Work Text:
❂
namjoon has never been one to believe in myths and gods. maybe fate, maybe serendipity, but never in the whole there's someone there who decides about your life thing. the one thing he truly believes in is nature, mother nature if he feels like being sarcastic.
and then he encounters someone.
their first meeting goes something like this:
namjoon listens to the frogs outside, singing their monotonous and ever-changing song of nearing summer. the wind has gone quiet, the landscape lays still and silent in the night. it's warm, pleasant, and the sunburn on his shoulders has long subsided with the lotions and creams that eager maids had lathered around. the gardens are peaceful, and so is namjoon. the days grow longer, more stressful, hotter, resting their midday leisures on his shoulders like an elegy.
he stares into the darkness that never feels dark, not really, not when april comes to an end and the world feels more and more bearable and light, and listens to the frogs' songs that remind him of his mother's embrace. how long it's been.
his robe is dirty where he mindlessly wiped his hands clean of any remaining cooling lotion and brushed against a dirty twig. he's too tired, in a good, peaceful way, to change into fresh sleepwear before bed. something seems off, in a way that there isn't anything even remotely wrong about the night.
everything is the same as it is most nights lately — frogs, warmth, moist air, even his sunburn is the same as always — and yet. something hangs in the air, something that sings of a sweetness namjoon doesn't know, can't possibly know because he's never encountered it before.
there's something in the way the nightly insects buzz and dance, in the way the leaves on bushes, ferns and trees move and rustle as if stirred by invisible fingers, in the way namjoon's lantern, placed on the floor of the terrace above him, flickers in the night — something will happen.
something is coming, something divine. something important. shaking the world in its foundations. the hair on his neck stand up all at once, in the same moment as the lantern above dies in a soft breeze and the frogs seem to quiet down all at once, as if to catch their breath. it's chilling him to the core, goosebumps appearing on his arms. it's not pleasant. not unpleasant, either.
"are you the caretaker of these lands?"
it's a soft voice, low, quiet, hesitant; pleasant, soothing tones that seem to slip through the cracks in his skin and wrap themselves around his heart.
namjoon doesn't startle, even though the voice is close, too close.
he turns around, calm as if the presence of a stranger within his palace's walls isn't the greatest threat to his safety, and takes a single small step backwards. the twigs of a fern brush against his ankles, dirt clinging to his bare feet as he leaves the cobbled way.
"i am trying my best to be one," he answers honestly, his heart clattering against his ribs in excitement as he stares back into the darkness. why is he excited? "have we met before?"
"i'm glad we have not," the voice rumbles and steps forward, into the light.
"i am min yoongi, and i have come to consult the leaders of the world in all earthly affairs, if they so want my help. i am offering my services to you, caretaker."
namjoon doesn't know what to say, what to think. the man — at least namjoon assumes they're a man — is beautiful. not beautiful in most classic aspects, maybe, but there clings a familiarity to his features that shakes namjoon — as if they have known each other since before namjoon was born. longer, even.
sharp, gentle eyes, dark hair that looks like the velvety night itself, soft cheeks and throat and hands, honey skin that could battle the sun in its warmth, a white robe that's not unlike namjoon's, dark sandals that wrap around his ankles. something seems to float behind his back for a moment, but it vanishes and namjoon thinks he imagined it.
min yoongi bows deeply after his introduction, one hand at his chest, and namjoon — it's stupid, it's dangerous, it's completely and utterly reckless — he knows that min yoongi speaks the truth. he knows min yoongi can be trusted. he knows there isn't a single reason to mistrust him. he knows that the other man is more than he makes him believe, but there is no lie in his words, only a devastating honesty that bleeds out into the night and threatens to creep into namjoon's bones.
the frogs have begun their sweet choir again, as if to greet him.
