Chapter Text
Namjoon’s fingernails have just about drawn blood from clenching his fists for several minutes when Yoongi finally says, “Joon-ah, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Yoongi’s body language is the picture of calm, but Namjoon could hear a twinge of Daegu satoori in his words, which nowadays only slipped out when Yoongi was either completely relaxed or tightly wound. And in this situation, he is definitely not relaxed.
Yoongi shifts in his seat, his gaze fixed upwards on the ceiling tiles, which sags suspiciously. A part of Namjoon wishes Yoongi would just look at him, but another knew that if he did his entire resolve would crumble right there. He would be unable to resist reaching out to stroke Yoongi’s soft cheek or pushing his dark hair away from his eyes. So yes, it was probably better that Yoongi was avoiding eye contact.
“It’s been a long time since I was called to the principal’s office,” Yoongi remarks dryly. Namjoon switches activities from fist clenching to leg bouncing. He chuckles briefly.
“I can’t imagine you ever getting in trouble.” Namjoon kept his voice low as if he might be scolded for making too much noise. “You’re so quiet.”
“I punched a kid once.”
The leg bouncing ceased. Namjoon snaps his head to look at Yoongi, shocked. “What ?”
“He was being homophobic,” he replies plainly. He still was not looking at Namjoon, but he could see the ghost of a smirk on his hyung’s lips, which in turn made Namjoon smile fondly.
“How old were you?”
“Ten.” Yoongi lowers his gaze to his fidgeting feet, his grin more pronounced than before. “I already knew… y’know. But I hadn’t totally. Processed it.” He sighs, his shoulders heaving. “But then this kid, this puny little asshole, came up to me and started yanking on my shirt, this plain pink t-shirt, and saying shit like ‘only gay boys wear pink, are you gay ?’” Yoongi furrows his eyebrows, contemplating the memory as if it was something he’d read in a book and not a fragment of his own life. “And I was so… speechless? Because in my head I was thinking, well, yes, but that’s not why I’m wearing pink. But I- I had never said it out loud before and I wasn’t about to start with this kid. So I went to sort of… swat him away?” Yoongi waves his left hand noncommittally, probably just like he had that day 18 years ago. “Because he was stretching out my perfectly fine shirt, but I guess he thought I was trying something? Me, a ten-year-old child, trying to ‘feel him up.'” Yoongi shakes his head. Namjoon wasn’t breathing. “So he shoved me and called me a fag.”
Finally, Yoongi looks meaningfully at Namjoon. When Yoongi looked at Namjoon like this, Namjoon felt he was really seeing him. Not just the figure and the visual of Namjoon, but the aura around him and the very depths of Namjoon’s soul pouring out of him. He could see the moment in Namjoon’s life that was almost an exact replica of this, except it happened when Namjoon was thirteen and in Seoul - but that didn’t matter, because the hurt was the same. “So I punched him, and had to clean all the blackboards in the school,” Yoongi concludes, and the look on his face tells Namjoon he was not in the least bit sorry.
(Namjoon didn’t punch his assailant, another kid on his soccer team. Instead, he ran home, cried, and told his mother he never wanted to go back there. And he never did.)
How Namjoon wants to reach out and put his hand over Yoongi’s, clasped together between his knees. Instead, he only says, “You’ve never told me that story before.”
The elder nods, pursing his lips. “I have to save some stories for later,” he replies thoughtfully. “Otherwise you might get bored of me.”
Chuckling, Namjoon shakes his head. “I could never get bored with you around, hyung.”
Before Yoongi can reply, the door in front of them opens. Principal Sejin half-steps out of his office, enough to look at the two young men sitting solemnly in the uncomfortable yellow plastic chairs and gesture with one arm, only stating, “Come in,” as his greeting. Yoongi and Namjoon exchange one more glance before rising from their seats, Yoongi leading the way like the caring hyung he’s always been.
