Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Y/N, you forgot your toothbrush. Are you sure you don’t want me to help you pack?”

It takes a few seconds to register that your mom has spoken. You look up from your overflowing suitcase with a crease between your brows, phone squeezed in your hand and displaying your long list of packing essentials. 

“Hm? No, I’m okay…I haven’t gotten my bathroom stuff yet,” you say vaguely, giving your mom a reassuring smile. 

It’s nearly midnight, and you still haven’t finished getting your things together for your flight that’s in six hours. Future you is going to have some things to say about your preparedness, assuming she can wake up long enough to be bitter about it. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? We can call Seungwoo to have him pick you up at the airport,” your mom frets where she stands by your open bedroom door, twirling a strand of hair and looking at you anxiously.  

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Seungwoo has to run the restaurant. I don’t want to bother him.” 

“It isn’t bothering him—” 

“Besides, I lived in Korea for three months. I know my way around.” 

“I’m just worried!” she bursts out, coming into your room to sit on your bed. You drop a sweatshirt over the sheer bag of cute underthings you’re only halfway finished packing. “You’ll only have a week to prepare for school when you get back, are you sure you don’t want to change your flight home?” 

There’s usually no good way to ease your mom’s worries when she goes all mother hen on you, but you know she’ll relax once you let her know you’ve made it through security. The best you can do for now is stay calm in light of her anxiety. 

“I promise it’s fine. I’m only moving an hour away and I’m not packing as much as I did for university. I’ll come home every weekend and you can dote on me as much as you want.” 

“Why do you want to go back to Korea so bad, anyway? Don’t you want to spend more time with us before you’re back in school?” 

“No offense, mom, but you and dad are driving me crazy,” you say with a slight laugh. 

“Okay. I think I got it all out of my system,” your mom says. There’s a heavy pause. “Are you going back because of a boy?” 

“I’m a lesbian.” 

“What!” your mom shrieks, her eyes widening into saucers. “Oh, honey. Why didn’t you tell me?! You know I love and support you no matter—” 

“I’m just kidding. I’m going back because of seven boys.” 

“Not funny, young lady. You almost gave me a heart attack. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you thought you couldn’t talk to me about being gay!” your mom says dramatically. Finally, though, she stands up to make her way to bed. “Seven boys, hah. You got your father’s sense of humor.” 

Phew. That blatant truth seems to have thrown her off the trail. To put the final nail in the coffin, you sigh. “No mom, I’m serious. There’s seven of them and they’re famous singers.” 

Famous might be a stretch, but it makes the idea of boys being part of the equation ridiculous. That’s all you need. 

Your mom just laughs as she says goodnight; you hear her mutter “seven boys” before her bedroom door closes, and finally, you can focus on the packing she interrupted. 

Your carry-on luggage is packed to the brim with books, lip balm, headphones, a neck pillow, and other plane essentials, while your laptop bag has your electronics and travel document. That’s all good to go. It’s just your clothes that you can’t decide on. How much cute underwear do you really need for three months with your boyfriend? Is there a limit to how many oversized sweaters you can cozy up in? Do you really need to take three beanies when you can steal one or ten from Yoongi?  

Come to think of it, you would look cute dressed in his clothes. 

Packing less is probably better. You’ll no doubt go shopping and wind up leaving with more than you’re taking; there’s a decent ~Going to Korea~ fund made up of leftover student loans and the every-now-and-again translation jobs you took up just to have something productive to do. 

It was all Namjoon’s idea. “You should give translating a shot before you decide you don’t want to do it.” 

You gave it many shots. It didn’t make your heart sing, just weep. 

Oh well. It all worked out. 

In the end, you dump out half of what you packed and shove your luggage to the door so you can lay down and prepare for the extremely long bout of travel you’re about to do. Sleep comes, more or less, but not nearly enough of it, and then you’re off. After what feels like years—years filled with exhaustion, boredom, and crying children—you shuffle off the plane in Korea feeling more or less like a vaguely functional human being. 

You’re in no hurry. Partially because you’re tired, and partly because Auntie Dayoung is on a trip and your boys are working. It’s midday, Incheon airport is just as vast and bright white as you remember, and you want nothing more than to drop on the floor and sleep. You were at least able to fly directly from San Francisco, but the flight time was still over 10 hours and there’s no worse place to sleep than on an airplane with all the snoring and farting and people climbing over you to get to the bathroom. It’s worse than being packed on one of Seoul’s very full trains. Worse than being stuck sharing a hotel room. Perhaps even worse than death. 

[Cheonsa]

I’m here~

[Attachment: very sleepy selfie with a peace sign thrown up, signs for the trains and buses and baggage claim in the background.]

Time to go find a bed. 

There’s no response, but you aren’t expecting one. 

First thing’s first: you have to get your luggage. The fight through the crowd isn’t too bad, but something feels off. There’s a distant screeching that puts your nerves on edge, not the least bit because of the high pitch of it. As you’re making your way to the exit with your bag, you’re blinded by a round of bright flashes and momentarily deaf from the screaming of dozens of girls. 

Oh no. 

Idols are here. 

That can be the only explanation. In an attempt to save yourself, you rush past the crowd at the door, trying not to touch even a coat sleeve on your journey past the crowd of people. You don’t know or care who’s returning home to Seoul today. You just want to sleep. The group of people starts shifting as a unit to the left, while you decide—on the spot—fuck the train, it’s bus time and break away as fast as your legs can carry you from the deafening roar of kpop fans currently making your ears ring. 

Damn. Crazy to think that your boys are going to be experiencing this one day. You glance back just in time to see a group of pretty, fashionably dressed people start making their way from the airport. It’s hard to imagine your boys walking out of the airport to a sea of fans and media, but you have no doubt in your mind that it’s going to happen. 

How will they take it? Taehyung you can imagine liking it. Jimin, too, he likes attention. When you think of Namjoon and Yoongi, though, you can’t help but snicker. Awkward Namjoon and people-wary Yoongi? They’ll hate it, absolutely. 

At least at first. It’s the kind of thing one becomes used to, you imagine, as you watch whatever group this is pose and let their pictures be taken looking totally relaxed and like they do this all the time. Geez, they must be really famous. Your curiosity is piqued, but you just dodged a bullet rushing your way through that mess. It’s best not to lose the advantage standing around staring. 

Other than that brief non-encounter, the trip to the cafe is entirely uneventful, unless someone would count bus transfers as “eventful.” There wasn’t much to do besides stare out the window in a state of half-consciousness while O!RUL8,2? and 2 Cool 4 Skool blasted through your earbuds, perhaps the only reason you managed to stay awake and not miss your stop. 

It doesn’t feel quite real yet. You aren’t sure why; you thought that landing at Incheon would be about as real as it can get, but you still don’t quite believe that you’re in Seoul. You’re looking at Seoul, smelling Seoul, existing in Seoul, but it’s not quite clicking yet. Like this might be a dream that you’re having and when you wake up, you’ll be back home waiting for November 15th to happen. 

You check your watch. It’s November 15th, and you’re definitely in Seoul. 

The feeling doesn’t last long. Somewhere between the Paris Baguette a block from the cafe and the 7-Eleven two doors down, a sense of contentment explodes itself into being. You’ve walked this street so many times, seen the little sign ahead that advertises the cafe on return journeys from sightseeing, and up the hill you can see the dorm. Just like when you left, you know they aren’t there, but you stop to look at it anyway; the feeling of leaving has nothing on the bright, bubbly joy of coming back. 

At the same time you’re gazing off at the dorm, you get that peculiar sensation that there are eyes on you. Being stared at isn’t all that uncommon in Seoul, what with being an obvious foreigner and all, but it’s still uncomfortable. You scan the area ahead, locking eyes with someone standing outside the cafe. Someone very familiar. Someone very missed. 

“I thought you would be working,” is the first thing you blurt out in a slight daze. 

“I lied,” Yoongi says with a shrug and a half-smile. “Welcome home, Y/N.” 

Your legs are basically like heavy lead boulders attached to your body, but you still find the energy to run forward straight into Yoongi, who only opens his arms at the last second to catch you in a tight hug. The two of you veer off to the side into the concrete wall of the cafe; you grunt at the impact, but laughter bubbles up in your throat to spill out between you. 

“Yoongi!” you cry between giggles, squeezing Yoongi with all your might. His shirt is clenched in your hands and your face is buried in his neck, his familiar scent overwhelming you with feelings and memories of a carefree summer you’ve been clinging to since you left. It’s real. You’re here. You’re in Seoul until February and Yoongi is right here, holding you with one arm and stroking your hair oh so gently. 

“Happy to see me?” 

This should be the part where you deliver a clever, deadpan quip to lighten the mood, but that’s not what you do. With a quiet wail, you nod. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it. You could stand here for several days, maybe weeks, just to soak up Yoongi’s warmth, and be totally satisfied. It hardly matters that you’re in your grubby traveling clothes, hungry, exhausted, and maybe a little overwhelmed. 

“C’mon, let’s take it inside,” Yoongi murmurs. Extracting yourself feels like an impossible task, but you manage so that Yoongi can walk down the sidewalk and grab your bags. 

“Damn,” you mutter, suddenly remembering one crucial detail. “I don’t have a key.” 

“Very astute,” Yoongi says. He fishes in his pocket and produces the key in question, then unlocks the door. The smile on his face is bordering too closely on a smirk. 

“What the hell? You have a spare key?” 

“No, you have a spare key. Seungwoo hyung dropped it off this morning.” 

“Oh.” 

Makes sense. You can’t, for the life of you, understand how you forgot to ask about the key in the first place, but it stands to reason that at least Auntie didn’t bring it up herself because she already had a convenient plan. Smart lady. Keys under the mat are hardly safe. 

The cafe doesn’t have a mat, anyway. 

You have a million questions in mind by the time you get up to the apartment, which looks almost exactly the same as you remember it a year ago. Jun jumps down from the top of the shoe rack with an affronted chirp and darts straight into Auntie Dayoung’s room, evidently no longer familiar enough with your scent to greet you. Feeding him a few times will fix that for sure. 

Questions can wait, you decide. Yoongi is shrugging off his coat and kicking off his shoes, so you follow suit, taking his hand when he wordlessly extends it and pulls you from the entryway toward the… 

...Storage room? Odd choice, but okay. 

Except the room is no longer full of boxes but converted into a guest bedroom. A full-sized bed greets you, tucked under a big window that’s dressed in gauzy curtains. The desk from your old makeshift bedroom is along the wall across from an actual closet; a few decorations and framed pictures decorate the walls in the same understated manner of the cafe down below, your favorite addition being a little shelf with even littler cacti in a neat line.  

“Oh! Auntie Dayoung said just about every day she wanted to clean this room out,” you inform Yoongi, not really considering the potential implications when you drop your remaining stuff and flop on the bed. It’s comfy. You actually groan. 

“Yeah, me and Jungkookie helped her,” Yoongi says. He flops down next to you on his side. “A few weeks ago.” 

“You did?” 

“Mhm. She was really excited to have you coming back.” 

“Oh. You didn’t tell me.” 

“It’s called a surprise.” 

“For me?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Oh.” 

Tiredness is setting in harder than ever, but it’s difficult to do anything but look at Yoongi. He’s close—closer than he’s been in a long time. You can feel his body heat against your arm, see his chest rising and falling. His dark eyes bore into your own. The air feels still and heavy. 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” you ask. 

“Of course I am.” 

It’s exactly like you daydreamed about—gentle and sweet, warmth spreading to your fingers and toes while your heart flutters in your chest. Yoongi’s fingers intertwine with yours. His hands are so big, soft and enveloping yours completely. Like downstairs, you have the feeling you could stay like this for as long as it’s physically possible, being kissed with Yoongi scooting closer, pressing his body against yours, letting go of your hand to touch your hip— 

And then it’s nothing like you imagined. Months you spent flirting over text and video chat, helping each other release tension, coming apart together without being able to be in the same space. It’s as if you both remember at the same time that you’re together, in person, able to touch. Suddenly you’re on your back with Yoongi resting between your thighs, kissing so fiercely your lips tingle and your fingers tremble. The kiss breaks for Yoongi to yank your sweater over your head while you fumble with the buckle of his belt, the clink of metal that won’t come undone becoming the most frustrating noise you’ve ever heard. 

“Here—” Yoongi says, reaching down to undo the cursed thing. The second the buckle falls open you pull the belt away while Yoongi undoes his fly, both of you fumbling next with the button and zipper on your own jeans. “Hah, I didn’t think you’d go straight for this.” 

“Neither did I,” you admit, aware that you’re blushing scarlet and your fingers are trembling worse than ever. By the time you’re finished, your jeans are rolled down and clinging to your ankle, but it doesn’t matter much, not yet; Yoongi nestles himself back between your legs, and without the barrier of denim you can feel his boner nudging up against you. “But here we are.” 

“Yeah,” is all Yoongi says before your mouths are pressed together again. 

Between the way Yoongi’s hands are roaming everywhere and how expertly he’s kissing you, there’s not a lot of coherence left for you to return his touches. Touching yourself on camera is nothing like being pressed under Yoongi’s body, unable to hide your quiet noises like you are when there’s distance between you. A frenzied whirlwind of arousal is setting every nerve of your body alight, making every graze of Yoongi’s fingers feel like electricity dancing over your skin. 

Yoongi’s lips trail to your jaw, a flick of his tongue across your earlobe making you moan a lot louder than you thought you were capable of. And he doesn’t stop there; your nails dig into his shoulders, your whole body shivering at the sensation of Yoongi licking up your ear, his breaths hot against your skin. “Y-yoongi—” you whimper it, then moan it when Yoongi changes directions to your neck. A chill mixes with the heat pooling in your body, a curious sensation that has you shivering harder.  

It feels like you’re being eaten up, but you’re not sure if that’s a hot thing to say. Whether it is or not, you love the feeling of having so much attention lavished on you, of knowing that Yoongi can’t do anything but try to devour you, his teeth digging into your skin. It burns and feels like ecstasy at the same time, a sting that rolls into a dull burn. Is Yoongi marking you—? Another moan hangs in the air at the mere thought, your mind going fuzzy while your legs move of their own accord to wrap around Yoongi’s waist. He sucks another mark into your skin, but your arousal is starting to overtake your patience. 

“Don’t make me wait,” you whisper into the heated air. You use your legs to draw Yoongi’s hips down, tight against you, and grind upward against him. “Yoongi, please.” 

“Ah, fuck, yeah,” Yoongi whispers, lifting his head so that you can lock gazes. He’s flushed and breathing hard, his lashes fluttering over glittering black. “Fuck, I’ve been going crazy wai—” 

Both of you freeze when a ringtone shatters the air. Yoongi’s ringtone. He lifts his head to glare in the general direction of where his jeans are crumpled up on the floor, then rises to his knees with a very sour look on his face. 

“You’re not seriously going to answer that?” you whine, but you know he probably has to keep an eye on his phone at all times. You watch Yoongi retrieve his phone, unsure of when his pants actually came off, but admiring the view of his tented boxers all the same. You did that. And Yoongi has such pretty, delicate legs. Both of his knees are bruised from dance practice you assume. 

“Hey, Namjoon. What’s up?” Yoongi says into the phone, still looking incredibly sour. “Already? You said…nevermind. Yeah, I’ll head back. Sorry.” 

“Did Kim Namjoon just cockblock me?” you groan. Saying you’re a mess is an understatement; you’re going to need to go clean up and change panties before getting back into your pants. 

“If we’re really quick about it—” 

“Ugh. Just go. The mood is ruined,” you whine some more, very dramatically, but you’re smiling. Yoongi snorts. 

“Yah, go get dressed. I’m taking you with me.” 

“Is that okay?” 

“Do I look like I care?” 

Yoongi does not, in fact, look like he cares. Huh. Where are you going? To the garage, or maybe the practice room? Perked up from your rudely interrupted intimacy, you run to the bathroom to take the shortest below-the-waist shower ever, then throw on clothes so you can meet Yoongi at the door. 

Where he wraps a scarf around your neck, giving you a pointed look. Ooh. No taking off the scarf, got it. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t have a single iota of concern for Yoongi marking you, but now that you’re considering other people seeing it, it feels a lot more embarrassing.

…And even hotter, which is a really confusing pair of emotions to grapple with. 

“So, where are we going?” you ask on your journey back outside, immediately leaning into Yoongi and linking your arms. He looks stupid handsome in his coat, but you’re trying not to think about such things lest you drag him behind a bush for more ravaging. That’s probably inappropriate. 

“Not far,” Yoongi answers. 

Not far, indeed. Yoongi takes you straight to the dorm, and quickly. The chill in Seoul isn’t terrible yet, but there’s a slight breeze that feels horribly icy on your skin. You assume you’re just making a pit stop to grab something, but at this point you really should know better. When the door to the tiny dorm opens, there’s Taehyung and Jungkook pulling you into a hug while Jimin lingers behind them, looking unsure if he’s allowed to join. One gesture to get closer is all it takes for him to throw his arms around all of you. Just like hugging Yoongi—or tackling him, whatever—it feels exactly like coming home. 

“Noona, here, we got you this—” Jungkook starts, shoving a package that crinkles loudly into your hands. Smushed together as you are, it’s all you can do to take it. 

“We saw it when we were in Hongdae and we thought it would be perfect,” Taehyung joins in happily, his voice muffled from where Jimin is pushing his head into your shoulder. 

“Go on, open it!” Jungkook says. You feel Yoongi skirt around the three of you, no doubt to let you have this small reunion in the cramped entryway. 

“You have to let go of me first,” you say. You make no moves to withdraw from the hug, though, and neither do they. “I can’t move my arms.” 

“Soon,” Taehyung mumbles. 

Soon winds up being another few minutes. When the maknae finally let go of you, you lock eyes with Hoseok, who’s standing at the entrance to the rest of the apartment, nerves emanating off him in nearly tangible waves. 

“Hoseok,” you say, not quite sure why you sound like you have a cold, but deciding not to think about it. Hoseok smiles, subdued, but you’re not having any of it. “Hoseok, I’m home.” 

You move at the same time, wrapping each other in a tight hug. “Welcome home.” 

You laugh, or maybe sob. Who knows. It doesn’t matter that much. 

You’re home. 

Chapter Text

The party was lovely. Or it probably was, you aren’t totally sure. After greeting everyone you were led to sit at the tiny table in the kitchen, where mountains of food—consisting of a suspicious amount of chicken breast and sweet potato—sat in wait. Everyone was celebrating, a joyful atmosphere filling the Bangtan dorm, but you ? The second wind you’d gotten from making out with Yoongi dissipated exponentially. You remember eating some side dishes and chicken, then curling up on the nearest warm lap to rest your eyes, and then—

Dreams. Incoherent dreams that made little sense and seemed intent on throwing you back into university, there was a religious cult and something about failing statistics before you open your eyes again. 

Someone is petting you, rather like you’re a cat. You feel denim under your cheek, a familiar scent lingering with the remnants of food, and you can tell right away that night has fallen outside and most of the boys have disappeared. Low voices speaking nonsense float in the air. You want nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but doing so results in you smushing your face into someone’s belly and a strangled noise pulling you from the recesses of sleep. 

You lock eyes with Namjoon, who’s staring down at you with complete fondness and a touch of surprise. His fingers card through your hair, brushing it back to tuck behind your ear. 

“Namjoon-ah,” you mumble sleepily, trying to smile but yawning instead. Politeness dictates that you should get up and stop laying all over his lap, but his lap is warm and surprisingly comfortable. “What time is it?” 

“Only seven. Did you get enough sleep?” 

“Mmh.” You yawn again, doubling down on this ‘using Namjoon as a pillow’ thing. “Mhm. I think so. You’re warm.” 

“Body heat makes a good blanket,” Namjoon replies. He’s still stroking your hair, which is turning you into a little pile of mush. How you managed to stay asleep on the floor is beyond you; your back feels stiff and your hip hurts from where it’s flush with the linoleum. 

“Where’s Yoongi?” 

“Right here,” Yoongi answers. There’s a strange quality to his voice that you can’t pick out. It’s soft, above a whisper but not by much. Tender. Happy? Yeah, happy. “You two look cozy.” 

Namjoon gives a high-pitched laugh, the one he always uses when he’s embarrassed. Okay, you really should get up. An abundance of physical contact isn’t Namjoon’s thing, after all. Regardless, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to push you off. 

“M’hungry,” you mumble. Getting up is a colossal task, which really only results in you leaning heavily on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Can I have some potatoes?” 

“I’ll heat some up for you,” Yoongi answers. You blink sleepily in his direction. 

“I had a dream I was back in statistics. I don’t wanna go back to st—” you continue mumbling sleepily, cut off by a big yawn that leaves you smacking your lips a few times while you try to remember what you were saying. 

Jet lag. It’s awful. 

At least it seems your companions are amused by your tiredness. You hear Yoongi chuckling over the sound of a plate going in the microwave, and you feel Namjoon shaking with his own laughter. “What’s funny?” 

“You’re cute, noona,” Namjoon answers quietly. You whine. 

“M’not cute, I’m tiiired. Someone on the plane kept farting and it smelled like rotten pumpkins.” 

Yoongi bursts out laughing while you relax more fully into Namjoon and close your eyes again. He really is shaking a lot, and you still don’t know what’s funny. Oh well. Namjoon is comfy. He smells like soap and laundry detergent; it reminds you of running in the rain under the cover of night and hesitant hugs; of feeling light and happy and free. You could easily drift off again, but then Seokjin’s voice floats into the room. 

“Is she up?” he asks in a near whisper. 

“She’s up,” Yoongi replies. The microwave beeps. The whole kitchen smells like sweet potatoes, which perks your stomach up. Finally, you’re able to push away from Namjoon and stretch. 

“Hi pretty oppa,” you say in a sing-song voice. Seokjin splutters. “Were you waiting for me?” 

“N-no! Taehyung and Jungkook are waiting for you. They’re convinced you want to play Payday.” 

“I’ve got potatoes, it’s okay,” you say right as Yoongi slides the plate in front of you. “Back home we eat sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving. With marshmallows.” 

“Marshmallows?” the other three chorus with varying levels of disgust. 

“Mmm,” you agree through a mouthful of sweet potato, nodding for emphasis. You swallow. “And brown sugar.” 

Silence meets your statement, but you don’t mind. The potatoes are pretty good for just being sweet potatoes, and your stomach is sending signals to your brain that you need to eat way more of them. 

“American food is strange,” Seokjin says after a moment.  

“You haven’t tried it, you can’t judge,” you reply before shoveling another bite of potato straight into your face. “B’shides, you put corn on pizza.” 

“Korean pizza is weird,” Namjoon informs the other two. “Noona told me last summer.” 

“Ish not weird, just—” you remember, suddenly, that you shouldn’t be talking with your mouth full and swallow again. “Different. Different isn’t bad. I could really go for some Mr. Pizza. Or just give me corn cheese baked on pizza dough. Ooh, I’m hungry.” 

“Oh, we can probably order pizza,” Namjoon says thoughtfully while you shovel more potatoes in your mouth. You’re eating a bit indecently but you don’t care. Stomach grumbly. “Jungkookie would appreciate that.” 

“Yah! I cooked so much food!” Seokjin replies, finally coming to sit at the table and looking pained. 

“Don’t try to pretend you aren’t tired of chicken breast,” Yoongi mutters. “Pizza sounds heavenly right now.” 

“We have food here,” you say in Seokjin’s favor. He beams at you. “But you know where we don’t have food?” 

“Where?” Namjoon asks blankly.  

“In my apartment.” 

“What’s not in your apartment?” Taehyung asks from the doorway. 

“Pizza.” 

“Aw,” Taehyung pouts, his big eyes and ears so cute you nearly melt. “I want pizza.” 

“Hooligans! Absolute menaces!” Seokjin rages, but he bursts into laughter while he yells about how hard he slaved over the stove for all of you. “Cheonsa!” he shouts suddenly, rounding on you. “You’re eating what I cooked right now! Is it that terrible?” 

“Hmm,” you say slowly, pretending to think. “Well…” 

“The disrespect!” Seokjin cries. He lunges at you, playfully; you fall back into Namjoon. Your chopsticks go flying and clatter on the floor while Seokjin tickles you mercilessly. Taehyung joins the fray, declaring he’s going to rescue you from the scary hyung. 

Apparently, Seokjin doesn’t tolerate being tickled. He scrambles away, leaving you open for Taehyung to lay across. You turn your head to look at Yoongi. He looks absolutely baffled. 

“Everyone is being weird today. You’ve brought chaos energy to Seoul,” he says, deadpan. 

“Okay, okay. Pizza tomorrow,” you say. Having Taehyung laying over your middle is more interesting than arguing about having food at home; you stroke his hair, amazed at how soft it is, while he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. His arms are around your waist and his chin is digging a bit uncomfortably into your sternum, but you don’t mind. After being apart for so long, you’re pretty sure you’d let him stab you with his chin for as long as he wants to. 

“What are you doing tonight, noona?” 

“Hmm, probably just going to sleep,” you say with a wrinkle of your nose. “The flight was really long.” 

“Ahhh, without sleep.” Taehyung nods as he trails off. “Make sure you use lots of blankets. It’s cold at night.” 

“Body heat is a good blanket,” Yoongi offers. You glance at him. 

“Hey yeah! I’ll keep you warm tonight noona!” Taehyung says happily. 

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Namjoon says. Taehyung doesn’t seem to hear him. 

“Let the kid dream, Namjoon-ah. Yoongi is going to hog her enough as it is.” 

“Hey, shut up?” 

Taking you completely by surprise, Namjoon wraps his arms around your shoulders and leans forward so that his chest is pressed to your back. Between him and Taehyung you’re definitely warm enough. You’re still looking at Yoongi, who quirks one brow with a slight smile. 

It’s strange, but not in a bad way, how much it feels like you never left. You continue stroking Taehyung’s hair while chatter carries on around you, feeling like your world has shrunk to a pinpoint. There’s a lot happening outside this little bubble, but inside of it is such a strong feeling of contentment that nothing else could possibly matter aside from this—being here with your boys, accepted without questions. Your lip trembles. You look away from Yoongi, down at Taehyung, who’s still watching you closely while the others talk. 

“Are you sad?” Taehyung asks. He squeezes you gently. 

“No, I’m happy. It’s good to be back.” 

“Can you stay this time?” 

“Oh, Taehyung. I wish I could.” 

“Then…” Taehyung frowns. “Next time?” 

“I really don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “I still have to figure out my path. It might bring me here.” You pause, offering Taehyung a small smile. “I hope it brings me here.” 

The tiny frown on Taehyung’s face is devastating. You lean down and kiss his forehead as an apology. While you figured someone would ask, you didn’t expect it to be so soon. At least the peck wipes the frown off Taehyung’s face. Smiling is a better look on him, for sure, or maybe you just prefer knowing he’s happy. 

“What happened to your neck, noona?” 

The chatter quiets down at that exact moment; that feeling of having eyes on you returns four-fold. Weren’t you wearing a scarf? 

Oh, right. You took it off when you put on the hoodie the boys bought you, and though you could try to kid yourself that Taehyung isn’t looking at Yoongi’s handiwork, it’s a fruitless endeavor. 

“A dog,” you blurt out. 

“A dog?” Seokjin asks, barely containing his mirth. 

“Mhm. Yep. A dog, uh. Bit me. On the neck.” 

“That’s funny,” Taehyung says in complete seriousness, though he doesn’t laugh. “I always thought of Yoongi hyung as more of a cat.” 

Why was he asking if he already knows?! Namjoon shakes with laughter while Yoongi has absolutely zero reaction. Seokjin turns scarlet. And then there’s Taehyung, who’s just looking at you like you’re an interesting specimen of some kind. To your own surprise, you don’t blush so much as smile shyly, unable to contain the pleased feeling that comes out of nowhere. That’s something to think about later when you’re not surrounded by your friends. 

“Did it hurt?” Taehyung asks curiously. You shrug. 

“Sorta.” 

“But you liked it?” 

“Yah, Taehyung!” Seokjin says, covering his face. From the way he introduced himself when you first met, you would have never imagined him to be the shyest person in this dorm. 

“No, I’m curious. Did you like it?” Yoongi asks with his typical deadpan expression. 

You roll your eyes. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m still pretty tired. I’m going to go sleep.” 

“Okay, I’ll get my stuff!” Taehyung says brightly.  

“Wait—” Seokjin starts, but he cuts himself off and simply sighs. 

“It’s fine,” Namjoon says. Meanwhile, Taehyung is already jumping up and scampering off toward their shared room. “As long as noona is okay with it.” 

“I don’t mind,” you say, though you do, sort of, because of reasons . A small fantasy of waking up next to Yoongi and doing all manner of sexy things before making breakfast sprang into your head fully formed at some point, but it’s okay. Without the panting and the touching and the moaning, the physical stuff doesn’t feel so urgent. You glance at Yoongi, who just shrugs and rolls his eyes. “But if you want to sleep over too, you can chaperone.” 

As if you need a chaperone. You don’t mind placating Seokjin, though, who considers it while gazing toward their bedroom. He nods once and goes to join Taehyung. You relax for a moment before remembering it’s Namjoon you’re leaning all over and pull away with a soft apology, to which he just smiles a little awkwardly and shrugs. 

Getting back to your apartment is a race in the chill that’s descended since the sun went down. Taehyung drops his stuff by the door, followed by Seokjin, who looks around fondly. 

“You guys can watch TV or something if you want. I really am just going to go to bed,” you tell the other two. 

“Can I sleep with you?” Taehyung asks immediately.  

“Uh, sure, if you want to,” you say, looking at Seokjin for help. Seokjin just shrugs. 

It’s not the night you planned for, but you don’t mind it so much. You take Taehyung to the bathroom and spend some time getting ready for bed, which has never looked more inviting than it does the second you enter your bedroom. Noise from the TV floats in from the living room, oddly comforting in that you’re glad Seokjin isn’t weirded out by you and Taehyung going off to bed. Probably? He didn’t seem bothered. A shrug isn’t bothered, usually. 

You just hope Taehyung isn’t expecting you to entertain him; the second your head hits the pillows, drowsiness forces your eyes closed. Taehyung climbs in after you and all but wraps himself around you like a koala, his head tucked against your arm. 

“Are you sure you want to go to sleep already?” you ask. Somehow—and you’re not sure how, considering the complete state of lethargy you’re in—your hand winds up on Taehyung’s hair so you can pet him. Better than Namjoon was petting you, you hope. 

Taehyung answers with just a yawn at first. It stays like that for a while, your nails scratching lightly on his scalp, his deep breathing lulling you closer and closer to sleep. 

“I haven’t gotten to sleep this early in forever,” he admits. He doesn’t sound that far off from you; even his words slur like yours. “We don’t have a lot of time off.” 

“Poor thing. Well, feel free to just go to sleep.” 

“It’s okay if I hug you, right?” 

Usually someone would ask first, you imagine, but you’re pretty used to Taehyung doing things his own way. “As long as you don’t drool on me.” 

“Mm.” 

Your phone vibrates from next to your pillow—once, twice, and then a third time. Not answering it is totally reasonable, but you’re curious. Even if cracking open your eyes is almost physically impossible.

[Yoongi]

so

you and namjoon, huh?

[Cheonsa]

What?

[Yoongi]

you didn’t notice him clinging to you?

that guy doesn’t let anyone hang all over him like that

[Cheonsa]

You do it.

[Yoongi]

well…yeah. we’re kind of a thing.

[Cheonsa]

Don’t read too much into it lol.

I’m sure when the excitement of me being here wears off he’ll go back to his usual touch-phobic self.

[Yoongi]

if you say so

how’s taehyungie?

[Cheonsa]

Clingy.

I’m going to sleep though.

Night babe.

[Yoongi]

night bab

babe

“Who was that?” Taehyung asks. You put down your phone and roll over so that you’re facing him. It’s comfier to hug him that way.

“Yoongi. Just saying good night.” 

“Night, Yoongi hyung.” 

To an outsider this would probably look weird, you think—a teenage boy in bed with a teenage girl, cuddling like this. It’s easy to imagine your mom freaking out or your dad assuming that there’s something sketchy going on. Even Seokjin seemed opposed at first. You get why, but with Taehyung falling asleep faster than you, you find the idea a little funny. Like anything would happen between you! 

Well, it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. It was Taehyung that kissed you a year ago, like he just wanted to try it out, and he did point out your hickeys. Then again, Taehyung is just kind of a curious guy, and he was totally satisfied with just a kiss. Overthinking it is silly. 

“Night, noona,” Taehyung adds, his voice much sleepier than it was a second ago. You’re pretty sure you respond, but it’s hard to say; sleep comes like a freight train, leaving you with pleasant dreams amid the amusement that Yoongi thinks there’s anything going on between you and Namjoon. That’s an idea you can’t make heads or tails of, and you’re not really inclined to try. It’s uncomfortable, in a way; it brings a weird feeling to your chest. 

Luckily, your dreams consist of more nonsense, this time pleasant. When you awake the next morning, you feel decently refreshed. Almost not groggy at all! There’s something about having a warm body to cuddle that makes sleeping way better than normal. You’re fine to content yourself, for a while, watching Taehyung sleep between scrolling Twitter and sending all the “I got to Auntie’s in one piece don’t panic” texts you really should have sent to your parents the day before. 

It’s surprising that Taehyung is sleeping in like this. Don’t they have packed schedules? How they managed to get two days off is totally beyond you. There’s some kind of interview or press conference or something coming up soon, you know that much for sure, but the details are hazy. 

[Namjoon]

Morning, noona.

Did you get enough sleep?

[Cheonsa]

Hi~! Already up, huh?

I slept like a rock.

How do you get out of a Taehyung cuddle without waking him up?

[Namjoon]

You don’t.

Good luck!

[Cheonsa]

Gee thanks.

I guess I’m stuck here then.

[Namjoon]

Lololol

Do you have plans today?

[Cheonsa]

Not a single one.

[Namjoon]

Perfect. 

Do you want to grab lunch?

[Cheonsa]

Sure! Is it okay if I invite Yoongi?

[Namjoon]

Oh.

I think he’s busy today.

[Cheonsa]

Aw damn. He didn’t say anything about that. 

I’ll ask him anyway, he might need a break.

