Archive of Our Own

Seokjin doesn’t want to come off as ungrateful by bitching about his job, especially after beating the odds and becoming the biggest act in the world, being paid a fortune to do what he loves with the people he loves. Hundreds of thousands if not millions of people would kill to be where he is. But sometimes—just sometimes—like when he’s being subjected to five hours of dance practice a day, he wishes he had taken up on his brother’s offer to manage his restaurant just so he can clock out at a reasonable hour. Right now it’s nearing midnight, and although their choreographer had called it a day over an hour ago, Hoseok is still unsatisfied with a few details, and they all know he’s the one who actually calls the shots around here.

“No, no,” Seokjin can sense the dance leader’s frustration from where he sits, all the way across the room with his back against the mirror. “You gotta snap it on this part to match the tempo. Make it sharper. Cleaner. Not too— Yeah, yeah, like that, perfect.” Seokjin cranes his neck out of curiosity. At least it’s not his legs Hoseok is currently working overtime. Small mercies.

Seokjin yawns, lets himself space out and relishes the few minutes of rest he has before he’s summoned again. His eyes remain wide open, but his brain is slipping into sleep mode, the acoustic version of Coldplay’s Yellow playing somewhere at the back of his head. Faintly, he can hear Hoseok clapping to the rhythm of Butter over his imaginary music.

“You alright, Yoongi-yah?” Seokjin glances to his side, where Yoongi is dozing off with Jungkook’s sweater as a pillow just a few feet away from him. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Peachy,” Yoongi mumbles, tossing to lie on his other side. Seokjin decides to leave him be.

Another music starts to play. This time it isn’t from Seokjin’s mental jukebox. It’s just the instrumental, but Seokjin immediately recognizes it to be Black Swan, Taehyung’s part to be precise. Hoseok repeats the two bars over and over again until the younger gets it right. Seokjin doesn’t blame him. Almost two years of not performing in front of a live audience has made them a little rusty.

“God, feels like my joints are about to pop off,” Namjoon winces, limping towards the Dead Men corner. “I’m too old for this.” He shakes his head.

“The audacity to say that to my face,” Seokjin feigns offense.

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and plops down next to the elder. “I honestly don’t know how you do it, hyung. You’re amazing.”

The corner of Seokjin’s lips twitches, a knee-jerk reaction to Namjoon’s constant compliments. “It’s all in the mind. If you think you’re twenty, you’re twenty.”

“In that case, I think I’m pushing forty.”

A light chuckle breaks out between them. Seokjin would space out again, but he always finds it harder to mentally log out whenever Namjoon’s around, so he ends up drumming his hands on Namjoon’s thigh to the beat of the song. Namjoon being Namjoon, he doesn’t complain.

“Everyone, from the top!” Hoseok’s voice booms from across the room, accompanied by a clap loud enough to wake Yoongi up. Namjoon groans, rolling his eyes as he props himself to get back up. Like second nature, he holds out his hand for Seokjin to take, and Seokjin’s body reacts to it before his mind can register what’s going on. Next thing he knows he’s back in formation and Black Swan’s intro is playing.

They go on for another half an hour, until Yoongi taps out and Taehyung swears to god he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t have carbs in his system in the next fifteen minutes. The other four sigh in relief when Hoseok decides to wrap it up for the day. “Guess we can continue tomorrow.” A collective groan follows.

Ragged, uneven breathing fills the room as they all scatter to collect their belongings, along with occasional squeals that sound a lot like the youngsters. Oh to be young and full of vigor. Seokjin packs his bag and takes out his phone, finally checking his notifications for the first time since he arrived at work. A couple of messages in his family group chat, though nothing addressed to him in particular. A little bit of this and that. He makes a mental note to check for any important emails before bed.

“Hyung,” Jungkook walks up to him, backpack slung over his shoulder, “we’re gonna go get gukbap. You in?”

Seokjin is about to say of course out of habit when he realizes they would only use the opt in system when someone has opted out. “Wait, who’s not coming?”

Jungkook points with his chin. “Namjoon hyung. Said his boyfriend’s coming to pick him up.”

Seokjin’s face drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook presses his lips into a thin line. “So, you in?”

Seokjin drums his fingers on the floor, indecisive. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head home first.”

“You sure?” Jungkook cocks a brow. “You haven’t eaten anything since—”

“I’m beat,” Seokjin forces out a yawn. “We still have triangle kimbaps at the dorm right?”

“Think so…” Jungkook looks up, jogging his memory. “Hey Jimin-ssi, do we still have triangle kimbaps?” he shouts.

“I ate the last two, sorry!” Jimin shouts back.

“I have a whole bag in my room!” Taehyung adds, lifting his head from Jimin’s lap.

“Well, there you have it.” Jungkook shrugs. “You sure that’d be enough? Today was tough.”

It sure was. But Seokjin’s body feels heavier by the second, weighed down by his thoughts, and if Taehyung needs carbs, Seokjin just needs a hot shower and a good night’s sleep. “I’ll live.”

Jungkook seems unsure still, but then Taehyung lets out a loud roar and they both know Jungkook better hurry before his bandmate goes berserk. “If you say so. See you back home?”

Seokjin nods, waving Jungkook and the rest goodbye. And when he catches Namjoon dashing out first with his phone glued to his ear and a stupid grin plastered all across his face, he only presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and swallows the lump in his throat.

So Namjoon has a boyfriend. Big deal. They’re allowed to date. They’ve been allowed to date since they debuted. Hell, Taehyung and Jimin are probably dating. Fucking. Something. It’s not a big deal.

The other boys have had hookups before. Nothing serious, nothing that lasted long enough to leave an impression. There was never a dating ban in the first place—Bang PD-nim even said they ought to feel love and heartbreak firsthand in order to write about them—but they had made a stupid pact among themselves to not see anyone until they get their first daesang. Something about keeping their heads in the game. But at the end of the day, they’d all agreed their career comes first. BTS comes first.

But this, this fairly new relationship Namjoon dove head first into, doesn’t seem casual at all. If Seokjin recalls correctly, Namjoon started seeing this guy back in 2017, and though they started out as friends, Namjoon never stopped talking about him since. The smart, amazing hyung that just gets him. As if his late night conversations with Seokjin didn’t mean a thing.

“He’s just so… so human, perfectly imperfect, and it’s like… his ridges fit mine,” Namjoon had said with stars in his eyes when Seokjin had asked what’s so good about this guy, why Namjoon is so hellbent on making it work. Maybe that’s the problem. Seokjin is an ideal in Namjoon’s eyes, perfect to a fault. He’s not human enough to love. Not in the way he wants to be loved.

It’s not Namjoon’s fault, Seokjin is well aware of that. The truth is he had spent years building the perfect façade, hiding his scars and flaws behind his unwavering confidence and convincing laughter in hope no one will ever get close enough to see what's beyond them. Meeting someone who he hopes would tear his walls down and see him for who he is, meeting Namjoon, was never part of the plan.

The car comes to a stop. Seokjin thanks the driver and drags himself upstairs, turns on exactly one light just so he won’t bump his toes against any piece of furniture, and strips down to his underwear as he waits for the water to warm up.

He catches his reflection in the mirror and runs his hand over his flat stomach, a reminder that he hasn’t had anything for dinner. His hunger is subdued by the clenching in his chest, the unsettling feeling that makes his stomach churn in more ways than one.

Namjoon looks happy, he tells himself, gripping the sides of the counter. He is happy, he’s said so himself. The guy that takes him out on museum and bookstore dates and takes boyfriend-esque pictures of him makes him happier than he’s ever been, and Seokjin should be happy for him. As a good hyung; as a good friend. Namjoon deserves it. Deserves to be loved as much as he has loved, deserves to be heard and understood and happy.

Then why does Seokjin feel so empty?

The mirror starts to fog up from the steam. Seokjin turns the hot water down a notch and steps into the shower, letting it wash the grime off his back. He cleans up with half a mind, stays in the shower until the skin of his fingers prune. He’s not sure how much time has passed but he’s starting to feel dizzy from the heat and the last thing he needs is for one of the boys to find him passed out stark naked on the bathroom floor, so he turns the water off and towels down.

By the time Seokjin walks by Taehyung’s room, his appetite has completely been reduced to none. He goes straight to his room and falls face first onto the bed with his hair still damp. Responsible Adult Seokjin would scold him, but Responsible Adult Seokjin is not here. It’s only when his phone vibrates in his bag that Seokjin finally gets up again.

It’s a text from Namjoon. Two, actually, the first one being a picture of macarons on display and the second being pick a color, quick. Seokjin’s heart misses a beat. The memory of himself saying he’s craving macarons during practice is slowly coming back to him.

It’s late. Namjoon’s on a date. He really doesn’t have to make a stop at a hole-in-the-wall store because of something stupid Seokjin mentioned in passing, and yet he did anyway. Seokjin doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him, or maybe punch him because he makes Seokjin want to kiss him.

Purple, Seokjin texts back before too much time passes. Namjoon’s reply comes just a few seconds later.

how on brand. Seokjin can almost hear his little snort. just purple?

Do they have Baileys and cream?

hyung it’s fifteen hundred won each.

Fine, pink.

Namjoon replies with a thumbs-up and that’s it. Ten minutes passes and that seems to be the end of it. Seokjin groans, tossing his phone across the bed and buries his face in the pillow. Of course that would be it. What else was he expecting? Namjoon is just nice to the bones. Buys gifts for the members even when it’s not their birthday just because he sees something that reminds him of them. Hoseok has a whole collection of vibrant-colored knickknacks that Namjoon found in flea markets and designer stores. A box of macarons is no big deal, really.

In a way, Seokjin knows Namjoon loves him. Just the way he loves all six of them equally. And for a long time, that was enough. They trust and take care of each other and that was enough. He doesn’t know when he started craving for more.

