Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Namjoon knows he doesn't have a nice aura.

His aura is gray. And not even a pretty gray, either. His aura is the dull gray of dirty snow, the empty gray of tin. Not the kind of gray that reflects rainbows or shines like silver. Just dull and colorless.

Like Namjoon.

And it's not supposed to bother him. People with colorless auras exist, and they still have partners. People with black or brown or white aura exist, and they still have partners.

But, Namjoon bitterly muses, staring down at the blue and gray pills in his hand, that's not an option for him.

That hasn't been an option for him ever since the doctor handed him that little slip of paper with a name and a 'syndrome' and a prescription, and it hasn't been an option for him since he received the second.

At his most lucid (that is to say, at his most sober and awake) he's able to contemplate it, sometimes.

That is to say, how fucked-up this all is. 

Avry's Syndrome in and of itself wasn't a problem, after all. Yes, the pills may have turned his one-colorful aura gray, and yes, they may have muted his emotions and crossed memories in his mind until he can barely remember what of his childhood is real and what's imagined, but that's the lesser of his two evils.

Because Avry's Syndrome combined with Parasite Syndrome is all but a death sentence.

Namjoon's spent far more time researching the science behind soulmates than any normal person should, and chooses to think of the soul-bond as a two-way street. Typically, for soul-bonds to successfully form, both sides of the street have to be open, letting traffic in, with a bunch of crossing guards regulating it. In this way, soulmates share emotions, energy, and vitality.

For those with Avry's Syndrome, the crossing guards can't stop the cars from coming, or start them going, hence making it difficult to form or break soul bonds. As a natural response to this, pills for Avry's Syndrome tend to suppress natural bonds and auras, thus leading to the monochrome auras. 

For those with Parasite Syndrome, the crossing guards that normally stop cars from going through one-sided bonds aren't there. This leads to vitality and energy going one-way, and if left untreated, or if the bond is left unbroken, will eventually and inevitably lead to death. The receiver is somewhat of a parasite of the giver, thus leading to the name.

With Avry's Syndrome and Parasite Syndrome combined, it's a miracle Namjoon isn't dead yet.

Still, he manages it well. He takes his pills, goes to his doctor's appointments, and, naturally, hides everything from the media.

The only problem is the rest of his group. 

He turns towards the door, listening to the distant sounds of excitement floating through the walls. Seokjin's cooking, Yoongi's lying on the couch with Taehyung and Jungkook sitting on his legs, and Hoseok's helping Jimin with a dance move.

There's no room for him. 

Still, he hasn't let that stop him before, and he's not going to let it stop him now. No matter how many times Seokjin yells at him for "missing something obvious" when he doesn't know how the others are feeling because they don't tell him. No matter how many times Yoongi makes a comment about people with Parasite Syndrome or Avry's Syndrome being "people too worthless to have actual bonds" to which he can't reply because he can't let them know. No matter how many times Hoseok runs practice until Namjoon can't breathe, only stopping when the others can't handle it, and that's typically an hour past Namjoon's breaking point, but he can't stop it, because then he'd be selfish. No matter how many times Jimin and Taehyung and Jungkook go to the others for comfort, simply sitting near them until they feel better.

But Namjoon can't do that.

He throws the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry before he plants his hands on his dresser, staring at his reflection.

His aura fills the air around him, gray like a storm-cloud, like fog, like depression. So gray and stifling that he sometimes wonders how he hasn't choked on it, and then promptly remembers it's impossible to choke on one's own aura and feels like an idiot for even thinking about it.

He closes his eyes, reopens them, and sees that his aura has receded yet again. It hangs around him in a faint glow, one that can only be seen when squinting, and that's exactly the way he likes it.

Nobody should be subject to his aura.

"Hyung?"

It's Taehyung at the door, purple aura spilling through the air and across the floor. The boy himself has the sparkle in his eye that hasn't disappeared since their debut, since the day the mark materialized on his shoulder, and Namjoon feels the part in him that the pills suppress reach out for it.

It's been too long. He needs to remember - every six hours, on the dot.

"Yeah, Tae?" Namjoon asks, heading for his closet and pulling on a sweatshirt. The younger's dark pink hair is messy, and Namjoon nearly snorts upon seeing he's wearing a white hoodie. Such is the nature of this comeback. "What's up?"

"Hyung's making dinner," Taehyung states, and Namjoon quirks a brow. "He was wondering if you wanted some?"

Logic dictates that yes, he does. After all, Namjoon's been at the studio since fuck-o'clock this morning, hasn't slept more than six hours in god knows how long, and is just generally falling apart at the seams. 

But his emotions say he can't.

His emotions say that if he doesn't find a way to let out all of the betrayallonelinesshurtpainlonging before he talks to them, he won't be able to stop it all from spilling out. He won't be able to stop them from finding everything out, and that's the last thing he wants.

So he shakes his head.

"I've got a lot of work to do," he laughs, and it is true - ever since debut, he's had more work than Hoseok and Yoongi, by virtue of the group's daily soulmate activities. 

He's glad to do it, though. Even if it is only so he can feel a bit of second-hand happiness, seeing the way the others joke and laugh after they return from one of them. 

"But... you haven't eaten with us at all this week," Taehyung murmurs, and Namjoon feels the familiar shard of guilt pierce his heart.

"I know, Tae-ah," Namjoon sighs, flicking up his hood. "Tomorrow, okay?"

"That's what you said yesterday," Taehyung mumbles, and Namjoon sighs again. 

"I know, Tae-ah."

Taehyung reaches up to rub his eyes, and the sweatshirt slips off his shoulder, revealing the six-colored mark of Bangtan. 

The one he doesn't have.

So Namjoon shoves his emotions deep down, the way he has every time one of the others found a mark when they were undressing or after a performance or even after the most mundane of events, and smiles.

"Hyung promises, okay?" Namjoon assures him, and Taehyung blinks, excitement visibly growing upon seeing Namjoon's smile. "Tomorrow."

The lie catches in the back of his throat, comes out slimy and disgusting and intrinsically wrong, but Taehyung doesn't notice a thing. 

(After all, normally he doesn't have to. Not with Seokjin or Yoongi or Hoseok or Jimin or Jungkook-)

"I can hear you thinking, hyung," Taehyung teases, reaching up to flick Namjoon's forehead. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Namjoon laughs, side-stepping the question and Taehyung as he pulls on his winter coat. "Later," he grins, and Taehyung seems somewhat relieved by the smile. 

(He shouldn't be)

With that, he slips out of the front door, lingering for only a moment as he stares at the others in the kitchen. Disgustingly domestic, and not a thing wrong with any of them.

Not like Namjoon. 

The fall air is cold, tugging at his legs and the fabric of his coat. He's not wearing the best clothes for this, just beat-up jeans and a t-shirt, but he can't stop a smile from creeping onto his lips nonetheless.

After all, the others must be warm right now. 

His studio is dark and somewhat cold, though he shucks his jacket off once he arrives regardless. More force of habit than anything else, really.

Post-it notes are stuck to his computer, to the desk, and some are even lined up neatly on a wall. All reminders.

All projects to complete.

He drowns his exhaustion in energy drinks as he pulls on his headphones, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Seokjin will come by later with dinner, right?

(Wrong)

Namjoon's aura is gray.

Though, Taehyung supposes, staring at the leader's expression as he glares into the mirror, calling it just "gray" is an insult.

Namjoon's aura is the kind of bright gray that, when caught in the right light, shines rainbow. Namjoon's aura is the gray of silver, the gray of bright things and beautiful metals. 

His own recoils from Namjoon on instinct - something Taehyung still isn't used to, this unconscious, forced distance - but Taehyung pushes it harder, letting the purple spill into the faint bits of gray. 

Namjoon doesn't notice. 

He's skinny - almost too skinny, Taehyung thinks, wracking his brain in an attempt to remember the last time Namjoon actually sat down and ate with them. Last week? The week before?

Certainly not yesterday, like he said he would.

Speaking of, Namjoon's currently staring at Taehyung like he's personally insulted his mother, and it's incredibly disconcerting to be on this side of that look.

"I can hear you thinking, hyung," he teases, and Namjoon's eyes snap to his, something flashing through them before being hastily stamped down. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Namjoon laughs, a weak sound as he side-steps Taehyung, lingering for a moment at the door before it slams shut behind him. And, well-

Taehyung isn't an expert on typical Namjoonian behavior, but that doesn't seem normal. 

"What're you thinking about?" Seokjin asks, poking his head out of the kitchen. "Where's Namjoon-ah?"

Taehyung sighs, letting his worry filter through their bond. Seokjin's aura wraps around him in response, soft orange mingling with royal purple despite neither party moving, and Taehyung can feel the faux-warmth of Seokjin's arms despite there being nothing there. 

"Studio?" Yoongi asks, though it's less of a word than a feeling, a question drawn in Pollockian squiggles and dashes that is red and uniquely Yoongi. 

Taehyung agrees, a warm, rich violet wave that flows through the bond. And, not for the first time, he wonders how it must feel to not have this.

He can't even imagine it. A world where people can't feel this warmth from each other, can't make each other feel better, can't understand each other without saying a word.

(Then again, he can't imagine a world where Namjoon's aura is anything but unevenly-painted gray)

Seokjin gives him a helpless sort of smile, a mental image painted orange, and Taehyung's reminded anew that he's the only one in the group that can see their auras. "Is everything okay, Tae-ah?"

"I'll bring Namjoon-hyung some dinner later," Taehyung vows, and Seokjin's response comes in orange swirls, helixes wrapping around straight lines.

"I can make up the bag for you."

"You sure?" Jimin interjects, blue wrapping around the conversation and flowing seamlessly through orange and purple despite being in a different room. "He probably doesn't want to be disturbed..."

There's red hesitation for a moment before it subsides, and green and yellow enter the conversation.

"Are you sure?" Jungkook asks, managing to seem shy despite the fact that the strength of his green is anything but. "He must be hungry, right...?"

"I'll bring something over!" Hoseok chirps, excited yellow piercing through the other colors. "Does that work?"

"Enough," Seokjin snaps, orange flashing almost brown for a moment. "He wants to be alone. Otherwise he would've stopped for dinner. We can talk once he gets back."

Yellow and green shrink back, and Seokjin rubs the space between his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," he states, voice carrying through the silent apartment. "I. I had no right to say that. Please, bring him some dinner."

And with that, he retreats to his room, pure guilt flowing through his end of the bond.

And god, Taehyung wants to go see Namjoon, but he can't, not when Seokjin is feeling this bad. Not when the guilt flowing through the eldest's end of the bond is of the drowning kind, and all five of them head for his room in tandem.

The bond may help them, but there's something undeniably comforting about having the others physically there. Seokjin talks with Yoongi and Hoseok and they cry and then the younger three come in and all six of them cry together, falling asleep in a tangle of limb and fabric.

Once Namjoon finally returns, it's three in the morning.

His stomach growls, and he glares at it as if to shut it up, gaze flitting around the empty apartment. Where are the others?

Finally, his gaze lands on some tufts of hair amidst the couch, and he laughs to himself, rounding the arm to check on the boys on the couch.

Seokjin is in the center, Hoseok and Jimin wrapped around him. Taehyung and Jungkook are curled together, heads on Jimin's thighs, and Yoongi has his arms around Hoseok's chest, head buried in the younger's back.

Namjoon pulls some of the blankets from their baskets, draping them first over the maknae line, and then over Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin. He laughs to himself for a moment, ruffling Yoongi's hair, before heading off to his room.

Alone.

And if it feels lonely, or cold, or anything else-

well.

That stays between him and his pillow, doesn't it?

Chapter Text

Namjoon sometimes has to wonder how it degraded to this point.

"This point" being him, sitting here, alone in a studio with assignments tacked to an overflowing cork-board, three weeks behind already with more assignments on the way, while he's watching the other six have dinner.

He laughs as Jungkook throws some fries at Yoongi, only for the elder to deflect them into Seokjin's hair, before promptly remembering where he is and what he's meant to be doing.

Picking up Yoongi and Hoseok's slack.

So they can do stuff like this.

He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, gray aura spilling heavy over the room. "Fuck," he eloquently states, blinking blearily at his computer in an effort to force the words into focus. 

He's not supposed to be having symptoms like this. Maybe he needs to up the dosage?

Namjoon pushes off against the wall and tries to stand, only for his legs to give out on him, sending him crashing to the floor. Exhaustion weighs over him like a blanket, and he belatedly realizes that he can't remember the last time he ate.

Well.

That's unfortunate.

He tries to stand, using the chair for support, but it slides out from under him, sending him back to the floor. 

Only, this time, he clips his temple on the corner of the desk.

Pills spill over the ground, blue mingling with gray carpet, and Namjoon wants to scream, because can he not have one fucking thing in his life that isn't gray gray gray-

but he doesn't.

One thing he's learned after years of living with six people who happen to be soulmates is that, unless you're incredibly overt with emotion, they won't notice.

Which is great for him, honestly.

It's one of the reasons he doesn't meet up with Jackson unless he feels Okay, and one of the reasons he doesn't call his family unless he's feeling Okay, and one of the reason he only talks to people with their soulmates present, because those people won't see he is Not Okay.

His gaze flits to half-written lyrics, spilling paper onto the floor, and he barks a laugh, curling in on himself.

Always.

(A part of him wonders that, if he were to publish it, would they notice? Would they care?

Probably not.)

"I'm tired," he whispers. "I just. I'm so tired."

Nobody responds.

(Did he expect them to?)

Seokjin doesn't know what this is, but he knows he likes it.

The restaurant they're in is bright, vivacious, and he feels himself relaxing at the sight of his dongsaengs throwing food and laughing and acting like the kids they are.

(And isn't that a disgusting line. The kids they are. Thereby implying that they haven't had a chance to act like children lately.

Which, granted, is true.)

He pauses to read some of the comments on the VLive, and turns to Jungkook and Yoongi, a wicked grin on his lips. "Can you bench-press Yoongi-yah?" he asks, and Jungkook's eyes widen.

"Yeah...?" the youngest slowly replies, hesitation evident. "Probably? He's really skinny..."

"Yah-"

"Prove it," Seokjin immediately states, and Yoongi's eyes widen.

"No, no, do not prove it- Jeon Jungkook!"

Jungkook sweeps Yoongi into his arms and tosses him an inch into the air, laughing when Yoongi yelps and clutches him for dear life. "Yah, you brat!" Yoongi shrieks, gripping his bicep as tightly as he can. "Put me down!"

"Nope," Jungkook laughs, and Yoongi shrieks anew.

Seokjin's gaze flits to the VLive, utterly unsurprised to see SugaKookie comment after comment roll in. "Yah," he states, leaning closer to the camera, "cut that out. They're not getting married."

"We're not?" Hoseok laughs, already more than pleasantly buzzed. "But Chim and I were already planning our wedding!"

Seokjin shifts away, though he continues to read the comments. One in particular catches his eye, and he sends a wave of mild concern to Jimin and Taehyung through the bond. 

"Did Namjoon-ah eat tonight?" he thinks, and Taehyung imperceptibly shrugs.

"Should I save him something?"

"He's probably fine," Jimin thinks, though even he seems concerned. "He usually is, right?"

"Yeah..." Taehyung thinks, and Seokjin can feel his trepidation even through the bond. "I'm going to go find him, okay?"

"Yah, you're leaving?" Seokjin asks aloud, and Taehyung flinches, eyes clearing. "Take a cab."

Taehyung offers a sheepish apology to ARMY before racing out the door, snatching his messenger bag from its precarious perch against the doorframe.

He opts not to take a cab - sending silent apology to Seokjin through their bond - and instead inhales the night air, a soft smile on his lips.

Maybe he should invite Namjoon along sometime.

His thoughts turn to the leader, as they tend to do whenever he's given even a moment of silence. It's one of the strange things he tends not to dwell on, the pseudo-bond between the rest of the group and Namjoon.

Shock floats through the bond, along with sheepish embarrassment from Jungkook and irritation from Yoongi, and Jimin casually tells him that Jungkook dropped Yoongi on the table.

Why is Taehyung not surprised?

He pauses at the door to BigHit, momentarily torn. Does Namjoon want him here?

And that is the big question, isn't it?

Namjoon's been quite adamant about avoiding them up to this point, always slipping away in the early hours of the morning and immediately rushing away after concerts. And Taehyung doesn't know why but he knows enough to know when somebody's avoiding him. 

And Taehyung has never been good with confrontation.

He passes by the company instead of entering, resolving to pick up some snacks before heading home. Maybe Namjoon will accept them at dance practice tomorrow.

Namjoon's not sure how long he lays on the ground before he musters up the energy to move, pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

He's light-headed, the world spinning around him and fading in and out like a strobe light. And fuck if it isn't hard to think.

A part of him desperately wants to stay there, desperately wants for someone to come and find him and help him stand-

(but they don't do that)

He coughs, furrowing his brows as a bit of blood splatters onto his palm. What time is it?

The clock blinks back a sad one am, and Namjoon swears, scrambling for the pills buried in the gray carpet. And fuck, fuck, he just wants to be Okay, to be able to smile and laugh and say he is Okay, but, he bitterly muses, swallowing a pair of pills dry, that isn't a thing that happens. 

The world stabilizes after a painful fifteen minutes and he shoves himself to his feet, immediately having to lean on the wall for support.

God, he's tired.

He's tired and hungry and gray gray gray and honestly?

He hates himself for it. 

All he needs is for one person to come. For one person to come and talk to him and just remind him that someone cares.

They'll notice if he's gone, he reasons. Surely. 

They can't just... miss him.

He falls back to the floor, burying himself in the soft fibers of the carpet. They'll come.

They'll come.

But honestly, he really doesn't feel like moving, and he doesn't feel like working, and he doesn't feel like doing much of anything, and he's lucid enough to realize he should see a therapist, but, well-

what therapist would agree to see him?

Throwing aside the fact that he's an idol, there's still his gray aura to contend with, and the medication lined up nice and pretty in his drawers at the dorm. 

And the fact that, according to society, he is broken. 

According to Seokjin and Yoongi and Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung and Jungkook, he is broken.

He's not sure how long he stays there, hands in the soft carpet and thoughts whirling around his head with no start, no finish, simply existing and multiplying like particularly pesky rats that don't seem to want to leave him the fuck alone, and honestly?

He doesn't know if he wants them to.

Because the thoughts that are liable to come in their place are so much worse. 

He stares at his phone on the desk - quiet as always - and is honestly moderately surprised when it buzzes, vibration breaking the monotony of hours upon hours of stress and Namjoon's own dark thoughts.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He lets it fall silent.

It buzzes again.

Once. Twice. Three times.

It falls silent again.

The third time it buzzes, Namjoon kicks his desk hard enough to send it plummeting to the floor and scoops it up, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Ah, Namjoon-ah?"

Namjoon blinks, confused. "PD-nim?"

"We were hoping you could come in to a meeting in an hour or so?"

And Namjoon, much like the perfectionist, self-loathing, chronically anxious and sleep-deprived person he undeniably is, presses.

"An hour or so?" he asks, and Bang PD sighs. "Is that a round up or a round down? Do I need to be there in forty-five minutes or an hour and a half?"

There's a long pause.

"How much sleep did you get last night, Joon-ah?"

Namjoon blinks at the clock, trying to focus the numbers. "What time is it?"

"...six?"

"Oh," Namjoon simply states, and Bang PD sighs. "An hour? Maybe two?"

A long sigh.

"Look, Joon-ah- we've been talking about this for a while. Splitting your schedule from the others. Stuff like this... it happens way too often."

Namjoon blinks, slow and confused. "No, wait-"

"This isn't working for you. And I don't think it's working for the others, either."

And wow.

It's the second part of that that hurts far more than the first. Namjoon's grown accustomed to pushing his own exhaustion away, trying to work with the group-

but that isn't working.

Is it?

"Would it be better for the group," Namjoon asks, trying very hard to seem like he isn't crying, "if my schedule was different?"

A pause.

"In most cases, yes."

Well.

That answers that, doesn't it?

"If it's better for the others," Namjoon whispers, "then sure. Change it."

Bang-PD huffs on the other side of the line, irritation evident. "This is a mutual thing, Joon-ah. I'm not doing anything you're not okay with."

"If it's best for the group," Namjoon repeats, and the other side of the line is silent for one long moment.

"...they're not treating you badly because of your Avry's Syndrome, are they?"

"No, no," Namjoon assures him, and Bang-PD sighs with relief.

"That's good. You should get some sleep, Namjoon-ah. It's important to stay well-rested."

"Thank you, PD-nim," Namjoon murmurs, hand falling to the ground as his thumb taps the red hang-up button.

He's tired.

He's so very tired.

"What?"

Taehyung blinks owlishly at their choreographer, who seems just as confused as the others do.

"I wasn't told the details," their choreographer states, and Taehyung's confusion only mounts. "All I know is that Namjoon won't be joining us for dance practice from now going forwards."

"But..." Hoseok trails off, lips forming a triangle-shaped pout. "How are we supposed to synchronize?"

"We don't synchronize anyways," Yoongi laments, tossing a ball up and down. "It doesn't make a difference."

"But..." Taehyung murmurs, sadness sweeping over him.

But this was one of the only times they had to be a full band.

"Oh, Tae..." Seokjin murmurs, pulling the younger into his arms. "It's okay, Tae-Tae. I'll talk to Namjoon-ah later and get the full story, okay?"

He can feel the others attempting to buoy his spirits, so he nods, letting the happiness and contentedness wash over him.

It's nice. 

"Really?" Taehyung asks, and Seokjin nods.

"I promise."

"What is this?"

Namjoon turns, gaze landing on Seokjin, who still has his headband on and reeks of sweat.

He blinks once.

Then twice. 

Then three times.

Seokjin doesn't disappear.

Though his lack of sleep is causing some minor hallucinations (he slams the cabinet door maybe a little bit harder than necessary, crushing the pesky tentacle that keeps trying to steal his sugar) Seokjin doesn't seem to be one of them.

"What is what?" he asks, and Seokjin groans, raking a hand through his hair. 

"Dance practice. Why aren't you joining us?"

Namjoon blinks at him a fourth time.

"Listen to me!"

Seokjin grips Namjoon's shoulders, turning him around so he can stare directly into Seokjin's eyes. "You're hurting Tae by doing this," Seokjin states, voice firm. "And I'm worried about him."

Not worried about Namjoon.

Worried about Taehyung.

(Another part of Namjoon's heart breaks at that. Just a little bit.)

"Just... talk to him?" Seokjin asks, and Namjoon sighs. "Please."

"It's better this way," Namjoon mumbles, unable to look Seokjin in the eye. "I..."

He doesn't know why he feels guilty.

Maybe it's the fact that his insecurities are playing on loop in his head.

That's quite distracting.

"Forget it," Seokjin snaps, throwing his hands up. "Fucking forget it. Don't talk to Tae until you have a real explanation."

With that, he leaves, and Namjoon stares at him.

Sips his coffee.

Chapter Text

Namjoon is excited.

That date he's had penciled on his calendar is finally here. Red ink, circled, outlined to the point where Namjoon honestly thought his pen would pierce the paper.

"Cooking with Jin-hyung!"

Okay, maybe he's a bit too excited. But it's been so long since he and Seokjin had any time to spend together, since he and anyone had any time to spend together, so he excuses his own excitement.

Namjoon busies himself by pulling out ingredients, preparing the recipe, and once he's done, he bounces on the balls of his feet, excitement thrumming through his veins.

Five o'clock.

Seokjin said five o'clock.

He puts on music, excitement flowing through his veins. The latest girl group song Seokjin won't stop talking about blares through the speakers, and Namjoon waits.

Four slips into five slips into five thirty, and Namjoon's a little concerned.

He debates firing off a text to Seokjin, but decides against it. They were probably held up with something at the studio. They'll be here soon.

Five thirty slips into six into six thirty, and Namjoon opts to start without him.

It's not as good as making dinner with Seokjin, but if they're held up this late, the eldest will likely want dinner without a hassle. 

It's the least Namjoon can do.

Finally, at eight o'clock, with cuts littering his fingers and a pair of broken plates resting in the trashcan, Namjoon stares at the (somewhat sloppy) meal before him, pride mingling with concern.

They're not done yet?

Eight turns to nine turns to ten, and Namjoon begrudgingly puts the food into the refrigerator, leaving a small note on the table. Hopefully his boys see it once they get home.

They must be hungry.

He retreats to his room and dials Sejin's number, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his knee. How late are they holding them?

"...Namjoon-ah? Is something wrong?"

"Not really," Namjoon hums. "I just noticed the others weren't home yet, and I was wondering what they were doing?"

A long pause.

"...they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Namjoon laughs, nerves seeping into his voice. "Is everything okay?"

"They left to go have dinner. Five hours ago."

Oh.

"Oh," Namjoon whispers. "I. Oh."

"I can call them if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay," Namjoon laughs, hiding his hurtbetrayalwhydidn'ttheyinvitemetoo? as best he can. "I was just a little worried, 's all."

