Archive of Our Own ^beta

Seokjin has an awful headache, and it’s only—he steals a quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall of his classroom—11:15 AM.

He had split his students into groups of four to work on their literature projects, but even half-listening to their conversations, he can tell they’ve gotten severely distracted. The throbbing in his head is making it hard to focus on his job right now though, so he decides to graciously give them another 5 minutes before intervening to steer them back on track.

The random topics his students are talking about are faintly processing in his mind: video games, going shopping, complaining about this very project (which Seokjin takes deep offense at), until— 

“Hey, have you heard RM’s new single?” one of his students—Dahee, was it?—asks her friend. It’s the beginning of the year; he’s still getting their names down. Seokjin’s ears perk up unconsciously at the mention of RM, though. Of Namjoon. A name he’s all too familiar with, yet hasn’t heard in a very long time.

“You know I’m not into hip hop,” her friend, who Seokjin is pretty sure is Hyojung, replies. She’s staring out the window while looking absolutely exhausted, and Seokjin can relate.

“I told you he doesn’t do hip hop anymore! At least not as much,” Dahee pouts. “Besides, this is a breakup song, and it’s more indie than anything. You love indie, Hyejung-ah.”

Hyejung. Seokjin was close. And—a breakup song? Seokjin didn’t know Namjoon was seeing anybody recently. 

Not that he kept up with news about him.

“An indie track?” Hyejung seems slightly more intrigued. “Alright, I guess I’ll check it out.”

“Yes!” Dahee squeals loudly, startling Seokjin.

He’s never understood the amount of enthusiasm people have for music artists. Of course, Seokjin has his favorites and he respects the art they create, but it’s always weird to see the sheer dedication people have towards… strangers, essentially. It’s even weirder in this context, when the artist in question isn’t a stranger to Seokjin at all.

In fact, he was the furthest thing from it, at one point. 

Seokjin’s head pounds as he forcefully pushes the thought out of his mind.

Meanwhile, Dahee continues rambling enthusiastically about the song to Hyejung: “This has to be his best single yet. You’ll definitely love his music after you listen to this one, just watch.”

And Seokjin, who had never brought himself to listen to Namjoon’s songs after they’d split up, couldn’t help but think: Would he?

//

Seokjin doesn’t listen to the song. He’s a very busy person, after all, he doesn’t have time! He has papers to grade, lectures to plan, articles about RM’s success to avoid. A full schedule!

No, no, he’s not thinking about it at all. After all, why would he be interested in Namjoon’s music, and a breakup song at that? Namjoon has always written his lyrics to be close to his heart, and Seokjin doesn’t need to know anything about Namjoon’s latest suitor. Well, ex-suitor. God, what did they do to Namjoon to warrant an entire song written about them? Was it Namjoon who broke it off? No, it must have been the other person, why else would Namjoon have written a breakup song about it? But actually, it could have been the other way around where—

Wait a minute. No, no! He just said he wasn’t thinking about this! Seokjin buries his face in his hands, groaning. 

A distraction. Seokjin needs to distract himself, and what better way to do that than to go on social media? He hasn’t used any in a while, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The first app he sees when he opens his phone is Instagram, so he opts for that one as he flops down on his bed.

A decent amount of time passes with him just scrolling through his friends’ posts, liking nearly all of them and commenting on a couple. A startling number of his acquaintances have gotten married in the time that he hasn’t checked social media, which he always finds jarring. He’s twenty-eight, which still feels extraordinarily young to him; how have people his age already found their life partners? And to be so sure of it, at that…

At one point, he scrolls past a picture and a checkmark suddenly shows up, the text beneath it reading “You’re All Caught Up.” Seokjin frowns. Is this some new update? He can barely keep up these days. He pays it no mind and simply continues scrolling, until suddenly a post from @official.rm appears. Namjoon’s professional, verified account. 

Seokjin sits up, taken aback. He’s certain he had unfollowed every social media account related to Namjoon. Why the hell did this show up? He scans the screen, and his eyes land on the top where it reads “Suggested Posts for You”. 

He nearly scoffs out loud, feeling like the world is against him. Suggested Posts? What Seokjin would like to suggest is that whoever made this update be fired immediately!

God. It’s like his phone picked up on his students talking about him, and the algorithm of every site decided that he was Seokjin’s newest obsession, determined to sell him anything related to Namjoon. 