More time together, more stolen glances, more late night conversations and exchanged playlists. Slowly but surely they gravitated more towards each other, leaning on each other whenever it gets hard. Seokjin hadn’t given it much thought at first. Thought it was natural because he’s the eldest and Namjoon is the leader. The weights are heavy on their shoulders. It was camaraderie, not—

He didn’t even have a name for it.

The sound of approaching footsteps snaps Seokjin out of it. The boys must have come home from dinner. Seokjin quickly gets under the cover and pulls it up to his chin, never mind he hasn’t put on a shirt.

There’s a knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, someone opens it anyway knowing Seokjin’s room is never locked at night. It’s where they’d go to when they can’t sleep, either to seek consolation or mere distraction. It’s their safe haven. Their sanctuary.

Seokjin has lived with them long enough to be able to recognize them by their footsteps. Even with his eyes closed he can tell it’s Yoongi. And Yoongi has shared a room with Seokjin long enough to be able to tell when he’s actually asleep.

“I got you some gukbap,” Yoongi says quietly, setting down the plastic bag on Seokjin’s table. “Jungkook said you didn’t have much for lunch.”

Yoongi, bless his soul, doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask why he’d skipped dinner and head home early. But even in the low light Seokjin can make out the worry in Yoongi’s eyes, and for a second there he considers telling Yoongi why he's so upset. If anyone else doesn’t, Seokjin knows Yoongi would understand.

A moment passes. Seokjin remains quiet. Maybe not tonight, he decides. Yoongi takes it as his cue to leave.

“Put on your shirt,” is all he says before turning around to head out. “It’s cold tonight.”

And when the door shuts behind him, Seokjin feels a little less empty.

It wasn’t always this easy.

Putting seven teenage boys in a shoebox dorm room is a recipe for disaster. Seokjin can attest to that.

Dirty clothes were everywhere. On the couch. Under the bed. Sometimes in the closet mixed in with clean ones. And nobody knew which is whose. They all shared one big closet which resulted in Yoongi always wearing oversized shirts, being the smallest of the bunch, and everything being sized up to fit Seokjin’s shoulders.

It was a mess. Seokjin watched with his own two eyes as Hoseok slowly descended into madness, finally resorting to cleaning the dorm at three in the morning because he couldn’t stand the clutter anymore and everyone else were too exhausted after practice to even put their own shoes on the rack. Everyone was tired, stressed out and on edge, and the worst part was no one was getting laid. It didn’t take much for a fight to break out.

Namjoon would step in whenever it got too intense, making sure no one said anything they would regret later on, listening to both sides and coming up with a fair solution like the diplomatic leader he is, but Seokjin was the one the boys would run to when they needed a shoulder to cry on. He might not be anywhere as eloquent as their leader, but he would tell them it’s alright and let them cuddle him to sleep until they feel better.

It worked. It still does, even though the number of fights have reduced drastically over the years as they grew so close they’re practically inseparable. Namjoon would give them the shot, and Seokjin the lollipop.

So maybe it’s the common responsibility that brought them together. Two people with distinctly different ways of life that couldn’t meet in the middle. Namjoon was a man of ambitions, set to fly and conquer, while Seokjin just wanted to enjoy the ride. Take life for what it is as opposed to what it could be.

But talking to Namjoon was surprisingly easy. Despite their differences, there’s something in their cores that resonated with each other, and whenever Namjoon was near, Seokjin could feel the ember within him glow, not enough to burn, but enough to fill him with a comfortable warmth that made him want to always keep Namjoon close by and it just felt right.

“We make one hell of a team, don’t we?” Namjoon said one night as they sat on the rooftop, nursing a can of beer each. Seokjin shrugged.

“I’m not really bringing much to the table, to be honest.”

“Bullshit,” Namjoon scoffed. “You’re their emotional support, hyung. They need you more than they need me.”

“That’s not true,” Seokjin objected. “You solve their problems. Keep us from punching each other in the face.”

“That, I do,” Namjoon then smiled, and when he turned to look at Seokjin instead of the moon, Seokjin could see the fond look in his eyes. “But you mend their broken hearts. Keep us from falling apart.”

It didn’t help that Seokjin blushes easily in the first place. He looked away, cheeks tinted pink up to the tip of his ears. He blamed it on the alcohol.

Namjoon had admitted to not being able to understand Seokjin at first, finding him a little too laid back for a trainee who was about to debut. Competition was tough, and Seokjin was a pacifist. Sometimes Namjoon worried about the elder not having enough spirit to fight.

“Choosing not to fight doesn’t make you weak, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin said.

“I know, but—”

“Persevering is also a display of strength.”

Namjoon fell silent, almost pensive. He opened his mouth a few times, only to gasp air and close it again. Seokjin figured he must have turned a stone.

“Yeah,” Namjoon said at last. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Never really thought of it that way.”

Seokjin almost scoffed, but then he remembered Namjoon telling him about his upbringing, about how his parents taught him to keep moving upward in life, that he’s got to succeed no matter what, and he remembered their little talk at the café before their debut, when Namjoon had asked him what he wanted to achieve by joining the group, and quickly stopped himself, holding his breath. It was never Namjoon’s intention to undermine him; he was simply evaluating Seokjin’s values from his viewpoint, and now he’s reevaluating.

“You have a point, too,” Seokjin said with a softer voice. “I have to work harder, not just for myself but for Bangtan’s sake.”

“You know what?” Namjoon said after a stretch of silence. He fiddled with the ring of his beer can, wearing a gentle smile as he stared at the ground, nodding to himself. “I think you’re gonna be our secret weapon.”

Seokjin’s grip on his own beer can tightened, his jaw clenching to stop the tears from forming. Namjoon believed in him before anyone else did.

And then before they realized it, they had become… a thing. A one for one package deal. Suddenly Namjoon’s name bore the suffix “and Seokjin hyung”. Taehyung and Jungkook, being the little shit they are, took it a step further and collectively referred to Namjoon and Seokjin as their parents, and the rest of the group naturally followed. Seokjin didn’t think much of it, and Namjoon didn’t seem to mind, so the name just stuck.

They kept gravitating towards each other, seeking each other’s presence before anything else like it’s second nature. On nights when everyone else had fallen asleep, they’d sit in the living room eating the takeout they got delivered hours prior and talked about nothing and everything. Discussed about where they’re heading as a group and how they’re going to deal with the upcoming challenges. Piled on each other’s crappy jokes nobody else would find funny until they didn’t even make sense. Namjoon would take off the mask of a leader, lay out his fears and insecurities. It’s only when his head was on Seokjin’s lap, seeking for reassurance in the form of Seokjin’s tender caresses that Seokjin realized that Namjoon, too, was just a kid just like the others, scared and anxious and trying his best to navigate his way through this journey as he went.

“Anything I can do to help?” Seokjin offered, fingers carding through the younger’s hair.

“Just… stay,” Namjoon pleaded. “Stay by my side. I think I’ll be fine if you do.”

Seokjin’s breath hitched. “I will,” he said, voice strained from holding back his tears. He’s just a boy, Seokjin thought, and he had to walk through storms carrying the weight of the world on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, hyung will always be here for you.”

Namjoon’s smile bloomed, a pair of dimples appearing on his cheeks. Inside Seokjin’s chest, the ember glowed.

Some may say birthdays follow the law of diminishing marginal utility, but among the members, it’s Seokjin who’s had most birthdays who still takes it Very Seriously. It’s the one day of the year where everyone’s morally obligated to be extra nice to him and he gets to eat as many cakes as he wants. What is there not to love?

He used to have a routine. Take the day off and laze around. Go through his exhaustive list of restaurants and brands that offer birthday freebies. But then BTS started climbing up the charts and suddenly he had to spend December 4th in green rooms, sitting through five-hour long award shows. A small price to pay for their success.

Lucky for him, he’s in a band with six angels who would never let Seokjin forget that it’s his birthday. They’d bring in a cake backstage, arrange dinner no matter how late the show ends, and sing him Happy Birthday every chance they get. It’s Very Serious Business to Hoseok, who would have his presents ready and burst into Seokjin’s room at exactly midnight. Taehyung and Jimin would come in later, littering his face with kisses and refusing to let go of him until they stumble and fall onto the bed in giggles. Jungkook would fight him, wrestle until they’re out of breath before he’d pull out his present and leave with a happy birthday, bro, rolling the R. And Yoongi has always been more subtle, too shy to say it to his face so he’d text, first thing when the clock strikes midnight, but the next morning when Seokjin wakes up, there would be a whole set of breakfast on the table with a card and a fifty thousand won bill next to it, a little inside joke of theirs. It reminds Seokjin of his father, in a sense.

But the one that Seokjin looks forward to the most, the one who makes him walk around with butterflies in his stomach all day, is Namjoon, who would only knock on Seokjin’s door a few minutes before December 5th.

Seokjin is fresh out of the shower, scrolling through Weverse to kill time and checking the reactions on Super Tuna. There’s still a little buzz of energy from today’s performance, coupled with the anticipation that makes him feel restless. His leg won’t stop moving on its own, jittery and on edge, and when he hears the first knock on his door, he nearly jumps off the bed and bolts. Instead he freezes, breathes in and out slowly until his heart is no longer beating in his ears, and takes slow, steady steps to the door.

It’s just Namjoon. They’ve done this every year since he was nineteen. He’s got this.

“Hey,” Namjoon greets with a smile, dimples pronounced under the corridor light. “Can I come in?”

Namjoon puts the plastic bag he brought on the table and starts unpacking. A huge bowl of what seems to be tteokbokki, a six pack, and a small light blue box that he quickly puts away.

“Thought you might wanna have Korean food to celebrate,” Namjoon says. “Can’t find any place that sells seaweed soup around here but… this should do for now.”

