Chapter Text
That late afternoon goes something like this.
Namjoon skips up the wooden steps of the building, hands tucked inside the too tiny pockets of his aviator jacket, gaze picking ahead to the large hallway he might see more often than his own reflection. When he makes it past the lobby, he turns to the side, bows with a thin-lipped smile to Mrs. Yang, who in return looks up from her paperwork on the counter and nods at him.
His swift walk through the facility only comes to an abrupt stop when an unrecognized sign appears into his field of view.
“From Seoul, with love”, Room 7
Namjoon frowns at the otherwise blank plastic square, with said words written in an ugly Times New Roman lookalike font. He cranes his neck, looking for some further explanation, but Mrs. Yang’s spot is now empty. He hovers in front of the sign, nibbling his lower lip while holding a staring contest with the defenseless piece of information as it stands still, well, like all inanimate objects usually do.
The snap that goes all the way from his brain to his feet, as he kicks into motion again, makes the tiniest bit of relief wash over him. Yes, it’s fine. He won’t make a scene inside the people-less lounge for something as trivial as a new exhibition popping out of nowhere. Although a heads up would have been well received. Anyway.
He navigates through the labyrinth-like corridors like he carries an invisible thread with him, making it impossible to get lost as much as getting confused with a cereal box maze would be.
The sharp cement under the crimson paint on the walls makes the scene have a mysterious, almost horror-like aura. But Namjoon knows all too well that there’s a limit to the range of emotion he can experience here, going from an uncomfortable kind of annoyance at new pretentious artists to awe-inducing wonder at the new stuff that always arrives at the most random times. Yet, as usual as another Ficus benjamina growing on the side of the street, he’s found bouncing on the middle portion of that spectrum; and the most he can possibly get out of those experiences is the comfort of familiarity. Though, despite all that, he keeps coming back. Perhaps secretly hoping that if he stays around as much as he can, he’ll be able to say he has his own place among these art pieces; that they would grow fond and welcome him to their world, just as he did with them.
Reality cuts the thread of that cute little thought with razor-sharp scissors, as he realizes where his feet have taken him.
The walls of this room have been painted, as a very brave decision, in a pristine cream white. He can tell this is more of an older space, not only because of the somewhat obscure placing inside the building; but also the plaques below each frame, thin sheets of rectangular paper have been placed on top of the original ones with what looks like rolls of tape. The room itself is very compact in comparison to the other ones too; which makes it more awkward when he measures the large spaces between the goers.
Namjoon does have the power of choice. He’s well aware of that. He could easily muffle a laugh, pretend he wandered into the wrong place and go back the same path he came from. He could walk to his favorite room in the entire Museum, knowing he’s dangerously near its closing time, to just sit and breathe the musk gathered on the works exhibited; and later, appreciate the way moonlight slides through the elongated windows, giving an ethereal glow to everything around him.
But then, he takes a temptative step inside, and Namjoon can’t help being intrigued. The sheer personality this old raggedy room has and the way the artist may, or may not, have chosen to lean into that aspect and play with it…it’s actually genius.
The photographs are nothing out of the ordinary, not really. All of them in black and white scales, the grays being the ones that pop off the most. The subjects of the pictures vary from pretty landscapes of the city to more abstract shots of different objects piled together with no obvious rhyme or reason. Or well, actually, it could be because of-
“Hey!”
Oh no.
Namjoon has trained himself for moments like these; maybe ever since he got rid of his childhood past, stubbornly sticking like a bandaid that stayed for too long, leaving the glue's residue on his skin. He has it in him to order that his body stay as still as possible, not showing any visible signs of surprise or startlement at the sudden call of attention. But on the inside, well, that's a totally different story.
He proceeds to apply the protocol he usually prides himself as an expert when putting in use. He snaps his head to the side where he heard the voice coming from, with the intention of making a quick scan of the person, so he can get his first guesses on who he's dealing with, while also avoiding the (very plausible) overload of new stimuli in his brain.
Nonetheless, that doesn't happen. Namjoon can't make a brief run-over of the person beside him, he can't turn his head back to focus back on the picture in front of him. Because, upon laying eyes on him, how could he want to stare at anything else? What layout of steps could he possibly follow to drag his attention away from a person that is simply standing there despite looking like a statue of an ancient god?
