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The first time it happens, Namjoon is certainly confused but he doesn’t question it too much.
He is sitting in his studio, slumped in his chair and face buried in his hands. He's tired, he's frustrated—mostly at himself. He hasn’t been in his best condition lately, never feeling satisfied with the work he’s been making. But a deadline’s a deadline, he has no choice but to submit them even if he knows they’ll get sent back for revision.
But on this particular day, he's reached a tipping point. He entered his studio to work but he’s been idle at his desk since clocking in this morning, and now it’s currently the dawn of 2am, his computer’s monitor never displaying a single pixel of light the entire day.
Namjoon couldn’t stop the tears that slip between his fingers.
He’s not sure what he should do, how he should start, if he could start. Time stops for no one and the longer he sits doing nothing, the more time he’s losing before submitting his next subpar deadline.
Then suddenly, a knock; It reaches Namjoon’s ears and interrupts his train of thought.
He thinks he misheard at first. It’s common to hear little sounds when alone in silence after all, especially at a time like 2am—but then, he hears it again.
The knock is louder this time, as if to tell Namjoon, yes, you heard it , and so he groans quietly. Who would be knocking at his studio at this time of day?
He wipes his tears with his shirt’s collar then heads to the door. He opens it and he is met with… no one. He looks to his left and to his right, not a single person in sight. Then his eyes move downward.
Sitting atop of the rug that welcomes anyone to his studio is a steaming cup of some greenish brown liquid. He picks it up and his nostrils determine the scent to be tea.
“Is this for me?” Namjoon asks no one. He stares shortly at the cup then looks both ways in the hallway again, checking for any sign of life. Would someone leave it in front of his studio if it wasn’t for him?
He puts his nose closer to the tea, the strong scent is nice and actually calms him even just a little. He takes a small sip and is immediately filled with warmth and comfort, so much so that he feels like he could cry. It tastes so good, and so cozy, like a fuzzy handmade sweater, like a toasty fireplace in winter, like a reassuring hand to hold. It might be his low mood exaggerating whatever solace that comes his way, but a few tears threaten to escape Namjoon's eyes.
“Thank you,” he says to the cup of tea instead, not knowing its brewer, as he takes another big sip.
Namjoon returns inside his studio with the cup in hand. While he isn't able to get back on his feet and crunch through his work like a machine—jumping back from low moods isn’t easy after all—at least his mood ends up being a little nicer that day.
+—+—+—+—+
It continues to happen, and Namjoon’s curiosity and confusion only grows. He decides to brush it off at some point though. The tea is nice, he hasn’t died of liquid poisoning so far, and he can’t really spend most of his time trying to figure out who’s been doing this, so he decides to drop it—until a month passes of it still happening and he still doesn't know who it's from.
He’s on edge today, so stressed with the mountains of work he needs to finish by the end of the week, so when the knock comes, he immediately notices it and rushes to the door.
And as always, he is met with no one. Namjoon scratches his head in frustration. How can no one be there? The hallway where his studio's at is a pretty long one, so he would’ve seen it if someone was running away. Then maybe they went into one of the nearby rooms? But Namjoon thinks he was quick enough to at least see or hear a door closing.
He brushes his hair back then sighs, exasperated. He returns to his studio, accidentally slamming the door a little too hard, and resumes his work.
Namjoon eventually realizes that it normally comes when he isn’t having the best of days. Like when his work piles up and he feels like he doesn’t have enough time for anything, when his day starts bad and his morning cup of coffee is spilled, or when his mood is simply down for no apparent reason because of the way his brain is configured.
He’s honestly always thankful whenever the knock on his door arrives at dawn and a cup of good tea appears right in front of him, bringing him his dose of comfort for the day, but he can’t help but question so many things.
Who made this tea? Why do they leave it secretly? If it somehow isn’t a coincidence, how do they know when Namjoon isn’t doing so well?
He ponders it and ends up with not a single clue. Namjoon lists any possible culprits but no one feels close to possibly being it. Most of his co-workers are just acquaintances, some definitely leaning closer to being friends, but not really to the point where they would do this, and so regularly at that. He doesn't think anyone cares about him this much. He's also one of the few night owls in the company, staying overnight pretty much everyday, so any of his possibilities (which aren't strong to begin with) can't be right because it's already way past the time since they went home.
