Work Text:
“...This supports the idea that, in the process of consuming ideas presented by media, modern human is losing their ability to understand the essence of love and, therefore, is incapable of such feeling.”
Namjoon pressed cool fingertips to his eyelids, trying to calm the burning feeling.
It was way past two o’clock, possibly even three; he hadn't checked the clock for quite a while now, but dormitory was too quiet for anything less than two, even Jungkook was already sniffing into the pillow on his side of the room. The lights behind the window had dimmed, too, as the night tucked the city under its dark blanket. Namjoon wouldn't mind being tucked in bed, but – he sighed and fought an urge to check the whole essay for the fourth time.
He liked philosophy, he liked Professor Jung. He didn’t particularly like the subject he was given – but it was interesting to read Ancient Greek philosophers’ texts and filter them through the views of 21st century. He chose Philosophy as his minor for a reason.
“Historically, in the Western tradition, Plato’s Symposium presents the initiating text, for it provides us with an enormously influential and attractive notion that love is characterized by a series of elevations, in which animalistic desire or base lust is superseded by a more intellectual conception of love which also is surpassed by what may be construed by a theological vision of love that transcends sensual attraction and mutuality.”
A chirping sound broke the silence as his mouse already hovered over “Send”, and the dark rectangle of his phone lit up next to an empty cup of coffee. Short vibration came from Jungkook’s table as well – group chat. Namjoon pondered for a second what to do first, and then let go of the mouse in favor of reaching for the phone. Maybe, it was something important. Maybe, one of his friends needed help. Maybe…
minnie: y’all are boring af
Nah. Everything was as usual. Maybe, he should've finally muted it.
minnie: can’t believe im here alone
minnie: and all of you, heartless bitches
minnie: didn’t even call
minnie: to check up on me
minnie: im done w yall
namu: you’re drunk
namu: go home
minnie: no!!
minnie: so u syddenly care?
kween: he’s right, jiminie
kween: where are you?
minnie: i wont tell u
minnie: in car
kween: what car?
namu: Jimin, where are you??
minnie: so u care
kween: ofc we care
kween: yoongi woke up btw
poongi: park jimin, you better have an explanation
minnie: :/
poongi: where are you?
minnie: in taxi
poongi: where are you going?
minnie: home
kween: …
namu: …
poongi: wtf
Rustle came through the string of vibrations, groggy “Wh’s goin’n?” perfectly fitting the atmosphere of the room.
Namjoon didn’t look up from the screen, only hummed through fingers mindlessly nipping his lips. “Jimin is drunk.”
poongi: and that’s why you woke us up?
minnie: no
minnie: yes
minnie: idk i was bored and saw joonie online
namu: …
poongi: you could dm him instead?
minnie: or wake you all up :D
bunny: yeah thanks for that
minnie: :DD
poongi: i’m off
minnie: D:
minnie: i just missed you come on
bunny: we saw each other yesterday…
minnie: me and you
minnie: not everyone
minnie: can we meet up or sumn?
bunny: sure
minnie: not me and you
minnie: EVRYONE
kween: yoongi said u can come to our place tmr
minnie: REALY??
kween: well, no
kween: but i’ll talk to him in the morning ;)
minnie: THAT GRETAT
minnie: CAN WE ALL MREET TOMORRWO?
bunny: yeah i’m free
minnie: NAMJOOONIEEEI
namu: not sure i’ll try
namu: also turn off caps
namu: autocorrect stopped working
minnie: SRRY
minnie: sorry
minnie: but you will come or im dragging you?
namu: ‘d like to see
bunny: i’ll help :D
kween: joon you don’t want to see us? :(
namu: not sure
namu: but i’ll try
kween: :)
minnie: YAAYYUY
minnie: LSO IM HOME
minnie: ING SLEEP
minnie: BYE
kween: kids these days
kween: night
namu: sweet dreams
kween: are made of this ~
bunny: night
He stared at the conversation for a few seconds more, green dots of his friends’ bubbles going off one by one, before blocking the phone and turning back to the laptop. The screen was already black, the system getting ready to drift off as well. Little blurred dot of Jungkook’s still lit-up phone played on the dark surface, and a quiet chuckle came from his bed.
Namjoon swallowed the uncertain feeling in his chest and moved the mouse, waking the laptop up. The unsent e-mail winked at him from the drafts. By the time he checked everything once again and, finally, pressed the Send button, Jungkook already snuggled under his blanket again, squinted eyes following his roommate in the light of the lamp.
“Why are you up so late?”
“Finishing the essay.”
Namjoon moved in familiar pattern over the room: turn off the laptop on the desk, drop t-shirt on the chair, change into pajama pants near the closet, come back to the desk to switch the lamp off, and, finally, stumble towards the bed, still feeling dark doe eyes on him.
“You need to sleep more, hyung. You don’t care about yourself at all.”
“Thanks, Kookie, I’ll think about it. Night.”
“…Good night, hyung.”
“In Plato‘s writings, eros is held to be a common desire that seeks transcendental beauty – the particular beauty of an individual reminds us of true beauty that exists in the world of Forms or Ideas. The Platonic-Socratic position maintains that the love we generate for beauty on this earth can never be truly satisfied until we die; but in the meantime we should aspire beyond the particular stimulating image in front of us to the contemplation of beauty in itself.”
“Namjoon-ssi, can you stay for a minute?”
“Of course, Professor Jung.”
While the rest of his classmates poured out of the lecture hall, chattering and sending goodbyes to the lecturer, Namjoon turned in the opposite direction and bounced up a two step leading to professor’s desk.
“Just a second.” The man sent him one of his famous, bright smiles while taking off the mic. “I need a sip of water if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all." Namjoon smiled back and nodded, watching professor Jung stroll to the desk and grab a bottle while waving at the last students leaving the room.
Jung Hoseok was Namjoon’s favorite professor; well, Jung Hoseok was almost everyone’s favorite professor. There were students in the Philosophy department, lots and lots of students, that applied to the university only for his lectures. He was magnetic, both for his students and his colleagues. His smiles charmed the heck out of girls (and some boys), his knowledge and experience made him one of the most respectful professors (both inside and outside of classes), and his passion lit up the most bored and far from philosophy students.
Yeah, he was Namjoon’s favorite professor for sure – and being one of Jung’s favorite students was one of the biggest achievements of his life.
A few seconds after the last students came out of the door, a couple of girls talking about the nearing summer vacation, the professor cleared his throat and took one of the papers from the desk. “Alright, so, I've read your essay, Namjoon-ssi.”
“But I sent it in the middle of the night." Namjoon couldn’t stop his eyebrows from rising in surprise and confusion – today wasn’t even the deadline, why would..?
“I had nothing to do for morning coffee." Jung sent him another smile, this time almost apologetic, like he could ever be blamed for anything.
17 pages. Morning coffee. Okay.
Namjoon frowned, feeling his guts tightening in anxiety – damn, should’ve checked that fourth time – and asked cautiously, “Is there something wrong with it, professor?”
“No, not at all,” he repeated the student’s phrase with a smile and turned back to the pages in his hands. “Actually, I really like it. You read Plato’s Symposium yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yes, at the end of last semester.”
Professor Jung hummed with approval, “Good, very good. You talk about philia, mention agape, but mostly focus on eros, well, understandable for a man your age,” the man sent him another smile over the glasses, as if checking if the joke was okay between them – Namjoon met it with a nod and a chuckle – and went back to the essay. He was quiet for a few more seconds, turning pages, eyes skimming through lines, until his fingers reached the final two.
“Now, you finish your work with quite a pessimistic view.”
“I wouldn’t agree with you on that, professor.”
The man let out a short laugh and looked up for a second, his long fingers straightening pages. “No, no, I mean it in a broader sense, let’s leave the discussion on pessimism for another day, Namjoon-ssi, and focus on the theme of love. You state that it’s dead, right?”
Suddenly, he felt nervous, gaze lowering to focus on the desk. “In the modern society, yes.”
Jung hummed again. “And that is your conclusion?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then explain to me why you think so.”
Namjoon frowned and looked up at him again, unsure if he heard it right, “But it’s there, in the essay, professor,” and was met with an almost amused smirk.
“Namjoon-ssi, I’ve been teaching you for almost a year, you should know what I mean by now. This essay,” he tapped the paper with his finger, “is based on ideas of Greek philosophers and scattered with quotes and references. But I want to hear your opinion. Explain it to me like you would to any of your friends.”
Fuck.
Namjoon swallowed, feeling warmth creeping up the back of his neck. His thoughts unintentionally darted to the essay in the man’s hands, trying to remember the arguments like it was an exam.
“Take your time, Namjoon-ssi, you can come back later if you’re busy now.” Professor Jung placed the paper on the desk and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ve graded the work already, your answer won’t affect it. I’d just like to hear your thoughts.”
“No, no, I’m not, I’m not busy now.” Namjoon fidgeted, looking at the trace of sun on the desk and collecting his thoughts again. Why exactly love was something he didn't believe in anymore?
Long forgotten pain pinched him from inside.
“We, as, um, as people living in 21st century, are well-known for our consumerism. We tend to want more, receive more, and then want more again, in both physical and non-physical spheres. I don’t remember last time I spent a week without reading or watching something, talking to my friends or scrolling through social media. We consume feelings every day, more than ever before, and, just as physical objects, they lose their values.” Namjoon sent a quick glance the other’s way – Jung nodded, his serious, professional look back – and licked his lips, wondering where he should lead the words.
“But love, as any other feeling, cannot be treated like this, or it isn’t love anymore. Comparing it with Plato’s idea of eros, with eternal seeking for the Beauty, the Ideal, does an average person even has enough time to think about it? While looking at the pictures, no matter how beautiful, that are sweeping on the screen, or while texting a person without even seeing them behind printed letters? Loving someone is finding the truth of the world, bit by bit, with every minute spent with this person, but what couples do nowadays? Watch movies, go for walks, have sex, and yes, not everyone is like that, but this is typical, and what trace of ideal beauty lies in that? There is no love, professor, we failed in keeping it inside us.”
Namjoon slowly breathed in and out, hesitant to say anything and just nervously chewing on his lips, gaze darting to the man in front of him. Was it too much? Too emotional? Too personal? Well, he just repeated what he wrote there, just in his own words, so it must be okay… right?
Professor Jung hummed, turning back to the desk to start collecting papers, the usual look of thoughtfulness taking over his features.
“I’m not going to point an obvious weakness there, which is ignoring all other aspects of love, including the ones Plato used in his own theories, because the main theme of your essay was, indeed, eros. But don’t you think that the idea of platonic love, as we call it now, is still persistent in our world but under different name? We label it as friendship rather than love, as we still see the latter, in its most popular sense, as relationships based on or at least including sexual attraction.”
The trace of sunlight flickered on the table, professor’s hand disturbing its peace. Namjoon swallowed, suddenly weak in his knees, staring at the wooden surface and hearing his heart beating clearly in his chest.
“I don’t… I think for the sake of this discussion, then, we have to define what love is.”
He heard a short exhale, another hum or maybe a smirk this time – Namjoon still wasn’t looking up from the desk – and the sound of the bag snapping shut. “You defined it in your essay, Namjoon-ssi, or rather eros, not love, but that’s what we are talking about.”
“Then what you’re trying to say, professor, is that the definitions of love and friendship overlapped and evolved with time?”
“That part is obvious, Namjoon-ssi, language evolves every day.” The sound of steps made him finally turn, professor not looking at him either, but, in contrast to the student, the expression on his face was calm and thoughtful. “What I’m trying to say is that your statement was too categorical. Feelings don’t die, they evolve hand in hand with humanity, and what Plato once called love may be seen differently in 12th century, 21st or 25th.”
They went to the doorway, professor Jung lingering for a second to throw a quick look at the room and turn the switch next to the door off. All lights in the lecture hall went out, and Jung followed his student outside.
“I only hope that you don’t carry that sort of mindset outside of these walls.” The man made a circling motion with his head, pointing at the walls around them with his chin. “As your philosophy professor, I encourage you to use the knowledge you obtain in classes outside of them – but as a person, I’d ask you to focus on your life instead of those who lived before you. You’re still young, Namjoon-ssi – well, we both are,” professor Jung gave him another bright smile, “there’s a lot for you to experience and think through. Be open.”
“Thank you, professor.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to the figure fidgeting behind the man’s back. “I’ll remember your words.”
“Alright. And if you'll be willing to continue this discussion, send me an e-mail or stop by my office when you’re free.”
Namjoon nodded in response to his warm smile. “Thank you. Good bye, professor.”
“Bye-bye, Namjoon-ssi. Oh, hello.”
“Hello, professor.” Jimin politely smiled despite being almost knocked over by the man. They nodded at each other with apologetic smiles before moving in opposite directions.
“Hey, who’s this?” Jimin threw a quick glance back, at the tall figure in tight pants and white shirt, before turning back to his friend. “Never thought we have actually hot professors here.”
“Jung Hoseok, and hey there too.”
“Oh, I heard about him!” Jimin turned around once more, looking down the already empty hallway, and then back to the direction they were going – outside, of course. “Maybe, I should stop by his office, too.”
Namjoon hummed, mind still busy with the recent conversation, catching up with the other’s words only a few seconds later.
“I thought you and Jungkook were dating?”
Jimin’s bemused expression didn’t even need any comments. “No, we are not, I told him already, I’m not… I… It’s complicated, okay?” He huffed, frowning and pouting, an adorable expression on adorable face. “Wait, did he tell you we are dating?”
“Not really, but I heard him talking about a month's anniversary or something…” His speech trailed off as soon as desperation came over Jimin’s face.
“Oh god, that’s exactly why we are not dating! I’ll talk to him.”
They left the building, breathing in the first touch of fresh air. It was beginning of May, trees and flowers blooming all around them. Their campus was filled with greenery, and now it was showing itself in full beauty, distracting from boring classes and days in the library, warm weather increasing the effect tenfold. Students were scattered all over the lawn, mostly hiding in small companies under trees, skimming through books or just enjoying the approaching spring evening. Some even took a step further and lay on the blankets under direct sunlight, clearly not engaged in any kind of studying.
“So, are we going to talk about your professor flirting with you, or..?”
Namjoon almost choked on air, sucked in a breath, and swallowed before turning to Jimin with wide eyes, “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about, hyung.” But his best friend only gave him pursed lips and an unimpressed look.
“No, I really, really don’t.”
Jimin frowned and even stopped in the middle of the path leading to the dorms, scanned Namjoon's face, before sighing and nodding to continue their walk. “Alright, I’m gonna break it down to you – he was flirting.”
“No, he wasn’t, professor Jung would never do such thing,”
Jimin only quirked an eyebrow at his mumbling. “Asking you to stop by his office 'when you’re free'? Really, hyung?”
Namjoon scoffed, even feeling a sense of relief, because if that was something Jimin caught, then he was surely wrong, because, “There’s nothing special about it, everyone knows his office is always open for students.”
Jimin only sighed in return. “Hyung, you need to learn something about proper relationships, it’s been too long since you…” His voice awkwardly trailed off, eyes darting to Namjoon – he didn’t look back, staring at the ground under their moving feet – before returning to the dog playing in the distance. “You need to learn how to flirt – or,” as soon as Namjoon opened his mouth, he interrupted, ”how to recognize flirt. This is painful to watch, honestly.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“Hyung, come on.”
“Thank you, Jimin-ah, I’m fine,” he repeated with more pressure, indicating that discussion was not an option here.
Jimin only sighed, probably pouting again, then a couple of seconds later asked in a more serious tone, “But you’re coming tonight, right?”
Like he even had a choice.
“Yeah, I am.”
“The implication of the Platonic theory of eros is that ideal beauty, which is reflected in the particular images of beauty we find, becomes interchangeable across people and things, ideas, and art: to love is to love the Platonic form of beauty – not a particular individual, but the element they possess of true (Ideal) beauty. Reciprocity is not necessary to Plato’s view of love, for the desire is for the object (of Beauty), than for, say, the company of another and shared values and pursuits.”
“…and then the girl grabs my hand, pulls a marker from under the bar and writes a number right on my fucking palm!”
Jimin looked around with an offended look in his eyes – Seokjin was the only one to give him a proper reaction, giggling and shaking his head. His boyfriend smirked, but in an almost mocking way, squinting at Jimin from the couch. “So, you didn’t like her?”
This time Namjoon chuckled, too, watching the expression of offense on his friend’s face disappear, replaced by bemused look directed back at Yoongi. “Very funny, hyung.”
“Maybe if she had a dick.” Seokjin shrugged and winked at Jimin before reaching for his bottle of bear. “Anyway, aren’t you two dating?”
Namjoon quietly snorted.
Jungkook, who had been quietly staring at his bottle and sending quick glances at his, supposedly, boyfriend, startled at the question. Everyone turned to him and then back to Jimin, who stared at Seokjin and tried to say something telepathically – probably a list of curses – while the receiver looked utterly unbothered by the murderous look and only sent a sweet smile back.
“It’s complicated, hyung.”
“Relationships? Oh, you bet.”
Yoongi’s hand, the one habitually lying on Seokjin’s thigh, pinched through the sweatpants, and its owner turned to him with an offended look. “What are you trying to say here, Seokjin-ssi?”
“Nothing, Yoongi-ssi, only that it is hell being with you, and I have no idea how I ended up in such pitiful situation.”
“It’s because I’m such a sweetheart, aren’t I, Seokjin-ssi?”
They both smirked, staring at each other, some sort of intimacy happening in front of their friends’ eyes – Namjoon wasn’t looking, but he still heard it in their voices, eyes blankly following his thumb running over the sticker on his bottle of beer. When Namjoon looked up a second later, their fingers were already interlaced in the same place Yoongi’s palm had been lonely lying seconds ago.
Namjoon took another sip of alcohol. He shouldn’t have come.
“Anyway,” Jimin cleared his throat and went back to the story, “I danced more, drank more, got almost caught by a guy and then went home, because lecture – you know about that new regulation?”
“No running late?” Namjoon looked up, and Jimin confirmed with a nod.
“No running late. Can you imagine that?”
“Wait, what does it mean?” Seokjin looked between them in confusion.
“It means if you are late for more than 15 minutes, professors have a right to not let you in.”
Seokjin glanced at Yoongi, even more confusion on their faces, before turning back to Namjoon. “But it was always a thing.”
“Yeah, but now it’s official.” Namjoon shrugged and looked away as soon as possible, eyes finding Jungkook before moving to Jimin. “But nothing’s changed in our department, I don’t know, professors just don’t care.”
“Well, then linguists are softer than lawyers, what can I say,” Jimin grunted, waving his hand in annoyance, and turned to Jungkook with an almost challenging look in his eyes. “What about designers?”
“It depends.” The younger boy shrugged, looking between them. “But professors always warn us if someone’s not okay with being late, so…”
Jimin let out a frustrated huff and crossed arms on his chest, making everyone exchange small smiles at the sight of plushy ball pouting and looking all angry.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin started sweetly, still smiling, and moved forward to try and reach the boy.
Everyone knew Jimin was sensitive when it came to studies. When asked how it was going, he could always find a thing to complain about, be that professors, class rooms, subjects, or essays.
Everyone knew Jimin hated his specialty, going nuts before the end of every semester, threatening to drop out of university and live on the streets, 'anything but these fucking paragraphs and regulations'. Still, he studied at the very last moment, passed every session, and then stayed in his dancing studio for days to let the frustration out.
Everyone knew Jimin was persuaded into pursuing a career that fit his family desires, and it forced him to work hard for the grades while hating every second of it.
“Yeah, sure, Namjoonie-hyung has professors flirting with him while mine don’t even remember my name.” Jimin pursed his lips for a couple more seconds before letting out a sigh and waving his hands. “Anyway, let’s move on.”
“Yeah, I agree, let’s move on,” Seokjin quickly complied, even nodding to confirm, and immediately turned to Namjoon, eyes glowing with curiosity, “so, flirting with professors, huh? You are a hell of a naughty boy, Joon-ah.”
Namjoon swallowed nervously, fingers squeezing the bottle from sudden attention, sent a quick accusing glare Jimin’s way – his friend only shrugged innocently in return – and went back to staring at his own fingers. “That’s not… I… He was not flirting, we were just talking about my essay.”
“Wait, the one you were writing last night?” Jungkook tilted his head, now also interested in the subject of the conversation which was, apparently, teasing Namjoon.
“Yeah.”
“At 3 am?” Yoongi also decided to join.
“Yes.” Namjoon let out a shaky breath, anxiety growing tenfold under four pairs of eyes. He only hoped they wouldn't ask…
“What kind of essay needs flirting to discuss?” Seokjin’s voice was teasing but still soft, in a special way that only he could pull off. Namjoon's heart was beating in his throat.
He licked his lips, trying to put thoughts in any kind of order, warmth spreading up the back of his neck, and mumbled, “It’s about, um, love.”