The stranger looks at him with curious eyes, long bangs of dark hair framing them like curtains to a pair of windows. He is wearing a denim jacket with embroidery of different coloured flowers, cascading down from his wide shoulders to the center of his chest; it's almost funny how a piece of clothing could enhance someone's beauty and fit so well into the aesthetic of it all. His lips are a pink-ish tone, they are plump and shiny, like he just applied a layer of lip balm. And god, his facial proportions are so soft looking, but also strong and sharp. He looks like he has one of those faces that can morph into any expression possible to the human body, and still without dropping his natural grace.
"Hi" Is the first resource of words Namjoon runs to for help. Short and dry.
He gulps, feeling his palms getting moist and his brain doing its best to put down the fire that came to be from the recent short-circuit.
"So...are you enjoying the exhibition? Is it cool? Moving? What do you think?"
The man asks question after question with little to no space between each one, he sports a friendly smile (although, Namjoon suspects this is not the best he could offer), and the way his interrogation seems to be paired with a certain filter stuck on his voice…it sounds kind of similar to a car seller.
"I like it." Another simple sentence, jesus, who is he? One of those british palace guards?
But the truth is, obviously, much deeper than that. He's currently multitasking, his brain split; one half fighting the urge to flee immediately (something he cannot grant himself the option to, at least for now), and the other, doing what it can to keep up with this patchy interaction. The thing is, a) he hates multitasking, it completely ruins the purpose of organization and living a plentiful fulfilling life; and b) he is awful at it, but still can't seem to be able to escape it nowadays.
Thankfully, the gorgeous stranger seems to be pleased with what he can get, as he nods slowly with thoughtful eyes running down Namjoon's face. Then, he turns to take a look at the picture that Namjoon had stopped at to analyze closer, the one that shows a severely dehydrated tree by the side of a large bridge. Some kind of luxurious car caught speeding right in the middle of the trunk, making it look like it's driving directly through the tree.
"This one has an interesting framing, the composition is very precise. I guess it must have taken a long time to get it just how you wanted it." He is aware of having said all of that in one go, only once he closes his mouth. Okay, fine. He’s got this.
"It did. We stood there from eleven a.m to about…six p.m. or so, maybe even later."
Namjoon doesn’t know how to reply to that. They just stay there side by side, appreciating the artistry of the photo before them.
“Oh and, by the way, I’m not the artist behind all this.” The guy says, and this does cause Namjoon to turn to him with a noticeable frown on his face.
“Yeah, my best friend is. Kim Taehyung. The bastard has talent to spare.” He smiles, and Namjoon doesn’t get to make any calculations in his head before reciprocating with a small grin of his own.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” He says, deflating his little smile as quickly as he can, he’s already getting all over the place.
“It’s fine.” The guy’s face is, also, back to a semi-neutral expression. Okay, this means he should try again now…right?
“Your friend is very talented,” This time, he returns Namjoon’s glance. “I mean, I know you already said that but, what I mean is that-” He pauses for a second. Get it together! - he tells himself. Looking down, slightly compressing his body into itself, he tries to piece everything together. And so he goes.
“The pictures are very natural to digest from an outsider’s perspective. The message it conveys is very cohesive but not redundant, and just by taking a brief look around I can tell the way they’re connected has been thought out and weaved into a narrative. It tells a story. And, in my opinion, that’s what art is for.”
Yes, finally. This is what he knows, this is what he can make sense of, what he initially intended to do before this stranger distracted him with his outworldly visuals.
Namjoon’s eyes return to the photo of the tree and the car, making sure his words matched what they were seeing, but mostly, not daring to look at how the man might react to his little speech about his best friend’s art exhibition.
“That’s, um.” He starts, like he’s still trying to find his point. “This is gonna sound really stupid, and please don’t take it the wrong way, but…do you come here often?”
Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to be at a loss of words. He feels the threat of a wave of heat traveling from the center of his chest upwards, his hands becoming more clammy by the second. Nope. Absolutely not.
“Um, yeah, I’m-I mean. I like art.” The man just stares at him. “A lot.”
But then, he smiles. Not at the memory of helping to prepare the perfect shot for his artist friend. Not at the thought of said friend being a master with the camera. But at Namjoon.
“I can tell. I’m Seokjin.” He extends his hand, presumably for a handshake.
Namjoon stares at him, then at his hand. Goddamn it, he’s sweating like a false witness, he can’t shake Seokjin’s hand in this state.
So he does the next best thing.
“Kim Namjoon.” He says, complete with a medium bow.
