Chapter Text
Seokjin wakes up to the ray of morning light hitting his eyes and Namjoon’s warm breath fanning the back of his neck. Before he could form any coherent thought, it hits him: they’d missed the sunrise.
It’s a habit he’d acquired from Namjoon, of waking up before the sun to catch it right when it rises, watching the dark sky slowly bleeding with pink and going back to sleep once it finally turns blue. Namjoon said it helps him clear his head, slow things down. At one point it just became their ritual.
Seokjin squints, turning his head just enough so he wouldn’t be blinded by the brightness. The shift makes him aware of Namjoon’s arm resting on his waist, a comfortable weight and added warmth throughout the night, but it’s getting too warm now that the sun is up. He traces the veins on the back of Namjoon’s hand, wondering if Namjoon would still hold him like this if he knew what Seokjin had done.
“Morning,” Namjoon grunts. Even with his eyes shut, he smiles, the dimples peeking from both sides of his cheeks. “Oh, we missed the sunrise, huh?”
Seokjin chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss onto Namjoon’s dimple. “There’s always another one tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon hums. “Let’s watch it tomorrow.”
It never crossed Seokjin’s mind before, but now he’s starting to wonder, how many more tomorrows do they have left? How many more tomorrows they have together?
“Tomorrow,” Seokjin says. It sounded like a promise.
“You wanna get up now?” Namjoon asks. “Or stay in bed?”
“Don’t you have work?”
Namjoon chuckles. “Baby, it’s Saturday.”
Seokjin blinks. The concept of days is completely beyond him. “Right.”
“Don’t you have work?”
Seokjin has two options: come clean now, or stall, again. He’s getting good at the latter, but it’s only about time until he cracks.
“Joon, I…” Seokjin gulps, his eyes trailing down Namjoon’s throat. How many more words must die at the back of his tongue?
But they’re doing okay. They’re stable, still as a millpond. Seokjin doesn’t want to cause a ripple by throwing a pebble into the water, but the pebble is only getting bigger and his hand is throbbing, getting raw from holding onto it so tightly.
At one point, he has to let it out.
“What’s the matter?” Namjoon asks, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against Seokjin’s cheek. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m quitting,” the words spill out of Seokjin’s lips under a breath. “I won’t be working at that restaurant starting next week.”
“Is that why you’re so upset?” There are fine lines between Namjoon’s brows, worry written all over his face. He looks like he’s more bothered by the fact that Seokjin’s on the brink of tears than Seokjin quitting his job, and it makes Seokjin want to cry even more. “You’ve been so… aloof these days. Is it because I asked you to take a break from acting?”
He doesn’t know how Namjoon could be this patient with him, how he’s so slow to anger and quick to apologize. It makes it harder for Seokjin to tell him the truth. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, and eventually, they come out along with Seokjin’s tears.
“Remember that night I came home crying?” Seokjin’s voice is shaky. “I met up with the sponsor, the one Tae told me about.”
Namjoon freezes, his thumb still resting on the apple of Seokjin’s cheek. Perhaps if Seokjin had looked up, he would see the rush of emotions flashing in Namjoon’s eyes, but Seokjin isn’t ready to shatter—he knows he will if he sees Namjoon hurt.
“And?” Namjoon’s voice sounds distant. “How did it go?”
Seokjin shakes his head, keeping it low. “I couldn’t do it. It just felt… wrong.”
When Seokjin stifles a sob, Namjoon only hugs him tighter, pulling him closer so he can bury his face in Namjoon’s chest. Above him, Seokjin can hear Namjoon letting out a heavy sigh.
“Do you think… if I weren’t in the picture—” Namjoon sucks in a deep breath. “If we weren’t together, would you do it?”
Seokjin’s hand curls into a fist. “Please…” he whispers. “Please don’t make me answer that.”
“Okay,” Namjoon caresses Seokjin’s hair, quickly dropping the question. “I won’t. Don’t cry, okay? Don’t cry anymore.”
“Joon…” Seokjin feels his cheeks heating up. “Be honest for once: are you mad?”
Namjoon doesn’t answer. Seokjin finally lifts up his head, but he can’t make out the look on Namjoon’s face—it’s stoic. And that what scares him the most, when he can’t see through the wall, when Namjoon would rather push his emotions back and lock it away than letting them out on Seokjin.