Principal Sejin returns to his desk wordlessly as Yoongi and Namjoon settle into the two chairs across from him. Namjoon silently wonders how many times it has been two employees, and not two students, sitting in these seats, and suddenly felt very embarrassed. He begins fiddling with the button on his blazer and considers how proud he is of Yoongi for refraining from biting his nails.
“I’m going to keep this brief and frank,” Sejin states, his gaze serious as it flits between the two. “I’m incredibly disappointed in the both of you.”
“Sejin-nim-“ Namjoon starts, but Sejin holds up a firm, silencing hand.
“Let me finish, Namjoon-ssi,” he says sternly. “This school has a pristine reputation in our community. Pristine. And I’d like to think that’s because I respect and trust my employees, to the utmost degree, to conduct themselves honestly.” Then he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs and placing his hands folded on his knee, looking like a mob boss and not an elementary school principal. “When were you going to tell me?”
Silence hangs over the trio. Yoongi, in a last-ditch attempt at solidarity, slides his left foot so it sits flush against Namjoon’s right. Namjoon has never felt so thankful for physical contact. Only rarely is Namjoon at a loss for words, but his throat feels like it is closing up and Namjoon’s thousand thoughts are getting trapped, shoved down, down, down. He glances at Yoongi desperately. The elder appears completely composed, but Namjoon can tell that he’s deep in thought by the way he’s biting the corner of his lip. In any other situation, Namjoon would find it endearing and would tell Yoongi as much, leaning over to press a kiss to the same corner of his mouth. But at the moment Namjoon’s head is preoccupied with the sound of his heart hammering away as his conscience screamed, “Say something, idiot!”
Yoongi clears his throat diplomatically, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Sejin-nim,” he says gently. “Would you mind… elaborating?”
Principal Sejin gives Yoongi a disappointed look. Namjoon is ready to confess it all, the words there on the tip of his mouth, but right as it was about to leak out of him Sejin states, plainly, “When were you going to tell me that you two are married?”
And suddenly Namjoon feels the dizziest he ever has. He lowers his head into his hands, pressing his eyelids with the heel of his palm, chanting get it together over and over in his brain while he listens to Yoongi clear his throat for the second time in thirty seconds, only squeaking out a gentle, “oh” in response. Because if this is how he feels when his boss finds out about his marriage of five years to one of his co-workers, he simply cannot imagine what would happen if that same boss also discovered that the two of them were dating five more of his employees.
Seokjin is pacing. He’s been pacing since he got home thirty minutes ago, rushing into the house with a slam of the door and ferociously tossing his bag onto the couch before beginning his circle around the dining room table that had not ceased since then. Taehyung, who had shared one of the cars with Seokjin that day, plops himself down on the couch next to Seokjin’s bag, staring blankly ahead.
“Maybe it’s totally fine,” Taehyung offers after Seokjin has made two laps. “It could be about something else.”
Seokjin scoffs, changing directions in his pacing but keeping to the same loop. “Yes, something else that would require kicking the entire office staff out an hour early.” He looks at Taehyung, cocking his head to the side in that knowing way. “He only does that if he’s really going to lay it into someone, Tae. I’ve worked there for five years, I would know.”
Taehyung sighs, no counter-argument coming to mind. Then he texts Hoseok, Jimin, and Jeongguk.
Chimchim and 3 others
3:03pm
Taehyung
Sejin asked to speak with Joonie and Yoongi
Chimchim
…
Fuck.
We’re fucked
Oh my god we’re so fucked!
JK
Wait what.
No that could be about anything
He’s literally their boss this could be about anything right
RIGHT?!
Taehyung
He kicked out the office staff
JK
...
Well, fellas, it’s been a good run.
Chimchim
Gukkie.
Hobi-hyung
You give up on us too, fast, Gguk-ah. I’m disappointed in you.
Have a little more faith in your hyungs. They’ve gotten us this far.
Taehyung smiles at Hoseok’s unending optimism. He peers over at Jin, whose rotation has moved on to include the kitchen island. “Hoseok has faith, too,” he offers.
