Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We that are young, shall never see so much, nor live so long.

King Lear

Namjoon tells himself, and anyone who asks, that the only thing he truly misses about Seoul is this one barbecue restaurant in Itaewon that was open until the early hours of the morning, where he would often stop to inhale some bulgogi after a long shift. 

If Namjoon was being honest, however, the answer would be that he missed the man that used to lie next to him in bed. The one that held his hand as they walked through Sky Park, that took his breath away under the hazy lights of the city below. The man that had said it was too much, too soon, even though too soon had been three years, and in less than a day all Namjoon was left with was an empty apartment and a ring that burned a hole in his pocket. 

So, he took his captain up on his offer to transfer to Busan with his new promotion of homicide detective. The sea air would be good for him, Namjoon had thought. 

Compared to the Itaewon district his old precinct was located in, Nampo seemed relatively quiet, despite being in the heart of Busan. It was still busy, but the homicide rate was certainly different from where he began his detective career. A nice change of pace. There had been a handful of cases since he transferred, most of which were open-and-shut crimes of passion. 

He had a partner, too, Kim Seokjin, who Namjoon thinks is probably the most beautiful human he’s ever met. He’s jovial, sharp-tongued, and a fantastic bullshitter, but Namjoon wasn’t entirely convinced that Seokjin was lying when he said he’d almost been an idol over drinks one night. 

It wasn’t until his fifth week on the job that the partners were brought into their captain’s office. Namjoon had suspected that there was a more serious reason for his hiring; by the look of things, Seokjin had most of the cases covered on his own. Why hire another detective, and an outsider from Seoul, at that?

Time seemed to slow down in the meeting as he was debriefed. 

“We believe there is a serial murderer in Busan, who’s been active over the last three years, at least.”

“For the sake of the investigation, we have not released this information to the public.”

“We need fresh eyes and a new perspective if we have any chance of catching them.”

Afterward, they sat and reviewed the dossier until the sun was well below the horizon and several pots of coffee had been drained. Seokjin went over everything with painstaking detail, his usual levity hardened into something sharp and bitter and tired . 

“The captain says the murderer is the worst Busan, if not the country, has seen since the war.”

Namjoon frowns into the coffee dregs at the bottom of his mug, knuckles bleeding white as he grips a little too hard. 

“Shouldn’t the public know about this?”

The sigh from Seokjin is harsh and exasperated. “That’s not our department, Namjoon-ah,” he tuts, words full of sarcasm. “The captain believes this, or at least the basic elements of this, should be known. The Chief disagrees. Besides, the victims are all people that certainly aren’t missed .” 

This much was true. Though the killer had passed the boundary of vigilante, it helped keep the murders under wraps that the victims were people sometimes actively hated by their neighbors and family. 

Namjoon can see the benefits of both sides; the less information given to the press, the easier his and Seokjin’s job becomes, though the line between salvaging the investigation and covering up a public safety hazard is thin. 

“There’s nothing.” Seokjin’s words are muffled by the takeout he speaks around, absently shuffling the noodles around the box with his chopsticks. “No hair, no blood, not a single skin cell beneath fingernails. Whoever this is…” He shakes his head. “They’re a phantom.”

“People are flawed, Seokjin-ssi—”

“ Hyung ,” Seokjin interrupts. “And you’re not wrong, but we’ve been waiting for this person to slip up for years. They kill sporadically, no rhyme or reason to dates, sometimes nearly a year in between killings. The only common thread that connects the victims is that they’ve done bad things. Sometimes they change the methods used and how they leave the bodies.” He swallows thickly. “It’s possible that they’ve been responsible for murders beyond three years ago, but those are just the ones we know about.” 

Seokjin gestures towards the pile of photographic evidence and silence falls between the two of them as Namjoon looks at every single one. He’s never seen crime such immaculate crime scenes, not even a sign of struggle or intrusion. If anything was out of place it was done with intention. And the bodies…

Seokjin excuses himself to the restroom while Namjoon cradles the photos in his hands. They were violent, incredibly so, but Namjoon finds himself unable to look away. 

There was a time, when he was in college, that Namjoon fancied himself an art historian. He spent hours in museums and in the library curled over glossy books full of paintings housed thousands of miles away. 

He always liked studying hands the most. Technically difficult to paint, but when done right can carry the emotion of an entire piece. He loved the perfect positioning of da Vinci’s works, the details found in paintings by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. 

Looking at the photographs, his throat tightens. A woman sits in bed, her face almost serene,  head tilted to the side, almost in invitation for a lover’s lips to trail across the deep, precise cut that mars it. Her long black hair flows behind her, her left hand delicately placed over her heart, her fingers frozen in rigor mortis but seemingly mid-motion. 

A shiver runs down Namjoon’s spine. These weren’t just bodies — they were art. He takes a serrated breath and puts the stack down, rubbing his face with his hands. 

What has he gotten himself into?

These days Yoongi always seems to smell like cleaning products and flowers, funeral ones, and as he clips another stem and inserts it into the foam brick, he smiles. He’s good at what he does, at cutting and arranging. At making beautiful things with his hands. It’s something that has always comforted him. 

Especially when those hands are capable of doing such violent things. 

“ Hyung .”

Yoongi hisses as the clippers slip and nick his thumb, a perfect droplet of blood surfacing at the corner of his nail bed. “Jungkook-ah. Don't sneak up on me when I’m holding sharp objects.” 

Jungkook winces and fumbles to grab him some tissue. “Sorry. I called a few times, you were spaced out.” 

“It’s fine, it’s just a scratch. What do you need?” 

Big, earnest brown eyes search his face for a moment before Jungkook responds. “The repairman is here to fix the water in the greenhouse. Shall I tell him to come through?”

“Ah. He’s a day early. Let me… let me just clean up here and I’ll come and grab him. Give him a drink or something while he waits, okay?” 

With a quick nod, Jungkook disappears through the beaded curtain that separates the cafe from the flower shop, and Yoongi grips the edge of the counter and takes a deep breath. His lips feel dry, all of a sudden, his tongue flicking out to wet them as he quickly finishes the arrangement with trembling fingers. 

It’s fine. He’s a repairman, only acquainted with pipes and parts. There’s no risk. 

He repeats the mantra in his head, stroking the velvety petals of the white lilies between his forefinger and thumb to soothe himself. He takes a step back to survey his creation, and the arrangement is perfect, as always. 

As Jungkook said, he spaces out when he’s working, his mind elsewhere while his hands do the talking, and yet somehow he still manages to impress himself.

He unties his apron and pulls it over his head, placing it on the hook beside his station, and he contemplates rushing into the garden to check before he retrieves the repairman. Stupid, he thinks, because he’s painfully meticulous, always accounting for unexpected visits despite never having them. Always a step ahead of anyone who would ever even dare to pry. 

Besides, who would ever think that gentle, kind, quiet Min Yoongi has bodies buried in his garden?

He has dirt in his fingernails when he finally climbs the stairs and enters the little apartment that sits above the shop. They’ve been here almost five years now, carving themselves a space within these walls, and Yoongi thinks it might be the first place he’s ever truly been able to call home. They’re a trio of strays, too broken and too careful to let too many people into their lives, but all they’ve ever needed is each other. 

Jungkook is asleep on the sofa with Taehyung curled around him like a parenthesis. It’s an unconsciously possessive position; his arm slung protectively over the younger one’s waist, his fingers curled in his t-shirt, his grip white-knuckled even in sleep. 

He finds them like this often, a desperate kind of ache blooming in his chest when he looks at them. The only thing that comforts him in this world is that they have each other. 

They both snore quietly as the flickering light from the television casts them in shades of blue, some overrated drama that sounds a lot like white noise to Yoongi playing quietly. He decides not to wake them and encourage them to head to their room, despite knowing they’ll loudly complain about sore bones tomorrow. Instead, he smiles and tugs an old blanket off the back of the armchair to drape over them, resisting the urge to reach out and swipe Taehyung’s overgrown curls from his eyes. 

Holly, their tiny, spoiled poodle looks up at him with sleepy eyes where he’s curled up between the boys sleeping forms, his tail wagging lazily like he can’t truly be bothered to wake up enough to give Yoongi a proper greeting. Yoongi tuts and reaches out to scratch under his chin before he leaves the three of them to their cuddle pile.

Jungkook had found the little dog wandering in their garden a few weeks after they moved in, and after a trip to the vets to check for a chip that didn’t exist and an onslaught of begging and pouting from both boys, Yoongi agreed they could keep him. What’s another stray to add to the collection? Despite his weak protests, Yoongi had quickly fallen in love with Holly, and he’s probably softer with him than gentle-hearted Jungkook.

He’s always having to remind himself they’re not kids anymore, but the desire to treat them as such isn’t something he thinks he can ever shake. 

Finding the remote underneath their tangle of limbs and paws is harder than it should be, and the apartment is bathed in darkness when the television shuts off with a muted click. 

There’s a messy bowl of leftovers in the fridge, a pink post-it note with a crooked smiley face and heart scribbled on it stuck to the china. The beef is visibly burnt, and he idly regrets leaving them to cook for themselves. He grabs the leftovers and a cold bottle of soju and makes for his bedroom.

He frowns at the row of plants that line his bookshelf, their leaves shriveled and brown despite all of his efforts. He likes to try and keep living things living, but even the cleverest green fingers apparently can’t compete with a windowless room and summer in Busan. 

When his stomach is full and he’s had enough soju to warm him through, he settles in his bed and closes his eyes. Sleep comes quickly. 

It always does, in the aftermath. 

He dreams of the smell of the clean sheets that he’d fit on the bed and the peach shampoo she used. Feels the silk of her hair between his fingertips and the cool press of her skin under his palm. 

Hears the gentle sound of her flesh tearing as his blade had cut across her throat and the eerie silence that followed when she’d stopped choking on her own blood. 

But most of all he remembers the sight of her vacant, milky-white eyes and skin that was mottled with purple bruises that dripped red before he got back to work. 

Like petals, he thinks. And then…

She deserved it. She deserved it. She deserved it. 

Six months into his life in Busan, Namjoon is mostly settled into a loft apartment with lots of sunlight for his plants and within biking distance to work. 

Was he happy? He wouldn’t say yes, but by now he can’t necessarily say no, either. 

Work keeps him frustratingly busy. Seokjin is a great help in orienting him to the city, introducing him to informants, and coaching Namjoon on ways to keep a low profile. Their shifts are spent tracking down leads that end nowhere, with their best so far being a woman who mentioned that her lapdog barked for an extra two minutes the night of one of the murders. 

The Kim Detectives are truly Busan’s finest. 

The upside to being busy is that there’s little space left for Namjoon to think about being heartbroken. Being away from Seoul certainly helps, but if he’s constantly thinking of catching a murderer then he doesn’t have time to disassociate at the thought of the small ring box that sits in the back of his closet and all the pain that haunts it. 

Namjoon also has the luxury of being able to work outside of the office from time to time, and he put it to use by making his way through the list of restaurants and cafes that Seokjin provided him. (Courtesy of his food blog that has over ten thousand followers, thank you very much.) 

On days that he finds himself feeling more stressed than usual, he heads to a coffee shop tucked away on the edge of the Nampo market district. The coffee is great, but what keeps him coming back is the little florist that’s directly attached to it. 

The selection of flowers and house plants is always good, and the strange blue-haired kid, Jungkook, that he tends to see is helpful and fun to talk to. The barista, Taehyung, is eager to flash his boxy grin and knows Namjoon’s order by heart. When the shop isn’t busy he asks the older bold questions: Was he new to Busan? Where was he from? Was he single? Was he interested in men? And many others that if Taehyung didn’t have his odd charm, Namjoon would have been terrified.

Today, when he pushes through the door and the bell chimes, Taehyung nearly vibrates with excitement. 

“Hyung!” He sets to work setting up the drip coffee, his fluffy hair bouncing as he goes. “Welcome back! Is your day going well?”

Namjoon can’t help but smile. “Yeah, well enough. Taking a little break from work. I feel like my brain is mush.”

“Mmm.” Taehyung nods, distracted, eyes flicking towards the beaded curtain that leads to the flower shop. He adds four heaping spoonfuls of sugar—much to Namjoon’s delight—and slides the cup across the counter. “Then this one’s on the house.”

“Oh!” Namjoon links in surprise. “You sure?”

“Yep!” Taehyung’s already zipping through the beads before he can say thank you. 

Shrugging, he goes to set up at a table in the corner and pulls out his laptop to review his notes.

“Ah, I love it! Thank you so much. I’ll be back in two weeks for another one if you can fit me in.” 

Yoongi nods and smiles politely at the old woman, a regular that constantly looks like she’s restraining herself from jumping over the counter to squeeze his cheeks. “Of course, I’ll always make sure there’s space for you, Ahjumma.”

She chuckles brightly and cradles her bouquet to her chest as she turns and waddles out of the store. Yoongi watches the curtain sway until it settles, his knuckles white where he grips the edge of the counter. He still has dirt under his nails despite scrubbing his fingers raw this morning, the skin around his cuticles sore and torn where he can’t seem to shake the habit of biting them. 

He begins the second half of his day by sorting his stock and tending to the new flowers he picked up at Jayu bright and early this morning, listening to the sound of gentle chatter and the clink of cups and plates from the cafe next door. Time passes quickly when he’s working, and it’s lunchtime before he knows it, indicated by the arrival of an over-eager Kim Taehyung clutching a steaming cup of coffee.

“He’s here again.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes and wipes his wet hands on the front of his apron before cautiously taking the coffee. “ Who?” 

Taehyung smiles, his cheeks rising, and Yoongi knows that look. It’s never a look that ends well for him, not after Taehyung decided he’d found the perfect match for his Hyung. 

“I already told you. I’m not interested in you trying to match me up with any poor, unsuspecting humans who you and Kook take a liking to.” 

The younger boy pouts beautifully and Yoongi braces himself for an onslaught of whining. 

“Ah, Hyung. He’s so nice. I don’t think he has many friends, he’s just moved here from Seoul.” Taehyung waggles his eyebrows, and Yoongi sighs. His path is quickly blocked when he tries to make his way back to his workbench. “He’s tall and handsome, and he dresses well. And he’s single.” 

“And how exactly do you know these things? You can’t just ask people shit like that, Tae.” 

Yoongi huffs an incredulous laugh as Taehyung shrugs, the picture of innocence that would fool most but not him. Taehyung is still grinning, still kinder than he should be despite all of the ways life has tried to sharpen him. It makes something shift in Yoongi’s gut, a twist of guilt, and he thinks that maybe it is time that he gave in. That maybe he should try to build himself a life outside of the boys and the shop and—

He clears his throat, his cheeks burning, and he accepts his fate. “Let me at least get a look at this guy before you sell me off. I’m not sure I can trust your judgment.” 

“I’ll have you know this was Kookie’s idea,” Taehyung mumbles. He presses himself flush against Yoongi’s back with his chin on his shoulder as Yoongi does his best to peek through the curtain into the cafe to seek out his dongsaeng’s apparently willing victim.

“Table four in the black coat. He takes four sugars in his coffee and talks about plants too much. He’s practically made for you.”

Yoongi scans the tables and his gaze falls upon the man and… He is tall, that much is obvious, even when he’s sitting, and he’s also handsome in a way that makes Yoongi’s palms sweat.

“His name is Kim Namjoon.”

With a groan Yoongi retreats back into the flower shop and gently shoves Taehyung away, reaching for his coffee. It tastes bitter on his tongue. 

“ Hyung. Just one date won’t kill you. He’s interested.” 

“He hasn’t even seen me, how does he know he’s interested, Taehyung?” 

Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrist and stares him down, a terrifying kind of determination shining in his gentle eyes. “Please.”

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi stares at the patterned tile as Taehyung guides him through the cafe and places him in front of Kim Namjoon. 

Kim Namjoon who, by all accounts, is even more striking up-close. Yoongi vaguely hears Taehyung introducing them and offers his hand in greeting, but his eyes are fixed on the contour of Namjoon’s neck and the way it shifts as he swallows. He registers the warmth of his fingers as they squeeze his gently.

Taehyung steps aside, giving Yoongi a very pointed side-eye as he leaves them to whatever awkward conversation they’re inevitably about to have. It’s a look that says don’t fuck this up. 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Please, sit. If you want.” His formal speech rounds his vowels, and Yoongi thinks he has a nice voice, deep in a different way to his own. In a way he could get used to.

Kim Namjoon smiles, pretty teeth gleaming behind full lips, but Yoongi’s eyes zero in on cheeks that seem slightly more flushed than they were a moment ago.

He has dimples.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, but I should get back to work,” he says, tipping his head towards the flower shop. He picks at a frayed edge on his apron, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Look, Taehyung and Jungkook mean well, I think, but please don’t feel obligated...“

Namjoon trails a finger over the pattern of the wood grain on the table, and the next words seem to tumble out of his mouth. “I, ah, would like to take you out, actually. If that’s something you’d be interested in? I heard that Yongdusan Park is nice this time of year, I haven’t had the chance to visit yet…”

“Okay,” Yoongi strangely, quickly, finds the guts to say, immediately feeling like he’s coming across too eager. Desperate, maybe. But Kim Namjoon has nice, sharp eyes and a friendly smile, and fucking dimples, and he’s interested. “I go often, so I can show you around.” 

Namjoon’s eyes grow comically wider in possible surprise. Like he didn’t expect a positive response or such a quick one. “Great, that’s — that’s great. Can I have your number? To arrange…”

“Yes. Here.” Yoongi grabs his phone from his apron pocket and unlocks it, slipping it into Namjoon’s waiting hand. He fumbles with it a little, and Yoongi enjoys witnessing the burst of strangely endearing clumsiness as he almost drops it in his coffee. It makes him a little less intimidating. His cheeks get pink and Yoongi fixates on a dark mole under his bottom lip as quick fingers enter his contact details.

His eyes meet Yoongi’s when he hands the phone back, and Yoongi is quick to look away. He nods once, curtly, and worries the corner of his apron again. “Right. Well, I’ll go ahead and head back...” 

He turns, and standing at the counter are Taehyung and Jungkook, blatantly watching their interaction with wide eyes and goofy grins. Jungkook gives a nod and a thumbs up and Yoongi sighs. 

“And I’m sorry about them. They get… eager, even more so when it comes to my dating life.”

Yoongi nearly winces at himself. 

Get a fucking grip.

Namjoon waves a hand and chuckles. “It’s fine, really. I wouldn’t keep coming here if I didn’t enjoy the company.” He takes a sip of his coffee and taps his fingers against the porcelain. “I’ll text you? I don’t want to keep you from work…”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll… see you.” 

“I guess you will.” 

Namjoon watches Yoongi turn and hurry back to the flower shop. He can’t see the look he gave Taehyung and Jungkook, but it makes them giggle and scatter back to their designated areas. When he feels sure that eyes aren’t on him, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and his hands begin to shake.

He’s impressed that he was able to keep it together for that long. Half a year should be enough time to dip back into the dating pool after his breakup, but Namjoon has been an absolute mess of a bisexual at the best of times, and Min Yoongi is pink and pretty and his hands would fit nicely in his. 

Focus, Namjoon. 

It takes him a moment to register the full interaction before it hits him: He has a date. Kim Namjoon has a date, and it was surprisingly painless to get. 

He has the restraint to wait until after he gets home for the evening to message Yoongi. He pulls out his phone with a trembling hand and pulls up his contact. 

KNJ: Hi... It's me. From the cafe.

KNJ: Kim Namjoon.

KNJ: The one Taehyung introduced you to.

He puts the phone down before he breaks it from squeezing too hard or says something he really regrets. 

Shit. He’s rusty. 

Namjoon just stares at the wall, definitely not overthinking every word he just sent, or counting the seconds until he gets a reply. He also definitely doesn’t jump and scramble at the phone when he hears it vibrate. 

MYG: I remember you, Kim Namjoon.

“Hah!” 

The noise escapes Namjoon’s mouth as he begins typing his reply, trying to get it out before he starts to over-analyze every punctuation mark. 

KNJ: Great!

KNJ: Well I'd still really like to take you to the park, Yoongi-ssi.

KNJ: If you want.

KNJ: If you don't that's fine too. I don't want you to feel pressured since your friends were right there.

Shut the fuck up, Namjoon . 

Against his better judgment, he keeps the screen of his phone open and waits. 

And waits. 

Has it been an hour already? He looks at the time in the corner of his screen. 

Nope! Just three minutes. But then:

MYG: Going to the park with you still sounds nice.

MYG: And you can use hyung. If you want.

MYG: I'm free on Saturday.

Namjoon simply pretends he is not grinning at his phone like an absolute idiot. 

KNJ: Okay, hyung :)

KNJ: I'll meet you at the entrance at 1pm?

MYG: See you then, Kim Namjoon.

The next three days pass by in a blur. Work is slow, as always, with absolutely no new leads, but the park date with Yoongi is what gets Namjoon through the monotony of looking through old files on the outdated computer at the precinct. 

Saturday finally arrives, and Namjoon spends far longer than he probably should’ve picking out jeans, a black sweater, and coat— deceptively complicated —and now he waits at the entrance of the park, rocking on to the soles of his feet and bouncing down on his heels. 

It’s only 1:03 pm. Yoongi isn’t late, not really, but with each passing moment, Namjoon’s palms get sweatier. He’s probably just… in traffic. Or caught up with something. 

Or, he’s ghosted and I can never show my face in the cafe again.

Namjoon shoves his fists in his pockets in an effort to keep them still, and he turns around to see Yoongi standing in front of him. He’s shorter than Namjoon by a good few inches, black jeans and a mildly fluffy seafoam sweater hugging his frame beneath his black coat. 

Yoongi is both very cute and extremely intimidating, and that is a dangerous combination.

“Hello, Kim Namjoon.”

