Archive of Our Own

By 10:00 p.m. on the night of Jeongguk and Taehyung’s wedding, Seokjin is very, very drunk. The living room is lit up with the loud voices and bubbly laughter of the house’s occupants; it’s glowing with the purity and the rightness of the evening’s events; it’s gold-crested and shining with some magic spell of marital bliss. Everyone’s eyes are bright, their smiles brighter, and Seokjin revels in the sound of upbeat music playing off Yoongi’s iPhone, in the look of a giggling Jimin demonstrating some sophisticated dance move which looks more like a flail when Namjoon attempts it.

Someone pulls Seokjin to his feet. He hardly pays attention to who it is before he’s slurring a whiny, “You should dance with me,” although with how numb Seokjin’s lips feel, it’s more likely that he’s speaking some alien language than that he’s speaking Korean. Whatever Seokjin says, it works, because the person—Hoseok, it turns out—is spinning him around and laughing with eyes like little birds, and Seokjin wants to say it: “Hoseokie, your eyes are birds. Like—the insides are the beaks pecking, and the outsides are the wings.”

Hoseok laughs loudly with his head thrown back. He’s really beautiful.

“May I step in?”

Here’s Namjoon, such a gentleman. Asking so politely for the drunken weight of Seokjin’s body, accepting it from Hoseok, who flits off to Yoongi and Jimin. Seokjin falls himself (yes, falls himself, because he’s doing it on purpose to his own body, so shut up) into Namjoon’s arms.

Namjoon is steady. Totally not drunk. Typical.

“Joonie, ugh, you’re never drunk with me,” Seokjin whines. “It’s always one or the other! Not both!”

“Maybe I’m worried I’ll do something unsavory if I let us both get drunk at the same time,” Namjoon offers, tilting his chin and regarding Seokjin with this—this totally pretty and totally mean look.

Seokjin pouts. Seokjin is very good at pouting. He knows his lips are curved and big, his eyes brown and pleading. “I’m the hyung here. You have to listen to me. I want us both to be drunk.”

Namjoon smiles and downs whatever is in the cup in his hand. It won’t be enough to get him past tipsy, but it’s something. “Why do you want us drunk?”

“I’ve had drunk sex before and it’s awesome, and I wanna do it with you,” Seokjin says.

Namjoon’s lips quirk, his eyebrows lifting. “Oh, really? All my drunken escapades have turned out less well than I’d hoped going into them.”

Seokjin scoffs. “You? Drunken escapades? Name one. You probably stopped with your pants halfway down your thighs to talk about consent and then changed your mind about the whole thing.”

Namjoon blushes, running a hand through his hair and smiling, rueful. “Well. I did get the pants all the way off, if that helps anything.”

Seokjin laughs. He’s lucky Namjoon has wrapped his crazy-long arms around Seokjin’s waist, because currently Namjoon is pretty much the only reason Seokjin isn’t on the floor. The embrace is tender but firm, meant to nurture, to protect. Seokjin’s heart flutters. “Hey, put me down on the couch,” he says, kind of shy. “Guy or girl?”

“What?” Namjoon asks as he gets Seokjin on the couch next to Jimin, who’s curled up with Hoseok. Yoongi is on the floor below them, resting his chin on the couch as he gazes drunkenly up at his boyfriends, a fond smile gracing his lips.

Seokjin turns a similarly sappy smile at Namjoon, who perches on the armrest. Seokjin grins. “The random hookup. Was it a guy or a girl? Or neither? Both?”

Namjoon smiles and it looks wistful. “Girl,” he says, softly, confessing some pleasant secret from the annals of bygone days.

Seokjin’s heart races, jealous but in a good way. Exhilarating, not angry, not at all. “Oh? You look all sentimental. Spill.”

Namjoon’s cheeks go pink, and he reaches out to grab an abandoned drink off the table. Seokjin looks around the room. Yoongi is watching Namjoon, and Hoseok and Jimin are quietly tangling and then untangling their fingers back and forth, affectionate and easy. Jeongguk and Taehyung are attempting Cirque-du-Soleil in the corner and it looks Very Unsafe: Jeongguk is on his back on the hardwoods with his legs straight up, and Taehyung’s hips are balanced on the bottoms of Jeongguk’s feet. They’re holding hands but Taehyung is going to fall; that or maybe he’ll puke, because he’s drunk and Jeongguk’s feet are pressing hard against his stomach. Which. Would suck, but Jeongguk is pretty warm and tipsy too, and it’s Tae, so Jeongguk wouldn’t mind. Jeongguk is okay about puking as long as it’s verifiably something that happened because of alcohol consumption.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, stroking a hand down Seokjin’s cheek and turning his chin so they can make eye contact. “Hey, you were spacing. You okay?”

Seokjin grins. “Just very drunk and worrying about my dongsaengs. I’m fine. Tell me about the girl.”

Namjoon nods. “Um. Hold on.” He finishes off the drink. “Can I get another?”

Seokjin tilts his head. He’s very drunk, but he’s not stupid. If Namjoon is in need of some liquid courage before he’ll spill, then this story must be kind of sacred and emotional. “Sure,” Seokjin agrees, and Namjoon nods and heads for the kitchen with purpose in his gait as he goes.

In the corner, Taehyung falls off of Jeongguk’s feet and only barely manages not to crush the poor kid when he hits the floor. Taehyung’s knees are going to be bruised from the tumble, but he doesn’t seem to care; he and Jeongguk are both laughing, and Taehyung collapses into Jeongguk’s embrace so they’re pressed together everywhere, white lacy dress pleats sprawled across patterned hanbok silk. Taehyung’s eyes are closed. Jeongguk’s head is tipped back against the floor. They’re holding each other and breathing laughter like exultation, and it’s the most beautiful Seokjin has ever seen two people look, maybe.

“Hey, Joonie-hyung, are you okay?” Jimin says as Namjoon comes back in, holding a bottle of grapefruit soju and a bunch of cheap plastic shot glasses.

“I’m okay, darling,” Namjoon says, his eyes just that slightest bit glassy which Seokjin recognizes as the look of Namjoon getting kind of drunk.

“You gonna tell the story?” Seokjin asks, possibly way too loud, because everyone perks up and Taehyung scrambles to sit up on the floor by the low living room table. Jeongguk rolls over behind him and starts grazing his fingers up and down Tae’s back.

The bouquet is still sitting on the table as if to torment Seokjin with the symbolic weight of its existence.

Namjoon settles in between Jimin and Seokjin and starts metering out the liquor. “Okay,” he says, “If we’re all gonna hear it, then we’re all doing one more shot of soju before I start. Unless anyone is already too drunk and doesn’t want to.”

Seokjin is definitely too drunk, but it’s only one shot and the soju is only 13.5 percent and he really wants to. Namjoon eyes him as he accepts the proffered glass, but he doesn’t say anything, and they all cheers and down the shots.

“Okay, what are we hearing?” Yoongi asks.

“The story of the girl Namjoon’s in love with,” Seokjin smirks.

“I am not,” Namjoon says. “But maybe I was. At least in a puppy love sort of way.”

“Was this the girl in high school?” Hoseok asks.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says.

“Is this story better summed up by ‘Wet Dreamz’ by J. Cole?” Yoongi asks, sounds bored already but also a little bit self-destructively interested, like he wants to hear but can’t let himself care or he’ll be retroactively angsty over the fact that fate kept him from bearing witness to Namjoon’s teenage years.

Namjoon snorts. “It wasn’t like that, exactly. Although I mean. I did sleep with her.”

“First time?” Hoseok asks. “First time with a girl?”

“First time with anyone. Her, too,” Namjoon says.

“Oh, I’ve always wondered about that,” Taehyung says, reverent. “The guy who was my first had already slept with a bunch of people—”

“First Love,” Jeongguk says, so significantly that Seokjin can hear the capitals, and Taehyung nods and keeps going.

“Yeah, First Love. I slept with girls and guys in high school after that, and then I had my psycho ex in my first year of college, and then no one but Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk nods and grins. “And I’ve only slept with Taehyung.”

“Really?” Hoseok and Jimin says, and then they grin and yell “jinx!” at each other like grade school children.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, gazing at Jeongguk and twisting the ring on his finger. Jeongguk’s fingers are on the ring around his neck. Jeongguk leans over and whispers something in Taehyung’s ear, and Taehyung closes his eyes and basks in whatever he’s hearing. He leans in and kisses Jeongguk’s cheek and then his mouth, and Jeongguk accepts the kisses, pliant.

Everyone else exchanges a Look, and the conversation continues.

“I’ve never really been into one night stands,” Jimin says, “But I had sex in my relationships. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Hoseok teases, triggering a cotton candy blush across Jimin’s perfect cheeks.

“I mean obviously because it’s me, hyung! Not because relationships require sex!” Jimin buries his face in Hoseok’s shoulder.

Hoseok strokes careful fingers through Jimin’s hair. “I know, baby. Such a cute little nympho, you.” He kisses Jimin’s forehead as Jimin groans.

“Hyung,” Jimin complains.

“Sorry,” Hoseok singsongs. He doesn’t sound very sorry.

Everyone laughs, including Jimin.

“Anyways,” Hoseok goes on, “I’ve only slept with my first love and my crazy ex, and with Jimin and Yoongi. But that doesn’t mean—I mean, I’m not gonna say I’ll never sleep with…anyone else. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, smiling.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I’ve slept with a bunch of guys. Only one girl, but it wasn’t great, and I guess I’m just gay, so whatever.”

Jimin looks over, kind of startled. “Wait, I thought you identified as bi. I mean, I don’t care either way; I just—I’ve been thinking of you with a label you maybe didn’t want, so I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi grins and shakes his head, eyes rolling. “Nah, it’s cool. I did identify as bi for, like, forever, which is what I told you, so it’s not like you were wrong. But then I realized I’m kinda only into guys. And really I’m only into you guys.”

Seokjin snorts. Yoongi may not look it, but he is definitely drunk.

“Jin-hyung?” Jimin asks. “You?”

“I only slept with girls for most of college. Didn’t sleep with anyone in high school. No special virginity-loss story. It was kind of boring, didn’t last long, no real feelings. But it wasn’t bad. I slept with some guys at the end of college. Maybe three? And then Namjoon.”

Taehyung smiles and kisses Jeongguk and looks at Namjoon and says “Sorry, your turn, hyung!” Kisses Jeongguk and kisses Jeongguk and kisses Jeongguk.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Seriously, I try to tell one interesting story and I get stonewalled by all of you,” he jokes, taking another swig of soju. “Anyways. The girl. She was nice. And yeah, maybe I am the only one who slept with someone for the first time and it was also their first time?” Namjoon pauses and looks around the circle, and everyone else nods.

“Okay,” Namjoon says. “Well. The first time we tried, we had both been drinking. But I realized I didn’t want my first time to be like that, and she didn’t pressure me when I said I didn’t want to do it drunk. I still thought I’d blown my chance, though. But the next day she said that it was sweet and respectful. We weren’t really dating, or anything, and it was pretty clandestine just because—I mean, you know how people are about sex in this country.

“Anyway, I went over to her house one day when her parents weren’t home, so it was kinda planned, which made it—less organic? But sweet in its own right, you know? And we were sober, and she said she was sure that she wanted to do it. It didn’t last long and she definitely didn’t come, but it was—good. She was a good person.”

“Did you guys date after?” Jimin asks.

Namjoon shrugs. “Kinda, I mean—I don’t know, I was a wreck at the time, all over the place mentally and—and I couldn’t be there for her, like, in any conceivable way. And she was really brilliant, and trying to study medicine in college so she was really busy studying all the time. She knew she couldn’t be there for me the way I needed, and that us trying to be together would have been worse for me than not being together at all.”

Jimin looks really sad, and he leans away from Hoseok to rest his head on Namjoon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Joon-hyungie,” he says. On the other side, Seokjin puts his own head on Namjoon’s other shoulder, because solidarity, and because love.

“If it helps, she was really sweet about everything,” Namjoon says, grinning faintly, nostalgic.

Yoongi scoffs. “And then you fell in love with Jin-hyung and it turned you into a disaster gay—bi—pan—what-the-hell-ever-doesn’t-like-labels—”

“Disaster person—” Jimin teases.

“But is he even a person?” Hoseok says, batting at the top of Joonie’s fluffy dark hair. “Are we sure he’s not just an overly intelligent, cuddly koala?”

Namjoon ducks out of the way good-naturedly and shakes himself out of the reminiscent daze. “Shut up. You’re all so mean to me.”

“We all love you,” Jimin smiles.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re mean,” Yoongi agrees, a grumble as he looks at Namjoon with dark, tipsy eyes. He looks like he’s remembering what happened with them last night, which Seokjin knows about, because he could hear it from Jimin and Hoseok’s room, and because he’s known it was going to happen for a while.

