Work Text:
(to have and to hold, from this day forward)
Namjoon taps his pen against the documents in front of him and feels a slight twitch in his eye. He blinks, and then tries not scoff at himself for the reminder to blink. Next, he’s going to have to remind himself to breathe, like some robot passing off as human.
“Lee is still avoiding making a decision,” his secretary stands at his desk, reading off an endless list of notes. “And he’s flying to Bangkok tonight, so the meeting’s been postponed to this Friday.”
His office is bathed in an orange glow from the five o’clock sun, and he spins around in his chair to look out the large ceiling windows. Namjoon sighs, long and winded. “What does his board members say?”
“At this point in time,” Hoseok clicks his tongue. “They’re silent.”
“That bastard,” Namjoon stretches his neck and pops his shoulders, but the ache flares instead of soothes. In a few minutes he’s supposed to dismiss Hoseok and send him home to his wife and kids, but would he too much of an asshole to ask for a massage appointment later in the night? Probably.
“But the fact that he hasn’t notified his lawyers means he’s re-arranging his administration post-proposal acceptance. I’ve got sources saying he’s only planning a visit to his main branch in Bangkok. So I wouldn’t be too worried on his front.” Hoseok sounds confident, which is good sign.
Namjoon closes his eyes and it burns around the seams. “I’m still worried. I don’t think there’s anything you can do to change that.”
“I can be worried for you.”
“Not your job, Hoseok.” Namjoon spins back around to face him. “I put you through enough hell already.” Hoseok smiles, the kind that’s closed lip and a little bit tired but behind it all there’s still comfort. God, screw the massage. Namjoon’s sending his secretary home. “Is that all for today?”
“Well,” Hoseok hesitates, and immediately Namjoon knows. “It’s about your husband.”
“My husband.” He echoes. “Did you find him?”
“We found Jimin,” Hoseok nods. “He got into a fight and was detained at the station. I got a call, and we picked him up. I was surprised he used his only phone call on me.”
Namjoon buries his face in his hands and winces as his back cracks. He wants to feel relief (he needs to, just so he can feel human again) but the frustration of the day hits him all at once, and now there’s this. “Of course he called you. I bet he thought that if he called me I would have left him there.”
Hoseok puts his notebook down and looks at Namjoon with all the scrutiny of a cross interrogator. The glaring sunset isn’t helping, either. “Would you have?”
The time on his laptop screen flicks over to 5:02, and Namjoon pushes himself out his chair and groans, every muscle in his body screaming bloody goddamn murder. He’s going home earlier today, a new initiative he’s implemented (Hoseok’s implemented) that he finishes work on time at least once a week. And now, they both have someone to come home to. “Good work today Hoseok. God knows where I’d be without you. Tell your wife I said hello.”
(for better)
On the way back, stuck in peak hour traffic with some miscellaneous English song on the radio distracting him from it all, Namjoon prepares himself for everything that might greet him when he steps into his apartment. He’s faced many things since taking over his father’s enterprise, faced even more before, but business is business. It has a structure, it has rules and limits and once the pretences are untangled all that’s left is a linear progression of pure causation.
But Jimin exists outside of timelines. He’s one tight, angry ball of energy appearing and disappearing without reason except to piss Namjoon off, it seems. There’s no gain in anything he does, his pathway one seared track of burnt trees and smoking metal and then it’s Namjoon (or Hoseok, in far too many cases) left to inspect the damage and reel him in. It’s not like Namjoon’s imprisoned him in their apartment - Jimin can leave whenever he wants.
When Namjoon had promised his father the flourishing of their corporation, he’d expected to be doing it alone. He was the only heir of an only heir, his father strategically excommunicating all distant relatives to maintain the certainty of Namjoon’s legacy. There was only one seat in his father’s office, and it most likely would remain that way for a long time.
He’s still alone, even if, when he steps into his apartment floating too many stories above Gangnam, there’s an added pair of black boots scuffed grey, loud music blaring from all directions at the same time. He’s still alone even when he sees dishes hand-washed and drying on their rack next to the sink. He’s still alone even when Park Jimin, his husband only by way of merging two large companies and their respective families into one untouchable empire, looks up from his phone on their large couch and smiles sardonically, “welcome home, honey.”
