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It was just an itch under his skin.
Easy enough to ignore, really—Namjoon had been ignoring it for a long time, anyway. A little bit of stress had never hurt anyone. It was good for you, even. The adrenaline allowed him to push himself just that little bit harder in the dance studio, or to stay up just that little bit longer struggling with the beat of a brand new song. The slight feelings of self-doubt; of worry, or insecurity, were easily pushed aside in favour of remembering what he had to say next or where he was supposed to be running to. Running away from? No, not away—Namjoon only ran towards. Ran towards and forwards and up this next hill and pretended he never lied to himself about things that mattered.
“Jimin?” he asked softly, crouching next to the younger boy huddled on the couch with his sleeves over his hands, wiping frantically at his eyes.
“Hey, hyung,” he sniffled, hiding his face, pretending like he hadn’t just been caught crying into a pillow about the way his voice had cracked onstage again tonight. Namjoon carefully settled down next to him on the couch, placing a hesitant hand on his leg and pushing his soft hair away from his sweaty forehead.
“Hey,” Namjoon whispered, smiling and allowing his fingers to trace up and down Jimin’s thigh, easing the boy into a more relaxed posture. “You did great tonight.”
Jimin smiled sadly, eyes wet and cheeks puffy. “You don’t need to lie to me, hyung.”
“I’m not lying, Jiminie,” Namjoon reassured, wiping Jimin’s cheeks with his thumbs. “You blew me away tonight just like you always do. I know you’re worked up about your voice breaking but you were dancing so fast. Most people wouldn’t be able to hit a single note doing that routine and you do it almost perfectly, every time. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“They’re so dedicated and devoted to us and if I’m not even good enough to give them what they deserve—”
“Jimin,” Namjoon interrupted, bopping the boy on the nose. “You could stand on stage giggling through an entire song and everyone would still go crazy about it. You’ve done well. You’ve done so well, Jimin-ah.” Jimin let out a sob and threw himself into Namjoon’s arms, thanking him over and over again and clinging to him like he would fall apart if he let go. Namjoon hugged him right back, muttering encouraging words and praise until his precious dongsaeng was smiling again and wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“God, I’m a mess,” he chuckled, breaking away from Namjoon to stretch and shake himself out. “You always say the right thing, hyung. Thank you.”
Namjoon smiled. He was pleased. He had always been good with his words. Maybe that’s why they’d made him the leader.
Later, Namjoon sat staring blankly at a wall, his YouTube history full of fancams from their show that night of him tripping up the choreography to one of their easier songs. Idiot. How many times had he performed that dance? No matter how much he practised he would never be a dancer. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Always making so many mistakes.
He couldn’t say anything, though. That would be hypocritical of him, after what he had said to Jimin before. He just had to take a deep breath and shake it off, delete his history and start again. There was always tomorrow. He would practise some more and he wouldn’t get it wrong, not again. Not next time.
“Joon-ah?” Namjoon looked up, a warm hand coming to rest itself tenderly on his head, the big, concerned eyes of Seokjin blinking down at him gently. “Are you alright?”
Namjoon smiled, pulling Seokjin’s hand down from his head to kiss into his palm, holding the knuckles at his lips and breathing into his skin. He closed his eyes and chose to forget. “Of course, hyung,” he whispered, fingertips running over the inside of a wrist and finding comfort in the beat of a steady pulse. “Of course I am. Let’s go to bed.”
Seokjin only looked half-convinced. Namjoon let himself be the little spoon that night.
~.~.~
Ball-step-change. Arms up, down. Twist, kick, step, trip—
“Fuck,” Namjoon hissed to himself, resting on the floor for only half a second in defeat before pulling himself up again and starting from the top. He had never had trouble with this choreography before. All of a sudden, he just couldn’t get his feet to move in the right directions, so now he was left here late on an off-day repeating the motions over and over again until he was certain they were right. He had promised himself he wouldn’t leave until it was done and he didn’t care how long it took.
