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“Oʜ, ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇss ᴇxɪsᴛs,
ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ-ʜᴀsᴛʏ ᴘʀᴏғɪᴛ sɴᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ʟᴏss.
Bᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ; ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ
ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴜs, ᴛʜɪs ғʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪs ɪɴ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴡᴀʏ
ᴋᴇᴇᴘs ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴜs. Us, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ғʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ.
Aʜ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ
ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ? Nᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏғ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ,
ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪs ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ sᴏ sʟᴏᴡʟʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ. Nᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ.
Tʜᴇ sᴜғғᴇʀɪɴɢs, ᴛʜᴇɴ. Aɴᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪɴᴇss,
ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʟᴏᴠᴇ – ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴡʜᴏʟʟʏ
ᴜɴsᴀʏᴀʙʟᴇ.”
― ʀᴀɪɴᴇʀ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀ ʀɪʟᴋᴇ
The tension hung in the air like a stormcloud waiting to burst.
Or, Namjoon reflected absently, maybe that was just Seoul’s humidity. As he raised a hand to swipe sweat from his brow and his arm shook so hard he almost hit his head, he thought: Yeah, just the heat. He wanted to ask the driver to open a window, but he didn’t want to cut through the quiet. The silence that enveloped them like a thick blanket in summer – stifling.
A sudden sniff made him twitch. He looked up and swallowed when he saw Jimin holding a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back any noise. He should say something, he knew. He knew he should. Just like he should’ve said something at the concert to make up for disappointing the fans; just like how he should’ve said something to Taehyung about not working too hard; just like how he should’ve said something to Yoongi about how he’d been acting.
But he hadn’t.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Hoseok said suddenly, too quiet for it to sound like himself, but too loud in the self-imposed silence they’d been under since boarding the plane. Hoseok wrapped an arm around Jimin’s shaking shoulders and tugged him into a half-hug. He continued murmuring to him, mindless words of comfort, and Jimin buried his face in his hands and leaned into Hoseok.
Namjoon glanced at Jin and Jungkook, who weren’t in any state to comfort Jimin either, when they were already crying silently too. Jungkook was turned away and staring at his phone, hair covering his eyes, but Namjoon could see droplets fall from his chin. Jin was staring out the window, face deceptively blank despite the tears streaming down his cheeks.
And Yoongi and Taehyung weren’t here.
For how much Namjoon hated sharing a room with six other guys, sharing a taxi with only four of them somehow felt barren.
Just like the stage at Kobe had felt barren without them there, too. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t perform the choreography without all members present; it wasn’t as if they couldn’t stand in for their verses; it wasn’t as if they couldn’t…
But it was, wasn’t it? Without even one of them there, they weren’t BTS. They had been Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook: incomplete, indecisive, insufficient.
Their first concert outside of Korea, and they’d fallen apart. What Namjoon hated most wasn’t even that they’d fucked it up, but that he knew Yoongi and Taehyung would blame themselves. Even years away, even if everything got better, there’d still be a small part of them both that would think about that one concert I barely even remember.
And he’d done nothing.
Namjoon hadn’t even known where Yoongi was when he’d been hovering in the back as paramedics swarmed backstage and helped Taehyung while he did nothing. They’d been about to go on stage when Sejin, flustered and frowning, had told them Yoongi simply couldn’t do it. There’d been a hurried discussion about how the concert would progress, suggestions thrown out that nobody was okay with, and Namjoon said he’d tell the fans it was called off.
(Sejin had clapped him on the shoulder and praised him for taking responsibility, but it felt dirty accepting the compliment; it wasn’t like he’d done anything at all to help anyone, he’d just agreed to let everyone know the disappointing news. He’d suggested doing it because he had done nothing else.)
“Boys? We’re home,” said Sejin from the front seat.
Namjoon looked up as Hobeom dragged open the door. Hoseok mumbled a quiet thanks and gently tugged Jimin along with him. Namjoon looked away and opened the door on his side. It was stupid, but he felt like he really couldn’t wait even half a minute to get out of the car. So he stepped out into a soft drizzle of rain that did nothing for how uncomfortably hot he felt, and stared up at the night sky. They should’ve been staring at this sky from a stage, with thousands of stars up there and in the crowd.
“Namjoon-ah? C’mon, let’s get you inside,” Sejin said, shutting the car door shut with a thud that echoed in the empty road.
He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to sit beside his four other members and act like they weren’t missing two of them. But he also didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t want to be bombarded with: why didn’t you do anything, Namjoon?
But he nodded anyway and let Sejin lead him inside. When the front door closed behind them, he wanted to throw up.
Instead, he toed off his shoes didn’t look up as he asked, “Have you heard anything about Taehyung and Yoongi-hyung?”
“Taehyung’s staying in hospital overnight, but he’s fine,” Sejin replied easily as Namjoon struggled to untie his laces with trembling fingers. “He’ll be back here tomorrow, but only to pick up his things. He’s going home for a week’s break—all of you are welcome to.”
“And Yoongi-hyung?” he repeated, kicking his shoes away and standing back up, cramming his hands in his pockets.
“He’s also taking a break,” Sejin said.
Namjoon looked at him. “That’s… vague.”
Sejin nodded, only a little sheepish. “He asked me to be,” he admitted, and Namjoon nodded jerkily.
So. Yoongi couldn’t talk to him anymore.
“I guess we’ve got stuff to discuss?” Namjoon asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “I can—I’ll make tea, and you and Hobeom-hyung and me can—”
A hand on his shoulder cut off his almost-rambling and he snapped his jaw shut. “Namjoon-ah,” Sejin said quietly, squeezing his shoulder before letting go, “just get some rest, okay? We’ll have a group meeting when everyone’s back.”
“Yeah,” he said right away, before he even took in the whole sentence. “Right, yeah. Okay. Okay, have a good night, Sejin-hyung.”
He heard him respond but didn’t really make it out; everything sounded like it was underwater, garbled and echoing. So did Jimin and Jungkook’s crying, even though he knew they were quiet.
Jin glanced at him as he walked through the room. He felt his eyes on him, but didn’t look back.
He made sure to keep his pace even and slow as he traipsed into the bathroom, then locked it behind him as quietly as he could.
He leaned against it and saw his reflection in the mirror—and he hated it.
He sunk down to the tiled floor and let his head bump against the door, then squeezed his legs to his chest and clenched his eyes shut.
Every time things started going well for them, it all went to shit.
He woke with a start, heart hammering in his chest, and flung his sheets off because something must be wrong if he woke up like that—
But then his legs got tangled up in them and he stumbled backwards until he collapsed back onto the bed.
Bed—?
I fell asleep in the bathroom , he realised, belatedly, as he stared down at the sheets around his legs and the soft bed he was sitting on. Did someone carry him? He shook his head. No one could carry him anyway, not any of his members, at least.
Wait. Whose bed even was this? It was way too nice to be any of theirs. Was he even in the dorm? Were they still in a hotel in Kobe?
He felt almost dizzy from the bewilderment and stood again, tossing the sheets aside and going to wrench the door open.
Familiar voices and sounds drifted from down the corridor, from Jin’s stuttering little laugh to pots and pans crashing against countertops, to—was that Yoongi?
Namjoon bolted down the hallway, heart trying to escape his ribcage, and clutched onto the doorframe as he stared into an unfamiliar kitchen, at familiar people.
Yoongi’s hair wasn’t dark anymore; it was a dusty grey-blond, and when had he found time to dye it before getting home? Not that that was the most important question, but. “Yoongi-hyung,” he breathed, sounding a little too worked up to brush it off, “are you okay?”