"welcome," namjoon bows. "i am deeply grateful for your offer." he doesn't say anything further, trying to watch min yoongi's reaction. the other smiles a polite half-smile, bows again, blinks.
namjoon knows that just like that, he invited min yoongi to be a part of his court. and he accepted the offer. namjoon also knows, somehow, tucked away under his tongue, that he won't regret it. namjoon smiles. blinks.
min yoongi has vanished.
the frogs sing.
❂
that's how min yoongi becomes kim namjoon's consultant.
over time, namjoon thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should reflect on his belief again. maybe there is someone divine in the world.
❂
"who are you?" namjoon asks one evening, when the sun hasn't fully gone down yet.
the gardens are set alight by the chirps of birds hiding in the trees and the summer heat slowly slipping away to make room for only slightly cooler night air.
yoongi's sitting on a bench, his white robes neat and tidy. he looks up at namjoon, the softest half-smile of them all on his lips, and motions namjoon to sit down next to him. his lashes cast long shadows across his cheeks.
the air is heavy with anticipation, almost enough to make namjoon burst, and when yoongi speaks with his usual melodic, deep voice, he thinks he might faint. the tension crawls across his neck.
he had never asked yoongi this before. maybe he shouldn't have.
"i am not a hunter," yoongi smiles to himself.
namjoon wants to ask what what means, why he specifies he's not a hunter, but something about yoongi's tone, aura, gestures, makes him swallow his questions.
"i'm neither a hunter nor a predator," yoongi repeats, a twinkle of mischief hanging between them.
something big will be revealed, namjoon is reminded. something world-changing.
"i am a gatherer."
he turns towards namjoon, who can't help but stare.
something grows in his chest, something that doesn't fit to the thing in his belly, the other thing that's growing too, the thing that tells him yoongi is someone who countless humans are afraid of every day.
the thing in his stomach whispers rumours about destruction and grief, while the one in his chest spreads its wings and flutters.
one sings of loss and something dangerous, something to be wary of, but namjoon can't bring himself to care, not when his heart hums a lullaby as sweet and tender as yoongi's gaze searching for his.
"i am who most humans like to call death."
"oh."
it's what his stomach had known before namjoon did, intuition that came true, like knowing with certainty that a cup will break only one split second before it hits the ground and shatters into a thousand pieces.
he tears his gaze away.
"you don't have to believe me," yoongi smiles, a melancholic spark in his eyes, his hands resting on his thighs, palms opened for the sky to kiss. "some do, some don't."
"i do."
and that's the truth.
yoongi looks up, something like surprise passing over his face.
a bird somewhere behind them in the wilderness of the garden chirps obnoxiously loud.
"thank you."
namjoon nods, longing to put his hand in yoongi's, but he doesn't.
"i always thought death was a more — violent person. evil, even. greedy."
yoongi smiles again, small crinkles around his eyes.
"there's no need to be."
somewhere far away, a door opens. closes. the trees sigh in the evening breeze.
"you're fond of us." it's not a question.
yoongi nods.
"how could i not?
"you humans are fragile, delicate creatures, and you're fighting for your life with a ferocity that i can't help but admire. you're fighting against me as if i'm your biggest enemy, and i admire your strength. of course i love your kind."
namjoon gets it, he thinks. maybe he doesn't, but it doesn't really matter as long as yoongi, death himself, keeps talking in this calm manner and carries himself with this grace namjoon has grown so fond of over the last few months.
he doesn't know if he understands what yoongi means, but everything is alright as long as yoongi waits in namjoon's office most mornings and offers his unconditional counsel, offers new insight, is namjoon's closest, most honest and cherished confidant. it doesn't matter as long as namjoon is allowed to look at him and thank the gods that have to be there for min yoongi.
❂
yoongi stays at namjoon's court.
he's a great help, friendly to maidens and servants, modest, debonair, and his advice is unmatched.
he speaks only when he has thought everything through, always offering new insights to namjoon.
they disagree often, and namjoon enjoys their playful banter and serious discussions alike. he likes hearing yoongi speak, his low, calm, tone and the honey-glazed chuckles, the agitated gestures, the overjoyed smiles once they come to an agreement.
yoongi helps namjoon lead his country, even improve lives, and soon the lands thrive. yoongi helps namjoon be more content in his life, his work, and more confident in his abilities, his decisions. yoongi helps. a lot.
yoongi becomes namjoon's most trusted confidant — friend, too — and this stirs awake sleeping dogs. evil tongues begin their work. namjoon doesn't realize it at first.
