Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Namjoon's hands tremble as he quickly dials your number on a Thursday. That in itself isn't strange since he calls you all the time, even from the other side of your shared apartment. This time, he's sitting in his studio, knee bouncing as anxiety courses through him. 

The line rings once. Twice. Three times. His stomach clenches as he begs mentally for you to pick up. When you do, he feels a momentary wave of relief before panic sets in again. 

“Hey, Joon. What's up?” You ask into your phone, placing it on speaker as you push your shopping cart through the grocery store. You recheck your shopping list, making sure you're grabbing the right ingredients for tonight's dinner. 

“My mom's coming to visit next week,” he tells you, his tone uneven. 

You pause halfway through placing radishes in your cart. “Oh? That's great, isn't it?”

Namjoon exhales slowly. “She wants to meet you.”

That's when you stop, your shopping list forgotten. “Me?” 

There's a beat of uneasy silence. You take your phone off speaker and ask Namjoon if he's still there. He replies with a deep sigh and says, “She thinks we're… dating.”

You blink hard, a warmth spreading through your chest. “And why would she think that?” 

“I kind of–” Namjoon curses, and you can picture him shaking his head. “I might've said something a while ago, just enough to let her assume.”

You pull your cart to the side, mind racing as you grit out, “Namjoon.”

“I panicked!” He says, frantic now. “I didn't mean for it to go this far! She kept asking me all these questions, and I didn't want her to think I was lonely or– God, I fucked up, haven't I?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This is peak Namjoon, your best friend, also known fondly as CEO of overthinking everything, panicking about it, and then somehow charming his way out of it.

“Are you implying that you want me to fake date you?” You ask him calmly, despite your heart thudding in your ears. “For your mom?”

Namjoon wants to slam his head against his desk. “Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just for the week while she's here. We'll come up with a whole story about how we met, anniversaries, date nights… all that stuff. Then she'll finally get off my back about not having a girlfriend.” 

You want to say no. There are a dozen–no, a million–reasons why this is a bad idea, most of them involving the fact that you've spent the last year and a half trying not to fall in love with your roommate.

Instead, you agree and tell him, “Fine, but you're cooking dinner tonight and doing the dishes for the next month.” 

You can hear the smile in Namjoon’s voice when he replies, “Deal. I seriously owe you one.”

“You owe me a few sojus,” you thought, huffing. “I can't believe I met your unpredictable ass online.”

***

It all started with a Craigslist ad.

Two years ago, you moved to the city for school. A graduate student in Literature, you aspired to become a professor. Rent in Seoul was unforgiving, and after your roommate bailed mid-lease, your part-time job as a content editor was no longer cutting it. You were about to lose your apartment and turned to Craigslist in a moment of desperation and anxiety. Your post was short, polite, and a little bleak:

“Clean, quiet, and responsible grad student looking for a room to rent. I bake when I'm stressed.”

A user named “CrabKive” replied to your post three hours later: 

“I have a room available. I'm quiet too (except when clumsy). Bookshelf space negotiable. I burn toast, so maybe we'll balance each other out.” 

You met him in person the next day at his apartment. It was cozy, welcoming, and filled with books and plants. He offered you a cup of tea like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you had five cups as you and him spent hours chatting. You didn't even know he was famous until he mentioned something about “tour schedules,” and you expected him to slide an NDA over for you to sign. 

It never came. You moved in three days later and your friendship with Namjoon bloomed from there. A routine was quickly created: sharing playlists, discussing literature and art, going to cafés and parks together. Sure, you were roommates, but something more lingered inside of you. 

Something that led you to where you were today, fake dating your best friend.

***

Namjoon arrives home that night to find you curled up on the couch, eyes glued to your phone screen. You're so absorbed in a subreddit about fake dating that you jump when he greets you. 

“How was today's recording sesh?” You ask as casually as possible, swallowing thickly. Namjoon shrugs and removes his coat, tossing his keys into the dish by the front door and putting his coat on the rack. “It was fine,” he answers. “We need to talk about my mom coming.”

You nod reluctantly, and he sits down next to you, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “So,” he begins, “she's going to want to know how we met. Do we keep the Craigslist story?”

You snort out a laugh. “That sounds sketchy. How about we say we met at a café instead? Cheesy, but a classic.” 

“That works,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip as he thinks. “I told her we've been dating for a year, so that's already settled.”

“A year!?” You gasp incredulously. “Joon, she's going to then ask you to propose and give her grandkids!”