He sighs heavily. At this point, there’s no use avoiding it. Besides, it’s fine! It’s been so long already; he can handle looking at a picture of Namjoon’s face!

He looks back down at his phone to examine the post. It’s a photo of Namjoon seated casually in his studio chair and facing the camera, arms spread and looking proud. There’s four other people with him, all of whom Seokjin recognizes by face but not name. They look tired but happy, wrapped around each other. Seokjin scrolls to the caption: “Don’t” is finally out! Here’s the team that made it happen, nothing but love and respect for them. Hope you all enjoy.

Seokjin feels a strange sense of detachment. He knows this team, introduced to him when he had visited Namjoon at work before. He used to talk with them, laugh with them, celebrate with them when they finished another track. Seokjin himself had been included in some studio photos too because hell, he used to be part of Namjoon’s team—not in having to do anything with his music, but as his support, his rock.

He clicks on the account and looks through Namjoon’s recent pictures. Each of them features a crowd of different people, his arm draped around the waist of a stranger every week. A dull pang of hurt hits Seokjin, though he tries not to think about it. That breakup song could be about any one of these people, who is he kidding?

He scrolls back up and spots a screenshot of Namjoon’s new song from a music app, uploaded a couple days before the song’s release date. Seokjin breathes an empty laugh. Namjoon had always loved teasing his fans like this, bragging to them that he was the only one who had early access to his song. Seokjin clicks on the photo and his eyes fall on the caption: To the ones we miss. Out in two days.

Seokjin blinks as a wave of ache washes over him. Why does he feel like this? Why does every caption he reads feel like a punch to the gut?

This is stupid. He should just listen to the song and get it over with. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t heard a breakup song before; what’s one out of thousands?

He opens up YouTube to search the title of the song. The page loads and he’s about to click on it, but his hand hovers, hesitating. This feels too much like checking up on his ex, something he’s steadily avoided doing for the past—god, more than a year already? And, okay, he had just scrolled through Namjoon’s entire Instagram, but that one wasn’t his fault! The algorithm forced him to do it!

He clicks on the video.

It’s nothing Seokjin hasn’t seen before. In fact, it’s pretty typical—a montage of a guy and a girl, happy moments interspersed between sad ones, weaving a story of a broken love. Halfway through, it’s still just the male and female actors on the screen, and it seems like Namjoon won’t appear at all in the video. Seokjin is somewhat relieved; it’s one thing to look at him in pictures, frozen in a moment in time. But to see him talk and move… Well, actually, why would he care either way? He’s over him! Completely!

Seokjin is so caught up between watching the video and contradicting his own thoughts that he barely hears the lyrics. His finger automatically hits the replay button. After all, the point of this was to fully absorb the song, then never think about it again. 

The melody is more pronounced this time around: simple, but moody and atmospheric. The beats complement it perfectly, and then Namjoon’s voice comes in. Haunted, empty, regretful—it almost sounds like he’s just talking, mourning the loss of his relationship. It’s a tone Seokjin is more than acquainted with, and it pulls him into the song more than he wants to admit. The first chorus comes, and Seokjin’s brows furrow as he finally processes the lyrics. 

Please, don’t leave me.

The couple on screen shares a smile as they sit on top of a car.

Don’t break the two of us apart.

The girl leans her head on the guy’s shoulder, basking in domestic bliss.

Because that would mean destroying yourself, too. 

A lump forms in Seokjin’s throat, fingers curling tighter against his phone. These… are his words. These are things he had said to Namjoon in the last few arguments they’d had. But no, no, these are pretty generic lines; they could have been said by anybody. 

All the photos of Namjoon, his arms around tons of different people, flash through his mind. Seokjin lets out a huff.

He’s not stupid. The song could be about anybody.

But then Seokjin hears lyrics about waves and the ocean, and he remembers how they would go on road trips to Daecheon Beach every other month, holding hands and singing loudly the entire car ride. Namjoon’s voice would crack on every high note he (failed) to hit, and Seokjin would nearly veer off the road with how hard he would laugh. 

They would take walks on the moonlit beach because Namjoon liked to hear the waves, and because Seokjin liked feeling the sand beneath his feet. Namjoon would tell him fun facts about the ocean as they walked, like did you know that ninety-four percent of all life is aquatic or did you know that if crabs lose their claws or legs in a fight, they can grow them back? They’d threaten to push each other into the water and always ended up tangled up on the sand, breathless with laughter.

