jeongguk, you abandoned the competition before it started due to an injury. Would you like to elaborate on that?"

"Not really."

"Alright, on to the next question,” Yoongi said, examining the sheet in his lap. “Actually, Namjoon and Taehyung already answered this one, so this will be mostly to you, Jimin, and Jeongguk. When was the first time that tennis piqued your interest as a career?”

Jimin took a deep breath, trying to think of a coherent way to reply in the next few seconds. But to his surprise, Jeongguk beat him to it.

“I think that most people know I started late. Most professional players get into tennis schools after they’ve barely learned how to walk, but I was way into adolescence when I first saw a match of tennis, so I remember what happened,” he paused, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He seemed nervous, his gaze skidding across the floor and lips red from biting. Jimin wondered why that was. “My parents and I were in New York for my dad’s vacation, and we ran into a friend of theirs who was also traveling with his family. They offered us a VIP spot to watch the US Open, so we did, and I was instantly fascinated,” he said.

Jimin stared at the side of his face and the growing red on his cheeks, unable to believe what he was hearing. He actually remembered the occasion that Jeongguk was talking about because he had been there too.

“The other family had a son who was a player going pro in a few years, and he guided me through everything that was happening. It’s safe to say that I was equally amazed by what he told me as well. It was my ‘aha’ moment, so to say. I was fourteen. After that trip, we went back to Korea and I enrolled in a tennis school the following week. I never looked back ever since.”

Whatever Jimin thought he could say next got caught in his throat after Jeongguk spoke. The difference between them was uncanny. For one, Jeongguk’s tale was nothing short of romantic. He and tennis were love at first sight. And up until now, Jimin had forgotten about such a pivotal moment in Jeongguk’s life, even though he had been one of the protagonists. It had been buried under heaps of memories of his tennis years, compacted together and washed over in the same shades of gray.

Jimin had never had a moment when he fell in love with tennis, he realized—in fact, he didn’t even remember when he started playing. His mom, being a former player, simply assumed that one of the sons who interrupted her career would follow in her steps, and for that reason, Jimin had been playing tennis ever since he could remember.

"Jimin?"

Yoongi's voice roused him from his musings. He looked up at the people in the room, embarrassed to notice all the eyes already on him. "Yeah?"

"It's your turn."

"Okay. Well, in my case, tennis has always been there, you know? There was never a moment of clarity about it," he said. Everyone stared at him. Everyone. And it might be his mind playing tricks on him, but they seemed disappointed, so he tried embellishing a bit. "Tennis has always been natural for me. It's something that I was born knowing I had to do," he complimented. And I never questioned it was left unsaid.

Yoongi stared on, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, he moved on, to Jimin's relief. "Okay, then. Now, the next question is, how do you think that tennis could become more popular in a country like South Korea?"

"Excuse me, can I go to the bathroom?" Jimin interrupted.

Yoongi shrugged. "Sure. We'll wait for you."

"You don't have to. I mean, you can prioritize the general questions if you want. I don't have much to say."

Yoongi said "Of course. No problem," but stared at him with a look that meant 'I know what you're doing and we're going to talk about it later.’

"Thanks," Jimin replied, jumping to his feet and bowing to the presents before bolting out of the room.

He had not expected the interview to go this way. Everything had been fine, fine—even though he'd lost the semi-final just a few hours ago. But something about having to dig inside himself for the reasons why he was in this career rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe the problem wasn't the questions.

Jeongguk was in love with tennis. Namjoon wanted to change the fucking world with it. Taehyung first started playing because he wanted to impress his parents and give them a better life, and as small as that might seem in comparison to the others, his goals were his.

What did Jimin have to say for himself?

‘My mom made me do it’ sounded too weak and too much like he was demonizing her, laying on her the weight of the decisions he took in his life. He wasn't trying to do that. Yes, she'd been forceful in the way she encouraged his career, but he had been the one to appease her. 

He had stepped under the spotlight so his younger brother could become a journalist without interference. He was the one who had allowed her to keep them away from their dad who lived in Busan, even if it didn’t seem like he had a lot of options back then.

He had no one else to blame. It made him short of breath, heart beating erratically in his chest.

Jimin locked himself in a stall and sat on the toilet lid, whipping out his phone and sending a quick text to Taehyung. The last time he'd had those thoughts was in January during the Australian Open, back when he was pitifully carried out of a pub after knocking himself out drunk.

He didn't want to be carried out by a stranger again.

'Bar tonight?' he asked.

His phone pinged with a message a few minutes later as he walked back to the studio after having calmed down enough to continue.

'Sure. I’ll ask Yoongi to come.'

Chapter Text

“I used to play basketball, in fact. My dad and I were obsessed with it, we watched pretty much every championship in existence. That's where I started to become a journalist,” Yoongi said, playing with a shriveling fry that he’d been gesturing around for the past ten minutes. They’d snatched a tiny bistro table at the overcrowded pub, and a basket of fries and four pints was all they could precariously fit on top of it. They'd all had enough fries to be nauseated. The remaining ones slowly cooled in a bed of oily napkins at the center, abandoned. "But I wasn't into tennis yet. It was Jimin-ah who introduced it to me."

"When you dated," Namjoon offered.

"Yeah."

Jimin stared at the wall the furthest away from them, mulling at how much time the posters on it had been exposed to sweat and droplets of spit and beer and how disgusting it might be to touch them today, trying to shut out the topic of conversation. He’d come here to get his mind off the thoughts plaguing his mind, not to be haunted by them. Was his group of friends unable to discuss anything but tennis?

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Namjoon agreed.

“Like what?”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to say something and this is the perfect opportunity,” Taehyung started, swaying as he leaned on Jimin’s shoulders. He raised his pint with a wobbly hand, threatening to spill its contents into the fries. “I am so happy to be here with y’all. Jimin, you are such a warm presence in my life. We don’t always meet but when we do you give me good hugs.”

He chuckled despite himself, hugging his friend back. “Thanks. I love you too.”

“I didn’t say that I love you!” the other protested. “But I do.”

“How adorable,” Yoongi commented.

“Yoongi!” Taehyung swayed the glass again, “It’s been a while but I always liked you. Don’t be a stranger again just because you and Jimin broke up. Also, you and Namjoon have more to talk about than I do with either of you—”

“That’s impossible, you talk so much," Jimin interrupted.

“I can’t wait to see how it goes,” he continued. Taehyung let go of Jimin and draped himself over Namjoon then, almost knocking him over his stool, but the man easily held them both upright. “And you!” a sigh, “I love you.”

“Wow.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Not now, you’re drunk.”

Taehyung stopped, held Namjoon's face in his hands, and stared at him for a few moments. "Will you marry me when I'm sober?"

"I'll think about it."

Taehyung keened and dove forward, smashing his lips against Namjoon's. The other took the attack graciously even though he too was inebriated, and Jimin wondered just how used he was to Taehyung pouncing on him whenever he felt like it.

They kissed for long enough to make Yoongi awkwardly shift in his seat, Jimin downing his remaining beer and asking for another pint in the meantime.

"We would've ordered some popcorn if we had known we would be watching you guys making out," Jimin said.

Taehyung pulled away, twisting in Namjoon's arms until he faced Jimin. "He said he'll marry me, let me celebrate it."

"I said I'll think about it."

"Same thing."

"Are you guys official now, then?"

Taehyung cranked his neck to look at Namjoon, who nodded. "We are."

Yoongi raised his glass in celebration. "To the new couple!"

"To the new couple!" The group cheered and drank. Namjoon took Taehyung's pint out of his hands once he got too voracious with it, coaxing him to stop.

“I’m gonna take Taehyung outside to get some air and drink some water. I’m sorry, guys.”

“It’s fine, hyung, don’t worry. Take care of him.”

“I will,” Namjoon said, guiding his now grumbling boyfriend out by the waist through the throngs of people.

For the first time that night, Jimin was thankful for the pub being full as the noise around him muffled out the silence left after Namjoon and Taehyung’s departure. He took a long swig of his beer, eyes skitting around the dark wood walls and the woozy lights and the whooping drunkards, once again stopping at the nasty posters at the far corner.

“Namjoon is exactly what Taehyung needed," Yoongi commented. 

Jimin nodded. "They get along so well. It's like fate brought them together."

"Indeed."

A mixed crowd screamed at a neighboring table, thus filling the uncomfortable lilt in their small talk. Yoongi rubbed the beads of perspiration off his glass absentmindedly, but Jimin's years of knowledge on Yoongi matters let him know the other was just taking his time before saying what he wanted.

And he wasn't wrong.

"What happened earlier? At the interview."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Yoongi said, looking straight at him. "When you left. You were distracted most of the time, and suddenly you got distressed. That was when you left. We were almost done when you returned. And by then Taehyung was inviting us here."

"Crazy, huh?" Jimin chuckled. "Wait, why isn't Jeongguk here?"

"By us I didn't mean him, of course. It wouldn't do good with Joon and Tae all over each other like they are."

Jimin sighed. "I'm not so sure he's like Namjoon says he is."

"He's his closest friend among us, wouldn't he know?"

"I mean, I know for a fact that he—" Jimin bit his lip, almost saying something he shouldn't. "I really don't think he's like that. He's just, I don’t know. Awkward."

Yoongi snorted. "There's a huge difference between hating people because of their sexuality and being awkward, but you know him better too, so I won't argue," he sighed. "You're deflecting. That's not what I asked about."

Jimin cast his sight down to the tabletop and the wilting fries, looking away from Yoongi's piercing gaze. Was it worth saying what he felt? Nobody felt sympathy for the complaints of people at the top. Yes, it was tiring, extremely tiring. Yes, it took sacrifice. No, Jimin wasn't sure about this path. There should be more to life than this. But who would agree with him, when he was already rich, young, and famous?

Hopefully, Yoongi?

"I felt out of place. You know when Jeongguk talked about the first tennis match he ever watched?"

"Yes."

"That was my family they met. I was there with him—I was the tennis player who explained to him what was going on."

His jaw dropped. "Wow, that's—amazing. You should've said that in your answer. You were an inspiration to a fourteen-year-old boy who turned out to be one of the best players in the world."

"See, that's the problem. I'm not sure I should be one. Not when I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Huh. Well, you’ve been on a crescent lately. You’ve been getting a lot of attention that you didn’t before, I can see how confusing that could be. Overwhelming, even. But I wouldn’t say you’re doing something wrong. Jimin, you just played in the first Grand Slam semi-final of your life.”

“I know, I know,” he said, hands clutching the half-empty glass in front of him. “I’m just not sure this is the direction I should be going.”

Yoongi hummed. He reached forward, covering Jimin’s hands with his. “Don’t worry about it, Jimin-ah. You’re doing well. Whoever says you aren’t should shut the fuck up.”

He didn’t understand it, did he?

“No, that’s not what I meant… I’m not worried about criticism.”

“So what gives?”

Yoongi stroked his hand. Jimin didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, but he didn’t want to pull away either. His eyes prickled with incoming tears, the despair he had tried to suppress them threatening to come out. He would seek comfort, in whatever form was available to him.

“I’m not comfortable with being an inspiration, or an idol, to anyone. I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it. You’ve worked hard.”

“Yeah, but,” his breath hitched, “I don’t think I belong here. It feels empty, it feels—I don’t think I can sustain it. I don’t think I can, or want, to keep doing this for long.”

There, he said it. Yoongi smiled sadly, giving him a commiserating look. He shuffled his stool closer and wrapped him in a side hug, and Jimin almost cried at the gesture alone.

“That is just your fear of failure talking. But I promise you’re not an impostor; you’re a success, and there will be losses in the future, but ups and downs are normal and you are plenty capable of overcoming them.”

He couldn’t see it, even if Jimin outright stated it. It made sense that Yoongi thought he was talking about perfectionism because who in their right mind would dedicate almost two decades of their life to something they were not passionate about?

Yoongi couldn’t fathom what he really meant just like most people wouldn’t if he ever said that out loud. Jimin felt ludicrous, lost in a forest he’d ventured into without ever telling anyone where he was going. Only now he had strayed for so long he no longer knew the way back, or forward, and there was a void where purpose and conviction to explore should have been.

And that was when he knew for sure that there was no one he could talk to about this. Taehyung and Namjoon had found some semblance of happiness in tennis. Jeongguk too. Yoongi chose the second-best career he could have dreamed of, being a sports journalist.

Misery loves company, but Jimin was alone.

“Thank you, hyung,” he said anyway. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

That night, when he got back to the hotel room and dropped on his bed with more questions than he had answers, Jimin felt hopeless. He should have gone out drinking on his own as he did in January—at least that way he wouldn't have to pretend he didn’t want to knock himself unconscious. As of now, he was buzzed, but not pleasantly unaware of the world around him. His mind was noise, pure, unrelenting noise that he couldn’t tune out. He wanted to scream, but there were no words to articulate what he felt or anyone who could hear him.

Unless…

Unless there was?

His fingers trembled as he fished his phone out of his pocket and opened the chat with Junghyun, who he talked to whenever he’d felt lonely in the last month and a half. Jimin scrolled up the exchanged texts for a bit, smiling melancholically at the traded jokes and the dainty pictures of the daily life they shared anonymously with each other.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Junghyun, are you there?

But perhaps he should be cautious.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I’m trying to help a friend and you’re always so good to talk to, so I thought I could ask

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] She’s the CEO of her parents’ company, you know? She… really struggled to get there, even though they’re her parents. Other people don’t see how much she had to give up to get there, and the thing is, she kind of regrets it now.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I don’t know how to help her. She feels like she should try something else but giving up now feels like wasting away everything she ever did in her life.

Jimin glared at the screen until it turned off. He dropped it on the mattress with a sigh, flopping back and staring at the ceiling sightlessly like he’d done a thousand times. But then his phone vibrated with a notification.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] that is such a coincidence

[LordOfTheTennisDance] my best friend’s parents have a huge-ass company, and he’s supposed to inherit it

[LordOfTheTennisDance] well, he’s more like my only friend lol

[LordOfTheTennisDance] but he doesn’t agree with what they do there so he wants to do his own thing

[LordOfTheTennisDance] that’s how he became my sponsor

[LordOfTheTennisDance] uh, by sponsor I mean my business partner. We work together now.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I’ve talked to him a lot about it, I might know a thing or two about how hard that can be

[LordOfTheTennisDance] so fire away. I’ll see how I can help.

Jimin almost cried on the spot. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed a reply.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] For real? I won’t be bothering you? I can totally keep this to myself.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] of course, it will be my pleasure

[LordOfTheTennisDance] and if you didn’t really need help you wouldn’t have reached out, would you?

Jimin smiled, both grateful for the opening and embarrassed at being called out.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Thank you, so much

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I just have one objection

[LordOfTheTennisDance] What is it?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] You said this person is your only friend… Aren’t we friends, too?

Every second after he sent the message felt nerve-wracking as time stretched on and on without a reply. Jimin was overthinking saying anything at all, moments away from backtracking, when the answer came, at last.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] Of course. Friends :)

Talking to Junghyun the whole night helped Jimin come to terms with what he was feeling, even if he had no idea how to deal with it yet. Whatever his choice would be in the end, it had to be well thought-out. He had too much at stake.

On the other hand, spending the night awake coupled with drinking did not fare well for his body. Jimin woke up way into the afternoon, for once dodging his mother when she swung by, with the excuse that he felt tired from the game the previous day, which was partially true.

Jimin had been feeling on edge since the match and his unsuccessful attempt at winding down at the bar with his friends. He needed to blow off some steam. That was how he ended up brushing his teeth, changing his clothes, knocking back a couple of painkillers that he washed down with a glass of water, and walking to the training complex a few blocks down from the hotel. He didn’t feel like practicing tennis at first, but took his racket bag with him just in case he changed his mind.

Jimin plugged in his earphones as he strolled to the lockers at the back of the empty gym, grooving to the black album. He locked his bag away, singing Nothing Else Matters under his breath and enjoying the instant alienating effect it had. Sometimes tuning the world out was what you had to do. But every pro had its cons. Jimin slammed the locker closed and swiveled around, striding away and almost running into someone on his way out.

He stepped back, looking up at a startled, recently showered Jeongguk. The wet tips of his hair looked black instead of red as they stuck to his forehead and temples, his skin glistening, exuding freshness and begging to be touched. At least he had clothes on. Jimin gulped, his hands flexing and then closing in a fist.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t hurt,” Jeongguk said, scratching his head. His skin was slightly red, probably from the shower as well. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I was just putting my bag away.”

“You’re practicing now?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know. I just came for a quick sprint, in fact. To let off some steam.”

“Oh. I did that earlier,” he grimaced. “We could have done it together.”

If this conversation happened between him and anyone else, Jimin would be bored out of his mind. As it was, Jimin was grateful that he and Jeongguk could finally be civil to each other, almost friendly, and he craved more of that. It was a pity that their timing was off.

“It’s fine,” he said, turning around to leave. “We could always do it another day. I guess I’ll see you?”

“Okay,” Jeongguk nodded.

“Bye!”

Jimin had made it as far as the door when Jeongguk called out to him and he turned around with a raised eyebrow.

“My hitter took the week off. You know, since…” he trailed off, and Jimin nodded. “I was wondering. You wanna. The court’s free today, you know? I saw it on the way here.”

Jimin huffed an incredulous laugh. No way this was happening. Jeongguk asking to spend time with him—voluntarily? He was finally extending him the olive branch and Jimin should be cute about it, maybe throw a smile and a compliment but it was just too damn tempting to poke him instead. A slow grin spread across Jimin’s face and he crossed his arms, jutting one hip out.

“Are you telling me you want us to practice together, Jeon?”

The other caught onto his tone, standing straighter right away. “Yeah.”

“I thought I had nothing to teach you. Did you come to your senses?”

Jeongguk snorted. He mirrored Jimin’s posture, leaning sideways on the lockers and making them rattle on impact.

“I won’t be the one learning a lesson today, Park.”

He spat his name out, a smirk stretching his lips. Despite the content of his words, Jimin knew that he was game. He walked closer, standing toe to toe with Jeongguk, relishing in watching the smile slip from his face the closer he got to him.

“Oh, I’m sure that's what you think, Jeon. You don’t ever learn, do you? But since you asked so nicely, I can try to teach you a thing or two,” he said. When had it become so hot? Jimin stepped back—to breathe, but also to open the locker and take out the bag he’d just shoved inside. “Let’s go then.”

It was uncharacteristic for Jeongguk to be this quiet when provoked, but he remained silent all the way out of the gym and past the few blocks to the Aorangi Practice Courts. The grass extended in front of them like a green carpet, the summer sun still up in the sky and shining mercilessly upon them. Jimin broke the silence first.

“Okay, so what are you doing today?”

Jeongguk shrugged. “Just practicing my stroke, I need to get moving. Docs orders.”

“I see. Want me to hit for you so we can get going?”

“Sure.”

With that set, Jimin fetched the cart with the yellow tennis balls and brought it to the middle of the baseline, nodding before he started hitting them at the center. Jeongguk bounced on his feet, always eager to catch the next shot, and it went on like that for minutes until he tossed a ball way off the court.

“Be serious. This is child’s play.”

Jimin smiled. “Okay, then, sir.”

He resumed tossing the balls for Jeongguk to rebut them, but this time Jimin varied, throwing balls left and right, close to the net and deep into the court, and Jeongguk fumbled to catch them.

“Is this hard enough for you?” he screamed.

Jeongguk was panting already. “Easy peasy!”

Laughing, Jimin cleared the ground of balls and subtly pushed the cart back. A few returned shots later, once Jeongguk hit a ball on the baseline, Jimin hit it back to his side, keeping it in play. It caught the other off guard, eyes widening a fraction before he rushed to return it. They threw balls back and forth as if in a real game, waiting for the other one to make a mistake. Jeongguk was the one who did it in the end, by shooting a ball down the line and missing the end of the court.

“Fifteen-love!” Jimin bellowed.

“This isn’t a match,” Jeongguk countered.

“Says who? You’re just trying to deny that we’ve barely started and you’re already losing,” he smirked.

Jeongguk squinted at him, taking in a few breaths. “If this were a real match, I wouldn’t lose to you.”

“Real match or not, you still can’t beat me,” Jimin provoked. “Wanna test that out?”

“Is it a test if I already know the result?”

Jimin walked over to the net and waited for Jeongguk to do the same. “Best out of three. Deal?”

Jeongguk enveloped his hand, shaking it in a warm and firm grip. He looked Jimin straight in the eye, and that too was hotter than the sun bearing down on them. “Deal.” As he walked back to the baseline, he called out to Jimin. “Love-all, right?”

“Hell, no. I have fifteen.”

Jeongguk snorted and crossed his arms. “How fair is it if you got a point when I didn’t know we were even playing?”

Jimin grinned, mischievous. “Gotta keep your adversary guessing. One up them. Can’t let them know your next move.”

Jeongguk held his gaze, but for once didn’t look like he wanted to kill Jimin on the spot. He seemed almost… fond. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

The next hour and a half were spent with them trying their best to beat each other, but what surprised Jimin was how much fun he had. Not even the lack of a third party to settle the controversial points or remember the score correctly was enough to put an end to the laughter and amused smiles on both sides of the court. Whenever a dispute arose, one of them walked to the net and the other rolled their eyes but followed right after.

“On the count of three,” Jeongguk raised his fist. He swung it forward thrice, saying “rock, paper, scissors!” and then groaning “No!” as he lost, sliding his hands dramatically down his face.

Jimin erupted in giggles, feeling over the moon at witnessing this side of Jeongguk again. It reminded him of when they played doubles together and Jeongguk looked at him as if he’d hung the moon in the sky. A time when everything was new and exciting; when discovering each other was of the essence as much as playing tennis was; a time of endless practice hours and drunken kisses behind doors. He still wondered if Jeongguk had forgotten about it or if he made himself forget since Jimin had never been able to let that particular memory go.

In the end, Jeongguk won their impromptu match, and as expected, he was nothing if not cocky about it.

“I said you had nothing to teach me,” he panted, marching to the net. They did the protocol half hug in the middle and Jimin tried not to linger. He failed, leaving it to Jeongguk to pull away. He might be a tad softer today. A bit nostalgic, heart stuttering more than usual around Jeongguk.

“You’ve always been a great player, Jeongguk. When it comes to three sets, you bulldoze past your opponent," he said. "What you need to work on is not something you can do inside the court, and it could make you win a five-setter in a Grand Slam if you learned how to tame it."

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Jimin should have learned by now, that try as he might, Jeongguk didn't take his advice well, even if it was well-intentioned. He always assumed it wasn't.

So Jimin turned to him with an apology ready on his tongue, only to have Jeongguk give a weak smile and scratch the back of his head.

"You mean my temper."

"Yeah. It's your Achilles heel, but it could be your biggest weapon. Tennis is a mental game."

"I know. Jin hyung says the same thing."

Jimin blinked. "Was he the one at the court that day? The one you argued with?"

Jeongguk grimaced. "Yeah. He was not happy. Took me a lot of dinners to get him to forgive me for that, but in the end, he said just a simple apology would have sufficed," he shrugged. "I couldn't be without him. He's my best friend."

Jimin felt sorry for him. "What about Namjoon?"

"I like him. We met during the American circuits a couple of years ago. He's great, but he's been pretty busy, you know? We don't hang out as much."

Jimin opened his mouth to speak but gave up at the last second. Namjoon was busy? The same Namjoon who spent every waking hour with Taehyung or reading, or accompanying him and Yoongi to bars? That Namjoon?

"He told you that?"

"He did. We mostly message each other, but it's hard to catch him outside of the interviews or games. So whenever I hang out, it's usually Jin hyung and me," he said, then looked at Jimin, biting his lip. "Today was nice."

"Yeah… it was."

Jimin's chest clenched, and he didn't know whether it was from pleasure at the time spent with Jeongguk or an effervescent sense of unfairness. Maybe both. Namjoon was avoiding Jeongguk out of a preconceived notion that he would be against his and Taehyung's relationship because of something he had done a while ago. But Jimin disagreed, and he had solid reasons to do so.

If his reasons were too outdated and no longer held up, that was something he chose to ignore, because Jeongguk was lonely. And perhaps Jimin had had a soft spot for him since the moment he laid eyes on his cute nose and the mole under his lip and his doe-stare, but he couldn't fathom leaving him unattended knowing that. In retrospect, it felt almost rude of them to hang out repeatedly without Jeongguk when they were all filming a documentary together.

And then he remembered Junghyun and how alone he too was until he made friends with Jimin online. He couldn't let that happen with Jeongguk as well.

They were picking up the balls scattered on the grass, so Jimin ran to the cart, threw in the ones he'd collected, and jogged into hearing distance from Jeongguk.

"Hey, I was wondering, we all know each other, right? We should hang out sometime."

Jeongguk stopped mid-speech, his mouth a small 'o'. "Who's we?"

"The four of us! You, me, Tae, and Namjoon. I can ask him the next time he's free," he amended. "And Yoongi hyung."

For the first time that afternoon, Jeongguk let a flash of displeasure cross his features, but it was gone in an instant. "The reporter?"

"He's a longtime friend and we all know each other. It will be nice!" he asked, gauging Jeongguk's reaction. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I guess…"

"We can go to a bar or something."

"I don't drink."

"Well… you can order a mocktail if you want. I swear Taehyung is so funny under the influence! You gotta get to know him. He's my best friend. Why don't you bring Jin along?"

Jeongguk perked at the idea. "That could work."

"See? I'll let you know when we plan to go out next time."

Jeongguk sucked his lips into his mouth, nodding curtly. He seemed tense, but not angry, so Jimin shrugged it off. "Okay."

"Alright," he smiled, lingering just a bit longer before turning to leave.

"Maybe we—" Jeongguk interrupted himself. Jimin swung around to face him again. "We should. How am I gonna know when it’s time, you know? I don’t have. How are you gonna call me?”

It was time for Jimin’s jaw to drop. He felt his lips tug into a wide grin, hoping the dimples beside his mouth were popping out since Jeongguk was staring at it.

“Let me get my phone in my bag, just a second.”

After exchanging phone numbers, they continued collecting the balls until the court was as tidy as when they arrived. Jimin tried to be discreet about it, but he smiled the entire time, feeling foolish as he did so. His cheeks hurt when he went to bed that night.

August

It turned out that the next time the five of them met wouldn't happen until the US Open in late August. Once the four of them reached the United States, there was a battery of smaller championships to participate in. Namjoon and Taehyung parted the day after Jeongguk’s practice with Jimin to attend the Infosys Hall of Fame Open in Newport, whereas they flew a week later to prepare for the Atlanta Open. Jeongguk won against Alex de Minaur in the finals, and after Jin, Jimin was one of the first people to congratulate him.

They had been spending a lot of time together, which was nice. It was also nerve-wracking and made Jeongguk overthink every little thing he said or did, as well as the purpose of it all. Jimin seemed different, but he was still Jimin, wasn’t he? Could he have changed so much in only a handful of years?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] ok so this is about my coworker again

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] you mean your crush

[LordOfTheTennisDance]  I mean…

[LordOfTheTennisDance]  anyway

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I followed your advice and we get along better now

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] YES! I knew it. Now all you have to do is ask him out.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] whoa there, not so fast

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] why not?

[LordOfTheTennisDance]  it’s complicated

[LordOfTheTennisDance] as I’ve said before, we have history… and it’s not a good one

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I’m not sure I can trust him again

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] oh :( that’s sad

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I wish I could do something about it

[LordOfTheTennisDance] you do just by listening, believe me

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I’m happy to help. It means so much that you feel comfortable enough to tell me those things

[LordOfTheTennisDance] if he were you, all my problems would be solved

Next, he went to Cincinnati, where after a rough face-off in the quarter-finals, Jeongguk’s physio once again recommended he drop out of the competition. He didn’t follow the advice, so he ended up losing in the semi-final to Borna Coric—who he’d beaten in Roland Garros—because his backhand was off. Jimin wasn’t there to cheer him up, having gone all the way to Montreal, but there was some solace in the fact that his friend won the Canadian Masters 1000 competition.

Friend. What an odd word to see attached to Jimin’s name—even more so considering their history going from strangers to friends, to enemies, rivals, and now friends again. He wondered about the next stage of their relationship, asking himself if maybe they would find something more in each other than they did the last time.

Jimin was the first to arrive in New York, followed by Taehyung, Namjoon, and himself, who arrived from Cincinnati almost in sync with the pair. A couple of days later Jimin texted him with an address and a time, and he stared at the screen for a few moments before freaking out about his appearance and calling Jin for help.

