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The lights fell. Chests heaving, Bangtan scurried off the stage. Everyone was ready for the break. Fresh shirts, cold water bottles, and towels. Just four more songs and they were done. Only four more songs and they had to be done. It was always such a weird mix of hope and regret. They were exhausted and knew they couldn’t last much longer, but no one was ever truly glad to see the end of a show. None of them really enjoyed leaving the stage, as much as they longed for showers and a soft bed.
They swarmed down the stairs and through the hallway into their dressing room. The second they stepped through the door, they felt the shift in atmosphere. Even the typically oblivious maknaes sensed the tension. Coordi noonas, usually fluttering around like frantic insects, stood still on the sides of the room, clothes and towels in-hand but not moving toward Bangtan. As soon as Jimin tripped into the room at the tail end of their caravan, every doorway filled with a large man in a black t-shirt holding a walkie-talkie, somehow vibrating with energy despite being still as statues. Namjoon stepped ahead of the pack to face their manager, Kim Sejin, and the head of venue security. Their grim expressions did not bode well.
“What happened?” Namjoon asked, his voice tight. They had been skirting around him all day. As if he didn’t know. He found it darkly funny. His English was better than all of them combined, even Sejin. He’d read the tweets, the posts, the threats. He’d tried to keep the other members from it as much as he could, but everyone had an inkling things had escalated past normal fan stuff.
“We’ve had a credible threat,” Sejin said. His voice was gentle but firm. Namjoon nodded, his jaw tightening. Behind him, he heard rather than saw his members’ reactions. Yoongi pulled a sharp breath in through his nose and growled. Namjoon didn’t have to turn to know Seokjin’s hands were already on Jungkook’s shoulders, who was stone silent. Hoseok sighed deeply and fidgeted, his hands finding Namjoon’s back, though whether to comfort or be comforted, Namjoon wasn’t sure. Taehyung and Jimin both started protests but cut themselves off with one look from Sejin.
“How credible?” Namjoon forced out.
“We’re cancelling the hi touch,” Sejin said. His tone brooked no argument. As if their dance teacher had called a choreography cue, every member of Bangtan took a step back from Sejin. “And we’d like to get you all out of the venue as quickly and quietly as possible.”
Namjoon’s head fell, his chin hitting his chest in defeat. He never imagined his words would cause this. He knew why people were upset. He got it. Mostly. It still kind of baffled him that people could get this angry over a stupid joke. And it was stupid. He saw that now. He’d been tired and snarky and taken the easy road. He’d had no idea that Westerners would take it the way they did. But he had read enough angry fan posts to understand that it was a completely different issue outside Korea. But this? Surely this was taking it too far. And yet all he felt was guilt. He’d let his members down, and it was affecting their tour.
“What about the encore?” Namjoon asked softly. Sejin looked at the head of security, who screwed up his face in conflicted hesitation.
“The hi touch is the riskiest part,” the man conceded. “But if it were my decision, I’d have you in the van right now.” Namjoon felt like his stomach fell out of his body. He looked to Sejin.
“I called Bang PD-nim five minutes ago,” Sejin said, answering Namjoon’s question before he could voice it. “He’s the one who cancelled the hi touch. He left the rest of it up to us, but his priority is your safety.”
“I won’t put my members in jeopardy,” Namjoon said. “But I also don’t want to let ARMY down.”
“If we were to allow you to go back on stage, it would only be for one song,” the head of security said. He sighed as if he knew the decision was out of his hands and already made. “And I don’t want you to stand around making speeches and saying goodbye. Just go out, sing the final song, and come back. Does that work?”
Namjoon turned and looked at each member. Jungkook’s eyes were fixed on the floor in front of him, his hands trembling slightly. Kookie’s only seventeen. He’s just a goddamned kid, Namjoon berated himself. What the hell did you get them into? Every face was filled with fear. Well, every one but Yoongi, who looked ready to murder someone. Namjoon wasn’t surprised; Yoongi’s fear was always angry. He’d just never seen him this afraid before.
“If any of you want to leave, we leave right now,” Namjoon said softly. Every eye met his, even Jungkook’s. They all shook their heads. “Seriously. No questions, no blame.” They all shook their heads again, more emphatic this time.
Namjoon turned to Sejin, who nodded. Namjoon nodded back. And that was the signal. The coordi noonas rushed forward, patting Bangtan’s faces with towels and helping them strip off their shirts. It was the fastest they’d ever changed. They could hear the Path VCR was more than halfway through. They really should already be on stage by now, standing still in their places in the dark. For once, no one seemed to care about the timing.
Once they were dressed, Namjoon lead them down the hallway at a brisk clip, trying to ignore the security guys flanking them. He paused next to the stairs as staff shoved microphones into their hands. The members automatically gathered around him. He watched as each boy tried to put on their stage face, to cover their anxiety. He could tell it was working for them about as well as it was working for him.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Namjoon began. They all opened their mouths in protest, but his raised hand cut them off. “I am. Let’s just get this done and get out of here.” They all nodded. He lead the way up the stairs. An unknown form lurking backstage caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he froze next to the curtain as the others passed him. It was only another security guard. He shook himself, swallowed hard, and continued out.
