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Namjoon regrets it the second his palm makes contact with Seokjin's cheek. In a flash the touches he'd gave him already during the day come back to him and he recoils on himself, guilt crashing down his muddled brain.
One: A brush of their fingers in the morning, because Seokjin looks so lovely when he's still half asleep and because Namjoon is tired enough that he indulges in it.
Two: A squeeze to his biceps during practice when Seokjin missed a step and grimaced at him in the mirror, a gesture of comfort because Seokjin is still insecure about his dancing skills even though he dances amazingly.
Three: His hand on Seokjin's knee when they'd been squeezed next to each other on the couch during their little party. He doesn't have excuses for this one, except that it was the end of the day and he was still allowed one touch.
Four: Seokjin hovering over him, looking sweet enough to eat with a hint of worry, telling Namjoon he's allowed to touch him and taking the matter into his own hands, literally, taking Namjoon's hand and placing it on his cheek and asking, asking Namjoon to touch him, like it's something they do. Confused little frown on his cute little face, the expression of someone who doesn't have to create stupid little superstition to refrain from touching someone too much.
Namjoon knows, he knows he's broken the rules, will have to endure some kind of punishment for it but he can't for the love of himself find the strength to shorten his fault. Seokjin's skin is devilishly soft under his fingers, and he's got alcohol in himself and Seokjin looks like he's enjoying it, having his too big hand caressing his face like a dumb man in love. He's going to blame it on the alcohol if Seokjin asks. He's already blaming it on the alcohol to make excuses to himself, though he knows deep down it's wrong of him. Sorry, alcohol. It's actually his dumb stupid feelings' fault.
He caresses Seokjin's face the way he's been dreaming to, cheek then jaw, slow, the path memorized from hours spent thinking about it. He knows he's entering a dangerous territory when his thumb presses on the corner of Seokjin's mouth but Seokjin closes his eyes, leaning into his direction, and Namjoon's heart threatens to stop. He thinks he's writing love words on Seokjin's skin, song lyrics, endless declarations. He thinks he touches him with feelings, so obvious Seokjin can't not read into it. Though Namjoon is a man of words touches are his language of love when it comes to Seokjin.
He feels guilty when he follows the shape of his top lip, the perfect heart it makes, and feels guilty when he tests just how plump the bottom one is. He rests it there, just in the middle, applying just the softest amount of pressure to the flesh.
Just when he thinks he's about to combust Seokjin leans a little more and opens his mouth like he wants to lick his lips but thinks better of it at the last second and Namjoon stays there, wondering what could happen if he pushed his thumb a bit more so it entered his mouth. Would Seokjin leans back immediately, look at him with disgust and concern?
Or would he part his lips better? Would he curl his pink tongue around it, would he make a sound? Would he open his eyes to look at Namjoon with that sultry look he has sometimes? Would he beg for more of Namjoon's touches?
"This is going to cost me so much." Namjoon whispers though he knows he's said it already and that there's no way it won't alarm Seokjin. After such shameful touches and shameful thoughts there is no way Namjoon can allow himself to touch Seokjin any time soon.
Seokjin snaps out of it at that, leaning back so quickly he almost loses balance and mumbling some apology that is probably just a cover up for I think there's something wrong with you and you probably should never look at me ever again.
Namjoon waits for the gentle shut of the door to curl on himself in his bed, closing his eyes to better remember the moment. Against his better judgment he brings his thumb to his own mouth, presses the pad of it against his bottom lip and licks the tip of it, stupidly, trying at the same time to convince himself he's tasting Seokjin's spit and that he's not, because that would simply be another level of creepy.
His hand travel down against his will and he counts one less day he's allowed to touch Seokjin with each pumps of his hand, pressing his own thumb desperately against his mouth. Thankfully his release is shamefully quick, settling on only fourteen days.
Fuck you, alcohol.
Namjoon wakes up early with guilt under his fingernails and drags his sad body to the kitchen to nurse a glass of water, vaguely glaring at the pill waiting next to it. It's frankly insulting how despite all the talents people are swearing he's been gifted with he still can't swallow a pill before it starts dissolving and leaving a terrible aftertaste in his mouth.
Seokjin enters the kitchen then, and that too leaves a bad aftertaste to his mouth. He hates that he's taken advantage the way he did the night before and he hates that Seokjin might hate him, now. Seokjin looks unsure, like he doesn't know how to bring up the subject. Namjoon himself has cowardly decided he will bring it up by not bringing it up and by possibly lying if the need arise, knowing full well his too-sweet hyung won't push further.
There's a single eyelash on Seokjin's cheek, right where Namjoon remembers pressing his thumb into his soft skin. He almost reaches out on instinct and curls his hand hard around his glass to stop himself, looking down to his bowl in shame. He's gotten the chance to caress Seokjin's face once and it's already become an habit, an addiction. He repeats fourteen days in his head like an incantation.
