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Three days after the concert, Namjoon’s house is full again.
Shoes lined up by the door, jackets tossed over chairs, the kitchen already crowded with bags of food and drinks, like everyone silently agreed that eating together matters more than anything else. It’s the first time in almost three years that they can actually sit, eat, laugh, and enjoy the moment without worrying about military curfews.
Hobi arrives first with takeout boxes balanced precariously in his arms. Yoongi follows with coffee, eyes half-closed already. Jimin shows up last, phone in hand, immediately dropping onto the couch like he plans to stay there forever.
Jungkook is there early too, moving easily around the space like it’s familiar—which it is.
“Where’s Jin-hyung?” Hobi asks casually, setting the food down.
Jungkook shrugs. “He said he had to check something first.”
Namjoon pauses mid-step. Slowly, suspiciously, he narrows his eyes. “Taehyung told me he had to pick something up too.”
From the couch, Jimin doesn’t even look up. “Of course they did.”
Hobi sighs. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“It’s not,” Jimin replies flatly, thumbs still flying across his screen. “Jin-hyung is crazy and Taehyung is not normal. If they’re together, they’re planning something.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes, “Don’t call my boyfriend crazy.”
Yoongi exhales deeply and closes his eyes like he’s choosing peace. “I’m too tired for this.”
The door suddenly flies open.
“TADAH!”
Both Seokjin and Taehyung burst in at the same time, voices loud and proud, arms full of bags that clink, rustle, and definitely contain more than groceries.
“We’re here!!!” Seokjin announces cheerfully.
Hobi looks at them, then sighs. Jimin finally lifts his head, takes one look—and sighs too.
Yoongi doesn’t even open his eyes.
Jungkook, however, moves immediately.
“Hyung—” He’s already at Seokjin’s side, gently taking bags from his hands. “Why are you carrying all this?”
Seokjin smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Because I’m strong.”
Taehyung grins widely. “Wow. Thank you, Jungkook. It’s not like I need help or anything.”
Jungkook barely glances at him, too busy making sure Seokjin isn’t straining himself. Seokjin leans in and kisses him quickly. It’s so soft, familiar, and affectionate that nobody cares anymore. Then Seokjin pats Jungkook’s arm like a reward.
“Good boyfriend,” Seokjin says happily.
Then he turns on his heel and heads straight for the kitchen.
Namjoon freezes.
Taehyung follows more calmly, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in that way that makes Jungkook’s stomach tighten.
"We're using the least used place in this house." Taehyung says like a king sentencing Namjoon to execution.
Jungkook and Namjoon exchange a look.
Neither of them asks.
Namjoon stiffens. “Why do I hate that sentence.”
Seokjin pops his head out from the kitchen, eyes bright, energy far too high. “Joonie!” he says cheerfully. “I’m ready to help you feel better.”
Hobi, Jimin, and Yoongi all turn to look at Namjoon at the exact same time.
Namjoon blinks. Once. Twice. Then his ears turn pink.
“I—” He clears his throat. “I feel okay?”
Jungkook exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking straight at Taehyung. “And you couldn’t be the voice of reason, right?”
Taehyung shrugs lightly, unapologetic. “Seokjin has good ideas.”
From the kitchen, Seokjin hums loudly, clearly delighted, bags rustling, something clinking.
Yoongi opens one eye. “I should’ve stayed home.”
Jimin flops back onto the couch. “I told you.”
Namjoon stares at the ceiling.
And Jungkook—already resigned—just follows the sound of Seokjin’s voice, knowing full well that whatever is about to happen, it’s already too late to stop it.
---
Jungkook and Namjoon don’t say anything at first.
They just… watch.
The kitchen has slowly been taken over. What was once a clean counter is now covered with small paper packets, glass jars, handwritten labels, a kettle heating softly on the stove. Taehyung has his sleeves rolled up, quietly methodical, while Seokjin moves with bright confidence—opening cabinets without asking, rearranging things as if this has always been his kitchen.
Namjoon leans back against the counter, arms folded loosely, trying to follow what they’re doing and failing completely.