[Namjoon]

Yeah, sure.

Of course he’s invited if he has time. 

[Cheonsa]

Woo~

Is everyone up over there?

[Namjoon]

Yeah. What’s the situation in House Noona?

[Cheonsa]

House Noona lolol.

I think I’m the only one awake. I can’t hear anyone moving around.

Assuming oppa stayed the whole night.

[Namjoon]

He did. He’s very fond of the cat.

We don’t have room for pets.

[Cheonsa]

Fond of that giant menace?

Weird.

Do you have a specific restaurant in mind?

[Namjoon]

Is pizza okay? Since you mentioned it.

[Cheonsa]

Absolutely okay. I want to shove as much pizza in my face as I can.

I didn’t eat enough last night.

I think I’m going to get up now, though. 

See you soon!

Extracting yourself from Taehyung is one part stealth and ten parts patience. The boy can cling . He’s also warm and comfortable, which makes it incredibly difficult to stick to your mission despite that you don’t want to spend all day laying around in bed. After some wiggling around and gently adjusting his limbs, Taehyung thankfully rolls over onto his other side and you’re able to climb off your bed and sneak out of your room to finally go pee .

And check on Seokjin. Although you didn’t interact much, and he definitely doesn’t seem to have checked that you and Taehyung were on your best behavior, you assume he has his reasons for coming over. As much as you’ve bonded with the boys, you can imagine that never getting any real alone time would take its toll on anyone. 

In the living room, you come across what is quite possibly the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, sugary-sweet and likely to rot your teeth. Seokjin is curled up on the couch with Jun nestled up against his chest; if it weren’t for the fact that Seokjin is petting the little menace, you’d think that he’s sleeping. He looks up when you approach, offering a smile that you return. The couch looks comfy, too. What was that about not laying around all day, again? Because you curl up on the other side of the couch and scoot under Seokjin’s blanket, yawning and sleepy and debating whether you might just sleep until you’re supposed to go meet Namjoon. 

“Sleep okay, Cheonsa?” 

“Mhm,” you hum. Your eyes are already falling closed. Betrayed by your own body! “You?” 

“No one was around to snore or toss around. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

“Yah, so you’re just using me for my couch. My heart, oppa, it hurts.” 

Seokjin chuckles quietly. Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. The atmosphere is cozy and relaxed, and eventually, Seokjin sits up only to lie against you while Jun settles on his lap with a great, rumbling purr. Was Seokjin always this snuggly? You don’t have any recollection of him ever being touchy, but you were so focused on Jimin and Hoseok a year ago that you didn’t spend much time with anyone else privately, save for Yoongi. 

It’s nice. You ruffle Seokjin’s impressive bedhead, which leads to you sort of rubbing his neck, which leads to him sighing deeply and stretching. As the minutes go by you find yourself worming closer to him, while he keeps adjusting until you’re cuddled together exactly like you were the previous night with Taehyung. 

Everyone has been so cuddly in the past day, which you can definitely get used to. Physical touch is important, right? And definitely something that you missed while you were off trying to make university work, something that you’re soaking up now as much as you can. Seokjin is warm and solid next to you, very pettable as far as you’re concerned. He holds so much tension in his back and shoulders. With as hard as he works, he definitely deserves to have some of those knots worked out. 

Not that you’re a great masseuse or anything, but Seokjin seems to appreciate it if his long sighs and soft noises are any indication. Being the big spoon is nice. You get to feel all big and protective, even though you’re not nearly as big as Seokjin, whose shoulders are starting to seem like a fortress. 

“You’re hired,” Seokjin mumbles sleepily. A long yawn follows. 

“Mm?” 

“To be my personal massage therapist. You’re hired.” 

“What’s the pay?” you ask. If you don’t sit up, you’re likely to fall asleep, but it’s much easier to curl up around Seokjin and close your eyes. Oops. 

“You get to look at my handsome face.” 

“I already get to look at it all the time.” 

“That’s true.” Seokjin pauses. “You know I didn’t stay over to sleep on your couch, right?” 

“Mm?” 

It’s a little awkward when Seokjin shifts to face you, but you manage to lean back far enough to avoid any stray elbows without falling off the couch. Suddenly Seokjin is looking at you so intently that you almost feel self-conscious. He’s really handsome. Why that thought occurs to you now is—well, it’s probably because his face is so close. And you’re looking right at him. From really close. 

Hang on— 

Air leaves your lungs in the few seconds it takes for Seokjin to tilt his head and press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Of all the things you expected when you lied down, this isn’t—this definitely wasn’t— 

But it is. The next kiss doesn’t take you by surprise as much as Seokjin’s boldness does. You aren’t sure how you feel about it, you don’t have time to process it, you knew he was interested once but still—? After so long? 

“No good?” Seokjin asks, so close that your lips still brush when he talks. You didn’t respond. You didn’t kiss back at all. 

“I—” you say, feeling pretty much dumbfounded and unable to find your words. Don’t know? Don’t mind? Don’t have any idea how to handle this at 9 in the morning while you’re jetlagged? 

“I’m sorry, I thought we were on the same page.” 

“We’re—in the same book.” You fumble over your words and blush about thirty seconds too late. “I just. I didn’t expect you to…” 

“After last summer, I don’t blame you.” 

“So brave, oppa,” you tease. Seokjin turns pink. “I officially take back calling you a coward so many times.” 

“So are we…?” 

“I—I don’t know. Is that okay?”

Mutual attraction is there on a physical level. You’re not making any promises by acting, just testing the waters.

“Yeah. That’s okay.”

With that, you lean in for a second kiss. To see how it feels, to experiment with the idea that this is something Seokjin wants with you, and try to figure out if it’s something you can give him.

Then a third, just for good measure.

Chapter Text

You’re troubled.

Kissing Seokjin was lovely, really, it was. You can see the two of you carrying on, maybe. Getting to know each other, learning how to exist in a relationship that goes beyond just being friends. Seokjin is the eldest, which means he’s mature and more logical. He’s also funny, he’s sweet, he’s gorgeous. 

It’s just… 

Your mind eventually drifts to the past spring, when you spent late nights wondering if Hoseok or Jimin were going to message you. When little pangs of hurt built up into fully-fledged depression because they seemingly forgot about you. It’s true that you’ve forgiven them. That you understand, even, why it seemed like the best option to just remain quiet when they didn’t know how to handle the pressure of keeping up with you and the turn their lives were taking. 

But that doesn’t mean that there’s no hurt there. It doesn’t mean you want to spend the next three months falling in love only for it to be temporary. Relationships don’t always work, you get that, but at some point don’t you have to listen to your head more than your heart? Your heart tells you that there’s a possibility there, but even that feels complicated. 

The chance to talk about it doesn’t come. It needs to be talked about, and soon. Preferably immediately. 

But then Taehyung comes out of your bedroom mumbling about being hungry. Since there’s nothing to cook in your apartment yet, the three of you decide to go across the street to the dorm after bundling up. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes lingering on your curiously as much as Seokjin’s do, but you just smile at them when your eyes meet and let your thoughts simmer in the background. 

Your confidence is rapidly dwindling to zero. It doesn’t feel like a mistake so much as it feels confusing and sudden. You’ve only been back for a day. No, not even a day. Less than a day, and Seokjin is kissing you? 

That must have been a thought on his mind for a while. When you chatted on Katalk he didn’t exactly make it obvious that kissing was on the table, and yet. Here you are. 

There’s always the chance that you’re just overthinking it. Which is exactly why you need to talk about it. 

Hunger is not a thing you can even focus on. Taehyung and Seokjin head deeper into the dorm—Seokjin looking over his shoulder at you with a curious expression—and you slowly take off your shoes, waving him ahead. 

“Back so soon?” Yoongi asks, poking his head out of their bedroom. You look up with a start. 

“Oh! Morning!” you say, noting that you sound way more frazzled than you should and that Yoongi’s expression changes from bored to concerned in an instant. 

“What’s up?” 

“Hm? Nothing, why?” you say. Your fingers are fumbling with your shoelace. Stupid Converse. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi says. What he doesn’t say is “I can tell you’re upset about something so don’t think you can lie to me,” but you hear it loud and clear. You’ve really leveled up in your Yoongi-speak. 

What you don’t want to do is go into what just happened in the entryway to the dorm. Yoongi seems to piece that together the longer he stands there watching you fail to untie your shoes until he loses patience—more likely, he just wants to help, but your brain is being surprisingly negative today—and comes to untie them for you. You offer no protest when he drags you back toward the bedroom, but you do pause when you see Hoseok and Jimin curled up together. Something about that feels like a weird punch to the gut, especially with the way they scramble apart and rush out of the room the second they see you with hurried morning greetings. 

Only Namjoon remains in the room, sitting up in bed and scrolling on his phone. Yoongi must not care to have an audience; he shuts the door behind the two of you and flops down next to Namjoon, gesturing for you to join. 

“Uh,” you say, uncertain, looking between Namjoon and Yoongi. 

“I can leave,” Namjoon says without looking up from his phone.  

It’s probably fine, right? Namjoon has already talked you through so many life obstacles, what’s one more? Without saying anything, you drop down on the bed too. It creaks a little, sagging under the combined weight of the three of you. To your surprise, Namjoon pats his thigh, as if he’s saying you can rest there. You look at him, confused, and then just go ahead and put your head on his thigh while Yoongi takes the other. 

As welcoming as this is and everything, you aren’t in a hurry to talk about your brief encounter. It feels like it should be private, between you and Seokjin. 

Then again, you’re dating Yoongi. The agreement between you is that anything is okay as long as you talk about it; no secrets. This can’t be a secret. 

The words won’t come out, though. 

One of the nice things about Yoongi is that he doesn’t push. There was a time when you thought he was emotionally constipated at best, but the wariness that he initially met you with faded long ago. He’s able to read you well, even though you spent most of your relationship on two different continents, and never tries to make you talk before you’re ready. Namjoon doesn’t rush you, either; he looks at his phone, petting you with one hand, silent while you take your time to think. 

Away from Seokjin, it doesn’t feel as stressful. Now that you’re able to think more clearly, you feel a pang of budding guilt somewhere in your stomach. It’s possible that Seokjin picked up on your mood. Possible that he knows you’re not that excited about any of this. The odd look on his face comes back to mind. 

What if he’s in the other room feeling just as confused and stressed as you are? 

Ugh. Life Lesson #1: think through your actions. That has to come first and foremost. 

“So…” you start. A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. “Seokjin oppa kissed me.” 

“Oh,” Yoongi and Namjoon chorus. You don’t like the sound of it; there’s no surprise there. None at all. Did everyone know he was going to—? 

You fall silent again, mulling over it. Sensing your drop in mood, Yoongi takes your hand. 

“It’s pretty obvious he’s interested, even if he hasn’t outright said it,” Yoongi drawls. He has a knack for figuring out what you’re thinking that can be unnerving sometimes. Helpful when you need to sort your emotions out, but annoying when you don’t want to talk about them. “Did you not want to?” 

“I don’t know,” you say miserably. “Yes, at the time? But I wish I hadn’t. It will complicate things.” 

“How so?” Yoongi asks. 

“I don’t exactly want a repeat of last summer,” you say, feeling agitation burst under your skin. “I didn’t come here to start more relationships and kiss more people, I came because I missed my friends.” Yoongi’s eyes dart away for a split second before resting on you again. “I’m more than just a potential girlfriend,” you add softly, feeling another pang, this time in your chest. 

“Are you worried about what will happen when you go back home?” Namjoon asks. You nod, once. Being around people that seem to just get you is nice. 

“I’m sorry. I just got here, and I’m already whining about—” 

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, his words abrasive but spoken in a gentle tone you’re all too familiar with. “Don’t feel bad about feeling bad.” 

“Okay,” you say in a tiny voice. 

“You’re not just a potential girlfriend,” Namjoon says. His voice is thoughtful; you can imagine the expression of concentration on his face without even looking up. “You’re our friend first. That goes for everyone.” 

“Then why have half of you kissed me?!” you ask, exasperated. Being apparently irresistable to a gaggle of Korean boys is flattering on one hand, and kind of baffling on the other. Not uncomfortable, but strange. Nonsensical. 

“Half of us?” Namjoon repeats. 

“With Seokjin hyung, it’s more than half,” Yoongi points out helpfully. You groan and hide your face behind your hands. 

“I don’t know how to handle this kind of attention,” you say. “I promise you, outside of Korea, I am completely unremarkable.” 

“I doubt that,” Yoongi scoffs. 

The conversation hasn’t given you any sort of epiphany or insight into The Situation. It hasn’t even really made any progress, overall. There’s something there, a thread to pull on, but you haven’t quite figured out what it is yet.  

“I know you think I’m special or whatever, but…” 

You trail off into silence that grows and grows until you feel knots in your stomach. While they may not have answers, Yoongi and Namjoon work to comfort you with small touches. Eventually, Namjoon excuses himself to shower, which reminds you that you agreed to go to lunch with him. As if you’re exciting company right now. 

Namjoon being gone does, however, give you the opportunity to be with just Yoongi. Going out with someone else feels almost absurd when you’ve got your boyfriend right here, curled up and stroking your hair while you both relax in the rays of sunlight filtering through the window. Staying here definitely seems like the better option, where you can keep chatting about nothing at all without having to present your best and be entertaining. 

But, slowly, your anxiety calms itself and you wonder what you were so anxious about, anyway, because it’s Seokjin. You can talk to Seokjin about anything, and he’s the one you should have been talking to all along. Of course it only becomes clear in retrospect. 

How do you start that conversation? 

Thinking about it is still stressful. It also takes time away from focusing on the here and now, where your boyfriend is looking at you curiously whenever you lose track of the conversation.  

You probably shouldn’t kiss Yoongi while you’re in the boys’ bedroom, but your eyes keep trailing towards his lips as he talks. They’re pretty, like the rest of him. Yoongi swears he doesn’t use tinted balm, but you know he has to for his lips to be so pretty and pink. They’re soft, too, which is something you savor when your lips meet. Unlike the night before, there’s no sudden explosion of hormones, just lazy, sleepy kissing that doesn’t get any more scandalous than Yoongi slipping a hand up your shirt. 

“What if someone walks in?” you laugh, pushing his hand away. 

“They’d all be jealous,” Yoongi says simply. “But they’re not stupid enough to—” 

The door opens at exactly that moment, like divine intervention. Namjoon comes in, towel drying his hair, totally oblivious to what he almost saw. 

“I take it back. One of them is stupid enough to walk in,” Yoongi mutters, flopping back on the mattress. You can’t help it—you snort, falling down next to him. It’s then that you remember that Yoongi is supposed to be busy today. He doesn’t look like he has anywhere to be, unshowered and still in his pajamas. 

“Hey. I know you’re pretty busy, but do you have time to go to lunch with us?” you ask hopefully. Yoongi stares at you. 

“I have the day off. We all do.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, I convinced Sejin hyung to let us off for team building and resting,” Namjoon says distractedly. He’s sitting on the one bed in the room that doesn’t have a top bunk, still drying his hair. The usual scent of soap lingers in the air, even from two beds over.  

Did you imagine the conversation earlier where Namjoon said Yoongi probably couldn’t make it? You glance at Namjoon, then back at Yoongi, baffled. Yoongi’s brow raises. 

“Did you seriously say I’m busy when she can just ask me?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His eyes narrow when he looks at Namjoon, who looks like a deer in headlights. 

“No? No, I thought—that is, I. Uh.” 

“I don’t get it,” you say. Why would Namjoon—? 

“If you don’t want anyone tagging along for lunch just say so,” Yoongi says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Don’t wanna pay for them,” Namjoon mutters. Which makes sense. Jungkook has the biggest appetite of anyone you know. 

“You don’t want to pay for us?” Yoongi repeats. Namjoon nods, but he looks like he’s on the verge of combusting. How odd. 

“Namjoon-ah, if you don’t want Yoongi to tag along, it’s okay! Of course I’ll go anyway.” 

There’s that high-pitched laughter again. You can’t make heads or tails of why Namjoon is behaving so strangely. Then again, if news gets out that the two of you are going for pizza, of course the rest of the group would want to go. BTS may have debuted, but they’re not exactly rolling in money. They’re barely even famous. 

Lunchtime is creeping ever closer, but you have some unfinished business that needs to be resolved before you can feel comfortable going out. Your mind drifts back to Seokjin rather abruptly, given the windshield-wiper laugh that erupts the next room over. 

Right. The two of you need to talk. Coming back  being thrown into this situation with Seokjin isn’t something you can just put off. The longer it waits the more awkward it will wind up being.The path forward is more or less concrete in your mind. You aren’t the girlfriend on reserve for everyone to charm without taking what you want into consideration. You’re a year older, maybe even a year wiser. 

You’re going to handle this like an adult. 

You exit the bedroom with a vague promise that you’ll be back soon and drift into the kitchen, where Seokjin, Hoseok, and Taehyung are gathered around the tiny table eating chicken and rice. 

“Seokjin oppa,” you say clearly, causing everyone to look up. “We’re going for a walk.” 

Seokjin doesn’t argue; he gets up and puts his coat on, following you outside without a word. You both head out into the chilly air, making it halfway down the block in complete silence while you try to arrange your thoughts into something presentable for another human being. 

“Cheonsa?” Seokjin asks tentatively. You slow your pace, sighing. Your breath mists in the air. 

“I’m not mad at you,” you say, though you aren’t sure if that’s something that was on his mind. “If you were thinking that. I’m honestly not upset at all.” 

“Oh. Good,” Seokjin says. He slows his pace and reaches for your hand. His fingers are chilly when you intertwine your fingers. “So, what are you thinking?” 

A lot is the answer, but it’s not a great starting point. Words are still coming together in your mind, but it feels awkward just staying silent after being asked a direct question. You stop to lean against a random storefront. You don’t want to have this conversation in a cafe, where there’s sure to be a lot of people. “I wanted to talk about us.” 

“Okay. But before you outright reject me, can I say what I wanted to say earlier?” 

Huh? Where did Seokjin get the idea that—? A pang of guilt hits you again. Your behavior between your apartment and theirs must have thrown him off. 

“I’m not outright rejecting you, but sure.” 

“Hard to tell with the look on your face right now,” Seokjin says. You do your best to look more neutral while Seokjin leans against the wall next to you. “Look, I’ll just say it. I like you. I have since we met, but our situation is unique. Weird, even. I don’t know any better than you do how to handle it when nothing is conventional.” 

That’s definitely different than what you expected. You tilt your head, thinking it over. Seokjin is right, of course; nothing about your situation is conventional. 

“So it’s not just me?” you ask. Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t understand. Why do you even like me?” 

The question looks like it causes Seokjin physical discomfort. His eyebrows draw inward and his pouty mouth turns down in a frown. “Because I do. Why do you like Yoongi?” 

“…I just do,” you say sheepishly, smiling in earnest. Yeah, it’s a silly question. Almost impossible to answer. “We feel right.” 

You both fall silent. The cold air is unpleasant, but Seokjin doesn’t complain. From the faraway look in his eyes, you guess that he’s probably thinking over what he wants to say. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking earlier,” you say finally. Seokjin nods. “It’s not that I don’t like you, but when I think about last spring…” 

“Ah,” Seokjin says. He nods. “I understand.” 

“I can’t do that again. I mean, it didn’t ruin my life or anything, but it sucked.” 

“It’s probably no use telling you I’ll be different, is it?” Seokjin asks. You shake your head. “Ah, Cheonsa. You’ve grown up while you were away.” 

Perhaps you have. Once, all it took to be in a relationship with someone was for them to kiss you and say they wanted it. Looking back, it seems childish. Naive, even. 

“But you know, you don’t have to commit to anything just because we kissed. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal,” Seokjin adds.  

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way.” 

“So let’s keep it casual. If you want to hang out with me, then do it. If you don’t, then don’t.” 

“You make it sound so uncomplicated,” you laugh. Compared to your previous experiences, this really does feel more level-headed. Approaching it as if it were black and white wouldn’t have done either of you any favors. Perhaps that’s why, in the end, things with Hoseok and Jimin didn’t work out. “What about the making out?” 

“Same as everything else. Do whatever you want to do.” 

“You know, in English, that has a really different meaning. Saying “do what you want” is like a passive-aggressive way to say “I don’t want you to do that.” Weird, isn’t it?” 

“English is hard.” Seokjin wrinkles his nose a little. “All the letters have 10 different sounds.” 

“Yeah! I would bet a lot of money you can’t spell bologna no matter how long I give you to try.” 

“I’m not even going to try.” 

“Damn. There goes my free money.” 

“Ahh, this is the Cheonsa I like,” Seokjin says, looking at you with a smile and crinkled eyes. “The language nerd that isn’t too scared to tell me what’s what.” 

Being looked at with such fondness does something funny to your stomach. It’s like the whole thing just flips over and twists in more knots. Of all the people who would come to show interest in you like this, there’s a small voice of disbelief in the back of your mind that it’s Seokjin. 

But then, you notice that he’s shivering a little. Dragging someone out into a dreary November day probably wasn’t the best option for having a conversation. If not for the fact that you’re standing together on a very public street, you’d hug the shivering boy in front of you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Seokjin asks. Why does it feel like such a loaded question? You’re okay. At least, you’re not not okay.  

“Mm. You remember when I was here last time? I didn’t know what to make of all this back then, and I guess I still don’t. The closeness, and how easily you give affection. All of you. I’m not used to it.” 

Apparently, Seokjin doesn’t care that you’re in the middle of a public sidewalk; his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Only lately have you been thinking of physical touch and what role it plays in your life, but an answer is already forming at the edge of your mind—that it’s important, vitally so. That hugs and hair pets, cuddles and kisses, are part of the fuel that keeps anyone going. You snuggle into Seokjin, seeking warmth and comfort while your mind goes haywire trying to make sense of this all. 

“What do you want? What are you feeling? That’s the most important thing for you to figure out. Whether we seem one way or another doesn’t matter as much as whether or not you feel like you fit in.” 

“Of course I feel like I fit in. I feel like I’m home ,” you insist. “I’ve probably never been happier than when I saw the sign for the cafe yesterday.” 

“And then?” 

“I just—I don’t want to feel like you’re keeping me around so that you can all have a chance with me. I don’t want to be everyone’s girlfriend-in-waiting.” 

Seokjin leans away from you, meeting your eyes. There’s a serious look in them—the same look he gets when he goes into hyung-mode with the younger members, scolding them or making them do chores or even just stop fighting. “Why not?” 

“Because—” You frown; the question was totally unexpected. Should you just be waiting around for them? Is that what they expect? “Because there’s more to me than that?” 

“Of course there is. None of us look at you and think ‘oh, a potential girlfriend.’ It’s not that simple.” 

“Then explain it to me, because I have no idea.” 

“Well, you’re one of us. And we…” Seokjin frowns, looking away momentarily. Guessing what he’s thinking isn’t hard; one of the things you didn’t get, last time, was how openly physical they all are with each other. The closeness. The borderline romantic relationships that had already formed before you even got there. “Have a different dynamic. Yoongi doesn’t look at us like we’re potential boyfriends. He looks at us as people that make him feel safe, and therefore, he hangs all over us all the time. You’re a part of it now. If you don’t want someone to try to take it beyond where it already is, all you have to do is say so.” 

“I don’t really think that’s fair,” you say, matching Seokjin’s frown. “I mean, putting it on me to decide whether or not something is okay. Like—what if I hadn’t wanted you to kiss me? And you just did? That would put me in a really uncomfortable position. It already did , and that’s when I was okay with it! I don’t want to just have someone kiss me and then I have to decide what to do about it.” 

“I hear you,” Seokjin says. It stokes something within you—a kind of warmth, It’s such a simple thing to say, but being acknowledged still makes you feel a little calmer. Like Seokjin is taking your concerns seriously. “I think we should talk about this. All of us.” 

“Won’t that be weird? ‘Hey guys, I think you’re cool, but stop just kissing me whenever you feel like it because it stresses me out’?” 

“I think that’s a very reasonable thing to say. There isn’t anyone that hasn’t expressed interest in one way or another.” 

“Ha, yeah there is. Namjoon has been very detached from all of this.” 

A strange look passes over Seokjin’s face; you remember the conversation you had with Yoongi the previous night. Does Namjoon—? You swallow, hard. The dynamic is strange, something almost completely unheard of in your world. You know of polyamory—hell, you experienced it two summers ago—but this is in a way that you still struggle to wrap your mind around. You hear Seokjin loud and clear: they aren’t concerned with drawing lines about anything, just like Jimin told you before. It just is . And that’s why it’s so difficult to understand; why it was so easy to lose track of that.

Monogamy is something hardly anyone around you questioned growing up. Media never depicts anything else. All your friends went into relationships with one person, where everything was defined with the utmost precision. The idea of being in an open relationship so casually goes against everything ingrained into you. 

“I think…” you start, suddenly feeling very tired. “I think I need time.” 

“Yeah. I think you do, too.” 

“Everything I know about relationships is—it has more—” The words aren’t coming to mind, but you try to push through your thoughts anyway. “Structure? I guess? There’s more pattern. You meet, you feel attracted, you date. You don’t just kiss each other and start a relationship right away. And you definitely don’t do that with more than one person.” 

“I understand that, but what makes you think I’m not going to try to woo you?” Seokjin asks, looking affronted. If not for the twinkle of humor in his eye, you’d worry you offended him. “I’m not like Hob-ah.” 

At your frown, Seokjin quickly kisses your forehead in apology. Until you made it back to Korea, you didn’t realize it was still a sore spot. You’ve forgiven them, you know you have. Still, something feels off. Like there’s something unspoken between the three of you, something that has to be said before you can go on as normal. 

What it is, you have no idea. Not yet. 

“Alright. No more kissing. I want to go on a real, actual date first. We’ll see if you’re capable of wooing me.” 

From the way Seokjin draws himself up, you can tell he’s more than ready to accept that challenge. You smile, a bit weakly, before the two of you turn to head back to the dorm. 

Nothing is wrong, per se, but your visit to Korea is looking like it might be more chaotic than you anticipated. 

Chapter Text

When you make it back to the dorm, you feel more or less settled. There are still questions in your mind, but they’re more related to uncertainty about the closeness of the members. Yoongi hangs all over everyone, Seokjin said. Hoseok and Jimin are obviously still very cuddly. Taehyung and Jungkook seem to be inseparable as ever.

Seokjin and Namjoon, well, they’ve always been private. You don’t need to know everything about them. Everything you know about Namjoon and Yoongi is based on two things: what you accidentally saw, and Yoongi saying they’re “kind of a thing.” That’s enough. 

It occurs to you, though, that you might understand more than you think you do. Nothing has ever been strictly outlined with Yoongi; he never asked you to be his girlfriend, he never mentioned anything about his relationship with Namjoon, and he hasn’t talked about his relationship with Jimin at all. The “no secrets” rule doesn’t feel breached for you, despite the lack of information. Yoongi isn’t big on kissing and telling, and you trust Yoongi to treat you right. 

What else do you need? 

Hah. You’ve already adapted to their thinking in some ways. Now that everything is out in the open, you feel light and happy again, entering the dorm with your fingers loosely intertwined with Seokjin’s and a bright smile on your face. The only person making this complicated is you. Not that you think that’s a bad thing; you can’t just change overnight and start doing everything the way they do, and that’s fine. There’s no expectation for you to. That, more than anything, is a comfort. 

Taehyung bowls you over in the entrance to the dorm, his arms thrown around your middle while he chatters on excitedly about wanting to take you to a movie with Jungkook and Jimin. While you’re surprised Jimin agreed, you already have lunch with Namjoon. Phew. Already your schedule is packed! 

Speaking of Namjoon— 

He comes out of the kitchen wearing all black, his hair slicked to one side. It’s certainly a look—like their stage personas, but much milder. Softer. You know they’re doing the tough guy hip hop act, but you prefer the realer version that you’ve become comfortable with. From all the self-deprecating comments Namjoon has made about eyeliner and gold chains, you’re pretty sure he does, too. 

“Ready?” Namjoon asks you. Taehyung whines and clings tighter to your middle, giving Namjoon a pointed pout. “Taehyung, we’ll be back in a little while.” 

“Where are you going?” Taehyung asks, stubborn. You pat his hair. 

“We’re going for a walk. Nowhere exciting,” you tell Taehyung just as Jungkook pokes his head out of the kitchen curiously. 

“Can I come?” he asks. Namjoon huffs. 

“Go on your own walk! Noona, let’s go.” 

A round of pouting is almost enough to make you break and invite the younger two, but you have a feeling—based on things Yoongi and Seokjin have said, and based on Namjoon’s odd behavior—that Namjoon wouldn’t be thrilled having them tag along. You give Taehyung a tight hug before setting off with Namjoon, who leads you on a familiar path, down past the 7-Eleven and Paris Baguette toward the bus stop you hid from the rain under ages ago. 

Namjoon seems different, somehow. There’s a definite buzz of cheeriness around him, so much so that you can’t help but be affected by it. 

“Did something good happen?” you ask as the two of you stop to wait for the bus. Namjoon looks at you surreptitiously, then out at the street. 

“You don’t know?” 

“Uh—” Shit. Is there something you should know about? Is it big? Why hasn’t anyone said something—?! “No?” 

“Ahh, I should really wait until everyone is around,” Namjoon says. He scratches the back of his neck, grinning so wide his dimples show. “We uh, we thought you would have heard—but, yeah! The Melon Music Awards were the day before you got here.” 

That’s right. Bangtan was set to perform, weren’t they? “Oh! How did the performance go?” 

“The performance? Oh, yeah, it was good. Uh. Shit, that’s right, we didn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what, Namjoon-ah?” 

“We were nominated for best new group, and uh, we won?” 

“WHAT!” you shriek, drawing the attention of passersby. You don’t care, though. Your stomach just jumped into your throat and your heart is pounding so fast you feel faint. “What!! How could you not tell me, oh my god, fuck, you WON?” 

Suddenly you’re clinging tightly to Namjoon with your arms around his neck while you bounce in place, laughing and crying at the same time. How could they keep that from you?! You punch Namjoon’s arm, gently of course, as retribution. 

“We didn’t want to say anything in case we lost—ahh, noona, I can’t breathe!” 

“Sucks for you! You kept it from me! You—stupid children, you WON!” 

“We forgot! You got here the next day and—noona, the bus!” 

“Shut up! Shut your face! I’ll never forgive you for this, Kim Namjoon!” 

The bus driver is giving you a strange look when you board and pay your fare, but you don’t have a single care in the world. They won. BTS won. They debuted five months ago and they won an award for best new group . It’s happening. All their hard work, all their talent, it’s being recognized. 

Hopefully, Namjoon doesn’t mind that you spend the bus ride hiding your face in his arm while you try to calm yourself. Rambling about how happy you are and how you know that this is just beginning, admonishing him for not telling you, and finally accepting that they were just so excited to see you—and you were so tired—that it didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up. 

“Don’t tell them I told you. We wanted to tell you as a group,” Namjoon says, sounding slightly frazzled. The details of how that will work are a little fuzzy; you don’t know if you can act as surprised as you just did, but you promise to do your best while wiping a fresh wave of tears from your eyes. 

“I don’t even understand how something that big could have slipped your mind,” you grumble. 

“You’re kind of a big deal, noona.” 

Which shuts you right up. It’s with a flush warming your cheeks that you get off the bus at your stop and follow Namjoon into a pizza buffet that smells like only a Korea pizza joint can: a mishmash of cultures with the faint underpinnings of grease. Namjoon insists on paying—which you don’t argue about, as none thousand won isn’t expensive—before you both load up your trays with pizza, pickles, fried chicken, and sauces. It’s your first time in a Korean buffet type restaurant; there’s a fascinating mix of pizza and popular Korean foods, and by the time you sit down your tray is starting to feel a bit too heavy. 

“This place is magical,” you proclaim, right before dunking a piece of chicken into some kind of cheese sauce. The thick, goopy kind that would even stick to Yoongi’s belly. Maybe you can drag him here if it’s good so he can stop making self-deprecating jokes about his legs resembling a female idol’s. 

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away; he’s busy chowing down on a slice of his own. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a few minutes to try food and stop the grumbling of your stomachs. For a buffet, the food is actually pretty good, though watching Namjoon is the highlight for you due to him dropping a thoroughly cheesed piece of chicken on his lap. It leaves an unnatural yellow blotch that’s extra noticeable on a background of black. He looks at it so sadly, as if all of his hopes and dreams have bled out just like the fake-cheesiness now staining his clothing. 

“Aw, these are new pants.” 

“Wow! New pants?” you say conversationally. Namjoon’s eyes flick up. “That’s a new development. Does that mean you threw out those ratty sweatpants you were always wearing?” 

Namjoon’s frown deepens. Severely. Like you’ve just insulted his mother, or maybe Bangtan itself. “Excuse me. Those ratty sweatpants are very comfortable.” 

“Well, of course they are. They’re so worn out you might as well wear nothing at all.” 

Seeing Namjoon choke on his drink is very satisfying for some reason. You sip your own with no attempt to hide your teasing smile, a vague sense of victory stirring inside you. Namjoon is not the kind of guy that flusters easily. Not like Seokjin. 

“I wouldn’t—noona, that’s too much. I would never—in front of you—ah, that’s totally…” 

“What on earth are you saying?” you ask, confused by this sudden turn. “I wasn’t implying you actually should!” 

“Oh, then, good. Can we forget this conversation?” 

“Besides, don’t you know about gray sweatpants?” you plow ahead, because now that the question is in your mind, you have to know. You just have to.

“No?” 

“Oh, honey. They make people go feral.” 

For a moment, Namjoon merely stares at you with his eyes glazed over. You are now aware that he does not, in fact, know about gray sweatpants or the way that they cling to the male form. How the sight makes all manner of male-attracted people lose their decorum. The conversation is moving too close to territory you aren’t ready to explore yet, into something that could resemble flirting and wind up giving Namjoon ideas. Namjoon does not need ideas. None of your friends, that ragtag bunch of menaces, need any more ideas about you. 

“Anyway. Have you celebrated yet?” 

“Not yet. We were tired,” Namjoon shrugs. He picks up a napkin to try—and fail—at cleaning his pants more, even fishes an ice cube from his glass to rub on the stain. Restraining your laughter requires a very sharp bite to your own lower lip. 

