Chapter Text
After Yoongi noticed, Namjoon adjusted.
Not outwardly. Not in ways anyone could point to. He didn’t change his demeanor or his leadership or the way he spoke in meetings. If anything, he became sharper. More precise. The kind of leader no one questioned because there was nothing to catch on.
The changes were quieter.
He suppressed his scent more aggressively, even on days when it made his temples throb and his vision blur at the edges. He layered control on top of control, telling himself it was temporary. Necessary. If one person had noticed the cracks, then the solution wasn’t honesty. It was refinement.
He started choosing different paths through the building. Different seats. Different timing. He checked schedules more often than he needed to, rearranging his own movements so they intersected with Jin’s less and less.
Not avoidance, he told himself. Risk management.
The bond reacted immediately.
It flared and tugged every time Jin was near, restless and insistent, like it was trying to remind him of something he was deliberately forgetting. Namjoon ignored it, jaw set, shoulders tight. He didn’t look at Jin for longer than necessary. Didn’t let himself linger in shared silences.
If he could make the absence look intentional, then maybe it wouldn’t look like loss.
Jin noticed, of course.
He always did.
But Jin didn’t say anything. He didn’t follow Namjoon down the hall or ask what had changed. He simply adjusted in turn, stepping back with the same careful respect he always showed Namjoon’s boundaries.
That made it harder.
The nights stretched thin.
The first evening Namjoon didn’t go to Jin’s room, he stood in his own doorway for a long time, hand resting on the frame, listening to the quiet of the dorm settle around him. His body pulled, sharp and immediate, the bond flaring hot under his skin like a live wire.
He stayed where he was.
Discipline, he told himself. This was discipline.
The second night was worse.
The pull didn’t fade with exhaustion the way it used to. It sharpened. His thoughts circled, unfocused and jittery, every nerve humming like it was waiting for something to happen. When he finally lay down, sleep came in shallow bursts that left him more tired than before.
By the third night, he stopped standing in the doorway altogether.
He framed it as progress.
He filled the time instead. Stayed up later. Reviewed notes that didn’t need reviewing. Listened to the same track on repeat because it gave him something to focus on. Something predictable.
The bond pushed back.
It manifested as pressure first, low in his chest. Then heat. Then an ache that settled under his ribs and refused to be ignored. Namjoon swallowed it down, breathing through it, suppressing harder until his hands trembled.
He did not go to Jin.
He did not knock.
He did not allow himself the relief of quiet kisses or steady arms or the way his body always calmed the moment Jin touched him.
Habits leave patterns, he told himself. Patterns get noticed.
If he could break the habit now, then maybe he could erase the evidence before it became something visible. Before someone else started watching the way Yoongi had.
Jin passed him in the hallway once, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
The bond surged so hard Namjoon had to stop walking.
He forced himself not to turn around.
That night, lying awake in the dark, his scent suppressed until it felt like his skin was too tight, Namjoon pressed his palm flat against his chest and waited for the pull to ease.
It didn’t.
But he stayed where he was anyway.
By the end of the week, Namjoon stopped trusting his sense of time.
Hours slid past without leaving an impression. He would look up from his desk and realize the light outside had changed, that conversations had happened around him that he couldn’t quite recall participating in. His body moved on muscle memory alone, practiced smiles and nods filling in the gaps where his attention should have been.
He told himself it was exhaustion.
That explanation fit neatly. It didn’t ask for anything. It didn’t threaten to expose him.
The bond, however, refused to be ignored.
Without Jin’s presence to anchor it, it became a constant, low-level ache. Not sharp enough to demand action, just persistent enough to erode him slowly. It sat under his skin like pressure, flaring unpredictably when Jin’s scent drifted too close or when someone brushed past him without warning.
Once, Hoseok clapped a hand on his shoulder in passing.
Namjoon startled hard enough that his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Everyone stared. Namjoon laughed it off too quickly, heat crawling up his neck as he mumbled an apology. Hoseok’s concern followed him for the rest of the day.
After that, Namjoon avoided touch entirely.
He took longer routes through the building. Chose seats with space around them. Kept his hands busy so they wouldn’t shake when the pull surged unexpectedly.
