Chapter Text
Seokjin is sure whatever is playing on TV is entertaining, if Namjoon’s bursts of laughter are anything to go by. He just can’t seem to get into it, the voices merely a background noise in his head while his mind is entirely somewhere else. He shifts on his seat again, never quite finding a comfortable position. Again, on any other day, their couch would be perfectly fine. It’s him that’s too antsy to sit still, fingers tapping impatiently on the cushion to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The background noise suddenly disappears; the screen turns dark. Seokjin realizes Namjoon must have turned off the TV.
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Namjoon’s voice was gentle, ever-so-gentle, that it eases Seokjin’s nerves a little. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“That’s the twelfth time you’ve sighed in the last…” Namjoon glances at the clock on the wall, “…ten minutes.”
“You’re keeping a tally?”
Namjoon shrugs. “Force of habit.”
“It’s just,” Seokjin sighs again, eyes darting towards his phone, “they haven’t called me back.”
“For the part?” Seokjin nods. Namjoon sneaks his arm around Seokjin and guides his head to lean on Namjoon’s shoulder. Seokjin doesn’t protest. “You know,” he says, gently carding through Seokjin’s hair, “I read somewhere it can take up to seven months. Maybe they just haven’t made a decision.”
Seokjin has a feeling that isn’t the case. The drama he auditioned for is scheduled to start filming this month. Sometimes he thinks Namjoon believes in him more than Seokjin believes in himself, but it still feels nice to hear something reassuring. It makes him want to believe, too, to cling onto the thin string of hope that the chances are never zero.
“Yeah,” Seokjin finally says, melting into the embrace and absentmindedly tracing the pattern on Namjoon’s shirt with his finger. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Namjoon smiles, the two dimples blooming on the sides of his cheeks, and presses a soft kiss on top of Seokjin’s head. “Now, do you wanna keep watching or should we order some chicken?”
Seokjin tilts his head up. “What were we watching again?”
Namjoon snorts, already opening the delivery app on his phone. “Half half?”
☾
Seokjin didn’t start off as an acting major.
Until the Summer of his second year, he was still majoring in International Economics and Trade with a clear career path ahead of him. It wasn’t until he joined the improv club that he started hearing praises about his acting skills and how it would be a shame for a face like his to be sitting idly behind an office desk.
Seokjin never let people’s words get to him, but for some reason, he spent the rest of the Summer thinking maybe his friends had a point there.
That Fall, much to his parents’ dismay, Seokjin applied for a major switch.
It’s still, to this day, both his best decision and biggest regret. It was probably the first big decision he made on his own without asking for his parents’ approval. He did it simply because he wanted to, and being a prodigal son, it wasn’t every day that he got to do what he wanted. Still, it was careless of him to throw away a perfectly good and lucrative career for something so fickle. He didn’t even know what’s after college; the road was foggy and unpaved, he could hit a wall three steps ahead and he wouldn’t know until he bumps into it head first.
“But it makes you happy, right?” Namjoon asked when Seokjin had voiced his doubts.
Seokjin thought about his new classes, how his assignments no longer felt like a burden, how liberating being on stage playing a character made him feel. He smiled. “Happier than international trades will ever make me.”
Namjoon held Seokjin’s hand in his. “Then it’s all that matters.”
It’s not, of course, but they were too young and too naïve to believe otherwise, and Seokjin believes that worrying about an unforeseeable future is just as futile as dwelling on a regretful past. The best place to live is in the moment.
Unfortunately for him, the moment isn’t looking very good right now.
“Why the long face?”
Seokjin takes a sip of his beer. “How much time you got?”
“It’s Wednesday so,” Yoongi looks around at the practically empty place save for three tables and shrugs, “pretty much all night.”
Seokjin scoffs. Great, just great. A fully grown adult spending his Wednesday night moping at a bar after a whole day of… doing nothing. How pathetic.
“I’ve been thinking,” Seokjin begins, staring at the foam in his glass, “how much longer am I gonna keep trying? How much longer do I have to try?”
“So… you didn’t get the part?” Yoongi asks.
Seokjin casts him a sour look. Yoongi takes it as a no.
“It’s like what, the fifth one this month? I feel like I’m throwing darts blindfolded, hoping one of them would stick.” Seokjin smiles bitterly. “The worst part is I don’t even know if it’s because I suck—”
“You don’t.”
“—or because I’m not big enough of a name.”
“They’re missing out on a lot.” Yoongi takes Seokjin’s empty glass and refills it without asking. Seokjin appreciates the gesture. “How’s Taehyung, by the way?”
“Oh, he’s thriving,” Seokjin rolls his eyes. “The industry loves him.”
“You don’t look very happy about it.”
“He’s good, don’t get me wrong,” Seokjin takes a sip. “But he got lucky. Remember that hospital drama?”
“I don’t watch drama.”
Seokjin waves his hand. “Right, right. There was this hospital drama a while back and he got casted as one of the residents. Got like, two lines. Appeared for literally two episodes. But people noticed him and so did the director. Next thing I know he’s playing second lead for this upcoming drama.”
Yoongi doesn’t say a word, merely wiping glasses in silence. From his experience as a bartender, people don’t usually come for advice. They just need to let things out.
“Am I happy for him? Yes. Do I wish I were him? God, yes. I just need that one chance to prove myself,” Seokjin sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “but the most I can get is a five-second cameo. Fuck that. Maybe— Maybe acting isn’t for me after all.” Seokjin lies his head on the counter, defeated.