The moment he crested the stage and saw the crowd, his stomach sank. The lights were already up, the MR already playing. It threw them all off. They scurried to get to their places. Yoongi covered Namjoon’s rap until he could get his mic to his face. Jungkook went to the the wrong spot and had to backtrack. Namjoon could tell he wasn’t fully present. Just moments before, the room had felt so full of love and support and fervor. Now, every shadow was suspicious and any one of these people could be intending them harm.
***
Seokjin tried to sing as if nothing else mattered, like he always did. He looked out over the sea of faces, but his eyes were unfocused. His senses ranged out to the sides of him instead. He couldn’t look too long at his members, couldn’t let on that anything was wrong. But he felt, if he just tried hard enough, that tendrils of his heart could run along the edge of stage and form a barrier between them and the world, curling around each member like an embrace. He wanted so many things right now, and none of them had anything to do with performing. He wanted to soothe the guilt and shame and confusion he was sure swarmed across their leader’s mind. He wanted to grow a third hand, so he could have one on each maknae to grip them tight and pet their hair and calm their fears. He wanted to whisper cautions and calculations and comforts in Yoongi’s ear, to quiet his rage until there weren’t fans around to be its target. He wanted to be at the other end of the platform next to Hoseok, the furthest from his reach in both distance and fear, to wrap his arms around the younger boy’s shaking shoulders and hold him close until the trembling ended. He wanted to melt into the darkness on the back of the stage until he became formless and floated all the way back to Seoul. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and smile and perform and pray they all got off the stage in one piece.
***
Yoongi growled his lyrics, spitting them as if they were made of fire. How dare they? he seethed. How fucking dare they? He could sense the heat radiating off his body, was sure Taehyung and Jin could feel the force of his rage on either side of him. His eyes locked on the sea of faces before him. His gut burned with fury that someone out there could make him doubt ARMY’s love and rob Bangtan of this moment with them. He owned this stage, had fought long and hard to earn it, and someone was stealing it out from under him. In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to quench this flame back before it licked off the edge of the stage and the fans caught it like tinder. He stretched his neck and commanded his body to go loose, to melt with the heat instead of explode. His arms swayed at his side, and he knew he looked like he was deeply into the music. He also knew they only had to look the white-hot grip on his microphone to spot the lie.
***
Hoseok’s hands shook. This was his nightmare. He’d always hated snakes and creepy-crawly things, heights and physical risks, horror movies and vicious pranks. But this. This was terror beyond anything he’d ever felt before. The words just kept marching across his mind: credible threat. He shuddered, then remembered where he was. He tried to pass the movement off as a response to the beat. He heard a fan screech his name and tossed up heart-arms, trying to work past his trepidation. He knew his posture was terrible. He could feel his shoulders hanging out by his ears. His arm wound tightly around his ribcage, and he couldn’t seem to pry it free. Usually, when Yoongi rapped, he practically collapsed in on himself. Maybe Hoseok could pull that off. He’d never understood it before, his own raps feeling like liquid on his tongue and his body going nearly boneless in response--he rapped just like he danced. But this coiled muscle thing would have to work for tonight, because he was physically incapable of anything else. At least it covered up the tremble in his hands. He just hoped the MR could cover up the tremble in his voice.
***
Jimin didn’t know what to do with his arms. Usually, he held them out to the side or up high, beckoning and welcoming the fans into their song, into their world. But he didn’t want to invite them in right now. He didn’t know which of them he could trust, which meant he couldn’t trust any of them. He’d never felt so stiff on stage. Usually, the music emptied him, left his muscles fluid and charged, but none of his tendons felt like they were attached to the right joints. He found his arm floating out to the side, not for the fans but to reach Namjoon. He knew he shouldn’t, so he pulled back, tried to make it look like fanservice. But it drifted back toward his leader of its own volition time and again. He stayed rooted on his mark, no matter how much his feet wanted to take two steps to the right. Or maybe three or four, until his body was between Namjoon and whatever unknown evil marked his movements. He gritted his teeth, sang his part, and flashed his signature greasy smirk at the fans closest to him, for once glad they couldn’t tell the difference between his mask and reality.
***
Taehyung fixed his eyes over the top of the crowd. He tried to smile, but his face felt frozen. He hoped whatever shape it settled into was the correct one, because he really had no control over it right now. He couldn’t move, not just his face, but any of his limbs. Part of him wanted to pretend everything was okay, throw an arm around Yoongi, flirt with the girls in the front row, wander around being ridiculous like he usually did. But nothing was safe. Even if he could move, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Normally, he relished the idea of thousands of eyes on him, but now they chafed against his skin like steel wool. But the hyungs needed him to do his part tonight, to carry his own weight while they carried the heavier burden. He tried swaying a little, but it felt awkward, so he stopped and focused on the lyrics. Where would this road take them? Was this really a good path right now? For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be on the stage.
***
Jungkook’s hard work was paying off. He’d practiced all of these songs so much that he literally couldn’t get them wrong. He knew he couldn’t, because if there were ever a time for him to forget the lyrics or otherwise fuck this up, it was now. After his initial misstep in finding his spot on stage, his vocal cords took over, muscle memory and the music doing the rest. It was oddly freeing and left his mind to wander further than he cared for. He was freezing. How could he have been over-heated ten minutes ago? He tugged at his shirt and wrapped his arms around himself. The stage was ice cold, despite the strong lights flooding its expanse and the pulsating crowd pressing against its lip. Chilly sweat trickled down his spine as his face and hands interacted with the fans without him. He counted the beats, the bars, the measures until they could get out of there.