Five pairs of eyes turned to meet his and—
“I,” he started, stopped. He glanced around at them all, and—“T-Taehyung, you’re back too? When did you—?”
“Namjoonie,” Jin said and his voice was—different. Deeper. Then he stood and walked up to Namjoon and, okay, what the fuck? Why was he so big? His shoulders were so broad all of a sudden and Namjoon felt almost small beside him. “You look—”
“Younger,” Hoseok finished, blinking rapidly.
“What?” Namjoon asked, scowling. What was—? “Is this a joke?” he hissed. “We’re—we can’t be filming right now, Sejin-hyung said we had a break.” He glanced between Taehyung and Yoongi, so fucking confused he could break something. “He said you were going home, Tae,” he snapped and, again, how did Taehyung look so different? His entire jawline looked sharper, or something. Too defined to be the kid who’d nearly passed out last night.
Taehyung stood now and frowned, but it didn’t look like the frown Namjoon was used to. There were no big puppy eyes or jutted out lip; his eyes were dark, thick brows knitted together over them, and he looked like an adult . A man .
“And—Yoongi-hyung, you—you left,” he said, pushing Jin to glare at his other hyung. “You—it’s not your fault, what happened, but you just left and I don’t—I didn’t—”
Yoongi stared at him, mouth parting in surprise. “Uh,” he started eloquently, then frowned. “Joon-ah… what happened yesterday?”
Namjoon balked. “What happened ?” He laughed, a little deliriously, then grimaced and tried to calm down. He clenched his fists, nails digging crescents into his palms. “Y-you—I don’t know,” he breathed. “Taehyung got sick and—and then you couldn’t come on stage, and…” He bit the insides of his cheeks and glanced at Jin, who’d drifted back towards him and planted a hand on his back. He tried not to sink into it, but didn’t pull away.
Yoongi’s shock dissolved until his face went blank. “Kobe,” he said.
Taehyung grimaced.
“Kobe,” Namjoon agreed. “So why are you guys—”
A yawn cut him off and he turned to see Jungkook dragging himself through the corridor, hair mussed from sleep and, what.
“Wow, you’re huge,” Namjoon blurted, then flinched. “Shit, wait, not like—not in a bad way, I mean, you just—oh, fuck.”
Jungkook hauled his gaze off the floor and blinked sleep out of his eyes to look blearily back at Namjoon, who leaned back into Jin a little more because Jungkook looked so different . His hair was still brown (lighter, softer, but still brown) but he didn’t look like a kid either. Like Taehyung, he somehow appeared years older; soft edges eroded by time and sculpted into something resembling a grown man, rather than a scared boy.
But then those doe eyes widened and looked just the same and Namjoon relaxed just a little bit. “Namjoon-hyung?”
“Uh,” he said, because this ridiculously handsome, strong, tall man pretending to be Jungkook shouldn’t be calling him ‘hyung’. “Yeah?”
Jungkook stared at him long enough that he started feeling nervous and suddenly he wished he had those old sunglasses. Instead, he dragged his eyes off of the gaping maknae to look at Yoongi again.
“Just—tell me what’s going on,” he said, hoping it sounded demanding, but it came out like a plea.
Yoongi’s eyes softened and he sighed. Pushing his coffee aside, he leaned on his palm and regarded Namjoon with no small degree of scrutiny. “Namjoon-ah…”
But then Hoseok piped up: “Are you messing with us, Namjoonie?”
He shot a glare at him. “Me?” He snorted. “What the fuck am I doing that’d make you think that?”
Hoseok looked as befuddled as he felt and, really, Namjoon had no recollection of Hoseok being a particularly good actor. He looked at Jin, whose expression mimicked Hoseok’s, and he ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m just lost,” he forced out, sounding a little hoarse. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “I don’t—Yoongi-hyung vanished, Taehyung went to hospital, and now everyone’s home and just fucking around? I don’t understand.”
Jin made a weird noise and squeezed him, but Namjoon squirmed out of it and pinned him with a scowl, heat rising in his cheeks.
“Hey, man, what are you doing?”
Jin blinked owlishly. “Uh. Hugging you?” He smiled awkwardly. “You look like a lost puppy.”
“The fuck I do.” Namjoon snorted.
“Guys,” Taehyung cut in.
Namjoon forced his jaw to remain firmly closed but fuck, whose voice just came out of Taehyung’s body? His voice was deeper than Namjoon’s.
Taehyung shot him a warm, angular smile that looked so right on his face. “So, Kobe just happened for you,” he surmised.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. ‘For you’? Is he saying that because he didn’t go on stage? “Weird way to put it, but yeah.”
Taehyung nodded slowly and Namjoon could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Namjoon-hyung,” he finally said, as the silence began to drag a little too long for it to be comfortable, “we’re in 2019 right now.”
He stared.
Taehyung stared back.
Yoongi slammed his head into the table.
“Okay, Tae,” Namjoon said patiently, then turned to Jimin, because Jimin always caved and told him the truth.
But Jimin just shot him an apologetic smile and shrugged. “It’s 2019, Monie,” he told him gently. “I think you’re from 2015.”
Namjoon wanted to stay calm, he really did. He wanted to prove he could be a greater leader (or at least a good one) who could bring out the best in all of BTS, himself included. But with everyone crowding him, acting so fucking weird and touchy, caked in layers of makeup to make them look like different people, lying to him—
“This isn’t funny anymore, guys.”
And it sounded like there was an echo, like he’d said it twice and layered it on top of itself. But he shrugged it off and looked at Yoongi again, who was staring behind him with something akin to relief on his face.
“You’ve got to stop using my shampoo. Like, you can buy your own. Hell, I’ll buy it for you, just stop taking it from my shower.”
Namjoon turned at the sound of a new voice in time to see a tall man clad in fluffy white towels drying his hair with one of them. After a few seconds, he yanked it off to pin them with an unimpressed stare.
“But right now, one of you owes me, because I had an unequal shampoo-to-conditioner ratio which—”
“Um,” Jimin cut in from somewhere behind them, “Joonie-hyung?”
“Yeah?” both he and the Man-In-Towels said, and then they both looked at each other.
“Who are you?” Namjoon demanded, glaring daggers at the guy. “Why are you in our dorms? I’ll call security,” he threatened, fumbling through his pockets for his phone.
“Yeah, good luck with that.” The man snorted.
“Joonie, do you not, uh, recognise him?” Jin asked, muffling laughter behind his hand.
The other guy blinked, then turned back to Namjoon. “No, not—” But then he froze. He blinked once, twice, then grimaced. “Oh. Fuck no.”
Namjoon stared at the Other Namjoon. His older counterpart, supposedly. He knew that he was in too deep now, if this was a prank, to get out unscathed; he’d given them enough material for a VLive, easily. He could hear the members laughing at him now, asking how he’d fallen for it as they wiped off the makeup that made them look nearly five years older, removing the designer clothes they couldn’t afford.
But this version of him. Him self . It—didn’t seem real. He looked more perfect than Namjoon ever could, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. His skin looked smooth, a far cry from the dryness and acne he currently buried beneath the layers of makeup he refused to admit he wore. His lips looked a little too shiny for it to be natural, but he didn’t want to entertain the idea that he voluntarily wore, like, lip products. Whatever they were called. Who knew? Not him.
(He knew, but he didn’t want anyone to know he knew.)
His hair—okay, to be honest? He… kind of loved the colour. Silver-white, like the moon on a clear night. It wasn’t too far from his own bleach blond, but somehow looked… prettier.