A sigh on the other end. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Namjoon states, laughing again in an attempt to defuse the tension. "I'm fine. Have a nice night, Sejin-ssi."

"Namjoon-ah-"

He hangs up the phone.

Tears fill his eyes and he blinks them away, letting his phone fall to his lap. "Fuck," he whispers, rubbing at his eyes. "Fuck."

Did Seokjin remember? Did he just forget?

Or did he know Namjoon was waiting for him, and left anyways?

Namjoon hurls his phone across the room, a laugh tearing its way out of his throat at the sound of breaking glass. "Fuck," he repeats, rubbing at the tears streaming down his cheeks.

He just. Feels hollow.

(He feels gray)

He falls asleep to the sounds of a soft piano, and is already dead to the world when the front door clicks open.

It really was an incredible night, Seokjin thinks, toeing off his shoes.

He and Hoseok were working some choreo when the others showed up, all but dragging the pair into a van.

And wow.

The younger trio went all-out, paying for the entire meal themselves (a welcome treat). The place was warm and boisterous, though the entire time, Seokjin couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something.

They burst into the dorm in a flood of laughter and excitement, the elder three stumbling a bit from inebriation. Jimin and Taehyung have their phones out - blackmail, but Seokjin can't bring himself to care.

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaustion seeping into his bones. God, he's tired.

So tired, in fact, that he trips, catching himself on the edge of the dining table. 

The sound of crinkling paper is barely audible over the excitement filling the air, and Seokjin's gaze slides along the table, only to be met with a small square of paper.

The words "read me" are written on the top, and Seokjin slowly picks it up, unfolding the paper with clumsy hands. It takes him a few tries, but he manages to open it, gaze landing on the characters scrawled across the paper.

"Jin-hyung,

Thank you for working so hard ^^ it makes me so happy to know you're this dedicated, and that all of you are willing to put in so much time and effort! There's dinner in the refrigerator, and I hope you like it :) I tried my best!

Make sure to rest up :D you guys have the day off tomorrow! 

-Namjoon"

Seokjin stares at it for another long moment, trying to work the hangul through his mind. Once it's done, guilt washes over him in waves, the sudden realization of exactly what he forgot hitting him like a sack of bricks. 

Or rather, who.

He was supposed to cook with Namjoon tonight.

"Hyung?" Jungkook asks, and Seokjin turns, met with a pair of wide doe eyes. "What's wrong?"

And he doesn't say, but he doesn't need to say, because if Jeon Jungkook is one thing, he's horribly in-tune with his hyungs' emotions in a way not even Taehyung, with all his auras and mystique, can replicate.

"I need to fix this," Seokjin stammers, tongue tripping over the words as he lurches towards their room, only for Jungkook to pull him back.

"Hyung, you're drunk," Jungkook murmurs, and Seokjin stares at him, left speechless. "Go to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning."

Seokjin blinks at him, nodding slowly. That seems reasonable.

He slips into his bed, exhaustion weighing heavy on his mind. It'd be nice if he could just. Stop feeling this way.

(So he does)

By the time Seokjin wakes up, it's already one in the afternoon.

He rolls out of bed, whacking his head on the wooden floor.

Which only worsens his headache.

Fucking delightful.

He can hear yelling and laughter emanating from the general vicinity of the kitchen, and he stops in the bathroom to down a pair of painkillers before heading to see where the others are and what sort of destructive activity they're doing today. 

He pauses in the doorway, counting off his dongsaengs - one-two-three-four-five - and Jungkook is the first to notice his presence, bounding over with all the excitement of a puppy.

"Morning!" he exclaims, and Seokjin tries for a grin, though it likely comes out as more of a wince. "Ah, do you have a headache?"

"I welcome death," Seokjin mumbles, slumping into a chair and resting his head on the dining table. "Why do people drink?"

"To forget the eternal misery of life and the endless nature of despair," Hoseok beams, and Seokjin raises his head long enough to quirk a brow. "Namjoon-ah."

There's something lingering in the back of Seokjin's mind. Something important.

He's forgetting something.

"Have some japchae, hyung," Jimin suggests, placing a bowl in front of Seokjin. 

The eldest blinks at it for a moment, confused. "What?"

"It was in the refrigerator," Jimin shrugs, turning back to the kitchen. "It's good. Thanks, hyung."

There's something wrong with that, but Seokjin can't quite place it. Ah, well. It wouldn't have been the first time Seokjin went on a cooking spree while drunk.

(The first time led to plates shattered all over the floor and Namjoon hauling him and Yoongi back into their room while Jungkook and Hoseok swept up, and a very lengthy lecture on the conservation of important plates)

"It's really good," Taehyung mumbles around his chopsticks, and Seokjin knows they're hiding something.

"Isn't it?" Jimin hums, turning back to the sink. "Really good, especially for drunk Jin-hyung."

"I don't think I made this," Seokjin slowly replies, and Jimin quirks a brow.

"No, no, you did. I remember you almost poured sugar in it instead of salt, so Kook-ah had to help."

There's something teasing at the edge of Seokjin's consciousness, but he can't quite place it. 

"Where's Namjoon-ah?" Seokjin asks, and Taehyung drops his chopsticks in his bowl.

"He's at the studio," Yoongi mumbles, nursing a cup of coffee. "Why?"

"...nothing."

Namjoon rolls out of bed at five in the morning, careful not to wake any of the others. 

Especially not Yoongi. 

It's still dark outside, and he blinks at the darkness, a headache forming at the base of his head.

Damn. He needs more sleep.

He swallows his pills dry before trudging into the kitchen, nearly walking into an apron-clad Jungkook.

"Hyung?" Jungkook asks, and Namjoon blinks at him for a moment, confused. "Why are you awake?"

"Work," Namjoon simply replies, sliding past the youngest to grab a protein bar. "Why are you?"

"Jiminie-hyung, Tae-hyung, and I were playing games," Jungkook sheepishly replies, gesturing to the pair on the sofa. "I just woke up."

He passes Namjoon a paper, curiosity shining in his eyes. "What's this?"

"I made dinner," Namjoon shrugs, pulling on his coat. "Why?"

"Why?" Jungkook echoes, and Namjoon blinks at him.

It's too early for this. 

"It's not a big deal," Namjoon sighs, tearing up the paper and shoving it into the trash can. "Look. If Jin-hyung asks... can you just tell him he make it while he was drunk? Please?"

"Why?" Jungkook repeats, and Namjoon sighs yet again. 

"He'll feel guilty otherwise. I don't... he shouldn't feel bad. He deserves a break."

Namjoon steps forwards to pat Jungkook's shoulder, an awkward, unfamiliar motion that leaves both parties confused. He withdraws his hand after a moment, an embarrassed half-smile slipping onto his lips. "Sorry, Kook-ah. Enjoy your day off."

"Wait," Jungkook starts, something occurring to him. "You don't have the day off?"

Namjoon shakes his head, embarrassed smile returning in full. "No, I have to go in. You guys have a great day, though!"

The amount of false cheer in Namjoon's voice is enough to give Jungkook cavities. 

"Are you sure?" Jungkook murmurs, and Namjoon's smile dims slightly. "You're never home, hyung. We miss you."

Namjoon laughs, though it's less of a joyous sound and more one of pain. "Yeah, Kook-ah. I'm sure."

Jungkook should've stopped him.

In retrospect, Jungkook should've stopped him. Grabbed his arm, asked him to stay, done something, anything, to fix this.

But he didn't.

And Namjoon walked out the door, hood pulled over his head and aura dim and empty.

Namjoon pulls the door to the studio shut, a pained sob tearing its way out of his throat as he slumps to the floor. 

He's overreacting.

And consciously, he knows that. Consciously, he knows that Seokjin didn't do it on purpose, that he's overreacting over something that doesn't deserve this level of reaction.

But emotionally, he doesn't want to.

He presses a hand to his forehead, resting his head against the door.

He just.

Why him?

Why is this happening to him?

He head falls into his hands, a pained sigh slipping through his lips. 

His head hurts.

His chest hurts.

Everything hurts.

But that doesn't matter.

Namjoon doesn't matter.

He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, exhaustion rolling over him and painting the room gray gray gray, gray like the moon, gray like old movies, gray like black-and-white pictures that try too hard to be aesthetically pleasing but ultimately fail.

Just like Namjoon.

He tips his head back, staring dead-eyed into the ceiling.

The ceiling doesn't stare back.

He didn't expect it to.

(Nobody looks. Namjoon can drown and fail all he wants but nobody fucking looks-)

His thoughts trip over each other like tangled strings, hopelessly intertwined and ever-extending, and all he wants is to stop thinking for one second.

To have one moment where his brain is quiet. 

Because being inside his head is dark and lonely and he wants to get out of it but he can't, because he is intrinsically trapped in a prison of his own making, the prison he was born into, like a coffee he never fucking ordered that has long-since gone cold and is even growing a colony of mold and is useless as coffee, but he's expected to be grateful and drink it down because it was a gift.

He wants to throw it away.

He wants to throw himself away.

Chapter Text

Namjoon's tired.

Namjoon's tired and awake and horrifically lucid when he really wants to be anything but, when all he wants and craves is the sweet release of unconsciousness, but his workload is multiplying and the pressure is mounting and breaks are for the weak, never mind his workload is twice that of Hoseok and Yoongi combined and they barely ever come to the studio.

They wrapped up filming earlier in the day, and they're staying at a motel near the beach for the night. Everyone else is asleep, all curled up together with auras melting rainbow, and Namjoon is alone.

It's a cold fucking day in October, and Namjoon trembles in his t-shirt and sweats, bare feet sliding easily through the sand.

It's a good excuse to be out here, the sand. He can just say he was looking for crabs.

The wind cuts through him, and he barks a laugh as he downs his pills, hands trembling thanks to the cold. 

It won't matter anyways.

It's the coward's way out, and fuck if he doesn't know that, fuck if he's not acutely aware of each and every step he's taking, if he hasn't thought of every single possible outcome of this, and the net result is positive. 

Someday, it's going to come out that he has Avry's Syndrome.

Someday, the boys are going to find out he has Parasite Syndrome.

Someday, they're going to kick him to the curb and throw him out, stepping all over his hopes and dreams, and Namjoon would much rather cut those out himself than have them torn from him.

The wood stings his hands as he climbs, t-shirt whipping around his too-skinny frame. God, he's cold.

Either he dies, or he doesn't.

He has a fairly ambivalent view on death at this point, and he doesn't mind if it happens, and doesn't mind if it doesn't. 

The rough material of the platform digs into his feet as he takes a step forwards, a shuddering breath slipping through his lips.

Being Okay is not something that's instantaneous. Namjoon knows that.

Being Okay is not easy. Namjoon knows that as well.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands, about to send a message to someone, before he stops.

Is there anyone out there who cares?

Is there anyone out there who will even give a fuck if he dies?

(Logically, yes.

Emotionally, no.)

He takes a step towards the edge, resolve strengthened.

He's going to find out if he wants to live.

If he wants to die, great. He'll die here.

But if he wants to leave, he'll drag himself to the beach and spit up the water in his lungs.

He takes another step forwards, a laugh tearing its way out of his lungs. Fuck.

Fuck.

What is he doing?

He takes yet another step forwards, buffeted slightly by the breeze. He's going to do this.

He turns back, staring at the bright lights of the distant motel. This might be the last time he'll see them.

Is he okay with that?

(Yes. Yes, he is.)

He smiles, leaning back and letting himself fall.

The wind whips around him for a moment before freezing-cold water washes over him, weighing him down and seeping into his clothes. He opens his eyes, only to be met with the distorted shape of the moon. 

The moon.

He slowly reaches for the sky, movements slow. 

He's tired.

He's so very tired.

And yet.

(And yet, and yet, and yet-)

He wants to live.

He wants to keep seeing this, to keep seeing this moon, to keep seeing this sky and this world, and he wants to be selfish, god fucking dammit, he wants to be selfish.

He kicks off against the water, clawing for the surface. 

He wants to live.

He wants to live.

His head breaks the surface and he sucks in air, hot tears mingling with ice-cold water.

He wants to live.

He wants to live, and he wants to fight, and he knows he might regret this someday, knows he might regret choosing to fight, but he also knows that he won't know unless he tries.

He wants to try.

His feet scrabble against the rocks and he crawls to the shore, hacking up water onto the already-wet surfaces.

"I want..." he rasps, clinging to the jagged rocks for dear life (life! dear life!). "I want to live."

Tears sting his eyes as they fall, harsh sobs tearing their way out of his throat. The water is cold, tugging at the fabric of his sweatpants, and he rests his head against the rocks, their surface rough against his skin. 

A snowflake lands on his head.

Then another.

It's started to snow.

Namjoon laughs, and laughs, and laughs until there's no air left in his lungs, because how fucking hilarious is it that now, now that he's just decided he wants to live for the moon, the sky takes it away from him?

He'll chase it.

He'll chase the moon.

He grits his teeth, reaching up for a jagged rock above him. It's slick from the rain and the spray of the ocean, but he digs his nails into the surface and pulls.

His feet scrabble for purchase on the rock below him, fresh pain erupting as he finally finds a foothold. He hazards a glance - his feet weep red, barely visible against the pitch-black ocean - before turning his gaze back to the top of the bank.

Grab, pull, step. It's a mantra he repeats to himself as he inches his way up the rocky cliffside, breathing ragged and clothes plastered to his body. 

Grab, pull, step.

The wind slices through him, freezing-cold mingling with the frigid nature of total water exposure. His feet sting like hell, and his arms ache, but he has to live.

He wants to live.

He laughs anew, resting his forehead against the rocks as snowflakes land on the rocks near him. He wants to live, huh?

Grab, pull, step.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he collapses onto pavement, arms aching and too-skinny frame shivering and all together far too small for this cold despite physically being anything but.

He wants someone to come.

Because for all of Namjoon's self-induced isolation, he's capable of being achingly lonely when he wants to be, and as of late, he seems to be more lonely than not.

A hoarse laugh slips through his lips as he struggles to his feet, limbs aching and feet stinging and hands weeping red from numerous lacerations along his palms, but he knows the truth now.

They won't come for him. 

And in truth, this is because Namjoon is intrinsically selfish, and equally expecting of others to understand what he needs without them having to say it.

He's selfish even living like this.

Namjoon is forced to acknowledge that if he really, truly wished to be selfless, he would have never come back to the surface.

(But he isn't. He is selfishselfishselfish and desperately wants to live despite the knowledge that it's better for everyone else if he doesn't.)

He takes one step. Then another.

His feet leave bloody footprints on the pavement and on the sand. 

Another.

He shivers, gaze lingering on the thin blanket of snow.

It'll cover his tracks, at least.

Another.

He stares down at his fingers, the pads ripped and torn and nails cracked and bloody.

Another.

He wants to be Okay.

He wants to be able to look in the mirror and think that he is Okay, despite almost always being anything but.

Another.

His gaze flits to the moon, a distant stamp behind the clouds.

He wants to see the moon.

Another.

He doesn't have to think under the water.

Maybe he should try it more often.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Anotheranotheranotheranotheranother-

When Namjoon wakes up the next morning, a part of him is surprised.

His hands and feet are bandaged with strips of fabric from one of his t-shirts, something he vaguely remembers doing from the night prior.

Honestly, everything after he climbed out of the water is a blur. 

Should he be alive?

Not in the slightest.

Does he want to live?

Yes.

Absolutely, unequivocally yes.

Is he being selfish for wanting to live?

Another yes.

He reaches up to rub his eyes, grimacing upon feeling the feeling of dried salt on his face. Disgusting.

He would shower, and probably should, considering the high chance of infection on his hands and feet. 

Fuck.

He swallows his pills before trudging to the shower and forcing himself under the spray, belatedly realizing that he's still dressed in his t-shirt and sweats.

Well.

"Namjoon-ah!" someone calls, putting extra emphasis on the tone of endearment. "Don't be lazy!"

It is at that moment that Namjoon starts a mental list. Everything Wrong With Kim Namjoon.

Avry's Syndrome.

Parasite Syndrome.

Clumsy.

Lazy.

Broken.

Depressed.

The last one gives him pause, and he stops halfway through washing his foot. Is that true?

Probably.

Healthy people, non-broken people don't throw themselves off a tower to see whether or not they want to die.

So he's depressed.

Good for him.

"Yah! Wake up!"

Namjoon realizes he's been holding his soap to his foot for the last five minutes, and the limb stings like hell, but he deserves it, right?

Yes? No?

He doesn't know.

(His logic says no, but his emotions say yes, and, well-

he's never been good at listening to his logic)

He settles on the answer that he does deserve it, but he also wants to see the moon, so he'll pay for it in a way other than his life.

"Yah, Kim Namjoon!"

Hoseok's eyes narrow upon seeing the leader's fumbling movements, and he's unable to stop irritation from creeping into his voice as he sighs, "take five." 

He crosses the room and sits down next to Namjoon, who flinches bodily upon feeling Hoseok make contact with him. 

Weird.

"What's wrong with you today?"

It comes out harsher than he intended, and Namjoon's eyes widen imperceptibly before his gaze falls to his water bottle, nestled between his feet. "...nothing."

"Joon-ah..." Hoseok sighs, reaching over to place his hand atop Namjoon's.

The leader winces anew, and Hoseok can't help but feel like he fucked up. 

"What do you want?" Namjoon simply asks, and Hoseok blinks at him, confused.

"You're being weird," Hoseok shrugs, and Namjoon flinches for the third time in as many minutes. "What's with you?"

Namjoon opens his mouth.

Closes it.

"...nothing."

"Joon-ah..." Hoseok murmurs, and Namjoon blinks at him. "You can talk to us, remember?"

"...yeah."

"Hobi-hyung," Jimin whines, leaning over to rest his head on Hoseok's knee. "Can we go back to practice?"

Hoseok's gaze flits to Namjoon for a moment, who's currently staring at his gloved hands in apparent contemplation. "...sure, Jimin-ah."

He can't ignore the way Namjoon's eyes dim slightly at that, but he doesn't comment, instead shuffling to his feet.

(Hoseok notices a faint wince as Namjoon shifts his weight onto his feet, but opts not to say anything about it. It doesn't seem like something he was meant to see.)

"I have to go," Namjoon murmurs, gaze flitting to the clock. "Sorry, Hobi-ah."

He's gone in a flash, leaving Hoseok to stare at his retreating form and wonder what the hell just happened.

"Where's hyung?" Taehyung asks, confusion shining in his dark eyes. "Is he okay?"

And Hoseok's a bit irritated.

It's not just the simple fact that this is the first dance practice they've had with Namjoon in weeks. It's not just the fact that Namjoon's hiding from them. It's not even the blatant avoidance.

It's the fact that he won't even tell them why.

He drives his fist into the wall, and Jimin shrieks, wrapping his arms around Hoseok's midsection. "Hyung!"

"God fucking dammit!" Hoseok all but shrieks, slamming his fist into the wall anew. "Fuck!"

"Hoseok!" Seokjin shouts, racing forwards to grasp the younger's fists. "Stop!"

Taehyung has his eyes shut, as does Jungkook, and Hoseok can feel the anger lessen, replaced with happiness and warmth. 

What was he mad about?

"It's okay," Seokjin murmurs, touches feather-light on Hoseok's arms. "He'll come to us when he's ready."

The thing Namjoon is the most grateful for in the entire world is having his own studio.

Sure, sharing with Yoongi and Hoseok had its perks - namely, seeing them - but being alone has its strengths, too.

(Namjoon doesn't want to be alone right now.)

Were he anyone else, he wouldn't be.

But right now, he is. 

After all, the others are soulmates. Bondmates.

And Namjoon just. 

Isn't.

He eases some headphones onto his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Stop. Thinking.

(Hoseok's expression, Hoseok's words, he's doing this wrong-)

Stop.

(Jimin's request, they stopped for him-)

Stop it.

(He's bleeding through his socks again.)

Namjoon sighs, pulling off his shoes to inspect the cuts on his feet. They haven't healed whatsoever, and the cuts on his hands are in a similar state of irritation.

He should probably be resting.

(But he's not.)

Seconds stretch into minutes into hours into time and Namjoon doesn't know how to think or how to work, drowning in a sea of loneliness somewhat despite himself and someone due to himself. 

(It has been a long time since he was anywhere but the in-betweens.)

Chapter Text

Logically speaking, Namjoon knows he needs to talk to someone about this.

Emotionally, though, he really doesn't want to.

And yet, he's still standing here, outside his manager's office, hand resting on the warped wood of the door and trying to figure out how best to phrase this.

He knocks on the door, once-twice-thrice, and waits for a moment before Sejin answers.

"Namjoon-ah?" the manager asks, and Namjoon tries for a smile, though it falls flat. "What's wrong?"

Namjoon doesn't trust himself to answer that question without crying, and Sejin seems to see that. "Come in."

The door shuts behind him, and Namjoon gratefully falls into the chair, feet aching and hands stinging. 

Everything aches.

"What's wrong?" Sejin asks, and he looks so nonchalant that Namjoon wants to cry.

Instead, he opts to tug off a glove, revealing the numerous (unhealed) cuts coating his hands. 

Sejin sucks in a breath, and Namjoon makes quick work of the second one, embarrassment sinking in now that his wounds are on full display.

Why did he want to do this?

"Namjoon-ah..." Sejin breathes, running his thumb over one of the cuts and wincing in tandem with Namjoon. "How did this happen?"

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "...I did it."

Technically true. 

Or, well. True enough. 

"You...?"

Namjoon can't look at his manager's face. Doesn't want to see the disappointmentdisgusthatred that inevitably follows.

"I jumped off the platform a month ago," he slowly explains, "and climbed back up the rocks."

There's a long silence.

A long, painful silence.

"What platform?"

Namjoon's hands fall to his lap, thumbs tracing the cuts on each hand. It helps, somehow.

"The one... the one we were using to film Tae-ah's scene. The one on the beach."

Another pause.

"Namjoon-ah... you could've died."

"That was the idea."

He knows he's fucked up as soon as the words leave his mouth, his mouth falling open as his eyes snap to Sejin's. "I. I don't-"

"Namjoon-ah..." Sejin murmurs, head falling into his hands.

And oh, this is what Namjoon knew would happen, the shame and the hatred and he's going to be kicked out of the company-

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Sejin's crying.

Why?

"I don't..." 

A ragged sigh.

"Do you want help, Namjoon-ah?"

No.

Say no.

Say nonononononono-

"Yes."

There's the monster in the back of Namjoon's head screaming and pulling at his limbs like the rapper is a puppet on strings, wrapping his emotions in darkness and whispering things into his ear every hour of every day, and Namjoon wants it out.

Sejin smiles, and Namjoon's eyes widen anew. "Well, then. I can get you started with a therapist soon, if you'd like?"

Namjoon blinks owlishly at him, confused. "You're not... you're not kicking me out?"

A part of him still thinks Sejin is going to turn to him and say "oops, I forgot! we can't have broken idols, so you have to leave!" so he doesn't dare move, even when Sejin's gaze turns to him, wide and confused.

"Why would you have to leave?"

Namjoon tilts his head slightly, honestly confused. "I mean... the others are all... and I'm just broken."

He accompanies the words with nonsensical hand gestures, ones that he doubts have meaning. "You're not going to kick me out?"

"Of course not," Sejin murmurs, reaching a hand across the table to pat the top of Namjoon's. "Not unless you want to leave-"

Namjoon shakes his head so quickly that he's almost certain he gives himself whiplash, and Sejin laughs. "It's settled, then. Do you need to see a doctor?"

Namjoon nods, and Sejin mirrors the motion. "Alright. I'll message you the details."

Shocking, how quickly this conversation turned to business.

"Please... can you not tell the others?" Namjoon all but begs, and Sejin quirks a brow.

"Why?"

"I don't want to bother them."

"You wouldn't be bothering them," Sejin assures him, but Namjoon doesn't believe him. "Honestly, I'm sorry we didn't think of this sooner."

"What?"

"You haven't been yourself for a while," Sejin explains, and Namjoon nods. "I know a therapist who works with people with Avry's Syndrome, if that would help-"

"Please," Namjoon blurts, and Sejin raises a brow. "I... I'm tired of keeping the secret. I'd like to have someone I can be completely honest with."

"Selfish!" rails the shadow, "you're being unreasonable, being selfish, you're selfish!"

Namjoon politely tells the shadow to fuck off before turning his attention back to Sejin, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry?"

Sejin stares at him oddly for a moment, and Namjoon catches sight of his manager's aura - a rich forest green - for a second. "Are you going to do anything in the next week, Joon-ah?"

Is he going to try and kill himself in the next week.

"No," Namjoon replies, and Sejin smiles at him. "I... no."

"Thank you, Joon-ah."

Namjoon leans against the doorframe, attuned to the conversation going on inside. He's not contributing, simply listening.

An outsider.

Just like always.

"I'm just saying," Yoongi states, waving his chopsticks in Taehyung's general direction, "that Avry's Syndrome shit sinks careers. You saw what happened to EXO."

The group around the table nods in agreement, all save Taehyung.