“Hyung. You made it.”

Yoongi nods once, scuffing his combat boots on the pavement. “Sorry I’m late. There was a big order at the flower shop I wanted to see off before I left Jungkook to fend for himself.”

“It’s no problem. I didn’t realize you worked today, I hope I’m not pulling you away—“

The older waves him off. “I’m notoriously bad at not going into work. It’s fine. This is a good excuse to get me out of the shop.”

Namjoon smiles. “Okay.” He leans down to check his bike lock once more, Yoongi watching with a raised brow. 

“You rode a bike here?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods. “I prefer it to being in a car or bus, so any opportunity I get to ride it somewhere, I take it.” He pauses. “And… I don’t have a license.” His cheeks turn red at the admission. 

Yoongi smiles and gives a short laugh. “Interesting. Too busy to get it, or…?”

Namjoon starts walking on the trail to hide the sheepish look on his face. “It’s probably better for the safety of others that I don’t get behind the wheel of a car.”

The crunch of the gravel as they get onto the proper path is loud as Yoongi catches up with Namjoon’s long stride. “So in the interest of world peace, you abstain from getting your license?”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at his own expense. “Something like that.”

The pair walk in silence for a minute as the opening of the park gives way to a thick patch of trees. Namjoon looks over, fighting off the smile that threatens to spread across his face at the sight of Yoongi’s nose turning pink in the cool air. 

“How long have you been in Busan?” Yoongi's question snaps him out of his daze and he focuses on the trees instead. 

“About six months.”

“Mm. Taehyung told me you’re from Seoul. That’s where we moved from, too. What brought you here?”

“Ah,” Namjoon shrugs. He kicks a rock out in front of him. “Work, mostly.”

Yoongi looks at him, the corner of his mouth slightly curled. “Just work?”

He can’t help the way his nose betrays him and scrunches up at Yoongi’s question. “I had a pretty bad breakup with my partner. We’d been together a long time. I got offered a promotion and a transfer to Busan, so I accepted. Figured I could start over.”

There are a couple of seconds of silence and Namjoon’s stomach flips. Did he say too much? Coming out of the gate talking about your failed relationship on a first date is probably not the best move. 

Fuck.

Thankfully, Yoongi glosses over that and keeps the conversation going. 

“What do you do for work?”

“Mm, I’m ah...” Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m a homicide detective, actually.” It still doesn’t sound real coming out of his mouth when he tells people.

This makes Yoongi pause for the briefest of seconds, and he stares up at Namjoon with wide eyes. “No shit?”

Namjoon laughs. “I promise. People usually think I’m lying.”

Yoongi’s tongue darts out and licks at the corner of his mouth, gears clearly turning inside his head before he straightens his mouth out in a little smile and nods. “That’s very interesting, Kim Namjoon.”

“Ah hyung, no need to be formal with me, please.” Namjoon is sure his ears are bright red by now. 

“Sorry. That’s very interesting, Kim Namjoon-ah.” Yoongi snorts at the eye roll that earns him, and he knocks Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder.

There’s a new levity between them, and Namjoon can’t say why, but it makes his heart flutter. He knocks back into Yoongi. Was flirting this easy before? He can’t remember. 

“There’s an observation tower about five minutes down this way if you want to see it? It’s one of my favorite places in the park.” Yoongi nods towards the white tower up ahead. 

So they scale the tower, talking about the differences between Seoul and Busan. Yoongi shares a little about taking Jungkook and Taehyung under his wing, leaving for Busan to give them all a better life, and why not have that be running a florist and a cafe?

It’s easy between the two of them, and they lose track of time somewhere after the second coffee. They head into the local aquarium, Namjoon nearly plastering his face against the glass of the crab terrariums, and he doesn’t miss the way their fingers brush together in the water of the tank of the rays they try to pet. 

Now they sit in the deep sea section and it’s dark, the only light coming from the tanks and bioluminescent jellyfish that reside inside. Their faces are bathed in hints of shifting neons, and Namjoon decides that Yoongi looks good in every color, but specifically pink. 

This part of the aquarium is quiet, just the two of them on a little bench, and Namjoon swears that Yoongi scoots over just an inch closer to him. His hands grip the edge of the seat, long fingers curled and knuckles white, and before he can think about the chance of rejection he reaches out and laces his fingers with Yoongi’s. 

For a handful of seconds, all Namjoon hears is the rush of blood in his head, but it fizzles away when Yoongi turns his palm over and squeezes Namjoon’s hand. 

Namjoon swallows thickly. He can feel Yoongi looking at him, and he’s almost afraid to turn his head, but he does. 

Yoongi’s eyes are wide, his lips perfect and parted slightly. Namjoon blinks down at him. “Can I kiss you?” His voice rasps but thankfully doesn’t crack. 

Yoongi just nods, and Namjoon leans forward to capture his mouth with his own. His lips are cool, and he tastes like coffee and mint when he swipes into his mouth with his tongue. 

He can feel Yoongi pulling him closer by grabbing onto his jacket, and Namjoon greedily swallows down the little noises he makes in the back of his throat as he holds Yoongi at the nape of his neck.

They shouldn’t be doing this in public, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. 

Yoongi’s heart beats inconsistently behind his ribs, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s flagrantly making out with a man in front of both jellyfish and the general public, or if it’s because the man he’s making out with is a fucking homicide detective. 

A potential problem, when you kill people as a side project.

When they break apart Yoongi can feel Namjoon’s breath warm against his face. His mind is messy but he likes Namjoon’s mouth and the way his laugh sounds, but he’s especially fond of how his brain works and the smart way in which they both view the world. He kisses Yoongi again, a quick, almost chaste peck, and it’s a comma, not a full stop. A promise of more to come. 

“I’m a homicide detective, actually.” 

Yoongi almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but he finds it hard to think about anything other than the way his fingers are still tightly laced with Namjoon’s on the bench between them as they coyly shift back into a less scandalous position. He turns his gaze from Namjoon’s face back to the tank in front of them, but Namjoon remains fixated on him. He feels impossibly warm under his gentle scrutiny, thawed from the inside out, and he wonders exactly what Namjoon sees.

He should be scared, maybe. Namjoon is clever, too clever for a man who seemingly lacks even an ounce of common sense and who managed to break a ticket machine just by looking at it, and clever, handsome homicide detectives who Yoongi can’t stop thinking about inviting into his bed are a recipe for disaster. 

Or life imprisonment. 

The jellyfish drift back and forth, and his palm is getting sweaty, but he doesn’t want to let go. He didn’t realize how lonely he’s been outside of the rare one-night stand until he found heaven in holding another person's hand like this. Namjoon is still watching him, and the quiet, pointed clearing of his throat draws Yoongi’s attention. The younger man smiles sheepishly, his dimples prominent. They’re going to be a problem. 

“We could go somewhere else?”

Somewhere we can be ourselves, Yoongi hears. 

He blinks, clearing his head, and he nods his agreement. “There’s a nice restaurant across the street from the entrance of the park if you’re hungry?” 

Namjoon’s eyes light up and Yoongi’s heart thuds loudly. “I am, hyung.” 

The restaurant is quiet and Yoongi is grateful when they’re able to crowd into a tiny booth in the corner, tucked away from any potentially prying eyes. He watches Namjoon frowning down at the menu over the top of his own, and he feels stupid when he has to stifle a smile. It’s been hard to find something to dislike about him. 

Yoongi listens to him wax poetic about his love of nature as their shared samgyeopsal sizzles noisily between them on the hot plate, and Namjoon finds the way Yoongi shoves the lettuce wrap into his mouth before following with a portion of pork belly hilarious. Yoongi can’t help but smile around his mouthful of food when Namjoon’s ridiculous (charming) laugh fills every corner. 

“I’ve never seen anyone eat like that before. It’s inspired, truly.” 

Two pairs of broken chopsticks later, and Namjoon finally perfects the art of Yoongi’s little trick under his wise guidance, and he proudly declares he’s converted for life. 

They talk over cold drinks, their feet intermittently knocking under the table, and Yoongi feels his cheeks getting hotter by the second, the warmth of the alcohol heating him through. He thinks about how dangerous the combination of imbibing himself with booze and flirting with the man across from him might be. Namjoon isn’t helping, the conversation flowing a little too easily and the lingering glances that they keep sharing only adding fuel to an already out of control fire. 

Yoongi leans back against the soft leather of the booth, idly picking at the label of the soju bottle he’s cradling. He notices Namjoon staring at his hands.

“Tell me more about your work? I can’t imagine it’s very exciting being a homicide detective in a place like Busan, especially after working in Seoul for so long.” 

Namjoon sighs and shrugs, mimicking Yoongi’s relaxed posture, his fingers gently drumming on the surface of the table. “It’s… different. Quieter, for sure, but it’s still really interesting.” 

Yoongi hums, knowing no self-respecting detective would ever give away too much about what they do, but the fact that he finds Busan interesting after working murder cases in a city like Seoul is enough to make Yoongi sweat. 

“What about you?” Namjoon says, stilling his tapping to lean forward, his chin propped in his hand. “How did you end up doing what you do?”

“My mother would pick fresh flowers from the garden every week, our house would be filled with them. She taught me about all of their meanings and how to arrange them. I always found it soothing, I guess? Using my hands to make something beautiful.” 

He pauses, swallowing away the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks about why she would distract him with her flowers and the sight of her bruised, trembling hands as she guided his fingers to stroke the soft petals as he sat on the crooked piano bench. 

“I actually went to school to be an architect, but it didn’t work out. Then when we moved here and I saw the shop was for sale, I couldn’t resist. Maybe it was some kind of quarter-life crisis. I don’t regret it yet, at least.”

An unassuming occupation that brings little attention. Something gentle and easy and harmless. 

“Plus the person who sold it took a liking to the three of us. He gave us a deal we couldn’t refuse.”

He smiles thinking about Hoseok and how he took one look at these weird, lost boys and decided he was going to adopt them. There was never any escaping him and the overwhelming way that he cares for them, but Yoongi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I bet your mother is really proud of you, hyung.” 

Yoongi promptly snaps out of his deep thoughts and takes a sip of the soju, relishing the soft burn as it slides down his throat. He smiles and nods, adept at lying and donning a mask. If he started telling everyone that he met about his mother’s violent end then he’d be looked at differently. He’d be looked at with the kind of pity that makes his skin crawl.

“She is. I send her flowers often. She’s in Daegu.” 

In the ground, he thinks, twisting the now-empty bottle. He cocks his head, smiling at Namjoon when he catches him staring, and the waitress passes by so he flags her down to ask for the bill. “Hyung will get this,” he says when Namjoon fumbles for his wallet.

“Ah, we can at least split it.”

“You can get it next time, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon pauses, his smile growing, and he’s clearly pleased with the implication that there will be a next time. It’s painfully endearing how unaware he is of his charm. 

“I’ll hold you to that, Min Yoongi.” 

Yoongi puts the money on the table and moves to stand, tugging on his coat. “Come on, let's get some fresh air. The market is nice at night.” 

They wander through the colorful market, the sweet smell of freshly made hotteok assaulting their senses as they pass the food stalls. Yoongi watches Namjoon out of the corner of his eye, paying close attention to the way the obnoxious multicolored lights cast shadows on his face. 

Namjoon walks close to him, their shoulders bumping and their knuckles intermittently grazing the backs of their hands, and Yoongi cuts the shit and reaches out, lacing their fingers together under the guise of dragging him down another side street. They find a bench to sit on underneath a canopy of lanterns that flicker gently in the darkness, and it’s late enough that the cafe behind them has its shutters down. The street is quiet apart from the sound of chatter and footfall around the corner. 

“So, you said about flower meanings? What kind of flowers I be, hyung?” Namjoon says, turning so he’s angled towards Yoongi, his knees brushing against the side of his thigh. 

Yoongi hums and looks to the sky, pursing his lips and adding a little unnecessary drama to his thoughtfulness. He already knows what flowers he’d give him, he thought about it back in the park, but he needs to retain at least a sliver of his pride and refrain from seeming as smitten as he feels. 

“Hm. I’d start with clematis. It symbolizes the beauty of ingenuity, and also the trait of artifice. You’re smart, so I think that fits you well. It’s also notoriously stubborn in gardens and climbs over everything in its path. Are you stubborn, Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon laughs shyly, covering his mouth with the hand that Yoongi isn’t holding, his shoulders rising like he’s trying to shrink himself. It’s painfully endearing, as is the pink that sits high on his cheeks. “Ah, I don’t know. You’ll have to find out and tell me.” 

Yoongi bites back a smile and continues, hoping he can ignore the way his own face feels hot. 

“When is your birthday?” 

“September twelfth.” 

Yoongi’s eyes widen briefly before he snorts. “I knew I was good, but… clematis is your birth flower. I read you like a book.” 

“That’s impressive, hyung. I don’t know if I should be impressed or a little embarrassed that I’m so easy.”

He squeezes Namjoon’s hand, giving him his best smirk. “I’m just that good, Kim Namjoon.” 

The bob of Namjoon’s throat when he swallows is bordering on indecent, and when his gaze falls to Yoongi’s mouth, all hope is lost. 

Their lips meet, tentative at first, but the taste of soju on Namjoon’s tongue makes Yoongi feel crazy. That, paired with the press of Namjoon’s hand as it curls around the back of his neck to reel him closer, his fingers brushing the soft hairs at his nape, and Yoongi is a goner. 

The kiss turns almost desperate, the good kind of desperate. It makes Yoongi think about how Namjoon had looked when he talked about his last relationship. The quiet, “ It didn’t end well,” and the shift in his posture. At that moment Yoongi had decided that anyone who makes a man like Namjoon want to feel smaller doesn’t deserve to live, and he feels it even more fiercely now. 

Historically, Yoongi doesn’t let himself fall so easily, but Namjoon’s heart seems to live dangerously close to the surface, and Yoongi thinks that such precious things should be protected. Maybe even from him, but he’s always been selfish. 

Namjoon tightens his grip on Yoongi's hips and the kiss devolves into something a little slower, something that drips honey and has Yoongi’s toes curling in his shoes. He tastes so sweet Yoongi wonders if his teeth will rot. 

They break apart, still clutching each other tightly, and there are stars in Namjoon’s eyes when their gazes meet. The warmth of his skin underneath Yoongi’s fingers cuts bone-deep. 

“I… had fun tonight,” Yoongi manages, his voice a little higher than normal. “A lot of fun, Namjoon-ah.” 

It’s an open call; a dare for Namjoon to extend their time together. Yoongi would do it himself, but he has two overfamiliar roommates who wouldn’t dare to offer them the privacy they’d need, and Yoongi isn’t interested in traumatizing his dongsaengs with the sound of all of the things he wants to do with Namjoon. 

Maybe he’s being too forward, he’s not conditioned to make these kinds of connections that might dare to last, but there are too many factors to Kim Namjoon that make a foreign kind of longing bloom in his chest. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s everything Yoongi shouldn’t want, a man who could be the catalyst to his downfall, and Yoongi has always liked to play with fire.

Or maybe he just likes him. 

Namjoon makes a quiet noise of agreement and clears his throat. His mouth is pink and full, and Yoongi thinks about taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. 

“Me too. Ah, obviously.” He huffs a laugh. Then he pauses and chews on his kiss-swollen bottom lip like he read Yoongi’s mind. “I have coffee. At home. If… you’re thirsty.” 

Yoongi watches him carefully and wonders how someone with such a big brain who kisses like that can stumble on inviting someone back to his apartment, and he decides to save him the trouble by kissing him again. 

He hopes it sufficiently conveys his answer.

Chapter Text

Namjoon can’t tell if he’s drunk off the soju or Yoongi’s kisses (or both) but he decides it doesn’t really matter. He feels like a teenager again, with the way their hands swing while clasped together, how they giggle trying to keep some modicum of decency in the back corner of the bus while their hands roam over arms, shoulders, and cheeks. 

In the back of his mind, he realizes that his bike is still locked up at Yongdusan Park, but that is a problem for tomorrow’s Namjoon because right now he’s having to reluctantly keep a very buzzed, very pink Yoongi from outright crawling onto his lap in public. 

He leans against the window and Yoongi slides in, fitting himself against the mold of Namjoon. He can’t help but shove his nose into the older’s hair, and he smells spicy and musky, less like flowers, and more like the fresh scent of the earth underneath. The lights glow with yellow halos as they pass by the now quiet streets of Busan, hazy and warm. 

It takes twenty minutes until they reach Namjoon’s stop, and they ignore the eye roll the driver gives them as he pulls Yoongi off behind him, making a beeline for his apartment. He fumbles with the keys and shoves the door open with his shoulder.

They’re slipping off their shoes when a forgotten form of nervousness floods through him. The last guy he took home was Haneul, and that was when they both lived in glorified shoeboxes in Seoul. He doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to sincerely impress someone like he does with Yoongi, and before he can make any disclaimers about the state of his abode the older is already wandering around his living room and inspecting his plants. 

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a minute or so, his long fingers delicately stroking the leaves of his monstera, running around the edge of one of his bonsai pots. Namjoon becomes acutely aware of exactly how many plants he has scattered around his apartment, and he tallies them up in his head, cheeks flushing darker as the number climbs higher. 

At least it’s plants and not cats, right?

“You could put me out of business, Namjoon-ah. Though house plants don’t seem to like me very much.” Yoongi smiles at him from behind a hanging fern and Namjoon can feel some of his energy release with the slight sag in his shoulders. The older wipes the palms of his hands on his black jeans and steps closer to Namjoon. “It’s nice here. It suits you.” 

“Yeah?” The closer Yoongi gets, the more Namjoon’s mind goes fuzzy. He decides to let the soju do its job of making his brain quiet and he meets him halfway. His hands find their way to Yoongi’s waist and… fuck , he’s smaller than the sweater makes it seem. Yoongi lets out a sharp breath and suddenly their height difference is very apparent. 

Namjoon pulls Yoongi towards him and slots their mouths together. It’s gentle, at first. A silent confirmation that he wants this just as much as Namjoon does. He can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi easily parts his lips for him, tongue running over the plush swell of Namjoon’s bottom lip. The moan he lets out when Yoongi bites down is something he should be embarrassed about, but not when he can feel the almost desperate way Yoongi’s hands work up and under his sweater to his chest. 

They break apart only to breathe in stuttered pants, flushed and drunk and very close to Namjoon’s bed. He pulls Yoongi by the waist again into the next room, pressing him back against the door when it closes. The feel of Yoongi against him gives just the right amount of friction because, for the past thirty minutes, he’s been valiantly trying to ignore the way his half-hard cock settles uncomfortably in his jeans. 

That’s all out the window now. 

Namjoon ruts his hips against him again, both of them letting out strangled moans that get lost in their kiss. It’s devolved into something heady and ravenous, the occasional bump of teeth quickly eclipsed by tongues and lips. He's learned that Yoongi is a relatively quiet person in public, but here, as he pushes his knee between Yoongi’s legs, he begins to let out choked back, wanton noises that fuel Namjoon to do whatever he can to hear them over and over. 

Yoongi rolls his hips against his leg, cursing quietly as he does, and Namjoon slides his hands down to grab his ass through the tight black jeans and guides him again, harder . Yoongi buries his head in the crook of Namjoon’s neck and grazes his skin with his teeth. 

“Bed,” Yoongi rasps, rutting again, and Namjoon’s skin gets hot at the feeling of his cock against him. He lifts him up and deposits him onto his bed with little more than a huff, trying to ignore how light he feels in his arms and how fucking hot he found it as he tugs at his fluffy sweater to expose the smooth, pale skin beneath. 

Chapter Text

A few days pass and Kim Namjoon is noticeably absent. Taehyung and Jungkook assure Yoongi that this is perfectly normal without him even asking, so he assumes that he’s maybe been a little too obvious with his desire to see him. Maybe his frequent trips into the cafe that he usually pointedly avoids were a bit of a giveaway. Though contact with Namjoon hasn’t ceased completely, and Yoongi is pleasantly surprised to discover that the detective is an enthusiastic texter and picture-sender. Yoongi has never been the type to enjoy taking pictures of himself, and he often has to fight the boys off when they approach him and force him to take any with them, but he’s discovered that every time he sends one to Namjoon, he gets one in return. 

Equivalent exchange is suddenly incredibly interesting to him, and he quickly learns his best angles and that Namjoon thinks his eyes and mouth are pretty. 

Min Yoongi

[image]

Min Yoongi

Good morning, Kim Namjoon. 

Kim Namjoon

Wow. 

Kim Namjoon

Good morning.

Kim Namjoon

I really want to see you, hyung.

Min Yoongi

Only now? 

Kim Namjoon

Ah. No, not because of the picture just. 

Kim Namjoon

More, because of the picture. 

Min Yoongi

Tit for tat…

Kim Namjoon

[image]

Min Yoongi

Wow. 

Min Yoongi

Have a nice day, Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon

You too, hyung. 

Yoongi is standing in a stranger’s kitchen, and there’s a body at the table.

He wanted to keep him awake. What he does (did) warranted a violent, painful end, just like the ones he killed with his carelessness, but Yoongi gets annoyed and anxious when they make noise. 

Pain is subjective, but fear isn’t, and the way his eyes looked when he woke from his nap in the kitchen chair to find Yoongi’s hands around his throat was enough to satisfy his desire to ensure he was sufficiently punished for his deadly indiscretions. 

It wasn’t part of the plan, to take his hands. He has no need to collect parts right now, his garden already thriving, but the asshole had managed to grab his arm and dig his blunt nails in during his final, desperate moments, and Yoongi knows better than to risk leaving any traces behind. 

An extreme method, maybe, but he’s never really been a fan of leaving boring crime scenes. 

Sometimes he thinks about the arrangement and display for weeks before, and sometimes, like tonight, he thinks on the fly. The results are always remarkable either way. 

