Work Text:
Saudade (portuguese) - noun, feminine - 1 Melancholic longing or yearning; 2 Nostalgic longing.
Saudade evokes a sense of loneliness and the Houaiss Dictionary of the Portuguese Language describes it as: "A somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness. It is related to thinking back on situations of privation due to the absence of someone or something, to move away from a place or thing, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived."
It differs from nostalgia in that one can only feel saudade for something or someone that they don't have close at the given moment, while nostalgia is remembering something with longing. Saudade is a kind of hurt in comparison, it is a feeling much like love and sadness.
º
To Kim Namjoon, saudade feels like being homesick, the strongest homesick he has ever felt in his entire life; but he isn't missing his mother's cooking or the smell of laundry drying in the backyard. Kim Namjoon is homesick for someone. And he can't explain it. Missing didn't feel like the right word at all. When someone goes missing, it means that no one knows where they are, and it probably means that something bad happened to them. But Kim Namjoon knows exactly where Park Jimin is and that he is away and out of reach.
So Kim Namjoon feels homesick for Park Jimin, but that wasn't the right word either, so he did what he was good at: he searched until he found the right word, and this is it, Namjoon has saudade for Jimin.
So much of it, clawing at his chest and taking his breath away. Saudade, saudade, saudade. He wants to cry at night on his empty bed and with his empty arms. Saudade.
Namjoon feels saudade in the morning, when he wakes up to the quiet in his apartment and the cold between his sheets. Saudade when he makes bitter coffee and eats nothing all day. Saudade when he works until he thinks he is exhausted enough to lie on his couch and pass out, but no, saudade won't let him. He lies there, not brave enough to go to his bed, and stares at the ceiling, barely closing his eyes until the first shy rays of sunlight filter from the curtains and into the mess his apartment is now.
Namjoon chokes in it, it's like there's something sucking him dry from the inside out; it sucks his eyes in, leaving dark marks around them. It steals his appetite and weighs his bones. On another empty tuesday night Namjoon clutches his chest and goes back online, and this time he tries to find out if saudade can make someone sick. Online forums say that it can trigger depression but he doesn't find anything about the other way around.
So Namjoon gets up and gets ready for another day at work. His compositions have taken a different tone, his boss says excitedly, he can probably sell to a whole new range of artists with it. Keep going! The man chirps, clasping Namjoon's shoulder with wide eyes. The composer can practically see the money reflected in the old man's eyes.
He continues to write songs, just like he always did. Sometimes they are too much like poems and someone will knock on his door and ask him to change the metric, to create smoother melodies and he does. He creates them thinking of Jimin's laugh and his voice and how he moved. Namjoon writes more upbeat songs from time to time, ones he knows Jimin would like to dance to, so even though they are more commercial, they still claw at his chest.
“I don't know how to help you.” One of the other composers, and his allegedly best friend, says one afternoon.
Yoongi is slumped in the small room where Namjoon always works alone, with worry in his voice even though he taps away on his phone.
“I don't need help.”
That makes Yoongi look up and there's something definitely big in his eyes. Some type of fear maybe?
“Joon-ah, I think you're depressed.” Yoongi's voice is almost gentle, something so unlike his usual rough tone that it makes Namjoon tilt his head to the side, as if seeing Yoongi differently for the first time.
“I know.”
º
According to the 2000's Michaelis mini dictionary of the portuguese language:
Cafuné - noun, male - 1 The act of tenderly running one's fingers through someone else's hair to help them fall asleep; 2 Caress.
Chamego - noun, male - 1 Intimate relationship; 2 Cuddling.
º
Jimin was too hot; there was a weight on his chest and he couldn't really move. He didn't want to move, but his stomach was growling something fierce and he really had to pee. So Jimin started with his legs, moving them slowly, carefully, and then he cradled Namjoon's head with care, pushing him off his chest as gently as he could.
Jimin went to the bathroom first and then headed to the kitchen of their shared apartment, settling for some yogurt. He didn't want to have a proper meal, because he knew Namjoon would probably want to go out to eat something once he woke up. Even if he knew his boyfriend needed to asleep for at least another three hours in order to be fully rested.
Jimin quickly washed the dishes and went back to the bedroom, finding Namjoon now lying across the bed like a starfish. He was wearing nothing but bright green boxer briefs, his dark skin seemingly glistening in contrast to the white sheets. Jimin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a furrow between his eyebrows. He missed Namjoon. His boyfriend was right there, present for the first time in weeks, and still Jimin missed him with a distinct ache to his chest, something sharp and ugly. The sun was close to starting to set outside their window, casting an eerie light through the white curtains, everything looked different under its warm glow.
