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“Essex,” the fairy explains, “in the South, London at the heart, Kent and Devon were reformists,” when Jeongguk calls the boy a fairy, he implies it in the nicest terms, because why the fuck does he look like a pixie from a children's book? Short, cute and devastatingly pretty? “While regions like Yorkshire staunchly sided with the existing orthodox Catholic Church.” The fairy, Jimin, wraps up his explanation of the Reformist background and looks up expectantly at the other. “You understood, right? Why was King Henry a pro-reformist?”
For a brief moment Jeongguk feels disoriented, for one, he has heard nothing about the Henry dude. Number two, he didn't care about this Tudor dude. Nevertheless he mumbles out a quiet “yes.”
“Good.” Jimin seems to believe him. “Should we meet here on Friday? We can start with proto industrialisation, if that's okay? Or we could move forward with just the Reformation Movement?”
“You do you, teach,” Jeongguk shrugs, out of the window, behind the fairy, the sky turns a blushing pink. “Can I leave? I have somewhere to be.” It is not like Jeongguk remembers, or remembers hearing, anything about the Tudors and their Churches anyways. He doesn't wait for his tutor to reply — simply slings his crossbody bag across his frame and walks out of the deserted library, leaving a dumbfounded Jimin staring at him at a loss of words.
[ 🌌 ]
Jeongguk had a tutor when he was three and barely into kindergarten. The teacher was a sweet woman who smelled of delicate perfume and would gift him well with strawberry candies if he finished his worksheets without fussing. So, when faced with Fairy’s no nonsense attitude, Jeongguk was flummoxed — Park Jimin was nothing like the tutor three year old Jeongguk had.
“Tutoring?” A boy sits down on the bench next to him, “or were you just late like that? Pass me a smoke.”
“Tutoring.” Jeongguk shrugs, offering his friend the white sticks peeking out from the box, “this isn't Esse,” he adds, “it's Marlboro.”
“I figured, kid.” Yoongi lets out a throaty laugh. “I taught you how to smoke. How’s Yerim?”
“How would I know?” Jeongguk puts the box away, a bitter feeling slowly spreads on his tongue, “Yerim isn't showing up to classes.”
“Well that sucks,” Yoongi lights his cigarette, “if Yerim’s not showing up to Early Modern Europe, what's all the tutoring for?”
“Well,” Jeongguk snorts, “if I knew I’d end up with the rainbow haired Park Jimin, I’d probably never ask my professor for a tutor. Do you think I'd ever be able to win over Yerim?”
“Not if you sit over here and contemplate your life choices, kid,” Yoongi shakes his head, “you need to pick your shit up. Yerim works at the Mart down the street from four o’clock. Maybe she needs … notes on Brenner?”
[🌌]
Jeongguk’s liked Yerim for as long as he can remember. The girl is always in pigtails, always in her floral embroidered scarf and always with her thick notebook nestled in her arms.
Jeongguk has a reputation in the campus, it doesn’t matter whether he likes it or whether he despises it, he has it nevertheless. The reputation chases him down the corridors, down the aisles of a convenience store and the thrums of a house party – he likes sex. There is nothing wrong with sex, Jeongguk opines, the distaste lies in the fact that the whispers paint him as this demoralised version of himself that sleeps with a woman and moves on to the next with practised precision.
Yerim stands behind the cash counter in a green apron, mindlessly typing on her phone, her pigtails rest on her back. Jeongguk stands a few feet away in the darkness of the dessert aisle, clutching a folder to his chest. It is simply, really, all he has to do is go up to the cash counter and say, You know Professor Yoon is pretty stingy with his notes, so I brought you a photocopied version of mine. Would you like to go for a drink this weekend? We could go to one of those clubs at Itaewon.
Easier said than done.
He takes a tin of canned tuna just for the sake of buying something and steels his nerves, breathes in, and gears up to check out the small tin. Except he never quite makes it to the cash counter before ice cubes and raspberry scented water
There's a sinking feeling in Jeongguk’s gut, how the fuck is he going to face Yerim in a raspberry tinted t-shirt now? He looks up to meet the bewildered eyes of the fairy who juggles a cup of ramen, a cup of tteokbokki and various other snacks in his hands. The ramen topples dangerously in his hold.