He contemplates it for the rest of the night, but he's nowhere near to figuring out the identity of his mysterious tea maker.
+—+—+—+—+
The next time Namjoon hears the familiar knock on his door, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He stays seated in his office chair, glued down by the weight of his exhaustion and depression. It’s not a good day, and Namjoon is sure it’ll be like this for at least a number of days. He stares aimlessly around his studio, eyes unfocused, his mind currently flooded and it constantly seems like everything is closing in on him. He feels suffocated, he feels alone, he feels like his life is crashing.
Then the knocking comes again. He keeps trying to ignore it, very much not in the mood to move an inch, moreso to consume something at the moment. He’s sure it’s the cup of tea arriving at his door, but he really doesn’t want it right now.
He hears knocking again, a little louder this time. The tea person is quite stubborn for someone who doesn’t even show themselves. Well, Namjoon is a stubborn man himself, as he continues to not lift a finger and stays cocooned in his sadness.
The knocking eventually stops—and instead, he hears his studio door open.
What the... He freaks out slightly, because that door is supposedly locked.
Namjoon spins his office chair so that he faces the door, and to no surprise, but to his fear, there is no one there. Only the cup of tea that now sits inside his studio is right in front of him.
“Why?” Namjoon asks, a mix of frustration and confusion in his voice. “Why do you always do this for me? I don't deserve this,” he mutters the last part under his breath.
He waits, and waits, and waits a little bit more, yet he still receives no answer, the silence of his studio and the hallway stays in his ears. Namjoon lets out a deep sigh.
He reluctantly stands up, his limbs ache from being in almost the same position for who knows how many hours, and he heads over to the door to close it.
But before closing it completely, his eyes fall onto the cup of tea on the ground.
He looks at it with tired and slightly offended-looking eyes, as if it’s been the opposite of helpful and comforting for him, and stands in front of it for many minutes, contemplating on what to do next. He pretty much has a staring contest with the cup of tea, watches as liquid shines under the light and the steam slowly rises while it’s still hot.
“Just drink it, ” a voice says suddenly.
Namjoon immediately responds with a groan, not at all appealed by the idea of consuming something at the moment—but then he pauses, realizing what just happened.
“What the fuck.” He looks around the room, which has no life except for himself. He rubs his temples. “I think I’m starting to hear things.” He decides to walk past the cup of tea and sits back in his office chair, and spins it around so he returns to facing his desk.
“ Are you tired of tea now? ” the voice asks with a hint of concern, but Namjoon doesn’t respond this time and instead whips his head around the room, bewildered.
That’s it. He thinks he’s lost his mind. Maybe it’s time for him to go to bed. He lets out a small, tired laugh as he turns around to stand up—but he yelps and falls to the ground as soon as he does, because Namjoon isn’t sure if he’s seeing things correctly.
Right in front of him is the cup of tea floating in the air, except it’s not just floating, it’s currently in the hands of a translucent floating figure of a person, one that’s pouting while looking at the cup of tea, as if inspecting it to check if anything is wrong.
Namjoon stays glued to the ground, eyes on the figure, speechless and unsure how to react. That’s a… a ghost? Are ghosts real? Namjoon asks himself as his eyes focus on what he assumes isn't a living being.
The figure looks back at him, its eyes widening a bit. It then starts swaying side-to-side, Namjoon’s stare following it. It then looks at him with complete surprise.
“You can see me?”
Namjoon doesn’t move an inch or say a word for a few minutes due to shock, the two locking eyes with each other. "You're... you're real?"
“Oh," the ghost utters in surprise. "Yeah, I'm real."
"And... you're not alive?"
“Last time I checked, yep.”
Namjoon sighs exasperatedly, holding his hands to his head. Either he's dreaming, he's totally lost it, or he's suddenly died for whatever reason he doesn't remember. He's not sure which he prefers to be true. He slowly starts curling into a ball and hugging himself out of stress.
"Hey, are you alright? Well, ah, I know you're not but," the ghost tries to talk to him, pausing and unsure "Sorry, do you wanna be left alone?"
Namjoon wants to say yes. He wants the world to go quiet again, leaving no one with him except for his spiraling thoughts, he wants to stare blankly at a wall or cry (or both) until the sun starts peeking out. He wants to say yes, and yet—
"No, please stay."