( Fucking stop right there, Namjoon. )
“I understand,” Jungkook said solemnly, and Namjoon jerked his eyes off of his counterpart to look at Jungkook.
“What?” he snapped, a bit too defensively.
“I used to stare all the time too,” he admitted, which. Okay, he’d noticed Jungkook watching him before—mostly during recordings, and afterwards he’d bound up to Namjoon and praise his rap. But hearing him just say that ? Out loud ? To the person he’d stared at ?
“Okay?” he said awkwardly, shifting away from him on the sofa.
“God, I was a walking ‘no homo’,” Other Namjoon lamented, burying his face in his hands.
Namjoon sneered. “Fuck off,” he snapped, jumping out of his seat, “I’m not even—”
“Hey, look, everyone here knows by now,” Other Namjoon said flippantly, waving a hand.
Namjoon balked, a pit in his stomach that made him want to gag. He took a step away from the sofa and stood behind it, like it could barricade him somehow. “Knows—wh-what do they—?”
“Namjoonie,” Jin said suddenly before Namjoon could start vomiting words. Both Namjoons looked at him, but he was looking at the older one. He slid into the seat beside him and poked his nose. “Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?”
Older Namjoon stared at him. “Was that a joke—? Nevermind, I’d rather live in ignorance,” he added before Jin could respond.
“You are being pretty mean to yourself, hyung,” Jimin put in, then turned a glittering smile on the younger Namjoon. “God, Joonie-hyung, how were you supposed to look intimidating back then? You’re so cute,” he gushed, then slipped over to him to pinch his cheek.
Namjoon grimaced and scowled at a corner of the room. “I’m not ,” he snapped. He normally tolerated Jimin’s overly-affectionate behaviour, but this Jimin was—different, somehow. He was still shorter than Namjoon, but he was no longer lanky; had lost the baby fat in his cheeks, and exuded an aura of confidence that Namjoon hadn’t known existed.
Jimin cooed again. “Baby Joonie was adorable ,” he said. “How did we take this for granted?”
“Stop right now,” Older Namjoon said, a groan etched into his voice.
“Jiminie’s right,” Taehyung agreed, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he crowded around Namjoon from behind. He ruffled his hair and chuckled when he got a glare in response. “A prickly little hedgehog.”
“Letting you know right now that he’s probably not happy with that,” Older Namjoon told them.
“And he’s probably confused as fuck,” Yoongi interrupted. “Maybe we should talk to the kid before you overwhelm him?”
“I’m not overwhelmed,” he said automatically, then ducked his head when Yoongi shot him a look. “Ah, uh. But… thanks, hyung.”
“Cuuute,” Jimin cooed.
Namjoon glowered, then glanced around the room awkwardly as everyone just dropped into any seat. He would’ve liked to sit beside Yoongi, but Older Namjoon was on his right, and that was… too weird.
“Namjoon-hyung, sit here,” Jungkook said, tugging at his sleeve.
With a small huff, he gave in and sat beside Jungkook, plastering himself against the armrest to avoid bumping their knees together. Jungkook stared at him. He shifted, then spread himself as much as possible to take up room whilst simultaneously avoiding touching anyone else.
Yoongi tried not to shake his head. It was such a weak display of power that Namjoon hadn’t even believed he possessed back then. Yoongi knew; he’d done it too. “So,” he said, “you just… woke up. Here.”
Younger Namjoon nodded.
“Nothing happened before?” Hoseok asked, leaning over the arm of the sofa. Namjoon edged away, but he didn’t seem offended. “Like, you didn’t wish on a shooting star or something?”
Namjoon stared blankly at him. “Is that a serious question,” he didn’t-ask.
“But there was no indication at all?” Taehyung piped up, leaning forward and propping his chin in his hand. Namjoon squirmed under his scrutiny; his gaze was so much sharper than it once was. What carved him into someone so imposing? He was glass turned to diamond, soft edges eroded into something sharp. But then he smiled, and it looked just like his old smile, and Namjoon suddenly was able to swallow past the lump in his throat again. “You didn’t feel different or anything?”
“I literally just fell asleep, then woke up… here,” Namjoon said weakly. It was a pathetic response that told them fuck all, he knew that. He hated that he couldn’t offer any concrete answers.
“Blaming yourself is gonna get you nowhere,” Older Namjoon chipped in.
He looked up, already glowering, but his older self just gazed back, no trace of resentment poisoning his expression—which, okay, was weird. Seeing himself with perfect skin and hair dyed one-two-three-dozen times and clothes that Namjoon could never imagine being able to afford let alone ever want—that person, sitting five feet away from him, wasn’t Namjoon. He was an idol who should’ve been disgusted by Namjoon, should’ve sneered at his muddy six-year-old sneakers with mismatched laces, at his oversized sunglasses—
Wait.
His hands shot up to his face and, fuck, they weren’t there. Of course not , he spat inwardly, you went to cry like a bitch in the bathroom at midnight or some shit, why the fuck would you have them with you?
“Hey, Monie,” Jimin said softly, and his hand landed softly on Namjoon’s knee. The touch was feather-light but still made him jolt. Jimin just smiled. “You look good without them,” he said, and Namjoon blanched. Did he say that out loud? Or was he just that obvious? “But if you’re uncomfortable, I have tons of sunglasses you can borrow.”
“Do you like Gucci?” Taehyung asked, shifting forward. “I’ll give you a pair.”
Namjoon swallowed thickly. Didn’t they take the piss out of designer brands? Did Taehyung secretly like them? He’d already forgotten how to pronounce whatever Taehyung just said. “No, I’m fine,” he muttered, “thanks.”
“Namjoonie’s so polite even while looking like a delinquent,” Hoseok said with a little snicker.
“I’ve always been polite,” Older Namjoon retorted, a twinge of a whine lacing his tone.
Namjoon grimaced at the sound.
“We keep veering off topic.” Yoongi sighed.
“How do we stay on topic?” Jin asked, looking genuinely uncertain. He planted his hands on Older Namjoon’s shoulders, who leaned back into the touch. “Namjoonie’s not sure how this happened, what else can we even ask?” He glanced at Namjoon, who blinked awkwardly back, trying not to look at his older self. “Is it okay if I call you Namjoonie?”
“I mean…” you call me that all the time anyway. He glanced at Older Namjoon, who raised his brows expectantly. “It might get confusing?”
“Jin-hyung can just call me Joon.” He shrugged easily. “What would you like us to call you?”
And the way he asked it—it was like he knew Namjoon had been overthinking the Rap Monster name he’d chosen for himself. Which, yeah, he probably did; he was him, after all. Did this Namjoon still use that name? Did he hate it? “I don’t care,” he muttered, but then looked at his older self. “Do you… still go by Rap Monster?” He had to ask.
He shook his head. “I’ve shortened it to RM,” he said carefully. “I’d… rather think of it standing for something else now, though. I wanna be recognised for more than rap.” He smiled softly, a dimple popping up. Jin poked it and Older Namjoon didn’t shove him away. When had he started putting up with that? “You’re your own person, y’know. You can tell people what you wanna be called.”
Namjoon stared, not at all sure how to respond. He’d taken up the name Rap Monster to tell people: I’m here, look at me, I’m not a god at rapping; I’m a monster who’s taken it and warped it into something new and you’re gonna recognise that. He thought the meaning behind it would be conveyed through what he wrote and rapped, but his thoughts eventually fragmented and drifted down different routes, all questioning his name and identity. Being Rap Monster gave him a persona, a shield that hid Kim Namjoon from people, and it felt safer.
It felt lonelier.
