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Therapy isn’t for everyone.
You have to be open to it, for one thing, and then you have to find the right psychiatrist for you without coughing up your entire life savings. It can all be quite the hassle, especially if you're as gay and sad as Namjoon is, in a country where therapy is particularly not everyone's cup of tea. People seem to think that paying to talk about your problems is a waste, so everyone kinda just buries their issues under a facade of masculine strength and filial submission.
God, it's practically a virtue here.
So Namjoon’s a little surprised, then, to see an attractive young man waiting patiently in the lobby of the clinic he’d discovered yesterday. (The clinic’s tiny, hidden away on a quiet street in Gangnam and Namjoon almost walked right past it until he noticed the small sign.) Namjoon knows not to assume but the man seems so at ease with himself that he finds it a little hard to believe that he’s here for therapy. Blonde hair and a pretty pout, even a strong set of shoulders. Perhaps an idol bowed down by an arduous life in show-business? That would explain the nondescript black clothing and the perfect poker face too – pleasant in the moment but otherwise it doesn’t reveal much else.
Blondie catches him staring and Namjoon snaps away. His neck cracks loudly, cheeks heat up from the embarrassment, and he groans in his head. Little Joonie all grown up and finally off his meds but still he gets anxious over the smallest things. Stupid.
After registering at the front desk, Namjoon shuffles over to the waiting area where he hovers like a creep for a bit. There are seven seats kind of clustered together and the guy’s sitting right in the middle. It’d be weird to sit beside him but also rude to pick the seat furthest away, right? Except that Namjoon sort of wants to – he feels like tucking himself away in a corner because somehow the guy’s even more intimidatingly handsome up close.
Namjoon would rather not have an anxiety attack the first time he sees his new therapist.
He decides to leave a seat empty between them and has only just sat down when the receptionist calls out his name. He clambers up in a hurry but like the klutz he is, forgets that there’s a bag on his lap. It tips over onto the floor, contents flying out noisily, though there isn’t so much in it (Namjoon had learnt to keep the clutter to a minimum for short trips out) that Blondie would do anything more than dip his head in concern.
But there it is again, the creeping panic rising up his chest. Namjoon takes a deep breath. He forces himself to pause until his shaking fingers come to a still with the little break he’s given himself.
“Kim Seokjin? Dr Lee is ready.”
Blondie – or rather, Seokjin, now undeniably a patient and not a friend waiting for one – unravels his delicately crossed legs and brushes past Namjoon towards one of the three rooms in the establishment.
Right before the door clicks shut, Seokjin shoots Namjoon a small, reassuring smile.
Dr. Park is a woman with the sweet smile and tough words needed to help him, so Namjoon decides to come back. He schedules his appointments during Jeongguk’s shifts, the boy a recent hire that needs the job more than Namjoon really needs him.
Namjoon’s parents wonder out loud, sometimes, why he had to leave the country for a very expensive college, only to drop out six months in and come back to open a quaint little bookshop in Seoul. Namjoon doesn’t bother responding. They know very well that he went to college to appease them. They even brag about him and his deviant choice in career – prodigy son too good for SKY but so passionate in the arts that he couldn’t leave it well behind.
Still, they remain unforgivingly bitter about not having a lawyer for a son, so those biting remarks in private are all they have.
“Why here?” Dr. Park asks one day. “You’re fluent in English, you have friends in the States and your parents – a clear source of your anxiety – aren’t there.”
“I thought about it,” he admits. “But I’m not done with South Korea, i-if that makes any sense. I don’t think I ever could be but we’ll see.” She cocks her head to the side, a silent invitation for him to go on. “I mean, I guess I could have gone to Daegu or someplace in Honam where it’s quieter and harder for my parents to hound me but I guess... I guess I’m not done with this city either.”
Namjoon’s appointments coincide with Seokjin’s more often than not. It was a little awkward at first, stepping into the place and feeling his whole being tilt because Seokjin was just always there – turning his head the exact same way whenever Namjoon arrives, somehow looking poised and beautiful in his threadbare monochrome sweaters. Seokjin’s always in the same seat, right in the middle and one down from Namjoon’s usual.