“I’m not as fragile as you think I am, Joon. I’m not… weak.”
“I never said you are,” Namjoon snaps.
“It was implied,” Seokjin hisses, getting a little bold. “You saw me broke down that one time and you’ve been walking on eggshells since.”
Namjoon stills; his face falls. “What are you—"
The air between them is getting too heavy to breathe in, so Seokjin pulls away, distancing himself from Namjoon. “What, you think I forgot?”
It seems like such a distant memory today, one that is often mistaken as a dream because of how blurry it is, but Seokjin remembers; it was the day Namjoon changed. Sometime after their second anniversary, Seokjin had a major breakdown, and Namjoon never treated him the same ever since.
Namjoon probably thinks he’s being subtle, how, if the changes come gradually, Seokjin would never notice. But Seokjin did. He just never said a word about it.
“You won’t even talk back to me, Joon. Won’t raise your voice at me even if I wrong you.” Seokjin scoffs. “I just told you I went to see that sponsor behind your back and you’re acting as if I’m the one who needs comforting here.”
Namjoon started treating him like he’s made of glass, like he’s so fragile he could break at a simple touch. From an outsider’s point of view, it might seem like Namjoon is just trying to protect him, but Seokjin feels like he’s being kept behind golden bars.
Their bickering stopped. Their harmless jabs stopped because no matter how many punches Seokjin threw, Namjoon wouldn’t say a word that has even the slightest chance of offending Seokjin. Sometimes Seokjin would do things just to rile him up on purpose, make his composure crack, but all of his attempts were futile. Namjoon’s resolution has always been stronger than his ego.
“I’ve been going out drinking, coming home late. I’m quitting my job, I’m making so many bad decisions and you wouldn’t even tell me to get my shit together.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, fucking yell at me?!”
Namjoon’s gaze softens. “I can’t.” His voice strained when he says, “I’d rather lose every argument than lose you.”
Seokjin’s chest grows heavy. He gets up from the bed and walks towards the door. “You’re right,” he says. “I do have work today.”
Leaving his room in the morning never felt so hard before.
☾
The thing about still water is that it gets murky. Everything adds up and sinks to the bottom and eventually, it’ll start being of more harm than good, the perfect breeding ground for bacteria.
So Seokjin avoids it like the plague.
He knows exactly what time Namjoon would come home from work, so he would take a shower half an hour before and leave the house before Namjoon could catch him on the way out. He knows around what time Namjoon would be so deep in sleep even a thunderstorm wouldn’t wake him up, so he wouldn’t come home until then. All this is to buy him some time to think.
“You’ve been coming here a lot these days,” Yoongi points out as he puts down the beer Seokjin ordered on the counter. “Not that I’m complaining, business is business, but…” Yoongi casts a knowing glance. “Is everything okay at home?”
Seokjin takes a sip of his beer and licks the foam off his upper lip. “It’s a shitshow.”
“What happened?”
Seokjin sighs, ruffling his hair. “I don’t know, Yoon. I’ve tried brushing it off for years, but it’s getting bad lately. Probably because… I’m not feeling my best.”
“What is?”
“I told you he’s too considerate for his own good, right?” Yoongi nods. “Well that’s because he treats me like I’m some million dollar vase.”
“Like you’re precious?”
“Like I’m fragile.”
Yoongi cringes as if watching a catastrophe unfolding before his own two eyes. “Was he always like that?”
Seokjin shakes his that. “When I was in college, I had this… massive breakdown.” Seokjin spaces out, revisiting the memory. “Bad doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
He had been gloomy for days, withdrawn, eating only when he could no longer ignore the pain in his stomach. Until one day, a sentence from Namjoon pulled the pin and set him off.
“I went batshit crazy. Bawled my eyes out like never before—you know I’m a silent crier. But I was shouting, throwing things around, and honestly? It’s a miracle I didn’t scare him away.”
The dumbest thing is that he doesn’t even remember what Namjoon had said, only that it had pushed him to the edge. Namjoon simply pulled the wrong piece out of the Jenga and had to suffer the aftermath of Seokjin’s collapse.
“He was never the same since,” Seokjin continues. “I might not have scared him away but I definitely… scarred him in a way, because he was just,” he sucks in a deep breath, “he would do anything to keep me from being upset,” to keep the tower stable, from crumbling down again. “And it pisses me off sometimes, you know? Like yeah, most of the time it’s nice, it makes things easier. But there are times when I wish he would just…” let it out, yell at Seokjin’s face, “say something.”