They would sit on the top of Seokjin’s car, not unlike the couple in the music video, and watch the sunset change the colors of the sky. Namjoon would wax poetic about it, talking about how the sinking sun looks like it’s bathing in the sea, and Seokjin would counter that by stating, completely straight-faced, that it looks like an egg yolk.

Seokjin shuts his eyes to clear the images. Taking road trips, going on romantic walks—none of these are an uncommon couple activity. He’s thinking too much into it.

But then, Seokjin hears the final part of the song. He hears Namjoon humming wistfully, and ice runs through his veins. This tune… he recognizes it. Seokjin racks his brain to remember. It’s so familiar, he’s sure he knows it, he’s definitely heard it— 

Oh. 

Seokjin breathes out, shaken.

It’s what Namjoon used to hum to him when he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Namjoon always hummed random melodies throughout the day, sometimes quickly recording it in his voice memos if he hit a particularly good string of notes. He would do the same when Seokjin asked him to sing for him at night, but one day he sang this tune, and Seokjin loved it. So from then on, Namjoon hummed this melody to him, and it always soothed him enough to sleep no matter how stressed he was.

Fingers trembling, Seokjin exits out of YouTube and goes through his own voice memo app. He had blocked and deleted everything related to Namjoon off of his phone, but it looks like there was one thing he had forgotten.

He scrolls, and scrolls, and—there. The file is two minutes long, simply named “for sleep”. Namjoon had sent it to him once when he went on an overnight trip, and Seokjin saved it onto his own phone so he could have it wherever he went. He braces himself, then clicks play. 

Namjoon’s voice flows through the speakers, deep and calming, and nostalgia floods through Seokjin. The pitch is a bit higher, a little slower too, but it’s the same tune. The higher notes make it sound more comforting, and to hear it this way compared to its somber tone in the real song makes Seokjin’s heart twist achingly. He listens in silence, his throat tightening as memories overtake him. He feels Namjoon’s hand running through his hair, their fingers lacing together as he sings him to sleep. 

Finally, Namjoon’s humming trails off, and there’s a couple beats until he speaks quietly: “Love you baby. Sleep well.”

Seokjin exhales unsteadily, his eyes closing again, and there’s something against his cheek. He brings a hand up, feeling wetness on his skin and—when had he started crying?

Once he’s aware of it, he can’t stop. He can only breathe shallowly as he continues to cry, tears falling as his chest caves in. He presses his hand against his sternum, as if the pain were physical. This, too, is familiar—something he hasn’t felt since they had first broken up. Why would Namjoon do this? Why would he make him feel like this again?

He gulps, trying to calm himself. His fingers curl in his sweater as his breathing evens out, as he wipes the tears from his face. After his sobs subside, the stillness around him overwhelms him.

Numbly, Seokjin looks up the lyrics to the song. He reads through it, then again, then again. He heaves a heavy sigh as he runs a hand over his face. The words feel too similar to all the things they’ve said before.

From an outsiders’ point of view, the lyrics sound like a narrative, the perspective of one person grieving the end of their relationship. But Seokjin knows better; he can see his voice intertwined with Namjoon’s, their different arguments of don’t be like this, this isn’t like you and please don’t leave, this can’t be the end.

The song is so personal. Too personal. Even though there’s no way anyone would realize it’s about them, Seokjin feels uneasy knowing that Namjoon had consciously revealed so many details of their relationship to the public. 

In fact, does he even have a right to do this? Seokjin’s eyes narrow at the screen, irritation suddenly sparking within him. 

How could Namjoon just use Seokjin’s words in his music like this? As if they were his to say? Seokjin scoffs in disbelief. Namjoon had tried to argue against Seokjin’s every point back then, stubborn until the very end, and now he’s just making it sound like he—what? Understands everything now? Realized that he’d made a mistake?

Seokjin stands up angrily, throwing his phone against the pillows. The nerve of Namjoon! This is just… this is so…!

He paces around, biting at a hangnail. All this time spent trying to get over Namjoon, doing his damn best to forget about him, only for this to happen when he finally feels like he’s made some progress. He’s torn between screaming in frustration and breaking down in tears again.

And what the hell is Namjoon even trying to say with this song? Seokjin had been the one trying to keep their relationship alive for the last few months before the end, whereas Namjoon had barely noticed his efforts… all for him to now make this song that’s so clearly meant for Seokjin, as if this makes up for all the anguish he’s caused him in the past.

