{bangtan; taehyung/jeongguk} i try to picture me without you (but i can't) [i/ii]
i try to picture me without you (but i can't)
taehyung/jeongguk // nc-17 // ~15.4k // implied infidelity, drinking
“You think relationships last in the Village? You want one with me? You think you’ll be happy?” Maybe Taehyung did think that they could be happy. (the other half of carboxyls's Watchers of the Eternal Flame; summer olympics au)
"Hey," Jeongguk says when Taehyung picks up the call. Even though Taehyung saw him a couple hours earlier, he feels the jolt of anticipation tremor its way down his spine. Like he's back in high school, and the boy he has a secret crush on smiled at him, and Taehyung's youthful stomach erupted in butterflies. Jeongguk's smile comes more rarely, but the response is still the same.
It's been two weeks going on three since Taehyung first fell into bed with Jeon Jeongguk, the Republic of Korea's beloved London gold medalist and youngest champion. Two weeks since Taehyung's had that devilish mouth - the same mouth that endorses Innisfree sea salt cleansing foam - pressed against the back of his neck, panting out Taehyung's name with each thrust forward of his hips, Taehyung's groans muffled against the pillows by coincidence more so than design. He's never been able to hold onto the coherency to keep quiet, and Jeongguk, on his part, is always more than eager to milk that for all its worth. The stream of breathless, filthy words Jeongguk whispers against Taehyung's throat always does Taehyung in by the end.
Jeongguk's voice has become so deep and mature Taehyung can hardly reconcile it with the reedy voice that thanked his parents and his country for the honor, four years ago. Everyone's eyes has been trained on Jeongguk then - except Taehyung's, back when he had been much too excited that his best friend had medaled silver in men's gymnastics. (Who can blame him? It's not every day you become the best friend of an Olympic medalist.) Now, Taehyung thinks ruefully he should've paid more attention; just the sound of Jeongguk's words, cradled up against his ear, is enough to get him going a little. "Hey there," Taehyung said, drawing the vowels out round and slow as he stretches his arms over his head.
"Did I catch you at the end of a nap?" Jeongguk asks, his voice lilting a little at the end of his question. Taehyung adores that, the way unfriendly hottie Jeon Jeongguk gets coy with him. His initial standoffishness definitely doesn't stop the Russians at the end of the hall from asking him to join them whenever they bump into each other, but last time it'd happened, Jeongguk had jerked his chin at Taehyung and smirked. The universal sign for I'm taken tonight, sorry about that.
"Yeah," Taehyung says, and yawns again, feeling so incredibly comfortable. The sun went down probably less than an hour ago, the last rays of light casting long shadows of palm trees across the Olympic Village grounds, nestled on the outskirts of Rio.
He felt good during practice this morning, limber and warm, the tip of his épée striking exactly where he wanted it to. Technically speaking, he doesn't really need to get into gear anymore, at least for the next couple weeks; the gleaming bronze medal tucked safely in his suitcase until closing ceremony is proof of that. But he misses it when he doesn't fence, the drills so well integrated into his body he feels off the whole day if he neglects them.
He hears Jeongguk's breaths on the other side of the line, steady and even. "Come over," Jeongguk says abruptly. "You're free now, aren't you?"
"You have no sense of romance," Taehyung teases, and isn't sure whether he hears it correctly when the air seems to catch in Jeongguk's throat, just for a second before Jeongguk smoothes it back over again. He must've imagined it, Taehyung decides as he drags himself up out of bed, not too sad to leave his cocoon of warmth when he's got such a treat waiting for him in Ilha Grande. (Taehyung's been doing that a lot these days, tucking things into his imagination when he thinks Jeongguk might have just faltered, but so far Jimin's the only one who's noticed. It's easier when Taehyung keeps up the façade.)
"So you are? On your way, I mean," Jeongguk says. "I can't imagine what else you'd have on your plate now, Mr. Bronze Medalist."
"Very important things, Mr. Gold," Taehyung says loftily, trying out his latest new nickname for Jeongguk. This one makes him laugh and roll his eyes, but he'd blushed a little when Taehyung tested Jeonggukie on his tongue between kisses, which had been so cute Taehyung practically tackled him right then and there. The fact Jeongguk reciprocates little things like this only serves to make Taehyung's 3rd place victory all the sweeter.
The path between Ilha Trindade and Ilha Grande was long the first time Taehyung traversed it, but it feels shorter now, well worn, a shady walkway that Taehyung has taken multiple times now. He's still not entirely used to the opulence of Olympic Village, even though Jimin navigates the luxurious halls and endless training centers with the kind of unconscious ease that only comes from experience. Sometimes Taehyung worries he's behind, he's falling behind because Jimin's one Olympics up him and people actually know him, "Park Jimin, silver at London, right?" - but then he remembers they're in entirely different sports, Taehyung's on an amazing team he would trade for none other, and there's no good in comparing yourself especially to your best friend. And, he thinks to himself smugly, Jimin isn't the one on the way for a romp in the sheets with a total catch.
He takes the stairs to the second floor, down the hall to the right door. His heart is thudding against his ribcage a little and Taehyung's caught up in that strange mix of nerves and excitement, in the way Jeongguk always makes him feel when they're together, like there's something else swirling in the air between them.
"Jeongguk, I'm here," he calls, rapping on the door with his knuckles, already knowing how it looks when Jeongguk pulls the door open and yanks him inside, mouth hot and eager. Somewhere down the hall - probably closer, actually, from the sounds of it - is enjoying their afternoon with a round or two, too.
There's no reply. Strangely so, too, because Taehyung is well familiar with how anal Jeongguk is about the privacy of his room, and how he waits by the door when he knows in advance that Taehyung will be dropping by. When Taehyung tries the handle on the door, it works, to his surprise, and he pushes it open, walking into a blast of air conditioning because Jeongguk always likes it on the brink of frigid cold - Jimin's complained about their tacit war over the air conditioning control plenty of times.
The sounds are louder now, and it's like a bad dream, a nightmare, as Taehyung's mind slowly pieces the scene together: the blond hair half-pulled out of its ponytail, spilling down a slim back. The girl in Jeongguk's lap, Jeongguk's kiss-swollen lips and shirtless chest. The look in Jeongguk's eyes, when he props himself up on his elbows and meets Taehyung's eyes across the room and there's no hint of shock or surprise to see him there, seeing them like this. Just a heavy, terrible resignation.
"Fuck," Taehyung spits out even as she begins to twist around to see who interrupted them. He doesn't even know who she is - one of the Swedish divers, he guesses wildly, or maybe she's on the sailing team of an entirely different country - but the sight of her bra strap slipping off her shoulder, the other tangled in Jeongguk's fingers. It's enough. It's more than enough. Maybe Taehyung is a little airheaded, but he'd be a fucking idiot not to get the message when Jeongguk decides to blare it in his face.
What a fucking idiot. Taehyung barely manages to scramble out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and into the stairwell before the tears start rolling down his face.
♕
Taehyung doesn't think it can feel worse than this, and then he and Jeongguk have that raging fall-out of a fight in the training center, and it can. It does. It really, really does. Until this week, Taehyung didn't think words could cut like that. He can only be grateful that épée individuals are long over, because every time he slides on his mask and takes his ready stance on the floor, Jeongguk's words keep echoing in the dark space of his head again.
“Are you kidding? You think relationships last in the Village? You want one with me? You think you’ll be happy?"
He's out of it, reflexes slow like his entire body is numb to the world, to the incoming saber jabbing at his throat. It isn't until the tip of one catches him straight to the chest and Taehyung stumbles back as the air rushes out his lungs, almost falling over if it weren't for the iron grip of his coach on his bicep. "Taehyung," the man says, and Taehyung looks up at him like he surfaced out of a pool and has so much chlorinated water logged in his ears he doesn't know which way is up. He hadn't even realized it when Coach stepped onto the training mats. "You're done for today. Go change."
"I - " Taehyung stammers, taking a step back to regain his balance, so his coach will release the grip he's still got on Taehyung's arm. He doesn't, which isn't particularly encouraging, because that means everyone can tell Taehyung's wobbling, far from his best today. "I can still - we just started - "
"See. It's not real."
Taehyung flinches reflexively at the words that had left him so cold, said in the voice that flushed him with a glowing, brilliant warmth only days ago. His coach isn't someone he can pull wool over the eyes of, and Taehyung finds himself tripping off the mats, mask shoved back under his elbow all too soon. When he goes to pick up his duffel bag from next to the team's benches, Taekwoon claps a hand on his shoulder, his eyes piercing, but he's mercifully silent and merely squeezes once before letting Taehyung go.
He wants to be grateful, he really does. Taehyung makes his way to the men's locker room, the sounds of his footsteps echoing in the high-ceiling space. It's empty - anyone with upcoming competitions is busy training, squeezing in those last repetitions, and everyone else is taking advantage of the Olympic Village's abundance of condoms, free alcohol, and hot bodies. It's a hard thing to balance before the scales tip heavily towards the latter, and Taehyung doesn't want to whine, much less burden Jimin with his heartsickness with the men's gymnastics competitions coming around fast.