He could read the embarrassment on Seokjin’s face, could see the discomfort in him if he looked up, he’s sure of it. His cereals are a much nicer view, though even in anger Seokjin is a sight to behold.
Seokjin’s voice is steady when he finally speaks after sitting down in front of Namjoon. It’s steady but it’s unsure, something of a walker faced in a forest with a feral beast. Careful.
“Do you remember a lot of things from yesterday night?”
Namjoon lies easily because that’s what he does: manipulate words to fit his version of stories. He really doesn’t understand how those traitors can betray so fast, his mouth admitting before he can think that he knows Seokjin helped him go to bed the night before. Maybe it’s because lying to Seokjin doesn’t feel good, even if both of them would rather hear a lie than the truth.
Seokjin chokes a little at that; Namjoon looking up on instinct to see his pink cheeks, his dazzled expression. He frowns a little at Namjoon’s explanation, and a little more at Namjoon ridiculous confession. I dreamed of you, I think. Kinda.
“Oh. Did you?”
I dream of you every nights, hyung, he wants to say. I dream of you when I’m awake, when I’m standing up. I dream of you when you’re far from me, and even more when you’re close enough to touch and yet out of reach.
He hums, low, the sound choked up slightly by how tight his throat is. The lash is still on Seokjin’s cheek, mocking him.
So Namjoon is the kind of person who indulges in signs, and what about it?
He knows all of it is made up, by himself no less, and he knows there’s no science behind it but sometimes when he’s in the car he looks at traffic lights and thinks If it turns orange right now he’s thinking about me. If a bird appears in the sky it means Seokjin will smile at him later during the day. If the next car he sees is blue Seokjin likes him back.
And if he touches him more than he’s allowed, more than three times a day, Seokjin will surely hate him.
He knows there’s no science behind it, no truths at all, but it’s easier to live with stupid rules than to wonder about your doings every second of the day.
So when Taehyung confronts him about it after almost a week after their party he’s perplexed that he has to explain himself.
Complaining about being hopelessly in love with their hyungs used to be their thing, back when they still shared a room. Taehyung would tell him about how he wished he could kiss every one of Yoongi’s talented fingers, and Namjoon would talk endlessly about how soft Seokjin’s skin would be under his hands, if he ever were to touch it. Taehyung had heard everything about the Touches Rules as well as about every single little rituals Namjoon went through during the day. He’d never laughed at Namjoon, which he appreciated a lot.
When they’d stopped talking so much about it Namjoon had assumed it was because of the new sleeping arrangement, until he’d gone into Yoongi’s studio and had found the two of them making out on the couch.
Namjoon isn’t proud of it, but his first feeling upon seeing them had been one of betrayal. How dare Taehyung, his comrade in unrequited love, betray him like that? How was the universe so cruel that it made him the only one who had to suffer?
He’d felt guilty about his reaction immediately and though he was sad Taehyung had kept the news from him he’d been happy for his friend… Both of them, really. He couldn’t deny Yoongi looked happier as well since they’d started secretly dating.
So Taehyung coming to confront him gets on his nerves, really. He expected at least a little more compassion, less crossed arms and stern glares.
“What are you trying to achieve, hyung? Do you think avoiding touching Jin hyung will do you good?”
“I’m not trying to achieve anything! I broke the rule, and now I’m paying for it.”
Taehyung shakes his head. He used to be so good at understanding Namjoon, but give him some happy relationship and suddenly he thinks he can judge him.
“I understand where you’re coming from, hyung, I really do. But have you considered how Jin hyung must feel about it? He seems to be so lost about your attitude, hyung…”
“I…” No, Namjoon hasn’t considered it. Namjoon hasn’t considered anything besides the broken rule and the fact that Seokjin can’t not think he’s a creep. “Do you think so?”
“I know so,” Taehyung answers. He comes to sit next to Namjoon on his bed, laying a gentle hand on his knee. “He was talking about it with Jimin and Jungkook when I passed his room earlier. I understand you, hyung, and you know I support you, but… If this situation harms both hyung and you I think you should reconsider your rules."
"I'll think about it, Tae, thank you."
It's hard for him sometimes to admit when his younger friends are right and he's wrong. He doesn't think it's misplaced pride as much as a sense of guilt of being unable to find the answer by himself. He's proud of Taehyung for being so smart and so sensible, but he wishes more than anything for him to never have to be reasonable around him. Namjoon doesn't always cope well being vulnerable in front of the younger members. He thinks it's one of the thing that drew him to Seokjin, once upon a time. Someone he could lean on. Someone he could be fragile with. Somewhere along the way, without really noticing, he allowed himself to be too vulnerable about Seokjin.