“You know,” Yoongi says, “some people would want a relationship like yours. No drama, less hassle.” Before Seokjin could open his mouth again, Yoongi continues, “But I get it. Must be frustrating, too, like he’s letting you win a game on purpose.”
Seokjin scoffs. “You know what he did when I told him I met the sponsor?” Yoongi raises his brows. “He asked me if I would do it if I weren’t dating him, as if he’s the one hindering me. And when I refused to answer he just— He hugged me. Comforted me. I don’t even know why I got angry—am I the crazy one here?”
He can’t deny that it feels good to be understood. After a long and tiring day, sometimes he’d rather rest his head on Namjoon’s shoulder than talk about it. When he’s upset, it’s easier to cry on Namjoon’s back than to explain why. So he can’t say he hates being treated like this, but sometimes it infuriates him knowing that Namjoon is holding back, the thought of Namjoon merely tolerating him haunting his mind.
“Whatever,” Seokjin dismisses his own question and pulls out his phone. “I’m calling Jungkook. I need a fancy drink tonight.”
“See,” Jungkook says, swallowing his drink, “this is what I meant. Relationships are so fucking complicated.”
Seokjin had thought the younger would have a tighter schedule, but he’d showed up at Yoongi’s bar not an hour after Seokjin’s call. Not that Seokjin’s complaining. He genuinely enjoys Jungkook’s company.
“I just don’t get it,” Seokjin says, his eyes empty as he stares into the distance. “I love him, Kook, I love him so much.” But it’s suffocating, the way Namjoon keeps walking on eggshells around him. Seokjin just wants to breathe again. “I know he loves me, too, so what gives?”
“You’re dumb if you think relationships are only about love,” Yoongi butts in. “You think just because you love each other everything will be smooth sailing?” he scoffs. “Hell, even the way you love is different. Being overprotective of you is just his.”
Seokjin grits his teeth—because it’s true. Everything Namjoon did, he did it out of love. “I know,” Seokjin says, almost inaudibly. “Which is why I feel guilty thinking about…” Seokjin’s breath hitches, his throat closing up, “…starting over.”
“You mean breaking up?”
The words breaking up sounds scary to Seokjin. Maybe because he’s afraid to break—and he knows he will. “If I could… I’d go back to the day we met. Clean slate. Do things right.”
“I don’t know,” Yoongi hums at the back of his throat. “I think even if you didn’t… you know, break down that day, one of you is bound to screw up somewhere else.” He shrugs. “You’re not faultless, and so is he. So what makes you think two imperfect people can lead a perfect relationship?”
Seokjin throws his head back and sighs. He hates it when Yoongi makes sense. “What are you saying?”
“That even if you could go back to a point in time, there will come a day when the thought of breaking up will cross your mind.”
Seokjin turns to Jungkook as if asking for his opinion. “Yeah, I can’t comment on this,” the younger holds up his hands. “Never been in an actual relationship, remember?” So Seokjin turns his attention back to Yoongi.
“Say, if you were me—”
“I’m not, hyung,” Yoongi cuts in. “Don’t make me make that decision for you.”
Seokjin leans back, sighing. “Fine,” he tilts his glass. “Just give me more martini.”
Big decisions. Seokjin doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to making them.
☾
When Seokjin returns home, the lights are already out except for one. The thought of Namjoon leaving it on on purpose makes Seokjin’s heart clench. Even after everything, Namjoon still thinks of him.
Seokjin strips down and takes a quick shower. He contemplates whether to go to his room now or wait a little longer. It’s not that late; Namjoon is probably still tossing and turning waiting for sleep to come. In the end, he decided to enter anyway.
Namjoon looks so vulnerable like this, half-asleep with his torso bare; the sight makes Seokjin coo. He sits on the end of the bed, listening to the sound of Namjoon’s steady breathing.
“Hyung?” Namjoon drawls, his voice scratchy from sleep. The dip on the bed must have woken him up. “What time is it?”
“A little past midnight,” Seokjin says.
“Where have you been?”
“Just out with some friends.”