A welcome presence. So welcome that Namjoon’s actually started coming early instead of arriving right on time, which is quite the huge achievement. He’s always been late to things because he feels like something’s not quite right just as he’s about to leave. Like...a loose plug in the house, or a faulty pen in his bag, so he’s always checking checking checking.
Namjoon should probably tell Dr. Park about it but then he remembers that it’s about Seokjin, who sits right outside her door sometimes, and he figures that’s a little too close for comfort. It also doesn’t sound quite so impressive when the reason for a change is more external than internal.
“What’s that?”
“Huh?!”
Jesus. That little skip of his heartbeat probably isn’t very good for his health.
Apparently, it was Seokjin who asked him the question. Seokjin who is distressingly close all of a sudden as if he were the subject of a painting reaching out of the frame. He’s bending over the empty seat between them, peering at the book in Namjoon’s hands. He seems genuinely curious, but also a little amused by Namjoon’s reaction.
Namjoon shakes the thin paperback in the grip of his hand. “This? It’s, uh, a collection of essays. I’m reading about– about Zhuang Zhou.”
“Never heard of the guy.”
Didn’t think so. Namjoon feels his smile falter, and he curses that tiny part of himself for hoping that Seokjin would recognize the name. No offense to Zhuang Zhou but Namjoon hasn’t met many people his age who have. He’s a little frustrated that he didn’t catch himself projecting unrealistic expectations onto strangers again. It was just nice to imagine that the man sitting next to him once a week would have similar interests, that he’d be easy to converse with.
Yeah, right. Philosophy is totally an accessible topic of conversation. Seriously, Namjoon?
“Though,” says Seokjin then, lips quirking up in encouragement. “You could tell me about him.”
Namjoon’s chest floods with relief. He opens his mouth – only to stammer something unintelligible. Shit, fucking shit. He can talk a person’s ear off so well once he gets to know them, he just needs to get this first bit over with but it's always so hard.
And then Seokjin places a hand on his. “Hey, how about we introduce ourselves officially first?”
Goddamn. This man is perceptive and generous as fuck. What business does he have going to a therapist?
“I– uh– I’m Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”
“I know,” Seokjin grins. “Kim Seokjin. So, Zhuang...Zhao is it?”
“Zhou,” corrects Namjoon as politely as he can. “Zhuang Zhou. Chinese philosopher. Butterflies and transformation.”
Seokjin raises an eyebrow. Namjoon stares back at him.
“Interesting. Tell me more? If you want, of course.”
It’s very tempting. Namjoon glances at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes til their appointments. He can totally summarize Zhuang Zhou’s butterfly dream theory in ten minutes, right? Definitely. Namjoon hesitates for a second, thinks fuck it, and slides into the empty seat between them.
Since then they’ve completely bypassed the Uncomfortable Small Talk stage and are well deep into the Passionate Monologues About Stuff stage of their acquaintanceship. It’s mostly Namjoon, but Seokjin has a lot of opinions so it never feels burdensome. He even thanks Namjoon sometimes. Feels like he’s going back to school for the first time in years, he jokes, except that this teacher is a lot easier on the eyes.
Namjoon laughs it off, doesn’t let himself think too much about it, or the other times Seokjin had mildly flirted with him. It gives him a little shock each time, makes him stutter his way to the inelegant end of his sentences to Seokjin’s amusement. Inside, something warm slips into his chest and settles in his bones while his ears buzz in a strange but pleasant way.
It’s kind of weird. Good weird.
“First time in years?” repeats Namjoon once he’s gotten a grip on himself. There’s a certain weariness lining Seokjin’s eyes but otherwise he seems too young to talk about school like that.
“I never finished high school,” says Seokjin nonchalantly. “So I guess we have the drop-out thing in common.”
Namjoon laughs weakly. It’s okay to laugh, right? Or – or maybe he shouldn’t, seeing as he’s in a position of comparative privilege. Oh God.
“It’s okay,” grins Seokjin, combing his hair with his fingers. “We can’t all be born geniuses. And me dropping out couldn’t be helped.”
Seokjin’s hair is black now, no longer yellow-blonde and it seems to agree with him more. He looked good before, really good, but now his hair is softer and frames his features nicely. (“Lost a bet to one of my brothers. The blonde surprisingly looked good so I kept it, but I’m glad it’s back to normal now.”)