There’s a bruise lining the apple of his left cheek and a cut on the corner of his lip. His black sweater is wrinkled and matted with dust, jeans faring better but not by much. Two weeks ago, the last time Namjoon saw him, Jimin’s hair was a blue silver that made him look like he escaped from an entertainment company building. Now it was bleached blonde and cut nicely to frame his roughed up face.
Namjoon sets his jaw and walks straight to the kitchen counter. “I heard you got into a fight.”
“Something like that,” Jimin yawns and throws his legs on the arms of the couch. He’s playing a game on his phone, rotating his foot in the air.
Namjoon opens up the fridge and there’s nothing inside, obviously, because he always eats out and knows next to nothing about cooking. He shuts the door and wonders if high end restaurants do home delivery. “Don’t call Hoseok. It’s not his job to babysit you.”
“Oh,” Jimin hums concernedly. “Would you rather I call you? You would have left me at the station, don’t deny it.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Namjoon grits his teeth.
“I was being considerate, you know, didn’t wanna bother you in your important day job to come rescue me as my self-proclaimed babysitter-”
“It would have been easier if you avoided fighting in general-”
“-but at least Hoseok doesn’t complain because he’s paid to do shit like this. You on the other hand have, what was it again? A legal obligation? Moral, maybe? Do you even know what that means?”
It’s the same thing whenever they’re in a room together- fire and gasoline. Jimin burns through him worse than an arson’s paradise and all Namjoon does is make him glow brighter. “I’ll talk to you when you learn to grow up, Jimin.”
Radio silence. Jimin’s phone game sings obnoxiously loud from his hands. “You think you’re the smartest man in the world, huh, Namjoon?”
“That’s hyung to you, be respectful.”
“Well I don’t respect you.”
That’s it. Namjoon grabs a glass of water, downs it in one go, and heads for his bedroom. Just because he left the office early doesn’t mean he’s done for the day, nowhere near. Throughout this entire ridiculous conversation his phone’s been vibrating with incoming emails against his thigh, begging for attention. “Don’t call Hoseok next time.” He spits out, and shuts the door behind him as calmly as possible.
(for worse)
Jimin disappears the next morning, and the apartment feels like he was never there at all.
(for richer, for poorer)
Namjoon’s in the middle of a meeting with the HR director, weeks later. Hoseok had arranged a table at a Japanese restaurant in the middle of Seoul with a clear view over the Han river as well his company building in the smoggy distance, a skyscraper amongst skyscrapers, and Namjoon’s listening intently to a fortnightly report of the sector when they’re interrupted by a phone call.
“Sorry,” Yoong mutters, wiping his hands on the napkin on his lap. He checks it quickly and his expression shifts into something straddling the line between apprehension and confusion. “Umm…”
“Go ahead,” Namjoon nods.
Turning away, Yoongi answers in a hushed, sharp voice and Namjoon looks out at the view. By now he’s immune to pretty views of Seoul because the Han river from a different, more expensive angle is still the same Han river. Glinting in the sun like it’s made out of something far more precious than polluted water.
“Hey, Namjoon,” Yoongi asks with a hint of caution. Namjoon turns to face him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Jimin would like me to inform you that he is talking to me through the phone at this current time.”
Of course he is. A surge of irritation rises up Namjoon’s throat almost like bile. “Why is he calling you? Is he in trouble?”
Yoongi relays the question, pauses for a reply. “I feel like it’s best that I don’t say what he’s doing right now. But he’s fine.”
“You can hang up if you want,” Namjoon sighs. “Actually, please hang up. For my sake, at least.”
There are a lot of things that Namjoon lets Yoongi get away with, simply because he’s older and does far more than he’s asked to do in his sector. Once (maybe it was a dream, who knows), Namjoon had the pleasure of seeing him drunk at an office party after a successful launch of a new product, and as lethargic as he appears to be, he’s never seen anyone move their mouth at such a speed before, nor possess as wide or colourful a vocabulary. Yoongi’s as intimidating as he is incredible, but even he should know that when it comes to Jimin, Namjoon makes no exceptions.