“Namjoon is fine,” he mumbled.
“Then this one’s Joonie,” Jin said, ruffling Older Namjoon’s hair, who huffed a little laugh and grinned.
“Should I still call tiny Namjoon ‘hyung’?” Jungkook asked, looking at him.
He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “Fuck if I know. How old are you?”
“Twenty one,” Jungkook said, lips twitching.
Namjoon felt his jaw drop. He snapped it shut when everyone laughed, feeling his face heat up. “I never thought Kookie’d grow over the age of, like… eighteen.”
“You thought I’d die?”
“What the fuck? No,” he spluttered. “I just—I could never picture you—”
“Like this?” Jungkook grinned, eyes crinkling.
Namjoon huffed. “Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Namjoon-ah,” Jimin said, apparently unable to say his name without some kind of affection tied into it, “how old are you right now?”
“Twenty,” he said.
Jungkook fistpumped, a little yesss escaping him. Older Namjoon raised his eyebrows. “You’re barely a year older than him,” he said, “and that’s only a technicality.”
“Still counts!” Jungkook exclaimed before he even finished talking, then he rounded on Namjoon, eyes wide and glittering. “Call me hyung!”
Namjoon stared. “I… don’t think I can do that.”
Jungkook’s shoulders fell and he frowned, bottom lip jutting out. “Just for now? Please?” he begged, clapping his hands together. “My younger self will never know!”
“I will though,” Older Namjoon mumbled, staring at Jungkook with some strange mixture of fondness and exasperation.
“Jungkookie, begging isn’t attractive,” Taehyung advised him.
“Oh, now that’s just untrue,” Jimin said.
“Please stop,” Yoongi muttered, rubbing his face. “I know we’ve been family or some shit for years, but I never need to know your kinks.”
“Okay but you’ve literally seen full lists of mine and Namjoonie’s,” Hoseok said with a snort.
Namjoon slumped into the sofa, hoping it’d swallow him. What kind of porn had Yoongi—? No, don’t think about it. “Jungkook,” he muttered, if only to end the present conversation. He was picking the lesser of two evils. Shutting his eyes in resignation, he said, “I’ll… I’ll call you that.”
Jungkook choked on his breath and hacked out some painful sounding coughs. Taehyung smacked him on the back so hard Namjoon grimaced, but Jungkook didn’t even seem to register it. Instead, he lurched forward and grabbed Namjoon’s wrists. He flinched and recoiled, but let himself be held. Even if Jungkook was technically a year older than him right now, he was still their maknae; he didn’t want to upset him.
“Say it,” Jungkook coaxed, eyes wide. “ Please say it?”
Namjoon’s face felt like it was burning. He ducked his head, really wishing he had his sunglasses now, and mumbled, “Jun… Jungkook… hyung…”
Jungkook made a strangled noise and let go of Namjoon’s arms. He tugged them back against himself, folding them again, and frowned as he watched Jungkook curl into a ball.
“Ignore him,” his older self suddenly said. He looked over at him, because even seeing himself was less weird than seeing Jungkook act so—whatever this was. Older Namjoon chuckled a little haha and rubbed his neck. “Just—let’s move on, yeah?” He smacked his hands against his thighs. “Right. This is probably kind of overwhelming, right? Maybe we should eat.”
“How can you think of food right n—” Namjoon’s stomach growled and he curled in on himself a little, folding his arms tighter and blushing when everyone chuckled.
“I’m hungry too,” Jin said, taking pity on him and not calling him out. “Hey, Namjoon, wanna help me out?”
“Him?” Yoongi and Older Namjoon asked at the same time. “This Namjoon needs supervision and you’re asking foetus Namjoon to help you? At this point he probably still hasn’t discovered he doesn’t know how to cut an onion,” Yoongi finished, then glanced at the Namjoons. “No offense.”
“None taken,” they both said.
“We’ve cooked together a lot,” Jin said affably, shooting Younger Namjoon a reassuring grin. “Right, Namjoon-ah?”
Namjoon felt himself standing before he even thought about it and tried to fight back the smile at Jin’s words. “Yeah, hyung,” he mumbled.
“Oh, that was fucking adorable,” Hoseok whispered in the background.
Namjoon scurried out of the room with Jin, trying to tune out the voices behind them because they were talking about him . Actually… were his boys talking about him right now? Was he missing? His older self was here, where he belonged, so was everyone awake back in his timeline, worrying about where he was?
Why would anyone worry about you? comes the unbeckoned thoughts, but he shoves them back down because of course they would worry—even if only because he was necessary for performances.
“So, Namjoonie,” Jin said, clapping, jolting Namjoon out of his thoughts. “I was thinking we’d make some black bean noodles. Sound good?”
“Sure,” he mumbled, trying not to sound excited. He knows it’s my favourite , he thought, feeling his face warm up. I can’t believe he still remembers. “Anyway, hey, aren’t you meant to call me just Namjoon?” he asked, opening the closest cupboard to help get out pots and pans, only to realise he’d never been in this expensive-looking kitchen. He knocked it shut with his foot, momentarily worried he’d leave a mark with his shoes, then just shuffled awkwardly aside to let Jin get everything.
“Oh. Yeah,” Jin said, laughing. “I forgot. It’s kinda weird calling you Namjoon without anything on the end.” He shrugged, extracting a wok from a cupboard, then going to grab vegetables and meat from the fridge. “Here, can you cut up the onions and leeks?” He pushed the ingredients over to Namjoon along with a chopping board and knife, and Namjoon rolled up his sleeves. “Besides, you like being called Namjoonie, don’t you?”
His hand slipped and he missed the onion.
“Oh, shit, careful, Joonie—look, lemme show you,” Jin said, not sounding at all annoyed that Namjoon nearly cut off a finger or damaged their pristine countertops. Jin shuffled behind him and wrapped himself around Namjoon, then grabbed his hands to maneuver them into holding the onion and knife correctly.
“Uh,” said Namjoon. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to peel away from where Jin’s front pressed against his back.
“Like this, look.” Jin started chopping for him, settling them into a repetitive rhythm. Namjoon stared as they did it. Jin’s hands were bigger, but still the same. The same crooked fingers that he sometimes let ruffle his hair, although his nails were shaped perfectly, completely unlike his current bitten-down ones.
“Did you quit biting your nails, hyung?”
“Huh? Oh.” Jin hummed. “Y’know, I don’t even remember when I stopped,” he said, slowly easing up his grip on Namjoon’s hands and letting him start chopping himself. “I remember getting told off for it a lot, and sometimes you’d smack my hands when I started doing it, and Jimin occasionally made me dip my fingers in lemon juice so it’d taste horrible whenever I tried to bite them—but yeah, I stopped a long time ago.”
Namjoon nodded. It was such a small thing—a nothing thing, really, but it was kind of bittersweet. He was glad Jin overcame the habit, that his hands looked so healthy now and they weren’t at all cut up or painful looking like Namjoon had become accustomed to seeing, but it also showed that they’d changed, right? “D’you have to get, uh… manicures?” he mumbled, ashamed he even knew the word.
“Oh, yeah,” Jin said. “You’re terrible at them; you can never sit still long enough to let the manicurist finish their work and usually you end up taking longer than anyone.” He chuckled, moving away to pour oil into the wok. “But Tae and Kookie are usually pretty bad with it too, so you three keep each other company as you suffer through the pampering longer than the rest of us.”