He could ask Hoseok to help him, obviously. He knew the dancer would be more than willing to lend his assistance, but that would mean Namjoon would have to admit that he was struggling. The mere thought of it made him cringe. Hoseok was stressing about a song he was working on right now—Namjoon didn’t want to burden him with this, too. He was supposed to be doing alright. He was supposed to be headstrong and focused and articulate because that’s why he’d been given this position. Instead, he just wanted to roll over in bed and sleep for the next three days and maybe have Seokjin rub his firm fingertips into his spine.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he and Seokjin had turned out the way that they did. He just remembered that one day Seokjin was crying with his face pressed between Namjoon’s hands and Namjoon had just wanted to kiss every last one of his tears away.
So he had. And everything was the same and also extraordinarily different afterwards.
Ball-step-change. Arms up, down. Twist, kick, step, kick—yes! Namjoon landed with a huff and a broad smile. He spun around to squeal excitedly with someone about his achievement, but then abruptly remembered that there was nobody else there. He was alone standing in front of a tall mirror as the song looped back on replay. If only Seokjin was around, handsome and kind Seokjin, to cheer him on and ruffle his hair and tell him he’d done well. He didn’t want to be greedy, though. He didn’t need other people to shower him in praise and compliments. That was his job. His job, to make all the other members more confident onstage so they could shine.
Maybe sometimes that meant Namjoon hardly ever got a spotlight. That was okay. He was happy seeing the beautiful boys he’d tended to from seedlings blossom into magnificent flowers before his eyes. He’d seen them at their worst and their very best and he was so, so proud of them, proud of where they’d come from and who they were today. That was enough for him. It was.
It would be nice, though, he thought, starting the song again to run it through one more time. To maybe get a bit longer in the centre of the stage.
He shook his head, brushing away the thoughts. Greedy. He got plenty of centre stages. He didn’t need to ask for any more. I don’t deserve any more.
Ball-step-change. Arms up, down. Twist, kick, step, kick, land and pose. Heaving and out of breath. Just the wrong side of slightly imperfect. Namjoon never felt like enough.
~.~.~
Namjoon scratched nonchalantly at the skin behind his ear.
How many times had he read through these lyrics, again? He just couldn’t seem to get them right no matter how many times he swapped and stitched and replaced. He scratched out another line of characters and started again, letting out a frustrated rush of air through his nose and leaning back in his chair. This was the one thing he was supposed to be good at, over absolutely everything else, and he couldn’t even manage to do this right.
My heart sings out but I’ve already lost you
Your eyes
your mind your soul
I want to reach out but you’re already so far away
How long have I been waiting?
To touch your skin again would be a blessing
Come back
Fall back into me before I forget the feeling of your skin against my palms
Namjoon groaned angrily and threw the entire page away. A bunch of shallow, meaningless bullshit. The concept didn’t even sit well with him, a breakup he hadn’t experienced and a love he hadn’t lost. It felt so fake he wanted nothing to do with it anymore but the alternative was digging up more of the feelings he’d so desperately been trying to repress for longer than he was willing to admit, now. He’d stripped himself bare, before, he knew. He knew what it was to open himself up and let the world in to see his every last insecurity. He’d screamed at the universe and the universe had screamed back. He’d stomped his feet and torn his chest open and said, “Here it all is and I hope you’re fucking happy.”
Now, it was just—so many more eyes. Eyes that didn’t stop staring, unblinking, curious, heavy. And the thoughts in his own head got louder and louder. Stand a little taller. Back a little straighter. Everyone can see you. You don’t deserve it. You’re not worth it. Head a little higher. Smile a little brighter.
Be careful in what you do. You’re always being watched.
“Hey, Namjoon?” Yoongi asked, tapping him on the shoulder. Namjoon hastily pulled his headphones off his head, whipping around to face his groupmate.
“Yeah, hyung?” he replied, hoping Yoongi didn’t notice his state of disarray. He seemed preoccupied, anyway, eyebrows furrowed together and biting his lip, sending Namjoon into full protective leader mode in an instant. “Is something wrong?”
