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The first time they meet, Namjoon is covered in cheap toilet paper.
He has a drink in his hand and he’s sweating too much under his costume (if you could even call it that), a last minute attempt at a mummy outfit thrown together by Hoseok. “It’ll be perfect!” he’d announced, a big grin on his face, “now we won’t have to Namjoon-proof the place!”
“Ha ha,” Namjoon had replied, rolling his eyes. “Very funny.”
Initially, he hadn’t even wanted to come to this ridiculous party in the first place— Namjoon wasn’t the most social person, and he didn’t enjoy getting smashed at parties and having gross people hit on him or tell him he wasn’t that good looking. (He’s heard the comments they say— he knows he isn’t exactly conventionally attractive, but still, he didn’t exactly enjoy hearing it from almost-strangers.)
But Hoseok thought it was necessary for Namjoon to do something other than sit at home alone on Halloween, which Namjoon felt was really unfair (“why aren’t you making yoongi-hyung go?” “do you want him to punt me in the balls, namjoon?” “he’s short enough—”) considering the fact that, usually, Hoseok dragged Jimin or Jungkook along with him, but apparently they were busy.
“Busy with what,” Namjoon whined, watching Hoseok drape another roll of toilet paper over his face, “being teenagers?”
“Yes,” Hoseok replied, gravely, looking Namjoon right in the eyes. “Something you never did, Namjoonie, which is why I’m making you have a life for once. Besides, Taehyung-ah is out of the country at the moment, so someone has to be my party mule until he gets back.”
“I’m twenty, I can dictate my own decisions,” he retorts, swatting away a particularly offending piece draped over his sight. “And I don’t want to go.”
“I can’t go alone!” Hoseok wailed, purposely being over-dramatic— his boyfriend Taehyung might think it was cute, but Namjoon just snorted, shaking his head. “Hey, you’re going to make it all fall apart, quit that.”
“Not like it’s going to look any better,” he muttered.
So here he was, sweating in cheap toilet paper, and this may or may not be his third cup of alcohol. He’s scowling in the corner, because he has a test he needs to study for and, okay, he does enjoy socializing, he’s just way too stressed lately to do anything but sulk into his (red solo…) cup. Hoseok seemed to think that getting him out would help his stress levels, but it really didn’t— at least not tonight. He’s felt stifled and muted, lately, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to write anything half-decent in weeks.
Then there’s a mouthful of cheap feathers in his face and he’s sputtering, thought process broken as he pulls back in surprise, cup dropping as he chokes on material.
“Oh, gosh, sorry, sorry,” says the owner of the offending costume, as Namjoon is saved from the obnoxious wings shoved into his face, and he wheezes, picking away some of the feathers from his toilet paper. “I hate these things, honestly,” the voice continues, and a face swims into his vision. “Are you okay?”
“Uh,” Namjoon says weakly, when he has a chance to actually get a good look at the guy, after brushing aside toilet paper from his face. Because— and he’s hoping it’s not beer goggles talking— this guy is gorgeous, and may or may not be taking Namjoon’s breath away.
He’s dressed as an angel, dark hair styled in a way that faintly reminds him of fluffy animals, but not obnoxiously. Namjoon blinks as the boy waves a hand in his face, trying to catch his attention. “Hello? Earth to dead boy?”
Namjoon chokes out a weak, “I’m not dead,” before realizing what the guy was referring to— his outfit. “I mean, um. Reanimated?”
“Cute,” the angel laughs, and Namjoon has to bite back the overwhelming urge to tell him that the costume was very, very fitting. “Like I said, sorry about that, earlier. It’s kind of hard to walk around with these,” he says, gesturing to his wings and glancing at Namjoon apologetically, “and carry a drink at the same time.”
“I would imagine,” and okay, Namjoon is finding his words a little better now, even if he feels like maybe drinking so much wasn’t so much of a good idea after all. For once, he’s thankful for the material covering his face, because he’s almost positive that he’s blushing, and it’s been awhile since he’s met anyone this pretty. “Uh— I’m Namjoon,” he says quietly, holding out his hand. (That’s covered in sweaty toilet paper, too. Hot.)
“Seokjin,” the angel replies cheerily, and if he notices Namjoon’s moist palms, he doesn’t say anything. “What’s your major?”
“Music,” because one word replies are suddenly much more favorable than anything else. “First year.”
“Oh, wow,” Seokjin replies, finally pulling back. He has this way about speaking, with his expressions— every face he makes is like he’s sitting on the edge of your every word, earnest and eager. “I know a music major— Min Yoongi? Second year, like me. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I do, actually— friends with Hoseok, right? Minoring in photography?”
“Too short to reach the cabinets?”