No one is there to watch as Taehyung sits heavily on one of the benches, leaning back against the lockers even as one of the latches digs into his back. Now that he's alone, it's like the haze he's been drifting through over the past few days has thickened, pressing down on his limbs and making it hard to breathe. He doesn't even want to change out of his uniform.
This isn't like him. This isn't like Kim Taehyung at all.
"How about this, then? If you place tomorrow, you can do anything you want with me for a night."
One thing Jimin neglected to tell him about, Taehyung decides, isn't about the competitions or the training centers. It isn't even about the sex scene, which is beautifully, enthusiastically thriving beyond Taehyung's wildest imaginations - and he's got a particularly wild one.
It's about how it feels to be around people who get it, what it means to be an Olympian. How training has to come first, over everything else, at the most ungodly hours of the morning. How years of hard work pour into these four fleeting weeks. It has permeated into what he eats, how much he sleeps, until there is no such concept of free time. Taehyung has watched people like Kibum slow down, then eventually stop texting him to hit him up to hang out, because he was just too busy to make time for his high school best friends anymore. That was when he was only in the national circuits. And now he's gone from only having Jimin, who is gentle and understanding no matter what Taehyung tells him, to meeting possibly thousands of gorgeous, fellow Olympic athletes, all in one place.
To meeting Jeongguk, who gets what it feels like to step onto the floor and look up at someone who's been fighting for victory for so long and only thinks about beating you next for the next ten minutes. Jimin and his rings, his headstands and levers and twists, simply doesn't have that kind of external tension. Having someone who gets that, who gets the Olympics isn't a one-sided battle but one with yourself and your opponent, is more vital than Taehyung could've ever imagined.
It's just not the same with your teammates. At the end of Taehyung's post-victory night - an entire night of Jeongguk scrambling Taehyung's brains up with that voice and that body, those burning eyes - Taehyung rolled out of a wet spot on the hotel bed and into another. "Ugh," he said, looking up to find fond mirth in Jeongguk's gaze. "I vote we move to Jimin's bed."
"He'd never let me live it down, and I have to compete in two weeks," Jeongguk reminded him, and instead yanked Taehyung across both of the patches of dampness until he was practically lying on top of Jeongguk, propped up against warm, slightly sweaty skin. Nice. Very nice.
When Jeongguk looked at him that way, it made Taehyung consider telling Jimin that he wasn't seeing an American swimmer after all, but Jeongguk, yes, that Jeon Jeongguk. Yes, he might be having a more-than-a-fling with Jeon Jeongguk, isn't that crazy? "I didn't expect it," he said suddenly, the words drawn out of him after time and some proper distraction, "to be so scared while competing today."
"What do you mean?" Jeongguk asked, serious to match Taehyung in his rare moment of gravity. He drew his hand through Taehyung's hair, teasing the strands through his fingers absentmindedly, and offered a flicker of a smile when Taehyung leaned into the touch. It was a reflexive thing by then, lovely and familiar like the taste of Jeongguk's lips when they made out even with no intention of going all the way. If it hadn't felt so good, Taehyung would've known to worry at how hard and fast he had fallen.
"I don't know. I just looked at the other guy and our eyes met through the masks, and I was so nervous and afraid for a moment I thought I would explode from it," Taehyung said slowly. "I almost got hit in the first ten seconds because I let it take me off guard."
Jeongguk didn't laugh, or judge, nor did his hand slow. "That's normal for your first Games. You retaliated just fine, though. I saw you."
He still remembers it, the way the thrill Taehyung had felt when he remembered seeing Jeongguk in the stands, looking a little out of place out of awkwardness more than anything. "You did, you came to see me," Taehyung said, leaning forward for a kiss and it felt so good, so good. He'd be a liar if he said that Jeongguk's promise for the night wasn't solid motivation for him to do well enough to nab that bronze medal.
Taehyung's fencing performance has always been a mirror of how he's doing that day, which is something his coach is constantly trying to train out of him. He can't help it, though. He's not like Taekwoon and his other teammates. When he's riding high, pumped with adrenaline from excitement and - to be honest - sex as great as the sex he was having with Jeongguk, his épée does exactly as he pictures in his mind, as it had during his matches a week ago. And when something (like walking in on Jeongguk hooking up with someone else) happens, well. Today morning's practice is more than enough indication of that.
Another thing Jimin neglected to tell him is - you can win the medal. You can step off the arena floor and become Korea's next darling, but the match with yourself never ends. Taehyung wonders how many times Jimin has looked at his beautiful silver medal from 2012's London Games and wished it shone gold. Jimin has been dreaming of victory for as long as Taehyung has, probably longer, and pursues it with a single-minded focus.
Taehyung wonders why he's got a medal of his own to take home and still doesn't feel complete.
♕
In the end, Taehyung allows himself the rest of the day to mope and wakes up determined to get himself out of the Village, out to explore Rio. He doesn't bother texting Jimin, who's probably flying among those rings again and again, and when one of the tall Italian water polo boys hits on him, Taehyung gives him as charming of a smile as he can make it and declines.
Today's a day all for himself. He's never made it past the Olympic Park cafes, where he and Jimin made late night pit stops sometimes that were a lot more successful after Taehyung got his hands on some real via Taekwoon. Now that he has nothing to do but hang around for the riot that the closing ceremony promises to be, Taehyung is more than able to while his day away in downtown Rio de Janeiro.
Past the magic that is Olympic Park, Rio doesn't look all too different from Seoul, those same-old skyscrapers in the distance reaching towards the sky. The streets downtown are charming, a new world of buildings bursting with color. He translates enough Portuguese into Korean on his phone to hope he's taking the right buses in the right directions, and whenever he stops by a street vendor's stall, he only has to make sure it's not too spicy - picante - before he obligingly hands over his real. When he gets lost, he just wanders aimlessly until he finds something vaguely familiar, smiling whenever someone recognizes his face. He knows one of his teammates went out with a French cyclist and texted the group chat with some restaurant recommendations, but it's been buried under requests for sparring practices at odd hours and incoming orgy announcements courtesy of Gwangsuk, who has a promiscuous knack for getting himself into these situations. Jinwoon keeps texting Taehyung and Hyunseong with winky face and kissy lips emoticons, because everyone already knows to give up on getting Taekwoon to join.
Jimin himself had told Taehyung multiple times to try an açai bowl or two, then refused to give any further details when Taehyung asked whether he'd gone into the city with anyone in particular. Probably with his own more-than-a-fling. Taehyung really, really hopes they're still together, or at least as together as you can possibly be with someone who's an Olympic athlete ready to fly home in a couple weeks. When he manages to locate a decent-looking juice bar offering açai bowls, he forks over the real for a to-go bowl and granola on the side and takes it down to the shoreline.
It's gorgeous, Taehyung hastening to finish his berry-filled treat even though it gives him brain freeze, so he has his hands free to hold his sandals as he steps into the foamy surf. The ocean breeze flutters through his hair, reminding him he probably needs to go for a trim; he's been neglecting it so long with training constantly at the forefront of his mind. The beaches of Brazil are so different from the rock and surf of Busan, that one time Jimin invited Taehyung to come down and spend a summer with him, post London. Before Rio.
Too easily, their lives are governed by the four weeks every four years, and all the time in between is suspended in a trap of looking forward and looking back. Ironic that Taehyung finds a moment to live in the present right in the middle of these four weeks, his first Olympic cycle but by no means his last. Coach is already talking about intensifying his workout regimen, aiming for the gold in men's épée individuals for 2020 Tokyo. Eye on the prize, gearing up for four more years of fencing until his head spins with it. But here, standing on the fine, white sands of Barra da Tijuca, Taehyung allows those grueling early mornings of training to stay in the future, where they belong.
"Beautiful, huh?" someone says to his right, slightly behind him, and Taehyung startles at the unexpected Korean after a full day of Portuguese flitting in one ear and out the other. A wave comes rolling in and soaks his rolled up pants up to his knee, and he bites out a curse under his breath as he scrambles back up the sandy bank.
It's Hakyeon, making his way down to meet Taehyung with his hands shoved into his pockets, and it's strange not seeing him in the Track and Field jersey and shorts Taehyung has come to associate him with. "Yeah, it really is," he replies, and looks out at the waters again so he doesn't have to examine the way Hakyeon is looking at him.
"It's no Korea, but it's something," Hakyeon says, and Taehyung recalls he's from Changwon, not far from the ocean shores himself. He really doesn't know much about Cha Hakyeon, besides the fact that he was the one who evicted Taehyung from his room on his first day in Rio, and that he's not a "hundred meter dash record setter," as Jimin mentioned, but he's close enough. There's enough gossip going on within the Korean fencing team alone to fill in the gaps, though, no matter how Taekwoon glares. According to the older members of the team, Hakyeon and Taekwoon have been having a more-than-a-fling for their past two Olympic Games. Taekwoon won't breathe a word of anything happening in between (or during, really) but Junghwan and Jinwoon swear up and down that they definitely meet up.
