He sees Kook again a few days later, when he calls him with his usual private number, tells him to come over for dinner.
They talk about nothing as usual, and when Tae's washing the dishes, Jungkook's phone ring. The phone never rings, as far as Taehyung is concerned. And Jungkook leaves his side where he has been drying the utensils to take the call into his study where Tae knows he isn't allowed to enter, even without explicit warning from Jungkook.
Besides, Taehyung's pretty sure his study would just be filled with his job related things. He doesn't feel the need to see those when the kitchen is equipped with so many knives of different kinds already.
He finishes washing the dishes, dries them and Jungkook's still in the study.
He tiptoes to the room, peeks through the gap of the open door from a distance.
"I don't work for anyone," He hears Jungkook saying in a cold voice.
Tae doesn't know what kind of people Kook deals with. But they all must be dangerous men. His life must be filled with them. Like Tae's too apparently.
He doesn't want to intrude, not wanting to meddle into Kook's business so he goes into the bedroom.
It's silent there, and he can still hear muffled sound of him talking from across living room.
When Jungkook finally enters the bedroom, his expression is cold, rigid. His gaze is sharp, piercing. So Taehyung goes to wrap his arms around him, savoring his warmth, and frame that he holds dearly with his own two arms.
He shivers in the comfort of Jungkook pushing his hands under his shirt, brushing his back to pull him closer.
He feels Jungkook's bare fingers brushing at his shoulders. It's soothing to think his fingerprints are all over him. Covering the old scars on his skin with his own marks.
"Are you leaving?" He asks. "For another job soon?"
Jungkook holds him tighter. "Yes," He speaks into Tae's hair, that Tae closes his eyes just to hear his voice better.
There's a force that pulls his lips into a hard frown, that he doesn't want Jungkook to see.
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
Taehyung feels the heat in his closed eyes.
"I'll leave early in the morning. Call a cab to get home."
Taehyung hides further into the solace that Jungkook provides. But at this moment it feels so distant. He can't put a finger on why. Like a shoe box buried deep beneath the ground. Like he's wearing leather gloves himself. Incapable of touching the real surface of things.
"I'll stay here then, until you come back."
Jungkook shakes his head against Taehyung's hair, inhaling deeply. "You have to go to work."
Taehyung learned a new song with Yoongi. He likes the new song. It understands him. He thinks if he sings them fully on stage, he'd be telling everyone about everything.
"Jungkook," he calls, and gets a hum. "Do you love me?"
He lifts his hands, brushing Jungkook's back in the process and gently pushes him back by his chest.
Kook stares at him, arms loose around Tae.
Taehyung looks searchingly into his eyes, and Kook's eyes have found him. Jungkook doesn't seem to have to search for anything. Because he knows where he keeps his guns, where he puts his knives. He could grab them in his sleep if he has to. Taehyung knows that from experience.
And there's that undecipherable look again on his face, something like a complicated expression, like a blank one too as if Jungkook doesn't really feel anything.
"Do you love me?" He asks again, voice breaking, a sob threatening to scrape up his throat as he loses what he's looking for in Jungkook's eyes because of the pooling tears.
Kook lowers his head, tries to kiss him, but Tae shakes his head.
"Please, Kook," He begs, fingers clenched into two fists. "Please tell me."
He thinks of the kitchen knife he'd clutched to his chest. Thinks of the bloodied man on Kook's apartment floor.
The return of the red.
He doesn't mind it. Wouldn't mind it.
Jungkook.
He's just pulled into an embrace, as he shakes, and trembles with all the force of an earthquake bubbling inside of him and the tears fall.
"Do you love me?"
Jungkook's hands are so secure around him. His stature firm, and reliable. Tae knows he's lithe, he moves without sound if he wants to, goes around invisible if he has to.
And Taehyung feels so scared. He doesn't feel safe anymore. Even with the number of locks on the doors, the loaded gun in Kook's drawer, his bathroom. Even with the knives he hides in the kitchen. And god knows what else he arms himself with in his own home.
He cries.
Because strangely he feels unsafe in the arms of a killer.
"I have to pay the price first," Jungkook whispers into his ear, fingers in his hair, against the soft skin of the back of his neck.
And Taehyung couldn't think of anything, just feels fear incapacitating him right there, creeping up every inch of his bones like it's a permanent home.
So he keeps crying.
Wondering if the price is an unbelievable million, and at the same time if a million is too little.
Taehyung wakes up.