Seokjin wants to say that it’s perfect, it’s perfect because it’s Namjoon, but his tongue feels too thick for his mouth so he just nods and pulls a chair next to the younger. “Thank you.”

Namjoon smiles again. Seokjin wants to die. “Happy birthday, hyung.”

They’re too tired to speak. At one point Seokjin puts his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and Namjoon doesn’t complain because this is what they always do. This is where they’ve always been. Innocent, comforting touches and intimate silences. Especially after a show, buzzed in all the right ways.

In Seokjin’s mind, he’s well aware that Namjoon has a boyfriend. A man just a few floors away waiting for him to finish his schedule so they can go on a cross-country American road trip. But it’s December 4th now. And even in a few minutes it’ll still be December 4th in Korea.

It’s his birthday. He’s allowed to be selfish tonight. And so he inhales as much of Namjoon’s scent—of the hotel soap and his usual shampoo and body lotion—and pretends this is what he falls asleep to every night. He thinks he’s allowed to do that much.

“Namjoon-ah,” the name tastes all-too-familiar on Seokjin’s tongue.

“Hm?”

Seokjin fiddles with the hem of Namjoon’s shirt and mutters, “I wanna keep doing this for a long, long time.”

It’s unclear whether he was referring to Bangtan or resting on Namjoon’s shoulder while sipping beer at midnight, but Namjoon chuckles anyway. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll still bring you cheap beer and tteokbokki on your sixtieth birthday.”

Seokjin’s chest tightens, his ribs sticking into each other. His mind wanders to where Namjoon would be in thirty years. Happily married with kids. Two dogs, maybe three. He said he wanted to be a poet—maybe after all of this passes he will. Seokjin imagines Namjoon’s future and doesn’t see a place for him in it.

“I want fine wine and steak, actually,” Seokjin says, feigning nonchalance. Namjoon snickers.

“That can be arranged.”

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

It was the Summer of 2019. They’re in New York, all huddled up in Seokjin’s room as per usual. Jungkook and Jimin were making a dogpile with Taehyung on the bottom, Hoseok was going through Seokjin’s skincare products in the bathroom, and Yoongi was on his designated single couch in the corner, scrolling through his phone when Namjoon made the announcement.

The room instantly fell silent. A few jaws dropped. And then,

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Yoongi deadpanned, yawning as he continued scrolling.

Jimin groaned, getting off the bed to hand Hoseok a twenty dollar bill. “I hate it when you’re right,” he mumbled. Hoseok winked, grinning from ear to ear.

“Congrats, Joonie,” he beamed. “Only took you two years to come clean, not bad.”

“Could’ve waited another few months, though,” Jimin said under his breath before throwing himself onto Jungkook again. “Sorry, Kook. No bagels for you. That’s my last twenty.”

“You’re a multimillionaire,” Jungkook squinted.

Jimin shrugged. “Not in dollars.”

Namjoon was prepared to be bombarded with questions, to hear a few screams and maybe some objections. But there was none. Only genuine congratulations and a few dollar bills being passed around. The leader stood frozen in the middle of the room, blinking in confusion.

“Wait, you guys knew?”

“Who doesn’t?” Hoseok said, adding himself to the dogpile on the bed. “You’re sharing clothes. You hate sharing clothes.”

“I don’t—"

“And you’ve been going out with the same person almost every week for the past two years.”

“That’s what friends do, no?”

“Hyung, friends don’t recreate David Hockney’s My Parents together,” Taehyung chimed in.

“Or write their wishes on the same golden leaf at Hyang-il-am Temple.”

“We could be really good friends. Best friends.”

Yoongi snorted, putting his phone away. “Joon, we’ve been best friends for almost a decade and I don’t see you writing me a whole song about how I ‘erode all your edges and make you into a love’.” A series of laughter erupted from the dogpile. Namjoon’s cheeks were tinted pink.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Namjoon pressed his lips into a thin line in defeat. He’s always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. A romantic and he can’t hide it. “If I were to, say… make it official, are you guys cool with it?” he said a little more quietly.

The five men exchanged glances. Jimin shrugged, and the others followed.

“We just want you to be happy, honestly,” Hoseok said.

“As long as it won’t change anything between us, yeah,” Yoongi added. “Head in the game, remember?”

Namjoon sighed in relief. “Of course. You guys come first.”

Someone initiated a group hug, and next thing Namjoon knew he’s stuck in the middle of a six-men dogpile, surrounded by giggles and groans of protest that’s all bark and no bite from Yoongi. The weight in his chest and the knot in his stomach had subdued, replaced by a newfound warmth and giddiness. They’re all the way in New York but Namjoon felt right at home.

And then, the door opened. Six heads turned to see Seokjin walking in with two boxes of pizza in each hand and the room fell awfully silent once again.

“Yah, don’t break my bed,” Seokjin scolded. One by one the boys tore themselves away from each other and swarmed their dinner. “No— Hold on, at least let me put them down first, geez.” Seokjin tried swatting away the youngsters, but Jungkook already snatched two boxes and ran over to the table. Seokjin could only sigh, shaking his head.

“Hyung, you missed the big reveal,” Jimin said, helping Seokjin set down the other two.

“What big reveal?”

“Namjoon hyung— Ow!”

Hoseok was smiling, but his fingers were on Jimin’s thigh, pinching him hard enough to shut him up. “Joon-ah, you wanna tell hyung?”

The man of the hour turned around, a slice of pizza in his hand. “Oh, yeah, uh, about that…” he licked his lips, for some reason feeling more nervous than he did when he had to tell the others. “I… I’m currently seeing someone,” Namjoon said sheepishly, eyes refusing to meet Seokjin’s.

“Oh.” A pause. Namjoon was about to elaborate to clear the air but then Seokjin shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Old news. And you’re telling us now because?”

“Because I’m planning on asking him out for real.” Namjoon gulped, suddenly feeling the rush of nerves on the tips of his fingers. “Like, officially be my… my boyfriend. Once we get home. And I want to make sure you guys are okay with that.”

The look on Seokjin’s face was indecipherable. He’s never been the easiest to read, refusing to let his true feelings show. “That’s… that’s great, yeah. Of course we’re okay with that. Congrats, Joon.” Seokjin offered him a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Namjoon was about to say something but his tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth and Seokjin had already moved on to talk to Yoongi, asking if he wanted chilli sauce on his pizza.

It seemed like with them, the timing is never right.

Later that night, Seokjin stayed up. Lucky for him, New York City never sleeps.

He put on his hat, wore his mask even though he doubted anyone would recognize him in the dark, and headed down the street with no destination in mind. He’d considered leaving his phone back at the hotel, but after the fiasco of 2015, he didn’t want to risk the wrath of his manager, so he put it on silent and kept it in his back pocket.

The city is just as loud and bright at two in the morning as it was during the day. Heading wherever his feet took him, Seokjin let his mind wander off to collect his scattered thoughts. He was in New York City and he was not. The crisp night air blowing on his nape was the only thing anchoring him to the present.

A familiar voice halted Seokjin’s steps before he could get too far. “Hyung, wait up.” Seokjin turned around to find Namjoon quickly catching up to him with his ridiculously long legs. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Seokjin shrugged. “Just getting some fresh air.”

Namjoon smiled weakly. It felt like a punch straight to Seokjin’s gut. “Take me along?”

Saying no to Kim Namjoon had never been Seokjin’s forte.

For a while, they walked side by side in silence, maintaining a respectable distance between them. But they’d never been good at that, staying too far apart from one another. Namjoon used to say he’s the ocean and Seokjin is the moon, just like Hoseok is the sun and they’re all the sunflowers, and Seokjin used to laugh it off but he’s starting to believe it now. Starting to think it wasn’t all sweet nothings Namjoon blurted out mindlessly.

Starting to think Namjoon spent some time thinking about him, too.

The gap gradually lessened, until their bare arms were brushing with every step they took, creating sparks inside Seokjin’s chest, keeping him alert. They walked deeper and deeper into the alleys until it felt like they were in a world of their own, and Seokjin’s heart began to race.

It’s dangerous. And yet Seokjin didn’t want to get out of this little bubble.

“Something on your mind, hyung?” Namjoon broke the silence.

Just hearing his voice, deep and tender and warm, sent Seokjin to the brink of tears. Namjoon was all soft edges and all Seokjin could think about was how someone made him that way. Somewhere along the way, someone had eroded all his edges and made him soft, turned him into love—

And it wasn’t Seokjin.

“Nothing in particular,” Seokjin lied, because the alternative is to tell the truth, and the truth wasn’t something either of them was ready for.

“You have that troubled look on your face.”

“It’s just aging, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin smiled. “I’m getting old.”

“What happened to you being an immortal?”

“I’m getting really old. We’re talking centuries old.”

They broke into laughter, the corner of Namjoon’s eyes crinkling as he did. Seokjin watched him fondly, committing his dimples and crow’s feet to memory as if he hadn’t already. Namjoon was just so ridiculously pretty Seokjin didn’t think he’d ever get tired of staring at him, the kind of beauty that forced Seokjin to bite down on his lip to stop himself from cooing out loud.

“What?” Namjoon cocked his brows. Seokjin shook his head, smiling to himself as he continued walking, eyes fixed on the pavement.

It’s silly. Seokjin knew he’s still going to see Namjoon every day. Spend more time with Namjoon than his soon-to-be boyfriend ever will. And yet he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Soon he would look at Namjoon and see traces of littered kisses across his face, kisses that aren’t his. They say love changes a person, and Seokjin wanted to remember him like this. The Kim Namjoon he fell in love with.

“I’ve missed this,” Namjoon admitted, looking up as he slowed down. “Missed spending the night with you, just… talking and watching the sky.”

A twinge. Seokjin forced a smile through it. “Too bad our new dorm doesn’t have a rooftop, huh?”