“We should pick some things up, then. There’s a Grand MART on the way back, right? I’ll make a cake.” 

Besides the cake, you’re in desperate need of groceries. There’s only so many garlic stems and spicy cucumbers you can steal from Auntie Dayoung’s side dish hoard. Not to mention side dishes aren’t meant to be a full meal. If there’s one thing your auntie is good at, it’s a well-timed scolding. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“I know I don’t, but I want to, so I will,” you cut Namjoon off before he starts with the polite denial. Of course, your body chooses this moment to betray you. Halfway to taking a bite of pizza, you yawn. Long and loud. 

“Uh-huh. We can stop by a bakery,” Namjoon says. You could do without the smug look on his face. 

“That’s fair. I can’t let you help me bake, you’ll burn the building down.” 

“Hey, I can help just fine. How hard is it to measure ingredients?” 

“Hmm, sure. How do you measure flour?” 

“With a measuring cup?” Namjoon scoffs. He actually scoffs at you. You glower. 

“Wrong. Incorrect. You are not to come near my kitchen.” 

“Wait, what?” 

The guy looks so genuinely baffled at your refusal to help, like he legitimately doesn’t know that he said anything wrong. 

Well— 

Measuring by volume is fine, just not as accurate as measuring by weight. Something that, in the grand scheme of things, is totally inconsequential to a home baker. 

But. 

Turning Namjoon down over something nitpicky feels kinder than explaining that no, you really do believe one of you might wind up in the hospital. Namjoon is good at a wide variety of things. Lyrics. Rapping. Being wise. Leading. Cooking edible food is at the bottom of the list. 

In the end, you decide that stopping by a bakery sounds much more appealing than spending a bunch of time making a cake that won’t be detectably better. In a matter of conserving energy, it just makes sense. 

Plus, it’s nice watching Namjoon eye the pretty cakes and tarts, his nose about a centimeter from the glass while he tries to decide which one is best. Your treat, but he gets to decide. Pretty much anything will work for you. Just looking at Korean pastries and cakes is a feast of its own, the sweets always so meticulously decorated and pretty compared to the cakes you’re used to back home. 

Which is why it’s totally justifiable to load up on strawberry bread and milk buns in addition to a strawberry tart you have no intention of sharing. It’s dusted with powdered sugar that resembles tufts of snow and spilling cream over the edges of the shell. While Namjoon debates his options, you wait at the counter just to observe him. Who knew choosing cake could be such a process? 

“If it makes you feel better,” you say after another five minutes. “None of you are picky. No one is going to complain about free cake.” 

Namjoon smiles, sheepish, and picks out a chocolate cake; it certainly looks impressive, with chocolate molded into lace wrapped around it and a light dusting of gold shavings. Huh. Gold on food. Korea really is a different world. 

Despite the stress of Namjoon carrying a very pretty cake, nothing of note happens on the way back to the dorm but idle chatter. Once you arrive at the dorm, it’s a different story: Taehyung seems to have been laying in wait for you. He springs into the entryway to drag you toward Seokjin and Jungkook, who are gathered around Seokjin’s laptop. 

“We just started, noona!” Taehyung says over Namjoon’s protests. You glance over your shoulder at Namjoon, who looks dumbfounded by how quickly you got snatched from his side. “We got the Amnesia sequel. Do you want to drive?” 

“Well, actually—” you say, laughing softly while Taehyung steers you. “I think you guys have something to tell me?” 

Four pairs of eyes are on you; you can feel it. The bedroom door opens and Yoongi pokes his head out, having apparently heard the commotion. 

“Something to tell you?” Jungkook asks blankly. He suddenly looks worried. Why does he look worried?

“Noona, you weren’t supposed to say anything,” Namjoon laments. Ah. Right. 

Oh well. 

“I can’t very well bring home a cake and pretend I don’t know.” 

“Cake?” Seokjin and Jungkook chorus. 

“Yeah, for winning an award. Best new lying rookies, or something?” you say. 

There’s an outburst at once. Jungkook and Taehyung whine at Namjoon about the highest betrayal while Seokjin tries to shush them and Namjoon stumbles through an apology that never makes it past a few words with how the maknae keep cutting him off. Any minute now, Hoseok and Jimin will be lured in by the noise, demanding to know what happened. 

Meanwhile, Yoongi pads out of his room and grasps your hand, trying to tug you away from Taehyung with a meaningful look in his eyes. 

“Wait,” you say, apologetic. “Just a few minutes. We’ll eat some cake when Hoseok and Jimin come out and then…?” 

“They left,” Jungkook says immediately. You turn to look at him. “They’re in the studio.” 

“Did they say how long they’d be gone?” you ask. 

“All day.” 

Oh. 

That’s a shame. They’ll probably be disappointed they didn’t get to share in the festivities, but you try not to read too much into it. You all hugged. Jimin was going to go to a movie with you. Surely they haven’t cleared out of the dorm because you’re here? 

Hah, no way. That’s the most ridiculous thought you’ve ever had. 

(Why does the thought of cake and strawberry tarts suddenly make you feel queasy—?) 

“They snooze they lose,” you say brightly. Gut feelings are usually right, but in this case, you’re sure you’re being paranoid. You hugged . Hoseok welcomed you home! 

Whatever that something is that needs to be spoken between the three of you, it needs to be spoken soon so you can relax about their somewhat worrying behavior. You put it from your mind, though. There’s cake to be had and celebrations to throw, which wind up being just as joyful as you hoped they would be. No matter how insistently they all call Namjoon a traitor, they laugh and joke and Jungkook eats nearly half the cake all by himself while Yoongi eats it slowly. Savors a tiny piece with tiny sips of coffee, his shoulder flush with yours and his face holding glowing contentment. You can’t help looking at him more and more, even though you’re supposed to be enjoying time with all of them. 

“Noona!” Taehyung shouts as soon as his cake is finished. “ Amnesia ! You’re driving!” 

“Um, actually, I think—” 

“Yeah! Noona, you can drive!” Jungkook pipes up. Seokjin glances at you, then at Yoongi, who sighs in an obviously exasperated way. 

“Just for a little while,” you soothe him. 

“It’s fine. Enjoy babysitting,” Yoongi says, shrugging. 

“You’re not going to join?” 

“Hyung doesn’t like horror games,” Jungkook says. 

“Yeah, he’s a scaredy-cat,” Taehyung adds. 

Oh. Oh? You look at Yoongi, who turns a little pink, but mutters under his breath and heads off to their room with Namjoon to write. You, on the other hand, get pulled into a gaming session that doesn’t last “just a little while;” you wind up taking a nap on Seokjin’s lap while he pets your hair and holds very still while you doze. By the time you resurface, it’s time for dinner. 

When you finally make it to your apartment with Yoongi, it’s already midnight. You both crash hard with no more than a few lazy kisses. 

Life Lesson #2: It is impossible to find alone time when your boyfriend lives with six other guys. 

A week later, with several unsuccessful attempts to go further than kissing with Yoongi, you’ve started to suspect that being interrupted with half your clothes off is a game to the other members. You’re also starting to understand exactly why Yoongi and Namjoon just went for it in their shared bedroom with most of the house present the time you walked in on them; when you don’t have a lot of breathing room, you must just learn to take it where you can, even if “where you can” winds up being in a tiny, crowded dorm. 

And that’s just the first week. 

One morning, you go shopping with Seokjin. He brings a list and all kinds of enthusiasm as you peruse the meat and produce, then move onto the snack aisle to pick out things to fill the dorm with. They don’t have money for snacks, not yet, but you’re no longer footing the entire bill for their food. Relief isn’t what you expected to feel at that realization; you never minded taking care of them, and you don’t mind it now. Certain things have changed in your life, though. Money isn’t something that you can just toss around on a whim. Seven boys require a lot of food, and the prospect of paying for it all with future plans to live on your own—outside of a dorm, this time—is anxiety-inducing, to say the least. 

It winds up not being a problem. Seokjin takes the meat and produce, you buy the snacks and drinks; it winds up being a fraction of what you paid for nightly dinners. A drop in the bucket, to say the least. Knowing the boys are still very enthusiastic about ramyeon and sausages definitely helps curb any worries you have for future spending. 

That night the two of you cook a feast together: rice, kimchi stew, and grilled pork with lots of side dishes. The eight of you crowd around Auntie Dayoung’s table, swapping stories, passing around food. While kimchi isn’t as vital to your diet as it is to the boys’, it’s you that finishes it off, having missed homemade kimchi more than you would have ever expected. 

Dinners like this is exactly what you’ve longed for. It’s perfect. 

Another morning, Namjoon takes you out to a museum he’s been talking about taking you to since the last time you were in Korea: Leeum. You walk around together, marveling at Korea’s national art treasures, talking softly less and less while you explore the different galleries. Namjoon is enthralled with the art, his eyes wide and reverent at some points. At others, he stops to gaze at something with deep thoughts hidden in his eyes, the kind you’d like to ask about but aren’t sure if you can. What does someone like Namjoon see when he looks at these pieces? He’s one of the most philosophical people you’ve ever met. You’d love to have an idea of what complicated and beautiful thoughts lie under the surface. 

At a photograph in one of the special exhibitions, Namjoon touches your arm. Lightly. Almost not even there. “You’ve been looking at this one for a while.” 

“It’s so...forlorn. Completely out of time and space,” you say vaguely. Who knew a picture of the sea and sky, going on forever, could fascinate you so? 

“Like a vast, empty infinite,” Namjoon agrees. You blink and look at him. 

“It makes me feel lonely, but in a peaceful kind of way. Is that weird?” 

“Nah. I feel the same.” 

Yet another day, Taehyung and Jungkook knock on your door at 11 PM with bags full of art supplies that are obviously well-loved. The three of you hunker down on the kitchen floor to paint and chat about your days, theirs full of practicing and recording, yours lazy and relaxed while you wait for them to be off. You put color on paper inexpertly, making more of a suggestion of a sunset than an actual sunset, but watercolor seems to be forgiving—it doesn’t look that bad. It’s Taehyung and Jungkook who seem to have the actual art skills amongst the three of you; Jungkook uses soft pastels to make flowers, while Taehyung does a bunch of 1-line drawings, some of which turn out amazing, others more...avant garde. 

The three of you fall asleep on the couch while your work dries, some drama you weren’t even paying attention to playing in the background. When you wake up the next morning, they’re unsurprisingly gone, but the door has been wallpapered with your art. 

You don’t see much of Hoseok or Jimin, and that nagging feeling that something needs to be said settles deep in your stomach. Seokjin takes you on a first date that’s sweet and lowkey; you walk around a park with your fingers loosely intertwined and enjoy a picnic together, just chatting and laughing. Taehyung finally drags you to that movie, which turns out to be Frozen ; Jungkook comes along and falls asleep, but you and Taehyung are able to enjoy it while munching popcorn and whispering about all the twists and turns. 

And so the first stretch of time in Seoul passes in the blink of an eye, leaving you anxious for when it will be time to say goodbye yet again. While there’s little sense in getting worked up about it months before it has to happen, it comes up sometimes when you least expect it. Thankfully there’s enough time spent not alone with your thoughts; you’re not able to go to the dance studio much, but you’re able to meet with the boys for lunch and sometimes sit in when they’re not being supervised. When you’re lonely, you re-adapt to your usual routine of taking the train or a bus to somewhere interesting to sightsee and come back in the evening to nap before dinner, which is still at late hours. 

The day before Auntie Dayoung’s return from her trek around Japan, you spend the day tidying the apartment and scrubbing everything until there isn’t a surface that doesn’t gleam. Dinner is held at the dorm this time to make sure the apartment is still spotless when she returns the next day. 

“Noona,” Jungkook whispers right as dinner is wrapping up. You look to the side in acknowledgement, full and drowsy. “Do you want to play some more Amnesia tonight?” 

“Tonight? Are you off tomorrow?” you ask. 

“No, but we can sleep in. We have things to do in the afternoon. So will you play?” 

You consider it. Yes, you’re sleepy, but it’s probably from the big meal and the comfortable atmosphere. You’re not really close to beating the game, not with how little time you all have to play it together—and not with the painful process of trying to be the player for a horror game—so now would be a good time to make progress. 

Then you look up and Yoongi is staring Jungkook down. A ferocious tiger stalking its prey. About to pounce. Jungkook has no idea how much danger he’s in. 

“Actually, I think I’m going to head home early,” you say, trying to communicate your regret in your voice. “We can play soon, I promise.” 

“Aw,” Jungkook says, a little pout accentuating his doe eyes. Unfair. Totally, completely unfair. “When?” 

“I don’t know, Kookie, but soon.” 

“We’re heading out,” Yoongi says to no one in particular. You glance at the clock: 10:30. Not super late, especially not by their standards. Luck must be on your side today. You can actually stay up and have a conversation. 

Or whatever else Yoongi might have in mind. It’s probably not a conversation, if you’re being realistic. In fact, a conversation isn’t really what you’re concerned about, either. There’s been too much start and stop, too much tension you haven’t been able to relieve as of late. 

“Night, guys,” you say, also to no one in particular, as you stand and stretch. Casually. Not looking like you’re about to race off and bang, especially not in front of Hoseok, who’s scrutinizing you with a small frown. You’ve gotten used to it lately, though you wish he would quit. There’s enough anxiety about that situation going on. 

As soon as you’re outside the building, you take Yoongi’s arm and lean into him. He sighs. “About time. I was starting to think you were avoiding me on purpose.” 

“Oh, Yoongi. I would never,” you say, a teasing lilt coloring your voice. Yoongi glowers at you, but a smile follows quickly after. “So, does Hoseok want to kill me or something?” 

“Hmm,” Yoongi says. He pauses. He pauses for way too long. “I’m not the person you should be talking to about this.” 

“I know you aren’t. He just keeps avoiding me.” 

“Text him.” 

“Hmph. Why should I still do the work?” 

“Then don’t.” 

“Unhelpful.” 

“I already told you what to do. If you don’t want to do it, then don’t,” Yoongi chides you. It’s your turn to sigh. “Hob-ah doesn’t want to kill you. He’s just mad at us.” 

“Us? What the hell for?” 

“Can we talk about this later? I’m not going to be able to get a boner thinking about this mess.” 

Fair enough. As much as you love Hoseok, he’s not that high on your priority list right now. They always said that it’s guys that were horny all the time, but you’re pretty sure that girls are, too. You can’t be that much different from other girls, right? 

“Gross. Don’t call it a boner, call it…” you search for a word that isn’t either pornographic or ridiculous. Maybe Yoongi should just say nothing at all? Yes, that seems good. 

“Baby-maker.” 

“No, shut up. Please.” 

"Penis.” 

“Seriously, you can fuck right off.” 

“Joystick?” 

“I will destroy you.” 

Your conversation has carried you into the apartment, where Yoongi is shaking with silent laughter. The two of you take off your shoes but forego the slippers; you probably won’t need them. Ha. “You’re starting to talk like me.” 

“You should be a better example then. You’re corrupting the mind of a sweet young girl like me,” you say with as much drama in your voice as you can muster. 

“I don’t want to set a good example,” Yoongi replies. His hand finds its way to your waist and snakes to your back, drawing you until you’re flush together. “Let’s be bad.” 

As much as you’d love to have a quip ready for that, you don’t. 

You just gulp. 

Chapter Text

Saying you know what to expect once you’re alone with Yoongi is at once true and not true at all. It’s abundantly clear what’s on the table; Yoongi has made it evident. Your own desire is in complete agreement that it’s far past time to get your clothes off and hop straight into bed together.

What isn’t evident is how you’ll do it. Slow and loving, or tearing at each other’s clothes? Somewhere in between? Up until this point, you’ve been stealing touches and affection where you can, aware that it’s only a matter of time before someone barges in. 

But now it’s just the two of you. It isn’t so late that you’re exhausted. No one is coming over. You don’t have to scramble to get anywhere. Time is abundant. 

Belatedly, you realize that you’re just kind of staring at Yoongi. Fiddling with the buttons on your coat but not actually taking it off. Yoongi is looking back at you, a very slight smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Up until this point, everything has been hot. Heavy. Rushed. Chasing something you haven’t had time to catch. 

The air feels so still, anticipation freezing your movements. You watch Yoongi’s fingers undo the buttons of your coat. He tosses it to the side. Your breath comes out in a thin whisper. 

“Are you scared?” Yoongi asks. His hands cup your face and tilt it up. Your eyes follow the path of tiny moles on his face—one on his cheek, two on his nose—before meeting his gaze. 

“No,” you answer quietly. Not scared. You’re never scared with Yoongi. His eyes are so dark, reflecting so much light that you’re sure there are entire constellations behind them. “I just. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“You’ve done this before. It’s easy.” 

“N-no, Hoseok and I. We didn’t.” You pause, searching for the words as your cheeks heat up to scorching. “Not all the way.” 

Because you’re standing so close, looking directly at him, you can see the moment that Yoongi realizes what you mean. His eyes widen, an emotion you can’t name shifting behind them, and thenhe smiles, soft and sweet and calming. It doesn’t stop the insistent thump of your heart that seems determined to beat right out of your ribcage, but it lets you take a deep breath to try to level yourself more. Yoongi’s palms are warm and solid on your cheeks. His scent calms you and excites you at the same time. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Yoongi says. A small, airy laugh escapes you. 

“My hero,” you say in reply, amusement giving your voice a playful lilt. Yoongi scrunches his nose. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Damn, girl. Super fine.” 

“Oh my god—” 

You push lightly on Yoongi’s chest when he laughs too, his smile lighting up his often grumpy features. You’re still caught in his hold, though, and he pulls you closer to slot your mouths together. Languid and unhurried, a taste before what you imagine to be a storm. A prickle of impatience dances just below your skin at the same time heat begins to pool low in your stomach, a fluttering want that demands more. Your hands splay on Yoongi’s chest to trace the subtle dips and swells of muscle, inching toward his stomach. 

“Yah,” Yoongi murmurs in the small space between your lips. “Ticklish.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper, but the part of you that wants Yoongi as close as possible has you brushing your lips against his again in an instant. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be kissing you, drinking you in, sweeping you up into the desperate fuck you’ve been working for these past weeks. The difference in your approaches is glaringly obvious, but you don’t care. You want him. You want Yoongi more than you’ve ever wanted anything else, at least in this moment, and it’s absurd that he should be treating you so gently. Who cares if it’s your first time?  

It quickly becomes apparent that in a battle of wills, you won’t win. Yoongi turns his attention to nuzzling your noses together, denying you even a kiss. His breath is warm, puffing against your face, his hands holding you still while he kisses first your nose, then your chin, and nuzzles there too.  

“Yoongi,” you whine softly. Your nails dig into his chest, your lower lip stuck out in a pout. 

“Relax,” Yoongi says breezily. He makes no attempt to match your fervor. “I’m going to do this right.” 

“How’s that?” you ask. Petulance is coloring your tone, and vividly. You aren’t even trying to hide it. 

“I’m going to savor it.” 

“But I want you now.” 

Yoongi’s shoulders shake with soft laughter that ghosts over your skin in warm puffs of air. “I’m right here. Take a deep breath and trust me.” 

Heat sparks in you again, your muscles clenching and releasing as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. While you aren’t totally pacified, you take that deep breath and let it out in the open air. Yoongi’s hands slide down to rest under your jaw; he turns your head to the side to kiss the space right in front of your ear, kitten lick at your lobe, and drag his tongue up the shell.

It feels like a slow, torturous tease—Yoongi’s shirt clenched in your hands while your breath is caught in your throat, shivers running down your back. It’s not enough and too much at the same time, sensation that weakens your knees and a deep need for more jumbling up your thoughts. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi says in your ear. You shiver, hard, your eyes clenching closed at the praise for—for what? Nothing in particular comes to mind, and the question doesn’t linger. Yoongi grasps your chin and turns your face again, his lips brushing yours, the kisses deepening until you whine softly from the sheer intensity of your arousal. A thought flits through your mind, brief and half-formed, that feels all too familiar: Yoongi is leagues ahead of you in terms of skill. You can’t stop the magnetic pull to follow him, match his pace, let him slowly trace your lips with his tongue, only on your feet still because his arms have wound around your waist and pulled you in. 

Being walked to your bedroom—still kissing, still sharing body heat—is a blur, little more than the sensation of moving without any of the details. There’s only Yoongi, his lips and tongue and hands, his chest pressed to yours, and your fumbling attempts to try to kiss back just as expertly. The chill of the air hits your skin as clothing comes off; you take it as permission to rid Yoongi of his clothes, too, pressing skin to skin while your eyes meet and the reality of what you were whining for sinks in. 

“You okay?” Yoongi asks. His voice—deep and husky—sends another round of shivers through you.  

“Y-yeah,” you say, breathless, unable to look at anything else, even as Yoongi nudges you into bed and lowers himself on top of you. 

You expect him to slide into you, maybe kiss you again, harder, more demanding. It’s a surprise when you feel him sliding down. His lips trail across your collarbone, his teeth gentle on your skin. You whimper and release a choked sigh in tandem, a strange sound that brings heat to your cheeks. Yoongi doesn’t comment on the strange sound, just continues moving down. A tremble starts in your thighs, travels up to your spine, fans out until your fingers clench the blankets below you just so you can feel like there’s something solid beneath you. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, just in case. This is far more daunting than the living room, being naked and splayed under Yoongi’s body. Intent hangs between you, heavy and imminent, but in no way negative. “Yoongi?” 

“Hm?” 

Your breath shakes as you exhale slowly. “Will you hold my hand?” 

“Of course I will,” Yoongi murmurs. You focus on his voice, letting it soothe the temporary nerves spiking in your blood. Your fingers clench around his when he takes your hand. It slows the trembling, but not by much. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? I’ll stop.” 

It strikes you suddenly how relieved you are that you’re able to have an experience like this with someone as considerate as Yoongi, who’s made it clear that you’re just as much a part of the equation as he is. You whisper your assent, tension winding you up tight. The room is too dark to see anything but shadows and silhouettes with the faintest hint of Yoongi’s skin suggesting where his attention might go next. The friction of Yoongi sliding down is the next sensation you feel before kisses are resuming their earlier path. Down, and down some more, feathery brushes of Yoongi’s lips against your sternum lead to him nosing under your breast. It’s hard to fight the urge to hide. Hard to stay still and be explored so thoroughly, like Yoongi is mapping every part of you in the most intimate way he can, mouth to skin. 

Wet heat skirts over the curve of your breast, your back arching at the same time your fingers tangle in Yoongi’s hair and squeeze, a startled breath rushing out with a soft moan. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper. Yoongi’s answer is entirely nonverbal; his tongue circles your nipple, hot breaths and the cooling of saliva on your skin mixing up in the most tantalizing way. Your reaction surprises you almost as much as how the sensation pulses much lower in your body, a string of curses brokenly uttered in your native tongue. It seems to make Yoongi bolder; his teeth scrape your skin, closing over the sensitive bud and tugging. You yelp. “Ow! Too hard, too hard,” you whimper, unconsciously pulling Yoongi away by the hair. 

“Shit, you okay?” 

“No! Damn, that hurt.” 

“Ah, sorry, I—” Yoongi laughs, uncertain. “Guess I got a little too into it.” 

“Get into it without your fangs,” you mutter. Though it’s playful when you push his head away, you really aren’t sure you want to continue with that. It’s not ruined, per se, but you’re not interested in adding pain to this very, extremely new experience. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi says again. 

The sheepishness in his voice is endearing, really. You relax back down into the mattress, giggling softly at the mishap. It breaks some of the thick tension, but you don’t mind that so much. “How sorry?” 

“Sorry enough to make it up to you,” Yoongi says very seriously. Too seriously. You laugh again and card your fingers through his hair in apology for the yanking. 

“How will you make it up to me?” 

“Watch and learn.” 

“Yoongi, I can’t see shit.” 

“Cheonsa. Baby. Y/N,” Yoongi drawls. You bite your lip to keep from laughing more. “Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

“Okay.” 

Should you be worried? Maybe you should be worried. You lean up on your elbows to peer at Yoongi in the darkness, but you can still only make out suggestions of his features, shrouded in shadow. The candle Jungkook bought you is still on the desk. A little atmosphere couldn’t hurt, and Yoongi’s seen you on cam in broad daylight, so— 

In those few moments of silence, Yoongi wriggles down to settle between your legs with one of your thighs thrown over his shoulder, moving faster than you can keep up with. In one second you can feel his eyes on you, then your whole body tenses up involuntarily when that sinful tongue traces you, dipping in your folds to explore. A jolt of searing pleasure rips through you and sends you hurtling to the edge, then fades away as suddenly as it came. You want more of that, right now. As much as you can take. Already your fingers are clenched in Yoongi’s hair again, pushing him down, which is maybe impolite, but for the love of all that is holy, you want to feel that again. 

For some reason, though, it doesn’t come back. Not all the way. Bits of it, little flashes of something more and greater curl your toes, but they disappear in seconds every time. Like Yoongi is trying to tease you, his tongue licking and circling, but keeping you on edge for something that doesn’t come. Your hips rise, pushing your mound against his seeking tongue, but the catch and release is starting to frustrate you more than keep you in the mood. You focus on how Yoongi’s tongue moves, up and down, a little clumsy, too far down and off the mark to really be exciting. 

Oh.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly. Yoongi lifts his head. 

“You don’t like it?” 

Oof. That obvious, huh? “It’s not that, really. It’s just. Um. Have you had sex with a girl before?” 

That might not have been the right thing to say. Yoongi’s fingers clench on your thigh, almost imperceptibly so, but you still feel it. “Is it that obvious?” 

Oh. Oh, you don’t like that tone. Like with one question, you’ve wiped out the confidence he’s been displaying this whole time. “I’m sorry!” you say quickly, embarrassed for having said anything at all. “I—” 

“No, what? What am I doing wrong?” 

Instead of answering with words, you take Yoongi’s hand and press his fingers against you until the pads of his fingers are over the right spot. You push them down for emphasis, a shaky sigh exhaled at the pressure finally being in the right spot. “Just focus here. That’s where it feels the best.” 

“Oh.” Yoongi strokes gently with one finger, tracing curiously, circling, as if to memorize what it feels like. Hopefully your reaction is enough of a pep talk, because your mind blanks once again as you fall back down, biting your lip to stifle the sharp mewl that wants to make its way out. “Oh? Just right here, huh?” 

Yoongi is a fool if he thinks you can answer while he’s stimulating you directly. Air hisses from between your teeth, your thighs tremble, and you nod rapidly with your eyes squeezed shut as tight as they go. “R-righ—hhhht there,” you say, using all your concentration and still barely managing to form the words. 

As soon as Yoongi’s mouth is on you again, your whole body tenses up while you pant, open-mouthed, at the ceiling. Sex really isn’t elegant; with Yoongi’s hair clenched in your fingers and soft cries barely masking the wet sounds of Yoongi licking, sucking, slurping your most intimate spot, you can’t help thinking in a vague sort of way that sex is just weird. Mouths in strange places, weird and embarrassing sounds, your body taking over so that you lose all semblance of propriety and buck helplessly against Yoongi’s onslaught. Nirvana might be one word for it; another might be overwhelming. You’re tipping ever closer to the edge, your head filled with static and rolling thunder, and it’s too much. Too good. Too much pleasure. You try to ask him to stop, slow down, wait for you to get your bearings, but your voice has been stolen and you’re only able to make a strangled sound before your leg hooks under his stomach and he tumbles off the bed in a heap. 

“I’m sorry!” you half-shout, rolling over to try to assess the damage and finding yourself falling onto the floor right next to where Yoongi is laying, frozen. “Oh my god I’m so sorry, I panicked! Are you okay?” 

“You kicked me,” Yoongi says blankly. He sits, slowly, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what just happened. The room is utterly silent. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. “You kicked me!” 

With that, Yoongi tosses his head back and laughs, deep belly laughs that have you doubling over too. By all accounts, this is a disaster. If you weren’t cackling so hard, you’d be utterly mortified that you just threw your boyfriend off your bed. By kicking him. Full-on kicking him right as you were on the verge of orgasm. 

God. Whatever powers that be are evidently dead set against you and Yoongi doing the deed. You laugh so hard that tears prick your eyes, everything suddenly hilarious: sitting naked on the floor, Yoongi’s laughter, the fact that trying to have sex has been an obstacle course of dodging friends and cramped dorms or rowdy apartments. By the time you manage to calm yourself, Yoongi is wiping his eyes and you have a stitch in your side. You lean your head on his shoulder with a frustrated groan. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Yoongi asks. “I feel like if we try again we’ll just be struck by lightning.” 

“That’s how I want to go,” you say with a shake of your head. “That’s the most metal thing I can think of. Seriously though, are you okay? I hope I didn’t kick too hard.” 

“It was less like a kick and more like being picked up and thrown. I’m actually impressed.” 

“I guess if the makeup thing doesn’t work out, I can go into professional wrestling.” 

Silence falls between you, Yoongi absently playing with your hair. It would be nice if you were able to see more clearly. So much of this has been blind, shadowed, that you wind up lighting that candle after all. The scent of lavender fills the room in no time, calming, soothing the vague stress about all the things that have gone wrong while you sit with Yoongi on the floor trying to figure out how to segue back to the good stuff. 

It turns out to be simple; Yoongi lifts your chin to kiss you, and the need you felt only minutes ago perks up as if there had been no pause. It’s different this time, though. Giggles keep coming up, from when you transition back to bed to when Yoongi fumbles for a condom and struggles to put it on in the semi-darkness. Next time, maybe, can be the passionate and lust-filled romp the two of you were going for, where you don’t have to put so much effort into learning each other and figuring out how you fit together. A faint hint of sweetness lingers on his tongue, and it’s so strange that another person’s mouth tastes like honeyed citrus that you huff a laugh while your lips are still connected. 

“I’m sorry I keep laughing,” you murmur after about the tenth burst of giggles. This time, it’s because it’s obvious that Yoongi really has never been near female anatomy in his life. You reach down to guide him to your entrance, the unfamiliar stretch of being breached making your breath stick to your ribs. 

“S’okay,” Yoongi says, strain evident in his voice. “Our second time will be better.” 

“Shush. This is perfect,” you breathe, your voice joining your limbs in trembling. It’s tight, tighter than you imagined. It feels like you can feel every single centimeter spreading you open, pushing on your walls so snugly that your hips squirm beyond your control. 

“Stop moving,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “I’ve never—I won’t last like this.” 

“Haven’t you and Namjoon…?” 

“Don’t—say his name right now, gross. I’m with you.” Yoongi groans. His arms are shaking on either side of you, where they’re propping him up. “I don’t top.” 

“Oh. Well. That’s surprisingly hot.” 

Having a conversation while you adjust to the feeling of being full feels absurd, to put it lightly. You hold as still as you can until Yoongi bottoms out, then squirm some more to get comfortable. Holding your legs back—with your thighs around his waist—makes the angle feel less awkward and allows Yoongi to slide deeper, a choked sound you never imagined hearing from him making that now-familiar jolt in your core strengthen twofold. 

“Fuck, you feel—” Yoongi says, his head drooping so that his forehead is against your chest. “Can I move?” 

“Um, yes? Isn’t that the point?” 

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to set a semblance of a pace, however erratic it may be. His face is set in concentration, eyes a bit frenzied, his breaths rough and hot on your skin. Looking at him and taking in every detail is surprisingly easy, given how you expected to be writhing and falling apart or whatever people say happens during sex. Not that it doesn’t feel good, or that it isn’t enjoyable, it’s just… 

Lackluster. At least in comparison to your expectations of pleasure. Your own breath is labored and your thighs shake, soft noises escaping you when pleasure swells, but you have a much clearer presence of mind than Yoongi, who looks like he’s one thrust away from completion. Throwing caution into the air, you drag Yoongi down to nuzzle at his jaw, whispering harder in hopes it will bring back the kind of sensations you felt when his mouth was on you. He whines in response, the sound tangible where you’re mouthing along his throat, where you can taste a hint of salt. 

“This isn’t doing it for you, is it?” Yoongi asks, his movements stilling. 

Oof again. He reads you too easily. After already critiquing Yoongi’s oral skills, you’re not so sure you want to answer that question. 

“It’s good,” you say. It’s not a lie; there’s a rolling heat licking at something that could be great, and it feels good. Just good, not amazing, not orgasmic, not mind-numbing. The real joy is in experiencing it with Yoongi; getting to be close to him like this and watch every minute change in his expression, hear every choked sound he tries to hold back. “Keep going.” 

“Hang on,” Yoongi replies. “I read—uh. Let’s try something else.” 

You press your lips together to stop yourself from asking if Yoongi studied for this. Already you’ve been too giggly, not enjoyed it in the right way, not been able to feel good enough to urge Yoongi on. You watch quietly as Yoongi sits up on his knees; the feeling of being suddenly empty is a strange one, just as strange as the feeling of suddenly being full minutes ago. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, hoping that while Yoongi is busy putting your ankles on his shoulders, you might not be heard. The angle is awkward, but you don’t want to comment on it, though your hips seem too high up for Yoongi to be able to even get it in. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, giving you a pointed look. “Since I’ve messed up everything I tried.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“Neither do you.” 

“It felt good,” you insist. You cover your face with your hand, sighing. Stupid Yoongi and his cheap tactics of turning it around on you. 

“Well, hopefully this will feel better.” 

Yeah...hopefully. Words you won’t say aloud, and you probably couldn’t if you tried anyway with Yoongi holding your thighs and sliding into you once again. And, what do you know; he buries himself a second time, no angle problems to speak of. More than that, it feels different. There’s no sudden euphoria or toe-curling bliss, but it’s different. Fuller, more intense. 

Different, too, when Yoongi leans over you with his head hung between your knees and his hips snapping hard against you. A choked moan slips from your mouth, then another, and another, your hands scrambling for purchase against anything you can reach, which just so happens to be Yoongi’s thighs. This is quickly lining up with exactly what you imagined, and you have no idea why the change of position would have made such a difference, but you don’t have a single thought to spare for it. Something has awoken inside you at the flip of a switch, your body coming alive to sing the pleasure that lights your every nerve. 