"the deer are fat this year," one of namjoon's consultants says when midday nears and they head out of the office to grab a bite on the terrace, nodding to himself in approvement, "we should go hunting." he looks up from his folded hands. "why don't you join us, my king?"
namjoon hesitates. he doesn't want to. he never took delight in running around in the darker, sharper forests or the rough mountains to hunt something they don't need to hunt. he's busy anyway.
on the other hand, the socializing could benefit him. help him in the intrigues of the court. he could need a few more confidants, a few more friends who don't try to kill him to get the throne and power.
but then again — does he want friends he made at a deer hunt he neither appreciates nor enjoys?
"i'm terribly sorry, minister, but i have to decline your offer," namjoon replies in the end, content with his decision. he can do better than bond over decaying cadavers and the growl of unfed dogs.
the minister doesn't look pleased. glances over to where yoongi accompanies namjoon, silent as always, and smiles as if he knows something namjoon doesn't know.
it irks him out.
"would your answer be the same if i invited lord min to our hunt? he will accept. he loves the hunt, for sure."
namjoon's belly twists in discomfort. doesn't dare to say anything. doesn't know what to think about the implications.
"no," yoongi interferes before namjoon can think of a diplomatic but firm answer, closer than only a few seconds ago.
"no, minister, i don't. in fact, i can't think of anything i'd want to do less than go hunting. please refrain of making assumptions about my person."
yoongi's voice is determined, collected, calm. a hand sneaks onto the small of namjoon's back, barely touching, reassuring him in the gentlest way. the minister gapes at him.
yoongi continues, unfazed.
"i can not find pleasure in killing, and our king doesn't either. besides, the decline of a personal invitation should be accepted without the need to give a reason."
namjoon can't think of a way he could've said it better, incredibly grateful.
the minister grows red, an uhealthy shade. ugly fury crosses his features.
"who do you think you are?" he cries out, his anger creeping across the space between them and directly into namjoon's chest. "what does a whore, a dirty concubine have a say about in here? remember who you're talking to!"
the anger sets namjoon's whole chest alight, making him forget everything around him — his status, his upbringing, the vast halls of the palace, the groups of consultants scattered across the hallway, the previously soothing rays of sunshine that turned sour — except yoongi and the minister.
yoongi's hand on his back shifts, his fingers beginning to curl into namjoon's robes but stopping suddenly, leaving the motion unfinished, namjoon's rage unsoothed.
he opens his mouth to devour the minister whole, to rip him to pieces, to show him where he belongs in his rank, ask him how he dares to talk about things he knows nothing about, belittle him even, make him fear for his life, but yoongi holds him back, gentle but final.
"minister," he whispers, leaning down, smile a little chipped around the edges, "i think you're forgetting your place. this isn't a brothel. i have the same right to be here as you do. i will not accept insults of my person. or your king."
the minister steps back, face white as a wall.
yoongi didn't bother to speak up or whisper, talking in the same volume or tone he always uses. he doesn't need to justify his presence. he doesn't need to draw attention to himself.
a few other ministers stare, wondering what happened. namjoon sees their confusion and their snicker.
the minister in front of them deflates, searches for namjoon's gaze to find reassurance or disapproval.
he doesn't find any.
"i formally decline your invitation and ask you to refrain of inviting me to wild hunts in the future, minister," he nods, glad yoongi has removed his careful fingers.
