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Jungkook knows every signal, knows how to read the intention on Taehyung’s face, even from sixty feet away and behind the mask that obscures the other man’s face whenever they’re in the middle of a game. When Taehyung flashes a peace sign with his fingers and follows it with a brush of his shoulders, he wants Jungkook to throw a fastball. When it’s a peace sign and then he taps his chin, it means a curveball. It might seem complicated, but this is the language that they’ve spoken for over a decade with each other. They’ve added so many variations and tricks to the signals that at this point, the angle of Taehyung’s wrist tells Jungkook exactly how fast he wants him to throw the pitch, down to roughly plus or minus 5MPH.
If Jungkook agrees, which he almost always does because they’re just that in sync with each other, he simply nods and then gets to work. On the rare occasions that he thinks another throw would work better, he argues back with his own signals. Sometimes Taehyung concedes, and sometimes they have entire arguments out on the field, told entirely through their hands and bodies.
More than once, they’ve been told how crazy and slightly creepy it is that they can understand each other like that. But that’s what playing together for so long means, that they can read each other so easily and without any second thoughts. During games, they’re one of the most formidable duos. They can both work with the other players on their team, but everyone knows that they work best together. They’re a feared team to go up against, and he’s definitely proud of the fact that several teams have developed training programs specifically to train their hitters to bat against them.
When he’s on the field, when he steps out onto the pitcher’s mound, Jungkook can feel himself settle into the most serious version of himself and can see the way that it hits Taehyung the same way. The only thing Jungkook takes more seriously than baseball is his relationship with Taehyung, the two most important things in his life. He’s so incredibly lucky that they overlap with each other and that Taehyung is always on the other side, waiting for him.
At practice, they get to mess around a little more than they do during games or when they’re warming up together in the bullpen. Loosen up and try out new signals, see what kind of fun combinations they can put together. Taehyung is creative and trusts that Jungkook can keep up with whatever is going on in his head. It’s one of the greatest things about having known each other for this long, the wordless, deep trust that they have in the other.
This signal though? This one Jungkook doesn’t know. They’re in the middle of a scrimmage, team split into two, and Taehyung has been throwing a series of complicated signals to Jungkook, silently communicating a strategy based on how many players are currently on base and which of their teammates is coming up to the plate. Jimin is up next, and there’s a runner at third, which means they need to be extra protective of home plate and make sure that Jimin doesn’t have a chance at bringing the runner home.
Jungkook is expecting Taehyung to suggest a screw ball, something to make Jimin work for it. But then, he does something inexplicable. Taehyung pushes his mask back, licks his lips, and then puckers them in Jungkook’s direction. It’s almost like he’s asking for a…but no. That’s impossible.
On the pitcher’s mound, Jungkook falters.
“What the fuck?” he mutters at the same time he hears Yoongi groan the same words behind him, where he’s standing at first.
Yoongi isn’t the typical first baseman (to be perfectly blunt, he’s short) but he’s put the fear of god into more baseball players than most. He’s got a mean throw (and tackle, he’s not afraid to check someone bodily to get the out) and he’s a demon on the bases. There’s a reason that he’s the top of their lineup, they trust that he can get on base and then move. He’s got the highest percentage of stolen bases in the entire league and Jungkook has laughed at more than one TikTok compilation of other teams caught groaning when Yoongi comes up to bat.
“What kind of pitch am I supposed to throw based on that?” Jungkook wonders out loud as Taehyung repeats his signal.
From where he’s squinting next to the base, Yoongi says, “He cannot be more obvious.”
Then, Jungkook’s words seem to hit Yoongi because all he does is groan again, putting his head in his glove, “Never mind. He needs to be more obvious.”
“What?” he repeats, absolutely lost.
At home plate, Jimin is cackling, Taehyung’s smile is a little more strained at the edges, and Jungkook is so, so confused. Jimin is in fact, laughing so hard that he’s leaning on his bat to keep himself upright, patting Taehyung on the back. Jungkook turns to Yoongi again as if he might have the answer, but all he does is shake his head and motion for Jungkook to get on with it.
He gives Taehyung the signal for a curveball and Taehyung only stares at him for another moment before he sighs, nodding as he pulls his mask down adding a little motion to tell him that he should throw the ball faster than usual. It’s Jimin’s worst pitch to bat against and the extra speed means that it’ll be even harder for him to actually connect with the ball. The fact that Taehyung isn’t taking it easy on the man he routinely calls his soulmate means that he’s out for blood. Even if Jungkook still doesn’t quite know why.