“Sorry,” Yoongi says, sounding not sorry at all. “Your husband wants me to hang up. Take care of yourself and try not to piss him off when he’s around me, yeah?” He shoots a quick glance at Namjoon. “Might be too late for that.”
After Yoongi hangs up there’s a long, tense silence sitting heavily on the table. The waitress comes by and refills their wine glasses. Yoongi finishes his meal and places his chopsticks down slowly, waiting.
Namjoon breathes out for what seems like the first time since the phone call.“About telecommunications-”
“What’s up with Jimin?” Yoongi cuts in, leaning back on his seat as if he’s the one in charge. Everyone around Namjoon seems like they’ve forgotten who signs of their paychecks, and like hell does he want to put out a stern, boss-like reminder that he’s the boss. The point of the corporate pyramid. The man upstairs literally and somewhat metaphorically.
Instead he cowers in front of his inferior with his tail between his legs. They say the best way to relieve stress is to talk through it, and Yoongi’s known him long enough (way too fucking long) that whatever pristine image of someone-who-knows-what-they’re-doing has been shattered.
“I know what I’m doing,” Namjoon answers himself.
“Never asked if you didn’t,” Yoongi frowns. Or frowns harder than his usual autopilot frown.
Backtrack. “Jimin’s exactly as he is. What’s new?”
“I see that you guys still haven’t settled into married life yet. Actually,” Yoongi picks up his wine glass and ponders. “Maybe you guys have settled in so nicely that you’ve sped past the honeymoon stage and are now spending your days in the fighting and mutual hate for each other phase.”
“I don’t hate him.” That might be a lie. “But he’s not giving me much opportunity for the opposite either.”
“That’s surprising, considering Jimin’s the only person in the world who people love regardless of opportunity. He’s adorable.”
“He’s annoying,” Namjoon bites out. “And childish, and gets into fights and expects me to clean it up. It would be fine if he didn’t bring all that recklessness into my professional life as well.”
For a second, Yoongi stares at Namjoon like he’s said something stupid. “He’s angry. You knew from the start he never wanted the marriage.”
“Well neither did I!” Namjoon exclaims, then brings his voice down when a woman on the table next to theirs shoots him a worried glance. “Does he think this was an idea I suggested for my dad to put in his will? Casually, as I pulled a notary out of my ass?”
“Looks like you’re not giving him much opportunity for empathy,” Yoongi says.
“If he’s ever around,” Namjoon smiles tightly. “I’ll make sure to give him plenty of leeway. Just do me a favour and ignore his calls when I’m around. He’s acting like a brat.”
Yoongi barks a short laugh, or coughs. Namjoon can’t tell. “I feel like you’ve forgotten the fact that Jimin’s my boss too. Both of your names are on the corporation contract. That throne you think you own is only half of it, Namjoon.”
Namjoon splutters in disbelief, mouth opening to defend himself but no sound coming out. “It’s not my fault both companies decided for only a single active chairman. I can’t change our father’s will.”
“Now imagine if they’d written Jimin’s name instead of yours.” Yoongi twists his mouth and shrugs. “Wouldn’t you act out in anger too? Ten years in university, how many more working under your father, only to be nothing more than a figurehead.” He smiles to himself. “A trophy husband, to be exact.”
It takes a while for Namjoon to simmer with that comment, because he's not stupid. Ignorant, some would say, insensitive, but he's spent too many years strategizing for the best possible outcomes with twenty backup plans and legal loopholes that he knows it all. He knew what his father's will had entailed and every potential path that could branch out of it. Even the likelihood of the previous chairmans placing Jimin in charge instead of Namjoon.
“I would have remained calm,” Namjoon says with the conviction countless re-thinkings. “They would have done it with reason so I would have respected their wishes.”
The expression on Yoongi's face changes by a miniscule move of a muscle. “This is off the record, and I mean it in the most constructive way possible, but there's a self-entitled tree trunk shoved up one of your holes and if you want Jimin to even maybe consider being your ally, then you gotta pull it out. Surgically, if you have to. I'll raise funds.”
“Hyung,” Namjoon growls. “You're really pushing it.”
