Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some days were easier than others. Good days left Namjoon tired but satisfied with the work he produced. Great days let lyrics and melodies and rhythms fall fully formed from his head onto pages of notebook paper and bars of music in his studio. But bad times always had a way of creeping up on him. One lukewarm reaction from the other members on his ideas could whisper its way into his heart in the darkness of his room at night, one frustrating interview could turn his smile forced and plastic for all armies to see online forever.

To be fair, though, those days where Namjoon had good reason for feeling shitty were far preferable to those where everything should be perfectly fine.

His day had been average at best: dance rehearsals with the group all morning, a quick lunch of take-out eaten on the rehearsal room’s floor, and an afternoon whiling away time on new materials in MonStudio. At the very least, he should feel at least semi-accomplished. He woke up early enough to eat breakfast and everything, which on its own was a bit of an achievement.

Yet, by the time he had made it home, a tiny niggling worm of frustrated pessimism found its way into his brain. The usually beautiful dusty purple of evening seemed drab and tired as he shuffled his way to his bedroom and collapsed in a heap onto his unmade bed without bothering to turn on any lights. He rubbed roughly at his eyes, but visions of those godawful wraparound shades he wore for most of 2013 and of that one time he legitimately forgot every bit of choreography in the middle of a performance all to the tune of Expensive Girl danced behind the technicolors he was creating. Groaning, he rolled onto his side to eye his bookshelf. Any plotline of any book had to be better than chasing endless circles in his head.

After five minutes of just lying there staring at book titles, still reliving every embarrassing thing that he did as a thirteen-year-old, Namjoon huffed and rolled out of bed. From the hallway, he could hear the water from Jungkook’s shower running and the beeps and quiet murmurs of Jimin and Taehyung playing phone games in the living room, could see the light pooling from Hoseok’s open bedroom door. Turning away from that, he quietly stepped past Yoongi’s dark room, its occupant still finishing up at the studio last Namjoon heard, to push open Seokjin’s door.

There was something innately calming about Seokjin’s room. Maybe it was the mildly woody scent of pet bedding or the general tidiness or some other random feng shui thing that Namjoon couldn’t be bothered to care about. All that mattered was that he felt the endless spirals of thought loosening as he eased through the door.

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin said, glancing up from his Switch and untangling himself from some elaborate pretzel position on his bed. “I didn’t notice you were home yet.”

“I haven’t been in for long,” he replied. Despite how easily Seokjin could make room for him, Namjoon settled himself against the wall by the large cage across from the bed, causing the sugar gliders inside to stir. He pressed his hands to the bars, smiling when the little creatures scurried over to press their tiny noses to the pads of his fingers. Odeng blinked his wide, round eyes at Namjoon before losing interest. Seokjin shifted towards the edge of the bed in his peripherals, moving to sit on the floor across from him.

Tapping Namjoon’s foot gently, Seokjin asked, “How was your day?”

“You were there for most of it,” Namjoon chuckled. Dodging Seokjin’s playful slap, he continued, “Fine—my day was fine. Nothing special.”

Seokjin hummed and leaned back against his bed. The silence was like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tiring day, a release of tension that seemed to slide down his shoulders and off. Namjoon let his head loll back against the wall.

“Hey, if you fall asleep in here, I won’t bother carrying you to bed,” Seokjin spoke with a voice full of false exasperation. Not bothering to open his eyes, Namjoon shrugged, making a show of sliding down the wall. He couldn’t fight the smile that Seokjin’s laughter incited. “Fine, sleep on my cold, hard floor all you want. I’ll just sleep in your bed, instead.”

Namjoon peeked at him through half-open eyes. “Rude.”

“I’m your hyung, I can be rude all I like.”

Resisting rolling his eyes, Namjoon readjusted to a more comfortable position on his back and let his gaze settle on Seokjin’s hands where they rested on his knees. His mind wandered onto a melody half-formed in his head as he traced the lines of Seokjin’s fingers with his eyes.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Seokjin asked softly.

“No, not yet. Yoongi said he would order fried chicken tonight, so.”

Seokjin hummed. He reached out to tap Namjoon’s wrist, before—Crash! “What was that?” he yelped, flapping his arms in startled confusion.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon grunted, jumping up and tearing out towards the living room. His socked feet skidded across the marble tiles. Using one of the armchairs to come to a halt, he took in the mess that was the living room.

Jimin was hanging off of Jungkook’s neck, free arm grasping for the remote held triumphantly over his shorter height and legs kicking in a desperate attempt to fell the taller boy. Taehyung reclined across the couch with his eyes glued to his phone as if Jimin and Jungkook hadn’t already knocked over two of the three lamps already. The armchair Namjoon was clutching lay propped on its side.

“Give it back, you dickwad!” Jimin gritted out over Jungkook’s maniacal laughter. “Tae Tae, help me, what the fuck!”

“Oh, no, stop,” Taehyung mumbled, fingers still tapping away at his phone screen.

Jungkook’s mirthful eyes turned to Namjoon, taking in his mildly horrified look. “Hey, Hyung! Catch!” he shouted just as Jimin’s foot finally landed a solid blow to the back of Jungkook’s knee.

Instead of casually tossing the remote in Namjoon’s direction, he whipped the thing.

In hindsight, Namjoon probably should have ducked or run or done literally anything, but nope. He simply stared aghast as the tv remote flew a perfect arch to smack him full length across his forehead, his socked feet losing purchase against the tiled floors.

Landing hard on his back, his stomach pitched upwards like he was riding a swing, and his ears popped.

Everything went black.

Chapter Text

Namjoon was suspended in that floaty space between sleep and wakefulness, the ache in his head only amplifying the feeling that his brain was made of cotton balls. Distantly, he could hear music.

            Tell them that you’re strong

            Tell them you’re enough

            Let you go, let you go, let you go,

            Let you go, oh

            All my ladies, put your hands up!

Groaning, he rolled over, crumpling something glossy and cool under his cheek. He reluctantly peeked through his lashes to see a photo of…Seokjin? Jolting up, Namjoon brushed away the photo that remained stuck to his cheek and fumbled for his phone that continued to blare 21^st Century Girl at an increasingly louder volume. His fingers clumsily swiped away the phone alarm, the model an unfamiliar one. The lock screen displayed a pretty edit of all seven members of Bangtan from a magazine spread.

“What the hell?” Namjoon muttered, turning to take in the oddly familiar bedroom illuminated with the weak light of the early morning hours. “Seriously, what the hell?”

He felt even more photocards colliding with his elbow and shin as he turned. A full set of BTS acrylic stands smiled at him from the desktop, BTS posters tacked neatly on every wall. On the back of the door, a girl’s school uniform hung ready to be worn.

Namjoon could feel the panic rising in the back of his throat. Where was this place? Where were the other members? Had he been kidnapped? Was he dead? With shaking fingers, he reached up to push back his hair—only to discover that he had way more than he did back before Jungkook whacked him with a TV remote. Spying a mirror by the open closet door, Namjoon rushed from the bed to look at himself.

It took a moment for him to register what was different. Everything about him appeared to be identical to how he looked that morning before he left the dorm for the studio.

Well, except for one thing.

Dark fringe fell over his forehead, the rest falling in straight curtains to his shoulders. The style was eerily similar to the one that belonged to…

“Kim Army?” he whispered, reaching up to ensure the long hair was real.

Turning slowly, he let his mind wander back to the third Muster sketch, let his memories of the “House of ARMY” set overlay on the room and its belongings.

What the hell was going on?

A sharp knock sounded on the other side of the bedroom door, causing Namjoon to yelp. Outside, a voice asked, “Soonie, are you awake? Namsoon-ah, breakfast is ready.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, but found his voice frozen in his throat. The doorknob turned slowly, and the person stepped into the room.

It was Hobi, but it wasn’t Hobi, either. Maybe like Hoseok mixed with his mother? A neat bob cut framed the face, a casually tasteful sweater set covered a decidedly more feminine frame than Hoseok ever had in the past. Hobi-mom blinked at Namjoon standing paralyzed in the dark, a little frown gracing her (his?) face. “My daughter, is everything alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

My daughter? His head was spinning, how was this real?

“Uh…I’m—I’m fine?” Namjoon finally replied. His voice was still thick with sleep, and he found himself startled by just how deep his voice actually was.

Hobi-mom frowned still deeper but shrugged a little. “Alright. Come down when you’re ready,” she said. Turning towards the hallway, Hobi-mom let out a coo as she reached down. “Oh, Cuty! Come wake your sister up!” She pushed a pretty blonde and white speckled cocker spaniel into the bedroom, smiled brightly at Namjoon, and closed the door behind her. Namjoon collapsed in on himself, burying his hands into his hair.

What the actual fuck?

“You’re not Soon,” he heard Jimin’s voice say.

Namjoon whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the voice. “Jimin? Jimin-ah, where are you?” he asked as he stepped over the dog to peek into the closet. Besides the rows of clothes, there was nothing hiding inside.

The dog pressed up to Namjoon’s leg, peering into the closet as well. “Jimin? Like from Bangtan?” It was obviously Jimin’s clear, soft voice, coming from below Namjoon. But that was clearly impossible. Namjoon glanced at his phone, hoping that maybe he accidentally called Jimin on speaker. The blank screen mocked him. He crouched down, crawling to investigate under the desk and the bed. Nothing.

The little dog plopped onto his haunches next to him and looked up at Namjoon with what could only be described as a smile. “You’re a very silly person,” giggled Cuty.

There were no other options; Namjoon had lost his goddamn mind.

“What the fuck is happening?” Namjoon whispered, pressing his shaking hands to his cheeks as his vision swam.

He gave himself multiple minutes to panic, squeezing his eyes shut, pinching himself on the arms, and mumbling curses to himself. But nothing happened. He was still Namjoon stuck here in Namsoon’s room having an existential crisis with seemingly no way home. Shit, don’t think about home, he berated himself, trying to chase away the images of his own bedroom, of the other members, of his own family that the word called to his mind, flooding his heart with a pang of longing.

“Please don’t cry,” Cuty-Jimin spoke. He had pushed himself against Namjoon’s side and placed a paw gently against his knee. “I didn’t mean it when I said you were silly.”

Namjoon huffed a humorless laugh. “Thanks, but that’s not why I’m freaking out,” he muttered thickly, rubbing the tears from his eyes with frustration.

“Oh, good! Because I was lying; you really are silly,” replied Cuty. His tail wagged, and his tongue lolled when Namjoon let out a true burst of laughter at him. “As nice as you are, I think maybe you should bring Soon back. I miss her already,” he continued.

Sighing deeply, Namjoon tucked his hair carefully behind his ear. “If I knew where Namsoon was, I wouldn’t still be here. This is going to sound nuts—it already does, I’m talking to a dog—but maybe I’ve accidentally taken her place? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t know how I got here, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to get home,” said Namjoon, careful not to falter as he spoke, careful not to give into the panic crawling up the back of his throat as he spoke. “I don’t know, maybe someone around here knows what’s going on. Maybe Hobi—well, Soon’s mom, I guess—could help? I could ask—”

“What?” Cuty barked as he jumped onto all fours. “She thinks you’re Namsoon!”

“Exactly! I’m not Namsoon!” he countered. “Mom-Hobi deserves to know that I’m Namjoon, that I’m someone else.”

He had never seen a dog pout before, but somehow Cuty pulled it off. “Okay, but do it nicely. Mother is a very nice person, and she doesn’t handle surprises very well.”

“That sounds surprisingly like Hobi, I’m not going to lie,” Namjoon said as he stood, dusted off his lavender pajama pants, and centered himself to face Namsoon’s unsuspecting family.

The hallway was long and cleanly decorated in a western style that opened to a stairwell. Cuty-Jimin padded happily down, unconcerned with Namjoon’s hesitation. From the top step, he could hear the gentle murmur of those downstairs, scrapes indicating that breakfast was being eaten. He let out a long slow breath and descended.

Not-Jungkook looked intensely like a view into the future while also just looking like a photocopy his own father. He sat at the head of the table, bespectacled eyes trained on a newspaper laid out beside his breakfast like a proper, cliché father figure. His crows’ feet were deeply lined, as were the smile lines around his mouth, and his hair shone with a few strands of silver. Sitting peacefully next to Hobi-mom, he seemed a million miles away from the playful, young idiot that Namjoon had left behind.

Stepping out from the kitchen, not-Taehyung looked up at Namjoon stood halfway down the stair with a frown. “What are you doing, Noona?” There was a sternness in his face that Namjoon had never seen before. Despite the fact that he physically appeared almost identical to debut-era Taehyung, he seemed to have no resemblance to the sweet boy Namjoon knew. It took a moment of gawking before Namjoon realized that the “noona” in question was himself.

“Uh, I just wanted to talk to…mom?” Namjoon responded, trying for a higher tone than he was accustomed to using. He shifted from foot to foot, hating the feeling that he was lying to his closest friends.

Hobi-mom stood, gracefully directing not-Taehyung to a seat at the table and sweeping up the stairs. She tucked her arm into the crook of Namjoon’s, using it to steer them both upstairs and down the hallway. “Of course, my dear. I need to wake up your uncle anyways,” she smiled. They stopped at one of the doors. “Wake up, you sleepyhead!” she singsonged in time as she knocked. A low groan sounded from within the room, one that Namjoon immediately identified as Yoongi. “I’ll be back in five minutes, and, if you’re not out of bed, I’ll kick you in the shin,” she continued to sing before leading Namjoon back to Namsoon’s room.

Settling in on top of Namsoon’s unmade bed, Hobi-mom crossed her legs and turned to Namjoon, asking, “So what did you need to talk about, dear?”

His stomach was twisted in knots, his hands tangled themselves together on his lap, but Namjoon knew he had to do this. Taking one final deep breath, he spoke, “I’m not Namsoon. My name is Kim Namjoon, and I—” He would have continued if not for Hobi-mom’s laughter.

“Kim Namjoon, in the flesh! Did Uncle Yoonho put you up to this?” she guffawed, pointing at Namjoon’s face with a playfully suspicious smile.

“No, I’m not—I am not lying,” Namjoon pleaded as Hobi-mom doubled over and leaned into his lap. “I’m serious, dead serious, please believe me! What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

A sleepy, older Yoongi shuffled into the bedroom doorway. “What the hell’s going on in here?” he yawned. Like not-Jungkook, the lines of his face were deeper, but his hair lacked the silver highlights. His posture was even more horrendous than Yoongi’s at the end of a long day in the studio.

“You sly dog,” Hobi-mom giggled, pointing in his direction.

He looked at the pair with suspicion, squaring his hunched shoulders and asking with a huff, “What did I do?”

“Oh, you know what you did,” she returned. Standing up, she wiped the tears from her eyes before turning back to Namjoon. “Thank you, I needed a laugh, Soonie! Now, get dressed for school before it gets any later.” Ignoring Namjoon’s hollow “But—” and horrified expression, she closed the bedroom door with a click.

Namjoon’s stomach rumbled loudly as he flopped back on Soon’s bed and contemplated his options. He could:

1. continue to panic until he died,
2. go back downstairs and insist that he was actually Kim Namjoon with a lot more hair than usual who had magically transported into Namsoon’s place, or
3. put on the stupid uniform, eat breakfast, and just pretend like everything was normal.

Eyeing the uniform with an air of resignation, he knew that he wouldn’t get much farther with Hobi-mom right now. He noted it was a winter uniform as he yanked it down from its hanger, glaring at it with all the bottled frustration from this confusing morning.

It’s not like this’ll make any difference, he thought as he tugged on the white button-down and sweater vest, which proved no problem—other than highlighting that his shoulders were broad and that he had legitimately no cleavage. Zipping on the dark pleated skirt, he stared at his image in the mirror. Everyone will see for themselves that I’m a guy, and then they’ll have to take me seriously, he thought. The thermal tights proved to be a torture device to put on. Still, Namjoon felt a weird kind of accomplishment as he tugged the waistband into place. As he pulled on the blazer, completing his outfit, he noted that the nametag read “Jeong Namsoon.”

“This is a goddamn mess,” he sighed, bracing himself as he opened the door to prove to the world that he wasn’t Namsoon.

Clearly, the world had other intentions.

The only reaction he received from Soon’s family was a snide comment from not-Tae. “I see you’ve brushed your hair with a shoe this morning,” he said, cocking his head to glare at Namjoon over the round rims of his glasses.

“Don’t be rude to your sister,” JK-dad said, eyes still trained on his newspaper.

“Fine. Sister dearest, it is my brotherly duty to tell you that your hair looks like a rat’s nest this morning,” brother-Tae said. His smile was broad and forced, twisting his features in a way that Namjoon would never associate with Taehyung.

Hobi-mom glided to the table with a bowl for Namjoon, smacking brother-Tae lightly on the head as she passed. “Eat up, my daughter! You won’t want to be late for school,” she said, smiling Hoseok’s signature sunshine smile.

“Right, school. Yeah,” Namjoon sighed as he finger-combed his hair self-consciously.

***

“Soon-ah! Hurry up, slowpoke!” shouted an energetic girl standing at the end of the front walk. Namjoon had hoped that Soon’s family would notice that he was literally a different person from the girl they knew and loved, but, clearly, they didn’t pay much attention to her. He felt rather offended on her behalf.

All of that meant, of course, that he couldn’t really fight Hobi-mom helping him into a light jacket, pushing a lunchbox into his hands, and waving him goodbye at the front door. Thank goodness that Soon at least had friends to accompany her to school or else Namjoon would be well and truly lost. He could only hope that they would be conscientious enough to realize something was wrong. At present, the only person who knew and believed that he was Namjoon was…a talking dog.

The odds were not in Namjoon’s favor right now.

He pushed away the negativity long enough to wave back to the girl who greeted him. She was shorter than him, average height and broad with soft, rounded features that were lit with a bright smile as Namjoon joined her and two other girls. “Did you accidentally sleep in again? Your hair’s crazy right now,” she asked, reaching up to smooth his hair.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I just…ran out of time,” he improvised, glancing surreptitiously at their surroundings as the girls led him towards what he assumed was their neighborhood’s bus terminal.

Another girl, this one stick thin with a serious face said, “Eunsoo-ah has practice today.” Everything about her was long and fine—her hair, her face, her stature. She nodded her head at the last girl, this one short with a slight but athletic build, presumably Eunsoo.

“Yeah, I do, so I have all my hair supplies with me if you need any,” Eunsoo confirmed.

“Sure, thanks,” Namjoon said, sending her a smile that he hoped was convincing. Eunsoo, Eunsoo, Eunsoo, he mentally chanted as he looked her way to try to remember which girl was who. “So, do you…notice anything different? You know,” he gestured to himself, “about me?”

All three girls paused to inspect Namjoon before looking at each other in confusion. Suddenly, the round girl snapped her fingers. “You had a growth spurt! Look, Soon-ah’s taller than Yelim-ah now!” The serious faced girl stepped to compare her height with Namjoon’s. “Wow, so tall!”

He tried to hide his grimace. The hope that Soon’s friends would be of any help when her own family had failed him burst like a balloon, coating his heart with disappointment.

The rest of the trip to school was a blur of Namjoon peering around at road signs and businesses to help memorize the path from Soon’s house to the terminal to their school, listening intently to try to discover the last girl’s name, and brushing his hair on the bus in a fervor using Eunsoo’s brush and Yelim’s hand mirror. By the time they reached the front gates to their school, Namjoon was thoroughly exhausted—and he still didn’t know all of their names.

“Are you sure you’re happy with your hair? I’d be happy to braid it for you,” the round-faced girl asked as they walked across the school’s courtyard.

“Seriously, Haneul-ah, leave Namsoon’s hair alone. She already attacked it enough today,” Yelim sighed, flicking her long, fine hair over her thin shoulder. Namjoon couldn’t help but perk up as he added the last girl’s name to his memory.

Haneul turned her wide eyes to the other. “But Lim-ah! You never know what today might bring! What if Soonie meets the guy of her dreams, but her hair looks like,” she gestured vaguely at Namjoon’s head. “…that?”

Namjoon couldn’t fight the pout on his face as he touched his hair. He really had tried his best, but he legitimately had no idea what to do with long hair.

“Does it really look that bad?” Namjoon asked, turning to face the three girls. Yelim’s frown deepened on her already serious face, Eunsoo tilted her head back to look at him in thought, and Haneul pressed her hands to her full cheeks.

After a shared moment of silence, Haneul said, “Let me braid your hair.”

Sighing in defeat, Namjoon turned to enter through one of the wide glass doors of the school when he felt something smack him across the thigh. He gasped as he fell sideways, catching the startled looks of Soon’s friends as he did. His pride hurt more than his hip as he lay on the pavement.

“Woah, my bad!” he heard a boy say before he grabbed Namjoon by the arms and pulled him up from the ground. The boy’s already narrow eyes curved as he smiled what Namjoon assumed was his most winning grin. Pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead, exposing a full face of freckles in the process, he picked up the soccer ball that he had hit Namjoon with. Namjoon blinked back in confusion. “See ya’!” he shouted as he ran back towards the soccer fields that lined the back side of the courtyard.

“The dumb jock didn’t even say he was sorry,” Namjoon cried as the sweatsuit-clad boy disappeared into the crowd.

“Dumb jock? Are you crazy? That was Choi Byungsoo!” Eunsoo gasped.

Haneul grabbed Namjoon’s arm, shaking him a little in the process. “He’s, like, the hottest guy at our school! Like, Jimin-level hot! And he just talked to you!”

“More like he assaulted me, but whatever,” Namjoon replied, dusting off his hands. Yelim shook her head as she picked up Namjoon’s dropped lunchbox.

“Jimin-level? He freaking wishes. All these boys are idiots. The quicker you guys realize that,” Yelim scoffed, standing to her full height and levelling Haneul and Eunsoo with a severe look, “the better.” At their rolled eyes, she walked into the school, leading the group to their shoe cubbies and, eventually, their classroom.

Despite the fact that Namjoon felt like he had graduated high school ages ago, he quickly fell back into school life. There was a strange kind of calm that the highly structured day brought him, especially after the chaos that his morning had been. Namjoon’s scribbly handwriting flowed seamlessly from Soon’s, making it appear as if Namjoon had been Soon all along. He pushed those thoughts away angrily.

I am Kim Namjoon. I will find my way home, he repeated to himself as he copied English passages from his textbook, as he solved equations, as he stretched in between lessons. Lunch was a welcome relief, if only because he could get out of his head a little.

Much like the morning, Haneul giggled her way through the lunch period with Eunsoo nodding and laughing along. Yelim sat with her head resting on her hand, adding in a comment or two. Namjoon fumbled his way through conversation, unsure who the hell anyone was talking about in their stories.

The only thing he had learned thus far was that clearly no one knew Namsoon well enough to notice when she had been replaced by a completely different person. Rude.

The rest of Namjoon’s day passed uneventfully. Their teachers kept reminding them with tired voices and eyes that university exams next month would be “here before they knew it” as the students yawned back. The whole thing reminded him more of the dramas his mother and sister watched than his time in school. His high school years were plagued with long nights spent studying after cram school and practices with the other Big Hit trainees, the classrooms and hallways full of frenzied students running on nothing but pure adrenaline to succeed and the desperate need to prove themselves.

No, this was far more like a drama. Maybe like the type of drama where an average girl found love in some stupid, roundabout way while she wasted all of the time she should be spending studying for entrance exams on boys and feeling sorry for herself.

Namjoon jolted forward. Glancing at Haneul seated beside him, he was struck by the fact that all three of Soon’s friends—serious, sarcastic Yelim, bubbly, soft Haneul, and friendly, athletic Eunsoo— would fit perfectly into a drama…as would Choi Jock-guy who couldn’t be bothered to apologize. A drama like…Namjoon let his head hit his desk with a thunk.

A drama like the “House of ARMY” sketch.

He was stuck inside a motherfucking romcom with no foreseeable way out, and he was the goddamn heroine.

His mood only further soured when he discovered that he had to walk home alone. Eunsoo waved them goodbye as she ran off to track practice, while Yelim and Haneul left him at the bus stop as they continued on to cram school.

“Are you sure I don’t have cram school, too?” Namjoon asked the two girls as they stood by the bus stop.

Yelim threw him an exasperated look. “You’re the smartest person in our grade; I think you’ll be okay,” she said, her tone dry. This whole scenario was just reinforcing Namjoon’s fears. The weird, metallic tang of panic coated his tongue as the two girls left him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but whatever,” he mumbled.

“See you tomorrow, Soonie!” Haneul shouted back with a wave.

He had to admit as he swiped his bus pass and found his way to a window seat in the back of the bus, there was a nice kind of novelty to being in public without any worry of being mobbed by fans or paparazzi. Not nice enough to make up for the fact that everyone around him assumed he was some girl that he had never even met before, but still nice enough.

Namjoon’s diligence that morning mostly paid off, allowing him to find his way home with only two wrong turns along the way. Standing outside, he dropped a pin in his map app before heading inside.

It was oddly reminiscent of coming back to the dorms after a long day, even if everyone looked and acted different than in reality. He could hear everyone better than could see them. Cuty-Jimin trotted up to him as he slipped off his grey sneakers at the door.

“Oh, it’s you again!” he greeted him, pressing his nose to Namjoon’s hand. “Did you find Soon?”

“No, not yet,” he replied lowly, trying not to call too much attention to the fact that he was talking to the dog. He slid on Soon’s slippers and trailed Cuty-Jimin into the kitchen where Hobi-mom was cutting an apple.

“Hello, my dear, how was school?” she asked.

“Fine, I guess,” Namjoon replied, looking around for the others. Uncle-Yoon was flipping through channels from his spot on the couch, and gentle creaks from the upstairs told him that brother-Tae was likely in his room. “Is Jung—I mean, is dad home yet?”

Hobi-mom shook her head. “He’s working late tonight, but he’ll be home in time for dinner.” She placed the apple slices into a neat spiral on a plate and handed it to Namjoon.

He set Soon’s bag down at the table, trying to shut down the sense of unease creeping up his back. He rolled his shoulders and counted the members in his head again. Had he missed not-Seokjin somewhere? Was he hidden somewhere in the crowd at school? Unlikely, someone like Seokjin was hard to miss. Did brother-Tae have a little pet with Seokjin’s voice?

Uncle-Yoon’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

“Hey, Soon-ah, come share your apple with me,” he called, motioning Namjoon into the living room. Namjoon held out the plate for uncle-Yoon who took a few slices, effectively ruining the pretty spiral Hobi-mom had created. He turned back to the tv, using an apple slice to point at the screen. “I love this episode.”

“Oh? What is it?” Namjoon asked, seeing a man with a strangely wrinkled forehead dressed like a cowboy onscreen.

“It’s one of the holo-deck episodes of Next Generation,” uncle-Yoon said in a way that clearly indicated that Namjoon should understand what the hell he was talking about.

Namjoon did not.

“Oh, come on! You love Star Trek!” huffed uncle-Yoon when he saw the confusion written on his face. Leaning forward, he said, “Okay, so, Worf—” He pointed to the forehead guy. “He’s on the holo-deck with his son, acting out a cowboy story. But Data—” Again pointing at the screen, this time showing a pale man brandishing a revolver. “—messed up the program, so Worf can’t just leave whenever he wants to. Instead, he has to finish the story to get him and his son out of the holo-deck. It’s a great one,” uncle-Yoon sighed.

Namjoon slowly backed away, nodding absently. “Sounds like it. I’m going to go work on homework now,” he said.

Cuty-Jimin followed him up the stairs and into Soon’s room. Falling back on the bed, Namjoon landed in a heap while Cuty circled a few times before leaping on the bed at his side.

“Well, Cuty, looks like I’m stuck here just like that forehead guy in the hollow place,” he sighed.

The little dog settled onto his tummy and let his tongue loll. “But you heard Uncle: all he had to do was finish the story,” he said.

“Yeah, but what story? Jeong Namsoon is just an average girl, from what I can tell. No big stories there,” Namjoon grumbled, frowning as he shifted and crumpled a photocard of Yoongi and Taehyung underneath his elbow.

“But why is she always writing in that little book, then?” Cuty asked with genuine curiosity.

Namjoon stumbled to his feet, knocking Cuty off his stomach and turning to look in the dog’s eyes. “Little book? What little book? Where? Can you show me?”

Cuty-Jimin stood, wiggling his butt in his excitement as he jumped toward the little bookshelf nestled in the corner between the bed and the desk. He nosed at the middle shelf. “It’s hidden behind this book so Taehyun—that’s brother’s name—can’t find it,” he said and moved out of Namjoon’s way.

The journal was compact with a light blue cover and dark blue leaved pages. Sinking to the floor, Namjoon opened to the first page. Most of the sheets were filled with snippets of thoughts, ruminations on school, relationships, and the future. While Soon’s thoughts were oddly reflective of Namjoon’s own at her age, they didn’t do much to indicate what “story” Namjoon needed to finish.

“What does it say?” Cuty-Jimin wondered as he moved to sit on Namjoon’s lap. He scratched behind Cuty’s ear with one hand as he flipped through the pages.

“Nothing much so far. It’s mostly just some…Wait,” he mumbled as a loose piece of paper fell from the journal.

“What is it?”

Namjoon smoothed the sheet with shaky fingers, his heart beat racing so fast that he could hear it pounding in his ears. Clearly, Soon had written this with care, the neat handwriting belying the importance she placed on the words.

“It’s a to do list,” replied Namjoon at length. “These are the things that Namsoon wants to do most.”

This was it. This was his ticket home.

                             ^✧To Do by New Year’s^✧

                        1: Meet a member of BTS

                        2: Get accepted to a SKY university

                        3: Win the school talent show by singing a solo

                        4: Find a boyfriend who I love

Chapter Text

Namjoon stared at the list in his hands.

“Great! Now all you have to do is everything on this list, and Soon can come home!” Cuty-Jimin cried, jumping from Namjoon’s lap to run laps around him on the floor. Namjoon nodded absently.

Soon’s To Do list was…a lot. Getting into a SKY university was no joke, but winning a talent show? By singing? How the hell was this shit going to work out for Namjoon? And that’s before he even got to the boyfriend part.

Scrambling over to grab Namsoon’s phone, he clicked the screen to life. Displayed over Jungkook and Seokjin’s heads on the phone screen was the date: the 24^th of October. Two months was all he had to complete the tasks Namsoon had laid out for him, two months of living in this insane, bizzaro world.

He was never going to get home at this rate.

“Jimin—sorry, I mean, Cuty, do you think I can already mark off number one? I’m technically in BTS, so…” Namjoon said, holding the list out for Cuty to see.

The dog simply blinked at the list before turning his gaze to Namjoon. “I’m a dog. I can’t read your person stuff,” he retorted. Cuty-Jimin rolled his eyes at Namjoon’s surprised look before settling back into his lap. “Alright, now read me the list, and we’ll see where we can start.”

“Okay, number one: meet someone in Bangtan. Do you think I count?” Namjoon recited.

Shaking his head decisively, Cuty replied, “You can't count yourself. You’re not in Bangtan, or else you’d be in all of Namsoon’s posters. Which you’re not; you’re in Namsoon’s bedroom.”

“But I remember these photoshoots!” countered Namjoon, motioning at the poster hung above the desk behind them.

“Nope, not the same. Next,” Cuty said dispassionately.

Namjoon huffed and allowed himself to sulk for a moment before reading the next items. “Get into a SKY university, win the talent show by singing a solo, and get a boyfriend. That’s the list.”

“Hmm, those aren’t so bad,” the dog murmured, noticing the way Namjoon was curled in on himself with a distant expression in his eye. “Hey, friend, don’t be scared. Your new friend, Cuty, will help you every step along the way!” He nuzzled his head against Namjoon’s arm and peeked up at him with (literal) puppy eyes.

With a soft pat to Cuty’s furry head, Namjoon smiled softly. “You know, that honestly seems like something Jimin would say. Thanks, Cuty.” He let out a small sigh and stood, placing the To Do list carefully on Soon’s desk.

“So, where do you want to start? How about the boyfriend one? It can’t be that hard to get a boyfriend,” Cuty stated as he circled Namjoon.

“Are you kidding? That might be the hardest item on this freaking list.” At the exasperated look on the dog’s face, he continued, “Okay, fine: getting a boyfriend isn’t crazy hard. But getting a good boyfriend is…Well, I’ve been a teenage boy before. This isn’t going to be some walk in the park.”

Cuty-Jimin paused in his circle, nodding along to Namjoon’s words. “You’re right. Namsoon is wonderful, so she deserves someone nice and kind and smart and polite and respectful and funny and sweet and—”

“Okay, let’s not get too carried away here,” Namjoon interrupted. “We have to set our standards at ‘teenage boy,’” holding his hands level with Cuty’s eyes. “Not ‘mature, adult love of her life,’” he finished by holding his hands above his head.

“Hey, you don’t know,” mumbled Cuty, averting his gaze with a flick of his head.

Namjoon shrugged, responding, “If I really am stuck in a stupid-ass romcom, then you might be right. Honestly, though, let’s aim for ‘realistic,’ if at all possible. I already have my hands full with this stupid talent show, and I don’t even know when it is yet.”

“Will it be a problem for you, though, dating boys?” Cuty-Jimin asked as he sat back down in front of him. “Since you’re a boy, too, I mean.”

“Don’t worry about that, Cuty, gender isn’t really a big deal to me when it comes to dating,” Namjoon said with a shrug. “What is a big deal is how much work it takes to get into a SKY university. Is Soon trying to kill me or something?”

Distantly, the sound of the front door being opened reached them. The little ticker in Namjoon’s head clicked over from five to six, which should have made him feel more relief than it did. Seven, we need seven, his instincts shouted. Even in this stupid, bizarro place, missing any member of Bangtan left Namjoon feeling as if there was a little rock in his shoe, as if his shirt was a size too tight, as if he lost his bag. Again. Everything in the world was just a little off-center without that elusive seven.

“Father’s home!” Cuty-Jimin cried, his butt wiggling so hard in his excitement that he couldn’t walk straight as he barreled for the bedroom door. He jumped and pawed at the knob with impatience before Namjoon could let him out into the rest of the house.

With Cuty gone, Namjoon took a moment to sort his thoughts. Each task would take dedication and commitment, that was obvious. If he was confident in anything, it was in his work ethic, his drive, his need to succeed. Pulling out a notebook and pen from Soon’s bookbag, he sat down at his desk and numbered a column from one to four. How hard could it be to get tickets to a Bangtan fan meeting? Not too bad, he thought, writing it down. Under two, he simply wrote, “STUDY, one month to go,” while three was labelled, “find out when this is, then PRACTICE.”

“There’s really not much else I can do there,” he shrugged moving on to the last item.

His pen hovered over the paper, his mind whirring. How exactly did one go about getting a boyfriend? He could just ask someone, simple.

“But he needs to be…not horrible,” Namjoon mumbled. “Okay, then, ‘observe guys to see if they suck,’ and…” He tapped the pen to his chin. “’Make yourself into a highly dateable girl,’” he finished. He glanced down at his splayed posture and thought back to Soon’s friends commenting on his bedhead.

Yeah, he was never getting back home.

***

Supper was…weird. Just so freaking weird.

Hearing Yoongi call Jungkook “hyung” was enough to take Namjoon aback, but being surrounded by the bizzaro-selves of the members while still missing that one vital person left him feeling anxious. Where the hell was Seokjin?

Instead of listening in on JK-dad telling Hobi-mom about his long day at work, he was preoccupied with running through the Muster sketch over and over. Seokjin had been so many characters (if you could really call most of them characters), he could realistically be hiding anywhere. Still, it stood to reason that, if he could hear and understand Cuty-Jimin, then he could probably hear not-Seokjin, too.

“—Soonie? Namsoon?”

Namjoon leapt to attention in his seat, head turning rapidly towards JK-dad. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked with cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

JK-dad tilted his head to look at Namjoon over the lens of his glasses—eerily similar to the look brother-Tae had given him this morning. Clearly, sass ran rampant in this family. “I was asking how your day was, my daughter, but it seems like maybe I should be asking how you are, instead. You’re clearly a little preoccupied, what with,” he gestured around Namjoon vaguely.

“Oh! No, I’m fine, just…thinking about…stuff,” Namjoon petered off, looking down to belatedly realize that he was still wearing Soon’s school uniform. Whoops?

Brother-Tae snickered, just to be hit upside the head by Hobi-mom. “Hush! Our Namsoonie is at a delicate time in a girl’s life,” she stated loftily before giving Namjoon a sweet smile. “You’re doing just fine, my daughter.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever call Soon-ah ‘delicate,’” uncle-Yoon commented through a mouth full of noodles. He ducked just in time to miss being hit by the slipper Hobi-mom flung at his head, sending it soaring across the dining room to slap against a small pot of pink flowers in the living room. Namjoon’s heart tugged remembering Seokjin sitting quietly next to the couch, his blank face surrounded by bright fuchsia petals.

What if Hobi-mom accidentally just killed Jin-hyung?

“Yah, you’re so rude! To me and to my daughter! What kind of a terrible uncle are you?” shouted Hobi-mom indignantly as uncle-Yoon slipped down to cower under the table. “Your brother lets you live with us out of the goodness of his heart, and you have to nerve to poke fun at his beloved Soonie? After you’ve been lazing around all day, too?”

“Hey, music is a full-time gig! I have too much passion to sell my soul to the man just for some scratch, and Hyung respects that!” uncle-Yoon hollered as he ducked away from Hobi-mom’s hands.

“Passion?” laughed Hobi-mom, flicking back a strand of hair despite how perfect her bob lay. “It that what we’re calling mooching now?”

Namjoon’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two warring parties, unused to this particular brand of ribbing and bickering, but brother-Tae and JK-dad continued to eat is if Hobi-mom and uncle-Yoon were simply discussing the weather.

Time seemed to drag on after supper. Namjoon sat anxiously at Soon’s desk and gnawed at his lip, desperate for the family to vacate the public areas so he could question a potted plant without making the whole family think that he was having some kind of psychotic break. The fact that he was looking for Seokjin in a house full of armies could only make it worse if they overheard.

Finally, at a quarter to midnight, his homework finished, Soon’s To Do list abandoned on the desktop, and Cuty curled up in sleep on Soon’s bed, Namjoon heard uncle-Yoon and JK-dad turn off the tv downstairs and file up to their bedrooms.

Each step he took down the hallway was slow and careful. He barely breathed as he passed brother-Tae’s silent room, a thin sliver of light shining past the doorjamb. By the time he reached the bottom step, Namjoon was practically lightheaded from the exertion of the trek. The little pink flower stood at a rakish angle, clearly effected by Hobi-mom’s surprise attack. Crouching down to peer at the head of the flower, he whispered, “Seokjin-hyung? Hyung, is that you?”

As the plant remained silent and stoic, Namjoon had the sudden sensation of just how insane his life was. Here he was, a fake girl attempting to converse with a plant that he thought might be his friend in the middle of the night in his fake family’s home.

He bit back hysterical giggles.

After a quiet battle to center himself, Namjoon sighed and crept back up the stairs. That was one of Seokjin’s characters down, at least. Just as he stepped onto the landing, a cheery cuckoo, cuckoo! sounded from the wall.

At the top of the stairs, Namjoon paused for a moment, ears straining to hear any noises from the bedrooms along the hallway. He let his hand drag across the wall at his side as he crept along. Glancing at the slim sliver of light shining across the hallway rug, Namjoon’s hand collided with something hanging against the far wall.

Namjoon yelped, yanking his hand back and slapping it over his mouth before freezing. He heard rustling from within the bedrooms, but no one emerged from within to investigate. After a moment of carefully controlled breathing, his eyes found the cuckoo clock hanging innocently on the wall at his side. Another image of Seokjin, this time standing silently between Taehyung and Jimin, appeared to Namjoon.

“Seokjin-hyung?” he breathed into the silent hallway. After a still moment, his shoulders fell.

A slow creak sounded, and light flooded the hallway. Whipping around, Namjoon was momentarily blinded as JK-dad leaned out of his room. He craned his neck down the hallway, seemingly looking for something. Finding nothing, he turned back to Namjoon.

“Soon-ah, what are you doing whispering out here by yourself?” he yawned.

Namjoon shrugged, mentally kicking himself for not thinking up an excuse to be up beforehand. “Uh, I was just, you know, um…” he began. “Just talking to myself?”

Nodding slowly, JK-dad said, “About Kim Seokjin? I feel that.”

“Uh, sure?” Namjoon mumbled as he inched his way towards Soon’s bedroom. “So, yeah, I’m just going to go to bed now. Night.”

With a deep sigh, Namjoon collapsed against the closed bedroom door. So much for that.

***

Whether it was due to the insanity of this whole situation, the unfamiliar bedroom, or the nighttime search for Seokjin, Namjoon had a restless night of sleep under the smiling faces of Soon’s BTS posters. His head throbbed dully as he heard his own voice entreating, all my ladies, put your hands up, at 6:15 sharp. A part of him had hoped that if he just fell asleep, he would wake up from this nightmare back at home in the dorm with the rest of Bangtan as their proper ages and genders and species.

If only he was that lucky.

Still, Namjoon’s second morning as Namsoon was much smoother. The tights were still a pain in the ass to figure out, but he at least had extra time to devote to his hair and face. Soon clearly went for more of a minimalist style, which Namjoon silently thanked the universe for. It took him a forever and a half, but he eventually tamed his hair to lay smoothly and applied just enough makeup to cover how little sleep he had gotten. Taking in his overall look, he felt a small swell of pride at being able to at least appear somewhat dateable. Soon’s list isn’t that bad, I can handle this, he thought as he gathered his school things and went down to breakfast.

Brother-Tae offered no snide comments, just a single raised brow. Hobi-mom, on the other hand, was ecstatic at his appearance. “So pretty!” she cooed as she handed Namjoon his breakfast, causing a blush that he couldn’t fight back.

Just as Namjoon settled into his place at the table, a knock sounded at the front door.

“Who could that be?” JK-dad grumbled, folding his newspaper under one arm and heading to the door. Namjoon chewed thoughtfully as JK-dad quietly spoke to whoever knocked. “Darling,” he shouted over his shoulder, “did you order anything lately?”

Namjoon leapt to his feet. Alarm bells in his head screamed, Seokjin-hyung was the delivery guy, as he stumbled to the door. JK-dad looked back at him with confusion as he pushed his way forward to see out the front door. On the front step was a short man in his thirties with a plain face and soft shoulders.

Definitely not Seokjin.

“Is everything alright?” asked JK-dad as disappointment danced across Namjoon’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just, you know, expecting something. Whatever, it’s fine, no big,” he responded with a tightlipped smile.

A sense of unease crept behind Namjoon as he followed Soon’s friends to school. During their commute, he couldn’t focus on their conversation as they stood clustered inside the bus, instead letting his eyes take in the blur of houses and businesses they passed. School was no better, the words in his textbook dancing in and out of focus as he fought for concentration. By lunch, Namjoon was forced to accept that he simply wouldn’t be able to complete Soon’s list until he could confirm that not-Seokjin was safe.

Round-faced Haneul tilted her head to meet Namjoon’s eyes. “Soon-ah, is everything alright?” she asked, hugging her lunchbox to her chest.

“Yeah, sure, I’m good,” he replied with a tight smile. Fighting another deep sigh, he pulled out his own lunch box and opened it to discover…

A banana.

Gasping, “Oh, my god,” he yanked the fruit from the box and cradled it in his hands. Seokjin couldn’t be a banana, could he? “Say something, please,” he whispered to it, forgetting entirely about the three girls gathered around him.

“…Um, what,” Yelim muttered, her thin face pulled into a frown. Eunsoo sat slack jawed at her side.

Haneul tentatively reached out to touch Namjoon’s arm, asking, “Girl, are you okay?”

But Namjoon’s eyes never left the silent banana. This was the last character Seokjin had played, this had to be it: he was a goddamn banana.

But, unfortunately, he wasn’t this banana.

“Holy shit. Brother-Tae,” he breathed. Jumping to his feet, he looked around wildly at Soon’s friends. “How long is our lunch?”

Eunsoo blinked slowly before saying, “An hour? Why?”

“Great. I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder as he hurried from the classroom.

Ignoring the girls’ shouts, he raced down to the shoe cubbies, yanked on Soon’s sneakers, and ran out the door to the courtyard. He pulled his phone from his blazer pocket, scrolling through Soon’s contacts until he found one labelled, “Tae Tae.”

“Come on; pick up, pick up,” he mumbled as he rushed across to the school gates. When he heard the click on the other side, Namjoon shouted, “Finally!”

“Noona? Why are you calling me at school?” brother-Tae asked.

“Do you have a banana in your lunchbox?” replied Namjoon, effectively ignoring brother-Tae’s questions in the process.

A long pause. “Why?” Confusion and suspicion colored brother-Tae’s tone.

Namjoon stamped his foot and paced from side to side outside the school gate, uncertain of which way brother-Tae’s school was. “Please, please, I just—I just need to know,” he pleaded. “Please tell me you haven’t eaten it already,” he continued, hating the thought that he could have saved Seokjin’s life but failed to reach him in time. His chin wobbled, and his eyes blurred with tears as he prayed to every deity he knew that somehow Seokjin was okay.

Brother-Tae made a small noise. Then, said, “No, I haven’t eaten my banana yet. Is there something wrong with it?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, just please don’t eat it!” Namjoon shouted with a burst of laughter, reveling in the relief that brother-Tae hadn’t accidentally eaten Seokjin.  “I’m coming to your school to grab it, okay? Now, where’s your school again?”

Namjoon’s carefully put together appearance was ruined by the time he reached brother-Tae’s school gates. He carefully wiped the sweat from his brow as he waved to brother-Tae hovering just inside the school doors. Despite the deep concern on his face, brother-Tae still jogged out to meet Namjoon, banana in hand.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” he huffed as he held out the banana for Namjoon to take.

Biting his lip, Namjoon recited the feeble lie he had put together on the run here. “We’re making banana bread in home ec class today, but I forgot to tell mom,” he stated, avoiding brother-Tae’s eyes. He was an absolute shit liar to begin with, but especially to Taehyung who was like a human lie detector.

“Sure. That’s why you couldn’t just buy one at the convenience store,” brother-Tae retorted.

Namjoon sighed. “Okay, no, I’m not going to tell you what’s going on.” He looked up to meet brother-Tae’s eyes, saying, “But I will say that I really appreciate you doing this anyways.”

Brother-Tae huffed, but his lips twisted in a way that made it seem to Namjoon like he was fighting a smile. “God, you’re weird. I have to get back to class,” he said dismissively, turning back to his own school.

“Thanks, little brother!” Namjoon called with a wave.

He held the banana to his chest gently as he turned to go back to his own school, surreptitiously looking for a quiet place to talk to the banana without having an audience. After walking for a few blocks, he found a quiet bus stop. Pulling his phone from his pocket again, he pretended to place a call.

“Seokjin-hyung? Are you there?” Namjoon asked the banana, hoping that eye contact was enough for the fruit to know that he was talking to it and not his phone.

The wait was awful but was only made worse when he received no reply.

“Where the hell are you, Hyung?” he breathed.

Even though he should have rushed back to school to make it to class on time, Namjoon dragged his feet. He was out of ideas—Seokjin had only been those four characters in the sketch. Were there more bananas at home? Another cuckoo clock? The whole situation made his stomach churn.

By the time he walked through the front doors of the school, he was almost a half hour late for literature class. The last thing he needed was detention, so he turned down the hallway to the infirmary. He walked carefully, hoping to avoid attention, but Namjoon was never the luckiest guy.

His foot caught, pitching him forward. He braced himself for impact, but found himself dampened somewhat by another person.

“You really should watch where you’re going,” the person said, a boy who pulled Namjoon back to his feet. His hair was long and carefully styled to fall in his eyes, while his untucked uniform shirt and tie were artfully out of regulation. He smirked and continued, “A girl like you could get in a lot of trouble if you don’t watch your step.”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes as he squared his shoulders. “Is that a threat?” he asked.

The other boy’s eyes widened, emphasized by his dark eyeliner. “Wow, you really don’t take any shit, do you? I like that in a girl.” He stepped closer, only for Namjoon to step back, as well.

“Good to know. Can I go now?” asked Namjoon as he tilted his head in an imitation of brother-Tae. After the disappointment of banana-Seokjin, his patience for bullshit was exceptionally low. He smiled with exasperation as the boy stepped to the side and ushered Namjoon past. He walked off with carefully measured steps, not wanting to appear at all flustered by the cocky bastard.

The nurse bought Namjoon’s horrible acting with aplomb, allowing him to return to Soon’s classroom with a free pass.

As he took his seat, Eunsoo leaned forward in her seat behind his to whisper, “Where were you?” Namjoon simply shook his head and covertly slid brother-Tae’s banana into Soon’s school bag.

Yelim, seated behind Haneul to his right, let out a chuckle. “The better question is why were you seen talking to Kam Dongha?”

“Who’s that?” he whispered back, racking his brain for anyone he had talked to. “Wait, is he that emo-jerkoff who tripped me?” Haneul squeaked out a yelp of laughter, dissolving into horrible fake hiccups when the teacher turned his eyes towards their part of the classroom.

“Yeah, I’d consider that an accurate description,” Yelim giggled as they all turned back to their textbooks.

The rest of the school day passed without incident, leaving Namjoon with an extra banana, a few sideways glances from the other girls in class about emo-jerkoff, and no leads on where the hell Seokjin was. It was not the most productive day, that was for sure. Trailing Soon’s three friends as they headed down to the school entrance to collect their outdoor shoes and head home, Namjoon felt the exhaustion of looking for Seokjin without any new answers in his aching back just as much as his racing thoughts.

“See you later, Jeong Namsoon,” he heard someone call as he pulled Soon’s sneakers from their assigned cubby. He waved vaguely in the direction of the voice, not recognizing any familiar faces when he belatedly realized that he was Jeong Namsoon.

“Oh, my god, was that Choi Byungsoo?” Haneul gasped, grabbing onto Namjoon’s arm as they pulled on their coats. “You know, Choi Byungsoo? Popular-handsome-almost-as-fine-as-Taehyung Choi Byungsoo? Captain-of-the-soccer-team Choi Byungsoo?” she continued as she saw Namjoon’s confused expression.

“Hit-you-in-the-leg-with-a-soccer-ball Choi Byungsoo,” added Eunsoo.

“Oh, yeah, dumb-jock guy. Huh,” Namjoon said through a yawn.

The three girls laughed and led the way outside. They waved Namjoon goodbye at the bus stop, all heading to their cram schools. While he found that he actually liked Soon’s friends, he was glad to finally have a quiet minute alone after his grueling day.

His eyelids hung heavy as his rode the bus back to his own neighborhood. Despite how long and awful and tiresome some days were with Bangtan, nothing really compared to being stuck in a high school classroom with no means of escape, outside of just waiting it out. But time might be Namjoon’s undoing. To do before new year’s…

At the terminal, he stopped for a moment, taking in a deep breath of cold, afternoon air as he gazed up at the soft blue sky. It was both reassuring and heartbreaking that the world remained a beautiful, indifferent place despite all the hardships people faced, despite him being stuck in this fucked up situation with no guarantees that he could ever get home. Namjoon couldn’t ever bring himself to believe in any god or higher power, but he sent out a silent prayer to the sky for guidance or a sign or an answer to literally any of the questions he had. With a sigh, he pulled up his map app and began the walk back to Soon’s house.

After a block down the usual commute along the main road, the app chimed. It indicated a shortcut that would shave a couple minutes off his regular path, one that would take him down a side street, through a park, and back out to Soon’s street. Happy to leave the busy main roads behind, Namjoon took the turn, winding his way out of the business district.

Only a block into his shortcut, he slowed as he passed a Coco convenience store, still somewhat struck by how little his own reflection in the wide front windows looked like himself. In his peripherals, he caught sight of a store worker crouching down by the front register as he restocked gum displays.

His hair was soft caramelly brown, his waist tapered and slender, his shoulders broad. It was a back that Namjoon would recognize anywhere.

“Jin-hyung!” he shouted, tearing through the store’s front door.

The worker turned his stupidly handsome face to gape at Namjoon.

It was entirely Seokjin, one million percent Seokjin.

Namjoon felt his heart give way. He had done it; he had found Seokjin, and he hadn’t been accidentally murdered by Hobi-mom’s slipper or eaten by brother-Tae. If it wasn’t for the fact that the convenience store’s floor was…a convenience store floor, Namjoon would have collapsed in a relieved heap right then and there.

“Um…do I know you?” not-Seokjin asked, blinking rapidly in Namjoon’s direction.

He should have known that not-Seokjin would be exactly as clueless about this situation as the rest of not-Bangtan, but it still stung just a little to realize that no one recognized Namjoon at all.

Lost in his thoughts momentarily, Namjoon belatedly remembered that not-Seokjin had asked him a question. “Oh, I mean, maybe? I’ve, you know, seen you around,” he floundered, averting his eyes from not-Seokjin. “Aren’t you a delivery guy?”

“Yeah, I work deliveries in the afternoon. Wait, you’re in that Army family. The Jeons or something?” replied not-Seokjin as he pouted in thought and tapped his finger to his chin.

“The Jeongs, actually,” Namjoon mumbled, watching as not-Seokjin stood. Smoothing the pleats of Soon’s uniform skirt, he felt a strange wave of embarrassment wash over him. He hunched slightly in on himself, hoping not to exaggerate the extra height he had on not-Seokjin. After his lunchtime jog, he was certain his hair was an absolute mess and his makeup couldn’t be much better. And, here he was, accidentally referring to this person who should be a complete stranger using the complete wrong honorifics. Super.

Not-Seokjin bowed graciously. “Well, it’s nice to meet you formally, Jeong Army.”

“What? Oh, I’m Namj—Namsoon,” he replied, showing off approximately none of his high intellect and quick thinking. “My name’s Jeong Namsoon.” Namjoon was fighting every instinct that told him to just run away from this exceptionally awkward conversation.

But not-Seokjin smiled, unfazed by Namjoon’s stilted replies. “You almost got my name right, Army-ssi,” he said, pointing to his nametag. “I’m Kim Jinseok, not Jinhyung.”

“Right, sorry,” Namjoon said with a bow that hid his relieved expression at not-Seokjin’s misunderstanding. It never failed to amaze him that everyone in this world found Namjoon’s meager attempts at femininity convincing. “I’m sorry to bother you, Kim Jinseok-nim.” The formal title and flipflopped name felt awkward on his tongue, but the relief of finally finding all the members of Bangtan hidden away in this bizarro world left Namjoon with a clearer head than he had since waking up as Jeong Namsoon.

With a small laugh, not-Seokjin shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s literally my job to be bothered by customers. Now,” he brushed his hands against his navy uniform pants. “Can I help you find anything today?”

For some reason, Namjoon’s mind immediately went to the two bananas in his bag. “Yes, actually, you can.”

***

The rest of Namjoon’s walk home had been oddly peaceful. The route was winding, quaint family homes lined up neatly with the curves of the road. The little park was open and neatly maintained. Tall pines lined the edges and a small swing set sat tucked into a back corner, all swaying gently with little creaks. By the time he hit the main road outside the Jeong residence, Namjoon felt refreshed, felt ready to fight to make it home.

The resolve to complete Soon’s stupid To Do list one way or another burned in his belly.

“I’m home,” he called as he entered, hearing a distant reply from Hobi-mom upstairs and a little excited yelp from the dining room from Cuty-Jimin. Uncle-Yoon stuck he head around the wall from the living room as Namjoon pulled on Soon’s slippers and dug the two bananas from Soon’s bag.

“Hey-yo, Soon-ah, how’s life?” he asked from his sprawled position across the couch.

“Surprisingly alright, despite how terrible everything is,” Namjoon replied. He placed the bananas back into the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.

Uncle-Yoon returned Namjoon’s soft smile. “That’s, like, really nice to hear, actually.”

Humming in response, Namjoon walked upstairs and stopped outside the only closed door in the hallway, the one that, by process of elimination, belonged to brother-Tae. Namjoon dug the convenience store bag from within Soon’s school bag before knocking quietly on the door.

“Yes?” brother-Tae called from inside.

“Hey, it’s,” he hesitated, scrambling to decide how to refer to himself. “It’s your noona,” was his final decision, the word reminding him to lighten the pitch of his voice a bit. He heard a quiet shuffle from inside, then the door opened a crack so brother-Tae could peek through.

“I’m all out of bananas,” he stated, looking over his glasses at Namjoon.

Holding out the plastic bag, Namjoon said, “Yeah, about that. I got you these to make up for it.” Brother-Tae took the bag and pulled out the pack of banana milk. “Thanks for helping me today, even though it made no sense. That was really nice of you.”

Brother-Tae blinked slowly at the banana milk, then looked back up at Namjoon. “It’s…” He frowned, shaking his head, continuing, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It was to me. So, yeah, thanks again. I’ll let you get back to your homework or whatever,” Namjoon smiled. Stepping back from the door, he waved and turned towards Soon’s bedroom.

“You’re welcome, Noona,” he heard brother-Tae mumble before closing his door. He might act like a completely different person from Taehyung most of the time, but Namjoon could see glimmers of the sweet kid hiding underneath brother-Tae’s stoic exterior. With a little laugh, he walked into Soon’s room, retrieved the To Do list from the desk, and turned to look at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

With a decisive nod, Namjoon declared, “Let’s do this thing.”

Chapter Text

By morning number three, Namjoon was beginning to feel like he was getting a handle on this whole “being a girl” thing. He had spent the night before alternating between studying and looking up hair tutorials on YouTube. Sitting on the floor in front of Soon’s mirror, he had clumsily constructed little braid after little braid, all trying to replicate the hairstyle the stylists had given him in the Muster sketch.

His practice seemed to be paying off. Grinning broadly, he patted the side braid that only took him five tries and twenty minutes to create with an air of accomplishment. With a quick sweep of eye shadow, Namjoon felt both exceptionally cute and extremely dateable.

As he descended the stairs, he expected brother-Tae to complain about how he had hogged the bathroom all morning to perfect his hairstyle, but he was proven wrong. Brother-Tae only glanced up and nodded a hello before returning to his breakfast. Hobi-mom proved her vocal support by practically shrieking with delight.

“Look at my lovely daughter,” she shouted at the family gathered around the table. Wrapping her arms around Namjoon’s shoulders, she twirled them both. “Aren’t we just the most beautiful girls in the world?” she sang.

“Girls?” uncle-Yoon snorted. “Noona, you haven’t been a girl for, like, what, fifty years?”

Hobi-mom was already towering over uncle-Yoon before he could finish his sentence. Repeatedly jabbing his side, she hollered back, “Yah, so rude! How old do you think I am, you jerk? I’m in the prime of my womanhood!”

JK-dad hid his grin behind his newspaper. “Darling, just ignore Yoonho. You already know you’re a beautiful flower at any age,” he stated placatingly as he peeked over his paper shyly. Brother-Tae, uncle-Yoon, and Namjoon gagged in chorus as she flung her arms around JK-dad.

“I’m so glad someone in this family has taste,” she sighed dreamily before pecking his cheek.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” brother-Tae grumbled, grabbing his lunchbox as he headed for the door. When Namjoon followed shortly afterwards, hoping to avoid the image of a kissing Hobi-mom and JK-dad burned into his subconscious forever, brother-Tae shyly pressed Soon’s lunchbox into Namjoon’s hands. “Here, Noona, don’t forget your lunch. We don’t need you running around looking for bananas today,” he muttered, his eyes trained on his sneakers.

“Thanks, Tae Tae,” Namjoon grinned, giggling when brother-Tae’s cheeks burned red in response. Together they walked out the front door and waved as they parted ways at the road.

“Wow, that’s the happiest I’ve seen Taehyun look since…ever,” Haneul gasped as she stopped at Namjoon’s side and interlocked their arms. “Since when were you two so nice to each other?”

“Since yesterday, I guess?” Namjoon replied.

Eunsoo snapped her fingers as they walked along the main roads to the train station, pointing at him with smirk. “So, that’s what you were doing yesterday! Secret sibling stuff! And here I spent all this time thinking it had something to do with Choi Byungsoo or Kam Dongha.”

Yelim scoffed. “Please, Namsoon is way too smart to hang out with either of those idiots.”

With a deep pout, Haneul mumbled, “It’s not stupid to like boys.”

“Sure, if that boy is Kim Namjoon or something. But it’s definitely stupid if the boy in question is a massive idiot. Which they both are,” countered Yelim breezily, leading them through the crowd to their bus stop.

Namjoon sputtered at his name, a bit embarrassed to realize just how much he missed the sound of it. As they stood waiting for their bus to arrive, he decided to throw a bit of caution to the wind. “Guys, don’t you think it’s—I don’t know, kind of weird how similar my name is to Namjoon’s?” he asked, biting his lip and glancing down at his feet.

“We’ve been over this a million times, Soon-ah; just because your names are so similar doesn’t mean you’re soulmates or whatever,” Eunsoo giggled with a light shove to Namjoon’s shoulder.

Well, that explained why the home screen on Soon’s phone was one of Namjoon’s many selcas. It was admittedly a little disconcerting to see his own face every time he had to call or text someone.

“She has more reason for Kim Namjoon to love her than Kim Taehyung has to love me, so,” Haneul sniffed. She sidled up to Namjoon and threw her arm protectively over his shoulders, clearly trying to defend his pride despite casting her own on the ground.

“Taehyungie has a lot of respect for girls like you, Haneul-ssi” Namjoon said with conviction. “One of the best ways to learn how to love yourself is by taking care of those you care about, and being a good friend is a huge part of that.” The girl’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she clearly searched for a response to Namjoon.

“Since when did you refer to Kim Taehyung so casually and Haneul so formally?” Eunsoo asked, brows furrowed deeply.

“Uh…” he began, but the bus’s arrival saved him from having to cover his mistake. Still, he had to wonder if all of his little quirks and gaffs would eventually be enough to alert Soon’s friends to his predicament. It would be nice to have more help than just a dog, as great as Cuty-Jimin’s support was.

As he stepped onto the bus, Haneul tugged at the sleeve of his coat and mumbled, “Thank you for saying that. You’re a really great friend, too.” Her eyes were a little glassy as she spoke.

Being able to see the positive impact BTS had through their thoughts and actions on armies at such close proximity made Namjoon’s heart swell. “Really, I was just being honest, but you’re welcome anyway.”

“You know,” Yelim said from Namjoon’s other side. “You should write down what you said about Kim Taehyung and loving yourself to share at ARMY Club today.”

Namjoon looked at the three girls with confusion as their faces lit with excitement at her words. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“It’s Friday,” Eunsoo stated slowly, her head tilted to the side while her face clearly indicated that Namjoon should be well aware of the day’s significance. “Seriously, how could you forget about ARMY Club? It’s, like, the best part of the week,” she continued.

Haneul puffed herself up, clearly taking Namjoon’s earlier comments to heart. “Give Soonie a break! It’s been a long week.”

The rest of their commute was spent with the three girls deep in discussion of Jimin’s new hair color during some interview that aired the night before, but Namjoon let himself hang back a little.  Knowing that he would have two full days of his own time to devote to Soon’s To Do list made him eager to get to work. Still, he couldn’t slack off school if he wanted to pass Soon’s university entrance exams.

He sighed deeply. Being a teenager sucked sometimes.

At the school gates, a gangly boy waved eagerly at Namjoon and the girls. “Hello, ladies! Are you excited for our club meeting today?’

“Yeah, duh,” Haneul shrugged as they he reached their group.

Eunsoo smiled softly and waved back, saying, “Hello, Isang-ssi.” But the boy seemed far more concerned with Namjoon at the back of the group as he pushed his way to walk beside him.

“Are you excited for ARMY Club, Jeong Namsoon-ssi?” he asked, walking backwards to look at Namjoon’s face as he did. Every moment or so, his hands would fidget with his glasses or straighten his already pristine tie or smooth down his puffer coat. “I’m excited to get started on V’s birthday project; aren’t you?”

Namjoon caught Yelim’s deep eye roll from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, sure. Although, isn’t it a little early for that?” he responded with a shrug.

"It's never too early to start planning for birthdays! For instance, when is yours?"

“Okay, time to go, bye!” Haneul said with a wide, tightlipped smile, interrupting before dork-boy could respond, thankfully pulling Namjoon with her into the school’s front entryway.

“See you ladies later!” he called as the girls filed to their shoe cubbies.

“Good god, what a freaking tool,” Yelim muttered as she pulled off her scarf.

Eunsoo placed her hands on her hips and scowled at her friend. “He’s just trying to be friendly.”

Namjoon stifled a giggle as he pushed his outdoor shoes into Soon’s assigned cubby, hearing a muffled crumple as he did. Pulling the shoes back, he peered inside to find a small envelope. It was square-ish and printed with small white flowers on a blue background. "To Jeong Namsoon" was written in elaborate cursive on the front.

“What’s this?” he mumbled as he ripped open the paper.

Haneul gasped from over his shoulder as he unfolded the note inside, “Oh, my god, oh, my god, Soonie!”

Underneath a small pressed flower affixed to the header, it read:

            To Jeong Namsoon—

            When I think of you, I think of a flower

            Of your pretty face at every hour

            When I think of you, I think of the wind

            Of your dark hair and tanned skin

            When I think of you, I think of the seashore

            Of the lovely girl that I adore

“What the fuck is this,” Namjoon stated, shoving the offending note into Haneul’s desperately grasping hands as Eunsoo and Yelim crowded around to read the words printed within.

“You’re like a seashore? I’m disgusted,” Yelim muttered underneath a chorus of squeals from the other girls.

“What? Why? What’s wrong with you? This is so,” Haneul took a deep breath and pressed the paper to her heart gently. “Romantic,” she sighed.

Leaning against Haneul’s shoulder, Eunsoo smiled dreamily in Namjoon’s direction. “You’re so lucky, Soon-ah. I wish someone loved me like that.”

“Like what? Visually? The whole letter’s just about how I look,” he shrugged, placing his shoes in their cubby and turning back to the girls. “I mean, it’s nice to be complimented, but that’s not really love, is it?”

As much as Namjoon was ready to leave the conversation at that, Soon’s friends were much less inclined to do so. Their teachers shushed them multiple times throughout the day for whispering as Namjoon sunk further and further down in his seat. Clearly the girls were fit to burst by the time lunch rolled around.

“It has to be Kam Dongha,” Eunsoo stated with a nod as she placed her lunchbox down with finality. Namjoon racked his brain, connecting the name to the emo-guy from yesterday. “He never talks to anyone, but, there he was, seen speaking multiple sentences to Soon. Clearly, he’s in love.”

Haneul giggled, but shook her head. “Wouldn’t that be amazing? I don’t think Kam Dongha knows her name, though. But what about Choi Byungsoo? Remember yesterday? He clearly knows who she is.” Jock-type, Namjoon thought absently.

“I think you’re both overlooking the obvious answer,” stated Yelim, leaning forward conspicuously. “Who’s a giant, poetic nerd who likes Namsoon?” She paused for effect. “Lee Isang.”

“Oh, the nerdy guy from this morning?” Namjoon asked.

Haneul nodded slowly. “It could really be any of the three,” she uttered before reaching out to hold Namjoon’s hand. “God, I want a boyfriend! You’re so lucky to have three cute guys all vying for your love,” she sighed.

Boyfriend? Alarm bells rang in Namjoon’s head. Could this be the answer to fulfilling item number four on Soon’s To Do list? Of all the ridiculous romance subplots, this cliché romcom had to go with this? Still, Namjoon had to admit that things could be worse; he wasn’t going to have to beg some dude to date him or make some kind of heartfelt plea in the rain or something. Nope, Soon’s future boyfriend had delivered himself to Namjoon on a platter. Or, really, a note, but whatever.

All that was left was to figure out which boy it was.

“I need to know who wrote this,” he said, taking his time to make eye contact with each girl. “Will you guys help me find out?” Three gleeful smiles bloomed around him.

“Absolutely.”

***

It was a bit odd to be a part of the fan chant as opposed to the recipient, but Namjoon hoped to make the best of it. The small club room was packed with people, but the myriad of posters hung around the room only served to make Namjoon feel pressed down and surrounded. He was reminded oddly of the walls of fans at airports or rows of photographers at press events—only this time, instead of being the center of attention, he was merely caught up in the wave of people. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Yelim and a pretty girl named Dabin, Namjoon felt that he was experiencing the weird, cohesive power of the ARMY for the first time.