The bite mark faded slowly, darkening and then lightening in a cycle that felt wrong somehow. Some mornings he checked it obsessively, adjusting collars and fabric until it sat just right. Other mornings he forgot it entirely, the mark just another sensation his brain refused to prioritize.
Both felt like warning signs.
Sleep became unreliable.
When he slept, his dreams were shallow and disjointed. When he woke, his body felt heavy, like it had spent the night bracing instead of resting. He found himself staring at Jin’s door once, hand hovering inches from the handle before he caught himself and turned away sharply.
No more, he told himself. Not even once.
The discipline had to be absolute or it meant nothing.
Yoongi tried again three days later.
They were in the studio, the room dim except for the glow of equipment lights. Namjoon sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook open in front of him, though he hadn’t written anything in several minutes. The pen rested unmoving between his fingers.
Yoongi lowered himself beside him without a word.
“You’ve lost weight,” Yoongi said after a moment.
Namjoon blinked. “I have?”
Yoongi hummed. “A little.”
“I’m fine,” Namjoon said automatically.
“I know,” Yoongi replied, not contradicting him. “I just wanted to check in.”
Namjoon nodded, eyes fixed on the page. He could feel the bond stir at Yoongi’s proximity, restless and confused, like it was searching for something it couldn’t find.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Yoongi said quietly.
Namjoon’s jaw tightened. “I am doing it.”
Yoongi didn’t argue. He watched Namjoon for a long moment, expression thoughtful.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Then promise me something.”
Namjoon finally looked up. “What?”
“If you start losing time,” Yoongi said. “If your thoughts stop lining up. You come get me. Or Jin.”
The name hit like a pulse of heat straight through Namjoon’s chest.
“I can’t,” he said, too quickly.
Yoongi nodded once. “Then me.”
Namjoon hesitated, then nodded back. It felt like a concession he could afford.
Yoongi stood and offered a hand up. Namjoon took it, steadying himself more than he meant to. The contact helped. Briefly.
As Yoongi walked away, Namjoon sat there for a long time, notebook still open, pen unmoving.
Support existed.
That didn’t mean he could use it.
Because using it meant admitting the truth he was trying so hard to bury.
That hiding the bond wasn’t keeping him safe.
It was breaking him.
It happened on a day that wasn’t supposed to matter.
Nothing was wrong with the schedule. Nothing was running late. The studio was familiar, the kind of place Namjoon had learned to disappear into when his thoughts got too loud. He told himself that was a good thing. Familiar meant safe.
He sat at the workstation with his headphones on, fingers resting lightly on the keys. The track looped quietly in his ears. He had been listening to the same section for several minutes now without making any changes.
That wasn’t unusual anymore.
Namjoon blinked and tried to focus. The sound felt distant, like it was coming from the other side of a wall. He turned the volume up. Then down. Neither helped.
His chest felt tight. Not panic. Not pain. Just pressure, steady and insistent, like something inside him was leaning forward and waiting.
He shifted in his chair.
The bond stirred.
It wasn’t sharp this time. It didn’t spike or flare. It just… pulled. A low, constant tug that made it hard to sit still, hard to breathe deeply. Namjoon swallowed and reached for his water bottle, taking a long drink even though he wasn’t thirsty.
His hand shook.
He set the bottle down carefully and curled his fingers into his palm until the tremor eased.
You’re fine, he told himself. You’ve been fine.
The room felt too bright all of a sudden. Or maybe too dim. He couldn’t tell which. The edges of his vision blurred slightly, like the world had lost its focus and forgotten to bring it back.
Namjoon pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and counted his breaths. In. Out. Slow. Controlled.
The numbers slipped.
He tried again.
Someone said his name.
It took a moment to register that it wasn’t coming from his thoughts.
“Namjoon.”
He turned his head too slowly. The movement felt delayed, like his body was working a half-second behind his intention.
“What?” he asked.
The word sounded wrong in his ears. Too loud. Too soft. He couldn’t tell.
Whoever it was said something else. The sound reached him without meaning, syllables stacking without forming sense. Namjoon nodded automatically, hoping that was enough.