Namjoon looks back at Yoongi and Seokjin catches the expression on his face, a reflection of Yoongi’s own dark-eyed stare, and something twists in Seokjin’s chest.

Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. Seokjin is kind of jealous.

“Hey, someone kiss me,” Seokjin demands then, looking around the circle and putting his hand up when Namjoon leans over towards him. “Not you.”

Namjoon looks hurt, and everyone else looks confused. “Huh?” Namjoon asks.

“You guys have been getting all this—this love, and here I am just—just off on my own, like—like you guys don’t even want me,” Seokjin says, and he’s aware that he’s drunk and that that’s why he’s saying it, that that’s why he’s feeling it, but—

“Jinnie-hyung, oh my gosh, no,” Jimin says, forcibly switching places with Namjoon so he can kneel on the couch before Seokjin. Jimin takes Seokjin’s hands in his, and his palms are soft and uncalloused. Yoongi stands up and moves to a chair, which he scoots closer towards the edge of the sofa, and Jeongguk sits up so he’s cross-legged next to Taehyung.

“That’s not what’s going on,” Yoongi tries as he settles onto the chair, but it just makes Seokjin feel worse.

Seokjin yanks his hands out of Jimin’s and crosses his arms across his chest. “Everyone here has been getting their love in this awesome physical form. Everyone except me.”

“I haven’t,” Hoseok says, biting his lip and leaning forward a little in his spot at the opposite end of the couch.

“Hoseokie,” Jimin whispers, climbing back across Namjoon to lie down at Hoseok’s side. Hoseok smiles down at Jimin, but he also shakes his head.

“No, wait. I’m not complaining. I’m trying to explain to Seokjin-hyung that they’re not touching you or kissing you or sleeping with you because they don’t want you to feel pressured if you don’t want that. Jin-hyung, I’m not getting off with anyone except Jiminie and Yoongi-hyung, and not even really with them. I know it’s because I’m asexual and this is what I want, but I do feel kind of out of the loop sometimes because of it. So I see how you feel, at least a little. But I know you guys don’t love me less, and I know no one loves you less, Jinnie-hyung. I know it’s because you guys love us that you’re not pressuring us. Right?”

“Oh, hyung, of course,” Taehyung vows. Jeongguk nods, although his face is also kind of hidden in Taehyung’s shoulder.

Seokjin feels tears well up in his eyes. “Well, if you guys aren’t sleeping with me because you think I don’t want it, then you’re wrong. And maybe I haven’t made myself clear, but I—fuck, I spend all this time holding myself back because I’m the oldest and I have to keep track of you guys and be the parent but—but Jeongguk, every time I see you rubbing sleep out of your eyes in the morning while you lean against Tae, and Tae’s all sleepy too, I just wanna kiss both of you and sit with you during breakfast and feed you strawberries and yogurt.”

“Hyung, you should,” Taehyung says, like he’s saying it for himself and for Jeongguk. Jeongguk looks pretty out of it, honestly, dazed on Taehyung and getting married and maybe, maybe on the too-honest words of Seokjin’s drunken monologue.

“And Jimin-ah,” Seokjin goes on, “You’re so sweet and your smile is the most radiant, heart-stopping thing, and when you asked me to go to your appointment with you that night in the bathroom, like—you asking for help is just so amazing and makes me so happy I can hardly stand it. And Hoseok-ah, oh my god, you gave me that hickey and I’m pretty sure I stared at it in every reflective surface I came across for, like, all of last week.”

“He did,” Namjoon affirms, taking Seokjin’s hand into his like an offer of complicity, like he’s with Seokjin to the end, in everything, including this. Seokjin gives Namjoon a wavering smile.

“And Yoongi,” Seokjin says. “Yoongi, I’ve known you the longest of all, and you’re just—god, Yoongi, the first time you had a panic attack that I saw and it was just the two of us at that fucking shitty grocery store trying to buy cheap food to supplement the over-expensive and useless college meal plan? And fuck, you got so scared all of a sudden—like, I just turned around and there you were on the fucking floor, and I had to—had to get you to calm down and the staff wanted us to leave and it was making everything worse and—I’m sorry, this wasn’t what I was talking about, is it?” Seokjin laughs but it sounds harsh, terrified.

“Hey,” Yoongi says. “Jin-hyung, hey.” And then Yoongi is getting out of his chair and coming over to Seokjin and just—just sitting down directly in Seokjin’s lap, his legs laid out over Namjoon’s thighs. Yoongi is so small and he’s nuzzling his nose into Seokjin’s neck and his hands are stroking at the bare skin at the collar of Seokjin’s shirt. Seokjin takes a deep breath and feels all his anxious tension slide away, gone as fast as it had appeared.

Alcohol. This is all alcohol’s fault.

“Hyungie,” Taehyung says, leaning against Seokjin’s calves and putting his head on Seokjin’s knee, forehead to Yoongi’s thigh.

“Fuck, I love you,” Namjoon says, and then there’s a gigantic cuddle pile, all of them cramming in on the couch in a heap of love and good feelings, and Seokjin closes his eyes and breathes it in, the mix of soap and soju-sweet breath and laundry detergent and togetherness.

“I love you all,” Seokjin says. “Fuck, how could anyone think I don’t?”

“Hyung, can I kiss you?” It’s Hoseok who says it, surprisingly—or maybe not, because Hoseok has always loved kissing, and Hoseok has always loved offering himself up for the benefit of others. “Or do you want to wait for later, when it’s less intentional?”

Seokjin thinks about it. Everyone is looking at him, and everyone has at least one hand on him, and Seokjin can wait a while longer. “No, you’re right. Wait until it just happens.”

Everyone nods, and Hoseok gives a smile and a wink—a fucking wink. “Okay,” Hoseok says. “I mean, now that we all know…”

“Yeah, dude,” Yoongi says, just normal, just easy. “You’ve opened yourself up to some pretty risky potential kissing attacks, you know.”

Seokjin blushes and looks at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I got kinda drunk. This is supposed to be Tae and Guk’s wedding reception! I’m sorry!” It’s practically a wail, but a quiet one. Pleading, and soft.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung grins. He and Jeongguk actually look the most lucid out of everyone, tipsy maybe but not drunk. “We don’t mind! Right, Jeonggukkie?”

“Love it when you call me ‘Jeonggukkie’,” Jeongguk mumbles—so okay, maybe he is a little more drunk than he looks. That or he’s just high on wedding feelings, and he probably is—he’s gotten himself situated basically in Taehyung’s lap, all soft and pliant and sleepy. His red hair looks wild against Taehyung’s golden skin, against Taehyung’s pale hair. “Also,” Jeongguk says, looking up at Seokjin, “We don’t mind at all. I love you and we love you.”

“Jeonggukkie,” Jimin says, sweet and pretty, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Jeongguk says. “Just really happy.”

Taehyung coos and wraps his arms tight around Jeongguk, the lacy long sleeves of the dress all delicate against the fabric of the hanbok. They start whispering between them again, for the umpteenth time that night, soft words pressed into the longish hair covering their ears, too low for anyone else. Whatever they’re saying, it must be funny because it’s making them hide giggles. Or maybe they’re just really, really happy.

“Hey, Jinnie,” Namjoon says, a soft murmur in Seokjin’s ear, “You okay? You wanna go to bed or anything?”

Seokjin sighs and lets his head rest on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Come to the kitchen and get some water with me?”

Namjoon kisses Seokjin’s forehead. “I’ll get it for you and you can stay here if you want.”

“Nah, I wanna talk to you. Just you,” Seokjin says. Yoongi politely scoots off his lap and over to lie across Jimin and Hoseok. Namjoon looks kind of worried.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, pressing a hand to Seokjin’s forehead and then his cheek.

Seokjin nods and can’t quite bring himself to smile, but it’s only because he’s sleepy. “Yeah,” he says. “But I’m drunk and I might trip and you should give me a piggyback.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Namjoon says, and he’s slipping his arms under Seokjin’s back, his knees, tugging him up into a bridal lift, and Seokjin yelps and clings tight to Namjoon’s neck.

“Wait! I want the bouquet!” Seokjin says, looking down at the table where the flowers are resting.

“Oh! Here, hyung!” Taehyung tosses the flowers so they land in the cradle of Seokjin’s lap, and Seokjin lets go of Namjoon’s neck to rub the petals of a rose between his fingers.

“To the kitchen?” Namjoon asks.

“To the kitchen,” Seokjin agrees. Namjoon carries him across the living room, around the corner. Sets Seokjin down on the countertop, and Seokjin drums his heels against the cupboards, dropping the bouquet beside him.

“Water?” Namjoon says, tugging away to grab a bottle from the refrigerator.

Seokjin reaches out and pulls Namjoon back in as soon as he’s able, spreading his legs so Namjoon can stand between them. He accepts the water, takes a long drink. He’s already full—of food, and of soju—but he knows he needs the hydration.

“Hey,” Seokjin says when he swallows the water and puts the bottle back on the counter.

“Hey,” Namjoon says, skimming his fingertips up Seokjin’s ribs. He tugs Seokjin’s shirt so it’s no longer tucked in, and then he presses his hands under, to bare skin, and just leaves them there. Seokjin leans forward and kisses him.

They exchange sleepy presses of lips for a few long minutes, and then Namjoon draws away. “What did you want to talk about, Jinnie?”

Seokjin blinks, slow and lazy. “Um. It’s okay, right? What I said and…what I feel. About wanting to be with all of them.”

Namjoon stares Seokjin right in the eyes. “Yes, it’s okay,” he says. “I’m not jealous, and I won’t be. If you want to branch out.”

Seokjin puts his face in his palms. “I shouldn’t have ranted that in the middle of Tae and Guk’s wedding reception.”

Namjoon kisses Seokjin’s forehead and pulls back to chuckle, soft. “It’s okay. It was good.”

“It was improper,” Seokjin protests, suddenly grabbing the bouquet and holding it to his chest like it can cleanse him of his indecorum.

“Honesty isn’t improper,” Namjoon says. “I’m sorry we haven’t talked about this before. I could’ve…I could’ve brought it up. When stuff started with Hobi. I mean, I know you were there and all, but—I told you about last week with Jimin, and nothing happened but it was still kind of dommy. And then with Yoongi-hyung, last night.”

“Please, I could hear you and Yoongi from the other room,” Seokjin scoffs. “I really don’t mind. There’s still stuff that’s just for us.” Seokjin swallows and feels it building, a rush of words he shouldn’t say, not drunk and emotional and clutching a wedding bouquet, symbolic beyond measure.

“What do you mean?”

Seokjin bites his lip. “I still think about cocaine.”

“Huh? Jinnie, you’re not—”

“I told Tae after the ecstasy thing. And I told him I was afraid to tell you but I just—want you to have this. I mean, Tae knows, obviously, but I want you to know and have it because it’s something for only us and we’re together forever even if we’re also with all them, and I’m drunk and I should be telling you this in the morning, probably, when I’m sober or whatever. Ugh. Fuck. I miss cocaine. Sometimes. Please don’t hate me, Namjoonie.”

“Wha—I don’t hate you,” Namjoon says, closing Seokjin into his arms and squeezing tight. “I love you. You can tell me again in the morning. You can tell me all about it.”

“So it won’t just be drunk musings.”

“So you’ll be able to choose carefully. What you reveal, and what you keep inside.”

“For now,” Seokjin says. “I’ll tell you everything by the time we’re through. Which will be never. I’ll find you again in heaven and fucking tell you all my secrets all over again, I swear to fucking god.”

“You are being very swear-y,” Namjoon smiles, and then he kisses Seokjin’s cheek, his nose, his lips. “You’re so handsome, hyung, and you’re thoughtful. And smart, and dedicated. You treat everyone with fairness.”

“Joonie.”

“I love you. I love all of them, of course I do, but you’re mine. All of you. And all of me is yours. This bouquet…Taehyung was right to give it to you.”

Seokjin’s head startles up. “What?”

Namjoon nods, looking sure. “He was right. That’s all. But not quite yet.”

“Wha—Namjoonie, are you—” Seokjin says, eyes welling with tears, because—

“Shh, not yet. I’ll make it good, yeah? Not when we’re drunk and talking in the kitchen after Tae and Guk’s wedding.”

Seokjin’s throat is closing up. He’s biting his lip, he’s blinking back tears. “Not yet.”

“I mean—” Namjoon starts, sensing Seokjin’s distress, “I mean yeah, I’m going to ask, but just—let me make it better. Formal, you know? I want to make it really special and intentional for you. I want—is that okay? Or do you want it to be now?”

There’s been a lot of waiting tonight, and Namjoon is looking so earnest and gentlemanly, and Seokjin can hold on a little longer. For the sanctity of this.