“I thought this was an emergency.”

“I have literally nothing to wear,” Jeongguk glared at himself in the mirror. “Should I get a haircut, too?”

His friend walked behind him and combed his hands through his hair, bundling it up at the end and peeking around his head to look at him through the reflection. “You’re one of the few people who can rock a proper man bun. Jimin will love it."

He didn't confirm nor did he deny that Jimin liking it was the source of his concern, but Jeongguk thought that the red in his cheeks spoke for itself.

“Okay.”

“Go take a shower, I’ll pick something for you to wear. I’ll be back in thirty and we leave right after,” his hyung said, already halfway to the door. “Okay?”

“Alright. Thanks, hyung."

"You're welcome!" he said, clicking the door shut.

To say that Jeongguk was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. From the moment he stepped foot inside the club, he sensed something was wrong—it could be just the tight jeans he was wearing that he had no idea he owned, or the boots, the tucked-in shirt that restrained him in ways his usual sports gear didn’t.

Or perhaps it was the way everyone in the booth looked stiff and out of place just like him, making Jeongguk wonder where the lively folks Jimin had talked about had disappeared to. To make matters worse, Jin was distracted by something on his phone and left for the bathroom about half an hour in. He returned five minutes later saying he had to leave but that Jeongguk should call him in case he needed a ride, so it was just him, Jimin, and three half-strangers, now.

"You were the only one empty-handed, so I brought you a drink," Taehyung said, placing in front of him a martini glass with something orange in it.

"Does it contain alcohol?"

The other snorted, getting comfortable beside Namjoon and under the arm around his shoulders. "It’s a brown derby, so of course it does."

"I," well, this is awkward, "I don't–"

"He doesn't drink, Tae-yah," Jimin sighed, placing a comforting hand on his knee and squeezing. Jeongguk surprised himself when he not only didn’t hate the touch but also leaned into it.

Jimin slid the glass to him and wrapped his lips over the rim, sipping the beverage with a low hum. Jeongguk felt weirdly attracted to the action, unable to pry his gaze away.

"It's tasty, I'll take it."

"You should," he blurted, "you look good—drinking it."

Jimin smiled and pursed his lips at the same time, making them fill with color, looking coy. 

"Thank you."

The table fell into silence again, Jeongguk drumming his fingers on the wood and trying not to think about the hand burning his skin through his pants. Their group stuck out from the writhing crowd like a sore thumb, the wide concrete dancefloor throbbing with bodies and voices repeating the lyrics from pop songs playing from the speakers, the cabin raised above the public who looked at the DJ like they were their God.

"I didn’t know you liked clubs,” Namjoon commented.

I don’t. “Jimin hyung invited me.”

“Yes he did,” Namjoon said, nursing his beer and taking a long swig of it. He tightened his hold around Taehyung, looking strangely protective. Jeongguk blinked. “You don’t seem very comfortable. Is anything bothering you?”

He squirmed in his seat, uselessly hoping that his pants would loosen up a little. “A bit.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, landing his gaze on Jimin. “Oh, really?”

“Hyung, stop,” Jimin said.

“Why? I just want to make sure Jeongguk is alright.”

Why are they being so weird?

“I’m okay, thanks.”

Namjoon seemed about to retort with something when Yoongi cleared his throat, pulling the attention of the table to him. He sat on Jimin’s other side, and he turned, draping an arm on his shoulders.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” he widened his eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s not here yet, to be honest… but I got a message about five minutes ago, so it should arrive any minute now.”

Jimin beamed and let go of his knee, leaning into Yoongi. Jeongguk was once more bewildered when his body lamented the loss of his touch.

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s a surprise, Jimin-ah.”

“You can’t just say there’s a surprise and expect me to not ask any questions about it, hyung! What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait.”

“What kind of thing would you get delivered to a club?” Namjoon asked.

“Definitely a stripper,” Taehyung assured.

Jimin gasped. “You hired a stripper?” Then he frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Aish… of course not. He’s gonna be mad when he finds out you thought he was a stripper.”

“So it’s a he,” Namjoon stated.

“It is.”

“Who is he?”

The reporter sighed. Jeongguk tuned out the conversation, feeling like there wasn’t anything he could contribute to it. Clearly, the other four were more than happy to talk among themselves and there was no need for him to be there. He skimmed his eyes over the crowd, hoping that Jin would magically return when his gaze caught onto a familiar face.

“Jimin hyung… is that Jihyun?”

“Huh?” the blond asked, turning in the direction he was looking at.

“You know Jimin’s brother?” Yoongi asked.

Jeongguk was about to reply that yes, they were besties who lost touch after he and Jimin stopped talking, why are you asking, jealous? when the blond jumped from his seat and pushed past the others causing a litany of ouchs and grunts as he left the booth and captured his younger brother in a bear hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here! Did you come all the way from Korea?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I can’t believe my baby brother came from across the world just to see me,” Jimin said, staring intently at him and squishing his face between his hands. Jihyun tried to take them away, but it was to no avail.

“I’m not a baby, I’m twenty-three years old, and I came to work on the doc,” he grumbled.

“You’ll always be my baby brother,” Jimin grinned. He looked the happiest he had been all night as he turned to the table, his right arm around him. “Guys, this is my younger brother, Jihyun. Jihyun, you already kind of know Taehyung. This is Namjoon; he and Tae play doubles together.”

“I know, I came here for work,” he said, but bowed to the other two respectfully. “Hi, hyung," he addressed Yoongi. "Hey, Ggukie.”

Jeongguk smirked. “Hello, Hyunji.”

“Hey! That nickname is old!”

“So is Ggukie.”

Jihyun sighed and crossed his arms. “I see you’re still the same, huh? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Jeongguk scooted over and patted the seat beside him, happy to see someone he could talk to. “We have time.”

The next hour was spent much less awkwardly than the first one. With Jihyun on one side and Jimin on the other, their group had two conversations happening at all times, and Jeongguk was comfortable keeping his circle small between the brothers. It also helped that the others loosened up as they got drunker and the night wore on, finally giving Jeongguk a glimpse of the liveliness that Jimin had talked about.

“And then this bitch threw all the balls on the ground and was like ‘there, I found you an excuse so you can avoid practice, you nasty procrastinator’,” Taehyung said, pointing at Jimin. “I was like I’m not picking those up and he was like you are and then somehow we started playing dodgeball but those tiny balls hurt on impact!”

“It was awful,” Jimin giggled, “I was purple all over the next day.”

“It sounds fun,” Jeongguk smiled. “Hyung and I were both too obsessed about tennis to have fun like that.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, seeming confused. “You played with him?”

“I didn’t know that either,” Yoongi commented.

“It was before I met you.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk replied. “We played doubles for a year before playing singles exclusively.”

Tae frowned as if trying to comprehend something particularly cryptic. After a couple of beats, his brow unfurled and his jaw dropped as understanding lit up his features. “So you’re the one who—”

“Tae-yah, do you need some water? I think you need water.”

Jimin got to his feet and began to excuse himself past the others, but before he could make it out of the booth, someone came tumbling onto their table, almost toppling the glasses on it.

“Taehyung-ie!” the woman squealed. “I finally found you!”

She looked overdressed—in fact, the person in front of them was almost swallowed by the large coat and hat she wore, with high boots as well. Jeongguk thought it was fashionable, in a way, just completely out of season. The way she popped out of nowhere looking frantic was alarming, though. 

“What the fuck,” he whispered.

“Shit,” Jimin said.

“Who—”

“Fuck,” Namjoon cursed.

But it was Taehyung’s reaction that surprised him the most. His face morphed from ease to anger in a split second as he got up on unsteady feet and held the woman at arm’s length. “Helena, what the fuck are you doing here?”

She looked up at Taehyung, her green eyes filled with tears of worship. “I missed you! I prayed to you every day but you didn’t show up so I had to come to see you, my love.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Namjoon grit out.

“Shit, I knew I should have a restraining order here as I did in London too,” Taehyung said, rubbing his eyes. “Helena, please leave.”

“But I just got here!”

“Leave.”

“But—”

“He told you to leave,” Namjoon uttered, rising to his full height beside Taehyung. That would be intimidating to anyone, but she seemed so out of it, so entirely focused on Taehyung, that Namjoon’s threatening stance didn’t even register in her expression. “He doesn’t want you around. Hasn’t he been clear enough about that already?”

“But I love him!” she protested.

“So do I, but he actually wants me around,” Namjoon almost roared. Jeongguk had never seen him that way before. “Go before I call the police.”

Instead of doing as told, she clasped her hands together, smiling with stars in her eyes. “It makes me so happy that you have such a caring brother by your side.”

Taehyung sighed. “Unbelievable.”

“Helena, you’ve dated, but it’s over. He’s my boyfriend now.”

That shut her up. Helena seemed stunned by the revelation, her mouth agape and eyes wide flitting from Taehyung to Namjoon. But however surprised she might be, it came nowhere close to how blindsided Jeongguk felt. He did not see that coming.

“You’re dating?”

Namjoon’s head snapped in his direction. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?” he asked, sounding almost… aggressive.

Jeongguk didn’t know what to think. He didn’t find he had a problem with Taehyung and Namjoon dating, but he felt off about not knowing anything. Looking at the face of the others, only he seemed surprised at the news.

“For how long?”

“Since Roland Garros, give or take. We just made it official a couple of weeks ago,” Taehyung replied. A loud squeak brought their attention back to Helena.

“This is great! We can make it a throuple!”

“No!” the couple replied in unison.

“I’ll see her out,” Jihyun said, getting up and all but dragging the woman away from the table. “Be right back.”

Taehyung sighed in relief and plopped back into his seat, with Namjoon tucking him into his side and kissing the crown of his head. "That woman is gonna kill me someday."

"Don't say that, she literally could."

It all made sense now. The clinginess, the sneakiness. How Namjoon started blowing him off shortly after the French Open started.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Were you avoiding me?”

Namjoon snorted. “Can you blame us?”

“Joon hyung,” Jimin called.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I knew you would react that way,” Namjoon said. “You can’t stand the thought of ‘two men being a couple’ can you? What did you call it—a ‘disgusting pair’? And just now, calling Jimin’s brother Hyunjin. To you it must be hilarious to misgender people, right?”

“What?” he breathed. Jeongguk didn’t even remember saying that. It was most likely uttered as a natural shield, a reproduction of the type of jargon people expected of him. “Of course not.”

“I really don’t think that’s the case, hyung,” Jimin stated.

“Why not? Who else would say something like that if not a bigot?”

Every word out of Namjoon’s mouth felt like a slap to his face. Jeongguk couldn’t believe he was being accused of being like those kids who stabbed him in the shoulder years ago. His body thrummed with barely repressed anger—at Namjoon, his schoolmates, himself. Because Namjoon was right, wasn’t he? He had behaved like an asshole, lying to himself and to others, overcompensating in order to hide a part of himself he didn’t acknowledge until very recently.

“I’m not, I’m not a bigot.”

“Then how come I don’t believe it?”

He tried looking at the people in the booth for help, but none of them knew the truth. He was so far into the closet he couldn’t even come clean about who he really was and begin to justify his actions. He couldn’t ask for sympathy.

“I don’t know what to say, but I promise—”

“You could start by apologizing.”

“Jeongguk-ah, you’re shaking,” Jimin whispered, taking the fist closest to him and trying to pry his fingers open.

It was then that he noticed how his breathing had quickened. Jeongguk was torn between wanting to defend himself from the unfair accusation and being unable to be candid about it. I’m not a bigot, bigots have tried to kill me—but as long as he couldn’t admit to that, he had no way of making Namjoon believe him. And even if he did, that didn't erase what he’d done.

A couple of tears rolled down his cheeks and he cleaned them right away, standing up and glaring at Namjoon, who had no idea just how much he’d hurt him. Jeongguk couldn’t even blame him, not really.

“I apologize for what I said in the past. It was idiotic of me and I didn’t mean it. I’d never be angry because you’re dating someone you love, whether it be a dude or a girl. But if I’m being honest, I’m pretty sad that you didn’t tell me,” he said, wiping away a new onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry for ruining the night as well. I hope you’re happy as a couple.”

Jeongguk left the booth with a hand shoved deep into his pocket, retrieving his phone and frantically dialing Jin’s number. He left out the part about what just happened. He stormed through the swaying bodies on the dance floor, away from the table and out of sight.

Chapter Text

Jimin woke up the next day with his door slamming open, the noise followed by two pairs of feet striding into his room—one loud and the other quieter—and the screech of the drapes dragging on the rods and letting in the afternoon light to assault his eyes. Next were his ears, bombarded with a series of barked commands, and his skin, exposed to the cold air as someone ripped the covers off of him.

"Park Jimin, where were you last night?" his mother demanded. She scowled at him, hands on her hips, looking proper and awake in her khaki peg pants, an ironed white blouse, and a gray blazer.

Jimin squinted at the light, rubbing his eyes and trying to find his glasses. Once he put them on he finally saw Jihyun behind their mother, looking chastised and mouthing ‘sorry’.

“What time is it?”

“Do not avoid my question. Where were you? Why haven’t you gone to the gym already?”

“Because I was asleep. I slept late last night, sorry. I was watching a movie.”

She pounced on him but was held back at the last moment by his brother. “You’re a little liar! Jihyun already told me you were out! Drinking, no less! What kind of professional are you?”

Jimin looked at his brother behind his mother again. “I’m sorry. It slipped out this morning.”

“Thank God, it did!” she shrieked. Jimin grimaced. “If I had depended on your honesty, I would have thought you were resting in the hotel, getting ready for a Grand Slam that starts tomorrow, instead of frolicking with those degenerates and that Jeon boy again!”

“They are not degenerates, eomma,” Jimin defended them, careful not to raise his voice.

“Don’t talk back to me! They are unprofessional and mediocre,” she paused, heaving from her angry explosion. “And Jeon—he’s not good for you. Not good.”

In the wake of what happened last night—of Jeongguk’s uncomfortableness, his tears, the way he stormed off of a gathering that should have been a way for their group to grow closer—Jimin couldn’t bear to hear anyone say a thing about him anymore. Especially not his mom.

“Why not? He’s intelligent, talented, hard-working. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“He does not belong here,” she hissed. “He’s ill-mannered, doesn’t know the first thing about tennis. And he distracts you. You really don’t realize what was happening when I had to end your partnership and find another playmate for you, do you?”

Caused by the universe’s sarcastic sense of humor or not, the occasion of his and Jeongguk’s only kiss when he was twenty-one coincidentally happened three days before his mother told him that they would no longer be partners, that she had arranged someone else for him, that Jeongguk’s agent was unyielding about a couple of contract clauses and for that reason, they had to part. Jimin could never be sure if Jeongguk felt the same way or not, but he figured that the poignant silence in the following months spoke volumes. By the time they saw each other in tournaments again, they were already rivals.

“I guess I don’t.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’re so blind. They’re all in your way; the only reason why you took part in that stupid documentary was because you accepted when I wasn’t looking,” she clicked her tongue, pacing to the windows as she calmed down at last. “That Min Yoongi. He’s the worst of that bunch.”

“He’s my boss,” Jihyun’s voice popped in. He’d been quiet for so long that Jimin had forgotten he was there.

Their mother snorted. “Yeah. A boss in that mess of a newspaper. It means nothing.”

The nasty commentary rang in Jimin’s ears like the jab it was, intended to express just how much their mother disregarded Jihyun’s career as valid at all. It means nothing—your degree means nothing, your effort, everything you ever did in your life is worthless. Jimin grit his teeth. He could take abuse directed at him at the moments when his mother felt stressed and thought she could use him as a verbal punching bag. It was another thing entirely when his brother was involved.

“Eomma, it’s not nothing. It’s an important job. Yoongi hyung is the youngest news editor in the SBS sports section. His doc is going to be broadcasted on national TV and Jihyun works for him.”

“So what you’re saying is that Jihyun is even lower than him.”

“That’s not—”

“I don’t expect you to understand what this means, eomeoni,” Jihyun stood up. Despite the anger on his features, his voice was level, controlled. “You were never able to see past yourself, were you? This is a long-term project, it will influence thousands of people. But you wouldn’t recognize something like that if it stared you in the face.”

She swiveled around, infuriated. “How dare you say that to me. Your mother! I had to give up everything—my entire career—to raise the both of you!"

“And then once I grew up I had to fend for myself because the only thing you cared about was molding Jimin into a more successful version of you!"

"Jihyun—"

"No, let me finish!" his brother said, raising a palm at Jimin and continuing by locking gazes with their mom. "I am glad, though, that this has taught me to walk on my own two legs because I don't need you anymore. I am doing exactly what I want and I don't need you anymore, eomeoni."

Jimin couldn't help but agree. In all his life, he'd never seen Jihyun talk that way to their mother. It was stunning, and he wasn't the only one flabbergasted. Indeed, Jihyun didn't need his mom—or him—anymore. He'd grown up.

His brother turned to him, speaking much softer than before. "I'm sorry for implying that you're anyone but your own person. You're an amazing brother and I love you. I wouldn't be where I am today if not for you."

Jimin unclenched, muscles loosening. His eyes felt wet all of a sudden. "Of course you would, you're a genius."

"You know what I mean. Thank you. And I love you."

"Me too."

Jihyun seemed to be blinking back tears as well, eyelashes fluttering. He receded, though, addressing both Jimin and their mom. "I'll leave now. Have a good day."

"Bye, Jihyun-ah," Jimin said, watching his brother leave while surreptitiously making a phone call sign with his hand. Jimin nodded with a strained smile.

"I raised an ungrateful kid."

Jimin laid his attention back on his mother. "You didn't have to say those things about his job, eomma."

She shrugged. "It was the truth and the truth hurts," she pranced, going to Jimin's wardrobe and yanking it wide open. He grimaced, remembering the mess it was from when he threw his clothes into it and took a quick shower before pulling on his pajamas and falling asleep.

"Are you close with this Jeon boy?"

"More or less," he replied. "Why?"

"His coach is an ogre, you know?" his mom said, walking closer to his bed. "Smart as a rock. Subtle as a crashing piano."

"Oh."

"He let it slip that Jeongguk's test has been scheduled for next week," she commented. "Are you meeting him anytime soon?"

Jimin frowned, still unsure what she was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"I heard he has an injury, he must be in a lot of pain. Since you're close anyway, we could use that to your advantage."

It took Jimin a few moments to understand what she intended. He almost couldn't believe it, which was why it took him so long to figure it out.

"I can't believe you're suggesting I tamper with his meds."

She waved a dismissive hand, taking a seat at the edge of his mattress. Jimin had never wanted her to leave so much. "Of course not. That would be dangerous. But you train with him sometimes, don't you? Keep an ear out for any complaints, then offer him a solution. Talwin and Tylenol pills look exactly the same."

“No,” he said, getting to his feet to try and get as far away from her as possible. “No, I won’t do that. What the hell? Trying to sabotage the competition? Is that what we’ve come to?”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the space he put between them and walking until they were face to face. “He’s inconvenient and he’s already half-broken. This would be nothing but a push.”

For the second time that day, Jimin felt utterly offended, but not on his own behalf. “How can you say that? Jeongguk is not half-broken, he’s recovering! And he’s not inconvenient—he’s, he’s my friend!”

Sunghee scowled like she tasted something sour. “Don’t you see that this is precisely the problem? You need to get rid of him. Of all of them.”

Silence fell between them as Jimin held her gaze, incredulous. How could someone be so disingenuous, almost Machiavellian? And for that to be his own mother? How could he come from someone so cold and unscrupulous? His only consolation was that they were nothing alike. He wondered how blind he must have been to follow her every advice about his life so far when they were so fundamentally different.

Jimin's stomach felt queasy. He wanted to be sick and to cry, but first, he needed to get her out of his room.

“I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll get ready for practice and we can meet in the lobby in thirty,” he said, leading the way to the entrance. She followed, stopping by the door to place a palm on his shoulder and stroke it with a thumb.

“You know I only say this for your own good, right? Everything I do is because I love you.”

Jimin gripped the handle harder. “I know.”

“See you in a bit,” she said on her way out.

He quivered with a mix of anger, frustration, and utter powerlessness. His mom had stormed into his room and started his day in the worst way possible. Jimin felt like a wreck and he had barely woken up. He needed some kind of revenge, even if it was small.

“See you, coach.”

Her lips thinned right before he closed the door. The memory of her annoyed stare would have to be enough to make him power through today.

September 1st

Something that people hardly ever mentioned about self-awareness was its intimate relationship with guilt and overthinking. When Jeongguk accepted that his short temper was getting in his way of becoming a better player, it made him anxious and actually angrier at himself for not solving it right away, even if between the practices, the gym, the tournament matches, and the doc interviews, he didn’t have much time left to address those issues.

The controversy at the club ten days ago was like that, but worse. Jeongguk felt pressured to come out like he was locked inside an escape box rapidly filling up with toxic fumes where the smoke was other people’s impressions that he was somehow bigoted when he was just as harmed by it and the effect wasn’t death but much worse: living with worthlessness and leaving unattended the silent yet desperate need to feel embraced and accepted about a way of loving that he could never control.

But it was so damn hard. Much like winning a Grand Slam, glory took relentless effort, but this one was inside his mind. Jeongguk was never very good at looking inside himself.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I try to distract myself by doing things, and it works for the most part

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I never realized just how much I do that

[LordOfTheTennisDance] but now I’m even more isolated and when I go to sleep there’s no getting away from those thoughts, and

[LordOfTheTennisDance] gosh, I’m just so pathetic

[LordOfTheTennisDance] You’re the only person I can talk to about this. I’m not even brave enough to tell my best friend about those things.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] You’re not pathetic

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] You’re going through a rough patch and you need support but it’s hard to reach out, I get it

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] sigh I’m so sorry. I’m happy I can help somehow but I wish I could do more. I wish I could hug you until things get better.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I wouldn't say no to that

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I really wish we knew each other in real life

Jeongguk sniffed, staring at the screen as if the light emanating from it was a beacon of hope. And for now, it was. His nerves had been so frayed these days, talking to Jihoon was all he could do to feel better. He had no idea how he was supposed to beat Dimitrov in a few hours.

"Shit."

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I mean, I'm not saying we should meet

[LordOfTheTennisDance] sorry if I sounded like that

I couldn't possibly begin to explain all the lies I've told you to hide who I really am.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] oh it's fine, I figured you didn't

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I really wish we knew each other beyond our phones too

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] although I gotta say… You wouldn't believe I'm me if we ever met in real life

[LordOfTheTennisDance] why not?

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I'm actually 56 with a pouch belly and no hair on my head

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] my name is Jeffrey but my wife calls me Richard when she's happy and Dick when she's mad, and I like to catfish young queer male tennis fans with sad stories online

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I lie all the time too, I'm a compulsive liar

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] sorry

Jeongguk gawked at the chat for a few terrifying moments where he couldn't tell if Jihoon was being serious or not. He blinked, his heartbeat going through the roof.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I'm joking

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I'm still cool, young, and attractive

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] please laugh

[LordOfTheTennisDance] oh shit I am laughing now but I really thought you were serious for a moment there

[LordOfTheTennisDance] there can only be one of us who's old and bald, and that would be me

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm afraid we can never meet without my secret being revealed

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] lmao

Jeongguk felt calmer already. Talking to Jihoon always felt like a balm to his spirit, soothing in the best of ways. I could fall in love with someone like that. The man was fun and understanding, deep but mellow, easy to interact with. He wanted to tell him that but figured it was no use. It's not like it would change anything. He could disclose a version of his thoughts, though.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I wish that with the other guy it was as easy as it is with you

Someone knocked on his room before Jeongguk could get a reply, and he hastily wiped his cheeks and climbed down from the bed before marching to the entrance and swinging the door open. Seokjin looked displeased, twisting his nose at the cream chino shorts he wore instead of his usual slacks, a light blue polo, and caramel loafers.

"Ready for the game?"

Jeongguk figured he was as ready as he could get after talking to Jihoon. "I'll get my things," he said, getting back into the room to retrieve his Yonex racket bag.

Seokjin lounged by the door, leaning against the frame. "I have good news."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," he said, but didn't elaborate. Jeongguk pretended to have forgotten something in the bathroom to see for how long his friend would drag out the suspense. "Yah, Jeongguk-ah, aren't you gonna ask me what it is?"

"You're gonna say it anyway."

"You are such a smart ass."

"You do this every time, hyung."

"I gotta update my ways," he clicked his tongue. "Okay, I'm just gonna say it. You got a new sponsor."

Jeongguk's head whipped to him, his body coming after, strap on his shoulder. "For real?"

"Yup."

"You're not joking?"

"No, I'm not. It's Fila."

"Holy crap!"

"Yeah," Seokjin smiled. He approached, and it was a rare occasion that he ever hugged Jeongguk—or anyone for that matter—but he embraced him in his own awkward, quietly proud way. It was over almost as soon as it started. "There has been some promo of the doc already in Korea and it's been getting good feedback. Especially your parts."

"Mine?"

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes, waved his hand, "the whole 'I'm married to tennis and there's no other woman in my life' thing sounded good."

Seokjin had no idea just how true that was. "Shut up."

"You're passionate, people like that. Fila got in touch with SBS and they got in touch with me. I first heard about this about a week ago when we were at the club—that’s why I left—but I decided not to tell you until today," he said, smiling again. "Congratulations. And Happy birthday."

Beating Grigor Dimitrov after that was easy. Jeongguk thought that with the mental wreck he had experienced for the past week plus his still recovering shoulder and the fact that the other athlete was a much steadier player than him, a technical all-rounder, he would easily lose the match. But in the end, all he needed was a win and a few exchanged words with Jihoon to lift his mood and push him through the second round.

Jeongguk played far from perfect, but this was rapidly becoming one of his good days. It took him the first set to warm up, but from the second onwards he gave Dimitrov no chance. His serves were getting in, his winner shots were as well. He only lost every other game in which he wasn’t serving, which thrust him straight to what could possibly be the last game of the match.

As he sat on the bench beside the chair umpire in Court 17 and all but scarfed down a grapefruit in the remaining seconds of their break, Jeongguk looked at the bleachers, and what he saw turned his day from good to even better. Jimin smiled slowly when their eyes met, forearms leaning on the guardrail of the baseline bleachers, looking like a summer dream in simple jeans shorts and a white t-shirt, hair flowing with the wind. He waved and Jeongguk waved back.

“Time,” the umpire called into her lump of a microphone.

Jeongguk paced to his side of the court, signaling with his racket for the ball girl to show him the available balls, bouncing them on the hard acrylic ground. He examined them in his hands, tossing back the fuzziest ones and checking the timer at the corner of the opposite wall.

“Love-all.”

He aligned his feet with the baseline, threw the ball into the air, and rotated his entire body, smacking it with all his might. Once it hit the correct service box and zoomed past Dimitrov, Jeongguk raised his fist to his face level. Ace .

“Fifteen-love.”

In the sequence, he hit another two aces, but Dimitrov reacted on his fourth and fifth serves, bringing the score to a tight but still doable forty-thirty. Jeongguk bounced the ball on the line, trying to get his thoughts in order. He already made it this far, didn’t he? It would be best if he finished soon so he could celebrate his victory and his birthday—even if he didn’t know how or with whom besides Seokjin.

He absolutely didn’t think about not disappointing Jimin, who was watching him.

Jeongguk tossed the ball above and struck it.

“Net. Second serve.”

Sighing, he did it again, at a much slower speed so he wouldn’t hit the net. He served into his opponent's service box, and Dimitrov returned it easily at the same angle. Jeongguk kept it going with a long shot, and Grigor mirrored him. He accelerated the ball across the court, but his opponent caught it again, albeit sloppily. The ball ballooned over their heads, and it would be perfect for a smash, but Jimin was watching. He needed to make an impression.

Jeongguk positioned himself as if he was going to slam the ball into his opponent’s court, but turned his racket and sent a drop shot at the last second.

It hit inside the court, but Dimitrov reached it and sent it back. Jeongguk scrambled back to return it, and then Grigor did the same, and then he tried another low ball that the other tried to return, never bouncing past the net.

Jeongguk punched the air, rocking his fist vigorously. “Yes! Fuck.”

“Game, Jeon. Final result, three sets to one.”