Jungkook shifts beside him, clearly uncomfortable with how long this has gone on without explanation. He scratches lightly at his neck, glances at Namjoon, then back at Seokjin.
“It… actually pains me to ask,” Jungkook says finally, voice gentle, almost apologetic, “but love—could you please tell me what you’re doing?”
Seokjin doesn’t answer right away.
Taehyung does.
He looks up from where he’s carefully measuring something, a grin spreading slowly across his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“We’re finally stepping in,” Taehyung says cheerfully, “to help Namjoon with his insomnia.”
The word lands heavily.
Namjoon freezes.
Not metaphorically—his body actually stills, breath catching halfway through an inhale.
“My… insomnia?” he repeats slowly. “Why?”
A dozen emotions are flickering across his face at once: embarrassment, surprise, confusion, something softer and more vulnerable underneath. He doesn’t know whether to laugh it off, defend himself, or brace for impact.
Seokjin turns to him then.
Really turns to him.
His expression changes instantly, bright confidence melting into something tender and open, eyes soft, mouth curving into that smile that always feels personal.
“Because medicine and therapy are important,” Seokjin says gently, “but traditional medicine can help too.”
Namjoon blinks. “The medicine helps,” he says quickly. Not sharp. Not defensive. Just… honest.
“I know,” Seokjin replies.
Then his gaze hardens just a little.
“I still refuse,” Seokjin says firmly, “to watch you slowly succumb to insomnia, depression, and isolation.”
The words are clear. Serious. Spoken with care, not accusation.
The kitchen goes quiet.
Namjoon swallows, jaw tightening as something in his chest shifts. “Jin…”
Jungkook doesn’t think. He just moves.
He steps behind Seokjin and wraps his arms around him, pressing his cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder, grounding himself there. It’s instinctive, protective, full of affection that spills over without permission.
“God,” Jungkook murmurs, voice thick. “I’m so in love with you.”
Seokjin huffs, pretending to be annoyed, but he leans back into Jungkook’s embrace anyway.
After a moment, Jungkook exhales slowly and pulls back just enough to look at him.
“Baby,” he says carefully, choosing every word, “this is wonderful and such a nice gesture, but… don’t you think… maybe you and Taehyung should’ve asked Namjoon first?”
Seokjin frowns.
He looks at Namjoon.
Then at Taehyung.
Taehyung has stopped what he’s doing. He’s frowning too now, thoughtful rather than amused. After a second, he shrugs slightly. “He’s not wrong.”
Seokjin sighs.
Long. Dramatic. Clearly unhappy with this realization.
“…Fine,” he says, petulant but sincere. “We were rude. We didn’t ask him. That was a mistake.”
Namjoon lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
But Seokjin isn’t finished.
“So,” Seokjin continues, straightening up and turning back to the counter, voice bright again but resolute, “Taehyung and I will still prepare the medicine with extreme care and ask Joonie permission to keep using his kitchen, which really might not be a problem since the most used utensils are the chopsticks to eat takeout. ”
Namjoon opens his mouth. Hesitates.
“And you will take the herbs,” Seokjin adds, glancing back at him with that familiar, unmovable certainty, “because I asked all the doctors I could, my mom asked specialists, and these herbs are god-sent.”
Taehyung nods once, calm and unwavering. “Very god-sent.”
Namjoon rubs his face, torn between laughter and something dangerously close to tears. “I don’t even know how to respond to this.”
From the doorway, Hobi, Jimin, and Yoongi hover.
Jimin crosses his arms. “I told you they were planning something.”
Hobi tilts his head, concerned but soft. “You okay, Joon?”
Yoongi squints at the counter. “Are those… roots?”
“Yes,” Seokjin says proudly, without looking up.
Yoongi sighs and closes his eyes again. “I’m emotionally unprepared.”
Namjoon finally laughs, quiet and shaky, shaking his head. “I feel… loved,” he admits. “Very exposed. Slightly terrified. But loved.”
Seokjin looks at him then, truly looks, smile gentle and unwaveringly. “Good,” he says. “That’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel.”
Jungkook stays close, hand resting lightly at Seokjin’s waist, watching him work with something like awe.
