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‘Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold
But you will remember me
Remember me for centuries’
-Fall Out Boy, Centuries
Namjoon knew that his family was powerful. He knew that his father held parts of the world in his hands, could crush whole cities as soon as he closed his fists, a thing the older man commonly did when he was in a bad mood. Giving a man like his father the ability to destroy anything he wanted was a fault of the world, a bad decision fate had weaved into being, a tapestry depicting suffering, misery. Namjoon knew his family was powerful, and he also knew one day the power would be his, rest in his palms, and he was determined to do a better job than his father had ever tried to do, letting his world flourish instead of crumble.
It was why he had insisted on attending the school he had chosen, a boarding school with some of the best results in the country, creating philosophers, scientists, politicians, businessmen. The tutors his father was trying to get to teach him at their home only cared for what his father wanted Namjoon to know, what the older man thought was important, ideal, help the younger to become the cloned image of himself. After years of the same lessons, tutorials surrounding weaponry, specialised business only to what revolved around crime, fighting styles, Namjoon wanted more. He wanted to learn about the things he read about at night, he loved astrophysics and English literature and history and most importantly music, thirsted to learn about the world, not just the bubble his family was kept in like a cage.
At sixteen, Namjoon was at the very top of his year group, had the highest IQ in the room at any given time, would immerse himself in everything and anything he could learn. He taught himself English, Japanese, Mandarin, Latin, researched poetry and traditional legends from around the world, religions and cultures and anything he could find, anything that was in the library, the local book shop, search for on the computers that took a while to load and yet provided more information than his brain ever even thought to seek. It was like a door had finally been opened to him, one that his father wasn’t ordering him to keep shut, locks spanning the edge of the panel.
His dorm room was a mess of papers, books, the staff never having a problem with it when Namjoon was the student with the most potential out of all his peers, when everyone knew who his father was, what he could do. The way people avoided him spoke of what they must have thought of him, who they thought he would grow to become, subtle whispers in the corridors as he passed, glances out the corners of people’s eyes. Namjoon didn’t have friends, he knew the people he was around only stayed because of his family, his status, only speaking to him when there was a crowd, inviting him to sit with them and then barely interacting for a second.
An element of the loneliness hurt, but the void was filled with the things he read, the things he learned, his English soon good enough for him to read books he had ordered directly from England, the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, Beowulf, Dracula, Hamlet, each opening him to new worlds, new people and places to explore. With the life he had, he never had the luxury of friends, the closest person being Lee Hyun, the man sponsored to be his advisor, kind hearted but left behind when he had left for the school Despite the other being eleven years his senior, he felt as though he was the only one that really knew him, his father failing to do so with anything outside of work, mother too concerned with material things and her social status to really care.
He often exchanged messages with Lee Hyun, who spoke of how his parents were faring, how the business was going, how much he missed always being by Namjoon’s side. In return, the younger told of how his lessons were so interesting, the gossip he heard about teachers, students, almost everything that happened, everything but one, little thing. There was a secret Namjoon kept tucked into his heart, so far inside nobody could reach it but him, keeping it safe when he knew his father would be less than pleased. Love wasn’t something the elder planned for Namjoon’s life, he only cared if another heir was produced with his blood in their veins, and Namjoon knew his father wouldn’t approve of the affection he harboured for Kim Seokjin.
It started in the first week Namjoon had been attending the school, his uniform not yet full of marks from his clumsiness, hair still neat, trying to make the best impression. It was before he had realised people would try and be his friend just because of who he was, before he realised he was at the top of the student hierarchy not because he was intelligent, or friendly, or liked, but because his family was feared, because he had money and people always valued that above all else in the world. Namjoon never had the chance to live normally, people recognising him the minute he walked through the grand wooden doors at the front of the private academy, but there was one person he had never had talk to him in search for something they wanted.
His first week had been a new experience, learning so many new things not just about subjects but with social interaction, learning who he had to respect, learning how to interact with people his age when before it had only been tutors and advisors and bodyguards. It was when he was walking through the corridors of the school to his dorm room after his last lesson that he caught his first look at Kim Seokjin, beautiful face in a downturned frown, almost glaring at one of the teachers in the middle of the hall.
They seemed to be arguing, but Namjoon was distracted by the other’s whole figure, whole aura, the way his plump lips were moving as he spoke, graceful hand movements which clashed with the words coming out of his mouth, sharp and pointed. He had earrings in, pieces of jewellery that most definitely broke school rules and yet they seemed to match perfectly with the prefect badge adorning his grey blazer. Not a hair moved out of place as he ran his hand through it in frustration, brows downturned and yet looking still so beautiful, eyes piercing into the teacher’s body.
