Eternally Parallel | WheeTae x TaeIn Drabbles

In Time

A/N. A moment in reality in which a fantasy is indulged. Set during the final stage of the KBS Song Festival 2019, where all of the idols sing "The Earth Traveller" together. The Mamamoo/BTS Inkigayo emceeing event happened in 2016.

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Wheein carefully stepped around the crack in the stage floor as she made her way to stand next to Yongsun-unnie. She shuffled a little to the right and felt Hyejin's arm brush against the fabric of her jacket. 

She fiddled with the mic in her hand. This was going to be her least favorite part of the day. 

Wheein steeled her eyes forward - resisting the urge to let them dart across the stage or behind her at the rest of the idol group attendees. There was a buzz of excitement in the air. Idol groups greeted each other and shuffled in awkwardly. 

Tonight, she would be singing a short snippet of "The Earth Traveller" with some kid from a new boy group. She could feel them hovering behind her. Wheein closed her eyes and exhaled. She prayed rumors wouldn't arise by tomorrow morning as they were prone to. 

Screams erupted from the audience and Wheein's eyes fluttered open. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as BTS took their place next to them. Yongsun-unnie tugged on Byulyi-unnie's jacket and the four of them shifted over the make room for the famous band.

Wheein swallowed, chewed on her lip, and gripped her mic hard as she felt her palms begin to sweat. Being next to such fame made her nervous. Being on a stage with this many idols made her nervous. Being at the front made her nervous. 

For a fleeting moment her eyes darted right and she caught a glimpse of BTS. They had grown well into their stardom. Even just standing next to them, Wheein could feel their quiet confidence that contrasted deeply with the nervous energy buried deep into the rhythm of her heart. 

Then, her eyes drifted over the top of a curly mop of hair.

Oh. Him. 

Despite herself, her lips quirked upwards a little. Flashes of emceeing for Mamamoo's second anniversary with him and J-Hope sunbaenim came to her in snapshots of color - red, black, and white and short bursts of laughter.

He had been nice. A little goofy. A little awkward. Just a little bit immature. But nice. Gentlemanly. Now as she looked at him again, I mean, really looked. She saw the jaded look in his eyes. The years had had their way with him. His eyes looked harder. More serious. He was certainly handsomer but Wheein wasn't paying attention to that. 

She knew that look in his eyes. She recognized that same dullness. The same sheen over his eyes that screamed of exhaustion and the desire for freedom.

Over the years in videos and pictures that she had swiped past in her feed, she'd picked up bits and pieces of who he was and what he liked. They shared a love for art. They had the same taste in fashion. They were the same age.

But really. She didn't know him. 

Yet, he seemed nice.

Just.

Nice.

Then VCR started and the buzz died down. Soon after, the music of "The Earth Traveler" began to play and Wheein forgot all about the boy who had turned into a man.

___

It was finally over. Tae was grateful that he hadn't been asked to do a solo part in the song. Their performance for the night had already taken its toll on him. Silently, h thanked the other vocalists and prepared himself to turn and exit the stage.

"Taehyung-ah, other way."

He mumbled sheepishly at Jimin and spun to the left.

Coincidentally his eyes met another pair over the top of Namjoon-hyung's head. They were dull - yet they sparkled prettily. He blinked and shifted his eyes down. 

Mamamoo's Wheein. He remembered her from their emceeing stint on Inkigayo. She was bright. Her laughter infectious. Her humor not unlike his. And he'd heard her sing. I mean. Who hadn't? But he liked her voice especially so.

She looked different now. Her eyes had lost their vibrant twinkle. Her face had lost its beaming smile. She looked worn.

At that moment as he reminisced with his eyes glued to the back of Jin-hyung's shoes, he felt a deep connection to her.

"I'm tired too." He murmured.

She would understand.

To be frank he knew very little about her. He knew she was a great singer. He knew she was a great performer. He knew she loved music. And he knew that she was close to her members. That was about as much as he could glean from music shows, award shows, and idol news.

But as he caught her eyes again, he let them linger a little longer. There was something about them. The glint in her eyes. The shape of them. The stillness. The intensity.

Pretty, he thought absentmindedly.

...

Then their eyes met.

In the blink of an eye, in the span of a second, she saw a future. Sunlit and warm. A canvas sat at the edge of a bed. A half-finished painting. A replica of Van Gogh's Farmhouse in Provence was hung up on the wall above the bed. 

The soft yellow curtains fluttered lightly in the balmy summer breeze. Sunlight stretched across her face as she stirred. Her forehead crinkled. She wasn't wearing any make up.

His jawline is sharp, she notes as she looks up at him - his figure casting a shadow over her.

She opens her eyes and smiles. She is blinded by the sunlight that casts a golden glow on his hair.

"Good morning," he murmurs. He is unaware of the soft smile that stretches across his own face.

She doesn't have anything to say in return, so she reaches up and pecks him softly on the lips - just enough to savour the feel of them. Then she closes her eyes and allows the peaceful waves of her favorite time of day to wash over her.

She doesn't have to look at him to know that his smile has widened into its signature boxy beam. The one that his fans used to coo over. She feels him bury his face in her hair at her neck. It is its natural dark brown color. The stench of bleach hasn't touched it in years. She runs her fingers through his hair - still dry and damaged from his career. 

It's gotten a little long. She thinks.

She feels him inhale. She feels his arms creep around her waist. She feels the softness of the pillow below her. 

"Pull the blanket over," she whispers. He says nothing and complies. The vanilla-colored sheet floats gently to rest on top of their entwined bodies and they are shielded from the bright morning sun.

He glances at the foot of the bed. "Are you ever going to finish that?"

She knows what he's referring to. The nerve. "Maybe I would if someone let me get out of bed every now and then."

"Not a chance in hell." His answer comes too quickly

Her heart skips a beat.

He can hear the laughter in her voice. "I know."

___

He sees it all reflected in her eyes.

The sunlight. The painting. His smile. Her hands. His arms. Her eyes. Her hair. Her laugh.

Then, he hears the avid screams of the crowd. Screams for him. Screams for her. 

He is awoken from his fantasy. And he remembers.

And he knows when she looks away, a frown marring her forehead: that they both know. That that future can only ever exist in their heads.

He hadn't fallen for her.

She wasn't in love with him.

But for a split second, they saw what could have been.