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Namjoon secures his beanie, zips up his parka—the swish of the wide sleeves against the puffy torso echoes like plastic being smoothed out—stuffs his two-socked feet into his winter boots and grabs an empty tote bag.
He double checks everything in a checklist in his mind; wallet in the inner pocket of his parka, keys in the same pocket with his wallet, phone in the pocket of his pants, tote bag in his grip.
With a determined mumble, he steps out of his apartment and subsequently, his apartment complex.
What greets him is a landscape of pure white, the wind isn't particularly strong to warrant the warning of avoiding going outside, but it is strong enough to sprinkle him in snowflakes immediately. He winds up forgoing his little trek without his bike. The streets may not be as filled with people and the roads have less cars, it's probably not a good idea for him to cycling around while doing his best imitation as a fat-torsoed penguin.
His decision to leave his bike is immediately made certain when his foot slips on black ice, arms quickly flailing outward. Namjoon catches his balance pretty quick and goes around the patch of invisible ice with a relieved sigh.
The store near his apartment the most harrowing journey he's made—that is saved for the chaos and people inside the store, which like he predicted, is filled with wandering people with baskets and shopping carts, brimming with vegetables, bottles, a few toys, frozen meat, and other assortment he can't immediately distinguish. He keeps his mask on but does unzip his jacket just a bit past his chin, essentially shaking himself off on the non-slip mats then pats himself of any moisture.
This is it—he has time, he knows, but he also wants to have that extra time to prepare. 24 hours seem a lot but in the grand scheme—his grand scheme—it may not be enough, who knows.
Getting the flour, baking soda, butter, chocolate chips, cornstarch, and small bottle of vanilla extract weren't hard thanks to the signs up above each aisle. His main challenge is standing in line at the basket aisle, waiting to be checked out. So far, he's amassed about 30 minutes of wandering around and getting what he needs. So far, it's only been 10 minutes and the line as only moved by two-person increments, which is preposterous when you're carrying a basket! Basket shoppers should have a maximum amount of things before they switch to a cart! He only six (6!) items in his basket but he has to wait 30 minutes, maybe nearly an hour, just to be checked out!
And the inefficiency of it—
"Next please!" Namjoon jerks, waddling forward with his basket, internal rant ruined as he smiles behind his mask. The cashier doesn't see it, if anything, they only give him a glance, too busy scanning the items on his basket. Namjoon readies his tote bag, putting each one inside as quick as he can as the cashier finishes, typing something on the keyboard before announcing the amount.
He doesn't fumble, not when he's already half-way through this arduous challenge. He definitely doesn't nearly let his card slip and fall to the floor and hold up the line. That'd be just embarrassing.
Purchases in hand, he zips his jacket back up and goes back out. This time, he doesn't slip or flail around to keep his balance up as much before he's back inside his apartment complex. The guard there looks up, gives perfunctory nod in greeting that Namjoon returns.
His phone vibrates before the ring echoes out on his way to the elevator.
"Hello?"
"Namjoon-ah."
"Oh, hey, hyung."
Seokjin sounds like he just woke up, his voice still a bit gravelly, soft and sluggish. He can see it so vividly, Seokjin sitting up with his RJ plushie sitting on his lap, fist covered entirely by the sleeve of his jacket or hoodie and rubbing at his eye. "I think I'm going to get delayed," he also sounds dejected—even more so with that sleepy grumble he takes on. "They said the winds are too strong, that it might get stronger, we might have to make a stop over to someplace." A rustle and then faint voices in the background with Seokjin's being the clearest one. Probably the managers with him.
Namjoon waits until Seokjin is back on the phone. Mouth already parted and ready to speak, "I'm sorry, Namjoon-ah."
"It's okay, hyung. That can't be helped, you know."
"I really wanted to spend your first Christmas back with you."
Oh.
He wasn't expecting the pang that pierces his chest. To be honest, he too was pretty excited with spending a major holiday back with Seokjin—fuck knows they need it, a man can only survive on rushed stumbling in the dark and counting down the days so much—but it is true. Nature is fickle, winters more so. As disappointed as he is that Seokjin may only get back with only a few days left for Christmas eve, he'd rather the older man be safe and warm than anything else.
"Me too," he admits, stopping right in front of his door, "But I don't want you flying in this kind of weather, we don't know what could happen."
"Mhm, it can't be helped."
Namjoon doesn't really have the proper words to comfort Seokjin in the way he'd like, so he breathes in and says, "I brought some stuff—to make cookies."
"What kind?"
"Uh, chocolate chip?"
Seokjin's huff of laughter eases the sting in his chest, "Why do you sound so unsure? Did you get a bag of chocolate chips?"
He nods, despite this being a call, "Yeah. I know my way around a store, hyung."
"Yeah," Seokjin giggles, "You really come a long way. I'm proud of you for that, Namjoonie."
The flush in his body washes away the cold in an instant, and suddenly, Namjoon doesn't want to have this conversation where he's just staring and smiling at his door. "Ah, wait, I have to open my door."
