reheatedcoffee

Denting piano tak berhenti mengalun, bahkan setelah suara merdu Arsa tak lagi mengalir. Diperhatikan olehnya jemari yang tengah menari, tangan besar dan kokoh yang dengan lembut merajut nada hingga menjadi melodi. Mata sang pianis setengah terpejam, bagai tersihir oleh permainannya sendiri. Arsa pun ikut terhanyut, kepalanya mengayun seiring irama. Jelas-jelas Gian sedang merendah saat ia bilang hanya bisa bermain sedikit.

“Ini lagu apa, Gi?” tanya Arsa.

Jemari Gian mematung. Alunan musik pun seketika berhenti. “Ga tau,” ujarnya sembari terkekeh kecil. Arsa menatapnya dengan heran.

“Lo bisa mainnya, tapi ga tau lagunya?”

Gian mengedikkan bahu. “Refleks aja.”

Perlahan, sorot mata Arsa berubah. “Jangan-jangan... itu lagu buatan lo sendiri??”

Lagi-lagi Gian tertawa, menggelengkan kepalanya. “Engga lah. I must have heard it somewhere terus kebayang-bayang sampe sekarang. Gue ga sejago itu, gila.”

Arsa cemberut, seolah tak puas dengan jawaban sang pianis.

“Kok lo kayak ga percaya gitu sih sama gue?” goda Gian.

“Ya kemaren aja lo bilangnya cuma bisa maen yī diǎndiǎn, eh ternyata jago banget, kayak udah latihan belasan tahun. Mana tau lo boong lagi,” tuduh Arsa.

Alih-alih membela diri, Gian mengalihkan pandangannya kembali ke tuts piano, raut mukanya seketika memuram.

“Sa,” ucapnya lirih, “lo pernah jatuh cinta?”

Kedua alis Arsa bertaut, bingung. Tiba-tiba banget? Dengan mudahnya ia menjawab, “Engga.”

Gian tersenyum masam. “Gue pernah.”

Arsa tertegun, tak tahu harus berkata apa. Semenit yang lalu mereka masih baik-baik saja, mengobrol diselingi tawa. Entah apa yang terlintas di benak Gian. Arsa tak berani bertanya.

“Ini...” Tangan Gian merambahi pinggiran kayu cokelat yang terpoles sempurna, berdiri kokoh di ujung ruangan kecil itu. Ujung bibirnya berkedut, pandangannya nanar. Suaranya gemetar kala ia mengucap, “Ini cinta pertama gue.”

Hening. Menarik nafas pun rasanya sulit. Arsa membiarkan Gian memegang kendali.

“Dulu gue disuruh les piano,” ujar Gian tiba-tiba, memecah keheningan. “Biasa, middle-class Chinese thing.“

Yah, Arsa tidak mungkin tahu rasanya.

“The moment I laid my eyes on that brown piano, gue jatuh cinta. Suaranya merdu banget, sampe gue ngerajuk ke ortu gue minta beliin.”

“Terus, dikasih?”

Gian mengangguk. “Nyokap gue seneng gue jadi rajin latihan. Tiap pulang sekolah gue lari naik tangga, main piano sampe maghrib. Kadang malah suka dimarahin karena belom ganti baju,” akunya.

“Berarti lo beneran udah latihan belasan tahun, dong?”

Gian menggeleng pelan. “Ga lama setelah itu, gue disuruh udahan.”

Sontak Arsa bertanya, “Kenapa?”

“It became an obsession,” terang Gian. “Dari yang latihan satu jam sehari jadi dua, dua jadi empat, empat jadi delapan. Before I knew it, hidup gue cuma diisi main piano. Belajar engga, makan engga, tidur engga. Gue latihan sampe jari gue kaku-kaku. Berdarah, bahkan. Bokap gue marah. Pianonya dijual. End of story.”

Begitu banyak pertanyaan berkelebat di benak Arsa, namun tak satupun terucap. Siapa sangka di dasar air yang tenang tersimpan sebuah kenangan pahit? Baru kali ini ia mendengar jari berdarah karena piano. Gimana caranya?

Rasanya Arsa masih belum bisa percaya Gian baru saja bercerita luka masa kecilnya, membuka celah bagi pertemanan mereka. Hati Arsa melambung, terharu. Lidahnya menebal, mulutnya penuh dengan berbagai rasa yang ingin ia ungkapkan.

Gini toh, rasanya punya temen.

“Gi–”

“Lo laper ga Sa?” tukas Gian, tak menghiraukan panggilan Arsa. Senyumnya telah kembali, meskipun terasa lebih berat dari biasanya. Dengan segera ia berdiri, menyelempangkan tasnya di bahu. “Makan, yuk. Gue lagi BM kwetiau, nih.”

“Eh?” Ezra menatap temannya dengan heran, menelan kerupuk yang baru saja dikunyahnya dengan segera. “Udah mau balik lo? Katanya mau pesen bungkus?”