“No—I mean, not really. I’m just struggling with this—I wonder if you’d come have a look at this song I’m working on? If you’re not busy? I was thinking Seokjin-hyung should come work on it with me but I’m not sure.” He sounded nervous. Yoongi wasn’t always good at asking for help, especially from someone younger than him. Namjoon almost beamed with pride but held himself back, not wanting to intimidate Yoongi or make him hesitant to break out of his comfort zone again. Everything Namjoon was currently doing was completely forgotten
His work could wait. He was pretty useless at it right now. Yoongi needed him more. “Yeah, I’m stuck on mine anyway. I’ll be right there.”
Yoongi smiled and Namjoon packed away every piece of himself scattered across his desk. There was an itch on the back of his neck that he ran a hand across to try and wipe away. It wasn’t that bad. It was just sitting right under his skin. He could think about it later.
~.~.~
Fuck, Jungkook. He’d overworked himself again, drenched in sweat backstage, close to passing out. Namjoon’s vision tunnelled as he remembered every single possible sign of it onstage, of the way Jungkook swayed a little more than usual and hesitated to jump too high. How hadn’t he noticed? Namjoon should’ve been paying closer attention. If he had intervened, this might not have happened. Maybe Jungkook wouldn’t be lying here surrounded by medics and Namjoon wouldn’t be hovering in the doorway tumbling over everything he could’ve done differently.
“I’m fine, hyung,” Jungkook said later, when he could sit upright and the sweat had dried on his skin. “Really, don’t worry.”
“Aish, Jungkookie,” Namjoon scolded, coming back into the room with a wet washcloth to put on his forehead. “You scared me. Say something to me next time, okay?”
“You don’t need to baby me, I’m fine,” Jungkook whined, but allowed Namjoon to sweep the hair away from his forehead and cool the hot skin there nevertheless.
Namjoon shook his head, tutting with a wave of his finger. “Babying you is my job. Let me take care of you.” He rearranged Jungkook’s limbs more comfortably on the couch and sat down next to him, ignoring the ache in the back of his head from dehydration. He would deal with that later. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
Jungkook sighed with a pout and crossed his arms, blush rising to his cheeks. “I just wanted to give it my all again, you know? I know it happened last time. I just thought maybe I could handle it better this time. But I guess not.” He sounded disappointed in himself. Namjoon would’ve whacked him over the back of the head if he didn’t look so worryingly weak.
“You’re talented as hell, Jungkook-ah, but we all have limits. You’ve gotta slow down. Slow down, okay?” Jungkook nodded shamefully. “Don’t work yourself so hard. Next time, tell me earlier.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about me so much—”
“I’m your leader, but above that I’m also your hyung and your friend. That's like, three times the reason for me to worry about you so much,” Namjoon insisted, patting Jungkook on the head, wishing he could tuck him into his chest in a hug but he didn’t want to cause him to overheat again. He was still practically radiating. Namjoon swiped the cold cloth over his cheeks and neck, too, just for good measure.
Jungkook fell asleep on the couch. Namjoon continued to wipe at his flushed skin until it wasn’t so bright red. “You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Seokjin leaned against the doorway, head titled and eyes boring into Namjoon’s with accusation.
Namjoon shrugged. “I just wish I had noticed.” It was an understatement. Namjoon was horrified with himself. How could he call himself a good leader when this was the second time he’d allowed his golden centre to overwork himself like this? They relied so heavily on Jungkook being okay and Namjoon hadn’t ensured that like he was supposed to. Useless. He needed to be more focused. Jungkook had needed him and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t let that happen again.
Seokjin shook his head, pushing off the wall and approaching Namjoon from across the room. “You can’t blame yourself for something like this. Jungkook was trying to hide it. Being there for him afterwards is enough,” he said softly, running a hand through Namjoon’s hair, just like he always did when he was trying to be comforting. Namjoon couldn’t help sighing into the touch, delicate against his scalp, soothing and welcome.
“I could be more perceptive,” he reasoned, searching for more aspects of himself to hate, yanking at his roots and tearing himself apart. He could be better at so many things. He wasn’t working hard enough. The clunky dancing, the inability to write any worthwhile lyrics, now this—was he good at anything, anymore?
Seokjin let out a dry chuckle. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Joonie. We can scold the maknae more about taking care of his health tomorrow. You should take care of yours now and get some rest.” Namjoon sighed and gave in, however resentfully. His self-loathing still circled around in his head incessantly, unwilling to leave him alone. He didn’t know the right way to shake it.