*******
The first time Jungkook played baseball was back in California in his childhood backyard. His brother wanted to play so that he could get in practice before joining the local team, and their dad was too busy to play catch, so three year old Jungkook was given a glove and a quick explanation on what to do. Throw ball at brother. Catch ball when it comes at you from brother to avoid getting smacked in the face. Simple enough. The first few throws were successful if a bit wobbly, but it’s not like anyone was judging him. Except his brother ended up throwing the ball a little too high for baby Jungkook to reach, and in his desperate attempt to follow his hyung’s orders, he’d overextended backwards, toppling right over the edge of their deck.
He’d ended up being fine, but his scream had brought their mother out immediately and the scolding his brother got was intense enough to make even him wince from where he was still lying on the ground. Still, baby Jungkook was hooked. He might not have been very good, but he was determined and so he practiced and begged his parents to let him sign up for the local baseball team too, running around the house in joy when they finally relented and let him.
So that was the first time he played. But the first time Jungkook fell in love with baseball? That wasn’t until he met Kim Taehyung.
They’d moved across the country for his mother’s job and Jungkook had taken it hard. He was eight years old, old enough to have made friends and be upset that he was leaving them. And for nothing but cold, miserable weather that made his nose run and even worse, prevented him from playing baseball year round. In California, the weather was nice enough that they could play the sport year round without ever having to worry about things like rain or snow. But Connecticut felt like an entirely different world where he suddenly was at the mercy of the weatherman.
In a desperate attempt to make Jungkook happy, his parents signed him up for the only little league team in town that was running a fall season. The town they’d moved to was so small that there was a general team for boys aged seven to ten. Jungkook had pouted the entire team his father had driven him, determined not to make any friends. If his parents saw how miserable he was, then maybe they’d move back to California.
He’d kept that pout almost the entire time he was there, shaking his head when the other boys asked him to play and when the coach gently tried to coax him off the sidelines. He’d refused the orange slices even though they were his favorites, and only crossed his arms tighter, wishing it wasn’t so cold.
“Here,” a little voice had said from next to him, “I saw you looking at them.”
Jungkook had turned and saw another boy armed with nothing but a wide boxy smile presenting him with an orange slice like it was a trophy.
“I hope you come join us!” the boy had exclaimed, “But take your time, I know it can take a while to warm up!”
And then, he’d skipped away, humming under his breath as he grabbed his glove and waved at one of the other boys and ran over. Stunned, Jungkook had taken the slice and ran his finger over the peel, trying to figure out why this boy was being so nice to him. He didn’t even know his name (though this was quickly remedied when the coach called after him “Taehyung! Don’t forget your jacket!).
Jungkook didn’t join in that practice, or the next, or even the one after that, but Taehyung never gave up. He kept saving Jungkook orange slices and giving them to him with a secret smile, like it was something meant only for the two of them. Finally, during the fourth practice Jungkook attended, he joined the other boys and watched the way Taehyung’s smile took over his entire body, which was practically vibrating in excitement.
His parents had been thrilled when the coach reported to them that he’d finally joined in and when they asked him why he decided to, all he could do was shrug. The truth felt too big for his little body, too big of an emotion for him to be able to express. But the truth of it was this, that when he’d sat on the sidelines watching the way Taehyung played, even if it was a little clumsy, he wanted. Nearly ached with the force of it.
He wanted to join Taehyung on the field and be the reason for his smiles, be the person Taehyung hugged when they worked together to get an out, and the person Taehyung first turned to when he successfully hit the ball and made it on base. He wanted Taehyung to always save him an orange slice, to share ice cream cones with, to split a bag of sunflower seeds with. To be the person in charge of drawing black lines on Taehyung’s bread cheeks to better absorb the sun, comforting him during the rare moments when he frowned, and always cheering him on.
In other words, he’d fallen in love.
*******
So yes, Jungkook had liked baseball before, but he didn’t fall in love with it until he met Taehyung. He’d fall in love with it many moments after, the first time he threw a pitch and realized he was good at it, the first perfect game he’d ever thrown in high school, getting a full ride scholarship to his dream university because of baseball. Getting drafted to his dream team, the Los Angeles Dodgers, at the ripe age of eighteen. Being named the Rookie of the Year. And through it all, all of the craziness, Taehyung was there each and every step of the way.
