Work Text:
Professional (Mis)Conduct
or: Namjoon's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
– ✦ –
Kim Namjoon is a simple man.
Well, that's not entirely true. He has a complex interior monologue and fascinating impressions of the world, and his tastes aren't bland or boring by any stretch of the imagination. He has a profound appreciation for contemporary art. He once spent four hours in a museum in front of a single painting and cried twice. He has opinions about post-structuralism that could fill a dissertation.
And yet, his wants are few, and humble at that.
He wants to make music with his friends. He wants to see his family. He wants to ride his bike along the riverside, visit every museum on earth, and achieve a state of inner peace so complete that even this doesn't break him.
But most of all, at this precise moment in time, he wants to take his foot and shove it directly into Jeon Jeongguk's mouth.
"Of course," he says instead, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to look at the interviewer, and absolutely nowhere else. "With the new album coming, there's all manner of speculation as to what you can expect from it, and while I can't spoil anything, I can definitely say that the production value was–”
He keeps rattling off some pre-discussed praise of the producers they'd worked with, going on autopilot as the current singular bane of his existence continues his one-man mission to sabotage their careers from the inside.
– ✦ –
It starts, as most things in Namjoon's life tend to do, with good intentions.
The seating arrangement had been Yoongi's idea – which, in retrospect, should have been the first warning sign – after they had been pulled aside by management, and informed in polite but definitive tones that there had been complaints about members not participating fully and being distracted, near unprofessional in their behaviour.
"Put them at opposite ends," Yoongi had suggested over a cup of coffee and a spreadsheet of their scheduled press appearances. He hadn't looked up from the spreadsheet. He hadn't needed to. They all knew who them referred to.
Namjoon had been resistant, at first. Not because he disagreed – God, no, he agreed with every cell in his body – but because there was something slightly absurd about a thirty-one-year-old man with Grammy nominations having to draft a seating plan to prevent his bandmates from accidentally outing themselves on international television. He had a philosophy degree, for crying out loud.
Partially.
He had started a philosophy degree.
The point stood.
"They're adults," Namjoon had said.
Yoongi had looked at him.
"Functional adults," Namjoon had amended. "Mostly."
Yoongi had continued looking at him.
"Adults who are aware of what is at stake."
Yoongi had put down his coffee – which was, in the vocabulary of Min Yoongi, a significant gesture. "Namjoon-ah," he had said, with the patient gravitas of a man who loves his friends and has also, on multiple occasions, watched them do deeply unhinged things. "Jeongguk looked at Jimin for twenty continuous seconds during the last V Live. Someone made a compilation. It has eight million views."
Silence.
"Okay, fine, yes, separate them, you're right, I hate this."
And so: the seating plan. Carefully engineered, the result of what felt like forty minutes of deliberation and a small argument between Seokjin and Hoseok about whether putting Taehyung in the middle was a kindness or a cruelty. (A cruelty, as it turned out. In hindsight, Namjoon owes Taehyung a very expensive dinner.)
The logic had been sound. Jeongguk on the far left. Jimin on the far right. Four members acting as human buffer between them, including one Kim Seokjin, who is, in Namjoon's professional estimation, built like a man who could absorb the emotional impact of a small natural disaster and emerge from the other side with his hair intact and a dashing smile.
The stakes, to be clear, are not small. What Jeongguk and Jimin have – their quiet, steady, years-long thing that the rest of them have known about and carefully protected, that exists in saccharine messages and private trips and the specific way Jeongguk laughs when Jimin says something only he finds funny – is theirs. It is private. It is precious. And it is, in the current social and legal climate, something that must stay precisely as private and precisely as deniable as it has been for years, because the alternative is unthinkable.
This is not a fun situation. Namjoon has feelings about it that he processes, dutifully, in therapy every second Thursday. What he does not do, what none of them do, is take it lightly.
What Jeongguk is doing right now, however, is taking it extremely lightly.
What the plan had not accounted for – what no plan, however well-intentioned, could have accounted for – was that separating Jeon Jeongguk and Park Jimin did not make them less obvious. It made them more obvious. It turned two people who, when seated together, could reasonably be dismissed as simply very affectionate friends, into two people conducting what could only be described as a long-distance relationship across a six-foot interview table.
Jeongguk keeps turning his head.
That's the thing. That's the whole thing. He keeps turning his head, that particular slow, gravitational swivel of a man who cannot help himself, who has presumably looked at Park Jimin so many times that his neck has developed muscle memory for the angle. He does it in the middle of sentences. He does it in the middle of other people's sentences. He does it with the absolute serene confidence of a man who has never once in his life considered that other people might be watching him.