Namjoon’s nose scrunches up in distaste. “Isn’t it weird?” he murmured, not looking up from the leeks even as he felt Jin’s eyes on him. “Y’know… we’re guys…”
“Joonie,” Jin said quietly, completely giving up on the ‘Namjoon’ thing, apparently. “Look—I know you still hate the makeup, you feel like a doll when they put you in certain outfits, you’re still worried that if we’re idols then we’re giving up our ‘hiphop roots’,” Jin continued, sounding far too calm even as every new word made Namjoon’s shoulders tense up more, “but none of those things are inherently bad, you know.”
Namjoon scoffed, knife slipping again. Jin tried to move to help him, but he shrugged him off. “Being a doll isn’t bad ?” A doll, huh? We could make a song out of that…
“That’s not what I mean,” Jin said patiently, cutting up bits of beef but keeping an eye on Namjoon’s hands. “You think the issue with all of those things is that they’re not ‘manly,’ right? Well, what’s manly, Joonie? Rapping about how life is shit, how women are like equations or presents, pumping out your resentment through Cyphers ?”
Namjoon stared at the leeks.
“Joonie,” Jin said, too soft after he just ripped out too-real thoughts from Namjoon’s head, “it’s better to be honest. Trying to write lyrics about hot girls isn’t what you want to do, is it.” It wasn’t a question. Namjoon didn’t answer. “You’re scared of accepting the ‘idol’ status in case it changes you—but it’s just a word , Joonie. It doesn’t have to mean anything except a job title.” Namjoon jumped when a hand touched his back, but let himself be pulled away from the chopping board to face Jin. He kept his eyes on his shoulders. “Not being strong all the time doesn’t make you less ‘masculine’; being less ‘masculine’ doesn’t make you any less of a person; being yourself won’t make us resent you.” Jin squeezes his shoulders and Namjoon flicked his gaze up to meet Jin’s, who smiled softly. “Just like I’ve never resented you for being a terrible cook. Now, pour those vegetables into the pan.”
Namjoon cleared his throat, feeling his arms tingle where Jin was holding onto them. He grabbed the chopping board and slid the leeks and onions into the sizzling wok, hating that he wished Jin would’ve hugged him.
“Ohhh, Joonie-hyung, Baby Namjoon is a better cook than you,” Jimin teased, patting his thigh with a grin.
Older Namjoon rolled his eyes. “He really isn’t,” he said.
“I just cut up some vegetables,” Namjoon mumbled, shovelling beef into his mouth when everyone looked at him.
“Please continue practising,” Yoongi said, “so we can leave you alone in the kitchen.”
“Oh my god, shut up.” Older Namjoon punched his shoulder lightly, laughing as he did.
Yoongi grinned back.
Namjoon watched them until his head began to hurt. He rubbed his forehead and realised he’d been scowling. He tried to force his eyebrows to unfurrow, then rubbed his temples again with a huff.
“D’you have a headache, Namjoon?”
He glanced at Jungkook, who’d edged closer to him, and he leaned away a little. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
“You must be tired,” Hoseok said in-between slurping up noodles. “Like, I’m low-key freaking out, so you must be…” He waves his hands in a gesture that was probably meant to convey his meaning, but all it did was send a stray noodle flying onto the table.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“Where can he sleep?” Jungkook asked, looking up with wide eyes. “I’ll share my room.”
Older Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “By this point in his life, you’ve already abandoned him because of his snoring,” he told him.
Jungkook blinked slowly. “Did… that upset you, hyung?”
Older Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bunch more noodles between his chopsticks. “Not really.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” Jimin piped up with a small laugh.
Jungkook turned to him again. “Did I upset you?” he asked again. “When I said you snore too much?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I couldn’t care less.”
“It bothered him so much,” Hoseok said, snickering.
Namjoon’s face flared up and he glared at his bowl. He stabbed a piece of beef with a chopstick.
“You can share with me, Namjoon-hyu—” Taehyung started, then paused. “Uh… Namjoon?”
“You can still call me hyung,” Namjoon mumbled, not looking up. “I don’t care where I sleep. Hopefully when I wake up I’ll be back where I belong.”
“But if you’re not, there’s no point in suffering,” Yoongi said, taking a swig of his drink.
“Room with me, hyung,” Taehyung said again, beaming. “I’ll protect you from Jungkookie and his weird thoughts — ow , did you just kick me?”
“No,” said Jungkook.
“Ow—okay that’s it, we’re taking this outside. Be right back, guys.” Taehyung grabbed Jungkook by his collar and dragged him away from the table. Everyone watched them as they bickered under their breath until Taehyung slammed the door behind them, and then muffled arguing continued.
“I’m fine with the sofa,” Namjoon said.
“Is it more or less weird if I say you can stay with me?” his older self asked, looking like he was trying not to look reluctant.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “How ever weird you’re feeling? That’s probably exactly how I’m feeling.”
“Maybe you should,” Hoseok said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Jin tossed a tissue at him, which smacked him in the face and then slid slowly down to the table. Hoseok grabbed it belatedly and started folding it, for whatever reason. “Like—maybe it’d help you guys understand why this might’ve happened? Maybe you need to talk about something. Accept something. I dunno.”
“This isn’t a movie, Hobi,” Yoongi said patiently, patting his arm.
“Neither are our lives—oh, wait, except now it is— hurghhh !” He choked as Jimin slapped a hand over his mouth and Jin wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him away from the table.
“Haha, oh, yes, that movie! The one we all say is about us! My favourite movie. Let’s go watch it, Hoseokkie!” Jin laughed brightly, still dragging the struggling Hoseok out of the kitchen. “Goodnight, my sweet dongsaengs!”
“G’night, hyungs—and baby Joonie!” Jimin chirped with a little wave, then ducked in behind the kidnapper and their victim.
He slammed the door.
“Aren’t you gonna save Hobi?” Older Namjoon asked casually, stealing Yoongi’s drink.
Yoongi shrugged. “He’s a big boy,” he said, yawning, then cracked open one eye to regard Younger Namjoon. “Oh, yeah, so we’ve just had a movie made. About us. That’s what just gave Jin-hyung a panic attack.”
“Oh,” said Namjoon. He understood what Yoongi said, but that was kind of way too much to let it sink in. He shook his head. “From the look of your—our?—apartment, everyone’s clothes and physiques, and how chill y’all look… I’m guessing we’re pretty successful?”
Yoongi raised his eyebrows and whistled. “Aren’t you a little sleuth?” he said.
Namjoon felt himself flush even though it was more a joke than it was praise. He’d probably laugh if his Yoongi said it, but this Yoongi looked so self-assured (in the most laid-back way, like it wasn’t even a second thought; like he didn’t have to act confident because he simply just was ) that it felt like a sunbae recognising you for the first time.
“Hyung,” Older Namjoon said, rolling his eyes, “our apartment probably looks boujee as fuck. It’s probably not hard to see that we’re doing well.”
“Big house, big cars, and big rings,” Younger Namjoon rapped quietly.
Yoongi cackled, leaning over and ruffling his hair. “Yeah, Joon-ah, we got there!”
Namjoon leaned into it, ducking his head and smiling up at him.
“I got you a ring once though,” Yoongi said, humming, “and you fuckin’ lost it.” He looked at Older Namjoon with wry amusement, smirking.
Older Namjoon rubbed his nose sheepishly, grinning. “It’s somewhere on earth, hyung.”
“I won’t lose it this time,” Younger Namjoon said, then regretted it immediately when the other two looked at him again.
“Fuck, you’re so cute,” Yoongi mumbled.
His head snapped up, eyes wide. “H-hyung—!”