After he walked to the net, shook his opponent’s hand, and said the usual pleasantries, Jeongguk let his gaze float to the bleachers again. He smiled at Jimin, still standing there, vibrating almost as hard as him. He kept smiling as he said his goodbyes and waited for the swift interview at the end, his cheeks hurting by the time he walked into the locker rooms to meet Jin.

His hyung greeted him with another hug—Jeongguk was shocked, it was two already—and shoved a small golden paper box in his hands. “For you. Just a souvenir.”

Jeongguk opened the gift and looked inside. “A Cartier?” he looked up, eyes wide. “You didn’t have to.”

Jin shrugged. “I wanted to, Fila boy.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Aaah, don’t mention it.”

Jeongguk fondled the white gold bracelet with the pads of his fingers, falling into step with Seokjin as his agent walked to the exit. He didn’t think anyone else was coming with them until a familiar voice called his name and he turned around, seeing Jimin striding up to them.

“Oh. Hey. What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound cool—and not like he was nervous after not seeing Jimin in person and ignoring all his texts ever since the Club Incident.

“What do you mean what’s up? I came to congratulate you,” the blond approached, nodding to Jin. He seemed to hesitate before leaning forward and hugging Jeongguk, who remained rigid during and after. “For the match, and for your birthday.”

“You remembered my birthday?”

“Of course,” he said, eyes skimming over Jeongguk’s face. He had no idea how he was looking, but perhaps his perplexity gave Jimin the wrong impression. “I’m sorry. This is weird, right?”

Yes, kind of. But also so good that he might faint. “No, it’s not.”

“I think this is terribly weird,” Jin proclaimed, patting Jeongguk on the back. “I’ll wait by the car while you two freaks keep being strange. See you later!”

Did Jeongguk imagine that wink?

Jimin chuckling made him look forward again. “I’m gonna take your word for it since you say this isn’t weird. Actually, I came to apologize for what happened that day at the club. Namjoon has very strong opinions and he sticks by them; sometimes that makes him jump to conclusions about people.”

“He wasn’t totally wrong though, was he?”

Jimin tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“What I did was shitty. Only a terrible person would do that.”

“You’re not shitty, though. It was a mistake.”

“I know that,” or at least I think I do. “I just wish he thought the same.”

“If it’s any consolation, I believe you. I don’t think… You’re that kind of person. In fact I… Well, I trust you. That doesn’t undo what you did but the fact you acknowledge it as wrong is good enough for me,” he said, clapping his hands and gripping them tightly. He seemed unreasonably fussy, and Jeongguk didn’t get why. He was the one freaking out inside—about Jimin, about his career, about talking to Jimin, about coming out, about Jimin telling him he trusted him when he wasn’t sure he could return the sentiment, about needing to take a shower, about Jimin’s legs looking so good in those shorts. “But today is your birthday! So I wanted to know if you would like to sightsee a little?”

Jeongguk’s head snapped up to his face, having spaced out completely. “What?”

Jimin bit his lip. “Sorry! It’s okay, it was a bad idea anyway.”

“No, no, say it again,” he rushed. “Please.”

The blond’s shoulders raised and dropped as he took a deep breath. “I have tickets to visit Lady Liberty today. Nothing major, but I thought of asking if you wanted to come,” he chuckled, muttering, “it’s not like I had to bribe people to get my hands on them at the last minute.”

This felt surreal. Jimin watching his game, saying he trusted Jeongguk and inviting him for a little afternoon stroll in New York—alone? It was almost too good to be true. His birthday had improved exponentially since he woke up, going from mild, to good, to even better, and now it had the chance of becoming fantastic. All he had to do was trust Jimin back.

“Okay,” he nodded, face burning and heart racing in his chest. “I’d love that.”

“Jeongguk, hurry!”

Jimin cackled as Jeongguk stopped taking pictures of the Korean War memorial amidst the rusting foliage of Battery Park and jogged with him into the security screening facility before the harbor. They boarded Miss New Jersey, taking a seat by the windows in the lower levels since they were one of the last ones to arrive, having hurried shortly after Jeongguk’s game.

“I’ve never taken a ferry before.”

“For real?” Jimin asked.

He shook his head. “Does it wobble too much? Will we get sick?”

“Don’t worry, it’s a short ride.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Not really, I’ve just done my research,” Jimin winked. “Are you afraid of heights?”

Jeongguk scoffed. “No.”

“That’s good. We’re heading to the crown.”

Jeongguk gaped for a second and then shut it, but his amazement stuck with him during the entire ride to Liberty Island and the walk to the pedestal.

He couldn't fathom what possessed Jimin to arrange this. He kept thinking about it as they marveled at Lady Liberty's height and magnificence, taking pictures from the ground, walking into Fort Wood, and climbing all the forty-two meters of the pedestal by the stairs as if Jeongguk wasn't already tired enough from the game but he simply couldn't say no to a challenge—especially not a challenge from Jimin—and then the additional 195 degrees until the crown.

They stood on the platform with other visitors and peeped out of the small windows, letting the wind rustle their hair as their vision spanned everything from the fingertips of Manhattan and the Governor's Island to Sunset Park and Jersey City cupping the upper bay and cradling its teal waters in their palm. Jeongguk took a deep breath from a river of air running at almost one hundred meters of altitude, finding it crisp, cracking with possibility.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah," Jeongguk replied, "thank you for inviting me.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Why'd you invite me here?"

Jimin shrugged. "We haven't seen much of each other in the past two weeks and I needed someone to come along."

"On my birthday?"

Jimin's stare never strayed from the horizon. "Yeah."

Jeongguk kept looking at the blond in the hopes that he would meet his gaze, but the other seemed to avoid it by keeping his eyes fixed on the drop below them. He sighed.

“Why did you want to come here in the first place?”

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the meaning of liberty, lately,” Jimin replied, finally turning to look at him. “What better place to reflect on an abstract concept than inside a tall metalhead with a friend?”

Jeongguk huffed. “A friend?”

“Or something like that,” Jimin said, perusing him. “I can take it back, you know.”

“No, it’s not that, I just… Didn’t expect you, us, to be—you know what I mean.” Jeongguk replied. Today had been a series of surprises, many of which were issued by Jimin himself. “Why did you believe me?”

“About?”

“Why do you think I’m not just another asshole like Namjoon seemed to think?”

Jimin moved away from the window and turned his whole body to him. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“Remember what?”

The longer they stared at each other, the more flustered Jeongguk felt. A trio by their side got enough of the view and started descending the long string of stairs. The wind swirled inside the crown. Jimin sucked his lips into his mouth.

“Never mind. It probably wasn’t important if you forgot,” he said, then got back to looking outside.

That was odd. “Okay.”

“She’s inspired by Libertas, and she’s walking. It’s hard to tell at first but you will notice that, if you look at her feet. They’re free from the shackles previously restraining them, too.”

It took Jeongguk a couple of moments to realize that Jimin was talking about the statue. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

“I checked when we were on the ground, it’s an interesting detail,” he commented, arms crossed under his chin. “It was finished in 1886. The pedestal is American but the statue was actually made in France and assembled here, it was a gift. The designer went after a neoclassical depiction of Libertas, the roman goddess, instead of picking something like France’s own Liberty Leading the People, because it was revolutionary,” he sighed. “Too peaceful a take on something so hard to conquer, don’t you think so?”

Jeongguk didn’t think so. In fact, he had no ideas whatsoever regarding the matter. He’d been too busy lately dealing with his own internal chaos to consider if freedom came peacefully or was taken by force. Besides, what was Jimin trying to get at?

“Is this your way of telling me you’re planning on quitting tennis and becoming a tour guide instead? How do you know so much about it? I’m gonna call my agent right now to tell him the good news.”

Jimin’s laughter was much more explosive than Jeongguk would have expected. “I didn’t mean it that way, no. It’s just, Yoongi hyung had that habit. He always researched the places we visited. I guess he rubbed off on me.”

“Hm. You went out with him a lot?”

“Of course,” Jimin said, glancing at him. “We dated.”

That shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise considering their behavior around each other, but it did, and not in a nice way. Jeongguk’s stomach churned with unease.

“That’s great.”

“It was nice, even if it wasn’t very long. Hyung has always been nice to me.”

“What’s so nice about him?” Jeongguk snapped. He reeled himself in much too late, but when he looked at Jimin, the other didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, he was almost amused.

“He’s attentive, calm. He always came up with the most unexpected gifts, and he’s so thoughtful, too,” Jimin explained.

Jeongguk wanted to know more of the things that Jimin liked, but at the same time, he didn’t. Suddenly, their entire conversation revolved around Yoongi. He scowled, turning his face away. The blond pushed on, none the wiser.

“He was the one to suggest coming here to think.”

Even though he liked this conversation less and less, he asked, “Why didn’t he come?”

Jimin snickered. “He’s too sedentary. And I wanted to come with you.” As he said that, Jimin regarded him again, stepping closer. He leaned sideways on the wall, head tilted and eyes searching. “I… really wanted to spend more time with you. I missed it.”

He looked vulnerable. Jeongguk sucked in a harsh breath, aware of the openness in his stance, the hesitant but fiery earnestness in his stare, the way the platform became empty when the remaining occupants started descending—even if, with Jimin by his side, they might as well have been alone all along.

Jeongguk wondered if this was the moment when he was supposed to do something. If he should meet Jimin halfway and snake a hand around his waist, pin him against the wall and kiss his lips, his jaw, trail down his Adam's apple, and feast on his collarbones, only stopping there because of the collar of his white shirt and the lingering presence of the security staff a few steps below the platform. 

Jeongguk's fingers flexed as his gaze trailed over where his hands wouldn't go, feeling chained to his spot even as blood rushed in his veins. He couldn't do those things even though he desperately wanted to. What he felt and what he thought warred inside him without a final conclusion, and perhaps Jimin was right—what if freedom took more violence than the majority of people gave it credit for?

"What do you do… when you’re the problem?" he asked.

Jimin seemed to wake up from a trance. "Huh?"

"When you talked about freedom earlier, you said it might not be so peaceful. What if both the captor and the prisoner live inside yourself?"

Jimin’s smile was wry. He looked outside the window again, the moment broken. “Isn’t that just everyone? That’s why I said it’s so hard. It’s a battle, but it’s also invisible. Only you know the pains of it and only you will reap the fruit—or the loss. Either way and whatever it is that you’re dealing with, it’s never a smooth process.”

Well, that was comforting.

Jeongguk wanted to get back to the position they had just been in, lamenting that he didn’t seize the opportunity he was apparently given. The captor had won this round. He looked outside again, letting silence fill the empty spaces between them as his heart rate clambered down, and watching the tiny people milling about from Fort Wood to Liberty Island’s harbor. He allowed his mind to slip empty of thoughts, just taking in the view of the approaching ferry being lulled by the waters.

“The ferry is so white isn’t it,” he said.

Silence. “The ferry.”

“Yeah, the ferry.”

“No, Jeongguk,” Jimin urged, “what time is it?”

He shoved his hand into his pocket and took out his phone. “Four fifteen.”

“Shit, that’s the last ferry, we gotta go!”

Jimin crossed the platform and started down the spiral ladder before Jeongguk. A few steps in, he slipped in his haste, being supported by the staff right away and thanking the man for helping. Jeongguk darted after him, heaving him up by his upper arm. “Did you hurt anything?”

The blond rolled his foot one way and another. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay, good… We shouldn’t waste any time but let’s not rush too much either.”

“Alright,” Jimin replied, carrying on down the steps and thus disentangling from Jeongguk’s hold on him. That got him thinking—as his palm slid down his arm to his hand—if he was still allowed to pick up where they left off, to make up for a moment where he lacked the courage to confront the captor in his mind and hold Jimin’s hand in his. “What’s this?”

“In case you slip again. I got you.”

The blond looked down at it and then up again, serious. And then his face broke into a smile that he quickly hid by looking forward and pulling Jeongguk along with him down the narrow steps. “Okay. Thank you.”

They made it in time to the ferry, staying seated during the stop on Ellie’s Island.

“I’m a bit tired,” Jeongguk justified when in reality he just didn’t want to let go of Jimin’s hand yet.

They remained that way until Miss New Jersey docked in Manhattan again, where their hands finally parted. From strolling through Battery Park they naturally progressed into Broadway, each foot in front of the other stretching their time together without them ever outwardly agreeing to do so.

Crossing the financial district after experiencing the boundless horizons in Liberty Island felt suffocating, at least to Jeongguk. Here the endless lines erupted vertically from the ground, going for dozens of stores with narrow glass windows reflecting yet more buildings and orange construction sites in every corner, and he got tired of the sand-gray concrete jungle sooner than expected.

Everyone seemed to be rushing to or from work around here; there was the seldom jogger and the pacing grandmothers, people walking their dogs, and others just taking their legs out for some pavement-watching, but even the other tourists appeared to zip them by in an utterly unjustified battle against time.

Jeongguk was fighting it too, but he wanted to slow it down, to taste every single moment with Jimin, and this was going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, wanna get out of here?"

"And go where?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, just out of here," he said, looking around him. A slender street quietly cut through two buildings to their left, half of it obstructed by striped barrier blocks behind which a gallery of small shops was carved into the building, cloaked behind plastic sheetings. "Let's go this way."

Jeongguk grabbed his hand and hauled Jimin into the street, marching halfway to the next avenue where the shadow of the buildings grew slightly thicker, and then ducking between the drapes with Jimin behind.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jimin whisper-yelled as if going past the barrier made everything immediately shady. "Why are we here? Let's go back to the main street."

Jeongguk's limbs were thrumming with excitement. This was more like it. His skin tingled where it touched Jimin's, not a trace of his usual discomfort around people.

"Wait a second, I'm trying to find a nice one."

"A nice what?"

"A shop," he replied, peeking at the windows to their right. After passing by a few, Jeongguk found what he was looking for: the tip of an arched window protruding from the ground which gave way when he pushed it in. "This one works."

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Jimin whined as Jeongguk slipped inside the underground establishment.

"Come on in!"

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Jeongguk laughed, feeling a tad hysterical, a bit exhilarated. "Come on, hyung. It's my birthday."

No sound came from outside for a minute. Jeongguk shifted from foot to foot, wondering if maybe he'd crossed a line somewhere. He retraced the recent events for something that justified it—besides the obvious trespassing—and widened his eyes when it dawned on him.

"Shit, Jiminssi, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you hyung without your p—"

But his apology was cut short by the unmistakable swooshing sound of someone sliding against the wall followed by the slap of soles dropping to the ground. Jimin looked pissed.

"If my clothes get ruined, you're buying me new ones," he gritted out, but then his voice softened along with the lines of his face. "And it's okay. You can call me hyung."

Jeongguk brought a hand to his chest, huffing a laugh. “I thought you were gonna scold me.”

Jimin slaps his arm. “I fucking should! Do you think just because it’s your birthday you can be reckless? What if we’re caught, huh? Have you ever tried to play tennis in jail?”

“No, but I hear they have basketball.”

Jimin glared at him.

Jeongguk couldn’t deny that he was right, and if he was being honest, Jimin’s attempt at knocking some sense into him was working. He grasped at the tail ends of the excitement he felt earlier.

“We’ll leave in a bit, alright? But since we’re here, can we at least explore this,” he gestured around the poorly lit room. “What is this?”

Jimin switched on his phone’s flashlight and stepped ahead of him. Jeongguk followed, observing the brick walls and the counters, the checkered ceramic floor, the stack of chairs and tables shoved against one corner. He turned his phone on as well and went through a portal to his right, coming face to face with a complete kitchen and a masonry oven. “Huh. It’s a pizzeria.”

Jimin’s steps approached and stopped beside him. “Yeah, it had a sign near the door.”

“I wonder if they’re just closing or about to open.”

“Do you see any seasoned rats?”

His head snapped to Jimin. “What?”

The other giggled. Jeongguk’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m just kidding. I figured the rats should be like old residents moving out if it’s a closing business and famished newcomers if it’s a new one.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk breathed, appraising Jimin as he neared. “Well, I hope there are no rats, whether new or old ones.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“What else is here? A scoop, okay. Plates, plates, plates, plates. Glasses. Okay, this is bori—Oh,” he turned around, wielding a tall wooden peel, “now this is nice!”

Jimin laughed and shook his head like he couldn't help but be amused even if he didn't approve of what they were doing. Jeongguk made fighting noises as he swung the peel and marched around the kitchen, eventually returning to where he started.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin whispered with a quaver. Jeongguk spun to him, spooked at his tone. Jimin was looking at something above his head. “Don’t move.”

It never crossed his mind that he sensed nothing on his hair because only panic registered. Jeongguk’s body went cold, his stomach turning in knots as he released the peel, letting it clatter on the ground. 

“Fuck, there’s a rat on my head, right? Fuck, fuck, get it off me!”

He screamed, twisting around in a frenzy and windmilling his arms like he was attempting to impersonate a fan. Jeongguk would have kept spiraling out of control if not for the hands holding his arms and stopping his movements, accompanied by a hush and interspersed with… laughter?

“Oh my God,” a laugh, “oh my God, Jeongguk, calm down. There’s no rat. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would freak out like that.”

Jimin giggled. And giggled. He chortled, gasping for air as he collapsed against Jeongguk’s chest, whose heart raced both from the scare and the proximity.

“That. That was not funny.”

“I’m sorry. It was hilarious, I had to do it. Since when are you afraid of rats?”

“Since today, it seems,” Jeongguk grumbled.

Jimin sighed against his collarbones, still loosely holding his elbows. “Well, I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, finally pulling back from him and giving his heart some reprieve. “Hyung is sorry.”

Jeongguk could barely see him, but what he saw made his breath hitch. He and Jimin were face to face, toe to toe. His stomach unclenched from the fright and whooped instead, making him qualmish. Jimin’s hands twisted gently around his arms, going from immobilization to a soft, almost tentative hold. His thumb stroked the crook of Jeongguk’s elbow.

“This place is kind of filthy,” he said.

“It is. We should probably leave.”

“I agree,” Jimin trailed off, gliding his hands up Jeongguk’s arms and trailing his fingers up the side of his neck. “But it feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Jeongguk replied with a shudder. Any further words died on his tongue. It felt heavy, lethargic. His entire self felt like he was under a spell issued by the heat radiating from Jimin’s body and the warm breath fanning his face.

The blond inched closer—not enough to plaster their bodies together—suggesting contact. Jeongguk keened, blood rushing in his veins and breath quickening.

“Is this okay?”

Jeongguk nodded, hoping that Jimin’s palm on his nape would telegraph the answer that his parched throat couldn't speak. He placed his hands on Jimin’s waist and felt the toned skin under the thin cotton, his arms talking for themselves as he pulled the other in, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, heart to heart. Jimin huffed in surprise but went willingly, turning his head and causing his nose to touch Jeongguk’s searing cheek.

Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered on his skin. Should I just kiss him here? In this place? Once more he wondered if he should do something. The moment stilled, and somewhere in his mind, Jeongguk saw the two of them in the closed kitchen of a restaurant, seconds away from connecting their lips, the picture immortalized in a single frame of film.

And then the alarms went off.

The noise was so loud it was disorienting, but not enough for either of them not to understand they had to leave. Jimin was the first one to react by jumping apart and grabbing Jeongguk’s hand, leading the way out. He jumped up through the window with unexpected ease and extended a hand to pull Jeongguk out. They patted their clothes to get rid of the dusty spots, leaving through the cleft in the plastic sheetings and darting back to Broadway Avenue. They kept their hands linked as they power-walked to a small green area where they found a bank and sat, catching their breaths.

Neither talked for a while. The silence, once necessary, turned stifling as it dragged on. Jeongguk was afraid to acknowledge what had just happened—under the light of day, the things that happen in the dark are more prone to scrutiny. But the quiet between them was becoming its own thing, like a monster coming to life out of thin air. Jeongguk's stomach growled.

"You hungry?" Jimin asked and he nodded. “What time is it?”

Jeongguk checked his phone. “Seven.”

Jimin jumped to his feet, appearing restless. Maybe he was just as awkward about the situation. Had it been a mistake? He barely looked Jeongguk in the eye.

"Let's get something to eat. Hyung will pay," he said, walking away. Jeongguk remained still only for the time it took him to process what that little acknowledgment meant—that that happened, that they'd broken into a shop and almost kissed in the dark, and Jimin allowed him to call him hyung now.

"Wait up, hyung!"

They found a stand selling decent meatball subs where Jimin did as promised and bought both their meals. It was easy, once they shook off the moment they'd had, to fall into conversation as they munched on their food and sipped on orange juice.

Nevertheless, it was different. Jeongguk missed Jimin's hand on the ride back, in the elevator, and as they said their goodbyes. He wanted to reach out, but he didn't have an excuse anymore and the prisoner that he'd let out had been captured again. A brief hug when they parted had to be enough.

"Thank you for today…" It was amazing. "I had a lot of fun."

"Me too, even if you almost begged for us to be arrested."

Jeongguk scratched his nape. "Not my brightest moment, I know."

"Rest well, Jeongguk-ah. Goodnight."

"Night, hyung," he said, feeling his cheeks heat up as he ducked into his room in haste. Jeongguk waited a moment, then peeped into the corridor to see Jimin walk away. As if feeling his stare, the blond looked back and caught him staring, both of them waving goodbye until Jimin disappeared from sight.

Jeongguk's face burned with shame. He closed the door at last, sagging against it. "You're gonna be the death of me, Park Jimin."

"Oh, really? Is he the reason why you were giggling like a thirteen-year-old?"

Jeongguk whipped around so fast his vision swam. Seokjin was sitting in one of the armchairs by the windows turned away from the door, now getting to his feet and regarding him. "Hyung, what the hell? Why are you in my room?"

"Was your date so good you couldn't pick up your phone once? Your father's been trying to reach you, but since you couldn't be reached, he called me," Seokjin explained, walking over to him. "Call him."

'It wasn't a date' Jeongguk wanted to say because Jin didn't know about him and it really wasn't one, but denying it would feel like he was lying to himself. Besides, Jeongguk was tired and he had more urgent concerns.

"Why do you have my key card?"

"Because I'm your agent and closest contact."

"But that's insane!"

"Emergencies happen, Jeongguk."

"But what if you walk in one day and I'm naked?"

His friend sighed. "If you're naked and dying, I'll take the damage to my eyesight, save you, and then you can thank me for it later," he said, pulling Jeongguk out of the doorway. He grabbed the knob before speaking, eyes skitting over Jeongguk's face. "Are you alright? Did something happen between you and Jimin?"

Jeongguk could feel his face turn crimson. A part of him prayed his friend would drop the subject if he shamelessly deflected.

"I wouldn't damage your eyesight."

Seokjin remained where he was, perusing him from up close, releasing a huff at the end. He tapped him on the shoulder, laughing as he opened the door. "You're like a brother to me, so I would most definitely be scarred for life. I'll be leaving now—call him. If you wanna talk about something—anything—you know where to find me. Get some rest."

The door clicked shut and Jeongguk did as told, sitting in his bed to dial after gulping three bottles of water in a row. He waited for six rings until someone picked up.

"Hi, abeoji. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Oh, sweetheart! It's so good to hear your voice!"

Jeongguk paused. "Eomma?"

"Yes! How are you doing? When are you coming back?"

"In December, probably."

"I can't wait to see you!"

"Yeah, I… same," he said, cringing at how fake it sounded. He could have sounded more enthusiastic; he did miss his mom. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yes, everything is great, dear. Are you okay? Why did you call?"

"Actually, Seokjin told me dad was trying to get in touch with me."

"Oh, oh, how silly of me," she said. There was some rustling in the background before she spoke again. "Happy birthday! Your father called earlier to congratulate you, but now he's off to work already. It's still September 1st in New York, right?"

"Yeah, it is." But not in Korea. "Thanks, eomma."

"Don't mention it! You're my dearest son."

"Your only son."

She laughed, his chest growing tight with the sound. "That's right, and the best one I could have. We wish we could see you more, and not just on the television."

Ah. "You've seen the doc ads?"

"No, I mean your matches! You weren't lying to us when you said you're good, hm?"

For all his bravado, Jeongguk felt coy when his mother praised him for something. First, his father admitted to watching him in Roland Garros. Now her as well?

"You've been watching me?"

"Yes, of course! Whenever I turn on the TV you're playing in a different country across the world. Your poor eomma suffers! You should work somewhere closer to us!"

And that was his cue to hang up.

"Oh, you know, it's complicated, most of the important tournaments of the ATP tour happen in the West, so… By the way, it's kind of late and I'm really tired, eomma. I should get ready for sleep."

"Already? Those time zones!"

"I know, I know. Don't you have to work, though?"

"I'm talking to one client in the morning and nothing else."

"Oh, okay," he said, feeling like he'd run out of things to say. "I'll just hang up and get ready for bed, then. Have a good day, eomma."

"Sleep well, Jeongguk-ah."

He took another shower and happily slipped into his pajamas. Jeongguk was happy to slide into bed and pull the covers up to his chin, checking his phone one last time before letting his eyelids droop as they had been attempting to. The warm shower really relaxed his muscles and made all the tiredness from the day catch up to him.

He checked his notifications, somehow disappointed in seeing nothing from Jimin among the numerous missed phone calls. He didn't realize he had expected the blond to leave some kind of commentary on their afternoon and early night together, but apparently he had.

Still, he'd had a great day and it wasn't at all disappointing.

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] We didn't talk much today but I hope you have a great day!

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] lots of love and good luck with your crush!

Jeongguk smiled, turned the screen off, and closed his eyes. For once, it didn't seem like he'd need to rely on luck for things to work out with Jimin.

September 5th

The reporter, Sandra Jones, waited for the cheers to die down in the stadium before posing her question. Jimin watched from the front row at the ground level, having to bite his lips to stop himself from smiling.

"You've been getting increasingly good results throughout the year and this is where you’ve arrived so far, at your first time winning the fourth round in a Grand Slam. How does it feel?"

Jeongguk chuckled against the mic, and the sound reverberated in the rows of seats around Louis Armstrong. Jimin could see how breathless he was, how exhilarated. Perhaps he felt a bit like that as well, his chest swelling with pride, his heart melting with the look of pure joy on Jeongguk’s rosy cheeks.

“I feel… This is a dream come true. I’ve always wanted to play tennis at this level, and I’ve chased this dream, but it’s hard to believe it’s happening until it’s actually here,” he laughed again. “I still can’t believe it.”

Sandra smiled. “You started the game with Ilya by losing the first set, and then you won the next three ones in a row. This has been going on quite frequently in the last games you’ve played in Grand Slams, as well as other tournaments. Your next game will be against the Spanish player Carlos Alcaraz in the quarter-finals. Do you expect that game to go the same way?”

Jeongguk bit his lips before replying. “Not at all. Carlos is a fantastic opponent, and there’s no predicting how it will go, but I’ll try my best to study before the next match and then give my all in the game. Let’s see how it goes.”

“Okay, and last question. You’re from South Korea. This is the first time that we have as many South Korean players at once…”

“Hey,” a deep voice spoke by his side, startling him since he was so captivated by Jeongguk’s interview. It was Yoongi, of course. “You’re here before me.”

“I came to watch his game.”

“Yeah, I see that,” he observed, his face an expressionless mask. Usually, Jimin would try to decipher what he was trying to say, but as of right now, he was more concerned with not missing a word of Jeongguk’s interview, so he turned forward again.

“…glad to be a part of something bigger than myself. Tennis isn’t all that popular in Korea, so it’s a bit hard to even get in. I hope this brings more interest to such an amazing sport,” he replied, nodding to himself.

“Huh. We think the same,” Yoongi spoke.

“Yeah,” Jimin agreed, eyes on Jeongguk as he moved away from the interviewer and waved to the crowds. He tried to catch his gaze as he approached the bleachers and the dozens of people squeezing together to get an autograph. Jeongguk saw him at last when he was four people away from him. He smiled, rapidly scribbling away with a black marker on the fuzzy yellow balls.

“What’cha doing here?” he asked in Korean. “Thank you,” he said to a fan who got back her ball and hopped away.

“I came to get an autograph?”

“You? Asking for an—thank you—for my autograph? I’m honored.”

Jimin shrugged. “What can I say? I’m your fan.”

“Really?” Jeongguk asked, and this time his eyebrows rose, eyes widening slightly. He seemed genuinely surprised like he couldn’t believe that Jimin would admire him. He gave him his ball. “What is your name?”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Asshole.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk smirked, pen flying over the ball. “With love, to Asshole.”

“What? You didn’t really write that, did you?”