Because he values Taehyung that much he follows his advice, thinking so hard about the issue he was trying to avoid so bad. He thinks about how soft Seokjin's skin was under his hand, his lovely face barely visible in the dim light, his open mouth. He thinks about how trusting Seokjin had looked, then confused, then hurt, when Namjoon had stopped touching him altogether the last couple of days. And though it costs him he decides he can allow himself to soften the punishment, can allow himself one touch a day if it appeases Seokjin.
He falls asleep hoping for the next day to come as fast as possible, fingertips tingling.
He dreams of Seokjin, like almost always. He always dreams of Seokjin and of music, the two things he loves the most taking turn between lovers and tormentors in real life and in fantasy. That is surely the reason he isn't ready to believe he's awake when he's nudged and find Seokjin kneeling in front of him. His eyes are glazed over; a clear sign that he's drank alcohol. Namjoon used to pretend it wasn't weird that he could notice those little things about his hyung, that he was just as attentive with the other members. That was a long time ago, back when he was trying to convince himself he wasn't desperately in love with Seokjin.
Now he just stares, and sees Seokjin's glassy eyes, and he think He's drunk. He's still unsure if admitting his feelings to himself was a good idea.
Seokjin is rarely drunk in Namjoon's dreams; that's what prompts him to pinch the skin under his ear, only to discover that he's indeed awake. And that Seokjin is asking to be touched.
He rubs a hand on his face, trying to inject some clarity in his head, and sits up. Seokjin follows, almost eager, perching himself as close as possible on the bed without touching Namjoon. Now he seems ashamed.
“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon whispers despite himself. Seokjin is clearly drunk, and consent from drunk people isn’t consent. Confessions from drunk people aren’t really confessions, either.
“I just want you to stop avoiding touching me.” Seokjin says softly. It’s a conclusion Namjoon had drawn by himself after his little introspection but hearing it out loud is another level of heartbreaking. How much more will his stupid feelings hurt his best friend?
He swallows down all his apologies; he assumes they would reveal too much. Now that he looks at him again Namjoon thinks Seokjin looks more dejected than ashamed. It’s a foolish idea, to imagine anyone rejecting Seokjin. A foolish, hurtful idea. So he carefully raises his hand and softly touches Seokjin’s cheek to erase that sad expression off of him and Seokjin turns to him just like that, a pretty sunflower attracted to attention. Namjoon can't help but starts babbling at that, praises leaving his lips so easily it almost worries him. Seokjin closes his eyes and leans toward Namjoon so easily, like Namjoon is doing him a huge favour by clumsily touching his face and complimenting him. He loses balance suddenly, catches himself on Namjoon’s shoulders and stays there, close enough that Namjoon can imagine leaning up to kiss his perfect mouth.
Seokjin's eyes flutter open for the shortest moment to watch him before they drop closed again, dark lashes resting gently against his skin. Maybe he’s read his feelings on Namjoon’s face and the view was too scary to keep looking. “Are you alright?” He whispers, ready to let go. Maybe Seokjin senses his hesitation because he puts his hand on top of Namjoon’s, silently asking him to stay.
Namjoon takes the time to brush his thumb against his lashes, just the place where the tempting eyelash had been resting many mornings ago, Seokjin’s quiet sigh the softest revenge of Namjoon’s life. He puts his left hand on him too, on his jaw and neck, feeling like he might be pushing his luck… But Seokjin reacts so beautifully to it, deep blush spreading on his cheeks, lips parting slightly, so, so tempting.
He’s touching Seokjin the way he does in his wildest fantasies, the ones where he’s allowed to kiss him. And Seokjin is bending toward him like he’s waiting to be kissed, the idea more terrifying that Namjoon could have imagined. He’s panting softly when Namjoon presses his thumb to the corner of his mouth and Namjoon calls him before he’s tempted to throw caution to the wind.
“Hyung, you’re drunk. You should go to bed.” Seokjin’s eyes are unfocused and dark. He frowns a little, like he thinks Namjoon’s plea is unreasonable. “Please.”
“Alright,” Seokjin agrees, not moving one bit. Namjoon imagines eating his words, telling him to just stay there instead, roll him next to himself on the mattress and tuck him under the blanket. He’d leave a respectable space between their bodies, he swears, wouldn’t even look at him sleeping. He’s happy enough with the warmth of Seokjin’s presence.
Seokjin seems just as reluctant to leave that Namjoon is to break contact. Namjoon feels the sudden, foolish urge to tell him he loves him when Seokjin finally retreats.
He puts his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder in the morning and for the first time this touch feels like they’re sharing an inside story, something that’s theirs only. The way Seokjin’s gaze settles on him, solid, thankful, weights more than a touch would.