"yes, my king," the minister stutters, shoulders slumped, still red anger on his face, now mixed with yellow embarrassment.
namjoon dismisses him with a nod, his back unnaturally straight, head held high. he can keep the regal posture until he has left the main court, making his way toward his private chambers. the feeling of pride he had felt only minutes before has slipped away.
he's just miserable now, thinking of what his own snarky remarks will cost him.
his appetite is long gone.
when he arrives, the bright wooden door to his rooms right in front of him, he turns around, glancing down the corridor.
he catches the sleeve of yoongi's white robe slipping through the door to his own chambers. it's impossible to tell, but namjoon thinks yoongi might be embarrassed by the exchange. or sorry for something, or anxious, even though he had never seen him nervous.
namjoon just thinks he has seen yoongi's shoulders slumped before closing the door. he doesn't dare to let himself think about it for too long, though. yoongi is an entity, the embodiment of death, he's immortal, endless — he doesn't need namjoon's reassurance.
still, namjoon finds himself standing in front of yoongi's door, knocking softly before he can rethink again.
yoongi's soft hum is audible even through the door, and namjoon enters, heart thumping quicker than usual.
"forgive me, lord min," he stammers, unlike his usual self, while closing the door behind himself, "for bothering you."
"oh no, your presence never bothers me, my king," yoongi smiles. he's sitting on the windowsill, bathed in sunlight.
no sign of remorse, not a single droplet of doubt on his features. he's still wearing his white robe, the gold at his ears, the necklace a young mother had gifted him when he helped her give birth around his neck. only his sandals are left behind, carelessly thrown aside next to the door.
"i have found your company to be quite pleasing, my king," he adds.
he smiles so beautifully all the time, making namjoon wonder how he's supposed to look at the rest of the world ever again with wonder in his eyes.
he doesn't say that, though.
what he says is:
"please, don't call me your king. you belong to no earthly ruler."
yoongi nods, the book in his lap temporarily forgotten.
"and no other ruler, either."
the implication stuns him for a second. then he remembers what yoongi had said before and blushes.
"come, sit with me." yoongi lightly pats the stone next to him.
they're close, almost, maybe, too close, and yoongi's white robes smell faintly like oranges and earth, it's making everything worse for namjoon, more intense, draws everything closer, the room smaller.
the silence that spreads is calm, brings down namjoon's nerves.
the difference between inside and outside is being smudged, made non-existent, by the breeze sneaking in through the window and carrying the scent of cut grass and some sort of blossom. birds are chirping outside and therefore inside too, and the line is made blurry by yoongi's eyes focusing onto his pages, his fingers tapping a tune onto the paper, his robes always neat and flawless.
"thank you," namjoon says finally, a nervous chuckle bubbling up, "for earlier. i didn't know what to reply. i'm sorry for what he said."
yoongi puts his book down again.
"it's not your fault, namjoon, there's no need to dwell on it any longer."
namjoon ignores how pretty his name sounds out of yoongi's mouth, wills his heart to not skip a beat.
"no. you don't deserve this kind of treatment, especially not coming from a minister who forgot who his loyalty belongs to. you're too good for any of this."
yoongi nods.
"i know. and you're right. but it is not your doing, and you shouldn't feel responsible for it. this is not going to be a problem. i know how you humans are. i'm used to it. there's no need to beat yourself up over it. trust me, please."
and namjoon doesn't know why — maybe because there is this twinkle in his eyes again, the one he had seen on him before, maybe because yoongi's hand is on his wrist in the gentles of touches, maybe because all namjoon can smell is the hidden, fresh citrus — he opens his mouth and says:
"i do."
yoongi's face lights up at that, teeth showing, eyes becoming small, and namjoon can't even bring himself to be embarrassed, not when yoongi, death himself, smiles at him like that, the sun in his dark eyes.
he leans back again, releasing namjoon's wrist, and turns his book in his hands.
"should i read to you?"
and, well, namjoon doesn't think he could ever say no to yoongi, not at the prospect of hearing his voice, so he nods.
"that would be nice."
❂
yoongi washes his robes himself, which is probably why he's so popular among the maids inside the palace.
namjoon finds out one noon in the gardens, stalking around the lake after a whole night of sitting hunched over his desk, and finds yoongi sunbathing near the water.