That knowledge makes Taehyung kind of want to ask Hakyeon about it, how they manage to do it when hot bods have been abound at Beijing and London and currently throughout Rio. They've never called themselves boyfriends before. Realistically speaking, he knows not everyone at the Games is involved with the hookup scene that inevitably comes with so many high-intensity, good-looking people enclosed in one space for a month. Jimin's mentioned it before, and Taehyung himself has certainly seen people calling or Facetiming their lovers back home. Some couples even compete at the Olympics together. Maybe it just takes more - both people wanting it, wanting to make it work.
When Taekwoon appears at the top of the path leading down to the beach where Taehyung and Hakyeon stand, casting his gaze around, it's certainly telling enough. He looks irritated when he finally spots Hakyeon, calling, "If you're going to disappear, maybe you should give me a head's up first."
"Don't glare! I just saw Taehyungie and couldn't help myself," Hakyeon shouts back, blowing him a kiss as Taekwoon crosses his arms despite the two bags he's carrying. They've evidently spent the day together, probably touring around downtown Rio as Taehyung has together, and the envy Taehyung felt considering Jimin and his bae doing the same aches in his chest once more.
The words How do you do it? rise to Taehyung's lips fast, setting his heart thudding in his chest, but he catches them barely in time. He barely knows Hakyeon, after all. Just seen him hanging around the fencing team practices after his warm-up laps, the hand Taekwoon has on the small of his back putting a surprisingly quiet delight for how loud Hakyeon always is into his eyes. Instead, he inches forward to get his toes wet again, moving as far away as he can without being impolite. The Atlantic Ocean looks the same as the Pacific, he's not too sure why he expected it to look anything different.
Taehyung's never been one to hold his words but it seems these days he's getting more than enough practice. Not telling Jimin about Jeongguk. Not talking to Jeongguk about what they are, what he wants them to be. Now holding back with Hakyeon.
"So, Taehyung," Hakyeon says, in the pocket of silence between waves crashing onto the sand. "How does it feel to win a medal at your first Games? Not everyone can say they accomplished that."
"It's good," he tries to say, as he's told everyone he ran into after his competition, but his mouth says instead, "It's all right, I guess. I don't know."
When he musters the courage to glance back, checking, Hakyeon's gaze is solid on him but not oppressively heavy, simply concerned. Taehyung's heard that Hakyeon is often mother hen to the younger members of the Track and Field team, nagging them to towel their heads dry after a shower so they don't catch a cold and pushing them forward when their times aren't as pretty as they'd like. It's a bit of a surprise to see that comforting wing extended towards him. "Yeah?" Hakyeon says, smiling wryly.
"I don't know," Taehyung says again, staring out at the sea. It's kind of hard to wrap his head around the idea of so much space, farther than the eye can see, extending out and out impossibly far until another continent rises out of the blue. Liking Jeongguk felt like this, kind of. An endlessness, a drowning, that Taehyung is fighting to keep his head high enough to keep breathing. In the end, a medal doesn't do much for floatation.
"That's fine," Hakyeon says. "That's just fine."
Taehyung remembers now, how Hakyeon hasn't medaled in his past Games. Hadn't expected to the first time around, really, and coming in devastatingly close the next time around. In two weeks, he'll face the track again and see whether his body will have what it takes to push past those last fractions of a second. Somehow, every Olympic athlete's song follows the same tune, swelling in crescendos at different times but always somehow drifting into that same minor key.
Behind them, they can hear the sounds of Taekwoon making his way down the slope to join them. Taehyung turns and watches as Taekwoon holds one of the bags out to Hakyeon, obviously not his own given the dazzlingly bright pattern, and Hakyeon tucks himself under his arm instead, laughing when Taekwoon flushes at such intimacy in front of his teammate. "Got tired of waiting, didn't you," Hakyeon says, and Taekwoon shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't say much, just fits an arm around Hakyeon's waist as Hakyeon extends a hand out to Taehyung. "Want to come back to the Village with us?"
Going back to the Village should be disappearing back into that glittering world high on adrenaline and fame, but for some reason, Taehyung feels he's like returning to reality. He takes a deep breath, sucking air down to his toes, like he does before fencing bouts. "Yeah, sure," he says.
♕
He's not even the one competing, but Jimin's nerves are enough to have Taehyung's stomach anxiously somersaulting in a pale imitation of Jimin's routine. "You should eat more," he says anyways, when Jimin's spoon lingers over his breakfast for too long.
"Oh," Jimin says, rousing himself and obeying, but he's distracted, his mind clearly somewhere else even as Taehyung cracks every joke he has to try and pull him back to Earth. Around them, stocky and slender gymnasts jostle past with hard-boiled eggs, fruit shakes in hand. Sugars that will convert well into the bursts of energy Jimin will need when he's up on the rings. Taehyung doesn't know how he does it, competing with the knowledge that one precious minute can determine everything he's here for.
Even with the pressure mounting, though, Jimin has time to watch out for his best friend. "I know," Taehyung forces out when Jimin gently brushes off his words of encouragement, asks how he feels instead. "Of course." There's something strange about it, like he's being left behind when Jimin picks up his duffel bag and gives Taehyung a smile.
Taehyung tries to shake it off and shuffles into the audience stands of the arena, up front and close as always; he hasn't missed a single one of Jimin's big competitions since his best friend started taking gymnastics seriously. Down in the waiting area, Jimin looks so small compared to the Americans and Russians, listening seriously as Yoongi rapidly reels off last-minute advice.
This year, everyone's got their eye on the silver medalist from South Korea, that figure in black, white, and red. Defending champion Zanetti is pacing, bulging arms on his hips, and Jimin's told Taehyung enough times that this one's serious for Zanetti, he's Brazilian and we're going to be in Rio, Taehyung that even Taehyung is stressing out watching the athletes waiting to compete. In contrast, Jimin is sitting silently, staring as Bulgaria's Iordan Iovtchev rolls his shoulders back, reaching up for the rings as his coach steps onto the platform for the boost.
The first round is fast, and Jimin qualifies easy, the roar of the Koreans in the audience filling Taehyung with a fierce pride when Jimin jumps down from the platform, smiling sheepishly as Yoongi surges forward - no doubt with points to watch out for in the final round. People mill about before hastening to attention as the finalists start lining up again.
Taehyung's got his eyes fixed on the score boards overhead, LED lights blinking. China, Russia, Italy, Japan, then Korea, Park Jimin. When it's Jimin's turn, all too soon, Taehyung hollers and whoops so loudly everyone around him turns to stare, and those who recognize him laugh before quickly focusing as Yoongi, too, steps forward, then back, leaving Jimin all alone. On such a huge structure, Jimin looks even smaller, his face a picture of calm as he begins with his first handstand, muscles standing stark with the exertion as he holds himself for the right number of heartbeats. He barely trembles. Taehyung knows Yoongi feels it too, the strange air of peace that has settled around Jimin even as he slides beautifully into that tricky L-sit that gets him more times than it doesn't on some days.
When Jimin flips into the air for his finale, the double pike dismount he got knocked points off on at London, Taehyung is lured into the tension with everyone else, holding his breath. He knows how long Yoongi and Jimin argued over it, Jimin wanting to pick a new dismount because he couldn't bear the thought of screwing it up again at Rio. Yoongi pushed back, steely as always, pointing out how there was no way Jimin could learn another dismount in time to master it for Rio, how he knew - knows - Jimin can do it. Taehyung can't even begin to fathom how Yoongi feels as Jimin twists, soars, lands flawlessly.
It's perfect.
Taehyung shoots to his feet immediately, screaming himself hoarse, filled with energy in a way he hasn't felt in days but how can he think of anything else, how can he, when his best friend just pulled off what Taehyung knows is the best run-through ever of his routine. The scoreboard reflects it, too, Korea's Park Jimin sliding into the 1st place slot and staying there for the duration of the event, above Nakamura, above Silva, above everyone.
The crowd is inconsolable, and Taehyung cheers with all his might even as he fights his way down to meet Jimin on the stairs back up; he sees members of the audience draped in the flag of their country and crying, Jimin similarly wrapped up in exhilaration and pride as he bows his head to accept his gold. The gold he's been fighting for ever since he stepped down from the second tier at London.
♕
Taehyung wakes up the next day with a raging headache, a strange bruise down his left obliques in the questionable shape of an Olympic medal, and only a vague recollection of what happened the day before.
After the men's artistic gymnastics event wrapped up, Jimin laughing tearfully when Taehyung hurled himself into his arms, it had just been one hazy boozefest. Jimin's gold and - after they stopped by Ilha Trindade to pick it up - Taehyung's bronze had been more than enough ticket into any hotel room or Village club they wanted, excited Olympians from all countries plying them with shot after shot. High off of Jimin's victory, they went all out, Taehyung laughing against Jimin's neck when the alcohol made him clingy.