“Oh I hope not,”Yoongi grins for the first time. “You know what would though? If by divine power you get stuck in a circumstance where you might need your husband. Wouldn't that suck?” he pauses, mostly for drama. “Maybe Jimin could help pull that trunk out of you.”
It's safe to say that the only fathomable reason Min Yoongi still retains employment is due to his work ethics, and absolutely nothing else.
(in sickness and in health)
Divine power, Namjoon's come to realise, doesn't like to work in unpredictable, miraculous methods around him. No lightning strikes or dark strangers in coats. Instead, it teases into Namjoon's schedule in some invisible form (gaseous, he hypothesise) and accumulates all of his blind spot mishaps into one gigantic disaster several weeks later. Divine power, Namjoon's come to realise, is what you'd normally call consequence.
This consequence, resulted from sequential days of minimal sleep and even more minimal vitamins in his diet, ends up knocking Namjoon over with a fever so high and intense he’s hospitalised and has to spend at least a week plugged into an IV drip and put on house arrest.
Or until Hoseok desires, apparently.
"It's not when I want," Hoseok sighs when he comes over to check up on him and drop off his meals. “It's when the doctor has given you the all clear to safely use your body again. I swear, if you end up contracting something long term your father will dig himself out of his grave and personally write me a termination letter."
Buried under far too many layers of blankets and wet towels, Namjoon seethes with whatever energy he has left. Everything's hot but somehow he can't stop shivering, can't stop groaning from the ache that washes over him everytime he turns his head to rebalance the slosh in his brain, or even think about the state of the office without him there. There's so much to do, granted there's always so much to do. There'll probably always be so much to do as long as the economy stays as fragile as it is, and the thousand of employees under him and their thousand families depend on the well-being of Namjoon’s business instincts and the dedication he has for his legacy.
“If I can’t be in the office, then you absolutely have to.” Namjoon speaks according to intention, but in reality it sounds like a grainy moan with every ounce of pain injected into the cadence. Of all things hurting right now, nothing compares to the swell of his throat. “I’m putting you in charge.”
“I already organised for an acting chairman, so you don’t need to be worried.” The sound of a cup being placed gently on his bedside table is heard, followed by a waft of chicken soup. He feels the cool touch of Hoseok’s hand cradling the back of his neck, urging him to sit upright. They manage to get him into an appropriate position for soup drinking with a lot of effort and a lot of near-sob whimpering.
Namjoon risks using his brain to comprehend the question and he is punished with a sharp throb. “Who? Is it Seokjin? I thought he was in Tokyo. Wait, he is.” He scrunches up his face. “No, you did not put Min Yoongi in charge. I refuse. Pass me my phone.”
A spoon prods against his frown and Namjoon takes it in, swallowing in pain. Hoseok grins, and just for a second breaks professionalism in a way that has Namjoon worried. For all the calm and collected his secretary presents himself in the company building, outside of office hours, Hoseok is as animated as he is reliable. But worse of all, he’s good. Goodness and efficiency has never once coincided for as long as Namjoon’s been concerned with either virtues.
“I’ve made sure that Yoongi remains in his sector until you return.”
Now Namjoon’s confused. “Then who…”
There’s that grin again, like a premeasure for Namjoon’s reaction, like he’s trying to assure him that everything will be fine. Or maybe that he’s having the time of his life, and Namjoon’s about to find out the reason why. “I put the other chairman in charge, of course.”
The other chairman?
Oh.
“What?” Namjoon closes his eyes in hopes that he didn’t just hear that, that he’ll wake up and realise it’s all been a long, unusually visceral nightmare and he goes to put on his suit and head to the company building, in which Park Jimin (the other chairman, his mind keeps echoing) would not be there. That’ll he’ll be somewhere far far away like he always is, keeping out of Namjoon’s way.
“I just saw him off at the office. I’ve never seen Jimin in a suit, but it suits him.” Hoseok pauses. “God, I’m turning into Seokjin-”
“Why, of all people in South Korea, of all people in this goddamn plane of existence did you authorise Jimin as acting chairman? Are you trying to kill me? Are you trying to collapse the company? Those assholes from Choi & Kim are coming in today so I can’t have the office manned by-”
“Shut up,” Hoseok forces another spoonful of soup into his mouth. Namjoon’s thrown off by the show of disrespect for a second but his mind focuses on much more pressing matters at hand. “Jimin will do fine. The company’s not gonna go into bankruptcy. I had Jeongguk take that meeting today, and if by some catastrophic event he’s not able to make, Yoongi’s our backup.”
