Chapter Text
It had never been easy, rejecting someone. It got harder every time he did it.
Tough as it was, however, Kim Seokjin, sixteen, lived by the philosophy that he would never make a decision he knew he wouldn’t be happy with.
He knew it by now, the pattern of reaction. It varied from person to person, although a smile was always part of the sequence.
“I really am sorry,” he said, already suffocating in the awkward air he had concocted.
“Please don’t be,” she said with a strained voice, weakly shaking her head. “I hope you end up with someone you’d say yes to.”
Seokjin frowns at the registration form before setting the clipboard back down on the desk. “Pardon me,” he says as he taps on the empty section under his name, “do you need to have Jungkook’s mother’s name and contact details?”
Name: Jeon Jungkook
Father: Kim Seokjin
Mother:
This kindergarten is the closest one to their place that they could find that seems decent enough to his standard. Jungkook is sitting next to him, playing with an old fidget spinner Namjoon found under a couch cushion that has so far managed to keep him still. At Seokjin’s question, the receptionist looks down at the form then back up, processing the question but then comes up seemingly blank.
Seokjin feels his eyebrow twitch. “I’m asking because if you need it for his identification purposes then I can fill that in, but not if it’s for emergency calls or parents registration.”
“It’s for registration,” she says. “We need more than one contact number just in case.”
“Alright, well.” Seokjin spins the pen around between his fingers. “I’m afraid his mother is out of the question.”
“That’s alright.” The receptionist spins in her chair to pull out another form. “If you could fill this form with another guardian’s contact details then we can register that instead. It should preferably be a relative,” she explains. “We’ll also need a photocopy of their ID and any additional information that you might not have onhand right now.”
The guardian form details a list of parental authority that are granted in case of emergencies and a fill-in statement of consent—it feels like a slap in the face. Seokjin takes a deep breath in, trying to compose himself.
As politely as he can, he slides the form back. “We won’t need this.”
He works on the rest of the registration form, flips back to the first page, then fills in the last box.
Father: Kim Seokjin
Mother Father: Kim Namjoon
“Father, mother… Can you believe it?” Seokjin grumbles as he starts the car and jabs his finger against Namjoon’s contact on the touch-screen monitor. “What is this, the 80s?” The dial tone plays on for a while before his patience runs dry and he hangs up. “There’s just absolutely no way they can truly operate if they don’t have the phone number of the woman that popped Jungkook out—”
He cuts himself off promptly before turning to Jungkook who is still focused on his fidget spinner, trying to balance it on the buckle of his seatbelt. He probably didn’t pick any of that up, thankfully. Seokjin sighs as he drives; how the hell has the cards played out so that his son is the only person he can vent to right now?
Well, a five-year-old child will have to do. “Jungkook-ah,” he says, then repeats himself when he gets no response. “Jungkook-ah—don’t say ‘hm’. We’ve talked about this.”
“Yes?” Jungkook complies.
“Is Kim Namjoon your dad?” Seokjins asks him.
“Yes.”
“Am I your dad?”
“No.”
“What was that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right,” he huffs as they stop at a red light. Miraculously, traffic is still awful in the middle of a weekday. Who wouldʼve thought? “And what does that mean? How many dads do you have?”
A long period of silence. Turning to look now, the fidget spinner is still spinning on his son’s finger, though his free hand is gripping his chin thoughtfully before he answers, “Two?”
Seokjin reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Smart boy. Maybe you don’t need to go to school,” he grits out as he ponders. “Homeschooling is a thing now, isn’t it? Just have to make Namjoon retire…” The light turns yellow, and Seokjin covers the fidget spinner with his hand, finally stilling it. “You’re gonna get carsick if you keep staring down at it,” he says. “Wanna listen to music? I’ll put up Daddy’s playlist.”
Seokjin still remembers why he joined the music club in high school, or maybe a better question would be how.
It wasn’t even a band or an actual music club…was it songwriting? Roughly, perhaps. It had five members and he knew exactly one of them because of a group project they both put half an effort in.
