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Namjoon opens the door with a flourish. “Thank you for coming.”
Jungkook nods, a soft smile spreading across his face.
He steps through the foyer and into the living room, which- as of lately- has been beginning to feel like his home away from home.
The coffee table is askew like Namjoon had accidentally just kicked it while hurrying to the door. Kafka on the Shore sits discarded on top of it, its pages dog-eared and wrinkled after years of use. A half-empty cup of coffee sits mockingly on the end table next to a dainty, white saucer. Jungkook makes a mental note to do the dishes before he leaves.
And of course, there are papers- on the couch, the table, the floor, even on top of the piano- all of them blackened with ink, a mixture of Jungkook’s neat, concise penmanship and Namjoon’s hurried, slanted scribbles.
“M-Mr Kim…What did you do?”
Namjoon runs his hand through his hair and for the first time that day, Jungkook takes notice of his appearance.
He’s donning a pressed white button-down tucked into black slacks and his hair is immaculately styled, slicked back but still curling behind his ears. Usually, Namjoon looked like he just crawled out of bed. Today, it looked like he was going to a gala.
Namjoon chuckles. “I told you, little dove. I had an idea.”
“This much? And you couldn’t wait for me?”
“That’s the thing-” He takes Jungkook by the hand and guides him toward the couch. Jungkook sits down with a plop as Namjoon perches on the edge of the coffee table. “I couldn’t wait. Not for this.”
Jungkook tries to hide his disappointment. He must not do a very good job because Namjoon smiles teasingly.
“Oh, don’t be upset, little dove. You know I’m nothing without you.”
The thing is, it was kind of true.
Jungkook had just finished stenography school when Namjoon bumped into him at a coffee shop. At that point, Namjoon was suffering from a debilitating slump, his mind so riddled with mental illness and hallucinations that he barely even knew his own name. His editor knew this and after some urging, convinced Namjoon to hire Jungkook on the spot as his own personal stenographer.
Jungkook took even less convincing than Namjoon and agreed to meet at Namjoon’s home the next day at, “11:30, no earlier, no later.”
Jungkook was quiet, obedient, and nonjudgemental. He didn’t get offended when Namjoon snapped at him if he didn’t get enough sleep and he didn’t ask nosy questions when he saw Namjoon walking around the house, muttering to himself- a welcome change from the people that Namjoon usually encountered.
After only a few days together, they quickly settled into a routine. Namjoon would talk and Jungkook would write, recording all of Namjoon’s musings- no matter how convoluted or minuscule.
The more time Namjoon spent with Jungkook, the more he felt inspired. His hallucinations were happening less frequently and he didn’t talk to himself quite as often.
With Jungkook, it was just- better.
“So you had an idea,” Jungkook coaxes.
Something akin to nervousness flashes across Namjoon’s face before it disappears and he’s nodding. “Yes. It came to me in a dream-”
“Was it a good dream?”
“You tell me. I thought, if you had the time, maybe I could run it by you-?”
“Of course, Mr. Kim. Let me just-”
Jungkook goes to reach for the papers on the table but Namjoon’s hand on his thigh stops him.
“You couldn’t read that if you tried.”
They both laugh, a shared little thing.
“Okay, well, how would you like me-?”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You really need to ask?”
“I guess not. Stupid me,” Jungkook giggles as he reaches into his bag for his notebook- probably the only blank one left in the vicinity.
Namjoon rises to his feet and heads toward the piano and for a second, Jungkook thinks he hears him murmur under his breath, “Never stupid…”
Jungkook shakes off the comment and opens to a blank page. He clicks his pen a few times to make sure the ink is wet and does a test scribble.
“Ready when you are, Mr. Kim,” Jungkook says, tucking his legs up under him.
Namjoon nods faintly as he circles the piano. Jungkook waits patiently, pen poised above the paper, watching as Namjoon runs his finger along the keys and inspects it for dust.
Suddenly, like Namjoon forgot what they were doing, he whips around. “Would you like some tea, little dove?”
Jungkook smiles. So he is nervous.