Through your lashes you can see Yoongi looking down at you with reverent eyes, his face flushed and his lips parted with his tongue darting out to wet them. Looking at him is overwhelming, the picture of pleasure and adoration, searing into the very fabric of your being. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says.

You think you reply something, or at least try to, but you can’t seem to recall exactly what it might have been, and it doesn’t matter anyway; you’re not so much aware that Yoongi’s fingers are stroking you as you are that every sensation seems magnified from his touch. A full-body tremble sweeps all the way to your toes, noises you didn’t know you were capable of making spill from your lips, and still, you can’t look away from the sight of Yoongi drinking in everything just the same as you are. 

“I can’t—” he says, cut off in a gravelly moan, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, I—” 

The bed begins to creak from just how hard Yoongi is driving into you, his pace becoming even more frantic. He buries himself inside you with one, drawn-out moan, and stills. 

“Sorry,” he says between heavy breaths. “Sorry I couldn’t—it was too good, you’re too good.” 

“No, you,” you mumble. You blink slowly, waiting for the world to come back. It doesn’t take long; in the time it takes Yoongi to toss the condom in the trash, you sit up with a vague dissatisfaction gnawing at you. So close, and yet so far. 

“I’ll last longer next time,” Yoongi assures you. “Come here, I’m not done yet.” 

“No next time, this is exhausting.” 

“Don’t complain when I’m about to get you off.” 

“I’ll do what I want.” 

Although it’s nice that your pleasure hasn’t been forgotten. You curl up with Yoongi behind you, your leg hooked over his thighs so he can reach easily between your legs. The touches are less hurried, stoking the flickering flames inside you that have come and gone until you’re grinding up against Yoongi’s fingers and teetering precariously on the edge. 

“Love you,” Yoongi murmurs in your ear. All you can do is nod, your body so wound up from the disjointed pleasure you’ve felt that you finally just grab Yoongi’s wrist and hold him in place so you can rock into his palm how you need. Release is less like a free-fall and more like waves lapping at the shore, but it’s still the perfect wrap-up to the night. It was fumbling, it was awkward and kinda bad at some points, but it was still good. Still intimate. It was still Yoongi who was with you, working to make sure you feel fulfilled, too. 

Warmth spreads through you when you finally still, humming a noise that means everything and nothing at all while Yoongi plants feather-light kisses along your brow, your jaw, down your neck and across your shoulder. You’re exhausted and spent, enjoying just lying still while Yoongi holds you and litters your skin with love. 

“Hey, Yoongi?” you say, words slightly slurred and your mind pleasantly floaty. Yoongi hums quietly. He’s breathing deep, too. You don’t have the luxury of falling asleep just yet—you still have to clean yourself up, you need to put on some panties at the very least—but you’re in no hurry to get up. “Did you really look up how to have sex with a girl?” 

Your question is met with an embarrassed groan. 

Chapter Text

Waking up with your boyfriend holding you tight is something you could really get used to, even with the lack of clothing between you. Before sleeping you’d pulled on panties and his shirt, while he put his boxers back on, and it is cold. You worm closer to Yoongi, only to hear him hiss quietly and hurriedly try to shift his hips away from you.

“You’re awake?” you ask around a long yawn, not getting the picture quite yet. It’s early. Too early. You scoot back into Yoongi’s warmth, seeking his hand clumsily with your own. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi mumbles. Something about his voice is off. It wakes you up a little more so that you can shift your weight and look back at him, and that’s when you feel something hard pressing into your butt. 

Just like The Incident. 

Except, well, this time you’re at the stage in your relationship where it doesn’t terrify you. Morning wood is pretty common, or so you’ve been led to believe by male friends who might be a little too eager to talk about their boners for reasons you’ve never understood.

Well, the barrier has been crossed. Still sleepy, still yawning a little, you reach back to slide your hand between your bodies and feel Yoongi through his boxers. With just a touch he groans and buries his face in your hair, and despite your intentions of getting up to have a proper shower, the day is young and your boyfriend is hard and there are all kinds of things you can do instead.  Now that you know the whole sex thing involves a lot of exploration—not to mention trial and error—fumbling through it is less frustrating and more an interesting learning challenge that you’re more than willing to tackle. 

At least until you run out of condoms and morning has bled into afternoon. Yoongi having to go do something or other puts a damper on being able to do anything that requires two bodies, though you’ve made good progress. Most interestingly, you’ve learned that he really enjoys it when you give instructions and take control, which resulted in you pinning him down and riding him to completion after figuring out how the hip motions were supposed to work. 

It’s a little ridiculous if you’re honest with yourself. Which you try to be. Objectively, going through an entire box of condoms in one morning is mildly extreme. You knew that Yoongi has a pretty high drive, but you didn’t think you’d be able to match him. 

Back in the non-sex bubble when Yoongi leaves, you manage to get ahold of yourself. First, the windows are opened and you spray air freshener around your door. Just in case. Bodily fluids, and lots of them, probably smell weird. Which means second: the trash goes out. The last thing you need is Auntie Dayoung casually asking what the hell you think you’re doing collecting used condoms in the trash can of her guest bedroom. 

On that note…is it rude to have sex in a house that isn’t yours? Oh. Shit. You might be a bad kid now. Are you a bad kid? 

(You’re definitely a bad kid, which you text Yoongi about doubled over in laughter. It’s about a fifty-fifty mix of hilarity and embarrassment.) 

Third: shower, and shower well. You’re probably cleaner than you’ve ever been in your life, and when you come out of the bathroom dressed and dried, the apartment smells like honey and apricot with the undertone of coffee that never leaves the walls. 

While Auntie could undoubtedly pick up some food from the restaurant, you’re too excited to see her for sitting still. With the apartment already spotless, you decide that cooking a meal to share is best. 

After scarfing down some cold pork and spicy pickles. Exercise requires a recovery meal, even if it mostly consists of cucumbers. Despite your initial hesitancy about the vast array of spicy, pickled vegetables, they’ve really grown on you. It’s funny how you wound up missing kimchi so much in the last year. It was never a staple of your diet. Not until living in Korea, where you have it with every meal. Like the one you’re making for Auntie Dayoung, which consists of soybean paste soup and pork belly to wrap up in leafy greens in addition to the usual side dishes and rice. 

Having the table set the instant your auntie gets home would be nice, but in reality, she comes in shrugging off bags and a coat and gloves while you’re tasting the soup, which definitely needs more time, which means you’ll have to stick the pork belly somewhere to keep it warm. 

“Yah, who’s this strange girl cooking in my apartment?” Auntie asks, and before you can even respond, she scoops you up in a tight hug. Your spoon is still dripping broth; it slides down your hand while you pat her back in a one-armed approximation of a hug. 

“Who’s this ajumma making me spill soup everywhere?” you fake-whine, but your laughter gives you away. It feels a little like a small weight lifted off you. Having someone else to inhabit the apartment with you makes it seem more warm and friendly. 

“I should have known I’d find you in the middle of chores,” Auntie says with a sniff and a disapproving look at the stove. “Who are you cooking for? Which boy is coming to visit us tonight?” 

“I’m cooking for you,” you reply with a sniff of your own. In a battle of wills, Auntie always wins, but you’ll try to keep up the icy heart act for as long as you can. “Unless you’d rather I give it to the boys.” 

“Those kids will need four times that amount. You’re slacking.” 

“I never slack, Auntie. You should know that as well as anyone.” 

Auntie’s mouth twitches, then she grins and ruffles your hair, which. Confuses you, to say the least. You…won? You won. What twilight zone world is this? You blink, then hug Auntie again just for good measure. 

“Better than anyone. Don’t forget who watched you slave over a stove every day,” Auntie corrects you gently. 

“Ha, yeah, I’m still doing that,” you admit as you turn to resume tending to your dinner. “But they’re paying for food these days, so I don’t mind.” 

“They tried paying me,” Auntie says with another sniff. “I’ve never been more insulted in my life.” 

“So that beats the time I told you I could clean the apartment without help?” 

“I’d forgotten about that, but yes.” Auntie pauses. Rustling is happening behind you, the sound of a chair being pulled out, and Auntie sitting down heavily. “And I’m still offended, now that you’ve reminded me.” 

“Of course.” 

For tonight, the two of you sit down to watch a new drama called The Heirs, which Auntie says she waited to watch specifically for you to arrive. While you’re not sure what about it made her think it’s a “you” kind of show, it’s pretty fun to watch, not to mention her scathing criticism is always hilarious. That’s one of the things you’ve always appreciated about her; she’s funny as hell. A second mom full of faux-coldness and razor-sharp wit, totally unlike your real mother who’s more of a neurotic kind of funny. You can really see why they complemented each other so well. The two of you make plans to take a day trip with no specific destination in mind, just for the fun of it and to bond. 

[Cheonsa]

Hey guys! Auntie is home!

I’ll probably be busy for a couple of days. 

It goes unanswered for hours, but that’s the norm. That night, you elect to go over to the dorm instead of having Yoongi sleep over, though you feel a little weird leaving the apartment at half-past midnight when Yoongi finally lets you know that they’ve made it home. Bangtan’s schedules haven’t changed at all. They’ve probably gotten worse, actually. Considering how late Yoongi left to work earlier, they’re probably lucky that they were only working until midnight. 

You’re expecting Yoongi to be right at the door when you arrive, ready to answer it, but the face looking back at you when the door swings open isn’t your boyfriend’s. It’s actually about the last person you would expect it to be, given the situation. 

“Oh,” Hoseok says, the rise of his brows giving away that he didn’t expect to see you here. “Hey. Yoongi hyung is in the kitchen.” 

With that, Hoseok tries to step around you, but. Pure madness grips you in an instant. You throw out your arm to stop him, searching his face for anything that will explain his complete refusal to acknowledge you unless he has to. 

“Can we talk?” 

“I’m heading out, sorry. If you’re—” 

“It’s 12:30 in the morning. Where are you going?” 

“To the studio.” 

“It can’t wait for five minutes? Hoseok, come on.” 

“Look, noona—” Hoseok pauses to rub his face with his hand. When it drops, he looks like he’s aged a few years. 

“So I’m noona now?” 

The door creaks open. Taehyung is standing there, his already big eyes wide and his brows knitted. “Go inside, Taehyung,” Hoseok says, pushing him gently on the shoulder. “Anyway, I don’t have time for this right now.” 

“At least tell me why you’re being such a jerk,” you snap, a bubble of anger wooshing up from your stomach before you can swallow it back down. You’ve known for a while that Hoseok has what is, most likely, the scariest temper of everyone, and you shrink away when his eyes narrow at you. 

“I’m busy, noona,” Hoseok says with a sigh that turns into a yawn. “I don’t have the luxury of dropping everything whenever I want like some people, I really have to go. This isn’t even about you.” 

Why does that feel like a punch in the gut? You stare at Hoseok in shock, mouthing soundlessly while your brain tries to make sense of what he just said. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung says softly, coming out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Or, almost. Yoongi pokes his head out next, his eyes already narrowed and fixed on Hoseok. The last thing you need for this is an audience, but there’s already one ready-made in the tiny dorm. You can see Jimin trailing behind Yoongi; he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. 

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to push toward the door and finally dropping your arm. “The luxury, Hoseok? Full offense, fuck you.” 

You take a step back to push past Yoongi into the apartment, only catching a small glimpse of Hoseok’s eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. The door closes behind you before anyone can say anything else. 

Taehyung comes back in. 

Yoongi doesn’t. 

After that small confrontation—which is far more than you ever expected to have with Hoseok of all people—you feel too drained to worry about Yoongi going off. Any other time you’d stop him, but there’s a clean slice in your chest that aches way too much. 

“Noona?” Jimin whispers, taking tiny steps forward. His eyes are round and sparkling with tears. Just what is going on here? What the hell did you walk in on? 

“Hi, Jimin,” you say. If you pretend like your voice isn’t stretched thin and cracking, you won’t cry, right? That’s what you tell yourself, but your tears aren’t listening where they’re welling up. Your ears are straining for whatever it is that Yoongi is saying, but his voice is so muffled you can’t make anything out. “Are we talking again?” 

“We were never not talking,” Jimin says, more pleading than sure of himself. “We made up.” 

“We did,” you agree, giving one short nod. Confusion settles over confusion, but what the hell, you’ll take it. It feels nice to have Taehyung and Jimin hugging you at the same time, both of them with their own familiar scents and their warmth. 

“He didn’t mean it, noona,” Taehyung murmurs while he rubs your shoulder. “He said it really bad but it isn’t like that.” 

“Then what is it like?” you ask. Stupid tears. Stupid snotting on Jimin’s shirt. Crying is the worst, honestly. You try to hold it in, but having it acknowledged by other people always makes it worse. You sniffle, turning your head so that you can breathe easier. 

“Let’s sit down,” Jimin says gently. It’s so weird to suddenly have him acting like a friend again, even though you suppose he’s a little right. It’s not like he ever blatantly mistreated you, he just kept running off with Hoseok all the time. Part of you wants to chase Hoseok down and demand an explanation, but you've grown tired enough that you’re also kind of over it, too. If Jimin will explain, then fine. Hoseok can go be a coward all he wants. 

The kitchen is thankfully empty. You sit next to Jimin at the table while Taehyung starts boiling water for tea. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, but Taehyung shakes his head and stares at you intently. 

“Tea always makes you feel better. We’re the Cheonsa Protection Unit!” 

If anyone can startle a laugh out of you while you’re in the middle of crying, it’s Taehyung. You smile in spite of your inner turmoil, unable to help it with Taehyung grinning so wide all his teeth are showing. Cheonsa Protection Unit. Now that’s something you’d completely forgotten about. The memory brings an even wider smile to your face, until you’re hiding your face in your sleeve hiccuping through your laughter. 

“Are you guys going to bed soon?” Jungkook’s voice comes from the doorway. “I want to sleep.” 

“He’s been sleeping under the table,” Jimin informs you. You turn around to look at Jungkook, who looks positively horrified when he’s met with your tear-streaked face. 

“Noona, what’s wrong!?” Jungkook asks, very nearly skidding into a kneel to sit by you. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you say, and it’s almost true now, with Jungkook wiping your cheeks with his own sleeves and looking at you like he might break into pieces over the sight of a couple of tears. “We can move somewhere else.” 

“Like where?” Taehyung asks. 

Right. There’s nowhere else. Waking up exhausted idols is somewhere near the top of your list as far as treason goes. 

“Okay, then kitchen it is,” you say with a sheepish smile. Jungkook frowns deeply. 

“Is it because of Hobi hyung?” he asks. You nod. Regretfully. Starting drama amongst the boys is also at the top of a list: the Things to Absolutely Never Do list. “So he’s made two people cry tonight.” 

“Actually,” you say, turning back around—with Jungkook still holding your face—to look at Jimin. “Why were you crying?” 

“Agh! He’s being so stu—” Jimin cuts himself off and puffs out his cheeks, then falls back on the floor and stares grumpily at the ceiling. “Stubborn. I was going to say stubborn, not stupid.” 

“Stupid is the right word,” Taehyung mumbles. 

“We’ve been practicing all the time,” Jimin continues from his spot on the floor. “Really practicing, not just practicing to avoid you. That’s what it looks like, right? Well, it wasn’t for me. I just…have to get better.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask. Stupid is the right word if that’s the reasoning behind it. “I thought you really hated me!” 

“We just got in our own heads,” Jimin says. He groans and covers his face. “Just like last spring. I love you, noona, that hasn’t ever changed! I just want to be better. I have to be better.” 

“So that’s…” you frown, reaching up unconsciously to take hold of Jungkook’s hands so he’ll stop holding your face. “That’s it? You two have been killing yourselves practicing because you think you aren’t good enough?” 

“That’s it,” Jimin says miserably. He looks on the verge of tears again, but Taehyung sits down at that moment to slide a mug of tea toward you before curling up on the floor with his head resting on Jimin’s stomach. “I was crying because I’m so tired. I’m just so tired.” 

“I can’t blame noona for thinking you guys were ignoring her,” Taehyung says. He’s tracing little circles on Jimin’s tummy with his index finger, frowning too. “Because you already did it once.” 

“I didn’t know,” Jimin says, and he really does start crying then. You move first, followed by Jungkook, and curl up with your head next to Taehyung’s while Jungkook curls up with his head on your thigh. 

“You two are really focused, huh?” you say after unknown time is spent calming Jimin down. He nods and rubs his eyes. “All you have to do is check in with me. And now I know that I have to talk, too. I wanted to, I was just scared that things went back to how they used to be.” 

“I’m sorry, noona,” Jimin says. He takes your hand and holds it close to his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall with his breathing. It’s anticlimactic, in a way, but mostly a big relief. Jimin’s explanation doesn’t make all of Hoseok’s weird behavior make sense to you; you’re definitely too tired to try to piece it out right now, though. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have called him a jerk…? 

No, that was actually pretty justified. Maybe. 

Your phone vibrates, and grateful for something to interrupt your thoughts, you check to see messages from Yoongi.

[Yoongi]

hey

hoseok and i are taking a walk

don’t wait up it’s going to be a while

[Cheonsa]

Punch him for me.

[Yoongi]

i already did

[Cheonsa]

NO

TELL ME YOU DIDN’T

[Yoongi]

maybe i didn’t

i think he was shocked enough by what you said

we can talk later

“Is that Yoongi hyung?” Jungkook asks in a voice laced with pure exhaustion. Jimin has already dropped off; Taehyung is breathing heavily and not moving, but you’re not sure if he’s asleep yet. He’s such a clinger in his sleep that it’s unlikely, what with Jimin having room to move his limbs.

“Yeah, he’s taking a walk with Hoseok,” you murmur quietly. “I guess I should get going, he’s not going to be back any time soon, he said.” 

“Just go sleep in his bed,” Jungkook says. He yawns and sits up, peering toward the bedroom. A look of great pain crosses his face; he glances at Jimin and Taehyung, then back at the bedroom. Figuring out what’s got him looking so torn isn’t difficult. 

“They’re already asleep. Take a bed, okay?” you say. The two of you rise to tiptoe away from the sleeping boys on the floor and slip into the bedroom, which feels odd, to say the least. The only times you’ve come back here have been with Yoongi. Right now, the room is empty save for Namjoon and Seokjin, who are both sleeping. 

“Is that Namjoonie snoring?” you whisper to Jungkook, who nods rapidly with a huff of giggles. He climbs into one of the bunks and lays down while you edge to a bed and sit. “This feels weird.” 

“Quiet,” Seokjin mumbles. He rolls over onto his side and cracks an eye open, then sits bolt upright in bed with a startled yell. The snores break off momentarily, then start right back up again. Like a train. Like a thunderstorm. 

“Hi oppa,” you whisper. Seokjin replies by pulling his blanket up to his chest. “Is it okay if I sleep here?” 

“It’s indecent!” Seokjin says, sounding every bit as scandalized as you’d hope he would in this situation. So cute. 

“I slept with you all at the beach, remember?” 

Whatever Seokjin was going to say is interrupted by Taehyung staggering into the room and flopping on the first bed he finds acceptable, which just so happens to be the bed you’re sitting on. With one arm around your shoulders, he flops down—bringing you with him—and cuddles into your side with his vice-like grip. 

“Uhh, a little help?” you squeak. “He’s going to squeeze me to death.” 

“Oh no, noona,” Jungkook says around a huge yawn. He’s sitting up in the bunk across from yours, his posture slouched and his eyes closed. “You’re trapped.” 

“Cheonsa noona,” Taehyung slurs. Geh! Why is everyone in this dorm so cute? “Can I have some jajangmyeon? Okay thank you, I love you.” 

“Taehyung-ah, it’s one in the morning,” Seokjin scolds. Taehyung says nothing; he just breathes deeply and noses against your shoulder until he’s comfortable. Jungkook flops back and is gone the second his head hits the pillow. Maybe before. Namjoon is still snoring, and when you look at Seokjin, his head is drooping forward, all scolding apparently forgotten. 

With no other options, you stare at the ceiling. Maybe Yoongi will be home soon. Maybe Hoseok will come with him, and they can both wrestle you out of Taehyung’s ridiculous grip. 

Or maybe you can just go to sleep, too. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Hongdae isn’t where you expected to end up the next day, but you still wind up exiting the train station and taking the familiar walk past restaurants and shops. It hasn’t changed all that much; there’s still the same beauty stores, the smell of chicken wafting from opening doors, buskers.

Hoseok is still with you, bundled up with a jacket and a scarf though to you it feels pretty warm for December. You’re stretching your legs as far as you can to keep up with Hoseok’s power-walking, just like the last time the two of you came here, attention pulled in every direction while you consider whether you want to eat chicken or just go for Isaac Toast like your heart is demanding. 

Too sentimental, maybe. And you did have egg bread earlier, in all of its cabbage-y goodness. 

Whatever Yoongi said, Hoseok isn’t sporting any bruises or swollen bumps or anything. Not that you really believed that Yoongi threw a punch, but people have done stranger things in defense of loved ones. 

It’s surreal. You woke up with the bedroom empty save for you and Taehyung, and did actually have to wait for someone to rescue you from Taehyung’s grip. You didn’t expect that person to be Hoseok, but he’s the one that came to check on you and bring you to the kitchen for breakfast. Jimin, apparently, had run out to grab egg bread for everyone as an apology for waking up half the dorm when he came into the bedroom at four in the morning. Sitting between Namjoon and Seokjin, you joined the boys in eating and talking quietly with sleepy yawns punctuating the conversation, and things felt normal. 

Yoongi gave you a pointed look when Hoseok asked if you’d go out with him later, which you understood to mean that the talk you’ve been putting off was going to happen. 

Finally. Though admittedly, it was at least somewhat a two-way street. 

“What do you want to eat?” Hoseok asks as he turns to face you, breaking you out of your thoughts. You shrug in response, but apparently that isn’t the proper answer because Hoseok frowns. “No, seriously. What do you want?” 

“Uh—Isaac Toast, I guess. It’s one of the things I can’t get back home.” 

You have no idea what you’ve done this time, but whatever irritation your non-answer stoked in Hoseok seems to evaporate. Things felt normal this morning, but now you’re not so sure. Though, it would be awkward to have to order food with someone clearly pissed off at you, so you follow along to get your toast and find a seat in the back where—hopefully—things won’t get heated. You don’t fancy being seethed at in public. 

Well—Hoseok isn’t seething, and he doesn’t even look mad, but. It could happen, right? 

“So…” you start, though admittedly there’s nothing on your mind to say. You grasp at the first thing that comes to mind. “You’ve been practicing a lot?” 

“Yeah, it’s kind of on me to help the members with the choreo,” Hoseok says. He peeks at you from the corner of his eye. “Namjoon and Seokjin hyung are getting a lot better.” 

“Heh, you’re all so determined. I wish—ah, well, we don’t have to talk about that.” 

“I think we should talk about stuff like that.” 

“No, no—I don’t want to bother you with my college dropout angst. You already have so much going on.” 

“You haven’t changed,” Hoseok says. At least he’s smiling? Because that doesn’t sound like a great opening to whatever he’s about to say. “Always here for us and not yourself.” 

“I—I’m sorry?” you say, more a question than an actual apology, completely taken aback. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

“Did you just bring me out to antagonize me? That’s not true, Hoseok.” 

Hoseok doesn’t sound particularly antagonizing, but his words are still making you feel uncomfortable. Looking away and focusing on your toast takes some of the pressure off of you, but you can still feel Hoseok’s eyes on you. 

“It’s only antagonistic because you don’t want to hear it,” Hoseok replies, then you can hear him slurping up his blueberryade and taking bites of toast. 

“Wow, you’ve really given into my nagging about speaking more casually to me.” 

“Sorry,” Hoseok mumbles. You laugh, though not at all with any mirth. 

“No, don’t be. I’m glad. I take it you have some things you want to say.” 

“You first.” 

Okay. This conversation is hard to decipher at best, and completely nonsensical at worst. You busy yourself eating some of your sandwich, mulling it over. There are things, right? Of course there are. There were entire monologues in your head, imagined arguments and verbal sparring. Hell, you even tried to stop Hoseok from leaving last night, but it feels so far away from here and now that you’re second-guessing yourself. 

You think of Taehyung, who last night, said that he didn’t blame you for thinking the worst. You think of Jimin, who was so apologetic that he cried. Neither of them treated you like you were in the wrong, and Hoseok isn’t, either. 

“You…” you start, sounding just as unsure as you feel. “…Hurt me, Hoseok. Again. Doing the same thing you did that led to us breaking up.” 

“Yeah, I’m a bit of an idiot. I should have said something.” 

“You should have. It shouldn’t be me that goes chasing after you to try to make things right again. I get that you’re busy all the time and you have to do things that are outside my realm of understanding, but all it takes is a text. If you can’t even give me that much, what even are we?” 

“Did you really forgive me? Back in October, when we talked.” 

“Of course I did. Why are you asking about—” 

“It doesn’t feel fair. We weren’t talking to you but we still knew what was happening.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“About university, and how bad you felt, and that it was our fault. Yoongi hyung wasn’t a jerk about it but he didn’t sugar-coat it either. Namjoon thought I was mad because you stayed with hyung, but I really just didn’t feel great about anything I’d done. And then you—one day, out of the blue, you message me and say it’s fine now because you miss me, and I get it, that’s just you—” 

“I’m not going to punish you, that’s—” 

“I’m not saying that. But you—you deserve better than that, and I didn’t do it, you’re still just trying to be my friend like it doesn’t matter how I treat you.” 

“I—it matters.” Doesn’t it? Of course it does. A headache is coming on, slow but steady. 

“Does it?”

“What is going on? What is this?”

“It actually pisses me off how much you try for guys like us.” 

You don’t interrupt Hoseok this time, again taken aback and utterly clueless what to say. Thank god that even Hoseok has an indoor voice when it matters, because this conversation is going exactly the direction you didn’t want it to go in public. 

“When you said that last night—fuck you, it’s the first time I’ve heard you actually stand up for yourself the whole time I’ve known you. You spent all summer doing everything for us, and you went back to your regular life just as lost as you were when you got here. What did we do for you?” 

Stunned into silence, you say nothing. Where is this even coming from? It still doesn’t make complete sense, and you’re not sure what the end destination is, but the very idea of what Hoseok is saying crawls under your skin. It’s not true. It’s not true at all that you didn’t have a give and take, it’s not true that you were just some kind of servant.

It definitely isn’t true that you never stood up for yourself; maybe Hoseok doesn’t know about how you and Yoongi kept bickering.

But…

There’s a grain of truth in what Hoseok is saying, somewhere. You haven’t figured out where, you don’t know if you want to figure out where—

“How many times did I make you cry?” Hoseok asks, his voice whisper-soft and strained. 

It’s a lot to take in. Too much to have an answer for immediately, too much to process on the spot, so you eat. The flavors and textures are familiar in a nostalgic kind of way, the memory of being here with Hoseok distant enough that it’s hard to follow them logically from what was to what is. For his part, Hoseok doesn’t push you to say anything, though you meet eyes a few times. The quiet is strained, but not unbearably so. There’s a lot you can say with just glances. It works for the moment. 

Once your sandwiches are finished, you go back into the chilly air to walk to the park. It’s emptier than it was in the summer; you sit on the same bench near the playground while some buskers rap battle behind you with a small crowd watching. Familiar, but different. You realize that you were wrong, thinking that nothing had really changed, but that’s okay. Even if you came back, older and wiser, different, you’re still home here. 

You lean your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. A wall exists between you, one that you can feel as keenly as the breeze turning your cheeks icy, but it’s impermanent. Of that you’re sure. Whether it takes months or weeks or days to break it down, it’ll come down. 

“The world is a lonely place,” you say, finally, your thoughts converging into something you’re able to speak aloud. “People come and go. It’s kind of the natural way it all works. Sometimes someone makes you feel so alive, but they’re gone in the next breath and there’s not much you can do about it. I didn’t come back because I can, I’m not screwing around here. I came back because my family is here. You get that, right?” 

“Auntie?” 

“You really are an idiot sometimes, Jung Hoseok.” Sighing, you lift your head to meet Hoseok’s eyes. “I don’t know who’s been filling your head with lies, but you gave me a home. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did too much, maybe I try too hard, but that doesn’t mean that wasn’t time spent on myself. A part of me is going to be here forever, all because I gave the cute guy who kept coming into the shop some free coffee.” 

“And a sandwich,” Hoseok mumbles, averting his eyes.  

“Anyway—I don’t even know what you want me to say other than that. You’re pissed off because you feel bad and you think you know how I feel, but that doesn’t have anything to do with me and you’re wrong.” 

“Okay,” Hoseok says. His shoulders sag and his head droops forward. “If this is what makes you happy.” 

“It is.” 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, sitting up straight and turning to look at you with an inscrutable expression. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I’m busy, that’s really it. I get why you were mad, though.” 

“Well…good,” you say, quiet. Communication is hard, you’ve learned, but that doesn’t excuse avoiding it. “Sorry for what I said last night. It was uncalled for.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Hoseok says, still with that guarded expression. You’re again reminded that Yoongi once said Hoseok is scary when he’s angry. 

“Good. Now do something about it while I’m still in Korea.” 

That’s that. It’s not a neat conclusion wrapped up with a pretty bow, but it feels like the right direction. Like maybe after this, you can exist together as friends and move forward to gain back the affection and normalcy you used to share. Apparently Hoseok got everything off his chest; he doesn’t bring up anything again, just stays quiet while you sit on the bench together with your head again resting on his shoulder. 

Eventually, though, the sun starts to sink in the sky and the breeze gets colder, prompting the two of you to head back home together. In the dorm, you sit down around the table and talk as a group while you eat black bean noodles together, the conversation you had with Hoseok making you feel bold enough to have that talk that Seokjin suggested. 

“I have two rules,” you say, surprised to have everyone’s undivided attention. Like Namjoon does when he speaks to the group, as if you’re on the same level of authority somehow. “One, I’m not here to date everyone. No more surprise kisses and declaring I’m your girlfriend, okay? And if you’re upset about something, just talk to me. I’ll always listen, no matter what, but I won’t be okay with people avoiding or ignoring me. It’s really hurtful.” 

“I’m sorry for pressuring you, noona,” Jungkook says first, his doe eyes shining bright. His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s not quite meeting your gaze; a part of you feels bad, because he knows that he’s one of the people you’re talking about. Taehyung and Jimin, too, look guilty, and Taehyung mumbles an apology while holding your hand under the table a little too tight. 

“Well—I’m glad you spoke up, noona,” Namjoon says, a little too loudly. Everyone looks at him. “I just want to say, I’ve never thought of you like that. So, you don’t have to worry about that from me.” 

And then he laughs his nervous laugh, and everyone continues staring at him, until he coughs and apologizes quietly under his breath. 

“Anyway,” Yoongi says. It diffuses the sudden awkwardness well enough, because there’s quiet laughter and then attention is on him instead of a beet-red Namjoon. “I think we need to have clear boundaries on what is and isn’t okay.” 

“Like how?” you ask, tilting your head. Didn’t you just—? 

“As far as physical affection. If you haven’t noticed, the kids are cuddle monsters,” Yoongi says, deadpan. 

Right. Yes. You’ve noticed that for sure. “I’m okay with all that. And like—if, I don’t know, um. Like I said, you can talk to me about stuff if you want to? Can I be honest for a second?” 

“Always,” the younger three say at the same time. Nods go around the group. 

“I’m not opposed to whatever is going on. But I’m not used to this sort of thing, and it seems like it comes really natural to you guys, so I still have some catching up to do. I need time. If you want to talk, go ahead. I’ll listen. I just don’t like feeling like you’re all just keeping me around to date me.” 

You expect the chorus of denial, but it’s still startling in how emphatic it is—especially from the maknae. Even Hoseok looks a little stricken, though of course the other three have already heard you say some variation of that. 

“Noona, we don’t think of you like that!” Taehyung says, leaning into your space with pleading eyes. “We’re best friends! The best of friends!” 

“Yeah, we’re friends!” Jungkook chimes in, leaning over the table. His doe eyes make the pleading extremely effective. God, that kid is going to be a heartbreaker some day. 

“What can we do to make it easier?” Jimin asks. “We never wanted to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Um…” you trail off almost immediately, then look at Yoongi for help. 

“Like she said, communication,” Yoongi answers, one shoulder rising and falling in a half-shrug. “And she probably wants to know who’s kissing who.” 

“Wh—no!” A blush creeps up your cheeks. “That’s none of my business!” 

“It’s kind of your business,” Namjoon says. “Since you’re part of us now.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Seokjin adds thoughtfully. 

“Well, that’s easy,” Jungkook says. He sits back up and clears his throat importantly. “Yoongi hyung is kissing Jimin hyung and Namjoon hyung and sometimes Seokjin hyung. Then Jimin hyung and Hobi hyung kiss a lot, and I think Namjoon hyung and Seokjin hyung are kissing in secret because I walked in o—” 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Seokjin says, his cheeks flaming scarlet in the span of a millisecond. 

“Yeah, that’s basically it,” Namjoon says with a cough. 

“Haha, okay—good to know,” you mumble, feeling a little embarrassed yourself. There’s one last thing that needs to be addressed, and you glance up at Hoseok and Jimin with a wry smile. “You realize I’m not mad at you about staying together, right? That would be dumb.” 

They, apparently, didn’t know, because they apologize in an embarrassed mumble. Like in the park, it doesn’t feel cleanly tied up, but suppose that when it comes to interpersonal relationships, nothing ever is. Questions will always come up, conversations will always need to happen, and you’re pretty comfortable knowing that you can just have them. The only thing left to feel bad about is the crestfallen look on Jimin’s face when he finds out you’re taking a short trip to Busan with Auntie Dayoung. 

“I want to go,” he whines. “I want to see my parents.” 

“Me too,” Jungkook says. They both look so pouty and sad; it’s a stark reminder that they’re still so young, separated from their families in a big city, but you try not to take on any of that sadness. You can definitely relate; instead of going a few cities over, you’ve gone to a different hemisphere. Your heart is slowly becoming tied to a totally different place. 

Dinner isn’t an affair you share that night; you can tell that Namjoon and Yoongi in particular are feeling antsy by how fidgety they are and how they keep breaking off to talk about work in the short time you spend together after the talk. They’re busy, of course. Always busy. They have a long workday ahead of them tomorrow, and you have your trip to Busan, so you say good night. Seokjin walks you home the whole two minutes; at the cafe door, he leans against the wall and holds both your hands. 

