Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He doesn’t know when it all started, or even how. 

Namjoon has always been far too intelligent for his age. Perhaps, that’s one of the reasons why his childhood isn’t as fun as it is for most children his age. Something about wanting to know the ‘if’ s and ‘ why’ s behind everything ruined a lot of potentially sweet and innocent memories for him.

And it’s probably this intelligence of his that paints him in such an intimidating light in front of his peers. 

“Hey, look at that kid sitting alone! Let’s go talk to him.”

“Are you kidding? That’s Kim Namjoon from class A, and he’s like— really creepy and he talks all gross. It’s best to stay away from that weirdo.”

It’s unfortunate but Namjoon ends up not having any friends at school. He finds himself ostracised from his peers. All alone. There’s no one to play catch with him during PE. There’s no one to sit with him at the cafeteria during lunch. There’s no one to walk home with him after classes. 

Then there’s his single mother who returns much too late at night, only ever staying in the house long enough to sneak into his room and kiss him goodnight before she turns off the lights and plunges the house into darkness.

It’s an understatement but Namjoon is alone in every meaning of the word. More than that, Namjoon is also lonely. Sometimes, he feels overcome by a deep rooted sense of wistfulness, a longing for solace in another person. It’s truly heartbreaking because he is so young and yet, he doesn’t even remember how it was like before— Back when they were living together with his father. Back when his mother didn’t have to overload herself with multiple shifts just so she could support the two of them. Back when he had friends of his age, boys and girls to talk and laugh with.

Yeah, maybe that’s how Hoseok came to be— a figment of his imagination, made in his darkest hour when he just needed some form of human warmth.

Maybe that’s how Namjoon finds himself that fateful morning, waking up the day after his tenth birthday— a birthday that he’d spent alone at home, chinese takeout for dinner and a glazed donut for a birthday cake, that his mother had bought last minute when she crawled home drunk at eleven. 

Maybe that’s why Namjoon wakes up to a strange boy in clothes too colourful for Namjoon’s dull room, and a smile too warm for the cold Ilsan air.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok.”

Namjoon still remembers the first words he had said to Hoseok even after all these years. Even though he was still bleary-eyed and  startled from his sleep. Even though his mind was reeling at the fact that someone else was in his room— Someone was smiling at him, warm and inviting and oh so sweet. Yeah, he remembers crystal clear. Every detail plays like a film reel in his mind. Frame by frame of vivid technicolour. 

“You’re finally here.”

***

Namjoon knows what Hoseok is. Hoseok with his flaming red hair, no sign of black even at the root. Hoseok with his almost radiant skin— human skin isn’t supposed to glow like that, Namjoon is sure of it. Hoseok with his soft breathy giggles and dark pupils that twinkle as if they hold tiny galaxies (And perhaps, they do).

Yeah, Namjoon knows that Hoseok is a figment of his imagination, from the moment he fully wakes up and his mind starts to function properly. Namjoon’s thoughts zero in on the only plausible conclusion, his ears ringing as he tries to piece things together. He’s heard about imaginary friends before. Not from anyone he knows, no, it’s not like he has friends for that. He knows about them the same way he knows about everything else— From all the books he reads. And that’s how he concludes that Hoseok is just a daydream, someone temporary that he’s cooked up from his neglected state of mind. 

Hoseok isn’t real.

But maybe, that’s precisely what makes him so wonderful.

Hoseok is always there for him when he comes back home, sitting on Namjoon’s windowsill, the orange rays of sunlight painting his already magical skin in an ethereal light. Hoseok is always there when Namjoon wakes up, on the edge of his bed, a heart shaped smile greeting him the moment he opens his eyes. Hoseok is always there when he’s feeling down in the dumps, a bad day at school, a fight with his mom, Hoseok’s warm hugs and soft kisses against his forehead are his only oasis.

From the moment he materialised, Hoseok has always been there for Namjoon. Always always there.

Namjoon has never had anything to look forward to before. But he does now. Now that he has Hoseok, he cannot help the giddy butterflies that flutter in his stomach the moment the bell rings, signifying the end of school. He’s never before wanted to go back to that empty brick box labelled home. Until now.

Because now, Hoseok is there. Hoseok is waiting for Namjoon, a smile on his face, warmth at his fingertips.

And for the first time, Namjoon is so happy.

Even though he knows it’s all a lie.

***

There’s a catch to all this. Of course there is. It turns out that Hoseok cannot leave Namjoon’s room. It’s what breaks the daydream for Namjoon. Something else that cements the fact that this whole affair is unhealthy.

But Namjoon, in spite of his high intelligence, doesn’t listen to logic at all. He coops himself up in his little room, away from the sunlight and away from everyone else— just a private little cocoon for him and Hoseok. A happy little happy bubble of their own, where the truth is nowhere close to their horizon.