Which is, in context, an extraordinary thing to have failed to consider.
Hoseok, seated directly behind Jeongguk, takes the opportunity to deliver a swift kick to whatever part of him is within reach. Jeongguk startles, jolts back to attention, and then – Namjoon watches this happen in real time, powerless to stop it – slowly, inevitably, starts to turn his head again.
"Right," Namjoon says pleasantly, to no one and nothing, and briefly considers whether the universe is punishing him for something specific.
– ✦ –
The interviewer is named Chaeyeon, she works for a major publication whose name Namjoon will not be able to remember afterwards because the part of his brain responsible for storing proper nouns is currently entirely devoted to crisis management, and she is, he thinks, genuinely very good at her job.
She is also entirely, blissfully unaware that she has wandered into what is, functionally, a nature documentary in which the central dramatic tension is whether or not two of the subjects will accidentally end their careers before the forty-five minutes are up.
"So, Jeongguk-ssi," she says, leaning forward with her notepad, "you've had a hugely successful solo run. What, if anything, from that experience are you bringing to the table now that you're back together as a group?"
It is, objectively, an excellent question. They have discussed it. Namjoon has bullet points prepared. He knows what Jeongguk is supposed to say – they'd practised, sat around a table like civilised human beings and mapped out their talking points – and for one shining, beautiful, dangerously naive moment, Namjoon dares to hope.
And then, Jeongguk opens his mouth.
"The shoots were incredible. Jimin looked amazing in the MUSE photo-book," he says, with a dreamy, beatific smile, "but the layout of FACE was more daring, I think.”
The silence that follows is enormous.
Matter of fact, it has weight and texture. It’s a silence with a whole interior design, several load-bearing walls, and a structural issue that is going to be very expensive to fix.
Chaeyeon blinks. Her pen hovers over the notepad. To her immense professional credit, she does not visibly react beyond a single, microscopic pause – a flicker that Namjoon clocks immediately because he has been watching her face with the desperation of a sailor watching for weather.
Seokjin, next to Namjoon, slowly places his water bottle back on the table with careful deliberateness.
Yoongi – and Namjoon sees this happen, will see it for the rest of his natural life – pulls a small notebook from somewhere and uncaps a pen, and writes something down. He does not share what he has written. He caps the pen again. His expression does not change.
"They haven't mentioned pictures," Hoseok murmurs in Namjoon's ear, his voice barely a breath.
"I know."
"He just–"
"I know."
"Out of nowhere he just–"
"Hoseok. I know."
"The question was about–"
"I know."
Namjoon pastes on the smile – the one that has gotten him through seventeen world tours, four contract renegotiations, and that one awards show where the teleprompter went down and he had to improvise an acceptance speech in three languages – and smoothly talks over the wreckage.
"What Jeongguk means," he says, with the warm, diplomatic energy of a man who has had a lot of practice at this, "is that the visual language across all our solo projects fed into the collaborative aesthetic we wanted to develop for the album. There's a real throughline, project to project, if you look at it."
"Absolutely," Jeongguk agrees, nodding, looking for all the world like he has said a perfectly reasonable thing and is mildly puzzled by the atmosphere.
Chaeyeon nods, scribbling, and pivots gracefully to Yoongi.
Yoongi – who has clearly decided that the best thing he can do for the group at this juncture is to simply be so professionally unimpeachable that it functions as a counterbalance – delivers a precise, intelligent, two-minute response about the evolution of their sound that contains zero references to any of his bandmates' physical appearances, solo discographies, or anything that could be construed as romantic in any court of law or public forum.
Namjoon could weep.
"That's fifty thousand won to me if we get out of this without an incident," Seokjin mutters, leaning close for half a second.
"You are betting on this," Namjoon says, without moving his lips.
"Yoongi started it."
"You are both–"
"The odds are actually quite good. Jeongguk's behaving. Relatively."
On cue, Jeongguk tilts his head in Jimin's direction again.
Hoseok kicks him.
"...for now," Seokjin amends.
Namjoon only wants to finish up things, go home, and scream into a pillow. Possibly find a witch on Naver, and get her to curse all couples on earth.
He wants to re-download some very questionable apps and find someone low-key on the internet to take home and blow off some steam with – mostly to remind himself that not all relationships devolve into whatever the hell his bandmates have going on.
– ✦ –
Things are going tolerably – not well, because well has long since sailed, but tolerably – when the incident with the chest begins.
