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It’s been one week since Jeongguk published his second book and fifty-two since he published his first, but he still can’t help the sense of wonder that swells up his chest every time he sees his name printed in bold Helvetica along the spine of a book. It’s a bit of a wonder, really, every time he sees his name lined up on bookshelves next to the likes of a thousand, a million other more capable authors.

“It’s in!” Yoongi, his ever-efficient (or lazy) manager, shouts in his ear. The only time the husky voice ever bears the slightest hint of enthusiasm is during the closing of a deal or the finalising of a draft or the publishing of a book. This must be something special. “The New York Times’ review!”

The pen drops from his mouth and lands on the table with a loud clatter. He gets up from bed immediately and almost trips over his own feet as he dashes toward his laptop, thoroughly frazzled and excited and nervous and everything in between.

“What’d they say?” he asks, one hand holding on to the phone and the other well on its way to Google. “Was it good? No, no, was it bad? Did they completely tear me apart? Shit, I bet they did.”

“Calm down,” Yoongi laughs. “Go read it for yourself.”

The page takes forever to load up. But when it does, Jeongguk almost can’t bear to scroll down because, fuck, for all his supposed arrogance and security, he is frighteningly scared and inadequate.

“‘Jeon has created one of the classics of our time, his second novel spinning a web of intrigue and mystery. He writes with aching symbolism and universal themes of hope and love and good versus evil and everything in between, all through the lens of action and intrigue. The story starts with a bang and ends with the close of a curtain. One can almost hear the applause and standing ovation as the story comes to a close,’” he reads out. “‘But there is something missing - heart. It is a roller coaster ride of adventure, but the shallowness of the characters leaves a void in what would otherwise have been a brilliant masterpiece.’”

“Four and a half stars, Jeon!” Yoongi exclaims. “I’ll talk to Seokjin and see if he can get you a raise.”

“Not five,” Jeongguk frowns. His heart drops, his shoulders slump. “Not good enough. My characters suck.”

“There’s two pages worth of praise, and you decide to focus on the two lines of criticism?”

“Yes,” he mutters. He stands up and heads to his bookshelf, frantically searching for his blueprint of the novel. Maybe he can improve it, find out what has gone wrong and fix the characters bit by bit. Maybe then it would be a five-star novel. “Of course.”

Yoongi’s sigh rings in his ears before he hangs up, but he doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. He needs to wallow in self-pity for a while before getting down to fixing everything that is wrong.

But it’s hard, you see. Jeon Jeongguk, the up-and-coming author who moved from the seaside town of Busan to the bustling metropolis of Seoul right after high school to chase his dream, doesn’t deal in the heartbreaking story of a man who lost his wife and kids and house. He deals in thrillers and mysteries. He deals in grand tales of intrigue and action and adventure, tied in with a token side romance or two. Every story is planned down to the very last raise of a character’s eyebrow, and every conclusion is one that leaves no loose ends untied. The villains reap what they sow. It all comes full circle.

A year ago, his first novel was launched, a story that brought the reader from Korea to Japan to China and then, in a sudden turn of events, all the way to Ireland. It was a story with blood and gunshots and more than one character death, but it was exciting and action-packed and made it onto more than a few bestseller lists. All of a sudden, his name was one everyone’s lips.

And so, in a bid to keep relevant whilst arduously toiling away at his next manuscript, he started writing short stories, too. He posts his stories on his website, writing from the perspective of the getaway car at the first and last bank robbery New York ever encounters, the lone man who sits with an umbrella and has both his heart and leg broken by the end of the day. But all his stories, again, come full circle. They end. They end well.

The thing is, he sort of understands why the critics say his stories have no heart. (He’s inclined to think it’s because he doesn’t have one either, and so, how could his stories?) But it’s one thing to understand and another to change.

Jeongguk’s signed under a small but quickly growing publishing company, BTS Press. (He likes to think it stands for Books That Slay, because his certainly do. Except when critics decide to dissect them.) And while he would much prefer to coop up at home and type away at his keyboard, living off the artificial high of caffeine, contractual obligations entail having to actually show up at office. What blasphemy.

Of course, he does have a desk. But it’s smack in the middle of the office, a tiny cubicle that offers no privacy whatsoever. And judging from the copious amounts of porn scattering the desk and the numerous erotica books flung all over the place, whoever shares the same cubicle as him is either an erotica writer or has decided to bring their sex addiction to the workplace. Either way, Jeongguk is not interested in finding out.

“Your desk looks like no one even uses it,” Yoongi comments as he slides into the chair.

“That’s because no one does,” Jeongguk points out. He holds out a can of coffee. “Why’d you even call me here?”

“Thanks,” Yoongi replies. He takes a sip before whipping out a folder, flipping through the pages before finally looking up. “You’re doing a collaboration.”

Wait, what.

“Don’t look at me like that. Put away that deer-in-headlights look, you’re twenty-two,” he chides. “It’s for the company’s five-year anniversary. We’re publishing a series of novels, all collaborations.”

“But I work alone,” Jeongguk says. He wrings his fingers together and frowns. “I don’t write with other people.”

“Well, you have to, or Seokjin will have your ass.”

Jeongguk wants to whine a bit, play the role of the petulant maknae, but he knows it’s no use. Besides, it can’t be that bad, right?

“You’re working with Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi says. He tilts his head toward the cubicle next to theirs, the one that’s covered with so many folders and fliers and magazines that barely an inch of the desk is visible. “That idiot right there.”

As usual, he’s right. It’s worse.

When he asks Yoongi what Kim Taehyung is like, his hyung merely chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. Min Yoongi never pats anyone on the shoulder.

And so, he heads to the trusty Internet for information. Searching up ‘kim taehyung’ gives him a thousand results, but if he adds ‘writer’ to the end, Google suggests ‘kim taehyung writer erotica’, and it certainly narrows down the search by a wide margin.

He finds out that Kim is a new author too, writing under the moniker of ‘V’. (“V? V for viagra? Vagina? Vulva?” he mutters under his breath. He’d thought a male erotica writer would gun for phallic-shaped objects instead.) He entered BTS mere months before Jeongguk did. But he’s already published more than five novels, churning out stories at lightning speed. He started off as a fan fiction writer who wrote dubiously raunchy stories and eventually ventured into original work, self-publishing before being picked up by the publishing house. Jeongguk spends the rest of the day reading Kim’s stories (he’s a fast reader, won trophies for this kind of thing as a wee high school kid) and finds himself getting hot all over, the kind of story you only dare to read on an ebook and not something you discuss with your mother over a bout of Sunday brunch.

They’re interesting enough, though. Although every chapter has at least one or two pages of people ‘getting jiggy with it’, as their clumsy but brilliant editor Namjoon likes to call it, all his stories are paired with murder or drama or mystery. Maybe it’s a college setting and they’re on a journey of self-discovery. Maybe they’re out in the woods and the lights go out and there’s a strange, strange whistling through the trees.

Whatever it is, there is always sex. A lot of it. Dirty, sweaty sex. The kind that deserves Sinatra playing in the background and makes you blush furiously and reach into your pants when you’re alone in bed.

But the endings leave him tearing out his hair in frustration. He feels himself rising and falling with the characters as they’re put through emotional turmoil only to tumble into a pit of despair at the end. The endings are never happy. They’re never good. They are sad and angry and pissed off, but never happy, and that makes Jeongguk upset.

By the time he finishes the last of Kim’s novels, he’s all ready to throw his tablet at the wall because how could someone do this to their characters? Sure, Jeongguk doesn’t care about his characters all that much, but at least he doesn’t make their best friends die and then have them go bankrupt and end up lying in a ditch from a drug overdose. Even if they did have lots of sex, it doesn’t make up for a shitty ending.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s never really seen Kim Taehyung either. He racks his brain for a bit, but all he can conjure up are some random peals of laughter and the vague memory of multi-coloured hair in the periphery during company meetings.

That’s the kind of person who decides to deal every character a bad card. That’s the kind of person Jeongguk has to work with. And he probably isn’t ready, but it’s his job and he will damn well do it if he must.

It’s the largest Kinokuniya in Seoul, a lone building standing in the middle of Itaewon. It sees more than a decent crowd on usual days, but on this particular day, it’s lined to the brim with avid, excitable readers. (Mostly of the female variety, ever since a photo of Jeongguk post-workout, sweaty shirt sticking to skin, conveniently leaked out two weeks after his first novel was published.)

Jeongguk heads in through the back, flanked on either side by Yoongi and Seokjin, the company’s boss and resident mother. He feels like shit today, having stayed up all night brainstorming ideas on the collaboration novel; being given free reign is much more terrifying than it sounds. The beanie on his head is there primarily to hide the fact that no, he did not bother brushing his hair this morning, and he hopes the rectangular frames on his face will mask the dead look on his face.

“You look like shit,” Yoongi commented, when they’d met at the back of the building. “Go put on some concealer.”

“I feel like shit,” he croaks.

But he has readers - actual fans, and he honestly still cannot believe that he does - and so he knows it is best to put on a calm, polite and happy veneer for everyone.

As he walks to the table, excited whispers begin to erupt, and there’s a loud shout of “Jeongguk-oppa!” or two, even though he’s likely younger than three-quarters of the readers here. He gives everyone a polite smile and is temporarily blinded by the camera flash before being guided to his seat.

“Thank you everyone for coming here today,” Seokjin announces. His voice is gentle but commanding, a tone that demands attention in the politest of ways. He has a way of getting people to listen to him, and it’s one of the reasons why people actually do. The company is growing but not yet big enough to hire emcees. “Jeon’s new novel is out and BTS Press is immensely thankful for all the support you have shown not just Jeon, but all of our authors. We are commemorating our first anniversary this year with a series of collaborative novels and hope that you will continue to lend us your support!”

A smatter of polite applause follows before the book signing starts. Jeongguk smiles at each person that approaches him, musters one even though he would really rather much be rolling around in bed, and even manages to make polite conversation. A year ago, the cries of “I love you oppa!” and “You’re so talented, I read your book every night before I go to sleep!” would have taken him aback, but he has gotten used to them. And even if he still has trouble trying to embrace the title of Handsome Young Talented Author, he does it anyway.

To his surprise, though, the next person is a guy. It’s not often that he sees guys at his book signings, which is a pity, because he likes to think that his stories target, well, everyone.

He is kind of lanky, and even though there is a snapback on his head and an obnoxiously large pair of sunglasses on his face, Jeongguk can tell that he is handsome. A straight nose, perhaps a bit large, but strong, and tan skin, the smooth colour of sand.