Raihan yang tiba-tiba beranjak dari kursinya merogoh dompetnya, meletakkan selembar uang dua puluh ribuan di atas meja. “Iya nih, ga jadi. Udah harus jemput Arsa,” senyumnya tipis.

“Sekarang banget?”

“Ho oh, very now.,” ujar Raihan. “Titip ya. Kembaliannya simpen aja.”

“Babi,” celetuk Ezra sambil terkekeh. “Buat parkir juga kaga cukup.”

Raihan tidak menghiraukan candaan temannya. Dengan kecepatan penuh, ia membawa motornya menembus gelapnya malam. Deru angin dan adrenalin saling berpacu di telinganya, mendorongnya untuk melaju semakin kencang. Beruntung jam pulang kerja sudah berlalu, hanya sisa segelintir kendaraan yang masih melintasi jalan yang biasa ia lewati.

Begitu memasuki pasar, Raihan membuka kembali peta yang dikirimkan adiknya. Motor kesayangannya ia parkirkan di depan sebuah ruko kosong, tak terlalu jauh dari titik yang harus ia tuju. Dari kejauhan, nampak sang adik sedang tertawa di bawah naungan terpal merah.

Melihat hal itu, segenap amarah di dada Raihan mendadak padam, kegusarannya lenyap entah ke mana. Sudah begitu lama ia tidak melihat Arsa tertawa lepas. Sejenak, Raihan lupa alasan ia datang kemari.

Namun kemudian matanya menangkap sosok lelaki yang duduk di hadapan Arsa, dan amarahnya bangkit kembali. Dengan langkah pasti ia mendekati meja dua orang tersebut dan menepuk pundak adiknya dari belakang.

“Sa,” panggil Raihan pelan. “Ayo pulang.”

Sengaja ia tidak menggubris keberadaan pria di ujung lain meja, namun Raihan dapat merasakan sorot matanya yang tajam, menatapnya dengan was-was. Yah, jelas saja. Mungkin di benaknya, Raihan hanyalah orang asing yang patut dicurigai.

“Loh, mas?” Arsa menoleh, meletakkan kembali gelas teh yang tengah di minumnya. “Ngapain jemput, to? Kan aku udah bilang nanti temenku yang anter.”

Menyadari identitas Raihan, pandangannya melembut. Gian kalau tidak salah namanya. (Tidak mungkin salah. Bukan sekali dua kali ini Raihan mendengar namanya.)

“Jangan. Ngerepotin orang,” ujar Raihan. “Lagian udah malem. Mau balik jam berapa?”

Dengan cemberut, Arsa menurut. Ia berdiri sembari meminta maaf pada Gian karena harus pulang lebih dulu. Gian hanya tersenyum. “Gapapa, Sa. Thanks ya, udah nemenin gue makan.”

Arsa melambaikan tangannya sembari berjalan keluar dari tenda menuju motor sang kakak. Raihan mengekor, namun matanya masih mencuri pandang ke arah lelaki berambut pirang di sampingnya.

“Sorry ya, bro,” ucap Gian, menahan langkah Raihan. “Gue kira Arsa emang biasa pulang agak malem. Ini juga sebenernya udah mau balik, kok. Tinggal ngabisin minum aja.”

“Maksud lo adek gue anak ga bener?”

Gian mengerinyit, air mukanya sontak berubah. “Hah?”

Raihan tahu dirinya bersikap konyol, jauh dari kata rasional. Hanya saja lelaki di hadapannya membuatnya kesal hanya dengan perawakannya. Kedua kepal Raihan menegang di kedua sisi badannya, siap melayang kapan saja dibutuhkan. Beruntung reputasinya di kampus menahannya dari adegan baku hantam di depan umum.

“Sehat lo?” ucap Gian ketika Raihan tidak memberi penjelasan. “Perasaan gue cuma ngajak Arsa makan, bukan nyabu. Dan ini belom ada jam sembilan, btw. Kenapa lo nangkepnya gitu amat?”

“Jadi lo nyabu?”

“Ngomong apa sih anjing?” umpat Gian, setengah tertawa. “Jangan-jangan lo yang abis nyimeng, ngomong lo ngawur gitu.”

“Sembarangan,” desis Raihan.

“Nah, itu lo tau,” ujar Gian enteng, meneguk es tehnya yang tinggal setengah. “Orang ngomong apa kok lo nangkepnya apa. Suudzon aja. Udah sana, adek lo dah nungguin, tuh.”

“Awas ya lo-”

“Mas,” seru sang adik dari jauh, memotong kalimat Raihan dan ketegangan di antara mereka. Raihan menoleh, mendapati adiknya sudah berdiri manis di samping motor dengan helm terpasang. “Yuk, pulang. Nanti kemaleman.”

