Work Text:
namjoon still thought about him sometimes. more often than was acceptable, probably, though he liked to think he’d grown out of caring about acceptability these days.
he’d see a beat up midi machine in one of the second hand stores he liked to poke around in and would wonder if gloss could fix it up. then he’d think ‘i know he could, what am i saying? of course he could.’
he’d be at dinner with his friends, tucked away in some closed room to keep their raucous laughter from disturbing other customers and to keep from restraining themselves. it felt so good to just be with them. he’d think ‘gloss would love to be with them, too.’
he’d be at work and - fuck. he thought about gloss at work all the time.
namjoon was living out his dream - not only was he working with music (professionally! as a career!), he was producing, he was releasing his own tracks, his own mixtape, he was writing for other artists, expanding himself and his horizons and his potential and working, working, working but feeling happy and fulfilled beneath it all, even on the most sleepless, lonely nights.
he thought about gloss when he struggled over a beat; he thought about gloss when he jotted lyrics in a notebook he always had on him, one he never lost no matter how often he lost everything else; he thought about gloss when he felt like he wasn’t worth it, that he didn’t deserve what he’d been given, that he wasn’t good enough.
and gloss, even though he wasn’t there, even though he hadn’t been there for years and years, always got him through it.
like this, he’d imagine him saying in his deep, raspy voice. when it didn’t work out, he felt gloss’s try this, keep going, try again in his fingers, guiding him through the problem until it stopped feeling like sandpaper.
he’d have lyrics in his head, ones that were worded exactly how he wanted them but didn’t have a beat that matched quite enough, always a tiny bit too off but the lyrics too right to budge. randa, gloss would say, spit them out, let me help. and he would - he helped so much that namjoon was half-convinced he should list him in the credits.
you deserve this, randa. even now, he couldn’t imagine namjoon in gloss’s voice. it wouldn’t sound right to force it, not when gloss hadn’t called him that once. putting his name in gloss’s mouth felt like it would cheapen it all, somehow, make gloss’s impact less real. it didn’t matter that he was making it all up at this point. he refused to do anything that would take away that comfort.
he checked the forum sometimes. it hadn’t been used in literal years, save for the occasional comment about how some program had become defunct or a thread on how an artist had gone downhill.
namjoon’s inbox always stayed the same.
-
randa: hey! how’s home
gloss: [file attached]
gloss: idk how i feel abt the underlay wdyt
randa: that bad huh
randa: give me a min, i’ll check it out
gloss: k
gloss: it’s not great
gloss: home
gloss: i really thought i’d never come back yk. so it uh it feels bad
gloss: shoulder hurts like hell too. stupid that surgery doesnt just fix it right away
randa: ah give it another few weeks, i’m sure it’ll feel fine. good as new
gloss: they put enough fucking metal in it that it should be better than new. any more and i’d be worried abt rusting
randa: [file attached]
randa: super minor fix, see what u think
randa: gloss?
randa: ?
gloss: sorry parents
gloss: youre my best friend
gloss: do you know that
randa: jesus you’re mine too but what’s up
gloss: just thinking. people are hard but youre not and im really
gloss: im glad. youre good to me. thanks
randa: youre good to me too glossy but what?
gloss: sorry. i was just thinking.
they called that night, staying on the phone for hours. it wasn’t unusual, though, not at all; they’d fallen asleep to each other’s voices before, to the ambient sound of each other existing in the world at the same time, even so far away.
they talked about gloss’s parents, how they blamed his useless passions for getting him hurt in the first place. (“you were hit by a car!” “because i was working a delivery job because i don’t have a real job because i don’t have an education because i’m fucking useless—”) they talked about how he hoped to move to seoul even sooner than before. (“as soon as the doctor clears me to do anything, i’m fucking out of here, randa, i’m serious.” “i know, hyung. maybe you can find me, huh? we can get some shitthole apartment and fill it with hoarder-levels of old equipment.” gloss had gone quiet enough that namjoon had thought he might have fallen asleep, until he half-whispered, “yeah, rand. that would be nice.”) they talked about how maybe he should just - give up. they talked about that more often than either of them would like to admit, but. they were there for each other. ready to kick each other out of it, back to their senses, back to flourishing despite and in spite.