“Okay, first of all, that surface is nasty. You’re gonna get acnes in the morning.”
“Don’t care. This face isn’t gonna be on TV anytime soon anyway.”
“Second of all, I don’t know,” Yoongi says, “this bar almost went out of business on its first year because of how little patrons there were. Place was a ghost town even on weekends. But does it make me a bad bartender? Hell no.”
Seokjin lifts his head up. “What are you saying?”
“Give it time,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s too early to give up, don’t you think?”
☾
When everything else is hard, coming home to Namjoon is always easy.
It’s why Seokjin decided to accept Namjoon’s offer to live together after they graduated from college. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Think of it as sharing a place,” Namjoon had said when he sensed Seokjin’s hesitation. “We can even get separate rooms if you want.”
They did not, in fact, end up in separate rooms. The arrangement only lasted for about a month before Seokjin realized his bed was starting to collect dust from how often he was sleeping in Namjoon’s, and for the first time in his life, waking up alone felt lonely.
The thing is, Seokjin values his freedom more than anything. He never thought of himself as a settling down kind of guy, at least not before he hits forty. None of his past relationships had ever lasted more than a few weeks, and when he first met Namjoon, Seokjin thought he’d soon be another name on the list.
But a few weeks soon turned into a few months and a few months into a few years, and now here he is, not even hitting thirty, living together with his boyfriend of four years. It’s like he doesn’t even know who he is.
“Hyung?” Namjoon calls as soon as Seokjin closes the front door. “You home?”
Seokjin finds him in the kitchen, reading something over a cup of tea and a piece of toast as if it’s nine in the morning. “Time is a social construct,” Seokjin always says whenever someone questions his choice of having breakfast for dinner, and it seems like his habit has rubbed off on Namjoon.
“Hey,” Seokjin smiles weakly.
Namjoon gets up from his seat and presses a kiss on Seokjin’s forehead. Like gravity is pulling him in, Seokjin wraps his arms around Namjoon’s waist, burying his face in Namjoon’s chest.
For a moment, Namjoon’s warmth washes over him, overwriting his worries and muddled thoughts. They don’t talk much, not when it matters. Sometimes Seokjin wonders if that’s why he never got tired of Namjoon like he did his past lovers: because he never has to try. It’s effortless, falling into Namjoon’s arms and melting into his embrace. Even when he doesn’t speak, he feels heard. Namjoon’s mere presence is enough, like a cornerstone keeping him from falling apart.
“Have you eaten?” Namjoon asks. Seokjin shakes his head. “Got some leftovers in the fridge, let me heat it up for you.”
Instead of letting go, Seokjin only tightens his grip. “Two more minutes.”
Staring down at the top of Seokjin’s head, Namjoon chuckles. “Two more minutes it is.”
Seokjin inhales a lungful of Namjoon’s scent, of their fabric softener and pine bodywash. How can someone feel so much like a home? Safe and sturdy and somewhat nostalgic. There’s a stain on Namjoon’s white shirt and a few scratches on his skin, and instead of resenting them, he talks about them like one would tattoos, like they hold meanings. He does that a lot, giving everything a meaning.
“What’s for dinner?” Seokjin asks when he finally lets go. He has to, at some point, because he’s sure it’s way past two minutes but Namjoon would never let go first.
“Chinese.” Namjoon opens the fridge and takes out a plate covered in cling wrap. “How was the audition?”
“I mean, I think I did well, but…” Seokjin shrugs, pouring himself a glass of water. “You know how it is. How’s work?”
“Work was… work.” Namjoon takes out the plate from the microwave with a kitchen cloth, and Seokjin smiles at how far he’s come. Back in college he was the number one suspect (and culprit) for any microwave-related incidents in the dorm after nearly burning the whole building down. “What?”
“Nothing,” Seokjin shakes his head, still smiling. “Just thinking about how you’re practically a microwave master now.”
Namjoon snorts as he puts down the plate in front of Seokjin. “I was a walking disaster, wasn’t I?”
“A public safety hazard.”
“Should’ve come with a warning sign.”
“Might accidentally set your kitchen and heart on fire.”
Namjoon laughs, throwing his head back. “You make it sound like I’m some debonair flirt.”
Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. “Were you not?”
“Excuse me,” Namjoon leans in, “to my memory, I wasn’t the one who sat in front of a stranger and asked who he was and why he’s not my boyfriend.”
Seokjin shrugs unapologetically, chewing on his noodle. “In my defense, you looked hot.”
Namjoon’s head falls as he chuckles some more, and Seokjin feels his head clearing up, the fog of doubt slowly lifted. Instead there’s Namjoon’s laughter and Namjoon’s warm gaze and Namjoon’s dimples and Namjoon’s fresh scent and suddenly, his mind isn’t such a bad place to be.
“Hyung?”
“Huh?”
“The sauce is dripping.” Namjoon reaches for a tissue and shoots him a concerned look. “You okay? You spaced out for a bit there.”
“Joon-ah,” Seokjin says, wiping the table where the sauce had been, a smile finding its way onto his lips.
“Hm?”
Seokjin shakes his head, and with it, the words away. “Don’t order from this restaurant again. Hyung will make you a better jjajangmyeon next time.”
It isn’t until later that night when Namjoon is on the brink of falling asleep that the words finally come creeping back. In the darkness, with his cheek pressed against Namjoon’s arm, Seokjin whispers, “Kim Namjoon, what have you done to me?”