***
Namjoon regretted asking for a final song the second they took the stage. What had he been thinking? This was too dangerous for his members. He tugged at his hat. It felt too tight. He pulled it off and put it back on backwards. That was more uncomfortable. His hair felt wrong, like it was growing the wrong direction. Or like it was standing on end. He’d struggled through his first lyrics. This song was always hard for him. It was so emotionally fraught. And he had to sing, really sing. His throat felt too tight for that. He leaned forward and grabbed his water bottle. The first sip was fine, the second lodged deep in his throat somewhere. He put the bottle back down. Swallowing was out of the question. His hat still felt wrong. He knew he was fidgeting, but he couldn’t stop. It was the only thing keeping him from herding the members off stage before the song was over. He felt Jimin reaching for him and wished he could take his hand. But now was not the time. He’d gotten them into this, in more ways than one. He needed to suck it up and be the leader.
The last beat of the song hadn’t even fully faded and the crowd hadn’t reached its peak of applause when the sound guys turned on the album music. Namjoon turned and took three steps toward the stairs. The other members dazedly followed, but he still turned back to make sure they were all there. He did a literal head count when they got into the hall, incredibly grateful for the giant men surrounding them. Sejin met them at the door of the green room.
“Do whatever you need to do to be ready as soon as I give the signal,” he said, his face stony. “And no one touches the Internet until I say. No twitter, no fancafe, no outside contact whatsoever. Don’t even call your parents; there will be time for that later. Got it?” They all nodded solemnly. Namjoon felt a sick twist of relief and dark curiosity. Sejin gave him a knowing look and, though he spoke to all of them, his eyes never left Namjoon’s when he said, “Please don’t make me take away your phones.”
The members stayed silent all through their changes and makeup removal. It was the fastest they’d ever cleaned up after a performance. The coordi noonas would have their work cut out for them in packing everything away after they left. Namjoon felt guilty for that, too. But his priority was his brothers. It only took one look at Blank Tae for Namjoon’s stomach to begin churning.
Then came the awful waiting. Because the fans were still streaming out of the venue, confused and frustrated. All but the VIP+ ticket holders--they were still detained in the seats, unaware of the disappointment about to befall them. Namjoon's heart twisted guiltily, wishing he could see them tonight. Wishing he wanted to see them. But the priority had to be their safety, both the fans and the members. There were only two exits from this venue, neither of which were very private, so they had to wait. No one said a word the whole time.
Sejin finally signaled them with one finger and led them out. They kept their heads down and walked as quickly as they could while still looking calm. Namjoon didn’t miss the extra guards with restless eyes and hands tucked in their suit jackets. The majority of the fans had dispersed but a few dauntless had stayed behind. Security held them well away from their path. Namjoon still heard them screaming. Were they apologizing? For what? They didn’t threaten him. They didn’t say something stupid and regrettable and unintentionally problematic. They didn’t fuck up Bangtan’s first American concert.
The silence continued for the entire ride back to the hotel. Even after the most grueling schedules when nearly everyone passed out in the car on the way back to the dorms, it had never been this quiet. All Namjoon could hear were the muffled sounds of traffic and night life outside the van and the inaudible fury rolling off Yoongi in waves and crashing mutely against Namjoon’s eardrums. The maknaes stared out the windows at the bright lights and bustle of the city with wide, unseeing eyes. Namjoon felt Seokjin’s gaze on the back of his head, but he resolutely faced the windshield.
The tension was nearly unbearable and followed them through the hotel lobby and into the elevator, where they were joined by four large men in suits. Sejin nodded at them tersely and pushed the button for their floor. When they reached their adjoining rooms, two of the men split off to stand at either end of the hall. The other two took up post against the wall like so much furniture. Sejin nodded farewell to the boys as Namjoon slid the keycard home and disappeared back into the elevator with his phone already to his ear.
The second the door closed behind the boys, it was like a switch flipped. Jungkook began to shake. Seokjin was next to him in an instant, pulling him down onto the nearest bed, wrapping his arms around him and soothingly petting his hair, practically pulling him into his lap. Jungkook whimpered in the back of his throat, so Seokjin began a murmured mantra of “You’re safe. We’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Hoseok sank onto the other bed with his feet tucked underneath him, his spine straighter than an arrow, and his eyes unblinking and insensible in a terrifyingly accurate impression of a stone gargoyle. Taehyung wavered between the beds, his blank face a little lost, as if he was unsure of how he got there or what he was supposed to do with his limbs. Jimin tugged on his hand but got no response. Jimin sighed and shoved him gently onto the bed next to Seokjin, who pulled an arm free of Kookie to draw him close, too.
This task done, Jimin looked a little lost himself. Yoongi, rather than sink into his usual post-concert stupor, began to pace around the room. Namjoon watched Jimin’s eyes follow Yoongi’s jaw as it worked open and closed. Ire emanated from the rapper’s body like heat off pavement. The younger boy knew better than to touch him right now, though his hands lifted as if against his will. Jimin settled into a chair with his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them tightly as he watched the room silently, visibly aching for a way to make any of this better. His eyes caught Namjoon’s rigid expression as he leaned against the wall and took it all in. Jimin raised an eyebrow, but Namjoon shook his head. Jimin looked down at his hands sadly.