No, it’s better this way. Seokjin sits back down on his bed, staring at the wall resolutely. Whatever Namjoon wanted to say with this, he’s entirely too late. If this song had come out a few weeks after their split, or even a few months, then maybe Seokjin would be willing to meet with Namjoon to sort everything out again. It would have taken a huge amount of communication, mutual understanding, and combined efforts from the both of them, but Seokjin would have done it. He would’ve done anything for Namjoon, back then.

But now… he’s exhausted. He’s been exhausted, the feeling dragged on from the end of their relationship up until just a couple of months ago. Memories of their last fight float through his head, and his final words to Namjoon still echo as clear as day: I’ll always love you.

He had meant it, then. He would still mean it, if he said it now. Love alone can only take you so far, though. After that, what did they have left?

Seokjin’s gaze drifts out the window as the thoughts sink in his mind, settle into his skin.

He knows the answer: nothing. They had nothing.

//

Seokjin can barely concentrate in class the next day. He drops the whiteboard marker multiple times, and he can hear a couple of students suppressing their laughs behind his back. He wills himself to stay patient—at his students and himself—as he returns back to his lecture as if nothing had happened.

He dismisses the students after another thirty minutes, and they immediately dissolve into chatter. As he leaves to go to his next class, he overhears Dahee and Hyejung excitedly talking about RM, Hyejung seemingly a convert to his music. Glad to see he’s gaining fans thanks to my pain, he thinks irritably.

But… that’s not fair. His emotions had been running high when he listened to Namjoon’s song, and all the feelings of unfairness and resentment he’d felt before had come rushing back. He had gone to bed angry, but by morning it had tapered down to dull melancholy. 

The song was all he could think about on the bus ride to school, though: from the way Namjoon’s voice had sounded so empty and full of regret, to the wistful humming that Seokjin knew yet barely recognized.

He thinks about the lyrics and he knows, whether he wants to admit it to himself or not, that their breakup had taken just as much of a toll on Namjoon as it had on him. 

Namjoon’s career had been starting to really take off then, and he’d perfectly hidden the fact that he had just gotten broken up with. At least, in Seokjin’s eyes. Each week brought several new posts on social media showing off fancy bars and parties and tons of new friends, until Seokjin couldn’t take anymore and unfollowed him everywhere. Namjoon’s posts were the polar opposite of what Seokjin’s post-breakup situation looked like: crying in the darkness of his room as he reread old text conversations, wondering when, and how, the hell it had gotten this bad.

Seokjin was so bitter at the time, seething over how Namjoon had moved on so quickly and how Seokjin must have never mattered to him in the first place. But even then, he knew it must have been a cover-up. Namjoon was a public figure who, according to his image, was completely single and available, and had never been otherwise. Admitting to dating someone would have essentially been career suicide. How could he have posted anything that alluded to a relationship, much less one ending?

Still, Seokjin had stubbornly thought that Namjoon moved on ridiculously quickly. But now, looking at this song… maybe he hadn’t.

Someone bumps into Seokjin, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, Mr. Kim!” a student says, bowing quickly and running off. 

“It’s alright,” Seokjin calls out. “But be careful!” He hears a distant okay, I will! and he laughs to himself. 

As he continues walking, the smile slowly fades from his expression, light fading into dimness. He enters the room for his next class, and a different smile makes its way onto his face as he greets his students.

//

The first semester ends in a blink of an eye, and summer vacation passes even faster than that. Soon, it’s September already, and the looming second semester has Seokjin rushing to get all his lesson plans finished.

Now, he’s standing at the bus station, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits. He had wanted to come to school earlier today to get a head start on his work, but he arrived too late for that bus since he missed his first alarm. 

A breeze brushes past him, and it carries the laughter of a group of girls beside him. They’re huddled closely around the side of the bus station, whispering to each other excitedly and taking pictures. What’s all the fuss about? Seokjin thinks tiredly. He looks over, and is met with the sight of Namjoon.

A photo of him, that is. Relief drenches Seokjin like water extinguishing fire. He recovers from his momentary shock, then angles his head a little to get a better look. Oh, he realizes. It’s a birthday banner.

