Chapter Text
After unlocking the car, Namjoon climbs into the passenger seat and closes the door. Seokjin pauses in place for a moment as the pieces come together.
Namjoon can’t drive. Seokjin already knew that. It came up yesterday. So, when Namjoon asked if he’d like to drive someplace together, he was envisioning Seokjin behind the wheel.
Well, okay. You know what? All right! Yes. Sure!
He exhales harshly. He reframes his mental image of how this afternoon is going to go, his participation in it, his role. He can be the Seokjin who drives cars. (Maybe he even wants to be.) In motion again, he slides into the driver’s seat and closes the door behind himself with a decisive, solid thump.
"Hot in here," Namjoon comments. He offers the keys and Seokjin takes them.
"Mm." The dark leather upholstery has been baking in the daylight; it’s not unbearable, though. He does follow Namjoon's lead in cranking his retractable window, already partly open, the rest of the way down.
At every opportunity — in the taxi when they first arrived and yesterday when they visited town — Seokjin has been observing the act of driving closely, with genuine interest; that means now, he won’t have to lean only on whatever prior experience lingers ingrained in his kinesthetic brain but can also put to use his new round of study. It’s just the foot pedals that he hasn’t been able to see well enough to feel confident about their functions. He peers down while also poking around with his shoe. It appears there are three of them. A certainly manageable number. Based on the limited number of ways in which an automobile moves, he can guess at their purposes, but as for which is which…
"Oh, hyung! Do you feel comfortable doing this? I’m sorry, I just assumed."
"I can do it," Seokjin declares. It’s not the same as ‘feeling comfortable,’ but it’s true. He looks over at Namjoon's concerned frown, and in that space of ambiguous focus he tells himself to start the car. The engine ignites. He tucks that sequence of motions away for future use.
Namjoon is not impressed by the achievement. He doesn’t protest, but he still looks uncertain. (Handsomely. Oh, the exquisite shape of his questioning eyes.)
"Do you think I’m lying?" Seokjin challenges, though his defensiveness abates after another thought. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"Is this… Is this something you’ve done before?" Namjoon asks in that gentle, appeasing tone Seokjin is sometimes addressed with when there is something obviously and pitiably wrong with him.
Seokjin switches into reverse. He knows which setting that is, and he catalogs the thin middle pedal he needs to use to change between modes — he already knew, but now he actually knows. "Jungkookie said it was easy." (Although he is slightly irritated now, he does not intend disrespect toward Namjoon's own lack of skills.)
"I just won’t be much help, if something goes wrong."
Valid point. "I’ll be careful." The car is company property, anyway, not his to mess with. It would be very bad to bring two damaged assets back here instead of just the one. (Or three, if he fucks up terribly.)
After crawling backwards a ways, Seokjin changes out of reverse and turns them forward-right to proceed out of the parking lot. No incident, no other cars harmed. Already a measure of success. He passes through the compound’s front gate as well. Then, down the long drive to exit the property, he gets a better feel for the machine, its sensitivity, weight, momentum, reactions. It’s a clumsy thing that requires an un-delicate hand: wide motions to turn, applied force to brake, patience to accelerate.
If that’s all there is to it, then frankly, he is already losing interest. This is not something he would do for fun. It’s almost annoying, to be presented with such an impotent little vehicle. Then again, he is being very careful.
Once they emerge from the woods to the intersection with the main road, Namjoon routes them "right" — northeast, opposite the direction of town. "I’ll tell you when we’re close. It should be about ten minutes, that’s all."
On the largely empty road, he increases gears with their cruising speed. As he takes in the view of the coastline curving ahead of them and he feels the lively physical feedback of the wind biting his skin and tearing at his sleeves, he starts to think he understands how people can find enjoyment in this. No doubt there are less utilitarian, more muscular automobiles that would be even more pleasurable to take for a spin. "Have I ever ridden a horse?" he wonders aloud, because that would be another interesting point of comparison.
"Hyung, I think we’re going too fast." Namjoon sits stiffly, pressed against the back of his seat, casting Seokjin nervous glances. "And — I’m not sure; I don’t recall you ever having brought it up."
"I’m sorry." Seokjin reduces their speed. "Is that better? I think I’ve gotten the hang of things."
"Yeah… Yeah."