“I am so sorry!” Jimin exclaims, high pitched and full of apologies, “I didn't mean it. I am so sorry, Jeongguk-ssi.” What else can Jeongguk do? From the corner of his eyes, he glances upon Yerim who looks disinterestedly at his phone. Not even the chaotic, cinematic, moment could break her out of it.
“It's okay, teach,” Jeongguk sighs, what else is left to say anyways, “it's not your fault. I shouldn’t have been so air headed.” He places the tin of (thankfully) clean tuna on the nearest shelf, adjusts the backpack on his shoulder and reaches out to take the container of tteokbokki from his hands, “are you going to sit at one of the tables?” Jimin flushes a bright red in embarassment but nods nevertheless. Jeongguk assists him in getting to a table, heart heavy and eyes gloomy.
“Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin calls out to him in that soft voice of his, “if you wait while i pack this up, I can buy you a new shirt from the store at the bend of the street.”
“Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk shakes his head, “it's okay. Please don't be bothered. The shirt is brown, the stain is barely noticeable. I have a spare in my backpack.”
“I feel bad,” the tutor mumbles, “let me buy you something. Would you like to eat tteokbokki?”
“Readymade ones?” Jeongguk sits down on a high chair, “no thankyou. Readymade ones are not cut out for me.”
“Ramen perhaps?” Jimin’s voice is soft, oh so lilting. Under the harsh lights of the convenience store, Jimin still looks like a beautiful fairy. Jeongguk finds himself nodding. Jimin smiles at him again, bright and contagious. For a moment, just for a moment, Yerim recedes into the back of his mind while he watches Jimin search for the chicken carbonara flavoured cup.
They sit side by side on the high chairs. “Are we going to talk about the Reformation here too?” Jimin jokes.
“God,” Jeongguk groans, “I hope not.” Steam from the ramen floats in the air around him and rests on his clavicles.
“Where are you from, Jeongguk-ssi?” Jimin asks, taking a bite of the tteokbokki.
“I am from Busan, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin, at first, looks surprised at the informality, then, he quickly adjusts, “yeah? Me too. I lived close to the sea. Did you go to the sea often, Jeongguk-ah?”
[🌌]
Jeongguk finds out Yerim is dating quite accidentally to be honest. He sits in the library amidst dusty old bookshelves, a tattered paperback, E.P. Thomson, written in permanent marker on it, lays in front of him while he waits for Yoongi to arrive with his cold drink.
Before he spots Yoongi, he sees Yerim. Bright eyed, pigtailed Yerim, with a man leaning on shoulder a few benches away. The man has a sharp nose and Jeongguk doesn't remember seeing him around in the Humanities building before. At first, everything was fine, Yerim was laughing, the pages of the book in front of them were never turned (if a stab in Jeongguk's stomach told him they shouldn't be laughing in a library, he shuts that thought down real quick). Then, he sees the man press his lips to Yerim's and the soft blush that takes over her cheeks, Jeongguk feels the crunch of disappointment resonate deep inside his ribs.
There goes his heart — shattered and broken.
[🌌]
“You're sad.” Jimin observes. “Should we reschedule? Or I can just give you my notes from last semester, they have plenty of writing material.”
“No,” Jeongguk shakes his head, “it's okay. We can go on.” For a moment Jimin doesn't look very convinced but he nods nevertheless and smoothly talks about how to write an answer on Lutherianism. When an hour ends and Jeongguk gets up to leave, Jimin asks gingerly, “do you want to go eat carrot cake? It will cheer you up, my friend recommends it for healing hearts.”
Jeongguk’s heart warms, for a moment, in the Fairy’s presence, he feels seen.
[ 🌌 ]
On Friday Yoongi drags him to a party at the sorority where Yerim lives. The music is loud and the taste of alcohol is bitter on his tongue. At a distance, he sees Yeobin wave at him. The alcohol brings in him the familiar itch under his veins, but he hesitates, what about Yerim? “You like sex, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi mumbles while downing a shot, “what’s wrong with wanting to have it? You aren't dating.”