Eunsoo had quickly promoted herself to head detective in the Case of the Secret Admirer and assigned them all roles to play throughout the meeting, hoping to narrow down the suspects from three—jock-type, emo-type, or dork-type—down to one.  Poor dork-type had no idea why Haneul and Eunsoo had forcefully crammed him in between them one row ahead of Namjoon, but he clearly didn’t have it in him to fight against the power of girls on a mission.

After the club president, another senior girl who had a massive Jungkook button pinned to the front of her sweater vest, released them to work on their individual projects, the boy turned immediately to Namjoon.

“So, any big plans for the weekend, Namsoon-ssi?” he spoke around his fidgeting and shifting. He only smiled wider at Namjoon’s shrug. “Me personally, I’m hoping to marathon all of the American Hustle Life episodes.”

“Aish, don’t remind me,” Namjoon whined. He buried his face into his hands, hoping to chase away the mortification the name alone brought to mind.

“Um, okay?” he replied.

“So! Isang-ssi, do you have any favorite poets?” Haneul asked, deflecting the conversation away from Namjoon’s despair.

“Wow, I’m so glad you asked!”

Dork-type reached into his bag to pull out a massive book, the cover a map of Korea in the shape of a tiger, the words "Poetry of the Korean Kingdoms" printed along the spine, and a myriad of bookmarks sticking out from within its pages. “Namsoon-ssi, have you read any of Hwang Jini’s works?”

***

“Never speak to me about romantic sijo poetry ever again,” Yelim grumbled as Namjoon and the girls walked down the hallway from the club room.

“So, yeah, my bad. I swear, I had no idea that Lee Isang was a poetry nerd,” Haneul sighed. She rubbed her eyes, sighed again, and shook her head, attempting to shake off the sleepiness that dork-type’s half-hour long lecture on poetry had left them all with.

Namjoon led them out to their cubbies, pausing as he slipped off his indoor shoes. “I hate to make it worse, but I’m not sure that we learned anything useful from him either way. The letter I received wasn’t written in sijo verse, I checked already.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Dang, so much for that lead,” Eunsoo sighed. “What’s that?” she asked as Namjoon pulled out Soon’s sneakers from their cubby and a clear plastic parcel fell at their feet.

Inside the bag was a single red rose.

“Wow, your secret admirer is persistent!” Haneul breathed as Namjoon bent to pick up the gift. A small tag hung from it, labelled "JNS" in a neat, typed font.

“Whoever this secret admirer is, he’s really going out of his way to get my attention,” Namjoon said, turning the little card for the girls to see. “It’s a little weird that he didn't leave them both at the same time, don't you think?”

“I guess. I don't know, maybe he's just extremely persistent. Or desperate,” Yelim wondered as she pulled on her outdoor shoes and led the group out the front doors of the school.

Haneul took the flower from Namjoon’s hand as if it were made of glass. “Do you think this eliminates Lee Isang from our list of suspects? He was at ARMY Club with us this afternoon.”

“I didn’t check my shoes after taking them off this morning. Anyone could have put this there at any time today,” Namjoon shrugged.

“Great, so this gives us nothing,” griped Yelim.

“Not necessarily,” Eunsoo stated as they halted at the bus stop. “He might be setting up a theme here, I think. We just have to pay attention to what he does next.”

“Hopefully, whatever he does next, he does it soon,” added Namjoon, his mind circling back to his deadline. With each passing minute, he swore he could feel the weight of the To Do list growing heavier.

“Well, text us if you think of anything useful,” Eunsoo said with a wave, leading the other girls away from the bus stop. Namjoon waved back.

As stupid as the situation was, he was grateful that the girls were so eager to help him search for the elusive admirer. There was also a lightness to his step that the ARMY Club had left in him, their collective excitement for the members' achievements and for their fellow armies’ feelings draining away some of his anxieties. No matter what, he knew that he could rely on them for help.

He spent the bus ride home gazing at the buildings he passed, the purple twilight glazing the city. Little halos of golden streetlight streaked across his eyes as the bus sped towards Soon’s home. Namjoon nestled his gratefulness close to his heart to help buoy him through a long weekend of work.

The sounds of the city seemed a little muffled as he turned to take his shortcut home.

Red taillights from a delivery truck shone outside the Coco convenience store, painting the lone worker in stark relief against the dark street. All it took was one glance for him to recognize not-Seokjin loading pallets of drinks onto a dolly. Namjoon saw his scarf catch in the wind as he pushed the tower of drinks across the street, not-Seokjin turning and darting back into the intersection to retrieve it.

From his vantage point, Namjoon could hear the oncoming car before he could see it.

“Jin!” he shouted, rushing at the man without second thought. His familiar features were suddenly lit with the jagged white light of the car’s headlights as their eyes connected. Namjoon ran on instinct. With a leap that he didn’t even know he was capable of, he tackled not-Seokjin, sending them flying towards the curb before landing hard against the pavement and rolling to a stop as the car whizzed by with blaring horns.

Not-Seokjin wheezed out a, “Holy shit,” from underneath Namjoon. He tentatively opened his eyes, heart still pounding in his ears. The polyester of not-Seokjin’s work shirt prickled against Namjoon’s cheek where it pressed against his shoulder, and his fingers ached from gripping at his coat. Slowly, Namjoon pushed himself up, kneeling over not-Seokjin.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon fought to keep his voice level to little success.

“I think so?” replied not-Seokjin. He patted at himself, seemingly to ensure that he was still in one piece. The color in his cheeks had drained away and his eyes were blown wide, but not-Seokjin’s reply let Namjoon breathe a sigh of relief. He carefully stood on shaky legs before reaching down to help not-Seokjin stand.

“I don’t…I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…” he spoke, holding onto Namjoon’s hand.

Shaking his head, Namjoon said, “Don’t think about that. You’re okay now.”

“Thanks to you,” not-Seokjin replied. He gently released Namjoon’s hand before bowing deeply. Ignoring Namjoon’s pleas to please stop bowing, he straightened, grabbed onto Namjoon’s wrist, and drug him across the street—after looking both ways multiple times, of course.

“Um, what’s this about?” mumbled Namjoon as not-Seokjin herded him into the convenience store’s break room.

Pulling a small white box from underneath the sink, not-Seokjin directed Namjoon to sit at a small plastic chair and knelt before him. “You’re bleeding,” he replied, pointing to Namjoon’s knee and pulling a large bandage and disinfectant from the first aid kit. Soon's tights had been torn, exposing a shallow scrape across his kneecap.

“Oh! It’s—it’s fine, I’m used to hurting myself,” Namjoon stated and tried to stand.

“Please,” urged not-Seokjin, pushing Namjoon back into the seat gently. “Namsoon-ssi, it’s the least I can do, after what you did for me.”

Looking into not-Seokjin’s eyes, Namjoon saw his carefully maintained wall fall a little, letting a glimmer of fear shine through. He had always been worthless at turning away from any hint of genuine feeling that Seokjin had ever given him, especially knowing how rare those moments were. Biting his lip, he sat back quietly and let not-Seokjin tend to his scraped knee.

“I’m sorry about ruining your tights,” not-Seokjin commented as Namjoon hissed a little at the sting of disinfectant. Suddenly, he giggled and poked at Namjoon’s uninjured leg. “Let me know if you knee-d a new pair.”

“Wow, Jinseok-nim, that was horrible,” he snickered despite himself. Clearly not-Seokjin employed the same emotional diversion tactic as Seokjin.

The sound of their laughter in the quiet of the break room and not-Seokjin’s careful dabs of his knee were helping his heart rate return to normal, but he could still feel the tight coil of adrenaline in his chest.

Not-Seokjin blew gently on the disinfectant and tore open the bandage. “You know, I think we’re officially past the point of ‘nim’ now. You can call me ‘oppa’ if you want,” not-Seokjin smiled up at him. Namjoon felt a little idiotic for missing that smile so much after not seeing it for literally a day, but he chose not to care as he basked in the calm that pooled in his chest like a salve. He glanced away, tucking his smile out of sight.

“Okay, sure, yeah. Oppa is good,” he said to the worn floor tiles. While the honorific felt awkward on his tongue, he was relieved to find that not-Seokjin—or Jin-oppa, rather—considered him a friend.

“There, that should be better,” Jin-oppa said as he smoothed the edges of the bandage down and leaned back on his heels.

“How about you? You looked pretty shaken up out there,” Namjoon asked.

Jin-oppa glanced down at his red palms and back up at Namjoon. “Honestly, I think I’m more stirred than anything," he paused to giggle before continuing, "Really, though, I’m a little sore, but I’m alright. I have to get back to work, anyways.”

Namjoon leapt to his feet. “Shit! Why were you all worried about me when you’re supposed to be working?” he cried, hauling Jin-oppa back into the storefront. To Namjoon’s relief, the store was deserted. An older man wearing a delivery uniform pushed the dolly of drink pallets through the front as they emerged.

“Hey, man, if you’re gonna run off to neck your girlfriend, wait until after I’m done on the crapper, yeah? You just abandoned all this product out on the street,” he grumbled, dropping down the dolly with a thud.

“Wait, no, we weren’t—" Namjoon began, but Jin-oppa interrupted with a bow.

“I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again,” he spoke before giving the man a sweet grin.

The delivery man’s composure melted under Jin-oppa’s charms, a small smile gracing his face. “It better not. You kids look after yourselves now,” he said with a wink in Jin-oppa’s direction before heading back outside. As Namjoon watched him go, he was struck suddenly by how dark it was.

“Hey, Hyu—I mean, Oppa, what time is it?” he asked.

The smile Jin-oppa sent him at the honorific was oddly tender. Glancing at his empty wrist, he replied, “It’s about a quarter after six. You haven’t missed supper at home, have you?”

At the worry writ across Jin-oppa’s face, Namjoon held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No, I haven’t missed it yet, but I will soon. I’ll just get going,” he returned, walking backwards towards the entrance and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Okay, be careful. Please get home safe,” Jin-oppa responded.

With a little nod and a quick smile, Namjoon turned to walk out into the night. Yet, once outside, he paused for a moment beside the wide plate-glass front, catching Jin-oppa’s eye in the process. His beam seemed to light him from within as he waved at Namjoon with both arms. Giggling, Namjoon threw his hands high over his head, bouncing as he returned the gesture. Even though he couldn’t hear him from outside, Namjoon could feel Jin-oppa’s squeaky laughter following him as he finally turned homeward.

***

The front porch light was a beacon as Namjoon cut across the yard. There was a soft, muffled quality that reminded him of the days when the group couldn’t return home to the dorm until deep into the night—like the night was holding its breath.

From the other side of the yard, the quiet click of heels approached.

“Soon-ah? What are you doing out here so late?” JK-dad asked, pausing as he caught sight of Namjoon across the way.

“Oh, uh,” he responded, tucking his hair behind his ear as he walked to the front door. “I was just talking with a friend and, you know, completely lost track of time.”

JK-dad hummed in response, opening the door and guiding Namjoon through. “We’re home,” he called as he closed the door behind them. Three verbal responses reached them, while Cuty-Jimin physically threw himself up into JK-dad’s arms.

“You’re home! I’ve missed you all day!” he cried as JK-dad scratched him behind the floppy ear.

Namjoon smiled at the pair, still goofy and inseparable even in this bizarro world.

As he pulled off his jacket, the pretty secret admirer envelope fell from his pocket and onto the floor. Cuty gave it a small sniff before JK-dad retrieved it. “What’s this?” he wondered as he read the neat label on the front.

It wasn’t like Namjoon was embarrassed or anything, but he couldn’t help but yank the letter from his hands and quickly tuck it out of sight. JK-dad glanced over his glasses in his signature way. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid,” Namjoon mumbled, pouting a little under JK-dad’s gaze.

JK-dad laughed, “I won’t have pegged you as the ‘love letter’ type.”

“I’m not, though,” countered Namjoon indignantly. “It’s just….”

Taking Namjoon’s free hand into his own, JK-dad said gently, “It’s alright. We all want to feel special every now and then, even if it’s a little embarrassing. You deserve whatever praise that boy has given you.”

Namjoon blinked in surprise before mumbling, “Um, wow. Thanks, dad.”

“Of course. In fact, he likely didn’t praise my lovely, genius daughter enough!” he smiled. Turning over his hand to expose Namjoon’s scuffed palms, he asked, “Now, can you tell me why you’re all scratched up?”

“It was an accident. I’m fine,” he replied, pulling his hand away from JK-dad’s to gesture to his bandaged knee. “It looks worse than it is. My friend looked after me—he did a great job, so I’m fine now.”

JK-dad cocked his head to the side. “‘He’ looked after you?”

“Supper’s ready!” Hobi-mom sang from the dining room. Namjoon hurried to the table, hoping to avoid any awkward dating advice from JK-dad in the process.

“Looks great, mom!”

She giggled, smiling as JK-dad kissed her on the cheek as he passed by. “Well, someone’s certainly in a good mood.”

Settling into his spot at the head of the table, JK-dad commented, “Why shouldn’t she be? It seems like boys are finally starting to realize what a catch our Soonie is.”

“Gross,” brother-Tae stated as he slid into his spot at the table.

Hobi-mom shoved him lightly. “Yah, be happy for your sister. She’s a lovely flower ripe for picking.” She swept haughtily into her seat, effectively missing brother-Tae’s extreme eye roll.

“That is literally the worst possible way to say that,” uncle-Yoon said, immediately ducking to avoid her slipper. “Still, I’m happy for you, Soonie. A girl your age deserves to have a little fun,” he said from his spot cowering under the table. “Just not too much fun, or else I’ll have to break this boy’s legs.”

“Sure, as if my Soon-ah would ever get herself into that kind of trouble,” JK-dad muttered with a huff. “Or that I’d let you get to that boy before me.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourselves, guys,” Namjoon sighed as he took his plate from JK-dad. “I don’t even know who this guy is.”

“Oh? Then, who’s this ‘friend’ you referred to?” JK-dad asked over his glasses.

With a little hmpft, Namjoon replied, “Literally just a friend, dad, don’t be weird about it.”

“That’s how it always starts,” uncle-Yoon stated, finally sitting up normally again.

“Don’t you go putting your nasty ideas in my babies’ heads,” warned Hobi-mom, her other slipper clutched menacingly in her hand.

Holding up his hands as if being held at gunpoint, uncle-Yoon exclaimed, “Alright, alright! Enough with the slippers already!”

JK-dad valiantly lost the fight to keep his laughter at bay as he dissolved into giggles at his family's antics. “Every day I’m grateful you’re here, Yoonho-yah, to be on the receiving end of my wife’s abuse. You save me from so much pain and suffering,” he declared, wiping tears from his eyes.

Namjoon and brother-Tae made eye contact over the table, both ducking their heads immediately to keep their own laughter at bay as Hobi-mom smacked JK-dad lightly upside the head. Maybe it was due to how close he had come to disaster with Jin-oppa today, but Namjoon was immensely relieved to have this strange, wonderful family around him at the end of each day. He hoped that, if he really could find his way home eventually, Soon would cherish these people for the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

While he met the weekend with the relief of being in charge of his time once again, Namjoon was also presented with a whole new array of challenges. There were calculus drills to memorize, an endless catalog of songs to sort through for his eventual solo, and BTS fan meetings to research—so many little things to do that Namjoon was barely left with any time to think.

There was also the predicament of figuring out what the hell to wear.

Part of him wanted to lean hard towards styles that would force those around him to question whether he truly was the girl they knew or not, but the other part worried that doing so would throw off the entire To Do list plan. Namsoon had multiple skirts that created the illusion of a feminine shape where he had none, while many of her sweaters clung to his arms and chest in a distinctly masculine way. Saddled with indecision, he went with the safest bet: slouchy sweatshirts and oversized overalls.

Luckily, Soon seemed to have a taste for this style, too. No one in the family spared him a second glance when he arrived downstairs for breakfast either day. Well, no one aside from Hobi-mom, who frowned a little in his direction while adjusting her dainty pearl necklace. Her perfectly coordinated cardigan and pencil skirt stood out boldly from uncle-Yoon’s sweat suit and JK-dad’s black hoodie.

Just like back home, Hoseok could always be counted on to be stylish as hell.

Still, Namjoon was almost glad to return to Soon’s uniform come Monday, if only because he didn’t have to put any thought into his clothes. It felt like any extraneous thought that wasn’t focused squarely on the To Do list was a wasted one.

He would never openly admit it, but he was also a little excited to show the girls the little red crab barrette he had found buried amongst Soon’s hair ties. Even serious faced Yelim couldn’t help but crack a smile at the cute accessory when he proudly flicked his hair for them as they walked to school Monday morning. As they cooed over how cute he looked, he was struck by the fact that he hadn’t just been the little barrette, but their reactions that he had been anticipating.

Throughout their commute spent describing their boring, uneventful weekends and speculating over Soon’s secret admirer, he wondered where the line between pretending to be Soon and simply being Namjoon truly lay.

The line didn't seem to be drawn between himself and Soon's family, the weekend showing that Namjoon had settled into life with bizarro Bangtan. While they hurried across the school’s courtyard, he could no longer say that it lay between himself and the three girls, either, as they excitedly discussed his many song options for the talent show on new year’s eve and Eunsoo’s next track meet. It definitely wasn’t lying between Soon’s and Namjoon’s carefully scrawled notes, their handwriting indistinguishable from each other’s.

But that line was definitely still there.

“Soonie, are you coming down with a cold?” Haneul asked through a mouthful of chicken at lunch, her round cheeks bulging. “Your voice seems deeper than usual lately.”

Namjooon froze, his chopsticks hanging limply as he glanced at her. Clearing his throat, he coughed lightly and said, “Oh, yeah, sorry. I should have worn a mask.” With a forced calm, he spoke softly, trying to aim for a much higher pitch than normal without veering too high into falsetto voice. Yelim’s raised eyebrow told him he shot a little too high.

He seriously could kick himself in the face. How was he supposed to get Soon a good boyfriend who was interested in her while talking like regular, old Namjoon?

The rest of the school day was marred by him feeling uncomfortably aware of himself—of how he was sitting, how his hair was laying, how his new tights fit his muscular legs. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched the way the other girls in class took up space. Some sat with casually crossed ankles tucked to the side, some slouched low over their notes while others sat with straight backs. One girl was even chewing on the end of her long ponytail. Although there was no actual wrong way to be a girl, Namjoon still felt as if each of his movements betrayed him.

Shoving his thoughts away, he turned his attention to the teacher with renewed vigor.

At the end of the day, after Namjoon, Haneul, and Yelim said their goodbyes to Eunsoo on her way to practice, he tentatively returned to his earlier thoughts. Pausing as they pulled on their outdoor shoes, Namjoon cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, would you guys say that I’m…” he began, feeling more and more idiotic by the second.

“That you’re?” Yelim rolled her hands at the wrist, motioning him to continue.

He bit his lip. “Um, please don't laugh, but, you know…feminine enough or whatever?” Namjoon mumbled. Embarrassment burned across his cheeks at the probing question.

Haneul blinked slowly and tapped her finger to her chin. “I mean, yeah? Not like super femme, but femme enough. At least, I guess?”

“Is this about your secret admirer?” Yelim demanded. Flicking her long, black hair over her shoulder, she stated, “Because, if it is, you’re just being paranoid. Clearly, whatever you’re doing is working, so you're fine. Besides, anyone who cares about how 'feminine' or not you are is an idiot. Who cares about what they think?”

Namjoon stopped in his tracks, taking the time to mentally chew on her words. “Wow, that’s,” he took a moment to compose himself. “That’s actually a really great point. I don’t know, I’ve been feeling so self-conscious today, but you’re totally right. I am fine. Who cares?”

“Yeah, who cares!” Haneul cried, linking her arm with Namjoon’s and Yelim’s as they headed towards Namjoon's stop.

Walking interlocked with the two girls, Namjoon couldn’t fight his wide smile. He really should look into befriending more girls when he finally made it home. “See you tomorrow!” Namjoon shouted as they reached the bus stop and began to go their separate ways. “And thanks, again!” Their encouragement buoyed his mood as he smiled out the smudged window on his ride home.

A few other passengers followed him out onto the busy main road outside the bus terminal, brushing past him as he dodged his way against the pull of foot traffic. Namjoon moved to the back of the small crowd of pedestrians waiting for their signal to cross the street. Tapping a beat against his thigh, he glanced over the crowd ahead of him. People avoided each other’s eyes, choosing to stare at the no crossing sign or their phones, as they jostled away from cross traffic. A woman pushed past him, almost using her child’s stroller as a battering ram to rush to the zebra crossing in time. Stumbling back, Namjoon felt someone wrap their arm around his waist.

“Hey, careful there, sweetie,” the person muttered, pressing up close to his side. Wrenching himself away, Namjoon turned his incredulous eyes to the offending man.

The businessman should have looked harmless, with his innocuous face and nondescript suit. But the predatory glint in his eyes as he moved in to grasp Namjoon’s wrist made his stomach churn.

“Do you need someone to walk you home, baby girl?” the man purred.

The crosswalk chimed, and the crowd pushed forward.

Looking back on it, Namjoon couldn’t really figure out why he was so rattled; he was taller and broader than the man and clearly stronger, too, shown by how easily he pulled his wrist from the man’s grasp. Yet, he still tripped backwards hurriedly, stumbling as he pivoted and dodged through the crowd. At a frantic pace, his feet steered him down the main road past his normal path home. He pushed ahead, afraid to slow down enough to look back, unsure of what would happen if he did. Was the man still following him? Was it even safe to go home, or would he just be leading the man to his one safe haven?

The first intersection was clear as Namjoon darted across, but the next one flashed with the no walking symbol as cars drove past.

“Please, please change,” Namjoon pleaded, bouncing from foot to foot. On the other side of the street, someone emerged from a delivery store, his cap pulled low over his face as he pulled off his work vest and approached a bicycle chained to a rack outside. Namjoon felt his lungs expanding before he could even register it.

It seemed as if this stupid, romcom universe had been kind enough to give him an out.

“Oppa!” he shouted, waving his arms frantically over his head. Across the street, Jin-oppa glanced up from his bike lock and smiled as their eyes met. He straightened, steering his bike towards Namjoon as the light finally changed. “Oppa, hey, hi,” Namjoon panted as he ran to meet him.

“Hey, Namsoon-ssi, is everything okay?” he asked. His eyes darted across Namjoon’s face before glancing back down the street. Standing on the sidewalk with Jin-oppa gave him just enough courage to glance back at the path behind him, distantly watching the crowd outside the terminal dispersing. Namjoon couldn’t pick out the man amongst them. He could feel his heart hammering in his ears still, and his skin felt oddly prickly, as if he was covered in static electricity. At Jin-oppa’s gentle tap against his forearm, he turned back to see his furrowed brow.

Namjoon let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine—it’s stupid, I just thought…” he meandered, glancing back just to be sure the man wasn’t hiding behind some corner. A hiccup of giggles burst from his mouth as he continued, “I thought someone might have been following me? Ha ha, whoops, whatever. It’s fine, it’s cool, we’re all good.” He gestured broadly past Jin-oppa, “I’ll just—I’ll just get going.”

All of the softness in Jin-oppa’s face seemed to drain away, his jaw clenching as he popped the kickstand and turned the bike towards Namjoon. “I just got off work, so I’ll take you home.”

“No, really, it’s not a big deal—” Namjoon began, but Jin-oppa silenced him with a concerned look.

“If you want to head home alone, that's okay, but I'd really feel better if you let me take you home, Namsoon-ah.”

Namjoon nodded with a small, “Okay.” He slid onto the rack over the rear wheel, hands reaching up to grip Jin-oppa’s jacket as he peddled them rapidly down the street. His seat put him just low enough for Jin-oppa's broad back to block most of the wind whipping around his face, but the cold air that reached him stung at his eyes. Wrapping his fingers tighter into Jin-oppa's jacket, Namjoon focused on that sting, trying to ground himself.

He was with Jin-oppa now; he was safe.

"Hey, Namsoon-ah, you hungry right now?" Jin-oppa asked over his shoulder as they waited at a stoplight along the main road.

Tearing his eyes from the pedestrians filing past, Namjoon hummed, "Yeah, sure, I could eat."

After a few minutes of winding their way through the side streets, Jin-oppa slowed his pace. Namjoon’s heart was still beating like crazy in his throat, but he found his breathing slowly returning to normal. They came to a slow stop outside of a small family restaurant.

“I—I don’t know this neighborhood,” Namjoon mumbled, surprised by how shaky his voice was.

Jin-oppa wrapped his hand around Namjoon’s fingers and gently pulled him off the bike. “This place has the best seolleongtang in town. You’ll feel better once you have something to eat,” he said, letting go of Namjoon’s hand so he could hold open the door for him.

A tiny woman greeted them, her face absolutely beaming when Jin-oppa followed him inside. She ushered them to a small table, poured them both a glass of water, and shuffled back to the kitchen.

“Isn’t she going to take our order?” Namjoon wondered quietly.

Chuckling, Jin-oppa pushed a glass into Namjoon’s hand and said, “No point, I order the same thing every time. I promise it’s great.”

With a hum, Namjoon smoothed down the pleats of his skirt and pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his hands. He could feel Jin-oppa’s eyes on him, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. Why had he been so freaked out? It wasn’t like he was a pushover or anything. Why had one greasy dude scared him so bad?

“Namsoon-ah, are you sure you’re okay? That guy…he didn’t hurt you?” asked Jin-oppa carefully, his voice pitched low.

“No, he just…I don’t know, scared me a little?” Namjoon sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shook his head, and looked back up at Jin-oppa. “It’s stupid. He was being creepy, that’s all. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it? I mean, it’s never happened to me before—you know, being chatted up and touched like that. I’ll just be more careful in the future.”

“He touched you?” cried Jin-oppa, his knees hitting the underside of table hard enough that their glasses of water rattled as he leapt to his feet.

“Only my wrist!” Namjoon returned lowly. He glanced around at the other patrons in the small restaurant and motioned for him to sit back down, hoping not to make a fuss. “And, well, my waist, but nowhere super inappropriate or anything. I promise I'm okay. Like I said, I’ll just be more careful in the future.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Jin-oppa leaned back heavily in his chair. “Him touching you at all is inappropriate. I’m just sorry you have to be careful in the first place. I swear, this world’s so awful sometimes.”

“Wow, that’s oddly cynical of you,” Namjoon said.

Sighing, Jin-oppa rested his head on his hand. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Namsoon-ah, but life can do that to you. Maybe you should get pepper spray or a whistle or something,” he mused, eyes turning to watch the little hostess bring them their trays laden with seolleongtang, rice, and kimchi. After she placed the food in front of them, Jin-oppa said, “I just wish there was more I could do.”

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon replied with a little smile. “You’re doing more than enough.”

***

“Okay, so what about this: a crab with a knife versus a snake with nun chucks?”

“The crab, one hundred percent.”

“No way, no way, I can’t believe you right now! This is anti-snake slander!” Jin cried, slapping his hand against the table emphatically.

“Yeah, okay, maybe not a hermit crab with a knife, but what about a king crab? Oh, man, what about a spider crab? They have, like, massive reach.” Namjoon moved his arms side to side, demonstrating the proper crab fighting stance. “Besides, how would the snake even hold nun chucks in the first place? In its mouth?”

Using his hand as a snake facsimile, Jin explained, “No, with its tail, so its mouth was free for biting. Double attack!” The hand-snake reared back and snapped forward to “bite” Namjoon’s face. Jin’s fingers caught at his cheek, pulling just enough to make Namjoon smile and bat away his hand.

“It doesn’t matter anyways. Crabs are lovers, not fighters,” he responded, flicking his hair.

Jin blinked and waved his hand dismissively, saying, “I’ve seen their claws—I’ve eaten their claws. Clearly crabs were built from pure rage.”

“Who’s spreading slander now?”

Despite the fact that the pair had all but inhaled their food, they had remained at their little table, discussing nothing of importance. Much like the Seokjin he had left behind, Jin-oppa seemed to sense what Namjoon needed most—in this case, a lighthearted distraction. Which explained the crab versus snake battle.

“You must be on the Crab Protection Council or something,” Jin said as he reached over to tap the crab barrette in Namjoon’s hair. “Or maybe the Society for the Promotion of Crab Welfare.”

“I know you’re joking, but I totally would be,” giggled Namjoon.

From Soon’s school bag sitting on the chair next to him, a low buzzing began as a muffled vocal line sang, those dimples are illegal, illegal. He couldn’t help but hum along as he dug out Soon’s phone, the screen lit up with a picture of a laughing Hobi-mom holding five ARMY bombs above her head. “Sorry, I’ll just be a second,” he said to Jin. Turning away from the table a bit, he swiped open the call and greeted, “Mom, hey.”

“Soonie!” she sang back “Where are you? Will you be back for supper? All the boys want to order Chinese take-out.”

“Oh! Um,” Namjoon shifted a little, glancing around for a clock. According to the one hanging above the register, it was well after six. “I’m so sorry, I completely lost track of time. I already ate, so you don’t need to wait up for me.”

“Oh, really? You ate on your own?”

Namjoon turned a little more in his chair, feeling oddly self-conscious about discussing Jin within his earshot. “No, I met up with a friend. No big deal, I just forgot to let you know.”

“A friend, huh? It wouldn’t happen to be that ‘friend’ boy from last week, would it?”

Biting his lip, he twisted still further away from Jin-oppa. “Please don’t be weird about this, we’re just hanging out,” he muttered, speaking through gritted teeth.

Hobi-mom hummed, “Alright, alright. But make sure to text me next time, okay?”

“Sorry, I will. I’ll see you soon,” he replied. After they exchanged good-byes, Namjoon turned back to Jin with a faltering smile. He seemed almost hunched in on himself, arms crossed protectively on the table with a hand pressed over his mouth as his eyes gazed distantly out the front window. “Oppa?” Namjoon ventured softly.

It only took a moment for Jin to reconstruct himself, plastering over his mood with bright grin. “We should probably get going,” he said.

The little hostess bustled over to him as he paid while Namjoon pulled on his coat and school bag. Jin waved away the cash Namjoon pulled from Soon’s wallet as they met at the door. “It’s Oppa’s treat,” he stated as he ushered Namjoon outside. Slow swirls of leaves fell around them, a few catching against Jin’s bike.

“Thanks,” murmured Namjoon as Jin brushed away the leaves from the wire rack. “Do you remember where I live?” he asked as Jin adjusted his collar to cover his neck.

“I think so. The ballpark, at least,” he said with a shrug, holding the bike steady as Namjoon sat. “Honestly, I could probably get there on muscle memory alone. Your family always seems to be ordering something from that Big Time Entertainment or whatever.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “It’s Big Hit.”

“Obviously, since they're such a big hit to your wallet,” he laughed as he pushed off.

Jin’s pace was much more leisurely than the one they took to get here initially, giving Namjoon the luxury of observing the streets they passed by. The gentle breeze seemed to dampen the world’s sound and movement, painting each scene into a still frame. An old woman swept debris from the entry of a family grocery store, looking up to wave at Jin. On a balcony overlooking the street, a man pulled his laundry down from hanging racks. Two cats paced atop a stone fence that separated a traditional style home from a row of vending machines. Jin’s light brown hair was brushed back by the wind as he peddled, highlighting the way his ears burned pink with cold. Without a second thought, Namjoon cupped his hands over them.

“You need a winter hat,” he said as Jin turned slightly in askance to look back at him. The image of Jin darting out into traffic for his scarf flashed behind Namjoon’s eyes. But he had to have more than one scarf, right?

He shook his head as they slowed to a stop at an intersection. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Besides, you’re a third-year in high school, right? You have way bigger things to worry about. It’s already almost November, your exams are coming so soon,” he stated as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Still, he didn’t brush aside Namjoon’s hands, so he left them pressed against Jin’s ears as they crossed into Soon’s neighborhood.

“Thank you for supper, Oppa. And, you know, for cheering me up and looking after me,” Namjoon said with a bow after climbing off his bike outside the Jeong’s front gate. “I’m really grateful.”

Jin shrugged, smiling down at the ground. “Hey, don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re okay. And that I didn’t have to work at the store tonight,” he added with snicker. He walked his bike in a small circle, turning towards the way they came.

“What about tomorrow?” blurted Namjoon.

“Hmm?” he blinked, rolling back with his feet to be level with Namjoon’s face.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Namjoon mumbled back, realizing as he spoke how invasive and creepy the question was. But the stupid ticker in his brain shouted back that he was the leader, it was his job to keep tabs on everyone.

Despite the weird question, a wide grin bloomed on Jin’s face. “Yeah. I’ll be at the convenience store tomorrow.” His head tilted to the side. “I’ll see you then?”

Namjoon bit his lip, looking away. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe,” he muttered to his shoes. At Jin’s laugh, he sighed deeply and threw up his hands. “Okay, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waved as Jin-oppa biked away, glad that he didn’t seem to mind how weirdly clingy Namjoon could be.

Cuty-Jimin practically assaulted him at the door. “You’ve been away for a million years! I’ve missed you so much!” he cried, dancing on his hind legs as Namjoon knelt to take off his shoes. His little paws came to rest on Namjoon’s shoulders when he reached out to scratch behind his ears.

“Aw, I missed you, too, Cuty,” he said. Bumping their heads together, he scooped up the little dog and held him like a baby in his arms.

JK-dad waved as Namjoon passed the living room. A boxing match played out lowly on the tv screen in front of brother-Tae, whose nose was buried deep within a book as he lay sprawled across the floor. From Namjoon’s vantage point, he could just make out sketched images of women in elaborate gowns strutting across the page. Hobi-mom brushed past holding a watering can.

“How was school, my daughter?” she murmured as she passed.

God, how was school? After Namjoon’s hectic afternoon, the school day felt like it had happened a decade ago, as opposed to a few hours. “Uneventful, I guess,” he finally replied, setting down a squirming Cuty as he did so.

Glancing over her shoulder with a smirk, she asked, “And how was supper with your friend?”

“Also uneventful,” Namjoon lied, crossing his arms with a huff.

Namjoon wandered upstairs, planning on immediately getting into Soon’s pajamas and reviewing his biology notes, but a scuffle from inside uncle-Yoon’s room stopped him in his tracks. Silence hovered in the air, Namjoon’s ears pricking for any more strange noises, before his door slowly opened and uncle-Yoon peeked out.

“Oh, uh, hey, Soon-ah. Do you…” he bit his lip and glanced back into his bedroom. “Do you have a minute?” The sheepishness on his face put Namjoon on his guard.

“Maybe?” he stretched out the word before taking a tentative step towards the door.

Uncle-Yoon rolled his eyes and asked, “Is that a yes or a no?”

“That kind of depends on what you need,” Namjoon replied at length.

A deep sigh. “Could you just?” uncle-Yoon countered, motioning Namjoon inside his bedroom with impatience.

When Namjoon slid through the gap in the doorway, he couldn’t tell if uncle-Yoon was making some kind of consumerist statement with the clothes strewn over every surface of the room or if he had simply refused to ever fold and put away his laundry. Uncle-Yoon flopped down in what appeared to be a desk chair, three matching track suits disguising its shape.

“What exactly is this about?” Namjoon wondered, rotating to take in the entire chaotic scene.

Slouching down in his chair, uncle-Yoon tipped back his head. “I have a gig at this new club,” he stated to the ceiling. “It’s, like, a really great gig, but so’s their aesthetic. You know, all modern and rich looking and stuff. Which is obviously a little past…” Gesturing at his track suit clad form and at the pairs and pairs of matching sets around him, he finished, “my aesthetic.”

Reaching over to sort through the clothes laid across his bed, Namjoon wondered idly what the Yoongi he knew would do in his place. “I mean,” he mumbled. “You never look terrible.”

Uncle-Yoon barked out a laugh, letting his head loll forward. “God, when did I get so lame? Shit, and boring and,” he shivered before saying, “old?”

“You can’t really help how old you are,” Namjoon stated softly.

“I know, I know,” uncle-Yoon sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “I just feel like I’m already so behind everyone else. Most people get started so young, you know?” Glancing out the window, uncle-Yoon ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Sorry to unload on you, Soon-ah. I’ve just been feeling so freaking stupid lately, like I missed my shot.”

Rocking back on his heels, Namjoon took a moment to chew on uncle-Yoon’s words. “Why are you doing this?” He gestured vaguely, still uncertain of what exactly uncle-Yoon was doing in the first place. “Is it because you want to be famous? Because you want to be rich?”

“No, no, you know that,” uncle-Yoon sighed as he slouched down low in his seat, glaring at the ceiling again. “Music is my life, DJing is my life. I just want to share that with people, give everyone a great time.”

Grateful that uncle-Yoon answered his unspoken question as well as his stated ones, he clapped uncle-Yoon on the shoulder. “There’s your answer, then. It’s never too late to do what you love, as long as you give it your whole self. Just take every day at your own pace, and you’ll get to the finish line when you’re ready. I believe in your music.” He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, “Also, skip the track suits. Just go with something black, that’s always the safe bet.”

Uncle-Yoon’s eyes glassed over as they met Namjoon’s. “When did you get so wise, Soon-ah?” he sniffled, glancing away to surreptitiously rub at his eyes. He took a deep breath, slapped his legs, and moved to the closet to pull out every article of black clothing he owned. “You probably have studying to do before it gets too late,” he threw over his shoulder as he dug around.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” replied Namjoon.

“Oh, and, hey,” uncle-Yoon called as Namjoon stepped out the door. “I, uh, really appreciate your help,” he mumbled with his eyes cast downwards.

“Uncle, fighting!” Namjoon declared with a raised fist, laughing his way to Soon’s bedroom when uncle-Yoon hollered “fighting” back.

***

A chime sounded overhead as Namjoon entered the Coco convenience store after school the next day. Jin stood behind the front register, his head bent over an open textbook laying on the countertop. Glancing up, his polite smile spread to reach his eyes when they connected with Namjoon’s.

“Namsoon-ah, the last person I ever expected to see today!” he shouted, sticking a bookmark into his book and tucking it quickly under the counter. “Or should I call you ‘ille-girl,’ since those dimples are illegal,” he sang as Namjoon approached the register.

“You listen to BTS?” he asked. Jin reached over to take his school bag, setting it next to the register marked with a “closed” sign.

Shrugging noncommitally, he responded, “It’s kind of hard not to listen to BTS nowadays. Their music is practically inescapable. But, no, I never really sought them out before. I did look up your ringtone last night, though, and they’re actually pretty good.”

“We’ve always been pretty good,” Namjoon defended. He pursed his lips, realizing how pompous he had just made Soon sound, as if she was directly responsible for how good Bangtan was. Luckily, Jin seemed to take the comment in stride, laughing at how quickly Namjoon had jumped to the group’s aid.

“Feel free to sit, it’s usually dead in here at this time of day,” Jin commented, motioning to the counter beside the closed register. Namjoon just barely kept a bark of laughter in check. Of course the convenience store would be nearly empty, romcoms didn't have near big enough budgets for scores of extras or realism.

As Namjoon slid onto the counter next to Soon’s school bag, Jin turned towards him, tucked his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, and leaned his hip against his register. “How was school today?”

Namjoon swung his legs in thought, his heels thumping against the gum displays at his feet. “Pretty boring, mostly. Well, except for home ec class. We were supposed to be making omelets, which should be pretty easy, right? Somehow, I lit the pan on fire—I don’t even know how that works! I’ve never seen my friend, Yelim, laugh so hard in my life.” Jin-oppa doubled over with laughter, pushing lightly at Namjoon’s shoulder. “And Haneul’s dad just got back from a trip to Japan, so she brought us a bunch of candy.” He reached into his school bag and pulled out a plastic bag with his share of Japanese candy. “I saved you some Fettucine gummies, if you’d like some,” he said, offering Jin the purple bag of grape-flavored gummies.

He blinked at the bag of candy, smiling softly as he took a piece. “Oh! I got you something, too, hold on,” he said around his mouthful of candy before darting from behind the counter into the break room. Namjoon pulled out a Crunky bar and watched Jin through the open doorway.

With one arm held behind his back, Jin walked around the counter to stand in front of Namjoon. “Okay, now, close your eyes,” he commanded, pointing at Namjoon’s face.

“And why should I?” Namjoon asked as he took a bite from his chocolate bar.

“So it’s a surprise! Come on, Namsoon-ah, don’t be boring,” he pouted, stamping his foot a little as he spoke.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, but played along. “Fine, fine,” he muttered and squeezed his eyes closed. He felt Jin carefully slide something over his head.

“Ta-da!” Jin sang as Namjoon reached down to look at the whistle hanging around his neck. “Now you’re prepared for anything!” he said as he moved back around to stand behind the counter.

There was a strange kind of pressure behind Namjoon’s eyes as he turned the silver whistle over in his fingers, causing the edges of his vision to blur. “I can’t believe this is your response to me getting kind-of-assaulted,” he laughed, the thickness of his voice betraying his unshed tears.

“Of course, I want you to feel safe,” Jin replied with a flick of his wrist. “But it really is a multi-purpose gift. You’ll be ready for scaring away gross dudes, or for emergency traffic directing, or refereeing children’s soccer games, or conducting a marching band. You’re ready for literally anything,” he smiled as Namjoon dissolved into laughter. With a dreamy sigh, he said, “I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me; I’m the best oppa in the world.”

Collecting himself, Namjoon clutched the whistle in his hand and turned to look into Jin’s eyes. “You really are,” he murmured, his voice coming out much softer than he expected.

Jin ducked his head, partially hiding the flush of his cheeks and fully exposing how red his ears were. Namjoon giggled into his Crunky bar. After a moment, Jin pushed away his bashfulness and grabbed the gummy candy from the counter, asking, “Okay, so, go back. How eggs-actly did you light a pan on fire?”

Laughing with Jin-oppa underneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the convenience store, Namjoon let himself relax, let himself lose sight of the boundary line between Namjoon and Namsoon, and just enjoy the moment he was in.

Chapter Text

“Do you think my school would freak out if I bleached my hair?” Namjoon wondered aloud from his perch on the front counter, pulling a dark lock of hair forward to scrutinize.

“Probably,” Jin replied from the back of the convenience store where he was facing the drink cooler. Straightening to look over the aisles at Namjoon, he placed his hands on his hips, thumbs forward. “Why would you want to, though? Your hair’s pretty.” He shrugged and returned to the bottled beverages.

Namjoon giggled a little, ran his finger along the ends of the hank in his hand, and shrugged. “It’s just weird to have natural hair, is all.”

“Why’s that weird? You kids nowadays and your crazy, candy-colored hair,” grumbled Jin, turning a bottle of jasmine tea to look at the expiration date. “You’d think everyone in this country worked for SM or JYP or something.”

Closing the textbook in his lap around his finger to hold his place, Namjoon slid off the counter and wandered down the aisle stocked with pens and white undershirts in Jin’s direction. “You’re one to talk; I know for a fact that’s not your natural color,” he smirked as Jin shifted his shoulders defensively.

“First of all, rude. Second, I distinctly said ‘candy-colored’ hair, but spill whatever tea you want, I guess,” he replied, waving away Namjoon’s comment with a dismissive shake of the jasmine tea bottle. He chuckled at his own joke as he turned back to the shelves of bottled beverages.

Tapping his finger to his chin, Namjoon asked, “Yeah, okay, but isn’t chocolate a type of candy, too?” before darting away with a laugh as Jin swung around with an impassioned shout.

“Yah! What did I do to deserve such disrespect?” he hollered.

With each passing day, life as Namsoon became more and more routine. Namjoon's mornings were marked by quickly and carefully shaving his face behind the bathroom’s locked door before a quick breakfast with the family and a chatty commute to school with the girls. School days were long and boring—just like how Namjoon recalled them being for himself once upon a time. Only now he had a few added struggles.

The girls’ locker room before and after PE class was an absolute minefield, navigated only with an embarrassed bowed head as he wore a path between Soon’s gym locker and the ladies’ restroom where he made excuses to change his clothes in each time. Luckily, Namjoon’s natural self-consciousness was enough for his friends to avoid any awkward questioning of his antics.

And most afternoons were spent perched in the Coco convenience store, laughing over Namjoon and Jin’s respective homework, before heading home in time for family supper. Even with the gallows of Soon’s To Do list hanging over his head, Namjoon was grateful for each little moment of levity buried under the mountain of work left for him to do.

And no one was better at levity than Jin.

He had to admit, his afternoons spent bullshitting and ignoring his homework, singing practice, and secret admirer “investigation” at Coco were usually the highlight of his day.

The front door chimed as a pair of neighborhood boys darted inside, barreling directly into the candy section with won clutched in their hands. Jin called out a welcome that they ignored just as Namjoon’s phone began to sing, could you turn off your cell phone, and vibrate across the counter.  Namjoon couldn’t hide his grin when the boys began to sing along quietly as he returned to the store’s front counter.

“Hey, Jinseok-oppa, I gotta get going!” he said, swiping away the alarm and shoving his things haphazardly into Soon’s school bag. Jin had followed him to the front of the store to retrieve Soon’s jacket from inside the break room. He held it up so Namjoon could slide both of his arms in at once, then stood back with his hands jammed into his pants’ pockets as Namjoon whipped his scarf around his neck and hefted Soon’s school bag onto his back.

“Hey, so, I'm off tomorrow night, just working the afternoon delivery shift on Friday and Saturday. I probably won’t see you ‘til next week, then?” he said.

Namjoon glanced back with a smile as he walked through the sliding doors. “Who knows, my mom might have ordered more Bangtan merch. Either way, have a nice weekend! Don't work too hard!” He shouted as the doors slid closed behind him.

Jin smiled softly, holding up his hand, half looking like he was waving, half like he was waiting for someone to call on him to answer a question in class. Namjoon, on the other hand, walked backwards past the wide, plate-glass storefront shaking his arms dramatically over his head as he did so. His reward was the wide grin that pulled at the corners of Jin’s mouth as he moved out of sight.

The sky overhead was deep navy and dusted with wispy clouds as Namjoon wandered down the twisting side street.

Like most days, Namjoon left Coco behind with the subtle taste of melancholy on the back of his tongue, coloring his dark walk home. The Seokjin he knew was so open and sociable that he could make friends with inanimate objects if he felt so inclined, but Jin almost seemed cut off from the outside world. If Namjoon was any proof, Jin-oppa was just as capable of friendship as Seokjin. But then why didn’t he mention any friends from his university courses or fellow employees from the convenience store or his delivery route? It was like he chose to keep himself partitioned behind invisible walls—like when Namjoon waved goodbye through the plate-glass on his way home; everything seemed fine from outside, but he had no way to reach out and hear for himself.

Some days, he walked home plagued with the thought that Jin didn’t really have anyone else in his life. His heart clenched at the thought, knowing that what Namjoon had to offer was akin to a lie. Maybe someday Soon could make up for it.

His dampened mood clung to him as he arrived home, petting an excitable Cuty-Jimin and helping Hobi-mom set the table. Looking around at the rest of the bizzarro Bangtan members gathered together as they ate, Namjoon hated to think how unfair this universe had treated Jin. He smiled along with the family’s rowdy banter, but couldn’t bring himself to add much to uncle-Yoon’s play-by-play account of his latest gig, brother-Tae’s descriptions of his day at school, or Hobi-mom’s recounting of neighborhood gossip.

Even after he wandered upstairs to exchange Soon’s staid uniform for fuzzy Koya pajamas (a discovery at the back of Soon’s dresser drawer that Namjoon wasn’t ashamed to admit had been the highpoint of last Tuesday), his mood refused to lift. It was like he had his own little rain cloud wrapped around his head.

He had been settled at Soon’s desk for almost an hour, reviewing his history notes, when he heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Soonie, can I come in?” asked Hobi-mom as she pushed open the door a crack.

“Sure,” Namjoon yawned, stretching his arms as he turned to watch her step inside and situate herself on the bed.

After taking a moment to straighten the golden pendant hanging daintily over the collar of her sweater, she patted the space beside her. “Come sit next to Mother.” As Namjoon sank next to her, she reached up to smooth back his hair. “You seem a little down today, my daughter. Are you feeling alright?”

“No, I’m okay,” Namjoon sighed. “I just…I just have a lot on my mind.”

Hobi-mom hummed and wrapped her arm around Namjoon’s shoulders. “I know, high school is such a stressful time and your exams are only a week away. But please don’t feel like you have to carry all the weight on your own shoulders alone.” She leaned forward to tap her forehead against Namjoon’s.

Twisting his fingers together on his lap, Namjoon took a moment to sort through the tangle of thoughts that had wrapped itself around the back of his mind. He spoke slowly, “There are so many things I need to do, but it feels like I’m still not doing enough no matter how hard I work. But I still find myself getting distracted; with my friends, with wasting time, with this whole secret admirer thing. I guess I’m just worried that, if I let myself stop and think about anything too much, I’ll just be buried by everything.”

“Sweetheart, I think everyone feels like that every once in a while. Well, except for maybe the secret admirer thing. Let’s put a pause on that,” she mimed clicking a remote and winked at him, saying “and come back to that later.”

Namjoon rubbed at his eyes, nodding. “I know, I just have so much riding on everything. I can’t mess this up,” he mumbled.

“You won’t,” she replied, squeezing his shoulders. “When my Namsoon sets her sights on something, I don’t think anything can stand in her way. You just have to trust in yourself enough to fight for what you want.”

All Namjoon could do was nod. While Hobi-mom had no way to actually help him along the way to finishing Soon’s To Do list, it still felt reassuring to have her support fully at his back.

“Now, about this secret admirer?” she giggled as she wiggled her steepled fingers and shimmed her shoulders. Wrapping her hands around Namjoon’s bicep, she jostled him with squeals of excitement before she sang, “Come on, come on, tell me everything! Don’t you keep secrets from Mother!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Namjoon groaned as he retrieved Soon’s diary from the small bookshelf in the corner and pulled out the letter from its pages. “It’s honestly not that exciting. Someone left this note and a flower for me in my shoe cubby about two weeks ago. My friends and I have been trying to figure out who left it, but we don’t have a lot to go on. I haven’t received anything else since.” He pushed the note into Hobi-mom’s grasping hands, her face shining as she took it in. The light dimmed slightly as she actually read the somewhat lackluster poem.

“How…” She turned her gaze upwards, searching for the right descriptor. She eventually settled on, “sweet!” Flicking the paper, she continued, “You can’t fault a guy for trying, if nothing else. Do you have any ideas on who our mystery admirer is?”

Settling back onto the bed at her side, Namjoon shrugged again. “We think it’s most likely one of three boys. They all seem nice enough, but that’s all we have right now.”

“Well, I think it’s good to have a little romance to spice up your life,” Hobi-mom pronounced. Pressing the letter back into his hands, she crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Even if this guy’s poetry is objectively awful.”

After being so wrapped up in himself, it felt good to laugh with Hobi-mom. If she insisted that everything would be okay, then maybe it was worth believing.

***

A mist hung around the three girls where they waited for Namjoon the next morning, the cold air causing their breath to trail behind them as they navigated the walk to the terminal. Eunsoo rubbed her mittened hands together as they paused at an intersection. “So, it’s been two weeks exactly since you got anything from your secret admirer. You’re absolutely sure that you haven’t missed any signals from the boys?”

“Nope,” Namjoon pronounced. “I’ve barely even seen any of them. Jock-type waved at me three days ago, I got a nod from emo-type after PE last week, and dork-type sat behind me in ARMY Club last Friday. That’s it. No seashells, flowers, or wind-related items in sight at any time.”

Yelim yawned, “Maybe this dude’s playing the long game. Hoping to drum up your interest by stringing you along. It’s logical—boring, but logical.”

“God, you really have no sense of romance, Lim-ah,” Haneul sighed.

They approached their stop just as their bus pulled into view. “You know, Yelim has a point. This dude better give me something more to go off of, because I can’t just magically fall for someone who only defines himself by how pretty he thinks I am. That’s both weird and shallow,” said Namjoon, mentally counting down the days he had left before new year’s.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t given up yet,” Eunsoo stated as they filed onto the bus. “Maybe he’s just waiting for a sign back from you.”

Haneul squeaked in excitement, snapping her fingers as she bounced from foot to foot. “That’s it! Eunie, you’re a genius! You need to be the one to give him some encouragement this time.” She yanked on Namjoon’s hand. “You need to give him a sign. A little push in the right direction!”

“Excellent idea!” Eunsoo agreed, yanking Namjoon’s other arm.

“Super. But how exactly can Namsoon do that? We don’t even know this guy,” asked Yelim.

“How about the signs we were looking for from the boys?" Namjoon wondered, looking to Eunsoo for support.

"Okay, that's flowers, seashore-related stuff, wind stuff. So, maybe some flower earrings or a seashell necklace or some hair clips or something,” Eunsoo considered. “Do you have any accessories like that?”

Seeing Namjoon’s headshake, Haneul swung his arm by their connected hands. “Oh, my gosh, do you know what that means?” She paused for a breath before shouting, “Shopping trip!”

By the time they entered the school’s front entryway, it had already been agreed that they would devote their Saturday to finding just the right accessories to lure out the secret admirer by force of jewelry alone. Although Namjoon enjoyed shopping, he had to admit that the intensity of the girls’ plan was somewhat intimidating. They would suffer no casual browsing; this shopping trip meant serious business.

“There’s that cute boutique over by my grandma’s house, too. I’ll check out their website tonight,” Yelim mentioned as she pulled off her sneakers and placed them in their spot, the other girls following suit.

“Sounds great—” Eunsoo began, freezing as a crumpling was heard from Namjoon’s cubby.

A chorus of squeals erupted around him as Namjoon pulled out a blue envelope. While he knew that these letters were written for Soon, a part of him was excited to see if they would discover any new clues about her admirer. The completely unfulfilled list seemed to haunt his every move, and he couldn’t even imagine how satisfying it would be to finally cross off “get a boyfriend” from the list with a stark black line.

Tearing the envelope open, he pulled out a note that read:

            To Jeong Namsoon—

            Roses are red, violets are blue,

            There are so many girls, but I only see you

            Grass is green, daisies are white,

            Can’t you see that the two of us together is so right?

            Your sneakers are grey, your hair is jet black,

            I hope one day you will love me back

“Huh,” he said, handing over the note to the girls. “Not much to go off of there.”

“That’s your reaction?” Haneul hissed with a flick to Namjoon’s forehead. “This dude just said he loves you, and that’s your reaction?”

With a shrug, Yelim countered, “It does seem pretty anticlimactic that he waited two weeks just to say he’s creepy and knows what color shoes Namsoon wears. And, to be honest, that’s pretty much the extent of what we know about this guy.”

“Yeah, but not for long. We’ll find the perfect thing tomorrow, and then he’ll have to confess,” declared Eunsoo, presenting the letter back to Namjoon with a determined smirk.

***

The girls’ brand of shopping was exhausting, truly exhausting. After meeting in a cute café near the bus terminal, they proceeded to marathon boutiques, shops, and jewelry stores in their dogged pursuit of seashell and flower accessories.

At first, Namjoon found himself a little taken aback to see the three girls outside of their usually ubiquitous school uniforms. Twiggy Yelim looked like she was trying to be street cast by an idol company in her slim-fit jeans and long wool coat, standing out starkly from tiny Eunsoo in her athletic gear and puffer coat. Haneul’s oversized sweatshirt hid away any form she had, while her pigtails emphasized her round cheeks. After debating all morning on how casually to dress, Namjoon was glad he erred on the comfortable side, his long button down top and loose jeans serving to camouflage his more masculine form and the whistle necklace Jin had gifted him finally seeing the light of day after spending all week tucked under the collar of Soon’s uniform. What with the excitement of hanging out outside of school and seeing the girls in a new environment, exploring the first few shops had been pretty fun for Namjoon.

But, by store number sixteen, he was about to hit his breaking point.

“Look! Daisy earrings, just like in note number two! You have to get these,” Haneul gasped, holding up a pair to her own ears.

“I don’t even really like daisies,” he sighed as Haneul returned the earrings to the display rack. “Besides, those are studs. My hair would just cover them up, anyways.”

Namjoon stood in front on a large display of colorful, woolen scarves. As he reached out to run his fingers along the fringe, he could see Jin’s scarf caught in the wind, flying away as Namjoon tackled him from the path of the oncoming car. Had Jin ever replaced his missing scarf? His eyes lingered on a baby blue scarf with a subtle white plaid overlay, mentally placing it against Jin’s faded black coat.

Yelim held up a few small cards from the back of the store, saying, “What about these?”

“Cute!” Eunsoo stated, before calling over to Namjoon, “Soon-ah, what do you think of these?” After a moment of deliberation, he yanked down the blue scarf and approached to see she held two enamel pins clipped to patterned cards. One pin was shaped into a little oyster shell, while the other was a red rose in bloom. “You could pin these to your jacket or your bag or your blazer! There’s no way he’d miss them.”

“Sure, sounds good. Let’s go with this,” he agreed immediately, more than ready to be done. Namjoon herded the girls to the register to buy the scarf and his pins, hoping that nothing else would catch their eyes, then out the door with a massive sigh of relief at finally, finally being done accessory shopping.

"That scarf was cute, but I didn't think baby blue was your color, Soon-ah," Eunsoo mentioned, using her glove to motion at the little shopping bag in Namjoon's hand.

He tucked the bag under his arm, feeling oddly self-conscious, muttering, "It's no big deal."

Glancing at her phone, Haneul pouted a little. “How is it still so early? I don’t want to go back home and study yet. Would you ladies be up for an afternoon snack?”

“Sure, as long as I’m home by five,” Eunsoo said. Seeing everyone nod in agreement, she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and led them down the street. “My sister and I went to this cute, little coffeeshop not far from here a few weeks ago. Their cheesecake was super yummy.”

Bouncing along in excitement, Haneul gasped, “Sign me up!”

The shop was quietly buzzing with people when they arrived, music playing over the sound of roasters and coffee grinders. As they clustered around the front register, reading through the menu printed overhead, the three girls began to quietly sing along with the song that could just barely be heard over the din. Snowflakes fall down and get farther away little by little, they sang, dissolving into giggles when Namjoon overenunciated the echo of I miss you.

By the look on the sales clerk’s face, she was more than ready to be done with her day and with them.

“Let us know if you need any backup singers for your solo in the talent show, Soon-ah,” Eunsoo commented as they squeezed themselves around a tiny table, drinks and snacks in hand.

“Thanks, I’ll definitely think about it,” he smiled. The To Do list was surprisingly vague when it came to things such as “sing a solo.” Technically, singing one line by himself could be considered a solo, right? Still, completing the list was still his only ticket home, so he hesitated to play too fast and loose with it. Besides, this stupid, romcom universe seemed to be steering him in some pretty specific directions if the secret admirer notes were anything to go off of.

“I definitely think you should really consider singing Butterfly, Soonie. It’s, like, the prettiest song,” Haneul stated as she cut into her slice of cheesecake.

Sipping at his coffee, Namjoon shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe? It might be a little heavy for a talent show. And, besides, I don’t want to ruin a good song for everyone with my weird, low voice.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Yelim stated as she rolled her eyes. “Your singing voice is great.”

As the other girls all voiced their agreement with Yelim, Namjoon smiled into his coffee cup. “You’re all way too nice to me, but thanks for saying that,” he replied. “Thanks for today, too, and for all your help with this secret admirer thing. I’d be so lost without you guys.”

Haneul pressed her hand to her heart, her chin going soft as she said, “Of course, friend.”

Clearly not one for public displays of affection, Yelim quickly steered the conversation towards less emotional topics. They spent a solid twenty minutes all crying over pictures of Eunsoo’s new Yorkshire terrier puppy before Haneul pulled up pictures of her family’s white poodle mix playing in the autumn leaves. Not to be outdone, Yelim spilled the details on some girl named Hyunsoo’s potentially fake online boyfriend.

As he hung on Yelim’s words, Namjoon had a sudden out-of-body experience.

He had fully forgotten for a minute that this wasn’t actually his life. That Kim Namjoon didn’t just gallivant around town with his gal pals shopping for cute accessories, couldn’t just hang out in some coffee shop without worrying about being swarmed by fans or about what gossip sites would think of his clothes or his hair or his companions, wasn’t just some girl on the street trying to fulfill her simple dreams of finding love and success. He missed his life, he missed the real members of Bangtan, he missed his music, but there was a tiny sliver of himself that felt the cut of envy for what Soon’s life had to offer.

There was a freedom in anonymity.

“Oh, man, we should get going,” Eunsoo broke through his thoughts. Shaking off his reveries, Namjoon tried his best to tap back into their conversation as they walked home, discussing whether their calculus teacher was horrible at his job and whether their principal had a toupee or hair plugs.

The sun was sinking low the sky as the autumn days grew shorter and shorter. Huddled together for warmth, the group wandered into their neighborhood as the street lights slowly began to blink to life. Leaves crunched softly underfoot. Just as they passed under the lights on a street corner, they heard a call from behind.

“Ah, Namsoon-ah!”

Whipping around, Namjoon scanned the street for the familiar shape of Jin, immediately recognizing his voice. From the open back of a delivery truck, he could just make him out, moving stacks of boxes so he could climb out and greet the group. Even from the shadowed interior, Namjoon could feel Jin's broad grin directed his way as he jumped down from the tailgate.

“Oh, hey!” responded Namjoon with a small wave as he watched Jin jog towards him.

“I knew I recognized you,” he smiled, tipping back his cap as he stopped in front of Namjoon. “These must be your friends,” continued Jin with a small bow in their communal direction. “Nice you meet you all. Namsoon mentions you three all the time.”

“Does she,” Eunsoo said distantly, her eyes darting from Jin to Namjoon. From over her shoulder, Haneul and Yelim sent him questioning looks.

Jumping to attention with the realization that the three girls had no idea who they were talking to, Namjoon faltered. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep Jin-oppa a secret per se, but there was something almost too private about their interactions that had held him back from telling the girls about him until now. Like his time with Jin existed on some separate plane than the one he occupied with the girls in the mornings or at school or during ARMY Club, like Jin belonged tucked away safe somewhere else.

“Uh,” Namjoon began smartly. He cleared his throat and started again. “This is Kim Jinseok. He, uh…” He paused, glancing between the girls’ expectant faces. But the more he stalled, trying desperately to figure out how to explain who Jin was to him and why he mattered, the more the girls seemed to bundle in on themselves protectively. If he was going to salvage this situation, he was going to need to find a good response. Quickly.

“He works at the Coco convenience store. You know, by the terminal,” he rushed out.

Wrong answer.

Glancing over, Namjoon saw surprise register across Jin’s face before something shuttered behind his eyes, like a star had been blotted from the sky. His stomach twisted as he realized how distant his words made him seem from Jin-oppa. How they made it sound like Jin-oppa was just someone to fill the time with, like he didn't really care about Jin-oppa.

“We talk!” he practically shouted at the girls, trying to cover his stupid ass. “After school!”

“Sorry, I should probably get back to work and let you ladies go. It was nice to meet you,” Jin-oppa gently interrupted Namjoon with a bow to the girls. His smile was soft, but his eyes remained unaffected by it as he turned back to the delivery truck.

Namjoon bit his lip watching his retreating back, his mind racing as he tried to think of some way to mend what he had broken. He couldn't just watch him go—not like this.

“Hey, Oppa!”

For a second, he worried that Jin-oppa wouldn’t turn, would ignore Namjoon’s call, but he did turn. The golden rays of the setting sun caught on his features as if the sun too couldn't resist trying to reach out to him. “I’ll see you Monday?” his voice tapered towards the end, suddenly unsure if Jin-oppa would even want to see him.

But, this time, Jinseok-oppa's smile came a little more naturally as he said, “Yeah, see you Monday.”

Trailing behind the girls, Namjoon couldn’t chase the image behind his eyes of Jinseok-oppa’s face faltering at his words. Why didn’t he just say that Jinseok-oppa was his friend? What had possessed him to be so rude to someone who had been nothing but kind to him? The whistle hanging around his neck suddenly felt like a weight, dragging him down and drowning him in guilt.

“Wow, that was so weird,” Yelim murmured as they wandered down Soon’s street. “Do you really know that guy?”

“What? Yeah, of course! He’s…he’s really nice,” Namjoon stuttered, thoughts torn in multiple directions.

Haneul blew on her hands. “God, wasn’t he so pretty, though? I can’t believe he just works at some convenience store like he isn’t super gorgeous. That beautiful, perfect specimen of a man is out there just driving around and delivering packages to whoever. Like grouchy, creepy old guys or dudes who can't even be bothered to put on pants. The world is so cruel."

From Namjoon's side, Eunsoo nodded along, wondering, "Seriously, how is he not an actor or an idol or something?”

It seemed like the three girls came to the same conclusion at the same time, halting their steps and looking at each other with wide eyes.

“His face, his shoulders, his height…” Eunsoo began.

“And his voice, too…” continued Yelim.

“Like a carbon copy of…” Haneul paused, waiting for the other girls to speak with her.

Namjoon braced for impact, certain that his cover was about to be fully blown.

“Jeon Jungkook!” they shouted in unison.

Namjoon blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” Their eyes all swiveled to him, faces still painted in surprise. “Jungkook? Really? You don’t think he looks more like Seokjin? At all?” he asked with hands held aloft in confusion.

Eunsoo rolled her eyes. “Are you blind? No, he definitely looks more like Jungkook.”

Stepping to his side, Haneul linked their arms. “I can’t believe you hid such a stone-cold hottie from us, Soon-ah! I mean, I get it, but, still,” she sighed.

“Wait, though, hold on. Do you like him?” Eunsoo asked. “Because you were, like, so flustered back there.”

“Yeah, why are you chasing after stupid secret admirer guy when what’s-his-name, Jinseo or whatever, is right there?” questioned Haneul, pulling Namjoon to a stop outside the Jeong home.

“What? No! No, Jinseok is just a friend. That’s all there is,” Namjoon said. Because there was no way this universe would force him to become the girlfriend of one of his closest friends in the world…right?

No, clearly the romcom universe had presented him with a perfectly good secret admirer that more than fit the bill of the To Do list.

There was no need to overcomplicate his own life once he got back home by making a mess of things here. He wasn’t an idiot—he was aware that he’d probably have to kiss this future boyfriend, hold his hand, tuck himself into his side, that kind of stuff. Doing that with the bizarro version of Seokjin would be…so, so weird. Just...weird.

Besides, he had kind of fucked up their relationship enough at this point.

“Sure, he’s just a friend,” Yelim shrugged, her face flat.

“No, she has a point,” interjected Eunsoo. “Soon is taller than him, which is, like, eh.” She held up her hand parallel to the ground and wiggled it a little to illustrate how eh it was.

Haneul sniffed indignantly. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Whatever, we need to go home before it gets any later,” stated Eunsoo, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll see you Monday, Soon-ah!”

Namjoon waved them goodbye halfheartedly, the pit in his stomach growing into a chasm as they took their distractions with them. Standing alone in the dim, orange light pouring from the front porch, he couldn’t chase away the flash of hurt he saw on Jinseok-oppa’s face. The hurt that he had put there.

He might be the closest thing Jinseok-oppa had to a best friend right now, and, here he was, referring to him as nothing but a store worker. As nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

After everything Jinseok-oppa had done for Namjoon, this was how he repaid that friendship? What the hell was wrong with him?

“Welcome back, Soonie!” sang Hobi-mom as he slunk inside. “How was your girls’ day?”

But he couldn’t look up to meet her eyes, couldn’t bring himself to respond as he curled in on himself standing in the entryway. Everyone in this world had been so kind and wonderful and forgiving to Namjoon, but all he did in response was throw his words around carelessly. Cuty-Jimin padded over softly to press his nose to Namjoon's knee, the soft shuffle of Hobi-mom's slippers following him.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, moving to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Tell your mother what’s wrong.”

Hobi-mom’s gentle tone pushed him over the edge, the tears that he had fought to keep at bay finally spilling down his face.

“I think I messed up.”

Chapter Text

Colored flags lined the school’s track, students crammed into the rickety bleachers as their teachers attempted to tame them into orderly groups.

“Seriously, who has a school track and field day on a Monday? And during the same week as our exams, too. What the hell,” Namjoon grumbled.

Yelim shot him an exasperated look. “Uh, our stupid school, that’s who.”

“You complain every year, maybe you should just let it go,” Eunsoo added, her excitement at the competition clear from her bright eyes.