He'd let the guy go when it got late though, knowing Jimin had places to be, people to see - or rather, a certain person to see. Taehyung didn't question it, knew he could live another day without knowing who Jimin was so hung up on. It's not like Jimin knew the reason why Taehyung was furiously avoiding the training center wing of the Village now; Jeongguk's practices will be ramping up as taekwondo approaches.
"Fuck," he groans to an empty room. Taekwoon isn't in, probably slept over at Hakyeon's room. If he gathers the brain cells to retrieve his phone from the other side of the room, where drunk Taehyung had sprinkled it around with his room key card, his bronze medal, and the contents of his wallet, he'd probably find Jinwoon announcing Hakyeon's roommate, Jonghwa, had been sexiled for the third night in a row. Thank God, too, because Taehyung is 120% sure he looks like he's been bulldozed by Satan, he feels so hungover.
His eyes feel sore, and his calves, for some reason. He remembers doing leg exercises at some point with a few tipsy Hondurans when they recognized him from the fencing events, and then Jimin had hopped over and tied Taehyung's medal around his head with a flourish, so the circle rested brightly on Taehyung's forehead to match Jimin's, and they hadn't been able to stop laughing at each other for a solid five minutes. That doesn't explain the way his eyeballs refuse to confront the light, though. Taehyung just hopes he didn't cry until late in the night, because that would be embarrassing if anyone remembered.
The blinds are closed, so maybe Taekwoon or whoever brought Taehyung home took pity on him. He kind of wants to get up to open them, but when he rolls over tentatively, his body protests almost as badly as it does after a full day of sparring drills.
One thing he does remember, but wishes he didn't, is the muddled pining for another body against his, intensifying every time Taehyung sloshed more hard liquor down his throat like the happy dumbass he was last night. Jimin had been a willing, giggly substitute for a while, occasionally tumbling off Taehyung's lap to bring back startlingly neon jello shots, but then he'd left the party and Taehyung had found himself not knowing what to do with his hands. Even though he'd been falling over everywhere, his sense of balance having peaced out for the night, Taehyung still knew enough to shake his head at inviting smiles, half-hooded eyes.
Now, in the cold light of morning (well, probably afternoon), Taehyung has to admit to himself that even then, he'd only wanted one person. Still does. And the reality of it is Jeongguk doesn't feel the same way.
He really is an idiot, he's seen proof of Jeongguk's lack of reciprocation and he's still so hung up over the guy. It's too miserable to be lying here, hungover as fuck and heartbroken, so Taehyung drags himself out of bed to drink an entire bottle of water in one go. His head spins too much to try and tidy up his wallet. After the world's longest, hottest shower and some oily, delicious room service, he at least feels more human.
By the time Jimin comes knocking, Taehyung's settled into polishing his foils and épées over and over again. The mindless task calms him, drawing on years of post-practice wind down routines, and he switches blades whenever his thoughts drift dangerously far. "Hey," Jimin says, knocking on the door frame out of habit more than anything, and Taehyung barely catches himself from tipping off the bed when he startles. "You look like you could use a friend."
His heart thunders pointlessly for a moment, and Taehyung swallows against the burn of pointless hope when he sees it's just Jimin. Why hasn't he figured out yet that there's no use in hoping? "Hey, champion," he manages, slipping his foil back into its casing so he can avoid meeting Jimin's eyes, even if for a few moments longer. “Thought you’d be too much of a busybody to come visit me after that win yesterday.”
Jimin comes inside, shutting the door with a click behind him; it had been still ajar from when Taehyung let himself outside for a few moments while his hair dried from the shower, propping his elbows on the balcony railing as he admired the sprawling view of the eleventh floor. Small pleasures and all that. "Yeah, I had to move so much stuff out of the way to come visit you," Jimin teases, and Taehyung automatically clears aside the uniform and miscellaneous pieces of gear scattered across his bed. He'd known better than to try and go practice with his hangover lurking, so this had been close enough. Jimin sprawls out next to him, nudging aside Taehyung's polishing sponge. “How are you? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you that much these days.”
His mouth almost pulls another fast one on him, like it had with Hakyeon. It takes all of Taehyung's remaining brain facilities to say, "I'm okay." He lifts and drops one shoulder in a shrug, makes sure to avoid Jimin's steady gaze. "In and out."
"Yeah?" Jimin says. Taehyung's always been crap at keeping secrets from Jimin, but the same goes vice versa. The radiant buoyancy that's been lifting Jimin up and up, to the rings and beyond, has somehow left him since Taehyung last saw him. He probably lacks the delicacy to say the right thing at the moment, but Taehyung knows his best friend, knows Jimin holds in his problems and tries to deal with them by himself.
Taehyung is in the middle of trying to figure out how to ask what's wrong without, like, actually saying those words, when Jimin's gaze moves to his face and lingers. "How's that American swimmer?"
His little white lie seems so far away now. The words stick in his throat, and Taehyung takes a moment before he forces something out, anything. "He, uh. We broke it off," Taehyung says, and that, at least, isn't a lie. "He moved on to bigger and better people, so to speak."
"Bigger than you?" Jimin asks, eyebrows raising, and any other day, Taehyung would be snorting at the allusion to his equipment.
Now, he just can't seem to muster the good humor. "You're very funny," he manages instead, aiming for dry and getting probably something around soggy. "But yeah, he did." He senses Jimin sitting up now, propping himself up on an elbow and looking at him, really looking at him. Taehyung tries to keep the words coming - maybe he'll hit on the right combination and Jimin will know to leave it alone. "I messed up. Not really his problem. And I’ll be fine."
"I'm sorry," Jimin says instead, and Taehyung yanks harder at the loose thread in his shorts without looking up, because he hates that he had to put words like that into Jimin's mouth. Condolences are so hard, and he's not used to hearing them. When Jimin pulls him close, though, Taehyung doesn't object, just snuggles closer. "I'm sorry. I'll beat him up."
Taehyung barks out a soft laugh at that, imagining lithe little Jimin squaring off with Jeongguk. If it were anyone else, Taehyung might believe Jimin had the upper body strength to take him, but Jeongguk literally fights for a living. He was best in the world at age 16. "You don't even know who he is," Taehyung says.
"I know more than you think," Jimin says, and - to Taehyung's mounting dread - continues in reply to Taehyung's grunt of disbelief. "Taller than me. Shorter than you. Kind of an asshole, sometimes, but doesn’t know what he’s doing, either. South Korea’s biggest CF sweetheart. Big eyes and bigger nose. He doesn’t swim. He’s not even American."
The breath stops itself in Taehyung's lungs, caught by disbelief. How long has Jimin possibly known? What gave it away? He doesn't even know when he and Jeongguk decided to keep whatever they were a secret. It was just the way Jeongguk carried himself, how his eyes shuttered closed whenever someone else was around. Taehyung never intended to keep the truth from Jimin in the first place. "How did you know?" he whispers when he finally gets his windpipe functioning again.
“The only things that get around faster than us in the Village,” Jimin says sagely, “are secrets that shouldn’t be told.”
Maybe the Olympic Village is less like freshman year of college, frat parties far and wide, and more like high school, with gossips at every corner. Taehyung doesn't have the heart to get mad at Jimin for invading his privacy or anything like that, though. He knows Jimin well enough that, while he's genuinely concerned, Taehyung's trainwreck of an Olympic love life is distraction from Jimin's own problems. He hopes that Jimin's (ex-)more-than-a-fling was gentler, at least. "You too, huh?"
"You're good," Jimin says, his voice soft and tired, really tired. Taehyung hasn't heard that kind of fatigue in Jimin's voice since the night after London. He didn't think he'd ever hear it again after the gold.
"I'm sorry," Taehyung says, on the other side of the condolences now and no less happier for it. He curls his arm around Jimin's waist, pulls him in even closer so they're cuddling more than anything. As sad as he was alone, holding it in to keep from burdening Jimin, he never wanted Jimin to join him. "Are you...going to talk to him?"
"I don't know," Jimin says, cheek pressed against Taehyung's shoulder. His words echo Taehyung's thoughts. "I'm not sure what I want."
A proper relationship. A whirlwind fling that ends with the Games. A one-night stand. Taehyung looked at Jeongguk and he wanted it, wanted something real so bad. In the end, Jeongguk was wrong, still - Taehyung wanted a relationship that would not only last in the Village, but beyond it, through the plane flight back to the other side of the planet and into the open arms of their country. Now, he can't even tell whether he wants to see Jeongguk ever again. "I know," he says. "I don't know what to do either."
Jimin is silent for a moment. "Well. If you do talk to him, good luck."
"Mhmm," Taehyung says, and presses his face against Jimin's hair, closes his eyes. Wishes that this, curled up with his best friend who unfailingly understands and sympathizes, was enough. "You too."
"Worst comes to worst," Jimin says, untangling an arm to reach up and pat Taehyung's head, "The last time we have to see them is at the closing ceremony. And then it’ll have all just been a bad dream.”