And then Jungkook began to cry.
Namjoon turned away sharply and disappeared into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, ignoring Jimin’s soft “hyung?” through the panelled wood. He didn’t deserve his kindness or comfort right now. He sagged against the door and slowly slid down it until he was seated on the cold tile.
Yoongi had finally found his voice. Namjoon could hear them through the wall. Angry and low but not quiet at all. He heard Seokjin scold Yoongi lightly, something about scaring the kids. But nothing could stop him now, Namjoon knew. Yoongi would try, for the sake of the youngest members, to watch what he said, but he’d still have to say something. Namjoon only caught spare words and half-phrases, but he got the gist. Yoongi wasn’t angry with him, he was angry with the sasaengs and purposefully misunderstanding fans. His support brought Namjoon little comfort, deep as he was in his guilt spiral.
Namjoon looked around the small, tiled room forlornly and felt trapped by its confines. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to climb out of his skin or run for miles, but the idea of being outside of the hotel made his chest clench in terror. Someone wanted him dead. Maybe wanted his members dead. And it was all his fault. He couldn’t breathe. He tucked his forehead between his knees and tried another breath. His lungs wouldn’t expand. Panic gripped him hard, heart pounding erratically in a mad attempt to break free of his chest. He felt betrayed by his body as his skin suddenly pricked with moisture and the back of his throat filled with bile. His head spun. Hands aching with how hard he was gripping his legs, he knew there’d be bruises tomorrow but he couldn’t let go. And he couldn’t stop his brain from catapulting through all the dangers, the possibilities, the faces of his brothers.
He wasn’t sure how long he battled for air. Black edged the corners of his vision, and he tried one more inhale before something minute and miraculous clicked inside his mind. He forced himself to exhale instead. Immediately, a fraction of the pressure lifted. His head still pounded, but he concentrated on pushing all of the air out of his chest before drawing in a gulping gasp of fresh air. It was astonishingly painful, but he did it again. Slowly, his grip on his legs loosened enough for him to feel the tremor in his hands. The roar in his ears dimmed, which he only noticed by its absence. He could hear Yoongi’s swearing again and knew that he couldn’t have lost that much time if the older boy hadn’t succumbed to Seokjin’s warnings yet.
Namjoon felt simultaneously hot and freezing cold, his muscles turning to liquid as the adrenaline faded. The room felt too big now, echoing with his heaving breaths and looming all around him. He dragged his body across the floor and clambered into the dry bathtub, curling up in a ball to quell the shaking. He berated himself for losing control like this. He should be out there, comforting his members, apologizing, working to make things right and help them feel safe. And yet here he was, sobbing like a child against the cold porcelain and wishing desperately for his mother.
The thought of his mother terrified him, and he prayed urgently that she didn’t choose today to break her rules and check the news. If she knew what was happening right now... The weight inside his chest grew heavy again as he thought of all their parents. For some reason, he couldn’t get Taehyung’s father’s face out of his mind, and guilt pressed in as he thought of trying to explain to him how he’d failed to lead well.
Instead of fading away, Yoongi's volume seemed to be increasing. Namjoon pulled himself upright in alarm. He had never heard the elder sound like this. He was already lifting himself out of the tub when he heard the unmistakable BOOM of a slamming door. Namjoon launched himself at the bathroom door and nearly tripped over Jimin, who was sitting on the carpet directly outside of it. The boy looked up at Namjoon with worried, tear-filled eyes. Namjoon rested a shaking hand on the top of his head as he turned to take in the room. Seokjin still cradled Jungkook and Taehyung against each of his sides, his face a mask of resigned frustration. Namjoon could tell he was trying to keep it together and felt a surge of affection for the way he took care of them all.
Taehyung's blankness had been replaced with something cold and furious, probably fuelled by Yoongi’s vitriol. Namjoon had only seen a milder version of that expression a few times and knew the fallout would be unprecedented if they didn't head it off soon. Namjoon’s gaze darted to Hoseok, who could usually diffuse Taehyung when he got like this. Hoseok had remained practically catatonic since Namjoon had fled to the bathroom. He wondered if he'd even blinked. Yoongi was nowhere to be found. Namjoon took a deep, steadying breath and marched to the door of the adjoining room.
"He might need some time," Seokjin warned gently. Namjoon ignored him, flinging open the door.
"Min Yoongi-ssi," he called firmly. "Get out here.” He received no answer. He sighed and crossed the threshold, closing the door softly behind him. The room was identical to the one next door, except mirror image and free of fear. But it was also without Yoongi. Namjoon tapped lightly on the closed bathroom door and received a grunt in response. He pushed the door open and found Yoongi huddled in the bathtub, scowling down at his crossed arms. Namjoon couldn’t help but smirk at their similarities. Yoongi looked up harshly.
“What?”
“What are you doing in here?”
“I was scaring Kookie,” Yoongi said guiltily. “I needed a minute, and you were in the other bathroom.”
“Sorry,” Namjoon replied with a shrug.
“Sorry I lost it back there.”
“Sorry I fucked up our tour.”
“Shit, man, this isn’t your fault,” Yoongi said, his cheeks heating with renewed anger. Namjoon held up a hand. Yoongi sighed and sagged back against the tub, his anger suddenly sated. For now, at least. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“We gotta go take care of the kids,” Namjoon said, offering Yoongi a hand.