“I see you on Saturdays,” Lily, the woman whose hair is splayed out on the dorm’s crude pillowcase, murmurs, “in the library. With that… that dude.” Her fingers brush along his bicep “I’ve always wanted to talk to you. So glad you came here today. I thought you wouldn't be interested. You look so interested in him.” The words coil tight around Jeongguk’s defensive brain. Sure, he thinks Jimin looks like a fairy. But, that's it. Jimin is a polite person, a classmate, a tutor. Jeongguk is straight. He's interested in women.
“I am not,” he asserts, throat raw, “I am straight.”
“It was just a passing thought,” Lily laughs, “Why’re you getting so defensive?”
Jeongguk doesn't know.
On Saturday, he's late for Jimin’s tutoring session. When he stumbles into the library it is already half past nine, his shirt is too bright for a morning, his hair is slightly mussed up and he feels the lingering remnants of coitus curling in his belly. Jimin looks over at him once and quickly drops his eyes to his book. Jeongguk feels something swoop in his belly, what must Jimin think of him?
“Long night?” Jimin asks, smiling softly while Jeongguk sits. “We can reschedule. We don’t have much of it left anyways.”
“No, it's okay,” he shakes his head slightly, “the faster we get done the better, right?”
“Yeah.” The fairy nods.
Deep down a pool of disappointment sloshes in Jeongguk’s stomach.
[🌌]
“Why…” Jeongguk isn't sure how to say this, he pauses staring at the picture on the laptop screen for too long, “um… why does this woman have a breast out?”
“Where?” Jimin frowns, and Jeongguk points to a certain spot in the corner of the screen. They are in Jimin’s dorm room, hunched over the laptop screen on Taehyung’s bed. The wall on Kim Taehyung's side is covered with posters of music bands and a man with an electric guitar stares unnervingly at him.
Jimin squints his eyes trying to see the picture clearly, Jeongguk goes red in the face, he shouldn't have pointed it out.
“Jeongguk!” Jimin screams once he sees it, scandalised, “why do you always see things like this.” Jeongguk erupts into peals of laughter.
[🌌]
“Did you know that the Tudor period saw a distinct sense of fashion?” Jeongguk slurs, the aftertaste of cranberry vodka heavy on his tongue, “they were honestly so stupid.”
“The tutoring is really morphing your personality,” Yoongi sighs, sipping on his drink, “I, to be honest, have no idea about who the Tudors were.”
“Of course you don’t.” Jeongguk wiggles his index finger in circular motions around Yoongi’s face, “I will now go and dance.”
“Dance?”
“Uh huh,” the junior laughs, “see you!” He staggers towards the crowded dance floor with a slight drag in his steps, leaving a very confused Yoongi behind.
The dance floor is sweaty, Jeongguk notices, and no amount of perfume could disguise the lingering smell of sweat in the air – pungent and repulsive. A song by Bibi plays around the floor; Jeongguk has probably heard the song from somewhere before but he doesn’t really remember it. He dives into the borderline repulsive crowd and sways his hips to the music, occassionally jumping and throwing his hands above his head.
By the second verse of the song Jeongguk was dancing with a girl in a red sequined jacket and a pixie cut. The woman calls herself Harin, a student of Microbiology at Seoul National University. Initially, Jeongguk thinks he'd like to get into a cab with Harin, she danced really well and her breath smelled nice. Then, Jeongguk spots the Fairy. He sits behind a table laughing with a boy with a box for a smile. The boy, Jeongguk recognises him as Kim Taehyung from Political Science, mumbles into Jimin’s ear and the rainbow streaked boy laughs, throwing himself across the seat and onto Taehyung’s chest.
Suddenly, Jeongguk feels weird. It feels wrong – watching Jimin from a distance like a creep while he's dancing with a woman, so he turns back towards Harin. A bitter feeling crawls up Jeongguk’s throat, he feels an anxious void forming in the middle of his chest. If watching Jimin like a creep felt wrong, watching Jimin laugh like that with a boy that looks at him like he has hung the stars, feels god awful.
The tune shifts and Harin slings her arm around his neck and tiptoes to his ears, her breasts press against his chest, the ache inside grows louder. “Do you want to go home with me?” Harin murmurs, “I live in Women’s Gosiwon just a few minutes away. I am sure I can sneak you in.”