Chaeyeon has turned her attention to Taehyung, who is seated between Jimin and Seokjin, and looks physically pained about it. Rather than being the safety cushion Namjoon had planned, he is covering Jeongguk’s direct line of sight to his boyfriend – and receiving a terrifying, murderous look from the younger man for it.
Taehyung is wearing a bright red jumper and the careful, professional smile of a man who is absolutely fine and is not currently doing a rapid mental calculation of what Jeongguk could feasibly do to him before security had the time to intervene.
"Taehyung-ssi, would you say there have been any major changes in the group's aesthetic direction with the new album? Anything we could look forward to seeing?"
Taehyung clears his throat. He squares his shoulders. He has been doing interviews since he was seventeen years old and he is very good at them, and Namjoon feels a swell of pride that lasts approximately four seconds.
"Well, after the military we obviously went through some changes, both mentally and physically – and even before enlistment, going from the intensity of being BTS to the pressure of a solo career and then to the sudden anonymity of training was challenging, but I think it gave us all the breathing space necessary to come up with fresh ideas, and there's a quality to this album that I think reflects that–"
He stops.
He stops because Jimin, who has been listening with the expression of a very attentive and charming person who is definitely paying full attention to the interview and not thinking about anything else, has reached out and placed one hand on Taehyung's shoulder.
This is not, in isolation, notable. They are affectionate people. They have been affectionate people since they were teenagers and this has never once been remarkable. Namjoon does not move.
What happens next, however.
Jimin's hand moves.
With the idle, curious energy of a person who has just noticed something interesting and has, crucially, no internal monologue cautioning them against acting on it, it travels from Taehyung's shoulder, down to his collarbone, and then – as though it has arrived somewhere unexpected and decided to investigate further – settles on his chest. Presses in, gently, and with genuine academic interest.
Taehyung’s eyes bulge out of his skull. From the corner of his eye, Namjoon sees Hoseok take a sharp breath, hold it, and then simply not release it.
"And, um," Taehyung says, very gamely, deciding that he will die on the hill of professionalism, "there's a quality to this album that–" He pauses. Jimin's hand has not moved. "–that feels–"
Jimin squeezes.
To his credit, Namjoon observes, he doesn’t do so suggestively, or aggressively. It’s with the genuine, uncomplicated delight of a person who has just confirmed something remarkable – that their best friend has, apparently, at some point in the last eighteen months, developed an alarming quantity of muscle mass – and is simply sharing their findings with the table.
"Wow," Jimin murmurs, genuinely delighted. He turns to Taehyung with wide eyes. "Tae, you're huge!”
In response Taehyung makes a sound. It’s not quite a word. It contains some of the syllables of words – there is a 'th' in there that might have been 'thanks', and something that could charitably be described as the ghost of a vowel – but it does not, ultimately, constitute communication. He finally settles for a pathetic, inconsequential: "Ha-ha. Yeah."
"I'm sorry," Chaeyeon says, very pleasantly. "I didn't catch that."
"He said," Seokjin interjects, and Namjoon could just leap over the table and kiss him, "that the creative process was deeply personal. Didn't you, Taehyung?"
"Yes," Taehyung says, audibly not breathing. "Deep. Personal."
"Fascinating," says Chaeyeon.
Jimin is looking at his own hand with the expression of a scientist reviewing unexpected data.
"When did you get this big?" he murmurs, mostly to himself, in a pleasant tone, as if he were inquiring about crop rotation statistics, or public transport.
At the far end of the table, Namjoon becomes aware – without looking, without needing to look, in the same instinctive way that animals sense pressure dropping before a storm – that Jeongguk has gone very still.
– ✦ –
Here is the thing about Jeon Jeongguk.
He is not a violent man. In fact, he is famously a very gentle person – going out of his way to ensure their staff is comfortable and looked-after, sending long, earnest messages to his friends while on tour, and crying at animated films. He cried three times during Moana. Namjoon had been there for all three.
He had also cried during Moana but that is not the point.
He is also, however, in a private, carefully protected, years-long relationship with Park Jimin, and is apparently currently watching said Park Jimin fondle Kim Taehyung's chest on live television and reacting to this with the measured serenity of Hannibal Lecter browsing for recipes.
Hoseok, with the practiced calm of a man who has been quietly running interference in this relationship for longer than he is generally given credit for, shifts his chair a few inches. It is a subtle movement – a slight widening of his posture, a casual repositioning that places his body at a new angle – and it means that he is now functioning, structurally, as a kind of preventative barrier between Jeongguk and the rest of the table. It is genuinely impressive. Namjoon has watched him do this four times today and it just keeps getting more refined.
Jeongguk, for his part, has not moved or spoken yet.