"namjoon," yoongi opens his eyes in just the right moment, smiling his usual half-smile again, "greetings."
he sits up, a twig sticking to his shoulder, a little bit of gravel in his hair. he doesn't seem to mind.
"good afternoon, lord min."
yoongi smiles.
"please, call me yoongi."
"yoongi," namjoon rolls the name over his tongue, lets it slip overboard, trying its taste. nods slowly, his blush creeping up his cheeks. "aren't you cold, yoongi?"
summer is ending, slowly but surely, and yoongi is sitting here in nothing but his short, white undergarments, while the trees sway in a few sharp winds.
he shrugs.
"not very. my clothes will be dry soon, it's nothing."
"do you—" namjoon begins then, hesitates, stops, begins again, "do you want to take a walk with me?"
yoongi reaches over to feel his clothes, laid out to dry on a stone next to him, then looks back up to namjoon, who feels to tall and broad all of a sudden.
"of course, namjoon." namjoon thinks he'll never get accustomed to the warmth in his chest he feels every time yoongi calls out his name.
"i will need a few minutes to get dressed. you can go ahead, i will find you."
namjoon nods, obliges, hurrying away to give yoongi the privacy he needs, and soon he's surrounded by nothing but trees once more.
no matter how often he finds himself wandering through the gardens, the sheer force of peace surprises him time and time again. the soft, firm force of quiet and soothing silence never ceases to amaze him in the way it settles into his stomach and fingertips, almost violent in its ways, forcing into his heart. (a little bit like yoongi, maybe.)
the forest always calms him with birds and rabbits, the smell of warm, moist earth, wonderfully uncut grass and fallen leaves, shedding bark and antlers and the wild spots of midday sunlight on the grassy floor.
there's a clearing near — with lush grass and mossy stones, and namjoon decides to stop by and sit atop a fallen tree to watch a few birds, count clouds, something like that.
the only thing different than usual, the only thing that's unlike any other day he's coming here, is that there is a deer at the clearing.
namjoon stops dead in his tracks at the sight. it's a majestic animal with short antlers, a beautiful brown fur sprinkled with fading white — a young one. big, soft eyes, dark and shiny.
the deer, usually standing tall, proud, usually head held high, cowers near the fallen tree.
at first, namjoon thinks it might try to rest, sit out the midday sun and sleep in the shadows, but then he remembers that it's definitely not hot enough for the need of midday rest, too deep into autumn already, and isn't it weird how close he managed to get without the deer shying away?
"its dying," yoongi's voice chimes from next to him; namjoon doesn't flinch, not at the gentle voice, the gentle white robes in his peripheral, the soft skin glowing under the sunspots.
"how do you know?" namjoon asks. "does it come with who you are?"
yoongi chuckles. "yes, but in this instance, it's obvious — to mortals, too."
he points at the deer, at its side, and really, there's something dark at it's hinds, smeared across its belly.
"can you do something?" namjoon asks.
"yes, but you know the outcome."
"is there any chance to avert it — you?"
yoongi shakes his head. "not today, i'm afraid."
with that, he walks across the clearing, minimizing the distance between himself and the wounded animal. it lifts its head, gentle eyes glossy and blown wide, but it puts up no defense, not a spark of fear directed at yoongi.
maybe the animal senses who yoongi is, maybe it knows what's happening, and accepts it. and isn't that what they're all supposed to do?
yoongi kneels, his hands opened to show he means no harm, and the deer blinks up at him.
it rests its head in his lap almost immediately, relaxing completely, at peace, and namjoon can even see from the distance how its neck muscles soften. it trusts yoongi with its life. quite literally.
yoongi leans down, almost kissing the head, and whispers, murmurs something.
he can't make out much, but he gives namjoon a sign to come closer, so he does.
the birds are quiet for once. it smells like oranges and lavender all of a sudden, a pleasant surprise, and the breeze dies down.
he can hear what yoongi whispers now.