Namjoon blushes and brushes you off. “She won't. I already told her to be low-key about it. She's excited to meet you.”

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling slightly annoyed. Namjoon speaks about fake dating like it is the easiest thing in the world. 

“Do the guys know?” You ask him, referring to the other members of Bangtan. 

“They do,” Namjoon replies hesitantly. “Jin overheard our phone conversation earlier when he stopped by to drop something off, and our group chat was blowing up ten minutes later.”

You groan and bury your face into your hands. You brace yourself for the relentless teasing and lame jokes from the guys.

“Hey,” Namjoon says softly, pulling your hands away from your face. You meet his attentive gaze and find yourself smiling. “It'll be okay. My mom will love you.”

“Not until she finds out I'm her son's fake girlfriend.” You can't help yourself. Namjoon rolls his eyes playfully and stands up, heading to the kitchen. 

“Regardless, I'm sure she'll love you,” he reassures you as he begins to pull dinner ingredients out of the fridge. “It's only for a week.”

Your smile fades a little. Only for a week. For seven days, the two of you will pretend and act out something so real before moving on like nothing happened. 

Deep down, you want it to be real. Ever since your heart first fluttered around Namjoon, you've been wanting to become more than just friends. 

The only problem is that you don't know if he feels the same.

Once the apartment grows quiet after dinner and you and Namjoon are settled into your respective beds, you're left alone with your thoughts. Your brain is on overdrive, creating every possible terrible scenario that could play out when his mom arrives. What if she catches onto the lying? What if your true feelings for Namjoon shine through, and he never speaks to you again? 

You pop a melatonin gummy before your brain can conjure up any more anxious thoughts. Sleep overtakes you in minutes, leaving Namjoon the only one left awake.

Down the hall, he lays in bed and scrolls through the group chat with his band mates. Screen half-dimmed, he squints at their messages and laughs quietly. Yoongi says nothing, sending only an eye-rolling emoji while the others beg Namjoon to spill more details. 

He tells them there's nothing more to know and that he kept everything vague for his mom, insisting that they all go to bed. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and sets it on his nightstand, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

He thinks of you and wonders how you're feeling. You seem to have taken it well, but Namjoon knows that you're notorious for acting like everything's okay when it's not. 

You keep his mind tangled as he tries to go to sleep. The way you laughed earlier when he was chopping up vegetables and half of them ended up on the floor. The softness in your eyes as he reassured you that his mom would love you and that everything would be okay. 

He lets out an exhausted breath and checks his phone, half-expecting to see a text from you that reads, “Let's make this real, Joonie. I love you and want to be with you.” 

He shakes his head and scolds himself. He's positive that you only see him as a friend, a roommate. Nothing more and nothing less. He feels insane to even hope that you think about him the way he thinks about you. 

“Girl, let me know. Girl, let me know,” he sings sleepily to himself. “I'm so fucked.” He tosses and turns several times before finally falling asleep, a vision of you still clear as day in his mind.

Chapter Text

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of your fan humming and cutlery clinking in the kitchen. You momentarily forget the pact you and Namjoon made until you check your phone.

Dozens of texts from the guys greet your bleary eyes, all of them asking how you're going to pull off the fake dating scheme. You rub your eyes and reply lazily to a few of their texts, keeping your answers short and simple. You pull yourself out of bed and stretch, easing the grogginess from your bones. The morning sunlight pours through your window in golden streaks, hinting at another sweltering summer afternoon.

Once you finish brushing your teeth and dressing, you join Namjoon in the kitchen. He's made breakfast, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and sliced peaches. Your favorite fruit. 

Suddenly, you feel like you're going to melt, and not just because of the heat. 

“Morning,” you say to him. He lowers his mug, and his eyes light up when he sees you. 

“Hey, you,” he says, smiling warmly. “How'd you sleep?”

“Alright,” you answer with a shrug, serving yourself some food. “You?”

Namjoon places a mug of coffee down in front of you, and you scream inside a little. He's so thoughtful that it makes your stomach flip. 

“Same here,” he says, sitting down at the kitchen table with you. His phone buzzes, and he checks it, eyebrows furrowed together, before he freezes. “She's coming today,” he tells you, oddly calm. “My mom.”

You choke on your toast and splutter, “She's what?” 

Namjoon grimaces and types quickly on his phone, swearing under his breath. You're already panicking, reaching across the table to snatch his phone from his hand. 

