Chapter Text
By some miracle, Hoseok and Yoongi had managed to negotiate a day and a half off for them, despite the hectic schedule and the end-of-year shows and everything else they had going on. Namjoon had spent those hours in his apartment, feeling brittle and heartbroken, while Yoongi and Jimin had taken turns hugging him and making him tea.
However, time stopped for no man, and Namjoon pushed his way into the practice room a day and a half later, in sweatpants and a long shirt. His coat was haphazardly tossed on the sofa in Rkive, and his face was half-hidden by a facemask. He pulled his sadness and disappointment tightly around him, like a shield, as he planted his feet and began to stretch. He could hear Hoseok and Jimin discussing something as they demonstrated steps while counting time loudly.
He sensed it the moment Jin walked into the room. Even if he hadn't felt his heart begin to race, the sudden silence in the room would have been a giveaway. Namjoon forced himself to remain relaxed, forced himself to keep stretching, forced himself to breathe through the burn. Seokjin walked past him, the slightest of hesitations when they were abreast, before going to take his usual spot to stretch. A dull kind of disappointment clanged through his chest, and Namjoon stretched his back in order to look away.
That was how the next two weeks went in a blur: icy, uncomfortable silences and careful avoidance. They didn't interact more than necessary, either maintaining upbeat moods with the other members or retreating fully into their own pursuits: a videogame for Seokjin, a thick tome for Namjoon; a webtoon for Namjoon, or a language workbook for Seokjin. When they rehearsed, they didn't look at each other more than required: long enough to clasp and release hands during Black Swan; long enough to do the wave in DNA; long enough for Seokjin to reach up at the end of Fake Love, until the lights cut and Namjoon could pull away from Seokjin's back. He'd never been more glad they weren't doing Airplane Pt.2 this year.
And each night, Namjoon considered staying in his room at the dorm, where the others were all staying together. He could have shared with Jimin and Hoseok, or had them come to his room. He seldom asked for such things, and so they would have acquiesced without hesitation.
Yet: each night, Namjoon looked at the bed, with its tidy corners and perfectly fluffed pillows, and felt anxiety claw at his stomach. He could imagine too well the weight of Seokjin's body pushing his into the mattress, could too perfectly trace the lines of Jin's face in sleep. Worse was the anticipation of Jin visiting: a depressing kind of hope, and the crushing certainty of knowing he wouldn't come.
Namjoon took clothes from his shelves and shuffled silently out of the dorm and into his private apartment, where he showered with music on the portable speaker turned up loud enough that he couldn't hear his own thoughts anymore. A few times, Jimin had let himself into Namjoon's place and sat with him in silence as he read a book while Jimin read a webtoon or replied to friends' SNS posts. Sometimes, they watched a drama or a movie together.
Most nights, Namjoon fell asleep alone, compulsively reaching for the one he'd gotten used to being there.
Dance practice wrapped up, but Namjoon wanted to spend more time drilling the bridge. Usually, Jimin would stick around to help him get the flourishes and extensions right, while Hoseok and Seokjin worked on timing and sequencing on the other side of the studio.
Today, however, the three youngest ones had swarmed Jin after practice and, in a whirling dervish of teasing and yelling, barreled him out of the room. Yoongi, much more casual, had waited for a few moments and then waved lazily as he shuffled out, their choreographer behind him.
Hoseok shuffled forward, swinging his arms to keep his shoulders loose. "Namjoon-ah, what would you like to work on?"
For the next forty minutes, Namjoon worked through the steps of the bridge, Hoseok counting time slowly and then faster with each repeat, until Namjoon ran through the choreo at tempo, three times in a row without fail.
He finished the bridge and began the chorus when Hoseok cut the music. Namjoon immediately collapsed onto the ground, laughing. "Yah, Hobah," he said, starfishing on the hard studio floor. "Are we good? Seonsaengnim?"
Hoseok lightly stepped until he was in Namjoon's space, his stern teaching expression melting away into a wide (if tired) smile. "You nailed it," he acknowledged, and dropped smoothly into a seat. Namjoon felt an old jealousy, one that was wholly unfounded; he could, if he wanted, do that too. Generally it was just easier to be all elbows and knees.
With a breath, he sat up, legs straight out in front of him. Hoseok watched him with shining eyes. "You've been working out?"
"Yeah," he replied casually. "How'd you know?"
Hoseok patted his own midsection. "Core strength. I know pilates helps, too." He parted his legs in a vee and stretched forward, nearly in a split and almost flat on the ground.
Namjoon leaned forward, stretching his hamstrings, the other leg bending in. He had the fleeting thought that Hoseok was showing off. "Felt like a good way to..." He paused, using the excuse of switching legs to find the right phrasing. "To burn off some extra energy," he finished.
Hoseok, however, shot him a canny look. "To distract yourself." He rolled onto his stomach and stretched his quads.
"To distract myself," Namjoon agreed. He sat up and cracked his neck. He really needed to make an appointment with the chiropractor; his shoulder was starting to bother him again. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, wincing slightly at the crackling noise it made. No one had ever mentioned the wear and tear that being an idol subjected your body to.
Hoseok rose onto his knees. "You've worked hard today," he said cheerily, and then held up his hands. "Backrub?" His expression softened. "I know you don't like being touched, it's fine if you refuse."
He considered saying no, but then Namjoon's neck and shoulder throbbed, as if to mock him. "Actually," Namjoon said slowly, "that sounds really good."
The radiance of Hoseok's grin was almost blinding. "Great!" He moved behind Namjoon, and laid his hands on Namjoon's shoulders, a light weight and pressure. "Do you want to take off your sweatshirt, or...?"
"Sure." Namjoon pulled off the big hoodie, avoiding hitting Hoseok in the face, and set it to the side. With a start, he realized he was facing the mirror, with Hoseok behind him.
"Great. Just relax, I know what I'm doing," Hoseok said soothingly, and Namjoon found himself doing as told. He didn't usually acquiesce to Hoseok's back rubs -- Jimin or Jungkook was more likely to request a massage from their dance captain -- but he'd spent the last few weeks sleeping alone, waking up alone, existing in his life where everyone kept a polite, conscientious distance.
But.
After almost three months of near-constant physical intimacy, the brief interludes of contact with Jimin left him hungry in a way he wasn't used to. Even his exes hadn't been so constant a physical presence as Jin was -- is -- in his life. Namjoon's heart ached, more pointedly due to the loneliness that had settled over him, despite five other people and the innumerable staff and filming crew members.
Hoseok pressed his hands into Namjoon's skin, and like that Namjoon's mind blanked out, a comforting static sound blowing through. Hoseok's hands were strong and warm, digging into tight muscles and effleuraging over sensitive areas. Bit by bit, Namjoon felt an unexpected relief wash over him, like hot water combating a bone-deep chill.
Hoseok had his hands in Namjoon's hair, rubbing the nape of his neck and his scalp, when he asked the question. "Namjoon-ah, what happened?"
And Namjoon, who had no filter, said, "We broke up." Something caught in his throat. "Can you break up if you weren't really together?"