Gian tersenyum puas, menatap Raihan seolah mengejek. Mungkin. Mungkin saja hanya perasaan Raihan. “Gih, sana,” ujar Gian. “Gue maafin kali ini aja.”

“Arsa?”

Terkejut namanya dipanggil, Arsa menoleh ke belakang, mencari dari mana suara itu berasal. Wajah familier pria berambut pirang menyapanya dengan seulas senyum, membuat Arsa tanpa sadar ikut menaikkan ujung bibirnya.

“Sendirian aja?”

Arsa mengedikkan bahunya, tak tahu harus menjawab apa.

“Bareng aja sini, gue juga sendirian, kok.”

Ragu, Arsa menggigit bibir bawahnya, namun pria yang dikenalnya dengan sebutan Gi itu telah menggeser gelasnya, seolah menyediakan ruang untuk Arsa. Perlahan, Arsa berjalan mendekat, meletakkan tasnya di kursi di hadapan Gi.

“Gue cari makan dulu ya,” Arsa tersenyum kecil, tidak menunggu balasan Gi sebelum berbalik badan dan membaur dengan kerumunan. Jantungnya berdegup kencang, tidak menyangka akan bertemu pria itu lagi, terlebih di area kampus.

Ia masih tidak mengerti mengapa Gi begitu ramah padanya. Di benaknya, orang seperti Gi tidak selayaknya bergaul dengan orang sepertinya. Mungkin demikian pula yang dipikir oleh teman Gi yang ia jumpai kala di toko buku beberapa minggu silam.

Arsa maju ke depan barisan, memesan makanannya dengan cepat sebelum pikirannya bisa berlari semakin jauh. Pandangannya mengabur sembari menunggu pesanannya, mengingat tatapan sinis lelaki itu, seolah ingin berkata Arsa tidak pantas bahkan untuk berbicara dengan Gi. Dalam hati ia membela diri, bukan dirinya lah yang dengan sengaja memulai pembicaraan.

“Mie pangsit tanpa sawi ya kak?” suara itu membuyarkan pikiran Arsa. Seketika ia mengangguk, mengambil nampan di hadapannya dan berjalan kembali menuju meja tadi.

Dari kejauhan, rambut pirang Gi menarik perhatian. Arsa menelan ludah, menarik napas dalam-dalam berharap degup jantungnya mereda. Tidak ada alasan baginya untuk gugup.

“Mesen apa?” Gi mendongak, bibir mungilnya yang berpulas minyak sedikit terbuka.

“Mie,” ujar Arsa singkat sembari meletakkan nampannya di meja.

“Gue Gian, btw,” celetuk Gian ketika Arsa tengah membuka plastik sumpitnya. “Kayaknya kita ga pernah kenalan.”

Sekonyong-konyong Arsa menyadari sesuatu. Dahinya mengerinyit, tangannya berhenti bergerak. “Lo... tau nama gue dari mana?”

Gian mengalihkan pandangannya sambil terkekeh pelan, membasahi bibirnya. “Itu... kayaknya temen gue kenal lo? Evan William, tau ga?”

Arsa menggeleng pelan. “Gue ga kenal banyak orang.” Dan yang pasti, nama itu terdengar asing di telinganya.

“Oh?” Mata Gian terbelalak. “Gue kira... never mind. Ga penting juga,” ia mengibaskan tangannya. “Makan, makan.”

Sulit bagi Arsa untuk menelan makan siangnya ketika ia bisa merasakan pandangan Gian yang begitu lekat, mengamatinya seolah tengah berpikir. Tiap kali mata mereka bertemu, Gian selalu membuang pandang, berpura-pura sibuk dengan telepon genggamnya. Alhasil, Arsa selalu dihadapkan dengan tampak samping wajah Gian, dan tanpa sadar ia berujar pelan, “Kayak bakpao.”

“Hah?”

Wajah Arsa memanas karena malu, jantungnya lagi-lagi berdegup di telinganya. “Engga, engga,” ia menggelengkan kepalanya dengan cepat, berharap Gian tidak mendengar ucapannya tadi. Ingin rasanya ia menampar wajahnya sendiri. Mungkin inilah mengapa ia tidak punya teman.

“Lo mau bakpao?” Gian menaikkan alisnya. Arsa hampir tersedak.

“Iya kayaknya, abis ini,” kilahnya.

Gian termanggut-manggut. “Iya, gih. Makan yang banyak.”

Arsa menghela napas lega, melanjutkan makannya yang terlalu sering terhenti. Sekali-kali ia mencuri pandang, namun kali ini Gian menyibukkan diri dengan ponselnya.

“Lo selalu makan sendiri?” tanya Gian lagi. Kenapa orang ini bertanya terus? batin Arsa. Bukannya ia tidak suka, hanya saja ia tidak terbiasa. Tidak ada yang menarik yang bisa diketahui tentang dirinya. Bahkan, ia rasa orang-orang berpikir semakin sedikit mereka tahu tentang Arsa, semakin baik. Aneh.