➋
taehyung/jeongguk // nc-17 // ~15.4k // implied infidelity, drinking
“You think relationships last in the Village? You want one with me? You think you’ll be happy?” Maybe Taehyung did think that they could be happy. (the other half of carboxyls's Watchers of the Eternal Flame; summer olympics au)
"Hey," Jeongguk says when Taehyung picks up the call. Even though Taehyung saw him a couple hours earlier, he feels the jolt of anticipation tremor its way down his spine. Like he's back in high school, and the boy he has a secret crush on smiled at him, and Taehyung's youthful stomach erupted in butterflies. Jeongguk's smile comes more rarely, but the response is still the same.
It's been two weeks going on three since Taehyung first fell into bed with Jeon Jeongguk, the Republic of Korea's beloved London gold medalist and youngest champion. Two weeks since Taehyung's had that devilish mouth - the same mouth that endorses Innisfree sea salt cleansing foam - pressed against the back of his neck, panting out Taehyung's name with each thrust forward of his hips, Taehyung's groans muffled against the pillows by coincidence more so than design. He's never been able to hold onto the coherency to keep quiet, and Jeongguk, on his part, is always more than eager to milk that for all its worth. The stream of breathless, filthy words Jeongguk whispers against Taehyung's throat always does Taehyung in by the end.
Jeongguk's voice has become so deep and mature Taehyung can hardly reconcile it with the reedy voice that thanked his parents and his country for the honor, four years ago. Everyone's eyes has been trained on Jeongguk then - except Taehyung's, back when he had been much too excited that his best friend had medaled silver in men's gymnastics. (Who can blame him? It's not every day you become the best friend of an Olympic medalist.) Now, Taehyung thinks ruefully he should've paid more attention; just the sound of Jeongguk's words, cradled up against his ear, is enough to get him going a little. "Hey there," Taehyung said, drawing the vowels out round and slow as he stretches his arms over his head.
"Did I catch you at the end of a nap?" Jeongguk asks, his voice lilting a little at the end of his question. Taehyung adores that, the way unfriendly hottie Jeon Jeongguk gets coy with him. His initial standoffishness definitely doesn't stop the Russians at the end of the hall from asking him to join them whenever they bump into each other, but last time it'd happened, Jeongguk had jerked his chin at Taehyung and smirked. The universal sign for I'm taken tonight, sorry about that.
"Yeah," Taehyung says, and yawns again, feeling so incredibly comfortable. The sun went down probably less than an hour ago, the last rays of light casting long shadows of palm trees across the Olympic Village grounds, nestled on the outskirts of Rio.
He felt good during practice this morning, limber and warm, the tip of his épée striking exactly where he wanted it to. Technically speaking, he doesn't really need to get into gear anymore, at least for the next couple weeks; the gleaming bronze medal tucked safely in his suitcase until closing ceremony is proof of that. But he misses it when he doesn't fence, the drills so well integrated into his body he feels off the whole day if he neglects them.
He hears Jeongguk's breaths on the other side of the line, steady and even. "Come over," Jeongguk says abruptly. "You're free now, aren't you?"
"You have no sense of romance," Taehyung teases, and isn't sure whether he hears it correctly when the air seems to catch in Jeongguk's throat, just for a second before Jeongguk smoothes it back over again. He must've imagined it, Taehyung decides as he drags himself up out of bed, not too sad to leave his cocoon of warmth when he's got such a treat waiting for him in Ilha Grande. (Taehyung's been doing that a lot these days, tucking things into his imagination when he thinks Jeongguk might have just faltered, but so far Jimin's the only one who's noticed. It's easier when Taehyung keeps up the façade.)
"So you are? On your way, I mean," Jeongguk says. "I can't imagine what else you'd have on your plate now, Mr. Bronze Medalist."
"Very important things, Mr. Gold," Taehyung says loftily, trying out his latest new nickname for Jeongguk. This one makes him laugh and roll his eyes, but he'd blushed a little when Taehyung tested Jeonggukie on his tongue between kisses, which had been so cute Taehyung practically tackled him right then and there. The fact Jeongguk reciprocates little things like this only serves to make Taehyung's 3rd place victory all the sweeter.
The path between Ilha Trindade and Ilha Grande was long the first time Taehyung traversed it, but it feels shorter now, well worn, a shady walkway that Taehyung has taken multiple times now. He's still not entirely used to the opulence of Olympic Village, even though Jimin navigates the luxurious halls and endless training centers with the kind of unconscious ease that only comes from experience. Sometimes Taehyung worries he's behind, he's falling behind because Jimin's one Olympics up him and people actually know him, "Park Jimin, silver at London, right?" - but then he remembers they're in entirely different sports, Taehyung's on an amazing team he would trade for none other, and there's no good in comparing yourself especially to your best friend. And, he thinks to himself smugly, Jimin isn't the one on the way for a romp in the sheets with a total catch.
He takes the stairs to the second floor, down the hall to the right door. His heart is thudding against his ribcage a little and Taehyung's caught up in that strange mix of nerves and excitement, in the way Jeongguk always makes him feel when they're together, like there's something else swirling in the air between them.
"Jeongguk, I'm here," he calls, rapping on the door with his knuckles, already knowing how it looks when Jeongguk pulls the door open and yanks him inside, mouth hot and eager. Somewhere down the hall - probably closer, actually, from the sounds of it - is enjoying their afternoon with a round or two, too.
There's no reply. Strangely so, too, because Taehyung is well familiar with how anal Jeongguk is about the privacy of his room, and how he waits by the door when he knows in advance that Taehyung will be dropping by. When Taehyung tries the handle on the door, it works, to his surprise, and he pushes it open, walking into a blast of air conditioning because Jeongguk always likes it on the brink of frigid cold - Jimin's complained about their tacit war over the air conditioning control plenty of times.
The sounds are louder now, and it's like a bad dream, a nightmare, as Taehyung's mind slowly pieces the scene together: the blond hair half-pulled out of its ponytail, spilling down a slim back. The girl in Jeongguk's lap, Jeongguk's kiss-swollen lips and shirtless chest. The look in Jeongguk's eyes, when he props himself up on his elbows and meets Taehyung's eyes across the room and there's no hint of shock or surprise to see him there, seeing them like this. Just a heavy, terrible resignation.
"Fuck," Taehyung spits out even as she begins to twist around to see who interrupted them. He doesn't even know who she is - one of the Swedish divers, he guesses wildly, or maybe she's on the sailing team of an entirely different country - but the sight of her bra strap slipping off her shoulder, the other tangled in Jeongguk's fingers. It's enough. It's more than enough. Maybe Taehyung is a little airheaded, but he'd be a fucking idiot not to get the message when Jeongguk decides to blare it in his face.
What a fucking idiot. Taehyung barely manages to scramble out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and into the stairwell before the tears start rolling down his face.
♕
Taehyung doesn't think it can feel worse than this, and then he and Jeongguk have that raging fall-out of a fight in the training center, and it can. It does. It really, really does. Until this week, Taehyung didn't think words could cut like that. He can only be grateful that épée individuals are long over, because every time he slides on his mask and takes his ready stance on the floor, Jeongguk's words keep echoing in the dark space of his head again.
“Are you kidding? You think relationships last in the Village? You want one with me? You think you’ll be happy?"
He's out of it, reflexes slow like his entire body is numb to the world, to the incoming saber jabbing at his throat. It isn't until the tip of one catches him straight to the chest and Taehyung stumbles back as the air rushes out his lungs, almost falling over if it weren't for the iron grip of his coach on his bicep. "Taehyung," the man says, and Taehyung looks up at him like he surfaced out of a pool and has so much chlorinated water logged in his ears he doesn't know which way is up. He hadn't even realized it when Coach stepped onto the training mats. "You're done for today. Go change."
"I - " Taehyung stammers, taking a step back to regain his balance, so his coach will release the grip he's still got on Taehyung's arm. He doesn't, which isn't particularly encouraging, because that means everyone can tell Taehyung's wobbling, far from his best today. "I can still - we just started - "
"See. It's not real."
Taehyung flinches reflexively at the words that had left him so cold, said in the voice that flushed him with a glowing, brilliant warmth only days ago. His coach isn't someone he can pull wool over the eyes of, and Taehyung finds himself tripping off the mats, mask shoved back under his elbow all too soon. When he goes to pick up his duffel bag from next to the team's benches, Taekwoon claps a hand on his shoulder, his eyes piercing, but he's mercifully silent and merely squeezes once before letting Taehyung go.
He wants to be grateful, he really does. Taehyung makes his way to the men's locker room, the sounds of his footsteps echoing in the high-ceiling space. It's empty - anyone with upcoming competitions is busy training, squeezing in those last repetitions, and everyone else is taking advantage of the Olympic Village's abundance of condoms, free alcohol, and hot bodies. It's a hard thing to balance before the scales tip heavily towards the latter, and Taehyung doesn't want to whine, much less burden Jimin with his heartsickness with the men's gymnastics competitions coming around fast.