But when he takes off his sunglasses and reaffirms the hypothesis that yes, he is kind of maybe really very attractive, everyone goes wild. Someone screams. Whispers erupt all over and people start pointing. Jeongguk swears he hears someone actually whimper out loud. Sure, he’s good-looking, but surely not to the point of swooning?

“V-OPPA!” a deranged voice screeches, and the owner of said voice has to be forcibly carried away by two staff members.

What the fuck?

“Hello, Jeon Jeongguk-ssi,” the guy greets, the husky baritone rolling over him in waves. He flashes a smile that’s wide and large and rectangular. He slides a copy of Jeongguk’s novel over the table. “I love your books!”

“Thank you,” he replies. It’s polite, but anyone with half a brain can discern the undercurrent of annoyance. He is already half-dead and really wants to go home, and yet, here comes some random dude - maybe an idol? He’s good-looking enough to be one, though an idol would probably warrant a lot more space-invading and groping - who makes the entire session even more loud and noisy and, shit, Jeongguk just wants some peace and quiet. “Who do I address this to?”

If he catches the note of irritation, though, he doesn’t let on.

“To Kim Taehyung, my new best friend,” he says. Then he honest-to-god winks at Jeongguk and sticks out his tongue, runs it over a disgustingly full lower lip.

Jeongguk frowns but signs the book anyway, addressing it to his apparent new best friend. So this is the elusive V, who writes melodrama and raunchy sex and sad endings. Figures he would be a bit of an oddball, showing up to another author’s book signing, of all things, and causing a (minor) uproar. What a riot.

Taehyung smiles at him again, and he returns it with a tight smile of his own. Right after he turns and begins walking away, he whips his head back.

“Can’t wait to work with you, Jeongguk!” he shouts.

People start talking again, and everyone else who follows after asks him something or another about his relationship with Kim Taehyung, to which he can only smile half-heartedly. He swears he can even see Seokjin and Yoongi laughing at his expense.

“What the fuck?” he asks Yoongi, once the book signing is over and they’re in the car, on the way back to the office. “Why did Kim Taehyung show up?”

“You’d have to ask him yourself,” Yoongi replies.

“Maybe I will.”

“This is Kim Taehyung and his manager, Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi says, pointing at the two. Both have ridiculously wide grins on their faces and Jeongguk can’t help but feel fate matched manager and author together. It’s the only reason why he’d ended up with Yoongi. “They’re both idiots.”

“Everyone’s an idiot to you,” Hoseok replies, laughing.

They go over basic details: deadlines (first draft in three months, final draft in six), plot (nothing too explicit - at which Taehyung pouts) and what each other’s writing styles are like.

“I’ve definitely read Jeongguk’s stuff,” Taehyung says, smirking. Why is he smirking? Are exciting thriller mystery novels worth smirking about? He looks at Jeongguk. “What about you?”

“I definitely have too,” he deadpans. Then he realises that everyone else is snickering because, shit, Taehyung writes erotica novels that fare better digitally than physically, the kind of novel you do not want to be reading in public. “I mean, for research.”

“For research,” he echoes. But his lips are still quirked and Jeongguk really wants to wipe that smirk off his face.

“Anyway, we’ll leave you guys to discuss whatever you need to for the rest of the day,” Hoseok says. “We know you’re both not working on anything right now so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to come up with good ideas. See this as a chance for you guys to grow as authors.”

“Yeah, just don’t die or get arrested,” Yoongi chimes in as they leave, lifting an arm up in a dismissive wave.

Jeongguk narrows his eyes at Taehyung.

“So.”

“So.”

He sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. Taehyung’s eyes dart down for a millisecond before he mimics the movement, folding his own arms too. When Jeongguk crosses his legs, Taehyung does the same.

“What ideas do you have?” Jeongguk asks.

Taehyung looks up and his eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Jeongguk can see the gears in his head turning, neurons firing here and there, ready to spit out whatever crazy ideas he has.

Instead, he gets up and fiddles around on the desk for a while before coming up with a piece of paper and a pen, and begins drawing. Circles, lines, scribbles - two minutes later, a mind map appears, but everything is disconnected, a series of random and unrelated ideas floating about on the page.

“I was thinking - steampunk romance with cyborgs and androids and hybrids!” he exclaims, pointing to the bubble that says ‘GENRE’. “Our main characters can go on a whirlwind of a ride, travelling across the seven seas on a sailboat in an age of airplanes and giant blimps, meeting friends and foes along the way. And one of them ends up almost dying, the other tries to save them, but ends up getting killed instead. Cue angst and waterworks.”

“Romance?” Jeongguk asks. "Dying?"

“And having sex,” he smiles brightly, like he hadn’t just suggested Jeon Jeongguk, thriller novelist-extraordinaire, write a sex scene.

He frowns. “Anything else?”

Taehyung sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, the gears in his head turning once again.

“What about instead of a dystopian novel, we write an utopian one-“

“Like that hasn’t been done before,” Jeongguk mutters.

“-and it’s from the point of view of the utopian overlords. And the society is one where everyone is drugged and happy but that’s good, you know, since they’re all happy anyway. So free will is a small price to pay. But someone rises up and goes against the status quo and releases people from chemically-induced bliss and our main characters, Mr. Overlord and Right-Hand Man, get to see everything they’ve built fall apart.”

That is… actually impressive. Utopian stories have rarely been told from the perspective of someone who built it, and the premise is intriguing enough, sounds like the start of a grandiose tale of humanity. And Jeongguk loves grandiose tales of humanity.

“And as they watch humanity crumble to dust, they comfort each other with sex. And then they die.”

Jeongguk sighs.

“What?” Taehyung asks, though he does not look the least bit offended. “I need to keep my reputation as an erotica writer too.”

“Let’s go step-by-step,” Jeongguk suggests. He flips the piece of paper over and makes a bulleted list, labelling ‘GENRE’, ‘CHARACTERS’, ‘PLOT’ and ‘OUTLINE’. “We can start with the genre. Let’s stick to something simple.”

“Fairytale!” Taehyung shouts, eyes sparkling. He leans forward in his chair and almost topples over. “I love fairytales.”

Jeongguk scribbles it down. “Any other ideas? We can also add ‘utopia’ down there.”

“Friendship, mystery, utopia, romance.” Taehyung says, marking off each point with the fold of a finger. “We don’t need to stick to one genre, you know. Writing is about experimentation.”

“Writing is about drawing from the tried and true, but okay,” Jeongguk says. He writes all of that down. “Thriller? Action? Adventure?”

By the time an hour has passed, they’ve barely made progress. Somehow or another, a discussion over genres devolved into an argument about the merits of romance inside a plot-driven story, with Jeongguk fervently arguing for the relevance and importance of the plot, and Taehyung fighting for the right of the characters to develop emotionally and form relationships. It’s a little strange. Jeongguk usually avoids arguments like the plague, but he somehow finds himself leaning forward, hands gesturing wildly as he tries to make Taehyung see reason.

When his alarm for four forty-seven pm rings (he takes many afternoon naps, and usually forgets to turn his alarms off), he knows it is high time they stop and take a breather.

“Let’s get food,” Taehyung suggests. Jeongguk’s stomach growls at that and the other laughs. “There’s this place that has fifty percent off all sushi on Tuesday nights.”

“Taehyung-ssi,” Jeongguk starts.

“Call me hyung,” he replies, smiling. “I’m older than you.”

“No, you’re not,” Jeongguk insists. There is no way this flower boy with his large eyes and rectangular smile is older than him, not when he looks like a fairy. “You look way younger than me."

“Yes, I am. I don’t look young,” Taehyung counters. His eyes dart across Jeongguk’s face. “You just look older.”

“I don’t look old!” he whines. He wants to stomp his foot and cement his role as the resident bratty maknae, insist that his razor-sharp jawline and broad shoulders do not in any way make him look old. But that would just give Taehyung more blackmail material and Jeongguk is way past the patience for anything of that sort. And so, he clears his throat and speaks again, in a lower voice this time. Lower and calmer. Mature. Well-spoken. “I mean. I look my age.”

“I’d say mature, but you would have taken that the wrong way too,” Taehyung says. Grudgingly, Jeongguk silently admits that he’s right. “I’m twenty-four.”

At this, Jeongguk perks up. “Since you’re the hyung, you’re paying, right?”

Taehyung scrunches his nose at Jeongguk, who’s already walking up ahead.

“Bratty maknae.”

The sushi place turns out to have two-dollar sake shots, and they end up with more alcohol in their system than they know what to do with. Jeongguk laughs when he realises that he has already forgotten what raw tuna tastes like, as they stumble out of the restaurant, choosing not to notice the judging looks that everyone’s shooting their way. How easy it is to forget when you’re drunk.

He stumbles. Taehyung’s arms, long and lithe and clad in some soft material that he really needs to ask about, slung around his shoulder are the only reason why he doesn’t fall.

“Oops!” he giggles. There’s something bright, red and blinking. He squints, and his face brightens. “Hey, let’s get wine!”

“Wine?” Taehyung asks. He’s tipsy, too, but his voice is stable.

“Yep, wine. Beer is fattening.”

The cashier eyes them suspiciously as they enter, coats already halfway falling off their shoulders, steps wobbly and unmeasured over the threshold. It’s past nine and barely anyone comes to this part of town on a weekday night.

“There’s so many,” Taehyung whispers, caressing the bottles. “Bor-dex?”

“Bordeaux,” Jeongguk corrects, rolling his tongue over the ‘r’. French is funny. Their ‘r’s sound like someone is throwing up. He gently pulls Taehyung’s hands away from the glass bottles. “Don’t break anything. I’m broke.”

“Break, broke,” Taehyung laughs. “Punny.”

Jeongguk picks up a glass of red wine, the cheap kind that is definitely not vintage. “Let’s get this one.”

“Why red wine? Why not vodka?”

He holds the bottle up to the light with both hands and tries to peer into the bottle. “Do you think it’s corked?”

“Hey, listen to me!” Taehyung pouts. He shoves Jeongguk, and the bottle flies into the air for a moment before he very deftly catches it with unsteady hands. Taehyung is rewarded with a glare. “Oops, sorry.”

Jeongguk sticks out his tongue and marches over to the cashier.

“Excuse me, do you have a bottle opener?” he asks. Polite and well-mannered, but stinking of alcohol. This should turn out just fine. Just for good measure, he adds, “Please?”