Namjoon doesn't see it but the ghost's expression softens. "Okay." The ghost floats over to Namjoon's side on the floor, gently placing the cup of tea next to him, but not too close, as if to silently tell him, you don't have to take it if you don't want it, but it's here if you do.
They don’t speak to each other even until the sun rises in the sky, and despite that, Namjoon somehow feels a little less lonely, for the first time in a while.
+—+—+—+—+
Ever since the first time he met the ghost, Namjoon is convinced that he dreamt of it. But the next time the cup of tea arrives at his door, the ghost is there too, proving himself to be wrong. He still found it weird for a while, thinking of himself as insane, but he later gets used to it, expecting not only the cup of tea but the translucent floating figure as well. At first, the ghost asks Namjoon everytime if he's okay with it staying, seemingly always unsure if it's making him uncomfortable. In reality, Namjoon is more than okay with the ghost staying, and so he responds every time with 'yes.'
They never talk, and Namjoon doesn't find it a problem for the most part. He just does his own thing, whether it's working on his music, staring blankly at a wall, or crying his eyes out, all the while the ghost simply floats there, respecting his space. Admittedly, sometimes he wishes it would say something, needing some words or to hear a voice during some moments, but most of the time, he appreciates the silence.
It does little things instead though. Aside from bringing him tea like usual, when Namjoon is clearly in his much lower moods, the ghost also brings a few snacks, notably his favorite ones from the company building's pantry.
He genuinely appreciates everything the ghost has done, despite them being little in the grand scheme of things. He appreciates the ghost's presence, staying with him from the moment it brings tea until Namjoon leaves his studio to go home. However, he still doesn't know why, why the ghost is doing this, why it seems to care, and why him. So one day, he asks.
"Hey."
The ghost looks at him as if it's not sure if it's being talked to, but it responds shortly after. "Yeah?"
"Why do you do this? This..." Namjoon lifts his head to look at it directly. "This helping me."
The ghost stares at him silently, hesitating for a bit. "I was bored."
"You were bored?" Namjoon says, trying not to sound too skeptical even though he definitely is. The ghost has spent too much time and for too long trying to comfort Namjoon during his not so good days. "Okay." He decides not to push it though.
"But by the way, what's your name? Oh, and I'm Namjoon, Kim Namjoon."
"I know." The ghost chuckles. "It's on your front door."
Namjoon blushes slightly in embarrassment. "Right."
"I'm Yoongi, Min Yoongi."
"Min Yoongi... I see. Are you older than me?"
"It depends."
Namjoon raises his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I'd be older than you if I were still alive, but if you consider me right now, I died when I was a year younger than you."
"Oh." The thought suddenly makes Namjoon sad, and admittedly it makes him curious too but he doesn't ask any details. "How old are you supposed to be now then?"
"I should be 26,” Yoongi answers, and Namjoon does the math, eyes widening. Before he could respond, however, Yoongi beats him to it. “Yeah, it’s only been 2 years.”
Namjoon frowns. Yoongi died at such a young age and it hasn’t been that long since he passed away.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi tells him, his voice soft, a little sad, but trying to be comforting, which Namjoon doesn’t understand because he thinks he should be the one comforting Yoongi.
Namjoon then asks more about him, mostly wanting to know Yoongi as a person, not asking about his death or anything possibly related, not wanting to prod. He just wants to know about the kind soul that watches over him and makes him tea, the kind soul that died too young.
Yoongi entertains his questions, and he finds out that they both have a lot in common. He was a music producer like Namjoon, and the studio they’re in was actually his, and much like Namjoon, he also spent countless sleepless days and nights here working, working, and working. As tiring as it sounded, Namjoon could hear the passion and excitement in Yoongi, music being his entire life as well.
“Can I find any of your stuff anywhere?”
“Yeah, I was on SoundCloud.”
Namjoon plays his songs on the speakers, Yoongi’s deep, rough voice rapping line after line in varying speeds. And genuinely, he’s blown away. Yoongi is talented , and Namjoon means it in the highest way possible. The amount of feeling and emotion in his songs—the love, the sadness, the anger—it’s overwhelming. He’s then reminded of the tea he makes, the one that’s always so comforting and cozy. Everything about Yoongi seems so full of emotion.
They listen to a good number of his tracks, until Namjoon’s eyes fall on the latest song on his profile. The Last, is its title, and Namjoon is once again saddened, realizing that this was indeed the last song that’ll ever be uploaded by him. He clicks on it, Yoongi’s breathing then sounds from the speakers.