So he cuts, and his work is seamless. He slices carefully, his hand steady as the blade slips over skin and fat and muscle and bone, and he lovingly wraps and tucks the discarded parts away for keeps before rearranging him until he’s satisfied with the presentation. 

Humans are a lot like flowers, he thinks. They grow and flourish under the right care, blossoming into something beautiful that brings joy to others, or they wither away if left untended. 

Everyone dies, some just do faster than maybe they should, had they decided not to spread their rot out into the world. 

The body is heavy now, his joints hardening and his skin turning purple in places where it shouldn’t. Yoongi sighs and takes a step back to survey his work, and he wonders if Kim Namjoon will be one of the lucky few who get to see his art. He hopes he likes it if he is.

He deserved it , he thinks, and he smiles as he removes the plastic sheets from the floor, humming quietly to himself as he begins to clean. He watches blood pool on the surface of the table from the amputations, crimson trickling down the leg and between the gaps in the floorboards. 

He usually leaves his scenes spotlessly clean, but he decides it’s probably best to leave it. He doubts that anyone will care enough to miss this waste of flesh and bone, and it never hurts to speed up the discovery process.

Bodies leave such a terrible stench if left undiscovered for too long. 

His garden is narrow but long, sitting a good eighty feet away from the shop; a perk of living in a neighborhood like this and never something he would have found living in Seoul. It’s conveniently well-concealed, the high-fence topped with trellis flush with climbing plants and vines that offer an extra layer of privacy, the prime suspect being clematis. 

It isn’t an unusual sight for the florist to spend time in his greenhouse at this late hour, and his garden is full of night-blooming plants that flourish under the light of the moon. The strong scent of honeysuckle comforts him as his boots crunch lightly against the gravel path, and his gardening bag is a little heavier tonight as he unlocks the door and steps inside his sanctuary. 

The lamps are kept dim thanks to the clear sky tonight, and he works diligently, digging deep in the rich soil to carve the perfect home for the new addition to his collection. He unwraps the hands and buries them deep before covering them with a light layer of soil and a few evening primrose plants that he plucked from the flowerbeds outside. Their bright yellow petals will be a nice addition to this little corner, he thinks. 

When he’s finished ridding the greenhouse floor of shed leaves, he promptly lines the small incinerator that sits on their patio with crumpled up newspaper and the waste he collected while cleaning the greenhouse and garden on his way. The bloodied plastic is placed in the center, and the small fire burns quick and hot. 

He watches the flames die out, and he exhales slowly. 

When he finally enters the apartment, the beginning signs of daylight are drifting through a crack in the curtains in the living room. The sofa is noticeably vacant tonight, with no sign of the boys or Holly as he takes off his shoes as quietly as he possibly can. 

He strips himself down, dumping his clothes straight into the washing machine and setting it on a slow, hot cycle. He registers that his detergent doesn’t smell as nice as the one Namjoon uses, and something twists inside him when he thinks about how well he slept with him. He makes a mental note to ask Namjoon what brand he uses next time they talk if he can manage to work it into the conversation without sounding like a weirdo. 

Stepping under the spray of the shower never feels as good as it does on nights like this. The water is hot enough to hurt and feels like an embrace, his skin mottled pink as he scrubs himself clean. He stares down at his hands and picks at his nails, his cuticles still sore where he keeps biting them. He knows he should stop. 

He has nice hands, he’s been told, and he thinks about the way Namjoon had stared at them with glittering eyes and the way their fingers fit together, and he thinks he’ll try a little harder to keep them pretty for him. 

There’s a quiet scratching coming from the other side of the boy's bedroom door when he steps into the hallway with fluffy hair, clad in pajamas fresh from the dryer. He quietly turns the handle and the small brown dog eagerly escapes, jumping up at him with his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. 

Yoongi shushes Holly and scoops him up, checking on a still-sleeping Taehyung and Jungkook before he quietly closes their door. 

He finally slips into bed and places Holly on the mattress beside him, the tiny dog immediately digging at the sheets and spinning a few times before settling in a ball to sleep. Yoongi curls himself around Holly and unlocks his phone, and he’s met with the sight of a messy-haired Namjoon with his reading glasses on, his loose white sleep shirt hanging down just enough that Yoongi can see the sharp curve of his clavicle. 

Kim Namjoon

Morning, hyung. Early start today. 

Kim Namjoon

Would like to see you soon, if you want?

Kim Namjoon

I know it’s been a while. 

Yoongi smiles and nuzzles closer to Holly. He awkwardly raises his phone with his free hand and opens his camera, taking a quick picture, his face partially obscured by curly brown fur. 

Min Yoongi

[image]

Min Yoongi

Morning, Joon-ah. 

He stares at the picture Namjoon sent for a few seconds before his fingers move over the keyboard, blushing as he types. 

Min Yoongi
Would like to see you too. Stop by for coffee if you get the chance? 

He watches the message quickly switch from delivered to read, those three torturous little dots appearing to indicate Namjoon was probably sitting on his phone, waiting for a reply. 

Kim Namjoon
You’re so pretty. 

Kim Namjoon

And I will. Today, if I can escape. Promise this time. 

Yoongi smiles, his eyes heavy as he locks his phone and tosses it aside. He’ll get a few hours of sleep before he has to wake the boys, and the thought of seeing Namjoon soothes him as he drifts off. 

It’s six-thirty in the morning when Namjoon wakes up to a call from Seokjin. 

There’s another body. 

He lets himself indulge in a few texts to Yoongi, just to give him something happy before he begins his day. He promises to try and swing by the cafe if he can manage. Hopefully, they’ll be wrapped up before the sun sets. 

Seokjin waits for Namjoon just outside of an old apartment, coffee in each hand, and Namjoon hums gratefully as the older hands one of the cups to him. It’s bitter and strong, which is what he needs right now to wake up fully. 

Namjoon steps inside the threshold of the flat, and begins to shrug on a protective smock and some booties when a voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Ah!” Jimin quacks, the plastic of the hazmat suit crinkling as he frantically waves Namjoon away. “Stay over there.”

Park Jimin is Busan’s top forensic crime scene investigator. He’s a native to the city, but the satoori only really shows itself when he’s worked up or before he’s had his morning coffee. He’s shorter than Namjoon but twice as fierce and whip-smart. He moved up the ranks quickly in his career and is the only other person besides Namjoon and Seokjin that fully knows the details of the serial killer case. 

Jimin and Namjoon have bonded quite quickly. Despite being methodical and fastidious with his work, Jimin is a riot to be around after hours. It’s impossible to keep up with him when they drink, but Namjoon does his best, and Jimin often helps Namjoon nurse the subsequent hangovers with a mean bloody mary and haejangguk. 

“Jimin-ah,” Namjoon grumbles. He lets his pout seep into his tone and he messes with the shoe cover in his hand. “It’s my job to investigate homicides. This is the scene of a homicide.”

Despite the shapeless white of the hazmat suit, the sharp angles of Jimin’s face strikethrough, eyes shooting daggers at the detective. He huffs and caps the now bloody swab in its designated tube. 

“Hyung. I will let you look around my crime scene when I am sure that you don’t knock something over with your ass that ruins potential evidence. That’s my job. I’m making sure you have the space to do yours.”

Namjoon sets his jaw with a frown and huffs. “I’m not that bad,” he huffs. He can practically hear the eye roll that Seokjin does beside him. 

“You’ve been here not even a year and already I’ve had to rule out your DNA from two different samples. Stay out until we’ve gathered everything.” His tone is harsh, but a smile curls at his lips. “ Please .”

“He must really like you,” Seokjin teases. “He never says please.”

“Only to the people I like!” Jimin calls as the two detectives step outside. 

So the detectives wait outside, drinking their coffee and letting the caffeine bring them to life. Seokjin manifests a legal pad with some notes hastily scribbled on it. “Got this from the beat cop that responded to the neighbor’s call.” 

Namjoon downs the last of the coffee while his eyes scan the page. 

Victim is a 33 y/o male, next of kin is a sister who has been notified. Neighbor directly below him complained of a liquid substance of what appeared to be blood dripping from her bathroom vent. Neighbor knew the victim only in passing, said he was “a bit rude and mean to the local children” and has been seen at illegal dog fighting rings. 

Victim was found propped up at the kitchen table with bruising to the neck and missing hands. Perimeter was secured and backup requested. Next of kin stated that she had not spoken to the victim in ten years, and is unlikely to file charges. 

Further interviews of neighbors confirm that the victim was not in good standing with the community. 

Seokjin whistles as Namjoon hands the legal pad back and takes a deep breath. “I’m willing to bet this has to do with our special someone.” 

“Mm.” Namjoon reads over the words again and frowns. “Are we sure? The lack of hands is new, and it looks like he was strangled.” He ignores the bitter tang he gets in his mouth from the way he so casually talks about such gruesome details.

“We can’t be one hundred percent certain right now, I suppose, but they’ve altered their methods before,” Seokjin explains. He pulls a small notepad from his jacket pocket and flips through it. “Sometimes tongues are missing, eyes, feet. We’ve never been able to find a reason why. One thing that does link all of them together is the state of the crime scene. It’s always free of any shred of substantial evidence.” 

The gnawing feeling in his stomach begins to grow; Namjoon has been trying to ignore it, not wanting to really acknowledge that what he and Seokjin face is an uphill battle the size of Everest. His old captain always stressed that mindset is what often could be the difference between a case being solved or declared cold, or what separated good detectives from the great ones. 

And, yes, Seokjin has been working on this for two years at this point, but Namjoon is new and fresh, and he can’t let himself think too long about these cases never being solved. It won’t do any good.

Namjoon catches Seokjin looking at him with a look close to sympathy. He’s suddenly aware that he’s clenching his jaw, so he relaxes it and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. The silence between them grows tense as they wait, but it’s soon cut as Jimin walks out. His cheeks are pink from being bundled in plastic and he runs a shaky hand through his platinum hair. 

“Shit like this is why I drink.” Jimin looks tired, and not from working so early in the morning. It’s the kind of tiredness that Namjoon sees in Seokjin when he thinks nobody’s looking. 

There’s something about these cases that’s haunting. Some of that is just a standard job hazard, but these? They linger, even among detectives at the precinct that are no longer working on the case. More than a few have left voluntarily, Namjoon knows. 

Seokjin’s voice is tight when he speaks. “I know we should probably go in before we ask, but, do you think…” 

“It has to be.” Jimin’s mouth is set in a thin line. “There’s nothing, Seokjin, not a footprint, fingerprint, or even a fucking hair, and I would bet my entire bank account that all those samples that come back are from the victim only.” It’s clear that he’s angry, enough to forgo honorifics, and he clenches his fists. 

Seokjin takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. We’ll see you when we’re done.” He heads back into the house, Namjoon following. They don the equipment, Namjoon instantly beginning to sweat from the plastic. 

They work their way in, going through the entryway and living room. Nothing is out of place; a book is open, face-down, as if it was put down before the victim opened his door, maybe even for his killer. 

The air in a crime scene is always stagnant, Namjoon has learned. Even if there’s a storm outside, the scene itself is a vacuum. 

Namjoon notices that the house looks like a snapshot, a still-life of what the man was doing before his death. Seokjin scribbles in his notepad, taking pictures of anything that might prove useful. This part of the house seems normal, untouched, even. 

Then they enter the kitchen, and Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin mutters. 

Looking down, the pool of dried blood stops just before his feet; patches of it are shiny from where it hasn’t dried all the way through. Namjoon follows it from the floor to the legs of the table, to the body itself. 

At a passing glance, it simply looks like the man is sitting down for dinner. There’s even an empty plate and cup in front of him. But as Namjoon looks closer, the illusion falls apart. The man’s neck is mottled with angry bruises around his neck from strangulation. 

His eyes…

Namjoon has to look away for a moment. He remembers reading somewhere that some people believe that the reflection in a murder victim’s eyes shows their killer. It’s not true, Namjoon knows this, but the way this man’s eyes are wide open with fear, it’s easy to see where the myth originated. 

And then there are the hands. Or lack thereof. What strikes him—and Seokjin, too, by the look on his face—is the precision with which the hands were taken from him. It’s rare to see a dismemberment this clean. 

“It’s…” Seokjin shakes his head as he tries to find the right word. 

“Surgical, almost,” Namjoon finishes, his voice hoarse. Typically, it would be messy, sinew and tissue straggling from the joints, but not here. “Whoever this is, they’re deliberate. Obsessively so.” He points to the blood seeping through the floor beneath them. “This, too. The rest of the house is basically spotless, why leave pooling blood?”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow and he sucks on his teeth. “They wanted the body found. The neighbor said she saw the blood dripping down into her flat. That’s why she called.”

Namjoon nods. “Exactly.” 

The two of them continue cataloging the rest of the apartment, but they both know that there isn’t anything too substantial. Namjoon feels like he’s gasping for fresh air by the time he shucks the protective gear off and steps out into the brisk chill of late afternoon. The sun is low, the light golden and fading fast. They’d been there all day debriefing and waiting for whatever test results would be available first. They sent the evidence to the precinct in boxes, and Seokjin went to make sure it was delivered safely. 

“Go home,” he insisted. “You look like shit.” 

Namjoon knew that was an understatement. He felt hollowed out and weak, like the wind could blow him over if he wasn’t careful. He thought he’d be somewhat prepared, he’d seen the photos from the other victims, but seeing it firsthand…

He shivers as he walks out to the bus stop. He thinks about going home, about scrubbing his skin in a hot shower until it’s raw. 

His phone vibrates and he remembers that he promised Yoongi he’d try to see him at the shop today, and the thought of seeing him again gives him this sense of peace that washes over him. 

The shop it is, then. 

The bell above the door jingles as he steps through. It’s almost dark and most of the after-work crowd had dissipated, with just a few people left dotting the tables. Jungkook laughs wickedly as he shakes a whipped cream dispenser and aims it threateningly with Taehyung cowering behind the counter. 

“Please, please, I’m sorry, Kookie, please don’t—hyung?” Taehyung stands up and Jungkook drops his arms, and a shared look of concern spreads across their faces. “Are you alright? You don’t look too good.” 

Namjoon does his best to put on a genuine smile. “I’m alright, Taehyung. Just a long day at work is all. Is hyu–ah, is Yoongi-ssi here?” 

Taehyung nods and glances at Jungkook, their worry deepening. “He’s in the back, I’ll go grab him for you,” Jungkook says, quickly slipping through the beaded curtain. 

Taehyung begins tapping at the register. “I’ll go ahead and make your regular, hyung.” 

Namjoon waves him off. “Actually, I’m gonna go for a hot chocolate.” His cheeks heat at the childish request. “If I have coffee now I really won’t sleep.” 

He can’t peg the emotion that simmers in the look that Taehyung gives him, but he settles on pity, although he’s too tired to truly care. 

“Go sit down, I’ll bring it to you. Don’t worry about paying, really.”

Namjoon shoves a few thousand won in the tip jar, anyway. 

He slips into a booth in the corner of the shop, facing away from most of the patrons. His head falls back, and now that he’s stopped moving, the reality of the day begins to settle into his bones. Namjoon swallows thickly, trying to keep the inevitable flow of tears at bay. He needs to wait until he’s home, at least. 

The clacking of beads makes him open his eyes, and there’s Yoongi, and every muscle in his body relaxes seeing him. “Hey,” he croaks.

Yoongi makes a concerned little noise and slides into the booth beside him, grabbing his hand without hesitation under the table. In the back of his mind, Namjoon thinks that this is way too affectionate for people after one date, so he must really look like a wreck, but again, he can’t find the energy to care. He squeezes his hand back. 

“What are you doing here? You look exhausted.” Yoongi’s eyes are wide with worry, and Namjoon drinks him in. There’s a smudge of dirt on his nose, his hair is a little mussed, and he’s beautiful, Namjoon thinks. 

“I told you I’d come to visit you today.” 

A knot forms between Yoongi’s brow, but his expression remains gentle. He runs his thumb over the back of Namjoon’s hand in absentminded circles. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t.” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, I… I don’t think I can be alone right now,” he says, running his free hand through his hair and sniffling quietly. 

Taehyung comes over with a big cup of hot chocolate, a heart drizzled on the whipped cream in chocolate syrup. “Here you go, hyung.”

“Thanks.” Namjoon is trying desperately to keep his voice even. Taehyung hurries back to the counter to help a customer that just walked in and Yoongi turns in the booth to face him. 

“Jungkook said you had a long day at work. What happened? You look pretty shaken.” 

A short, bitter laugh jumps out and he shakes his head. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. But I wasn’t prepared for it. Sorry, I know that’s a stupidly vague answer.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I understand, Joon-ah. You have a hard job.” Yoongi’s voice is low and soothing, and Namjoon lets it wash over him and soaks it in.

He starts drinking the hot chocolate and it settles heavy and warm in his belly. It’s spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg and he cradles the mug like his life depends on it. Yoongi starts to rub soothing circles on his back with the hand that isn’t laced with his own, apparently uncaring that they’re in public. It’s a small gesture, but it makes Namjoon feel safe and wanted. 

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, I’m not scheduled, but I may get called in on some things in the afternoon if I need to. I have my work computer with me, though.” He pauses. “Why?”

Yoongi gives a soft smile. “Let me make you dinner. You can stay the night, too, so you don’t have to be alone,” he says, pausing as his cheeks turn pink. “Ah… if you want.” 

“Ah, hyung, you don’t have to–”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi insists. “I want to. Let me do this for you, Namjoon. It’s what I know best.” 

“Okay,” Namjoon whispers. “Okay, that sounds nice. Thank you.” 

“It's nothing.” Yoongi stands and pulls his black canvas apron off and slings it over his shoulder. “Come on, let's get you upstairs.” 

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “But it’s not time to close yet.”

“Jungkook can close up, he’s a big boy. Besides, have you even eaten anything today?”

“Ah… I had coffee. And hot chocolate.” Namjoon frowns down at his cup. “I got called in early and we just worked through, I kind of… forgot to eat.” The reality is that he completely lost his appetite while he was there. Seokjin had sandwiches delivered, but Namjoon couldn't bring himself to eat them. 

“Shit,” Yoongi laughs. “So you definitely need food.” He holds his hand out to Namjoon. “Let hyung take care of you, hm?”

They walk towards the back of the store, Jungkook and Taehyung watching them with wide eyes. 

“Close up for me, Kook? I’m going to go ahead and make dinner. Don’t let the place burn down.” 

“Sure.” 

Yoongi’s apartment is bigger than Namjoon thought it would be, but that’s probably because he’s used to Seoul-sized flats, still. It’s cozy and lived-in, but spacious enough for three people to live comfortably. 

When Yoongi closes the door, a flash of brown fur trots towards them and scratches at his legs. “Holly, calm down,” he coos, picking the small dog up. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you. This is Holly. He’s a little prince.” 

Namjoon can’t help himself and smiles at the little dog, scratching his head. “Hello, Holly.” He laughs as the poodle enthusiastically licks his fingers, fluffy tail wagging. “I have… had a dog. Moni. He, uh, he lives with my ex.” 

Definitely a great time to bring up your failed relationship, Namjoon . 

Yoongi, thankfully, doesn’t pry and leads them into the open kitchen that joins with the living area, directing Namjoon to a chair and handing him a squirming Holly while he starts pulling food out of the fridge. 

It’s mesmerizing to watch Yoongi cook. He whirls around the kitchen, chopping veggies with clean, precise strokes, and within a couple of minutes, the smell of garlic and onions and meat fills the apartment. 

“I wanted to ask,” Yoongi starts, a smile curling at the corners of his lips, “did you ever get your bike?”

Namjoon snorts, his cheeks turning pink. “I did. Not long after you left my apartment my work partner called. Apparently, his cousin is a security guard at the park and he saw my name and called my partner about it. He hasn’t stopped giving me shit at work.”

Yoongi’s smile is wide enough to show his teeth before he starts earnestly laughing. “Well, I’m glad you got it back at least.” 

More of the tension and stress eases off of Namjoon as Yoongi asks him innocuous questions about his life, but artfully steering away from anything to do with what he saw. Namjoon tells him about Seokjin and Jimin, how they’re really the only friends he’s found in Busan so far. 

Besides Yoongi, of course, but something in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach tells him that to call Yoongi only a friend would be… inaccurate, to say the least. 

Holly also serves as an excellent distraction. Namjoon misses his own dog, and he’d missed the feeling of absentmindedly petting one. It’s soothing, everything about Yoongi is, even his home. 

He falls into an easy rhythm with Yoongi, the draining roller coaster of his day fading as he settles into Yoongi’s orbit. Soon, there’s a bowl of japchae in front of him and he digs in, his stomach rumbling at the first taste of food that he’s had all day. Namjoon practically inhales it and he briefly becomes incapable of human speech, only showing his enjoyment in grunts and hums. The bowl empties in minutes, and Yoongi slides his portion over with a smile. 

“Here, take mine.”

Namjoon blinks and stares for a moment before his brain catches up with him and he shakes his head. “No, hyung, you need to eat, too.”

Yoongi waves him off. “You’re like Tae and Kook. Really. I’m full just by watching you eat.” He pushes the bowl closer to Namjoon. “I have too much coffee in my system, anyway.” He gets up and begins portioning off the rest of the japchae into separate bowls for the two younger men downstairs.

Namjoon digs in, letting himself enjoy the meal more the second time around. “You’re a really good cook, hyung.” 

The older shrugs, doing a final wipe of the counter with the dishrag. “It’s just japchae, Joon-ah, it’s nothing special.” 

“Well, it’s more than what I’m capable of.” Namjoon grins around a mouthful of noodles. 

When he finishes, he washes the bowl in the sink, ignoring Yoongi’s protests, but he lets himself get ushered into the bedroom. It’s not sexual, and part of Namjoon wonders if he should make the effort, but with the way Yoongi fusses over him, he decides to just let himself be taken care of. 

