for everyone: true colors or everyone's from mars!

[bangtanmod]

Title: True Colors or Everyone’s from Mars!
Recipient: Everyone
Pairing: Hoseok/Taehyung
Rating: PG
Word count: ~3,800
Warnings Genderqueer!Hoseok, second person narrative, struggle for self-acceptance/discovery
Summary: Hoseok struggles to understand their true self. Taehyung just wants to leave the world behind.

The first time you try on lipstick it’s when you’re fifteen and spending time with your high school girlfriend. She kisses you in an alley by the school and pulls away slowly, smiling and whispering that her gloss has rubbed off on your mouth.

You move to wipe it away but she stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“It looks really good on you, oppa.” She’s blushing, and it’s so cute you kiss her again, letting the color stain your mouth and skin.

When you look in the reflection of the traffic mirror on the corner, you realize she’s right.
It looks really, really good.

You buy your first eye pencil a few weeks later after she leaves you for a boy at a different school. You practice with a steady hand in your bathroom mirror, but every time you try to line your left eye your hand begins to tremble.

You keep trying anyway, even if it’s only to wash it off with cleaner when someone knocks to use the toilet.

You don’t want to be a girl, not really. You just like soft fabric and tailored shirts and the way your face looks with kohl and lip tar. But you don’t really want to be a boy either. You think you’re happiest somewhere between the two, but you have no idea what you’re doing.

You go shopping alone, fingers lingering on silken shirts and tailored skirts and you wonder if A-line would suit you or if your broad, flat chest would ruin the illusion. You think pleated skirts might work better with your long legs.

Besides, if anyone saw it you could just moon over Kwon Jiyong the fashion king and they’d leave it be.

You run into your sister and her friends one day at the mall and try to run away but she spots you, and worse, her friends spot the dark pleated skirt in your hands.

“You’re amazing, Hoseokie,” she says quickly, holding up the skirt, “exactly the one I told you mom would like for her birthday, you’re so thoughtful.”

Her friends’ faces smooth over and they begin to coo at you, praise you for being an attentive brother and a dutiful son. You think it’s safe to sneak away when your sister catches your arm.

“I’ll buy it, Hoseokie, I know you don’t have the spending money for something like this. I’ll put it in your room to wrap, and tell mom it was from you.”

You stare at her wide eyed and then she winks, fast and sweet, before she’s gone.

The bag is on your bed when you get home that night, and along with it are some soft off the shoulder sweaters and woolen tights.

I will always love the person that you are— is scrawled on the bag and it takes you a moment to remember how to breathe.

You go to university and leave your things behind in a black duffel under your bed. The college is local, a Gwangju school with too many friends of friends, or children of your mother’s church group. You do your work neatly and pass every exam.

But you don’t make friends.

You sit alone at your table.

You don’t attend any events, just study and go home.

You’re pretty sure you don’t laugh the entire school year.

When you get approved for transfer to a university in Seoul in the middle of sophomore year, your sister suggests you use the opportunity to reinvent yourself. She says “reinvent” but the steady look in her eye and the quirk in her brow actually say “be yourself.”

You’ve never been so scared.

You bring your stash of clothes from home, but the duffel sits untouched under your lofted bed.

Your dorm mate is nice, quiet, studious. He always wears his headphones to class and murmurs rhythmically in his sleep.

You wonder if he’d look strangely at you if you followed your sister’s advice. You wonder if he’d ask to change rooms.

“Hey, are you happy?” he asks you one night, red crease in his face where he’d fallen asleep studying.

It takes you by surprise. You’ve always been the one smiling, laughing, and making sure the people around you are happy.

He explains he’s asking for a survey for his psych class, and you know you should answer honestly.

“No,” you say after a minute, “I guess I’m not.”

Namjoon purses his lips and records your answer. He surprises you with a hand on your shoulder and an encouraging smile.

“You should do whatever it takes, you deserve it.”

It starts slowly; painted nails here, a swipe of liner there, every other day an item from your duffle bag.