His hair is still that curious mix of neat frazzle though, as if he styles it in the morning but the rest of the day never lets it stay that way.
Namjoon thinks it’s a nice look on him.
An hour later they walk out of the building together, as usual about to part ways after an afternoon of soul-bearing. Namjoon to the right, Seokjin to the left.
“Wait– Hey. Do you wanna grab a late lunch?”
The words tumble over Namjoon’s lips clumsily, and he halts in surprise. Did he just ask Seokjin out? (Platonically. He just asked Seokjin out platonically. God, he did say it in a platonic way right? He’s never been that good at this whole social thing.)
Namjoon doesn’t have to fret for more than a second though, because Seokjin just smiles and nods.
“Lead the way, mister.”
They duck into a cafe just around the corner. There’s a little one in Namjoon’s bookstore a few streets away – more of a booth that Jeongguk mans, really – but he isn’t quite ready for Seokjin to appraise that part of his life. Soon, maybe. Who knows? Life's springing all sorts of things on him lately.
Seokjin picks up the menu at their table, sniffs, and picks the second-cheapest thing on it. Namjoon feels a bit shitty for noticing. He forgets about it soon enough though – somehow they start talking about their families, and Namjoon is absolutely hooked.
Maybe it was how Seokjin hinted at his personal life earlier, maybe that’s why Namjoon asked Seokjin out. It was like Seokjin trusted him enough after a few months of non-committal heavy discussion, and now Namjoon hangs onto every word spilling past his lips like a starving dog with a bone. Namjoon brushes past his “ball-busting snooty parents”, and Seokjin seems a little surprised by his interest, though it isn’t long before he relaxes and really starts talking.
Seokjin talks about his siblings with enthusiasm and distaste in equal measure. They’re his whole life, the bunch of rascals, “all four plus one of them”, whatever that means. He’d dropped out of school to work and take care of them, making sure they complete their education despite their absent parents.
“That’s really brave,” says Namjoon. Seokjin shrugs as if he’s heard it all before. Namjoon plays around with his bowl of salad, considering his next words carefully. He hopes they don’t piss Seokjin off, despite no indication whatsoever over the past few weeks that Seokjin is anything but chill. “Is this why you go to a therapist?”
“No,” scoffs Seokjin, and Namjoon’s a bit thrown aback by the bark of his laughter. “I mean, officially that’s why I go for therapy. It’s court-ordered. They said it’ll help in case my dad pulls that shit again.”
Namjoon looks at him questioningly, then ducks his head. Shouldn’t be too nosy or he’ll lose another friend. Friend? Acquaintance.
“S’alright,” says Seokjin, popping a baked fry into his mouth. “I’m used to it. I’ll tell you the story if you promise not to look at me different.”
It’s said like a joke, but Namjoon promises just in case.
Seokjin studies his face for a second. He purses his lips, shrugs, and digs back into his food as if he were talking about a simple trip to the grocery store. “There’s five of us living in a two-room flat. Been living most of my life without supervision, keeping things afloat with the kids on my own. Mom’s an addict. She’s never around but our deadbeat dad is though. He usually just bums around in a drunk stupor but that day,” and here Seokjin pauses, the tiniest bit of rage seeping through the cracks in his nonchalance, “that day he wanted the money we saved up for the kids’ school fees. We wouldn’t give it to him. So he called social services on us.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. He’s a piece of shit,” says Seokjin. “But he’s our dad, you know?”
Namjoon nods slowly, in fact not really knowing at all, and he feels a little awful for everything.
“I almost lost them,” continues Seokjin, head pillowed in his palm as he swirls a fry in his ketchup. “They give me so much grief but they’re my kinda my entire life. Long story short, I got them back. With some conditions, of course.”
Seokjin winks like he hadn’t just told Namjoon a pretty heavy story. And Namjoon, well, Namjoon doesn’t know what to do. He stares at a stain in the tablecloth, thinking of any, any way to respond that won’t sound like pity–
“So anyway that’s why I go to therapy,” says Seokjin cheerfully, scrunching up his face in a closed-mouth grin.
“Um. At least it helps,” offers Namjoon tentatively.
Seokjin laughs again, throwing down his napkin and stretching after a full meal in content. “Don’t get me wrong, therapy’s important if you’re sick,” he says. “But it just doesn’t work for me. I’m too fucked up for it to do anything more than help protect my kids.”