Arsa mengangguk, mulutnya tak berhenti mengunyah.

“Next time ajak gue aja. Siapa tau gue lagi kosong juga.”

Sebelum Arsa sempat bertanya bagaimana, Gian sudah menyodorkan ponselnya, halaman kontak baru terpampang di layar.

“Nih, masukin aja nomor lo.”

#17.15 – sunday

lately, i find myself out gazing at stars

the music, albeit soft, carries through the apartment and seeps into the bedroom through the slight opening of the door. like a whisper, it coaxes taehyung out of sleep, slowly but surely.

first comes the frown, and then the grunt, a guttural sound made at the back of his throat. he takes a deep breath as he twists his waist and rolls on his back, joints cracking awake.

and then, taehyung stiffens.

something feels off. it doesn't feel quite as warm. spreading out his arms, he realizes he's missing a substantial weight that had kept him company throughout the night.

hearing guitars like someone in love

“kook?”

his voice came out scratchy, heavy with sleep. no answer. when he opens his eyes to find himself alone in the room, he groans and forces himself to roll off the bed, taking the blanket with him.

sometimes the things i do astound me

as soon as he opens the door, a pleasant smell wafts in the air. coffee, most probably, and a hint of something in the toaster. he lets it be his guide. the fabric drags across the wooden floorboard as he trudges to the kitchen where the music is the loudest.

“morning, sleepyhead.”

mostly whenever you're around me

taehyung blinks, bleary eyes coming into focus as he takes in the sight before him. jungkook is pouring milk into his coffee, half of his hair up in a bun and skin bare from the waist up despite the chilly winter morning. not that he had worn a shirt to bed either, but at least they had been under a blanket.

“what are you doing?”

“what does it look like i'm doing?”

“not kissing me awake, that's for sure.”

jungkook chuckles, setting down the carton of milk and walks around the counter to kiss the pout off of taehyung's lips. “better?”

taehyung hums in response.

lately i seem to walk as though i had wings

“here,” he wraps the blanket around jungkook's shoulder. “aren't you cold?”

jungkook shakes his head, snaking an arm around taehyung's waist and pulling him closer. “warm.”

taehyung rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest. jungkook's chest is firm, yet so soft to touch. his favorite pillow at night. he rests his head on the crook of jungkook's neck and inhales deeply, feeling his muscles relaxing at the familiar sweet cotton scent.

this is where he belongs. the only place where he fits perfectly. all his ridges and chipped corners, jungkook hugs them just right.

bump into things like someone in love

“you hungry?” jungkook pulls away, eliciting a noise of protest from the other man. “i made breakfast.”

“toast?”

“with eggs and sausages.”

taehyung snorts. “how british.”

the laughter jungkook lets out is a mere vibration trapped between their chests, but taehyung drinks it in like he's deprived. he rests his hands on jungkook's shoulders and starts swaying gently to the rhythm, left and right, left and right.

each time i look at you, i'm limp as a glove

“what?” jungkook cocks his brow, the corner of his lips tugging up.

taehyung shakes his head, but a smile keeps threatening to break out. “still feels like a dream.”

“being on a three-month-long break?”

“having this much time just with you.” taehyung's gaze wanders off as he whispers like a secret, “kinda wanna stay here forever.” if only he could stop time. frame this moment. forget about the world and be in love.

if only if only if only if.

soft, warm lips meet taehyung's forehead, keeping him still for a beat or two. “hey,” jungkook murmurs against taehyung's skin. “we'll still have sundays.”

taehyung hums, swaying again to keep his restless feet occupied. his finger starts to idly trace the ink on jungkook's shoulder, down to his elbow.

it's not quite enough. seven days in a week and they can only afford one. how much harder do they have to work until they can have all seven? how much longer do they have to hide in the shadows? sometimes he just wants to risk it all and kiss jungkook in front of millions. sometimes. all the time.

but that would be selfish.

“yeah.” he holds on to jungkook tighter.

feeling like someone in love

“sundays will always be ours.”

—

time moves slower on sundays. it's as if the sun knows there are two lovers who can only have each other for those twenty four hours.

they take a long, warm bath after breakfast. the water is tinted pink from the bath bomb, kurt elling's where love is from taehyung's vinyl playing in the background.

jungkook's back is pressed against taehyung's chest, legs between the elder's. every now and then he'd blow a bubble, eyes wide with wonder. and taehyung's-

taehyung's are on him. always on him. watching the younger's every move fondly, etching them to memory.

they laze in bed for the rest of the afternoon. taehyung's head on jungkook's chest and his hand on jungkook's arm, finger tracing the lines and curves of the dark ink. a grounding habit.

“when are you gonna get a new one?”

“hm?” jungkook strains his neck to see the spot taehyung is pointing at. “sometime before the concert, maybe. why?”