The bond pulled harder.
Heat bloomed low in his chest, not the sharp rush he’d learned to suppress but something deeper and heavier, like his body was reaching for an anchor that wasn’t there. His skin felt tight. Too tight. Like he was being held together by effort alone.
Namjoon leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, head dropping for just a second.
The floor tilted.
No, he thought dimly. Not here.
He tried to stand.
His legs didn’t respond the way he expected them to. There was a strange disconnect, like the command got lost on the way down. His vision narrowed, the room stretching and warping at the edges.
Sound faded next.
The hum of equipment dulled into a low, distant throb. Voices became muffled, like he was underwater. His heartbeat was suddenly very loud, each pulse echoing in his ears.
The bond surged.
Not in relief. Not in comfort.
In absence.
The realization hit him with startling clarity.
I can’t do this alone.
The thought didn’t come with panic or drama. Just fact. Simple and devastating.
His knees buckled.
Someone swore nearby. Hands reached for him, but too late to stop the fall completely. Namjoon registered the sensation of the floor against his side, the jolt traveling up through his shoulder and into his spine.
It didn’t hurt.
That was the strangest part.
The pressure in his chest released all at once, leaving behind a hollow quiet that swallowed everything else. The bond went silent, not soothed but starved, like it had finally shut down to conserve what little it had left.
Namjoon stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
The lights above him seemed very far away.
He tried to move his fingers.
Nothing happened.
He tried to speak.
The effort slipped through him without result.
Someone knelt beside him. A shadow crossed his vision. A voice said his name again, closer this time, sharper with concern.
Namjoon wanted to answer. He wanted to reassure them. He wanted to say he was fine, that he just needed a minute.
But the words never made it past the thought.
The last thing he registered was the weight of exhaustion finally overtaking everything else, heavy and absolute, pulling him under like a tide he no longer had the strength to fight.
Voices came back in pieces.
Not words at first. Just sound. The scrape of a chair. The low murmur of concern. Someone calling his name again, closer now, like they were trying to anchor him to the room.
Namjoon blinked.
The ceiling swam into view, blurry at the edges. He was on the floor. That much registered eventually. The rest followed more slowly. His body felt distant, heavy in a way that suggested it had shut down something essential to keep going at all.
A hand pressed gently at his shoulder.
“Joon,” Yoongi said, calm but firm. “Hey. Stay with me.”
Namjoon tried. He really did. The effort felt like pushing through water. His thoughts drifted in and out, coherence slipping every time he got close to holding onto it.
“I’m here,” Yoongi continued, like he could tell. “You’re not hurt. You just need to breathe.”
Namjoon focused on the sound of his voice. On the steadiness of it. It helped, a little. Not enough.
The ache was still there, deep and hollow. The absence louder now that everything else had gone quiet. His chest felt empty in a way that made it hard to draw a full breath.
Someone else spoke. Namjoon couldn’t place the voice. There was movement around him, footsteps and murmured questions.
Yoongi lifted his head and looked at the others.
“He needs Jin,” he said.
The room went very still.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t urgent. Yoongi didn’t raise his voice or explain himself. He didn’t have to. The certainty in his tone cut cleanly through the confusion, stripping the moment down to its most basic truth.
“He needs Jin,” Yoongi repeated.
Namjoon felt it then, even through the fog. The bond stirred faintly at the name, like something half-asleep recognizing the shape of what it was missing.
Someone swore under their breath.
Another voice asked, “What do you mean?”
Yoongi didn’t look away from Namjoon. “I mean he’s been running on empty,” he said. “And this isn’t something the rest of us can fix.”
A shadow fell across Namjoon’s vision.
Jin.
He didn’t need to look up to know. The bond reacted immediately, a low, aching thrum that cut through the numbness like a signal flare. Warmth followed, faint but unmistakable, spreading through his chest in slow, careful waves.
Jin dropped to his knees beside him without hesitation.
“Hey,” Jin said, voice soft and steady, like he was talking Namjoon back from somewhere far away. “I’m here.”
A hand slid under Namjoon’s neck, another braced his shoulder, grounding him with deliberate, familiar pressure. The bond responded instantly, flaring brighter, relief threading through the hollow ache.