“I got you dinner,” Namjoon mumbles. When Seokjin brings up his hand to card through his hair, Namjoon’s eyes slowly open. Seokjin feels his chest tightening. Namjoon still ordered for two, even when it’s been weeks since Seokjin would come home for dinner.
“I know,” Seokjin smiles, but the corners of his lips tremble. “Thank you.”
Namjoon only hums in response, closing his eyes again with a smile plastered on his face. It hurts, Seokjin winces. Why does it hurt?
It’s the feeling of watching a good movie knowing it will end, of seeing someone off at the airport not knowing when they will return.
“Joon,” Seokjin calls, caressing the younger’s temple with his thumb. “Can we talk?”
A pause. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Namjoon eventually says. “I’m kinda tired.”
Seokjin pulls away, feeling the tension on Namjoon’s skin before his thumb leaves his temple. “Yeah,” he says under a breath. “Of course, sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s fine,” Namjoon says. “Goodnight, hyung.”
Seokjin moves to his side of the bed. “Goodnight, Joon-ah.”
Even with his back towards Namjoon, Seokjin can feel the younger’s warmth. He’s closer than Seokjin thinks. Seokjin tenses up, wondering if Namjoon would reach out and pull him into a hug, but then he hears the sheets rustling, and he knows Namjoon shifts to give him space.
Thank God Seokjin is a silent crier.
☾
The other side of the bed is already empty when Seokjin wakes up. The worst part it he thinks he’ll never get used to the cold.
What is he without Namjoon, he keeps asking. If he chooses to leave, would he be able to survive the drift okay?
Because it’s not just Namjoon he’s letting go, it’s a huge chunk of him, too. It’ll leave him hollow, but that empty space is exactly what he needs if he wants to become whole. He needs to grow into the places where Namjoon had been, filling the cavern with himself and not someone else.
It’s him that he has to learn to love.
Collecting his thoughts, Seokjin walks out of the room to find the apartment, too, is empty. Namjoon must have left for work. There’s a dirty plate and tea-stained mug in the sink, which only means Namjoon had left in a hurry—he’d never leave his dishes undone.
He’s avoiding Seokjin, avoiding the talk. But it had been brewing in Seokjin’s mind for a while, and it won’t be long until Seokjin can taste farewell on his tongue.
It won’t be long at all.
Seokjin walks around the apartment they’ve called home for the past two and a half years. When they first moved in, there was a clear distinction of which is whose. Today, the line is no longer blurry: it’s gone. The books that used to be Namjoon’s now hold a piece of Seokjin between their pages. The plates, the mugs, the appliances they brought home and never quite established who they belong to because it never occurred to them that this home is not forever. Who’s going to take the Ikea couch if they go their separate ways? Who will take the air fryer?
In the end, Seokjin decides to leave everything behind, taking only with him what screams his name: the figurine collection Namjoon never laid his hands on, his purple plushie, Yoongi’s birthday gift, and a bunch of toiletries. Seokjin grabs his long-forgotten suitcase from the storage room and stuffs it full with his clothes, or at least what he thinks are his clothes. He makes one last meal in this kitchen, watch one last movie, and then it’s time to pack up and go.
His suitcase is on the bed. His figurines and everything else he can call his are in boxes. And then, there’s only one box left to pack.
Seokjin opens the bottom drawer of his dresser; his chest grows heavy when he sees the box sitting there collecting dust. Carefully, he takes it out, places it on his lap and takes off the lid—it opens a whole lot more than just the box.
There are polaroid pictures of them when they were younger, one at the beach at night when Seokjin had said I love you for the first time, one at the park when they had gone to feed the birds, and one of Seokjin holding a cake from his birthday, taken sometime around midnight with the only light being from the candles. The photographs are blurry, but the memories are clear. He remembers them better than yesterday.
Beneath the photographs are tickets—movies, concerts, museums and train rides—the words printed on them almost faded out completely. Seokjin traces them with his finger, knowing exactly why they were the ones he’d chosen to keep among many others.
It’s getting harder to breathe. His nose is stuffy, his chest about to burst. But what tipped Seokjin over the edge are the two broken bracelets and a ring.
He’d wanted to throw it away—after all, what use is a broken chain?—but Namjoon loves giving everything a meaning, and he’d insisted on keeping them solely because they were the first gift Namjoon could afford to buy Seokjin. They were cheap, but they have my moon engraved on one and your sea on the other, and Namjoon clings onto them like they’re his lifeline.