“wanna come with.”

jungkook chuckles. “'course. you don't have to ask every time.”

their eyes meet. they have been stealing kisses here and there all day long but this time, when taehyung leans in, it doesn't end with just a peck. he takes his time with jungkook's lips, taking it between his teeth and tugging it gently, sucking it until the younger writhes beneath him, begging for more.

taehyung runs his tongue along the seam of jungkook's lips, asking for entrance. jungkook lets him. lets him take, take, take, hands roaming down the expanse of taehyung's back.

“off, off.”

taehyung smirks, eyes lidded. “impatient little thing.”

they make love to forever isn't long enough. slow, languid, as if they have all the time in the world. the sound of skin against skin and sighs of pleasure reverberate around the room, spurring them closer to the edge.

when they reach their peak, it's quiet. taehyung holds his breath watching jungkook's back arch and his eyebrows pulled taut, mouth wide open as he lets out a silent moan. his arms tighten around jungkook's waist, holding him close until his body goes limp.

they're always especially clingy after sex, refusing to let go of each other even though they're sticky and disgusting. the farthest taehyung could go before jungkook pulls him back is to get a tissue to wipe the cum off his stomach.

“it's rumbling,” taehyung points out.

“what time is it?”

taehyung glances at the clock on the wall. “almost three.”

“yeah, no wonder,” jungkook chuckles. “way past lunchtime.”

“don't know about you, but i've had my meal.”

jungkook hits taehyung's arm playfully and gets up, propping himself on his elbows. “i'm ordering in. you want anything?”

“mm, you.”

another slap on taehyung's arm.

“kalguksu.”

they watch an episode of jujutsu kaisen while they wait. taehyung splays himself on the couch, head resting comfortably on jungkook's thigh. they've lost the plot long ago, but it's still fun to watch. especially with jungkook's idle hands threading through his hair, nails occasionally grazing his scalp.

lunch is quick, mainly because they're impatient to get back to bed. as always, they leave the dishes in the sink for later. later, when sunday is over.

“i wrote another song,” taehyung says in the middle of braiding jungkook's hair. outside, the sky has turned a vibrant orange, the sun swimming closer to the horizon.

“yeah?” jungkook says softly. “would you sing it for me?”

taehyung starts humming the melody he's been toying with for the past couple of days.

you remind me of the sky of all the beautiful things and all the reasons why my heart keeps beating

jungkook closes his eyes, body swaying ever so slightly, careful so taehyung wouldn't lose his hold on his hair. the sun dips below the horizon, the evening bleeding into the night. soon, sunday will come to an end. thank goodness they have until march. taehyung continues singing.

sundays will always be ours and i will always be yours.

“nice song,” jungkook says when taehyung has stopped humming. “who is it about?”

“oh, you know, just some guy i met a decade ago.”

“some guy, huh?” jungkook quirks his brow playfully. “i don't know, he sounds quite special considering you wrote a whole song about him.”

“i've written him a lot more, actually.”

“yeah? sounds to me like you're a little in love with him, then.”

taehyung gulps, his chest warming up the way it always does every time someone asks him about jungkook. “head over heels. i can't imagine not being in love with him.”

“an amazing guy, i suppose?”

“the best.”

“you think he loves you, too?”

“i have an inkling he loves me more,” taehyung teases.

jungkook turns around, the braid forgotten. the solemn look in his eyes compels taehyung to hold his breath. “he does.”

taehyung smiles from ear to ear, tucking a strand of hair behind jungkook's ear. “then i'm glad,” he whispers before cupping the younger's face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.

sundays will always be ours and i will always be yours.

sometimes yoongi wonders if this is how it's always going to be.

they're either fucking or fighting, shouting at each other's faces or ignoring each other. either way it's a constant war and yoongi is just— tired.

so fucking tired.

there was a time when his world revolved around jimin, when he was twenty and the only thing he had to worry about was passing his classes and keeping jimin happy. in hindsight, maybe that's why jimin had spared him a glance despite his endless suitors. maybe that's why jimin had stayed.

yoongi had time, and when he didn't, he made some. for jimin. all for jimin. he doesn't have much now. wonders why jimin wouldn't make some for him.

where are you? he stares at the text he'd sent two hours ago. still no answer. yoongi tosses himself onto the bed and lets his phone roll off his hand like some useless contraption before he could succumb to the urge to send another message.

he reminds himself it wouldn't end well. jimin doesn't like being restrained. he calls it being put on a leash; yoongi calls it being in a relationship.

it's why they'd broken up the first time. jimin values his freedom more than anything. yoongi didn't peg himself for the jealous type but something about seeing other eyes on jimin makes him seethe. makes him go silent for days on end without telling jimin why. a fucking mess of a relationship they were in.

but they were twenty then. young and foolish and maybe a little too hot-blooded. they're hitting twenty six now. yoongi's lost that temper. jimin values his freedom a little less, more willing to compromise. they had some time apart and yoongi swears he knew they'd last this time.

they'd learned how to tread on thin ice. and whenever it feels like it's about to break, they fuck.

i miss you, yoongi types out anyway, leaving it unsent. he can't remember how jimin tastes. can't even remember how he smells. too many nights spent alone, the other side of the bed cold. he could ask jimin to move in. that'd give them more time, but that would also mean more fights.

yoongi's too tired to fight. he's fought one too many battles when they were younger and now he's out of strength. the fire in him has burned out.

he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. if he concentrates hard enough he thinks he can still catch a whiff of jimin's shampoo on his bed sheet. pathetic.