This—this—is who Seokjin is. Overbearing. Thoughtful. Ridiculous. Loving to the point of excess.
And Jungkook thinks, with absolute certainty, that if love had a sound, it would probably be Seokjin clattering around Namjoon’s kitchen, determined to save everyone whether they asked for it or not.
----
Later turns out to mean much later.
The kitchen no longer looks like a kitchen. It seems like a very well-organized apothecary that somehow exploded politely. There are rows of small containers, neatly labeled in Seokjin’s handwriting, bowls with steeping herbs, jars with ointments cooling on the counter, and a pot on the stove releasing a steady, earthy steam that smells like forests, old libraries, and something medicinally serious.
Seokjin moves between stations with alarming confidence.
Taehyung stands beside him, calm and focused, carefully crushing dried leaves with a mortar like this is a completely normal way to spend a night at Namjoon’s house.
Jimin watches them with open amusement, sleeves rolled up, carefully rearranging everything so nothing spills or tips. “Okay,” he says lightly, nudging a jar further from the edge. “This one goes here. No accidents, please. I’m not cleaning that. I don’t even know what that is.”
Seokjin beams at him. “You’re very good at this.”
“I know,” Jimin replies, unbothered. “I have survival instincts.”
Hobi stands on the other side of the counter, frozen for a full five seconds before finally moving to help Taehyung strain something into small glass bottles. He looks overwhelmed, impressed, and deeply unsure all at once.
“I… don’t even know what half of this is,” Hobi admits.
“That’s okay,” Taehyung says serenely. “I do.”
Yoongi, seated at the table with his arms crossed, watches the entire operation with narrowed eyes. “You’re all encouraging them.”
Hobi looks at him slowly, disbelief written all over his face. “Encouraging?”
“Yes,” Yoongi insists. “This is how it starts.”
Hobi gestures vaguely at Seokjin and Taehyung, who are currently arguing over lid sizes. “Yoongi. They don’t need encouragement. They’re perfectly capable of doing great, insane things by themselves.”
Jimin nods. “We’re supervising.”
Hobi points at him. “Exactly. If we’re here, at least nobody loses an eye.”
Yoongi exhales through his nose. “I should’ve left.”
Jungkook is quietly orbiting Seokjin like a satellite.
He hands him clean containers, checks labels twice, and gently wipes a bit of green residue off Seokjin’s wrist with a damp cloth. His attention never wavers.
“Hyung, don’t touch your face,” Jungkook murmurs.
“I wasn’t,” Seokjin replies immediately, offended.
“You were thinking about it.”
Seokjin sighs but obediently lets Jungkook guide his hand away. Jungkook checks the ingredients again, frowning slightly. “This must have thousands of allergens”
“Of course not,” Seokjin scoffs. “My mom and Tae took out the ones that could harm me.”
Jungkook relaxes instantly, brushing his thumb over Seokjin’s knuckles. “Okay.”
Taehyung watches them for a moment. Then sighs deeply.
“Wow,” he mutters. “I feel extremely single.”
Jimin laughs. “You are extremely single.”
Namjoon, meanwhile, has slowly sunk into a chair like gravity has betrayed him.
He’s watching the whole thing with wide eyes, ears red, hands folded awkwardly in his lap. Every time someone mentions sleep or night or relaxation, he looks like he might actually vanish into the floor.
At one point, Seokjin turns toward him brightly. “This vapor blend will help you breathe deeper.”
Namjoon nods faintly. “That’s… great.”
“And this tea is for nighttime,” Taehyung adds helpfully. “And this ointment is for your temples.”
Namjoon blinks. “I want to disappear.”
Jungkook glances at him sympathetically. “That’s normal.”
Seokjin gasps. “No it’s not! You’re being cared for.”
Namjoon closes his eyes. “That’s why.”
The kettle whistles softly.
Seokjin turns it off, humming happily, completely unbothered by the chaos he’s created. Jungkook slips an arm around his waist, steady and protective, and Seokjin leans into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Hobi watches the scene and shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Jimin grins. “You can. You just don’t want to.”