It’s been only a couple of weeks when Namjoon discovers he’s forgotten the rule entirely. It seems like his hands are glued to Seokjin now, always touching and holding and brushing against him at every chances he gets.
He notices one day when he gets a knowing look from Yoongi, heavy on the hand that’s casually resting on Seokjin’s knee.
“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi says later when they’re alone in his studio. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get your heart broken.”
Namjoon smiles down at his lap. He thinks he should feel sad or bothered by Yoongi’s words but he doesn’t. “I can’t hope for anything. I know that, hyung.” His heart is numb, too cold for any sprout of hope. He’s happy with what he has: a special connection, a link with Seokjin that he shares with no one else. He used to imagine what it felt like to have more but he never dared hope it could happen. Hoping for more would be too dangerous and Namjoon has a sense of self-preservation. “I’m in love with him but that doesn’t make me an idiot.”
Yoongi sighs and shakes his head slowly. After a pause he looks back at Namjoon, a slow grin appearing on his face -He’s decided to drop the subject, Namjoon guesses.-.
“You don’t need that to be an idiot. You’re a natural dumbass Namjoon.”
“Hey!” Namjoon protests with a laugh. “What does that make you, who’s friend with a dumbass?”
“Someone with a big heart!” Yoongi says, shoving him lightly to take his place in front of the computer. “Now, give your old hyung the comfy chair so he can work efficiently.”
No, Namjoon doesn’t hope. Why would he, when Seokjin hasn’t come to him since that second, weird time late at night? Why would he when Seokjin hasn’t showed him any less, or more, interest since that time?
That night Seokjin appears next to his bed, kneeling like the little boys praying before they go to sleep in American movies. Namjoon, a benevolent god, gives him what he’s asking for without asking a question, closing his eyes to appreciate it better.
He wonders if Seokjin thinks anything of the fact that he doesn’t need to see his face to know it. He feels Seokjin’s smile by the way his cheek pushes against his palm, at the little crinkles by his eyes that he loves so much. Seokjin even goes as far as lightly giggling when he traces the bridge of his nose and Namjoon smiles back involuntarily. He wonders how many parts of Seokjin’s face are ticklish and if he scrunched up his nose at the feeling. If he would do so if Namjoon kissed the tip of his nose.
He can find himself falling back asleep slowly, his brain focused on the light touch and on refraining him from declaring his love here and there. He presses against Seokjin’s jaw, his thumb weakly swiping at his cheek, trying his best to stay conscious one more second.
His hand is dangling from the bed when he wakes up in the morning and it’s cold, colder when he remembers the warmth of Seokjin’s skin against his finger. In his heart he feels something warm unfurling, something that feels scarily like hope. Namjoon promises himself not to water it so it can quickly die.
“There’s something different about you”
Jimin is sitting on the couch of Namjoon’s studio, reading a manga. Or, well, he was. Now the book is on his lap and his eyes on Namjoon.
“You’ve been looking happier hyung.”
“Do I?”
Usually Jimin visits the studio for two reasons: when he needs a break from the noise in the dorm, and when he wants to tell someone about his incredible sex life with Hoseok. They rarely talk about Namjoon’s feelings, and only ever when he initiates the conversation himself.
“I’m not… Saying that you looked unhappy before. But you look happier now. Is it about Jin hyung?”
Sometimes Namjoon wonders if he’s found himself the most observant friends or if he’s just that transparent. Then again Seokjin doesn’t know anything, so maybe it’s not that bad.
“I’m not certain it’s a good thing,” Namjoon admits slowly. “I’ve been happier because I’m making myself believe something could happen, when I know full well it won’t.”
Jimin blinks. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because Seokjin doesn’t love me back, what else?”
Jimin sucks his bottom lip in his mouth, biting at the flesh like he’s trying not to say something. He looks to his right, focused on a tiny plant Namjoon keeps there, nervously playing with the rings on his left hand.
“I don’t want to give you empty hopes, hyung, but Jin hyung has been… Thinking. He’s been thinking a lot lately. And like I said I don’t want to set you up for disappointment, but… I think it would be easier for something to happen if you were more open to it.”
Namjoon laughs bitterly, spreading his arms wide. “How can I be more open than I am, Jimin? I’ve been in love with him for years! All he has to do is ask for it and I’ll give him the world!”
“But you’re not really letting it show,” Jimin points out, and Namjoon wants to retort that No, he doesn’t, because how embarrassing it would be for Seokjin to have to ignore his stupid lovesick feelings?. “Jin hyung is wondering what’s happening between you, right now. And he’s a dense little bitch, so he needs you to lead him. He needs you to show him what could be so he can see it for himself.”
“What if he doesn’t like what he sees, though? What if I show him and he decides it’s not what he wants?” Jimin lifts his chin and glares at Namjoon, challenging.