“i miss you,” he whispers at the wall, cheek pressed against the mattress. it doesn't take long for sleep to come. in his dream, the wall whispers back.

❀

tae's in town. went out drinking left my phone at home sorry

it feels like playing a game of two truths and a lie. not exactly what yoongi wishes to be doing at six a.m. on a sunday.

he rolls on his back and rubs the sleep from his eyes. the screen brightens automatically and yoongi squints, turning down the brightness just so it wouldn't blind him. the timestamp reads 3.19 a.m. jimin most likely wouldn't be awake until noon, but yoongi replies right away anyway.

oh cool want me to come over today? watch a movie or smth

yoongi falls back asleep with his phone on his stomach. when he wakes up again, he heads straight to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

there's jimin's cup on the shelf, long since used. yoongi leans against the counter and stares at it until the machine stops whirring. dunking an ice cube into his glass, yoongi tries to recall what he used to do when jimin used to stay over during weekends. it feels like ages ago.

they'd fuck slowly in the morning until the remnants of sleep wear off. take a long, lazy shower until the water turns cold. yoongi would make them breakfast and jimin would kiss the taste of coffee off of his tongue, the news playing in the background.

yoongi gulps. tries to remember the last time his couch was occupied by two. suddenly his americano tastes unpleasantly bitter.

jimin's reply comes sometime after noon, just as yoongi had expected.

nah it's ok tae's staying over

a familiar ache spreads through yoongi's chest. the worst part is he can't do anything about it. thin ice. he doesn't want to test his luck.

ok. call me later?

yoongi tosses his phone onto the bed and goes about his day. he knows better than to wait for a reply.

❀

i think i left my white shirt at your place, yoongi texts. need it for tomorrow. got a meeting

well come get it?

the truth is yoongi doesn't need it. he has five other white shirts at home and he's had half of his clothes at jimin's place for months now, clothes he doesn't think he wants back.

they'd smell too much like jimin at this point. he's not gonna put his heart through that.

but he needs an excuse to come over. as sad as it sounds, he needs an excuse to see his boyfriend without seeming too clingy because he'd just seen him two days ago—as if that was enough. he misses jimin all the time.

the ride to jimin's apartment feels both familiar and foreign, like a distant memory he recently relived. he used to go there all the time, used to drop jimin off after dinner or in the morning and kiss him goodbye before he leaves the car. again he finds himself wondering where they went wrong and why.

(was it him? was it jimin? because it certainly isn't timing. not this time around.)

the elevator takes him to the sixth floor and yoongi punches in the passcode out of memory. when the door swings open, he finds jimin lounging on the couch, the TV nothing more than a background noise. a usual sight.

“oh, you're here.”

yoongi presses a chaste kiss to the top of jimin's head. i've missed you. “what were you doing?”

“nothing,” jimin rolls on his side and gets up. “was waiting for you.”

“yeah?” yoongi's lips curl into a smile. he tells his heart to calm down, not letting hope bloom knowing it will only wither soon. “miss me?”

jimin hums in lieu of an answer, wrapping his arms around yoongi's waist and burying his face in yoongi's chest. “have you showered?”

“no.”

“good,” jimin says. “shower with me.”

moments of peace are rare, but they remind yoongi of why he's still doing this. why he's still choosing to stay even though the war is so fucking tiring.

jimin melts under his touch, soft sounds escaping his lips as yoongi massages his scalp. yoongi wants to stop time and frame this moment, live here forever. but five more minutes in the shower and jimin's bound to catch a cold.

yoongi steps out of the bathroom still basked in the afterglow of being in love. of being reminded by the small intimacy that he's in love. the tender smile won't go away, now a permanent fixture on his face.

he walks into jimin's room and finds the younger rummaging through his closet, already fully dressed. “your shirt,” jimin tosses the piece of clothing onto the bed. yoongi almost forgot about his excuse.

“thanks.”

“gonna get going now?”

yoongi freezes, almost too stunned to speak. “you think i came here just for this?”

jimin shrugs. “i don't know. why are you so worked up?”

yoongi's too tired. too damn tired for a fight. but he's even more tired of the war. how much longer do they have?

“i came here to see my boyfriend, actually.”

“oh.” there's a hint of surprise in jimin's voice, which makes yoongi wonder why it hadn't crossed jimin's mind. “then stay, i guess.”

