Work Text:
Four paragraphs into the reply of his sixth mail that day, Namjoon watches two new mails pop up on the screen right after another. That's 12 unanswered mails now; including the one he's currently replying to. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and—ding! Mail number 13 just flattered into his inbox.
Namjoon exhales and makes sure to put all of his frustration into it. Yeah, okay, whatever. Fuck it. He focuses his weary gaze back on the computer screen. If he powers through his mails in the next half hour, he might have time to get some actual work done afterwards. No helping it.
He's finishing up the current mail (i.e. adding documents and re-checking five times that he didn't accidentally attach a picture of his husband instead of a pdf (again!)) when a message pops up in the corner of his screen.
Seokjin: it's lunch time! enjoy your meal 💕
Honestly surprised, Namjoon checks his wrist watch. It's already three minutes past noon. There's no way in hell he spent the last five hours having only two phone calls and answering only six mails. Looks like today's going to be another overtime for him...
If it wasn't for the personal reminder, he'd have pushed through without break. Again. Now that the idea of food is in the forefront of his mind, he actually does feel his stomach grumbling.
Namjoon opens the messenger and replies.
Namjoon: you're 3 minutes late today. but thank you, I will ❤️
Today's lunch box is pink and has white hearts printed all over it. It's still a little warm to the touch. He removes the lid and pauses. Pork. Omelette. Meatballs. Rice. Kimchi. Veggies. His favorites, without a single exception. The arrangement is thoughtful and artistic. Everything is cut into heart shapes. It's almost too pretty to be eaten, but the smell is mouthwatering.
Namjoon's fingers find the included chopsticks (pink, fitting the aesthetic of the box) instinctively. He picks up a tiny, heart-shaped tomato and—knock knock!—nearly flings it across the room.
Chopsticks halfway to his mouth, he looks to his left where Jimin is crouching to be able to peek inside Namjoon's office. Top-down, two thirds of the glass panels are frosted glass to give him privacy. Obviously, that wasn't thought-through so well. Every time Namjoon finds Jimin crawling on the floor like a little gremlin, he regrets not having the frosted glass done two thirds from the bottom up.
Jimin is staring at him in devastation. As if Namjoon did something unspeakable right in front of his face. He points at Namjoon through the glass, then at the phone he's holding up demonstratively.
Ah.
Namjoon lowers the chopsticks and puts the heart-shaped tomato back in its spot. He picks up his phone and takes a picture of the lunch box. Then he pulls up his messenger app and posts the picture in a group called Kim Namjoon's daily love-filled lunch box (admin: Park Jimin).
Immediately the responses come in.
JHS: 🥺🥺🥺 10/10 💕💕💕
PBR: heart theme!! 😭 10/10
CMH: 9/10
KTH: 12/10
MYG: 7.7/10
JJK: -1/10 I could do it better
KJM: 8/10
On the other side of the glass, Namjoon catches Jimin typing furiously on his phone.
PJM: 14/10 !!!! STUNNING !!!
Normally this would be the point where Namjoon throws his phone off to the side to get to his food in peace while 72 nosy employees blow up his notifications as if they haven't seen each and every single one of his handmade lunch boxes of the last six months. Normally he'd ignore them all at this point. Not today, though.
Taking a picture of his pink, heart-shaped chopsticks and posting this one too in the group chat feels like dropping a piece of chicken into a pond of hungry piranhas. Chaos erupts. Namjoon closes the app and eats his food, satisfied.
13 mails, two more meetings, 219 notifications and one shower later, Namjoon finally crawls into bed. It's warm under the covers. Seokjin must have been in bed for a while already. His sleepy voice asks, "So, what's the verdict for today?"
Namjoon cuddles up close to Seokjin's back. He kisses his neck and throws an arm around him, holding up his phone in front of Seokjin so they both can see it. Seokjin giggles. He taps the screen and starts scrolling through the 219 messages of the Kim Namjoon's daily love-filled lunch box group.