“But Jimin-” another spoon in his mouth cuts off his words again. Namjoon swallows out of anger and winces at the strain. “This is serious, Hoseok.”
“I am serious.” Hoseok says. “Do you think I would ever put someone in that throne of yours if I knew they couldn’t handle it? Jimin has the same credentials, the same length of experience working under his half of the company before the merge, the same right to claim of your precious empire as much as you do.”
But he hates me, Namjoon wants to shout, but he knows that’s only childish. All of this is business, and Jimin’s the unfortunate encounter of something irrevocably, inescapably personal.
The spoon stops attacking his lips. Hoseok takes one deep breath, and exhales with just as much fervour. At once he ages a decade, even in his jeans and hoodie and unstyled hair. “He’s never going to get a chance to prove himself, you know that? So give him that chance.” Hoseok laughs a little, in the way he does when he wants to break the tension. “Not all people in marriages stay together because they love each other, but for something bigger than the both of them.”
A flash of a memory, rooted in the sepia depths of Namjoon’s repression, surfaces clear as day. The day of the wedding in an over-cooled marriage registry office. His father, struggling to stay awake in his wheelchair, watching his only son sign a piece of paper worth more money than Namjoon’s ever fathomed. It was the second time he had met Jimin, and the first he had seen him dressed in a white suit that seemed tailored to every dip and curve of his body. Afterwards, his father was rushed to the hospital and at the insistence of Namjoon accompanying him there, his father had heaved out something along the lines of stay with your partner.
When Namjoon was admitted into the hospital a few days back he had thought about what would happen if he didn’t make it, if his father had thought the same thing. But his father had thought ahead. He merged two corporate giants into something almost godlike, and given it all to Namjoon, expecting that a mere human could tame it. But now, far too long after his father’s death and the first time Jimin vanished from their shared apartment, he understands why his father had only sanctioned the deal if a personal marriage was involved.
Jimin was his partner by duty and by law, no matter how much he hates Namjoon. And no matter how hard Namjoon has closed his eyes and feigned blindness to it all, Namjoon is his partner - his husband - bound together tighter than love.
(until death do us part)
If there’s one thing Namjoon’s good at, it’s obedience. He listens to his doctor’s word of advice and stays in bed for the recommended resting time down the millisecond, drinking every thermos of miscellaneously flavoured soup Hoseok brings on his daily visits (he wonders if his secretary will ask for a reimbursement), swallows the fever pills with the same fervour as waiving a trade proposal.
The very moment his house arrest reaches its deadline he leaves the apartment, having been dressed for the office since the early morning.
At twenty minutes after noon, after a nine day hiatus, Kim Namjoon returns to his company building with the intention to clean everything up. He doesn’t expect anything on fire, per se, maybe the smell of lingering smoke from initial fires before things cooled down.
Hoseok keeps reassuring him that everything’s fine since he’s been away, but ‘fine’ had such a variety of implications that Namjoon had to take the benefit of the doubt. Only the absolute essential meetings were relayed to Namjoon briefly as the doctor had specifically instructed that all causes of stress be avoided entirely.
It took a while for Namjoon to convince Hoseok that although work was stressful, being away from work was even worse. So they settled on a compromise.
Of all things Namjoon worried about, Park Jimin occupied the most space and perpetuated the highest of intensity. So when the elevator dinged quietly on his floor and opened up to a long stretch of hallway punctuated by doors of other departments, his own set of large double doors at the end of it, Namjoon can’t help the heavy breath he takes to calm every firing nerve in his body.
He strides to the door, takes another breath as his hands hover over the handles, then thinks better and goes to knock instead, out of politeness.
The space goes even quieter, so Namjoon presumes there was a conversation going on inside. Then Jimin’s voice calls through, “come in.”