Seokjin laughs meekly. “He always does!” The tone is half-sarcastic, half-endeared.
Taehyung
What time will you be home?
Chimchim
I’m two blocks away.
JK
I’m leaving the gym now.
Taehyung
You? Leaving the gym early?
JK
I cannot possibly lift in my current mental state.
Chimchim
I’ve been begging you to skip for weeks and this is what does it?!
Hobi-hyung
Please drive safely, Gguk <3
I’m waiting for two of my students, they’ll be here any minute, but PLEASE text updates.
Taehyung hears footsteps on the front porch and the sound of shoes being shuffled off feet before Jimin, in his oversized shirt and track pants, bursts in with radioactive energy. Taehyung can feel the panic rolling off of him. He opens his arms, whining “Jiminieeee!” And it takes all of two seconds for Jimin to jump over the back of the couch and throw himself onto Taehyung, pressing his face into his collarbones.
“Taetae,” he groans, “what are we going to do?!”
Taehyung pets Jimin’s pastel pink hair, breathing in his floral cologne. “We don’t know that there’s anything that needs to be done, Chim,” he offers. Taehyung’s not normally the one to jump to consolation, but with Seokjin down and out for the count, and Hoseok out of the house, this is the position he must occupy for the day.
Seokjin mutters to himself incoherently in the kitchen.
“I’ll quit if I have to,” Jimin says, clutching at Taehyung’s linen shirt. “I’d be a good housewife.”
Taehyung laughs, kissing Jimin’s forehead. “The absolute best, my darling,” he coos, squeezing Jimin’s tiny waist, “But you love your job very, very much.”
“You do!” Seokjin interjects, introducing the living room coffee table into his rotation. He playfully hits Taehyung on the arm, quipping, “And I’m the best housewife, you brat. Jiminie here can’t cook and I’ve never seen him pick up a mop.”
Jimin sits up to throw a couch cushion in Seokjin’s general direction but misses because the eldest has yet to stop moving. “Mopping is not my job,” he says with mock anger, “It’s laundry and I do it beautifully .” Taehyung chuckles again, rubbing Jimin’s back while following Seokjin with his eyes.
“He does, hyung,” he says supportively. “You better tell him that or else all your white clothes will end up pink.”
Seokjin grins devilishly. “I happen to love pink,” he quips, blowing a kiss to Jimin from the kitchen. Jimin sticks his tongue out playfully but giggles nonetheless, satisfied. He glances back at Taehyung, happier than when he walked in, but there’s that glint of uncertainty. He takes Taehyung’s hands in his own.
“I love you all more than I love my job,” he states with gut-wrenching sincerity. “I really do, so I’ll be flexible. I really mean it. We can come up with a plan. Or multiple. And I will accept any of them, as long as we stay together.”
Taehyung sighs again, pulling Jimin back into his arms but catching Seokjin’s eye over Jimin’s shoulder. “I know, baby,” he says, rubbing circles on Jimin’s lower back. Seokjin suddenly looks devastatingly sad. “I know.”
If someone had told ten-year-old Yoongi, on the day he punched that kid, that not only was he gay, he was so gay that one day he’d have a secret relationship with his husband and five other men, Yoongi probably would have died right there. At the beginning of their complicated, polyamorous relationship, the intensity of it was sometimes so much that Yoongi felt like a thousand-pound weight was on his chest. Not because the intensity was bad, but because he thought it was simply impossible to love that much. To feel so strongly for so many people. Yoongi, who had spent a majority of his teen years depressed and hidden away in his small bedroom, suddenly receiving so much love that the mere thought of it rendered him incapacitated.
He can say none of this to Principal Sejin.