It was only then that Namjoon realised he must look like a fool, standing stationary in the middle of a large corridor as he watched people he didn’t even know have an argument, eyes trained on the student he didn’t even know the name of. Internally scolding himself, he took a breath as he walked forwards, towards the pair who were still deep in their conversation, the teacher growing more and more red in the face as time went on, while the other kept his composure like a lord.
“Excuse me?” The teacher said, scandalised tone in his voice, and Namjoon tried to not call attention upon himself more than what was needed.
Gripping tighter onto the books he was holding against his chest, so tightly his knuckles were white, he kept his head down, tried to walk as close to the wall as he physically could as he began to come closer and closer to passing by the others. There was nothing he could do to somehow not listen to the words being loudly thrown into the air, especially when all his focus was on not doing something to embarrass himself through his clumsiness, like dropping his books, or walking into something while he wasn’t concentrating.
“No, excuse me, seonsaengnim,” the student retaliated, and just his voice caught Namjoon in a trance. “But I hardly think that’s fair,” he pressed, throwing his hands either side of him, the gesture making him seem even more authoritarian than before.
Just the way he was talking, moving, it all combined to make Namjoon feel spellbound, the other like a siren capturing every inch of his attention all at once. All he could zone in on was the other’s flawless face, the curve of his nose, his jaw, how he looked so handsome and yet with an element of something softer, the perfect features on every inch of his skin. He was paler than Namjoon, but his skin still looked touched by the sun, contrasting against dark hair, dark eyes, a faint pink layer seeming to have been added over his lips.
“I don’t think that’s any way to speak to me, Seokjin-ssi,” the teacher said as he stuck his nose up in the air, but the man was shorter than the student, and an element of it looked almost hilarious, Namjoon really concentrating on hiding a smile.
“I don’t appreciate you trying to lower my grade just because I refuse to commit to doing an additional project that isn’t even required, seonsaengnim,” the younger scoffed, and just the power behind the words made Namjoon’s heart beat louder, feeling the rhythm in his chest like an army drum. “Do I need to tell my father that there’s an issue, that you’re trying to sabotage my education?”
Namjoon couldn’t tell you what it was, the way the student spoke or just how beautiful he looked as he glared with no restraint, his whole figure emitting nothing but power, strength, but whatever it was it made him feel breathless, enchanted by the other. The moment came just as he was passing by the other two, and as he stared at the student he barely even noticed as he began to trip, just saving his footing before he made a complete fool of himself, stumbling a little before straightening again.
The teacher had noticed nothing, didn’t even turn around, but over the teacher’s low shoulder the student had met his eyes, quirking an eyebrow just slightly up his face with the smallest upturn of his lips. Namjoon knew he had been caught staring, and he was sure that the red that stained his cheeks in embarrassment matched exactly with the angry flames on the teacher’s face, which was obscured from his vision at that second. He looked away, just looked down at the ground as he reached the end of the corridor, where he forced himself not to turn back as he rounded the corner, the flight of stairs he needed to go up in the other direction but he had lost all train of thought.
“Not at all, Seokjin-ssi, I apologise,” he heard the teacher say, the volume quieter as he moved further and further away, still with the other, Seokjin, fresh in his mind.
Eventually when he got back to his dorm, the student was all he could think about, the matching of name to face feeling so sweet, the sound rolling off of his tongue like a spell. Seokjin, the name just seemed to be perfect for the fire he saw behind the other’s eyes, the glare he was directing like a gunshot at the teacher’s head, and Namjoon really wished he knew what the other looked like when he smiled, sure he was even more handsome than before. Just the glimpse of an upturn of lips had made his knees feel weak, head spinning and full of nothing but euphoria, a rich taste on his tongue.
In the back of his head, he was so tempted to contact Lee Hyun, ask the other to find out as much as he could on Seokjin, who he was, where he was from, his family, every single detail he knew the other could source in no more than a day, but something stopped him. Maybe it was that he wanted to get to know the other himself, learn his life story from nothing but the words coming from between plush lips, words accompanied with little gestures of his hands which held so much grace it was almost regal, kingly.
That night, reading another play of Shakespeare’s, this time about a pair of twins in a shipwreck, he could barely concentrate, only thinking of the other, face haunting him like a spirit. Putting the book down, Namjoon was internally scolding himself, thinking and thinking about everything in his life. He didn’t have time for this, for a crush on another student when he was meant to be fully focused on the reason he was here, to learn, couldn’t drag someone else into his life when they didn’t know how horrible, how dangerous it was to be associated with someone like him.