“Proud of you,” he says, which is something you’re not totally used to hearing. You look at the sidewalk. 

“Mm, it had to be done.” 

“A lot of things have to be done, that doesn’t mean people do them.” 

“Mm.” You look up, then, and a smile small makes its way to your face. “Thanks to you, you know.” 

“I just gave you a little push.” 

“Hey, um, when I get back. Do you…?” 

“Do I…?” 

“Can I take you out?”  

It’s kinda stupid that you both blush, though not scarlet or anything. Just a slight dusting of pink. 

“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that, Cheonsa.” 

Before you can think too hard about it, you bounce up onto your toes and give Seokjin a kiss on the cheek, then dart into the shop shouting a goodbye over your shoulder. Smooth, definitely. You’re sure that Seokjin is standing outside in awe of your romantic prowess, just totally stunned that you could be so damn suave. Though you don’t have a lot of time to be embarrassed, considering you have to go pack. Dinner is already waiting for you when you get upstairs: jokbal and cold noodles with veggies on the coffee table, where you resume watching that drama with Auntie. 

It’s nice. Coming home, not having to worry about doing something yourself. Just relaxing. Sometimes you feel a little like you had to become an adult too early; like by traveling essentially on your own and learning a new culture, going to university by yourself and far from home, you gave up the last parts of your childhood before you technically had to. Is it a bad thing? Probably not. Being self-sufficient has worked out well, but it’s… 

Something. You aren’t quite sure what that something is, only that there’s a backdrop of sadness that goes along with it. Maybe fear of how quickly life changes, or maybe loneliness, or maybe just a small pocket of grief for the carefree days of your life feeling so far away. 

But, for the trip, you put it all out of your mind. It’s not so dire, it’s just overthinking. Besides, the train down to Busan takes you past pretty scenery; you watch the Wonhyo bridge pass by, then the 63 building, water, farmland, all while chatting softly with Auntie while people around you sleep or work. 

“I think I want to move to Seoul,” you say during a lull in which the train speeds by what looks like a complex of apartment buildings. “After I’m finished with my schooling.” 

“Ahh,” Auntie says. In the glass, you can see her reflection. She’s nodding. “Because of the boys?” 

“Partially, but that’s not the only reason.” The thoughts you’re speaking haven’t been told to anyone else, not even Yoongi. It sounds dumb, or at least, you assume other people would think so. Dropping everything to move to a foreign country is at least a little crazy. “I like being away from what I’m used to. It’s challenging. I learn a lot, and I get the opportunity to adapt to other ways of thinking. I think learning about others makes you a better person.” 

“Have you thought this through?” 

“No, not really. Not yet. It’s not a thing I can do soon, more like a five-year plan. But if I’m going to move far away, it makes sense to move to somewhere in East Asia. It’s easy to get back home from here.” 

“There are a lot of options, yes. What about work?” 

“If I become a makeup artist, I’m sure I won’t have problems finding work in Seoul. My Korean is good, right?” 

“You speak like a native, except for when you translate your idioms,” Auntie chuckles. She pats your arm. “Your mother will get gray hairs if you tell her you’re leaving the continent.” 

“Do you think it’s dumb?” 

“Of course I don’t. I went to the States for university and swore I’d never go back to Korea!” Auntie says, laughing all the while. “You can do anything you want as long as you make it happen with your own hands. You’ve already done so much, it will be—well, not easy. But easier.” 

“Something keeps telling me it’s not a good idea.” 

“That’s called fear. You can’t listen to it when you have a big dream.” 

A dream? Huh. You mull that over, the idea of moving to Korea being your late-blooming dream. It’s true that you don’t want to move just because of your friends, but they’re a big part of it. Yoongi is a big, big part of it. Whether they succeed or fail in k-pop, you know you want to be with him—and them—for as long as you can. You just hope they can make it the entire shelf life of a typical idol group. The idol world still doesn’t make much sense to you, but you know a lot of money was poured into Bangtan to get them to the point where they could even debut. Would ending their careers early leave them in debt? 

Is that a sensitive question? Can you even ask Yoongi that without causing offense? 

“I never had a dream,” you admit, looking away from the window to meet Auntie’s eyes. “I made a mistake going to university without thinking about what I should be working for.” 

“Society is so university focused that it doesn’t take individuality into account. Of course you went too soon, it’s the only option you’re given after high school.” 

“Down with society,” you mumble, tucking your head on Auntie’s shoulder with an exasperated huff. “No one fits into the mold, do they?” 

“I think some people do, but it’s hard to tell when that’s the only mold you’re allowed to try to fit into.” 

A lot of the trip is like that: Auntie bestowing her wisdom on you while you try to think about the future in a way that isn’t abstract. She talks about growing up in Korea and moving to the States at 18 to discover a wondrously liberal culture where she could do anything and be anyone without the rigid rules she was used to; you listen in fascination to stories about her partying her way through the first year of university with your mom as the two of you walk around Haeundae Market and eat rice cakes, hotteok, and fishcakes in the spiciest broth you’ve ever tasted. For some reason you can’t comprehend in the aftermath, you allowed your reaction to be filmed in all of its choking, coughing, and hacking glory. 

Not your most graceful moment, but you send it to the group chat without a second thought. There’s no answer, of course; after Seokjin’s birthday in a few days, they’re off to perform in Japan, which is probably going to be amazing. Too bad you can’t go. 

The highlight of the trip is visiting Gamcheon, the cultural village in Busan. The first thing you do is get dragged to a hanbok rental shop by your auntie, who’s determined to get you in one since she didn’t manage the last time you visited. The lady running the shop is nice, directing you to where the warmer outfits are, and Auntie chats with her while you look through racks of colorful fabric. There’s a lot of pink, yellows and reds, pretty greens with gold trim. 

“What do you think of this one?” you ask after about 10 minutes of wandering down the aisles, finally picking a hanbok that’s baby pink and gold. 

“I bet your boy would like to see you in that,” Auntie says, which results in you stammering awkwardly. “I’m sure you’ll look lovely.” 

“Are they really going to do my hair and makeup?” you whisper, hoping that the owner doesn’t hear you. It seems she doesn’t, or if she does, she decides not to interject. 

“You don’t want the full treatment?” Auntie asks, her brow raising. “I’m doing it. Let someone pamper you.” 

“Eehhh—” You grimace, but if she’s doing it, then it should be fine for you do to it too, probably. Besides, sitting in the chair and being worked on by someone else is probably a good experience to know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone doing makeup. “Okay.” 

It turns out not to be that weird. You’re helped into your hanbok then sat in a chair so that the stylist can put your hair in a bun and decorate it with pins and a ribbon. Makeup is pretty quick, actually—it’s subtle, a little attention on your eyes and lips before you get to go back outside to freedom. 

“So, was it bad?” Auntie asks you. She looks so elegant in her dark colors and pretty pins; you can’t help wondering if you look half as elegant as she does. 

“No! I didn’t think it would be bad, I was just nervous.” You pause there and check yourself out in a window. “Does it look good?” 

“You look beautiful,” Auntie replies matter-of-factly. “You should send a picture to your boyfriend.” 

“You think so?” 

“I’ll take one for you when we get to the right spot.” 

Armed with a map—and now, properly dressed—you promptly get lost exploring alleys and shops. Like Ihwa-dong, Gamcheon is decorated in murals and boasts painted steps and sculptures; you pose by the Message of Hope to have Auntie take your picture; you stop by cafes for warm drinks and walk arm in arm while you shop stalls. After a while of walking, you come across a statue of a boy and a fox overlooking the village on yellow concrete railings; from there, you can see colorful roofs and buildings, hills, and the sea. That’s where you pose for the perfect picture, which is another thing you send to the group chat without a second thought. 

Only when you have to get back to the rental shop to give back your Hanbok do you head away from the village. The sun is setting, leaving the night air significantly colder than the sunny day. You could really go for more of that spicy broth, but Auntie Dayoung is tired; the journey to the hotel is a ways yet. 

“We’ll go back tomorrow afternoon,” Auntie informs you on the bus. She yawns and pats your arm, a serene smile on her face. “Thank you for joining this old woman today. I had a lot of fun.” 

“I had fun too, Auntie. Maybe we can do this again before I go, somewhere else. Or maybe we can go to Jeju? I’ve heard all about it but never been.” 

“Jeju? Yes, I think that’s a good idea. It won’t be as hot as it is in summer, so we can hike without being uncomfortable.” 

Ahh, hiking. An ajumma’s favorite pastime. You smile at that and lean against the window, only remembering then that you sent some pictures and videos to the boys. The group chat looks to be lively as ever: lots of laughter at the spicy broth video, some gentle teasing, and some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over the pictures of Busan. Under the hanbok picture, though, are far more stickers than you ever could have expected.

[Yoongi]

[Seokjin]

cheonsa! you look almost as good as i do in a hanbok!

[Yoongi]

[Jungkook]

noona!!! you look so pretty

[Yoongi]

[Jimin]

aw now i'm really sad i didn't get to go

[Yoongi]

[Namjoon]

[Taehyung]

[Yoongi]

[Hoseok]

omg calm down with the stickers already lololol

Chapter Text

Without having to worry that you’ve mortally offended Jimin and Hoseok, you get to clear up mental space to worry about other things that are far more pleasant to worry about. On the train back from Busan you text Seungwoo for a small favor, or a favor you hope is small: borrowing his theater room, which boasts some plush and squishy cushions and pillows in addition to its large TV. It should be fine, he works evenings more often than not. Next you text Yoongi, who puts on a show of whining that you’re not coming immediately to his side, but quickly assures you that you can do what you want with your time.

Unfortunately, Seungwoo texts back that he’s off tonight with an apology; you chew your lip and stare at your phone until Auntie asks you if you’re okay, to which you distractedly reply that you’re trying to figure something out. 

“Well, that’s not vague,” Auntie says good-naturedly. 

“Mm…I want to do something…” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone. Your frown deepens. Planning something to do with another person becomes difficult when all of the space you have to do it belongs to someone else, but you’re determined to give Seokjin a halfway decent date with a modicum of privacy. “Where can I have dinner with someone without at least six other people watching the spectacle?” 

“You could ask me to go shopping.” 

“No, I don’t want to intrude any more than I already am.” 

“The restaurant has a roof terrace.” 

“It’s December.” 

“And thanks to human ingenuity, we are thankfully able to stay warm in the winter.” 

When you turn to look at your auntie with furrowed brows, she actually laughs.  

“We have an outdoor heater.” 

“Oh,” you say, bemused. An outdoor heater, a rooftop terrace? “Oh! Is there a table?” 

“Wouldn’t you know, I think we actually do have one of those,” Auntie says. “At one point we wanted to offer seating up there, but it’s small and the stairs aren’t in a public area, so mostly I go sit up there when I’d like to smoke and not be in a kitchen.” 

With renewed enthusiasm, you text Seokjin to ask if he’s busy, but you don’t get an immediate response, so you lean back and watch scenery rush by on your journey back to Seoul. The sky in Busan was ominous but closer to Seoul is clear and cloudless, chilly but not freezing according to the weather report. That will change when the sun goes down, of course, but there are plenty of blankets around, and an outdoor heater promises that you won’t turn to icicles if you have dinner outside. You’re positive that Seokjin will be doing something on his birthday related to Bangtan, likely hosting a live and having dinner with the members and company folks that you can’t exist around. It doesn’t bring a pang to your heart or anything, but it’s a little sad to think about how you have to be a complete secret. The first year of the group’s public career is definitely not the time to be the reason they have a scandal to deal with, though, so you don’t let yourself dwell on it. 

Thoughts about birthdays and upcoming concerts fill your head as you get nearer and nearer to Seoul, interrupted and scattered by the conversation you had with Hoseok a few days ago. Though you don’t like to admit it, the accusation he threw at you is still needling under your skin in tiny, annoying pricks of phantom-like pain. Too close to home in some ways, and an insult in others, you consider the idea of “trying too hard” in a hundred different contexts. Is doing something romantic for Seokjin, with his birthday in mind, trying too hard? If you cook because you genuinely want to, is that trying too hard? 

Does loving all of the boys, whether romantically or as the best of friends, mean you’re trying too hard? Should you try to find faults and condemn them, or go against your instincts to be the person each of them needs? That just sounds like the bare minimum friendship, albeit in selfless terms, but being selfless doesn’t make you a doormat. Hoseok’s guilt isn’t your burden. 

A sigh escapes you and fogs up the window, which you wipe away to resume staring at the blur of concrete and earth. Hoseok isn’t right, you’ve decided that firmly.  

What you haven’t decided is whether he’s wrong. 

It takes until your train is slowing to pull into the station before anyone texts you back, but it’s not Seokjin; it’s Yoongi. 

[Yoongi]

what did you say to hyung

[Cheonsa]

What do you mean?

[Yoongi]

he’s trying on every outfit he owns, and a few he doesn’t 

[Cheonsa]

Aw, don’t tell on him.

That’s rude.

[Yoongi]

what’s rude is this mess

And Yoongi quickly sends a picture of what probably is every article of clothing Seokjin owns scattered around their shared bedroom. Seokjin himself is a blur of motion, hardly discernible but for how much space his perfectly triangle-shaped torso takes up in their shared room.

[Cheonsa]

You sound like Hoseok. You never clean, Jungkookie told me so.

[Yoongi]

that brat

i’ll be having a word with him immediately 

he’ll wish he never spread such lies 

[Cheonsa]

Do you know the phrase “The lady doth protest too much, methinks”?

[Yoongi]

and in korean?

[Cheonsa]

You’re protesting too much.

[Yoongi]

you know i don’t 

[Cheonsa]

It’s not convincing to act too hard.

[Yoongi]

well

i’m wounded

everyone is against me, i see

[Cheonsa]

I’m terribly sorry for doubting your sincerity.

[Yoongi]

what are you planning, anyway 

[Cheonsa]

Getting off the train, be back in a bit. 

[Yoongi]

booo

tell me

[Cheonsa]

Keep your secrets close!

[Yoongi]

it can only be half as cute as what you do for me

[Cheonsa]

Twice as cute!

[Yoongi]

weren’t you getting off the train?

[Cheonsa]

Good point.

Bye!

By the time you make it back to the cafe, you’re shivering, but cheerful from discussing your birthday dinner plans with Auntie. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem perturbed by your boy situation. She doesn’t pry, but you know from talking with her before you left Seoul the first time that she’s aware of how your romantic prowess is vastly upgraded on this particular block of shops. Plus, she’s seen you leave the shop in various pairs wearing various nice outfits and holding various hands.

To be fair, Taehyung holds your hand any chance he gets, and it means little. In another vein, you’re not sure Namjoon would like holding your hand even if you were together. 

Boy situation indeed.  

The rooftop terrace is up a staircase just behind the kitchen of the restaurant, which explains why roof seating never happened. From Auntie’s description, you’re expecting a tiny space with a chair and a table or something, but you emerge to something you can work with. A portion of the roof is taken up by a storage shed, and the terrace itself is small, but it’s cozy. The stone tiles are well-swept, plants give a nice splash of green, there’s a hammock strung up in the corner, and there’s plenty of room at an iron cafe table to have a respectable dinner. When you drag the electric heater out of the shed, it gives off heat so powerful that you have to put it at the far corner, where it can’t melt the skin off you while you eat. 

The problem is, then, that you don’t want to go overboard. Maybe something simple, like black bean noodles, which you can get from the restaurant. That’s not trying too hard, probably. The terrace would look cute with some string lights and maybe a candle, but maybe that’s too serious. Resisting the urge to stress, you pull out your phone for a lifeline. 

[Cheonsa]

Hey. You’re a manly guy, right?

I need help.

[Namjoon]

Uh, I guess?

What can I do for you?

[Cheonsa]

Let’s say, hypothetically, the girl you’re dating serves you dinner. Is it too much to have a candle?

[Namjoon]

I don’t think so?

Didn’t you fill our dorm with candles once?

Taehyung likes candles.

[Cheonsa]

Okay. What about decorations?

[Namjoon]

Um.

What do you mean when you say “too much”?

[Cheonsa]

You know. Does it make me look like I’m trying too hard? Would it freak you out if I had a dinner date with you and there was a candle and maybe some fairy lights?

[Namjoon]

Ha…

No, it wouldn’t freak me out. That sounds cute.

If you gave me a ring and declared your undying love for me, I might be worried.

But Seokjin hyung is romantic.

[Cheonsa]

Does everyone know?

You guys gossip too much.

[Namjoon]

Well. That’s 

He’s acting weird.

[Cheonsa]

Are you sure he’s romantic? I always thought it was just bravado. 

[Namjoon]

Shy and romantic is a funny combo.

[Cheonsa]

I’m probably overthinking it.

[Namjoon]

Yup.

[Cheonsa]

But I don’t know how to be appropriately romantic. 

[Namjoon]

What? lol

You’re definitely overthinking it.

Light a candle and put up lights, he’ll be happy.

[Cheonsa]

Okay…

Thanks, Namjoon-ah.

[Namjoon]

No problem haha.

Have fun.

[Cheonsa]

Oh, by the way. Can you ask Seokjin oppa to actually reply if he plans on making it?

I haven’t heard from him.

[Namjoon]

Sure thing. 

You expect that it will take a few minutes if Seokjin’s head is as high in the clouds as it sounds; the best thing to do is likely to just get ready. Before you’ve even taken a step—or closed katalk—a message comes through from Seokjin. 

[Seokjin]

i’m free!

hi cheonsa

[Cheonsa]

Good to know! Can you come over at around five?

[Seokjin]

yup

where are we going?

[Cheonsa]

I’ll tell you when you get here.

[Seokjin]

at least tell me how to dress

You have to stifle a laugh. Yoongi has already let you in on Seokjin’s outfit dilemma, after all. Who knew that guys could worry about an outfit so much? Western stereotypes are really something else.

[Cheonsa]

However you normally would. It’s just dinner.

Anyway, I have to get ready.

Setting up doesn’t take long at all. You’re able to put in an order with the kitchen on your way out, grab some lights and a candle, and then your laptop and a blanket. Dinner and a movie seems a bit cliche, but the hammock looks too promising to ignore. On second thought, you grab a pillow too, then haul everything back to the restaurant through the back door. Curious glances aren’t something you’re inclined to deal with, and showing up with a pillow and blanket would certainly get you a couple. From there it’s a simple matter of grabbing the food and putting it on the table at exactly 4:58, then going downstairs to grab Seokjin. He looks effortlessly put together in distressed jeans and a quilted coat, his fringe swept neatly to the side.

“Hey,” you greet with a small smile. Looking at him, you hope your appearance is good enough. Showering might have been a better idea after spending the morning on the train, or at least changing out of your traveling clothes. The only justification that you have is that they’re comfy. 

“Hi, Cheonsa,” Seokjin replies, smooth and unbothered like he always pretends to be, but this time you think it might be true. 

Especially when he takes your hand and gives your knuckles a fleeting kiss and manages to do it without turning around and running away instantly. 

“Well! Come on, then. We have VIP seating.” 

Seokjin raises a brow just so, a perfect look of curiosity tinged with puzzlement, but allows you to tug him inside the restaurant and to the staircase behind the kitchen. 

Butterflies have been let loose in your stomach. You’re not sure why, considering it’s Seokjin you’re leading up to the roof, but you can feel them crashing around anyway. Maybe all dates are like this regardless of who you’re with; after all this time, Yoongi can still make you blush and stammer, though not nearly so often as he did before. When you reach the door to the terrace, you spin around to face Seokjin, who looks at you curiously.  

“Um—” you start, but you don’t even know what you’re going to say. An apologetic smile is the best you do, at first. 

“Everything okay?” Seokjin asks. Thankfully there’s no trace of humor or derision or whatever else. 

“Yeah! It’s just. Your birthday, in a few days.” Seokjin lights up at that; it makes you feel slightly less silly. “So I wanted to do something nice. I hope it’s not too much.” 

“Ahh, Cheonsa. I hope you got me a string quartet,” Seokjin says with a fluttering laugh. “And a red carpet.” 

“Damn, I knew I forgot something.” 

“Let me see!” 

Feeling there’s hardly any other option, you open the door behind your back and edge onto the terrace—where there’s quiet music on a USB speaker and the glow of amber lights—watching Seokjin’s face the whole time. His eyes dart around the space, full of tiny dots of warm light, stars strewn through darkest brown. He laughs again, louder this time, and can’t seem to meet your eyes. In the half a second it takes for your nerves to kick up, Seokjin comes through the door and wraps his arms tight around your shoulders. 

“For me?” he asks, his breath tickling your ear. 

“A-ah, yeah, for you. Of course.” 

When Seokjin leans back, it’s not far enough for you to focus on anything besides the pinpricks of light reflected in his eyes. An absurd thought occurs to you right there, that you’re like some drama heroine having your first epiphany in a long string of moments just like this one, but you push it down because it definitely sounds stupid even in your own head. 

Though your situation is certainly weird enough to be a drama. 

“I got black bean noodles,” you say, letting your gaze fall much lower. To the floor lower. Looking at Seokjin when he seems to be sparkling from the inside out is enormously difficult, and completely unexpectedly. What a role reversal! Now you’re the one that’s embarrassed and blushing. How unfair. 

“When you said dinner, I thought you’d be cooking. It’s good to see you take a break,” Seokjin comments, totally offhand, while he takes his jacket off. You frown at the stone tiles but hitch a smile back into place easily enough. “I’ve seen your Auntie up here sometimes. We can see the roof from our dorm,” he continues. The terrace is warm enough that you never bothered to put a jacket on in the first place, so you just sit and watch Seokjin do the same. 

“Oh yeah? What does she do?” you ask. Smoking, she said, but the number of plants that line the perimeter makes it plain that this isn’t just a smoking spot. 

“Garden, mostly. With a cigarette hanging from her mouth. I think she comes up here when she gets mad.” 

“Yeah, that’s what she said. I can picture it.” You both start eating, the atmosphere casual, and you’re relieved that Seokjin doesn’t seem put off by the obvious attempts to create an atmosphere. “I wish I had a secret anger hideout.” 

“You?” Seokjin asks, his tone disbelieving. He inhales a few bites of noodles, then, after gulping them down loudly, “When is the last time you got mad?” 

“Two days ago?” you reply. Your head tilts of its own accord. “I was about to fight Hoseok right in your building.” 

“Okay, then before that.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask carefully. Seokjin doesn’t appear to realize that he’s said anything off, so he just laughs. 

“I mean, that’s your thing, right? You never get mad.” 

How are you supposed to feel about a statement like that? On the one hand, it’s harmless. An observation that you keep your cool a lot, and that you’re. Well, a doormat in the less generous interpretation. Maybe you’re thinking that way because of what Hoseok said. Maybe you’re annoyed at the insistence that you don’t get mad after you brought up a clear instance of it because the conversation you had a few days ago has you feeling defensive. It takes a few minutes before you realize you haven’t spoken a word, just eaten your noodles in contemplative silence, and when you look at Seokjin he’s gazing back curiously. 

“I’ve upset you,” he says. Not a question. 

“Nah,” you say. You lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. 

“Isn’t—isn’t that a good thing? That you’re so cool and collected.” 

“I don’t know, is it?” 

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, frowning softly. His noodles are slipping from his chopsticks back into his takeout package, one at a time. It’s easier to look at that than at Seokjin’s face. 

“I’m not a doormat,” you mumble, the words putting up a valiant fight to remain unspoken, but coming out anyway. 

“I didn’t say that you’re a doormat.” 

“But I do get mad. I don’t know why—people keep saying—” 

“Hey, hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it bothers you,” Seokjin says, and he sounds so patient, so understanding, that you feel a tiny bit of guilt churn in your stomach. “I mean, overall. But I’ve played Diablo 3 with you, of course I know you get mad. I’ve never heard such colorful language.” 

You laugh in spite of yourself, because Seokjin is trying to comfort you, and he didn’t mean it how you heard it, and you do feel comforted. Shaking your head—as if to try to clear it of the strange buzz that Hoseok’s words have left behind—you dig into your noodles with renewed interest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m cool and collected, remember? I certainly—” You chomp down on your noodles, fighting a smile as you chew. Seokjin waits with his head still tilted, his eyes crinkled with fondness. “—Never yelled at a game.” 

“No, you just yelled at Yoongi,” Seokjin says, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I can’t fault you. We all did.” 

“Well, he’s bad,” you say. It’s nothing Yoongi hasn’t said himself before, so you don’t feel bad for saying it. “But I like the chaos he brings.” 

“I could have done without the chaos, personally. How long did we spend on The Butcher in inferno mode?” 

“Too long,” you reply, emphatic. “Hours. If we’d just left him dead we probably would have won a lot faster. I guess we’re a little bad, too.” 

“It would have helped if Jungkookie didn’t try to put him in a headlock every time he messed up.” 

“Oh my god—” Your break off in a loud cackle, having heard chaos in the background of your calls, but never having been given this piece of information. “And Yoongi what, just sat there and let him? I swear he’s the most unbothered person I know.” 

“He just did this,” Seokjin says, clearly in his element when he screws up his face and makes some very Yoongi-esque noises of protest. Which is to say, they’re completely disinterested. 

“I bet his ears are itching right now,” you say through your giggles. Without bothering to wait for Seokjin to give you a look of confusion, you continue, “When people talk about you, it’s a myth that your ears will itch.” 

“That can’t be true, because my ears are rarely itchy,” Seokjin says with a totally straight face. You giggle harder. 

“You’re right, then it can’t be true. Not talking about Kim Seokjin, Bangtan’s oldest and handsomest member? Impossible.” 

Saying something so silly makes a warm tint spread through your cheeks, but you know Seokjin well enough that it’s worth it; he loves compliments. 

“Yah, why are you bringing age into this?!” Seokjin snaps, in his very scolding-yet-comedic way, and you dissolve in laughter. What were you even worried about before? That Seokjin would see you hung up a string of lights and said ‘oh no, this is too much, I have to leave now’? “I’m only twenty one! I’m still a fountain of youth!” 

It’s hard to feel truly scolded when Seokjin’s fingers graze over where your hand is laid on the table, soft as a feather, then bolder, to twine your fingers together. And then it does feel a little magical, sitting in the glow of soft lighting, eating your dinner with little care about it specifically because Seokjin is so charming and sweet, the city a sprawl of twinkling lights that goes on forever, as if you’re sitting in a sea of stars. Conversation carries you long after dinner is finished, and you both decide at around the same time that the hammock looks comfortable and climb in with minimal difficulty to curl up with your laptop on Seokjin’s lap. 

“Have you seen Snowpiercer?” Seokjin asks. You have no idea what that is, so you just shake your head. A bit of pride lights his features. “It was directed by Bong Joonho. Do you want to watch it?” 

From the title, it’s impossible to glean what the movie might be about, but you can tell that Seokjin wants to show off the talent of a Korean director. You’ve heard of the movie, of course; wasn’t it released in the west? That alone is an accolade for a foreign film, so you just nod and settle in with your head resting on Seokjin’s shoulder. 

“It’s rather bleak, isn’t it?” you say by the time the movie really starts moving, a sinking feeling in your stomach, but your attention certainly held by morbid fascination. You hide your face in Seokjin’s shoulder, just for a moment, as a scream comes from the speakers. “Is this how you wow all your girls?” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t know yet, obviously. I have no idea what’s going on.” 

“If you get scared I’ll hold you closer, okay?” 

“I will not get scared ,” you grouse. “Who do I look like? Hoseok?” 

But the movie is tense, full of violence and fear and anxiety, and having Seokjin wrap you up in his arms is nice. Beneath your cheek you can feel his warmth. His heartbeat is steady in your ear, his hand gentle where he unconsciously rubs your arm. The movie remains bleak, painting a world of despair and hopelessness, so that by the time the credits roll you’re glad it’s over.  

“What did you think?” Seokjin asks. He closes the laptop, cutting off the music. 

“I’m depressed. Those kids are going to be eaten by a polar bear and that’s the better alternative to staying on that train,” you say, tilting your head so you can look at Seokjin with a pout. “Why are Korean movies always so sad?” 

“The ending is hopeful!” Seokjin disagrees immediately. “They can make a better future now that they aren’t trapped on the hell-train anymore.” 

“Eaten by a polar bear,” you mumble. “Isn’t the kid like, five? It’s not like they can have babies and repopulate the earth, not even saying they should, but how are they supposed to survive in a barren wasteland having never known anything but the train?” 

“Maybe they’ll eat the bear instead,” Seokjin replies easily. Then he frowns at you, suddenly serious. “The point of the bear was to show you hope. The snow on the plane melted and there’s life outside the train.” 

“Hand to hand combat against a polar bear doesn’t sound like good odds.” 

“You can’t say it’s impossible. Have you tried it?” 

“Have you?” you ask, your words punctured by incredulous laughter that shakes both of you. “Oh, but I can see it now. You challenge a polar bear to a duel and the bear says, ‘no thank you, I can’t bring myself to hurt your handsome face.’” 

“Exactly. So, now you know. It’s not impossible.” 

There’s a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing, some of the tension released from your spine now that you’re less absorbed in the world of the movie. Seokjin is cute when he laughs, his eyes forming tiny crescents and his cheeks rounding so that he looks even younger. 

“Hey, oppa,” you say, exhaling your last laugh so that you can breathe again. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Huh?” Seokjin replies, looking about like you’d asked him to recite some sort of difficult mathematical theory. “I mean—yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

It was worth asking just to see Seokjin looking punch-drunk over the request. His lips are just as plush as you remember when you press your mouths together, though his posture is much less relaxed than last time. Undaunted, you scoot closer until you’re draped over his side, your body rising and falling subtly with his breathing. Fingers tangle in your hair, an unspoken request for you not to draw away, and you shift your leg to rest over Seokjin’s thighs in a silent answer to his equally silent question.  

Unlike Yoongi, Seokjin isn’t a master of kissing, but there’s something about the way his lips move against yours that feels just as electric. Maybe it’s how reverent it feels, how it’s like a warm, sunny day. Maybe it’s that you can feel the way he communicates his affection so clearly in deliberate exploration, wanting to savor everything without pushing for more before he’s memorized every way you can fit together. With Yoongi it’s all raw and heavy, but Seokjin is neatly packaged and sweet. 

Your phone vibrates once. Regretfully, you lean back to check your messages, unsurprised to see it’s from Auntie, reminding you that the restaurant closes soon. Seokjin checks the time on his own phone and sighs. 

“Oh time, why do we never have enough of it?” he asks. “Do you want help carrying stuff back?” 

“Nah, I’ll come get it tomorrow,” you say. You get up and stretch, then turn to look at Seokjin, who hasn’t moved an inch. Even in the dim light, he looks flushed. “You okay?” 

“Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I just—I can’t get up  yet.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Um. Stomach feels weird,” Seokjin says with a pitiful laugh. 

“That sucks. Do you think it was the noodles?” 

“M-maybe! Just give me a second.” 

With a shrug and a nod, you grab your laptop and unplug it from the wall, then turn off the heater and switch off the lights. You’re just blowing out the candle when Seokjin stands; he grabs the takeout containers and your pillow and blanket, still buzzing with an awkward energy that you can’t make heads or tails of. 

“Do you want me to grab some medicine?” you ask on the way down and out, concerned. 

“Ha no, I’m feeling better now,” Seokjin answers breezily. You decide not to push the matter, but he’s certainly acting odd. Instead, you let Seokjin walk you ten steps to the back door of the cafe, where he tosses the trash before returning your bedding. “Thanks for tonight, Cheonsa. I hope we can do it again soon.” 

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” you say with a slightly shy smile. “Next time I’ll remember the string quartet for sure.” 

A few seconds of silence pass before Seokjin leans down to kiss your forehead. Your stomach flip-flops. “And the red carpet.” 

“And the red carpet,” you agree, smiling. “Good night, oppa.” 

“Night, Cheonsa.” 

Another few moments of silence pass with you lost in Seokjin’s gaze, but you have to go inside; without the heater and blanket and body heat, it’s quite cold. 

It’s not until you’re letting yourself into your apartment that it occurs to you that when you’d stood up from the hammock, Seokjin had moved the blanket to lay heavily over his lap at the speed of light.

Chapter Text

The day after your date with Seokjin is spent in Myeongdong with the youngest three. It’s funny how it happens, really, in a sort-of awkward and chaotic way. Fully intending to have a morning with Yoongi or Seokjin or both, you go to the dorm and who should open the door but Taehyung, who is delighted to see you.

“Let’s go shopping,” he says, tugging you inside. “We can go to Myeondong. Hongdae is old news. Hobi hyung took you there, right? Old news. Anyway, we’ll have more fun.” 

You can’t get in a word edgewise, not that you’re trying terribly hard. It’s clear to you that Taehyung is determined. Excited. You wonder if he’s making a concentrated effort to prevent a repeat of your last visit, where you were certainly distracted by other things. If so, you’re grateful. Spending time with boyfriends is nice. Making sure everyone gets attention is nicer. 

“Jungkook-ah! Jimin-ah! We’re going to Myeongdong!” Taehyung yells in the general direction of the bedroom. He turns back to you, eyes alight. “Let’s eat lots of food, okay, noona? I want to eat until I’m sick, then I’ll eat some more. Maybe I’ll explode. Let’s explode together eating yummy food.” 

“Morn—” Seokjin says, sleepily, as he shuffles out of the bedroom. Taehyung yells. Seokjin stops in his tracks. “Wh—” 

Taehyung yells again. 

“Not today, hyung. Pretend noona isn’t here. We’re taking her. Don’t look at her.” 

“Yah! That’s my girlfriend!” 

“Lies! You aren’t dating!” Taehyung pauses, looks at you, and frowns. “Is hyung your boyfriend?” 

“We haven’t talked about it,” you admit, ignoring the faint heat in your cheeks. “So no.” 

“See? She’s not your girlfriend. She’s our noona, which is even more important than a girlfriend, hyung. You understand, right?” 

It’s a mark of how well the boys get along that Seokjin doesn’t even scold Taehyung, though it probably also helps that he’s not speaking rudely—just with complete excitement. Giddy, child-like happiness. “Guess so. Bring her back in one piece.” 