“It’s okay, Joonie,” Seokjin says. “Surprise me.”

Namjoon comes forward and kisses Seokjin hard, and Seokjin kisses back with everything he’s got in his drunken head, and it tastes like coming home.

“It better be good though, you know,” Seokjin warns when they break apart. “Like, if you’re gonna make me wait for it, then it better be really special and expensive.”

“Expensive.”

Seokjin grins and shakes his head. “Just kidding. We’ve already established that you’re a disaster gay-bi-pan-doesn’t-believe-in-labels, so just be your disaster self and make it memorable, I guess.”

“That’s…probably all you can hope for, yeah,” Namjoon says, grinning all dimpled and fond.

Seokjin smiles. “You wanna go back to the party?”

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, come on. Want me to carry you?”

Seokjin shakes his head and slides off the counter. He gets himself settled against Namjoon’s side so they can walk back together, and they do, and it’s comforting. When they make it to the living room, Jeongguk and Taehyung have disappeared. Yoongi and Hoseok and Jimin are sprawled out on the couch, Hoseok asleep across the laps of the other two, and Jimin and Yoongi are doing something silly with their fingers and whispering intimate and giggly. It’s nice to see Yoongi so smiley, and Jimin too. Namjoon and Seokjin pause in the doorway, watching.

“Hyung, stop, you’re gonna—dammit, how am I this bad at this game?” Jimin whines, quietly so as not to wake Hoseok.

“Finish the round anyway,” Yoongi smiles. He taps Jimin’s finger with his own and Jimin holds up another and taps back, and Yoongi holds up two fingers and taps and Jimin drops his hands. Apparently he’s lost.

“I hate you,” Jimin pouts.

Yoongi leans over and kisses his frown away.

“Stop making out right in front of my salad,” Hoseok murmurs half-heartedly, eyes still closed as he shifts to sprawl more languidly in Yoongi’s lap.

“Don’t reference that meme,” Yoongi says. “Pretty sure you said it wrong anyways.”

“Don’t care,” Hoseok murmurs, sleepy. “You could be nice and make out with me.” He sounds whiny and adorable, kind of drunk still and definitely out of it.

“You’re half-asleep,” Yoongi says.

“Consensual kissing somnophilia,” Hoseok says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I am okay with that,” Jimin says, leaning over to press his lips to Hoseok’s. Hoseok is apparently more awake than he looks, because he surges up and tugs Jimin down with hands tight in Jimin’s hair. Jimin squeaks and gets his tongue involved, and Yoongi groans.

“Fuck both of you; I’m going to bed.” Yoongi makes no move to leave. He strokes Jimin’s hair instead, and Hoseok’s.

Seokjin smiles. “Come on,” he whispers to Namjoon. “We should go.”

“You can join us,” Yoongi calls, apparently listening.

“It’s okay,” Seokjin says. “Guk and Taehyung go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies. “But seriously, I’ll make out with one of you. Or both of you.”

Seokjin yawns. “Ugh, I’m too tired and I’m gonna be really hungover at work tomorrow.”

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, come on. Bedtime for us.”

Hoseok draws away from Jimin then and leaps to his feet, springy and unabashed as he skips over to Seokjin and Namjoon. “Goodnight, babes,” he says, winking, and then he leans in and kisses Seokjin right on the mouth, so hard and quick that when he pulls away, Seokjin is still just standing there, stunned silent. Namjoon laughs, but Hoseok sneak attacks him too, and Namjoon at least has the wherewithal to drag Hoseok in before he can dart away, which means they’re standing there kissing in the kitchen doorway for a good ten seconds before Namjoon finally lets Hoseok go, one eyebrow raised as if he’s not at all impressed or affected by what’s just happened.

“Joon,” Hoseok says, dazed.

“That’s how you kiss someone, dumbass,” Namjoon says. “Now kiss Jin-hyung that well and then we’re going the fuck to bed.”

Hoseok looks between them and then at Yoongi and Jimin, and everyone nods. Even Seokjin. Hoseok quirks his lips. “Challenge accepted.”

Except when Hoseok pulls Seokjin in, he isn’t forceful like he was the first time, nor is he demanding and sleek like Namjoon. Instead, Hoseok comes in slow—he’s slightly shorter than Seokjin, so he’s on his tiptoes to stare Seokjin in the eyes—and his gaze is hot and intentional, meaning every ounce of seduction he’s got. In the damn kitchen doorway.

“Hyung,” Hoseok breathes, a little weak, like Seokjin is the one in charge of this. “Hyung, I want you.”

Hoseok puts on a good act. He really does. And Seokjin can tell it’s fun for him, that he likes being sexy and teasing even if he doesn’t want the follow-through, but then that’s all fine with Seokjin, of course, so he lets Hoseok play his game. Seokjin flutters his lashes and grips Hoseok’s wrists to drag the kid’s pliant hands to his neck, and then their eyes close and they’re kissing, hot and passionate and anything but innocent.

“Damn,” Yoongi says, and then he whistles. Namjoon clears his throat, but not like he wants them to stop, and Jimin giggles and then groans like he’s already hot and bothered. He probably is. Seokjin knows Jiminie.

Hoseok finally draws away, all grinning and licking his lips and looking victorious. “You’re good, Jinnie-hyung,” he says, kind of casual like it’s not a big deal, and Seokjin is a little ashamed of the way he whimpers and collapses into Hoseok, who passes him off to Namjoon. Namjoon takes one look at Seokjin’s expression and stutters out an oh, and a come on, and then drags Seokjin all the way back to their room.

“Goodnight!” The chorus of voices calls from the living room.

“Bye,” Namjoon spits, and gets Seokjin into the bedroom. Namjoon closes the door and immediately Seokjin is up against it, being kissed senseless. It’s a wonder he’s standing up at all.

“Come on,” Namjoon says. “Jinnie, I love you, I wanna—we shouldn’t, ‘cause we were drinking—”

“No, we’ve been dating for months now and I’ve loved you forever and I want you to fuck me,” Seokjin says. “I’m not gonna regret it in the morning or think you took advantage. If anything, I’m taking advantage of you.”

“You could never,” Namjoon growls, and he’s attacking Seokjin’s mouth and it’s like—Jesus, Seokjin fucking loves this.

They collapse to the bed. Tug off each other’s clothes, fall against each other smiling. It’s all so easy. Seokjin’s grin is ridiculous the whole time. And it’s not sappy, not even with the knowledge that something big has been established between them, and intent towards a promise towards a commitment, the weightiest commitment you can offer another person, maybe. Seokjin’s heart is racing with it.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” he says when they’re lying sated, still drunk and giggly. “I’m glad we made it.”

“We’re still making it,” Namjoon says. “And you’re making me better every single day.”

“I love you, Namjoon.”

“I love you, Seokjin.”

Seokjin is still kind of drunk, and it’s very late, and he has work in the morning. He closes his eyes, and prays for mercy from the hangover gods, and falls asleep.

The next day, Seokjin wakes up next to Namjoon like always, and right away Namjoon snaps a comment about drunk sex and consent. They argue about it for a few tense minutes, both hungover and crabby, and then they finally agree that they can give consent only to each other if they’re in any state of intoxication, and that it can only happen under the right circumstances (a nebulous clause which Namjoon hates and Seokjin insists upon using). The whole discussion is a pain in the ass, but it’s worth it for curling up against Namjoon once they’ve fought it through, feeling shitty and still mildly irritated, but. It’s Namjoon. Irritating or not, Namjoon is always someone Seokjin wants to see.

They spend a little longer than usual cuddling in bed before work, although Seokjin doesn’t bring up the thing about cocaine. He feels too shitty physically to handle a confession like that, and Namjoon doesn’t press. He just strokes Seokjin’s back and rubs Seokjin’s aching head, and it helps. It does.

Once Seokjin can’t possibly justify lounging around for a minute more, he drags himself to the bathroom and washes his face and brushes his teeth. He pops a couple painkillers and leaves Namjoon still dozing in bed as he walks to the kitchen; he opens the sliding door to the backyard and feels the breeze, the drop in temperature noticeable compared to yesterday’s heat. It’s only been one night, but all at once, summer is gone.

Everyone bundles off to work except Taehyung and Jeongguk, because they both have Monday and Tuesday off this week so they can have a silly fake honeymoon in the basement (and, to Seokjin’s anticipated disappointment, probably everywhere else in the house, too). Seokjin has a quiet day, sequestering himself at his desk and coding with a vengeance that keeps everyone else away because he’s kind of hungover and he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone. It doesn’t help that Seokjin is still kind of shocked and awed by the current state of affairs. Jeongguk and Taehyung are married. Namjoon and Seokjin are going to—to what? Get engaged, and then get actual-married like Taehyung and Jeongguk had? Move to America and get actual-actual-married just for the hell of it?

Seokjin finishes off his day still kind of hazy, and then he heads home like usual. His commute goes fast. Like every Monday, Seokjin is the first one home, and he unlocks the door expecting the house to be quiet unless Taehyung and Jeongguk are getting up to something sexy or really funny in the basement. Either of these possibilities will mean hearing their moans or their laughter (or both) from everywhere else in the house.

Seokjin is not expecting to find Taehyung and Jeongguk on the floor of the entryway, sitting together as Taehyung goes through his pencil case. Taehyung is rambling on and on, half talking to himself and half to Jeongguk; Jeongguk, for his part, looks like he’s spaced out and processing all slow and lazy and calm, his chin hooked over Taehyung’s left shoulder and his arms around Taehyung’s waist.

“So I feel like we don’t really need to have this pen in here anymore?” Taehyung muses, “And we’re running out of ink in this one, but I didn’t really like how thin the tip is, like I really like the .38 tips but the .3 was just too small, right? Did you notice that? I mean, I just feel like our writing doesn’t look as pretty with lines this thin.”

Seokjin slips out of his shoes, and Taehyung looks up.

“Oh, hey, hyung.”

Seokjin raises a fond eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

Taehyung blinks. “Narrating.”

Seokjin raises his other eyebrow. “Why are you talking about that like it belongs to both of you? Do you guys share a pencil case and backpack along with every other thing you guys own?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No, I’m not talking like that. I’m only talking to myself. Jeongguk is here because we’re on our honeymoon and we don’t wanna be apart like at all, but I had to come upstairs and get my pencil case because I had an idea for some song lyrics and I always write those down on paper before I type them. Hey, did I show you? Last week I bought this cool Japanese case that stands up by itself and like magnets together? Here, hyung, look,” Taehyung says, and Seokjin unshoulders his own bag and sits down on the floor. Taehyung smiles and leans back against Jeongguk and demonstrates the way the case flips open and stands up by itself.

Seokjin smiles at Taehyung, because the kid just looks so goddamn proud of his lavender stands-up-on-its-own-with-magnets pencil case. Taehyung has always been into gadgety things like this, so it’s really not surprising. “That’s really cool, Tae.”

Taehyung beams. Jeongguk hums a little and squeezes his arms around Taehyung’s midriff.

“Anyways, I always talk to myself in this weird mixture of plurals and singulars,” Taehyung says then, going back to fiddling with his erasable three-color pen. “I always have. Not because of Jeongguk, either. Just—like, always, since I was a little kid.”

Seokjin furrows his brow. “You think of yourself as a ‘we’?”

Taehyung nods, unscrewing the pen to replace the red ink cartridge. “Yeah, do you? Jeonggukkie and I have talked about this before, and he doesn’t. But he does talk to himself as ‘you’, which I also do sometimes. But he doesn’t do the ‘we’ thing. We—I mean Jeonggukkie and I—think I do it because I had so many imaginary friends growing up, so like—I said ‘our’ handwriting, right? Like, it’s my handwriting, but it’s also the handwriting of everyone else living in my head. So it’s not just mine. It’s ours.”

Seokjin tilts his head, considering. “I guess I do think of myself as ‘you’ sometimes. Like my head is a separate entity giving commands to my body, or something.”

Taehyung nods, eyes wide and serious. “I think it’s really interesting, thinking about how people think to themselves. Or, like, talk to themselves in their heads. Or not in their heads. I talk to myself all the time, like out loud, but Jeonggukkie is the only one who can be around when it’s happening.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks.

“Like, with anyone else, I end up just talking to them. But with Gukkie, I can talk to myself without any interruption even if he’s physically there the whole time. I don’t get forced into talking with him.” Taehyung screws the pen back together and puts it back into his pencil case, and then he unsnaps the magnets and zips the case.

Seokjin frowns. “Because Jeongguk doesn’t talk back?”

Taehyung shakes his head, lip bitten as he thinks about it. “No, it’s not like that. It’s like—like his presence is just a null presence, because it’s already a part of me. So I can be totally in my own world and have Jeongguk next to me and it’s still my world? I don’t think this is making sense,” Taehyung says.