Taehyung was the reason he’d discovered he was good at pitching. They were older then, shivering in the Connecticut fall (something Jungkook never quite got used to) and practicing their batting. They weren’t old enough to operate the pitching machine though, and so they took turns pitching for each other. Usually it was Taehyung doing the pitching, mostly because Jungkook was the one who wanted to improve his reaction times, but this time, Taehyung had insisted that they swap. So they had, and the first time he released the baseball, he felt something shift inside him.
Taehyung had hit the ball, but barely, a shock considering that he was the best batter in their league. He’d dropped the bat immediately in favor of his glove and immediately dropped into a squat, demanding that Jungkook pitch again. And he did, mimicking the way he’d seen the professionals do on television, igniting a new love of the game every time he heard the sound of the ball connecting with Taehyung’s glove. The best part of it though? That was seeing how happy Taehyung was every time Jungkook threw a strike, and he knew that that was the only reason he’d ever continue to pitch.
They’d shown their coach Jungkook’s newfound talent at their next practice, and that was that. Jungkook was a pitcher and Taehyung his catcher. There was never any question, no other option. They spent almost every waking moment together practicing, honing their skills, quizzing each other on plays and hypothetical situations. They’d gotten closer after Jungkook had finally joined in, playing with the team, and to his delight he’d learned that they lived two houses down from each other.
The fact that Taehyung was older than him by two years didn’t bother him, and thanks to some funky laws and loopholes due to the California and Connecticut education systems, they were in the same grade. Taehyung was originally from New York, but his family had moved to Connecticut when he was a baby, though his father carried a love of baseball with him that he’d instilled in all of his children. Their parents were at every game, cheering them on with handmade signs that made teenage Jungkook cringe, and adult Jungkook look back with fondness.
The game that he’d thrown a perfect game was one of the most important games of their high school career. He and Taehyung had made the varsity team their freshman year, something unheard of. It put a lot of pressure on them and they were lucky that their senior teammates hadn’t been offended by it, even if their rival schools talked a lot of shit. They might’ve been the youngest players on the team, might’ve fought an uphill battle to claim their rightful place on the team, but that didn’t automatically mean they were put in games at first.
They had to fight for it, to prove that they were good enough to go the distance. It was satisfying to be trusted as the cleanup crew, to know that if their team was trailing and they needed a good pitcher that Jungkook was the person they thought of. That they knew Taehyung’s arm could be deadly, sniping a person trying to steal a base on nothing more than a moment’s notice. But they were both filled with a determination to prove that they could go the distance, last the entire game and not need to be relieved. So they argued their case silently, proving game after game that they were the ones to be afraid of out there on the field.
Finally, their coach relented and when Jungkook saw his name in the starting pitcher position, he almost screamed out loud. He turned and saw his excitement reflected on Taehyung’s face, as well as the serious look on his face when he gestured for Jungkook to follow him. They’d huddled together, just the two of them, lost in their own world.
“Get out there and show them why we’re the best pitcher and catcher this world has seen,” Taehyung had said, quietly but with conviction.
“They’ll never have a reason to doubt us after this,” Jungkook had nodded, pressing their foreheads together.
That was their silent pregame ritual, a moment meant only for them. Armed with nothing but quiet confidence and the knowledge that his best friend in the world was on his side, Jungkook stepped out onto the pitcher’s mound, facing the batter, and smiled. Three up, three down, for nine consecutive innings. It made the local news.
It probably should have made him cocky, but it only made him want to prove himself more. He was so, so lucky that Taehyung understood him and the way baseball motivated him. That they were so in sync with each other that they barely needed to speak to convey what they meant, but did anyway. Jungkook’s favorite sound in the world was the sound of Taehyung’s voice, the way he laughed, the way he sounded when he was debating in class.
The night of the MLB draft, he and Taehyung chose not to go out, chose not to don suits and sit in front of the media circus, despite knowing that they were some of the biggest topics of conversation. Their debut on the college baseball scene was explosive and dynamic, going above and beyond what people were expecting from their high school days. Taehyung had only gotten more handsome as the years passed, and Jungkook knew that they both had something of a fanclub dedicated to them.
He’s lucky that no one ever caught him buying the poster of Taehyung their senior year of high school. It had gone straight into his drawer of shame, but he didn’t regret buying it. The picture was a profile shot, of Taehyung crouching down to catch the ball, grin on his face and backwards baseball cap pushing his hair back. All the things people said about baseball pants making athlete’s asses look better? Absolutely true.
Anyways.
The night of the draft, they’d ordered a pizza to split and clinked glasses of champagne (helpfully supplied by Taehyung’s older brother) together as they celebrated. They knew they’d be drafted. It wasn’t a question of if, it was a question of when, and depending on who was asked, it was a surprise that they’d managed to get a year of college under their belts before being considered. But that was something they’d chosen to do together, to experience something of a normal life.