To answer how, it began with him waiting out in the hallway for his brother to finish up his extra class so they could go home. The far end of the hallway had weird Garageband music coming out of it.
The rest of it… either the details are fading or Seokjin is too embarrassed to admit that he remembers it. The key point of it was that he had stood in front of the club’s room almost every week until the guy in the thick glasses noticed him and he had to pretend that he was interested in the club and was in no way spending his waiting time staring at him.
Years later, Seokjin is here with a tiny hand uncomfortably grabbing his thumb and index finger as they make their way up into the elevator, with bags of takeout onhand.
He replays the event in his mind, imagining the different ways he could’ve approached it and evaluating each of them. He couldʼve thrown a fit, demanded to speak to some higher-up to criticize their heteronormative system, or maybe started an unwanted speech that no one asked for about how offensive it was to erase Jungkook’s other capable employed father out of the picture when the concept of Jungkook in itself was his idea and they’ve been doing very well because of him.
Not a good idea, no, but nevertheless it’s fun to imagine him performing a very loud and very public declaration of his appreciation for his husband.
There are plenty of reasons to marry Kim Namjoon, after all.
- Kim Namjoon is brainy when he has to be (and sometimes when he doesn’t. Most times.)
“You’re telling me…” Seokjin trails off for a moment in disbelief. “... you’ve just finished three different projects for three different clients ahead of schedule after weeks…” He turns to the TV. “...And the first thing you want to do to kick off your rest period is to watch a complicated quiz show?”
Namjoon just shrugs, eyes fixed on the airing episode of Problematic Men. “It’ll be good for Jungkook to learn too.”
“He’s five years old.”
“He’ll absorb Tyler Raschʼs intelligence.”
Silence any ignorant voice that dares to say Kim Seokjin wouldn’t do anything for love. This moment is purely for Namjoon’s sake; sitting next to him on the couch, listening to him figure out the answer to every question before more hints are even dropped and doing mental maths. Mental maths. For fun. Jungkook, probably taking after Seokjin more in this case, doesn’t care for it at all as he plays with a cheap camera on the mat.
Namjoon doesn’t really stop overworking his brain, he finds, and sometimes it does more harm than good, resulting in a bad burnout that can last up to a week.
Admittedly, there’s been less-than-proud moments in the past, way back when they were in school and Seokjin would hand his practice exam paper over to a kid two years younger than him to explain how the hell this 8-mark question with one equation was supposed to be solved.
Now that Seokjin is working in a field far from Namjoon’s expertise, all that extra brain power left is used on brainy quiz shows where contestants sit at a desk and press their buzzers. The best part of it—or the good part, if he wants to downplay it—is how excited he gets, be it when he isn’t sure what the answer is or when he gets it right. For a brief moment, Seokjin would see the same overexcited highschooler yelling at the little TV screen, bouncing on the floor at his family’s house as the bell rings at another correct answer.
- Kim Namjoon is an okay househusband
Namjoon technically isn’t a househusband. He still has his freelance job that he does at home in his office and an ever changing work schedule. This also means that in the times where he isn’t occupied with several projects at a time for months, he sometimes has his periodic dry spell where no new work is coming in, leaving him with free time and a growing son who’s eating portions of children twice his age.
“It smells odd.” Namjoon panics from the screen.
“Lower the heat,” Seokjin says, trying not to yell at his phone when he’s at work, frowning when Namjoon whines about it not helping. “Lower it— turn the camera around and show me the stove. It goes lower than that. Yeah, no, to the left all the way, it won’t turn off, more. Yup. Lift it off the heat if it’s starting to burn.”
This is a nightmare, and it wouldn’t be stressing Seokjin out this much if Jungkook isn’t part of the equation as the one extra mouth Namjoon has to feed. An alarm on his computer rings, signalling the beginning of another meeting in five minutes and he sighs.