Namjoon let out a tiny chuckle. “I think Sejin hyung’s worried one of us might get creative and do something stupid.” He didn’t say, but Seokjin knew he was referring to one of Jungkook’s schemes.

“That kid, I swear,” Seokjin shook his head in disapproval, feigning a headache. “I’m only aging because of him.”

They didn’t talk much after that, not about things that matter. Only about things that made them laugh. It felt like walking on thin ice. In a way, Seokjin thought it’s for the better. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep his feelings contained if Namjoon had rattled that box.

It was almost four when they returned to the hotel. Namjoon yawned as they entered the elevator, but Seokjin didn’t feel sleepy in the slightest. Tired, yes, but he didn’t think he’d get a blink of sleep even once his head hits the pillow, his whole body feeling oddly wired.

“Hey, is that mine?” Seokjin stared at the shirt Namjoon was wearing, recognizing the print now that they’re no longer in the dark.

“Oh?” Namjoon looked down and made an apologetic face. “Oops? I just tossed in the first things I could find in my closet.”

“’S fine,” Seokjin brushed it off. If that’s the case, he’s pretty sure Namjoon brought along at least three more pieces that belonged to Seokjin in his suitcase. “You need to give them back at some point, though. You’re getting too big for my clothes. They’ll stretch.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever outgrow your shoulders,” Namjoon chuckled.

“Are you trying to take over the ownership of my clothes by complimenting me, Kim Namjoon?”

“Is it working?”

Seokjin squinted. “You get to keep one .”

“How generous of you.”

It wasn’t objectively funny. Yoongi would give them the weirdo stare if he were here. But they broke into laughter as they walked down the corridor anyway, stifling it into a giggle when they realized it’s ass o’clock in the morning and everyone else was probably trying to get some rest.

“Hyung, we…” Namjoon stopped in front of his room, one hand on the handle. “We’re okay, right?”

Seokjin’s breath stuttered. One, two, three . Seokjin’s too good at this. “Yeah, of course.” He let out an awkward chuckle and pat Namjoon’s back to diffuse the tension. Because that’s what he does best, breaking the ice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He could feel Namjoon letting go of that breath he had been holding, his shoulders relaxing. Seokjin’s way too good at this. “No reason. You’re right. Never mind, I was just being foolish,” Namjoon brushed it off and unlocked his door. “Good night, hyung. Rest well, kay? Long day tomorrow.”

It’s only when he’s back in his room, door shut and lights off, that Seokjin slid down the wall and let himself fall apart.

When the company announced that they can take a month-long break after their LA concerts, Seokjin honestly just wanted to go home.

He knew some of the boys are staying, mostly because it’s holiday season and their families are coming with them, and maybe with a little more persuasion he could’ve convinced his own to spend a week on the West Coast. But his brother had this important thing coming up, and his parents aren’t big on flying to another continent in the middle of a global pandemic, and Seokjin’s idea of a perfect holiday consists of everything he has at home.

So it’s decided. He flies home with the Busan duo as soon as they’re done with their schedule, and thus begins the ten-day mandatory quarantine.

It isn’t the worst thing in the world, Seokjin thinks, especially since he’s allowed to quarantine in the comfort of his own home. Maybe he’ll brush up on his cooking skill. Read some books. Play some games. Work on that song that’s been stuck at the back of his mind for weeks now. Everything he hasn’t got the chance to do since the past few months because practice had been relentlessly never-ending.

As soon as they land in Incheon, Seokjin opens the Bangtan group chat to let the others know they’ve arrived, only to find a flurry of pictures that seems to belong to Taehyung. Which one should I post first? the chat bubble on the bottom reads.

Hoseok replies with his pick, and Seokjin mindlessly types, what are these for?

Even through text, the silence is palpable. My instagram? Taehyung replies.

Oh.

Oh .

Right , Seokjin quickly replies again, pretending he didn’t just forget they have their own Instagram accounts now.

You forgot we have our own instagram accounts didn’t you , Yoongi accuses like the little shit he is.

I certainly did not . Seokjin shoves his phone back into his pocket and heads to the baggage claim before Yoongi could reply again, ignoring the series of vibrations against his thigh. Probably the kids teasing him about getting older. Nothing new.

“So,” Jungkook says, pushing a trolley with his elbows, “what’s your plan for the next ten days?”

“Sleep for seventeen hours straight,” Seokjin deadpans. Jungkook can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Neither does Seokjin himself. “You?”

“I have…” Jungkook sucks in a deep breath as he does a quick mental calculation, “five hours’ worth of footage to edit.”

“GCF LA?” Seokjin throws him a knowing look.

Jungkook grins sheepishly. “You know, just to kill time.”

Seokjin snorts. “Sure.”

The first day passes by without a hitch. Seokjin unpacks, spends a good hour trying to navigate Instagram, posts a few pictures taken in LA, comments under the members’ posts, and watches as stan Twitter burns before fatigue gets the best of him. When he wakes up again, it’s four in the morning. He makes a very bad decision of checking his Instagram as he goes to the bathroom to take a leak.

Namjoon’s new post is on the very top of his timeline, a picture of him in the car, sitting on the passenger’s seat eating puffed rice. On the road , the caption reads. Seokjin nearly dropped his phone into the toilet bowl.

Seokjin doesn’t want to think about who’s behind the wheel. (He knows exactly who’s behind the wheel). It’s bad enough that Namjoon is six thousand miles away from him. He doesn’t want to imagine Namjoon sitting next to his boyfriend, probably holding hands as he drives. The younger has always been a little restless, especially when he’s excited, and having sat next to him countless of times in award shows, Seokjin knows firsthand that he usually channels that extra burst of energy by drumming on someone’s thigh.

It’s silly. It’s silly because he’s hitting thirty and Namjoon has for sure done something way more raunchy than just drumming on his boyfriend’s thigh. But jealousy is an irrational disease, and Seokjin is positively sick . His first thought is to delete Instagram altogether so he doesn’t have to see what user rkive is up to, but then ARMY would notice and start asking questions and making assumptions, and he really doesn’t want to stir another pot. Groaning, he locks his phone and flushes the toilet, stomping his way back to his room and falling flat face first on the bed.

He decides he doesn’t like having this app.

It gets worse.

The next morning Seokjin gets up and there are two new posts by rkive. It was posted sometime last night, right after Seokjin had given up on the cursed app.

The first one is of Namjoon at the beach, the moon, and two screenshots from what seems to be a video of him jumping on the trampoline. A sudden rush of fondness overcomes Seokjin. Somehow Namjoon’s wide back looks small to him, a small boy in a big, big world. The way it’s hunched forward as he squats on the sand, Seokjin can tell Namjoon was looking for hermit crabs. Suddenly his heart feels too big for his chest.

He tries not to think too much about the picture of the moon. Namjoon must have posted it because he thought it was pretty, not because it reminded him of a certain someone. Not everything has to have a meaning, Seokjin tells himself.

He smiles to himself looking at the last two pictures. Namjoon looks younger with black hair, or maybe it’s because he’s happier. For a moment Seokjin considers asking him for the full video; he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a screenshot and sends it over to Namjoon.

You look like an overgrown puppy , Seokjin says.

It’s late where Namjoon is, but Seokjin gets a reply anyway. yeah? cute, then?

Seokjin’s face grows warm. For once he’s glad Namjoon isn’t around. Big and aren’t aware of how big you are, actually .

so… not cute? :(

Are you fishing for compliments, Kim Namjoon?

what, is that illegal now?

Seokjin’s fingers itch to write why don’t you ask your boyfriend? but he hasn’t reached that level of pettiness, not yet. So instead he writes, Maybe if you buy me a souvenir-

It’s safe. It’s on brand. It’s nothing weird, nothing that would raise suspicions.

tell me im cute and i’ll buy you a shirt from every state i go to

Tempting.

TWO shirts.

I’m sold. You do look cute.

Next thing Seokjin knows, Namjoon has sent him a video, the one he’s too afraid to ask for. It’s barely twenty seconds long, but it’s enough to put a stupid grin on his face. If Seokjin could put it on loop, he would.

Overgrown puppy , Seokjin repeats. Cute.

When he makes seaweed soup and later that day, he’d be lying if he didn’t wish it was American tteokbokki and cheap beer instead.

By day three, Seokjin can’t take it anymore.

Before, the only reason Seokjin was eating his own fist was because he knew for a fact Namjoon’s boyfriend came to the US along with his parents, and he just kind of assumed they’d be doing cute, couple-y shit while they’re on vacation. There was no physical proof to confirm or deny his suspicions, not a single picture of them together, not even in the group chat, and it’s the only reason why Seokjin was still able to sleep at night.

But then Seokjin wakes up the next day, and the first thing he sees is Namjoon’s little art museum date, complete with a picture of him and his boyfriend taken from the back, and he thinks he knows that coat Namjoon’s boyfriend is wearing a little too well , and now he wants nothing but to turn the world upside down.

“I want to die,” Seokjin says to the receiver.

“Good morning to you too, hyung,” Yoongi deadpans. “What’s the minor inconvenience?”

“I’m not being dramatic right now,” Seokjin huffs, throwing himself onto the couch and hanging upside down. “Joon just soft launched his boyfriend on Instagram and I’m seconds away from drinking bleach.”

“Please do not drink bleach, and Joon just soft what , sorry?”

“Soft launch.” Seokjin crosses his ankles. “It’s like when you post a picture of your dinner and there’s your significant other’s hand in the picture? Kinda like saying you’re taken but no one knows by whom?”

“O…kay? Have you considered spending less time on stan Twitter? You’re starting to talk like Namjoon.”

Seokjin lets out another huff, rolling off the couch, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “It’s like, he’s telling the whole world he’s taken.”

“He is taken.”

“Yeah but—” Seokjin ruffles his hair, trying to make sense . To sound a little less insane. “Telling everyone about it… feels like making it more official, you know what I mean?”

