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Namjoon stretches his legs at maximum stride, feeling the burn in his thighs and the ache in his chest. His heels thud against pavement, and his arms swing back and forth, hoping the faster he swings, the faster he’ll move like some wind-up toy. He narrows his eyes on the streets. All the pedestrians, streetlights, and traffic signs blur into lines that shoot past him. His ears buzz, and he sucks in a breath when he hears, “Suga’s legs are hurt. He can’t have gotten far.”
Legs. Hurt. Namjoon’s temples pulse in time with his steps. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds his teeth. There’s a projection playing behind his closed lids. He watches eyes usually filled with clever cockiness brim with tears. He sees bones bent at unusual angles as if the body is a malleable sculpture painted haphazardly in red. The soundtrack is a loop of “My superhero name is gonna be Suga” over instrumentals of an anguished cry of a new chapter coming to an early end.
“RM. Report your position.” Namjoon yanks his earbuds out and hurls it to the ground.
He follows a familiar path of twists and turns as he hears whispers of “Let’s do this together”, “If anything, you’d be my sidekick”, and “What’s that stand for? Role model?”. He enters a building and sees two kids with glittering eyes lying on the dusty floor, one arm over the other’s chest and legs intertwined as they look through broken windows. They’re surrounded by moth-eaten couches and blankets, burnt tables and upright pianos, and moldy cabinets and dressers.
When Namjoon blinks, the kids are replaced by Suga with legs carefully laid out in blood stained jeans. Questions stumble inside his head fighting for a chance to escape his lips. Most start with “why”, but when Suga looks at his face in surprise, he asks, “Yoongi, how are you?”
Yoongi’s gaze lingers over the top of Namjoon’s head, the ends of his shoulders, and the design on his superhero suit. Yoongi leans back against the wall and spits out, “What do you think?” Namjoon takes a step forward but stops when Yoongi tenses up.
“Why’d you do it?” Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line.
“I need the money.” Namjoon furrows his brows.
“Why didn’t you ask for help? You could have called me. No matter how long it’d been, you’d know I pick up.” Yoongi raises his chin and stares Namjoon down.
“It’s not something you’d be able to give.” Namjoon knows there’s something else and tries to find the answer in Yoongi’s eyes. Although Yoongi’s face is untouched by time, Namjoon can’t read his expression. The secret codes Namjoon knew inside and out no longer apply. He’s afraid to admit that the contents of the puzzle completely changed too; in front of him stands a stranger. Yoongi grabs onto the windowsill as he pulls himself up onto his feet. “Get out of the way.”
Namjoon feels them slipping off the edge. He wants to push them back onto the ground, but he can’t do that if he’s the only one willing. He lets out a long breath and resigns himself to fall into his role as RM. “You’re hurt and cornered. It’d be easier if you turned yourself in.” Yoongi tilts his head back, covers his eyes with the shadow of his cap, and licks his cracked lips. Namjoon juts his chin out as he watches for a twitch of muscle.
Yoongi charges forward, and Namjoon jerks his hands. Cabinets fly from opposite sides of the room. Yoongi leaps back. Whoosh. Clang. Dust billows. Namjoon pushes his mind to win over his heart and ignores the burn in his chest that fights back. He slashes his hands through the air. Wham. Smack. Yoongi advances. Namjoon continues. Bang. Smash.
Namjoon hears protests from every crash. He hears protests from the kids lying on the floor. He hears protests from his heart that beats his mind. He chokes on his heartstrings that crawl up his throat and towards his arms. He pulls the strings, and it snaps back, playing taunting blues; every note bleeds—his skin the music sheet. His heart is the conductor, and he is merely the audience forced to listen. His ears reverberate with the truth he can’t deny: he needs to be RM, but he’s Namjoon, and Namjoon just wants his best friend back.