Two chuckles reached him simultaneously, one from Jimin, the other from Yoongi, who raised his voice to ask playfully, “So, he wanted to teach you?”
This time laughter came from all directions, even Namjoon himself smirking nervously through the lump in his throat. Better to laugh it off, better to leave this conversation altogether.
As if hearing his thoughts, Jimin shifted, crossing his legs, and declared in an almost accusatory tone, “Also, he is hot.”
“Wait, what’s his name?” Seokjin fidgeted impatiently – Namjoon didn’t have to look up to know the expression on his face, sparkles of curiosity, one corner of plush lips raised in a gentle smile, fingers tapping on his own knee. The image hurt a bit, details remembered through mind rather than eyes, but he was used to it. He was used to pain.
“Jung? I think so? Namjoonie-hyung?”
He had to raise his head, out of pure politeness at least, and look at Jimin. “Yeah.”
“Oh wow, Joonie, seriously?” Seokjin even clapped in excitement, nudging his boyfriend to share the feeling – Yoongi silently looked back in confusion – and turned to Namjoon again, smiling widely. Not sparkles, fireworks danced in his eyes, eyebrows raised in expression of joy, and god, it hurt.
“You know him, hyung?”
Fuck, now he couldn’t take his eyes off Seokjin, gaze clinging onto familiar features, mind taking in every detail that went unnoticed in fleeting glances. His heart sang to share the happiness of the one it belonged to, making Namjoon smile without a thought. It was a second without pain. Just one second.
“Of course, he was reading lectures on social structure of Ancient Greece, you remember him?” He nudged Yoongi again with an elbow, and Yoongi groaned in return, trying to escape the tiny punches and show his sarcastic look at the same time.
“Is this the one that I was supposed not to care about after you chirping about him for hours? The one that is, supposedly, not gay despite studying gay philosophers for half of his life? Yeah, not sure if I remember him.”
Seokjin made a face, rolling eyes and pursing lips in annoyance, before turning back to Namjoon with his previous smile. “How is Professor Jung? Tell him Seokjinnie said hi!”
“You think he remembers you, hyung?” Jungkook asked with a chuckle, passing a pack of chips to Namjoon.
“How dare you claim anyone can forget me?” Seokjin looked at him with such strong indignation and disbelief that both Jungkook and Jimin burst out laughing, unconsciously leaning into each other’s direction.
Namjoon’s gaze lingered on them for a few more seconds, on quick glances they were giving each other, smiling when their eyes met, glowing warmth directed to another person. Everything might’ve been complicated, but it looked like they’d deal with it just fine.
The thought went deeper into Namjoon, though, pulling out some of his old fantasies, long forgotten desires. Maybe, it was hours spent on the essay, maybe, it was the conversation with professor, maybe, it was the glow in the eyes looking at him, but his heart started slowly running out of sedative.
He had to excuse himself in a minute and search for another bottle of beer or, ideally, soju in the kitchen.
“Socrates presents the lover’s eros as being the result also of the incompleteness of the self, its longing, and the effect of that longing in desiring the beloved. In Socrates’ account, a self-aware lover sees in his beloved more than a set of qualities if he understands his own eros properly. He sees in his beloved the beloved’s qualities, but also something about himself, and something about what the lover and beloved might make or do together."
Loud knock woke him up, instantly, with sharp inhale and eyes flying open.
The bedroom was dark, only the button of the laptop silently staring at him, an artificial star of the artificial night. Namjoon sighed loudly and closed his eyes again, turning on the side, wondering what exactly pulled him out of the dream, when the knock repeated itself, this time quieter but still easily heard through the tiny apartment.
He frowned and squinted. What the fuck?
Rustle came from somewhere outside – and then thunder cut through the peace of the room. His phone on the bedtable lit up, vibration increased tenfold thanks to the cup next to it, sound reverberating through its empty insides. Namjoon sighed again and sat up, with a weird feeling that he wouldn't come back to sleep for a while. He rubbed his eyes and picked up the phone in the middle of lazy brooding.
“Yes?” His voice was low and groggy, dry throat resisting the words.
“Namjoon-ah?”
The moment he heard his own name, stretched out and filled with unspoken request, his heart jumped up, trying to claw through his throat, chest suddenly too small to keep it inside. He tried to swallow it down – didn’t work – and blinked to clear the vision.
“Hyung?”
“Joon-ah, let me in?”
Like anything could ever stop him from reaching deeper.
Seokjin was sitting on the floor right outside his front door, legs stretched out, back pressed to the wall, head snapped backwards – his eyes opened in sync with the door, staring up at Namjoon with a wide, drunk, peaceful smile. Pink shirt peeked through his thin jacket – despite summer still technically owning the party, the weather was already trying its autumn outfits on, warm rains and clouds passing over the city. A wet umbrella lay on his thigh, jeans already soaked under it. There was no alcohol in his hands, not even a bag or backpack to carry a bottle, but it was seeping through slow blinking and stumbling speech, pink cheeks and unfocused movements.
All of a sudden, a wave of fear rushed over Namjoon.
“Hey! Oh, sorry, shh.” Seokjin interrupted himself to press index finger against smiling lips and repeated, this time in whisper, “Hey, Joonie, sweet Joonie, sorry for, you know, the mess and all…”
He tried to stand up but only stumbled, leaning to the side, hand flying up to find support – Namjoon caught him by the wrist and stabilized, mumbled thanks coming in reply.
“Why are you here? Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”
“Who? He’s not a hyung, don’t call him hyung.” Seokjin suddenly frowned, leaning on the doorframe, eyes blinking hard to focus. The corners of his lips turned down for a second before flying up again, a chuckle escaping them, eyes lighting as he looked up at Namjoon. “Forget about him, he doesn’t matter, Joon-ah, doesn’t matter, it’s only you and me here, he doesn’t matter.”
Fear was growing. Its claws dug into Namjoon’s guts, tail squeezed his throat, heart, terrified, tried to escape through the cage of his ribs. He closed the door with trembling fingers. Dim feeling that it was a wrong decision flashed through him – but it was too late.
“I haven’t been here in so long! Since you rented it, right?”
Namjoon hummed in agreement, watching him carefully.
After stumbling over his own converses and dropping the jacket under the door, Seokjin went on to explore the apartment. He picked up one of the plushie pillows from the couch and went on a round-trip around the living room, holding it close. He swayed with every step – but not enough for Namjoon to try to hold him – and hummed a melody under his nose, squinting at the plants scattered all over the room.
“Do you want water?”
“Sure.” Seokjin sent him a wide smile and went back to rummaging through papers on the table, hand still pressing grey pillow to his stomach.
Before coming back, Namjoon drank half a glass himself, blinking through dim light above the stove and trying to figure out what to do. It wasn’t anything bad; his friend got drunk, his friend came to one of his friends drunk, that was all. Heck, it was even better than Seokjin walking along the streets on his own, with an open jacket and open collarbones, sending smiles to every stranger. It wasn’t anything bad, he just had to find a place for Seokjin to sleep and make sure he did so, slept through the rest of the night that is, and then, in the morning, everything would be okay again, simple and not scary. It wasn’t anything bad, it wasn't – and yet his heart was beating in his throat, pulsating through the whole body, cold creeping down his spine.
By the time he came back to the living room, Seokjin was already peeking into his bedroom, leaning on the doorframe, only his lower back still seen from that side. Namjoon sighed, like he just caught a naughty child, and stepped closer. “Hyung.”
Seokjin jerked, yelped, and turned back, hand still on the door knob. “Sorry, is that okay, Joon-ah?”
“Yeah. Water?”
“Thanks.” Seokjin nodded, taking the glass, and turned back to the door, this time pushing it open and taking a braver step inside.
Namjoon’s bedroom-slash-workroom was nothing special: bed, wardrobe, desk with a laptop and a lit-up lamp, a couple of cupboards for books and stuff and more plants. It was quite small, bed taking up most of the space – barely a couple of steps separating it from another piece of furniture in every direction – and messy. Obviously, the owner wasn’t expecting any guests, so the bedsheets were crumpled, blanket lay on the side where Namjoon had left it minutes ago, clothes hung from the chair. The window was opened for the night, smell of recent rain and sweetness of tea olive mixing in the air, overpowering the heavier scent of sweat and used sheets.
“It’s nice.”
Namjoon even managed to smirk through tension squeezing his insides at the sight of Seokjin standing in the middle of his bedroom.
It wasn’t anything special, he wasn’t even doing anything, just standing there and looking around with half-drunk curiosity, but Namjoon’s stomach curled in some sort of sick pleasure. Gruesome excitement that Seokjin was drunk, and smiling, and was looking at his bed, maybe thinking about lying there, maybe giving up for him, maybe…
Namjoon turned away, warmth pooling at the pit of his stomach, eyes unblinking through horror rising in his chest from desires his body was revealing. He wasn’t like that, he was never like that. He had fantasies, conscious or not, dreams and visions that would leave his heart throbbing and body sore, but not even in them, not even in the dark visions under deep night would he think about using Seokjin’s weakness. He wasn’t like that, he was never like that – and yet something grisly poked at him from inside, telling that Seokjin came for a reason, he looked at his bed for a reason, he was smiling at Namjoon for a reason, and with every poke a rush of nausea rose in his throat.
When Seokjin finally came out of the bedroom, lingering in the doorway, Namjoon was already on the couch, arms crossed, one foot nervously tapping at the floor, and eyes blankly staring in the distance.
“Thanks for the water. I left the glass there.”
“You want more?”
“Maybe later.”
They stayed quiet for a few more seconds, Namjoon silently chewing on his cheek. As a hospitable host, he was supposed to offer Seokjin at least shower, bed, possibly dinner and breakfast, to help him lie down and wake up, to be a good friend – but he couldn’t physically let the words out of his mouth. It felt wrong to ask Seokjin to stay, not after images hitting him in the bedroom, and so he kept quiet, eyes darting between the guest, plants, and sleeping TV in front of him.
A clock on the wall kept ticking.
Seokjin fidgeted, sound of his feet sliding over the floor barely disturbing the silence. “Can I stay over?”
It was all Namjoon could do to not close his eyes in despair.
“Of course.”
He wanted to scream.
“You can take the bed, I’ll stay here.”
He placed a hand on the green surface of his couch, finally gathering enough will to look up. Seokjin looked almost sober, his eyes dark and serious, hesitance seeping through fingers nervously pinching an elbow and teeth nipping at the lower lip.
“I can get a taxi.”
“No, it’s okay,” Namjoon hurried to reassure, perhaps a little too quickly, and frowned at his own rush. “I don’t mind, really.”
“Oh.” Their eyes met for a second, smile appearing on Seokjin’s lips, claws gripping tighter onto Namjoon’s heart a moment later. “Okay.” A second of hesitance. “Thanks.”
“It’s nothing.”
It was everything.
“Take a shower, I, um, I’ll find something for you to sleep in.”
Seokjin’s smile grew wider, warm and sincere, crinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes, and the whole room suddenly got brighter. “Thank you, Namjoon-ah. I can always count on you, can’t I?”
It went straight through him, because, fuck, could he?
Namjoon swallowed, hands warming up in the prospect of lying, but Seokjin already turned to the bathroom, humming something under his nose once again, clearly in no need of an answer, and somehow, it made Namjoon feel even worse. What was going on? What changed in these last few minutes? Why every wall he had built around his heart was breaking down, every locker – opening up, every quiet swamp of his desires suddenly bubbling and threatening to burst?
Three hours ago, he'd gone to sleep, peaceful and thinking of going to the store in the morning, and now, his insides were turning upside down, warmth of arousal and chills of fear making him shiver. The world narrowed down to his apartment that was always small, but now, felt like a closet, dark and suffocating.
He had a cowardly thought to text Jimin while sorting through his clothes, picking the same oversized t-shirt before laying aside again and again. His mind was too busy to take proper control of his hands. Of course, it would look like an SOS in the middle of the night, based solely on Seokjin’s presence in his apartment, but at least there was a chance that Jimin was awake and could help him to scramble through this mess – because, to be totally honest, Namjoon did feel like someone who needed help.
He didn’t have enough time to dwell on these thoughts, though. Wet steps splashed across the living room and, as he panicked to remember the location of any shorts, a gentle knock came from the other side of the door. It wasn’t closed anyway, so Seokjin just lingered behind it, leaning on the edge, only half of his body peeking through the gap – but it was enough for Namjoon, after a quick glance his way, to focus on his own hands with forceful determination.
“I can… If you don’t have anything, I can sleep in my clothes, it’s okay.”
Seokjin’s voice was quiet and sweet, and Seokjin was naked, of course, he was naked, he couldn’t possibly take shower in his or any other clothes, but still, it hit Namjoon hard. In the fleeting second he spent looking at the guest and his own towel (of course, because you didn’t offer him any else, idiot) wrapped around Seokjin’s hips, temperature of the room shoot up, invisible flame raining over his skin, rushing to his chest, lungs immediately glitching in response.
“No, I, I found, I found, here.” Still not looking up, Namjoon raised his hand, the t-shirt finally staying in it, eyes stubbornly focused on the pile of clothes in the drawer. “I only don’t see shorts or anything.”
“It’s not necessary, I can…”
“Here!”
A simple pair of shorts had never evoked such a strong wave of relief in Namjoon before.
He didn’t want to know the end of Seokjin’s sentence.
“You can change here.” Namjoon sent a quick glance the other’s way – yup, he was still hot and naked – and turned to place the half-handmade pajama on the bed. “I’ll only get another blanket and leave, you…”
“I can stay on the couch, Joon-ah, it’s okay.”
For a second he forgot that it was Seokjin, forgot about the tension in every muscle and crazy heartbeat in his ears, forgot about the fear and arousal; for a second, he was just a host looking for a way to accommodate his guest – and that was not how it was supposed to be.
Namjoon looked at Seokjin with a frown, ignoring the urge to steal a glance of his body, and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it, I’ll take the couch.”
Plush lips spread into a warm smile under his gaze, eyes readily meeting his as if their owner was only waiting for it. “Alright, if you insist.”
“I do.”
While Namjoon was silently going through his wardrobe in search of a blanket – the one he used during colder months but it wasn’t the time to get fussy – Seokjin stepped inside, the door letting go of him with a sad creak. A rustle came from behind Namjoon’s back, and a moment later, he realized, with full clarity, that Seokjin was changing clothes while Namjoon was still there. That they stand in one room: naked, fully, absolutely naked Seokjin and Namjoon, terrified to his core, nervously squeezing one of his sweaters, a rush of blood echoing in his ears.
Instead of hurrying, now he had to stretch the time, to search longer, to give his guest at least a couple of minutes to change – and, fuck, of course, of course he would find the fucking blanket right at that moment, folded in one pile with warm sweaters. Namjoon cleared his throat, crumpling the edge of thick material for a few seconds longer before pulling it out. His heart skipped a beat as he turned back to the room – and quietly exhaled upon the sight of Seokjin, fully dressed, sitting on the bed and peering at its owner with a thoughtful pout. It was hard to tell how much alcohol was still left in him, his frame slightly swaying but eyes clear and focused.
“Found it.” Namjoon smiled awkwardly, not lingering on the fact that Seokjin, in his clothes, in his bed, sat in the middle of his apartment, god, have the two of them never stayed alone before?
Not for so long, mocking voice answered in his head, not in your space, not so far from his boyfriend.
“I’m going to…”
“Joon-ah, do you still love me?”
He stumbled over his own feet, barely catching the corner of the wardrobe, almost letting go of the blanket in the process. An iceberg blew up in his chest, splinters piercing through every corner of his body.
“What do you mean?”
He could only exhale, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the doorframe but not seeing anything, red and black dots splattering all over his vision, dark veil pulsating in the corners of his eyes.
Seokjin knew.
This time the urge to throw up was so strong he had to place a palm on his neck and squeeze, trying to distract the feeling. Air barely came through his throat. He even opened his lips trying to catch it, but it was pointless – lungs refused to work properly, every muscle of his body threatening to fail.
“So Yoongi was right, you do think no one knows.”
Yoongi was right.
Yoongi was right.
Yoongi…
He would laugh if he could, something hysterical actually squeezing through his chest, because, fuck, he did think no one knew, he did fucking think no one knew except for him and Jimin, and what now? What now?
They probably had a good laugh, watching his pitiful, fruitless attempts to not look at Seokjin, his awkward laughs and trembling fingers, his actual fantasies that maybe, someday, in a very unrealistic scenario, Seokjin would… god, it hurt so much.
Pain finally reached his clogged mind in one wave.
“Joon-ah.”
He had to squeeze his eyes to not whine, not let the pain out, not bring more humiliation upon himself.
“Joon-ah, I’m not trying to laugh at you. It’s okay, come here.”
“I’ll be in the living room, good night.”
It was embarrassing – but Namjoon was already at the bottom, jumping into the dirt and thorns with a loud splash, and there was no way up from there, so why not down? Why not show how much of a coward he was – or wait, everyone already saw, everyone already knew that he's never had guts to confess, never had enough strength to move on, never was able to look away from the person that would never look back at him.
Pain burned his throat. He actually thought no one knew, but now it was so obvious. How could they not know? How could they not see?
Namjoon walked around the room like a robot, eyes not seeing, ears not hearing, only hands rising to turn off the lights, only legs moving to bring him to the couch. He dropped the blanket and only a few seconds later realized that he had to lie down as well. His mind struggled to not give up under succession of painful thoughts and heavily glitched in result, turning off most of the processes to keep him sane.
There was a long trace of streetlight on the ceiling. There was a note of his shower gel in the air, pine woods mocking him in the middle of stone mountains. The clock kept ticking – he was able to hear it after some time and immediately tried to focus, turn attention away from the storm in his head and just listen. Tick, tock, you’re pathetic, tick, tock, he’ll never look at you, tick, tock, you will never be friends again, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
He closed his eyes.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
It was enough, it was enough, it was-
“Joon-ah.”
He squeezed his eyes tighter. He couldn’t.
Steps came closer, stopped near the couch, deep breaths and rustle of clothes following closely. His heart froze, ears trying to catch every movement, mind silently begging for mercy.
His plea was sent as a joke to the Gods of the world.
“Joon-ah.”
He opened his eyes in despair, all air kicked out of his lungs in one moment. Horror and desire mixed in a cocktail so painful he felt tears burning his eyelids.
Seokjin sat on his thighs, open palms pressed to his chest, eyes glowing in the darkness – only now the light wasn’t warm. It was cold and mesmerizing, making Namjoon shiver and try to squirm out of the embrace, but Seokjin's knees held him tightly, arms weighed down on his chest.
“Joon-ah, do you still love me?”
“Hyung…”
“Please, tell me.”
There was a hint of despair in Seokjin’s voice, but it was nothing compared to his prey. Namjoon almost whimpered through weakness and embarrassment.
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes, yes, I do, I still love you, I always loved you, yes.”
There was no sense in fighting anymore.
Seokjin beamed, pleased and delighted, beautiful as ever, and moved closer, leaned down on his elbows, fingers moving to stroke the other’s shoulders. Namjoon still couldn’t understand if it was a dream or a nightmare.
“Joon-ah, do you want to kiss me?”
There was no sense in fighting anymore.
“Yes, I do.”
Seokjin moved even closer until his lips hovered over Namjoon’s, his breath tickling sensitive skin, thin shorts barely keeping the warmth of his body from seeping through.
“Show me.”
He was close, so close Namjoon could feel almost every curve of his body, thighs pressing over his, knees tucked against his waist, stomach, abdomen, chest. Seokjin almost sprawled over him, pressing with every muscle. He was hot, and soft, and beautiful, lips parted, eyes glistening, wet hair sticking to his forehead, and he was asking, he was asking Namjoon for a kiss like the most beautiful flower shyly asking for attention of the sun – like the sun could ever look away from it.
Namjoon lingered for a second, looking between his eyes and lips in some sort of daze, and then did something he would never be able to forget – or forgive.
He carefully placed his hands on Seokjin’s waist, trembling palms squeezing through thin material, stabilizing, while his head went up, lips crossing the distance to press, gently, tenderly, against Seokjin’s. It was the moment the first ray of hope pierced through his darkness.
They both stilled for a second, savoring the feeling of intimacy – and then Namjoon rose higher, pressed closer, hands sliding over Seokjin’s back in a hug. He wanted more, needed more, no matter for how long he’ll be allowed to do this – he was desperate for more now, every kiss like a gulp of fresh air, energy bursting through his veins, goosebumps running over the skin.
Seokjin was warmer, firmer, sweeter than he could ever imagine, the deepest fantasies not bearing even a trace of reality, imagination nowhere near the real pleasure of holding, kissing, feeling him.
Namjoon pushed closer, kissed deeper, lifting himself on the couch until they were both sitting, Seokjin’s knees behind his hips, hands wrapped around his shoulders, head tilting for more comfort. There still was the sweetness of alcohol, taste of liquor clinging onto Seokjin’s tongue, but Namjoon was happy to lick it, the world dissipating under shared warmth of their mouths.