After the first day your run back to the dorm and your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s about to burst free. You smooth your fingers over the skirt your sister bought for you, and think back. No one said anything. No one really looked twice.

And after that it’s easy.

It surprises you that you’re not as scared, or as anxious as before. You let your hair grow. You learn how to use foundation, how to contour, how to walk in thick heeled boots. You’re just as comfortable in skinny jeans and a button down as you are in a tank and skirt, but you like it best when you’re mixing. When you’re in boyfriend cut jeans with a soccer jersey and brightly colored heels, or a skirt with leggings and a suit coat.

For a few months you keep expecting someone to scream in your face or call you a freak, but no one does.

And suddenly, you feel freer than you’ve felt your whole life.

You feel honest.

It feels good.

“Who are you?” A guy in your accounting class asks, but there’s no venom in his tone, it’s more apathetic, but there’s a question in his eyes.

“I’m Hoseok.” You reply, trembling fingers twisting in your jeans under the desk.

“Okay,” the boy replies with a short laugh, “would you want to model for a photography project?”

You blink.

The surprise must be obvious on your face.

He slides into the seat beside you.

“The assignment is ‘true colors’, it’s really corny I know, but I want to base the project around people who look like they know who they are.”

“You think I know who I am?”

The boy smirks.

“I said you look like you do, not that I think you actually do.”

You have no idea what to say to that.

There are two other boys in lounge when you arrive, one seems to be sleeping, headphones in and arms crossed. The other is looking around the room. He looks you straight in the eye and large smile splits his face.

He looks insane.

“Hi, you’re Hoseok right? Yoongi-hyung said we were waiting for one more, someone named ‘Hoseok’ and now you’re here so you must be Hoseok, right?” He speaks low and quick, and you already feel exhausted being in the same room as him.

“Yeah…” You smile and he smiles back patting your arm and nudging you towards an empty seat at the table.

The boy, Taehyung, sits beside you and stares for a while.

“Can I help you?” You ask, feeling bold.

“I was just wondering how you got your eyeliner to wing so cleanly, it looks so sharp, like it could stab me.”

“Oh. I just--” You’re at a loss of how to explain it without the brush in your hand, but Taehyung has already moved on to the next question.

“You’re older than me right? Should I call you hyung? Or unnie? Which is better? Which one do you like?”

“Oh, I…” You’ve never actually thought about it, “I don’t really… whichever one you think suits me, I guess?”

Taehyung stares so hard it looks like his head will start on fire any minute.

“Well,” he says after a while, settling back into his chair, “I don’t know if you’re a boy or girl, and it seems like you want that to be the case so I don’t think either one suits you, really.”

He has a point. All this time you’ve been focused on becoming yourself for your own sake, that you haven’t considered how you want others to perceive you.

“I’ll just call you Hoseokie, because it sounds cute, and you’re cute so it suits you, okay?”

You don’t know how to respond, which seems to have become the norm in the last five minutes, and you sigh in relief when Yoongi comes through the door. The sleeping boy jumps up, and rushes to Yoongi so suddenly you that it makes you jump.

“Hyung, hyung,” the kid, he really does look like a kid— all soft cheeks and hair and round eyes, paws at the bags in Yoongi’s hand, “Did you bring me coffee? Did you bring something sugar-free for Taehyung? I think he’s in love with Hoseok-ssi.”

Yoongi looks nowhere near as overwhelmed as Hoseok feels, but he flicks the boy away before glaring at Taehyung.

“Leave him alone,” he sighs, pulling drinks from one bag and a big pad of paper from the other.

“Leave them alone, hyung.” Taehyung replies.

“What, the drinks?” Yoongi asks.

“No, Hoseokie,” Taehyung smiles widely, “Since they don’t want to be called ‘hyung’ or ‘unnie’ you shouldn’t say ‘him’ or ‘her’ either. Right?“

You nod in stunned silence and Taehyung’s grin widens.