“What are you doing?” Namjoon drawled, startling Jimin.
“Did I wake you?” Jimin approached and sat next to Namjoon.
“Probably. How long were you watching me sleep?”
“Not long.” Once upon a time this would've made Jimin blush and feel flustered under the acknowledgement of his ‘embarrassing' feelings. They passed that phase long ago, now Jimin stared as he pleased.
And something ached in his chest, ached so bad at the sound of Namjoon's snort, the way he curled around JImin; legs against the smaller one's back and head resting on his lap. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long enough, jagi.” Jimin ran his fingers through the other's blueish hair. “You should sleep for at least another couple of hours.”
“Only if you're sleeping too.” Namjoon grumbled against his flat stomach, and Jimin sighed a little before lying down next to him.
Namjoon readjusted himself around Jimin again, laying his head on his chest, and tangling their legs. It didn't matter how much bigger Namjoon was, there were times when he just curled around Jimin like that, like he was trying to mold them together or hide himself away. It was usually at times like that that the younger one hurt. He looked down at Namjoon and it hurt, he ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair and watched him sleep and it hurt. He missed Namjoon so goddamn much, loved him so much, but he was right there. Right now he was, he was right there and he wasn't going anywhere. But it hurt.
Jimin pulled Namjoon as close as he could without waking him up, kept running his fingertips through his scalp, and rested his lips against the top of his head. Maybe if he held him close, maybe if Jimin held Namjoon close, closer, that much closer... Maybe there wouldn't be enough space between them for any hurt.
º
Chega de Saudade (no more saudade)
Composed by Tom Jobim and Vinícius de Moraes
As sung by Caetano Veloso, live in 1992 (Pure Bossa Nova Album)
Go my sadness
And tell her that without her it can't be
Tell her in a prayer
For her to come back
Because I can no longer suffer
No more saudade
The truth is that without her
There is no peace, no beauty
There's only sadness and melancholy
It won't leave me alone
Won't leave me
It won't
º
“Joon-ah, are you listening to bossa nova?”
“No.” Namjoon pulls his earphones off his phone, abruptly stopping the music.
Yoongi looks at the phone before the younger one can block the screen. “Was that Caetano Veloso?”
“No.” Namjoon says between his teeth, shoving his phone and earphones inside his pockets haphazardly.
“Things are worse than I thought if you're listening to bossa nova, man.”
Namjoon grunts and turns his eyes back to his notebook. Yoongi sits by the piano and his long fingers start a sad little tune, that one that Namjoon used to hum under his breath back when they lived together, before everything. And even though Namjoon wants to throw a pen at Yoongi's eye for bringing that up, the melody does ground him, even if a little.
Namjoon finds himself picking up his guitar after the other composer is done playing and leaves without a word, a whole melody is ready in his brain from the feeling of a time before. For the first time since he found himself alone, Namjoon writes a song that isn't sad or even bittersweet. Within a week that song is sold and within a month it plays on the radio. He gets a good amount of money from it. And maybe he should do what he had been meaning to with this money.
º
Oceano - 1 (adjective) oceanic; 2 (male) ocean; 3 (figuratively) immense expanse.
º
The feeling pulls at his his chest, like tidal currents, as if he is drowning inside out in its ebb tides and then the waves clash inside his chest, until they come pouring out of his eyes.
He's drunk.
The beer tastes bitter on his tongue but Namjoon keeps on drinking it while partaking in an intense staring contest with his phone. It is going to ring. It is going to ring and everything is going to be alright. Or, better yet, he's going to pass out, drunk out of his mind, and wake up tomorrow to find that this was all a dream. That this was all a joke, a tasteless prank that the universe decided to pull on him.
Because Namjoon is learning in the worst possible way that he can't be like this. That not having Jimin, gosh, not having Jimin is just awful, it just hurts too much and he's starting to get scared that this is going to actually be too much. That he will shut off himself from everything and never feel again, not a single thing.
He doesn't know anymore, if the loneliness is actually driving him crazy or if he was crazy before and being left alone just brought that out, intensified by a thousand. It claws in his chest and he can't breathe, like he's fucking drowning. A drowned man at shore. Heaving on dry land.
It's all his fault really, all that he has neglected and all the walls he built, to be some kind of king of reason, tucked away in his high castle where no one could hurt him. But oh, how the mighty fall. He is alone, utterly alone, and it doesn't matter if Yoongi stops by and plays him music; music can't fix anything now. How stupid he was to think that music could do everything and reach everyone.
Park Jimin is sure as hell not listening to him.