He feels itchy. He wants to bite his nails clean off. He wants to grab Namjoon’s hand and never let go, like he promised at their unofficial wedding in Seoul five years ago and again at the courthouse in New York two years later, only two days before they met Hoseok and Seokjin, when everything changed and they were no longer Namjoon and Yoongi but seven. Seven stars forming a new constellation above uncharted waters. The thought makes Yoongi’s head spin, the desire to protect their big secret so strong that Yoongi momentarily considers quitting his job then and there if it means they’ll be protected. It’s what Seokjin would do. If Seokjin were here, he’d stand up and stomp his foot deliberately, probably panic-shouting his resignation and flailing his arms around like he does when he’s flustered. Yoongi’s heart aches at the thought.
"How long?” Sejin asks, looking Yoongi squarely in the eye. Namjoon looks like he is ready to vomit, his head between his knees, so it’s up to Yoongi now to explain.
Yoongi gulps, his throat dry. “Legally? Three years.” Sejin barks out a laugh, but he’s not amused. “Although we technically had a ceremony five years ago before we left Seoul.”
Sejin is nodding, contemplative. He looks less stern than before, but Yoongi is no less nervous. He knows this tactic - he’s done it with students before. Smile, so that they’re relaxed, then strike. Sejin’s voice is low, serious, as he says, “So when you were hired. The entire time you’ve worked at this school.”
The elder teacher can only nod. With a surge of courage, he reaches out to touch Namjoon’s shoulder and squeezes it, leaving his hand there as he looks Sejin in the eye and states, “We didn’t know how people here would take it.” Namjoon lifts his head to stare at Yoongi, giving him a single nod. It’s a sign of thanks, and encouragement to continue. “Obviously in Seoul things were… complicated. We were used to hiding and we both wanted our jobs here so badly.” Yoongi says this as earnestly as possible because it was true. They had wanted to leave South Korea, and the opportunity to work at a Korean school in New York? Too good to be true.
As it turned out, it was too good in many ways.
Yoongi drops his hand from Namjoon’s shoulder and delicately wraps his hand around his wrist instead. Namjoon looks like he’s about to keel over, but Yoongi can spot that loving glint in his eye. Being vulnerable like this in the open is rare for them, and it’s pretty horrific that their boss is right there, but Yoongi’s thinking about the five charming idiots at home depending on them. He’s considering a secret seven times bigger than this one and it motivates him to be as sincere as he can with Sejin about this relationship because it might be the only thing that can protect the others.
He makes eye contact with his boss, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “We meant no disrespect to you or this school.”
Namjoon finally pipes in. “We assumed we would tell you, but then there never seemed to be a good moment. And then suddenly it felt like too long had passed.” Namjoon sits up straight, crossing his legs. He appears more composed now. Yoongi has that effect on him. “We love working here, sir,” he continues desperately, gently placing his hand over Yoongi’s on his arm, “And we’d never let our personal relationship affect our work here, I assure you.”
Sejin adjusts his glasses, still nodding. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his desk, once again glancing between the two of them. Silence returns. Yoongi can feel Namjoon’s racing pulse. His back is sticky with sweat.
Finally, the principal speaks. “I have no problem with your relationship,” he begins, and already some of the tension washes off of Yoongi. He relaxes slightly in his chair. Namjoon squeezes his fingers. “I respect that you came to this country for a better life. I just wish you had told me.” He slaps one hand down on his desk and leans back again, his expression softened. “I don’t like the idea that my staff is keeping secrets from me.”
Oh god, if he only knew.
Before
It began, of course, with Yoongi and Namjoon.
They met eight years ago, at their university in Seoul. Yoongi, a music education major, also worked at the radio station as the late show host. As a condition of his scholarship, Namjoon, studying child psychology, was assigned as a sound technician. One week into Yoongi’s second year, Namjoon’s first, he walked into the station to find Namjoon in an army green beanie, round frames perched delicately on his nose, with several auxiliary cords tangled around the sexiest legs Yoongi had ever laid eyes on. Namjoon had blushed scarlet and sheepishly asked Yoongi for help, falling to the floor twice in the process of freeing him.