Hoseok withdrew, hands sliding down Namjoon's neck, pushing at his shoulders before retreating entirely. Massage over. "Are--are you sure you weren't--?"
He shook his head. "We weren't. It was good enough--" I was good enough "--until it wasn't. And then it was just a way to relieve stress. An agreement."
In the mirror, Hoseok looked like he had a lot he wanted to say. A montage of emotions flashed across his features, until he just looked resigned. "I'm sorry," Hoseok said at last, meeting Namjoon's eyes in the mirror. "This shouldn't have happened."
"None of this should have happened," Namjoon agreed, and sighed.
After a silent, still moment, he felt two slender arms wrap around his shoulders. Hoseok smelled like sweat and faintly like citrus. He was leaning only part of his weight on Namjoon, though he was pressed close all the same. "You'll be okay."
Namjoon felt more petals fall from the withering blossom in his heart. "Thank you," he said simply, and leaned into Hoseok's lithe frame.
(Not Jin.)
Later, they would tell Namjoon that this had happened:
After the front door had shut behind Namjoon, the five of them convened in Jimin and Hoseok's room.
"Jin-hyung is so sad," Jungkook said quietly, twisting the hem of his shirt in his fingers. Behind him, Hoseok nodded. It had been Hoseok and Jungkook who had stayed with Jin the night after the award show and the argument.
"Namjoonie-hyung is too," Jimin replied. "He's been clingy, that's not like him."
"How do we fix it?" Jungkook suddenly looked fifteen again, homesick and scared.
"I don't know if we can," Yoongi said with a sigh. He sounded defeated. "I really didn't think it would end this way."
"You didn't?" Hoseok looked frustrated. "All those times we checked in on them, you thought it was just going to be rainbows and holding hands between takes on dalbang?" His mouth angled down.
"It seemed like it was going well," Jimin cut in, looking nervously between Hoseok and Yoongi. "They seemed so happy."
"Well, they aren't now," Taehyung said flatly. "They're actively miserable."
"So how do we fix it?" Jungkook asked, with heat in his voice. "If we broke it, then we fix it. House rules."
"That was about dishes and video game controllers," Hoseok protested. "Is it a good idea for us to get involved in their business?"
"If they can't get along at all, it's our business either way," Jimin said.
"It could affect the band," Taehyung agreed.
"It already is," Jungkook insisted. "We're here, aren't we?"
They were all quiet for a moment -- Jungkook was right.
"Well we can't just lock them in a closet until they agree to be friends again," Taehyung said, sounding exasperated.
"They're both staying in their private residences," Yoongi said suddenly, sounding thoughtful.
"Yes," Jimin confirmed. "In the South Tower."
Hoseok made the connection first. "You're serious? That k-drama shit?"
Yoongi grinned, the mischievous smile he seldom indulged in. (Next to him, Jimin looked like he'd had the lightbulb go off.) "Worth a shot."
"And if it backfires?"
Jimin broke in. "Then we deal with it. Together, after the Golden Disk Awards."
"Great, can you three explain what the hell you decided?" Jungkook looked unamused. On the floor, Taehyung looked skeptical.
The other three turned to them.
"Emergency stop," they said in unison, each wearing a different expression.
I'm sorry, hyung, but I left my phone charger at your place read Jimin's text.
Namjoon sighed as he pushed open the door to the tower lobby. Jimin was stuck at the office for a couple more hours and had asked Namjoon to drop off the charger in the dorm before Namjoon went to bed, which had meant Namjoon headed back to his place earlier than he usually did.
(Privately, he had to admit he appreciated Jimin respecting his space and not spooking him by sneaking in later.)
The elevator doors were sliding shut just as Namjoon rounded the corner to the bank. Maintenance signs on the other cars indicated there was only one in service. "Wait! Hold the doors!" He emotionally prepared himself for the single car to go up and come back down, leaving him loitering in the lobby for an eon, when the doors paused and slid back open.
"Ah, thank you so--" He froze.
Inside was Seokjin, also looking pale with surprise.
Namjoon snapped his mouth shut so sharply that his teeth clicked. "I'll wait," he said softly, his posture falling.
That seemed to snap Seokjin out of it. "Namjoon-ah," he said, an edge to his voice. "Just get in."
Aside from I just don't want to, Namjoon had no reason to refuse. Mustering his courage, he stepped inside, hands sliding inside the pockets of his coat. December in Seoul was cold, especially by the river.
They both watched the numbers in the digital display tick up, nearly a meter of space between them. The silence was thick and anticipatory, and Namjoon resisted the urge to fill it with small talk or to pull out his phone. It was a thirty-second elevator ride, it would be--
The car lurched and then suddenly came to a stop. The lights went out, leaving only the emergency lighting, dim and slightly orange.
"Shit," Namjoon said flatly.
Seokjin stepped forward and pressed the emergency call button. The staticky voice came over the intercom. "Yes?"
"Hello, there's two of us in one of the elevators in the South Tower, and the car suddenly stopped."
The voice on the other end sounded upset and explained there had been maintenance on the elevators today. The elevator repair tech had just left, and the operator would try to call them back. "Are either of you experiencing an emergency?"
Seokjin turned to Namjoon, who shook his head. "We're okay," he said, eyes still on Namjoon.
The operator promised to call and to keep them informed, and then the buzzy static cut off leaving them in silence, the only sound was the faint hum of the emergency lights. The elevator car creaked and a creeping unease started to make its way up Namjoon's spine. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then eased himself to the floor, back against the back of the car, and hugged his knees close.
"What are you doing?" Seokjin looked impossibly tall from this angle. It was almost novel. Namjoon almost smiled.
"It sounded like it would be a while," Namjoon said. "May as well rest while we can."
Just then, the intercom buzzed. "Hello?"
"Yes, we're here," Seokjin replied. He was shaking very slightly, almost imperceptible if not for the total stillness around him.
"The repair tech just got to Incheon but he's on his way back. It shouldn't be more than an hour or two. Is that ok?"
From his place, Namjoon nodded. Seokjin replied, "Yeah, we'll be okay."
The operator thanked them formally, and then cut off again.
Seokjin looked like he was at a loss.
"Hyung," Namjoon said quietly, too loud in the silence regardless. "Sit. Please."
After another moment's hesitation, Seokjin moved until he was a handspan away from Namjoon and then sat. There wasn't much space between them, but after all the weeks of touching, of all the years of physical proximity, any space felt like too much space.
It was another thing to mourn.
Swallowing a sigh, Namjoon pulled out his phone. "No service," he mumbled, swiping at it reflexively. There were a few unread KKT messages, including one from Jungkook and another from Jackson. Instagram indicated Wonpil and a few others had updated, as well. He dismissed the notifications and then tucked the phone back into his pocket, wrapping his arms around himself again.
He saw Seokjin move out of the corner of his eye, and figured he was checking his phone, too.
"No service, either," Seokjin murmured, and after a few flicks of his thumb, put it away.
There was a long stretch of silence. In the orangey light, Namjoon felt fatigue settle into his bones, and he tucked his head into his elbow--
"Stop that," Seokjin said sharply. "If you fall asleep and then the car falls? Then what?"