The cashier nods, expression deadpan and utterly done. After they’ve paid, the cashier opens up the top just to reveal that no, the bottle is not corked.

“Oops, sorry,” Jeongguk says, slightly sheepish. The cashier doesn’t care. “Thank you.”

They hightail out of there in record time. The night is a little chilly but they both have coats on - coats which they should really put on properly - and there are few cars out, at least in this part of town. Hongdae and Itaewon and Gangnam are perpetually crowded, but Seoul does have pockets of peace and quiet, believe it or not, and this area is one of them.

Luckily for them, there’s a playground nearby which Taehyung immediately dashes toward. He parks himself on one of the swings and carefully brings his legs up into a cross-legged position, wobbling slightly with the wind. It looks like he’s about to fall.

“Whose great idea was it to drink red wine outdoors on a weekday night?” Jeongguk hisses as he pulls Taehyung off the swing. No way is he about to let this man-child anywhere near a potentially dangerous contraption.

“Yours, actually,” Taehyung quips. He walks toward the slide and sits at the base, holds an expectant hand out. “Wine, please.”

He hands Taehyung the bottle and sits on the sand, watches as the elder takes a large swig. Sand is already starting to sneak into his shoes and it feels a little (very) gross.

“So, what are we doing about the novel?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung hands over the bottle and he takes a small sip. Wine is for savouring in small amounts, after all, even if you are drinking it from a bottle. “How are we going to start?”

“We have months, don’t worry so much,” Taehyung says. “It’s just an anniversary thing, anyway. We’ll pull something out of our asses somehow.”

“It’s still a novel that’s going to be published. It has to be good.”

“Not a good idea to talk about this while drunk then, yeah?”

“We’re not drunk,” he insists. “Just tipsy.”

Taehyung takes the bottle away, sets it aside and just looks at him. It’s pretty dark out and Jeongguk can’t see anything clearly, not when the street lamps are dim as hell, but he swears he can see the glint of the moonlight on his cheekbones. The way his eyes pierce into his head, like trying to pry his mind apart and put it back together.

He finally speaks after a few long, long seconds.

“Why did you start writing, Jeonggukkie?”

“Don’t call me Jeonggukkie.” He pulls a face. “I don’t know. I was just always good at it, I guess. I read a lot and wrote a lot and won prizes, and I started liking it. A lot. Yoongi-hyung found some of my work when I lost my notebook, and that was that.”

“I was expecting a heart wrenching sob story of a small town boy chasing after his dreams in Seoul,” Taehyung sighs. “That was boring.”

“Well, sorry for not living up to your expectations.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “What’s your story then?”

“I wrote fanfiction at first. Slash, het, pwp, whatever. I was pretty good,” Taehyung says. “Then I wrote some original works - basically the same sort of thing, but with my own characters and universe - and self-published on Lulu and Amazon. Namjoon found me, said he loved my stuff, and wanted to sign me on to the company.”

“Namjoon found your stuff?” Jeongguk splutters.

He laughs. “He claimed it was for research purposes, but we all know the real reason.”

“Wait, what’s ‘pwp’?”

Taehyung winks. “Porn without plot.”

"What are you doing here?"

Jeongguk's standing at his front door, half asleep, one hand propping the door open and the other running through his hair, still dressed in his tank top and sweats and looking the part of a frazzled, struggling writer. It doesn't help that he hasn't brushed his teeth.

"It's six in the evening, Jeon Jeongguk," the intruder says, and lets himself into the house. He looks at Jeongguk and wrinkles his nose. "You smell. Go change, we're going out."

Park Jimin is the office intern who does almost everything, running errands and getting coffee and picking up staple bullets from the floor. Somehow or another, he's taken a penchant to the young writer even though he only pops by the office once or twice a week for courtesy's sake; Jeongguk reciprocates by steadfastly refusing his demands to be treated like a hyung ("I've eaten 2500 more bowls of rice than you!").

"Leave me alone," Jeongguk groans. He walks back to the living area and falls backward onto the couch, closes his eyes as he tries to go back to sleep. "Why are we going out?"

"Are you a starving writer, or a writer with two published books and a glowing review from The New York Times?"

"Both," he mumbles.

In the end, after Jimin tries to suffocate him with a pillow and a war cry, he gives in and trudges off to his room to change into a sweater and ripped skinny jeans.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Jimin smiles, eyes curving up into little half-moons.

They end up in Hongdae, a place that doesn't sleep even on a Thursday night when the temperature has begun to plummet. Jeongguk follows Jimin into the basement of a building with caution, one of those hole-in-the-wall places which resembles a gang hideout. It's all people and dim lights and music, strong beats and synthesisers and deep bass, though people aren't so much dancing as they are milling about.

"Yoongi-hyung!" Jimin shouts out.

Jeongguk whips his head away from the deejay who's headbanging so hard his neck might snap, and finds that Yoongi, of all people, is tucked away in a corner beside the makeshift stage. His manager's decked out in a leather jacket and white shirt and jeans, nothing like the drab hoodies he usually throws on before glaring and declaring that is what he would be wearing for a company meeting.

"Hyung, what are you doing here?" Jeongguk asks.

"What are you doing here?" Yoongi shoots back. He looks at Jimin pointedly. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Well, yes," Jimin says sheepishly. He gives a little laugh and his cheeks go pink. "Are there rest here?"

"Jiminnie-babo!" a voice calls out.

And in floods in the rest of the gang, from Namjoon to Seokjin to Taehyung, all decked out in some sort of variation of pants and a decent top (except for Taehyung, who actually has holes in his shirt). He greets them in turn before crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

"What is going on?" He does not ask so much as he demands. "Why did Jimin drag me here?"

"We figured you're finally old enough," Taehyung says.

"I'm twenty-two, I'm old enough for everything."

"Yeah, twenty-two, still a baby," Taehyung replies, reaching a hand out to pinch at Jeongguk's cheeks. He pulls back, offended. Excuse him, he's lost all the baby fat ever since he reached the ripe old age of nineteen, thank you very much. Taehyung simply laughs. "You'll see."

"Yoongi-hyung, Namjoon, we're up," someone says. Hoseok pokes out from behind the stage with a towel on his head and a snapback trapping it in place. He sees Jeongguk, eyes lighting up. "Hi Jeongguk!"

"Hi Hoseok-hyung," he replies, a little hesitantly.

"You can call me Hobi-hyung here."

Jeongguk is about to ask what on earth that even means, but the three of them are suddenly rushing backstage and disappear from sight.

"Just watch," Seokjin says.

He feels a large hand press against his shoulder, pushing him nearer the stage. They squeeze together and it's only then he notices the crowd has started to gather at the front, bodies pressed up together, and it really does feel a little uncomfortable to have Seokjin's arm digging into his ribs and Jimin's elbow in his side and Taehyung's back pressed against his chest. But soon, the lights are dimmed even further and the club goes silent.

A spotlight flashes on stage. A man walks out, a little lanky but wearing an obnoxiously large fur coat and a bandana.

"Welcome to Club DNH," he announces. "I'm sure you all already know me, I'm Zico. Usually, I'd be the one performing for you, but tonight's a little special." The audience cheers. "Alright, alright. I won't keep you waiting. Performing together for the first time, we have Suga, Rap Monster and J-Hope!"

He walks off stage and three figures come jogging out, Yoongi and Namjoon and Hoseok, microphones in one hand and a bottle of water in another. Jeongguk really needs to interrogate them about this supposed double life they've been living right under his nose.

And when the music starts, it's as if an electric shock's passed through his whole body. They're actually rapping. His hyungs are rappers, one of those people who stand on stage and spit words and wax lyrical - a little like he does, except with a lot more charisma. Not only that, they're kind of fucking good, if the crowd's cheers are anything to judge by. The backing tracks are, to put it succinctly, sick, and he finds himself moving to the music even if he can hardly do so, what with everyone else trying to do the same.

He doesn't know how many songs have passed, but he does know that the whole time, Taehyung has been shouting out the lyrics as if he memorised every last line. (He probably did.) Beads of sweat are starting to form on his forehead though, and it does feel a lot hotter all of a sudden; even the three rappers are drinking in between verses.

"Haterdeureun manchi, but no problem, I kill, nal mutgi wihae nae keorieoeda padaeneun sapjil," Taehyung shouts. "But I don’t care, you can’t control my swit, bulsineul chamanaen ninjaga dwae dasi dorawatji."

The song ends, they say some last words and walk off the stage. When the crowd has dispersed, Jeongguk breathes a sigh of relief but also feels the shot of adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

"Remind me never to go a noraebang with you," Jeongguk says, looking at Taehyung, who is still mouthing the lyrics. If he's already this enthusiastic sober, Jeongguk doesn't want to think about what he would be like drunk.

They find Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok - or, should he say, Suga, Rap Monster and J-Hope - near the bar, gulping down water. Sweat gleams on their foreheads, but their movements are excited and relaxed all at once, the same sort of feeling Jeongguk gets whenever he returns from a satisfying run or a great dance practice. Their shirts are even starting to stick to skin.

"How'd you like it?" Namjoon asks.

"It was good," he replies.

"Just good?" Hoseok prompts, just as Yoongi snaps teasingly, "Ungrateful maknae."

"It was very good, but sort of overshadowed by the fact that you guys are lying liars who lie," he says, pursing his lips and crossing his arms. Frankly, he's miffed. "We've known each other for a year."

"Not lying, simply not telling the truth," Yoongi says, shrugging. "I just know how to live in this harsh world."

He sticks his tongue out but ends up giving in and laughing anyway, and he vaguely hears someone order a drink for him and the tinkling sound of baritone laughter ringing in his ear. They end up almost falling over each other at the bar in their haste to get out, minds slightly hazy from adrenaline and alcohol.

"Alright, we'll split up here," Seokjin says. Ever the resident mother, even when they're not in the office. He flings one of Namjoon's arms over his shoulders and props up the dazed rapper, who wears a dopey smile on his face. "Hoseok's already in the cab, Yoongi and Jimin will go together; Jeongguk, are you alright with bringing Taehyung?"

"Wait, what?" Jeongguk asks. Someone called his name, he's sure of it. He's a little out of it though. Those lights seem really interesting, maybe he should climb up the building and see what they're made of. "Sorry, didn't hear you, hyung."

"I asked if you could bring Taehyung back," he repeats slowly, enunciating each word. The patience is almost scary and Jeongguk can't tell if he is being genuinely nice or if there is sarcasm and a threat of forcing him to come into the office every day underpinning his words. "Since you live near each other."