Wait, is it already the 12th?! Seokjin quickly pulls his phone out to check the date, and—he huffs a small laugh. It’s been so long since they’ve broken up, yet he still has Namjoon’s birthday memorized as if nothing had ever changed. 

Seokjin exhales as he kicks a small pebble, his shoe scraping against the pavement as he does. Well, habits never fade easily—especially those formed over three years of dating, along with an extra two of just being friends.

There’s still a few days before his birthday, though. Looks like his fans had just gotten it ready early. 

After the girls leave, Seokjin walks over to observe the picture. It’s a relatively recent photo of him; Seokjin can tell from the light pink hair, a new color. Namjoon’s eyes are curled into crescents as he laughs, dimples on full display. The background had been edited to be a simple pastel blue, with bits of confetti falling around his face. The bottom of the banner reads ‘940912, RM DAY’, and there’s little hearts drawn around it by some fans—maybe the work of the girls just now. The corner of Seokjin’s mouth pulls into a small smile. 

He looks like he’s doing well. And that’s all Seokjin had ever asked for, right?

The bus arrives. Seokjin turns, and gets on without another glance behind him.

//

Seokjin wakes up in Namjoon’s old apartment. In their old apartment.

This isn’t real, he knows. It’s a dream—one that he’s had countless times. He hasn't had it in months though, and it’s been almost two years since it actually happened.

He can’t break out of it; he’s tried before, especially at the beginning. But now he knows that all he can do is live through these moments again, replay them over and over until he wakes up in real life. 

So, he dreams:

(Seokjin hears the front door of the apartment opening and closing, despite Namjoon trying to be quiet. He slowly sits up from the bed, hair and clothes rumpled from tossing and turning all night.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Seokjin flicks on the bedside lamp. Warm yellow light fills the room, and Namjoon stops in his tracks. From here, Seokjin can smell the alcohol on him.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice listless. He determinedly keeps his gaze on the wall in front of him, not wanting to look at Namjoon.

“Babe.” Namjoon shuffles towards him. “Sorry, did I wake—”

“No, you didn’t.” Seokjin’s fingers curl into the blankets. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, no.” In Seokjin’s peripheral vision, Namjoon’s arm lifts to reach out to him. “Do you want me to get you the—”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Seokjin repeats, “because someone hadn’t answered their texts, and I was worried sick all night because of them.”

Namjoon goes silent, his arm frozen in midair.

“Were you with Donghyun and Hasung again?” Seokjin asks. 

Namjoon lets out a heavy sigh, arm dropping. Seokjin finally looks at him, watching him run a tired hand through his hair. 

“Yes,” he says quietly. “But I’ve been trying to network with them to collab on this new single together, you know I have to go out with them.”

“I know,” Seokjin says. “You could’ve at least let me know where you were, though.”

“Hyung, my phone just died, I swear.” Namjoon takes Seokjin’s hand in his, and Seokjin can only stare blankly at their intertwined fingers. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“And how many times have you said that?” Seokjin pulls his hand away, turning his head from Namjoon again. “Just this past week, you’ve stayed out until dawn without telling me for… I don’t even know. Three days in a row? Four? And I’m supposed to just, what, go to sleep and not have a care in the world where you are?”

“Seokjin—” 

“It’s not just that, either. It’s… the past few months. I’ve barely seen you, barely even talked to you, and I know you’re busy with everything but—”

Seokjin cuts himself off, exhaling sharply in frustration. His hands are trembling a bit, and he places them on top of each other to still them.

“It wasn’t always like this,” he says softly, ache pooling in his chest. “You weren’t always like this.”

“Hyung… I don’t know what you want me to do.” Namjoon sits on the bed next to Seokjin, though he doesn’t touch him. “This is all for work. It’s just part of the job. It wasn’t like this before because nobody knew who the hell I was back then. But now I’m finally making progress in the industry, getting connected with the right people.”

“And I couldn’t be prouder of you,” Seokjin says. “But I just—it’s stressful, Namjoon-ah, knowing that you’re with these guys that are, frankly, terrible influences.”

“I have no choice!” Namjoon exclaims. “Those bad influences are at the center of the industry, unfortunately, and they know everyone. Everyone that’s relevant, at least. If I don’t go with them and do what they want, then my chances of breaking into the industry are over.”

“And what does making you drink until you pass out have anything to do with breaking into the industry?” Seokjin says hotly. “How does forcing you to go past your limits do anyone any good?”