Jeongguk laughed as Jimin retrieved the ball and examined the autograph, sighing when he saw ‘With love, to hyung’ written in Korean instead. The smile that pulled at his lips was unprompted and unstoppable much like the hiccup in his heart.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeongguk smiled back, already proceeding to the next awaiting fan. He became serious again. “Hi, Yoongissi.”

“Hello, Jeongguk. The camera people are waiting at the entrance to the lockers already. Same drill as always.”

“Okay,” he nodded and continued signing the balls and hats given to him. Jimin didn’t leave the railing or the bleachers, following him with his eyes until he picked up his gear and marched away from the court. He made to follow, but an arm shot in his way and stopped his advance.

Jimin looked up at Yoongi’s face. “What is it?”

“Did you have to come all the way here to ask for his autograph? You literally know him. You could’ve done this anywhere else. Like, I don’t know, the lockers where you were going to just now since you’re, you know, a player, and thus one of the few people who have access. You’re in the same hotel, too.”

Jimin gawked, caught off guard by the sudden scrutiny. “So? I wanted to come here and talk to him right after the match.”

Yoongi snorted. “Yeah—what the hell was that by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were flirting with him, Jimin-ah,” he accused without ever raising his voice. “In front of everyone. What’s your deal with him?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to articulate what to say in response to Yoongi’s tone. He’d never been like this with Jimin before, even when they dated.

“What? I—how’s that important?”

“Well, I mind.”

“Why?”

Yoongi sighed, dropping his shoulders. His gaze pierced Jimin’s with emotion. Coming from someone who was usually so mildly tempered that he seemed almost dispassionate, this was a lot. Yoongi’s eyes burned, attempting to light him up in flames as well.

“Can’t you guess?”

“I don’t like to assume things like this.”

“Would you rather I say it?”

Jimin felt trapped. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi seemed just as discomfited with the course of the conversation. “I have a feeling you know. We both know.”

“Hyung—”

“There’s no way you don’t know, Jimin.”

“Perhaps I do, but I can’t be sure,” he said, trying to escape the conversation without outright telling Yoongi to spell out what he meant. It wouldn’t do them any good, in the end.

The eldest sighed, the fire in his eyes assuaging to embers.

“I don’t wanna leave until I’m sure I left no stone unturned, so I’m just gonna say it. I’ve always loved you, Jimin.”

Oh, no. Not this. “Hyung, we broke up years ago.”

“That doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I know, but—I can’t.”

“You love him now, don’t you?”

Jimin didn’t want to reply and admit that he probably always loved Jeongguk, even when he and Yoongi were together, and that the feeling only hibernated for some time so it wouldn’t hurt with every single look he took at the younger. Now that they were on good terms again, there was no getting rid of the way his heart clenched and tugged whenever Jeongguk wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.

“Yes.”

Yoongi nodded, looking at his feet. When he looked up again, the turmoil that Jimin saw there had disappeared. “I’ll go back inside to check with the crew. You’re going in the same direction, I suppose?”

Jimin gulped. He had to catch up with Jeongguk. "Yeah."

"Okay," the other said, and started moving towards the entrance to the restricted areas of the stadium. Jimin followed in silence, trying to come up with something appeasing to say, but coming up short. Fortunately, the walk wasn't very long and within minutes they found the camera crew, and Yoongi went with them, leaving Jimin alone to find Jeongguk by the lockers. He tried not to pry as he plastered his back to the wall beside the door and called out to Jeongguk.

"Yeah? Who is it?"

"It's me!"

"Jimin hyung?"

"Yeah! I just came to say I'll be waiting outside when you're done."

"Got it," a pause. "You can come in if you want."

"You're done?"

"Just showered."

Jimin groaned, facepalming to dispel the images his brain conjured up. "Are you decent?"

Another pause. "I am, m'lord."

Jimin snorted and faced the door, placing a palm on it. "I’m going in, then.”

He pushed the door open, taking in the whiteness that was the lockers. White floors, white walls, white ceilings, white benches, white cabinets, and violently bright lamps, too. Jimin squinted as he stepped into the room, halting when Jeongguk showed up from the showers.

“Hi,” he greeted. His smile was shy, which was potentialized by his red cheeks. The blush wrapped his face and neck area, but the more Jimin gaped in his direction, the more southern it went, taking over his pecs, his abs, and the dangerous lines leading to his—”what?”

“You said you were decent.”

“I am. Kinda.”

“Jeongguk, that towel,” he pointed at it while trying not to look at the same time, “is tiny!”

Jeongguk chuckled, his face turning a darker shade of red. He held one shoulder with his opposite hand, thus concealing half of his chest. “I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? Sorry.”

Yes, but also no. Jimin was just unprepared to see so much skin and to have to remain calm about it, even as his stomach coiled with heat. “It’s okay. Just put some clothes on, okay? There’s a Spanish place nearby I wanna try and I’m taking you with me.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, relieved for the topic change. “You deserve it after today.”

Jeongguk’s smile broadened and he appeared more at ease. He dropped his hand to his side, exposing his entire torso again. “Okay, then. I’ll get ready.”

He picked some clothes from his bag and ducked back into the stalls, seeming chipper. Meanwhile, Jimin watched him do it, nailed to his spot, blood rushing in his ears.

When Jeongguk’s hand dropped, he saw the shoulder tattoo he somehow hadn’t paid heed to before, a pattern of abstract lines and Japanese waves spanning way over his left pec. An unknown voice that sounded a lot like Jeongguk’s whispered ‘I made a tattoo over the scar’ in his head. Like that one, many others kept coming, connecting the dots that formed an unbelievable picture.

I was a bit… flamboyant as a kid.

I met the guy I was talking about not long after that.

I wanted to be like him.

It’s safe to say that I was equally amazed by what he told me as well.

But then a promotion came and he pulled a fast one on me to get the position. We never talked again.

Nobody really caught my eye this whole time… Only he does.

Uh, by sponsor I mean my business partner.

Well, he’s more like my only friend.

I'm afraid we can never meet without my secret being revealed.

I like your take on this, it’s interesting. I’d like to talk more about it. Can I pm you?

He gasped, sagging against the wall as his knees faltered. Jimin couldn't believe that he had been talking to Jeongguk all along. He had learned so much about him without ever suspecting it was him, and now in retrospect, the similarities were uncanny.

How hadn’t he noticed that Junghyun updated him about his coworker whenever he and Jeongguk interacted? The name, too, was extremely similar. Junghyun was born in Seoul and was Korean-American much like Namjoon, but he had Jeongguk’s age. They were both supposed to be based in Korea but for some reason, Junghyun was always up whenever Jimin reached out to him in different time zones.

Jeongguk liked him but was terrified about it. Jeongguk didn’t remember their kiss and he thought Jimin had betrayed him somehow. Jeongguk admired him just like Jimin did, but unlike him, he was too afraid to admit to it. Jeongguk had been bullied ruthlessly and carried the scars from it to this day—literal and figurative—hidden under a tattoo on his shoulder and his struggle to trust anyone, but more importantly, to trust himself.

It was hard enough to stomach when something horrible happened to a stranger. It was downright unbearable when the victim was someone you knew personally and cherished deeply.

“Fuck,” Jimin folded himself in half, staring at his sneakers from up close. Even if he didn’t do it on purpose, he felt guilty knowing what he did when he knew that Jeongguk wouldn’t have confided in him otherwise. “I can’t believe Namjoon called him a bigot.”

“Hyung? Is everything okay?” Jeongguk asked, his steps coming closer. “Did something happen?”

Jimin rubbed his eyes and straightened up. Jeongguk was frowning with visible concern, and that made his eyes prickle with more tears that he blinked away.

“I don’t know.”

“Were you crying?”

Instead of replying, Jimin slid his palms up and past Jeongguk’s shoulders, pulling him close and enveloping him in a hug. The other didn’t respond for a moment, but his recent knowledge made Jimin confident that Jeongguk’s arms would return it. After a handful of seconds, they did.

“You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry. Everything is fine. I just… Taehyung told me something and it’s kind of serious.”

“Oh…” he said, rubbing his back. Jimin held back a sob at how precious he was. He really loved Jeongguk, didn’t he?  “I’m sorry. What is it?”

He couldn’t say the truth now that he had created a cover story. In any case, he should keep quiet until he had time to process it. Jimin shook his head.

“I can’t say it yet.”

“It’s okay.”

“It can be solved. I’ll just have to stop by his room to talk to him about it,” he said, disentangling himself from Jeongguk. “I wanted to take you for a walk in Central Park before we went to El Hogar, but would it be okay if we met after I talk to Tae?”

“Of course! There’s no problem at all. I will probably hang with Jin hyung until then, anyway.”

As he said that, Jeongguk was looking anywhere but at Jimin, who realized that as much as the other had been bold to show himself half-naked, he was still very much uncertain about this whole thing. Jimin couldn’t help but rub his nape soothingly, basking in the endearing blush it garnered him.

“Thank you, Gguk. You’re a dear,” he said, getting on his tiptoes and pecking his blushing cheek. He smiled at how dazzled Jeongguk looked, even if that made him want to cry a little, too. “I’ll text you when it’s time to pick you up.”

“Okay.”

“See you!”

Jimin forced his legs not to rush inside the lockers, but as soon as he was out, he couldn’t go fast enough. He dashed, jogged, and ran until he was outside the stadium, leaning on his knees to catch his breath as his lungs spasmed in a sob, his heart shrinking to the size of a soybean.

It took him a few minutes to recover. He walked back to the hotel, calling Taehyung and agreeing to meet him and Namjoon in his room before their game in a few hours. Memories of the last three months zipped through his head, making him painfully aware of everything.

How alone Jeongguk was. How much he had bottled up. How he opened up once he felt comfortable, laying his heart open and bleeding to Jimin. How his past didn’t hinder him from being humble and vulnerable, and now Jimin was sure that what Jeongguk showed the world most of the time was nothing but a hard shell hiding the supple insides.

As Jimin ascended in the elevator, he remembered how caringly Jeongguk had helped him parse through his own doubts regarding his career, no judgments attached. He wanted to see that side of him in broad daylight, to watch him break the shackles that thwarted his full potential.

Jimin wanted to revere all sides of Jeongguk, especially that one. He just needed to learn how to gain his trust back, and why it was lost in the first place.

Once inside Taehyung’s room, he took a seat in a deep green armchair opposite where the other two were accommodated and stared into nothing. Why had he come all this way if he couldn’t say what he knew now? He couldn't tell them, and he couldn't help Jeongguk either. All that knowledge was useless but to drown him in misplaced guilt.

“Mimi, what is it?”

Jimin stared at them. He would have to vouch for Jeongguk and hope that whatever problem they had with him would solve itself once they spent more time together.

“I need you to say yes to all of us meeting again.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “All of us as in…”

“The three of us, Jihyun and Yoongi. And Jeongguk,” he said, then thought better of it. “His agent Seokjin, who’s his friend, too.”

Namjoon rolled his head on his shoulders, looking annoyed that they were having yet the same conversation. “Why do you keep insisting on this?”

Because I love him and I can’t see him be isolated like this. Because I want all of us to share each other’s company, I want him to be able to show all sides of him to people who will accept him. I want you to forgive him and ask for his forgiveness in return, and I don’t want any of us to have bad opinions of each other ever again.

“Because I trust him, and as much as I understand you guys, this isn’t being fair to him either,” Jimin replied. Jeongguk was so, so alone. “Please, give him another chance.”

The couple gazed at each other, deliberating. Namjoon clicked his tongue and looked away, and Taehyung soothed his arm. He looked at Jimin with a wry smile.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

September 6th

“Aish, it went out. Taehyung-ah, their net is vulnerable!” Seokjin screamed. Jeongguk grimaced beside him and Jimin chuckled. They were watching Taehyung and Namjoon’s quarter-final match in the crowded Louis Armstrong stadium. Seokjin was leaning on the railing in the courtside bleachers, having stood there ever since the couple lost the first set and cheering for them until they won the second. Now the match was tied, and the Korean duo only had to win one more set against the British-Finnish pair to qualify for the semi-finals.

"Aigoo, not the ball grazing the net,” he lamented. “Okay, okay, you can do it, Namjoon-ah!"

"Hyung, stop screaming at them."

"He's very passionate," Jimin commented.

"Too passionate. Sometimes I think he likes tennis more than I do."

Is that why he became your sponsor, Jimin wanted to ask but didn't. How come he's your only sponsor and friend? How did you meet? Was it before or after you thought I betrayed you and decided to shut me out?

"I don't think anyone could be more passionate about tennis than you are," he said.

"You're a close second, though."

Jimin laughed, but it was forced. "You're giving me way more credit than I deserve."

"Yes!" Jin screeched, and along with him, the entire stadium erupted in cheers. He clapped enthusiastically as the players walked to their benches during the break, and Jeongguk urged him to sit down. Jimin let his eyes wander over the crowd, stopping abruptly when he saw himself on the big screen.

“They’re filming us.”

Jeongguk peeked at the screen from behind Seokjin. “Hyung, you’re in the way.”

“Okay , I’ll sit down,” he said, taking a seat and waving at the camera that zoomed out to catch all three of them. As soon as it panned to the athletes again, he let out an exhausted huff. "My throat is parched. I need water."

"I wonder why," Jeongguk tutted.

The other crossed his arms. "You two are way too restrained. Do you want water?"

"I'm good. Hyung?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, I'll be right back," Jin said, climbing the steps out of the bleachers into the stands area. A fuzzy hush blanketed the rows of seats when the chair umpire called the end of their time out and started the third set, all the eyes on the hard court. All the eyes but Jeongguk’s, who turned to him as soon as Heliovaara served.

"You look down."

"I'm not."

"Really?"

"Yeah… What gave you the impression?”

Jeongguk examined his face and Jimin did what he could to remain impassive. “Did everything go alright with Taehyung yesterday?”

One of the many problems with lying was that it required Jimin to keep tabs on it since it generated no real memories. As it was, it took him a few seconds to realize that Jeongguk was talking about the excuse he came up with for disappearing yesterday, and by then the corners of Jeongguk’s mouth looked tight and displeased.

Once Jimin remembered, it took him even longer to reply, because what was he supposed to say?

Sorry, I know you already have a hard time trusting me, but what happened in the past was a huge misunderstanding and I’m actually trustworthy. Funny coincidence, though; you know that guy you met on Reddit and spilled all your secrets to? That’s me. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your daddy issues.

Jimin didn't reply when ‘Junghyun’ messaged him last night, too guilty to keep the conversation going now that he knew who he was talking to. But he couldn’t simply spill the beans right here right now either, could he?

"It was fine. Tae’s a bit dramatic and he was obsessing about the match, but Namjoon hyung and I talked him down. As for today…” he sighed, trying to come up with something, “I'm a bit nostalgic. This is where we met for the first time, wasn't it?"

Jeongguk's gaze lost its inquisitiveness, warming up like melted chocolate. "So you remember."

"I remembered once you mentioned it at the interview. Did you mean it when you said that you were… amazed by me?”

Jimin’s stare flitted over Jeongguk until the other broke eye contact and looked forward, cheeks blooming with color. “I was. You were quite… charming.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to be.”

Jeongguk chuckled, once more turning his attention to him. “You’re a natural.”

It was his turn to blush. Jimin loved this, the easy push and pull between them. The tender words, the soft looks that he thought he’d never witness again. The years they had spent antagonizing each other—when he felt rejected and Jeongguk felt betrayed; when Jeongguk showed nothing but contempt and he paid back in the same coin just to get his attention—had been wasted.

It took Jimin until this morning to find out that their time hadn’t been wasted but robbed from them. He confronted his mother about why his contract with Jeongguk had been severed, and she admitted to wanting to get rid of Jeongguk the moment she realized they were more than teammates. A new sponsorship deal was the perfect moment to do that. She cut Jeongguk off and dragged Taehyung in without sparing a thought, with Jimin as the oblivious accomplice.

Apparently seeing his signature on the paper and being told that Jimin never saw any talent in him and was only trying to get into his pants was enough to convince nineteen-year-old Jeongguk that the older one wasn’t worth his time anymore. Given what Jeongguk had been through, Jimin understood why.

He didn’t remember the last time he had such a heated argument with his mother, if ever. Jimin left and called Jeongguk right away, intent on telling him everything, but now that they were here the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He didn’t know how to unearth the topic without revealing that he was Jihoon. Jimin fully intended on telling him about it, but that was also a whole other issue that he didn’t know how to approach yet.

Perhaps he should try to say something, at least.

“Actually, there is one thing I want to tell you,” he said, reaching out and taking Jeongguk’s hand in his, stroking each slender finger, biding his time.

“Yes?”

Jimin looked up at him just as the stadium vibrated with a point, but Jeongguk didn’t deviate his gaze from him. They only had eyes for each other.

“It makes me happy to talk to you again. I missed… this.”

“This?”

“You know, us talking without swearing at each other for a change.”

Jeongguk chuckled, ducking his head. Jimin kept stroking his skin.

“Yeah, I like it too.”

“I would like to keep it that way.”

“Me too.”

“Like when we played together.”

Jeongguk tensed. He looked around, pulling his hand from Jimin’s grasp and resting it on his lap. “There are a lot of people here.”

Jimin slapped himself mentally—why did he have to mention the time they played together?

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s okay.”

But since he did, why not seize the opportunity? “I’ve always thought you were a great player. You’re a prodigy, no one starts at your age and gets this far, this fast.”

If anything, Jeongguk looked more uncomfortable than before. “Okay.”

“I would never say otherwise nor would I ever miss on the chance to play by your side—”

“Look who I’ve found!” Seokjin announced, thus interrupting him. He descended the stairs with a grin, stepping to the side and revealing a well-dressed, slim, and joyful figure behind him. “Tada!”

Both Jimin and Jeongguk looked at the newcomer with similar dumbfounded expressions. The youngest reacted first.

“Uhm… Hi?”

“You don’t know him?” Seokjin’s smile dropped. “I thought you were just a fan trying to get closer, but you convinced me you weren’t! Get out of here, you stalker!”

The man’s eyes widened and he waved his hands in front of him to fend off Seokjin’s shooing motions. “No, no, I do know him! We met a while ago—I think you were in middle school—that might be why you’re not remembering me right away!”

Jeongguk stared at him for a few moments until his entire face lit up with recognition. “Oh! You’re—what’s your name again?”

“I’m Jung Hoseok,” he said, shaking Jeongguk’s and then Jimin’s hand, “nice to meet you.”

“So you know him.”

“I do! It’s been a while,” Jeongguk smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Hoseok gave a moderate smile in return. “I’m glad you’re okay! I saw you all the way across the court through the big screen, and I just had to come!”

“Please sit with us,” Jeongguk offered, gesturing to the seat on his other side. The man took it gladly, and Seokjin sat down beside Jimin, the four of them paying attention to the remainder of the game. Hoseok’s arrival put an end to the previous awkwardness as he and Jeongguk caught up with the last ten years of each other’s lives.

Seokjin went back to leaning on the guardrail and occasionally screaming instructions to the players. Jimin’s attention divided between the winning match and the two men beside him, learning that Hoseok was older and worked in the entertainment industry, that he and Jeongguk had studied in the same school for two years, that they’d met in the library during breaks, that Hoseok couldn’t get in touch after his parents moved away and that was why he didn’t stick around to look after him.

Jimin froze at the words, but he didn’t have an opportunity to ask about it. How was he supposed to confirm that Hoseok had been the boy to help Jeongguk all those years ago?

He needed to get to know him better.

“Hoseokssi?”

“Hm?” he said, piping up from a new conversation about Jeongguk’s parents.

“We’re having a get-together tomorrow night. It would be nice if you came along.”

Jeongguk frowned. “We are?”

“Who’s we?”

“The four of us, Yoongi hyung, Kim Taehyung, and Kim Namjoon.”

“The tennis players?” his eyes widened. “Oooh, that sounds nice! I’d love to meet them!”

“I’m not sure.”

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin called, drawing closer, “I talked to them already. They agreed.”

“Namjoon agreed?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be nice to fix what happened? We’ll both have our quarter-finals tomorrow, and then we can either cry or laugh together after the results.”

Jeongguk didn’t reply right away. He slumped against the seat and watched the match for a while, Hoseok, and Jimin following suit, celebrating each point that took Taehyung and Namjoon closer to the semi-finals. Jimin thought he saw someone with a wide hat and obnoxious glasses slip out one of Taehyung’s used towels from his rack and get detained as they tried to run away with it, but before he could comment, the surrounding crowd exploded in cheers as Namjoon ended the game with a lob.

“They won! They won! Go, South Korea!” Seokjin vibrated, punching the air.

Jeongguk clapped and laughed, but in a much more subdued manner. He leaned into Jimin’s side. “What if I win and you win? We'll face each other in the semi-finals."

"So?"

"Will you fraternize with the enemy?"

Jimin smiled. "I won't let him out of my sight."

September 7th

[LordOfTheTennisDance] It was weird… the way he hesitated to reply and then mentioned what happened all of a sudden

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I can't shrug off the feeling he was lying

[FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] why would you think that?

[LordOfTheTennisDance] I'm not sure, it's just a feeling. Maybe I simply can’t trust him yet.

Jimin stared at the screen, index finger tapping it absentmindedly. "What if you ask him what happened and listen to his side? It could not be what you are expecting," he typed.

[LordOfTheTennisDance] yeah, maybe

Before Jimin could steer Jeongguk anymore towards himself and feel guilty about it, his phone pinged with a text from Taehyung telling him that he and Namjoon were about to leave, asking if he wanted to tag along. He replied that he was going with Jin, Jeongguk, and Hoseok, and would meet them at the bar.

Jimin shoved the phone into his pocket, checking himself in the mirror one last time—his hair was okay, red jacket, tight pants, heeled boots, light eyeshadow—and strode to the door, yanking it open and coming face to face with his mother.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Two weeks ago, Jimin would have tried to come up with the most absurd history possible to excuse himself and pretend he wasn't doing what he was very obviously doing. Hell, he would have never opened the door like that without Taehyung or someone else certifying that it was clear on the other side.

Today, he said, "Out," and stepped around his mother.

Sunghee followed him as he marched to the elevator. "To do what? Meet who? Why are you in those clothes? I thought you'd left behind your father's nasty tastes."

Jimin shrugged, pushing the button. "I guess I didn't."

His mother glared at him, quiet for a few moments. Jimin counted the floors as the elevator rose. "It's him again, isn't it? I've always known he was a bad influence on your career."

He frowned, unbeknownst to what she was talking about. "What? Who?"

"Jeon Jeongguk."

The elevator decelerated and shuddered, opening its doors. Jimin stepped inside and pushed the button for the ground level.

"It's better if you don't go."

He looked her in the eye. "Why would I do that?"

Her eyes narrowed just before the elevator doors slid shut.

The night was nothing like Jimin expected it to be. Taehyung and Namjoon arrived first, with him, Jeongguk, Seokjin, and Hoseok in the sequence. Yoongi and Jihyun arrived last, and Jimin braced himself for things to be awkward between him and his hyung, but he should have known the reporter would never let it get to that. If any two people had any qualms interacting—like Jeongguk and Namjoon—their group was big enough to buffer the animosities under chaotic conversation and rowdy laughter after their double victory. It was detrimental to trying to reach Hoseok, but at least everyone was getting along well.

“To the semifinalists!” Jihyun toasted.

“To the semifinalists!” the rest enthused, clinking their glasses and drinking from them.

The club had its own merit for diffusing attention. Jimin had unwittingly dressed for the occasion—an indie rock night—and a band called The Ripe Apricots should perform soon. In the meantime, an open mic brought all kinds of talented and bland people to the stage. Right now a specimen of the latter shrieked from the speakers, with his friends egging him on, and Jimin gulped his beer in the vain hope of becoming numb to the screeches.

Jeongguk didn’t have the same luck as he sipped on a kiwi mocktail. “What the hell is that?”

“Someone who should stay away from the mic.”

“At least they’re leaving soon,” Jin said, hoping.

“I’m gonna go over there,” Hoseok unexpectedly said. He downed the remnants of his Marguerita and crossed the dancefloor to the stage, gently but surely removing the stand from the squawking creature’s hands and taking over instead. He looked at the crowd, grinned, opened his arms, and started clapping widely, ushering everyone to do the same. The people followed, establishing a beat. And then Hoseok started rapping like a god out of nowhere.

The people at their table stopped clapping, too dumbfounded to continue. “Since when does he rap like that, Jeongguk-ah?”

“Fuck.” All eyes turned to Yoongi. “I knew I recognized him from somewhere. He’s Neuron, isn’t he? I’ve heard of him before, but I’d never seen him. He’s too underground.”

The name rang a bell, but not much more than that. Either way, Jimin was as stunned as the others to see Jeongguk’s childhood friend own the stage, the crowd whooping and yelling. When he finished, he bowed to the applause, grinning all the way to their table and plopping down with a tired huff. “That was nice.”

“Nice?” Jihyun squeaked. “That was insane!”

“I didn’t know we had talent on this table,” Seokjin said. “I mean, musical talent.”

Taehyung chuckled, and Jimin groaned internally. Before he even spoke, he knew what he was going to say. “Oooh, but we have more than one talent. Jimin-ah, would you mind?”

“I kind of would,” he moaned. Hoseok clapped excitedly.

“Oh, c’mon, Jimin-ah.”

“You can sing!?”

“You have a nice voice, yeah.”

“You don’t wanna hear it, he sang in the shower a lot, it was hell!”

“Shut up, Jihyun!”

“Hyung, why don’t you go?”

Despite the chorus of voices with varying levels of bewilderment urging him to go, of course, Jeongguk’s was the one that pierced through his skull. He turned his attention to him, to the wide jeans-clad shoulders, the several hoops around his ears matching the silver bracelet in his arm, the round eyes looking innocent even under the gossamer light of the club, and the unidentified fumes puffing at random intervals with the pungent smell of alcohol and the briny smell of sweat, none of that tainting his perfect face or his pouty lips, or the lovely way the fading red tips of his hair grazed his forehead just like Jimin's fingers itched to do as well.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Yeah."

"What should I sing?"

"I don't know, I—whatever you feel like singing right now."

Jimin grinned, tapping Jeongguk's thigh to excuse himself from the booth. "I'll think of something."

He downed the rest of his beer as per habit, knowing very well that that last bit would not calm his frayed nerves but doing so all the same. His body thrummed as he stalked to the stage, heart climbing out of his throat, stomach rolling, knees threatening to buckle. Jimin gripped the stand with both hands—in part to steady himself, but also to get acquainted with it since singing for him didn't just involve the lungs and the vocal cords, but his arms and shoulders, the hips, thighs, legs, the tips of the hair, and his little toes.

The moment right before performing was always a mix of standing still in time and experiencing mind-wiping apprehension. Jimin ran his gaze over the expectant faces in the half-light, getting energized by them, raising his stare until he found their table and one particular pair of eyes looking back at him.

Despite the many times they had been on opposite sides, Jimin could always trust Jeongguk to look at him with stars in his eyes, twinkling with awe. Now he knew it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. It bid his blood to rest while putting a smile on his lips and making him feel warm and fuzzy. The song that was naught bloomed out of him naturally then, the words slipping past his lips like petals of a wistful flower.

I never meant to cause you any sorrow 
I never meant to cause you any pain 

His chest heaved as he sang, feeling every line, every syllable. Jimin’s palms caressed the stand, ankles and knees jerking in time with the melody in his head as the crowd fell into the slow rhythm leading up to the chorus.

I only wanted one time to see you laughing
I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

Jimin had his eyes closed during the first stanza—letting the lyrics dribble into his pores and take over him the moment he started singing—but as he began the second part of the song, they sprang open, searching for Jeongguk once more and pinning him with his stare for the forthcoming part.

I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It's such a shame our friendship had to end

From a distance, he couldn’t tell how Jeongguk was reacting, but he took the fact that he was still facing him as a good sign. There was something magical about being on the stage—something that overcame Jimin’s limbs and made him remove the mic from its clip, stepping away from the stand, letting go of the jitters as his inhibitions slipped away and made space for elated intoxication. He and the crowd bounced off of each other, intoning the lyrics in waves that grew and crescendoed, peaking and breaking at the last chorus.

Only want to see you in the purple rain

He returned to the stand, letting his voice exhaust and fade into silence like sea foam on the beach. Jimin put the microphone back in its place, blinking back to reality. Embarrassment finally caught up with him as his cheeks heated up and he bowed twice to the applause, hiding a smile. He rushed back to his booth fully intent on burrowing there and never coming out again.