“Hey!” Namjoon exclaims, reaching frantically for his phone. You hold it away from him to read their messages, your heart sinking. She was indeed coming today. As in an hour from now today. She decided to reschedule her flight to today because it was cheaper and, in her own words, “allow me more time to get to know your special lady!” 

Namjoon looks like he's about to be sick. It suddenly feels difficult to breathe as you set down his phone, which continues to buzz with more incoming texts from his mom. 

“Is she usually this impulsive?” You ask Namjoon wearily. Namjoon nods slowly and begins to apologize, but you cut him off.

“There's no use in apologizing. We're doomed,” you tell him with a pained laugh, throwing your hands up in the air. “We haven't rehearsed anything. She won't be convinced.”

“We don't need to rehearse anything,” he says abruptly. You raise your eyebrows suspiciously at him, and before you can ponder if that's him flirting or genuine statement, his phone rings. 

“It's her,” he says exasperatedly, his chair scraping across the floor as he leaves the kitchen to answer it. All rational thinking slips from your brain as you run into your bedroom and begin to rummage through your closet for an appropriate “Please Your Fake Boyfriend's Mom” outfit. 

You pull shirts and shorts off hangers, creating a messy pile on your bed that grows higher and higher. Your closet is nearly stripped bare when you finally decide on something. You finish the look with a few accessories before stepping out into the hallway, running straight into Namjoon, who was off the phone now.

He turns almost as red as his T-shirt. You're wearing a floral peplum top with a sweetheart neckline and a long, flowy white skirt. A simple silver chain rests against your collarbones, and small studs dot your ears. 

“Oh,” he says blankly. He swallows a few times, and you can see his Adam's apple moving. “You look really nice. Incredible, actually.”

You're going to die slowly and painfully if Namjoon keeps this up. “Thank you, Joon,” you mumble, licking your lips and managing a small smile. “Um, you said she's coming in an hour?”

“Yeah, she is,” he says, tearing his gaze from you and wandering aimlessly into the living room. Your phone is pinging in your pocket, and you check it: five missed from Jin.

“Jesus,” you mutter as you dial him. When he answers, you ask, “What do you want, Jin? This isn't a good time.”

“Ah, so I can't call Namjoon’s girlfriend anymore?” He teases. You roll your eyes and tap your foot impatiently. “Seriously, Jin, what is it?” 

“Well, rumor has it Namjoon’s mom is arriving in approximately fifty-one minutes, so I was wondering if you need anything? Like emergency matching pajamas? Framed couple photos? Tissues?” He asks you, and you can practically hear his shit-eating grin. 

“Did Namjoon tel--”

“He told all of us the moment his mom texted him,” Jin interrupts. “It's crazy, isn't it? Have you two even practiced kissing?”

Your face burns while imagining kissing Namjoon, and you shake your head before the visual becomes too overwhelming. “I'll call you back later, man,” you tell him firmly. “I need to go scream into my pillow.” 

You end the call and silence your phone. You contemplate speaking to Namjoon but decide against it, locking yourself in your bedroom and trying to calm yourself down.

You kept telling yourself that it will be fine and that you will be collected, nonchalant, and not obviously in love with Namjoon. “Fake it until you make it,” you tell yourself repeatedly like it's a mantra, hyping yourself up. 

Your ounce of confidence vanishes when the doorbell eventually rings. She's here. 

You gulp nervously as you meet Namjoon by the front door, sharing a look with him that says, “What the hell are we doing?” He doesn't say anything, instead giving your arm an encouraging pat before opening the door. 

Namjoon greets her, exchanging words in Korean that you don't quite understand. You realize your Korean isn't as brushed up as it should be, but then his mom turns to you. 

She's smiling kindly at you, but her eyes are sharp and observant as she scans over your posture and general appearance. She slips off her shoes and says, “Ah, so you must be the one my son is always talking about.” 

You bow politely and nod, your nerves simmering as you reply, “Yes, eomeonim. It's so lovely to finally meet you. Namjoon has told me so much about you.” 

Namjoon stands as stiff as a board by your side. He's acting like he's double-checking that he locked the door, but you know that he's listening to your conversation. 

Her smile widens as she glances at Namjoon. “Is that so?” Namjoon nods and attempts to slide out of the room, but you yank him back discreetly by the hem of his shirt. 

“It's lovely to meet you too,” she adds to you. She shows you a small gift bag and hands it to you. “I brought you a small gift. Namjoon told me how stressful university can be for you.”