Yoongi pauses. “Like it’s real.”

“Exactly.”

Introducing his boyfriend to his parents is one thing. Introducing his boyfriend to ARMY is another. There’s some sort of permanence in that. Even though Namjoon has been doing a good job censoring his boyfriend’s face, Seokjin has scrolled enough through stan Twitter to know that some people have pieced together Namjoon’s pictures throughout the years and concluded that it’s the same person. The coffee truck. The golden leaf. The hyung he talks about in interviews. The one who has been taking his Namjooning pictures. They all lead to the same person.

“Hyung,” Yoongi calls softly. “Will you be okay?”

Seokjin wants to laugh, hysterically. Will he be okay? He doesn’t think he has been for a long while. “Good question.” He opens a bottle of wine and it’s only nine in the morning. That should be enough answer.

“If you need anything…” Yoongi trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. After all, he can’t exactly help much. Not this time, not with this. In the end he says, “If you need to vent, just call me, okay? Stay away from bleach.”

“Are you really gonna be staying in the US until January, Yoongi-chi?” Seokjin pouts, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“I… I don’t know,” Yoongi scratches the back of his head. “There’s still a lot I want to do while I’m here. Lots of people I want to meet. I’ll let you know when I buy a ticket.”

Seokjin grunts. “’Kay. Enjoy your vacation, I guess.”

Yoongi laughs. “Yeah, no. No vacation for me. Don’t need it anyway. You, though. You do. Enjoy it while it lasts, okay?”

“I am literally trapped within these four walls.”

“Just for another week,” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. Read a book or something.”

“You mean the thing that is synonymous to the man I’m trying not to think about?”

“Uh,” Yoongi buffers. “Play a game. Call Jungkook, I don’t know. Just keep yourself busy.”

“Maybe I’ll be drunk and deranged,” Seokjin takes a sip of his wine. “Go full feral while I’m in confinement.”

“Yeah, please don’t do that. You’re a public figure.”

“The only public that can perceive me right now is my Mario figurines and I doubt they would mind.” He’s only half-joking, but that’s enough breakdown for today. At least in front of Yoongi. “Just kidding. Don’t mind me, I’ll be fine,” and Seokjin’s back to his chirpy, collected self. “Send me pictures as you go, would you?”

“Of course.” Yoongi doesn’t sound convinced, but he knows better than to pry. “Talk to you later, hyung.”

Seokjin eventually stops halfway through his second glass of wine. The sun is at its peak and he figures he should do something productive at least once a day instead of wasting away. He tries making his own macarons, which turns out to be a complete disaster but at least it’s still edible. He does the rest of his laundry, texts some friends, and it’s only at the end of the day when he’s all showered, shaved, and moisturized that he checks his Instagram again.

Rkive has a new story. Two glasses of wine and a shared snack on the hotel floor.

And if Seokjin scrubs his bathroom floor until midnight because he needs to blow off some steam, nobody needs to know.

The thing about being alone in an enclosed space for ten days straight is that it gives you a lot of time to be inside your head, and that place will drive you insane.

Seokjin has no problem being alone. Or being inside. Or being inside alone for an extended period of time. What he does have a problem with, is his one-sided feeling and his inability to do anything about it while Namjoon is out there living his best life with his boyfriend.

It puts him in a really dark place, one filled with unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-loathing. There’s really no one to blame but himself, for hanging on to a hope long gone, but he’s loved Namjoon for as long as he can remember that he doesn’t know how to stop.

Sometime around noon, Seokjin drags himself out of bed. Makes himself some fried rice with everything he can find in his fridge. He’s usually an early riser, so his stomach is already growling before he can finish cooking. He takes a pic for the Gram and digs in, straight from the pan as he stares out of the window.

His lunch is gone in a flash, and it isn’t long until the boredom sets in. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to living alone—Bangtan ruined it for him. It’s only been three days and he’s already considering breaking into Jungkook’s place.

For a while he just sits there on his dining table, chin propped on his hand, dirty pan ignored. Isn’t this the break he had been longing for? No practice, no schedule, no waking up at six a.m. He has all the time in the world to sleep and finish the games he’d abandoned when their comeback started. It sounds like a dream, but now he just wants to return to reality.

I’m bored , Seokjin says in the group chat, but doesn’t linger long enough to wait for a reply. This doesn’t feel like a vacation. Sleep doesn’t come easy. Nothing tastes good. It feels like a slow descent to madness, a modern form of torture. When his phone vibrates again, it’s a text from Namjoon.

It’s a minute-long video. In the thumbnail Namjoon is standing in the middle of the room and Seokjin holds his breath as he presses play. And then, his face contorts in secondhand embarrassment as Namjoon starts dancing to a very familiar tune.

I hate you , Seokjin promptly replies.

you don’t like my rendition of super tuna? :( did i not do it justice?

Seokjin groans, running his hand over his face. What have I unleashed

a musical masterpiece

You’re never gonna let me live this down are you

nope. top three of my favorite kim seokjin song.

Seokjin worries his bottom lip, pausing before he asks, What’s number one?

Namjoon doesn’t answer. Seokjin lets go of the breath he’s been holding and tosses his phone aside. One more thing to add to the list of questions Kim Namjoon failed to answer; one more thing to overthink about.

When he sees Namjoon’s name popping up in the group chat, laughing along to something Hoseok said, Seokjin stomps his way to the kitchen and washes the dishes with a little too much strength.

“I’ve deep cleaned my entire house, Yoon. Donated three boxes’ worth of clothes, cleaned my oven, changed my curtains, dusted my figurines one by one , and I’m still so fucking mad all the time .”

In the days that follow, Namjoon keeps posting more and more pictures from his trip, and every time without fail, Seokjin manages to find something that makes his heart ache. A second glass next to Namjoon’s. A shared coat. Their shadows on the wall and of course, the bright red heart on a monochrome photo, as if saying the rest of the world was black and white but the man next to him was in screaming color.

Seokjin’s heart has been constantly breaking for years, little by little that he’s learned how to live with it. He’s lived with the same dull ache for so long that he almost forgot how it feels like to be ripped open and bleed.

“If you still have that excess energy left by the time you’re out of quarantine, my apartment could use some Spring cleaning, too,” Yoongi says.

“It’s literally Winter .”

Yoongi waves his hand in the air. “Pedantic.”

Seokjin goes on about how this whole Instagram account is a bad idea, and Yoongi hums noncommittally in between sentences. Out of the seven of them, the 94 liners are the ones who seem to be truly enjoying the Instagram experience, and Namjoon’s feed is exactly what everyone thought it would be: full of art and nature. What people fail to notice is the red string tying everything together, a piece of Namjoon’s beloved scattered across the seemingly random posts. Seokjin wishes he could be that oblivious. Wishes he weren’t aware of the traces of that man on Namjoon’s pictures.

Rkive is not just an archive. It’s a love story told in a language only few speak, and Seokjin wishes he hadn’t learned it in the first place.

“Talk to him,” Yoongi suggests one day. “I don’t know how this ends but it should, at some point. How much longer are you gonna mope?”

“And tell him what, that I’ve been in love with him for some time now, no big deal?” Seokjin stares at the halved slab of meat and thinks what the hell, he might as well cook all of it.

Yoongi sighs, long and harsh. It’s a dead end no matter how they look at it. The only way out is if Seokjin suddenly wakes up one day and loses half of his memory.

“Would you, though?” Yoongi asks.

“What?”

“Lose your memories of him just so you can finally stop hurting?”

Seokjin clicks his tongue and flips the steak. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

With his quarantine ending in less than twenty four hours, Seokjin has texted everyone he knows and made plans for the next week.

His house is clean. His fridge is stocked to the brim. He’s ready to get a trim and hit the gym. His mother calls after dinner, asking what time he’ll be coming to visit tomorrow. Freedom is right around the corner and he’s excited .

I’m envious</3 , Taehyung says in the group chat. Still a few more days for me… I’m starting to lose my mind.

Well maybe if you stop sleeping at six a.m. you’ll feel a little more human , Hoseok chides.

I can’t even tell day and night, hyung .

is quarantine that bad? Namjoon chimes in.

I think yoongi hyung would enjoy it tbh , Taehyung says. It’ll be just a regular day for him.

what can i say im a low maintenance guy , Yoongi makes his first appearance.

So, a hermit .

the disrespect.

Seokjin is laughing at the screen when he notices Namjoon has been typing for a whole minute now.

Got something to say, Joon? Seokjin prompts.

uh

actually

yeah

i have news for you

Bad? Taehyung asks

not for me

Shoot .

With every second that passes Seokjin’s heart beats a little faster, and breathing gets a little harder. It could just be about a new collab he’s working on. Or maybe he’s getting another dog. It could be about anything and yet Seokjin is holding his breath and gripping his knee until his knuckles are white.

In lieu of words, Namjoon sends a picture. At first it just seems to be another date night with his boyfriend sitting across the table, hand in frame like a typical soft launch shot. It’s dark around them but the table is quite well lit by the candle in the middle. Seokjin blinks rapidly, a little lost. There’s no caption whatsoever.

But then Seokjin sees it. The ring. And all at once he feels the entire world collapsing around him, the sky falling before his eyes and the air the taste of burning embers.

No. No. No .

he said yes :)

Before Seokjin could process everything, Yoongi’s name already pops up on the screen. With bleary eyes, Seokjin presses the green button, lips quivering.

“Hyung…”

“Can I drink bleach now?”

Kim Seokjin knows for a fact he has a God-given beauty. After all, that’s why he got casted in the first place: his face turns heads.

Even before he debuted, he’s already used to the spotlight. Used to people gawking when they lay their eyes on him. Used to being the center of attention wherever he goes and getting extra service by simply existing—beauty privilege is real, and Seokjin had no qualms taking full advantage of it.