“Somebody ought to take care of you,” Yoongi said as he let Namjoon haul him to his feet. He searched Namjoon’s face. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Namjoon lied.
“Bullshit,” Yoongi said lightly. “Someone threatened your life tonight. No way in hell you’re fine. None of us are fine.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll deal with that later. There’s too much to do right now.”
“Seokjin-hyung’s got the maknaes.”
“We gotta call our parents eventually,” Namjoon said. Yoongi grimaced. “And we need to talk to Sejin-hyungnim, figure out what the next step is.”
“Next step?”
“Are we making a statement? Cancelling the hi touch in Dallas? Are we cancelling Dallas?” The idea was nauseating.
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon said. “But first, we need to make sure the kids shower and go to bed.”
“You think anyone is sleeping tonight?” Yoongi asked sardonically.
“No,” Namjoon replied. “But we can at least make sure they feel safe and...normal.”
When they reached the other room, it looked nearly identical to how they’d left it. Jimin had relocated to the bed next to Hoseok but other than Hoseok’s eyes now being closed and a slight rocking motion, nothing had really changed with him. Namjoon walked directly to him and put a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Hoseokie,” he whispered. Hoseok looked up at him, slowly blinking. Namjoon squeezed his shoulder, and his heart nearly broke when his friend tried to flash him a signature smile. Broken sunshine might be the saddest image in the world. A million reassuring words died on Namjoon’s tongue. He sank down on the mattress and wrapped his friend in a tight embrace. Hoseok finally thawed, melting against him completely. Namjoon could practically hear Jimin relax on the other side of him.
“Taetae, Jiminie, why don’t you two take turns with the shower in the other room?” Namjoon said, tucking his chin in the dip of Hoseok’s shoulder. Jimin popped up instantly, pleased to have something to do. Namjoon caught sight of Taehyung’s tense jaw as he wriggled out of Seokjin’s embrace. Namjoon made eye contact with Jimin, who nodded curtly and dragged his friend next door. “Jungkookie, this bathroom’s all yours.”
“I’m fine, hyung,” the youngest answered in a small voice. “I’m good right here.” Seokjin smiled wryly over the maknae’s head, which he began to stroke gently with his free hand.
“Okay then. Yoongi-hyung?” Yoongi nodded and started searching for his bag.
Pitching his voice lower, Namjoon said, “Hobi, you doing okay?” The boy hesitated, then shook his head mutely. “You wanna talk about it?” Another silent shake. “That’s okay.” Hoseok merely nodded. “I’m really sorry, friend.” Hoseok blinked at him slowly in confusion, but Namjoon couldn’t maintain eye contact in the face of such blatant trust.
“Seokjin-hyung,” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. “You okay?”
“I’m okay, Monnie,” the oldest answered. But Namjoon watched the way his crooked fingers stuttered through through Jungkook’s hair. “How are you?” Yoongi grabbed a bundle of clothes and toiletries and closed himself in the bathroom but not before sending Namjoon a pointed look.
“I’m fine,” Namjoon said tersely, internally annoyed that his distraction from Hoseok was turning out to be just as uncomfortable. The itch beneath his skin began twitching once more. It was only sheer force of will that kept him from bolting from the room again. Hoseok suddenly gave a muffled squeak, and Namjoon realized he’d tightened his arms too fiercely around his friend. He loosened his arms, murmuring more apologies in his ear. He detangled himself to stand, but Hoseok clung to him with wide eyes, so Namjoon sank back onto the bed and resumed his former position.
He’d barely settled when the verbal explosion he'd been bracing for rumbled on the other side of the wall. Taehyung had finally filled in the Blank. Namjoon lifted his head. Jimin’s higher voice pierced through the wall, despite its soothing tone. Then, louder, Taehyung’s deep growl. Seokjin sighed softly and tucked Kookie’s head tighter under his chin. Namjoon couldn’t be sure, but he thought Seokjin might be humming an old lullaby in the maknae’s ear.
The voices rose and fell in the other room, Taehyung’s coming in bursts like machine gun fire and Jimin’s in constant, lilting waves. Namjoon could tell Seokjin was torn between sheltering Kookie from whatever was happening next door and racing in there to care for the other two young ones. After a while, Jimin’s voice was more frequent than Taehyung’s, which was losing volume with each outburst. When the shower turned on next door, joining Yoongi’s in a duet, Namjoon heard Kookie let out a shuddery sigh.
The muted scatter of water and their breathing were the only sounds in the room for a moment. Then there was a sharp knock on the door. Kookie jumped and Seokjin sat up straighter, instantly alert. Hoseok stiffened in Namjoon’s arms, but Namjoon couldn’t blame him since his own heart beat erratically in his throat. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that anyone who intended them harm probably wouldn’t have knocked. Before he could begin to figure out how to extricate himself from Hoseok’s anaconda-like grip, the electronic lock beeped and the door opened, Sejin peeking in hesitantly. The strain in the room eased only marginally.