They were moving quickly, and Namjoon knew he had to stop or at least slow down, to label what was going on between them, to draw clear bondaries and write down rules – but nothing truly mattered when Seokjin was right here. Bending to press closer, lips parting to get more, his fingers digging into Namjoon’s shoulders, loud sighs escaping his mouth. The whole world didn’t exist, only Seokjin – and Namjoon was glad to forget everything else. He trembled with his whole body, fingers crumpled his own t-shirt hiding Seokjin's skin as little noises of pleasure seeped through loud exhales and smacking of lips.
His heart was singing. His body was burning. His darkness was shrinking under fierce light of hope.
He was alive -
“He doesn’t kiss me like that anymore.”
-until thin ice cracked under his feet.
Namjoon blinked, unsure if he heard it right, begging to not hear it right.
“What?”
Seokjin moved away to sit on his heels, taking every bit of warmth with him, only one hand still lying on Namjoon’s shoulder. His unfocused gaze ran over his gray t-shirt.
“Yoongi. He doesn’t kiss me like that anymore.” Seokjin frowned, eyes still blank, the other hand coming up to let fingers run over his pink, slick lips – Namjoon followed the movement absentmindedly, suddenly feeling empty. No thoughts, no feelings, no heartbeat – he was empty.
The ice cracks were thunderous in his ears.
“Why are you saying this?”
They weren’t looking at each other, blank gazes staring into space, bodies quickly cooling down. Seokjin was the first one to move, fingers on Namjoon's shoulder twitching, gripping slightly before letting go. Namjoon was still looking at his lips, for the first time in forever feeling nothing from the sight, when the fingers slid over his cheek in a caressing gesture – still nothing, everything in him already drowning in freezing water, numb and lifeless.
He didn’t move while Seokjin was climbing down, only relaxed the grip on his waist, hands weakly falling on the both sides of his thighs. He was able to hear the steps, not lingering even for a second, and quiet clink of the door handle. Muffled rustle from the other side of the door – and apartment descended into silence, only clock still ticking on the wall.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick…
Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, shudder going through his frame.
…tock, tick, tock, tick…
He fisted the blanket under his legs, focusing on the sound, quickly building walls around the pain – it never happened, it’s just a nightmare, it never happened – and breathing, breathing, breathing.
…tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
He couldn’t bear it anymore.
Seokjin probably wasn’t sleeping yet, he probably could hear the steps in the living room, the creak of the door, could understand what was going on, how weak Namjoon truly was – but it didn’t matter.
He couldn’t bear it anymore.
It didn’t matter.
Namjoon burst into the kitchen, closed the door as quiet as possible with quivering hands and blurred vision – and collapsed on the floor, pain flashing through his knees – it didn’t matter – forehead weakly leaning forward to press against the cool floor.
He curled on himself, chest pressed to his knees, wrists crossed over the back of his head, like a child trying to protect itself from pain – only it was coming from inside, hot iron piercing through the middle of his chest no matter how hard he was trying to hide it. The pain tore through his insides like a beast, but he was a child, for that one moment he was just a child again, terrified and defenseless, and he reacted like one. He cried like he hadn’t cried in years, choking on sobs, swallowing tears, his whole body shuddering with every inhale.
He couldn’t bear it anymore.
He couldn’t.
Joon: i know it’s too early
Joon: but could you please come?
Joon: i can’t
Joon: i need help
Joon: please let me know when you’ll wake up
Joon: please come
Joon: i can’t, i can’t deal with it
Joon: please
Jiminie: hwat
Jiminie: what happened?
Joon: he’s here
Joon: he got drunk and now he’s here
Joon: it’s bad
Joon: i can’t deal with it on my own
Joon: please
Jiminie: wait, wait
Jiminie: who?
Joon: seokjin
Joon: he’s here
Joon: Jimin, please
Joon: Jimin?
Joon: you fell asleep again?
Jiminie: i’m trying to get uber, please stop texting
Jiminie: i’ll be there in 18 minutes
Joon: thank you
The expression on Jimin’s face was almost comical, if only Namjoon still had enough strength to laugh.
“Come in,” he whispered, not because it was still early morning, but because his vocal cords were nothing but broken strings. He stepped away from the doorway, stumbling over his own slippers to let another guest in. His apartment hadn’t seen so many people in months.
He wanted to say something about where to leave snickers or leather jacket, but forming proper sentences was too difficult, too exhausting right now, so he only gestured in the direction of the hanger. Seokjin’s coat was still there, hanging over his jacket, dust clinging onto the bottom side, and he noticed Jimin’s gaze darting over it before returning back to Namjoon.
There was a glimpse of pity amidst the worry in his eyes, and Namjoon only chuckled – of course, he was pitiful – shook his head and turned to the kitchen, hand coming to lean on the wall. He still was too weak to walk on his own, eyelids heavily drooping; it hurt to keep his eyes open, every touch of air heartlessly slashing the irises.
As soon as they reached the kitchen, Jimin following closely behind, Namjoon sagged down into the place he grew so accustomed to, spending the night in the corner between two cabinets, half-asleep, half-alive. He habitually pulled the knees up to wrap his hands around them, head leaning on the wooden surface, breath quivering while going through the throat.
He was exhausted.
He was empty.
He was nothing.
In a couple of seconds, Namjoon remembered something and opened his eyes to look at Jimin crouching next to him. He was too unfocused to find his gaze, so he just stared at Jimin's neck, “Do you want-” A cough tore up throat. “Do you want something? You can make coffee, I have good one.”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay." Namjoon closed his eyes again, nodding and smiling, the force of manners.
City was waking up behind the slightly opened window, noises echoing through Namjoon’s empty mind. High heels and loud wheels crashed his skull, but it felt like nothing. He felt like nothing, until something warm touched him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, hair tickled his neck. Jimin leaned on his shoulder, smelling of streets and citrus cologne, and tugged Namjoon to meet the gesture, to weakly lean into the awkward hug.
“Hyung, what happened?”
Namjoon thought he lost his ability to feel anything except for dull pain, but now it trembled on the sides, the blanket of thorns squeezing him tighter.
“He… he came. Asked if I still love him.” He swallowed – pain started to crawl up his throat. “I said yes. Asked if I want to kiss him.” He placed a palm on Jimin’s shoulder, now pressed under his own neck, and squeezed helplessly. “I said yes. Then we kissed. And he said it’s not like him. He said Yoongi doesn’t kiss him like that anymore and left.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Jimin was carefully stroking the back of his neck. It was nice. It was soothing.
“Have you spent the night here?” He could feel Jimin’s jaw move around the words, warm cheek leaning on his shoulder. Namjoon only hummed, eyes still closed. Headache crawled into his mind again, reminding him that it was still there, weeping inside his temples.
“You are shaking, you have to warm up.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t feel the cold anyway. His face burned, the rest of his body was numb.
Jimin let out a sharp breath, a sign of irritation, and raised his head. “No, it’s not, you need some-”
“Hey, Jimin-ah, you’re here?”
The rest of energy in his body flinched and rushed to his chest, swirling in chaotic dance of knives and flame.
“I thought I heard the door closing, wondered if Joonie left. Joon-ah?” He heard a step and rustle of clothes. “Are you okay?”
Something inside him burst out laughing, sudden lightness and joy spreading like fire. He smiled and nodded, opening his eyes. Seokjin stood in the doorway, tilting his head with a frown in his eyes, corners of his lips turned down in expression of worry. Namjoon fidgeted to squirm out of Jimin’s embrace and stood up with gracious help of one of the counters, trembles still going through his legs.
“Yeah.” He let out a short laugh, an echo of hysterics inside him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Oh, okay.” Seokjin gave him a small smile, squeezing Namjoon’s heart with the force of the universe, and nodded. “Okay, fine. Do you have painkillers? My head is going to-”
“Is that all?” Jimin snapped and leaped up, loud and furious, looking between them with raised eyebrows. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Sometimes Namjoon wondered if it was because of his small body that every emotion in him was concentrated, leaving in fierce outbreaks. If Jimin was happy, he infected everyone around him with his laughter; if Jimin was sad, it was impossible to stay indifferent, not at the sight of despair or, worse, apathy in dark eyes; if Jimin was angry, it was everywhere, in his burning eyes, tense limbs, low voice and sharp movements. Heavy silence immediately settled over the room.
“What do you-”
“You know what I mean, hyung.” He took a step closer, and Seokjin tensed up in the first sign of retreat. “Don't you want to say something?”
“I don’t understand." There was confusion and flickers of fear in Seokjin’s eyes darting to Namjoon in search of an answer.
“Jimin-ah…”
Namjoon placed a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, thoughts swirling in his head, because what if nothing really happened? What if he'd just had an actual nightmare? Or, maybe, Seokjin was sleep-walking? Maybe, (guilt went through him in a shudder) he was drunk out of his mind? Maybe, Namjoon didn’t understand, didn’t read the signs, didn’t see the situation clearly?
Maybe, it was one big mistake?
“Let’s have a talk, hyung.” But Jimin did not allow himself the privilege of doubts. He brushed Namjoon's palm off his shoulder and charged out of the kitchen, tugging Seokjin by the wrist.
Namjoon quietly exhaled and looked around without a thought, hand coming to grip his hair in distress. God, he fucked up. He hated conflicts, hated anger, hated raised voices and fisted palms, and now Jimin was going to… what? He wouldn't punch Seokjin, of course, he wouldn't, they were still friends, and he wasn’t that bad in controlling his emotions anyway... But, fuck, what if they’d just have a big fight, because Namjoon mis-fucking-understood?
Nerves and temptation nudged him to turn to the still opened door, pushed his legs a step closer, shoulder coming to press against the doorframe. His apartment was tiny – one had to struggle to stay unheard.
“No, I am not going to calm down – you gave me no reason to.”
Sigh. “Then what do you want from me? I told you already, I don’t understand, Jimin-ah.”
“Yes? Then be kind enough to tell me what happened last night.”
“I had a fight with Yoongi, got drunk, came here, and went to sleep, that’s all.”
Two seconds of silence. Tick, tock.
“Bullshit.”
“Jimin-ah!”
“Look me in the eyes, hyung. What happened last night?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing! Nothing happened!”
Namjoon winced, hand coming to squeeze shirt on his chest. He fucked up, god, he fucked up.
“Hyung.”
“I don’t remember, okay?”
“Hyung.”
“I don’t remember, stop pushing me!”
“Then stop feeding me lies! We are not in a crappy melodrama, hyung. We’ve been drinking together for years, you always brag about your resistance to alcohol. Never, not a single time have you forgotten anything, but today, today, when you fucked up so badly, today, you decide to forget?”
It was quiet for too long, only heart beating in Namjoon’s ears, eyes blankly staring at the floor. Jimin was right. The image of Seokjin, pouting and announcing that he was jealous because everyone could relax after a few glasses while his body did not allow him to have fun (Yoongi whispered something into his ear then, bringing a smirk to Seokjin’s lips), was now clear in his mind.
Cold pinched at his guts. It still could’ve been a mistake...
“What do you want to hear?” Seokjin’s voice was quiet and empty, bearing no emotions whatsoever.
“I want you to explain why you did this to him. It was cruel, you know it was cruel.”
“Stop accusing me of deadly sins, I just asked him a question, okay?”
“And then what?”
“And then he kissed me.”
Namjoon winced.
“Yeah, he just came and kissed while you were struggling to break free?”
“What does it matter! It was just a kiss, it was nothing.”
It hurt. Not the words even – intonation, quiet confidence and indifference. It hurt.
Even Jimin’s voice changed slightly, getting lower, seriousness replacing the anger bit by bit. “Do you really think so? Do you even know how much he loves you?”
Namjoon froze, turning into hearing, hands crumpling material of his sweatpants. It was too late to pretend. Now, he only wanted to know the truth.
Chuckle came to answer his heart. “Do you think he is the first one to have a crush on me? Maybe, you even think he is the only one? Jimin-ah, don’t be silly, of course, I know.”
“And you don’t care?”
“Why? I care, of course, I care, he’s my friend, just…”
“Then why the fuck would you pull off something like that?”
“He’ll hear you, Jimin-ah.”
“Too bad for you, I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Stop guilt tripping me, okay? Nothing bad happened, he’s fine.”
“And then you say you care?” Jimin let out a joyless laugh. “Do you even know him? Namjoonie-hyung is like a baby, he is innocent and vulnerable, he wears his heart on his sleeve – for you to take it. He loves you, he loves you so fucking much he can’t stop talking about you with the biggest smile on his face after half-bottle of soju. He looks at you like he sees a fucking galaxy, he writes poems and thinks you’re perfect – and then you do this to him, and you know what? He probably still thinks you’re fucking perfect despite you treating him like shit – and for what? To please your ego? To laugh? Why, hyung, why would you do this to him?”
Silence stretched out for some time, burning behind Namjoon’s closed eyelids, lips trembling to keep the whimpers inside. God, so pathetic, he was always so pathetic.
“I… I didn’t… I… He said he doesn’t love me anymore,” Seokjin’s voice finally plunged into emotions, soaking with anguish, lips trembling around the words. “Three years, like in a fucking textbook, and he says he doesn’t love me anymore, he doesn’t see me the same way, and I… I needed something, Jimin, I need this, I can’t, I…”
His voice broke down – and despite the pain and weakness, despite the tears running down his own cheeks, despite everything that happened, Namjoon felt an urge to run there. To wipe his tears, to hold him, to promise that everything would be okay, that he and Yoongi were such a great couple, they would always be together, to mumble whatever would come to his mind only to ease Seokjin’s pain.
He could cry a river of his own agony and do nothing – but one Seokjin’s tear would make him turn the world upside down.
He did love him pretty fucking much.
Jimin’s sigh was so loud he could hear it through his own heartbeat. “That’s... damn, that's bad, hyung, I’m sorry. But it does not justify your actions, you can’t hurt other people because someone hurt you.”
“I know, I didn’t, I didn’t want to hurt him, I just… I don’t know, Jimin-ah, it hurts so much.”
Namjoon stood there, frozen. He had never seen Seokjin vulnerable, he had never heard his voice soaked with pain. His own heartache faded in the face of worry and distress, desire to soothe Seokjin growing bigger than everything else. He even fidgeted, gripping the handle – and the door creaked quietly. Voices immediately shut.
“Let’s go somewhere else and talk about it, alright, hyung?” Jimin said after a few moments of silence, Namjoon not even breathing, trying to merge himself with the wall.
He couldn’t hear the answer, but figured out it was positive, rustles and steps following the question.
Namjoon was still stuck to the wall, mind too unfocused to assess the situation, when the door opened. Jimin lingered for a second, scanning his red eyes, pursed lips, and palms holding his elbows in a self-hug, before taking a step in and closing the door behind his back.
“Namjoonie-hyung...”
“Where is he?”
“Changing into his clothes. Look, hyung, I know it may...”
“Is he okay?”
Jimin blinked and finally looked up from the point on the wall he was staring at, chewing on his bottom lip and trying to find good words. He looked sad and nervous for some reason, but Namjoon didn’t have time to dwell on these thoughts and rushed to come closer.
“Yeah… well, no, but I think they’ll deal with it.”
“Where are you going? Do you want me to go with you?”
“No.” Jimin’s frown went deeper, grim look darting over his face. “Hyung, did you hear everything?”
Namjoon fidgeted, shyly looking down. “Yeah, sorry.”
“And that’s the only thing you care about?”
“No, well, yes, well-” His thoughts were running around, worry still bubbling in his chest. “I don’t know, but you will call me if you need help, okay? I’ll come immediately.”
“You’re exhausted! You have to sleep!”
“It’s not that bad, look, there’s a coffee shop near, they sell delicious brownies, he loves brownies, I’ll give you the address, okay?”
“Oh god, hyung, what the fuck?”
There was something strange in Jimin’s voice, and as soon as Namjoon looked up from the map on his phone, he saw tears in his eyes, worry and sadness deep in his features. The moment their eyes met, Jimin surged forward, wrapped around his neck, and tugged him down for a hug.
“Will you ever love yourself the way you love him?”
Namjoon chuckled in response to the cracking whisper and blocked the phone to properly hug him back, his chin coming to press into Jimin's shoulder. “I don’t know, Jimin-ah, I don’t think so.”
Emotions always left Jimin concentrated – and now, the warmth of his affection gushed out of his embrace to flood Namjoon to the brink, leaving him smiling, acknowledging sadness of the gesture but not dwelling on it for too long. He’d have time to pity himself later.
“You have an awful taste in men.”
Namjoon laughed, for the first time in hours the sound bearing notes of actual joy. “As long as I’m not crushing on you, it’s okay.”
After a few seconds of protesting noises, Jimin joined him, smile already playing on his lips when he pushed away to look up. “You have to take care of yourself, hyung, I can’t always be here.”
“I know, Jimin-ah, I’m not an actual baby.”
With the mention of his passionate speech Jimin hurried to turn around, shy and pouting, but steps in the hallway indicated that Seokjin was ready to leave.
When they came out, Seokjin was kneeling next to the front door and tying his converses, looking too serious for such mundane action. There were traces of pink under his eyes, sadness weighing the corners of his lips down, and Namjoon’s smile quickly faltered, heart beating with an urge to share the pain.
“Hyung,” he quietly called, fingers nervously stroking the wall – Seokjin looked up and tried to smile, guilt and worry flashing through his eyes.
“Joon-ah…”
“Everything’s gonna be okay.”
Seokjin parted his lips to answer, but couldn’t find anything to say. A frown smeared his features, confused gaze darted to Jimin pulling the jacket on his shoulders.
The youngest only shrugged, fixing the collar. “He heard everything.”
“Everything?” Seokjin’s eyes grew wider, turning to look at Namjoon with something fearful.
“Yes – but I won’t tell anyone!” His hands shot up in a gesture of reassurance, worry swaying in his eyes. “Especially Yoongi-hyung, I promise. I’m sure you’ll figure everything out, he couldn’t say it seriously. He loves you, hyung, very much. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
He kept mumbling, eager to deliver his thoughts, to say something that would wipe the frown off Seokjin’s face – but instead it only grew deeper, eyes looking at Namjoon with something dark and unreadable. He quietly listened, standing in the middle of the hallway, and then just as quietly moved. Stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, making him shut.
“I’m sorry, Joon-ah, I’m so sorry,” he muttered somewhere above his collarbone, but Namjoon heard it all the same and let out a quiet laugh in return.
“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” he lied, carefully squeezing Seokjin’s shoulders, his heart brimming with love. “Don’t worry too much, hyung, or wrinkles will appear sooner.”
A soft chuckle touched the skin of his neck.
“And no one wants this to happen, right?” Seokjin moved away with a small smile on his lips and turned to Jimin, who was silently watching the scene.
“Right.” The youngest nodded, thoughtfulness in his eyes, and placed a palm on the door. “Let’s go?”
Seokjin hummed in agreement, picked up his coat from the handle, and followed Jimin outside, lingering only to wave at the host. “Bye, Joon-ah, thank you for letting me stay.”
Namjoon only nodded, the sight of Seokjin disappearing from his vision waking something in his chest. He closed the door, stood there for a few seconds, listening to the mess inside, and went into the bedroom. Something heavy was slowly wrapping around his lungs, leaning on his heart, poking at his ribs.
His bed was clean and shiny, the guest carefully smoothing everything out before leaving, wiping the remnants of the mess he created, sweeping unanswered questions and unnecessary feelings under the rug. Namjoon cautiously stepped inside the room that was suddenly almost alien to him, looking around in search of Seokjin’s presence – clothes on the chair, opened window, lamp standing a bit too far to the left – and sit down on the bed.
It took almost four hours for the events of the night to finally settle in.
“One who has seen Beauty itself will lack interest in the ordinary things of this world, just as those in love with boys lack an interest in plain food and drink. Diotima suggests that one who beholds Beauty itself will want to do nothing but watch and be with the forms: eternal contemplation of Beauty is all that a lover who has discovered the forms will want. There is no going back to an old life once the contemplation of true Beauty takes place. ‘Human flesh and colors’, and the ‘nonsense’ of human mortal life, now are irrelevant to the former lover of these things. According to Diotima, all else that came before the end of the ascent seems not to matter to the person who has reached the final goal."
This time it was a knock as well – but, at least, it wasn’t night.
Namjoon was standing in the middle of the bedroom and studying the mess. The room looked like someone had blown up a mini thrift store in the middle of it: clothes hung from every possible surface, even shoes and underwear found its patch of land on the bed. The morning sun beamed through half-open curtains, the heater quietly buzzed in the corner, effects overlapping, creating the illusion of summer heat despite frost still holding onto the branches outside. The smell of coffee was flowing amidst glowing air. Everything felt soft, peaceful and just right – until thunder came down from the clear sky.
He frowned, walking out of the bedroom – Jungkook was supposed to text first, he and Jimin still avoiding each other – and threw the door open without even thinking to check.