Seokjin hums appreciatively — he feels Namjoon is being honest — and extends his free hand out the window, fingers stretched out, catching the air they pass. How lucky is he, not just to be alive, but to be alive specifically like this? Not starving or hiding or alone, not in terror or in captivity, but to be alive here and now in ever-increasing detail, an experience with a growing richness and depth.
Ugh. Sappy. Ew. It’s true, though.
"You were in a dream I had last night," he mentions, relaxing after carefully passing a slow cyclist. "Or, ah, I don’t know if all my dreams are dreams. I could say: you were in my sleep. Ha, ha."
"That’s funny," Namjoon offers, not insulting him with a faked laugh. "What was it about, if you don’t mind sharing?"
"Not much. We were in this dark, cluttered house. You were asleep." I woke up next to you, he doesn’t say. "And there were trunks packed as if we were arriving or leaving. I was just looking around, but I don’t recall- It was very brief."
"Something like that has definitely happened before, whether or not what you saw was totally accurate." He glances over and sees Namjoon already looking at him, intent and thoughtful but his posture relaxed compared to earlier. "Were the ceilings quite low?"
"I think so."
"Were there lots of books stacked around?"
"Yes, and shelves along the walls."
"That sounds like my family’s house in Seoul. We stayed in the library overnight because it shares a wall with the stove. It was winter. We were on our way to… This was years ago. You came with me to my sister’s wedding."
"Oh." That raises all sorts of questions. Tell me about your siblings? Tell me about my siblings? Why did you choose me to bring with you? He feels like he is supposed to ask something because he is supposed to want to know.
"Are your memories usually little snapshots like that?"
Which was his longest? Hoseok on the day his ship was painted, or the lover on the beach — which was probably a moment concocted by his imagination, anyway; neither memory could account for over a minute of time. "With no context at all, yes. It’s that, or it’s like this." He gestures up and down at the car, referencing general retained knowledge, nonspecific and nonvisual.
"Right. And — is it very painful? Or uncomfortable? I just wonder whether we’re doing enough for you here."
It is and it isn’t. Different things at different times feel like side effect or disease; who knows what is to be ‘done’ for him; how is he supposed to explain without feeling irritated and sounding contradictory? "Correlation…"
"Oh!" Namjoon lurches forward, even more when Seokjin applies the brakes in mild alarm. "We’re here, slow down, do you see that opening on the right?"
Seokjin slows and safely navigates into the small parking area — just a plot by the roadside where the tall plants have been hacked away — without any trouble. They are the only visitors, but he locks the car once they’re both out nevertheless, almost an automatic motion. "Correlation…" He continues to muse as he follows behind, trusting Namjoon will take them where they’re going more adeptly on two feet than four wheels. "I couldn’t tell you what causes what and why."
"So it does hurt." Well. I have severe brain damage, Namjoon-ah. No, that’s a harsher thing to say than Namjoon deserves, so he holds his tongue. Out of necessity, he stares down at his shoes. The path is unpaved and not well-trodden enough to tame the towering plants’ enthusiastic summer growth — new stalks emerging from the ground, tendrils hanging across the way. "Is there anything that you've found helps you in those situations?"
(Jungkook. Jungkook's hands.) "I don’t know yet. It’s not always painful… I suppose it’s worse when there are other immediate stressors, compounding…" (Jungkook's pillow that he held to his face last night as he tried to fall back to sleep.) "A calm environment is better."
"Ah, yeah, that makes sense."
Within the space of a few meters, the packed vegetation underfoot gives way to pillowy sand. He almost runs into Namjoon's back when the other stops without warning to bend down and pry off his shoes. Proceeding barefoot? All right, sure. Seokjin joins him, maneuvering his feet free.
"Here we are!" ‘Here’ is a beach, Seokjin realizes; obviously it would be, given the direction they were walking relative to the coast, but now, arranging his shoes to the side of the path and standing, he sees it, the ocean right in front of them at a gentle high tide. "We don’t have to stay long. It’s pretty hot out here, even with the breeze…"
"Yeah," he agrees thoughtlessly. There is a breeze; he loves the feeling of it, and the sound, now that he listens. The plants behind them rustle with it. Layered irregular cadences, the cadence of the gusts and the cadence of the little waves that reach up the shore, a bird that cries overhead and then dives to land.
Wait. He spins to look at Namjoon, who smiles and says, "I just thought it might be nice to bring you here…" Seokjin hardly hears; beyond him, to their west, Seokjin is looking at that decrepit stone wall. That wall.