-
randa: hey glossy checking in. haven’t heard from you in a while
-
randa: hey gloss
-
randa: ?
-
randa: you there?
-
randa: hey could you let me know youre there
randa: if it was something i did im really sorry. i hope everythings okay and you’re just. not checking messages or something
randa: even if i did something could you just tell me youre okay hyung please
-
randa: gloss?
-
randa: i miss you
-
randa: hey. i miss you. got into snu today
randa: going for composition and linguistics
randa: i’m really excited. i’m feeling proud about it yk
randa: i hope you’re doing well gloss hyung
-
randa: graduated today. highest honors
-
randa: i’m starting at jyp. some shitty desk job but it’s a solid in. maybe i’ll see you there eh hyung?
-
randa: i quit lol
randa: it’s stupid. like. i know it’s stupid. i’m probably a fool to think i could ever get closer to it at all but
randa: one of my mentors wants to start a company from the ground up and asked if i’d be interested and it was like i shorted out. i feel good about this, hyung, even if it’s probably fucking stupid and i might have to start over from scratch and it’ll be even harder than before bc i’ll have quitting after two years on my resume
randa: but it’s worth the risk.
randa: i have a good feeling, hyung
randa: i have so much hope
-
randa: i hope you’re okay, hyung. i’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.
-
randa: i feel in over my head
randa: but it still feels right. it feels like what i’m supposed to be doing, what i was meant to be doing. i
randa: ah
randa: it feels like you should be here with me
randa: it really does.
randa: i wish you were here
randa: i hope you’re happy wherever you are hyung. i hope
randa: you’re still my best friend. i kinda hope you have another best friend even if thinking about it makes me jealous lol. you deserve someone who’s there for you and i hope you have it since i can’t be
randa: you’d like the people i work with. you’d fit in
randa: i love you, hyung. please be well
-
randa: i put out a mixtape
randa: i don’t know if you’dlike it or not. honestly i think you wouldn’t but i think you’d like it because it was me. i think
randa: well
randa: i think a lot of things
randa: i miss you
randa: a lot of my mixtape is about you
randa: like. an embarrassing amount
randa: i miss you, gloss.
randa: i hope you’re well
-
randa: i miss you
-
randa: i miss you.
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randa: i hope youre well
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randa: i miss you
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randa: i miss you. i love you. i hope you’re well.
-
it hurt.
it hurt that gloss had been there, a huge presence in his life even without a face or a name or a hand to hold, and then he just - wasn’t.
if namjoon had known it would be the last call they’d have, he wouldn’t have hung up the phone. they would still be on the line now, six years later. but he didn’t know, and he didn’t keep the call going, and now - it hurt.
but it hurt so much less than it used to.
the raw wound had scabbed over, faded into a scar. he’d been angry for a while, that gloss had left him without a word, without even telling namjoon that he was alive, but time healed. it didn’t erase gloss’s absence, but it did give namjoon more life to live.
time brought him friends - friends he thought he might be even closer to than gloss, though it felt almost traitorous to even say. time gave him his work, work that was so much more than he ever imagined. more hours, more stress, more lost sleep, but also more fulfillment. time gave him his own world, a world he didn’t feel that he had to lock himself away in to teen-angst away from his parents.
he had a whole life, and it was a life that had been built largely without gloss.
but he was still there. he’d always be there. gloss’s absence was an old friend, at this point, and namjoon would never see it go.