Jimin was received with vivid enthusiasm and several pats on the back, some strong enough to be slaps. He took in the compliments with sensible modesty, smiling, searching for Jeongguk’s stare. The youngest looked small in his corner of the booth, rosy cheeks growing redder when their eyes met. Yoongi and Hoseok left the table for the bar and he waited for them to leave before he shuffled to his side, leaning in to talk to him after the commotion died down.

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk said, licking his lips. “It was surprising. How did you come up with that?”

“I followed your advice,” he shrugged. “I sang the way I felt.”

“Cool,” Jeongguk said, and it was all a bit anticlimactic. Was that all the reaction Jimin would get from pouring his heart out in front of the entire club, in a foreign country? He was wrecking his mind for a different approach when Jeongguk spoke again. “Yoongi hyung must have liked it.”

“What?”

“The song,” he clarified, gaze inquiring. “Doesn’t it bother you that he barely said anything about it?”

In short, no, it didn’t bother him. Why Jeongguk was asking that eluded him. But then Jimin looked at his countenance—the shrunk frame, the downcast eyes, the plump lips crimson from biting—and it clicked. “In case I wasn’t clear enough, I was singing for you.”

Jeongguk took in a harsh breath, one hand shooting out to trace the beads of water on his mocktail glass. “It was pretty clear. I just couldn’t let myself believe it.”

“And now that you know?”

The other sighed. “I still don’t know what to think.”

Jimin’s shoulders dropped. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Jimin knew just what he meant by that. He was still torn about the entire situation, not knowing how to break the news to the other. Two days had passed, and he figured the longer he took to tell the truth, the more it would seem like he did it on purpose. Perhaps it would be best to rip the bandaid off. He was certainly buzzed enough to consider this course of action.

Jimin grabbed Jeongguk’s hand and got to his feet. “Follow me.”

“Where are you going?” Taehyung asked.

“Somewhere quieter. We’ll be right back.”

The rest acknowledged their departure and kept chatting. Jimin led Jeongguk to the hall near the bathrooms, pressing them sideways against a corner that the regular passerby hardly noticed. He never let go of Jeongguk’s hand—and it was that palm that Jimin plastered against his hip and glided up until it bunched his shirt, letting it press against the skin of his left ribs. Jeongguk’s eyes bulged out.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

“I need to tell you something. But please, bear in mind that I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know. ”

“Okay, you didn’t know.”

“I mean it, Jeongguk. I know you don’t really trust me; I know you think I was in it with my mom in letting you go all those years ago, but I wasn’t. I would never sabotage you like that, I would never betray you.”

Jeongguk sighed and pressed his forehead against the wall. He didn’t remove his hand from Jimin’s grip, though. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because I just recently found out you thought that about me,” he took a deep breath, bracing himself for impact. This was it, now. “Two days ago, I discovered that the stranger I was talking to online is actually someone I know and admire so very much. I found out that the coworker he has issues with is me, and that he possibly feels for me in the same way I feel for him. I know he only has one true friend, but many secrets, and that he has a tattoo on his shoulder—much more painful than any tattoo ever gotten. I showed him I have one too, even if its meaning seemed silly in comparison, but I’m glad I did because it’ll prove to the guy I’m talking about that I’m telling the truth.”

The longer Jimin went on, the more his voice quavered. He was terrified of Jeongguk's reaction. What if he didn't believe a single word he said? What if it broke him apart, knowing that a tangible someone knew all the secrets he never meant to reveal? What if he thought Jimin planned this all along just to learn his weak spot and destroy him somehow? He didn't know how deep Jeongguk's mistrust of him ran. What if he lost Jeongguk again—this time forever?

His palm moved further up on Jimin's torso, exposing his skin to the cold air of the club. He sucked in a breath as Jeongguk stopped and glared at the stark 'Nevermind' tattoo across his ribs. When Jeongguk finally spoke, it was not what he was expecting.

"I need a drink."

Jeongguk's thoughts were in dissonance, clashing against each other.

"I need a drink."

He swiveled around and darted out of the bathroom halls, heading straight to the bar instead of back to their table. Jeongguk thought he heard Jimin calling for him, but it didn't get past the maelstrom in his head right now. Jimin didn't cut him out. Jimin admired him. Jimin was Jihoon. Jimin liked him?

"Three shots of tequila, please," he asked, hands shaking.

The last time he had let himself get drunk had been, ironically, with Jimin. And then he dried up for good, attempting to become a better person, a better athlete that could one day overcome his sworn rival and show him how good he was. The bartender didn't bat an eye at his request, oblivious to the grandiosity of the event unfolding before him.

He downed the first two shots in a row, grimacing at the burn and the taste even with the slice of lime and a sprinkle of salt. Why the hell did people drink that?

"Jeongguk-ah, what are you doing?"

Oh, right, to escape reality.

"Trying to process what you told me," he said, turning another shot. He scowled at the oak countertop, raising a couple of fingers and ignoring Jimin's elbow touching his. "Another three, please."

"How is that processing? You haven't drunk in ages, you don't know how your body's gonna take it."

The bartender merely twisted around with the bottle and poured more liquor into the glasses already there. Jeongguk examined one warily. "I'll be fine."

"You don't know that. You'll be hungover and it'll affect your recovery from today. You have a semi-final in two days, against me. You must be in top shape."

That made him hesitate with the next shot halfway to his mouth. Jeongguk looked at Jimin, really looked at him, watching the crease of his eyebrows and the obsidian of his eyes swirl with concern. Jimin knew about his scar. He comforted him about it. He knew about his insecurities, about his flaws, and he stayed. Jimin liked him?

He resumed the path of the glass to his mouth, urging his body to chill soon, fuck. Jeongguk downed the second shot but Jimin beat him to the third, drinking it in his place. "That's enough. You're gonna regret it tomorrow. Talk to me instead."

How would Jeongguk do that when he could barely look Jimin in the eye?

His stomach rolled, the added alcohol not reacting well with the set anxiety in his gut. "And say what?"

"I don't know, you tell me!" Jimin sounded exasperated. "What are you thinking? Did you believe me?"

"Yes."

The blond seemed relieved. "Okay. What do you think about it?"

Someone bumped into his side, thus sandwiching Jeongguk between the newcomer and Jimin. "I haven't had much time to think about it."

"Okay, but are you mad?"

He frowned. "Why would I be mad?"

Jimin seemed to relax once more. "I didn't think you'd want me to know the things you told Jihoon."

He was right, but most of that didn't matter now. It could be the alcohol seeping into his veins and addling his brain, but Jeongguk didn't see a problem with Jimin knowing what he knew, now. The stranger bumped again on her way out, the club filling up with guitar riffs as The Ripe Apricots climbed onto the stage.

"You didn't think I was shit when I was younger?" he asked, but could only hear parts of Jimin's reply. A trio replaced the previous seat beside him, making their fit against the bar even more uncomfortable. When did it get that crowded?

"Let's get out of here," he said, grabbing Jimin and cutting his way through the sea of people until he found a bright green exit sign. His black combat boots clomped on the damp asphalt of the narrow alley, the air crisp and slightly reminiscent of petrichor. He felt better already, less nauseous. When another set of feet followed him outside, he turned to face Jimin.

“You never thought I was below you? You never asked to be paired up with someone else—you never said I wasn’t worth the floor I stepped on?”

The corners of Jimin’s lips dropped. “Did my mom tell you that?”

“Yeah. She did. By the time she showed me the contract… I didn’t consider she could be lying.”

Jimin grimaced. “I’m sorry. She’s my mother, my agent, and my coach, I… I trusted her too. I didn’t know what I was doing, but that’s no excuse. I’m terribly sorry for what you had to go through because of that.”

Jimin seemed sincere and Jeongguk sagged against the brick wall behind him. “It’s fine. I met hyung because of that.”

“It’s not fine, but I’m glad you met him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“I know.”

Jeongguk looked him in the eye. The fact that Jimin knew those things about him still hadn’t sunk in.

“Yeah, you do. I should have given you a chance to explain yourself.”

“I understand why you didn’t.”

“Yeah, now,” he said, then frowned. “Why didn’t you try to reach me either?”

For the first time since the truth had been out, Jimin appeared embarrassed. He ducked his head and scratched his nape, holding one elbow with his palm.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

The blond peeked through his eyelashes, taunting and amused, and Jeongguk’s stomach swooped with heat. He felt pleasantly tipsy, loose but not dizzy, just enough fuel in his blood to make his body simmer.

“I like you.”

Jimin smiled, then bit his lip to hide it. “I know. You told me that. Or Jihoon. Over and over again.”

Jeongguk ignored the violent blush that surely colored his cheeks now to reverse the situation. “Does that mean you like me too?”

Jimin nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear it. He closed the space between them in two long strides. “Hey,” he uttered, tilting Jimin’s face up by his chin and letting his hand rest there. Their eyes bore into each other. Jeongguk felt like he was letting Jimin peek inside his soul. “Please, say it.”

The blond placed his palms on Jeongguk’s flanks and squeezed gently. “I like you too. I really do.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes, savoring the sound of Jimin’s voice curling around words he had longed to hear. He craned his neck forward until their lips touched, pressing in for a few moments before he pulled away. Jimin followed his lips as Jeongguk receded until his back hit the wall again, the blond pecking him a couple of times before pulling back.

He could barely believe that this was happening. Jeongguk tried to capture him again, but Jimin stopped him with a hand on his breastbone.

“Are you going to remember it this time?”

He had no idea what he meant, but said, “How could I forget it?”

Jimin pulled away, plastering his back against the wall to Jeongguk’s side. They held each other’s gazes as Jeongguk stepped in front of him, one hand cradling Jimin’s jaw while the other held his waist and he dove in at last, kissing him in full.

Their lips slotted together, velvety plumpness against soft and pliant ones. Jimin’s palms slid up his biceps and shoulders, bringing Jeongguk closer as he gently sucked on his bottom lip, softly pecking, almost hesitant, the timid smacks of their kisses billowing into the still, cold night.

The demure exploration changed pace when Jimin’s fingers combed through his hair and tugged at his roots, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. Jeongguk snaked a hand around the blond’s waist, licking the seam of his lips and feeling Jimin’s tongue come out to slide against his, beckoning him closer, deeper. He followed the command as he pressed Jimin against the wall, using the palm on his jaw to tip his face sideways and dip inside his mouth.

Jimin opened up easily, arms thrown around his neck and skull hitting the wall as the kiss got more intense. Jeongguk let his hands wander, one dropping from his waist to his hips, the other palming his neck and thumbing his Adam's apple as he made a small noise that Jeongguk devoured with his lips.

His insides were on fire, his brain in disarray. Jeongguk's heart raced like he was playing, but most of his blood pumped to make his pants tighter as he mouthed down Jimin's neck and sucked his throat. The hot discomfort propelled his leg to step between Jimin's and his hips to buck forward of their own accord, earning a stuttered, wide-eyed moan from the blond.

"That was so hot."

"Jeongguk, oh my God. We're outside."

He kissed him a couple of times and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, watching it wobble back into place. "I can't get enough of you."

Despite trying to be the voice of reason, Jimin's stare darkened at the words. His gaze flitted between Jeongguk’s eyes. "Why did you stop, then?"

Jeongguk kissed him again, the wet glide of their tongues melting his insides. He felt sensitive to the touch and to every other sense—to the way Jimin's waist fit into his arm, how his honeysuckle fragrance locked him into their own microcosm, how his voice broke as he keened, sagging against him.

Jimin's obvious hard-on pressed against his groin and it was Jeongguk's turn to groan, a shiver traveling down his spine and exploding on the soles of his feet. There was something both exciting and flattering about knowing he turned Jimin on; Jeongguk felt emboldened, sliding the palm on Jimin's hip to his ass and kneading the muscle, satisfied with the way it made the blond shudder and grip his back hard enough to leave a mark.

He slid his lips down Jimin's neck again, up to his ear where he bit his lobe, then back to his collarbones. Jeongguk wanted to explore more, to feel more—he grabbed the top of Jimin's thigh and wrapped it around his hips, the blond hopping right into his arms and gasping into his mouth.

He wore Jimin like a belt, with his legs around his midriff and ankles crossed at his back, their erections rubbing through their pants. It was too good, too hot, too little, too much.

Jeongguk panted, leaning his forehead on Jimin's shoulder as the blond peppered the side of his neck with kisses and rolled his hips discreetly in his arms.

"You're a menace."

"Want me to stop?"

"No."

“Okay,” Jimin replied, continuing his ministrations. When that didn’t garner a reaction from Jeongguk, he hesitated. "Want me to continue?"

He chuckled. "No."

It was silent for a few seconds. "Wanna get out of here?"

He had to bite back a groan at the thought of him and Jimin between four walls. Was going back even a question?

"Yes."

Jeongguk hailed a cab while Jimin texted their friends that they wouldn't be coming back tonight. He paced in the hopes his erection would ebb away, but just looking at Jimin made that part of him twist with interest. Once in the car, he tried not to dwell on what their friends would think of their sudden departure; the annoyed looks the driver was throwing their way were embarrassing enough.

He was also afraid that things would get weird once they arrived at the hotel, but that was entirely not the case.

"My room or yours?"

"Mine," Jeongguk replied.

If anything, behind closed doors, it was easier to let go and give in to each other. Jeongguk took pleasure in shedding their clothes and scattering them around the room; he worshiped every inch of Jimin, fed on each moan and each moment that their bodies came together again, and again, and again—until neither of them could go on anymore.

Jeongguk laid on his back with Jimin half draped over him, talking into his neck as he traced his collarbones with his index finger. Jeongguk wished he never had to move again.

“It was Hoseok, wasn’t it? The boy who saved you."

"Wow, I… I'm still not used to the fact that you know."

"I know, it's crazy," Jimin sighed. "I'm glad he's back in your life."

In our life. "Me too."

"I'll have to return to my room really early tomorrow, just so you know. It'll be hard to explain if I leave here in the morning."

He hugged Jimin tighter, wanting to grasp the moment and never let it go, fearing the day of tomorrow when they would inevitably part. "Let's sleep."

Jimin's smile was audible. "Okay."

September 8th

Some thoughts you only remember you had before once they occur to you again under very specific, unusual circumstances. For instance, Jeongguk only ever remembered he wanted to bungee jump when he was drunk, and he hadn't been drunk in ages.

Dreaming about kissing Jimin was one of those thoughts that he only remembered he had when he had it again. And it only happened twice: once when he was nineteen and they played doubles together right before breaking apart, and now. The specific circumstance that reminded him of it?

Jeongguk woke up with the remnants of the dream still on his mind, stretching lazily, feeling his muscles stretch, the mattress hugging him from behind. He wished he could prolong the oniric feeling of having Jimin between the sheets with him. The thought roused him and he padded to the bathroom with a headache that throbbed with every step, intent on washing it away. But everything stopped the moment he saw himself in the mirror and couldn't recognize himself.

This wasn't him he was staring at. It was akin to him, but not quite. Does falling in love make you look different?

Some thoughts feel like déjà vu, déjà pensé. I've already thought about this before. I've felt this before. I've dreamt of Jimin's lips against mine, too, before.

The renewed thought always garners a heightened reaction since you're thinking it for the second, third, or umpteenth time. How did this sneak up on me? I couldn't stop it. Is this inevitable? Why am I so unaware most of the time?

Jeongguk massaged his tattooed shoulder and reached across for the toothbrush, getting a glimpse of his back. He turned around and craned his neck, examining the scratches, eyes widening as reality dawned on him, flash by smoldering flash. His brain struggled to believe, but there was no denying the evidence on his body or the memories coming together to form a picture of what happened last night.

He faced the mirror again with a hand over his mouth. So that was the difference he saw.

Jeongguk’s eyes smiled before his lips did, face splitting with a wide grin. Was this the reward for finally being brave enough to break out of his chains and seek what he wanted? He felt silly, beaming at himself in the mirror, heart racing, chest warm and bright like a summer day. It would be even better if Jimin had woken up beside him today.

He brushed his teeth and donned a white shirt and black sweats, wrapping his hair in a bun, the headache still there but mostly forgotten. He tidied his bed and stood in front of it, considering whether or not he should invite Jimin for breakfast. Was it too soon? What would he think about it? Reaching out or staying quiet—which one was less likely to go wrong?

Jeongguk might have stayed too long in his head, for he was startled by a knock on his door. Had Jimin beaten him to it? The knock came again, and amidst his rosy-colored thoughts, Jeongguk didn’t notice how frantic the noise was. He swung the door open and came face to face with a distressed-looking Seokjin, in silk pajamas and a quilted robe with his hair tousled, barging straight into his room.

“Hyung? What is it? Good morning.”

“Jeongguk, I swear to God. Why do you own a phone if you barely check it?”

The uncharitable attitude rubbed him the wrong way, but he was soaring too high to let it get to him. “I didn’t check it yet, it’s probably around here somewhere. I think the battery died.”

“That explains it,” Seokjin sat on an armchair with a huff. “It’s best if I tell you in person anyway.”

“What is it?”

The older glared at him, and Jeongguk was taken aback for a moment before he noticed he wasn’t irritated but dismayed. “Please take a seat.”

He did as told, waiting as his agent tapped a few times on his phone. Seokjin apologized and handed him the device, open on a news piece from a local tabloid that he read.

Gay "Wimbledon"?
by Joseph Seiber

Anyone who has watched the movie about two tennis players who fall in love during the English Open will get the reference regarding this real case of a torrid intra-sports romance. But this is where the similarities stop. While in Wimbledon (2004) Peter Colt (Paul Bettany) was a British tennis pro struggling to return to his prime and Lizzie Bradbury (Kirsten Dunst) was an up-and-coming American player, the outsider Jeongguk Jeon and former tennis athlete Sunghee Park’s son Jimin Park are both proud Korean tennis talents whose careers started taking off this season as they shot up the rankings and snatched the attention of tennis fans in more ways than one.

The most recently eye-catching occasion happened last night, at the back alley of a famous club in midtown Manhattan that might just become the modern Studio 54. Mr. Jeon and Mr. Park were caught outside just past 1 am pressed to each other in a tangle of limbs that leaves no room for the imagination. The photos say it all.

In the movie, Lizzie is the female lead who gets swept away by the romance with an older man. It distracts her from her career for a second, but it’s enough to make her lose the much-anticipated Wimbledon semi-final match. And this is where reality deviates from fiction again. In this gay version of the motion picture, these two players will face each other tomorrow at the Arthur Ashe Stadium for the US Open semi-finals. The public will get first-row seats to what will certainly be a tennis match, but also an epic battle of what matters the most to each of these players: their mutual love, or their love for the game.

Personally, I can't wait to see how it goes. May the best man win!

Jeongguk didn’t react at first, thumb scrolling down to the end of the page where two high-quality pictures looked back at him. There was no denying who they were, or the position they were in—Jimin’s legs were wrapped around his waist in both photos, head thrown back in one, the two of them snogging in the second.

Who had taken those pictures? They seemed professional and angled enough to have been planned—who the hell walked around with a professional camera around their neck if not someone who worked with it, like a paparazzi?

And then it hit him. These images were public now. Anyone in New York, or in the world, could see Jeon Jeongguk making out with another man. The traditional press could see it. His coach could see it, his physio, his hitter. His sponsors would see it, the friends he’d just made and the old ones. Jeongguk’s breath hitched. His parents would see it. Seokjin, right in front of him, had seen it.

His hands trembled and Jeongguk held the phone in his hands tighter so as not to drop it. Breath quickening, he risked looking up at his sponsor, but swiftly averted his gaze when their eyes met. He extended his arm and returned the phone.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Jeongguk, what are you sorry for?"

For not telling him? No, that was stupid. He never meant to tell. "For being like this."

Seokjin huffed and a second later dropped to his knees in front of him, making it impossible to avoid his stare. "Jeongguk, I'm only sorry it took you this long to figure it out. I'm terribly sorry that you're having your life exposed like this. You weren't out, were you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry I wasn't aware or as your agent I could have done something to stop this from happening," he said. It was unusual for Seokjin to be this emotional, his eyebrows arched and hands clutching Jeongguk's. "Hyung will do what he can to revert this, okay? I'm going to find who did it and I'm going to fucking sue them."

He sprang to his feet, but Jeongguk pulled him down again. Seokjin's face was barely visible to him. "You're not mad?" he croaked.

"Not at you, I'm not. How could I be?" he chuckled, "Besides, your crush on Jimin was visible from the moon."

Amusement drizzled in his internal mix of panic and shame, making him laugh despite himself and calm down a tad at the thought of Jimin. He wondered if he'd seen the tabloid yet, what he thought about it, how he was reacting, if he was freaking out like him or if being out and proud made the impact less destructive on him.

"I gotta talk to Jimin."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"Call him. You don't know how he might be."

Jeongguk nodded. "Okay."

He charged his phone shortly and dialed Jimin's number, folding his legs in the armchair. The seconds ticked by as he waited, biting his lip. The line got picked up at the last ring and he sucked in a breath, but before he could speak, it hung up. He called him three more times, with the second going exactly like the first and the two others not even ringing all the way through.

"It's like he turned off his phone."

"In this case, you could try his room?”

Jeongguk didn’t want to see the outside world just yet. “I’d rather not leave the room for now.”

“You could use the internal line,” Seokjin said, picking up the slim telephone. “What’s his room?”

"1108."

His hyung dialed the number, but judging from his face, nobody picked up. He redialed, sighing when he got the same result. “We can try again later. You should eat something. Want me to order room service?"

"Please." I don't wanna be alone. "That would be great."

Seokjin seemed to read his mind, for he stayed with him for the better part of the day. Perhaps if he had been braver, Jeongguk would have attempted to go outside and get rid of the nervous energy in his body in the gym, but he was way too afraid to show his face.

What would people do once they saw him again? Would knowing who he was change anything in the way they perceived him? Would he be asked about his preferences before or after a match instead of whether or not he thought he played well?

"Shit," Seokjin cursed from the sofa.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

It wasn't like him to swear. Jeongguk closed the distance and took a seat beside his friend. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing, we can talk about it later."

"Later when?"

"Aish, I don't know, after tomorrow? It's not important now."

"What's so not important that you cursed and can only tell me after tomorrow?" he glared at Seokjin, whose attempt to remain expressionless was failing miserably. Jeongguk snatched his phone under a protesting yelp and darted away, reading the email under his breath.

"... in light of recent events, has decided to postpone the scheduled meeting, thus withholding the final decision regarding the sponsorship contract," he said, head snapping up to Seokjin. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Fila is withdrawing. At least for now."

And that was not the only bad news he got. Seokjin left in the middle of the afternoon when he finally got an in with the tabloid, saying he would do his best to take it down before they had to judicialize it. But by then, several other news platforms were spreading the gossip, some tennis-specific and others not so much. Jeongguk felt like a stripped wire, every ping from his phone making him cringe in apprehension.

He had nine missed phone calls from his parents, two from Hoseok, none from Jimin. That was what irked him the most, the radio silence. It had to be the worst morning after in the history of first-times, and Jeongguk didn’t know what to make of it. To pass the time and give himself a reprieve, he messaged him on Reddit, scrolling through their older conversations and trying to imagine Jihoon’s words coming out of Jimin’s mouth.

It fit perfectly, of course. The soft tones, the mellow words, the unconditional acceptance that sounded almost too good to be true. He reminisced about the events, thinking of exactly when their relationship changed. Jimin said he only learned about Junghyun being him three days ago, but they became closer way before that. Around the time he told Jihoon about his scar and the story behind it.

Jeongguk remembered that shortly after that they played for the first time in ages, in the Aorangi practice courts. Jimin winked and smiled mischievously, eyes glinting as he walked backward to the baseline, laughing at a joke only he was privy to.

“Gotta keep your adversary guessing. One up them. Can’t let them know your next move.”

A cold rush punctured his stomach as his brain popped up with another memory—the day they started the interviews, the coziness between Jimin and Yoongi, a reporter. Another one: Jihyun’s arrival at the bar, yet another person connected to the media. Jimin's brother. Did these people know each other? Could knowing one of them make it easier to meet others?

The photo looked staged, like whoever took it had been waiting for them to be there. Jimin had known that Jeongguk's mistrust was the only thing standing in his way of getting involved with him at this point. He cleared up what had happened between them minutes before he got drunk and they made out in the alley. It seemed quite rushed, in retrospect. Did he think the story held true or was he just too eager to examine Jimin's apology? What if he was lying?

Jeongguk shook his head and decided to call Seokjin instead of letting his doubts take over him. He hoped for good news, but his agent's voice when he picked up signaled anything but that.

"How did it go?"

"Not well. I said we'd go to court and the representative laughed at my face. 'We get lawsuits all the time, you're not special'. The audacity!"

"So they won't remove it?"

"Unfortunately, no. I asked them if they didn't have a policy like we do in Korea where those asswipe gossip papers try to sell the scoop to the interested parties before publishing it, but he told me that while they do that sometimes, it made no sense to offer the option when the people involved sold the info themselves."

Jeongguk stopped breathing, his muscles shocked into paralysis. Seokjin kept talking.

"I told him that that was bullshit. That's exactly what I told him, I lost my freaking composure because he was such a sleazeball, a disgusting vulture—I told him 'you're crazy to think my client would want to be exposed like that, I'll see you in court!' and walked off, and if it wasn't intimidating, at least I hope it was cool."

Jeongguk was stuck processing. Something wet slid down his face, his lungs struggling to breathe. He had possibly just lost the sponsor he so desperately needed, and he was in no condition to face anyone for the foreseeable future, too ashamed to have the fingers of the world pointed at him.

All this on the eve of the US Open semi-final he would play against Jimin. Who else had to gain from that?

"Jeongguk? Are you there?"

"I'll call you later, hyung," he said and hung up.

Jeongguk couldn't believe it. He dialed Jimin's number one more time, listening to the endless rings, phone pressed tightly against his ear.

"Please pick up. Please pick up and tell me you didn't do this."

Two minutes felt like two hours as he paced the room.

"The number you have tried to reach is temporarily unavailable."

Click.

He couldn't believe that he'd let himself be deceived, twice. But maybe he should have.

Chapter Text

September 9th

When Jeongguk strides through the corridors of the Arthur Ashe Stadium, he’s trying his best to keep his mind off of things. He’s gone against his nature and arrived at the last possible minute just to avoid sitting idle with too much in his head before the game.

Don’t think about the article. Don’t think about the game yet. Don’t think about the judging looks of the people outside. Don’t think about him.

His attempt is proven futile as soon as he steps into the recovery room, striding past Jimin sitting on the chestnut-tufted banquettes. Jeongguk heads to the lockers—anything to stay away from Jimin and ignore the startled look on his face when he sees him.

“Jeongguk-ah! Wait!'“

He doesn’t stop. Jeongguk doubles the speed of his steps, but Jimin follows him all the way to the white changing rooms and their unsettlingly white walls. The last time they met here was drastically different. The contrast manifests as pressure on his chest, keeping his breaths short as Jeongguk drops into the plastic benches and proceeds to change into his tennis shoes.

"Jeongguk—oh, finally. Why didn't you stop? I’ve wanted to talk to you since yesterday, but I was away the whole day long and I was in such a hurry today that I couldn’t… Jeongguk?”

He keeps his mouth shut. He told himself he would be quiet. Do not let him get inside your head.

The problem is that Jimin is as insistent as he is evil. Just the deception isn’t enough, he has to keep the ruse going. Following Jeongguk to the lockers isn’t enough, he has to sit beside him and place a hand on his shoulder like he cares, like he means it when he asks if Jeongguk is okay and why isn’t he looking at him.

Jeongguk stomps on the floor after tying his shoelaces, head whipping around to face Jimin and pulling away from him.

“I gotta admit, you have balls. How can you look me in the eye and ask me that after what happened?”

Jimin winces. Jeongguk doesn’t feel sorry. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play dumb, Park,” he spits. “At the bar two days ago—you must have planned it, right? You knew I wouldn’t play into your game unless I was shitfaced.”

“You didn’t seem that drunk to me,” the blond speaks like he’s talking to a scared animal, and it only makes Jeongguk angrier. “You were loose, yeah, but so was I.”

“Don’t try to minimize it. You knew I wouldn’t have gone ahead, but you needed me to, didn’t you? You knew I would regret it.”

Jimin’s shoulders fall. “You regret it?”