Namjoon’s breath hitched.
“There you go,” Jin murmured. “That’s it. Breathe with me.”
Namjoon tried again.
This time, the breath came.
The fog thinned, just enough for him to register Jin’s face above him, worry etched deep around his eyes. Jin’s thumb brushed gently along his jaw, a touch so careful it felt reverent.
“There you are,” Jin whispered.
The ache eased further, the hollow in Namjoon’s chest filling with warmth and weight and presence. His fingers twitched, then curled weakly into the fabric of Jin’s sleeve.
The bond hummed, quiet but alive.
Namjoon closed his eyes, exhaustion washing over him now that his body no longer had to hold itself together alone.
Around them, the room began to move again. Voices resumed at a cautious distance. Someone asked if they should call for help.
Yoongi answered for them. “We’ve got him.”
Jin didn’t look up. “I’ve got him,” he said instead.
Namjoon let himself believe it.
They moved him without discussion.
Namjoon registered the shift before he fully understood it, the sudden loss of contact with the floor followed by the unmistakable steadiness of Jin’s arms around him. Jin lifted him cleanly, one arm braced securely under Namjoon’s knees, the other wrapped around his back and shoulders, holding him close enough that Namjoon’s weight was fully supported against his chest.
It was a practiced hold. Confident. Protective.
The bond responded immediately, flaring warm and insistent, relief threading through Namjoon so sharply his breath caught. He let his head fall forward, resting it against Jin’s shoulder, and Jin adjusted without breaking stride, tucking him in closer like it was instinct rather than effort.
“I’ve got you,” Jin murmured, low and steady, meant only for him.
Namjoon didn’t have the energy to answer. He tilted his face just enough to breathe Jin in and let his eyes close.
The walk back to the dorm blurred around him. Doors opening. Voices kept deliberately soft. The group moved out of Jin’s way without needing to be asked. No one reached for Namjoon. No one tried to take him.
They knew better.
Jin carried him straight to the bedroom.
He lowered Namjoon onto the bed slowly, carefully, easing him down like he was something fragile but precious. Pillows appeared beneath his shoulders, under his knees. Jin stayed close the entire time, one hand never leaving Namjoon’s side, grounding him through every small adjustment.
“There,” Jin said quietly. “That better?”
Namjoon nodded, the motion small and tired.
Jin kicked off his shoes without looking and climbed onto the bed beside him, turning onto his side so they were facing each other. He didn’t crowd Namjoon, didn’t pull him in immediately. He let the bond do its work first, letting Namjoon’s breathing settle, letting his body recognize safety again.
Only then did Jin reach out, sliding an arm around Namjoon’s waist and drawing him in until their foreheads touched.
“Breathe with me,” Jin said softly.
Namjoon followed the rhythm Jin set, slow and deliberate. In. Out. The tightness in his chest eased with each breath, the hollow ache filling with warmth and weight and presence.
Jin’s thumb brushed gently along Namjoon’s cheek, then tucked a stray strand of hair back from his face. “You scared me,” he said, not accusing. Just honest.
“I didn’t mean to,” Namjoon murmured.
“I know,” Jin said immediately. “You don’t have to explain.”
The bond hummed, low and steady, no longer frantic. Just alive.
Jin’s gaze flicked briefly to Namjoon’s neck, then back to his eyes. “Is it okay if I…?” he asked quietly.
Namjoon nodded.
Jin leaned in slowly, giving him time, and pressed a gentle kiss just below the bite mark first. The touch sent a shiver through Namjoon’s spine, his body reacting instantly, easing further into the mattress.
Then Jin kissed the mark itself.
The response was immediate and overwhelming in the best way. Warmth bloomed through Namjoon’s chest, spreading outward, knitting together everything that had felt loose and frayed. His breath stuttered, then steadied.
“There you go,” Jin murmured. “That’s it. You’re okay.”
Namjoon’s fingers curled weakly into Jin’s shirt, holding on. He didn’t feel embarrassed by it. He didn’t feel weak. He just felt tired.