“That was just one time! They’ve never done anything like that since, and I’ve set boundaries with them either way.”

“Right, and that’s why you still always come home smelling like whiskey.”

“I can’t just not drink, hyung. You know they’d think it’s disrespectful, especially since they’re both older than me. They’re not nice like your boss is.”

“Surely there are other people at the center of the music industry.” Seokjin folds his arms. “I don’t see why you have to go with them specifically.”

“Of course there are, but they’re the only higher-up connections I have right now! And you of all people know how long I’ve been working at this, how long it’s taken me to even get here.”

“I know!” Seokjin says angrily. “But when you start prioritizing work over me—hell, over everyone else in your life—how could I not feel like it’s unfair?”

“I’m not—” Namjoon looks taken aback. “I’m not prioritizing work over you.”

“Oh, now that’s funny,” Seokjin sneers, getting out of bed and pacing around. He can’t stand to be near Namjoon right now.

“I’m not!” Namjoon says, upset. “I’m sorry if you feel differently, but you have always been my first—” 

“Oh, really?” Seokjin’s voice drips with sarcasm. “You’re prioritizing me when you cut half of our dates short because ‘the studio calls’? When you rush out the door in the morning and hardly even say anything to me anymore? When you don’t text me that you’re staying out late so I have no idea who you’re with, or where you are, or if you’re even safe?!”

Namjoon stills for a moment, seemingly stunned, before he climbs out of bed to stand in front of Seokjin. He opens his mouth to speak, but Seokjin doesn’t let him.

“It’s a fact that you’ve been absent, it’s not that I just feel differently,” Seokjin says lowly. “So you can fuck off with your half-assed apologies.”

“Okay… okay,” Namjoon says quietly. His hands twitch, as if they want to reach out. Seokjin bites the inside of his cheek, trying to contain all the hurt in him.

“I’m sorry, hyung.” Namjoon’s voice is genuine this time, though Seokjin still doesn’t look at him. “I dismissed your feelings, and I’ve been… a hell of a lot busier than I’d thought. I hadn’t realized how alone you’ve been feeling, and I’m sorry.”

“But the thing is,” he continues gently, “I need you to meet me halfway, hyung.”

At this, Seokjin brings his eyes to Namjoon’s. “What?”

“I’ve been busy, but… I can’t do anything about that. I wish I could, god I wish I could, but I can’t. You wanted me to succeed, hyung, and this is what has to happen if I do. And so… I can’t fulfill everything you want with so many other things on my plate.”

“And how am I supposed to meet you halfway?” Seokjin huffs in irritation. He feels like he’s been meeting Namjoon much further than halfway recently, but he’ll hear him out.

“Come with me,” Namjoon says. “To my events. You want to spend more time with me, don’t you?”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” People wouldn’t mind if I brought you. In fact, a lot of them ask about you—”

“Namjoon-ah, I’m a teacher. I can’t be out clubbing and drinking all night.”

“You wouldn’t have to stay the whole time. Or… you could come on the weekends, babe, you could—”

“My work doesn’t just end once I leave the classroom. I have to grade papers and plan lessons, you know this—”

“And you know that I have to go to these events either way!” Namjoon says, throwing his hands up. “If I have to leave you anyway, and you’re refusing to come with me—” He makes an exasperated sound. “You’re putting me in an impossible situation, hyung.”

Seokjin is quiet, and Namjoon stares at him. Something seems to dawn on him, and his jaw drops slightly in shock.

“Are you… are you giving me an ultimatum?” Namjoon says in disbelief. “How could you ask me to choose between you or my work? You know I don't do that shit. We don’t do that.”

“I’m not giving you an ultimatum—”

“Yes, you are! You’re telling me not to go to these events to be with you, but I already told you that I can’t! You keep painting me like the bad guy, like I don’t want to be around you anymore, when in reality it’s the complete opposite. I would do anything to be able to meet both your needs and my work needs, but the fact is that I can’t, no matter how hard I try. What do you want me to do?”

Seokjin’s nails dig into his palm, feeling powerless. After a few moments of tense silence, Namjoon speaks again.

“You know, you’re prioritizing your work too,” he says indignantly. “And yet I can’t?”

Seokjin turns to him sharply. “What?”

“You said you have things to do outside of the classroom.” Namjoon’s voice is curt. “We could be spending that time together, but instead you’re grading papers.”