“That’s him,” Namjoon snorts out with a laugh, shaking his head, something fond filling into his chest. “We actually, you know, lived together for awhile. Then he moved in with his boyfriend— they just broke up, though, so he might be coming back soon.” It’s not like he ever filled up Yoongi’s room— it had only been three months, and Yoongi still stayed over often enough anyways that Namjoon forgot they weren’t still roommates.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Seokjin replies, honest sympathy dipping into his voice as his expression shifted to worry. “Let him know that I can always help him out if he needs anything, alright?”
“Of course.” Namjoon is weak. Seokjin is really pretty, drawing him in easily, inebriation settling like a hazy outline to his thoughts. “How do you know him?”
Seokjin flushes a little (that’s pretty, too, what the fuck), shyly looking down for a moment. “We dated for awhile. It didn’t last long, but we’re still pretty close friends.”
And suddenly Namjoon is hoping that Seokjin is blushing because he is a real, actual angel, tinged with innocence (probably not), bashful at even the thought of brushing hands with anyone let alonekissing them, because he’s feeling an awfully large amount of jealousy towards his not-roommate at the moment.
“It was a few years ago!” Seokjin amends quickly, laughing, still red. “It’s just— embarrassing to talk about, sometimes, I guess— relationships usually are, you know?”
Namjoon internally huffed in approval. As long as he didn’t have a reason to think Seokjin still liked Yoongi, then, or else he would feel awful later for asking for his number (if he actually managed to work up the nerve, but cut him a break— he really likes Seokjin so far, okay?) if there was some kind of weird ex drama still going on between them.
“Anyways,” the younger male trails off awkwardly, because he’s suddenly run out of questions to ask Seokjin that aren’t invasive and/or annoying. “Do you usually, um, walk around in an angel costume?” Oh, god, that was such a bad question— he must sound ridiculous— it’s probably obvious how drunk he is, oh man— why did he have to be in a fucking toilet paper costume—
Seokjin raises his eyebrows in surprise, before laughing again, sweet and charming. “No,” he replies, even though that’s the obvious answer, “only for special occasions.” He glances down to pick at some of the white, silky cloth draped over his shoulder, an amused quirk in his mouth. “I’ve worn this costume three times, actually— you’d think, by now, I’d actually have learned how to move around in it.”
Namjoon is in love. He’s been talking to an almost-stranger for probably, like, ten minutes, he is most definitely not drunk, he’s sweating too much under an absurd amount of toilet paper, and he forgot just how bad his hormones like to kick up when he’s had just enough alcohol in his system. “Well, it… it fits you,” he said, finally, throat dry. “You look really good. Better than me, probably.”
The older male looked down at him sympathetically, glancing across the way most of the parts were haphazardly pinned together, and fought back a laugh. “I’m guessing, on normal days, you wouldn’t be caught dead in this, right?”
“It’s Hoseok’s fault,” Namjoon replies miserably, but the upturn of Seokjin’s lips is infectious, and he finds himself smiling, too.
Seokjin can’t help himself after that— he actually laughs, and it’s beautiful, and Namjoon says fuck it, he doesn’t care if it’s beer goggles or not, he thinks he’s found the prettiest damn human being on earth, and the sweetest one on top of that. He’d never gotten a party crush, but if he was ever going to learn the definition, this was the time— he was so, so wrapped up in Seokjin, fallen drink totally forgotten.
“So, um,” he said plainly, “I know I’m kind of wrapped up in toilet paper right now and you can’t really see my face, but— you wouldn’t happen to have a phone number, would you?”
His heart is pounding, as Seokjin blinks in surprise. He’s expecting a refusal, an awkward laugh, a ‘sorry, I’m actually taken...’, something.
Instead, Seokjin’s face is tinged pink while he nods, still blinking in surprise. “I— y-yeah, I do,” he exhaled, biting his lip and glancing away. “Maybe you should take off the toilet paper before I give it to you, though,” he teases, looking back at him.
“...Oh, right,” he swallows, because, oh man, is he flirting back? Holy shit— he hastily moves his clumsy fingers to pull off the flimsy toilet paper from around his head, until all of the excess is hanging off of his neck. It’s not like he’s just going to derobe himself from the entire mess— he’s not actually totally sure he can, with how much Hoseok worked to secure the thing to really, honestly actually be Namjoon-proof— but at least Seokjin can see his face. “Is that better?” he laughed, awkward, biting his lips.
He is so drunk.
Seokjin’s fighting back giggles as Namjoon pulled away the layers and layers of cheap, flimsy paper, shaking and trembling. It’s adorable. “Y-Yeah, Namjoon, it’s— that’s good—” and he covers his mouth with his hand to try and suppress his laughter. Namjoon is feeling somewhere between giddy and nervous, because— god, he probably looked like a total dork.