“Aaand it’s decided: I’m taking myself to bed,” Older Namjoon declared, sliding out of his seat. “C’mon, uh. Namjoon.” He nodded to his left. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Namjoon glanced at Yoongi, who waved him off. “Go, otherwise Tae and Kook-ah will get back and fight over you.”
Namjoon stood and kicked his chair back under the table, looking back at Yoongi once before jogging to follow his older self out of the kitchen. Older Namjoon tugged open his door and gestured for him to go in first, so he awkwardly crossed the threshold and tried not to feel impossibly awkward and overwhelmed by the inherent strangeness of it all. His older self closed the door behind him and then fell into his computer chair, swivelling around to face him.
“So—”
“I don’t wanna talk,” Namjoon said before he could start. “I don’t think there’s some kinda ‘problem-solving’ shit that needs to go down. This shit doesn’t happen, even though it is right now. Maybe I’m stressed and this is a fever-dream, I don’t fuckin’ know, but I know that talking about my feelings isn’t gonna teleport me through time.” He swallowed thickly and tried to take a deep breath; that’s what some of the staff said would help calm their nerves. Clearly that shit didn’t work for Yoongi-hyung at Kobe , he thought bitterly, then burned the thought from his mind.
“I agree.”
He looked up, blinking.
Older Namjoon’s lips twitch. “You surprised? We’re the same person, remember.”
He shrugged. “I guess,” he mumbled. “We look similar, but…”
“I seem different,” Older Namjoon finished for him.
He nodded, picking at a loose thread on the duvet.
“Well, I’d hope so,” his older self continued, chuckling. “It’s been nearly five years, right? Half a decade.” He whistled. “Remember in school, every single year, they’d ask, ‘where do you want to be in five years?’”
“Yeah,” Namjoon muttered. “Pointless.”
“Mm.” He hummed. “I like to think the me five years from now is better than the me I am at the moment.”
Namjoon scoffed, looking up to glare, but his older self just smiled calmly back. It was infuriating. Why wasn’t he freaked out? “You’re already ‘better’ than me, right? Look, you’re fucking—” He waved a hand at him. “Fuckin’, I don’t know, you’re doing good, right? You probably do tours and shit, sell a solid amount of albums, you look like you’ve got stylists—”
“So why are you so angry?” his older self asked, quirking a brow even though he must have known why he was upset because—
“We’re the same fucking person, you know why.” He glared, then tore his gaze away to stare at his shelves of weird fucking toys. His room was too bright and warm to be Namjoon’s; it was all soft colours and this weirdly-shaped wooden table and there were those stupid Ryan plushies scattered around that couldn’t have been his .
“Because you think you’ve given up part of who you are,” Older Namjoon said. “You think you’ve left real rap behind, abandoned hip-hop, turned your back on the guys you knew as an underground rapper.”
“Haven’t you?” Namjoon snapped. “Haven’t I ? We fucking dance like—like—”
“Like idols,” Older Namjoon finished. “Yeah, you’re an idol. Yeah, you dance, you wear makeup, you write songs about love—but why does that mean you’re not what you wanted to be?”
“Because I’m—I—ugh.” He ran a hand through his hair, head hurting again from how much he was scowling.
“I still write our songs. Sure, others look them over, maybe refine them sometimes, but usually a lot of our lyrics are left up to all of us. Yoongi-hyung and Hobi help me a lot.”
Namjoon frowns at his older self’s hands. “…You write your own?” he muttered, then dragged his eyes up. “Really?”
“Really,” he promised.
Namjoon looked over at one of the nearby Ryan plushies and scowled at it. “But…” He huffed. “You’ve gotta write—” He shook his head. “You don’t write about what you want to anymore.”
“You assume,” Older Namjoon said, tilting his head. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m pretty sure,” he snapped. “You’re successful. You have a team of people to tweak you, mould you into whatever they want people to see you as. They’re already doing it and we’re not even sure we’re gonna work out—”
“Spoiler alert,” Older Namjoon interrupted with a little grin.
Namjoon glowered. “Multiverse theory would suggest that your success is a one-in-a-million chance, if that—”
“Okay, but we both know that neither of us believe in that.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Namjoon bit out, grabbing fistfuls of the duvet. “Stop just—saying what you think I believe or feel or whatever. We might be the same person but we’re years apart and I haven’t done whatever shit you have, I might never do it, I might get back and Yoongi-hyung might not come back, and Tae might leave us and then everything’ll go to shit and we’ll never do anything worthwhile and mum will say ‘I told you you should’ve stuck with your education,’ and everyone’ll fucking know I never could’ve accomplished shit —”
“Oh,” said Older Namjoon, softly. “Kobe.”
Namjoon stilled. He swallowed thickly and relinquished his grip on the sheets, folding his arms around himself and clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms.
“Yeah, that hit me hard,” his older self continued. “It affected all of us.”
Namjoon stared at the floor. “Did it…” He blinked furiously past the stinging in his eyes. “Did you… did you stop thinking about it?” he asked quietly, voice pathetically weak after the outburst only a minute prior. “Like. I mean. D’you still—”
“It’s not something you forget.”
He snapped his mouth shut.
“Yoongi-hyung still blames himself for it, even though none of us do. We all still blame ourselves for not knowing. Not helping. Even though he doesn’t.” Older Namjoon sighed, but it was a little bit shaky and not entirely calm and put-together like he’d been thus far. “But,” he continued, “we got past it. Yoongi… found healthier ways to cope. He’s happier now. I think we all are.” His chair squeaked as he shifted. “We all have our own demons; all people do. But while me and Yoongi have always accepted our issues, we haven’t always dealt with them well.”
Namjoon didn’t look up from the floor.
“We do now,” he said softly. “We’re a lot better at it. We’re… kinder to ourselves, and we try to tell others to do that too.”
Namjoon dragged his gaze up to meet his older self’s, even though it felt weird. “Is that what you write about?”
Older Namjoon brightened, sparks igniting in his eyes. “A lot of the time, yeah!” he said. “We have campaigns—I don’t know what to tell you, honestly. But, yeah, our music… we make it to help people. Whether it gets a message across or it does something as small as just brighten someone’s day, that’s what we try to do with our songs.” He smiled.
Namjoon chewed his lip and stared over at the Ryan plushie. “That…” He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t sound terrible.”
Older Namjoon chuckled. “It’s not,” he said. “In fact, I’d say it actually feels pretty good.”
Namjoon nodded. He looked away when his other self stood and traipsed across his (foreign) room, then he jumped when something landed in his lap. He scrambled to catch it before it could fall, then found himself staring at the Ryan that had been sat opposite him. He looked up to frown at himself. “I don’t—”
“Oh, shut it, I know you want it,” Older Namjoon said easily. “I’m the last person you should be embarrassed around; we know literally everything about each other.”
“I don’t know anything about the last four or five years of your life,” he corrected.
Older Namjoon shrugged. “Touché,” he agreed, “but you know pretty much all the cringey stuff, so. I’d say that’s enough.” He flopped down beside him, a few centimetres away. “So—”
“Do I actually do this?” he interrupted.
Older Namjoon blinked. “What?”
“What you’re doing,” he said, waving a hand and shifting a few extra inches away. “This—I don’t know, problem solving thing? It’s annoying .”
A flash of annoyance crossed his older self’s face and he felt somehow a little appeased at that. Thus far he’d seemed too perfect to be Namjoon, older or not; he was so patient and understanding and kind and it was a little sickening. “I’m helping .”
“In your opinion,” Namjoon said with a scoff.
“Oh my god, was I actually like this?” Older Namjoon groaned, collapsing back against his bed and grabbing a different plushie and what the fuck, how many of these did he have? “You’re obnoxious.”