"well done, child, you were wonderful, well done. i am proud of you. you did so good. we will provide a place to rest for you."
it stirs something awake in namjoon, something that sets alight his heart and makes it unbearable to look away.
it's so graceful, so loving, how yoongi cradles the deer's head in his palms. how he finds the right words, the gaze in his eyes that makes namjoon think they're alone in this world.
the deer makes a pained sound somewhere in its throat. a huff, a cough, a signal or something, namjoon doesn't know.
"you're tired, child, i understand."
his palms wander — from the chin upwards, across the wet snout, the nostrils that struggle to breathe, slower and slower — until they cover dark, trusting eyes.
namjoon kneels down, the moist grass pressing through his robe against his knees.
it feels weird to witness this standing while yoongi is sitting here, the young deer almost dwarfing him even now.
namjoon doesn't know where to look.
at yoongi, whose hands cover the deer's eyes, waiting, soothing; humming a calming tune that's old, so old namjoon shivers with memories of decades he luckily never had to live through.
or at the beautiful fur only centimeters away from his own hands, the slowing up and down of a heart beneath it, the white spots blurred by growing up and last winter's coat, the fluffy ears that don't even twitch in interest or caution anymore.
"your kind isn't the only one that fights against me," yoongi murmurs when he allowed the deer to close its eyes by itself and lowered its head into his lap again, after the last breath came and went.
he caresses its cheek, thumb following one line under its eye, smiling.
"every living thing on this earth flees from me. and everything that's left, what isn't alive and can't die, fights too, resisting decay and oblivion. but none of them are as cruel as the humans. you try too hard to escape me and most lose their love along the way."
he looks up at namjoon, who can't look away as their eyes lock.
"animals know when it's time to go, and they do. but you humans, you still keep pushing and pushing, until the very end. it hurts. you don't see me as a friend."
"would you want to change anything? if you could — can you?"
"no." yoongi's eyes light up. "no, i wouldn't, even if i could. you humans are miraculous things, different from everything i have encountered before. interesting, even. that's new."
namjoon's head spins, the implications on his shoulders whispering in his ear.
before — before humans, before everything they know — something before humans existed to give yoongi a human name for his ancient existence. then that means there will be an after, something nobody will witness except yoongi.
alone.
the thought pulls at something inside of him, something that got dug up with all the other things he has discovered with yoongi at his court; feelings of loss and yearning he can't put into words for he had never experienced them before, memories and dreams that seem dull around the edges, as if not his own. it pulls and pulls and pulls, somewhere in his throat, until it doesn't anymore, and that hurts almost more. it's bittersweet, like lavender tends to be when the air carries too much of it, or like the itch of coldness at his feet after he's been too warm in his bed.
namjoon offers his hand up to the sky, similar to what yoongi had done the afternoon he had revealed who he is, only this time, he presses his palm into the grass between them, his knuckles free to touch, closer to yoongi's knee than probably necessary.
it's a simple gesture, vague enough to ignore and see as a coincidence, meaningful enough to take as an invitation, if maybe a little bit overused.
yoongi looks down at it, looks away and down at the deer in his lap whose eyes are closed and resting peacefully — forever.
and then there's his warm fingers atop of namjoon's like a butterfly's kiss, careful and sweet and almost sacrilegious in its boldness, and namjoon is glad yoongi decided to beat the sky to leaning down and touching. he's glad his silent invitation was accepted.
namjoon thinks that if he could, he would change everything to make yoongi less alone in the world.
❂
"why do you help me lead the country?"
namjoon figures it's a stupid question, but he's still not sure if he understood it. not even after all these months.
yoongi hums, the sound vibrating through namjoon's chest as if magnified by the bare walls of a warm room. he draws a lazy circle onto his chest, right where namjoon's heart is.
"your garden was beautiful. i liked it, that wilderness inside the palace."
namjoon can feel yoongi smile, his cheek growing fuller where it's pressed to his shoulder, and his own smile spreads at the memory.