After Namjoon had whispered nearly a hundred reassurances to Hoseok, he was able to leave the bed. Hoseok instantly curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut. Normally, Sejin would have pulled him into the hallway for some privacy, but tonight no one was leaving this room unless it was on fire. They settled for a short conversation in the corner farthest from the others. Sejin didn’t have much more information to share other than the news that Bang Sihyuk had personally called all their parents. They were now free to call and text. It took a few minutes for Namjoon to convince him to allow them back on twitter, with the caveat that they avoid the issue entirely and agree not to read any responses. Namjoon could tell Sejin knew that last bit was unrealistic, but they both kept the pretense up for the manager’s sanity.
After Sejin bid them good night with a half-hearted plea for them to actually sleep, he left for his room across the hall. Namjoon caught sight of the guards outside as the door swung shut behind him. He wasn’t sure how their presence could simultaneously comfort him and reignite the burning anxiety in his chest. He thought about calling his mother, but the idea of her soothing voice rankled against his current mindset. She’d be nice, and he couldn’t handle nice right now. He tapped out a quick text promising to call the next day.
By this time, Yoongi was out of the shower and failing to coax Hoseok off the bed to take his turn. Eventually, Seokjin hauled Kookie to his feet and shoved him toward the bathroom. Namjoon heard him mutter, “You go first. I’m just going to wash my face and do a mask. The steam will do me good,” before closing them both in the bathroom. Namjoon couldn’t help but marvel at Seokjin’s strategy; now that the initial shock had worn off, Jungkook would never admit he didn’t want to be alone. So Seokjin would be close by, just in case. And Jungkook would feel safer because of it.
When Namjoon heard the shower turn off for the second time next door, he stuck his head into the room and motioned to Jimin. Jimin heeded him readily. Namjoon simply pointed to Hoseok, who was curled up on his side staring at the wall again, and Jimin nodded in a near salute. Namjoon never stopped being impressed by the kid’s ability to take a directive when it mattered.
In under a minute, Jimin managed what Yoongi and Namjoon had not and got Hoseok off the bed and headed to shower in the other room. Namjoon sagged against the doorframe in relief. Taehyung wandered by, scrubbing his hair with a towel and looking more like a subdued version himself instead of the coiled spring he’d been earlier. He locked eyes with Namjoon. The leader opened his mouth to tell him about the end of the phone ban, but before he could say anything, Taehyung deliberately, and somewhat slowly, reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault, leader,” he intoned. The words had the opposite effect than their intention. Namjoon’s stomach curdled with guilt. But he nodded all the same. Taehyung watched him carefully for another beat, lifted a corner of his mouth sadly, and wandered away.
Namjoon sighed. He pulled his phone out, took a deep breath, and opened twitter. The stream was filled with...were these apologies? Why? They came in faster than he could scroll, but he understood the gist. The fans were apologizing to them. To him, specifically. It made absolutely no sense. He was the one who said the stupid thing and he was the one who ruined the concert. He was grateful for the wall holding him up, since he wasn’t entirely sure he had the energy to do it himself. The weight on his shoulders was just too heavy to bear unsupported.
The door across from him opened, and a cloud of steam billowed out before Jungkook clicked it shut behind him. Despite being wrapped only in a towel, he made a beeline for Namjoon. Namjoon was glad to see his eyes were fractionally less wide and frantic. Jungkook tucked his chin against the elder’s shoulder, peering over it at the phone in Namjoon’s hands.
“Are we allowed now?” Jungkook asked softly. “Can I...call my mom?”
“Yeah,” Namjoon answered. “Bang PD-nim’s already talked to her. You’re good to go.” He raised his voice so he could be heard in both rooms. “We’re cleared for cellphones. And twitter, but simple thank yous only. I, uh, I’ll go first.” The other boys nodded and returned to getting ready for bed. Jungkook was already across the room digging for clothes and his phone.
Namjoon’s chest constricted. All these messages couldn’t go unanswered. He was so grateful for the fans that had come to the concert and his heart broke more than a little at the thought of so many of them apologizing. It was overwhelming. They deserved so much more than thanks, but Namjoon had so little to give them. After the last concerts, each of them had posted selcas, so he supposed that was what was warranted now. He sighed and plopped down on the small couch at the end of the room. He snapped a dozen pictures, feeling wary and uncomfortable.
He looked at each one in turn and deleted it. He couldn’t get his face to sit right. His eyes were too wide, too bloodshot. And his mouth kept twisting and tipping and nothing worked. He spotted Hoseok’s snapback sitting on top of a suitcase nearby and pulled it on, lowering the brim over his eyes. He snapped two more photos, convincing himself to approximate a smile in the last one. A scan told him they weren’t much better, since more than half his face was shrouded, but it would have to work.
He paused for a moment, agonizing over what to say. Thank you wasn’t nearly enough, but anything more and he might get in trouble, and not just with Sejin. He tapped out a quick sentence in English, “THX 4 THA LUV, NYC,” and chuckled darkly at the somewhat unintentional double-entendre. He hit post before he could second-guess himself. Or triple or quadruple or whatever the term was for millionth time, which was probably the level he was at by now. He rubbed his face harshly, from hairline to jaw and back up again, trying to wipe away the tight itchy feeling he knew wasn’t actually under his skin. He felt the grit and slime of the remnants of stage makeup and what had to be the gallons of sweat he’d shed tonight. It was finally time to drag himself toward the shower.