A loud exhale left his lips.
“Can I come in?”
Three seconds of silence.
“Sure.”
He stepped back into the hallway, disoriented and confused, hand coming to rub the back of his neck. Despite the dreams and photos in the chat, he kind of forgot how truly breathtaking Seokjin was. Pink cheeks and ripped jeans, long eyelashes and twinkling earrings, a bright blue jacket bringing pale tint to his skin. Namjoon’s heart squeezed. What was peace anyway?
“What are you doing here?”
He could feel cold of the outside world, that still clung onto Seokjin’s figure, reach his bare arms, sending goosebumps over the skin.
“Can’t I come to check up on one of my friends?” Seokjin looked up from his sneakers, an amused smile playing on soft lips. “Not like we haven’t seen each other in two months.”
There was a hint of accusation in his voice, and Namjoon looked away, pushed himself off the wall, and walked to the kitchen. “I was busy. Do you want coffee?”
“No, thanks, I just had one on the way here.”
So, it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t Seokjin passing his building and deciding to stop by. He had a reason to come. Namjoon nipped at his bottom lip and entered the kitchen, barely noticing the smell that had made him so excited a few minutes ago. Nothing was right anymore.
While he was dealing with the coffee machine, hands suddenly clumsy, steps went past the doorway, Seokjin going deeper inside the apartment without a pause. For a moment an urge to stop him nudged Namjoon from inside. The image of the chaos in the bedroom, clothes, packs and open bags even reaching the living room clear in his mind – but then he decided against it. Fuck that. He had nothing to hide from a friend.
But the rooms stayed quiet for too long, no steps, no rustle, no voice or hums, and so, as soon as he finished with the coffee, Namjoon went out of the kitchen, pausing for a second at the sight of the empty living room, and moved towards bedroom.
Seokjin was leaning on the wardrobe with his shoulder, studying the insides of the room, eyes slowly exploring every detail. Sun was lying at his feet, dust dancing amidst the rays. Something calm and sad was hanging in the air, nostalgia awakened by the guest’s presence – Namjoon decided to let it be and settled against the doorframe, quietly swirling the cup in his palms.
“So, it’s true. You are leaving.”
“Did you think I was lying for months?” He let out a joyless chuckle and took a sip of coffee, dark and bitter, perfectly fitting the atmosphere. Seokjin hummed, still not moving, only fingers nipped his elbow through the thin material of his shirt.
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”
This time, Namjoon laughed longer, louder, feeling actual amusement at the thought. "Why would I?”
Seokjin didn’t answer.
“Do you know where you’ll be living?” he asked after some time. Namjoon closed his eyes. It didn’t make sense.
“On campus, they provide rooms for foreign students.”
“It must be a lot to pay.”
“Stipend covers it. I’ll be helping my advisor with lectures in return.”
Seokjin hummed again, gaze not moving anymore, just blankly staring at the curtains.
“It will be cold there.”
Namjoon huffed and let out an irritated laugh, eyes fixed on the other’s profile, heart pounding in his chest. "No colder than here – you could ask all of this in the chat, hyung, why did you come?”
“You aren’t leaving because of me, are you?” Seokjin finally turned, worry glistening in the bottom of his eyes.
“No, it has nothing to do with you,” Namjoon lied, holding his gaze with dumb stubbornness.
“And it has nothing to do with you avoiding us this whole semester?”
Seokjin was pro in opening his true feelings – at least, this time, Namjoon didn’t actually imagine that no one noticed.
He still met up with Jimin regularly and even got to know his groupmates better. All of them had grown close solely on the hate towards “Law and Order”, and Namjoon coincidentally didn't like the series in the slightest.
He saw Jungkook from time to time. The boy was still getting over their break-up with obvious efforts, getting sad and quiet at every mention of Jimin, disappearing from the group chat the moment green dot would appear next to his name. But, apart from that, he was still the bright and golden-hearted Jungkookie, infecting Namjoon with his smiles whenever they met.
He ran out of plausible excuses to not visit Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment. He'd cancel their meetings in the last minute, apologize for delayed classes, not “wake up” when chirping sound reached him after midnight, his phone lighting up next to his hand on the mouse. He didn’t know if Yoongi had ever found out about what happened at the end of the summer break, but refused his offers all the same. Seokjin didn't even try to reach out personally after a month of failings. Namjoon could count with fingers the number of times they'd seen each other this semester, but the dull ache in his chest and Yoongi’s glances, that were probably always there but never so clear to Namjoon, made it impossible to enjoy their meetings anyway.
“No, it’s not. Anything else?”
He met Seokjin’s eyes with a challenge – and read the question even before his lips parted, cold rushing down his spine at the sight of familiar darkness.
“Joon-ah, do you still love me?”
Seokjin stood there in his full glory, sunlight only daring to touch his ankles, but its glow embraced the whole room, playing with shadows on his face, making it almost magical – Seokjin could easily pass for the king of elves, never aging, never losing his beauty. Plato had talked about the unattainable sphere of Ideals – probably because he died almost 2,500 years before Seokjin, because it was right here, perfect, godlike, but still unattainable. At an arm’s length, but still untouchable.
And Seokjin actually waited for an answer, the look in his eyes clear and straight, eyebrows raised slightly to emphasize the question – and suddenly, Namjoon felt anger. It was a joke, it was a mocking joke. Seokjin was playing with him again, pulling at the strings, twisting him like a doll only to hear the confirmation that Namjoon was still his, to know that he hadn’t lost his favorite toy.
“Why? Want to try the trick from the movies and ask me to stay for you? Then the answer is no.”
Something flashed through his eyes, but Namjoon didn’t have enough time to figure it out, didn’t have enough willingness to stay. He burst out of the room, warm coffee spilling over hands, and rushed to the kitchen. He was trembling all over, rage the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years rose in his throat. He was pathetic, he knew it already, he didn’t need another reminder. He didn’t want to give Seokjin the pleasure of his surrender again.
“Here, let me help you.”
In the middle of his messy attempts to get rid of the coffee stains, shaking fingers only leaving more wet marks, mind more focused on breathing properly than getting his tank top clean, gentle hands brushed his off. Seokjin was standing so close his sweetish cologne brushed over Namjoon’s smell receptors with every inhale, eyes studying the splatter of stains on the edge of his top before looking around.
“Do you have… okay, here." He found paper towels pretty quickly, taking a few before coming back. Namjoon didn't even try to stop him and only stared at the hands working on the stains, repeatedly losing the battle, quietly losing the war.
They stood there in silence, both staring at the edge of Namjoon’s top. At the fingers wetting the cloth with water – a tremble ran through Namjoon’s stomach at the accident brush but was left without comments – at the towels blotting the now-soaked material, thumbs spreading it to reveal the lack of notable stains.
“Still, you better wash it properly, too.” Seokjin looked up finally, eyes darting over Namjoon’s face in search of something only he could see.
“I don’t have time to dry.” He looked down, eyes studying the top with regret, and took a step back in the meantime, creating more space for his lungs to breathe, for his heart to beat. Fortunately, Seokjin didn’t follow, staying at the same place, only hand coming to lie on the counter.
“The material is thin, it’ll be okay in less than two hours if you wash it now.”
Namjoon lingered for some time, weighing up the importance of the cloth, pondering if he should, maybe, just throw it away – but in the end, he went out of the kitchen without a word. Desire to stay away from Seokjin was greater than any other argument. The top wasn’t that important, really. His sanity, on the other hand, was.
After a few minutes, washing machine was already rumbling in the bathroom, struggling to finish the process as quickly as possible and complaining to everyone around about its efforts – no one was listening. Seokjin still stood where he was left with a thoughtful frown on his face, while Namjoon was digging through the piles on his bed. Chills ran over his naked skin from every winter exhale through the open window – he desperately needed fresh air. He was taking his time, trying to think, but nothing reasonable came out of it. The only adequate thoughts kept coming back to the conclusion that he had to kick Seokjin out as gently and quickly as possible, at least hint, but better tell him straight, yes, that’s…
“Joon-ah, do you still love me?”
He stilled for a moment, breathed out, and went back to the shirts sprawling over the pillows. Not looking back, not showing how deep the phrase cut him every time.
“Yes, I do.”
Seokjin sighed, the sound bearing traces of relief, and took a step closer – Namjoon still wasn’t looking but heard the gentle touch of his foot to the floor.
“Joon-ah…”
“How’s Yoongi-hyung?” This time he did turn around, albeit shortly, throwing a quick glance at his tormenter – not a trace of guilt or hurt on the still calm face – and pulled out one of the t-shirts. He did not care which one it was anymore, only craved for any kind of shield from Seokjin’s eyes, even if his chest was already open.
“He’s well – making albums, getting ready for promotion. Fucking pretty boys in his studio. You know, nothing’s changed.”
Namjoon chuckled, the sourness of the sound lingering on the tip of his tongue, fingers crumpling black material, “So, that’s what it is, huh? An eye for an eye,” and slipped the shirt over his head.
“No, no, of course not, I would never do this to you, Joon-ah.” He heard another step and turned back to assess the distance between them – too narrow, but even the opposite corners of his apartment would be. His eyes met Seokjin’s for a second.
“Yeah? Why?”
Namjoon still had time to see a frown distorting Seokjin’s features before he turned back to his bed. He searched for an empty place amidst the clothes but immediately realized that he didn't give a single fuck and sat down on top of a hoodie, elbows coming to rest on his knees.
“Because I don’t fuck around with friends. Because I don’t want your name to become another point in the list I’d shove into Yoongi’s face.”
“So there’s a list?” Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from smirking. Unwanted, unreasonable, unnecessary jealousy pressed a pin in the middle of his chest.
Seokjin clearly didn’t notice the undertone, or just decided not to, and walked to the bed. Unlike Namjoon, he pushed the clothes away before sitting down next to him with a sigh. “Kind of. We talked recently and now just have to notify each other when the bedroom will be taken – that is, of course, until he moves out. Actually, he even stayed to watch me once. It was weird, but… Oh, does it hurt? I’m so sorry, Joonie, I didn’t think, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”
Namjoon didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move actually, only jaw silently tensing, moving around every exhale meant to relieve the pain inside. He turned away as soon as he realized that Seokjin could read every feeling on his face and looked at the lamp on the bedtable instead, quickly blinking and trying to focus. His thumbs were nervously playing with each other where his fingers were entwined between his knees.
He didn’t know what exactly hurt more: the realization that Seokjin was fucking with other people, wasn’t meant to be with Yoongi like Namjoon had always told himself, or that even now, Seokjin still saw him as nothing more than a friend. That he was unofficially single again, but Namjoon was still nowhere near his vision.
“What do you want from me now?” Words left him dull and emotionless. He didn’t care anymore, suddenly feeling tired.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Namjoon closed his eyes with a sigh, palms coming up to rub at his face, to hide him from the world for a tiny bit of time. “I don’t understand you.”
“Me neither." He could feel Seokjin fidget, move closer, his voice filled with sad irony. Namjoon still covered his face with palms, caging himself inside his own fingers, blank eyes staring at the gaps between the rods. He preferred to be here rather than face the absurdity of the world.
“You don’t love me.” He said it as calmly as possible, but the heart immediately stilled anyway, pressing itself to the ribs and timidly listening, because what if, what if – but the chuckle ruined every if, like even the thought was amusing.
“No, Joonie, I don’t.”
He exhaled quietly, letting his heart weep for a second, before continuing, “But you want me to kiss you.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you see that there’s something wrong?” He finally turned to look at Seokjin, fingers now pressing to the temple. “Why?”
Seokjin looked away almost shyly, gaze fleeing to rest on his laps, hands mindlessly crumpling sheets next to them. He was hesitant, taking his time to think through the answer, seconds slowly gathering together.
“I don’t… I can’t explain it. It’s just you, and the way you look at me, the way you react on a smallest touch.” Seokjin suddenly placed a palm on his forearm, squeezing it slightly, and Namjoon flinched, trying to free himself, heart pulsating under the touch. “it’s addicting, Joon-ah, it’s empowering. It makes me feel like I worth something…”
“…and makes me feel like I worth nothing,” Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from muttering and smirked sadly at the flicker of worry in Seokjin's eyes before looking away, his hand limp in Seokjin’s grip.
“But you’re not, Joon-ah, you’re so important, you’re wonderful, and kind, and smart, and…”
“But you still don’t love me?" After a moment of hesitance, Seokjin silently shook his head. "Then it means nothing.”
“Please, don’t say this.”
“And what should I say? That I’m happy to be in love with you? That I don’t feel anything every time you reject me? That it brings everything but pain and anxiety into my life? Sorry, I can’t say this, my parents taught me to be honest.”
He would storm off if he could, maybe even found enough strength to tell Seokjin to leave or, more realistically, leave the apartment himself – but the hand on his arm pinned him down, fingers only gripping tighter the longer he spoke. Seokjin was quiet for some time, processing the words, and then shifted. Pulled at the hand he was holding, raised it higher, and placed it on the back of his neck. Namjoon automatically opened his palm to touch the tender skin.
“Just one time, Joon-ah,” Seokjin whispered, leaning on his knee, trying to catch his eyes with his own, sad and pleading. “Please, just one kiss.”
Namjoon sighed, quiet and crashed, heart swirling in distress, nudging him to respond to the voice, to soothe his worries, to fulfill a request, whatever it was, because Seokjin was sad, and Seokjin was asking, and nothing else mattered. He turned to face him, to meet delight in the eyes, to ache for a wide smile, and murmured, “Do you know how cruel it is?”
Seokjin hesitated for a moment but then carefully nodded, guilt streaking his face, lingering in knitted eyebrows and pursed lips.
“Do you still want me to kiss you?”
His fingers gently brushed against the crook of Seokjin's neck, thumb traced the line of dark hair. Namjoon studied his face with painful attentiveness, remembering every detail all over again – this time not through pictures, through real Seokjin, warm and close, looking back at him with a soft smile – for the long months in Tacoma, for every time his heart would be looking back. It hit him, right at that moment, that he would not see this face again in so long, maybe years, maybe forever, and despite the logical reasoning that it was for the better, something sharp gripped his heart.
He still loved him, god, of course, he still fucking loved him.
This time he didn’t wait for the nod – if Seokjin refused, he would be the one to beg anyway – and leaned closer, not thinking, not analyzing, just tricking his heart into thinking that it was real, breathing in his exhale and pressing into soft lips. Just like last time, just like in each of his dreams, everything inside curled, pulsating with yearning. His heartbeat went straight to his ears, the world shrunk to this room, warm, glowing, and existing in another reality.
Seokjin tasted like cherry lip balm and mint gum, like he knew they would kiss, unlike Namjoon who left notes of strong coffee on his tongue.
He wanted everything, all at once, oblivious of boundaries, knowing only that now, in this flickering moment of his life, Seokjin was his, consciously and willingly. His hands, still trembling, still not believing, barely touched him. Fingertips traced Seokjin’s waist over thin shirt, spread over his chest, flinched away from shameless openness of his neck, not daring, not daring, before hesitantly resting on his cheek. There was no pattern to his kiss, no mindful thoroughness, deep licks replacing careful nips and then replaced by soft pressure, skin to skin. Seokjin didn't stop him ever for a moment, only following, only allowing.
At some point, oxygen became too important to miss out on, and Namjoon moved from his lips to the rest of Seokjin's face. His palms gently held Seokjin in place while his lips left feverish pecks wherever they could reach – eyebrows, temples, chin, cheeks, nose, forehead, every inch receiving its portion of affection. Seokjin quietly hummed under caress, eyes closed, a content smile on his lips, one hand still resting on Namjoon’s forearm, the other gently stroking his neck.
“You love me,” he murmured quietly, and Namjoon wanted to whine in desperation.
“Of course, of course, I love you, I love you so much, I would fucking stay if you asked, of course, I love you,” he whispered through tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Something broke inside from the words being finally spoken, anguish and love bursting into his chest, filling up to the throat, making him gasp for air.
The hand holding his finally relaxed, disappeared for a second before fingers came to gently run over Namjoon’s cheek. Seokjin moved an inch away a moment later. They looked at each other, for a second or maybe for eternity, Namjoon gave up on counting, he was only looking, only worshiping the beauty he was allowed to follow, his features reflecting the pain of yearning, the knowledge of Eros’ mercilessness.
“Do you want me?”
He blinked, unsure if the words weren’t just a figment of his imagination. Surely, his brain created an illusion out of countless dreams and fantasies.
“What do you mean?”
Seokjin only smirked, catching disbelief in his voice, and slowly leaned backwards until his back touched a black cardigan and whatever else was beneath it. The sunlight immediately claimed half of his face and caressed it with a warm touch. Seokjin was ethereal, peering at Namjoon from the drape of long eyelashes, wrist coming to rest on his forehead, protecting from the sun’s annoying affection, long crooked fingers resembling a piece of the most beautiful marble.
“Do you want me, Joon-ah?”
Namjoon was quiet, breathing heavily, eyes desperately drinking the mirage. It wasn’t real, couldn’t possibly be real, and yet Seokjin’s fingers found his palm on the bed, ran over the skin as high as they could reach, and sent a shiver up his body. Namjoon wanted to say yes, of course, he wanted him, he always wanted him, never wanted anyone more than him – but something stopped him. His heart and body were barely in place, bursting reins, seeking for more touches, more kisses, more him – but his mind still clung onto the last remnants of rationality, because something was wrong, something was wrong, something was...
“Are you doing this out of pity?”
Namjoon immediately frowned at his own words, having no idea where they came from. It was rude, and unnecessary, and – Seokjin was quiet. He parted his lips to respond, maybe even deny – but didn’t let anything out. His parents had taught him honesty, too.
An invisible hoop squeezed Namjoon’s chest. He let out a loud, bitter laugh and stood up, swaying from the sharp movement or, maybe, sudden rush of weakness. Humiliation poured down him like a bucket of ice.
“Joon-ah…”
“Am I that pathetic?” He blankly stared at the floor, not taking even a step, just standing and staring, the hoop shrinking around him.
“No, no, you’re not, Joon...”
“That you’re even ready to tolerate my touches? For what? To make your pet happy?”
It hurt so much tears started to swell in his eyes – not from sadness or regret but out of pure pain. He couldn’t breathe properly, the hoop not allowing his lungs to expand.
“Do you really think that’s how I see you?”
“I don’t… I don’t know anymore.”
His mind blurred. His body was in flames, arousal still lingering between the hips, barely noticeable in the smoke of explosions jarring his chest – he had to place his palm there to make sure the bones weren’t breaking.
“Namjoon-ah? Are you okay?”
He heard rustle coming from the bed – and, without a thought, took a step forward, another one, and another, hurrying to get to the door and only there allowing himself to look back.
Seokjin sat on the edge of the bed, worry and regret in his eyes, feet already on the floor like he had actually rushed to help. The image, so different from the one Namjoon had memorized seconds ago, brought up realization: that was it. He rejected, Seokjin accepted – and, out of nowhere, fear rushed over him. He would never touch him again. He would never see him like that again. Seokjin would never ask him again. Namjoon lost his only chance, and suddenly, he wanted it back.
What if he accepted? What if he didn’t care, didn’t ask, and just kissed Seokjin again? What if, despite everything, there was a seed in Seokjin’s heart, and he could reach it with kisses and touches, to warm his body enough for it to sprout? What if he just lost everything he'd ever wished for because of his own pride?
“Joon?”
He was probably quiet for too long, because Seokjin’s frown deepened. He moved to stand up but didn't step closer, caution clear in the movements – he knew Namjoon wanted to run away.
“Do you want me, hyung?” he asked, and immediately realized he didn't want to know the answer. Everything was already written Seokjin's face in the sweeping handwriting of guilt.
Only Namjoon’s phone dared to break the silence between them, a cheerful melody spreading across the apartment, mocking his ears. It finally made him move, turn around fully, and leave the room, following the sound to the kitchen. The bathroom was already quiet.
“Hey, hyung?” Jungkook’s voice felt like a bandage to Namjoon’s heart, smile easily heard through the speakers. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah, I’m...” He threw a glance at the empty doorway. “I’m alone.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon, okay?”
Namjoon chuckled. “Okay.”
“I’m bringing gifts too, so warm up the stove!”
“Okay, okay, just get here already.”
When he turned away from the stove, Seokjin was already in the doorway, peering at him.
“I think it’s better…”
“I do.”
Namjoon stilled in front of an open drawer, mind trying to catch up. “What?”
“I do want you.” Seokjin took a step closer, offering his open palm. “Want to see?”
For a few seconds, his mind was still glitched, gaze darting between the hand and Seokjin’s face until, finally, settling on the frying pan in the drawer. “So you’re laughing at me again.”
“I've never laughed at you, what do you mean 'again'?”
He exhaled sharply, jaw tensing. “It doesn’t matter. Jungkook will be here soon, you better leave.”
“Are you sure?”
They both knew what he was refusing, Seokjin’s voice filled with challenge, Namjoon’s heart filled with sorrow – but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.