The air is suddenly tense, Yoongi not saying a word unlike with his other songs. He commented at least once whenever a song of his played—whether it’s to explain what inspired him to write it, point out some parts he didn’t like, or give himself praise—except for this one. A bit of anxiety starts bubbling in his chest, but he ignores it, too focused. Namjoon listens quietly, attentively, as Yoongi’s voice echoes in the studio. He listens, as Yoongi’s words, as well as the strong bass hits his heart. Before he knows it, the song ends, and they’re back to silence. Yoongi doesn’t speak, and neither does Namjoon.
He's speechless, literally. He feels like he shouldn’t have listened to that; It sounded so personal, so vulnerable. And then, it hits him. He stares at the date it was uploaded on, 1 month from now, 2 years ago—he realizes Yoongi uploaded this last on purpose.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon mutters, not looking at Yoongi. He doesn't get a response, not until after a while.
"It's okay," Yoongi says for the 2nd time today, but this sounds less genuine, tiredness and sorrow seeping into his voice. The tension and heaviness in the air doesn't dissipate and neither of them mutters a single word. He glances at Yoongi once at some point, and notices that his expression contains a hint of shame.
For the first time, Yoongi leaves the studio before Namjoon does, saying nothing but "I'll go." before exiting.
+—+—+—+—+
He ends up not seeing Yoongi for a while. The tea never stopped coming though, but unlike the many times previously, Yoongi himself never appeared. It's like they returned to the first occurrences, except now he already knows who's bringing the cozy smell and taste of the warm cup of tea to his door.
He finds himself anticipating him every time; whether he's sad, tired, or even stressed, there's at least one moment in the night where he stares at the door, waiting for the knock. And it does come, but Yoongi is never behind the door anymore.
Many weeks pass by and Namjoon eventually gives up, sometimes convincing himself that maybe Yoongi was a really long fever dream or simply a figment of his imagination.
It's currently a day where he has nothing to do, a rare instance of him having no work left for the week. He leans back on his chair, staring blankly at one of his walls in contemplation. Inevitably, his mind reaches the thought of Yoongi, and he recalls the last time he had a good look at him, remembering the sadness in his eyes and the shame in his face.
"I don't know if you're there," he suddenly starts, voice loud in the silence of his studio. "I'm sorry for what you had to go through. While I don't know you completely," he pauses, clearing his throat slightly. "I understand, to an extent. And I hope you feel relieved, even just a little."
Namjoon's mouth turns into a small frown. "We've known each other for not that long but, I miss you. And thank you, it was always nice having someone here with me."
He looks at the door expectantly, hoping Yoongi finally appears and enters, but not at all to his surprise though admittedly to his disappointment, he doesn't come. Namjoon sighs.
He ends up taking a nap on his desk, fatigue sinking in and consuming him entirely, then he later wakes up in the morning, a blanket draped around him and a lukewarm cup of tea on his desk.
+—+—+—+—+
A week later, Namjoon's eyes light up, because right in front of him is Yoongi. Namjoon doesn't say anything, he simply smiles at Yoongi, happy to see him back.
It's weird, if Namjoon were honest. They've barely talked—the only times being the first time they met and the last time where they enthusiastically discussed and connected through their passions—and yet, Namjoon is so comfortable around him. While he learned so much about him through his music, since an artist's work speaks a lot about them, in actuality, he doesn't know Yoongi. He doesn't know where he lived, what he liked (aside from music), what his days were like, how he died, and honestly, Namjoon thinks he doesn't need to know more. He's just glad Yoongi is here again.
He could sense some hesitation from Yoongi though, some awkwardness still present, but soon enough, even the slightest tension in the room started to dissipate. They also started talking more, becoming less and less afraid to know about each other and open themselves up to one another. However, they still avoided the topic of Yoongi's death or anything that may be remotely related and they never talked about why exactly Yoongi disappeared for weeks.
They eventually become really close, often hanging out casually nowadays, Yoongi coming even without bringing tea or anything, bringing nothing but himself.
"Hyung! Good evening."
"Hey, Namjoon-ah."
The two smile at each other. They spend their time talking about whatever topic that comes up, sometimes it's Namjoon's work, sometimes it's a piece of media that they've both read or watched before, sometimes it's lighthearted debates like the existence of mint chocolate ice cream. They hit it off really well, and Namjoon feels like it's the first time he's ever connected with someone so much.