"Why should that matter?" Taehyung frowns, irritation sparking in his dark eyes. "Why does that matter?"

"They can't form bonds," Seokjin mumbles around a mouthful of noodles. "You know how people look at that."

"But they're not broken," Taehyung insists, and Yoongi shrugs.

"Not everyone thinks like that, Tae-ah."

Namjoon tries to pretend like he isn't crying.

"They kick people out of groups for shit like that," Hoseok mournfully states. "It's shitty, but that's how it is."

"That's wrong," Taehyung mumbles. 

"I know," Seokjin soothes, reaching over to place a hand on Taehyung's shoulder. "I know, Tae-ah. I know."

Namjoon blinks, stares at the floor, and walks away, sins (that aren't his fault, not even sins) heavy on his back.

Namjoon sits on the edge of the roof, head tipped back to stare at the moon.

He's not going to jump. He knows that. He just wants to see the moon.

Music flows into his ears, tinny and voiceless. He isn't listening.

He doesn't have anything to say.

Missing, Namjoon thinks, staring down at his hands. Missing.

He's caught up in the missing.

Missing late nights working in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok. Missing causal banter thrown between him and Seokjin. Missing the nights Jungkook would come to him and he could help. Missing Taehyung's wide-eyed enthusiasm for the stars. Missing Jimin's smile.

Missing them.

He pulls out his phone and raises it to the stars, peering at the small screen. 

Through his phone he can see galaxies, constellations.

Out here, his brain finally stops. Just for a moment.

The moment is enough. 

Namjoon laughs- honest-to-god laughs - and falls back onto the roof, phone skittering across the concrete.

He's happy.

He's happy, and he's staring up at the moon, and he wants to live.

His therapist is a kind woman with a dull gray aura, and Namjoon knows instinctually that she's like him.

Someone with Parasite Syndrome.

"It's nice to meet you, Namjoon-ah," she smiles, gesturing to the chair. "My name is Choi Jisoo. Would you like to have a seat?"

Jisoo is incredibly kind and vivacious, and Namjoon finds himself smiling despite himself. It's nice to be able to just talk to someone, and it honestly feels like Jisoo understands him. 

They chat for a half-hour until the conversation turns to the topic Namjoon was dreading, and the monster digs its claws in, whispering only growing.

"Namjoon-ah," Jisoo murmurs, and Namjoon blinks at her. "Would you feel comfortable talking about why you went up there?"

"Don't tell her," the monster - indistinguishable from his brain - hisses. "Don't you dare-"

"Please," Namjoon mumbles, gripping the fabric of his jeans for dear life. "But first... may I ask you something?"

He tilts his head slightly, gaze pinned on her deep gray aura. "Who is it for you?"

Jisoo's eyes widen, and Namjoon feels shame paint his cheeks red. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I never should've asked-"

"My best friend," she smiles, and Namjoon freezes. "I always... I thought we were friends, but she used me. But I can't give up on her. Not great for a therapist, I know, but I'm working on it."

She rests her chin on her hands, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Is it similar for you, Namjoon-ah?"

"A bit..." Namjoon murmurs, eyes going dark. "The other idols in my group... they're all bonded, and I'm not. It's hard, especially knowing what they think of people like me."

"What do you mean, 'people like you'?" Jisoo asks, and Namjoon rolls his hand in a slow circle.

"Depressed people. People with Avry's Syndrome and Parasite Syndrome. I mean, in so many ways, society is backwards about things like this. About Avry's Syndrome, yeah, but Parasite Syndrome especially. It's like... people think of both of them as disgusting, even though it's biologically determined? What does that have to do with anything?"

He talks for the next thirty minutes, and to his credit, Jisoo seems interested the entire time. Once they're finally done, Namjoon leaves a little lighter, and with an appointment booked for the next week.

It's amazing, how spending five minutes with Bangtan can send him spiraling. 

Despite meeting with Jisoo once a week, Namjoon still thinks he's toeing the line between lucid and screaming or crying or collapsing at any given moment, and that's almost certainly because his main problem doesn't have a viable solution.

He can't tell them. He just. Can't.

The tension seeps into their MV recordings, and it's so blatantly obvious that Namjoon is Stressed™ that everyone except Bangtan seems to notice.

Eventually, Seokjin asks the managers for a break, citing the younger trio's exhaustion, and all Namjoon wants is to go with them, but he's pulled aside by the director before he can. 

"What are you doing?" the director asks, and all Namjoon can hear is the pounding of his heart in his ears and the snake-like whispering of the monster enveloping him, and he needs to get out, he needs to get away, and his hands are shaking as he rifles through his pockets for a phone. "Hey- listen to me!"

The director has a mark on his neck and two on his hands and Namjoon laughs a little bit as he fumbles with the tangled cords of his earbuds, and he wants to cry, but the stylists just applied his makeup and he can't cry in front of all these people, so he sucks a breath in-out-in-out in an attempt to regain equilibrium, but all it's doing is making the monster's voice louder.

Someone rips the earbuds from his shaking hands, and he watches, detached, as they clatter to the ground. "Focus!"

"I-I-I-"

"Stop stuttering!"

"S-S-Sorry-"

"Get your fucking shit together!"

The cuts on Namjoon's hands re-open as they skid along the ground, and his breath comes in short gasps as he stares at them, red rolling down his arms. 

He can't breathe.

Nobody's helping him.

He buries his nails in his scalp, hair painted red with fresh blood. 

Think.

The monster sinks its talons into his mind, and he's spiraling-spiraling-spiraling, breath speeding up as he hunches in on himself.

Nobody's around.

He catches sight of something white in the corner of his eye and he nearly sobs, scrambling for the earbuds and plugging them into his phone. Music rushes into his ears and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to bury his panic in the instrumental.

Stop.

Focus.

What is it people always say? Focus on things you can feel?

(The monster lingers over his shoulder, ice-cold and hissing horrible things into his ear. Does that count?)

The ground is rough, bumpy, and cold. His phone is rough in a different way and warm. The fabric of his shirt is rough, too, but his earbuds are smooth.

He opens his phone case and shakes two pills into his hands, relieved to see they aren't broken. 

Small steps.

Small things.

He swallows them, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jacket. His hands still bleed red and sting like hell, so he presses them into the fabric of his jeans in an attempt to staunch the flow.

Nobody's coming.

That's fine, Namjoon thinks, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Nobody ever does.

Chapter Text

He is a product of the society they live in, Namjoon thinks.

The others can just... be understood. No issues. After all, they're emotionally linked.

But Namjoon's been taught the same thing - that people will notice, will help - and he was never prepared for the unfortunate reality that most people don't.

(He's doing better, but he's not Okay. He's not suicidal, he doesn't want to jump off any more towers, but he's not Okay either.

That too, is a product of the world they find themselves in.)

He rakes a hand through his hair, a long, drawn-out sigh leaving his lips.

He's stressed, honestly.

Every part of this is stressful.

The others didn't come to his filming session. 

Not that he expected them to.

Now he's just listening to music from a new American singer, one who has a song talking about exactly this.

Unlike him, Halsey has absolutely been forthright about her diagnosis of Avry's Syndrome, right from the get-go. 

It's relieving as fuck. 

A part of him hopes he gets to meet the woman behind the songs one day - if nothing else, so he can ask how she does it. How she handles telling people she has Avry's Syndrome.

(Namjoon is also oppressively lonely, and he happens to want a friend. So what?)

A knock rings through the air and he shrieks, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to stay upright. It fails, and he crashes to the ground, phantom pain shooting through his feet.

Who's here?

And why?

He rolls out of his chair, only remembering to pull off his headphones when their cord tugs in warning. Hopefully whichever producer came to visit isn't too irritated with him.

(His gaze flits to the numerous papers pinned to the poster-board and he winces - he's behind again. He's going to get an earful soon.)

"Coming!" he helplessly calls, untangling his foot from where the cord managed to snake around it. In the process, he catches sight of the uneven scars lacing his hands and winces - those aren't going to heal anytime soon.

Finally (finally!) he stumbles towards the door, managing to yank it open. He looks like shit, something he's well aware of, but he's looked worse.

Taehyung stares at him, eyes wide as his gaze roams first over the way the t-shirt hangs off him, then to the scars painting the hand that's not gripping the door. 

He doesn't say anything.

"What do you need?" Namjoon asks, and Taehyung blinks. Shakes his head.

"Hoseok-hyung wanted me to ask if you were free for dance practice?" the younger replies, though his voice is pitched in a way that makes it seem like a question. "I mean. If you're not busy."

Namjoon's gaze flits to Taehyung's mark - plainly visible on his left shoulder - before it falls to the floor. "Sorry."

Taehyung's smile droops, and Namjoon doesn't want to look at it.

Can't look at him.

"But... it's been so long since we last saw you," Taehyung mumbles, and Namjoon's heart clenches in a way he thought he'd forgotten. "You can't... you're not free at all?"

Fuck.

Fuck.

He's weak for Taehyung. Always has been.

"I..."

"Please?" Taehyung whispers, and the monster digs its claws into Namjoon's skull, hissing dark words and broken phrases. 

"They don't want you there they're asking to be polite they don't want you there-"

"I'm sorry, Tae-ah."

"But..."

Taehyung rapidly blinks, rubbing at his eyes. "I can't... not even for five minutes?"

Namjoon rakes a hand through his hair, grimacing as strands of blond fall into his face. "...sure. Let me just finish what I'm working on here."

Taehyung's eyes light up, and he bounces on the balls of his feet as Namjoon saves the beat he was working on. "C'mon-c'mon-c'mon!" he chirps, all but dragging Namjoon out of his studio and down the halls.

Hoseok's head swivels upon hearing the door click open, and he's shocked to see Taehyung drag Namjoon of all people into the studio before shutting the door behind them.

"I brought him!" Taehyung chirps, and Namjoon looks like he wants to die.

It's not a great look on him.

"Why?" Hoseok helplessly asks, and something in Namjoon's eyes splinters.

"I fucking knew it," he mumbles, turning on his heel and striding towards the door. "I fucking knew it-"

"Hyung!" Taehyung exclaims, racing across the room to grasp the leader's wrist. "Please, wait-"

Namjoon wrenches his arm from Taehyung's grip, fury blazing in his eyes. "Leave me alone," he all but begs, but Taehyung doesn't seem to get the memo.

"Okay, maybe that was a lie, but everything else I said was true! I want you here! Hobi-hyung wants you here!"

"Let me go, Taehyung," Namjoon repeats, something strange in his voice that Hoseok can't quite place.

"I will if you listen!" Taehyung exclaims, and Namjoon shakes his head.

"Wow, that's rich," he laughs, and Hoseok can feel the rising distress emanating off Taehyung. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Namjoon, that's enough," Hoseok interjects, and Namjoon barks a laugh, taking a step back. 

"This is what I mean!" he exclaims. "None of you ever listen!"

Hoseok reaches over to grasp Namjoon's other wrist, only for the leader to twist out of their grasps. "You should stay."

"I knew this was a bad idea," Namjoon murmurs, mostly to himself. "I knew this was a bad idea, but I didn't listen."

"Joon-ah-"

"This was a mistake," Namjoon states, an emotion Hoseok doesn't recognize coating his voice. Bitterness, maybe? "Maybe all of this was a mistake. Maybe joining Bangtan was a mistake."

Yoongi storms across the studio and before Hoseok can react, the back of his hand slams into Namjoon's cheek. 

"Fuck you," Yoongi spits, and Namjoon stares at him, something indecipherable filling his eyes. "Fuck you, Namjoon."

"Are you okay?" Jimin murmurs, pulling Taehyung away from the argument. Jungkook immediately joins, the pair calming Taehyung with their presences alone. 

"Yah, Min Yoongi," Seokjin cuts in, placing a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. The eldest rapper's anger fills Hoseok's mind, fury mingling with utter disdain, and it's impossible to ignore the way it's making him feel.

For just a moment there, Yoongi was angry enough to hit him.

"No, hyung," Yoongi snaps, pushing Seokjin back. "I'm fucking sick of this. He can't just- he can't just act like he's the only fucking member of Bangtan and expect us to roll with it."

"What?" Namjoon nearly shouts, though he takes a moment to calm himself, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "When have I done that?"

"When we were filming the Run MV!" Yoongi retorts, and that indecipherable emotion in Namjoon's eyes intensifies, growing deeper and darker. "You just fucked off to fuck-knows-where for an hour while the rest of us just had to sit and wait!"

"You don't even know where I went!" Namjoon exclaims, and Seokjin's grip tightens on Yoongi's shoulder, the mark on his left hand shining in the dim light. "You don't even care!"

"Like you care about us?" Yoongi challenges, and Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek, whatever was in his eyes prior morphing into anger. "You couldn't give a fuck whether we were late or missed anything-"

"I never said that!"

"You never had to!"

Yoongi slams Namjoon into the door, and Hoseok and Seokjin exclaim in tandem, each racing to pull Yoongi off the younger.

"I wish you never joined Bangtan!"

The damage is already done.

Yoongi's eyes widen, regret shining in his eyes. "Wait, fuck, I-"

Namjoon coughs into his hand, a painful, ragged sound that makes Hoseok cringe. "I know," he rasps, wiping his lips with the sleeves of his hoodie. "I know. I'm sorry."

And with that, the leader leaves, the only thing to prove his presence the sound of Taehyung's broken sobs emanating from the corner of the room.

"Tae-ah," Seokjin murmurs, racing across the room to drop to his knees next to the younger. The force of his pain is overwhelming through the bond, and he runs his fingers through Taehyung's hair, pulling the younger singer in for a hug.

Seokjin's always had one of the more calming presences in their bond, a fact that Hoseok will never not be grateful for. With two people adept at sharing happiness - himself and Jimin - one who can see auras - Taehyung - and two who can amplify emotions - Yoongi and Jungkook - Seokjin stands as the antithesis to their more energetic natures, despite being just as energetic as Hoseok and Jimin most of the time.

(A part of him wonders if that's what Namjoon would be like, too. A presence more subdued than Seokjin, one to bring them together rather than drive them apart.)

"Gray," Taehyung whispers, and Hoseok quirks a brow. "I-It was so gray, hyung."

"What was, Tae?" Seokjin murmurs, and Taehyung leans forwards, pressing his forehead into Seokjin's shoulder.

"His aura," Taehyung mumbles. "I've never seen it so gray."

Namjoon is gray to the same extent he is red.

Blood slips through his lips as he chokes on a cough, crimson painting his lips as he slams the door to his studio behind him. 

His pills.

He needs his pills.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, though he's not even sure who he's apologizing to. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

He gags on blood, spitting it out and onto the white carpet.

That's ruined, he muses, only vaguely aware of his own concern. 

Fucking delightful.

"Taehyung," he breathes, unsure why he's pleading for the younger singer. "Jin-hyung... Yoongi-hyung... Hobi... anyone..."

The carnal part of himself wants, begs someone to find him, but Namjoon's long-since grown adept at ignoring that part of himself, and ignore it he does.

He swats his pills off the desk and pops two into his mouth, swallowing them dry. The world swims before his eyes and he dry-heaves, a hand flying up to cover his mouth. 

Nobody's coming.

(Nobody ever comes.)

"Fuck," he murmurs, rubbing at a bead of bloody spit as it trails down his chin. "I fucked up the carpet."

He feels almost detached from his body, the fresh pain in his chest fading into a dull ache. 

"Fuck," he repeats, barking a laugh. 

And it's fucking hilarious, isn't it? The general despair of this entire fucking situation?

Namjoon rakes a hand through his sweaty hair, a strangled gasp slipping through his lips.

Something's wrong.

The pills are supposed to fix this.

Before he can think, he shakes two more into his hand, swallowing them in tandem.

The pain doesn't go away.

If anything, it amplifies.

"Fuck," he wheezes, shaking two more into his hands.

His hands are shaking.

The pills spill all over the carpet, red, white, and blue mingling in a sickening display, and it's so beautiful that Namjoon actually laughs, tears streaming down his cheeks as he swallows two more.

He's not okay.

"Hyung!" someone shouts, and Namjoon laughs again, high and twisted and broken as he scrambles for more of the small blue capsules. "Open the door! Please!"

There's a thud, like someone slamming into the door, and Namjoon's nails sink into the plush carpet as he scrambles for more of the pills, and he can't remember if taking more is good or bad, but it must be good, right?

"I'm gonna break the door down," a second voice states, and the first voice adds something - protest? - before the room is rocked by another thud.

The world swims before Namjoon's eyes, and he gasps again, more blood spilling past his lips.

And oh-

that's wrong.

Pills fix things, pills make things better, he needs the pills, he needs to take more, that'll fix this.

(They can't fix him, but they can fix this.)

He gags, blood spewing from his lips and painting the floor and his hands and his lips red red red and he wipes at his chin for a moment, warmth rolling over his hands before his arms give out, sending him to the ground.

The sound of splintering wood echoes through his studio, and someone shouts, and someone else screams, and Namjoon tries to think but it's like swimming through molasses.

"Hyung," someone gasps, and something warm wraps itself around him. 

He doesn't want to open his eyes.

When did he close them?

"Hyung, hyung, you can't fall asleep," someone chants - the second someone? - and Namjoon feels someone tapping his cheeks. "You can't, okay?"

He forces his eyes open a sliver, and he's able to catch sight of tan skin and a familiar black and orange hoodie before his eyes slip shut again, and someone taps his cheek again.

"How long until the ambulance gets here?" the second someone asks, and the first someone sighs. 

"I don't know. I don't know. Hyung, Namjoon-hyung, wake up, please..."

Someone lifts him up, nudging his head onto their shoulder before starting to move, steps hurried.

Namjoon wants to sleep.

"You can't sleep yet, hyung," the first someone states, and Namjoon grumbles, burying his face in the shoulder of whoever's carrying him. "Hold on a minute longer, 'kay?"

Namjoon coughs again, the movement reigniting the fire in his chest. 

Pills.

Where are his pills?

"Shit... Tae..." the second someone breathes, and Namjoon groans, lacing his arms around the person's neck. "There's so much blood..."

"I know," the first person mutters, and the movement starts to speed up. "I know. Hyung, are you still awake?"

Namjoon doesn't want to respond. Can't respond.

Consciousness slips from his grasp as cold air slaps his face, and the last thing he registers is the smell of antiseptic.

Chapter Text

There are some things, Taehyung thinks, that it's impossible to forget.

Seeing someone you care about lying on the ground, surrounded by blood and pills... that's one of them. 

And now, they're here.

Namjoon's always been skinny, but he looks almost emaciated in the bed, cheekbones sharp and breathing a soft wheeze. There's a scar on his stomach from a fresh surgery - a liver transplant - and Taehyung grips his hyung's hand for dear life, almost afraid that if he lets go, Namjoon will disappear.

This feels like his fault.

Jungkook's asleep on the other side of the bed, breathing slow and head resting on his crossed arms. He's still clad in his bloodstained hoodie, with more blood (Namjoon's blood) smeared on his cheeks and hands.

Taehyung's sure that there's blood in his hair, too. 

(He's almost morbidly curious, in fact. After all, the only scars Namjoon has are the ones from surgery and the ones lacing his hands.)

"I apologize," a doctor states, gently nudging the door open, "but this is a periodic check."

"A periodic check?" Taehyung asks, and the doctor sighs.

"Your friend was placed on suicide watch."

And like that-

Taehyung's world crumbles. 

"Hyung wasn't trying to kill himself!" Jungkook exclaims, and the doctor sighs, tapping his pen against the clipboard.

"It's hospital policy for patients with a history of suicidal tendencies," the doctor states, and Taehyung gawps at him, left speechless. "Your manager informed us of it once he arrived."

"What?" Taehyung whispers, gaze flitting back to the elder's unconscious form.

It doesn't make sense.

Words trip and tumble over and into each other, tangling together in a mishmash of phrases that don't make any sense. 

Namjoon?

How?

He's squeezing Namjoon's hand tight enough to bruise, though he only realizes it when a soft voice floats through the air, breaking his concentration. 

"Tae-ah," Namjoon murmurs, voice sounding like sandpaper and broken glass. "I can't feel my hand."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Taehyung whispers, and Namjoon's eyes narrow, the leader visibly trying to work through his tangled thoughts. "W-Was it pills?"

Namjoon's eyes widen in understanding, mouth forming a silent 'o'. "No, no, Tae, it's not a big deal-"

"You tried to k-kill yourself!" Jungkook exclaims, stuttering over the 'k'. An unconscious method of denial, then. "That seems like a big deal to me."

Namjoon sinks his teeth into his lower lip, gaze shifting to the window. "...it's not a big deal."

"Was this our fault?"

Taehyung's eyes shine with unshed tears, and he rubs his eyes with his sleeve. "I-I-I'm so sorry, hyung..."

"No, no, god, Tae, no," Namjoon rushes to clarify, reaching over to clasp Taehyung's hands. "It's not your fault. It's never been your fault."

"But..."

Namjoon smiles at him, weak and immeasurably sad.

(When did he last see Namjoon smile?)

"It's nobody's fault except mine. Always has been."

"Hyung..." Jungkook trails off, eyes going sad. "Can I... is there anything I can do?"

Namjoon shakes his head, a brittle smile slipping onto his lips. "Not unless you can fix me."

"Fix you?" Taehyung echoes, taking over for a speechless Jungkook. "Hyung, you're not broken."

Namjoon's gaze flits between the rainbow pair of trapezoids on Jungkook's collarbone, then to the pair on Taehyung's shoulder. "You're wrong."

"Hyung-"

Namjoon pulls his knees to his chest, a movement made slightly awkward by his size, but accentuated by the prominence of his bones and pallor of his skin. "You don't understand."

"Then make me," Taehyung all but begs. "Please, hyung. Make me understand."

"You'll hate me-"

"How will you know if you won't try?"

"I know you will-"

"How do you know?"

"I heard you talking with Yoongi-hyung, I know how you feel-"

"Do you have Avry's Syndrome, hyung?"

There's a moment of complete and utter silence.

"...what do you mean, Jungkook-ah?" Taehyung asks, confusion clouding his mind. 

"His aura is gray," Jungkook starts, extending a finger to count. "He doesn't have any marks. The pills he takes are pills people take for Avry's Syndrome."

"Stop," Namjoon mumbles, but Jungkook isn't done.

"The only thing you and Yoongi-hyung disagree on is Avry's Syndrome in the entertainment world. He's never talked about Avry's Syndrome before."

"Shut up!" Namjoon repeats, louder this time.

And yet, Jungkook isn't done.

"The way he interacts with us is like someone who's never been in a bond of his own-"

"Shut up!" Namjoon nearly shrieks, and Jungkook freezes, mouth forming a small 'o' as he turns to stare at Namjoon. 

"Hyung...?" the youngest murmurs, and Namjoon shakes his head, reaching a hand up to tug at his hair.

"You don't... you don't understand..."

"Is it true?" Taehyung asks, and Namjoon pulls his knees closer to his chest, seeming in every way the youngest of the trio. "Hyung... do you really have Avry's Syndrome?"

Namjoon makes an indecipherable sound halfway between a scream and a sob, but it's enough of agreement for Taehyung to pull the leader into his arms, letting Namjoon sob into his shirt. 

"Is that what you were afraid of?" Taehyung asks, reaching up to run his fingers through Namjoon's hair. The elder melts into his touch like putty, and a part of Taehyung wants to cry at the way Namjoon is acting. 

It's like he's touch-starved. 

He runs the past three years through his mind, trying to figure out if Namjoon's had any of the physical affection they so easily give, and draws a blank.

Shit.

He gestures for Jungkook to join them, and the youngest climbs across the bed to wrap his arms around Namjoon's torso, resting his chin on the leader's shoulder. 

"You could be purple and secrete glitter and we wouldn't hate you," Taehyung mumbles, and Namjoon laughs. 

"That doesn't sound like a problem for you, Tae-ah."

"Your point?"

Namjoon hums, eyes fluttering shut as he buries his face in Taehyung's shoulder. "I guess you're right."

"How do you feel?" Jungkook asks, lifting his head to make eye contact with Taehyung. "Painkillers."

"Oh, shit," Taehyung emphatically replies before forcing himself back to the physical world.

"Floaty," Namjoon hums, waving a hand around for emphasis. "Real floaty. How about you?"

Taehyung's almost certain the look of panic on his face perfectly mirrors the one on Jungkook's, based on the fact that they seem to have had the same epiphany.

"We," Jungkook thinks, "are the worst dongsaengs ever."

Yoongi would personally like to say a big fuck-you to Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook for waking him up at three in the fucking morning talking about painkillers or some shit equally inane.

From the looks of it, the other three are having similar problems.

Jimin has a pillow stuffed over his head and is currently screaming into the couch, while Hoseok's wrapped up in Seokjin's arms, the pair staring at nothing in particular.

Someone's going to be murdered today.

"No, no, but do we get the purple one or the pink one?" Taehyung thinks, and Jimin lets out a demonic screech, flinging his pillow across the room. It careens into a lamp, sending it crashing to the ground, and by this point, Yoongi doubts there's going to be anyone left for him to murder.