Seokjin hums against his ear, and Namjoon has to set the tote bag down first while he opens up his jacket for his keys—why did he put his keys inside his jacket's pocket, he doesn't recall at the moment, the more persist thought of get inside ringing the loudest in his head.
When the door swings close, Namjoon has to fumble again to grab his bag and finally be in the safety and privacy of his place.
"Success!"
"Wow—!" Seokjin intones, "Sounded like quite the battle." He makes a sound of what would likely be a sword slashing through the air, Namjoon, still gripping his bag, pretends he's holding a sword and slashes the air too, he even takes on the stance that Jimin and Jungkook would; knees spread and legs rooted firmly on the floor, his knuckles hit the wall. It doesn't hurt but the sound of skin and bones on wood is loud, loud enough for Seokjin to pick up. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I've been wounded—!" Namjoon groans, hunching down to take his boots off, "Get the medic! An orc has wounded me—!" His footsteps are heavy, thudding along the heated floor as he jogs his way to his kitchen.
"Oh no—! Don't die, Joonie!" Seokjin breathes in, playing along, but his giggling is cutting through his words, turning into laughter.
With the bag securely placed, Namjoon leans his back to the counter. With a lesson hard-earned and repeated, Namjoon knows to keep his hold on his phone with one hand while he shrugs his arm out of his parka sleeve with the other and then doing the same thing with his other arm.
"Urgh—" Namjoon doubles over, his jacket still dangling on his arm while his free arm clutches at his stomach, "Seokjin," he huffs, "Keep me in your thoughts, I love you."
The laughter in his ears turns breathless, in that squeaky, hitching rhythm. "You're a such a fucking dork."
The parka falls into a heap on the floor, "Hey, I made you laugh, though!"
"Yeah, yeah." Then Seokjin's voice thins, rustling coming back on the line, more voices speaking, and then, "Sorry, Joonie, I have to go. They're telling us to turn our phones off."
"Sure, just—" Namjoon's smile dims, disappearing from his face, "Stay safe and warm, okay?"
"Okay. Be safe too, Namjoonie."
"Bye, Jin." He hangs up a second later.
Although the sting in his chest has lessened, it doesn't make the sudden emptiness dissipate, it sinks down to his core. His mind too quite as he pads his way to the living room, parka thrown haphazardly on the back of the couch as he slumps into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. The Christmas tree blinks and shine in the corner—only decorated with the lights because he's sure Seokjin would bring ornaments of his own, whether it'd be Christmas-themed or not, he'd insist on it being up on the tree, so Namjoon promised he'd leave it bare but the lights.
It's certainly disappointing.
He doesn't know how long he stares at his ceiling for, just that it was a long time, letting the disappointment and frustration sit and settle. He closes his eyes at some point, repetitively reminding himself that the weather is unpredictable, that Seokjin doesn't need to force himself and the whole management team to get him back to Korea, not if it meant risking their safety and well-being. The next time his eyes flutter open, Namjoon immediately opens his phone and sends Seokjin a message, a reminder to take their time getting back, to stay warm and safe, and that they'll see each other once everything's settled.
Once that's done, he pulls up the cookie recipe he saw and gets to work. He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows, washes his hands and wrists, and grabs bowls and everything else he needs.
He thinks about how he's granted more time now, how he can use this a trial run of sorts, and when Seokjin comes barging in through his door, he'd have perfected chocolate chip cookies so well that with only a bite, Seokjin would moan and transform into a puddle on the spot!
He's certain of it. With a little yelp for motivation in the middle of his kitchen, he starts rummaging through his cupboards for equipment.
First up, the bowls, which seems to have fucking vanished from the face of his apartment because the only bowls he's seeing are serving bowls—for already cooked and made food. But well, a bowl is a bowl, though, he grabs three of varying sizes.
Next; measuring cups and spoons. He finds the cups in where he keeps his chopsticks, spoons and forks are but not measuring spoons. He glances down at his phone at the recipe—it'd take too much time if he used the cups just to measure up about one-tenth of a thing so he grabs a few normal spoons instead.
Then; he brings out the butter, salt, sugar and a few eggs.
His island countertop is a mess. "Gotta fix this up," he mumbles to no one, placing his phone at a corner of the surface and sets about arranging everything in a way that wouldn't hinder him. Then he opens up his tote bag and places the contents on the countertop too.
The recipe said to measure everything up first. He grabs the butter and uses a knife to cut into it because he couldn't find the spatula that Yoongi gave him for cutting things that supposedly don't require a knife. Namjoon's hands shake a bit as he saws at the cold butter. It slides a bit from its parchment packaging, but he manages to cut a sizeable chuck through it eventually, and immediately plops it into a small bowl. The instruction said to melt it, so he sticks it into the microwave—"Mic-ro-wa-ve," he says a loud with an accent, giggling—for a 1 minute, just in case. He can take it out before the minute's over, anyway.
Then he scoops out sugar and dumps that into a bowl too.