“Just say how you really feel.” He snorted.
“Okay,” Older Namjoon said, dragging his legs up onto the bed and crossing them, then he turned to face him, a mirror reflection who was holding onto a Ryan plush with the same face and eyes. He took a breath. “You overcompensate. You try to act tough because you don’t ever feel strong enough, but in reality you’re not strong enough to let yourself show weakness. You think vulnerability is gay as if a feeling can have a sexuality and I don’t know if it’s too much to go down that road, but I’m still not good at holding myself back, so.” He leaned back against the pillows, looking almost bored as he said: “You hate yourself because you already know you find guys just as attractive as girls, you hate yourself because sometimes you don’t want to wear typically masculine clothes, you hate yourself because a part of you knows it’s toxic and outdated to have those beliefs but you believe them anyway.”
Namjoon’s mouth felt dry and his eyes stung. “Shut up.”
“You don’t want to be called Rap Monster because part of you actually believes you’re a monster because sometimes you think things that are wrong and that makes you a bad person. Such a bad person you can’t even be considered one. And that’s also why you haven’t asked to change it; because you think it fits you, because you think you’re a monster. At the same time, you find it embarrassing to think that way; it sounds like a fucking anime character who you’d take the piss out of.”
“I said shut up—”
“You write offensive lyrics sometimes not because you’re trying to stay true to the underground rap scene, but because you want to be seen as this bad boy who’s too tough to possibly be bi or like cute things or wear skirts.”
“You’re wrong—”
“You’re torn between trying to better yourself and just acting down to everyone’s expectations because if you’re a shitty person, no one can ever be disappointed in you. Because if you never try, you can’t fail. Because if you stay the way you are, you’ll never have to become something you’re scared of—”
“I said shut the fuck up!” Namjoon shouted, voice cracking at the end. “You don’t—I’m not—” He choked on a breath and felt something wet slide down his cheek. He scrubbed a fist against his face furiously, absolutely horrified, and felt his heart beat so furiously in his chest that it must have been audible in the room.
“Hey.” He jumped when his older self slid an arm around his shoulders and tried to wrench free of it. “Hey, stop. I know you want to be hugged sometimes.”
He cringed, curling in on himself, but Older Namjoon just tugged him against his chest. A fresh wave of tears burned his eyes and fell down his face, so he buried himself in his older self’s shoulder and tried to swallow down the sobs that were fighting their way out.
“I’m sorry,” Older Namjoon said quietly, “I know thinking those things to yourself and hearing them out loud are two totally different things. I went too far.”
“No, it’s f-fucking true,” Namjoon gasped, voice too high pitched and airy and nasally because his nose was getting blocked with snot from how much he was trying to hold his tears back. “I’m—I’m d-disgusting, I can’t he-help it, I’m—”
“What about you is disgusting, huh? Tell me.”
“I—I don’t—” He cut himself off with a sob and wanted to puke at the sound of it. He shoved his hand against his mouth to shut himself up.
“Being bi is such a non-issue, kid,” Older Namjoon said softly. “Honestly? I was scared shitless of telling just Yoongi-hyung even though I knew he’d be totally cool with it. I was scared of telling my parents even though they’ve always said they’d love me no matter what. I was scared of anyone finding out—but then I told everyone on my own, and nothing changed except that I didn’t feel like I was hiding anything anymore.”
Namjoon’s breath hitched and a noise that sounded like a whimper escaped him. Older Namjoon shushed him and rubbed his back and oh, god, that felt so good. He leaned into it, more white-hot tears escaping him and, mortifyingly, it was more out of how much he wanted this comfort than it was out of shame.
“The way you dress doesn’t matter either. Skirt or pants, Namjoon is Namjoon, and man? People will love you for it.”
“Nobody loves me.”
They both froze at that: Namjoon at the unbidden admission, and Older Namjoon—well, he wasn’t sure why. It was something both of them believed at some point.
“Ah,” Older Namjoon said faintly, voice weaker than it was a moment ago. “Yeah, I.” He laughed tiredly. “I really did think that, back then.”
He choked on a sob and wrenched himself out of his older self’s arms, scrubbing at his eyes. “Rationally, I know—I know my parents love me, these guys care, but I—”
“Rationality isn’t belief,” Older Namjoon said. “I know.” He pressed his hand gingerly against Younger Namjoon’s back and, when he didn’t lurch out of the touch, began rubbing circles into it. “But, kid… one day, you really will realise. That people love you,” he murmured, “and that loving yourself isn’t impossible either.”
Namjoon grimaced. He grunted, not sure how to respond, because it sounded as impossible as it did cringe-worthy. “Do you?” he asked gruffly, not able to look at him. “Like yourself, or whatever.” He paused. “Do you… think people—care about you?”
“I know they do,” he said easily, “but sometimes I manage to convince myself otherwise. Usually the guys remind me they care just by doing little things like—like Jin-hyung making me breakfast, Yoongi-hyung bringing me coffee, Hoseokkie coming to sit and talk to me when I’m being particularly anti-social, Jiminie obliterating the concept of personal space and hugging me all day, Tae shoving a controller in my hands and starting a co-op game I know he’s played fifty times before, Jungkookie trying to cheer me up in ways he thinks are subtle whilst looking like he’s gonna cry because he knows I’m sad.” He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “So on days I really don’t like myself, I know that they like me, and it helps.”
Namjoon just nodded. He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t picture the members doing all of that for him, couldn’t fathom the idea of Jungkook being sad simply because he was sad.
“Recently,” Namjoon said softly, “I. We had a concert, and I just… felt bad? Nothing happened. Nothing triggered it, I just… woke up and felt like I couldn’t get through the day. Most of the day is kind of a blur—I barely remember getting to the stadium. Anyway.” He waved a hand. “I. Tae somehow realised something was up, even though I was trying to act fine ‘cause, y’know, we had to perform—but before we had to go back out, he just pulled me aside and said, ‘you don’t seem well, hyung,’ and suddenly I just… couldn’t hold it in? I ended up telling him I was so tired and sad that I felt like I couldn’t even stand, and he just said, ‘I’ll be your tree, so you can lean on me.’”
“That sounds like Tae,” Namjoon found himself agreeing, smiling even though his eyes hurt. “I’m glad he still says things like that.”
“He’s grown a lot, but he’s still Tae,” his older self said. “You aren’t gonna lose any of them any time soon, kid.” Namjoon just made a noise in response, not sure what words would fit in the space here. After a few moments of silence, Older Namjoon smacked his knee again and said, “Well,” still quiet but lighter than before, “whether we believe in it or not, we ended up having an Emotional Talk, so. Well done, me.”
Namjoon snorted weakly, rubbing his eyes self-consciously again. “I’m so fucking tired.”
“Me too, but more because of dance practice than because of you,” he said.
Namjoon cringed. “Does it get harder than Danger ?” he asked, half-wishing he hadn’t as soon as the words left his mouth.
“No,” Older Namjoon said immediately, and he sighed in relief. “Oh, well. Maybe one comes close? Or two…”
He groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“Actually, you know what? No, Danger was the pinnacle of suffering,” his older self finally decided. “I don’t know if it’s because of endurance or choreography, but it never got worse than that.”
“Thank fuck,” Namjoon muttered.
“Now let’s sleep, so I can have nightmares about that torrid fucking dance.”
Namjoon snorted, rubbing his eyes again, and then slumped against the bed, too tired now to even bother pretending to want the sofa. He cuddled Ryan closer to his chest and buried his face in his fur. I need to buy one of these…
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock—
He jumped and slammed his head against a wall, a string of curses flying from his mouth immediately. “Fucking shit— what ?” he snapped, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head. “ Fuck .”