Later, Namjoon told Yoongi it wasn’t just the cords. Yoongi’s bleached hair pushed back by a black sweatband, his three-sizes-too-big-clothes, and the gummy smile he flashed Namjoon definitely contributed to his imbalance. Namjoon didn’t know how rare those smiles were for Yoongi at the time, because after he entered the elder’s life they became decidedly less rare, but he took those days when Yoongi wrapped himself in three blankets and couldn’t speak as an opportunity to repay Yoongi for his kindness in the face of Namjoon’s stupidity.
During a walk after Yoongi’s graduation three years later, Yoongi had presented Namjoon with a delicate silver band. “It wouldn’t be legally recognized,” he’d said, playing with Namjoon’s fingers and fearing eye contact, “so I don’t really see the point in waiting any longer.”
Namjoon was all choked up, but he nodded and managed to squeak out, “Yeah,” before he clutched the back of Yoongi’s neck and pulled their foreheads together, smiling brightly with tears on his cheeks. “Yeah let’s do it.”
Two months later, the couple gathered with only their families in a private garden. Yoongi promised he’d always help Namjoon undo his messes. Namjoon promised to keep Yoongi smiling. They both pledged lifelong understanding, love, and fidelity.
That last part made them laugh nowadays.
Two years after that they had both accepted job offers at Hybe Elementary School, a Korean school in Queens, New York. A move to the States had been discussed, but suddenly it was inevitable, and as they packed up the last of their things, Yoongi turned to Namjoon and asked, “Do you want to book a courthouse date, or should I?”
Namjoon did it.
Two days before the start of the school year, Namjoon and Yoongi wept silently as a judge declared them legally married. Even though their ceremony in Seoul was more personal, more planned, more special, Namjoon had never clutched Yoongi so closely to his chest or cried so much as he did in that courthouse. They were in a new country, and a piece of paper legally recognized what Namjoon had already known for five years - Yoongi was his. Namjoon was on top of the world.
Flash forward 48 hours and everything changed.
The couple arrived separately on their first day of work. When Principal Sejin “introduced” them in Namjoon’s new office, the words Guidance Counselor on a plaque on the door, Namjoon had smirked when Yoongi’s wedding ring, carefully situated on his right ring finger, brushed against his palm. “Nice to meet you,” he’d said, not daring to hold eye contact for longer than a second.
Then Principal Sejin led Yoongi and Namjoon around the school, introducing them to every staff member personally. The start of the school year was two weeks away and the teachers were gathered by grade, planning meticulously. Everyone was unbelievably kind, patient with Namjoon and Yoongi’s slow, muddled English.
They stopped at the Pre-K center second to last. The room was a burst of color. Multitudes of toys in bright bins abound, a keyboard in the corner, the shortest tables you’ve ever seen arranged in a semicircle with rainbow cushions in a circle on the floor. A young man with red hair, around their age, was meticulously hanging a rainbow canopy in a corner over a mound of blankets and pillows.
“Jung Hoseok-ssi,” Sejin called to him. Hoseok turned, already smiling so wide his eyes were crinkled. The canopy fell down and his smile turned into an adorable shocked expression as he cursed under his breath and pulled the fabric up into his arms.
Just like that, Yoongi was nineteen again, endeared by a handsome man’s clumsiness. Except this time it wasn’t Namoon, his fucking husband, it was this absolute stranger making his heart pound and his face flush as Yoongi introduced himself. Already, he was a goner.
After an exchange that was much too short for Yoongi’s liking, the three of them left Hoseok to his canopy and headed for the main office. As they entered, it was impossible not to notice the man at the front desk. He was all shoulders in his smart, white polo, the bangs of his black hair brushing the tops of his thin-framed glasses. “And there he is!” Sejin boomed cheerfully. “My right-hand man!” The man looked up, startled, but grinned as he stood, stepping out from behind the desk.
Namjoon suddenly felt sweaty. This man was undeniably handsome , and his laugh was buoyant - Namjoon had never heard anything quite like it before. And his shoulders! Namjoon wanted to wrap his arms around them just to see if his hands would still meet in the middle. Then he realized he was ogling this man right next to his husband and a wave of guilt washed over him as Seokjin stated his name and made a terrible joke about Sejin actually being left-handed.