"It is! Four in the morning!" Jimin all but screams, and Taehyung and Jungkook yelp in tandem. "Why are you awake? Where are you?"

"We're at the hospital gift shop," Jungkook replies, and there's a moment of silence as they process that. "Oh! Tae! This one!"

"Perfect," Taehyung smugly replies. 

Jimin shrieks, hurling a pillow at their other lamp, which hits the floor and shatters into hundreds of pastel pieces. "You're right there! Stop using the bond!"

A long pause.

"...whoops."

Finally (finally!) the dull roar stops, and Jimin sighs in relief, all but melting into the cushions.

(He's skinnier, Yoongi notices. Too skinny. They need to talk about that.)

Yoongi melts into the couch himself, exhaustion weighing him down.

He's tired.

God, is he tired.

Surely his problems will still be there when he wakes up.

"Oh my god."

"Do you like it?" Taehyung asks, hope shining in his dark eyes. "Kookie and I spend ages looking for a good one..."

Namjoon positively beams, dimples and all, and he buries his face in the fabric of the koala plushie, eyes peaking out from over its head. "I like it," he states, though his voice is muffled by the plushie. "I really like it."

Taehyung's heart does a strange sort of flip-flop at the sight of Namjoon hugging a blue koala, and he coos, delighted when Namjoon flushes pink.

"Kim-ssi, your meds," a nurse murmurs, and Namjoon smiles gratefully at her, swallowing the four provided pills with ease. 

"Joonie-hyung?" Jungkook asks, eyes wide. "Are you... why?"

Namjoon smiles, though it's a pale imitation of the smile they saw earlier. "Don't worry about it, Tae-ah."

"Don't worry," Taehyung echoes, though he doesn't have any idea how he's supposed to do that. "Hyung, you... how can you say that?"

"I-"

"You tried to kill yourself!" Taehyung exclaims, leaping across the bed to grab Namjoon's wrist. The elder's eyes widen, and he stiffens, giving Taehyung the opening he needs to pin Namjoon's wrists to the wall. "You tried to kill yourself, and you won't even tell us why!"

"Hyung! Stop!" Jungkook shouts, and a hand rips his own off Namjoon's wrists.

Taehyung's about to retaliate before he freezes, clarity rushing back to him. 

What did he do?

"Oh my god, oh my god, hyung, I'm so sorry," Taehyung gasps, scrambling off the bed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking, are you okay?"

Namjoon's hands fall into his lap, and he absently rubs his wrists, gaze empty.

Taehyung fucked up.

"I don't know why I did that," Taehyung whispers, heartbreak shining in his eyes. "I just-"

wanted to see his hands.

He wanted to see the scars on Namjoon's hands, and forgot that Namjoon wasn't Jimin or Jungkook, that he couldn't just pin him to the ground and let the playfulness seep through the bond to let them know he wouldn't hurt them.

"I forgot," he lamely replies, and the corner of Namjoon's mouth quirks into a half-smile before falling back into a frown.

"It's alright, Tae-ah."

"No, it's not!" Taehyung repeats, growing more and more incensed with both himself and Namjoon. "This isn't okay!" 

"Tae-"

"How do you just," Taehyung trails off, flapping his hands wildly. "How do you just forgive this?"

Namjoon stares at him, confused. "With my brain?" he slowly replies, and Taehyung will kill a man.

Possibly Namjoon.

"We've been horrible to you," Taehyung clarifies, and Namjoon's eyes widen.

"Tae-"

"Let me finish, hyung. We've been horrible to you, and we don't deserve your forgiveness. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention. I'm sorry for hurting you. I just... I'm sorry, hyung."

"Me too," Jungkook chimes in, and two pair of eyes snap to his. "I've made a lot of mistakes. I missed a lot of chances to help you. I just... I'm sorry, hyung. For everything."

Namjoon pulls his plushie to his chest, and Taehyung and Jungkook flail in unison as fresh tears roll down his cheeks. "I..."

"Did I say something wrong?" Jungkook asks, panic shining in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry!"

"No, no, Kook-ah-"

Namjoon rubs at his cheeks, attempting to stop the flow of tears. "I... I'm just happy..."

Ouch. Taehyung's heart dies a painful and incredibly soft death. It's an oxymoron, but Taehyung's too dead to make sense of it.

"I'm sorry, hyung," Taehyung murmurs, sliding to fit into the space under Namjoon's arm. "We're not going anywhere now, 'kay?"

"Promise?" Namjoon mumbles, and Taehyung nods.

"Promise."

"You guys need to come to the hospital."

"The hospital? Tae-ah, what's wrong?"

"Jungkook's asleep right now, but you guys need to come here. You need to fix this."

"Taehyung, slow down. What's wrong?"

"It's not my place to say. Just, please... hurry."

"Get up," Seokjin states, dropping a hoodie and sweatpants on Yoongi's head.

The eldest rapper sputters, pulling the clothes off his head. "Hey! What the hell?"

"Jungkook's in the hospital," Seokjin snaps, and Yoongi's struck speechless. "Hurry up."

Chapter Text

The four remaining members of Bangtan race into the hospital, Yoongi leading the way. The eldest rapper's eyes narrow upon seeing Taehyung sitting alone in the waiting room, and fury boils in his gut as he realizes Namjoon isn't here.

Fucking typical.

"Tae-ah," Seokjin murmurs, and Taehyung lifts his head, relief seeping into his eyes. "How's Jungkook-ah?"

Yoongi can feel calm seeping through their bond, and Taehyung's eyes slide shut for a moment, head drooping before he snaps back to lucidity. 

"Did you bring clothes?" Taehyung asks, and Seokjin's eyes widen, muted horror filtering through the bond.

"Oh my god, Tae-ah, how much blood is this?" Seokjin asks, lifting Taehyung's hands to stare at his blood-stained palms. "It's all over your jacket..."

"It's not mine," Taehyung replies, gaze dark. 

Seokjin's confusion mounts as Taehyung yanks his hands out of his grip and stands, irritation blazing in his dark eyes. "Follow me."

"Tae-ah, you're not making any sense," Jimin tries, moving forwards to keep pace with his best friend. "What's going on?"

Taehyung's expression is uncharacteristically stern, and Jimin withers under his glare. "I... what happened?"

Taehyung stops in front of a door, turning his back to it and facing the group. "Don't you dare say anything," he warns, and Hoseok quirks a brow.

"Why would we say anything?"

Taehyung rakes a hand through his hair, irritation mounting. "Just... don't say anything."

With that, he pushes the door open, and Seokjin and Hoseok immediately race to their maknae's side.

Jungkook's orange hoodie is drenched in blood, the entire front coated in brown stains. He raises his head to blink blearily at them before Seokjin grasps his hands, soulmark visible despite the low lighting.

"Hyung?" Jungkook asks, though there's a hint of trepidation in his voice. "What happened? Why are you here?"

"Tae said you were in the hospital," Seokjin murmurs, tilting Jungkook's head one way and another. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Jungkook frowns, sliding out of Seokjin's grasp. "You don't... you don't know why you're here?"

"No," Yoongi replies, gaze flitting to Taehyung, who leans casually against the door. Jungkook strides over, switching places with the elder, and Taehyung moves to sit at the edge of the hospital bed, running his hands through the hair of the sleeping figure.

How none of them noticed him eludes Yoongi.

The man is sickly-pale, platinum-blond hair practically vibrant compared to the rest of him. Deep scars lace his hands, and as Taehyung gently taps his cheek, dark brown eyes flutter open.

It's Namjoon.

Fuck.

"Tae?" Namjoon mumbles, voice raspy. "Wha'... wha's goin' on?"

"Hyungs are here," Taehyung soothes, helping Namjoon to a seated position. "You okay?"

Namjoon produces a stuffed blue koala from somewhere - Yoongi doesn't honestly know - and presses his face into it for a moment before nodding. "I'm fine."

He doesn't look fine, but Yoongi doesn't say that.

"Why are we here?" Yoongi asks, moving to lean against the wall.

Taehyung's eyes flash, and Yoongi can feel fury flash through Taehyung's end of the bond, red-hot and searing. "Why shouldn't you be?"

"Taehyung," Namjoon states, and Taehyung shakes his head.

"Hyung, this isn't okay. They can't just-"

"Tae."

Taehyung backs down, and Namjoon rakes a hand through his hair.

"This is fucking psychotic," Yoongi spits, making a move for the door. "Move, Kook-ah."

"Not until you talk to hyung," Jungkook evenly replies, meeting Yoongi's gaze with a glare of his own. "We're done with this."

"What's there to talk about?" Yoongi retorts, reaching around for the handle. "He said he wants to leave Bangtan, and I'm not stopping him."

"That's the problem," Jungkook states, and Yoongi's eyes widen, placing a hand on Jungkook's arms.

"Jeon Jungkook, get away from the door."

"No."

"You-"

"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi wheels, only to be met with three terrified expressions. "You're hurting him."

Yoongi's eyes widen as he removes his hand, and Jungkook rubs his arm, gaze impassive. "God, Kook-ah-"

"What is your problem?" Taehyung spits, striding across the room to slam Yoongi into a wall.

Pain shoots through Yoongi's head, and he twists in Taehyung's grasp, only for the younger to press an arm against his throat, effectively pinning him. "What the fuck?" he chokes out, and Taehyung's eyes narrow.

"This is your fault!" Taehyung shouts, as Jimin and Hoseok try to pry him off the eldest rapper. "How can you fucking stand there when all of this is your fault?"

"What do you mean?" Yoongi asks, and just before Taehyung's pried off, he manages to shout one single phrase.

"Hyung almost died because of you!"

Time slows to a crawl.

Taehyung stumbles back, Jimin and Hoseok's arms wrapped around his, but he doesn't look remorseful in the slightest.

Jungkook's expression remains unreadable, the only emotion emanating from him the bitter cold of winter.

And Yoongi-

"Hyung almost died because of you!"

he can't refute that.

"Fuck," he whispers, regret shining in his dark eyes.

He did this?

He's the reason Namjoon's in that bed?

"I'm the worst hyung alive," he breathes, stumbling to a chair next to Namjoon's bed.

There's what they were and what they are, and Yoongi hates what he let this turn into.

Seeing the direct result of his own actions - actions he may not know the specifics of, but there's no doubt he did this - in front of him... it's hard to ignore.

"What happened, Joon-ah?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon's eyes fill with tears before he ducks his head. "What's wrong?"

"I just... I missed you calling me that."

Yoongi expected it to be the stress of the situation, or the events that just transpired.

Not this.

Wow, he feels like a horrible person.

"Can you tell us what happened, Joon-ah?" Seokjin asks, and Namjoon stares at them for a moment, seeming almost bewildered. 

"Y-Yeah... okay..."

By the time Namjoon's done, everybody's crying.

All save the man himself, who simply views the proceedings impassively, expression revealing nothing.

(It's practiced, refined - something that should never have had to be practiced has since become perfected)

Taehyung in particular seems upset, gripping Namjoon's hand for dear life as tears stream down his cheeks. "Hyung," he all but wails, "hyung, hyung, I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay, Tae-ah," Namjoon soothes, but Taehyung isn't having it.

"You must've been so hurt," Taehyung whispers, bringing Namjoon's hand to his chest. "Hyung..."

He runs his thumb over the jagged lines on Namjoon's hand, sniffing pitifully every so-often. "I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault, Tae-ah," Namjoon murmurs, reaching up to wipe a few stray tears off Taehyung's cheeks. "And I'm here now, aren't I?"

"That's no excuse," Hoseok whispers, eyes dark. "What we did... what we let happen... god, Namjoon-ah..."

"It's nobody's fault," Namjoon refutes, and Hoseok blinks.

"No," the dancer refutes, reaching up to cup Namjoon's face in his hands. The leader blinks at him, confused, as Hoseok gently rubs his thumbs over Namjoon's cheeks, mapping his face with his hands. "Let us accept this guilt, Joon-ah. Let us do this."

Namjoon stares at him, and Hoseok catches the first tears as they fall. "H-Hobi-ah..." Namjoon trails off, and Hoseok moves to wrap his arms around his torso, leaning into the crook of Namjoon's neck. 

"I'm sorry," Namjoon whispers, and Hoseok leans back, pain shining in his eyes. 

"Aigoo, Joonie-ah... you have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I-"

"Please," Hoseok murmurs, and Seokjin climbs onto the bed as well, rubbing the younger's cheeks with his thumbs. "Please, believe me."

Namjoon sniffles, rubbing at his eyes. "I-I-"

The dam breaks, and Namjoon falls apart in Hoseok's arms, tears streaming down his face. "I-I'm scared," Namjoon sobs, gripping Hoseok's jacket for dear life. "I-I'm s-so scared..."

"Why?" Hoseok asks, and Namjoon shakes his head. 

"I... I don't w-want to..."

"What's wrong?" Seokjin murmurs, and Namjoon shakes his head anew.

"I d-don't... i-it's disgusting... I-I'm disgusting..."

"No, no, Joonie-ah," Seokjin soothes, shock shining in his eyes. "You're not. You're not, I promise."

Namjoon sucks in a shuddering breath, gripping Seokjin's jacket. "I..."

"You can tell us anything," Hoseok soothes, and Namjoon's gaze flits to Yoongi for a moment before falling to the floor.

"I..." he trails off, eyes going dark. A shuddering breath escapes his lips, and he shakes his head, heartbreak shining in his eyes. "I have Avry's Syndrome."

The words are slow, pained, and once he's done, the room goes silent save for Namjoon's occasional sniffs. 

"I'm sorry," Namjoon whispers, and Yoongi crosses the room, raising a hand. The leader flinches, though instead of hitting him, Yoongi yanks Namjoon into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Did you think I would hit you?" Yoongi whispers, eyes sad. "God, Joon-ah-"

He did this.

He hit Namjoon. 

He loosens his grip, and Namjoon slides out of his grasp easily, grimacing slightly when he hits a sore spot. And fuck, that hurts.

Taehyung reaches over to run his thumb over Namjoon's palm again, and the elder smiles gratefully at the touch. 

(There's something else. Something else Namjoon's hiding.

It's not Yoongi's place to press.)

"Oh my fucking god."

Namjoon's studio, even if one ignores the blood, is a mess.

Papers spill over each other on his bulletin board and onto his keyboard, mingling with the numerous post-its stuck to every available surface. Sheet music is scrawled on a few papers on the floor, and a veritable skyscraper of energy drinks brushes the ceiling.

It would be impressive, if not for the implications.

And Yoongi knows he's not exactly the best in terms of work ethic. Honestly, the only reason he doesn't have a similar tower is thanks to Seokjin and Hoseok dragging him out for the group's daily "Soulmate Activity". 

"What is this?" Hoseok asks, peering over Yoongi's shoulder. "How does he find anything?"

Yoongi snaps a photo and sends it to Namjoon, asking for clarification about where things are.

He receives a message in under five minutes.

"The pile of papers in the front left corner are scrapped beats, and the pile of papers near the desk are scrapped lyrics. The notebooks in the corner have lyrics, the two or three on top of the cabinets have beats, the bulletin board is reminders and projects due, as are the post-its. The other papers on the desk are most likely producer notes, or things for mono. The tower is something I've been working on for the last week or so."

Yoongi eyes the tower, quickly counting up the cans. "Joon-ah, there are easily twenty-five energy drinks here."

"¯\_(ツ)_/¯" Namjoon simply replies, and Yoongi sighs. 

"Hyung?" Hoseok asks, and Yoongi quirks a brow. "You might want to take a look at this."

There are a few papers clipped together, Always scrawled on the front of one. Yoongi flips through them, concern mounting, up until he reaches the last page - one that clearly wasn't meant to be included.

It's written in red ink, and Yoongi pulls it out from the bundle to stare at the characters scrawled onto the page. 

"I'm living off them,

or are they living off me?

In a sense,

the name is a lie,

though I guess it won't matter

once I die."

It's what's written below that catches his attention.

"Parasite Syndrome."

"What does that say?" Hoseok asks, moving to peer over Yoongi's shoulder. Once he does, his eyes widen, and his gaze snaps to Yoongi's, horror shining in both of their eyes. 

"He didn't mention this," Yoongi helplessly states, and Hoseok slowly nods.

"Hyung... you know what this means, right?"

"That I'm a horrible person?" Yoongi murmurs, and Hoseok shakes his head.

"No, hyung. Parasite Syndrome forms from one-sided bonds. Namjoon-ah... Namjoon-ah's half of the bond has always been open. Even with Avry's Syndrome. He trusts... trusted us that much."

Yoongi gags, and Hoseok shoves a garbage can in front of him, rubbing the elder's back soothingly at Yoongi spits up whatever meagre breakfast he had. "God," the eldest rapper chokes out, "I fucked up. I fucked up."

"Get home. Right now."

"Tae-ah? What's going on?"

"Namjoon-hyung may have forgiven you, but I haven't. Get home. Now."

Chapter Text

Namjoon honestly thinks that nothing can be better than this.

He slams his can of beer onto the table, warmth already settling in his core. Next to him, Yoongi does the same, Hoseok having passed out a solid half-hour ago. 

This. 

This is perfect.

Sure, they're in the world's tiniest studio that the three of them share, and there's no guarantee that they'll make it or even debut, but this-

this feels right. 

"Joon-ah," Yoongi drawls, and Namjoon turns, only to be met with another can. "New kid coming tomorrow. I can hear you thinking."

"Fuck off," Namjoon snaps back, and Yoongi laughs, taking a swig from his own can.

"You need more beer," the eldest states, and Namjoon nods, taking one of the cans sitting on the table and downing it in one gulp.

The liquid burns like fire on the way down, and Yoongi's laughing his ass off, the little gremlin, to which Namjoon responds by chucking a paper ball at his head. The elder is too inebriated to dodge, so it hits his face and lands in his lap, and if Namjoon could muster up the energy to laugh, he most definitely would, considering the way Yoongi stares at the paper ball.

He's comically puzzled. 

"Hey, hyung?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi turns, taking a long swig from his can before slamming it onto the table. "If... if you get bonded to someone, you won't leave the group, right?"

Yoongi quirks a brow before shaking his head, a soft smile slipping onto his lips. "No, Joon-ah. Of course I won't."

Warmth settles in beneath Namjoon's ribs and he laughs, picking up another can. "Good. I won't, either."

The next day, Namjoon's woken up by distant shouting. 

He rolls out of bed and heads for the living room, running a hand through his hair. "What's up, guys-"

A kid - and he really is a kid, since he can't be more than sixteen - and Yoongi stare at him in tandem, a spot below the kid's collarbone glowing in tandem with Yoongi's hip.

And oh.

Oh.

"Namjoon-ah," Yoongi states, voice weak, "this is Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook-ah, Namjoon."

"I know," Jungkook blurts, face rapidly turning red. "I mean. I'm a fan?"

Namjoon grins, reaching over to ruffle Jungkook's hair. "It's nice to meet you, Jungkook-ah."

Jungkook mumbles something along the lines of "ohmygodI'mgoingtodie" before his face heats up anew, and he hides his head in his hands. "Nice to meet you too, Namjoon-ssi."

"Call me hyung," Namjoon smiles, and Jungkook makes a small dying noise. "Please."

Jungkook's shirt shifts, and Namjoon catches sight of a small red triangle and a green slash before it moves again, covering the shape.

"You'll get the mark soon," Yoongi assures him, but Namjoon privately doubts it.

It doesn't work that way. 

Not for him. 

(What would they think if they knew? What would the world think, if it knew?

Nothing good.)

Hoseok shakes him awake at fuck-o'clock in the morning to shriek about how his mark appeared at the base of his ankle.

Namjoon stares at it - a yellow slash above the green - and congratulates him before passing out anew.

Kim Seokjin is most definitely a stabilizing presence among the five of them. 

And Namjoon doesn't just mean that he can cook, which, thank god. There's only so many times people can eat instant ramen before it starts to get a bit ridiculous.

No, that's not all.

He acts as a bridge between Namjoon and the others, bridging a gap Namjoon was painfully aware of.

Hoseok and Jungkook started to slip away over the past few weeks, spending more time together and less time with Namjoon. 

And in the last week, Yoongi's started to follow suit.

That fucking stings.

He's lost count of the number of times he's turned around in the past week, ready to share something with Yoongi, only for the elder to be somewhere else. 

(He's not jealous. He's not.)

One night - the night before Seokjin's mark appeared - Namjoon was sitting in the kitchen, feeling like a pretty pathetic excuse for a rapper and individual.

Not abnormal thoughts.

"Namjoon-ah?" Seokjin asked, and Namjoon turned, confusion evident. "What are you doing awake?"

Namjoon shrugged, and Seokjin nodded, placing a mug of something in front of him. "Here. Have this tea. You need it more than I do."

Namjoon quirked a brow, downing the contents in a single gulp.

Seokjin stared at it, a stifled laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll go make more."

Something warm settled under Namjoon's ribs - a throbbing warmth, one to match the one already present with Yoongi. "Thanks, hyung."

Seokjin turned to him, a comforting smile already on his plush lips. "Any time, Joonie-ah."

(But then the next morning, Namjoon woke up to Seokjin's shouting, and a four-colored mark on the back of the eldest's left hand, and the promise dissolved like candy floss in water.)

Kim Taehyung is a creature of uncertainty.

His position in the final lineup of Bangtan is uncertain. His position in the group is uncertain. Everything about him is uncertain.

Everything, except the amount of time he spends with Namjoon.

The spot Yoongi once occupied has since been filled with wide eyes and boxy grins, and now, when Namjoon turns to ask about a beat or a rhythm, Taehyung's there to answer.

It's refreshing.

(It's also slightly alien, but. That's a problem for a different time.)

Seokjin seems to have entirely forgotten Namjoon's existence, to the extent of occasionally forgetting to make enough food for him. That... stings.

A lot.

But Taehyung, the kid with the boxy smile and bright eyes who looks at Namjoon like he's hung the moon-

that's what keeps him.

That's what keeps him from spiraling, from falling into the dark abyss that lurks in the corner of his mind.

(Breathing is a bit harder, nowadays. He doesn't dwell on it.

It's probably just the dance practice, and the re-recording of part after part. He's never been a good dancer.)

Park Jimin fits into their mess like it was made for him, and it seems like it was.

The second he drops his bag and smiles at the other six members, something glows under his shirt, and the other fours' marks glow as well.

Namjoon can only watch in mute horror as Taehyung turns and sprints away, tears rolling down his cheeks. And fuck-

none of the others even notice.

He races after the younger, fully aware of exactly where Taehyung went. And, as per usual, he's right.

Taehyung's curled up in a small ball in the corner of the closet, tears rolling down his cheeks as he hides his face in his knees. 

The others did this. 

"Tae-ah, what's wrong?" Namjoon murmurs, gently tapping Taehyung's shoulder. "Hyung's here, okay?"

"I don't belong here," Taehyung whispers, and Namjoon can only stare in confusion. "The mark. There's only enough for six. A-And you're the leader, y-you have to be the last one, there's no room for me-"

"No, no, Tae, listen to me," Namjoon soothes, and Taehyung's eyes snap to his, wide and terrified. "You belong here, I promise. And I don't care what it takes... I won't let them cut you. I promise. You're going to be okay."

Taehyung sniffs, rubbing at his eyes. "H-Hyung..."

Namjoon flinches as Taehyung wraps his arms around his midsection, squeezing as tight as he can. "T-Thank you, hyung," the singer whispers, and Namjoon nods, letting Taehyung sob into his shirt.

"Any time, Tae-ah."

Their debut is eclectic, energetic, multicolored, and Namjoon can't believe it even happened.

Taehyung grasps Namjoon's arm, laughing as he wipes off his makeup. "Oh my god, hyung!" he beams, squeezing Namjoon's arm hard enough to cut off circulation. "That was amazing! You were so cool! I can't believe I'm really here!"

"I promised you, didn't I?" Namjoon grins, and Taehyung nods.

"Tae-ah! Joonie-hyung!" Jimin chirps, wrapping his arms around Taehyung's torso. "That was amazing! You were great!"

"Jiminie!" Taehyung beams, relinquishing Namjoon's arm in favor of hugging Jimin. "You were incredible!"

"Thanks, Tae-Tae!" Jimin laughs, and Namjoon watches, heart in his throat, as Taehyung's ushered over to the rest of the group, with the others laughing and greeting him once he arrives.

(He knows he's not supposed to, but he feels painfully, achingly lonely.)

The fire beneath his ribs burns bright like fire, and dark spots dance before his vision as he heads for a bathroom, hoping to make it to the bathroom before he passes out.

"Hey, are you okay?"

It's a dark-haired man that places a hand on his shoulder, eyes wide with concern. "You don't look good."

"I'm fine," Namjoon lies, and the man frowns.

"Let me help you," the other states, and Namjoon lets the man lead him to a secluded corner and pass him a bottle of water. "My name's Jackson, by the way."

"Kim Namjoon," Namjoon dazedly replies, and Jackson grins.