Yoongi gets the shower hot and gives Namjoon his privacy, handing him a stack of towels and a large shirt and shorts to sleep in. He stands under the water for a minute before washing up. His skin is flushed pink from scrubbing by the time he’s done. The stubble on his face scratches as he runs a hand over his face before stepping out into the bedroom. 

The bed is made and Yoongi is already tucked inside it, reading a book by the light of the lamp on his nightstand. The other side of the bed has been turned down, the sheets clean and welcoming, and Holly sits curled by Yoongi’s side. 

Namjoon crawls into bed. The mattress sags beneath him, but it's soft, and the sheets are warm. He feels his bones turn to liquid as he slides in, and already he’s dangerously close to dozing off. There’s still a considerable amount of space between the two of them, the most there’s been within the confines of a bedroom in all two of the times they’ve happened to be in one together, but Namjoon doesn’t want to encroach. 

Yoongi glances over at him from his book and clicks his tongue, nudging Namjoon with his foot under the covers. “What are you doing all the way over there?” He holds his arm out, an open invitation, and Namjoon’s heart skips a beat at the fond look on his face. 

Namjoon wriggles towards him, his head on Yoongi’s chest, and a small, contented sigh escapes him. Without hesitation, Yoongi’s hand slips into his damp hair, his nails lightly scratching against his scalp. Namjoon almost freezes for a moment; this is terrifyingly intimate, given how long they’ve known each other, but it also feels right, like they’ve been together for years and this is just their nightly routine. 

Namjoon nuzzles into Yoongi, lazily looking at the pages of his book but not absorbing the words. His eyes begin to droop, his breathing slows, and Yoongi’s voice cuts through the miasma settling into his brain. 

“I can turn the lamp off if you want?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, I like this.” He smiles up at Yoongi, as his hands continue to play with his hair. “It’s perfect. Thank you, hyung.”

He succumbs to sleep not long after, and he’ll swear he felt the soft press of Yoongi’s lips on his forehead before everything goes dark, but Yoongi never tells him about it. 

And if Namjoon tosses and turns and whimpers in his sleep, Yoongi doesn’t mention that, either. 

A sliver of early morning sunshine peeks through the broken slat in his blinds—his trusty wake-up signal—and Yoongi stretches and rolls to find the spot beside him empty. His heart thuds loudly in panic but he tries to rationalize with his quick-firing brain, telling himself that Namjoon is probably in the bathroom or making coffee. 

Yoongi never thought his first experience with being the big spoon would be with a man so much taller than him, and he smiles at the memory of waking up in the middle of the night to find Namjoon still curled against his chest despite all of the tossing and turning he did. He wasn’t surprised when Namjoon seemed to be having a bad dream, but the simple press of Yoongi’s lips against his forehead and his gentle fingers soothing through his hair had quickly placated him. 

The other thing that crosses his mind as he (hopefully) awaits Namjoon’s return is that he’s never regretted a single kill, but seeing the way Namjoon had been shaken by what he saw, by what Yoongi did, has him... confused. 

It could have just been the angles of the shadows on his face that made Namjoon look so forlorn, even in slumber, but Yoongi still manages to feel uneasy. Maybe a soul as gentle as Namjoon’s just isn’t capable of carrying the weight of the terrible things he sees. 

Maybe it’s as simple as Yoongi having the wrong idea when he hoped he’d appreciate his gift of ridding the world of a man like the one whose hands he took, a man too dangerous and too clever to ever be noticed by the people who matter. Or maybe he just needs to rethink his presentation. The hands were a little… showy. 

The lie of casual conversation that he’d distracted Namjoon with had been tangible, and the hopeful way he looked at Yoongi in response felt perilous. Yoongi likes him in a way that makes him want to ask stupid questions like what are we like he’s seventeen again. He wonders if Namjoon can see his thoughts and how shaded red they are if he’d want to stick around if he could. If he could ever be with a man like Min Yoongi, knowing what he does in the dark. 

Yoongi takes a deep breath and reminds himself that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. 

That’s when he hears the voices, plural, and Min Yoongi’s whole life flashes before his eyes as he scrambles to disentangle himself from his bed. 

He moves faster than he possibly ever has outside of any of his illicit extracurricular activities as he skids down the hallway and stumbles into a scene from his worst fucking nightmares. 

Taehyung and Jungkook, staring down a half-asleep Kim Namjoon with the kind of excitement that kids get when offered a shiny new toy to play with. 

Three heads turn to look at him in unison where they’re gathered by the breakfast bar, the looks in their eyes distinctly very different. Namjoon is fond, if not a little relieved to see him. Jungkook looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and then there’s Kim Taehyung. 

Kim Taehyung, who was put on this Earth to single-handedly test Min Yoongi’s patience. 

“Hey sleepyhead,” he says, a gentle smile curling at the edge of his perfect mouth that seems kind, but Yoongi knows he’s too good of an actor and all he can detect is trouble. “Namjoonie-hyung was just telling us about your night.”

Yoongi moves to stand a little closer to Namjoon like he can maybe protect him from some of the mischief radiating off of the two boys, but Namjoon seems far too relaxed for someone who’s been subjected to any of their weird behavior. 

“Is that right?”

The coffee machine beeps and Jungkook makes a move to fill four mugs, offering the first one to Namjoon. Small mercies are his dongsaengs remembering their manners, but the rest is up for debate. 

“Thank you, Jungkookie,” Namjoon nods, his eyes widening briefly when he spots Yoongi’s brow raise at the nickname. “Ah, just saying how good you are at cooking. I was impressed.” 

“Hyung cooks for us all the time. He’s very domesticated. Some might say husband material,” Taehyung says, watching Yoongi over the rim of his coffee cup as he takes a drawn-out sip. 

“I thought you might’ve stayed at Hoseok’s last night,” Yoongi says, eyes narrowed. “Or did he not want you?”

Jungkook shakes his head and wraps his arms around Taehyung’s waist, fisting his shirt over his stomach. He rests his chin upon his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against Taehyung’s neck. It’s the kind of easy display of affection that always makes Yoongi’s chest tighten. Seeing them so comfortable with each other makes him inexplicably happy after all they’ve been through, and he wishes he was capable of offering the same kind of easy touches that he secretly craves. 

He looks at Namjoon, who watches them with a smile, probably only just registering the nature of their relationship as Taehyung turns to press a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek before he responds to Yoongi.

“We wanted to make sure Namjoon-hyung was okay. Thought you could make us all breakfast,” Jungkook says, his voice sweet.

Yoongi looks at Namjoon who’s already staring at him with that gentle fondness that seems to come so easily to him, and some distant part of him feels warm at the sight. At how easily he seems to fit into this scenario. 

“Right. I can do that, let me just wash up. I’ll be right back,” Yoongi says, eyeing the entwined boys wearily before he offers an unbothered Namjoon a reassuring smile and turns on his heel to head back into his bedroom. 

When he reaches his door he hears Namjoon and Jungkook talking about where the younger boy buys his weird toe socks, and Yoongi is in for a long morning. 

Later, when Yoongi has completed his morning hyung duties of feeding the boys and Namjoon, he sends the couple on their way with a pointed glare that begs for some privacy, and he and Namjoon curl up on the sofa to watch some terrible drama on Netflix. It’s mindless and probably just the thing Namjoon needs to distract him. 

Yoongi is beginning to feel restless in his own skin. Namjoon is so close, but there’s an obvious distance between them in a way that feels strange despite the easy intimacy they’d shared last night. Their knees knock intermittently if one of them shifts the right way, and every time it happens, Namjoon’s mouth twists into a small smile that almost displays his dimples. 

Yoongi’s fingers twitch where his hand rests upon the sofa between them, Namjoon’s own hand just a few measly inches away. He moves a little smoother than he expected he would, his fingers tentatively brushing the back of Namjoon’s wrist, over the jut of bone. Namjoon’s skin is warm and stark in contrast to his pale and perpetually cool. 

Namjoon doesn’t take his eyes off the television, but he turns his hand without question to allow Yoongi to slide his bony fingers between Namjoon’s slim ones. They fit well together when he closes them and squeezes. There’s pink on Namjoon’s cheeks when he finally looks at Yoongi, the corner of his pretty mouth lifting, and there’s that fucking dimple. 

“Is this okay?” Yoongi asks, feeling stupid for it because they’ve fucked and also spent a chaste night together… cuddling. 

And then Namjoon is huffing a gentle laugh and shaking his head before he lets his head fall to the side where it rests on the back of the sofa cushion, hands still intertwined between them. “It’s okay, hyung,” he says, his breath sweet against Yoongi’s face, and he’s so handsome it hurts. 

Yoongi fell. Hard and fast and easy. 

His eyes betray him, wandering down to stare at Namjoon’s lips for a second too long. Everything suddenly feels too perilous, too tight in his chest, because he wants it—wants him —so badly it confuses him. The unremitting feeling of pathetic yearning is poisoning him from the inside out. 

He swallows away the lump in his throat and the dryness in his mouth, and he thinks about the blood that trailed the leg of the kitchen table to drip between the cracks in the floorboards after his kill which might be a pretty good representation of whatever the fuck is going on with him right now. 

I want to be with you feels too simple, and I think I could probably fall in love with you is most definitely too forward, and his throat aches with the desire to just let fate decide which one will inelegantly slip out. 

Namjoon can practically hear the cogs turning in Yoongi’s mind. He tends to go unnaturally still when he’s trying to ‘act normal.’ Up close like this though, Namjoon can see the tiny crease in his brow and the way his bottom lip quivers before his tongue darts out to wet it. 

“Hyung.” He nudges Yoongi with his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Joon-ah.” 

The question stalls on the back of his tongue, the cliche of it making him want to scrunch his nose, but he figures now isn’t the time for a sweeping romantic confession. “What are we?”

He sees Yoongi begin to say something but he stops himself and sighs, his eyes focused on their clasped hands that lie between them on the couch. “I…” Yoongi’s mouth sets into a thin line and he squeezes Namjoon’s hand. “I’m not sure. What would you like us to be?”

The music from the television swells as the main actress cries in the rain, without an umbrella. Yoongi looks flushed in the morning light, refreshed from their lie-in, and he’s beautiful. It tugs at something deep in Namjoon’s chest. 

“I’m happier than I’ve been in longer than the past six months if I’m being honest.” Namjoon readjusts himself to face Yoongi, their knees knocking as he inches closer. “What I’m worried about is if you think I’m, I dunno, using you for a rebound. Which isn’t the case, at all. And I know that my last relationship was long, and… and I understand if you’re worried about commitment.”

This is a slippery slope. Namjoon talks a lot when he’s nervous, and suddenly his nerves feel absolutely fried. Yoongi watches him with wide eyes, taking in what he’s saying, his expression frustratingly emotionless. 

“And if you are worried, that’s okay, because I don’t know if I’m ready for another relationship like that, but I would still like to see where this goes, if you want to, of course, hyung. And that’s not to say I don’t want this ever to not be, y’know, a serious thing, but I really like you, Yoongi-ssi, and you make me feel warm. And safe. And you’re so pretty--” 

Namjoon stops as Yoongi gently holds his face in his hands. “Breathe, Joon-ah.”  He nods, taking a deep breath. He’s definitely spiraling. 

“Sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Yoongi’s voice is calm, fond, and he’s smiling. That’s a good sign. 

“Okay.” The television blares loudly at the end credits of the drama, and it’s so cheesy and melodramatic that Namjoon wants to laugh. Yoongi’s hands fall from his face, and Namjoon grabs one of his wrists. Yoongi’s pulse flutters beneath pale skin, matching his own frantic heartbeat. “What do you think, hyung?” 

Yoongi takes a deep breath in. “I’m not big on thinking too much.” There’s a hitch in Namjoon’s breath, but he waits for the older to continue. “But I know that I like you. A lot, Namjoon-ah, more than I’ve liked anyone before.” 

Namjoon can feel the big grin that spreads across his face. “That’s… good news. Great news.” He’s immobilized, almost, not wanting to look away from Yoongi and also filled with this light feeling and for the first time, the deep crack that split his heart in two feels mended. Whole. 

A pale finger pokes his chest and Yoongi brings him back to reality. “Joon.” 

“Hm?”

“I think this is the part where you kiss your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend…” 

With a laugh, Yoongi crawls into his lap and presses their lips together, and it’s like Namjoon reanimates. His hands fall into place on Yoongi’s small waist. They kiss lazily as the next episode of the drama starts up. They’re in no rush, just happy to simply be. 

They really only break apart when a loud, “In the living room, hyung?” Comes from a very amused Taehyung when he appears in the doorway, Jungkook popping up behind him shortly after, his nose scrunching as he giggles. 

Yoongi tries to push himself to the opposite end of the couch, but Namjoon stops him and drags him back until they’re pressed next to each other. “Can we help you?” Yoongi’s voice is definitely irritated. 

“Jungkookie had a question,” Taehyung grins, pushing Jungkook in front of him. 

“ We wanted to know when we get to meet your friends.” 

“Hyung doesn’t have any besides Hobi,” Taehyung says proudly.

“Hey!” Yoongi looks mortified.

“Soon,” Namjoon laughs. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Namjoon tries not to think about how the warm fuzzy feeling begins to fade the second he steps out of the flower shop later that morning. The closer he gets to home, the more the cold seeps into his skin, muscle, and bone. He hesitates before he pushes his key into the lock.

The door closes. Namjoon is alone.

Within seconds, the silence is too much. Naturally, he’s a quiet person, and from an outside perspective, it may seem that he enjoys the stillness. Given his profession and the new group he’s found himself surrounded by, a moment’s peace would be invaluable.

This is far from the case.

Namjoon has been a nature boy since birth; he loves plants and trees and animals. But part of what he loves most about it is the noise they provide. Going to a park is quiet, yes, but it isn’t silent. There’s wind, the rustling of leaves, the crunch of twigs breaking underfoot. Or, if by the beach, the gentle cresting of waves is enough to lull him into a sense of rest.

The difference is that here, in his small apartment, the silence is suffocating. He’s tired but his brain can’t seem to quiet down enough for him to sleep. The exhaustion has set deep into his bones. While being with Yoongi and letting the older take care of him was much needed, the sinking, sick feeling slowly crawls back as he shuffles into his bedroom.

He can’t seem to shake the last crime scene from his mind. Namjoon knows there will be more like this, ones that reach into him and hollow him out, taking pieces of humanity with them. How much of that can he take before he breaks? Is it years? Months? 

He wonders if this is what the rest of his career is destined to be like. 

Dark tendrils of his past creep into his mind when he gets like this. It starts small and spirals quickly. Why he chose this career is a tricky question, and the answer is wrapped in a deceptively simple answer.

He remembers the day clearly. It’s burned into his mind. It took years for it to not be what he sees when he closes his eyes, but with an internal groan, he realizes that the image has only been replaced by more gruesome scenes as he’s gotten older.

It was January, and he was celebrating turning 20 at the new year, at college in Seoul. He’d gone out with his friends for drinks and was truly feeling what it was like to be properly drunk for the first time. As an art history major, he’d been high plenty of times, but with alcohol, he’d only been buzzed before thanks to friends sneaking shitty beers into dorms or open fields back in Ilsan where they would laugh at successfully avoiding parents and dorm RAs.

That night he’d stepped out of the bar to get some fresh air, but mostly to avoid his friend who’d decided to aggressively make out with a girl he’d picked up. There was a park nearby, so Namjoon had headed toward it to take a stroll, figuring he’d be able to appreciate nature with his mind free from the fetters of test anxiety.

Namjoon never made it to the park.

The street was shiny and the air was humid with rain as the city lights glittered against the pavement. He’d heard the argument before he saw it, the panicked, high-pitch words of a woman and the angry, sharp tones of a man.

Please, please, just let me go, I’ll come home in the morning.

Nothing but a dumb whore. You can’t leave me. You’ll never leave.

Namjoon turned the corner and saw them about a block and a half away, just enough to make out their faces. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.

Namjoon stared for a moment. He’d never seen a gun in person, only pictures from his sunbaenims during their military service.

Watching the man brandish it, he could tell it had a weight to it. The woman flinched away from him, but her back was to the side of a building lining the alley. He remembers her being beautiful, even with her face contorted in fear.

The man… he only saw the back of his head.

The voices got louder, the cries more high-pitched. He could see people on the other side of the street stopping to watch, concern on their faces.

“Hey,” Namjoon had said, weakly, dumbly, the alcohol in his system giving him the courage to come forth, maybe to try and stop it. He was getting closer, his long legs carrying him fast. The woman saw him, choked out a please, help me . The man turned, locked eyes with Namjoon, held up the gun, and pulled the trigger.

The loud boom of the gun stunned Namjoon, and there was a horrible ringing in his ears. He couldn’t see straight, but then, painfully, he could see everything with perfect clarity.

Her body fell back, slamming against the wall before falling limp, her face more viscera than visage, and the one thing Namjoon can’t remember is if he screamed. He remembers his throat being hoarse the next day, but he still doesn’t know what kind of sound came out of him.

He didn’t help her. He didn’t check to see if any of the other bystanders had bothered to try and stop the bleeding, fuck there was so much blood—

He ran as fast as he could. Back to the bar, to his hyung, he could help.

It wasn’t until he’d gone home early the next morning from the police station after giving his statement that he realized her blood had splattered all over him.

His name had been cleared quickly; his alibi was solid, there were so many witnesses. He gave a recorded statement instead of coming in for the trial, his parents had made sure it didn’t interfere with his schooling.

And… life had returned mostly to normal after that. It was so quick, too quick.

Art lost meaning, for a while. How can you appreciate something meant to laud the beauty of humanity or nature when you witnessed life being torn from a body?

He was ushered into therapy quickly, too, but it didn’t help. Tight-laced professionals in inoffensive starchy grey wool that looked at him with nothing but pity. Why would any of them take a kid like him seriously?

School was enough of a distraction that he just… didn’t leave. He switched majors, graduating in philosophy in three years instead of four, and he went straight into the military after that, enlisting as a military police officer. Having a constant schedule kept his mind occupied allowed him to compartmentalize.

Eventually, during his service, he learned not to see the murdered woman when he slept at night.

Then he came back to Seoul as a cop, got promoted to be a minor detective, being trained to eventually investigate homicides. 

He’d let himself fall in love with Haneul, convinced himself that he was The One. Got a dog, a nice apartment.

Proposed. Got dumped the same day.

And now he’s staring down the pipe of what’s likely a career-long hunt for a killer that leaves nothing but nightmares in their wake.

So why did he choose this path? Namjoon saw someone murdered in front of him, which is simple enough. It’s a good enough answer to make people stop prying and switch topics. Maybe he wanted to right the wrong he witnessed, but there was more to it. Namjoon wouldn’t say it happened that night, but the murder was a catalyst for him to come to the realization that people aren’t inherently good .

His philosophy diploma mocks him where it hangs on the wall.

If he thinks about it, maybe this career path was a way to try and prove himself wrong. That the atrocities humans commit against each other were the exception, not the rule, and that bringing closure could right whatever wrongs he came across.

A laugh escapes him as he lays on his bed in the dark. What kind of mental gymnastics has he been trying to put himself through to rationalize that?

Maybe the answer is that he’s a masochist.

He rubs a hand over his face and checks his watch. It’s late and he needs to sleep, but at this rate, he’ll spiral until dawn.

Namjoon fumbles into some pajamas and rustles around in the kitchen for whatever liquor he can find first (vodka), taking a few big swigs of it before dumping an unmeasured amount in with the last of the cranberry juice from the fridge.

He drinks it quickly and climbs into bed. His body numbs before his mind does, but eventually, he gets pulled into unconsciousness.

He dreams of the woman again. He looks down at his hands, speckled with her blood, down at her body.

Namjoon still runs. 

When he wakes up the next morning, Namjoon feels hungover but worse. He is hungover, a little (when did he get old?) but the spiral he went down makes him feel far, far worse than the alcohol ever could. 

It’s times like these where he curses the way he designed his room to let in maximum sunlight for his plants inside to thrive. Groaning, he rolls onto his stomach, hand absently swiping for his phone tucked beneath his pillow.

Yoongi

Good morning…

Yoongi

Boyfriend.

Problems? Namjoon suddenly can’t remember that he has any. With clumsy, eager fingers he unlocks his phone, and he doesn’t think about the goofy smile that crosses his face. 

Namjoon

Hello, Boyfriend. 

Yoongi

Are you free today?

Namjoon

Thankfully, yes. I’d love to see you. 

Yoongi

I have just the thing to help you get your mind off of work. 

Yoongi was right. 

He meets him on a ferry going to Eulsukdo and, as they draw closer, Namjoon realizes where they’re heading: Busan’s Museum of Contemporary art. 

Namjoon is practically vibrating as they walk towards the ticket booth, eagerly lacing his fingers with Yoongi’s with little regard for any glares they might receive. 

“This is amazing, hyung. I’ve always wanted to come here. I don’t know why I haven’t, but there’s supposedly some great exhibits inside currently—”

He doesn’t even notice when Yoongi pays for their tickets, his nose buried deep in the small pamphlet he picked up at the entrance, and he wastes no time dragging Yoongi towards the first piece he wanted to see: Song of the Sea Witch .

“This is an installation by an American artist from Los Angeles. It’s about an old sea witch who lives alone, until one day a whole nest of birds joins her on her little beach.” He walks up to the life-sized mannequins in various colored costumes, a staged sea shack behind them. 

There’s a film running concurrently, helping guide the story along. “It’s like a dream,” Namjoon mutters, turning to Yoongi. “Isn’t that amazing? It’s incredibly immersive.” 