“Oh, Namjoonie, you are in there,” Jin said, voice a notch higher than when he spoke to him last night and—oh, wait. “Are you okay? Can you open—” This was the bathroom he’d fallen asleep in before he’d—
He yanked the door open so fast Jin nearly stumbled inside, but he righted himself at the last second with wide eyes and raised brows.
It was Jin. His Jin. He was back—back in his time, with his boys. Without Yoongi and Taehyung, with Jin looking at him with wide eyes.
“You didn’t have to do—oh, Namjoonie,” he said, casual tone fragmenting and giving way to something resembling concern, and he raised a hand as if he was going to reach out for him, but thought better of it at the last second and dropped it. “I—I didn’t wanna intrude or anything, but you…” He shifted from foot to foot, dropping his gaze before looking back up, looking like a determined deer-caught-in-headlights. “What’s wrong, Joonie?” he finally asked, then bit his lip, already second-guessing himself. “I mean, I know, I know Yoongi-yah and Taehyung—” He shook his head, sighing. “This went better in my head…”
Namjoon hesitated, still clutching on the bathroom door handle, watching Jin grimace and mutter to himself. Should he brush it off, say he’s fine? That’s what a leader should do, right? So as not to burden anyone—but then…
“...on days I really don’t like myself, I know that they like me, and it helps.”
He took a deep breath, then stepped forward and hugged Jin—who froze.
Namjoon tore himself away. “S-sorry, man, I don’t—”
“No, Namjoonie, wait…”
He took a step back, shaking his head, but Jin grabbed his arm and pulled him back into a hug, wrapping an arm around his waist and sliding his other hand in his hair, tugging his head against his shoulder. Namjoon twitched, tense as an animal in a trap.
“Joonie,” he said again, “I know you cry at night—and it’s okay . We all cry sometimes. You don’t have to hide it, you never have to hide anything, okay? We’re brothers . I. I just wanna give you my shoulder when you wanna cry.”
Namjoon leaned into the hug, slowly threading his arms around Jin too. His breath hitched and he tried to squirm even deeper into Jin’s shoulder, flushing when he chuckled. “Jin-hyung,” he whispered.
“Yeah, Joonie?”
He clenched his eyes shut to rein in the stinging sensation. “I’m—I’m worried about Yoongi,” he breathed.
Jin squeezed him. “I know, Joon-ah, me too.”
He sniffed wetly. “I want him to be able to talk to me. To us,” he said, “but at the same time, I’m—I’m sc-scared of doing that too. But he. He just l-locked himself in a bathroom and didn’t tell any—I had no idea he was—” He choked on a sob and Jin squeezed him again, making a strangled noise of sympathy. “I j-just—I wanna make you all happy. I want us to do good , want Yoongi to feel okay, don’t want Tae to be exhausted, don’t want any of you to—t-to—”
“Ssh, Joonie, I know,” Jin whispered softly, cradling his head and rocking them side-to-side. Namjoon wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it, but it was helping so he didn’t bring it up. “We’re gonna be okay, Namjoonie. You’ve told me yourself: we’re gonna make it.” Jin pulled away just enough to smile at him. “I believe in you, Joonie. I believe Yoongi will be okay, eventually. I know Tae’s gonna be fine, know eventually Jungkookie and Jiminie will stop crying at night, know Hobi will one day be as happy as he pretends to be for the cameras.” He raised a hand and brushed Namjoon’s cheek. He realised, belatedly, he was rubbing his tears off, and felt himself flush in embarrassment. Although Jin just cleared the traces of tear tracks from his face, Namjoon rubbed his own hand over it, leaving it in front of his mouth as a pathetic attempt at a barrier. “I believe one day you’ll learn to like yourself, Namjoonie,” he continued. Namjoon’s eyes snapped back to him. “Until then, I, uh. I’ll be here, okay?” Jin said, the small stutter belying how confident he was trying to sound.
Namjoon relaxed a little, knowing he felt as awkward as he did, and he smiled back even though his face felt puffy. Until then? But I want you even after I accept myself , he thought, and it sounded more like his older self’s voice, but he couldn’t say something so cringey. Not right now. Instead, he nodded, too raw and exposed to do much else.
Jin smiled, shoulders dropping in relief. “Okay, cool, good,” he said, more to himself than Namjoon. “For now—come get some sleep? Please don’t lock yourself in the bathroom. I was worried.”
Namjoon ducked his head. “Sorry, hyung.”
“Aish, stop acting so cute,” Jin said and, for a second, Namjoon’s heart forgot to beat and he felt a little sick. He snapped back up to apologise, but Jin grinned and ruffled his hair. “It’s too much for me. You’re adorable, Joonie.”
He flushed and rubbed his neck. “Shut up,” he said weakly.
Jin beamed. “Shut up, hyung ,” he corrected, then balked. “No, wait, I mean—you can’t say that to me!”
Namjoon laughed and pushed past him to race him back into the living room. He faltered when three faces glanced over at him, then stumbled forwards when Jin bumped into his back.
“Sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly, “if, uh, if we woke you guys.”
Hoseok shook his head, smiling. “I wasn’t asleep,” he said. “Besides, hearing you two laughing—I dunno, it made me feel a bit better.”
Jimin, who was resting his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, patted the unrolled futon beside him. “We’re camping here tonight,” he said, “come lie next to me, hyung.”
“I love camping,” Namjoon said, laughing softly, and turned to give Jin a gentle clap on the shoulder before slinking over to sit beside Jimin.
“I’ll take you,” Jungkook said suddenly.
Namjoon blinked.
“Camping. Like, real camping, outside,” Jungkook explained. “I’ll take you one day.”
Namjoon softened as Jungkook blinked furiously, eyes a bit too shiny in the low light of the room, like he was fighting back tears. “Jungkookie trying to cheer me up in ways he thinks are subtle whilst looking like he’s gonna cry because he knows I’m sad,” was what his older self had said, right? Guess that was true.
He shuffled closer to the pair and threw his arms around both of them. They both inhaled sharply, surprised by the uncharacteristic gesture, but scrambled to hug him back.
“Thank you guys,” he whispered. I missed you. Even though the ‘we’ we are right now is flawed, even though we’ve got so far to go, there’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with.
“We love you, Joonie-hyung,” Jimin said, squeezing him.
Jungkook flushed and didn’t repeat the words, but he held Namjoon tighter and buried his face in his chest.
“Group hug!” Hoseok declared, jumping into the hug from behind them and ensnaring Namjoon’s waist.
Jin chuckled and slipped into it too, resting his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and smiling. “We’re gonna be okay, guys,” he told them.
Namjoon leaned into him and giggled when Jimin and Jungkook pitched forward to follow the movement. Jimin cooed at his high-pitched laugh and Jungkook mumbled something like ‘oh my god’ and he hugged them as tight as he could as he said: “We’re gonna be great .
☾･ ｡ ☆∴｡ * ･ﾟ*｡★･
･ *ﾟ｡ * ･★ ﾟ*｡･ﾟ｡
☆ﾟ･｡°*. ﾟ * ﾟ｡·*･｡ ﾟ* ﾟ *.｡☆｡★ ･
* ☆ ｡･ﾟ*.｡ * ★ ﾟ･｡ * ｡ ﾟ･☆ ｡
it’s so far, far away,
but I still cross the bridge;
I want to reach myself.
- ᴜʜɢᴏᴏᴅ