He knew he needed to forget the other, but there was nothing he could do to stop the fact that it was Seokjin’s face that he thought about as he lay in bed, on sheets he knew cost more than a car to most people, his father barely batting an eye at the purchase. It was the other who managed to creep his way into his dreams, Namjoon imagining himself in his dining room, in the seat that belongs to his father, Seokjin right at his side. It was a dream, just a dream, but something about it felt so real, so corporal, that not a part of the scene faded when Namjoon next woke, remembering the feeling of soft hands on his wrist.
Since that day, he had been keeping his eyes wide open as he walked through corridors, when he found himself surrounded by other students, just to try and catch sight of the handsome face again. He knew Seokjin wasn’t in his year, would have recognised his face if he had been, and Namjoon was fairly certain the other wasn’t younger than him. As much as he tried, he didn’t see even the slightest hint of the other, not where they ate meals in a grand room with deep red curtains and shining silverware, not when he was trying not to bump into people as he walked from the classroom to his dorm.
He almost thought the whole encounter was something he imagined in his loneliness, that Namjoon’s affection and touch deprived brain had weaved the whole thing out of nothing when he next set his eyes on the other. It was in the library, which had more books than Namjoon would probably ever read, the place he had chosen as his sanctuary when whispers followed him everywhere but here and where he slept. Often, he spent his days burying himself behind the shelves, absorbing the words from books as he sat in the most hidden corner, never seeing anyone other than the occasional student grumbling about a certain textbook.
That day, he had been reading about ancient warfare, the tactics used by Shaka Zulu when he was the most powerful leader of any tribe in Africa. It was fascinating, and Namjoon kept thinking of the ways he could apply the methods himself when he was older, the commander of what was practically his own army, when a pair of feet appeared just above his eye line on the page. The shoes he could see were shining, spotless, not a speck of dust or mud to be seen anywhere on the black leather, so different from the wear and tear already visible on Namjoon’s own. Laces were tied with perfect bows, and he swallowed as he looked up, meeting the eyes of the person in front of him.
It was Seokjin, the person he had practically fallen for the first time he saw him, the first time he heard his voice, and it was sending his heart wild in his chest. The other was standing before him, literally right before him, looking so tall when Namjoon was seated on a chair, every inch looking so confident, so sure. His posture was perfect, face neutral as he stared down at the other, and something in Namjoon was almost intimidated, a feeling he wasn’t familiar with when his family sat at the top of the hierarchy, when he was conditioned for as long as he could remember to be strong, to show no fear. He could imagine the look of disgust on his father’s face, but he knew the expression would apply to more than just the streak of intimidation in his mind, and so he threw his parents as far out of his mind as he physically could.
“Can I sit next to you?” Seokjin asked, tilting his head in the direction of the spare seat to Namjoon’s left, the only two places to sit in this corner.
The question took a moment to register in Namjoon’s head, the fact that the person he had placed on a pedestal and subconsciously searched for was talking to him, directly to him of all people. It made his thoughts launch themselves into the clouds, so high he couldn’t even see the library they were in anymore, the whole school, everything only little pinpricks of colour. It struck him over the head like a cricket bat that he was meant to respond, and he immediately made eye contact with the other again, trying not to let his cheeks flush rose pink.
“Um-Yeah,” Namjoon stumbled over his words, feeling like he should be doing something with his hands as he spoke, instead just clutching his book. “Yeah, sure,” he repeated quickly with a nod, Seokjin moving towards the space at his agreement.
“People are making so much noise everywhere else,” the other sniffed, gracefully lowering himself onto the seat, crossing his legs and sitting not unlike a royal from a famous painting. “This seems like the perfect place to have some peace,” he said, and Namjoon rushed to concur, again quickly nodding to the words.
“Yeah,” he responded, before realising it was the third time he had said the word in a row, scolding himself internally before he thought of what more to say. “That’s why I like it,” he continued, trying to make sure his voice didn’t do something embarrassing, like break as he was speaking. “It’s quiet, like a pocket of a different world.”
He watched the other, noticed how Seokjin’s eyes never left Namjoon’s face as he spoke, even when Namjoon himself looked away for a second, either to his book or to the shelves around them. The other seemed to be holding onto his every word, as though Namjoon was preaching a holy text, the Bible, or the Torah, or even the Qur’an, words sent from a God leaving his lips. Seokjin’s expression changed, however, as soon as Namjoon finished his sentence, holding the book he had placed on his lap to his chest, eyebrows quirking up slightly in what looked like slight agitation.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” the other said quickly, almost seeming to move to get up to his feet again. “I can leave,” he offered, and Namjoon felt panic building up in his throat as he watched Seokjin shift his weight to his feet from the chair.