Jeongguk is one step away from throttling Jimin. How could he be this sly, this cynical? He paces the room, trying to get rid of the nervous energy making his body vibrate. Jimin follows as if to appease him, but the moment he reaches out to Jeongguk he swats his hands away as if burned.

“Gguk—”

“What the hell do you want from me?” he screams, eyes prickling. Jeongguk will not cry. He promised himself he wouldn’t. “You already got what you wanted, didn’t you? Why don’t you just move along and leave me alone?”

“You’re confusing me. What do you mean to move along? Why would I do that—why would I leave you?”

Jeongguk stares at him, growing silent for a moment. Of course, it must have been fun for Jimin to hear his sob story. He must have delighted in the knowledge of his juvenile crush for days on end. Spilling Jeongguk’s secret to an entire country—to the world—must have been delicious. But none of that accomplished his final goal, did it? None of that took Jeongguk out of Jimin’s way to the finals. Not like a car accident or a fake doping test could.

He wishes Jimin had done that. He thinks it would have hurt less than what he feels right now.

“My mistake. Of course, you won’t.”

Jimin sighs, dropping back on the bench. “I’m glad you got it. You scared me for a bit, there.”

“Don’t think, even for a second, that I’m gonna hand this match to you.”

Jimin looks at him like what he’s saying is obvious. “Of course not. I just wanted to know how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Not thanks to you, though.”

“See, this is what I don’t get. Why are you being like this? I missed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, but I’ve been trying to reach you, and now that I have… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Upset him? Jeongguk flinches at the mention of their night together. “You can drop the act, you know? I’m sure this is all a big game to you, but I’m tired of playing it. You got what you wanted—maybe even a bit more—but this is as far as you’ll get. I’m never trusting you again.”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin looks disconcerted, eyes frantic. Jeongguk cannot look at them for too long, so he turns around and picks up his bag, walking to the door. “What are you talking about?”

He’s done with this conversation. Maybe if he was calmer he would see things from another perspective—perhaps he would see that the tears threatening to spill from Jimin’s eyes are authentic, not contrived—but as of now, anger consumes him, blinds him, takes over his mouth and speaks in his stead.

Jeongguk spins on his feet, pinning Jimin with one final glare. “I know you’re behind the article. I know you tipped the paparazzi. I think you did it to undermine me, and I’m sure that was your plan all along. Tell me, how did you find me on Reddit? Did it take you weeks, months? Was it by chance? Did you think you’d hit the jackpot when I told you about the scar? If so, sorry to burst your bubble: you failed. I will enter that court today and I will leave it as a finalist, and after that, I never wanna see you again. And you can stop pretending you ever gave a damn because I don’t care either way.”

Even so, Jimin doesn't break character. He doesn't look caught but crestfallen. Shocked, but anguished. Jeongguk figures that being confronted like that must be intimidating.

But he refuses to be affected. He refuses to give a damn about Park Jimin anymore.

It’s safe to say that Jeongguk underestimated the effect of their fallout on him. Everything is going fine when they’re in the hall before the tunnels; he manages to tune out Jimin’s glances and his claims that he didn’t do it, that he wants to talk to Jeongguk, that he is hurt, how could Jeongguk think that of him, he would never do it—keeping his cool up until he walks into the deafening atmosphere of the Arthur Ashe stadium.

Playing before twenty-three thousand people in the biggest tennis stadium in the world is no easy feat. It’s daunting by nature. Jeongguk remains composed as the umpire tosses the coin and he chooses to serve first. He steers the first set under a tight leash, to the point his muscles loosen once he wins it.

But the relaxation is untimely. He blinks and Jimin breaks his serve, but Jeongguk never gains it back. All of a sudden the match is at a tie, one set to each of them, meaning that Jeongguk has to grow. He attempts to focus, to stick his mind to the game, but all that does is make him think of Jimin.

Jimin, who gave him playing advice, who taught him how to calm down during peaks of stress, and whose presence mellowed him in the past weeks and brought peace to his heart. It sucks that all of that was nothing but a performance. His brain shifts between what he has to do on a strategic level and glowering at his rival while hoping his next serve can crack his skull in half, and it’s ultimately to avoid getting overcome by his emotions that Jeongguk looks at the bleachers instead.

Grave mistake.

His eyes go up, sweeping over rows upon rows of spectators who cheer for them. It grounds him, but in the wrong way—how many of these people are there for him? How many of them root for Jimin? How many have come fueled by the article, expecting some kind of lover’s quarrel on the court? Jeongguk feels like a gladiator in an arena, the crowd’s cheers craving blood, whomever it might be.

How many of them saw the picture of him in that alley with Jimin, lost to passion? How many of them are disgusted but still want to watch the carnage unfold anyway?

As the game progresses, the smiles on their faces turn into wicked grins in his head, and Jeongguk feels cornered, smothered by the prying eyes of over twenty thousand people. He feels bare and he doesn’t like it. His heart rate increases but not from playing, and he sees himself smashing more rackets than he should.

The punishment is ruthless.

“Code violation, racket abuse. Game penalty, Mr. Jeon.”

The crowd boos him. His shoulder hurts. He thinks Seokjin screams at him to take a medical time-out, but he refuses. Jeongguk is losing now, two sets to one. He sits on his bench during the break and munches on grapefruit as always, looking right when he catches Jimin peering at him on his left. And right there in the baseline bleachers, he meets his parents’ stare looking sternly back at him.

On any other occasion, the fact that his parents took an interest in his career would make Jeongguk thrilled and push him to win the match. Today, they’re the final nail in the coffin of his defeat, throwing him for a loop of self-conscious despair that makes him lose the last thread of control he had on the game and lose by three sets to one.

Jeongguk has to walk to the net and greet his opponent. He does so without looking into Jimin’s eyes.

“Please, wait for me after the game. I wanna talk to you.”

He won’t cry. He promised he wouldn’t.

Jeongguk doesn’t wait for Jimin as he asked, and yet the blond catches him on his way out for the second time today. The cameras—both from Yoongi’s crew and the local media—close in on them, catching Jimin’s tears. He hates them and he hates Jimin for keeping up the farce until the last second. With Jimin, he jumps from love to hatred, from awe to aversion, but never indifference.

"I actually hope you win on Sunday. Get that trophy if you want it so fucking much. Fucking marry it. And then pretend we never met, because that's exactly what I'm gonna do, starting today."

He leaves, telling Jimin not to come after him. He hopes he does, prays that whatever Jimin has to say will fix all the problems between them and mend his heart together again.

Jimin doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“How are you doing?" his mother asks.

Tired. Heartbroken. Afraid you're gonna desert me.

"A bit worn out from the match. When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday night, we needed to see you."

Jeongguk bites his lip. That was mere hours after the article was out. His mother sits with him on his bed while Seokjin and his father stall by the living area outside. He had cowered into his room with the excuse that he was showering when his agent arrived with his parents, terrified of being accosted about the article in that goddamned tabloid. Unfortunately, Seokjin led his mom straight to him. Thankfully, their conversation has been amicable so far.

"Was the flight okay?"

"Delightful, for a change."

"Did you fly first class?"

"Your dad will have nothing different, you know him."

"Right. Did he have any complaints about the food this time?"

His mother rolls her eyes. "He avoided eating altogether. I told him he was being silly, the braised mackerel was delicious."

"I flew in at night, so I basically just slept," he says. He's run out of plaintive topics to avoid the main conversation. Why is she staving off the inevitable?

"Any interesting cases you're working—"

"I was really impressed today—"

They speak in unison, laughing awkwardly. Jeongguk's laugh is accompanied by jitters. He waits for his mom to continue.

"I was really impressed seeing you play today, Jeongguk-ah. You gave it all until the last second."

Great, more stalling. He sighs and ducks his head, glaring at his uneven nails. "It doesn't feel that way."

"It doesn't?"

"I don't feel like I gave all of myself in that match."

His mother laughs, and he turns his attention to her. "If that wasn't your best, I can't wait to see what your best looks like. It makes me proud; we came for the right reasons, after all."

"How so?"

"Your father finally listened to me and decided to see what you're on about tennis. Even he was surprised—you’re a natural talent."

The praise cocoons him in relief, but the flaps of her words flail under the assault of skepticism.

They don’t know about the article?

“That's why you came?”

“Of course, dear. Why else would we have rushed to watch your semi-final match, hm?”

He racks his brain for an excuse. “I thought—just calling wasn’t working so you’d decided to deal with things face to face.”

Her smile is bashful. The way Jeongguk’s mother wraps her hands over her knees trying to quiet her discomfort reminds him of his own mannerisms, albeit a more gracious, more mature version.

“I’m sorry for pushing you toward Law school for so long. You made it clear from the beginning what you wanted to do, and it was hard for your father and me to let go of the future we’d planned for you.”

“Perhaps you were right to insist.”

His mother looks at him like he said something absurd. “Nonsense. This is just the beginning.”

He frowns, not happy to admit to his failure. “Eomma, I have nowhere to go from here. There are a few more tournaments until the end of the year but after that, I’ll be done. I have no sponsors, no way to keep competing.”

His shoulder is at an all-time worst and he feels too weathered down by recent events to keep trying. It might be too soon to come to a decision, but this might be the end of the road for him. At least he won’t have to wade through life for very long if Law school takes him back.

“These aren’t the words of a winner, Jeongguk-ah. And you are no loser.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“This is why we're here, isn't it? Took us long enough, but I hope we’re not too late.”

Jeongguk takes a few seconds to reply, not entirely believing what he hears. “You wanna help?”

“We will help you if that’s what you need. I saw you in that court, Jeongguk-ah. You might have lost that match, but that’s just one battle, you still have a war to win. What kind of mother would I be if I left my favorite son unattended?”

Warmth spreads in his chest, pulsates. Jeongguk laughs, but it’s a bit wet. “I’m your only son and an adult.”

“You’ll always be my baby, Jeongguk.”

This time, when his eyes prickle and his cheeks become wet, Jeongguk doesn’t try to stop it. He hides his face on his mother’s shoulder so none of them see the tears he promised he wouldn’t spill. Jeongguk never imagined that her comfort would be his tipping point, but the last two days have been piling up and now all that weight is finally being let out through his tears.

His parents leave after he hugs them both briefly, led out by Seokjin. Jeongguk slumps on the sofa and faces the ceiling, brain woozy as the latest events flitter through his mind like pages of a book.

He’s taking comfort in the notion that his parents apparently have his back now despite everything else being uncertain when a knock jostles him out of his thoughts. Maybe his mom left something behind. He walks to the door and swings it open.

“Did you forget something—”

“Hi,” Namjoon greets him.

He’s too surprised to form any words at first, and a part of him wishes he doesn’t have to deal with Namjoon right now. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A frown flickers through his face. “May I come in?”

He doesn’t mean to be rude, but, “I’m really tired after today. Can we talk another time?”

“I won’t be long.”

He sighs. “Namjoonssi—”

“‘Hyung’, please. I promise I’m not here to fight you.”

Jeongguk sucks his lips into his mouth. Namjoon’s visit is unexpected, to say the least.

“Sure. Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

He moves aside and Namjoon strides past him, taking a seat in an armchair. Jeongguk joins him in the living area, thinking that if his kind-of-a-friend feels the need to sit down, this is probably gonna take longer than promised.

“How can I help you?” he asks, sitting on the couch opposite Namjoon.

“Firstly, thank you for having me. I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately, and I appreciate you accepting to talk to me.”

I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, really, okay.”

He flinches. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Namjoon squirms and looks mad, but for once it doesn’t seem to be directed at Jeongguk.

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I came here for two reasons, and this is the first one. I’d like to apologize for how I behaved that day at the club. I thought I was justified back then. Unaware, closeted people can reproduce violence and that does not exempt them, but I know you personally and I should have conducted things in a more constructive manner or given you a chance to explain yourself first. Not doing that was a big mistake.”

The words pour out of Namjoon’s mouth like he’s reciting them, yet they don’t sound rehearsed. When Jeongguk meets his gaze, he looks earnest. Namjoon really wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t come to fight. That does not erase the hurt of being mistaken for the kind of people that harmed him, but Jeongguk is a little less anxious about the whole thing now.

“So you’re not mad anymore?”

“Not at all,” Namjoon says, scratching his cheek. “I’m embarrassed, actually. That’s not who I want to be—Tae says I act like a possessive alpha sometimes, whatever that means.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Is he… you know.”

“Okay with it?” he asks. Jeongguk nods. “He never doubted you.”

“Oh. That’s surprising.“

“He’s best friends with Jimin, that’s why. He insisted that you weren’t as bad as I was thinking, I was just too stubborn to hear it. I’m sorry it took me seeing that article to come to talk to you.”

Jeongguk stiffens at the mention of Jimin and the tabloid’s article, regretting his question right away. He takes deep breaths as he turns his gaze to the buildings outside, willing his torn stomach to unclench.

“Got it.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping. This is the second reason why I’m here.”

Jeongguk turns his attention back to him. “What is?”

“Jimin,” he clarifies, perusing him. “I may not know everything that went down, but I know something happened between the two of you, and it might not seem like it right now, but it can be fixed.”

Jeongguk sighs. His stomach rolls uneasily again. "You’re right. You don’t know what happened.”

“You fought, didn’t you? You found out something you didn’t want to know.”

“Something he didn’t want me to know.”

“He assured me he has no secrets from you.”

“Well, he does.”

“I doubt that’s the case.”

Jeongguk crosses his arms. “I’m sorry, is that why you came? To discuss whether or not I’m entitled to being mad at him? Do you think that changes something?”

“It should.”

He huffs an incredulous laugh. “What the hell do you want me to do?”

“Listen to what he has to say. You might find out that things are not as they seem.”

Jeongguk gets up at that, pacing until the window. He grits his teeth, having a hard time believing that Namjoon just barely started talking to him again and is already lecturing him about how to handle his situation with Jimin.

“Perhaps you are overstepping.”

“I’ll take that risk. Jimin did the same when he insisted that I should give you a chance, and he was right. I reckon he knew more about you then than I know about what happened between you two now, but I also know how he talks about you, Jeongguk. That man couldn’t hurt you on purpose if he tried. Only a blind person wouldn’t see the way he looks at you.”

His chest shrinks at the words. Jeongguk doesn’t turn around. It’s all fake, he wants to say. He gives into the urge to be petty.

“I guess blind, then.”

“Give him a chance. I made the mistake of not coming around and listening to you. You know the toll that took on you, on both of us. Would you really like to make the same mistake I did?”

He wants to say that this is different. That Namjoon never had a problem trusting him; he just didn’t know the full picture. With Jimin, Jeongguk knows the full picture—he simply can’t trust him anymore.

“I don’t think I have what it takes to believe him even if he speaks the truth.”

“You can’t be sure unless you listen.”

The strength to counter Namjoon is slipping out of him. It’s partially because he’s drained, but also because there’s a part of Jeongguk, still freshly wounded, that craves a rapid cure for the pain. A desperate part that screams louder than his mistrust and just wants a better version of the truth to cling to.

Maybe Jimin can convince him? He would love for the person he loves to not have broken his heart on purpose. He turns to Namjoon, his stomach in wary but excited knots.

“Okay.”

September 10th

“As you all know, this is the second to last interview for the doc. We’ll meet again after the finals, and then we’ll be done,” Yoongi says. “Thank you for participating today and I'll see you in two days.”

A loud groan comes from the line of cameras and all the presents turn to see Jihyun stretching his arms languidly into the air. “Thank God. This is exhausting.”

“Yah, Jihyun-ah,” Yoongi calls out, striding towards Jimin’s brother. “We’re meeting the editing team this afternoon to go over the footage.”

He grumbles something in response and the rest of the conversation fades out as Jimin looks at Jeongguk. He appears as tense as he did during the interview, eyes cast down as Namjoon whispers something in his ear. Taehyung blocks his vision by stepping into his personal space with an arm around his shoulders, giving a light tap on his chest.

“It will be fine, Minnie. You’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.” Jeongguk meets his stare and he takes a deep calming breath. “Jeongguk-ah. Can we talk outside for a bit?”

Jimin doesn’t take it as a good sign when his jaw tenses, but Jeongguk nods. They filter out of the interviewing room, Jimin’s heartbeat loud in his ears, feeling the eyes of the others following them. Once in the corridor, they walk the few meters to a small break room with a square laminate table, a stainless steel fridge, a sink, and maroon cupboards. Jimin sits on the table while Jeongguk leans back against the sink, fingers clutching the granite countertop.

“Won't you take a seat?"

"I'm okay here."

"Right. I can make us some tea, would you like some?"

"I'm not thirsty, thanks."

"Alright," Jimin says, unsure how to proceed now that Jeongguk has shut down his attempts to ease them into the conversation. He glares at the tabletop, brain searching for words.

"Weren't you going to make tea?"

"Oh, yes, I was," he says, springing to his feet. The chair scratches the tiled ground and the gush of tap water echoes inside the kettle. The stove clicks as he lights up the fire.

"Did you wanna say something, Jiminssi?"

"Yes," he says, finally gathering the courage to meet Jeongguk's eyes. He looks as handsome as always. But his gaze is muddy, hollow—the usual light doesn't shine from his eyes. Jeongguk’s eyebrows are expectant, though, if tinged with a sprinkle of haughtiness.

"I'd like to clear things up between us. Thank you for the opportunity this time around."

"As opposed to four years ago?"

"Yes."

"Got it. You know, it's funny that you bring this up, because I tried to get in touch with you the whole day after—you know what. You didn't pick up."

He sounds accusing, tone biting. Jimin frowns, an apology crawling out of his mouth right away. "I know, I'm sorry. My mom took me to a golf resort a few hours away in New Jersey, to meet some businessmen. We left right after I woke up and didn't come back until it was late at night, and by then my phone had died already. I didn't take it with me since I left in a hurry, so I only saw that you called before our game started," he explains. "I'm really sorry. That's not how I wanted the next day to go."

Jeongguk flinches at the reminder and it makes Jimin's stomach twist unpleasantly. He's reminded of the day in June at Jean-Bouin when Jeongguk pulled away from his touch as if it personally offended him, and his stomach drops. He really hopes they're not back to square one.

"Your mom, huh."

"What?"

"Until when will you keep blaming things on your mother, Jimin?"

"I'm not blaming her for anything, Gguk-ah. I'm just telling you what happened so you understand I didn't mean to shut you out, especially after we—"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am!"

"Because I'm thinking that it sounds like an easy excuse for you. 'Oh, look, Jeongguk believed it when I told him that I had nothing to do with our contract being broken, he ate it all up!'" Jeongguk says acidly. "'Let me use it again, and again, and again.'"

"This is not what I'm doing, Jeongguk. I'm sorry for not being there when you woke up—"

"Do you think I care about that?"

Jimin pauses for a moment. He thought Jeongguk might be lashing out because he felt cheap after they slept together, or that he thought Jimin could have somehow prevented the tabloid article from coming out, but now he’s legitimately confused.

“I thought you did. Why else would you be hurt?”

Jeongguk scoffs and chuckles. “I’m not hurt.”

“You sound like it.”

“And you would know that, wouldn’t you, Park? After everything I told you about me without knowing it was you. I bet you have me all figured out, I bet you look at me and all you see is a funny game and you can barely choose which button to push first; you’re so excited. Did you have fun thinking up ways to break me down? Do you see yourself as a Jeongguk expert now?”

Jimin’s mouth opens and closes several times, but he keeps quiet. This is much more than he thought he would be dealing with. To Jeongguk, he’s an enemy—he’s armed to his teeth, closed off, and ready for combat. Jimin has to find a way through his defenses somehow.

He turns to the stove, picks up the whistling kettle, and pours the water into two cups. Jimin drops tea bags inside, chamomile, and slides one closer to Jeongguk. He hopes the warm drink between his hands calms them down, helps them think straight.

When Jeongguk takes one cup even though he said he didn’t want it, Jimin lets himself relax minimally. This is as much of an opening as he can get, for now.

“I’m not an expert and I don’t pretend to be one. I know that our meeting online seems insanely unlikely, but it happened. I know you wouldn’t have told me the things you did if you knew it was me, but for better or worse, you did. And I’m glad I know them now, not because I wanted to find your weaknesses, but because I can see where you come from and offer better company than if I didn’t.”

Jeongguk is silent, drinking his tea, so Jimin does the same.

“So you had nothing to do with the tabloid article.”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. Who did it, then?”

“How would I know?”

“I don’t know, have you asked your mother yet? Maybe she’ll agree to be your scapegoat this time as well.”

Jimin puts his cup down; it clatters against the counter. “I just told you I had nothing to do with it.”

Jeongguk mirrors his actions, one palm splayed on the granite as he crowds into Jimin’s space. “Something doesn’t quite add up though, does it? Your mother cut me off four years ago, but you didn’t contact me after, did you? Doesn’t this sound exactly like what’s happening now?”

“I told you this: I thought you were rejecting me!”

“Because we kissed the day before?” Jeongguk asks, and that makes all of Jimin’s thoughts screech to a pause. He remembered? The giddy feeling is rapidly doused by Jeongguk’s next words, though. “We kissed, and then you left me without a word. Do you not see the pattern?”

“There’s no pattern, Jeongguk-ah.”

“I think there is. One where you keep thinking I’m a fool because I keep letting myself be fooled,” he says, finally stepping away. He takes the rest of his tea and pours it into the sink. “I won’t let that happen anymore.”

Jeongguk steps around him and makes as if to leave, but Jimin shakes his head and holds him back. “I don’t understand. Why are you so convinced I did it? Why would I expose you to the entire world when I know how difficult that is for you?”

The other steps into his personal space again, one arm leaning on the countertop that cuts into the small of Jimin’s back. His body irradiates heat, barely contained anger. “Why would you do that, indeed? Here’s what I know. Your brother is a journalist. Your ex—if he even is really your ex—is one too. You and I have a history and not of the best kind. You want to be a champion and I stood in your way. My agent heard directly from the editor-in-chief of that piece of shit of a tabloid that one of us sold the story to them. I didn’t do it, so who do you think did?”

Jimin’s heart beats madly as if it wants out of his chest. He feels like that as well, wanting to flee, the air stifling around him, his body caged between Jeongguk’s torso and the sink. Why can’t Jeongguk trust him? His breaths come in short spurts as Jimin slowly, but surely, despairs.

“I swear to you, Gguk-ah. I’d never do that to you. If I–if all I wanted was to beat you, why would I be here after I won?”

“You tell me.”

He quivers. I love you. Why do you always treat me with such contempt? “Because I like you.”

Jeongguk’s stare wavers, flitting between Jimin’s eyes. For a moment, he thinks he’s going to cave, but then, “Maybe that’s how you do things. That’s always been your weapon, hasn’t it? Flirting to make me uncomfortable ever since we played together.”

‘I did that because I wanted you to look at me’ is what he wants to say, but the look in Jeongguk’s eyes stops the words in his throat. It’s smoldering, burning him alive.

“How would you like that if I did the same to you in return?”

“What?”

Jeongguk doesn’t elaborate further. He grabs his jaw in a vice-like grip and crashes their mouths together. Jimin can’t call it a kiss. Their lips barely touch, there's biting, it’s animalistic, painful. There’s no finesse, no care or affection—instead, Jimin feels every ounce of anger, of self-righteous revenge, telegraphed by the relentless assault of Jeongguk’s mouth.

How can Jeongguk use something so pure for something so vile? Jimin poured every ounce of affection he felt for him when they kissed, and in return, Jeongguk shows how much he despises him. He mocks their acquired intimacy, uses it to reach Jimin’s core and taint it.

It makes him sick to his stomach. He shoves him away, his blurry sight making him aware of the wetness on his cheeks.

“Stop! Stop projecting!” he protests, stumbling away. He’s trembling as his fight or flight response kicks in, hands turned into fists. “I was nothing but good to you! I never put tennis above you or anything else! You are the one who’s obsessed with it, so much that you can’t see what’s right in front of you! I liked you! Damn, I—” he’s so angry and frustrated he can’t get himself to say what he really feels. “I never lied or tried to manipulate you! If that’s how low you think of me, fine, but don’t peg me with your own faults if this is what you would do in this situation! I won’t try to change your mind. I’m exhausted! I won’t insist any longer.”

And he means it.

Jimin’s outburst seems to have struck something within Jeongguk, who stares wide-eyed at him. His starry eyes look cloudy for once—how fitting. Jimin has to let go of them, for good.

He turns and leaves without saying goodbye, with no intention of ever greeting him again.

September 11th

“Do you have everything you need?“

“Yes,“ Jimin grumbles. His mother interprets his broodiness as nerves instead of the authentic refusal to interact that it is and in a rare occurrence she coos and hugs him, stroking his hair. It takes everything in him not to pull away.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to fail,” she says. Jimin feels her ribcage expand and contract as she sighs deeply. “You have everything it takes to win today and many more times in the future. I raised a champion, didn’t I?”

Sunghee pulls away and takes his face into her hands, a dreamy smile on her lips. Jimin tries to be subtle as he holds her wrists and pulls her palms away. He doesn’t want to be here—in the stadium, in New York, or near his mother. It was only yesterday when he confronted her about what Jeongguk told him, and she had no qualms about admitting to being behind the photos and the article.

“I told you that that boy was no good for you, but did you hear me? Of course not. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“Eomma… I can’t believe you did that. How, why did you think that this was something you should do? Something you could do?”

“I didn’t,” she revealed. “I just had someone look after you.”

“You mean follow me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t expect to find anything useful, but I did. That boy was awfully wound up, don’t you think so? I knew the article would mess with his head.”

Jimin gasped, trying very hard not to lash out at his mother. Did she know that the picture did much more damage than just messing with Jeongguk’s head? “I cannot believe—how could you?”

“The real question is: how would you be here if not for that,” she said, reaching for his shoulder. He flabbergasted into stillness, unable to move in time to avoid contact. “I know you have the skill, but a little help goes a long way, doesn’t it?”

It’s baffling how dismissive Sunghee can be of her own wrong actions. They don’t matter, as long as Jimin raises the trophy in the end.

He’s considered dropping everything and disappearing, letting her wallow in despair as the other player won the title without raising a finger. He stayed, though, for his own sake. Jimin wouldn’t throw away the years he dedicated to getting here, whether he enjoyed the path or not.

Besides, he has a plan.

“I’ll try my best today,” he tells her.

“That’s my boy,” she says, proud.

So Jimin waits for the time of the match to come; he awaits in the hall alongside Casper Ruud, walks through the tunnels when his name is called, greets the umpire, watches the coin flip and grant his adversary the right to start the game by serving, and he does everything in his power to win.

Jimin loses the first set so spectacularly he's mortified. He gathers himself up and wins the second, loses the third, wins the fourth. They're at a tie after playing for four hours. Ruud has changed his shirt two times during breaks so far, and Jimin has taken one bathroom break to do the same.

The last set is also at a tie, six games to six. Jimin breathes deeply, gearing himself up for the tiebreak. This is it, isn't it? This is his goodbye. He's never hated tennis but he’s never loved it either, yet today feels ruefully nostalgic in a way only he is privy to.

"Time," the umpire, Alison Hughes, says.

Jimin walks to the baseline, leaning forward with his racket and waiting for his opponent to serve.

If he's going down, he better do it with a bang.

Jimin regains his breath on the bench by the courtside after the game has ended.

So this is what it feels like to win a Grand Slam.

It’s no small feat, and even if this isn’t his life dream come true, Jimin still feels tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He was calm when Casper’s returning ball hit the net, thus consecrating him as the winner of this year’s US Open. His brain was blank, any thoughts muffled by the deafening roar of the twenty-thousand people watching his victory.

And then now, as he watches the staff assemble the stage and the organizers form a line in the background, the umpires, ball boys and girls standing behind it along with the flags—the unprecedented South Korean one draping over itself in swaying waves—it starts getting to him.

Casper Ruud climbs on the stage first, getting interviewed about the game and thanking his team and the staff for organizing such a magnificent event. He receives the trophy for second place, a tray with the inscription of the logo and name of the tournament. The photographers rush to take pictures of him, the flashes popping like a firework spectacle.

When Jimin’s time comes, he does the same. The Arthur Ashe stadium erupts in cheers as he steps onto the stage. He smiles, waves at the crowd. The interviewer asks him about his journey so far, about the feeling of winning a Grand Slam for the first time, about being the first South Korean to do so.