He looks back up at Seokjin, who is raising an eyebrow at him, his hand slowly returning back to his side.
Great, now he’s really made a fool of himself. Sure, Seokjin might look, perhaps, a bit older than him. But who does he think he is to behave all formally in this particular setting? What if he thinks he’s making fun of him?
“Well, Namjoon-ssi. Um, great talk. See you around.” He makes the tiniest sign of a bow of his own, makes a full 180º turn, and walks right away from him.
Namjoon watches him approach two other guys on the other side of the room with a smile, they begin chatting, like nothing happened. Like Seokjin didn’t just cause a hundred different biological reactions inside Namjoon, but worse of all, like he couldn’t wait to get away from him; another one to add to the file of similar cases throughout his life.
He sighs, it’s fine. It’s all fine. That was just an unfortunate encounter, with a stranger, nonetheless. And who says he had to like him?- he thinks as he starts making his way toward the exit - Maybe he was just another case of all stunning looks but no real inside beauty to back it up. And yet…he still wishes he had done better, it was just something about that guy, Seokjin, that pulled him in like the ocean to a wave. That can’t be a coincidence, right? He’s not usually-
He stops walking as he sees a guy from the corner of his eye, around his age too, pacing back and forth in front of another picture; this time it’s a white wall with a huge graffiti and a spray paint drawing of a woman with a baby cradled in her arms. But what calls Namjoon’s attention is the way he looks at it, with critical eyes but also with a hint of care, of love.
Namjoon doesn’t seem to be having much of a firm grip over his body today, since he starts walking towards the guy with no real reason he can currently think of.
“Hi” He stops beside him.
The guy, only then, turns to look at him. He’s wearing rectangular thick-frame glasses, rocking what looks like a perm, and dressed smartly with a cuffed pastel yellow shirt and dark gray pants.
“Good evening” He says in return, a hint of a formal smile on his lips.
“Are you Kim Taehyung?”
“Last time I checked, yes.” He grants him a full smile now, Namjoon gives back an awkward resemblance of one.
“I-” He clears his throat once. Come on, Namjoon. “I took a look around your exhibition and I really liked your photos.”
Taehyung’s face has a difficult-to-decipher look on. For a horrifying moment, it reminds Namjoon of his high school principal’s face when addressing him without his parents having shown up to their weekly reunions just yet. Fortunately, his expression gets a softer touch before he speaks again.
“I’m very glad to hear that. Is there anything in particular that caught your attention?”
Your cute friend with the flowery jean jacket - is the first thing that comes to his mind.
No, concentrate. There was a purpose somewhere between these four walls before seeing him, there was the unmistakingly sense of wonder that only an artist could make sparkle in his head so persistently.
“Uh, yes…no. Well-” He stops, takes a deep breath. Taehyung lets him take his time. “Sincerely speaking, I didn’t like any particular picture more than the others. But that’s not a bad thing, I swear. Uh, I just tend to see everything as a whole. To me, art has to make sense…to be able to form something greater than the sum of its parts. Or at least that’s my take, um, so I think you did a wonderful job at that.”
Only a tad bit later he realizes Taehyung was about to say something, but the voice that surpassed it belonged to him.
“And also, the entire scene that contains the photos in here, was that intentional? Because I think it adds so much, it generates a whole atmosphere that enhances the urban life portrayed in each picture. Almost like the exhibition itself is a continuation of the story that’s being told by the images, it adds so much while doing so little. It’s incredible really. But then, the way you captured the ugly and pretty parts of the city and how the contrast between them plays into one another, I just…”
He’s at a loss of breath by the time he gets to the end of his short (long) rant.
He wasn’t necessarily paying attention to Taehyung while spitting all that word-vomit, but once it’s over, he dares to take a small peek; choosing a middle-ground between the floor and the face of the man standing in front of him.
“That is…” Namjoon fears for a second that he may go the same route as Seokjin, and walk away from him after he just poured everything inside his head at once. “...brilliant.”
Namjoon blinks once.
"Really?"
"Yes!" He answers, his grin only growing in size and warmth.
"You know, just between us?" He leans forward, gestures to Namjoon to do the same, he follows. "The only two critics that came today; I talked to them, right? And they were so boring and just repeated the same stuff art critics always say. Nothing new, nothing interesting. It's unbelievable, they almost made me want to quit my own exhibition."