"Please excuse my secretary,” Sejin said fondly, “he’s known for being very cheeky.”
“Secretary!” Seokjin roared. “I’m an administrative assistant, according to our payroll files, and I demand to be treated as such!”
Namjoon’s heart fluttered. He was fucked front the start, it seemed.
For the first few weeks, Yoongi and Namjoon tried to ignore the feelings bubbling in their chests. Namjoon loved his short exchanges with Seokjin in the main office and found himself making up reasons to go in there. He discovered Seokjin had already been at the school for two years, and Hoseok was one of his closest friends. Namjoon tried not to feel jealous - because really, he had no right - at the longing tone in Seokjin’s voice when he talked about the preschool teacher.
Yoongi, on the other hand, had lunch with Hoseok every day, even after the school year started. Sometimes, Yoongi would arrive at the preschool during their dismissal, which was two and a half hours earlier than the rest of the school, and he would get to watch Hoseok wrangle a hoard of four-year-olds. He was lively, entertaining, and patient. The kids revolved around him like they were planets and he was the sun, and Yoongi felt the need to do the exact same. When the kids were reunited with their parents, Hoseok would wave goodbye with both hands and say something like, “see you later alligator!” and Yoongi’s heart would ache and ache.
After one particularly joyous lunch where Hoseok made Yoongi laugh so hard he could barely breathe, leaving Hoseok felt like coming down from the best high of his life. A great sadness washed over him and refused to withdraw. When he entered his shared apartment with Namjoon a few hours later, his husband immediately knew something was wrong.
Namjoon raced to his lover’s side, putting both hands on his cheeks. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to analyze Yoongi’s expression. Yoongi began to cry.
“Joon-ah,” he croaked between sobs, “Joonie.” Namjoon led him to the couch and pulled him into his lap, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Yoongi just kept repeating his name.
“Shh,” he whispered, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”
“It’s Hoseok,” Yoongi finally blurted, hiccuping as he tried to talk through his tears.
Namjoon tensed. “Did he do something to hurt you?”
Yoongi shook his head ferociously. “No, no. It’s me.” He hiccuped again as he turned to look his husband in the eye, face red and puffy. “I’m in love with him, Joon-ah.”
Namjoon paled, relaxing his grip. “Y-you… you don’t-” he gulped, panic clear in his expression. “You don’t love me anymore?”
“No! No!” Yoongi shouted, too loudly, suddenly grabbing Namjoon’s face and pulling it very close to his own, kissing him desperately. “I love you so much, Joonie,” he promised between kissing. “That’s the problem.”
He leaned back and looked Namjoon square in the eye. “I’m in love with both of you.”
Namjoon let out a sigh of relief and nodded, surprising Yoongi when he said, “I guess I have a confession to make, too.”
From there, things moved quickly. Namjoon and Yoongi invited Hoseok and Seokjin out to dinner, revealing their secret marriage but nothing more. They noted the disappointed looks on both their faces. Later, they returned to Namjoon and Yoongi’s apartment, but Yoongi and Hoseok decided to go on a walk, leaving Namjoon and Seokjin alone. They had their private confessions. The husbands shared that the other knew about their feelings and that it was alright. They still loved each other and they still trusted each other. Hoseok practically tackled Yoongi to the ground to kiss him, his boundless energy never spent. Seokjin’s reaction was quieter, only a blush, a giggle, then a sweet, chaste kiss.
For a while, it stayed that way. Namjoon and Yoongi lived together, but they would go on dates with Seokjin and Hoseok, respectively. Then the four of them began spending time as a unit, and maybe it was all of Yoongi’s talk about Hoseok’s cheerful demeanor, but Namjoon began to notice the way Hoseok’s grin could also make him blush. And Yoongi started taking a keen interest in cooking with Seokjin, the way his crooked fingers held a knife.