It’s then that Yoongi pokes his head out. He looks at Seokjin, then Taehyung, then you. Taehyung moves to stand in front of you. 

“Taehyung, it’s okay. I’ll go with you even if the others look at me,” you say, trying to placate him a little. It’s kinda cute, actually, the way he’s behaving. You wrap your arms around Taehyung’s waist and rest your cheek on his shoulder. “Promise. Go get the other two, okay?” 

“Hmm, okay,” Taehyung says. Simple. He trots into the bedroom and you can hear him chatting loudly with Jungkook. You also hear some annoyed groans. One of them sounds suspiciously like Jimin. 

“Jimin isn’t awake yet,” Yoongi informs you, confirming your suspicions. “You’ll be waiting a while. Did you eat already?” 

“I’m uh, not sure if I’m allowed to eat. Taehyungie wants to eat street food until we explode.” 

Another mark of how close the boys are is that Yoongi doesn’t react other than to laugh quietly. Like yes, of course that’s something Taehying would want to do, and of course it makes sense to indulge him. 

An hour later, you’re in Myeongdong, ducking in and out of stores or window shopping between getting snacks from street vendors. Taehyung in particular is dead set on making sure you re-sample all of the cuisine Korea has to offer, hand-feeding you at some points and looking every bit like an unreasonably cute puppy. When you veer toward ARITAUM, they don’t even complain, but Jungkook and Jimin stay outside while Taehyung follows you around suggesting makeup at random. 

“This is a pretty color.” 

“This would look nice on you, noona!” 

“You should buy this one.” 

Without even trying, Taehyung is a little too persuasive. You buy more than you intend, but you have many canvases to work with, if the boys asking you to do their makeup is any indication. 

Then you get distracted by innisfree and Taehyung drags you in there, too, with his fingers firmly intertwined with your own. When you turn around to give Jimin and Jungkook an apologetic smile, you find them happily following you in; Jimin disappears to look at the skincare, but Jungkook squares his shoulders and follows you and Taehyung to the makeup. 

“Relax, Jungkook-ah. People will think you’re on a date with a pretty noona,” Taehyung says. Jungkook turns scarlet. You cough and go about perusing BB cushions with a bit more focus than is strictly necessary. If it makes Jungkook less nervous, you decide, you can hold his hand and let him tell himself he looks like he scored with a foreign girl. 

No big deal. 

Except Jungkook squeaks and his hand gets sweaty in half a second. 

Maybe a big deal. Your boundaries with Jungkook are clearly set, though. No way he can misconstrue a little friendly hand holding.

Probably. 

(Unless you’re just giving him false hope—) 

Again, you leave the store with far more than you intended to buy, but it’s an investment in your future. A future that still feels uncertain and abstract, where you’re a Real Adult™ with Adult Responsibilities™. Not that you’re too interested in thinking about that; there’s a hot swoop of anxiety that hasn’t gone away since you dropped out of university, but you don’t want it to ruin your outing with your friends. 

Instead of moping, you browse yet another food stall. This one is selling piping hot sweet potatoes, a perfect snack for a winter day. You buy four paper cups of glossy sweet potatoes and let yourself trail after the boys, who are eating at top speed and talking about their upcoming trip to Japan. They’re going to be having a few concerts there, then coming back to perform at the end-of-the-year song festivals. SBS Gayo Daejeon, and MBC too, where they’re performing someone else’s songs before their own. You don’t totally understand why they have to perform someone else’s music, but suppose you don’t have to. It’s exposure at the very least, and given their rocky start they can really use it. 

There’s an award under their belt. You tell yourself that firmly. No matter how much they’re struggling, they won. 

It doesn’t prevent you from feeling a momentary flash of anger. They’re so sweet and they work so hard, but people seem determined to give them a hard time. You remember Namjoon and Yoongi being upset over some dumb rapper heckling them during an interview—not that you blame them—and the subsequent song Namjoon released after. Not just because of that situation, but— 

“Noona!” 

You glance up. Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook are looking at you in concern. Whoops. Too much thinking. 

“What’s up?” you ask. You start eating your sweet potato to make up for not having touched it. 

“We’ve been trying to get your attention for like thirty minutes,” Taehyung says, pouting. Uhh. Surely not?! 

“Seconds, Taehyung-ah,” Jimin chides with a fond smile. Taehyung shrugs. 

“Sorry, I was thinking. Uh. About dogs,” you say. Jimin raises an eyebrow, but Taehyung nods solemnly. 

“They’re soft,” he says in complete seriousness. “What’s your favorite kind of dog?” 

“Golden retrievers,” you blurt out. “They’re so gentle.” 

Satisfied, Taehyung turns and begins walking again, apparently having forgotten what he wanted your attention for in the first place. He drags Jimin along, too, chattering about his complete itinerary for Japan while Jimin looks over his shoulder helplessly. It gives you the absurd impression that Taehyung is a sun and you’re all just little planets trapped in his gravity. You snicker. 

Jungkook hangs back, though, and takes your hand like he’s afraid you’ll suddenly round on him and bite if he moves too quickly. You curl your fingers together, only a vague worry in the back of your mind that it looks weird to hold the hand of a tiny baby boy, but no one’s paying attention. And people hold hands and link arms a lot in Korea, something you know doesn’t have to mean anything unlike back home. 

“Noona,” Jungkook says. You hum to let him know you’re listening. “You’re okay, right?” 

“Huh? Yeah, of course.” 

“You can tell me if you aren’t!” Jungkook says, his big doe eyes growing, somehow, wider. “I know you think I’m just a little kid but—” 

“Oh, baby, I don’t think that,” you say quickly, though you were just thinking of him as a tiny baby boy. You should really stop doing that. He’s not that much younger than you. 

“Okay then. Will you talk to me, then? I want to help.” 

Can anyone really help? You aren’t so sure about that. This is just a trial of growing older or something. “I’m just thinking about the future I guess.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just waits for you to go on, you smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Like, ever. I’m starting school again in a couple months and I don’t know if that will work, and if it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do after that. Ahh Jungkook-ah, you’re lucky. You have it all planned out already.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. He nibbles his lower lip with his teeth. “I mean, no—you’re wrong about it all being planned out. We can’t plan anything out. We have to take what we can get, so we’re not really different, noona.” 

Should that really surprise you? You’ve probably thought it yourself before, but there’s a whole other layer to it, too. Bangtan Sonyeondan has people managing everything, planning everything, and handling every tough decision for them. You don’t point it out; you know Jungkook is relating to you, trying to say he understands how you feel. 

“But if it doesn’t work out, is it really that bad?” Jungkook asks. 

“I mean, I would like to have a future.” 

“If something doesn’t work that doesn’t make everything stop, though, does it? You can go on to the next thing. One of my cousins didn’t figure out what he wanted to do until he was in his thirties. You’re not that old, noona.” 

“I mean, you’re right, but…” you frown, mimicking the Jungkook of a moment ago that chewed on his lower lip. The kid really is mature. You suppose with people like Yoongi and Namjoon taking care of him, he learns a lot. “It’s still scary.” 

“If it’s too hard just come home,” Jungkook says. He nods at his own solution; his eyes crinkle. “You can come home and relax and we’ll take care of everything.” 

“Oh? Maybe I will, then. Maybe I’ll whine to you that I want a plane ticket home and you can give me your bed, is that okay?” you tease. Jungkook turns pinkish. 

“I’ll give you my bed, noona, and I’ll order lots of fried chicken so you don’t go hungry,” he mumbles. Jeon Jungkook is tooth-rottingly sweet, you’ve known this for ages now, but you still can’t help a fluttering giggle. 

“Yah, Jungkook, don’t forget vegetables.” 

“I know! You like garlic stems, right? I’ll get a whole fridge full of them. But noona, you aren’t eating your sweet potatoes.” 

Huh? Oh, right. You have a paper cup of them, rapidly cooling off in the frigid December air. Before you can so much as think about eating them, Jungkook grabs one—awkwardly, as he has to use his left hand—and holds it out for you to eat. Just like Taehyung was doing earlier. 

“Noona, say ‘ahhh.’” 

What you want to do is yell, but you hold in any overt reactions to how cute Jungkook is and instead open your mouth. 

“Ahhh.” 

Being fed while you walk down a crowded street: awkward. 

Cold potatoes: only kind of yummy. 

The expression of glee on Jungkook’s face: worth it. 

Jimin and Taehyung are off in their own little world, as they often are, but they both glance back occasionally to waggle their eyebrows at Jungkook. Which isn’t really helping him not be pink. Pink is a constant state of being for him now, you think, dutifully eating your chunks of sweet potato until the paper cup is empty and Jungkook tosses it in a bin. Abruptly, Taehyung turns around and halts in the middle of the sidewalk.  

“I’m still hungry. Jungkook, let’s go to that restaurant.” 

Taehyung points at a McDonald’s, jabbing the air with his finger not once, not twice, but three times. 

“You really are going to explode,” you say. Mentally preparing yourself for a throng of people in a McDonald’s—which you wouldn’t consider a restaurant, per se—is not something you can do on the fly. “Can you get it to go?” 

“Noona, I love you. I’ll bring you anything you want,” Taehyung says. “But Jungkookie and I are going to eat inside.” 

“What?” you, Jungkook, and Jimin chorus. Taheyung jabs in the direction of McDonald’s again, impatiently. Sassily. 

“Jungkook-ah, we’re going to McDonald’s. Let’s go.” 

Moving at lightning speed, Taehyung extracts Jungkook from your side, kind of; surprised, Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens, then you’re stumbling as he yanks you along, and then Jimin is calling Taehyung a few colorful names that make Taehyung glow with pride. You and Jimin watch, dumbfounded, as Taehyung marches straight past the McDonald’s with Jungkook in his wake. They disappear into the crowd a moment later. You look at Jimin. Jimin looks at you. Neither of you say it, but you don’t have to speak for the question “what just happened?” to materialize like a neon sign between you. 

After a few beats of silence, Jimin bursts into uncertain giggles. Somehow you’d forgotten just how much his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and how he practically falls over himself when he really laughs. You let him use you to hold himself up, joining in with laughter of your own while also trying to get out of the way of all the people parting around you. It’s more difficult than it should be. Jimin’s motor control is, apparently, shot when he laughs. 

“What do you think Taehyungie is doing?” you ask once you’re out of the way. There’s not a ton of space anywhere on the shopping street, so the two of you are squeezed tightly against the wall of a cafe to avoid being jostled. 

It’s been a while since you were this close to Jimin. It brings up strange feelings. You push them down. 

“Knowing Taehyung, it could be anything. Maybe he’s giving Jungkookie the talk.” 

And Jimin promptly collapses into giggles yet again. You give him ten seconds before you flick his forehead. “Hilarious.” 

“Sorry, noona,” Jimin says sweetly. You fight back a smile to remain as aloof-looking as possible. “I was serious, though. Taehyung might come back with a golden retriever. I wouldn’t put anything past him.” 

“Let’s hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I can take care of a dog.” 

“It’s a lot of work. And I guess you don’t live here, so maybe not a dog.” 

Awkwardness is in the air between you. You can feel it. Things haven’t totally returned to normal, but that’s okay. Forgiveness isn’t an overnight process, you’re learning; sometimes, things have to be proven rather than said. So far Jimin is doing a good job. He looks at you with a faint smile, now totally upright, and reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. It reminds you overwhelmingly of Yoongi. Those first touches you shared with him. 

“I don’t live here. Yet,” you say, slowly, to let the words absorb. Jimin’s brows furrow. His head tilts. “I think I’d like to, though.” 

“Yeah?” Jimin’s smile grows. In a year, he’s lost a bit of his baby fat, his hair is less mop-like. There’s definitely more defined jawline happening. In short, he’s grown even more handsome. How dare he. “What will you do if you move here?” 

“Oh. Um, well…” You have to physically stop yourself from sighing. “I don’t know. Ideally, I’ll be a makeup artist. I hope.” 

“You sound like we did a year ago,” Jimin says. It’s your turn to furrow your brow. “Maybe, probably, I hope. Believe in yourself, noona! You can do it.” 

“You haven’t even seen me do anything but basic makeup.” 

“That’s the point of school though. You have to learn and practice.” 

Right. Frustration shouldn’t be the reaction you feel to this little pep talk, but you didn’t ask for it, first of all, and Jimin doesn’t have any idea, really, does he? Logic brain is telling you that Jimin knows exactly how you feel; gremlin brain is telling you that it’s true of other people, but not you. Not necessarily. 

But then Jimin is worming his way into your space, grabbing your hand, laying his head on your shoulder. Close. Close, close, close. You swallow. 

“I thought you’d say it’s stupid,” you say after a few seconds. “Wanting to just up and move to Korea.”   “Why would I say that?” 

“Erm. Isn’t it? I’m American, and I don’t know, I don’t have citizenship or know how to do it or—” 

“So figure it out. People come to Korea to go to university and teach and all sorts of stuff.” 

Again, you feel an irrational twinge of frustration. It’s not that easy! you want to say. What if it doesn’t work out!? you want to demand. What if you don’t even pursue makeup?! 

“Noona—” 

“Don’t ‘noona’ me, Park Jimin.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it in the middle of the sidewalk, thank you.” 

The awkwardness is growing. You haven’t had a conversation like this with Jimin in ages, and you have to fight down leftover bitterness before you can pat his hair once to let him know...something. That you aren’t mad? You guess? 

You are, though. Whether or not it’s fair to be mad, or even whether your anger is misdirected, crosses your mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles. Damn, you don’t want apologies! He didn’t even do anything. He’s just trying. Trying hard to be your friend again. 

“No, it’s—it’s not you. It’s my problem.” 

“What’s your problem?” Jungkook asks from behind you. Both you and Jimin jump; your shoulder slams into Jimin’s jaw, and he groans, holding his face. “Oops. Sorry.” 

“Nothing Jungkook-ah, don’t worry about it,” Jimin says, shooting you a tiny smile, for which you’re very grateful. Both that he reassured you and that he diverted Jungkook’s attention. 

“I think noona’s problem is that she’s hungry and wants to eat lots of hotteok,” Taehyung says, sounding as sure of himself as he sounds about literally anything else. 

More like Taehyung wants hotteok, though. You’ve been grazing like a cow all day, there’s no way you can eat more. “How did you know?” you ask. Humoring Taehyung just to see him smile takes the edge off the dark cloud looming over you.  

“Our Taetae is so smart,” Jimin says proudly. He ruffles Taehyung’s hair for good measure. 

“So smart,” you and Jungkook chorus at the same time. 

As convinced as you were that you couldn’t eat another bite, it’s a different story standing next to the hotteok stall. The smell is amazing, of course, and watching the old lady rhythmically flip and press the little pancakes lulls you into a hotteok-craving so intense that you find yourself with one in your hands before you know it. Mysterious. Nice, also, because it’s yummy, but also because it’s December and your fingers are cold. 

Not long after you finish your hotteok, Jimin takes one of your hands. Not long after that, Taehyung takes the other. You’re glad that BTS is small enough that no one gives you a second glance, because you’re pretty sure this is the definition of a scandal. You should probably tug your hands away, or maybe ask them to not hold them, but after having an emotional bruise poked at, you can’t help being a little selfish. Someday you might not be able to do this, anyway. Might as well enjoy it while you can. 

Plus, with both your hands occupied, you don’t have to carry your bags. In fact, it’s something Jungkook is almost too eager to do, and you feel kind of bad about that, too, but there’s enough feeling bad happening at the moment. 

Back at the dorm, you manage to extract yourself from what threatens to be a long gaming session under the guise that you have plans with Yoongi. Which you don’t, but the maknae don’t know that, and so you slip away into the bedroom as fast as you can without looking too guilty, only to freeze once the door is closed behind you. Yoongi is sprawled across Seokjin’s lap, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open just the slightest bit. Seokjin’s eyes are closed, too; you managed to not wake them up, thankfully. They look so sweet and peaceful, Seokjin’s fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair as if he fell asleep stroking it. 

Unfortunately for you—and Yoongi, and Seokjin—the sound of feet pounding down the hallway comes from nowhere, along with loud yells from Taehyung and shrill giggles from Jimin. One of them tries to throw the door open, which means you’re forcibly shoved forward. You feel startled confusion long before you realize you banged your head on a bunk, your legs wobbling until you sink down to the floor at the same time Seokjin yells in tired confusion and Yoongi swears. There’s a loud thump.  

You raise yourself off the floor at the same time Yoongi does. He takes one glance at you and swears again. 

“Noona! Noona, are you okay?” Taehyung asks. You nod, dazed. It doesn’t feel like anything is actually injured, but you feel your forehead just to check. No split skin, not even a bump, really.  

“M’okay,” you answer, blinking a few times. You look over your shoulder at Taehyung and Jimin. “Don’t worry about it. Just get me an ice pack.” 

You can hear Yoongi muttering grumpily and Seokjin yawning heavily. Jimin lifts you up and puts you on a bed, leaning in close to inspect your face. “It looks okay. How does it feel?” 

“I think I’m going to die. Sorry, guys. I’m not long for this world,” you say in the most dramatic voice you can muster while falling back into the pillows. 

“You two should be more careful,” Yoongi says. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s probably glaring. “Y/N could have really been hurt.” 

“And you interrupted Yoongi’s nap. Don’t you know that’s a crime?!” you tack on. Seokjin snorts. Yoongi mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “brat.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Jimin says, clearly caught between embarrassed and sheepish. “We um. We had a good idea for when we get to Tokyo and...um, well, it doesn’t matter now…” 

Overcome with tiredness, you tune the rest of the conversation out. Suddenly, dealing with apologies and bickering seems like Too Much. You accept an ice pack from Taehyung and climb into bed with Seokjin, curling up where Yoongi was moments ago and not particularly caring for much besides a nap. A nagging voice in your head tells you that you shouldn’t go to bed mad, that the way you’re feeling today needs to be dealt with, but even that sounds like too much. It’s weird. Definitely weird. You were so happy to be here, but right now, you just feel annoyed about everything. 

Well. Maybe it’s the mild head injury. It still hasn’t swollen a lot, but it’s tender and you have a headache. You reach for Yoongi’s hand in silent question, ready to snuggle and sleep. 

Yoongi obliges and you get to be the big spoon. Seokjin’s fingers tangle in your hair now, too, and so you drift off with a vague discomfort you don’t know what to make heads or tails of. 

⸻⸻⸻

After a day—in which you feel unusually sluggish and retreat to your room to lay in bed and scroll through Twitter—you have an inkling that something isn’t right. Coming back to Korea made you so wildly happy, but now it doesn’t seem to matter if you’re here, there, or anywhere. There isn’t a lot that feels like it matters, and that’s weird. You’re probably tired, or maybe just bummed out that the boys are going overseas in a few days. Or maybe because being left out of Seokjin’s birthday celebrations is reminding you how much you have to stay out of sight. None of it is malicious, no one even wants it, but that’s how it is regardless. 

A day turns into two, into three. You’ve been living on side dishes and rice, watching movies on Netflix, and experimenting with makeup. The results are good, but kind of boring at the same time. You know how to do natural-looking makeup, or something more dramatic like a smokey eye and bold red lip, but recreating timeless looks isn’t going to get you through school in an ever-evolving and oftentimes avant-garde artform. 

Spending the days before the boys go off to Japan holed up in your room doesn’t feel great, but alone time is nice enough. Getting absorbed in studying your potential craft makes everything feel less scary, like maybe you’re a person with a plan and it might even work out. Sure, people who go to beauty school are probably going to be the kind of people who’ve been doing more for longer, but there’s a saying for that isn’t there? That there’s always someone working harder, always going to be someone better. 

Hoseok said you try too hard, but you’re pretty sure you don’t try hard enough. Not where it counts. 

KaTalk is backed up with messages. You check a few sporadically. Hoseok wants to check out a new store. Namjoon asked if you want to grab dinner before they go, whoops. Seokjin and Yoongi have both messaged you a lot, and apparently have noticed that you’re being quiet. You try to keep up with them the most, but everything feels all wrong. The maknae are just as energetic as ever, but the group chat has slowed down a lot due to all the not talking you’ve been doing. After just a few days of this, you think you can understand a little better what Hoseok and Jimin were feeling last winter. Thinking about messaging anyone just makes you feel tired, but you miss them, too. You miss Seokjin’s puns and you miss the way Yoongi looks at you like he really sees you. You miss Taehyung filling your space with laughter, Jungkook’s sweet demeanor, Jimin’s full-body laughter, Hoseok’s sound effects. 

When Hoseok is near, it’s never quiet. Not like it is right now. One of the playlists Yoongi made for you—to introduce you to the best rap music the world has to offer—plays in the background, but it’s still so damn quiet. 

It feels like being a step removed. Like the world has spun a little too far around you and you’re still trying to catch up. 

If you can ever catch up. 

There’s no good reason for these strange. Not that you can think of. 

There’s actually no real reason at all. That’s the worst part of it, that you can’t pinpoint where the emotions—or maybe lack thereof—are coming from. 

Go outside, you tell yourself. Just go outside for a little bit. Get some fresh air. Take the boys some hotteok. It’s Seokjin’s birthday, at least message him.

Auntie has been dutifully checking on you, and you get the feeling that she understands this part of you that shouldn’t be a part of you. She doesn’t push you to do anything drastic, but she makes you eat. She suggests you shower and stretch. She compliments whatever makeup experiment you’re working on. She stays to talk.  

Who are you, anymore? Days ago, you told Jimin you want to move to Seoul. Now you feel an itch under your skin; it spells run away.

There’s no reason for it. It doesn’t make any sense. 

The day before the boys’ flight to Japan, Yoongi and Seokjin come over together. Remnants of makeup are still smeared around your eyes. You didn’t feel like washing your face the night before. 

There are scratches down your arms. You don’t have time to grab a sweater. 

“Hey,” Yoongi says. 

You want to say something, but your voice is stuck, and you can’t see. Everything is blurry, and your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat for a long, long silence. 

“Cheonsa,” Seokjin says. Guilt churns in your stomach. You didn’t even say ‘happy birthday.’ “Can we come in?” 

God, you’ve been so lonely. You nod, rubbing at your eyes, but it just makes them burn. You probably look like a pitiful mess, and you should probably go shower and put on clean clothes, but you can’t. There are arms are around you, bodies on either side of you.

From far away, you hear your voice break free in a choked wail.

Chapter Text

“I’m just tired,” you insist over and over. “I’m just tired. I’m just tired.”

Different inflections don’t make it sound more like the truth, but you aren’t sure what else to say. There aren’t words for whatever this is, but tired is a part of it. Tired isn’t a lie. You wouldn’t lie, at least you don’t think you would. Not so blatantly. Not to Seokjin, and definitely not to Yoongi, who’s so good at sniffing out the little white lies you tell to avoid worrying him. 

Part of you wishes Seokjin hadn’t come, too. If it were just Yoongi, maybe you could speak. It feels awful to think that. Like maybe Seokjin deserves better than whatever it is you’re giving him, all this shutting him out and not being willing to open up. Stress gnaws at your chest, latching onto your ribs, your spine, curling around your lungs and heart with bruising pressure. 

But it wanes. It ebbs away, gradually, and you’re able to act like a semblance of a human being that laughs and jokes and even shares skinship with the boys she loves. It’s comforting to see a peek of yourself after such a proverbial storm. By the time the boys have gone to Japan, though, you’re once again hiding in your room while you alternate between laser focus and listlessness. 

At least this time, katalk is pretty quiet. You get pictures and greetings and “I miss yous” but the showcase is busy. It requires a lot of prep and a lot of practice. Is this what it will be like when they’re touring? Contact in bursts, but not enough to talk? Will you wait for them to come back like a lonely puppy? 

The thought makes you feel sick. No, you don’t want that to be your future. That’s not the relationship you want with Yoongi or Seokjin; it’s not the friendship you want. Is that selfish? It’s certainly unrealistic. 

And so begins a downward spiral you can’t argue yourself out of. Future-you won’t be cooped up like this; she’ll have a job and other friends, a life outside of this bubble. Knowing that doesn’t make you feel better, because while it works for friendship, it doesn’t make sense to have a boyfriend you can never see or talk to. It doesn’t work when you can never, ever be public or get married. So where does that leave you? 

At a dead end? 

Your heart rebels against the very idea, but your mind has already decided. It can never work like this. Bangtan Sonyeondan is barely famous and already their schedules are packed months in advance. They just released an album and there’s another one coming out in what—February? March? There are concept photos and constant songwriting, producing, and conceptualizing. 

Your head spins. 

In front of you is a dead end. 

⸻⸻⸻ 

This is what insanity feels like. You’re sure of it. 

It’s still dark outside, your room lit only by the glow of your phone as you mindlessly scroll through Twitter, unsure what else you can do. 

Yoongi is sick. Sick enough to fly back to Korea early. No one knows what exactly is ailing him; a trip to the doctor in Japan didn’t return anything, apparently. Which confuses you, because how could it not? But supposing they only ran bare minimum tests…or it’s something really serious that will require a lot of tests and a long stay in— 

No. You have to think about something else. Already your brain has run away with gloomy scenarios, each one more unlikely than the last. 

It started the night before with a short message from Yoongi that did the exact opposite of the one instruction it contained.

[Yoongi]

don’t panic 

[Cheonsa]

Over what?

[Yoongi]

coming home

stomach hurts bad

[Cheonsa]

Bad enough to come home?

Have you seen a doctor?

[Yoongi]

yeah

have to go though

taking off

[Cheonsa]

You waited until take off to send me a message that says “don’t panic”?

Did something happen during the showcase?

…Yoongi?

MIN YOONGI.

You reached out to the other members, but they’re just as clueless as you are. Compounding everything is the weird way you’ve been feeling, like you’re spinning out of control, and now? Now the world has just ground to a halt, feeling completely timeless.

What if Yoongi isn’t okay? 

It hasn’t even been a day since you talked. Naturally, however, the worry means that time has stretched on forever, trickling by in such tiny bursts that it feels like you’ve aged a decade by dinner time. The best thing to do is to take your mind off of it. Trouble is, you aren’t sure how. With all the thoughts running around in your head lately, this entire situation has just given your subconscious the liberty to go completely haywire. A night spent trying to sleep only results in you tossing and turning relentlessly. 

What if Yoongi isn’t okay? 

Finally, when the sun starts to rise, you get a notification.

[Yoongi]

it’s just appendicitis 

i have to have surgery 

no big deal, it could have been much worse

[Cheonsa]

Thank goodness.

How are you feeling?

[Yoongi]

shitty

[Cheonsa]

When is surgery?

[Yoongi]

tomorrow morning

i’ll be out before any of you are awake

[Namjoon]

Morning.

We’re flying back in a few hours.

Noona, do you want to come stay with us?

[Taehyung]

you’ll be happier with us than alone

please noona 

[Cheonsa]

Is that really necessary? I’m just down the street.

You guys are cramped enough as it is.

[Seokjin]

it’s fine. we’re a man short

a short man short

lolololol

[Yoongi]

ah hyung……

so rude

[Cheonsa]

What time do you land?

[Namjoon]

1:15

So we’ll be home for dinner.

[Cheonsa]

I’ll make something.

[Hoseok]

SPAGHETTI

[Cheonsa]

If I don’t do something I’ll go crazy.

Okay, spaghetti it is.

Haha.

[Jungkook]

SPAGHETTO

[Yoongi]

spaghetto.

[Jungkook]

soaghetti

[Yoongi]

soaghetti

lolololol

[Jungkook]

[Cheonsa]

If you’re teasing Jungkook you must be fine.

If that’s the case, then I hope you know messaging your girlfriend to say DON’T PANIC and nothing else was really horrible.

[Yoongi]

ah………

i was out of it, sorry

ily

[Taehyung]

punish him noona 

[Cheonsa]

What? No hahaha

It’s fine.

[Jungkook]

yeah!!!

punishment 

[Taehyung]

PUNISHMENT 

[Yoongi]

i accept

punish me

[Hoseok]

guys……

phrasing

[Jungkook]

????

[Namjoon]

[Taehyung]

but that’s exactly what i meant???

[Seokjin]

afk i have to discipline one of my children

[Jimin]

rip taehyungie…

what a bad kid

Well. Hopefully Seokjin isn’t too hard on him.

It might be “just” appendicitis, but you’re still worried. Even if an appendix ruptures it doesn’t mean immediate death, but surgery isn’t a joke. The anesthesia can cause complications. Yoongi could go into shock. Hell, he could come out of the surgery totally fine and die of a staph infection. 

Okay. That’s a little alarmist. The likelihood of dying in a hospital has to be pretty low, right? That’s literally the best place to be sick. 

Mentally shaking yourself, you decide the best thing to do is probably sleep. You’ve been up for a while, worried already, and now that you know that it’s probably all going to be fine, you’re feeling the distinct tug of exhaustion. A small part of you gives into frustration a little bit, though because you just really wish you could go to the hospital like a normal girlfriend. If you could be there, you could know what’s going on more readily, and that would— 

What? Make this easier? Probably not. You would still be stuck away from Yoongi, unable to see with your own eyes that everything is fine. 

Being close would be calming, though. You don’t know if it’s Big Hit staff or his family that are with him. It’s frustrating feeling so left out that you don’t even know that much, whether his parents might come up from Daegu to be with their son for a surgery. An appendix surgery might be too minor to come for. To take time off of work for. Yoongi doesn’t come from wealth, you know that much. Your stomach does a funny flip-flop when you consider the idea of meeting Yoongi’s parents. 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This isn’t the time. You lay down and pull your blanket over your head, determined to sleep. Sleep will help you calm down, what with your subconscious left to untangle all the weird things you’re currently feeling.  

You give up two hours later, having mostly dozed on and off while checking your phone for updates. Nothing much happened, really; Yoongi is probably sleeping, the rest of the boys are packing and going to the airport. When your stomach rumbles, it gives you a goal, at least. You join Auntie for breakfast, picking at rice and fish and wondering why you even bothered to come have breakfast at all. Auntie isn’t oblivious to whatever is happening with you, so you burst out “Yoongi is in the hospital.” 

“Is he sick?” Auntie asks with tones of mild concern. Right. Koreans go to the hospital for colds. In the hospital doesn’t carry the same weight here. 

“He’s going to have his appendix removed. I guess he started feeling bad while he was in Japan.” 

“Ahh, poor thing. Well, if he’s in the hospital there’s nothing to worry about.” Auntie looks at your plate with a haughty frown. “Eat, Y/N. You’ll need energy if you want to play nurse for him.” 

Auntie’s response is blunt and a little gruff, but you appreciate it. It’s nice to have an anchor in the middle of all this chaos that’s got you confining yourself to your bedroom. For what? Annoyed, you spear some fish on a chopstick and eat it like a complete savage. Isolating yourself when you’re hurting doesn’t make any sense. It certainly hasn’t helped anything. Taehyung is right; suffering alone is just silly.

[Cheonsa]

I’m going to break into your dorm.

[Taehyung]

you know how to do that?

[Cheonsa]

You don’t?

[Taehyung]

no………????

how 

tell me pretty noona

[Cheonsa]

I don’t know if I should if you’re going to tease me.

[Namjoon]

Break in?

Uh.

What if you didn’t?

[Seokjin]

i agree with namjoon

[Hoseok]

hm

hmm

hm hm hm

[Jimin]

i agree with taehyung

now it’s even

[Taehyung]

but i didn’t vote

[Jimin]

yeah but you want her to break in

[Taehyung]

true

[Hoseok]

hmmm

i’m the tie breaker

[Namjoon]

There’s no vote.

[Seokjin]

actually now that you mention it

it would be nice to come home to food

[Cheonsa]

…

[Hoseok]

sorry namjoon-ah

noona, please break in!

[Namjoon]

What?

Guys.

[Cheonsa]

Sorry, sorry, if Namjoon says I can’t do it, I can’t do it.

But it’s really easy to open a locked door with a credit card.

You slide it between the door and the locking mechanism and force the little metal bit back into the door.

[Namjoon]

That wouldn’t work. We have smart locks.

[Cheonsa]

Oh, right.

I guess I’ll go shopping. I still feel kind of restless.

[Jimin]

you didn’t sleep much noona

it’s only been a few hours

[Cheonsa]

Are you already packed?

[Jimin]

we’re on the way to the airport rn

we’ll be home soon

[Seokjin]

nice deflection

cheonsa

go to sleep

[Cheonsa]

I tried.

[Seokjin]

try again

[Cheonsa]

Seokjin oppa.

[Seokjin]

Cheonsa.

[Cheonsa]

Where does Napoleon keep his armies?

[Jimin]

ARMYYYYYYYY💖

[Taehyung]

is there a specific place where you keep an army?

in a bunker?

in a

what’s it called

rock house

big house made of rocks

CASTLE

[Seokjin]

i don’t know, where?

[Cheonsa]

In his sleevies.

[Seokjin]

[Namjoon]

[Yoongi]

i woke up with a bad feeling and now i have to look at this with my own eyes

Y/N, go to sleep

[Seokjin]

yeah

go to sleep

[Cheonsa]

I’m being bullied.

[Taehyung]

LOLOLOLOL SLEEVIES

noona you should sleep

if you don’t you can’t cook dinner for us

i won’t let you

[Cheonsa]

Okay, okay. I’ll try.

You don’t try. There’s no point. After having breakfast and chatting, you don’t feel tired at all. You do, however, pocket your phone and head out to just walk. There’s a not-insignificant amount of frustration having everyone tell you to sleep like they don’t want to hear that you can’t, that you’ve tried, but you’re getting used to this strange, misdirected anger. No one is trying to be mean to you, they’re just worried. Understandably. Yoongi especially knows the price of going without sleep as a guy that sometimes only sleeps for half an hour at a time, little cat naps here and there when he’s working hard. There’s an answer buried here somewhere, something to guide you to understanding your change in moods, but the dots haven’t connected yet. Obsessing over it hasn’t helped you, either, so you resolve to just try to let it brew in the back of your mind and let the answers come as they will.