The last thing he wanted was for Seokjin to leave, especially when they had only just officially met minutes ago, the other still floating around his head like a dream. Without thinking, Namjoon was leaning forward, grasping one of the other’s wrists in a loose grip in his fingers, making Seokjin pause. At the action, Namjoon was worried he had been too bold, had made the other want to run away, but against his thoughts Seokjin stayed in his seat, seeming as if he was waiting for Namjoon to speak.
“No, no, it’s okay,” he rushed, hoping the desperation wasn’t leaking into his tone, the way he wished and wished for the other to stay at his side. “Um, I’m Namjoon,” he introduced himself, retracting his hand and intertwining his own fingers together. “Kim Namjoon.”
There was a pause, and in it Namjoon was just holding his breath, the voice in his head begging for Seokjin to stay, to talk to him more. This was the closest he had ever been able to get to someone he was interested in, the only time he had looked at someone with affection and lust and not have to worry about his father breathing air down his back, scared the older man would discover his secret. He could do as he pleased, and Namjoon knew that the thing he most pleased to do was to spend eternity here with the other, get to know a man so beautiful none of his father’s expensive prostitutes even came close to matching him.
“Kim Seokjin,” the other said, breaking the quiet and smiling as he extended a hand, Namjoon not even thinking twice before shaking it. “Nice to meet you Namjoon-ssi.”
Just hearing his name come from those lips was like a dream, tone of Seokjin’s voice like dripping molten metal, somehow sharp and liquid at exactly the same time, a perfect unity of balance. Namjoon couldn’t help but smile back at the other, not wanting to let Seokjin’s hand fall, trying to remember exactly how soft his hands were once the appendage slid from his grip to rest again on the other’s lap. He knew he was already gone for the other, knew that even though they had only just officially met, if Seokjin asked for the world, Namjoon would easily oblige, giving whatever the other wanted in a perfectly gift wrapped box.
“What year are you?” Namjoon asked, curiosity in his mind as he admired the other’s face, the lines that were so defined and perfect.
“I’m in my third year here,” Seokjin responded in a hum, but Namjoon almost missed it with the way he was watching the other’s eyelashes as he blinked, long and pretty and delicate, almost like a doll’s.
Registering the words in his mind, Namjoon felt as though he had achieved something knowing that the other was about a year his senior, finally knowing something other than a name and a face. It made sense that Seokjin was older, his features more defined, no longer possessing the more cushioned look lots of people still had in Namjoon’s class, the chub that people were bound to lose by the following year. Even though he knew the other was now older, Namjoon could hazard a guess that he was taller, even just by an inch, a fact he noticed when he had first walked by the other in the hallway they passed in.
“Ah, so you’re my hyung,” he said easily, words falling off his tongue like butter despite the excitement and nerves in his chest, heart leaping with every pulse.
The rewarding laugh was like magic, and Namjoon was so endeared by the way the other tried to cover up the noise cutting through his giggles, almost alike to the sound the staff at his home made when they washed the windows. It made him feel even more sold, in body and in mind, and he couldn’t bring his eyes away from the upturn of the other’s lips, the way his eyes were squinted in happiness as he smiled.
“I’m sure you of all people don’t have to call me hyung,” Seokjin said with a blush, and it made Namjoon realise the reason for the other’s amused reaction, why he had laughed at such a normal statement.
Despite him wanting to live relatively normally in the school, people still knew who he was, probably recognised him from when he was on television with his father, or from a magazine talking about one of the most successful families in Korea. Namjoon didn’t want Seokjin thinking anything of him or expecting anything of him just because of the pedestal his parents placed him on as their heir, and he wanted to prove he was different from what everyone thought, he wasn’t a stuck-up spoilt teenager guaranteed an easy life.
“What if I want to?” the younger asked, leaning forwards unconsciously, his voice quieter than before.
He had never had experience flirting, if the conversation they were having even fit that description, always kept away from people his parents didn’t deem important, always steered towards young women at parties when his family tried to pair him up, people he didn’t find interesting in the way he needed to want them. This was different, and Namjoon wanted Seokjin to understand that, wanted to make an impression on the elder that he wouldn’t forget.
“Well, I can’t argue against that,” Seokjin replied, and Namjoon felt hope at the teasing smile the other wore, the way his eyes never seemed to leave his own, exploring his soul and noting every detail he could find.
Noticing how long he had been staring, the younger felt a blush building over his cheeks, feeling flushed around his collar as he quickly returned to his book, trying to read a single word when his mind was far too preoccupied with the other person in front of him. Glancing over, he noticed that Seokjin’s cheeks had blossomed into roses, and he was glad the other felt just as overwhelmed as he did, seeming to be trying to find a page in his book. At the angle they were at, Namjoon couldn’t read the cover, but felt intrigued at what the other had chosen to spend his time reading, what might interest him to store the knowledge away for later.