Namjoon rolled his eyes internally. "I'm sure it's just a false alarm or whatever. Besides, elevators have, like, emergency brakes to keep them from going into freefall."
"Okay, well, if I have to be awake, you have to be awake," Seokjin grumbled. "Hyung privileges."
"There's literally two of us, seriously, you're playing the hyung card?"
"It's my best card," Seokjin argued. Namjoon was looking right at him, at the color in his face and his eyes so incandescent even in poor lighting. "Of course I'm going to use it. Do you leave your black card at home and only admire it? No, you go shopping!"
Namjoon visibly rolled his eyes this time. "Come on, you know it doesn't work like that, Seokjin-ah--" He cut himself off with an abrupt inhale. The silence felt even more oppressive now. He looked at his knees, at the tips of his thumbs resting on his shins.
"This sucks," he thought. Wait, no, he'd thought it, but --
Seokjin cracked his neck carefully and then rested his head against the steel panel on the elevator wall. His eyes seemed to trace the blank ceiling, searching for something. "This really sucks," he repeated, closing his eyes.
Namjoon swallowed. "Just--being trapped in an elevator? Or being trapped here with--" With me?
"Neither," Seokjin replied, before Namjoon's thoughts could spiral. "I mean, this does suck, but I meant…" He opened his eyes and gestured in the space between them. "This. This sucks a lot."
"It does," Namjoon agreed at long last, the warp and weft of his denim yielding no better responses. He let out a gusty breath, and his shoulders relaxed, a force under his breastbone easing. "How do we fix it?" Namjoon knew how to build and how to break; he didn't know how to fix.
"I don't know," Seokjin said slowly, a leaden defeat in his voice that sank Namjoon's heart.
It was silent.
A tangible weight settled on Namjoon's shoulder: eucalyptus and a faded woodsy smell. Seokjin held himself still, as if anticipating Namjoon shrugging him off.
"Hyung?"
"I miss you," Seokjin said quietly, avoidance and explanation.
Namjoon felt something ugly bubble inside him. Seokjin missed a warm body, physical companionship, missed the thrill and triumph of taking Namjoon apart until he came--
"Not the sex," Seokjin continued, derailing Namjoon's inner monologue like he'd known what Namjoon was thinking. "I miss my best friend." He was quiet after that, like he wasn't sure what else to say.
And, as always, the only response Namjoon could give him was the truth. "I miss you, too."
The stiffness in Seokjin's body gave way, his posture growing more pliant. He leaned more of his weight into Namjoon. "Can we find a way back to that?"
"We can't go back," Namjoon chided gently, a kind of resignation in his voice. "We can't hit control-z on this."
"I don't want to undo it, I just--" He made a frustrated sound. "We can't go back, but right now we're not moving at all."
"That's because the elevator is stuck," Namjoon said flatly, biting back a smile.
"Hush," Seokjin scolded. "Puns later." He squeezed Namjoon's leg.
Namjoon swallowed, mirth bleeding out of him. "I know, hyung. I miss us."
"Yeah." Seokjin blew out a slow breath. "Can we try? To find a way to something like what we had before?"
He almost laughed; could he be just friends with Seokjin? When even now, after everything that had happened, each atom of his body seemed to reach for Jin? It hurt to be with him; it hurt to be away from him. And still, Namjoon was caught in his orbit: perihelion, and aphelion.
There was this, also: their relationship impacted more than just the two of them. There were five other people -- and orders of magnitude more -- who depended on them to be more than just civil with one another.
The car groaned loudly, the metal settling. It was starting to feel cold, or maybe that was Namjoon, shaking slightly. Except it wasn't him shaking; it was Seokjin, the faint tremor from earlier now a noticeable shiver. Without thinking too hard, Namjoon slid his hand into Seokjin's.
"Okay," he said at last, lacing their fingers. "We can try." He leaned onto Seokjin and exhaled.
(He wondered when this wouldn't feel like home anymore, and felt tired. Mourning was exhausting.)
They sat quietly like that, holding hands and leaning on each other, for some unmeasurable amount of time.
Then: the lights flickered and came back on. They both recoiled at the brightness, eyes having adjusted to the dimmed emergency bulbs. The speaker crackled and the stranger-voice asked if they were still there. They scrambled to their feet, Seokjin grasping Namjoon's hand tightly as he replied to the operator. With an ominous whoom sound, the elevator spun up and began to move, the display counting up once more.
Seokjin's floor was first. The doors slid open and he squeezed Namjoon's hand again before withdrawing, something beyond words -- beyond even Namjoon's expansive vocabulary -- in his expression. Their hands separated, fingertips brushing each other's palms and then, finally, separating.
"See you tomorrow," Seokjin said. "Thank you for your hard work."
"You too," Namjoon replied, rooted in place. Seokjin stepped out of the elevator, and the doors closed, but not before Namjoon saw him look back one more time. Namjoon's palm tingled, the ghost of Seokjin's touch lingering.
In his heart, the last of the bloom crumbled to dust.
I can't find your phone charger, Namjoon wrote, wandering through his private apartment like a ghost.
The response was near-instant. It was in the manager's van. Sorry to make you go all that way, hyung! You weren't searching long, were you?
No, I'm okay. Glad you found it, he replied, and sent a sticker of Ryan offering congratulations.
Eventually, this conversation would be relayed:
"And you're sure Kyung-bok won't tell the press or anything?" Hoseok looked extremely skeptical.
"Manager Minchul said Kyung-bok is his second-cousin by marriage, and that his mother loves Minchul-sshi more than him," Taehyung said. "He'll keep quiet, and Manager-nim thinks we just played prank on them."
"It worked, right?" Jungkook said, looking around at the others. "They're talking now. They held hands for like twenty minutes."
But Jimin looked uncertain. "I think so," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.
"Let's watch and see," Yoongi broke in, tone final.
Grimly, the others nodded.
The bloom withering away did not signal the end of Namjoon recovering from heartbreak. But all the shifts were small things.
Namjoon walked into the studio and if Seokjin was already there and caught his eye, they'd nod at each other. During downtime and planning meetings, they would acknowledge each other, make small-talk, sometimes even make puns and jokes. Not the way they used to, wordplay and puns building on each other, but more than they'd done in weeks.
Seokjin reached out during the choreo for DNA and Namjoon didn't look away or avoid his gaze. Sometimes, they even grinned at each other, the adrenaline overpowering everything else until it was just a giddy kind of joy between them.
They could brush past each other, share meals, even team up to tease Jimin, and the others seemed to lose a little of their tension with each interaction. It was good, it was better than it had been. It mattered.
And yet: Namjoon found himself trapped in minor keys and trap beats, in the kind of hip hop music that was more about raw honesty and confession than commercial success. One evening, he'd stared blankly at the loveseat in his studio for longer than he cared to admit, and then ran his hands over the MIDI keyboard until, many hours later, he had the outlines of a classic rock power ballad.
When he was done, he listened to it and tried not to imagine any voice singing the lyrics that were slowly coalescing. Namjoon pulled off his headphones and blinked away the burning in his contacts, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes.