Instead, he brought out his phone and posted two photos of himself on Twitter. The comments poured in almost instantly, flooding his heart in a way he hoped could wash away his own thoughts.
You’re so beautiful!
I love you!
Get some rest!
Stay healthy and hydrated!
Namjoon smiled and remembered his pounding headache. He accepted Seokjin’s offered hand and nudged Jungkook on the couch, murmuring to him that it was time for them to go to bed. They had a flight tomorrow they couldn’t miss. They still had to pack.
Namjoon found some paracetamol for his aching pain and didn’t let anyone see him take it. He was fine. This was all absolutely, wonderfully, beautifully fine.
~.~.~
Namjoon was clawing at this itch under his skin. He always had to go and make things worse for himself, didn’t he? Sometimes he hated the fact that he could understand English when he scrolled through some of the awful things people said about him sometimes on Twitter. He knew the positive outweighed the negative—he read so many more beautiful things about himself than the terrible, but he couldn’t stop himself from becoming fixated on it, allowing it to crash down every wall he’d ever built that had been holding back his heavy emotions.
So Namjoon was locked in a bathroom and pulling at his skin. Out! I want it out! He was supposed to be able to hold himself together. He was supposed to be the most composed one, the one anyone could turn to for help, the one everyone could rely on. He took care of them. That was his job. He’d done it so perfectly well, too, until he’d started falling apart at the seams. Until he couldn’t dance anymore or construct a beat or tie his words together in the eloquent manner he always had in the past. Out! Get it out of me! All the bad things. All the negativity and self-doubt and pain that was causing his composure to crumble away like chipped sandstone. He wanted it gone but it wouldn’t leave. It was like it was glued right under his skin. No matter how much Namjoon scratched and pulled, he couldn’t make the itch go away.
A sob rose in his throat that he choked down by biting his hand. He felt the tears pouring down his cheeks that he couldn’t hold back, choking on gasps and guttural cries that he tried to control with a clenched fist. Shut up! Shut up! Could he not do anything right? Could he not even get a decent hold on his own mental state? Pathetic.
“Joon?” A knock on the door. It was Seokjin. Namjoon couldn’t reply without giving himself away, so he tried desperately not to make a sound, but his entire body was trembling with the effort. “Namjoon.” His voice was firmer now. “Namjoon, I know you’re in there.” The handle shook but the door didn’t budge. “Namjoon, unlock the door.”
No! Namjoon wanted to scream. I’ll be nothing but a disappointment to you! Instead he said nothing and curled in tighter to himself, listening as footsteps echoed down the hall and away from the door. He allowed himself a tiny sound, a low whine, before he cut himself off again, forcing himself into silence. This would pass. He would stop crying like a baby and when Seokjin came back he would just lie and say he was sick.
He didn’t. He was still sobbing when Seokjin forced the door unlocked with a key five minutes later. The card dropped to the floor, the sound of hard plastic on tile ringing loudly in Namjoon’s ears. “Fuck, Namjoon!” The sudden pain in Seokjin’s voice overwhelmed Namjoon with guilt as he finally let out the sounds of his cries, whimpering into his hand as snot and saliva ran down his chin.
“I’m so sorry,” he wailed, eyes red and swollen and face so incredibly messed up he wondered if he even looked human anymore. He didn’t feel it. He felt unearthly, disgusting, worthless. What a fucking disgrace.
Seokjin had his arms around Namjoon so fast it almost shocked him into silence, but then he was just crying louder as Seokjin pulled him tightly into his chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god, baby,” he stuttered, kissing everywhere his mouth could reach—hair, cheeks, chin, nose, neck. Namjoon tried to pull away but Seokjin wouldn’t let him, hold painfully tight and secure, like he was worried Namjoon would vanish if he let his grasp loosen even a little bit.
