Work Text:
By the third time Namjoon followed Seokjin into the kitchen, Seokjin had stopped pretending he did not know what was happening.
The first time had been reasonable. Namjoon had wandered in while Seokjin was opening the takeout containers, all long limbs and sleepy curiosity, hovering near the counter with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” Seokjin had said, because Namjoon’s version of helping usually involved good intentions, terrible spatial awareness, and at least one apology to an inanimate object. “Go sit down.”
Namjoon had smiled at him, dimples soft and pleased, like being told to do nothing was somehow a compliment. Then he had stolen a piece of fried chicken from the open container and left.
The second time, he had come in because Hoseok asked where the extra napkins were, and Namjoon had apparently decided this was a mission of great personal importance. He opened the wrong drawer twice, bumped his hip into the cabinet, said “sorry” to the cabinet, and then found the napkins exactly where Seokjin had told him they would be.
He had turned around with them clutched triumphantly to his chest.
“Found them.”
“You’re very impressive,” Seokjin had said.
Namjoon had beamed. Actually beamed, like Seokjin had handed him a trophy.
The third time, there was no reason at all.
Seokjin was standing at the sink rinsing sauce off his fingers when he felt a familiar warmth press against his back. Namjoon’s chin landed on his shoulder a second later, his whole body draping over Seokjin from behind with the boneless confidence of someone who had decided verticality was optional.
Seokjin paused, fingers still under the water.
“Namjoon-ah.”
“Hm?”
“Why are you in the kitchen?”
Namjoon was quiet for a moment, considering this with the kind of seriousness he usually reserved for lyrics, philosophy, and whether or not a plant could be saved if he had already overwatered it twice.
Then he said, “You were in here.”
Seokjin looked down at the arms looped loosely around his waist. Namjoon was not squeezing. He was just attached, his face tucked near Seokjin’s neck, his breath warm through the collar of Seokjin’s shirt.
Behind them, the living room burst into laughter at something Jungkook had said. Taehyung’s laugh rose above it, bright and delighted. Jimin shouted that he was being framed. Yoongi muttered something too low to catch, and Hoseok clapped once, sharp and amused.
Namjoon shifted as if the sound had tugged on an invisible leash.
Seokjin felt it. The tiny lift of his head. The way his arms loosened, like he was preparing to return to the room, to be present, to be fun, to be Namjoon in the way everyone expected Namjoon to be when they were all together.
Seokjin turned off the water.
“No.”
Namjoon blinked against his shoulder. “No what?”
“No, you are not going back out there to pretend you have energy.”
“I have energy.”
“You are currently using me as furniture.”
“That’s romantic.”
“That’s concerning.”
Namjoon huffed a laugh, but it was a tired little thing. It barely had shape before it disappeared against Seokjin’s shirt.
Seokjin dried his hands, then reached back and patted Namjoon’s arm. “Come on.”
Namjoon did not move.
“Namjoon.”
“I’m coming.”
“You are not.”
“I’m emotionally coming.”
Seokjin closed his eyes for a second. “What does that mean?”
“It means I support the idea of going.”
“Wonderful. Very meaningful. Move your feet.”
Namjoon groaned, but he did let Seokjin turn around in the loose circle of his arms. His hair was mussed on one side from where he had been leaning against Seokjin’s back. His eyes were still bright, but slower now, his blinks lasting a fraction too long. He looked happy. He also looked like one strong breeze or one soft pillow would end him.
Seokjin cupped his face.
Namjoon smiled immediately.
It was unfair, that smile. It always had been. Big and soft and open, like every bit of affection in him rose to the surface without asking permission first.
“You’re tired,” Seokjin said.
“I’m fine.”
“You told the rice cooker thank you earlier.”
“It worked hard.”
“You laughed at Yoongi’s joke after everyone else had already moved on.”
“It was still funny.”
“You brought me one shoe.”
Namjoon’s smile widened, guilty and pleased at the same time. “You asked where it was.”
“I asked where my shoes were. Plural.”
“I found one.”
“My hero.”
Namjoon leaned heavier into his hand. “See? Helpful.”