But Namjoon’s little grey cloud refused to lift itself as he leaned back with a huff.

After crying like an idiot to Hobi-mom, he had waited all day Sunday, preparing speech after speech to apologize for his rude behavior to Jinseok-oppa on Saturday evening. Yet, when he shuffled through the sliding doors that afternoon with the blue scarf clutched in his hands, the bored looking man behind the counter informed him that Jinseok-oppa never worked on Sundays, as if Namjoon should already have their schedules memorized or something.

Despite the fact that there was literally nothing he could do that night about the situation, his brain still refused to focus on literally anything else. Why couldn't you watch your tongue? his brain whispered to him in the darkness of Soon's room. Why didn't you remember the stupid scarf you bought? Why didn't you just beg for forgiveness right then and there? The endless questions chased around his head all night, leaving him tired and sad and so, so annoyed at himself. A combination for success, clearly.

Haneul bumped her shoulder to Namjoon’s, whispering, “I’m with you, but at least we don’t have biology today, right?"

Their class sat together in a large yellow blob, their matching sweatshirts differentiating them from the other third-year high school classes. Even back in his own high school days, Namjoon always kind of hated track and field day with its endless stopping and starting, its falsely generated school spirit. It honestly felt like a waste of time, and Namjoon was in no mood for bullshit.

“The relay race is first,” their homeroom teacher addressed them, clinging to a clipboard. He called out the names of two boys, then scanned the crowd before finding Namjoon’s group at the back. “An Yelim, Jeong Namsoon; you’re up!”

“Oh, come on, I’m the worst at relays,” Namjoon whined. Yelim seemed to be past acknowledging him at this point, silently leading them down the bleachers and out to the starting blocks. The four runners drew straws from the teacher to determine their order. As Namjoon drew the straw labelled “4,” their teacher sighed heavily.

“Ah, well, do your best everyone,” he said, but his eyes bored into Namjoon specifically as he waved them to their positions.

Great, even in this universe, Namjoon was a known klutz. Part of him wanted to simply give up now before the race had even started, but another wanted to prove the world wrong. He could learn from his mistakes, he could change, he could show everyone that Jeong Namsoon wasn’t some worthless, terrible-friend pushover!

At the shot of the starter pistol signalling the beginning of the race, Namjoon's eyes tracked the first boy from his class sprinting around the track, handing off the baton to the second boy with ease. Yelim stood unconcernedly while she waited for the second boy to approach. She began a few steps before the last runner, darting forward to push her way from fifth to third place with a casual ease. As he readied for the hand-off of the baton, the tension in Namjoon’s body from two whole days of stewing on his careless words coiled, anticipating a small kind of release. His fingers met the baton, yanking it from Yelim as he stumbled forward for a beat.

The world seemed to collapse into just him and the red ribbon finish line. Adrenaline took hold of his body, propelling him forward as if he could outrun his past mistakes. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing as his legs pumped him over the finish line, his heavy footfalls against the rubber track.

Slowly, cheers from the stands reached him as he came down from the rush of his sprint. The judgmental homeroom teacher clapped him on the shoulder, shouting, “Second place! Great work, class 3-4!”

Soon’s class clapped as the relay group returned, the 100-meter sprint runners filing past them to take their places on the track.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run, Soon-ah. Like, ever,” Haneul marveled as Eunsoo stood to high five Yelim and Namjoon on their way back to their seats. “Our class might finish in…not-last place!”

Eunsoo rubbed her hands together. “Oh, just wait until I get out there. Set your sights high, ladies! Third-place, here we come!”

Even with Namjoon’s positive relay results, he still found himself relegated to the class’s concession booth by the late morning with an extremely bored Yelim and a happily excluded Haneul. Eunsoo, decked out in sweatbands, was still on the field attempting to rally their class to that elusive third-place finish. The booth’s place at the far end of the track proved to be a great vantage point for people watching.

Or, in Haneul’s case, boy watching. “What about Lee Kangchang? He seems nice.”

“Nice and taken,” Yelim yawned, her head propped on her hand from her seat as far from potential customers as she could get. “He’s clearly been making out with Kim Haein before ARMY Club for weeks. Next.”

“Really? Man, why are all the good ones taken?” Turning to look at Namjoon, Haneul asked, “Soonie, would you lend me one of the secret admirer boys when you’re done with them?”

Namjoon huffed. “Definitely. They’re a bunch of idiots, anyways.”

Over the course of the morning, jock-type Byungsoo had pointedly jogged by their booth at least three times, sending Namjoon confident grins as he passed. Namjoon could feel dork-type Isang’s stare from the stands. The bright red blush that colored his cheeks as he glanced away from Namjoon gave away his not-so-surreptitious actions. Only emo-type Dongha had failed to make an appearance, but that was likely because he simply wasn’t there.

“Don’t worry, once he sees your pins, I’m sure he’ll finally reveal himself,” Haneul said, miming the opening of a coat.

“I don’t think that’s the type of reveal she had in mind,” commented Yelim.

Namjoon had affixed the little oyster shell and rose pins to Soon’s school bag, a subtle decoration in contrast to the large, plush Eevee keychain, in the hopes to lure out the mystery boy. But he couldn’t bring himself to care much about the secret admirer search right at the moment, not with finding his way back into Jinseok-oppa’s good graces at the forefront of his mind. The whistle hanging from his neck felt like an anchor pulling him down and down until the ground would eventually swallow him whole.

The press of the crowd rattled his concentration, making him feel even more twitchy and irritable than before—effectively negating any emotional release he had leftover from his mad sprint. Heaving a sigh, Namjoon pushed back from the stand. “I think I’m going to walk around for a minute. Clear my head, you know?”

He really had nowhere worth going, but a little quiet time couldn’t hurt. Wandering into the school’s entryway, he took a moment to orient himself. Almost all of his time spent at school was following in the trail of his friends, walking the same paths from the entryway to Soon’s classroom, the classroom to the gym, the classroom to the ARMY Club room, the club room back outside. The same boring paths each day. Turning towards the staircase, he wandered upwards, past the third floor where Soon’s homeroom lay. Eventually, he hit a pair of steel doors.

With a heavy push, a gust of cool, autumn air hit Namjoon’s face. The roof was wide and surrounded by a low wall. As he walked towards the edge facing the track, he could make out the bright specks of Soon’s classmates below, darting about under the colorful flags.

“Fancy meeting you here, Jeong Namsoon,” called a voice from behind him. When Namjoon glanced over his shoulder, he saw emo-type sat against a far wall, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. “Want a smoke?”

“No, thanks,” Namjoon said, turning to face the track once again.

The gravel surface of the roof crunched under his feet as he approached Namjoon's lookout. Emo-type slid into Namjoon’s peripherals, leaning casually against the short retaining wall. He thankfully gave him a fair amount of space as they both watched the people below. “God, what a mindless farce. All that wasted effort, and for what? A blue ribbon? A pat on the back? What utter bullshit,” he spat.

“I mean, I guess so. But, to be fair, most things aren’t intrinsically meaningful, either. It’s all relative,” replied Namjoon, tracking the little yellow dot that he was fairly certain was Eunsoo.

“Huh?”

“Things are just things. We’re the ones to apply meaning to them: events, possessions, people, even words. Someone’s most prized possession could look like trash to another person, but that feeling doesn’t really have any bearing on anyone but themselves, you know? What one person feels can't just automatically change anyone else's appraisal of worth, no matter how hard we try,” Namjoon mused. His hand found its own way to the whistle at his neck, clutching it so tightly that the metal bit into the soft flesh of his palm.

Emo-type chuckled drily. “Isn’t it nice to think so. Nah, I gotta call it like I see it; bullshit is bullshit. Some things really are meaningless, no matter what anyone says,” he smirked, angling himself towards Namjoon.

“Sure, whatever,” sighed Namjoon as he pushed away from the roof’s edge and turned back towards the access doors.

“Wait! You’re just gonna go back out there after everything?” emo-type cried. He caught Namjoon around the elbow, but didn’t cling as Namjoon pulled his arm free.

“After what?” he asked, turning to look at emo-type.

Crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels, emo-type tilted his head as one corner of his mouth curled upwards. “We agreed; this competition is a waste of time. You might as well spend that time with someone stimulating.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s the plan. But my friends are all down there,” Namjoon gestured to the track with a tight smile. “So, bye.”

Namjoon knew that emo-type didn't mean anything by it, knew that he was just another teenage boy who was covering his insecurities with overconfidence, but he just didn't have it in him to be polite today. Maybe worth and meaning were on a sliding scale, he mused as he descended the stairs and slowly wandered back to the concession stand. The worth of so many things relied so heavily on the day and the feelings of that day, but there would always be those few special things that simply matter more than normal, everyday stuff. Maybe it wasn't fair, but Bangtan would always be that special thing for him. It didn't matter whether he was in a bizarro world, it didn't matter if it was bizarro Bangtan; they would always be first for Namjoon.

Haneul waved Namjoon over frantically as he weaved his way back through the crowds around the concession stand. “You will not believe this! So, Choi Byungsoo ran by again, but he, like, completely froze in his tracks when he didn’t see you. How freaking cute!” she squealed as he slid behind the counter.

“It looked a little idiotic, I’m not going to lie, but it’s myth confirmed that he has his eye on you,” Yelim said as she handed a first-year a water bottle.

“We can also confirm that emo-type knows my name, too,” Namjoon added.

Both girls’ heads whipped around to gape at him as he sat down on the drink cooler behind them. “Why is it that all the evidence we’re finding keeps putting each guy higher on the suspect list without eliminating anyone?” Haneul cried, throwing up her hands. “At this point, I’m not so sure that all three guys aren’t writing these letters together.”

“Gross,” Yelim muttered.

“I hope not. I can forgive one person for writing those poems, but if they’re the best thing that three guys could create together, then that’s truly unforgivable,” Namjoon sighed before bursting into laughter with the other girls.

“It’s for the best, though,” Yelim said, her giggles tapering off. “Dating the three of them at once would be a nightmare.”

***

Although the tension in his chest had lessened somewhat after his leisurely afternoon with Yelim and Haneul at the concession stand and Eunsoo’s ecstatic response to their class’s red third-place ribbons, his anxiety returned in full force as he sat alone on the bus after school. It was like an angry tiger in his chest, desperate to claw its way out of Namjoon’s mouth. His short fingernails dug halfmoon imprints into his palms as the bus rolled to a stop outside the terminal.

He knew what he had to do, had been preparing to do so since Saturday night as he cried in Hobi-mom’s arms at his sheer stupidity. But planning and doing were two very separate things.

As he turned down the side street, the neon Coco sign lit the fallen leaves in streaks of pale pink. The cool wind had turned the afternoon brisk, blowing through Namjoon’s hair and pulling at the exposed skin on his face and neck. Hugging his arms around himself, he crept up to the convenience store and peeked through the front windows.

Jinseok-oppa’s broad shoulders leaned over the counter, head resting in his hand. Sometime since Saturday, he had dyed his hair black from its prior soft brown, the strands shining deep blue under the fluorescent lights of the store. Idly, he pushed a pair of thick-framed glasses up by the armpiece with a flourish. Namjoon took a long moment to observe him, uncertain if he wanted Jinseok-oppa to notice him huddled out in the cold or if he wanted him to remain oblivious to his presence as he readied himself.

Namjoon pulled the blue scarf from Soon’s schoolbag and took a moment to smooth down its folds. Pressing it to his chest, he hoped that it would be a welcome gift, that he would be a welcome visitor. With all of his anxious planning of how he should apologize, he still wasn’t sure how Jinseok-oppa would react. The uncertainty pressed into him from all sides. But it wasn’t getting any warmer as he waited, so, taking one last deep breath, Namjoon plunged ahead.

“Welcome,” Jinseok-oppa said, eyes remaining on his book for an extra second after the sliding doors chimed Namjoon’s entrance. “Oh,” he breathed as he finally looked up.

Dropping his bag to the ground and leaning forward into a deep bow, Namjoon held up the scarf like a peace offering in front of him. His apology rushed from his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry about what I said. On Saturday. I made it sound like we’re not friends, that I don’t consider you a friend, which is so wrong. You’re my friend, and I hurt you. I’m an asshole, and—” Namjoon’s eyes remained glued to the scuffed tile at his feet, his vision blurring at the edges as the words bubbled from his throat of their own accord.

None of that sounded like the apology he had planned.

The tips of Jinseok-oppa’s beat up sneakers stepped into the blurred scene. His hands carefully gripped Namjoon's shoulders, pulling him back into a standing position before smoothing down to his biceps once he stood. “Please, stop. It’s okay,” he murmured and squeezed Namjoon’s arms lightly. The scarf remained suspended between them, seemingly unnoticed.

“It’s not, though! I acted carelessly—”

But Jinseok-oppa shook his head sharply, meeting Namjoon's eyes with a soft smile. “There’s nothing to apologize for. What you said was true: this is where we hang out. We’ve really only hung out somewhere else once, and that’s…" He glanced away for a moment as his smile faltered. Shaking his head again, he smiled as he met Namjoon's eyes and continued, "Fine. It’s fine. I mean, I don’t even have your phone number,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “Most people wouldn’t even consider us friends at all, so please don’t worry about it.”

“But you are my friend,” Namjoon mumbled, unable to fight a pout. Pressing the scarf into Jinseok-oppa’s chest with both hands, he whined, “Look, I even bought you this friendship scarf.”

He had spent the past 48 hours stressing over how to apologize, over which words to use to explain himself best, over what he could do to make it up to Jinseok-oppa. But this was his response? Namjoon could kick himself in the face, this is exactly how Seokjin would take a situation like this. Just like how the lines between Namsoon and Namjoon seemed to blur as the days progressed, maybe the same could be said for the other members of bizarro Bangtan, too.

Jinseok-oppa laughed lightly as he stepped back, letting go of Namjoon and gently pulling the scarf from him. “Okay, then starting right now we’re officially friends,” he declared, offering his hand for Namjoon to shake.

“This seems oddly formal,” Namjoon muttered, smiling a little when Jin-oppa shook their hands back and forth. As Jin-oppa moved to grab Soon’s bag from the floor and place it on the counter, Namjoon rubbed at his eyes quickly, fighting away any stray tears that clung to his lashes. With a final sniff, he pulled out Soon’s phone from his pocket and opened the contacts app. “Here. So, we have each other’s number.”

Jin-oppa took the phone, mentioning as he typed, “My phone’s pretty old. I have Line, but it’s kind of slow sometimes. You still know how to call or text the old-fashioned way, right?”

“Definitely, not a problem,” Namjoon assured as he jumped up to his spot on the counter. Although he had been fully prepared to grovel, he couldn’t help but be grateful for Jin-oppa’s easy forgiveness. Still, as he watched him typing away on Soon’s phone, the soft blue scarf draped over his arm, Namjoon promised himself that he would never put Jin in that position ever again. He was far too good a friend to treat like shit for no reason.

Handing him Soon’s phone, Jin giggled, “It’s a good thing I’m wearing my glasses today since I just gave you my contact,” and moved back behind the counter.

“Ugh, that was horrible,” Namjoon snickered, failing to hold in his own laughter.

Namjoon smiled down at his new contact labelled “Jinnie-oppa!!!” As he typed a quick text response, he could see Jin running his fingers over the plaid pattern of the scarf in his hands, careful movements like it was something precious, something fragile and breakable.

“You didn’t have to get me this,” Jin mumbled as Namjoon stuck his phone into his coat pocket. “I wasn’t mad or anything.”

With a shrug, Namjoon replied, “Technically, I bought it before acting like a giant assface to you. Still, I figured it would help my case if you were mad.” He paused, giggling at Jin’s rolled eyes. “But, either way, I wanted to buy it for you, so I did.”

Jin bit his lip as he wound the scarf around his neck. Smoothing down the fringe, he glanced up at Namjoon and said, “I really like it. Does it look okay?”

“It looks great,” Namjoon smiled, before pointing in Jin’s direction. “It looks nice with your hair.”

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugged as he reached up to touch at his newly dark hair. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted a change. Does it look alright?” he asked.

Nodding a little, Namjoon responded, “Yeah, you look good. I mean, you always look good, but you know.”

Jin ducked his head, his ears going red. “Your hair looks nice, too. You don’t usually wear it up like that, but it’s cute,” he said as he tapped the side of his own head.

Namjoon shook his head a little, making the baby pony tail on the back of his head shake. “Thanks. My friend Haneul did it for me,” Namjoon replied. “She was the one with the round face, average height.”

Humming a reply, Jin moved to close his textbook still laying open on the counter.

Suddenly, Namjoon wanted to kick himself in the face again. What did he actually know about this man, beyond the obvious ways he resembled Seokjin? He had no idea what class the textbook Jin had been reading was for, had no idea if he had pets or friends at university or family nearby. Somehow, Namjoon had quietly fallen into the pattern of the cliché romcom heroine so wrapped up in her own life and her own problems that she didn’t even bother to pay attention to the people she considered her friends.

Namjoon would have none of that.

“Hey, what were you studying?” he asked, reaching out to take the textbook from Jin’s hands.

“Accounting,” Jin sighed, relinquishing his book to Namjoon. “It’s boring and stupid, but I need to take it, so I’m trying to make the most of it.”

“Oh, well, at least it’s kind of useful,” Namjoon added. “Do you need it for your major?”

Jin nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I’m studying business, which, much like accounting, is mostly boring, but useful.”

“Business? Huh,” he ruminated as he flipped through the pages of the textbook, formulas and text set against plain white pages. That seemed far too…innocuous and mundane for the bizzaro version of multi-talented, silver voiced, Worldwide Handsome Kim Seokjin. But maybe this universe’s Seokjin had chosen to pursue his childhood dream of following in his father’s footsteps?

“I know it’s not very exciting, but that’s how life is for someone like me,” Jin said as he took the textbook from Namjoon’s hands.

Scrutinizing him a little, Namjoon wondered aloud, “Someone like you?”

“Uh, yeah, you know…” Jin glanced upwards as he searched for the right word before settling on, “Average.” He startled a little at Namjoon’s bark of laughter, looking up at him with confusion written across his brow.

Namjoon covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. “I’m sorry, I just…What about you is average in any way?”

Jin blinked slowly before shrugging lightly. “I don’t know, everything?”

“I can’t believe you right now,” Namjoon responded, turning to face Jin fully. Sitting up on the counter like this placed him even higher above Jin’s eye level than normal. “First of all, you work incredibly hard. I mean, you have two jobs, go to school, and I never hear you complain. That’s insane. Second, I know for a fact that you’re exceptionally smart, and your grades are probably amazing. Third, today has proven that you’re one of the nicest, kindest, most forgiving people I know. And, fourth, you’re…well, I mean, do you look in mirrors, at all? Because, let’s face it, you’re handsome as hell.” Namjoon ticked the items off on his fingers. "Seriously, how does any of that add up to 'average?'"

“Okay, stop,” Jin giggled, pushing at Namjoon’s shoulder. “My shoulders are going to touch the sky after all these compliments.”

This time it was Namjoon who pushed at Jin’s shoulder, saying, “We can’t have that. Your shoulders are already so huge already.”

“Joke’s on you, my shoulders getting bigger would only make me look more handsome,” he declared, turning up his nose as Namjoon doubled over with laughter. And, god, did it feel good to laugh with Jin after everything, to talk about their boring lives like they were monumentally important. Just being in this place—perched on the counter of an inexplicably empty convenience store, his own laughter mixing with Jin's—he felt like all of the tightness and anxiety that had wrapped itself around him had fallen away at Jin’s genuine grin.

When it was time for him to head home, Namjoon couldn't help but stall near the exit. A part of him wondered if maybe he had dreamed this all up, that Jin actually hated him now, that leaving the store would break the spell and return Namjoon's life to the sad, Jin-less existence of the past weekend. But Jin's soft smile as he unconsciously smoothed down the scarf still draped around his neck chased away those doubts. Glancing down at Jin's other hand resting casually against the store's counter, Namjoon reached out, covering the back of Jin’s hand with his own without a second thought.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking down a little to meet Jin’s eye. He hoped that everything he was thanking Jin for could be read in his eyes, that he could press his silent gratefulness into Jin.

“Yeah,” Jin replied. He turned his hand to hold Namjoon’s for a heartbeat before ushering him out the door.

***

As his life resumed its normal, mundane routine, Namjoon found he was rather startled when his exams day arrived. But, after what felt like weeks and weeks of flash cards, meticulous notes, and nightly study sessions, he was more than ready to be done with the thing.

The weak November sun hadn’t yet crept over the horizon, the sky a dusty purple as Namjoon pulled on comfortable clothes and doublechecked that had had everything he would need packed away in Soon’s school bag. He spared a moment to shave away his wispy mustache before combing back his hair into a tiny bun like the various YouTube tutorials had taught him, using the crab barrette to pin back his fringe. As he gave himself a quick once over, Namjoon was almost startled by how normal this whole thing felt.

Both of Soon’s parents sat at the table waiting for him, a heaping breakfast plate sitting in front of his spot. Even though he was thankful for their quiet show of support, he could only pick at his food, the stress of the oncoming exam churning his stomach. Hobi-mom seemed happy to speak for all of them as she softly described an article she had read the night before. As she spoke, JK-dad tapped irregular rhythms with his feet on the tile floor and idly played with Hobi-mom's hand, humming responses to her story. Namjoon tried to pay attention, but his brain was split in a million directions.

Namjoon mentally chided himself as he broke his eggs into increasingly tiny pieces. He'd already taken this test back in reality, already knew that he could do an amazing job, but there was no room for mistakes today. Unlike his own life, there was no idol back-up plan if he failed. This was his only shot to get Soon into a SKY university. 

All too soon, the three of them herded into the family car, JK-dad taking the wheel while Hobi-mom slipped into the back seat with Namjoon. Messing with the dials of the car’s speaker system, JK-dad asked over the quiet sounds of a morning radio show, “How are you feeling, my daughter?”

Namjoon hummed as they pulled out onto the street. “Okay, I think,” he said.

“You’ll do well. Just stay calm, take each question one at a time, and just pick option three if you don’t know the answer,” Hobi-mom stated with a wink, squeezing Namjoon’s shoulders with a one-armed hug.

There was something about exam day that made him feel like the earth had stopped rotating on its axis, like the ground and air itself were holding their breath, the din of the city falling silent as students nervously filed into exam centers. Through the car window, Namjoon watched the sun paint the city into layers of pale yellows and pinks. Hobi-mom’s arm remained around Namjoon’s shoulders. In some ways, it felt like an apology from the real world for the loneliness of his own exams buried in his hectic trainee days.

But he remembered the group gathering to welcome him back to the dorm, wide grins and encouraging words. Remembered Seokjin's gentle apology at not being able to break their strict diets to make him a delicious meal, remembered how good his food tasted regardless. Remembered how well he slept that night trusting that he had made the right choice. Looking back now, it wasn't really a sad memory anymore. He closed his eyes, leaning into Hobi-mom and hoping that today could turn out just as well.

JK-dad steered into the procession of cars, waiting for their turn to halt outside the exam center. As the front gate came into sight, Hobi-mom’s arm squeezed him still tighter, and JK-dad rotated in his seat to take one of Namjoon’s hands.

“Do your best, Soon-ah,” he said as Namjoon stepped from the car, lunchbox and school bag in hand. “I believe in you, we all do. We know you'll do well.”

He smiled softly at the pair, bizzarro as they were. But all he wanted was real Jungkook and Hoseok back, all he wanted was his real life, and he prayed that he had done enough to make that a reality. Because, if he failed this, his ticket home would be as good as gone.

“Namsoon, fighting!” shouted Hobi-mom as Namjoon squared his shoulders and walked towards the first major obstacle to finally getting back home.

Eunsoo sat in the entryway, waiting for him so they could go to their shared assigned room together. He pulled a sticky note covered in random English phrases that clung to the underside of her sleeve and stuck it gently to her open notebook. “It’s nearly time. We should probably be heading up soon,” he said quietly, hoping not to startle the shaky girl further.

“God, okay, let’s do this,” she responded in a squeak.

Maybe it was the fact that he had already taken this stupid exam before or maybe it was more that this universe seemed to be pushing him in a very specific direction, but Namjoon felt as if he left his anxiety at the door. Determination filled him as he carefully and methodically answered question after question. At each exam break, he could almost taste the specific smell of Bangtan’s shared dorm, could picture himself arriving home just like that fateful afternoon—easy, thoughtless, normal.

“I think I bombed the literature section,” Haneul fretted around a mouthful of noodles, their little group huddled together in the cafeteria at lunch. “I couldn’t remember the difference between the different types of meter.”

Yelim propped open her notebook, effectively creating a wall between her and the others. “That was only, like, six questions. You’re probably okay,” she said, not looking up.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” assured Namjoon. Taking a bite of his green tea chocolate, he continued, “It’ll all even out with your answers on the subjects you do know well, you’ll see.”

“I hope so,” Haneul sighed.

The afternoon of testing wasn’t much better than the morning. Despite Namjoon’s determination, his brain was slowly being turned into boiled jelly with each new question. As he puzzled through various logic questions in the English portion of the exam, his mind just kept wandering to all of the useless ways he actually ended up using his English knowledge in his own life. There were only so many polite and noninvasive answers to, “who’s your celebrity crush” or “what’s your love life like” or “tell us about the girls.”

God, what he wouldn’t give for a nap. Or a pizza. Or both, really.

“That’s time. Everyone, please ensure your name is written on the proper line and stack your exam booklets up front as you leave,” the proctor announced at the end of the last section’s time. There was an audible release of breath from the students around him, sounds returning in full force as the exams finally drew to a close.

Namjoon and Eunsoo linked their arms and practically skipped their way out to meet Yelim and Haneul at the front gate to wait for their parents' arrivals.

“We’re done! We’re freaking done!” Haneul cried as they met, throwing her arms around both Eunsoo and Namjoon and rocking them back and forth. “I could legit nap for, like, twenty hours, but who cares!”

Yelim cracked a genuine smile as Namjoon and the two girls pulled her into their huddle. “And now we wait,” she sighed as they stepped apart.

“Not to be a downer,” Namjoon said as he bit his lip and jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “But I think the wait might be worse than all the studying. At least I had some control over anything leading up to the exams, but now? There’s literally nothing left for me to do but worry about everything.”

“But that’s why it’s great, though! We’ve done all we can, so there’s no reason to think about it ever again,” Haneul replied.

Eunsoo shook her head. “I’m with Soon-ah. I’m way too impatient to handle this kind of waiting, I’m probably going to have horrible stress dreams for weeks. Oh, god, do you think my hair will start to fall out?” she asked, eyes flitting nervously from face to face.

“You’ll be fine, calm down,” Yelim rolled her eyes. “Take a nap, eat a bunch of junk food, and forget about it for a minute. I’m sure you did fine.”

The line of cars outside the gate pulled forward, the Jeong’s black sedan rolling to view. JK-dad rolled down his window, whipped off a pair of sunglasses, and leaned out the window to yell, “Namsoon-ah, did you get that bread?”

“Oh, my god,” Namjoon groaned, covering his eyes as Hobi-mom leapt from the front passenger seat to open the back door for him like a chauffeur. Loud dance beats blared from the open door of the car. “I swear, I can’t even handle these people sometimes.” He gathered the three girls into another group hug and waved them goodbye as Hobi-mom and JK-dad danced him into the back seat.

“So,” Hobi-mom stretched out the word as they pulled into traffic on their way home. “Did it go alright? Do you feel confident?”

Outside, the world was streaked with long shadows. Something shifted in Namjoon’s chest at the sight, filling him up with a sense of serenity. One huge task was done, and it felt like this bizarro universe was finally working with him instead of against. Maybe everything really would be fine.

“Yeah. I feel really good.”

Chapter Text

Brother-Tae lowered his controller and looked at Namjoon skeptically over his glasses. “You seriously have to try to be this bad at Super Smash,” he grumbled.

Clearly pleased with his second-place finish, uncle-Yoon leapt to Namjoon’s defense, saying, “Hey, leave Soon-ah alone. It’s not like she had a lot of time to practice lately.”

After the whirlwind of taking his exams, Namjoon had committed himself to relishing his free weekend, a small reprieve before school began again on Monday, bringing more homework and more time to fret over whether or not his scores were enough to qualify him for a SKY university. Even though he usually left Soon’s To Do list tucked away in her diary, Namjoon couldn’t shake the ghost of it hanging around his mind at all hours of the day, reminding him of all the things he had yet to figure out.

“It’s not like I’ve ever been that good at video games in the first place, so I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Namjoon addressed brother-Tae who promptly rolled his eyes.

“I swear you used to be better, but, whatever,” he sighed, navigating through the various game menus. The three of them lay around the living room in front of the tv, wasting their Saturday morning together. Cuty-Jimin wandered in to settle himself on brother-Tae’s lap as Hobi-mom sashayed in looking like she had just walked out of a fashion magazine aimed at classy, rich women.

“I’m going to run a few errands with my girls in the city. Does anyone need anything while I’m out?” she questioned, sliding on a pair of sunglasses and a long, wool coat.

“Cup noodle,” uncle-Yoon replied curtly. His eyes remained glued to the tv as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going grocery shopping, you dum-dum,” she stated, smacking him lightly upside the head as she passed by towards the front door. As she slid on her shoes, she sang, “Text me if you need me! Love you!”

A small chorus of replies followed her exit.

With a stretch, Namjoon pulled himself to his feet to wander out to the kitchen. JK-dad sat at the table behind his laptop, head bobbing along to the music playing through the headphones over his ears. Walking up behind him, Namjoon placed a hand gently on JK-dad’s shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Just a bit of photo editing,” he said after pulling down his headphones to coil around his neck and clicking the view on screen from an extreme close-up view of green and grey pixels to a wide shot of street lights and palm trees. “This was from my last business trip to Singapore. I had a lot of down time in the afternoons, so I got some really nice shots in.”

“That’s really cool,” Namjoon replied. He leaned over JK-dad’s shoulder as he clicked through a few different photos, marveling over the colors and compositions.

JK-dad chuckled a little and waved away Namjoon’s compliments with a, “It’s just a hobby.”

“So? You’re still great at it,” he countered as he moved into the kitchen to grab a drink. When he opened the fridge, Namjoon nearly burst out in laughter. If the three large bottles of Sprite were anything to go by, clearly Hobi-mom and Hoseok shared the same taste.

As he cracked open a bottle of water, the front doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it,” Namjoon said as he approached the door.

After a quick peek through the peephole, he practically wrenched it open. Jin stood on the front step in his delivery uniform, the dark fabric setting off the light blue of his scarf. He held up a large package as a smile stretched across his face. “Yet another Big Hit package for the Jeong ARMY family,” he said, passing Namjoon the box.

“Hey, Jin-oppa,” Namjoon greeted as he adjusted the box in his hands. "I'm glad you like my gift," he gestured to the scarf with his elbow.

Jin giggled as he struck a series of increasingly ridiculous poses meant to highlight the accessory. "Of course I like it, friendship scarves are the best," he replied as he flicked the end of the scarf dramatically over his shoulder.

"Yeah, they're pretty great," Namjoon snickered back.

Pushing his uniform cap back a little, Jin settled back into a more normal stance as he asked, "So, how’d your big exam go?”

Namjoon nodded back and forth a little. “I did pretty okay, I think. Fingers crossed everything went well,” he said before shifting the box in his hands to hold up his own crossed fingers.

His focus was so centered on Jin that Namjoon jumped a little when JK-dad stepped to his side. “What did we get?” JK-dad asked. He smiled at Namjoon and took the cardboard box from his hands, then glanced between Namjoon and Jin hovering on the front step. Gesturing to Jin, he questioned, “Is this someone you know, my daughter?”

Fighting off flashbacks to his disastrous introduction of Jin to his friends, Namjoon leapt at the opportunity to correct his past wrongs. “Yes! Dad, this is my friend, Kim Jinseok,” he stated.

“Oh? He isn’t the friend who patched you up, was he?” JK-dad queried as he lowered his head in response to Jin’s bow. Seeing Namjoon’s affirmative nod, he addressed Jin. “Please, let us repay the favor somehow.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Jin assured, bowing again.

“Really, I insist. Why don’t you come for supper or something? Nothing too fancy, just our way of thanking you for looking after our Soonie,” he replied. “It’s really no problem, my wife loves to entertain.”

Jin hesitated, glancing over to Namjoon. “I’m sorry, that's very kind of you, but I have work tonight,” he mumbled with yet another apologetic bow.

Something in Namjoon's heart sang at the thought of having all seven members together again, at gathering the most important people in his life into the group they were always meant to be. He couldn't lose that chance. “You don’t work Sunday nights, though,” he countered. Jin’s slow blink communicated his surprise at Namjoon’s knowledge of his schedule, but he said nothing.

“Great! Tomorrow night is perfect. Soonie can text you the details later,” JK-dad said with finality, waving as he went back to the dining room table. With wide eyes, Jin watched him go before turning back to Namjoon with a bashful smile.

“Um, wow, okay. I should get going. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon waved enthusiastically as he left, oddly nervous about what tomorrow night would bring.

***

Hobi-mom didn’t mess around when it came to having company over. She spent her Saturday evening in a flurry of cleaning, decorating, and menu planning. By Sunday morning, the house looked like it belonged on the pages of a magazine just as much as she did.

“Are you sure mom knows this guy isn’t your boyfriend?” brother-Tae whispered to Namjoon as they ate breakfast while Hobi-mom lectured uncle-Yoon on precisely how to cook tonight’s steak—despite the fact that he was clearly still half-asleep and completely capable of cooking meat properly already. Namjoon shrugged helplessly, unsure of what the family was going to unleash on poor, unsuspecting Jin that night.

Cuty-Jimin trailed him upstairs afterwards, curling up on Soon’s bed as Namjoon stared blankly into Soon’s closet. What exactly was the dress code for a family meal with a bizzaro family and the one missing bizzaro member?

It seemed like Jin was in the same boat. Soon’s phone buzzed, singing out bultaoreune as Jin’s contact info lit up the screen.   

Jinnie-oppa!!!

good morning~~!

so about tonight.......how nice should i dress?? ◉_◉

9:16 a.m.

Me

don’t worry too much, just wear whatever. we’re pretty casual, so

9:17 a.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

hmmmmmmmmm

okay~

9:17 a.m.

Namjoon tossed his phone onto the bed next to Cuty with a sigh. Pulling out clothing at random, he held them up for the little dog to observe. “Yes, no?” he asked, draping a purple plaid top over his chest.

Cuty-Jimin cocked his head, wondering, “What’s wrong with what you’re already wearing?”

“This?” Glancing down at his striped hoodie and wide leg jeans, Namjoon pouted in thought. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem right for having a friend over, you know?”

“Seems like an important friend,” Cuty commented.

“Of course he is. He’s one of us,” Namjoon said as he hung the plaid top back in the closet.

“Oh, a Bangtan boy.” After stretching himself, Cuty-Jimin strolled over to Namjoon’s side. “Then you definitely shouldn’t worry about your outfit.”

But Namjoon couldn’t keep himself from trying on multiple outfits hoping to get just the right look, pinning and combing his hair in a million different configurations. By the time he wandered back downstairs to anxiously hover by the door anticipating Jin’s arrival, he was certain he had tried on every single article of clothing Soon owned.

“Oh, don’t you look cute!” Hobi-mom paused in her supper preparations, gesturing to his long, layered tops and drapey cropped pants, saying, “Just like a tiered cake!”

“Um, thanks? I think?” he mumbled.

The chime of the doorbell caused Namjoon to jump, skittering to pull open the door. If Namjoon didn’t know any better, he would have thought his Seokjin was standing on the other side, with his plain pants, massively oversized sweater, and long puffer jacket. “Hey,” he said as Namjoon ushered him inside. “Did I do okay?” Jin asked quietly as Namjoon took his coat.

“Yeah, you look great,” he responded, shooting Jin a thumbs up.

“So do you,” Jin mumbled back with a smile. Pulling a small watermelon from the bag hanging from his wrist, Jin looked sheepishly at Namjoon. “I wasn’t sure what to bring…” he began as Hobi-mom glided in from the kitchen.

“Soonie!” she cried, walking to Namjoon’s side and holding out her hand to Jin. “You never mentioned how handsome your friend was! I’m Soonie’s mother, Hosook,” she giggled as Jin shook her hand and handed her the watermelon. “Let me take that from you. Please, do come in!”

There was something very tightly bound about Jin as he trailed Namjoon into the dining room where brother-Tae and JK-dad were setting out plates and cutlery. It was a nervous kind of energy, a fidgeting tenseness that painted his form as he stood at Namjoon’s side. He kept glancing around the house, never letting his eyes rest on any one thing for more than a moment, practically jumping when Namjoon touched his arm. Namjoon smiled through it as reassuringly as he could.

“You already met my mom and my dad, and this is my brother, Taehyun,” he introduced once he caught Jin’s attention. Brother-Tae glanced over at them at his name, jerking back when Jin practically rushed at him.

Yanking forward brother-Tae’s hand, Jin shook it vigorously as he said, “It’s nice to meet you, younger brother Taehyun! My name is Jinseok.”

“Uh, hi?” brother-Tae said, voice rising as Jin moved over to JK-dad to aggressively shake his hand, as well.

Uncle-Yoon paused in the doorway, the wafting smell from the platter of steaks he carried drawing Jin’s almost manic attention. JK-dad chuckled with a little shake of his head as Jin bowed in uncle-Yoon’s direction. Namjoon couldn’t be sure if he was bowing more to him or the steaks in his hands.

Locking eyes with Namjoon hovering awkwardly next to a dazed brother-Tae, uncle-Yoon muttered, “What the hell is happening in here?”

In the midst of the chaos, Cuty-Jimin barreled into the room, shouting for only Namjoon to understand, “Ooh, someone new!” The little dog danced around Jin’s feet, delighted when he reached down to scratch under his belly. As Cuty-Jimin’s tongue lolled out in pleasure, some of Jin’s tightness seemed to uncoil as he leaned over Cuty and the tension of his broad smile relaxed into something more genuine. Namjoon felt himself release a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“That’s Cuty,” Namjoon added with a pat to the dog’s head. But Cuty-Jimin only had eyes for his new friend, ignoring him in favor of rolling fully onto Jin's feet. Namjoon didn't have it in him to be offended, not when the reward of Cuty-Jimin's attention was Jin's delighted laughter.

“Dinner is served,” Hobi-mom announced dramatically. Placing bowls of side dishes around the platter of steaks at the center of the table, she gestured at the dining chairs with a flourish.

Uncle-Yoon flopped onto his chair, saying, “Thank god, I’m starving after all that work.”

“Oh, be quiet, you whiner," Hobi-mom giggled. Uncle-Yoon squawked as Hobi-mom ruffled his hair before she settled into her seat, signaling the family to gather around the table.

“You people are ridiculous,” brother-Tae sighed as he moved to sit one chair down from Namjoon, leaving the spot between them free for Jin.

“So, Jinseok was it? Are you a student?” JK-dad asked as he served the meat.

Jin nodded with his entire upper body. “Yes, sir, I’m in my second year at university. I’m studying business.”

“Oh, very good!” Hobi-mom simpered. “What a pragmatic career path.”

“Ugh, pragmatism,” brother-Tae groaned as he rolled back his eyes. “Who ever found joy and fulfillment in pragmatism?”

JK-dad shrugged as he finished serving the steaks and settled back into his seat. “Pragmatism pays the bills, champ.”

Jin nodded his agreement energetically, opening his mouth to speak before being cut off.

“It’s a bit tedious, though, isn’t it?” uncle-Yoon sighed. “Your classes, I mean! Aish!” he amended as Hobi-mom reached down for her slipper. As she placed the slipper back on her foot, his posture relaxed considerably.

“Sure, they’re boring, but aren’t most classes?” commented JK-dad. He shivered a little as he muttered, "I don't miss school at all."

Brother-Tae leaned forward with a grimace. “How can you say that? I find almost all of my courses exceptionally stimulating and thoroughly enjoyable.”

Hobi-mom sighed dreamily, “Our Taehyunie, the scholar.”

“You’ve got a hobby, though, right?” uncle-Yoon interjected in Jin’s direction. “I can't imagine spending all of your time just thinking about work and school—that's gotta be boring as hell.”

With the attention of the group suddenly on him, Jin seemed to freeze for a moment. Sending Namjoon yet another quick glance, Jin set down his silverware and shifted slightly in his seat. From the corner of his eyes, Namjoon could see the way Jin reached out his hand to Cuty-Jimin seated next to his chair. Jin's focus darted between the members of the family, looking lost between the rapid questions and comments. At this point, Namjoon could practically taste Jin’s discomfort and was beginning to regret egging JK-dad into inviting him to supper yesterday. “Jin-oppa doesn’t need hobbies to be interesting. His personality is great,” Namjoon grumbled, stabbing at his steak and shooting uncle-Yoon a warning look.

Jin’s composure seemed to build itself back up a bit at that. “Sometimes I play games, if I have time. I used to play guitar and sing a little, but I’ve been pretty busy lately with my classes and work. I hope to go back to it someday,” he finally responded to uncle-Yoon.

“Oh! We all love music!” Hobi-mom cried as she kicked uncle-Yoon under the table, eliciting a yelp from the man. “We’re a Bangtan family. Are you an army, too, Jinseok-ssi?”

Although he opened his mouth to speak, brother-Tae beat him to the punch. “Obviously, if he’s Noona’s friend. The more important question is: who’s your bias? I have a theory about what personality types choose which member.”

Again, Jin’s eyes swiveled to Namjoon. “I mean, sure, I’m an army, but I’ve only just started to listen to them. I don’t really have a bias yet. They all seem pretty talented,” he said, smiling apologetically at brother-Tae.

“Ah, an OT7 man after my own heart,” JK-dad proclaimed with a finger gun aimed in Jin’s direction.

“Um, yeah, OT7,” Jin responded, sending his own finger guns back to JK-dad. Leaning over to Namjoon, he whispered hurriedly, “Is that like GOT7 or something?”

Namjoon shook he head sharply before turning back to the group. “Hey, Jin-oppa has some great stories about customers at Coco, don’t you, Oppa?” Namjoon shouted over the chatter, trying to curb the onslaught of conversations from the other members and direct it into Jin's control. “What about that old woman who tried to pay you in cashews the other day?”

Relief washed over Namjoon as laughter erupted from Jin, inciting the others at the table to laugh despite themselves without even knowing the story yet.

“How could I forget? She was one tough nut to crack,” he said as he elbowed Namjoon heavily, unable to stop giggling at his own joke as he said it.

As Jin regaled them all with a plethora of stories of the colorful customers that frequented the convenience store and the various weird packages he’d delivered, he settled into himself, his posture relaxing. Namjoon sat back and let himself relax, too, finally able to let down his hackles. Although it had taken some prodding, the natural comradery that had united Bangtan from the beginning began to filter back into their conversation. While Hobi-mom and uncle-Yoon might have winced at every pun Jin pulled out, Jin clearly eased into his own as he dramatically brought JK-dad, brother-Tae, and even Cuty-Jimin sitting pressed against Jin’s leg on the floor to tears from laughter. Namjoon let himself silently observe the scene, some of his guilt at Jin’s isolation easing a bit.

Letting his head rest on his hand, he smiled softly around the table, his mental ticker finally reaching that elusive number seven. His eyes rested easy on Jin talking through his signature pout as if he had always belonged at this table with these people, but his heart tore at the thought.

He did belong here, but this universe had deemed it necessary to separate him for some reason beyond Namjoon.

“Soonie, help Mother clear away the table,” Hobi-mom’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” he muttered, shaking himself back into reality.

As he stacked the plates in the sink, Hobi-mom stepped close to his side to whisper conspiratorially, “What a nice boy, don’t you think? So handsome and polite! Terrible sense of humor, but, god, what a face!”

“Mom!” Namjoon giggled. He bumped her away with his shoulder.

“What? Tell me I’m wrong,” she responded flippantly, pulling out a long knife and efficiently slicing the gifted watermelon in half. “It’s funny, doesn’t Jinseok remind you just a little of BTS's Jungkook?”

Namjoon could only sigh deeply.

"Really, though," Hobi-mom reached out, taking Namjoon's free hand into her own as she smiled up at him. "I'm so glad that you were able to make amends with him. Clearly, he means a lot to you, and I think you might mean a lot to him, too."

Wrapping his arm around her, Namjoon replied, "Thanks, mom. I'm really glad, too."

By the time Jin had bundled himself up to return home, he had the entire Jeong family fully under his charms. They all gathered around the front entryway as he readied himself to go. Cuty-Jimin was attempting to climb into his arms as uncle-Yoon tucked a slip of paper with music recommendations into his coat pocket, muttering, “I seriously can't believe you don't listen to Epik High. What kind of rock have you been living under?”

“You're welcome here anytime. We'd be happy to have you again,” invited JK-dad as Hobi-mom pulled Jin's shoes from the shoe cabinet.

With a small bow, Jin replied, “I’d like that, thank you.”

“Next time, I’ll show you my art books,” brother-Tae interjected, pushing in front of Namjoon to address Jin as he bent over to unlace his shoes and retie them onto his feet. "I think you'd really appreciate the type of atmospheric discord that Van Gogh elicits."

“Yes, of course, next time,” Hobi-mom interrupted as she pulled Namjoon forward. “Now, Soonie, won’t you walk Jinseokie out?” She aimed a rather pointed wink in his direction before practically shoving him at Jin.

Jin bowed once again as Namjoon slipped on his coat and led him out into the night.

“You have a wonderful family,” he said, pausing at the door.

Namjoon laughed shortly, saying, “They’re a mess, but, yeah, they’re pretty great, aren’t they?”

Jin hovered on the front step as Namjoon descended the stairs. When he glanced back, Jin mumbled, "Thanks for covering for me when I first arrived."

"Oh, sure, no problem," Namjoon replied, an unspoken question coloring his words.

"It's just—" Jin bit his lip, frowning at his shoes before smiling in Namjoon's direction. "It's just that I'm not really used to big family gatherings, you know? There's so much going on, it's hard to know when to go big or when to kind of…I don't know, reign it in?"

Namjoon tilted his head, pausing as he took his time to sort through Jin's words. His Seokjin back home never seemed to worry about when it appropriate to "go big," taking essentially any cue at all to act like an excited four-year-old. The fact that Jin seemed to need Namjoon's guidance in a social situation seemed foreign, even in this strange universe.

“Man, though, I haven’t eaten this well in weeks! I love meat so much,” he sighed. Tucking his hands into his coat pockets, he strolled towards Namjoon waiting on the front walk. “You’re so lucky, Soon-ah.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Namjoon breathed, watching a strange look travel across Jin’s face. After a long moment, his brain scrambled to name it, to decode Jin’s veiled words. “Can’t you go home, though? For family meals, I mean.”

Jin shook his head softly. “Mom lives in Chungcheong-do, it’s too expensive to go home often. Or really at all, if I’m being honest. Besides, it’s not like we could ever have big meals like that,” he gestured towards the house, “with just the two of us.”

“Wait,” Namjoon halted halfway down the front path and turned to peer at Jin’s face. “Your family is just you and your mom?”

Thanks to Namjoon’s sudden turn, their bodies were positioned closely—so closely that Namjoon had to look down to meet Jin’s eyes. The front porch light illuminated one side of Jin’s face in soft yellow, painting shining abstracts in the reflection of his eyes, but the other half of his face remained cast in deep blue shadow.

Jin hummed an affirmative, gazing upwards at him. “My father died when I was really young. Young enough that I can barely remember him at all. But, Mom and I—we still had each other. That was good enough.”

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon whispered. His hand moved of its own volition, reaching out to wrap around Jin’s as he continued, “I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for you and your mom.”

Glancing away, Jin shrugged one of his shoulders with a soft smile. “It’s okay. I’ve had my whole life to get used to it, so don’t worry about it.”

“Still,” Namjoon muttered as he pulled Jin’s hand forward, holding it between both of his own. “I’m sorry that you ever had to get used to it.” In his mind’s eye, he could picture a young Jin and his mom (looking suspiciously like Seokjin’s actual mother) carefully tending her husband’s grave, picture the two of them around a tiny kitchen table in a shoebox apartment, picture her slaving away at work to be able to afford Jin’s school and all the corresponding expenses. Suddenly, Namjoon had the distinct desire to kick himself in the face. “Holy shit, that’s why you work so much.”

Jin chuckled ruefully as he ducked his head. “Ah, yeah, that. You, uh, kind of hit the nail on the head there.”

“Wait, though. Is that what you meant when we were talking about your major? When you said, ‘people like you?’”

“Yeah,” Jin sighed. “When you’re already starting from the bottom, you can’t really afford to chase after big, earthshattering dreams. Sometimes you just have to be satisfied with the little, mundane, attainable ones. Like making sure my mom can afford to see a doctor if she’s not feeling well or that she could take a day off to come visit me. Or, god, that I could afford real meat every once in a while.”

A weird giggle bubbled up Namjoon’s throat, despite the heavy atmosphere surrounding them. “You, like, really love meat, don’t you?” he chuckled, his grin only growing when Jin’s laughter joined his.

“Make no mis-steak, I’m a man of simple tastes,” Jin joked. Using their joined hands, he pulled them both the rest of the way down the front walk. “Please thank your family again for having me over. I had a nice time, and I really appreciate them being so kind to me. Everyone was so nice, it means a lot,” he murmured. He patted Namjoon’s hands before gently pulling his own free to retrieve his bike.

“I’ll see you tomorrow after class, yeah?” Jin asked as he swung his leg over the bike.

“Definitely,” replied Namjoon. As Jin began to peddle away, a thought suddenly struck Namjoon. “Oppa! Text me when you get home, okay?” he asked, ducking his head a little.

Even draped in the shadow of the streetlights overhead, the smile Jin sent over his shoulder was unmistakable. “I will. Goodnight, Soon-ah.”

Namjoon felt the weight of his trust like a physical burden, cradling Jin’s secret in his chest like a branch weighed down heavy with snow. Why did all of the other bizzaro versions of Bangtan have such kind lives when Jin’s was so fraught with pain and misfortune? He turned his face to the sky, letting out a slow breath as he watched wispy clouds drift by the cold, distant stars above.

All of the disparities between the two—Jinseok and Seokjin, his Seokjin and Jin-oppa—slotted together. Jin's soft hesitation, his tendency to pull inwards instead of projecting outwards, Seokjin's bright persona had so little room to shine in Jinseok's life. How could Namjoon have missed it all this time?

“Well, that took a while,” uncle-Yoon sniggered, leaning over the arm of the couch to watch Namjoon enter the front door. Namjoon trained his face to freeze into a casual smile, to pack away any lingering melancholy on Jin’s behalf as he stepped into the living room where the family had assembled. “Is our Soonie no longer a single lady?”

Hobi-mom rolled her eyes painfully back in her head as uncle-Yoon did a terrible facsimile of the Single Ladies dance on the couch. “Please, Jinseokie’s a gentleman; he probably wouldn’t even try to hold her hand until date number three.” Namjoon self-consciously tucked his hands behind his back, thinking of the way he so cavalierly reached out for Jin’s hand in the dark.

“That kid had better ask for my permission first before trying any ‘hand holding’ on my baby daughter,” JK-dad grumbled, earning a playful nudge from Hobi-mom at his side.

With a pointed look and a gesture with the book in his hands, brother-Tae stated, “If you do end up dating Jinseok-hyung, you better do it right. I can’t have you chasing off the first person of taste I’ve talked to in weeks.”

“I hate to break it to you, champ, but I just can't believe someone as reasonable as Jinseok would willingly watch 'One Piece' over 'Naruto,'" JK-dad scoffed, earning a glare from brother-Tae. "I'm sure he was just humoring you."

"Honestly, he'd probably be happy watching either,” Namjoon commented.

Brother-Tae perked up immediately. “Do you think he'd be up for a marathon next time?” he questioned, eyes wide.

“There’s no time for that right now! Soonie, my daughter, my sweetheart,” Hobi-mom cried. Standing to take both of Namjoon’s hands in her own, she asked in her singsong way, “Do you like him? Do you have a crush on him?”

“What? Wow, no, definitely not. Nope,” Namjoon declared immediately, startling himself a little at how loudly he spoke.

Hobi-mom held her hand over her mouth and muttered, “Are you sure? Because I definitely think you should dump your dorky poetry admirer and hop on the Jinseok train!” She pretended to pull a train whistle with her last words, giggling at the flush creeping up Namjoon’s cheeks.

“No! No, I can’t do that! That would be…” Namjoon shook his head vigorously. “Just, like, so, so weird!” Shuffling back from the group, he pretended to yawn hugely. “Tonight’s been fun and all, but I’m really tired now. I’ll just be in my room, okay?”

“Sure, okay,” Hobi-mom smirked, sending Namjoon a knowing wink as he backed away.

As he ascended the stairs, Cuty-Jimin followed at his heels and bumped at his calves as he walked.

“Are you okay, Joon? I feel like you’re really sad about something,” he questioned once Namjoon had closed Soon’s bedroom door behind them and collapsed onto the bed.

“Yeah. Jin-oppa’s just had kind of a hard life, and I just feel kind of shitty about it. Don’t worry, he's fine, and I’ll be okay, too. I just need a minute to process everything,” Namjoon said with a pat to Cuty’s head.

He snuggled into Namjoon’s side and rested his head on his thigh with a sigh. “Okay. You know, though, I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh? What about?” questioned Namjoon. He let his eyes fall closed and focused on the rhythm of Cuty’s breathing as he waited for the dog to continue.

“Well, you need to find a good boyfriend for Soon, right? Someone who’s kind and nice and funny and polite and great and all that. Doesn’t that sound an awful lot like Jinseok?” Cuty probed.

Namjoon sat straight up, jostling Cuty-Jimin in his lap as he did so. “No. No, absolutely not. I mean, yes, that could describe Jin, but, no, I can’t—” he faltered. “I can’t date him,” he finished in an undertone.

“Why not? You like him, right? Because he likes you,” the dog retorted, sitting back on his haunches.

“Yes, but as a friend! Only as a friend. It’s completely different.” Namjoon took a deep breath before looking Cuty-Jimin in the eye. “Look, I’ve known Seokjin, my Jin, for years. Lived with him for years. He’s like a brother to me, so I can’t just go and date his bizarro self like it’s no big deal. I care about our real relationship too much.”

Cuty pouted, prompting Namjoon to add, “Besides, this universe seems to already have some plan in place when it comes to finding Soon a boyfriend. Somewhere out there is a secret admirer who already thinks Namsoon is the girl for him, and who am I to deny the universe’s plans? I need to get home, so I have to play it safe. Just trust me on this, okay?”

Although Cuty-Jimin never dropped his pout, he did whine out an, “okay,” in response.

Namjoon pretended to completely forget about Cuty’s comments as he readied himself for bed, curled up under the thick comforter of Soon’s bed, and flipped through a novel, but his mind kept wandering back to the dog’s words.

Even though he hadn’t interacted much with the three potential love interests his friends had identified, he had to admit that Jin seemed like a far better candidate for Soon than any of them. Seokjin was one of the best people Namjoon had ever met, and clearly Jinseok was cut from the same cloth. Yet, he couldn’t deny how convenient the whole secret admirer plot was. It was literally a plot torn from the type of drama that his sister back home went absolutely nuts for, no matter how nonsensical the plot actually was.

Wasn’t the lovesick guy supposed to be the romantic hero? He had to be, the heroine never went with the friend character, the man who actually cared enough about her to treat her like a person with flaws and dreams instead of some romantic prize to be won. No, clearly, he had to follow in the heroine’s footsteps, regardless of how illogical they were.

And it wasn't like Jin had any feelings for Namjoon…or Namsoon, rather. They were friends, that's all Jin saw him as, that's all Namjoon saw him as.

Just a friend.

But he couldn’t deny the rush of happiness that filled his chest when his phone chimed a bultaoreune to show Jin had made it home safely.

What did that say about him?

Nothing, he reassured himself. Nothing besides feeling grateful that his friend was safe, that his friend trusted him, that his friend was his friend in this world as well as his own. The way Jin treated him as Namsoon was the same way Seokjin treated Namjoon, so obviously there was no reason to worry about the implications of their relationship. Sure, they loved each other, but in the familial way.

There was no reason to dig any deeper into Namjoon’s chest. Done, that was all there was to it.

Chapter Text

With the looming threat of university exams no longer hanging over their collective necks, the third-year students at Soon’s school returned to normal school life with an ease that Namjoon couldn’t recall feeling during his own school days. Their teachers threw themselves into teaching new material, prepping for new tests, but the students around Namjoon seemed less than concerned with maintaining their pre-exam grades.

“Am I the only one who still cares about getting into a SKY university? You need, like, practically perfect grades for that,” Namjoon commented to his three friends as he stood at the end of the line of batters in gym class.

“You probably are, yeah,” Yelim yawned. She watched idly as the player up to bat kicked the large yoga ball into the front corner of the infield. As the opposing team’s pitcher shrieked and motioned for his teammates to grab the ball and throw it to him at the mound in the center of the gym, their team’s runners jogging from base to base. The first baseman raced out to grab the large ball and toss it to the center, finally halting gameplay. The gym coach blew his whistle to signal who was out.

Eunsoo dropped into a crouch, sighing, “Kickball is so boring.”

“Oh, sure, and running is, like, so entertaining, Miss Track-is-my-life,” Haneul replied, placing her hand on her popped hip. “Seriously, any and all sports can go die in a hole.”

“At least in track I’m doing something the whole time. None of this boring stopping and starting stuff,” Eunsoo complained back. Although Namjoon had no qualms when it came to playing sports, he found that hanging in the back of the group with the three girls was far more fun than actually playing most days. It didn’t hurt that they were his only friends at school, but whatever.

The coach blew his whistle again, motioning for their teams to switch sides.

“I really don’t know why you’re stressing so much over this grades thing, though. If you’re the only one who cares, then your chances of getting into one of the SKY universities is that much better,” Yelim remarked, effectively ignoring Haneul and Eunsoo’s conversation as they slowly made their way into the outfield. Behind them, Namjoon could hear the opposing team jostling into place as their team’s pitcher rolled the ball to the first batter.

It took a moment for Namjoon to realize what had happened. Something large and springy hit him from behind, stretching from the back of his head down to the tops of his thighs. He pitched forward onto the polished wood floor of the gym.

Laughter erupted around him as he lay motionless on the floor for a moment, the yoga ball that hit him bouncing away.

“Oh, my god, are you okay?” Haneul cried, obviously fighting away the giggles as she did so. Together with Eunsoo, they hauled Namjoon back to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he panted. With a quick signal to the coach that he was unhurt, the girls finally made it back safely to the outfield. From second base, dork-type was wildly motioning to get their attention.

When Namjoon looked his way, he bowed deeply, missing the run for the next batter. “I’m so, so sorry!” he hollered before trying—and failing miserably—to take third base.

“No way! It was Lee Isang who kicked you over with the yoga ball,” Eunsoo gasped.

Namjoon shrugged, already recovered from both the shock of being hit and the pain of falling over. “It’s not like I’m hurt or anything, so it’s fine.”

“Still,” Yelim said, watching the ball fly into her corner of the outfield, but remaining nonchalantly in her place. “He’ll probably try to make it up to you somehow, which is sure to be hilariously awkward.”

His friend was clearly prophetic, but definitely not in the way Namjoon expected.

After class, he had gathered his uniform and retreated to the ladies’ bathroom like usual where he could change in peace without causing some type of gender-related scandal. Yet, as he zipped up his pleated skirt and carefully tugged it into place, he realized that, somewhere between Soon’s gym locker and the bathroom, his thick, winter tights had gone missing. As he stepped out of the bathroom stall to check if he had dropped them on the floor somewhere within the bathroom’s walls, the door slowly creaked open.

“Um, Jeong Namsoon-ssi, are you in here?” dork-type asked through the door’s opening.

Namjoon froze, his track suit clutched to his chest with his tights nowhere in sight. “Yeah?” he finally replied.

“Oh, good,” dork-type sighed, pushing through the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing? This is the girls’ room!” Namjoon hissed. The irony of his words washed over him as he chided dork-type, marveling for a moment at how used to his own fake womanhood he had become.

“I’m sorry, I just had to apologize to you properly as soon as possible!” cried dork-type as he dropped to his knees to fully prostrate himself on the floor at Namjoon’s feet. “Please let me assure you that the last thing in the world I would ever want to do is hurt you! I promise to never let harm come to you ever again!” he bellowed tearfully.

Namjoon would have laughed if he wasn’t so freaking mortified. “Holy shit, please stop. It’s really fine, you didn’t even hurt me,” he assured. His words seemed to have little effect on the boy still groveling at his feet. “Also, this floor has got to be super nasty.”

Even as he stood, dork-type was still bowing in regret, mumbling, “I’m so extremely sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Well, it was an accident, so I'd kind of hope not,” Namjoon shrugged.

Dork-type finally straightened and let his gaze rise from the floor, but his eyes caught on Namjoon’s exposed legs. “Wow, your legs are hairier than mine,” he blurted before slapping his hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“It’s cold outside, sue me,” grumbled Namjoon. He had been willing to change his routines and habits to keep up the farce that he was Namsoon, but shaving his legs had been one step too many. It wasn’t like he was that hairy in the first place, thanks very much. “Now that you’re done apologizing, can I leave now?” he asked, pointing at the door that dork-type was currently blocking.

“Oh! Of course, my lady,” he leapt to attention, holding open the door for Namjoon with a flourish.

The tights lay in a heap in the middle of the hallway where Namjoon had dropped them, just waiting for him to scoop them up on his mad dash back to the locker room, desperate to escape dork-type's advances. He barreled into the locker room and rushed to his friends huddled around their gym lockers. Haneul snorted at the sight of Namjoon’s exposed legs. “That’s the best you got, girlfriend?” she challenged, tugging down the tops of her knee high socks to expose her own unshaven legs.

Namjoon let himself giggle before plopping onto the bench in front of her, using the folds of his skirt to tug on his tights without exposing himself. “You will not believe what just freaking happened to me. Dork-type just followed me into the goddamn bathroom to apologize. It was awful, so awkward, a part of me died from secondhand embarrassment,” he said, speaking quickly and softly so only the three girls could hear him.

“Yikes,” intoned Yelim, stretching out the word.

“Sounds stalker-y,” Haneul added.

Eunsoo tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, but maybe that’s a clue. The secret admirer letters are all a little bit stalker-y, right? But in, like, an unintentional way.”

“Shit, just like dork-type,” Namjoon finished her thought.

“Are you disappointed at all?” asked Yelim as they placed the last of their gym items into their lockers and gathered their school bags. “Like when you flip a coin, and you already kind of know which side you want to win. Are you happy or disappointed that it’s looking like dork-type?”

Even as he paused to think about it, he found the whole situation more annoying than anything. Without the mystique of the secret letters, there wasn’t much that made any of the three boys all that interesting to Namjoon, nothing to recommend one more than the others. “I kind of have no idea. I mean, there’s nothing really wrong about any of them, but I don’t know if there’s anything right yet, either,” he responded, leading the way back to their classroom.

“You seriously don’t need to overthink everything,” Haneul sighed. “You can just let yourself feel however you really feel every once in a while.”

But, honestly, that was the root of the problem. How was Namjoon supposed to feel anything when this whole "get a boyfriend" thing was for Soon? Why should he care about his own feelings when it was hers he should be concerned with? It was definitely for the best that he didn’t feel anything special for any of the three potential admirers, he decided on his bus ride home, since he’d just up and leave them once his tasks were done. No, the whole goal was to get back home, not to get attached.

***

“I think my family is officially the Jinseok Fan Club at this point. It’s been, like, a week, and Cuty still won’t shut up about you,” Namjoon said, just barely able to see the top of Jin’s head as he tidied the magazine display.

Jin stared at Namjoon skeptically. “Wait, the dog has been talking about me?”

“Uh, shit. Not Cuty, I meant…Tae Tae! My brother. He’s the one. Of course I didn’t mean Cuty. I mean, who can understand what a dog says, right?” Namjoon sputtered. Pulling the lapels of his blazer to cover his cheeks, he smiled sheepishly as Jin laughed.

“That’s ruff. I canine-’t believe you called your brother by the dog’s name,” he continued, laughing even harder as Namjoon facepalmed at his puns. “Seriously, though, that’s…really nice to hear. And the feeling's mutual. I think I’m the new president of the Jeong Family Fan Club.” His head bobbed out of sight for a moment before he straightened, popping his back with a wince as he did so.

“What would the Jeong family fandom be called? J-Fam?” Namjoon asked.

“Boring,” declared Jin with a dismissive wave. “How about Jeong-gles? Or Jeong-ctions? Oh! What about Jeong-co jeans?”

Namjoon leaned back with laughter, flailing his arms a little to keep his balance on the counter top. “Those are all so horrible, what the hell,” he wheezed as he kicked his feet wildly and swiped tears from his eyes.

“Terrible? Or awesome?” Jin chuckled. He aimed two finger guns in Namjoon’s direction. “You may have a point, though, none of those are very descriptive. You clearly love calling people by the dog’s name, so that could work. Besides, then I would be telling two truths when I say that I’m the president of Cutys instead of telling just one.”

“Sure, okay, you’re a cutie who’s the president of Cutys,” Namjoon agreed, enjoying the small, bashful smile that spread across Jin's face. “Your fandom name needs to be as exasperating as your humor. Like, maybe Jinnies in a bottle or Jin-gers or something.”

“Ooh, Jin-gers! I like where you’re going with that,” he said as he moved around to the front of the store, bending down to pick something up on his way to Namjoon. “Is this yours, Soon-ah?” Jin asked, holding up a little rose pin.

“Damn, how did that fall off? Yeah, it’s mine,” he replied. Hauling Soon’s bag onto his lap, he opened the outside pocket to retrieve the fallen pin back.

Leaning up against the counter at his side, Jin watched Namjoon pin the enamel pin back into place. “That’s cute, but why would you need a fake flower when you hang out with the real thing all the time?” he giggled coyly, framing his face with his hands.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, saying, “Seriously, you never quit. No, this is supposed to be a signal, but I don’t think it’s working, so.”

“A signal to who?”

“This is going to sound so dumb, but bear with me here,” Namjoon sighed. He angled himself to face Jin, and continued, “Ever since a few weeks ago, I’ve been receiving anonymous letters from a secret admirer. He’s referenced a couple things in the letters, like flowers and the sea and stuff. And my friends and I thought that maybe these,” he gestured to his pins, “would make him feel more confident about confessing his identity to me. I don’t know, I haven’t heard from him in a while, so clearly we were wrong.”

Jin’s face was calm, almost blank with calm, as he listened to Namjoon. “Maybe he’s just scared,” he suggested gently.

“Why would he be scared? I’m giving him the green light here.”

“Yes, you’re acknowledging him, but you could still reject him when he confesses. His anonymity is pretty much forcing the both of you to stay in that grey area between rejection and acceptance. There’s so much potential in that grey area that it can be terrifying to move beyond it, even if the outcome might be everything he hopes it could be,” Jin spoke, his tone soft and introspective.

“Like physics!" Namjoon interjected, latching onto the metaphor. "Potential energy has no given direction or use, it's just waiting for something to push it towards a purpose. But, once the potential energy is given a purpose and is converted to kinetic energy, that’s its only direction. There’s no going back,” Namjoon continued.

“Exactly.”

Letting out a deep breath, Namjoon tilted his head back and gazed up at the pattern of fluorescent lights and textured ceiling tiles.

“Anonymous notes are pretty romantic, aren’t they? I’m not surprised that someone would go out of their way to get your attention, Soon-ah,” Jin said, his voice sounding distant, almost unattached.

“I guess it's romantic. I kind of hate it, though. I don’t know, I’m just tired of playing these guessing games.”

Jin nodded. “I’m sure everything will work out if you give it time.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon sighed. His mind branched out, storing away Jin’s thoughts to stew over later. “Oh, man, on a not-really-related note, I didn’t tell you about PE today, did I?”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. So, you’ve played kickball before, right?”

***

Namjoon’s thoughts remained wrapped around potential energy all that night and into the next day. Instead of focusing on the teacher’s lecture on pluperfect subjunctives, he drew a small Koya at the edge of a steep cliff in the margins of his English notes, preserving the moment of decision between stepping back from danger or jumping into the unknown. Part of him wondered if the little koala was meant to represent himself or just the idea itself.