He takes off running across the bitingly hot sand until he enters the rising water with a splash. It is, oh, god. The beach Jieun, his 'therapist,' asked him to visit every week, where the water was cool and friendly, where the sun was always setting and he felt like he was safe.
He does feel safe. He feels overwhelming familiarity and fondness that he cannot trace back to a specific source, and he feels a bittersweet gratitude he knows comes from his present self. A sense of peace, but not of calm, not tranquility. The unfolding realizations are somehow energizing, and he buzzes.
"Did you bring me here?" he asks into the wind, turning his head halfway.
"No, this was your favorite spot, hyung. You introduced it to us, so I thought it might be nice for you to know where it is again…"
That wasn’t the question Seokjin meant to ask, but, in his brain, associations — feelings and visuals — are connecting more quickly than the articulation of his thoughts, and what question he asked doesn’t matter because he has the answer anyway, somehow; he is certain. "Come here," he demands, struck by urgency, twisting around further to see whether Namjoon is obeying, "come here, come here."
Namjoon does rush over. It’s him, it’s him, but he looks so uncertain now, not like Seokjin remembers; because Seokjin knows, but he doesn’t.
"I have memories of- of here. And I saw- There was…" The dimming evening, the lover. "The last time I came, I thought I-" His throat constricts to prevent him from saying it, that the last time he came was when they should have killed him: he thought he might die.
Namjoon listens attentively but without understanding, of course. He looks down at their hands when Seokjin seizes one of his in a tight grip, looks down but does nothing. "Hyung…"
Seokjin will have to show him. He spins to face the ocean again, taking Namjoon's hand with him. "What you do is you- you stand here and I-"
With another gentle but insistent tug, Namjoon seems to get the idea; Seokjin can feel him stepping closer, and when Namjoon's other arm curls around his torso from the other side, Seokjin exhales a sigh of relief. Yes, that’s it, the way their four hands layer over his abdomen, the way he can lean back and feel his weight supported by a comfortable and sturdy chest. That’s it.
He doesn’t close his eyes. He surveys the blue water and blue sky and imagines all of it pink with the setting sun, purple, orange, navy, gray. The alignment of this moment with his safest, most treasured memory is correct, is right; it’s also, however, sickening, to travel back to the site where he was, unknowingly, so greatly harmed.
He is sick, reenacting this. Still, he continues. "Now- Then you would say," he breathes, his voice weak; he is barely observing himself, simply compelled, without conscious choice, from an undiscernible place — masochism or self-healing or something else. "You tell me you- you love me."
The arms around him tighten. Silence… Hesitation. "Hyung, I-"
"No, I’m sorry." Seokjin stiffens but doesn’t pull away — only because Namjoon won’t let him. God, this is so inappropriate, he’s wrong, he’s bad, he’s insane and he’s causing more problems; "I’m being silly, you don’t-"
"But I do," Namjoon interrupts him, suddenly speaking with conviction. "I do love you. It’s okay. I love you."
Never before have words impacted him in such a physical way. He gasps, shivers so mightily that Namjoon can probably feel the tremor that ripples down his back. Yes, and that finishes it.
Seokjin rotates in place. He wraps his arms around Namjoon's shoulders and kisses him. It’s what he wants to do. The pressure he applies is firm as he tries to express the magnitude of what he just experienced-
And Namjoon is kissing him back. Namjoon's lips are more plush and soft than Jungkook's, and he is taller. Seokjin has only one true point of reference, yet this is more familiar than unfamiliar.
After only a second — or, an amount of time that seems brief — Namjoon pulls away from him, quickly replacing the touch of his mouth with that of his fingers, his whole hand coming to cradle Seokjin's head, his thumb swiping gently under Seokjin's eye. Seokjin glances up at an expression that looks too blurred to discern. Is he crying? His cheeks are wet, but he doesn’t feel… Well, no, it makes sense. He’s just felt a lot. He leans forward, slumps a little so his forehead can rest on Namjoon's shoulder, and sighs.
He stands there and he waits for the internal backlash to strike him — disgust at himself, most likely. But there is none, and no sudden wash of fulfillment, either. Instead, as the mania fades — as he becomes more cognizant of the sand collecting over his feet and the car waiting for him to drive them back to the compound — the worst Seokjin feels is… uncertain. A little clench of anxiety, for the unknown fallout of his rash actions, but not anything he would classify as regret.