Yoongi nods, his smile turning his eyes into little crescent moons. He doesn’t say much, but he seems to be enjoying watching Namjoon more than the art itself. Namjoon can’t find it in him to mind. 

They move on, talking as they walk through the museum. “Have you ever been to America?” Namjoon asks. 

“I haven’t really traveled outside of South Korea,” Yoongi sighs. “One day, maybe.”

“I went to LA once when I was in college, to see the museums there. I used to study art history.” He laughs at Yoongi’s raised brow. “I almost got a degree in it, actually, got one in philosophy instead, but I enlisted right after graduation.” His expression sours for a moment, but the dimple returns as they come across a larger, more abstract piece: Blue Peal of Bells . 

It’s a large sideways portrait of a young woman in blue hues, made up of LED screens and other wired bits of technology. Namjoon’s hand slips from Yoongi’s as he steps closer, his head tilted to the side as he takes it in.

“I like this one,” Namjoon mutters. Yoongi steps in next to him, his skin feeling warm where their shoulders brush. “The title is from a poem. About how sadness can be shared, commiserated in a way. Spreading like the sound of a bell.” 

Yoongi stays quiet but Namjoon doesn't find it awkward. He keeps going. 

“I think it’s trying to, I don’t know… explore how to share something like sorrow in an age where it’s hard to show it? Interacting through screens and all that, but…” Namjoon scrunches his face. “It’s asking if it’s even possible to resonate with other people, in a way. On a deeper level.” 

Yoongi’s hand finds his again. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Namjoon’s eyes flit towards Yoongi’s for a moment before returning to the piece. He’s quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t used to.”

“And now?”

He smiles back down at Yoongi. “I might’ve changed my mind.” 

He looks away to hide the blush that grows on his cheeks and motions his head toward the final exhibit he wants to see. 

“It’s a rain room!” Namjoon laughs at the expression on Yoongi’s face. “C’mon, I love the rain. It’s great to walk in, to listen to. To kiss in, even.” He nudges the older with his elbow to punctuate his words. 

“Ah… I really don’t like getting wet.” 

“Hyung, don’t be a spoilsport.” Namjoon winks, walking backward into the darkened room. 

Yoongi has been to the museum plenty of times, some with Taehyung and Jungkook, most of them alone. He’s had moments of somewhat cliched reflection, sitting on a vacant bench and staring at art he doesn’t fully understand but somehow resonates with, but being here with Namjoon is stark in difference. He comes alive when he’s talking about art and nature, and Yoongi enjoys basking in the light he radiates, watching his shy smile spread, his dimples prominent when he realizes he’s been rambling. Yoongi’s heart lurches. 

He squeezes Namjoon’s fingers as they enter the rain room, and it smells distinctly like petrichor as they draw closer to the simulated showers. Yoongi winces, his nose crinkled in vague distaste as Namjoon eagerly drags him closer. 

“I really don’t want to get wet, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon laughs, looking around to check if they have company. The only other people present are far ahead, the room otherwise dark and affording them a sliver of privacy. He steps closer, resting a hand upon Yoongi’s waist.

“You’re not going to get wet, hyung. I promise. Come on.” 

If Yoongi has learned anything in the last couple of weeks that he’s known Namjoon, it’s that he can’t resist him. He resigns himself to the fact that he’s fucked, and he relents, pouting as he lets Namjoon tug him into the rainfall. 

When the water surrounds them but doesn’t soak them to the bone like he anticipated, Yoongi lets out a quiet noise of disbelief, spinning around to take in the magic and finding Namjoon watching him intently when he stops. 

“Told you,” Namjoon says, stepping closer, the proximity making all of Yoongi’s hairs stand on end, his breathing all uneven. “I could say something really smart and nerdy about how this is supposed to represent human connection, or…”

Yoongi chews on his bottom lip to stop his smile from splitting his face. “Or you could kiss me in the not-rain?”

“Yes. That.”

When their lips meet, it sets all of Yoongi’s senses alight. He’s been craving it ever since Namjoon left his apartment, this tangible need to touch him. They break apart when they hear the exhibit door open, footsteps and chatter approaching, and the kiss may have been brief, but it lingers. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth against Yoongi’s own, his body and mind all overwhelmed. 

They take their time walking through the water, Yoongi trying to maintain his composure while Namjoon does a terrible job of maintaining his, his face all pink, like the gentle blush of Yoongi’s favorite kind of peonies. They eventually reach the exit, and Yoongi rises up onto his tiptoes to press a kiss to Namjoon’s warm cheek, whispering a quiet, “I might like rain now,” before they’re ushered back into the main hall of the museum. 

The coffee shop they slip into is quiet and affords them some privacy where they sit close together on a particularly soft sofa, knees knocking and pinkies subtly entwined between them. Yoongi feels warmed-through as he watches Namjoon leaf through a guidebook he bought at the museum. He observes him carefully, thinking back to how tired and broken he’d been the other night and how Yoongi’s presence seemed to soothe him. 

The universe is sick, sometimes.

He nudges Namjoon with his shoulder. “Joon-ah, do you feel better today?”

Namjoon closes his book, setting it on the table in front of them and freeing their hands so he can cradle his coffee. He takes a sip, then a deep, grounding breath before he leans back and rests his head against the soft cushion, turning to lock eyes with Yoongi. 

“Define… better .”

He’s smiling, but Yoongi can see straight through it. Namjoon is an open book, the bags under his eyes deep and purple. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry? You’re the only thing that seems to actually help.”

Yoongi feels a swell of guilt deep in his gut, but his traitorous cheeks still heat and he absentmindedly runs his finger along the outer seam of Namjoon’s jeans at his thigh. “Just didn’t like seeing you like that. I’m glad I could help, though. I’ll make you dinner whenever you like.” 

“Thanks, hyung. I’d like that.”

They order more coffee and cake, content to just sit and watch the world pass them by outside. Yoongi listens as Namjoon talks him through a few of his favorite pieces in the museum book, finding himself having a new appreciation for art when it’s Namjoon being his guide. 

Yoongi’s phone begins to buzz incessantly in his pocket after an hour, and Namjoon offers him a sympathetic look when he pulls it out and shows him a screen full of Taehyung and Jungkook bombarding him with messages. 

“The building could be on fire and they’d still text me instead of calling the fire brigade, I think.” 

Namjoon laughs and sinks lower on the sofa so he can lean in and rest his head on Yoongi’s shoulder as he scrolls through the messages. “They really seem like good kids. They love you so much.” 

Yoongi nods as he types out his reply, the conversation nothing more than them enthusiastically complaining about how slow of a day it is in the cafe. “They’re the bane of my existence and live to push my buttons, but I wouldn’t change a thing,” he says, smiling down at the deluge of offensive emoticons that Taehyung sends in response to him telling them they shouldn’t close early.

“How did you meet them?”

He pockets his phone and takes hold of Namjoon’s hand, holding it palm-up so he can trace the lines etched there. Head, heart, life…

“Taehyung and I were always really close in school back in Daegu, and then we met Jungkook when we moved to Seoul. We’ve been a package deal ever since. Nothing exciting, we just clicked and stuck together, I guess.” 

“It’s rare to find people like that, hyung. A family.” 

Yoongi doesn’t miss the way Namjoon’s words waver, a kind of longing lingering there underneath the surface. He understands loneliness better than most, having lived with it in some form for his whole life. He feels selfish, sometimes. He has love in the form of Taehyung and Jungkook, and yet the feeling still gnaws at him, a void unable to be filled. 

He curls his fingers around Namjoon’s wrist, pressing his thumb over his pulse to feel it thrum. 

“It is.”

Seoul, 2013

It’s Friday night and Yoongi is walking home, buzzed from too much cheap whiskey and even cheaper vodka that he’d knocked back a little too eagerly to numb his brain. His vision is fuzzy but he walks confidently through the familiar side streets that lead to his shitty apartment. He’s fumbling to message Taehyung that he’s on his way home when he hears the shouting.

Frowning, he pockets his phone inside his leather jacket after hitting send, and he sniffs and rounds his broad shoulders, heading towards the noise. It’s not like this is new to him, he sees fights breaking out all the time on his travels, but as he gets closer to the three figures barely illuminated in the flickering glow of an orange street lamp, something feels… wrong . 

Cowards , Yoongi thinks. Two against one, the one in question no match for them and not fighting back. Just another glorious display of the human race proving that they’re nothing more than mindless pieces of shit. 

There’s a boy who can’t be any older than sixteen pressed up against a forest green shutter, a tattooed arm across his chest holding him in place. His attacker slams his fist in warning against the graffiti-laden steel while his friend looks on with a gap-toothed grin. The boy remains unaffected, big eyes shining as he stares them both down, his wide gaze flicking between them while his expression is the picture of neutrality. 

Yoongi has always fancied himself as a bit of an anti-hero. He doesn’t mind getting punched and his pockets full of dark secrets that weigh him down like stones, and he squares his jaw and walks toward them. 

Before Yoongi reaches them, the attacker lands a blow, unprovoked, right into the boy's gut, causing him to choke and spit blood as he slides to the ground, clutching his stomach. A grimace splits his face, his eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared and tightly clenched. 

Something about seeing the boy hunched over and trembling, dark hair hiding even darker eyes, tear-streaked cheeks and knuckles dusted with blood…

Yoongi snaps, and he might be shorter than both of them, marginally smaller and less powerful in almost every possible way, but he knows how to make himself bigger in ways that matter . 

His stride is cocky as he approaches, fists clenched and white-knuckled at his side, and one of the men kicks the kid square in the ribs as he curls in on himself against the wet pavement. The noise is sickening, crunching bone and gravel, air being forced out of lungs. 

“Hey,” Yoongi shouts, his deep voice a growl, and it serves him well when it momentarily shocks them both into thinking it’s someone far bigger and scarier than a nobody like Min Yoongi. 

The one attacker begins to run immediately, and Yoongi feels a burst of relief that he might only have to get punched in the face by one overgrown waste of flesh and bones tonight. The other—the more violent of the two—stares him down and laughs when he gets his eyes on Yoongi emerging from the shadows. 

“You jealous, sweetheart? Want a taste too?” He grunts, spitting and clenching his fist in a pathetic attempt at asserting his dominance. 

“Get away from him.”

Yoongi keeps walking, his eyes on the kid to make sure he’s still breathing, and then there’s a hand at his throat and his head connects with that same green shutter, the noise rattling in his ears. The shock of pain shoots from the curve of his skull down his spine, and he thinks about how that’s going to sting in the morning. 

“Shoulda kept walking and minded your fucking business,” the man says, his breath rotten with cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke. 

“Let me go, or you’ll regret it.” 

The man looks taken aback for a moment before he tightens his grip, fat fingers digging into the delicate bones of Yoongi’s jugular all wrong. He laughs. “Why, what the fuck are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi blinks away the red that’s beginning to creep into the corners of his vision, brain getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but he still has enough strength to let his fingers curl numbly around the handle of his trusty pocket knife. No cameras, no one around to give a shit, the alley deserted and stinking of piss, and Yoongi drives the short blade home, right into the place between his third and fourth rib.

He watches his eyes widen in shock before he fully registers what’s happened, and Yoongi yanks the blade free and pockets it quickly, ignoring the wet warmth of blood against his fingers. He shoves at his big body to give him a helping hand as he stumbles backward, and Yoongi inhales sharply, coughing, his throat raw and aching. He’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. 

Yoongi ignores the choked-off noises of the attacker as he crouches and reaches for the boy, taking his face in his hands so he can shake him back into consciousness. The asshole is groaning on the ground beside them, blood painting his dirty white T-shirt and the gravel below him. “Hey, kid. Can you hear me? What’s your name?”

He looks into his huge brown eyes and he feels like laughing. He’s all too familiar with finding lost boys with purple bruises and cuts that drip red, both in his arms and in the mirror, and when the words, “ Jeon Jungkook ,” fall from a split lip in a sweet, gentle tone, Yoongi once again accepts his fate. 

“C’mon. We need to get out of here, I live close. Can you walk?” 

“Ah… yes. I think so,” Jungkook nods, wincing and clutching at his ribs as Yoongi helps him get his arm over his shoulders. “What about— ” he says, staring down at the bleeding attacker where he still writhes in pain, slowly losing consciousness. 

Yoongi shakes his head and begins to walk, dragging Jungkook with him. “He deserved it.” 

Daegu, 2011

Taehyung came into his life much earlier.

Quietly, at first; a tiny thing with oversized clothes, messy brown hair that always hung too long in eyes, and too-big ears he was yet to grow into. He’d lurk near Yoongi in the corridors of their school, in the yard at lunch time, behind him as he walked home. He always seemed to have bruises blooming under his eyes or against his full cheeks, others that looked like fingerprints around his forearms, all mottled and purple. Sometimes they were pink, sometimes yellow. 

Yoongi was far from quiet, a vengeful, angry teenager with nothing to lose and everything to say, and so he never understood why Kim Taehyung, who barely uttered a word, stuck to him like glue. But Yoongi let him. He saw something of himself in Taehyung, a version that was long dead and buried, swallowed by flames, but Yoongi is still soft under the solid walls he builds around himself. 

Maybe he would have been like Taehyung if things had stayed the same. If he’d continued to be a coward and swallowed his rage. 

Taehyung is sixteen when he shows up at Yoongi’s shitty little studio apartment with blood on his hands. 

Dread seeps into Yoongi’s pores, dripping and violent, and he grabs Taehyung by the elbow and yanks him inside, slamming the front door behind them after he’s checked that no one saw. 

“ Shit, Tae… what happened? Are you hurt? Tell hyung,” he says, frantic but trying to be calm for Taehyung, who looks like he might break if one wrong word or touch is offered. 

His face looks the same as it did just last week when he’d flicked his paintbrush the wrong way, sat hunched over his work on Yoongi’s kitchen floor, blue dotting his skin instead of the canvas. Yoongi had laughed at him and told him it looked like freckles. There’s no blue this time, though, nothing but red, dried and dark and smelling like iron. 

“I— I hate him,” Taehyung whispers, words shaking as he clenches and unclenches his fists where they lay on dirty trousers. “He… grabbed— I just. I saw red.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw, bile rising in his throat. He catalogs his belongings in his head, how much money he has saved, how quickly they can get out of town. He knew this day would come eventually, he just thought it would be because his own indiscretions had caught up to him, not Taehyung who doesn’t seem like he could hurt a fly. 

The blood on his own hands is so much thicker. He should have done something sooner to prevent Taehyung from becoming a lost cause, just like him. 

“Hey, listen to me. You’re going to be fine, okay? We’ll sort this together, you and me, like always.” 

Taehyung’s bottom lip begins to tremble, and Yoongi doesn’t think he can take it if he cries. “Hyung, I’m scared.” 

Yoongi grabs his face, thumbs shaking as they sweep over his cheekbones, a soothing habit his mother had ingrained in him long ago. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Never. I promised you, didn’t I?”

Red fingers curl around Yoongi’s wrists and squeeze, and Taehyung looks him dead in the eyes, the tears that dot his waterline falling silently as he blinks them free. “I’m scared because it felt good. I’m scared because I’m glad.” 

Grief almost chokes Yoongi.

But he does what he does best, and he takes Taehyung by the hand and helps him clean off the evidence. When his skin is scrubbed raw and his hair drips wet onto the fresh clothes Yoongi gave him, they burn his soiled outfit in the field behind the apartment complex. Yoongi grabs the duffel bag he’d earlier shoved supplies into, Taehyung watching him with curious eyes, like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

Maybe he is. The real him, anyway. 

Taehyung’s fathers' apartment is in the bad part of town, the exterior walls covered in graffiti, more windows made of wood than glass, and Yoongi is quietly thankful that they live on the ground floor. 

They step inside and the smell hits them like a freight train. Taehyung covers his nose and mouth, retching as the rich copper stench overwhelms him. Kim Ji-Hoon is propped against an old dresser, his hand weakly placed over a particularly messy wound at his side, just underneath his ribs. 

He’s… breathing. Unconscious and clinging to the final threads of his miserable life. Yoongi has to stop Taehyung from reaching for the jagged wine bottle that already drips with drying blood and fat and skin. 

“Tae, no. No .”

“I need him gone. I need him gone , hyung. I didn’t do it properly, I should have—“

“No.” Then. “Hyung will do it.” 

Taehyung blinks, his hands shaking. He nods, and he doesn’t look away when Yoongi tells him to. He stares, watches, and all Yoongi sees in his eyes is relief.

It’s not the first body Min Yoongi burns and buries, and it won’t be the last. 

Seoul, 2015

Their old apartment was small with only one tiny bedroom where Yoongi and Taehyung would sleep curled tightly together on ‘bad nights,’ which… were most, if not all of them. It was the only way to keep Taehyung safe from his nightmares, from waking covered in sweat and tears, talking about fires in gasoline-drenched hotel rooms and pretty bodies falling off buildings. 

Yoongi doesn’t tell him, but he dreams about fire too, about burning himself alive just like his mother had; surrounded by nothing but a brown piano and dying flowers. 

They’re all they have in this world. The only other human they can trust. The only other human who knows secrets too horrifying for either of them to say out loud. 

But then Jungkook happened. 

Jungkook who sleeps curled on their shitty sofa. Jungkook who disappears for days and returns covered in bruises. Jungkook who seems to fit into their messed up little family like he’s been with them all along. 

“Kookie, don’t go. Please. You’re going to get hurt again.” 

Yoongi looks up from the book he’s reading to find the boys storming into the living area, a backpack slung over Jungkook’s shoulder, determination in his gaze. He closes the cover and takes his glasses off, joining them at the front door so he can pry Taehyung’s vice grip from Jungkook’s arm. 

“Tae…”

Taehyung yanks himself free of Yoongi’s gentle hold, fierce eyes rimmed with unshed tears, his nostrils flared. “ Hyung . Tell him to stay.” 

“He knows he can stay,” Yoongi says, gentle, knowing how precarious these situations can be. How easy it is to scare shy Jeon Jungkook, despite all of the love between them. “This is his home, he’ll be back. Right, Jungkookie?”

It’s a familiar song and dance: Jungkook disappears to fuck knows where, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. He goes out looking for a fight, finds one, then he comes home . 

Rinse and repeat. 

Yoongi understands it. He used to take out his pain and grieving in insidious ways, still does, and as much as he doesn’t like watching Jungkook make the same mistakes, he won’t force him to stay. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, has fallen in love.

Taehyung who is full to the brim with affection, his heart vast and delicate and easily broken, and it beats quickly, ticking like a bomb in his chest where Yoongi curls his arms around him and holds him tight. They watch Jungkook walk out of the door, a quiet apology falling from his tongue.

“He’ll come back,” Yoongi promises. 

Jungkook does and, eventually, he stays

Chapter Text

Namjoon eventually (reluctantly) leaves Yoongi’s apartment, both his head and chest mercifully feeling so much lighter. He feels... happy. 

His bike practically autopilots him home, and when he falls into his bed, there’s still a smile on his face. The events of the past week suddenly seem somewhat less haunting, and he finally feels like he can mull things over with a clear head. Maybe he really did just need a brief reprieve — some space to recharge and collect himself — before he could feel somewhere close to ‘normal’ again. 

His phone buzzes and when he squints at the screen he sees a message from Seokjin. 

Seokjin
You hanging in there?

Seokjin
I hope you got some rest. 

Namjoon
I did, hyung, thanks. Just needed to clear my head, I think. 

Seokjin
I don’t blame you. I don’t want to count the number of empty soju bottles in my kitchen right now. 

Seokjin
[ image ]

A chuckle rumbles in Namjoon’s chest at the sight of a counter full of empty green soju bottles, and Seokjin’s hungover face covered by large, heart-shaped sunglasses. 

Seokjin
Also, just a warning, Jimin is about to text you. 

Namjoon
Okay… 

Seokjin
He likes to destress after big cases by losing his fucking mind at clubs and he’s going to invite you. 

Namjoon
And this is different from when he out drinks every person in the bar near work?

Seokjin
Yes. 

Seokjin
It’s far, far worse. 

Namjoon
I’m not sure I can survive that. 

Namjoon
I don’t have a choice do I?

Seokjin
You do not. 

Sure enough, seconds later a message from Jimin pops up in a group chat with him and Seokjin. 

Jimin
Good afternoon, Gentlemen. 

Seokjin
Jesus Christ.

Jimin
Namjoonie hyung :)))

Namjoon
Hi.

Jimin
I’ve decided that it’s time that we all went out together for some recreational fun.  

Seokjin
Oh so that’s what we’re calling it now? 

Jimin
I don’t know hyung, getting drunk and hooking up with a beautiful man in the bathroom stall of a club does seem pretty recreational to me :)

Seokjin
I hate you.

Namjoon
Hyung, you scoundrel.

Seokjin
This is my hell.

Jimin
Joonie you can bring your boy toy, he needs to be vetted by us anyway ;) 

Namjoon
I’ll ask him.

Seokjin
How is that going by the way?

Jimin
Tell us everything. In gratuitous detail.

Seokjin
No, we can leave those out.

Jimin
Hyungie :( 

Namjoon
We’re officially… official, so. It’s going pretty well. 

Namjoon:

:)

Namjoon
I like him a lot. 

Seokjin
Look at that, our little rookie is growing up!!

Jimin
Omg.

Jimin
This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen besides Jinnie hyung’s eating face.

Seokjin
Wait.

Jimin
Okay I’ll see you guys tomorrow I’ll text you the address! :)))))

There are many things that Min Yoongi isn’t fond of.

Swimming (or... just water in general). Dancing. Being in loud and crowded places. The sun. 

When Namjoon called him and asked if he wanted to meet his friends, he was nervous but excited, but then when the word club was mentioned he wanted to crawl into a hole and weep. 