"Oh, are we doing that? I'm Wang Jackson. Doesn't rhyme with bang, though."

Namjoon stares at him, and Jackson swears, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? You're feeling a little warm."

"I'm fine," Namjoon murmurs, eyes dark. "Just... just tired."

Namjoon goes to a hospital the next day.

"Do you have any prior illnesses?" the doctor asks, voice dry. 

Namjoon blinks at him, the fire burning in his ribs only growing. "Y-Yeah. Avry's Syndrome. Is that...?"

The doctor stares at him for a moment, and Namjoon withers under the elder's glare. "Oh. I see."

He tears a piece of paper off of the pad and shoves it into Namjoon's chest, making the rapper wince. "Parasite Syndrome. Go to a pharmacy."

With that, he leaves, leaving Namjoon to stare at the paper in his hands.

"Parasite Syndrome" written in a lazy scrawl.

The fire in Namjoon's chest burnsburnsburns and he grips the paper tight enough to crumple it, self-loathing mounting by the second.

He's disgusting.

Broken.

He's broken, he's always been broken, and now he just has an extra diagnosis to add to his list of flaws.

His breathing speeds up, and he gasps for breath, fire spreading through his chest. Fuckfuckfuck-

He can't breathe.

"Are you okay?" someone asks, and Namjoon continues to attempt to breathe. "Hey! We need a doctor in here!"

Notokaynotokaynotokay Namjoon is not okay.

Someone jabs him in the arm with a needle and Namjoon feels calm settle over him like a blanket, breathing returning back to normal.

It hurts. 

It hurts.

"Here," someone states, and Namjoon watches as two small pills fall into his hands. "Take these. They'll make the pain go away."

Namjoon swallows the pills easily, relief washing over him as the fire starts to ebb. 

Thank god.

"You'll need to take these once every six hours," the nurse states, and Namjoon nods. "Go to the pharmacy immediately."

Namjoon goes back to working alone.

The studio is quiet, empty, and cold, and Namjoon desperately misses Taehyung. 

Taehyung and Yoongi.

God, he misses all of them.

He doesn't say anything. How can he? The others are happy, after all.

His gaze flits to the photo sitting on his desk, a soft smile sliding onto his lips. 

Their debut.

(Even if it wasn't perfect, it was exciting, energetic, multicolored - everything.)

"Hyung?" someone asks, and Namjoon grins, swallowing a pair of pills before heading for the door.

Taehyung's standing there, Yoongi and Hoseok on either side. Namjoon stares at them, blinking as Taehyung nudges the pair into the room.

"Can you tell us what you're working on?" Taehyung asks, and Namjoon gawps at him for a moment before his lips curl into a smile. 

"I've got an idea for a song called Blanket Kick," the rapper states, and the eldest hums, resting his chin on his hands.

"So? What do you have?"

(It's one of the last times the others come to the tiny studio, and Namjoon lives for it. Yoongi's words, Hoseok's smile, Taehyung's enthusiasm... it's perfect.

Even better than their debut. Perfect.)

Chapter Text

The tension in the room is thick as the group waits for Yoongi to arrive, the only thing to mark the passage of time the rhythmic ticking on the wall.

Taehyung taps his knee every time the clock ticks, and Seokjin can feel fury emanating from the second-youngest, poorly hidden under a thin veneer of calm.

(He doubts Taehyung's trying to hide it on purpose. He wasn't, earlier.)

Finally, Yoongi unlocks the door, the soft 'click' of the lock shattering the silence. He nudges it open, and he's barely inside when Jungkook shuts it behind him, looking more like a "tough boy" than the boy they all know and love.

It's a parallel to Namjoon's hospital room, except this time, there are no illusions as to why they're there.

"Hyung's too nice for his own good," Taehyung states, voice ice-cold. "But I'm not. And I know I don't have the right to say this, I know I don't have the right to be hypocritical like this... but this..."

He slams his hand into the wall next to Yoongi's head, expression contorted in fury. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Yoongi flinches, eyes widening. "Tae-"

"You're his best friend!" Taehyung all but shrieks, and Yoongi flinches. "You're supposed to be the person he can go to, the person he can turn to when he's stressed, the person who he can talk to! And all you did was make him feel like shit, make him feel like he was broken just for existing! What the fuck kind of friendship is that?"

"Tae-" Hoseok cuts in, but Taehyung isn't having it.

"And you!" the younger shouts, rounding the couch to jab his finger into the dancer's chest. "You're supposed to notice this shit! How many times has Namjoon-hyung called you the substitute leader, how many times has he complimented and helped you, and you can't even remember to ask him to come for dance practice?"

"I..." Hoseok trails off, tears shining in his dark eyes.

"What's the point of this?" Seokjin cuts in, and Taehyung turns to him, lips twisted into a borderline-snarl.

"You guys keep saying 'sorry, you're sorry', but what the fuck are you even sorry for?" he roars, stepping forwards to glare at Seokjin. "Did you have to keep him awake and see the blood all over the floor? Did you have to try and keep him awake, because if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up? Did you have to stare at the blood all over Kook-ah's jacket for five hours without even knowing if your hyung, one of the few people who gave a shit when nobody else did... if he's even alive?"

He throws his hands into the air, a shout of mixed fury and irritation escaping his lips. "Hyung came to me, the day Jiminie joined the group, and he promised me, he promised that I belonged here, and I believed him, but I never said it back, and do you know why? Because I thought he was okay. Because I thought him being the leader meant you guys would pay more attention to him than you did to me. He never acted like it bothered him, being ignored for years. But I... I should've noticed. We should've noticed. It is so fucking not okay that the only reason he isn't dead right now is because he wanted to see the moon. I don't have the words to describe how fucked-up that is. And we never noticed."

Throughout Taehyung's monologue, the anger in his voice has dimmed, fading to a potent mixture of heartbreak and guilt. "I... I failed him. We failed him. And I hate that."

"Tae-" Seokjin tries, reaching out for the younger, but Taehyung maneuvers out of his grasp. 

"Not now," Taehyung murmurs, gaze dark. "I don't... I don't deserve that. Not when Namjoon-hyung's still alone, still hurting. Not when... not when he's so much better than I am, but hurting so much more."

With that, he leaves, breezing towards his room and slamming the door behind him.

There's a long moment where nobody moves. 

"I fucked up," Yoongi whispers, guilt sapping the life from his dark eyes. "This is my fault."

He tosses a packet of papers onto the table, and Hoseok freezes, gaze flitting to Yoongi. "Hyung, you didn't-"

"He was hurting," Yoongi chokes out, "because of us. Because we never put in the effort to understand him. Because he cared about us, but we didn't care about him."

Heartbroken isn't an elegant look on the eldest rapper, but damn if it isn't heartrendingly genuine. 

"Shit," Seokjin murmurs, flipping through the papers. "How... how old are these?"

"The oldest one is from N.O. era," Yoongi replies, and Hoseok reaches over to pull Yoongi into his side. "How did I not see? How did I not know?"

"This isn't all your fault," Hoseok soothes, and Yoongi shakes his head. "We all had parts in this. Don't give yourself too much credit."

The joke falls flat, and one tear slips from Yoongi's eye, than another, and soon the eldest rapper is flat-out bawling, lithe frame shaking as his emotions seep out of him.

It's heartbreaking, seeing Yoongi so utterly decimated.

"I failed him," Yoongi wails, and Hoseok runs his fingers through Yoongi's hair. "I failed him, I failed him, I let this happen, Hoseokkie, you don't understand..."

"I know," Hoseok lamely replies, and Yoongi shakes his head.

"No, no, you don't, that's the problem, Hoseokkie, I was the only one who knew, and still..."

He shakes his head, eyes sliding shut as the composed mask takes priority. "I don't... there's so much shit I have to make up for, Hoseokkie..."

"Let's take it a day at a time," Hoseok suggests, voice pitched low and soothing. "Focus on tomorrow after today. Can you do that?"

"..."

Namjoon stares plaintively out of the window, the waning moon reflected in his gaze. A pencil and notepad sit in his lap, forgotten, and his lips are upturned in a slight smile as he gazes at the bright sliver.

"What're you thinking about?" Taehyung murmurs, and Namjoon's gaze snaps to the doorway, gaze calm but welcoming.

"The moon," Namjoon replies, waving Taehyung closer. "Like usual."

He pulls up his blankets in silent invitation, and Taehyung obliges, sliding under the stiff white sheets to wrap warm arms around Namjoon's torso. His nose fits perfectly into the crook of Namjoon's neck, and he lets out a soft exhale as his eyes flutter shut, relaxed simply from being in the rapper's presence.

"I'm sorry," Taehyung murmurs, and Namjoon sighs, running his hands through Taehyung's hair.

"I... I want to say it's okay today. But it's not, not really. So... I'm going to try and make it okay tomorrow. I want to make this okay tomorrow."

"Take as long as you need," Taehyung whispers, breathing already slowing. "I'll wait for you. Today... tomorrow... as many days as you need."

Namjoon smiles down at him, toying idly with a lock of Taehyung's hair. "Thank you, Taehyung-ah."

He wants this to be okay.

And logically, it should be. He has the attention he wants, he has the love he wants... what's the problem?

His own insecurity?

Perhaps, he idly muses, tracing a crescent into Taehyung's forehead. He doesn't want to forgive just yet, despite desperately wishing to do so.

It's an oxymoron. It's not easy.

But then, neither is Namjoon.

If he closes his eyes, he can delude himself into thinking there's no problem with this. That he didn't try to kill himself and nobody noticed.

That that's okay.

It's his twisted sense of morality, one wrapped around and constructed into a shoddy semblance of okayness, when in actuality, it's simply a tower made of the fragile pieces of Namjoon's psyche, each a millisecond away from crashing down and shattering him.

In this metaphor, then, the others are glue. The others are the things that keep him stable, that keep him standing, and now, with this support by his side, it's a little bit easier to breathe.

He pauses in his tracing upon realizing Taehyung's fallen asleep, and a cautious laugh bubbles up in his throat, spilling over in rivers of hesitation mixed with ecstacy.

It's vaguely salty, of course - tears tend to be such - and he wipes his cheeks with the scratchy fabric of his hospital gown, unable to stem the flow.

Is he crying out of regret? Is he crying because he's alive? 

Yes, he decides, yes to the latter.

Though he's not sure what emotion it entails.

Releasing the thoughts into his subconscious for his brain to puzzle over, his eyes flutter shut, and his breathing evens out, destined for the world of sleep.

(When Yoongi and Seokjin arrive the next morning, it's to Namjoon and Taehyung, limbs tangled together and breathing aligned, and they creep out as quietly as they entered.)

ARMY is supportive when the news comes out that Namjoon won't be participating in any live events for a week or two. 

Well. The official press release says two weeks, but Namjoon's fairly confident he can negotiate it down to one. 

Namjoon has simply accepted the fact that he's a horrible patient, and embraces it whole-heartedly. If sending the whole hospital into lockdown once or twice because he went to the roof to stargaze is a problem... then. Well.

It may have been more than once.

"I thought I'd find you up here."

Namjoon tips his head back, star-speckled eyes meeting Yoongi's. "Hey, hyung."

Yoongi sighs, and Namjoon feels a blanket drape over his back as the elder settles on the edge of the roof, gaze pinned on the moon. "Why're you up here again?"

"Can't see the moon from inside," Namjoon shrugs, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

"The fuck are you, some kind of moon perfectionist?"

"The moon is already perfection," Namjoon replies, the ease and conviction of someone who fully believes what they're saying settling into his voice. "I'm just watching it and trying to get the best view."

"Dork," Yoongi retorts, watching as Namjoon swings his legs through the cool air. "You're gonna fall off, y'know."

"You'll grab me on instinct," Namjoon hums, and Yoongi rolls his eyes anew.

"Yeah, and then I'll fall too, and we'll both die. Don't fall."

"That's fair, I guess."

There's a moment of silence where Yoongi simply stares at the reflection of the moon in Namjoon's eyes, at the younger's lips, slightly parted in awe, at the black roots peeking out from under the blond, and once Namjoon catches his gaze, he dimples, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

"Why're you staring at me?" Namjoon laughs, and Yoongi shrugs. 

"Watching the moon," he replies, and Namjoon makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a wheeze.

"I'm not the moon, hyung. Not even close."

Yoongi reaches over, poking Namjoon's dimple with his index finger. Namjoon lets out a soft giggle, face heating up, and he swats Yoongi's hand away before burying his face in his palms.

"Why're you embarrassed?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon lets out a small scream not unlike the sound of a kettle whistling.

"I don't... I'm not the moon, hyungie..."

"Then why is it in your eyes?"

"Stop," Namjoon whines, face heating further. "I'm too sick for this."

"You're well enough to sneak out of your room," Yoongi refutes, and Namjoon pales. "I think you're well enough to tease."

Namjoon sighs, tipping his head back. "Why are you here, hyung?"

Yoongi quirks a brow, sliding closer. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been..." Namjoon trails off, rolling his hand in a slow circle. "Not avoiding me? I mean, physically, you're here, but mentally... it's like you're stopping yourself. From being here, I mean. Like you're fighting yourself."

His eyes turn to Yoongi's, luminous and deep. "Why are you stopping yourself, hyung?"

Yoongi pauses, gaze falling to the ground stories below. "I..."

"Please, hyung," and there's a bit of desperation seeping into Namjoon's voice, heartbreak settling into his words like an old friend. "Please don't do this. Please don't ignore me."

Oh, god.

He's fucked it up again.

"I'm sorry," Yoongi whispers, and Namjoon's eyes widen. "God, I know that's not enough, that's not even close to enough, but there are a million things I wish I could say, so fucking many things I wish I had done different, and god... I don't want to be that same person. I don't want to be the same person I was, the same fucking person I've always been, because I want to be better. For myself, for the fans... for you."

"Hyung," Namjoon sniffs, rubbing at his eyes. "Y-You're gonna make me cry..."

"Good," Yoongi huffs, settling into his side. "I've already cried too much. You need to cry a bit."

After a few minutes, Namjoon's breathing evens out - he's asleep. 

Yoongi internally screams, momentarily debating trying to lift the lanky younger, but eventually settles for calling hospital staff.

If Namjoon winds up getting kidnapped due to this... well.

Yoongi wouldn't be surprised.

Chapter Text

Nobody's quite sure how to act around Namjoon once he's discharged.

It's like walking on eggshells, with the only ones able to engage him in conversation being Taehyung and Yoongi. They're tactile, as well - Taehyung especially, placing a hand on Namjoon's shoulder when he walks by or giving his hand a reassuring squeeze during practice. 

It's bewildering.

Jimin's practicing late one night when the door cracks open, and he catches sight of a mop of violet hair (freshly-dyed- it suits him) before Namjoon nudges the door shut behind him, an awkward smile playing on his lips.

"Why're you here so late?" Namjoon asks, and Jimin blinks at him.

"I'm practicing."

Namjoon quirks a brow, shucking off his bag and nudging it against the wall. "Shockingly, I'm here to do the same thing."

Jimin stares at him, and Namjoon shrugs. "Yoongi-hyung asked me to check on you. Said you needed to be home a few hours ago."

He pulls a protein bar from his bag and chucks it at Jimin, who catches it instinctively. "And I was worried."

He shoots Jimin with a dimpled grin, pointing at the clock on the wall. "I can call a car, if you want?"

Jimin's gaze flits to the clock - it's two a.m. - and back to Namjoon. "You're not coming home?"

Namjoon gives him a one-shouldered shrug in response, and Jimin sighs. "Are you sure?"

Namjoon pauses, halfway through pulling his phone out of his bag. "I missed practice today," he lamely replies, and Jimin quirks a brow.

"You're going to learn a new routine at two in the morning? On your own?"

Namjoon shrugs again, and Jimin rolls his eyes.

"C'mon. No. If I'm going home, you're coming with me."

Namjoon stares at him, and Jimin picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "You in?"

The elder laughs, picking up his bag and pulling open the door to the practice room. "Sure, Min-ah."

On the way back to the dorms, Namjoon falls asleep on Jimin's shoulder, and Jimin feels like he's committed a personal sin when he nudges him awake. Namjoon blinks at him for a moment, hair messy and eyes unfocused, before he processes where he is and climbs out of the car. 

"Thanks, Jimin-ah," Namjoon smiles, and Jimin hums assent, watching as Namjoon heads off to his room.

"What's with you guys?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin turns, meeting a pair of narrowed eyes. "Why'd you come home together?"

He's not irritated, Jimin can tell. Simply curious.

"He said you asked him to pick me up?" Jimin replies, though his voice lifts into a question. "Because he missed dance practice today and was staying after to practice?"

"I didn't tell him anything," Yoongi slowly replies. "And he was at dance practice today."

Something warm thrums beneath Jimin's ribs, and he quirks a brow, genuinely confused. "Why would he lie?"

"He cares about you?" Yoongi simply replies, pulling a pillow over his head. "Now shut up. I'm going to sleep."

Jimin opts to not point out the simple fact that Yoongi's currently sitting at the dining table and heads for the bathroom, already dreaming of a warm shower. His hyung will figure it out eventually.

(He doesn't, and Seokjin nearly screams the next morning upon seeing Yoongi lying on the floor, eyes shut and face buried in the carpet.)

Jungkook can't help but admit that once, back when Bangtan was founded, he had dreams of being close to Namjoon.

Or, more aptly - being close with his idol. The Rap Monster.

Though, really, from his limited interactions with Namjoon, he's come to realize the elder is just a dork. A tall dork with limbs too long for his body and an insane love for crabs.

But there is still that part of him that idolizes Namjoon, that idolizes Rap Monster, and he can't quite reconcile the person he listens to and the person he knows.

He's waiting outside Yoongi's studio, looking for input on a few beats, when Namjoon approaches him, a scarf over his mouth and two coffees in his hands.

"Kook-ah?" Namjoon asks, seeming genuinely confused. "What're you doing here?"

"I just..." Jungkook trails off, flapping his hands helplessly. "Had some ideas? And wanted hyung's advice?"

Namjoon smiles, tucking one coffee in his elbow as he pulls down his scarf. "You can ask me, you know."

How does Jungkook respond to that?

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me to?" he decides on, and a flash of hurt flashes through Namjoon's dark eyes before it's quickly stamped out. "I mean, not that I don't want to! It's just..."

He flaps his hands anew, and Namjoon quirks a brow. "Weird?"

"No!" Jungkook squeaks, and Namjoon arches his brow further. "Okay, maybe it's a little weird."

"Do you want to come back to my studio?" Namjoon offers, and Jungkook stares at the coffee in his hands before his gaze flits back to the elder.

"Aren't you waiting for Yoongi?"

Namjoon stares down at the coffee, and, without missing a beat, chugs both coffees in the span of thirty seconds. He chucks the empty cups into a trashcan, oblivious to Jungkook's mounting horror, and grins, dimples evident. "Nah," he simply replies. "Both for me."

"How?" Jungkook simply asks, and Namjoon winks at him. 

"Do you want to come back to my studio?" he repeats, and Jungkook nods, left speechless. 

He's not sure what that display was meant to prove, but it definitely proved it.

Namjoon's studio is teetering on the precipice of being utterly chaotic, but as Jungkook looks around, he can see there's an order to the chaos. Papers are stacked by song or topic, and post-its label them. Important documents are pinned to a cork-board, and a calendar sits near his desk, important dates circled.

It's less a matter of which are circled, Jungkook thinks, and more a matter of which aren't.

Namjoon produces a couch from seemingly nowhere, throwing a few stacks of paper across the floor. Jungkook stares, horror only mounting further as Namjoon casually kicks a few stacks across the floor, papers knocking over papers in a sort of sickening domino effect. 

The elder either doesn't notice or doesn't care, since he plops into his chair, spinning around once before folding his hands in front of his face, mischief glinting in his dark eyes. "So," he starts, "what do you have?"

Jungkook stares at him for a moment, spellbound, before Namjoon nudges him with his foot. "Yes!" he exclaims, slinging his backpack off his shoulders and letting it fall onto the floor. 

This, of course, knocks over around five different piles, which then knock over four more, and Jungkook panics, trying to scoop the papers back into some semblance of order. "Oh my god, hyung, I'm so sorry-"

"Nah," Namjoon grins, kicking over a pile with his foot. "Nothing here is useful. Anything that is is on my computer."

He grimaces at something Jungkook can't see, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yoongi-hyung would say it's safer for me to keep it in paper, but I think he's still sore about the whole virus thing."

"What virus thing?" Jungkook asks.

Never before has he seen someone look so simultaneously panicked and regretful.

"Nothing!" Namjoon exclaims, kicking a pile over with more force than is really necessary. "So! What do you have?"

"Not viruses," Jungkook instinctively replies, and Namjoon stares at him, expression a perplexing mix between confusion and despair. 

"Please, never mention that to Yoongi-hyung."

"I am absolutely mentioning that to Yoongi-hyung."

Namjoon huffs, kicking over a stack of papers. "I should throw this stuff away."

"I'll help!" Jungkook exclaims, and Namjoon grins, dimples evident as he slides over to his desk, pulling a number of black trash bags from his drawer. 

"I break a lot of glasses," the elder helplessly replies, and Jungkook grins, gratefully taking one of the bags from him. "Anything with- actually, y'know what? All of this can probably go. If I haven't used it yet, I don't think I ever will. 

It takes them upwards of three hours, and Namjoon hits his head on the desk six times and once manages to hit his nose on the door (Jungkook isn't sure how that happened, only that it involved Hoseok, dinner, and a particularly stubborn piece of paper) but eventually the studio is clean. 

Namjoon turns to him and smiles, dimples prominent as he nudges a few trash bags towards the door. "So," he hums, "what were we doing?"

Honestly, Jungkook remembers.

He remembers exactly why he came here.

But faced with Namjoon, grinning and carefree, as well as the massive trash-bags filled with paper... he doesn't want to talk about beats. 

"I don't remember," he lies, hoisting a pair of trash bags. "We might as well get rid of these, though."

Namjoon stares at him before shrugging, picking up a trio of bags. "Might as well."

(Namjoon actually does almost fall down the stairs while they're on their way down the stairs, and Jungkook just about has a heart attack. Still, Namjoon manages to recover, and no brain matter winds up on the floor, so Jungkook's going to call that a win.)

Hoseok-

really has no reason to be wary of Namjoon.

If anything, Namjoon has reason to be wary of him.

Still, Namjoon's proven time and time again that he wants Hoseok to reach out, that he wants to be friends, so Hoseok opts to bite the bullet.

He hasn't been kind to Namjoon, nor has he been sensitive. 

Still.

"Joon-ah?" he asks, tapping gently on Namjoon's door. "Namjoonie-ah?"

With no response forthcoming, he opens the door, only to be met with a truly impressive sight.

Namjoon's tangled in his blankets, drool pooling on his pillow and a Ryan clutched to his chest. His hair is strewn across his pillow, and when Hoseok reaches over to tap his cheek, his eyes open into thin slits.

"Hobi...?" he mumbles, blinking blearily at the elder. "Wha'?"

"Rise and shine!" Hoseok chirps, and Namjoon blinks at him. "We're going out!"

Namjoon dozes off again on the train, and Hoseok has to all but drag him out of the train and onto the beach. "We're here!" he chirps, and Namjoon finally seems awake, now that he's staring at the bright sand and ocean waves. 

"Hobi-ah," Namjoon whispers, wide-eyed gaze snapping to Hoseok. "I... it's February?"

And there's the fatal flaw in Hoseok's plan.

"I thought you said crabs were active year-round?" Hoseok laughs, and Namjoon stares at him, confused.

"It's cold, Hobi-ah-"

"Crabs!" Hoseok exclaims, tugging Namjoon towards the sea. "Small animals!"

Namjoon bends down, gently running his fingers through the sand before his eyes light up. "Hobi!" he chirps, raising his hands to reveal a small white crab. "Look at it! Isn't it cute?"

Hoseok peers at it, natural dislike of animals bellied by Namjoon's enthusiasm. If he squints really hard and looks the right way, it's cute.

Namjoon places the crab on the ground and pulls off his shoes and socks, racing towards the ocean. "C'mon, Hobi-ah!" he laughs, and Hoseok grins, pulling off his shoes and chasing after him. 

The water is freezing cold, and both of them wind up thoroughly drenched, but Hoseok's heart has never felt so warm.

(At least, until both of them catch a cold. It goes about as well as they expected, honestly.)

"Hyung?"

Namjoon peers at Seokjin as he enters, blowing his nose and tossing the used tissue into the trash bin. "What's up?"

"I made you soup," Seokjin smiles, placing a tray on Namjoon's lap. "Plus some beef, some noodles, and a cute pastry I like."

Namjoon stares at him, apparently bewildered. "You didn't have to do all this for me," the younger whispers, guilt mingling with a sort of confused reverence.

"I wanted to," Seokjin simply replies, passing Namjoon his pills. "Trust me."

"But-"

Namjoon's cut off by a round of harsh coughs, and Seokjin rubs his back, concern shining in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Namjoon smiles, rubbing his chest. "Just hurts a little."