Through the years, it remains pretty much the same. Namjoon grows older, still ostracised by his classmates, still a loner, an outcast. Hands in his pockets, head held low, counting the seconds till he can leave for home. Only, home had suddenly become a person— albeit a person who isn’t even real— Home had become Hoseok. Hoseok, whose  physical appearance had magically grown older with Namjoon. 

It takes hitting puberty for Namjoon to suddenly notice that Hoseok is in fact more than sufficiently pretty— he’s something a lot like beautiful. High cheekbones coloured gold like honey. A smile like the sun, bright and warm and breathtaking. The little mole that crowns his bow, sensual in the most subtle way. Namjoon shouldn’t be paying so much attention to Hoseok’s mouth in the first place, not at all. That’s when he realises that he might be a little in love with this illusion that he’s created.

“Hey Hobi?” 

It’s a nickname they’d come upon together. Hoseok likes to call himself Namjoon’s hope, his angel. It’s endearing and it doesn’t help Namjoon in the slightest with his lovestruck state of affairs.

Hoseok hums, a soft musical sound. “What is it, Joon-ie?” He shifts closer to Namjoon on the floor where he’s seated, legs folded. Hoseok places his delicate hands on Namjoon’s knees, bending down and looking up at him through thick lashes. Namjoon gulps, feeling his cheeks heat up. He needs to calm down, but it’s easier said than done.

“Hobi, why are you still here?”

Hoseok tilts his head to the side before leaning down and resting his head against Namjoon’s thighs. It’s warm where his cheeks press through the layer of Namjoon’s jeans and burn into his skin.

“What do you mean, Joon-ie?” Hoseok pats his thighs, hand pulling against the frayed threads. “I told you. I’m your friend, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Namjoon gulps, nodding his head and forcing his lips into a smile. That’s what Hoseok said when they first met.

“Okay,” he whispers, allowing himself to fall into the familiar routine that has for so many years consisted of just purely revolving around Hoseok. “Okay.”

Little does he know that the gears had slowly started to shift.

***

Initially, it caught Namjoon off guard whenever he kept seeing Hoseok’s face every time he closed his eyes. But after a short bout of panic, whereby he tried avoiding Hoseok (and hence his home) as much as possible, he gave  up. It took a while but he’s learnt to accept his fate.

He’s a little in love with his imaginary friend (Lies. He’s a lot in love with Hoseok).

He finds himself staring at Hoseok far too long, far too many times. He starts spacing out sometimes when Hoseok speaks, eyes wandering to his pretty heart shaped lips (damn it, why do Hoseok’s lips look like they came straight out of a lip gloss ad?). He even starts sketching messy indecipherable doodles of Hoseok into his notebook, erasing them before he leaves, rubbing so hard the paper tears. Whenever Hoseok wraps his arms around him, his heart pounds way too fast, threatening to jump out of his mouth. Hoseok’s soft giggles are the sweetest music to Namjoon’s ears, and his scent is sweeter still, filling his nostrils and simultaneously calming his nerves. He finds himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss Hoseok. 

Even when he’s older, kissing someone else— She’s his classmate, popular and pretty and actually attracted to him enough to confess her feelings— When he’s kissing someone else, holding them close in his arms, eyes closed tight as he tries to focus on the moment, he finds that he can’t. He sees Hoseok. He sees him every time. So vividly that his throat clogs with melancholy, a bittersweet taste.

Namjoon soon finds himself writing about Hoseok and how Hoseok makes him feel, jotting it all down on the back of his notebook, scribbling away when his teacher drones on about numbers. When he’s at the cafeteria, stabbing at the big lump of mashed potato with a fork in one hand, scrawling illegibly onto his napkin with the other. 

He writes line after line of poetry when he’s home, in his room, watching Hoseok sit by the windowsill— at some point in time, that had become Hoseok’s spot. He sits with his legs folded, smile small and soft, humming under his breath as he basks in the sunlight illuminating him from behind. Namjoon’s heart sings, flipping over itself like a musical note he needs to recreate. He writes down verse after verse, tunes playing in his head. Inspired by everything that Hoseok symbolises for him— love and hope and longing.

We're born in the moonlight

Ain't no fantasy

Can't breathe in the sunlight

Gotta hide your heart

We're born to be sad

Just like Hoseok, Namjoon’s writing too becomes a part of his daily life. His writing becomes a part of his identity, his persona. He adds little melodies, using a cheap sound effect software to convert his words into music. Synchronising the beats and the rhythm, making the perfect song that fits his feelings for the most perfect person he knows (Only Hoseok isn’t really a person).