“You get really destructive though,” Jeongguk mumbles, hiding his mouth against the back of Taehyung’s shoulder.

Taehyung looks surprised, and he turns his head to press a kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”

Jeongguk glances up at Seokjin, as if judging whether he should go on. “Um,” Jeongguk says, “I can—maybe I should tell you first, Tae. Before we bring it up to Jin-hyung.”

Seokjin sits up straighter, suddenly a little worried. “Jeongguk-ah? Taehyung-ah? Is there something you guys should be telling me?”

Taehyung furrows his brow. “You mean—I mean, he knows about my Bad Days. Drug history, Psycho Ex, et cetera. When do I get destructive? Like, when I’m panicking?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, eyes closed. “No, when you talk to yourself. You’re really mean to yourself sometimes, and super self-deprecating. I just—I always wonder whose voice it is inside your head making you say those things.”

Taehyung strokes his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair and settles more firmly in the cradle of Jeongguk’s crisscross-applesauce legs. They look like grade school children sitting on the floor of the school library waiting for read-aloud time, and Seokjin is reminded of the age difference between himself and the two boys in front of him. It’s not huge, and Jeongguk and Taehyung are adults who deserve to be treated as such, but Seokjin is the provider, the one who’s supposed to know what to do. Namjoon is too, of course, but he’s too prone to intellectualization to be much of an emotional support system sometimes, and it makes sense that Jeongguk is bringing this concern to Seokjin.

Still. Seokjin sometimes wonders what it would be like were the roles reversed. If Seokjin had someone to turn to, someone who was supposed to know what to do in tough situations, or even just someone else to prepare dinner every once in a while. Not that Seokjin doesn’t love cooking, because he does. But still. It’s kind of hard being the oldest.

“Tae?” Seokjin says. “Can you answer Jeongguk’s question? Whose voice is inside your head?”

Taehyung bites his lip. “There’s—a lot of them? I mean, it’s not like schizophrenia or anything. I’m not hallucinating, or hearing things. I know that the people I talk to in my head aren’t actually there—it’s more like I’m intentionally living inside a story that I’m in the process of making up. Also, sometimes I’ll say something to myself and it’ll literally just be my mom or my dad. Some phrase that one of them always said when I was growing up, especially because like—Daegu. Satoori. I’ve kind of lost my accent, living here for so long, because we try to hide it. All of us who aren’t from Seoul.”

“I know,” Seokjin says, heart panging a little. He knows how much satoori means to those who aren’t from the capitol, even if he doesn’t experience that particular homesick ache. “You guys don’t have to, you know. Not around here, at least.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Anyways. Yeah. Sometimes my voice in my head sounds like my family, because of mannerisms and the way we say certain syllables, or inside jokes we had about some random phrases—I know my parents weren’t the greatest, but it wasn’t all bad times. We had some laughs over the years. Good memories.”

“Taehyung can’t get mad at people,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“Honey, you okay?” Taehyung says, interrupting the conversation to turn himself further towards Jeongguk and check in. “You’re talking really quietly. And doing the thing where you get all small and hide behind me.”

Jeongguk nods. “I’m okay. I just don’t want to overstep, hyung. Or, like, share stuff that you don’t want me to.”

Taehyung smiles, and Seokjin can see how much it lights up his face. The apples of his cheeks go all round, and he looks peaceful, like nothing could upset the calm of the intimacy between Taehyung and Jeongguk, the two youngest, the married couple.

Seokjin swallows the lump in his throat that springs up at the sight. He’s so proud of them. So astounded, and happy, and proud.

“Sometimes it’s your voice in my head, Jeonggukkie,” Taehyung says, going back to the conversation. “But you both know that. And it’s the rest of you, too. Especially when you’re not here. I talk to you all, you know? When you’re not around. Like, when I’m alone in the backroom at work, I always talk to you guys like you’re there with me. I picture you guys as hard as I can, imagining we all work at the bookstore together. It makes it fun.”

Seokjin shakes his head, kind of in awe. “Taehyung, you’re meant to be a writer, you know. Imagination like that.”

Taehyung shrugs, and grins, and looks adorable and sheepish. “Nah, it’s not—I’ve just always done it. It used to be characters. All my favorite characters; I’d talk to them all the time. I still catch up with them sometimes, just to see how they’re doing. To let them know that I’m okay.”

“Let them know you’re…?” Seokjin asks.

Taehyung looks at Jeongguk. “Jeongguk knows, doesn’t he?”

Jeongguk nods. “He was going to kill himself in high school, but he didn’t because right before he was gonna try, he had—sort of a vision. Like, not really, but just, like, a sudden thought of his favorite character at the time appearing before him and saying that you have to fight, because you have one life and you have to keep going, because it’s all you have, and this isn’t the solution, and it’s going to get better.”

“And I believed him,” Taehyung murmurs, looking fond and soft as he strokes Jeongguk’s wrist. He looks over at Jeongguk. “Thank god I believed him. Jeongguk, thanks for telling that.”

Jeongguk kisses Taehyung’s cheek.

Seokjin is paralyzed where he sits. “I didn’t know,” he starts, and then swallows, and then starts up again. “I didn’t know you came that close.”

Taehyung nods. “Yeah. I’m glad I didn’t do it. I’m still glad. I mean—not always, because you’ve heard me say stuff when I’m panicking. But I didn’t do it, and it was all thanks to Aragorn.”

Seokjin blinks. “Wait, Aragorn? Like, Lord of the Rings Aragorn?”

Taehyung nods. “Yep. I loved him. I watched The Two Towers every day for like three weeks in high school when I was really depressed—I mean, the depressive episode lasted longer than three weeks, but there were three weeks in there where the only way I could cope was to hide in my room humming along to the Riders of Rohan song.”

“Also it has our favorite line in it,” Jeongguk says, almost giggling.

Taehyung tips his head back onto Jeongguk’s shoulder and laughs, loud. “Some random stuff in Elvish, some random stuff in Elvish, natha daged dhaer!”

“‘Then I shall die as one of them!’” Jeongguk finishes the quote, and then they burst into laughter. Seokjin shakes his head, amused.

“I only vaguely paid attention during those movies, TBH,” Seokjin says.

Taehyung jolts up in Jeongguk’s lap, kind of bouncing. “You said ‘TBH’! You said ‘TBH’ out loud! Hyung, I love you! I love you, I love you!”

Seokjin’s chest fills up with something pink and bubbly and sweet, like champagne-strawberry cotton candy, if that’s a thing. Which. It’s not. But also it is, and it’s what’s filling up Seokjin’s lungs right now. It’s a strange emotion, like romantic love without the impetus towards something sexual, maybe because Taehyung and Jeongguk are way too wrapped up in each other at the moment to let anyone else in for a while, and everyone is kind of automatically aware of and respecting that.

Seokjin wonders if this is how Hoseok feels all the time, and resolves himself to ask later.

“I love you guys, too,” Seokjin says, leaning forward and kissing Taehyung’s forehead and then Jeongguk’s. “But we haven’t actually had the discussion about Taehyung’s self-talk yet, and my butt is getting sore sitting on this floor. Yours must be, too, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, and Taehyung pinches Jeongguk’s cheeks.

“Nah, his ass is super muscular,” Taehyung says. “It’s honestly, like, its own continent. We can’t even share jeans anymore because his ridiculous thighs and butt are too thick and my spindly legs don’t look good in baggy jeans. So I get them all skin-tight and then Jeonggukkie can’t wear them.” Taehyung pouts and Jeongguk laughs and leans in to kiss him, and Seokjin stands up off the floor, wincing when his knees pop. He stretches and yawns.

“Okay, well come into the kitchen when you’re done doing that,” Seokjin says.

Taehyung breaks away from the impromptu make out session on the floor of the foyer to pout at Seokjin. “But hyung! The song lyrics! I’m gonna forget them!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, smiling. “Fine. Write them down really quick, and then we’ll talk in the kitchen. About positive self-talk, and not listening to the mean voices.”

Taehyung nods. “Roger that! Gukkie, come on. We gotta have counseling with Jin-hyung before we go have counseling with our counselor on Friday. You think you can help me organize my thoughts to bring to Dr. Kwon? Ooh! Should I write them down with my erasable pen?” Taehyung chirps.

Seokjin laughs, and holds out a hand to tug Taehyung and Jeongguk to their feet, and then he ruffles their hair and follows them into the kitchen. “Sure, I’ll help you. Now go,” Seokjin says, sending Taehyung and Jeongguk into the basement.

They come back a few minutes later, Taehyung with a new hickey on the left side of his neck and Jeongguk looking fucking adorably shy.

Seokjin smirks. “That one’s gonna be hard to hide,” he says, nodding at Taehyung pointedly. Taehyung’s giggle is bright and sparkling in the just-turned-evening sunlight, and Seokjin gestures to the breakfast bar on the outer edge of the counter for them to sit at while he gets lunches ready for the next day.

“So?” Seokjin says, turning to look at Taehyung and Jeongguk. They’ve pushed their chairs together as always, and Jeongguk has a protective arm wrapped around the back of Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s legs are across Jeongguk’s lap, and Seokjin smiles at the sight of it. “Who’s going to start? We’re talking about positive self-talk, right?”

Taehyung bites at his lower lip, tapping his pen against his chin. He used to chew the ends of his pens, Seokjin remembers, but he’s lost that habit somewhere along the way, and Seokjin is struck by the thought that every day, bits of you get lost without you even realizing it. Sure, you can be intentional about dropping bad habits or unlearning negative thought patterns, but what about the things you discard unintentionally, bad or good or somewhere in between? What mannerisms has Seokjin picked up since they all moved into this house? What mannerisms has he given away?

“Well,” Taehyung says, tipping his head and looking all energetic and fairy-like against the solid, grounding presence of Jeongguk. “I mean, I guess I would say that a lot of times the negative voice comes from my mom, even though I don’t know that she really meant to do that to me when she talked to me when I was a kid.”

Jeongguk emits a skeptical little grumble like that statement is a well-established point of contention between the two of them. Seokjin figures the best strategy is to do what Namjoon would do: develop a line of inquiry. “Why do you think that, Taehyung?”

Taehyung flips his journal open. It’s big and unlined, more like a sketchbook than a notebook, because Taehyung has a very principled hatred of paper that’s trying to tell him how to live his life, as he has claimed in the past. “Well,” Taehyung says, “When I think about the negative things I say to myself most of the time, usually it’s something like ‘oh but you’re not good at math’ or ‘you have no coordination’, which like—objectively, I actually know that both of those things are untrue. I wasn’t ever bad at math; I just didn’t really focus on it much because I didn’t care about it. Same with sports and stuff. Also I can’t do competition because I’m a really terrible sport, whether I win or lose.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk murmurs, and Seokjin nods, because he knows why Jeongguk is saying it.

“Yeah, Taehyung, that’s—why do you say that you’re a bad sport?”

Taehyung blinks a couple times, and then he shakes his head and widens his eyes like he’s realizing something. “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. I’m saying that because my mom always used to say it.”

“Taehyung, you never complain when you lose at Mario Kart, or at board games, and you always make excuses when you win. You downplay your success,” Seokjin says, honestly kind of floored that Taehyung thinks himself a bad sport.

Taehyung nods, contemplative in Jeongguk’s arms. “Hmm. See, this is why I need to reevaluate all this. My idea of myself doesn’t really line up with what others believe, I guess.”

“You should practice being nicer to yourself,” Jeongguk says, looking up at Seokjin all of a sudden. “Jin-hyung, can we both practice? Do you think there’s something like the gratitude lists but for positive self-talk?”

Seokjin is already googling it on his phone. “Yeah, there are, like, a bunch of worksheets.”

Taehyung perks up because Taehyung loves filling out worksheets. “Yes! I wanna do it!”

Jeongguk fiddles with one of Taehyung’s pens like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll have to get paper—”

“Here, just open my notebook and we can each use one side of it,” Taehyung says, and his eyes are so bright and his low voice is so excited, and Seokjin shakes his head and clicks on a link to a self-talk worksheet.

“Okay,” Seokjin says once Taehyung and Jeongguk are posed to write, “It’s just a thing where you complete the sentences. There’s a bunch, but we don’t have to do all of them. It would take forever, and I know you guys are supposed to be on your honeymoon.”

Taehyung grins over at Jeongguk, the boxiest, happiest smile. “Yeah, but it’s okay. We gotta take care of ourselves mentally, like, all the time. I want us to be super happy on this honeymoon.”

“This makes me happy,” Jeongguk says. “You make me happy.” His eyes never leave Taehyung’s.

Taehyung giggles. “You make me so happy! And you’re my husband.”