“You’ve really been off in your own little world today, Soon-ah,” Eunsoo commented as they swept their classroom at the end of the day. “Are you worried about your secret admirer?”

Namjoon hummed, “Yeah, I guess I am a little bit.”

“Well, clearly rushing things isn’t working, so worrying about it probably won’t, either,” stated Yelim, perched on the low bookshelves that lined the classroom to wipe down the outside windows.

Haneul held the dustpan steady as Eunsoo swept up debris. “What if he’s planning some type of big, romantic gesture to finally confess to you? Ugh, I would absolutely die,” she cried.

“I don’t need big gestures, though. I just want to talk to the guy, get to know him a bit. All of this mystery and subterfuge is just messing with my head at this point,” Namjoon whined as he helped Yelim off of the top of the shelf. “You guys know me; if given the opportunity to overthink something, I’ll jump on that shit.”

“Hey, you said it first,” Eunsoo said before giving into laughter.

As they gathered their things to head out, Namjoon pulled out his phone to turn it off silent, but he paused as he did so. By now, he was used to exchanging a few random texts with Jin throughout the day—usually little observations or anecdotes from Namjoon and blurry photos or highlights of boring lectures from Jin—but today his notification bar was cluttered with missed calls, voicemail messages, and a series of texts.

All from the contact “Tae Tae.”

Without taking the time to listen to the messages or read the texts, Namjoon dialed brother-Tae’s number, biting at his cuticles as it rang in his ear.

Finally, a small click and a pause before, “Noona.”

“Hey! Hi, is everything okay?” he asked, worried at the thick tone of brother-Tae’s voice.

A pause, brother-Tae’s harsh breathing in Namjoon’s ear. “Could you please come and meet me?”

“Where? Where are you? Just tell me where you are, and I’ll go right now,” Namjoon rushed, pushing past the hordes of students clogging the hallways between his classroom and the front entry.

“I’m still at my school,” he mumbled back.

Yanking his outdoor shoes from their cubby, Namjoon jammed them on his feet, crushing down the backs of their heels. “Okay, just wait there. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Brother-Tae let out a shaky breath and said, “Thanks, Noona.”

After hanging up the phone, Namjoon turned to his friends, concern and confusion written across their faces. “I have to go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait! This was in your cubby,” Haneul said, catching Namjoon by the wrist and holding out a small, heart-shaped box of chocolates to him.

“Thanks, but I don’t really have time for my secret admirer right now. My brother needs me, so,” he gestured outside frantically.

“Good luck!” Eunsoo shouted as Namjoon pulled himself free and barreled out the door. As he ran through the streets towards brother-Tae’s school, he felt a strange kind of déjà vu. It almost felt like a lifetime ago that he ran this same path, thinking that he was saving banana-Jin from certain death. He just hoped with all his heart that things would turn out just as well this time.

The school’s courtyard was deserted when he stopped at the front gates, heavy breaths punching at his chest. Brother-Tae was nowhere in sight, but a quick glance at his phone showed that brother-Tae was one step ahead of Namjoon.

Tae Tae

im behind the school by the greenhouse

4:23 p.m.

As he rounded the school, the domed greenhouse came into view. Foggy glass obscured deep greens, a bright spot against the dull greys and browns of the November outside. Its width and breath diverted the breeze, creating a sudden silent calm as Namjoon approached.

“Did you run all the way here?” brother-Tae asked as he stepped out from the greenhouse door. He looked…rough. His usually pristine uniform was rumpled, a streak of dirt running down his pant leg. The right lens of his glasses had a small chip on the side, while the eye behind it was reddened and swollen a little as it bruised.

“Holy shit, Tae, what happened to you?” Namjoon gasped, darting forward to inspect his face.

“It’s not a big deal,” huffed brother-Tae in response. He pushed away Namjoon’s hands, saying, “I just need your help to cover everything up so mom and dad don’t freak out.”

Namjoon bit his lip and dropped his hands. “It kind of looks like a big deal, but I’ll do what I can.”

Brother-Tae led them to the outdoor bathrooms behind the school, hesitating a moment before choosing to enter the men's room. “You have your make-up kit with you, right?” he asked as he pulled off his coat.

With a nod, Namjoon pulled out the small BT21 pouch from Soon’s bag, mentioning, “I don’t carry much, but I do have some foundation in here.”

“Perfect,” brother-Tae said. Pulling out a wad of paper towels, he brushed away the worst of the dirt on his pant leg and blazer. “That’s really all I need. The swelling should go down on its own fairly quickly.”

“Taehyunie,” Namjoon spoke, pulling on his shoulder just enough so they faced each other. He bent down to look up at brother-Tae's face. “Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he murmured.

“Yes, I’m fine,” brother-Tae huffed. He tried to turn himself back towards the mirror, but Namjoon held him in place. “Truly, it looks worse than it feels. Come on, Noona, does it really matter what happened?”

“It matters to me. I’m your family, it's my job to look out for you,” Namjoon replied.

Brother-Tae turned his face fully away from Namjoon’s, but it wasn’t enough to hide the glassiness of his eyes or the wobble of his chin. “I just tried to help someone and did a bad job, okay? That’s what happened,” he mumbled.

“I should have known,” Namjoon chuckled ruefully. With a smile, he said, “You’ve never been able to ignore someone in need.”

“No, I guess not,” brother-Tae sniffled, kicking at the ground with the toe of his sneaker.

“Alright, well, let’s see what we can do about your eye. Glasses off,” Namjoon commanded. He placed a dab of Soon’s liquid foundation under brother-Tae’s eye and gently spread the make-up over the forming bruise.

“Okay, stop. What do you think you’re doing?” brother-Tae complained as he pushed Namjoon’s hands away. “You don’t smear liquid foundation, you dab it.”

Namjoon blinked. “Oh. Uh, whoops?”

Shaking his head, brother-Tae groaned as he let his head tilt back. “Sorry, that was rude of me. I shouldn’t take out my frustration on you when you’re just trying to help,” he mumbled. His eyes were wide, only barely containing his tears as he gazed up at Namjoon.

“You’re stressed, I get it,” Namjoon said. Brother-Tae pulled a small, egg-shaped sponge from the makeup bag, wet it under the facet, then handed it to Namjoon. Using the little sponge, he blended out the foundation as best as he could before smiling softly. “But apology accepted.”

“It’s just,” brother-Tae heaved a massive sigh. “There are these boys in my class—they’re athletic and get good grades so the teachers like them, but they think that means they can do whatever they want. I’m just tired of seeing them push around younger kids. And, today, they all ganged up on this first-year, and I just couldn’t—” He shook his head. “I had to do something.”

“You need to talk to your teachers about this,” Namjoon said as he tucked Soon’s makeup away. “I’m proud of you for standing up to them, but I don't want you to be targeted, too. You need to have a lot of people at your back to stop a bully.”

Brother-Tae finally cracked a small smile. “I know, I will. I just don’t want to get in trouble for fighting, you know?” he shrugged.

“Yeah, I understand.”

Namjoon helped brother-Tae back into his coat and led him out into the brisk afternoon air. They walked silently to the closest bus stop, shoulders knocking lightly together.

“You know,” said brother-Tae as he tipped his head back to watch the tree branches overhead swaying in the breeze. “Of all the siblings in the world, I guess I’m pretty glad I have you.” He pressed his lips together to try to disguise his smile, but his eyes betrayed him as he glanced up at Namjoon.

“I’m pretty glad I have you, too, Tae Tae,” Namjoon replied, wrapping his arm around brother-Tae’s neck in a hug.

“You’re ridiculous,” giggled brother-Tae as their bus pulled into sight.

After they had swiped their passes and settled into their seats, a quiet bultaoreune sounded in Namjoon’s pocket. As he pulled out his phone, messages from Jin lit up the screen.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

soon soon soonie!!

(~˘▾˘)~  nyam-soon!!!! ~(˘▾˘~)

cashew lady came in again to buy

wait for it

!!!!!pistachios

lmaoooooo

soooooooon-aaaaaaaa~~~

girl where you at

did you have school today??

hope youre feeling okay

4:56 p.m.

“This guy, what the hell,” Namjoon laughed, swiping the screen to answer him. “Hey, Tae Tae, what would you say to me treating you to some ice cream?”

***

Jin snickered preemptively as he scanned the label on brother-Tae’s chosen ice cream treat before asking, “Hey, Soon-ah, cone here often?”

“God, remind me again why I hang out with you,” laughed Namjoon, flopping his head back as he pushed money into Jin’s hand.

“I’m a delight,” replied Jin. He slipped the change into Namjoon’s hand, sending a jolt of warmth through Namjoon as the tips of his fingers brushed against his palm. But Jin seemed completely unaffected as he smiled over to brother-Tae. “So, Taehyun-ssi, I looked up some of those painters you mentioned.”

Brother-Tae leapt to attention, tearing his eyes away from the front window where he had been observing the few passersby. “You did? What did you think?”

“That impressionism is really beautiful, but maybe not my style? I liked that they showed average scenes from people’s lives, though, instead of fancy people hunting foxes or really nice fruit or whatever,” Jin said with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m not great at figuring out what art is supposed to be about.”

“Don’t worry, you can develop that over time,” brother-Tae said, pushing into Namjoon’s side to better face Jin, his ice cream cone forgotten in his hand. “Impressionism is a really great place to start, actually, for the exact reason you said: they were striving to show life as it was as opposed to what we think it should look like. I have a really great compendium at home that would be perfect for showing you what I mean.”

Jin, to his credit, continued to smile broadly. “Sure, sounds nice.”

“Oppa,” Namjoon muttered, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “You call tell him you’re not interested. He won’t take it personally.”

“It's okay, I like talking to someone who’s so enthusiastic about something,” Jin whispered back.

“Seriously.” Brother-Tae’s signature deadpan look had returned as he watched them having their private conversation. “I’m right here.”

Jin’s squeaky laughter was his only response, inciting Namjoon to break into giggles of his own. But, after a moment, he cleared his throat and turned back to brother-Tae. “Do you want to study art someday?”

“Yeah, I think so. It would be amazing to work as a curator or a historian in the field, but it would also be cool to actually make the art myself—or wear it. Fashion design is pretty cool, too,” he said. Namjoon took his wrist and guided it over so he could take a bite from brother-Tae's chocolate and peanut topped ice cream cone as he spoke.

“That’s amazing, Taehyun-ssi. I’ll be rooting for you,” Jin responded, shooting Namjoon a grin as he took another bite from brother-Tae’s cone.

“What about you, Jinseok-ssi? What kind of business do you want to have?”

Namjoon paused mid-bite, startled to realize that he didn’t know the answer to this question, despite their many conversations about Jin’s courses.

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” Jin laughed as he ducked his head sheepishly. “I’m not really qualified to own my own business yet, and it’s a little too expensive for me, anyways. I do know I’d rather work in a smaller business, instead of just being another face in some massive corporate cubicle farm. I guess I want to matter a little more than that. But I’m not picky, I just want to work for a good company with good people, you know?”

“You sound like an adult,” Namjoon marveled, immediately thinking back to what felt like a million years ago, to Seokjin choosing to audition for Big Hit instead of the established, big name companies. “Being a business major is, like, super boring, but you make the job itself seem pretty okay.”

“Well, I have to cheer myself up somehow. This is my future career we’re talking about here,” Jin shrugged.

“Being a fashion designer can be just as helpful to others, too, don’t you think?” brother-Tae interjected. “So many people aren't dressing their best. Take the outfit you wore to supper, for instance—”

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Namjoon shouted over brother-Tae’s words, pushing him gently towards the front doors. Slinging his own bag off the counter, Namjoon walked backward through the doors, waving as he did so. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, same time, same place,” Jin responded as shot a finger heart in Namjoon’s direction. “Have a nice night, Soon-ah!”

Brother-Tae munched on his ice cream cone as they strolled down the side streets towards home. “You two seem close. I guess it must have been thanks to our super overbearing family, but I didn’t notice before how you two fit together. Like you’ve known each other for years,” he mused.

“Really? I mean, sometimes people just fit, you know?” Namjoon said, unsure of how to explain away his own intrinsic knowledge of real-life Seokjin informing his relationship to Jin-oppa.

“I guess so. Either way, I think you’re good for each other.”

“Uh, wow, thanks," Namjoon responded, feeling strangely fidgety about the course of their conversation. Still, he couldn't keep himself from asking, "Just curious, though, why do you think that?”

Tapping his finger to his chin, brother-Tae explained, “Well, first of all, you’ve been way less high-strung lately. I’m grateful, I could buy Jinseok-ssi a cake for that. Second, though. I don’t know, it's like you don't take yourself so seriously when you're with him. You both just seem so…happy together, I guess?” He swerved off the path that was currently leading them through the little park to throw away his ice cream wrapper in a small trash can, giving Namjoon a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Of course we’re happy together. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do,” Namjoon stated as he tucked his hair behind his ear.

Brother-Tae just sighed heavily.

"No, seriously," Namjoon replied to the unspoken question. "Jin doesn't like me like that. He just sees me—he just treats me like a friend." There wasn't really any difference that Namjoon could see between the way Jin behaved towards him as Namsoon and the way his Seokjin had always treated him, there was no reason to assume that there was anything special about his relationship with Jin. 

“Whatever you say,” brother-Tae muttered under his breath as he led them both up the front walk of their house, thankfully dropping the subject as Cuty-Jimin welcomed them inside.

But Namjoon let brother-Tae’s words sink in a little. Was Jin just a friend to him? Was Seokjin just a friend to him? There wasn't a better term that Namjoon could think of, but he knew instinctively that they were something…else. They were like family, but also maybe more than that. Different.

The leader and the hyung of the group.

They needed each other. Even from the beginning, Seokjin and Namjoon had needed each other, relied on each other. That had to be why Namjoon always searched crowds looking for Seokjin's face, why he felt more calm and brave with Seokjin at his side, why his arm fit so well slung over Seokjin's shoulders. Maybe everyone in Bangtan felt that way about one of the other members.

As he watched uncle-Yoon drape himself dramatically across the couch only to have brother-Tae sit on his stomach, Namjoon wondered if they thought that the smile on the other's face was one of the best sights in the world. Watching JK-dad's face light up as Hobi-mom wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his jaw, he wondered if they both cataloged their days in anticipation of seeing the other again. When Cuty-Jimin pranced on his hind legs in excitement for having the whole family together again, he wondered if their laughter sent off fireworks in Cuty's heart.

Maybe, Namjoon decided. Maybe.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Haneul sheepishly held out the heart-shaped box of chocolates that Namjoon had abandoned to tend to brother-Tae the day before. “I’m sorry, I got hungry during cram school, so I ate a few. I’ll buy you more, if you want. They’re so good,” she said, bowing a little as she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Namjoon. “Do either of you want any?” Pulling off the lid to offer the other two girls a piece, Namjoon watched the label inside catch in the morning breeze as they walked towards the terminal. It read "JNS," neat black text on a white background.

“It’s been a month since your first letter already,” Yelim said as she popped a chocolate into her mouth.

Eunsoo nodded, saying, “And only a month until the school festival and talent show. I can’t believe how fast time is flying. I swear I’ll blink, and it’s been four days. Just watch, I’ll fall asleep tonight and wake up in university.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Namjoon moaned. After living a full month in Namsoon’s place, he still hadn’t marked a single item off of her To Do list.

But it wasn’t from a lack of trying. Exams taken, item two of getting into a SKY university was just a waiting game now, and the talent show was the final due date, suspending item three until new year’s eve. With this universe’s Bangtan still out touring, he was also stuck waiting for them to return to Korea for the new year to complete item number one.

All he could do at present was to focus on number four: get a goddamn boyfriend.

As they arrived at their bus stop, Haneul bumped Namjoon’s shoulder. “A month is still more than enough time for you to get ready for the talent show, so don’t worry. Namsoon, fighting!” she shouted, earning a sharp look from an older man waiting in front of them.

The weight of all he had to do still hung heavy around his neck, but Namjoon couldn’t help but smile at his friends’ encouragement throughout their commute to school.

“I heard that the only entry from class 3-2 was Yu Jihun. I mean, we all remember her Irish step dancing routine from last year, so,” Yelim shrugged when they entered the school. The group let out a collective shiver as they hit the wall of heat, glad to leave the cold, late autumn morning behind. “Your chances of taking the grand prize are looking pretty good, I think.”

“Lim-ah! Don’t jinx it!” Haneul hissed, shoving Yelim's arm playfully.

“Hey, Namsoon-ssi!” a voice called out from behind them. Namjoon turned, not recognizing the voice, to find jock-type waving to him as he came in from the cold. “I can’t believe it’s December already, can you?” he asked brightly, tugging off his scarf.

“Uh, nope? Time really flies, I guess,” ventured Namjoon, unsure of what kind of response jock-type was looking for.

“I heard you signed up for the talent show?” jock-type questioned. A group of boys filed past, smacking him on the back jokingly as they called out, “Byungsoo, dude!”

Namjoon nodded in return, saying, “Yeah, I was planning on singing something. Haven’t decided on a song yet.”

“Cool. Sounds amazing, I’m looking forward to it,” replied jock-type, rocking forward as yet another group greeted him. Someone called out his name again, causing him to crane his neck around and wave at a rowdy group in the entryway. Turning back to Namjoon, he said, “Gotta blast. I’ll see you around!” as he jogged off.

“Oh, my god, oh, my god,” Haneul giggled as she latched onto Namjoon’s arm. “I’m totally dying, that was so cute!” she squealed.

“I guess? Whatever, I’m just glad that at least one of the potential admirers can hold a normal conversation,” he joked as Haneul tugged him along.

By now, Namjoon knew to check his shoe cubby before cramming his shoes inside. Waiting for him today was another little blue envelope, "Jeong Namsoon" written on the front.

“Wow, your admirer loves to stay on theme,” Eunsoo commented, poking at one of the little hearts surrounding the name.

Tearing it open, Namjoon opened the slip of paper inside, also covered in a flurry of hearts cascading from the header down the margins of the paper. The poem inside read:

            To Jeong Namsoon—

            You’re not like the other girls

            My friends would think I’m crazy for loving you so

            You’re not like the other girls

            You’re so special, I have to let you know

            You’re not like the other girls

            What would you do if I finally let you know?

The girls huddled around Namjoon as their eyes scanned the page.

“Did he seriously rhyme the word ‘know’ with itself? That’s not how rhyming works,” Namjoon scoffed, sending the paper a small scowl.

“I have to admit, I'm not loving the tone this one sets,” Haneul pouted. “‘You’re not like the other girls’ is such a stupid thing to say. It’s like saying ‘all other girls are crappy and terrible.’”

“Or that you’re only worth liking because you don’t act like a stereotypical girl, even though everyone will jump down your throat the second you do anything remotely ‘unladylike,’ quote unquote,” Yelim continued, rolling her eyes far back in her head. “I liked this idiot better when he was sending food and literally nothing else.”

Eunsoo tapped her finger to her chin. “This is still a clue, right?” At their confused looks, she clarified, “That he’s a little immature.”

“A little?” Yelim scoffed.

“To be fair, that could kind of apply to any of the three of them,” Namjoon said, finally pulling on his indoor shoes.

“Yah, Jeong Namsoon.”

Clearly people had a lot to say to him today. A group of girls had stepped to his side, shooting dry looks at Namjoon and his friends. At the front of the pack was a girl that Namjoon vaguely recognized.

“Good morning,” he replied at length, choosing to focus on the girl at the front of the group who he belatedly realized was a fellow member of ARMY Club.

“Sure,” the girl said. Flicking back her dyed reddish hair, she turned her nose up at Namjoon. “It seems like you’ve been cavorting with the hottest guy at our school,” her scowl intensifying when she saw Namjoon’s incredulous look at the word cavorting. “We would appreciate it if you would stay in your lane and oh-so-kindly step off our territory,” she sneered.

Namjoon blinked slowly. “I'm sorry, but what the fuck?” he wondered aloud, glancing back at his friends to try to determine whether he was being pranked or not.

“Back off, Jeong Namsoon, or we will make you,” the girl threatened with a low voice. Even at her tallest, the top of her head barely came to Namjoon’s eye level. Still, she stretched herself to her full height to shove at Namjoon’s shoulder, her sharp jab stinging a little, but failing to shift Namjoon from his place.

“Uh…?” he replied dumbly, but the pack of girls had already stalked off, taking their passive aggressive hair flicks and stink eyes with them.

“I’d like to see them freaking try,” Eunsoo grumbled.

“And what the heck do they mean by ‘territory?’ You can’t own a boy,” questioned Haneul, taking a minute to stick her tongue out at their retreating backs.

Yelim shrugged. “Not unless you’re delusional. I wouldn’t worry about them, Soon-ah. I went to junior high with some of those girls, and they’ve always been just talk.”

But as his morning wore on, it was starting to look like maybe they weren’t all talk. Although Namjoon was known for losing things here or there, he definitely didn’t lose his English notebook and entire pencil case of his own accord sometime between biology and home ec. His frustration only increased when he realized at the beginning of calculus that his calculator had been packed into Soon's Tata pencil bag with all of his pens, pencils, and highlighters.

He sunk further and further into his seat under the judgmental eyes of his teachers with each new missing item.

Lunch was only a small reprieve.

“How is this happening?” he groaned into his rice, grateful at least that the vengeful girls had spared his meal.

“They must have a spy or something in our class,” Eunsoo speculated. She turned her suspicious eyes on their classmates eating their own lunches in packs throughout the classroom. “Do any of the second years have older siblings in here, do you think?”

Yelim tilted her head where it rested on her hand. “But why would you do that kind of thing for your sibling? I know I wouldn’t for my brother.”

“Do you think Lee Isang saw anything when he dropped off those worksheets for the biology teacher? He did walk right past your desk on his way out,” Haneul mentioned through a mouthful of food, ignoring Yelim’s disgusted glare.

“That’s true,” Namjoon wondered. “My bag was hanging right there in the open and everything.” He pointed to the bag, dangling from the hook at the side of his desk, the main compartment gaping open dramatically. “It would be pretty easy to sneak stuff out of it when I wasn’t paying attention,” he mused.

“Which would be often,” Eunsoo stated with a nod.

Haneul clapped her hands. “We should track him down and ask.”

“Uh, when? Lunch is almost over,” asked Yelim.

"Yeah, but I need my English notes for last period," Namjoon whined. He pulled Soon’s bag onto his lap to zip the main compartment closed, but, amongst the various notebooks, textbooks, and workbooks, a slip of yellow paper stuck out like a sore thumb. The paper was torn from a standard yellow legal pad, folded neatly into quarters. Even from the backside of the paper, black permanent marker ghosted through.

“God, how many notes do you get in a day?” Haneul wondered as he unfolded the paper.

It read, “STOP CAVORTING WITH CHOI BYUNGSOO....OR ELSE” in thick, scrawled letters.

Namjoon chuckled darkly, already beyond annoyed at the vengeful girls. He was going to put a stop to this. Immediately.

“What would you guys say to skipping PE today?”

***

The ARMY Clubroom was dim, illuminated only with the light from the hallway when they pushed open the door.

“I can’t believe the school counselor bought that lie about us working on Jin’s birthday project. Kim Seokjin saves the day again!” Haneul giggled as she flipped on the lights and led them inside.

“Alright, so we know for a fact that most of the girls from this morning are in ARMY Club with us, so one of us needs to track down those birthday project proposals from last month and compare the handwriting between that and the note,” Namjoon said, holding up the yellow paper. “Someone else can go through twitter or whatever to see if those girls have any connections to our classmates.”

“I’ll take social media,” Yelim said, already scrolling through her phone.

“Great,” Namjoon said. “Once we figure out who took my stuff, we’ll be a lot more likely to actually find it.”

“We have…” Haneul screwed up her face as she did the math in her head. “Fourty-three minutes until English class. Let’s get it!”

Yelim settled at the front table of the room, eyes scanning over tweet after tweet. Eunsoo and Namjoon moved to the row of filing cabinets lining the backside of the room. “Here we go,” Eunsoo mumbled as she pulled open the drawer labelled “Seokjin’s Birthday Project!” to reveal the folders crammed within. Using her fingers to walk through the tabs, she finally found the proposals folder.

“Let’s just hope that everyone labeled their proposals properly,” Namjoon muttered, seeing how full to bursting the folder was.

“Obviously, the person who had the idea is going to want the credit for how smart and thoughtful and great at being an army they are,” Haneul said as she leaned over the papers Eunsoo spread across the table.

Having never seen the planning that small groups of armies went through to organize and complete these birthday projects, Namjoon found himself getting distracted by reading the proposals themselves as opposed to simply scanning and comparing them. With each new sheet presenting their thoughts on how best to honor Soekjin’s birthday, Namjoon felt his heart swelling a little at how impactful fans could truly be.

“Remind me again why we didn’t vote for sponsoring that dog rescue? I just want to play with puppies,” whined Haneul as she flipped through her stack of proposals.

“Because we did something animal-related for Namjoon’s birthday. We’ve got to have a little variety in our giving, you know?” Eunsoo said. She laid a sheet next to the yellow note. “How’s this for a match?”

Namjoon leaned over, his head knocking against Haneul’s as they peered at the two sets of handwriting. “The ‘b’ is written the same, but doesn’t the 'oo' look different to you?” he asked while pointing to the letters in question. Haneul hummed in agreement at his words and returned to her stack.

“I think this was written by one of the girls, though,” Eunsoo said. “She might have tried to disguise her handwriting a little, maybe?”

“Good thinking. Put it in the maybe pile,” said Namjoon.

Yelim clicked her tongue as she looked up from her phone for the first time in minutes. Glancing around the room, she asked, “Is there any scrap paper anywhere? I’ve got about a million usernames to look up.”

“I’ll find some,” Namjoon volunteered. He stretched his back as he stood and walked over to the supply closet. Reaching out blindly into the dark cabinet, his fingers finally connected with a thin cord. With a tug, the light clicked on and shone over shelves lined with stacks of paper, pens, and notepads. One notepad was thrown haphazardly on the top of the pile. As Namjoon picked it up, he noticed the remnants of the last sheet where it had been tugged, a few ghost blotches of black pen having bled through.

“Oh, shit!” Namjoon cried before racing back to the table. He placed the yellow note over the pad he had just retrieved. The tear at the top of the paper matched the legal pad’s perfectly.

“No way, no way,” gasped Haneul.

“Soon-ah, you’re a genius!” Eunsoo cried, leaping to her feet.

With a wide grin to the girls, he said, “Now we know that whoever took my stuff had access to the clubroom. And, since, we know it was locked before, we know that—”

“They have a key!” they stated together.

“This narrows the list substantially! None of the first- or second-year students have key privileges,” Eunsoo said, sitting back down.

Namjoon wandered back over to the storage cabinet, intent on finally bringing Yelim the pen and paper needed for her notes as the girls tried to remember who had keys to the clubroom. Leaning down to pull out a pen, he saw something patterned in red, blue, and yellow peeking out from the bottom shelf, reminding him almost of…

Soon’s Tata pencil bag.

And there it was, sitting innocuously on top of his English notebook on the bottom shelf like it had been placed there with care.

“Uh, guys? Come look,” he called with a wave.

“Oh, my gosh, that’s amazing!” Haneul said as she rushed over.

“Amazingly convenient, too, since we have English class in fifteen minutes,” Yelim laughed, a relieved smile on her face.

“But why did those girls hide it here?” he wondered as he picked up his things and moved back to the front table to tidy up the papers they had spread across it. “Something about this doesn't add up.”

“They’re just being jerks, I’m sure they didn’t think that far ahead,” Haneul suggested.

But Namjoon’s hand froze over a single proposal still on the table, the name of the person written in a messy scrawl along the bottom. “You don’t think…” he murmured, pushing the paper over for the girls to see.

Eunsoo pressed close to the paper, mumbling, "It's a match, a perfect match. But that doesn't even make any sense?"

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Yelim groaned.

Even after they finished tidying up the clubroom and covertly rejoined their classmates as they filed in from PE, Namjoon and the girls were all struck by Namjoon’s revelation. Yelim was silently fuming, Eunsoo and Haneul were suspended in a state of shock, but Namjoon felt more confused than anything else. As he looked out the classroom window at the grey sky beyond, he wondered at the things that love—or even just the inkling of it—would compel someone to do.

“Maybe there was a mistake or something,” Eunsoo whispered to the group as their English teacher gathered her things at the front of the room. “Maybe we misunderstood something.”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I just want to know why,” Namjoon responded.

Throughout the last period of the day, the cleaning of their classroom, and the short walk to ARMY Club, the group remained stoic, ruminating within their own thoughts. But Namjoon halted them before they could enter the clubroom. “Let’s just act naturally, okay? We don’t really know anything beyond who we think took my stuff and jumping to conclusions isn’t going to get us any answers.” After receiving a nod from each of the girls, Namjoon led them inside.

The girls from that morning glared daggers at Namjoon as he entered, which he met with a broad smile. Namjoon didn't like to define himself as "petty," but he wasn't above the "killing them with kindness" tactic. It was a satisfying kind of victory watching the collective confusion of the group of girls as they recoiled, glancing to one another with startled looks at Namjoon’s brazen attitude. Namjoon was a lot of things, but he was by no means a pushover.

“Namsoon-ssi! I’ve saved you a spot!” dork-type shouted, motioning to Namjoon from across the room.

Squeezing through the various tables and chairs, Namjoon arrived at dork-type’s table only to see two open chairs. “Oh, what about…” he began, but Haneul was already one step ahead of him.

Cramming two extra chairs between dork-type’s seat and the one Namjoon stood behind, Haneul smiled at the group. “Now we can all fit!”

It was almost comical watching dork-type’s face fall.

The club meeting was spent reviewing the final details of Seokjin’s birthday project and ensuring that everyone was still on track to complete Taehyung’s project by the end of the next month. Namjoon kept his eyes trained forward, ignoring the way that dork-type kept bobbing forward to lean around Haneul and Yelim separating them. Namjoon instead eyed the clock hanging over the whiteboard at the front of the room. With each passing minute, he felt the dread of confrontation creeping up from the pit of his stomach.

But, eventually, the time came.

As the rest of the club herded out the door, Namjoon finally caught dork-type’s eye. “Would you mind sticking around for a minute?”

Dork-type nodded vigorously. Namjoon stood slowly to face the boy head on, the girls fanning around him.

“What is it that you need from me, Namsoon-ssi? I heard there were some girls that were giving you trouble,” dork-type said in a rush, effectively ignoring the three girls at Namjoon’s back as he spoke.

“Yeah, about that. You have any idea why some of my things went missing today?” Namjoon asked.

At first, dork-type shook his head forcefully, but he stopped himself abruptly. “Wait, I mean, I might have an in. But, honestly, I think maybe it would be best if you just did what they asked, you know? And stop hanging around Choi—I mean, whichever boy they like,” he spoke haltingly, eyes darting from Namjoon’s face to the carpet tiles between their feet.

Namjoon let out a deep sigh, bracing himself as he said, “Look, Isang-ssi. I want you to be honest with me. From what we’ve found,” he held up his pencil bag, “it looks like those girls, however threatening, were all talk and no follow-through. You, on the other hand, look like the only culprit.”

Eyes round, dork-type looked stricken before starting to sink to his knees. Catching him around the arms, Namjoon hauled him back to his feet.

“Seriously, dude, enough of the prostrating shit. Just tell me why you took my stuff and tried to make it look like those girls did it. Seriously, I just want to know what the hell you were thinking,” Namjoon commanded.

Dork-type’s face had taken on a particular green cast. “I don’t know, I just panicked, okay?” He ran his hand through his hair, knocking his glasses sideways in the process. “It’s just that I knew you’d never look at me now that someone cool and popular like Choi Byungsoo finally realized that you exist, so I thought that…I don’t know, if you realized how difficult being with Choi Byungsoo would be, then you’d give up on him,” he said. “I heard those girls talking to you this morning, then I saw how easy it would be to take your stuff when I was in your classroom today. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“I’m not going to lie, that’s exceptionally fucked up,” Namjoon stated. “Incriminating those girls when they didn't do anything? That's so awful."

"But they did do something! They were rude to you!" dork-type pouted, holding out his hands in a placating way.

"You think that matters to me? I can handle some immature girls on my own, thanks," Namjoon scoffed before shaking his head. "Seriously, though, why go to all this trouble? Why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, talk to me like a normal person?”

“I’m not great with words,” he mumbled in reply. Dork-type startled when Yelim let out a dry huff.

“You talk to Namsoon all the time, you idiot.”

“Yeah, about normal, everyday stuff! Nothing about feelings or…” he glanced up shyly at Namjoon’s face. “Or dating or whatever. I just thought that, if I could find some way to communicate my feelings without speaking, that it would be better.”

“Wait!” Eunsoo pushed forward to stand at Namjoon’s side. “Is today the first time you’ve tried to do anything like that?”

“Like what? Steal stuff?” dork-type asked, face crumpled in confusion.

“No, you idiot, communicate without speaking!” Haneul cried. “You know, using a letter or a gift or something.” She gestured wildly in her excitement.

But dork-type’s slackened jaw and wide eyes told the whole story. “Oh, my god, why didn’t I think of that?” he groaned, reaching up to grab his head in frustration.

“Here's a better idea for you, Lee Isang: leave Namsoon alone for forever. Sound good? Great,” Yelim declared. She threw open the door and gestured to the group, saying, “After you, ladies."

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder as he let the clubroom door close behind him, watching dork-type take a deep, shaky breath before it slammed closed. Despite his relief over removing dork-type from the list of potential boyfriends, he felt a strange kind of melancholy for the boy. It was never easy to be rejected. For Namjoon's part, it wasn't easy to reject someone, either, regardless of how badly the rejection needed to happen. He hoped that dork-type could learn something from his catastrophic failure.

“Finally! An answer!” Eunsoo hollered as they walked to the front entryway. “Or, well, a partial answer. Whatever!”

With a grin, Namjoon said, “I’ll admit, I’m glad he wasn’t my admirer. I don’t think I could put up with someone who honestly thinks I could be bullied into doing something so stupid and arbitrary.”

“Agreed, you deserve way better than that,” Haneul said, leading them to their shoe cubbies and pulling a hot pink beanie onto her head. “Now, do you still have any of that chocolate?”

***

“That was his logic?” Jin asked, glancing over to Namjoon sitting shotgun next to him as he drove. “Man, teenagers are getting bolder and bolder. We never would have done anything like that back in my day,” he spoke in wonderment as he eased the delivery van around a corner.

“You were a teenager literally two years ago, don’t start with me,” Namjoon replied.

It was rare that Namjoon could see Jin on a Friday, what with ARMY Club running so late into the afternoon and the fact that Fridays were usually Jin’s day to work the late delivery shift. As he waved goodbye to his friends at the bus stop, Namjoon cracked his knuckles in anticipation of the flurry of texts he needed to explain his mess of a day. He had only sent off two texts (both too long to be socially acceptable) when Jin shot back a reply. Namjoon quirked his head when all Jin asked was whether he was still waiting for the bus, but his excitement absolutely skyrocketed when Jin pulled up in his delivery van a few minutes later.

Some stories were best told in person, he told himself, trying to tamp down the exhilaration he felt as he climbed into the passenger seat. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t planned on seeing Jin at all today, maybe it was the height of the van, placing them above the traffic around them, or the fact that Jin had been listening to "Skool Luv Affair" or maybe the broad, open expressions that danced across Jin’s face as Namjoon recounted his day, but he felt a strange kind of relief at being in Jin’s presence. Even when everything in his life was insane, at least he had this.

“Seriously, though, I hope that no other teenager ever tries to pursue someone like that ever again. It’s just so creepy and weird and controlling,” Namjoon stated, stretching his legs out as best as he could in the cramped vehicle as they trundled into their neighborhood.

“Agreed,” Jin said. Glancing over his shoulder at his blind spot, he mused, “I just wonder if he thought that he was being ingenious or something. Obviously, he didn't want you to find out what he was doing, but did he think that he could keep it a secret forever? Or did he think that you would be impressed by how far he was willing to go to get your undivided attention?”

Namjoon sighed as Jin carefully parked outside the delivery storefront, the quiet sound of Tomorrow cutting out as Jin turned off the van. “I wish I knew. Clearly he wasn’t thinking about the consequences all that hard, but still.”

“I guess it’s just more proof that teenage boys are giant morons,” Jin shook his head as he slid out the door. With a short bark of laughter, Namjoon followed suit, trailing around the van to watch Jin pull open the back cargo doors of the vehicle. “Not that anyone is all that good at romance or whatever, but, still, I just hope he takes the hint and leaves you alone in the future,” he grunted as he climbed inside to sort through the few boxes he had picked up during his delivery route.

Namjoon hopped up to sit on the tailgate as Jin worked, letting his legs swing. “Don’t worry, I think my friends would happily pummel the guy if he gets anywhere near me in the future,” he said over his shoulder.

“Good. Give them my number, I’d be happy to help them if they ever need to.”

With a laugh, Namjoon let his eyes turn back to the street. Here along the main road, the air was thick with car fumes and road noise, the din giving Namjoon space to finally relax from the drama of the day and turn inwards. There had always been something about the facelessness of the city, the uncaring fervor of life here that let some of the weight fall off his shoulders.

“You know,” Namjoon murmured, not looking away from the line of cars driving past. “I feel pretty shitty that I was so quick to think that any of those girls were to blame for stealing my things, even though I had no proof. I don’t even know any of them, so why was I okay with assuming the worst of them?” He could hear Jin’s movements stop for a moment as he thought through Namjoon’s question.

“Maybe because they showed you their insecurities already? It’s hard to know just how far someone will go to get what they want, even if you think know them.”

“True,” Namjoon sighed. Turning to face Jin as he finished organizing the boxes and their coordinating paperwork, he continued, “Society tells us all this shit about how your gender is supposed to mean so much about who you are and who you’re not, and it’s just bullshit. Who we are just is and how we define ourselves is something that we should decide for ourselves.

“And yet, I still went along with the stupid, horrible idea that girls are supposed to be petty to each other to get ahead. At school, at work, in love, everywhere. Even though that’s obviously bullshit, my friends being obvious examples to the contrary, I played right into those stereotypes that are just wrong, that are just setting up women to fail,” Namjoon ranted. “I never even considered that it was a boy being petty until all the facts were too obvious to ignore, and I've always thought that making those kinds of assumptions is stupid and useless.”

Jin watched Namjoon thoughtfully as he spoke, even as he lowered a dolly and loaded it with the remaining packages. He nodded slowly when Namjoon paused. “I think it’s pretty amazing that you’ve given this so much thought. You’re paying attention to something that a lot of people are fine with just sort of…I don’t know, ignoring? That has to count for something.”

“I just know that nothing will ever change if we don’t change our thinking first,” Namjoon insisted as he jumped down from the tailgate and threw up his hands in exasperation. “There are so many things that we’re told are only meant for girls or for boys, that we have to be separate. And it’s so goddamn arbitrary. Why do we have to make all these excuses for why it’s wrong for boys to be considerate and soft or why girls can’t be confident and self-assured without some guy giving her permission first?” he vented, feeling his voice rising as he spoke. “Why the hell is everyone so cool with focusing on how someone looks instead of seeing their humanity and their personality and their tastes and their choices? Why the fuck—”

A deep, dramatic gasp interrupted Namjoon’s thoughts.

Both Jin and Namjoon whipped their heads around to see an older man stood frozen in shock on the sidewalk beside them, his little dog skittering to stop at his feet. He glared at Namjoon as he scooped up his dog, held his hands over its tiny ears, and stalked away in a huff.

Their laughter rang out, almost echoing as they clung to each other to stay upright. “How could you defile the streets with your bad words and your talk of equality?” Jin wheezed. “Is no dog safe?”

Namjoon forced himself to take slow, deep breaths to calm his laughter, his hands still resting on Jin’s shoulders to keep himself from falling over. “Nope,” he giggled as he righted himself. “You would not believe the mouth on Cuty. Truly vile. I’m a terrible influence, such a menace.”

Grabbing onto Namjoon’s arm, Jin once again nearly doubled over with laughter.

Under the noise, Jungkook’s tinny voice sang could you turn off your cell phone from Namjoon’s coat pocket, signaling that Jeong family supper was imminent. “Okay, well, time for me to head home. Thanks again for the ride,” Namjoon said as he swiped away his alarm. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Actually,” Jin said, the last dregs of his laughter highlighting the fullness of his cheeks. His face was still red with laughter, but his ears seemed to be getting pinker by the moment. “I have a Saturday off for the first time in forever, so I was hoping that you were free to hang out tomorrow?” His voice was casual, unassuming, but there was something oddly nervous about the way he pressed his hands to his thighs, as if he was unsure of Namjoon’s answer.

Namjoon took a small, nearly silent breath, the air rushing straight to his stomach and causing a weird, swooping sensation. As he released the breath, he found himself giggling involuntarily. “Yeah, of course. I’d like that, just text me the details,” Namjoon smiled as he walked backwards down the sidewalk towards home, waving his hands wildly if only to give them something to do. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said as he turned to walk home.

There was a feeling running through Namjoon’s veins, like he was made of static electricity or like there was a tiny earthquake that started in his heart and radiated outwards. He felt…buoyant. There was no other word for it.

Glancing over his shoulder, Namjoon caught an odd little smile light up Jin’s face as he finally rolled the dolly loaded with cardboard boxes inside the delivery store. It felt almost like Namjoon had seen the ghost of something, a secret that he wasn’t meant to see written there, but in a language that he didn’t know. Not yet, at least.

With each step home, Namjoon’s rant from earlier bled back into his thoughts.

It had been a month since Namjoon was forced into Namsoon’s place, a solid month of learning what it took to be a woman, albeit a fake one, after over two decades spent at the complete other side of the spectrum. But it had never really been a spectrum at all. Apart from occasional comments on his voice, Namjoon had almost seamlessly adapted to life as a girl with surprisingly little thought.

Sure, he had to learn how to style and maintain his longer hair, but lots of dudes had long hair. Beyond taking a week to get used to the uniform tights he wore to school each day, his style had worked rather convincingly in his favor. And, yes, he sometimes found himself sitting with a wider stance than what was considered “ladylike,” but who actually cared about how he chose to sit? Despite his initial thought that his physique would be enough to trigger alarm bells, it was strange to realize that people were more than happy to ignore reality to see the world as they expected it to be.

Everyone wanted to see Namsoon, so that’s all they saw.

Chapter Text

The Jeong household was alive with noise by the time Namjoon arrived home, a bright chorus of “hellos” welcoming him inside from the cold.

Hobi-mom placed bowls of rice at the table before helping Namjoon out of his coat. Uncle-Yoon wandered by, rocking Cuty-Jimin like a baby as he serenaded the cocker spaniel with the world’s cutest version of Straight out of Compton. From the entryway, Namjoon could see brother-Tae hovering at JK-dad’s elbow in the kitchen, excitedly describing a new photography exhibit that would be opening just in time for his birthday in a month’s time.

“Holy crap, how is it December already?” Namjoon mumbled as he placed his shoes on the shoe rack. Alarm bells erupted in his head, jolting him upright. “Oh, shit, it’s December!”

“Language, dear,” Hobi-mom warned without heat. She was already strolling back to the table, startling a little when Namjoon rushed to her side and gripped her arm. “Is everything alright, my daughter?”

“No! It’s almost December fourth! That’s Jin’s birthday! How could I forget, we talked about it in ARMY Club today!” cried Namjoon.

“Aren't birthday projects the only thing you do in ARMY Club?” uncle-Yoon questioned as he set Cuty-Jimin down on the floor carefully and flopped into his seat at the table.

“Of course not! But I meant Jinseok!” Namjoon cried, shaking Hobi-mom a little. "We’re hanging out tomorrow, and I have nothing to give him!"

With a gasp, Hobi-mom pressed her hand over her heart. “Secret admirer whomst? I only know Jinseokie and his birthday hang outs,” she tittered.

“Mom, you’re not helping!” Namjoon grabbed his hair and paced around the table. He was vaguely aware that he sounded a little crazed as he wailed over such a small oversight, but he felt like a complete idiot for forgetting. Seokjin loved birthdays, loved the little “surprise” parties they threw for each other, loved sharing his day with the other members. But Namjoon? He prided himself on his careful, thoughtful gift giving.

So, yeah, he felt like an idiot.

“Don’t panic. Have something to eat first, give yourself time to think,” Hobi-mom smiled as she guided Namjoon into his chair and smoothed his ruffled hair.

Cuty-Jimin immediately wrapped himself around Namjoon’s legs as he sat, whimpering gently as he placed his head on Namjoon’s knee. “You’re so smart, Joon, I know you’ll think of something nice to do for Jinseok,” he said, turning his wide, gentle eyes to Namjoon’s face. Namjoon rubbed Cuty’s velvet soft ear between his fingers in silent gratitude.

“Maybe Jinseok just wants to hang out, though? Birthday’s aren’t a big deal for everyone,” uncle-Yoon yawned.

“Wait, though,” brother-Tae interrupted, turning his eyes to Namjoon as they settled into their seats around the table. “This wasn’t meant to be a date, was it?”

Namjoon tried to visualize Jin’s invitation in his memories, but his exact words were lost behind images of the soft look that passed over Jin’s eyes, his cheeks still rosy from laughter. Pressing his sweaty palms against his thighs, Namjoon shifted in his seat.

“No? I don’t think so?” he replied meekly. But watching the skeptical looks cross the faces of the family around him knocked Namjoon’s perspective out of the soft, golden light that painted the scene in his memory and into the cold light of reality.

This was just another case of perspective, he realized. His relationship with Jin was just as close, nearly identical to the one he shared with Seokjin; the only real difference being the fact that everyone thought he was female here. All of these misunderstandings were just silly assumptions, he reassured himself. Besides, even if Jin had any inkling of feelings for Namjoon—or Namsoon—how could he develop those feelings into anything substantial when Namjoon brought up the secret admirer literally all of the time?

“I mean, no. Definitely not a date,” Namjoon answered, his tone firm.

“Are you sure? Because I can give this boy a talking to if he’s pushing for anything you’re not comfortable with,” JK-dad said as he patted Namjoon’s hand.

Namjoon shook his head forcefully, stating, “No, he’s a great friend, everything’s good between us.”

“A very great friend, indeed,” Hobi-mom murmured. “What kind of not-date hang out did Jinseokie have in mind?” she asked once she had settled into her seat at the table.

“I, uh, didn’t think to ask,” Namjoon mumbled into his bowl of tteokbokki.

From the corner of his eye, Namjoon could see JK-dad's brow furrowed in thought, eyes turning to Hobi-mom. “You’ve given Soon-ah ‘the talk,’ right?” he asked her, voice hesitant.

“Ah-ha! Who’s the nasty one now?” shouted uncle-Yoon at Hobi-mom with a triumphant grin. He dodged her flying slipper with a practiced ease while she focused the bulk of her attention on hitting JK-dad at her side.

“Don’t go putting ideas in my sweet baby’s head!” she cried, punctuating each word with a slap of her shoe.

“Oh, my god,” Namjoon groaned as he dropped his head to the tabletop with a thunk. “Why do I tell you guys anything?” he asked under the cacophony of Hobi-mom’s attack.

Brother-Tae sniffed delicately and replied, “I honestly have no idea.”

Lifting his head gingerly from the tabletop, Namjoon glared at JK-dad and Hobi-mom still bickering beside him. “Look, nothing is going to happen tomorrow, date or not. I can handle myself,” he huffed.

Hobi-mom puffed out her chest haughtily as she fixed her neat bob. “Mother knows you’re a proper young lady, Soon-ah, unlike some of us.”

“I’m allowed to be cautious,” JK-dad grumbled as he straightened his disheveled hair and glasses before turning back to Namjoon. “But, after all the hard work you put in for your exams, you’ve earned a fun day off. Plus, the way he made it sound when he was over for supper, Jinseok really doesn’t take the time to relax and enjoy his youth. It seems like you’re a good influence on him, Soon-ah.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Namjoon said. He poked at his food a little, sorry that he didn’t think to encourage Jin to relax more often.

“I’m not surprised,” stated brother-Tae. “Noona is a really good friend.”

Uncle-Yoon dropped his chopsticks. “What kind of alternate universe did I wake up in this morning? Tae just said something nice about Soon! Am I asleep, is this real life?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Hobi-mom cried, seemingly without a touch of irony. “My children are lovely angels who love each other.”

Brother-Tae pushed back his glasses to press a hand against his eyes.

“Just be sure to text periodically to let us know where you are,” JK-dad said over Hobi-mom and uncle-Yoon’s squabbling, patting the back of Namjoon’s hand again. “And your curfew is still at 11 o’clock, just like always.”

“Not a problem, dad,” Namjoon said.

What was a problem was figuring out what to wear without knowing where they were going. Namjoon had sent Jin a quick text, but found himself anxiously checking his messages every few minutes, worried that he had accidentally missed his reply. Even as he tried his best to pay attention and help Hobi-mom and brother-Tae make a small birthday cake for Jin, his mind kept spiraling around tomorrow's outfit. He had shoes and coats to work around, to integrate into the whole look, which only made everything more complicated.

This was Jin’s birthday celebration, and Namjoon just wanted to look cute, dang it.

Just as Namjoon had finished writing Jin’s name in chocolate frosting with his neatest handwriting, a quiet bultaoreune sounded in his pocket. Hobi-mom laughed breezily as Namjoon frantically opened his messages.

Me

how warmly should i dress for tomorrow?

also, what time do you want to meet?

7:49 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

hmmmm dress warm

but maybe in layers

we’ll be on the bus for a while

and then we’ll be outside a lot

so

ill meet you at your house

@ 9????

im pumped!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

10:06 p.m.

Me

i’m excited, too!! can’t wait :)

10:06 p.m.

“It’s perfect,” Namjoon said, pulling brother-Tae and Hobi-mom into a hug as they admired their baking handiwork. “Jin will love it.”

***

Namjoon stared hard at his reflection. He pulled on a black beanie he had found at the back of the downstairs coat closet and turned his head from side to side. “Thoughts?” he asked, turning to Cuty-Jimin seated on Soon’s bed.

“You always look cute, Joon,” Cuty-Jimin reassured, letting his tongue loll as he smiled.

“Thanks, Cuty, but that kind of doesn’t answer the question,” Namjoon giggled back as brother-Tae stuck his head through the doorway.

“Wow, Noona, you’ve been dressing a lot better lately,” he said with an appraising look at his outfit. “Just the perfect look for a not-date.”

Brother-Tae deftly dodged the throw pillow Namjoon lobbed at him, his laughter lightening the nervous pit of roiling anxiety pooling in Namjoon’s stomach. “You’re such a jerk, Tae Tae,” Namjoon whined. The throw pillow hit Namjoon square in the stomach, brother-Tae’s aim being far better than Namjoon’s.

“Mom wanted me to remind you that it’s almost 9, not that you can’t tell time or anything,” brother-Tae shrugged, pulling Cuty-Jimin into his arms before wandering back down the hall.

Namjoon turned back to his reflection, smoothing the fabric of his wide-leg pants against his thighs. From the open doorway, he could hear the gentle chatter of the family assembled downstairs, and he felt oddly removed from the noise, like he was suspended in a quiet, air-tight bubble. His hands felt sweaty.

He looked his reflection in the eye, seeing the nervousness written across his eyebrows.

Everything about this felt like a date.

When Namjoon finally felt brave enough to descend the stairs, all of bizarro Bangtan were already in their places, lying in wait for Jin to arrive.

“—remember, wait until after I say, ‘Make yourself at home,’ okay?” Hobi-mom coached. JK-dad and uncle-Yoon were crammed together on the couch, smiling indulgently at her excited stage directing. Clearly in her element, she spun a beautiful pirouette to face Namjoon hovering at the base of the stairs. Placing the birthday cake in his hands, Hobi-mom giggled, “I can’t wait for Jinseokie to see our surprise, can you?”

All he could do was nod. Namjoon was grateful to have something to hold, something to keep his hands from shaking and sweating and fidgeting as the clock in the living room ticked closer to nine. Right on the dot, a knock sounding oddly like the bridge of Blood, Sweat and Tears drummed on the front door.

“Get ready, everybody!” Hobi-mom whispered as she rushed to the door.

The group stood huddled out of sight, waiting for Hobi-mom’s cue.

“Please come in, Namsoon will be ready to go in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Jin murmured back. At the sound of his voice, Namjoon felt the anxiety bleed from him, the tension coiled between his shoulder blades easing, the shake in his hands stilling. But Seokjin’s voice had always felt like comfort to Namjoon, like a crutch holding him up against the weight of the world.

This was just Jin, there wasn’t any reason to be tied up in knots over hanging out with him.

“Come right in, make yourself at home,” Hobi-mom pronounced loudly and carefully, spurring the group in hiding to stampede around the corner.

“Happy birthday!” Namjoon, brother-Tae, and JK-dad shouted, barely heard over the sound of uncle-Yoon yelling incoherently and Cuty-Jimin barking excitedly as he leapt from brother-Tae’s hands.

Jin froze for a moment, eyes landing hard on the cake held in Namjoon’s hands. It wasn’t until Hobi-mom threw her arms around his shoulders that he let himself react, his delighted laughter mingling with the commotion of the group.

“Time for cake breakfast!” uncle-Yoon hollered as he whisked the cake from Namjoon’s hands. The family gathered around him as he sliced and served the cake, but Namjoon hung back when he felt Jin’s hand brush against his elbow.

“I can’t even remember telling you it was almost my birthday, but thank you. For this. For everything,” Jin mumbled, his eyes lowered to the floor as he chewed his lip. He seemed so small and soft in his oversized grey sweater, vulnerable in a way Namjoon rarely saw Seokjin. Everything in Namjoon cried out wanting to throw his arms around Jin’s shoulders, but the weight of the family’s presence chained him in place and left him feeling shy and awkward. This moment was far too private to be shared.

But when Jin’s eyes finally connected with his, Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from taking Jin’s hand into his own as he replied, “Of course. Happy birthday, Oppa.”

***

Unfamiliar buildings blurred as they flew past. Namjoon sat on the back of Jin’s bike, hands wrapped in the thick fabric of his duffle coat. “So, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” Namjoon asked, leaning forward to be heard over the sound of the wind.

“I’ll give you a hint: we’re taking the train first,” Jin shouted back over his shoulder, the fringe on his blue scarf swaying.

The breeze bit at Namjoon’s face. Even after weeks of having longer hair, he still couldn’t get over the feeling of his hair whipping in the wind and dancing on his cheeks. “Um, maybe downtown Seoul?” He kicked his legs out as they coasted down a hill.

“Good guess, but, nope, not quite,” Jin replied.

The train station was small but bustling, a buzzing hive tucked into the business district. “How about to the river?” Namjoon asked as Jin leaned down to chain his bike outside the station. “Or maybe out to the mountains?” he added as crowds of people pushed past them on their way out, busy men and women darting around them on their way inside, jostling Namjoon. Bumping back to Jin’s side, Namjoon wrapped his hand around Jin’s fingers to keep them from drifting away in the sea of people.

“Um, nope, not those, either,” Jin mumbled, eyes refusing to meet Namjoon’s.

At a small ticket kiosk, Jin carefully inserted his change, buying two single-ride passes to Incheon. After casting his eyes around the station, Namjoon felt his own eyes grow shy, unable to look over to Jin as he offered him his hand. Like a little two-car train, they cut through the crowds.

“Are we going to an amusement park?” Namjoon asked as they stood behind the bright yellow line separating them from the train tracks.

“Ooh, we should do that next time,” said Jin as he turned to watch their train shoot by, cars coming into greater focus as it slowed to release riders and admit new passengers. They stood near the back of their car, gripping their handrails as the train began to move again. It felt like a million years since Namjoon had ridden the subway, and it had been even longer since he could ride them without worrying about photographers or mobs of fans or random shrieks and lingering stares. He missed so many things about being Kim Namjoon, but maybe that wasn’t one.

If the station in their neighborhood was busy, Incheon was absolute pandemonium. Well-dressed youths roved in packs, all dressed to be seen while older women, laden with shopping bags, powered through the crowds like it was their duty to run people down.

It was only natural that their hands found each other’s again.

Pulling out his phone as he led them out onto the sidewalk, Jin read through something, his lips pursing at he glanced between the screen and various street signs.

“I may have the world’s worst sense of direction, but I know Incheon a little bit. You know, if you need any help getting around,” Namjoon said as Jin frowned at the zebra crossing, glancing back and forth between the different directions.

Huffing, Jin pulled back his shoulders in defiance. “Oppa knows what he’s doing,” he pouted.

But he eventually made the right turn, leading them to a clean, wide bus stop.

“Oh, my god,” Namjoon murmured, realizing immediately where their destination was. One hand still held onto Jin’s, but the other now grabbed onto Jin’s arm as Namjoon began to hop excitedly. “The beach! Oh, my god, the beach!”

Jin glanced at Namjoon, startled at first, before laughing loudly as he dragged them both the rest of the way to the bus stop. “I clearly made the right decision on where to take you.”

“I haven’t been in so long!” Namjoon cried, letting go of Jin to better hop in place.

“I’m sorry that we’re coming so late in the year, though. The crabs have probably all gone away for the winter,” Jin sighed, double-checking the bus schedule, glancing at the times listed versus his empty, watch-less wrist. “It’s been below 10 degrees since last month.”

Having already exhausted the majority of his pent-up enthusiasm, Namjoon turned back to Jin, surprised. “Did—did you look up if there would be crabs at the beach?”

“Maybe,” Jin shrugged, smiling coyly.

A bus labelled Yeongjongdo rounded the corner, sending Namjoon back into his giggliest state. They moved to the back of the bus, Namjoon sliding into the window seat and settling in for the long ride to Yeongjongdo Island. As Jin took the seat next to his, their sides pressed together, Namjoon pulled out his phone and a pair of earbuds from his coat pocket.

“Hey, so, I might have made you a birthday playlist last night,” Namjoon said as he plugged in the headphones and pulled up his music app. Tucking one earbud into his ear, he offered Jin the other, saying, “You want to listen?” The smile that spread across Jin’s face made Namjoon’s late night of anxiously sorting through music more than worth it. Jin was humming along to Aimer as their bus pulled to a stop.

The wide, rocky beach stretched out wide in front of them. Namjoon raced ahead, running towards the water like it was an old friend, holding out his arms as if to scoop up the sea into his embrace.

“Doesn’t it smell so good?” Namjoon asked as Jin crunched up behind him.

“Smells like seaweed,” he sighed wistfully. “Man, I could go for some soup right about now.”

Shaking his head, Namjoon turned to start scanning the beach for signs of life, regardless of the temperature. “Why am I not surprised that your first thought is of food? Besides, we had cake, like, an hour ago. Are you ever not hungry?” he teased, tearing his gaze away from the shells at his feet to grin in Jin’s direction.

“My mom says that I’m like a cow; I have two stomachs,” Jin replied. He puffed out his chest with pride.

“You’re ridiculous,” Namjoon giggled as he turned back to the beach. With a gasp, he darted forward to gently scoop up a small pink shell. Holding his hand flat, he turned towards Jin. “Look!”

“Um, that’s a…very nice shell?” Jin said. But he let out a small gasp when tiny legs emerged from the shell’s opening.

“I wonder what this little guy is doing out in weather like this?” Namjoon smiled down at the crab before gently offering it to Jin. With a look of minor panic, Jin shook his head a little. “Don’t you want to hold it?”

“But what if I drop it? I don’t want to hurt it.”

“It’s fine, you’ll be careful,” Namjoon assured, using his free hand to pull Jin’s forward before gently placing the hermit crab into the center of his palm.

Jin seemed to be holding his breath at first, but he giggled as the crab began to toddle across his palm. Using both hands like a conveyor belt, he watched the little creature with growing delight. “He’s so cute, I had no idea,” Jin commented, shooting Namjoon a bright grin.

They both waved the little crab goodbye as Jin bent down to let it wander from his hand back into the rocky beach.

“In the summer, there are tons of hermit crabs here. And some are a lot bigger, too,” Namjoon said as they walked slowly along the beach, parallel to the water. “The bigger crabs tend to live near rocks and tide pools, but they’re super fast and hard to catch. Plus, they’re way more likely to pinch you, but that makes it so much cooler when you do manage to catch one,” he explained. He used his hands to imitate a crab’s claw, nipping at the air in front of them.

“That sounds fun. I feel like I missed out on so much, growing up inland. We should come back when it gets warm again,” Jin remarked, burrowing into his coat with a shiver.

“Yeah! I’ll teach you how to catch crabs, it’ll be great,” Namjoon responded. He clapped his hands together, skipping a little as he imagined the warmth of the summer sun overhead, crowds of beachgoers trailing along the coast with ice cream in hand. He nearly stumbled and fell as reality hit him square in the face.

If all went well, his promise to take Jin back to the beach in the summer would have to be fulfilled by Soon. She would have to show him how to catch the different types of crabs, to curate their bus playlists, to ride on the back of his bike. Glancing over to Jin happily searching the beach at their feet for more hermit crabs, Namjoon hoped like hell Soon could do him that one favor, that she would look after Jin once he had made it home.

Well, if he made it home.

The thought was like a shot through Namjoon’s heart. It wasn’t like he hated this place or anything, but it wasn’t where he belonged. As nice as it was here, beach combing with Jin, studying his life away with his friends, eating meals and laughing with bizarro Bangtan, it wasn’t home.

“Hey, let’s grab something to eat. I want some bungeoppang,” Jin said, pulling gently on Namjoon’s wrist and dragging him away from the shore towards the rows of food stands that lined the beach.

“Seriously, how are you hungry already?” Namjoon sighed deeply, shaking his head.

Jin halted to turn and point at Namjoon accusingly. “Don’t start with that, or I won’t share,” he scowled. But it didn’t last, Namjoon’s laughter pulling upwards at the corners of Jin’s lips.

It didn’t take them long to find a street vendor, nor did it take long for Namjoon to devour three whole bungeoppangs before buying a fourth. Jin watched him, mouth agape in a look that was somewhere between shock and admiration. Taking a napkin from the vendor, Jin wiped at Namjoon’s mouth between bites.

“Thanks. I guess I was hungrier than I thought?” Namjoon shrugged.

As they made their way down the boardwalk, Jin quickly amassed more food than he had hands for, eventually insisting that Namjoon hold the long skewers of chicken, squid, and oysters up for Jin to eat in between bites of the takoyaki and pancakes cradled in his hands. Even though Namjoon rolled his eyes every time, it was hard not to laugh at Jin’s delight while eating as they walked with the beach at their side. The sound of waves muffled the din of the pedestrians and tourists shuffling by and crashed against the sizzle of the street vendors they passed.

“Can you even imagine how much better the food will be in the summer?” Jin sighed as he polished off his portion of takoyaki.

“No, it’s seriously worth it to come back for the food alone, even with how packed it is all summer long,” Namjoon said as he watched Jin eat the last bits of meat on the skewers in his hand. Jin pulled the sticks from Namjoon's grasp before throwing their containers into a garbage bin. “They have these fried—”

“Oh, my gosh, Kim Jinseok? Is that you? ”

A tall man and a petite woman rushed to Jin’s side, bright smiles spread across their faces. “Wow, Junhwan-ssi! It’s been so long,” Jin greeted the young man with a smile and a handshake before addressing the woman at the man’s side. “Young-ssi, it’s nice to see you.”

“You, too. It feels like forever since high school, but you look just the same,” she smiled warmly at Jin.

“Lucky jerk,” Junhwan laughed softly. “I kind of couldn’t believe it when I heard you moved up here for school, but Seoul seems to be treating you well. You were always too smart for our little town, anyways.”

Young nodded gently. “Yeah, I was surprised, too, since you and your mom were always so close. Hope she’s doing well.”

After Jin laughed off her worries, the woman turned to Namjoon to ask, “So, is this your friend?”

“Yeah, this is my Soon.” Jin gestured to him, before shaking his head rapidly at his mistake. “I mean! My friend! This is my friend, Soon.”

Namjoon couldn’t fight back his giggles, latching onto Jin’s arm, a curious flutter shooting through him at Jin’s words. My Soon. At Jin’s embarrassed, scandalized expression, Namjoon could only laugh harder. “Sorry, Oppa, I don’t know why I’m laughing so hard,” he wheezed.

“‘Oppa?’” Junhwan asked faintly with a tilt of his head. Young whipped around to smack his shoulder, sending him a dirty look as she did. But, as Namjoon watched Jin’s face harden, he knew the damage had been done.

For the first time in this bizzaro world, someone had rightly assumed Namjoon was male.

He should have felt relief or maybe just the casual acceptance of truth, but Namjoon felt his stomach plummet at the stormy look on Jin’s face.

“I’m sorry, I think we need to get going,” Jin smiled tightly at his old schoolmates. “Nice seeing you.” He laced his arm with Namjoon’s as he physically dragged them back to the beach away from the pair. Namjoon waved awkwardly at them staring with concern as they retreated.

“Oppa—” Namjoon began, but the words he wanted to say sat jumbled in his head, unsure of which direction they wanted to go. “Don't worry, I’m not upset. I already know I’m not a delicate, petite little flower, so it’s fine.”

“Soonie-yah.” Jin pulled them to a stop and turned to face Namjoon. The wind blew hard at their faces as they huddled together against the harsh sea breeze. “You know that I like how tall you are, right? And how deep your voice is, and how strong you are. None of those things make you any less of a girl. A smart, wonderful, kind girl.”

Namjoon tried for a smile, but it felt strange on his lips. For a moment, he hated Namsoon, hated her for making him lie to Jin like this. Hated everything she was that Namjoon could never be.

Letting his eyes fall closed, Namjoon tried to tuck his thoughts away. The tide pulled forward at their feet, misting their faces as Namjoon turned back to Jin. It was almost comical to watch the way he darted from the spray, face screwing up in surprise as shifted away from the shore. Stumbling through his spin, Jin caught himself on Namjoon’s arm.

It was the strangest thing; Namjoon had seen Seokjin’s face in a million different settings on a million different days, painted up for a stage, bare and puffy from sleep, hair a spectrum of colors and cuts. But it was like seeing that face for the first time all over again. They were close, so, so close, even as Jin gently released his grip on Namjoon’s arm, their eyes never quite leaving each other’s.

Jin’s face was…well, it was perfect. But Namjoon had always been drawn to his eyes, to the way they betrayed the hidden undercurrents of Seokjin’s heart even as they skittered away from Namjoon. Jin’s eyes were just as shy, but something about their proximity kept them both in their place. Namjoon stood rooted in place, too close to Jin, his arms hanging limply at his sides begging to just reach out for any part of Jin he could catch. And Jin simply gazed back, shining like some distant planet against the deep, cold vacuum of space, his gravity the only thing keeping Namjoon’s tiny moon in place. He couldn’t break away even if he tried.

“You have this little underbite smile, did you know?” Jin murmured, tapping a finger against the mole on Namjoon’s chin.

“I know,” Namjoon breathed.

The phone in Namjoon’s pocket singing those dimples are illegal was like a siren in the stillness between them.

Their connection snapped, the world around them flooding in so fast, so loud that Namjoon winced away from the sound. Jin slid from Namjoon’s side smoothly, with the practiced ease that Seokjin had when they were caught wasting time on camera. Watching him slip away felt wrong somehow, like he had left a physical hole behind, and Namjoon had to fight to keep himself from pulling Jin back.

When Namjoon yanked the offending phone from his pocket, the screen was lit with a picture of Hobi-mom.

“Oh, shit! I was supposed to text them about where we were going!” he cried as he accepted the call. “Mom! Hey, sorry—” But Hobi-mom shushed him with a voice thick with tears.

“Soonie, sweetheart, it’s your uncle.”

***

The bus ride to the hospital felt hours long, Namjoon’s eyes squeezed closed, fists clenched in the thick wool fabric of his coat, knees shaking so hard he jostled Jin in the seat beside him. Jin reached over to pull one of Namjoon’s hands into his lap, gently cradling it as he murmured, “It’s okay, we’re nearly there.”