Namjoon finds happiness in music— a similar kind of happiness that he finds in Hoseok. Maybe, it has to do with the fact that Hoseok is his muse. Namjoon writes about his adoration for his imaginary “friend”. He writes about his doomed love. He writes about his fear of finally having to grow up and give up. He writes and writes and writes. He cannot stop. All while Hoseok smiles over his shoulder, warm hands kneading into his shoulders, sweet honey-laden voice whispering soft nothings that he wants to capture into his music— 

Yeah, Hoseok is his muse.

He’s also the only thing that makes Namjoon feel happy. Namjoon smiles, it’s bitter but it’s filled with a hope that he refuses to let go of.

He discovers that his true passion does indeed lie in this little outlet of his. He finds a certain kind of bliss when he’s indulging in his art. There was a certain level of calm when he’s jotting down lyrics and tapping his foot to melodies that string the words together in perfect harmony. And he’s good at it. He doesn’t know how someone like him, who’s made of blacks and whites, monotonous and mundane— he doesn’t know how someone like him can make such colourful art. It’s all so magical. (Kind of like Hoseok is).

***

When Namjoon applies for the music program at a college in Seoul, he doesn’t expect to be accepted quite so easily. He knows he’s good— Hoseok always tell him he is (“Joon-ie, this is so good! You’re an absolute genius!”). But it’s still a very pleasant, very welcome surprise when he gets the letter in his mail, hands trembling as he tears the flap open, all while Hoseok sits right next to him, rubbing gentle soothing patterns onto his back.

“You’ll get in for sure! You’re the best, Joon-ie.”

When Namjoon sees the little arial font reading ‘Congratulations’ neatly typed at the top of the letter, he slumps forward into Hoseok’s warm chest, voice breaking on a dry sob, hands coming up to hold his only friend close.

“I did it,” he whispers. He inhales shakily, allowing Hoseok’s scent to comfort him and ground him, even as his arms come around Namjoon’s shoulders and card through his hair. Namjoon sighs. “I did it, Hobi. God, I can’t believe I got in.”

Hoseok hums in reply, soft and sweet, far more bewitching than any melody Namjoon will ever be able to play. He pulls his head up, smiling broadly, eyes wet as he looks at the proud expression on Hoseok’s face.

Hoseok is far more beautiful and far more colourful than any art Namjoon will ever be able to produce with his music.

***

College is hard. It’s brutal. It’s fast paced. It’s stressful. It’s suffocating.

But most of all, it’s lonely.

Namjoon sees Hoseok only on the weekends, otherwise staying in the campus dorms. He hates how Seoul is so far from home, from Hoseok. He sighs, scribbling down another line only to scratch it off with sharp black lines, crumpling the paper and throwing it out. Namjoon slams his head down onto the desk. The sigh that spills from his lips is muffled by the cold wood. 

He misses Hoseok.

It’s not that it’s hard for Namjoon to make friends. It’s quite easy here, what with being in the proximity of so many people with similar interests as he does. They all love music, they’re all equally— sometimes even more— gifted than he is. So, it’s easy to talk about his favourite things, to listen to people talk about things that excite them, things that excite Namjoon as well.

It’s easy to open up and make friends. To enjoy being with people in a capacity that he’s never experienced before. And then, there’s his roommate, Yoongi and his senior, Seokjin. They’re more than just casual acquaintances, Namjoon knows this. They’re always hanging out together at coffee shops, in Namjoon and Yoongi’s room, Namjoon and Yoongi are sharing their studio hours and helping each other out, Seokjin cooks for them, they go for concerts together. Namjoon is having more fun than he’s ever had in the longest time.

He’s happy.

Or at least, he should be. He should be happy. Because he’s not alone anymore. For the first time in his life, he has friends, he has people to call his own. 

And yet—

And yet, Namjoon can only truly smile from the bottom of his heart when it’s Friday night and he gets down at the familiar bus stop by the lake, running up the winding road to his little red brick house, gently closing the door behind him, careful not to make a noise, Because even though he’s sure his mother won’t be home, he knows someone else is waiting for him.

Namjoon can only ever truly smile when he throws his door open at a quarter past midnight every friday night, tiptoeing into his bedroom with a soft smile on his face. Hoseok sleeps soundly at his usual spot on the window, moonlight streaming into the dark room and lighting up his beautiful golden skin.

Namjoon can only ever truly smile when he smiles for Hoseok.

***

“Why do you always go back home for the weekend?”

Namjoon pauses mid bite, his sandwich falling apart and plopping down on the plate without ceremony. He blinks at Yoongi, trying to process his words.

“I mean— It’s just that you always look so freaking relieved once it’s Friday and the last bells rings. Dude, your eyes light up big time, and you literally dash out, I've never seen you move that fast, Joon.” Yoongi waves his fries about in the air, eyes bulging out in explanation. “And to top it off, you always seem so sad when you come back. Spill the tea, man. You got a girlfriend back home or something?”

Namjoon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling into his skin.

“Nah, hyung,” he grins. “No girlfriend, unfortunately.”