Kim Seokjin almost always has eyes on him that he had learned to ignore them like background noise. But there was one pair that was particularly hard to brush off, especially because it’s almost always present.

“Take a picture, Namjoon-ah. It’ll last longer.”

Namjoon promptly looked away, tanned cheeks slightly tinted pink. Seokjin had to hold back a chuckle. The younger had no sense of subtlety and Seokjin found it rather adorable. Flattering, even. He’d be staring at Seokjin doing the most mundane things the way Yoongi looked at Jimin and Hoseok when they’re dancing: in awe.

Sometimes he’d catch Namjoon with his mouth agape mid-eating, his chopsticks halfway up to his lips but his eyes glued on Seokjin until Jungkook would steal his shrimp and snap him out of it. Seokjin thought these kinds of things only happen in movies.

It’s weird because Namjoon and him weren’t exactly close. Not the way Taehyung and Jungkook were, and certainly not on staring at each other’s face basis. If anything Seokjin thought Namjoon didn’t like him that much, didn’t think he had enough grit to be an idol.

Maybe Seokjin thought wrong, because one day after practice, Namjoon asked if he wanted to go out and grab some noodles.

“Just the two of us?” Seokjin asked, a little surprised knowing Namjoon would want to willingly spend time with him outside of work.

“Do you hate the idea that much?” Namjoon quipped back, an eyebrow quirked. And he wondered why Seokjin was doubtful.

“No, but,” Seokjin looked over his shoulder, “what about the others?”

“They’ll be fine,” Namjoon said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “So,” he cocked his head, “ready to go?”

The noodle shop they went to was a hole-in-the-wall somewhere in Garosu-gil. Seokjin didn’t know how Namjoon even found the place but he wasn’t complaining. It was good and cheap and open until two in the morning.

Seokjin could count with one hand the number of times he and Namjoon had had a civil, serious conversation, just the two of them. That time Namjoon called him over to a café when he joined the company was the first. It felt more like a job interview than anything else. This was probably the second, and instead of a cup of coffee, Namjoon had a shot of soju in his hand, and it changed everything .

Gone was the cool, diplomatic leader Seokjin knew. The Kim Namjoon sitting next to him was a whiny teenager who seemed to hold an irrational grudge against Seokjin.

“You have to… grow a backbone, hyung,” Namjoon hiccupped, eyes lidded. “It’s tough out there, and you can’t— can’t please everyone. Can’t be buddy buddy with everyone.” He took a shot. Seokjin let him go on. “The entertainment industry is… is a scary place,” he shook his head. “You won’t be able to survive with just a pretty face; they’re gonna eat you alive.”

Seokjin’s eyes popped open, head tilted to the side. “You think I’m pretty?”

Namjoon scoffed, pouring himself another shot. “Everybody thinks you’re pretty. That’s not the point.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seokjin lowered his voice. “Answer my question, Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon stiffened under Seokjin’s gaze. Seokjin almost brought his hand up to tilt the younger’s head to face him, but he’s afraid Namjoon might jolt off his seat, so he showed him mercy. “I have eyes.”

“Is it so hard to say it to my face?” Seokjin taunted. “The one you’ve been staring at like you’re trying to drill a hole through it?”

When Seokjin noticed the reddened tip of Namjoon’s ears, he knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. “Shut up. You’re drunk.” And Seokjin nearly toppled off his seat laughing, because Namjoon somehow said that with a straight, flushed face while holding a shot of soju.

Something between them shifted that night. Somewhere between their first bowl of noodle and their walk back home, the elephant in the room had vanished into thin air, and the next time Namjoon called him pretty it was to his face, a genuine compliment that for once made Seokjin blush a little.

Namjoon never stopped calling him pretty since.

With the Seoul concert and possible world tour coming up, the tension is at an all-time high. It feels like they’re thrown back to 2015, when a performance could make or break their career. Six years later and they’re once again at a place where they can’t afford to make a mistake.

They’ve been practicing for hours on end. The new choreography is ambitious, even for them, and some of them aren’t that young anymore. Seokjin checks in on Yoongi a couple of times to make sure his shoulder is not acting up again, even though he’s assured Seokjin numerous times he’s fine .

The exhaustion, coupled with the stress and the hunger, is really bringing the worst out of everyone. Hoseok is so close to blowing a fuse, and Jimin’s mood is so bad he has a dark cloud surrounding him. Not even Taehyung dared to tell him to dial it down a notch.

But nobody would have expected Seokjin to be the first to finally lose his shit. Nobody would have thought, among the seven ticking time bombs in the room, that Seokjin would be the first to hit zero, all because Namjoon took five to call his damn fiancé .

Every single jaw in the room drops, including Namjoon’s. “Babe, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?” he whispers to the phone, blinking rapidly in disbelief before the line goes off. “Hyung, what’s the matter with you?”

Seokjin scoffs, hands on his hips. “What’s the matter with me ? What’s the matter with you ?! Can’t you call him when we’re done or something? Mister lover couldn’t wait another hour to hear your voice?”

Seokjin doesn’t know where all of these anger is coming from. He’s seething , and every word he spits out burns . This isn’t like him at all.

“Hyung, are you hearing yourself?” Namjoon says, voice still steady somehow. “Calm down , it was one phone call. We’ve been at it for hours now, I think I deserve a five minute break.”

“We all do, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin says through gritted teeth. “We just don’t have a lover to use as an excuse.”

Seokjin doesn’t miss the way Namjoon’s brows twitch, doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes across his face. He immediately regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth, but before either of them could open their mouths to speak, a loud noise startles and silences them both.

“You two!” Hoseok shouts, pointing at them and then at the door. “Go outside and sort it out.” Neither of them moves, feet glued to the ground as they stare at Hoseok like a deer caught in the headlights. “Now .”

Like two school boys being sent to detention, they make a beeline for the exit and walk away from the studio. Hoseok can be scary when he’s mad, and Seokjin doesn’t want to push his luck, not even as the eldest.

They don’t exchange a word along the way, but their feet bring them to the rooftop out of muscle memory. Outside, night has fallen. Seokjin takes a deep breath of fresh air to cool down and thinks yeah, they just need some rest. It was probably just the fatigue talking.

Seokjin is about to say alright, cool, we good , and head back inside when he catches Namjoon taking a seat on one of the steps, seemingly expecting Seokjin to join him. A moment passes. Seokjin still hasn’t made up his mind.

“Hyung?” Namjoon calls, and dear god Seokjin is so weak to that sweet, sweet voice beckoning him like he needs him. Namjoon is six feet tall, built like a tree, and yet somehow he manages to make himself look small in front of Seokjin. Seokjin’s a dead man walking. “Come sit with me?”

Seokjin gulps, nodding, internally cursing himself for not having any guard against Namjoon’s plea. He sits on the concrete, keeping a good foot distance from the younger on purpose, but it is Namjoon who decides to cut the distance by half anyway. Seokjin thinks his heart stopped beating for a second there when he caught a whiff of the younger’s fabric softener.

“So,” Namjoon begins, resting his elbows on his thighs, “what was that about?”

“I’m just… tired.” Seokjin mumbles, swinging his legs. “And hungry. And a little sleepy, and I took it out on you. Sorry about that.”

“Hyung, come on,” Namjoon’s voice grows impossibly softer, “it’s me.”

Namjoon doesn’t usually press. Sometimes Seokjin just needs a little space and that’s fine. That’s healthy. Not everything has to be talked about. But Namjoon refuses to accept anything but full honesty today.

“You look out of it these days, ever since we… since we came back from the US.” The way Namjoon looks at him, Seokjin almost mistakes it for pity. “Something’s clearly on your mind.”

“Yeah, no, I’m just…” Seokjin sighs, staring at his toes. “Quarantine gave me a lot of time to think, you know?”

Namjoon snorts. “Believe me, I know. That’s why I chose to binge watch the shows I’ve missed since last year. Kept me busy.”

In hindsight, Seokjin probably should’ve done that. Look for distractions instead of at Namjoon’s Instagram feed. But when he’s in neck deep, distraction can only do so much. Eventually his mind would find a way to wander again, so there’s really no point.

“Hyung,” Namjoon’s voice steadies again. When he speaks like this, it feels like it’s just the two of them against the world, like he’s sharing with Seokjin a secret only they know. The butterflies in Seokjin’s stomach awaken. “As much as I want to spend all night on this rooftop instead of going back to practice, maybe… maybe talking it out will make you feel better. You trust me, right?”

I do. I trust you with my life. “Of course.”

Namjoon offers him a smile. “Start anywhere. Don’t worry about not making sense.”

Seokjin huffs. He considers making up a fake problem just so he won’t have to come clean, but Namjoon’s eyes look so earnest that Seokjin doesn’t have the heart to lie to him. “Anywhere?”

Namjoon nods to reassure him. “Anywhere.”

Seokjin can’t start at the beginning, obviously, because he honestly doesn’t know where the beginning is, or what it was, because falling in love with Kim Namjoon isn’t a straight line. It’s a circle. A never-ending cycle he doubts he’ll ever get to break out of. He can’t go back in time and pinpoint when exactly he started looking at Namjoon through a rose-tinted glass, or when exactly Namjoon’s name started rolling a little more dearly off his tongue.

So he starts somewhere.

“I lied.”

“About?”

Seokjin gulps. “Remember when we were working on the previous album… and you asked me what inspired me to write Moon , and I said it was about ARMY?” Namjoon nods once; Seokjin’s mouth goes dry. “It was about you.”

The silence that follows isn’t like anything they’ve ever shared before. Namjoon stares at the elder with his mouth ajar, eyes blinking in disbelief. For a man who is abundant with words, Namjoon sure can’t muster any right now.

“I… what ?”

“I thought it was obvious. You’re like, the personification of earth.” Seokjin lets out a dry chuckle, staring at the ground and smiling at how silly he sounds. “ The whole song was about you .”