Namjoon pressed his cheek to Jin’s shoulder, hoping to leach some of the calm that Jin was currently radiating. He remembered the panic they all felt with Yoongi’s appendicitis years ago like a lingering nightmare, the desperate fear of sickness. It seemed stupid to be so worried over the exact same thing afflicting uncle-Yoon when Yoongi had thankfully, blessedly been okay. Still, uncle-Yoon was almost 40 years old, the complications and risks were different for him.

“Just keep breathing, Soon-ah.”

As the hospital came into sight, Namjoon was already on his feet, crowding Jin towards the exit as the bus crawled to a stop. He darted through the doors as they creaked open and ran headlong through the hospital’s lobby to the wide front desk.

“Jeong! Jeong Yoonho! I’m here for Jeong Yoonho,” he shouted at the woman behind the desk.

Turning quickly to her computer, she asked, “Are you a relative?”

“Yes! He’s my uncle,” he said as Jin jogged in behind him. Namjoon bit his lip and bounced on his heels frantically as she clicked and typed.

“He’s on the third floor—” but Namjoon was already off, dragging Jin by the wrist as he barreled for the elevators. “—internal medicine department, room 309!” she shouted after them as they darted through the elevator doors. The elderly couple who had held open the door for them blinked owlishly as Namjoon pounded the third floor button.

When Namjoon ran out onto the third floor, he whipped his head around. The various departments spread out in different directions all around him, the unfamiliar hospital a maze of identical rooms and bustling nurses.

“This way,” said Jin, directing Namjoon to their left under a large sign labelled, “Internal Medicine.”

“Shit, fuck, yeah, okay,” he panted back as they jogged down the long hallway.

Skidding to a halt, Jin pulled open the door labelled 309 for Namjoon to enter.

“Soonie!” Hobi-mom sobbed as he rushed in the door. She flew from her chair to fling her arms around him, rocking him back and forth. Brother-Tae sniffled before flinging his arms around the two of them, resting his forehead against Namjoon’s shoulder. It only took another moment for JK-dad to follow suit. The fact that Cuty-Jimin wasn’t there to wiggle himself into the group hug made Namjoon cling to them even tighter.

Pulling back a little, Namjoon looked around the family, asking, “How’s Uncle Yoon? Do we know anything about the surgery yet?”

JK-dad sighed, standing back as they untangled themselves. “Not yet. The doctor made it sound like it would be a fairly short surgery, but that could really mean anything. What’s short to a doctor feels like a lifetime to the rest of us waiting.”

“He said that we caught it pretty early, though, which is better than nothing,” brother-Tae said, still stuck close to Namjoon’s side.

“I’m sure everything will be okay,” sniffled Hobi-mom. “It just has to be!”

As the group slowly calmed themselves from the fervor of his arrival, Namjoon realized that he had forgotten to keep tabs on Jin. He hadn’t entered the room with Namjoon and didn’t appear to be hanging around the hallway, either. Something sharp shifted in his chest, knowing that Jin had excused himself thinking he didn’t belong with them.

But any attempts to text him were thwarted when a cavalcade of nurses rolled a sleepy, grumbly uncle-Yoon back into the room. He patted Hobi-mom’s hand idly as she sobbed at his shoulder.

“Aish, I’m fine, why are you crying?” uncle-Yoon groused with a smile.

“I’m just so glad you’re okay!” she wailed as JK-dad gently pulled her away from uncle-Yoon. “What would we do without you?”

Still under the influence of whatever drugs they used to put him under, uncle-Yoon didn’t even bother trying to suppress his gummy smile. Reaching out to take brother-Tae’s hand, he sighed, “Man, I love you guys.”

It wasn’t long before uncle-Yoon had fallen back asleep, his body exhausted from the stress of pain and his surgery. In a similar fashion, the strain Hobi-mom had borne caught up to her now that uncle-Yoon looked to be recovering well. Although she claimed she only wanted to rest her eyes, they could hear her little snores in minutes.

JK-dad smiled softly at his wife curled up on the tiny couch and pulled a blanket from the stack next to uncle-Yoon’s bed to drape over her, gently stroking her hair back from her face. Brother-Tae at the other end of the couch let out a yawn and pulled a little corner of her blanket over to cover his lap.

“Soon-ah,” JK-dad said as he rounded the bed to stand by his chair. “I’ll go get us something to eat nearby. Is there anything you’d like?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I’ll eat whatever, don’t worry.”

With a smile, JK-dad went out the door, but he paused as we went to close it behind him. “What’s this?” he muttered, pulling a plastic bag from the door knob. When he carried it over to Namjoon, he opened it up to reveal snack foods, bottled drinks, and ready-made meals inside. “There’s no note. Who could have left this?”

“It was Jin,” Namjoon said, nearly breaking out into giggles when JK-dad pulled out a pack of wet wipes from the bag.

“I totally forgot about your not-date in all of this mess,” JK-dad said with an apologetic smile. “First, he looks out for you, now he’s taking care of all of us. I feel like I should call up his parents for advice on how to raise someone so well.” His face pulled in guilt as he muttered, “Not that you and Tae aren’t great kids, I just know that’s your mother’s doing and not mine.”

“Don’t say that, dad, we’d be a mess without you. We’d be a mess without any one of us,” Namjoon said, unsure if he was talking about Soon’s family or Bangtan more. “We need each other.”

JK-dad leaned down to kiss the top of Namjoon’s head and took a banana milk from the bag on Namjoon’s lap. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Chapter Text

“Please be safe on your way to school,” Hobi-mom said, holding out brother-Tae's and Namjoon’s lunchboxes as they finished tying their shoes. “Text me if you need anything. Anything, okay?”

“Yes, mom,” brother-Tae sighed, tucking his lunchbox into his school bag.

Namjoon sent her his most reassuring smile as he walked outside. “Bye, mom! Love you!”

“How are you handling her hovering like this?” wondered brother-Tae as he closed the front door and pulled his scarf tight around his neck. “Mom’s been positively buzzing like a fly ever since the weekend. She does realize that appendicitis isn’t contagious, right?”

“Mom’s just worried. I think Uncle Yoon getting sick really scared her, you know? Bad shit just kind of happens sometimes, but I don't think people ever really think that it’ll happen to them, so, when it does, they realize how terrifying being alive is. The worst thing about loving someone is knowing that, one day, they could be gone forever with no warning at all,” Namjoon paused, thinking of all the pain his reality’s Taehyung experienced losing his grandparents. But he had always been struck by the way that Taehyung channeled that pain into spreading even more love and kindness to those around him. “It makes you want to hold those you love even more tightly while you still have them, I think.”

Brother-Tae bit his lip hard as he glanced back at the house. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that Uncle is okay, but I figured mom was just being overbearing. She must really be going through a lot. Dad, too, in his own way,” he said, walking down the front path.

At the gate, Namjoon’s friends huddled together waiting for him. He waved to them, but stopped when brother-Tae reached out to grab his sleeve.

“Thanks, Noona. For always helping me when I need it,” he said.

“Of course, Tae Tae,” Namjoon replied, squeezing his hand. “I’ll always be there for you, no matter what. That’s what families do.”

After the girls and Namjoon waved to brother-Tae as he traipsed off to school, Haneul linked arms with him like usual and said, “You and Taehyun are amazing, you know? It’s like you’re actually friends, instead of just, you know, siblings.”

“I think we actually are friends,” Namjoon laughed.

“How does that even happen?” Yelim wondered as they walked down the main street, the wind nipping at their exposed cheeks.

The girls spent the walk to the terminal complaining about their respective siblings, marveling at the idea that they would ever consider actively seeking out their company. Namjoon got so wrapped up in the conversation that he had to bite back a comment on his actual sister, the one he had left behind in the real world.

“You know, though,” Eunsoo sighed as they boarded the bus bound for their school. “Even though my sisters can be literal demons, I’m glad I’m not an only child. I can’t even imagine how lonely that would be growing up without them.”

Yelim shrugged. “Only children would probably say the same thing about people with siblings. Imagine not having to share a bathroom with a house full of boys,” she said wistfully.

Namjoon snorted, thinking back to how difficult it was for Bangtan to learn how to live with and around each other back in their first dorm. Even now, he wasn’t sure how they didn’t accidentally kill each other in the process.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Haneul replied, “Girl, keep dreaming. One day, you’ll be stuck with a husband and have to put up with his issues on top of your own. You leave one mess just to get another.” She cringed, sending herself and Eunsoo into fits of laughter.

“Yeah, well, maybe I will keep dreaming,” Yelim huffed, turning away from their group.

Namjoon reached out, touching Yelim’s elbow subtly and sending her a quizzical look. She glanced over and shook her head jerkily. A clear message that she didn’t want to talk about it. But she didn’t cling onto whatever mood she had fallen into, seeing all three girls in good spirits as they arrived at school.

His friends had tried their best to provide a sense of normalcy in the wake of uncle-Yoon’s appendicitis, plastering grins over their worries for his sake. With the vision of Jin’s face at the beach haunting his steps, Namjoon cherished the reprieve the girls offered.

Finding time to spend with Jin since uncle-Yoon’s surgery had been difficult, Soon’s family unit pulling in tightly to comfort each other as he returned home. Namjoon would be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little thankful for an excuse to run away.

Since when did Jin make him feel like this? It didn’t feel new, per se, but it felt like too much, surreal in the way that coming home after being gone for so long felt. Like everything should be different, but, really, he was the only thing that had changed. A feeling of jamais vu.

But he also felt like a giant idiot. Seokjin had always been like a security blanket for him, a solid wall of calming energy when he needed it most, an energetic deflection when he needed a distraction. Everything just made more sense with Seokjin at his side. But how deep did this feeling run? How much had he missed in not paying attention? His panic over finding Jin, the tears he shed over Jin’s bruised emotions; all pieces to a puzzle Namjoon wasn't sure he wanted to complete.

Yet tucking away these feelings during the day was surprisingly easy. Jin seemed the same as ever, unaffected by any inner turmoil during the few moments they did share. It didn’t hurt that the strange shifting anxieties lurking in the back of Namjoon’s mind only calmed in Jin’s presence. But guilt chased his heels as he left Jin for home.

Namjoon did his best to push it away, to box it up inside his heart where he didn’t have to deal with it, but little thoughts kept sneaking their way out. In the dark of Soon’s room, there were no distractions to hide behind, just the soft orange lights of the city outside trailing across the ceiling and the memory of Jin’s eyes, millions of colors hidden in deep brown irises painting little secrets for Namjoon to decipher. What were his eyes telling Jin in return?

A lie, Namjoon’s heart whispered. He wasn’t Soon, he never could be.

Understandably, it had been an extremely long week.

“I’m so glad it’s Friday,” Haneul sang as she tugged off her outdoor shoes.

“Agreed. When it’s this cold and dark in the morning, it’s so hard to get out bed,” Namjoon stated, giving his cubby a cursory glance. He startled a little when he saw an envelope waiting for him. Up until now, Namjoon had received a letter every other Friday morning, but he had received a letter last week. His admirer had broken his own pattern. “Guys, look,” he said.

The girls squealed, gathering around him as he tore through the flap and pulled out the note inside. Together, they read:

            To Jeong Namsoon—

            When you talk to other boys, do you hope he’s me?

            Don’t you know how jealous I’ll be?

            When you smile with the man at the convenience store,

            Don’t you know I could love you more?

            When you go to sleep at night,

            Don’t you want me to hold you tight?

            You’re the only one I see,

            Please just say you’ll be with me.

“Oh, my god, how the hell does this guy know about Jin?” Namjoon whispered, pointing at the line that referenced him.

“Okay, this is getting a little weird,” Eunsoo muttered.

“Very stalker-y, creeper vibes from this one,” Haneul added as Namjoon tucked the paper back inside. “I guess that’s something. Those are things we can add to the list of things we know about this guy.”

“Great, he likes my hair and my sneakers,” Namjoon held up two fingers. “He’s embarrassed to tell his friends about me,” he held up another. “And he’s stalking me after school. Super,” he said, brandishing his four fingers. “Things are not looking too good for me right now, guys.”

Wasn’t this supposed to be his answer to completing Soon’s list? Wasn’t this secret admirer the boy who was destined for Soon to fall in love with? Wasn’t the universe directing Namjoon towards this guy from the very beginning?

He couldn’t abandon Namsoon to some horrible, creepy dude who only cared about the fictional version of Soon he had conjured in his head.

Unbidden, Jin’s smile flashed behind his eyes.

“Hold on, though,” Haneul said, her voice chasing away the images in Namjoon’s head. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks. Pining isn’t always a cute look on everyone. Maybe he’ll simmer down once you actually get to know each other a bit. Some people can’t help but come on too strong.”

Eunsoo nodded. “That’s a fair point.”

“No, you’re right,” sighed Namjoon. “At the very least, I’ll hear the guy out. It’s easy to misconstrue something like a poem when you don’t know anything about the writer.”

“Ugh, just like Twitter,” Yelim added.

Namjoon’s day felt exceptionally average after living so long as Namsoon. He wrote line after line of notes, doodling little pictures or potential song lyrics in the margins whenever his mind wandered from the teacher’s words. By lunch, he had worked up an appetite for both the carefully packed lunchbox from Hobi-mom and for the mental break talking with his friends brought.

“Hey, did you see the new Line Friends sticker pack?” Haneul asked as the group pulled their chairs together.

“Oh, my god, the Christmas one? Wasn’t it so cute?” Namjoon cried.

“Yah, Jeong Namsoon-ssi.”

Namjoon’s head whipped around to see emo-type leaning casually in the classroom doorway. He motioned his head to the hallway in a way that reminded Namjoon of a dog command.

Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to fly with Namjoon. He stayed in his seat as he called back, “Can I help you?”

Emo-type smiled ruefully and said, “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

The girls turned wide eyes to Namjoon as he stood and followed emo-type out of the classroom. Emo-type led them to the stairwell, abandoned during the lunch hour.

“People are pretty bullshit, I think,” he said as he turned to face Namjoon. “They’re vapid and shallow, and I just cannot bring myself to care about them. But you,” he tilted his head back and looked at him sidelong. “You’re something else. I think I’ve written you enough of my feelings to convince you that I’m serious.”

“So, it was you,” Namjoon stated. His heart sank, but there was no shock of surprise within him at the revelation. The overwrought, weird vibes from each letter, it seemed perfectly obvious that emo-type had been the one to send them. “You’ve been writing those letters.”

Emo-type chuckled. “I know, it seems so prosaic of me, but even us intellectuals need an outlet. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Namjoon pulled a face as he muttered, “Uh, I guess?”

“So, now that I’ve convinced you of my love, I guess we’re dating now, right?”

“Wait, hold on,” Namjoon said, holding up both of his hands. “You haven’t convinced me of anything other than the fact that you want to date me. I’m going to need a lot more than that before I want to date you.”

Emo-type looked taken aback. “Oh.”

But alarm bells were ringing in Namjoon’s head. He had a time limit to finish by, and his secret admirer had been his only bet to finish item number four. “Look, how about we have a date and see where that leads, yeah? How does tomorrow work for you?”

Namjoon sighed heavily as he left emo-type in the stairwell, a coffee date added to his schedule for tomorrow. This guy was…not exactly the type he had in mind for Namsoon. He kicked at the ground a little as he walked, wondering idly what Jin would think of emo-type.

Out of the corner of his eye, Namjoon saw someone dart out to the hallway as he passed.

“Jeong Namsoon-ssi!” called jock-type as he jogged to his side.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Namjoon greeted him, trying to shake off the weariness that talking to emo-type had given him.

Jock-type rubbed at his jaw and smiled sheepishly at him. “So, I’ve heard some rumors going around, and I think it’s about time I came clean to you,” he said, head tilted down. “You might have noticed some anonymous gifts in your shoe cubby lately? Those were from me. I just really like you and wondered if you’d like to go on a date sometime?”

“What. The fuck,” Namjoon breathed.

***

“No!” Haneul gasped. “There were two secret admirers the whole time?”

“I feel like an idiot for not considering it, but, yeah, the flower and the chocolates were from Choi Byungsoo—jock-type—and the letters were from emo-type Kam Dongha,” Namjoon explained as they sat along the back wall in the ARMY clubroom, effectively ignoring the meeting in the process. “I should have been tipped off by the labels. Emo-type used my full name in cursive, while jock-type used my initials in print.”

“How crazy is it that they accidentally coordinated their gifts, though? Flowers with flowers, hearts with hearts. That’s an insane coincidence,” Eunsoo said.

“So, what now?” Yelim asked Namjoon. “Do you know who you prefer?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Namjoon sighed deeply and continued, “But, there’s a problem. I agreed to a date with emo-type first, then I was so confused by jock-type’s confession that I agreed when he said Saturday. Which is the same day I’m going out with emo-type.”

“Holy crap, what a mess,” Haneul tried to frown, but her giggles broke through.

“Can’t you cancel one?” Eunsoo asked.

“Well, I promised to give this admirer a chance, so. And, anyways, I’m meeting emo-type at 3 and jock-type at 4:30, so hopefully I can just bow out early with one to meet the other,” Namjoon said with a defeated shrug.

Yelim shook her head. “Just watch, this is going to be a complete dumpster fire.”

***

Cuty-Jimin grinned his little puppy smile as Namjoon pulled out various articles of clothing on Saturday morning. “If only Namsoon were here! She’d be so excited,” he said as he rolled onto his back with excitement.

“God, I wish,” Namjoon grumbled. “At least she’d have some fun today.”

“Uh, Noona?” brother-Tae called through the closed door before creaking it open. He glanced around the room as he stepped inside. “Were you just talking to someone?”

Sending Cuty a sideways glance, Namjoon replied, “Oh, you know, just talking to myself. Do you need anything?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go shopping with mom and me this afternoon, but it kind of looks like you’re busy,” he said, eyeing the piles of clothes on Soon’s bed.

“Man, I wish I could go, but I’m meeting someone after lunch.”

“Ooh, is it another not-date with Jinseok?” uncle-Yoon asked as he shuffled past the door on his way back from the bathroom. His hair was mussed from sleep, his body drowning in a fuzzy bathrobe, but his face looked healthy. Despite Hobi-mom’s worries, uncle-Yoon seemed to be recovering at breakneck speed.

“Again: I wish,” sighed Namjoon. Glancing at the clothes piled around the room, he said, “I actually have a real date—or dates, I guess—with some boys from school. Turns out I had two secret admirers all along.”

Uncle-Yoon gasped, “No way!”

“That’s kind of nuts, I’m not going to lie. It doesn’t sound like real life,” brother-Tae commented, voice filled with wonder.

“That’s probably because it isn’t,” Namjoon grumbled to himself, turning towards the bed to flop onto it face first. “Seriously, guys,” he addressed them with his face pressed into the down comforter. “I wish I was making this shit up.”

“Come on, it’ll be alright,” brother-Tae soothed, walking over to pat Namjoon on the shoulder. “Who knows, you might have a great time and actually get yourself a boyfriend in the process. Or it could be cringy and terrible, but then you can come home and tell us all about it.”

“Yeah, option two sounds great. Way funnier than option one,” uncle-Yoon said.

“Agreed!” cried Cuty-Jimin as he danced around brother-Tae’s feet and hopped onto the bed to snuggle into Namjoon.

“Ignore him,” muttered brother-Tae as he pulled Namjoon back into a sitting position. “Now, let’s figure out what outfit will absolutely knock them dead.” With a determined nod, brother-Tae strode over to Soon’s closet and ran his hands over the rows of hung garments.

Flopping onto the bed at Namjoon’s side, uncle-Yoon lifted a sweater from the top of the clothing pile. “Multiple dates in one day; Soon-ah, you’re one chaotic child,” he snickered.

Namjoon, Cuty, and uncle-Yoon watched as brother-Tae laid out shirts, skirts, and pants on the floor, arranging them to create different outfits in front of their eyes. He muttered under his breath as he yanked out different garments. Holding up a cardigan in front of Namjoon, brother-Tae squinted and said, “You have to look cool and casual, everyone can tell if you feel comfortable in your look or not.”

“Oh, is that all it takes?” Namjoon questioned as brother-Tae tossed the cardigan into the corner of the room with disgust.

“Maybe not all, but it’s a huge part of it,” he replied. His words were muffled as he dug around the back of the closet. “Half of fashion is confidence. Everything else is just chacun à son gôut.”

“Yeah, I got approximately none of that foreign junk,” uncle-Yoon stated with a shrug.

“It’s a matter of taste,” replied brother-Tae.

“Obviously, but I’m just saying that Spanish or Italian or whatever just isn’t my taste.”

Gathering the plaid dress, white floral sweater, and dark tights at his feet, brother-Tae raised a skeptical eyebrow over his round glasses. “Get with it, Uncle, that’s literally just what I said. ‘It’s a matter of taste’ in French,” he pushed the clothing into Namjoon’s arms. “Try this on, only put the dress over the sweater.”

When Namjoon returned from the bathroom wearing brother-Tae’s chosen outfit, he found the pair squabbling over Soon’s small jewelry collection. But their eyes betrayed their smiles as they bickered.

“Thoughts?” Namjoon asked, holding out his arms as he did a quick turn.

Cuty-Jimin danced at his feet, voicing his approval for Namjoon’s ears alone as brother-Tae nodded with a smug smile.

“Am I good or am I the best?” he declared.

“The best!” Cuty-Jimin cried with an excited wag of his tail.

But sniffles from uncle-Yoon pulled everyone’s attention, the man pressing his hand to his heart. “When did our baby Soonie turn into a young lady?” he spluttered, his chin going a little wobbly.

“Oh, my god,” brother-Tae chuckled as he pulled uncle-Yoon into a hug. “You’re such a sap.”

Scooping up Cuty-Jimin, Namjoon wrapped his arms around the pair as well.

“Thanks for all your help. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Namjoon said. Huddled together with Soon’s family, he really felt like he could handle this. He could make at least one of these dates a success and be one step closer to getting back to his own Bangtan family.

He had to.

***

Namjoon arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early, his hair neatly pinned up thanks to brother-Tae and with a ring on almost every finger thanks to uncle-Yoon. He took a moment to stake out the best spot in the building in the off chance that the first date went long, and he had to make a quick exit. After buying a small plate of bite-sized cakes to snack on as he waited, Namjoon settled at a table in the back of the store where he could see the front door, but the person sitting with him couldn’t.

Perfect for subterfuge.

At a quarter past three, Namjoon sank down in his chair and finally gave into the itch to text Jin.

Me

emo-type is officially late and I am: offended.

3:14 p.m.

Sighing, he pulled up Twitter and proceeded to scroll mindlessly, one eye trained on the front entry for any sign of emo-type. He was considering whether it would be better to complain to Yelim or brother-Tae via text when Jin’s messages popped into his notifications rapid fire.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

wow what a jerk move

are you sure this guy is really your secret admirer????

he should be going out of his way to be on time for you

i cant even

you deserve way better than that

3:39 p.m.

Me

maybe something came up? he hasn’t messaged me, so idk

3:40 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

wait hes still not there??????????

????????????

3:40 p.m.

Me

nope

wait, he just came in now. i’ll keep you posted

3:41 p.m.

With an unbothered smile, emo-type waved as he weaved through the tables towards Namjoon. Taking a moment to set aside his frustration, Namjoon tried for a smile as emo-type reached his table.

“Well, look who’s an eager beaver. Man, I was concerned that your uninterested act was for real,” he chuckled, flopping down onto the chair opposite Namjoon and hooking one of his arms casually over the back rest of his chair. “I even brought a book to read thinking I was going to be hanging around like an idiot waiting on you.” He slapped a pristine copy of Catcher in the Rye on the table between them.

“Um, I wasn’t early, you’re just extremely late,” Namjoon said. Reaching up to attempt to physically smooth his own furrowed brow, he tried once again for calm and composure.

“Oh,” emo-type shifted, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face for a moment before he fell back into his regular, cocky smile. “Guess I heard the wrong time. Well, I hope I can make it worth the wait. Let me get you something to drink.”

While Namjoon was a lot of things—excitable, passionate, easily embarrassed—he wouldn’t really put irritable on the list. But, god, it was hard not to get a little defensive when emo-type smirked at his coffee order and questioned whether people “actually drink stuff like that.” Even the barista winced at that line.

It didn’t help that he kept trying to crowd into Namjoon’s space as they stood waiting on their drinks, kept grabbing at his hand every time Namjoon went to pick up or set down his drink, kept smirking at everything Namjoon had to say. As emo-type critiqued Namjoon’s thoughts on Murakami’s writing style, he found himself wishing desperately to be anywhere but here.

Under the table, Namjoon pulled out his phone.

Me

i love discussing literature, don’t get me wrong, but i am not here for some dude telling me that my opinions are “wrong”

4:19 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

yiiiiiiikkkkkkeeessssss

do you need me to break you out??

im working on the north side of town but i could make an excuse to come kidnap you

4:22 p.m.

Me

lol no, i’ll be okay

thanks, though

4:22 p.m.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Namjoon tried to tap back into emo-type’s monologue enough to interrupt and disengage from this lackluster date before jock-type arrived.

“I think that his early works are way better, way edgier. People tend to get so soft as they age, it’s fucking depressing, you know? And—”

“Yeah, so, hey!” Namjoon said with a tight smile. “I really think I—”

A movement at the front entrance caught his attention. Jock-type had arrived perfectly on time, glancing around the store quickly—presumably looking for him. Namjoon shrank into his seat and covered the lower part of his face with his hands. Having overlooked him, jock-type settled into a table at the front of the shop, thankfully positioning himself towards the entrance.

“Uh, I’ll be…bathroom. Yeah,” Namjoon said in a rush. He darted down in that direction, halting by the door to the ladies’ room to glance back at emo-type. Ignoring his book, emo-type pulled out his phone.

Namjoon shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. How would a k-drama heroine handle this kind of shit? In the stupidest way possible, Namjoon’s mind supplied. Letting out a huff, he smoothed his skirt and wandered through the front of the store to jock-type’s table. “Hey, how’s it going?” he greeted.

“Namsoon-ssi! Hi, I didn’t see you come in.” Jock-type stood to give him a quick, light hug before leading him to the counter to order. “Do you know what you want?”

The barista raised her eyebrow at Namjoon. At his sheepish expression, she stifled a laugh and winked subtly at him. When Namjoon received his tea, she had scrawled "get it, girl!!” on his paper cup instead of his name.

“So, how’s your weekend?” asked jock-type as they settled back at his table.

Namjoon’s eyes kept darting back and forth from jock-type’s face and past his head to ensure that emo-type was still scrolling away on his phone. “It’s been alright, I guess. I got to hang out with my dog and my brother and uncle this morning, so that’s good.”

“Cool. I have a brother, too,” jock-type commented and sipped at his coffee. Namjoon waited for him to continue, but it seemed that he had nothing else to say about the subject.

Behind jock-type’s head, emo-type shifted, looking antsy.

As annoying as he was, Namjoon wasn’t eager to hurt emo-type’s feelings. And finding him with jock-type, ignoring his date with emo-type, in the same coffee shop? That seemed almost willfully cruel.

“Can you excuse me for a minute?” Namjoon asked, darting away to the bathroom before jock-type could respond.

Namjoon walked a wide circle within the shop to arrive back at his former table.

“Sorry, I was on the phone,” he gestured with Soon’s phone as he sat back down across from emo-type, him in the foreground and jock-type now sitting in the background.

“Truly, cell phones are the bane of modern life,” emo-type sighed as if he hadn’t been on his own phone the entire time Namjoon was away. “People have always been so inclined to mindless behavior, and phones capitalize on that.”

“But don’t you think it’s the peak of modern society that we can be so connected to each other, though? That our words and actions here in Korea can have a huge effect on people all over the world without us even needing to get out of bed,” Namjoon replied, his mind immediately thinking of armies across the world that posted all over social media about how Bangtan had helped them in millions of ways.

“Does it matter when people will ultimately use anything and everything to tear each other down? When everything humans have ever built has been for selfish purposes?”

Blinking rapidly, Namjoon frowned. “I think you’re making a lot of sweeping generalizations about human nature.”

“Who doesn’t?” emo-type shrugged. Over his shoulder, Namjoon could see jock-type keeping himself entertained by tapping on his cheeks, presumably making hollow mouth sounds in the process. The whole thing stank of boredom, and he was likely to turn to people-watching sooner rather than later, catching Namjoon red-handed in the process.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” Namjoon declared.

He flopped back down at jock-type’s table after a quick lap of the shop, ignoring the amused look the barista threw his way.

“Is everything okay?” jock-type asked at Namjoon’s heavy sigh.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just texting back my friend,” Namjoon waved his phone as his excuse again.

With a wide smile, jock-type laughed. “Dude, I feel you. My friends are always blowing up my phone. We’ve got this group chat—it’s got the best name. My dude, Sejong, named it the Ass Clowns, so that’s, like, kinda our group name now, and we’re always sending each other dumb stuff. You know, memes and stuff. It’s so great.”

“Sure, sounds like it,” Namjoon replied. He was pretty proud that he kept his startled laughter in when jock-type uttered the name “Ass Clowns” with all seriousness.

What the hell did a name like that even imply?

“I’d show it to you, but, uh. It gets a little raunchy, so…” jock-type scratched at the back of head with a shrug.

Namjoon nodded sagely, saying, “Thanks, no, I think I’m good.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Namjoon bit his lip and glanced back at emo-type in the silence between them. How had his life become this ridiculous? By process of elimination, jock-type was the last remaining man on the field for Soon, the only candidate who hadn’t essentially offed himself from the list by being an exceptionally clingy weirdo, but Namjoon could feel his own boredom clawing at the back of his throat.

You’d be having fun if Jin were here, his mind offered. Namjoon shook his head against the thought, even as he knew it was true.

You liked how you felt at the beach with Jin, it continued. Digging his fingernails into his palm, he pushed away the image of Jin laughing as he held the hermit crab, of Jin tapping his chin with the hint of a smile.

Why not? Like a mirage, he saw Jin shrouded in the darkness outside the Jeong house, standing so close that his breath would ghost against Namjoon's neck, lips parting softly as Namjoon leaned down...

Namjoon leapt to his feet.

He didn’t have time for this. He just…couldn’t. No, it was time to be decisive, on his behalf as well as Soon’s.

“Sorry, I’ll be just another minute, okay?” he said, glad at least that jock-type didn’t seem to be the type to get worked up by anything. He suspected that was likely due to the fact that jock-type didn’t seem to take much of anything all that seriously, but whatever.

Following the outside of the shop back to emo-type, hopefully for the last time, Namjoon sat back down, an apology already on his lips.

“Hey, look, this has been…a thing, but I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. I’m sorry,” Namjoon spoke with a bow of his head.

“But, wait, we were just getting to know each other,” emo-type protested, darting forward to latch onto Namjoon’s arm. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted?"

“Yeah, but I think I know enough now. I’m sorry.”

“So, this is how you want to play it? After everything I did for you? I put my heart on the line, I said I’d give you everything, that I loved you. Didn’t you read that in my letters?” emo-type demanded.

“Look, the letters were… The sentiment was nice, but did you read your letters? All you ever said was that you liked how I looked and how much you wanted me to like you back. All your letters ever really said was that you liked the image you created of me, not the real me. Not this me in front of you. You’ve made that more than clear every time we’ve spoken. 

“And, seriously, you think that this is love? This?” Namjoon motioned between the two of them. “Yeah, this ain’t it.”

Emo-type’s eyes narrowed. “Is this about that guy at the convenience store?”

“What?”

“Sure, he’s handsome and older, but is that all you really care about? I’m sure he’s just using you to stroke his ego, and you’re letting him. Fuck, and I really thought you cared about real emotional connection and intellect and taste—”

Namjoon pushed up to his feet and stood to his fullest height. Towering over emo-type, Namjoon pulled his wrist free from the boy with a glower. “If being his friend makes me a classless idiot, then, great! That’s what I am. Think whatever the hell you want about me, but, believe me, I’d much rather be his idiot than your girlfriend,” he said lowly.

Without a second glance, Namjoon yanked his coat from the back of his chair and stormed out of the coffee shop.

He powerwalked down the block in a random direction, hoping to disappear just in case emo-type wanted to trail him. Namjoon wasn’t certain what he’d do if he saw emo-type anytime soon, but he knew it would be nothing but trouble.

Yanking his phone out of his pocket, he saw a new message from Jin waiting for him.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

okay~~~

namsooooooniiiiiiiie fighting!! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

4:24 p.m.

A laugh burst from Namjoon’s chest, startling him slightly. His laughter petered out, and, weirdly, he felt tears prickling at his eyes. Everything emo-type had said had been based on farcical assumptions about who Namsoon and, by extension, Namjoon was. It was all bullshit, but it still stung to be talked to like that, to be treated like that.

Namjoon pressed the call button without even meaning to.

It rang a few times before it clicked home. “Soon-ah,” Jin greeted cheerfully over the sounds of cars in the background.

“Hey, Oppa,” Namjoon said, his voice much thicker than he was expecting.

“Is this a distress signal? Do you need me to kidnap you? Are you being kidnapped?” he said in a rush. Namjoon could hear his rapid footsteps in the background as the sounds of traffic receded.

But, somehow, Namjoon found himself smiling. God, Jin was… Well, he was Jin. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be okay, it’s just…” he exhaled heavily. “Dating kind of sucks, you know?”

Jin hummed, “Things didn’t go well today?”

“You could say that. The one guy had so much to say, but it was all to contradict me, and the other kind of has nothing to say at all. At least the second guy wasn’t a massive asshole.” Namjoon paused before slapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh, shit! I can’t believe I didn’t even say goodbye to him!”

With a startled laugh, Jin said, “You should probably go do that. When you’re done, call me back, okay?”

Namjoon nodded, even though Jin couldn’t see. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

***

“Even when everything in the world is terrible, hotteok will never let me down,” Namjoon said around a mouthful of dough. After timidly returning to the coffee shop to apologize and say his goodbyes to jock-type, Namjoon had waited for Jin and his so-called “food therapy,” which consisted entirely of them stuffing their faces with sweets.

Sitting huddled in the little park by Soon’s house, they cradled their containers of hotteok and watched the sunset paint the winter sky in baby pinks and oranges.

Jin was still wearing his delivery uniform cap, which he tipped back as he ate. “That should be the slogan of every hotteok vendor. Or put it on a t-shirt! ‘The world’s a garbage train, but at least there’s hotteok!’”

Leaning back and stamping his feet with laughter, Namjoon felt the tension of the afternoon bleeding away.

He reached up to swivel Jin’s hat backwards on his head and smiled as Jin’s face caught more of the light cast from the streetlights, his features cast in relief in the yellowed lights. Namjoon yanked his hand back, realizing suddenly how intimate his actions were. This felt like more of a date than either of the real ones he had today.

“Thanks for this. I really needed it after today,” Namjoon mumbled, tucking his traitorous hand beneath his thigh. “I feel like you’ve done nothing but look out for me lately—for my family, too.”

“I want to,” Jin shrugged. Taking another bite of food, he chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Life's good when you surround yourself with good people, but it’s even better when you can be good to them.”

Namjoon nodded, looking out at the darkening sky.

Everything on Soon’s To Do list was in pursuit of her own happiness, but was everything Namjoon was doing really for her? Or was he just acting selfishly? He hoped that, if he really could get home by new year’s, he was leaving Namsoon with the life she had always dreamed of, with the keys to her own happy ending.

Chapter Text

Jin was writing return shipping receipts in the driver’s seat, delivery van parked outside a restaurant in a neighborhood close to where the Jeong family lived, the sound of Mama playing quietly over the speakers. Namjoon hadn’t been able fight the grin on his face or the fluttering leap in his chest when he saw the van waiting at his bus stop after school, but something on Yelim's and Haneul’s faces when they recognized Jin made him feel pitiful somehow, chasing after any shred of affection Jin was willing to spare. Slouched low in the passenger seat, Namjoon tried to push his self-consciousness out the window and into the grey winter sky.

“You’re popular today,” Jin murmured at the sound of Namjoon’s text alarm.

“Yeah, I guess,” replied Namjoon, swiping away the flurry of questions from Haneul and hovering over the short texts jock-type had sent just after school had let out.

Choi Byungsoo

sup

do u evn remotely understnd wht were lernin in calc??? that sht whack

fyi bball prac is startin of i dont txt bak im not ignorin u

4:05 p.m.

Sighing gently, Namjoon turned off his phone screen. He didn’t even remotely have the energy for this.

Since his day of disastrous dates, it was like a dam had broken inside Namjoon’s brain, and all that was running out was Jin, just an endless parade of Jin. Every thought that popped into his head was wrapped in a thread that led back to him, creating a web of tangled cording that just spelled Jin, Seokjin, Jin, Jinseok like a song stuck on repeat in his head, like the beating pulse of his heart, like each breath. It felt inevitable, so essential to life that he had forgotten to notice it until now.

Namjoon had never drowned before, but the feeling of Jin filled him so completely every goddamn second of the day that it wasn’t really a stretch of the imagination.

Ripping off the receipt for the restaurant’s package, Jin turned in his seat. “Is everything okay? You seem…” Waving his hand vaguely in Namjoon’s direction, he screwed up his face in thought. “Tired? I don’t know.”

Namjoon let out a long breath, but couldn’t help the smile that Jin pulled from his lips thanks to his concern. “It’s been a long day, don’t worry,” he responded, belatedly realizing that his dumb, reckless hand was resting against Jin’s knee. As he pulled his hand back slowly, he knew that he couldn’t keep doing this.

When he left Jin at the delivery store, Namjoon let his feet drag a little as his mind raced in millions of directions. Had he let himself get too caught up in the pace, in the path this universe had set out for him?

***

Checking Namsoon’s Twitter was weird, to say the least.

She had a main account, one that she hadn’t touched or tweeted from in ages and another that was literally nothing but a solid timeline of BTS. Namjoon loved how embedded in social media Bangtan was, understood and respected fan culture, but that didn’t mean that looking at a bunch of thirst tweets about Jimin or Hoseok or whatever that were obviously written for other fans was how he wanted to spend his time. It felt invasive, a bit like he was peeking through the gap in a bathroom door. But he knew he had to bite the bullet as Bangtan’s new year’s break approached.

With less than a month left for him to check off all four items on Soon’s list, the pressure was mounting to get something—anything—finished to completion.

“Did you see the airport photos last night?” Haneul asked as they stood huddled at their bus stop on their way to school. “God, I love how everything Taehyung wears looks like literal fire.”

“Airport photos are the devil,” Yelim grumbled.

“I know!” Namjoon shouted, startling the girls. “There’s just this wall of people pressing in on you, and they’re all screaming your name, and the lights. Holy shit, the lights of all the cameras going off at once. It’s like a nightmare, only you have to walk through the damn thing like it’s nothing, like everything’s completely normal and great and perfect, or else Dispatch will write some weird ass article about how the band is going to break up or how you have a secret girlfriend or something. It’s all bullshit!”

The girls gave him three matching looks, eyes wide, mouths agape, eyebrows high.

“Um…I mean. That’s how I…imagine it feels for them,” he giggled nervously.

“Wow, Soon-ah, I had no idea you felt that way,” Eunsoo mumbled, leaning back as their bus pulled to a stop in front of them.

Haneul sighed a little as they boarded. “No, I know that airport photos aren’t good. It’s just nice to know they all made it back to Seoul safely and that they look healthy, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Namjoon said, linking his arm with Haneul’s. “Yoongi would say that it’s more a problem of capitalist society than with people themselves. When society treats something like a commodity, whether it should be or not, people start to treat it that way, too.”

“Sometimes you talk about Bangtan like you’ve met them or something,” Yelim mused.

“Speaking of meeting Bangtan!” Eunsoo interjected, much to Namjoon’s silent relief. “I saw on Twitter this morning that they’ve announced the date of the next fan meeting! And it’s so soon!”

Namjoon perked up immediately. A fan meeting would be a godsend to completing Soon’s list, an event that was already tailored to a quick interaction with Bangtan. And, honestly, it would be pretty fun to experience one from the Army’s side.

“Oh, my god, when?”

“Get this, it’s…” she paused with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way the others leaned in close with anticipation. “January 6^th!”

As Yelim and Haneul shouted with glee, Namjoon felt his heart sink.

It was like the universe couldn’t make up its mind. Was it going to help him out or was it going to metaphorically cockblock him at every freaking turn? It seemed like each time something was set in place to complete an item on Soon’s list, another rug was pulled from under his feet.

Namjoon could feel his frustration clawing up his chest and seeping into his bones as his morning classes wore on. By lunch, he felt ready to kick the universe in the face, regardless of the consequences.

If the universe wasn’t going to help him out, then, fine, he’d help his goddamn self.

Me

yo, oppa, do you have a night off this week?

11:57 a.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

i have thurs off

so day after tomorrow

tomorrow-morrow

also how is it only tues????

this week has lasted six decades already

12:13 p.m.

Me

would you be down to help me with something that night?

it’s mostly legal, i think. or maybe not? idk idc

12:14 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

(• ε •) sounds stupid

im in

12:15 p.m.

***

By the time Namjoon got off the bus from school Thursday afternoon, Jin was already waiting outside for him.

“You ready for shenanigans?” he asked as Namjoon jogged up and hopped onto the back of his bike. They coasted easily down the street, cutting down Namjoon’s already short walk home substantially.

“Hell yeah! Let’s do this thing.”

The past two nights were spent putting together a plan of attack, trying to set up contingency plans and excuses in case anything went awry. The absolute last thing Namjoon needed was to get Jin arrested or something.

As Jin slowed to a stop outside the Jeong’s, Namjoon hopped off his bike, ready to rush inside and change, but he hesitated for a moment.

“Do you want to wait inside while I change? It’ll only take a minute, but it’s cold out here, so,” he said as he walked slowly backwards up the front path to the house. Jin took a moment before following Namjoon.

“I’m home!” Namjoon called as he chucked off his shoes at the door.

“Welcome home, my daughter,” Hobi-mom sang as she leaned over the kitchen counter to see Namjoon race past, almost tripping over Cuty-Jimin underfoot, while Jin hovered in the doorway. “Jinseokie! Welcome!” Namjoon heard Hobi-mom say as he thumped up the stairs, taking two at a time.

He practically flung off his uniform and pulled on the dark outfit he had put together last night in preparation for today’s excursion.

“That’s so sweet that my Soonie is helping you shop for your mother’s Christmas present,” Hobi-mom said to Jin as Namjoon practically tumbled down the stairs. “She has excellent taste, but what can I say? She comes by it honestly,” she laughed as Namjoon slid by to pull on Soon’s black converse. He froze when he heard Hobi-mom cough delicately.

“Soon-ah, do you honestly think I’d let you two leave this house without feeding you a snack first?” she sighed.

“But mom!” Namjoon whined, letting his shoes clatter to the floor. “We can’t waste time, we have, like, a ton to do today before curfew!”

“I’ll only take a few minutes to eat, Namsoon-ah. Listen to your mother,” JK-dad stated from the dining room. His flat, commanding tone still sounded so foreign to Namjoon that it didn’t even occur to him to protest as he huffed his way to the dining table.

Hobi-mom ushered Jin to the table before flitting into the kitchen. “It won’t take long to throw together some triangle kimbap, not to worry, my daughter,” she said.

Namjoon pouted in reply, huffing as JK-dad ruffled his hair. He laughed as Namjoon slapped his hands away, then smiled over towards Jin. “How are classes coming along, son?”

Blinking slowly, Jin’s eyes looked glassy for a moment as he turned them to JK-dad. He cleared his throat and replied, “Everything’s going well. Really well.”

“Boring,” uncle-Yoon said as he shuffled over from the living room to flop into the seat next to Jin. “Who cares about classes? We all know they’re mind-numbing as shit. Here’s a real question: did you ever listen to that Tiger JK song I recommended?”

“Yeah, it’s so good, his lyrics are amazing.” Jin nodded excitedly as Hobi-mom set a plate in front of him, thanking her with a smile. He took a bite of kimbap before asking, “How’s the gig at that club going? I bet they missed you since you’ve been out sick.”

A strange, secretive kind of smile crept across uncle-Yoon’s face, making him seem more catlike than usual. “About that: they actually did miss me. Apparently, regulars have been complaining since I’ve been gone. At least that’s what the owner said when she called me yesterday and offered me a permanent gig.”

JK-dad’s chair crashed backwards as he leapt to his feet, practically charging around the table to heft uncle-Yoon into a bear hug. With a massive sob, Hobi-mom flung her arms around them both, wailing, “I’m so proud I could faint!”

“Please don’t,” uncle-Yoon wheezed.

Namjoon met Jin’s eyes across the table, laughing at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“Your family doesn’t hold back, do they?” asked Jin, his own bewildered giggles joining in as brother-Tae cautiously descended the stairs.

“Not really. But it’s more fun this way, I think,” Namjoon shrugged.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

After they had finished their snack, Namjoon herded Jin back to the front entryway to pull on their shoes, Hobi-mom hovering behind them.

“Have fun, you two! Be safe!” she called to them from the doorway as Namjoon pulled Jin out the door and down the walkway. “And call me if you need a ride home, okay?”

Waving her off, Namjoon rushed them down to Jin’s waiting bike. As he hopped on the rack over the back tire, he cried, “To the train station!” pointing forward like the captain of a ship.

There was something exhilarating about actually taking matters into his own hands, about throwing caution to the wind to finally, finally accomplish something on Soon’s list. Namjoon felt the first inklings of adrenaline as they flew down the main roads to the station, and, shit, it felt good. Felt like progress. Felt like running towards a finish line instead of simply treading water.

After a minor scuffle at the ticket machines—Jin insisting on paying despite the whole situation being Namjoon’s fault, culminating in Jin wrapping his arms around Namjoon in an attempt to stop him from using the ticket machine (it didn’t work)—they sat shoulder to shoulder as their train rumbled up the tracks to Hannam. It felt odd to be heading back to a place that he considered home, back to the part of the city that Kim Namjoon fit into like a crystal in a chandelier. But, after weeks and weeks of life as average girl Jeong Namsoon, traveling to Hannam felt like falling into another world.

The crowds flowed around them as Namjoon led Jin out of the station. A part of Namjoon’s brain that had lain dormant for a time revved back into life, easily picking out the designer labels on the clothing of the people around him.

“Okay, so you know where we’re going?” Jin asked, leaning gently into Namjoon in an effort not to brush against the crowd.

Namjoon took a moment to regain his bearings and nodded, “Yeah, it’s this way.”

Maybe it was more like emerging from underwater, the way that muffled sounds all brighten and burst at once. The lights, the shops, the people all came rushing into Namjoon’s consciousness. Not once since waking up as Namsoon did he feel like he was losing a part of himself, but maybe he had forgotten what it was like to slip so easily into a place like this.

Luckily, he hadn’t forgotten his way around.

“Okay, just a few more blocks,” Namjoon said as they passed the shopping district and into the part of the neighborhood dominated by tall, corporate headquarters.

Jin craned his neck to look at the tops of the buildings around him. “This feels crazier and crazier the closer we get,” he murmured to the sky. “Are you really sure that they won’t just shoot us on sight?”

“They definitely wouldn’t do that, it would cause way too much of a scandal,” Namjoon said as they rounded the corner to their destination.

“Big Hit,” he whispered, taking in the familiar building.

“We’re going to be shot and killed, I’m calling it right now,” Jin said with an air of resignation. “If you make it out alive, Soon-ah, tell my mother she’s amazing and wonderful, and I’ll miss her, but that I can cook better japchae than her.”

Rolling his eyes, Namjoon said, “Tell her yourself, Oppa. We’ve got this.”

Jin reached out to squeeze his hand. “Okay, I trust you.” He took a fortifying breath, letting it out slowly and saying, “Lead the way.”

It was a rare day that Namjoon entered the building through the front lobby, much preferring to use the private entrance on the side of the building which led directly past the practice rooms, studios, and recording booths. There would be no front lobby to sneak their way past, only a keypad.

One that Namjoon hoped like hell required the same passcode he had used the day he left his reality behind.

Jin’s nerves were beginning to show as he clung onto Namjoon’s arm as they slunk around the building and down the private drive. Even though he could feel his hands begin to shake, he knew he had to keep it together for Jin’s sake as much as his own.

“Okay, fingers crossed this works,” Namjoon mumbled to Jin as he reached out for the keypad. He entered the proper digits, going slowly to ensure he got everything right, and pressed the pound button.

The little light above the keypad flashed red.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded, typing in the number again frantically.

“So, now what?” Jin whispered as the flash of red illuminated the planes of his face momentarily.

With a panicky shrug, Namjoon mumbled, “I’ll try another code. I’ve got a limited number of tries before security comes, though—”

An explosion of bright white light erupted from beside them, cries of “Jeon Jungkook!” ringing out. Jin blinked rapidly, shaking his head a little as he looked for the source of the commotion. “Jeon Jungkook, who’s your friend?”

“Shit, it’s the paparazzi!” Namjoon hissed, his fight or flight instincts kicking in.

Grabbing Jin’s hand, he tugged them down the drive, veering down a narrow alleyway that Bangtan used occasionally on days when the paparazzi were being especially aggressive or days when they had all been too burnt out to smile nicely for the blinding rows of flash bulbs. He had hoped that would be enough to lose them, but, no, multiple men with cameras rounded the corner behind them.

“They’re everywhere,” Jin huffed as Namjoon lead them down a winding maze of blocks, dodging business people on their way out of their offices as the pair tore through the neighborhood with the shouts of the paparazzi at their heels.

Streetlights blinked on overhead in the dusky shadows between buildings.

As they rounded a corner, Jin veered hard to the right, dragging Namjoon with him. He flung them through a sliding door and pulled them to the far wall. From their protected position, they watched as a few of the photographers ran past. Jin leaned close into Namjoon’s side, their hands still joined. “I think we lost them,” he panted.

“Do you need a room?”

“Huh?” Namjoon grunted in response, jumping before looking around wildly at the lobby they had entered. A woman sat behind a wide desk and smiled at them knowingly, large display boards behind her advertised the hourly prices of rooms and showed colorful pictures of drinks and snacks. They had accidentally found a noraebang.

“You guys are here to sing, right?” she asked.

Glancing over to Jin at his side, Namjoon let out a slow breath, trying to regain his footing after their race from the cameras. The lobby was warmly lit, dark colors making the wide room seem cozy, the woman behind the desk waiting patiently for their brains to catch up with their bodies. They probably looked insane to her: two nobodies clinging to the wall and each other, red-faced and panting from outrunning the paparazzi. Namjoon squeezed Jin’s hand for a moment before stepping forward.

“Uh, sure,” replied Namjoon. “Just a half hour, please,” he said as he pulled out Soon’s wallet.

“I’ll throw in an extra fifteen,” she winked. “It’s been a slow night, and it looks like you need it. Right this way, please.” She beckoned them to follow her down a short hallway into a small room with a large screen, a table, and a black sectional couch. “Someone will be in to take your drink orders in a minute or two. Please enjoy!”

Jin bowed back slightly to the woman and looked around the parlor. “This is the nicest noraebang I’ve ever been to,” he muttered, voice still a little breathy after their mad dash down the streets. Picking up the drink menu, he perched on the couch as if he was afraid he would ruin it if he sat down too hard.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Namjoon shrugged, walking around to flop beside Jin.

After Jin had ordered them two Cokes, he leaned over the music booklet and flipped idly through the pages.

“I’m sorry about wasting your time tonight,” sighed Namjoon. He sank back into the couch dismally. “I don’t know why I thought this would work, I just…I don’t know.”

“It’s alright, it was worth a try. What I’m curious about, though, is why you felt like you had to do this in the first place. You might be a little impulsive, but you’re not thoughtless, that’s just not who you are.” Jin tilted his head to look at Namjoon sideways, saying, “Every big risk you take is a calculated one, one that you think is worth trying for. What I don’t understand about all of this is what you have to gain here.”

Namjoon sunk even further into the couch. “You’re going to think I’m an idiot,” he muttered, looking away.

“I promise I’ll only laugh at you a little bit,” Jin smiled as he patted Namjoon’s knee.

“Fine,” Namjoon sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling as he sorted through his thoughts. How much could he afford to tell Jin? “So, you know how some people have a new year’s resolution? Something they want to accomplish or whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“This is kind of the opposite of that. I have a whole list of things I want to do before next year, all things that I know I’m capable of doing, even though they might be hard. Meeting someone in BTS is on the list, but there are no fan events until next year. I know it makes no sense, but I need it to happen before new year’s eve, or else it won’t count.”

Jin pouted a little. “I’m not going to lie, that sounds just a little bit beside the point.”

“I know, I know,” Namjoon shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m committed now, so.”

“I don’t know anyone as committed to finishing something they’ve started as much as you,” Jin smiled softly. “But! We’re at a noraebang, we’ve got time to kill, and we’ve got nothing better to do. What would you rather sing first: Bangtan or Drake?”

Namjoon let some of his frustration go with a laugh and picked up the microphone from the table.

“Surprise me.”

***

When their time was up, their faces red from laughter and throats raw from singing their hearts out, Namjoon and Jin slowly edged out onto the sidewalk outside.

“Do you see any photographers?” Jin asked, peering out at the dark streets.

“Nope. I think we might be okay.”

“Hey, I was going to ask. I wasn’t lying to your mom, I don’t actually know what I want to get my mom for Christmas. Any thoughts?” Jin asked as they meandered back towards the train station.

“What do you usually get her?” Namjoon questioned back. He glanced into different stores and shops as they passed.

“Useful stuff, mostly. Obviously nothing too expensive, Christmas isn’t that big of a deal, it’s just nice to get her something to let her know I’m thinking of her, you know? Like a scarf or socks or meat.”

“Of course you’d buy your mother meat for Christmas,” Namjoon chuckled, staggering a little when Jin bumped into him playfully.

“Hey, meat is a great present! I’d love to get some meat for Christmas!”

Namjoon snickered, “That’s one million percent the worst way to put that, holy shit.”

“So rude,” he grumbled, pulling his hands from his pockets and rubbing them together.

“Did you forget your gloves?”

Jin glanced over, then ducked his head. “Yeah. Don’t worry, though, my hands aren’t that cold.”

“Here, put this on your far hand,” Namjoon yanked off one of his own gloves, handing it to Jin. After he begrudgingly pulled on the glove, Namjoon slid their ungloved hands together and intertwined their fingers. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t stop himself. He knew that his face was doing something awful and open and honest, painting his feelings across his cheeks, spilling secrets from his eyes. “Now we’ll both be warm,” he mumbled.

Jin hummed softly, refusing to meet Namjoon’s eyes. After a moment, he tucked their entwined hands into the pocket of his coat. “There, even better.”

There had always been a gravity that Seokjin gave off that drew Namjoon to him, a feeling that he had spent so many years of his life ignoring that it felt buried in scar tissue. Something in his presence that seemed to fill in the gaps in Namjoon’s mind, that helped him sort through tangles of thoughts into neater, woven threads. And, shit, he knew what it was. Maybe he had always known what it was, but it had always been too soft, too dangerous, too risky to hold onto. He wasn't allowed this, not back home where the whole world was watching his every move, Bangtan's every move.

But here?

As he walked alongside Jin, it almost felt as if Seokjin—his Seokjin—was the one holding his hand. Maybe that could be enough. Just the slightest taste, the barest idea of what he couldn't have back home. At least you have this, his selfish heart whispered. At least he knew what it felt like to have Jin pressed to his side. At least Namjoon could still have some facsimile of his Bangtan family with him now that he was effectively stranded here.

No meeting with BTS, no going back home.

As they passed a barbecue place, Namjoon could picture all of the times they had rented out the back room, drinking, talking, and eating as a group after a long day of work. Now, they probably couldn’t even afford the cover charge on Soon’s allowance and Jin’s hard-earned wages. Still, he mentioned, “The short ribs there are some of the best I’ve ever had,” as they walked past.

“Are you trying to make me sad and hungry?” Jin whined. He stopped short to glance at the menu. “I know it’s kind of boring, but it’s my dream that one day I could afford to eat at a place like this just because—not because it’s some special occasion that I’ve saved up for, but just because.”

Namjoon squeezed Jin’s hand, still tucked into his coat pocket. “I think that’s a pretty nice dream.”

A small group of beefy, darkly clothed men ambled out of the restaurant in front of them, glancing around the street and motioning back passerby. A large white van pulled up to the curb.

“Is there going to be a mob hit?” Jin whispered, watching with wide eyes.

“Shit, is this what I think it is?” mumbled Namjoon to himself.

Any idol, any group, any celebrity in the entirety of Korea could be about to leave this particular restaurant. There was absolutely no way that the universe would give him this chance, not after his mess of a night. No one had such indecisive luck.

Two figures walked out of the restaurant, and Namjoon swore his heart stopped.

It was Jungkook and Jimin.

Only something felt off, like he was standing at a bit of an angle. Still, this was his motherfucking chance, but his brain had already ground to a halt, the Windows shutdown jingle playing in his head like a swansong.

Not-Jungkook was stepping into the van when not-Jimin glanced down the street at a car speeding by. His eyes were covered by a huge pair of sunglasses despite the fact that it was well after sunset by now, but Namjoon still felt his eyes travel over to where he stood with Jin.

Not-Jimin reached out to get not-Jungkook’s attention, pointing towards them excitedly.

“What the fuck,” Namjoon breathed as not-Jimin and not-Jungkook convened momentarily with their bodyguards and strolled over.

As they stopped in front of Namjoon—not-Jimin pushing back his sunglasses and not-Jungkook pulling down his facemask—everything slotted into place. They weren’t some bizarro versions of Bangtan like Jin at his side or Soon’s family at home; instead, Namjoon found himself face-to-face with the bizzaro versions of Jimin and Jungkook’s older brothers.

“See, I told you he looks just like you!” not-Jimin laughed, gesturing to Jin.

Jin bowed politely and said, “I’ve been getting that a lot lately, actually. It’s nice to meet you. My friend is a big fan.”

Realizing suddenly that he was the friend in question, Namjoon bowed hurriedly. “Yes! Wow, Bangtan, this is such an honor,” he said, bowing again. His brain was firing a mile a minute. Was his sister this universe’s RM?

What the absolute fuck.

“Can we take a selca? This is amazing, you look like my twin or something,” not-Jungkook asked with his phone already in hand.

Not-Jimin crowded their groups together for the photo, Jin and not-Jungkook at the center, all smiling brightly at the camera. At not-Jimin’s prompting, Namjoon handed Soon’s phone to not-Jungkook, blushing at the BTS lock screen that he had never bothered to replace.

Jin and Namjoon bowed again as the brothers moved away, waving as they went.

“My mom will love this! Thanks!” not-Jungkook called as he climbed inside the van.

“You guys are cute!” shouted not-Jimin with a finger heart. “Don’t catch a cold tonight!”

With a wave, Jin called back, “Thank you!”

As the bodyguards closed the van doors and filed away from the restaurant, it was almost like the whole incident had been a hallucination.

But Namjoon clutched the proof in his hand.

“Did that just happen?” he murmured, shaking his head a bit as he looked at the selca not-Jungkook had taken.

Jin laughed as he threw his arms around Namjoon, jumping as he did so. After a moment, Namjoon gave in to his excitement, clinging onto Jin as they hopped in a circle, laughing like maniacs.

“That happened, Soonie! That just happened! One item down!”

“Hell yeah! And three more to go!”

***

They sat in the back of the train car, their only travel companions an older woman reading a novel with a few shopping bags at her feet and a group of junior high boys likely coming home from an internet café if their tired eyes were anything to go by. “They seemed nice for being celebrities,” Jin mentioned as Namjoon emailed him a copy of the selca at their last stop before they arrived back in their neighborhood. 

Namjoon couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little. “We talked to them for literally a minute.”

“Yeah, but I got a good feeling from them. Like I already knew that they were good people, almost,” he shrugged. “They were giving me good vibrations or auras or whatever you kids say nowadays.”

“We say none of that, thank you very much,” Namjoon chuckled.

The train rolled to a slow stop, letting them out into a quiet station, the ticket masters and cleaning staff already gone for the night. Outside, Jin’s bike looked almost abandoned in the maze of empty bike stands.

“I’m not going to lie, I was pretty sure from the beginning that your plan wasn’t going to work, but, man, I can’t believe it kind of accidentally did,” Jin laughed as he pedaled up the incline towards Soon’s part of town. “And that we didn’t get arrested! Or killed!”

Namjoon hopped off the bike to jog behind and help Jin push it uphill. “I know! If the woman at the noraebang hadn’t given us those extra minutes, we would have missed them entirely.” He huffed before continuing, “I know that coincidences are just a natural side effect of the world being a giant, chaotic mess, but I still kind of can’t believe it!”

At the crest of the hill, Jin slowed enough for Namjoon to slide back onto the bike rack. Namjoon was still riding too high on adrenaline to question himself as he reached around his waist to bury his hands in Jin’s coat pockets, Jin wearing his gloves at his insistence.

“I feel like these kinds of coincidences might not be so random or chaotic when it comes to you, Soon-ah,” Jin said over his shoulder as they sped towards home. “I mean, the first time we really talked was because you happened to be at just the right place at the right time to prevent me from getting run over.”

“Was that coincidence, though, or just luck? I don’t know.”

“Well, then, I guess you’re my lucky charm,” Jin chuckled, turning onto Soon’s street and braking just outside the front gate.

“Keep them,” Namjoon said as Jin went to take off Namjoon’s gloves. “You can return them later. Can’t have you getting frostbite on your ride home.” Glancing back at the brightly lit home, he asked, “Actually, do you want to come inside before you go?”

Jin smiled and shook his head. “It’s okay. I have a bit of reading left for my management course tomorrow, I should head home and work on that.”

“Alright, well, you know the drill: text me when you get home, don’t work yourself too hard.”

Despite having said their pieces, Namjoon hovered by the front gate, watching the way the streetlights made Jin’s hair appear like it had been painted in gold, the way it caught on his lashes. But something about the light made it hard for Namjoon to read Jin’s eyes. Maybe it was like cloudy water disguising the variety of life within; you had to feel your way there without sight.

“Goodnight, Soonie,” Jin murmured.

There were a million things Namjoon was desperate to say, but he knew if he let a single word fall from his lips, he would never be able to stop himself again. If he took that bite, the taste would live on his tongue forever. This had to be enough for him.

“Goodnight, Oppa.”

Namjoon watched Jin until he disappeared from sight.

Cuty-Jimin must have heard Namjoon approaching, the dog leaping at him when he opened the door. “Joon! Where have you been? It’s so lonely when you’re not around!” he cried as he squirmed into a more comfortable position in Namjoon’s arms.

“I’ve missed you, too, Cuty,” Namjoon replied as he set the dog down to unlace his shoes.

“Welcome home, again, Soon-ah,” JK-dad greeted over Cuty-Jimin’s yelps of excitement. “You missed supper time, but mother left out a portion for you.”

“Thanks, dad,” Namjoon said.

A tray laden with food sat at Namjoon’s place at the table, while the rest was crowded with sketches that brother-Tae was rearranging in various ways. Bold slashes of colors cut across most of the papers, creating a map of blues and greens and yellows radiating around the tabletop.

“What’s all this?” he asked brother-Tae as he sat down to eat.

Brother-Tae pushed back his glasses to rub his eyes and said, “My school wants to have an art display at our school festival, but I need to make sure that my compilation of sketches is absolutely perfect. It has to be a cohesive collection.”

Using his elbow to turn a piece next to him to look at more clearly, Namjoon commented through a mouthful of rice, “Man, these are all really good, though. You can’t really pick a bad one.”

“That’s what I said,” JK-dad sighed as he placed a bowl he was washing onto the drying rack. “But Tae-yah insists that our opinions are irrelevant, because we’re—what did you say? Highly biased? Incredibly biased?”

“Exceptionally,” brother-Tae muttered. He replaced one sketch with another and shook his head vigorously.

“Hey, so, funny story,” Namjoon said, watching JK-dad wipe off his hands on a dish towel. “Jin and I accidentally ran into BTS’s Jimin and Jungkook in Hannam today. We got a selca and everything.” He held out Soon’s phone with the photo displayed. The look on Namjoon’s face in the picture was a little shell-shocked, but he still considered it a solid photo overall.

“What!” brother-Tae shouted. Yanking the phone from Namjoon’s hand, he muttered, “That’s crazy, how is this real life?”

Peering over brother-Tae’s shoulder, JK-dad whistled. “That Jinseok really does look like Jungkook, doesn’t he? I didn’t see it at first, but, wow, your mother’s right.” He paused for a moment, ignoring Namjoon’s resigned groan of frustration at his words. “Please don’t tell her I said that.”

“Too late!” Hobi-mom giggled as she swept into the dining room, pecked JK-dad on the cheek, and pulled the phone from brother-Tae’s lax fingers. “You live such an exciting life, my daughter! You lucky ducky. I would have absolutely died if it were me!”

“You’ve been wanting to meet BTS for forever. It was only two members, but, still, how cool,” brother-Tae marveled.

There was a surreal sheen to the conversation: a member of Bangtan being congratulated by Bangtan for meeting BTS. Still, Namjoon was beginning to realize how elusive they seemed for their fans. He really was lucky to have met any of them at all.

JK-dad nodded with a grin. “Well, now you can officially cross that off your bucket list.”

Namjoon grinned right back.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Chapter Text

Very few things had ever felt as good as crossing item number one off of Soon’s To Do list. There was a kind of finality to the thick black line Namjoon drew over “meet a member of BTS” that reignited his drive, that filled him with determination to keep racing towards his goal.

He had been climbing up this mountain so doggedly that he hadn’t yet taken the time before to stop and see how far he had come, but, with one item completed and one item just waiting on his exam results, Namjoon felt like he had somehow made it further than he thought. Like he was maybe finally nearing the summit. Like he could actually make it home.

But even as he threw himself into practicing various songs for the talent show, Namjoon found himself fixating on all the things that weren’t quite right yet. His movements were usually too aggressive, more designed for huge stadium shows in front of massive audiences than a school talent show. Every song he practiced seemed lacking somehow, even as he felt the words of each love song shaping into a picture of Jin in his voice. Music had always been his honesty, the home of his buried secrets, but Namjoon wondered if maybe he was carrying too many.

So, he did what he always did when he was uncertain; he buried himself in work. At school, he powered through lectures with renewed vigor, taking meticulous notes and laboring over every assignment. Namjoon wasn’t avoiding thinking about anything, he reassured himself, he was just…motivated. He was fine, everything was good, no problems here.

Unfortunately, he had underestimated how well the girls knew him at this point.

“Is everything okay with you, Soon-ah?” Eunsoo asked as they cleaned the chalkboard at the end of the day. Namjoon had been in an almost blissful state of nothingness, so focused on a smudge that refused to be scrubbed away from the corner of the chalkboard that he had momentarily been able to put aside the swirling, pulsating mess of thoughts tangled in his brain. “You’ve been off in your own world a lot lately.”

“Do I not seem okay?” Namjoon countered, his tone sharper than he meant it to sound. He took a deep breath to center himself. Just because he didn’t want to talk about legitimately anything wasn’t an excuse to snap; the last thing he wanted was to push his friends away just because they cared enough about him to want to help. “Sorry, I promise everything’s fine, there’s just a lot going on right now. Jin keeps telling me that I should eat more fish—something about the oils is supposed to help with regulating moods or hormones or something? Or so he claims. I think he just doesn’t want to go out to eat seafood alone.”

“Is that so?” Haneul muttered, one eyebrow raised skeptically as she swept around their feet. “You have to admit that it sounds like someone is a little jealous of you dating Choi Byungsoo.”

Namjoon let out a startled laugh, odd and high pitched. “What? Nah, he just…really loves seafood. He doesn’t…” Shaking his head, he turned back to the annoying little smudge. “And, besides, going on one date doesn’t mean I’m dating jock-type.”

“Whatever you say,” Eunsoo shrugged.

Hope was a dangerous thing, Namjoon knew that firsthand. It made even the most rational person reckless and idiotic and—if the feeling was left to fester—delusional, and he couldn’t risk that. Not if he wanted his heart to make it home in one piece. And, yet, he couldn’t stop watching Jin more closely than usual, looking for a sign, a clue, anything. Drank in the way Jin’s eyes curved with genuine feeling when they spoke, followed his line of sight as Namjoon revolved around him, memorized the way Jin would pull in close only to slip away once he knew he had caught Namjoon’s attention.