I’d let you do it all over again.
☾
“You’re kidding me.” Seokjin leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. His face is contorted in both disgust and disbelief, appalled at what he had just heard. Across the table, Taehyung only smirks.
“You really thought I got those parts with sheer luck?” Taehyung cocks his brow. “There’s no such thing in this industry, hyung, you should know that by now.”
“I—”
“You were the best in your class, weren’t you? And yet here you are, still waiting for a chance to showcase your talent.” Seokjin gulps. Taehyung’s jabs were spot on. “Well guess what? Talent won’t get you in. What you need,” Taehyung taps his finger on the table, “is connection.”
“Connection my ass,” Seokjin snaps. “This is straight up prostitution.”
“Symbiosis,” Taehyung corrects, keeping his voice low as to not garner attention from the other patrons, despite the closest one being three tables away. “An equal exchange, if you may. A business deal.”
“A piece of shit by any other name is still as stinky.”
Taehyung chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re saying that now, but give it a few months and I bet you’re gonna change your mind. A pretty face like yours…” Taehyung takes his time to scan Seokjin’s face down to his broad shoulders. Under his gaze, Seokjin shudders. “…someone’s bound to take interest.”
“Fuck no,” Seokjin puts down his glass. “I’m never gonna stoop that low.”
“Just don’t take too long to think, hyung,” Taehyung simpers, completely ignoring Seokjin’s protest. He takes out a card from his wallet and pushes it across the table towards Seokjin. “You’re not gonna be that pretty forever.”
Taehyung downs the last of his drink, walks over to the bar to pay and leaves with a wink. As soon as he’s out of the door, Seokjin plants his elbows on the table and groans, burying his face in his hands.
It’s a lot to process. He’d heard rumors from his seniors going around when he was in college, but he didn’t personally know anybody who has a sponsor that it almost felt like an urban legend. It’s a path one could choose to go down, sure, but a necessity? He’s only hearing about it today.
Had he been too naïve? To think that he could stay clean in a pool of dirt, upholding his dignity?
Seokjin throws his head back, sighing. From the corner of his eye, he catches Yoongi staring. What happened? the bartender mouths as he wipes empty glasses, eyes darting from Taehyung’s seat to the door. Seokjin sighs again, giving him a shrug.
Yoongi beckons him with a finger and Seokjin gets up, grabbing his drink and phone from the table. His eyes linger on the card Taehyung left him, his tongue pressing against his inner cheek. In the end, he shoves his phone into his pocket and picks up the damn card, swiftly making his way to the bar without sparing it a glance.
“What was that all about?” Yoongi asks as soon as Seokjin’s glass hits the countertop.
“Fucker tried to get me a sponsor,” Seokjin mumbles as he gets on the high stool. “He knows I’m not getting any callbacks, so.”
Seokjin stares at the name card and spaces out. The name on it reads Jung Hoseok. Artist management. So it isn’t the sponsor in question after all. Seokjin lets a little sigh of relief.
“He probably means well,” Yoongi blurts out. Seokjin looks up and furrows his brows.
“He’s literally offering me to be some rich pervert’s pet.”
“Well,” Yoongi shrugs, “it worked for him, didn’t it? Maybe he just wants to help… the only way he can.”
Seokjin falls silent. As far as he remembers, Taehyung’s a good kid. It’s hard to make friends in the industry but Taehyung has always stuck by him, despite his recent rise in popularity. It’s hard to imagine that he resorted to finding a sponsor to get to where he is now, but it’s just as hard to imagine that he’s reaching out to Seokjin with bad intentions.
“You think I should do it?” Seokjin asks, eyes still glued on the piece of paper. Jung Hoseok’s name in bold stares back at him.
“Does it matter what I think?” Yoongi returns the question. “It’s your career, your life. Don’t take my two cents.”
“What would you do, though? If you were me? You play the piano, right?”
Yoongi takes a second to think before he shakes his head, grinning. “I’m a snob when it comes to my art. But then again, it’s not my main source of income. I mostly play it for myself, so.” He shrugs. “Also, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Seokjin snorts. He can already tell how Namjoon is going to react to this. “Joon is too considerate for his own good.”
“Meaning?”
Seokjin looks down at his empty glass and smiles weakly. “If I really want to, he’d probably let me.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that, only taking Seokjin’s glass and refilling it. As soon as he puts it back on the counter, Seokjin takes a sip right away and frowns.
“This tastes like barley,” he sticks his tongue out.
“It is barley,” Yoongi deadpans.
“The fuck?”
“It’s only eight, and don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve had two glasses.”
“So?”
Yoongi leans forward, his hands spread out on the countertop. “Two’s your max. I out of all people would know.” His eyes dart to the card on the table. “Don’t make any stupid decision.”
Seokjin stares at him, glass hovering in front of his lips. The taste of barley is slowly seeping in, replacing the bitter taste of beer.
“Go home after this, hyung,” Yoongi says. “Sleep it off.”
Yoongi’s right. Seokjin can feel his mind slowly getting hazy. One more sip from a third glass would convince him that maybe Taehyung’s offer isn’t such a bad idea after all. And who knows what he might do next. With a big gulp of tea, he tries to clear his head and cool himself down.
When he hits the bottom of the glass, Seokjin whips out his wallet to pay, but Yoongi waves his hand as he walks away to serve another customer. “That kid already paid for the both of you.”