“What are you reading, hyung?” Namjoon asked as soon as he managed to build up the courage to speak again, praying his tongue didn’t become twisted as he spoke.
It seemed to startle the other, but Namjoon had a hunch that Seokjin hadn’t really been paying attention to his book, the way his eyes darted down before rising to meet his own. He blushed again, and Namjoon made note in his head of the fact that red was a good colour on the other, complimented his skin and features like how the stars complimented the moon. With soft fingers, Seokjin left his thumb on the page he was on as he slightly shut the book, turning his attention to the other.
“Ah, it’s not that interesting,” he dismissed, but Namjoon noted the way his eyes fluttered, the way his eyes flickered like they couldn’t decide where to rest.
“No, tell me,” Namjoon insisted, tilting his head to the side. “Please, Seokjin hyung,” he said, trying to make his face look as genuine as he could, putting on what Lee Hyun called his ‘puppy eyes’ whenever he turned the expression on the other.
It seemed to work, Seokjin looking to cave as he watched Namjoon’s face, a small, embarrassed smile on his lips as he turned back to the book on his lap. Ensuring not to lose his page, he closed the cover the best he could with his thumb between the paper, angling it so Namjoon could see. It was in Korean, and Namjoon fleetingly wandered whether Seokjin could speak anymore languages other than their mother tongue, but stored the question for later, curiosity to look forwards to.
“It’s about lying,” the elder informed him, still with a painted tint to his skin. “How to tell if people are lying, how to do it correctly,” he shrugged, and Namjoon felt enraptured with the way he spoke, quickly, perfectly.
The book the other was reading was also just as good as flirty comments to Namjoon’s mind, made him feel just as flustered, just as hot under the collar of his shirt. With a life filled with lessons around things like lying, like manipulation, hearing the other talk about learning a skill Namjoon’s whole family deemed as necessary made his eyes shape into little hearts, pulse racing. Seokjin was amazing, at least in Namjoon’s head, the other knowing everything he needed to survive in the younger’s profession, would be in a rightful place at Namjoon’s side, mind inventing so many situations where he had Seokjin with him when he worked in the future, whispering in his ear when someone told him something other than the truth.
“That’s interesting,” Namjoon said, trying to make his voice sound less like he was saying that just for the other’s sake. “Can I read it after you?”
The question seemed to be one Seokjin hadn’t anticipated, the elder frozen for a second before a smile crept across his lips, fingers rising to tuck some strands of dark hair behind his ear, small earrings glittering in his lobes, what looked like diamonds embedded in silver. Despite the confidence the elder oozed from every inch of his figure, he looked just as flustered as Namjoon felt himself, and Seokjin’s smile morphed into more of a grin as his hands returned back to the book in his lap, toying with the pages between nimble fingertips.
“Only if you tell me what you’re reading, Namjoon-ah” he returned, and the light caught his cheekbones as he tilted his head, looking angelic, looking deadly.
“Old war tactics,” Namjoon said in a breath, angling his own book so that Seokjin could see the cover. “I’m on the segment outlining about Shaka Zulu, how his army would surround the enemy from behind, how their shorter spears were better than the longer ones everyone else was using,” he rambled, and he was sure his cheeks couldn’t become any more red than they were before, Seokjin looking at him with such a soft look, such intrigued eyes, seeming to hang onto every word.
“Hey,” the elder grinned, and Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat. “How did the trident beat the spear?” Seokjin asked, and Namjoon could hear the happy tone clearly saturating his voice, realising the question probably wasn’t one to answer with his extensive knowledge on old weaponry.
“How?” He said instead, watching with fondness as Seokjin laughed to himself quietly for a moment, eyes curved like moons.
“It had two more points!” The elder exclaimed, and there was his laugh again, one that made Namjoon laugh beside him even when the joke wasn’t the funniest he had heard, but the way the other delivered it made it good enough to win an award.
“Oh my God, Seokjin-hyung,” he gasped, finding it hard to breathe when laughter was fighting its way out his throat, curling forwards slightly when his abdomen began to hurt.
After the joke, they both calmed down in their hysterics, and Namjoon tried to return to his book, he tried to, but the elder being close to him was just too distracting, didn’t allow him to focus on a single thing. He found himself reading the same paragraph about then times, not even realising it was the same one until he could recite it by heart, but even then words left him when he stole a glance at Seokjin, who also had turned an unusually small amount of pages in the time they had been quiet.
Namjoon still couldn’t process just how handsome the other was, all his features coming together to create the perfect person, the ideal figure you would see in model runways, in ads about aesthetic success. None of his father or mother had chosen company who looked as beautiful, and those were people that created a living from looking so spell bounding people would pay to have their time, pay to see their faces and interact with them in not so holy ways.