He’s been to clubs before — reluctantly — most notably to appease the doe-eyed request that Jungkook had when he finally became old enough to drink. He’d spent the evening pressed up against the sweaty bodies of strangers, his feet sticking to a floor that had clearly never been cleaned while people twice his age pawed at him. He’d ended his night sitting on their bathroom floor rubbing Jungkook’s back as he expelled the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl while Taehyung took a timely nap in the bathtub. 

The only thing keeping him even remotely sane as he stands in front of his mirror, glaring at his reflection as he fiddles with his earrings and assesses the outfit Jungkook had told him made him look ‘fuckable,’ is the promise of being pressed up against Namjoon’s sweaty body. He can withstand inappropriate touching if it’s him, he thinks. 

“Hyung, are you ready?” 

Taehyung’s face appears around the doorframe, his hair artfully tousled and falling around bright eyes that look a few shades lighter than his natural deep brown. He looks frustratingly perfect in a simple patterned button-up and light jeans, and he frowns as he drags his gaze over Yoongi from head to toe. “You’re wearing that?” 

Before Yoongi can yell, Taehyung smirks, and he realizes he’s been had. 

“I’m just messing with you. You look fuckable.”

“Both of you need to stop saying that to me immediately.” 

Jungkook appears and his all-black ensemble is nothing new, having acquired Yoongi’s distaste for color, but he looks beautiful all the same. “The car is here.” 

Yoongi takes a deep breath and throws himself another cutting look, tugging at the waistline of his too-tight black jeans. He does look good, fuckable, even, he supposes. “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” he says, grabbing a jacket to throw over his plain white t-shirt. He pauses at the front door, turning quickly to fix his two shadows with sharp eyes. “I don’t have to ask you to refrain from embarrassing me in front of Namjoon and his friends, do I?” 

Both of them immediately shake their heads furiously, their fingers laced between them, and he doesn’t believe them for a fucking second.

“No, hyung. We won’t embarrass you,” Jungkook says, as sweet as honey. 

Taehyung raises his hand like he’s about to take a sacred oath, his face a little too stone-cold serious for Yoongi’s liking before he crosses his pointed finger over his chest in an x-shape. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

The music is so loud Yoongi can feel it shaking his rib cage as the three of them make their way through the crowd towards the quieter tables at the back, and he immediately spots a very excitable Hoseok waving at them like a maniac. He looks like a beautiful tropical bird, all bright colors and infectious smiles in the din of the club. He claps as they approach and scoops Yoongi up into his arms, lifting him bodily with a noise that sounds a little like a baby tiger. 

“Look at you! You look so fuckable, Yoongi-ssi.”

A frowning Yoongi is swiftly dropped as Hoseok moves onto his next victims, both Taehyung and Jungkook grinning from ear to ear as he lavishes them with cheek kisses and compliments that make even Yoongi blush. Hoseok is clearly out for blood tonight with his newly cropped, platinum hair styled to within an inch of its life, and he’s wearing an outfit that Yoongi thinks probably costs a month's rent. Or two. 

While Hoseok summons a waitress and orders far too many drinks, even for the party of seven they’re about to become, Yoongi checks his phone and sees that Namjoon and his friends are outside. His palms get sweaty almost instantaneously, his anxiety greeting him like an old friend, but this time it’s with good reason.

That reason being that he’s a serial hobby murderer about to be surrounded by inebriated cops. 

A warm palm lands on his shoulder and squeezes, snapping him out of his mini-breakdown. He looks up at Taehyung and forces a smile when he sees the worried look the younger is giving him. “They’re outside. Should be here any second.” 

“Just be yourself, hyung. Everything will be fine,” Taehyung says, his words earnest and more comforting than Yoongi can say right now. “If you need anything just…” 

Taehyung pulls a weird face, his eyebrows raised high and his eyes comically wide while he pulls his mouth into an over-exaggerated frown, and Yoongi snorts loudly, his shoulders shaking as he swats Taehyung away. “Go. Find your boyfriend. Hyung will be fine.”

When Taehyung’s expression quickly shifts into something softer, his gaze drifting to somewhere over Yoongi’s shoulder before he steps away with a knowing smile, some kind of newly ingrained awareness prickles within Yoongi. Like vines curling around his ribcage, taking root, and then there’s a warm pair of hands at his waist. 

It feels right. Feels like something new and terrifying that he doesn’t yet have a name for, but he likes all the same. 

Namjoon is grinning when Yoongi turns to face him, and he looks gorgeous and tall the button-up that he’s wearing is fighting for its life. Valiantly.

“Wow. You look… you look good Joon-ah,” he manages to choke out, finding it difficult to not drag his eyes over Namjoon’s body like he means to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole. 

Which is exactly what he wants to do, actually.

He can’t quite put his finger on what exactly is doing it for him in such a life-ruining way, he’s seen Namjoon dressed up before for their first date and even for work, but his skin is glowing in the kaleidoscope of colors that illuminate the club, and he’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. 

Namjoon, meanwhile, seems to be having a mini-crisis of his own as he refrains from having the same restraint as Yoongi and greedily takes him in with sharp, sharp eyes, the slow drag of his gaze making Yoongi shudder. 

“Ah. You too, hyung. Really, really good,” he says, punctuating his sentence by biting on his bottom lip before he has the audacity to blush. “Do you have a drink?”

Yoongi isn’t exactly sure how he’s going to get through the rest of the night without ripping his clothes off like a wild animal if Namjoon continues to choose violence. His brain decides now is an excellent time to remind him that, not only have they not done anything even remotely sexual in over two weeks, but that they’ve only actually been intimate on one occasion, and the hands upon his waist burn.  

“Hoseok ordered enough to render all of us incoherent, so don’t worry about going to the bar.” 

Namjoon chuckles and then leans in, their noses brushing, but Namjoon winces before their lips can touch, thanks to the loud sound of a hand slapping his back. 

“Are you going to introduce us to your boyfriend or are you simply going to continue this weird mating ritual you have going on here, Namjoon-ah?” 

Yoongi spots the culprit and immediately loses the ability to speak because the most handsome man he thinks he’s ever seen is standing before them. 

The look Namjoon throws Yoongi says I know and he offers Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome a polite — albeit slightly exasperated — smile. Yoongi then realizes there’s another ridiculously attractive human with them, this one much smaller in stature and strikingly beautiful with an ice-cold stare that makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to be taken in for questioning. He takes a deep breath.

“Hyung, this is Kim Seokjin and Park Jimin,” Namjoon says, watching intently as the three of them shake hands, his expression looking a lot like how Yoongi feels whenever he has to introduce the boys to someone. 

“Min Yoongi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Namjoon speaks fondly of you both,” Yoongi smiles, meaning it. 

“We’ve heard a lot about you too, Min Yoongi,” Jimin says, his voice light and teasing, and yet there’s still something inherently unnerving about him. 

Seokjin clears his throat, and he’s no less terrifying than Jimin, maybe even more so because of that face that Yoongi has a sneaking suspicion could cause a war. “Yes, it’s nice to put a face to the name. I was starting to think Namjoon had made you up to get us off his back.”

The deep flush that sweeps across Namjoon’s cheeks is more than worth the slightly awkward conversation, and Yoongi is grateful that they all seem to have the ability to fluster him in common. 

“Ah, well… I can confirm I’m definitely real.” 

Yoongi spots Taehyung and Jungkook approaching, both of them gleefully double-fisting some colorful cocktails. He sighs, beckoning them over with a tilt of his head. 

“Jimin, Seokjin. This is Taehyung and Jungkook. They’re my—“ 

“We’re his responsibility,” Taehyung grins, setting down one of his cocktails and wiping a sticky hand on the front of his shirt before he shoves it out in offering. 

Jungkook is a little more reserved with his greeting, bowing politely, and Yoongi doesn’t miss the way that both of their gazes linger on Jimin. “It’s really nice to meet you both.” 

Namjoon thinks that going out might have been a mistake. A huge mistake, really because Yoongi looks… the only word Namjoon can think of is fuckable . He looks like that, and there are too many people around and they are not back in Namjoon’s apartment. 

He vaguely registers Seokjin and Jimin making their introductions, and he knows that he should definitely be paying more attention thanks to the fact he’s all too aware that those two are vipers, and normally Namjoon would be far more worried about keeping them in check, but Yoongi is making his brain go blank. 

A lithe, platinum-haired man saunters up to them, pressing a brightly colored drink into Namjoon’s hands with a grin that’s distinctly heart-shaped. He looks expensive, smells like it too, and it’s clear that he’s in his element in this particular environment. 

“You must be the famous Namjoon that Yoongi keeps getting all pink over,” he says, the sentence paired with a wink. His giggle is infectious, and Namjoon laughs with him as he shakes the man’s hand. “I’m Hoseok, but my friends call me Hobi.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. Hyung’s said so many nice things about you.”

Hoseok’s grin widens and he wiggles his index fingers at Yoongi, crowding him in. “Ohhh, Yoongi-ah! You do care!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hoba.”

Yoongi pouts and bats at Hoseok’s hands with his own. Like an annoyed kitten, Namjoon thinks, and he slips an arm around Yoongi’s slim waist and pulls him flush against his chest. 

He takes a long sip of his drink, something tart and fruity enough to hide the copious amounts of booze it’s probably laced with. “You own hyung’s building, right?”

Hoseok wraps his lips around his colorful straw and takes a big sip, nodding quickly. “Yep! I’m his landlord.”

Yoongi glowers dangerously. “I didn’t realize when I signed the lease I signed adoption papers too.”

Hoseok opens his mouth to reply, but his gaze catches on Seokjin as he passes behind Namjoon. He freezes, his pretty mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. “Um.”

Seokjin pauses too, arm stopping mid-gesture as he goes to throw it around Namjoon’s shoulders. His brows furrow, full lips forming a small “o” while he looks at Hoseok. It’s incredibly awkward. Namjoon can feel Yoongi shift nervously, too. 

Hoseok gives a small shake of his head and he wipes his hand on his shirt. “I… have to use the bathroom.”

He zips away without another word, and before Namjoon can ask what the fuck was that, Yoongi is eagerly pulling him towards a darkened alcove and away from the chaos that is their intermingling friend group. 

Namjoon can see Taehyung and Jungkook leaning on a bar table, watching Jimin talk with twin looks that can only be described as enraptured. “Uh oh,” he mutters, pointing at them when Yoongi gives him a confused pout. “That combination is going to be heaven for them and hell for us and anyone else in their vicinity.”

Yoongi smiles, all tooth and gums, and it makes Namjoon feel warm in his chest. “I don’t say this often, Joon-ah, but that little blond friend of yours scares the shit out of me.”

Namjoon snorts and leans in close to Yoongi. “Me too.” Their laughter is quiet, just for them, and quickly fades into simmering looks. “Hey. I mean it, hyung, you look…” He gives a low whistle. “If we hadn’t just gotten here I’d be calling a cab for us right now.”

He doesn’t miss the way that Yoongi’s cheeks flush, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “What’s stopping you?”

The hum Namjoon gives is low, rumbling in his chest. He glances back over to Jimin and his new devotees. “Jimin would kill me, I think. And it’s probably best that we don’t leave them unsupervised.”

As if on cue, Jungkook gestures wildly with one of his big hands and accidentally sends a glass of beer flying off the table and directly into Jimin’s lap. Namjoon is thankful that this time, it isn’t him. He turns his attention away from the possibly calculated mishap as Taehyung begins to pat down Jimin’s soaked crotch, and looks back to Yoongi.

“Later, though, you’re all mine.” He laces their fingers together. The buzz settles in his brain, the world is cast in a hazy glow, and somehow Yoongi looks even more beautiful. 

“I’m sure there’s a bathroom stall open,” Yoongi whispers. 

“I am nowhere near drunk enough for that.”

“Well let’s get you another drink, then.”

The two of them are content to continue being observers as they down more drinks. Knowing Hoseok has its perks, Namjoon decides, and trekking out tonight has been worth it if only to witness the effect alcohol has on Yoongi. He sits there with a perpetual grin on his face, and Namjoon is pretty sure that he’s only taken a handful of stunted breaths in between his enthusiastic storytelling. It’s hard to hear him in the din of the club, but Namjoon is just happy to watch him. 

Vaguely, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he chooses to ignore it. He’s out, definitely too drunk to sound coherent, and he isn’t even sure he’d be able to hear the person on the other line anyway. But then it rings again. 

And again. 

Worry grips him, and he idly wonders if it’s the precinct. His stomach drops at the thought, and he fishes out his phone, his mood immediately souring when he sees that he has three missed calls from Haneul, of all people.  

Yoongi nudges him with his shoulder. “You alright, Joonie?” His lisp and that Daegu slur are more pronounced when he’s drunk. 

Namjoon waves him off, nodding, but he isn’t sure how convincing he is. “Yeah, everything’s fine, I just, uh… Gotta take this.” 

The pout that forms on Yoongi’s plush lips is almost enough to make Namjoon stay, but he leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek and squeezes his hand before slipping out into the brisk night air. He looks at his missed calls, hits redial, and waits. Haneul picks up on the third ring. 

“Hey, Joonie. ”

Yoongi wanders for a minute, trying to fill the time that Namjoon is gone, and settles upon a distressed-looking Hoseok. “Why exactly are you looking at Namjoon’s partner like you want to swallow him whole, Hoseokie?”

He flinches when Hoseok practically chokes on the mouthful of beer he was drinking, reaching out to pat him on the back as he splutters. 

“Ah… Yoongi, you have no idea,” he sighs, looking pitiful in a way Yoongi doesn’t quite recall seeing before. Hoseok is usually the one making others feel that way. “That man has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to choke, and he miraculously manages to cover his mouth with his hand before anyone sees the soju dribbling down his chin. “Excuse me?” 

“I might’ve spent some uh… private time with him here before,” he says, eyes still fixed on Seokjin who seems to keep glancing over but who is also apparently very adept at playing it cool in a way Hoseok definitely hasn’t mastered. “My jaw and my knees hurt for two days straight. I didn’t realize my gag reflex was so good until I was faced with that monster,” he sighs. “Worth it, though.” 

“I—“ Yoongi shakes his head, blinking and trying to clear the mental image that Hoseok is painting from his frontal lobe. “I need a stronger drink, I think.” 

When he moves to stand, Hoseok desperately clings to his belt and looks up at him with sparkling eyes. “Hyung, you can’t leave me! What if he comes over?”

Yoongi gently grabs Hoseok’s wrist and pries him off, smiling as sweetly as he can muster when faced with such a ridiculous situation. “Why would that be such a bad thing? You literally had his dick in your mouth. Talk to him.”

Hoseok stares at him, dumbfounded as he walks away and leaves a vacant seat beside him, and Yoongi chuckles to himself because he’s never seen Jung Hoseok even remotely flustered before. Namjoon’s partner must be a force to be reckoned with, his presence alone verging on intimidating with his perfect face and perfect… everything. Yoongi swallows away the bile that rises in his throat when his thoughts linger on Kim Seokjin and how smart and capable he supposedly is.

As he leans against the bar and waits to be served, two bodies slam into him at a force he’s all too accustomed to as the overgrown puppies that are Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook overpower his relative peace. “Ah! Get off me, you monsters.”

The tip of Jungkook’s rounded nose is pink and Taehyung has reached permanent boxy smile status, so it’s clear his dongsaengs have been generous with their booze intake. “Hyung, you need to come and speak to Jiminie,” Taehyung says, stars in his eyes and his words breathless. 

Yoongi knows that look, he saw it the first time he introduced the two boys that cling to him. Taehyung is historically not always all that excited to meet new people. It’s a product of his unfortunate upbringing, to be so guarded, but when he opens up to you and you pass whatever methodical checklist he stores in his pretty head, he’s the warmest human Yoongi knows. 

“Jiminie?”

They both nod in unison, and Yoongi thinks that maybe Namjoon was right. That maybe he is looking his own personal hell right in the eyes. Like staring down the barrel of a gun, but the gun is five foot seven and wearing Chelsea boots. 

“Fuck.”

Namjoon can’t bring himself to speak for a moment. It’s been so long since he’s heard Haneul’s voice, soft and lilting. For the briefest of moments, hearing him say Namjoon’s name like that has him feeling like they haven’t broken up, that he hasn’t started a whole new life and moved across South Korea to escape the pain of their break up. 

But they did, and Namjoon moved to Busan, and now he’s incredibly happy with this burgeoning relationship with Yoongi. 

Don’t let his conversation derail that.

“Haneul.” Namjoon keeps his voice calm and steady like it’s just another day. “Is everything alright?” A sharp intake of breath on the other end, and now Namjoon really starts to worry. “Haneul?” 

“No, no, everything’s fine. It’s — ah, well… I need to ask you something. About Monie.” 

Namjoon’s brows furrow. It’s nine at night on a weekend, and Haneul wants to ask about their dog? “Uh, I mean. I guess?” 

“Right. Uh. So I know when we broke up, I said I would take him, but. Well…” Haneul sighs again. “I don’t know how to say this. He seems fucking miserable. He misses you, Joonie. You were always closer with him anyway. And, ah, I’m moving, so… Will you take him?” 

Maybe Namjoon truly has had too much to drink, but it takes him a minute to process what Haneul is saying to him, and he only continues to grow more annoyed by the second. 

“Let me get this straight. You called me multiple times while I was out, on a weekend, just to ask me if I’ll take my dog back. The dog which, by the way, you cruelly insisted on keeping when you broke up with me?” He runs a hand over his face, exasperated. “What the fuck, Haneul?”

“I know what I did, Namjoon. I told you I wanted Monie but I knew it was because you wanted him more. It was stupid of me and I’m sorry, okay?”

There’s a pause, then, and Namjoon just feels pure rage, his heart aching over how he should’ve been the one to take his dog in. How he should have fought for Monie more, but he was so tired of fighting.

It’s starting to dawn on him that maybe his ex isn’t exactly the best person, after all. 

He can hear some taps on the other line, and he can picture Haneul bouncing his foot on one of the kitchen bar stools they used to share. “ You said that you’re out?”

“Yes,” Namjoon replies, tone biting. “Why do you care?”

“I just wasn’t expecting it, is all. But I’m really glad you’ve been able to make friends.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I’m actually out with my boyfriend. So I really should be going.” 

“Oh. Boyfriend? Wow, I… Good for you, then. ” 

He can hear the surprise and disappointment in Haneul’s voice, and Namjoon would be lying if he said it didn’t give him a thrill. He isn’t above being petty. 

” Look, I have to get back. Just tell me what day you want to come to drop him off and I’ll text you my address. I have to go.” 

He doesn’t give Haneul a chance to respond. Namjoon hangs up and heads back into the club to find Yoongi. 

It doesn’t take long. He’s standing and looking on in abject horror as Hoseok and Jin shamelessly make out in the middle of the VIP area with far too much tongue. The relief on Yoongi’s face is obvious as he spots Namjoon, and he reaches for him, tugging at his shirt. Seeing Namjoon up close, though, his expression melts into concern.

“Is everything okay? You look… mad. Your jaw is all clenched.” He swallows, the showy kind where his throat bobs. “It’s… kind of sexy.” 

Namjoon laughs. “I’m fine. What the hell is happening here?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “They’ve hooked up before, apparently. I’ve heard more about your coworker’s dick than I ever needed to, actually.” 

“Shit.” Namjoon looks around and sees Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. They’re not quite as tangled as Jin and Hoseok, but if their body language is anything to go by, they will be soon. Jimin and Taehyung look like they’re in competition to see who breaks first, Jungkook sandwiched between them with a lazy grin on his face. 

When they hear a strangled moan coming from the entwined Seok’s, they decide it’s best to leave. Immediately. 

“Can we go to your place?” Yoongi almost sounds nervous to ask. “I think that mine is about to become a war zone.” 

“I’m way ahead of you.”

A shudder of relief rolls down Yoongi’s spine as one of Namjoon’s big hands’ grips his waist, his body trapped between him and the bedroom door that closes with a loud slam as Namjoon’s other hand plants itself firmly beside Yoongi’s head. He’s caged in, his vision blurring at the edges thanks to the alcohol that settles warm in his stomach, and he can taste the sweetness of the beer that Namjoon had been drinking all night against his tongue when he licks deep and messy into his mouth.  

Namjoon is sharp in all of the places Yoongi is soft, and Yoongi is caught in his gravitational pull, aching and greedy to be touched. He feels buzzed and emboldened, and he pulls away from the kiss and looks up at Namjoon through hooded, dark eyes before he drags his hands from where they’re buried in his hair, down over his broad shoulders. He comes to a stop when he splays his fingers wide against Namjoon’s chest, still trying to catch his breath before he grabs the collar of his shirt with intent. 

“Joon-ah. You look so good, been thinking about this all night.”

The look Namjoon is giving him is enough to make him want to burst into flames, his mouth red and puffy from kissing, and his hair is no longer neat and slicked back, honey-blond strands falling messily across his exposed forehead thanks to the pull of Yoongi’s fingers.

He leans down and nips at Yoongi’s jaw, but Yoongi is quick to hold him steady, keeping him at bay with a smirk. “Thinking about what?”

A thick thigh is pressed between Yoongi’s legs, coaxing a shocked little whimper out of him where his cock is already half hard in the confines of his jeans. “Fucking you.” 

Namjoon groans, straining to get closer, and Yoongi knows he could if he really wanted to. Could ignore the press of Yoongi’s palms and just take, but he’s nothing if not a gentleman, and Yoongi relishes in the little power trip his obedience gives him. 

“I’m always thinking about fucking you, since that first time,” Namjoon teases, his eyes sparkling. “But especially tonight, hyung.” He pointedly, slowly, drags his gaze down Yoongi’s body, making it quite clear he’s enjoyed seeing him encased in his black jeans, all tight around his skinny legs and artfully ripped, pink knees and slivers of thigh poking through the gaps. 