No one is there to watch as Taehyung sits heavily on one of the benches, leaning back against the lockers even as one of the latches digs into his back. Now that he's alone, it's like the haze he's been drifting through over the past few days has thickened, pressing down on his limbs and making it hard to breathe. He doesn't even want to change out of his uniform.
This isn't like him. This isn't like Kim Taehyung at all.
"How about this, then? If you place tomorrow, you can do anything you want with me for a night."
One thing Jimin neglected to tell him about, Taehyung decides, isn't about the competitions or the training centers. It isn't even about the sex scene, which is beautifully, enthusiastically thriving beyond Taehyung's wildest imaginations - and he's got a particularly wild one.
It's about how it feels to be around people who get it, what it means to be an Olympian. How training has to come first, over everything else, at the most ungodly hours of the morning. How years of hard work pour into these four fleeting weeks. It has permeated into what he eats, how much he sleeps, until there is no such concept of free time. Taehyung has watched people like Kibum slow down, then eventually stop texting him to hit him up to hang out, because he was just too busy to make time for his high school best friends anymore. That was when he was only in the national circuits. And now he's gone from only having Jimin, who is gentle and understanding no matter what Taehyung tells him, to meeting possibly thousands of gorgeous, fellow Olympic athletes, all in one place.
To meeting Jeongguk, who gets what it feels like to step onto the floor and look up at someone who's been fighting for victory for so long and only thinks about beating you next for the next ten minutes. Jimin and his rings, his headstands and levers and twists, simply doesn't have that kind of external tension. Having someone who gets that, who gets the Olympics isn't a one-sided battle but one with yourself and your opponent, is more vital than Taehyung could've ever imagined.
It's just not the same with your teammates. At the end of Taehyung's post-victory night - an entire night of Jeongguk scrambling Taehyung's brains up with that voice and that body, those burning eyes - Taehyung rolled out of a wet spot on the hotel bed and into another. "Ugh," he said, looking up to find fond mirth in Jeongguk's gaze. "I vote we move to Jimin's bed."
"He'd never let me live it down, and I have to compete in two weeks," Jeongguk reminded him, and instead yanked Taehyung across both of the patches of dampness until he was practically lying on top of Jeongguk, propped up against warm, slightly sweaty skin. Nice. Very nice.
When Jeongguk looked at him that way, it made Taehyung consider telling Jimin that he wasn't seeing an American swimmer after all, but Jeongguk, yes, that Jeon Jeongguk. Yes, he might be having a more-than-a-fling with Jeon Jeongguk, isn't that crazy? "I didn't expect it," he said suddenly, the words drawn out of him after time and some proper distraction, "to be so scared while competing today."
"What do you mean?" Jeongguk asked, serious to match Taehyung in his rare moment of gravity. He drew his hand through Taehyung's hair, teasing the strands through his fingers absentmindedly, and offered a flicker of a smile when Taehyung leaned into the touch. It was a reflexive thing by then, lovely and familiar like the taste of Jeongguk's lips when they made out even with no intention of going all the way. If it hadn't felt so good, Taehyung would've known to worry at how hard and fast he had fallen.
"I don't know. I just looked at the other guy and our eyes met through the masks, and I was so nervous and afraid for a moment I thought I would explode from it," Taehyung said slowly. "I almost got hit in the first ten seconds because I let it take me off guard."
Jeongguk didn't laugh, or judge, nor did his hand slow. "That's normal for your first Games. You retaliated just fine, though. I saw you."
He still remembers it, the way the thrill Taehyung had felt when he remembered seeing Jeongguk in the stands, looking a little out of place out of awkwardness more than anything. "You did, you came to see me," Taehyung said, leaning forward for a kiss and it felt so good, so good. He'd be a liar if he said that Jeongguk's promise for the night wasn't solid motivation for him to do well enough to nab that bronze medal.
Taehyung's fencing performance has always been a mirror of how he's doing that day, which is something his coach is constantly trying to train out of him. He can't help it, though. He's not like Taekwoon and his other teammates. When he's riding high, pumped with adrenaline from excitement and - to be honest - sex as great as the sex he was having with Jeongguk, his épée does exactly as he pictures in his mind, as it had during his matches a week ago. And when something (like walking in on Jeongguk hooking up with someone else) happens, well. Today morning's practice is more than enough indication of that.
Another thing Jimin neglected to tell him is - you can win the medal. You can step off the arena floor and become Korea's next darling, but the match with yourself never ends. Taehyung wonders how many times Jimin has looked at his beautiful silver medal from 2012's London Games and wished it shone gold. Jimin has been dreaming of victory for as long as Taehyung has, probably longer, and pursues it with a single-minded focus.
Taehyung wonders why he's got a medal of his own to take home and still doesn't feel complete.
♕
In the end, Taehyung allows himself the rest of the day to mope and wakes up determined to get himself out of the Village, out to explore Rio. He doesn't bother texting Jimin, who's probably flying among those rings again and again, and when one of the tall Italian water polo boys hits on him, Taehyung gives him as charming of a smile as he can make it and declines.
Today's a day all for himself. He's never made it past the Olympic Park cafes, where he and Jimin made late night pit stops sometimes that were a lot more successful after Taehyung got his hands on some real via Taekwoon. Now that he has nothing to do but hang around for the riot that the closing ceremony promises to be, Taehyung is more than able to while his day away in downtown Rio de Janeiro.
Past the magic that is Olympic Park, Rio doesn't look all too different from Seoul, those same-old skyscrapers in the distance reaching towards the sky. The streets downtown are charming, a new world of buildings bursting with color. He translates enough Portuguese into Korean on his phone to hope he's taking the right buses in the right directions, and whenever he stops by a street vendor's stall, he only has to make sure it's not too spicy - picante - before he obligingly hands over his real. When he gets lost, he just wanders aimlessly until he finds something vaguely familiar, smiling whenever someone recognizes his face. He knows one of his teammates went out with a French cyclist and texted the group chat with some restaurant recommendations, but it's been buried under requests for sparring practices at odd hours and incoming orgy announcements courtesy of Gwangsuk, who has a promiscuous knack for getting himself into these situations. Jinwoon keeps texting Taehyung and Hyunseong with winky face and kissy lips emoticons, because everyone already knows to give up on getting Taekwoon to join.
Jimin himself had told Taehyung multiple times to try an açai bowl or two, then refused to give any further details when Taehyung asked whether he'd gone into the city with anyone in particular. Probably with his own more-than-a-fling. Taehyung really, really hopes they're still together, or at least as together as you can possibly be with someone who's an Olympic athlete ready to fly home in a couple weeks. When he manages to locate a decent-looking juice bar offering açai bowls, he forks over the real for a to-go bowl and granola on the side and takes it down to the shoreline.
It's gorgeous, Taehyung hastening to finish his berry-filled treat even though it gives him brain freeze, so he has his hands free to hold his sandals as he steps into the foamy surf. The ocean breeze flutters through his hair, reminding him he probably needs to go for a trim; he's been neglecting it so long with training constantly at the forefront of his mind. The beaches of Brazil are so different from the rock and surf of Busan, that one time Jimin invited Taehyung to come down and spend a summer with him, post London. Before Rio.
Too easily, their lives are governed by the four weeks every four years, and all the time in between is suspended in a trap of looking forward and looking back. Ironic that Taehyung finds a moment to live in the present right in the middle of these four weeks, his first Olympic cycle but by no means his last. Coach is already talking about intensifying his workout regimen, aiming for the gold in men's épée individuals for 2020 Tokyo. Eye on the prize, gearing up for four more years of fencing until his head spins with it. But here, standing on the fine, white sands of Barra da Tijuca, Taehyung allows those grueling early mornings of training to stay in the future, where they belong.
"Beautiful, huh?" someone says to his right, slightly behind him, and Taehyung startles at the unexpected Korean after a full day of Portuguese flitting in one ear and out the other. A wave comes rolling in and soaks his rolled up pants up to his knee, and he bites out a curse under his breath as he scrambles back up the sandy bank.
It's Hakyeon, making his way down to meet Taehyung with his hands shoved into his pockets, and it's strange not seeing him in the Track and Field jersey and shorts Taehyung has come to associate him with. "Yeah, it really is," he replies, and looks out at the waters again so he doesn't have to examine the way Hakyeon is looking at him.
"It's no Korea, but it's something," Hakyeon says, and Taehyung recalls he's from Changwon, not far from the ocean shores himself. He really doesn't know much about Cha Hakyeon, besides the fact that he was the one who evicted Taehyung from his room on his first day in Rio, and that he's not a "hundred meter dash record setter," as Jimin mentioned, but he's close enough. There's enough gossip going on within the Korean fencing team alone to fill in the gaps, though, no matter how Taekwoon glares. According to the older members of the team, Hakyeon and Taekwoon have been having a more-than-a-fling for their past two Olympic Games. Taekwoon won't breathe a word of anything happening in between (or during, really) but Junghwan and Jinwoon swear up and down that they definitely meet up.