Yoongi finally stands. “I’m going to lie down before someone asks me to drink bark.”
Seokjin looks up instantly. “It’s not bark.”
Yoongi walks away.
Namjoon exhales slowly, overwhelmed, embarrassed, deeply loved, and utterly defeated.
----
It takes another twenty minutes before Jungkook finally steps in and declares the inevitable.
“Okay,” he says gently but firmly, hands already reaching for Seokjin’s jacket. “There is absolutely no way Namjoon is going to sleep tonight if you stay.”
Namjoon, who has been sitting very still on the couch like a statue under observation, nods immediately. “I support this decision.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to protest.
Jungkook doesn’t even let him start. “Love,” he adds, soft but decisive, “you’ve rearranged his kitchen, diagnosed his sleep cycle disorder, and studied his circadian rhythm.”
“I was helping,” Seokjin argues.
“Yeah, when nobody asked you,” Jungkook corrects, already slipping Seokjin’s arms into his sleeves.
Jimin and Hobi exchange a look across the room.
“Yeah,” Jimin says, standing up. “If Jin-hyung leaves, Taehyung has to leave too.”
Taehyung blinks. “Why am I included?”
“Because you’re the accomplice,” Hobi replies calmly, already grabbing Taehyung’s bag. “Come on. Group exit.”
Taehyung sighs but doesn’t resist. “We were being useful.”
“You were being dangerous,” Jimin says cheerfully, steering him toward the door.
Yoongi, meanwhile, has quietly put on his coat.
“I’m leaving,” he announces. “I miss my bed.”
Seokjin narrows his eyes at him immediately. “Liar.”
Yoongi pauses.
“You miss your dog!” Seokjin points at him accusingly. “Min Yoongi, I know deep inside you’re full of pink marshmallows and fluffy clouds of love.”
Yoongi’s ears turn red instantly.
“Please,” he snaps, turning to Jungkook, “get him checked.”
“Already done.” Jungkook nods seriously. “There’s no cure.”
Hobi bursts out laughing. “There is not a professional alive who could help Seokjin.”
Seokjin gasps, deeply offended. His mouth twists into a pout so dramatic it should be illegal. “Fine,” he says sharply. “I’ll leave. I’ll go on my tour. And I won’t call you. Or think about you. At all.”
Jimin and Taehyung react instantly.
“No,” Jimin says, throwing his arms around Seokjin.
“See if I care about what you’re doing in L.A.” Seokjin looks at them petulantly. “I will pretend you don’t exist and will always talk with my Kookie!”
“Absolutely not,” Taehyung adds, hugging him from the other side. “We cannot go a whole day without a Seokjin call.”
“You can eat all the disgusting yellow cheese full of microplastics you want. Just don’t feed any of it to my Kookie.” Seokjin sniffles theatrically. “You’ll miss me.”
“We already do,” Jimin replies. “We missed you for 30 months!”
Yoongi watches the group hug from the doorway, utterly baffled. He exhales slowly, shoulders slumping.
“…Why can’t I just write and produce in peace?” he mutters to himself.
No one answers him.
“Those pink marshmallows need some dye.” Taehyung murmurs, and Jimin hides a laugh.
Jungkook gently untangles Seokjin from the pile of limbs, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him toward the door. Seokjin leans into him immediately, still pouting but clearly pleased.
As they leave, Namjoon exhales like the house itself has finally relaxed.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely.
Jungkook smiles back. “Sleep well.”
Behind them, Yoongi is already halfway down the hall, Jimin and Taehyung are still arguing about hugs, Hobi is laughing softly to himself—and Seokjin, dramatic as ever, waves over his shoulder like he’s exiting a stage.
Jungkook just tightens his hold on him, fond and resigned, knowing one thing for certain:
Namjoon might finally sleep tonight.
But Seokjin?
Seokjin never rests.
----
Namjoon wakes up slowly.
Not with that familiar heaviness behind his eyes, not with his mind already racing through unfinished thoughts. Just… awake. Calm. Warm in a way that feels unfamiliar enough that he lies there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, trying to understand what’s different.