No, Jeongguk is simply sitting there, clasping his hands together tightly enough to cut off his circulation. To any casual observer – and, Namjoon thinks with immense gratitude, the interviewer and the staff members lingering behind the cameras fall firmly into this category – he might appear thoughtful, even politely attentive as he waits for the conversation to continue.
Namjoon, on the other hand, knows better.
He has seen Jeongguk grow up from a lanky, doe-eyed teenager into a tall, doe-eyed man capable of lifting other grown men over his shoulders for fun. Who does so frequently, in fact, and with glee.
"...thirty thousand won says he knows better than to punch Tae," Yoongi whispers, leaning over towards Namjoon.
"I'm not betting against Jeongguk's self-control in a context where Jimin is touching another man's chest!”
He fails to mention, perhaps on purpose, that he plans on looking up available witches on Naver as soon as he leaves the premises. Which might, allegedly, be worse than betting.
Jimin, for his part, is entirely blind to their exchanges. Instead of focusing on them, his attention is still with Taehyung as he gives his pectoral muscle another squeeze – as if saying pat, pat, good chest, well done, excellent work, very impressive.
On the other side of Taehyung, Seokjin places his hand on Jimin's knee, hopefully conveying his desperation through touch alone.
Jimin looks down at Seokjin's fingers. Then at his own hand, still resting on Taehyung's chest. Finally, something flickers across his face, and it seems like his brain catches up with the last thirty seconds of reality a few beats too late.
He looks up. He meets Jeongguk's eyes.
Jeongguk's expression is entirely neutral. Completely, utterly, almost professionally neutral, in the way that things are very neutral right before they become extremely not neutral.
Namjoon spares a second of his time to reminisce. He has loved Taehyung like a brother, he thinks, and now he must remember him as he once was: bright, lovely, full of life – and, tragically, within grabbing distance of Park Jimin.
Unfortunately for the solemnity of the moment, Taehyung is still very much alive, and currently trying to pry Jimin’s hand off his chest with the subtle desperation normally reserved to things such as disarming explosive devices.
The movement is careful and delicate. Taehyung slides his fingers over Jimin’s wrist and nudges it downwards with a polite smile plastered on his face, as though this is all part of a perfectly normal conversation about musical development rather than a silent negotiation for his continued survival.
Jimin seems only mildly confused by the resistance, glancing at Taehyung briefly before giving him a sweet smile, and, in a swift, merciless gesture, undoing all his efforts.
It must be, Namjoon concludes, an act of pure unconscious instinct – the muscle memory of fifteen years of being tactile, of reaching for the people he loves without first consulting his survival instincts, because Jimin lets his hand fall down on Taehyung’s lap, and entwines their fingers together, palms lovingly fitting against the other.
The sound Taehyung makes is extraordinarily small.
"Sorry," Jimin says to the interviewer, deploying the single most winning smile Namjoon has ever seen in action, "Tae mentioned the physical changes and I was just so impressed. He worked incredibly hard – they all did."
"Of course!" Chaeyeon says warmly. "The training must have been–"
"Incredibly demanding," he agrees, nodding. He is the picture of polished professionalism. He is a disaster dressed in Dior. "We're all very proud of each other."
Taehyung exhales very slowly, looking deathly pale.
– ✦ –
Seokjin leans over to Namjoon.
"Should I cough loudly?" he whispers. "I feel like I could cough loudly. I've been told I have a memorable cough."
"Please don't."
"I could faint. I'm a very convincing fainter. I have range."
"You're not."
"I absolutely am. I once fainted so convincingly on a variety show that two staff members called an ambulance–"
"That's not reassuring–"
"I'm just saying, if we need a distraction, I am available as a distraction."
"Seokjin-hyung," Namjoon says, with the tone of a man who deeply appreciates the offer and deeply needs it to stop.
Seokjin subsides. But he keeps his eyes on Taehyung and Jimin's joined hands with the ready, alert expression that tells Namjoon he is running several contingency scenarios in his head.
Through pain and desperation, enlightenment is possible. Namjoon knows this, as he has just achieved a fleeting awareness of every movement around him, no matter how microscopic.
On Namjoon's other side, Hoseok is maintaining the specific facial expression of a person who is extremely comfortable and happy and is absolutely not using his left knee to brace Jeongguk's chair in place against any sudden lateral movement. He is smiling. He has been smiling for forty-five consecutive minutes. His smile is doing extraordinary PR work.
Yoongi, meanwhile, has begun doodling in his notebook. When Namjoon glances over, the drawing looks suspiciously like a tombstone with Taehyung’s name on it.