Seokjin frowns, pressing his hand to Namjoon's forehead. "You're really warm," he murmurs, sadness shining in his eyes. "Hyung's gonna grab you some fever stuff, okay?"

Once he returns, Namjoon swallows the pills without complaint, and Seokjin presses his palm to the younger's forehead once more, concern mounting upon realizing his fever hasn't gone down. 

"This stuff doesn't work immediately," Namjoon laughs, and Seokjin frowns, settling in next to Namjoon. "Why're you here?"

"You're sick," Seokjin flatly replies, and Namjoon quirks a brow.

"So is Hobi."

"Hobi has the force of the maknaes," Seokjin replies, "so you're stuck with me."

Namjoon grins, and something warm settles in Seokjin's chest, as if wrapping around his heart. "That's not a bad thing," he grins, and Seokjin shrugs.

"For you, it isn't."

Namjoon manages to finish half of his meal, and while Seokjin's somewhat concerned that it isn't all of it, he chalks it up to making too much food and leaves it at that. 

"Sleep well," Seokjin smiles, flicking the light off. "I'll see you in the morning, Joonie-ah."

It's close to three in the morning when Yoongi finally makes it home.

He toes his shoes off at the door and dumps his bag in his room, gaze flitting to his sleeping roommate. Seokjin looks worn-out, as per usual, and the thought of checking on Namjoon briefly crosses his mind.

Better safe than sorry, right?

God, is he glad he did.

He opens the door and creeps over to Namjoon's bed, pressing a hand to the younger's forehead. Once he does, he nearly flinches - he's way too fucking hot to be safe.

Namjoon peers at him through half-lidded eyes, and his lips form a silent word before he hunches over, hacking up chunks of food and what looks to be some of Seokjin's soup. His violet hair sticks to his forehead, and he stares at Yoongi with cloudy brown eyes, apparently trying to discern exactly what he's looking at. 

Yoongi races to his and Seokjin's room and shakes the elder awake, hoping against hope Seokjin will, for once, wake up easily. 

His hope prevails.

"Yoongi-yah?" Seokjin mumbles, peering up at him. "What...?"

"Namjoon just threw up," Yoongi gasps, and Seokjin's eyes widen. "He looks really fucking confused, hyung."

"Call 119," Seokjin immediately commands, racing out of the room. Yoongi follows him, only to be met with the absolutely pitiful sight of Namjoon hacking up bile into a trashcan while Seokjin rubs his back, one arm around his waist to keep him from falling over. 

God, Namjoon's sick.

Yoongi pulls as many ice packs as he can find out of the refrigerator while he waits for the ambulance, placing one on Namjoon's forehead and one under each armpit.

Namjoon doesn't respond.

"I think he passed out," Seokjin whispers, and Yoongi hates that his eldest hyung sounds so scared. 

Hates this.

"That's not safe," Yoongi whispers, slapping Namjoon's cheeks in an attempt to wake him up. "Yah! Wake up!"

He realizes it's infantile, but opts towards cheap insults anyways. "Your hair is stupid! Your stupid collection of Ryans are stupid! You're fucking dumb for running into the ocean and catching a cold!"

Tears sting the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't pay them any heed. "If you die... if you fucking die, I'm never gonna forgive you. Fucking dumbass..."

Tears roll freely down his cheeks, and he presses his forehead to Namjoon's, deep sobs wracking his lithe frame. "Wake up," he all but begs, and he knows this is childish, knows there's nothing he can do, but godfuckingdammit, he has to do something. "Please, Joon-ah. You have to wake up."

Namjoon doesn't respond.

Chapter Text

Namjoon looks... dead.

His skin remains sickly-pale, and his sweaty hair sticks to his forehead. Seokjin rubs his wrist, concern mounting upon feeling how cold and skinny it is, and Taehyung's head is pillowed on his arms, breathing soft and slow. 

Seokjin presses his hand to Namjoon's forehead, trying to ignore the soft wheezes slipping through the younger's lips. 

It's still too hot. 

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Jungkook murmurs, and Seokjin helplessly shrugs. "He... he has to be. He's going to be. Because he won't give up this easy. That's not who he is."

There's a moment where Seokjin simply stares at Jungkook, eyes wide. 

How did this kid grow up so fast?

"You're right," he finally replies, and Jungkook beams. "You're right, Kook-ah."

"Golden maknae," Jimin lazily cheers, and Jungkook's smile grows. 

"Hear that, hyung?" Taehyung mumbles, rubbing Namjoon's hand with his thumb. "You gotta wake up, hyung. Kook-ah's getting praise again-"

"Again?"

"-and I know you like helping out, so..."

He leans back into the soft fabric of the bed, clutching Namjoon's hand to his chest.

"Wake up, hyung..." he whispers, eyes sliding shut. "Please..."

"No fucking way."

Yoongi sets his jaw mulishly, and next to him, Hoseok wears a similar expression. "We're not leaving him."

Sejin sighs, rubbing the space between his temples. "Look. Yoongi-yah. Do you think he'd want you to miss a performance?"

Yoongi doesn't reply. 

"Look at me, Yoongi-yah."

Their manager looks just as stressed as Yoongi does, hair messy and eyes bloodshot. "I'm worried about him, too."

Yoongi bites his lower lip, but still refuses to reply. 

"He's in the hospital right now, so there's nothing more we can do. All we can do is go to the performance, and perform our best."

Yoongi knows his resolve is cracking, but he still doesn't respond.

"We'll let you know when he wakes up," Sejin presses, and Yoongi's gaze drops to the floor.

It's a very nice floor. Very nice and clean and not blood-covered, which is a trait Yoongi's come to appreciate. 

"Please, Yoongi-yah-"

"We'll do it," Hoseok cuts in, and two pairs of eyes flit to his. 

"Hobi-ah-" Yoongi starts, but Hoseok cuts him off anew.

"Namjoon-ah always said if he wasn't the leader... if he wasn't the leader, I would be. So... even though I really, really want to stay... we have to go. Because that's what Joon-ah, if he was here, would say."

"He's not dead," Yoongi growls, and Hoseok flinches.

Fuck. He messed up.

"He's not dead," Yoongi repeats, louder this time. "Goddammit, Hoseok-"

"I know," Hoseok cuts in, wrapping his arms around the elder's back. "I know, hyung."

Yoongi sags into him like a puppet with its strings cut, and he reaches up to grip the fabric of Hoseok's shirt. "Don't let go," he whispers, and Hoseok knows he's not talking to him, but he nods anyways.

Someway, somehow, they wind up onstage. 

They've all been feeling uncomfortably warm the whole concert, soulmarks especially. Were Namjoon here, he'd have an explanation, a reason as for why they feel like this, but-

he's not here.

And that's ninety percent of the problem, isn't it?

Yoongi's gaze flits to the audience, rainbows dancing before his eyes. Jungkook's at the front of the stage right now, rapping Namjoon's parts - his voice wavers for a moment, imperceptible to all except the ones listening - and Taehyung and Jimin are giving him vocal harmony. Seokjin stands near the back, saying something to Hoseok before racing offstage, and Yoongi quirks a brow in silent query.

Hoseok points at his hip, and Yoongi lifts his shirt just slightly, only to see something undeniably problematic.

His soulmark is glowing.

His gaze flits to Jimin, soulmark barely visible over the neck of his shirt, and he prays to all that is holy that they can make it through this one song without issue.

But of course they wouldn't.

In Jungkook's defense, it really isn't his fault. His soulmark being on his collarbone is somewhat of the antithesis of his costumes, and Yoongi can see the disaster happen in slow motion.

Taehyung jumps on Jungkook's back, hooking his legs around the younger's waist and his arms around his neck. Jungkook turns to glare at him, but Taehyung's arms around his waist succeed in pulling his shirt down just enough to expose the glowing soulmark on his chest.

The cameras cut away from them, but it's already far too late. The crowd surges forwards as one, and Taehyung climbs off Jungkook's back, regret shining in his dark eyes.

"Hyung-" he tries, but Yoongi's already on the move.

He grabs their arms and yanks them backstage, Hoseok following suit with Jimin. Seokjin's already there, a pair of gloves on his hands, and he shoots them a pained look before raking a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

"Are we supposed to finish?" Jimin asks, and Hoseok bites his lower lip.

"...I think we should."

Yoongi's nostrils flare, and he takes a step towards Hoseok before Seokjin places a hand on his chest. "Enough," the eldest warns, and Yoongi growls, shaking his head once or twice in an attempt to dispel the fog in his mind.

"I'm sick of letting him wake up alone," he settles on, and Seokjin's eyes flash with sympathy. "I'm really fucking sick of it, hyung."

"I know," Seokjin diplomatically replies. "Just trust me on this one, okay?"

He tugs off one glove, revealing his soulmark. There's the six-colored rainbow of Bangtan, but around it, a black line giving the shape definition.

Protecting it.

"He won't be alone," Seokjin murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper. "He's not going to have to be alone ever again."

And dammit, Yoongi can't help it.

He places a hand over his own mark, humming contentedly on his hip, and tries his best to send positive emotions through it. He's no Kim Taehyung, sure, but he can try.

And there-

At the corner of his mind, there's a small bit of sheepish gray, and he tries to reach out to it, to reach out to him, as best he can. 

"We're back on in five," Seokjin warns, and Yoongi nods, gaze flitting to the ground.

"Wait for us," he thinks, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. "Wait for us, just a little longer."

There's a soft feeling - barely there, little more than what would normally be one of their afterthoughts - but Yoongi knows, somehow, that it's all Namjoon can do right now.

"I know."

They pile into the car as soon as the performance is over, each a bundle of nerves.

Taehyung's leg won't stop bouncing, and Hoseok twists and untwists the cap of his water bottle frantically. Next to him, Jimin looks ready to vibrate out of his seat, and Jungkook's gnawing on his lower lip - a habit he must've picked up from Namjoon. 

Yoongi may look calm, but inside, he's fucking terrified. 

He doesn't know what to do.

He scrolls through article after article about soulbonds and Avry's Syndrome, only pocketing the phone once they pull up to the hospital. 

They race into the hospital with reckless abandon, and Jungkook nearly bowls over an unfortunate nurse in his haste.

Honestly, someone should apologize, but none of them do.

Taehyung's the first into the room, and Yoongi barely catches sight of Namjoon's violet hair before the maknae trio tackle him, knocking him back into the pillows. 

"Namjoonie!" Hoseok wails, sliding in between Jimin and Jungkook. "You're okay!"

"What happened?" Namjoon mumbles, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, settling into place at the edge of the bed.

"The doctors think the pills you were taking suppressed the forming soulbond," he explains, and Namjoon stares at him like he's grown a second head. 

"Yah, let him go!" Seokjin chastises, and the other four release him, Hoseok pouting as he does. "We finished the concert without you, don't worry."

"The concert!" Namjoon exclaims, bolting upright. "Shit, what happened-"

"Calm down," Seokjin soothes, pressing him back into the pillows. "It was fine. ARMY is fine."

"But-"

"No buts," Jimin huffs. "You need to focus on yourself for once."

Namjoon's hand flies to his chest, and Yoongi's eyes widen upon seeing the faint light streaming through his fingers.

"You-"

Namjoon pulls his hospital gown apart with shaking hands, and the group's eyes widen upon seeing the familiar mark etched on the space just above his heart.

It's fitting, almost.

"What?" Namjoon whispers, sounding genuinely confused. "How-"

Taehyung reaches forwards and presses a hand to the tattoo, a soft smile on his lips.

"I told you it would be you," he whispers, and the first tear tumbles down Namjoon's cheek, soon followed by numerous others. "I knew it would be you."

He rubs soothing circles into Namjoon's back as the leader bawls into his neck, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook joining the group hug. Seokjin slides into the space behind Namjoon's back, and Yoongi joins him, the group relishing in simple companionship.

"Hyung," Taehyung murmurs, "your aura is really pretty right now."

Namjoon lifts his head, and Yoongi can imagine the confused expression on his face. It's one he knows well.

"It's like..." Taehyung rolls his hand in a slow circle. "Rainbow gray?"

"Rainbow gray?" Namjoon echoes, and Taehyung solemnly nods.

"Rainbow gray."

The worst part of the whole thing is that they can't even go public with it.

As far as the public knows, they're a group with six bonded members and an unbonded leader, and that's how it needs to stay.

After all, if information comes out that they suddenly bonded... people are going to ask questions. 

People are already asking questions. Asking why Bangtan's soulmarks glowed, why Namjoon was in the hospital.

BigHit evades them with all the desperation of a bleeding eel, and the only part that's even remotely commendable about this situation is their commitment to avoiding it. 

In the meantime, they're simply trying to find a new semblance of okay. 

Seokjin hooks his legs around Namjoon's torso, pressing his nose into the nape of the leader's neck. Namjoon hasn't been home for close to two weeks, late nights in their studios taking their toll on his eyes and mind.

"You need to rest," he murmurs, and Namjoon tips his head back, blinking bleary brown eyes at him.

"Hmm?"

"You need to sleep," Seokjin repeats, and Namjoon hums, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into the eldest's grip. 

"Sleep... sounds nice..."

Seokjin untangles himself from the younger and presses him into the pillows, pulling a blanket over Namjoon's lanky frame. "You need to sleep, Joonie-ah."

Namjoon's eyes slit open, and he blinks a few times before pushing himself upright. "What about you?" he helplessly asks, and Seokjin rolls his eyes, shoving Namjoon back into the pillows. 

A helpless squeak slips through the air, and Namjoon pokes his head out of the pillows for a moment before Seokjin sits on his legs, pressing his head into the soft surface. "Hyung!" Namjoon squawks, but Seokjin isn't moving.

"I can sit here all night," Seokjin hums, and Namjoon reaches up to slap at his hands.

"You can, but my legs can't!"

Seokjin shrugs, kicking off his socks and wrapping his arms around the leader. "Well, you need to stay in this bed somehow," he cheerfully states, ignoring Namjoon's protests, "so I guess I just have to keep you here."

"But-"

"You don't want to rob your favorite hyung of a good night's sleep, do you?" Seokjin asks, blinking a few times in faux-innocence.

"I think Yoongi-hyung will sleep fine whether I'm there or not," Namjoon dryly replies, and Seokjin squawks, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. 

"Such disrespect! I thought I was your favorite!"

Namjoon shoves the pillow off and pouts at him, the fine contours of his face silhouetted by faint moonlight. "You're both my favorites," he states, and Seokjin beams, pulling Namjoon tighter. "Ack-"

"Go to sleep," Seokjin murmurs, eyes sliding shut. "It's too late for us to appreciate me."

"I thought-"

"If I'm too tired to talk about me," Seokjin huffs, "then it's too late to talk about me."

Namjoon grins, eyes sliding shut. "Fine."

Seokjin doesn't move for a solid twenty minutes, a soft smile slipping onto his lips upon feeling Namjoon's presence slip into the familiar calm of sleep. He pulls the younger a bit closer, reaching up to thread his fingers through the leader's hair, and his eyes slip shut, calm washing over him.

It's nice, not being the only calm one in this soulbond. 

It's nice, being around Namjoon.

Chapter Text

Things don't change as much as they should.

There's a status quo that has to be maintained, that has to be maintained for the group's sake, and it means they're expected to act a certain way and do certain things that they may not want to do.

One of these - and perhaps the thing that rankles the most - is that they're not allowed to include him in their soulmate bonding sessions. 

Which inevitably means more work for Namjoon that should go to Yoongi and Hoseok, and thus leads to Namjoon distancing himself from them, and the cycle repeats, with the other six powerless to stop it.

Unsurprisingly, it's Seokjin that puts his foot down.

They're set to go to a restaurant this evening, and Seokjin will be damned if he doesn't manage to drag Namjoon along with him. 

(Though, honestly, he's pretty sure there's going to be less dragging and more tricking.)

Namjoon's tired enough that, when Seokjin pushes open his door, he physically turns to check. He says it's less tiring for him to simply move, a statement Yoongi disagrees with vehemently, but Seokjin supposes it's only natural - Namjoon's brain is working 25/7, after all. 

"Joonie," Seokjin coos, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Namjoon's torso. "Come out to eat with me?"

Namjoon blinks blearily at him, apparently trying to work through his mind exactly what he's looking at. "What?" he finally replies, and Seokjin nods, grasping Namjoon's wrist and hauling him to his feet.

The younger trips after him as Seokjin pulls the door to his studio shut, ignoring Namjoon's weak protests. "I promised Jungkookie you'd be there," the eldest hums, and Namjoon's expression falls. "You don't want to let down Kook-ah, do you?"

He can see Namjoon's mind trying to work, and the leader eventually settles on a small "no" that sounds wary enough to assuage some of Seokjin's fears. 

Of course, Namjoon still sounds exhausted, but, well-

that's a different problem.

"Why're you bringing me along?" Namjoon asks, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes with one sweater-coated hand. "Not that I don't, y'know, want to go, I'm just... confused? Why now?"

Seokjin purses his lips, effectively abandoning his pretenses of secrecy. "Look, Joon-ah. I... we want you there. Bangtan is seven. We're seven. It just... isn't the same as six."

Namjoon stares at him for a moment, and Seokjin can feel the shock and confusion flowing through his end of the bond. "What?"

"Yah, do I need to repeat myself?" Seokjin teases, and Namjoon hurries to shake his head.  

"No, no, hyung, I'm just-"

"I'm not mad," Seokjin reminds him, and Namjoon's expression falls, gaze dropping to his hands. 

"...yeah. I know."

This-

this was another problem they hadn't anticipated. 

Honestly, they should've anticipated it. After all, most people have six to ten soulmarks littered on their body - Seokjin himself has a few distance-conditional marks in addition to Bangtan's - and the reminder that Namjoon doesn't hurts in a way they don't know how to fix. 

The unfortunate side effect there is that it's sometimes difficult for Namjoon to distinguish between their weaker emotions, with Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook being the typical victims.

"Hey, hey, it's fine," Seokjin soothes, pulling Namjoon into his side. It's slightly awkward, given that the younger's taller than him, and he's fairly certain his shoulder jabs into Namjoon's jaw, but if the rapper is irritated by it, he doesn't say anything. "It's not your fault."

Namjoon simply bites his lower lip, gaze carefully impassive.

"Look who I brought!"

Hoseok looks up from his menu, eyes lighting up upon seeing Seokjin and Namjoon approaching the booth. "Joon-ah!" he exclaims, scrambling over a napping Yoongi ("Yah! What the hell, Hobi-ah!") to tackle his fellow '94-liner. Namjoon laughs, shy and moderately confused, and Hoseok pulls back just long enough to drag him into the booth, squishing him between himself and Taehyung.

The younger boy looks like Christmas has just come early, leaning over to squish Namjoon's cheeks. The leader beams, and that only seems to encourage the vocal further, twisting around to press Namjoon's cheeks together.

"Ah, Taehyung-ah," Namjoon mumbles, "what're you doing?"

"Appreciating your face," Taehyung simply replies. "It's a very nice face."

Namjoon flushes pink, hiding his face in his hands. "Taehyung-ah-"

"Let's order!" Hoseok cheers, reaching over to whack Seokjin with the menu. Jimin and Jungkook pay no attention, both engrossed in something on their phones, and once Taehyung leans over, he gets equally sucked in.

Hoseok busies himself by chatting with Yoongi over some new group he hasn't heard of before, and a solid thirty minutes passes before he registers a soft weight on his shoulder. 

Namjoon's eyes are shut, his breathing slow and even as he curls into Hoseok's side. He's tired, clearly overworked, and though Hoseok knows he should 'aww', should think this is cute, he just feels guilty.

So incredibly guilty.

He's not sure if this is just a 'him' thing, though he doubts it is - their group has a penchant for taking the most minute fuck-ups and holding them tight, internalizing them and replaying them, and this is far from a minute fuck-up - but it doesn't help him figure out in the slightest why Namjoon's acting the way he is.

He's acting like none of it ever happened. Like the past four years just. Didn't happen.

And see, that's a problem in and of itself, but that means that when they all try to make amends, Namjoon laughs them off, brushes them off, acts like there's nothing to apologize for.

Maybe he thinks it's his fault?

Honestly, Hoseok can see how that would be the case. After all, that's what society says, what the media says, what the world says, and Hoseok honestly thinks they just need to find someone else in a similar situation so someone can tell Namjoon it's not his fault and have him listen.

He reaches over and runs his fingers through the leader's dirty-blond hair, occupying himself with coaxing knots out of the messy locks. 

It's not his fault. It's never, not once, been Namjoon's fault, and though they all say that, they all tell him that (they have told him that, right?) he still doesn't seem to believe it. 

It's edging towards a problem, Hoseok knows. This is going to explode in their faces, Hoseok knows.

But this whole problem started with them not communicating, and he'll be damned if it ends that way.

"Hey, guys?" he tries, and only Yoongi spares him a side glance. "Guys."

"What, Hobi-ah?" Seokjin asks, halfway through pulling his phone out of Jungkook's hands.

"I think we need to talk about Namjoon-ah."

The mood at the table plummets, and Jimin stares at him with wide, terrified eyes. "Is he okay?" the younger gasps, and Hoseok realizes a second too late the way that sounded.

"No, no, Jimin-ah, he's fine," he hurries to reply, and Jimin visibly relaxes into the booth. "I just... doesn't it seem weird to you? The way he's acting?"

Seokjin frowns, resting his chin on his hands. "I noticed that too," he murmurs. "Every time I try to apologize or anything, he just... brushes it off?"

"Yeah," Jimin murmurs, eyes going sad. "It's like he doesn't think we did anything wrong..."

"I don't think it's that," Hoseok sighs. "I think he thinks he's the one who did something wrong."

Silence falls around the table, and Hoseok opts to press on. "We're always the ones that have to go to him. He doesn't like admitting he's messed something up, even if it means he feels bad. That just... it doesn't seem like he's forgiven us for anything, just because he hasn't. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't think there's anything to forgive."

"But he was doing so well..." Jungkook trails off, gaze falling to the mop of blond hair currently pressed against Hoseok's arm. "What changed?"

"I don't know," Hoseok admits, gaze falling to his hands. "I just... I don't know, Kook-ah."

Comeback is stressful, but when is comeback not stressful?

Jimin heaves a sigh, stretching his arms over his head and grinning once he feels his spine pop. Late nights plus early mornings plus interviews plus tour is exhausting, and they're snatching moments of serendipity where they can.

He laughs, dwelling on the word for just an instant. Good things happening by chance.

He catches sight of a head of blond hair disappearing just down the hall, and can't suppress his grin.

Serendipity indeed.

"Hyung!" he chirps, racing down the hall. "Namjoonie-hyung!"

Namjoon turns just in time to catch an armful of Jimin, and a laugh slips through his lips as Jimin stares up at him, a bright smile on his lips. "Hey, Minnie."

"Where're you going?" Jimin cheerfully asks, and Namjoon laughs, nerves evident.

"Oh, y'know... places?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, reaching down to grip Namjoon's wrists. "Are you going to the studio again?"

"Maybe," Namjoon mumbles, and Jimin shakes his head.

"Hyung. You promised you'd come home by one!"

"I promised I'd try to come home by one," Namjoon corrects, and Jimin rolls his eyes. 

"Potato potato."

"You just pronounced that the same way," Namjoon replies, brows furrowed as he tries to think it through. "In English."

"Taehyungie was talking about weird things Americans say," Jimin hums, pulling Namjoon down the hall. "Y'know. Things that make no sense."

"A lot of things Americans say make no sense," Namjoon frowns. "Like jumping the shark."

"What?" Jimin frowns, and Namjoon shrugs.

"American thing."

Namjoon turns back to stare at his studio, forelon, which is most likely why he missed the preamble to Jimin's next question. 

"Are you mad at us, hyungie?"

The question comes so far out of left field that Namjoon whips his head around, eyes wide. "What?"

"You should be," Jimin murmurs, and now Namjoon's entirely confused.

"What do you mean, Jimin-ah?"

Jimin frowns, folding his arms over his chest. "I don't... I don't want you to feel like this was your fault."

Namjoon stares at him, visibly confused. "Min-ah, what?"

"It wasn't!" Jimin exclaims, and Namjoon flinches as Jimin's hands fly back to his wrists. "None of it was!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I just... I just want you to get mad at us!" Jimin exclaims, and Namjoon stares at him, confusion dying away. It's replaced with an unnerving sort of nothingness after that, though, and Jimin doesn't even know what's worse. "Scream at me! Yell at me! Just don't... don't say things are okay when they aren't!"

"I don't blame you-"

"But you should!" Jimin exclaims, acutely aware of the tears welling up in his eyes. "Y-You should! I-It's not your fault w-we ignored you, a-and it's not your fault w-we pushed you to the point of a-attempted suicide!"

Words tumble over his lips, but Jimin isn't done. "N-None of it has been your fault! N-Not the way we acted, n-not us ignoring you, a-and definitely n-not you not being a-able to perfectly understand us a-after a few months! I-It hurts to see you a-act like all of this i-is your fault, w-when most of it i-is something we've done. I d-don't want you to blame yourself. Y-You've done nothing wrong, hyung."