Things change, but not really. They still meet up once a week in the little waiting room fifteen minutes before their appointments, and each time Namjoon picks their topic of conversation (ranging from the toilet paper industry to the cultural importance of the hanbok; there really is a lot to talk about). Sure, Namjoon gets to call Seokjin hyung now, and one time he overheard the receptionists whispering something about how they’re “more touchy lately” but really, that’s about it.
Well. They go out for late lunches after therapy too. Dinner sometimes, depending on the time of day.
And those are a lot more fun, a lot more meaningful in a way, because something about the clinic puts Seokjin a little on edge and each time they step out onto the street he’ll loosen up, almost unravel in delight and ease.
So yeah, maybe things have changed. It’s taken a while for Namjoon to realize that he’s found a friend in Seokjin, and now he’s feeling a little bit giddy at that thought. Everything just kind of fell into place easily without him ever noticing. He wonders if this is new for Seokjin too, this level of comfort despite the short time they’ve known each other.
“Surprise!”
It’s one of the rare days that Namjoon’s at the clinic first but the one who’d actually said that was Seokjin, and with a damn good reason too.
His hair is pink.
“Whoa,” says Namjoon, and he thinks he must look stupid if it makes Seokjin laugh that stupid windshield wiper laugh all of a sudden.
“I’m guessing you like it?” replies Seokjin, grinning knowingly in a way that Namjoon tries hard not to think too much about.
“It's alright,” mutters Namjoon before turning away in reflex like he’s looking for something. (Looking for what? What could possibly be so interesting about the bathroom door, you bloody idiot?)
Seokjin slides into his seat, still grinning. “Jaehwan came over and Taehyung took the dyes out. It was kind of a mess but everyone’s so excited about Hoseok’s new gig at the dance studio and Gukkie’s hasn’t gotten suspended in year so I kinda just–” He giggles a little breathlessly, hands clutching at Namjoon’s arm. “Everyone’s pink and orange now. Or blondish.”
Namjoon can’t help but laugh too. Seokjin’s excitement is pretty infectious and it’s rare that he’s talking about home like that. He seems to think that the first time he told Namjoon about his family was a bit much – Namjoon can tell that he tries to dial it back on the heavy stuff, and he only ever drops names in his stories now, without specifying who’s family and who’s not.
Seokjin doesn’t say who’s who, but it feels a little bit like trust anyway. Trust that Namjoon won’t judge him, trust that Namjoon’s smart enough to figure things out for himself. Which Namjoon thinks he does a pretty good job of, if he says so himself.
“New gig, huh?”
“Yup,” says Seokjin enthusiastically. The receptionist calls their names but he only grips Namjoon’s arm harder. “It’s not much but still kinda more than we expected? And Hoseok’s so happy about it.” He draws back all of a sudden, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll tell you more about it later at dinner, yeah?”
Namjoon blinks, takes in Seokjin sitting before him with windswept pink hair and collarbones peeking out of his old grey sweater. “Yeah,” he whispers.
The nights are getting colder but it’s Friday and the streets are bustling with people out to have a good time. Seokjin’s leading Namjoon through the crowd, their hands clasped together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
They’ve never gone out before – lunches and dinners, yes, but Seokjin always had to go home to his kids and Namjoon back to his bookstore. Tonight, though, they’ve found their way downtown, far enough away that the streets look a little different, a little rougher around the edges.
“Where are we going?” Namjoon has to press closer and lean in, but Seokjin doesn’t seem to mind.
“A club,” says Seokjin over his shoulder and wow he’s pretty. He’s also a bit high from the wine Namjoon treated themselves to at dinner.
“It’s only eight though?”
“Well, a bar, but it’s real swanky.”
“Swanky.”
“Shut up,” grins Seokjin, and suddenly he’s pushing Namjoon through a door into a establishment with smooth music and tasteful neon lights. There’s a decent amount of people dancing in the middle, but most are seated in the booths, and Namjoon wonders why there isn’t a line outside.
“I get it now,” says Namjoon over the jazz remix of a Drake track that shouldn’t work but does. “This place is pretty swanky.”
Seokjin laughs as they head to the bar. “You get me.”