Across the table, Jeongguk is doing something that only Namjoon and Hoseok, in the fullness of their specific experience, recognise as deeply ominous: he is being very, very polite.
He is sitting up straight. Both hands flat on the table. Offering the interviewer a pleasant, attentive expression. He has not spoken in seven minutes.
This is the problem. Jeongguk's natural state is verbal – he yaps, he chatters, he contributes, he makes jokes and then laughs at them first and loudest. Seven minutes of deliberate silence from Jeon Jeongguk is the behavioural equivalent of a pressure cooker that has been quietly building and is now making a very small, very high-pitched noise.
"Jeongguk-ssi," Chaeyeon says, turning to him with a smile. "You've been listening so intently – anything to add?"
Jeongguk looks at her.
"No," he says pleasantly. "I'm just really enjoying what Jimin and Taehyung have to say."
The sentence is so carefully, meticulously neutral that Namjoon actually flinches.
Taehyung, across the table, closes his eyes briefly, clearly rethinking his life choices.
"They always have such great chemistry," Jeongguk adds, with the serene warmth of someone who is absolutely fine about everything he is currently witnessing. "Really natural. Very comfortable with each other."
"They do!" Chaeyeon agrees enthusiastically.
"Mm," says Jeongguk.
That 'mm' contains multitudes. It contains entire seasons. It contains things that could, in a different context, be submitted as evidence for premeditation.
Hoseok saves them all, interjecting brightly: "I think what really defines the dynamic of this album is that we all came back to the table with different experiences but the same fundamental core – right, Namjoon? The same investment in what we're building together." He makes a gesture that somehow gathers the whole table into a single warm, unified moment. It is genuinely masterful. "That's what you can hear in the sound."
It is a pivot of extraordinary dexterity. Chaeyeon turns to Namjoon. The temperature in the room rises approximately two degrees as Jeongguk's attention is successfully redirected.
Namjoon makes a mental note to buy Hoseok something meaningful. Tickets somewhere. An island. A small country, if the budget allows. And, for himself, a subscription to the best-rated Etsy witch money can buy.
– ✦ –
The final incident happens in the last eight minutes of the interview, and Namjoon will later, in a quieter moment, identify it as the one where he actually achieved something like inner peace.
Chaeyeon has asked a question about what it means to them to have such a dedicated global fanbase. Standard question. Easy question. Practised question.
It’s basically a freebie. A gift from the interview gods.
Seokjin answers it beautifully, with no less than three jokes, a heartfelt moment, and the natural, effortless charisma befitting a man of his looks and personality. Hoseok adds something moving about the responsibility and the privilege. Yoongi says approximately two sentences that somehow land an emotional punch stronger than everyone else's combined two paragraphs, which is just a thing Yoongi does and which Namjoon stopped being surprised by around 2019.
Taehyung, whose hand has not yet been released, gives a lovely and articulate answer about belonging and return, which almost manages to mask the fact that he is sweating, and that his voice cracks twice.
And then it’s Jimin's turn.
For all that his mind has been wandering throughout the interview, he now leans forward slightly, and with great concentration begins to talk about what ARMY’s support has meant to him through the years – specifically during the harsh months spent in the military.
Namjoon has heard Jimin talk about their fans many times. Greeting them warmly during press tours, thanking them in award speeches, and sometimes rambling about growing up together when he’s loopy, and tipsy, and Namjoon gets him in a specific sentimental mood.
It doesn’t make it any easier for him to be struck, genuinely, by the sincerity of Jimin’s words.
There is no performance to it, no thought spared to headlines and tweets. It makes Namjoon’s heart tighten a bit, when he really stops to take it all in.
Even Jeongguk – who has spent the better part of the last hour being physically restrained from committing a felony – is looking at Jimin with an expression that is, really, honestly, extremely unprofessional, but which Namjoon has long since stopped having the heart to be annoyed about.
He is unguarded, to put it simply. He is looking at something he loves, and his face stretches into a fond smile that has no business being in front of cameras.
"That was beautiful," Chaeyeon says softly, when Jimin finishes, waving away his thankful nod.
“Jeongguk-ssi?" Chaeyeon turns. "Last word?"
Jeongguk looks at Jimin for a long, long moment.
"Yeah," he says. "What he said."
Namjoon closes his eyes.
He has navigated this group through scandals, world tours, contract negotiations, three comeback cycles, four award shows, military enlistments, solo careers, and more than one truly catastrophic live broadcast. He has handled language barriers, cultural misunderstandings, the crushing pressure of representing an entire industry on a world stage, and the specific ongoing challenge of managing six people who are also his closest friends.