Seokjin’s chest did something warm and slightly painful. The others called Namjoon a golden retriever sometimes, and they meant it fondly. It was the easiest comparison in the world when Namjoon loved the way he did, with his whole body, with his full attention, with an eagerness that made people feel chosen. He followed sounds. Followed warmth. Followed someone he loved into a kitchen simply because they had left the room.
But golden retrievers got tired too.
They just did not always know when to stop wagging their tails.
Seokjin slid his hand from Namjoon’s cheek to the back of his neck and squeezed lightly. “Living room. Now.”
Namjoon sighed dramatically. “So bossy.”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“I know.”
That got him a dimple, even as Seokjin steered him toward the doorway with one hand firm between his shoulders.
The living room was a mess of blankets, legs, takeout containers, and familiar bodies. The movie was paused on the television because apparently they had derailed into an argument about whether Jungkook had cheated at some game that nobody was currently playing anymore. Jungkook was on the floor with his back against the couch, looking offended. Jimin was sitting sideways in the armchair, one leg thrown over Taehyung’s lap. Hoseok had claimed the other end of the couch and was guarding the last container of dumplings with an intensity that suggested war was possible. Yoongi was in the corner chair, looking like he had no interest in any of them and every intention of staying exactly where he was.
Namjoon perked up as soon as they entered.
That was the problem.
He actually perked up, like the sound and warmth of the room plugged him back into something. He straightened under Seokjin’s hand and smiled when Hoseok looked over.
“There he is,” Hoseok said. “We thought Jin-hyung stole you.”
“He did,” Namjoon said.
“You followed me,” Seokjin corrected.
“Because you were stealing yourself from me.”
Jungkook made a wounded noise. “Hyung, that doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes emotional sense.”
“It makes sleepy sense,” Yoongi said.
Namjoon pointed at him, delighted. “Exactly.”
Seokjin watched him brighten under the attention and narrowed his eyes. The brightness was real. That was what made it tricky. Namjoon loved being here. He loved all of them, loved being surrounded by familiar voices and inside jokes and warm teasing. He loved it so much that he would keep giving pieces of himself to the room until there was nothing left.
Seokjin did not intend to let him.
“Sit,” he said.
Namjoon sat.
Not gracefully. He folded onto the couch beside Hoseok, misjudged the distance, and ended up half on the blanket pile with one knee knocking against the coffee table.
“Sorry,” he told the table.
Jimin dissolved into laughter. “He apologized to the furniture again.”
“It deserved an apology,” Namjoon said.
“The table attacked you,” Taehyung agreed solemnly.
“Thank you.”
Seokjin stepped between Namjoon and the coffee table before the table could commit further crimes. “Move.”
Hoseok lifted the dumplings out of danger. “Who, me or him?”
“Both of you. Mostly him.”
Namjoon blinked up at him. “Where am I moving?”
“To me.”
That made the room make several noises at once.
Jungkook whistled. Jimin clutched at his heart. Taehyung whispered, “Romance,” with the awe of someone witnessing a miracle. Hoseok said, “Oh, he’s pulling rank.”
Namjoon’s ears went a little pink, but his smile turned soft in the corners.
Seokjin ignored all of them, sat down, and tugged Namjoon with him. Namjoon came easily, because Namjoon always came easily to him when he was tired. One gentle pull and he folded into Seokjin’s side, head landing against his shoulder, one arm slipping around his waist.
“There,” Namjoon murmured. “See? Sitting.”
“You are barely sitting.”
“I am sitting through you.”
“Again, concerning.”
The movie resumed. For a while, everything was exactly as it should have been. Hoseok passed Seokjin a dumpling and pretended not to notice when Seokjin fed half of it to Namjoon without asking. Jimin and Taehyung kept whispering commentary that was more entertaining than the movie. Jungkook laughed too loudly at the wrong moments and then laughed harder when everyone shushed him. Yoongi complained about the noise, but his mouth twitched when Namjoon sleepily repeated one of Taehyung’s jokes under his breath three minutes late.
Seokjin kept one arm around Namjoon and monitored him with the patience of a man watching a phone battery drop from twelve percent to eleven.
Namjoon tried. He really did.
He laughed when everyone laughed. He lifted his head whenever someone said his name. When Jungkook asked if he remembered the actor from another drama, Namjoon answered with absolute confidence, “Sandwich.”
The room went silent.
Namjoon blinked.
