Chapter Text
There’s a myth that surrounds fallen angels. Well, let’s face it. There are a lot of myths that surround angels in general, and fallen ones are not immune from most of them. But as Namjoon perches on the railing of the Hannam Bridge, there’s one in particular that has him stewing. It’s right there in the name: Fallen Angel. It’s poetic, to be sure, and tickles some of his metaphor-loving fancies, but it’s also pretty inaccurate. He didn’t fall. There was no rush of wind or heat or pain, no crash landing or meteorical descent. There wasn’t even a giant battle, an ousting or an overthrow.
Nope. Instead, his boss Kim Sejin just regretfully handed him a letter with Bang Sihyuk’s seal and signature and pointed him silently toward the door. Namjoon walked from the heavenly halls filled with pure light and golden floors and straight out onto the grit and noise and clamor and humanity of Gyeongnidan Street. No fall (unless you count that terrifying twelve seconds where he tripped over a street vendor’s basket and nearly catapulted to the concrete below -- it’s going to take a while to get used to corporeal form and… you know, gravity and shit), no blazing fire or blasting cold. Just. Humanity. Pungent, vibrant, overwhelming humanity.
Namjoon isn’t sure he likes it.
He stares out over the Han River and sulks, feeling the irony in the sentiment. His curiosity and defense of humanity is what got him here in the first place. He wasn’t banished per se, but the letter said something about “a mutually beneficial separation for a period of time to re-evaluate our agreement on fundamental philosophies.” Which Namjoon knows really means, “your incessant questioning looks a lot like insubordination and I need a break from you, so go spend some time with your precious humans.” He’s still not clear on how long this will last. Heaven’s time-tables are pretty different from Earth’s.
And listen, he is curious about humanity. Observing them from afar, through the lens of eternity and the light of emotionless existence has been fascinating. That’s why he asked all those questions. But. Now, here, in the midst of them, it’s all pretty foreign and messy and Namjoon just really wants his order and comfort back.
Logic (and the Swatch Watch he somehow acquired in his instantaneous human disguisement) tells him it’s only been about three hours, but it feels so much longer to him. It’s a weird kind of jetlag, coming out of eternity. You’d think everything would seem like it moves faster, this world being as finite as it is. And yet. Namjoon feels like he’s lived and died three times over in the last three hours. That might have been the incident with the twelve lanes of traffic on the bridge, though… Who knew buses were so big and could move so fast and honk so loud?
He kicks his feet idly and appreciates the juxtaposition of how large they loom over the water of the river far below. The railing feels cool on his palms and his buttocks, as the chill of the dreary February evening seeps through his jeans. It’s nice to feel temperature. He understands the general concept and is sure, if heaven isn’t climate controlled perfection, that he could have felt it before in his angelic form, but there’s something so sharp and extreme about everything out here. All the sensations are heightened and so, so close. Everything is more scented and saturated, brighter and crisper.
“HEY! DON’T JUMP. STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
And louder.
The voice, even raised in panic, is higher and sweeter than Namjoon has come to expect (in his limited time here) of a male of the species. It’s pretty, though kind of grating at the moment.
“PLEASE! JUST-- WAIT. YOU CAN’T--”
Namjoon whips his head around as the shouting gets closer to him, realizing once more that he’s corporeal and therefore visible to the human eye. The motion also reminds him he’s corporeal and subject to gravity, and he curses internally as his left butt cheek slips off the railing and his hands flail for purchase on the cold and slightly frosty metal.
“HOLY SHIT! DON’T DO IT!”
The owner of the voice lunges toward him, hands much too small to be effectual reaching out from so far away. Namjoon yelps loudly as he grapples with physics and his unfamiliar limbs. At the very last second (right before he plunges to the frigid waters below), his fingers close firmly around the railing and the toe of his red Converse lodges itself between the vertical supports. He’s on the wrong side of them, but at least he’s on the right side of the water -- namely, above it.
“Please,” the man (or boy, by the looks of his stature and the pitch of his voice) says desperately. “Don’t make any sudden movements. I’m here to help.”