“Okay. That makes sense, I guess.” Yoongi admits, “Leave them alone, then. Hoseokie looks like they’re about to run out the door.”

Taehyung deflates, and you can’t help but laugh.

You spend an hour giving ideas until Yoongi seems satisfied—that or until he seems sick of Jimin suggesting a nude photoshoot.

“So, you’ll be okay for tomorrow? I think Taehyung can get the props we need from his department.”

“What’s your department?” You ask.

Taehyung spasms, and you guess it was supposed to look more like a flourish as he breathes, “Drama” in a suitably flamboyant tone.

You arrive as they finish setting up the studio, and it looks exactly like they’d talked about at the planning meeting. Jimin gives you a grin before leaping on one of the high school volunteers, who promptly drops him on the floor and leaves him there. Taehyung stays a bit longer, testing the lighting with Yoongi until the older boy dismisses him. He gives you an encouraging smile—at least you think it’s encouraging, but all of Taehyung’s smiles so far just seem insane—before closing the heavy studio door behind him.

“Did you bring your stuff?” Yoongi asks.

You drop the duffle bag of clothes on the floor, and together you sort through it all, hanging it up, before getting ready for the shoot.

You feel naked, and you guess that’s kind of the point as you stand in front of the camera without any make up or heeled shoes or jewelry. You’re dressed in clothes that your parents would find gender appropriate and your sister would look at you with sad eyes over.

Yoongi’s voice is surprisingly gentle as he directs you, as if he knows how awkward you feel. He tells you to go through the process naturally, as if you were getting ready for class. He doesn’t make you pose or stand in contorted positions like you see in other photography major projects.

He just makes suggestions.

Change your clothes.

You can use any of the makeup on the vanity.

Put on whatever makes you feel like you.

By the end of the shoot, you feel completely comfortable and Yoongi is smiling.

Taehyung wanders in to help clean up and presses his finger to the sharp wing of your eyeliner.

“Ouch.” He says with a grin, and runs in terror as you attempt to head-butt him.

“They’re trying to cut me!” He screams and you flop on the couch laughing.

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a long time.

After the project, Yoongi starts editing furiously.

You know because he complains to you about it before, after, and sometimes during your shared accounting class.

“I need a break,” he announces on a Friday, “I have a single room, come hang out.”

Yoongi’s dorm is exactly how you’d imagined it would be. Cans of coffee stacked by the sink, camera lenses packed carefully in a carrying case far from the reach of a hyper active Jimin.

It’s just the three of you for a while until by some cosmic coincidence Namjoon comes through the door with a stack of pizza and container of chicken.

You learn later that it’s less a coincidence and more the result of a housing mix-up last year that put Namjoon in the same dorm as Yoongi.

You’re glad to see him out, and without the book crease on his face he so often has from falling asleep on his Chemistry homework.

Yoongi’s dorm is on the ground floor, so you really shouldn’t have been surprised when Taehyung enters by climbing through the window, but you are and Jimin giggles quietly at your startled yelp as the younger boy topples in.

By the end of the night Jimin is passed out diagonally across Yoongi’s bed, making the older boy curse and shove at him until he gives up and sits on the floor grumbling. Namjoon had left earlier to meet another friend, and Taehyung has somehow managed to coax you to sneak out the window with him to find more food before bed.

“Bye Yoongi-hyung,” you whisper through the window and laugh as he curses at you from inside.

“Why do you call him ‘hyung’?” Taehyung asks, swinging his arms dramatically as he walks.

“I still want to be respectful,” you reply, and it’s true, “everyone else calls him hyung, it’s just easier than figuring out something new.”

“Korean language is so ill-equipped,” Taehyung says, his voice is low and his arms stop swinging, “You should probably just move to Mars with me. We can make our own language with genderless pronouns.”

His face is so serious that it makes something catch in your throat before he shuffles down the sidewalk.

“Do you think you’d be good at hunting Martian deer?” Is his next question.