None of it, he thinks, has quite prepared him for this. For the particular spiritual experience of watching Jeon Jeongguk look at Park Jimin like that on international television and being entirely, helplessly unable to do a single thing about it – except to note that it is also, despite everything, despite the entire afternoon, kind of the most genuine thing he has witnessed all year.
He opens his eyes.
"Well," he says, into the still-warm air of the room. "I think that's a perfect note to end on."
– ✦ –
The moment the studio doors close behind them, the moment the cameras are down and the production staff are murmuring to one another and the polished professional fiction of seven calm, rational adults collapses, Namjoon turns around.
"ARE YOU BOTH INSANE."
It’s not, technically, a question. It lands with the combined weight of a statement, a verdict, and a mild but genuine threat.
Jimin blinks at him with wide, innocent eyes. "What did we do?"
Seokjin makes a sound resembling a helpless wheeze as he covers his face, letting out the laugh he has been keeping trapped in his chest for forty-five minutes. Next to him, Hoseok pretends to gag, then turns to the wall and appears to address it privately.
"What did we–" Namjoon presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Jimin. You held Taehyung's hand."
Jimin looks genuinely thoughtful. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Right. But I’ve done that before?”
"On camera. In a televised interview watched by, conservatively, forty million people. In the middle of a sentence about creative direction."
Taehyung points at him with unsteady indignation. “You also squeezed my chest like, a gazillion times.”
“It was impressive!” Jimin insists.
Jeongguk, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, mutters darkly, “It didn’t look that impressive.”
"AND," Namjoon says, because he is not finished, because he has been storing this up for almost an hour and he is going to say all of it, "while you were busy conducting your completely unprompted chest investigation, your–" he points, emphatically, at Jeongguk. "Your boyfriend was sitting at the other end of the table looking like he was about to commit murder."
"I was not," Jeongguk says, putting some effort in looking nonchalant.
"You were literally calculating how to get away with fratricide."
Jeongguk opens his mouth and closes it immediately. "I was," he allows, "perhaps experiencing some feelings."
"Some feelings," Namjoon repeats.
"Intense feelings."
Hoseok pats Jeongguk’s shoulder sympathetically. “I kicked him four times,” he offers. “I feel like that helped. If anything, I’d like it to be acknowledged that my footprint is probably tattooed on his shin.”
“You did have excellent aim, hyung,” Jeongguk groaned, clearly still feeling the smart of Hoseok’s kicks.
"Thank you. I've been training. Specifically for situations like this." Hoseok looks at Namjoon. "For about two years now. I feel like that sacrifice deserves–"
"Dinner," Namjoon says. "Yes. Somewhere very nice."
"Somewhere excellent."
Namjoon closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and pondering, for the millionth time, how illegal it is to hire that Naver witch. “Next interview,” he says, aiming for a quiet and authoritative tone but landing closer to a strangled cat. “You two are sitting on opposite ends of the building. Matter of fact, you’re not coming at all – we’ll pretend you died in mysterious circumstances and continue with the tour in memoriam.”
“That seems excessive, hyung,” Jimin tries – and fails – to butter him up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise things were a bit tense today.”
Taehyung reaches around to smack him. “Tense? Tense? I almost died.” He gulps. “In fact I think that’s not out of the cards yet. I am never, ever, ever again sitting between the two of you, so help me God.”
"I would never–" Jeongguk starts.
"You stared at his chest for thirty-seven seconds after Jimin let go of it," Yoongi says, from the corner, unhelpful as ever. "I counted."
Jeongguk looks at Taehyung. Taehyung takes a small, instinctive half-step behind Hoseok.
"I wasn't going to do anything," Jeongguk repeats, and he seems to mean it. Mostly. "I know how to behave."
"No you don’t! This is exactly–" Namjoon takes a breath. He is a calm person. He has done a great deal of work to be a calm person and he will not waste it. "This is exactly the problem. There's no – you look at him and you just –" He makes a gesture that conveys his own profound despair. "You have to be more careful. You both do. You know what's at stake."
"I'm very sorry," Jimin says, and he does actually sound it, which is the thing about Jimin – he is sorry, he means it, and somehow it doesn't stop him doing the exact same thing again, because the part of his brain that generates sincerity and the part that generates impulse control appear to operate on entirely different circuits. "I wasn't thinking. I would never–" He pauses. "I know what's at stake."
"I know you do," Namjoon says, and his voice is gentler now. "I know you both do," he adds, directed somewhere between them both. "That's why we're going to be more careful. All of us."