Namjoon hadn’t expected a fire, not quite, and in all honestly not even the smell of smoke. When he pushes open his door in what felt like a millennium since he was last in the office and saw that everything was the way it was, saw Jimin sitting on his chair in a dress shirt with the sleeves folded up, somewhere beyond the doubt and apprehension, he knew Hoseok was right. Everything is fine.
“Namjoon,” Jimin says. Relieved. So many times Namjoon’s heard his name in Jimin’s mouth, and every single time Jimin chews and spits it out. But then the sentiment disappears, and Jimin’s face hardens into a schooled annoyance. He’s so good at it Namjoon thinks that he must practise that look just for him to see.
The man on the conference chair turns around, and Taehyung’s face beams up at him. “Boss, your back.”
“Good to be back,” Namjoon says, then glances at Jimin. “Sort of.” The large windows to the right of his desk lets in a light that hits Jimin on the points of his cheeks and his blond hair, throwing off a bright haze around him. He looks younger than Namjoon remembers, a little less intimidating. He’s not wearing any of his earrings or rings, no sign of dirt on him. Namjoon hates to admit, but Jimin looks good. “Hoseok must’ve told you I was coming.”
Jimin purses his lips. “He did. I chose to ignore it.”
“I was going to return someday,” Namjoon says. It comes out harsher than he had expected.
“Okay!” Taehyung springs up from his seat. “I’ll give you two some alone time.” And he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.
“Look, Jimin-”
“I get it, Namjoon.” Jimin sighs, running a hand through his hair. It falls in strands all over his head, then settles perfectly back across his forehead. “I’m leaving. You can have your company back.” He gets up to leave, to follow after Taehyung and if Namjoon lets him he’ll get his office back and his control back and it’ll be as if he was never sick. If Namjoon lets him leave everything will feel like his again.
“But it’s not.” Namjoon replies, getting a confused look in return. Jimin hesitates at Namjoon’s desk, and Namjoon finally hears, finally listens to his father’s wish which he held in far too high of an esteem. “It’s not all mine. It’s ours.”
Jimin widens his eyes, mouth agape. Frankly Namjoon’s a bit offended - it shouldn’t to be too out of character for him to act with kindness. Though considering how long it took him to do so, he supposes he deserves to be offended.
Namjoon swallows, looking at Jimin in the sunlight. He still isn’t comfortable with the idea of sharing, of allowing himself to be vulnerable to disappointment. Jimin probably still hates him. “I’m sorry,” Namjoon finally says. “For… everything. It took me a near death experience for me to realise I was wrong about the both of us. I know it takes more than one horrible apology for you to forgive me, but-”
“I visited you, when you were admitted into ICU.” Jimin says, quietly. “It was ridiculous, you didn’t need that amount of care but your insurance allowed it.”
The air between them is awkward and new. “You visited me?”
“It was family only, and you didn’t have anyone else. Hoseok called me when you collapsed, and I gotta be honest, I was close to pulling the plug on your hospital bed.”
“Oh,” Namjoon flinches. “Okay.”
“And I wanted to say no when Hoseok asked me to cover for you. Because I knew there was so much I didn’t know, and still don’t know about this company. It’s partly mine, but it hasn’t been any sort of mine for a while.”
“It’s always been yours,” Namjoon says. “I’m sorry I assumed it wasn’t.”
Nothing moves between them save the light, dimming from a flock of clouds and brightening again when they pass. The push and pull of their breathing bridges the silence. Jimin stands there guarded, and Namjoon knows it will be a long time before he opens up to him, if he even deserves it. “So what are you going to do?” Jimin asks. “The will still says only one active chairman. I sure as hell won’t settle for vice chairman, and I know you won’t either.”
Namjoon smiles. All this time he thought they were too different to ever maintain a relationship together. But they were simply saying the same word in different languages. “The will’s outdated,” he shrugs. “And frankly, it can go fuck itself.”
Jimin giggles, the sound light and genuine, but stops when he realises what he’s doing. “It’s not going to be that easy. PR might vote no, just so they wouldn’t have to change all the business cards.”
Namjoon waves the thought away and looks at his husband in the eye. “We’re partners. This is our legacy. Sink or swim, we’re doing it together.”