And sure enough, they were the first and second picks of the night, both of them drafted to the Los Angeles Dodgers. It was everything Jungkook could’ve hoped for and more. He’d prayed and hoped that he and Taehyung would end up together, playing for the same team, but it was the one thing that he couldn’t truly account for, so it was a big rush of relief that everything worked out. Taehyung had knocked his head into Jungkook’s lightly, smile bright enough to light up the room as their phones buzzed next to them, texts and calls streaming in. It was so, so validating to be drafted, to have his lifelong dream come true, with the team that represented the town he still mostly thought of as home, but it was even better because Taehyung was doing it with him.
The reality of getting drafted is that most players usually languish in the minor leagues, promises of having the chance to finally debut in the big leagues made but never really kept. Often, players make it a few years before they read the writing on the wall and drop out, remembering the glory days as they wither away in office cubicles. The ones who stay, tough it out, often have two or three other jobs to support themselves as they continue chasing their dream until the day they’re told they’re being cut loose.
Luckily though, Jungkook and Taehyung were both so desired that they skipped the minor leagues entirely, launching straight into the Dodgers’s spring training program, the most intensive thing he’d ever done in his life. There was no mercy, not from these people who had risked everything to debut an eighteen year old boy on their team. It was the greatest time of his life. He’d learned so much from the other pitchers and coaches, challenged for the first time in a long time, and he’d been delighted that Taehyung felt the same way.
Like many times before, they’d been separated just to evaluate how well they could do without each other, and even though they were both perfectly capable of performing alone, no one could deny that they worked best together. And like the day they vowed to prove themselves the first time Jungkook threw a perfect game, they vowed to make their debut count.
That first game, their professional MLB debut? It was terrifying, scary in a way that Jungkook hadn’t let himself feel in almost a decade since he’d moved across the country. But when he’d looked out at the fans, saw them wearing jerseys with his name and his number on it, and then finally let his eyes settle on Taehyung’s, he knew it would all be okay. Taehyung had given the signal (fastball, 90MPH) and Jungkook nodded, taking a deep breath before throwing the pitch that he knew would be the beginning of his career. The crisp sound of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt resounded in the air and he grinned, slightly feral, alive with the adrenaline coursing through him.
It was basically the perfect season. He and Taehyung made almost no errors and slowly but surely integrated themselves with the rest of the team and staff. They didn’t make it to the World Series that year, but at the end of it Jungkook had won Rookie of the Year and the Cy Young Award, accomplishments that gave him a high that lasted for days. Standing up there on stage, accepting his awards, all he could do was look out at the crowd and find the one set of eyes that never left his.
“I wouldn’t be here without Taehyung,” he’d said, speaking slowly and clearly so that nobody could mistake his words for anything but the truth, “So this award. Both of them belong equally with him.”
And he hadn’t said it, the “I love you” that accompanied his words, always did when he spoke to or about Taehyung, but from the smile on the other man’s face, he figured that he understood.
*******
Now, at age twenty four, Jungkook has a World Series under his belt, a Calvin Klein sponsorship (among many others), and a healthy fear of Park Jimin. Despite the fact that they essentially shared all of their friends, Taehyung always liked to joke that he had custody of Yoongi and Jimin while Jungkook had custody of Hoseok and Namjoon. Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
When it came down to it, it was mostly because of their differing personalities. When they had first joined the Dodgers, Taehyung’s outgoing personality meant that he clicked easily with the other members of their team, getting invites to barbecues and bar outings. Jungkook, much shyer by nature, had let Taehyung do the main schmoozing for both of them (everyone knew they were a package deal after all) and instead made friends with Namjoon, one of the many team managers, and Hoseok, one of the many team PR people. Or rather, he made friends with Namjoon, bonding over their mutual tendency to be quiet and let others talk, and Hoseok forcefully adopted both of them.
Jimin and Yoongi were the two people on the team that Taehyung grew closest to, their fearless short stop and first baseman. Jimin’s arm was insane, the stuff of legend, and when Jungkook had asked why he was a shortstop and not a third baseman (god knew that needed someone with a good arm to cover that distance), Jimin explained that he liked the drama of having to cover two bases instead of one.
“Keeps me on my toes,” he’d shrugged.
Two years into their time with the Dodgers, Taehyung’s older brother Jin had finished his sports medicine degree and wasted no time joining the elite group of Dodgers medical staff, personally overseeing both Jungkook and Taehyung. And with him, their little group of seven was complete.