Seokjin leaves a fiver anyway.
☾
Namjoon loves the sea, Seokjin loves the moon; they made a compromise.
They drove to the beach one September night, stopping by a convenience store to grab some ice cream and soda. The sun had already set, the sky getting darker as they drove along. By the time they reached the coast, there’s no trace of day left in the sky. They sat side by side on the sand, overlooking the dark waters.
“If you could only be one thing for the rest of your life, what would you be?” Namjoon asked, pulling his legs closer to his chest. The moon is high above them, bright and almost full, its light reflected on the sea surface.
Seokjin hummed around his melon popsicle as he gave it a thought. “Mm, me.”
“You?”
Seokjin nodded. “I don’t want anyone to tell me what I have to be, don’t wanna conform to any societal norms.”
“So… free?”
“You could say so.” Seokjin shrugged. “But more than that, I guess. People change all the time, and I don’t… I don’t want to be tied to a version of me someone has in mind, you know? I could like something one day and completely hate it on the next; I could be one person one day and a completely different one on another, and that should be fine.”
Namjoon inadvertently nodded as he tried to wrap his head around Seokjin’s words, watching the waves crashing against the shore.
“What about you?” Seokjin asked.
“Hm?”
“If you could only be one thing for the rest of your life, what would you be?”
For a while, Seokjin’s question was met with silence, but one glance at Namjoon and Seokjin knew he had the answer.
“Yours.”
The crashing waves got louder, the tide higher. Seokjin searched Namjoon’s eyes and only found conviction. “How could you be so sure?” he whispered. “What if I change? What if one day you wake up and you realize I’m no longer the man you fell in love with?”
“Then I’ll fall in love with you all over again.”
It’s the way the words flowed so easily out of Namjoon’s mouth that made Seokjin’s heart stutter, the way he did not hesitate even for a second, as if not loving Seokjin was never an option. No one had ever loved him with so much certainty, especially when certainty is the one thing Seokjin can’t promise.
“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin brought his hand to cup Namjoon’s cheek, gently caressing it, “what did I ever do to deserve you?”
Namjoon smiled, his dimples appearing right next to where Seokjin’s thumb rested on his cheek. “You’re… you, and you deserve the world.”
Seokjin scoffed. “The world is overrated. Think I’ll just keep you.”
Namjoon chuckles. “Then all you have to do is be you,” he said, “and I’ll be yours forever.”
“Even if… Even if I’m a different me tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Namjoon put his hands on his sides, pressing on the said, and leaned back. “Like you said, people change. That’s just life,” he said, watching the moon reflected on the water. And then in a much lower voice, almost to himself, “I just hope our feelings won’t.”
Suddenly Seokjin was reminded of the time Namjoon likened Seokjin to the moon and himself to the sea, how falling for Seokjin is as inevitable as the tidal force, and his breath caught in his throat.
Namjoon had said it a hundred times before, but it was then that Seokjin truly understood what it felt like to be loved. His heart raced in his chest, thumping hard against his ribcage, threatening to free itself. Reaching out for Namjoon’s hand, Seokjin whispered the three words he had always been too afraid to say, “I love you.”
When Namjoon smiled at him and said it back, Seokjin felt his knees going weak, knowing there’s an unsaid promise behind Namjoon’s words, a promise of regardless.
☾
On the days following his meeting with Taehyung, Seokjin tried to forget about the offer, he really did. The card is tucked somewhere in his coat, and Seokjin plans on keeping it there, hoping it wouldn’t cross his mind if he can’t see it. And for a while, it worked.
If only he didn’t get another rejection.
Tossing his phone across the bed, Seokjin groans in frustration and buries himself under the covers. What he desperately needs is a hug, and maybe Namjoon’s reassuring words and gentle backrubs, but it’s barely midday. There’s still a few more hours left on the clock before Namjoon would be home.
Home. From work. Because Namjoon has a day job that actually pays the bills unlike him, who’s living off what’s left of his savings and leeching off his boyfriend. Fucking useless of a human being.
He knows Namjoon doesn’t mind. He knows if he voices all of his concerns to Namjoon—again—Namjoon will somehow convince him that no, he isn’t useless, and he isn’t a burden, and this is all just temporary, and soon he’ll get his big break and make some bucks. Seokjin wishes he could believe him.
Instead he gets up from the bed, grabs his coat, and looks for the damn business card. Maybe he’ll do something useful for once.
Seokjin doesn’t give himself time to mull over it. Holding the card in one hand, he punches in the number and presses dial before he could change his mind.
Someone picks up on the third ring.
“Jung Hoseok-ssi?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Kim Seokjin.” Seokjin holds his breath, fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. “Kim Taehyung gave me your contact info.”
“Ah,” the voice thaws. “Yeah, yeah, Taetae told me about you.”
Taetae? Seokjin frowns, but doesn’t question it. “Did he, now?” Something about the man’s voice tells Seokjin to tread carefully. He sounds chirpy and animated now, but Seokjin can’t shrug off the chills this man gave him during the first three seconds of their phone call.
“I’m always on the look for new talents, Seokjin-ssi,” says Hoseok. “I heard you’re Taetae’s senior in college. How old are you?”
Straight to the point, Seokjin notes. He knows how this works: they prefer younger folks. Fresh blood. They’re easier to mold, easier to fool. “I’m a ninety-two liner.”