-
gloss was a brick in namjoon’s foundation, along with his parents, his friends, his mentors, his dreams. namjoon had thought that foundation was finished, built on solid ground, when yoongi walked it.
min yoongi applied to be a producer at their company, and namjoon had never signed off on someone so quickly. he couldn’t even be accused of falling for a pretty face; he’d been out of town for his interview and he hadn’t seen yoongi in person, only the standard grainy picture attached to every resume. but he listened to the samples he sent in and - fuck, there was something there.
yoongi’s work wasn’t perfect, of course, namjoon picked out a few things he wanted to go at with a chisel the first time he listened through, but something about it called to him, a siren song that told him he would regret losing a could-be-incredible producer if he didn’t get him on contract right then and there.
he met yoongi officially when he got back in town the next week. yoongi had been coming from the staff kitchen and namjoon had nearly knocked his coffee right out of his hand. the only casualty seemed to be a few drops on yoongi’s shirt.
“min yoongi-ssi!” namjoon greeted with a smile, dimples popping out.
yoongi blinked at him, quick, confused flutters that did odd things to namjoon’s heart.
“kim namjoon,” he explained. “it’s nice to meet you in person.”
yoongi’s eyes widened and he did a quick ninety degree bow, nearly spilling his coffee all over again. “pd-nim, yes—”
namjoon laughed, touching his shoulder to urge him up. “ah, you don’t need to be so formal, i promise. i hope big hit is treating you well?”
“yes, sir.” yoongi nodded frantically and namjoon could hear the quiet vehemence in his voice. “i have never felt more at home.”
something about that settled namjoon’s heart. “good. welcome aboard.”
-
bang had offered namjoon a promotion more than once (it was close to seven times now by his count) and namjoon always declined. namjoon was happy where he was - in the studio and not the clerical paperwork that would accompany a pay raise. plus, he was terrible at keeping things professional. every close friend he had worked at big hit, and he refused to have them work for him.
hoseok was another producer, though he was a true jack-of-all and hadn’t yet found something he couldn’t do. jimin, taehyung and jungkook were actual terrors and up-and-coming idols, and namjoon amusedly but wholeheartedly respected their refusal to stay more than one foot from the others at all times. seokjin was a trainee, he supposed, one that hadn’t quite found a permanent place in any groups thus far and was starting to pass the age of typical trainee-ness, but he fit in with their group more than anyone else in the world.
they were around each other constantly, at work and out and at home, and throwing in an additional power balance might shift their entire dynamic and namjoon was not about to let that happen.
he was especially glad for it now, a couple weeks into yoongi’s employment. there was no way he could have straightened himself up into his superior.
he felt his entire chest light up when yoongi walked into a room - and yoongi didn’t seem to mind his obvious overeagerness. he gave namjoon’s dimpled grins and bright “yoongi-hyung!”s a bracketed smile and a pat on the back, having dismissed namjoon-ssi and pd-nim in favor of an often-exasperated namjoon-ah!
being around yoongi felt interesting, amazing, and odd. different. good, of course, but - he’d known yoongi for all of two weeks, yet it felt like two years at the very least. something about yoongi was just so perfect, matching namjoon’s jagged edges, both of them hearing the same bells, seeing the same colors that no one else seemed to see. it was almost otherworldly how smoothly they fit together.
it was like they knew each other already, even though they were still constantly learning new things about the other. yoongi said one of his favorite artists was j cole and namjoon had just nodded, like he was remembering rather than learning. yoongi seemed to feel the same when namjoon asked if some seafood place their group was thinking about trying had any vegetarian options, clearing his throat and saying “ah, yes, why don’t we leave this for another day, try that japanese place on fourth—” like he already knew namjoon didn't eat seafood.
it was not only those spoken bits of information that seemed familiar. namjoon would hand him a bottle of his favorite coffee, though he couldn’t even remember yoongi mentioning that it was his favorite. he just felt it. he just knew. yoongi would grab namjoon’s breakfast from the food stall down the street, holding it out without a word, barely looking up from his phone. they would see each other before work on accident, sometimes, in line at the nearby coffeeshop or watching a street performer, always in each others’ orbit.