The offer should sound tempting. Harin is beautiful, Jeongguk wouldn’t mind sex, but the sour tang in his mouth prevents him from agreeing. It is probably the aftertaste of the vodka, the growing desire for a smoke or perhaps, a tiny voice whispers in his ear, the magnetic pull towards his tutor who sits towards the seating area. “I am sorry,” he apologises, stepping out of the embrace, “I am not looking for that tonight.” He weaves his way out of the crowd and beelines towards the exit with the lighter weighing heavy in his left pocket.
To his surprise, however, a ruddy cheeked Jimin stood on the pavement with the pale streetlight casting shadows on the column of his nose. “Teach?” He calls out tentatively, “I swear I saw you inside just now.”
“Jeongguk-ah!” Jimin whirls around, surprised, the flush on his cheeks darken with embarrassment. “I just stepped out for air while my friend went … to the restroom. I… didn’t see you inside?’’
“I was…” Jeongguk looks away towards a flickering 7/11 neon sign, Jimin looks breathtaking in his dark washed jeans and silver jacket. “On the dance floor?”
“Figures.” Jimin chuckles. “Taehyung, my friend, said you love clubbing.”
Jeongguk knows exactly why Taehyung thinks this, and why everyone thinks Jeongguk loves clubbing. Something inside him sinks, but there’s little he can do about it, so chooses a diversion. “Do you smoke?” He asks, taking the lighter out of his pocket.
“No.” Jimin shakes his head.
“Err… do you want to?”
“No.” Jimin laughs, high and lilting. The sound settles inside Jeongguk’s chest like fireflies on blades of grass. “You’re so cute, Jeongguk-ah.” Jeongguk thinks now he can breathe easily.
[🌌]
Jeongguk’s second evaluation results comes out two weeks later. The weeks have been sparse with tutoring sessions scheduled days apart, and even if he hates to admit it, Jeongguk thinks he likes Europe in Transition more than he likes Yerim, now.
“You’ve done really well,” his professor commends, “Jimin-ssi really helped you pull your socks up. I was very impressed by your citings of Weber in the essay.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jeongguk mumbles. “Jimin-ssi works really hard.”
“That he does,” the professor nods, “sometimes, Jeongguk-ssi, it is better to understand than smushing it all up in our little brains, just like how children learn to spell,” the teacher shakes his head, “you will do even better in your finals. I am sure of it!”
The first logical thing Jeongguk does after he steps out of the professor's office is text Jimin. Jimin simply sends a location back. That is how Jeongguk finds himself sitting opposite the Fairy with a carrot cake in front of him inside a cafe with baby blue walls.
“You’ve done well, Jeongguk-ah!” Jimin cheers, eyes crinkling and raising his fists in the air, “that was such a progress from your first evaluation.”
“You have to keep helping me, teach,” he leaned cut into the slice of carrot cake with a fork, “without you helping me, I will probably perish.”
“I feel like a mother bird,” the Fairy chuckles, “my little flightless baby, you can fly on your own now.”
“You're embarrassing me.” Jeongguk mumbles.
Then, Jimin asks the one dreaded question Jeongguk wished he didn't ask, “why did you even opt for this paper when you had zero knowledge about its background?”
“Well,” Jeongguk considers lying at first, “because I wanted to widen my horizons?” then he realised the truth might fetch him Jimin’s crooked toothed smile, “and also because this girl I really like takes this paper.”
Contrary to what Jeongguk assumes, Jimin doesn't laugh. His eyes shift into something solemn and his lips tighten in a frown, he looks down at his mostly untouched cup of frappe.
“Oh.” Jimin simply murmurs. “That is a hell lot of dedication,” he tentatively smiles, “so … are the both of you together?”
“Heavens, no.” Jeongguk laughs, trying to break the ice that has settled over them. “I think I’ve thought more about Henry during this paper than I have thought about the girl.”
Jimin’s tense shoulders slowly ease into a breathtaking laugh and Jeongguk feels like he can breathe again, unburdened with a feeling he cannot name. Perhaps, if he stopped to think about it more, or if he outrightly acknowledged it, he could put a name to the fluttering inside his chest; but acknowledging feels forbidden and so he clamps his heart shut and digs into the carrot cake as the late afternoon blends into the evening.