He scanned the room and finally found his suitcase tucked in the small space between the television stand and the doorway connecting the rooms. As he dug for his pajamas, he saw Taehyung pawing through their bin of snacks in the other room. It eased a fraction of the pressure in his chest, because if Tae was eating, he was close to back to normal. The younger boy huffed triumphantly when his fingers closed around an apple. Namjoon frowned. Well, maybe not entirely back to normal if he was choosing fruit over the Choco Boys on top of the pile. Taehyung must have felt the leader’s eyes on him, because he looked up in question before his expression cleared.
“Hey, Namjoon-hyung?” Taehyung asked. “They call New York City The Big Apple, right?” Namjoon nodded. “Good then, this will work perfectly.” Namjoon looked from Taehyung’s face to the apple and back again, his eyes narrowing.
“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” Namjoon asked slowly. Taehyung shrugged a little too innocently.
“You’re not the only one who can make a double-entendre.”
“Just…” Namjoon sighed. “Be careful, okay? We’re not supposed to apologize.” It was actually kind of brilliant, blending the idea of a post-concert snack, New York as the Big Apple, and the Korean word for apple being the same for apology.
“It’ll be so subtle, not even half the Korean-Americans will pick up on it,” Taehyung said, his voice holding a little of something akin to begging. Namjoon bit his lip, but then relented. He’d take the blame if it was necessary--what was a little more at this point anyway, right?
The second the bathroom door closed behind him, his earlier breakdown hit him full force. It was nearly like a flashback, the tiles glinting menacingly and his heavy breaths already echoing again. Away from the eyes of his members and allowed to be Kim Namjoon for just a second instead of LeaderMon, he sagged once more. He couldn’t afford a second panic attack, but he allowed himself a few tears under the pounding hot water, hearing Sejin’s voice over and over again. We’ve had a credible threat. Each droplet of water seared that into his skin. Overlaid were his own words in Australia, like some kind of terrible, jumbled mantra. Over the last several days, he’d dissected his tone and body language and actual words from that day nearly endlessly, kicking himself as the fans erupted in offense. But never more than right now.
He pressed his forehead to the ceramic, wishing he could just go back, unsay it all, start the tour again with a different attitude. He sighed and wiped the tears and snot from his face, letting the water wash it all away. He’d have time for all of this later. Maybe once they got home to Seoul. Or he wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. He rinsed his hair a final time and took a deep breath. His job for the next month was to shut up, keep his head down, and make sure his members got everything they needed. And figure out a way to make this right for all of them, ARMY included. It was the least he could do. He shut off the water and wished he could shut off his brain just as effectively.
The atmosphere outside the bathroom was different than before. The intensity had dropped moderately, though everyone was still more wired than normal. This was one of the biggest concerts of their career. They should be bouncing off the walls with excitement and adrenaline, instead of feeding off of this frisson of distress humming through the room. Namjoon eyed each boy while he dressed near the doorway between the rooms, wondering what was going on inside each of their minds.
Only the first bed was visible from this vantage point. Jimin and Hoseok were side-by-side watching something on Jimin’s phone, virtually no space between them. Hoseok had finally lost his glazed stare and looked as exhausted as Namjoon felt. Taehyung was sprawled diagonally across their legs, leisurely munching on the remnants of the apple. To anyone outside of Bangtan, possibly even to some inside Bangtan, the boy’s posture would come off as unaware and uninterested, but Namjoon saw the way he idly fiddled with Hoseok’s hair, occasionally rubbing his earlobe with practiced nonchalance. And he saw the way Hoseok practically melted into the touch, the tension leaving his shoulders in increments the longer Taehyung ministered to him.
Jungkook wandered into Namjoon’s view, arms laden with snacks, and tumbled onto the bed with the others, ignoring their feeble protests as he made space for himself amongst them and piled the packaged food on Taehyung’s belly. As if they were all planets settling into orbit, the dynamic shifted effortlessly as Jimin tilted his phone to give everyone a better view and Taehyung readjusted his pose to accommodate another body underneath him. Jungkook let out a weary breath as if he’d been holding it all night and Jimin’s hand found its way to the opposite side of Jungkook’s head, pulling the younger firmly against his shoulder. Namjoon was both impressed and concerned when the kid not only stayed, but didn’t even bother to object.
He finished dressing and threw his used towel onto the bathroom floor. He could now see fully into the room. Yoongi sat curled around his laptop on the second bed. To the untrained eye, he was consumed by whatever was on his screen, but he was actually surreptitiously watching over the other four boys. Seokjin perched gently on the edge of the bed near him, his hands methodically smoothing the sheets next to him, unaware of anything but the noise inside his own mind. He looked up when he saw Namjoon looming in the doorway. His expression clearly invited him into the room, but Namjoon stayed put. He merely glanced at the puppy pile meaningfully and then looked back at Seokjin. The eldest lifted one shoulder in a clear expression of let them be for a little bit.
Namjoon sighed but took Seokjin’s wordless advice. He wasn’t sure when they’d started to have these silent conversations over the other members’ heads, but it was so commonplace now he barely registered it was happening. He used to hate it when the fans teased them about being the Bangtan Parents. But that was before he really understood what kind of leader he was and how much he needed Seokjin’s nurturing abilities when it came to the younger members. He sighed again at the thought of what kind of leader he truly was and looked around for a distraction. His eyes fell on his suitcase nearby, and he fished out the book he’d bought in the airport.