“do you want me to stay?”

jimin blinks once. twice. “where did that come from?”

yoongi's never been good at words. never been good at saying them out loud. even at the peak of his disappointment, he doesn't know what to say to make jimin understand.

“do you?”

“fuck you're being weird,” jimin shakes his head, heading out to the living room. “stay if you want, leave if you don't. beer's in the fridge.”

and then it hits yoongi. it's not that jimin doesn't want him to stay. watching jimin's back as he walks away, yoongi's face falls.

jimin's indifferent. somehow, it hurts more than a rejection.

yoongi picks up his shirt, and then pieces of his heart from the floor.

war's over. their time is up.

what were we even fighting for?

Untuk seseorang yang bahkan tidak suka membaca, Arsa tergolong sering mengunjungi toko buku. Hampir setiap minggu, bahkan, menemani sang kakak yang selalu mencari buku baru untuk dibaca, baik itu untuk bahan kuliah atau sekedar hiburan. Bagaimana Raihan melepas penat dengan menambah beban pikiran, rasanya Arsa tidak akan pernah paham. Arsa sendiri sulit untuk menahan kantuk dan sakit kepala begitu melihat untaian kata di depan mata.

Membaca memang jauh dari aktivitas kesukaan Arsa, namun mengunjungi toko buku memiliki daya tariknya sendiri. Waktu masih duduk di bangku SMP, ia sering bersandiwara seolah ia tengah berada di sebuah labirin, namun imajinasinya hancur begitu ia menginjak usia puber dan badannya meninggi dengan cepat hingga akhirnya melampaui rak di sekitarnya. Kini, ia menghabiskan waktunya di bagian komik dan alat tulis, sesekali mampir ke bagian alat musik.

Hanya saja toko buku yang ini sedikit berbeda. Raihan jarang mengajaknya kemari karena memang harganya yang tidak bisa dibilang murah, namun Arsa pribadi cukup puas meski hanya melihat-lihat. Sudah hampir setengah jam ia berjalan menyusuri lorong kecil bertuliskan Design & Arts, sesekali membuka-buka buku yang tidak berplastik.

Ia tengah mengamati deretan buku di hadapannya ketika matanya menangkap sosok pria yang berdiri tak jauh darinya, matanya terpaku pada Arsa seolah ingin mengatakan sesuatu.

“Oh, sori,” senyum Arsa sembari melangkah mundur, mengira dirinya menghalangi jalan.

Namun laki-laki itu tidak bergeming. Bibirnya yang mungil sedikit terbuka, matanya berkedip cepat seolah kebingungan. Arsa tersenyum kecil sebelum membalikkan badan dan kembali mengalihkan perhatiannya pada buku yang tadi ia amati.

“Lo anak kampus A, kan?”

Arsa menoleh ke belakang. Nampaknya suara berat itu merupakan milik lelaki tadi. Sekonyong-konyong lelaki itu membuang pandangannya, tak berani menatap langsung mata Arsa.

“Kita... pernah ketemu?” Arsa balas bertanya. Dahinya mengerinyit, mencoba mengingat di mana ia pernah melihat wajah lelaki itu.

“Ah, engga,” ucap lelaki itu malu-malu. “Kayak pernah liat aja.”

Tak tahu ke mana arah pembicaraan ini, Arsa hanya tersenyum simpul. Rasanya tidak sopan meninggalkan begitu saja lelaki di hadapannya, namun di sisi lain ia merasa canggung berdiri di sini. Untungnya, laki-laki itu bersuara lagi.

“Angkatan berapa?”

“Hah?”

“Lo... angkatan berapa?” ulang lelaki itu.

“Dua satu.”

“Oh,” mata lelaki itu membelalak. “Muda juga, ya,” gumamnya, seolah berbicara pada dirinya sendiri. Lagi-lagi Arsa tak tahu harus berkata apa. “Jurusan?”

“Fotografi,” jawab Arsa singkat. Sudah cukup lama semenjak ia berkenalan dengan orang baru. Tepatnya sejak bulan keduanya sebagai mahasiswa. Entah mengapa, puluhan orang yang dahulu bersikeras meminta kontaknya dan makan siang dengannya tiba-tiba menghilang begitu saja. Dari dulu, selalu saja begitu pada akhirnya.

Tak apa, toh Arsa lebih nyaman sendiri.

Laki-laki itu melirik ke arah buku-buku di belakangnya dan tersenyum. “Pantes. Lagi nyari bahan referensi?”

Arsa menggelengkan kepalanya pelan. “Engga, cuma—”

“Woi, Gi.”

Keduanya menolehkan pandangan mereka ke asal suara itu. Dari balik rak timbul sebuah tangan mungil yang meraih baju Gi, tiga buah tas belanja menggantung di lengannya.

“Lagi liat a— Oh.”