“I’m not--” Namjoon grunts, deciding that using all his focus to stay on the bridge is a better plan that trying to talk to this confusing stranger. Tiny hands grip his firmly, though Namjoon can somehow sense caution in the movement.
“Will you… Will you come to the other side of the railing? Just… to talk? For now? Please?” His voice wavers uncertainly and Namjoon gapes at him. Of course he wants to come on the other side. Why do they need to talk? What is even happening right now? His toe budges frightfully at that moment and he nods frantically, panting and grunting and unable to make coherent speech.
For such a tiny human, the small-man-or-possibly-large-child-of-indeterminate-age is surprisingly strong, gripping Namjoon under the arms and hauling him carefully over the metal and onto the sidewalk again. There’s a tense fraction of a second where Namjoon has to let go of the railing and trust this guy not to drop him, which is pretty terrifying, but he’s back on the flat rubber soles of his shoes before he can really think about it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Namjoon croaks.
He pats himself down to check that all the parts he just received are still where they’re supposed to be. His legs feel a little longer, more awkward and gangly. Did hanging off the bridge stretch them out or something? Or were they always this… much? He’s still a little rough on human biology and definitely has no idea what this body is doing at any given second, but he thinks growth at this stage is unlikely.
“Can you tell me why you were thinking of jumping? I can maybe get you some help…”
“Jumping?” Namjoon blinks at him. “Why in the world would I want to jump off a bridge? The drop has to be over fifteen meters, which would likely kill me. And if it doesn’t, I’d probably drown, since I don’t know how to swim and this river moves fast. If the fall and the lack of oxygen don’t kill me, I’d only have about 15 minutes before the hypothermia would do me in, since the water temperature is only a few degrees warmer than freezing right now.” Namjoon receives a bewildered stare in return, one that matches his own. He frowns. “Why would anyone want to jump off a bridge?”
“To… accomplish all of those things you just listed…?”
“Oh!” Namjoon grins, relieved he finally understands. The manchild takes a step back, and Namjoon thinks he looks even more concerned. Namjoon rushes to say, “I’m not suicidal. I was just watching the water and you startled me. Sorry for the confusion! Thanks for your help!” He flaps his hand up and down in what he hopes is a passing imitation of the human greeting gesture and turns to go.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” The friendly stranger jogs to catch up with him. He has to crane his neck to look up into Namjoon’s face, which is somehow endearing to the angel. These humans are actually pretty adorable when you look closely enough.
Except.
Now that Namjoon is looking closely, something seems off. It’s not the man’s stature or his voice or his child-like hands (which Namjoon has the wild urge to cover with his own or give gloves to, since it’s so cold out). It’s more the aura he’s giving off. Something’s not right. Not human. Namjoon pauses. Leans forward. Sniffs.
His rescuer frowns. Even Namjoon knows enough about humanity to know he’s being weird. Humans don’t sniff each other, generally. That’s dogs, he thinks. Or maybe the large ones, the milk producers. He forgets their name for now -- other mammals were much less interesting to his studies. Anyway, he’s aware of how strangely he’s acting, but he can’t help but catch the slightest whiff of smoke and flame and something like lingering desperation. But before he can open his mouth and ask what is sure to be the rudest question he can possibly ask, the man beats him to it.
“You’re an angel, aren’t you?”
Namjoon snaps his mouth closed and leans back. This has to be a record (though no one really keeps records of angels like him) of how quickly one of The Rejected gets their cover blown. He has no idea what to do now, since the man-possibly-boy-possibly-demon is already nodding his head like he’s confirmed it. He huffs and crosses his arms.
“Before you ask, yeah, I’m a demon. Name’s Jimin.”
He holds out his hand to Namjoon, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like angels and demons shake hands all the time. Like two supernatural beings just meet up on a bridge in the middle of the Earth to chat about… supernatural shit. Like they don’t and won’t and never have hated one another just by virtue of their origins and won’t be trying to kill one another in mere seconds.
Except.