When he collapsed in his bed, back in his private residence, exhaustion claimed him before dreams or regrets could.
Namjoon pulled the door to his studio shut behind him, listening for the lock to whir shut. It was earlier than he expected, still midafternoon. He slid his hands into his voluminous clothes and shuffled down the hall.
He paused briefly outside of one of the vocal closets, an unusual weight settling on his shoulders. Perhaps this was why he'd never brought his exes to the office to fool around, visitor badge aside. Now, each time he passed the little practice rooms, or the empty office on the floor below, or even just sat at his desk, the memory of stolen moments replayed. Everywhere -- his office, his studio, his dorm room -- felt tainted by the ecstasy and, now, the agony.
From the far room, used mostly for video chatting, emerged Jimin. "Hyung!" he called, when he spotted Namjoon. "I was just about to go looking for you."
Namjoon pointed at himself. "Me? How come?"
"I wanted to go for a bike ride today and thought maybe you'd want to come with me."
Without question, Namjoon was suspicious. But Jimin simply smiled patiently, cheeks round and eyes narrowing into dark lines.
"Sure," Namjoon said at last. Jimin almost seemed to sparkle. "That sounds fun."
"Great!" Jimin clapped his hands together. "The car is waiting downstairs."
"W-wait, you meant right now--"
"Do you have anything else to do?" Jimin was tugging Namjoon by the arm down the hall, to the elevator bank. He pressed the call button.
"Well, no, but--"
"Great, so let's go before the sun sets!"
"Jimin-ssi," Namjoon said sharply. Jimin froze, and Namjoon laughed at the absurdity of his day. "I need my puffer coat."
Jimin pressed a hand to his face. "Oh, right!"
By the time they made it to the Han River park, the sun was starting to tip towards the horizon, and the shadows were long and spindly in the weak light. The lamp posts along the greenway were flickering on, and the crowd was thinning out.
Despite it being a cheap Ddareungi bicycle, Namjoon found the weight that had been on his shoulders for days and days -- settling in during meetings, between schedules, every time he walked that one hallway -- lifting. Something bubbled in his chest until he couldn't hold it in anymore: a delighted laugh, bright and loud in the dusky twilight.
Jimin, who had been filming him, laughed too, and it felt like a heating pad held against his chest. "Namjoonie-hyung!" he called, wobbling the bike a little as he put his phone away. "Are you having a good time?"
Namjoon let out a whoop. "Race you to the dock," he said, and without preamble, hopped his bike and set off.
By the time they returned the bikes to their station, Namjoon's heart rate had finally returned to rest. His ears were cold, as were his hands and the tip of his nose. Under his coat and hoodie, he was a little uncomfortably sweaty.
Jimin, pink and bright-eyed, looked at Namjoon. "Let's get jeongol," he suggested.
Namjoon dithered. "I dunno, I should go back, keep working on my lyrics--" At that moment, his stomach growled loudly, and he realized he hadn't had much to eat beyond coffees and a plate of kimbap at lunch.
Jimin raised an eyebrow.
Namjoon sighed. "Okay, hot pot it is."
The restaurant was nice -- nice enough that they were able to get a private room, and even have the staff do most of the cooking for them. He and Jimin chatted about inconsequential things: the drama Jimin was looking forward to watching, the new album Namjoon was listening to, where their friends were traveling. The restaurant staff eventually finished setting up the pot and the charcoal embers. With a polite bow, the server left the room.
They'd opted for sinseollo, royal hot pot, and the vessel it came in reminded Namjoon of an old memory: him, as a child, studying the pot in fascination as the flames shone from the center. Jimin was taking a photo of how the chefs had arranged the vegetables and meat as the pot simmered. There were at least a dozen bowls of banchan as well, plus settings for him and Jimin.
"Hyung, it feels like I don't get to talk to you much these days," Jimin complained, setting his phone aside and watching the broth simmer.
Namjoon scoffed. "Jimin-ah, we see each other for many hours each day. You hang out with me in my home after work."
"Sure," Jimin agreed easily, "but it's not the same."
Namjoon hummed noncommittally and watched the bubbles. "I guess I've been distracted lately," he said slowly. "There's been a lot going on."
Jimin seemed to consider something. "You and Seokjin-hyung seem better," he said, affecting a directness that was unlike him.
It likely had the desired effect, as Namjoon choked a little on his barley tea.
Jimin smiled wickedly and ate some pickled radish. "Hyung," he said, chewing between words. "I haven't really asked but you know we all saw the fight you two had, right?" He frowned. "I'm worried about you. It looked like you broke--like you were the one who made the choice for things to end, but you've been…" He trailed off and gestured at Namjoon. "Like this."
Namjoon patted at his mouth with his napkin, then pushed the tea aside. "Things were always going to end," Namjoon said, only the slightest bitterness in his voice. "I just moved the timeline up a bit."
At that, Jimin looked a bit defeated. "Always going to end?"
Namjoon thought of him and Seokjin saying next time to each other, and a feeling of mourning surfaced, blocking out any light their bike ride had brought into his heart. "The only thing we were ever going to be was temporary," Namjoon said, contemplating the dishes without seeing him. The flame in the middle of the sinseollo pot burned more red now, not as high or as blue as it had been. "We all knew that part."
Jimin's expression was closed, something hard to read in his face. "Are you managing? In the after."
He reached for the barley tea again. "Every day is a little easier," he said, and found it to be true. The mourning feeling dispersed, and he felt the joy of biking at top speed, the cold air moving through his hair and his clothes. It had made him feel alive in a way he thought he'd forgotten.
Jimin delicately ate half a pajeon, chewing thoughtfully. Namjoon had a sudden memory of Jimin eating a turkey leg at an amusement park in the US, cheeks full and barbeque sauce on his mouth. He hid his smile and pulled the small dolsot of soondubu towards him.
"I guess," Jimin said after a while, chopsticks at a thoughtful angle. "I was worried about you not feeling like you could say stop, and I didn't think about what would happen when you did."
"I'm--" He felt, suddenly, a willingness to be honest, even though it wasn't dark in this room. Jimin made the honesty easy. "I am doing better," he said carefully, ignoring Jimin's unspoken question. "And, you're helping. You've helped a lot. Today's bike ride -- I really needed that, and I didn't realize. Thank you for inviting me."
The flame in the sinseollo brazier died out. Jimin reached for the ladle and Namjoon's golden bowl, matching his golden flatware and the banchan service. He served Namjoon a portion, making sure to include a meatball and a walnut along with some broth, and set the bowl carefully in front of Namjoon.
"Thank you," Jimin said, with a wicked gleam in his eye, "for the meal, hyung."
Namjoon sputtered in impotent protest -- but later, he did pay for their meal, though Jimin paid for their boong-ah-bbang from the only slightly starstruck street vendor on their way to the car their manager was keeping warm for them. And even later, he let Jimin fall asleep on his shoulder while Namjoon did English exercises on his tablet, the two of them in pajamas while the smart speaker worked through a playlist on shuffle.
He smiled at Jimin and carefully shifted so that Jimin's neck wouldn't get strained, and then kept going through the lesson and the reading exercise.