“What if you don’t and you regret it your whole life?”
Namjoon remembers, long ago, when Seokjin had him had been just bandmate, barely acquaintances. Wannabe-friends. When they’d meet up in cafés so they could talk, just the two of them, trying to find an equilibrium in that mess of boys.
Namjoon prided himself in living fiercely then, going forward, stomping every obstacle in front of him. Seokjin always told him to calm down, take a break. Breathe. It had lead them to their first clash, ugly words thrown above the table.
They’d both be crying but Seokjin had been the first to reach out for Namjoon, knocking softly on the door of the bathroom where he was hiding. It had vexed him, too, because he’d wished he’d be the one taking the first step, showing he was the most mature. He wasn’t very mature at all.
“I’m sorry, Namjoonie,” He’d said gently. “I don’t want to hurt you. But you can hurt like that only the ones you love more, don’t you think?”
“I don’t understand,” Namjoon had said, sniffling. “What do you mean?”
“Only I can hurt you like that, and only you can hurt me like that, because you and I know which words hurt the other the most. It’s because we care, Namjoonie, that we’re able to turn that love into a weapon. I’m sorry. I don’t think you should calm down if you don’t want to.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Seokjin had pulled him into his arms for the very first time since they met. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you either.” Seokjin had swayed them very gently, slowly.
“Though our views of life are very different I think we can agree on one thing, yeah? Let’s live without regrets, Namjoonie.”
Namjoon’s nose had been pressed so hard against Seokjin’s collarbone that breathing had became difficult. “Yes, hyung,” He’d said.
Namjoon shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to regret it for the rest of his life.
Namjoon thinks he used to know how to flirt, years ago, before he was scouted and started spending all his time training. He used to know how to flirt until he fell for Seokjin, who was a natural flirt but didn’t let anyone flirt back. Not that Namjoon had tried, anyway. Namjoon knew better than to flirt with him.
But now that he’s promised to Jimin that he would try to do something he realises he’s forgotten everything there is to know about flirting. He thinks it might be better, anyway, because Namjoon has never in his life flirted with someone like Seokjin. Seokjin needs to come with a guide of his own.
Seokjin is a secretive man; that’s even one of Namjoon’s favorite characteristic about him. He’d declared something like a year after debut that he “liked guys”, and that was the only bit of information Namjoon had ever gotten about his sentimental life. It hadn’t made him feel especially better because that sentence was a very neutral plural, and Namjoon considered himself much more of a singular individual. Seokjin liked guys, and Namjoon just wasn’t one of the guys. He thought that was clear. He’s not so sure now.
So he tries his best to channel that charm fans and journalists talk about. He tries to be smooth, to let his hands linger in ways that are more intentional and less automatic. He laughs harder at his jokes. He leans toward Seokjin every time he’s close and uses his name an awful lot in every sentences. He feels like he’s following a teen magazine article’s advices on how to flirt with your crush.
And he thinks it might work, especially when Seokjin appears much, much earlier than usual in his room and puts his head on Namjoon’s lap like some kind of boyfriend. Namjoon does his best to stay put but he’s giddy with the happiness of having Seokjin so close, so trusting. Of being able to give Seokjin touches no one else can. Seokjin says he has a lot on his mind and Namjoon doesn’t feel too bad hoping he’s on his mind. He can only dream about Seokjin thinking about him as much as he thinks about Seokjin.
Sometimes, hyung, he wants to say, I think about you so much I’m unable to do anything of my day. Sometimes I hole myself up in the studio and pretend to work but all I do is search for a way to mix our voices together on a track, just for the small moment it will make us share on stage. Sometimes I can’t even do that so I just listen to your voice, every guides I have saved in my secret folder. I put the ones where you get something wrong and we laugh together about it on repeat until all I’m made of is our voices, our laughs.
“I don’t know, honestly. I force myself to stop thinking about what’s bothering me, I guess. Sometimes it works.” He says, but he thinks It never works, hyung, I’m not sure it can ever work.
Seokjin is yawning, sprawled on his lap like a kitten. Namjoon boops his nose, smiles at the long-awaited scrunch it provokes. His hair is soft under Namjoon’s fingers and he does tiny, contented noises every time Namjoon’s nails scratch his scalp. He wants to cross his arms over Seokjin’s chest and bends over to breathe him in. Instead he cards his finger through Seokjin’s soft hair until his breathing evens out. He snores very quietly, muffled against the cotton of Namjoon’s sleeping pants.