“I have to go,” he says, ignoring the way Namjoon acts like he’s being betrayed. “Don’t forget to add the spring onions later when it’s cooked, okay? I trust you.” He snickers when Namjoon makes a skeptical face. “I do. Send me a photo when you’re done.”
When Seokjin checks the notification on his phone once the meeting is over, he finds a photo of Jungkook stuffing his face with a portion of rice too big for his tiny mouth.
Super average but edible!!, the message says. The kid likes it anyway!
- Kim Namjoon can be enticing when he feels like it (but also when he doesn't)
This is self-explanatory. The state of Namjoon’s appearance varies throughout the months, depending on how much work he has to do and Jungkook’s appetite from meal to meal (someone has to clear up the leftovers). Sometimes he’d get back into shape on his break, and those times also happen to be the same period where he would get too overheated at night to keep a shirt on.
It’s all part of a menacing scheme personally plotted against Seokjin, truly. The muscles come with the added personal benefit of Namjoon’s confidence, which can mean tank tops and shorts in the winter or a single towel straight out of the shower, and sometimes Jungkook being used as a deadlift like a cheaper (but just as exciting) version of the viking ride at Lotte World.
This period of Threateningly Hot Kim Namjoon is always accompanied by a sly look behind his bare shoulder and a very sleazy delivery of “What are you looking at, hyung?”
“Your ass,” Seokjin says monotonously one evening, fed up. “I’m looking at your ass, Kim Namjoon. Is that what you want me to say? I’m ogling at your physique because I’m attracted to you. You’ve got a hot piece of ass. Happy?”
Namjoon has a coy smile on his face as he tidies Jungkook’s toys on the floor, shaking his head. “Always so feisty.”
As smug as it makes him, and as irritating as it is for Seokjin, it’s hard to deny something that is right. Worst of all, perhaps, is probably the fact that Kim Namjoon still has a very hot piece of ass even when he’s not actively in shape, and this is a nightmare Seokjin pretends to have to put up with every day.
- Kim Namjoon always understands
To put it lightly, their wedding day had them shitting their pants.
They were grown adults by then, which made it even more embarrassing. Namjoon was pacing and Seokjin was wondering if it was possible to develop a nail biting habit right at that moment.
“Wait,” Namjoon spoke up, fingers about to comb through his neatly styled hair before Seokjin grabbed his wrist. “Are we supposed to kiss?”
Seokjin shrugged, trying to play it cool like they weren’t on the same boat at that moment. “Probably.”
As Namjoon continued to pace, Seokjin felt like he was drifting out of his body. It was happening, somehow. They had managed to get to this point and it was going to happen, and Namjoon was panicking.
“Here’s the deal,” he presented, catching Namjoon’s attention. “If we both suck it up and kiss, I’ll let you touch my butt.”
It took Namjoon’s eyes widening in surprise and the following chuckle that made the panic dissipate from his face. “What? You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, I always keep my word like a real man,” Seokjin assured him.
“You’ve broken multiple promises multiple times.”
“Well I mean it this time!” he argued, shoulders shaking as he began to crack up. “You should be thankful for this husband privilege, you know? Not anyone can touch my butt.”
“God…” Namjoon rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, heedless of the light makeup he woke up early to get done. “Okay, alright. Deal.”
Their hands brushed for a moment then, Namjoon’s fingers sliding over Seokjinʼs palm like a small thank you.
Leading up to it, Seokjin died at least three times and Namjoon looked like he never got resurrected after the first time. It was silly, considering how normal it actually felt when it came to the actual kissing.
‘Normal’, that was the word Seokjin used to describe it in his head.
Namjoon was nervous, so was he, yet it still felt okay, and he didn’t feel that it had to be any more than that. Kissing Kim Namjoon felt normal, like it was how things were always supposed to be.
The wedding was good overall, like how weddings should be, minus the overly emotional speeches and crying because no one felt compelled by their love enough to shed a tear, which he thought was fair enough.
It wasnʼt until he was in the hotel room, lying down on the clean white bed in his tuxedo next to Namjoon when it really hit. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” he heard Namjoon say, just as breathless.
