it was a big world (but we thought we were bigger) | 01
part 1: when we met
pairing/characters: kim taehyung x jeon jeongguk
summary: at the age of five, jeongguk wanted to hate taehyung. at the age of sixteen, jeongguk wanted to kiss taehyung. at the age of eighteen, jeongguk really didn’t know what he wanted.
the story of two childhood friends slowly inching towards each other.
a/n: 1/2 of the babysitting prompt from btswriters bingo! kudos and/or reviews would be greatly appreciated! :D
If there was anything Jeongguk hated more than being five, it would be being treated like he was five. Sure, he wasn’t completely knowledgeable of how to literally put two and two together (math was never his forte) or how babies came out of their moms, but he was toilet-trained (he could tell his mom when he needed to pee) and he most definitely did not need a babysitter, especially not Kim Taehyung from next door who was only two years older than him.
“Be a good boy for Taetae okay, Jeongguk.” His mother had ruffled his mess of brown locks before the door clicked close and she was gone.
He was five.
He had a babysitter.
His babysitter was seven.
The anger boiled inside of his small frame as his hands balled into fists. He whirled around, ready to scream bloody murder to get his mother to come back until he saw Taehyung’s bright smile. His white teeth glowed like the Jeongguk’s favorite dinosaur bedside lamp. His eyes like the crescent moons he sought for when he couldn’t sleep at night. For a second, Jeongguk was mesmerized that this older boy was so much more beautiful, more ethereal. Taehyung looked like he came from another planet altogether. While Jeongguk was all fluff and chubby cheeks, Taehyung had grown up slightly skinnier with the prettiest of smiles.
But the tingling warmth was short-lived as Taehyung’s teasing grin pulled him out of his reverie, reminding him once again that Taehyung was also just a brat. “I’m older than you, Gukkie, so I get to boss you around!”
He crossed his arms. Not defensively. It wasn’t a conversation worth that kind of righteous indignation, of course. “I knew him!“ And at her look, he amended, “Okay, I met him. Frank Sinatra was a werewolf. He talked to those dogs.”
The skepticism her eyes held quickly dissipated, replaced by childlike gleam. “This conversation has officially taken a right turn at Creepy Boulevard and sailed on down to No Way Lane.” You can hear the smile in her voice, small hands planted firmly on her hips. “I mean, what did he even say to them? ‘Wooof-Wooof, let’s go pee on some trees’?”