Jimin is smiling an apple-cheeked, crescent-eyed smile and he has a slight snaggletooth that is stupidly charming and his outstretched hand is so wee and he just saved Namjoon from certain death (or at the very least, a violent return to heaven where he is so clearly unwelcome at the moment) and Namjoon finds his own hand reaching out and clasping Jimin’s and his own voice saying, “Namjoon. Angel. Formerly. I think. It’s… in flux right now.”
“First day?” Jimin asks. His smile says he already knows. Namjoon thinks of the human customs he’s studied and somehow feels like there should be a water cooler nearby and a sheaf of employment paperwork in his hands.
“Yeah. You been here long?” he replies. He’s not sure why he feels so at ease with a demon (post traumatic event adrenaline surge, his brain helpfully supplies), but it’s been a lonely three hours and he did almost just die.
“A few weeks?” Jimin shrugs. “More than a month, actually. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been a tourist before, but this stay is meant to be a little more… long-term.”
“You get kicked out, too?” Namjoon mentally punches himself for the last word, which gives away more than he intended. Although. Angel on Earth typically translates directly to kicked out of heaven (outside of some major historical events and the end of the world) so Jimin doesn’t look too shocked.
“Yeah, I… Well, I had trouble with authority? Or rule-following? I guess…” Jimin twists his mouth and looks away sheepishly.
Namjoon frowns. Demons are, by nature, disobedient. It’s their origin story. What could a demon possibly do to get himself kicked out of hell? What egregious sin is too big even for that? He steps back carefully, but paused at Jimin’s melodious laugh.
“I can see what you’re thinking and, no. It’s not that. I’m just too… nice?” Jimin sighs wistfully. “I like humans too much.”
“Oh! Me, too!” Namjoon surges forward again. “Aren’t they just so fascinating? I want to know everything about them and why they do what they do and how they factor into the universe and why God lets them get away with such much shit and--”
“I can see why you’re here, then.” Jimin’s grin softens his statement. Namjoon can’t help but smile back.
“Yeah, I’m kind of a troublemaker, too.” He scuffs the toe of his sneaker on the sidewalk, then realizes they’re still in the middle of the bridge and that darkness is quickly falling around them and the temperature has changed from cold to downright arctic and a small curl of worry makes its way into his chest. “I, uh… Thanks for your help and everything. It’s been great meeting you! But I think I need to go… find a place to sleep tonight.”
Sleeping is new. He definitely wants to try it. Dreaming, too. That sounds like fun. But not out here. That sounds like zero fun. This leather jacket is no match for the breeze off the river. He looks around a little frantically. He knows there are ways for him to rent a room or a bed in a warm building, but he’s not sure how he’s going to get money. He checks his pockets and curses his own lack of foresight (he could have imagined a million outfits as he walked through the portal between heaven and earth, but he’d been too focused on the shoes to remember a full wallet).
“You could--” Jimin stops himself and closes his eyes for a second. Namjoon thinks he hears him murmur they’re going to kill me for this. “You could come back to my place. It’s an apartment full of human guys. Six of us, to be exact. I’m sure we can find room for one more.”
“Really?” There is no reason for Namjoon to trust this kid, except that he does and right now, without a single won to his name and no allies, it feels like enough. “They won’t mind?”
“You got any weird angel powers that are going to freak them out?”
“Nah, they left me with nothing but my brains.” Namjoon shrugs. “Not so bad, considering angel IQs are significantly higher than human ones, but it would be nice to still be able to self-heal. This body seems prone to falling down…”
They keep chatting as they walk off the bridge, following Jimin’s leading through the busy evening traffic of Gangnam. They stop outside a nondescript building on a side street, but Namjoon still wonders how a demon and five humans can afford to live in a place like this. He knows just enough of the culture to question it. Like he questions everything.
Literally.
He couldn’t stop himself from badgering Jimin with questions about anything and everything they passed along the way, so he now knows a little bit more about parking meters and bus stops and public waste baskets. Jimin, for his part, answers everything with genuine patience and seems kind of delighted by Namjoon’s curiosity. Namjoon wonders how long that will last.