Namjoon stares at him, gaze still unnervingly empty, and he slowly shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, taking a step back. He pulls his arms out of Jimin's weak grasp, letting them fall to his sides as he takes another step back. "I... I have to go."

"Wait, hyung..."

Jimin's words die in his mouth as Namjoon runs, sneakers digging into tiled floors, and he can only stare and wonder "what went wrong?"

bts

jimin: he just ran away

jin-hyung: what???

jin-hyung: did you go after him???

HOPESEOK: what happened?

jimin: i just told him none of it was his fault

jimin: he just 

jimin: said he was sorry???

jimin: and ran away

yoongi-hyung: go after him

jimin: why?

jimin: won't he want to be alone?

yoongi-hyung: he said he was sorry

yoongi-hyung: he said

yoongi-hyung: he was sorry

yoongi-hyung: and *ran away*

yoongi-hyung: in the middle of the night

yoongi-hyung: ...

yoongi-hyung: our company has a roof jimin-ah

jimin: ohf uck 

jimin: im urnngn

jimin: hyung uf ypou can see theser messesgesp lease don't so hwatever your;es thinking of

jimin: im albost twre

jimin: pleasre bt safw

Read: 1:05am

Chapter Text

Namjoon tosses his phone to the side, swinging his legs through the air as he gazes up at the stars, expression impassive. Earbuds pump tinny music into his ears, and he exhales softly, gaze pinned on the full moon.

He's not going to jump.

It's an omnipresent thought, sure, but he can't. He couldn't do that to them. 

Could he?

He stands, picking up his phone by the wire of his earbuds. It jumps into his hand, and he takes a step forwards, the wind tugging at his hair.

Could he?

"Hyung!"

Warm arms wrap around his waist and drag him back, and Namjoon hits the concrete roof with a pained groan. 

Jimin's face immediately slides into view, the younger wrapping his arms around Namjoon's back as harsh sobs tear their way from his throat. It's raw, carnal, and the sounds turn closer to screams as Jimin pulls back, hands planted on Namjoon's shoulders. 

"What were you thinking?" the younger demands, emotions crashing over Namjoon like a tidal wave. 

Shit. 

He's upset.

"Ah, Jimin-ah, I'm sorry- ack!"

Jimin yanks Namjoon into a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down his cheeks as he does. "I t-thought you were gonna j-jump," he sobs, gripping Namjoon's shirt like a lifeline.

And oh-

He's not angry.

He's worried.

"Hey, hey, Minnie," Namjoon murmurs, rubbing soft circles into Jimin's back. "It's okay. I'm here. It's okay."

"Namjoon!"

Namjoon's head whips around, and he makes eye contact with Hoseok and Yoongi at the door, the pair silhouetted by the slight streaming in from the stairwell. Hoseok looks like he's been crying, and Namjoon can only stare as Yoongi storms across the roof to shake Namjoon by the collar, expression contorted in fury.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" the elder demands, and Namjoon stares at him, confused. "W-W-Why the fuck did you come up here?"

"I needed to calm down," Namjoon murmurs, and Yoongi sighs, loosening his grip on Namjoon's shirt. "I didn't... I didn't mean to worry anybody. I didn't want to worry anybody."

"Well, you did," Jimin sniffs, and Namjoon feels a pang of guilt shoot through his heart.

"Hey, hey, Joonie-ah," Hoseok soothes, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Namjoon's cheekbone. "It's okay. Let's head home."

"Hello?"

"Hey. Is this... is this line secure?"

"Yeah, it is. We don't record our calls or anything for our clients' safety, so you're fine."

"Good."

A long sigh.

"One of my best friends... he has Avry's Syndrome. And he... he thinks he's a bad person. Like not being able to bond, not being able to sense our emotions perfectly... like that's all somehow his fault."

"Mmm, I understand how that feels. You know the stereotypical villain has Avry's Syndrome?"

"Yeah. My hyung - the one with Avry's Syndrome - recommended me and my best friend a drama, and when we started watching... the one with Avry's Syndrome was treated like he was soulless. Like he was... like he was some sort of second-class human. And even though... and even though he was a better person than the lead, he didn't get the girl. Because she considered him broken."

"Unfortunately, this is the attitude of the large majority of people. Domestic violence victims are ten times more likely to be people with Avry's Syndrome, and it's incredibly prevalent among orphanages and other such facilities."

"That's... that's horrible."

"People with Avry's Syndrome are also commonly refused treatment at doctor's offices or psychiatric facilities, which is why over ninety percent of deaths caused by Parasite Syndrome are people with Avry's Syndrome. As well, people with Avry's Syndrome are also twenty times more likely to develop mental illnesses, and ten times more likely to commit suicide due to a lack of treatment."

"That's... that's wrong. That's so, so wrong..."

"It is, unfortunately, the current attitude. People are working to change it, but as long as the public sees us as villains... nothing's going to change."

"Us?"

"Yeah. I have Avry's Syndrome as well."

"I... I couldn't tell."

A small laugh.

"That is sort of the point, isn't it? Having Avry's Syndrome doesn't make you a different person. You're a human being, just like everyone else. You're just... maybe a little less in-touch with your emotions. A little less attuned to the way other people work. It doesn't mean you're a monster."

"I know."

"...I wish more people did."

"..."

"I have a list of therapists and doctors that are willing to treat people with Avry's Syndrome, if you'd like that."

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Taehyung-ssi."

Namjoon trudges out of his room with his hair sticking up twenty different ways and dark bags standing out on pale skin. He stifles a yawn with his hand, ready to grab some cereal and a coffee, only to walk straight into a half-asleep Jungkook.

"Hyung?" Jungkook mumbles, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Why're you up so early?"

"It's ten o'clock, Kook-ah."

Jungkook's gaze slides to the clock, and his eyes widen slightly. "Oh," he simply mumbles, reaching out to grasp Namjoon's wrist. "Come to the couch, hyungie."

Namjoon stares at him, a nervous laugh bubbling up in his throat. "What?"

He tries to pull away, but Jungkook's grip is like iron. "Kook-ah, what is this?"

Warm hands settle on his shoulders, and Namjoon wheels, meeting Seokjin's gaze. "Come have a seat, Namjoon-ah," he smiles, and Namjoon feels his blood run cold as Seokjin steers him into the living room, pressing him into the couch cushions before settling in next to him. The other four are there already, Yoongi nursing a cup of coffee and Taehyung and Jimin bundled up in blankets. 

"You're not in trouble, Namjoon-ah," Hoseok soothes, and Namjoon relaxes imperceptibly. "We just want to talk."

"Hyung... how do you feel about all of this?" Jungkook asks, and Namjoon blinks at him.

"I don't know what you mean?"

"Let me rephrase that," Seokjin cuts in, sliding closer into Namjoon's side. "Whose fault is this?"

Namjoon stiffens, fear pulsing in the back of his mind. "What?"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Seokjin soothes, rubbing his thumb over Namjoon's knee. "It's okay, Namjoon-ah. We just want to know whether or not you've forgiven us."

"Are you sure I'm not in trouble?" Namjoon jokes, but tension seeps into his voice regardless. 

"Namjoon-ah," Yoongi murmurs. "This isn't healthy."

"What do you mean?"

"Just... just get angry!" Jimin exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. "Get mad at us! Get upset! Just... do something!"

Namjoon flinches, but the others silently nod.

"This isn't healthy," Seokjin echoes. "I just... this isn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Namjoon bites his lower lip, but doesn't say anything.

"This isn't your fault," Seokjin repeats, moving his hand up to rest on Namjoon's thigh. It's comforting, and the waves of warmth that wash over Namjoon from the bond only amplifies that feeling. "None of this - the bonding, not being able to feel, us... us ignoring you... none of that is your fault."

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into Seokjin's side. "You're wrong..."

The temperature in the room seems to plummet twenty degrees as Seokjin pushes Namjoon out of his shoulder and maneuvers him upright, keeping his hands planted firmly on the younger man's upper arms. "Namjoon-ah," Seokjin murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of the leader's eyes. "It's okay if you don't believe me right away. It's okay if you don't believe me in a few months. But someday... someday, I hope you can believe it. That you can believe that you're as worthy of love as everyone else."

Namjoon blinks a few times, trying to keep tears out of his eyes. "But... but I-"

"Hyung," Taehyung murmurs, having been oddly quiet the entire time. "I called a line one of my Hwarang hyungs gave me. They talked to me for a while, about a lot of things. And... and you're not alone. You're not broken. There are other people like you. Not being able to bond like everyone else doesn't mean you're emotionless. Not being able to feel our emotions perfectly doesn't mean you're a monster. It's okay not to be like everyone else."

Namjoon stares at him, confused. "But-"

"Love Yourself," Taehyung continues, and Namjoon falls silent. "That's what our albums are all about, right? Loving ourselves? So... so I think it'd be nice if you could love this part of yourself, too. Because... because it's not a problem unless you make it one. It's not a bad thing unless you make it one."

"Tae..."

Namjoon can only stare at his dongsaeng as he shakes his head softly, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You've really matured."

Taehyung perks up at that, before his eyes narrow. "Hey! No deflecting!"

"I wasn't deflecting," Namjoon laughs, raising his hands in defense. "I was commenting."

"Commentiflecting," Taehyung immediately replies, and Namjoon stares at him. "You're commenting while you're deflecting."

"..."

"Just agree," Seokjin stage-whispers, and the room dissolves into laughter.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Honestly, Hoseok seems more concerned than Namjoon does.

"I am," Namjoon replies, adjusting a chord on his desktop. "Like you said, this is part of me loving myself. And... and I'm ready to do that. To love myself."

Hoseok grins, throwing his hands in the air. "You heard him!" he shouts to nobody in particular. "Self love! That's the Bangtan Sonyeondan style!"

Namjoon laughs, resting his chin on his hand as he eases his headphones back on. "Thanks, Hobi-ah."

"But really," Hoseok frowns, pulling up the chair Namjoon uses for visitors, "I'm proud of you, Joonie-ah. I'm proud that you're doing this."

"Obviously, it's not the same thing as it was back when we started," Namjoon hums, "but I... I don't wanna lose that part of it. Self love is important, and it's just as important for people with Avry's Syndrome."

"I know," Hoseok grins. "You've talked about this song for weeks."

Namjoon's lips purse into a soft pout, and he spins around in the chair once, not unlike a petulant child. "Hobi-ah..."

"That doesn't mean I don't like hearing about it," Hoseok grins, and Namjoon grins at him.

"Exactly."

Damn. Hook, line, and sinker.

"You ready to go out?" Hoseok asks, and Namjoon nods, pulling on the denim jacket Yoongi gifted him on a whim. His gaze falls to the pin on Namjoon's chest - the white heart made of overlapping strings that has since come to mean Avry's Syndrome (though in a few weeks, it'll also stand for Love Yourself: Answer) - and he can't stifle his grin, gaze flitting to Namjoon's face in hopes of catching the younger man's smile.

Sure enough, it's there. It may be stifled and small, but it's still there. 

Namjoon leans over to upload the track, and as soon as it's done, Hoseok drags him out of the room, lacing his arms around the younger man's waist. "What kind of dinner do you want, Joonie-ah?"

"Um..."

"Trick question!" Hoseok beams, smile bright as he shifts his grasp to simply clutching Namjoon's hand in a death grip. "Jin-hyung's making dinner for us!"

"Really?" Namjoon asks, and Hoseok nods anew.

He's been told he resembles a hyperactive puppy when he's excited like this, but can they blame him?

It's not every day one of his soul partners shows the world who they really are.

Namjoon's faint stress seems tempered by the omnipresent calm that radiates off him, and Hoseok snuggles into his side, ignoring the sudden flood of panic that radiates through Namjoon's end of the bond. "You don't need to be so panicky," Hoseok laughs, and Namjoon quirks a brow.

"It's not like I can turn it off, Hobi-ah."

"Just saying," Hoseok teases, interlacing his fingers with Namjoon's. "You can be calm sometimes."

"I'm calm most of the time," Namjoon huffs. "How dare you assume I'm not."

"Well-"

Namjoon nearly kicks Hoseok into the street.

Once they arrive at the dorm, Namjoon's immediately met with a wave of laughter.

Seokjin's cooking at the stove, Jungkook and Taehyung trying to periodically steal bites. Yoongi's bundled up in a blanket on the couch, and Jimin's sitting next to him, though he immediately springs up to greet the pair at the door. 

"Hyungs! Welcome home!"

And this, Namjoon thinks, is their most beautiful moment in life.

"Hyung, that's cheesy," Taehyung whines, and Seokjin squawks, accidentally hitting him in the head with a ladle.

And, okay, maybe it's not the most beautiful. 

But it's his beautiful.

And that's enough.

Chapter Text

Namjoon wheels his chair to the corner, a grin playing on his lips. "So, Kook-ah, you want to learn about the science behind soulmates," he hums, and Jungkook nods like a bobblehead. "Okay. First, can you tell me some basics about soulbonds?"

"There are three types!" Jungkook immediately volunteers, arm shooting into the air like a preschooler offered candy. "Familial, conditional, and unconditional!"

"Close," Namjoon grins, and Jungkook deflates into his chair. "There's actually a fourth type, called necessitarian. Typically people put familial under that, but I'm not 'people'. Okay. Now, can you tell me what the differences are?"

Jungkook pauses for a moment, finally deciding on something. "Familial bonds break once the child turns eighteen, right?" Upon seeing Namjoon's nod of approval, he continues. "Conditional bonds can only transmit one or two emotions, or they can transmit all of them but only over a certain distance- like me with Yugyeom!"

"Yes, exactly," Namjoon grins, wheeling back to the whiteboard. "Unconditional bonds can transmit all emotions over all distances, and necessitarian bonds typically form in events where one party is mortally injured, and tend to disappear on their own after that. Do you know why both ends of a bond need to be open to function, Kook-ah?"

Jungkook shakes his head, and Namjoon smiles. "Don't worry about it. So a bond typically looks like this, right?"

A---->B

A<----B

"That lets them transmit energy and emotion between each other. 

Jungkook nods, and Namjoon continues. "Before it's formed, bonds look like this."

A--|-->B

A<-|---B

"You see, you have the two walls that stop emotions and energy from transporting. For people with Avry's Syndrome, though, it looks more like this."

A--|-->B

A<-|||---B

"You see, the walls are thicker from default, and thereby harder to rebuild if broken. So say person B has Avry's Syndrome, and they bond with person A, then it hypothetically functions like a normal one-sided bond."

A--|-->B

A<----B

"But the thing is, the human body typically has defense mechanisms to prevent this from happening. Most times, person B throws up a small wall to keep it from transmitting until person A's wall breaks as well.

A--|-->B

A<-i---B

"But for a person with Parasite Syndrome, they can't put up that wall at all. That's more common among people with Avry's Syndrome, since for them, putting up a temporary wall would look like this."

A--|-->B

A<-iii---B

"The body simply isn't made to do that. As such, people with Avry's Syndrome will typically have Parasite Syndrome as well. And no, you can't get it through sex," Namjoon states, side-eyeing a very nervous-seeming Jungkook. "That's just not true. Any questions?"

"How do these form?" Jungkook asks, and Namjoon hums. 

"It's been theorized that our early ancestors evolved to do this as a way to share emotions and better protect their children. As for how they form now, well, you know they can form with friends, romantic interests, or even family. However, familial bonds are unbreakable until people turn eighteen, and after that, cannot be reformed. Any more questions?"

"How does Parasite Syndrome look?"

"It looks like this, transmitting energy one way."

A--|-->B

A<----B

"What does Avry's Syndrome do? Does it affect emotions?"

"No. All it affects is the formation or breaking of bonds."

"How do the marks work?"

Namjoon laughs, resting his chin on his hands. "Marks are like... a funnel. If multiple people are going to all have the same kind of bond with each other - like us, like Bangtan - then it only makes sense to condense it. But the only issue there is that instead of having this-"

A---->B

A<----B

"You have this."

A---->B

C---->B

D---->B

E---->B

F---->B

G---->B

A<----B

C<----B

D<----B

E<----B

F<----B

G<----B

"This is only the hypothetical bonding for person B, of course."

Jungkook stares at the whiteboard, eyes wide. "Wow."

"But you see, if there's even one wall here-"

A--|-->B

C---->B

D---->B

E---->B

F---->B

G---->B

A<----B

C<----B

D<----B

E<----B

F<----B

G<----B

"-the full bond can't occur. It's like a big web, right? But if there's a line missing from the web, the whole thing falls apart. Or like a chain. For B to bond with the others, all twelve of those lines have to be open."

Jungkook stares, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Wow is right," Namjoon grins. "I still think it's fascinating the way the human body has evolved over time to do stuff like this on its own. Isn't that cool? Is that cool to you too, Kook-ah?"

"Yeah!" Jungkook exclaims, and Namjoon laughs, reaching up to erase the whiteboard. "But, hyung... are you person B?"

Namjoon pauses in his wiping, face hidden from Jungkook's view. "Yes," he finally replies, expression dark. "I am."

"And person A... is that Yoongi-hyung?"

Namjoon turns and smiles at him, expression immeasurably sad. "It's funny," he replies instead, "how people can understand each other without saying a word."

Chapter Text

fake love

It's not easy.

It's be easier if it was.

Namjoon glares at his reflection in the cracked mirror, colors spilling over his hands and down the broken glass. 

His hands weep crimson and he chokes on a laugh, lowering his head enough to stare at the pink-tinted water that flows over the fresh wounds. 

He deserves this.

His therapist says he doesn't, and the others say he doesn't, but he knows, he knows, he deserves this.

A knock on the door.

"Ayo, RM," Yoongi calls, and there's a moment where Namjoon tries to reconcile the joking stage name tinted bright red with the dark crimson spilling from his knuckles before he gives up, a pained sigh slipping through his lips. "Hyung made dinner. He's gonna be pissed if you don't come."

Namjoon doesn't respond.

Another knock. "Joon-ah, open up."

He still doesn't respond.

His knuckles have progressed from outright screaming to a dull burn, and he stares, dead-eyed, at his reflection.

He doesn't deserve this.

Doesn't deserve Bangtan.

Not when he's so intrinsically broken.

The broken glass warps his features a thousand different ways, and he chokes on a laugh, hysteria bubbling over in the sink. 

"Joon-ah- fuck, I'm coming in."

He catches sight of a head of black as Yoongi forces open the door, eyes widening slightly as he takes in the scene.

Namjoon can't blame him. He seems to have bled all over the sink, all over the walls, all over the mirror and floor-

and Yoongi takes his hands, letting crimson tint Namjoon's monochrome rainbow a dull copper. 

"What happened?" he asks, and his voice is so genuinely caring that Namjoon hates how little he cares.

"Punched the mirror," he states, and there's a sense of "you need to ask?" in his voice that Yoongi doesn't comment on. 

"Why?"

It's a rhetorical question, and they both know it.

Yoongi nudges Namjoon onto the toilet, slightly unnerved by this - this washed-out monochrome parody of his best friend - as he grabs the disinfectant and band-aids. "This is gonna sting," he warns, dabbing at the cuts with a dripping cotton ball.

"...why?"

Yoongi exhales, soft and sad. 

It's one of those days, huh. 

"Because I want to," Yoongi simply replies, pulling bandages from the cabinet. "Why else?"

the truth untold

"Are you okay?"

Namjoon blinks at the fan for a moment, realizing he'd gotten lost in his head again, and scrambles to pull the smile back on. "Yeah, I'm fine. What's your name?"

"A-Ah, Kim Jihyun," she murmurs, and Namjoon gives her a soft smile, gaze falling to the album in her hands. And is that-

"Is that an Avry's Syndrome bracelet?"

Jihyun flushes, pulling off the bracelet and stuffing it into her pocket. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't know I was still wearing it-"

(a part of him wants to show her his own, hidden under long sleeves. a part of him wants to tell her she's not alone-

but he doesn't.)

"I don't think it should matter," he states instead. "Whether or not you have Avry's Syndrome, I mean. After all, we're all humans, and we all deserve love. You shouldn't have to hide yourself just to make others happy."

Her eyes widen, and even as she's being shuffled along by the crowd, she calls out a soft thanks, and Namjoon-

he wants to be able to say things like this to all his fans. All their fans. He wants to be able to wear bracelets like that with pride, wants to change opinions-

and isn't it kind of hypocritical that they can't?

Bangtan's always been about breaking boundaries, changing opinions, so why can't they do this?

Taehyung nudges him, and as Namjoon turns, he's met with a proud grin. "You're doing great," he tells him, and though Namjoon doesn't need to hear it, per se, there is something undeniably calming about hearing Taehyung's voice in his head.

"Thanks, Tae."

Taehyung grins, pushing up his hair a bit so Namjoon can see the rainbow hoops in his ears.

And they're not just any rainbow, either.

They're the same pastel rainbow as the bracelet on Namjoon's wrist.

"Fighting!"

It's honestly genius. They're completely hidden when Taehyung lets go, but they're still there nonetheless.

(it really shouldn't make him as happy as it does, and yet-

it does anyways)

anpanman

"Namjoonie-hyung~"

Namjoon raises his head, blinking confusedly at Jimin. The younger's splayed across the couch and contorted in a position that surely can't be comfortable, but he stares at Namjoon nonetheless, reaching up an arm from... somewhere to poke his cheek.

"Your aura's brighter today," he beams, then does a sort of upside-down shrug. "Or at least, that's what Tae-Tae says. What happened?"

"Uploaded a photo," Namjoon hums, and Jimin nods solemnly. 

"What about?"

"It was more a bit of a statement," he replies, and Jimin nods anew.

"The one with the colors of the Avry's Syndrome flag, right?"

Namjoon tenses for a moment, and Jimin nods. "I mean, it wouldn't be obvious if you didn't already know, hyung, but for people who know where to look, it's a show of support."

Namjoon sighs, relaxing into the couch as his gaze flits to the roof. "It's just... unfair, y'know? I mean, so many people have been told they're villains, that they're broken their entire lives, and speaking out to support them is considered wrong? I mean, we're all humans, so why should it matter? We all deserve to be happy."

Jimin nods anew, smile soft and welcoming. "You said 'we', hyung."

Namjoon stares at him for a moment before nodding, a small grin slipping onto his lips. "Yeah. I guess I did."

Jimin throws his arms over his head, which really equates to his hands brushing the floor. "Y'know, hyung, you're kinda like Anpanman."

Namjoon quirks a brow, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're an every-day superhero," Jimin explains, "and you're fighting prejudice and hate every day. I mean, you're my hero."

"I..."

"It's okay if you don't wanna come out and say it," Jimin continues, expression serious but set. "I mean, Bruce Wayne never came out and said he was Batman. He just supported Batman's causes, like you're supporting all those charities working to end the stigma around Avry's Syndrome. That's why you're Anpanman."

"...thanks, Minnie."

"Thank Tae, too," Jimin beams, though it flops into a pout. "I got most of that from him."

"Yeah, but you added your own spin to it," Namjoon hums, "so it's yours, too."

Jimin's smile returns in full, and he wiggles excitedly on the couch - a movement that unfortunately sends him crashing to the floor. "Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!"

"Jimin!"

tear

"Is it too late to fix things?"

He stares down at his notebook, expression blank. They're famous, they're known, they're getting their message out there-

and yet they could lose it at any time. 

If they were less famous, maybe they could've addressed it. If he'd been honest from the start-

hindsight is 20/20.

If he could turn back time, he dismally muses, he would've told them at the start. He would've told them regardless of their reactions, because they would've reacted better. Maybe not Yoongi (it always came down to him, back then) but certainly Jungkook and Taehyung. 

He can feel the others in the kitchen, probably baking - either that, or actively hindering Seokjin's cooking efforts - and for a moment, he wonders whether or not he's allowed to join them. 

It's gone, but not fast enough.

Orange, green, and purple probe through their bond, and once the others catch on, it's a concerned rainbow, all trying to figure out what's happening and what's wrong.

He tries to send "I'm fine" back, but clearly Taehyung isn't buying it.

He turns just as Taehyung pushes open the door, a cupcake in his hands and Jungkook hot on his heels. It's really a depressing-looking thing, the frosting melting and sprinkles sliding down the side, but it warms his heart regardless.

"What're you doing here?" he grins, and Taehyung places the cupcake on his table, lips pursed into a frown.

"Are you feeling okay, hyung?"

Jungkook eyes the numerous plushies scattered across his bed with apparent distrust before pushing some to the side and flopping on his bed, winding his arms around Namjoon's midsection. 

"Kook-ah, what-"

A second body joins them on the bed, moving behind Jungkook, and from the interplay of greenbluepurple in his mind, he can tell it's Jimin. "Hey, Minnie."

"You have too many Ryans," Jimin complains, and he grins despite himself.

"No such thing."

"Ding dong, you are wrong," the younger cheerfully replies, and Namjoon mumbles in mild offense until Taehyung pushes him back, wrapping his arms around his back and climbing onto the bed.