No, not regret, not disgust, but a surprising, out-of-place self-satisfaction. He isn’t proud to have lost his mind and acted impulsively, but he's satisfied to have given himself some measure of closure, maybe, resolution to the question of the beach, the memory, the lover. Satisfaction, happiness that this was the answer to it: words that can still be said, arms that can still hold him, a home where he is still welcome…
(And no, he is not disappointed that he again failed to remember his entire past in one magical moment. Far from disappointed. He doesn’t know how he would cope with that.)
"Are you okay?"
"This is strange," Seokjin says. "I’m sorry."
"Hyung, don’t apologize!" The insistence is almost whiny, and Seokjin has to laugh a little, because yeah, what is he apologizing for? Allowing a man who loves him to kiss his beautiful face?
"The situation… I didn’t mean to move so quickly," he adds.
"I don’t expect anything from you now, just because we did that, you know- I mean- Thank you for sharing it with me, whatever it was." Like Seokjin thought, Namjoon understands, to an extent, but also does not. Maybe Seokjin will feel like explaining more on the way back. "I could pretend it didn’t happen, if that would make you most comfortable…"
That isn’t really what Seokjin wants, either. He thinks Namjoon can feel him shrug, then shake his head. He doesn’t know what to say.
"Do you want to look at the shells? There are some nice ones here…"
The sandy rasp and click of shells turning over in Jungkook's nimble, ever-fidgeting fingers fills the comfortable lull in conversation. Seokjin stands at his display shelf, pondering its arrangement. The round side profile of his new rabbit figurine is adorable, but the picture is not cohesive from the outside view at eye level. He decides to turn it ninety degrees to make a parallel companion for his similarly sized, clear-glazed clay squirrel, both creatures peering outward to show their cute features — a few painted details on the mostly white rabbit: a pink nose and inner ears, peculiar jade green eyes.
"That looks about right, doesn’t it?" He looks over to see Jungkook nodding in agreement. He wonders whether Jungkook gifted him a self-portrait intentionally or without noticing. Lying on his back across the foot of the bed, his upper teeth peek from his slightly open mouth as he peers upwards; Seokjin feels the urge to swoop down and squeeze his midsection with excessive force — an affectionate aggression, to be clear.
‘It was Taehyung's idea,’ Jungkook said, as if he shouldn’t take any credit, as if Seokjin didn’t almost start crying with the sudden, explosive tenderness he felt when Jungkook placed the gift onto his palm. The coincidence of it, too — the shells Seokjin picked out took on more significance, not less, as part of the unplanned exchange. (And now his offering looks less like an apology, which was not its intention.)
Seokjin is not planning an apology. He still owes, though. Jungkook was immediately transparent about the circumstances surrounding the little rabbit. Seokjin needs to stop dawdling.
"I have to tell you something."
Jungkook sits up, dutifully serious about listening. Seokjin swallows. How does he say it? He has to just come out with it.
"I kissed Namjoonie when we were at the beach together."
Jungkook's eyes widen in shock.
Seokjin's nervousness balloons as second after second passes without any further reaction. No expression of anger or betrayal: Jungkook is either thinking hard, or he’s just waiting. "It was a special moment," he adds weakly. He didn’t plan anything else to say, but the void is growing. "I lost my senses a little…"
"It was- You were okay with it?" Jungkook frowns up at him, and in Seokjin's simultaneously muddled and blank state, he finds that hard to read. The point of his question is also ambiguous — maybe protective, or maybe accusatory — so any answer could be wrong.
"Well, yes." He has to be honest. "And I wouldn’t say I regret it, either." His hands, closed into fists, press into his abdomen, where it feels his stomach is twisted with anxiety. Was that too defensive? He does feel a little defensive, admittedly, but he doesn’t want to sound like it. His principal goal is not to defend himself but to be, if it’s possible, understood. "The moment meant a lot to me."
"I know." Jungkook listened attentively to Seokjin's incomplete explanation of the beach’s significance about ten minutes ago. "I’m… Hyung, I’m not mad, if you’re worried about that."
"You’re not?"
Jungkook bites his lip as he takes another moment to consider. "I don’t think so…"
Seokjin chuckles more out of relief than amusement. He doesn’t fully believe that Jungkook isn’t — or, won’t be — upset with him, but this is a good sign. With one step forward and a ninety degree pivot, he sits next to Jungkook on the bed, rolling his shoulders back to get more of the achy tension out. "What are you thinking, then?"