“Okay, so, it’s really… human in there. Just. Be cool. Okay?” Jimin cautions as he opens the gate. Namjoon follows him up four flights of stairs, marveling at the abilities of his long legs to climb two or three at a time. He stops that pretty quickly when he hears Jimin grunting and whimpering from a whole floor below. His legs are not long. Maybe he hasn’t reached full maturity yet? Maybe that was hell’s last little prank before unleashing Jimin on the world.
“It’s past seven, so they’re all probably home.” Jimin pauses outside the door. Namjoon thinks he looks nervous, though what about he’s not sure. “Just. It’ll be fine.” With a last breath, he swings open the door. A wall of sound and smell hits them, though it’s not unpleasant.
“Oh, Jiminie’s home! Dinner’s almost ready.” A tall man turns from the stove to wave. Namjoon thinks he's both far too pretty to be a man and far too broad-shouldered to be a woman and wonders briefly if God has left heaven to make them dinner. But then his face falls and Namjoon is too busy worrying about his own presence just inside the front door and how he’s managed to make this god-among-men sad. The man sighs. “Jimin. We talked about this. Yoongi said no more--”
“I know, Jin-hyung, I know,” Jimin says quickly, hands raised in a calming gesture. “But he almost fell off the Hannam Bridge and he’s pretty shaken up and he just needs a place to stay for the night. He’ll be gone in the morning, I promise.”
“That’s what you said about Jungkook, Jimin,” a low voice growls from the other side of them. They both turn quickly, Jimin’s expression falling. Namjoon comes face to face with the tiniest man Namjoon has ever seen -- this one is definitely not a child, which Jimin might still be, so Namjoon stands by the assessment. “And now he’s on the lease and eating us out of house and home.”
“Jungkookie looked like a sad little bunny and even you couldn’t tell him to leave, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin counters.
“I am not a bunny! ” comes floating indignantly from down the hall and everyone but Namjoon seems not to have heard it, because the short, angry man is talking again in that gravelly, lazy-tongued way of his.
“We said no more, Jimin. No more strays. No more roommates.” Yoongi almost looks regretful. Namjoon sees Jimin’s mouth lift slightly out of the corner of his eye, and Yoongi’s tone hardens valiantly. “We’ve got enough problems on our hands with Taehyung and the fledgling pet rescue he thinks I don’t know he’s running in his and Hoseok’s room.” Jimin swallows harshly.
“You… know about that?” Jimin asks weakly.
“I know about the ferret and the three pigeons and the cat that looks like it’s about to have kittens.” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. Namjoon wonders how big this apartment is, to hold all of that. “Please tell me there isn’t any more.”
“Ummm…” Jimin glances around warily.
“Park Jimin.”
“You know what, it’s none of my business.” Jimin straightens his spine, but his jaw trembles slightly. “You want to know, you ask Tae yourself.” Yoongi grunts but doesn’t argue. Jimin motions to Namjoon. “This is Namjoon. He’s… a colleague… He needs a place to crash for the night.” Namjoon nearly doesn’t hide his smile at Jimin’s word choice.
“One night only,” Yoongi says, looking at Namjoon warningly. Then he pauses and allows his eyes to skate up and down Namjoon’s body for a moment. He snorts. “A Member’s Only jacket and a Swatch Watch? And high-top Converse? God, what year is it?”
“Hyung, be nice,” Jimin warns. The twinkle in his eye says he’s not entirely disagreeing with Yoongi. “He’s a guest. And he’s had a rough day.”
“You guys really don't have to--” Namjoon starts.
“Nonsense, it's already decided,” Jin says from the kitchen. “Do you like ripened kimchi or fresh?”
“Um…” Namjoon looks at Jimin a little helplessly. He's never eaten food in his life. He has no idea what his preferences are. “Fresh?” It seems like a good choice -- fresh things had to taste best, right? Jimin nods minutely.
Jin shoos them away from the kitchen to wash their hands, which Jimin and Yoongi both groan about (something about not being children, so Namjoon supposes that's his answer to that particular question). Namjoon personally thinks it’s just good sense to wash before meals. He vividly remembers the points in human history without good hygiene and the mortality rates that followed.