And then it comes his time to acknowledge the work of the people who helped him conquer this prize. He steels himself for what he’s going to do. Jimin figures that doing this in public will set it in stone. He won’t be able to go back on his word.

Jimin looks at the crowd and it doesn’t take long for him to find his mother’s gaze, alongside his hitter, his physio, his fitness trainer, and his assistant coach.

If he laments his next words, it’s on their behalf, not hers.

“I’d like to thank my opponent for playing exquisite tennis and posing an admirable adversary in this final. I’m sure that the public appreciates your visible respect for tennis, playing at such a high level, and I’m honored to have played this match against you,” he says, waiting for the applause to arise and cease. He makes a show of raising the trophy replica in his hands, “This prize represents the pinnacle of an effort of decades, and it’s even more meaningful considering that it’s my first one, but also my last when I retire from tennis after this tournament.”

Her face falls. Quiet hushes spread over the rows of seats. Jimin gets a kick out of that. 

“Winning this year’s US Open tournament has stricken me with wonder beyond words, and I could not have achieved this without my team. Youngjae, Changmin, Sooyun, and Wongsik, your support has been essential every step of the way. Sunghee, my mother and coach, I wouldn’t be here without you. I have no words to express how I feel right now. Thank you.”

The ceremony proceeds normally—in the way that people cling to what’s safe so they won’t feel out of depth. Jimin’s declaration is unheard of, unexpected, and anti-climatic. He’ll have to think of a press release to explain himself after today.

As soon as the ceremony is over, he knows his mother will come after him, but he evades her by going straight to the car back to the hotel. He knows there are things he should be dealing with following his victory, but he’s sure she will deal with those, even if her second most urgent priority is to tear him a new one for what he said at the awarding ceremony.

Jimin sighs deeply, melting into the seats of the car, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in ages. The weight on his shoulders dissolved the moment he communicated his retirement.

He dials a number he hasn’t contacted in a long time, silently praying the call reaches its receiver well. The line clicks, static whirring from the other side.

“Dad?”

September 12th

Jeongguk is looking at the door of the studio, hands clutching his knees. It leads to the hall outside, which means people can come in through it as well—such is the working principle of doors. Namjoon is talking about losing the final while Taehyung hums and nods, but it sounds muffled to him, whose entire brain power is focused on that door and its wasted revolving potential.

Doors are such an essential part of a room, aren’t they? They might open at any moment, and anyone might leave through it—or come in. Someone could arrive at any moment. Jeongguk really hopes someone arrives soon.

“Jeongguk?”

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn to answer,” Jihyun says. He’s sitting cross-legged beside the camera, conducting the interview from Yoongi’s usual spot.

“Okay,” he nods. “Wait, what was the question?”

Jihyun drops the clipboard on his lap with a huff. “Damn, how did hyung put up with the bunch of you?”

“Hey, I’m doing alright,” Namjoon protests.

“Jeongguk is the only one who’s distracted," Taehyung pokes. "No wonder."

"I'm sorry. Jihyun-ah, could you repeat…?"

"Sure. The last Grand Slam of the year is behind us, but there are still two months until the season ends. How do you feel about your performance so far, considering you started at position thirty-five and are now the seventeenth-best tennis player in the world?"

"Oh, I… The numbers don't reflect the effort. It definitely takes much more than fifty percent more dedication to rise halfway to number one. Still, I hope I can make the best of the next tournaments and win more points until the season ends."

"Thank you…” he trails off, taking notes. “Now—this question is for all of you—this is our last interview. What are your expectations for the impact that this doc should have once it reaches its target audience?"

As expected, Namjoon replies first, saying that he hopes it shows that anyone can seek a career in tennis, even a professional one.

"It's a sport like any other, and there should be no barriers to it, whether economical, racial, or otherwise discriminatory."

Taehyung jokes that the only barrier that should remain is the one of beauty.

“All tennis players need to look good, that’s how we lure the fans in.”

But then he explains that it would be nice if tennis could become more accessible, with more influential tournaments in Asian countries.

“A Korean Grand Slam?” he jokes.

Jeongguk agrees, adding that he hopes people feel inspired by the flashes of real moments lived by them behind the scenes and that it brings more people to the sport.

“Okay, then…” Jihyun peruses the sheet a few times and talks quietly with the assistant producer. “That’s it. I think we have everything we need. It’s a wrap! Thank you!”

He starts clapping and along with him the rest of the crew does the same. Taehyung and Namjoon return the gesture by getting to their feet and bowing, the studio taken over by an atmosphere of celebration that Jeongguk can’t quite take part in. He rises from his armchair and walks to Jihyun, waiting for him to thank his colleagues and shake their hands.

“We’re done? Just like that?”

Jihyun turns to him with a grin, understanding his question wrongly and engulfing him in a hug topped with a shoulder clap. “Yeah! Thank you for being a part of this, bro!”

“No, I mean… Shouldn’t we wait until everyone is here?”

“You mean Jimin hyung.”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, he already did his part earlier with Yoongi and left.”

“He left?” Jeongguk asks. “Left, where?”

“To Korea. Yoongi hyung too.”

Jeongguk feels his stomach roll unpleasantly. His face pales, mind rushing between possible scenarios that could justify that. “So he really quit?”

“He retired, yeah. Mom was furious, but she can’t scream at him when he’s ten kilometers up in the air, can she?”

“He left,” he breathes.

“Good for him, right? Took him long enough.”

“With Yoongi?”

Jihyun stops and really stares at Jeongguk, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, with Yoongi. You know, the one coordinating the documentary? The person who carries the interviews. The little guy—”

“I know who he is, Hyunji-yah.”

The other scowls. “What I meant is that he was already going to leave anyway. Most of what we got here has already been sent back to Korea and the media department is already chopping and arranging it all together in a cutesy little way. As the head editor of the sports section, Yoongi should be there.”

“Before we’re done here?”

“He went early.”

“Oh.”

“After that guy—what’s his name—Hoseok departed with Jimin hyung.”

“Hobi hyung left too?”

“Yeah,” Jihyun snorts, slapping him on the arm. “And Yoongi went after him. You don’t have to be jealous.”

The denial sits at the tip of his tongue, but Jihyun’s stare, so similar to Jimin’s, stops him in his tracks. Yes, he is jealous, there’s no point in lying to himself. The only problem is that he shouldn’t be. Not after their last conversation. Not after what he said and did to Jimin.

Jeongguk started regretting it the moment he saw the hurt in the blond’s misty eyes before he barged out the door and disappeared. The feeling only worsened when he watched the award ceremony after the final, and today he meant to talk to Jimin and ask him if he really meant to quit or if something had happened to make him abandon his career all of a sudden.

He’s more open now, more capable of sitting down to talk and actually listen. It’s a pity that with Jimin’s departure, that conversation won’t happen until at least the end of the season.

“Hey, Jeongguk,” Namjoon calls. “We’re grabbing a beer later, wanna join?”

He’s halfway to the door with Taehyung at his side throwing a nasty glare at him. I can never be on good terms with both of them at the same time, can I?

“Sorry, I don’t drink.”

“You can drink water,” Jihyun says.

“I can do that at home.”

“It’s his birthday, man.”

Jeongguk knows, but he was hoping he could feign ignorance. As it is he sighs, nodding at Namjoon. There’s really no easy way out; he’ll either have to put up with Taehyung’s acidic remarks every three minutes for two hours or with his own bundled thoughts for the same time. He can ask Jin to come along too, so he doesn’t feel so isolated. At least going out will distract him for a while.

Still, Jeongguk texts Hobi to confirm that he really left with Jimin and why, wishing that he arrives well. He also shoots Jimin a message, hoping he can reply once he lands.

Hi… It’s me.

I heard that you’ve retired and that you’re going back to Korea. You’re probably flying right now.

I know that our last conversation didn’t go very well, but…

Could we talk after you settle?

I hope you have a safe flight.

Anyway.

Let me know when you see this.

September 30th

Jimin’s phone pings repeatedly in his pocket, and along with the constant tap of his foot against the wooden floor, they’re the only noises breaking the silent inertia of the room. Hoseok places a comforting hand on his leg and stops the movement.

“Don’t worry, I promise you he’s nice.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?”

“I doubt it. What’s not to like?”

“I don’t know, I,” he does a big intake of air, “I never sang in front of anyone. Professionally,” he amends when the other raises an eyebrow.

“There’s a first time for everything. Besides, this is just dinner. He won’t ask you to sing until the audition.”

“If the dinner goes well.”

“Jimin. It will.”

Once again Hoseok holds his foot in place, his gaze stern but grounding. Jimin releases a breath and nods, and the other rightens himself in front of the low table again. They’re in a private room at a Japanese restaurant for an unofficial business meeting where they should meet a producer that may or may not like Jimin and open a few doors for him.

Half of his nervousness is in case it doesn’t work, and the other half is because he’s not even 100% sure he should be here. What the hell was he thinking? He’s been playing tennis ever since he could walk. Embarking on a new, uncertain career is madness, but somehow Hoseok had the connections and he suggested the idea, and Jimin hadn’t been able to say no.

Having his father, in whose apartment he's staying, receive the news enthusiastically and drag him straight into his listening room with a plush chocolate couch and walls covered in vinyl shelves to listen to classic rock so they could spend the next hours discussing the song he should audition with cemented his decision.

His phone pings thrice more, and this time Hoseok pays attention to it.

“You might wanna turn that off. Bang PD-nim is very easy-going, but he despises interruptions.”

“Okay,” Jimin says, fishing his phone out and unlocking it. He only means to turn the noise off but can’t help seeing that all the notifications come from one single place. He clicks on it and it takes him to the messaging app and the texts that still go unanswered.

I’m leaving for Paris today for the masters

It reminded me of you… we haven’t talked in a while

But I might not compete. Seungri scheduled an appointment for me and said he’d drop out of the team if I didn’t get my shoulder checked. My parents and Seokjin too, they’re all forcing me to go.

So I’m going. Out of pure peer pressure.

You’ve really retired, huh?

I think I’m gonna be alright now that my parents support me. They’re helping me find new sponsors and promised to keep me afloat in the meantime.

I can’t stop thinking about what you might be doing now that you’re no longer playing.

It just occurred to me… you never replied.

If this number is no longer Park Jimin’s, please let me know, and I’ll stop texting.

That's it. Not a word of apology, not a sign that Jeongguk understands the depth of what is wrong with what he did or the dynamic between them. Jimin is hurt and a bit hopeless too. It doesn't seem like Jeongguk is capable of caring about anything besides his career or seeing reality beyond competitive glasses.

Besides, in Jimin's opinion, Jeongguk's behavior can only mean two things: either he hates him and would have no scruple doing what he accused Jimin of, or he doesn't feel that way but can't get past his own insecurities to solve their issues in a constructive manner.

Even if Jimin knows why that is and wants to help, he can't let himself get stuck amidst the debris. Whatever comes out of a relationship that builds on foundations like these is bound to explode; the shrapnel will blast in every direction and wound him fatally one day.

It would destroy him—destroy them, forever.

He has to prioritize himself. He knows that now. Hoseok inches closer and peeks at the screen, but Jimin hides it just in time.

“Who was that?”

Jimin considers this. If he really wants to stick to his convictions and preserve himself, he must prepare to let go of Jeongguk for good.

He blocks the number before he can think too much about it.

“No one.”

Chapter Text

October 13th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

it feels weird to text here again, but… hey

I was sending messages to your old number but you must have changed it once you returned to Korea, right?

The old person blocked my number so I’m talking to you here now

I hope this is okay… Just in case it was really your number and you blocked me on purpose…

I hope not

Hobi hyung said it was okay

It’s good to have him back in my life. He's the second person I told everything to. We talk a lot about what happened and he’s helped me sort some things out

Like telling my parents about the tattoo… and the reason why I got it.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t have much of a choice

It ends up I couldn’t compete after the Austrian tournament because the doc wouldn’t vouch for me, so I’m most likely going back to Korea.

In fact, she said I had to get surgery

Said it’s a miracle I stayed all those years playing without fixing my shoulder first

Well… it wasn’t my dominant arm, I guess that’s why it was mostly okay

For now, though, I told them about the scar. I said it was an accident. Then I showed them the tattoo.

They were mildly horrified

My dad surprisingly accepted it better than my mom, she’s a bit miffed about the “mar on my perfect, virgin skin”

Dad said she’ll come around

I’m happy they know now, but that’s also why I didn’t tell them the rest yet… if they’re shocked by a simple tattoo, what will they say when I tell them…?

Anyway. I'm glad that Jin hyung was successful in stifling the article after all and the news didn't carry out all the way to Korea.

I get to tell my parents once I'm ready. At least I have this.

In the meantime, I talk to Hobi hyung a lot, he’s been so supportive

I’m sure Namjoon would be great too, but we haven’t been able to get really close after all that went down

Besides, while I’m doing nothing he’s always busy, either playing, with Tae, or playing with Tae

And whenever he’s with Tae, it’s complicated

What did you tell him about me?

You know what, never mind

I just… wish I could talk to you. Know what you’re thinking. It’s been over a month.

Happy birthday, by the way.

I miss you. I wish I could congratulate you in person and share those moments with you, too. I feel like you and Hobi are the only ones I can talk to about this.

If you don’t reply, I hope at least that you see this

October 28th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

Hi, it’s me again

You didn’t reply after last time, so I don’t know if you’re getting these, but I hope you are

I mean… I wish you were replying if you’re seeing my messages, but I’ll send them anyway

I feel like I’m telling you those things, and it feels good to do so *sigh*

I’m back in Korea and my parents are trying to help me find sponsors along with Seokjin

I know, it’s weird, but they are doing their best

My dad actually knows a lot of people. Remember when we watched that game like ten years ago…? He judged a dispute between a sales representative and his employer then, and the employee won. They became friends after and he started working at Adidas—that’s how I started playing at first. He got me a spot in the local tennis academy. My dad was happy to get me out of boxing back then, lol.

He’s a sales director now, so he got us directly in touch with the local brand manager (he says the sponsorship manager would only get in our way)

It’s amazing actually. What my dad can do when he’s not trying to convince me my life choices are horrible.

It was right on time, too. Seokjin is extremely busy opening his own tennis agency and looking for investors

I think I told you this when I didn’t know you were you, but… his dad is Sangwook Kim, the headhunting mogul? Jin hyung doesn’t like the way the company operates and, tbh, he found his dad cheating on his mom with one of the models, so…

He’s trying to do his own thing, and he’s succeeding apparently

No time to be my agent, at least not like before

The only problem so far remains my shoulder

It’s hard to find people who will put their money on an athlete they’re not sure will be able to play again. We’re trying to get my doctor to certify that it’s a low-risk surgery and it allows for a full recovery but it’s hard. I’m also looking for a new coach. Hyunsik was touchy about the whole article thing, and… I think I finally accepted that there are some things he’s incapable of (like respect) and that I’m better off with a coach that’s more constructive and can push me in a better direction.

Anyway. Hobi told me you are into music now?

It’s both surprising and not

I can see you singing. I mean, I did see it, that day in the club.

I remember it every now and then… I think a lot about you, Jimin hyung.

I wish we could talk like we did, but then again, we never really talked to each other for long before things fell apart, right?

Hyung also told me he and Yoongi are going serious now

I feel silly about all the jealousy I felt and accusing you of being with him still

I can admit that now. I wish I had believed you when you told me you weren’t together.

A lot of things I’ve done feel like they were stupid or naive in retrospect.

I wish you would talk to me again.

2023

January 16th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

I know you’re not going to reply and it’s been a while, but I really gotta tell you this

I’m about to come out to my parents now and I’m really close to vomiting

I’ve been going to therapy and it’s been good. I think I’ve allowed myself to cry more in the past four months than in all my life.

My therapist is nice, but it’s funny how only she made me realize that I should come out to my parents before the deal is closed and before the surgery even though Hobi hyung has been telling me this all along

He was a bit mad but also relieved, and he said I could move to his place in case it goes bad

Would Yoongi be mad? Does he hate me like Tae does or did you spare me in his case?

Ok, I’m sorry… You probably said nothing much

Just reality is enough for anyone to take your side

It’s hard to come to terms with this, too

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know this

It’s an important moment in my life and you were a great part of what made me realize who I am

Thank you for that

I hope you know how important you were.

[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

IT WENT WELL??

I CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW BUT I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW

FUCK

I

THANK YOU FOR BEING IN MY LIFE.

Whew, this was hard.

January 17th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

I’m a bit embarrassed now

Of course, I meant what I said, I just wish I had prepared it better instead of blurting it out

That doesn’t make it any less true, though

I miss you, Jimin.

January 22nd
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

Happy New Year!

February 3rd
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

I came to tell you that I don’t know how, but I got the sponsorship!

I’m now sponsored by Kimpossible Inc. And Adidas AG. Can you believe it??

It feels like things are looking up, finally.

Ofc hyung’s company name isn’t Kimpossible, that’s just how I call it

He always scolds me but I know he likes to think of himself as invincible

On the topic of names, my username feels stupid right now

How did I ever think of myself as the lord of the tennis dance, good lord…

I tried changing the username, but I can’t. Reddit doesn’t allow it.

I would have to create another account, but I don’t wanna delete this one and lose our convos here

There’s a part of me that hopes you will return my messages too, one day. This little bubble of hope shrinks every day, but I try to keep it alive. I have to talk myself into sending those messages and it’s harder every time. I feel like I’m speaking into a void. Hope that we will meet again is all I have right now.

Even if it’s just for me to apologize for what I’ve done.

I wish I could tell you this face-to-face, so you can see how much I mean it

Also because I miss seeing you.

February 19th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

Hobi hyung and I fought yesterday, kind of, because I kept asking about you

I didn’t expect him to go off on such a silly topic

Maybe I’ve insisted too much… maybe you’ve made it clear you don’t want to have anything to do with me and he feels pressured? And perhaps it was his birthday and he didn’t want to deal with all of that?

I feel awful, I keep screwing up.

I feel like there’s a message I should be getting from all of this, but I’m too blind to see

The more I discuss it with my therapist, the more she tries to tell me that maybe I should stop seeking you

Maybe she’s right but I’ve always been stubborn, right?

I can’t let you go just yet.

It sounds counterintuitive, but if you tell me to back off, I will

I just wish I could see you again and tell you how sorry I am

February 24th
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

I saw a piece of Yoongi hyung’s doc on TV today. You were talking about how hard it is to get used to training four hours a day and then practicing for another four hours, but all I could look at was your hair.

You had brown hair when we met, and last year you were blond. Are you still blond?

Whenever I picture you, I don’t know what to imagine anymore.

Have you been performing? I wish I could see you perform, but I don’t even know what you’ve been doing lately

Hobi hyung won’t tell me, Yoongi won’t either

I figured it was at your request

I guess I could Google it and find out myself, but I already feel like enough of a creep as it is

I wish you would tell me yourself.

March 1st
[LordOfTheTennisDance]:

I finally have a date for my surgery. It’s supposed to happen on March 12th.

I told Yoongi hyung that it might be his first and last birthday I come to

In case I die, you know

He and Jin laughed. Hobi smacked me in the head.

Jihyun, Namjoon, and Tae are coming. Are you coming too?

You know, in case I die. Hehe.

Sorry. That wasn’t funny.

I just would really love to see you.

Jeongguk taps the display of his phone before it fades out, reactivating the screen with the messages he sent to FloatingBabyAndADollarBill about two weeks ago.

I’m going into surgery now.

Wish me good luck.

And then, about an hour and a half later.

I left the room.

My tattoo is going to be all fucked up now, isn’t it?

Next, he skipped to a handful of days ago, when his parents decided that he was getting depressed being away from training and his friends, and that a visit to his grandparents in Busan would do him good.

I'm going to Busan this weekend. Hobi hyung told me you're still there, right?

It would be nice if we could meet…

Or if you could say anything to me, really.

'Stop messaging me, Jeongguk'

Even that would be better than silence.

As expected, they stayed there for three days and nothing happened. He met his grandparents on both sides since his entire family was from Busan, but stayed mostly at home and the few escapades to the convenience store that he took because he wanted to be alone didn't end with him serendipitously running into Jimin at a street corner or between aisles.

Jeongguk props his phone on his leg and strokes it with his right hand like one would a prized possession, one that reminds him of better times. His other arm rests snugly in a sling, gently jostling as his father maneuvers the SUV down a bend in the road leading outside Busan and back to Seoul.

Jeongguk's father loves listening to the radio—more than any kind of music—so this is what they hear in the car. His mother's hand carefully tunes to a station that sounds clear and less like the white noise of Jeongguk's thoughts or the pitter-patter of the drizzle on the windshield at twilight.

He burrows into the seat and lets his mind wander back to the private messages. At this point, he's fairly convinced that he had Jimin's number and he blocked him. Hoseok never confirmed it, but Jeongguk knows.

He never denied it either.

Jimin probably doesn't see his messages on Reddit or ignores them, not blocking him there as well out of pity. A few months ago Jeongguk let himself hope that it was interest, that Jimin wanted to know what was happening to him, to leave the door open in case he wanted to walk back through it.

But six months have gone by, nearly seven.

If Jimin wants to get in touch with him, why hasn't he done that already?

Jeongguk feels like a fool every time he reopens the same chat, whenever something happens in his life and his fingers itch to tell Jimin about it. He knows he will no longer find a friend, a confidant, or whatever they were gearing up to become before he screwed everything up.

Because yes, he can admit to it now: he wanted him and Jimin to be something more. Time has let him come to terms with the fact that he, at the very least, harbors very strong feelings towards Jimin—majorly positive ones. The hatred was never real. Competitiveness, yes, misplaced rivalry, yes, but never true dislike. Never apathy, either.

Jimin has always been someone that Jeongguk couldn't ignore. And in his attempt to do so—because he foolishly believed that making himself vulnerable and trusting was worse than losing Jimin—he pushed him away, perhaps irreversibly.

The first important thing about mistrust is it looks like a shield from the outside, but it’s not held in self-defense as much as it’s pierced into one’s flesh, hurting under the pretense of protection. 

Jimin was right. Jungkook had been projecting, accusing him of what he dreaded he might do if all his fears ever came true—even if those notions weren't rooted in reality.

Jimin’s retirement snapped him out of his self-delusion. Distance made him remember the instances in which Jimin had done things for his sake while getting nothing in return. It was only a matter of time until he came to his senses, because the second thing about not trusting people, is that besides being self-detrimental, it is tiring.

Loneliness and regret always catch up. Now, Jeongguk is sure he wants Jimin. It's just tragic that he is too late to realize that.

When he pays attention to the world around him once more, it's already mostly dark. Jeongguk doesn't know why he was brought back to reality until he listens to a deep voice on the radio as Yoongi talks about the documentary that SBS is exhibiting again. It was a huge success, and as such it keeps being advertised in online platforms and being replayed every few months. With spring coming along, it is just the time of the year for tennis to pick up again.

Jeongguk’s chest tightens at the memory of the doc shootings, eyes stinging. It's so easy to get him near tears these days. He no longer holds himself back.

"Eomma, could you change the station, please?"

"Oh? I thought you liked to hear about it."

"I've seen enough of that for a lifetime, I think."

"Okay," she acquiesces, spinning the button as the player switches between stations. It passes by several playing loud pop, one with politicians screaming at each other, and a couple reporting crimes. His mother clicks her tongue and traces back more carefully, checking if she missed anything in between, tuning into a weak Busan transmission.

Jeongguk asks her to leave it there. This way he can measure how far away they are from his homeland and Jimin, and maybe torture himself a little more as the signal of the station fades into noise.

'Urgent police report: a German tourist was arrested today in Nam-gu under a claim of stalking. Helena Zu Droste Hülshoff is twenty-two years old and acted alone, according to the police. She was trying to enter the backstage of Ovantgarde where she believed her victim, Kim Taehyung, nationally acclaimed tennis player and her ex-boyfriend, would be.

Further investigation revealed that both Kim Taehyung and his playing partner Kim Namjoon have left early for Marrakech for the ATP 250 tournament happening there in a week. Their agent informed that they have been collaborating with the police and that their departure was quiet and preemptive on purpose. The foreigner was wrongfully tipped about his presence at the venue due to his friend's band concert, former tennis player, US Open champion, and current singer, Park Jimin.'

Wait.

"Where did they say that was in?"

"What?" his mother asks.

"The news! Didn't you listen?"

"Avant-garde ," his dad says. "It's in French."

Jeongguk can't believe this is happening. His heart wants to beat out of his chest with excitement, because what if Jimin is still there? What if they can finally talk? Could they catch up and make amends?

And what if they can't? Jimin could slam the metaphorical door on his face like he's been doing—or a real door, in fact.

What a coincidence. Perhaps it is a sign. Even if Jimin barely spares him a glance thus confirming that he doesn't want to see him ever again, Jeongguk has to try.

This will be his last attempt. After this, whatever the answer he gets, he will let go of the doubt plaguing him. For good.

"Appa, I need to be there. Tonight. Can you go back?"

"To Busan?"

"Yes!"

"What for?"

He chokes around the words, still too afraid to say them. His parents were okay with him being gay, but would they be okay with him being interested in real men that he could touch and they could see?

Jeongguk can't say it. Despite the turmoil in his chest and the craving to go after Jimin, he can't make a case for himself. His eyes sting and he blinks profusely, looking away from his father only to be ambushed by his mother's gaze.

She's earnest, ever so understanding. Her head bobs minutely in a nod and her hand reaches between their seats to settle on her husband's knee.

"Just do it, yeobo. We can return tomorrow morning, hm?"

And just like that, Jeongguk is on his way to seeing Jimin again. He slumps against the seats, silently thanking his mother—and Helena, who's arrested now even though her only crime was loving too much. He chuckles.

The night has descended upon Busan by the time they return to Jeongguk's grandparents' home. He leaves as soon as they arrive, wading through Nam-gu with his phone clutched firmly in his hand as if doing that will make him get to his destination faster—to find Jimin more easily.

The first people that Jeongguk queries are the two police officers strolling by the pedestrian area, stretched between the loudly colorful storefronts on both sides trying to grab the passersby's attention.

"Excuse me, sirs. I heard that someone was arrested nearby earlier. Has the venue been closed?”

“You talking about Ovantgarde?”

“Yeah.”

“We just left it,” one of them says.

“We talked to some people after the offender was taken away, and then we liberated it. It’s working just fine.”

“Although,” the first one snorts, “they were mad at the delay.”

“Huh?”

“We were called on the main attraction’s request. He’s the victim’s best friend, so we had to pull him away and ask a few questions.”

Jimin . "Is he still there?”

“Yeah. Park freaking Jimin, eh?”

The second officer crosses his arms, squinting at Jeongguk. “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have I seen you before?”

“Maybe,” he replies, bowing profusely before dashing away. “Thank you for your work, officers!”

He runs to the entrance and descends to the underground space, the concrete walls and the black ceiling closing in on him. Perhaps the unfinished basement look is intentional—the exposed air ducts and cables have to be—but in his current hastiness to find Jimin, Jeongguk feels overwhelmed by the smothering ambiance, worsened by the neon colors of the bar to his left and the several band posters covering up the wall to his right.

He slips past the sea of black square tables, stopping at the free space before the reduced stage under a disco ball that almost grazes his head. This place is so tiny. Jeongguk runs his eyes around the room, over the huge black and white Mad Heaven poster to his side, and the crowd. There’s not a single face he recognizes among the patrons looking at him with disinterest, and he wonders what is the point of having such a small venue if it doesn’t help him find Jimin faster.

Jeongguk is ready to bolt when he hears a noise behind him, turning to see a man shuffling into the stage with a bass in his grip. He leaps to him, waiting a couple of seconds not to sound too obsessed before he asks if he’s with Jimin.

“Yeah. We’re The Wild Foxheads. Why?”

“I—have you. Do you know where Jimin is?”

The guy, who’s much shorter than him and has maroon hair, stops plugging the bass into the amplifier and gives Jeongguk his full attention. “Who are you?”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” he replies. He doesn’t get an introduction in return, the red-headed man sizing him up. Jeongguk squares his shoulders, hoping to look intimidating despite his slung arm. “And you?”

“Ha Sungwoon. I’m sorry, but after what happened earlier, no one’s going near Jimin until it’s showtime.”

Jeongguk wants to swat at him out of pure frustration, but then he realizes—he said Jimin. Not Jiminssi, Jimin hyung, Park—Jimin. He knows him closely, and he’s hindering their encounter.

Why?