You pinch him, and he suppresses a yelp. You peek briefly inside the bag, catching a glimpse of a skincare set. You thank her far too many times, so nervous that you're unsure how to act.

Namjoon's brain reboots, and he clears his throat, inviting you both to sit and chat in the living room while he prepares tea. Of course, he leaves you alone with her five minutes after meeting her. 

“So, Namjoon tells me you're studying literature and want to become a professor,” his mom says as she sits down across from you. “Smart girl.” 

You fold your hands awkwardly in your lap and grin at her. “Yes, I've wanted to become a professor since I was a little girl. My parents are professors, and it's very inspiring to see them live out their passion.” 

She hums thoughtfully and asks, “How did you and Namjoon meet?” 

Before you answer, you hope to God that Namjoon sticks to the café story if she asks him the same question. “At a café,” you answer proudly. “We were both in line and ended up ordering the same thing, and just sort of started talking from there.” 

You hear Namjoon shatter a glass and cringe. His mom laughs softly and tuts, “Ah, my son. He's quite clumsy, isn't he? I hope he isn't a clumsy lover and treats you well.”

You fiddle with your thumbs and nod. “He's great,” you assure her. “He's very attentive to my needs and always knows how to cheer me up on a bad day.”

That part isn't one of the many lies weaved into your fake dating story. Namjoon is genuinely that way, always putting you first before himself. When you study for exams, he always pampers you with your favorite snacks and leaves you motivational Post-Its on your mirror. A rough day at work, or you're on your period? He's there with your favorite flowers and a movie night on the couch. 

And yet, you still gaslight yourself into believing that he doesn't see you romantically.

Namjoon returns with the tea, much to your relief. He sits down next to you and places an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. You have to act normal like that mere gesture didn't nearly send you into a spiral. 

“You two are so cute. It warms my heart,” his mom muses as she sips her tea. “Namjoon always tells me how beautiful you are, and I can see what he means.”

You take a deep, grounding breath and stammer out, “T-thank you. I had no idea he said those things about me.” Namjoon is visibly flustered as he tugs on the collar of his shirt and shifts where he sits, his knee brushing yours. You feel a tug below your navel, something reminiscent of butterflies and pure adrenaline. 

His mom reprimands him jokingly, and Namjoon forces out a laugh. “Now, now. It's my job to embarrass my girlfriend,” he tells her with a subtle smirk. 

That's your cue to excuse yourself and say you have to use the bathroom. There, you lean over the sink and splash cold water on your face, replaying his mom's words in your head. 

Namjoon thinks you're beautiful. He tells his mom how beautiful you are. 

“Fucking hell,” you wheeze, patting your face dry. Someone knocks gently on the door and Namjoon’s voice carries through. 

“You alright in there?” He asks. You swing open the door and whisper-yell, “You tell your mom that I'm beautiful?”

Namjoon is red again, but this time so are his ears. “I didn't think she'd say it out loud,” he says meekly.

You feel like melting again. You regain your composure and only let it dissolve that evening after dinner when it's time for bed.

You don't register the sleeping situation until you see Namjoon's mom take her bags into his room. He explains to you that his mom caught him getting ready to sleep on the couch and hassled him as to why he wasn't sleeping with his girlfriend. 

“I didn't want to make things more awkward than they already are,” he says as you toss him a pillow. “If I can't sleep on the couch, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“You're not sleeping on the floor. It'll kill your back,” you inform him as you crawl into bed, fan spinning above your head to keep you cool. “Just don't hog the bed all night. It is my bed, after all.” 

“Right,” Namjoon says as he gets in bed, keeping a respectful distance from you. You turn off the light, and your bedroom is swallowed by darkness, the only light being from your scented wallflower by your dresser. 

You turn onto your side and hear Namjoon shuffling around until your backs face each other. No “Goodnight” or “Sweet dreams” is uttered from either of you. The tension is too thick, awkward, and unbearable. 

“If I snore, just kick me,” Namjoon jokes in an attempt to loosen the tension. 

“I'll do more than just kick you,” you chuckle with a yawn. You pause for a moment and then say, “This is weird, isn't it?”

Namjoon scratches the side of his face and shakes his head. “Yeah, but it's not a bad weird. It's…”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. You hug your pillow tightly and blink back unexpected tears, releasing an exhausted breath. 

“You smell like my detergent,” he says suddenly. 