Namjoon doesn’t feel that guilty when he leaves his room and lays on Seokjin’s bed, hiding his smile in the pillow he’s clutching in his arms. At least he can indulge in breathing in Seokjin’s smell and imagining how it would feel to smell it on him directly, his face tucked against Seokjin’s chest. He mumbles sleepy love declaration in the fabric of Seokjin’s pillow, rolling in the bed like a teenager. He knows he’s getting too hopeful but he decides to let himself have that. He’s confident he can keep that hope under control. Jimin did told him to be more open about it, after all.
He sleeps better than he’s done in a long, long time. When he sees Seokjin in the morning it’s with the memory of the night before heavy on his mind. Seokjin grabs his arm and he rubs the corner of his mouth, giving him a vague explanation about toothpaste on his cheek. Namjoon hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. For the first time in years he thinks he really can allow himself to hope.
“You slept in Jin’s room yesterday,” Yoongi comments suddenly, looking up from Namjoon’s lyrics notebook.
“How’s that relevant to my song writing?” Yoongi raises one brow at him, expectant. “It’s because he slept in mine. Nothing… Nothing weird.”
“I thought you were over him,” Yoongi admits.
“Do you think I should? Be over him?”
“I don’t know,” Yoongi says. “The amount of love I have for him is proportional to how little I understand what’s going on in his head most of the time. I think you both look different lately, and I think… Happiness looks good on you, Joon-ah. I just don’t want you to lose that.”
“I know, hyung, thank you. I want to try, this time. And if it fails, at least I can get over him without regrets. I want to be able to live a life without regrets.”
Yoongi laughs softly and ruffles his hair before giving the notebook back. “You’re such a kid, sometimes, but I hope everything works out. I like when you write happier love songs.”
Namjoon channels all his happier feelings so he can write more happier love songs all day, to the point that he goes back to his room early after dinner to write some more. He’s so focused that the discreet knock on his door makes him jump, ready to ask the visitor to leave until he sees Seokjin at the door, gently expectant. He can’t help the smile that raises to his face, can’t help the warm feeling bubbling in his chest. This morning Seokjin had found a bullshit excuse to touch him and now he’s there, looking like he has some big questions that he’s afraid to ask. It’s embarrassing but Namjoon knows that just a look at him, at how eager and happy he must appear, is enough to answer every single of Seokjin’s questions.
“Do you need me?” He asks to encourage Seokjin in the right direction. Need is a loaded word, especially applied to himself. Do you need me, in particular, the way I need you and only you? Is there anything I can be the only one providing?
“I can wait,” Seokjin is saying, seating down on the bed. He’s an apparition, the most stupidly handsome person Namjoon has ever seen, even in the yellowish light of Namjoon’s bed. He should have thought better than to turn this on earlier, he thinks, because Seokjin would have looked even better under the low blueish light of his moon shaped table lamp. “Come to me when you’re finished working?”
Seokjin sounds so hesitant, like his request might be unwanted when Namjoon wants nothing more than to write songs with his fingers on Seokjin’s cheeks instead of on the paper in front of him. He wonders if he’ll look too eager if he abandons his notebook so soon but he figures he’d rather draw more inspiration from the source than to keep writing on two or three happy moments. He shuts the notebook and walk to the bed, smiling at the way Seokjin straightens up in his direction when he sits next to him.
“Can’t seem to get anything good, tonight,” And it’s a lie, because there’s nothing more good than being in Seokjin’s presence, just the two of them, the trust and want he reads in Seokjin’s eyes. His hands find Seokjin’s face on instinct but just before he can touch him Seokjin closes his eyes, shakes his head a little, and whispers a firm No! that has Namjoon freezing.
He feels icy cold from his fingertips to his wildly beating heart, so, so close to tears. “I’m sorry, I assumed…” If this is what hope leads him to he thinks maybe he doesn’t need it, at all. He leans away, squeezing his fists tightly shut so he doesn’t see his stupid useless fingers, those traitors already addicted to Seokjin’s warmth.
“Wait, no!” Seokjin whispers again. Namjoon leans away even more, wondering what he did wrong this time. “You assumed right, you did. I just…” He feels blood returning to his fingertips, his heart pumping again. He really doesn’t think he can take much more of those rollercoasters of emotions until Seokjin shouts Let me touch your face with such force that his heart do another three additional loopings.
Seokjin’s face is all red and he’s frowning. He looks terribly embarrassed. He looks out of his element, so unsure, so vulnerable, his expression so alike to the one he’d done in the kitchen, that time he confronted Namjoon about his drunken half confession. Namjoon leans to him, smiles the most reassuringly he can. “Be my guest, then,” He says, and watches Seokjin’s eyebrows disappearing behind his hair and his blush darkening slowly. His fingers twitch on his lap, like he really, really wants to move them but doesn’t remember how to. “Touch me, hyung,” He whispers. He thinks he might sound, look too seductive. He wonders if Seokjin knows how easy he is for him. If he knows he’d do anything Seokjin asks, no question, no condition, for one drop of attention. For Seokjin’s hand on his cheek, careful, cautious.