Jin seemed as normal as ever, but something indecipherable had shifted between them. A tension, something pulling under the surface of their interactions. The temptation to simply reach out, to cling to Jin with everything in him grew stronger each day, and it ached. It tore through Namjoon’s paper thin defenses and burned up his inhibitions like a meteor arching against the night sky.

It doesn’t matter, he kept telling himself as he chased sleep at night. It doesn’t matter, he chanted mentally as the girls chattered during their morning commute. It doesn’t matter, he thought as he watched for jock-type at school and did his best to greet him whenever possible.

It didn’t matter whether he had a chance with Jin, because he would never have a chance with Seokjin.

One day the ache would dull away to nothing, when it wouldn’t be so painful to think of seriously pursuing someone besides Seokjin. One day it would be easy to put those feelings for him to bed, but, holy shit, what Namjoon wouldn’t give to have that happen right now.

“…and then the building straight up explodes, and he, like, rappels off the building using a freaking firehose, and it’s so ‘effing rad. Promise I’ll show it to you sometime, you’d love it,” jock-type said. He had spent that past twenty minutes meticulously describing his favorite movie, some actioner from the 80s that Namjoon had never heard of, but he just didn’t have it in him to care enough to pay attention. Namjoon was trying so freaking hard to just get item number four handled that he had willingly sacrificed a lunch with the girls to eat with jock-type in the stairwell, and it was going about as well as he had hoped it would.

“Namsoon-ssi? Would you like that?”

“Huh?” Namjoon shook his head, taking a minute for his brain to pull the conversation from the background to the foreground of his mind. “Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Action movies are pretty cool, so sure.”

“Great. I don’t think I could date anyone who doesn’t like the same stuff as me.”

“Like, at all?” Namjoon asked. “Like, you want to date someone who feels the exact same way about everything as you?”

Jock-type screwed up his face in thought. “Well, maybe not everything, but whoever I date needs to like my favorite movie and my favorite song and my favorite food and stuff like that, or else she’ll be pretty miserable, I think. I’d just be enjoying my stuff, but she won’t be. That doesn’t seem cool,” he said slowly, trying to articulate feelings that he seemingly never had to put words to before.

“I guess that makes some sense,” Namjoon shrugged. “Still, I think it’s a good thing for people to have things that they enjoy on their own, that are separate from their boyfriend or girlfriend or maybe even their friends, too. They don’t have to love everything you love, they just have to respect your opinion.

“I mean, I like modern art—you know, the kind of stuff that’s really saying something, socially or politically. And I have this friend who isn’t really into art at all, but I always feel like I gain something whenever we talk about the shows I’ve been to; a different perspective, something I maybe never would have thought of before. That’s why he’s one of my best friends,” Namjoon tapered off, scowling at his feet as his own words caught up to him. Of course the comparison he’d pull would be between himself and Seokjin, because, surprise, surprise, he was absolutely fucking terrible at ignoring the one thing he wanted to ignore right now.

“Wow, Namsoon-ssi, I knew you were, like, really smart, but you’re really, really smart,” jock-type sighed dreamily.

Namjoon smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes.

“He’s nice, but that’s literally all I can say about him,” he sighed to Yelim and Haneul as they walked to the bus stop after school. “His personality is like white bread or cardboard or elevator music; he’s just kind of…there.”

“That seems maybe a little harsh,” Haneul winced.

“True, but sometimes you have to be brutally honest,” Yelim nodded. “If you’re not feeling a connection, then maybe you need to let the guy down easy and move on. You can’t force yourself to feel something that you’re not, it’s that simple.”

“If only it was,” Namjoon sighed to himself, thinking of Soon’s list and how soon new year’s eve was coming as they paused at his bus stop. “Thanks for letting me vent, though, I know it’s annoying to listen to.”

Haneul gave him a quick hug, “It’s okay, that’s what friends are for.”

Physical affection from Haneul was an everyday occurrence, but Namjoon was startled when Yelim with her mile-wide personal bubble went in for a hug, as well. “We should talk. I’ll text you later,” she whispered before letting Namjoon go. Despite his confusion, he nodded subtly, trying not to tip off Haneul.

The entire bus ride home was spent mulling over Yelim’s request.

Was she okay? Why the need for secrecy? She was almost attached at the hip with Haneul, so then why did she want to talk to him alone?

Namjoon practically sprinted from the bus terminal to the Coco, anxious to talk to Jin. To be fair, he spent most days filled with a growing impatience to see Jin, to hear Jin, to exist near Jin, but he needed his reassurance more than ever today. When his eyes landed on him, drowning in a hoodie and nodding along as he counted change for a woman buying what looked like fifteen bags of squid jerky, Namjoon felt the sliver of worry slide to rest more easily in his chest.

“I hate not knowing what she needs to talk about. I’m just…” Namjoon shrugged. “I guess I’m just a little scared.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re a good person to talk to, so maybe she just has some problem she needs a second opinion on or needs some advice,” Jin assured.

Namjoon kicked his legs out as he tipped his head back towards the ceiling. “I hope you’re right.”

Jin tapped the inside of Namjoon’s wrist gently and said, “Of course I’m right. I know you’re going to anyways, but try not to overthink it. Here, why don’t I give you something better to think about?” He marched around the counter to stand in the clearing in front of the registers and began singing Gee at the top of his lungs, dancing emphatically as he acted out the lyrics.

And it was bad, but in the best way. Namjoon was already laughing at listen, boy! but he absolutely lost it as Jin pantomimed you’re so, so handsome. He folded in on himself as he laughed, tears in his eyes as he pressed his hand over his mouth. Trying desperately not to fall from the counter, Namjoon almost missed the little bultaoreune sounding in his pocket underneath Jin singing gee, gee, gee, gee, baby, baby, baby.

✧Yelim ✧

Hey. My dad said I could meet you after cram school tonight. Can we meet at 8 at the cafe next to the terminal?

5:22 p.m.

Me

i’ll be there

5:26 p.m.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Jin said, just barely brushing his fingers along the lock of hair tucked behind Namjoon’s ear as he readied himself to walk home. “And, if it isn’t, you can call me to complain anytime.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Namjoon mumbled. Wrapping his hand around Jin’s forearm, he soaked in as much calm as he could from him. Namjoon wished like hell that he could curl up somewhere and just yearn and mope and crave, but, instead, he plunged himself into the chill night air.

Even though Jin had lulled some of his worries, his stomach grew unsettled throughout supper and the walk back to the terminal. His whistle necklace bounced on the outside of his coat just in case he would need it in the dark walk, a steady pace against chest. Had Yelim found out about the To Do list and wanted to confront him about it? Or, shit, had she finally realized that he wasn’t Namsoon at all? Once he had been hoping for someone, for anyone to notice he was a boy, but the thought of being exposed now felt wrong somehow.

Yelim was at the back of the café, her school uniform still on, when Namjoon stepped inside. He waved to her before ordering a drink and heading over to her table.

“Hey, Yelim-ah, how’s it going?”

“I’m fine, Namsoon-ah. Thanks for meeting me,” she said. Nothing about her seemed different from normal, her face was smooth with calm and her posture relaxed. But he saw a tiny crack in her facade as she took a slow, somewhat shaky breath and stated, “So, I’m just going to be blunt with you.”

“Okay?”

“Are you lesbian?”

Namjoon felt his jaw slacken as he blinked at Yelim’s serious face.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t call you out here to judge you or make fun of you, because that’s…” She bit her lip, glancing away. “That would be a horrible thing to do as a person and as your friend…and also really hypocritical of me,” she finished lowly.

Hypocritical?

“Yelim-ah, I’m…” Namjoon began, racking his brain for how to handle this kind of situation.

This was one hundred percent not the conversation he thought he was walking into.

What kind of answer should he give to her? He had no idea what Soon identified as, but Yelim deserved honesty, earned it for being his friend as well as Soon’s. So, taking a slow breath, he gave the only honest answer he could provide: his own. “I'm not lesbian, but I am bi, so.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “That’s cool. I just thought that, after everything with the secret admirers, maybe you weren’t all that into boys.”

“Huh, I mean, I can see that.” Namjoon chuckled, “But, to be fair, if these guys were the only options, I don’t think anyone would be that into boys,”

Yelim laughed softly, “No, it might just be you. Haneul would probably still date any one of your admirers in a heartbeat, but she’s convinced she’ll be alone forever, so maybe she’s not the best comparison.”

“Why would she think that? Haneul is the best.”

“You know how she is,” Yelim shrugged. “She can only see what she thinks are wrong about herself: she’s not a size 0, her face is too round, her clothes aren’t expensive enough, and whatever else stupid fashion magazines have hold her to be ashamed of. She’s horrible at figuring herself out, but it looks like she’s fantastic at reading everybody else.”

Shifting in his seat, Namjoon tucked his hands under his thighs to keep from fidgeting. Yelim always spoke with a casual confidence, but something in her words felt almost pointed. “I’m assuming you’ve talked about me, then?”

“A little. And, honestly, it was kind of hard not to some days. You spent all this time tracking down a secret admirer who you never seemed that into, trying to date guys who you never seemed to like all that much, and for what? I assumed you were in denial, but about the wrong thing.”

"Denial?" he asked faintly.

At Namjoon’s imploring look, Yelim leaned forward and said, “About Jin. You've really spent this whole time hung up on your delivery boy, haven't you?”

It felt like all of the blood had drained from his body. How fucking transparent had he been?

“…How?” Namjoon squeaked, mouth gaping.

Yelim smiled down at her coffee mug. “Haneul’s going to lose it, she loves being right. Looking back, though, it does make sense.” She looked at Namjoon calmly and said, “I mean, you talk about pretty boy Jin literally all of the time. Honestly, it seems a little weird that you're not dating him already.”

Namjoon felt his shoulders sag. “I wish it was that easy,” he murmured. He bit his lip as he swirled the tea in his mug and watched Yelim fully relax now that she had said her piece.

If Haneul had guessed his feelings after only knowing Namjoon for less than two months, how obvious had he been back home? How many people had seen through the excuses he had built to deceive himself, how many people had read his heart better than he could himself? Namjoon felt like he had plunged into a pit of existential dread at a sudden thought.

Did Seokjin know?

Seokjin could act with such subtlety and skill that sometimes it was hard to know when he was even doing so, but had he been good enough to plaster over Namjoon’s feelings? If he knew, though, then why weren't things awkward between them? Strange and stilted instead of the comfortable, easy solace the two of them shared. It had to have been a lucky guess on Haneul and Yelim's part.

Namjoon pushed the thought into the back of his mind, fully knowing that he would have hours to obsess over it that night as he lay curled in bed, longing for sleep to whisk him away from all this confusion.

“Hey, thanks for trusting me, though” he stated softly. “You’ve been such a good friend to me, and I’m really glad you feel comfortable telling me these things. I hope I can be that good of a friend to you, too.” A part of him wished that he could pat her hand or squeeze her shoulder in reassurance, but he figured that holding back would make her more comfortable.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled down at her lap. “I was going to tell you soon, anyways, because, well…” A secretive smile pulled at her lips.

“No way!” Namjoon gasped, leaning forward. “Are you seeing someone?”

When Yelim nodded, Namjoon slapped his hands to his cheeks and shrieked in delight.

“We started talking in ARMY Club a few months ago and just kind of clicked,” Yelim murmured under Namjoon’s cries.

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

When they parted ways at Soon’s street after spending the rest of their evening talking about Yelim’s new girlfriend, Namjoon found himself floating down the path home with the delight of secondhand happiness. There was nothing like that pure joy that came from good things happening to someone he cared about.

“Did you have a nice time with your friend?” JK-dad asked as Namjoon practically skipped inside.

“Yeah, I did,” Namjoon replied as he flopped onto the couch at his side. “It seems like the world isn’t a complete garbage train after all."

***

But Namjoon’s good mood wasn’t destined to last.

“Good morning!” he called brightly to the girls as he ran down the front path. But only Yelim graced him with a smile as he met them at the gate. “Um, is everything okay?” he wondered, looking from face to face.

“I don’t know, is it?” Eunsoo asked.

“You sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?” Haneul prompted, crossing her arms as she glared at Namjoon.

His eyes darted immediately to Yelim. Did they know about his conversation with her last night? It seemed odd for them to be upset about that, but, unless they had discovered the To Do list overnight, it seemed like the only option.

“I don’t…think so?” he finally responded, unsure what answer they were looking for.

“I can’t believe you!” shouted Haneul. “How many more secrets have you been hiding? It’s like you’ve become this whole other person! I just,” she paused, angry tears in her eyes. “I just can’t believe you!”

Namjoon felt his stomach drop to his feet. Had they figured out who he was?

“Come on, we don’t need this,” Eunsoo hissed as she wrapped her arms protectively around Haneul and steered them down the street, throwing one last withering glare in Namjoon’s direction. He stood frozen as they retreated, confusion and hurt clawing through his chest in equal measures.

Yelim touched his forearm gently when he asked, “Do you know what was that about?”

“I wish I did,” she sighed. “I was running late this morning, I got to your place to meet everyone right as you were coming out.”

“Well, we know that this only has to do with me, then. I was worried at first that they were upset about last night or something.” Namjoon slowly started leading them to the bus terminal through the side streets, hoping to avoid running into Eunsoo and Haneul and making an even bigger mess of things. “This just seems so sudden.”

With a shake of her head, Yelim said, “Whatever it is, they’re probably just overreacting and need time to calm down. I’ll try to talk to them once we get to school.”

Yelim had done her best to convince him that it was simply a misunderstanding, but the way that his classmates parted for him when he got to school, whispers and wide-eyed stares following his every step, convinced Namjoon that there was something more serious going on.

Uncertain of how to react, Namjoon spent his morning classes with his head ducked down low. Instead of paying attention to his biology lecture, he mentally canvased the school for a quiet, solitary place to eat his lunch, knowing that Haneul and Eunsoo probably wanted nothing to do with him. It would give Yelim the space to figure out what the hell was going on with everyone while he sought out the one person who could ease his mind.

His phone almost burned in his pocket with his desperation to call Jin. He would have no idea what was going on, but he would be kind, empathetic, would find some way to loosen the knot tied in Namjoon's chest.

When the lunch period began, Namjoon quietly pulled his lunchbox from his bag, checked that his phone was still tucked inside his blazer, and retreated from the classroom with his gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Soonie-yah!” Jin greeted as Namjoon sat huddled against a cabinet in the empty home ec classroom. “What’s going on? I can’t talk for long, class is starting in a few minutes.”

“That’s fine, I just…” he tipped his head back heavily. Listened to Jin’s breathing.

“Soonie?”

“I need another distraction. Please,” Namjoon mumbled, squeezing his eyes so tightly that lights danced behind his eyelids.

“Of course, anything for you. Let’s see…How about a joke?” Jin giggled happily for a moment, already thinking of the punchline, before clearing his throat a few times to regain his composure. “I had a dream last night that I was swimming in an ocean made of orange soda. But, when I woke up, I realized that it was just a Fanta sea.”

Namjoon giggled despite himself, “Wow, that’s awful, what the hell.” Opening his eyes, he stared at the dropped panel ceiling above him.

“Do you need me to go on?” Jin asked as he got his own laughter under control. “I know all the words to Genie, and I’m told I can do a great Tiffany impression.”

“As much as I want to hear that, I’m not sure if your classmates would appreciate it.”

Jin sniffed. “They wouldn’t know art if it slapped them in the face.”

“Clearly not. No, I’m feeling a little better, I think.” He straightened the pleats of his skirt where it fanned around him on the floor. “I don’t know, I’m really sorry to bother you, it’s just that today’s been so weird, and two of my friends are really upset with me, but I don’t even know what I did.”

“You never bother me,” stated Jin gently. “Just be patient with your friends. If you just keep showing them kindness, then I’m sure everything will work itself out eventually.”

Namjoon let out a breathy laugh. “What would I do without you? I’ll try my best.”

“Soonie, I—” Jin paused. Namjoon could hear another voice on the other end of the line greeting Jin. “Sorry, class is starting in a minute. I can skip if you need me to.”

“No, please don’t. I’ll be fine. Honestly, I feel better already.”

The din of Jin’s classmates harmonized with his little hum of acknowledgement. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, see you.”

He stared at Jin’s contact info still illuminated on his phone screen after hanging up, a cropped down version of their selca with not-Jimin and not-Jungkook smiling back at him. The two of them had been pressed so closely together that he hadn’t bothered to remove himself, their cheeks nearly touching. They looked so happy.

How much easier would his life be if he had always been Jeong Namsoon?

The door to the classroom creaked open.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you need this room?” he asked the girl who crept inside. She looked young, her nervous eyes wide as Namjoon stood.

“Um, are you Jeong Namsoon?” she questioned as she wrung her hands together painfully tight. There was a skitter at the doorway, and Namjoon saw people darting down underneath the windows to the classroom behind her. It seemed as if this girl was the chosen, brave sacrifice to talk to him for whatever reason.

“Yes, that’s me. Do you need something or…?”

“Are you really dating Jeon Jungkook?” the girl practically shouted, staring hard at Namjoon’s shoes.

What?

He blinked slowly at the girl as his brain tried desperately to connect the dots between himself and this universe’s Jungkook. Sure, he’d met the guy, but it was clearly as a fan, plus he was with Jin.

Oh, fuck, he had been with Jin.

How could he have forgotten about the paparazzi chasing the two of them through Hannam, mistakenly thinking that Jin was in Bangtan? Had they gotten a photo that showed enough of his face for people to recognize him, but not enough of Jin’s face to know it wasn’t Jungkook?

Suddenly his friends' anger this morning clicked into place. But why the fuck would anyone actually believe he had been secretly dating Jungkook?

“No, I’m not,” he declared. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

Namjoon felt a wave of anger sweeping through his veins. Unlike Yelim the night before, Haneul and Eunsoo hadn’t even bothered to ask him if any of the rumors were true, didn’t care enough to confront him as a friend. Clutching his barely touched lunchbox, he marched down the hall back to his classroom with head held high.

Everyone in the room seemed to halt in place, laughter and conversation falling away as Namjoon strode to where the three girls sat huddled around their lunches.

Plunking his lunchbox onto Eunsoo’s desk, Namjoon sat down with a huff. “Do either of you want to tell me why your first thought about these rumors—that I had to find out about from a first-year—was to assume that I’m a liar?”

Haneul swiped open her phone and presented it to Namjoon with a pout.

A Dispatch article was pulled up on her browser, a slightly blurry night shot at the top of the page. It was of Jin and himself from that night in Hannam. Jin’s face was turned from the camera, but Namjoon’s grinning face was clear—as were their hands, tucked deeply into Jin’s coat pocket. If he thought he looked happy in the selca not-Jungkook had taken, then Namjoon looked absolutely euphoric in this. His face was practically glowing, turned towards Jin like he was the shining, perfect center of the universe.

Printed in bold letters underneath, the headline read, “Was BTS’s Jungkook Getting Cozy with Mystery Girl?”

“That’s you,” Eunsoo said.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Namjoon sighed as he handed Haneul back her phone. “But that definitely wasn’t Jungkook.”

“Oh, my god, it was Jin,” Yelim muttered.

“It was. See, it’s not a big deal—”

“How? I thought you were dating Choi Byungsoo,” Haneul asked, her eyes growing more watery by the second. “Are you dating Jin now, too?”

Namjoon fought back a deep sigh, knowing that most of the class had to be eavesdropping on their conversation. Jin’s words about patience and kindness danced through the back of his mind as he fought to maintain his composure. “No. I’m not dating either of them. Jin and I were just hanging out that night, and it was cold. Not a big deal.”

Eunsoo’s brows lowered over her narrowed eyes as she grumbled, “You were ‘just hanging out’ with Jin in Hannam on a Thursday?”

“Yes! What’s so weird about that?” Namjoon wondered.

“Sorry if I’m just concerned about what else you aren’t telling us,” Eunsoo hissed.

“Don't you trust us anymore? Are you replacing us?” Haneul whispered, angrily wiping away her tears to glare at him.

“You can’t just replace friends, that’s not how that works,” Namjoon cried. “I don’t love you guys less for having other people in my life. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way, because that’s not how I feel.”

But Haneul’s pout and Eunsoo’s glower remained on their faces as their teacher called them back to their seats to begin their afternoon classes.

Namjoon felt somewhat powerless in all this. Once people become convinced of something, he knew how difficult it was to make them think otherwise, even when he had the truth on his side.

In the margin of his notes, he drew Koya crying an ocean. But, as he did, he could almost hear Jin’s laughing voice saying “a Fanta sea.” Behind Koya, he carefully added RJ patting the little koala’s head. Then, Tata snaking their long, noodle arms around them both. Namjoon had always struggled drawing Mang, but he slowly added them to the picture, too.

By the end of the school day, his drawing had expanded from the margin, an entire BT21 family comforting Koya in their sadness.

Trying not to react when Eunsoo and Haneul left without him or Yelim, he was thankful at least that all of bizzaro Bangtan wouldn’t abandon him so easily.

“You could have gone with them,” he said to Yelim as she watched him pack up his things.

“Yeah, I could have, but I didn’t want to.” She shrugged a little as they walked down the hallway, furtive glances at Namjoon coming from students at all sides. “They both need a minute to realize that they’re being stupid, anyways. You’re allowed to have things you keep to yourself, and now they’re just being stubborn because they don’t want to admit that they were being bad friends,” she said.

“But I know they’re not bad friends,” Namjoon insisted as they walked into the entryway and tugged on their outside shoes.

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t acting like it,” Yelim countered.

Namjoon pulled his coat tight around him as they approached the front doors, but a sudden call from behind them stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey, Namsoon-ssi!” jock-type called, jogging across the entryway to meet them. “Can we talk for a second?”

“Oh, um,” Namjoon glanced at Yelim, not wanting to make her late to cram school but also not wanting to abandon her to walk the whole way alone.

She gazed back, scrutinizing Namjoon’s expression for a moment. “I’ll be going, then,” responded Yelim. “Maybe I can catch up with Haneul. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to her, waving as she left. Turning back to jock-type, he gestured vaguely. “Lead the way, I guess.”

After guiding them past the few stragglers hanging around the entryway, jock-type directed them into an empty classroom. The atmosphere was heavier than Namjoon had been expecting from jock-type, ominous in a way that sat uncomfortably on his shoulders. Namjoon knew that the rumors about him had spread across the school like a disease, so he wasn’t surprised when jock-type began to speak.

“So, I saw that picture everyone's been talking about.”

“I figured,” Namjoon mumbled, scuffing his toe against the tiled floor. “I know what it looks like—”

“Yeah, so do I,” jock-type sighed. “Look, I’m not, like, mad or anything. I really don’t think you’re the type to lead me on or anything, but,” he took a deep breath and tucked his hands into the pockets of his track jacket. “But it doesn’t really matter to me who it was. Because the way you were looking at that guy? You’ve never looked at me like that. Like, I don’t know…like he’s your favorite thing in the world. And I know I can’t compete with that.”

Namjoon wanted to refute him, but what was the point? That described the photo perfectly, cut through Namjoon’s bullshit to the heart of the problem. Jock-type couldn’t even hope to hold a candle against the bonfire of feelings Namjoon carried for Jin.

“Byungsoo-ssi,” Namjoon began, but jock-type shook his head with a little smile.

“It’s okay. Really. I want you to be happy, but I guess I'm not the guy who can give you that. Thanks for giving me a chance,” he bowed his head a little, then walked out the door, leaving Namjoon behind.

How had things fallen apart so spectacularly? Namjoon drug his feet as he walked to his bus stop, contemplating how drastically things could change in a day.

This morning, the world seemed rife with assurance that he could check off the last three items of Soon’s To Do list, that his friends would stick by his side until the end of his time in this stupid place, that things would all work themselves out. Namjoon let his head fall against the smudged bus window as the sun set outside on his ride home.

What a mess.

***

Jin squinted at the photo displayed on Namjoon’s phone, his face painfully blank.

“Your friends really thought I was Jungkook?” he asked at length, tilting the phone a little. “You can’t even really see my face in this, though, how could they tell?”

“Clearly they couldn’t,” Namjoon sighed. He knew walking in to see Jin after school that he would have to show him the picture, to tell him why his friends were so upset, but Jin’s complete lack of a reaction left Namjoon at a loss. Sure, he had insisted that Namjoon eat the choco pie that he swore was leftover from his lunch, but he nearly shut down the second Namjoon pulled up the image. Namjoon’s imagination had concocted a scenario, one where Jin saw clearly the way Namjoon’s eyes caressed his profile, the shape the two of them formed, curving into each other in a decidedly nonplatonic way, the adoration written underneath Namjoon’s skin. A scenario where Jin read those hidden words and took the decision from Namjoon’s tired hands.

But, instead, the counter between them felt more like an impassable chasm.

While disappointment sat heavy in his stomach, he couldn’t really blame Jin for doing precisely what he had done with all of the evidence he had in his own world. But watching Jin turn away from whatever this was, Namjoon just felt empty.

“They really buried the fact that they couldn’t confirm whether I was Jungkook or not, didn’t they? That’s some sloppy journalism.” Jin slid the phone back into Namjoon’s hand and asked, “Your secret admirer…I’m guessing that he, uh, probably isn’t a huge fan of mine right now?”

Pursing his lips, Namjoon gazed down at his feet. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We kind of…” He wracked his brain for an answer that didn’t expose everything he had been trying to hide, to ignore. “We decided maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

“Oh.” Jin’s voice was soft, lilting in a way Namjoon couldn’t place. Surprise, maybe? When Namjoon gathered enough courage to finally look back up at Jin, he was busy fidgeting with the zipper on his navy blue hoodie and chewing on his lower lip. “It must be awful for celebrities if one photo can cause you so much trouble.”

Namjoon let out a slow breath. “Honestly, it wouldn’t be a problem if my friends hadn’t reacted the way they did.”

“But what about…”

“Jock-type?” Shaking his head, Namjoon huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know, that wasn’t really working out anyways.”

Jin nodded, head still tilted down, but he let his eyes travel back up to met Namjoon’s. “Maybe this is for the best, then? Relationship-wise, I mean.”

A strange feeling bubbled along the base of Namjoon’s spine. Like champagne sparkling up the column of his throat, it coated his tongue and left him with a sweet, heady lightness.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

Watching the shutters within Jin’s eyes pull back as he finally smiled, Namjoon couldn’t deny that the moment tasted a lot like hope.

Chapter Text

“Yelim-ah, I can’t go in there,” Namjoon muttered as he hid just around the corner from the ARMY Clubroom. Fellow club members slowly trickled past on their way inside, still happy to ogle him over the Jungkook article. “Everyone’s going to be weird.”

Yelim shrugged and said, “Everyone’s already weird.”

“Still!” he hissed back.

Making it through the end of the week after the Dispatch article dropped had been a colossal feat for Namjoon. His days at school felt exhausting, being treated like a pariah by two of his closest friends and like an exhibit at the zoo by his peers. Those few days before the weekend arrived stretched into decades as he closed himself away and buried himself in school work.

Haneul and Eunsoo still refused to so much as look in his direction, unyielding to Yelim's gentle prodding. Even though everyone kept assuring Namjoon that his friends would forgive him in time, the wait was still so awful.

Not that he had really done anything wrong, but whatever.

If Eunsoo and Haneul were upset that he was “replacing” them with Jin, they were really only helping him along. Evenings with Jin shone like a lighthouse at the shore, calling him to safer harbors. Even just envisioning the way Jin’s cheeks would pull when he noticed Namjoon, the subtle shift in his shoulders, the way he would tangle his long fingers together—simply the thought of Jin settled Namjoon. But it was too much, it wasn't enough.

“Look, I get it. This whole situation is messed up, but you’ll have to face everyone eventually,” Yelim sighed.

Namjoon nodded slowly, gaze lowered. “I know. I just…I don’t have it in me today to deal with this. Next week, I’ll be ready. Just not today.” He felt pathetic running away from scrutiny like this. Leaders needed to be ready to accept and counter any type of criticism or critique without fail, but Namsoon wasn’t held to those kinds of standards. Jeong Namsoon had an out, and, right now, Namjoon was willing to take it.

Flipping back her long hair, Yelim waved him off with a smirk. “Go find your pretty boy and feel better, okay?”

Namjoon blushed as he hurried towards the front doors, already in the process of texting Jin. Sometimes he wondered if Yelim could read his mind or if he was just that predictable. Either way, he was extremely grateful that she had stuck beside him.

“My day keeps getting better and better,” Jin sang when Namjoon entered the convenience store on a gust of frosty wind. He was leaning over the ice cream freezer, fists full of ice cream bites and face painted with delight. Deep in his chest, Namjoon’s unruly heart leapt at the sight, dangerously close to giving up all self-control. “Not only did you get out of school stuff early, but I just made the best discovery: this entire box is just past the sell-by date!”

“Doesn’t that mean you should throw them away?” Namjoon asked as he unwound his large, grey scarf and dropped his school bag onto the counter.

“Of course I should throw them away! If by ‘away’ you mean ‘into my tummy,’” Jin giggled. “Honestly, it would be a waste to throw them out, I’m sure they’re still delicious.” Pulling open a bag, he tossed a few bites into his mouth before walking up to Namjoon. His voice dipped as he held out a chocolate-covered bite. “Open up, Soonie.”

It wasn’t like Namjoon had never shared food with Jin before, but they always used their own utensils or fed each other with chopsticks. That had been easy, friendly, platonic. Yet, as Namjoon carefully bit down on the ice cream in Jin’s fingers, his bottom lip just catching against Jin’s thumb, there was nothing platonic about the electricity in the air.

“See? Still delicious.” His eyes poured over Namjoon’s face, yet he felt oddly distant for standing so near. After a heartbeat, Jin smiled tightly with closed eyes and proceeded to jam an entire handful of ice cream bites into his mouth.

The moment slipped away from Namjoon like a dandelion seed on the wind as he turned away. Jin had already buried his head back in the freezer when he said, “So, my mom’s bus arrives first thing tomorrow.”

The day after the Dispatch article dropped, Jin’s mom announced out of the blue that she would be visiting over the weekend. The timing felt deliberate somehow, a calculated complication to Namsoon’s k-drama life, but a part of him was thankful that Jin’s attention had been diverted elsewhere. The strange grey area they had fallen into—safe, explored territory of more than friends, but not quite anything else—was allowed to linger on.

“You must be excited,” Namjoon replied as he hopped onto the front counter, trying not to get lost in his thoughts.

“Of course! We haven’t seen each other since the Chuseok before last, and she hasn’t been to Seoul in years, either. My bosses even helped me get all of tomorrow off. I still have to go to class while she’s here on Monday, but she’ll want some time to herself, anyway,” he said, stopping every few words to toss more ice cream into his mouth.

“I’m glad. You’re going to have a great weekend,” Namjoon murmured. The pink neon lights outside caught on the black strands of Jin’s hair, making him look strikingly like Seokjin, lit by colored stage lights and smiling with all the secrets in the world.

***

Namjoon’s slow, lazy weekend felt like heaven after the difficult week of school.

It had been weeks since Namjoon stepped foot into a studio, weeks since he sat behind sound editing software, so a Saturday spent doing just that with uncle-Yoon was exactly what he needed to put his frustrations behind him. Uncle-Yoon marveled at the way Namjoon made quick work of composing the backing track for his talent show piece, leading Namjoon to spend hours talking him through various software functions. Even JK-dad joined them for part of the afternoon, called in by the bass beats thumping through their shared wall.

But working on music with uncle-Yoon at his side while JK-dad played with Cuty-Jimin behind him made Namjoon feel all the more keenly what he missed most about being back home.

Sunday morning saw him walking with Hobi-mom through the grocery store, efficiently canvassing the store for next week’s meals. Even on the weekends, she looked like some type of model moonlighting as an average person for a day. It had been a few weeks since Namjoon felt concerned with how feminine he was perceived to be, but it was hard not to feel a little inadequate at the way she sashayed behind the shopping cart.

As Hobi-mom sorted through heads of cabbage, Namsoon’s phone sounded in his pocket. He swiped open his screen to see a picture of Jin with a mouthful of noodles, long strands dangling from his pursed lips.

“God, what a dork,” he muttered as he typed back a reply.

“What’s Jinseokie up to today?” Hobi-mom asked as she selected the perfect cabbage.

“Mostly sightseeing,” he answered. Namjoon scrolled through their conversation to show her various photos. “They went to Gyeongbokgung Palace this morning, then they ate, then they saw this dog in the park, then they ate again. Normal stuff.”

“Looks like they’re having fun. His mother is so pretty, too,” smiled Hobi-mom as she pushed the cart around a produce stand. “I can't wait to meet her next time she’s in the city,” she smirked playfully.

“Don’t be weird, mom,” he grumbled back.

The entire family had turned into a bunch of mischievous fiends since they had seen the paparazzi shot. Uncle-Yoon and Hobi-mom had made it their mission to bring Jin up in legitimately every conversation they had with Namjoon, but the side-eyes and raised brows of every family member put him on edge.

Namjoon wasn’t sure how to move forward without inflicting permanent damage to himself. All he wanted was to just give in, to stop fighting his emotions and his instincts and wrap himself into Jin even if only for a moment. But how much would it hurt to allow himself the barest taste of what a relationship, a real relationship, with Seokjin could be like?

Would the moment of sweetness outweigh the bitterness of losing it forever if he made it home?

Laying in the dark that night with Cuty-Jimin asleep at his feet, Namjoon’s mind refused to settle. It was like his legs were too long, his shirt too stuffy, his hands too cold, nothing was right. And he knew, he knew that if he was back in the dorms on a night like tonight, he would wander out to find the moon. But, along the way, he would pause outside Seokjin’s door to listen for the sound of his slumber, never taking the time to realize why it mattered. Why he needed that sound so badly.

Twisting the sheets between his fingers, Namjoon knew he didn’t have much longer to hide. He knew what this was.

***

Monday morning dawned grey and windy. Fog obscured his brain, the uncomfortable feeling that had kept him up that night lingered in the tips of his fingers as he clattered through his morning routine.

“Are you okay, Noona?” brother-Tae wondered, reaching across the table to feel his forehead. “You look feverish.”

Hobi-mom gasped from the kitchen, rushing to Namjoon’s side. “Are you feeling sick? Any aches or pains? I could call the doctor’s office if you’re not feeling well,” she said as she too felt for Namjoon’s temperature.

“Mom, no, I’m okay. I just didn’t sleep well last night. I promise I’m okay,” he said soothingly as he removed her hand from his head.

She moved away, but the concern on her face didn’t.

“Don’t hesitate to call me or your mother if you start feeling sick at school,” JK-dad stated as Namjoon finished his breakfast and brought his bowl to the kitchen sink.

“Thanks, dad. See you after school, mom!” he said as he gathered his things, pulled on his shoes and coat, and walked out the door. Yelim stood bundled at the end of the walk, urging Namjoon to hurry. The air around them had a bite to it, like it was carrying ice shards directly into their lungs.

“I hate the winter so much,” she muttered from behind her thick scarf as they powerwalked to the bus terminal.

“I don’t mind the winter usually. Snow makes everything quieter somehow, makes you feel alone without being lonely,” Namjoon said, watching their breaths cloud around them as they waited for their signal to walk.

Their commute was quieter without Eunsoo’s chatter, more solitary without Haneul hanging from Namjoon’s arm. He was so used to having the three girls around him that removing the pair had left a gaping hole. When he rushed into the school’s entryway, his eyes immediately landed on the pair already by their shoe cubbies, pointedly ignoring the doorway. It was hard not to take it personally at this point.

“I texted them both over the weekend,” Yelim said as she pointed her chin at the two girls. “My bet is that they’ll both crack within the week.”

“I hope so, because this sucks,” Namjoon sighed.

He was slowly unwinding his scarf when his phone began to chime, Dimple signaling that it was a phone call. Snickers and curious asides surrounded Namjoon as he fumbled to retrieve it.

The screen was lit with bold white letters: Jinnie-oppa!!!

“Oppa?” Namjoon greeted softly. He turned away from his classmates trying not to be overheard, Yelim immediately forming a shield against questioning stares. “Hey, what's going on?”

A pause, then a shaky breath. Namjoon’s heart dropped.

“I’m so sorry to bother, but…” a woman’s voice responded. It sounded fragile somehow, too soft and unsteady. “Is this Jeong Namsoon?”

“…Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

Her voice teetered on the edge of tears as she said, “I’m Jinseok’s mother.”

“What happened? What do you need?” He could feel his hands begin to tremble, knuckles straining as he gripped his phone.

The only sound Namjoon was conscious of was her labored breathing. “You haven’t…heard from him today?”

“No, Jin never texts me this early in the morning. He usually does after his morning accounting class to complain, but never before. Can you just—”

“Are you sure? You haven't seen him or heard anything?”

“I told you, no! Please!” Namjoon pressed his eyes closed, willing himself to stay calm. “Please, please just tell me what’s going on.”

“He…Well, I…We…had a fight this morning,” she murmured, voice so low that Namjoon strained to hear it. “And he just left. He just ran out the door, no phone, no wallet, just…gone.”

Underneath Namjoon’s feet, the world skid to a standstill.

“I have no idea where he could be. I called his school and his work already, but I don’t know where my boy is, and I’m just…” She stifled a sob. “I don’t want to burden you, but I didn’t know who else to call or where to look or—”

“I’ll find him,” Namjoon stated. He pressed his fist into the wall beside him, grounding himself. “Just stay where you are, okay? I’ll look for him.” His mind was already compiling places that Jin might go to hide away from the world, and his legs burned with the need to run to him, wherever he was.

She fully broke down at his words, weeping a thank you as they said their goodbyes.

By the time Namjoon turned back to Yelim, the entryway was mostly empty around them. Just over her shoulder, he could see Haneul and Eunsoo lurking.

“I have to go. It’s Jin,” he said helplessly.

Yelim nodded and squeezed his arm. “I’ll try to cover for you. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he said before rushing back into the winter morning.

***

“No, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks,” said the little woman at the seolleongtang restaurant after she forced Namjoon to stop long enough to drink a glass of water. “Is he in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” he panted, shaking his head a little.

“Well, good luck finding him, dear.”

As he stepped out the door, Namjoon glanced back and forth up the street. He’d been to every one of Jin’s favorite spots, but had found nothing. Without his wallet, there were an extremely limited number of places where Jin could be, but he had one distinct advantage over Namjoon: Jin had his bike.

Namjoon had done a full circle through their neighborhood, his attention catching on anything and everything that was even remotely the same shade of blue as Jin’s bike, but he had found nothing. No hint of Jin, no clue as to where he could be hiding.

When he hit the main road, he turned towards the train station, wondering if he had perhaps chosen to actually run away. His search thus far had hinged on Jin having no money with him, but what if he did have a few won in his pocket when he left? Where would he even go? All of the favorite places he had described to Namjoon were close to their neighborhood, cheap, and were usually restaurants. But where could he hide out all day?

It would all be so much simpler if he had just taken his goddamn phone.

Having only ever come to the train station by bike, Namjoon didn’t realize just how long it would take to arrive there on foot. The ride that once felt so exciting was now an endless jog as his brain conjured up all of the worst scenarios it could, of Jin hurt and alone, of Jin leaving everything behind for good.

As much as he liked to bicker, Seokjin wasn’t much of a fighter—but he sure as hell had a combative streak. He was just stubborn enough to hate backing down when he felt he was in the right, just emotional enough to snap when tired or attacked, just proud enough to stand his ground if he felt it was necessary.

But the one thing his Seokjin hated doing was purposefully hurting someone’s feelings.

Clearly, whatever Jin had fought with his mother about had hurt them both deeply, but Namjoon had no idea how to handle that. His Seokjin always found a way to resolve things himself.

Namjoon picked up the pace as the station came into sight.

When he drew near, he veered for the bike stands, scanning the rows and rows of passengers’ bikes for Jin’s amongst them. Namjoon hopped around rows looking for the distinctive faded blue, but in the sea of metal frames, nothing showed that Jin was anywhere near.

He had officially run out of ideas.

Well, except for one. Sweeping his fringe from his forehead, slightly sweaty despite the cold, Namjoon pulled out his phone.

***

Jin lived in an older building, drab save for the plants and laundry hanging in a few windows, but clearly cared for. Namjoon scanned the list of names on the buzzer at the front door, unsure of which apartment was his, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm. When Namjoon had called, Jin’s mother seemed surprised that he wanted to see her in person and even more surprised that Namjoon didn’t already know where Jin lived.

“I just figured you two were so close,” she mumbled after giving him directions.

After he found the apartment labeled “Kim Jinseok” in Seokjin’s rounded handwriting, she buzzed Namjoon in. The stairwell was cramped and dim, the fragrant smell of gochujang trailing behind him from the second floor.

It reminded him of Bangtan’s first dorm so strongly that Namjoon had to shake a few nostalgic tears from his eyes.

When he knocked on Jin’s door, it almost immediately opened to reveal his mother. She looked nearly identical to Seokjin’s, but her aura seemed dimmer, the confident, dignified woman who raised his Seokjin compressed into something small and quiet. Her face was blotchy, but she smiled with genuine warmth up at Namjoon.

“Please come in.”

Namjoon nodded as he stepped inside the tiny apartment. It was essentially one large room, a kitchen at one end and a living area at the other with two doors along the far wall, presumably his bedroom and bathroom. The furniture was worn, but well-maintained—much like everything else Jin owned. There were few decorations, only some figurines on the tv stand and a Charmander plushie on the couch. He recognized a few of Jin’s textbooks stacked on the table, one still propped open as if Jin had only just stepped away.

“Thank you,” Namjoon answered at length. He let his backpack fall to the floor before he dug out his lunchbox. “Is it alright if I eat my lunch?”

“Of course!” Jin’s mother rushed around the table to pull out a chair for him. As he slipped off his coat, she froze in place, a strange look passing over her eyes. “I didn’t realize, you’re still in high school?”

Shifting a little, Namjoon took the proffered chair. “Yeah. I’m a third-year.”

“I just assumed you were Jinseok’s age. If I had known… Do your parents know you’re skipping school?”

Frowning down at his neatly packed lunch, Namjoon realized that he hadn’t even considered Soon’s family in all of this. He had run off without a second thought. “Jin’s more important than school,” he mumbled, biting his lip. Shaking off the thought, he smiled over at Jin’s mother. “It’ll be fine. What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?”

Her chin went wobbly at Namjoon’s words. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she whispered, “You say that now, sweetheart.”

Namjoon poked at his rice dejectedly, hating how inconsiderate he could be.

“I’m glad to meet you, despite everything,” she said, sounding far more composed than before. “Jinseok thinks the world of you. You sound like such a wonderful girl: so smart and kind and outgoing. I'm happy that my son has someone like you in his life, someone willing to do so much for him.” Smiling kindly, she paused before saying, “You’re even prettier in person.”

Namjoon sputtered at her words.

“He showed me a few photos of you,” she continued, sliding Jin’s phone across the table to Namjoon. At her prompting, he flipped the phone open, causing the screen to light up. Behind the icons of the few apps Jin had downloaded was the paparazzi shot of the two of them. Blurry and telling, Namjoon’s heart splayed open, frozen in a place meant just for Jin. He knew what this was.

“What time is it?” he asked Jin’s mother faintly.

“Oh, it’s about half after 3. Why?”

“Because I think I know where Jin is.”

***

Namjoon hadn’t realized how long the bus route from his neighborhood to school was. He knew it by heart, recognized individual trees and buildings that lined the street, but the casual apathy that school inspired made him almost numb to it on a usual day. But now? Now he was practically frantic, legs bouncing and hands wringing as the bus inched towards his usual stop. Finally, finally, he stumbled out onto the familiar street.

On the bench, a figure sat huddled, bent over on himself as he stared at the ground. A faded blue bike rested against the bench behind him.

Jin.

As if he would disappear if he went too fast, Namjoon crept towards Jin. The scarf Namjoon had given him so long ago was wrapped tightly against his neck, but his hair was tousled and unkempt, his ears burned with cold.

Gently, Namjoon pressed his hands over Jin’s ears. “You should have grabbed a hat before you ran off.” Namjoon’s voice radiated a calm he didn’t really feel.

Under his hands, Jin slowly untangled himself to look up at Namjoon. He could see the way his shoulders eased when their eyes connected, when he reached up to press one of his hands over Namjoon’s. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Jin’s voice was scratchy, sounding distant like he was speaking to Namjoon from the other end of a dream.

“You could have at least wrapped your scarf around your head,” sighed Namjoon as he pulled the edges of the scarf up like a hood and smiled at his handiwork. “Perfect, now you look like an old lady.”

Jin let out a bark of laughter that sounded half like a sob. Smoothing his hands over Jin’s head, Namjoon’s gut twisted at how red Jin’s eyes were, the pink tint to his nose from the cold, the sallow sheen to his skin. At least Jin still had Namjoon’s gloves from that night in Hannam to protect his fingers.

“Why aren’t you still in school?” Jin asked softly. And, shit, his eyes—his eyes were so round, so fucking sad that Namjoon kind of wanted to burn down the world for making him feel anything less than pure joy.

“I was really worried about you,” Namjoon muttered, shoving at his shoulder. “It’s not like you to run off like that, you care too much about your responsibilities. Besides, do really you think I’m going to let some stupid school keep me from helping you? Don’t be dumb.”

Jin pulled Namjoon’s hand into his own and mumbled, “I’m not really worth the effort.”

“Bullshit,” Namjoon scoffed, frowning a little at the way Jin startled. “Seriously, you’re going to make yourself sick out here. Let’s find somewhere to warm up.” Using their linked hands, he pulled Jin to his feet and led them to his bike. As Namjoon settled onto the seat, he motioned back to Jin with a flick of his head. “Hop on. I’ll drive, you direct me to the nearest, best restaurant.”

After a day of anxiety over where Jin was, Namjoon could feel the adrenaline that had been fueling him begin to ebb away, leaving his limbs heavier than usual and his mind sluggish. But something about the way Jin leaned his head against Namjoon’s back and wound his fingers into Namjoon’s coat made him feel like he could keep peddling straight through Seoul and out into the country if Jin asked him to.

The restaurant Jin directed them to was tiny, clearly an old family business by the decorations on the wall. The table the host lead them to was low and had cushions for seats, the menus they were handed displaying only six different items.

“You don’t want anything?” Jin asked after the host brought over a pot of tea.

“I’m fine, I ate lunch not that long ago,” Namjoon shrugged as he blew on his tea. He rotated the little cup, watching the way the weak afternoon light caught on the amber liquid. “I ate with your mother, actually.”

Jin pressed his hands flat against the table. Even as the host slid a tray of ramyeon in front of him, Jin seemed frozen in place. But when Namjoon pressed a pair of chopsticks into his hand, he seemed to remember himself, breaking through the ice of his thoughts piece by piece.

The silence between them was cut by Jungkook’s voice, happily singing about dimples from Namjoon’s pocket. “Speaking of your mom…” Namjoon said, showing Jin the screen lit with his contact information. An odd little smile flitted across Jin’s face before falling away, his eyes glazed. Clicking it over to silent, Namjoon shoved the offending phone into his bag. “We can talk to her later.”

Jin rolled his chopsticks slowly in his hands. “Did she tell you what happened?” he asked softly.

“Not really, only that you two fought.”

Jin leaned over his bowl as if to leech its warmth. “Mom got a call while she was making breakfast this morning. I figured I could answer it, take a message or something.”

Namjoon nodded, trying to encourage him without interrupting.

Staring hard at the table, Jin looked so small and young that Namjoon wanted nothing more than to bundle him up and hide him from the pains of the world.

“It was my father.”

“What?” Namjoon shouted. His cup of tea teetered on the table as he flinched, his brain failing to connect the various dots. “But hasn’t he been dead for…forever?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” Jin sighed as he rearranged the kimchi on his dish. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong, you were lied to.”

“Yeah. But he was…” Jin seemed to shrink into himself as he tried valiantly to blink away the tears in his eyes. “He was asking for money.

“He knew who I was when I answered, I think. Maybe he thought that I knew about him, about the money? I don’t know. But I didn’t. I didn’t know anything. He abandoned us. We’ve been abandoned this whole time.” His voice was steady despite the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon choked out.

“But I guess this wasn’t the first time? Him calling mom and begging for cash. At least, that’s what it seemed like when I confronted her about it. So, not only is my father alive, but he’s an asshole. It was just…” He took a deep breath, voice cracking, “Just a lot to handle all at once.”

“I can’t even imagine how much pain you’re feeling right now,” Namjoon mumbled, leaning over the table to cradle Jin’s face with both of his hands. He tried to wipe away the tears as they fell, spreading them across Jin’s cheeks with his thumbs. “You have every right to be upset.”

“I scared you, though,” Jin's voice thick as his shoulders began to shake. “You skipped school to run around after me. And mom’s probably been panicking, but I don’t know what to say to her. I just can’t go back, not yet,” he sobbed.

Namjoon crawled around the table to pull Jin into his arms.

He had no frame of reference for this, no prior experience with Seokjin to know what to do for Jin in this moment. He just needed to be closer, to plunge past the barriers keeping them apart and hold so tightly that nothing was in the way. Jin responded in kind, pressing his tear-stained face against Namjoon’s shoulder, the warmth of his tears soaking through his woolen uniform sweater and thick dress shirt to pool against Namjoon’s collarbone. Part of him was desperate to tear through the fabric, to feel the press of Jin’s cheek against his skin.

Maybe Jin felt it, too, his hands wrapping into Namjoon’s uniform so tightly that the fabric pulled taut across his back.

Turning his head, Namjoon let his lips brush against Jin’s hair. “Everything goes away if you give it time,” he murmured, rocking them back and forth. “Just hold on as tight as you can right now, and, I promise you, one day you’ll have the strength to carry it all.”

With his arms around Jin, Namjoon could feel him pulling himself back together one shaking breath at a time. “I’m sorry,” he said, laying the words across Namjoon’s chest.

“I know, Oppa, it’s okay."

Leaning back and letting his arms loosen but not fall away, Jin turned his face towards Namjoon like a plant chasing the warmth of the sun. Emotions of every color raced around Jin's face, and he looked perfect, perfect, perfect.

Namjoon smoothed back Jin’s hair from his forehead.

“What would I do without you?” Jin asked as Namjoon let his dark hair fall back across his face.

With sudden clarity, Namjoon registered the near silent restaurant around them. It only took a beat for the absolute mortification to set in, the heat of embarrassment rushing from the pit of his stomach to his cheeks.

“Honestly, starve maybe? I am paying for your meal, after all,” Namjoon gestured at Jin’s ramyeon, wanting to be away from the knowing stares of the fellow restaurant goers as soon as possible. Luckily, Jin just giggled a little and obliged.

The rest of their meal was quiet, blissfully uneventful, both of them needing the space to recover. But the relief Namjoon felt at the way Jin’s face had smoothed was more than enough to release the suffocating grip of his anxiety and stress. Each full breath of air, even in the stuffy restaurant, was a gift.

After Namjoon had paid their bill, embarrassed eyes looking anywhere but the host, they meandered back outside, hiding behind their scarves and coats. The sky overhead was growing dark, the few strongest stars struggling to shine through the light pollution of the city.

They walked slowly down the sidewalk, their shoulders close but not touching as Jin pushed his bike.

“You never told me where you were all day,” Namjoon prompted. At Jin’s questioning hum, he pulled his hand from his pocket to tug at Jin’s sleeve. “Please don’t tell me you spent the whole day outside.”

Jin pinned Namjoon with an amused smile as he bumped their shoulders together. “Of course not, I don’t have a death wish. No, I just holed up at the library—read a bit, took a nap, waited.”

“The library!” Namjoon shouted, halting his steps to slap his hand to his forehead. “I didn’t even think… Wait, there’s a library near here?”

Seeing the look on Jin’s face, Namjoon was starting to believe that his thoughts were manifesting into cartoon thought bubbles for everyone to read. Jin swung his leg over the bike seat and rolled backwards towards him. “I’ll show you.”

Sitting behind Jin as they rolled down side streets in the orange haze of the city, Namjoon felt like maybe the universe had found equilibrium again. He let his head tip towards Jin, resting between his shoulder blades, and it was easy—so, so easy—to forget that this moment wasn’t his.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck inside a Ghibli movie. Maybe the one with the cat and the author and the violinist, where they sing ‘Country Roads’ about a million times,” Namjoon murmured.

“Oh, I know that song! Doesn’t it go: Country roads, let’s’a go! It’s’a me, Mario!” Jin sang, tipping back his head and stretching out the sounds. His hold on the handlebars slipped a little as he doubled over, his squeaky laughter blending with Namjoon’s. A woman walking her dog hurried past, shooting suspicious looks over her shoulder at the commotion.

“Why is it that we’re always disturbing the peace of dog walkers?” Namjoon snickered as Jin pushed off again.

“Probably because of our dogged pursuit of comedy, you know?”

Namjoon didn’t even bother trying to stifle his chuckle as he buried his hands in Jin’s coat pockets.

***

“If heaven exists, I want it to look like this,” Namjoon sighed, trailing his fingers along the spines of a row of books in the fiction section that he had immediately detoured towards. Jin obediently followed in his wake. At first, Namjoon just wanted to see where the library was, but clearly Jin wasn’t ready to go home yet, and Namjoon would be damned if he forced him home before he was.

So, they stayed. Namjoon pulled a stack of books at random, using them to create a barrier from the rest of the library users while he read. At first, Jin seemed more concerned with the structural integrity of their book fort, stacking and restacking the different volumes like jenga blocks, but eventually he pulled one from the top of his barricade and began to flip through. The calm between them was broken only when they read a line to each other from their respective books, murmurs against the quiet.

Namjoon loved the solitude that came from doing something parallel to another, both lost in their own little worlds together.

But, even as he let himself lose track of time, Jin was far more observant. Tugging gently on Namjoon’s sleeve, he said, “It’s getting late, I should probably take you home.” With a sigh, Namjoon nodded. They gathered up the stack of books, carefully replacing them in their proper shelves before bundling themselves for the winter night.

“Are we seriously going to bike the whole way home?” Namjoon asked when Jin immediately settled himself onto the seat.

“Sure, why not?” Jin shrugged and rotated the peddles to a better take-off position. “Taxis are expensive, and the bus lines don’t run late. Besides, it’ll only take an hour or two.”

Namjoon shook his head, but still slid onto the back as he grumbled, “Fine, but I’ll help. I don’t want your legs to fall off.”

“Ah, Soonie, you’re so considerate,” Jin laughed as he pushed off into the night.

The depth of the darkness around them sank into Namjoon’s bones, bursts of yellow and orange light dotting through his veins. There was no sense of time. Just the rhythm of Jin’s lungs, the whirring of wheels, the bite of the cold air pulling at their cheeks, the distant sound of traffic.

Watching tail lights blur past at a red light, Namjoon leaned forward to be heard over the traffic. “Are you sure that you’ll be okay? With your mom, I mean.”

Jin glanced up at the streetlight, watching it blink from red to green. “I hope so. I don’t think she was lying when she said that she didn’t want this to hurt me. I don’t really understand, but she probably thought she was doing the right thing. Obviously, I don’t agree, but I can’t change the past.” He coasted past the lanes of cars.

“That’s probably the best way to look at it.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, though,” Jin added. He hunched his shoulders as if the words could physically hurt him.

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon said with a tug to Jin’s coat. “You’ve been there for me when I needed it, and now I get to return the favor.”

Jin slowed to a stop so he could gaze over his shoulder at Namjoon, replying, “I wanted to be there for you, though.”

“Well, I want to be here for you, too, so there.”

After they had switched places, Namjoon taking his turn peddling, Jin seemed almost shy, barely holding onto Namjoon’s coat. But it only took a few blocks for him to slowly wind his arms around Namjoon’s waist, letting his chin rest on Namjoon’s shoulder. Layered beneath the din of the city, words forming like frost in the night air, Jin whispered, “I’m glad you found me, Soonie.”

Their silence during the rest of the ride home felt charged, an undercurrent that filled Namjoon’s chest so forcefully that he felt like he was drowning. He knew what this was.

But, as they rolled to a stop outside the Jeong home, Namjoon found himself facing a more pressing problem: he’d missed his curfew. It had been years since Namjoon had to worry about getting home to his family, years as an adult training him away from the habits he had as a teen. He hadn’t even bothered to check Soon’s phone, Jin’s problem the only thing on his mind. But the barrage of calls and messages from Soon’s family sat unanswered and accusing when he pulled his phone from Soon’s backpack, all under the time.

11:48 p.m.

“I’m seriously dead,” he groaned as he stood at the gate.

“Let me go with you and apologize to your parents,” Jin offered, rising to his feet and popping the kickstand on his bike.

“No, I’m the one who didn’t call or keep track of the time. It’s my fault,” Namjoon sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the dark home behind him. “You should go home, I'll be fine.”

“Wait."

When Jin stepped into the golden halo of the streetlamp, Namjoon felt his breath punched from his lungs. His face was so open, so honest and vulnerable in a way he couldn’t remember his Seokjin ever allowing himself to be seen.

His full lips formed into the shape of adoration, affection flooding from his dark eyes. It was like the final chords of a million songs striking at once, a perfect cacophony of feeling vibrating through Namjoon’s core.

Holy fuck, he knew what this was.

Some part of him knew it was already too late—he had stepped too close to the fire, had already thrown himself at the feet of this mistake, had already bitten into whatever this was with Jin. It was permanent now. Seokjin—every version of Seokjin—was at the static center of Namjoon's universe.

Jin took another step. “If I don’t say this now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough again. I’ve already made myself look like an idiot today, so why not go for the full house?” he chuckled humorlessly. Pausing, Jin glanced at the ground between their feet and chewed his bottom lip in thought.

There was a strange kind of shamelessness that Namjoon felt coursing through him now that he recognized he’d come too far to turn back, a sudden lack of the inhibitions that once held him firmly in place. He let his hand rise, let just the tips of his fingers rest against the curve of Jin’s upper lip, hoping to ease away the tension on his face.

“Namsoon,” Jin murmured, his voice touching the syllables like they were fragile, precious, and something in Namjoon’s heart splintered. So close to Namjoon, but a million miles away. The moment hung suspended between them, connected only through the sound of their shared breaths. A silent question.

His heart beat in his ears, drowning out his fear. He was fucked, well and truly fucked.

“Jinseok,” he breathed. So close.

“I thought I was really happy before,” Jin said, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Namjoon’s fingertips. “I thought that work and school and my mom and my friends back home were enough—enough for now. Then, you,” Jin laughed, the sound breathy and gentle, but Namjoon he wasn’t sure if his own lungs were even still working. “You divebombed into my life and suddenly everything was so much brighter.

“I was just glad to have a friend. Someone who let me look after them, someone who cared about me, but you’re…you’re you, and I don’t know when it changed, but it did. I started watching the clock at work, hoping you would visit. I started hating the weekends, because I knew I probably wouldn’t see you. I hate watching you go at the end of the night. All I want is to make you smile. I feel like—this sounds so dumb—but I feel like maybe I’ve always been waiting for you to find me.”

The light around Jin’s face blurred into multicolored prisms from the tears sitting heavy on Namjoon’s lashes. But Jin’s face, his beautiful face, remained clear and hopeful at the center of his sight. He gripped Jin’s coat, desperate for an anchor against the waves of emotion tossing him out to sea.

“I’ve dreamt about this,” Namjoon whispered, words slurring from containing his tears. From the shake of his lips. “You, us, this.”

Buried so long under his skin, Namjoon let the feeling flower inside him.

Love.

Their gazes didn’t waver or break as Jin rested his forehead against Namjoon’s, no longer scared of exposing this secret to the other. Jin's eyes, whole galaxies converging, imploding, blooming within, spelled out words Namjoon wanted to press into his skin, wanted to tattoo into the inner chambers of his heart.

Namjoon tilted forward, forming the most delicate connection between their lips.

They stood frozen for a moment, barely touching. Then Jin tentatively pursed his lips against Namjoon’s, burying his hands in the thick fabric of Namjoon’s coat. Scrabbling for purchase on Jin’s shoulders, Namjoon felt his lips moving almost of their own accord as he angled his head into the kiss.

Jin tucked into Namjoon as they shuffled still closer. With their bodies pressed this closely, Namjoon could feel the rise and fall of Jin’s chest as they slotted together. Everything was soft, so freaking soft: the skin of Jin’s neck under Namjoon’s fingers, the gentle hum at the back of Namjoon’s throat, the feel of Jin’s lips under his. It was like the whole world condensed down to just the two of them, bundled together against the cold, tumbling over some unknown precipice from friendship to whatever ether lay beyond.

But, as much as he wanted to hide away from reality in this moment with Jin, Namjoon knew he couldn’t let it linger.

“I have to go,” Namjoon whispered, stumbling backwards to Soon’s home. He flushed at the rush of cold he felt as they separated, like Jin’s absence was a physical weight.

“Okay,” Jin whispered back. Even as Namjoon backed into the front door, he stood at the gate watching him go. He lifted his hand as Namjoon quietly pulled open the front door, face still lit in gold.

The smallest taste of fear slid down Namjoon's throat as he slipped inside. What just happened?

Namjoon pulled off his shoes as silently as he could and tiptoed past the kitchen towards the stairs. The nervous, uncertain part of himself wondered if maybe he was already asleep, had dreamt the perfect way they fit together. What the fuck had he just done?

The living room lights flicked on, momentarily blinding Namjoon.

“And where have you been, young lady?”

Chapter Text

The light in the living room never seemed so harsh before. Blinking owlishly, Namjoon’s eyes landed on JK-dad sitting rigid on the couch, his phone clutched in his hand. His anger and disappointment rolled over Namjoon like the tide coming in, and he was lost, unsure of what he could do to defuse the situation. Sure, Namjoon had seen Jungkook upset, but nothing like this. Nothing directed at him.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” JK-dad asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Um…yes?” Namjoon muttered.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice that you had run off to who knows where? Did you think that we wouldn’t be scared when we couldn’t reach you? Did you even think about how much panic you put your poor mother through tonight?” he continued, his voice rising. The fact that he remained seated made it worse, like Namjoon was cowering at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled his reply, arms folded around himself protectively.

“Sorry? Sorry? After everything we’ve been through with your uncle’s recovery, this is what you do?” JK-dad took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “We’ve been worried sick about you, trying not to think about worst-case scenarios, then you just…” He gestured vaguely towards the front door. “You just sneak your way back inside like we wouldn’t notice! Like we haven’t been waiting for you to come home.”

Feeling a little like his knees were about to give out, Namjoon repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Do you really think that’s going to cut it, young lady? After skipping school to have your little…” JK-dad gestured to the front door again, “rendezvous with Jinseok?”

Namjoon’s gut swan dived to flop at his feet. His first kiss with Jin—Namjoon’s heart seized at the memory—and JK-dad had witnessed the whole thing?

Oh fuck, oh fucking fuck.

“It wasn’t like that,” he whispered.

Finally rising to his feet, JK-dad countered, “It sure looked that way to me. We trusted you—we trusted that boy to be respectable to you, and this is how you repay us?” His voice swelled, and, for the first time, Namjoon struggled to see the Jungkook he knew buried underneath the father in front of him.

“This isn’t Jin’s fault.”

JK-dad threw up his hands as he let out an exasperated huff. “What’s going on with you, Namsoon?”

After an entire day spent running after Jin, Namjoon thought he had burned out his need to cry with his exhaustion. But he was wrong, tears silently falling down his cheeks as the weight of his decisions fell heavy over him. “I’m just so sorry.”

 “I’m sure you are.” JK-dad pushed his glasses back to rub at his eyes. “You are grounded until further notice, young lady. Go to bed, you have school in the morning.”

Namjoon swallowed thickly and bowed his head, saying, “Yes, sir.”

As he turned, he heard JK-dad slump back onto the couch, and it just made him feel despicable. All of the stress that he thought he was bearing for Jin and his mother had simply been transferred across parties. Arms still wrapped around himself, Namjoon padded up the stairs, hoping not to cause any more trouble. When he stepped onto the landing, he paused, catching movement from the corner of his eye.

Hobi-mom stepped from the shadows of the hallway into the sliver of light from downstairs. The blotches of color high on her cheeks, her stance, it all reminded Namjoon so starkly of Jin’s mother. He’d never seen her look so disheveled. She reached out to grip both of his shoulders with shaking hands.

“Don’t you ever do this to us again,” she stated, her face so split between relief and disappointment that Namjoon flinched back as if she had slapped him.

He could feel his chin wobbling, hating himself for hurting Soon’s family like this. “I promise,” he mumbled in reply.

With the tiniest of sighs, Hobi-mom yanked Namjoon into a tight embrace before pushing him towards Soon’s bedroom. “You’re nowhere near off the hook, but I’m glad you’re safe. Now, get some sleep before any of us says something we’ll regret tomorrow.”

As Namjoon slipped into Soon’s bedroom, he glanced back at Hobi-mom. The line of her silhouette as she descended the stairs was tired, and he wished desperately for the floor to swallow him whole. Turning to Soon’s bed, he fell face first into the pillows stacked against the headboard and let himself cry.

Cry over hurting Soon’s family who he loved, cry over the horrible tangle of emotions he had shoved away all day to be strong for Jin, cry knowing that he still didn’t know if he could ever get back home.

What the hell kind of mess did he get himself into?

When he finally rolled over, he studied the orange ribbons of light shining through the open curtains. The collar of Namjoon’s uniform was stiff from the tears Jin had spilled, physical evidence that today actually happened, that it wasn’t just some dream he had conjured while daydreaming in class.

He pressed his eyes closed, feeling dry and rung out. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Namjoon let himself walk through his evening again and again, picking out new details to add to his mental garden of Jin. Memorized the look on Jin’s face, the feel of Jin’s lips under his. Let it take root inside him. Each gentle touch, each little quirk, all of them precious and sacred and perfect. If this was the closest he could get to being with Seokjin, he needed to hold tight to this. As he pictured the self-conscious, but so, so hopeful look in Jin’s eye for the twentieth time, Namjoon let himself slide into sleep.

When he woke, it wasn’t to Jimin telling him that he was strong and wonderful in song, but instead to Yoongi. Namjoon swore that his eyelashes had fused in his sleep, weaving together to make cracking open his eyes feel like a herculean task.

There was no weak morning light streaming in when he finally blinked open his eyes, only the glow of streetlights outside and the brightness of Soon’s phone screen. Gingerly, he reached out for the phone, squinting at the series of messages he had received.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

sorry if im waking you up but i wanted you to know i made it home

mom and i talked and im still hurt but i think were going to be okay

i feel like i understand her better now

i hope youre okay too

i just wanted to thank you again

thank you for everything

i kept wishing you were with me and then you were

youre just so

there isnt even a word good enough for you

you make everything better

just

thank you

3:49 a.m.

Namjoon squeezed his eyes tightly against the light of the phone, against the weight of Jin’s words. What could he even say to that?

Me

it makes me so happy to hear that

i’m kind of okay? i really messed up with my family, but the fact that you’re okay makes everything worth it

3:51 a.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

i knew i should have apologized with you

3:52 a.m.

Me

i think i would have been grounded forever either way

3:54 a.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

im so sorry

i never want to hurt you

3:54 a.m.

Me

i know, but you didn’t. please don’t blame yourself

3:55 a.m.

He stared at the phone screen, his mind racing over itself knowing that he hadn’t said enough. Tossing down his phone, he drug himself upright, tiredly removed his school uniform, and pulled on Soon’s fluffy Koya pajamas before crawling back into bed. After about sixteen different iterations of the same thought, Namjoon cut every line of text he had written and went with his first thought. Pressing send, he pushed the phone away and willed himself to sleep.

Me

i’m glad i found you, too

4:12 a.m.

***

Morning arrived far too soon.

There was a deep-seated exhaustion that weighed down Namjoon’s movements, leaving him even more clumsy than the day previous. Fatigue ran so deep that he almost couldn’t find the energy to care about how awkward breakfast was.

At Namjoon’s side, JK-dad categorically refused to utter more than two words at a time, his newspaper a wall between himself and the rest of the family. Hobi-mom’s aura had softened since last night, but she kept sighing deeply at JK-dad’s taciturn replies. From across the table, brother-Tae was attempting to communicate with Namjoon using his eyebrows alone. He was either asking what had happened last night or was extremely concerned with the quality of rice they were eating.

The only one who willingly talked to Namjoon was Cuty-Jimin.