The day after Taehyung’s weird signal, Jungkook decides to call in reinforcements. Sure, his safer option would be to call Namjoon (less likely to judge) or Jin (has known Taehyung his entire life), but the world’s number two Taehyung expert (second only to Jungkook himself) is Jimin. And since he can’t consult himself, or trust that he’d have an unbiased opinion, Jimin is truly his best option.
So he sucks up his pride and texts Jimin, asking him to meet at a cafe nearby. Taehyung waves at him sleepily from the couch when he leaves, sprawled out and watching some National Geographic special on penguins.
“Tell Jiminie I said hi,” Taehyung says, eyes not leaving the penguins as they waddle across the screen.
Jungkook bites back a groan. Of course Jimin already ratted him out to Taehyung and told him they were meeting. It’s a good thing he kept the topic vague when he sent the invite.
“I will,” Jungkook replies, “And I’ll bring you back a cup of their new tea, I know you’ve been wanting to try it.”
That gets Taehyung to turn and grin at him, sending a flying kiss before the penguins once again draw him back in and Jungkook has to tell his racing heart to get its shit together. Jimin is already waiting at the cafe by the time he gets there (his heart took longer to slow down than he thought it would), two drinks in hand.
“Here,” Jimin says, handing one of the drinks over, “Extra strong. I figured you would need it, you sounded desperate over text.”
Jungkook groans and narrowly resists the urge to bang his head into the table.
“C’mon,” Jimin says, “Tell Uncle Chim all about your problems. I know it must be important if you’re wasting your day off with me instead of cuddling on the couch with Taetae.”
Mustering up all the strength and courage he has, Jungkook explains his problem in excruciating detail. The confusion he felt when he saw the signal Taehyung was sending him, the weird comment Yoongi had made, Jimin’s laughter at the situation even though he didn’t think Taehyung was doing anything funny.
“Jungkook,” Jimin says with the patience of a man who is clearly doing everything he can to try and remain calm, “What’s Taehyung’s favorite baseball team?”
“The Yankees,” he says automatically, though he winces after.
It’s not like, against the rules for the Yankees to be your favorite baseball team (honestly half the world is probably a Yankees fan), but it sure is awkward when you play for an entirely different team. And when said different team just solidly kicked your favorite team’s ass in the World Series. He knows that even though Taehyung’s father was proud of him, that both of their families were there for every game of the series, part of him was still a little disappointed that the Yankees had lost. A New Yorker, through and through.
“Yes,” Jimin says slowly, “And who does he play for?”
“The Dodgers?” Jungkook says equally as slowly, confused as to where Jimin is going with this.
“Right,” Jimin says pleasantly, “And whose favorite team is that?”
“…Mine? Jimin, where are you going with this?”
Jimin stares at him wordlessly.
“You know that Taehyung could’ve gone to any team right? The entire MLB was practically foaming at the mouth to recruit him, even before the draft and especially after the insane first year you two had. And despite the fact that he’s from New York, that his family bleeds Yankees merch, and that they’re his favorite team, he chose to play for the Dodgers. Actively continues to play for them.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, “But what does that have to do with me?”
Jimin groans and throws his hands in the air, “Oh my god.”
Before Jungkook can say another word, Jimin interrupts him.
“Joonie!” he shouts, “I can’t do it! You need to come here and do it before I say something mean.”
Namjoon appears almost magically at Jimin’s words, clipboard in hand. Jin pops up behind him, head tilted as he tries to figure out what’s going on. He’s got a menu in hand, but Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s holding it upside down.
“What the fuck?” Jungkook blurts out, “Where the hell did you two come from?”
“I called them as soon as you texted,” Jimin says unapologetically, “I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this alone.”
Jungkook’s mouth opens, spluttering as he tries to figure out how best to express how indignant he feels. Jimin waves him off and Namjoon and Jin both take a seat, producing chairs out of what feels like thin air.
“Jeon Jungkook,” Jin says gravely, “You have made the choice to fall in love with my brother, and now you’re being a little bit of an idiot about it.”
There’s so much to unpack in that sentence that Jungkook doesn’t even know where to start.
“It’s not like falling in love was a choice.”
Great. That’s what he’s chosen to focus on.
“Not denying the idiot part,” Jimin notes, because of course.
“I just don’t understand why you think I’m being dumb,” he says, pleading with his eyes for one of them to explain.