“Yes, hyung, please, leave.”
Three seconds of silence.
“Alright.”
They didn’t utter a word for the next few minutes. Seokjin was getting ready to leave in the hallway while Namjoon leaned on the counter in the kitchen, trying to come up with more arguments on why he shouldn’t stop him. The pile was already gigantic but, somehow, still not enough to calm his heart.
“Oh, and also,” Seokjin did decide to show up once again before leaving. He stood in the doorway, fingers tapping at the frame. “Yoongi wants to surprise you tonight and show up to help with the bags. I'd suggest you to leave earlier if you don’t want to see us again.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Seokjin fidgeted, awkwardly looked around – and then suddenly took a step closer, another one, closer, and wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, squeezed, bringing him into a fierce hug.
“Text us when you reach the place.”
“Okay." Disoriented and aching, all Namjoon could do was to hug him back, blinking through confusion.
“And, please, don’t break anything on the first day, they might kick you out.”
“They won’t." Realization slowly dawned on him, and a fond smile appeared on his lips. Seokjin quietly sniffled.
“They might when they figure out what a disaster you are.”
He even chuckled. “Thanks?”
Seokjin swallowed audibly and pulled back, lingering with his palms on Namjoon's shoulders, far enough to not count it as anything intimate. His eyes darting over Namjoon's face with something sad and anxious. “I love you, Joon-ah, like a friend, like a person, I love you, we all do – and we all will be waiting for you.”
He huffed, unable to find any joy for the sound, heart too busy dealing with newfound longing for Seokjin’s touches, and nodded. "Okay, thanks, hyung.”
Seokjin nodded too, hesitance in his movements, lingered for a couple of seconds – and moved forward to peck Namjoon’s cheek, “Good luck, Joon-ah,” before smiling sadly and leaving. The door quietly creaked behind him.
Namjoon stayed there for a minute, dim eyes staring at the fridge, then sighed and went to pull the top out of the washing machine.
grumpy cat: hey, joon?
grumpy cat: where are you?
groot: in taxi
groot: why?
grumpy cat: :/
mochi: wdym in taxi?
mochi: you were supposed to leave in an hour??
groot: um, sorry?
groot: parents came to help me
groot: and we left earlier
groot: why?
mochi: we came to say goodbye :((
groot: oh fuck
groot: sorry, i didn’t know
groot: next time? ;)
grumpy cat: sure
pretty: :(
mochi: next time will be in forever!!
groot: just a few months!!
groot: sorry guys
pretty: we can come to the airport now
mochi: !!
groot: too late
groot: i’m already inside :/
grumpy cat: but your plane is in 3 hours
groot: i have books to read
grumpy cat: :/
mochi: we really can’t see you anymore?
mochi: joon :(
groot: *hyung
mochi: :((
pretty: can’t you come out or sth?
groot: no :(
groot: but you can call?
mochi: :D
“Socrates seems only to care about loving knowledge and seeking the truth through conversation; the speech of Alcibiades calls into question whether this is really enough. Alcibiades is drunk, and his speech is about the drunken, manic, possessed aspects of love entirely overlooked by other characters so far. For Alcibiades, eros is painful, crazed, as much about Bacchic possession as about valorous action. Alcibiades says that part of why he loves Socrates is that Socrates is full of beautiful λόγοι (thought/speech/discourse) that contain images of virtue, but loving a virtuous beloved turns out to be insufficient to make Alcibiades virtuous. For him, eros is not only a source of beauty and creation, but also—if frustrated—a source of suffering and destruction."
The call didn’t actually wake him up – he was already staring at the ceiling and slowly blinking – but it was a bit too early anyway. 7:14 peered at him from above Jimin’s photo, a selfie Namjoon had taken in the airport last time he was back in Korea with a threat to 'always look at it when you’re sad'.
It was…how late in there?
“Hey.” His voice was still groggy. “Did you check times before calling?”
“Yes, I did.” Jimin’s voice, in turn, was loud, cheerful and slightly slurring. “Can you turn on the camera?”
“I’m still in bed, come on,” he tried to whine – and suddenly someone whistled in the background, Jimin’s giggles immediately following. “You aren’t alone, are you?”
“Well, are you?” Another set of giggles, now in few voices. “Sorry, hyung – and we just want to see you for a second! Pleease!”
“We as in who? I’m not gonna show up in my underwear in front of strangers.” He frowned, mind still too slow to form proper connections between the time, date, and voices.
There was a loud rustle on the other side, and then another voice, deeper but happier, replaced Jimin’s. “Hyung, when we say we want to see you, we mean your face, please, keep other parts of your body to yourself.”
Namjoon smirked and fidgeted on the bed, eyes lazily tracing the lines of the room. “You sound too sober for such an hour, Jungkook-ah.”
“Well, fortunately, I’m not. Turn on the camera and see for yourself.” He could hear a teasing smile in Jungkook's voice, exhilaration reaching him through miles of oceans and lands.
“Okay, okay, geez.” He moved the phone away from the ear to press at the little image of camera on the screen, speaker automatically growing louder.
“You picked up an awful lot of weird words, hyung." Despite the phone being in Jungkook’s hands, wide smile and bright eyes immediately taking up the whole screen, Jimin managed to cover him almost fully with his face. Judging by the sound, he almost fell on Jungkook’s laps, and Jungkook was not happy about it.
“It’s called slang, Jimin-ah.” Namjoon grinned, watching them fight for the phone, Jimin actively attacking Jungkook’s strength with pointed pinches. “So, you’re totally okay now?”
“Yeah." Jungkook got distracted, turning to look at him, and that was his mistake. Jimin immediately snatched the phone out of his grip and ran a few steps away.
“Totally,” he breathed out and, finally, threw a glance at Namjoon, grinning as well. “I had to find someone to cuddle after you left.”
“Hey, I hear disrespect in your voice,” Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat, “while you are in my house.”
“It’s not your house, hyung.” He could see Jimin quirk an eyebrow at someone behind the phone.
“Whatever, we have a deal.”
“No, we do not,” another voice joined, amused and weirdly calm for this chaos. “You just come whenever you want, it’s not a deal.”
There was a second of silence – and then Jimin burst out laughing, others joining him almost immediately, his gaze finally going back to the screen. “Wanna see Jin-hyung pouting?”
Can he not answer, please, please, can he not answer?
“And you two are awful at cuddling anyway.” Namjoon let out a soundless sigh of relief as Jimin looked back up, in some place and time Namjoon was already alien to, and image in the frame shifted.
“You never tried." Yoongi’s voice was smiling and teasing, a deeper meaning flashing through it, and Jimin smiled.
“Is this an invitation, hyung?”
Namjoon hummed with curiosity. Alright, they’d talk about it later.
The sound brought Jimin’s attention back, and he finally raised the phone to show the room – or show Namjoon to the room, who knew.
He recognized Yoongi’s apartment, saw it a couple of times during his visits – it was spacious, minimalist and aesthetically pleasing, a combination of pastel colors streaked with black notes. He also recognized Yoongi as a small figure curled in an armchair, black pants and long t-shirt – apparently, they'd drunk enough for him to relax completely. Namjoon couldn’t see his face properly but was sure stains of pink already bloomed on his cheeks.
He recognized Jungkook, too, his tall figure sprawled over the couch, probably where Jimin left him minutes ago, dark shirt and jeans contrasting with the grey color of the pillows. As soon as the room came into view, Jungkook lifted himself to lean on one elbow and waved at the camera, “Hey, hyung,” a couple of bottles standing next to him. There was, overall, a mess in the room and, particularly, on the table, where snacks, bottles, and empty cups of ramyeon piled up.
“What are you, guys, doing?” Namjoon tipped his head in confusion, trying to distinguish the details of the room, cautiously searching for something in particular.
“Well,” Jimin tilted the phone to face him properly, “Jin-hyung had his birthday on Tuesday…”
“…about which you shamelessly forgot,” a voice murmured with accusation, Seokjin himself finally appearing in the frame. He leaned on Jimin’s shoulder and looked at the screen with pursed lips.
“Sorry,” was all Namjoon could say, throat clenching around any explanation he could give, which Seokjin, apparently, was waiting for. He looked displeased and impatient, but Jimin quickly nudged him with an elbow.
“Never mind him, Namjoonie-hyung. Jin-hyung is old and grumpy now, he's been complaining all day.”
Seokjin’s eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately shoved Jimin’s shoulder. "How dare you? While Yoongi is right there - how dare you?”
“Hey!”
“Anyway.” Jimin shook his head in a joking annoyance and turned back to the phone. “We decided to meet today instead – and invite you!”
“How sweet.” Namjoon chuckled, suddenly growing nervous, realization that he hadn’t seen Seokjin in almost two years getting clearer with every passing second.
He hadn’t changed at all, still loud and careless in front of other people, playing his role of flawless beauty without a hitch. He was smiling, waving at Yoongi dismissively, murmuring something to Jungkook, all the while holding Jimin’s shoulder – the center of attention, the heart of the universe, the brightest star keeping them together. He was still glowing, still beautiful, even in a simple hoodie, even through the shaking screen of jumping quality. His smile was still breathtaking. He hadn’t changed at all, only…
“Pink suits you, hyung,” Namjoon blurted out without thinking, maybe genuinely impressed or, maybe, just craving attention that was directed to everyone else but him.
He got it either way. Seokjin quickly turned to the phone and tilted his head with a pleased smile. "Thank you, Namjoon-ah. If that’s your attempt to apologize, I accept it."
“Where’s my compliment then?” Jimin immediately walked away from Seokjin, now only his face in the frame, offended and waiting.
“You’ve been orange for almost a month, Jimin-ah, and I've told you a billion times already.” Namjoon only rolled his eyes – but then the sound of steps reached him in real life, and he quickly looked up, not paying attention to his friend still whining on the other side.
“Are you talking to someone?”
Soohyun peeked from behind the door, running a comb through wet hair. She was still in her pajama, grey pants and white t-shirt with pink cartoonish print, all cute, soft and lovely. Namjoon involuntarily smiled, lowering the phone, everything getting quiet on the other side.
“Yeah, just friends." He reached out without a word – the girl came to hold his hand with fond smile.
“Just friends?”
“Mm-hmm, wanna meet them?”
She immediately frowned, still smiling though, and shook her head. “I’m just from the shower, are you serious?”
“Hi, noona!!” Jimin’s loud voice cut through the silence. “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty!”
They both laughed at that, giggles coming from the speakers as well, and Namjoon quickly confirmed with a nod, “You are still pretty.”
“No, no, not today, but thank you, Jimin-ah, maybe next time.” And then, Soohyun suddenly winked at her boyfriend with additional, “Also, your hair is gorgeous.”
“You’re spoiling him." Namjoon tried to frown properly through Jimin’s noises of gratitude, but it was impossible, not when Soohyun looked so happy and pleased, giving him an innocent shrug before tugging slightly at the palm.
“I’m making coffee, baby koala, time to get up. We have to leave in twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” He quickly checked digits in the corner of the screen – yeah, it was time to hurry up – and shifted to place feet on the floor. “I’ll come in a minute.”
Soohyun sent him a smile and disappeared in the hallway, only a trace of some sweet oils lingering in the air.
He turned to the phone only to see Jimin taking up most of the screen, his gaze focused somewhere beyond the frame. “…not sure, I’ll check on the map after, maybe it’s closed.”
Namjoon cleared his throat, and Jimin immediately looked at him with a teasing smirk. “What’s up, baby koala?”
He groaned and rubbed his face in frustration, pushing himself up. “You can’t just leave it, huh?”
“I’m already changing your contact." And, indeed, Jimin’s eyes grew more focused, fingers tapping something on the screen. “A-and your name in the group chat – if you still remember what it is.”
“Of course, I do.” Namjoon only sighed, looking around in search of pants, knowing perfectly that it was too late to stop him. Jimin was already halfway into his evil plan. “I need to go, though. See you next time?”
“Sure, but wait! Wave at everyone first.” Jimin jumped up on his feet and turned the phone so that the whole room came into frame again. Yoongi was still in his place, Jungkook now sat on the couch, and Seokjin leaned on the pillows next to him. “They might not admit it, but we miss you – even Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi, apparently, wanted to protest. He shifted in his armchair, scrunched his nose, but then decided against it and only raised his hand to wave. “Yeah, okay, whatever,”
Jimin immediately jumped closer to show Yoongi properly. There were, indeed, pink stains on his cheeks and a soft smile in the corners of his lips.
“Miss you too, hyung, sorry we didn’t talk.”
“It’s okay, I told them it’d be a mess.” Yoongi nodded with his ever-knowing smirk.
“You liked it anyway,” Jimin’s voice immediately added, and Yoongi looked up to give him a nose scrunch – he was extremely cute when drunk, even Namjoon admitted – before saluting with a glass of soju.
“Let’s meet up when you’re back again.”
“Of course, hyung,” Namjoon said with a smile of his own albeit short – he was distracted by the sweatshirts in his wardrobe.
“Give me some space.” There was a blur of legs and packs of chips for a few seconds, the frame violently shaking, before camera shifted from the back to the front in an instant to show Jimin surrounded by the other two. “Okay, now, your farewell speeches.”
“Come back soon, hyung!” Jungkook flashed him his brightest smile, tilting his head to get fully into the frame. “You’ll visit us on winter holidays, right?”
“I don’t know if I’ll have time. We’re going to Ilsan, then to Daejeon – but I’ll try, Jungkook-ah, I’ll try.” Namjoon smiled at the camera, warm and promising, his gaze still focused on the cardigan he'd just chosen.
He should’ve figured what would happen next, but seeing Seokjin’s face was always a bit electrifying.
“Hey, Joon-ah.” A shiver ran over his skin upon the familiar nickname. “You know, I miss you, right?”
Namjoon swallowed the guilt. He had been avoiding Seokjin the most, seeing him no more than three times for the past three years.
“I know, hyung. Sorry for the birthday. I always wish you all the best.”
“Thank you.” Seokjin smiled, something sad and understanding flashing through his eyes before disappearing with a wink and childish V-sign against his cheek. “But I’m already the best.”
“Ew, hyung, I like you grumpy more." Namjoon’s chuckle drowned in Jimin’s loud whine, camera immediately moving to face him only. Jimin had to press it almost to the chin, the other two apparently trying to get their portion of screen time, the frame shaking in his hands. “They’re trying to defeat me, but I’m not- Oh, wait, Kookie, give it back!”
Jungkook’s face appeared in the frame again, loud giggles and fingers all over the camera indicating that the fight was not over. It looked like he was trying to escape while holding the phone higher.
“Hyung, we love you, come back, okay, bye!”
Loud yelp, probably Jimin’s, was the last thing he heard before they disconnected.
Namjoon looked at the dark screen for a second longer, his own smiling face reflected on the surface, and dropped the phone on the bed before moving to the bathroom, the smell of coffee already in the air. They all were okay, and he did kind of miss them.
jin-hyung: i’m so sorry
joon: ?
joon: for what?
jin-hyung: for everything
jin-hyung: i shouldn’t have done it
jin-hyung: i should’ve been a better friend
jin-hyung: i’m so sorry
joon: it’s 2am
joon: go to sleep, hyung
jin-hyung: it’s cold
joon: get a blanket?
jin-hyung: i don’t want to wake yoongi
jin-hyung: joon-ah?
jin-hyung: are you here?
joon: i’m in class
joon: go to sleep
jin-hyung: he just offered me to stay over
jin-hyung: i’m not in his bed
jin-hyung: i’m on the couch
jin-hyung: kook dropped a few chips i think
joon: why are you telling me this
joon: just sleep
jin-hyung: i don’t know
jin-hyung: joon-ah
jin-hyung: do you still love me?
jin-hyung: joon
jin-hyung: i know you’re reading
jin-hyung: please tell me
joon: go to sleep, hyung
jin-hyung: joon, please
joon: go to sleep
joon: or i’ll call yoongi-hyung myself
jin-hyung: you won’t
jin-hyung: you think he’ll be angry if you bother him
jin-hyung: you think he’s tough
jin-hyung: you all do
jin-hyung: but he’s soft
jin-hyung: and fragile
jin-hyung: and i fucked him up
jin-hyung: too
jin-hyung: i’m such a piece of shit arent i
joon: you are not
joon: go to sleep
jin-hyung: do you still love me?
jin-hyung: just a bit
jin-hyung: after everything
jin-hyung: do you still love me, joon-ah?
jin-hyung: what
jin-hyung: you really called him??
joon: good night, hyung
“In contrast to the desiring and passionate yearning of eros, philia entails a fondness and appreciation of the other. Aristotle elaborates on the kinds of things we seek in proper friendship, suggesting that the proper basis for philia is objective: those who share our dispositions, who bear no grudges, who seek what we do, who are temperate, and just, who admire us appropriately as we admire them, and so on.”
Taehyung was a sweetheart in every possible meaning.
He was handsome, charming, sometimes too loud, sometimes too quiet, but overall – a sweetheart.
He found a common language with, essentially, everybody – even Soohyun, who was still getting used to their company – through passionate discussions, warm smiles, and, well, flirting. Jimin quickly caught up with his techniques, turned all attempts to flirt into friendly bickering, and the two of them grew close so quickly Namjoon sometimes wondered if he should've been jealous. But Jungkook and, surprisingly, Yoongi would still turn red whenever Taehyung’s attention panned to them, and everyone found that endearing – that is, of course, until his flirting would come closer to the borders of Seokjin’s patience, plush lips pursing in annoyance. Taehyung would always laugh then, like that was exactly what he was trying to achieve, and immediately come back to Seokjin to kiss those lips and murmur apologies, snuggling closer. A sweetheart indeed.
Seokjin brought a 'guy from museum that was trying to pick him up with awful lines but managed to - with a childish smile and mention of van Gogh’s Flowering Orchards', according to Jimin. Everyone thought they wouldn't be together for long, passion burning brightly but quickly – 'you’re blessed for not seeing what I saw today, god, they’re so clingy' – but the infatuation started to wear off months later, and they were still a couple. Namjoon got his diploma, came back to Seoul, found a bigger apartment, helped Soohyun with moving, and Taehyung and Seokjin were still a couple. Less giggling, more bickering, less touchy, more respectful, less passion, more confidence. They weren’t perfect, fights flaring up here and there, sometimes hurting each other, sometimes hurting themselves, but they always found a way to reconcile and come back, cheesy and sweet, to the group chat again.
They weren’t perfect, but they were good – that was, until…
taetae: hey guys
taetae: i have something to tell you
yoongles: ?
taetae: i got an offer from university in Yamanashi
taetae: to study japanesery
duckling: ??
taetae: nevermind
taetae: the point is
taetae: i’m moving to Japan
duckling: :((
taetae: :(
maknae: whaaaaaat?
taetae: :/
taetae: we already talked
maknae: ;)
baby koala: when?
taetae: soon
taetae: i have to be there by the end of the holidays
hyunie: so, less than a month? :(
taetae: yeah
baby koala: damn that’s sad
duckling: you sure you have to go?
maknae2: we will miss you
taetae: how much, kookie? ;)
baby koala: …
yoongles: ...
duckling: ...
maknae2: very much??
duckling: ANYWAY
duckling: it’s unfair that joon-hyung just came back
baby koala: 6 months ago?..
duckling: and now you two are leaving
duckling: why do you hate Korea so much ;(
maknae: ahem
taetae: first, we don’t
taetae: second, jin?
maknae: yeah
maknae: i’m not going
yoongles: what?
duckling: the fuck
maknae2: are you two breaking up?
maknae: no?
maknae: it just doesn’t make sense for me to move
maknae: i can’t magically transport my work there, can i?
duckling: well yeah, but
taetae: isn’t it a great argument?
taetae: like, of course, there are no restaurants in japan whatsoever
maknae: taehyung, we talked about it already
maknae: don’t make a fuss
taetae: i do not
taetae: anyway
taetae: i wanna celebrate the offer
taetae: who’s up for a weekend on jeju?
taetae: i’m paying
Everyone was up for a weekend on Jeju – sitting in Seoul in the middle of July was, at best, unpleasant.
The island was as beautiful as Namjoon remembered it from his childhood family trips: green, small and shining. Only back then, his family could afford only small rooms in the quieter parts of the town, but now, Taehyung decided to go big, with a private house in an expensive complex on the shore, with a pool and BBQ area chosen specifically for the last-day party.
Neither Soohyun, nor Jimin had ever been to Jeju – Jimin's parents preferred to spend vacation somewhere abroad, while Soohyun spent most of her life abroad anyway – so it was decided to explore the island in a mini tour. They went up the Halla Mountain (try to guess which two were the most whiny on the way there), took photos with the Baengnokdam lake, went down to the beach and then parted – Taehyung, Seokjin, Jimin and Yoongi went deeper into the city for a night in the bars, the other three turned back to the hotel to get a proper sleep before waking up for a sunrise. Jimin, still half-drunk and half-asleep, joined them in the morning on the way to the Sunrise Peak, surprisingly gathering enough energy for a hike, although the last half an hour were spent mostly clinging to Jungkook.
