Melbourne (Taehyung x Dilara)
Summary: Dilara tries navigating her days with her ex-boyfriend back in her life, while Taehyung remains plagued by memories of their past.
Pairing: Taehyung x OC
Genre: Angst, minor fluff, mentions of smut
Word count: 22.8 K
Rating: 18+ (for language and themes)
Warnings: crass language, mentions of sex, heartbreak, alcohol, smoking, anxiety
A/N: This one's going to hurt. Mentions of Namjoon and Kaya, and Jimin and Sooah.
Sidenote: A certain real-life idol is mentioned in this fic and isn't portrayed in the best light; it's unfortunate, but back when I first outlined this fic, I didn't know any other girl groups and hers was the only name that came to mind. That being said, it is fiction and obviously nothing here reflects my personal opinions about real people (in short: I love her and her group). I thought this would be obvious but these are sensitive times and people loooove reading into things that don't exist so here's the disclaimer to hopefully prevent that.
I also have absolutely no opinion on any rumours or anything that may or may not be making the rounds about her. Now that that's done, enjoy!
Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @meirkive @dreaming-with-happiness, @kflixnet, @k-radio (drop a message if you want to be added)
Listen to: “did you/fall apart” by prateek kuhad
taehyung masterlist | main masterlist
Ischia, Italy; December (One month in)
(Taehyung)
A cool breeze blew and Taehyung ran his fingers through his hair, welcoming the feeling against his slightly sweaty skin. It was supposed to be chilly; it was winter after all, and everything he’d read up about Ischia before making all the bookings said that while it wouldn’t be a typical snowy winter, it wouldn’t be this warm either. It was the last detail that fell into place before he’d emailed everything to Dilara, awaiting her reaction when she’d find out how he intended to whisk her away to a picturesque, off-the-radar island the moment her season ended.
Don’t you think you should ask her first? What if she doesn’t like Italy?
He’s right, actually. Couples should be making these decisions together… right?
Taehyung had dismissed Jungkook’s concerns immediately, followed by Jimin’s addition. It’s a surprise, he’d explained to them, stopping himself somehow from rolling his eyes. The entire point is to not tell her. And she loves Italy, he’d added. It’s winter and she doesn’t like the cold; it’s perfect.
His friends hadn’t looked too convinced but Taehyung didn’t care. He knew his girlfriend and he knew what she liked, and when he’d turned out to be completely correct on every account, his smugness had been impossible to mask.
Dude, we weren’t challenging you, Jimin had said, eventually getting annoyed. Taehyung suspected his status of limbo with Sooah, once again making its predictable appearance, was contributing to his bad mood. Couples usually do this shit together, that’s all.
We’re not like other couples.
It was the one thing that had made both Jimin and Jungkook back off, because the scope to argue with that statement was borderline negligible. They weren’t like other couples. Other couples didn’t fall in love over a single weekend. Other couples didn’t find each other months later halfway around the world, only to still be just as drawn to each other. Other couples didn’t have everything thrown at them, from distance, to fame, to all sorts of insecurities, only to still find their way to each other.
As he watched her walk ahead of him, still humming the song from the pub they’d just left, he knew he was right. Her thin black sundress blew lightly around her knees. We match, she’d said earlier that evening when he’d put on a thin black shirt that shimmered dimly in the light, tucked neatly into black slacks. Her sandals clicked against the paved road as she stumbled slightly.
“Lara, be careful.”
He heard her chuckle before she turned around. “I am careful,” she said, walking backwards now. It didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in him even as he grinned, for he knew how much wine she’d had tonight - how much they’d both had. Her cheeks, even though they didn’t blush, were flushed. Her eyes were bright and her collarbones and neck glowed under the streetlights, no doubt a result of the liquor, dancing and unseasonably warm weather.
“Wait, I know this song.”
She stopped in her tracks and frowned, trying to place the faint music coming from a few alleys down, the same one they’d spent the entire night at. Taehyung continued walking until he reached her, amused at her deepening frown as he wrapped one arm around her waist before pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Is this Neil Diamond? Doesn’t sound like him… hang on, this is definitely in some movie…” Dilara continued guessing, her hands absently going up his arms as he moved his mouth towards her ear and down to her neck, lips ghosting over her dewy skin. Slowly, without fully realising it himself, he began swaying on the spot and keeping time with the song that he, too, found rather familiar.
“What are you - oh.” Her arms went around his shoulders and he felt her chin rest on it. She fingered the ends of his hair at the back of his neck and he nuzzled hers, inhaling her perfume, a vanilla scent, sweet and delectable, that made him want to softly bite at her skin.
“Is this Versace?” she murmured into the thin fabric of his shirt, her mind clearly on the same lines as his.
“Dior,” he answered quietly, holding her closer now, feeling her small and toned torso in his arms. He’d waited for this for far too long, he thought, and getting this moment alone with her, on a quiet street tucked somewhere in the depths of Europe, was his reward. They were properly swaying now, the music sounding louder and clearer now that they were focusing on nothing else.
Taehyung knew this song, too. Like Dilara, he couldn’t put his finger on it, possibly because his head was pleasantly swimming with the wine they’d splurged on tonight. He could remember a few words here and there, though, not to mention the instrumentals… including when the saxophone solo began.
“What the fuck?” Dilara jerked backwards when Taehyung began loudly mimicking the saxophone, eyes closed and letting go of her to pretend he was playing one, until he finally caught sight of her face and burst out laughing. “Way to ruin a moment, Tae,” she muttered, rolling her eyes but letting him take her hand anyway.
“This is Bill Withers, by the way,” he said, having just remembered it.
“Yes! Just the Two of Us,” she exclaimed immediately, shoulders relaxing. “Thank God. That would’ve kept me up all night.”
“And that’s my job,” he agreed, pulling her into his arms again, this time more flowy with the movements. “Doesn’t this beat dancing in a hotel room in the middle of the night?” he murmured into her hair, smelling her fruity conditioner. The weather compelled her to wash her hair nearly every day, especially on the days they visited the beach.
Dilara laughed. “Of course it does, love,” she said indulgently, reaching up to kiss him. “The middle of an empty street is better than the Hilton.” She looked around as he spun her. “Isn’t it too empty, though? This place has been as busy as the paddock since we got here.”
“True. Maybe it’s too late?” Taehyung guessed, suddenly realising she was right. Ischia may have been the best place to get away from normal life, but it was packed with locals. Still, no one seemed to recognise either of them, even when they walked hand in hand down the streets in broad daylight. It made spending time together a lot easier, though, so he wasn’t complaining.
“Yeah, probably,” she murmured, closing her eyes at another gust of cool breeze that made goosebumps erupt on her bare shoulders. “We haven’t been out this late so far.” She gave him a coy smile. “Although, I wouldn’t have minded staying at that concert last night a while longer.”
“Really?” His grip on her waist tightened. “At the concert or in the alley behind it?”
Dilara bit her lip, her mind no doubt revisiting the excursion they’d had the previous night after a particularly raunchy rendition of Body Language that had everyone in the bar on their feet. In a haze of boldness from the alcohol, the adrenaline and the anonymity, they’d sneaked out of a back door and into the crevices of the alley behind the bar to succumb to their desires. With the threat of being caught looming over them, they’d fucked in a heated passion in nothing but muffled screams and quiet grunts.
“Both,” she answered after a moment, shrugging, but Taehyung wasn’t fooled. “Do you want to open that Bordeaux tonight?” she asked, stepping away from him and skipping a few steps down the road. “I’m not tired at all, weirdly.”
“That is weird,” he agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed her. “But it’s a good idea. We can catch the sunrise.”
“That sounds perfect.” She smiled back at him and his heart skipped a beat, just before she tripped on something.
“Shit,” he muttered, hurrying up to her as she winced and inspected her foot. “Are you okay? I told you to be careful, Lara.”
“I was,” she insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder as she unbuckled her heeled sandal. “It’s these stupid shoes… there, that’s better.” Both her shoes dangling from one hand, she gingerly took a couple of steps before sighing in relief. “All good. Come on.”
“Come - are you going to walk all the way to the villa without your shoes on?” Taehyung asked, a bit incredulously.
“Tae, it’s about five minutes from here. I’m not made of glass, you know.”
“No, but there could be actual glass on the road,” he argued, still standing in the same spot as he watched her saunter away. “Lara, seriously?”
“Seriously, I’m going to get started the moment I reach the villa,” she said, turning her head to give him a look as she continued walking, “whether you’re there or not.”
He watched her continue for another moment before jogging after her, darting in front of her and making her halt to a stop.
“Jesus, Tae! Do you want me to trip - what’s happening?”
Taehyung, now down on one knee, looked up at her seriously. “I’m terribly sorry, my lady,” he said loftily, puffing his chest out dramatically, “but I cannot let you continue through these woods.” He watched her confusion morph into understanding, and forced himself to keep a straight face as she tried and failed to suppress her own smile.
Shaking her head, she eventually relented and placed a hand on her chest. “That’s very gallant of you, my lord. But you needn’t worry. I know these woods like the back of my hand.” She moved to walk but he grabbed her wrist.
“Uh, it’s prince, actually,” he corrected quickly. “But I’m afraid you might hurt yourself if you continue on this treacherous path without your shoes on, my lady.”
“My lord is kind. But it’s not a long walk and I have seen far more dangerous things in my lifetime of war.”
“Prince. Also - war? I have fought in more battles than you can count, my lady. I have faced the kingdoms of MAMA and the Grammys. You shouldn’t take me lightly.”
“I have been a prisoner in the castles of Mercedes and Ferrari, my lord, not to mention the wrath I face in the factories of Red Bull against the evil commander, Max Verstappen.” Her lips twitched.
“Uh-huh. Well, not only is my lady refusing to call me prince, but she’s also ignoring me while I’m on my knees for her.”
“My lord rarely passes up an opportunity to get on his knees for me.”
Taehyung grinned. “Is that a no?”
Dilara swept past him, the hem of her dress brushing the side of his face. “That’s a no, my lord. In fact, I would also say that - oh, my God, Tae!” she shrieked as her feet were suddenly swept off the ground.
“You dare address the prince by his name?” he demanded, tugging her closer. Dilara gasped again and tightened her arms around his neck, peering down at the road over his shoulders with wide eyes. “I’m afraid you left me no choice, my lady.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “I hope my lord knows that if he drops me, Red Bull is going to come after him for some serious insurance payout.”
“Jinjja, I’m not going to drop you. My lady may be strong but she’s super light.”
“And you haven’t set foot in a gym your entire life so forgive me if I don’t trust you, my lord.”
“You can trust me. Look -” He proceeded to spin her around while she half-shrieked and half-laughed into his neck, just before he stumbled slightly on the road.
“Fuck! Tae, I swear if you drop me I’m going to shred your brown jacket.”
“Hey, I worked out for two whole weeks before the Vogue photoshoot in October,” he pointed out hotly, frowning when she rolled her eyes. Her shoes knocked lightly against his back as he continued walking, her warm frame pressed against him. For all her complaining, her arms still stayed locked around his neck and she hadn’t asked him to put her down even once. “And you’d really shred my jacket?”
“I would at least crumple it. My lord,” she added deliberately.
“Would it kill you to call me prince just once?”
“Yes. You’re not my prince.”
“What?” Taehyung halted in his tracks, eyes wide and disbelieving. “I’m not your prince?”
“You’re a prince. Probably,” she allowed seriously.
“But not yours.”
“No. I’m from a foreign land.”
He scoffed before considering it. “Huh. A foreign princess.” He flexed his shoulders before resuming walking. “Interesting. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, princess.”
Dilara raised her eyebrows as he grinned in pride at the new English word he'd just used. "My lord is so sexy," she murmured, tilting her head and nipping at his earlobe. "But don't call me princess, though. Ugh."
"Doesn't everyone in the media call you that?"
"Yes. And it's not a compliment."
He frowned. "Why does Daniel Riccardo call you that? I thought he was your friend."
"He is… that's the drivers' way of turning the media's nickname back on them, by turning it into a joke," she explained. "Almost all of them call me that and now the press can't use it without looking like idiots."
"Ah, knights protecting my lady's honour," he mused, spotting their villa in the distance. He slowed down slightly, tightening his arms around her. "That's supposed to be my job, though, no?"
"My lord lives in a faraway land, so I need to rely on the bravery of my fellow drivers," she pointed out playfully, brushing his bangs off his forehead. "I like your hair like this, by the way."
Taehyung nodded absently, his eyes still on her. "But my lady remembers her prince will come back." It came out almost like a question.
"Always," she confirmed immediately, and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, his heart flipping in his chest. "But every couple needs their crew. Especially in our kind of situation."
He ignored this last bit. "We're not like other couples, though."
Dilara laughed, dropping her head back in the breeze, now seeming fully comfortable in his arms as they neared their villa. "True. I don’t know how many other couples can manage to pull all-nighters together in this many different timezones.”
"Not what I meant," he murmured, but the sight of her right now, happily buzzed and all his, prompted him to put everything else out of his mind. "Come on, my lady," he said as they neared the villa. "Your castle awaits."
—
Spielberg, Austria; September (Wednesday)
(Dilara)
Dilara takes great care to avoid Taehyung after he brings her home from the paddock, specifically because now that the ice is broken, she knows he wants to apologise and get everything off his chest. For him, it’s just another tick mark in whatever ex-girlfriend twelve-step program he’s in. For her, it’s having to face the man who hurt her possibly more than anyone in her entire life. She has zero qualms about prioritising herself in this situation and, therefore, continues to remain locked up in her room for the rest of the weekend, knowing he isn’t as brazen yet to actually knock on her door and demand to talk to her.