Your chest tightens with a feeling you can't describe. “I do?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon murmurs into the darkness. “I like it. It makes it feel like you're…mine.”

You inhale sharply, and your throat feels dry. You start to turn over to ask him what he means when he goes on. 

“Because we're roommates and share a laundry basket,” he clarifies half-heartedly. “Anyways, goodnight.” 

How Namjoon can just drop a bomb like that on you and go to sleep, you didn't know. Kim Namjoon is a mysterious, complex man when he wants to be. Unfortunately, it doesn't benefit you in the slightest. 

Chapter Text

It's been two days now since Namjoon’s mom arrived, but it feels longer with the mounting tension between you and Namjoon. 

The guys have already picked up on it, placing bets on who would officially ask out the other person first.

Thankfully, Namjoon's mom remains clueless, too preoccupied with ensuring her son treats you well.

You and Namjoon put on your act for her whenever she's around. Cuddling on the couch, sharing loving glances, holding hands. You and him only have a chance to catch your breaths when she leaves the apartment to run errands. 

“How are we going to survive this?” You ask Namjoon as you and him stand on the balcony overlooking the bustling city. He lets out a laugh and runs a hand through his short dark hair. “I think we're doing pretty well so far. It's only been 48 hours,” he remarks smoothly.

“Joon, she watches us like a hawk. She's been constantly asking me why we haven't kissed in front of her yet,” you say as you look over at him. “She won't let up.”

Namjoon clenches his jaw, and you can practically see the gears in the head turning. “I'll talk to her.”

“You said that last time, and she showed up early,” you remind him sharply. “Dude, she literally wants us to kiss for her.”

Namjoon glances at you, and his expression is unreadable. “You don't think she's been telling me the same thing?” He retorts. “I don't know what you want me to do.”

Several different responses dance on your tongue, some more impolite than the others. You're frustrated and embarrassed, unable to sit in the discomfort of acting out a fictitious relationship with the man you're in love with. 

“I thought what we've been doing is enough,” you express half-heartedly. “Do you think she's catching on?”

Namjoon hangs his head, and you catch a faint flicker of emotion on his face. “I don't know,” he says simply. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He hears you grumble under your breath,“This was your idea, dingus,” before you leave the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind you. 

Namjoon picks at his nails nervously, wondering how he's going to get through this while preserving his sanity. His mom has been asking him several questions, mainly surrounding how he balances your relationship with his busy idol schedule. 

He hates having to lie to her and tell her elaborate stories to keep her convinced. He hypes you up like you're his genuine partner, telling his mom how you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. 

The latter is true. You are the best thing that's ever happened to him. Every time he sees you, the first twenty seconds of “Outro: Her” plays in his head. He loves the way you clutch your stomach when you laugh too hard. Your nose scrunching when you're happy. Your eyes ssparkling when you talk about your passions and goals in life. 

Namjoon feels somewhere between cloud nine and hell. He's elated to be closer to you, physically and emotionally, yet distressed that it's not official. He wants to be able to call you his without backtracking and creating a lame story about sharing a laundry basket. 

He hears the front door open and your voice greeting his mom as she returns home. He stays on the balcony for a moment longer until you call out for him.

Your voice has him reacting in an instant. He's smiling before he even sees you, finding you chatting with his mom in the kitchen as you help her put away groceries. 

“Ah, Namjoon, we were just talking about you!” Mrs. Kim tells him excitedly. “She told me it’s hard to understand what's going on inside your head sometimes.”

You almost drop the carton of milk you're placing inside the fridge, catching it and putting it away hastily. Namjoon's mouth falls open slightly, caught off guard as he shoots you a quick glance.

“She said that?” He asks, his shoulders stiffening as he becomes tense. You stand frozen by the fridge, hoping to vanish into thin air. Mrs. Kim laughs lightly and nods. “She meant it with love, dear. Didn't you, hun?”

“I did,” you tell her, avoiding Namjoon’s stare. Without looking at him, you say, “She told me you've always been that way, Namjoon, ever since you were a kid.”

Namjoon pauses for a few moments, and it's nearly impossible to figure out what he's thinking. Then, he finally says to you, “Can I speak to you alone for a minute?”

Your stomach sinks, excusing yourself and following Namjoon into your bedroom. He closes the door and murmurs, “You really said that?”

He leans against the door, preventing you from leaving. You place your hand on your hips and reply, ‘Yes, I did. I'm bothered by the discussion we had on the balcony earlier. This fake dating thing… it affects me more than you realize.”