That knowledge makes Taehyung kind of want to ask Hakyeon about it, how they manage to do it when hot bods have been abound at Beijing and London and currently throughout Rio. They've never called themselves boyfriends before. Realistically speaking, he knows not everyone at the Games is involved with the hookup scene that inevitably comes with so many high-intensity, good-looking people enclosed in one space for a month. Jimin's mentioned it before, and Taehyung himself has certainly seen people calling or Facetiming their lovers back home. Some couples even compete at the Olympics together. Maybe it just takes more - both people wanting it, wanting to make it work.
When Taekwoon appears at the top of the path leading down to the beach where Taehyung and Hakyeon stand, casting his gaze around, it's certainly telling enough. He looks irritated when he finally spots Hakyeon, calling, "If you're going to disappear, maybe you should give me a head's up first."
"Don't glare! I just saw Taehyungie and couldn't help myself," Hakyeon shouts back, blowing him a kiss as Taekwoon crosses his arms despite the two bags he's carrying. They've evidently spent the day together, probably touring around downtown Rio as Taehyung has together, and the envy Taehyung felt considering Jimin and his bae doing the same aches in his chest once more.
The words How do you do it? rise to Taehyung's lips fast, setting his heart thudding in his chest, but he catches them barely in time. He barely knows Hakyeon, after all. Just seen him hanging around the fencing team practices after his warm-up laps, the hand Taekwoon has on the small of his back putting a surprisingly quiet delight for how loud Hakyeon always is into his eyes. Instead, he inches forward to get his toes wet again, moving as far away as he can without being impolite. The Atlantic Ocean looks the same as the Pacific, he's not too sure why he expected it to look anything different.
Taehyung's never been one to hold his words but it seems these days he's getting more than enough practice. Not telling Jimin about Jeongguk. Not talking to Jeongguk about what they are, what he wants them to be. Now holding back with Hakyeon.
"So, Taehyung," Hakyeon says, in the pocket of silence between waves crashing onto the sand. "How does it feel to win a medal at your first Games? Not everyone can say they accomplished that."
"It's good," he tries to say, as he's told everyone he ran into after his competition, but his mouth says instead, "It's all right, I guess. I don't know."
When he musters the courage to glance back, checking, Hakyeon's gaze is solid on him but not oppressively heavy, simply concerned. Taehyung's heard that Hakyeon is often mother hen to the younger members of the Track and Field team, nagging them to towel their heads dry after a shower so they don't catch a cold and pushing them forward when their times aren't as pretty as they'd like. It's a bit of a surprise to see that comforting wing extended towards him. "Yeah?" Hakyeon says, smiling wryly.
"I don't know," Taehyung says again, staring out at the sea. It's kind of hard to wrap his head around the idea of so much space, farther than the eye can see, extending out and out impossibly far until another continent rises out of the blue. Liking Jeongguk felt like this, kind of. An endlessness, a drowning, that Taehyung is fighting to keep his head high enough to keep breathing. In the end, a medal doesn't do much for floatation.
"That's fine," Hakyeon says. "That's just fine."
Taehyung remembers now, how Hakyeon hasn't medaled in his past Games. Hadn't expected to the first time around, really, and coming in devastatingly close the next time around. In two weeks, he'll face the track again and see whether his body will have what it takes to push past those last fractions of a second. Somehow, every Olympic athlete's song follows the same tune, swelling in crescendos at different times but always somehow drifting into that same minor key.
Behind them, they can hear the sounds of Taekwoon making his way down the slope to join them. Taehyung turns and watches as Taekwoon holds one of the bags out to Hakyeon, obviously not his own given the dazzlingly bright pattern, and Hakyeon tucks himself under his arm instead, laughing when Taekwoon flushes at such intimacy in front of his teammate. "Got tired of waiting, didn't you," Hakyeon says, and Taekwoon shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't say much, just fits an arm around Hakyeon's waist as Hakyeon extends a hand out to Taehyung. "Want to come back to the Village with us?"
Going back to the Village should be disappearing back into that glittering world high on adrenaline and fame, but for some reason, Taehyung feels he's like returning to reality. He takes a deep breath, sucking air down to his toes, like he does before fencing bouts. "Yeah, sure," he says.
♕
He's not even the one competing, but Jimin's nerves are enough to have Taehyung's stomach anxiously somersaulting in a pale imitation of Jimin's routine. "You should eat more," he says anyways, when Jimin's spoon lingers over his breakfast for too long.
"Oh," Jimin says, rousing himself and obeying, but he's distracted, his mind clearly somewhere else even as Taehyung cracks every joke he has to try and pull him back to Earth. Around them, stocky and slender gymnasts jostle past with hard-boiled eggs, fruit shakes in hand. Sugars that will convert well into the bursts of energy Jimin will need when he's up on the rings. Taehyung doesn't know how he does it, competing with the knowledge that one precious minute can determine everything he's here for.
Even with the pressure mounting, though, Jimin has time to watch out for his best friend. "I know," Taehyung forces out when Jimin gently brushes off his words of encouragement, asks how he feels instead. "Of course." There's something strange about it, like he's being left behind when Jimin picks up his duffel bag and gives Taehyung a smile.
Taehyung tries to shake it off and shuffles into the audience stands of the arena, up front and close as always; he hasn't missed a single one of Jimin's big competitions since his best friend started taking gymnastics seriously. Down in the waiting area, Jimin looks so small compared to the Americans and Russians, listening seriously as Yoongi rapidly reels off last-minute advice.
This year, everyone's got their eye on the silver medalist from South Korea, that figure in black, white, and red. Defending champion Zanetti is pacing, bulging arms on his hips, and Jimin's told Taehyung enough times that this one's serious for Zanetti, he's Brazilian and we're going to be in Rio, Taehyung that even Taehyung is stressing out watching the athletes waiting to compete. In contrast, Jimin is sitting silently, staring as Bulgaria's Iordan Iovtchev rolls his shoulders back, reaching up for the rings as his coach steps onto the platform for the boost.
The first round is fast, and Jimin qualifies easy, the roar of the Koreans in the audience filling Taehyung with a fierce pride when Jimin jumps down from the platform, smiling sheepishly as Yoongi surges forward - no doubt with points to watch out for in the final round. People mill about before hastening to attention as the finalists start lining up again.
Taehyung's got his eyes fixed on the score boards overhead, LED lights blinking. China, Russia, Italy, Japan, then Korea, Park Jimin. When it's Jimin's turn, all too soon, Taehyung hollers and whoops so loudly everyone around him turns to stare, and those who recognize him laugh before quickly focusing as Yoongi, too, steps forward, then back, leaving Jimin all alone. On such a huge structure, Jimin looks even smaller, his face a picture of calm as he begins with his first handstand, muscles standing stark with the exertion as he holds himself for the right number of heartbeats. He barely trembles. Taehyung knows Yoongi feels it too, the strange air of peace that has settled around Jimin even as he slides beautifully into that tricky L-sit that gets him more times than it doesn't on some days.
When Jimin flips into the air for his finale, the double pike dismount he got knocked points off on at London, Taehyung is lured into the tension with everyone else, holding his breath. He knows how long Yoongi and Jimin argued over it, Jimin wanting to pick a new dismount because he couldn't bear the thought of screwing it up again at Rio. Yoongi pushed back, steely as always, pointing out how there was no way Jimin could learn another dismount in time to master it for Rio, how he knew - knows - Jimin can do it. Taehyung can't even begin to fathom how Yoongi feels as Jimin twists, soars, lands flawlessly.
It's perfect.
Taehyung shoots to his feet immediately, screaming himself hoarse, filled with energy in a way he hasn't felt in days but how can he think of anything else, how can he, when his best friend just pulled off what Taehyung knows is the best run-through ever of his routine. The scoreboard reflects it, too, Korea's Park Jimin sliding into the 1st place slot and staying there for the duration of the event, above Nakamura, above Silva, above everyone.
The crowd is inconsolable, and Taehyung cheers with all his might even as he fights his way down to meet Jimin on the stairs back up; he sees members of the audience draped in the flag of their country and crying, Jimin similarly wrapped up in exhilaration and pride as he bows his head to accept his gold. The gold he's been fighting for ever since he stepped down from the second tier at London.
♕
Taehyung wakes up the next day with a raging headache, a strange bruise down his left obliques in the questionable shape of an Olympic medal, and only a vague recollection of what happened the day before.
After the men's artistic gymnastics event wrapped up, Jimin laughing tearfully when Taehyung hurled himself into his arms, it had just been one hazy boozefest. Jimin's gold and - after they stopped by Ilha Trindade to pick it up - Taehyung's bronze had been more than enough ticket into any hotel room or Village club they wanted, excited Olympians from all countries plying them with shot after shot. High off of Jimin's victory, they went all out, Taehyung laughing against Jimin's neck when the alcohol made him clingy.