The shells clatter against each other, Jungkook discarding them on the soft bedspread; he now reaches for Seokjin's hand to fidget with. His patience replenished, Seokjin allows his right ring and pinkie fingers to be bent and straightened as he waits for Jungkook to sort through his thoughts. "I guess I’m more… curious? I want to know what-" He clears his throat, hesitating for a moment. "What it was like."
He wants to know what it was like. Jungkook has stopped playing with his fingers. Seokjin grabs onto that overlapping portion of his hand and squeezes. "In what way?" If Jungkook doesn’t have enough information — to be fair, Seokjin didn’t give him much — to avoid feeling left out, that’s sort of cute. If — he’s not mad, but — he feels controlling over the entire kissing-Seokjin concept, that might be an issue they need to address, should it persist. On the other hand, could it be- What if it’s Namjoon he’s ‘curious’ about?
"Can you just show me?" Jungkook whines, glancing at him sideways, furtive, as if gauging how embarrassed he should feel about what he’s saying.
Seokjin doesn’t want him to be embarrassed. Seokjin doesn’t mind showing him. Doesn’t mind at all.
It can’t be an exact analogue, given they’re in the wrong place, and sitting down, but Seokjin can provide the most convenient approximation. As he remembers it, his arms — it’ll be easiest for him to play his own role — went over Namjoon's shoulders, sort of wrapping around his neck, loosely; Jungkook rotates his sitting position to face him in the process. Seokjin leaned in shortly after, initiating without thinking in his frenzied state. Now, the passage of time more discernible to him, he gives it about two seconds of firm, semi-awkward contact.
"That was- that was all?" Jungkook is frowning yet again. Shouldn’t he be glad? Gosh, is he relieved or is he disappointed?
Wait — Oh. The idea that Jungkook might be disappointed that he and Namjoon hadn’t done more to each other has him surging forward to kiss Jungkook again, bizarrely, immensely compelled. It didn’t previously occur to him, or he ignored the thought for lack of hope, that instead of just enduring it, Jungkook might come to like him having multiple partners; actually, no, even more unanticipated than that: that Jungkook already might want Namjoon in the same way that Seokjin does… Why does the prospect make him feel dizzy?
His fingers sliding up the back of Jungkook's scalp, he snags short hair between his knuckles and tugs, swallowing the gasp that he earns. He earns a more special noise, a surprised approval that’s close to a moan, when he gently pushes his tongue past Jungkook's lips and parted teeth. He feels Jungkook grab clumsily at the front of his shirt, hands pawing at — fingers a little cold — his abdomen, the back of his waist…
Their angle is awkward, physically awkward, their frames twisted and separate. God, he doesn’t want to move, but maybe it would be better. Truthfully, he wants — really wants, it’s something he’s thought about — Jungkook in his lap: all of his solid, reassuring weight pressing down, the hem of his shirt right there, his smooth warm skin easily accessible underneath. Whatever godforsaken conversation they were stumbling through before now surely isn’t a higher priority than that.
But no decision is necessary; it’s Jungkook who suddenly tears himself away, withdrawing further than Seokjin would like, but the expression on his face is delightfully scandalized. "Namjoon-ssi," he gasps, flushed, frowning, "is a scoundrel-"
"No, no, I-" Seokjin holds up one hand, holds in a laugh. Notices, with gratitude, that his nervousness has fully dissipated. He didn’t intend to act misleadingly, but the result is funny. "That was all; you were right — I just- you’re so…" He doesn’t know what words he would use to express it. "Maybe I got carried away."
"Ah. Right."
"I don’t think you hated the idea, though?" he teases, reaching up to poke Jungkook's cheek; but the other dodges out of the way — and dodges the question (rhetorical, anyway) as well.
"Are you two going to be, you know, a thing? Now?" Jungkook asks hesitantly.
It’s a good question. Seokjin has been collecting his thoughts on this all evening; he might even say he has them all together by now. He feels, for whatever reason — the scene’s significance to him, he supposes — vehemently opposed to pretending their intense moment never happened, as Namjoon offered; but for it to change everything would also be premature. (He can’t realistically imagine walking into Namjoon's bedroom or office and kissing him there; he’s not opposed, but it wouldn’t be right.) "Not any more than yesterday, not by much." Not any more than before would mean something else. "Is that okay?"
Jungkook nods.