(Not Jin.)
The timing had to have been on purpose.
The day had been taxing -- the New Year celebrations with his family were always exhausting, even though they were more subdued than the Lunar New Year rituals -- and Namjoon had barely hung up the garment bag with his suit when the doorbell sounded.
It was Taehyung and Jungkook.
"Hyung," Taehyung said, his face looking unusually austere, even given his resting neutral expression's sternness. "We need you to come with us." There was an undercurrent to his demeanor that Namjoon couldn't read.
Namjoon glanced at the clock on the dining room wall. "Taehyung-ah, it's really late, can't this wait--"
Jungkook, hair combed forward as if for bedtime and wearing a sweatshirt two sizes too large for him, cut in: "Please, Namjoon-hyung?"
He had no ability to deny them, even less so now while he was tired and emotionally wrung out on all sides. "Okay," he said, with a heavy sigh. "Just--let me change, okay?"
They drove, taking Jungkook's SUV, Taehyung in the passenger seat playing DJ and navigator both. Namjoon let the soft jazz music wash over him, the streetlamps flashing past, growing yellower and more infrequent as they kept driving. The drive went on, the two in front quiet, the music giving everything a dreamy quality.
Outside, the city had given way to more sparse urban development. After a while, even that ambient light dimmed, until they were in the countryside, the periodic street lamps not enough to fully pierce the heavy curtain of night.
At last the car slowed and turned off the main road, following a gravel road around a copse of trees until an opening appeared, and Jungkook parked the car. He cut the engine and the headlights.
Everything was black and grey in the scant light.
There was a rustling sound, and then a very dim, orangey glow emanated from a camper's lantern that Taehung held in his hands. "Shall we?" he asked quietly, and pulled open the door.
Outside, it was bitterly cold. Without the tall buildings or the subway, the air had no heat to it at all. Even in his warmest parka, Namjoon shivered and swore it was so quiet that he could hear his bones chatter.
Taehyung led the way, the lamp almost blindingly bright in the dark. To his left walked Jungkook, holding blankets he'd pulled out of the trunk.
"Don't worry, hyung," Jungkook said softly, like Namjoon's skepticism was loud enough to be heard. "We know what we're doing."
The copse of trees suddenly opened up, and there was a clearing. The trees were variegated grays, but above them the sky was enormous and infinite, more stars than Namjoon was used to seeing in the city. Not as many as he'd seen in New Zealand, but that was something exceptional.
At some point, Taehyung had gotten ahead and found a spot to lay out. In the meager light, he looked almost otherworldly, like someone who didn't belong amongst mortals. Then, he moved and gestured to Jungkook to come into the ring of light, and the illusion dissipated.
The two of them swiftly made what could only be termed a nest: there was a picnic blanket that went down first, plastic tarp side down, then several blankets, then three thick pads that Jungkook plugged into portable batteries, and last a couple more blankets. When they were done, they looked at Namjoon expectantly.
As he laid down, he had to admit: it was surprisingly comfortable. The grass was crunchy from being partly ice, but the layers kept the wet and the prickle away. He was pleasantly surprised to find, when he laid back, that the thick pad was a heating mat.
"You two really planned this out, huh," Namjoon murmured, pulling his hood up and laying his head down. He heard the lantern click off, felt the other two settle in on either side of him, and opened his eyes.
"How much longer?" Jungkook asked, shifting to get comfortable.
"Not too much," Taehyung replied, sounding relaxed already. "Enough time for our eyes to adjust." He hummed. "Namjoonie-hyung, what constellations do you know?"
In spite of the cold and his exhaustion, Namjoon smiled. "Well, that's the Big Dipper--"
"Thank you, yes," Taehyung replied dryly.
Namjoon laughed quietly. "Western, or Korean ones? The Western ones are a little easier." He pointed. "Ursa major, the large bear. Ursa minor, the small bear."
"That one's Rapmon-hyung," Jungkook muttered. On the other side, Taehyung stifled a laugh.
"Then who's the big bear?" Namjoon asked, genuinely curious.
"Ryan," Taehyung said tonelessly, causing Jungkook to chuckle quietly.
Namjoon snickered. "Okay, okay." He pointed slightly to the side. "That's Draco--"
"Malfoy?" Jungkook asked, all fake innocence.
"Now I know you're trolling," Namjoon complained. He traced the line of stars and the big curve they made. "Serpent's tail," he explained. He moved his hand. "Polaris. North star. In Korea, that's the heavenly emperor, and all the stars around him are palace residents. Go out far enough," he explained, moving his hands apart and spreading his fingers. "And you find the marketplace of the gods, and then the realm of the four cardinal guardians." He let his hands, now chilled, fall back down, and tucked them into his pockets. "It's kind of amazing. Our ancestors believed that everything -- past, present, future, known and unknown -- was in the sky." Namjoon traced the diagonal of the Milky Way with his eyes.
"Maybe they were onto something," Jungkook replied, something more serious in his voice.
They watched the sky in silence, their eyes adjusting to the dark until more and more stars seemed to appear, faint pinpricks in the firmament.
Then: a streak of light in the air.
Namjoon gasped. "Was that--"
"It's starting," Taehyung said, and slid his hand into Namjoon's pocket, lacing their fingers together. On the other side, Jungkook did the same.
More streaks appeared, and then suddenly there were more than Namjoon could count, light trails appearing and fading as the earth turned.
"We wanted to bring you on the night the meteor shower peaks," Taehyung said, sounding put-out. "But we have schedules, so we couldn't. Maybe next year, though."
"This is amazing," Namjoon breathed, hearing the wonder in his own voice.
"You're going to be okay, hyung," Taehyung said, after a moment. "Right now, you're like the flash of light, the meteorite that fell. But you'll fade out and have a second chance. It'll just take time. Maybe a year, maybe more."
"Things will peak," Jungkook agreed. "And you'll make it through, and we'll be with you and waiting for you."
Namjoon, suddenly feeling infinitely tiny in the face of the universe, in the face of how much he was loved by these two, blinked back tears. "I love you," he said, in lieu of anything else, and they squeezed his hands in understanding.
When the meteor shower abated somewhat, the other two pulled their hands away, instead leaning bodily into Namjoon.
"We can stay a while, if you want," Jungkook said softly.
The three stars of Orion's belt glittered in the sky. "We should go," Namjoon sighed, taking responsibility and once more donning the heavy mantle of leader.
By the low light of the lantern, they rolled up the blankets and unplugged the heating pads, tossing everything haphazardly into the trunk. Namjoon clambered into the back seat, while Jungkook and Taehyung took the front.
"Do you want to pick the music for our drive back?" Taehyung held out his phone, while Jungkook carefully pulled out of the makeshift parking lot and followed the gravel path back to the main road.
Namjoon shook his head. "I like your taste," Namjoon said, hoping he wouldn't come to regret it.
He didn't; Taehyung played a lo-fi and chillhop mix, navigating Jungkook back onto the main road and then back into Seoul. The closer they got to the city, the fewer stars and the more street lights there were, until the sky was once more the deep blue-black tinged with light pollution that Namjoon had come to know well over the last decade or so.
