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There is one word in Namjoon’s mind as he presses the button and waits for the elevator in their apartment building: tired.
There’s a thousand other words that should be running around his mind but they’ve all been crowded out by that one.
Tired.
Because he’s not exhausted. He’s not fatigued from dance practice or a lack of sleep. He’s not drained, as if he’d had a burst of creativity that’s wound down and left him feeling empty. He’s not even worn out from having to do one thing after another.
He’s just tired.
In his mind. In his chest. In his bones.
There’s a cheerful ding and the elevator doors open.
The elevator is empty, almost like it’s trying to remind him how late it is. How everyone else in the world is at home asleep or out doing better things.
Like having a life, having fun.
Namjoon presses the button for their floor. Then he leans back and his head falls with a satisfying thump against the back wall of the elevator.
What happened to work-life balance. He was supposed to have gotten good at that.
He rubs his eyes. They feel itchy and dry.
What happened was deadlines that wouldn’t pause, words that wouldn’t come, a marathon that wouldn’t end.
There is another cheerful ding and the doors open again, ready to deposit him in the hallway outside their apartment.
There are doors leading to two penthouses on their floor. Theirs is on the left.
Namjoon still stands there for a moment, dazedly staring like he wasn’t sure which one is his.
He wanted to be home, wanted this stupid long day to be over. And now that he’s here, he also doesn’t want to be home because he can’t help but be nervous about what’s on the other side.
Jimin had texted a few hours ago to ask when Namjoon would be home. Namjoon had apologized for being at work so late and sent him an estimated time.
He’d overshot that by more than hour. Almost two.
He wonders if Jimin will be angry. If he’ll pout. If he’ll give Namjoon a little lecture about overworking himself and Namjoon will feel wrapped in guilt for having a deadline, for fighting the words that wouldn’t come.
He’s so tired.
He’s tired everywhere.
Namjoon fishes his key fob out and pressed it against the electronic lock, saying a silent prayer.
If he’s lucky, maybe Jimin will already be asleep. And Namjoon will be able to slip into bed and deal with everything in the morning.
The entryway is dark when Namjoon opens the door and the penthouse seems dead quiet.
Everyone else is asleep or out doing better things.
Even in his own home.
He’s tired but he’s also hungry and he knows he’s too hungry to sleep. So after he slips off his shoes and sets down his bag, Namjoon makes his way to the kitchen, trying to be quiet as he goes.
Once there he turns on the light, sets the electric kettle to boil, and grabs a bowl of instant ramen from the cupboard.
Quick, easy calories and then off to bed.
“Joonie?”
A twinge of anxiety makes its way through the buzzing numbness that is Namjoon’s head and he holds his breath waiting to hear the emotion that’s going to follow his name. Hurt. Annoyance. Disappointment.
Jimin comes and wraps his arms around Namjoon from behind and lays a kiss on the back of his neck.
“You’re home late.”
“I know I…” Namjoon starts, ready to make an apology.
Almost two hours late. He feels terrible. But he couldn’t help it.
Even being tired is exhausting.
“Come here,” Jimin cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. He takes Namjoon’s hand and leads him to the kitchen table. Namjoon sits down and Jimin leans over to kiss him.
His lips feel nice. The hello kiss makes something a little warm push past the fuzziness in his chest.
“Did you eat?” Jimin asks gently.
“No, that’s why I was making ramen.” Namjoon says it like an apology. Like he knows he’s been caught not taking care of himself again.
“It's okay,” Jimin walks back into the kitchen and flicks off the kettle. “I thought you might not so I saved you some leftovers.”
Namjoon watches as Jimin pulls some things out of the fridge, dishes them up and puts the plate into the microwave to heat. He’s wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt.
“I’m sorry I’m home late,” Namjoon tries again. “You really didn’t have to stay up.”
“Dork.” Jimin comes over and lightly hits him on the head with a pair of chopsticks before he puts them on the table. “You’ve had a hard week. I wanted you to have someone to come home to.”
“Oh.” Namjoon’s head is foggy but the sentiment feels sweet in his chest.
For just a moment he doesn’t feel like Namjoon the producer who is crashing against a deadline. Not Namjoon the lyricist who is about ready to rip his hair out. Not even Namjoon the terrible boyfriend who is almost two hours late.