"What's his address?"

Seokjin looks at him quizzically. "You live in the same building, Jeongguk."

"What?" he yelps. "No way, we don't. I would have seen him."

"He's only been there for two weeks," Seokjin explains. "Besides, you barely crawl out of your rabbit hole unless it's for a morning run."

Of course Seokjin would know; they've known each other ever since Jeongguk was sixteen and working part-time at a cafe, reporting to then twenty-one year old Kim Seokjin.

They split up there, Seokjin hauling Namjoon into his car and Yoongi coaxing a continuously laughing Jimin into a cab. Taehyung is fast asleep and Jeongguk doesn't quite know how to carry him, and so he ends up simply grabbing him by the waist and pressing him into his side. Flagging down a cab has never taken so long.

But when they get back, he realises he has no idea which unit Taehyung stays in. He groans. He stares at his front door, contemplating his life choices, all of which seem pretty shitty right now.

There's no other choice, really. He flings Taehyung onto his bed. Taehyung's shirt hitches up and he sees that sliver of stomach; he pulls a blanket over him, out of care and concern, of course. Wearily, he trudges to his bedroom and changes into something or another, digging into his closet blindly, not even bothered to change. It's alright. He will just marinate in his own sweat for one night. He's done this countless times anyway, back in the day when he'd still dance for ten, twelve hours a day and come home sopping wet.

And so he collapses onto the couch, a little overwhelmed and very much tired, and falls asleep to thoughts of husky voices and bright lights and sweaty bodies.

Jeongguk wakes up to someone trying to suffocate with him a pillow, the second time in a span of twenty-four hours. There are a few muffled cries before he clambers up from the couch, trying to get rid of the taste of dry fabric, and he throws the pillow right back at his assailant, a certain ungrateful Kim Taehyung.

"What the fuck?" he exclaims. Fuck this, he's groggy and wants to go back to sleep. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" Taehyung glares at him. "Why am I in your house? Did you steal my innocence? Did you put your schlong in my dong?"

"Did I what?" he splutters. "No, I didn't do anything, what the hell! We weren't even sleeping on the same bed. And I'm sure your innocence has long since been stolen."

"True, but that's not the point." Taehyung pouts. "Still, you could've coaxed me. Or something."

"Or something," he mocks. "I dragged your drunk, sleepy ass back here after you got shit-pissed at the club."

Taehyung sits down on the edge of the couch and props his arms up on his thighs, resting his face in his palms. He tilts his head to a side and stares at Jeongguk, and it makes him feel all sorts of uncomfortable, and he really doesn't want to deal with uncomfortable when he doesn't even know what time of the day it is.

"We live in the same apartment," Taehyung says.

"Apparently," he replies hesitantly.

"You don't believe me," Taehyung chides. "Anyway, I stay on the twelfth floor. Unit two."

"That's right below mine."

"Maybe I should just dig a hole and go home," Taehyung chuckles. But it's half-hearted, Jeongguk can tell, from the way the laugh doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry about earlier. I was just kind of, uh, panicking."

Jeongguk sighs. "It's alright." A second passes, then another. "Do you need anything? Before you go, I mean."

"No, it's fine." Taehyung smiles. "Thanks, Jeongguk. I'll see you tomorrow or something!"

As he holds the door open for Taehyung, he swears he sees Taehyung's eyes dart to his arms and darken before flitting back to the open hallway. He finds his own eyes straying to the slip of skin betrayed by that god-awful hole in Taehyung's shirt, the hole that must have somehow gotten bigger over the course of the night because there is no way his breath will hitch that much from just a strip of smooth skin.

"Or something," he whispers to himself, as he heads back to bed and promises to get a good night's sleep, right before he checks the clock and realises that he has ten minutes to get to a meeting.

Kim Taehyung comes barging in through the door as he's midway through a Wikipedia article on the fjords of Norway. (He regrets agreeing to unlock his door so that Taehyung can look for him whenever, because apparently strokes of genius strike at strange times.)

"I have an idea," Taehyung breathes. "An idea!"

"That's great," Jeongguk deadpans. He continues scrolling. The fjords are definitely beautiful and he'd love to go there one day, but for now they serve as fodder for the setting. A fantasy, maybe? That would be cool, he's never tried a fantasy before. "Tell me more."

"Supernatural things, self-discovery, adventure and camping." Taehyung splays himself across the couch before propping himself up on his elbows, turning toward Jeongguk. "Fantasy setting, Lord of the Rings-esque mixed in with a bit of Ghibli magic."

This gets Jeongguk's interest. "Yokai folklore crossed with hobbits?"

"Something like that," he smirks.

Jeongguk shows him the pictures of the fjords, and it all goes downhill (or uphill) from there.

Over the next hour, they exchange more words than they have in the past two weeks, teetering back and forth between settings and characters and themes. It's a bit like a sparring match. Someone says one thing and the other grabs at it and twists it till it's almost unrecognisable, only to introduce something completely different and have it all twisted up again. Their ideas are all over the place but Jeongguk scribbles them down almost religiously and furiously and by the time he realises that more than a half hour has passed, he has three pages completely filled.

He sits back and breathes out. "That was... productive."

"Productive?" Taehyung scoffs. "That was awesome. We should brainstorm together more often." He peers over, chin resting on Jeongguk's shoulder. "What've we got?"

"Fantasy, our protagonists live in a small town in their respective hobbit holes and travel out for some reason. Camping, travel. Need to find a way to make it not boring. Supernatural? Something like that. And they go on a journey of self-discovery with no goal."

"The last sentence sounds like my entire life," Taehyung says. "Except the self-discovery part."

"It actually sounds good so far," Jeongguk admits. Then he gets a stroke of genius, if he does say so himself. "Why not we write chapters alternately, from the two perspectives. It'd be easier to split up the writing that way than trying to mesh our styles."

At this, Taehyung grins, a rectangular smile that lights up his whole face. "We can make up the plot as we go along too, instead of planning it out!"

"Uh, I don't know about that, hyung."

"Think about it," Taehyung insists. "Our protagonists have no goal anyway, right? So why do the writers need a goal? If it's a journey of self-discovery, then the story will fall into place as we write it."

Put that way, he actually makes a lot of sense, Jeongguk grudgingly admits. After all, it is to be part of an anthology, and even Namjoon himself had told them not to take it too seriously.

Even after that is settled, though, they do still need to work on everything other than the plot - which is pretty much everything else. The setting, characters, background; everything that needs to be fleshed out has to be done so soon, sent to Yoongi and Hoseok in a neat little folder and waiting for their hyungs to give it the okay.

And so, that is what they spend the next four, five hours doing. It's almost eleven by the time Jeongguk realises his brain isn't working properly anymore.

"I'm beat. My brain feels like someone threw it on the ground and steamrolled it twenty times over," Taehyung groans from the couch. He stretches, shirt riding up, arm flying out to hit Jeongguk in the face. "We should call it a day and get dinner."

Jeongguk yawns. "Pizza?"

It's not long before they're both curled up on the couch with a couple of empty pizza boxes. Jeongguk's claimed the extreme left for himself - it's his couch, damn it, he shouldn't even need to claim anything - and Taehyung's taken over the right, but the elder is seriously trying to breach into unknown territory by periodically poking his foot against Jeongguk's shins. There's Nujabes playing in the background, a producer or another that Taehyung insisted on playing, smooth, jazzy piano against some lyrics that he can't quite understand. But it's okay, because he's about to fall asleep anyway.

Just as he feels his eyelids fluttering, a weight falls against his stomach. His hands immediately fly down to get rid of the intruder but he's stopped by the feeling of something wet and slimy against his palms.

"What the fuck?" Jeongguk exclaims. He opens his eyes and sees Taehyung's offending head against the side of his torso, snuggling into the fabric of his plain t-shirt. "What did you do that for?"

"You tried to push me away," Taehyung pouts.

He wrinkles his nose and wipes the saliva against Taehyung's shirt, ignoring the other's offended cry. "That was gross. Go back to your apartment, Taehyung. You live across the hall."

"Actually, I live below you. But I'm lazy," Taehyung whines. He peers up from his position on Jeongguk's stomach, hands coming up to grab at Jeongguk's forearms. "Come on, treat your hyung nicely."

"Are you always this clingy?" Jeongguk asks, steadfastly ignoring the way his heart is going at a mile a minute. The lack of sleep must be doing something to him.

"Yes." What is this, Taehyung's not even embarrassed. "Now, go to sleep and let me use your stomach as a pillow. It's a bit hard, but you're warm and cuddly."

"Oh my god, I'm not cuddly!"

"Yes you are," Taehyung mumbles, voice muffled by his mouth against Jeongguk's shirt.

Jeongguk tries to kick aside the thought that holy fucking shit, he can feel the shape of Taehyung's lips through his shirt and half his body is pressed against Taehyung's and there's still a death grip on his forearms, Taehyung's callused fingers on the soft skin of his wrists. But it's kind of really, really hard to do that, so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to fall asleep to the sound of two chests heaving in sync.

For a while it's actually kind of peaceful. Sure, his life has taken a bit of a hit ever since Taehyung's made it his life mission to ruin Jeongguk's Moments of Genius, barging in without warning whenever he's typing away at his computer, and he does have a habit of singing really loudly, loud enough for the sound to filter through the ceilings. (He does have a decent singing voice, not that Jeongguk would ever admit it.) But for all the craziness that is packaged into a certain person called Kim Taehyung, it really isn't that bad.

At least, this is what Jeongguk thinks, until he hears the ear-piercing screech of the door hinge closing in on itself and feels something heavy land on his legs.

"Oh my god," Jeongguk groans. He tries to turn over and bury his face in the pillow but the weight's pinning him down. "Please save me."

"No can do, friend," a voice pipes up. It's annoyingly energetic. How does anyone even muster that much enthusiasm when it's - and here, Jeongguk reluctantly takes a peek at the clock - half past six in the morning. "We're going camping!"

"Wait, what?"

"Well, not yet. For now I have a blanket fort. But Hoseok asked me about our ideas so far and he said that a department camping trip would be good for team bonding and give us inspiration," Taehyung says. "Or something."

Okay, it is too early for his brain to function. "And you're telling me this at six am because..."

"I kept staring and staring at the ceiling but I couldn't sleep." Jeongguk can vaguely feel a weight climb up his legs, an arm reaching up to pat him on the head. "Sorry. You can go back to sleep."