And is it better that way? Is it? Is it really? Can he just let him go? Because Namjoon knows, oh does he know, how much better off Jimin is. How he brought this upon himself and the way this is driving him crazy is not usual. People don't gladly waste away when they are left alone. Do they? But do they?
And really, what can you do when you are the one to blame? How does one move on from something that sinks them? A shipwreck that they started on their own. Park Jimin is not to blame, that is for sure.
Namjoon throws the bottle first, and throws his phone second. He can't call and he won't call. Namjoon will sit in this apartment until he has to leave for work and try to write songs even if they sound hollow and meaningless, hoping to god that someone out there feels the same, begging to keep on being listened to. If Kim Namjoon is silenced then he is as good as dead.
º
Solidão - noun, feminine - 1 solitude, isolation; 2 seclusion; 3 lonely place.
Silêncio - noun, male - 1 silence, stillness, quiet.
º
He hasn't spoken in days, it seems like.
Hasn't written much either and does he still have things to say? Can he still reach out? He feels like he's underwater, like he couldn't escape the flood. His boss says that he should take a few personal days, take a vacation to try and find his inspiration again, maybe a new muse? Namjoon scoffs but doesn't show up the next day. He has a week on his hands and no idea what to do with it.
Yoongi eventually comes by and convinces him to clean his apartment and it does feel a little good to do so. Yoongi helps fill all the empty corners, making the place seem more lively, like Namjoon wasn't left alone.
Still, Namjoon doesn't really talk. He offers a small “Thanks, hyung” and “Bye, hyung.” A series of OK's and that's about it.
º
Inspiração - noun, feminine - 1 inspiration; 2 inhalation; 3 exaltation, enthusiasm.
º
When Namjoon was a kid, he wanted to be a storyteller.
He wanted to tell stories, be it reading them aloud or telling them from memory, be it from other authors or his own imagination. He wanted to reach people with the words that rolled out of his lips. A friend said he should be a singer, but that wasn't it.
So he started writing songs and if selling them was the best way to get others to listen, then that was ok, it really was. Because Namjoon is good at it. He has already written around six songs that were sold to big singers, popular groups, reached the top of the charts and a few attentive people even knew who he was.
People like Jimin.
Sweet and beautiful Park Jimin.
“Where does it all come from?” Had been his first question. The recorder propped between them as the younger one bit his pen, a stack of papers on his lap.
“The same place everything in the world comes from, I guess.”
Jimin had let out the air from his lungs slowly, like he was trying not to disturb something important and Namjoon thought that was about the sweetest thing he had ever seen.
Both had been right.
º
Tristeza - noun, feminine - 1 sorrow, unhappiness, sadness, melancholy, the blues.
º
“That's the saddest one you've ever written.” His boss says quietly once the room is silent again.
“Do you think you can sell it?”
“I…” The old man clears his throat and rubs his eyes. “Yes, uhm, I got a request of a song for an OST yesterday, I think this is going to suit it just fine.”
“Good.” Namjoon nods, shouldering the strap of his acoustic guitar. “What type of other songs are we in need of?”
“R&B and EDM mostly, but they aren't your style so–”
“I'll start working on them.” Namjoon nods crisply before exiting the room.
He can write songs, he won't ever lose his words, no matter how much hurt he goes through. It's a relief. He can use anything as a fuel, he learns. Who would know he writes his songs thinking about a man anyway? It doesn't matter where Namjoon's inspiration comes from.
He sits back in his small room with his acoustic guitar on his lap and he pours it out. He takes all the storms in his chest and turns them into melody. Namjoon briefly wonders how long he can go like this. He exhausts all the things in his chest until he is hollow, empty enough to go home and sleep on his couch. Because he still can't face his bedroom, still can't bear that empty bed.
The question that keeps Namjoon up at night remains. How can he? How does he move on when he knows he brought this on himself? He pushed Jimin away, he did that to them. And by everything that is sacred, Namjoon misses Jimin so much that it hurts. How could he possibly sleep at night when he can't help but wonder if things could be different, if he could do the one thing he doesn't know if Jimin would want him to do.
Go after him.
º
Amor - noun, male - 1 love; 2 affection, fondness, attachment; 3 tenderness; 4 sweetheart; 5 lover.
º
Jimin's smiles used to make everything better, they really did.
Namjoon wanted to punch something, break things and scream, but the way Jimin smiled at him, a little understanding curl of lips, and Namjoon didn't feel that bad anymore. Jimin understood, he understood him and that made Namjoon feel better in a way that he didn't know was possible.
Jimin pulled him closer and kissed him on the lips, the tip of his nose, and chuckled lightly when Namjoon pulled him onto his lap.