He isn't there on the bed. His side has been made neatly. Sheets smoothed.
Tae buries his nose into the pillow next to him. It just smells like his own cologne and shampoo.
He showers, running the soap on his shoulder and wishes it was Jungkook's fingers. He goes to find something to wear in Jungkook's closet as usual after.
Jungkook has fresh, new shirts that he replaces every goddamn day if Taehyung has to be honest with himself. He doesn't know where he throws away the shirts Tae wore. And the ones he wears too.
He takes one anyway, because Jungkook never stops him from wearing what he owns despite his habit of cleaning up everything as if erasing their existence. And it smells new.
On his way home he buys some groceries. And at home he takes them out one by one carefully from the bags in his small kitchen.
He bakes some cinnamon rolls, which took him two tries only.
Yoongi didn't lie when he said that's the best recipe he could ever have.
His phone rings. Wiping his hands on his apron, he looks at the private number flashing on the screen of his phone.
It puts a small smile on his face as he answers, expecting a familiar voice, wondering what he'd have for dinner.
It's silent on the other line.
Taehyung feels a little confused, listening to the silence to make out just about anything. But there's nothing.
"Jungkook?" He tries.
The other line hangs up as soon as he uttered the name though, and Tae frowns at his phone, staring at the word 'private' and realizing just how unknown it actually is, with how the usual voice greeting him is absent.
He doesn't get much time to think about it, because he packs the cinnamon rolls neatly into a bag. He has to change, go to work.
There's that new song he'll be singing today.
On his way out of his place, he stops by the messy kitchen. Looks at the collar hanging on the fridge.
Tannie.
Looks at that one good knife he owns.
Takes it. Puts it into his bag.
Yoongi tells him good luck before he goes up on stage.
He thanks him, and walks up to the stage to find the usual crowd, with some new faces who are eager to hear him sing. Hoseok's at the bar, winking at him when their eyes meet.
He smiles, and sings when the piano starts.
And it's true, it feels like he's telling everyone everything. And by the time he finishes the song, there's a lone tear rolling down his cheek that he wipes away with a small chuckle, and there's also a loud applause echoing in the bar.
"Your singing is beautiful," Hoseok tells him on his way back into the waiting room.
Tae blinks at him, surprised. But he manages a small smile, and nods a thank you.
But was it interesting? He finds himself thinking. What is the difference anyway?
Why had Jungkook never tell him his singing is beautiful though?
Why had Jungkook never tell him anything that matters, for that matter?
He takes off his makeup, says goodbye to his friends. Takes a cab to Kook's place, the cinnamon rolls safely tucked on his lap as he thinks about the call he receives earlier that day.
When he gets to the apartment complex he finds the door unlocked. Strange, but he's sure it wouldn't be as strange as the last time he had walked into the apartment through the open door.
It's empty, he finds, stepping into the apartment and looking around. He holds the paper bag in his hand tighter, walks to the bedroom.
It's empty too.
He doesn't understand Jungkook. He hates it.
Because when he pulls the closet open there are no shirts, no leather gloves. There are no loaded guns anywhere.
There is only one set of knives in the kitchen.
The curtains are closed, only one lock is locked on the door.
Taking a seat on the couch, he takes in the deathly silence of the empty apartment too.
And notices the briefcase on the coffee table in front of him. He pulls at it begrudgingly, frowning so fiercely when he finds the content.
And he takes out the knife from his bag, stares at it, at his reflection.
A million is too little, after all.
For something like this emptiness that he had never asked for. For the safety that he has found only to lose it again. To have those securing arms hold him but only for the last time.
If only fingerprints could leave marks, Tae finds himself wishing. If only the fingerprints from Jungkook's gentle touches could leave marks on his shaking body, on his bare skin, like the old bruises and scars.
If only his lips would mark Taehyung , so that at this kind of moment he knows Jungkook was real. And he is real, he knows that with his whole heart, but with this emptiness he might as well just not exist. Without his dangerous brilliance that Tae's just drawn to, feels safe with. Without his gleaming kind eyes. His gentle hands, his tender lips.
He wishes they could have left just any imprints, like how blood leaves red on his skin. Leaves purples, leaves the blues. All the tainting colors.
Left him feeling something down to his bones the very least.
He just wishes he isn't left in an empty apartment, with his stupid cinnamon rolls, untarnished skin and stupid broken heart.
Because it's just severely unfortunate, how Taehyung has finally found the love worth killing for, yet Jungkook just never found the love worth dying for.