In his head, Namjoon thought over everything he knew about the other, mused over every fact, every implied piece of the puzzle. From the way he talked, moved, Namjoon could tell Seokjin wasn’t just from a normal, working class family. Even the fact he was here, the school, told the younger something about the other, his family, his financial state. This school was one of the best, but one of the most expensive, only the Korean elite sending their children to reside in its halls, the ones who could afford for their offspring to live in the lap of luxury. It wasn’t just that, it was the way Seokjin spoke, his accent, so clean and clear and proper, almost like royalty, the way he had threatened a teacher with his father, that telling of power and influence.
Looking closer, Namjoon could see a ring on the other’s finger, large, silver with a darker top, and he knew it was probably a signet ring, had a sign on it for his family. They were common to see, but Namjoon didn’t wear his often, preferring to fly under the radar if he possibly could, a choice which often didn’t really work out. Moving his book slightly, he tried to catch a better glance, tried to see if he recognised the family the other was from, what type of Kim he was. It made it harder when both their surnames were Korea’s most popular, but the ring may hint to something more, a known family maybe, or at least relation to someone alike.
Even though Korean families never had official crests in the past, it was common in business for signs to emerge, and Namjoon knew his own related to his father’s business, a dragon which was well known to represent them. What Seokjin had outlined in his ring was one Namjoon recognised instantly, a tiger in a stance as though it was running. It was the sign of one of his father’s powerful allies, an old, upper-class known for wealth, the logo painted on technology and products like a brand.
It made something in Namjoon feel even more enamoured to know Seokjin was just like him, on a pedestal from family relations, both from two of the wealthiest families in the country. It eased his mind slightly, because if Seokjin came from such power already, he had nothing to gain from pretending to be Namjoon’s friend, would get nothing out of it he didn’t already have, not like others in the school. In his life, there was always a doubt of how genuine someone was, but this expelled the small voices telling him Seokjin wanted nothing but his status, the elder having no use for it when he had his own.
He must have spent at least almost an hour thinking, turning the pages of his book to try and create a façade of reading it, but not moving his bookmark from the page he first started on, knowing he would have to read everything again. It wasn’t until the librarian was telling them that the library was shutting soon that Namjoon was pulled from his thoughts, nodding when Seokjin thanked the elderly lady before closing his book, pausing for a second before he stood.
Seokjin took a bit longer to do so himself, sliding a leather bookmark with patterns of flowers into the place he read to in the book, closing the pages as he again held the book to his chest. The elder stood, and Namjoon realised he was right, having only about an inch on the other in terms of height, barely noticeable unless you were checking, Namjoon definitely doing so. Despite the height, he was fairly certain Seokjin’s shoulders were broader, waist smaller, and when the other moved Namjoon realised he had probably been staring.
Willing himself not to blush again, he began to walk through the maze of shelves, Seokjin by his side as they made their way slowly to the entrance to the library. Passing a shelf of books about Geography, Namjoon turned his head to see Seokjin doing the same, their eyes meeting in the middle like something out of a movie, both looking away before darting back to the contact. Feeling courage bubbling in his stomach, Namjoon cleared his throat, knuckles gripping his book like a vice.
“Will you be here tomorrow?” He gathered the strength to ask, watching with careful eyes how Seokjin smiled at the question.
“Do you want me to be, Namjoon-ah?” The elder questioned in return, and Namjoon reached into his mind to find the answer he knew he wanted to give.
Attachments were dangerous. It was a lesson he had been taught by his parents very early on in his life, when the staff that had practically raised him all lost their jobs as soon as he turned thirteen, the only one life being Lee Hyun who stepped up to fulfilling all the other absent jobs left. Despite begging his parents, Namjoon lost most of the people he cared about most, all because his parents no longer deemed them as necessary, viewing a teenager as not needing so many people to care for him anymore. Even though that was true, it broke Namjoon’s heart to watch the people he considered family take all their belongings and leave their home, never to return as long as his parents had a say in the matter.
Attachments were dangerous, but Namjoon wanted to keep Seokjin in his life, no matter the cost it brought him. He didn’t think he had ever felt as strongly towards someone as he did towards the elder, not his parents, maybe Lee Hyun but even then he knew the other really originally worked for his father, not Namjoon, a fact he could understand considering the other’s job. Seokjin was his, wasn’t someone hired for convenience, wasn’t with him because his parents tried to force him to find a wife, find someone to take as a partner and make an heir. He knew he could never do that, never do what his parents wanted him to, but this was close enough, Seokjin was perfectly enough for Namjoon to feel as though he had done what he wanted to do.