The only two people who do are RM and Seokjin; the former because she thinks, as leader, he feels some kind of responsibility towards her since they live in the same house. He asks, fairly politely, if she needs anything, if her ankle is healing well - nothing related to the race or anything that might indicate a relationship beyond a professional one. It’s a dull pang at first, realising that this person she once looked up to genuinely has nothing to say to her, but later is a bit of a relief as Dilara doesn’t think she’d survive a heart to heart with RM.
Seokjin is far more confident, although when he talks, it’s with such genuine concern that you’d think she’s completely bedridden. When she tells him it’s just a sprain, he stays silent for a moment before disappearing and returning with a bright pink ice pack that has a strap attached to it, already filled with ice.
As for Taehyung, just being in the same room as him makes her chest hurt with sadness and humiliation, making every gesture of his feel hollow now that she knows it’s just a way for him to get over his own guilt.
Dilara skips Qualifying on Saturday, too depressed to care. Alex Albon is driving her car and it hurts more than she expected it to, so she snags a cup of ramen, nice and high in carbs, from a brand new box in the kitchen and decides to eat her feelings instead. She hesitates briefly, though; if she has to guess, the ramen is either Seokjin’s or Jungkook’s. While she’s staring at the box, contemplating, she hears a noise behind her and almost falls.
“Jesus,” she mutters, gripping the kitchen island to steady herself.
“You can have one,” says Suga, voice calm and steady as ever.
“Oh, I wasn’t -” Dilara clears her throat, mortified. “I was just… looking.”
For a moment he looks like he’s going to argue, but then he simply shrugs and rips open the packaging himself, taking out a bowl and filling it with hot water. The aroma of fresh, hot ramen is irresistible, even when he takes the bowl and heads back to the living room to join the others, giving her a nod as he passes her.
Rolling her eyes and cursing rappers, she takes a bowl.
On Sunday, Dilara goes to the paddock, but only because she knows the cameras will be there. If she doesn’t show up, the injury’s going to be hyped up to much more than it already is. She greets everyone, does an interview and heads into the Red Bull garage to watch the race with everyone else.
It’s not fun at all. The only saving grace, selfishly, is that Max isn’t doing great either. Brief engine issues mean he has to come in for an extra pit, lose some track position, and bitch about it on the radio. As the race continues, her mood sours even further, although she can’t be too obvious about it on camera. Her eyes meet Taehyung’s once or twice, too; only he, RM and Seokjin have shown up today and she gets the feeling her ex-boyfriend has filled the others in on her disappointment. While none of them talk to her, they watch the screens next to her, standing near her, and for a moment it feels like at least three people in the entire garage are here for no one but her.
When she reaches the house after the post-race interviews, she finds a box of cupcakes on her bed. There’s no note, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it’s from. Taking one from the box and almost moaning when she tastes the sugar, she deposits the box in the fridge, the first thing she’s put in there that aren’t her own frozen salads.
The last race of this triple header is in Austria, after which they get a week’s break before reuniting in Imola. They reach on Wednesday evening; Max is the only one who isn’t with them because he’s already dropped his stuff off and left the house. When Dilara furiously texts him, demanding to know where he is, he tells her he’s spending the night with his girlfriend Kelly and will be back in the morning.
She takes the room next to him as usual, a small but nice one that opens up into the backyard. Her dinner, as usual, is had inside her room and consists of a multi-grain sandwich she picked up at the airport. She enjoys it as much as she can, knowing that now her ankle has healed, she’ll need to work it off tomorrow morning.
By ten pm, the entire house is silent, with the lights off and everyone asleep. The jetlag and schedules, she presumes, have hit everyone equally hard and after sneaking out to the kitchen to get a drink of water, Dilara heads back to get some shuteye of her own. She’s just closing her bathroom door behind her when she hears it.
Knock knock.
Dilara freezes. Having lived in big cities all her life, with neighbours and people around her, she’s never quite understood how people live in areas like this, where a scream might reach no one. The knocks continue at the same pace, quiet and firm. Deliberate. She wonders if anyone else in the house can hear it; for once, she’s glad she’s living in a house with seven men.
She frowns when the sound doesn’t stop. Then -
“Dilara.”
Her heart is in her mouth. She turns slightly to see a silhouette in her window and almost screams. Holding her breath, she inches towards her suitcase and retrieves her pepper spray before approaching the window cautiously. The curtains are blowing lightly in the breeze and she flexes her muscles, hoping to have some sort of strength advantage. Silently counting to three, she rips the curtains open and points the pepper spray at the figure, only to be met by a blur of gold and a shriek.
“What -” Dilara rushes to the window sill to see him groaning as he stands up, arms blocking his face. “Jimin?”
“What the hell?” he exclaims. “Are you crazy?”
“Me? Are you crazy?” Her heart still hasn’t returned to its normal speed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you knock on my door like a normal person?”
“Because you won’t answer,” he retorts, looking extremely annoyed, blond hair ruffled and pink lips in a pout.
She doesn’t want to admit he’s right, so she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “So you call. Or you take the hint.”
“I tried. It keeps going to voicemail,” he informs her, looking rather like he knows why.
“That’s right, because I blocked you,” she says forcefully, regretting it a little when he winces. “Jesus… I was about to use pepper spray on you, Jimin! What would your fans say if your pretty little face was ruined because you were too much of an idiot to use a fucking door?”
Jimin smirks. “As long as you think I’m pretty” he quips, looking truly angelic.
She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat spreading to her cheeks. “Goodnight, Jimin,” she says dryly, moving to pull the curtains back but he stops her.
“Can you -” He sighs, smirk fading. “Can you come outside?” he asks nervously.
“Can I -” Dilara can’t believe the audacity. “Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
She ignores this. “And it’s… cold. Ish,” she amends, belatedly noting his thin t-shirt and her own tank top.
Jimin doesn’t give up. “Dilara, jebal,” he whines, all hints of nervousness gone now. “Please come outside? Please, please, please, please -”
“Fucking hell,” she mutters and hitches herself over the window sill to hop outside. When she notices the sparkling grin on his face, she holds up a hand. “Just to shut you up.”
“That’s okay,” he says happily, walking over to the gazebo in the backyard. He doesn’t enter it, though; he stops near the benches outside, the very ones she’d intended to do push-ups against tomorrow morning. There’s a backpack on the bench. Dilara keeps her distance, at least five feet behind him and stops when he does, turning around and looking much more sober than he has so far.
Wordlessly, he reaches into the bag and hands her a box. She frowns, hesitantly taking it. It’s a single cupcake, with pearly pink frosting on the chocolate cake. She sighs and looks up. “What’s -”
Silently, he hands her another box. This one’s slightly bigger; upon closer inspection, she finds it’s a box of cold brew coffee bags. “Jimin -”
Once again, she looks up to see his hand outstretched. The object in his hand this time is quite clear; it’s a wine bottle - a Cabernet, from what she can tell. She takes it slowly, balancing the other two boxes in one hand, and reads the label. Pinotage… She bites her lip, knowing there’s only one person in that house behind her who knows that this South African blend is her favourite.
When she looks up to ask Jimin, she almost expects to be met with him holding something else. This time, it’s a single red rose. He looks bashful, head bent low and looking up at her surreptitiously, as though anticipating a bad reaction. Even half a foot taller than her, he looks like a child who’s plucked a flower from a neighbour’s garden to give to his mother, not knowing what to expect.
Dilara sighs. “I’m out of hands,” she tells him. “What’s going on, Jimin?”
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, softly, and when she hears his voice tremble, she knows what he’s apologising for.
She can feel all vestiges of dryness and exasperation leave her face. Her eyes are filling with tears without warning; she can feel her vision getting blurry but she doesn’t want to cry right now. When she says nothing, Jimin continues.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he says softly, and she can hear the guilt in his voice. “I’m sorry I lied to you, I’m sorry I hid…” He swallows. “I’m sorry, Dilara. I’m really sorry.” His voice cracks on the last word.
Dilara is frozen to the ground. She hadn’t quite expected this from any of them; then again, Jimin was the only one to directly lie to her face. She searches for the anger she’s been harbouring all this while, but in the face of an actual apology, a real moment of regret, she finds that the anger is gone.
She swallows and turns her head, feeling a tear roll down her face but having no free hands to wipe it away. She nods, not knowing what else to do, before turning slightly and setting the boxes in her hand down on the bench next to her. Realising his arm is still outstretched with the rose, she takes it from him, muttering a quiet thanks.
There’s a moment of silence before he takes a step towards her and she does, too, and the next moment she’s hugging the first BTS member she ever spoke to in her life. His fruity scent engulfs her and she finds herself subconsciously tightening her arms around his shoulders.
This entire time, ever since she’d seen them at the fashion show in London, she’d envisioned various scenarios, mostly of her avoiding them, maybe screaming at Taehyung, and only forcibly talking to them. But this was one she’d hadn’t allowed herself to imagine, feeling rather like it was too much to hope for. She tries to hold on to that lingering anger, the hurt and betrayal she’d felt, but she can’t. Not when she’s finally gotten what she now realises she’d wanted all along.
They pull away and she tries to gather herself, noticing how Jimin subtly rubs his eyes before gesturing for her to sit next to him on the bench. She points to the boxes. “Is all that an apology?”
“Kind of,” he admits. “I didn’t want to show up… you know.” He waves his hands vaguely. “Empty-handed.”
“How did you know Pinotage is my favourite blend?” Dilara asks, carefully noting his reaction. “Or that Caffeta, a Japanese brand, is my favourite coffee?”
He doesn’t disappoint. He opens his mouth but freezes, eyes darting around.
She sighs. “Jimin, is that stuff… is all of that from him?”
“From who?” he asks innocently, but she’s not fooled. She knows he caught the absence of the name and now he wants to make her say it.
She glares at him. “From my ex.”
He purses his lips before chuckling. “No… not exactly. I may have… what’s the word? Casually? Casually asked him for his opinion but… all that stuff is from me,” he promises, sounding slightly proud. “I really am sorry.” He reaches over and picks up the cupcake, offering it to her.
“Oh… I can’t have sugar on a race weekend,” she says, slightly apologetic because it’s only Wednesday and the race technically isn’t until Sunday.
He frowns. “You had it in Japan when we met,” he points out.
“It was my first time meeting you guys,” she reminds him in a low voice. “Of course I wasn’t going to say no.”
His eyes go wide. “That’s nice. I just got you one this time, though.”
Dilara is about to decline again but he looks so adorable - and so sorry - that she relents. “Fine, but only if you share.”
“Oh, no, I can’t have sugar,” he says immediately. “We have a concert in a month.”
She gives him a look. “If I’m having sugar, so are you, Park Jimin.”
Jimin pauses. “Do you want to just open the wine instead?”
“Sold. Do you have a wine opener?”
He brandishes the silver object in response and together, they pop the cork open in the middle of the backyard.
“Mm,” she sighs, placing her face close to the mouth and inhaling it. “Smells amazing. Do you have glasses?”
“Erm… no.”
Her eyes snap up to him. “You got an opener but no glasses?”
He looks mildly affronted before grabbing the bottle and taking a sip straight from it. “Does that work?” he asks, offering her the bottle.
Dilara’s about to decline before realising she has absolutely no reason to. “It does,” she mutters, taking a sip and wincing when the smooth, slightly oaky liquid hits her throat. “It’s chilled,” she notes.
“Of course it is. Who drinks warm wine?”
“People who actually care about wine like it at room temperature.”
“Good thing we’re not that classy.”
Dilara chuckles, even as she remembers an entire afternoon at an Italian vineyard that resulted in her and a certain ex-boyfriend getting drunk on tastings alone before purchasing four bottles of wine, including a delicious ‘82 Bordeaux. She hesitates for a moment before taking another swig, a longer one this time.
“So. How’s it going, Park Jimin?”
He raises his eyebrows. “We’re talking about me?”
“We’re definitely not talking about me.” She holds his gaze defiantly until he sighs.
“Fine. I’m doing good. What about you?”
“Just swell.”
“You know, you really have a more interesting love life than I do.”
She almost chokes. “It’s pretty non-existent right now.” The breeze blew a strand of hair in front of her face but she had no energy to brush it away. “Yours isn’t.”
Jimin narrows his eyes. “What do you know?” he asks suspiciously.
“Nothing. Just something about a certain classmate from high school who’s returned to your life?”
He stares. “I - how do you know that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Take a guess.”
For a moment it seems like he’s about to prod but then he simply exhales deeply and runs a hand through his fine blond hair. “There’s nothing to tell. We dated in high school, that’s it.”
“And?”
“And… then we broke up.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but she can tell his mood is souring. It gives her a grim sort of satisfaction, knowing she isn’t the only one embroiled in an unfortunate situation with an ex. “After debut.”
Dilara nods. “And now it’s…”
“Now it’s… ah, what’s the word?” He clicks his tongue.
“Complicated?”
“Yeah.” There’s a brief silence during which both of them sit beside each other and quietly sip some more wine, the bottle passing between them in equal intervals.
"We're not… in that place," says Jimin after a few minutes, his voice clear in the quiet. "We haven't been in a long time."
It takes Dilara a moment to remember what he's talking about. "Do you want to be?" she asks after a moment.
He doesn't look at her. "No." After a moment he sighs. "I don't think it matters."
She raises her eyebrows. "Really? These grand gestures don’t work on her?" She points at the stuff between them on the bench.
He chuckles. "Yeah, no. Sooah is, like… beyond the grand gestures."
“Wow. That’s impressive. I mean… this is a pretty grand gesture,” she emphasises, raising the bottle in her hand halfway. “And you’re not even hitting on me.”
He winks and flashes her a smile. “Maybe I am hitting you.”
“Shut up.”
Jimin snorts, reaching for the bottle from Dilara as she fails to suppress a smile herself. The bottle is almost half empty now, and she can feel her head swimming pleasantly. Next to her, Jimin is humming something, his voice high and clear before he pauses.