“You’re my husband,” Jeongguk growls back, snapping his teeth at Taehyung’s chin. Taehyung laughs and tips his head back, and Jeongguk kisses his neck just once, sharp but sweet.

“Earth to Taehyung and Jeongguk?” Seokjin says, mostly kidding.

Taehyung and Jeongguk look over, resituating themselves so they can write. “Sorry,” they chorus.

Seokjin shakes his head, fond. Seeing them over the moon like this is making something in Seokjin twist, happy but somehow melancholy too. “Okay, so like I said. Complete the sentence. ‘Something I like about myself is…’”

Taehyung stares at his paper, and Seokjin can practically see the gears turning. Jeongguk looks thoughtful, too, but he’s the first to start writing. Taehyung takes his time.

“Are we supposed to tell you what we write?” Taehyung asks when he finishes, looking up at Seokjin.

Seokjin shrugs. “You can, I guess. You also don’t have to.”

Taehyung nods. “At the end, then.”

“Sure,” Seokjin agrees. “Okay, next. ‘I was really happy when…’ Complete that sentence.”

“Don’t say the wedding,” Jeongguk says, nudging Taehyung with a playful grin. He’s looking a little bit more mentally present than he has been since the ceremony; it’s like Jeongguk has been floating on this Taehyung cloud and he’s only just now coming down, now that he’s in the role of Taehyung’s guardian against the negativity of Taehyung’s brain.

“Aw, Gukkie,” Taehyung whines, “But I was really happy at the wedding!”

Jeongguk scoffs. “Yeah, me too, and we all already know it. You should write something else.” He says it teasingly, bumps his shoulder into Taehyung’s.

“Like that episode of Futurama?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s ‘You should say something else’,” Jeongguk says, reaching up to brush Taehyung’s bangs off his forehead.

Taehyung giggles. “Yeah! So? You can still reference it even if you changed one word,” he says, leaning in with a flirtatious look.

Seokjin sighs. This is going to take forever. Might as well keep making lunch for tomorrow while the lovebirds are in the midst of their mating rituals.

They go through the rest of the list while Seokjin finishes up preparations for tomorrow, and at the end, Taehyung and Jeongguk read them out loud to practice hearing the positivity in the words.

“Something I like about myself is how I’m really smart and funny,” Taehyung says. “I was really happy when I made Jeongguk a birthday card for his eighteenth birthday. I don’t know why that memory stuck out so much, but I just remember being really giddy and excited for you to read it, and I worked so hard on it and then you decided to keep it forever, and it’s still on our bookshelf in the basement, and I just love that, Gukkie. I love that I was able to make you happy.”

Jeongguk ducks his head to hide his shy smile, but he bites his lip and speaks: “I think that’s a good answer to that, because you’re talking about being happy about something you did. I just—I wrote down that I was happy when you used to always climb into my bed to sleep even when we had separate ones when Jimin still lived in the basement. But I think it was really wise of you to pick something where the happiness came from you, mostly, like—instead of from me.”

Taehyung looks like he’s melting into Jeongguk’s embrace. “Oh, Gukkie, trust me—I thought of so many moments when you made me happy and I wanted to write them all. But you’re right—I thought, well, the whole point of this is actually to talk about myself, not about Jeongguk. But it’s hard to…”

“Separate us out,” Jeongguk finishes. “Yeah. Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to be working on.”

Taehyung looks up at Seokjin. “What do you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods. “Taehyung-ah, I think it was really wise of you to make yourself the focus. But Jeongguk, it’s not wrong for Taehyung to make you happy. Maybe you could just come up with another example right now, about something you did that made you happy?”

Jeongguk nods and starts writing again. Taehyung chews his lip. “Hey, hyung, do you think we should do some self-reflection on the actual act of writing these? Like, I can write down that I did a good job of keeping it focused on myself?”

Seokjin nods, smiling. “Yeah, I think that’s a really great idea. And then you can discuss those things with Dr. Kwon.”

Taehyung nods. “I had trouble with a couple. Like, my head automatically tried to twist them negative.”

Jeongguk looks up. “Which ones?”

Taehyung looks down at his paper. “‘People say I’m a good…’—um. I kind of almost said. That people say I’m a good lay. Or…like I could hear the voices saying I’m a good slut, or a good hole to fuck. Like—I felt reduced to an object all of a sudden when I heard that.”

Seokjin’s breath punches out of him. Jeongguk looks like he’s equally shocked and horrified.

“Tae,” Jeongguk says, suddenly bundling Taehyung close into his arms. “Fuck, what did you write? What did you actually put on the paper?”

Taehyung laughs, and he sounds—okay. He sounds okay. “I wrote, ‘people say I’m a good writer and singer and comforter, but not a blanket, like I’m good at comforting people. Although also I am a good comforter like a blanket’.”

Seokjin huffs, and Jeongguk looks at the paper to check that Taehyung isn’t making it up.

“That is exactly what he wrote, yeah,” Jeongguk says, fond and amused.

Taehyung giggles. “Of course it is. I don’t lie about things.”

Jeongguk flicks Taehyung’s forehead. “You lie all the time. About nothing. You make shit up and say that it actually happened to you and make me sort through what actually happened and what didn’t really.”

Taehyung gasps, faking shock. “How dare you. I would never.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Yeah, Taehyung, you do that a little bit.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I imagine saying things at work or whatever, but, like, obviously I don’t actually say them. It’s obvious when what I tell you guys is just whatever was in my head, not the actual chain of events.”

Jeongguk nods. “That’s true. I can always tell.”

Taehyung raises a single arched brow. “Oh really? Now I’m gonna do it even more, try to trick you,” he says, grinning wildly.

Jeongguk kisses his cheek. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want. You’re really beautiful, you know. Not just how you look. Just all of you.”

Taehyung twitters at the praise. “Thanks, Jeonggukkie! Oh, also, for the next one—people say I have pretty handwriting.”

Seokjin’s head jerks up, because he was not expecting that when he’d read that prompt. “That’s what you wrote?”

Jeongguk pouts, his lower lip jutting. “Fuck, I fucked that one up.”

“Language,” Seokjin says, albeit half-heartedly.

Jeongguk shoots him a mischievous look. “Yeah, I said that people say I have pretty teeth.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “But you do have pretty teeth!”

“Yeah, but I like how you picked something that’s not actually physical,” Jeongguk says.

Taehyung nods. “Me too. A year ago, I definitely would have said something physical and then I would’ve felt shitty because—again, the whole being reduced to an object thing.”

Seokjin nods, overwhelmed with pride as he looks at Taehyung and realizes just how much the fragile firecracker of a boy has grown up since they’d first met. Taehyung is right: in the past, he would have fixated on his looks as the only worthwhile part of himself, because when they’d met, Taehyung was locked into the mindset that all he had to offer was the visual presence of his body and nothing more.

But Seokjin has watched Taehyung heal. Has watched Jeongguk lift Taehyung up off the floor and patch him up physically and mentally; Seokjin has been the one doing the lifting and patching. Seokjin has seen everyone in the house treat Taehyung with the kind of care Taehyung deserves, has watched them teach him love and self-acceptance through the care in their actions, the encouragement in their words. Everyone in the family bolsters Taehyung up as much as they can, and it’s simple but it’s effective, the way they laugh at his jokes and tease him for his flirtatiously intentional helplessness, how they praise his singing and his dancing and his makeup artistry and his style and his songwriting.

And suddenly, Seokjin has proof that Taehyung is better for it.

Jeongguk nuzzles into Taehyung’s neck. “Hey, everyone is gonna be home soon. You wanna go downstairs and finish discussing all this just with each other? I have stuff that I wanna tell you,” Jeongguk says. He looks up at Seokjin. “You don’t mind, do you, hyung?”

Seokjin shakes his head, waving off Jeongguk’s concern. “Sorry, Taehyung—I don’t know that I actually helped you figure out what you want to discuss with Dr. Kwon in your next session.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No, it’s fine! Really! This was really great.”

“You guys want a snack to take down to the basement? Dinner won’t be ready for another couple hours,” Seokjin says.

Taehyung leaps out of his chair, practically tripping over Jeongguk’s legs as he springs up. “Yes! We do!” There’s a pause, and then Taehyung blinks. “Please. Sorry, I forgot. Yes, please, we would really like a snack.”

Seokjin smiles and sends Taehyung and Jeongguk into the basement with a homemade triangle kimbap each, feeling happy but in a strange, melancholy way. He thinks about it, tries to suss out the root of his own feelings, and realizes that maybe it’s this: Seokjin is the one doing the cherishing, and it’s satisfying in the way that giving always is, but it also hurts to think that maybe no one is cherishing Seokjin. They’re appreciative of his help, he knows, and it’s an honor to be the person they all go to for advice, but then who does Seokjin have to do that for him? Who can he take his problems to, his insecurities, his uncertainties?

Seokjin shakes his head and sets to work preparing dinner. The others will be home soon, and they’ll need the sustenance only Seokjin can provide.

During dinner, Seokjin is quiet enough for Namjoon to notice.

“Hey, you wanna get dessert after this? We can go to the parfait place or something,” Namjoon whispers, leaning in close to Seokjin’s ear as Seokjin pushes his food around and wishes he didn’t feel so irritated over nothing. At least last night, he’d been able to blame his weird feelings on alcohol. Now he just feels petty.

“We have ice cream here,” Seokjin says. “And leftover cake.”

“I know,” Namjoon murmurs. “I want to take you out on a date.”

“This is very sudden.”

“A spontaneous date,” Namjoon insists. “Come on, come with me.”

“You just want a parfait.”

“I just want you to have a parfait.”

“Why?” Seokjin asks, eyes narrowed.

Namjoon is all sweet dimples and white teeth and soft eyes. “Because parfaits make you smile.”

Seokjin twists his lips, aiming for the smile Namjoon is trying to elicit, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “There. See? I’m smiling,” Seokjin says.

Namjoon shakes his head. “A real smile, Seokjinnie,” he says, eyes soft and contemplative.

Seokjin rolls his eyes and tilts his head up at the ceiling. It’s hard to feel anything but flustered when Kim Namjoon is looking at you like that. Seokjin looks back and Namjoon winks, fucking winks, and what is it that’s got Namjoon acting like he thinks he’s smooth or something? Seokjin huffs and looks away, and he catches Namjoon blowing him a kiss out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll go with you,” Seokjin says, scooping some salad into his mouth. “But you’re buying,” he says through a mouthful of lettuce, intentionally rude. Childish.

Namjoon guffaws. “I said I was taking you out, didn’t I? Of course I’m buying.”

Namjoon and Seokjin finish the meal in silence, the rest of the members of the household laughing and joking around, oblivious to Seokjin’s quiet contemplation. Jimin manages to finish everything on his plate, which has Taehyung and Jeongguk cheering and kissing Jimin’s cheeks and then each other while Yoongi and Hoseok plaster more kisses all over Jimin’s entire head, a spectacle that makes Seokjin’s heart swell with relief and pride. Seokjin observes the scene and works his way back towards feeling grateful; he’s always been a firm believer in appreciating what you have, and Seokjin believes—no, Seokjin knows—that he has an awful lot. Everyone at the table is so strong, Seokjin thinks, and yet they need his help. They all rely on him in some way, and they love him, and what more could he want?

Still. There’s this disquiet that lingers even as Jimin volun-tells Hoseok and Yoongi to do the dishes (an order made with Jimin’s cutest smile and his promised “supervision”, whatever that means), even as Namjoon drags Seokjin’s chair closer to his own and nuzzles Seokjin’s neck. Taehyung and Jeongguk disappear down the stairs as soon as they’ve put their plates in the kitchen, polite enough to offer a quick thanks even though they’re caught up talking about the relative merits of useless superpowers (high-speed yogurt-eating is one of them, although it is not in fact the most baffling of the powers they list).

The weird feeling keeps nagging as Seokjin slips into his shoes. Keeps nagging enough that he doesn’t even think to change out of his work clothes for the date until he and Namjoon are already halfway down the block, and then he stops and shivers in the cool no-longer-summer air and says, “Oh, Joonie, I’m sorry, I didn’t—this is a date, and I didn’t get dressed up or anything.”

Namjoon throws his head back and laughs at the sky. “Kim Seokjin, you could be wearing a garbage bag right now and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in sight.”

But Namjoon is wrong. Namjoon is wrong because Namjoon is the most beautiful thing in sight, with his long black eyelashes framing his sharp eyes, with his sloping nose, with his Cheshire cat grin. With his black zip-up hoodie, with his sleek track pants that make his legs look gazelle-elegant and strong, with his maroon beanie that sets off the washed-out brown of Namjoon’s hair. They’re standing under a streetlamp on a residential street in Seoul, and Namjoon is beautiful.