“Stop,” Namjoon fought, trying to bring his hands up to wipe at his eyes but they were trapped between his and Seokjin’s chests. “I’m disgusting, you shouldn’t.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Seokjin choked, and it took Namjoon a moment to realise Seokjin was beginning to cry. “Shut the fuck up, you’re so beautiful. Don’t ever say that about yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeated, not knowing what else to say. Seokjin shushed him and squeezed a little tighter, rocking them backwards and forwards on the bathroom floor without saying any more. Namjoon didn’t know how long they sat there—long enough for his crying to quieten down to soft sniffles and sobs, for the weight of the situation to settle in and the embarrassment to sweep past the destruction.
“I’ve noticed,” Seokjin mumbled, muffled against Namjoon’s neck. “You’ve been…distant, recently. Spaced out. Up in your head. I’ve seen you curling in on yourself. But I didn’t…I didn’t…”
“Think it was that bad?” Namjoon offered, chuckling dryly, but Seokjin didn’t laugh. He just nodded messily into Namjoon’s skin, breathing him in like he needed his scent in his lungs to keep on living.
“You didn’t say anything,” Seokjin accused angrily, finally pulling back to glare at Namjoon dead-on.
Namjoon shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t want anyone to worry. I’m meant to be the leader.”
Seokjin gasped. “Is that what this is about? You think you’re not allowed to hurt because you’re the fucking leader? Namjoon!” Seokjin scolded, pulling him tight against his chest again. “Namjoon, you can’t hold this shit in. You can’t be there for everyone and then expect nobody to be there for you.”
“I just didn’t want to be a burden. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be the fucking support, Seokjin, and I couldn’t even manage that!” Namjoon let out in a burst, turning into a sob at the end as he cried into Seokjin’s chest. Seokjin rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings into his lips as he kissed him again and again and again and crushed his face between his hands but Namjoon didn’t care. Namjoon felt weak and needy and so completely utterly lost he didn’t want Seokjin to ever let go.
“You will never, ever, be a burden, baby. C’mon. Let’s go have some tea, yeah? That raspberry one you like?” Namjoon nodded shyly. “Good boy. C’mon, up we get.” Seokjin helped Namjoon to his feet as they stumbled out of the hotel bathroom, Seokjin carefully leading Namjoon to rest on the bed in the middle of the room. He manoeuvred around a suitcase and turned the kettle on by the mini-fridge, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.
Namjoon watched along silently, not knowing what to say. Should he explain himself? Talk about how useless and pathetic and tired he’d been feeling recently? What did Seokjin need to hear? How could Namjoon heal this for Seokjin? “I can hear you thinking about how you’re going to try and make this better for me from here,” Seokjin joked, knowing him almost better than he knew himself just like always. “You know what, Namjoon?” he added, turning around to eye Namjoon on the bed. “The problem is you’ve spent way too long taking care of other people. Let me take care of you for once.”
All of a sudden, Namjoon realised that was what he had been waiting to hear this entire time. Finally. A weight lifted off his shoulders he hadn’t known he’d been holding and a soft breath escaped his lips. Seokjin’s words warmed his entire body, but at the same time absolutely terrified him. There was still that voice screaming in his head. You’re meant to be the leader! Pathetic, caving in like this!
“It just makes me feel so…weak,” he explained, embarrassed, turning away to look out the window. The city was beautiful. Namjoon wished he had the time to explore it. Perhaps he would have, were he nobody but Kim Namjoon and RM didn’t exist and he wasn’t the leader of an internationally famous Korean boyband. But then again, if he wasn’t RM, he probably wouldn’t be able to travel to over half these cities to begin with.
Sacrifices had to be made sometimes, he guessed. Namjoon felt like he had been sacrificing a lot more of himself than he needed to for a long time.
Seokjin tutted, bringing over hot raspberry tea and sitting with him on the bed. “When you comfort Jimin, or Jungkook, or Taehyung or Hoseok or any of us, do you see us as weak?” Namjoon was already hastily shaking his head, eyes wide and worried. He didn’t want Seokjin to think that’s what he thought at all. “So why is it so different when you’re the one that needs comforting? When you’re the one breaking down?”
Namjoon sipped his tea, burning his tongue, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “I don’t know. Just that I’m supposed to be the leader—”
“Namjoon,” Seokjin sighed deeply, a soft sad smile forming on his lips. “You’re not just a leader. You’re a human being. With emotions and demons and anxieties and fears just like the rest of us. You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be human, Joon-ah.” Seokjin placed a hand over one of Namjoon’s, intertwining their fingers. “Let’s take care of each other, okay?”