Well, he probably still does, but. Details.
“Does that mean I can get your number now?” Namjoon asks, and he prides himself on managing to keep his voice level, ignoring the slightly dizzy feeling in his stomach from his movement.
“G-God— yes, I was playing, I d-didn’t expect you to— Namjoon, oh my god,” Seokjin is sputtering, still laughing.
Namjoon grins. He’s hoping his awkwardness is coming off as more charming than off-putting. “I thought you wanted to make sure I wasn’t decomposing,” he jokes, and he’s feeling a little bit more confident, now that he’s done probably one of the Top Ten Worst Things To Do At Halloween Parties When Flirting and Seokjin hasn’t run off screaming yet.
“You’re a dork,” Seokjin admonishes, already affectionate, giggling and leaning in close, leaning on the wall behind Namjoon for support. “A cute dork. Why didn’t Yoongi ever introduce me to you?”
“I don’t know,” the younger male replies, breathless, trying not to laugh himself— alcohol is a wondrous thing, but if it means the cutest guy he’s ever met— who is definitely out of his league— is actually flirting back with him, then he loves it. “—How much have you had to drink tonight?” he finally asks, though— because now he’s getting a little worried, with how much Seokjin was laughing.
“A lot,” the older male admits, biting his lip and looking up at Namjoon a little guiltily, as if he’s been caught. “I— h-haha, I’ve… been here for awhile, to be honest… I was on my way out when I ran into you.”
“Oh,” Namjoon says, and suddenly the elated feeling drops. “—Sorry for stopping you from being able to leave, then. ...Can you make it to the cab alone?”
Seokjin ruminates over it for a moment, and Namjoon swears he can see the gears turning in the angel boy’s head. “...Probably not,” he finally answers, and gives Namjoon a sweet smile, almost mischievous. “Walk me there?”
He can do that. Hell yeah, he can seriously do that. (Ignoring the fact that he, probably, isn’t actually much better off in the inebriation department. But whatever.) “After you,” he answers, teasing, and Seokjin plays along, giving a little mock bow and tripping slightly over someone’s way-too-long Batman cape. Still attractive.
By the time they make it down the stairs and away from most of the people, Seokjin’s got him pinned to a wall, tongue down his throat, and Namjoon is almost too dazed, his thoughts only a repetition of okay, okay, this is good, okay.
It takes him a few minutes, but he has to gently push Seokjin back long enough to breathily tell him that they still have to call the cab, to which Seokjin whines. Which stopped being cute and starting being really, really hot the moment he shoved his tongue into Namjoon’s mouth, but the older male relents, instead opting to cling to Namjoon’s arm, still stumbling and lips swollen from kissing him so hard.
When they get to Seokjin’s place, Seokjin almost climbs him, giggling between pulling away the layers of his costume and pressing kisses to Namjoon’s neck, while his face is burning up, mumbling out apologies for his shitty, shitty costume.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Seokjin breathed out against his jawline, a slight hiccup in his words, running cold fingers up his shirt. “I think it’s cute—… besides, I’ve h-had my eyes on you all night, I’m… not gonna let some silly toilet paper get in my way,” and then he kisses Namjoon before he has a chance to process his words, shuddering.
The angel wings find a new home in the living room and there’s a trail of toilet paper towards the bedroom, door locked shut.
“...Turn out the lights…” Namjoon mumbled, pulling up the blankets over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He wants to huddle back into his little pool of warmth he’d been in, but his neck aches and he feels kind of gross, on top of a killer headache. (Thank you, hangover.) The light doesn’t relent, though, as much as he tosses and turns and tries to will it away, and he eventually stirs enough to realize that there’s someone clinging to him, face pressed into his chest, snoring just lightly enough to be endearing.
…
This isn’t his apartment.
And it takes him a long time, squinting down at sleepy blob that is the person pressed up against him, to piece together some of the fragmented memories of the night before, and suddenly his face is red. He sits up, slowly, hand raising to rub across his neck, finding numerous hickeys dotting his skin, and he swallows.
Well.
“Namjoon,” Seokjin mumbled, shifting further into the younger male’s chest, and he’s reluctant to move, especially when Seokjin definitely is still just as cute as he thought he was last night. Thank god, beer goggles were not responsible for this.
Maybe he wouldn’t mind just— going back to sleep, light be damned. With his luck, Seokjin would wake up, scream in horror, and kick him out— so he was going to enjoy this stroke of luck for as long as possible. He laid back down, Seokjin sleepily nuzzling back into him, and lets his eyelids droop again.
He makes a mental note to thank Hoseok later.