“The year of the monkey, I see.” Seokjin almost asked the importance of his Chinese zodiac but decides against it. “A little more… mature than I’m used to but,” Seokjin hears the creak of a chair from Hoseok’s end, “I can work with that.” What he meant by that, Seokjin doesn’t want to know.
“Actually,” Seokjin clears his throat, “I haven’t decided whether to…” use your service, “…work with you.”
Hoseok laughs, loud and a little exaggerated, as if Seokjin had told him something outrageous. On second thought, maybe he just did. “Oh, sweetie,” Hoseok says in between chuckles, “you don’t get to decide shit. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been acting since—”
“You know what I mean.”
Seokjin pauses because no, he didn’t, not at first. “Oh. Yeah, I’ve never… never done this before.”
“Send me a few pictures, would you? I’ll let you know if someone’s interested. Then we’ll talk.”
Long after Hoseok has hung up, Seokjin remains still on the bed, back pressed against the wall. The whole conversation felt like a lucid dream. He wishes it was a lucid dream, because there’s no going back now.
It isn’t until he has sent his portfolio over to Hoseok that he realizes he hasn’t said a peep to Namjoon. The dawning realization drains every drop of blood off of his face, and with a thud, his phone drops on the mattress. “Shit.”
But then again, what can Seokjin tell him? Hey, I got rejected—again—because apparently everyone uses a sponsor these days so my chance of making it in this industry is extremely low unless I get myself one, too?
And then he remembers, Namjoon would never scold him. The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
Seokjin scoffs, running his hand through his hair so roughly a few strands fall out, but it doesn’t bother him as much as the dull throbbing in his head.
A drink. He needs a drink.
“Somebody started without me.”
Seokjin looks up, his eyes fluttering open. “What?” He follows Namjoon’s line of sight and remembers he’d been drinking and asked Namjoon to grab something for dinner on the way home because he doesn’t feel like cooking tonight—he didn’t say why. “Oh, yeah,” he tips the can of beer. “Got the chicken?”
Namjoon holds the plastic bag in the air. The smell of fried chicken wafts in the air as he takes the box out. “Everything alright, hyung?”
It was rhetorical, Seokjin knows. Chicken and beer is his call for help and Namjoon is well aware of this. Seokjin sighs, taking a sip of his beer. “You might wanna sit down for this.”
Namjoon takes off his coat and takes a seat. “Anytime you’re ready.”
The funny thing is, Namjoon often calls Seokjin his moon, but since the beginning, it was Seokjin who had gravitated towards him. Now, too, Seokjin’s head finds its way to Namjoon’s shoulder like it belongs there, the proximity alone calming Seokjin’s nerves in an instant.
“I didn’t get the part,” Seokjin starts. Namjoon was about to say something, but Seokjin beats him to it. He doesn’t deserve Namjoon’s consolation, not this time. “Think I’m gonna take up on Taehyung’s offer.”
“Offer?” Namjoon turns to look at him. “What offer?”
Seokjin takes a deep breath and sigh. “You know why Taehyung keeps getting bigger and better parts these days?”
“Because they noticed his potential that one time he played resident?” Namjoon echoes Seokjin’s own words.
Seokjin scoffs. “That’s what I thought.” He sits up straight and begins deboning a piece of chicken. “As it turns out…” he shakes his head, chuckling, “…it wasn’t luck.”
“No?”
Popping a piece of chicken into his mouth, Seokjin says, “It was a sponsor.” Namjoon frowns. “Taehyung got a sponsor, you know what that is?”
“More or less, yeah.”
Seokjin stuffs his mouth with more chicken, so full that he can’t speak. What he’s really trying to do is give Namjoon time to process it. Namjoon’s smart. He’ll manage to piece it together somehow.
“Hold on,” Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, don’t tell me…” Seokjin keeps chewing, allowing him to keep going. “Are you thinking of getting one? To land a role?”
Seokjin chugs down the beer. “Tae gave me his manager’s number last week. Disgusted the hell out of me. Almost threw the damn card away.”
“Almost…?”
Seokjin sucks his teeth. “Were you following? I didn’t get the part. Again.” He smiles bitterly. “Just how long should I keep trying, Joon? Why should I keep taking the high road when everyone else is playing dirty?”
Namjoon doesn’t answer for a while, merely stares at Seokjin as the elder tears apart another piece of chicken. His brows are furrowed, the crease between them deepening the longer he stares. “Is that what you want?” he says in the end, voice so low that Seokjin almost missed it.
“Huh?”
“I said, is that what you want?”
Seokjin studies Namjoon’s face. It’s tense, but there’s no anger hidden underneath. In fact, if Seokjin knows Namjoon as well as he thinks he does, there might even be a tinge of sorrow behind his stern expression.
“Would that…” Seokjin gulps. “Would that be okay with you?”
“Are you really asking me if I’m okay with my boyfriend seeing another person?”
“I’m not— It’s not like that,” Seokjin raises his voice, but quickly deflates. “You know there’s no feeling involved.”
Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head. With a heavy sigh, he throws his head back and closes his eyes. “That’s… that’s not fair, hyung.”
Seokjin’s breath catches in his throat. “I know,” he mumbles.
“You know I want you to succeed, I really do,” Namjoon says. “I know it’s been your dream to be on screen. But is this really…” he takes a deep breath. “Is this really the only way?”
This time, it’s Seokjin who doesn’t answer. He can’t, not even to himself. Namjoon doesn’t press further.