Jimin leads him down a short hallway with four doors, pointing at each in turn. “This is Jin and Yoongi’s room. They prefer quiet, so they’re good roommates. That's Taehyung and Hoseok’s room. You might just want to stay out--" Jimin lowers his voice a little. "The ferret bites." Namjoon nods solemnly, not at all desperately trying to remember which of God's creations was called a ferret and how bad its bite might be. Jimin just grins and waves a hand toward a third door that's slightly ajar. "And this one is mine and Jungkook’s.”
“The bunny?” Namjoon asks, trying to keep it all straight.
“I’m not a bunny.” A tall, broad man (who is also possibly just a boy -- Namjoon has got to get better at identifying ages) appears in the doorway with a deep frown on his face.
“Right,” Namjoon says quickly. “Jungkook is the one who is not a bunny. Got it.”
The door designated as the Fledgling Pet Rescue bursts open and two more men spill out in a rush of laughter and what has to be playful violence (though Namjoon knows humans are an unpredictable species and this could be some strange trick to murder each other). Namjoon stands very still, not wanting to call attention to himself. He remembers that he’s here to observe humanity. This might actually be the best arrangement -- the diversity of temperaments in this apartment alone is fascinating.
“Jimin! Did you bring us another stray pet?” one of them asks, peering at Namjoon far too closely. Namjoon suddenly keenly identifies with Jungkook -- he is not a stray pet.
“This is Namjoon. He’s crashing here tonight,” Jimin says. “Namjoon, this is Taehyung. He doesn’t really understand the concept of personal space.” Jimin reaches out and puts a hand on Taehyung’s chest to guide him a few centimeters away from Namjoon. Namjoon can’t help but feel a little relieved. Taehyung looks incredibly friendly, but there’s also an intensity about him that’s kind of off-putting.
“Welcome!” Taehyung grins widely. Or maybe a better descriptions is “tall"y? Whichever it is, Namjoon is impressed by how much smile Taehyung has even though it doesn't stretch across his face in the conventional manner.
That same smile abruptly falls, replaced by something suspicious and challenging. Namjoon unconsciously stands up straighter, his human body automatically reacting to the bid for dominance. Taehyung narrows his eyes, sizing him up.
"Don’t eat my snacks and we shouldn't have a problem. Got that?” He pokes Namjoon in the chest and his lip lifts in a near snarl.
“Wouldn't… wouldn't dream of it?” Namjoon says breathlessly, unsure if he's got the right answer. Apparently he does, because Taehyung flashes him another bright smile, turns, and flings an arm around Jungkook. He drags him off down the hall without a look back. Jungkook mounts a feeble protest, but Namjoon’s attention is diverted by the last unnamed man (process of elimination and a decent memory tells him this is Hoseok) holding his hand out into the space between their bodies. Handshake Namjoon's brain says a little belatedly. You did this with Jimin on the bridge. Pull it together. He takes it and is surprised to find the grip so gentle.
“Jung Hoseok,” he says, with a smile that’s improbably and impossibly bright, brighter even than Taehyung's. “Don't worry about Tae. He just takes his snacking very seriously. He's actually an angel once you get to know him.”
Namjoon schools his features at the last minute, but he catches Jimin's grin of of the corner of his eye. Namjoon has never met an angel like Taehyung. He's entirely too erratic and effervescent and human to be anything like anyone from back home.
“Anyway, anyone who’s friend of Jimin is welcome here. You eat yet? Jin’s cooking is amazing. And there aren't any spare beds, not since Muscle Pig moved in. But the couch isn't bad. I crash there sometimes when Tae's insomnia makes me want to murder him -- not a jury in the world would convict me, man, I swear, but I love him like a brother and I'd miss him and also it takes too long to break in a new best friend. Though Jimin here is coming along quite nicely. How did you two meet?”
Namjoon blinks. He's never realized how many meanings there are for the word volume, but Jung Hoseok embodies them all.