By the time they came back, Taehyung was already up, and Jimin immediately disappeared to replace him in the kingdom of dreams. Overall, the second day was much lazier, maybe because some of the participants were hangover and grumpy or, perhaps, because everyone was saving energy for the big grilling party; either way, after a walk on the beach, checking the waterfalls and local food in a restaurant, they started slowly but steadily gather for the evening.
Seokjin and Soohyun quickly took up the kitchen, the two of them staying alone possibly for the first time ever (which absolutely did not make Namjoon nervous) but quickly settling into a comfortable and easy discussion of Seokjin’s job as a food critic and Soohyun’s parents’ ability to combine American and Korean in one dish. Yoongi and Jungkook worked on the meat in quiet concentration that obviously fitted them both. Taehyung left to get alcohol, Jimin popped up here and there with speakers and loud giggles, commenting on processes, offering help, and overall keeping the mood up, while Namjoon, well... Namjoon offered help, too, and it almost hurt how often he was gently rejected, if only he didn’t know the reason himself. He ended up on the edge of the pool, staring at the water and listening to Jimin’s music.
The day was pleasant, from beginning to end: cool breeze caressed every patch of his heated skin, the rustle of leaves and whisper of the ocean lulled his heart, his friends' presence softened the edges of his mind. It was easy to let go of everything else and just breathe in the present moment. The sunlight glimmering through blue water, Jimin’s voice joining a singer Namjoon had never heard before, a dog barking and splashing in the distance – when something nudged him from inside.
Where were all his poems now? It had been years since he wrote one.
Maybe this time, the lines would finally be read.
He spent some time upstairs, first looking for papers and pen, and then just staring at the empty lines for a few minutes, gathering thoughts and growing nervous. It had been a really long time, almost five years if not more, and the blank paper was much more intimidating. Like meeting a never-forgotten lover. What an irony.
But, eventually, his hand moved, words formed in sentences. His grip on the notebook grew more familiar, the pen started flowing over the paper – and only after almost a dozen lines, Namjoon realized that something was wrong. He was in the middle of the happiest days of his life, receiving as much as he was giving, sharing space and intimacy, secretly thinking about marriage – but the words were still sad, heart was still longing for something, and despite confusion, the hand kept writing.
If he could write only that, then so be it. At least, his heart would feel lighter.
His hand started to ache when steps finally came from the hallway. Seokjin’s voice reached him from the open window in a loud 'Namjoon-ah!' at the same time as the door creaked and Soohyun peeked inside.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He smiled at her, fingers nervously running over the edge of the paper. “What’s up?”
“The meat is ready, and we’re opening wine. Taehyung says he found something special, are you coming?”
“Sure, I just… give me a second.” He tried to cover the notebook with his knees, fidgeted awkwardly on the bed – and when was the last time he actually managed to be subtle?
“What are you doing there?” Soohyun tilted her head with a curious frown and took a step inside the room.
“It’s nothing.” He rushed to turn the papers over, cardboard back showing its side.
“Are you sure?”
Soohyun stopped next to him, her gaze darting between the notebook and his face. Namjoon only nodded in response and, pushing it aside, sat up. “Let’s go?”
Taehyung had found, indeed, something special – or, well, Namjoon was sure that whoever had sold him the bottle of wine was just good at marketing, but Taehyung kept repeating that it was 'very old and very good'. Also, he refused to name the price, so maybe, it was indeed old. About the 'good' part opinions divided – the wine was too sweet for Namjoon’s taste, and too strong for Jungkook, but overall, it was okay.
They were deep into the night, the second batch of meat slowly hissing on the grill, empty bowls already piling up in the kitchen. Lights dimmed around the area, creating a soft, calm atmosphere. The ocean quietly whispered in the shadows, like it was right around the line of bushes, not dozens of feet away. Stars were already winking in the darkness above, but the skyline was still streaked with the last patches of purple and blue.
Namjoon and Soohyun went to the beach for a few long minutes to bask in the beauty and murmur words not meant for the ears of others. When they came back, everyone was already diving into the fresh portion of meat, shrugging and screaming 'too late, you’re just too late!' (okay, not everyone, it was precisely Taehyung). But luckily, they were not the only ones, as Jungkook came out of the building a minute later.
“Guys, did you… Hey, I asked to wait for me!” He immediately rushed to the table, looking genuinely offended, and Taehyung grinned at him and patted on the shoulder.
“It’s okay, there’s enough for you, big boy.”
Seokjin gave him bemused look that went unnoticed.
“So,” Jungkook started once again, when his stomach was full and face much happier than before. “Has anyone seen my notebook?”
“Why do you carry notebooks?” Jimin quirked an eyebrow at him, slightly too criticizing, slightly too drunk.
“I like to draw,” Jungkook replied with joking mannerism, putting his elbow on the table and mirroring Jimin’s expression.
“What does it look like?” Seokjin fidgeted, ignoring their jestings, and crawled from under Taehyung’s arm to lean on the table. Surprisingly, he also looked drunk, pink cheeks and glistening eyes that could’ve been just a play. It was impossible to figure him out. “I think I saw something on the second floor, I’ll check.”
“You just want to go to the bathroom,” Yoongi commented, staring at his own glass of soju – they'd finished the wine in less than an hour – and immediately received a slap on the head.
“That, too.” Seokjin only shrugged in response to the pout and walked away to the glass doors.
Something stirred in Namjoon’s chest at the sight, but Seokjin wouldn’t go as far as to walk into their bedroom and check the notebook that was openly left on the blanket, right? He swallowed and looked away from the door. No, of course not.
“I don’t think it’s there, though, I checked everywhere." Jungkook sighed, unfocused gaze running over the table. “It’s a shame, I just bought it.”
“Wait,” Soohyun fidgeted under Namjoon’s arm. Damn it. He actually thought (hoped) she'd fallen asleep, covered in warm blanket and curled next to him. “What notebook? I think I saw one in our room today.”
Jungkook's face immediately lit up. “Yes?”
Soohyun only looked up at her boyfriend with actually sleepy eyes, and Namjoon shrugged, mind in a silent panic, and turned to Jungkook. “Yeah, I, um, I found one today, it may be yours. I’ll give it to you in the morning, okay?”
“Okay.” Jungkook smiled and leaned back in the chair, eyes still fixed on Namjoon, curiosity quickly replacing the worry. “Why did you take it though?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, just notes, you know.”
“What notes? Are you writing a novel?” Yoongi drunkenly chuckled, sending him a quick unfocused glance. Wine had got him well.
At the mention of novel, Taehyung perked up as a never-dying lover of art – he might’ve preferred paintings and music, but books were among his interests – and looked at Namjoon with unusual seriousness. “Are you, hyung?”
“No, of course not." He let out a laugh, gaze darting between all of them before landing on the table. God, how did he end up here?
“Then what is it? I’m curious, too.” Soohyun shifted again, this time to sit properly and look at him, the warmth in her eyes being the only thing that didn't make his heart pound in fear.
Something warm touched his arm, and he turned around perhaps too quickly, nerves making every movement sharper. Jimin even flinched in surprise before placing a palm back on his shoulder. His eyes were still glassy but trying to focus, frown a bit too serious, but he clearly didn’t bother – just as always, when it came to expressions. Even before he said anything, Namjoon already knew that he knew, best friend status being rightfully taken but, unfortunately, confirmed out loud.
“Did you start writing again?”
And just like in a fucking melodrama (he started thinking his life could actually become a good script for a play), the entrance door opened and Seokjin walked out with a loud, “It’s not there, sorry, Kookie,” pulling a robe over his shoulders.
Jungkook and Taehyung immediately shushed at him, the former one nudging Jimin with a curious, “Writing what?”
A loud huff reached them, but Namjoon didn't dare to look up at Seokjin’s pout, didn't dare to look anywhere at all but Jimin's eyes. He was still struggling to deliver a message – please, don’t, please, not now – but Jimin didn't react at all. It started to look like the serious frown was not a product of alcohol but his actual mind.
“Did you?”
“Jimin-ah, maybe later?”
“What’s going on?” Seokjin looked around in confusion, placing a piece of meat on his plate.
“It’s about Namjoon-hyung, he’s writing a novel,” Taehyung quietly replied only to have Jungkook shush at him, too.
“It’s not a novel, hyung, it’s something else, but they,” he pointed at two friends still staring at each other, “won’t tell us.”
Jimin was still clearly in the process of understanding that he shouldn’t fucking talk anymore, but the urge to know the answer was still written all over his face, his eyes almost pleading. Namjoon had no idea where it came from, and so they kept silently staring at each other.
In the end, Yoongi was the one to betray him.
“Does it have something to do with songs?” He looked between them, maybe actually curious, maybe partially jealous – everyone knew he had a thing for Jimin – with raised eyebrows and a raised glass of soju.
Fuck, Namjoon actually forgot that Yoongi knew, too.
He stilled for a few seconds, feeling others’ gazes – everyone but one. Seokjin was tearing into his piece of meat with sounds that, weirdly, made Namjoon even more nervous, and warmth crept up his neck despite the cool air of the evening. God. Fuck. Okay. He sighed in defeat.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Woah, Joonie, you never told me!” There was genuine surprise and even pride in Soohyun’s voice, her palm coming to rub his shoulder.
“He never told even me!” Jungkook exclaimed and immediately realized how it came out, looking at the girl with an apology. "Not to belittle you, noona, it’s just that we've known each other for how much, seven years, and I hear about it for the first time as well.”
“It’s nothing special really.” All Namjoon could do was drink and wait for the storm to calm, not looking around, not looking at anybody, just staring at his soju and waiting.
“Don’t say that.” Jimin gently slapped his arm, coming out of his daze, probably finding his answer somewhere in the conversation already.
“What kind of songs?” Taehyung leaned on the table, chin in his palm, dreamy smile on his lips, probably imagining something romantic and nice. His boyfriend was still barely paying attention to the conversation, and there was a hidden irony in the image, one only few of them saw.
“It weren’t really songs…”
“Hyungie used to write poems – since middle school, I think.” It was the time for Jimin to play his best friend card openly. He looked around with pride before turning back to Namjoon, hand coming to brush through his hair in an affectionate gesture. Even if Soohyun saw something in it, she said nothing. “He’s very talented, even won a competition at school – but that’s not even about grades. It’s really hard to explain, but Namjoonie-hyung is a genius I think.”
“You’re just drunk.”
“No, it’s true!” Jimin even turned to the others, eager to deliver his adoration. “I wish he could show you some, you’d understand. He was, like, seventeen and knew more words than I know now, and he’d put them into metaphors, and some… constructions, and god knows what else – but it was beautiful! He really put his soul into the lines. He used to write a lot, until,” he stumbled for the first time, realization probably getting through alcohol. “Well, he stopped in the university.”
“Thanks, Jimin-ah." Their gazes met for a second, and there was finally guilt in Jimin’s eyes, but it was too late. Seokjin was already too quiet.
“You should show us someday, hyung!”
“Yes, that sounds wonderful, Joonie, maybe you could read us something?” Soohyun gently touched his arm to bring attention, but he was too tense at this point, talking rather to the table than his friends.
“Sorry, I can’t. I threw everything away before moving.”
“What?”
“Why, hyung?”
Namjoon shrugged, suddenly feeling one gaze that was heavier than the rest of them put together, and swallowed to clear his throat, fiddling with the edge of Soohyun's blanket. "Wasn’t in the mood anymore.”
“That sucks,” Jungkook murmured as Taehyung just loudly sighed.
“Why you talked about songs then, Yoongi-ssi?” Soohyun fidgeted next to him, head coming to rest on Namjoon's shoulder as the conversation was slowly dying away.
“Well, Namjoonie gave me a few of his texts as lyrics. I used to write music for them and sell them as songs. Most of them went well.” Yoongi shrugged and took another sip while Taehyung quickly added two and two.
“Wait, does it mean there are songs with hyung’s lyrics?”
“Maybe, you still have some? I’m so curious now!” Jungkook even reached out to nudge him under ribs, but Yoongi only grimaced and huffed in return.
“I’ll check on my laptop at home and let you know.”
“Thank you!”
“Thank-”
“Wait, which songs were they?” No one, except maybe for Jimin, even noticed that Seokjin talked for the first time in minutes. Namjoon felt an urge to steal a glance of him, but nerves and fear of meeting his eyes still glued him to the bench.
“Some, I don’t remember.”
“Yoongi.” Something furious slipped through his voice, something that made both Soohyun and Jimin fidget in surprise. Something that made Namjoon finally look up.
Seokjin looked straight at Yoongi with dark eyes, his face not showing any emotions except for a light tint of anger in his clenched jaw and widened nostrils, fingers impatiently tapping against the table. Yoongi, in turn, refused to pay him any heed. He stared at his glass of soju and quietly hummed, and something about the whole scene made them all go quiet.
“Do you want to tell me something?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then be kind enough to look at me.”
After a second of hesitance, Yoongi sighed and turned to him with a look of exhausted annoyance on his face, eyes looking straight back. “What do you want from me now?”
“Honesty.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds more, tension slowly creeping over the table, until Yoongi sighed, got up, and turned to face the others with a tired smile. “And that’s why you shouldn’t be friends with your exes, kids. They’ll be up your throat any moment. Good night.”
Seokjin quietly stared at the table, clenched jaw chewing around unspoken words – Taehyung tried to poke it to lessen the tension, with no effect. A few moments later, still without a word, Seokjin shot up to follow Yoongi, quickly and with determination. Everyone else silently exchanged confused looks.
The fight was loud, as it always was with Seokjin. Echoes of shouts and slammed doors reached the other five who tried to pretend that nothing was happening ('there’s a bonsai garden here, does anyone want to stop by tomorrow?') but in the end, just decided to quietly listen. At some point, Taehyung even stood up with a quiet excuse and moved toward the building, but exactly then, the door flew open. Seokjin almost ran past him, and the robe he'd pulled out earlier graciously flattered behind him.
Still murmuring curses under his breath, Seokjin stopped by the table and pointed at his glass of soju on the other side. “Give me, thank you, Jungkook-ah.” He looked furious but also sad, thoughtfulness laced in his frown, bottom lip red from chewing.
“Jin, are you okay?” Taehyung came closer, but Seokjin only waved him off, “Sure,” and finished the drink in one go.
“And that’s why.” He paused to let out a loud exhale, palm coming to pat against his chest. “You shouldn’t be friends with your exes, kids. There’s always more shit to dig out. Good night.”
Taehyung looked at him with worry, but Seokjin only squeezed his shoulder momentarily and walked past him to get back inside. The building was quiet.
“Well, that was fun.” A sudden clap made them flinch, only Soohyun still quietly rested on Namjoon's shoulder, and Taehyung moved to sit closer to Jungkook and reached for the bottle of soju. “Does anyone want more?”
“Don’t you want to, like, check on him?” Jimin’s gaze flickered between his friend and the dark windows. But Taehyung only shrugged and held out a glass towards him.
“It’s pointless, we’ll end up in another fight, Jiminie. Maybe later. Now, get the glass, my hand is sore already.”
And so, the scene trailed off, and everyone moved on, because what else could they do? Exes did fight over old things sometimes, and while Yoongi and Seokjin had always been good, laughing off old insults, not hiding that there were, indeed, deep feelings at some point but always reminding that they were past it; even they could still hold grudges against each other. It was their business, something the others decided to stay out of.
Soon after Soohyun went inside, leaving blanket on her boyfriend’s shoulders and sleepily pecking him on the temple, gusts of wind reached them from the beach. It was these trickles of air that, eventually, nudged the rest of them to wrap things up. Namjoon proudly took up most of the work for his lazy afternoon. He was so determined to deal with everything on his own that, after almost 20 minutes of careful walking around him and checking if everything was okay, the other three left him alone. Jimin was the last one, of course. He tried to apologize, but Namjoon kept waving it off.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Jimin then looked at him, still with regret, and nodded. “It’s up to you to decide, hyung.”
Namjoon said nothing, too focused on cleaning the grating. It would be nice if it really didn’t matter. If he could laugh it off in front of everybody. Hey, hyung, remember I was so in love with you I had to write down thoughts to sleep properly at night? Well, now it’s all gone, what can I say, I moved on. He really, really wished he could say that.
Everything went smoothly at first. He cleaned the table, washed the grill, but then, came the utensils’ turn, and that was where things became complicated. He put some of the dishes into the sink and only after realized that big pots needed to be washed as well – and, to be fair, his mind was also groggy and weak – so he decided to pull the dishes out and put the pots inside. But suddenly, everything became too messy to handle, when he accidentally pushed the pile of dishes, and a pot was still in his hands, and, god, why did he refused Jimin’s help so blatantly?
And so there he was, in the middle of the kitchen, blankly staring at the spill of dirty water on the floor and the swaying mountain of all dishes put together, wondering what should he do now, or rather what should he do first – sleep, clean, or wash – when a familiar chuckle came from the doorway.
“You are doing a terrible job just by being at the kitchen, aren’t you?”
Seokjin smiled, oddly sad, shook his head, turned around, and disappeared in the darkness of the hallway. Namjoon hesitantly looked between the puddle and the door, unsure what he meant, when Seokjin came back with a bucket and a mop.
“Hey, no, no, hyung, I’ll do it myself.” As soon as Seokjin took a step inside, Namjoon waved his hands, shaking his head and trying to stop him. “I didn’t-”
“I know, I know, you want to help, because you didn't before, I know.” Seokjin looked at him with the same thoughtful, sad smile, eyes looking tired – not sleepy, just tired – and nodded at the sink. “You said you’d wash the dishes, nothing about the floor, right?”
“Yeah, but-”
“Don’t be stubborn, I’m just trying to help,” Seokjin snapped quietly, eyes fixed on the floor, and waved at him to get out of the way. He was obviously still upset about the fight, so Namjoon decided not to stir another one, only nodded and turned to the dishes.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I thought so, too,” Seokjin mumbled, frowning at the pieces of meat flowing under the mop. “Didn’t work out.”
“We woke you up?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep.”
“I see.” There was an awkward silence between them – at least it was awkward for Namjoon, Seokjin seemed to be too deep in his thoughts to notice – filled with sounds of running water and splashes of the mop. “Taehyung wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, I didn’t want to talk to Taehyung.”
“But you want to talk to me?”
Seokjin sighed, wringing the water out of the woolen stripes. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Okay.”
They both went silent again, focusing on their tasks, each thinking of his own. It was dark outside, the lights turned off, only moon path glimmering on the horizon and kitchen lights sprawling on the grass. The building was quiet, air conditioner softly buzzing in the living room, Jungkook’s snoring interrupting the sound from time to time – they could hear it only when Namjoon turned the water off, now diligently wiping the dishes clean. Heartbeat was steadily pulsating in the base of his throat.
When was the last time they two were left alone?
“Yoongi gave me one of your songs as a gift.” Seokjin stared at the floor, not moving his hands, just gripping the plastic handle and blinking, his voice quiet and, suddenly, fragile. “When first cracks appeared, when Yoongi still cared, he called me from work and said there was this song he came up with, but it felt too personal to sell, so he’d like me to listen. I was touched. It was very personal, indeed. Little details I recognized as my own, and wow, I thought, he still loves me so much, maybe I am the problem, maybe it’s me who doesn’t give him enough in return. I felt so bad for not feeling what he felt. Turns out he never had these feelings in the first place.”
Namjoon was quiet for a few seconds, digesting the information, trying to place his feelings – there was hurt, of course, hurt, but also sadness, and yearning, and something he couldn’t find a word for but that scratched at his chest from inside. Maybe, the feelings he put into words a long time ago.
“I’m sure he had. He always loved you, hyung.”
They didn't look at each other, suddenly very interested in their tasks, in the dirt, water, and their own hands.
“Not that way, Joon-ah, not like you.”
He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling, joyless and denying, “Don’t compliment my feelings.” It feels patronizing.
They went quiet again, but that something in his chest kept scratching, and pushing, and squeezing, like a rat running up and down his guts, holding both hurt and sadness in its paws, but also pulling some anger out, playing on the remnants of alcohol in his blood.
“At least you liked it.” Namjoon chuckled again, trying to cover his ire – he probably should’ve finished there, but something pushed the rest of the thought out of his mouth, “Don’t think you would if I were the one to give it.”
The sound of mopping stopped. “I would, Joon-ah. Of course, I’d like it.”
He laughed again, that fucking nervous laughter of his that was so irritating right now, but he couldn’t help it, some things already bubbling in his chest. “No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t think how sad it is that you don’t love me. You would think how sad it is that you have to listen and pretend like it means something.”
“Who do you think I am?” And there it was, Seokjin already raising his voice to speak over the end of the sentence. “You are accusing me, again, of something I never did. I’ve never laughed at you, I’ve never pitied you, I have never degraded your feelings.”