[🌌]
With the onset of the end semester exams comes a slow dread that slithers quietly into Jeongguk’s heart — Jimin and he will have no more reason to speak to each other. It shouldn't offhand him so much, Jimin and he were friends, but it somehow unnerves it. As ironic as it may be chaotic, and political, transforming Europe is a meeting point for Jeongguk and his peers. This monumental stress is perhaps what fuels Jeongguk's intense desire for a cigarette every other hour.
The campus has a no smoking area. Yet, that doesn’t mean that addicts like Jeongguk don’t smoke (perhaps, they have the faulty smoke detectors to thank for that). Attending lectures about Behavioural Economics is as boring as it could get but thankfully, Jeongguk could count on Yerim’s playful and mindless commentary.
As the taste of nicotine settles heavy in his chest, Jeongguk feels his mind wander, on Yerim. Yerim, who has been friends with Jeongguk since his fresher days, Yerim who for a long time Jeongguk believed to be the one. It leads him to wonder why he doesn't desire Yerim’s company anymore. The loss of desires leaves him unsettled; then, his mind shifts into uncharted territory, towards Jimin.
Jeongguk’s heart aches with an unnamed longing when he thinks of vibrant Jimin. Jimin, whose friendship Jeongguk craves like a depraved dog, parted from its owner. He thinks he'd like to keep staring at Jimin for hours, he'd like to listen to him speak. Like to share books, speak in lengths about poetry and perhaps bare his heart to — an intense overwhelming desire for a kind of friendship that threatens to ruin Jeongguk's sanity and leave him with debatable feelings.
He crushes the cigarette under his boot, hikes his bag up on his shoulder and walks towards the Seminar Hall. The Fairy had sent him a flyer on Kakao the night before, the message accompanying it was simple : would appreciate it if you came to this. And Jeongguk had readily agreed.
He finds himself a seat at the back of the hall, beside a dozing student. Jimin stands on the podium dwarfed by the massive screen behind him, the light of the projector highlights the shadows on his face.
Jimin speaks, soft and steady, about peeling back through layers of complexities and delving into the details of cultural suppression in a colonized Korea. He tilts his head while he speaks of loss of identity and a quiet distaste fills his eyes when he speaks about the numerous deaths that plague history.
Jeongguk sits and watches for a long time, heart full with an unnamed heaviness. Perhaps he’d really like it if he could hear Jimin forever, speaking in his ears, pressing his lips the outer skin of his ear lobe—
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh no. No.
Jeon Jeongguk comes to perhaps what is the worst realisation of his life : he wants to do some very un ‘friendly’ things with his tutor.
This cannot be happening to him.
[ 🌌 ]
With the territory of knowing comes the territory of accepting … and perhaps, the territory of working on it (?). Acceptance, however, Jeongguk thinks is the hardest part. He slumps on the park bench with his head between his hands, because how does any of this make sense?
He's been looking for love in all corners of life, between bed sheets, in shared conversations, with women. How does him liking his tutor make sense? He's shared a few conversations, cracked a few jokes about the Tudors, shared a few heavy conversations, so what?
The hardest hit, for Jeongguk, comes in the form of the bitter pill that Jimin is a man. How does one go from rolling in the sheets with a woman to wanting to roll in the sheets with a man?
“That…” Yoongi comments after a long time, “that is the root of all your problems, isn't it?”
“What?” Jeongguk blurts, the pained expression on his face never fading.
“That Jimin is a man.” His friend nods. “You don't know what to do with yourself liking a man.”
“Yes.” He wails. “This … this can't be happening to me.”
“Why the fuck?” Yoongi snorts. “What your issue is, Jeongguk-ssi, is that you're afraid of accepting yourself. You're feeling something you've never felt before and now you don't know what to do.”
“I…” Jeongguk huffs helplessly, “it is so bizarre when I think about it. It is so fucking bizarre. I think I need time to process it.”
“Well, lucky for you, you have ample time to process.”
Jeon Jeongguk disagrees with this.