Namjoon crosses his arms over his chest, and you try to ignore the way his biceps flex in his white T-shirt. “It affects me too,” he says flatly. “I was obviously not thinking straight when I told my mom that I have a girlfriend.”

“But how does it affect you if you're the one who came up with the idea? You didn't even want to talk about it earlier,” you huff. “Joon, you're my best friend. I don't– I don't want this charade to ruin our friendship.”

The tension leaves Namjoon’s body at your words. His face softens as he looks down at you, his deep, brown eyes quickly grounding you. 

“Why would it ruin our friendship?” He asks you, sounding genuinely concerned. “I'm sorry I'm hard to read sometimes. I just have a hard time processing difficult situations.” 

Your eyes sting, and you realize you're crying. You turn away before Namjoon can notice, but it's too late. He's handing you a tissue from your nightstand and sits down on your bed with you. 

You dab at your eyes and blow your nose. “I don't want to make a big deal out of this. I know it's tough for both of us.” 

“If it's a big deal to you, then it's a big deal to me,” Namjoon says firmly, handing you more tissues. “I just avoid talking about it because I'm scared something will come out without meaning to.” 

“What do you mean?” You sniffle, bunching up your used tissues and throwing them into the trash can by your bed. 

Namjoon hesitates, his face still soft and worried. “Like something I shouldn't say, but have been wanting to tell you for a while now.”

You study him, noticing the way his pupils dilate as he looks at you. His breathing slows, feeling at ease as you look at each other. 

“I could say the same,” you tell him, smiling. “We really were meant to be friends, huh? We're so alike.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes, dying to blurt out, “Let's be more than just friends. I can't stand pining over you and being unable to act out on it.”

You pat his knee as you stand up, holding out your hand for him. “Come on,” you say, beckoning toward the door. “I'm sure your mom is expecting us.”

Namjoon takes your hand without a second thought. It's warm and large, swallowing yours as you hold hands. He squeezes yours a little as if to say, “Everything will be okay.”

You can only hope at this point.

Chapter Text

You and Namjoon don't bring up the balcony conversation again.

It continues to linger between you, quiet and unsettling. You can't forget the way he looked at you in your bedroom, like he wanted to stop the world and cradle your heart in his hands. 

His mom notices that something’s off. She doesn't say anything, but you can see it in her eyes and the way her lips curl in disappointment when you and Namjoon sit apart in silence. The tension is unnerving, and you're hoping for a miracle to drop out of the sky and take you away from this.

It does, but in the form of a dinner.

The eight of you are eating at a new restaurant in Itaewon one evening, tucked away in a private dining room and safe from the prying eyes of fans. You struggle to stop yourself from doom scrolling on Twitter. Photos of you and Namjoon together in public have begun swirling around the platform, sparking dating rumors and controversy alike.

“Stop checking your phone,” Namjoon mutters to you as he catches you on Twitter again. “Eat. Your rice is getting cold.”

You sigh and put your phone away, poking your rice with your chopsticks and frowning. Namjoon watches you from the corner of his eye, noticing the unease on your face. He wishes he could've prepared you better for the paparazzi, the fans, and the pressure from his mom. He's upset with himself for putting you in this situation in the first place and wishes he hadn't told his mom anything. 

You finally eat, listening vaguely to the conversation between the others. Hoseok is laughing about something Jimin said, and you find yourself almost smiling at it. You want to be as carefree as the others, unbound by fake dating and difficult conversations.

“Sheesh, you and Joon look like you've both been hit by a semi-truck,” Yoongj comments. You scowl at him and reply sarcastically, “Thanks, Yoon. You're so kind.” 

Namjoon is quiet, focused on eating his bulgogi rather than the conversation going on around him. He looks up from his plate when Yoongi adds, “Of course, hun. Seriously, though, are you two alright? Neither of you has answered our texts or calls lately.” 

The room falls silent except for the clinking of glasses and cutlery. Namjoon shifts uncomfortably in his seat and provides, “We're fine. My mom is just… you know how moms are. She sees us acting all lovey dovey with each other, and the moment something seems off, she's full detective mode. She literally asked us earlier if we're going to break up.”

“Fuck, Joon. What did you do to her?” Jungkook jokes, jerking his head at you. Namjoon rolls his eyes as you chime in, “He didn't do anything. This whole fake dating thing is just weighing on us.”