“You know Taehyung would absolutely kill me if I ever actually hit on you, right?”
Dilara’s heart sinks, for they’ve arrived at the topic of Taehyung, even if it’s through a joking statement. It’s not wholly unexpected, but she doesn’t think she can handle any kind of conversation about her ex right now, especially with his best friend. When she doesn’t respond, Jimin hesitantly continues.
“I heard he found you when you got hurt.”
“You did, huh?”
“Yeah. He was pretty worried.”
"I'm sure he was."
"I guess anyone would be worried about someone they love getting hurt."
"Don't fuck with me, Jimin."
"I'm not."
She sighs. “Jimin, we’re not going to talk about him.”
For a moment she thinks he’s going to disagree or add something anyway, but she breathes a silent sigh of relief when he simply nods and passes the bottle back to her.
“But thanks,” she says after a few seconds. “For this.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
Dilara stares into the bottle, able to make out nothing but darkness inside it. She’s glad she isn’t holed up in her room anymore; it feels incredible to be able to talk to someone that isn’t a fellow driver, someone she isn’t competing with on some level or the other. With Lexie not here and Chris and Freddie consequently absent as well, the loneliness creeps up sometimes, especially when the sound of the group together is constant.
Her eyes flicker towards the house, still and quaint in the Austrian night. Despite everything, and possibly because of the wine, her mind wanders to him, to Taehyung. She wonders momentarily if he knows Jimin apologised, or if he knows they’re out here.
He was worried. She struggles to find meaning in it, a task made harder by the wine as well as Jimin's apology, a simple gesture that's started to break down the walls of anger and fury and is in danger of letting loose whatever emotions are behind them. She refuses to think about anything else he's mentioned.
Taehyung would love this wine, and he'd be aghast at them drinking it chilled and straight out of the bottle. It shocks her for a moment that she can remember this, even as part of her rolls her eyes, for it wasn't even a year ago in Austin that they'd done the same thing in her hotel room.
"Is he still with her?" Dilara doesn't look up at Jimin, half-hoping he hasn't heard her.
There's a pause, but his voice is steady and confident when he replies. "No.”
She gives him a small nod, unable to see what she's achieved by knowing this. Even the wine seems harder to swallow, and she forces the sip down before passing the bottle back to him.
—
New York, USA; January (Two months in)
(Taehyung)
Fifty minutes.
Taehyung tapped his foot on the shiny floor of the studio, losing patience as the anchor kept going on and on about what was to come after the break. He didn’t understand why it was necessary to go into this much detail; wouldn’t the audience find out after the break anyway? Moreover, couldn’t he just tape this bit separately, especially since none of this was live?
But no, Trevor Noah had no such illusions, and he insisted on shoving in at least one joke between each sentence he spoke. He also liked taping in order of viewing, apparently, and now his guests - BTS, Kristen Stewart and some other British actor whose name Taehyung couldn’t remember for the life of him - were left to wait while he delivered his monologue to the camera.
Normally, Taehyung liked Trevor Noah. There was something refreshing about his humour, and he didn’t make them do silly antics on his show like the variety of Jameses and Jimmys they were forced to laugh along with. Tonight, though, Taehyung couldn’t care less about his humour - not when his humour had made Taehyung fifty minutes late for his Zoom date with Dilara, something that was scheduled after three whole days of trying to find a common time slot where they could both have a meal at the same time.
Honestly, it still wouldn’t be a proper meal because of the time difference, but they’d compromised on Taehyung having an early dinner and Dilara having a late one - anything to gather some semblance of being a couple that communicated outside of missed texts and short calls between commitments.
The good thing was that Dilara wouldn't be angry. Actually, that wasn't true. It wasn't that she wouldn't be angry; it was that she couldn't be angry, for while Taehyung had inadvertently missed this date, she had been the one to cancel the last two.
He hadn't even found it in him to be annoyed, although the second time he'd made a snappy statement on WhatsApp he'd later apologised for. It was clear she hated it as much as he did, and it was hardly her fault that F1 testing began next month, or that the car regulations had changed which meant that drivers needed to be in the factories much more than usual.
We're a long-distance couple, Tae. She'd said it later with a sigh when he'd called to apologise, her voice sounding tired yet intending to be somewhat reassuring. We just have to figure out a way around this. Every couple does it.
The words had been on the top of Taehyung's tongue - we're not like other couples - but he'd bit them back in the moment. She'd sounded too tired and guilty, and his tone had softened as he asked her about her day. He'd slipped it in in the end, though: Don't worry, we're not like other couples.
Dilara had chuckled after a moment, and just said I love you. He'd missed her so immensely right then that he'd needed a moment to gather himself, half-wondering if he could get a couple of days off and fly to London, possibly surprising her. It never materialised, but it stayed in his mind.
Taehyung's foot continued tapping, enough for Namjoon to turn and catch his eye. The leader's expression was calm and camera-ready, yet Taehyung could tell what it meant: cut it out already.
He considered ignoring him for a moment, for he felt Namjoon of all people should understand his frustration. But then Taehyung met his gaze and felt his foot stop of its own accord, before both of them looked away in different directions.
When the taping finally ended and they were ushered back into the green room, Taehyung lunged for his phone when one of the staff handed it to him. His lockscreen lit up, a carefully cropped picture of Dilara on the grass with a puppy, from their first impromptu date in Suzuka over a year ago.
He immediately checked his messages to see six from her, the first one already ten minutes after they'd agreed to come online.
Lara ♥ [18:10]
Ready when you are <3
Lara ♥ [18:15]
Running late?
Lara ♥ [18:22]
Taeeeee, where are youuu? I miss you (and I'm starving)
Lara ♥ [18:25]
[Photo]
Lara ♥ [18:45]
:( Let me know when you're back, baby.
Taehyung's heart flipped at the picture, a selfie of his girlfriend pouting dramatically with a plate of what looked like grilled fish and salad before her. Her wavy hair fell down her bare shoulder while the straps of her grey tank top lay taut over her collarbones, making the back of his neck feel hot.
She looked thinner; it was to be expected, she said, now that testing was about to begin and all the drivers would have to shed their holiday weight and start working out to go back to their absolute lightest in preparation for the season. Without further ado, as the stylists began bustling around and helping the members change into their regular clothes, Taehyung called her.
She picked up after the second ring. "You're lucky you're cute," she said, sounding both exasperated and affectionate.
He smiled automatically at the sound of her voice. "I'm sorry, jagiya. The stupid taping ran long because one of the guests showed up late and -" He turned away slightly when he noticed one of the editors from the show eyeing him “- then we had to redo the entire closing sequence because the sound was off.” He exhaled heavily, tugging at his collar. “I’m sorry. I would’ve texted.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and he could tell she was stretching. “How was the show?”
“Nothing special,” he said dismissively, picturing her amidst sheets, her hair a pleasant mess. “Just talking about the nominations and everything. Performance went well, though.”
“That’s good. Can’t wait to watch it when it airs.” She stretched again and he heard a rustle in the background.
“Were you asleep? Did I wake you?”
“No. I mean, yeah,” she amended, chuckling lightly, “but it’s good. I dozed off on the couch and I need to do a bunch of things before going to bed.”
“Lexie’s not home?” Taehyung asks, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Seokjin, Yoongi and Jungkook have all changed into regular clothes. “Won’t she kill you for sleeping uncomfortably?”
Dilara laughed, and his heart skipped a beat as he leaned against the wall. “Yeah, she would. She’s not here right now, though; she has a workshop and Chris is assisting, so I’m guessing they’ll be late.”
He frowned curiously. “Chris and Lexie?”
“Chris and Lexie,” she repeated.
“Is that something -” But Taehyung was cut off when a hand pulled at his arm, yanking the phone away from his ear. “Hey!”
“The car is waiting,” said one of the stylists hurriedly in Korean, already fiddling with the jewellery around his neck. “Everyone else has already changed - you’re the only one left.”
“I -” He sighed in frustration before gingerly putting the phone back to his ear. “Hey, b- uh… hey.”
“Do you need to go?”
He bit his lip, the underlying disappointment in her voice not lost on him. “Just - just for a bit. I’ll call you,” he said, hesitating with his words with not one, but two stylists around him now. “As soon as I can.”
“Yeah, okay. Love you.”
Taehyung made a non-committal sound before hanging up, making a mental note to text her a long, borderline-sappy message the moment he got the chance. Changing and hurrying into the car was quick, with the crew ensuring that they got a back exit out of the building so as to not be bombarded by paparazzi. Taehyung messaged her in the car, making it to a quick So sorry, baby, I’ll call you asap before his phone died.
The irritation was growing. The moment they reached their floor of the hotel, he made a beeline for his room, only to be yanked backwards by the hood of his sweatshirt.
“Namjoon hyung said we have to do a vlive,” was all Jungkook offered by way of explanation, and Taehyung found himself being dragged into someone else’s hotel room where half the group was already gathered on the sofa, facing a laptop.
The entire live was spent in silence, watching his phone charge and tapping his foot in defiance as he waited for the stupid thing to be over. He neither participated nor reacted to anything and despite knowing he'd be in for a conversation with Namjoon later, he bolted the moment the live ended, shutting his room door behind him and finally, finally video calling Dilara.
When she answered, Taehyung was relieved to see her eyes light up, albeit tiredly. “Hey, babe.” She was already in bed, shuffling in the sheets before propping her head sideways on her palm. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you today.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he said immediately, sitting on the carpeted floor and leaning back against the side of the bed. “The taping ran long and then my phone died and -” He sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day suddenly catch up with him, too. “Tell me you already ate?”
“Yeah, I did,” she admitted, a little sheepishly. “Fish sucks when it gets cold and I need to have a gap between eating and sleeping. Plus, I need to be at the factory to meet the head of engineering tomorrow and he’s flying in at some ridiculous hour of the morning…” Dilara rubbed her eyes before dropping her head on the pillow, a small smile on her face as she looked back up at him. “How was the show?”
“It was okay,” he said, shrugging. If they’d been having this conversation in person, she’d be burying her face in his neck and murmuring into it, without a doubt. “You’ll see it when it airs. I think one of us messed up the choreography but hopefully it won’t be obvious.”
“It rarely ever is,” she said reassuringly, waving a hand before using it to mask a yawn.
“You should sleep, baby,” he murmured after a moment, ignoring how his heart sank at his own words. “I made it too late for you.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “I -” She broke off and exhaled, looking away pensively.
“What is it? Lara,” he added, when she didn’t respond.
It took her a few moments to turn back to him. “It’s nothing. We’ll figure it out. I mean, the actual F1 season hasn’t even started yet and you guys will start having international schedules and everything… we’ll have to get used to this, right?”
Taehyung hesitated, for this had truthfully not occurred to him. The fact that their schedules would change, yes. But the fact that it might get worse than this? It was a tough pill to swallow and his mind’s solution had been to simply block it out. “Well… yeah. But we’ll both be travelling. We’ll have overlapping schedules also, right? And you won’t be racing every weekend.”
“No, I know. Just need to make the best of what we have. Summer break I’m all yours,” she added after a moment, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling playfully.
He grinned. “All mine,” he repeated, feeling a mixture of affection and longing. His thumb brushed over the screen of his phone, as though hoping to touch her through it before he realised how silly that was. “I can’t wait. But we’re going somewhere cold this time,” he warned.
“Fine. We can do Australia - I’ve never actually been anywhere but Melbourne. And even there, only Albert Park,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Or South Africa.”
“I was thinking Brazil?” he suggested. “But you can choose this time.”
Dilara chuckled. “Surprise you with tickets?”
“Uh-uh. You can’t steal my move.”
“Fine, I’ll find another way to surprise you.”
“Or you can leave the surprises to me.” He flashed her a knowing smile. “I’m good at surprises.”
“Okay, that’s a relief because I am terrible at surprises,” she informed him, falling back onto the bed and moving the phone up above her. Her dark hair was splayed all over the white pillow and she wasn’t wearing a bra, the curve of her breasts teasingly visible over the neck of her tank top. Before she could change her position, Taehyung took a screenshot, his own face at the top right corner while Dilara took over the rest of the screen.
“I don’t need surprises. I just want to see you again,” he said bluntly, leaning his head back and suddenly annoyed that they were having this conversation over the phone.
She bit her lip, looking almost apologetic. “Soon,” she said finally, her voice softer than before. “Next month… that’s happening, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll make it happen.” Taehyung nodded, sounding more confident than he felt. As per their current schedule, he had almost six days off in a row between recording and beginning rehearsal for their upcoming music videos. These schedules usually didn’t change much but there was no guarantee - of anything, especially since it was more than possible that his days off would clash with the F1 testing week, meaning Dilara would be in Barcelona.
But he wasn’t about to give up that easily, at least not in his own head. Her season officially kicked off in March and he couldn’t fathom not seeing her before then.
“Even if testing starts,” she began, clearly guessing where his mind was at, “we can still meet in Barcelona. I’ll find a way to clear it with Red Bull,” she promised. “I mean, I’m sure it’s possible. Kelly comes with Max everywhere, and Danny’s girlfriend, too, when he was in Red Bull. We’ll figure it out, Tae.”
Taehyung looked away before nodding slowly, deliberately keeping quiet. He looked back to see her eyes flutter shut before she snapped them open.
“Lara, go to sleep,” he said softly, suddenly feeling guilty. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.”
This time, Dilara didn’t fight him on it. “Okay,” she mumbled, turning back onto her side and pulling her covers up to her shoulders. “Wish you were here, though,” she adds after a moment, her voice even smaller than before.
Me too, my love. But Taehyung didn’t trust himself to speak right now. There was an uncomfortable bitterness in the pit of his stomach that he knew wasn’t directed at her, but he couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing, not while they were this far apart.
“Soon,” was all he said, swallowing. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, Tae.” She gave him a reassuring smile before the screen went dark.