Seokjin flushes with anger. “Oh, do not push this onto me. I have always tried my best to make time for you, always. And even when I couldn’t, I let you know. Tell me the last time you felt like I’ve been absent because of work, Namjoon. Tell me.” He takes a step closer, jaw clenched. “The problem isn’t that you’re too busy for me. That’s never been the problem. The problem is that you only push for what you want when trying to accommodate for how busy we are, and you don’t take into account that I’m already bending over backwards to change my schedule for you. Of course I know I can’t do anything about your work taking too much of your time, but I can’t deny my own needs either!”

He’s shaking by the time he finishes, and Namjoon simply stares at him, pain in his expression.

“And it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?” Seokjin's voice drops to a whisper.

“What?”

“As you get more popular, and get more connections. Isn’t it just going to get worse?” He hates how tired he sounds. How defeated.

Namjoon’s gaze is heavy. “What are you trying to say?”

Seokjin doesn’t point out that he’s clearly avoiding the question. But it’s because he knows the answer already, and Namjoon does too.

And there’s no solution to that.

“Hyung, please. Look at me.”

He can’t ask Namjoon to abandon his life’s work for him—he never would. But he can’t ignore the fact that for the last few months, he’s never felt more alone in his whole life.

“I want you to succeed, Namjoon. Of course I do. You’re the most talented person I know, and you deserve all the success that comes your way.” Seokjin’s gaze falls to the floor. “But I can’t be in this alone.”

“You’re not, hyung. You’re not in this alone.” Namjoon’s voice grows more desperate with each word. Seokjin starts shaking his head, and Namjoon comes forward, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re not. Seokjin, what are you doing? You want to throw away three years just like that? Listen to yourself.”

Seokjin can’t move, he can’t breathe. His throat grows tighter and tighter with each breath, his view of Namjoon growing blurry with tears.

“Please, hyung, I love you. We love each other, don’t do this!” Namjoon’s words tremble, and all Seokjin can do is look back at him, wordlessly. Slowly, the despair drains from Namjoon’s face, and numbing fear takes its place.

“Right?” Namjoon is barely audible. “Hyung, don’t you still love me?”

The words bleed into the silence surrounding them. Seokjin swallows, unable to answer him, and terror flashes across Namjoon’s expression.

“Seokjin.” Namjoon’s fingers dig into his shoulder, his voice like ice. “You do, right?”

Seokjin’s eyes stay fixed on the floor, unable to look at him anymore. He’s tired, he’s so tired. A tear escapes, yet it leaves no trace on Seokjin’s cheek as it falls straight towards the ground. As if it were never there.

He lifts his head back up, meeting Namjoon’s gaze: horror written across his entire face, holding onto Seokjin’s shoulder for dear life. Seokjin looks at him and takes everything in—the sweep of his blond hair over his forehead, his captivating eyes, his dimples that are nowhere to be seen now but where Seokjin knows they are. He commits them all to memory, chest clenching painfully.

“I’ll always love you, Namjoon-ah.” His voice quavers as he reaches up and pries Namjoon’s fingers off his shoulder. One foot moves backwards, then the other, and Namjoon shakes his head silently: No, no, please no… 

“Always.” Seokjin squeezes his hand, imprinting Namjoon’s warmth onto his skin for the last time, and walks out the door as his heart tears to pieces.)

//

An incoming call on Seokjin’s phone jolts him awake, and he nearly knocks it over trying to shut it off. When the sound stops, he lays back down, feeling disoriented. He’s startled at how raw he feels, at how affected he still is by that dream.

And—why is he so affected? Seokjin presses a hand against his chest, attempting to physically stop his heart palpitations. He curses the very concept of physiological responses. Who even needs them, these days? Haven’t we as human beings evolved past this?!

He sighs, rubbing between his eyebrows as he feels a headache beginning to pulse there. This was just what he needed on his day off—a dream about his last fight with his ex. Of course. 

The time on his phone reads 6:42 AM. The call was from an unknown number—probably an advertisement, but who in their right mind thinks that Seokjin would be more likely to buy their product at this ungodly hour?

Grumbling, he pulls the covers back over his head in an attempt to fall back asleep. He lays there futilely for another twenty minutes before conceding to consciousness. Doing so, however, forces him to rethink the dream he just had. 