The chair creaks; Namjoon gets up and picks up his coat. Seokjin looks up, surprised at the sudden movement. “Where are you going?”
“Shower,” says Namjoon. “You can have all the chicken.”
“You’re not eating?”
Namjoon shakes his head, flashing Seokjin a brief smile. “It’s fine. You need it more. I’ll just order something else later.”
“I can fix something real quick—”
“It’s okay, hyung.” Namjoon rests his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kay?”
The weight of Namjoon’s hand remains even when it’s no longer there. Seokjin watches as Namjoon walks away, his gait heavy.
“Joon,” Seokjin calls right before Namjoon enters the bathroom.
Namjoon stops on his tracks. “Hm?”
“If I had said yes, would you let me?”
Namjoon’s resigned smile punches the air right out of Seokjin’s lungs. “What do you think, hyung?”
He would. He absolutely would. It makes Seokjin want to puke.
☾
Hoseok’s call came two days later, much sooner than Seokjin had expected.
“I’ll text you the address. Be there at eight thirty tonight. Doll up,” was all he said before hanging up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Hoseok meant.
Fresh out of shower, Seokjin stands in front of the mirror and gets started with the concealer as if he’s going for an audition, except this time he doesn’t stop at the base. He fixes his brows with some brow gel, puts on a darker shade of eyeshadow on his eyelids to add some depth and tightlines his eyes. It stings. He knows his eyes are only going to get dryer. Done with makeup, he brushes his hair up with some mousse to keep it in place. If he’s going to dress to impress, he might as well go all the way.
In the complete silence, he can almost hear his own heart racing. He’s doing this. He’s actually doing this. The more he thinks about it, the more unsteady his hands become. He puts them down and steps back, taking a good look at his reflection in the mirror, hoping he’s dolled up enough to meet Hoseok’s standards.
It’s only a little past six, but Namjoon is going to be home any minute now and Seokjin doesn’t want to risk bumping into him on his way out. If the hair and makeup don’t give it away, his satin shirt and slacks are definitely going to rouse Namjoon’s suspicion. He’ll just hang out at Yoongi’s bar until eight.
Gloss, eyedrop, tissue, and his wallet. He dumps it all into his clutch and takes one last look into the mirror before heading out for the night. On his way downstairs, as an afterthought, he sends Namjoon a text.
Going out. Don’t wait up.
The place Hoseok sent him to is a lounge down in Itaewon, and Seokjin can’t say he’s surprised. He doesn’t go to this neighborhood often, but almost every time he asked Taehyung’s whereabouts, it’s in this area. Now he knows why.
“Reservation under Jay?” Seokjin tells the bouncer as Hoseok had instructed.
The bouncer doesn’t even check his clipboard, simply moving aside to let Seokjin in. “Bring him upstairs,” he tells another staff. The man beckons for Seokjin to follow him and Seokjin does, stealing a glance left and right as he makes his way through the crowd.
It’s darker upstairs without all the neon and stage lights. A lot more quiet, too. Seokjin can hear himself gulp, doubt slowly creeping back under his skin. It’s not too late to back down, but his legs are not listening to him anymore. Like a cow being led to slaughter, he’s merely following the staff’s footsteps.
They come to an abrupt stop in front of a door almost at the end of the corridor. The staff gives it a knock and lets Seokjin in. “Have a good evening,” the staff bows before excusing himself, leaving Seokjin by himself.
Maybe it’s for the best that the door immediately swings open, because it’s not giving Seokjin any time to think again. He somewhat expected Hoseok to open the door, but of course there’s another staff inside.
Seokjin stands in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights. Every pair of eyes are on him, some in interest, some looking bored, as if the turn of their heads were merely reflex. Seokjin can’t tell which one is the eye of the storm, all of them being men in similar age range.
Come to think of it, Seokjin has no idea which one of them is Jung Hoseok.
Lucky for him, the man himself stands up to greet him, and Seokjin immediately recognizes the chirpy voice. “Ah, you made it!” Hoseok links his arm around Seokjin, making him flinch. If Hoseok had noticed Seokjin’s clear discomfort, he doesn’t show it.
“Sit,” Hoseok tells him as he drags Seokjin down to fall onto the couch. Seokjin is starting to understand that Jung Hoseok doesn’t do requests; he speaks in commands.
The man to Seokjin’s right looks a lot younger than him, perhaps barely legal. His face doesn’t look unfamiliar, but it doesn’t exactly ring a bell either. Seokjin must have seen him somewhere in passing. Even under his loose shirt, Seokjin can tell he’s built, a stark contrast to his baby face. There’s a piercing adorning his eyebrow, and his eyes— they look bored, like his parents had dragged him here.
“Where the hell is he?” the young man pipes up, uncrossing and crossing his leg. “What’s taking him so long?”
“Chill,” another man on the other end of the couch says, “it’s not even nine. He’s probably wrapping up at work.”
“Right, cause you would know,” the first man rolls his eyes. He pops a gum into his mouth and glances to his left. Under his gaze, Seokjin suddenly feels the urge to disappear. “First-timer?” Seokjin nods. The man holds out his pack of gum towards him. “JK. Gum?”
“’M good, thanks,” Seokjin fakes a smile. He saw it with his own two eyes how JK is chewing the gum himself, but he knows better than to accept food from a stranger he met at a sketchy lounge. JK shrugs, putting the gums back into his front pocket.