“You’re 23. Not ancient, maybe a little old but not that hard to relate to.”
“I know how taxation works and you own a bookstore in the heart of Seoul.”
“Huh,” says Namjoon. “We sound pretty awesome. People our age spend their nights dancing in swanky clubs while we’re out here being all responsible and shit.”
“We totally have our lives under control,” says Seokjin.
“Totally.”
Seokjin’s friends with the bartender, of course, and for a place this nice the alcohol’s not too expensive. They spend some time at the bar talking shit, and Seokjin even lets Namjoon go on another one of his spiels until suddenly he loops his arms around Namjoon’s neck, and drags him to the dancefloor.
“Uh, hyung? I’m a really bad dancer.”
“Shit, me too,” laughs Seokjin. He tightens his hold around Namjoon’s neck, looks up at him through his eyelashes. Namjoon tries for the nth time in the whole duration they’ve known each other to ignore the way his heart speeds up whenever he so much as glances in Seokjin’s direction.
“Swaying’s alright, I guess.”
“Swaying’s more than good.”
And it is, it’s pretty good, except Namjoon isn’t sure if this is even real because why the fuck would Seokjin hang out with him? Seokjin has a ton of friends and he’s busy with his kids and his odd jobs so he probably doesn’t want anything more than someone to tease occasionally. So Namjoon should really just get a grip on himself and enjoy this very platonic dance session while it lasts.
“You’re cute.”
“Huh?”
“You’re cute,” repeats Seokjin, finger tracing Namjoon’s jaw as they continue shuffling their feet to the music.
“What,” stutters Namjoon, and there’s that weird, warm feeling in his chest again. It sinks low in his gut and his ears start buzzing as Seokjin’s lips quirk up in a sly little smile. “You drunk?”
“Alcoholic father and fucked up childhood, remember?” says Seokjin. “I’m sober as shit, but I’m happy. You?”
“I’m...yeah. Me too.”
“Happy?”
Namjoon nods, and Seokjin seems to brighten up even more.
“Can’t believe I met you.”
Namjoon swallows, hoping Seokjin doesn’t hear that cause he’s really close and also really attractive. Namjoon doesn’t need to embarrass himself any further. “What do you mean?”
“You’re just...really great. You’re a good listener and so sweet.”
“Carry on,” says Namjoon, rolling his eyes in a weak attempt at concealing how his limbs are currently turning into mush.
Seokjin seems to take that as a challenge. He smirks. “You’re smart. And it’s hot as fuck.”
Well, shit. Namjoon’s brain is screaming and his whole body is buzzing and Seokjin’s hand is on his chest and it feels really nice.
“Not that you need to open your mouth to be hot.” Seokjin smiles, hand trailing down Namjoon’s too-thin button down, and sighs. “You’re really, really hot.”
The words might as well be foreign seeing how it’s entirely unlike him, but it spills from his mouth anyway. “Can I kiss you?”
Seokjin hums, looking strangely pleased that Namjoon’s the one to ask.
And suddenly they’re kissing.
Seokjin’s lips are plush and eager under his, hands firm as they test how it feels to hold Namjoon by the waist, to trail up Namjoon’s chest, to run fingers through his hair. It isn’t the first time Namjoon’s kissed anyone, but it feels a bit like it because he just – he really likes the way Seokjin makes him feel. All the time, and especially now as Seokjin mouths along his jaw, mumbling how Namjoon is doing so good, so well.
About what, Namjoon doesn’t ask. They both know, and Seokjin moans encouragingly in his neck when Namjoon finds his own hands on Seokjin’s ass. He tugs Seokjin a little closer and the man yelps.
“Namjoon,” he whines, and the name’s never sounded sweeter coming from anyone else’s mouth. Seokjin leans back a little to look him in the eyes, hands now resting on his shoulders. “I– I like you. A lot. I have a lot of shit going on but you’re just– you’re so sweet and smart and funny and super hot.”
“Fuck,” says Namjoon, mouth dry and voice surely too hoarse to be sexy. “You too. All of that– you too.”
Seokjin leans in again, bites gently on Namjoon’s lower lip. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Yes,” gasps Namjoon against Seokjin’s mouth, a mouth so sweet and full of words like honey that make his ears hum and his chest warm, so incredibly warm.