—
Spielberg, Austria; September (Thursday)
(Dilara)
Dilara exits her room the next morning, fully dressed and ready to head down to the paddock before anyone else is even awake. By the time she grabs a handful of cereal and starts heading out, Suga emerges from the hallway, eyes puffy and hair a mess. He frowns when he sees her.
“Are you leaving already?” he asks hoarsely.
Mildly shocked that he’s speaking directly to her, she nods blankly. “It’s nice weather so I - I thought I’d walk,” she stutters. He nods absently, still frowning, and Dilara remembers only then that the members will also be joining her and Max for PR today..
At that moment she hears another door in the house open and low, garbled male voices speaking in Korean. The last thing she wants is for one of the members to offer to drive her or something, so after a hasty farewell to Suga, she practically sprints out of the door and jogs until she’s a safe distance away from the house before slowing down.
The fresh air helps her wake up some - and the bottle of water she’s cradling helps keep her stomach steady. She and Jimin had finally retired to their respective rooms at nearly two in the morning, after finishing the entire bottle of wine between them. By the end, they’d been sitting on the grass and giggling at the most absurd memes on the internet as their sips of wine got bigger, until she’d finally remembered that they both had a whole day of PR to get to.
“Drink this,” he’d ordered in a whisper when they’d sneaked back inside, throwing her a bottle of water. Despite how much her head was swimming, she’d managed to catch it by the tips of her fingers and downed the entire thing, knowing that no matter how uncomfortable it was in the moment, it definitely beat being hungover the next morning.
In the light of day, Dilara has no idea how being on good terms with Jimin again changes anything. It probably means she doesn’t ice him out anymore, but given that he’s rarely alone and nearly always with members she’s currently not on speaking terms with, she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, especially when he wasn’t even her closest friend in the group.
She’s glad, therefore, that she and Max have to go earlier for PR, which means she gets a couple of more hours with people she doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around. After a virtual interview and a taping of some random word game with Max, both of them head out to the paddock for the stunt section. However, since most drivers are scheduled to arrive later today, the paddock is mostly empty when they reach - apart from BTS.
“You can do this, Komyshan,” mutters Max to her as they approach. When she looks up at him with a frown, he shrugs. “You look like you could stab him.”
This, she presumes, is directed at her ex, who’s just sauntered onto the paddock with the rest of his band. There’s distant laughter coming from a threesome who she spots as Jungkook, Seokjin and Jimin, while Yoongi types something on his phone as he walks. Namjoon and Hoseok look deep in conversation while Taehyung, for reasons best known to himself, has arrived wearing a grey suit, complete with a pocket square and Oxfords. Next to the other six who are in variations of jeans and hoodies, he looks like a complete fish out of water - a handsome, confident, aloof fish. Dilara’s stomach flips uncomfortably; it’s an annoying realisation that settles over her that for once, she can’t simply leave the room to avoid him.
As they all gather around the two shiny Hyundai’s parked near the starting line, she spots Taehyung running a hand through his blond hair, causing it to fall gracefully down the sides of his face. She realises only when he suddenly turns and catches her eye that she's been staring, and she immediately looks away.
"This is going to suck," she grumbles in a low voice.
"Chin up, Komyshan," says Max, sounding uncharacteristically encouraging, as the staff begin beckoning them closer. "You drive F1 cars, remember?"
“Wish I could crash one,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and straightening her cap. “Shit, shouldn’t jinx it, no?”
He snorts. “Not on a race weekend, no,” he agrees, and she chuckles despite herself. As expected, there’s some forced meet and greet before the band splits into two: Jimin, Jungkook and Suga are ushered towards Max’s car, while RM, Seokjin, Hoseok and Taehyung are pushed towards hers. Even though she knows it isn’t their choice to be split up like this, she can’t help but feel sorry that Jimin is not in her car - and Taehyung is.
After the staff briefs the group on the sketch - she and Max racing around the track with BTS members in each car - everyone begins their touch ups and mic fittings. Dilara's is done in a few minutes but she stays to the side, suddenly feeling nauseous in the crowd of sunny moods and friendly chatter. She doesn't know if it's last night's wine or the sight of her ex-boyfriend and his friends laughing together, but either way she finds she can't stand it and instead heads inside the garage.
She makes a quick round of the washrooms while she’s in there, staring at her own dazed expression in the mirror before she sighs and resigns herself to PR. However, the moment she exits, she's accosted by none other than Kim Taehyung himself.
"Lara," he says in a low voice, and she feels her heart drop at the sudden and unexpected scent of lotion and cologne. He darts to stand in front of her, hands in his pockets as he towers over her smaller figure.
For a moment, all she can think is how ridiculously handsome he is, with his blond bangs brushing his perfect cheekbones. Focus, Komyshan. Too shocked for words, Dilara's first instinct is to silently brush past him, taking care to knock into his shoulder as she does, but he grabs her arm to stop her.
"Don't touch me," she snaps instantly, yanking her hand away and ignoring how his face falls as she continues walking away. A second later, she feels him next to her again, his cologne (Dior, she remembers, and her stomach churns) overwhelming her.
"Lara, I just want to talk for a -"
"Stop calling me that."
"Okay, I'm sorry - look, can you just give me five minutes?" Taehyung exhales sharply as she strides past him with a vengeance, finally grabbing her wrist again.
She turns to face him, murderous. "Are you serious right now?"
His expression instantly goes from annoyed to pleading and he drops her hand. "Just five minutes. Please, La - please."
"No. Now let me go."
"Damn it, Dilara," he says impatiently, apparently not realising how her heart thuds at the sound of her name on his tongue. "You know, we'll have to talk about this some time."
She raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Will we now?"
Taehyung gives her a look, his shoulders falling slightly. "I mean… look, just me explain, just for a -"
"Just take no for an answer, alright?" She interrupts him, not having the patience for his eyes getting wider and softer by the second.
"Seriously? Are you just going to avoid this topic for the rest of our lives?"
"The rest of our lives? What are you talking about?" she exclaimed. "This PR thing will be over in less than two months and then we never have to see each other again."
All the colour seems to drain from Taehyung's face and it takes Dilara a moment to register, too, the words she's said. Not now, Komyshan. She swallows and shakes her head.
"Let it go, Kim."
She starts to walk away again, already feeling a lump in her throat, when he lets out a frustrated sigh from behind her.
"Come on, just - just give me a chance!" he exclaims from behind her, and she hates how his voice breaks for a fraction of a second. "Maybe you'll understand my point of view!"
Dilara whips around, her jaw hard. "There is nothing you can say to make me understand your point of view," she hisses, glaring at him before turning to leave again. The sunlight at the exit of the garage is visible now and she starts walking faster. Almost there, Komyshan.
"Sure about that?" Taehyung isn't following her anymore and his voice is less pleading now. "Or are you afraid you might hear something you actually agree with?"
She stops in her tracks. There's a sudden simmering in her hands and feet that seems to be flowing up her extremities. Her ears seem to be ringing and there’s only one word that keeps echoing in her mind. She turns around slowly to find him stepping towards her.
"What did you just say to me?"
"You heard me." He stops a couple of feet away from her. "I think you're afraid to hear me out."
All traces of impending tears have disappeared. Her eyes are dry as she looks up at him, and she knows she's not imagining the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You think I'm afraid?"
Taehyung licks his lips, saying nothing but simply raising an eyebrow. Yes. It occurs to her vaguely how close they are, almost nose to nose. His lips are right there, but for once, Dilara can’t care about that at all. There’s an unnatural sort of fury rising in her, and she doesn’t think she’s ever hated him more.
“You’re going to regret that,” she says quietly.
Something in her tone seems to alert him to the fact that his tactic may be going off track, for his eyes flicker and he momentarily drops his gaze. “I’m just saying, maybe if you -”
But Dilara is done with this. She’s seeing red now. “I was never the one who was afraid,” she whispers bitterly. This time when she starts to walk away, she neither hears nor feels him behind her.
She jogs out onto the sunny paddock where some of the other group members have already piled into cars. The sunroofs are down and in Max’s car, Jungkook is pointing his phone at Jimin who’s posing sultrily with a pair of dark sunglasses on. Dilara turns away from them, finding Max whose smile fades when he sees her.
“Whoa.” His blue eyes widen. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She points to the contents of his hand. “Are those the keys?”
“Um -” He nods jerkily but takes a step back. “Are you okay? Should you be getting into a car right now?”
Dilara bristles. “Excuse me? You don’t trust me inside a car? Why? Because I’m not about to be world champion, Verstappen?”
Max stares. Then he places a hand on her shoulder and lowers his head so they’re face to face. “Seriously… are you okay, Dilara?”
No, I am not okay. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again, not so long as Kim Taehyung is in my life, reminding me every second of how much he humiliated me.
“Just peachy.” When Max doesn’t move, she sighs, already embarrassed by her outburst. “I’m fine, Max. Really. And I’m… sorry.”
He ignores this, still frowning. “What happened? Did he say something? Do you want to go somewhere and… I dunno. Talk about it?” He sounds incredibly unsure.
Do you want to go somewhere quiet?
The first words Kim Taehyung ever spoke to her echo in her mind. “It… doesn’t matter, alright?” she says, suddenly tired. “Let’s just get this over with.” She holds her hand out for the key.
Max hesitates. “We can move this PR to later. When you’re… in the mood.”
She rolls her eyes. “What do you think I'm going to do - crash the car?" When he doesn't respond, she scoffs disbelievingly. She extends her hand. “I’ve been angrier than this when I’m racing.”
“Yeah, but there’s something to be said for a driver’s mental state when you’re -”
“Max, he said I was scared.”
He halts abruptly. “He -” His eyes dart up over her head, presumably in Taehyung’s direction, and there’s a flash of what she imagines is understanding in his face. When he looks back down at her, he opens his mouth as if to say something but then sighs and shakes his head.
“Yeah.”
Max tosses the key to her. “Just be careful, Komyshan.”
She snatches it mid-air. “Always am.” Striding over to the car, Dilara climbs into the driver’s seat, immediately busying herself checking the mirrors and the fuel. Vicki Lloyd, Red Bull’s press officer, passes in between both cars with a cloth bag in her hand that everyone starts dropping their phones into and finally, everyone’s settled - except for one person.
Dilara tries not to pay attention to the fact that there are only three BTS members in each car. She doesn’t turn, though, not even when Hoseok calls Taheyung over, telling him to hurry up in rapid Korean. She registers the lotion and cologne before anything else, still ignoring him while he stands at the passenger door directly behind her. He isn’t getting in and while she can’t see his face, she likes to imagine he’s hesitating because of their recent exchange, possibly realising, finally, that this is her territory and he’s the intruder.
Taehyung gets in eventually, though, and the cameras come on right after. Thankfully, the guys in her car have the forethought to seat him right behind her so that she doesn't have to look at him even if she turns. RM sits shotgun, with the other three in the backseat, already sounding comically wary of what's coming.
RM starts speaking to her, and it's his leader voice, the one that’s hyper aware of every camera. Seokjin is far too much older than her for her to snark at, and Hoseok… well, it’s just too hard to ignore Hoseok, especially when he’s wearing a leaf-printed hoodie and shades, his smile brighter than the sun.
The conversation is carefully formal, though; she wonders if they can tell that something happened. The way they're talking to her, it's almost as though they don't want to risk offending her - possibly because they think she'll set the car on fire or something.
Dilara catches the occasional glimpse of Taehyung, too, through her side mirror. His face is smooth and impassive as usual, a closed book, and it’s only when he lowers his gaze when he accidentally meets hers that she knows their conversation is still playing on his mind.
He doesn’t say a word, though, and she's glad for it. She doesn’t think she'll be able to stop herself from snapping at him in public if he does and he probably knows that, if the wounded expression on his face yesterday is anything to go by.
Finally, when the anchor gives the signal, she and Max get ready for two laps around the track, posing for the camera before zooming away. The guys let out the perfect reactions, screaming and cursing and joking in equal measure, partly in English and partly in Korean.
As much as she doesn't want to engage, she has to, so does - begrudgingly. She focuses on the driving as much as possible, though, going at a hundred and twenty - child's play for her - while Seokjin and Hoseok punctuate every turn with fresh yells.
On the straights, though, all of them seem to enjoy the wind in their hair. Dilara keeps an eye on Max, who's beside her in his car, and hams it up for the camera with him. Then, suddenly, without warning, Hoseok calls Taehyung's name and says something in Korean that she unexpectedly understands.
She wishes she hadn’t. Taehyung, you look so handsome. Even in the small side mirror, with his head thrown back, blond hair blowing in the breeze and a heartbreaking smile adorning his face, he looks like the most beautiful person she's ever seen in her entire life.
When he hears Hoseok's compliment, he laughs, sounding amused and embarrassed all at once. At that laugh, that deep, happy laugh, she gets the sudden urge to cry, because she had him and she lost him, and the reason she lost him is no one's fault but his. In her lone hole of misery and heartbreak, she wants that smile wiped off his face.
Another memory surfaces in her mind, a bittersweet one. Nearly two years ago, the weekend they'd first met, Taehyung had taken her on an impromptu date to a dog farm. He'd messed up reading the map, however, and they'd been massively delayed. In order to make up for the time they'd lost, Dilara had offered to take over the wheel and they’d made a twenty-five minute trip in under fifteen. The image of him that day gives rise to an ugly, determined pit in her stomach, one she’s not afraid to listen to.
Give him hell, Komyshan.
The moment the car approaches Turn 4 again, she swerves deliberately, savagely enjoying how it jolts him across the seat. For the rest of the lap she drives borderline dangerously, taking the actual racing lines and going as fast as the car will allow her. She can smell the rubber of the tyres burning, but she doesn’t give a flying fuck about damaging the car. With the money Red Bull is getting through this marketing partnership resulting in her daily discomfort, they better be able to afford it.