“I tried,” Namjoon said, voice quiet and rough. “I thought if I just held on a little longer…”
Jin pressed his forehead to Namjoon’s. “I know,” he said again. “You don’t have to hold on by yourself.”
He shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Namjoon now, firm and enclosing, like he was anchoring him to the bed. Namjoon melted into the hold without resistance, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion it had been fighting.
Jin stayed with him as sleep took over, hand warm at his back, thumb tracing slow, steady circles that told his body, over and over again, that it was safe.
That he was held.
That he wasn’t alone anymore.
Namjoon woke slowly.
Not all at once, not with panic. Just awareness returning in layers. Warmth first. The weight of an arm around his waist. The steady, familiar rhythm of another person breathing close enough that it set the pace for his own.
Jin.
The bond stirred as soon as Namjoon’s consciousness caught up to it, a soft hum that spread through his chest and settled him before he could think too hard about anything else. He stayed still for a moment, letting that steadiness hold him in place.
When he finally opened his eyes, the room was dim. Late afternoon light filtered through the curtains, painting everything in soft gold. Jin was awake, propped on one elbow, watching him with a careful expression like he wasn’t sure yet how fragile Namjoon felt.
“You’re back,” Jin said quietly.
Namjoon nodded. His throat felt thick, but not in the way it had before. More like he’d cried without realizing it. “How long?”
“A few hours,” Jin said. “You slept hard.”
Namjoon closed his eyes again briefly, absorbing that. Sleep that actually rested him felt like a small miracle.
He shifted, testing himself. The world stayed solid. His body responded when he asked it to. The hollow ache was gone, replaced by something warm and heavy and alive.
“I scared everyone,” he said after a moment.
Jin didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
Namjoon exhaled. “I should talk to them.”
Jin searched his face. “You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to.”
“I know,” Namjoon said. He turned his head slightly, pressing his forehead into Jin’s shoulder for just a second. “But I don’t want them guessing either.”
Jin nodded. “Okay.”
They didn’t rush it.
By the time they stepped out into the common area, the others were already there. No one was pretending not to watch the doorway. No one tried to hide their concern. The room quieted the moment they appeared.
Namjoon felt the attention immediately, the old reflex kicking in. Straighten. Square shoulders. Lead.
He stopped himself.
Jin’s hand was still warm at his back, steady and unmistakable. Namjoon let it stay there.
“I’m okay,” Namjoon said first, because he knew they needed to hear it. “I overdid it. That’s on me.”
Hoseok let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. Jimin nodded, relief softening his expression. Taehyung frowned like he had questions but was choosing not to ask them yet. Jungkook hovered at the edge, gaze sharp and worried in equal measure.
Yoongi watched quietly.
Namjoon drew in a slow breath. He didn’t look at Jin when he spoke next. He didn’t need to.
“Jin and I are bonded,” he said.
The words landed without drama. Without buildup. Just fact.
Silence followed. Not shocked silence. Processing silence.
Yoongi’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded once, like a final piece had clicked into place.
Hoseok’s eyes flicked between them, then softened. “That explains… a lot.”
Jimin’s brows knit together. “You’ve been hiding it.”
“Yes,” Namjoon said plainly.
Taehyung tilted his head. “Because of the company.”
“Yes.”
No one argued with that.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “You should have said something.”
Namjoon met his gaze steadily. “I didn’t want this to become a problem you had to manage.”
Jin spoke then, calm but firm. “It was my choice too.”
That mattered.
The tension in the room shifted subtly, redirected. No one looked at Namjoon like he’d failed. If anything, the anger that surfaced was aimed outward, at a system that made this kind of honesty feel dangerous.
Yoongi broke the quiet. “You don’t owe us an explanation,” he said. “But you do owe us honesty when you’re not okay.”
Namjoon nodded. “I know.”
Hoseok stepped closer, careful not to crowd him. “We’ve got you,” he said simply.
One by one, they echoed it. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to make it real.
Namjoon felt something loosen in his chest.
“I’m not planning to make this public,” he said. “Not right now.”
No one protested.
“We’ll keep it quiet,” Jimin said. “Whatever you need.”
Jin’s hand pressed more firmly at Namjoon’s back, a silent promise layered under everyone else’s words.