Namjoon smiles, he has found his crowd.
"That bad?"
"Yes." He repeats with a nod of his head to emphasize. "Now tell me, what brings you here? How come I've never seen you until now?"
He talks with genuine interest, and maybe (just maybe), this was worth it after all.
"Well, Seoul is a big city." He replies through his stretched lips.
"Yeah, but like, where have you been all my life?" He says, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Namjoon laughs, with a carefreeness he wasn't aware he could find in the same room where Seokjin had just rejected him in plain sight not too long ago.
But then…
"Heyyy"
Namjoon stops laughing, his entire body freezing on the spot. Good lord, not again.
Manifesting from behind Taehyung's figure, Seokjin waves at them with a visibly awkward smile on his face.
Taehyung turns to look at him, then back at Namjoon.
"Oh, Jin! Perfect timing. You need to meet this guy!"
Seokjin appears…uncomfortable, to say the least. But then, what was the purpose of coming back to him? To them, he came to them.
Namjoon would need a good plate of dinner and an ibuprofen after this.
"Jin, this is…" He looks at Namjoon again. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"
And so, the evening seems to be re-started. They both go with the flow, let Taehyung introduce them to each other, and this time Namjoon does shake hands with Seokjin. It's all a little forced and weird, but thankfully Taehyung doesn't seem to notice (or care).
Namjoon tries his best, he really does. He listens to Taehyung share some of his praise with Seokjin (not without feeling the heat rising up to his ears); who nods and, if Namjoon is not being too distracted by his presence to think straight, seems to be paying close attention to his words. Some might even say he agreed with what he was talking about.
Then the conversation shifts towards other stuff, stuff Namjoon isn't really a part of; and thus, feels too out of place to attempt to contribute. That's when he knew, this was all good and all, but whatever he was looking for when he decided to check out this new exhibition, he has already gotten. And as his anxiety feeds into him like that annoying caterpillar to his peace lily, he starts seeking an outlet for him to escape.
Although, while looking around with a nervous fever down to the tip of his fingers, he (unintentionally, of course) lands his eyes on Seokjin's; and a strange coincidence happens next. They keep their glances on each other for a few short seconds, none of them saying anything, nor really listening to what Taehyung is talking about; but Namjoon feels it. The way he's doing it with intention, like he's trying to communicate something without using language; he only wishes he could understand what.
Okay, now it's really time to go.
"So when I told him about that-"
"I'm really sorry, Taehyung-ssi. But it's getting late and I need to head back home." He speaks all too fast, avoiding looking at either of them.
"Oh, sure. No worries. Thank you for coming!" He palms his shoulder again. "And for the feedback, too."
The sweetness and sincerity coming from his deep voice would feel comforting at any other time, but now it just gives him the same sensation as turning up the heater on a mid-summer day.
"You're welcome. Uh, goodbye." He takes what is probably less than a millisecond to make eye contact with them and flash a tiny smile, but it still feels like he's wearing all of his resources out.
So he heads out. Eyes glued on the ceramic floor, hands pressed tightly into fists inside his pockets. He makes it out of the room and into the hallways.
Don't think, just walk. Don't think, just walk. Don't think, just walk. Don't think-
The cold static air gives him whiplash once he's met with the outdoors sky. He lets out a long breath. Moving a bit to the side of the big entrance, he checks there's no other people in sight; and finally rests his hands on his knees.
Okay, he is okay. He's breathing deep and carefully, that means he's alive, that means he's out of danger. It means he made it out.
He straightens his posture back up, rubs his eyes (which he knows it's not a good thing to do, but he's too tired to care right now), and starts walking. Stepping down the entrance stairs. One by one, there's no rush here.
Namjoon makes it over to the side of the building, where his safe and familiar bike awaits him. He almost gives into the instinct of wanting to pet the rubber seat, then he remembers he shouldn't aim at going crazy.
He's all set. The security lock untied, the bike stand pushed up; he walks the two-wheeler to the side of the road that heads to his apartment. His foot on the pedal, and he can already picture himself coming home: heated up pre-made dinner, a warm shower, the cotton covers wrapping around his body as he drifts off to sleep. Yes, just him.
He's only made one complete cycle, when he hears it.
"Namjoon!"
To say he had been close to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, is an understatement. He probably got saved by some divine, non-descriptive, entity. As he, startled as he got, comes to a harsh stop; losing his balance. His chest falls onto the handlebar while his feet tip-toe rapidly, trying to gain some balance.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He hears Seokjin running down to him. "Are you okay?"