“Namjoonie?” Seokjin said carefully. His voice held the same invitation his eyes had a moment ago.
“I’m just going to read for a bit,” he said, backing away from the opening. He knew he could easily read his book in there, but he felt...unwelcome was the wrong term. The other members would pull him in with all their grace and kindness, he was sure. No. He felt unworthy of their attention and affection. So he sank into the tiny couch where he took his selca and spent the next half hour staring at the same page while his mind churned. He could hear the other members starting to wind down and felt deep relief. But the calmer and more content they became, the more he was aware of his own disquiet. He cursed softly, frustrated that his showertime resolution wasn’t sticking.
“You know...” Seokjin’s soft voice said next to him. Namjoon nearly jumped, having not noticed when the older boy had settled on the bed across from him. “It’s not your fault. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.”
“I wish everyone would stop saying that,” Namjoon muttered. He closed his book and flung it in the general direction of his suitcase. It ricocheted off a stack of clothes, which toppled to the floor. Seokjin didn’t even bat an eye at the mess. Namjoon swallowed hard. “It’s not true. I’m responsible.”
“Namjoonie--”
“No,” Namjoon said as gently as he could. He looked up at Seokjin with a frown. “Just… Not tonight, okay? I’m not ready to…” Seokjin pressed his lips together but nodded.
“Okay, then,” he said, standing up. “We should all try to get some sleep.”
Namjoon followed him to the other room. Somehow, the four on the bed had managed to further insinuate themselves into each other’s space. It was only from knowing them so well and for so long that Namjoon could pick out whose limbs were whose. His declaration of bedtime was met with simple compliance, an unusual occurrence, until he made the mistake of suggesting two to a bed and allowing Seokjin to have his own. The maknae line refused to be separated, clinging on to each others arms as if Namjoon had some nefarious plan to physically wrench them away from one another. Hoseok didn’t say a word, and Namjoon wondered if the last time he’d heard his voice that evening had been during their awkward performance of Path, but the tight look of panic on the dancer’s face was enough to make Namjoon eat his words.
In the end, the four of them simply turned out the bedside lamp and snuggled deeper into the nest they had made. Yoongi leaned down to pack his laptop into the bag on the floor, and Seokjin watched him with a strange look of confliction on his face. Before Namjoon could ask the eldest what his issue was, it became clear from the way his eyes darted between the pile of boys and Namjoon himself. Yoongi noticed, too, and said softly, “If you want to stay here with them, I’m happy to grab one of the other beds.”
With one last look at the overfilled bed, Seokjin shook his head and said, “No, stay put. I’ll take that one.” He motioned to the first bed in the other room, where he would have a perfect view through the door at the others while remaining by Namjoon’s side. In any other situation, Namjoon might have teased him or groused about not needing a babysitter. But instead, he just felt cared for. In a way he maybe didn’t deserve.
Namjoon sank into the far bed, turning off the bedside lamp and rolling over before Seokjin could say anything else. He heard Seokjin sigh and settle onto the other mattress. The room fell into darkness. All he could hear were the soft exhalations of his members. Namjoon might be an atheist, or at the very least an agnostic who had little interest and even less patience for a higher power, but he thanked God with all his heart in that moment that they were each still breathing tonight.
Unbidden, images floated across his mind. Graphic, hideous images of his members and what might have been had this evening gone just a little bit differently. He fought against them, but they came in waves, each permutation worse than the last until he was shaking uncontrollably. This wasn’t another panic attack, he was pretty sure, because he could breathe shallowly, but he couldn’t stop the shaking. What if… his brain whispered and then supplied more ends to that sentence that he’d ever thought possible. He felt tears burn behind his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, trying to escape his own mind. He gasped and jumped when he felt hands gripping his shoulders until he realized it was Seokjin.
The older boy pulled him close and murmured the same soothing refrain he’d given Jungkook, “You’re safe. We’re safe. I’ve got you.” Namjoon shuddered in his grip, desperately wanting to just give in and let the eldest take care of him but also wanting to be strong for all of them “We’re safe, leader-nim. We are all safe. You did your job. We’re fine. We’re safe.” Namjoon felt the sobs rip from his chest as he clung to his friend. Something finally loosened inside him, broke free and floated into the ether, leaving him both liberated and ungrounded. He grabbed Seokjin like an anchor as the tide of emotion rushed over his head..
A warm weight pressed against his back, and he dimly registered Taehyung’s deep, gentle humming. He’d never been so grateful for Bangtan’s human mood barometer, reaching out a hand to pull him close, too. Taehyung came with maknae accessories. Jimin and Jungkook wormed their way up the bed and into the fray. Namjoon couldn’t have stifled his tears if he tried, but the part of him that wanted to had finally left.
“Hey, make room for me,” Hoseok said hoarsely from the foot of the bed. Relief mingled with Namjoon’s tears as he untangled an arm from Seokjin to beckon his friend into the small space between them.
“I’m sorry I woke you all,” Namjoon croaked.
“Wasn’t a single one of us sleeping,” Yoongi murmured from out of the darkness. Through the sliver of light through the curtains, Namjoon could just make out the older boy’s face. Yoongi surveyed the chaos of limbs and tears for a long moment, then nodded decisively. “If we’re going to spend the night like this, someone has to give up a pillow. I woke up with the worst neckache last time.”