Getting up and eating breakfast has had a positive effect, though. Being outside helps. When your walk takes you by a hotteok stall, you buy two and sit on a bench to eat. You’re trying to channel the Y/N of a year ago that couldn’t wait to explore Seoul. It’s sunny today, enough so that if you sit in the sun while you eat, it’s not unbearably cold. The hotteok is hot and yummy, a perfect mix of pancake and filling. A modicum of normalcy comes back to you. It feels good. Why can’t every day be like this anymore? 

What happened? What’s changed? 

A lot, really. You push off thinking some more; there’s a MISSHA close enough to walk to, so you head that way and spend way too long looking at different shades of eyeshadow and lip tints to try moving outside your comfort zone. Korean makeup is different than what you have in the US; the colors are more sheer and buildable, the overall look geared more toward natural and soft. It took some getting used to, but in an everyday setting, Korean beauty is killing it. 

Namjoon had the idea to start beauty blogging. It’s not a bad idea, getting yourself out there. Seeing if you can gather a following. Maybe later you can create a YouTube channel, though you have no idea how to make headers or attractive icons or anything. You don’t have a name for it, either, or a real plan, but working toward something sure as hell sounds a lot better than continuing in your weird slump. The idea even decently cheers you up, a little flutter of excitement in your stomach as you pick some new tools and a new eyeshadow palette of pinks and golds. 

Things aren’t awful. They aren’t great, but they aren’t awful. You just need to figure out how to bridge the gap. 

How hard can it be? 

⸻⸻⸻

When you arrive at the dorm in the late afternoon, you’re greeted by a very sleepy looking Seokjin who hugs you straight away while mumbling greetings. The hug is a little too tight and Seokjin is leaning on you a little too heavily, small signs that he’s taking this harder than you originally thought. Everyone seemed fairly calm over group chat.

Then again, text is hardly the best conveyor of emotions. 

“Oppa,” you murmur. Seokjin groans. Your fingers are already coming through the messy hair at his nape, some small form of comfort you can give while ladened with grocery bags. “It’s gonna be okay. Yoongi is too stubborn to let his dumb appendix take him out.” 

“You’re right,” Seokjin mumbles into your neck. “He’ll recover just to spite his own body.” 

“And to make sure none of you put your filthy hands on his equipment.” 

Seokjin laughs softly, his breath tickling your skin, before he straightens up. It’s not unusual to see any of the boys exhausted, but it’s strange to see Seokjin this unkempt, and he’s not the only one. Jungkook is sitting at the table staring at his phone, his hair a mess and his oversized sweatshirt rumpled like he picked it up off the floor to put it on. Taehyung and Jimin are both just sleeping on the floor. Only Namjoon and Hoseok are absent, likely having had the foresight to lay down in a bed before falling asleep. 

They work so hard. Too hard. You can’t help shaking your head in an affectionate sort of way before you turn to work on spaghetti. Unlike when you used to cook here, you don’t let anyone help, not even Seokjin. It’s not so hard, anyway; chop and saute onions and spices, brown meat, add tomatoes, let cook. When the sauce is ready to simmer, you turn away from the stove to see three sleeping boys and one very fidgety Jungkook. 

“You don’t have to stay awake on my account, Jungkook-ah,” you say. You take a place on the floor next to him, having to step over Seokjin and Taehyung to do it. “You must be exhausted.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees with a shrug. “Can’t sleep.” 

“Well, that’s fine. You’ll be able to fall asleep really easily at bedtime, then.” 

Dinner is a subdued affair, though not entirely because of Yoongi’s absence. Everyone is tired, clearly, enough so that you aren’t surprised when half the dorm mumbles about sleeping and heads straight back to bed after eating. Though tiredness is eating at you, too, you don’t feel like you can sleep. There’s an itch in your hands to do something. Sitting still is hard. You’ve moved past the irrational fear that the surgery is going to go wrong (or something), but that doesn’t mean you aren’t worried, and worrying is exhausting. 

Jungkook joins you in cleaning the dishes, just like old times. You wash, Jungkook dries. His eyelids are drooping over his eyes, though, his long lashes fanning over his cheekbones in the split second it takes for him to snap out of it. You have no idea why he’s fighting sleep, and as someone who’s doing the exact same thing? Hard to call him out. 

“Jungkook-ah,” you say. As cute as this is, you’re worried the boy is going to fall over and crack his head open. You’re fairly sure that no one can take the added stress right now. “Go lay down.” 

You’re surprised when Jungkook shakes his head. He’s not the type to act anything but immensely respectful to his elders, even you, who’s tried to escape the default politeness that comes with being a noona. To say it’s odd for Jungkook to argue with you is a complete understatement. Midway through washing a plate, you turn to face Jungkook with your hands covered in suds and dripping water on the floor. 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” Jungkook mumbles, but he hesitates before elaborating. Namjoon is still in the kitchen, reading while he slowly makes his way through his bowl of spaghetti. With how much Jungkook looks up to Namjoon, you’re sure that’s not the reason he’s hesitating. “Every time I try, I think something bad might happen and I’ll be sleeping.” 

“Oh, honey.” 

Not until your soapy hands are patting Jungkook’s back do you consider that you maybe should have dried off your hands before hugging him. 

Oh well. A sad-looking Jungkook is too much; it shouldn’t be allowed. You can’t bother yourself with something as trivial as having dry hands. Instead, you rub gently across his shoulders, up and down his spine, while he clings to you and makes soft hiccuping sounds. Namjoon looks over his book for the half a second it takes for you to shake your head; you’ve got it under control. 

“Everything’s going to be okay. The surgeon has probably done this surgery about a thousand times. Besides, Yoongi wouldn’t let himself go out in such a boring way.” 

Jungkook’s shoulders shake. A little. He sniffs and mumbles under his breath, “Being dumb.” 

“You’re not being dumb. You’re just worried about your hyung,” you correct. It’s not lost on you that you were definitely nowhere near this kind to yourself when you were upset. The words Hoseok spoke the other day echo in your mind before you forcibly shove them in a dark corner where they belong. “Don’t feel bad for feeling bad. We’re all feeling bad right now.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook says. He lifts his head and rubs his eyes, which are very faintly tinged pink. “I don’t know if I can sleep or not, though.” 

“I can help,” you offer, thinking you’ll just pat his back a few times and he’ll crash immediately. The only reason Jungkook isn’t sleeping yet is that he’s being stubborn. 

As if he’s expecting you to try to trick him, Jungkook frowns at you, but he agrees to let you help on the condition that you’ll sleep, too. And at this point, you kinda have to concede; any more argument and you’ll have to pull a ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ Which, lame. Adults who do that are the worst, and little bunny boys who beat you at your own game are the worst, but in the best way. You grab a small perfume vial from your bag and go, hand in hand, with Jungkook to lie down. With Yoongi staying overnight for the morning surgery and Taehyung flopped over top of Jimin, there’s room for Jungkook to nab the single shoved up against the wall. You sit and pat your lap. 

“What’s that?” Jungkook asks, indicating the bottle in your hand. 

“Magic,” you say. Jungkook’s face scrunches up. “What? I’m serious. This stuff is magic.” 

“M’not a little kid,” Jungkook mutters. The bed creaks as he climbs in and rests his head on your ankles, clearly not daring to get too close. 

“And I’m not a witch, so we’re even.” 

That makes no sense. You don’t blame Jungkook for scrunching his face even further so that his eyes disappear behind his lashes and a crease appears between his brows. 

“Can you scoot back? This is kinda uncomfortable,” you add. The weight on your ankles alone means that bone is pushed into bone—definitely uncomfy. At least Jungkook seems to have relaxed about being in your lap, or maybe he’s reaching deep inside for some super-bravery; he scoots until his shoulders are flush to your hips, his head tilted up and resting on your belly. “Perfect.” 

You’re only vaguely aware of the blush splashed across Jungkook’s cheeks. The “magic” in the bottle is just a perfume from some indie store back home that reminds you of pastel, cartoon-dreamlands: sugar-spun lavender with a hint of something cool and soothing you’ve never been able to put your finger on. You dab a drop over Jungkook’s lip and one on the tip of his nose, listening to him inhale deeply and sigh a second later. 

“It smells like a marshmallow, noona.” 

“Shh, it’s sleep time.” 

You don’t have a whole lot of experience giving massages or anything, but how hard can it be? There’s something distinctly intimate about this moment. Intimate, but not romantic; it’s like taking care of a kid brother. Jungkook relaxes the more you rub circles on his scalp, his breathing evening out in less than five minutes. Exactly as you anticipated. He’s been working so hard for so long, going and going and going—just like everyone else in this room. A part of you feels woefully inadequate surrounded by so many great people, but you try to think about what Yoongi would say if you admitted it out loud. That you don’t have to go at anyone else’s pace. That you’re allowed to take time and figure it out. 

Does he worry about you? You can’t help but wonder that, leaning back against the wall with your fingers still in Jungkook’s hair. If you worry about him, the reverse must be true. It’s something that seems obvious but that you’ve never fully thought about, not really. The idea is strange. Your gaze drifts toward where Hoseok is curled up around a pillow, his breathing deeply, slowly. When you were in Hongdae, he said that you’re always there for them, not yourself.  Now that the idea has had time to settle—now that you’ve moved past feeling like he was antagonizing you—you wonder if there’s a grain of truth in what he said. 

Still being hung up on it bothers you as much as the idea of it being true bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with being the kind of person that likes to help others. If it were a bad thing, there wouldn’t be nurses and social workers and therapists. But, there’s a deeper meaning somewhere in there, something about how you’re neglecting your own self and you wonder—not for the first time—if being unable to find a passion is something that ties into all the rest of it. 

“Noona, you said,” Jungkook mumbles. You drop your head back and fake snore in response, cracking a smile when Jungkook giggles. “Nooooonaaaaaaa.” 

“Jungkook-aaaaah,” you reply. Jungkook whines and makes grabby hands for you, which does sort of successfully get you horizontal, but you’re crammed into a corner with your head at a weird angle. The two of you wrestle and flop around rather ungracefully until you’re in comfortable positions, at which point Jungkook drops off again. Almost instantaneously. You’re kind of jealous. 

Ten minutes into sleeping, Jungkook rolls onto his back and crosses his legs to take up most of the bed. The chances of you worming your way out are pretty high, but your time spent snuggling with Taehyung has made you wary. Moving like you’re in the climax of some kind of heist movie, you slide down to the foot of the bed—somehow managing to not tumble over Jungkook’s legs in the process—and climb over the footboard to escape the room. 

And straight into Namjoon. 

The bedroom door in this place is starting to become a health hazard. You halt so you don’t accidentally run straight into the guy, but Namjoon doesn’t manage to prevent himself from jumping so hard in surprise that he stumbles backward and falls on his ass. It takes biting down on your tongue to prevent yourself from bursting into hysterical laughter; Namjoon looks so confused. So shocked. Embarrassed. 

Adorable. 

“You okay?” you ask, completely unable to hide your mirth even as you extend your hand to help Namjoon up. He takes it, mumbles something unintelligible, and attempts to pull himself up. You thought you had braced yourself sufficiently, but judging by the fact that in one moment you’re upright and in the next you’re on top of Namjoon on the floor, you must not have. Judging by the way Namjoon is wheezing, you must have hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. “Oh geez, sorry about that.” 

“It’s okay,” Namjoon says in a barely-there imitation of a voice. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” 

“Not you too,” you groan. At this point it’s starting to feel like you’re running on defiance. Fumes and defiance. 

“Noona,” Namjoon says, but he breaks off abruptly. A frown spreads over his face. “Nevermind. I don’t have a leg to stand on.” 

Your heart just about bursts. Of all people, Namjoon is the most likely to repeat an English phrase back to you, but it still warms your heart to hear it. It’s a small proof that he listens—really listens. Just like Yoongi. You move awkwardly to sit up, bracing your hands on Namjoon’s chest, and startle when he makes a strange noise. 

“You okay?” you ask, concerned. Namjoon’s face is turning steadily redder. “Namjoon?” 

“Uh, yeah? I’m fine, of course, I’m totally fine I just—uhh, nothing. Nope. I’m fine.” 

“The man doth protest too much.”  

“Hamlet,” Namjoon says, smiling. With his dimples on full display, he reminds you, again, of a sunflower. Turned to the sky and blooming beautifully.  

“Is that what it’s from? I didn’t know.” You giggle quietly, unsure why the atmosphere feels weird and heavy. “They didn’t use that line in The Lion King.” 

“Noona,” Namjoon says in a feeble voice. “You’re sitting on me.” 

Right. You are. You are super straddling Namjoon’s hips, your hands still braced on his chest, and his face is pink.

Oh, shit.  

“I thought you were fine,” you reply without thinking, cursing yourself after. It’s not like sitting on Namjoon has made you suddenly quivery or excited, but there’s something. A feeling. It’s small, insignificant compared to the rest of the emotions that you’ve felt today, but it’s a feeling. It’s there. 

“I’m not fine,” Namjoon says. He swallows, audibly. You can see his eyes dart away as color climbs down his neck.  

“You said you weren’t interested in me like that.” 

You have no idea what it is about seeing boys flustered over your presence that makes you want to make it worse. Maybe it’s that you’ve never knowingly held this sort of power over anyone, which might be kinda weird of you, but you haven’t been given any indication that it’s unwelcome. 

“Noona,” Namjoon pleads. 

“Is this not okay?” you ask. “Do you want me to move?” 

“No.” 

“No what?” 

“Don’t—” Namjoon sucks in a shuddery breath. “Don’t move.” 

Oh. Oh, okay. Don’t move. “Are you hard?” 

“Noona,” Namjoon pleads again. “Noona, this is so embarrassing.” 

“It’s—uh. It’s just a thing that happens. It’s fine? It’s fine.” 

“The lady doth protest too much.” 

“Smart ass.” You don’t dare move no matter how much you want to. Knowing there’s a boner and feeling there’s a boner are two different things. Are you allowed to just straddle a boner in the cramped hall like this? And why don’t you feel more freaked out? “Hey, Namjoon-ah. You like me, right? Even though you try to pretend you don’t.” 

“This is my personal hell,” Namjoon says under his breath. Which, fair. You’re not making this easy on him. “Yoongi hyung said you’re mean and I didn’t believe him. I’m a fool.” 

“He said what, now?” You drawl in your best imitation of Yoongi’s speech, but there’s no way you can go that deep. 

“That you’re—mean. In a good way.” 

“I’m being mean in a good way right now?” 

“I’m so turned on and yet I’m also so terrified. You’re terrible. And perfect.” 

What a fascinating conversation. Curious—just to see how Namjoon will react, just to be mean like you’re being accused of—you adjust your position until you can feel the pressure of Namjoon’s boner against your ass. Namjoon groans. 

“What else did Yoongi say about me?” 

“Wait. Shit. Are you going to be mad at him?” Namjoon asks, looking suddenly panicked. 

“I mean, if you’re having sex with Yoongi and I’m having sex with Yoongi, I guess I would expect it to come up.” You ignore, for now, the way Namjoon’s hips seem to squirm every few seconds. This is undoubtedly the weirdest way you’ve ever encountered a dick. “What are we doing right now?” 

“It feels like weird foreplay.” 

“And I don’t even know if you like me for sure. Being around you guys is turning me into a bad kid.” 

“I like you,” Namjoon says, laughing his high-pitched panic laugh right after. “What does being bad kid entail?” 

Instead of answering right away, you lean back further and make yourself comfortable, well aware that you’re adding pressure and friction when Namjoon is already wound up. You’re definitely small compared to Namjoon, you don’t feel small at all like this. Maybe it’s because of your experience with Yoongi, maybe it’s because of how you liked to tease Seokjin so much, or maybe it’s just because Namjoon has the disadvantage. 

“Stop moving,” you say, refocusing on Namjoon, who’s tense as a bowstring and incessantly wiggling. He groans again but falls still. 

“Are we going to have sex? I think we should talk it we’re going to have sex.” 

“Uh. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but okay, let’s talk.” 

“Well we’re stressed, right? And stress can lead to poor decision making and impulsiveness.” 

You stare, unsure whether to laugh or not. You’re positive Namjoon didn’t consider the implications of what he just said. “Thank you, Doctor Kim. How high-risk am I as a sexual partner?” 

“Uh.” 

“Go on.” 

“If you don’t have feelings for me, pretty high risk.” 

“What if I did?” 

“Do you?” 

“I might.” 

“Risk assessment isn’t my strongest suit right now, anyway,” Namjoon says with a choked attempt at a laugh. “Hormones impair your judgment.” 

“Oh, talk dirty to me, Doctor Kim. I love it.” 

“Hh—that. That’s not what I’m doing. I’m trying to think about literally anything besides the fact that you’re sitting on my—” 

Somehow, Namjoon turns redder. His hands are shaking from how hard his fists are clenched. You swivel your hips just to see. Just to test. And you aren’t disappointed; Namjoon moans, softly, and his hands jump to squeeze your thighs. 

“Think about it already. I’m tired of waiting on you.” 

“Noona.” 

“Does it matter why we’re doing this? Like, really matter? I respect you, you respect me.” 

“Yeah—that. That’s true, I respect you so much.” 

You swivel your hips again into a grind. “But?” 

“But just because there’s mutual respect doesn’t mean sex is a good idea,” Namjoon says, now panting a little. “Oh, god. Make me shut up.” 

“But you’re so cute when you’re panicking. Do you really want me to stop?” 

“No, please. Please don’t stop.” Namjoon whines softly. His fingertips are digging so tight into your thighs that it hurts, but you’re way more focused on his darkened eyes and parted lips. 

“I like you,” you say after a few minutes of this languid teasing. “And I’m stressed. But I won’t regret it, so stop worrying.” 

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Stress relief and—feelings. Right. Noona?” 

“Mm?” 

“Will you kiss me first?” 

You do.

Chapter Text

Like anyone could have predicted, the surgery goes well. Over and done with before you’re even awake. The rest of the dorm celebrates being able to go visit in the hospital, and you?

You hang back and pretend that it doesn’t hurt. You pretend that there isn’t a part of you that feels fit to burst with bitterness. You pretend you’re ready to fade into the background where you aren’t a part of their lives. 

It’s not their fault. The bitterness doesn’t extend to your boys. They’re your family. They draw you into hugs, ruffling your hair and squeezing you tight. They promise they’ll video chat with you as soon as it’s safe, so you can talk to Yoongi and see for yourself that he’s okay. 

You’re crying from so many emotions that you can’t even pick them out anymore. The only thing you understand is exhaustion. 

Your eyes drift to Hoseok, just for a split second. Long enough to feel a tightening in your chest, to read the concern in his expression. Seokjin steps into your field of vision and hugs you tightly, a familiar embrace that you let yourself melt into a little. 

It’s with a heavy heart that you return to the apartment, feeling all out of sorts again. Somehow, over the past month, being friends with the neighbors across the street has become complicated. You don’t know why, really. Maybe it’s you. Maybe the problem is that you’re trying to make a place where you don’t belong. That thought is banished quickly; it’s absurd. You’ve never fit in anywhere like you do here. So maybe the problem is just the person you are. 

Is it weird to just kinda fuck off in the middle of your trip? If you can’t get out of your skin then maybe getting out of something as familiar will help. Maybe it will clear your head. You consider it for less time than you plan your ‘fucking off’ trip, one that will take you a few hours away from Seoul for no particular reason other than nothing feels right. The plan feels very rash and stupid, but you don’t really care. Things have gotten too serious inside your head. You’re at mid-life crisis levels of weird, and a crisis needs to happen at least twenty years in the future. You’re much too young to be losing your marbles. 

With those thoughts egging you on, you book a little guesthouse in Gapyeong for a night so you can go visit a place called The Garden of Morning Calm. Calm is the thing you need right now, as evidenced by your swift departure from Seoul. Your very swift, very crazy departure. 

Okay. That’s melodramatic. Not the least of which because you’re sure there are plenty of other people who take sudden trips to get away from everyday life. Vacations are a real thing that not-crazy people do all the time! 

During the train ride to Gapyeong you’re finally, painfully aware that things are different. When you first arrived, Seoul was a magical place that you were viewing through childishly rosy glasses, but being here doesn’t minimize the fundamental problems in your life. 

The future is still scary. 

You still don’t know if studying to be a makeup artist is going to work out. 

Hurts that have happened aren’t just gone. Better, yes. But not gone. 

Therein lies the crux of the issue. Running off to Seoul was built up in your head to be a place where you’d just be happy again. And it isn’t. Not through any fault of your own, not because of your friends, but because that’s just not how life works. If a change of scenery made everything better, then people would be running all the time. 

Just like you are right now. Again. To what is likely going to be a similarly ineffective solution to the real problem. 

When you arrive at your guesthouse, you drop your things on the floor and consider just unrolling the bedding to take a nap. You aren’t going to the garden until evening; the draw (aside from the name) is the winter illuminations that looked extremely thorough online. 

Alas. Coming all this way just to sleep seems too sad, too pointless. Instead, you go to a restaurant and make small talk with an ajumma while you wait for your order of fried chicken and cheese balls. “Your Korean is really good!” has become synonymous with “you sound foreign,” so you don’t exactly preen when she says it, not until she asks how long you’ve been living in Korea. At that, you’re over the moon, and agree to sit with her happily to listen to her advice about exploring Gapyeong and especially where to eat. 

The food is delicious, but there’s so much. Once the ajumma leaves, you zone out scrolling Twitter and munching chicken until a notification pops up from Yoongi.

[Yoongi]

so uh…

namjoon went over to see you and auntie said you left town?

[Cheonsa]

Oh.

Yeah, for a bit. Spending a little time by myself.

[Yoongi]

baby

what’s going on?

[Cheonsa]

Hm?

[Yoongi]

please don’t insult my intelligence 

i’m in the hospital and you left town without telling anyone after sleeping with namjoon

what’s going on?

[Cheonsa]

Wow.

What a terrible way to frame it.

[Yoongi]

those are just the facts

[Cheonsa]

If they’re just facts then why do you assume something’s wrong?

[Yoongi]

stop being stubborn

just telling me whatever you think i want to hear isn’t how things get fixed 

you can tell me if you’re upset

[Cheonsa]

Why should I? You’re in the hospital, you don’t need to stress out about me, first of all.

And second, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

[Yoongi]

really.

[Cheonsa]

Really.

[Yoongi]

i know pushing you when you’re trying to shut me out won’t help but you’re really pissing me off

[Cheonsa]

Which is why we shouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.

[Yoongi]

it would be fine if you would just talk

that’s a thing you used to do

[Cheonsa]

Well, I’m not exactly convinced. You’re being rude.

[Yoongi]

i’m being rude?

asking you what the hell is going on is me being rude?

do you even realize how you sound right now

[Cheonsa]

Feel free to enlighten me.

[Yoongi]

what the fuck

[Cheonsa]

What? You came in swinging, asking me why I fucked Namjoon and left while you’re in the hospital, like I’m some kind of terrible person.

Like I can even come visit you?? What am I supposed to do, sit around and wait for you to come home?

Sneak in when no one else is around?

Risk your fucking career???

[Yoongi]

that’s not what i meant

[Cheonsa]

Then what did you mean?

What are you actually asking me, Yoongi?

If your goal wasn’t to pick a fight you failed step one.

[Yoongi]

i’m asking if you’re okay!

you disappeared for days and when i came to see you, you looked like you hadn’t slept for a week and your arms were covered in scratches 

[Cheonsa]

I told you I didn’t mean to do that.

[Yoongi]

now you’re just somewhere else and you couldn’t even bother to tell me? or at least namjoon for fucks sake

did you even think about how this looks to him?

and it doesn’t matter if you meant to, you did

[Cheonsa]

I don’t know.

[Yoongi]

?

[Cheonsa]

I don’t know what’s going on.

I don’t want to fight.

So please believe me.

I don’t know.

I don’t want to have this conversation over text.

[Yoongi]

just

give me something

tell me you still care

about me

about us

[Cheonsa]

Of course I do.

I’m in love with you, stupid.

[Yoongi]

yah

be nice to your boyfriend

[Cheonsa]

I’m sorry.

[Yoongi]

i’m in love with you too, stupid 

you just keep getting further and further away

i don’t know what to do 

[Cheonsa]

I’m sorry. 

[Yoongi]

why are you apologizing 

[Cheonsa]

Because I’m

haha

fuck

[Yoongi]

babe?

[Cheonsa]

It’s just like Hoseok said, isn’t it? That I try to make everyone happy but me.

I’m trying really hard all the time.

For other people, but not me.

And I’m a huge liar.

I’m really the worst.

[Yoongi]

what are you talking about…?

[Cheonsa]

I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for so long.

[Yoongi]

i know you haven’t

why do you think i’m so worried?

[Cheonsa]

I’m tired. I don’t want to have this conversation right now.

[Yoongi]

i’m sorry, i think when you skip town without telling anyone is about when you should have this conversation??

Y/N please

[Cheonsa]

You aren’t listening to me…

I’m so fucking tired.

I feel like I’m not even in my body. I literally can’t have this conversation like this. I’m in a restaurant and I can’t even figure out how to get up and leave.

Please, can we do this later?

[Yoongi]

yeah

yeah, i’m sorry

let’s drop it

what are you eating?

[Cheonsa]

[Yoongi]

looks good

[Cheonsa]

I got too much. ;;

Tell your organs to chill out so I can share with you next time.

[Yoongi]

yeah i’ll get on that

i’m sure all my appendix needed was a firm talking to

[Cheonsa]

Seokjin oppa would have done wonderfully.

I’m gonna head out though. I met a little ajumma who told me all 500 places I need to go before I leave.

See you.

When you lock your phone and shove it away before Yoongi can even reply, you know—as you’ve known for a while—that Yoongi has a point. He’s not right, but he’s not wrong. No one ever explained how much of life would be navigating some kind of murky gray. Everything would be so much easier in black and white, but no.

Oh well. It’s probably better that way, right? Builds closer relationships or something. It has to, with how you have to compromise and work through things. 

A small groan escapes you when you think about Namjoon. Fuck, Namjoon. Speaking of black and white; Yoongi was completely correct about what it looks like. 

[Cheonsa]

Hey, uh…

I’m sorry for leaving without saying anything. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

Not because of you, just…all the other stuff.

[Namjoon]

Noona.

Where are you?

[Cheonsa]

Doesn’t matter. Away.

I don’t have a lot of time to chat, I’ve just finished at a restaurant and I need to walk back.

But I still like you and I still don’t regret anything and if you want to talk about it when I get home, just let me know.

Okay?

[Namjoon]

Haha.

Straight and to the point.

Do you mind telling me why you left so suddenly?

[Cheonsa]

Mmmmmsorry, I do.

For now.

When I get back, okay?

[Namjoon]

Understood.

There. That’s handled, more or less. It gives you enough mental clarity that you can get up and leave the restaurant, anyway, back into the cold afternoon air. At least winter is pretty mild here, you think, trudging back to your guesthouse. The idea of sightseeing is nice in theory, but after talking to Yoongi, it’s definitely not something you’re going to be able to do. The thought should alarm you, but it’s starting to feel like you don’t have the capacity for complex emotions.

Tired. Annoyed. Sad. Fine. That’s what you’ve been reduced to. 

But it’s not that simple, either. It comes and goes. Sometimes, nothing seems wrong at all. That’s the most confusing part. 

You check your phone between unrolling the bedding and flopping down on top of it, opening your Katalk conversations to clear the notifications. There’s a new group chat that’s just you, Yoongi, and Namjoon; your head tilts. 

[Yoongi]

hey, cheonsa

we’ve been talking

i don’t think there’s really a good way to say this or a way to soften it so

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml

think about it, okay?

Ah.

Right. 

You don’t have to think about it at all. Almost as if you’ve known the whole time, you see the word depression and it just makes sense. Of course that’s what’s going on. Of course Yoongi would know, would recognize it before you. 

[Namjoon]

You don’t have to reply.

Enjoy your trip.

We love you, noona.

[Yoongi]

yeah

love you

The timing is unfortunate. Really, they couldn’t have waited a day? Annoyance churns in your belly. You said you didn’t want to talk about it. You told them both that you’re not able to talk about it right now. Why is it so hard for them to respect that? You have every right to save the conversation for when you’re ready and willing, don’t you?

Napping through the afternoon doesn’t help, but it doesn’t hurt. You’re able to roll out of bed and go to the garden, anyway, and look at lights. Lots of lights. Colored lights wound around everything in sight. It’s pretty. Beautiful, even. You take pictures, like everyone around you, the shutter sounds neverending over the incessant conversations that float around and by you. It’s pretty and lonely. There’s no one to share this with. Sending pictures isn’t the same. You do it anyway, but it’s not the same at all. 

Depression, huh? The scenery blurs ahead of you into brilliant yellow halos of light in the darkness. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been in denial over it. Since last February? Since you dropped out of university? Or maybe coming back to Korea and having your last-ditch grab at a solution turn out to be fruitless?

Or maybe you’ve been like this since you graduated high school and got shoved into a world you don’t understand. Maybe…maybe it was even before that. How can you know for sure?

Tears are cold on your cheeks, bitingly so. Your impulsive decisions haven’t led to a return to the person you were a year ago, but they’ve led to an epiphany of sorts, so you can at least say it wasn’t pointless. Better to face your fears now than six months down the road, when you’re in school again, when you’re busy, when everything falls apart between you and the boys because that’s life. Your paths were never meant to meet in the first place, and they’re going to diverge, now, and they won’t be there anymore. You won’t be here anymore. No one is at fault and no one can change it. It just is. Or, it just will be. These last couple of months in Seoul are the chapter where you have a big, important self-realization, and then you go on. 

Simple. Clean. Inevitable. 

Knowing that it’s inevitable doesn’t prevent you from staring at the lights until your eyes hurt, or crying until your cheeks feel frozen. If something just is, then there’s no sense in trying to fight it, is there? Part of you isn’t quite convinced that it’s inevitable, that there’s something you can do to hold on, but is there? The distance isn’t the problem if there’s the possibility of visiting, but for you, money is finite. For them, time is an extremely rare resource, and it’s only becoming rarer. 

(Money for the boys is pretty finite, too, even with an award under their belts. Add the public scrutiny and it’s just a disaster. A complete disaster.) 

How the hell are you supposed to say all this to Seokjin? To Namjoon? Fuck, to Yoongi? Maybe you can just enjoy this while it lasts, and then…? 

What a horrible idea. You scold yourself immediately for even thinking about such a cowardly option. No, you’ll have to talk about this with them. Besides, they’re already able to see straight through you. Trying to keep your thoughts and feelings a secret isn’t helpful. It doesn’t make things easier for anyone. 

Finally, you tear your eyes away from the illuminations and wander. There’s plenty to keep your eyes on, from a horse and carriage to little mushroom forests to a sea of hanging umbrellas, all constructed of lights. You take a selfie inside a tunnel that glows lilac and peach, coming out on the other side where an elephant traipses through waterfalls of color. People move around you in groups, chatting happily together, and you suddenly can’t stand it. It’s all so suffocating. 

If only you could get out of your own head. 

⸻⸻⸻  

As much as you wanted to get away from Seoul for a little while, it’s a relief to be back. The trip to Gapyeong wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good, it just was. There’s a lot of that feeling lately—that things just are. That you exist, and events happen, and in the long run they don’t really mean anything or matter, because the world is going to keep moving regardless of how you feel about it. It sounds like the kind of thing Namjoon would say, or at least you think it does, so it’s unsurprising to you when Namjoon is the person you text once you’re settled back into the apartment. 

(After a round of questions from Auntie, who has definitely noticed your behavior, and is definitely worried about you, while you are definitely not doing anything to ease her worries. So it goes.) 

Meeting up at the dorm feels too heavy, too tiring, and so does having Namjoon over at the apartment. It’s too personal. Too your space and you don’t much want anyone else in it right now. When you float the idea of going to a club, Namjoon recommends a jazz club in Gangnam, and you head over after the sun sets expecting some high-key, potentially pretentious place because Namjoon is cultured and smart in addition to being an authority on music. What you don’t expect is a cozy haunt that looks like it could belong to a garage band if not for the size of it. Red shades on all the lights give the club an unnatural haze, but with the languid, sensual music playing, it’s like stepping into a modernized film noir. 

A cluster of mismatched tables and chairs sits in front of a little stage where a woman—possibly the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen—is really belting it out. Namjoon sits at a table off to the side, sipping a beer and watching the performance with rapt attention. He looks like he’s hanging off every note, completely engrossed in the song, but the second he spots you his whole face lights up. Eyes crinkled, dimples out. It’s so hard to wrap your mind around how this sweet guy can dress up in chains and eyeliner to become Rap Monster, someone who is nothing like the Namjoon you know. 

After grabbing your own drink—soju with chilsung cider—you plop down next to Namjoon to enjoy the show.  Whatever soju the bartender used in your drink is strong, so you opt to take little mouthfuls here and there while Namjoon takes long sips of beer. That distinct, hoppy smell lingers on him, beer and soap mixing together into something familiar and not with just enough comfort to soothe you. Under the table, his hand finds yours. Your fingers entwine. Suppose this is a date of some kind, though there’s not much conversation happening. The woman on stage has a voice like a siren; it lulls you into a soft space where the music is good and Namjoon is warm and things aren’t so bad as they seem. 

The constant ebb and flow of your feelings only makes it harder for you to say what you know you have to say. This moment, which is safe and content, feels like stolen time that you don’t deserve, least of all from Namjoon. Having sex with him wasn’t a mistake, but he was right: it was poor judgment. The best you can hope for is that Namjoon will forgive you. 

“Noona.” 

You try not to sigh obviously when you hear Namjoon’s voice. “Mm?” 

“Do you like the music?” 

“Yeah. It’s nice. You picked a good spot.” You glance at your glass, which is empty save for a few half-melted cubes of ice. Another drink sounds good. Another drink also sounds like a slippery slope. “Have you been here before?” 

“A few times. I’ve been exploring since I turned twenty,” Namjoon says. Makes sense, you want to say, but your mind is pleasantly mushy and you settle for resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder instead of trying to talk. “Don’t tell anyone about this place. It’s a secret.” 

“Keeping secrets?” 

“Just a few. Aren’t you?” 

“Mm—are you accusing me?” you ask, knowing that the conversation is close. Closer than you’d like it to be. “How horrible.” 

“Everyone keeps secrets, noona.” 

“It’s true. I have a big one. Promise you won’t tell anyone?” 