-
“hey, hyung, we’re going down to bacchus tonight, you in?”
yoongi started at namjoon for a moment. “i was already going. are you—is anyone performing?”
“not tonight,” namjoon said before he realized, eyes going wide. “wait, fuck, are you? can we come, is that okay—”
yoongi clicked his tongue, turning away to hide his blush and the pleased corners of his smile. “it’s a public bar, joon-ah. and you were already going.”
“well—yeah. but do you want us to see you?”
yoongi looked back at him, giving him an assessing stare for long enough that namjoon would have felt awkward if it were anyone else. “i wouldn’t mind.”
namjoon felt like he was vibrating as they walked to bacchus after work, even though it was a normal night, a normal activity, a normal everything except for yoongi performing.
the thought was - insane, incredible, and namjoon couldn’t quite place what he thought yoongi’s personal style would be like, how his raspy voice would translate to rapping, and not knowing but knowing he would soon know was an absolute rush. he wondered if yoongi could feel his nerves as they walked side by side, their arms brushing every so often. as they got closer to the bar, yoongi pulled up the hood of his black hoodie and namjoon gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze before taking a step away, letting yoongi split off.
the night was already busy, with a crowd dancing to the music blasting over the speakers as employees set up the stage equipment. namjoon watched yoongi go to the far end of the bar, chugging half a bottle of water as soon as it was handed to him. from the other end, namjoon collected their first round of drinks, taking them back to the table that taehyung had ruthlessly claimed, eyes roaming now that yoongi was out of sight.
the competition was good that night. there were a few recurring characters namjoon recognized (he’d been up there with them quite a few times, thought rm had taken a step back as big hit started to boom) and he couldn’t help but worry that yoongi - wouldn’t match up. he was ashamed to have that itch of disbelief in him, but even if he knew yoongi, knew yoongi-as-a-person was incredible and talented and intimidating, he didn’t know his style, didn’t know how that it would all come off on stage.
but when the mc announced “agust d!” the second yoongi stepped out into the lights namjoon knew there was nothing in this world that could hold a candle to him. the way he held himself, small, confident, and lethal, made namjoon almost dizzy. and as he performed, namjoon’s mind was simultaneously emptied and filled with nothing but yoongi's flow.
how many syllables was that what the fuck, thank god we’ve talked about getting turned on by music before, this boner would be way too fucking awkward if we hadn’t, that rhyme fucking hit - wait.
why does that…
the world faded into silence as agust d performed, and as sound came back to namjoon's ears, gloss was in his place.
namjoon watched him in shocked silence until his set was over. when yoongi disappeared off stage, though, namjoon’s trance broke and he nearly fell over himself hurrying to the sound tech, getting his name added to the list. he was still in his work clothes, actual work clothes today because he’d had a meeting, he was about to spit in a button up and pressed slacks without sunglasses and - fuck. it wasn’t for them, wasn’t for the competition, wasn’t for the crowd—
“rap monster!”
he didn’t stick to his typical set list, none of the riffing he was good at or his more finely-tuned classics would work for this. nothing would work except - yoongi had to know, he had to make sure yoongi knew, namjoon had to be the kid on the forums who fought with a stranger about rhythm versus poetry and shared his deepest hopes and dreams and fears and desires and everything but his name, he had to be runch randa.
it was something he’d sent gloss before, something fast and heartfelt and one of his more successful blood-sweat-and-tears products of his teenagehood. gloss had praised him for it - he’d critiqued it, too, sure, but he’d given him such fulfilling approval, made namjoon feel like he was real and seen and heard through music, fully understood by someone who spoke the same language.
gloss had to remember it. or at least remember the gist. and if yoongi was gloss - and yoongi was gloss - maybe he would still speak that language, even if they hadn’t practiced it together in a while.
he couldn’t see yoongi over the stage lights but he didn’t really look for him, anyway. he didn’t want to stumble over his lyrics, not now, not when he was a lighthouse trying its damndest to shine a beacon to a ship he never, never, never thought he’d see again.