The ambient light had brightened along with something in him that he hadn't realized had dimmed in the wake of everything. He felt brighter than he had in a long time, in a way that felt like it would last beyond this night, this car, this moment. Like a falling star, suddenly he realized: this, too, was self-love, picking oneself up after heartbreak.
"If we do this again," Jungkook said, while they waited at a red light, "we should make Taehyung-ssi drive so that Namjoon and I can share soju."
Taehyung, who had turned to get something from the back seat, made a face at the mention of soju. "Gross, all alcohol is bad."
It wasn't that funny, but Namjoon couldn't help but laugh. And if some chuckles were a little wet, the other two were kind enough not to mention it.
After a while, Jungkook pulled into the circular driveway of the South Tower.
Taehyung turned in his seat. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with us? We can watch a documentary about space in Jungkook's room."
"I saw some of that beer you like in the fridge," Jungkook added.
But Namjoon shook his head. "Rain check," he said, reaching out to ruffle both of their hairstyles. Taehyung smiled his boxy smile, ducking his head. "It's just been a long day, and I need some time to recharge."
The other two nodded.
"But," Namjoon added, trying to look both of them in the eye at once and going a little cross-eyed. "Thanks. For having me come with you. I enjoyed this."
Jungkook waved, small and cute, blushing slightly. "See you tomorrow, Rapmon-hyung."
Namjoon smiled.
"Good night, Namjoonie-hyung," Taehyung echoed.
Later that night, Namjoon heard his phone chime. It was a message from Taehyung to him. Attached was a photo of Namjoon in the car, looking out the window, chin propped on his hand. The shadows gave the picture an unexpected depth.
Something to remember tonight by,, he added in a follow-up text, and Namjoon smiled at his phone, pressed a hand to his chest.
I am loved, he thought, locking his phone and turning off his lamp. The proof of that love -- and so much more -- was clasped loosely in his hand.
The day after the Golden Disk Awards, there was a knock. "Namjoon-ah."
It wasn't like Yoongi to visit him in the Rkive; he generally requested they work in the Genius Lab. Yoongi preferred his speaker placement and insisted that he'd calculated the location of the foci to be exactly where he was seated. Namjoon mostly didn't feel like fighting Yoongi on things he could let slide.
"Hyung," Namjoon greeted, pulling his headphones off the rest of the way. He was listening to that popular lo-fi channel and watching a nature documentary while waiting for the right word to come to him for lyrics. He would have been embarrassed to be caught daydreaming, except he'd caught Yoongi watching time-lapse blueprint process videos for similar reasons in the past.
"You got a few?" Yoongi pulled the door shut behind him, blocking out the sound of the TXT kids discussing their livestream they had just wrapped. Not for the first time, Namjoon tried to remember a time he wasn't tired.
"For you, hyung, I have two," Namjoon replied with a smile, turning off the video and the music. "What's up?"
Yoongi hummed and sat on the loveseat. Namjoon knew it was a trick of the angles, but the sofa made Yoongi look unexpectedly small, dwarfed by the furniture. It was, Namjoon could admit to himself privately, cute.
After a long moment -- during which Namjoon considered taking a photo -- Yoongi finally spoke. "Can you pull up some files?"
Namjoon pushed himself back and rotated. "Sure."
"The song you made in October. The three November ones," Yoongi dictated. Namjoon heard him unlock his phone. "And...the recent two."
A chill settled over Namjoon. "Hyung."
"Just play them, in order," Yoongi said, his voice calm.
So Namjoon did: the October track that Jin had hummed into his phone; the R&B track from November with the moody synth bass, that screamed of anticipation and longing; the jazzy piece that Yoongi had altered, as surprising and layered as Seokjin himself; the dance track with the disco beat, the joining and parting of the audio channels creating tension in the sound. Then came the December songs: the trap beat and the minor key melody, begging for a spoken-word soliloquy or a melody to loop in. Either way, a confession. And last, the trot-influenced power ballad, a mournful undertone to the whole thing.
After the last track finished, the silence fell between them. Namjoon had his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, head pressed against the headrest of his chair.
"Some of that is about Jin-hyung," Yoongi said at last, his voice no-nonsense. Namjoon couldn't bring himself to look at Yoongi. "But most of that," Yoongi continued, "is about you."
"I had complicated feelings about us hooking up," Namjoon said, voice neutral. "Now I don't."
"That's true, you don't," Yoongi agreed easily. "So what do you have?"
An empty bed, Namjoon's mind replied first. "Complicated feelings about lunch," he said, voice a little flat.
"Same," Yoongi replied. "Namjoon-ah."
At last, Namjoon looked at Yoongi, trepidation likely writ large on his face.
Yoongi's expression turned gentle. "It's not like you to avoid your feelings."
"I'm not," Namjoon replied honestly. He wasn't avoiding his feelings; his broken heart would just need time. "I know how I feel."
"Humor your hyung," Yoongi said, after a beat of consideration. "Tell me how you feel."
This was the bright light of day; the honesty didn't come as naturally here.
"I don't think--"
"You can," Yoongi cut in, something fierce in his voice for a moment. "You've always been brave," he added, softer. He stood abruptly and looked on Namjoon's desk until he found what he was looking for: the Koya notebook. He set it on the coffee table and sat back down, watching Namjoon's face.
Namjoon felt something in him tip over. "Maybe I've earned the cowardice this time," he said, voice shaking. The familiar prickle of tears built behind his eyes.
"Maybe." Yoongi waited patiently, his gaze steady.
Namjoon pulled his hands out of the kangaroo pocket, tugging his sleeves over his fingers. He balled his hands into fists, the cuffs crushed in his palms.
"I'm in love with him." Something unspooled in his chest.
"And?" There was something patient, expectant in Yoongi's face.
Namjoon scoffed. "What and? Oh, Seokjin-hyung loves me, but he loves all of us, just as we all love each other. He's not--he's not in love with me." Namjoon's voice had gotten progressively louder. He consciously lowered his volume, eyes drifting to the sleeping Koya, to all the lyrics he remembered writing inside. "I was just--just someone he settled for."
Yoongi's mouth turned down at the corners. "He said that?"
"You heard him," Namjoon said, tired suddenly. "At MAMAs. Never settle for less than what you've always wanted." He could recite it unerringly, and he shook his head to shake off the grief before it could settle. "We were always temporary. I knew that, and I forgot it. Now I have to figure out what happens next."
"You don't have to figure it out alone," Yoongi pointed out, and patted the seat next to him. Namjoon slowly uncurled his hands, then walked around the coffee table to sit next to Yoongi -- who used an unexpected strength to move them both so that Namjoon was embraced by his longest-running cohabitant, the first member chosen after himself.
"I know, hyung," Namjoon replied, after they'd settled in. Carefully, he picked up one of Yoongi's hands and laced their fingers. "But I think it's better if I find my own way," Namjoon finished, sighing.
"I want to fix it for you," Yoongi admitted, after a long silence. "I don't like seeing you -- either of you -- like this."