“I thought he was trying to kill himself, but it turns out he's just a klutz,” Jimin says blandly. Hoseok beams. Jimin shrugs. Namjoon frowns. He might speak fluent human (he's picked up a handful of their languages and dialects over the millennia), but there's a lot of non-verbal stuff happening here that bewilders him.
“I'm going to need more details on that later, but we've just left all the food in the hands of the maknaes and Jin.” Hoseok suddenly looks horrified, but Namjoon gets the strangest impression he's only pretending. He leans close to Namjoon and whispers, “You'd think hyung would keep them in line and make them save some for us, but in reality he's the biggest pig of us all. We'd better scoot.”
Food is… the weirdest experience so far. Taste is a new sensation and all of Namjoon's attention is focused on his tongue (and in keeping his face neutral because he's sure that scrunching his nose or widening his eyes with every bite would be unsettling for the others). But this makes it hard to contribute anything of substance to the conversation. Not that he has much, but he also can't even observe in the way he wants to.
After the first few bites, something intense begins happening in his midsection. There's gurgling and growling and it feels emptier than when he started, which is very counterintuitive to the process. It’s also pretty strange that the food is inside of him. He pauses mid-bite (kimchi, which he actually does like quite a lot) to contemplate that if the food is going in, it’s probably going to have to come out. His brain gives him a word and his studies of human biology give him an image and he’s possibly done eating now. But everything smells so good and he’s still really hungry and he supposes that pooping is going to have to be Future Namjoon’s problem.
It’s not a distant future, to be honest. The dishes aren’t even fully loaded into the novel machine that washes them when a different kind of intense thing begins in his midsection. Or perhaps lower. Luckily, Jimin is standing off to the side, just out of the conversation, so Namjoon can easily (though hurriedly) whisper in his ear asking him where the bathroom is. He also remembers they never washed their hands and panics for a moment, wondering what germs he pulled off the Hannam Bridge railing and unceremoniously forced down his own throat. Possibly thousands. He could be on the brink of death.
“It’s the only door in the hallway I didn’t show you. Last one on the right,” Jimin whispers back. He scrutinizes Namjoon’s face and posture. “You going to be alright?” His eyes widen. “Is this… is this the first for you?” Namjoon nods, feeling sheepish and not knowing why. “Oh man, it’s a… Well. It’s an experience.”
Namjoon hesitates for a moment, but the pressure is building. He doesn’t really want to be alone, but he knows enough to know this isn’t something humans usually do with company. He looks at Jimin imploringly.
“Go forth and do the thing, man.”
Namjoon finds this completely unhelpful, but he heeds the advice anyway. And Jimin’s not wrong. It’s an experience. But he’s glad when it’s over.
Everyone has dispersed by the time he’s finished, and only Jimin is left in the living room. He’s putting some blankets and pillows on the couch, making up a bed for Namjoon. The kindness feels strange but welcome.
“So, how does your first day as a human rank?” Jimin asks quietly. Namjoon still looks over his shoulder for the others. Jimin smiles gently. “Better or worse than heaven?”
“I have no idea, honestly,” Namjoon says, shaking his head in wonder and plopping on the couch. “That was just… so much to take in.”
“It only gets better.” Jimin’s smile is only slightly demonic. He curls into a tight ball in the other corner of the couch. “How do you like my friends?”
“I like the one with the long face, but why is he always screaming?”
Jimin lifts a shoulder with a fond smile. “That’s just Hoseok. It’s just… how he was made, I guess?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think God got one of his settings wrong or something.” Namjoon ponders it for a moment, but the thought flits away as he contemplates everything he’s learned today. “All of them are pretty cool. Jin is so kind and Jungkook is pretty funny when he actually speaks and Taehyung is the best kind of strange and Yoongi is… Yoongi’s…”
“He’s terrifying, right?”
“Jimin, you are a demon. From hell. How are you so afraid of a tiny little rapper named Sugar?”
“His name is Suga and he's impressive, okay?”
“I was actually going to use that word. So impressive. I really want to hear some of his music now.” Namjoon bites his lip. Angels are musical by nature, and spend most of their time singing. But they don’t create. Not like humans. Not like real music.