When he leans again Seokjin’s hand, when he looks up at him from under his lashes, turning his head slightly so Seokjin’s thumb almost catches the corner of his mouth he repeats in his head, a litany: touch me, touch me, touch me. Look at me. Can you see I’m an option for you? Do you see what we could be?
“Oh,” Seokjin sighs, so soft. He closes his eyes, like the vision of Namjoon is too much to bear, but he puts his other hand on his cheek quickly, almost frantic. He runs his hands along Namjoon’s jaws, his cheeks, his neck… And Namjoon shivers, the arm he’s resting on threatening to collapse. Seokjin is touching him like he wants to learn his face, like he wants to be intimate with every traits of him the way Namjoon is with his’. He’s trembling so very slightly and breathing hard, lips parted. Namjoon has to stop him before Seokjin touches his mouth or he thinks he would never find the strength to keep from kissing him.
He buries his face against Seokjin’s shoulder, feeling very tiny suddenly. When he releases his hands Seokjin buries them in his hair and Namjoon has to fight himself very hard to not make a sound, or to confess. Does Seokjin realises how close the are, how intimate that position is? Does he, too, wishes they would find themselves entangled together more often?
When Namjoon pushes against him Seokjin lets them fall back and they stay here, Seokjin’s hands heavy on him. It feels almost insane to hope for more, to keep wanting something else to happen when resting in his arms have been his wildest dream for so long but he owes it to himself. He doesn’t want to have regrets. His hands are shaking where they’re clutching at Seokjin’s shirt. When he looks up he discovers Seokjin has closed his eyes and he’s breathing heavily. In the movies, it’s the part where the characters would kiss. “Hyung, I need to tell you…”
“Tell me,” Seokjin pleads, like he’s hoping Namjoon can give him a solution to the mess they’re in.
“I…” I hope you love me too. “Sleep here tonight?”
“Will you abandon me in the middle of the night?” Namjoon can’t help but feel warm at Seokjin’s choice of words. It had felt legitimate to leave his bed to Seokjin that night and to retreat to his’, but Seokjin had lived it as an abandon. He wished Namjoon would stay with him. He laughs gently, so close to the dip of Seokjin’s collarbone.
“Definitely not.”
“Alright then.”
Namjoon realises he must be crushing Seokjin under his weight but he doesn’t have it in him to get away from the warmth and the comfort of his arms. Seokjin’s gentle fingers are playing with his hair, making him shiver from time to time. He doesn’t want to think about commodities; brushing his teeth, changing into pajamas: all things secondary when he’s so close to Seokjin’s heart that he can feel it beating. It’s only when Seokjin shakes under him that he decides to move, knowing they’ll both feel better under the sheets.
He was absolutely right, he discovers a couple of minutes later: being in his bed, face tucked against Seokjin’s chest, is a hundred times better than just being in his arms. He’s able to smell him directly without hiding it and Seokjin’s hands seem to be incapable of not touching his face, his long gentle fingers brushing against his skin with determination.
“I don't understand where all this come from,” He says to the dark, and Namjoon’s heart jumps. He thinks he does understand, though he’s still having a hard time believing it. He’s so full of hope he knows he can only fly, or crash. He’s in too deep for any conclusion that isn’t life-changing.
“It's alright,” He says, squeezing Seokjin’s waist gently. “I'll wait til you do.”
He mumbles his love declarations in the fabric of Seokjin’s pajama this time, once he’s sure he’s totally asleep.
Namjoon wakes up several times during the night, unused to sleeping with someone next to him. The first time he finds out Seokjin has rolled to his side, cuddling closely to him. The second he wakes up to a whispered call of his name and, when he checks, sees that Seokjin has just been sleep talking. The third time is when he feels Seokjin tensing next to him. It takes a couple of minutes to his sleepy brain to catch the reason and when he does he blushes so violently that he’s sure Seokjin feels his temperature raising.
Seokjin stays very still for one more minute before very carefully extracting himself from Namjoon’s arms to slip out of the bed, all while cursing very quietly under his breath. Namjoon waits for the door to close before he rolls in the space Seokjin just left, pressing his face into the pillow that smells like him. He muffles one small scream of victory and stays there, face planted in the fabric until the lack of air becomes to evident. He comes out for air, turning his face so half of it is still pressed to the soft smelling pillow.
“I love him,” He whispers to the dark. A small laughs escapes his lips; he’s too giddy to worry about it. “I love you. Jin hyung, I love you!”
He grabs his phone when he’s finally calmed down, noting that it’s the morning already. He can hear small sounds from the kitchen, and knows only Seokjin can be up cooking that early in the morning so he gets up too, walking silently in direction of the noises.