“I’m fine,” Jungkook says. “Unless- you want tea, Mr. Kim?”
Namjoon shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
“Right.”
“So-”
Namjoon blinks. “Yes?”
“Your dream,” Jungkook reminds him.
“Right. It was a good one- to answer your question.”
“You deserve only good dreams, Mr. Kim.”
Namjoon begins pacing around the room, a sight Jungkook now associates with inspiration, ideas, stories.
“I dreamt of a troubled writer who falls in love with a much younger man,” Namjoon starts.
Jungkook nods vaguely and begins scribbling what Namjoon is saying in his notebook.
“The younger man was pure, innocent, and beautiful, like the breeze blowing against your cheeks on a spring day.”
“And the older man?”
Namjoon grimaces. “The older man was- wilted, brown grass at the end of winter. For so long, he lived thinking he was incapable of falling in love. The way he saw it, if no one ever loved him, then surely no one would ever want to receive his love, as well?”
Namjoon’s eyes flicker to Jungkook, but Jungkook is too busy trying to catch everything Namjoon is saying, jotting it down in his perfected shorthand.
“That is until the older man fell in love with- J-Jungwon,” Namjoon stutters on the last word.
“Mmm,” Jungkook nods appreciatively. “I like this story.”
Namjoon laughs. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
“All your parts are good.”
“Okay.” Namjoon acquiesces. “As I was saying, the man wasn’t even looking for love. He was a writer but he was facing some really bad writer’s block, so he hired Jungwon to come and help organize his thoughts.”
Jungkook looks up. “Like a court reporter?”
“Yes, kinda like that.” Namjoon walks around the coffee table, his head tilted upwards as if the dream were painted on the ceiling like the Sistine Chapel.
“Jungwon would come to the older man’s home every day. Half the time, they would abandon their work and just talk. It was nothing special, really. The man was just glad he had someone to listen to him. But in his heart, he knew Jungwon would never love him back.”
Namjoon takes a deep breath and continues. “As time went on, their relationship got more intimate. Jungwon started cooking and cleaning for the older man because his mind was so diseased that half the time, he couldn’t even drag himself out of bed. He was embarrassed to say it, but it was in those little daily things that the man sincerely fell in love.”
Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow. Something about this story sounded weirdly familiar. Like it was a story he read as a child that he’s struggling to remember all the details to.
Namjoon wrings his hands together with a sigh. He turns toward the window and looks out. The breeze is kicking up now, tickling the curtains and mingling with the smell of smudged ink.
Jungkook feels like the mood has shifted but he isn’t sure why.
“Mr. Kim? What happens next?”
Namjoon’s back goes stiff and he turns around slowly, his eyes sad as they meet Jungkook’s. His voice is no more than a whisper when he speaks. “Little dove.”
Jungkook blinks. Is he supposed to answer…?
“Yes?”
And that’s when Jungkook knows.
He is Jungwon. He is the spring breeze, the little dove. This whole time, he has been-
But what does that make Namjoon? The diseased, deadened grass? No, that can’t be right.
Jungkook stands up as Namjoon takes a step closer. He doesn’t touch him, but Jungkook can tell he wants to by the way his hand hovers near Jungkook’s waist and the way his eyes linger on Jungkook’s lips.
“So what do you think, little dove?” Namjoon asks through a strained chuckle. “Do they get a happy ending? Does he- do I even deserve one?”
“Namjoon.”
Namjoon blinks, startled at the use of his first name but doesn’t have time to think much of it before Jungkook is standing on his tiptoes and pulling him in by his collar, their lips meeting a thousand times, over and over again- a dream in itself.
They’re both crying as they kiss, salty tears running down their faces and into their mouths like a wall trying to keep them apart but no - not anymore.
“I have nothing to give you,” Namjoon says against Jungkook’s lips. It’s a reminder of what their life will be like if Jungkook stays, if he actually loves Namjoon the way Namjoon loves him.
Jungkook’s voice breaks when he answers- a sealed promise against loving lips. “Your love is more than enough.”