“You’ll wake everyone,” Namjoon only shushed, placing the plate down, leaning on the counter and exhaling, thoughts and feelings tying a knot in his mind. If only these feelings were good.
“You’re trying to make me a monster I never was, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin continued, though obediently lowering his voice, almost hissing. He did, indeed, look like a snake ready to attack – or defend itself – when Namjoon finally turned to him. Seokjin's body was tense and leaning forward, hand still entwined around the handle of the mop, silk robe glinting like scale, and eyes squinting with ire.
“I understand that you’re hurt, me too, but it was Yoongi who did this, not me, so stop-”
“How you don’t understand that it’s you, it’s always you who hurts!”
This time, he was the one to burst, still whispering but as loud as he could, taking a step towards Seokjin and pointing with accusation, the feeling in his chest finally dissipating under words that were always there but never had a way out.
“I wouldn’t give a fuck if he gave it to any of his friends, or lovers, or whatever – I don’t care, he paid me back, that was it. But it was you who looked at these words and thought 'Oh, he loves me, so sweet,' while I was burning full notebooks into ashes because I knew you’d never even look at them. It was you who always knew, always fucking knew, but never let go. I tried so many times to stay away, but you always pulled back by the strings like a doll – is this not a joke to you? And you,” he raised his voice as soon as Seokjin opened his mouth, but he didn’t finish yet, “you were the one to knock on my door, you were the one to come and kiss me, to take what you wanted and then leave like nothing, because why? Because you didn’t care. Because you never fucking cared.”
“Are you bringing this up again?” Seokjin straightened up, not stepping back, holding his ground. “I've apologized already, stop throwing that night at me. I’m sorry, okay? I was an asshole, and I’m sorry, and I told you already, god, what else do you want to hear?”
“There are things that can never be forgotten.” Namjoon exhaled again and turned to the sink, suddenly more sad than angry, more aching than attacking, because Seokjin didn’t understand. He still didn’t understand why Namjoon brought it up, why it hurt so much, and, ironically, it hurt even more.
“But don’t you think it’s unfair to hold these things against me?”
But Seokjin didn't plan to let it go and followed his steps, leaned on the counter next to him, trying to catch Namjoon's gaze with his own, bitter and demanding.
“I fucked up, not once, yes, many times, but accuse me of every little thing? Maybe now, you will say we should’ve never been friends? I never asked you to love me, I never did anything – and yet, you put every sin on me. You think this doesn’t look like a fucking joke? It’s been five years, Namjoon, five!”
“Do you think I asked to fall in love with you? Do you think I wanted to live with it?” He turned to meet the gaze, of course, he did, there was nothing left for him to do. “Do you think five years is enough to forget and pretend like nothing happened?”
“Five years is enough to move on, and you did, Namjoon-ah, you did, so I don’t understand why the fuck you’re still holding onto your grudges, why you act like a hurt teenager, like-” Seokjin stumbled, eyes widening, blinking through a thought that hit him at that moment. Namjoon saw his throat swallow the rest of the sentence – or beginning of the next – and then suddenly, Seokjin gripped his shoulder.
“Do you still love me?”
“What?”
“Do you still love me, Joon-ah?”
Something in his chest twisted as he said, looking right at Seokjin, “No, of course not,” tearing Seokjin's palm off his shoulder. “Stop talking nonsense.”
“Then why can’t you let go?”
“Because!” This time ,Namjoon was the one to raise his voice, talking over his own thoughts, Seokjin, on the contrary, going quiet. “Because it’s not something you can just turn off. And I would, god, if I could, I would delete every fucking memory – but I can’t, I can’t, and it’s still there, and it still hurts, no matter if I love you or hate you, it still, fucking, hurts.”
“Hyung?”
They both flinched in surprise and turned to the door, where Jungkook stood, rubbing his eyes and slowly looking between them.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, we’re fine.”
“It’s okay, just finishing with the kitchen.”
Jungkook frowned, suspicion glistening through sleepy haze, and cleared his throat, post-alcoholic dryness still clinging onto his voice. “You sure?”
“Yes, of course, here.” Namjoon moved to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge. “I think you might need it.”
“Thanks, hyung." Jungkook nodded with gratitude, lingered in the doorway for a second, nodded again and went back into the darkness with a quiet 'good night'.
As soon as his steps quieted down in the living room, they exhaled, both looking at the previous scene from a new perspective. It was all pointless, wasn’t it?
“I have to go,” Namjoon mumbled, coming back to the sink for a moment to replace things into a more stable position for the night. But, in the middle of it, a hand stopped the action, gripping his wrist and bringing attention to its owner.
“What can I do for you?” Seokjin looked at him, concerned and regretful, eyes darting over his face. “I care about you. I don’t know what you imagine or what you were thinking all these years, but I do care. I don’t want you to hurt.”
Namjoon was quiet for a few seconds, then sighed and pulled the wrist out in a sharp movement, “You can only disappear,” before leaving the room.
He went through the hallway, living room lit up with a phone screen – “Hyung?” – and out, over the narrow path, through cold grass and fragrant bushes, flowers unperturbed by his steps, out, towards the shining path on the horizon, out, out, out.
For a moment, Namjoon considered going straight into the water, with his clothes on, to just dive deeper and deeper, until his head would finally clear out. But then, he stumbled on the shore, momentum sending him in the shallow water, and that was enough to realize. His mind was still a bit blurry, movements a bit slow, limbs a bit clumsy, and he squeezed his knees, bending over water, breathing deeply and staring at the reflection of darkness and his own head in the swaying water. He was still a bit drunk. That was enough to realize.
By the time a rustle of leaves and muffled curses reached him, Namjoon already sat on a patch of grass, legs still on sand, feet slowly tracing unbelievable shapes. He was staring at the golden grains pouring between his toes and thinking.
“Where, fuck-” Something heavy stumbled through the bushes and onto the narrow path leading towards water. “Where… Oh, here you are. Jungkookie was right.”
Namjoon smirked, lips tucked between his knees, and raised his head to speak properly. “Did he wake you up?”
“Yeah, kind of." Jimin dropped himself on the grass next to him and tugged a blanket over his bare shoulders. His eyes were barely open, face still pink and puffy from sleep, chills running through him from the weakness still clinging to his body. “You scared the kid.”
Namjoon only threw a quick glance at him and murmured into his knees, “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Well, you both better do." Jimin yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes, struggling to keep them open. “So, what happened?”
“We had a fight.”
“That much I figured. Over what?”
Namjoon sighed. He'd been dwelling on the question for the last few minutes, but... “I don’t know.”
Fairly enough, he received a thoughtful and almost mocking hum in return. “Nice. Was it related to their fight with Yoongi-hyung?”
“Yeah.” Namjoon immediately frowned, because, if he had to be honest, “Well, no.”
Jimin hummed again, inconspicuously leaning on his shoulder, “Could you be more precise, hyung?”
“Yeah.” He paused for a couple of seconds. “I fucked up.”
“That’s not precise, although it’s already something. How?”
“I told him… stuff, accused him, basically, over and over again, and then said it’d be better if he disappeared.”
Jimin was quiet for a few seconds, thinking it over or maybe drifting off. Namjoon didn’t look at him, only raised his head to look at the moon gently leaning towards the horizon. He shouldn’t have said it, he shouldn’t have – and yet some part of him was calmer now, content, like a wound that finally got a proper treatment after being overlooked for years. But was any part of Seokjin calmer now?
“And you accused him of what, hyung?” He felt Jimin’s head shift on his shoulder, chin coming to rest on his arm, still sleepy gaze staring at him from the closest possible distance.
Namjoon chuckled, because the answer was fucking ridiculous. “Of my love. Does it even make sense?”
“Not really, at least not yet. Do you still love him?”
God, why did they all keep asking?
“No, no.” He even frowned and moved to grab a handful of sand. “I just remembered a lot of things from the past, things that still hurt, and I, I don’t know what I expected him to say, it was just coming out, you know? Like a broken dam, everything spilling all over the place.”
“And that’s why you’re a genius." Jimin smirked, hand coming to wrap around his arm, cheek resting on his shoulder, and continued before Namjoon had enough time to protest, "Hyung, if you kept it inside for so long, it’d come out anyway. And what Jin-hyung?”
“He didn’t like it.” Namjoon sighed and chuckled, mindlessly rubbing sharp grains between his fingers. “Didn’t understand why I decided to bring it up. He didn’t understand why it still hurts.”
“Do you understand why it still hurts?”
“Of course, because… because it… because I still remember how it hurt then, and…”
Namjoon awkwardly trailed off. Jimin didn’t say anything, only fidgeted against his shoulder, moving closer, leaning more and more, until quiet sniffing came from his side, cool breeze running goosebumps over his bare arms. Jimin was warm though, his blanket covered Namjoon’s elbow almost entirely, protecting from the forces running over the ocean. He focused on that warmth and stayed there for longer, quietly staring at the clear sky, shining path, and a hump of the mountain on the right.
When they came back to the building, Jimin still wrapped around his arm and leaning heavily, too sleepy to be bothered to walk on his own, the first streaks of pink already bloomed on the east. The room Namjoon shared with Soohyun was barely illuminated, but it was enough to see the notebook lying on the bedtable from his side. Closed and turned the back page up, like he left it on the bed hours ago.
Namjoon stared at it for a few moments, sleepy and not bothered as well, unable to form a proper reaction, and then just climbed into the bed. It smelled of Soohyun’s almond milk with salty notes of the sea.
“Hey, Joon-ah.”
He startled, a bowl of cereal clinking in his hands, and looked up. "Hey, hyung, I didn’t know you woke up already.”
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice." Yoongi shrugged, scratching his head and squinting inside the fridge before closing it again and crouching to get to the freezer. “Do we have ice cream? I thought we had ice cream.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Namjoon nodded, staring at the bowl, mindlessly playing with flakes floating in the milk. Should they talk? Should he let it go? Did Yoongi even want him to know, ever? What he did wasn’t actually a problem for Namjoon, it’s the reaction that followed, but Yoongi didn’t force it, so… Was there any point in dwelling on this for so long?
“We’re having breakfast outside, hyung, come join us." He smiled, nodded at the window, and walked to the door, when Yoongi, without turning away from the freezer, cleared his throat.
“Wait, Namjoon-ah, I want to talk to you.”
He obediently stilled, foretasting the bitter conversation, and turned back. Yoongi was quiet for a few more seconds, searching through the drawers, pulled a bucket of ice cream out, closed the door of the fridge, all movements quick but tense.
“Look, about yesterday, Jin reminded me of, um, a thing I did." He rummaged through spoons, still not turning, and suddenly, Namjoon realized that he didn't want to hear it again.
“It’s okay. Jin-hyung told me actually, but… it’s okay, hyung, really." He shrugged and smiled awkwardly when Yoongi looked at him with a surprised frown.
“He did?”
“Yeah, we, uh, talked yesterday.” Great description, 100% correct, Namjoon. “And he mentioned it, so yeah, I know. I’m not mad, hyung. I sold it to you, you were free to do whatever you wanted with it.”
“Okay. Thanks, Joon-ah.” Yoongi smiled, looking confused but relieved, and softness seeped into his features. “I’m glad. It always feels better to let things out.”
“Yeah.” He let out a laughter betraying his nerves, because Yoongi hit the nail there, didn’t he? Pretty damn right.
“Also, Joon, um, while we’re on it... I want to apologize for everything else, too." Yoongi’s softness dissipated just as quickly as it appeared, some other thoughts clearly fogging his mind. A serious frown took over his face. “We've never talked about it, but I knew you were in love with him…”
Namjoon immediately threw a glance at the door, heart picking up its pace, but the building was quiet. Soohyun’s cheerful voice came from outside, streaked with Jungkook’s laughter, and he breathed out in relief.
“…and sometimes I could be a bit jealous about it, but I never talked or showed it, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t your fault, but I was angry at you for paying him attention, and… I’m sorry." Yoongi shrugged, gaze darting over the room before coming back to Namjoon. “I was thinking about it for a while, wanted to apologize, and I think it’s a good time now. I’m sorry, Joon-ah.”
Namjoon was quiet for a bit, mind still slow from lack of proper sleep that night. It was too much for less than 12 hours, it was definitely too much.
“You don’t have to apologize, hyung, it’s okay. For that matter, I should be the one saying sorry for being so obvious about feelings towards someone you were dating, so it’s okay. Really, it’s okay." Namjoon repeated himself over and over, but nothing better came to his mind. The situation was too surreal for it.
“Okay. I have nothing against you, too, so… okay. It’s okay,” Yoongi repeated, and it was hard to tell if he was unfocused either or just mocked Namjoon gently, but either way, there was a smile on his face, and it was enough.
By the time Seokjin and Taehyung came down to them, everyone else already finished with their breakfast, even Jimin, who'd been sleepy and whiny about their voices only a minute ago, quietly munched on his fruits. Throughout the morning, Namjoon came up with so many ways to apologize or at least explain himself, and rejected about twice as many, feeling bad but not enough to ask for forgiveness. But as soon as he saw Seokjin, guilt squeezed his throat. He had to.
Not a single one of them even had enough time to open their mouths before Taehyung shouted, “Hey, you know what, you know what,” all the while tugging Seokjin to the table, “guys, you know what?”
“You’re embarrassing, Tae,” Seokjin murmured, smiling sleepily and looking at him with fondness.
“Well, you will have to get used to it, because I will be embarrassing all the way." Taehyung only pecked Seokjin on the cheek and turned back to the others with a blinding grin. “Guys, guess what?”
Namjoon already guessed what, looking at the couple but also not looking, staring at the roof peeking from behind Taehyung’s shoulder and listening to the heart pounding in his chest. It was ridiculous, it was ridiculous, it was so fucking stupid. Why would he do it now, why would he listen, why did he say it, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the-
“Come on, Taehyungie, tell us already!”
“Yes, hyung, you look like you’re going to burst.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Taehyung almost jumped in excitement, looking between Seokjin and the others with the widest grin on his face, while Seokjin himself just watched him with an affectionate smile. “Jin, Seokjin, here, Kim Seokjin, my wonderful, handsome, funny, and whatever else was in the contract boyfriend Kim Seokjin agreed to live with me! In Japan! Together!”
While everyone else cheered in surprise, Namjoon and Jimin shared a quick look but played along, and Seokjin huffed and demonstratively brushed Taehyung off his shoulders to sit down next to Yoongi and tug at the bucket of ice cream. “You forgot kind.”
“Of course, the kindest man that you are." Taehyung didn’t mind – it looked like he was in the throes of euphoria – and only pecked the top of Seokjin's head and dropped near.
“Congratulations, guys!”
“I’m so happy for you two.”
“But why, hyung, I thought you didn’t want to leave?”
Seokjin shrugged, digging a spoonful of chocolate ice cream out, and looked at Jungkook. “Yeah, well, I had some time to think here, weigh all the pros and cons, you know.”
“That’s great, hyung, I’m honestly so happy for you." Jimin gave him a big smile and reached over the table to squeeze his wrist in a gesture of encouragement. “I only hope you did think it through, and you both know what you’re doing.”
He meant Taehyung and Seokjin, of course, he meant Taehyung and Seokjin, but Namjoon swallowed anyway, suddenly interested in the softened flakes at the bottom of his bowl.
“Thank you, Jimin-ah, but don’t worry.”
“Just let me know if Taehyung starts asking you to kidnap him – it might be a sign that something’s wrong.”
“Oh, so you read my conversation with your parents?”
“Of course, they said they don’t want to get involved with the police over you.”
“I always knew I can trust them.”
Muffled chuckles spread over the table, comfortable silence settling a moment later, each thinking of their own but mostly just musing over the announcement – after all, leaving the last person to appear in their group wasn’t equal to losing him and Seokjin, no matter how much they all loved Taehyung. Seokjin was more, at least for their original five, and it was going to affect them in one way or another.
“We’ll miss you,” Yoongi said all of a sudden, and Seokjin cooed.
“Look at him, all soft and sweet, ah, Yoongi-yah, if only you were always like that.” Seokjin immediately caught the chance to tease him and elbowed Yoongi, smiling widely before nodding with more honesty in his voice. “Thank you, I appreciate that. And I hope you really will. At least one crying selca a week!"
“Month at least.”
“Deal.”
They exchanged their smirks, picking at the ice cream in between.
“Look, hyung…”
“Oh, when you call me hyung, it’s something serious.” Seokjin immediately straightened up, waving at Yoongi. “No, no, not now.”
“But…”
“It’s okay, my sweet dongsaeng, you don’t have to talk.”
“But!”
“It’s okay,” he repeated, louder and with more intention, looking straight at Yoongi. “it’s okay. Let’s leave all grudges in the past, alright? The future is in front of us, and it’s shining brighter than ever!”
Yeah, Namjoon thought, feeling a lump in his throat growing, yeah, it was.
“Aristophanes presents a relational understanding of eros that does take account of the vulnerability of persons who love. Eros, for him, is a matter of finding one’s other half and being reunited to a more primary and primal whole. Since human beings are literally only half of our original selves, we are by our very nature erotic, driven to find the rest of ourselves in the other. Eros involves lack and neediness, even woundedness, and to understand ourselves we have to also understand what we lack."
“Alright then, I guess this is it?” The man clapped loudly and turned around to the couple, excited smile all over his face. “Or do you want to go through everything once again?”
Namjoon felt the gentle grip around his arm tighten for a second. Soohyun looked up at him with a silent question – she was getting tired, they all were, he knew that, but it didn't soothe his nerves in the slightest.
“Maybe just very-very quick?” He smiled sheepishly and turned back to look through the open doors of the church.
“You sure your parents won’t disown you after fourth time?” Yoongi, who sneaked after them to grab some fresh air, pushed himself off the doorway with a quiet grunt but obediently went back inside.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Their coordinator, Lee Hyun, laughed shortly and almost ran around them to wait next to the door, gesturing to get back inside. “We can do it very quickly! We can’t stay for longer anyway, the dinner rehearsal is in less than an hour, ladies and gentlemen.”
The couple let him go forward, Hyun’s bubbling bouncing off snow-white walls and honey colored benches, but Soohyun tugged at Namjoon to linger behind. He turned to her without a second thought, too caught up in his own worries.
“Hey, koala, are you okay?”
Shadows of leaves dancing in the wind, rustling right above their heads, played on her cheek. Namjoon caught it with his palm, trying to sound and look as confident as possible. “Sure.”
“Still nervous?”
He paused for a second and sighed. “Sure.”
She chuckled and moved forward to embrace him in a quick hug, bring him closer, and murmur into his shoulder, “Me too. It’s gonna be okay, Joonie.”
“It’s gonna be okay." His smile immediately followed, arms wrapped around her waist, and the woody notes of her perfume reminded him of something soft and stable, of something important. Love. Family. Home.
They went through another rehearsal as quickly as possible, just standing next to the altar while Mr. Lee graphically explained what everything would look like once again. Most of the guests had left already, and only Jimin lingered in the doorway – a happy, excited smile had barely left his face these days – and watched the rehearsal with a glimpse of pride. Their parents also stayed, mothers intently listening to instructions while fathers quietly discussed something in the second row, barely paying attention for the last half an hour.
“Then, you will be waiting here for the guests to come out, and only after…”
Another hushed voice added to the already stable murmur of their fathers, and Namjoon absentmindedly looked around in search of the source and quickly found Yoongi next to Jimin. The couple quietly talked about something, and it could easily be counted as one of their usual bickerings if not for Jimin’s wide eyes. As soon as their gazes met, Namjoon frowning to deliver his silent question, his best man only shook his head, tried to smile with reassurance, and sneaked out of the door right after Yoongi.
Right. Great.
“Then, I’ll meet you at the dinner, right? In 40 minutes, don’t forget.”
The coordinator quickly left the building, not a trace of tiredness on his face, though he must’ve been; Namjoon had been tormenting him since morning, building all possible scenarios in his head, no matter good or bad, just to make himself calmer. It was a big day, a big celebration/ Their friends and family had to travel all the way over the ocean – Soohyun was raised in America and wanted to be back home for her wedding day. Namjoon couldn’t mess it up, and he was (in)famous for doing exactly that. Despite the supporting words, the bride wasn’t as nervous, at least not since they hired Mr. Lee, but for the groom, the worries were only growing day by day. And now, that thing with Jimin…
While Soohyun stayed with their parents, Namjoon only quickly reminded them about when and where the dinner was supposed to start before shooting towards the doors. If something went wrong, god, what if something went wrong?
“Hey, Joon-ah, what you said to the poor man that just ran away? He looked like he was going to stay in his room and cry all day.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“It wasn’t that bad, hyung!” Jimin immediately turned to Namjoon, waving his hands with a reassuring smile. “Hyun-nim just looked tired, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, then I don’t-”
“Hyung!” Namjoon finally burst out of his daze with a loud exclaim, the first step a bit hesitant and awkward, but the rest followed without a hitch. By the time he reached Seokjin and pulled him into a bear hug, they both stumbled from the momentum, loud laughter spilling in the air, and god, he missed that laughter, he missed it so fucking much.