Behind her, she can hear all the boys yelling - including Taehyung.
She wins, of course, having driven like a maniac; although to be fair, Max finishes less than five seconds behind her. The segment ends with them still in the car and the moment the cameras are turned off, all seven band members crawl out of the two cars. To her immense irritation, she sees Max grin and fist bump Jungkook, the only person along with Suga who doesn’t look like he wants to die.
The staff hands out small bottles of water to everyone as they all gather in the Red Bull garage. By the time she’s finished her bottle, she sees RM, Seokjin and Jimin have all more or less recovered, but they’re all gathered around Hoseok and Taehyung. Or rather, just Taehyung, for Hoseok, while he looks slightly nauseous, is still standing next to his younger member and patting him on the back.
Taehyung is seated on a chair with his head between his legs and groaning, while Jimin and Jungkook are crouched in front of him and RM and Seokjin dryly rattle off what sounds like encouragement. It’s exactly what she wanted; her moment of insane anger had led her to not only let in unwanted memories of the past, but also to remember the last time she was in a car with him that went this fast. How he’d tumbled out outside the dog farm, how he’d dramatically stated he was dying, how she’d tried not to laugh and instead brushed back his hair until he felt better…
Dilara feels like crying again. She doesn’t know if driving like that has made her nauseous, too, but she suddenly feels sick. She glances back at him again, his thick hair falling gracefully over his hands as he covers his face. She sighs; going into her bag, she retrieves a metallic strip and heads to the water cooler where Jungkook is filling a glass, presumably for Taehyung.
“Jungkook,” she mutters. He turns to her with a jerk, eyes wider than ever, as though not quite believing that she’s actually speaking to him. She’s glad; she doesn’t particularly want him to answer (he didn’t answer when she needed him; why should he now?), especially when she’s grudgingly willing to help out, if for no other reason that she can’t be focused on an ill ex-boyfriend on a race weekend.
“Give him two of these,” she instructs him, shoving the pills into his large, tattooed hand. “He should feel better in about ten minutes. And you did not get them from me,” she adds warningly.
Jungkook studies the strip before looking up at her with those same gigantic eyes. “Who did I get them from?” he asks innocently.
Dilara shrugs. “I don’t know. Tell him his new girlfriend gave them to you.” She just about catches how his expression changes from bewilderment to guilt.
“No - no, Dilara, he’s not -”
But she turns around and walks away, not wanting to hear a word about his new relationship, even though Jimin had mostly cleared that part up last night. She doesn’t know what the rest of them know, and she has no desire to be the one to break the news in any form that Jimin, at least, is on his way to earning her forgiveness.
When Dilara sees Taehyung fifteen minutes later, he looks good as new. Rolling her eyes, she goes over to check the schedule to see that she has only one PR session left with BTS. Thankfully, this is an interview, which means she doesn’t have to directly interact with them at all. There are some questions, of course, on her unfortunately public appreciation for the band as a fan. She answers them as vaguely as possible, evasively avoiding ones where she has to talk about any particular member, and lets the band take the lead.
When she looks at Taehyung, sitting almost directly across from her in the semi circle, she feels the same pang in her heart when looking at someone she used to know. Their eyes meet again and this time, she holds his gaze for a little longer. With one look, she can tell he knows for certain that her reckless driving was done with a purpose. She waits for his anger, annoyance - anything. Instead, he looks away this time and the only emotion she can even begin to read is one she genuinely didn’t think she’d see: shame.
After PR, Vicki is handing everyone back their phones. She waves a silver iPhone and hands it to Dilara, a stack of smartphones in her other hand.
“Wait, this isn’t mine,” she tells Vicki, placing it back on the snacks table next to her.
“Yes, it is,” she says so confidently that Dilara wavers. “You’re on the lockscreen.”
What? Hesitating, Dilara clicks the Home button and her heart skips a beat. A picture she hasn’t seen in ages, of her lying back against green grass, laughing as she cuddles a puppy, is indeed the lockscreen. She stares at it, trying to drink in any happiness she can remember from that day. It’s cropped strategically, possibly in case it falls into the wrong hands, but it’s clear enough for anyone who knows Dilara to be able to tell it’s her - such as her press officer.
Before Dilara can look at it too hard, though, a slender hand appears next to her and hastily snatches the phone before walking off, leaving a lingering scent of lotion and cologne.
—
Tokyo, Japan; February (Three months in)
(Taehyung)
The scent of hairspray was overwhelming, and Taehyung was ready to throw up. And if the smell didn’t do that, Ji-ho’s presence alone would be enough.
It was bad enough that Donghyuk had barged into their green room without warning; this type of thing usually wasn’t allowed, and if it was, it was after tons of screening. Given that none of Taehyung’s friends had ever made it inside this room, he couldn’t help but feel a little salty that Donghyuk and Ji-ho were here, even if they were part of Hybe.
As the members sat on the couches, sweaty and exhausted, the staff began handing out bottles of water to everyone - including, Taehyung noticed, both the unwelcome guests. The rest of the group didn’t seem particularly happy with them hanging around either, even if they were greeting them politely.
Across the room, Namjoon and Hoseok were standing next to the refreshments table talking to Ji-ho, while Donghyuk was making himself comfortable on one of the leather couches next to Jimin and Jungkook. Taehyung, for once, had no interest in socialising, not even when Namjoon caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, as though prodding him to speak to them.
Taehyung turned away, though. He was here in Tokyo mostly against his will, and he was determined to not do a shred more work than he was expected to before he got the hell out of here: rehearse, doll up, perform. Making small talk with artists whom he usually did not have a problem with but today could not seem to stand, did not qualify.
It’s your job, Taehyung. Namjoon’s words rang deep and true in his mind. We all have responsibilities.
He gritted his teeth, getting annoyed all over again. It was rare that he ever clashed with Namjoon; in fact, in his memory, it had probably happened not more than once or twice at most - before this week. Taehyung had been mid-fold when his leader had knocked and entered his room at the dorm, sighing at the sight of his half-full suitcase.
“I’m sorry, Taehyung,” was how he’d started. Namjoon looked preemptively apologetic, and it had taken Taehyung a few seconds to realise why.
“No,” he’d said immediately. “No. No. I’d cleared this with everyone, weeks ago,” he’d cried, already hearing the desperation in his voice. “Hyung, no. Please.”
Namjoon had bit his lip and hung his head, but Taehyung had no patience to feel sympathy for him right now. “They want to film a week early,” he’d explained in a low voice. “They want time to create more promos before the show airs so we have to be there to record…”
Taehyung had stopped listening by this point. He looked at the items in his hands: a brown jacket, a beanie and a faded red t-shirt. I don’t mind bribing you for that t-shirt. The memory of Dilara’s voice on a steamy video call made his heart jolt and for a moment, he thought he might cry.
“... really sorry.”
He exhaled, still not looking at Namjoon. Then he turned around to face him, noting his pitying expression, his hands in his pockets. He did look genuinely sorry - but also looked completely firm in his message.
“Just one day,” blurted Taehyung. “Just let me fly overnight, I’ll - I’ll spend one day with her and I’ll take a flight back the same night.” His breath hitched. “It won’t make a difference to the schedule at all.”
“You know we can’t do that, Taehyung.” Namjoon gave him a look, as though this should have been obvious to him. “We don’t have a day off. They want us to leave on Thursday.”
“That’s perfect! That’s two days away - I can fly straight to Tokyo from there. Hyung, please.”
“Taehyung, I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that!” he exclaimed, dropping the clothes in his hands onto the bed, not caring how messy it was. “They’ll listen to you if you ask them. Just tell them I need one day. I just need to see her for one -” Here, his voice broke.
Namjoon sighed, taking a step into the room. “Taehyung, I know this is hard. But it’ll get -”
“You do know,” he interrupted. “You know better than anybody how hard this is.” There was a pause where Namjoon said nothing, which Taehyung took as acknowledgement. “Or has it been so long that you don’t even care anymore?”
Namjoon’s jaw hardened. “What did you say?”
“I -” Taehyung felt a lump in his throat. She was going to Barcelona soon, and then there would be no time, none at all. “I’m going to lose her, hyung,” he whispered, feeling his vision blur. “I haven’t seen her in three months. She’ll -”
Namjoon's eyes softened. “You’re not going to -” But here, he paused, dropping his gaze and chewing on his lip. “Long distance is hard, Taehyung,” he said softly after a moment, and Taehyung sniffled. “But you will find a rhythm. It won’t be easy and it’ll take time, but it’ll happen. Every couple figures it out eventually.”
And if they don’t… they break up. Namjoon didn’t need to say it out loud.
That was five days ago. Namjoon had left after that and Taehyung had wallowed alone in his room for hours before calling Dilara to break the news to her. He’d hated every second of it but he’d had no choice. Her disappointment had been clear as day, even though she’d tried to hide it, and Taehyung had had no idea what to do except apologise, the words sounding useless even to his own ears.
It had been a short call, mostly because there had been something strange in the way Dilara had accepted his news. She didn’t seem angry or annoyed with him; in fact, she’d been quick to mention that she didn’t want him to blame himself because it wasn’t his fault.
“This shit happens, love,” she’d murmured, before she’d forced a smile on her face.
But there was something else in her expression, too. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on where he’d seen it before or even what it meant. It was almost resigned in a way, and all Taehyung knew was that there was a looming sense of inadequacy as a boyfriend that was creeping up on him and he had no idea how to get rid of it.
Dilara had left for Barcelona yesterday. He’d called and wished her luck and even stayed up with her on the phone for a while as she’d expressed her anxiety about testing the new car, but with both of them dealing with jetlag, the call had ended soon. She’d looked tired, he remembered, and he hated the thought of her alone in a hotel room in that state. She’d also reminded him that she had Lexie, but it hardly reassured him.
A tap on his shoulder jerked him out of his reverie. Next to him, Seokjin tilted his head at something and Taehyung looked to see Ji-ho showing him something.
“Rum ball?” he called from across the room.
“No, thanks,” muttered Taehyung, but the rapper didn’t seem to actually want an answer, and before Taehyung even got all the words out of his mouth, the foil-wrapped object was being chucked across the room to him. Catching it, he grudgingly unwrapped it, taking a bite before passing it along to Seokjin.
“Taehyung? Something wrong?” Donghyuk seemed to notice his expression but the last thing Taehyung wanted was to have a heart to heart with Supreme Boi.
“Just tired,” he answered, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. He was sure his members didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. The conversation continued and Taehyung tuned out, preferring to feel sorry for himself instead.
He honestly didn’t know when he’d get to see Dilara again. F1 testing lasted only a week, but by then, the group had to start recording. Her season officially started in mid-March, meaning the first two weeks would be full of PR and hours spent at the gym and on the simulator. The best he could hope for was to rely on prior experience and just land up for the first race in Melbourne, surprise her, support her from the garage and possibly make up for cancelling on her this time.
It wasn’t a great plan but it was a plan. Chest still heavy, he tried half-heartedly thinking of dates and tickets, wondering which approvals he would need this time if he intended on making an appearance in public like this. He vaguely heard the television switch on, but it wasn’t until he heard a familiar whirr and Jungkook blurt out “Isn’t that Dilara?” that he realised it was the sports channel.
Taehyung’s head whipped around to glare at Jungkook, who was already looking like a deer caught in headlights, with more than one member giving him warning looks. “I just - I meant -”
Thankfully, Donghyuk and Ji-ho didn’t seem to notice. The latter, who was now sitting on the arm of one of the sofas, also turned to Jungkook. “You watch Formula One?” he asked, sounding interested.
“I -” Jungkook stuttered and looked around, as though looking for permission. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Not for long, though. Only a couple of years.”
None of it was a lie, for out of all the members, Jungkook was the one who kept up with the sport the most, genuinely enjoying it and spending hours in the middle of the night playing the video game, sometimes with Dilara herself.
Ji-ho nodded approvingly. “Good stuff. Who’s your favourite driver?”
“Uh… Dilara Komyshan?” he said, a hint of a smile already playing on his face. After what felt like several days, even Taehyung felt the urge to smile, turning to look at the television that was showing testing. It was just cars going around the track and minimal commentary. He could just about make out the two Red Bull cars when they came on screen but even then, it felt like a small, hopeful glimpse of Dilara.
He was going to Melbourne, he decided. If just seeing her initials unexpectedly on a television screen could make him this happy, seeing him in person would mean the world to her. The approvals and leaves suddenly didn’t seem like an obstacle; it would all be worth it.
Around him, the discussion was still continuing. Donghyuk frowned at Jungkook. “Is that a girl’s name?” He turned to Ji-ho, his face comically confused. “There’s a girl in Formula One?”
“Yeah, just one, though,” he answered, still looking at the screen. “That’s her,” he said, pointing to the scoreboard on the left side of the screen. KOM was sixth, two places behind VER.
“Wow. I always thought it was just guys in that sport,” said Donghyuk, sounding wondrous.
“She’s really good, though,” piped up Jungkook, a note of defensiveness in his voice.
“Yeah, she’s in Red Bull. She has to be,” commented Ji-ho. “They won’t take just - oh! What a turn,” he gasped, pointing at a Mercedes on the screen.
Meanwhile, Donghyuk was still on his own trip. “But it must be good for their image, too, no? To have a girl?” When no one particularly answered him, he sat up. “Is she on the screen?”
“That’s her car,” said Ji-ho, pointing at a Red Bull pulling into the garage.
Donghyuk snorted. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Okay, that’s her,” said Jimin when she climbed out of the car, helmet and race suit still on.
“Mm, still not what I meant. Come on, what does she look like,” he said finally, rolling his eyes. “Under the race suit. I mean her face,” he added hastily, interpreting Hoseok’s disgusted expression correctly. “You said she’s the only girl. I’m just curious.”