He slept.
Really slept.
His body feels rested, his head clear. There’s no immediate pull toward his phone, no reflexive need to check messages or scroll. Seokjin’s voice from the night before echoes in his head—no screens before or after bed—and for once, Namjoon actually follows it.
He stretches, rolls out of bed, and only then realizes he’s hungry.
Genuinely hungry.
That alone almost makes him laugh.
He pads toward the living room, already mentally planning coffee and something simple to eat—
—and freezes.
The groan leaves him before he can stop it.
“…Of course.”
Everyone is there.
Not loud or chaotic. Almost suspiciously quiet. Bags tucked away, shoes lined up neatly, voices reduced to whispers. It looks like they’ve been there for a while, carefully existing in low volume.
Seokjin is seated on the couch, hands folded in his lap, body vibrating like a coiled spring. He’s clearly fighting every instinct he has. Jungkook sits behind him, with one hand firmly gripping Seokjin’s hip like a physical anchor.
Taehyung is half-standing, half-leaning forward, clearly ready to rush over—
—but Jimin has a hand on his sleeve, eyes narrowed in warning. Taehyung mouths sorry and freezes.
Yoongi is there too, nursing a cup of coffee, watching the scene with the tired resignation of someone who knew this would happen.
Hobi smiles carefully. “Morning.”
Namjoon rubs his face. “Why are you all—”
Seokjin looks up. His face lights up instantly.
“Joonie!” he says brightly, voice soft but bursting at the seams. “How do you feel? Are you okay? Do you want breakfast? I can make something. You look hungry. Did you sleep? Joonie—did you have a good night?”
Namjoon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Jin,” he says carefully, hands lifting in surrender, “please… please do not explode.”
Seokjin blinks.
Namjoon opens his eyes and looks straight at him. “Yes. I slept. I actually slept. I rested. And yes,” he adds, softer, honest, “I’m hungry.”
For half a second, Seokjin just stares.
Then he squeals.
“YES!” he shouts, jumping up so fast the table scrapes loudly against the floor.
Jungkook reacts instantly, tightening his grip and pulling Seokjin back against him. “Hyung. No jumping.”
“I’m happy!” Seokjin protests, still bouncing in place. “He slept!”
Taehyung throws both fists in the air. “YES!!!”
Jimin groans. “Inside voices!”
Yoongi exhales. “It worked,” he mutters, like he can’t quite believe it.
Namjoon watches them—really watches them—and something warm settles in his chest. Embarrassment, affection, gratitude, all tangled together.
Seokjin twists in Jungkook’s hold, pouting. “Let me hug him.”
“Gentle hug,” Jungkook warns.
“I am gentle!”
Namjoon finally laughs, the sound easy and real. “Okay,” he says, opening his arms slightly. “You can hug me.”
Seokjin doesn’t hesitate.
He slips out of Jungkook’s grasp just enough to wrap his arms around Namjoon, careful but tight, cheek pressing briefly to Namjoon’s shoulder.
“I’m so proud of you,” Seokjin murmurs.
Namjoon swallows. “…Thank you.”
From behind them, Jungkook smiles softly, Jimin relaxes his grip on Taehyung, and even Yoongi’s expression eases just a little.
Namjoon exhales, feeling full in a way that has nothing to do with food.
----
The morning stretches into something slow and comfortable. The dining table is crowded now, every surface holding something warm and alive—steam rising, bowls nudged close together, chopsticks clinking softly. The house smells full in a way it rarely does, like it’s been fed properly for once.
Seokjin stands at the head of the table like a proud general.
Jungkook is beside him, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from cooking. He keeps glancing at Seokjin’s hands, subtly steering him away from hot pans, checking that nothing splashed on his sweater, that he didn’t brush against something sharp. Every time Seokjin notices, he smiles like he’s being adored—because he is.
Jimin and Hobi had come back earlier with grocery bags cutting into their hands, panting slightly.
“There was nothing in your fridge,” Jimin had complained. “Nothing.”
“Coffee,” Hobi had added. “Bread. And—why is there so much soju?”