You don’t know what makes you do it but you sling your arms around him from behind and squeeze him for a long time, his spine straightening and then relaxing against your chest.

“I will catch as many Martian deer as you think we need. For food, clothing, and pets.”

“Oh. Good. Then I won’t leave you in the space home while I do all the work.” He replies.

When you let go and start walking again, you notice a pink tinge in his cheeks. Your face is warm too, so you blame it on the cold and move on towards food.

Taehyung invites you to the dress rehearsal for his play and promptly shoves you at the make-up girl.

“Look at this eyeliner, do you think you can do these on me?”

“I…” The girl’s eyes go wide, “I can try, but—“

“I’ll help you,” you say quickly, smiling at her warmly, “don’t worry.”

Taehyung beams and sits in the makeup chair, doing his best to sit still. He fidgets too much and ruins the lines a few times before you threaten to tape him to the chair.

“He’s hopeless,” the same volunteer from your photo shoot setup says as he stops to watch.

“Be nice to me Jeon Jungkookie, or I’ll tell the director that you’ve been sleeping here,” Taehyung pouts and the younger boy’s face goes red.

“I have not been sleeping here, I have a home you moron!” he shouts, fists clenched.

“I didn’t say he’d believe me, I just said I’d tell him that,” Taehyung seems delighted by the outburst and you can’t help yourself, you knock your fist against his forehead.

“Take better care of your dongsaengs,” you chide lightly, biting back a laugh as poor Jeon Jungkook storms off grumbling.

You’re about to sit on Taehyung to keep him from squirming when a miracle happens and the younger boy keeps still long enough to finish the lines on his eyes.

“Do I look like a crazy cat?” He asks, staring at himself in the mirror.

“You certainly do,” you assure him, patting his head as he beams at you.

You like Taehyung, you decide, half way through his play opening night. You like his big expressive eyes and gestures and strange tangents of conversation. You like that he stares at you sometimes without motive. He’s like a benevolent alien baby sent to study all things human.

When he makes his bow his eyes sweep the audience and find you, and by the size of his smile, you think he likes you too.

The after party involves a charcoal grill, a plate of meat, and enough soju to kill a small tiger, but luckily it looks like the tigers will be safe at the rate Jimin is drinking. He’s trying to match Yoongi shot for shot, but after a while you just start refilling the younger boy’s glass with water and he’s too far gone to notice.

You order noodles and jiggae as the cast members start to head home, and Jimin starts asking the important questions.

“So,” his eyes fall on you, and you just smile, knowing the boy well enough that while his mouth is huge, so is his heart, and whatever offensive thing spills from his lips will be forgiven later, “how do you do sex stuff?”

“Jishit,” Yoongi groans, but Taehyung goes abnormally still, as if the conversation has turned to a part of humanity he has yet to dissect and report back to his alien leaders.

You shrug.

“If I like a person, we’ll figure it out as it happens.” It’s the easiest way you can think to explain.

“But like. Is it… when you’re in a skirt you like boys and in pants you like girls? Or?”

Taehyung breaks his eerie stillness by snorting into his noodles.

“Sure Jimin,” you reply and Taehyung tips over with the force of his laughter.

Another Friday, another night at Yoongi’s.

But this time Yoongi chimes in that, “I’ll buy everyone booze because you assholes helped me get my A. Except Namjoon, because fuck that guy.”

You’re expecting the worst. Kissing games or Jimin stripping and rolling all over Yoongi’s things or the RA getting called—“Seokjin won’t yell at us, he’s studying with Namjoon”— but it’s pretty low key. Yoongi buys them all wine (“Because it’s classy, like me” he claims, which sends Jimin into a fit of loud laughter), and they watch old gangster movies and eat ramyeon from the convince store.

“Wine and ramyeon,” you muse, “I see how you think this is classy.”

Yoongi tosses a wad of paper at your head but Taehyung bats it off course without looking away from the tv.

“You’re creepy,” Yoongi says flatly.