My girl, Taehyung thought in irritation. Donghyuk was known for his habit of getting into locker room talk, something Taehyung hadn’t paid much attention to in the past, but was now getting on his nerves. “I don’t think they’ll show the drivers here,” he said shortly, speaking for the first time. Even Ji-ho turned away from the television to glance at him, looking mildly surprised.
“Okay.” Donghyuk shrugged. “Show me something else then.”
Taehyung held his gaze, hating him, while Ji-ho asked the staff for the remote. He finally tore his eyes away as a female stylist scurried up to them and passed Namjoon the remote, who gave it to Ji-ho.
“Here we go…” Going onto YouTube, he clicked on a video: Drive To Survive: Season 4 Trailer. “This season is going to be epic,” he said to no one in particular as it started.
“My name is Dilara Komyshan and I drive for Aston - for Red Bull Racing Honda. Shit, can I do that again?” She giggled to someone off screen before the video changed to a montage with a hip hop soundtrack, followed by a few other drivers doing similar introductions.
Taehyung’s heart felt like it was being squeezed, partly with the thrill of seeing his girlfriend on screen, hearing her voice, and partly because of how desperately he missed her right now. He didn’t even pay attention to Donghyuk going “Oh, that’s her”, caring only about catching any glimpse of Dilara, any at all, amidst the clips of other drivers, of the paddock, and cars zooming down different circuits.
Finally, she appeared again, in a slow motion shot with four other drivers. Two of them and Dilara were drenched, clearly in champagne, their race suits unzipped and hanging around their waist. Lewis Hamilton was shirtless, tattoos displayed all over his torso. Next to him was Max Verstappen, grinning and running a hand through his wet hair, while Dilara stood next to him, her tangled hair falling down to her chest, her black sports bra glistening in the sun. All five drivers were laughing at something off camera when the screen paused.
“Jungkook!” Ji-ho turned around to face him. “Can you name all of them?”
Grinning, Jungkook began rattling off the names. “Well, that’s Dilara. Er, Komyshan. Behind her is Lewis Hamilton, then Charles -”
He was interrupted by Donghyuk letting out a low whistle. “That’s Komyshan,” he noted, chuckling. “Nice tits.”
Taehyung didn’t even realise he was on his way to standing up until someone’s hand squeezed his shoulder, pinning him to his seat. “Careful,” came Yoongi’s voice in a mutter. From across the room, Namjoon immediately caught his eye and shook his head, his expression betraying everything from understanding to warning.
Ji-ho himself clicked his tongue at Donghyuk’s comment, though, and unpaused the screen. “Look beyond the tits, hyung,” he said, sounding only partly scathing. “Ah, there’s an episode on the Ferrari crash, too…” He shook his head forlornly at the screen as one of the drivers with the shiny black hair spoke seriously into the camera.
Taehyung could feel Jimin and Seokjin’s eyes on him but he kept staring at Donghyuk, feeling an intense urge to punch him in the face. Say one more thing about her, go on, he wanted to say. But nothing else came, and he tried to settle for his silence as he turned back to the screen.
The trailer was almost over now. A blond driver whose name Taehyung didn’t know was speaking. “Some things this year have been cause for celebration, no matter what,” he said, smiling, before the video cut to him with a baby in his arms.
“How do these people have lives?” Ji-ho asked no one in particular, clicking his tongue again and shaking his head. “They’re flying around for practically the whole year.”
“What are you talking about? So are we,” said Hoseok, shrugging. “We manage,” he added, giving Taehyung a side glance.
“Nah, it’s not the same,” he disagreed. “They have a calendar throughout. I watched this other documentary about this sport - it was really old and it was called…” Ji–ho frowned before shaking his head. “Whatever it was. One of the world champions even said that the toll it took on his personal life was enough too destroy it. But he didn’t regret it,” he added.
A moment of silence greeted this statement. “Yeah,” began Namjoon, and he sounded far more deliberate to Taehyung’s ears, “but you said it was an older driver. Things have changed now. It’s easier to keep in touch.”
Ji-ho gave him a look and squeezed his shoulder. “You guys have such an encouraging leader,” he said in wonder, and no one but Donghyuk laughed in response. “You might be right, though. Most of those drivers bring their girlfriends to every race, so maybe it works.”
Namjoon was stonecold silent while Donghyuk murmured his agreement. “And, uh, and Komyshan,” he said, and Taehyung gritted his teeth. “Does she bring her boyfriend?”
“I don’t know about that,” said Ji-ho dismissively, clicking on the trailer again. It restarted, this time on lower volume. Taehyung tried to focus on nothing but the screen, waiting for Dilara to appear again. Her hair had been slightly styled but still casual. Her smile had been camera-ready, but made his heart skip a beat anway. Come on, baby.
“... doesn’t matter as much,” came Namjoon’s voice, steady but becoming impatient. “It’s about how much time you can give. Even idols actors break up - but so many of them are married and with kids.” He shook his head. “It’s completely subjective.”
“Still, the number of couples who break up are way more,” argued Ji-ho, waving his hand with the remote. “Suzy and that guy - Dongwook - they broke up. Jennie and Kai just broke up, Nam Joo Hyuk and, uh… oh, what’s her name? We met her at that party…”
“How does that matter, hyung?”
“Of course it matters. Oh, it was Lee Sun Kyung! Yes, they also couldn’t…”
Taehyung had to bite his lip to keep from making any movement while his heart sank. He stared at the screen, his heart twisting as he drank in the words around him.
“Even distance is relative,” Donghyuk was saying, sounding far too sure of himself as he stood up and walked towards where Ji-ho and Namjoon were. “Like in this context, either you bring your partner to every race or -” He snatched the remote from his friend and paused the video, miraculously landing on the same screen of Dilara with the four other drivers, soaked in champagne and laughing under the sun.
“Or?” Hosoek raised an eyebrow, seeming almost wary of the answer.
“Or you date someone you work with.” Donghyuk shrugged. “Komyshan at least should have no problem finding someone there,” he quipped, and this time even Ji-ho chuckled in agreement.
Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone, especially not his members. He didn’t want to see the pity or the apology in their faces, especially when he felt Yoongi squeeze his shoulder again and mutter to him to ignore it.
I told you.
It was Dilara’s voice, and she was on a Zoom call with him. She'd made a point and he'd refuted it, blinded by his love for her. Now, it was all coming unravelled.
—
Spielberg, Austria; September (Friday)
(Dilara)
It’s Free Practice day.
Dilara wakes up early, reasonably well-rested, and does a couple of rounds of cardio in the backyard before anyone else in the house is awake. By the time she sees Yoongi and Namjoon trudge out with messy hair and puffy eyes, she’s already on her way into her room with a bottle of water in her hand, brushing back her sweaty hair and looking forward to finally getting into her car.
However, as it turns out, even a shower is something she can’t manage in this house without it going to shit. Right in the middle of rinsing out her hair, there’s a loud, gurgling sound before the water stops altogether. She fiddles with the knobs, panicking by the second because she needs to leave in an hour, max, if she’s going to be on time for PR and FP today.
When nothing works, not the basin or anything, she hurries out, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She knocks on what she thinks is RM’s door, hoping for a plumber’s number or something. When he opens the door, he does a double take, clearly not expecting a towel-clad girl with shampoo in her hair to be standing in front of him. But Dilara hasn’t the time to help him adjust to it right now.
“Do you -” She exhales, not realising she’s been holding her breath this whole time. “Do you have the contact of, like, our plumber or the - or any help?”
He frowns. “Um, no. Why? What’s wrong?”
“My shower is broken,” she sighs, fingering the ends of her sticky hair. “The water just stopped all of a sudden and I need to be in the paddock in one hour.”
RM doesn’t look surprised. “Oh, yeah, they told us. Something to do with the motor on the roof. All the rooms on that side of the house -” He points away from him, towards her room. “- won’t have any water till the afternoon.” He gives her a curious look. “There’s a note on the fridge. Didn’t you see it?”
Dilara looks up at him, jaw slack, before she remembers the paper with purple writing on it. She takes a deep breath, trying not to scream. “You mean… the note written in Korean?”
“What?” His eyes go wide before he rolls them. “God, Jungkook…” He looks down at her, biting his lip. “You can use my shower,” he suddenly offers.
Dilara had been looking despondently at the kitchen, somewhat contemplating using the sink to wash her hair, when she snaps around to face him. “Wait… really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, sounding more certain than before. “I was just heading out, anyway,” he adds, opening the door wider and showing her a jacket in his hand. “We’re filming for Run today so we’ll be out. Feel free.”
“Oh…” In the face of this unexpected generosity, she’s somewhat lost for words. Even when she grabs her shower gel, lotion and underwear and gets back, she’s still not fully convinced. “You’re really sure?”
“Yes, Dilara,” he says again, ushering her inside and pointing to the bathroom. “Water’s still hot. Oh, and it’s a shared one with Jin’s room on the other side, so remember to lock both doors.” Namjoon gets back to rummaging inside his suitcase before he looks up to see that she hasn’t moved. He sighs. “I thought you had to get to the paddock?”
“Oh, right!” Without further ado, she hops into his shower, noting the lingering and comforting scent of aftershave as she takes off the towel and steps in. Ten minutes later when she’s done, she puts on her underwear, wraps the towel back around her, gathers her stuff and exits the bathroom, twisting her wet hair down one shoulder before letting it fall back. When she sees Namjoon still there, she jumps.
“Sorry, sorry!” He apologises immediately. “I forgot my power bank and my phone’s literally about to die, so…”
“Oh, no, don’t - don’t apologise,” she stutters, feeling her heartbeat come back to normal. “It’s your room. And… thanks, by the way. Really.”
Namjoon smiles, dimples popping. “Of course. Anytime. Good luck today.”
“Thanks.” Dilara nods, returning his smile a bit nervously, and heading out when she hears him inhale.
“Is that vanilla?” When she frowns and turns around, unsure of what she’s just heard, he seems to realise what he’s said. “I’m not - I’m not being creepy, I swear. It’s just, well... “ He sighs and looks at the ground, looking a bit embarrassed before shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, of her in a towel in her ex-boyfriend’s leader’s bedroom, Dilara can’t help but be curious. “Familiar scent?”
The way his jaw hardens, eyes still on the ground as he nods once, it’s not hard to guess the direction his thoughts are headed in. “Kind of.” He says nothing else, apparently remembering that she’s still here. “Sorry. It’s weird.”
It could be, she realises, but it’s actually quite endearing. Dilara has never heard Namjoon talk about Kaya before, not like this. But she’s careful not to overstep, given that she doesn’t know anything about their relationship apart from what Taehyung had told her several months ago. “This one is cocoa butter and vanilla,” she says after a moment, holding up the bottle of conditioner.
He bites his lip and nods, a distant sort of look on his face. “Still familiar,” he says finally.
Dilara hesitates for a moment, before opening the bottle and gingerly extending her hand towards him. Very aware of her wet hair dripping onto his tiled floor, she waits until he seems to catch on.
Namjoon’s face is unreadable, but he seems to be wrestling with something. She wonders briefly if he’s struggling not to shed his leader persona in front of her when, visibly hesitating, he lowers his head slightly to sniff the conditioner. The moment he does, his eyes flutter shut momentarily before he swallows and takes a step back.
“Still familiar?” she asks, a little warily.
He nods, biting his lip. “It’s been a while,” is all he says.
She chuckles, a little sadly but she’s not sure why. “Want to keep it?”
His eyes snap up to her. “Oh, man, I couldn’t do that,” he says immediately, chuckling nervously. “I did think once about buying a small travel size bottle, though,” he confesses sheepishly, his dimples appearing briefly. “Just to carry around. But that’s…” He shakes his head, wincing slightly.
“No, I know what you’re talking about,” she says reassuringly, not wanting him to be embarrassed. “I mean, I did that with -” Dilara breaks off abruptly, realising she was just about to admit to buying a tiny bottle of Christian Dior Sauvage in Italy last year because her boyfriend at the time wore it. Taehyung had been bashful yet turned on by the fact that she liked his scent so much; it made him feel “desirable”, he’d said, as though being the world’s most handsome man and having millions of girls in love with him didn’t do so already.
She pictures the bottle for a moment again, lying on a pile of clothes, the crystal bottle catching the light inside a cardboard box. She looks up at Namjoon to see him with a well-practised, tactful smile on his face and she knows he can guess what she was about to say. Her cheeks heat up slightly and she feels a dull throb in her chest, but she’s quick to move past the moment. She holds up the bottle of conditioner. “Want another whiff?”
He laughs and shuts his eyes, groaning. “Would it be so embarrassing if I said yes?”
Dilara grins and takes a step towards him, allowing him to smell the vanilla and cocoa scented conditioner she treasures so much. Just when he gives another dramatic shake of the head at the scent and she laughs, the door bursts open and a deep and familiar voice saying something in Korean halts immediately.
She turns to see Taehyung, hand frozen on the door knob, his handsome face for once hiding nothing as his eyes flit between us. The shock on his face is expected; his leader and friend, standing close to and laughing with his ex-girlfriend, her hair wet and nothing but a towel wrapped around her. Next to him, Jimin’s eyes are wide and his pretty lips parted in surprise.
Even though she’s quite certain that Taehyung doesn’t actually think that anything untoward happened between her and Namjoon, Dilara takes a savage sort of pleasure in how incriminating it looks - and how it’s clearly driven him speechless.
“That’s my cue to leave,” she mutters, snapping the bottle shut and turning back to Namjoon. “Thanks for the shower,” she tells him, taking care to make her words as suggestive as possible. It doesn’t matter that Taehyung doesn’t feel the same about her anymore; there’s nothing worse than your friend hooking up with your ex.