It’s not like this is the first time he’s had this dream—far from it, in fact. But this time… feels different. Maybe it’s because he had listened to Namjoon’s song, but there’s a new clarity to that dream that he hadn’t had before.

Seokjin replays the words they had said in his mind, and he sighs. Back then, he had been so sure he was in the right, frustrated from feeling lonely and isolated for weeks on end. Yes, Namjoon was busy, but surely he could stand to spend a couple hours with Seokjin on a date, right? The fact that he couldn’t had completely broken Seokjin. 

Of course, with time, he saw that he wasn’t completely blameless either. He had pushed Namjoon into a corner, had given him no choices. Namjoon was right—he was giving him an ultimatum, whether he realized it or not. And in the end, Seokjin had made the choice for him.

Seokjin rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The lyrics of the song flow through his mind—his own words along with Namjoon’s. He had been so furious when he saw that such a private part of their relationship was now open for the world to see. But the thing is… Seokjin could relate to the song. He felt seen by it, felt heard. And yet, it was written by the one who had once argued against those very same words.

Namjoon does understand him now. That’s what he’s trying to say. By weaving Seokjin’s perspective into his art, he’s acknowledging all the grief he’d put Seokjin through. But Namjoon had also included his own feelings, how helpless he felt at the time, and Seokjin realizes… the song helped him understand Namjoon’s point of view, too.

But what else is left of them? After all these years, their paths have definitely diverged even further than when they were together. What’s the point of all this?

Seokjin picks up his phone and opens Instagram, searching for Namjoon’s account. He scrolls down to the post showing the screenshot of the song and reads over the caption again. To the ones we miss. 

Slowly, slowly, it comes to Seokjin. 

This is Namjoon’s way of moving on.

When they had first split up, Seokjin had felt so lost. There was a gap in his life, so large that it felt physical, and Seokjin had endlessly wondered if he was making a mistake. He had read in a book once that it’s important to fight for something worth keeping alive, but also to let it go when it’s served its purpose. He’d had no idea which category their relationship fell into.

But now, he fully understands: Namjoon had served his purpose. And now, Namjoon is closing their chapter in a way that makes sense for him, and him alone. 

Seokjin breathes out slowly. He knows he doesn’t have to, knows that he’s already closed this chapter in his own way—but he wants to. For old time’s sake.

He presses the button to make a new post. He scrolls through years of photos, then finds one picture he couldn’t bear to delete, only because none of their faces could be seen. It’s a silhouette of him and Namjoon, their backs to the camera, sitting on Daecheon Beach and watching the sunset. The sky is bright watercolors smeared together, gorgeously pink and orange and purple. The two of them are pressed right against each other, Seokjin’s head leaning on his shoulder, Namjoon’s arm wrapped around his waist. Seokjin remembers exactly how he felt in this moment: on top of the world, more at bliss than he ever thought possible.

Seokjin stares at the photo, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. For the caption of the post, he writes: to the ones we’ve loved.

He presses Post, then closes out Instagram for the rest of the week.

//

“That’s all for today, class. Have a good weekend!”

Seokjin swears he sees the class breathe a sigh of relief as they pack up, and he chuckles. As he gathers his books, he sees Hyejung rush over to Dahee’s desk, frantically showing her something on her phone.

“Dahee, did you see? RM’s releasing a new album next week!” High-pitched screeches from both girls ensue. Seokjin grimaces a bit, though a smile makes its way onto his face at how excited they look.

That night, he goes back on Instagram to look at any likes or comments he might’ve gotten on his post. He had honestly forgotten he’d even done that, especially with his notifications for the app being off. There’s no comments—as expected—and sixty-three likes on the post. Not bad, considering only his close friends and family follow his account.  

He clicks on the likes and scrolls mindlessly through them, not realizing that he’s looking for something until he gets to it: knj94 has liked your post. 

Not Namjoon’s official verified account, but his personal one. The person Seokjin has always known.

Namjoon had sent a flare, and Seokjin had sent one back: I see you, I hear you, I remember you.

I loved you.

Seokjin breathes out as his eyes close briefly. He had, he really had.

He walks over to his window, opens his curtains just enough to see the moon shining against the ink of the night. As he watches it, he hears ocean waves crashing, feels sand underneath his feet. He sees sunsets over the sea and hears Namjoon’s humming, comforting as always.

Then, he pulls the curtains shut. The moon disappears.

That night, when he falls asleep, he dreams of nothing at all.