HOME - Taejoon

23. We are not really...

A minute after finishing the final urban design work, Taehyung felt empty again. Almost impressively there wasn't much else to wait for.

He desperately wanted to talk to someone, but Jimin was busy helping his girlfriend; That revelation of his whereabouts further depressed the boy who now left for the cafeteria to see if he could improve his mood with a cup of coffee, because he realized the reality of his loneliness, stretched out in front of him like a follower, faithful to him.

Since he was little, he felt alone. Being just a child, with his parents, during elementary school and as he grew up, he felt alone. Because no one understood his hobbies or understood his mind in general, it was too difficult for him to connect. The world appeared to him as a collection of strangers who believed they were always right in all the ways that really mattered. The only thing that sometimes made him happy was that he was good-looking, so sometimes when he was out with his childhood friend, people would hover around him to talk to him – when they weren't calling him a bitter bloodbath –; However, they also ended up leaving in the end.

He had a history of fatal injuries, especially emotionally. And, in terms of his sentimental past, Kim Taehyung stood out for his habit of making bad decisions and accepting basic displays of affection from those who once saw him as easy to sweeten.

The last of them, a burly guy he had met in a club, after learning about his sexual inclinations, did nothing more than verbally abuse him, claiming that he was just trying to be charming. Taehyung was fifteen years old. To no one's surprise, the son of a bitch had really hurt him, to the point that Taehyung was convinced that it wasn't worth it to talk about fetishes or love with anyone again.

Then, everything went to hell, but for the better.

Namjoon was like a blanket in his life, like a stuffed animal that reminds him of home. He was fascinated by his drive to work hard to make his family, especially his father, proud; It hurt him, especially, because, despite how good a person he knew his boyfriend was, it was obvious that Namjoon didn't share the same idea. Constantly, he had told her, he had fought a battle with himself to be what he always had the potential to be, without really thinking if that was what he wanted.

"In fact, I thought I would end up being a poet." He commented to her one night, as he caressed her bare back, "It made sense when I was thirteen."

"Why didn't you do it?" Taehyung asked, looking up to kiss her neck.

"Because it wasn't a good future. Business is better."

Taehyung still remembered how stiff his voice was, it sickened him. And every time he talked about it, about his dreams or illusions or what he could have been, it seemed like he was going to vomit, as if his soul couldn't tolerate telling such a big lie. His soul was that of an artist, but she was dead, her corpse came out with the excellence that meant having come so far.

But he understood it, he really did. They shared, in a way, the same dream after meeting each other.

That night, Taehyung took his hand and kissed him slowly, then questioned in what he pulled out as a joke: "And I'm a good future?"

"The only."

Right now, he needed to hear it again; and, as if fate could favor him, at that moment something got in his way.

"Oh, Taehyung-ah!"

He turned around and found Yoongi. Dressed as if he were already a married man, she gave him a smile.

"It's good to see you, Hyung." Taehyung said, in an unusual hiss of voice. Yoongi noticed it.

"Are you sick? You don't sound very well." The concern was mere there, but in fact Yoongi as really puzzled about Taehyung's looks: clothes all over the place, a pale face and some sweat coming from his forehead.