his set was short, just do you and something closer to his current style, but his heart was pounding like he’d ran through a stadium tour-level show.
he stepped off stage and didn’t even have the chance to look for him. yoongi grabbed his sleeve, dragged him through the crowd out the side door, into a dim alley that smelled of city and stale cigarettes. namjoon didn’t have the time to do anything but meet yoongi’s eyes for a split second, just enough for them to say it’s you it’s you it’s you without words.
he wasn’t sure if he kissed yoongi or if yoongi kissed him, but they met each other with toothy kiss that had namjoon’s heart being stitched back together. he hadn’t even known his heart had been torn, and gloss was there to fix it.
“it’s you,” he whispered hoarsely.
yoongi nodded and kissed him again. they stilled against each other after only a moment, resting with their lips touching, their nose bumping together, namjoon’s hands on yoongi’s hips, yoongi standing on tiptoes to reach.
it was so incredibly familiar that namjoon felt struck.
gloss and randa knew each other so well, even when their bodies didn’t. yoongi and namjoon - they knew each other, too, so well, so well, even though it had only been weeks since they first met. because it hadn’t been weeks. it had been years, literal years, of souls being intertwined then souls drifting apart and now.
“thought you hated me,” namjoon confessed. it wasn’t the time to talk to deeply, he thought, but fuck, he did, deep in his chest, in the dark pit of his heart, he thought gloss hated him. had thought he’d read his messages, thought he was pathetic, thought he wasn’t worth his time, thought he was too sensitive, and - fuck, it had hurt.
yoongi shook his head, gripping the front of namjoon’s shirt. “thought—thought you’d forgotten me.”
“i messaged you, hyung. all the time.”
yoongi shook his head again, breath coming out shaky and cool against namjoon’s lips. “i—i couldn’t, i—fuck, joon-ah. randa—i’m so—”
namjoon kissed him again. “let’s talk later. right now, i just—i want to ditch our friends and kiss you for the rest of the night, is that okay?”
“yeah,” yoongi breathed out, relieved. “please. my place is close.”
-
they didn’t manage to kiss for the rest of the night, though they did come close.
yoongi - gloss, yoongi, gloss - was so small on namjoon’s lap, so perfect, the best thing to see to hold to kiss that had ever existed. he couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed about how many times he told gloss what qualities he thought were hot, the pinnacle of importance as a horny teenager, and how many of those qualities yoongi had.
so small, so soft, so cute.
they looked at each other for a long time, just - watching, seeing what they hadn’t been able to see before.
“i always knew you were tall,” yoongi had said pensively.
“i told you i was tall, hyung.”
yoongi shrugged. “people lie.”
the self-satisfied sip yoongi took of his drink made namjoon’s chest do odd, incredibly expected things.
“i always knew you were blonde,” he said, and yoongi-gloss- yoongi broke out into the most absurdly beautiful cackling gummy-smiled laugh that namjoon had ever heard.
namjoon didn’t have to ask why in the end.
“my parents…” yoongi sighed, tugging on the drawstring of namjoon’s borrowed hoodie. it was huge on yoongi, and barely fit over namjoon’s chest. “it wasn’t right of them, i know, but—i provoked them. i saw red, i guess. i don’t remember the specifics of what i said. but they just—they threw it all out, joonie. my journals, my lyrics, my laptop—they burned it. i couldn’t even—i ran away, i guess, except—i was a fucking adult, you know? i didn’t run away, i just—left home, as i should have done in the first place, because i’m a fucking adult who let his entire stupid life’s work get thrown onto a fucking grill. i couldn’t save any of it, not a goddamn word, and—i—”
namjoon almost stopped him, almost said gloss, hyung, baby, it’s okay, we can wait, we can never, if you’d like, but yoongi met his eyes with such a look of regret, fear hidden behind it all, and namjoon needed to know exactly what caused that fear so he could grind it into the ground because he never, never wanted yoongi to feel that way ever again.