“Thank you,” Namjoon says quietly.
“Of course.” Jimin kisses the top of his head, where he’d hit him with the chopsticks and sets some small dishes on the table.
Banchan. Like a real meal. Like a real sit-down-at-home-at-the-end-of-the-day meal.
The microwave beeps and Jimin goes to get the plate. He yelps a bit when he touches the edge before laughing at himself.
“Did you know dishes get hot in the microwave,” he quips picking the plate up with a hand towel and bringing it over.
“I burned my hand on a coffee cup yesterday. So no,” Namjoon smiles. “Apparently not.”
Jimin sits across from him picking at the banchan while Namjoon eats.
He really didn’t realize how hungry he was.
“You wanna tell me about your day?” Jimin asks, nibbling on some pickled radish.
“It was long.” Namjoon shrugs. “There’s still too much English on the track but rhythm isn’t quite right for Korean so I had to go back and tweak the melody a bit. Again.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll get it, though.” Jimin smiles at Namjoon and it grates on him a bit. He feels like Jimin doesn’t really get it, just how fucked he is.
“We’re supposed to start recording next week and we can’t fuck with that because the whole schedule is so tight.” Namjoon shakes his head and pokes at his dinner, probably a little too violently. “And it still has to go out for another round of edits with the other producers and it’s stuck on my fucking desk not getting fucking done.” He puts the chopsticks down and rubs his eyes. Why can’t anyone understand just how much shit he’s under right now.
“Hey,” Jimin’s voice is still calm and he rests a gentle hand on Namjoon’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to undercut how shitty things feel right now. I just meant that there’s a whole bunch of us and we’ll figure it out. There’s nobody in that building that doesn’t have your back. You put so much on yourself but you’re not alone, okay?”
Sometimes Namjoon forgets that. His particular set of responsibilities, a bizarre venn diagram overlapping between production and performance, management and PR makes it easy to feel isolated. He forgets that he’s really just a dot in a much larger constellation of people working together.
“Make-up noonas don’t really like me,” Namjoon says with a hint of a smile.
“Please.” Jimin takes a small bite of greens and gestures at himself with his chopsticks, speaking through a half a mouthful. “We all know I’m the holy terror. You guys are all off hook because of me.” He smiles at Namjoon. “See? I’m not just cute. I’m also self-aware.”
Some of the fog is lifting. He feels a little lighter now. A little better now that he has some real food in him and he’s not alone.
“I love you,” Namjoon says, mirroring Jimin’s smile back at him.
“I know.” Jimin smiles more broadly, a little mischief creeping in. “I love you, too.”
Out of all of the puzzle pieces of Namjoon’s life this is one of the best. He probably never would have guessed where this piece would end up but once it had clicked in place he couldn’t imagine it belonging anywhere else.
Namjoon lets the conversation drift after that. Jimin chatters on and tells him about his day, about plans he made with Taemin and Kai and a book he started reading. It’s all light but it takes Namjoon’s mind off of things and he finds himself laughing and teasing by the end of dinner.
He’s still tired but the worn out, scraped out feeling inside has faded. He’s exhausted and sleepy, ready to happily fall into someplace warm.
“I’ll clean up,” Jimin says kissing him on the head a second time. “You go get ready for bed.”
“You don’t have to…” Namjoon starts but Jimin waves him away.
“You’re exhausted and I’m your boyfriend. I win.” He waves him away again. “Go get ready for bed. Shoo, shoo.”
Namjoon doesn’t have an ounce of energy to argue so he says thank you and then obeys orders, going to wash his face, brush his teeth, and take out his contacts.
Honestly, he might have just fallen asleep without doing any of it if Jimin hadn’t told him to. It feels good, though, and he’s glad that someone made him accountable.
Jimin comes in just as Namjoon is stripping down to crawl into bed and gets into bed next to him. He shuts off the bedside lamp and holds his arms out in the darkness.
“Come here.”
Namjoon lays down with his head on Jimin’s chest. He feels Jimin start petting his hair. He lightly runs his fingers through it and gently scrapes his nails against Namjoon’s scalp. Namjoon wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes him.