Namjoon had rubbed the back of his neck. “I… manage.”
Seokjin had stared at him in horror.
Now, the result of that grocery run is right here: rice cooked perfectly, vegetables seasoned just right, soup rich and comforting, protein that actually looks like it belongs in a human body.
Seokjin sets another dish down and shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
“Really, Joonie,” he says, half-scolding, half-affectionate. “Takeout is good once in a while, but you need real nutritional meals every day.”
Namjoon shrinks a little in his chair, shoulders rounding. “I do eat.”
“You drink coffee,” Seokjin replies instantly. “And occasionally bread.”
“And soju,” Jungkook adds cheerfully, spooning soup into bowls.
“Exactly.”Seokjin points at him. “I’m extremely worried about you, Kim Namjoon.”
Namjoon stares at his bowl, poking at the food, feeling very much like a kid who’s been caught living off snacks. He doesn’t hate it. He hates that he doesn’t hate it.
Jimin chews thoughtfully, then looks at Taehyung. “Wow,” he says. “The adults really don’t give us a good example, right, Tae?”
“It’s a shame. Very disappointing.” Taehyung nods gravely, completely serious. “We’re the ones parenting them most of the time.”
Hobi nearly drops his chopsticks. “Excuse me?”
Everyone looks at him.
“I am a great role model,” Hobi says, deeply offended. “I eat vegetables. I sleep. I stretch.”
Seokjin immediately nods, decisive. “Hobi is the best.”
Hobi straightens, pleased.
Yoongi narrows his eyes slightly, pretending not to care as he eats quietly.
Jungkook laughs, warm and easy. “Yoongi-hyung is a good role model too.”
Yoongi snorts. “I hate social interaction.”
“Healthy boundaries,” Jungkook replies instantly.
That earns a quiet grunt, which everyone knows is agreement.
They eat slowly after that. Nobody rushes. Seokjin keeps watching Namjoon like a hawk, smiling every time he takes another bite. Jungkook nudges Seokjin’s plate closer when he notices him talking more than eating, and Seokjin lets him, pleased.
Then—dessert.
Sweet rolls appear on the table like magic. Warm, glossy, soft enough that they pull apart with barely any effort.
Silence.
Jimin stares. “Okay. How.”
Hobi squints. “When.”
Taehyung tilts his head. “Where did these even come from?”
Seokjin hums happily. “Eat.”
Namjoon lifts one cautiously. “I’m not sure it’s safe for me to know,” he says slowly, “but I would really like to know how you got into my house.”
Seokjin looks up, eyes bright. “Oh. I knew the code.”
Namjoon freezes. “…How?”
“I guessed it.”
Yoongi adds, without looking up, “He got it right on the first try. We all assumed you gave it to him.”
Namjoon blinks. “I changed it yesterday.”
Everyone shrugs.
Jimin bites into his roll. “That tracks.”
Hobi nods. “Some people are just… like that.”
Taehyung smiles serenely. “It’s very Jin-hyung.”
Namjoon exhales, half-laughing, half-terrified. “I don’t know if I should feel scared or impressed.”
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He leans over and kisses Seokjin’s cheek, soft and quick.
“Genius,” he murmurs.
Seokjin accepts the kiss proudly, immediately steals Jungkook’s roll, takes a bite, then holds the rest up to Jungkook’s mouth.
“Eat,” he says.
Jungkook does, smiling around the bite, eyes crinkling.
Namjoon watches them, chest warm and heavy all at once. He takes another bite of his food—then another—realizing only now how hungry he was, not just for food but for this. Noise. Care. People who show up too much and love too loudly.
He exhales, shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Seokjin looks at him immediately. “For what?”
“For… staying,” Namjoon answers. “For feeding me. For worrying.”
Seokjin smiles, soft and certain. “Always.”
The room hums with life again—small jokes, clinking dishes, Jungkook laughing when Seokjin steals his food again. Yoongi retreats into his thoughts, Jimin leans into Taehyung’s shoulder, and Hobi hums under his breath.
Namjoon eats, rested and steady, surrounded by love that’s a little overwhelming and completely sincere.