“i went to the library and pc bangs and even got a laptop again, eventually, but it wasn’t—i couldn’t—” he took a shaky breath, gripping namjoon’s hoodie like it could be an anchor. “i was so scared, namjoon-ah. i thought i’d log in and see—”
when yoongi didn’t continue, namjoon gave his waist a squeeze. “i could never have hated you.”
yoongi shook his head. “that’s not it. i thought—i thought i’d see nothing. i thought i’d see—that you hadn’t even noticed i was gone. that’s not fair to you, i knew it then and i know it now, but it—i was so scared that i’d just find another emptiness and it would have killed me, and i couldn’t—no matter how much i missed you, fuck, i missed you—i thought—”
namjoon kissed him, wiping the tears from his cheeks with gentle thumbs. “i don’t blame you, hyung. i want you to know that.”
yoongi sniffled, resting their foreheads together. “i'm sorry anyway.”
“i forgive you,” namjoon said easily. “and i don’t blame you. and i missed you so, so much, hyung, i—” he laughed a little, squeezing his eyes shut as his own tears rose. “i messaged you last week.”
“so soon?”
“i message you about everything important.”
yoongi furrowed his brows; namjoon could practically see him flipping through his mental rolodex. “what was important last week?”
“i realized i liked you in a way that was more than a crush. something like—that coworker i have, yoongi, you know him well by this point. we were in the elevator and i almost held his hand. i’ve wanted to kiss him before, i’ve thought about fucking him, but i hadn’t thought about something so small before. something so warm. and,” namjoon smiled a little, “you know, gloss. i think he would have let me, too.”
yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he took namjoon’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. “you told me you liked men?”
namjoon nodded. “everything important. you’d hinted at it before, so it didn’t—it didn’t feel like a huge risk, if i’m honest.”
“plus i wouldn’t have read it, right?”
namjoon shrugged. “i wanted you to have a log if you ever wanted it. and now—now you do. if you want. but, i, ah—”
“mm?”
“you know almost everything already. it’s so—it’s so odd, even if we knew each other before, you know? i just—i pour my heart out to you without thinking, because i don’t need to think. as yoongi, as gloss, you’re so—you’re so good at holding my heart in your hands, even without knowing. i’ve told yoongi almost everything i’ve told gloss.”
yoongi was quiet for a moment before he leaned down, hiding his face in namjoon’s neck. “there’s a lot i haven’t told you, then. i kept secrets even as gloss.”
namjoon shrugged, tucking yoongi close and kissing his hair. “you were allowed to have secrets then and you’re allowed to have them now. you don’t owe me anything.” he paused for a moment before squeezing yoongi’s waist. “not that i’m not curious.”
yoongi snorted, pulling back enough to look at him but glancing determinedly away after barely a second. “i had a crush on you.”
namjoon blinked. “what?”
“don’t make me say it again—” yoongi whined, scratching at a blushing cheek as he looked up at the ceiling.
namjoon almost said it - i had a crush on you, i thought you could tell, i thought you were angry, i thought you hated me, i thought that was why you left for so long - but caught himself. instead, he cupped yoongi’s cheek, kissing him softly. “i liked you, too, hyung. we would have been really bad at phone sex.”
yoongi laughed against his lips. “yeah, well. we probably still would be.”
namjoon grinned, his heart skipping a beat when yoongi poked his dimple, watching the indent with a fascinated little smile.
“gloss?”
yoongi’s lips twitched. “randa?”
“i’m so glad i found you.”
“found—i’m the one who applied for your company, namjoon-ah, i found you—”
“ah, i’m glad you found me, then,” namjoon laughed. “point still stands.”
yoongi kissed him. then kissed him again. then again and again and again.
namjoon considered himself incredibly fortunate - lucky, even. he had his dream job, a strong mind, the best friends he could ever ask for. and now - he had yoongi. again.