Seokjin shakes his head and turns away to walk down the sidewalk, hoping his head will get the message Namjoon really loves you and stop making Seokjin feel wilted, strangely hurt.

“What’s wrong, Seokjin,” Namjoon says after a minute. He’s been keeping pace a half a step behind, and the silence between them has been comfortable enough. But with these words, the direct acknowledgment that Namjoon knows something is off, Seokjin feels a pulse of solidarity between them like a psychic bond. It’s intimidating, somehow, the way Namjoon can say so little and make Seokjin feel so much.

Seokjin crosses his arms and shies away from physical contact, because he wants to be strong. He should be happy—his youngest two just got married, and they’re so sincerely happy, and everyone is going to therapy and doing yoga and practicing mindfulness and working on healthy coping, and here Seokjin is fucking everything up because—what, he wants more attention? What kind of petty, selfish desire is that?

“Jinnie,” Namjoon says, the most intimate of the nicknames called between them. He grabs Seokjin’s arm, darts forward a step to get in front of Seokjin instead of manhandling him around, a gesture that makes Seokjin blush. “Jinnie, hey. Talk to me. I’m here, love.”

Seokjin looks at Namjoon and blinks and blinks—and starts to cry. Because Seokjin realizes right then what it is he’s missing.

“Namjoon, I want my parents.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide. He looks so the opposite of the smooth, and yet so handsome and reassuring. Sharp eyes turned earnest, beseeching; mouth tilted to a concerned frown. “Fuck,” Namjoon curses, harsh, like Yoongi would. “Come here,” Namjoon says, cradling Seokjin into his arms, soft, like Jiminie or Tae.

But Namjoon is different from everyone else in the house, because Namjoon is the de facto leader, and he’s the tallest, and Seokjin might be the caretaker but Namjoon is one, too. Namjoon is taking care of Seokjin because Namjoon always takes care of Seokjin, and Seokjin cries into Namjoon’s shoulder with the kind of abandon that should be saved for their bedroom (or their shower, to hide the sound of it) and not spilled all over the street on the way to the parfait shop. Seokjin’s emotions don’t care one bit, though. He keeps crying and crying, and the tears don’t stop. Namjoon stands there, patient, and holds him.

“Ugh,” Seokjin says when he finally pulls away, miserable but slightly calmer. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—I know I’m supposed to take care of you all, but sometimes I just…I need someone to take care of me. Someone older, and wiser, like—I’m tired of being the parent all the time, and Namjoonie, you’re great, but I’m just—regardless of the cocaine, or the car crash, or whose fault it was—this isn’t even about that, Joonie. It’s just the fact that I miss having parents, and I miss being a kid and we don’t get to go back, ever.”

Namjoon brushes away Seokjin’s tears with his thumbs, and Seokjin sighs. “I don’t know who I’d turn to if shit ever got, like, really, really bad with you guys,” Seokjin admits, staring at the ground. “I already don’t know what I’m supposed to do sometimes, with the stuff going on, and I think—I mean, I try to make rational decisions and be strong, but I’m so worried that I’m not doing a good job. And sometimes, I just think, god, I wish I could ask my mom. I wish I could ask my dad. I wonder what they would do if they saw Tae breaking down, or Jimin not eating, or Yoongi cutting himself and trying to hide it from everyone but you. Maybe they would know something I don’t. Maybe they would give me some really wise advice. But I’ll never hear it, because my parents are gone.”

Namjoon steps in closer to Seokjin. Settles his hands more firmly against Seokjin’s shoulder blades. “Jinnie, what did your parents do when you started using drugs?”

Seokjin laughs, bitter and kind of angry all of a sudden. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

Namjoon tilts his forehead against Seokjin’s. “Jinnie, I love you. I’m not asking without a good reason.”

Seokjin swallows down his hurt, tries not to get defensive. “They—I guess they didn’t really know what I was doing for sure until the night they picked me up. When I called and just flat-out said it.”

“And what did they do?”

Seokjin sighs. “They came to pick me up. And they died because of it. I told you it wasn’t about that; I don’t see why we’re rehashing this.”

Namjoon shakes his head, forehead brushing Seokjin’s. “I’m not rehashing anything. I’m just reminding you that your parents immediately did what they thought was right in order to protect and help you. And I guarantee that they do not regret that choice, not even for a second. And that’s what you do for us every single day, Seokjin. You shoulder so much of the weight, so much of the responsibility, and you do it with a level of grace I could never hope to achieve. I’m not saying that your desire for guidance is unfounded, I’m just—I’m just letting you know. That you live your parents’ legacy so well, and they’re proud of you, I know it.”

Seokjin shakes, the tension in him roaring back and snapping, volatile. How dare Namjoon say that; how dare he presume to know anything? “They’re not proud, Jesus—Namjoon, I was a druggie who got my family killed. And I know you’re trying to help—I know, and I’m just trying to remember that but it feels—it feels like I’m all alone. You’re not listening, or you are but you don’t get it. I’m telling you—maybe I’m a fucking terrible person, but I’m telling you that I don’t want to shoulder all that weight.” Seokjin’s breathing is harsh, and he doesn’t look at Namjoon, too ashamed of what he’s just let come to light. “I’m so tired, Namjoonie. I’m so tired and sometimes I can’t do this but—but what kind of a person says they don’t want to do this? That they don’t want to save someone who needs saving because it’s too much work, or something? Fuck. Fuck.”

And then Seokjin is sobbing, and Namjoon tries to pull him in but he pulls forcibly away. The words come spilling out like a tidal wave, like a flood, like a dam breaking. “I wish I were younger; sometimes I wish I were younger than Jeongguk, even, and that you guys were all my hyungs and I could just let you take the lead and be strong for me, and instead I’m the oldest and I support us all and I do all the chores and cooking and I’m like—I feel like I’m trying to be Super Hyung, and I hate it. I don’t want to be the caretaker all the time. I want to be a kid, too, and feel nurtured and safe and protected. I feel like my back is fucking breaking sometimes, like it’s breaking again because that is something that has fucking happened to me in the crash. I feel like I’m getting crushed and what can I do except soldier on and keep everyone from fucking dying this time.”

Namjoon’s hug is fierce, then, and Seokjin doesn’t try to pull away. They stand locked in the embrace as Seokjin shakes and moans and shudders through the most violent tears he can remember crying since the accident. Seconds turn to minutes and then maybe to eternity, or maybe it’s just a few minutes. Eventually Namjoon pulls back, his eyes trailing over the tear tracks on Seokjin’s cheeks, the line of Seokjin’s mouth, the furrow of Seokjin’s eyebrows. Seokjin can see Namjoon looking, can feel comforting hands on his shoulders, but Seokjin keeps his own hands to himself. He’s hugging his own hips, sort of, like he’s trying to hold himself together physically, and he blinks and blinks against—nothing. There are no more tears to cry. Seokjin is worn out.

Namjoon exhales and doesn’t say anything, and it’s one of the few times Seokjin has ever seen Namjoon speechless. There’s a moment of silence, and then another, and finally Seokjin steps back and out of Namjoon’s hold, shaking his head and laughing, empty.

“Sorry. Let’s go get parfaits.”

“We don’t have to get the parfaits, Jinnie,” Namjoon says, putting his hands back on Seokjin’s shoulders even as Seokjin tries half-heartedly to pull away.

“I thought you wanted to see me smile,” Seokjin tries, forcing his lips upward at the corners, only they don’t do more than twitch.

Namjoon closes his eyes. “Jinnie, I don’t know what to do. I—there’s nothing I can do. I can be the strongest, most solid person who is always on your side, and I am always on your side, and I love you and I respect the ever-loving shit out of you. But…I know that I can’t be your mom and dad. We—all of us, I mean—can’t be your family. I mean, we can be your family, but we can’t be the one that you lost.”

“Namjoon, you don’t have to—”

“Stop it,” Namjoon says, stepping in close and holding Seokjin’s chin in one big, protective hand. “This isn’t the time for you to comfort me. I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you, okay? That’s the whole point of what you’ve just asked me, right? I can take better care of you, and god I will, Seokjin. I swear to you, Kim Seokjin, I will do everything in my power to take care of you the best I possibly can. I know that’s not enough—I know. I know. I know it’s not okay, like—just all of it. It’s not okay, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Seokjin’s arms slowly fall to hang limp at his sides, and Namjoon trails his hands down Seokjin’s biceps, his forearms, his wrists. Namjoon sucks in a breath and keeps going: “You can always be weak around me, and I will hold you up. I will be everything I fucking can for you, I promise. Forever.”

“I know,” Seokjin says, cutting in because he has to. Namjoon has to know. “I know that, and you—you’re so good, Namjoon. I’m not saying you’re not, and I’m not saying this to comfort you, so don’t give me that look.”

Namjoon closes his mouth.

“I just. I know. I know you love me and you’re here and—and that you know that maybe that sometimes won’t be enough, or it won’t feel like it. I just. I know. I just need to work on believing it.”

Namjoon sighs and Seokjin takes his hands. “Jinnie,” Namjoon says, “I know my own limitations, and I don’t expect you to be happy with me every single minute of every day, and I don’t expect to satisfy every single need you have, which is why I won’t be hurt when you’re missing your parents or your siblings or your dogs or—or anyone. I’ll do what I can, like I’m doing right now, but please don’t worry about hurting me by feeling this way, or about hurting any of us. We all know that you’ve lost something that cannot come back, and you can’t replace it, even if you can build something new.”

Namjoon swallows and meets Seokjin’s eyes, and Seokjin can sense something possessive in Namjoon, something fierce and worried and rearing to provide. It’s maybe a little much, and normally Seokjin would tease Namjoon for such an act of machismo, only it doesn’t feel quite like that’s what Namjoon is aiming for. Namjoon’s intention is overwhelmingly pure.

Seokjin swallows. “We’ve built something really great, Joon,” he says. “Really. Something really, really great.”

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, we have. And it’s not just you, you know, or you and me. It’s all of us. And sure, the younger ones act like kids, and maybe they will for a couple more years, but they’re getting there, Jinnie. We’re all in this, and we’re all growing up together, and we all know you’re still one of us. We don’t expect you to do half the shit you do for us, I hope you know. Well, okay, Bunny and Fox might, but that’s mostly because they were aggressively forced to be adults when Guk got kicked out and Tae took him in so now they feel like they can just be kids again which is—okay, I’m getting off-topic and I’m rambling but you get the picture.”

Seokjin giggles at the purse of Namjoon’s tight lips, the squiggle of his nonplussed eyebrows. “Joonie,” he says, “You are totally rambling, and you are really adorable, and I wanna kiss you in the middle of the street because I wanna kiss you all the time, but instead I’m gonna wait and make you buy me a berry parfait, and I will smile for you, and then when we get home we can make out in the living room.”

Namjoon laughs. He laces his fingers into Seokjin’s and squeezes. “You sure? You really want a parfait after all that?”

Seokjin nods. “I especially want a parfait after all that. With extra raspberries, because Jeongguk isn’t eating any of it and I don’t have to be considerate.”

Namjoon laughs and tugs Seokjin along, and it’s still kind of heavy in Seokjin’s chest, the weight of missing his parents. But there’s catharsis, too, in the weight of all those tears alleviated by having cried them all out onto the pavement and the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt. There’s catharsis in the way Namjoon’s hand feels like a lifeline that Seokjin can cling to, wants to cling to, something that can save him if he only lets it. And he will.

“You ever think about Jeongguk’s sensory things?” Namjoon asks after a minute, surprising Seokjin out of his thoughts. He looks at Seokjin curiously. “Like why he doesn’t like things like raspberries?”

Seokjin shrugs. “He doesn’t like the seeds. Like, how they crunch and get stuck in his teeth, especially considering how soft the actual fleshy part is. He told me this very, very seriously.”

Namjoon nods and tugs his hand out of Seokjin’s to fix his beanie, and then he immediately snatches Seokjin’s hand back when he’s done. “Yeah, so like—do you ever think about why? I mean, no one else I know has that specific of a complaint about something. And he’s always fidgeting, and he doesn’t make eye contact…”

Namjoon trails off a little bit too leadingly, and Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You think you have a diagnosis.”

Namjoon chews his lip and adjusts his grip on Seokjin’s fingers. It’s not quite cold enough to warrant gloves, and Seokjin suspects there will be at least a few more hot days stretching into September, but the night feels like it’s heralding the coming winter.

“Maybe I do,” Namjoon says after a minute. “I don’t—god, I don’t really want to speculate, but for a while I thought ADHD, or even OCD. But those don’t quite fit. Jeongguk doesn’t really have trouble with focus, although he does better when he’s got his headphones in and he can fiddle around with something and he’s like—in Jeongguk world. But there’s no hyperfocus that I know of, and his room and backpack and closet and stuff are all pretty organized.”