Namjoon takes hold of the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt and tugs, the fabric coming loose where he has it tucked in his waistband. “I like this, too,” he whispers, fingers trailing up over his ribs until he’s toying with the silver chain that sits tight and heavy around Yoongi’s throat. 

Yoongi suppresses another shudder and musters as much self-control as he possibly can, and he fists Namjoon’s shirt a little tighter, tipping his chin to convey that he means business. “No, Joon-ah. I want to fuck you.” 

It’s nice, seeing Namjoon falter, and this is where they trade places. Where he is soft where Yoongi is prickly and sharp at the edges. He clearly knows how to take control, and Yoongi has fleetingly been an enthusiastic witness to him doing so, but tonight with the rush of alcohol in his veins, Yoongi decides it’s time to show Namjoon all of the things he’s dreamed of doing to him. 

“Fuck, baby. I… yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

The casual way in which he utters baby makes Yoongi’s composure waver, but he’s back in business when he pushes Namjoon away, still holding onto him as he walks him back towards his bed. “Yeah?” 

His knees hit the mattress and he falls, a quiet giggle falling from his mouth as he finds himself horizontal. He reaches for Yoongi and welcomes him when he straddles his waist, his thighs stretched wide. Yoongi leans in, their noses brushing. “Yes. It’s been a while, though.” 

Yoongi sees something flash in his dark eyes that makes his chest hurt, and he thinks about the faceless man that Namjoon left behind. Or… that left Namjoon. He frowns, and even through the mildly drunken haze that settles over him, he knows he needs to cherish him. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. I’ll make you feel good, Joonie.” 

Namjoon’s breath catches, and then they’re kissing again, all signs of gentleness tossed out of the window as Yoongi grinds down, guided by eager hands cupping the full curve of his ass. They’re both fully hard now, and Yoongi bites back a groan when Namjoon pushes his strong hips up off the bed to meet him halfway. The temptation to throw his plan aside and let Namjoon fuck him into the mattress is strong, but he relents. 

“Take off your clothes, Namjoon.” 

He removes himself from Namjoon’s lap, standing to carefully undo his necklace, placing it on the bedside table before he makes work of his t-shirt and his belt. Namjoon is flushed and eager and clumsy as he fumbles to unbutton his shirt, a little frown pinching his brow as he glares down at fingers that apparently aren’t doing exactly what he expects them to. 

Yoongi watches him when he’s done undressing, trying his best to stifle a laugh, but he doesn’t need to try all that hard when Namjoon finally shirks off the offending item of clothing (with only one casualty: a button) and he gets his eyes on his body. It’s a sight he knows he’ll never tire of because even now there seems to be new muscles to take stock of since the first time, and the shift of sinew under golden skin makes Yoongi’s mouth feel dry. 

Namjoon leans back with his legs spread in invitation, and the dark material of his boxers clings to his thighs indecently. The fabric is tented and wet where his cock strains underneath, and he looks so inviting Yoongi almost launches himself at the bed. 

He looks up at Yoongi and drags his teeth over his bottom lip, hips shifting before he mutters a gentle, desperate, “ Hyung .” 

Yoongi snaps out of it and swallows thickly, licking his lips as he grabs a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Then he’s climbing onto the bed and towards a newly pliant Namjoon, and he pushes a hand up over the curve of one of those big thighs, watching him shiver. Yoongi’s heart beats erratically in his chest. 

His mouth finds the crook of Namjoon’s neck, then his collar bones, and Yoongi makes sure to watch him carefully as he drags the flat of his tongue over a dark nipple. Namjoon moans weakly, his breathing getting shaky. “Lift your hips,” Yoongi purrs, kissing over his tense stomach and pressing the quiet request against the waistband of his boxers as he slips his fingers underneath the elastic. 

Namjoon does as he’s told, hissing through clenched teeth as the air hits the wet head of his cock when the fabric is pulled down and off. Yoongi swallows, mouth-watering at the thought of taking him into his mouth, but he has other plans for Kim Namjoon tonight. 

“Wet for me already, hm?” He uncaps the bottle of lube and coats his fingers, parting Namjoon’s legs a little wider as he absentmindedly rubs soothing circles against his inner thigh. “Tell me if it hurts.” 

Namjoon whines and bites on his bottom lip, hitching his hips as Yoongi rubs gently, then starts to push his first finger in. The noise Namjoon makes is beautiful, and so is his face when Yoongi goes to his second knuckle and crooks the digit carefully. He presses a little deeper and Namjoon chokes around Yoongi’s name. 

“More .” 

Two fingers, then three, and Yoongi has Namjoon stretched and pliant and begging for his cock in no time. It’s nice to see him needy like this, sweat beading at his brow and his legs shaking, and Yoongi slicks his length and lines himself up, slowly pressing forward, dropping his head to Namjoon’s shoulder when he’s finally fully sheathed so they can both adjust to the sensation. 

“Fuck, Joonie,” he says around a lisp. “You’re so tight.”   

“Told you… it’s been a while.” 

Yoongi fucks him in earnest, the bed complaining loudly beneath them and the headboard hitting the wall in a way that has Yoongi thinking he should probably send Namjoon’s neighbors apology flowers. Namjoon digs his fingers into Yoongi’s hips, his long legs raised around his body to keep him close and deep, and when he groans and reaches between them, seeking some relief, Yoongi tuts loudly and grabs his hands, lacing their fingers and pinning them to the mattress above his head. 

“Ah. No,” he warns, leaning in, hips still moving as he presses his lips to Namjoon’s ear and chuckles darkly when he whines in protest. “No touching, Namjoonie. You either come on my cock or you don’t get to come at all. Understand?”

“Holy shit .”

Yoongi smirks, sweat sticking his messy hair to his forehead as he rests it against Namjoon’s, both of them breathing heavily, the wet, lewd sound of skin on skin filling the room. Yoongi picks up his pace, angling his hips and trying to find the spot that will assist in granting Namjoon the release he so desperately craves. His arms ache with it, but he’s nothing if not determined, and when Namjoon cries out and throws his head back against the pillow, Yoongi doubles down. 

“Yoongi-ah,” Namjoon groans, his body drawn tight as he comes, spilling over his tensed stomach. “ F-fuck .” The clench is almost too much for Yoongi, who moves to pull out, but Namjoon keeps him close with a foot across his backside. “Want it inside, hyung. Please.” 

He mumbles a disjointed, “fuck, Joonie,” the words feeling thick in his mouth as warmth spreads in his gut, and he eagerly drowns in it as he comes, his hips stuttering as he works his way through it.  

Namjoon kisses him deep and messy through their pitched breathing, and he presses their sweaty foreheads together again, his eyes hooded. “Don’t stop.” 

Yoongi’s eyes roll back in his head as overstimulation settles in, but Namjoon feels so fucking good, so he chases the feeling away through clenched teeth. Namjoon pants underneath him, his newly freed hands coming up to take Yoongi’s face between his palms to hold him and his gaze steady. He burns with it, the glide wet and the sounds obscene until he can’t take it anymore. 

He sits back on his legs and pulls out slowly, his whole body shuddering as he steadies himself against Namjoon’s bent legs. His eyes roam Namjoon’s spent body, taking stock of the mess that shines against his heaving stomach and between his legs, and he bites back the urge to sink to the mattress and put his mouth on him, his thoughts firing a mile a minute as he attempts to return to his body. 

They find each others’ eyes and Namjoon grins, wicked and mildly sleepy, and Yoongi blushes, pink blooming all over. “Let me clean you up.” 

He ignores Namjoon’s slurred protest and stands on shaky legs to stumble towards the closet, returning with a towel to wipe them both down. He grimaces as Namjoon tugs at him, apparently a serial post-sex cuddler, like a giant koala, and Yoongi knows they should probably change the sheets and shower, but he can’t seem to find the energy or the will to care. Not when he’s pulled tightly against Namjoon’s side, and definitely not when long fingers begin to play with the wet hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I haven’t come untouched in years,” Namjoon says, sounding a little like he saw God, his breath still sweet with the smell of beer. “Are you good at everything, hyung?”

Yoongi snorts and buries his face in Namjoon’s throat, sniffing at the smell of his skin. Sweat and sex and Namjoon. 

“Not everything.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi wakes up and feels warm, his skin slightly sticky with sweat and the remnants of what he and Namjoon did last night. With a groan, he tries to roll over, regretting that he didn’t fight harder for a shower before they passed out. He pauses, feeling the tempting press of a very naked Namjoon against his back, his face tucked into the crook of his neck, little breaths rustling the hairs at his nape. 

He could’ve sworn that what woke him up was a loud, insistent knocking noise, but he blinks up at the ceiling and waits, and the sound doesn’t repeat itself. He sighs and lets his heavy eyes drift closed, sinking back against the pillow and the body beside him. 

Maybe it was just a solicitor. Or a dream.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Fuck.”

He twists and looks back at Namjoon, who hasn’t even flinched, his lashes still dancing in dreams. He looks so peaceful, his full lips parted and his face all relaxed and flushed from sleep, hair sticking up haphazardly; a casualty of Yoongi’s eager fingers. 

Yoongi knows how hard work has been on Namjoon, and he can’t bring himself to wake him up. No one deserves a lie-in as much as he does right now. 

So, he slips out of Namjoon’s bed, stretching his aching arms and legs before wriggling into his underwear and throwing on a discarded t-shirt of Namjoon’s that he finds thrown over his desk chair. He sniffs at the shirt, smiling to himself when it smells like his now-familiar cologne. 

Knock, knock, knock .

“I’m coming,” Yoongi grumbles. His bare feet are all cold against the floor as she shuffles into the living space to wrench the front door open without giving the peephole a cursory look. 

Mistake one. 

“What do you--”

His words die on his tongue as he takes in the sight before him. The man at the door is tall and incredibly handsome, all bright eyes and chiseled bone structure, a good couple of inches taller than Yoongi. He keeps his face neutral and looks down to see a small, fluffy white dog that looks suspiciously like the pictures of Monie that Namjoon has shown him. 

This means that this must be…

“Hi, I’m Haneul. You must be Joonie’s... boyfriend?” 

It looks like saying the word physically pains him. 

He offers Haneul a blank stare. “The one and only.” 

There’s a tense pause, the door open just enough for Yoongi to stare bleary-eyed at him through the gap. Haneul shuffles his feet and Monie whines, his tail wagging like he’s sensed that his other owner is within reach. With a sigh and probably against his better judgment, Yoongi lets the door drift open further and gestures towards the kitchen. 

“Guess you better come in. I’ll go wake him up.” 

At least he’ll be able to gently break the news to Namjoon that his ex-boyfriend has shown up completely unannounced. But fate has other plans for today, it seems, and before Yoongi even reaches the door Namjoon bursts out into the living room, gripping his phone. 

He doesn’t even see Yoongi, beelining for the living room, jaw clenched and eyes dark. There’s a small bark and he hears Namjoon coo in a low voice. “Monie-ah.” 

Yoongi doesn’t want to intrude, but he’s sick with curiosity over how Namjoon will interact with his ex. He still doesn’t really know the story of their breakup, and he doesn’t intend to pry if Namjoon isn’t willing or ready to divulge the obviously painful details, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. He decides it’s probably polite to linger at the back of the living room and watch.

Namjoon stands to his full height, Monie wriggling happily at his feet. “What the fuck, Haneul? I told you to let me know what day you were coming.” He gives his phone a sharp wave before tossing it onto the couch. 

It’s only now that Yoongi registers that Namjoon is in his boxers and nothing else, though it seems that Haneul is keenly aware of this, his eyes flitting consistently between Namjoon’s face and his chest. The pained look on Namjoon’s face over being thrust into such a situation is enough to make Yoongi pause further. He feels more and more like he’s intruding, even though he wants to stay, wants to support Namjoon and fix this for him, somehow. 

But he can’t. It’s Namjoon’s battle and his alone, and so he shuffles up to him and squeezes his hand reassuringly, throwing Haneul a pointed look. “I’m just gonna be in the other room.”

Namjoon nods, kissing the top of Yoongi’s head. “I won’t be long.” 

Yoongi slips into the bedroom and waits.

Namjoon hears the door to the bedroom click shut and focuses on Haneul. He’s ashamed to admit that there was a part of him that ached when he saw his ex for the first time in half a year, but it was quickly swallowed by rage. 

He woke up to Yoongi shuffling out of bed, figuring it was just a delivery man or solicitor or something, but then he heard the mumble of another voice, one that sounded far too familiar. 

And then he checked his phone. 

Haneul
I’m on my way!

Monie slumps down onto the floor, laying his head on his paws. Haneul puts his hands behind his back, rocking onto his heels. “Your place seems nice.” 

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Namjoon lets his voice be gruff and cutting. For too long he bent himself backward to accommodate Haneul, and the instinct to do it is still there, but he pushes through it. It’s worth it to see Haneul’s eyes widen in surprise. 

He recovers quickly and shrugs. “I did. I told you I was coming.” 

“Yes, at five in the goddamn morning. How did you even get my address?” 

“Your mother,” Haneul replies, his voice a touch louder. Namjoon knows he’s doing it to make sure Yoongi hears. “She’s always liked me.” 

Namjoon’s stomach drops. “Eomma likes everyone, you’re not special.” 

Haneul just tilts his head, amusement in his eyes as he watches Namjoon. “The kimbap I have in my bag says otherwise.” 

Namjoon runs a hand over his face and through his hair. “Can you just tell me what I need to know for Monie and leave?”

“I want to hear about your life, Joonie. Busan seems so quaint.” Haneul plops back down onto the couch.

“It’s the second largest city in Korea.”

“Right.” He crosses his legs. “Work going well? Getting a break out here, hopefully?”

“The opposite,” Namjoon grits out. “Busier than ever.” 

“Oh, my,” Haneul grins. “Should I fear for my safety?”

“If you like.” 

“Your boyfriend seems nice.” 

Namjoon grows more irritated. “He’s wonderful, actually. We just started dating and are very happy. I have a good friend group out here. I don’t have anything to complain about, except not having Monie, but that’s been remedied. So I’m doing pretty great. Is that enough information for you?”

Namjoon does his best not to smile at the growing look of annoyance on Haneul’s face. It’s clear he came here partially to try and feel superior; if he had done this a few months ago, he might have succeeded, but now Namjoon truly can’t be fucked to keep up with his bullshit. 

“I suppose,” Haneul sniffs. “Don’t you want to hear about me?”

“Honestly? I don’t.” 

Haneul scoffs. “Fine.” He hands Namjoon the duffel bag he brought in with him. “Monie’s toys and bed are in here. I switched his food to a different brand, he likes it better. No by-products, all that healthy shit. Same feeding schedule.” 

Namjoon takes the bag and nods. He looks down at Monie who meets his gaze and thumps his tail on the ground twice. “Thanks for bringing him to me.” 

“Yeah.” An awkward silence fills the room now, and Haneul nods. “Well. It was nice to see you, Joonie. I’m glad you’re happy.” 

It’s the most convincing he’s sounded, and maybe he is glad, but Namjoon finds that he genuinely doesn’t care, that he’s long past the point of worry about Haneul. He finds a small burst of pride in that. 

“Thanks.” 

Namjoon opens the door for him as he leaves, waiting until he disappears from view before closing the door. He looks back at his dog, already happily wagging his tail on the couch. 

“Welcome home, Monie.” 

Yoongi appears, still sporting a rather impressive bedhead and wearing one of Namjoon’s t-shirts, the fabric long enough to brush the top of his pale thighs, hiding the fact that he’s wearing boxers, and Namjoon’s brain helpfully supplies him with a number of lewd images. 

Before he can open his mouth and apologize for their rude awakening, Namjoon watches as Monie quickly rushes to sniff at Yoongi’s ankles. A warm feeling swirls in the pit of his stomach as Yoongi crouches down and is immediately offered a perfect, fluffy white belly to rub. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Yoongi with Holly before, but there’s something different about witnessing those pursed lips being directed at his own dog who, historically, is incredibly picky about who he likes. 

“I think he likes me,” Yoongi says, his smile all soft as he pets Monie, cooing when one of his back legs starts twitching involuntarily. 

Namjoon joins them on the floor, observing with a clipped smile as he tries to process what just happened. He can feel Yoongi watching him, gentle eyes quietly observing, and the silence isn’t uncomfortable by any means, but it still feels somewhat suffocating. Maybe he pushed down the feelings he accrued from the breakup, letting them pile a little too high in his chest.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen. Sometimes it helps.” 

He sighs and nods, accepting his fate. “Coffee first?”

Yoongi groans as he stands up, stretching his arms high above his head before he offers Namjoon a hand to tug him from the floor. “Coffee first.” 

The soft grumbles Yoongi makes while complaining about Namjoon’s coffee-making tools, or tragic lack thereof, comfort him as he settles into the kitchen chair. Monie, for his part, has already made himself quite comfortable, happily plopping down on the bed that Namjoon placed in the kitchen. The dog watches Yoongi with chocolate eyes, only the small thump of a solitary tail wag betraying him as he comes closer to Namjoon, steaming mugs in hand. 

The coffee warms his chest as it goes down, and Yoongi is gracious with his time, letting Namjoon stew until his mug is half empty before he begins to speak. 

“So,” Namjoon sighs, not entirely sure where to start. The beginning, he supposes. “We met in college. He was studying finance, one year ahead of me, but had an elective music class with my best friend Jackson. I joined them out at a bar one night.”

Yoongi watches him, a soft but neutral expression on his face. Namjoon continues.

“He asked me out a month later. We were mostly casual, but we got serious pretty quick. He was good, in the beginning.” Something knots unpleasantly in his stomach, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “I witnessed a murder pretty soon after that. It’s, uh, what made me want to be a detective. It messed me up pretty good, but Haneul didn’t understand. Or try to.”

He takes a glance at Yoongi again, his eyes and mouth tight with something Namjoon can’t quite place. Concern, maybe? Or… pity. 

“He stayed with me until he graduated and went into the military. We kept in touch, he found me after I got out, and it was like we never separated. It was about a year before we moved in together after I was settled in my job as a rookie detective. We got Monie not long after that.”

Another deep breath. Namjoon is trying to sum this up and he finds himself surprised at how easily he can condense such a large part of his life. Was his relationship with Haneul that inconsequential? The hole in his chest Haneul carved out when he left makes him feel otherwise, but to hear him reduce his own supposedly significant relationship down to a few paragraphs doesn’t sit right with him. 

“I decided I would propose for our third anniversary. Not like we could do it, legally, but I got a ring anyway. We would know, and that’s what mattered. But I spent the day trying my best to make a good dinner, but ended up ordering from his favorite place.” He chuckles at that and gestures vaguely at his pristine kitchen. “You know… can’t cook.” 

“We ate, and afterward I got down on one knee, and he said no.” Namjoon hears the sharp intake of breath from Yoongi but can’t bring himself to look directly at him. “He said it was too much . Isn’t that strange? More than three years together, but a little metal ring was too much.” He shakes his head. “I think we’d just… stagnated. Either way, Haneul had everything packed and was moved out by the next day. So when my boss offered me the position in Busan, I took it.” 

Now he meets Yoongi’s gaze with his own and smiles, taking his hand and kissing the line of pink knuckles. “And then I met you, and now you’re here, in my kitchen, becoming my dog’s new favorite person mere minutes after he’s returned home.” 

Yoongi smiles and Namjoon finds the stress of the morning melting away a bit, enough for him to breathe a little easier. Yoongi doesn’t press further, just turns Namjoon’s palm in his own and begins tracing his lifeline. 

“What about you, hyung?”

Yoongi pauses. “What about me?”

“Any past lovers I should keep on the lookout for? Skeletons in the greenhouse?” Namjoon laughs at the choked sound that falls from Yoongi’s lips and squeezes his hand before taking their mugs to the sink.

“Ah. No, actually. I guess I’ve just never really liked anyone enough to date properly? I’ve always stuck to more casual encounters when the uh… urge took hold,” he snorts, cheeks slightly pink at the confession. He shrugs and frowns down at his bare knees. “Nothing ever lasted more than a few weeks, anyway. That’s probably bad, right?”

Namjoon pauses, counting the days in his head before he tries to bite back a smirk, looking up at Yoongi quickly. “Hyung, how many days is it for us? Is my time up?” 

Yoongi’s sharp eyes get all wide for a second before he lifts his head and meets Namjoon’s gaze, and he quickly realizes he’s being played. “Not funny.” 

The smile on his face says otherwise. 

He shrugs, his smile fading a little. “I guess I just focused a lot on Tae and Kook, and then the business. I never really let myself get attached, or had the desire to past–” 

Namjoon moves to join him again, the dishes cleared, and he nudges Yoongi with his shoulder to encourage him to continue. 

“Sex.” 

Now he’s blushing. Furiously. 

Despite the subject matter and his obvious embarrassment, Namjoon still finds his bashfulness endearing, considering he’s heard the lewd things his mouth is capable of spouting. It’s bold of him to play innocent, he thinks quietly. 

“There’s no shame in that. You’re a grown man, it’s natural. Plus, I can’t say I’m mad about your experience. I’m benefitting, right?” 

He laughs as Yoongi launches himself at him, curses falling from a smiling mouth as their bodies collide, and Monie sees it as a prime opportunity to begin barking and attempting to leap onto the sofa to join their playful scuffle. 

When the ‘fight’ ends with a triumphant Yoongi straddling his lap, peppering his neck with kisses, Namjoon thinks he might try and antagonize him more often.

Yoongi gets home sometime in the late afternoon and he’s pleasantly surprised to see the building still standing, despite his absence. Jungkook is sitting on the sofa with Holly curled in his lap when he pushes the door to the apartment open, and there’s a distinct and now-familiar shine of plastic wrapped around his forearm. He looks up from his phone when he hears the front door click shut, and his cheeks flush pink when he registers that Yoongi is staring. 