Yoongi frowns, twirling his straw in his cup of iced coffee. “Then, why do you always look so desperate to go back, Namjoon-ah? There’s gotta be something.”

Namjoon sighs, "There's nothing. You're just imagining things, I swear."

Yoongi snorts, before he chomps down his fries, eyes never once leaving Namjoon. “Liar."

"I swear to God, hyung, there's nothing—" 

"Then, why are you blushing?"

Namjoon gasps, and regrets it the moment his food gets clogged in his throat. He bends over the table in a coughing fit. Yoongi finally drops his damned fries, fumbling around and pushing his can of coke towards a purpling Namjoon.

"Joon, you okay?"

It takes a few minutes for Namjoon to recover, eyes wet, nose dripping, cheeks no longer flushed but pale enough to be concerning.

"I'm fine," Namjoon whispers, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "I'm perfectly fine." And he is, because his little scare was enough for Yoongi to forget their conversation, much to Namjoon's relief. He sighs into his fist, he's still a little rattled.

Why was he blushing? At this point, Namjoon doesn't even try to fool himself even for one moment. It's because of Hoseok. Everything always goes back to Hoseok.

He looks at Yoongi, who's grumbling about how he needs to be more careful while he's eating. Namjoon swallows harshly, heart thumping furiously as he bite his lips, tongue trembling with unsaid words.

"Hyung?" Yoongi hums in acknowledgement. They have a few minutes left before the next lesson begins, just enough time.

"I don't have a girlfriend," Namjoon whispers, suddenly looking down, he doesn't have the courage to face Yoongi when he spills his little secret. "I don't have a girlfriend, but I have someone— more important, I guess."

He pauses, finally lifting his eyes and taking in Yoongi's judgmental expression.

“He—”

“Oooooh, it’s a he ?” Yoongi’s eyes blow wide, and it would be comical if it wasn’t for the sudden bile of panic that rises up Namjoon’s throat when he realises that he just came out in front of his friend over lunch at the cafeteria on a Thursday. 

“Yeah, he— yeah,” Namjoon swallows, suddenly looking down. “Is— is that a problem, hyung?” He waits with bated breath. He knows Yoongi wouldn’t judge him for something as trivial as this, but he’s still anxious because Yoongi’s opinion matters more to him than he’d care to admit.

“Look up, punk,” Yoongi clicks his tongue in annoyance. “It doesn’t matter at all to me what the hell ever your sexual orientation is. I’m pansexual myself, and I don’t give a shit! Now, tell me more about this secret boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s— He’s not my boyfriend,” Namjoon smiles sadly. “He doesn’t know I feel that way about him. He doesn’t know, hyung.” Namjoon suddenly looks up, his heart racing as he imagines what it would be like if Hoseok were to come to know of his feelings for him. Would Hoseok even understand what his love feels like? Namjoon snickers, imagining Hoseok replying back, smile just as bright and wide as always, “I love you too, Joon-ie.” 

And God, Namjoon knows that Hoseok loves him, just as much as Namjoon loves Hoseok. But it’s not the same. Maybe it was the same before— before Namjoon grew up.

He gulps as he thinks back to how Hoseok hasn’t really changed much over the years. Sure, he’s aged. He’s aged at the same pace, along with Namjoon, step by step. But he hasn’t changed in any other aspect of the word.

Hoseok hasn’t grown up. And he never will. Even though Namjoon has. And will continue doing so.

It hurts so much to be all grown up and know precisely what he’s feeling. And to know that it’s futile. It’s absolutely futile because Hoseok isn’t real. Hoseok isn’t real. And Namjoon is .

“He doesn’t know,” Namjoon continues, blinking when his eyes suddenly start to sting. “And it won’t make a difference if he does. It won’t change things, even if he comes to know.”

Yoongi frowns, watching Namjoon, legs tapping softly under the table. “I don’t really know what’s going on with you, but it seems— complicated?” Namjoon chuckles drily, nodding in affirmation. “Joon, maybe you should give up.” Namjoon’s smile falls off his face. “Give up and move on, if he makes you so sad—”

“What do you mean? He doesn’t make me sad—”

“Joon, you’re crying.”

Namjoon gasps, hands coming up to ascertain that yes, he is indeed crying, a single tear running down his face. Yoongi sighs, eyes narrowing in concern as he reaches out and pats Namjoon on the back. The bell rings, but Namjoon can still hear Yoongi’s words even through the noise.

“Don’t go back home this time, Joon. Distance makes these things easier.”

It’s not like Yoongi’s the type to always give the best advice or anything. But there’s a piece of Namjoon’s heart that’s too damn scared of his own feelings. A part of him that wants to cut it all off, free himself from this imaginary web that Hoseok has trapped him in. 

And so, Namjoon listens to Yoongi and doesn’t go back home that weekend.

To Be Continued