He sighs and shifts nearer the wall. "Come on."

"Huh?"

"You can sleep on my bed if you want," Jeongguk says. Then, as a precaution, he adds, "As long as you don't do anything stupid."

"Define stupid."

"Anything that results in permanent or temporary incapacitation, being arrested or eternal regret."

And this is how they end up falling asleep in the same bed, not for the first time, until they are woken up by the sound of Min Yoongi shouting at his door telling him to haul his ass out of bed or else.

Later that day, after a long bout of meetings at the office, he is all ready to collapse when he reaches home, but is jolted out of his almost-rest by a sharp knock on the door. It can't be Taehyung, can it? Taehyung never knocks, always simply enters like he owns the place.

"Jeongguk!" Taehyung shouts. "Do you want to get dinner?"

Then the door opens, and lo and behold, it's his neighbour and coworker, the one with no concept of personal space.

"Why'd you knock?" Jeongguk asks. He sits up on his bed. "You never knock."

"I thought I'd try something new," Taehyung replies. Then he turns his head and looks at Jeongguk expectantly. "So, how about it? Dinner? I'm starving and I haven't had anything but ramen or takeout in weeks."

"Life of a starving artist."

"I'm dedicated to my craft," he proclaims. "I'll go get changed at meet you at the ground floor in ten minutes."

He doesn't even wait for Jeongguk's answer before he leaves, making sure to squeeze the rubber duck that sits on the bookshelf as he does so. Jeongguk has half a mind to text him and say no, he's not about to go out for dinner when he kind of feels out of it, but realises that even Yoongi has been calling him out on his lack of social graces. Hell, even Jimin had to drag him kicking and screaming to that club the other day. At this rate, he's about to end up a social hobo.

It takes a while to plough through his closet simply because everything looks the same. In the end, he settles on a plain shirt, jeans and a hoodie because fuck this, they're not going anywhere fancy anyway.

Taehyung's already at the ground floor when he arrives. He's actually cleaned up pretty nicely, decked out in a jacket and jeans. Maybe he couldn't tell the other day under the flashing lights and amidst the faceless bodies, but when not in cut-up shirts and grandfather pants, he does look more than halfway decent.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

Taehyung looks up from his phone and grins. "I figured we could just wing it."

"I don't like winging it." Jeongguk frowns. "Seriously though, where are we going? A cheap place, please."

The look that Taehyung throws him is nothing short of patronising. "You're a New York Times bestselling author and you can't afford to splurge a little? You practically live off of Shin Ramyeon, Jeonggukkie."

"Yeah, well," Jeongguk shrugs. He can't very well tell Taehyung that it's a habit that is incredibly hard to shake off, even when you're living in one of the nicest areas of Seoul at the supposedly tender age of twenty-two.

"Anyway," Taehyung says. "I think there's a new cafe that's just opened, and they double up as a bar at night."

Indeed, there is a new cafe that has just opened, a quaint little place decked out in wood and metal furniture and with many pieces of abstract art propped up on the walls. The bar at the corner of the shop is more crowded than the main dining area, and Taehyung is adamant that they sit at one of the booth seats, citing something about how one is always obliged to take booth seats whenever they're available. Sounds like nonsense to Jeongguk, but he's learned not to question this sort of thing.

After they've placed their orders and settled in, Jeongguk asks, "Hyung, did you go to college?"

When the words leave his mouth, he realises how silly they sound, and he realises just how much they had been burning in the back of his brain.

A moment or two passes before Taehyung finally speaks.

"I went to Yonsei for a year and dropped out," Taehyung says. He furrows his eyebrows in concentration. "I was planning on majoring in Linguistics, but it didn't work out, I guess."

"Were your parents angry?"

"I think they were, at first, but..." he trails off, shrugging. Then his eyes dart to Jeongguk's. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, did you go to college." He presses his forearms against the edge of the table and leans forward. "College, university, higher education. All that stuff."

"I did an online course for the past three years," Jeongguk admits. He fiddles with his fingers underneath the table and hopes the tension in his shoulders isn't too obvious. "Just graduated two months ago."

"While writing?" Taehyung whistles. "What'd you major in?"

"Accounting." At this, Taehyung cringes, and his face contorts hard enough that Jeongguk would almost have laughed at the face had it not been for the fact that his own stomach is clenching. God, why is it so uncomfortable, talking about himself? "My parents didn't approve of me moving to Seoul to become a writer, and they thought it would be better if I had a safe degree, just in case I never made it."

"That's kind of sad."

Jeongguk can only laugh weakly.

"I'm thinking of going back to university, actually," Taehyung says. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. "But it'd be hard. Really, really hard. And the schools here are more like employee training centres than actual schools."

"You can always try overseas," Jeongguk suggests. He's heard a lot about the fabled Ivy League and Oxbridge from his parents, back when he was still content with toiling away at practice paper after practice paper. At that time, those schools had seemed like a reachable dream of higher education and intellectual enlightenment. "But you'll need to take tests and everything. Actually, a school would probably want a published writer in their cohort."

"What school would want an erotica writer?" Taehyung laughs. It makes his eyes crinkle and Jeongguk swears the smile is so large it takes up half his face. "And I'd need money, too. I guess it would make for good writing inspiration though. 'The Hallowed Halls - a tale of mystery, intrigue and nighttime romps.'"

"Is that how you actually come up with your stories?"

"Maybe." Taehyung grins mischievously. "Or maybe not."

They head back with full stomachs and a light buzz, and for some reason, Jeongguk feels a lot lighter than before. His steps almost feel weightless, like someone's finally taken the lead out of his legs. And his chest, it feels fuller too. The world looks a little brighter.

"Hey, Taehyung," he asks. It's now or never. "Can I see your blanket fort?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The fabled camping trip comes smack in the middle of autumn. The city has settled into a permanent state of semi-cold now, readying everyone for the onslaught that will be winter, and so Seokjin announces that they will venture into the wilderness to "escape the frigid nature of the city".

"Is that supposed to be a pun?"

"Yes, and it's funny," Seokjin snaps.

They rent a truck large enough to fit two in the front and five in the open area at the back, and this is what they use to get around, with Taehyung affectionately naming it their Love Truck. It doesn't even end up as a camping trip per se, since the camping site is conveniently located near a small town.

"This is Auraji station," Hoseok says, looking up from the map.

It's a rather old-looking building, single storey and drab and grey, and it looks like it popped right out of a novel situated in the nineteen sixties. The kind of building that screams nostalgia and melancholy and small town childhood. Jeongguk can imagine everyone in the town knowing each other's name.

"Look at that!" Jimin yelps. He points toward two giant fish in the vicinity. Two giant fish, fins patterned with dark stripes, a small staircase each leading into their gaping mouths. "Fish!"

There's even an open water fountain area beside it. And because they're technically on vacation, Jeongguk decides to say fuck it and embrace his maknae privileges. He dashes over to the water and tries to step on one of the spouts, leaping away just as a stream of water shoots out and narrowly misses his face, only to fall victim to another stream behind him.

Taehyung runs in too, and they end up almost dancing with each other and the fountain, hopping around left and right. By the time they decide to leave, both of them are sopping wet, and the rest give them judging looks as they exit the fish's mouth.

"Don't look at us like that," Taehyung chides. "You just came out of a fish's mouth."

But, by god, the town is beautiful. Jeongguk lived in Busan before moving to Seoul, and though Busan was almost as much of a city as Seoul, it had its quiet areas, the nooks and crannies where no one could find him. And even with that, he's never seen anything like this town. Everywhere he turns there's something new and eye-catching - the river that runs under the train tracks, the waterfall that has a bunch of schoolchildren playing in its depths, the mountains in the distance that are usually eclipsed by skyscrapers now standing tall and proud.

And as they drive along, he lets himself enjoy, just this once, the hum of autumn wind against his skin.

Their next stopover is a beach. At one point, Jeongguk leans out just a bit and almost topples over, eyes glued onto the horizon and the way the sea ripples just so. It's a long stretch of pristine sand, fine and white and like nothing he's ever seen before, not even back home. They are the only ones there, watching as the sky, sea and sand blur into each other.

Everyone hops out of the truck, almost falling over themselves in their haste to get out.

"Come on!" Taehyung shouts, righting himself and turning back, grinning widely. His hair flies around his face, almost getting into his mouth, and it makes Jeongguk's breath hitch. "I'll race you to that rock!"

It's a challenge if Jeongguk's ever heard one, and he is never one to back down from a good old race. He jumps out, landing on his feet and feeling them sink slightly into the sand. And when he sprints, feels the adrenaline rush back into his limbs - how long has it been since he's felt so free? - the sound of Taehyung's laughter is right beside him.

He vaguely hears a loud shout of "Get back here!" before there's more laughter, familiar voices filtering through the air, and even more footsteps join them, racing toward the rock and the sea and nowhere in particular.

When Seokjin chases them down, panting slightly, he catches the glint in Taehyung's eyes and the smirk playing on his mouth. And he nods.

"Now!" they shout in unison.

They sprint toward Seokjin and pounce onto him, Taehyung falling onto the elder's back and pushing him into the soft sand, stomach down. There's a bit of a scuffle as Seokjin struggles to tilt his head up and spit out sand, but in that time, Jeongguk's already leaped onto Taehyung. And within seconds, the rest follow suit, yelling gleefully as they hop over and plop themselves on top of each other, ignoring the cries of a thoroughly displeased Seokjin.

By the time they finally clamber off each other, Seokjin's hair is matted with sand through and through. The glare he shoots them bears no malice though.

A few polaroids and impromptu races later, they are back on the road.

Along a particularly long stretch of road, Jeongguk stands up, hoists himself up with the help of the railings. His legs are kind of wobbly and the wind may feel nice, but it's not making him feel any more secure, but fuck if this doesn't feel good. He hears the whirring of the car engine and the chatter of everyone else and the whoosh of the wind.

They're driving fast, much faster than they could have back in Seoul, and it feels so, so good, especially when he screams into the air and hears everyone else calling back.

The campsite is not in the wilderness at all, at least not the kind of wilderness he's been duped to believe by National Geographic. Sure, they're in the middle of nowhere and there are mountains and trees and it's as pretty as nature can get, but it's certainly not anywhere close to having to live off the land. The campsite is actually a large expanse of empty space with concrete ground, enough space for them to park their vehicle and prop up a couple of actual tents (for the novelty, of course) and maybe make a bonfire or two in the designated area.