He'd let the guy go when it got late though, knowing Jimin had places to be, people to see - or rather, a certain person to see. Taehyung didn't question it, knew he could live another day without knowing who Jimin was so hung up on. It's not like Jimin knew the reason why Taehyung was furiously avoiding the training center wing of the Village now; Jeongguk's practices will be ramping up as taekwondo approaches.
"Fuck," he groans to an empty room. Taekwoon isn't in, probably slept over at Hakyeon's room. If he gathers the brain cells to retrieve his phone from the other side of the room, where drunk Taehyung had sprinkled it around with his room key card, his bronze medal, and the contents of his wallet, he'd probably find Jinwoon announcing Hakyeon's roommate, Jonghwa, had been sexiled for the third night in a row. Thank God, too, because Taehyung is 120% sure he looks like he's been bulldozed by Satan, he feels so hungover.
His eyes feel sore, and his calves, for some reason. He remembers doing leg exercises at some point with a few tipsy Hondurans when they recognized him from the fencing events, and then Jimin had hopped over and tied Taehyung's medal around his head with a flourish, so the circle rested brightly on Taehyung's forehead to match Jimin's, and they hadn't been able to stop laughing at each other for a solid five minutes. That doesn't explain the way his eyeballs refuse to confront the light, though. Taehyung just hopes he didn't cry until late in the night, because that would be embarrassing if anyone remembered.
The blinds are closed, so maybe Taekwoon or whoever brought Taehyung home took pity on him. He kind of wants to get up to open them, but when he rolls over tentatively, his body protests almost as badly as it does after a full day of sparring drills.
One thing he does remember, but wishes he didn't, is the muddled pining for another body against his, intensifying every time Taehyung sloshed more hard liquor down his throat like the happy dumbass he was last night. Jimin had been a willing, giggly substitute for a while, occasionally tumbling off Taehyung's lap to bring back startlingly neon jello shots, but then he'd left the party and Taehyung had found himself not knowing what to do with his hands. Even though he'd been falling over everywhere, his sense of balance having peaced out for the night, Taehyung still knew enough to shake his head at inviting smiles, half-hooded eyes.
Now, in the cold light of morning (well, probably afternoon), Taehyung has to admit to himself that even then, he'd only wanted one person. Still does. And the reality of it is Jeongguk doesn't feel the same way.
He really is an idiot, he's seen proof of Jeongguk's lack of reciprocation and he's still so hung up over the guy. It's too miserable to be lying here, hungover as fuck and heartbroken, so Taehyung drags himself out of bed to drink an entire bottle of water in one go. His head spins too much to try and tidy up his wallet. After the world's longest, hottest shower and some oily, delicious room service, he at least feels more human.
By the time Jimin comes knocking, Taehyung's settled into polishing his foils and épées over and over again. The mindless task calms him, drawing on years of post-practice wind down routines, and he switches blades whenever his thoughts drift dangerously far. "Hey," Jimin says, knocking on the door frame out of habit more than anything, and Taehyung barely catches himself from tipping off the bed when he startles. "You look like you could use a friend."
His heart thunders pointlessly for a moment, and Taehyung swallows against the burn of pointless hope when he sees it's just Jimin. Why hasn't he figured out yet that there's no use in hoping? "Hey, champion," he manages, slipping his foil back into its casing so he can avoid meeting Jimin's eyes, even if for a few moments longer. “Thought you’d be too much of a busybody to come visit me after that win yesterday.”
Jimin comes inside, shutting the door with a click behind him; it had been still ajar from when Taehyung let himself outside for a few moments while his hair dried from the shower, propping his elbows on the balcony railing as he admired the sprawling view of the eleventh floor. Small pleasures and all that. "Yeah, I had to move so much stuff out of the way to come visit you," Jimin teases, and Taehyung automatically clears aside the uniform and miscellaneous pieces of gear scattered across his bed. He'd known better than to try and go practice with his hangover lurking, so this had been close enough. Jimin sprawls out next to him, nudging aside Taehyung's polishing sponge. “How are you? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you that much these days.”
His mouth almost pulls another fast one on him, like it had with Hakyeon. It takes all of Taehyung's remaining brain facilities to say, "I'm okay." He lifts and drops one shoulder in a shrug, makes sure to avoid Jimin's steady gaze. "In and out."
"Yeah?" Jimin says. Taehyung's always been crap at keeping secrets from Jimin, but the same goes vice versa. The radiant buoyancy that's been lifting Jimin up and up, to the rings and beyond, has somehow left him since Taehyung last saw him. He probably lacks the delicacy to say the right thing at the moment, but Taehyung knows his best friend, knows Jimin holds in his problems and tries to deal with them by himself.
Taehyung is in the middle of trying to figure out how to ask what's wrong without, like, actually saying those words, when Jimin's gaze moves to his face and lingers. "How's that American swimmer?"
His little white lie seems so far away now. The words stick in his throat, and Taehyung takes a moment before he forces something out, anything. "He, uh. We broke it off," Taehyung says, and that, at least, isn't a lie. "He moved on to bigger and better people, so to speak."
"Bigger than you?" Jimin asks, eyebrows raising, and any other day, Taehyung would be snorting at the allusion to his equipment.
Now, he just can't seem to muster the good humor. "You're very funny," he manages instead, aiming for dry and getting probably something around soggy. "But yeah, he did." He senses Jimin sitting up now, propping himself up on an elbow and looking at him, really looking at him. Taehyung tries to keep the words coming - maybe he'll hit on the right combination and Jimin will know to leave it alone. "I messed up. Not really his problem. And I’ll be fine."
"I'm sorry," Jimin says instead, and Taehyung yanks harder at the loose thread in his shorts without looking up, because he hates that he had to put words like that into Jimin's mouth. Condolences are so hard, and he's not used to hearing them. When Jimin pulls him close, though, Taehyung doesn't object, just snuggles closer. "I'm sorry. I'll beat him up."
Taehyung barks out a soft laugh at that, imagining lithe little Jimin squaring off with Jeongguk. If it were anyone else, Taehyung might believe Jimin had the upper body strength to take him, but Jeongguk literally fights for a living. He was best in the world at age 16. "You don't even know who he is," Taehyung says.
"I know more than you think," Jimin says, and - to Taehyung's mounting dread - continues in reply to Taehyung's grunt of disbelief. "Taller than me. Shorter than you. Kind of an asshole, sometimes, but doesn’t know what he’s doing, either. South Korea’s biggest CF sweetheart. Big eyes and bigger nose. He doesn’t swim. He’s not even American."
The breath stops itself in Taehyung's lungs, caught by disbelief. How long has Jimin possibly known? What gave it away? He doesn't even know when he and Jeongguk decided to keep whatever they were a secret. It was just the way Jeongguk carried himself, how his eyes shuttered closed whenever someone else was around. Taehyung never intended to keep the truth from Jimin in the first place. "How did you know?" he whispers when he finally gets his windpipe functioning again.
“The only things that get around faster than us in the Village,” Jimin says sagely, “are secrets that shouldn’t be told.”
Maybe the Olympic Village is less like freshman year of college, frat parties far and wide, and more like high school, with gossips at every corner. Taehyung doesn't have the heart to get mad at Jimin for invading his privacy or anything like that, though. He knows Jimin well enough that, while he's genuinely concerned, Taehyung's trainwreck of an Olympic love life is distraction from Jimin's own problems. He hopes that Jimin's (ex-)more-than-a-fling was gentler, at least. "You too, huh?"
"You're good," Jimin says, his voice soft and tired, really tired. Taehyung hasn't heard that kind of fatigue in Jimin's voice since the night after London. He didn't think he'd ever hear it again after the gold.
"I'm sorry," Taehyung says, on the other side of the condolences now and no less happier for it. He curls his arm around Jimin's waist, pulls him in even closer so they're cuddling more than anything. As sad as he was alone, holding it in to keep from burdening Jimin, he never wanted Jimin to join him. "Are you...going to talk to him?"
"I don't know," Jimin says, cheek pressed against Taehyung's shoulder. His words echo Taehyung's thoughts. "I'm not sure what I want."
A proper relationship. A whirlwind fling that ends with the Games. A one-night stand. Taehyung looked at Jeongguk and he wanted it, wanted something real so bad. In the end, Jeongguk was wrong, still - Taehyung wanted a relationship that would not only last in the Village, but beyond it, through the plane flight back to the other side of the planet and into the open arms of their country. Now, he can't even tell whether he wants to see Jeongguk ever again. "I know," he says. "I don't know what to do either."
Jimin is silent for a moment. "Well. If you do talk to him, good luck."
"Mhmm," Taehyung says, and presses his face against Jimin's hair, closes his eyes. Wishes that this, curled up with his best friend who unfailingly understands and sympathizes, was enough. "You too."
"Worst comes to worst," Jimin says, untangling an arm to reach up and pat Taehyung's head, "The last time we have to see them is at the closing ceremony. And then it’ll have all just been a bad dream.”
➋