Namjoon's mind brings out the sarcastic memory of him chanting his way into believing he was done stressing for the day. He manages to tilt his weight down with his foot planted on the left side.
"Yes, I almost died but at least the weather's nice." He says, panting.
It's true, he does have a tendency to loosen up when he's (physically) pushed out of his internal problems and concerns, but it's not something that happens often, much less in front of semi-strangers like Seokjin. Therefore, he's not prepared, not at all, to hear him snorting at his stupid comment.
Namjoon bites his lip, he will not smile. This is not funny at all.
Fine, maybe a little. But still.
"Hey, look. I'm- I'm really sorry." Namjoon looks up only then.
Seokjin's face goes back to a serious (regretful?) expression. And somehow, Namjoon knows he's not talking about the recent accident.
"I shouldn't have walked out on you like that, it was very rude of me. I understand if you don't take it but just know, I apologize."
His voice has a new tone when he speaks, one that Namjoon doesn't get to hear often.
People talking down and offering him pity, yes, that he can hear clear as day. Hell, it last happened two days ago. But the kind of voice that recognises a fault, yet, at the same time puts itself at a level where there's space for conversation; to not only apologize once for being insensitive and forgive-forget, but to invite Namjoon as an active part of that process…it hasn't happened. Not since he met his best friend, turned brother-at-heart, at the age of seventeen.
"I.." His mind is still processing Seokjin's words, their past interaction, all of him. "I forgive you."
Seokjin smiles, a genuine gesture.
The cogs inside Namjoon’s brain get stuck. He, only now, has a vague idea of what he can expect his body to turn into when interacting with Seokjin. Still, his mind keeps trying to catch up on that diagnosis, and making him turn up with more questions than answers.
Because, yes, the man in front of him is probably the most gorgeous person he’s ever laid eyes on; but then, what else?
“Hey” He hears himself saying out loud.
“Yes?” Seokjin asks, taking a baby-step forward. His shoulders look a bit out of place in proportion to his head, like he’s shrinking into his figure.
This can’t be good
But then, what other alternative does he have?
Namjoon has never been a stagnant person, his mother keeps tabs on him every week to check he hasn’t done something stupid and impulsive like shave his head and get rid of 90% of his possesions. Why would he shy away from a possibility like this? He’s not that fond of people, as a general concept, but the last time he granted himself the chance to explore his curiosity towards someone…he got lucky.
And what is luck if not a reminder of the infinite options we have? Of the fact that chances are so miniscule and delicate, they can be easily shattered into smithereens if not handled correctly.
Namjoon knows, he’s had experience, so he takes a chance.
“I hang out a lot at the local library, the one at the corner of the main avenue past here.”
Seokjin’s face shifts, he no longer looks expectant. In fact, Namjoon takes it as if his face has turned into a plastic mold of itself.
But before he can go into panic mode again, he speaks.
“Cool! I’ll be sure to check it out sometime.” His lips morph into a smirk as he makes a finger gun gesture.
“Only if you want to, of course.” He looks down and starts playing with the foam where his hands grasp the handlebar.”It has some of the best variety of authors and genres I’ve seen in the city.”
“I’d love to.” Seokjin’s voice filters into his ears just a tiny bit louder, and it’s not until Namjoon sees his pink pair of converse approaching his own boots that he realizes he took more steps towards him.
“Okay. Awesome.” He doesn’t look up even if he feels Seokjin’s untold wish of him doing so.
Silence can be a curse sometimes, even if he would defend the contrary idea with a fiery passion at any other time. It takes him less than ten seconds but he takes the courage to lift his gaze, just a tiny bit.
Oh good. He’s not actually as close he thought he would be.
“Uh,” The small bravery disappears immediately as his eyes turn back to the comfort of the concrete. “Good night.”
“Good night.” He says back, and his voice sounds so soft and silky that Namjoon almost forgets his current mission.
You’ve done what you needed to, now it’s time to flee - his mind reminds him.
Namjoon nods once, eye contact being nowhere near them. Yet, when he starts pedaling (without any interruptions now) and progressively getting further away from Seokjin, he wishes he had a small mirror attached to the bike’s bar. A hidden view, or little souvenir. Something he can take home as a receipt of this emotionally-mixed event, and perhaps also keep as a promise of another one of those.