Even as she leaves, she hears Namjoon’s voice, deep and calm, saying something in Korean. She’s sure he’s assuring Taehyung that nothing happened - and she’s sure Taehyung believes it, too. But what stands out to Dilara the most is how his face had fallen and for a moment, she’d hurt him at least a fraction of how much he’d hurt her.
—
Seoul, South Korea; March (Four months in)
(Taehyung)
Her fingers were cold against his skin, and she giggled softly when he flinched. Her lips felt warm in contrast, her lip gloss tasting of cherries and love. Her curls crunched in his hand when he held her to him, smelling of her chocolatey conditioner. Or was it strawberry?
Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open, a slight frown on his handsome face. Moving the glass of vodka and cranberry juice - courtesy Jimin - away from him and trying to ignore the thumping bass, he tried to remember what Dilara’s hair smelled like. Hadn’t he buried his nose in it enough times? Hadn’t he hugged her, held her, made love to her enough that he’d never forget?
“Taehyung!” Jimin’s high voice cut through the loud music, louder than his own thoughts. He jogged up to Taehyung, blond hair a little sweaty and face flushed, but looking energetic as hell. “Dance with us, no?”
He simply shook his head non-commitally, taking another sip of the super sweet drink and trying not to wince in front of Jimin. No part of him wanted to be at this listening party but as usual, no one cared. An even smaller part of him wanted to be at this table, which consisted of a motley crew of guests: a couple members of a debut boy group who were taking selfie after selfie and cheering at each one, a couple at the corner of the booth who were making out in the darkness but succeeding in hiding nothing, a girl in a black dress sitting alone, and three men next to her who were laughing at something - loudly.
Jimin seemed to notice. “At least come get another drink,” he suggested.
Taehyung paused, for it wasn’t the worst idea. “What happens to this one, then?” he asked hoarsely, clearing his throat and pointing at the pink one.
“I’ll drink it,” his friend volunteered, reaching for it without further ado and guzzling it in a flash. “Done. Now come. There’s whiskey - I’d bring it for you but I don’t know which one you like these days…”
Taehyung followed him through the crowd, his shoulders still amidst the bouncing and bopping, trying more than anything else not to bump into anyone. Maybe it was the liquor, he thought hopefully. Maybe he was too intoxicated to think straight and maybe his memory would fix itself once he sobered up tomorrow.
What’s the point? It was a valid thought, one that was made stronger after his sip of whiskey. Drunk or sober, he was across the world from his girlfriend, watching his relationship fall apart while he did nothing, and unable to recall the smell of her hair or the feel of her body against him. It had started off as a coping tactic, trying to imagine her touch every time he started missing her too much, but the longer he had to do it, the more it depressed him.
“Careful!” Namjoon’s voice came from behind him and Taehyung felt him grab his arm and steady him. He peered into his glass, frowning slightly. “Sure you haven’t had enough?”
“It’s a party, hyung,” said Taehyung in a low voice, before stumbling around his leader and going back to his table. Namjoon had been on the phone with Kaya this morning; Taehyung had accidentally overheard him when he’d passed by the balcony in the dorm; while it wasn’t enough to tell what they were talking about, the fact that Namjoon was speaking in English, not to mention his tone softer, the most un-leaderlike he’d ever heard, was enough of a giveaway.
Taehyung didn’t know why, but something about it made him incredibly angry. It was irrational and unfair, he knew, and therefore tried staying clear of Namjoon until he figured it out, lest he say something he regretted.
Let it go. Look at me.
Dilara’s voice surfaced in his mind, words she’d said months ago in Austin when he’d been complaining about something or the other. She’d climbed onto his lap, he remembered, and slowly made him face her. He’d tugged at her hips and she’d smiled before silently kissing him. She’d tasted of red wine - Pinotage, her favourite - and as the kiss had deepened, she’d run her hands through his hair and he’d pulled her closer, breathing in the familiar scent…
Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut, registering only vaguely that he was standing in the middle of the club, motionless and with a drink in his hand, while people danced and partied around him. Think, Tae, he thought desperately. It was sweet, like a dessert. He’d jokingly bitten down on her shoulder and neck before, and she’d squeal in surprise but then sigh once she realised…
A new song began and the crowd cheered, jerking Taehyung out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open an he downed the entire glass, suddenly sick of everything around him. He stumbled back to his table, slamming the empty glass down and fishing out his phone with his other hand. Falling into his seat, he opened his WhatsApp chat with Dilara.
I’m sorry about yesterday. I miss you.
Taehyung sent it before he had a chance to think, the words dancing around the bright screen. He continued staring at it, though, waiting for a response, willing her to be thinking about him just like he was thinking about her. The double tick stayed the way it was, however, and her timestamp from the last time she was online stayed firmly at two hours ago.
She was most likely at the factory or in the gym. But in that moment, she’d never felt further away.
How does that feel?
Dilara’s hands were small and cool, travelling slowly up his chest underneath his t-shirt. Her hips rolled slowly into his and her lips pressed softly down his jawline. Taehyung clutched his glass, gritting his teeth, as he tried to picture it without the disturbance of the stupid party. Another hour of hard liquor and forced dancing had made him looser with the quality of daydreaming he was doing, but also made it harder to actually feel her.
Next to him, Jungkook and Hoseok were laughing about something, both looking flushed and happily drunk. Taehyung, who had his head on Jungkook’s shoulder as he stared blurrily into the void, wished he would stop moving so much. Yet, there was something comforting in knowing he wasn’t completely alone right now, much as he felt like it.
He needed quiet. He needed silence, and air. He needed a moment, just a moment’s peace to remember the feel of her shoulders, the shape of her in bed, the goddamn fucking scent of her hair.
Do you want to go somewhere quiet?
Taehyung couldn’t remember right now why his heart jolted or why his eyes threatened to fill with tears, but as he sat there, biting his lower lip, he knew he couldn’t be here anymore.
“I need a smoke,” he said to no one in particular, clumsily getting to his feet. He felt Jungkook grab his arm as he steadied himself.
“Are you okay, hyung?”
“Stellar.” Taehyung shook him off and took a few stumbling steps before he got the hang of it, now in pursuit of the smoking zone. He could taste green apple, and he hoped this place, at least, would give him some much needed peace and quiet.
The club was obnoxiously big, Taehyung felt, and not very well-designed. He accidentally entered a bathroom and almost made his way into the kitchen, both of which could have helped him, but not with what he needed right now. Finally, he found a corridor, dark yet draughty, meaning it was close to a window or a balcony… somewhere.
Taehyung stopped and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. He hadn’t realised how much he needed fresh air, even if he could smell ramen and rain from the alley next door. Smoke, Tae. Nodding at his own inner voice, he began walking in the same direction when something blocked his way.
“Shit,” he gasped, feeling some of his drink slosh and spill over his hand.
“Sorry.” She stepped back, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor.
The scent of a perfume assualted him before he could place the voice. Taehyung took a step back and blinked in the dim lighting, realising it was the girl in the black dress at his table, the one who was staring forlornly at her drink and not participating in anything.
“Um, no, it’s - it’s my fault,” he stuttered, brushing his hair out of his eyes. She nodded, and when she looked up, he finally realised who she was.
“It’s okay. I’m… do you know where the smoking zone is?” Jennie asked, her words a bit slow and slurred.
Do I ever. “Uh… no. I was looking for it, too.” He leaned against the wall again. “But I don’t think I can walk anymore.”
“Me neither.” Her gaze was on the floor as she mimicked his position on the opposite wall, before she sighed and reached for her shoes. “I can’t wear these anymore,” she muttered, tossing her strappy black heels on the floor.
There was an awkward silence during which Taehyung’s mind swam. His head felt heavy and his throat was suddenly parched. He finished the rest of his drink, barely feeling the whiskey burn his throat. “Do you have a lighter?”
Jennie looked up, as though brought out of a deep thought. “No. But I stole a matchbox from the bar,” she added after a moment, flashing something in her hand that he couldn’t make out, but he had no reason to doubt her.
“Good stuff,” he muttered, fishing his pack out of his pocket and placing a cigarette in his mouth before offering one to her. “Do you vape?” he asked her absently..
“Not really.”
He nodded, waiting as she fumbled with a matchstick until it caught the flame. She lit her cigarette and took a long drag before passing it to him when a gust of wind blew again and the flame flickered and disappeared.
“Hang on,” she muttered, opening the matchbox again before looking up at him. “That was the last one. Sorry.”
Taehyung was fast losing patience with everything now. Without a word - for he didn’t know what he would say to an innocent bystander if he opened his mouth - he took a step towards her and leaned down, touching the tip of his cigarette to hers. She tilted her head up automatically to let him use it and the moment he felt the first taste of nicotine on his tongue, he stepped back.
“I might be the only person having a worse night than you,” observed Jennie after a few seconds of silence.
Taehyung scoffed. “Doubt that.” When she didn’t respond, he sighed, feeling like his chest might cave in. “Sorry. I had a fight yesterday with my… friend.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. His head felt lighter with the nicotine. “Over an Instagram post.” He didn’t feel the need to elaborate or mention the guy who’d been seen grabbing his girlfriend and jumping into a pool with her at a party, just like he didn’t want to think about the scathing response he’d given her when she’d defended herself. He’s just a friend. And it was a party. What exactly are you worried about?
Taehyung wouldn’t say it out loud to her, but the need to remind himself of every single detail about her had magnified tenfold since then. Cool hands, soft lips. Small body, wavy hair.
“My boyfriend dumped me over text.”
He looked up, a bit startled. Jennie’s gaze was on the floor again, her cigarette halfway over. Her black hair blew in the breeze, revealing her bare shoulder.
A memory played on Taehyung’s mind, but he didn’t refer to it. “Why?”
“Said we were too busy. And I was abroad so we couldn’t find a time to call.”
Taehyung took another long drag, vaguely feeling a mixture of sympathy and apathy. “Happens to every couple eventually.”
“Thanks.”
“It sucks.”
“I know.” Jennie chucked the butt of her cigarette on the ground, and Taehyung reached over to put it out. She pointed to his glass. “Can I have the rest of that?”
He didn’t even look down. “There’s nothing in it.”
She walked over and took the glass from his hand, the melting ice cubes clinking together. Keeping her eyes on him, expression betraying absolutely nothing, she drank from it. “You weren’t as thorough as you thought.”
It was strange, really, for these things appeared in the most unexpected of times. Dilara’s lips weren’t as full, but they were softer. She tilted her head to the right more often than not, and Taehyung had to lower his a bit more with her. Dilara’s fingers were less slender against his abdomen, but they unbuckled his belt faster. Her mouth never tasted of rum, but he could still taste wine if he really, really tried.
As he felt soft kisses trail down his neck, he felt himself smile slightly, for he finally realised what it was. Amidst the unfamiliar rose and lavender, the scent of vanilla and cocoa fought its way through, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, trying with every last bit of consciousness to hold onto it.
How does that feel?
It feels different.
But it was the closest he’d gotten to in forever.
—
Melbourne, Australia; March (Four months in)
(Dilara)
One month, they're happy. They're on holiday, there's no one but them, only her and Taehyung. He's loving and passionate, and she's fallen further in love than she'd ever thought possible. He's swept her off her feet, and she's let him.
Two months in, they start to see what long distance really is, but they do everything they can to not let it get to them. Taehyung goes back to Daegu for a couple of weeks while Dilara spends two whole weekends with Lexie in the gym and one with Chris and Fred, working out until she knows she needs to start focusing on the car for the new season again.
Three months in, BTS is back in the studio, writing, recording and rehearsing their next album. From what she hears from Taehyung and Jungkook - and sometimes Jimin - it’s more stressful than usual because of some of the lyrics that the boys have written.
For Dilara's part, she's back to working out four days a week and spending days together at the factory, going over every micro fitting and part of the car, determined to snag at least P2 in this championship. It means practically living at Milton Keynes, using their gym when she can, going over every race last season and spotting areas for improvement. It’s incredibly exhausting, both physically and mentally, but it’s the last year in her Red Bull contract which means she needs to perform her arse off to get signed again.
She and Taehyung try. They really try. They make dates, promising to watch a movie together or have dinner over Zoom, but one of them always ends up cancelling on the other. Dilara knows he gets frustrated sometimes and she does, too, but it’s too new to fully lash out at each other.
She's afraid of fighting with him, knowing that making up virtually is so much harder than in person. She can tell that he’s afraid to push her too much, given how long it took him to convince her to be in this in the first place.
Four months in, everything suddenly stops. It’s the second week of March, days away from the first race of the season. It’s nerve wracking in itself, but when she stops receiving replies to her texts and her calls go unanswered, the cold feeling in her lungs starts to heighten.
For the first couple of days, she tries not to let it get to her. She reasons with herself that he’s busy, unbelievably busy, that it’s the time difference that’s causing all this, trying to ignore the fact that she doesn’t get missed calls from him either.
The week of the Australian GP, when it’s been five days since Dilara's heard from Taehyung and she's sick to her stomach with worry, she starts asking the other members. She doesn’t realise it’s strange until she's texted three out of six of them, asking each whether he’s okay, whether they know where is or why he won’t return her calls, and each of them gives her nearly identical answers. He’s fine, just busy. Don’t worry, he’s busy. Just busy with work. The creeping feeling intensifies and her throat feels like it might close up when she realises she's being lied to.
Dilara doesn’t give up on texting and calling him, though. Out of the other members, she calls Namjoon first, hoping that as leader, he’ll have the decency to at least tell her to her face what she's secretly dreading.
But he doesn’t answer. Neither does Yoongi, whom she has to muster up a certain amount of courage to call, nor does Jungkook, the closest friend she had in the group, and neither does Jimin, who she knows for sure is the one person who knows what’s truly going on.
