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"Jin-hyuuung! I broke the toilet seat again!"
"... Joon, this looks like it was cracked cleanly in half. Was this done on purpose?"
"N-no—"
"Namjoon-ah."
"Okay! Fine! It's just... you haven't been paying any attention to me at all, so I thought—"
"Oh, Kim Namjoon. What am I going to do with you?"
Flying from one country to another in a span of twenty-four hours, squeezing in fifteen interviews in less than a day... it's miraculous how the boys even found the time to shave. It seemed like every waking moment of their next two years have already been planned to the second, and they couldn't be spared a minute to remove their socks, soak up a couple of beers, and breathe.
Which was why, in the dim lamplight of the Osaka streets, Namjoon found himself utterly surprised to be walking alongside Seokjin without fear of a ruined schedule running through his mind. Possibilities whirred through his head. It was plausible that it 2:30 in the morning, and as overworked as they were, they didn't have anything scheduled at this ungodly hour. However, the more probable reason is that Namjoon trained himself to make every moment with Kim Seokjin count. He wills his mind to focus only on the breadth of wide shoulders, on the promise of pink lips, and the wrinkles at the corners of his hyung's eyes.
Yeah. Kim Namjoon pretty much learned how to stop time. Seokjin is to blame.
With this in mind, he places one foot after the other, feeling the satisfying crunch of the summer leaves under his chunky boots. Although it was getting warm out, he is forced to hide his Ryan pajamas under one of his longer coats as a hastily-planned but fashionable disguise. It's one of the many simple things he had done for Seokjin. This walk is one of them, too.
“Hyung, I love the scenery and all,” Namjoon says softly as they cross a secluded footbridge of some sort. Seokjin looks over his shoulder, and the moonlight transforms Seokjin into an angel in Namjoon's eyes. “But why did you call me out at this time of night?”
Seokjin pauses—he pulls his sleeves until they touch his palms, cute, and slowly leans over the bridge, eyeing the dark and flowing stream below them. Other than the bubbling of the stream, the only sounds were the whizzing of late night cars on the street behind the trees that surrounded the bridge and the sudden drop of Namjoon's heart.
“Well, I knocked and you told me you were still awake,” Seokjin replies softly. He now looks up at the sky. “And I figured there were less chances of us being spotted at this hour… So, you know, we could go out without having to bother the body guards.”
Namjoon finds himself absentmindedly walking next to his hyung, copying his exact same position. He rests both his palms on the bridge’s railing and looks up at the sky. One, two, three, four stars decorated the moon. Although they weren't falling, Namjoon wished upon each and every one of them.
“Yeah, that explains the 2:30 in the morning bit,” Namjoon suggests. “But why did you want to talk? Is this serious?”
In all honesty, Namjoon felt like his stomach had been collecting butterflies the moment he opened up his hotel room door to reveal a heavy-lidded Seokjin, dressed from head to toe in black. His hyung… everything about his hyung was unexpected.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had time alone, Joon.“
“Hyung.” Namjoon turns his head to look at Seokjin. The leader had long since mastered the art of catching his members in a lie.
“Okay, fine-“ Seokjin begins, but he cuts himself short and lets his head fall. “It's just… Maybe we can keep this to ourselves? I don’t want-“
Namjoon’s hand finds it snug against Seokjin’s wrist, reassuring. “You can trust me. You can tell me anything.”
Seokjin breathes.
He stares at Namjoon’s affectionate gesture on his wrist, then looks up at the trees casting shadows across their features.
Seokjin speaks. Hesitates.
“I just don’t want to sound pathetic.”
“You aren’t? You… can’t?” Namjoon suggests. “How can a member of Bangtan Sony-“
“-Do you need me, Namjoon?” Seokjin suddenly interrupts.
“What? Hyung-“
“I mean, do you any of you really need me,” Seokjin whispers. Namjoon wills Seokjin to look his way, but his hyung was stubborn, if anything. “Does Bangtan need Kim Seokjin?”
You can call Namjoon crazy, or perhaps a little emotionally constipated, but suddenly, a warm, fat tear slides down his cheek. He himself was unsure why, but he alludes it to a strange mixture of anger and sadness—of sympathy and pain. It was like Seokjin opened a wound inside him that he had been trying to close. “Did you read some article again, hyung? Hate comments? Is this about the poster? I told you to s-“
“Just answer me, please.”
Namjoon can’t speak. Of all the people in the world, he believes Seokjin to be one of the strongest people he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. Kim Seokjin, in his eyes, was broad-shouldered and firm, constantly unfailing, steady, never on the brink of teeter tottering into a pile of self-loathing Namjoon often found himself in. To hear his hyung break—to see his hardworking hyung crack under the pressure and the sheer stupidity of some people made him scream internally because he could’ve-should’ve stopped this from happening. For Namjoon, everything is potentially his fault.
Even this… especially this.
With a burst of clumsy bravado, Namjoon takes both Seokjin’s shoulders and firmly pulls them to face him. They were face to face, eye to eye—and Namjoon could see the weary stains on Seokjin’s eyes the moment he really looked. His hyung was tired. It was an exhaustion that tainted deeper than bones and stretched farther than the soul.
Namjoon sighs. Walls often needed reinforcing. Even the strongest people need help building themselves back up again.
Namjoon blinks, and holds his hyung with warmth and affection. His advances for physical affection were often disregarded by his hyung, but he was thankful that the moment called for this silent acceptance. Slowly, softly, he rests their foreheads together until their lines of vision are filled only with each other.
“We need you.” He says with utmost conviction. Namjoon whispers it like a prayer. “Hyung, we need you so much.”
He could see his hyung try to hold it in, but Seokjin begins to cry. Namjoon feels the tips of his thumbs moisten from the tears, and he gently wipes them away.
“We need your patience, we need your kindness, your voice, your charm. We need the way you surprise us with face masks on the weirdest occasions,” Namjoon chokes. “We need your jokes, your creative ideas, your spunky remarks… even your complaints about Jjanggu and the hair balls we all leave in the shower drain.”
"I'm—"
“You know I can’t lie about things like this, hyung.” He knows Seokjin dislikes his face being touched, but his palms cradle Seokjin's cheeks, nonetheless. “Without you, we would’ve fallen apart years ago. Until now, you are the one keeping us together.”
Namjoon leans in closer, with his arms gently wrapping themselves around Seokjin’s broad frame. Namjoon knew Seokjin was more than capable of standing his ground and believing in himself and his confidence—but as their leader, if given the opportunity, it was Namjoon's duty to do all he can to help.
“We need you with us, Seokjin-hyung,” he whispers. “Don’t doubt it. Don’t ever doubt it.”
And somewhere along the way, with Seokjin’s awkward laughter and apologizing for staining Namjoon’s coat with his snot, after messy exchanges of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I’m not usually like this,’ of flushed cheeks and open wounds and doors— Namjoon finds a peaceful, content calm envelope him. Because when he says,
“Bangtan is nothing without you.”
against Seokjin’s ear, he realizes—in the cool, Osaka late-night air—he’s comforting himself, too.
"Okay, so I'm going to this meeting with this producer and Bang PD-nim to suggest a collab."
"And...?"
"H-hyung, can I have a kiss for good luck?"
"Namjoon, you always win them over anyway. There's no need for me."
"There's always a need for you—"
"Besides, my kisses aren't free you know."