Seokjin nods. “Yeah, so?”

Namjoon chuckles. “He doesn’t do things in regimented patterns, like a lot of people with OCD. And he doesn’t have compulsions with a spurious connection to the obsession, like—he doesn’t flick the light switch three times to alleviate anxiety about getting robbed, something where there’s no logical cause and effect. Jeongguk wants his food on his plate to be separate, but it’s to keep disparate flavors from mixing. He cuts the tags out of things, but it’s literally just because they annoy him. It’s like he can’t tune certain senses out, really.”

Seokjin nods. “Okay, so. You’re really doing a bad job of getting to the point here.”

“I think he has autism.”

Seokjin stops walking. “I do not know enough about autism to agree or disagree, but I also believe that you went and researched it as soon as you came to that conclusion, or else you started googling the evidence and put it together that way. Either way, I guess, just—okay? I believe you?” Seokjin keeps walking.

Namjoon falls back into step beside him. They’re still holding hands. “Yeah. I don’t know, obviously, and I haven’t asked or anything. I mean, I’ve been doing a lot of reading and it seems pretty plausible. Like, there’s this stereotype that people with autism can’t make friends and don’t care about stuff like relationships and can’t see past the literal, but it’s not always like that. It’s not really a linear spectrum, like what a lot of people think. Hold on, there was this chart on this website—”

And then Namjoon is pulling up his phone and going into this lecture about the autism spectrum and translating some English webpage into Korean as Seokjin scrolls through the post, and Seokjin is pretty convinced. “Okay, yeah,” Seokjin says, “This is seeming very plausible.”

Namjoon nods. “Anyways, I don’t really want to bring it up to him, because I think we should let him come to us—or not, if he really doesn’t want to. But I just wanted to share it with you, because like I said. I’m on your side, and you’re just—my partner in every conceivable way, and if ever we were somehow assigned a group project now despite the fact that we’re no longer in high school, then I would want to be partnered with you, even though I have historically hated group projects. I always did the whole thing because no one else cared, which defeated the whole purpose of working collaboratively.”

Seokjin laughs and laughs and laughs. “Ah, I remember those days. Gotta be honest—I was definitely the kid who didn’t care and let whoever did care do the work.”

Namjoon laughs. “I love you anyways. Actually, that would be great, because if I were doing a group project now, I would want you there so I could bounce ideas off of you, and then I would do the project and get us an awesome grade.”

“So you want me around to not contribute anything? Or am I just there to look pretty?” Seokjin says, although he really is teasing. They’re almost at the parfait shop, and Seokjin tugs his hand out of Namjoon’s grip. He isn’t really in the mood to yell at homophobic douchebags tonight.

Namjoon shakes his head and holds the door to the dessert parlor. “No, that’s not it at all. Are you kidding? You’d be the inspiration for the entire project. I love telling you about my research and hearing what you say—hell, I should credit you in my dissertation, probably, because you’re like…hmm, you’re like…”

“Your muse,” Seokjin teases, grinning as they head up to the counter. The parlor is deserted; it’s latish on a Monday night.

Namjoon stops, stock still. Nods, just once, serious. “Yeah. Exactly. That’s…that’s exactly it.”

Seokjin’s breath catches in his chest, a hiccup and then back to normal, because Namjoon is never anxiety-inducing; he just makes Seokjin warm. Namjoon is frozen a few feet away, Seokjin half-turned towards the counter and half towards Namjoon, and they’re looking at each other and the world has stopped turning. Seokjin can feel every bit of affection Namjoon has for him like a sudden rain, drenching his hair and his skin and his clothes and his soul.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin says, quiet and uncertain, soft on the butterflies he’s breathing out of his chest. He feels, right then, like a boy in love with the cutest kid in class.

Namjoon’s lips quirk into a half-smile, all gentle and fond. “Seokjin.”

“Can I help you?” The shopkeeper interrupts as she emerges from the back. She has gray hair and a face beautiful even in age, and she reminds Seokjin of his grandma—although all of Seokjin’s grandparents have been dead for years, just like the rest of his family. It is, now, only Seokjin.

Except of course, it really isn’t only Seokjin at all. Namjoon comes up beside him, grinning way too big for a grown adult in a goddamn parfait shop, and he orders their berry parfait with extra raspberries and two glasses of white wine, and then he steers Seokjin to a table. They ignore the knowing look the woman gives them, although she doesn’t seem to be anything but kind.

They sit in a booth and grin as they each flick through their phones like regular old millennials. There are three new message in the house group chat:

Hope: TAE N GUK I S2G U R NOT GD N TOP PLS STOP

JK: YO THIS IS TATA NOT JK BUTNI LOST MY PHONE SOMWHER IN THE BED AND WE LITERSLLY ARE JUDT SINGING “GOOD BOY” WHICHIS GD N TAEYANG SO SHUT UP WE R MOT WVEN FUCKIN

MinnieMouse: oh they fuckin

Seokjin snorts a laugh and doesn’t bother to reply, instead clicking the display off and setting his phone on the table. Namjoon does the same, and then they spend a minute just looking at each other, which is sappy but, like, who cares.

“Two glasses of white wine and a berry parfait,” the shop lady says, appearing at the table holding a tray overloaded with delicious things. Namjoon and Seokjin accept the food and drinks, and they clink their wine glasses together in cheers. They drink and Seokjin tries not to wince at the taste.

“Fuck, so I might still be a little hungover from last night,” Seokjin says, only realizing it now. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been so emotional today.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It’s been emotional for days now, for everyone. I feel like Tae and Guk just brought all this drama to us, even if most of it was good drama.”

Seokjin smiles and starts eating the parfait. The vanilla ice cream is smooth and soft, with that certain sweetness that only comes from using real vanilla bean. Seokjin is in love.

“Hey, I love you,” Seokjin says through a bite of parfait, not even bothering to swallow as he says it, like he’s talking about the weather. He doesn’t even look at Namjoon as he says it; he’s too busy crafting the next perfect bite with extra raspberry. Honestly, he might be saying “I love you” to the parfait for all anyone watching would know, except he’s not, and it’s clear to the people who matter.

“Yup, you too,” Namjoon says back, perfunctory as hell and Seokjin fucking knows he means it. It’s cute, the way they’re totally engrossed in this parfait while they confess their love for each other, and Seokjin keeps eating and figures the dessert tastes sweeter for it, probably: the real vanilla bean, and Namjoon’s love.

The parfait gets devoured pretty quickly. Seokjin and Namjoon sit and chat about unserious things like the newest Red Velvet single and whether the first Avengers movie was better with English subtitles or with the Korean dub track (they had all watched both versions a week or two ago because Taehyung had insisted on comparing). They stay for long enough that Namjoon decides to order chicken nuggets off the snack food menu, and Seokjin snorts and doesn’t protest, and they go back to chatting and order refills on wine.

It’s nearing 10:00 p.m. when the nuggets come, all gold and crispy and delicious-looking, only Seokjin is full and doesn’t actually want to eat them. “All yours,” he says, and Namjoon stares at the plate and blinks.

“I really overestimated my stomach capacity here. They sounded so good when I ordered them!” Namjoon pouts at the nuggets, and Seokjin snorts.

“That was, like, ten minutes ago,” he says, wishing he were hungry enough to eat more. “God, they really do look good.”

Namjoon looks up at Seokjin. “Hey, wrap them in the paper on the plate and put them in your bag, and we can eat them for breakfast.”

Seokjin contemplates the size of the paper, whether it will wrap fully around the nuggets. “Well—hmm, I…wait, you want me to fit—hold on, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven chicken nuggets into my bag without a Ziploc or Tupperware? Just, like, floating in there?” Seokjin starts giggling, and then he laughs harder as he realizes—“Wow, I was actually really considering it!”

Namjoon is breaking into laughter too, and then they’re practically snorting into the table, bent over and cracking up at the seriousness of their failed problem-solving.

“I guess they’re just, like, a sacrifice at this point,” Seokjin says. “I don’t wanna eat them. And that’s crazy, because I love eating delicious foods.”

“Yeah, I don’t want them either. We could call Yoongi-hyung and see if he wants to walk over here and have them,” Namjoon suggests.

“Honey, Yoongi love chicken nuggets, but I do not think his love for chicken nuggets at all outweighs his hatred of walking. Moving in general. Doing anything that is not Park Jimin or sleeping.”

Namjoon blushes. “He liked doing me,” he says, kind of pouty, like it really matters that this be acknowledged. Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“I imagine he liked getting done by you. With you doing all the work. No way he’s not a total pillow princess with everyone but Jimin and baby Jeongguk.”

Namjoon snorts. “That’s kind of mean, you know.”

“You like me when I’m mean.”

“God, you’re super right,” Namjoon says.

“Super right for you,” Seokjin teases, cheesy as all hell.

But Namjoon just nods, shrugging. “Yep. Super right.”

“Super right about everything.”

“Yep.”

“Super right about everything all the time.”

“Okay, you’re maybe a little bit milking this now—”

“Super right about everything all the time for the entire history of the planet and for the coming future. You can thank me in advance for my hard work.”

Namjoon snorts and finishes off his second glass of wine. “Okay, Seokjin. I know how great you are. You don’t have to convince me.”

Seokjin sits back in his chair, prissy and pleased. “Good.” There’s a pause. “You should still thank me in advance, though, because—”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, you’re great, I love you,” Namjoon says, waving dismissively even though he’s grinning and his dimples are miles deep.

“I love you, too,” Seokjin says, an air of finality about it.

“Come on, you gonna finish the wine? Or the chicken nuggets?”

Seokjin downs the wine but shakes his head at the nuggets. “Sorry, chicken nuggets. We have failed you.”

Namjoon stands up and tugs Seokjin up out of his chair. The shop is empty, the staff lady somewhere in the back, and Namjoon spins Seokjin in a slow-danced circle to the classical music playing over the speakers. Seokjin smiles and goes with it, and lets himself be turned, and then he leans into Namjoon’s space and kisses him once, a peck, just one more sweet thing to finish off the evening.

They go up to the counter all smitten and grinning, and the lady comes to the counter to take their money. As promised, Namjoon pays, and if the lady can tell how pleased with each other they are, she makes no mention it. She wishes them goodnight and they wish her one as well, and then they walk back home in comfortable silence.

The air is cold, but Seokjin is not afraid to watch the seasons change.

The week passes in a flurry of the usual. There’s work for everyone, and there are therapist appointments, and Jimin is going to start seeing a different counselor lady (recommended by Dr. Kwon) who specializes in eating disorders. Namjoon has also been referred out to another doctor who specializes in suicidal ideation. On Friday, Seokjin overhears Jeongguk and Taehyung talking about Jeongguk going to “that guy who can give a real diagnosis”, but when they notice Seokjin in the kitchen, they stop talking really quick. Seokjin doesn’t pry.

And then it’s Saturday. Seokjin spends most of the morning in the kitchen, cleaning and meal-prepping for the coming week. It’s still disorienting to look out the window and see that particular slant of light which means fall, but the house is quiet and lazy in a way that Seokjin finds soothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are at the dance studio, and Taehyung is at the bookstore. Namjoon and Yoongi are in the living room working on a track while Jimin does yoga. Jimin is singing along with the music playing from the tinny computer speakers, harmonizing with his own recorded voice, and Seokjin swallows down all the emotion that threatens him at the sound of Jimin happy.

“Yah, you’re not even focusing on the yoga anymore!” Yoongi says, and Jimin stops harmonizing to giggle.

“He’s more focused on the song than you are, hyung,” Namjoon says. It’s his pouty-cutesy tone, and Seokjin can picture the accompanying gentle-chiding look.

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbles, “My boyfriend is really distracting when he’s doing fucking Warrior Three right in front of me.”

“This is Warrior Two, hyung,” Jimin says, and goes back to harmonizing. His actual voice is louder than his voice on the computer, and Seokjin has the urge to sing the original melody line, so he does.

“Yo, Jinnie-hyung, come hang out in here with us if you wanna sing,” Yoongi calls. Seokjin turns around and walks just far enough to look through the doorway into the living room, smiling and singing the lyrics with Jimin, who is in fact doing Warrior Two.

They finish off the song and Jimin cheers a little, transitioning through the next part of the Sun Salutation until he’s in Downward Dog. “Thanks for singing, hyung,” he says, voice strained by the angle of his body towards the ground.

Seokjin regards the domestic scene with pride. He always feels kind of responsible for it when this kind of thing happens, even if he feels responsible when the bad stuff happens, too. It cuts both ways, and it’s a lot of pressure, occupying the role that he does, but it’s worth it. Especially when this happens:

“Hey, Jiminie, when you finish this set, it’s time for afternoon snack,” Namjoon says.