“How’s Namjoon-hyung?” He says, quiet and tentative, his words catching on a lisp in that way they do sometimes, just like Yoongi. 

Yoongi places his shoes upon the rack and shuffles over to join Jungkook, pulling his legs underneath him and smiling as Holly lazily lifts his head and offers him a solitary wag in greeting before dozing off again. “He’s fine,” he says, unable to resist reaching out to take Jungkook’s wrist in his hand. He pulls his arm into his lap and turns it, inspecting the new design that he’s had etched into his skin. 

A cluster of Sweetpeas, Taehyung’s favorite, nestled right below the Tiger Lily that he got just a few months ago. His arm is turning into a garden, all covered with flowers that represent their little family. 

“Pretty, Kook. I like it.” 

The small smile that curves at Jungkook’s mouth lifts a little higher, and Yoongi thinks about how much he loves him. He’s come into himself in recent years, and it took time, too much , for him to heal from all of the damage caused by growing up in a home void of the love and affection a boy like Jungkook craves, but he’s finally taken ownership of himself. 

He’s already beautiful, inside and out, and he always has been, but it’s been interesting to watch him make himself even more so every time he adds a new tattoo or piercing to his collection. Though Yoongi would be lying if he said he didn’t have a small heart attack when he saw the first trace of ink, but he chewed up and swallowed the worry when he saw how happy it made him. He’s even thought of getting some flowers of his own. 

“Thank you, hyung.” 

He could say more, affection swelling in his chest. He could tell him how proud he is, but they’re both historically bad at laying out their feelings without Taehyung around to coax it out of them.

“Is Tae home?” 

Jungkook shakes his head as Yoongi lets go of his arm, but he comfortably leaves the limb in Yoongi’s lap, picking at the fabric on the knee of his trousers absentmindedly. “He went to get some groceries. Said he wanted to cook for us.” 

Yoongi grimaces at the same time Jungkook does, and they share a laugh at the thought of Taehyung attempting to navigate the kitchen. “I’ll go wash up and prepare to take over when he returns, then. Tackle him if he starts before I’m ready, Kookie. Promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

With a quick, reassuring squeeze of Jungkook’s hand, Yoongi takes it and places it on top of Holly’s fluffy head, extracting himself from the sofa. 

Kim Taehyung is the kind of boy who disassembles the box completely and finds a new way to put it back together, rather than thinking outside of it, and so when Yoongi reappears freshly showered and in his favorite pair of well-worn pajamas, he finds the kitchen in ruin. 

“Yah, Jeon Jungkook! I thought I put you in charge of disaster prevention?” Yoongi whines, quick to confiscate the sharp knife that Taehyung is currently wielding a little too confidently as he haphazardly chops a carrot, his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration. “You’ll end up with no fingertips if you carry on like that. Go sit down, let hyung do it.” 

Taehyung grumbles something unsavory under his breath and pulls a face that’s half betrayal, half relief as he relinquishes control of the vegetables to Yoongi. He squeezes the back of the olders neck with a wet hand that makes Yoongi flinch and shout before he joins Jungkook at the breakfast bar. Both of them are caught in each other’s orbit as usual, and they shuffle their stools closer to each other without hesitation. 

“Are you going to bring Namjoon here when we’re around again? Or are you ashamed of us or something?” 

Yoongi and Jungkook both snort at Taehyung’s accusatory tone. “I let you come and meet his friends, some of whom you seemed to take a liking to,” he says, turning and glaring at each of them accusingly. “And also… no. Why would I subject him to such torture?” 

“We’ll behave, hyung. Promise,” Jungkook says quietly, a smile hooking the corner of his mouth that says otherwise. “We want to get to know him better. And we like seeing you happy.”

With a huff, Yoongi turns, wielding the knife threateningly as he frowns at them through his messy bangs. Two pairs of big, brown eyes stare at him, unflinching. He hates that he can’t ever deny them anything. He’s conditioned to be weak to their every request, no matter how much he tries to resist. 

“I can invite him over for dinner. Maybe.” 

His eyes narrow as theirs light up, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled that they seem to have really taken a liking to Namjoon. He’s a hard man to dislike, and the first person Yoongi has really ever felt anything for in this way, so his dongsaeng’s approval is crucial. He thinks that maybe they’re also being protective of him and his secrets, and he owes them too much to deny them such a simple request. 

“What about this weekend?” 

They exchange a quick look and nod once. “We’ll be here, hyung,” Jungkook says, pushing away from the bar. He begins to grab bowls and cups from the cupboards and starts laying the table as Yoongi throws his ingredients into a pan. 

It’s an easy, familiar routine; Yoongi chases one or both of them out of the kitchen, he cooks, they eat together, then the boys noisily do the dishes. It’s one of the few comforts Yoongi has, other than his flowers. The gentle monotony of a normal life that he always hoped he would have and be able to provide for them, something none of their parents could offer.

His mind is often murky, but they do their best to help clear the waters. Sweet, quietly fierce Jeon Jungkook and beautifully strange Kim Taehyung mean everything to him, and all he hopes is that they’re happy.

He’d do anything to make sure of it. 

When the dishes are done they all curl up on the sofa, feet clad in matching Kumamon socks tangled together as they watch a movie. Holly sleeps soundly on the rug, and it isn’t long until their eyes grow heavy. Yoongi pulls out his phone and takes a picture of himself with the boys asleep behind him. He sends it to Namjoon, smiling to himself. 

Yoongi
Hard being a single father. 

Namjoon
You’re doing an admirable job, hyung. 

Yoongi
Dinner here Saturday? I’ll cook. They want to ‘spend more time with you.’

Namjoon
I don’t know if I’m ready for kids…

Namjoon
But yes. I’d love to. 

Yoongi
Let me know if you have any favorite dishes :)

Yoongi
Sleep tight, Joonie.

Namjoon
I’ll try, hyung. You too.

Yoongi sets his alarm and tugs the blanket they leave draped over the back of the sofa around their shoulders, snuggling closer as Jungkook grumbles and reaches for him. That familiar warmth once again blooms in his chest, and he rests his head against a broad shoulder and lets the quiet sounds of their breathing lure him to sleep. 

Yoongi situates himself in a little cafe in a hidden corner of Gangseo, the day dreary, all gray and oppressive. His heart starts beating in disarray when the little bell above the door chimes and he sees Park Sungjae walking in. He almost didn’t recognize him at first, his hair now blonde, black roots showing like a crown. It’s normal for men like him to change their appearance, no matter how subtly, and luckily Yoongi knows that all too well. 

Yoongi quickly lets his gaze flick over to the clock behind the counter, watching the hand strike three. He could say a lot of things about his latest target, but at least the man is always punctual.

The erratic rhythm of his heart continues, caused by excitement paired with a healthy dose of anxiety, and the way the latter muddies his waters feels oddly alluring and all too familiar. The promise of a new kill, the thrill of the hunt. 

He chances a look over his laptop screen, the details of the florist supply page blurring as he watches Sungjae take a long sip of his iced latte on his way to the table in the corner; the same one he always sits at. A creature of unwavering habit, both in the monotony of his everyday life and in the disgusting things he does when the sun sets. 

The predictable ones are Yoongi’s favorites. 

Sungjae sits and stares out of the window, observing the people that pass them by and doing little else. He’s wearing his usual oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, dark work boots. Yoongi notices the brown dirt caked in the ridges of the soles, a thin layer coating the steel-capped toes too. He either hasn’t cleaned them for two weeks straight, or he’s already been on another collection at the port. If it’s the latter, Yoongi has dangerously miscalculated, and if he did , then that means…

Bile rises in Yoongi’s throat, his vision blurring, and he grips the arm of his chair tight enough for his knuckles to turn bone white. He quickly self-soothes by thinking about staring down at Sungjae’s lifeless shell on a table, his shitty box-bleached hair spread like a dirty halo around him. He exhales and turns his attention back to ordering a batch of seedlings. 

The sky is pitch black outside when Sungjae finally leaves the cafe, his hands twitching and his gait heavy as he pushes the glass door open and lets the sea air in. He exudes paranoia, something Yoongi isn’t exactly pleased to observe each time he’s come to check his patterns. 

Yoongi waits a little while, sipping coffee that has grown cold and a little stale. He then takes his time packing up, pulling his beanie low as he leaves a tip in the jar on the counter, waving goodbye to the shy barista who kept him well caffeinated. 

When he steps into the street, Sungjae is leaning against a wall to his left, his cracked phone pressed to his ear, face partially lit by a red-hued street lamp that makes him look like the devil. Yoongi dips his chin and hitches the strap of his bag a little higher on his shoulder as he passes him, blood rushing in his ears as he catches the words docks and cargo before he turns the corner and situates himself at the bus stop. 

Urgency creeps under his skin and starts to poison his rationality. This happens sometimes; the unwavering desire to get the job done before they hurt someone else, to snuff out the flame before it burns again, but his sense of self-preservation thankfully trumps the feeling of impatience that plagues him.

Though lately, he finds himself feeling more and more restless. Maybe he’s getting too comfortable after doing this for so long with no repercussions. Maybe he’s getting greedy and cocky and finds the thrill of a dangerous kill far too tempting. 

His phone chirps in his pocket, snapping him from his wandering thoughts as the headlights from the approaching bus light him up. 

Taehyung
Are you going to be late? Joon-hyung is already here.

Then, before Yoongi can type out a warning…

Taehyung
Don’t worry! Kookie and I will keep him entertained ;)

“Shit.” 

Namjoon doesn’t really know why his palms are sweating. He’s been seeing Yoongi regularly. They text as often as they can, and Yoongi just had the distinct pleasure of witnessing his ex-boyfriend show up unannounced to return Monie. But here he is, standing awkwardly in the middle of a side alley, waiting for someone to open the door to Yoongi’s apartment. He hears the loud bounding of excited footsteps, and the door is flung open to reveal two eager sets of eyes. 

“Hi, Joonie-hyung,” Jungkook says, his voice quiet. He holds his sweater-encased hands up to his ears when Namjoon smiles at him.

Taehyung steps forward, holding a bent arm in front of him with a kitchen rag draped over it. “Ah, Kim Namjoon-ssi.” He bows and Namjoon bites back a laugh. “We’ve been expecting you. Right this way.” 

Jungkook whispers something to Taehyung, who waves the younger away. The two lead Namjoon straight to the dining table, which has been set in an attempt to mimic a fancy restaurant. He plays along, not wanting to see Taehyung disappointed, and now he understands why Yoongi complains about never being able to tell him no . 

“Such great service,” Namjoon says as Taehyung graciously pulls the chair out for him. 

“Only the best for our most esteemed guest.” 

Taehyung is attempting what Namjoon thinks is Seoul satoori, but the unique slur of his Daegu accent still peeks through. “Also, our sincerest apologies. Chef Min is out running errands and seems to have lost track of time. But he’ll be here shortly. Can I interest you in a cold beverage?” 

“Do you have beer?” 

Taehyung bows low. “Right away, Namjoon-ssi.” He scurries off into the kitchen, leaving behind a very embarrassed Jungkook. 

“I told him not to do this,” he mutters. 

Namjoon laughs. “It’s fine. He seems to enjoy it.”

Jungkook smiles at this, his nose scrunching. “Yeah, he does. He’s been excited for you to visit again.” He grows quiet again. “We both have.” 

Taehyung returns, holding a glass in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He looks a little flustered, trying and failing to open the bottle. 

“Hyung, let me--”

“I got this, Kook-ah--”

“Give it--” 

Jungkook manages to wrench the bottle from Tae’s hand and holds it up to his own mouth, popping the cap using his bottom incisor. Taehyung grins, clapping enthusiastically before taking the bottle back to pour the beer into the glass and handing it to Namjoon. 

He takes a sip, and it’s mostly foam, but he can’t help but smile. He could get used to this. 

They make small talk for a few minutes, the younger two discussing the various customers they had at the cafe today. Jungkook shows Namjoon his newest tattoo, and Namjoon takes the time to ask about the many different ones that flow up his arm, his chest warming when he learns that the various flowers represent the people he loves, namely Yoongi and Taehyung. 

It isn’t long before the door opens again and Holly comes sprinting from the bedroom to bark until Yoongi’s head appears. Namjoon’s heart flutters seeing his fluffy black hair, his cheeks a little puffy, but Yoongi’s eyes brighten when he sees Namjoon. He pauses to give Holly some attention before coming over to the table, throwing Taehyung and Jungkook a narrow-eyed look. 

“If they’ve been bothering you, don’t believe them when they say it’s illegal to tell me.” 

Jungkook and Taehyung start to whine, but Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s been nice, they’ve looked after me very well. I’m happy to see you.” 

Yoongi’s cheeks go pink and he clears his throat before pulling his hand out from behind his back. Namjoon hadn’t even noticed he’d been hiding something. The bouquet that Yoongi produces is beautiful, and Namjoon quickly recognizes stalks of pale purple clematis in the middle, surrounded by an abundance of eucalyptus and some unusual pale yellow blooms he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. 

“Oh, thank you, hyung.” He takes the flowers and gently touches some of the petals. “It’s beautiful.” 

“The clematis was hard to track down, had to go to a couple of different markets. I’ll be sure to order some for the shop in the future.” Their gazes catch, and the moment feels so brief, but it’s apparently long enough for Taehyung to make a gagging noise. 

“Hyung, we’re hungry. Go make us food.” 

“Yah!” Yoongi swats at Taehyung but shuffles to the kitchen anyway. 

The bulgogi jjigae Yoongi serves is delicious, Namjoon happily taking seconds and playing Jungkook in a round of rock, paper, scissors for the last portion. He feels happy and well fed, and Yoongi is warm at his side when they all migrate to the living room for a Ghibli movie, at Taehyung's insistence. 

Namjoon basks in the glow of spending time with Yoongi’s unusual little family, watching Yoongi gently place a blanket over the boys sleeping forms when they pass out on the sofa halfway through Kiki’s Delivery Service.

Yoongi turns the television off with a sigh, shaking his head at the two of them, but the fond smile that tugs at his lips is nothing but fond. Yoongi then offers him a hand, dragging him up and off the sofa to wrap his arms around his neck. 

“Do you usually just… leave them there?” Namjoon says, letting his hands settle on Yoongi’s waist as he frowns at the way Taehyung seems to be awkwardly bent around Jungkook, his cheek squished against the younger's stomach. 

“If I try to wake them up they’ll make a huge fuss, it’s best to just let them sleep and watch them suffer the consequences in the morning. They’ll learn one day,” he says, his smile sweet, but there’s an edge of something a little mischievous there. 

“You’re an evil man, Min Yoongi,” Namjoon grins, leaning down to press a kiss to the end of Yoongi’s nose. 

Yoongi sighs wistfully, playing the part well. “It’s hard work, but someone’s gotta do it. Now, take me to bed? I’m exhausted.” 

“You want me to stay?”

“If you want? It’s late, don’t like the thought of you cycling home in the dark.” 

His pout is difficult to resist and he knows it, his sharp eyes sparkling as he looks up at Namjoon, lashes fluttering. 

Namjoon huffs a laugh. “You don’t have to convince me. Lead the way.” 

He guides Namjoon to his room, urging him to sit on the bed while he rummages through his drawers to find him something to sleep in. He produces a threadbare pair of shorts and nothing else. 

“No shirt?” Namjoon says, trying to fight the smile that threatens to tug at his mouth. 

One of Yoongi’s brows rises and he crosses his arms over his chest, waiting expectantly. “No.” 

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head as he undresses under Yoongi’s watchful gaze, like the way he looks at him. 

They brush their teeth and wash up side by side in the bathroom, and it all feels so painfully domestic that Namjoon catches himself thinking about Hanuel. Not in a significant way, but in a way that reminds him how monotonous these simple acts of humanity used to feel with him. But standing here beside Min Yoongi, something as simple as watching him pat moisturizer onto his pale skin is enough to make him feel a warmth he hasn’t in a long, long time. 

Yoongi’s eyes are heavy when they climb under the sheets, and the smaller man eagerly curls against Namjoon’s side, arm slung over his bare torso. He yawns, and Namjoon tries really hard not to coo. Instead, he presses a kiss to the crown of Yoongi’s head, and before he can mumble a sleepy goodnight , they’re both drifting.

Yoongi presses an open-mouthed kiss to Namjoon’s stomach and listens to the shaky inhale it draws from him, hiding a smile against soft skin. Namjoon stirs and stretches, his body elongating briefly as he comes to and blinks sleep from his eyes. His hand doesn’t hesitate to find its way into Yoongi’s hair, the silky strands slipping between his fingers as he strokes down until he’s touching his cheek. 

“Mmmorning…”

The rasp of his voice, still thick with sleep, makes Yoongi shudder as he kisses the place right beside Namjoon’s belly button, fingers digging into his sides. 

“Morning.” 

“Having fun down there?”

Yoongi grins lazily and nods, nuzzling close and pressing his nose against the curve. He stretches, catlike and lazy, and Namjoon smiles fondly, fingers cupping his jaw, thumb pressing lightly on his pink bottom lip. 

“I am, actually. You’re warm. And you have soft skin.” Namjoon grumbles shyly, and Yoongi huffs a tiny, sleepy laugh in response. “S’nice, Joon-ah. I like your body, if you haven’t noticed.” 

He removes one of his hands from Namjoon’s waist so that he can grab his wrist, thumb brushing over the bumps of his veins, his bones. He thinks about how he’ll never feel the same now that he knows how Namjoon feels against him like this, and he tips his face and presses his lips to the place where his pulse flutters. 

Yoongi isn’t sure he’s strong enough to withstand something so gentle. His heart does something uncertain in his chest when he lifts his gaze and finds Namjoon looking at him, his smile sweet and shy, like flowers that only bloom at night. 

“Come back up here.”

He shakes his head, guiding Namjoon’s fingers back into his hair. He’s all too aware of the way everyone who knows him compares him to a cat, and right now he can maybe see why. “Mmm no. I’m good.”

Namjoon sighs when Yoongi shifts a little higher, trailing kisses as he goes. He stops when his face is pressed against his chest, his ear to his sternum so he can hear his heartbeat, fluttering like birds. 

“ Hyung.”

He shifts again, his body laid flat over Namjoon’s bigger one, and he’s trying really hard to ignore the ache between his legs and the way Namjoon is getting hard against his hip. He feels his face flush, cheeks hot as he nuzzles in again, and Namjoon shudders beneath him as Yoongi drags his nose over the full swell of his pec. 

“I’m going to put a request in that they close the gyms. Maybe start a petition,” he sighs. “You’re becoming hazardous to my health, Kim Namjoon.” 

Namjoon hums, fingers counting the bumps of Yoongi’s spine, getting lower. “I’m sorry. I can stop going if you want?”

Yoongi bites his lip and gives a teasing roll of his hips, hissing when the friction ignites the spark that’s been simmering low in his gut. Namjoon’s eyes get dark, and the fine line between soft morning cuddles and something messier is swiftly erased. 

“No, Joonie. Don’t stop,” he grins, the double implication making them both laugh as Namjoon grabs a handful of Yoongi’s ass and pushes . Their laughs soon fade, dying on their tongues and turning jagged and broken. 

Pink-knuckled hands clutch at the edges of the pillow beneath Namjoon’s head, and distorted breathing fills the empty corners of the room. Moans that linger, others that extend into something of a higher pitch. Lips open against warm skin, and the scrape of Yoongi’s teeth bite as he drags them over Namjoon’s clavicle. His legs feel wobbly, and it’s all sharp and messy.

“You’re going to make me come,” he whispers, his nose finding Namjoon’s jaw as he’s pushed and pulled, the pressure building between them. “Feels so good.” 

“ Yes.”

Namjoon clenches his jaw, his cheeks hollowing in that way that makes Yoongi feel insane, makes him feel like he wants to rile him up and find every wrong button to push until he explodes. 

There’s warm blonde hair between his fingers, soft, soft strands getting mussed and knotted as he tugs, and he feels desperate. It’s the sensation of being pulled at the seams and coming undone, and the choir in his head sings louder and louder until the voices peak and die as he comes hard, wetness spreading slick and messy between their tightly pressed bodies. Namjoon groans, guiding Yoongi to him with a hand against his jaw so their mouths meet, so he can swallow the quiet little noises of his downfall. 

Yoongi feels like every nerve ending in his body has been set alight, his toes curling, and he licks into Namjoon’s mouth and begs him to follow him over the precipice. “Come on, Joonie. Losing my mind.”

“ Ah —Yoongi…”

“That’s it, baby,” Yoongi purrs, their bodies rocking, and he buries his nose in Namjoon’s cheek, holding him tight as he finally arches and trembles beneath him. Telltale warmth spreads, and Yoongi hates that he likes the way it feels. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon pants. “You can’t call me baby .”

Yoongi’s shoulders begin to shake with his laughter before any sound comes out of his mouth, and Namjoon groans loudly, faux-frustrated as he wraps both of his big arms around the smaller man on top of him and rolls them with one rock of his body.

“Why not, Joon-ah? Don’t you like it? You called me baby unprovoked once, you know?”

Namjoon shakes his head and buries his face in Yoongi’s neck, pointedly hiding cheeks that Yoongi knows are flushed pink. “I like it,” he says, voice purposefully small. “Maybe too much.”

With a self-satisfied hum, Yoongi cards his fingers through Namjoon’s messy hair, working out knots he’d put there himself. “Mmh… noted. Call Kim Namjoon baby more often.” 

“ Hyung .” 

Yoongi crinkles his nose as Namjoon finally extracts himself from the safety of the crook of his neck, the mess between them not feeling so good now the post-sex haze has cleared. “I regret everything. This is awful.” 

“I think we’re stuck like this forever.” 

“Ah… disgusting. Get off me, you monster.”