Work Text:
He remembers the day they were still kids, playing in the meadows near their houses. He remembers their laughter floating happily in the open air, happy grins plastered genuinely on their faces.
They held their breaths and counted to ten.
One.
" Joonie! Where are you?" Jin's teasing voice rang throughout the field, as he tried to spot Jin amongst all the tall grasses.
Two.
Behind a bush almost twenty metres away, Namjoon giggled to himself as he looked to his unknowing bestfriend–who was also searching for him in the vast field.
Three.
Jin sighed, frustrated as he plowed through every spot he could manage, unsuccessful in finding his best friend. It was only the two of them playing, thus it was hard for him to possibly investigate in probable places where his friend could be.
Four.
Namjoon covered his mouth, muffling his laughter from escaping his lips at seeing Jin's impatient face.
Five.
Jin got further and further away from Namjoon's hiding spot.
Six.
"Huh? Where's he going?" Namjoon muttered as he saw him walking away and away.
Seven.
Namjoon decided to close his eyes and lay down on the soft grass, waiting for Jin to find him.
Eight.
Complete silence bathed the area. No more loud sighs, angry mumbling, and noisy footsteps.
Nine.
"Jin?" Namjoon got up from his spot, uncaring if he was caught, and looked everywhere.
Ten.
But he wasn't there.
...
15 years had passed. Namjoon was now a teacher in a prestigious university, and continued to live normally.
(He treasured those memories like one could treasure diamonds.)
...
"So you've come to tell me that you're alive for all these fucking time?" It was a declaration of rage—of a bubbling pain in his chest that surfaced whenever his missing best friend was mentioned. Yes, he was angry, angry because he wasted all of his grief on something that was actually real, angry because all those hours spent on reminiscing those good old days were only for nothing.
"Yes." Seokjin says the word calmly, looking like a marble statue that was situated on museums. And Namjoon didn't like that, no, he at least wanted to see even a sliver of emotion hidden behind those dark, deep eyes.
"I HATE YOU! GET OUT! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT!" He was screaming now, pushing Seokjin with all his might, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He didn't care if that made him look horrible, he just wanted to see his old bestfriend leave his clutches, to get out from his life, so he could live his life in a way that the memory of Kim Seokjin who was once before a youthful child–wouldn't be tainted with a bunch of lies.
But Seokjin stayed, easily holding his arms (god, he loathed how he could restrain him so effortlessly), posture remaining unfazed.
"STOP! GET OUT! GET OUT! Just, get out please!" Namjoon's shouts deteriorated into pitiful pleas as he hit the other's broad chest repeatedly. He wished he saw the sadness flicker momentarily on Seokjin's eyes. But he didn't, and he was caught all up in his whirlwind of emotions that spun way too quickly.
Seokjin's long hands travelled up to his cheeks, cupping it gently (Namjoon hated that he liked it), elegant gingers brushing his flowing tears in a serene manner.
"I'm here, Joonie, I'm here." And Namjoon thinks it isn't a blessing when he utters those words, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that this was all a figment of his imagination—a product of the tangy taste of alcohol and sobered feelings.
So he stays there, the warm liquid dripping from his eyes, falling onto Seokjin's hands. His resistance had crumbled away into nothingness; his mind cannot cope with the increasing complexity the past events had produced. His eyes are closed, his hands were laying limply on Seokjin's chest, they were in a position in what one may call an awkward embrace—only that the other party was still dubious of his actions.
Was it a miracle? Was it a reminder of broken reminiscences that happened one too many? Maybe Kim Seokjin had fallen from grace, fallen from the heavens like all those woven, fabricated lies.
But no, he was here, breathing, holding his cheeks delicately, and perchance, he had not lost all his graces yet.