“Okay, hyung. I can make it myself today, I bet,” Jimin says, transitioning into the Warrior Two pose for the other side of his body. He’s smiling—really smiling—and Seokjin can’t resist the urge to march over and grab Jimin’s cheeks in his palms and kiss Jimin’s forehead, just once, harder than he means to.

“Oh!” Jimin squeaks, giggling and straining to maintain the pose. “Seokjinnie-hyung!”

“Kiss him on the lips or he’ll pout all day,” Yoongi intones. Seokjin glances over at the couch and Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t even looking up from whatever’s happening on the computer screen.

Seokjin looks down at Jimin, who keeps holding his hands out in the yoga pose. Jimin shrugs, though, and nods, and lifts his chin up with this pleading little grin, and Seokjin feels the wave of affection hit him like a tidal wave.

“Are you really going to pout if I don’t kiss you, Minnie?” Seokjin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jimin nods a couple times, eager and earnest. “Yes. I’ll be disappointed all day, especially because you and Namjoonie are the only people living in this house who I haven’t kissed yet and I just really want to kiss you both and right now feels like a good opportunity.”

“It’s like kissing-gotta-catch-‘em-all,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon smacks Yoongi upside the head, and Yoongi shoves at Namjoon’s face, and then Namjoon shoves the laptop onto the table and they’re fake fighting on the couch while Jimin giggles, still holding Warrior Two and waiting for Seokjin.

“Children,” Seokjin says at the mess of limbs on the couch. “Children.”

Namjoon and Yoongi’s laughter ends in a burst of kissing. Like, one second they’re wrestling and the next Yoongi is on top of Namjoon and they’re making out, kisses flurrying between them as Namjoon lies prone and Yoongi crouches over him, their mouths pressed together. They look desperate and young, like the world is going to end and they’re going down together.

“Wow, fuck you too,” Seokjin says at the couch, causing Yoongi to raise a middle finger at him. Seokjin snorts, amused, and turns to Jimin.

“Hyung,” Jimin says, pleased, because he knows he’s won.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, “I love you, Jiminie.”

And then Seokjin presses his mouth to Jimin’s and Jimin whimpers and finally breaks the yoga pose, stepping up to his full (but still so short and cute, ugh) height. His small hands clutch at Seokjin’s wrists, and Seokjin revels in the feel of smooth skin all soft and dewy as he cups Jimin’s cheeks.

Jimin is a dizzyingly good kisser, not that Seokjin expected anything less. He’s sweet and pliant, takes his time, licks thorough and taunting into Seokjin’s mouth. Seokjin is surprised, actually, to find Jimin in charge of the kiss, but he goes with it and wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, compliant.

The front door opens right as Yoongi starts fucking whimpering, and Jimin and Seokjin break apart to look at Hoseok, who has stopped still in the middle of the doorway.

“Hyung?” Jeongguk’s voice comes from somewhere outside. He stumbles into Hoseok as he tries to enter the house. Jeongguk’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene in the living room: Namjoon and Yoongi still making out on the couch with Yoongi making those sounds, Jimin and Seokjin with undoubtedly swollen lips and mussed hair and fucked-out expressions.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, “I am equal parts impressed and jealous. Let me in on this.”

Jeongguk pouts. “I wish Taehyung were here. I’m going to shower,” he says, and he slips off his shoes and disappears down the stairs without another word.

“Enjoy being angsty and turned on until your husband gets home!” Hoseok shouts, and then he smirks and takes off his own shoes and drops his bag on the floor. He’s sweaty from dance and he looks good in his tight-ish leggings and his baggy shirt. “Now, for the rest of you,” Hoseok says. “Which group shall I join?”

“Let’s just have a goddamn orgy, fuck,” Yoongi says, breaking away from Namjoon’s mouth, and Seokjin snorts and turns to the couch to plant a kiss onto Yoongi’s lips, no preamble, just energy.

Yoongi fucking bites him. Bites Kim Seokjin like it’s just fine, no big deal, like—

Seokjin pulls away. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!” Yoongi says, but he’s grinning, and he climbs off of Namjoon and goes to Hoseok and starts kissing him, pulling away to say, “Whatever group you join, make sure it’s the one that I’m in, yeah, Hope-ah?”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, grinning all un-flustered and sexy and hot as fuck. “We’ll see.”

Yoongi splutters some words that might not actually be words and Hoseok attacks his neck (“Shut up,” Hoseok commands between hickeys, and—holy shit, Yoongi obeys even if he’s still letting out those wicked moans). Namjoon stands up off the couch and heads for Seokjin, only Jimin is squishing his way in between them, so short compared to the house’s two tallest members.

“No, kiss me, Joon-hyung,” Jimin pouts, “I want to have kissed everyone!”

Namjoon makes eye contact with Seokjin and Seokjin nods, because of course he doesn’t mind—he’s a part of the club, too, and they’re all a part of the club, and Namjoon and Jimin should really kiss, and they do.

They do, and it’s adorable. Namjoon looks so strong and protective, the tallest in the house cradling the shortest, only Jimin doesn’t look small in Namjoon’s arms at all. He looks, instead, like Namjoon’s affection builds his self-esteem, his belief in himself, his confidence and poise. Jimin looks sleek and agile next to Namjoon’s bigger frame, and when Jimin tilts onto his tiptoes and wraps his arms around Namjoon’s neck, Namjoon bends to meet him, their lips catching softly against each other. They each make a soft, nearly wounded whimper, and it strikes Seokjin right in the stomach how much this means to them both.

The kiss isn’t long; Jimin flicks his talented kitten tongue against the seam of Namjoon’s mouth but only for a moment, and Namjoon nips his gentle white teeth against Jimin’s bottom lip but it’s only brief, and then they’re breaking apart.

“You’re so careful,” Jimin whispers, staring up at Namjoon.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut and he presses his forehead to Jimin’s. “Not because you can’t handle it if I’m rough. I know you can. Just—I wanted the first one to be sweet.”

Jimin kind of swoons. “The first one?”

Namjoon nods. “Yeah. The first. But the rest—they can be whatever you want. Rough, or biting, or happy, or calm.”

Jimin’s small hands clench in Namjoon’s hair. “Okay, hyung. Kiss me again, and don’t be cautious.”

“Never,” Namjoon swears. “I don’t need to be cautious when you’re so—you. You’re powerful beyond measure, god. You’ve got me so—Jiminie, I’m so glad you want this.”

Jimin hums and kisses Namjoon again, harder this time, and Namjoon goes with it but stays calm, deliberate, never getting too aggressive. Seokjin loves watching it. Loves watching Namjoon take such good care of someone, because even if Seokjin knows how good Namjoon is at taking care of him, it’s cool to see it directed at someone else, someone Seokjin cares about and loves, too.

The door opens again about ten minutes later, right when Namjoon is joining Yoongi and Hoseok’s little group. Right when Seokjin starts working at Jimin’s neck with his teeth.

“Oh my god, Jeongguk texted me to let me know what was going on but I was not expecting something this ridiculous,” Taehyung says, dropping his bag on the floor and slipping out of his shoes as he closes the door and locks it.

“Join in or get out,” Yoongi says, all impatient and rough and it’s doing things to Seokjin. “Or shut up and watch.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I am not going to join today because I would very much like to go fuck my husband, but I am not done with you, Min-fucking-Yoongi. Min-fucking-Yoongi-fucking-hyung,” he says, sounding frustrated. Yoongi shrugs and tips his head back for Namjoon and Hoseok, and Taehyung throws his arms up in exasperation as Yoongi starts moaning again. “Shut up, oh my god,” Taehyung says.

“I’m pretending I’m you,” Yoongi snarks, and goes back to moaning, and Seokjin bursts out laughing as Taehyung marches towards the stairs.

“Jeongguk is downstairs, right?” Taehyung asks, kind of angry. Jeongguk is in for something interesting, all right.

“Yep,” Seokjin says, smirking and kissing Jimin’s cheek.

“Well, thank fucking god,” Taehyung says.

“You’re welcome,” Yoongi says.

“Fuck you,” Taehyung yells, starting down the stairs already.

“Just let me know the time and place,” Yoongi shouts back, and Taehyung yanks the door to the basement closed with a frustrated snarl that sounds suspiciously like “Jeongguk!” Seokjin keeps laughing and leans on Jimin, content.

“This has been an interesting day,” Seokjin says, smiling bright.

Jimin nods. “Yeah, it really has. Hey, do you, um…do you want help cooking dinner? I know I don’t usually, because, like, food. But I think I could tonight, if you’d let me. And be patient, because I don’t know how to cook.”

Seokjin looks at the mess of limbs that is Hoseok and Yoongi and Namjoon and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, they’re not gonna disengage the octopus act anytime soon, anyways.” Jimin snorts, and Seokjin feels his expression soften. “Jiminie,” he says.

“Yeah?” Jimin says, looking up at Seokjin with the most earnest look in his eyes.

“I’m really proud of you, love,” Seokjin says. “I’m really happy you want to cook with me.”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, I do, hyung. I think it’ll help me, too, so I can make my own meals. Like, once I start phasing off the meal plans. I’ll know how to make healthy stuff that I like.”

Seokjin takes Jimin’s hand and leads him to the kitchen, and together they set about preparing spaghetti, because it’s easy, and Jimin likes it.

Seokjin is pretty sure Yoongi gets off on the living room couch somewhere between the part where he’s browning the ground beef and the part where he’s helping Jimin chop tomatoes, but like. Whatever. Namjoon and Hoseok and Yoongi can clean that up later.

“Hyung, they don’t know how to use stain remover, probably,” Jimin points out when Seokjin says this.

Seokjin drops the knife with a dangerous clatter and throws his hands in the air. “Fuck.”

Jimin giggles and pats his shoulder. “I’ll do it, don’t worry.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Um. You really don’t have to. It kind of feels like my job to do that sort of thing.”

“Nah,” Jimin says. “We’re all here to help each other. I’m sorry if it doesn’t always seem like that, but we’ll try harder. You try so hard for me, and I want to try for you! To help you do stuff around the house.”

Yoongi and Hoseok and Namjoon file into the kitchen then, looking kind of guilty.

“Um, hyung,” Hoseok says, “Where do we keep the bleach?”

Seokjin puts his forehead on the counter. “You can’t use bleach on a brown couch, Jung Hoseok. There will be a giant bleach mark, then, because it will take the color out.”

“Oh,” Hoseok says. “Is that why my red shirt got all weird after I spilled bulgogi on it and tried to bleach it?”

“You guys are hopeless,” Seokjin says.

“We love you?” Hoseok offers.

Jimin giggles. “All right, everyone. Looks like Jin-hyung and I will be holding lessons on cooking and cleaning and general household maintenance things tomorrow. We all need to do better at helping Seokjin-hyung at chores. In fact, we should probably make a chore chart. Seriously.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, hey, you really don’t have to—I know you’re busy—”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, “Okay. I’m in.”

“Me too,” Hoseok says.

“Obviously, Jin,” Yoongi says. He flashes a smirk, waits for a long beat before he finally says, “Hyung.”

“I hate you,” Seokjin says to Yoongi.

“I love you too,” Yoongi says with a nod. “What time tomorrow?”

“Hoseok, are you working? Maybe 6:00?” Jimin says.

There are varying sounds of agreement, and Seokjin shakes his head, fond.

“Someone go tell Guk and Taehyung?” Namjoon suggests.

There’s a very loud yell that sounds suspiciously like “hah—ngff, Jeongguk” from downstairs, which means apparently Taehyung is getting off right now, too.

“Maybe later,” Yoongi suggests.

“For now, spaghetti!” Jimin cheers, eyes crescented with his smile.

“Hey, we can dish it and serve it!” Hoseok says. “Not Joonie. He will drop everything.”

“I’ll just grab napkins and chopsticks. Things I can’t break,” Namjoon offers.

“You’ll find a way,” Hoseok teases, and kisses Namjoon once more with feeling, and then suddenly everyone is busy getting dinner finished up while Seokjin stands there in the middle of the kitchen, a weight off his shoulders as Namjoon leads him to the table and pulls out a chair for him to sit down.

“You want some wine or something? Juice? Water? Tea?” Namjoon offers.

Seokjin nods. “Water, please. And also for you to make out with me real quick.”

Namjoon laughs. “What about all them?” He asks, nodding towards the kitchen.

“You guys just got Yoongi off on the couch. Which we all sit on,” Seokjin says, flat. “I think we’re past trying to be proper.”

“Are you kidding? This is how things should definitely be, if we’re being proper,” Namjoon says.

“Shut up and make out with me,” Seokjin says.

“Your wish is my command.”

“Ew. I hate you.”

Namjoon just laughs. “I love you too.”

Seokjin knows, of course, but in this quicksilver split second, Seokjin doesn’t have to know, because he believes.