“Where did you go? I missed you. Mother cried so much when you didn’t pick up your phone, it was so sad! But everyone was sad, really. It’s so nice to have people care about you, isn’t it?  Your clothes smell like food. Was it yummy?” he chattered, unconcerned that Namjoon couldn’t respond while surrounded by the family. The dog laid his head on Namjoon’s thigh and blinked up at him. “I smell Jinseok, too. Is he okay?”

Namjoon patted Cuty on the head and nodded a little at his question.

“Finish up, Namsoon-ah, I’m driving you to school,” JK-dad said from behind his paper. Heaving another sigh, Hobi-mom swept into the kitchen as Namjoon hummed a little affirmative, biting back the response that he knew better than to skip school after yesterday. If he ever wanted to get himself ungrounded, he knew he would have to be careful choosing which battles to fight.

The ride to school was hushed, the only sound the murmur of the radio. JK-dad’s silence was unnerving, a weight that felt crushing against his shoulders. Namjoon pressed his forehead to the car window as they left, hoping that it would relieve the headache he had from lack of sleep. The world outside was still and frosty, the picturesque morning sun reflecting off the bare tree branches.

Once upon a time, back in his own life, he was used to running on little to no sleep for days at a time, to busy loaded schedules that didn’t let up for weeks, but life as Soon had lowered his immunity to such things.

“Your mother will be picking you up after school,” JK-dad stated as he pulled in front of the school, eyes fixed forward.

Namjoon wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wave to JK-dad as he left, or if that would seem too happy or friendly or normal. So, instead, he bowed a little as he closed the door and walked through the school gates with his head down. For once, he was relieved at the wide berth his classmates still gave him, the crowd parting for him as he hurried inside.

As he slowly removed his outdoor shoes, Namjoon was struck with the thought that he had never made it this far into the school day without one of the girls at his side. He forced himself to take a long breath through his nose, then a long exhale through his mouth to fight back the wall of despair that threated to collapse against him. “You’re not stupid for feeling alone,” he mouthed to himself, staring hard into his cubby. Namjoon yelped as arms were flung around him from behind.

“Oh, Soonie, we’ve been so worried!” Haneul sniffled, squeezing her arms even tighter around Namjoon.

Eunsoo peeked around to catch Namjoon’s eye. “We texted you a million times, it was awful,” she mumbled. Over her head, Yelim raised her eyebrows with a slight nod, and Namjoon could almost hear her voice saying, “didn’t I tell you they’d crack within the week?”

Yet, even as relief flooded through his veins, he felt a spike of ice crawling up the back of his throat. “I didn’t realize you cared again,” Namjoon muttered, turning his head away.

Haneul’s arms squeezed still harder as she rested her head against his shoulder. “We never stopped caring! We just…” Her arms pulled away enough to rotate Namjoon to face them. “We were just so upset and scared that you suddenly seemed so different. Like all of the attention you were getting from boys was changing you.”

Eunsoo reached out to gently grip his hand, saying, “There was so much going on with your secret admirers, and you were so quiet, and then that article came out, and we…”

“We assumed the worst,” Haneul sighed.

“It was hard realizing that you were keeping so many secrets from us. We always told each other everything before now,” Eunsoo said, glancing down as she squared her shoulders. “But Yelim is right: you deserve to keep things to yourself if you want to. We’ll do our best to respect that from now on.”

Blinking back tears, Haneul smiled hopefully at Namjoon. “We’re really, really sorry. Could you maybe forgive us?”

Taking a moment to look at his two friends, Namjoon could feel the ice melting away. Wrapping an arm around each of their necks, he pulled them close. “I’ve missed you both so much,” he sighed as he felt their arms curling around him in turn.

When they untangled from each other, Namjoon reached out to Yelim, smiling widely as she took his hand for a moment. In that instant, it was like her ability to read minds transferred to him, feeling the warmth that filled her as they all shifted back into the positions they belonged in, no longer relying solely on her to be the string tying them together.

“Are you okay, though?” she asked as she released his hand.

Namjoon shrugged, finally pulling on his indoor shoes. “Kind of? I mean, Jin is okay, I’m physically okay, but I’m also grounded for forever, so.”

“Yikes,” hissed Haneul. “We thought your brother was just exaggerating this morning, but dang.”

“But how did you mess things up so badly with your parents? I thought we all covered for you really well yesterday,” Eunsoo commented as they joined the herd of students trickling towards their respective classrooms. The girls bundled around him, forming a barrier protecting Namjoon from the outside world, even if only for the walk to class.

“That particular screw up was on me,” he replied. “I spent all day looking for Jin, and when I found him…I don’t know, I just completely lost track of time.”

Yelim pulled a face as they walked down the rows of desks to their seats, saying, “If the situation wasn’t so serious, I would definitely be laughing at how stupid you are right now.”

Even faced with being grounded on top of the still unfinished To Do list, Namjoon felt laughter bubbling up within him. With his friends behind him again, he felt a new streak of hope settle into his bones.

***

Me

so, even though my family is upset with me, somehow all of my friends have forgiven me now?

12:06 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

yaaaaaaaaaayyyy!!!!!!!!!!!

im glad i hated how alone you felt at school

12:08 p.m.

Me

it’s weird how happy i am that you worried about me

12:08 p.m.

As pleased as he was to finally spend his lunch with all three of his friends, Namjoon barely lasted a minute before breaking down and texting updates to Jin. He could hardly contain his smile as he typed.

“God, I love this,” Haneul sighed as Namjoon pocketed his phone. “I feel like I’m living in the most beautiful love story through you.”

“Really? I think Yelim’s is way cuter; way less drama, way more cute girls in love,” shrugged Namjoon, enjoying the way Yelim ducked down to hide her face at his words. The other girls giggled in chorus at her obvious embarrassment.

“No one said anything about ‘love,’” Yelim grumbled, straightening her back and stabbing at her kimbap with dignity.

Eunsoo grinned slyly. “Please, Soon-ah might not have been at ARMY Club last week, but Haneul and I definitely were, and those heart eyes with Dabin were powerful.”

“Oh, no, I missed that?” Namjoon cried. “That sounds so cute!”

“That’s the price you pay for skipping,” Haneul replied, propping her head on her hands. “But I’m sure you’ll see on Friday.”

Failing to fight back the tiniest of smiles on her lips, Yelim glowered, “I hate all of you.”

Namjoon had missed this, hadn’t even realized just how much it hurt to lose this. Taking in the scene, the soft, genuine smiles on each girl’s face, he felt himself shift back a little mentally. This is what he would be leaving behind to go home. A strange kind of bittersweetness sat heavy on his tongue, the anticipation of missing something he hadn’t lost yet.

It made him love that moment even more.

***

Jinnie-oppa!!!

lmaoooooo~~~~

mom was able to stay another day, so we went out to eat to celebrate and three different people asked if we were filming a drama

arent you proud to have such a handsome oppa???

(ﾉ✿◡‿  ◡)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

2:54 p.m.

Me

the handsomest

and so humble, too

3:35 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

first of all:

Rude.

(ง'̀-'́)ง (ง'̀-'́)ง (ง'̀-'́)ง

second: yes i am the most handsome ty

3:37 p.m.

***

“Good luck!” Haneul shouted as the three girls hurried down the sidewalk on their way to cram school, waving to Namjoon. He tried for a smile, but his nerves were frayed, uncertain of what to expect from Hobi-mom during his ride home. Yet, as he slid into the passenger seat, her faint smile was enough to loosen the angry grip of his anxiety.

“Hey, mom,” he said as he clicked the seatbelt into place.

Adjusting her large black sunglasses, she nodded in response.

In the back of his mind, Namjoon could almost watch scenes from his teenaged years unfold like a movie: sneaking rides into the city to rap in the underground circuit, penning lyrics in the backs of his school workbooks, blatant lies to his mother about where he was going on Friday nights. Then, the fallout. His mother tearing through his precious lyric sheets, his father pulling the cords from his recording equipment. A young, round-faced Namjoon begging them to stop, knowing that it was inevitable.

If he could make something beautiful bloom from the ashes of those moments, then he sure as shit could salvage this.

Namjoon wrapped his arms around Soon’s school bag in his lap as they merged into traffic. “I just want you to know that I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he spoke, fiddling with a strand of his hair. “I know I messed up.”

“Yes, that you did,” Hobi-mom sighed. Pursing her lips, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “We were scared, Soon-ah. You have a cell phone and a curfew for a reason, and, when you ignore that, the bottom falls out of the system. I don’t think we’re being unreasonable.”

“No, I know that,” Namjoon mumbled.

“We’ve always done our best to respect your privacy, but we need to know what’s going on. Did we—” she took a deep breath, pushing up her sunglasses self-consciously. “Did we do something that made you think you couldn’t come to us?”

“Mom, no, it’s not about that.” Namjoon turned in his seat to face her as she drove. “I just got so wrapped up in…in what was going on, that’s all.”

Behind her sunglasses, Hobi-mom’s eyes darted towards Namjoon for a moment, her eyebrows rising over the black frames. “Please don’t tell me that your father was right in jumping to conclusions,” she muttered.

“What—conclusions? About …?”

With a sinking stomach, Namjoon knew exactly which conclusions Hobi-mom was referring to. All JK-dad had seen was the kiss, illuminated under the golden halo at their front gate, hair mussed from their long ride home, holding onto each other with the gentlest of desperation. Namjoon shifted in his seat, worried that Hobi-mom could sense the turn of his thoughts.

“We didn’t—what dad saw, that was our first. Kiss, I mean! I promise you,” he sputtered, staring hard at the bag in his lap.

He jumped at the startled laughter that burst from Hobi-mom. When he turned towards her, Namjoon frowned at the hand pressed to her heart, at her incredulous grin. “God, no, Soonie, we know you weren’t galivanting around having some kind of sex-capade with Jinseokie—”

Namjoon kind of wanted to light himself on fire as he pressed both of his hands over his face.

“I was a teen once, no need to be embarrassed,” she giggled. “Seriously, do you not remember that we were fine with you running around with Jinseokie on a school night just this month? No, things would have played out a lot differently if that’s what you two were doing.”

“Mom, god, please stop talking,” Namjoon whined.

“Your father was worried that, after meeting Jimin and Jungkook, that you had caught the sasaeng bug. You know, creeping on the boys, stalking their every move. You know how protective your father is about Bangtan, he cares about them like family, and he simply cannot abide stalkers,” she stated, shaking her head at the thought.

Embarrassment crawled underneath Namjoon’s skin as he peeked through his fingers, gaping at Hobi-mom. Voice pitched oddly high from residual mortification, he responded, “Stalking Bangtan was literally the last thing on my mind yesterday.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I would be interested to know what you were actually doing, though.”

Letting his hands fall from his face, Namjoon watched the houses fly by, the speed of the car rendering the buildings he now knew so well into altered, unrecognizable shapes. “It’s not entirely my story to tell, but I’ll try,” he spoke. “Jin found out that his mom had been less than honest about…things, and he sort of panicked and ran away. He didn’t ask me for anything, I chose to look for him. I know it wasn’t the smartest thing, but…” Namjoon bit his lip. “But I wanted to be there for him. I shouldn’t have skipped school, and it doesn’t excuse me from not calling or missing curfew, but you know.”

As she smoothly pulled into the family driveway, Hobi-mom sighed, “My daughter, we were all waiting for this to happen.”

“Waiting for him to have horrible family drama?”

With a chuckle, she turned off the car and pushed back her sunglasses. “No, silly. We were waiting for you two to wise up and confess how you felt about each other already. You both were far from subtle about it.” She laughed even harder at Namjoon’s dropped jaw. “For being so smart, you really can be so dumb sometimes!”

“That’s a little mean,” Namjoon pouted as they trailed from the car towards the side door of the house.

“I’m almost relieved in a way. I should have known you’d only run off for a somewhat understandable reason. I didn’t raise a dummy, after all,” she continued, ignoring Namjoon’s words as she held open the door for him.

Brother-Tae was arriving home just as Namjoon and Hobi-mom emerged from the side door, causing Cuty-Jimin to rush from door to door excitedly, trying to greet everyone at once. In an attempt to calm him, brother-Tae hefted Cuty into his arms.

“Hey, mom. Hey, Noona,” he said as he swung Cuty-Jimin around. For Namjoon alone, Jimin’s laughter overlaid the little dog noises they all could hear.

“Hey, uncle,” sighed uncle-Yoon from the couch.

Hobi-mom rolled her eyes dramatically as she stated, “Yes, yes, you exist, we haven’t forgotten you.”

Namjoon walked over to the living room, glancing at the tv as he did so. It was the same show from Namjoon’s first night as Namsoon, he recognized the forehead guy, currently talking to a bald man.

“Why are they wearing matching pajamas?” he asked uncle-Yoon as he pointed to the two men onscreen.

“Get with it, Soon-ah, those are their uniforms. The future is all about comfort,” uncle-Yoon gestured grandly. After dealing with the spectrum of emotions from the other family members—curiosity to confusion to outright hostility—uncle-Yoon’s nonchalant attitude was almost jarring. He patted the couch cushion at his side with a half-smile. “Sit down, we need to talk.”

Sinking slowly, Namjoon nervously smoothed the pleats of his skirt to lay flat against his thighs.

“So, I haven’t really mentioned it—maybe Jin has—but I swing by the Coco sometimes before heading to work at night.” He held up his hands placatingly as Namjoon opened his mouth to speak. “It’s no big deal, we just talk music while I stock up on energy drinks and snacks. But that’s why I have his number.”

Nodding gently at the realization on Namjoon’s face, he continued, “I called it yesterday when you didn’t show up for supper. Had a little chat with his mom. I wanted to say something to the family, but, I don’t know, it wasn’t really my place, you know? But it is my place to tell you that I think you did the right thing.

“People matter more than anything in this stupid world we live in, and sometimes that means doing dumb things with the right intentions. And being there for Jin when he really needed someone to trust? Yeah, it was dumb, but it was good. I’m really proud, Soon-ah.”

As he let the words sink in, Namjoon felt almost dazed with gratitude. The confirmation that he had done something right, something worthwhile for Jin, he hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear that.

He reached out to slip his hand into uncle-Yoon’s. “Thank you,” he mumbled, grinning as uncle-Yoon bit back a smile.

Settling back into the couch, their hands still connected between them, Namjoon gestured to the tv screen. “So, what’s happening in this episode?”

“Alright, so there’s this wormhole…”

***

Me

dad is a lot more upset about yesterday than mom, so i might get some of my punishment reduced, idk keep your fingers crossed

9:57 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

i will ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

todays been so weird though

1 youre not here

2 i found marbles in my coat pocket??

3 ive had the craziest customers

10:02 p.m.

Me

crazy how?

10:03 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

i have 2 words for you

………

………………………

cowboy dracula

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

10:04 p.m.

Me

????

I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

10:05 p.m.

***

As far as punishments went, Namjoon’s was especially lenient: silent drives to school with JK-dad, much more lively drives home with Hobi-mom, and all free time spent under the family’s watchful eyes. He could still use his phone, didn’t get grilled about his school days over supper, didn’t have to hole away like some monk in penance. It really wasn’t so bad, he shouldn’t be complaining.

But, shit, he missed Jin.

Missed him so much it felt like a physical ailment, a constant yearning that pulled at him. No matter how much energy he exerted, how desperately he focused, how diligently he fought, Namjoon’s internal compass kept twirling back towards him.

It had been two days since he had last seen Jin.

Texting only did so much to fill the void of their separation. Namjoon was suddenly faced with the need to fill multiple hours that he had once spent with Jin, hours that now seemed so endless and dull as he lay listlessly in bed each day after supper, ignoring his homework to wallow. And his mind kept getting stuck on a single thought, buried under the skin like a sliver, pleading to be picked at and exposed. With each second he neglected it, the thought burrowed itself even deeper within him.

Pressing his fingertips into his eyelids, he blew a rough gust of air his through his gritted teeth. He couldn’t keep doing this, not now that he had just begun to accept that these feelings—feelings so deeply rooted in his relationship with Seokjin—weren’t going away.

Rolling slowly off Soon’s bed, Namjoon pulled open the bedroom door just enough to poke out his head and call, “Cuty?”

The sound of clattering dog paws echoed down the hallway as Cuty-Jimin flung himself up the stairs at Namjoon’s call. Even at the worst of times, his unfailing excitement could sneak some happiness into Namjoon’s heart.

“Joon!” Cuty-Jimin panted as he danced on his hind legs, clearly asking to be held. Namjoon hefted him up as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot, shutting them away from the rest of the house. “I was having the nicest dream, but this is way better,” he said as he nestled into Namjoon’s shoulder.

Namjoon scratched behind Cuty’s ear with a gentle sigh, smiling as Cuty-Jimin’s legs kicked reflexively. “Can I ask you something?”

Shifting a little in his lap, Cuty looked up to Namjoon with a grin.

“Okay, so…Jin’s mom kept a secret from him, something really important, even though it wouldn’t have changed much about his life. She was only trying to protect him, but she was trying to protect herself, too.” Biting his lip, he looked down at the dog and said, “You see where I’m going with this, right?”

“Oh, no,” Cuty-Jimin swore as he scrambled to his feet, shaking his head emphatically. “No, no, no, are you crazy? Jinseok will be so sad if he finds out you’ve been lying all this time.”

“Exactly. The person who he’s fallen for, the person who he thinks I am, this isn’t the full picture. Lying by omission is still lying,” countered Namjoon. His eyes followed the dog as he paced back and forth across Soon’s bed.

Cuty-Jimin sat down with a huff, angling back his head haughtily. “Yeah, but this isn’t about you, this is about finishing Soon’s To Do list!”

“But this is about me a little bit. I mean, my feelings are involved now, so—”

“What do you want from Jinseok?” Cuty interrupted. “Do you want to stay here with him or do you want to go back home to your version of Jin?”

Namjoon twisted his shaking hands into his sleeves. Fuck, what did he want? He knew it was selfish to want to hoard what he’d gained in this world while still setting his sights beyond. But it stung knowing that his ticket home, his path back to being Kim Namjoon again, relied on immediately relinquishing his perfect ending to Namsoon. It was a disgusting thing to do, to project his feelings onto Jin in this way, to treat Jin as a substitute for what he really wanted.

Seokjin. He just wanted Seokjin to like him as himself, as Kim Namjoon.

“I just hate lying to him,” Namjoon mumbled, humiliated that Cuty-Jimin had rendered him so raw and bare with no effort at all. “He deserves so much better than that, and I don’t want to cause him any more pain.”

Padding back onto Namjoon’s lap, Cuty pressed his face back into his shoulder. “I know. I just don’t want you to ruin your chances of going home.”

Nodding, Namjoon smoothed down the fur along Cuty’s back, sorting through all of his options. Was there even a right answer in a fucked-up scenario like this? “How about this,” he said with a tap to the dog’s forehead. “If something goes wrong, if I don’t make it home by new year’s, I’ll tell Jin then.”

Turning his broad smile to Namjoon, Cuty replied, “Sounds like a plan.”

***

Jinnie-oppa!!!

its weird in here without you

no one to laugh at my amazing jokes

no one to tell me im the best oppa in the universe

im so lonely without you

11:20 p.m.

Me

i miss you, too

so so much

11:22 p.m.

***

By the beginning of the next week, JK-dad had given permission for Namjoon to start walking to school with the girls again—with the stipulation, of course, that Hobi-mom would be picking him up after school.

Clearly, JK-dad knew that not seeing Jin was punishment enough.

As Namjoon’s little group commuted to school together for the first time in almost two weeks, he was hit by a sudden revelation: this would either be his last week as Namsoon or this last with the hopes of getting back to his own reality.

“New year’s is so soon,” Haneul said as they waited for their bus to arrive. She had latched onto Namjoon’s arm at Soon’s house and hadn’t let go since, claiming that she would never let go again.

“Oh my gosh, so’s the talent show!” Eunsoo cried, her hands on her cheeks. “After everything that’s happened, I spaced completely!”

Namjoon waved off their concerned faces with more confidence than he felt. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. My uncle and I have been working on the backing track, everything should be ready in time.”

“Still, it’s never easy to perform in front of everyone. I don’t know how BTS does it, night after night,” Haneul uttered.

Namjoon chuckled, but he was starting to wonder that himself. It had been two months now since he was himself, two months away from the music, the fans, the stage. There was a part of him that itched to perform, the other worried that he had lost something of himself along the way.

“Namsoon-ah will do amazing,” Yelim declared with assurance as their bus pulled into view. “I can’t wait.”

By the time they reached the school, the girls had rallied to Namjoon’s cause, declaring that no one was even in the same league as him. He felt a little guilty knowing that their statements were actually true. Who else had secret idol training in their back pocket?

Confidence restored a little, Namjoon looked at Soon’s world with new eyes, knowing that his time here was hopefully running low.

There was a clean, orderly aesthetic to the school that he would miss. The rows of shoe cubbies and the long, dark hallways, the wide windows of the classroom overlooking the empty courtyard, and the cramped, tightly-packed rooms. The looks he shared with Yelim, Haneul, and Eunsoo throughout the day, their walks to and from the school filled with laughter. He couldn’t even imagine how much Soon must miss this.

Stuck in his reverie, Namjoon started when their homeroom teacher called to him as they filed into the classroom.

“Namsoon-ssi, I need you to meet with me after school today. Please come to the teachers’ room after you’re done cleaning the classroom,” he said before announcing to the class it was time to find their seats.

“What was that about?” Eunsoo whispered, leaning forward over her desk as Namjoon sat.

“I have no idea.”

***

Jinnie-oppa!!!

maybe your teacher just wants to tell you secretly that youre his favorite student????

im sure its nothing to worry about

youre too smart and great for it to be something bad

12:18 p.m.

Me

i guess?? i’ll trust your opinion

(i want you to know that my phone autocorrected that to “i’ll trust your onion”)

12:19 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

thats even better

my onion is extremely trustworthy

12:21 p.m.

***

The girls seemed to sense Namjoon’s apprehension, chattering loudly as they walked him to the teachers’ room trying to bolster his mood.

“Everything will be fine,” Yelim reassured as they shooed him inside.

Having never been in the teachers’ room, Namjoon took a moment to get his bearings, glancing around the maze of desks to find his teacher. When he did, he almost swore as he recognized Soon’s parents seated in front of his desk. Namjoon slunk between the various desks with his heart in his throat. Still, he relaxed just a little at Hobi-mom’s bright grin.

“Hello,” he greeted his teacher, before saying to JK-dad and Hobi-mom as he sat, “I didn’t know you’d both be here, too.”

“Yes, I invited them,” his teacher said, pushing back his greying hair. “As this is a very serious occasion, I wanted them to be present.”

Serious? Oh, shit.

“We’ve received word from a few universities that you have applied to, Namsoon-ssi,” the teacher paused.

Namjoon’s heart was beating painfully in his ears, so loud that he was sure Hobi-mom could hear it from her seat next to him. Her hand reached out for his, and they clutched at each other as the teacher pulled out a piece of paper and smoothed it down on the desk in front of him.

“Including Seoul National University.”

He stopped breathing.

“They were highly impressed. You’ve been accepted to SNU.”

“Yes!” Namjoon cried, leaping to his feet. Hobi-mom screamed as she followed suit, throwing her arms around him as they spun in excitement. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he said into her shoulder.

“Congratulations, Namsoon-ssi, the entire school is immensely proud of you,” his teacher declared after Hobi-mom finally stopped screaming. “Your hard work is an example for us all.”

“Thank you so much,” Namjoon said with a bow.

“This calls for a celebration!” Hobi-mom sang as she herded Namjoon and JK-dad out to the car. “Call up the whole family, we’re going out for barbeque!”

Namjoon grinned out the window as they drove home to tell uncle-Yoon and brother-Tae the good news.

Two items down, two to go.

***

Me

i still can’t believe it

i did it. i’m going to seoul national

4:59 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!

i always knew you could

oppa is so proud of you~~

ive seriously told everyone whos come in that youre going to seoul national

none of them know who im talking about but they send their congrats

5:03 p.m.

Me

please thank the randos for me!

5:04 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

i will~~~

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

5:06 p.m.

 

Jinnie-oppa!!!

im still so excited

is there any way i can see you tonight????

11:39 p.m.

Me

i’ll try. text me when you get here

11:43 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

here

12:09 p.m.

***

Namjoon crept through the quiet house, Cuty-Jimin’s tag clinking gently as he shadowed him down the stairs and to the front door.

Slipping on Soon’s coat, Namjoon whispered, “Did you hear anything when we were coming downstairs?” When the dog shook his head, he leaned down to pat Cuty-Jimin softly on the head. “Thanks again for playing my cover, I really, really appreciate you.”

“I want to help,” Cuty-Jimin said as Namjoon clipped on his leash. “Let’s go see Jinseok!”

He slowly turned the front door knob, inching the door open just enough for him to slip through. Cuty pulled ahead, excited to run in the yard despite the cold. From the front step, Namjoon could just barely make out Jin’s silhouette hovering at the gate.

After not being able to see him since that horrible, stressful day, Namjoon had wondered if this reunion would be awkward or hesitant. But that worry only clung to him for a moment before he was racing down the path to Jin, the two meeting halfway, throwing their arms around each other.

“Soonie-yah!” Jin giggled as he rocked Namjoon side to side. “And Cuty!” he added when Cuty-Jimin danced around them.

Watching Jin separate himself enough to scratch Cuty behind the ears, Namjoon felt his heart racing up his throat and out his mouth. Even in the darkness, he could see the happiness painted across Jin’s face. “I didn’t realize how much I missed your voice,” he mumbled, grateful that the night hid the flush he felt sneaking up his cheeks. He sounded like home.

Namjoon could feel Jin’s eyes on his face. Turning away shyly, Jin directed his words to Cuty siting at his feet, “I missed you, too.”

Jin giggled as Cuty rolled onto his back, but Namjoon felt tears prick the backs of his eyes and blur his vision. Soon was allowed to have this, Soon was destined for this happy ending, but Namjoon? He got none of it.

Circumstances had created the gentle divide between Jinseok and Seokjin, but Namjoon had been himself this whole time, regardless of how the world saw him. Namjoon as Soon got the chance to be with Jin. Namjoon as himself got a lot of “bros” and jokes from the others and not a lot else. Seokjin was a beautiful, unknowing dream living just beyond Namjoon’s fingertips.

But Seokjin was the dream he wanted.

“Soonie?”

 He felt Jin’s hands against his cheeks, the pad of his thumb against the dimple on Namjoon’s left cheek trying to coax out a smile.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Namjoon sniffled a little, shaking his head. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”

Tilting down Namjoon’s head to press his lips against Namjoon’s forehead through his fringe, Jin whispered, “Oh, Soonie-yah.”

Somehow, that tangle of emotions that had filled Namjoon since the moment he tore himself away from their kiss, since they shared their laughter in a quiet convenience store, since long before Namjoon even arrived in this bizarro world, that knot seemed to unspool in his chest. Love was a dangerous thing, but it was all he had.

***

Jinnie-oppa!!!

[image]

look at this pancake i made!!!!!

it was like a scene in a romance movie

i told it that it was beautiful and that i loved it

then i blew it a kiss

it was delicious

8:48 p.m.

Me

why are you like this.

8:49 p.m.

***

Since Namjoon had been accepted to one of the top schools in the country, JK-dad’s icy treatment slowly thawed away. So, when he saw JK-dad’s car waiting him for him instead of Hobi-mom’s halfway through the week, Namjoon couldn’t fight back the hope that maybe his punishment was coming to an end.

“Hey, dad,” Namjoon greeted as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Hello, Soonie. I got off work early and figured I could pick you up instead of mother,” he said, waiting until Namjoon had buckled his seatbelt to pull from the curb. “How was school?”

“Good.”

“Good,” JK-dad responded.

Namjoon shifted in his seat, watching the pedestrians they passed, bundled figures rushing from place to place.

“Look,” JK-dad sighed, interrupting the uneasy silence. “I know that your punishment probably felt pretty harsh considering that you’re such a good kid, but it’s because you’re a good kid that I came down so hard on you. I always knew you had so much potential, that you could make it into a SKY university, and I just couldn’t let you drop the ball before you even had a chance to take your shot.”

“I get it, dad, I really do. I promise, it was an accident that I don’t plan on repeating,” Namjoon replied.

“I’ll hold you to that,” JK-dad stated, pulling into their driveway. “But I think I made my point, to you and to Jinseok. You’re officially un-grounded.”

“Wait, what did you do to Jin?”

JK-dad tilted down his chin to look at Namjoon over the thin rims of his glasses. “Don’t play dumb with me, young lady. I’m not oblivious, I know where you go after school. Just thank me and be on your way.”

“Thanks, dad,” Namjoon grumbled as he rolled his eyes. But he still leaned over the center console to pull him into an awkwardly tilted hug. “Thank you for everything.”

Chapter Text

All my ladies, put your hands up!

Namjoon sluggishly reached out a hand from under the covers to swipe away the alarm and rid himself of his own voice singing in tinny tones from the phone speakers. Rolling onto his back, he squinted up at the ceiling of Soon’s bedroom, the soft white texture lit in the dim glow of a winter morning. Everything was normal, everything was the same as the day before, everything was fine.

But today was his last day of school before the festival on Sunday.

He had three days to get Soon’s To Do list completed or be forced to spend the rest of his life here in this bizarro world.

Part of him wanted to savor this, wanted to carefully take in every little detail of his morning routine. The careful dance he shared with brother-Tae to make sure they both had adequate time in the bathroom before school, the beautiful breakfasts choreographed by Hobi-mom, the light conversation over the table as they readied for their days. But the second Namjoon tried to take hold of these moments, the faster they seemed to slip between his fingers, pulled along like the rush of commuters that swept him and the girls up each morning.

“I can’t believe this is our last school festival,” Haneul sighed as they carefully cut out paper props for their class’s various photobooths. “Where did all the time go?”

Decorated sheets hung from clotheslines around the room, giving their visitors on festival day different themes for selcas and group shots. There was even one meant to look like a BTS concert, silhouettes holding up army bombs in front of the stage, the members frozen mid-choreography for I Need U.

“Right down the drain with all of our studying,” Yelim shrugged.

“Still, it feels insane to look back and realize how far we’ve come,” said Eunsoo as she attached a dowel rod to an oversized cutout of an army bomb.

“It’s funny how that works. The days all feel so similar, yet they just keep building on top of each other. All of those subtle changes growing and spreading until nothing seems the same as before when you finally take the time to look around,” Namjoon mused.

“God, you get into one SKY university, and suddenly you’re spouting platitudes,” Yelim rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me, I’m having a moment here! I’ve been through a lot recently,” he jokingly responded, knowing that the three girls had no idea how true his words were. Sitting on the floor of their classroom, hair and makeup neatly done, laughing with the three girls like old friends, Namjoon still felt a little startled to realize he’d made it this far. That he had accomplished so much, that he’d been able to do so many of the things that Namsoon had only dreamt of.

He was so close to home he could almost taste it, but so much was riding on the school festival. The pressure to get this right, to be perfect, was like a stone in his chest, despite the entire life he’d lived as Kim Namjoon, as RM, shit, even as Runch Randa. Unlike in the real world, there were no do-overs, no next-times, no try-again-laters.

There was only one talent show, and he had just this one chance to win.

“I’m sorry I keep complaining about this, but it just feels like…a lot right now,” Namjoon said after school, fiddling with a bag of honey butter chips on the shelf beside him.

Jin shook his head with a smile. “I told you, I don’t mind.”

Now that Namjoon was no longer under house arrest, his afternoons were once again filled with Jin—with his perfect, beautiful face and his tightlipped, soft smiles that made his cheeks bulge and his horrible jokes and his broad, toothy smiles that lit up his eyes and his stupid, wonderful laughter. It was like Namjoon was a starving man arriving to a buffet.

It wasn’t like everything had simply gone back to the way they were before, though. The boundary lines that once held them apart had been erased, letting Namjoon run headlong into the misty beyond, grasping blindly for any part of Jin he could reach. Now, instead of nervously smoothing the pleats of his skirt, Namjoon tugged on the fabric of Jin’s hoodie, fiddled with the collar of his uniform shirt, traced the lines of Jin’s fingers.

And every time he pushed past the grey boundaries, he found Jin’s waiting hands reaching back.

“Still, I know all I’ve done is whine about this for ages—”

“Soonie-yah,” Jin interrupted as he stood to tuck Namjoon’s hair behind his ear. “I’ve been telling you for ages: you’re too young to be drinking whine.”

“Ugh, Jin-oppa, why are you like this?” Namjoon groaned. He shoved at Jin’s shoulder as he laughed at his own terrible joke, but he knew Jin could see that he was fighting back a smile. “I can’t even handle you sometimes.”

“Pfft, I’m a delight.”

Namjoon let himself stare at the way mirth brought Jin’s features to life, fighting back his immediate, innate response to glance away like he would back home. Seokjin was always at his most captivating when he laughed. Namjoon’s memories were rife with Seokjin’s happiness as viewed from the corner of his eye—half views of Seokjin at his side, giggling over his nerves as he played with the heavy gold chain around his wrist before they debuted or whipping a glowing army bomb over his head in front of a sold-out show or draping himself over every member but Namjoon as they counted down the seconds before a performance.

Averting his eyes in shame, Namjoon shoved the thought away. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted. There was no room in the precious few days he had for mourning prematurely over losing this, no room for losing himself to thoughts of Seokjin while Jinseok stood in front of him, no room for the pain he knew would eventually come from indulging himself. He’d given himself permission to have just that much before he had to bail on this world, and he would be an idiot to waste this flawed gift he’d received.

“Seriously, though, you’re going to be alright. It’s normal to be nervous about something that matters to you,” Jin said, his gentle tone bringing back Namjoon from the brink of his own mind.

Namjoon nodded, trying for a convincing smile. “You’ll be there, right?”

“Of course. I asked for the afternoon off weeks ago, even though I pretty much never work Sundays,” Jin shrugged as he finished straightening the snack aisle.

“Weeks ago?” Namjoon asked, running the numbers in his head.

As gentle color bloomed across Jin’s cheeks, Namjoon couldn’t help but think of item number four: get a boyfriend. They were a thing, that was obvious, but defining that in technical terms was…well, honestly, it was awkward, so they’d quietly avoided it. Sure, Namjoon was a bit—okay, a lot—angry at himself for not writing down Jin’s confession that night so that he could physically hold the perfect words Jin had given him, and, yes, the way Jin would cling to his hand whenever he had to leave for home was decidedly romantic, but placing a tidy, little label on everything they were felt wrong somehow.

It was awkward and terrible, and Namjoon had essentially no time to iron it out.

“Hey, this is a long shot, but are you doing anything tomorrow?” Namjoon asked as Jin wound his grey scarf around his neck for him.

One corner of Jin’s lips quirked, his tell that he was enjoying a private joke. “Maybe. Did you have something in mind?”

“I don’t know, not really. My family is going out for Tae’s birthday, but I might be able to convince them to let me hang out afterwards. It’d just be nice to see you, I guess,” Namjoon muttered, feeling a bit stupid for not planning anything out in advance.

“Let me know, then. I promise I’ll find some way to see you tomorrow,” Jin replied.

Biting his lip, Namjoon nodded, trying to build a permanent home in his memory for the way Jin’s fingers felt against his neck, for the dazed look on his face when Namjoon stepped forward just enough to press his lips to Jin’s cheek and the tiny breath they shared in that moment. Then, like he always did, like he’d always have to do, Namjoon yanked himself away.

***

“So, are we finally ready?” Namjoon asked for the fifth time the next morning. He sat slouched in the living room, valiantly trying to ease the scowl off his face. This could be his last day with the family, his last outing as a Jeong, and he wanted so badly to enjoy it. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that, the sooner the family got ready for the day, the more time he’d have with Jin tonight.

All he wanted was a little balance, a nice day out with the family with enough time to finally work up the courage to ask Jin to be his boyfriend. Unfortunately, no one else in the family was working with him on this.

Brother-Tae kept glancing at the clock hung in the kitchen, then running back upstairs to try on different sweaters—nevermind the fact that he kept returning back downstairs minutes later each time wearing the exact same brown argyle cardigan. Uncle-Yoon sat at the dining table with a cup of coffee that had to be ice cold by now, while JK-dad at his side seemed content to flip through a magazine that Namjoon knew he’d read two days ago. Hobi-mom, usually so prompt and punctual, was taking her sweet time, meandering around the house like they didn’t have somewhere to be. Even Cuty-Jimin couldn’t be bothered, snoozing away at Namjoon’s feet.

Namjoon huffed as he slouched still further to glare up at the ceiling. All of this wasted time was like a stopwatch in his mind, ticking away the minutes that he had been hoping to spend with Jin.

A knock sounded, and everyone seemed to move at once.

“Oh, my, who could that be?” Hobi-mom shouted, rushing from the kitchen faster than uncle-Yoon and JK-dad could match as they both launched themselves up from the table. But, skidding ahead of everyone on socked feet, brother-Tae was the ultimate winner. The four of them formed a solid wall in front of the door, but there was no mistaking the distinctive, polite greeting drifting in from outside.

“Wow, hello, everyone,” Jin said, amusement clear in his voice.

Namjoon let himself hang back, even as Cuty-Jimin sprang to his feet and pushed between everyone’s legs to reach Jin as he stepped inside. Watching the six of them greet each other settled some deep part of him as the world righted itself. There was such a clear sense of belonging as Jin was welcomed inside, the way he so easily slid into place among them all, even as he awkwardly bowed to JK-dad, jarringly formal after his hug from Hobi-mom.

As Jin’s eyes searched for his across the room, Namjoon felt the strangest kind of relief. Whether he made it home or not, he had at least done this for Jin. He had pulled him into the folds of this family, had proven for the millionth time that the seven of them were better together. Even if he failed, even if he never made it home, he had gotten this one thing right.

It didn’t matter which universe they were in, Bangtan belonged together.

***

“I have no idea what I’m looking at,” Jin whispered as they stood in front of a massive photo of…something.

“I think that’s the point,” Namjoon replied, trying to piece together his feelings on the work. The exhibition brother-Tae had spent weeks talking about was definitely worth the hype, the photos around them tearing at Namjoon’s emotions, amplifying the tender sway of his heart. Brother-Tae was flitting between people, his boxy grin so wide that Namjoon’s cheeks ached in sympathy. He left behind Hobi-mom deep in conversation with JK-dad beside a small portrait of two children, faces stern with mock seriousness, to run towards Jin and Namjoon. That mourning sensation wrapped itself around the back of Namjoon’s neck.

Linking arms with both of them, brother-Tae sighed happily, “Isn’t this the best?”

“Yeah, you have great taste,” Namjoon said as he steered them to another piece.

“It’s nice seeing you so happy,” Jin added. “Especially after everything you’ve been through at school, you’ve earned it.”

Namjoon shot a questioning glance over brother-Tae’s head, pulling apart his memories for reasons why he would be struggling at all. Hidden between his own problems and worries and angst was the solitary image of brother-Tae, roughed up and alone behind his school. How had Namjoon let himself forget?

Just like back in his own life, Jin had stepped up to cover for Namjoon’s imperfections.

Brother-Tae seemed to almost bubble up with pride at Jin’s words. “Thanks, but your advice really helped a lot, Jin-hyung,” brother-Tae smiled back. Namjoon nearly tripped over the word, familiar but wrong somehow. Jin-oppa and Jin-hyung weren’t the same, could never be the same for him.

“Is this about those bullies?” Namjoon interjected, hating how behind he was.

Turning his megawatt smile towards Namjoon, brother-Tae replied, “Not anymore. Turns out there really is strength in numbers. Those jerks are a lot less brave about pushing people around when we all stick together.”

“The power of friendship,” Jin mused.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you more, Tae Tae, I feel like kind of a terrible sibling,” Namjoon said as he leaned into brother-Tae.

Wrapping his long arms around Namjoon, brother-Tae replied, “You helped a lot, in your own way. That’s what family’s for.”

Namjoon let his words carry him through the rest of the day, let them fill him up until he felt that he would burst with love for the people around him, for the little dog waiting patiently for them to come back home. And, shit, he tried, he really tried to hold onto those moments as they passed, tried to cradle them in his hands like the priceless things they were, but time simply shifted beneath him. One second, he was in the art exhibit with the family, the next they were all laughing over their lunches, the next they were crammed on the couch at home helping brother-Tae finalize his entries for his school’s art display.

He blinked and found himself on the back of Jin’s bike.

“How has today been the fastest day of my life?” Namjoon complained as he hooked his chin over Jin’s shoulder, watching the purple dusk descend over the city around them.

“You should have taken a photo, that would’ve made it last longer,” Jin chuckled as he eased around a corner and down a narrow road to a small patch of green. When Namjoon slid to his feet, he caught a glimpse beyond the edge of the park. He hadn’t realized that their neighborhood was this much higher than the surrounding city, giving them a perfect view of the city below twinkling to life as the sun set.

“This is incredible,” he said as he stretched his arms wide to capture the colors between his hands.

Jin hummed as he leaned against the railing, smiling down at the lights below.

Glancing over at Jin, it was easy for Namjoon’s eyes to blur the little details that separated him from his Seokjin, to forget that Jin’s smile was meant for Namsoon. He let his open arms drape around Jin’s neck and let himself live in that little fantasy for just a moment.

“I’m glad you were with us today,” Namjoon murmured. “I have to ask, though, did literally everyone in my family invite you along?”

Pressing his laughter into Namjoon’s shoulder, Jin nodded. “Excluding you and Cuty, obviously.”

“I would have, too, if I knew I could have.”

Jin leaned back and pressed his hands against Namjoon’s cheeks. “I know you would, I’m fantastic company. The best friend ever.”

“Truly sublime,” Namjoon giggled. It was hard to know where to look standing this closely, each feature on Jin’s face too striking not to catch. He was frankly a little overwhelmed, and the urge to stop wasting any more time sat heavy in his mind. But Namjoon needed to be smart about this. He broke the gentle silence with, “I was a little worried about how everything would be with my dad today.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Jin sighed. “Did you know he stopped in to talk to me this week? It was kind of horrifying at first. Groveling is never something to look forward to, but, believe me, it’s worse in a convenience store.”

“Oh, shit, what did he say?”

“He just wanted to know my side of things. It was honestly kind of nice to get it off my chest, he was really nice about everything. I don’t know, I feel…lighter somehow?” Jin shrugged, almost as if he was physically removing the emotions that once weighed him down. His hands still resting against Namjoon’s cheeks tilted from his head side to side. “He also told me to get a move on with this whole ‘officially asking you out’ thing.”

Namjoon startled to his full height. “What? No, you can’t just beat me to the punch like that!” he whined, stamping his foot. A delighted smirk stretched across Jin’s face as Namjoon glowered, the dark storm on his face only growing as Jin readied himself to speak—but only when Namjoon’s mouth opened. “Just be my boyfriend, already!” he shouted, drowning out Jin’s words in the process.

Jin darted forward, pressing his lips to Namjoon’s for a single heartbeat before breaking down into giggles. “This was not how I was expecting this to go, but yes, okay, I’m your boyfriend now,” he wheezed, his shoulders shaking under Namjoon’s arms.

“Good,” Namjoon pouted, a tiny bit angry at himself that he made Jin laugh when, optimally, they should definitely be kissing by now. He turned his head towards the city, counting the lights twinkling in long, curving rows, letting himself grin despite himself.

Clearing his throat a little as his giggles tapered off, Jin ducked his head as he tugged on Namjoon’s sleeve. “Soonie, could you say it?”

“Say what?”

In the last dregs of the twilight, Namjoon could see the pink that traveled up Jin’s cheeks and down his neck. “That I’m your boyfriend?” he mumbled, glancing up at Namjoon through his lashes. For an entire second, Namjoon forgot how to breathe.

Namjoon leaned into Jin, so close that their noses brushed, that their breathes fanned across each other’s face as he said, “You’re my boyfriend.”

It felt a little like Jin was melting into him, relaxing against him so completely that he wasn’t sure where he ended and Jin began. Their first kiss had been filled with a kind of desperation, a need to dive headlong into each other’s depths, and all others since had been somewhat fleeting and shy. But this kiss was more like a slow embrace. The spreading warmth of acceptance, a little like coming home.

Even after their lips separated, even as they rode back to Soon’s house, even under the harsh streetlights, the world seemed more magical for it. There was a sparkle to the air, whispering that Namjoon was on the right path. Everything had been scrapped and made new, made beautiful for the absolute assurance of their kiss.

Three items down, he thought to himself as he pressed his lips to Jin’s at the front gate.

Jin caught Namjoon’s fingers as he turned to head inside, his face so open with affection as his words cut straight for the jugular. “You’re my girlfriend, Soonie,” Jin stated, eyes starry and so, so sincere.

If Namjoon could have carved out his heart then and there, he honestly might have.

The universe was punishing him for stealing this corner of happiness for himself, he was convinced. As he watched Jin peddle away into the night, he couldn’t help but wonder what Seokjin would make of this. Seokjin was careful, picking and choosing when to share his affection with others, always looking for the times when it would be most comfortable and natural. But there was nothing comfortable or natural about lying.

Namjoon sighed, watching his breath drift away. Would Jin abandon him if he knew the truth? He thought of the supportive, kind, but gently awkward relationship with Seokjin back home and felt a sliver of hope slip out into the night air beyond his reach.

Jin wanted Namsoon, not Namjoon. Never Namjoon.

***

Waking up before the sun that next morning tasted like Namjoon’s last day at home before moving to Seoul. The electric feeling of anticipation, the metallic tang of dread mixed on his tongue.

Brother-Tae and Hobi-mom sleepily met him in the bathroom, giving their thoughts on his chosen outfit before devoting themselves to perfecting his hair and makeup. Cuty-Jimin cuddled into Namjoon’s arms as they worked. Standing in the bathroom with the three at his wings, Namjoon smiled softly at his reflection looking darkly dramatic and feminine. If everything went according to plan, this would be one of the last times Namjoon would see himself like this.

The weird part wasn’t that he had gotten used to this, to uniform skirts and hair clips, it was how nice it had been to live a completely different life than Kim Namjoon ever could. To see firsthand how strangely the world treated him when they thought they saw something else.

But now he needed to be himself again. He needed today to be flawless.

Uncle-Yoon couldn’t fight back a smile when he poked his head into the bathroom with a USB copy of Namjoon’s backing track in hand. Letting out a long whistle, he nodded approvingly, saying, “You look badass, Soon-ah. You’re gonna kill it.”

“Of course she will; my daughter’s the best,” Hobi-mom bragged as she smoothed back Namjoon’s hair.

The sun was just beginning to blush across the sky in pinks and oranges as Namjoon and the girls arrived at school later that morning. There was a strange kind of apprehension that radiated from Namjoon at the sight. A place that he knew so well, would hopefully never see again, the place where he might just make Namsoon’s last dream come true.

He either won today and could finally go home, or he lost and…what? Would he be forced to give up on everything Kim Namjoon had fought his entire life for? Could he find it in himself to accept that fate? The murky unknown beyond pulled at his anxieties.

But he couldn’t give up, not now that he had gotten so close. Now was the time to fight for it.

Camera in hand, Namjoon spent his morning taking photos for the visitors to their classroom, the other girls occasionally acting as his art director. It was a bit odd being on the other side of the camera for once instead of trying his best to pose demurely for a director or Jungkook or Taehyung or Jimin. But as he lined up shots for other classmates and their friends, even as he laughed at comments from the girls, his mind kept rolling over his performance. Each mental run through exposed another detail that he needed to produce perfectly and amplified his need to just get this over with.

He had spent so long worrying over this in the back of his mind that he felt almost burnt out with stress.

When it came time to pass off his camera, ending his shift for the day, he leaned against the back wall to wait for his friends. Tilting his head back, Namjoon let his eyes fall closed, imagining how he would react if he actually won this thing. He had no idea what type of acts he was up against, but he knew his abilities, knew how to handle himself on stage, knew how to capture an audience’s attention. But there was still that nagging voice in the back of his head that whispered all of his insecurities.

The universe had delivered him to a place where he could actually cross off every item on Soon’s list, but it landed squarely on him to make that happen.

“So, how are we feeling?” Haneul asked as they slipped out into the crowded hallway to track down a classroom café for lunch. She gave Namjoon two okay signs, saying “Amazing, excellent, gonna smash it?” then turned her thumbs downwards, “Or more horrible, anxious, might puke onstage?”

“Maybe more like, ‘okay, uncertain, ready to give it my best,’” Namjoon said, holding his hands level with the ground.

“You’ll be great,” Eunsoo assured as they navigated through the halls, dodging through the hordes of people towards the other side of the building. But Namjoon’s stomach refused to settle, even as it rumbled over the delicious odors of the girls’ skewers and hot dogs. It was probably for the best, though, he knew that anything could throw off his performance if he wasn’t careful. So much was riding on this, and he couldn’t afford to stumble now.

But, as he watched his friends feasting on parfaits at a dessert booth run by a second-year class, a tiny voice reminded him of all the things he would be leaving behind if he made it home.

He would have to say goodbye to Eunsoo, Yelim, and Haneul for the last time. No more long bus rides as just another face in the crowd. No more afternoons in the convenience store, wasting time. Soon’s family would be Bangtan again, a family in a completely different kind of way. The budding relationship with Jin would be left for Soon to nurture, to enjoy and cherish.

As much as he desperately wanted to go home, leaving so much behind left a bitter aftertaste in his throat.

When the girls walked him to the auditorium to meet with Soon’s family before the talent show, he stopped them just short of the doorway. He clasped their hands in his and took a minute to look into their now familiar faces. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Soonie, don’t make me cry already!” Haneul flung her arms around him.

“You did this yourself. You’re going to be amazing,” Yelim smiled, really smiled at him before Eunsoo tugged them all into a group hug.

“I love you guys,” sighed Eunsoo.

With a small wave to the girls, Namjoon wandered over to where he saw his family in the crowd, seated almost dead center in the front. His heart nearly burst when he saw Cuty-Jimin’s little head peeking over brother-Tae’s shoulder as he approached, the dog wiggling in excitement when their eyes met.

“Soonie! How are you feeling?” Hobi-mom called as she edged down the row to hug Namjoon.

“Great, now that you’re all here,” he responded as he wrapped his arms around her and JK-dad. “I didn’t even think they allowed pets in the school, but I’m happy the whole family could come.”

“He refused to let us leave without him,” brother-Tae explained. “It’s like he knew something exciting was happening.”

“Of course! It’s not like I’m an idiot or something,” muttered Cuty-Jimin.

Namjoon laughed, leaning over to take brother-Tae's and uncle-Yoon’s hands in his, “Well, I’m glad. I hope I can make you all proud today.”

“We already are,” uncle-Yoon mumbled, looking intently at the stage as the music teacher walked to the podium and tapped gently at the mic. He pursed his lips as Hobi-mom took her seat next to him again with a laugh.

“You know, we can still hear you, even when you’re not looking at us,” she giggled.

“Whatever.”

“Good luck, Soon-ah,” JK-dad said as the teacher called the contestants to the back. “We’re all rooting for you. We know you’ll do your best.”

“I will,” Namjoon replied, looking at each member in turn. “Thank you all.”

***

Backstage, the atmosphere was tense, the silence of the contestants broken only by their fidgeting and quiet vocal warmups. Namjoon tried his best to treat it simply as a normal day, a normal performance, but his rather enthusiastic stretches quickly gained more than a few glares. He could almost hear the other members laughing at him from the real world, the teasing chorus of “I told you so.”

The contestants were grouped by their year and classes, leaving Namjoon with the unfortunate placement of almost dead last thanks to being in class 4. The wait was grueling, to say the least. With each new act, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to gauge if he could win over them.

It felt callous, somehow.

The last first-year student, a boy so small he looked maybe twelve years old at most, took the stage, flute in hand, when Namjoon peeked out through the curtains. He easily found Soon’s family in the front, but it took a moment of scanning the crowd to find the three girls in the sea of students off to far stage-right. But, for all he looked, he couldn’t see Jin anywhere.

The need to reach out to Seokjin, to pull him to his side, was a prevailing feeling before any performance, but Namjoon needed Jin now more than ever.

Me

i don’t see you, are you here yet?

1:28 p.m.

Jinnie-oppa!!!

sorrrrryyyyy~~~~

running late

i just got here!!!

wheres the auditorium??

1:33 p.m.

Namjoon glanced at his phone’s clock, then back at the line of nervous second-years set to begin performing. There had been so many questions that he had quietly put away during his time in Namsoon’s life, but maybe there was one that deserved to see the light of day. He needed an answer, regardless of the outcome. It only took him a moment to make up his mind.

Me

stay at the front entrance, i’ll find you

1:34 p.m.

Darting past the contestants, Namjoon stopped in front of the music teacher, whispering, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” she nodded, but she tapped Namjoon’s arm before he could rush off. “If you’re not back in time, you’ll have to forfeit, understood? We can’t wait on one person.”

Hesitating, Namjoon did the math in his head. Could he meet Jin and be back in time? But, no, he had to do this, he had to know Jin’s answer. “Okay, I understand,” he agreed, before slipping out the door.

When he made it to the entryway of the school, he skidded to a halt. Large, fluffy snowflakes drifted past the front doors, making the world outside look like a view into a snow globe. Namjoon could visualize a k-drama of this moment: the cliché romantic music playing as the heroine races out into the cold to meet a man, the one who she had needed the entire series to realize was her true love interest all along.

Damn, he was a bit of an idiot, wasn’t he? Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh as he ran outside to Jin.

“Soonie-yah!” Jin called from the school gates. Jogging up to meet Namjoon halfway, his breath left him in puffs from his rush to arrive on time, the color high on his cheeks highlighting the brightness of his eyes. “Sorry, I had to switch shifts at work to get yesterday off, then the next guy on shift was running late. I didn’t miss you perform, did I?”

“No, you haven’t. I have to be back soon, but,” he grabbed onto Jin’s arms to keep him in place. “I need to ask you something first.”

“Sure, okay,” Jin said.

“I need you to be honest with me on something, completely honest. Whatever your answer is, I promise I’ll understand, but I just need to know.”

“Anything,” Jin whispered as he looked up at Namjoon.

He could feel heat blooming across his cheeks at the fond tone of Jin’s voice as he began, “Imagine that we’re different. That we live in a different place with different lives, different goals, different dreams. Or—or different genders.” Namjoon paused, eyes pleading with Jin. “A world where we were both boys or both girls or one where we don’t even fit into any of those categories. If we lived in one of those worlds, if everything was different, would you…” He felt his breath give out a little.

“Would I what?”

“Would you still want me?”

Time ground to a halt as Namjoon watched Jin, watched him truly consider everything Namjoon had just asked, parsing his way through the hypothetical as he gazed into Namjoon’s eyes. When Jin blinked slowly, light catching on the snowflakes clinging to his lashes, Namjoon could feel his lungs creaking back into life, his heart thump against his ribcage, the blood in his veins begin to circulate through his body once more.

Finally able to feel the pain of laying himself bare in front of Jin.

“Aish, why don’t you listen to your oppa?” Jin finally muttered. “When I said that everything changed for me because you’re you, I meant that.” He stepped forward to press his forehead against Namjoon’s, his hands cradling both sides of his face. “You—the you that lives inside of you, the things that make you who you are, that’s what matters to me. That’s who I want to be with. In all of those worlds, there’s a me who’s waiting for you, and I hope you find me there, too.”

Jin’s lips were warm despite the cold when Namjoon leaned into the kiss. It was stupidly difficult to kiss Jin as he was grinning, as he was laughing, but Namjoon did his best. He pressed his hopes into Jin’s lips, every buried wish that he could maybe have this for himself as Namjoon. Jin moved in response like Namjoon was the most precious thing in the world.

Namjoon chased the feeling, even as Jin softly pulled away.

“This is great and all, but don’t you have a talent show to win?” Jin giggled as Namjoon pressed his lips to the skin beneath Jin’s ear.

“Shit, yeah,” startled Namjoon, craning his head around to look at the clock mounted above the school’s front doors. How had he been gone for over twenty minutes already?

“Come on, we have to hurry!”

Namjoon took Jin’s hand in his own and rushed back inside. While Namjoon barely paused to cram his feet into his indoor shoes, Jin simply raced inside on socked feet. Linking their hands once more, they ran down hallways, slid around corners, and skidded to a stop at the auditorium doors.

“Good luck,” Jin panted, capturing Namjoon’s lips for an instant before he could dash backstage.

Bursting through the backstage doors, his fellow contestants immediately pushed Namjoon to the front of the line. The music teacher let out a heavy sigh of relief as she pushed a microphone into his hands. “You’re just in time, you’re up next,” she murmured, motioning to the stage where a third-year sorted a deck of cards.

Pressing his hand to his heart, Namjoon willed his breathing to slow, knowing that his heart wasn’t going to stop bursting in his chest anytime soon.

He trusted Jin. Even as Namjoon had been running towards Namsoon’s happy ending, he might have accidentally discovered the keys to his own. Somewhere out there, his Seokjin could be waiting to prove Jin’s assurances true.

I promise I’ll find you.

As the third-year bowed to the crowd, Namjoon stepped out of the wings and into the light.

This was his moment.

The backing track began to play. His heart was beating to the tune of Jin’s smile, one that he could just barely make out at the back of the auditorium.

He took a soft breath as he lifted the microphone to his mouth and began to sing, “One day, I wrote a long, long letter to the moon.”

As he sang, Namjoon looked out on the faces in the crowd he loved, hoping that they could feel how grateful he was to them, hoping that they could feel the happiness they had brought filling him so much that it poured out.

Beyond the stage lights, Namjoon saw the starry-eyed looks on his family’s faces: the white knuckled grip Hobi-mom had on JK-dad’s hand, the warmth of Cuty-Jimin in brother-Tae’s arms, the full force of uncle-Yoon’s grinning face. The student section of the crowd seemed to come alive with the music. Towards the front, all three of his friends were already on their feet, swaying to Namjoon’s voice. In the crowd around them, Namjoon could pick out dork-type, emo-type, and jock-type moving to the beat.

And behind it all, Jin stood riveted, gazing up at Namjoon like maybe he was the best thing he’d ever seen, like he was the radiant center of Jin’s world.

"You and I are the only ones here. Me and you, oh you."

The practiced words tumbled from Namjoon as he drank in the crowd, weaving together all of Soon’s most desperate dreams. He wished that Soon could see him now, wished that she knew that she was capable of everything Namjoon had done in her stead, wished that she could somehow relive this moment for herself.

This was the gift he wanted for the girl he never knew.

“A step, and another step. The dawn passes and when that moon falls asleep, the blue shade that stayed with me disappears.”

***

“I knew you could sing, but that was breathtaking,” Hobi-mom sobbed after Namjoon had filed into the auditorium with the other contestants to wait for the judges’ deliberation. The girls and Jin had joined the Jeong family to huddle around Namjoon at the front of the audience, all voicing their praises for his performance.

“What are my chances, do you think, of winning the whole thing?” Namjoon asked the group as the judges assembled on stage.

“It’s not even a question, you’ve got this,” Yelim nodded.

A hush rolled over the crowd as the music teacher pulled out the envelopes from behind the podium.

“Congratulations to all of this year’s participants. Our school is truly proud of all of your many talents.” The teacher paused for applause before opening the first envelope. “Beginning with our winner of the first-year students…” She called the tiny flute player to the stage, followed by a second-year girl still clutching the ribbon wand from her rhythm dance routine.

As the applause tapered off, Namjoon felt everyone around him reach out to cling onto him somehow, pulling a smile from his anxious lips. The teacher paused to read her card before saying, “The third-year winner is Jeong Namsoon!”

A huge cheer followed Namjoon as he climbed onto stage with the other two winners. The principal stepped forward from the row of judges to shake their hands as the music teacher retrieved the final envelope. Namjoon bit his lip so hard he worried he would draw blood, crossing his fingers behind his back.

This was it.

“Our grand prize winner is…”

The crowd stilled. Never having to wait alone before, Namjoon pressed his arms tight to his sides, almost mimicking the way the members of Bangtan would huddle for support as they waited for a winner to be called. His eyes searched the audience blindly for a moment before they fell on Jin. With the smallest of shared smiles, Namjoon felt the tension in his chest ease a fraction.

Everything would be okay. It had to be.

“Jeong Namsoon!”

Namjoon stood frozen as the auditorium clapped and shouted for him, bringing his shaking hands to cover his mouth as the principal draped a medal around Namjoon’s neck, letting it clink against the whistle he still wore. It was like he could see the To Do list in front of him, could see the thick line removing item number three.

The music teacher gently pushed Namjoon to the podium, whispering with a smile, “Feel free to say a few words.”

When the crowd settled, Namjoon looked over to the group that had formed around the Jeong family: the three girls and the six bizarro versions of Bangtan. Beaming at them, he addressed the audience, “I want to thank you all for your cheers and your support. None of us today could have performed without you, and we all thank you for that. Thank you to the judges, and everyone who helped coordinate this event.”

He took a moment while the audience clapped. “Now, I want to say my personal thanks.” Namjoon looked back at his group, at the people who helped him through this ridiculous endeavor. “First, thank you to my friends for coming back to my side when I needed you most, for your kindness and trust.” Haneul was visibly crying at this point, arms tight around Eunsoo and Yelim.

“Second, I want to thank my family who are an absolute mess that I’d be lost without. I may not have always made you proud in the past, but I plan to use every day, every new opportunity to repay your love,” he continued, thinking of the members back home just as much as the group in front of him.

Namjoon’s eyes turned to Jin, wedged between Hobi-mom and uncle-Yoon. He felt almost buoyant with happiness as he said, “And, finally, to my boyfriend.” Hobi-mom whipped around, following Namjoon’s eyes to Jin, and shoved at his shoulder with a gasp. “I have a million reasons to thank you, but I have limited time up here, so I’ll just say this: thank you for waiting for me.” Stepping back from the podium, he blew Jin a kiss, feeling the wonderful irony of the action.

As the crowd got to their feet for a (rather inexplicable, in Namjoon’s opinion) standing ovation, Cuty-Jimin leapt from brother-Tae’s arms to scamper onstage. Namjoon scooped the dog into his arms before all of bizarro Bangtan gathered around him into a massive hug.

Something seemed to click in Namjoon’s mind, like suddenly everything felt like he was seeing and hearing it from a distance as they jumped and laughed, as they clung to one another. He looked to each of the members around him, taking them in one last time. Was this his final goodbye?

“Hey, Soon-ah!” he heard Eunsoo shout from the crowd. The three girls held a giant bouquet, overflowing from their arms in blue and purple, and, together, they tossed it to Namjoon.

Dropping Cuty-Jimin to the floor, he reached for the flowers, but he was too late.

He was blinded behind the blues and purples, flower petals flying against his face as the bouquet collided with his open hands. In his shock, he felt himself tipping backwards, falling too quickly for anyone to help. As his back hit the polished wood of the stage floor, he waited for his stomach to pitch upwards, for his ears to pop.

But there was nothing. Just the hardwood of the stage against his back and the expanse of the auditorium rigging above.

He was still here.

“Soonie? Sweetheart, are you okay?” Hobi-mom cried, kneeling by his head.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled in reply. Namjoon pressed his eyes closed, fighting back his tears. He’d done everything right, he’d fulfilled Soon’s list perfectly, but here he was, sprawled across the stage like an idiot.

JK-dad pulled him to his feet, and it was like waking up in Soon’s bedroom a lifetime ago. The faces around him were still so bright with happiness, glowing with a victory that Namjoon couldn’t claim.

There was no plan B. This was it.

***

The night air was still, like it was holding its breath, waiting for the new year to arrive. In front of their bench, the Han River stretched out, dark black water dancing in the night. Jin gently adjusted their shared blanket to drape across Namjoon’s shoulders, smiling softly when he murmured his thanks. After leaving the school, Namjoon’s evening had been a whirlwind of celebration, the Jeong family treating him, along with Jin and his three friends, to a beautiful supper that tasted like ash in his mouth.

Namjoon had tried his best to play the part, but he knew he was no actor. The confused glances between Hobi-mom and JK-dad were nearly heartbreaking. He knew he would have to tell them about who he was, what he’d been through, why he couldn’t live as Namsoon forever. He wondered if any one of these precious people around him could forgive him for this.

In the meantime, the consensus of the group was to simply shove Namjoon off to Jin for the night.

“The fireworks will be starting soon,” Jin stated, pushing Namjoon’s hair away from his face with gentle fingers. He cocked his head just enough to fill Namjoon’s peripheral vision. “You know, it’s okay to be sad. Sometimes reaching your goals can feel a little empty.”

“What?” Namjoon mumbled as he turned to look at Jin’s face. His heart crawled up his throat, wedging itself painfully as he realized that he would never see Seokjin’s face again, not really. Or Jimin’s or Jungkook’s, nor Yoongi’s, Hoseok’s, or Taehyung’s.

“This is about your list, right?” Jin asked softly. He slid his arm around Namjoon’s waist, pulling him in even closer.

“Yeah, a little bit.”

Jin nodded, slowly running his hand along Namjoon’s side as he let himself collapse onto Jin’s welcoming shoulder.

“I guess it’s just…” Namjoon let out a huff, watching the city lights skitter their way across the dark water. “It’s just that I don’t know what happens next. I’ve done everything I could, but now what? It’s done, I did everything, but I’m still stuck, just the same as before.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Jin replied. Letting his head rest against Namjoon’s, he said, “You’ve proven to yourself and to everyone else that you can do pretty much anything. You might not have changed much, but you’ve grown over all this time. That has to count for something, you know?”

Jin glanced out at the city before turning back to Namjoon. “I can tell you what you’re going to do next, though.”

Namjoon sat up as he asked, “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re going to take each day as it comes, take one step at a time, and, eventually, you’ll find some new dream to work towards. That’s just life. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

For the first time since the talent show ended, Namjoon felt a genuine smile pull at his lips. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he could do that. He could find a way to make this place a type of home, even though it wasn’t his, wasn’t the one he wanted. He could hold tight to the things that made this world special and, maybe one day, he could put away the pain of losing his real home in the process.

He let his eyes close, breathed in the crisp sting of night air, and let himself imagine for a moment, for the last time, that it was Seokjin next to him. As that image of Seokjin, radiant with childlike wonder, glowing with grit and determination, shimmered behind his eyes, Namjoon felt the words ripped from his throat in a whisper, “I’m so in love with you.”

In the distance, the sound of the first of the fireworks burst colors across the night sky, the sharp smell of gunpowder. When he opened his eyes, he could see the streaks of gold and blue against the deep brown of Jin’s eyes, the whole cosmos glimmering into life in front of him. Jin’s hand shook gently as he pressed his fingers against Namjoon’s jaw, a tiny half-smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. A smile that Namjoon recognized so strongly from his Seokjin that he felt tears prick the backs of his eyes.

This would have to be enough.

“Oh, Soonie,” Jin replied just as Namjoon’s phone began to buzz in his pocket—his alarm signaling that the new year had finally arrived.

His time was up. No going home.

“I love you, too.”

As he let his eyes close against the harsh reality, he felt a deep swooping sensation at the base of his spine, his stomach dropping as he felt himself fall backwards through the air, like the bench they were perched on had dissolved away. He reached out blindly for Jin, but his fingers grasped at nothingness.

His ears popped as he fell, and a dull ache radiated from the back of his head. All around him voices drifted past.

A whisper. “Oh, my god!”

“Seriously, how could you?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him!” Frantic bickering, panic clear in both voices.

“Should we call an ambulance?”

A door creaked open, bringing in the smell of fried chicken. “Holy fuck, did you guys actually kill Joonie?”

“Namjoon-ah? Namjoon-ah, can you hear me?” A plea.

As he settled finally, thankfully back into himself, Namjoon realized that the voices were talking to him. His eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds when he slowly forced them open, his vision blurring for a moment before he registered the sight before him.

Bangtan.

The real Bangtan.

He was home.

Chapter Text

After months, literally months spent desperately working towards getting back home, Namjoon never really gave much thought to what life would be like once he actually got there.

Waking up on the floor seconds after he’d initially left was not exactly where he pictured his grand reunion to be. He wasn’t upset, was actually kind of relieved that he hadn’t missed two and a half months of his own life, that Namsoon hadn’t been forced to fill his large, painful shoes. But he’d missed everyone. His soul still carried the ache of missing the people who made his life special that he almost felt disappointed that no one had even known to miss him at all.