“Jungkook,” Namjoon says because he’s an angel of a man, “Seriously. Think about this, Taehyung’s favorite baseball team is the Yankees, and they wanted him to play for them. Wanted him so badly in fact, that they were ready to offer him almost any salary he wanted. But instead of doing that, he chose to play for the Dodgers, because it meant being with you.”
“But,” Jungkook says helplessly, “That’s just because learning how to catch for another pitcher is too hard. We’re too close to ever try and cheat on each other.”
The look that all of them level at him has him wincing back.
“What?”
“To Taetae,” Jimin says, raising his cup of coffee, “I hope he gets everything he wants in life, even if everything is really, really dumb sometimes.”
“To Taetae,” Jin and Namjoon both reply, raising their own drinks solemnly.
Jungkook groans. He should have never asked Jimin.
*******
After the coffee shop, Jungkook had gone home somehow more confused than he was before, though not without Taehyung’s tea in his hand. Taehyung hadn’t asked how it had gone, something Jungkook was thankful for. He’d accepted his tea with a smile and patted the couch next to him where the television was now playing a show about otters. Wordlessly, he’d sat down and let Taehyung cuddle into him, watching as the sea otters drifted together, holding hands to stay anchored.
The next week, they go out to a bar on their day off, joined by the rest of their friends. ESPN is playing in the background, the commentators talking about each team and how well they think they’re going to do in the upcoming season. Expectations for the Dodgers are high, especially following their World Series victory.
“God,” Yoongi shudders, “This is why I hate coming out to sports bars. They never stop talking about sports.”
“Yes,” Jimin grins, “That is kind of the point. And it’s nice hearing that they think we’re going to continue kicking ass. More people could stand to praise my skills as a short stop you know.”
“Narcissist,” Hoseok snorts.
It’s nice being out, especially since they haven’t been recognized. They’re good at their jobs (and frankly, ridiculously attractive), and with that comes a level of fame that Jungkook still isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with. Sometimes he’ll be out shopping for groceries and a fan will stop him to ask for a photo and an autograph and while he loves meeting people, it can get tiring, especially when he just wants to buy his peppers in peace.
For the most part though, it’s incredibly rewarding, like when he sees little kids at their game who tell him that they want to play baseball because of him. Fans of all ages love to ask him how he got to be such a good pitcher and about how close he is with Taehyung, something that interviewers in particular also love to ask him about. Long ago, they agreed that their friendship was something they wanted to keep private, but not secret. There was no denying how close they were, and it was never something they wanted to hide. But in order to maintain a semblance of normalcy, they’d agreed not to talk about their private lives beyond basic facts and with an air of vagueness.
“Taetae,” Jin slurs, having thrown back the last of his drink, “Remember when you were gonna be the best pitcher in the world?”
Taehyung laughs, but it sounds nervous, “Ah hyung, that was so long ago.”
“You practiced sooo hard. But, but then,” he stumbles over his words, “You came home from practice one day and you told me you couldn’t be a pitcher because then you couldn’t play with Jungkookie anymore.”
Taehyung looks absolutely mortified but Jungkook just…stares.
In all the years they’ve known each other, played with each other, he never knew Taehyung wanted to be a pitcher. He knows that Taehyung has a strong arm (there was a reason he mostly did the pitching when they were kids), that left handed pitchers are generally considered some of the most dangerous people to bat against in games, but he never knew Taehyung had any kind of desire to be one.
“You wanted to be a pitcher?” he asks softly.
Jin nods, head bobbing up and down comically, “Yeaaaaah, they told him that he could’ve been the best pitcher in the NFL!”
“The MLB,” Taehyung corrects gently, “The NFL is football hyung, and I think you’ve said enough.”
“But Jungkookie needs to know,” Jin protests, “You could’ve been the bestest pitcher ever instead of the bestest catcher ever.”
“You sacrificed your dream of being a pitcher so you could stay with me?”
“It wasn’t a sacrifice,” Taehyung says, hands playing with his beer glass, “Don’t say it like that.”
Jungkook is pretty sure his entire world view has shifted and he slumps back into the booth, trying to absorb the impact of Jin’s words. He knows that Jin probably isn’t kidding, which means that for as much as Taehyung is trying to downplay it, there’s a degree of truth to the statement. It’s a little overwhelming, so Jungkook excuses himself to the bathroom, shooting a somewhat shaky smile in Taehyung’s direction to try and assure him that he’s fine.
When he comes back, everyone but Jimin and Taehyung have left the booth for what appears to be a growing dance circle, despite the fact that they’re in a bar, not a club. Jimin is patting Taehyung on the back, genuine concern in his eyes, and neither of them seem to have realized that Jungkook has come back.