Knees buckle. A curse. Namjoon yanks a couch forward. Next a chair. Yoongi digs his feet into the floor and winds up a punch tearing through the fabric. He snatches the chair and chucks it. Namjoon brings his arms over his face. Splinters scrape his skin leaving angry trails. From the side, Namjoon sees a fist on a direct path to his throat. Yoongi’s eyes widen before the fist veers off course. Sharp, searing pain sparks in Namjoon’s shoulder and shoots through his nerves. A cry rips out of his throat. His other shoulder slams into the wall. He can hear his heart beat in his ears pleading Namjoon to stop.
Namjoon wrenches his eyes open and sees Yoongi clutching his upper arm as he stumbles back. Namjoon’s eyes scan over the room. Ripped cushions. Bent metal. Jagged wood. Yoongi rushes forward. Namjoon’s fingers twitch. The broken furniture rises and surges towards Yoongi. There’s no escape. Namjoon’s heart cries out, but the sound is buried underneath the collision. Dust and splinters blast away.
When everything is still, Namjoon stands on trembling legs and trudges to the pile. Handcuffs hang heavy on his belt. He wipes his sweating hands on his suit. “Yoongi. Didn’t you want to be a superhero?” The pile is silent. Namjoon steps closer, and his hands dig through the wreckage. “What happened to you?”
A fist bursts out and connects with Namjoon’s chest. The pain is only enough to make him stumble back. When Namjoon looks up, Yoongi tackles him into the floor, which causes his shoulders to sting. He briefly sees white before he registers the barrage of punches on his torso. He latches onto Yoongi’s hair and yanks it away. Yoongi tears his fingernails into Namjoon’s hand. They’re no longer superhero and supervillain; instead, they’re school kids fighting on a playground.
Namjoon watches the moment Yoongi’s eyes well up with tears. Yoongi’s chest lurches forward. His face contorts, and he covers the image with his hands. The weight of the last four years condense into a sob that gurgles out of Yoongi’s mouth. A hand covers it. The other rubs into his eyes. When Namjoon releases his grip, Yoongi curls into himself, wishing to bury himself away.
Namjoon gently moves Yoongi off himself before he sits up and brings Yoongi’s face into his chest. He wraps his arms around Yoongi’s back and squeezes tight. Yoongi sobs harder. Every hiccup is a day Yoongi reads his doctor’s note telling him to give up hope as he replays all the ways he could have avoided causing this pain onto himself. Every shake of Yoongi’s shoulders is a day he curses the world for abandoning him while he’s trapped in a room with shame being the lock. Every tear that stains Namjoon’s suit is a day he mourns for his future where he can no longer fulfill his childhood dream by his best friend’s side.
Yoongi moves his head back, so he can rest his chin on Namjoon’s shoulder, careful not to inflict pain, and hook his arms around Namjoon’s waist. Namjoon cards his fingers through Yoongi’s hair even long after Yoongi’s chest stops shuddering. “Joon,” Yoongi whispers into the other’s neck. “I’m sorry.” Namjoon clenches his fingers in Yoongi’s shirt and pulls him closer until he can feel Yoongi’s heart beat against their chests. “Namjoon. Let me breathe.”
“Sorry.” Namjoon moves until one hand hangs onto the ends of Yoongi’s shirt. Yoongi scoots back until they have a clear view of each other’s faces. Their eyes are red and puffy, and their lips are drenched in tears and snot. Namjoon rubs his face with the sleeve of his suit.
“You should treat your suit better,” Yoongi croaks before he breaks down into coughs.
“I have replacements,” Namjoon sniffles. “Superhero dry cleaning is effective too.” The corners of Yoongi’s lips quirk up. Then he looks down and pokes the side of his cheek with his tongue. Namjoon offers his hand, palm up with cuts and calluses, and Yoongi grabs onto it. Namjoon squeezes Yoongi’s hand. “I thought it’d be too much of an effort for you to commit a crime.”
Yoongi laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Namjoon waits for Yoongi to collect his thoughts and shudders when Yoongi absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the cuts. The silence crawls up on them, and Namjoon wants to bat its intrusive eyes away. Yoongi seems to feel its judging presence as he slumps forward. “When I was recovering, I tutored these two kids, and they were annoying but adorable. One of them used a blanket as a cape and tripped over it.” Yoongi shakes his head. “They wanted to become superheroes together, but they can’t afford all the training and testing. I wanted to give them the chance since we can’t be heroes together anymore.”