The six men exchange a knowing look before chuckling. You and Namjoon are suspicious, wondering what message they're telepathically sending each other.

“You know, Tae suggested the other day that we all go to the lake house,” Jin says, taking a swig from his drink. “This heat is awful, and it'll be nice to go away for a little. Besides, you two look like you need it.”

You and Namjoon look at each other, and you feel hopeful for the first time in days. A lake house retreat sounds exactly like what you need right now. As much as you're currently enjoying Mrs. Kim's company, you need some time away from her. 

“I'm down,” you say eagerly. Namjoon nods in agreement. “When would we go?”

“I know it's short notice, but how about tomorrow? We'll head out at dawn and arrive by lunchtime,” Taehyung replies from across the table.

You almost jump out of your seat from excitement. You're already on your phone, texting your family and friends that you'll be out of town when Namjoon interrupts you. 

“My mom,” he whispers, nudging you. “What do we tell her? We can't just abandon her when she came to see us.”

You pause typing, your finger hovering over the Send button. “What do you want to do?” You ask him, biting your lip. “I know she came to visit us–”

“I'll invite her,” Namjoon interjects, already taking out his phone to text her. You nod slowly and send your messages, feeling overwhelmed. 

The trip was supposed to be your escape, a chance to unwind and stop playing fake. You don't want to tell Namjoon no, so you wallow in your anxiety and continue eating your food. 

When you and Namjoon arrive home, his mom is already packing. You and him hold hands as you enter her room, and the sight makes her face lignt up. 

“Ah, how was dinner?” She asks happily as she folds pairs of shorts into neat squares. She looks at you and points out, “I hope you ate enough. You're so skinny. I'm sure this trip will have plenty of good food to fill you up.” 

You stiffen and reply meekly, “Oh, thank you, eomeonim. I'll make sure to eat plenty at the lake house.”

Namjoon butts in, his hand tightening in yours as he says to his mom curtly, “She eats plenty. She just has a fast metabolism. I think she's perfect just the way she is, actually.”

A warmth spreads through your abdomen, cheeks flushing red as Mrs. Kim's eyebrows raise. “I didn't mean anything bad by it,” she clarifies for Namjoon, who is still visibly defensive. “I'm just saying she's slim.”

“She's perfect just the way she is,” he repeats himself firmly, running his thumb across your knuckles like it's an old habit. “I don't want her to think that she's not enough for me.” 

You look at Namjoon, wide-eyed. Suddenly, it feels a lot less like pretending. 

“Aw, thank you, babe,” you tell him, smiling softly. You see Namjoon panic internally at the nickname and smirk. Exaggerating a yawn, you announce you're going to start packing and then going to bed before leaving the room. 

You hear Namjoon’s footsteps behind you as you hurry away. He's in your shared bedroom with you in minutes, speaking quickly without taking a breath. 

“Babe!?” He questions with a chuckle. “How'd you come up with that one on the spot?”

“Same way you came up with calling me perfect on the spot,” you answer coolly, pulling out your travel bag from the closet. Namjoon scoffs like you've offended him and retrieves his own bag, his arm bumping yours gently. 

“I don't say things I don't mean,” he says breezily, placing random shirts into his bag. 

You still, hand poised in midair as you reach for a pair of denim shorts. “You're just good at pretending,” you say, throat tight as you grab the shorts and pack them.

You and Namjoon lock eyes from across the room. He laughs at your too serious expression, but something in his face is different, like he's slightly hurt by your words. 

“So are you,” he offers, pretending to fold a T-shirt that he’s already folded twice. You watch him closely, sensing his nerves in the way his hands tremble.

“You know,” you start, standing up and crossing the room so that you're standing in front of him, “I think I can read you a little better now.” 

Namjoon looks down at you, that same soft, unspoken swirl of emotions behind his eyes. “Then prove it,” he challenges you, grinning coyly.

You let out a breathy laugh and shake your head. “And how exactly do you want me to do that, Joon?”

Namjoon takes a step forward, and your breath hitches. You can smell his cologne and practically feel the heat radiating off of him. “What am I thinking of right now?” 

You're immediately stumped by his question. Does he think you're a mind reader? Still, you try, stepping forward too and shrinking the space between you. 

“I think,” you whisper, heart pounding in your ears, “that you're thinking of something big. Something that could completely change everything.” 