Taehyung, apparently taking this as a cue to return to lighter ground, points at Jimin. "You still fondled me four times."
"Three times."
"Four. There was a grab, two squeezes, and a pat."
"The pat was affectionate–"
"The pat was the worst one! The pat was familiar! The pat was how you touch someone you're very comfortable with, Jiminie, and Jeongguk–" He stops. He swallows."Jeongguk was right there," he finishes.
Jeongguk nods gravely. "I appreciate you acknowledging that."
"I'm not acknowledging it for your benefit– I almost died, Jeongguk."
"I would never–"
"The energy you were putting off was murderous!"
A short silence.
"It was not," Jeongguk says, with dignity. And a slightly pathetic tone.
"Would you say it was the energy of a man who had murdered someone in his mind, though?" Seokjin tilts his head. He playfully avoids Yoongi’s slap, and his whine of you’re enabling them!
Jimin, who has been watching Jeongguk with the expression he wears when he's slightly guilty and slightly unrepentant in equal measure, crosses the corridor. He stops in front of Jeongguk. He looks up at him, and deposits a feather-light kiss on his cheek.
"I wasn't thinking," he says. "You know I wasn't."
"I know, love." Jeongguk says. It’s disgusting, really, the way his expression shifts into something quiet and sweet and private. It makes Namjoon’s poor excuse for breakfast threaten to make a sudden, projectile appearance.
Jimin, clearly not finding it anywhere near as sickening, tucks himself against Jeongguk’s side, their arms naturally finding the other’s waist.
“Well,” Yoongi says, grabbing his jacket from where he’d left it. “You’re disgusting, and make my teeth hurt, and we're going to have to do this exact thing again at the next interview, and I will be better prepared." He pauses. "I've updated my seating-plan proposal, by the way. I’m thinking an earpiece each, so someone can remind you to act normal and not cause any international media incidents. And possibly separate rooms.”
"That's–" Namjoon considers. "That's not the worst idea you've had."
– ✦ –
They are halfway to the car when Namjoon falls back, walking beside Jeongguk, who has been quiet since the corridor, something clearly rattling around in his head and looking for an exit.
The afternoon has turned into evening, settling cool and grey around them. The rest of the group is scattered ahead of them – Hoseok and Seokjin discussing something animatedly, Yoongi looking at them from the side, a lazy smile on his face. And, to Namjoon’s chagrin, a very affectionate looking Jimin-and-Taehyung looking creature, all over each other as usual.
Jeongguk must be more rattled than usual, because he barely seems to notice – for all that not two hours ago he was seething at a similar scene.
"You know," Namjoon says, "she noticed.”
"The interviewer?"
Namjoon nods. "She didn't say anything.Won’t say anything, because we’re gonna send her an NDA the size of China, and besides she was professional. But she noticed."
Jeongguk is quiet when he answers: "...okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll be more careful.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
It’s very eerie, Namjoon realises, staring at Jeongguk in the fading light of day, looking so much younger and older than he actually is, the two images overimposed on his face. Baby Jeongguk, with his shy smile, and adult Jeongguk with all the complications that his age entails.
“I know it’s hard,” he finally says. “I know it’s unfair, that it shouldn’t be so complicated to just… be. With someone else. With him.”
The sentence is disconnected, choppy, unbefitting of his natural leadership. And yet, Namjoon cannot find more words.
He glances up at the sky, doing that evening thing where it goes from grey to gold at the edges, and which would be quite beautiful if he weren't standing in it having this specific conversation.
“But, hyung, it’s okay. It’s worth it.” Jeongguk looks ahead at Jimin, who is now pulling Yoongi into the conversation, gesturing madly as he does so. “He’s worth it, you know?”
Namjoon, once again at a loss, nods.
“The hard part isn’t–” Jeongguk stops himself, visibly struggling. “I don’t mind the hiding. That’s– realistically, we’d be doing some of that even if we weren’t idols. And we’ve got practice. It’s more… when I look at him, and he says something like he just did today about ARMY, and I just– I forget, that it’s not just for me. That he’s not just for me.”
And Namjoon – who perhaps isn’t as zen as he would like to think he is – cannot handle the raw sincerity in his brother’s voice.
“I bet the whole ‘complimenting another man’s muscles’ business didn’t help.”
Jeongguk snorts, glad of the emotional support segue for the conversation. “It really, really didn’t. And to think of all the hard work I put in my muscles, hyung!”
Ahead of them, Jimin glances back – not looking for anyone in particular, just that habit of checking, of taking a headcount – and his eyes find Jeongguk, and he smiles, the fondness in his eyes coming and going before he can really take it in.