Seokjin’s eyes travel to the man who was talking to JK. Unlike Seokjin, there’s no trace of hesitation on his pretty face. He looks like he’s out for blood with the way he’s dressed. His leather pants look tight, hugging his curves in all the right places. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Seokjin was trying to pinpoint where he had seen the man before when the door opened again, this time to a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit. As if on cue, the other three men stand up, and Seokjin follows suit when he feels Hoseok nudge on his ribs.
Ah, so this is the eye of the storm.
Even in the dark, Seokjin recognizes him right away: Park Jiwon, CEO of some entertainment company. One of the more well-known faces in the industry. How he managed to sneak past the crowd without being recognized is beyond Seokjin.
“Hyung-nim,” the pretty guy in leather is the first to cling onto Park Jiwon’s arm. His voice has gone up an octave, sickeningly sweet. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you,” he whines.
“Did you, hm?” Jiwon tilts up the man’s chin with his fingers and smiles. Seokjin feels his stomach churning. “Oh,” Jiwon’s eyes flick up to meet Seokjin’s. “Did you bring a friend, Jimin-ah?”
The man—Jimin—turns to look at Seokjin. Seokjin doesn’t know what’s worse, Jiwon’s hungry gaze or Jimin’s hostile one. “Actually,” Hoseok pipes up, beaming, “I did. That’s Kim Seokjin, the one you asked for?”
Jiwon releases his grip on Jimin, earning a pout from the younger. Slowly, he walks towards Seokjin, his eyes scanning the actor from head to toe as he steps closer. “He’s prettier than his pictures,” Jiwon comments. It’s probably meant to be a compliment, but the way he said it, the way he didn’t address Seokjin but Hoseok instead, as if Seokjin is nothing but a porcelain doll for sale, makes Seokjin feel icky.
When Jiwon lifts his hand to place it under Seokjin’s chin like he did to Jimin, Seokjin’s breath stutters. His whole body is tense, and he almost squirms away when Jiwon sits right next to him. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hoseok’s satisfied smile.
“So tell me,” Jiwon says, looping his arm around Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin holds his breath. “What is it that you want, sweet thing?”
Sweet thing? Seokjin winces internally.
“Money? Fame? Your pretty face on billboards?” Jiwon’s hand inches dangerously close towards Seokjin’s thigh. “Name your price.”
Before he realizes it, Seokjin’s body moves on its own. He stands up, alarming everyone in the room—except for JK, who never seems to be fazed. “I—” Seokjin sucks in a deep breath. “I have to go.”
He grabs his clutch from the table and storms out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. He runs downstairs as fast as he could without tripping and makes his way through the crowd to the exit. It’s only after he’s standing on the side of the road that he can finally breathe, hoping nobody is running after him.
It’s only a little past nine, Seokjin checks his phone; he can still catch a train back home. Time moved at a snail’s pace when he was inside, when in reality only a few minutes had passed since Jiwon arrived.
Jiwon. Even the name is sending shivers down Seokjin’s spine.
Not wanting to spend another second near the lounge, Seokjin picks up his pace and walks towards the nearest station. Behind him, a shadow looms.
“Hey, Kim Seokjin.”
Seokjin jolts and turns around to find a familiar figure behind him. The man is wearing a mask and a cap, but Seokjin remembers that voice and that oversized shirt. “JK?” Seokjin frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re trembling,” JK says, ignoring Seokjin’s question.
“Huh?” JK darts his eyes towards Seokjin’s hand and shit, he’s right. Seokjin is trembling. “Oh.”
“Big shock, huh?” The younger pulls out the same pack of gum from earlier and offers it to Seokjin. “It’ll help calm your nerves,” he says when Seokjin hesitates, and then, as if reading Seokjin’s mind, “I didn’t spike it. You saw me having one myself.”
In the end, Seokjin takes a piece, unwraps it, and carefully places it on his tongue. He hates to admit it but JK’s right: the more he chews, the calmer he gets. After a while, his hands finally stop trembling entirely.
“Told ya,” JK says with a smug look on his face.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Seokjin says. “What are you doing here?”
JK shoves his hands into his pockets and blows a bubble with his gum. “I was a newbie too, just two years ago.”
Seokjin frowns. “How old are you again?”
JK smirks. “Twenty two.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fresh blood. Those old men are like sharks,” JK scoffs. “What do you do?”
“Me?” Seokjin’s eyes widen. “I… act. Haven’t landed anything big, though. You probably have never heard of me.”
“Is that why you came to Jay?”
“Jay?”
“Hoseok.”
“Oh, yeah.” Seokjin scratches his eyebrow. “My friend gave me his contact. Said he can help.”
“He can,” JK confirms, “if you’re willing to pay the price.”
“I can see that now, yeah.”
“Not for you, huh?”
Seokjin presses his lips into a thin line. “Obviously. Don’t know how you and…”
“Jimin.”
“…Jimin could stand that old man. I felt like jumping out of my skin the moment he laid his hand on me,” Seokjin winces at the memory.
JK snorts, looking down at the tiles. “Jimin’s a natural, as you could probably tell. He fucking hates that old man but,” JK shrugs, “he keeps the jobs coming. Takes him higher and higher, and now Jimin’s working with Chanel.” Seokjin’s eyes grow wide. “Insane, I know. But that what that old man can do for you. That’s why we stay.”
Seokjin considers asking what JK does but decides against it. Instead, he asks, “Is it worth it?”