“He’s my special Taehyungie,” you argue, pinching the younger boy’s cheek.

He makes a noise at the contact and slouches back to lean against your chest and your cheeks feel warm again.

“Hug please,” he murmurs without breaking his gaze with the movie, and after a moment you give in, draping your arms around his waist and setting your head on his shoulder to watch too.

You wake up on Yoongi’s floor with Taehyung’s face pressed into your neck and his legs twined with yours. He mumbles in his sleep and then blinks awake, staring at you with cloudy eyes.

“Martian triceratops ,” he breathes.

“We can train them to till the fields,” you assure him, smoothing your fingers through his hair.

He ponders that and nods slowly, setting his head back in the crook of your neck.

“Hoseokie is a perfect specimen,” he murmurs and after a breath he’s back asleep.

The sun has just come up, but you lay awake for a long time afterwards.

The gallery display has come and it’s packed. You’re nervous, not really knowing what to expect from the people viewing the projects. Namjoon is there with the RA Seokjin, an older boy who works for the university events website, but other than them and the people who worked on the project, you don’t know a single person here.

You haven’t seen Taehyung or Jimin’s photos yet, Yoongi kept his work furiously guarded, so you’re surprised when you get to see them the first time.

Jimin’s photos are black and white, a study of motion. There’s a photo of Jimin playing basketball, shirt off but tucked into his shorts as he lunges forward with the ball, another of him flipping through the air, and the last of him dancing— a classic pose, perfectly balanced and arms reaching out.

Taehyung’s are more whimsical, saturated colors and the boy dressed in drama department attire. Cheshire Cat, the Cowardly Lion, the Joker.

Last on the wall are your photos and you stare at them for a long time. The first photo in your old clothes, arms wrapped around yourself and body standing awkwardly, the next as you hold clothes against your body looking into the mirror they’d put in the studio, the last doing your makeup— focusing on the sharp wings that Taehyung finds so fascinating—a small smile on your painted lips.

They’re good. Every photo is framed and meticulously thought out and representative of the person it portrays.

Jimin, active and graceful.

Taehyung, dramatic and adaptable.

You, finding the only way you know how to be yourself.

“They’re alright, hyung,” you hear Jimin’s voice, “I’m just saying, if for your next project you’d rather go with a nude theme it might be worth your while.”

Namjoon laughs as Yoongi dives for the younger boy, spitting threats. Someone nudges your ribs and you find Taehyung next to you, quietly studying the photos, and then turning to study your face.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, eyes round and eyebrows raised.

“Good,” you reply honestly, “Really good.”

Taehyung smiles and slips his hand into yours. All at once you know the heat on your face has nothing to do with the chill of the day, and neither does the blush that creeps high on the younger boy’s cheekbones.

“Are you good at sewing?” he asks, brows raised.

“I’m good at making insulated tents out of emergency parachutes.” You assure him.

He looks appeased by your answer and grins before tugging at your hand to rescue Jimin from Yoongi.

“Happy now?” Namjoon asks later, tucked into his bed across the room.

You think about Yoongi’s grumpy rants, and Jimin’s hyper-active nature, and Namjoon’s serious face.
You think about your classes and your letters home.

You think about Taehyung sleeping against you, and your future as a Martian farmer.

You look at your roommate with a grin and reply, “Yeah. I really am.”

Comments

[bcnf3nf.livejournal.com]

wow honestly this is really beautiful

[busan-brat.livejournal.com]

i... just...
wow
just wow...

at this moment, i can't find proper words to describe what your story has done to me. so, i'll settle with a thank you for writing this beatiful story. ♥

[skytae]

I'm happy too
this makes me so happy
..just beautiful
thank you for this story

[seonwoong]

This was so good. So, so good. I'm glad you wrote this because this was such a gorgeous work, and it really hit in all the right places. Thank you for writing this! Super cute, super insightful, and really relatable.

[(Anonymous)]

Looooveee it! I was forgettting why i loved Vhope so much.you just reminded me 😭