The silence crowds them. It presses its hands against their arms and backs and on their heads and shoulders. It stares at their faces and dares them to look into its eyes. Namjoon interlaces their fingers and rubs his thumb over Yoongi’s bony knuckles, grounding them and shrugging the silence away bit by bit. Yoongi slowly relaxes.
“You almost beat me,” Namjoon says.
“Nah. It’s because your heart wasn’t in it. You were flailing.” Namjoon juts his chin out. Yoongi smiles, but it soon disappears. His voice gets quiet. “I’m in pain every time I use my powers. I won’t last a day as a superhero.”
Namjoon wants to say that isn’t true or that medicine evolves and they’ll eventually find a way. However, he knows Yoongi went through these thoughts before. Any words Namjoon has to offer, Yoongi has thought it and shot it down. It’s not that Yoongi is pessimistic. It’s the only way Yoongi can accept his situation. There’s no way Yoongi can use his power, and that’s his reality.
“I still want us to be superheroes together,” Namjoon says. Yoongi pulls his hand back, but Namjoon squeezes tighter. “It might not be what we dreamed about, but there’s other ways to fight. There’s equipment to make you fly or shoot electricity. You could use a gun. Or, well, you’re great at hand-to-hand combat. If you moved your fist upward, you could have snapped my head to the side and knocked me out.”
“Or it could have killed you,” Yoongi mutters.
“If you didn’t use your power, then it would knock me out,” Namjoon corrects. “It’s not the same as using your superpower, but you’re strong without it. There’s holes in my defense, and my power isn’t effective against everyone. You with close-range and me with long-range would work well.” Yoongi shakes his head.
“Why not get another partner with super strength?” Namjoon knew Yoongi would ask this question, and Namjoon is prepared.
Namjoon’s mouth moves faster than his brain. It’s for the best or else he would be too self-conscious to tell Yoongi the truth. And he needs Yoongi to understand. “My dream is to fight beside each other. Without you, it wouldn’t be the same dream. Besides, we know how each other think and move. A team depends on its members and their chemistry. We’re like Bonnie and Clyde. Or, wait, wrong duo.”
Yoongi hits Namjoon’s chest and laughs. It’s the nicest laugh Namjoon has heard in years, and he’s happy that he’s the cause of it. Namjoon’s eyes turn into crescents as he smiles wide with teeth on full display. He covers his mouth with his free hand. Then he moves his hand to cover his eyes. He parts his fingers and peers through the gaps at Yoongi whose eyes disappear into semicircles. Namjoon fondly squeezes his eyes shut.
Yoongi wipes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath. “I still messed up.” Yoongi stares at their linked hands with soft eyes. “I’ll do things right.”
“I’ll hold your hand to the station,” Namjoon teases, but he’s serious. “I’ll visit you often and send you letters. You’ll never be free from me. Even in retirement.”
“When we’re old men, our duo name should be SR. Senior Suga and Senior RM lecturing supervillains and fighting them with canes.” Yoongi chuckles. Both of them don’t want to move. It’s been four years since they last talked. Namjoon wants to listen to more of Yoongi’s voice. He wants to hear Yoongi talk about everything—his time spent tutoring kids or his time spent alone. He wants to see what part of Yoongi stayed the same and what part changed. He wants to know all the bits he overlooked all these years.
It’s Yoongi who stands up and pulls Namjoon with him. “Let’s go. We have the rest of our lives to talk.” Yoongi looks into Namjoon’s eyes, and Namjoon sees hope shining in the black orbs. Namjoon is sure it’s reflected back into his own.
Although Yoongi’s knees buckle and Namjoon’s shoulders ache, it’s the steadiest they’ve felt in the last four years. Namjoon holds tightly onto Yoongi’s hand. “Let’s go.”