“Yeah,” he finally answered, so sure of his decision not a doubt remained in his head. “I do,” he smiled, and Seokjin sent one back, the exchange making Namjoon’s heart flutter.
“Then I’ll be here tomorrow,” the elder responded, the assurance making Namjoon feel warm inside, the fact the other wanted to spend just as much time with him as he did.
Even though there was no doubt in Namjoon that he definitely wanted to see the other again, there was doubt surrounding other matters in his mind. Attachments were dangerous, and that was because his whole life was dangerous, his eventual fate placing him in the direct line of fire for so many people in the world. As much as his parents had done things for him that were questionable, one thing he was thankful for was that nothing was sugar-coated. His father had told him from the moment he could remember that he was dangerous, that his life would be dangerous, that he could do nothing to escape it when everyone was already so aware of his existence, destined to live a life of violence, loss.
Seokjin was perfect, so perfect in every part of the world, and it made something guilty fester in Namjoon’s gut, the thought he was endangering the elder just because he thought he was handsome, craved his company. It was selfish, but Namjoon wanted the other by his side despite the danger, despite the fact they could never really be together while his parents still lived, not when his father wouldn’t think twice at killing Seokjin because he was deemed as inconvenient, no sort of power from the other’s family able to stop it.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” Namjoon wondered aloud, the halves of his heart begging for opposing answers, pleading for poles of the same words.
“Not really,” Seokjin shrugged, eyes darting to the floor as they turned round a corner of a corridor, before they rose again to meet the younger’s. “Everyone here is the same,” he laughed humorously, face so open Namjoon felt as though he could read every emotion. “If you have money they like you, if you don’t, you’re nothing.”
The words were so true, lined up perfectly with Namjoon’s own experiences, and he felt as though he understood Seokjin like he understood himself. He felt so lonely here, with people who only cared for their own status, the perks Namjoon could bring them though money, through respect. Everyone was the same, everyone but Seokjin, someone who understood, someone who was suffering the same thing, was probably the main attraction for everyone else before Namjoon arrived and unknowingly took the top spot.
“Do you like me for my money, hyung?” Namjoon teased in an attempt to lighten the mood, and he was overjoyed to be rewarded with a smile, chest filled with helium, floating like a balloon at the other’s happiness.
“Totally, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Can’t you see that I’d be the perfect trophy husband?” He asked, and just those words made Namjoon feel even more strongly, imagining Seokjin as his, only his, by his side and looking as handsome as he did just then.
When Namjoon thought of his future, he always pictured the same thing, the same sad image that almost haunted him. It was a lonely man in an office, someone surrounded by nothing but work, nothing but emptiness, a glass of alcohol, whiskey or brandy, clutched in his hand as the only source of anything alike to joy. It was a sad reality, but it was one Namjoon had grown familiar with, the fact he could never find love when his parents didn’t understand he couldn’t do what they wanted, couldn’t give what they asked for out of himself. When he pictured his future now, he imagines the same office, but with Seokjin right by his side, sharing a bottle of wine, exchanging loving words, loving actions.
“You are really handsome,” Namjoon told the other, bringing another blush to his face, eyes darting around their surroundings in embarrassment.
“Ah, thank you…” Seokjin responded quietly, a shy smile on his lips, and Namjoon didn’t understand how someone so good looking doubted it, how Seokjin didn’t see the lines of his face, the way he had no flaws.
“Don’t you think hyung?” He asked with a small frown, watching Seokjin look away again, Namjoon so tempted to reach for his hand to grasp his full attention.
Seemingly gone was the confidence Seokjin possessed in bounds and bucket loads when they had been talking earlier, and Namjoon was confused as to how the elder could possibly not realise how truly amazing he looked, like a painting by a famous artist, or an ancient Greek sculptor creating masterpieces out of flawless marble. Things that would look misplaced on someone else, plump lips, narrow eyes, slightly upturned nose, all looked like the perfect pieces of a puzzle on Seokjin’s own face, and Namjoon couldn’t believe the other didn’t see it.
“I’m not as handsome as you,” Seokjin murmured quietly, faltering in his steps as they passed through a set of doors, Namjoon holding a side open for the elder to pass through.
They had barely just met, Namjoon knew that, was well aware he barely knew the other, but watching the smile on Seokjin’s face as he thanked Namjoon for opening the door for him made something bold bubble in his stomach. He wanted Seokjin to know how good looking he was, wanted him to understand just how perfect his appearance was, regal, heavenly, otherworldly, and Namjoon wanted to be the one to tell him, be the one to summon back the flush of his cheeks, the red stain that looked so pretty on his skin.
“You’re better than me,” Namjoon practically scoffed, eyes watching the other’s expression. “Your face is like a god’s,” he laughed, and Seokjin had a small embarrassed smile, as though he wasn’t used to the compliments he was being given.