Jungkook slowly turned around from his spot on the floor. “Hyung.”
Namjoon stared at him.
Then he looked at Seokjin. “What did I say?”
Seokjin pressed his lips together.
“What did I say?” Namjoon asked again, more alarmed.
Hoseok was already shaking with silent laughter. Jimin had both hands over his mouth. Taehyung had folded forward into his own lap.
Yoongi, merciless as ever, said, “Sandwich.”
Namjoon’s face went blank with horror. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did,” Jungkook said, delighted. “I asked about the actor and you said sandwich.”
Namjoon opened his mouth, closed it, then turned into Seokjin’s shoulder like he could physically escape the truth. “I was thinking about two things.”
“The actor and a sandwich?” Seokjin asked.
“No.”
“Just sandwich?”
“Hyung.”
The laughter finally broke. It filled the room, affectionate and bright, and Namjoon laughed too because he always did when they were happy around him. But Seokjin felt the way his body lagged behind the sound, the way the laugh pulled at him instead of rising easily. Namjoon’s fingers clutched Seokjin’s shirt for a second, then loosened.
Seokjin kissed the top of his head.
“All right,” he said.
Namjoon’s head lifted immediately. “What?”
“That’s enough.”
“I’m fine.”
“You answered a question with sandwich.”
“It was one time.”
“You tried to drink from a straw that was not in your cup.”
“It was near my cup.”
“You are swaying.”
“I’m on a couch.”
Seokjin looked at him.
Namjoon looked back with the stubborn, earnest expression of a man prepared to argue against reality using nothing but dimples and hope.
Seokjin smiled.
Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you think you have a vote.”
“I do have a vote.”
“No. You have a boyfriend.”
Before Namjoon could prepare a defense, Seokjin shifted. It was efficient because he had been planning it for at least twenty minutes. He slid one arm behind Namjoon’s shoulders, hooked the other around his waist, and pulled him down onto the couch.
Namjoon made a startled sound that was more surprise than protest. “Hyung!”
“Down.”
“I was already down.”
“You were vertical enough to cause problems.”
“I wasn’t causing problems.”
“You were about to become everyone’s entertainment for the next twenty minutes.”
“That’s not a problem. That’s my role in this family.”
Seokjin rolled onto his side and dragged Namjoon with him, tucking him into the narrow space between his body and the back cushions. Namjoon was too tall for it, of course. He was too tall for most things. His knees bent awkwardly, one socked foot hanging off the edge of the couch near Jungkook’s shoulder, but the rest of him fit against Seokjin with the familiar ease of long practice.
Then Seokjin turned his back to the room.
It was not subtle.
It was also not serious enough to alarm anyone. He made sure of that by lifting one hand over his shoulder, palm out, like a king addressing the court.
“Kim Namjoon is closed for the evening.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Hoseok said, “Closed?”
“For maintenance.”
Jimin made a soft, delighted sound. “Maintenance?”
“Critical maintenance.”
Namjoon’s voice emerged from somewhere against Seokjin’s collarbone. “I’m not an appliance.”
“No,” Seokjin agreed. “Appliances are less dramatic.”
Jungkook leaned closer. “Can we still talk to him?”
Seokjin shifted his shoulder, blocking Jungkook’s view more thoroughly. “No visitors.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“Is the apartment on fire?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“What if I miss him?”
“He is six inches away from you.”
“I can only see his foot.”
Seokjin glanced toward Namjoon’s socked foot, which was twitching like it might try to communicate independently. He caught Namjoon’s ankle and shoved it gently back under the blanket with the rest of him.
“No viewing the exhibit.”
Namjoon laughed into his shirt, muffled and helpless. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am being responsible.”
“You’re lying on top of me.”
“Partially. For medical purposes.”
“What medical purposes?”
“You have a severe case of being too cute and too tired at the same time.”
“That’s not real.”
“It’s terminal if untreated.”
Yoongi snorted. “What’s the treatment?”
Seokjin slid one hand into Namjoon’s hair. “Aggressive cuddling.”
Namjoon made a small sound of betrayal. “Don’t call it that.”
“That is what this is.”
“You make it sound violent.”
“It is. I am attacking you with care.”
To prove his point, Seokjin scratched lightly at Namjoon’s scalp, fingertips dragging through his hair from his crown down toward the nape of his neck.