Namjoon swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and he feels just as nervous as he was when he first told his mom about you. “Would I be wrong to assume that you're thinking the same?” He asks you, voice lower than usual. “Because you're right about me.”

You're unsure what sparked a sudden burst in confidence. Maybe it was the soju you had at dinner. Maybe it was you calling Namjoon babe without hesitation. Whatever it is, it's working as you say calmly, “You're not wrong at all. In fact, you're more right than ever.”

Namjoon smiles, hopeful and bright, and he leans in like he's going to kiss you. You gasp, body going still. His thumb grazes your cheek and wipes something lightly off your skin.

“You had a bit of gochujang sauce on your cheek,” he tells you, dimples appearing as he beams. Your eyes flicker down to his lips for a moment too long before forcing them back up. “Thanks,” you say, masking your disappointment with a crooked smile.

Your heart won't slow down, and you step away, returning to your bag and continuing to pack. You tell yourself that it was nothing. Namjoon's just like that–attentive to every little detail. Still, the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin. 

You hear him rustle through clothing and zip up his bag, his quiet sigh as he stands up to use the bathroom. When he returns, you're done packing and settling into your side of the bed. Namjoon turns off the lamp, sliding into bed and asking, “Do you think my mom suspects anything yet?”

You turn over to face the sound of his voice, itching to reach out and touch him. “No, I don't think so,” you reply, moving closer slightly. “I guess we're just good at acting.”

“Yeah…” Namjoon trails off, sounding dejected. The sheets rustle as he moves, and he says, “I'm cold.”

“How are you cold? We're in the middle of summer,” you laugh, tossing him a blanket. “Here, take it. Don't think I'm cuddling you."

Namjoon huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Pfft, I bet you'd like cuddling me,” he quips as he catches the blanket. You blush furiously and hiss, “Shut up!”

“Make me,” he hums, clearly enjoying your reaction. You sit up and grab your pillow, sending it straight down onto his head. 

“Hey! What the fuck, dude?” He exclaims. You retaliate with swift smacks to his chest and arms, giggling maniacally. In response, he grabs his own and hits you back a bit too hard, unaware of his own strength. The impact sends you tumbling off the bed and onto the carpet. 

“Shit!” Namjoon curses, fumbling to turn on the lights. In his haste, he trips over his own feet and lands on top of you. 

His chest presses into yours as he balances himself with one arm by your head, the other lying limply to the side. You instinctively shift your hips under his weight, and he bites his lip, catching his breath from the fall.

“You okay?” He asks you, face swimming with worry. “I didn't mean to launch you across the room like that.”

You struggle to focus on his words as the weight of his pelvis rests delicately against yours. “I'm fine, Joon. I shouldn't engage in pillow fights with a man who deadlifts for fun,” you reassure him, ignoring the heat pooling in your stomach. You study the way his hair falls into his eyes and the slope of his nose. How his lips are seemingly the perfect shade of pink.

Namjoon eases himself off of you, standing and extending a hand. You take his hand, and he lifts you to your feet, brushing off carpet fibers from your top with a swipe of his hand. Your legs feel like jelly as you get back in bed and as the room becomes consumed by darkness once more. You feel Namjoon pull the blanket away to wrap it around his frame, facing you.

“I think I'm cold now,” you confess. Namjoon mocks you playfully, “How are you cold? We're in the middle of summer."

“Oh, shut up. I'll make you sleep outside like a dog,” you deadpan, but your tone is playful. Namjoon grins and lifts the blanket, wordlessly offering it. You scoot closer carefully like you're teetering on the edge of a cliff. 

Namjoon pulls you toward him like it's something he does every night. His arm wraps around your waist, and you feel like exploding into a million pieces. You don't dare move when he gives your body the faintest of squeezes. It feels protective, soothing, and maybe a little possessive. 

“Better now?” He murmurs, drawing different shapes into your hip with his fingers. You have to take a few deep breaths to regain your composure before answering.

“Better,” you confirm, taking a risk by placing your head on his chest. Namjoon doesn't move, and you melt into him, drowsiness nudging at your eyes. They fall closed, and you exhale contently as Namjoon nuzzles his nose into your hair. 

“I like this,” he tells you, basking in the scent of you. You're so soft and warm and perfectly tucked into his side. “Being close to you like this.”

“Me too,” you yawn, curling further into him. He's incredibly comfortable, his sturdy body acting as a grounding force. 

You're dozing off, and in your enervated state, you swear you hear him say, “Wish it wasn't fake."