Meskipun sama-sama orang tak dikenal, entah mengapa Arsa merasa lebih gugup di hadapan lelaki ini dibandingkan dengan orang yang dipanggilnya “Gi” tadi. Mungkin karena pandangannya yang dingin dan terkesan menggurui, matanya memindai dari ujung rambut hingga ujung kaki Arsa entah sadar atau tidak. Di hadapannya, Arsa menciut, merasa kecil meskipun jelas-jelas lelaki itu tak sampai setinggi hidungnya. Untuk menatap matanya saja ia harus mendongak.

Arsa dapat merasakan ketika keberadaannya tidak diinginkan, dan lelaki ini jelas-jelas tidak begitu senang melihat Arsa di sini. Alisnya bertaut, ujung bibirnya melengkung ke bawah, bahasa tubuhnya tidak sedikit pun menunjukkan niat untuk menyapa Arsa.

Arsa tahu ia harus segera pergi dari sini.

“Duluan ya, takut dicariin,” pamitnya ditujukan pada Gi, tak berani menatap lelaki di sebelahnya. Tanpa menunggu jawaban, Arsa melenggang pergi, berharap ia tidak terkesan ketus. Jantungnya berdegup kencang, punggungnya terasa panas. Rasanya ia seperti anak kecil lagi, kebingungan mencari kakaknya.

Dari kejauhan, Arsa sayup-sayup mendengar suara berat itu lagi. “Apaan sih, Van?”

Langkahnya terhenti. Ia pikir ia mendengar namanya disebut.

Pasti hanya perasaan.

Keberadaan sosok tak dikenal di atap gedung membuat Gian enggan melangsungkan niatnya. Kotak rokok di genggamannya ia masukkan kembali ke saku belakang celananya sembari ia berbalik untuk menuruni tangga. Bukan karena takut—meskipun memang celetukan usil Dirga membuat bulu kuduknya berdiri—ia hanya sedang ingin sendiri. Sengaja ia berjalan jauh kemari karena tidak banyak orang yang mengetahui keberadaan tempat ini. Ia sendiri menemukannya tanpa sengaja, ketika ia tersesat saat orientasi di tahun pertamanya.

“Bulan,” sayup-sayup suara bariton menghentikan langkah Gian. Sejenak ia terdiam, dan—persetan kata Dirga—menoleh ke belakang.

Jika tadi hanya punggungnya yang nampak, kini pria tak bernama itu tengah menengadah ke langit, menumpukan kedua tangannya pada pagar setinggi dada di depannya. Hanya separuh wajahnya yang kelihatan, namun Gian tak meragukan tampan parasnya. Batang hidungnya yang tinggi menarik perhatian Gian, membuatnya menahan napas, terpaku di tempat.

Rasa penasaran menggiring Gian selangkah lebih dekat. Meski dari balik tembok, suara lelaki itu terdengar jelas lantaran sunyinya malam, berpadu dengan derik suara jangkrik. Rambut hitamnya yang terpapar sinar bulan membuatnya terlihat seolah bercahaya, tidak nyata, dan mata Gian spontan menuju ke selatan.

Napak, batinnya lega. Dirga sialan.

Sesaat Gian mengira ada sosok lain di sana. Terdengar celotehan yang diselingi kekehan pelan seolah tengah terjadi suatu percakapan. Gian menjulurkan kepalanya, matanya memindai dari ujung ke ujung namun tidak menemukan siapa-siapa selain lelaki itu.

“Hari ini aku ga ngeliat ke bawah lagi,” ujar laki-laki itu pelan. Seulas senyum menghiasi bibirnya. “Tujuh puluh dua.”

Gian tidak mengerti arti ucapan itu. Namun seketika itu juga ia menyadari bahwa sang empunya suara sedang berbincang dengan yang di atas sana, dengan rembulan yang juga menatap ke arahnya.

Sekonyong-konyong Gian merasa dirinya tidak seharusnya berada di sana. Kalimat tersebut bukanlah dimaksudkan untuknya. Ia tidak bermaksud menguping, hanya saja suara itu begitu merdu, dan wajah itu begitu memikat hingga ia tidak dapat berpikir jernih.

Pada akhirnya, getaran ponsel di sakunyalah yang menyadarkan Gian, memaksanya mengalihkan pandang. Firasatnya mengatakan pukul 7.30 sudah dekat, sehingga pengurus himpunan lainnya tengah mencari keberadaannya agar dapat segera memulai kembali rapat mereka. Dengan perlahan ia berbalik menuju tangga, sebisa mungkin tidak menimbulkan bunyi yang kentara.

Dari kejauhan, Gian mendengar suara itu lagi, bergema di lorong tangga, hanya saja kali ini dalam lantunan lagu yang tak asing di telinga. Sontak langkahnya terhenti.

Moon river, wider than a mile I'm crossing you in style some day Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

Dan ponsel Gian bergetar lagi.