“The safest way to keep a secret a secret is to never tell anyone.” Namjoon turns to face you more so that your face is more in his neck than it was a second ago. He smells good. “But I won’t pretend I’m not curious.” 

“I think Work Bitch is an underrated masterpiece.” 

“I—” Namjoon swallows. You can feel it as well as you can hear it. “I’m sorry?” 

“It’s Britney, bitch.” 

“Britney Spears?” 

“You expected me to say something else, right?” you ask, quiet, muffled against Namjoon’s skin. You shift your weight, sit back up, and shift again. “Or you were hoping I’d say something else?” 

Around you, the club keeps moving. Patrons get drinks and chat at their tables. The band keeps playing. The singer keeps singing. They’re all things that you’re aware of; things that feel strange compared to the utter stillness of the bubble you’re sitting in with Namjoon. 

“I don’t expect anything, noona.” 

“Well, you should. You should expect me to talk about what's going on. You should expect me to stop being an asshole.” 

“You’ll do those things when you’re ready. Although I don’t think you’re an asshole by a long shot,” Namjoon replies. Even though an urge to argue stirs in you, you know he’s being truthful. “Besides, expecting you to act a certain way is just setting you up to disappoint me. That’s not very fair, is it?” 

No, it isn’t. It strikes you often that Namjoon is good and kind, that he’s wise beyond his years, but it hits hard here. A rush of gratitude wells up in you, your hand squeezing his. “I love you,” you say, because there are so many thoughts and feelings that you could try to ramble on about, to explain, but that sums it up in a way nothing else can. “As a friend, and as a person, and as much more than that. I love you a lot.” 

Namjoon is the kind of person to take someone seriously. To think hard about them and what they say, to read them in ways they’re not used to being read. You can see him thinking over your words, taking them apart before he finally nods, just once. “I love you, too. As a friend, and a person. And much more than that.” 

“I wish things were different.” You lean back into your chair. Into your own space, though you don’t let go of his hand. “I wish I could believe that we’re going to work out, but I don’t. We can’t, and…I can’t ignore that anymore.” 

“I thought you might say that,” Namjoon says. His expression doesn’t change; it’s solemn. Understanding is in his eyes. He doesn’t turn away from you. “After hyung got sick.” 

“You did?” 

“I didn’t know for sure, but I’m well aware of how hard this is. I thought that being unable to go see him in the hospital might be…well, a catalyst.” 

“How do you figure people out so easily?” 

“I pay attention.” 

Another truth. You remember Namjoon saying, at the bus stop in the summer rain, that he couldn’t understand why a stranger would do so much. Even back then, he was watching. Thinking. Trying to puzzle out a mystery, trying to see who you were, the same as Yoongi was. The difference between them is that Namjoon didn’t fight you. 

“I’m sorry, I really am. I won’t say it’s entirely me, because it isn’t true. You deserve more than platitudes.” 

“I appreciate that.” 

“I came back because I wanted to find that magical summer again, but it’s gone. I didn’t want to accept it,” you explain, having finally found your answers after a series of impulsive, reckless, and not entirely great decisions. “Chasing things that are already gone wasn’t my best decision. I’m sorry you all had to get dragged into it, too.” 

“That’s not the only reason,” Namjoon counters. The corners of his mouth lift. He doesn’t have to explain, because you know: you came back because the love between all of you is real, and beautiful, and you missed them. “Noona. You have no idea how wonderful you are.” 

“Huh?” 

“You discount yourself before you even arrive at your destination. You didn’t think you could handle university, you don’t think you can pursue makeup, you don’t think of yourself as being as important to us as we are to you. You don’t understand why Seokjin hyung is interested in you or why Jungkookie thinks the sun rises and sets with you.” 

Heat creeps into your cheeks, though you blame it on the alcohol seeping into your blood. Nothing that Namjoon is saying is cruel, or even untrue, but being dissected like this is a strange experience. He pays attention indeed. 

“You always say things like, I’m completely unremarkable. I didn’t realize it at first, but I think I understand now.” 

“D-do I? Say things like that.” 

“All the time. I don’t know what made you think that you’re unremarkable, but it isn't true. I wish you could see what I see.” 

“But—” You swallow, hard, feeling something inside you start to unravel. “But I’m just me. Like. You’re going to go amazing places and you’ll be surrounded by amazing people and in a few years, are you even going to remember this? I’m just me.” 

“And who you are is amazing, noona. You always have been.” 

No. What? You shake your head in disbelief before freezing up entirely. You’re doing exactly what Namjoon just said you do. The thread frays even more. You pick up your glass and knock back the last dregs of melted ice and soju. 

“Kindness in this world is incredible, don’t you see that?” Namjoon keeps going, and you want him to stop, but you also want to hear what he thinks. Who you are to him. “Do you think most people would see someone going hungry and immediately try to help? Or all of his friends they’ve never met just because they can? You give and give and give, and you don’t ask for anything in return.” 

“But that’s—I mean. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I just—there’s people out there working on a cure for cancer or raising money for amazing causes, and I...” 

“You’re doing the best you can with what you have. The world isn’t divided between people who accomplish herculean tasks and those who don’t.” 

“Herculean, ha. Your brain is showing,” you mutter. You aren’t sure what else to say. 

“You don’t have to believe me right now. But think about it, okay? Just think about it. You’re smart, I know you are.” 

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.” 

You didn’t notice it until now, that your fingers are trembling a little. Amazing isn’t a word you’d ascribe to yourself. It’s not even that you don’t like yourself. You like yourself. You’re an okay person, but amazing? Namjoon genuinely thinks you’re amazing? And Jungkook, too, just because you were kind? Lots of people are kind, though. That doesn’t make you special. 

“I’m special to you, is what you’re saying. Right?” you ask, because you want to understand more than anything why Namjoon is saying these things. 

“Yes. You’re special to us. And to your friends, and parents. To people who’ve been touched by things you’ve done. In your world, you are special.” 

“Oh.” 

This is something Namjoon has given a lot of thought, you can tell. Why? It could just be his natural inclination to think deeply about interpersonal relationships, but you don’t think that’s quite all. So much has happened in his life, lately, and he’s so young. You’re both so, so young. New and fresh in the world of adults, learning how to fit into a life you don’t understand. 

“You have a lot of haters, huh?” you muse aloud, figuring you’re probably at a place where you can speak openly like this. Namjoon nods. “But you have ARMY, too. I think I get it.” 

“I told you you’re smart,” Namjoon says, like it was obvious you’d arrive at the same conclusions as him. “It gets to me. You know it does.” 

“But…” You nod a few times, then just shrug. “But then it doesn’t. Because it’s only one part of the picture.” 

“Exactly. It’s like Dumbledore said: if you’re holding out for universal popularity, you’ll be in this cabin for a long time.” 

“Wha—?” 

It’s such a sudden and jarring departure from your conversation that you burst into hysterical laughter. Loud, belly-aching laughter that draws people’s eyes to you, and you can’t stop. You collapse into Namjoon’s side and muffle yourself in his shoulder. Harry Potter references! In the middle of a serious conversation! 

“You nerd!” you wheeze, but you don’t know if it was even remotely intelligible. “How do you even remember shit like that?” 

“I’m a repository of useless information.” 

Why, oh why, when you’ve just effectively broken it off with someone, do you feel such a strong urge to kiss him? It’s unfair. Instead, you sit up and straighten your clothes, fiddle with your drink, and generally try to come to terms with the decisions that have been put into motion. 

“I’m sorry, Namjoon,” you say, some unknowable amount of time later, when it feels like you can speak again. “I’m really sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Namjoon replies, and though he’s calm, though he smiles, you know he’s hurt. “It’s not anyone’s fault.” 

For one year, you’d believed in the possibility of forever. 

And then you grew up.

Chapter Text

“So that’s it.”

One of the things you’ve always liked about Yoongi is how he manages to hold himself together through almost anything. Yoongi is steady. There are demons there, skeletons in his closet, pains that you know and some you don’t, but he’s steady, always. Even now, after you’ve told him about your conversation with Namjoon, after you’ve both concluded that breaking up is the reasonable thing to do, he hasn’t faltered. The two of you are curled up in bed together, snuggled under a big fluffy blanket, and he only squeezes you a little tighter. He doesn’t push you away or look at you with anger, just a sort of mild disappointment that you know is only the tip of the iceberg. 

Seokjin was different. Accepting, like Yoongi, but he wasn’t able to swallow down the hurt so that his voice didn’t shake. He didn’t manage to keep his eyes from shining too brightly. When you hugged, both of you cried. I wish we had more time, he’d said. You nodded, not able to vocalize the sentiment. His pain was your doing. You didn’t have the right to echo him. 

“I guess it is,” you say around a lump in your throat. It’s hard to hold Yoongi’s gaze, but you do. His lips brush above your eyebrow in quiet affection. “I thought it would be too cruel to wait until I left. You’d figure it out.” 

“I figured it out before you did,” Yoongi says, matter-of-fact. A tiny smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “I knew. I think that’s why I was so mad when you left.” 

“I don’t blame you. I keep trying to run away from things, or…run to things that aren’t there anymore, I guess. It just sucks because I really thought we were—that we would—” 

“Shh, Y/N. Shh, shh.” 

And then Yoongi is kissing your face all over. First your forehead, then your cheeks and nose, your chin. You whimper when his lips meet yours, so incredibly gentle and loving. His hand feels so big and warm cupping your cheek. “S-sorry. I shouldn’t be the one crying.” 

“If you want to cry, then cry. I’ll stay with you until the end. It’s not over yet.” 

“No, c’mon. Don’t do that to yourself.” 

“Excuse me. I get to decide that.” 

“But I’m hurting you.” 

“I’m hurt, but you aren’t hurting me. The situation sucks. That’s not your fault.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh, baby. I’m sorry, too. That I live this life that hurts you.” 

You shake your head, wanting to argue, but you can’t do it. It’s true. Being shunted to the side because of necessity hurts. Being a secret hurts. You know it’s not Yoongi’s fault, and you don’t fault him for it, but it’s true. Dating an up-and-coming idol isn’t something you can handle if you can’t even be there in person. Over the spring, into the summer, messages were sporadic, conversations were short. The only reason that you’re able to spend time with Yoongi right now is that he’s recovering from surgery. The rest of Bangtan is prepping to perform at SBS Gayo Daejeon, working long days. Hopefully Namjoon and Seokjin are able to give it their best. Hopefully your decision hasn’t affected them so much that it’s noticeable. 

Salt lingers on your lips from tears that won’t end. Is it really fair to take affection like this? Is it fair to Yoongi at all? He initiated it, but you should be the one to end it. You should stick to your guns and stop this before you do something stupid. 

A soft sniffle makes you pull away. Crying is fine if it’s you. It’s okay. Making Yoongi cry is another thing entirely. 

“I would never ask you to choose me over your dreams,” you say, wanting to find some way to make those tears stop rolling down Yoongi’s cheeks. “Never. It’s not your fault, okay? It’s not because of you—” 

“It’s not yours, either,” Yoongi says fiercely. Like he believes it with all his heart. “You aren’t to blame and you can’t take all this on your own shoulders. You deserve to be with someone who can—who can be seen with you, who can take you to a restaurant and hold your hand, who you can fucking visit in the hospital.” 

That’s true, too. It doesn’t matter if you hate hearing it or not, Yoongi is right. Taking a deep breath, then another, you nod. “I know. I just, I wish we could…” 

“Have our cake and eat it, too?” 

And here’s the perfect example of why you love Yoongi so fucking much. The attention he pays to you, the way he learns the sayings that you rely on for communication, and repeats them back to you. Finishing your sentence exactly as you were trying to finish it. The two of you are good for each other. Really good. If things were different, you can see yourself sticking by him for a long time. Sticking by all of them for a long time. You belong here. Or you did, once. 

How cruel that circumstance doesn’t care. 

⸻⸻⸻ 

Healing is something you aren’t sure how to do. Or, to put it more correctly, you don’t know how to push down the fear of putting all of your thoughts and emotions out in the open, which is something you know you’ll have to do. The path is straightforward enough. Therapy is the first step, though it’s not something you can really pursue in Seoul; your Korean is good, but it seems a bit pointless to establish a rapport with someone for a month. A part of you is worried, scared; therapy isn’t something you’ve done. It’s not something you’ve thought you would ever have to do. Talking to Namjoon, though, made you realize how often you discount yourself, casually, but totally serious. 

It can’t go on like this. 

After the New Year, you realize that staying in Seoul isn’t doing you any favors. It isn’t helping you move forward, but keeping you trapped in some kind of strange limbo, where you’re stuck between two points. Behind you, your childhood. Ahead of you, a world that you don’t know how to belong to or how to even really engage. It’s just another thing that hurts. Changing your return flight hurts. It’s also the best decision you can make for yourself. For the situation. You inform the boys in the group chat, knowing it will be a while before they answer. Even if Yoongi is still recovering, having had to go back to the hospital, he’s always working. Bangtan Sonyeondan is always working.

[Seokjin]

ah

we’ll miss you

[Jungkook]

noona…

[Cheonsa]

Sorry, Jungkook. I promise I’ll keep in touch.

You can’t get rid of me that easily.

[Jungkook]

[Taehyung]

don’t worry, jungkook-ah

we’ll be rich soon 

then we’ll buy our house in portland and see noona every time we feel like it

[Jungkook]

promise?

[Namjoon]

Promise.

Jungkook took it the hardest of everyone, which doesn’t surprise you. He’s so sensitive. Everyone has been trying to console him, but it’s just not possible right now. After he learned of your breakup with Yoongi, he’d trudged over in the snow to comfort you, but wound up crying himself sleepy all over your shoulder.

“I thought you’d be with hyung forever,” he whispered. 

“I will be, just not as his girlfriend. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. We’ll always be friends.” 

“You have to promise!” Jungkook said then, lifting his head to stare into your eyes. He’s come so far in just a little bit of time. He’s growing up, even if there are still childlike tendencies there. “Promise me, noona?” 

“I promise.” 

With the news about your flight, Auntie abruptly announces that she’s taking you to Jeju, just like you’d talked about. It’s a sunny day when you arrive, the light reflecting off beautiful white snow as far as the eye can see. After the hassle of renting a car, the drive to the house Auntie rented is calm. Peaceful. You watch the sights pass by, glancing into the distance where you can see mountains climbing to the sky in jagged white swells. You’re going to hike them the next day, and go see the volcanic cliffs, and Yakcheonsa Temple if you have time.  

The house you arrive at is like something out of a Ghibli movie, made of dark gray stone with a path that leads to a shore of volcanic rock. Inside is brick and distressed wood with white linens and an over-abundance of plants; your bed is in a loft decorated with string lights, while Auntie takes the master bed behind a sliding barn door. Macrame hangings decorate the walls, along with pretty pastel leaf prints and shadowboxed flowers. Every single dish on display in the kitchen—which has a turquoise blue stove and baby pink refrigerator—is from a different set, an eclectic mix of styles and colors. 

“I could live here,” you tell Auntie as you hop up on the counter to sit. “This place is so beautiful. You always find the coolest places.” 

“It’s because of my wisdom, dear. Once you’re my age, you’ll know where all the charming houses are, too.” 

“I hope so! I want to live here,” you repeat, a not-insignificant amount of awe in your voice. Even with the windows closed, you can hear the distant white noise of the ocean. For this moment, you feel totally at peace. While it’s unlikely you’ll be able to find a seaside cottage in Portland, you make a mental note to try to find something as quaint and whimsy as this place to live. “Hey, Auntie?” 

“Hmm?” 

Your eyes follow Auntie as she moves around the open space, placing her bag on the table, her suitcase next to the sliding door, her coat on the rack, her gloves neatly stacked on the console table by the door. “I’m sorry for not spending more time with you. I was a little stupid.” 

“We’re always a little stupid when it comes to love. Did I ever tell you about my first boyfriend?” 

“I don’t think so…? You’re gonna tell me now, though, right?” 

“Well, of course,” Auntie says, as if it’s obvious, in that familiar haughty way that always makes you giggle. She sits in a stupidly plush egg chair and crosses her legs neatly. “I was eighteen. I wasn’t allowed to date while I was at home, but once I got to UCLA I went wild! As wild as a conservative Korean girl could, anyway.” 

“Let me guess, you met him at a club.” 

“No, no. I met him in a study group,” Auntie says, chuckling. “A club! That’s too wild. But we did go to a club, once or twice. And I did flunk my first semester of university because I was too busy partying. My parents threatened to make me come home.” 

“You failed? What!” You gape at Auntie in shock. “You never told me that!” 

“I was trying to set a good example. You know how your mother worries.” 

“Yeah. I guess she had a reason after all.” 

“Did you do something to make her worry?” 

“Uhh well, I suddenly left home to hang out with some idols for three months instead of working. Right after I dropped out of university, too, and I’m going to cosmetology school. I don’t think she’s very happy with me.” 

“Well, she did mention that whole seven boys joke you told her, but you’re wrong. She’s very proud of you, even if you aren’t following the path she wanted you to.” Auntie winks at you with a warm smile. “And anyway, this is the perfect time to have silly romances and make impulsive decisions. Maybe not with that many boys, but you kids are liberal like that.” 

“You’re so cool, Auntie. How are you so cool? I thought for sure you’d think I’m a slut.” 

“What’s wrong with being a slut? All that word means is that you’re comfortable with your sexuality, and don’t you forget that.” 

“I definitely hope I’m as cool as you when I’m older. I want to be the cool auntie with a whole posse of teenage girls that have someone who supports them like this.” 

“Flatterer,” Auntie says, but she’s still smiling. “We should go now if you want to eat, the restaurants will be busy soon.” 

“Can we get corn cheese? I don’t care where we go as long as there’s corn cheese.” 

You do not, in fact, get corn cheese, but you can hardly complain once you’re walking down the street with the smell of delicious meat wafting from inside a host of black pork restaurants. Auntie picks one with an impressive concrete pig outside the door, and in minutes you’re eating black pork belly and slurping up the best kimchi stew you’ve ever had. It’s delicious, especially when the server shows you the best way to grill kimchi right alongside the pork and create the perfect bite with rice and meat. Heaven. 

It’s not just the food that’s good, either. You share a bottle of plum wine with Auntie, who’s in such a good mood she orders a second bottle. By the time you’re finished eating, you’re both tipsy; rather than heading back, you wander the underground shopping mall to hide from the cold now that the sun has set. 

The mall is huge. Astonishingly huge. Auntie informs you that there are supposedly over two hundred shops in the center, and walking around them all, you believe it. Every single shop seems to be spilling into the walkways, with piles of shoes or stands and stands of jewelry, racks of clothes, or tables laden with beauty products. It takes real willpower to pull yourself away from an Etude House display. You might be unable to justify buying more products, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to. If nothing else, you want to be thoroughly experienced by the time you head off to school. 

Which is something you need to plan in more detail. When you left, you’d promised you’d be spending weekends at home to soothe your ever-nervous mother, but you’re not so sure you want to subject yourself to the travel that will take. The original plan, too, had been to move into an apartment with a friend, but you’re itching, now, to do it on your own. So much of your life has involved being around, catering to, and accommodating other people. Having a space that is entirely, uniquely your own is something you’ve never done, never had; why not now? 

“I’m surprised your hair survived this long,” Auntie says, off-hand, as you’re picking through a literal pile of loose rings in a basket. You look up, confused. “I thought for sure you’d do a breakup chop. It’s a rite of passage.” 

“I hadn’t thought about it, I guess,” you say, frowning. A breakup chop. Hmm. “But it’s not too late, I guess.” 

“Good idea. We can do it right now if you want.” 

“I thought you were trying to be a good influence, Auntie.” 

“Your mother is a good enough influence. Let’s do something impulsive. I need a trim, anyway.” 

“I’ll cut my hair if you get a blue streak.” 

“Deal,” Auntie says immediately. You’re in awe of how easily she called your bluff. “Yes, really. I’ll be the coolest ajumma on the block.” 

Until it happens, you don’t believe that it’s going to happen. Auntie waves off your teasing about it being high time for a short perm, stating that she doesn’t look good with short hair, and sits in the salon chair while her stylist paints a thin stripe of bleach into her hair. It’s easier to watch this process than pay attention to how much hair is being cut from your own head; you told your stylist to “chop it” and “surprise me” and “have fun.” It seems like he’s doing exactly as you asked. 

“What about floral pants?” you ask, giggling uncertainty when your stylist coughs to hide his laughter. “I think there was a visor store somewhere.” 

“Ah, do you hear my cruel niece?” Auntie laments, all her theatrics on display. “Take pity on me, Y/N. I’m old, not blind.” 

“I pity you, I pity you,” you say through more giggles. 

Your own stylist is spraying something into your roots and attacking with a blow dryer, so you finally glance in the mirror at your own reflection. A significant amount of hair has disappeared, but it looks. Well, different. Different good. It’s framing your face prettily with more volume than you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“How are you doing that?” you ask your stylist. This is magic. Pure magic. 

“I’m using a root booster,” the stylist answers. He gestures at a bright teal bottle. “Spray it in your roots and then lift the hair while you blow-dry.” 

Huh. There really is a product for everything. 

You wait for Auntie to be finished in the lobby, where you check your messages for the first time since you left Seoul. There are a few pictures of practice in the group chat. Your DMs are pretty empty; only Yoongi and Jungkook have sent you messages.

[Jungkook]

noona

look!

new earring

[Cheonsa]

i’m gon boop ur nose

[Jungkook]

…

noona?

are you okay 

[Cheonsa]

ye why?

[Jungkook]

you never type like that lolol

[Cheonsa]

lazy 2day

thx for noticing

also

a little tipsy

[Jungkook]

what did you drink?

[Cheonsa]

plum wine

very tasty

i cut my hair do you wanna see

well

a person cut it

not me

anyway

[Attachment: a selfie of you]

[Jungkook]

you look so pretty!

[Cheonsa]

hehehhehe thanks

you too 

babyyyy

so cute

[Jungkook]

i’m not a baby

[Cheonsa]

you’re */my* baby 

not *a* baby 

there’s a difference

k?

[Jungkook]

oh

okay

that’s okay i can be yours

thnaks nona

[Cheonsa]

heheheheh cutie~~

how’s oppa?

is he ok

i’m worried but 

i want to give him space 

[Jungkook]

he’s okay

he’s working hard

[Cheonsa]

goos good

make sure you support him

give him hugs

i gotta go though.m.

[Jungkook]

bye noona

see you soon 

i still haven’t taken you out for bbq

[Cheonsa]

oh.

uhh i leave the day after i get back to seoul

sorry baby

next time

i’m sorry

[Jungkook]

next time

You consider opening Yoongi’s messages, but Auntie is at the counter paying and it feels too heavy at the moment. Things are fine between you, but…yeah.

Yeah.  

⸻⸻⸻ 

The next day, after a very thorough breakfast complete with a hangover drink, you hike Hallasan with Auntie. It’s considerably snowier the higher you climb, but you’re both bundled up with crampons on over your boots. A new group chat has popped up between you and the maknae, for which you’re surprisingly grateful. Things with Jimin are back to normal enough, and you like being able to talk to them without four Complicated Relationships peeping the conversation. You take pictures of the hike to send to them, full of mountain tops and snow-covered trees, valleys, and sky. Breathing in the frigid mountain air does something to you, puts a sort of calm in your blood that you haven’t felt for a while now. You like watching your breath mist and dissipate, you like the way your cheeks are healthy and pink in your selfies. This is life, or some slice of it, something you’re doing for the fun of it with someone you owe a lot more of your time. At the top of the mountain, you run to the peak and peer over into the world below, then flop down to make a snow angel while Auntie saunters close to you to simply observe the breathtaking views. 

“You’re going to freeze your butt off,” Auntie says. You laugh in response, flailing your arms and legs. The handful of people around are looking at you, but you don’t mind it. They look charmed. 

“I’ll thaw it by a fire,” you say. If only you weren’t on the ground, you could shrug your nonchalance. 

The snow is wet, though, and you regret laying in it for so long on the hike back down. It’s okay, though; there’s a warm bath waiting for you back at the house in a pink-tiled bathroom, where you zone out with steam fogging the air and the scent of bubble bath lulling you to a state of peaceful sleepiness. Your entire trip is like this. Unhurried and relaxed, with lots of laughter and good conversation with Auntie. You haven’t returned to what you’d call normal, but you feel a semblance of yourself peeking through. 

Finally. 

Not everything is great, of course. You send a message to Yoongi, apologizing that you haven’t been able to respond. Breakups hurt far more than you imagined, and tears keep happening over the silliest things. Like eating lamb. Or putting on a beanie. It’s a process, though, one that you know you’ll work through eventually. As much as it sucks, it’s also taken a load off your shoulders. It’s made the idea of going back home less depressing. Almost exciting, though it’s muted. You have a plan of action formulated over the past few days; a good idea of where you want to live, a way to make an income, a career path that will work even if it doesn’t turn out to be a dream job. You know what you’re chasing. You know, more or less, the steps it will take to chase it. 

Seoul is still big and gray and busy when you return with Auntie after four days of good food, good company, and good relaxation. Not running straight over to the dorm feels weird. Not immediately letting everyone know you’re home feels weirder. Only after getting your things in order—which involves a lot of sorting out the boys’ clothes from your own—do you send a message to Yoongi asking if he has time to come over. 

Your hair are the first two words out of Yoongi’s mouth. Seeing him up and moving around is a good feeling, and seeing the quiet affection in his face doesn’t hurt that bad. You grin. 

“Hey, you. I have a bag full of your clothes over there,” you say, gesturing to a bag by the door. You raise your hand, then, where his old ring with the blue stone is on your finger. “Keeping this, though. It got me through a lot while I was away at school.” 

“Yeah, keep it. I can get another. I have some money now.” 

You watch Yoongi trudge to your bed and sit, looking more like someone invited into an uncomfortable space than a friend just hanging out. He must be hurting, but his face is soft. Kind. “So what now? What’s next for the amazing Bangtan Sonyeondan?” 

“World domination,” Yoongi jokes. You like that his eyes are sparkling. It makes it feel like things will be okay. “Skool Love Affair is in a month. We had a photoshoot, I’ve been working. It’s going to be good.” 

“Well, obviously. Break some hearts, yeah?” 

“Heh, I’ve had enough heartbreak for now.” 

You flush. Not your best choice of words. “It’s going to be alright. I miss you, but Auntie said a lot of smart stuff.” 

“What now for you, then?” 

“I’m going to look for an apartment when I get back. Do some freelance translation. It’s not great money but it’s pretty steady. Maybe I’ll find some girls that are into k-pop and tutor them in Korean.” 

With a yawn and a long stretch, you get up off the floor to sit on your bed, too, and lean back against the wall. This isn’t as weird as you thought it would be; not as painful, not as excruciating. You pat the spot next to you and Yoongi scoots to sit next to you, leaning back too. 

“Forget that. You should teach me English. I’ll pay,” Yoongi drawls. Your shoulders are close together; he turns to look at you. His eyes are so dark, star-strewn and beautiful. “Y/N. This might be a stupid thing to say, but if we don’t meet anyone else…when it’s all over. When there’s no more BTS.” 

“I’m not going to promise to marry you. Don’t even ask.” 

“Yah, that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say, come back. Spend time with me. See if we still…” 

“There’s a saying for that, actually. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was meant to be.” 

“Poetic.” 

“I can’t make promises. If it works out that way, cool. But I’m not going to bank on it.” 

“You’re smarter than me, I guess. I don’t know. I just don’t want it to be over.” Yoongi sighs. His head falls back, a soft thunk sounding when it hits the wall. “Sorry, forget it. Let’s talk about something else.” 

“It’s okay. We should talk about it. I don’t want to stop being friends.” Your head drops to the wall, too. “It’s a really lovely idea. Coming back, falling in love again. But waiting for me is dumb. You should just live your life.” 

“I will. I just don’t know what it looks like without you yet.” 

“The same as it did for the past year, I guess, without all the sex.” 

“I want to hold you.” 

“Then hold me.” 

Maybe it’s not the best idea. Especially not when you’re cuddled close together, Yoongi’s breath making your hair flutter. But there’s an understanding, and holding is only holding. You pet Yoongi’s hair, conversation about everything and nothing carrying you into the evening. Your voices grow stronger; you begin to laugh more. Healing isn’t something that has to be experienced alone. Things changing doesn’t have to mean something is over. It’s only transformed. It’s just a little different. 

As much as you thought you’d made a mistake coming back to Seoul, you know it was important for you to do it. That it was necessary to move on to the next chapter. Next to you is a friend, your best friend; the person who kept you afloat for so long.

This definitely isn’t the end.

You won’t let it be the end.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Welcome! Are you Y/N?”

In the doorway of your new home a tiny, tiny girl with the biggest, brightest smile that could rival Hobi’s. Well, this part isn’t your home; you’re living in a guesthouse in the back yard, one that’s equal parts whimsy and tiny. 

But it’s yours. After utterly failing to find a one-bedroom in your budget, you started looking for any option that would allow you to stay afloat without help from your parents. Between loans and part-time translating, you should be alright here. Maybe not rich, but alright. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Hey, it’s Charlotte, right?” 

“Yup, that’s me. Come on around back, the cleaners just finished a couple of hours ago.” 

“Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for letting me rent long-term, apartments here are all outside my budget.” 

“No problem. It’s not like I’m doing anything with it,” Charlotte says. She comes out of the front door and leads you down a side path shrouded in shade from a big oak with branches unfurling over the entire back yard. Shrubs and ferns, flowers, and other plants spill from haphazard flower beds; your new house comes into view, a little place painted bright colors with a hot pink door. Your eyes rove over a pergola adorned in climbing purple flowers, a small concrete patio, and a small lily pond where a bird is currently bathing itself. 

Inside is much the same as outside: reclaimed wood and painted surfaces, a healthy dose of plants on the shelves, and hanging from the ceiling. It reminds you of those tiny houses all over the internet. The entire house follows one straight line with a kitchen at one end, dining space in the middle, and living space at the other end. Steep stairs lead to the loft, where a bed awaits you; under the loft, you assume, is the bathroom. Enough space for one person, maybe two on occasion. 

“What do you think?” 

Wide-eyed, you look around again, and then again. “It’s wonderful. And hey, if you need help gardening, let me know. I don’t have any experience but I’m a quick learner.” 

“Aw, that’s so sweet! But we actually have a gardener that comes once a week, and cleaners that come twice a month. Are you okay with them coming in?” 

“Oh. Yeah, that’s totally fine. Wow, I’m going to be so taken care of here.” 

“Sure are! My husband and I have game night once a week, you’re welcome to join if you’re okay spending a couple hours with a bunch of nerds.” 

“No yeah, that sounds great. I’m used to lively situations,” you assure your new landlord—maybe a friend—with a bright laugh. She beams at you. “But I don’t know how much I’ll be home.” 

“That’s right! You’re going to CCF, aren’t you? How cool. You must be really creative.” 

“The admissions panel seemed to think so. Hopefully with some formal training, I’ll be able to make my way in the world.” 

“You’ll be great, just keep your eyes on the prize,” Charlotte says, so easily, even though you’ve just met. She’s so kind. Just like many other people you’ve encountered in your life. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything, just holler. And don’t mind Luna, she’s an indoor-outdoor cat that likes to scratch doors. You don’t have to let her in.” 

“Haha, I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, Charlotte.” 

The bathroom is indeed under the loft, a gray-tiled space that reminds you of a Korean bathroom. There’s no real divider for the shower, just a glass panel. 

All your belongings are still out in your car, but you don’t much feel like going to grab them quite yet. It’s been a tiring day of driving. Curious about the bed, you ascend to the loft and awkwardly wiggle your way into it. The low ceiling will take some getting used to. 

Luckily, the bed is very comfy. It was a gamble going for some tiny house like this on someone else’s property, but the pictures made it look extremely cozy, and you didn’t have a lot of time. While you would never admit it, your mother had been quite right in worrying that being in Korea for so long would make it harder to get organized for school. It’s a good thing you came back early. 

Then there’s also the matter of your YouTube channel. It’s set up now, ready to go. It just needs content. Figuring out an angle is hard, but authenticity is probably best. CCF student to professional makeup artist, tips and tricks, product reviews...it shouldn’t be too hard. A lot of preparing for your official debut has been watching hours on end of other YouTubers. It seems like such a cool way to make a living, not that you expect that you’re going to blow up or anything. 

Scratching on the door distracts you from your thoughts, which are still a little nerve-wracking, but not as anxiety-inducing as they used to be. Sure enough, through the glass, you see an impressively fluffy gray cat. When you lock eyes, she yowls. 

You’re definitely going to like it here. 

You check your phone. It’s just after 6 pm for you, which means that the boys will be awake. You promised a house tour for them after gushing about the pictures, and it’s been a couple of days since you all chatted, anyway, so you wiggle back out of bed and down the stairs to make a video call. 

⸻⸻⸻

[Yoongi]

so you’re really doing it, huh?

congrats

i’m happy for you

[Cheonsa]

Yeah, yeah

I’m really doing it.

I’m nervous…

I’ve never done this before.

[Yoongi]

sure you have

you’re doing it right now

all she’s going to do is ask you about your feelings

i know you know how to talk about them

[Cheonsa]

Was that a diss?

lol

[Yoongi]

i’ll never tell

“Excuse me, Y/N?”

You look up. The bright, fluorescent light of the office kind of hurts your eyes, and the sterility of it kinda sucks, but the woman standing in front of you looks warm and kind. She holds out her hand with a gentle smile on her face. 

“I’m Kaley, nice to meet you. How are you today?” 

“Um—” You take her hand and shake it limply. “Nervous.” 

“Understandable. This is your first time in therapy, right?” You nod. “Don’t worry, Y/N. This is a safe, judgment-free zone. Let’s go ahead and go back to my office.” 

Already you’re off to a good start. The way Kaley talks, in a soothing voice, relaxes you somewhat. Therapy is a good first step, you remind yourself. Therapy will help. 

This past year has been hard, but you try to believe in your choices as you follow Kaley down a hallway equally sterile to the waiting room. The past year has been hard, but you know what you have to do. You know that someday—maybe in another year, maybe in a few months—you’re going to be okay.