“Ah, Namjoon-ah,” he mumbled, but Namjoon refused to let the other say a single bad word against himself, not when Namjoon was sure Seokjin was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life.
“I swear, hyung,” Namjoon promised, nodding along to his own words with conviction. “There is only a certain finite number of ways atoms can change and genetics can differ, and I’m sure you’re the ultimate being,” he confessed, and he was surprised with himself at the confidence he felt in the statement he was saying, his normally fumbling tongue giving way to the things he wanted to tell the other over and over again.
“Aren’t you a sweet talker?” Seokjin said, still flustered but with a smile on his face, and Namjoon was relived he hadn’t unknowingly overstepped a boundary because of his lack of past interaction.
The worst thing he could imagine was ruining this somehow, a dynamic they had developed after just a few hours together, all because he had missed out on the experience he needed to really talk to people. His father had made him learn to speak for business, as a representative of his company, to the media and reporters. Namjoon had never been given a real opportunity to flourish around people his age, people he might want to be friends with, people he might want to feel more for, and it made all of this new, him wishing he didn’t do anything wrong.
“Just wait, you’ll see that I’m the sweetest,” Namjoon grinned, eyes not leaving the other as they turned another corner, something he realised was a mistake.
He was self-aware about how clumsy he was, and he should have known better than to not look at where he was walking, feet moving too fast for his mind to process. The stairs caught him off guard, the ones Namjoon was well aware were exactly there and lead up to the dorm rooms, and it made him trip over his feet, stumbling and having to catch himself with a startled hand on the wall. He didn’t think he had ever been more embarrassed, standing up back in the right posture, Seokjin trying not to smile and find humour in the way Namjoon was pulling himself up again.
“You really are something, Kim Namjoon,” Seokjin finally laughed, shaking his head as Namjoon blushed, continuing to walk quickly and forget what had just happened.
He eventually slowed, Seokjin still quietly laughing as they continued to walk, and Namjoon was very careful to look at where he was going as they approached another flight of stairs, the final ones they would climb. They walked in silence, but it didn’t feel awkward, rather it was the opposite. Namjoon didn’t feel like he had ever been more comfortable when next to someone and not talking, not with his parents, not even with Lee Hyun, or the rest of the staff he had gotten to know at his house. It saddened him when they reached a very familiar corridor, Namjoon knowing they would have to part.
“This is my dorm,” Namjoon said as he stopped in front of his door, smile lessening at the idea of leaving the elder, all because of a reinforced curfew which would be called any moment by a bell.
“Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Seokjin shyly smiled, and suddenly leaving the other didn’t seem too dreadful of a feat, knowing he would see the other in less than twenty four hours.
“Bye hyung,” Namjoon told the other, reaching his hand behind himself to turn his doorknob, not wanting to look away when the other was still right in front of him.
“Goodnight Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin bid, and they tried to keep eye contact for as long as they could as the elder walked further down the corridor, finally passing a corner so Namjoon could no longer see him at all.
Namjoon didn’t stop thinking of Seokjin the whole night once he entered his room and shut the door, couldn’t stop picturing his face the whole of the next day until they saw one another in the library again, exchanging more words with one another in their little corner, building a bubble with their own world inside. Over time, he learned more and more about the elder, his favourite things, his peeves, his fears, how he liked to be held, how he liked to be kissed. That next Valentines’ day, Namjoon gifted him a silver bracelet with little charms across the chain, and Seokjin gave him an original version of the Lord of the Rings, with J. R. R. Tolkien’s signature in the first pages, the cover in perfect condition.
That summer, Namjoon stole away from the house to visit the other, telling his father it was for business, getting permission and then using the time to do nothing but share the days with Seokjin, kiss him and cover him with so much love it left them both breathless. His parents had no clue, didn’t suspect a thing, and didn’t know the reason Namjoon was away years later when they were murdered, their son at his lover’s house, sharing sweet words and sweet actions. Seokjin dressed in black beside him, clutched his hand at the funeral, but Namjoon didn’t shed tears at the loss, shoulders feeling lighter than ever despite the fact he was an orphan, about to inherit a burden, knowing he could finally have the man by his side in every way, not have to hide him from hostile eyes.
Building an empire was so much easier with Seokjin by his side, supporting him, and the mark they left on their world of business was like no other, taking over power like they were born for the purpose, and in some way they were, Namjoon aware from the moment he could remember that he was destined to fill this role he now owned. People knew their names across the globe, not just in Korea, or Japan, or the continent of Asia, their influence growing and growing with nothing to stop them, nothing changing until they found a boy huddled into himself outside a restaurant, with eyes so lonely they reminded Namjoon of himself.