It's getting dark and he feels the temperature start to plummet, pulls his hoodie closer into himself. They've spent the past hour gathering firewood and lighting the bonfire, with immense help from the revolutionary kitchen lighter, and now huddle around the flames, chewing on the sandwiches that Seokjin had packed earlier that day.

"This is nice," Hoseok comments. "We should have more company retreats."

"This isn't even the whole office," Yoongi points out. "In fact, it was only supposed to be four of us, then bosses decided to tag along, and Jiminnie invited himself."

"I'm the driver, you can't complain," Seokjin says. "And don't call me boss. That's weird."

"Aw, hyung, you love me," Jimin teases, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's slim shoulders. To everyone's surprise, the elder doesn't so much as flinch.

But it really is nice, Jeongguk thinks. He can hear the flames crackling, embers bright red and orange, the warmth slowly folding over them like a thick blanket in the midst of winter. Everyone's faces are illuminated by the fire, lines that are usually subtle in the daylight now harsh and stark and casting shadows, skin tinted an orange glow.

To his right, Yoongi's elbow digs into his stomach every time he lifts his arm up to take a bite of his sandwich, and to his left, Taehyung's side is pressed up against his own. And everywhere he looks, he sees familiar faces that make his heart clench. (Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit.)

"Is this the kind of camping your characters are going to do?" Jimin asks.

"Probably not," Jeongguk admits.

A little later, Taehyung says, in an uncharacteristically soft voice only Jeongguk can hear, "But it's nice, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

The sensation of a brick dropping onto his body is what wakes Jeongguk up the next morning, not the shrill of an alarm or the banging of a door. He blinks open blearily, tries to refocus his vision, only to come face to face with a certain erotica writer wearing an embarrassed grin and very messy hair.

A minute passes, then another.

"Uh, could you, get off?" Jeongguk asks, clearing his throat.

As much as he knows he's a toss-and-turn sort of sleeper, limbs flying around everywhere, he doesn't quite like having others do the same to him, not even if it makes his heart skip a beat and his face feel uncomfortably warm.

"You're red," Taehyung says, pressing a cold hand against Jeongguk's forehead, like the whole length of his body isn't entirely pressed against Jeongguk's, fucking hell. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replies. Fuck, his face is burning. "Could you please, please move?"

"Sorry, I can't extricate myself from your torso - and thighs, too, if you're being pedantic about it." Taehyung tries to shrug but having his shoulders pressed against Jeongguk's collarbones sort of ruins the effect. "I have pins and needles in my legs so it'll be about two minutes before I can move them without almost dying."

Jeongguk closes his eyes. Maybe if he goes back to sleep, he will realise that all of this is a dream. Hold on, wouldn't that make it a dream within a dream? That'd be cool. That'd be cool, much cooler than first-hand embarrassment.

"I know you guys are young and horny, but I never thought you'd be one for exhibitionism," a voice calls out. Jimin pokes his head into the tent looking way too bright and energetic for what must be early dawn, judging by the lack of light. He smirks, eyes curving into little half moons. "Though I always knew Tae was kinky."

"I'm not kinky!"

"Said every kinky person ever." Jimin narrows his eyes. "Why are you guys even wearing clothes?"

"We're not doing anything," Taehyung insists. "I literally rolled over in my sleep and couldn't move because my body decided to betray me."

"Okay, sure. I believe you," Jimin says, in a tone that screams 'I do not believe you, please keep trying'. "Anyway, get out here soon, we're catching the sunrise and according to Namjoon it's supposed to be spectacular."

He heads out, leaving a strange, uncomfortable silence in his wake. A minute or two later, when Taehyung's legs finally twitch the slightest bit, Jeongguk lets out a sigh he never knew he'd been holding in and unconsciously reaches his hands to his face, feeling the warmth slowly fading away. Good. The last thing he needs is more questions, not when he can't even answer them himself.

"Sunrise?" he asks.

Taehyung's still seated on the ground, hands clutching his sleeping bag. He looks up and his eyes meet Jeongguk's in an almost electrifying moment; and in that moment, he feels like Taehyung can look straight into him, take him apart and analyse every insignificant piece and put him back together. Reeling, he takes a miniscule step back. Then Taehyung nods, and it's broken.

They trudge to the top of a small slope nearby. Everyone's a little tired from the night before, movements sluggish, eyelids heavy and speech slow. He sits down, squished in between Taehyung and Jimin.

And Namjoon was right; the sunrise is spectacular.

He knows the sun is about to rise before he even glimpses it. The blue sky is cast a mild, orange hue, the very colour of autumn leaves that fall to the ground and signal the change of the seasons. And from there, it all happens so fast he almost misses it. When the sun finally peeks above the horizon, it's reflected, too, in the almost terrifyingly calm ocean, only rippling every once in a while. Everything is flooded pink and orange and yellow all at once before day breaks.

"Whoa," Taehyung mutters.

He doesn't even think about it. He raises a hand and reaches it over to Taehyung's sweatpants-covered knee and squeezes it, once, twice. Afterward, he tries not to think too much about what he's just done or the way Taehyung grins and bites his lip just so.

"You need to work on your fucking draft, Jeon Jeongguk," Yoongi spits, frustrated.

Jeongguk has never had this much trouble with a story before. Words usually come to him easily - perhaps a little too easily, and he has a habit of going on and on - and that was the case after the camp. It was like inspiration had hit. He sat down in front of his computer with a large blanket, coffee and tea (because all sources of caffeine should be utilised, damn it) and cranked out page after page. He cooped himself up in his apartment and rejected Taehyung's pleas for blanket fort building, instead communicated through poorly written emails, sent off his drafts to both his partner and manager.

But two weeks later, he's stuck. The classic case of writer's block that he's never had to face before.

"But I'm stuck," Jeongguk whines. He knows it's no use whining, but it's not like he can help it. "I don't know what to write."

"This is what outlines are for. You're a writer. Act like one." He can almost sees Yoongi's sneer of disapproval. "Why don't you have an outline, anyway? You always do, even for the shorts you post."

"We decided to try something new. Freeform, go with the flow," he explains. "Similar to what the characters are doing."

There's a pause on the other end before Yoongi speaks again. "That's a first."

"Yeah, it is." Jeongguk chews on the pen in his mouth. "Hyung, give me ideas, please."

"You need to work on that yourself. I'm your manager and editor, not your muse."

With that, the conversation is over, and so does Jeongguk's capacity for any sort of creativity or mental stimulation whatsoever. He's been sitting at his desk for three, four hours now, staring at the cursor that keeps on blinking mockingly in his face, just daring him to type something. (That will turn out shitty, of course.)

The characters have been in the process of travelling for days now, having finally gotten used to the vagabond life after some initial bumps in the road, but now there's nothing. Zilch. Zero. None. No idea what to do next, what challenges to throw them.

He never realised until now just how hard it was to write without an outline. He'd always planned out his stories beforehand to the very last detail, and it was easy enough to follow a framework, even if it was tiring at times. Tiring, but consistent. And now he's just been thrown a curveball where he's being told, hey, do what you want; trouble is, he has no idea what he wants. Freedom is hard. (Fine, he was the one who allowed himself to be subject to this sort of fate, he will admit grudgingly.)

And it's hard to draw from life experiences, too. He doesn't have many to begin with, and a plot usually follows a structure - introduction, build-up, climax, resolution - but life isn't anywhere near as kind. Life is just a series of ups and downs and the protagonists hoping they will be okay.

He's thought about asking Taehyung. It's been on his mind for the past two weeks. But he can't bring himself to reply to Taehyung's messages or go downstairs and knock on his door or, heck, even to simply open the door when Taehyung is banging on it, shouting "LET ME IN YOU STUBBORN IDIOT!". It would feel strange to ask for input from a fellow author. With an editor, it's okay; an editor is like a teacher, just there to smoothen out the cracks and refine the edges. But with another author, it's like allowing your child to be babysat by another person; useful, and probably necessary, but fuck doesn't it hurt like hell. It's like feeling whatever you've made slowly slip away from your grasp.

But there eventually comes a day where he stops being a stubborn idiot, and that is two days later.

Jeongguk wakes up in the middle of the night absolutely freezing. The cold starts at his toes and his fingers and ends nowhere, spreading throughout his entire body. He doesn't want to open his eyes, simply wraps the blanket tighter around himself, but it doesn't help at all. It still feels like fucking Antarctica.

He finally gets up and checks the heater, but no matter how much he pushes and prods, it simply does not budge or light up or do anything useful. And this is when he groans loudly, collapses to the floor in utter doneness.

"Alright, alright," he mutters to himself.

He pulls on a sweater, grabs his blanket and phone and marches out of the house, down a flight of stairs and in front of Taehyung's doorstep. Takes in a deep breath and gets ready to give up any sort of dignity he has left. Knocks twice and waits.

"Jeonggukkie?" Taehyung asks, voice so hoarse he's almost groaning. He's drowning in a gigantic shirt, eyes rubbing at his eyes either due to sleepiness or disbelief. "What're you doing here?"

"My heater is spoiled," Jeongguk explains. Oh, god, his voice sounds so small even to himself. "Can I sleep over?"

Taehyung blinks, tilts his head to a side before letting his mouth drop open slightly. Then he smiles and steps to the side. "Come on in."

The apartment's layout is unsurprisingly similar to his own, but about ten times neater. It's not sparse, not at all, anime figurines lining the top of shelves and tons of trinkets, the sort of thing you'd buy back as a souvenir. But everything is in its place; no books strewn about everywhere, clothes lying in a heap in the corner of the room, completely unlike his own pigsty of a house.

And when he steps in he's hit with a blast of warmth that he's immensely grateful for. He takes off his sweater and hovers at the edge of the couch for a second before tentatively sitting down, pressing his back into the corner and pulling the blanket up to his chin.

"You look like a burrito," Taehyung says, sitting down on the other end and stretching his legs across Jeongguk's lap.

"I am a burrito." Now that he's warm, he feels tired all over again. "I'm going to sleep."

"You do that."

But ten minutes later, he wakes up once again, hit by frigid cold for a second time. He feels it all the way to the tip of his ears. Groaning, he gets up, blanket still wrapped around him like a cocoon, and drags himself to the lone bedroom.

"Tae," he whines, rapping on the door. "It's cold."

He's about to knock the door down when Taehyung finally flings it open and allows him in. He waddles forward a couple of steps, movements slow because of the blanket wrapped around his body, and slumps onto the ground, curling in a heap and jerking because of the sudden chill of the floor against his ass. It's a bad choice.