Namjoon glanced at him then, just briefly. Jin met his eyes, steady and sure.
For the first time since the bond formed, Namjoon didn’t feel like he was balancing on the edge of something fragile.
He felt held.
Nothing about their schedules changed.
That was the strangest part.
The days still filled themselves the way they always had. Meetings. Practice. Long hours that blurred together until evening crept in unnoticed. The company didn’t call anyone into a room. No one asked questions they weren’t already asking before.
The world kept moving.
But the way Namjoon moved through it did.
He stopped tightening everything down to the point of pain. He still suppressed when he needed to. Still chose his clothes carefully. Still paid attention to where cameras were and how close people stood.
What he didn’t do anymore was pretend he didn’t need anyone.
The distance between him and Jin ended quietly.
Not all at once. Not in a way that drew attention. Just small things returning to their places. Jin standing a little closer during late nights. A hand at Namjoon’s back when the room felt too crowded. Shoulders brushing without flinching.
Private, where it was safe, the change was unmistakable.
Namjoon went to Jin’s bed again.
Not like before, slipping down the hall like he was doing something wrong. He went openly, at the end of the night, when exhaustion settled into his bones and the bond stirred with gentle insistence instead of desperation.
Jin was always there.
Some nights they talked. Some nights they didn’t. Jin held him either way, arms steady and sure, like this was exactly where Namjoon was meant to be. The kisses returned, uncounted and unhurried. A brush to his temple. His hairline. Soft presses of mouth to mouth that never asked for more than Namjoon was ready to give.
The bite mark faded and darkened and faded again, no longer something Namjoon checked every morning with dread. It became part of him. Something he managed, not something that managed him.
The group adjusted around them without needing instructions.
Hoseok started running interference when schedules ran long. Jimin lingered closer during stressful days, offering quiet support without asking questions. Taehyung asked fewer pointed ones, trusting that answers would come if they needed to. Jungkook stayed alert in that alpha way of his, protective without hovering.
Yoongi, as always, noticed everything and commented on very little.
When Namjoon faltered, even briefly, there was always a hand within reach. A voice that cut through the noise. A presence that reminded him he didn’t have to disappear to lead.
The company never found out.
Or maybe they did, in the vague, unsatisfying way systems sometimes know things without acknowledging them. Either way, nothing was said. Nothing official changed.
Namjoon learned to live in that space.
Careful. Quiet. Supported.
One evening, long after the dorm had settled into sleep, Namjoon lay on Jin’s bed with Jin’s arm around him, his cheek pressed against Jin’s chest. The bond hummed softly, content and steady, no longer a demand but a reassurance.
Jin brushed his thumb along Namjoon’s spine, slow and absentminded. “You okay?” he asked.
Namjoon considered it.
“I am,” he said finally. And for once, the words didn’t feel like a performance.
Jin smiled into his hair and pressed a kiss there, warm and lingering. “Good.”
Namjoon closed his eyes and let himself rest.
They were still hiding.
But they weren’t starving anymore.
Namjoon woke in the dark with Jin behind him.
Not startled. Not searching. Just aware of warmth at his back and the steady weight of an arm curved around his waist. Jin’s chest rose and fell against Namjoon’s shoulders, slow and even, his breath brushing lightly at the nape of Namjoon’s neck.
The bond stirred lazily, content and unhurried, like it had finally learned the shape of rest.
Jin shifted in his sleep, tightening his hold without opening his eyes. The movement was instinctive, familiar. Namjoon let himself settle back into it, his spine pressed flush to Jin’s chest, Jin’s chin resting lightly near his shoulder.
For a moment, Namjoon thought about the day ahead. The careful choices. The way he would still have to manage himself in public, still have to be deliberate about what he showed and what he didn’t.
The thought didn’t hollow him out anymore.
Jin pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just below where the bite mark hid beneath fabric. Not claiming. Not marking. Just there.
The bond hummed in quiet agreement.
Namjoon closed his eyes again and let himself drift, held firmly enough that he didn’t have to wonder where he belonged.
They would keep it quiet.
They would keep it careful.
And they would keep each other.