He's not sure how long they stay there, but it's long enough that the boys start playing some sort of three-way tic-tac-toe for a few minutes until Seokjin calls them down for dinner, and it's nice.

It's nice.

epiphany

"Y'know, Joon-ah," Seokjin hums, scrolling through yet another article, "you should listen to the comeback trailer."

Namjoon arches a brow, raising his head from his notebook to stare at Seokjin. "Hm?"

"Self-love," Seokjin states in lieu of explanation, and Namjoon nods, scribbling something on the page. "How've you been doing with that, Joon-ah?"

"Better," the leader hums, and Seokjin nods.

"Tae keeps saying your aura seems brighter these days. I don't exactly know what that means, but I think it's good."

"So I've been told."

Namjoon grins, a twist to his mouth that borders on impish. "Are you salty because your aura isn't as bright, hyung?"

"Yah!" Seokjin scolds, whacking Namjoon with his pillow. "My aura is amazing!"

"Amazingly dull- ow!"

Namjoon rubs his forehead, glaring at the offending pillow indignantly. "What did you put in that pillow?"

"Spite," Seokjin simply replies, and Namjoon breaks into peals of laughter, notebook forgotten as he throws himself back into the couch. "Hey! You think it doesn't work?"

"Hyung," Namjoon wheezes, "you can't fill a pillow with spite."

"Try me," Seokjin replies, expression utterly serious, and that-

Namjoon just laughs harder at that. 

"ARMY says the company should be called JinHit!" Seokjin shouts above Namjoon's laughter. "I have enough spite to run a company!"

"How much spite do you need for that?" Namjoon gasps, and Seokjin folds his arms over his chest, apparently thinking.

"A lot of spite. You need to spite all the people who said you wouldn't succeed, all the people who think you can't do it..."

"If that's the case," Namjoon states, trying to keep a fresh wave of laughter from slipping out, "then how have you not used all your spite as a part of Bangtan?"

"You assume my spite doesn't regenerate?" Seokjin asks, seeming completely serious. "That's how I love myself. Sheer spite. You should try it."

"Spite," Namjoon echoes, a grin teasing his lips. "You love yourself out of spite."

"I do a lot of things out of spite," Seokjin simply replies. "You should try it."

"No, I think I'm good," Namjoon hums, then pauses. 

It's true.

"Yeah," he continues, slightly quieter. "I think I'm gonna be good."

4 o'clock

"Are you worried, hyungie?"

Namjoon quirks a brow, gaze slipping to Taehyung. "What do you mean?"

Taehyung shrugs, one-shouldered, and gestures to the moon. "I mean... about the song?"

Namjoon sighs, rests his chin on his hand. "I don't... it was going to come out eventually, right? It's better this than some sort of... drug scandal, or something."

Taehyung shrugs anew, gaze flitting to the moon. "I dunno, hyung. I just... I think it's really brave. What you're doing."

Namjoon winces, gripping the fabric of his jeans as tightly as he can. "I mean... I'm worried about the fallout. Who wouldn't be? But-"

"Real ARMY will stay behind us," Taehyung states, voice firm and filled with a quiet sort of faith. "You know that, right?"

Namjoon sighs yet again, gaze falling to the water-soaked cobblestone. "I know, I just..."

"You don't believe it?"

The elder's gaze flits to Taehyung, the feeble stars (or are they satellites?) reflected in his dark eyes. "It's okay not to believe it, I think. After all, we're going to stay with you until you do."

Wow, okay.

Namjoon just. Did not expect that.

He blinks away the tears as they come, gaze flitting to the horizon. "...oh. It's morning."

"It's four o'clock," Taehyung corrects, a playful grin teasing his lips. "Why are you crying? You and I are the only ones here."

"The sound of you singing brings the red morning," Namjoon sings back, and Taehyung beams, a bright, boxy grin as he catches Namjoon's hands. 

"You got it!"

"Yeah," Namjoon grins, able to feel the joy radiating off Taehyung in a wholly beautiful way. "I got it."

trivia: just dance

"I'm going to die," Namjoon groans, flopping to the floor. "I am become death."

Hoseok grins at him from around his water bottle, gaze flitting to the window. "Ah, it's night already?"

"What?" Namjoon asks, pushing himself upright. His hair sticks up wildly, and Hoseok has the fleeting urge to pat it down, but based on Namjoon's grin, it wasn't fast enough.

"We're not even doing anything today," he points out, trying to corral his hair into submission. It fails miserably, and after a few attempt to hold it down, he gives up, instead opting to take another sip of his water bottle. "Why does my hair need to be flat?"

"It doesn't need to," Hoseok grins, crossing the room to ruffle Namjoon's hair - and thereby making it even messier - "but I want it to be."

Namjoon blinks lazily at him, expression devoid of life. "You just made it messier, Hobi-ah."

"Your point?"

Hoseok beams, extending a hand to Namjoon. "Dance with me!"

The leader blinks at him again, bewildered. "What?"

Hoseok bounds over to the stereo and pulls up Love Yourself: Answer, tapping cheerfully on his solo song before heading back to Namjoon. "Dance with me!"

"What?" Namjoon repeats, sounding an awful lot like a broken record. "I mean- you- what?"

"Dance with me, dance with me," Hoseok beams, starting to shimmy slightly. "Any kind of bounce is fine, dance with me!"

Namjoon grins, obliging Hoseok with a small shimmy, and, well-

"C'mon!" Hoseok beams, slipping into a quick bit of popping and locking. "Feel the music!"

He tugs Namjoon into the center of the room, ignoring the younger's squawk, and gestures for him to dance. "C'mon! Feel the music!"

Namjoon laughs but obliges, a bright grin on his face as he dances like nobody's watching- which nobody is. And for just a moment, Hoseok can feel his full rainbow.

trivia: seesaw

"So," Namjoon grins, hanging off the doorframe. "You can sing."

"Yah," Yoongi huffs, chucking an empty coffee cup in his direction. "Of course I can!"

Namjoon grins wider, dodging the cup as it breaks against a wall. "Seesaw is a great song, though!"

"Why do I feel like that's not what you came here to say?" Yoongi mutters, and Namjoon shakes his head, pulling up a chair.

"I'm serious, hyung. It's a really good song. Hasn't Jin-hyung told you already?"

"He has told me," Yoongi replies, memories washing over him, "on many occasions."

Probably too many. Of course, Seokjin has always had a flair for the dramatic. 

"Does Jin-hyung ever say things that aren't true?"

"Yes," Yoongi replies, voice flat. "Regularly."

Namjoon rolls his eyes, plopping onto the couch. "Well, did it feel genuine?"

"I know it's a good song, Joon-ah. I don't release things that aren't."

Namjoon quirks a brow, a grin playing on his lips. "Like the Seesaw X I Need U remix? In which you gave Jin-hyung half the lines?"

"I-"

"Don't worry, hyung," Namjoon grins, and Yoongi gets the sudden (and inaccurate) mental image of Namjoon as an imp. "I think he got the thanks."

"Such a brat," Yoongi huffs, though both of them know he's not serious. "What d'ya want? A medal?"

"I want to give a compliment," Namjoon beams, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, poking his dongsaeng's dimple.

"Fine, Joon-ah. Compliment received."

There's a moment of silence.

"Also, hyung wanted me to drag you out to dinner-"

"I knew it!"

trivia: love

"I live so I love, I live so I love-"

Namjoon rakes a hand through his hair as he stares at the articles, black and white against the screen of his phone.

Black and white.

That's the story of his life, isn't it? Black and white?

But now there's backlash, people calling him disgusting, people saying they're going to stop following Bangtan for this, people saying things and things and things-

and it's overshadowing the message of the album.

This is his fault, and he knows it's his fault, but god-

he'd dared to hope that maybe, maybe, just desperately maybe, people would see the message, the meaning, and not the reveal.

But of course they don't.

In coming out as someone with Avry's Syndrome, Namjoon feels like he's taken one small step forwards and hundreds of huge steps back.

His phone buzzes with an alert - it's Halsey - and he taps into Twitter, a soft grin on his lips at the sight.

h:

"You know, you were always meant to be destined" -RM

Go check out BTS's new album!

He can read between the lines - as an entertainer, it's a skill he's had to perfect - and a soft grin slips onto his lips. 

She's showing support. 

"I live so I love," he hums, shutting off his phone and placing it against the desk. He's going to go back to it later, he knows that, but for now-

he can put it away.

His gaze flits to the sketch on the wall - it's Taehyung's - and he smiles despite himself, resting his hand on his chin.

Yeah. He made the right call.

best of me

The backlash is bad.

Article after article comes out, each one dissecting Namjoon, BTS, their success, and tearing it down.

As if that has anything to do with Avry's Syndrome.

As if that matters.

They can all feel the effect this is having on the elder members of the group, with colors dimming or flaring on a whim. The company isn't going to make Namjoon leave the group - though that would be the easy answer - so they just wait for it to blow over.

They get death threats, hate mail, and Jungkook once walks in on Seokjin staring as a series of papers meet untimely deaths in the blender.

Not that he blames him. If he could, he'd do the same.

Namjoon seems to be taking it in stride, though it's impossible to tell if he really doesn't care or if he's just not engaging. It's always hard to tell with him.

Even with the bond, he's someone who keeps his emotions under lock and key. 

He's a good actor. Not in the lying sense, but in the public sense.

"Hyung's really doing his best for us," Jimin tells the camera, a bright grin on his lips. "He always does his best."

Namjoon lets out a clearly fake laugh, shaking his head. "No, no, they work much harder than I do."

"He's just being modest," Yoongi states, and Namjoon quirks a brow. "He keeps skipping dinners to work in the studio, even when Jin-hyung makes his favorite-"

"Hey! I came for dinner yesterday!"

"Yoongi-hyung," Hoseok teases, "you're even less responsible about eating than Namjoonie-"

"What?"

"Okay, I skipped breakfast-"

Jimin's already pulling a protein bar out of his bag and chucking it at Yoongi's head, a pout on his lips. "Eat."

"Eat, hyung," Taehyung grins, sliding over to box Yoongi in on the other side. 

"Eat," Jungkook repeats, sliding behind Yoongi's back to thoroughly cage him in.

"Yah-"

"We'll be right back after this commercial break!" Seokjin beams, and Namjoon sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Hyung, this isn't a TV show. There aren't commercial breaks."

"We'll be right back!" Seokjin repeats, shutting off the camera.

intro: persona

"Hyung~"

Namjoon raises his head, quirking a brow as Jimin pokes his cheek. "You were listening!"

Namjoon stares at him for a moment, and Jimin stares back, apparently triumphant.

"Listening to what?" Namjoon finally asks, and Jimin wilts. 

"You don't remember that conversation we had? When we were talking about Anpanman?"

Namjoon stares for a second longer before the memory slams into place, and he nods. "Of course I was, Minnie-ah. Why?"

"I heard it in your intro!" Jimin chirps, and Namjoon grins, staring up at the night sky. 

"You did, huh?"

"I dreamt of becoming a superhero, now it feels like I've really become one?" Jimin quotes, and Namjoon grins even wider, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"You caught it, huh?"

"We're proud of you!" Jimin exclaims, reaching over to poke one of Namjoon's dimples. "So many ARMYs said they were inspired by you, too!"

"I want people to be happy with who they are," Namjoon hums, and Jimin nods, apparently convinced. "If I can do that with my music- Jimin-ah, what're you doing?"

His words come out muffled, since Jimin's apparently decided to occupy himself with squishing Namjoon's cheeks.

"Squishing your cheeks," Jimin simply replies, and Namjoon quirks a brow.

"Why?"

"Do I need an excuse?"

"I guess not."

They continue walking for a few minutes more, enveloped in comfortable silence.

"Hyung?"

"Yeah, Jimin-ah?"

"I'm proud of you."

"...thanks. I'm a little proud of myself, too."

mikrokosmos

"I still have no idea what microcosm means," Jungkook mutters, and Namjoon's around ninety percent sure he's lying. "Why is the song called Mikrokosmos, again?"

"Microcosm can either mean a part with all the traits of a whole," Namjoon replies, and Jungkook nods, pen flying across the paper, "or an idea where humans are the miniature representation of the universe. Like a... micro-cosmos."

Jungkook nods, a grin teasing his lips. "Micro-cosmos, huh?"

"You know the song title," Namjoon teases, throwing a plushie at Jungkook's head. "I've told you tons of time, Kook-ah."

"I like hearing you explain things," Jungkook hums, and Namjoon can feel the genuine truth in that statement. "You have a nice voice."

"A nice voice?" Namjoon asks, and Jungkook nods.

"I mean, you have a nice voice and nice points, it's just... you have a teacher voice? Like one of those voices you learn from? It's a nice voice. I like it."

Namjoon stares at him for a moment, taking a slow sip of his coffee as his lips quirk into a grin. "Thanks, Kook-ah."

"More people should listen to you," Jungkook continues, and Namjoon quirks a brow. "I mean, ARMY's calling you 'President', and if you were president, there'd be world peace."

"You think so?"

Namjoon's around ninety percent sure that's not true, but Jungkook seems to believe it with a fervent passion.

"I know so!"

He quirks a lopsided grin, resting his chin on his hand as he stares at the maknae. "You're sure, Kook-ah?"

Jungkook nods, leaning over the back of the chair to squish Namjoon's cheeks. "I'm positive."

"So, you do have a fan twitter?" Namjoon asks, and Jungkook pales.

"...no?"

"Alright, if you say so."

make it right

"Minnie-ah, Minnie-ah, look at me, okay?"

Jimin raises his head as a soft wave of gray washes over him, the bond open as wide as it goes to give him all the calm Namjoon can muster. "You're doing great. You did great."

"I messed up," Jimin wails, pulling his knees to his chest. "I messed up, and everyone was watching, and they probably think I'm a terrible dancer-"

"Nobody thinks that, Min-"

"You don't know that!"

"Well, I don't."

Namjoon gestures to the space next to his dongsaeng, smiling softly once Jimin nods assent. "Thanks, Min."

He settles down next to him, fingertips drumming on his knees. "...I messed up a lot of moves today, y'know."

"Yeah, but you're you," Jimin simply replies, waving his hands as if to accentuate his point. "And I'm me."

"Why does that make a difference?"

Jimin pauses for a moment, apparently mulling it over.

"Because you're a rapper, and I'm a dancer, and I... I'm supposed to get these things right. I have to get these things right."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Min," Namjoon murmurs, placing his hand over Jimin's and squeezing gently. "Everyone. You don't have to be perfect."

"But-"

Namjoon reaches up to tap Jimin's forehead, a soft smile on his lips. "Your brain isn't very nice to you, huh?"

Jimin shakes his head, visibly wilting. "...I want it all to stop. I want it- I don't wanna hear it anymore."

Namjoon squeezes his hand, voice gentle as he continues. "It's going to get better, Jiminie. Even if it doesn't seem like it... it's going to get better."

"I don't... how do you know?"

"Because you're you, Min-ah, and that's enough."

home

Namjoon has come to learn that home is wherever the others are.

There's a warmth, a familiarity, a sense of love that permeates the air whenever they're together, the world painted in vivid technicolor to even Namjoon's untrained eyes. 

It's just...

wonderful.

So beautifully, perfectly, incredibly wonderful. 

They're in some city or another, doing some thing or another, and he just-

he watches.

Watches the way Seokjin throws his head back to laugh, joy evident.

Watches as Yoongi grins at him, chin resting on his hand and smiling like he thinks nobody's watching.

Watches Hoseok challenge Jungkook to a dance-off, lips wide in a heart-shaped smile.

Watches as Jimin falls into Seokjin's lap, laughter wracking his frame.

Watches as Taehyung pulls out a box of Twister, a shit-eating grin on his lips.

Watches as Jungkook purposely makes it impossible for Hoseok to move.

And he just-

Despite the fact that they're across the world, he just...

he's home.

respect

"Y'know, hyung," Namjoon murmurs, lost in the endless abyss of liminal space, "I... respect you. A lot."

Yoongi quirks a brow, expression impassive. "We did make a song about it, Joon-ah."

"Yeah, but-"

Namjoon flaps his hands as if to accentuate some point, expression falling into a crack between emotions. "I just... you're so open with things? And I guess that's what motivated me to do the same? I just..."

He can't say it.

I worry there are things I'll never be able to say. I worry there will be people I need to reach who I'll fail. I-

"Your head," Yoongi states, and Namjoon blinks up at his hyung, Yoongi's hands on his cheeks and dark eyes boring into his soul. "It never stops, Joon-ah. How do you live with all this noise?"

Namjoon shrugs, lop-sided, and lets his gaze fall back to his hands. 

"Hey, hey, Joon-ah, look at me."

Yoongi tips up Namjoon's chin long enough for the younger to meet his gaze, though Namjoon clearly doesn't seem interested in it. "There's time," Yoongi murmurs, voice soft and low. "There's time for you to say the things you want to, time for you to reach them. And once we're done, people will carry on after us, yeah?"

"Yeah," Namjoon murmurs, and Yoongi smiles, wide and gentle.

"Yeah. You know Jimin and Taehyung's song got flagged explicit?"

Namjoon blinks, bewildered at the apparent non-sequitur, but he can recognize it for what it is.

A distraction.

He takes the rope and runs.

"Was it the soulmate?" Namjoon teases, and Yoongi shrugs.

"Too gay for South Korea, probably."

"Too gay for Spotify?"

"Yeah, maybe."

And that-

the way Yoongi can just say what he means, not disguising it or mincing words-

Namjoon respects that, more than words can say.

zero o'clock

Namjoon's finding himself in liminal space a lot, lately.

There's something about losing oneself to their own mind, to the demons plaguing their heads, to the galaxies and worlds inside, all while in a space that feels unreal, and he-

His gaze falls to the nightstand, the clock blinking back 23:59 at him, and it's early, he knows it's early, but at the same time-

he fishes out his earbuds, plugs them in, dials up a song, and presses play.

His head lands against the wall with a soft "thunk" as his eyes drift shut, a happy beat flowing through the cords as his bandmates' voices fill his ears.

And oh-

The clock blinks 00:00 at him, and he smiles, lost in the music for that one split second.

"When the minute and second hands overlap, the world holds its breath for a little while..."

And he loves this liminal space, loves losing himself in the in-between, and an irrational part of him wants to go to a Walmart parking lot at three in the morning the next time they're in the states, just to chase after that same fleeting liminal space, but-

and it's another but-

all of that seems oddly impossible, here in his bed, thoughts washing over him like the strongest storm.

"And you gonna be happy..."

He's torn between saying that he is and saying that he never will be, that happiness isn't real, not for "people like him", but he doesn't, instead opting to teeter on the edge of this liminal space, not quite wanting to wake up but not wanting to sleep either.

He has to choose one.

Liminal spaces are bridges between what was and what will be, after all.

But as the song ends and he hasn't chosen-

it's okay to stay here a little longer.

(if this, this dream, these stages, this music... if this is liminal space, he never wants to move on)

moon

"Stargazing, hyung?"

Seokjin turns, a grin slipping onto his lips at the sight of Namjoon and Jungkook. "Moongazing, really."

Jungkook shrugs, depositing a large clump of blankets on the floor. "Same difference."

Seokjin slides over a bit, letting Jungkook arrange the blankets. Once the maknae seems satisfied, he flops back on top of them, staring up at the moon with wide eyes.

"It's a pretty night," Namjoon remarks, and Seokjin quirks a brow at the one earbud dangling from his ear.

"What're you listening to?"

"Moon," the younger replies, offering an earbud. "Wanna listen?"

"Just put it on speaker, hyung," Jungkook suggests, and Namjoon grins, unplugging his headphones so the song can float through the air.

"You are my Earth, I'm just a moon to you..."

Namjoon has on his "I'm-thinking-of-something" face, so Seokjin doesn't engage, instead opting to ask Jungkook about the new Animal Crossing. After three and a half repetitions of the song (Jungkook counted) Namjoon breaks the silence, gaze pinned on the horizon.

"You're not 'just' anything to us, hyung."

"I know," Seokjin hums - this is an old dance, after all.

"But the moon isn't 'just' anything, either," Namjoon continues, and Seokjin hazards a glance at Jungkook, only to see the younger fully enraptured by Namjoon's words. "I mean, it may just be rock on its own, but so many people see it as so much more. A god, a deity, a light..."

He trails off, but Seokjin knows what he meant to say.

("A reason to live.")

"If you are the moon," Namjoon finally continues, "I think that would be a beautiful thing to be, don't you?"

And Seokjin-

doesn't have an answer for that.

"He's right," Jungkook adds, and Seokjin quirks a brow at the words. "You're really talented, hyung."

"Is the world ending?" Seokjin jokes, lips twisting into a grin. "Am I dreaming? Or did I just get a compliment from Jeon Jungkook?"

"Hey!" Jungkook huffs. "I compliment you!"

"You call me old!"

"I never said I wasn't insulting you."

"Yah!"

louder than bombs

Namjoon can tell when the others are stressed.

Right now, everyone is incredibly stressed.

Actually, stressed might not even be the best word for it. It's more... disappointed. 

Disappointment that the tour's been postponed. Disappointment that they can't put on shows for their fans.

Disappointment that this comeback seems to have crashed and burned.

He would've been remiss not to notice - everyone's at least a little upset. BangBangCon did a lot to help, for sure, but there's still this overpowering sense of missing.

They can't exactly hide things from each other, either. Psychic links tend to do as much, after all. Still-

still.

It's infuriating, seeing something they worked so hard on come crashing down.

He knows he's not the only one feeling like this - he's seen Twitter, after all - but he was hoping-

what?

That this would blow over? That they could have their concerts and comebacks like nothing happened?

(yeah, probably.)

Still, he can feel irritation through the bond - it's not possible to hide things, not from each other - and he knows the others are as upset about this as he is. 

ARMY knows, too.

It's like their song - they can tell when each other is upset.

(not for the first time, he's thankful for their fans. people willing to stick with them through thick and thin... that's a truly special thing.)

He rakes a hand through his hair, staring down at the paper of his notebook. 

Another day of nothing.

"Hyung?" 

Taehyung's voice rings through his mind, and he nearly yelps, but shock courses through their bond nonetheless. "Tae-ah, what's up?"

"You seem stressed," Taehyung replies, and Namjoon can hear the jingling of... something in the background. "You want Tannie-ah?"

"When do I not want Tannie-ah?" Namjoon teases, and Taehyung laughs. 

"Because RapMon doesn't like you?"

"Hey- RapMon likes me plenty!"

"Sure, hyung. I'm on my way over."

ugh!

It's almost cathartic in a way.

The song is, in a way, a direct response to the hate they've been receiving - and for good reason, since it's only amped up in the past few months. It's dumb, and they're tired, and it's a wonderful song. 

Namjoon grins as he watches Yoongi grip his mic, all but bouncing around the stage with his intensity. 

It certainly is a Cypher song, no doubt about that. 

(also, it sports some pretty nice wordplay)

Namjoon loves being on-stage when they do this, Yoongi and Hoseok's emotions crashing through the bond like dual tsunamis. It truly is their song, a song like the Cyphers, but different.

More modern.

More them.

He can feel the approval washing over him from backstage, the fans' excitement electric in the air. And god, he wouldn't trade this for anything.

After all, it's not everyday you can directly address your haters.

He grins, gaze falling to his black-and-white costume. A funny little inside joke, of sorts.

It doesn't even look like it's in grayscale with all the lights falling on it, and he supposes that's the irony. 

"Ugh! Ugh!" the fans chant, and he grins, joining in as one of Hoseok's hypemen. 

After all, they support each other, right?

That's what the bond is for.

Support, kindness, and friendship.

we are bulletproof: the eternal

It is the ultimate song, really. A disbandment song (though it isn't one) and just-

wonderful.

So blissfully, amazingly, incredibly wonderful. 

There are good days, and there are bad days. There are days where he doubts himself, days where he doesn't feel worth it, days where he feels unwanted-

but there are good days, too.

There are the days where he can wake up with a smile, days where he likes dance practice, days where he's comfortable in his own skin.

And those days-

those are wonderful, perfect days. 

He stares out at the rainbow crowd, a tear slipping from his eye and rolling down his cheek. The others seem similarly affected - Seokjin's playing it up for the cameras, but it doesn't even need that much playing up - and he pats his face with his sleeve before speaking.

"ARMY! Thank you for standing by our sides!"

And even if this moment passes - even if things take a turn for the worse, even if they do disband-

he'll have this moment in perfect clarity.

Seokjin, grinning as tears roll down his cheeks. 

Yoongi, the ever-stoic, crying just like the rest of them.

Hoseok, not even bothering to hide his tears as he waves to the crowd.

Jimin, face pressed into Yoongi's shoulder.

Taehyung, grinning wide enough to put the sun to shame.

Jungkook, arms wrapped around Taehyung's waist.

And he-

"I... I wish there were words enough for it, but... thank you. Thank you to all of you."

It's not just to ARMY, and they know it.

But this moment-

it's enough.