Namjoon blinked rapidly, mouth twisting down. "Time heals all wounds," he said slowly, voice growing thick with unshed tears. "This, too, shall pass."
"This, too, shall pass," Yoongi echoed back, and then there was nothing else left to say.
That night, Jimin had stopped by with Taehyung and Jungkook and Thai take-out and a warm smile that Namjoon couldn't deny. He'd let them in, and Jungkook had revealed that he'd brought along a loud, unchallenging movie to watch and would Rapmon-hyung like to watch it with them? So he had acquiesced to a movie night in his apartment, and the three of them had cuddled Namjoon a little more aggressively than he needed.
After they left: Namjoon had tidied up the living room and washed all the dishes and wiped down all the surfaces, had set out his outfit for the next day and made a list of chores he wanted to do over the weekend, checked his three email accounts and even scrolled through his private Instagram.
There was nothing left to procrastinate with.
Sighing, he picked up the Koya notebook from his desk and sprawled out on his bed, the humidifier on high and him stripped down to his underwear for bedtime. After Yoongi had left the studio, Namjoon had given up on new lyrics and, instead, taken the notebook back home. He'd tried to avoid reading it, but as Yoongi had pointed out earlier, cowardice wasn't really his style.
The first few days weren't as mortifying as he'd anticipated; with the gift of hindsight, the naivete of someone who didn't know what was to come (spoiler alert: it was Namjoon who would come -- he laughed quietly to himself at the joke) was writ large on every page.
But as the book went on, Namjoon felt still-vivid memories resurface, phantom touches spurred by his memory and imagination starting to stoke what he'd thought was a banked fire. At the same time, his heart grew heavy; here, in cross-outs and convoluted metaphors, hiding in plain sight, was the obvious path he'd taken to falling in love.
What was it he had thought, weeks ago? All he'd ever really needed to be in love with Kim Seokjin was a push.
He flipped over the last page, blood running hot, knowing what it would say: the reality of you will be my undoing. A realization too late, an inevitable path. Namjoon couldn't have fulfilled his own narrative any better if he'd been the main character of a novel.
With a sigh, he snapped the notebook shut and tossed it into the drawer of one nightstand, covering up loose condoms and adhesive bandages. Isn't that a metaphor, he thought wryly to himself, shutting the drawer and snapping the light off.
How am I so smart and so ignorant, Namjoon asked himself rhetorically. He heard Seokjin ask him almost the same question, weeks ago, in his memory, and rolled over to shake the thought loose like so many autumn leaves.
The calendar event read, "Members Meeting" and had the location as the dorm.
Namjoon hadn't remembered accepting this -- in fact, as the leader, he'd kind of assumed that member meetings were part of his purview? -- but he dutifully made his way back home for it, the company car dropping him off in front of the building. As he rode the elevator up, he adjusted his cuffs and wondered idly if he should take this opportunity to move more of his things to his private residence.
Inside the dorm, Namjoon took off his shoes in the entryway and switched to his slippers. The place was oddly quiet given that there was going to be a group meeting; Namjoon was accustomed to them being a bit raucous even when things were serious. He stepped through the hall, past the coat closet, into the living room. The other five were there already, huddled together.
"Hey?"
The five of them snapped to attention, looking a little guilty.
"Namjoon-ah," Yoongi said, recovering first. "Take a seat. We're just going over our notes." The other four nodded, like bobble heads.
Namjoon wanted to be suspicious, but he figured this was what the meeting was about, so instead he made his way to the far chair and sat. He had a suspicion this meeting was also about him -- him and Seokjin, rather -- but he wasn't sure what it would accomplish. They were cordial, friendly almost, and able to be in the same room together without it being uncomfortable for all involved. It would get better, but it would take time. It was almost the Lunar New Year; only a couple weeks had passed since they'd declared a detente in the elevator.
The others returned to their huddle, a meter away, and Namjoon pulled out his phone. There were always emails to respond to.
A few moments later, the front door opened and closed. Awareness fell over Namjoon, like walking into a near-invisible cobweb. There was Seokjin, layered up and looking hesitant. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Namjoon wanted to place his palms on Seokjin's cheeks, wanted to breathe in the cold air on his skin.
Namjoon stayed still.
The others saw Seokjin and ushered him into a seat, almost directly across from Namjoon. The circle filled itself out, the others taking chairs and looking at each other nervously. Seokjin avoided looking at Namjoon, and Namjoon felt something inside him sink. Things were still like this. Namjoon slipped his phone into his pocket and sat up straighter.
Jimin cleared his throat, and the others stilled. "We," he said, gesturing at the five of them, "owe you two an apology."
Namjoon was suddenly rooted in place.
"We're the ones who pushed you two to hook up the first time," Jimin said, looking back and forth between Namjoon and Seokjin. "I feel like all of this, what's happened between you two, is our fault." His eyes grew teary. "We were bad friends to you, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
"We're all sorry," Hoseok cut in. "We interfered where we shouldn't have. We were wrong."
"The last thing we wanted," Taehyung added, his expression drawn, "was to destroy your friendship. We had no idea you were both on such different pages."
"We promise to do what we can to help you both repair your relationship." Jungkook was pale, eyes large in his face, looking back and forth between them.
Silently, Yoongi nodded, and Namjoon knew Yoongi had kept his confidence.
That gave Namjoon courage. "You all didn't ruin anything," Namjoon said quietly. "We did that to ourselves."
Jimin looked upset. "But if we hadn't--"
"We could have quit," Namjoon said. "That's what Seokjin-hyung and I said to each other, that first day: we can stop at any time." He chanced a look at Seokjin.
The eldest was looking at him, expression blank and eyes glittering. "We didn't stop," Seokjin said quietly.
"We didn't." Namjoon sighed and looked away. "Maybe we should have."
Someone inhaled sharply.
"It's not you all's fault," Namjoon said firmly. "You didn't intend for any of this. You didn't make us do anything we--" His voice caught. "That I didn't want to do. If anything I'm the one who started it. The fault is between us."
"Rapmon-hyung--" Jungkook murmured, but was cut off.
"I'm the one who should apologize." Namjoon looked up at Seokjin, and his eyes filled with tears. "Jin-hyung, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. I'm sorry you had to settle. And I'm sorry that I am burdening you with my feelings, but what else am I supposed to do?" He swiped at his eyes, at his cheeks. The tears left dark spots on the sleeve of his hoodie. "I'm in love with you, and everything is ruined."
Across the circle Seokjin stood, and Namjoon felt his heart break anew. Here, Jin would walk out, and it would be what Namjoon deserved. He sniffled, and clutched his sleeves, bracing himself for the grief.
He should have known that Seokjin would surprise him: instead of walking out, Seokjin walked across the gap, crossing the space in long strides, before tipping Namjoon's face up and kissing him. Namjoon heard a gasp, and then his senses were Jin and only Jin: the long-missed press of his mouth, the fragile weight of his hand, the dry scent of wintry air that clung to his clothes. After a moment's hesitation, Namjoon kissed back, salt giving way to wonder.