"Did your heater spoil too?"

"You talk a lot when you're cold and tired," Taehyung says. But he walks over to the heater anyway and kicks at it exaggeratedly. It doesn't budge or light up. "And yes, it's dead."

"It's cold."

"Jeonggukkie, you've said that like twenty times already."

"No, I haven't," he pouts. At this rate, he's going to die of hypothermia. "Nevermind. I'll just go to sleep."

He shuffles over to the edge of the bed and sits down on the ground, leaning his body against the bed frame. The bed creaks slightly as Taehyung hops back into bed, and he feels the shift of covers as Taehyung drags them back up. It's still cold, cold as hell, but in a smaller room and with another person, it's far more manageable. He shuts his eyes and tries to bury himself further inside the shell he's made out of his blanket, but for some reason, his brain is on overdrive today. His eyes are closed but his thoughts are running about and he can't reel them back in and fuck, it's cold.

"Didn't you say you had a blanket fort?" he croaks.

It's a miracle Taehyung even hears him with half his face covered by the blanket. "I destroyed it."

"Oh." Well, there goes that attempt at making conversation. "Okay."

"Don't be disappointed." Shuffling sounds, like footsteps padding across the room. "Do you want to hear a bedtime story? I'll even let you sit on the bed, it's a lot warmer."

The last few words are what finally makes Jeongguk give in. He doesn't like others in his personal space and, as an act of courtesy, doesn't intrude that of others' either, but this situation is an exception if he's ever seen one. He clambers onto bed, burrito falling apart slightly, and slides up next to Taehyung. And he's right. It is a lot warmer.

He closes his eyes.

Taehyung clears his throat, and the sound sends vibrations through Jeongguk's body even though they're separated by many layers of cotton.

"'He arched up against the bed, chest coming up to meet the other's, as their tongues collide in what could only be a fight. A battle. A war. There was nothing else in the universe except the two of them. The two of them, and the warmth that existed, slick between their bodies. When the second finger drove inside him smoothly, his cock twitched, something inexplicably wonderful built up in his stomach and he bit back a groan. So close, so close -'"

"What the fuck, hyung?"

Jeongguk pushes the blanket down and snatches the book out of Taehyung's hands, face burning. It's a thin, almost unassuming paperback - that is, until he sees the cover of two men facing away from the camera, half-naked and embracing, the words 'Open For Business - a truly invigorating session of entertaining the client' emblazoned across the top.

"Bedtime story, Jeonggukkie," Taehyung grins. Then he reaches out a hand to pinch at Jeongguk's cheeks. "And, hey, it got you warm, right?"

"Taehyung," Jeongguk groans. He throws the book back onto Taehyung's lap and glares, but it doesn't quite have the intended effect, not when his face is completely red. "I thought you only wrote about straight couples though."

"Oh, so you read my stuff, then?" he asks. He turns toward Jeongguk and leans a little closer, tilting his head to one side. "And no, I don't discriminate. Love for everyone. Sex for everyone."

Jeongguk's about to give a smart-ass reply, but something silver and gleaming hanging from the bedpost catches his eye. He leans over to grab at it, almost falling on Taehyung in the process, but manages to right himself back into place just as he's about to fall, hands clutching on a cool metal chain connecting two round links.

"Handcuffs?" he splutters. He holds them up to the light to check, and yes, they are actual handcuffs. "Why do you have handcuffs?"

"Research," Taehyung says nonchalantly, like Jeongguk hadn't just found fucking handcuffs hanging from his bed. "How do you think I get all my material?"

He's kind of really, really curious yet terrified at the same time. The handcuffs are cool against his skin and rather heavy, too. He removes the key and unlocks them, slides his wrists into them experimentally. So is this how it's supposed to work? Someone handcuffs you to the bed and 'inserts his lovestick into your quivering manhole'?

"Yah, Jeonggukkie, be careful with that. I got locked in once. Not fun."

"Alright," he says. He slides his hands out of the cuffs and passes it back to Taehyung. Without them, he feels strangely cold, even though the cuffs themselves were far colder to begin with. "I'm cold."

Taehyung doesn't say anything, but he grabs at the blanket around Jeongguk's body and unwraps it before sidling up next to Jeongguk. Sides pressed together, he reaches for Jeongguk's blanket and his own and pulls it around both of them, effectively trapping them to the bed, weighed down by what must be a million kilograms of cotton and nylon.

Suddenly, it's really, really warm.

Jeongguk is pretty sure it's because of the ridiculous layers piled all over their bodies. It's definitely not because of the way Taehyung's body pressed up against his, or the way his toes skim Taehyung's shins, or the way Taehyung is shuffling closer and nuzzling his shoulder with his nose.

"U-um," Jeongguk stutters.

"Yeah?" Taehyung asks, lifting his head up to smile at Jeongguk. It's a really strange grin. All boxy and rectangular and it makes him look a million years younger. "Did you know body heat is the best way to get warmer?"

"Probably not," he replies. He can't stop staring at Taehyung, who's returned back to trying to make himself one with Jeongguk's shoulder. "The neck is the warmest part of the body, I think."

"You think?"

"I-I guess so," he manages out, just as Taehyung begins nuzzling his neck instead. Okay, bad idea. It's making his heart thump too fast. Unfamiliar territory. Retreat! "But a fire's the best."

"Just like Christmas," Taehyung muses. Then he lifts his head up again and this time, god, he's only a few inches from Jeongguk and he can feel the other's breath on his neck as he talks, warm and familiar. Taehyung smells like cinnamon and sugar. A cinnamon roll, the kind you get at a coffee shop after a day's worth of work and brings you a kind of satisfaction and joy. "Oh, wow. Christmas is only eight days away."

He tries to relax. He thinks of calming images - of Busan, of home, of oceans and mountains blanketing skyscrapers on one end and houses on the other.

It works, kind of. He is still acutely aware of Taehyung pressed against him and his heart is still beating strangely fast, but he comes to accept it a little better instead of tensing up and having an internal freakout.

"Merry Christmas," he echoes.

He waits for a reply, but it never comes. He looks down and sees that Taehyung has already fallen asleep, head resting in the crook between Jeongguk's neck and shoulder, one arm flung over Jeongguk's stomach. His lashes are extraordinarily long, caressing the top of cheekbones, each breath resonating through Jeongguk's body.

And a voice sneaks into his head. A stray, misbehaving voice that whispers to him in a placating, calm voice; this is nice, isn't it? Having someone cuddled up next to you, their body against yours?

He relaxes. He adjusts himself so that his left knee isn't digging into Taehyung's thigh. He moves Taehyung's arm away so that he can lie on his side, but that is all he does, and he finds that the feel of Taehyung's body next to his is surprisingly pleasant and nice, even more so when he can feel each inhale and exhale against the strip of skin on his shoulders. There's an inexplicable urge to reach out that he barely pushes down.

But the feeling in his stomach, the build-up of something fuzzy and warm; it rises up no matter how hard he tries. His heart does somersaults and hammers against his chest and he can't do anything to stop it.

Jeongguk is floating. He's flying, weightless, soaring above the sky. Lounging on clouds as he watches day turn into night. Then night turns into a myriad of strange, blurry colours, a weight on his chest, and he wakes up.

"Taehyung?" he yawns. Indeed, Taehyung's crouched above him, encasing him with two arms next to his head and legs straddling his torso, eyes dark. Wait, what? "What are you doing?"

"Huh, oh, what." He seems to snap out of it almost immediately once he catches onto the fact that yes, he is indeed on all fours above Jeongguk. He scrambles off and tumbles off the bed. "Sorry. Thought I was still asleep."

"Why would you be asleep?"

"Nevermind," Taehyung says. He swears there's a blush on his cheeks. Then he turns around and all is back to normal. "Want pancakes?"

"Yeah, sure."

Taehyung lends him a spare toothbrush ("Why do you even have a spare toothbrush, hyung?" he asks, and he is replied with a dismissive, "I told you, research," to which he nods knowingly.) and he washes up for all of two seconds before heading out to the kitchen.

"It smells good," he says. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I'm full of surprises," Taehyung says, sliding the last pancake onto the plate. He turns to look at Jeongguk and the pan almost falls out of his hand, eyes widening and mouth falling open slightly. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"The heater's working again," Jeongguk says. To his relief, he felt the familiar blast of warmth from the heater when he got out of bed, and suddenly it felt too cold again. So he took his shirt off. Taehyung wouldn't mind, right? After all, guys walked around without shirts all the time. "I'll change when I get back."

"I can lend you a shirt."

"That's extra laundry," Jeongguk points out. He tries to ignore the way Taehyung looks all flustered and refuses to meet his eyes as he sets the table. "It's fine."

They sit beside each other at the countertop. It's silent except for the sound of chewing, and Jeongguk doesn't understand why it feels awkward all of a sudden. Usually Taehyung would be chatting the entire place up with whatever nonsense his mind has conjured up. But now, there's a tension hanging in the air. It's in the way Taehyung moves away ever so slightly when Jeongguk leans to the right, in the way Taehyung's eating in unusually slow, measured mouthfuls.

"Um, thanks for the meal," Jeongguk says.

He's not blind. He's caught on to Taehyung's discomfort, though for what reason he's still very much unsure. He stands in front of the locked door a little awkwardly for maybe two seconds before seeing himself out, Taehyung's soft farewell still echoing in his ear.

It goes back to normal. Well, kind of.

It's a Tuesday night when Yoongi demands that they hand in their next chapter. After the stint with the heater, Jeongguk had been hit with a stroke of sudden productivity and sat in front of the computer for five days, unmoving. (Okay. Fine. That might have been a bit of an exaggeration.)

And, of course, he hits another block.

This time it's much worse. It's not just that his brain can't churn out anything; it's that his brain is preoccupied with something completely unrelated. The five days spent detailing what his characters did were blissfully simple, but now, his thoughts are completely taken over by one thing and one thing only - Kim Taehyung. Kim Taehyung, who hasn't been answering his emails or messages or the repeated knocks on his door. Kim Taehyung, who has been suspiciously silent for the better part of the week when he'd usually be belting so loudly Jeongguk could hear him. Kim Taehyung, who refuses to get himself and his stupid grin out of Jeongguk's mind.

It is almost midnight on the third day of his writer's block that he hears it.