Instead of showering him with love from their time apart, Namjoon opened his eyes to six grown men who promptly lost their shit over him blacking out for a whopping two seconds.

Jimin was practically sobbing into Taehyung’s shoulder as Hoseok physically dragged a dazed Namjoon out to the car that had just dropped off Yoongi from a long night at the studio. Namjoon could hear someone following them, and an oddly detached part of him relaxed knowing that it was Seokjin.

But, when he reached out for their hand in the car, it was Yoongi’s hand cradled in his.

“We need to call—” Hoseok muttered, shaky hands pulling out his phone.

“Don’t worry, Hobi-yah, Hyung knows what to do,” interrupted Yoongi before barking out orders to their driver to get them to a hospital now.

Their manager, Sejin, was somehow already there when they arrived, joining their little entourage as Namjoon was whisked into a private room. In the back of his mind, he could see himself, bob haircut and blue coat, running hand in hand with Jinseok through the internal medicine department, terrified for uncle-Yoon. He had to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from detailing it to the group in his addled state.

His head was swimming, but not in the gently warm way that being drunk made him feel. It was more like waking up on a plane to turbulence, lack of sleep pressing on his brain as his stomach churned, or maybe more like he had been run over by a bus.

Either way, he felt like warmed over shit.

But, by the time a doctor arrived a minute later, things were slowly beginning to settle back into their proper places. Hoseok did most of the talking, despite not actually witnessing the “remote mishap,” as he so delicately put it while Yoongi stood steadfastly at Namjoon’s side. His hand remained clasped around Namjoon’s, even as the doctor began her inspection.

Her tests were simple, ones he recognized from a few major scraps he’d had as a child: little coordination tests to ensure that he didn’t have a concussion, a few easy questions to doublecheck mental cognition, and a quick physical examination to find any injuries.

Shining a penlight in Namjoon’s eyes, the doctor asked, “Alright, Namjoon-ssi, do you know today’s date?”

He shrugged helplessly, fighting off the urge to say that it had been January 1^st just a second ago. At Namjoon’s pleading look, Hoseok smiled beatifically with a light laugh. “Namjoon never knows what the date is, even on a good day.”

Within minutes, she tucked her tools away and pulled out her pen to scribble notes across his medical chart.

“Well, it looks like you’re in excellent health and concussion free,” she said as she looked up from her clipboard with a smile. A collective sigh of relief sounded from around the room.

And, yet, Hoseok insisted Namjoon be wheeled out to the car. Yoongi strode beside him, reminding Namjoon strikingly of a dog trotting beside his owner, hands still held between them. It was so, so much after his long, boring days as Namsoon. The conversation of the two members with their manager circled around his head, words filtering lazily into his brain as he sat distracted.

After waking up in this reality, he’d caught only a fleeting glance of Seokjin as Hoseok forced him out the door.

Only minutes before, Namjoon had finally confessed, pronouncing the words in the air for the first time, making them real against the dome of new year’s fireworks. But that confession belonged to Jinseok, even as the words had been woven together for Seokjin. His pale face, uncertain and scared as he held back Jungkook, had never looked so beautiful to Namjoon.

Seokjin had no idea.

Outside, Yoongi slid into the back of the waiting car, dragging Namjoon into the center seat as he did. With Hoseok squeezed into the other seat beside him, he felt like he was standing halfway between worlds, the physical present of this moment, but the emotional space of Soon’s universe. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye, not in his delicate state after the talent show. Letting his head tilt back, Namjoon felt his heart shift painfully.

Knowing that this feeling would come with getting back home didn’t hold back the wave of it all. He’d left so much behind.

When his phone began to buzz in his pocket, Namjoon needed an extra second to realize that it was his, forgetting that the chiming sound of Illegal was Soon’s default, not his. After struggling for a moment, Hoseok gently pulled the phone from Namjoon’s hoodie pocket. He didn’t even bother to check who was calling as he fumbled to answer.

“Namjoon-ah? We heard something might have happened. Are you alright?” asked his father.

A fragment of Namjoon had already mourned for this, had begun to grieve this loss. There had been a voice within him whispering that he might never get back to this, and, during those last few hours as Namsoon, it had forced him to face the idea that he would never see or hear his own family again. The deep, familiar sound of his father tore into his tender heart.

“Dad,” was all Namjoon could manage to sob intelligibly.

He could hear the frantic sounds of his father, the clatter of his mother yanking the phone from him as Yoongi and Hoseok on either side pressed into Namjoon reassuringly.

“Sweetheart, tell Mother what’s wrong,” she pleaded, accidentally pulling another sob from Namjoon.  Hobi-mom had said that to him, once upon a time. It was too much, he felt like his heart would simply give out on him at this rate, it was all too much.

But, slowly, he gathered as many loose strands of his emotions as he could, winding them haphazardly in his chest as his sobs petered out.

“Sorry, mom, I promise I’m okay. I’m just…” Namjoon pressed his hand over his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around this forearm, Hoseok’s hand against his shoulder. He could almost feel their silent conversation over his head. “I’m really disoriented and stressed right now, and this is all so confusing, but I’m okay.”

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her voice. The ache was deep like a bruise, but in that way that felt like healing was happening, regardless of how slow.

“Seokjin told us you might have a concussion? What did the doctor say?” she asked softly as he took a few steadying breaths. Namjoon could feel the car slowing as they merged from the highway back into the city, the once familiar streets and buildings looking strange in the half light of the evening. The sky was just beginning to take on that orange cast of light pollution as night set in.

Even though he wasn’t by Namjoon’s side physically, Seokjin had still found a way to support him.

“At first, I was just glad I had a friend. Someone who let me look after them, someone who cared about me,” Jinseok had told him, golden light in his eyes. The words flitted through Namjoon’s mind like a song, and he could taste hope on the back of his tongue, sweet and dangerous.

“The doctor said that I seem fine. Nothing to worry about,” he mumbled. As he sat back up, he could feel the way Yoongi and Hoseok watched his face, gauging his reaction. Whatever Namjoon was doing, it was clearly not normal.

But he was just so tired, so exhausted from everything: the throbbing pain in his head, the storm of strangled emotions in his chest, the endlessly concerned looks on everyone’s faces. So, as their driver buzzed them through the gated entrance to their dorm, Namjoon pressed the phone into Hoseok’s hand, along with the flurry of questions his mother was rattling off. He’d dreamt of this drive a million times during the last two months, but he was too overwhelmed to appreciate the comfort of it now.

Hoseok cut off his conversation with Namjoon's mother as they pulled to a gentle stop outside their building. “Should we call Guk and have him carry you?” he asked softly, tucking Namjoon’s phone back into his pocket.

“Shit, no, he’s probably freaking out enough already. I can walk,” Namjoon grunted. Still, Yoongi hovered anxiously as he pulled himself to his feet, hands held aloft as if he could keep Namjoon upright by force of will. “You heard the doctor, I’m alright. Just because I’m tired doesn’t mean my legs don’t work.”

“Well, excuse us for worrying about you, dipshit,” Yoongi shot back, his soft expression contrasting jarringly with his words.

Looping their arms like they were going for a stroll, Hoseok led Namjoon inside. “Both of you can cool your goddamn tits. We need to seem normal and calm and totally chill by the time we get home, or else the babies are going to be impossible to deal with,” chided Hoseok. There was something in his tone that rang so strongly of Hobi-mom that Namjoon was almost waiting for the slipper to land across the back of Yoongi’s head.

When they wedged through the front door together, the dorm was near silent with tension. Neither Yoongi nor Hoseok were willing to separate themselves from Namjoon despite the fact that he really could walk just fine on his own. On the living room couch, Taehyung’s long arms and legs were wrapped around Jimin like an octopus, Jungkook propped up on Jimin’s other side. The three of them formed into a fidgeting pile of anxiety, guilt laying over them like a blanket as they turned their wide eyes as one cohesive unit towards the doorway.

The dorm exploded with movement and sound.

Both Jungkook and Jimin vaulted to their feet, desperately trying to rush at Namjoon, slowed only by Taehyung. He was able to partially capture Jimin, hindering his stumbling trajectory, but Jungkook muscled his way to Namjoon to yank him into a crippling hug.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into Namjoon’s shoulder. The image of a fuming JK-dad stood at such odds with this groveling Jungkook that Namjoon stood frozen just long enough for Jimin to fight his way over. The force of him leaping on both of them nearly toppled their group to the ground.

Distantly, he could hear Yoongi and Hoseok trying to calm them both, could feel Taehyung’s hands trying to ease Jimin and Jungkook’s grip on Namjoon, could sense the world collapsing in on him a little. He had missed this, but it was so, so much.

“Yah! What did I tell you pests?” Seokjin hollered.

As Jungkook and Jimin slid away from Namjoon slightly, he could feel the pressure on his chest ease a little at the sound. Heat crept up Namjoon’s neck as he finally caught a true glimpse of Seokjin. He looked like a painting of some ancient storm god, pouting face and heavy brows turned downward with frustration, hands tucked into his hips like the commanding and bossy older brother he was.

Jinseok had the gentlest of power over others, relying entirely on charm. But Seokjin? He was a manic force, molding himself into whatever he needed to be in that moment, yelling and spazzing when soft, charismatic smiles had no use. No invitations, just the full force of Kim Seokjin.

Namjoon had fucking missed this.

“You’ve both assaulted poor Namjoon-ah enough today,” he huffed, turning on his heel to beckon them into the kitchen. The group stilled gently under Seokjin’s watching eyes and settled around the counter to serve themselves from the chicken container Yoongi had brought home earlier that evening. Sliding a bowl of rice across to Namjoon, Seokjin’s tone shifted, quieter and gentler than before, “Namjoonie, eat as much as you want.”

He nodded, hating himself just a little for trying to brush his fingers against Seokjin’s as he took the bowl, but hating himself even more for failing. Seokjin’s eyes were elusive as they skated around the room.

As much as he wanted to hang around the kitchen trying to catch Seokjin’s attention, Namjoon felt his eyelids sagging under the weight of his insanely long day as he chewed his rice slowly. Just that morning, he’d woken up for the school festival. But, technically, he’d also woken up on a normal day as Kim Namjoon. Time had always been a social construct, yet the whole meaning of that knowledge had been lost on Namjoon up until now.

More silent conversations were happening around him, Namjoon could tell. After a few minutes, Jimin gently draped his arm around Namjoon’s shoulders and said, “Hyungie, do you want some help getting ready for sleep?”

Namjoon felt his eyes travel to Seokjin as he paused. He had no idea what he was hoping for, what he was searching for, but he knew it definitely wasn’t Seokjin refusing to look his way. “No, I can handle it. Thanks, though, Jiminie,” he replied, turning to him with a tight-lipped smile that he prayed looked reassuring. The concerned look on Jimin’s face told him otherwise.

It was strange sleeping in a full-sized bed again, the patterns on the ceiling so different from the orange stripes that poured across Soon’s bedroom from the streetlight outside. Their gated community was quieter, but the sounds of the expressway filtered in from afar, the music of the city at night played in a different key than in Soon’s distant neighborhood. As he slid backwards into sleep, the comfort of his own room embracing him, Namjoon wondered when reality would feel real again.

***

Waking up that first morning, Namjoon nearly cried again realizing that he was actually here, he was truly himself again. That his universe consisted of more than uniforms and boxed lunches and bus rides and calculus drills. Readying himself for the day was strange and wonderful after his highly regulated mornings as Soon, the array of possibilities in the day seeming almost endless.

That was until Sejin arrived and told them specifically what they were doing that day.

Still, Namjoon got to choose which shirt he wanted to wear, so it was still kind of a win.

The hard edge of worry that had made itself home in their dorm overnight had softened somewhat, easing away from the members’ faces at Namjoon’s bright exuberance. He felt awkward and oversensitive still after the shock of last night, but with a buoyancy that carried him over his anxieties.

Suddenly, dance practice was bearable (although it was never easy or fun, really), PR meetings were vaguely interesting for the first time in years, even holing up in his studio felt less like a monk in repose and more like arriving back in his childhood bedroom when he visited home. Like a window into a world that felt so far and so close at once, time overlapping in a single place. All of the managers and executives, the assistants, stylists, and producers took to Namjoon’s mood without question, grinning along as they aimed all questions at him.

The members, on the other hand, handled Namjoon in the days following the “remote mishap” with varying degrees of concern and skepticism. Jungkook had taken to emerging from random places to apologize, while Jimin, Yoongi, and Hoseok tried to mother (more like smother) him even more than usual. It was only Taehyung who treated him normally, a small reprieve Namjoon was thankful for.

But, honestly, Namjoon barely had time for anyone’s reactions to register around obsessing over Seokjin.

Those first few days, he had been waiting for something to shift, for some radical change in his outlook that made his entire world seem fresh and new and transformed from the way it had been before Namsoon. He kept glancing over to Seokjin just waiting for something to feel different.

It wasn’t, though. Nothing had changed, not really.

Namjoon wondered when it would become too obvious to ignore that Seokjin was the fixed point he revolved around, when Jimin’s teasing would transform itself into lectures about “following through on your feelings” or something, when Seokjin would have to confront him about…whatever this was. Yet, the days rolled by, easy as ever, and nothing changed within the group.

Seokjin was shuffling behind Jimin, eyeing the craft services table in between scenes of a Run BTS! shoot, laughing about some dumb thing Hoseok had said, and Namjoon found himself trailing in their wake like a lost child, desperate for attention. When his fingers brushed against the soft baby hairs along the nape of Seokjin’s neck, an action that Namjoon couldn’t remember even telling himself to do, Seokjin slapped at the back of his neck as he whipped around. His hands hovered in full taekwondo stance as the room erupted with laughter.

“I thought you were Jungkook,” he giggled, smiling sheepishly before turning back to the spread of food. Namjoon kind of didn’t care that Seokjin seemed so defensive about being touched when his reward had been a whole second of maintained eye contact.

He felt like the world’s largest idiot, chasing after Jinseok’s words on Seokjin’s lips. But this was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

“Do you ever think it’s weird that Seokjin doesn’t touch me very much?” Namjoon asked Yoongi a week later, trying to make the question seem casual. They were at the back of a long procession of cars, dark tinted sedans designed to take the group home as discreetly as possible after a commercial shoot. Of course, Namjoon had looked for Seokjin, had hoped to maybe follow him some more, but he was already yawning into Taehyung’s shoulder as he pulled the car door closed behind him.

Seokjin hadn’t been watching for Namjoon at all.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me right now,” groaned Yoongi in response, throwing himself back in his seat and glaring at the car’s roof like it had insulted him personally.

Blinking, Namjoon shifted uncomfortably as he realized how awkward the question sounded, how transparent and needy. “I mean, I guess? I don’t know, forget about it,” he mumbled. The dark windows made the world outside distort into broken shapes.

“No, there’s no way I can just ignore a dumbass question like that,” Yoongi sighed as he ran his hands over his eyes. Turning towards Namjoon, Yoongi shook his shoulder, hard. “Why would he need to touch you when you touch him all the damn time? Literally every day. You’re, like, constantly up in his business grabbing his leg or his hand or his shoulders or whatever. And he just sits there and lets you. Every day.”

Namjoon shrugged, smoothing his hands over his jeans. His fingers were desperate for the relief of Soon’s pleated skirt, to the fidgeting adjustments that had calmed him in the worst of times. “That kind of wasn’t what I meant, but whatever.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes to near slits as he asked, “Then what do you mean?”

“Just that, um…” Namjoon closed his eyes and wished so deeply that he could just end this conversation that he almost considered throwing himself out the car window. “I don’t know if he likes it,” he mumbled miserably. “When I touch him.”

“Are you shitting me?” Yoongi asked, his tone so faint that Namjoon could barely hear him.

The buoyancy in Namjoon’s chest deflated at Yoongi’s incredulous expression, jaw hanging open, brows furrowed, and nose scrunched in confusion. “Please just forget it,” he pleaded. He turned back to the window, relieved to see that they were nearly back to the dorms already.

“Joonie,” Yoongi stated, leaving no room for him to be ignored. When Namjoon’s eyes timidly met his, he continued, “If Hyung felt uncomfortable, if he didn’t want you around, you would know, okay? Just because he doesn’t treat you like Gukkie or Jiminie doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Anyone with eyes and half a brain can tell that much.” He gripped Namjoon’s forearm as their car rolled to a slow stop. “Don’t overthink this.”

But, of course, Namjoon was overthinking everything before he even stepped foot outside their car.

Seokjin stood at the door, his foot propping it open for the other members, his eyes glued to his phone as they filed in. Yet, when Namjoon stepped inside, he slid his phone into his back pocket and followed him. Behind them, Yoongi huffed, grumbling as he caught the door.

It felt significant, somehow.

“Namjoon-ah, did you watch that stupid video that JK sent in the group chat?” Seokjin asked lightly. He caught Namjoon’s elbow for the briefest of moments, and Namjoon tried to fight back the creeping rush of heat his attention brought.

“No, I woke up late this morning, didn’t bother,” Namjoon responded, not bothering to tell him that he’d only overslept because he couldn’t fall asleep without running through every single glancing touch they’d shared the day before at least seventeen times.

“Smart move, you should continue to not bother. The song is so freaking dumb, but I can’t get it out of my head,” Seokjin continued with a shake of his head. He then proceeded to belt out the song in demonstration, flapping his arms as they walked across the lobby.

He’d forgotten how much he’d missed Seokjin’s voice reverberating around a room, unabashedly forceful, gorgeous even as he tried for a laugh.

The sound burrowed down into Namjoon, forcing his own voice to reach out as he riffed around Seokjin. He rarely watched whatever memes Jungkook posted in their group chat, but he knew that this stupid version, featuring Seokjin’s nonsense lyrics and Namjoon’s random sustained notes, was clearly superior. Even as he tried for an annoyed scowl, Yoongi couldn’t hide his little grin at their antics.

As he pressed the elevator button, angling himself towards Namjoon, Seokjin seemed barely out of his reach, regardless of how close he stood. But Seokjin was still there, hovering just beyond.

Almost like he was waiting.

There was a part of Namjoon’s brain that he’d set aside without really meaning to that was wholly devoted to Seokjin, to tracing the way he moved through Namjoon’s world. But that part of him, however diligent it was in watching Seokjin, had failed to register a million little details that seemed so obvious now that Yoongi had given him permission to look again.

Seokjin threw his weight around differently depending on whose eyes were watching, whose eyes he was aware were watching. The second they had crossed the threshold of the dorm, Seokjin lightened somehow, there was no other word for it. His volume lowered a fraction, with only Yoongi and Namjoon in his immediate vicinity, his bossy tone heightening when Jungkook bounded to his side.

Maybe all this time Namjoon had been looking, watching, without really seeing what was in front of him. Seokjin pushed around Jungkook until he was grinning like an idiot, then proceeded to wheedle Jimin into ordering the pizza he’d been very quietly whining about on set all day. Seokjin never did those things to Namjoon, but he didn’t really do that to anyone else, either.

For Yoongi, he was clearly a reliable conspirator, the pair shooting each other a wink when Jimin finally gave in and called up that fancy Italian restaurant he loved, despite claiming that he “wasn’t hungry for anything special.” Taehyung was yet another little brother to look after, being forcefully dragged from his overwatch game when the food arrived. As Seokjin and Hoseok pulled out plates, they sang the stupid meme song stuck in his head in increasingly silly voices, their laughter calling everyone into the kitchen.

This was something past acting, too natural an act to be pretend. Seokjin, with his smiles and his shouts and his determination, was exactly who he needed to be in that moment. An ephemeral blank slate, a tabula rasa waiting to fill the spaces that someone else was lacking. Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder who Seokjin was when he was alone, desperate as he was to read the invisible ink scrawled across the pages of Seokjin’s heart.

He couldn’t help but wonder how different that Seokjin looked when laid against who he was for Namjoon.

But, for now, Namjoon told himself to be patient, to enjoy the release of having Seokjin settle into the chair at his right, where he was easy to lean into, to study from the corner of his eye, to whisper to. He tried his best not to obsess over the natural way Seokjin slid Namjoon’s glass out of the trajectory of his elbow when he gestured too wildly or the feeling of Seokjin’s leg pressed against his under the counter.

Unfortunately, trying and doing were two separate tasks.

Lying in bed that night, Namjoon begged for sleep to sweep away the myriad of images dancing through his brain. Of Seokjin against a million backdrops, shifting chameleonlike into new forms. Who was real? What was the shape of Seokjin’s heart, buried under the layers of other people’s expectations?

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, no position comfortable enough to carry Namjoon into slumber, he hauled himself out of bed. From his window, he could see the telltale signs of a waxing moon shining outside, calling out to him. Pulling on socks to not disturb the others, Namjoon padded out into the hallway past Yoongi’s door and its thin sliver of light to pause outside Seokjin’s door.

He could feel his breath pausing in his lungs, waiting, always waiting to hear signs of Seokjin. Gentle scuffling and chattering reached his ear, the nocturnal sugar gliders active as the rest of the world (excluding himself and Yoongi, of course) fell asleep. And under that, Seokjin’s slow, even breathing.

Namjoon inhaled slowly, wishing that the sound could fill his lungs, fill him until he had no need for air.

Each step was carefully taken as he traversed across the dorm towards the wide living room windows, hoping not to disturb anyone’s precious sleep. As he reached the window, he slowed further and gazed up into the dim light outside. So few stars were strong enough to overcome the lights of the city, leaving the expanse of sky unnaturally dark and misty. The moon hung low in the sky, angled upwards as if it was reaching towards the stars, desperate to climb back above the harsh, jagged buildings below.

A tiny sound from the kitchen echoed across the dorm.

“Sorry!” Taehyung whispered to no one.

When Namjoon peeked into the room, Taehyung was sitting on the counter, drinking from a massive mug by the shining blue light of his phone screen.

“Sup,” he raised his mug in greeting. “Want some tea? It’s supposed to help with digestion or something, but it also kind of tastes like shit.”

Namjoon let out a quiet chuckle as he tiptoed across the kitchen. “Is that supposed to make me want to drink it?”

Shrugging easily, Taehyung took another swig of his tea and smacked his lips. “That’s on you, Hyung, I don’t really care either way.”

Leaning over, Namjoon sniffed the offending drink, the steam smelling grassy and bitter. Situating himself next to Taehyung, he responded, “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

“Cool,” Taehyung hummed.

An easy silence fell, the comfort of each other’s presence enough to fill the space between them. While Namjoon had been more than happy to finally have his own room when they moved into this dorm, it had been a little sad saying goodbye to Taehyung as a roommate. Sometimes he felt that Taehyung could read more in his silence than he could in his words, and it had been hard to leave the nightly reminder of that behind.

“You’ve been thinking about something lately,” Taehyung mentioned, his tone making it clear that there was no need to talk about it if Namjoon didn’t want to.

But maybe he was ready to start actually working through this.

Nodding, Namjoon said, “Yeah, I have. About a lot of things, actually.” He paused as he gathered his thoughts into some semblance of order. “About how circumstances can make all the difference sometimes. If one thing changes, we immediately assume that suddenly the world is completely changed, that the ripples of that change keep flowing outwards like a stone dropped in a pond.” In the corner of his eye, he could see Taehyung lean towards him.

“But maybe it’s more nuanced than that. Maybe some changes only shift the more perfunctory things, only make things look different instead of changing something at its core.”

Taehyung nodded slowly. “Like changing a chunk of coal into a diamond?” he asked, tilting his head in thought.

“Exactly,” Namjoon said as he stepped away from the counter to fully face Taehyung in the darkness. “They’re both just carbon, but pressure and time has changed around the structure to make them seem distinct, like they’re something separate. Yet, they’re made of the exact same parts, simply at different stages of the same cycle. But the way the world treats a hunk of coal is completely different than how it uses a diamond. And maybe people are like that, too.”

In the blue cast of Taehyung’s phone, Namjoon could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

“I’ve mostly been thinking that how the world sees a person changes how we think of others and of ourselves, but who we are at our core stays the same either way. What really matters is the cycle,” Namjoon continued, connecting the points in his own mind as he spoke.

Who he’d been when he masqueraded as Soon was essentially just Namjoon in a skirt. His thoughts, his actions, hell, even his voice had been largely unchanged. The freedom he had felt in Namsoon’s shoes had simply been him finally taking the time to be Kim Namjoon again, in a strange way. He’d had no time to be Namjoon, had to prioritize RM for so long that he’d forgotten how liberating it was to be himself. But the world didn’t give a shit, all they had seen was another girl on the street.

No one noticed or cared about Kim Namjoon, not when RM was who they were after.

But that circled back to Jinseok. He’d said that he loved him—or at least he loved Namjoon as Soon. Yet, Namjoon-Soon was just Namjoon, seen from a different angle, through a different lens. Jinseok loved him like that.

Could Seokjin love him without that lens?

“The cycle is life, right? The cycle of learning and changing?” asked Taehyung softly. “Learning to see ourselves for what we really are deep down, you know, outside of society.”

Namjoon nodded, leaning forward to place his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders. “Tae, do you think that people can learn to do that? Do you think people are capable of seeing beyond the facade and learning to love what they see there?”

“Of course, Hyung,” Taehyung replied immediately.

When he grinned, wide and joyful at Namjoon, his teeth glowed in the light, illuminating the darkness with his assurance.

***

With each passing minute, life as Jeong Namsoon slipped gently into the past, beginning to take on the sheen of a dream as it drifted away. The rational side of Namjoon’s brain questioned whether the whole experience had been some strange waking dream, the concoction of a shaken brain parsing through the struggles of Namjoon’s demanding life. Days passed and the urge to smooth his pleated skirt, to tuck back his long hair, to slip into the back of a crowd dissipated, turning Jeong Namsoon into just another persona hanging in his hall of selves. She was neatly tucked away now, dusty but not forgotten beside Runch Randa and Rap Monster. Just another mantle he had wrapped himself in, just another layer of who he had become.

The days tumbled into one another, a million things to do at all hours, a million details to unravel and lay out as they worked through new music, new choreography, new tour plans. He couldn’t remember how many cups of coffee he’d had that day, let alone what day it was. Time didn’t matter for RM the way that it should, everything was happening too quickly, nothing could happen fast enough.

When Namjoon wandered into the artist’s lounge late in the afternoon, Seokjin was curled up on the couch, staring at his phone, drowning in a sweatshirt big enough that Namjoon was certain he could easily fit into with him. He quickly shoved that thought away from the delicate danger of his imagination.

Everything with Seokjin was surprisingly normal, despite the many hours spent rolling over their fleeting interactions, analyzing the ways Seokjin would lean into him before gliding away, the lines of his figure as he angled himself towards and away from Namjoon, the curve of his averted eyes. His actions seemed to contradict himself, accepting and even inviting Namjoon’s presence only to meet him with an emotional blank wall.

Had they always been like this?

“You should get me coffee while you’re up,” Seokjin murmured as Namjoon slid by towards the coffee machine, his eyes flickering from his phone for an instant. “You always make it better than I do.”

Namjoon reached for another paper cup without a second thought. “That’s because I put way too much sugar in,” he replied, feeling oddly flattered by Seokjin’s offhand compliment.

“Ah, caffeine and sugar, my only friends,” sighed Seokjin.

Twisting around to shoot him a skeptical look, Namjoon lobbed his paper straw wrapper at Seokjin’s head. “Don’t even start with me. I saw that new receptionist—the shy one who refuses to speak more than two words at a time to any of us—showing you her baby photos like you were besties, you big liar.” Seokjin flapped his hands in front of his face, slapping the wrapper and his own cheek in the process before scowling at Namjoon.

“The disrespect you show your hyung!” he cried, turning his face away with a pout.

When he handed Seokjin his coffee, Namjoon let himself pause for a moment to bask in his presence, to enjoy being the sole focus of Seokjin’s attention. His reward was one of Seokjin’s soft smiles, the corners of his mouth pressing into his cheeks, making his face look round and young and so, so perfect.

“Are you still working?” Namjoon asked softly, his reckless voice betraying him once again. Still, he couldn’t help the quiet breath that escaped from his lips as Seokjin’s fingers brushed against his.

Humming an affirmative, Seokjin blew over the surface of his coffee. “This choreography is brutal, I have so much freaking work to do to get this right,” he sighed. But there was no defeat in his words, only determination tempered with a gentle heaviness Namjoon recognized, the weight of a long journey only just begun. “I just want to run through it a few more times before heading home. What about you, Namjoon-ah?”

“I’m just going over a few things. Nothing crazy,” he responded, gesturing vaguely back towards his studio.

“We might be able to time it right, head home at the same time,” Seokjin said. His voice remained light and conversational, and Namjoon could practically see the tangle of personalities disguising his vulnerable core.

Seokjin’s fragments were silent, hard to define or distinguish, no easy names, no personas to tear apart for him. But Jinseok had given him a glimpse of it each time he let his defenses fall: his face half in golden light, half in blue shadow, the way he gazed up at Namjoon from across the auditorium, the streaks of color in his eyes as he whispered, “love.”

Namjoon took his time heading back to his studio, chewing over his thoughts. He could remember a time, before they were somebodies, when Seokjin’s hands would sit heavy on Namjoon’s shoulders, hiding his embarrassed face from sight behind Namjoon’s gangly form. As he pushed in the door to MonStudio, he tried to trace back the changes in who they were, who they had been.

When had Seokjin stopped relying on Namjoon to be his shield? When did Seokjin become his?

Heaving a massive sigh, Namjoon jiggled his computer mouse, his computer screen blinking to life, and pulled up Naver. The blank search bar stared back at him.

This was a terrible idea.

He just needed a timeline, he told himself. He just needed to see for himself when things had shifted, when Seokjin had pulled away, despite Namjoon always clinging so tightly to him. One letter at a time, Namjoon typed in rapjin, holding his breath as he pressed enter.

Immediately, his screen was filled with results, blog posts and screencaps from Run! and Dispatch photos. Clicking over to the images tab, Namjoon began to scroll, looking for…something. Some part of him wanted his own version of the paparazzi shot from that night in Hannam with Jinseok, some concrete indication of Seokjin’s secrets. He wanted some image to hoard away, to stretch across the home screen of his phone, the one true place of privacy he had left.

Honestly, beyond the pretty edits and fanart, the photos he poured over were extremely normal. Images of the two of them striding past photographers at airports, sticking together in the crowd. Cropped down pictures of group shots after concerts with messy hair and exhausted but pleased smiles. Fuzzy captures of Namjoon’s hand on Seokjin’s thigh.

Just two guys being bros.

But a pattern emerged before his eyes as he scrolled deeper into the pits of this search, subtle in contrast to the candid shot Namjoon had been strangely hopeful for. They never seemed to face each other at the same time. Image after image showed Seokjin’s careful blankness when Namjoon was turned towards him. Yet, whenever Namjoon’s attention had been diverted, Seokjin’s eyes, his shoulders, his hands, his whole self, rotated to follow Namjoon’s movements.

Behind the bitter notes of coffee, the sweet taste of hope flooded Namjoon’s senses. This felt real, somehow, maybe more real than a solitary paparazzi shot would. Whatever it was he was looking at, it was ingrained, a natural shape they had fallen into.

Suddenly, a tiny snuffling noise alerted him that he wasn’t alone. That he hadn’t been alone this whole time.

Namjoon felt his stomach lurch, the hairs on his arms standing on end as a deep yawn sounded from the couch behind him. He whipped his chair around, flinging himself in front of his computer screen.

Jungkook lay curled into the pile of plushies that lived on Namjoon’s couch.

“Hey, Hyung,” he yawned again, his face puffy from sleep as he slowly sat up. “I was just gonna lay down for a second, but, uh, whoops?”

“It’s—it’s fine, Gukkie, no worries,” Namjoon stuttered. He really was trying for casual as he snaked his arm around to close the browser window, but even freshly woken, Jungkook’s suspicion was on high alert. This was Jimin and Taehyung’s fault, Namjoon could feel it, making Jungkook attuned to any chance to gather dirt on his hyungs.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, pointing at the second monitor hanging behind Namjoon’s head.

He kind of wondered if this was what being in a horror movie felt like, the creeping knowledge that there was nowhere to run as he turned slowly to see the innocuous photos displayed on both monitors. Seokjin and Namjoon in endless configurations on the screen. There was no good answer for what this was, no explanation that didn’t involve flaying open his feelings to lay before Jungkook. So, he did the only think he could think to do: deflect.

“Why do you sleep in Hobi’s bed so much?” Namjoon asked, not turning to look back at Jungkook as he closed the browser.

He could hear Jungkook shifting on the couch. “Do you think it’s weird?” he returned, his words soft and defensive. When Namjoon flopped back in his desk chair with a dismissive wave of his hand, Jungkook visibly relaxed. “I mean, I don’t know. His bed is really comfortable,” he spoke slowly.

Maybe some part of Jungkook knew that this was a test.

Namjoon so desperately wanted to believe that Soon’s universe held truths, universal knowledge that could transfer back to reality. Sure, seeing if there was any inkling of what he had with Jinseok was Namjoon’s major priority, but the last thing he wanted was to fuck up what he already had with Seokjin in the process. He just needed something to show that he wasn’t mistaken, some solid proof that the people he had left behind were truly Bangtan at their core.

Which was where Hoseok and Jungkook came in. Shit, they were married in Soon’s universe and had raised two children pretty freaking successfully. If Soon’s world held any type of truth, then wouldn’t they be the ones closest to it?

“That makes sense,” Namjoon said, trying to think of some way to prompt Jungkook further without making him uncomfortable in the process. “I just thought maybe there was more to it than that? That maybe there was something special about Hoseok. You know, for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Jungkook cocked his head to the side as he thought. “Hobi-hyung smells nice, and he touches my hair when I’m falling asleep, and it’s nice to wake up next to someone, I guess. Makes me feel—I don’t know, safe?” Rubbing his hands through his hair, Jungkook seemed older somehow, no longer the tiny child that they had been collectively forced to raise.

“I think it’s nice, you know, that you two have…that,” Namjoon nodded, letting this mouth curve into the cute, tightlipped smile that he knew armies fawned over, hoping that it would be enough to divert Jungkook’s attention.

“I guess?” Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly, his suspicion returning in full force. “But what does this have to do with you and Jin-hyung?”

Namjoon was going to sue Jimin and Taehyung for what they’d done to make Jungkook like this, what the fuck. “Nothing! I was just curious. Realized that I’d never asked before, that’s all,” he sputtered as he waved his hands nervously.

Jungkook grunted, raising his eyebrows in a look that had Seokjin written all over it. “You know, Jin-hyung isn’t the type to take the things he really wants when you offer it to him just because. You kinda have to wait for him to be ready to take it, like a cat or whatever.” Jungkook held up his finger as if he was making a grand point in his argument. “That’s why I have to fight him all the time. How else would he know how much I love him?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Namjoon mumbled.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Stretching his hands over his head as he stood, Jungkook brushed off the conversation, saying, “Come on, let’s go home before this gets any weirder.”

After Namjoon had jammed his things haphazardly into his bag, Jungkook pulled them towards the practice rooms to collect Seokjin on the way out. They paused outside the door, partially trying not to interrupt Seokjin midway through choreo, partially choosing to hover in the stilted bubble of half-understanding they were in.

Namjoon stood transfixed as he looked through the thin window on the door, watching the precise way Seokjin moved, even as he pushed back his sweat soaked hair from his forehead.

“Do you think Hobi-hyung thinks it’s weird how clingy I am?” Jungkook stuttered, uncertainty underscoring his words.

Tearing his eyes from Seokjin, Namjoon reached out to pull Jungkook to his side. “Of course not. Hobi loves having you hanging off him all the time, even when you’re being a brat. We all do.”

“Cool,” Jungkook muttered, tucking his head against Namjoon’s. “I just want Hobi-hyung to feel as safe with me as I do with him, you know?”

Inside the practice room, Seokjin had turned, tenderness written across his face as his eyes caught on Namjoon and Jungkook huddled by the window. When he realized that Namjoon was gazing back, the look shifted, smoothing into something more neutral. Namjoon rubbed Jungkook’s back in reassurance, unsure of whether Seokjin tucked his feelings away more out of fear of being a burden or just fear of being seen.

“I do know,” Namjoon finally replied in the silence.

Namjoon was tired of hiding. Maybe, possibly, some tiny part of Seokjin was tired of hiding, too.

***

It took Namjoon three days to decide who would be the right person to help him through this. He’d spent so long circling around Seokjin in his mind that he was worried he was lost in it, had seen what he wanted to see in Seokjin’s behavior, in his words, in all the words he chose not to say. This situation required perspective, a cool head, logic to temper Namjoon’s spirals of emotion.

In short, Namjoon needed Hoseok.

They were supposed to be packing for an award show in Japan, the rain outside making the dorm seem emptier and quieter than usual, despite the fact that everyone was home at the same time. Namjoon sat on the floor and stared up at his closet like outfits would just hop out on their own. In the back of his mind, he had been counting down to 3:08, a completely arbitrary time that seemed perfect for hanging out with Hoseok and totally not a giant red flag to the others that they were having a nerve wracking and potentially disastrous conversation about love.

And if Seokjin’s door happened to be open on his way there, then, dang, it wasn’t like he was just going to ignore him. A tiny burst of nervous laughter bubbled up Namjoon’s throat.

He knew where the boundary lines lay, and the need to smudge those lines away, to press himself so closely to Seokjin that nothing could separate them again grew in his chest every goddamn day. But Namjoon needed to be sure, needed to find some way to crack into Seokjin’s careful defenses just enough to for Namjoon to sneak inside. He needed Seokjin to know that his waiting had been worth it. That Namjoon had been searching and waiting, too.

When Namjoon finally felt brave enough to wander very casually to Hoseok’s room, Seokjin’s door was only barely cracked open. Decidedly uninviting. Namjoon let out a silent breath, disappointment settling into his stomach as he shuffled by.

But he skidded to a stop when Seokjin yelped, followed by a series of thumps from the other side of his bedroom door.

Pushing the door open, he saw Seokjin sprawled across his floor surrounded by piles of folded pants and shirts, his head propped at an odd angle against his luggage.

“Are you good in here?” Namjoon giggled.

“No! I tried to stand up like a normal person and tripped. I’m becoming you, what the hell,” he whined, kicking his feet in mock anger.

Namjoon poked at his calf with his foot, saying, “Hey, I barely trip anymore, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, you don’t trip now, because you’ve been secretly force-feeding me all of your clumsiness in my sleep! Take responsibility!” Seokjin cried, his arms waving dramatically from his prone position. There was something so reassuring about the way their laughter mingled in the air, how two sounds that should be so incongruous blended into something harmonious and solid around them.

Through his chuckles, Namjoon shrugged. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I fell—excluding the whole ‘surprise remote attack’ thing.”

“JK!” Seokjin grit out, raising a fist. “What do you want to bet he snuck in here and planted something for me to trip over?”

“Sure, because everything’s Gukkie’s fault.” Namjoon rolled his eyes as he stepped carefully beside Seokjin, still sprawled across the floor.

Seokjin nodded. “Precisely. This is what I’ve been telling you dummies for years.”

Crouching down, Namjoon offered his hand, but, instead, his breath hitched as he watched Seokjin sit up just enough to lean back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. The air felt electric, sparking across their skin. Seokjin tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, and Namjoon felt like maybe this was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. Like Seokjin was a statute brought to life Pygmalion-like, the product of some love stricken sculptor who knew this kind of perfection wasn’t destined to be held.

Namjoon’s mouth was suddenly very dry.

“So, as long as you’re fine, I’m going to go…” he found himself mumbling, despite the fact that the absolute last thing he wanted was to leave this reclining image of Seokjin behind.

“Oh, sure,” Seokjin said, standing up to edge around Namjoon. Whatever tension that once filled Seokjin’s room slithered out under the crack of his door as Seokjin busily returned to his packing, singing under his breath. Still, Namjoon hovered by the door for a moment and tried to place the song in his mind.

“Okay, well, bye?” Namjoon said, his voice pitched too high, too loud to sound normal. The soft strains of Seokjin’s laughter followed him out the door and down the hallway as he scurried away.

He practically flung himself into Hoseok’s room in his need to outrun his own bashfulness.

Hoseok was laying on his stomach across his bed, huge headphones over his ears as he stared at his laptop screen. Pulling the headphones down to hang around his neck, he watched Namjoon push the door closed behind him, pursing his lips gently when Namjoon flung himself across Jimin’s bed on the other side of the room.

“What’s got your ass in a bind?” he asked, clearly trying to hold in his laughter at Namjoon’s expense.

Sitting up slowly, Namjoon perched himself on the edge of the bed and steepled his hands in front of his face. At his grave expression, Hoseok sat up, pushing his laptop away to give Namjoon his full attention. “Hobi, if I tell you something—something that I need to keep between us—can I trust you with that?”

“Of course, dude, you know I’ve got your back,” Hoseok stated, moving forward to take Namjoon’s hand.

“And I need your honest opinion.”

Squeezing Namjoon’s hand, he grinned. “It’s not even a question.”

Namjoon took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back into Hoseok’s gentle face. He could trust him with this. Forcing himself to sit up properly, he wanted the words to sound strong and confident, but his voice shook gently when he asked, “If I—hypothetically speaking, of course—told Seokjin that I like him, in, like, a…um, romantic way, what do you think he’d do? Hypothetically.”

Silence.

Hoseok blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. Namjoon could feel that he’d gestured too much, made his nerves too obvious.

“Are you fucking serious right now, Kim Namjoon?” Jimin growled.

Twisting around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash, Namjoon turned his eyes to the closet where Jimin had apparently been this entire time. He really needed to start thoroughly searching rooms before doing embarrassing shit.

Jimin’s small frame seemed to fill the doorway, growing with his ire. His glower burned so intensely that Namjoon shrank back into himself, afraid of the heat rolling off of him in waves. It was like he’d taken the form of a vengeful demon, the force of his anger transforming into a weapon aimed against Namjoon.

“Alright, Jiminie, just take a breath—” Hoseok soothed, holding out his hands as if Jimin was a feral cat.

But Jimin’s attention didn’t even flicker towards Hoseok as he pointed his finger accusingly at Namjoon. “It has been years, you idiot. Literal years. And you figure this shit out now? After Jin has essentially given up? I swear to everything that’s holy, if I didn’t love you so much, I would strangle you right now!”

Stepping forcefully between them, Hoseok wrapped his arms around Jimin and gently smoothed his hair. “Deep breaths, okay? Yelling at him won’t make him any less stupid,” he said.

“Wait, wait, what do you mean? Please just—” Namjoon scrambled across the bed, still cowering from Jimin’s rage, but desperate for the meaning behind his words.

Pushing out his lip into a dramatic pout, Jimin glanced at Hoseok before looking away with a harrumph. Hoseok shrugged at Namjoon a little helplessly, his voice hesitant, “Well, Jimin’s been joking about it forever: Namjoon and Seokjin, Seokjin and Namjoon.” Hoseok held his hands out to Namjoon as if he was a feral cat, too. “It’s just that Jimin’s been kind of serious this whole time. He really thought that he could help you guys get together or something, but, maybe a year ago? He finally listened to reason,” he shot Jimin a pointed look. “And backed the hell off.”

“Wait, though, Seokjin gave up on me?” Namjoon breathed. “Seokjin liked me?”

“How are you this dumb?” Jimin wailed, throwing up his hands over his increasingly watery eyes as his anger ebbed. “How has it taken you this long to realize this?”

Namjoon shook his head slowly. “He never—I thought, I don’t know. I thought…” he let the words die in his throat. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting, his brain was solidly eight steps behind Jimin, slowly losing his steam under Hoseok’s care. His heart thumped furiously against his ribcage.

Had he lost his chance before he even realized he had one?

“Look, we don’t know anything, okay?” Hoseok stated, swiveling his head between Namjoon and Jimin. “None of us can read Jin-hyung’s mind, none of us know what he’s feeling except for him, so let’s not jump to conclusions,” he shook Jimin gently at his last few words.

Steering Jimin towards his bed to shove him beside Namjoon, Hoseok continued, “All we do know is that he seemed receptive to the idea. Maybe he’s over that, maybe he’s not. The only way to find out is to ask. Simple as that.”

As he picked at the seams of his jeans, Namjoon realized that he hadn’t been prepared for a negative answer, hadn’t been prepared to deal with Hoseok (and, subsequently, Jimin) to tell him that Seokjin might turn Namjoon down. He’d built this up so much in his head that the fall was far further than he’d anticipated. Without meaning to, he’d placed all of this trust into Jinseok’s words, never considering that maybe Seokjin would tire of waiting.

“But he just gave up? Without even talking to me?” Namjoon mumbled into his lap.

Jimin collapsed backwards onto his bed, curling around Namjoon. “Come on, Hyung, think about it. He’s just as terrified of rejection as you are. Only instead of ignoring his feelings like someone, he just…I don’t know, put them away or something. He didn’t want to ruin your friendship or fuck with the group dynamic, so he didn’t. And you let him.”

Sitting up to rest his chin on Namjoon’s shoulder, Jimin continued, “But when I said he ‘essentially’ gave up, that doesn’t mean that he’s really given up. It’s more like he’s sort of letting himself down easy? Like he’s chosen not to believe that anything can happen.”

Pulling Namjoon’s hand into his own, Hoseok leaned down into Namjoon's line of sight and angled a smile towards him as he murmured, “Just talk to him, you know you won’t feel better until you do. Whatever happens, we’ll support both of you. We’re a family, okay?”

Namjoon squeezed Hoseok’s hand in reply. “We’re a family,” he repeated, trying to wrap himself in the warmth, the reassurance of that.

That night, he dragged his desk chair to his window to gaze out at the courtyard below and the distant city beyond. The orange and copper lights shone through the gaps in the blinds like the threads of possibilities, millions of ways a confession to Seokjin could go. What would he do if Seokjin politely turned him down? Or decided to never speak to him again, permanently sequestering himself beyond Namjoon’s reach?

Letting his eyes fall closed, Namjoon let his hope simmer in his throat as he whispered into the silent dorm, “Please, please just wait for me a little longer.”

***

Namjoon was sitting between Yoongi and Jimin in the green room, staring at the ceiling, his mind fixated on bungee jumping.

On standing on the knife’s edge at the summit, open air stretching between himself and the ground. He’d had to jump once, couldn’t disappoint the group below, looking like tiny specks against the waning afternoon light. Logically, he knew he was very likely safer doing this than, say, riding in the passenger seat of a car or walking down a regular city street, but the fear of falling was so ingrained in the animalistic side of his brain that his fingers still clung to the handrails anchoring him to the jumping platform.

All he had to do was let go.

But he couldn’t just step out into the air, he had to be prepared for the fall. To be at the right place physically and emotionally to confidently take that leap.

Unfortunately, finding the right time, the perfect time to talk to Seokjin proved to be almost as hard as working up the courage in the first place. Their time in Japan had been a whirlwind of faces pressing in as they were shuttled from place to place, long rehearsal hours preparing for their performances. Instead of stowing away into Seokjin’s room in the evening to bare his soul, Namjoon found himself flopping into bed and blacking out with exhaustion almost immediately each night.

This entire situation would make for excellent song writing fodder, but rhyming around “bungee” and “jumping” sounded clumsy in his ear.

A PA rushed in with a clipboard, chirping rapid Japanese into his headset before turning to Namjoon. “Sir, hair and makeup is ready for you,” he pronounced in slow but precise Korean. Namjoon smiled softly as he followed him from the room, grateful for the familiar sounds of his own language despite his solid understanding of Japanese.

Seokjin’s gentle laughter fell over Namjoon as he stepped into the room and slid into the makeup chair at his side, watching the shape of Seokjin’s mouth in the mirror. Hands pushed at Namjoon’s unstyled hair, but the people around him fell into the background with Seokjin so close.

“Namjoonie,” Seokjin called, his fingers connecting with Namjoon’s wrist to ensure his full attention. “Haruna-san has a dog who looks just like Rapmon! We’re trying to figure out if he would hate you as much as your Rapmon does,” he laughed. Namjoon was blinded by Seokjin’s beaming face for a beat before letting his own face fall into a pout.

“Rapmon doesn’t hate me, he’s just shy. If I was home more, he’d love me the most,” Namjoon grumbled, finally following Seokjin’s gesture to the woman applying his eyeshadow.

Namjoon's jaw dropped with a tiny gasp.

She was Haneul.

Well, almost. Her face was identical, just as round and pretty as the Haneul he had left behind, but she was older, carrying herself with a confidence that Haneul had yet to gain. Haneul—or Haruna, rather—laughed shyly, a normal reaction to being caught in Seokjin’s presence.

“My dog is very friendly,” not-Haneul replied, deliberately slowing her Japanese for them to understand.

“Her dog is a menace,” commented the woman flatironing Namjoon’s hair, her voice a match for Yelim’s despite the language barrier. Other than her shorter hair, her reflection was an identical match for his friend. Pinning up a short section of his hair, she made eye contact through the mirror in front of them. “If you ever meet that little jerk, watch your things closely. Shoe-ruining bastard.”

Another figure walked around Namjoon, makeup brushes threaded through her fingers. Namjoon blinked back the overwhelming rush of affection as he took in not-Eunsoo’s smiling face. “He’s a puppy, they’re all jerks. Cute, lovable jerks,” she shrugged.

Some part of Namjoon had fully written off his time as Namsoon as a dream—elaborate and lifelike and informative, but still a dream. Seeing these three familiar faces felt like ghosts of another life, the surreal fact that truth was indeed stranger than fiction.

Unaware of the racing of Namjoon’s brain, Seokjin laughed as if he was just another stylist in their group, slapping his leg in emphasis. “Oh, man, that reminds me of when we first brought home our dog, Jjangu,” he chortled, his words angling up, squeaky and blissful. Namjoon had heard the story of how a confused Jjangu had taken to his brother’s closet to relieve himself at least a half-dozen times, but he still felt himself being swept up in Seokjin’s animated retelling right along with the three stylists.

“…which explains why we named him after Jjangu—Korean for Shin-chan,” finished Seokjin, at which point all three girls lost it, cooing over his words. But, with Seokjin’s story ended, his makeup completed, and no other excuse to hang around, Namjoon could see all three women deflate slightly as he moved out of the way.

“I was warned, but, gosh, pictures really don’t do him justice,” not-Eunsoo sighed as she moved back a little to tilt Namjoon’s chin up to apply his lip balm.

Namjoon nodded slightly, trying not to get in not-Yelim’s way. “I know, it’s insane to think he just exists like that. Some days, it’s hard to look right at him, but, when I do, it’s even worse, because he’s just so—" he cut himself off, realizing as the words left his mouth how much they gave away. It just felt odd holding himself back with these three, even though he knew they weren’t the same girls he’d left behind.

“It’s funny,” not-Haneul said, tossing her dirty makeup brushes into a bag and pulling new ones out for the next member. “He almost started to glow when you walked in. Just, wow, kirakira.” She wiggled her fingers as if sparkles were descending around him.

Laughing softly, not-Yelim leaned around his shoulder to place the flatiron on the makeup table, saying, “You can’t fake feelings like that.”

Since the random snippets of conversations with the other members, since seeing the spread of candid shots stretched across a computer screen in front of him, since opening his eyes back in the real world, Namjoon knew he had been waiting for something. Waiting for the type of sign that Soon’s k-drama universe had given him on his way to Jinseok, something he knew he couldn’t feasibly expect here in reality. And, yet, it seemed like the bizarro universe had stretched itself to him, had given him this tiny gift.

If he wanted a perfect k-drama ending for himself, he’d have to make it happen.

Their performance went off without a hitch, each beat, each movement flowing naturally. He’d decided to pursue this dream, this group, this music years ago knowing that he could fail, knowing that it was extremely likely he would fail. But he’d run towards it anyways. As he looked out on the cheering crowd when they took their bows, Namjoon felt like he might just have the courage to jump.

On the drive back to the hotel, he pressed his cheek to the car window, letting his eyes go out of focus to turn the streetlights, the headlights, the neon signs into streaks of light and nothing more. Let his eyes lose the meanings they all displayed.

They left for Korea that night.

Even though his heart sank a little watching Seokjin file past his seat on the plane home, he was grateful for a few uninterrupted hours to plan. He realized as he watched Taehyung’s head bob forward before the wheels had even left the tarmac that the setting and the timing of his confession—things that he used to think were so essential to getting this right—were inconsequential. Big, showy demonstrations of his emotions would only embarrass Seokjin, would put so much pressure on him that the whole thing would simply fall apart.

No, they worked best when they were simply existing. Subtle and genuine, asking so little in return. All Namjoon needed was sincerity.

Namjoon dug a notebook out of the bag at his feet, fumbling around in the dim overhead lighting to find a pen. Settling back in his chair, smiling a little as Taehyung began to snore softly, Namjoon stared at the blank paper. His head was crammed full of words, expressions and phrases and fragments in so many languages lining the halls of his mind, but nothing seemed good enough for handing his heart over to Seokjin.

Minutes passed slowly as he tapped the back of his pen to the blank sheet of paper, lost as to where to begin. As he let his head fall back against the headrest, the little screen inset into the seat in front of him blinked on.

Leaning forward, Namjoon tried to identify the show playing in front of him, something oddly familiar about the set. There were two figures, silhouetted against bright, splashy colors that were nearly painful to look at in the dimness. But, slowly, the pieces fell into place.

It was Jinseok and himself in the convenience store.

But, the longer he looked, the more details pulled into focus. He wasn’t looking at himself, not really. This was Namsoon, this was his first real look at Namsoon. She was…him. A little bit more curve to her hips under her pleated school uniform, slightly less eye makeup than Namjoon would have applied, but she was mostly just him.

And, shit, she looked so happy.

The smiles she threw at Jin, even as she rolled her eyes and groaned over his puns were nothing short of radiant. As she readied herself to head home, her blush was intense when Jin pecked her cheek from behind as he helped her into her light spring jacket.

He really had done it, Namjoon had given her a happy ending.

She walked backwards to wave at Jin as she headed home, and the scene began to shimmer and melt away, a new one forming in its place. The auditorium that he had left behind in Soon’s world was once again packed with people, this time in formal attire as Eunsoo, Yelim, Haneul, and Soon filed along the stage to receive their high school diplomas. The four girls huddled together onstage as JK-dad took shot after shot, the girls giggling as they posed. Behind him, Hobi-mom and brother-Tae comforted a sobbing uncle-Yoon.

More images danced across the tiny screen in a rapid-fire montage. Namsoon in a huge lecture hall, her pencil flying across a notepad. Jin and Soon laughing and eating ice cream on a park bench under golden streetlights. A single lamp illuminating Soon’s desk as she worked late into the night. Soon and Jin laughing among tidepools under the summer sun, her hands cradling multiple hermit crabs for Jin to admire. The entire Jeong family sandwiching Jin’s mother, watching Jin in cap and gown receive his college diploma, her hands wrapped tightly around Namsoon’s. From the stage, Jin grinned out at the group.

In every image, Namjoon could practically touch Soon’s happiness, could feel its warmth spreading.

The montage slowed, panning around a small apartment, boxes stacked haphazardly along the walls and on the couch Namjoon recognized from Jinseok’s living room. The walls were blank in the soft afternoon light. The scene slowed to a stop on Namsoon carefully arranging her set of BTS acrylic stands along the kitchen window sill.

Fumbling for his bag, Namjoon desperately sorted through his things for his earbuds after seeing Soon speaking silently on the screen. When he jammed the connector into the earphone jack, her voice flooded into his ears.

“—it’s not really home without Bangtan,” she declared, turning to smile over at Jin standing at the stovetop behind her.

“True. How else would everyone know we’re intellectuals?” Jin replied. “People need to know upfront that this is an army home.”

“My house of ARMY,” Soon stated, wrapping her arms around Jin’s waist.

Jin giggled, tipping his head to rest against hers. “Do you ever think about how crazy those first two months were? Right when we met,” he murmured, leaning back into Soon’s arms.

“A lot, actually,” she responded. “So much changed over such a short period of time.”

“Sometimes I look back, and I can’t believe that any of it actually happened. That you just showed up one day, and now I have this,” Jin turned in Soon’s arms to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Sometimes I wonder if, one day, I’m going to wake up to find out this was all just a dream.”

Soon laughed, loud and booming in the way Namjoon recognized from his own throat. He leaned forward to watch her face on the tiny screen. Even pixelated, he could pick up hints of the things that split them, that divided Joon from Soon. “I feel that way, too, every now and then. Almost as if someone else was living in my place,” she smiled, secrets hidden behind her lips. Jin reached up to tap her underbite, just like he did to Namjoon that day on the beach.

“It doesn’t matter, though, as long I get to keep dreaming with you,” Soon murmured.

Soft music began to play in the background as they curved into each other, lips meeting before a starry-eyed Namjoon. It took him far longer than he cared to admit to realize that it was Crystal Snow, acoustic with Korean lyrics, Seokjin’s plaintive vocals through his headphones as the screen faded to black.

Overhead, the lights brightened as the plane began its descent into Incheon.

Namjoon glanced down at the empty journal in front of him and smiled.

***

It was time, Namjoon could feel it etched into his bones.

Now that he’d made up his mind, it felt like actual torture to put off talking to Seokjin. They’d arrived back at the dorm late into the night, and Namjoon was the only one among them who was even remotely awake.

Seokjin’s eyes were puffy from sleeping on the plane in his contacts. It took all of Namjoon’s willpower not to simply follow him into his bedroom when they said goodnight, to curl up beside him and wait for his sleep to subside.

Instead, he spent what he hoped would be his last night staring up at his ceiling with a stomach full of anxiety and anticipation. He piled his plushies onto his bed, fingers eager to hold onto something as he forced himself to sleep. In his mind, he rewatched the scenes from Soon’s life, running through the pulse of her happy ending with Jinseok.

But that implied the wrong things, for her and for him. Namjoon lulled himself to sleep thinking of beginnings, of the freshness and anticipation that came with starting something.

The look before the leap.

When Namjoon opened his eyes, the sky outside was streaked with gold and pink, the early morning light promising a bright, clear day. There was something so right about giving into love under a sky like this. Namjoon worriedly smoothed his hair, changed into a clean shirt, and willed his heart to stay in his chest. His hands were so sweaty.

The dorm was still as Namjoon crept to Seokjin’s door. It was far too early to be up on a day off, but Namjoon needed privacy. He needed this to happen in the liminal space between sleep and true wakefulness.

Inside, he could hear Seokjin’s slow breathing. When he tapped his knuckles against the door frame, panic descended over him as he realized that maybe Seokjin would be grumpy or angry for pulling him from slumber, for waking him for something so selfish. Just because Namjoon wanted this to happen right now didn’t mean shit for what Seokjin wanted to do.

There was a gentle rustling, Seokjin groaning as he slid out of bed and shuffled across his bedroom. When he cracked open his door, he looked surprised, staring hazily at him as if he thought maybe Namjoon was a figment of a dream.

Tugging his sleep shirt into order, Seokjin blinked slowly at Namjoon, still clearly far from awake. His hair was tousled, a flat patch on one side of his head. His eyes, squinty and bleary as they were, were amplified by the thick lenses of his glasses that Namjoon knew he hated. Namjoon loved those stupid glasses, loved how they reminded him that Seokjin was human, that he was here, that he was real.

It didn’t hurt that Seokjin could make garbage bags look like they belonged on the cover of a magazine, but whatever.

“Namjoonie?” Seokjin asked, confusion laced through the creaks of his voice.

Namjoon bit his lip, hating his own timing. He’d finally felt ready, felt like the time had come to get this off his chest, but now? Shit, this wasn’t what he wanted. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to wake you. We can talk later,” he babbled. He gestured wildly back towards his own room, trying to hide his grimace behind a smile.

But Seokjin was too quick for that, his fingers wrapping around the sleeve of Namjoon’s shirt to keep him from running away. “No, it’s fine. Just come in,” he coaxed as he pulled on the fabric gently. “Really, I’ll be fully awake in a minute anyways.”

“Okay,” Namjoon murmured, following Seokjin inside.

It felt like a lifetime ago that Namjoon had wandered in, looking for an escape from his restless mind, his last bit of peace before being forcefully launched into Soon’s universe. Even in his anxious state, there was a gentle easing in his chest as he leaned back against the door, watching Seokjin shuffle back to his bed.

“Take a seat, stay awhile,” Seokjin yawned as he perched on the edge.

Waving his comment away, Namjoon stammered, “Thanks, maybe in a minute.”

“Sure?” Seokjin mumbled with a gentle tilt of his head.

Namjoon rubbed his hands together, taking one last breath before leaping into the open air below. “So, I’ve been thinking—”

“You should be careful with that, you’ll hurt yourself,” Seokjin teased. But his hands were wrapped tightly into his bed sheets, white knuckles contrasting distantly with his enflamed ears. Namjoon wondered vaguely if it was normal to find someone else’s nerves calming, if only because they were in it together. He faltered for a moment as he instinctively tried to push back the need to pull Seokjin’s hands into his own.

But he was tired of pushing this away. He was tired of hiding.

He took a step towards Seokjin. “Hyung, do you ever think about how different we all are on stage? On camera?”

Seokjin leaned forward slightly on the bed, some of the tiredness slipping from his face. Pursing his lips, he replied, “Of course. It’s normal. We’re all acting, whether we want to or not.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, taking another step forward. “People change how they act when they know they’re being watched. It’s called the Hawthorne Effect, it’s a proven thing, researchers have to work around it all the time. But it’s worse for us, isn’t it? We have to be perfect on stage, respectful and informed in interviews, innocuous and polite in public, because we know that all the time someone, anyone is watching.”

Another step. “But the Hawthorne Effect doesn’t just go away when we step back from that. It’s just like how easy it is to slip back into our old childhood habits when we go home—we know that people have expectations for what and who we’re supposed to be, and we can’t help but change ourselves around because of that.”

He took one last step, standing before Seokjin, looking down to meet his eyes. Namjoon decided he needed to invent a thousand more words to describe Seokjin’s upturned face painted in the soft morning light, lips parted gently in thought.

“Why were you thinking about that?” Seokjin asked, voice so gentle that it hurt.

“After I fell and hit my head a few weeks ago, I had a—I guess you could call it a dream? But it was more than that. When I was out for those two seconds, I dreamt of another world. We were all there, only we were different people. And, for the first time, I was free of the expectations I was used to and forced into new ones. It should have felt, I don’t know, wrong? And it did, a little. But there was also a kind of openness in that, in the fact that I didn’t need to be held to the standards that past Kim Namjoon had set out for present me.”

Sitting beneath him, hands reaching out without touching, Seokjin looked soft with strength, tiny in his oversized top as he loomed large over Namjoon’s existence, a beautiful bundle of contradictions. A dream made real and complex.

“Namjoonie,” Seokjin murmured. He buried so much meaning in the word, expressive in a way that Namjoon was still learning to interpret. Behind his dark, round eyes, emotions flitted past, too quick to distinguish, but there.

“I wanted to give that to you, too, but I realize now that it wouldn’t make much difference, because you’re better at this than me,” Namjoon shook his head when Seokjin opened his mouth to speak, feeling a bubble of confidence in the natural way that Seokjin presumably would leap to his defense. “You don’t need to be separate from the world to understand yourself or what you’re feeling, because you already have that. I never fully understood, and I’m sorry I never saw it before now.”

He could almost see the snow that had fallen around them that day in the school courtyard as Namjoon asked Jin for any inkling of hope that Seokjin could maybe love Namjoon the way Jin loved Soon. In the depths of Seokjin’s eyes, hidden behind the careful shutters Seokjin had built to survive in this painful industry, that same hope flitted into Namjoon’s sight. Seokjin’s lips parted, his voice barely more than a breath, “You’ve always seen me.”

“I tried,” Namjoon whispered back, pressing his fingertips to Seokjin’s temples, the sides of his hands resting against his cheeks. “I’ve done kind of a shitty job thus far, but I’m trying. I want—” He let out a shaky laugh, feeling almost drunk on the weight of Seokjin’s gaze on his face. “I want to keep trying, I want to get this right.”

Seokjin’s hands were steady as they tangled into Namjoon’s shirt, bunching the fabric around his waist. He shook Namjoon a little, an incredulous quirk to his mouth. “I told myself not to hope for this.

“I was trying to back off, I didn’t want to force this on you, but.” Shrugging self-consciously, he licked his lips and continued, “But I kept thinking that maybe something had changed. Like you were watching me differently than before, and I was trying not to get my hopes up.” He glanced down for a moment, laughter slowly bubbling within him, his shoulders shaking. “So much for that,” he sputtered.

The blessed relief from the heaviness of anxiety left Namjoon giddy, lightheaded as he joined Seokjin’s laughter. It didn’t seem fair for Seokjin to look as handsome as he did, mused and rumpled from sleep, red faced from laughing, and Namjoon finally let himself bask in the knowledge that this incredible, dorky idiot wanted him.

“I’m just sorry I made you wait,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead to Seokjin’s.

Shoving at Namjoon’s shoulder, Seokjin whined, “Yeah! What the hell!” He leaned back and gestured at himself with a sweeping hand. “You could have had all this, and you dragged your feet! I can’t even believe you!”

“I know, I’m the worst,” Namjoon chuckled.

“What a dummy!”

“So stupid.”

“Terrible at decisions!”

“Truly a loser.”

Seokjin snorted daintily, waving away his words. “How much of a loser can you be if you get me?”

Namjoon pushed Seokjin’s fringe from his face, the one he’d been chasing after for so long that he swore it was ingrained into the hollow spaces in his chest, his veins twisting themselves into his name. Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin. The first time he’d let the words fall from his lips, they had been laced with despair, with guilt and longing, but now they felt like a sacred offering left at Seokjin’s feet.

“Holy fuck, I really am in love with you,” Namjoon murmured, voice breathy from laughter.

In one smooth motion, Seokjin launched himself to his feet, stretching to his full height and yanking Namjoon’s face down to meet his.

Some part of Namjoon had assumed that, if ever given this chance, Seokjin’s lips would feel the same as Jinseok’s, soft and warm, pressing his unspoken words into Namjoon. But, fuck, this was so much more. A hunger strengthened and honed by all of the time spent pressed together, the harsh, bittersweet aftertaste of wanting, but settling for less.

For all their prolonged desperation and Seokjin’s harried action, the press of their lips was slow, almost shy despite everything. Only the beginning.

Maybe the difference lay in the fact that Seokjin knew Namjoon, knew him in a way that Namjoon didn’t really even know himself, unable to separate his view from his own eyes. There were no hidden corners filled with awkward secrets that he needed to push from Seokjin’s sight. When Seokjin buried his hands into Namjoon’s hair, finally, finally taking something for himself, Namjoon felt exposed and raw like tears clinging to an eyelash.

Seokjin was humming, the vibrations travelling through Namjoon through his lips, their chests, a song that Namjoon could spend his whole life trying to recreate, but never getting it this right. When Namjoon tipped forward, leaning over Seokjin and pulling on his bottom lip gently, his humming pitched upwards frantically, his fingernails biting into Namjoon’s shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. Namjoon could write whole albums about the way Seokjin’s nose pressed into his cheek, each inhale and exhale dancing across his skin.

His neurons were exploding in his brain, sparks raining down behind his eyes when a sudden spike of fear jolted through his core.

Pulling away for even a second felt too long, a distressing distance after finally pressing in. Namjoon wasn’t sure that anything would be close enough now, but, holy fuck, he was willing to try. Still, he had to lean back just enough to make sure that this was real, wasn’t just another strange, elaborate dream designed to force truths from his throat.

Looking at Seokjin in that moment—ruffled and red and vulnerable, glasses sat askew on his nose, laughing despite himself—was like taking the solitary quiet of the moon hanging over an uncaring city and tossing it against the rosy peaches of the morning sky. Seokjin was exquisite and inexplicable and his.

“Joon-ah, you know I love you, right?”

Galaxies collided and split in Seokjin’s eyes, and Namjoon traced the shape, following its curves back to himself. Maybe neither of them stood stationary at the center of this. Instead, they circled each other, binary stars reaching their long, celestial arms across the deep void of space.

Maybe he’d spent his entire life preparing for this.

As their lips slid together, Namjoon let the layers and personas fall away, all of the jagged pieces of who he was slotting effortlessly into the space between Seokjin’s lips.

This was home.