Dilara's mind goes back to the night of the VMAs when they’d all sat her down to try and talk her into this relationship. It was the only time she'd ever felt intimidated by them - them and the unsettling realisation that they were Taehyung’s brothers first and her friends and acquaintances much, much after that. They had Taehyung’s back as they helped him get her, and here they are again, having his back and helping him break her.
Dilara holds off on calling anyone else until she's in Australia, ready to wait a little longer because surely, surely Taehyung would wish her luck before the first race of the season. He would text or apologise or even just tell her to drive safe. He wouldn’t miss this.
But Thursday passes and so does Friday. Finally on Saturday evening, less than twenty-four hours before the race, she's sick to her stomach about what this means. She borrows Lexie’s phone when they're in the paddock after PR and calls Jimin, knowing he doesn’t have her number saved. When he answers, Dilara feels a simultaneous pang of relief and disappointment.
“Yeoboseyo?” Jimin’s voice, one she hasn’t heard outside of videos in months, sounds like it’s usual upbeat, tinkly self.
For a moment, Dilara can’t speak. When he repeats his greeting, sounding slightly confused now, she finally clears her throat. “Jimin?” There’s silence on the other end and in a rare moment of desperation, she hurries her next words. “It's Dilara. Please don’t hang up.”
“Dilara…” He says slowly, doubtfully. In her head, his eyes dart to someone near him, maybe Jungkook or Hoseok, or maybe even Taehyung himself.
“Jimin, is -” Her voice breaks for a moment and she doesn’t know whether it’s because she's finally talking to one of them or because she's so afraid to hear what he has to say. “Is he okay? Is Tae okay?”
“He’s - he’s fine. He’s fine,” repeats Jimin, sounding uncomfortable but certain. “He’s just -”
“Don’t say he’s busy. Don’t lie to me, Jimin.”
He sighs, and she feels a fleeting stab of pity for him. “He’s… Dilara, he -”
Dilara squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the tears threatening to spill out. “Jimin, please.” She hates how her voice sounds, how small and weak it is. “Please tell me what’s wrong. He wouldn’t do this unless something was wrong, or…” She swallows. “Please. Did I do something? What did I do?"
There’s a shaky intake of breath at the other end of the phone. “Dilara, I’m - I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be talking about this with me, you should -”
“He won’t answer me!” she exclaims, slamming the wall of the enclosure next to her. A few people walking past jump. “I’m sorry, I’m - I’m sorry, I just -”
“No, don’t… don’t apologise.” His voice sounds tight and she's suddenly so, so angry at Taehyung for doing this to him because she's sure as hell that this is his doing. "He's - he's just… busy," he says finally, sounding defeated.
Dilara's heart sinks. She's so tired and so disappointed that she doesn’t even think she can cry right now. "Right." She clears her throat, knowing she's not going to get anything out of him. With an awful finality of a chapter closing, she exhales. "Goodbye, Jimin."
She does everything she can to not think about this the rest of the night. She feels a headache coming on after dinner so she knocks back a couple of Aspirin and crashes. The next morning, the day of the race, she's in her zone as best as she can be, even as a small, hurting part of her waits and waits for Taehyung, Jungkook, any of the members to wish her luck.
By the time the drivers’ parade ends, she wants to kick herself for hoping. By the time she gets strapped into the car, her head is hurting trying to focus on the race and ignoring the humiliation at being ghosted by a guy she was stupid enough to trust in a year.
Dilara's performance is abysmal. She has a bad start from P7, dropping to P11 and staying behind Jehan Daruvala’s Alpha Tauri for half the race. She manages to finish in P8 only due to the team’s pit stop strategy and a lucky safety car, while Max cruises away to take P1, successfully beginning his campaign to contend for world champion.
The only silver lining is that not a soul is paying attention to her today; she finishes her press interviews in a daze, congratulates Max, apologises to Christian and Helmut, and fucks off out of the paddock as fast as possible. She skims through her WhatsApp on the way to the airport, opening none of the messages she's received, a dull ache in her chest at the heartbreaking yet expected absence of the only one she wants to see.
Lexie knows broadly by now what’s wrong. Dilara hasn't openly confided in her but she’s been with her for nearly a week now; Lexie knows, Dilara knows, and they both know the other knows. But Lexie also knows Dilara doesn't want to talk about it - not right now, anyway. Even before Dilara leaves the paddock, she catches her on the way and offers to come with.
“It’s just a week,” she says, big dark eyes holding concern. “And it’s Chris.” She pretends to gag.
It’s literally the only thing that can make Dilara crack the smallest of smiles, no matter how hollow. “Don’t play with me. Go get your guy.”
“Ugh, there is no way,” she mutters, shuddering. “It’s just a trip. And you’re welcome to join, by the way,” she adds, voice suddenly softer. “It’ll be like Yellowstone again.” The sun sets behind Lexie, making it look like a halo behind her.
“I would be a worse third wheel than usual. Okay, fine, not a third wheel,” she amends quickly, rolling her eyes. “But… I just need to be alone for a bit.”
Lexie bites her lip. “It’s just one race, you know. Bahrain will be better.”
Dilara nods, feeling her face twist and her stomach churning at the thought of today’s race. “I know.”
There’s a pause. “And… he’ll call.” This time, Lexie doesn’t sound so sure.
Dilara looks away, absently watching the pink sky over Albert Park. “I’m not holding my breath,” she mutters. “But don’t worry about me. You and Chris have fun, okay? Get laid and give me all the details. Actually, don’t.”
Lexie nods, giving her a small smile, clearly not fooled by her pathetic attempt at humour. Dilara means what she says to her, though; Lexie's always wanted to see Australia and after a carefully coded conversation where Chris also randomly brought up wanting to stay for a few days, both of them decided to stay back. Dilara tries not to feel too resentful, especially when her mind brings up stolen moments from Suzuka and Monterey and Ischia, resisting the urge to warn Lexie to not get in too deep.
The flight back to London isn’t a good one. The first leg of the flight to her layover in Singapore is a nightmare in itself, where she wakes up from a short and uncomfortable nap, suddenly overcome with an intense desire to know what’s wrong, immediately. Her phone is switched off so she requests for a pen and a pad of paper, proceeding to draw an entire timeline of her relationship with Taehyung, beginning from the day they officially got together in Austin.
It gets progressively worse, reliving every moment they spent together. His voice, his smile, his touch, his laugh, his scent - everything comes up to the forefront of her mind and by the time the plane approaches Singapore, she has a terrible headache.
Dilara doesn’t check her phone again until she's in her hotel room for the night. She's too exhausted to even remember until she gets an email notification from Red Bull PR. To no surprise of hers, there isn’t a single message from Taehyung or the others. She orders a plate of spaghetti, intending to polish the whole thing off but her stomach feels so queasy and she feels like she could break down at any moment, so all she manages is a few bites before she crawls into bed and falls asleep.
The second leg to London isn’t much better. Dilara doesn’t have a headache anymore, but all it means is that she's unable to stop overthinking her relationship. At this point, it’s not unreasonable to assume that she's being dumped. It’s brutal and horrendously dickish, which is the only reason she's putting it at the bottom of the list of things that could be wrong. She wants to believe he is busy. She wants to believe that this is what it’s like to date a member of BTS. She wants to text Kaya, Namjoon's girl, and ask her if this is how it is.
When Dilara finally lands in London, she doesn't check her phone again until she's in the cab. She only opens her phone to get her Uber OTP, but something in the notification tray catches her eye and she clicks it, especially when she realises it’s a message from Lexie. She's honestly not in the mood to see landscape pictures of Melbourne, but the last message simply says I can be on the next plane to London. Just say the word.
Dilara frowns. The timestamp indicates that it was sent less than an hour into her flight from Singapore… so twelve hours ago, approximately. Her thumb hovers over the chat, and she's suddenly so afraid to open it. She has to, though. Sitting at the back of the air conditioned cab, she opens it to see a link, followed by her message.
Somehow, when the link opens, Dilara's heart doesn’t thud and her eyes don’t start watering. It feels like she's numb, like the pictures of Taehyung and this female idol are all she was waiting for to confirm what she probably knew all along.
There are two pictures; one of them ducking into the same car together and the second, more voyeuristic, of their fingers intertwined in front of them as they talk, standing face to face. It’s taken through a window and they aren’t quite smiling at each other - it’s more like they’re mid-conversation, but it’s one hundred percent him.
As though she's hypnotized, Dilara scans the rest of the article. It’s by Dispatch; she should take it with a pinch of salt, but pictures don’t lie, not with everything else that's happened. The text tells her the girl is Jennie… Dilara knows the name vaguely, knows the group. From what she can tell, she looks like every other female idol: tall, impossibly skinny, with shiny hair and doe eyes. They’ve been spotted at a recording studio and the pictures apparently date back to over a week, but the news outlet wanted to “confirm” before breaking the news that they’re together.
The article sounds like trash, like something Daily Mail would put out. But Dilara knows from the moment she reads the first word that it’s true. The article also mentions Big Hit: Big Hit representatives have denied their relationship, citing that they are nothing more than good friends. Given that Taehyung’s never so much as mentioned this girl to her before, combined with everything that’s happened over the last week, she has no trouble believing that Big Hit is bullshitting.
Dilara is back home before she realises she hasn’t responded to Lexie. Don’t bother, is all she says to her friend. Standing in her living room, her fingers itch to do the only thing she has left to do.
She stares at the door to her room, left slightly ajar. She's still waiting for the tears or something, but the exhaustion has taken over again, now coupled with determination. She leans forward, hands on her knees, and tries to steady her breathing at the thought of this short-lived relationship coming to an end. There’s a vague feeling of sadness somewhere deep down that she knows will erupt later on. She closes her eyes when she feels something brush against her chest.
It’s the ring. Dilara closes her fist around it, remembering reluctantly how Taehyung had tugged on it playfully when he’d asked her out on a date for the first time. The only time. Looping her finger through it, she feels the sign of a prickle at the back of her eyes. I love you, Lara. He’d meant that… hadn’t he? Whatever happened since, whatever’s happening now, he still loved her… she thinks.
Dilara straightens up and stares at her phone, her thumb moving in slow motion to bring up his name in her recently dialled numbers. She clicks on it and brings the phone to her ear, not even sure she wants him to answer. When he doesn’t after ten rings and the call goes to voicemail, her eyes are dry once more. There’s renewed strength in her legs again; she strides over to her bedroom and retrieves an empty Amazon carton from under the bed that her new coffee maker had come in, and places it open on the bed.
One by one, she places his belongings into it. His black hoodie, neatly folded; his black CELINE t-shirt; a dreamcatcher he’d found in Ischia; a stuffed Octopus plushie he’d bought her in Monterey; a beautiful pink silk scarf he’d sent her for Christmas; a faded copy of Gone With The Wind, the novel that had helped him the most with his English, with notes in pencil scribbled all along the margins that he’d lent to her after she'd admitted she'd never read it, a small bottle of Eau de sauvage, another t-shirt and a couple more of his belongings.
She even adds the four thousand dollar Gucci jacket he'd bought her for her birthday; even though it's hers in every way, she needs to cleanse herself of everything that has anything to do with him. Apart from that, she has a stack of polaroids, mostly from their summer in California last year, a couple of days in Austin, and at least twenty from their trip to Italy.
Dilara pauses here, wondering what would happen if these were to fall into the wrong hands. Some of the pictures are of him or the boys, and some with her and the boys. It’s public knowledge now that they know each other but there’s a few reasonably intimate pictures as well.
She briefly reconsiders, but when she flips through them to see the first one he ever took of them, right after their first date in Monterey where they kissed atop a rock overlooking the grey ocean, she unzips the pocket of the hoodie she's returning and stuffs the photos in there, grimly hoping for the best.
At the last minute, she undoes the thin silver chain around her neck and drops the ring in the box, staring at it for a few seconds where it shines dimly on top of the silk scarf. She feels lighter, somehow, but not in a good way. She's empty, as though she's already exhausted all the emotions she's capable of in this situation. Vaguely, she wonders if she's single now, if this marks the moment her relationship came to an end, or if she's been single for a while now but has only just found out.
The thought is too humiliating to entertain so she busies herself looking for tape and scissors, sealing the box as securely as she can. She scribbles his name on top, hoping it doesn’t look too suspicious. Kim Taehyung. She pauses for a moment before deciding to mail it straight to their dorm.
In another five minutes, she's in her car, the cardboard box sitting in the trunk, the last physical remnants of her memories with Taehyung. At the post office, the lady at the counter asks her if the contents are fragile, holding a sticker saying the same in one hand.
“Um…” Dilara licks her lips. “Yeah. I want it to reach in one piece.”
She nods and sticks the tape on the box, smoothing it out with a manicured finger. “What would you classify the contents as?”
Dilara shrugs, suddenly tired again. “Just… stuff I don’t need anymore. Clothes and stuff,” she adds when the lady looks at her questioningly.
She frowns and Dilara knows it’s because none of those are fragile, per se, but she doesn’t argue. When she exits the building, she stops in front of her car and takes out her phone. Systematically, she blocks seven phone numbers, an Instagram account, a Twitter account, and multiple hashtags on both apps. She exits a WhatsApp group and changes her lockscreen. With a slightly heavy heart, she deletes nearly a hundred pictures and over twenty videos from her Gallery. She frowns, wondering if she's forgetting anything. After a moment, she logs onto her Spotify and deletes a playlist.
Just when she climbs into her car, her phone rings.
“Dilara Komyshan?” The voice sounds familiar.
“This is she,” she answers, strapping her seatbelt on.
“I’m calling from the London Post Office,” comes the voice of the woman at the counter. “Miss, the label on your package doesn’t include your name. Would you like me to add it for you?”
This, Dilara doesn’t need to think about. “No, that’s alright. They’ll know who it’s from.”
“Alright. Anything else you’d like me to add?”
“Nothing at all. I’m done.”
~
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