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
“I like taking care of you.”
Namjoon listens to Jimin’s heartbeat and maps out the familiar lines of his muscles in his mind. He’s warm and he smells like Jimin and it feels good to be held.
“I know, I just…” Namjoon starts. He’s still grateful. He’s still not sure he deserves this.
“Do you remember that time when I really fucked up my knee during a show?” Jimin says idly.
“No?” There have been a few times that Jimin has fucked up his knees and Namjoon isn’t sure which one he means. He knows he shouldn’t lecture him about his health, though, so he stays quiet after his one word answer.
“It was before we got together,” Jimin says softly and a little far away while he cards his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. “When I was still just super, super shitty to myself about everything that could go wrong.”
He still is but he’s gotten better so Namjoon keeps his mouth shut again and lets him have points for progress.
“I was alone in this backstage room for a minute while the med people were deciding if I needed to go to the hospital or if they’d just check on it in the morning. And I was sitting there with this stupid ice pack on my knee and I was crying. Not because it hurt, although it hurt like a bitch.”
Namjoon gives him a low chuckle at this and buries himself a little deeper into Jimin’s chest.
“I couldn’t stop crying because I hated the idea that I’d fucked up and my stupid fucked up body had just made things so hard for people and that I was just this huge liability. And then you came in and asked if I was okay. And then you didn’t try and talk me out of any of it. You know those arguments you get into with people you care about when they’re being really mean to themselves?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t do one of those. You got on the couch and you hugged me from behind and you just held me.”
Namjoon vaguely remembers this now. He’d just wanted Jimin to feel better. He’s always hated seeing Jimin sad. Always, always.
“Yeah?”
“That was a really important moment to me,” Jimin went on. “Everyone was always trying to lecture me about taking care of myself or lecture me about being hard on myself and it felt like I couldn’t even mess up right. And you just held me. And I thought, ‘oh, Namjoon-hyung just wants me to be okay.’”
“I always want you to be okay,” Namjoon murmurs into Jimin’s chest.
“It’s hard to feel that when everything feels like it’s going wrong, though. It’s hard not to feel like you’re letting people down by not being okay.” Jimin pushes the hair back from Namjoon’s forehead and he knows that Jimin is looking at him fondly, even if he’s not looking at Jimin’s face, even though it’s dark. He just knows by now. He knows why he feels even warmer inside. “And there was this minute where I didn’t feel that anymore. I just felt like you wanted me to be okay, no strings attached. And I felt like I could stop for a moment and be cared for, like I could breathe again.”
Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows it happens but it’s always strange being on the other side of a small gesture that meant so much to someone else. And the feeling is even stronger when that someone is someone he loves as much as he loves Jimin.
“I carried that with me for a long time. When I’d start spiralling, I’d think, ‘Namjoon-hyung just wants me to be okay,’ and that would make me stop for a minute.” He squeezes Namjoon affectionately and kisses his hair. “I want to be that for you. I want to be the place you can come to where I just want you to be okay. No strings attached.”
Namjoon thinks back to all his instincts tonight. How he felt guilty for being late, for not taking care of himself, for being so tired. For feeling like he deserved a reprimand that never came.
“You are,” he says softly. He never thought of it that way but it feels overwhelming now. The feeling rises up from his chest and before he knows it there are tears dripping down from his eyes and landing on the naked skin of Jimin’s chest. There’s no way that Jimin won’t feel it and the tears feel so silly but he can’t stop them.
“You really are so exhausted aren’t you,” Jimin says kindly.
“Yeah.” The word comes out wet and honest.
“Let’s go to sleep, okay?”
“That sounds really good.”
“Do you want to lay on me?”
Namjoon thinks for a moment.
“Do you mind laying on me?”
“Nope.”
This is more of their regular configuration. Jimin is smaller and he curls up easily into Namjoon’s side with his head on Namjoon’s chest. Like a human stuffed-animal, Namjoon thinks. It’s comforting to hold him, to feel him in his arms. To know that he’s there, that Namjoon has him.
Namjoon squeezes him tightly and Jimin squeezes him back with an arm laid across his chest.
“Jimin?” Namjoon says into the quiet dark.
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m okay.”