Namjoon stopped moving.
Completely.
The shift was immediate enough that Seokjin felt smug about it. One second, Namjoon had been preparing another complaint, probably something about autonomy or dignity or how he was a grown man with the right to watch a movie badly. The next, his body went heavy against Seokjin’s, all that restless, polite effort dissolving under the slow movement of Seokjin’s fingers.
“There,” Seokjin murmured, quieter now. “See?”
Namjoon’s hand gripped the front of his sweater, but there was no real strength in it. “Cheating.”
“Winning.”
“Cheating.”
“Same thing if I do it.”
Behind him, Jimin whispered, “That was terrifyingly effective.”
“He has buttons,” Seokjin said. “I know where they are.”
“Hyung,” Namjoon mumbled.
“What? You do.”
“You’re exposing my weaknesses.”
“You exposed them when you fell asleep during the chase scene.”
“I was resting.”
“You drooled.”
Namjoon went stiff again. “I did not.”
Seokjin scratched behind his ear.
Namjoon melted a second time, even faster.
Hoseok made a sound like he was trying very hard not to laugh too loudly. “Oh, that is unfair.”
“It’s full service,” Seokjin said.
Namjoon’s head shifted against him. “Full service?”
“Yes. You are being cared for at a luxury establishment.”
“This couch has crumbs on it.”
“Luxury is a mindset.”
“I want to speak to management.”
“I am management.”
“Of course you are.”
Namjoon tried to move one arm, likely to point at him or push weakly at his chest, but Seokjin caught his wrist before it got far. He lifted his head just enough to find the cup on the coffee table. The straw had bent sideways at some point. Seokjin fixed it, brought the cup close, and tapped the straw against Namjoon’s lower lip.
“Drink.”
Namjoon blinked up at him, dazed and amused. “You’re serious.”
“Full service.”
“I can hold my own cup.”
“You can also answer questions with sandwich, apparently. Drink.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes, but he drank. A few obedient sips, then a few more when Seokjin did not move the cup away. His throat worked softly. Up close, tucked in the shadow Seokjin had made with his body, he looked younger somehow. Not childish, just unguarded. The room could not see his face anymore, and because the room could not see him, Namjoon finally stopped arranging himself for it.
When he finished, Seokjin set the cup aside and tucked Namjoon’s hand back against his own chest like it belonged there.
“There,” he said. “Hydration. Cuddling. Scalp massage. Excellent service.”
Namjoon’s mouth curved against his shirt. “Do I tip?”
“You can sleep.”
“That’s not a tip.”
“It is for me.”
The room had changed around them. Not stopped, not exactly. The movie was still playing. Hoseok was still eating dumplings. Jungkook and Taehyung were whisper-arguing about whether the villain’s plan made sense. Jimin had turned the lamp down without making a show of it. Yoongi had lowered the volume two notches and pretended he had not.
But the attention had softened. Nobody was trying to pull Namjoon back anymore.
Seokjin felt him notice.
It was in the way his fingers curled more securely into Seokjin’s sweater. The way his breath warmed the base of Seokjin’s throat. The way he whispered, almost too low to hear, “You’re blocking everyone.”
Seokjin kept scratching his scalp, slow and light. “That’s the point.”
“They’ll think I’m weird.”
“They think you’re adorable.”
Namjoon groaned.
Seokjin tucked him closer, a little aggressively, until Namjoon made a soft oof against his chest. “And I think you’re tired.”
“I was having fun.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want them to think I’m bored.”
“They don’t.”
“I don’t want to ruin movie night.”
“You are not powerful enough to ruin movie night by taking a nap.”
Namjoon huffed a tired laugh. “Rude.”
“Truthful.”
“You think I’m powerful.”
“I think you are sleepy and emotionally attached to being entertaining.”
That made Namjoon go quiet.
Seokjin felt the words land, and for a second he regretted making them sound too real. He had wanted to keep it playful. He had wanted to hide the care inside jokes because Namjoon accepted it better that way. Namjoon could be coaxed, teased, bullied gently into rest. He could be loved loudly as long as nobody pointed too directly at the tender place underneath it.
But sometimes the tender place needed naming.