And then history was repeating itself - Yoongi in Namjoon’s lap, saying, “Seokjin is very handsome” and Namjoon’s laugh as he replied, “And Hoseok is unbelievably kind.” Then it was Namjoon and Hoseok out walking and Yoongi at home with Seokjin when they both asked to kiss yet another person that wasn’t their husband. The two responded with enthusiasm.
(That night, Seokjin actually walked Hoseok home, and at his door Seokjin joked, “If we’re both sleeping with the same two men, and they’re sleeping with each other, then I think it’s only logical that we - ” Hoseok cut him off with a kiss before he could finish that sentence, pulling Seokjin inside.)
That was how the first school year progressed. The four of them would pair off in any assortment each night, and Sejin and all the other staff members were none the wiser. That first summer break, the group practically lived at Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment, and they were happy. Very happy.
Then, two weeks before the married couples’ second school year, Sejin toured around three new staff members. Park Jimin, the new dance teacher, Kim Taehyung, the new art teacher - “These two went to school together,” Sejin added - and Jeon Jeongguk, the new physical education coach.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Namjoon had said with a smile that turned his eyes into half-moons. Jeongguk was staring at him, wide-eyed, and Namjoon merely missed the way he whispered wow, thighs as they shook hands.
Namjoon chuckled and Jeongguk’s face flared into the brightest shade of red as he cleared his throat. “You- you look like you’re a regular at the gym, too,” he said diplomatically. Sejin gave him an odd look.
“I try my best,” Namjoon responded, but as Sejin turned to exit, he shot Jeongguk a wink. Already, he had lost himself again.
Jimin and Taehyung figured out what was happening between Hoseok, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Namjoon very quickly. As it turns out, Seokjin had a Taehyung-sized soft spot in his heart and he quickly developed the habit of letting Taehyung go through his things whenever he wanted. He spotted a few texts that he’s sure were not meant for his eyes and filed that information away until Jimin said to him one day out of the blue, “Yoongi-hyung is going to compose a song for me for my dance class.”
Taehyung had burst out laughing, which made Jimin pout. “Yah! What are you laughing at?” Taehyung couldn’t stop. Jimin started hitting his arm playfully. “What!”
Through his gasps, he said, “Jimin-ah, I think Yoongi-hyung has a crush on you.”
Jimin blushed. “And what’s so funny about that?”
“I don’t think you’re the only staff member at this school who he’s harboring affection for.”
Jimin, who could not keep a secret to save his life, told Jeongguk the next day. The three youngest teachers then confronted their friends on Friday after work as they sat around a high-top table, enjoying a much-needed drink. Namjoon did a spit take. Seokjin started babbling out excuses before he began tickling Taehyung relentlessly, shouting, “Who told you you could snoop through my things, aish!”
Once all the commotion had died down, they were left smiling at one another when suddenly the atmosphere shifted. It was obvious by the way their expressions changed that they all felt the mood change, but it was Jeongguk, so young and brave, who finally said, “And what if I said…” He swallowed, looking like prey trying to negotiate with a predator, his doe eyes scared and sincere. “What if I said that my feelings for you -” he glanced around the table, making brief eye contact with each of them, “my feelings for you all were not exactly coworker-y.”
Silence, then that gummy smile broke on Yoongi’s face once again and he laughed, throwing his head back. Jeongguk blushed. “What!” he demanded, trying to mask his fear.
“We’re going to get fired,” Yoongi said, joking but also not, taking a swig of his beer, all smiles. He never said it, but all six of them heard the unspoken see if I care.
By the end of that school year, all seven of them were living in a house together in Nassau County, and Sejin was none the wiser.
Now
Jeongguk is already home, bouncing in place anxiously like he’s jumping on an invisible trampoline when Yoongi and Namjoon walk through the door. Jeongguk is on Namjoon in seconds, so fast that Namjoon stumbles into the wall and nearly hits his head.
“Christ, Jeongguk,” he says, with not even a hint of malice. “You are too strong to be crashing into people.”