“He’s… he’s actually why I’m up here,” Jimin mumbles. He won’t look Namjoon in the eye. Namjoon stares at him until he elaborates. “He was my… assignment. I was supposed to stop him. From making music.”
“Hell cares about music?” Namjoon asks, bewildered. “I mean, heaven does, of course. But what does it matter to hell?”
“He inspires people. He tells the truth. Hell isn’t really in the truth business, you know? Prince of Lies and all that? Suga’s doing good work and we… they don’t like that.” Jimin sighs deeply. “So I was sent up here to prey on his weaknesses.”
“Drugs? Fame? Girls?” Namjoon lists, before stopping for a moment. “Boys?”
“Mental health.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, we don’t cause the problems, not usually at least. But we like to… pick at them? Poke them and prod them until they’re debilitating. Keeps people from reaching their potential.” Jimin’s chin quivers. “It’s gross and I hate it and I couldn’t do it.” Namjoon feels bad for the kid. “I was never a very good demon, but then I met Yoongi. He’s so good, you know? Just a good soul. And I just couldn’t--”
“I get that.” Namjoon does, really. He’s never been very good at being an angel either, though he’s never been asked to do anything he doesn’t believe in. Other than maybe shutting up when he’d rather keep talking and asking questions. “So you didn’t accomplish your mission and they sent you back for good?”
“Well…” Jimin hedges. “Actually. I just… never went back after the last check-in meeting. They weren’t really pleased with my performance and I was going to get fired anyway and I had the human body already so I just stayed.”
“You seem to be doing well. Better at humaning than I am, at any rate.”
“I’ve had some practice.” Jimin smiles gently. “But you’re doing better than you think. You kind of charmed them all with your awkwardness. They’re suckers for an underdog. Probably because we’ve all been there at some point.”
“I’m not awkw--”
“Yes, you are.” Jimin pats him on the shoulder as he stands up and yawns. “But it works for you. I’m pretty sure if you wanted, they’d all let you stay here long-term. We’ll talk more in the morning. Get some sleep. You’re going to love it.” He turns toward the hall.
“Thanks, Jimin,” Namjoon says softly. “You didn’t have to do any of this and I’m really grateful.”
“It’s nothing.” Jimin waves his hand dismissively. “You’re one of us. I knew it the second I saw you trip over that basket in Itaewon.” Jimin grins slyly and slips into the darkness of the hallway. Namjoon gapes after him.
“So, are you ready to come back and toe the line?” Sejin says, startling Namjoon so badly he falls off the couch.
“Fuck, Sejin, a little warning.” Namjoon struggles to his feet, still unsure of these long legs.
“You’ve been here less than twelve hours, Kim Namjoon, and you’re already talking like one of them.” He doesn’t sound pleased by this development.
“Yeah, well, I’m blending in. Like you told me to do.” Namjoon crosses his arms and huffs, reminding himself a little of a human child and not entirely caring.
“Well, if this timeout has been enough for you to learn your lesson, you can stop blending and come home.”
It sounds more like an order than an offer, but Namjoon decides to ignore the subtext and go with the text only.
“Actually, there’s still a lot left to learn. I think I’m going to stay a little longer.”
Sejin blinks at him. He blinks back. Sejin sighs. Namjoon smirks. Sejin grumbles unintelligibly. Namjoon hears a high pitched giggle from down the hall (totally unbefitting someone from the bowels of hell). Sejin disappears as quickly as he arrived and Namjoon lays back against his pillows in contentment.
“Good night, Jimin.”
“Night, Joon.”
“I’m not Joon.”
“Yeah, and Jungkook’s not a bunny. Go to sleep. Trust me. It’s going to be awesome.”
It’s a phrase Jimin regrets twenty minutes later, when Namjoon’s earth rattling snores vibrate the entire apartment. But it turns out that falling asleep is even easier than falling from heaven. And Namjoon is too busy dreaming about his new friends, the first in his life, to care much about how little sleep the rest of them will get tonight.