Not in front of everyone. Not loudly. Just here, in the small private pocket Seokjin had carved out of the living room with his back and his arms and the steady movement of his fingers through Namjoon’s hair.
Namjoon swallowed. “I like when they’re happy.”
“I know, baby.”
“They were laughing.”
“They are still laughing.”
“They were laughing with me.”
“They will laugh with you tomorrow too.”
Namjoon breathed in slowly.
Seokjin scratched down to the nape of his neck, then back up again, nails barely touching. Namjoon’s eyes fluttered. His whole body tried to sink lower, but there was nowhere lower to go, so he sank into Seokjin instead.
“You don’t have to keep giving them happy,” Seokjin said. “You gave enough.”
Namjoon did not answer right away.
Then, very softly, “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
Seokjin pressed his lips to Namjoon’s hair. “I know.”
“I just wanted to stay.”
“You are staying.”
“I’m hiding.”
“You are being hidden. There is a difference.”
Namjoon’s laugh came out small and warm. “That sounds fake.”
“It sounds romantic.”
“It sounds like kidnapping.”
“Protective custody.”
“Because I said sandwich?”
“Because you said sandwich and then tried to keep going like you hadn’t reached the end of yourself.”
Namjoon was quiet again, but this time the quiet did not feel sad. It felt like relief moving through him too slowly to be dramatic. His shoulders loosened. His knees shifted under the blanket. The hand on Seokjin’s sweater opened, then closed again, less like he was holding on and more like he was settling.
Behind Seokjin, Jungkook whispered, “Is he asleep?”
“No,” Seokjin said.
Namjoon, contrary and barely audible, said, “I could be.”
Seokjin smiled into his hair. “You could be if people stopped asking questions.”
Jungkook whispered, “Sorry.”
“You are forgiven.”
“By you or him?”
“Management.”
“Right. Sorry, management.”
Namjoon’s laugh shook once against Seokjin’s chest and then faded into a sigh.
Seokjin kept going. He scratched gently at Namjoon’s scalp until the last of the tension left his jaw. He rubbed slow circles at the back of his neck, then dragged his nails lightly through his hair again when Namjoon made a pleased sound too soft for anyone else to hear. Every now and then, Namjoon tried to participate on instinct. A laugh from the room would make his head twitch like he wanted to turn. A dramatic line from the movie would make him inhale like he had commentary waiting.
Each time, Seokjin stopped him.
A hand at the back of his head.
A firm arm around his waist.
A murmured, “Nope.”
Once, when Namjoon tried to lift himself on one elbow after Taehyung said his name, Seokjin simply rolled more of his weight over him.
Namjoon wheezed. “Hyung.”
“You activated the security system.”
“I was going to answer him.”
“No.”
“Seokjin.”
“Kim Namjoon is closed.”
Taehyung’s voice came from the floor, bright with affection. “I was only going to say he looks cute.”
Seokjin lifted his head enough to glare over his shoulder. “He cannot receive compliments right now. They will restart him.”
Jimin whispered, delighted, “Restart him.”
“He’ll power back on,” Hoseok agreed. “Then we’ll have another hour of sleepy philosophy.”
“Last time that happened he explained why clouds are emotionally complicated,” Jungkook said.
Namjoon shifted against Seokjin. “They are.”
Seokjin pressed him back down. “See? Restarting.”
Namjoon grumbled, but the grumble broke halfway through when Seokjin’s fingers found the spot just above his nape again.
It was unfair how well it worked. It was also convenient, and Seokjin had never been above using convenient things when they served a noble purpose.
The noble purpose, in this case, was making sure Kim Namjoon stopped treating rest like something he had to earn.
The movie went on. Someone finished the dumplings. Someone else opened another bag of snacks and did it so carefully that the plastic crinkled for an absurdly long time. Yoongi threatened to take it away if they did not commit to opening it properly. Jimin laughed into Taehyung’s shoulder. Hoseok whispered that they should order dessert, then immediately whispered that they should not because Namjoon would wake up for cake. Jungkook whispered back that he could eat Namjoon’s piece in his honor.
Namjoon’s head lifted half an inch.
Seokjin’s hand came down immediately.
“No cake.”
Namjoon froze. “There’s cake?”
“No.”
“I heard cake.”
“There is no cake.”