Jeongguk isn’t listening. He’s clutching desperately to Namjoon’s waist, practically yelling, “Are we all fired?! Do we have to move?!”
Jimin, Taehyung, and Seokjin are all standing frozen in the living room, wide-eyed with anticipation. Jimin’s eyes well up with tears, ready to spill over at any moment.
Yoongi breaks the tension. “Nobody’s moving, and nobody’s fired,” he says definitively. Seokjin breathes a sigh of relief so great he slumps back onto the couch.
Jimin’s eyes look like they’re going to bulge out of their sockets. “Really?” He whimpers.
Yoongi crosses over to him, placing a hand delicately on his cheek before kissing his nose. “Yes, really. For now, we’re all fine.”
Taehyung sits next to Seokjin, resting a hand on his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. “See, I told you,” he says with a cheeky smile. Seokjin bats at his hand but then laces their fingers together when Taehyung tries to move it away.
“Please explain every detail.” Jeongguk’s words are muffled because he’s speaking directly into Namjoon’s shirt, unwilling to leave even an inch of space between him and his hyung.
Namjoon gives him a gentle push away from his chest, turning Jeongguk’s shoulders and leading him to the other end of the giant L-shaped couch. “We will explain,” he promises. “Where is Hobi?”
“He won’t be home for a while,” Taehyung states, citing Hoseok’s whereabouts. Namjoon nods as he sits down at the end of the couch and pulls Jeongguk onto his lap. Yoongi similarly leads Jimin to the middle of the sectional, only they sit side by side, both hands clutched together on Yoongi’s lap, Jimin’s head on Yoongi’s shoulder.
“It’s not as bad as we thought,” Namjoon starts, looking at Seokjin and recalling the exact moment when Sejin told him to please pack up his things and leave. The brief eye contact they exchanged as Seokjin exited was enough for Namjoon to know that Seokjin was going to go home and panic until his return. “There’s a lot he still doesn’t know.”
“He knows Namjoon and I are married,” Yoongi states plainly. Although he’s addressing the group, he’s only looking at Jimin, a pronounced pout seemingly permanently stuck on his face. “And he knows that we were when we started working there and never told him.” Yoongi gently brushes a stray hair out of Jimin’s face.
“But he has no clue about any of you,” Namjoon continues, squeezing Jeongguk’s waist, “nor about our involvement with anyone other than each other.”
“That’s… I mean, that’s good, right?” Taehyung interjects, a boxy smile threatening to break out across his face. “I mean, it’s progress. ”
“Progress, maybe,” Namjoon says, pursing his lips. “But he specifically told us that he doesn’t want the students, or the parents, to find out. We have to be ‘discreet’, to quote him exactly.” No one misses the sad, far away look in his eye. They may be in Queens, New York, not South Korea, but culture goes further than geography.
Yoongi scoffs. “As if we haven’t been doing that for the last three years.”
“I don’t think he knows the extent to which you’ve been doing that,” Seokjin jests. “If he did, he might even be impressed.”
“I’d rather not take the chance,” Namjoon tuts, sliding Jeongguk off his lap to the spot next to him, but keeping one arm around the younger’s waist.
Jeongguk grins, the kind that makes his eyes glint mischievously. “You don’t want to fuck around and find out?” He quips, and they all laugh. Jeongguk was always the best at lightening the mood.
Namjoon kisses his youngest boyfriend gently. Looking around, Jimin’s pout has gone down, Seokjin has regained some color to his face, Taehyung is fishing his phone out of his pocket while kicking Yoongi’s foot playfully, and Yoongi is gazing at Namjoon so lovingly that Namjoon can feel the exact moment his heart skips a beat. “No,” he replies sincerely, “I’m not willing to risk it.”
Hobi-hyung
3:46pm
Taehyung
Everything’s fine, hyung
I’ll tell you all the details when you get home <3
Please stop and get Jiminie a treat if you can
I think he went through all five stages of grief in the last hour
Hobi-hyung
<3