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Seokjin's nerves are a distraction as he is trying to swerve every which way through city traffic to be able to make it to the airport at precisely 3:45 PM. His fingertips tap along to the song he's been listening to for over thirteen years now. A wave of longing hits him square in the chest as the young man's hoarse voice breaks on the word "love," the song coming to an end, and the singer's voice filled with so much emotion.
Seokjin chuckles, breaking the previous tension he'd been holding as he recalls how fucking high they were the summer this particular song had been recorded. It was at a bonfire where he met the person that would end up changing his life forever. He hadn't been looking for anything, and he even recalls wearing his rattiest of hoodies and worn-in jeans because he'd assumed it would be a regular hang out. Going over to Yoongi's never required much of anything. "Come as you are," his best friend would say, all of them too obsessed with Kurt Cobain and trying to make sense of the bland suburbia they were raised in.
They hadn't been bad kids. Seokjin had always been shyer, more introverted, and content with watching from afar. Yoongi was the same, except he made music that meant friends and acquaintances were naturally drawn towards the small grungy kid with bleached hair. That's how Seokjin came to know various characters, a large span of creative people trying to start a scene in their small ass town. He learned about music and how to properly appreciate it, and pick apart the things that drew him in.
Seokjin liked Radiohead, Wilco, Bjork, and countless other gritty bands and interesting-as-hell women. He picked songs heavy with feeling and witty with words. Songs needed to move him, make him feel something. He was looking for lifetime companions that would become a part of a soundtrack to his inner workings. It was a form of therapy, all these songs giving a voice to his confusing feelings he would otherwise never discuss or even confront. Music kept him going.
Every album purchased with his meager savings from mowing lawns was cherished and obsessed over. Seokjin sucked every album dry until he no longer could get any more meaning out of the lyrics, melodies, or artwork. Even then, he would still press replay on his MP3 player, time passing by only for him to wake up and realize he'd fallen asleep.
So yeah, Seokjin liked music. And it was at this regular bonfire that Seokjin met the only other person that loved music as much as he did, if not more.
He was lazily strumming a guitar, the chords switching at a rapid pace without any rhyme or reason. Seokjin had been idly listening, trying to make sense of the song this stranger was trying to play. The inconsistent melodies were minor compared to the out-of-tune singing of complete nonsense spilling out of plush lips. No one was paying attention enough to care, conversations floating around the backyard nearly drowning out the crooning of the tall skinny guy with an overgrown mop of hair.
Seokjin walks over, sitting on the chair next to the guitar man and offering the last bit of his joint. The other takes it with a small "thanks" and tucks the rolled paper in between his lips. Seconds pass by, the firewood crackling filling the silence and making it anything but awkward.
"I'm Namjoon."
"Seokjin."
"I like your shirt, Seokjin." A small smile plays on the edges of Namjoon's lips, and for some odd reason, Seokjin can only be reminded of a fox. There was something playful yet dark about those hooded eyes, and… and he couldn't look away. "Sleater-Kinney is good shit."
"Yeah," Seokjin answers quietly, tucking his frayed sweater closer against his body. He wants to say more, but his mind doesn't supply him with anything interesting or charming, so he just settles on, "What were you singing?"
Namjoon's eyebrows raise with mild confusion, a low laugh escaping from the side of his mouth. "I don't know."
"What?"
"Seriously, I can't recall what I just played. I mean, I'm just saying and playing whatever I'm feeling," Namjoon goes on to explain, his long fingers beginning to pick at the guitar strings gently. "Why? Did it sound like shit?"
"No, no, it's just…." Seokjin looks down at his scuffed Converse, his red ears and lack of a response enough of an answer.
"It sounded like shit," Namjoon finished for him, but his voice carried no offense. Instead, there was a sliver of amusement, and Seokjin chances a look, and those mischievous eyes catch him immediately. "You are a very bold person, Seokjin."
Seokjin snorts, quite taken aback by the blunt statement. They've only just met. How can Namjoon even say such things?
"You're insane," Seokjin mutters, but not without a tease of a smile playing on his lips.
"Insane…" Namjoon draws out, holding the end of the word to transition into singing. And without warning, he began playing his guitar, his fingers finding the chords so effortlessly into a familiar rhythm that must have been played endlessly before.
Seokjin listens intently, watching Namjoon's face relax into something he could only describe as peace. He looked younger and less rough around the edges, almost like a boy lost in Neverland, fighting pirates in the safety of his imagination. It was like magic.
It seems so weird to me
Why a total stranger
Will just bare their soul to see
If we have the answers
Don't ask us our opinions are insane
Nothing matters in our lives but love
A loud and insistent honk breaks Seokjin out of the memory he'd sunk into during the drawn-out traffic jam. It's silly how he still blushed like a schoolboy even at his ripe age of thirty. A quick glance at his rear-view mirror and the red color peeking through his skin tint waved at him, a constant friendly reminder of his youth and what made him, him. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes and focuses on the road.
Twenty minutes later and Seokjin was speed-walking through the airport, sweat prickling on the edges of his forehead as he sidesteps elderly couples and bustling families trying to make it through the large building in one unit. If he could, he would sprint all the way to baggage claim because it's been three months and even one day apart from his husband was one too many.
Several moving walkways later, Seokjin was standing in the correct terminal by the correct baggage claim carousel (he double-checked.) And it was almost like his body could feel his missing puzzle piece before his brain could comprehend the vision of a tall man with long blonde hair walking directly towards him.
His breath catches at his throat, traitorous tears burning at the edges of his eyes, and god, this would never get old. Seokjin doesn't believe it until Namjoon envelopes him in a firm hug that nearly topples him over. And Seokjin feels it, the same way he did back at that bonfire as a teenager: magic.
"I missed you so much," Seokjin whispers, throwing his arms around a strong neck encased in a knitted scarf that smelled like home. "Moni missed you, too."
"I know, I know, I know," Namjoon mutters with a tinge of guilt. He rubs a hand up and down Seokjin's back in a calming motion that said everything was going to be okay. "Tour never gets easier the older I get."
Seokjin steps back, looking up into those eyes that smoldered with endless devotion. They made him come to war with himself. The way Namjoon looked at him, he could never decide if he was being burned or warmed by the longing affection. Whatever it was, he would always willingly accept it.
"But you love it."
"And I love you," Namjoon attempts to argue, despite both of them going over this many, many times. "I would give it up for you."
Seokjin rolls his eyes, scoffing at the idea of living in a world where Namjoon wasn't playing music for other people. It was impossible.
"I don't want you to have to give it up. It would break my heart."
Namjoon lets the words linger, the bustling airport becoming louder and more crowded as the remaining passengers on the same flight waited around to grab their bags. And then, "Well, when you put it that way, I guess it's okay. I'm telling you, though, one of these days, my fans are going to be sick of hearing me yell out love songs about my Jinnie."
Seokjin laughs heartily, smacking Namjoon's arm playfully. "Well, that's just too bad because, without me, you'd have nothing."
"Damn right."
Namjoon steps back and takes hold of Seokjin's hand, leading them towards the rest of the band and crew to pick up the dozens of suitcases they'd shuffled all over the world. Yoongi waves them over, and Seokjin smiles right at him.
"You're my music, my muse," Namjoon continues, squeezing his fingers tight in his grip.
Yeah, Seokjin liked music.