Before he knew it, Seokjin breaks down sobbing. The sound he lets out doesn’t sound like him at all, but he can taste the tears on his tongue as he gasps for air and that’s how he knows it’s real.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying, how long he’s been on the floor until there’s no more tears left to cry. And then he hears it, the faint sound of Namjoon’s voice calling for him.
“Hyung,” Namjoon calls again as he opens the door. Seokjin thinks he must look pitiful, his eyes swollen and his breath ragged. Namjoon’s eyes scan the room, and Seokjin is waiting for him to finally explode, to ask what the hell is this and snap Seokjin out of it but no. Instead Namjoon lurches to the floor, pulling him into a hug, and Seokjin breaks into tears again on his shoulder.
Why? Seokjin wants to scream. Even seeing this mess, Namjoon still refuses to say a word, ask a single question. He keeps rubbing Seokjin’s back gently, whispering it’s alright, it’s alright as he does to calm Seokjin down.
And the worst part is, it works. Namjoon knows just exactly how to bring down Seokjin’s defenses, to unravel even the tightest knots within him; it frustrates Seokjin even more. I’m stronger than you think. The way Namjoon holds him is so gentle, like he’s afraid Seokjin might turn into dust. I’m not a doll.
When Seokjin lifts his head, he immediately looks away, refusing to meet Namjoon’s eyes. The words come out easier than he expected.
“I’m leaving.”
“Hyung,” Namjoon brings a finger to Seokjin’s chin, and only then can Seokjin tell that his hand is trembling. “Look at me. Please, just look at me.”
“I’m sorry.” Seokjin looks down instead, at the box he has been holding on his lap and chuckles. “Crazy, isn’t it? How all we are can be reduced to a single box?”
Namjoon lowers his gaze and falls silent as he observes the trinkets. “No,” he finally shakes his head. “That isn’t us. You can throw them all away and we would still be us. We’re here, hyung,” Namjoon brings Seokjin’s hand to his chest. “This is what we are: the person I am today, the person I have become, it’s partly you.”
Oh.
Oh.
So it’s not just in his head. Namjoon knows it, too, that they have become halves of each other. Would he crumble if Seokjin leaves? Is that why Namjoon is hanging on so tightly, because he’s just as scared as Seokjin is?
“This…” Seokjin says, refusing to meet Namjoon’s eyes, “this isn’t what I want.”
“Then what do you want?” Namjoon grabs him by the wrist and pleads. “Tell me, baby, what is it that you want? I can— We can—” Namjoon sucks in a deep breath. “Let’s figure it out together, yeah?”
“I don’t know!” Seokjin stands up, freeing himself from Namjoon’s grip. The tower is wobbly. He can feel himself swaying. “I— I want better. I don’t know what better looks like, Joon, but it sure isn’t this.”
It took him years, but Seokjin finally understands that he’ll never become whole if he keeps looking for another half.
“Is it me?” Namjoon asks. “Did I fuck up?”
Seokjin shakes his head. It wasn’t just Namjoon who fucked up. “It’s us,” he says. “We’ve outgrown us. There’s no more room to grow and I’m not going to stay here and let myself be crushed.”
“Can’t you stay?” Namjoon’s breath catches on his throat. “Can’t we work it out? Together? We always do, Jin-ah. We always do.”
Seokjin wants to scoff. They never did. Namjoon just stepped down from every argument to let Seokjin win as if Seokjin didn’t know he’s doing it on purpose; he’d do anything to keep Seokjin around.
“Not this time, no.”
Seokjin zips his suitcase shut. When he turns around, Namjoon’s hand is tight around his arm, his eyes frantically searching for Seokjin’s.
“I love you,” Namjoon blurts out. “You know that, right? I love you so, so much.”
Seokjin can sense his resolution starting to crack from the weight of Namjoon’s words.
I love you, too. Seokjin grits his teeth to keep the words from slipping out. But I’m the one I should love first.
“I know,” Seokjin mutters. “Now let me go.”
Seokjin walks out the door and never looks back. But the thing about being each other’s halves is that Seokjin doesn’t have to see to know that behind him, Namjoon’s world is falling apart.
☾
Joon
I can’t sleep [03.13]
Homesick [03.13]
Baby [03.13]
I just wanna stay right next to you [03.13]