“Took you a while to process, huh?”
Arms came up to wrap around his middle, palms clumsily patted his back – Seokjin didn't like close hugs, but it was not the time for him to complain. No one would listen anyway.
“But you said you can’t, you’re busy, hyung, how, what, what happened?” Namjoon stumbled over words, unable to tear himself away, and just talked, and watched, and felt too much. Which should've been scary, should've been hidden, should've been wrong – but he didn’t care, not now.
Was that what it felt like for Seokjin when he came back from America? No, no, it couldn’t. Not only because, back then, they'd seen each other once, twice a year, Namjoon hadn't disappeared entirely like Seokjin and Taehyung did. But also, because Seokjin’s feelings could never be even remotely similar to Namjoon’s. Right?
“Well, I couldn’t leave my little brother alone, could I?” Seokjin kept joking, kept smiling, patting Namjoon on the head, turning around to retort Jungkook’s comment, like always, like nothing had changed, like it hadn’t been two years since they saw each other.
“Are you alone? Where’s Taehyung?” Namjoon finally let go of his shoulders, took a step back, looked around as if expecting Taehyung to jump out of every corner – and knowing Taehyung, he would actually do that – but Seokjin only shook his head.
“No, he actually couldn’t make it. But he sends you hugs and millions, billions, trillions congratulations, and that’s a direct quote, hi, Hyunie.”
“Jin-ssi!” Soohyun hurried to hug him, although quicker and more awkwardly, glanced at Namjoon in surprise, and turned back to the guest. “When did you arrive?”
“About an hour ago. I was looking for you all over the place.” Seokjin waved at the hotel, a glamorous building some distance away from big roads and marketing points, settled in a cozy place between the wedding church and the ocean shore. “Will there be a place for me?”
“Sure.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Should we talk to Hyun-nim?”
Namjoon frowned at the suggestion, immediately shaking his head – he still wasn’t used to relaying things on another person’s shoulders. “No, no, I’ll check at the reception before the dinner. You are coming to dinner, hyung, right?”
Seokjin’s reaction was predictable. A wide smirk and a confident nod. "There’s one thing I never refuse, Joon-ah, and that’s delicious food.”
“Okay, I’ll find you a place at our table. Joonie, deal with the room, okay? Guys, 30 minutes.” And Soohyun ran after her parents, skirt flattering, sunlight glimmering on her dark hair – Namjoon looked after her for a few moments before turning back to his friends. Jimin was already hanging off Seokjin’s shoulders.
“Hyung, but you have to tell us everything! You barely reply in the group chat, it’s like you two disappeared – and it’s not okay, hyung, that’s not what you promised!”
“Well, where are my crying selcas then?” Seokjin, without even trying to brush his little friend off, turned to Yoongi with pointed glare.
But the man only shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Although Jimin did cry when you didn’t even text on his birthday.”
“It’s not true!”
“It’s true!”
“I was drunk,” Jimin quickly surrendered, pouting and finally letting Seokjin out of his grip, “and sad, leave me alone.”
“What?” Seokjin immediately turned to him with an exclaim so loud they startled. “Who made you sad? These assholes made you sad? My Jiminie?! I’ll get you out of here, Tae misses you a lot actually.”
Yes, there he was, their hyung, loud, teasing and impossibly handsome, and they even exchanged knowing smirks, receiving a suspicious glare from him in return. Someone they'd barely seen over these last two years, but never left out of their conversations. He'd changed so little: a couple more wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, a modest stud instead of dangling chains, rose gold sharpened by the peachy tint of his hair. Maybe he looked less familiar in his dark pants and white shirt and more like people Namjoon used to see in the offices and conference rooms, but his smile was still the same, to the tiniest curve of his lips.
“I’m glad you came, hyung, I missed you.”
Seokjin turned, smile growing wider, their eyes meeting and lingering for a second too long. “Me too, Joon-ah.”
“Wait, wait, no, f-fuck, Joon-ah, wait, ah, fuck-“
“What?”
“Don’t, ah, don’t, I have a wedding to attend, Joon, fuck, Joon.”
“It’s my wedding, I allow my guests to come with hickeys.”
“B-but photos, Joon-ah, please, fuck, please, please, oh god…”
“Like that?”
“Yes, please, I’m close, I’m, please, ah, please, there, oh god, god-”
“Me too, fuck, I’m so close.”
“No, I mean, I’m gonna, i'm gonna-“
“Say my name.”
“Joon, Joon, Joon-ah, I’m, ah, fuck, Joon, please, I’mmhpmf-“
A palm gripped his peach hair, pushed him down, closer, until Namjoon's lips met him to drink every moan, lick every whine, swallow every panting whisper. Seokjin shook on top of him, squeezing his shoulders so hard bruises might’ve formed by the morning – but who cared, oh god, who fucking cared. His knees pressed against Namjoon's ribs before spreading wider, taking deeper, a long, desperate moan muffled between their lips.
Namjoon was dreaming, hallucinating, moving through the haze of impossible.
“Do you mind if I keep..?”
“What a gentleman." Seokjin chuckled, leaning heavily on him, still trying to catch his breath, and pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder. “No, not at all.”
Even so far out of his mind, Namjoon still was careful as he flipped them on the bed, placed Seokjin down on his back, and took a second, just a second to look. To check if it was real. Seokjin sprawled on the crumpled sheets, eyes still closed, hair messy, post-orgasmic sleepy expression softening his features. His ruined shirt still clung onto his elbow, the other sleeve, turned inside-out in a hurry, was wrapped around his waist. Right under Namjoon’s gaze, the corners of his lips turned upwards, smugness hiding in the barely noticeable curve, and Seokjin opened his eyes to squint at him.
“Enjoying the view?”
No, it wasn’t real.
“Come here." Seokjin stretched his arms towards Namjoon – or rather one arm, the one still caught in the collar of his shirt couldn't move properly – and pulled his trembling knees up in an inviting gesture.
Namjoon let out a quiet whine – it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real – and took the invitation in a hurry. He lingered only for long enough to find a proper angle, to push a quiet sigh out of Seokjin, and rushed toward his hands, feeling the embrace close up above his neck.
“That’s it, baby.” Seokjin pushed his heels against the small of Namjoon's back. “That’s it.” Seokjin closed his eyes again, noises of pleasure escaping him with every thrust. He sometimes winced from a sharp movement, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” but mostly chewed his lip, breathed, and smiled almost dreamily, like he could feel Namjoon’s gaze not leaving his face for a second.
“How many times have you dreamt about this?”
Namjoon was close, he was so close, pressing his brow against Seokjin’s neck and moving on instinct, without a thought, catching up with the body’s rhythm. “Billion,” was all he could muster, unable to talk properly but suddenly remembering all the times he'd imagined Seokjin’s moans that now flowed around him, Seokjin’s hands that brought him closer, Seokjin’s ankles holding his waist, and million other details that were now just passing through him in a stream of pleasure. In the last rush, he pushed himself up, barely enough to see Seokjin properly, and pressed against his parted lips, not even kissing, just taking in his breath in frantic gulps.
“Joon-ah,” and the whisper went straight through him, entering with air, seeping into bloodstream, pumping through veins down towards his stomach to squeeze his muscles – and relax in a burst of pleasure, blast waves rushing through his whole body.
“J-jin…”
“Yes, baby, that’s it,” Seokjin murmured with a smile, holding him closer, humming through the last reflective thrusts.
“Jin.” His name sounded like a whine, a plea for something that already happened – or never would – and Namjoon gave in to the rush of weakness. “Jin.” His head sank deeper, falling against the sheets, lips pressing against his shoulder. “Jin.”
Soft chuckle came in response. “You aren’t dreaming.”
Seokjin allowed him to catch his breath, fidgeting only to pull the arm out of his shirt’s grip and loosely wrap around Namjoon’s waist. His palm rubbed circles all over Namjoon's back in a soothing motion while his other hand rose to his head. Seokjin's fingers dug into his dark hair soaked with sweat, and at first, Namjoon didn’t have enough strength in his mind to protest, but then suddenly, he didn’t want to anymore.
He never liked people playing with his hair, especially in bed. The tingling sensation only made him twitchy and annoyed, but he could never be truly annoyed with Seokjin, and soon, the slow movements turned into a new kind of pleasure. Seokjin pushed all five fingers repeatedly to trace invisible lines between his nape and the top of his head, lingering to slightly pull at Namjoon's hair or scratch his scalp, and Namjoon shivered. He felt praised. He felt cared for. He felt loved.
“You’re still shaking.”
“I still can’t believe.”
Seokjin chuckled and rubbed bare skin behind Namjoon's ear with his thumb. “Come here,” and Seokjin turned his head to press a blind kiss to Namjoon’s hair, next to his own wrist, indicating what he meant. He didn’t have to wait for long. Namjoon gathered enough energy to push himself up and hovered above Seokjin, eyes slowly focusing on his face – hand in his hair scratched encouragingly, sending another tremble over shoulders.
“You’re sensitive. Like a bit of play with hair, hm?” Seokjin smiled, eyes still only half-open, so cozy and sleepy.
Namjoon shook his head, murmuring, “No, actually,” and smiled at the flash of hesitance on Seokjin's face. His eyes opened properly, fingers stilled.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I like it when you do it.”
And there it was, a delighted grin spreading over Seokjin’s lips again. “Yeah?”
His other hand came to brush through Namjoon’s hair, and now, all ten fingers ran over his scalp, pushed his hair sideways in a joking manner. Seokjin’s eyes focused on the movement, a giggle escaped him at the sight of the mess he was creating, and Namjoon could only stare at him, grinning and feeling like nothing else ever existed. Until Seokjin looked back, traces of the giggle still on his lips, and his hands slipped to cup Namjoon’s cheeks for a moment before moving again, fingers running over the details of his face and then slipping into his hair again to guide him down.
It was scary how big the feeling was, exhilaration and happiness filling up every cell of his body, making the world around small and simple. The point of life, the meaning of the universe narrowed down to the soft lips kissing him. Not just taking, not just allowing, not just waiting.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Namjoon exhaled, pressing face into the crook of his neck, chasing the flowery notes luring him through the scent of sweat and sex. There was not a trace of Soohyun’s familiar tenderness, and he knew it was wrong. It was wrong to lose his mind here, now, to hear his heart pounding, his fingers shaking from the intensity of everything. It was wrong – but he couldn’t help it. He was drowning, again, and again, and again.
“I love you.”
Seokjin’s chest rose with a sharp intake of air, a quiet hiss quivered on his lips, but not a word left them.
“I love you.”
But Namjoon didn’t really care, never expected to hear anything in return, never waited for more. He could only find solace in the words being said out loud, not locked inside his head, not pushed down his throat, not silenced behind his heart, but allowed to be.
“I love you.”
With every whisper, he peppered Seokjin’s skin with kisses, mindlessly moving over his shoulders, neck, chest, as if hoping that they would enchant his heart through skin and bones. But he didn't even think about it. He only took as much as he could. Seokjin was here, warm and real, sighing under caress, encouraging with his own, responding to every kiss, locking eyes with Namjoon for a fleeting second before an urge to love guided Namjoon down again, to claim more of his skin.
“I love you.”
“You will hate me in the morning.”
Namjoon chuckled – the thought was too amusing to stay quiet – and moved up, kissing Seokjin’s lips, licking inside, taking the time to prove his point before voicing it out loud.
“How do you still not get it? I will always love you,” Namjoon whispered with another sad chuckle and moved up just enough to look Seokjin in the eye, to trace the side of his face with knuckles. “I tried to hate you so many times. I ignored you, I hated you, I told everyone, even Soohyun, that love is impossible, just to make myself believe that I don’t love you, I've never loved you. Fuck, anyone sane would let go already, anyone sane would accept and move on.”
He could see Seokjin swallow, peering up at him with a strange, almost sad look in his eyes, before he wrapped his arms around Namjoon tighter and moved up to push him back on his heels and hug properly. To whisper into his ear, “Haven’t you?”
“No.” Namjoon chuckled again, unable to believe that Seokjin didn’t know this, and hugged him back. “I lost my sanity the day I met you.”
They sat like this for almost a minute, Namjoon’s hands gliding over Seokjin’s back, lips sprinkling kisses over his shoulder, while Seokjin himself kept quiet, tracing lines on his skin.
“I have to go, Joon-ah.”
“What if I don’t want you to go?”
“Then you’ll have to explain everything to Jimin when he bursts here first thing in the morning.”
“He’s right behind that wall. I’m sure I’ll have to answer questions anyway.”
They both chuckled – but then Seokjin moved away, planted a kiss on his cheek, and started untangling their limbs.
“I’m serious.” Namjoon stared at him from the bed, watching every movement with growing intensity. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Don’t be silly.” Seokjin frowned at his ripped-off button. “You are getting married tomorrow, I am going back to my boyfriend the day after. None of us needs the implications of being caught.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
They didn’t say anything for a minute. Seokjin focused on finding his socks while Namjoon's eyes just following him around the room, taking in his messed hair, the tiny bruise peeking from under his collar, and trembles of weakness running through his legs. He wasn’t thinking, but his mind was already busy remembering.
“Look.” Finally, Seokjin turned back to him and sat down on the edge of the bed, dropping his socks on the sheets. “Joon-ah, we’ve been fucked up since the beginning. Nothing good will come out of this. Soohyun is perfect for you, Taehyung is perfect for me-”
“Taehyung is perfect for you?” Namjoon quirked an eyebrow, unable to hide his bitterness, and Seokjin only chuckled joylessly and looked away, searching for words.
“He is good enough. And I am good enough for him. Yes, we fight sometimes, but at least, we don’t keep things to ourselves like it was with Yoongi, and we don’t actually fight – oh, right.” He caught a glimpse of Namjoon’s frown and shrugged awkwardly, a smirk like he said something funny tugging at his lips. “You were avoiding us back then. Yeah, me and Yoongi had the best talks while taking care of each other’s bruises.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“We weren’t hiding it, others knew.” Something too similar to accusation glistened in his eyes. “But you were barely talking to us, so...” He shrugged. “Also, it wasn’t, like, often, just a couple of times until we finally realized something was wrong.”
“Hyung…” Namjoon reached out, still frowning, to stroke his cheek, but Seokjin snapped his head, avoiding the gesture, and looked Namjoon in the eye.
“I’m not a perfection you make me, Joon. I’m not fragile, not beautiful, not as wonderful as you imagine. A part of me wants to be adored by you for the rest of my life, but I know it’s not something I deserve – and someday, you will see it. Someday, you will wake up, look at your beautiful wife and laughing children, and think how stupid you were for even thinking about giving it up for someone who would ruin your life instead.”
“And what about you?”
Seokjin huffed. “What about me? I will always hate myself for tonight. For following my desires and making you doubt your choice, even just for a second.”
“No, will you be in my life then?” Namjoon carefully took Seokjin’s hand in his, ran a thumb over his knuckles, eyes still focused on his face. Seokjin didn’t look back, gaze nervously darting to the side, and chewed his lips.
“I don’t know. Taehyung… I told him that you were in love with me, and he, well, I think you know already, but he’s often jealous, and… He doesn’t like the idea of us meeting. He didn't want me to come here – well, for a reason.” Seokjin chuckled, squeezing Namjoon’s hand in return. “And I don’t think he wants us to come back to Korea. And I- I’m okay with my life there, to be honest. I miss you all a lot, but it’s easier in many ways, so... I don’t know, Joon. I don’t know how it will be.”
“You know I didn’t actually want you to disappear?”
Seokjin chuckled and nodded with a warm smile, gaze fixed on his palm between Namjoon’s hands. “Yeah, I figured. But I also assume that it helped you a bit with… finding yourself,” he traced the engagement ring, “and your way, so, that’s a plus.”
“I think you’re more sure about my marriage than I am.”
Seokjin let out a soft laughter, “That’s because I don’t see us as an option,” and pressed a quick, tender kiss to Namjoon’s lips, lingering only for a second before pulling away. “I have to go, Joon-ah.”
He already stood by the door, checking himself in the mirror or just delaying the moment of leaving, when Namjoon, still sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching him with painful attentiveness, raised his aching voice. “Will I ever kiss you again?”
Seokjin sighed. “You know the right and the wrong answer, Joon-ah.”
He finally turned to look back at him, and Namjoon rubbed his face in an attempt of distraction – from the despair slowly taking over his mind.
It was the point where he had to choose, once and for all, between his mind and his heart. He knew that Seokjin was right, that, theoretically, rationally, scrupulously studied for years, the marriage was right for him, Soohyun was right for him, family was right for him. But Seokjin was that variable that made a mess out of the equation of his life, leaving sleepless at times, frustrated at times, yearning – at times. And he should’ve thought about it before, when he kneeled in front of Soohyun, when he put a ring on her finger and promised himself to make her happy, because he loved her, he really loved her – and Seokjin was away, Seokjin was someone he only saw in the dreams, Seokjin was a flicker in the group chat. Seokjin was unreachable. But now…
“Don’t look so devastated, you’re breaking my heart.”
Fingers ran through his hair, and Seokjin was already next to him, looking down with sadness and concern – but Namjoon couldn’t help it. Pain distorted his features, seeping into the hoarse whisper, “Can you kiss me?”
Seokjin sighed, as if the question hurt him too, but nodded and gave up to the pleading tug. He settled into Namjoon’s laps, allowing Namjoon's arms to wrap around him, and leaned for a kiss. Realization of the 'right answer' made it anguished, thirsty, almost frantic, seconds stretching into minutes, sighs turning into whimpers, already sore lips craving for more.
“Joon-ah.”
“Don’t go.”
“Joon…”
“Please, I won’t let you.”
He held Seokjin as close as possible, fingers digging into his skin so desperately they could easily leave marks behind. He didn't look, keeping his eyes tightly shut and panting, like a child trying to make shadows in his room disappear, afraid of everything but the warm embrace around him.
“Tomorrow,” a soothing whisper touched his brow, fingers carefully brushed his hair, “I will be looking at you there, standing at the altar with the most beautiful girl you have ever seen, and thinking about this.”
“What if I will be thinking about this, too?”
“You will still repeat your vow and kiss the bride.”
Namjoon let out an exhale that was too close to a whine. “You can’t make me marry against my will.”
“I can’t.” Seokjin sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead before continuing, “but I can tell you one thing. I won’t be yours, Joon-ah. I have a plane to Fukuoka on Monday, and I’m going to take it no matter what you do.”
This time Namjoon did whine, his heart wrenching inside, pain squeezing his throat, words leaving his mouth amidst frantic inhales. “I don’t understand you, I don’t understand, why then, why, don’t you feel anything at all? Why, why, Jin, why?”
“Oh, oh god, oh no, Joon, no, please, don’t cry, please, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." Something warm moved all over his face, fingers, lips, rough material of Seokjin’s shirt – Namjoon didn't open his eyes, drowning in pain.
“Why, I don’t understand, why-”
“I can’t say it, Joon, I can’t, I can’t make you ruin your life, please, understand, please, I’m so sorry.”
“Do you love him? You love Taehyung? You don’t love me at all?” Namjoon finally looked at Seokjin with red eyes, something inside him coiling from the closeness of Seokjin’s face. “You will never love me?”
“Fuck, Joon, please, don’t say that, I… I can’t, I can’t, Joon, I can’t." Something glistened in his eyes as well, but Namjoon couldn’t distinguish it behind his own veil. He could only feel the movement, arms tightening around his neck, something warm pressed against the side of his head.
“You can’t love me?” Namjoon exhaled, finally understanding everything. His blank gaze found a bouquet of white flowers on the table, but he didn't see it, just staring and slowly blinking. Of course, Seokjin couldn't love him. Of course.
“You’re so fucking dumb sometimes, I can’t… I… Fuck." A tremble tore into Seokjin's voice on the last note, born somewhere between his shoulder blades, his arms almost feverishly pressing Namjoon closer before pushing back, “I have to go,” pecks quickly splattered all over his face, “I’m so sorry, Joon-ah, I have to go now,” – and then, suddenly, everything disappeared.
He was left alone, barely breathing and wrecked inside out.
Maybe, it was a dream, after all?
"In other words, eros never fully satisfies. For Aristophanes, the incompleteness of eros is fundamental, and his descriptions of the experience of eros’ incompleteness seem right: we do not want our beloved merely to talk, to make love, or even to spend a life together, though we might want each of these activities.
There is something deeper, a nameless ‘more’ that speaks to the incomplete and restless nature of ourselves as human beings, and that leads each lover and beloved to seek and to find not an end to restlessness, but a kind of dialectical movement between more or less incompleteness, and more or less fulfilment, through the intimacy with another.
The lovers are literally cut in two, wounded, torn in their individual existences. These lovers experience the world as fundamentally ruptured, and each senses that the rupture is within himself."