Jeongguk smiles back, looking just as helpless and in love.
From where he’s standing – literally, not even three feet away – it’s terrible. He hates couples. Hates love, and love songs, and will never write another word on the subject in his life, will get the Naver witch to curse him as well.
He thinks of the speech he knows he’s supposed to give next – berating them about professionalism, their contract, the fact that he has a therapy appointment on Thursday and he actually has things going on in his life that he wants to discuss, but now he knows he’ll be spending the first half hour talking about today – and he cannot find it in himself to open his mouth about it.
Instead, he sighs, and looks up to the clouds, begging for patience if not strength. “Next time,” he says, to no one in particular since Jeongguk is walking over to Jimin. “Next time at least try and answer the actual interview questions.”
– ✦ –
Once they’re all safely sitting in the car, Seokjin leans over from the front seat.
"So," he says. "Next interview."
"Yes," Namjoon says, staring out the window at Seoul doing its evening thing.
"I have thoughts. Suggestions. Constructive criticism. Some feedback, too"
"Seokjin-hyung–"
Seokjin meets his gaze with the expression of a man who is completely serious and also, underneath it, enjoying himself slightly.
“I wasn’t even the one to suggest murder,” he croons. “That was you, Joon.”
"I was speaking rhetorically– I'm not killing anyone."
"He means metaphorically," Yoongi says, coming to Seokjin’s rescue. "Obviously."
"Is it obvious, though?" Taehyung says, from the middle seat, on his phone tapping furiously at the screen. "Because from where I was sitting, things could have gone a number of ways. I could see Kookie doing the mental maths to see if he could break a table on my back!"
"There was no math–”
"Jeongguk," Yoongi says, levelly, "if Seokjin-hyung had coughed loudly, would it have helped?"
A pause.
"...possibly," Jeongguk admits.
Seokjin makes a sound of profound vindication. "The tactical cough. I said it. I said it and no one listened and I was right, and that’s another ten thousand won to my name!"
"You weren't right," Namjoon says, glossing over the continued betting habits of his older members.
"He literally just said I would have been right."
"Hobi-hyung," Namjoon moans, "back me up."
Hoseok, who has until now watched the entire exchange from his seat, smiles beatifically and shakes his head. “I’ve done my work for the day – five kicks, that one frankly masterful change of topic, and I’m all spent. I’ve earned the right to enjoy the trip.” He leans back, half-asleep already, before cracking one eye open again. “And– Joon, you promised. Dinner. Somewhere excellent.”
"I guess I did promise…" Namjoon confirms, though the man’s reticence to come to his aid has definitely soured his intentions.
"Good. Wake me when we're there."
The car moves through the city as the lights start coming up, the Han River catching the last gold of the sun.
In the rear-view mirror, Namjoon catches a glimpse of Jeongguk and Jimin, not talking or doing anything to soil his ears or eyes or car interiors, just sitting with their shoulders pressed together, Jimin’s head tipped lightly towards the youngest.
The light changes, and he stops being able to see them as well.
Namjoon isn’t phased – he’s caught them in similarly sappy moments before, and will likely do so again.
But he lets himself smile at their private joy, because he is, after all, a simple man.
His wants are few. He wants to make music with his friends. He wants to see his family. He wants to ride along the river and see all the art in the world and go home at the end of a long day knowing that everyone he loves is somewhere nearby, probably doing something he'll have to manage the fallout of tomorrow.
He's okay with that.
He's genuinely, sincerely, more than okay with that.
He's just going to need a very long bath first, and then he's going to call his therapist, and then he's going to draft a seventeen-point updated media protocol that he will present to the group on Monday with a visual aid. And then, if they keep acting like lovesick puppies, he’s going to contact a witch on the Internet also.
– ✦ –
The interview airs three days later, getting several million views in the first twenty-four hours.
The top comment on YouTube, with two hundred thousand likes, reads: Jeongguk blinking back into reality to contribute "what he said" as his entire answer is sending me into orbit.
Second highest: the way taehyung looked like he was doing active disaster triage for the entire second half of the interview
Third: PARK JIMIN IN THE BACK LOOKING LIKE AN ANGEL WHILE NAMJOON IS CLEARLY HAVING A BREAKDOWN TWO SEATS AWAY LMFAOOO
Fourth, with seventy thousand likes: whoever is sitting next to Jeongguk deserves a raise and a medical assessment
And lastly, a tweet that he takes a picture of and sends into the groupchat: guys am i slow or did we just see vmin being confirmed live on camera???
– end –