"Oh, I need those tiny things—" he goes back to rummaging through his cabinets for more small bowls to put salt, baking soda, and cornstarch in. Once those are laid out, he starts putting them into the ceramic, making sure to keep them separate, as the recipe says.
Everything so far has been going pretty well, he thinks with a grin, and that's somehow where things go wrong because his microwave pops, when he opens his, his butter as exploded all over the sides but hey, it's melted. He keeps the microwave door open as a reminder to clean it.
Starting with the flour, that he spreads a little too much of all over the counter, he adds the cornstarch and the baking soda and the salt—dry ingredients first, then adds the egg, melted butter and vanilla, oh and the sugar too, nearly forgetting it.
He mixes it in folds, watching intently as the dry ingredients clump together from the butter, vanilla and egg. Namjoon glances at his phone again, "Why does it look so... Dry?" He's pretty sure he measured everything out but well, this is only a trial run, he double check everything on the second try, either way.
The instructions say to be careful not to over mix and to add the chocolate chips half way through mixing it, which he does. There's a few pieces that don't get into the bowl that Namjoon will clean up later—or he can clean it up now, it's just pieces of chocolate anyway, so he crouches down and picks up the ones that fell to the floor and throws them away.
Once that's done, he mixes the everything a few more times and puts it to the side.
He finds parchment paper, luckily, and a baking tray sitting inside his oven that he lines with more butter and then parchment paper on top, using a spoon to scoop out dollops of dough to the tray.
The oven turns on and he waits, except the microwave door is open, there's flour all over the counter and there's a few pieces of chocolate he'd stepped on marking the floor. For a moment, he peers into the oven through the window, and with an exasperated sigh set about cleaning up after his mess.
Namjoon is mopping at the floor he'd trekked chocolate all over on when he snaps and remembers about the cookies. It isn't supposed to bake for too long. Scrambling a bit, Namjoon turns the oven off and opens it, no smoke is already a pretty good sign, but in his slight panic, he reaches in without protection for his hands and burns the tips of his fingers. "Fuck—why would I—?" This time, he huffs and grabs a dish cloth, folds it in halves and uses it to pull the tray out, carefully setting it on the stove.
The cookies, thankfully aren't burnt, but they are incredibly spread out and the chocolate looks like a gooey mess. However, it's something he can improve upon and—
"Namjoonie?" Seokjin's voice rings out.
"Wha—?" He must be hallucinating. Did he actually fall asleep and has been dreaming about baking cookies this whole time? Is he hearing things? Is it one of the guys messing with him; Yoongi has a hidden knack for imitating Seokjin's voice pretty well. "Yoongi hyung, what—"
Except, Seokjin is shaking off snow at the hyeon gwan, ruffling at his hair. He's wearing a bright white puffy fleece jacket and a scarf sticking out underneath the neckline. "Jin hyung?"
"Joonie!" Seokjin greets elatedly, "You won't believe it but hyung managed to get us a flight back. Something about how the weather eased up and a few planes could still fly and land in Korea while the weather hasn't gotten worse." He's taking off his outer layers as he explains, cheeks and ears red from the cold, he also has one of his tiny bags slung over his shoulder when he takes his jacket off, looking it over to make sure it isn't damaged from the flight and all the snow. "Oh and hyung drove me over, he said that it was okay for him to drop the rest of my luggage at my apartment on his way to his place." Frankly, he's not entirely sure which specific hyung Seokjin's referring to, especially since they've gotten quite a few new additions to their crew, but all that is being overridden by the simple fact that Seokjin is back.
Seokjin is in his apartment, opening a cabinet door and casually hanging up his jacket and scarf and leaning down to take his shoes off.
"You're back."
Looking up, Seokjin pauses, "You—yeah, I mean. Is that okay?"
Namjoon blinks then stomps forward and grabs the other man into his arms. He's warm and a bit wet from the snow, but he's real and for fuck's sake, he swears if he's dreaming again he's going to slam his head into a wall. Maybe metaphorically, maybe literally.
"O-okay," Seokjin mumbles, his arms winding around Namjoon's waist, fingers twisting into the fabric of his sweater.
When they lean back just enough, Namjoon leans in close to nuzzle his nose with Seokjin's, lips brushing across a still chilly cheek before trailing down to press a chaste peck to rosy lips.
"Surprise..?"
"Surprise." Namjoon nods, going back in for another hug.
It's only when they've settled on the couch, a movie playing at a low volume, Seokjin on his phone playing and Namjoon resting his head on the other's stomach that Seokjin exclaims, "You said you made cookies!"
When they try it out, it's not necessarily the best but it's not the most awful cookies they've had. And hey, Namjoon got a sweet, chocolatey kiss on the cheek and lips for all his efforts, so it was worth it.
"Hey!" He yelps when melted chocolate and cookie crumbles are smeared against his cheek, watching as Seokjin doubles over in laughter. There's chocolate on the corner of his lips that Namjoon decides to kiss away, and if he smears his own face against Seokjin's in retaliation, well, his apartment's spacious enough for an impromptu game of sticky, chocolatey tag.