The crease between Namjoon’s brows deepens as he tries to recall the lyrics. Closing his eyes, Seokjin lets out a stuttered breath and starts to sing.

Since when were the moon and the earth

this close to each other?

You who shine solely by existing,

I wonder if I can stay by your side

You are my earth

to you, I’m just a moon,

your little star that brightens up your heart

You are my earth,

and all I see is you

The only thing I do is gazing at you like this

Though everyone says I’m beautiful, my sea is all pitch black

A star where flowers bloom and the sky is deep blue,

the one who is truly beautiful is you

I wonder all of a sudden, are you also looking at me right now?

Even my painful scars, wouldn’t everything be found out by you?

I will orbit around you

I will stay by your side

I will become your light

All for you

I didn’t even have a name until the moment I met you

You gave me love and now became my reason

You are my earth

to you, I’m just a moon,

your little star that brightens up your heart

You are my earth,

and all I see is you

The only thing I do is gazing at you like this

In the crescent moon night

Even after closing my eyes you rush in with your blue

In the full moon night

would it be okay to hold you inside my eyes after opening them?

I wonder all of a sudden, are you also looking at me right now?

Even my painful scars, wouldn’t everything be found out by you?

I will orbit around you

I will stay by your side

I will become your light

All for you

Seokjin gasps, and the air burns in his throat. “Hyung…” Namjoon calls faintly, but Seokjin isn’t done. So he continues, voice shaky.

Even in the light of day

Even in the dark of night

You stay by my side

Even when I am sad

Even when I am hurt

You simply shine on me

Rather than saying anything

Rather than thanking you

I will stay by your side

In the pitch dark night

I will protect that place next to you more brightly

I wonder all of a sudden, do you really know yourself?

Do you know how pretty you are?

I will orbit around you

I will stay by your side

I will become your light

All for you

The last note peters out into silence. When Seokjin opens his eyes again, his vision is blurry, a drop of tear rolling down his cheek. “Does it make sense to you now, Namjoon-ah?” Seokjin looks up at the sky, at the one single star blinking in the dark. “I promised to stay by your side, didn’t I? You asked me to stay and I said I would.”

“You…” Namjoon still looks just as lost, eyes empty as he asks, “What does that mean ?”

Oh my god. Seokjin is in love with an idiot .

“That means I love you, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin fights the urge to pinch Namjoon’s oblivious ass until it bruises. “Do with that what you will.”

A beer would have been nice, Seokjin thinks. He can’t have this conversation sober. He can already feel the heat creeping up his neck, slowly reaching his cheeks as he sits there in silence, jittery fingers tapping against the concrete. It feels like they’re back in their rookie days, when Namjoon would stare at him until his face burns .

“You’ve been really loud about your relationship since… since we joined Instagram, and— oh my god, you even named your account after your joined— never mind,” Seokjin waves it off. He’s digressing. “I guess I just… I want what you guys have. What he has. Someone to go on cute dates with, someone to talk to until I lose track of time, someone I can lean on, someone who gets me. Someone who doesn’t just… laugh at my jokes out of pity or because they’re trying to hit, but also—"

“Because you guys share the same sense of fucked up humor?” Namjoon supplies.

“Exactly that.”

Namjoon scoots a little to the side to make room to cross his legs and leans back on his arms. “You know you have all that in me, right?”

Seokjin wants to laugh. The fucking audacity. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.” It could be you, it could be us. We could be kissing under the moonlight. “You won’t put a damn red heart sticker over my face. You won’t write me a whole song about how I erode all your edges and make you into love—"

“But I did.”

“You won’t—” Seokjin pauses. “Wait, what?”

Namjoon stretches, scratching the back of his neck. “I did,” he says, voice low. “I did write you a song. Trivia: Love was for you, about you. Is this love? Sometimes I know, sometimes I don’t? I know exactly how I feel about him, but when it comes to you…” Namjoon takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his face. “I didn’t even know how to describe this feeling. I still don’t.”

Seokjin is hearing things. He must have finally lost it and now he’s hearing things. His brain is still on brake, unable to move. For you, about you. He’s finally gone insane.

Next to him, Namjoon sighs, tilting his head up as his eyes fall shut. “I was so young and ambitious and full of… of this grudge against the world. Teenage angst. The need to prove myself. To fly higher than everyone else.” His fingers curl up into a fist. “I was so hungry for success and power but then you… you came along and taught me why a person should live by loving. I think that alone deserves a whole song and more.”

When Namjoon opens his eyes and smiles his way, a single firework goes off in Seokjin’s head, creating tiny explosions that echo inside his skull. There was a time when he could poke Namjoon’s dimples without having to worry about crossing a line. If he were a little less sober he would probably already have a finger on Namjoon’s cheek, just to check if he’s real. Instead he remains still in place, brain short circuiting, more fireworks setting off in his head.

“You…” Seokjin starts, trying to form a coherent sentence but ends up with, “I thought…” and trails off.

“Did you think it was about him?”

“How could it be not?”

Namjoon wheezes, head falling to face the floor. “Is it so hard to believe? That you were the one who eroded all my edges and made me into love?”

Seokjin draws breath after breath through his mouth until it goes dry. It’s a lot. To be told that the line he wished he could hear someone say to him was actually about him. He used to skip through that part because it stung. Now he wants to see it everywhere. On his wall, tattooed on his wrist and on the back of his eyelids. It’s all he wants to hear all day, wants to hear it in Namjoon’s voice, wants to hear it whispered next to him as he falls asleep.

“You were what kids these days call my “gay awakening”,” Namjoon makes an air quote.

Seokjin blinks, finally having something to say. “Wasn’t that Yoongi?”

“Can’t a man have two gay awakenings?” Namjoon feigns offense and chuckles. “But no, not really. I don’t know, maybe he was my sexual awakening. The first guy I jerked off to and made me realize, ah, so I can think of men in that way.”

“Gross,” Seokjin scrunches his nose. “I did not need to know that.”

Namjoon lets out a squeaky laugh, hand slapping his own thigh. He’s disclosed that information more than once to everyone in the group, but seeing their reactions never gets old.

“What about me?” Seokjin asks when the laughter has died down.

“Hm?”

“What did I make you realize?”

The air thickens once again as Namjoon’s eyes trail down to Seokjin’s lips, his smile quickly dropping. “That I wanted to kiss a man silly.”

Seokjin holds his breath, eyelids fluttering when Namjoon leans closer to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. For a second there, he wishes they’d exist in a vacuum, or maybe back in 2016 when Namjoon wasn’t engaged. Because right now he wants nothing but for Namjoon to lean in further and close the gap, tilt up his chin and press Seokjin’s lips against his own, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

But they don’t. Namjoon slowly pulls back and grips the edge of the concrete.

“You made me realize I wanted to hold a man’s hand and tell him he’s beautiful and not just because his face was sculpted by the gods even though I don’t believe in any. I wanted to hear his voice every night and I wanted him to tell me I’d do great. That alone was… surprisingly enough to give me the strength to keep me going.” Then, almost to himself, “You made me realize I could love you.”

Air is scarce. Seokjin is teetering on the brink of tears. “Why didn’t you?” he asks, voice shaky.

“Because,” Namjoon sucks in a sharp breath, “I was just a nerdy kid with ridiculously long and gangly limbs that I didn’t know what to do with, and you were… the Adonis of Nonhyeon-dong.”

Seokjin wheezes, tears in his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s true,” Namjoon shrugs. “Even now, I still feel inadequate compared to you.”

“You,” Seokjin raised his brows, “the leader of the biggest band in the world, RM the genius lyricist, the Shakespeare of the twenty first century, the guy people start cults for, you feel inadequate compared to me?”

“I’m pretty sure there are some cults dedicated to you too—”

“Kim Namjoon.”

Namjoon smiles wistfully, shaking his head. “Even at my best, I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for you.”

Seokjin has had his heart broken more times than he can count. Has received bad news over bad news over bad news. Rejections, criticisms, one vile comment after another. But nothing, nothing is a bigger punch to the gut than hearing Namjoon talk so poorly about himself.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” Namjoon presses his lips into a thin line. “Even if I’d tried… I couldn’t stop thinking about- about how I might screw things up, and how that would affect the group. I can’t do that to them. Can’t put their dreams at risk just so I could fulfil my own selfish desires.” There’s a crack in his voice when he says, “Bangtan comes first, right?”

Seokjin knows that look. Seen it one too many times on himself. Namjoon is trying to swallow a hard pill while trying not to sound too dejected—he has his leader mask on.

“Joon, I—"

Namjoon’s phone vibrates. Both heads turn toward his pocket with a jolt. “It’s Hoseok,” Namjoon announces, checking his messages. “Said practice’s over. They’re gonna head down to the cafeteria. You coming?”

Right. Seokjin’s good at this. Pretending he isn’t overwhelmed and everything’s fine while his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He’s feeling so sick he can throw up, but he swallows everything and shrugs. “Of course.” He gets up, dusting the back of his pants. “Starving.”

Namjoon stretches his arms, his shirt slightly lifted to show a bit of his belly. Seokjin pretends to be staring at the wall behind him and not at the sliver of golden skin. He’s good at that, too.

They head back to the elevator. Namjoon presses the button and fixes his gaze forward, refusing to spare Seokjin a glance. The night breeze talks over them, filling the awkward space between them, and Seokjin doesn’t know if he wants the elevator to come faster or to never come at all.

“Joon?”

“Hm?”

He needs to know. Seokjin needs to know for sure. Just this one thing, and he swears to himself he’ll never bring it up again.

“It wasn’t…” Seokjin feels his throat closing up. The stone in his chest presses down, down, and down. What comes out of his mouth next is barely a whisper. “It wasn’t one-sided, was it?”