JK sucks in a deep breath, eyes wandering around. “Depends on what you value, I guess. Me? I have nothing to lose, and this is better than nothing.”
Seokjin’s chest grows heavy. For some reason, his mind runs straight to Namjoon, wondering if he’s having dinner alone at home. “Listen, JK—”
“Jungkook,” JK smiles for the first time tonight. “It’s Jeon Jungkook.”
“Okay, um, Jungkook,” Seokjin speaks slowly as he arranges his thoughts, “I gotta rush. I’ll see you when I see you? Hopefully not… not there.”
Jungkook chuckles. “Yeah. Sure, not there, definitely. Here,” he pulls out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to Seokjin.
It’s a newer model, but the screen protector is cracked. It doesn’t seem like Jungkook cherishes it very much; Seokjin wonders if it’s a gift from his sponsor.
“There,” Seokjin says, handing the phone back. “I really gotta go now. Give me a call or something. See ya.”
Seokjin doesn’t wait for Jungkook’s answer. He waves without looking back, rushing to catch the next train. He only has one thing in mind.
The lights are already off when Seokjin gets home. As soon as he closes the door, he leans against the wall and slides down until his legs hit the cold floor. It doesn’t matter if it’s dirty—he’s already dirty anyway.
Seokjin lets out a heavy sigh and pulls his knees to his chest. What the hell did he just do? Granted, he didn’t do shit, but even coming there was already a grave mistake. He traces his cheek down to his chin where Jiwon’s hand had been and shudders.
It’s wrong. It feels wrong.
Careful not to alert Namjoon, he slowly gets back up, tiptoes to the bathroom and lets the water run until it’s hot enough to burn. Once the glass is fogged up, he strips down and steps into the shower.
He scrubs every inch of skin clean, almost blanching himself in scalding hot water to erase any trace he’d ever been to the lounge. He can already feel his skin going raw, and he knows it’s going to peel once he lets it dry, but that’s exactly what he’s trying to achieve. It’s said that your skin regenerates every twenty seven days, but Seokjin cannot wait that long. He’s not going to risk taking any piece of another man onto his bed.
True enough, when he steps out of the shower and sees his reflection in the mirror, Seokjin can already see the spots where he’d scrubbed a little harder blooming red. Instead of pain, he feels an odd sense of satisfaction.
“Hyung?” Namjoon knocks on the door, pulling Seokjin out of his head. “You in there?”
“One minute,” Seokjin answers, quickly putting a shirt over his head.
When he opens the door, Namjoon is standing there in the dark, the bathroom light shining on him, and everything Seokjin had been trying to push down comes flooding out. Without warning, he launches into Namjoon’s arms knowing for sure Namjoon would catch him anyway.
“Oh, whoa,” Namjoon chuckles. “Missed me?” Seokjin nods in silence. The sudden warmth of Namjoon’s embrace triggers something within Seokjin that his tears start falling down his cheeks. “Hyung, hey, are you crying?” Namjoon starts to panic.
“It’s fine,” Seokjin sniffles. “Just… hold me?”
Namjoon does. He doesn’t ask any more questions, simply holding Seokjin even tighter. As Namjoon rubs his back, Seokjin feels his knots unraveling, all the wrongs finally set right.
“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Namjoon says softly, right by Seokjin’s ear. Seokjin nods weakly but doesn’t make a move, so Namjoon grabs his thighs and lifts him up, carrying him all the way to their room. Gently, he lowers Seokjin onto the bed, careful as to not bump his head.
“Don’t go,” Seokjin clutches onto Namjoon’s shirt.
“I’m just gonna take a leak,” Namjoon chuckles. “Be right back, okay?” Reluctantly, Seokjin lets go.
When Namjoon returns, Seokjin is curled up in a fetal position facing the door, unmoving. His eyes are glazed, his stare empty.
“Hey,” Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed, gently caressing Seokjin head. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Seokjin stirs and pulls Namjoon towards him instead. “Cuddle?”
Namjoon smiles. “Big spoon or little spoon?”
Any other day, Seokjin would choose to have the weight on Namjoon’s arms around him. But when things are tough, when nothing is certain and the world feels scary, “Big.”
Because Namjoon is his rock, making him feel safe and steady when nothing else is. The sight of Namjoon’s back, broad and reliable, helps calm Seokjin’s wary heart down. But Namjoon is also his float, keeping him above waters when the world is weighing down on him. As long as Seokjin holds on to him, no matter where the wind takes him, he’ll be alright.
“Joon-ah,” Seokjin murmurs against the back of Namjoon’s neck.
“Hm?”
Seokjin runs a finger down Namjoon’s spine. I’m sorry, the words got stuck on his throat. Please don’t hate me.
In lieu of words, more tears spill out. Seokjin’s lips start trembling, his eyes falling shut. A hundred different thoughts run amok in his head and he fears they will drown him alive.
“Don’t,” Seokjin says when Namjoon stirs to check if Seokjin’s okay. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just need to let it all out.”
“Okay.” Namjoon turns back around to face the wall, letting Seokjin bury his face on his back for comfort. “Okay.”
Seokjin’s breath stutters. He can tell Namjoon is uneasy, and Seokjin feels bad for keeping him from a good night’s sleep but he can’t bring himself to talk about it, not now. Clinging tighter onto Namjoon’s shirt, Seokjin prays that the waves aren’t stronger than his anchor.