“I had a long day, too. Do you want to hear about it? It might make you feel better.”
“I don't feel better when you feel bad.”
Jimin clicked his tongue and settled himself more comfortably on Namjoon's lap. “So, my editor asked me to go talk to him in his office first thing when he arrived…”
Namjoon listened intently, making small interventions and grunting when it was fit. And it did make him feel better, hearing about how Jimin's day had gotten progressively worse and then Namjoon wanted nothing more than to help him soothe that stress away. He didn't tell Jimin what got him in such a sour mood, though. Jimin didn't need to know he failed to write a good enough song for a big group and the amount of money he could've have gotten for them.
Namjoon didn't want to think about how he could have gotten Jimin a car with that money and how much that would soothe his nerves, if whenever Jimin worked late, he had a car to come home instead of taking the subway.
Jimin just buried his head on Namjoon's neck, his lips forming the words against his skin, and Namjoon just wanted to do so much, so much that he didn't know how. He felt powerless and useless. With Jimin in his arms everything felt right, but still Namjoon knew, he knew how much he was lacking, because he loved Jimin too goddamn much.
That was why Jimin couldn't know all that, not ever.
º
Coragem - noun, feminine - 1 courage, bravery, boldness; 2 valor, mettle; 3 fortitude.
º
Namjoon never thought that the air could be this hot and humid.
He probably has faced similar temperature heights in his life, but he was not ready for the wave of heat that hit his face the moment he stepped out of the plane. The sun is absolutely brutal, but the smell of the sea on his nose when he steps out of the airport makes everything a little more bearable.
It's midday, according to the big digital clock across the street, and the sun is high on the sky. Namjoon gestures to one of the taxi's waiting out front and denies when the man gestures to the air conditioning.
He wants to feel this.
The language barrier is not a problem with what Namjoon already learned and when he simply hands the driver a paper with the address he has to go to. The foreigner rolls down his window and looks outside in awe. The city is every bit as beautiful as he had heard; People seem to be either extremely busy or not at all. He sees middle schoolers waiting to cross the street, bar owners receiving their lunch time clientele, and old ladies walking dogs.
The sky is defiantly blue and there isn't a single cloud in sight, it makes Namjoon's heart race. And the air, it feels soft against his skin. Even with the heat, the breeze feels gentle and welcoming, like it knows why he is here and wants nothing more than for him to succeed.
There are mountains and hills all over town and old buildings squeezed between modern ones. It's like the this place grew and didn't really know what to do with itself – the thought is weirdly comforting and relatable.
The taxi driver leaves Namjoon across the street from an office building. He didn't bring anything but what he could fit in his travel backpack and, for a long moment, he just stands there, watching people come and go from their lunch breaks and that weight on his back grounds him.
And what are the odds, what are the odds really, that suddenly he, he is right there. Dress shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face as he talks animatedly to a couple of women. The sun shines on his black hair and he is more tanned than ever, all his colors contrasting with his light blue shirt and jeans. His feet start taking him away from Namjoon, clad in white converse, the ones Namjoon knows are his favorite.
And Namjoon feels like crying, god oh god, he is doing this. Someone help him, someone, anyone. The breath gets caught in Namjoon's throat and he is almost down the block, still unaware of Namjoon choking just a few meters away. And he has to do this, he came all the way here and he is exhausted, he has never felt this tired in his life but he feels immense. Energy shoots from his chest, through his veins and into every inch of his body. Namjoon can do this, he has to make it right, he can fix it, he knows, they deserve it.
“Jimin!”
It's like slow motion. The man almost all the way down the street stops walking and Namjoon sees the two women with him whisper in his ear, eyeing Namjoon with askance. Then he turns, he turns and tilts his head to the side, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and a storm of things rush through his handsome face, from recognition to disbelief and then anger.
Jimin says something to the women and they leave him and Jimin just stands there. He doesn't move closer, but doesn't move away either, talking in careful korean when Namjoon finally approaches him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Eu sinto a sua falta.”
And the angry mask slips and Jimin looks relieved, he sighs and laughs, and there are tears in his eyes when he pulls his hair back. Looking at Namjoon like he can't believe this.
I miss you, is what Namjoon said. His portuguese perfect from all the words he obsessed with. And there's still some anger in the corners of Jimin's eyes, Namjoon knows he won't get away with this so easily. But Jimin takes his hand, just presses their palms together in a tentative way, and Namjoon releases the air he had been holding.
Yes.
They are going to be OK. Not right now, not tomorrow, but eventually. And that, ah, that is more than he could have ever hoped for.