"that's not what i meant," he says nonetheless, just because he feels like pushing a little further, unravelling a little more of the mystery. "i don't know if i really understand what you're gaining from helping us."
yoongi shifts his weight, huffing quietly in the young light.
"one thing that you humans have to understand is that not everything serves a purpose. i don't have to gain anything from existing."
namjoon plays with the hair at the nape of yoongi's neck. his head is warm, his dark hair almost hot in the morning sun filtering through namjoon's windows. it's the first warm day of the year, mid-april. the last snow melted not even two weeks ago.
yoongi chuckles.
"i help you because i don't have to be greedy."
outside chirps a bird, and there are light footsteps in the hallways hurrying around. a mint and honey moment, sweet and languid. at the verge of being uncomfortable.
"i help because in the end, you will come home to me anyways. nothing and nobody will be able to escape me. you will belong to me eventually. i'm endless and inevitable. nothing can withstand me, not even the gods, if there are any. i'm patient, because in the prospect of eternity, even a hundred lifetimes will have passed in the blink of an eye."
yoongi reaches down, to where namjoon's hand had rested at his waist, and takes it.
there's no prayer for it, for him, for this innocent of all touches and the grace that's evident in every single movement, every smile, every word. theres no prayer for yoongi. namjoon wishes there was one — a prayer he could whisper into his pillow, his plate at lunch, his fist, his books. for yoongi to know he's missed, desired, loved.
"i will accept you home in the end, finally."
namjoon's chest constricts at yoongi's words, at the quiet reassurance in his eyes, the way he holds namjoon's hands. at the truth in his words, too, because it's a gentle thought, of yoongi waiting for him as long as needed and opening his arms for him when the time nears.
but still. being reminded of his own mortality always sits wrong with him, wrong in a way that makes him uncomfortable and comforted at the same time. certainty and uncertainty at the same time.
yoongi is right, of course, but namjoon had never thought of it that way. it's easier to think of death as something violent, of something wild and cruel and greedy, as something he should fight against, something he ought to keep at bay forever.
to see yoongi here, to talk with him, to love him, to have him — that's the opposite of everything namjoon had believed in, it's mind-wrecking and dangerous and impossible, a contradiction. he had always thought death to be demanding and quick, scheming, impatient.
being visited and consulted by death is not something that simply happens. still hard to believe, even after more than one year.
and of course, that idea of a violent, evil death is senseless. he's endless. there's no need to hurry. there's no reason to plot humanity's downfall, wars, catastrophes, sickness and ruin. sooner or later, everyone will come back to him, simple as that.
"will you wait for me at your door and greet me once my time has come?"
yoongi smiles again, eyes twinkling, lifting his head off of namjoon's chest in one fluid motion, pulls their entwined hands closer to him.
"of course. for you, whatever you wish."
namjoon can't help but chuckle, making yoongi laugh, too, as he presses kiss after kiss to his knuckles.
"i will help you pass the veil when you're ready. there will be a place for you in eternity, i promise. a place at my table, a place in my bed, a place in love and friendship alike, if you so wish."
namjoon looks in yoongi's eyes, small galaxies that stretch immeasurably far and deep, wider than this world's universe, soft wells that always manage to pull at his heartstrings effortlessly, and decides won't ask if yoongi offers this to everyone he had invited into his bed.
he decides that he won't ask, and he won't ask for anything more, because this is the greatest mercy he will ever witness, the greatest love he will ever have the luck to receive — and return, no matter how long yoongi stays with him, no matter how many lovers namjoon will have had when he dies.
because that's what he does; love yoongi with all his might. and he hopes for nothing more but a peaceful death once his time comes, a little bit of time to spend his love, a small place to call his own in afterlife. a little bit more of slow spring mornings, a little bit more of yoongi's sweet kisses and wise words and endlessly careful words.
nothing more.
yoongi tilts his head down and blinks, tired and content. leans down even further, until his lips ghost namjoon's cheek.
"i will lead you home, love."