Namjoon choked back more tears and kissed Seokjin gratefully on the mouth, hard and emotional. Seokjin opened himself up beautifully to him and Namjoon wished he could do the same so willingly. His lips were soft and tender and tasted like salt and raspberries. Namjoon felt a little bit more human.
~.~.~
There was an itch under his skin. It was an itch that Namjoon now knew he needed to scratch, that itch of insecurity and stress and fear that he couldn’t ignore without the risk of breaking down. Except now, he had finally realised he had someone to scratch it for him. Someone to care for him the same way he had been taking care of everyone else for so long.
“I made you dinner, Joon-ah. You need to stop eating so much instant ramen, it isn’t good for your health.”
“When was the last time you slept? Come take a nap with me, Joonie.”
“Come here and give me a hug. You look like you need it.”
Every time, Namjoon sighed deeply and collapsed into Seokjin’s arms. He was so warm and safe and secure in ways Namjoon had never known before, not with the way he had always been so determined to pretend he was always so perfectly fine. How silly he’d been. There was nothing better than the feeling of Seokjin’s arms wrapped around him, of being tucked into bed, of being asked if he was feeling alright and him being able to answer honestly without fear.
There was still hesitation, sometimes. The vulnerability that came with it was somewhat terrifying. He was so used to closing himself off it was hard to open up again and allow someone else to take control. He was only really comfortable when it was Seokjin, but that was alright with him. Seokjin was incredibly special to him in a million more ways than one.
Seokjin helped him to become a better leader than ever. They discussed Namjoon’s lyrics until they’d chipped the writer’s block away with an iron axe, until the words started to flow off Namjoon’s tongue again like poetry and he could go back to creating his art. Hoseok found him dancing alone in front of a mirror one day and casually offered his guidance in helping Namjoon get the moves right. Seokjin denied having anything to do with it, but Namjoon knew better. The way Seokjin thought of him like that made him childishly giddy, smiling into his pillow and tracing the lines of Seokjin’s face with his eyes on early mornings as the sun was rising up. He could reach out and touch and Seokjin’s eyes would flutter open sleepily with a slow smile and Namjoon’s heart would skip a beat at just how incredibly gorgeous he was.
Most of all, Seokjin taught Namjoon a lesson in learning to forgive himself. He fed him back the advice he had given to everyone else about believing in themselves and while at first Namjoon didn’t think it would make a damn fucking difference since he had been letting the same words slip off his own tongue for years, it was so different hearing them coming from someone else. Someone who cared about him, who loved him, who wanted him to feel capable and worthy all the time.
“Thank you,” Namjoon said as Seokjin slid a coffee from Starbucks over the table. A warm chai latte. One of Namjoon’s favourites. “You didn’t have to, I didn’t ask—”
“Shhh,” Seokjin hushed, kissing him on the forehead. “You didn’t have to. You’re working really hard today, I’m proud of you.”
Namjoon blushed, hiding behind the coffee and staring down at his toes. He never got used to hearing the soft praise flowing from Seokjin’s lips. In the past, he would have been dismissive of it, wave it away, because he was being strong and assured and stamping down his own need for someone to take care of him in favour of coming off as being in complete control.
There was a softer side to him now. Not that he hadn’t been soft before—he’d always been soft towards his groupmates, hugging them close and patting their heads and whispering encouraging words in their ears when they needed it most. It was just that now Namjoon was willing for the gestures to be reciprocated, for Seokjin to tell him he did well, to be brought coffee and reassuring kisses and to be offered a shoulder to cry on when he really needed it.
He wasn’t afraid to cry. Not anymore. No more bathroom floors and silent sobs. No more clawing at this itch under his skin.
Instead, he had Seokjin kissing his wrists and his throat and anywhere else he felt insecurity stabbing in his gut. Any time he was overwhelmed with holding the weight of the world on his chest. Now, finally, he was more willing to share the burden. Now, finally, he could let the caring fall into the hands of somebody else.