Seokjin pulled back and brushed away Namjoon's tears with his fingers. "I already told you I love you. But, I'll tell you again, I guess." He smiled, the small round-cheeked smile that Namjoon knew to be his true one, not for the cameras, and Namjoon couldn't prevent himself from broadly smiling back.
A loud sob broke through the bubble. Behind Jin, Jimin was crying, Taehyung too. Hoseok and Jungkook were trying to comfort them despite a telltale wetness in their own eyes.
And: Yoongi was beaming, gummy grin out in force and dominating his face. He gestured for them to go, and for the first time in weeks -- in months -- Namjoon knew he and Seokjin were on the same page.
Seokjin tugged at Namjoon, compelling him to his feet, and then took his hand in his. Together, they shuffled out of the shared unit after changing shoes, padding through hallways and across a skyway, until they were in front of the door to Seokjin's private residence. Namjoon had haphazardly wiped his face with his sleeve as they'd walked, but now Seokjin reached up and brushed away the last of his tears with the pads of his thumbs.
"Do you," he said softly, rubbing at Namjoon's lower lid where his eyebags would be, "want to come inside?" He cupped Namjoon's face in his hands.
Namjoon smiled and pressed his hands over Jin's. "Yes."
Inside, they kicked off their shoes and made their way towards the back, where the bedrooms were. Seokjin's unit was a two bedroom layout, and halfway down the hall Namjoon paused and planted his feet, causing Seokjin to falter. "Nam--?"
Namjoon kissed him, sweet and gradual, with an attentiveness he hadn't been able to manage earlier. Seokjin relaxed and let Namjoon lead it, his hands coming up to rest on Namjoon's waist. Namjoon slid his hands over Jin's shoulders, fingers skating across the nylon of the padded jacket.
They broke apart for air, and Seokjin pulled at Namjoon until they were standing in his bedroom: all white and natural wood, minimalist in the way rarely-used spaces were.
Namjoon reached out and slowly lowered the zipper of Seokjin's coat. "When did you tell me? I don't--"
"On the plane to Los Angeles," Seokjin replied, shrugging the puffer coat off when the zipper was undone.
"I didn't--I had no--" What could Namjoon say?
"Yeah, clearly," Seokjin cut in, a faintly amused tilt to his mouth. He reached back and pulled off the heavy sweater -- the sweater, Namjoon realized, that had been Namjoon's actual birthday gift to Seokjin -- leaving him in jeans and an undershirt. "I thought you'd heard me. You said, same, me too and I -- I thought…" He trailed off.
Namjoon tugged his arms out of his hoodie. "I thought you were saying it was good. That, like, what we were doing--" He paused to pull off the sweatshirt, cheeks heating. "What we were doing felt good," he finished, tossing the garment aside carelessly.
"We're idiots," Seokjin stated flatly, and reached for Namjoon's belt. There was something hungry in his expression
"Idiots in love," Namjoon agreed.
The compulsion to have nothing between them -- not secrets or misunderstandings or even clothes -- grew stronger, almost consuming. Namjoon walked backwards until his knees hit the bed and he fell back onto the mattress, Seokjin following him with a laugh.
"Trust the lyricist of our generation to sum things up so neatly." He pressed a kiss to Namjoon's neck as he lowered the zipper of Namjoon's fly.
Namjoon sighed and slid his hands under Seokjin's shirt.
"How's this for pithy: I'll be your two-meter RJ if you'll be my two-meter Ryan."
Seokjin smothered a laugh in Namjoon's skin. (The bloom in Namjoon's heart revived, germinating exponentially fast at the sound, a riot of color.) "I'll wear orange pajamas only if you wear the white ones." With a tug, Seokjin pulled Namjoon's pants off.
Namjoon, in turn, divested Seokjin of his shirt. "How about no pajamas then?"
"Cheesy," Seokjin scolded, kicking off his jeans and socks.
Namjoon looked pointedly up and down Jin's body. "It's working."
Seokjin rolled his eyes and crawled over him. "You are working."
"Now who's cheesy?"
A thin hand squeezed Namjoon through his briefs.
Namjoon gasped.
"It's working," Seokjin teased, and bent down to kiss him.
Later, after they were both sated and sweaty, Seokjin came back to the bed and slid under the covers. The late-afternoon winter sun cast long shadows across the room. They were both on their sides, facing each other.
"That was pretty good," Namjoon said, not above teasing his hyung. He couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face, not that he tried.
As he'd hoped, Seokjin puffed up and smacked his shoulder. "Pretty good, yah, you're the one who was begging hyung--"
His face warmed. "I was begging so shamelessly, ah, what to do."
Seokjin pulled him closer. "I don't mind you being shameless, baby," he said, eyes locked with Namjoon's until the last word. Namjoon was kissed, a careful press of mouths unlike the heady drawn-out kisses of earlier.
"How about needy? Demanding?"
But Seokjin's expression didn't waver. "You're in control. I meant that, you know. I want to give you what you want." They kissed again. There was something sweeter here, now, a different kind of ache; Namjoon finally recognized it as being longed for, even as he longed still for Seokjin, warm and heavy in his embrace. He was not just an object caught in Jin's gravitational pull, but rather a satellite: a counterbalance, a dyad.
"Ah, hyung," Namjoon sighed, eyes still closed and suddenly drunk on power. "I guess I'll keep you," he said lightly. The backs of his fingers brushed over Seokjin's abdomen, and the muscles there fluttered under his touch.
Seokjin's hands cupped Namjoon's face. He opened his eyes and Seokjin was watching him, a heart-stopping quality to his expression. "You dummy," he said, no heat to his words. "You already have me. You've had me this whole time."
His stomach did that swooping thing it liked to do around Jin sometimes. "Seokjin-ah," Namjoon said, voice full of emotion, and Seokjin's smile widened. "When did you know?"
Seokjin hummed, tracing the lines of Namjoon's brow. "I'd been attracted to you for a while," he said slowly. "I knew I loved you by the time we were in Japan." He brushed a thumb over Namjoon's chin. "You?"
"I knew it was love in November," Namjoon replied. "I'm not sure when I first felt attracted to you."
His hyung -- his boyfriend, oh shit -- scoffed. "When you were nineteen," he said flatly.
Namjoon's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"
"I went to an all-boys school," Jin said. "I know what it looks like when an underclassman has a crush on me." He poked Namjoon's cheek, right where the dimple would be. "I gave you the soft no back then, because I wasn't interested."
"But things changed," Namjoon finished, smiling. Seokjin's finger fell into the dimple: bullseye.
"Things changed," Seokjin echoed, and scooted a little closer.
Namjoon swallowed. "Seokjin-ah. Say it again?"
Seokjin's eyes were warm, alight with that same emotion Namjoon had seen in them for months -- the emotion he now waited for Seokjin to name. "Will you say it back?"
Namjoon affected Hoseok's accent. "Always."
Seokjin firmly poked Namjoon in his side. "Yah!"
Namjoon caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the fingertips, rubbed a thumb across Seokjin's palm.
Seokjin's expression softened. "Ah. Namjoon-ah, I love you."
Namjoon's heart strained in his chest, reaching for its sun. "I love you, too."