“I know,” Jimin is saying, “But maybe…maybe it’s time to finally give up.”
Taehyung shakes his head, “I don’t think I’d know how, even if I wanted to.”
Jimin sighs, pressing a kiss to the side of Taehyung’s head, “You’re hopeless, but that’s what I love about you. I’m gonna go join the others, when Jungkook comes back you two should join us.”
Jungkook has to dive out of the way so Jimin doesn’t see him, and then loiters for another few minutes before making his way back to the table. Taehyung smiles at him when he sits back down, sliding over a glass of water.
“Here,” he says, “Helps to stay hydrated and all that.”
“Thanks,” Jungkook replies, taking a sip.
He tries to figure out what Jimin meant, about giving up. Wonders why Taehyung hasn’t already told him about it and asked him for advice. Taehyung asks him for his opinion on everything, from what kind of bagel he should get at the deli to what percentage of his salary should be going into his retirement fund.
“What did Jimin mean when he asked if you were finally going to give up?”
“Ah,” Taehyung says, “You heard that?”
Jungkook nods, waiting patiently for Taehyung to say more.
“Well,” he says after a while, “I’ve been…trying to drop hints for a while now, that I like this guy. I thought we were on the same page about it, but I don’t think he’s been picking up on any of it, so now I’m not so sure.”
“You like someone?”
The words escape Jungkook before he can consciously think about it, and then he shakes his head, ignoring the pit he feels in his stomach. The way his heart aches.
“Sorry, not important. But how dumb is this guy that he can’t tell you’re flirting with him, are you being really subtle about it and that’s why?”
Taehyung laughs a little, “I’m not sure anyone has ever described me as being subtle.”
This is true. Taehyung is a lot of things, kind, generous, beautiful. But very few people would ever use the word subtle to talk about him. Which means that he’s likely been pulling out all of the big guns and that the guy he’s into must just not be able to pick up on it.
“It’s a little funny,” Taehyung muses, "Because usually I think he and I are pretty in sync, that he can pick up on what I’m trying to say. But I’m not sure why this is the one signal he doesn’t seem to be picking up on.”
Jungkook would be able to pick up on Taehyung’s signals. In fact, there is no one in the world better at reading Taehyung’s intentions than he is and it bothers him that this is clearly eating at Taehyung. He ignores the part of himself that whines at not being the one who has Taehyung’s affection, wants to declare that he’s always been Taehyung’s, that the other man could have him if he wanted.
Taehyung’s eyes search his, imploring him to understand the hidden meaning in his words, but he must not be able to, because Taehyung simply sighs and pats his head, moving out of the booth to get more water.
And Jungkook knows, then and there, that he has to act fast before someone else does. Before this nameless man swoops in and does the one thing Jungkook has been too afraid to do for what feels like his entire life. He pulls his phone out and sends a text to Hoseok, knowing that the other man is on the dance floor, phone shut off. It’s fine, it can be a tomorrow problem.
“Hyung, call Vogue and tell them I’m in, but that I want to put in a special request for the last question.”
*******
The day his video interview with Vogue drops, Jungkook feels a sense of anxiousness that he’s never felt before in his life. He’d convinced all of his friends to let him and Taehyung watch the video alone together, not wanting the rest of them to witness what he hoped would be the start of their relationship (or, the pessimistic part of him whispered, what could be the most humiliating moment of his life). He doesn’t know what strings Hoseok pulled to be able to get them to not only film the video quickly, but also get it edited and released all in the course of a week, but he knows better than to take it for granted.
The day they filmed the video was beautiful, the sun shining but not too hot, the perfect weather. They’d agreed on the blocking of the video, filmed walking around Dodgers Stadium, and Jungkook answered each question with ease, letting himself relax as he talked about himself and his team. He hadn’t really cared about most of the questions, let Hoseok do most of the vetting, and added the one he wanted to be asked personally, hand only shaking slightly.
“Ooh,” Taehyung teases as he clicks on the video, “97 Questions with Jeon Jungkook. That’s a lot of questions there.”
Jungkook nods, too nervous to answer him properly. Call him dramatic, but the fate of the world (his relationship with Taehyung) rests on this video. The first two thirds of the video are pretty standard, Jungkook wandering around Dodgers Stadium as he talks about his childhood, the World Series, and the upcoming season. It’s not until they get into the last ten or so questions that things really get interesting.
“Meat or seafood?”
“Meat, but only if Taehyung isn’t around because he prefers seafood.”
