UNIVERSE / BTS.

85: autumn boys / taeseok

"it's been a while," he says, after a few minutes of silence, sat on the chest that came with the apartment, legs curled up. hoseok sits across from him on a stool, one elbow leaning on the table. "where you been?"

hoseok shrugs, brown eyes meeting taehyung's own, and god, they make taehyung feel so safe, those two pools of brown, that colour of autumn leaves. "here and there. had to get out of paris, you get me? and... well, my nan died, so had to meet with the family again..." he trails off, fingers drumming against his thigh.

"guessin' that didn't go too well," taehyung says, and hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. "why'd you come here? to me, of all places?"

the brunette shrugs, scratching his neck. "i dunno, tae... i just missed you, alright? wanted someone to get hammered with, so i could forget the world."

"i'm always up for that," taehyung chuckles, and he sits up and pulls hoseok's hand, forcing the older boy to sit next to him. they look a sight; seventeen and eighteen, complete messes and they're not even adults yet, smelling of cigarette smoke. they met back when college seemed like the best thing to ever happen, when they had hope and expectations for the future and a fuck-ton of weed. now all they have is each other.

taehyung pulls a tin from the pocket of his sweatpants, opening it to reveal weed and rolling papers. hoseok leans his head on taehyung's shoulder as the younger skins up, fingers far too deft at something so wrong for a seventeen year old to be doing. in a broken house, paris, 2009, two teenage disasters share a spliff, not sure what to do with themselves, minds like broken glass as they pass the smoke back and forth and swig from a bottle of vodka so cheap and strong, it may as well be paint thinner.

"taehyung, mon cherie," hoseok's french is a little rough around the edges, roughcut like he is, but god it sounds perfect on his tongue and to taehyung's alcohol-muddled brain. "t'me manques." i miss you.

"i'm right here, hoseok," taehyung says, quiet, just above a whisper, and hoseok shakes his head, face close to taehyung's own, fingers closing around the younger boy's hand.

"non, je manque... ton lèvres... ton corps." hoseok's words are slurred, but taehyung takes them in like a hit, the other boy's lips so close they brush taehyung's cheek. hoseok presses a gentle kiss to the scar on taehyung's cheek, an old drunken fight wound, his lips gentle and soft.

hoseok and taehyung have a very... complicated relationship. it's hard to explain. they met in their first year of college, young and fresh faced; hoseok knew pandora and her friends, so by connection he met taehyung. they hung out at all the same parties, smoked weed together, got stupidly drunk. somewhere along the line, they started hooking up; a result of weed and a fuckton of vodka one night at pandora's boyfriend's house party, where the two of them had just started kissing in a corner, hands fisted in shirts and in hair, a smiths song playing as they sloppily attempted to recreate romance.

from then on, it was five months of maybe-love. it was kissing sessions, long and slow, on hoseok's mustard-coloured sheets, with hands roaming down, shoved into baggy jeans, grabbing at soft skin wherever they could reach. it was sloppily kissing after shotgunning the end of a joint, barely finding each other in the dark, calloused guitar-playing fingers playing with the ends of their shaggy overgrown hair, shirts pulled off hastily so their lips could roam beneath their mouths. it was talking to each other in french at midnight, words slurred and voices scratchy, whispered 'i want you's' and ones moans swallowed up by another's mouth. it was, easily, some of the best months of taehyung's life.

and then, suddenly, in may 2009, hoseok just disappeared. he stayed the night at pandora's, and the next morning he was gone, with a package addressed to taehyung left in his place. pandora had bought it to school the next day, and taehyung had felt the weight of it in his backpack until the final bell rang at four and he ran, he ran home, heart racing, desperate to know what was in the sloppily taped-up cardboard box.