“Why would someone say cake if there’s no cake?”
“Because Jungkook is a danger to society.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook protested.
Seokjin did not look back. “Am I wrong?”
Jungkook took too long to answer.
Namjoon laughed again, but his eyes were closed now. Seokjin could tell from the way his cheek shifted against his collar. He could tell from the heaviness of him, from the warmth of his breath evening out, from the fact that his hand had stopped fidgeting and simply rested over Seokjin’s heart.
“There he is,” Seokjin murmured.
Namjoon hummed.
“Sleepy?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.”
“Progress.”
Namjoon smiled faintly. “You’re smug.”
“I caught you.”
“I wasn’t running.”
“You were absolutely running. Emotionally.”
Namjoon’s smile faded into something softer. “You always catch me.”
It was said lightly. Sleepily. Almost carelessly.
Seokjin felt it anyway.
He looked down at the small part of Namjoon’s face he could see in the dim light, the curve of his cheek pressed into Seokjin’s shirt, the loose fall of his hair over his forehead. Namjoon had spent the whole night giving himself away in little pieces. A laugh here. A joke there. A stolen bite, a found napkin, one shoe delivered with pride. Warmth offered everywhere, to everyone, without calculation.
Of course Seokjin caught him.
Someone had to.
Seokjin lowered his mouth to Namjoon’s forehead and kissed him once. “Always.”
Namjoon’s fingers tightened faintly. Then loosened.
For a while, he did not move at all.
Seokjin thought he had finally fallen asleep, but several minutes later, just as the movie dipped into a quiet scene and the room settled into the comfortable hush of people who knew each other too well to need constant talking, Namjoon whispered, “Hyung.”
Seokjin’s hand paused in his hair. “Hm?”
“Thank you for full service.”
Seokjin smiled so hard it hurt. “You’re welcome.”
“Five stars.”
“Only five?”
“Six.”
“Better.”
“Would visit again.”
“You live here.”
Namjoon’s mouth curved against him. “Lucky me.”
Seokjin’s throat tightened.
Ridiculous. He was ridiculous. They were lying sideways on a crumb-covered couch while their friends pretended not to listen, Namjoon’s legs were too long, Seokjin’s shoulder was starting to go numb, and there was a real possibility that Jungkook would eat everyone’s dessert if left unsupervised for more than three minutes.
Still, luck seemed like the right word for it.
Seokjin scratched lightly at Namjoon’s scalp again, slow and steady, until Namjoon’s breath evened out for real.
Behind him, the others stayed soft. They laughed quietly. They moved around them carefully. At some point, a blanket landed over Seokjin’s hip and Namjoon’s legs. At another, the volume dropped one more notch. Nobody asked Namjoon questions. Nobody tried to peek. Nobody teased loudly enough to wake him.
They let Seokjin be ridiculous and smug and immovable.
They let Namjoon be hidden.
When the credits rolled, nobody moved right away.
Seokjin did not either. His arm was trapped under Namjoon’s shoulders. His back was warm from facing the room for so long. His fingers smelled faintly like Namjoon’s shampoo from running through his hair.
Namjoon slept on, tucked safely between Seokjin and the couch, finally done giving himself to the world for the night.
Jungkook’s voice came softly from the floor. “Hyung?”
Seokjin turned his head just enough to show he was listening.
“Is he really asleep now?”
Seokjin looked down at Namjoon. At the peaceful weight of him. At the slackness in his hand. At the tiny crease between his brows finally smoothed away.
“Yes.”
Jimin whispered, “Should we help move him?”
Seokjin considered it. Then Namjoon shifted in his sleep, nose tucking closer to Seokjin’s throat, one leg tangling more securely with his.
“No,” Seokjin said.
Hoseok’s voice was warm. “You’re just going to stay like that?”
Seokjin settled his chin over Namjoon’s head, his body still curved over him, still blocking the room from seeing too much.
“For now.”
Yoongi huffed, but there was no bite in it. “You’re going to complain tomorrow that your arm hurts.”
“Probably.”
“And whose fault will that be?”
Seokjin closed his eyes as Namjoon sighed softly against him.
“All of yours,” he said.
The room laughed quietly, careful not to wake him.
Seokjin smiled into Namjoon’s hair and kept holding on.