At some point, the heart-to-heart talks start to happen, though it's mostly from Namjoon, talking about feelings, about himself, about his life, a lot of the things he's often contemplated since who knows how long.
"Sometimes I don't know if I'm going in the right direction in life. I think I like where I am now career-wise, but I don't feel as happy as I thought I would be. I'm stressed and tired a lot, and there are times where it feels so... empty," Namjoon explains.
Yoongi looks at him empathetically before shooting him a reassuring smile. "I don't think there's a 'right' direction. As long as you're happy, then it's enough. It's also okay to stop sometimes, you know?" Yoongi crosses his arms. "You never use your monthly leaves in this company, and they're pretty generous with it. Go on a vacation, take some time to visit all the museums you keep talking about."
Namjoon sighs. "You're right. It's still hard though."
"I know. You don't have to take a vacation right here, right now, but consider it. You've worked hard, Namjoon-ah. You deserve it." Yoongi grins at Namjoon, the top part of his gums peeking out.
Everything about Yoongi really is comforting, from his actions, to his words, to merely his presence.
+—+—+—+—+
Yoongi becomes a constant in Namjoon's life, seeing him everyday as soon as he enters his studio. He has always seen his studio as his home, the place where he can be surrounded with music and do what he loves, but the addition of Yoongi definitely made it more homey. He's had relaxing moments more often compared to before and he doesn't feel as alone anymore. Even when they're just sitting in the room in silence, it's peaceful and comfortable, it all seems okay .
“Hey, hyung,” Namjoon says while staring at nothing in particular, head facing the wall and leaning on his office chair, currently going through one of his contemplations.
“Yeah?"
“Why do you always help me?”
“Don’t like it?” Yoongi asks jokingly.
“Wha—No! I’m really grateful. You’ve saved me so many times. But, hey, don’t avoid the question!”
Yoongi shrugs. “You already asked me this before.”
“And you didn’t answer truthfully.”
“How would you know I lied?”
“You’re not a very good liar.”
Yoongi pouts and Namjoon crosses his arms. He looks at him and waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come. Namjoon purses his lips, then sighs. He drags himself closer to his desk on his chair and grabs his brainstorming notebook, deciding to drop the subject.
Around 30 minutes or so pass by, Namjoon scribbling random ideas and thoughts, and Yoongi simply watching him from behind. After that is when Yoongi speaks.
"You remind me a lot of myself."
“What?”
Yoongi takes a moment to think more, biting a part of his lip and cocking his head to the side in contemplation.
“The way you work, the way you think, the way you feel. I was like that too, back when I was alive.” He pauses, mouth slightly open. “Sometimes I think helping you is just me trying to make it up to my old self." Yoongi then smiles. "Not as much anymore though, I like helping you because I love seeing you happier.”
“Hyung…”
“But also, you lose and break things so often, I can’t help but want to look out for you.” Yoongi scolds him lightheartedly, trying to not make the mood too serious.
“Hyung!” Namjoon pouts.
"Did I lie? You probably never noticed but I've been helping you find things you were looking for since the start too. I don't know how you manage to lose a lot of things so often."
"Wait, you've been finding things for me?" Namjoon asks, shocked, then proceeds to slump into his chair. "I thought I finally improved and don't lose my stuff as much anymore. I can't believe this," Namjoon whines, dejected. Yoongi laughs at him, Namjoon frowning but eventually laughing as well.
Their laughs die down and they smile at each other, then Namjoon speaks up, “I wish I met you when you were alive. I feel like we would've been great friends for a long time."
Yoongi doesn't look at him for a while but then his expression softens. "We're friends right now, aren't we?"
Namjoon chuckles. “Yeah, we are."
While unbeknownst to Namjoon at first, Yoongi came into his life finding things he'd misplaced, which mostly consisted of small to medium-sized objects. What he didn't realize till later was that there was something bigger he lost—he doesn't remember the last time he genuinely took a break, relaxed, and let himself just feel ; Yoongi was the one who returned those moments to him. It started out with comforting cups of tea, to late-night conversations about feelings or life, to reassuring words and advice.
Now it's at the point where even just the slight shift in the air that signifies Yoongi's presence in his studio, his home , is enough. And he couldn't be more thankful.