When the line between "need" and "want" gets blurred...
To the outside world, they're just good friends. But the truth is, Taehyung isn't entirely sure what they are to each other.
Kim Taehyung, rising soccer star.
Jung Hoseok, team physician.
...
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At the beginning of the year, Hoseok had told Yoongi, his cousin's boyfriend, that people were good at ignoring things they didn't want to see. It appeared he had been guilty of the same thing. He had never wondered why he hadn't seen Jiwoo in months. He had never asked Taehyung where she was. He had simply been glad she wasn't around.
Hoseok didn't dislike Jiwoo. She was a nice young woman. She was good for Taehyung: she always called him on his bullshit and told him when he was being an ass. No, Hoseok didn't dislike her. But there was a difference between disliking and hating. He didn't dislike her.
Hoseok brought the bottle to his lips and took a big gulp. The vodka burned his throat going down, but the numbness he had been seeking since leaving his office didn't come.
Taehyung was going to be a dad.
A dad. His Tae.
It was surreal. In many ways, Taehyung was still an insecure, vulnerable child himself.
A child.
Jiwoo was going to give Taehyung a child. A family, something Taehyung had always wanted.
Hoseok took another gulp of vodka. Staring blankly at the opposite wall, he wondered how it was possible to feel the loss of something he'd never had. He'd always known it would end this way. He'd always known it was hopeless. He thought he had accepted it. He had thought he was ready. He was wrong.
The doorbell rang.
Hoseok looked at the door and didn't move.
It rang again.
Sighing, Hoseok set the bottle down, got up and crossed the room.
He opened the door and wasn't surprised to see Taehyung.
"Why didn't you wait for me? I told you I'd come after the training." Taehyung sniffed and narrowed his eyes. "Were you drinking?"
"Yes," Hoseok said.
Concern flashed through Taehyung's face. "Why?" he asked, pushing past Hoseok into the house. "Something wrong?"
Hoseok laughed, shutting the door and leaning against it. It was a horrible sound, but he couldn't stop. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed—at himself more than anything else. Yes, something was wrong: his life.