“Listen, I know Jimin—”

“I know you do. This is precisely why I’m telling you to wait. You can wait until after the concert like everybody else, can’t you?”

Jeongguk frowns. He can’t be sure that Jimin will stay after the show, he should find him now.

“It would be better if I could talk to him first—”

“That’s a bad, bad idea. If you are who I think you are, you and Jimin haven’t talked in ages, have you? Why do you think your reappearing out of nowhere before our first live performance is going to do him any good? We need to do well today, so please—wait until after the concert if you're gonna ambush him anyway."

Jeongguk is taken aback by that. He wants to ask who Sungwoon thinks he is to assume that, but if he's honest with himself, the man in front of him probably knows more about Jimin's current state of mind than Jeongguk does. He could affect him negatively without meaning to, but he shouldn't wait and see, right?

And that's not to speak on whatever Jimin's relationship with Sungwoon is.

A little voice in Jeongguk's head tells him to leave, says that there's nothing for him here. He looks at the redhead again.

It's been six months, Jeongguk. What if…?

He won't let himself entertain that. He walks back where he came from, arm glued to his torso as he squeezes through the cramped saloon, ducking right to where he sees an exit sign by the bathrooms.

Jeongguk steps out into Busan's spring night, eyes stingy with discomfort, frustration, and a tad of mourning as he realizes that this might be his last chance to clear things up with Jimin, and it's not going very well. The sweatpants and the navy t-shirt he picked to travel in feel ridiculous now. He wants to kick the trash can to his side, but that would probably hurt his Birkenstock-clad feet, so Jeongguk settles for releasing a loud groan and knocking his head back against the wall instead.

"Fuck."

Amidst the pain in his skull, he hears steps—not walking, running—but there’s no one in the alley with him. Jeongguk inches away from the wall, seeing an indent that is an entrance to another building. The sounds come from there, and once he waits for long enough someone walks out of it, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Jimin,” he whispers.

The man in question snaps his head up at that—his copper-orange hair whipping up with the movement and snatching Jeongguk’s gaze irredeemably. Jimin’s eyes raking over his body bring him some satisfaction, even if the tour is brief and the path short, ending on his face without any great changes to his expression.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin greets. “You’re here.”

His name out of Jimin’s lips warms him up, both breaking and amping up his anxiety.

“You’re a singer now.”

“Yeah.”

“You did it. That’s amazing, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“I heard that you’re performing tonight, right?”

“Yes,” he pauses. “Is that why you came?”

Jimin looks nervous, perusing. Jeongguk bites his lip and nods.

“Who told you?”

“No one did. I heard it on the radio. Helena.”

Jimin sighs. “Ah, right. Taehyung’s ex. The stalker.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Are you okay?”

“Trying to be.”

“Yeah. It must be awful to be pounced on like that.”

Jimin shoots him a glare. “Yes, it is. I feel so much for Tae, I don’t know how he put up with this for so long.”

“Um-hm.”

Jeongguk wants to ask why Jimin seems relieved that no one told him where he was. Why he looked accusing just now. He wants to tell him that orange really suits him and he can barely contain his excitement at the sight.

“Were you running just now?”

“What?”

“In that building, were you running? I heard steps.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin smiles, scratching his nape. “I was trying to take the edge off before the show. It’s been a complicated night.”

“I see.”

“It just got trickier.” He laughs this time, stealing a glimpse at Jeongguk and then looking away.

Right. By a twist of fate, he found Jimin when he almost harbored no hopes of doing so anymore. They keep meeting in alleys, don’t they? If theirs becomes a love story, Jeongguk will choose all alleys, in South Korea and elsewhere, as their special place. This way they will pertain to the whole world, wherever they go together.

“I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know where you were and you weren’t getting my messages, so—wait,” he sounds no better than Helena, does he? “I meant, this was all a coincidence, but I’m glad it happened.”

Jimin nods, looking at his feet. He’s wearing heeled boots and tight black pants, looking scrumptious in them, and he tells him so.

“Thanks,” Jimin says, but he doesn’t smile or act in any welcoming way.

Jimin never asked him about his shoulder or showed concern over missing his texts, did he?

“Can we talk?”

He sucks his lips into his mouth, heaves a breath. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Oh. Can I know why?’

“Well, we’re both doing okay, aren’t we? You have a sponsor, your surgery went well, and you’re going to therapy, too. I’m getting closer to my dad again and I’ve just started a new career but it’s more fulfilling than anything I’ve ever done. I like where I am now, who I am with. We were always a bit chaotic, weren’t we? Perhaps it’s better if things stay the way they finally are.”

Jeongguk looks down, feeling his cheeks warming up. “I disagree. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Then why…” he looks up again. Sungwoon’s face flashes in his mind’s eye. “Are you and that guy together?”

“Who?” Jimin frowns.

“Your bandmate.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. He strides away, then paces back and forth in the alley without replying, and every second that goes by makes Jeongguk more nervous. “So?”

He walks a bit more and then stops in front of him, eyes blazing. When he speaks, his tone is biting.

“You know, this is precisely the problem with you. Why do you think you have the right to come here after six months and demand who I’m with? You, who accused me of terrible things and tossed me away like I was poisonous. You hurt me by not trusting me and treating me the way you did, Jeongguk. You only started believing me once I dropped my entire career to do something else, and even then you messaged me for months telling me your little tales but I never saw a single word of apology.

You come all the way to Korea and Busan, and you waltz into my first performance to talk to me with no regard for whether or not I want to see you or how that might affect me. I thought that keeping quiet and not replying to your messages was enough—I could wait for you to come around—but apparently, that isn’t the case, is it? You’re just as hard-headed and distrustful as you’ve always been, and while I understand why that is, I cannot keep submitting myself to that kind of constant scrutiny and suspicion,” he breathes. “It wouldn’t be healthy.”

Jeongguk wants to say something in return but the words are stuck in his throat. What Jimin said pains him, and it’s even worse because he knows he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

Jimin snorts, but he doesn’t look amused. He hugs himself, looking to the side.

“Now you’re sorry, right?” At Jeongguk’s silence, he walks inside the club. “A bit untimely, if you ask me. Please excuse me, I have a show to make.”

It takes a few minutes for Jimin’s departure to sink in. Jeongguk absorbs the meaning behind it later at the bar counter, where he breaks his no-alcohol rule for the second time in a year as he watches Jimin sing.

At this point, it seems to him that Jimin can do anything he puts his mind to. ‘The Wild Redfoxes’ seems fitting as Jimin captures the eyes of the audience with his voice but also with his ginger hair. His gaze roams across the crowd and his body sways in tune with the song; the people lean forward in their chairs like cats looking at something sparkly, and Jeongguk downs shot after shot, trying to mute the shrill breaking of his heart.

Jeongguk stays until the end in the hopes he can try speaking with Jimin again, but by then the standing patrons obstruct the access to the stage. They’re vibing to the guitar and the bass chords, the beat of the drums, and Jimin’s melodic voice, nodding to known and unknown melodies.

Jeongguk wonders which lyrics Jimin had a say in and which ones he didn’t, and he keeps doing that even as the show ends and The Wild Foxheads desert the stage, getting swamped by people. He moves to the front but cannot find a way in. Whenever he seems close to a breakthrough, Sungwoon steps in his way.

"Sorry, pal."

He doesn't get to wait, either. The band excuses themselves out of the pub, waving and bowing to everyone, and Jeongguk's breath quickens as he watches Jimin veer to the exit.

"Jiminssi!" he calls out.

The redhead cranks his head in his direction and smiles tightly. It looks despondent, resigned. Jimin waves goodbye. Jeongguk starts. Perhaps saying goodbye was his intention all along.

"No. No, no," he whispers under his breath, walking backwards. This can't be the last he sees of Jimin. Jeongguk climbs onto the stage, holds the mic stand, and glares at it, intimidated.

It's fascinating, the power of perspective. Just six months ago, he wanted Jimin out of his sight, thought of him as an obstacle to his goals. Now he's recalibrated, and part of what he wants makes no sense without Jimin in his life.

"Park Jimin—whoa," he exclaims at the volume, stepping away from the microphone. Jeongguk approaches it again, more careful, wary of the looks he's getting from some clients and bulkier men who look like security. He searches for an orange mop of hair until he finds it and pins it with his gaze. "Sorry for that. Jiminssi, before you go, there are some things I'd like to say.  First, congratulations on your performance. It was… enrapturing."

Some people nod and acquiesce, and the bouncers seem to deflate, so he continues.

"Secondly, I want to tell you a story, if you’ll let me. It’s about a boy who didn't know how he looked because he lived in a house without mirrors. Every time he tried bringing one home, someone broke it. This boy lived without knowing what his own reflection looked like until he met a friend who took him by the hand to a lake and made him see himself for the first time in the still waters.

The boy was in awe but frightened by what he saw. Now that he’d seen his face, his imagination became trapped by reality. And while knowing what he looked like could be good, the boy wasn't sure he liked it. In fact, he was told several times he shouldn't look at his own reflection—it was vain and wrong, a sin, disgusting—and that the other boy was evil for showing it to him. He believed it when he shouldn't have. The boy fought with his friend, broke his trust, and walked away from him. This, too, was a mistake."

Jeongguk roams his gaze over the pub and is surprised to find most eyes on him. The main recipient of the message is paying attention with his whole body. This is the first time that he has Jimin's full attention in half a year.

He flexes his fingers and takes a deep calming breath. The alcohol evaporated from his system as his nerves settled back in. Jeongguk braces himself for what he has to say next.

"This is, of course, a fake story, but as with every story, it has a bit of who's telling it. And as narcissistic as it sounds, it’s not about mirrors, I assure you,” he chuckles.

Jeongguk is stalling. He’s trying to put it off because as prepared as he thought he was for this, he feels about to faint from the nerves. He flexes his hands and closes them in fists, trying to get a grip on himself.

“I am not straight. I am gay, and I guess this was all a roundabout way to say I'm so far inside the closet that I almost talked myself out of it with this little detour. But that's it, I'm the boy and you're the friend who helped me see myself. Oh my fucking God what did I just do.”

He whispers the last part, but his little breakdown is still audible. Jeongguk has to take some time to steady his breaths and calm his heart, willing the blush away from his cheeks. He does so by staring at his feet, hands on his knees, and then straightening up again.

"This is also a gross simplification of what happened; I did much more than just fight you, and my reflection wasn't all rainbows and lollipops. The mirror has cracks that I'm trying to fix. I'm terribly sorry for not acknowledging how important you are to me, and for not treating you accordingly. You not only made me see myself, but I also see the world in more vivid shades because of you. It would be an honor if you would let me hold your hand and explore the world with you, again."

He doesn't look up right away. In fact, he doesn't raise his head at all, afraid of what he might see. What was he thinking, doing this? He wasn’t.

Jeongguk waits for people to boo or swear at him, but that doesn’t happen. Time sits as still as him, his heart threatening to fail him at any moment. It isn't until he hears a few surprised exclamations and steps approaching, boots clicking on the concrete, that Jeongguk looks up to be met with an armful of Jimin.

He returns the hug in a daze, not believing that it is Jimin he is holding until he sees orange in his peripheral vision. Jeongguk strokes the strands, one hand cradling his head and the other holding his waist.

Jimin's voice sounds muffled against his neck. "I can't believe you just came out for the entire pub."

"I think I did."

"You really are such a show off."

"I'm sorry."

"How are you feeling?"

He assesses himself. "Lighter. Surprisingly happy. I can't believe you're right here. And you're ginger."

Jimin finally pulls away and looks at him from up close. "Do you like it?"

"I love it."

"Are people still looking?"

Jeongguk peeks around Jimin's head, and the few people watching look away. "Not anymore."

"Great."

Jimin leans in and pecks him briefly but longingly. Jeongguk follows his lips when he pulls away, holding him closer, pressing their mouths harder together, trying to make up for the lost time. The other reciprocates it until a whistle from somewhere in the bar makes them remember where they are and pull away from each other.

Jimin looks adorable, cheeks red and lips redder. His gaze traces the path of his palm down Jeongguk's arm until he holds his hand and squeezes it.

"You know we have a lot to work through, right?"

"I know."

“I haven’t forgiven you yet. This isn’t over.”

Jeongguk presses his lips together. He expected as much. “I know.”

“But we should talk about… everything. I think it’s only fair I do to you what I wanted to be done to me.”

He frowns apologetically. “I’m really sorry.”

Jimin nods, hiding a smile. “Your words were okay, but your face is very persuasive.”

“My face?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “You’re so handsome.”

Jimin rakes his eyes over Jeongguk’s face as he says that, and he feels the corners of his lips tug upwards. He zeroes in on his mouth, making an aborted motion forward before sighing and pushing away.

“You’re gorgeous, hyung.”

The other blushes and ignores it, stepping even further away. Jeongguk wants him closer but he’s afraid of pushing his luck.

“There’s really a lot we need to talk about. For starters, are we inviting my mom to our wedding?"

Jeongguk splutters. "What?"

Jimin giggles and a missing piece falls into place. "She kind of hates you, I think."

"It's alright. Love is a strong shield from hatred."

Jimin's eyes snap to his. "Love?"

He gulps, nods. "Love."

The other bites his lip, smiling, swivels around, and starts taking Jeongguk to the bar. "C'mon. I want you to meet my band."

September

“Wait… Is this…? Jeongguk, not again!”

Jeongguk giggles and drags him shamelessly into the small street, Jimin’s hand clutched in his as he ducks between the tall buildings on Broadway. Jimin sighs in relief at the lack of orange barrier blocks and sheetings. They wouldn’t be sneaking into any construction sites this time around.

The younger strolls beside him in silence, going all the way to the next street. He turns right, coming face-to-face with the glassy facade of an Italian restaurant that brings back some memories. Jeongguk tugs at his hand, leading him inside.

“They’re open, now,” Jimin says in wonder.

“Yeah. I thought it would be nice to see what became of it since last year.”

Jimin agrees with a hum, running his eyes over the tasteful amber lights on the mahogany wainscoting, the exposed brick walls, and the round wooden tables. His gaze flitters to the back of the room, where a chest-high counter and a double-swinging door lead to what he knows is the kitchen they’ve been to.

He feels a certain giddy nostalgia that makes him want to finish what they started a year ago in there. Jimin sighs just as they settle into a corner table for two, the waiter greeting them and handing them the menu before walking away.

“Do you like it?”

“A lot. It’s so thoughtful of you, Gguk-ah.”

The other smiles and ducks his head behind the menu. Jimin peruses him, watching him squirm in his seat. “What is it?”

He battles with his words for a few beats. When he speaks, it’s like he reads Jimin’s mind.

“Is it weird that I feel like this is our place, kind of? It’s across the world from home, but this is where we almost kissed for the first time.”

“The second time,” he corrects, referring to the first time they came together when they were younger, “But I agree with you.” Jimin leans forward, speaking in a whisper even though the people here probably don’t understand Korean. “I wanna defile that kitchen .”

2024

September

One year after, Jimin gets the chance to do that.

It’s Jeongguk’s birthday, Autumn, the US Open in full swing. Just like the first time they entered the renovating restaurant. And just like that time, it is empty now, the checkered floors devoid of the scratching tables and chairs that lean stacked against the wall. There’s only one table standing in the middle towards the back of the restaurant, with a centerpiece with a candle emitting a citrusy smell and two chairs.

“What is this?”

“I reserved the restaurant. For us.”

Jimin’s jaw drops, lips forming a small ‘o’. It figures. Jeongguk is famous enough these days that if he wants to go somewhere in peace, he is obligated—and has the means—to reserve an entire restaurant for it. They take their seats, talking through the hors d’oeuvres and the main course, nursing copious amounts of wine.

By the time they finish eating, a waiter approaches Jeongguk, and Jimin watches as they talk quietly before the man goes back inside the kitchen. His boyfriend stands and he follows automatically, eyes searching as he steps closer and takes Jeongguk’s hand.

“Your palms are clammy.”

“Do you fancy me as a good tennis player?”

Jimin snorts. “Of course. The best.”

“Good, because that’s all I’m good at. I’m a bad dancer.”

“What?”

Right on cue, a soft tune starts playing from the discreet in-wall speakers. Jeongguk leads him through the floor, placing both hands on his waist and bringing them together to sway gently side to side.

Jimin goes along with it, equal parts amused and endeared to his boyfriend’s awkward dancing. The posture, the rhythm, the steps—they’re all wrong, but so right. From an outsider’s perspective, they probably look like an elderly couple slow-dancing, nurturing their bond after decades of companionship and shared love. The notion is pleasing; it makes his breath quiver.

He’s immensely grateful that they managed to work out the issues between them. It was difficult at first, with Jeongguk learning to be vulnerable and present his insecurities in a clear, open manner.

They had pushbacks, of course. Moments where Jeongguk let his impulses take over and went just a smidge past Jimin's ability to absorb the impact of his words. On these occasions, it was hard to convince himself that things wouldn't always resort back to how they once were, like all the effort was futile. Jimin was at fault as well for closing off when that happened and making solving the problem all the more complicated.

The merit for coming around was all Jeongguk's. He always did it—luring him with sweet nothings, blanketing him in concern, cradling him in understanding. Showering him with love.

Jeongguk put so much effort into eroding all his edges that Jimin could do nothing but accept it and return it in full. Nourish what they had. Cherish it. It led to them having fewer and fewer strifes. It led them to this moment.

Jeongguk’s arms circle his midriff making their chests touch, Jimin’s head naturally laying on his shoulder. This is nice. It's extremely nice, his body feeling warm as if kissed by the sun, but it's Jeongguk's lips kissing his temple. Jimin pecks the nook of his neck in return, watching goosebumps break on Jeongguk’s skin.

It's calm and tender. Jimin feels safe in Jeongguk's embrace, content. He's not afraid of him disappearing anymore.

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"I think the staff left," Jeongguk says and goes silent for a few moments, still moving.

It's silly, really. He shouldn't be nearly excited as he is, but, "Do you wanna—"

"Sneak into the kitchen? Hell yes."

They race each other to the swinging doors, prodding the wood to peek inside, making sure it's empty. Jimin yelps when Jeongguk barges in and pulls him along, letting go of his hand when he reaches the middle of the kitchen.

He walks around the central island, fingers grazing the light stone. Jimin's gaze strays away from his broad shoulders, taking in the hanging ladles, the pots, the sleek range hood and the appliances side-by-side with the solid masonry oven.

"It looks the same as before, doesn't it?"

"It does. Minus the dust."

Jeongguk exclaims at something and Jimin approaches in time to see him wield the pizza peel like it’s a spear. Jimin collapses against the island with laughter, almost unable to see through the slits of his eyes as the love of his life plays like a child. Jeongguk stops and grins at Jimin, who walks to him, takes the peel from his grip and puts it safely away.

“You don’t wanna drop it like you did the last time, do you?”

“But this isn’t like last time. There are no alarms,” he says, pulling Jimin in. He holds his face and brushes their lips together. Jimin connects them, kissing him deeply and holding him by his narrow waist, squeezing.

He enjoys having him this close, the whole universe fitting between their shared breaths. Jimin’s shaken by Jeongguk’s gesture of bringing them here, in such a special place to them. It gives him a sense of things coming full circle, the outcome satisfactory in a way he had dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

It’s a tad overwhelming, really. Jimin feels caught in the moment, never wanting it to end. The words stop in his throat, afraid that if he says anything, he might break the perfect happiness that it encapsulates.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk frowns, kissing one of his brimming eyes and making a tear roll down his cheek. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just—this is perfect. I love that you did this. I love that you brought us here.”

Jeongguk’s smile is broad. “I knew you would.”

“Why did you?”

“Every couple should have a tradition, a starting point. And as far as those go, I feel really attached to this place. This city, even.”

Jimin nods. “I know. Me too. I love you.”

If possible, his boyfriend’s smile becomes even larger. A moment later it deflates as his eyes bulge out of their sockets, looking at something behind Jimin. “Oh, no.”

The staff are back? Jimin turns around to look, but the only thing behind him is a wall with shelves and a counter, full of utensils and containers. “What is it? Did you see a rat?”

At Jeongguk’s silence, he turns back around, only to gasp at what he sees.

“Gguk, what are you doing?”

His lip quivers in an attempted smile, but he’s nervous. Jeongguk is nervous, and he’s down on one knee in front of him, rummaging through a pocket in his blazer, removing a small velvety box that he opens, and soon he’s saying the words, and Jimin—

“Yes! Oh my God, Jeongguk! Yes, yes!”

His boyfriend—now his fiancé—climbs to his feet and kisses him repeatedly, all over his face. They laugh and smile and kiss, and at some point, Jeongguk slides the ring on his finger. The staff make a return then, clapping. Jimin gasps, feeling his cheeks color as he holds Jeongguk closer and buries his face in his neck. He whispers, so only he can hear.

“I love you.”

Jeongguk strokes his hair, kisses his lobe.

“I love you, too.”

"Jimin-ah, you coming?"

"Yeah, just a second!"

Jeongguk takes one last look around the room, mentally ticking off all the things he needs and certifying himself for the third time that he's got all of them. Anxiety eats at him, making him jittery, the band around his head feeling tight. He pulls it off, clicks his tongue as the long bangs impair his sight, enters the bathroom and wears the headband again.

When he goes after Jimin, the silver-haired man is still where Jeongguk left him, round glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he taps away furiously at his phone on the bed.

"Jimin-ah, we gotta go!"

The other huffs. "Just a second."

He only has eyes for the device. Jeongguk crosses his arms. "What are you doing?"

"It's nothing, really, we can go."

"Then let's go."

"In a minute!" Jimin says, raising one finger.

Jeongguk feels his mood plummeting, so he takes a deep breath and counts down from ten in his head. Ten. Nine. Eight. This is what the therapist taught him, right? Seven. Six. Don't let your temper get the best of you. Five. Four. Three. Analyze the situation objectively. Two. One. What is the big deal if Jimin is distracted by his phone?

So distracted he can't even look at him?

What the hell is Jimin doing on his phone?

Jeongguk is on the bed in two strides, leaning over Jimin to see what he's doing. When the other covers the screen, he frowns and asks why he did it, only for him to keep hiding. Despite trying to keep calm, Jimin's secretiveness irks him and he pounces on the other to grab his phone.

Jimin's delighted laughter reaches his ears, the man as thoroughly amused as Jeongguk is peeved by the entire thing. To make matters worse, he ends up under Jimin, whose legs straddle his waist and pin him to the mattress.

"Why are you so invested in what I'm doing?"

Jeongguk heaves a deep sigh. “We gotta go.”

“We have plenty of time. I would know, you’re always two hours early.”

“I’m being prudent.”

“The stadium is two blocks away, you can calm down—now, why were you jealous of my phone?”

Jeongguk snorts, but he’s not sure Jimin buys it. “I wasn’t jealous of your phone.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Admit it and I’ll show you what I was doing.”

He looks deep into Jimin’s mirthful eyes. This is the walking menace I chose to marry.

“Okay, I was jealous.”

The other seems pleased, climbing out of his lap to plop on the queen-sized bed beside him.

“Are you happy, now?”

“More than,” Jimin replies, tapping away at his phone. He shows the screen to Jeongguk. “Here you go.”

Jeongguk takes it, at last, squinting at what he sees. He’s looking at a post on Reddit by FloatingBabyAndADollarBill featuring a picture of him from his last match, a semi-final where he won 3 sets to 2 against Frances Tiafoe.

r/tennis * posted by u/FloatingBabyAndADollarBill * 45 minutes ago

Who else is excited to see him win this afternoon?

I gotta admit, as a fellow South Korean, I am about to take off from excitement. Jeon Jeongguk has come back from a serious surgery and entered the top 10, and now he’s about to be the youngest South Korean player to win the US Open! Who else is with me!?

Jeongguk gazes at him. “That’s what you were doing? Have you considered I have to get to the stadium for there to be a game?”

“Scroll down!”

[only-shallow] Don’t be so cocky, he has to beat Djoko first

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] he will

[SwissChoco] It’s always nice to see new names, especially ones that challenge the status quo. I’m not missing this match for anything!

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I hope you’re rooting for Jeongguk! He deserves it!

[CommentBooster] You are such a fan, lol

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] How could I not be? Have you seen his form? He’s grown from a good player to a great player

» [YouFilthyAnimal] Yes, I’ve seen his form… I’m definitely watching. For science.

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Nice, but he’s my fiancé.

» [YouFilthyAnimal] *gasp* He was my husband first! How could he??

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] No, I mean it, he’s my fiancé

» [CommentBooster] lol JK’s fans are something else

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] I am his fan but I’m not insane, okay? He’s standing right beside me.

» [nico968] It’s true, I’m the floor.

His previous unease feels silly now. “You do realize you sound crazy, don’t you?”

“They literally have no idea who they’re talking to.”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. “You mean the 2022 US Open winner, Park Jimin?”

His fiancé throws a leg over his waist and grabs his neck, speaking into his ear.

“The former tennis player, indie artist, millionaire, South Korea’s biggest tennis star’s fiancé as of a few days ago—Park Jimin.”

Jeongguk blushes from the attention and the brand of wild possessiveness that Jimin’s behavior conveys. He has to fight his smile to speak. “Would you like them to know that?”

“Everyone will know about it soon enough.”

Jimin just had no idea how accurate that was.

The match is tough; Jeongguk has to fight for every point, every game. Novak Djokovic is a difficult opponent both in experience, skill, and endurance even at thirty-seven, but Jeongguk has learned a lot in two years as well. They play for five sets with three tie-breaks, but Jeongguk serves for the championship and in the end, an ace puts him at the highest place on the podium.

His knees falter and he collapses to the ground, plastering the back of his lilac shirt to the hardcourt floor. Jeongguk's arms open wide, but in the aftermath of the victory he dreamt of for so long, he has no strength left to try and reach out for the cheers of the crowd, to feel the claps curling around his fingers like he thought he would.

Victory, as he anticipated, is tangible, but it isn't packed in the audible evidence of it as he thought. It exists in the years he put into improving his technique, the pain he endured, the hundreds of hours of training, the tests of outside and in-court resilience, and the physical and mental struggles he's been through.

Two years ago, Jeongguk wanted fame and prestige so badly that if he'd got it then, he would have been instantly addicted. He wanted to get high on it, like triumph was a shot of heroin that could propel his spirit into space to soar above the court and rest among the stars—alongside the eternal memory of other players who reached the top like him.

Jeongguk doesn't feel that way anymore. Not in a 'life is so empty once you have it all' way—he wants to keep winning just as much as before—but in a much more sensible fashion.

His limbs feel laden as Jeongguk gets to his feet and walks to the net, greeting his adversary. He realizes that victory doesn't come to him from the noisy bleachers; it burns white and hot from his chest like a supernova about to set him off in a thousand shimmering pieces. It doesn't catapult his consciousness outside himself; it tethers him even more to his limbs and the acrylic beneath his soles.

Grounded, he thinks of how a couple of years ago, half of his pleasure of winning would come from his rival losing.

Now?

Jeongguk runs to the bleachers, eyes skimming over the crowd in search of a silver mop of hair. He jogs to it and holds Jimin’s head in both hands, crushing their lips together in front of hoards of people. His fiancé looks at him with wide eyes, the same that have followed Jeongguk every step of the way, in one form or another. The same ones that have built victory with him and whose loving gaze feels like victory itself to Jeongguk. He kisses him again.

“You are the light of my life.”

Jimin beams. “You did it!"

He did it. La victoire appartient au plus opiniâtre. He was the most persistent, in the end.

Looking at Jimin, it was worth it.

Chapter Text

» [YouFilthyAnimal] Returning after today’s final both to congratulate Jeon Jeongguk on his victory and to state that apparently he has a significant other, but unfortunately that person isn’t me

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Yes, because it’s me

» [YouFilthyAnimal] Are you Park Jimin?

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] Yes

» [YouFilthyAnimal] Right

» [SwissChoco] if you’re Park Jimin I’m Roger Federer

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] HAHAHA you wish

» [LordOfTheTennisDance] Baby, let’s go, we have a plane to catch

» [FloatingBabyAndADollarBill] *sigh* Okay. Bye, folks!

» [YouFilthyAnimal] People are role-playing now? Bye, Jeon Jeongguk, congratulations on your title!

» [LordOfTheTennisDance] Thanks!

» [ShadowLurker] Blink and there’ll be fanfiction about these guys like with Federer and Nadal

» [nico968] if it exists, there is porn of it

» [YouFilthyAnimal] Omg, that sounds gross… Link?