Seokjin startles a little when he enters and he turns back quickly to his pan, looking more flustered than Namjoon remembers ever seeing him. It makes him want to tease him a little, only because he knows that if he’s right Seokjin has no reason to be flustered. If Seokjin really does want him, like Namjoon is starting to think he does, then Seokjin shouldn’t have any worry. Namjoon’s been his’ for far longer than he could even imagine.
“You left,” He says softly, enjoying the way Seokjin’s eyes grow slightly, the way he looks down and bites his lip. Namjoon walks to him, looking over his shoulder to see what’s heating in front of him. Seokjin gives him a vague, weak answer, talking about Hoseok and Jimin and breakfast. Namjoon isn’t totally listening, though he catches well when Seokjin promises him to give him breakfast.
He’d backhug Seokjin if he was bolder but he’s not sure they’re there, yet. He also kinda like the idea of Seokjin having to ask for it so he just nuzzles against his temple, his chin grazing Seokjin’s shoulder. Namjoon can clearly feel the way Seokjin is fidgeting, leaning toward him as subtly as possible. He takes the opportunity when Seokjin offers to make him taste some of the food, appreciating it with a sound that’s much more sexual than he initially intended. He stiffens, hoping it’s not too much, too fast but it seems to have the opposite effect: Seokjin grabs his hands and links them around his own stomach, forcing them into a hug.
“You’re too much, hyung,” He says in the skin of his neck. Seokjin feels so warm against him, his stomach so firm under his fingers. He wonders what it would feel like, to be able to caress Seokjin’s body the way he’d been allowed to caress his face, and a small laugh bubbles out of him. Maybe one day he can discover it. So good for keeping the hope under check. “It’s not working at all, right?” Seokjin’s hand, still on his wrist, tightens gently.
It’s not even past lunch when Seokjin comes to find him again, in the studio, looking frantic and scared.
“I need to think,” Is the only explanation he grants Namjoon with before he drops next to him on the couch, looking decided to make himself as small as possible, and to fit most of his body against Namjoon’s. His hand lands on Namjoon’s chest, travels to his arm, up until it slips under his short sleeve. He’s saying I don’t understand, I don’t really understand, you know? and Namjoon knows. He has watched himself fall in love with Seokjin, step after step. He’s been watching his love grow every day. He knows.
Seokjin is apologizing, a babble of strangled words. Namjoon can hear the tears in his voice.
“Don’t be, please,” Don’t be sorry, “Hyung,” He kisses Seokjin’s hair, the way he’s imagined himself do a hundred times, just above his ear, his nose buried in the soft strands. In his arms Seokjin tenses then relaxes, sighs all the air out of his lungs.
“I’m lost,” Seokjin whispers. He looks up at Namjoon, eyes glassy, cheeks red. Namjoon kisses him just where he’d seen the tempting eyelashes under his eye, then his dark cheek, the first part of him he’d touched when he was still drunk and desperate, still in love with someone who didn’t loved him back. “I need you to help me,” Seokjin says, just as he turns his head to offer his lips. Namjoon doesn’t let himself doubt; he leans down to kiss them very gently, keeping his eyes open to better see Seokjin’s closing.
“I’m in love with you, hyung,” He says at last, smiling when he sees his eyes slowly opening. He traces gently the shape of Seokjin’s cheek and rests his hand on his jaw, his thumb softly pressing against the corner of his mouth. Seokjin parts his lips, licks them. He seems unsure whether to look Namjoon in the eyes or to look down at his mouth. “I think you might love me too.”
“Oh,” Seokjin whispers. His grips on Namjoon’s arm tightens and he looks at him with wonder. “Oh, I think you’re right.” The kiss they share then is much more enthusiastic, more passionate. Namjoon doesn’t want to come on too strong, afraid that he could scare Seokjin away, but it’s Seokjin who pushes for more, tangling his hands in Namjoon’s hair and straddling his lap, leaning back only when he can’t breathe anymore.
“I really do love you,” He says, breathless, beautiful. “Is that alright with you?”
Namjoon wraps his arms around his waist and drags him against his chest, buries his face in his neck and laughs. “Is that alright?” He repeats. “Hyung, I’m so happy I could cry!”
“Don’t cry,” Seokjin cradles his face in his hands, lifts it off his chest and kisses his lips sweetly. “Don’t cry Namjoonie,” He kisses his eyelids, his nose. “Don’t cry, please. Hyung will cry too if you cry.”
“Fuck,” Namjoon chokes, throat tight with emotion. “I just love you so much.” The next kiss they share tastes salty, though Namjoon can’t tell if the tears come from his eyes or Seokjin’s. I’ll drink all your tears like honey he thinks, delirious. He can already see himself writing his next happy love song.