The elevator dings. Namjoon smiles, rue in his eyes. “No,” he shakes his head weakly. “No it wasn’t.”

Their first concert back in Seoul was a huge success. They bet on who would be the first to cry and although everyone bet on Jimin, Seokjin put his money on Namjoon and won. (“I saw you shedding a tear during soundcheck, Namjoon-ah, don’t think you can fool me.”)

They go down to their usual restaurant afterwards. It’s past closing time but the auntie is kind enough to keep the place open just for them, saying she’s missed seeing them come by after a schedule. It’s been a while since the world stopped indeed. They promise to come by more often now that life is slowly going back to normal.

A couple of drinks later, they’re all ready to go home and call it a day, mostly because Hoseok and Taehyung are no longer able to sit upright. They split into two cars, with Seokjin somehow ending up in charge of Taehyung. He knows he has two tasks: make sure Taehyung gets into bed unscathed and stop him from going online. Since the man is pretty much knocked out, Seokjin only has to worry about one.

Once they arrive at the dorm, Seokjin carries the younger back into his room, strips him down to his underwear and brushes his teeth while checking if he’d thrown up in his mouth—he didn’t, thank god. After double cleansing his face, Seokjin puts on Taehyung’s pants and tucks him into bed, not bothering with a shirt because it’s Spring and he knows Taehyung is going to take it off one way or another in his sleep anyway.

“Jin hyung,” Taehyung slurs as Seokjin pulls a blanket over him. Seokjin hums a response, even though he’s sure the younger is neither sober nor awake; he’s just talking in his sleep. “Love you.”

Seokjin chuckles quietly, leaving a peck on Taehyung’s forehead. “Love you too, Little Bear.”

When his duty is done, Seokjin tiptoes out of Taehyung’s room and holds his breath as he closes the door before Taehyung could wrestle him into being his human body pillow for the night. Any other day he wouldn’t mind, but he’s sweaty and dirty and he smells like alcohol, and he knows he wouldn’t get the chance to clean up once Taehyung has his arms and legs wrapped around him.

The dorm is already dark and quiet at this hour. The members seem to have retreated to their own rooms to rest. The only lights that are still on are from the kitchen, and that’s exactly where Seokjin heads to.

“Oh, hyung,” Yoongi glances at his new company and closes the freezer. His hair is still damp from the shower and he’s holding a glass of ice in one hand, and Seokjin assumes he’s getting some more drink. He’s always liked his whiskey with ice. “How is he?”

“Asleep,” Seokjin answers, reaching for a glass and fills it to the brim with water. “Didn’t puke on me tonight so that’s a win.”

Yoongi chuckles, low and deep, the look in his eyes fond. “You up for round two?” he offers when he notices Seokjin staring at his glass. “I have a good one in my room.”

Seokjin shrugs. “Sure. What the hell.”

They carry their glasses and the conversation to Yoongi’s room. Feeling a little gross, Seokjin borrows Yoongi’s shower and slips into one of Yoongi’s shirts and boxers before throwing himself onto Yoongi’s bed. It smells nice—Yoongi always smells so nice. Seokjin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to relax.

“Are we still on for round two or would you rather just… sleep?” Yoongi breaks the silence. “Either is fine by me.”

“Two minutes,” Seokjin mumbles. He can hear Yoongi pouring himself a drink and feel the bed dip.

“You alright, hyung?” Yoongi asks, voice falling half an octave.

“‘M fine, just tired. Think I’m gonna wake up sore.”

Yoongi takes a sip. “I’m not talking about tonight.”

The few seconds of silence feels stretched out into hours. It’s the question Seokjin had been avoiding asking himself for a few weeks now, ever since he got Namjoon’s answer. Bangtan comes first. He had to keep his head in the game, so he’d pushed his feelings aside, shoved any emerging thoughts to the back of his mind, and focused on giving his best for the concert.

But now the concert is over, and the floodgate threatens to open with one single question: is he alright?

“You mean… in the grand scheme of things?” Seokjin says. “I am. Maybe. I think so.”

“You talked to him,” Yoongi says. It wasn’t a question. “How did that go?”

Seokjin licks his drying lips. “We’re still on talking terms, aren’t we?”

Yoongi shrugs, taking another sip. “Guess so. You’re dealing with this surprisingly well.”

“Good to know you think so highly of me,” Seokjin says in full sarcasm. Yoongi chuckles, leaning back on his arm.

“I’m just saying… you’ve been moping since December, but now you seem…” the ice clinks against the glass. “You seem fine.”

Slowly, Seokjin opens his eyes. The plain white ceiling comes to sight. “Maybe I am, for now. Who knows, maybe tomorrow my brain will start picking apart our conversation and send me to a self-induced mental breakdown on the kitchen floor.”

“We have a press conference tomorrow,” Yoongi deadpans.

Seokjin stretches his arms. “Oh well, next week it is.”

Yoongi snorts, gets up to pour another glass of whiskey and hands it to Seokjin. The first sip burns his throat on the way down and Seokjin hums, welcoming the sensation. “No, but in all seriousness,” Yoongi says, “where do you even go from here?”

Seokjin swirls his whiskey, staring off into Yoongi’s black computer screen. He doesn’t know the answer to that either. He’s always been the type to wake up and plan his day as he goes. “To a better place, hopefully,” Seokjin says under his breath, almost to himself. “I mean… yeah a heartbreak feels like the end but it’s not the end of everything . At the end of the day I didn’t… I didn’t lose him. And I guess for now, that’s all I could ask for, really.”

Yoongi smiles, nodding in understanding. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you? Cos I feel like I’m not making any sense.”

“I do,” Yoongi assures. “And it’ll make sense to you too, eventually. Time doesn’t really heal but…”

“It does help?”

“Exactly.”

They continue sipping their drinks in silence, and silence with Yoongi is always nice, like a warm blanket of wordless comfort enveloping him, washing away the sediment in his chest. Soon Seokjin’s eyes grow heavy, and it seems like Yoongi too isn’t doing much better. Seokjin asks if he can sleep here tonight, to which Yoongi replies don’t be silly and throws a spare pillow at him.

When they’re both under the blanket, with Seokjin facing Yoongi’s back and Yoongi facing the wall, Seokjin asks in a whisper, “Yoongi-yah, you’re still gonna live with me even when we’re married, right?”

Yoongi chortles. “Bold of you to assume I’ll ever get married.”

Seokjin pulls the blanket up to his shoulder and smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Namjoon’s wedding is held in Fall, a celebration of love amidst the dying leaves. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. There’s a metaphor in everything Namjoon chooses to do.

It’s a small ceremony, attended only by their closest family and friends. The wedding being Namjoon’s, of course it has to be held outdoors. Seokjin is just glad he didn’t decide to hold it in Summer, for Hoseok wouldn’t be able to stand the bugs and Seokjin the heat. He doesn’t mind stepping on dead leaves wherever he goes. This he can handle.

When it’s time for their first dance, everybody thought Trivia: Love would start playing. It is, after all, Namjoon’s Magnum Opus. The love song of his career. It was the obvious choice. But instead, the music comes on and something else Namjoon had written recently starts to play.

“Oh?” Yoongi’s ears perk up. The six of them are sat on a round table, the placard Best Men perched on the center. “Interesting choice.”

Next to him, Jimin grows inquisitive, nudging Yoongi to “spill the tea”, to which Yoongi replies with a straight face, “Over your head?”

Taehyung breaks out into a quiet laughter; Jimin pouts, throwing a death glare Yoongi’s way and threatening to shave his eyebrows off when he’s asleep, to which Yoongi responds, "I think I can pull that look off."

Every pair of eyes are set on the grooms as the lights dim and they enter the dance floor. Namjoon is still a clumsy dancer even after all those years of experience, but he looks like he’s having the time of his life, swaying like nobody’s watching with his husband holding his hand. Seokjin knows how it feels like, to have found someone with whom your soul resonates, to be so overjoyed and lost in each other’s eyes that you forget there’s a whole world beyond the two of you. He just wonders how it feels to be able to call them his.

“I want what they have,” Hoseok sighs, leaning on Seokjin’s shoulder, a flute of champagne in his hand. “You think I can find someone in the crowd tonight?”

Seokjin furrows his brows at the younger. “You know Joon’s gonna kill you if you sleep with one of his cousins, right?”

“That limitation has plenty of loopholes,” Hoseok winks. Seokjin immediately seizes his champagne. “Hey.”

“I’ve been instructed by the groom himself to make sure you keep your booze count to a maximum of two.”

“It’s champagne,” Hoseok protests.

“And yet you’re already tipsy. Maybe I’ll tell the groom I’ll keep it to one.”

Their bickering continues until the music stops, and after a beat of silence, they stand up along with the rest of the guests and clap for the new grooms.

“Wonder why Joon didn’t play Trivia: Love,” Hoseok leans in so Seokjin can hear him better. “That song would’ve been perfect, don’t you think?”

Because it’s mine. It’s ours. That love isn’t theirs to celebrate. “Yeah,” Seokjin smiles, still clapping along. “I wonder why.”

“Suga hyung is… definitely my respect,” Namjoon jotted down on the paper. They’re writing their profiles for Festa, and Namjoon had to admit he lowkey enjoyed making these short descriptions of the members.

“Seokjin hyung?” Namjoon paused. “He’s… what did he write about me?”

“That you’re his partner at saying random things,” one of the staff answered. Namjoon let out a chuckle, for absolutely no reason other than the thought of Seokjin made his stomach feel ticklish.

“Hm… let’s see…” he stuck his tongue out, tapping the table as he thought. The first half of the sentence stared back at him. Jin is my…

His fingers twitched. He gripped the pen a little tighter to stop himself from writing down his immediate thoughts: my person, my wish, my pride—

My love.

Namjoon cleared his throat and started writing. “Jin is my joke-cracking accomplice.”