“Any regrets?” Seokjin asked him.
The sheets under them shifted as Namjoon shook his head. “Not at the moment, no. You?”
Seokjin blinked up at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything.”
A calm silence stretched over them at that moment, and he felt like a child.
“Hyung,” Namjoon said, voice quiet. Seokjin turned to him with a hum. “Can I kiss you again?”
Seokjin’s heart stopped and there was no other way to clear the pressure in his chest than to joke, “Jumping into it right away, are we?”
Namjoon made a ridiculous face at that. “It’s not a weird thing to ask.”
“Maybe not,” Seokjin said as he shifted up to his elbow before reaching a hand over to cage his husband. His husband. “What if you regret it?”
Namjoon smiled beautifully. Too beautifully. “I’ll let you know.”
Seokjin felt his ears heat up. “Don’t jut your chin out this time,” he murmured before leaning down.
It was still okay this time, a kiss not as light as the one at the wedding, but Namjoon was pushing his chin out again like he was nervous. Seokjin brought up a hand to push it down with his finger, chuckling at the noise Namjoon made.
They stayed close when they pulled away as Seokjin looked down at him, the finger on his chin swiping down, caressing his face, and the dizzy feeling returned.
Seokjin leaned down again, the press of their lips firmer this time, moving carefully, and then it was impossible to stop. Namjoon’s hands were on his back, holding him close as their lips part.
They were both panting when they pulled away, and something about Namjoon’s gaze at that moment kept Seokjin focused on it. The glimmer in his eyes, his shiny lips, then the sudden frown. “Why are you crying?”
Seokjin blinked, and a droplet splattered onto Namjoon’s cheek. “Huh?”
“Hyung?” Namjoon’s gaze scattered everywhere, trying to find out what was wrong. “Are you okay—”
Seokjin shushed him, shaking now as he lowered himself down until he could press his face into Namjoon’s shoulder, sniffling. “I’m fine, just let me—” he heaved out a sob. “It feels like my heart is about to explode.”
Six years, he thought as he cried. He had six years to prepare for this moment yet it still felt unreal even as his face was pressed into Kim Namjoon’s shoulder.
“It’s not a big deal,” he tried to say when Namjoon suggested getting help. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just…” he sighed again. “This is fucking crazy.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon replied, voice lighter now. “What do you want me to do, hyung?”
Hold me, he thought about saying, but it somehow felt too selfish in his mind. He ended up not saying anything and Namjoon stayed still, quietly waiting as Seokjin’s breathing began to slow again.
His hands drifted down then to his lower back before stopping. “Does this mean I can touch your butt now?”
The laugh that came out of Seokjin was uncontrollable but hoarse, like a cough. “Shut up,” he said, voice still recovering as he hiccupped. “Yes. Whatever. Touch it. I don’t care.”
He felt Namjoon chuckle too, though his hands stayed where they were on his back. After a while, Seokjin pushed himself back up, hovering over him, probably looking like a hot mess. “Regrets?” he asked again.
Namjoon still smiled at him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything either.”
- It can’t be anyone else
Namjoon’s room was a mess; a custom for when heʼd get too busy to maintain it. Laid on his crumpled bed sheets was a sweater with a whale stitched on it that Seokjin got him; three worn out books sat at his nightstand, accompanied by two crumpled wads of tissue of unidentifiable source that they never addressed; an array of booklets and brochures spreaded across his old desk as he tapped his fingers over them. Some of them were closer to home, some outside of Seoul, a few overseas in some city Seokjin had never heard of.
Namjoonʼs mind was far from it now though, so stressed his brain had decided to focus on something else, leading to a reflective rant about his mother bringing up marriage when he was talking to his parents about university.
Kim Namjoon had huge ambitions and the likeliness to devote himself to them, even if it meant drifting away from things that would become less important. Seokjin knew, sitting there, almost a year into college and overdue for a haircut, that if he didn’t cling to this now, he’d only grow further away, enough that even his fingertips would soon be unable to brush any part of Kim Namjoon.