The slamming of a door from the apartment below. Then the slamming of another, and of two people falling into bed so loudly that the bed frame creaks. The sound of moans interspersed with the squeaking of the mattress, cries of "Oh, god, god, god, god" echoing into the apartment above.

Jeongguk isn't surprised. He knows that Taehyung does this for 'research' - and for fun too, obviously; he's not completely dumb - but it still comes as a bit of a surprise, because for all the time they've known each other, he hasn't seen Taehyung once taken any interest in another person. To know that right now, he's pressed up against another person, either fucking or getting fucked, is weird. It's weird and uncomfortable and, fuck, Jeongguk doesn't like it. Anger bubbles up at the pit of his stomach and it feels horrible. He marches over to his bed and puts on his headphones, trying to drown out the noise, but it doesn't work. The noise is no longer there but the cacophony in his head is as loud as ever.

He can't sleep, and so he sits on his bed and waits. He waits and waits until three, four hours have passed and he hears the sound of two doors closing and the sky is completely pitch black before he goes downstairs.

"Jeongguk?" Taehyung asks in a hoarse voice. He's wearing nothing but boxers and a giant shirt, sleeves long enough that they fall down past his fingers. "What're you doing here? It's almost three."

Shit. Now that he's here, he doesn't quite know what to do.

"Yoongi-hyung says we need to get the next chapter in by tomorrow," he says. "Well, today, I guess."

"Ah, damn, really?" Taehyung groans. He runs a hand through his hair and, fuck, all it does is make his bedhead even worse and Jeongguk really, really wants to pat it down for him. "You want to work on it now?"

"Yeah, just some final revisions," he says, averting his eyes from the way the collar almost slips off Taehyung's shoulder. "Then we can send it in."

"We'll need to spend the rest of the day on this," Taehyung warns. "You're stuck with me."

"Yeah," Jeongguk replies. "I know."

They sit down at opposite ends of the couch, laptops perched on their laps, each working on their own chapter on the collaborated document, dropping comments and feedback every so often. Taehyung's feet rest on his lap almost tentatively. It's easy enough. Easy, comfortable. Too easy.

"Tae," Jeongguk begins. "Was that a friend?"

"Huh, what?" Taehyung asks, looking up. "No, not a friend."

"Boyfriend?"

"No, just a guy I met at the bar." He cracks a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. "For research."

"Okay." Jeongguk looks away not because he wants to, but because he can't do anything else. It's impossible to stare Taehyung straight in the eyes, not when he's just confirmed that yes, he got laid (with someone that's not Jeongguk, a voice whispers). Not when the shirt is sliding off his shoulders and his hair is all messed up and there are hickies lining his body. Not when he looks like the walking embodiment of the words 'Yes, I got laid'.

There's the sound of a laptop shutting. Taehyung leans over and removes the computer from Jeongguk's hands.

"Hey, I'm going to try something, alright?" Taehyung says, voice low. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

He looks up, and he sees Taehyung. All he sees is Taehyung. Taehyung sitting on his knees, one hand on the couch for balance and the other hovering mid-air, as if not knowing what to do. His face is too close, impossibly close, his eyes impossibly wide, his lips impossibly full.

"Okay."

Their lips meet almost tentatively. Like they're scared of what's about to happen, tiptoeing the line between what is and what will be.

But, god, if it isn't what Jeongguk needed.

He's fooled around before. He's had his own fair share of quick romps in the back of seedy bars, fucked and been fucked in dubious motels, and they were good in their own right, gave him sudden, brief shots of euphoria that lasted one night and one night only. They were fast and exciting and no strings attached, no one left hanging by the end of it all.

But there aren't any sparks with Taehyung. No fireworks or jolts of electricity running through his veins. As he runs his hands across Taehyung's chest and down his ribcage and around his lower spine, as he memorises and traces every line and nook and cranny with his own callused fingers, he finds that it's as if he knows Taehyung through and through. Kissing Taehyung is something oddly familiar, feels like he's done this a thousand, million times before. Kissing Taehyung is like coming home.

The kiss is slow and unhurried. Relaxed. Smooth. Comforting. He melts into the kiss, reaching a hand inside Taehyung's stupidly large sweater and running his hands over the smooth skin of his stomach and across the bones of his ribcage. Taehyung shudders against his body. And when Taehyung pulls on his hair, he can't help but let out a loud moan.

Taehyung pauses for a moment and pulls back almost reluctantly. Jeongguk thinks they're going to stop - this is it, we've fucked up, messed up, now nothing can go back to normal - but he merely adjusts himself and swings a leg over Jeongguk's thighs, straddling him.

"All better," Taehyung smiles.

And Jeongguk smiles back.

He leans forward again, hand wafting to the edge of Taehyung's shirt to lift it up. He dips his head and mouths at Taehyung's neck, the strip of skin that's been peeking out this whole while, as if tempting him. Taehyung groans and slants his head to give him better access, his own hands dipping down Jeongguk's back.

"Hey, take off yours too," he whines, tugging at Jeongguk's shirt.

"Alright, alright," Jeongguk says. He leans back and lifts his shirt over his head, throwing it to a side. Taehyung's eyes glint appreciatively.

Taehyung kisses him again, this time with more fervour, hand running down Jeongguk's chest as Jeongguk palms dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers. It's so, so warm, Jeongguk thinks. All he can feel is the warmth of Taehyung's body against his, the breath that smells of cinnamon and something distinctly Taehyung.

And when they finally pull apart, it's with much effort. He leans back against the couch, chest heaving, mind blank. Taehyung's still straddling him, hair even messier than before, lips red and plump.

"Why didn't you answer my emails and texts?" Jeongguk asks, once he's caught his breath. "It's been more than a week."

"You're kind of oblivious," Taehyung says. Jeongguk's glad to hear that his voice is just slightly raspier.

"Tell me," Jeongguk insists.

Taehyung bites on his bottom lip and shifts, sits back on the couch instead of on Jeongguk's thighs.

"What are we doing?" he asks. And this time, he looks straight at Jeongguk; it sends a shiver right down to his very bone.

"I don't know."

"I like you," Taehyung says abruptly. "I don't know when it started, but yeah, I liked you. I only ever had hookups but when I looked at you, it wasn't just sex I wanted. I wanted to hold your hand and build blanket forts and have impromptu midnight wine sessions. And I got scared."

"That..." Jeongguk says. "That sounds awfully cliche."

Taehyung glares at him. "I'm trying to confess here, for fuck's sake. Be nice about it."

"Okay, okay. Nice."

"And, well, I don't know, I guess. I just sort of. Blanked out. Cut myself off. Even Jiminnie came up here and refused to budge unless I opened the door for him, which took three hours," he says. "Sorry. Sorry I ignored you, sorry I made you confused, sorry I sound like a romance novel cliche even though I'm supposed to write erotica."

"Do you still want to?"

"What?"

"Hold my hand, build blanket forts and have impromptu midnight wine sessions."

Taehyung squints at him, as if he's not entirely sure if Jeongguk is being serious or if he's just screwing around.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Jeongguk confesses. "I'm the same as you, I guess. Mostly hookups. I've been in two relationships before, a girl and a guy, and both failed miserably because I was a horrible partner. I'm pretty sure I like you as a friend at the very least, but I don't know myself well enough to say anything more."

At this, he swears he sees Taehyung's face fall.

"But I don't like the thought of you being with someone else. I don't like that you just had sex a few hours ago in this very house with someone that isn't me. I don't like that you probably do that pretty often."

"...that's jealousy, Jeonggukkie." There's a hint of smugness lining the voice. "It happens."

"Yeah, well," Jeongguk says dismissively. He looks at Taehyung straight in the eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm a pretty shitty person. Like, I'd write for five days straight and then roll around in bed for another five. I'm probably going to forget your birthday. I'm pretty crass and stubborn and childish. I can't handle my own feelings because I don't know if they exist. But I'm willing to give it a try."

Taehyung smiles ever so slightly, a mere lift of the lips. But it's enough.

"That," Taehyung says, crossing his arms, "is the biggest fucking cliche I've ever heard."

The book is published after another few months of furious editing, of sleepless nights poring over line after line of text. It's Jeongguk's most hated part of the entire process. Outlining is fun and writing is great, but editing is like visiting that old aunt that always forgets your name even though you've known her for your entire life.

And it's all been a little bit crazy.

It has always been a little bit crazy with Taehyung around, but it's even more so now that Taehyung knows he can simply sit in Jeongguk's lap, pout and have his way. The others have caught on pretty quick, too. Seokjin simply shook his head and smiled; Namjoon pretended to be shocked but ended up looking comically pained; Hoseok cheered loudly and almost knocked over a vase; Yoongi sighed and told them to make sure it doesn't interfere with their work, only to grin a second later; and Jimin simply smirked, smacked both of them on the ass and told them to "make good use of the handcuffs".

They're seated next to each other now. The store is about to open in ten minutes and Jeongguk can already see the long line forming outside.

He's been pleasantly surprised by the reaction to the book; he never thought that something that was completely unplanned, literally chunks of edited thought vomit, would end up even halfway decent. Even the notoriously critical Critic Bang had lauded the story, claiming that it was 'simplistic, almost childish, but elegant in its execution, and thoroughly completes its goal of capturing reader's minds and, more importantly, their hearts'. Perhaps he should try new things more often.

"No quivering loins this time?" Jeongguk asks, quirking a smile.

Taehyung squeezes his hand under the table. "I've got you, don't I?"

"You do," he says. "You do."

They drop to the ground in exhaustion and in awe, staring up at the mountain, tall and majestic against the pink sky. The edges are lined with pines and oaks and all sorts of shrubs, the base covered in a thin foliage that boasts flowers of colours they've never even dreamed of. It's nothing like they've ever seen before.

"We're finally here," he exclaims. "It took forever, but we're finally here."

"How is it supposed to grant us a miracle, though? It's just a mountain."

Grudgingly, he agrees. It really is just a mountain. It's not even the tallest of the mountains that he's seen. But it has taken everything to get here. They've trekked deserts without any water, kayaked rapids that he's convinced wanted them to die, fought off spirits that sought to separate the two of them. They've gone through hell and heaven in a span of less than a month.

He looks at the mountain, green and grey and blue, looming over the rest of the forest, and then back at the boy who has been by his side through thick and thin.

"I don't think it's supposed to grant us a miracle," he says. "I think getting here was the miracle. We are the miracle."

"You think so?"

"Well, you can never be one hundred percent sure," he says. "But this is pretty damn close."