[ 🌌 ]
Jeongguk sees Jimin at a party, long after Europe has crumbled at the throes of laissez-faire and Jeongguk no longer needs to study it. It is someone's birthday, Jeongguk doesn't remember very clearly after this many shots, and Jimin stands a few steps away from him, swaying to the music, bathed in low neon lights.
Jeongguk breathes with a palm on his chest and saunters up to where Park Jimin dances. He starts slowly, at a distance from the Fairy. At first, Jimin shoots a confused look at him, but he doesn't comment and so Jeongguk takes it as a sign, pressing in closer. Jimin’s back against his front as they thrum to the music together. It is an exhilarating feeling, Jeongguk realises, having someone you like so close.
Long after the song ends, Jeongguk stands next to Jimin on the patio with a dead cigarette crushed under his boot. “You look very beautiful.” Jeongguk mutters, heart thudding heavily in his ribs.
“I do?” Jimin laughs, high and lilting.
“Uh huh,” Jeongguk nods. “Like a fairy, that's what I call you in my head — Fairy.”
“You call me a Fairy in your head?” Jimin turns towards him, his lips are set in a solemn line, specks of hurt swirl in his eyes, Jeongguk's heart lurches, “it's because I am gay, right?”
“What?” He asks, startled.
“It's because I am gay.” Jimin mouths, hurt, “I would've never expected you of all people to call me that, Jeongguk-ah.”
“No, what?” Jeongguk rests his palms on the other's cheeks, a baffled look painted across his face, “no. That's not it. Why would you think that?” His voice borders on a frantic edge, “you’re so beautiful. The prettiest person I’ve ever seen. You're like a mythical creature that has crawled out of my childhood stories — a fairy.”
Jimin's cheeks under Jeongguk’s palms warm with the steady rise of a blush dusting across his cheekbones. Jimin, Jeongguk thinks, looks really pretty, like the star on top of a Christmas tree. He suddenly has this overwhelming urge : to know whether the strawberry coloured lipgloss tastes like strawberry.
Jeongguk leans in, close enough but far, his breath lingers and fans on Jimin’s mouth, silent and seeking. Then, Jimin presses up against him and presses his lips on the other’s with a coy look in his eyes. Jeongguk doesn't exactly know if Jimin's lips taste of strawberry but there's a synthetic taste and the softness of it all, the comfort of resting one's lips over another's. Jimin pulls him closer, closer, closer, threading his fingers in his head, his other hand pulls Jeongguk tighter. Closer to his body, as if wanting to fuse him with his own essence. He kisses openmouthedly with wet lips and tongues clambering for control in their mouth, tracing across their gums.
Kissing Jimin, Jeongguk concludes, is a wonderful feeling.
[🌌]
“I think…” Jeongguk starts, forking into the tea cake, “Yoongi made me realise that it's okay to like you. I was … initially very afraid.”
“Yoongi must be a good friend.” Jimin sips his tea, the cafe is quiet mostly, except the cashier who noisily wipes the cups. “It is not easy, accepting that is.”
“It isn't.” Jeongguk laughs, biting into a forkful of cake. “I’ve looked for love only with women, I think I should've looked for love everywhere.”
“You're cheesy.” Jimin snorts but quickly sobers up, “but I wanted to speak about something serious. Jeongguk, you have a reputation that precedes you, you understand why I am wary, right?” For a moment, Jeongguk feels his heart sink, then, Jimin adds, “we should take things slow. We should get to know each other more, we should date. We should maybe … kiss more.” A sly expression overtakes his eyes. “You know how to get to know each other better.”
“So …” Jeongguk feels his heart lift, “are we not exclusive now?”
“Oh Jeonggukie,” Jimin's face melts, “of course we are exclusive. We’re boyfriends aren't we?”
“We are?”
“Yes!” Jimin’s fingers reach across the table to hold Jeongguk's hands. “We’re just taking things slow and not jumping into bed at the first opportunity.”
“Ah! I get it now.” Jeongguk nods.
“But,” Jimin says, mischievously, “do you know what will get you in my bed faster? You should buy indulgences,” he leans over the table like a conspiracy theorist, “2 million won only.”
“What?” Jeongguk stares at the other incredulously. Then, it catches up to him. “Did you just crack a Reformation joke with me?”
Jimin's laughter ricochets in the quiet afternoon.