“Current favorite music genre?”
“Jazz, it’s not my usual thing but I’ve been really into it lately. Taehyung recommended a song to me recently and I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Favorite thing in your locker?”
“The picture of me and Taehyung taken when we were kids. It was the first game we won together as a pitcher and a catcher, and we didn’t know it was being taken but his brother was there and thought it was a cute memory. It’s one of my most treasured possessions and it’s definitely my good luck charm.”
“What’s the secret to your success?”
“Taehyung.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, well like, hard work and dedication too, but having someone on the field with me every step of the way really kept me motivated. I always wanted to be the best version of myself because I knew he was there.”
“You know, a lot of people have tried to get you to talk about your friendship with Taehyung, but you don’t usually let them ask. Why is that?”
“My relationship, my friendship, with Taehyung, it’s something just for us you know? We agreed a really long time ago that we wanted to keep our private lives to ourselves.”
“Fair enough man. Okay, favorite pitch to throw?”
“Hmm, curveball. It was one of the first pitches that I mastered and it’s one of the most fun to throw. Plus, the signal Taehyung and I have whenever he wants me to throw one is really cute.”
“You really talk about Taehyung a lot, man. Are you in love with him or something?”
“Yes.”
The video ends there, on Jungkook’s bashful, but proud smile. It had felt liberating to finally say it, and now, he turns to Taehyung, whose mouth has dropped open. They’ve spent a lifetime communicating with nothing more than signals, hand gestures to get what they mean across, but Jungkook thinks it’s finally time to put it into words.
“I love you.”
He watches a whole host of emotions play out on Taehyung’s face, waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts. He’s prepared for it, made peace with whatever Taehyung decides to do, whether that’s storm out of the room, punch him in the face, or hopefully (and the option Jungkook prefers, return his feelings). He’s not at all prepared for the way Taehyung lunges over the couch and kisses him.
“Oh,” he says breathlessly.
“I love you,” Taehyung says, equally breathless.
“Oh,” he repeats.
Then, “What about the guy you were into? The one who couldn’t read your signals?”
Taehyung whacks him on the arm, but it’s gentle.
“That’s you, you dummy. You can tell what kind of pitch I want you to throw based on if I wiggle my eyebrows at a certain angle, but not that I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers.”
OH.
He thinks back to what started this all, Taehyung’s inexplicable signal from behind the plate, his conversation with Jimin about Taehyung choosing to follow Jungkook to the Dodgers instead of playing for the Yankees, and Jin’s drunken confession that Taehyung had actually originally wanted to be a pitcher. Thinks of all the things that Taehyung has and hasn’t done to show Jungkook that he loves him, in the language that they spoke for over a decade, reaching out the only way he knew how to. Jungkook was the one who couldn’t read it.
He sees Taehyung laugh at him as the realization sweeps over his face, and he buries his head in Taehyung’s shoulder.
“God this is so embarrassing,” he moans.
“It’s cute,” Taehyung says, “Maybe a little frustrating at times, but still cute. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to actually say it.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, “We got there eventually.”
Taehyung’s face softens, “That’s right, we did. And I’m never going to get tired of saying it to you. I love you.”
“I love you,” he replies, hopelessly endeared.
Then, Taehyung grins at him and beckons him forward with a finger before wrapping his hands around the back of Jungkook’s neck, lean fingers scratching at the hair at his nape. Before he can vocalize what he wants, Jungkook smiles and meets him halfway, kissing him, already adding this to his mental rolodex of non-verbal Taehyung cues.
It’s a whole new set of signals to learn, a whole new lexicon of things Taehyung can communicate to him with his body. It might take him a while to learn them all and master them, for Taehyung to learn the signals that Jungkook sends back.
But well. They’ve got time.
*******
(They film another video with Vogue, “27 Questions with Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook” three years after officially becoming a couple. It’s more fun doing it together, and Jungkook gets to watch the way Taehyung lights up when he answers questions, knows that his face is unbearably fond. This time, they film it in the backyard of their house, the one they moved to after realizing that they’d outgrown their apartment. It’s a beautiful house with a lush garden, plenty of space for them to walk and chat. Like last time, neither he nor Taehyung had seen the questions beforehand, but also like last time, he’d put in a special request for the final question.
“Hey, Taehyung, for our final question we’re going to let Jungkook ask you something.”
“Sure. Hit me Jungkookie.”
“Kim Taehyung, catcher to my pitcher and great love of my life. Will you marry me?”
“Oh my god. Yes!”)