Then, and perhaps only then, would Seokjin truly feel the heartbreak in the fact that what Namjoon felt for him was a light breeze compared to the natural disaster that had been haunting Seokjin, and maybe it would never change.
How else could he keep Kim Namjoon around?
“Well, they like me.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Seokjin was a creator of endless bad ideas, but also way too determined to stick to them once they were out there. He tried not to wince at the way Namjoon whipped his head around to look at him. “They might not mind if itʼs me you marry,” he said, fighting the urge to bite his lip, using all of his brain power to come up with something on the spot. “My parents probably wouldnʼt mind me marrying you either.”
Namjoon’s expression was difficult to read, which only assured him that this was the worst decision ever made by any man to ever exist. An ache rised in his throat, and he wondered vaguely if this was how he had made every single person he turned down feel, and perhaps he’d suffer a century being tortured in some kind of hell to repent for his sins.
And then Namjoon spoke.
“Do you want to marry me, hyung?”
Was now the time to tell the truth? Probably. Would today be the day Kim Seokjin stopped being a pussy and opened up about how he truly felt? Like hell.
“Well thereʼs no one whoʼs more eligible right now,” he mused, trying to mask the tremble in his voice. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be good to completely lie. “So yes,” he croaked out, then quickly cleared his throat, and the panic suddenly got to him. “Maybe. I think I’d make a good husband.”
Awful plan, awful execution, awful outcome. Namjoon was looking away now with a frown, chin jutting out which meant he was either stressed or thinking very hard.
Trying not to make it obvious, Seokjin tilted his head from side to side, willing his hair to cover at least the tips of his red ears, feeling a little more secure now that they were hidden; maybe pushing back the haircut was a sign.
“I guess I wouldnʼt mind eating your cooking everyday.”
For a moment, it didn’t register that that was Namjoon’s response, not until Namjoon cocked his head to the side like he was wondering why Seokjin hadn’t said anything.
That was the beginning of everything.
After tucking Jungkook in and making sure that he’s settled for the night, Seokjin comes out of the bedroom to find Namjoon just exiting his office with a yawn, one hand absentmindedly slapping the wall behind him a few times until the light shuts off before closing the door.
Seokjin briefly wonders if Namjoon had figured it out somehow during the years that followed that moment, some kind of realization in the middle of the night that this was Seokjin’s embarrassing but hopefully cute secret. Maybe that’s why they were moving so slowly at the beginning; not because they were close friends getting married but because Seokjin was somehow still so scared of being that vulnerable.
It’s been six years since the promise, four since they got married—in total, ten years of whatever the hell this is that oddly feels like comfort.
Namjoon yawns again with an abstract noise that’s supposed to be a greeting. With the hectic work schedule and some major project, they haven’t been able to see each other today. Seokjin accepts the end-of-the-day yawn-greeting and walks up to hug his husband.
“Hello,” Namjoon lets out clumsily before his arms come up to wrap around Seokjin, and the world dutifully vanishes. It lets him revel in the reality that this embrace is what he has landed into after the stupid yet terrifying leap that he took; Kim Namjoon’s hold, all because of a first love he was too prideful to outwardly admit.
When Seokjin presses a kiss to his neck, Namjoon jolts. “Oh,” he breathes, arms going stiff for a second against Seokjin’s back before relaxing again. He makes another noise when Seokjin shushes him. “Is it time to be quiet now?” he asks, voice already lowering.
Seokjin nods, lips moving against Namjoon’s neck as he whispers, “No talking.”
It’s quiet once his husband complies, almost tranquil. It isn’t that Namjoon talks too much, or at most it’s only partly that, but there’s no need to talk; not in this moment where they feel the rise and fall of their chests, the shared warmth, the hold they’ve molded over the years to fit each other perfectly, the several different things that accumulate into a single quiet whisper of I love you—I know.