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About half an hour after the train has left Seoul Station, Namjoon runs out of songs that fit his mood. Having to wake up while the moon is still out has always been a struggle, but this morning it seemed like nothing was going his way. He slept through his first few alarms, almost slipped when walking out of the shower, actually spilled coffee on himself and then, on top of everything, Hoseok bailed out on him, which meant that he had to call a taxi, which, in turn, made him arrive at the station literally a minute before the train was set to leave.
Needless to say, he is feeling a tad bit antsier than usual. If it were any other day, he would be sleeping through the whole one hour and a half ride like a newborn baby koala, but today he can’t seem to go on five minutes without having to change the way he sits or to take off his jumper or to put it on again. At some point, he even starts to feel physically sick. Maybe he should have just stayed home like he told himself he would.
Heaving out a sigh, he takes out his earbuds and leans back on his seat. On the other side of the foggy window, naked trees stand tall amidst the miles and miles of stretched-out land covered in thin layers of untouched snow. The view from inside the train is almost cinematic. He imagines some airy, synthpop instrumental would be playing in the background right now as the main character stared out the window with a contemplative look on his face. Sometimes Namjoon feels like that, like he’s having an outer-body experience, simply looking at himself go on with his daily life. It’s kind of terrifying, to acknowledge your existence.
The woman occupying the seat on his right lets out a chuckle. When he turns to look, he notices she’s talking on the phone. Judging by the words she chooses to use, she seems to be talking to a child. He looks away with a soft smile on his face.
The language feels foreign to him at this point. It’s a sad realization, but it’s a realization nonetheless. A wake-up call that makes him aware of the fact that two days ago is the first time he’s set foot in this country in almost ten years. A lot has changed since he was a carefree college drop-out, but, at the same time, thinking back to the elderly couple in the park who ushered their grandson away from Yeri after they saw him and Seokjin sitting on the bench, leaning into each other like any other couple, he can't ignore the fact that there’s still a long way to go.
He runs his thumb over the black screen on his phone, then gives it a gentle tap. The way the corners of his mouth quirk up at the photo is a bit much considering how many times he’s seen it, but he can’t help it. It’s a photo of him and Seokjin cleaning cake off of Yeri’s face. It was taken by a good friend of theirs, Yoongi, at her seventh birthday party a few months ago. The lightning is bad and the focus is way off, but the bright smiles on their faces are unmistakable. Even Yeri is smiling despite her sour demeanor. It’s a good memory.
He considers giving them a call, but then decides against it. Seokjin woke up with him this morning, made him the coffee he ended up spilling on both his pajama shirt and the kitchen floor, and then set him off with a slow, familiar kiss. He would have driven Namjoon to the train station himself if they had a car, but ultimately, after Hoseok had sent him a dozen of apologetic texts, he had to call a taxi. Yeri slept through the whole thing, but promised the night before to call him first thing after she had woken up, so Namjoon just slouches down in his seat, playing with the frayed hem of his sweater, waiting for his phone screen to light up.
It’s another half hour until he reaches the point where the thought of staying in his seat for one more minute is making him want to hurl, so, shoving his earbuds into his travel bag, he stands up and shimmies out into the aisle. The light over the bathroom door is green, so he doesn’t think twice before heading towards it. He’s about to press down the handle when the door connecting his cabin to the last one opens up and a familiar figure walks over the threshold, closing the door gently behind him.
“Taehyung?” the name rolls off his tongue like a whisper in an empty church, too quick for his brain to catch up and swallow it down.
Taehyung halts at the mention of his name and does a double take when he sees Namjoon, eyes widening in recognition. Various emotions flash over his features: a frown that turns into bewilderment that turns into disbelief that finally turns into a smile—that damn boxy smile; some things really do never change.
“Joon,” he says, taking a step forward.
Whereas Namjoon would rather lock himself in the bathroom, here is Taehyung, reaching out for him. He has always been this way—bold, emotional, if only a bit reckless. Namjoon has always been quieter, a bit more insecure, a bit less out there for the whole world to see and pick apart piece by piece. It’s one of the reasons why they worked so well together. It’s also one of the reasons why they didn’t.
Still, throwing every last bit of rationality and sensibility out the window, Namjoon gives himself into the embrace and wraps his arms around his neck, tugging him close. He lets himself be selfish, buries his nose in Taehyung’s soft hair, takes in his perfume—sandalwood mixed with some sort of flower he can't name at the moment. It’s been a while—that’s the excuse he tells himself, the reason why he allows himself to hold him just a little bit longer than he probably should.
“Holy fucking shit,” mumbles Taehyung as soon as they have put some distance between each other. "It really is you."
Namjoon can feel his eyes study him, his face, his body, everything. He tries not to squirm too much. Even after all these years, Taehyung’s gaze still makes something hot burn under his skin. Toying with the small, shiny ring on his finger, he muses it shouldn’t affect him like that, not anymore, but he can’t help it. You can try to domesticate a wolf, you can even dress it in silk, but at the end of the day it is still a wolf, and wolves run wild.
Taehyung has always made Namjoon’s mushy, frail heart run like the wildest dream.