As always, Hoseok waits to be the last to land. Today, circling, the waiting, the careful instructing, the necessary patience — it’s torturous. Shouldn’t he treasure these minutes, in case they do turn out to be his last spent in the air? No, he just wants it to be over.
Last week, in this position, he was afraid to return to the base, terrified by Seokjin's unexplained absence as well as the prospect of explaining it. This time, bearing no mysteries — his certainties having increased, actually — the only thing he wants is to be with them on the ground. He taxis to the garage at an unsafe speed. Who’s going to chastise him?
He tears off his gear. He tears through his procedures, completing them to the minimum possible extent and standards — which still does take work — while pointing out the negatives to himself. Do you feel how burning hot it is? Don’t you think the fumes’ terrible stench is your nervous system warning you these chemicals are slowly killing everyone who inhales? Doesn’t Hope’s stupid gaudy paint job make you look like an egotistical asshole? Sorry, I didn’t mean that. He taps her landing gear apologetically with his boot before he turns and jogs decisively away.
Byulyi is still doing her postflight procedure, taking her time, waiting for him. She smiles when she spots him approaching.
Byulyi will make a good leader. She doesn’t want to lead in a formal capacity, but he thinks she’ll be convinced to take up the mantle, given it won’t be for long. How much is there left to do?
"You have them, noona?" he checks. They prearranged this, but it’s a unique request. He has never asked her to take over his responsibilities like this before Yoongi encouraged him to do so today. She knows him well enough to react with worry rather than annoyance; and right now, the prospect of being pitied doesn’t bother him.
"I do!" She gestures for him to move along, waving her hand in the direction of the buildings. "Go on. I promise it’s okay."
He jogs off without looking back. He’s done now. Prickling with irritation and anxiety at the thought of running into one of his underlings — or anyone for whom he would need to put on authority — he takes the sneakiest path, routing behind the garages, among the mechanics who are emerging from the basements.
Will the kids feel dismayed that he isn’t waiting around to debrief them after landing? He was torn about that, about what he owes them, but Yoongi helped him reach the conclusion that he now grips in front of him with pathetic vehemence: who fucking cares! Kids? They’re mercenary killers, just like him! What do they need another encouraging talk from Hoseok for? Just to reiterate: good job out there, and sorry your friends died — fuck off. They can do without.
Have they ever needed acknowledgement and reassurance from him? Or was he the one who needed to hear himself say those things?
That’s something he shouldn’t dwell on. He doesn’t know, but no one is asking him to figure it out.
The last year of his life was a nightmare and Hoseok is now waking up, he thinks. He knows what happened during that period — obviously, he does. But it has now occurred to him that if, like after any dream, the detailed facts of it start to slip away like sand or disappear behind fog unless proactively grasped and held… he isn’t required to do that. He can just let them go. The rigid subjective truths, the self-imposed beliefs that anchored him to the framework in which he lived overnight might no longer be relevant or useful or worth his mental agonizing.
It’s too early to say what will happen. He could still chicken out of throwing his responsibilities to the wind, or he could find it impossible to change his mentality in practice. He just needs…
His boots meet the gravel path surrounding the headquarters buildings. Where would they be? With the ships having landed, everyone is emerging from the basements, squinting into the sunlight of mid-morning. Last time, Jimin ran up to greet him as quickly as he could. Hoseok doesn’t spot Jimin or any of the others among the stream of heads flowing past him. He pushes against the current, walking indoors and heading for the stairs, going down instead of up.
The basement is already clearing out. When he turns the corner to the hallway he knows is still their usual spot to shelter from the noise, he collides with Taehyung coming from the opposite direction.
"Hyung!" Immediately, Hoseok is being squeezed, arms around his middle; Taehyung attaches to him first, then Jimin, joined by Namjoon on his other side — his view is blocked, but he can tell it's Namjoon by size and scent.
He is familiar with these reunion hugs, a warm pile of thank-god-you’re-safe; he looks forward to them, to quietly basking in communal relief at the sound of everyone breathing and present. This one is, objectively, among the best; but today it’s difficult to melt into the collective embrace. There is too much on his mind.
"Hyung," it’s his turn to say, everyone listening, only one person addressed. He cranes his neck to peek between Jimin and Taehyung's heads. Seokjin is not connected to the group by touch, but he is standing close, close enough. "Can we- I need to talk to you. Alone. Please?"
He watches Seokjin glance to his right, where Jeon Jungkook stands slightly removed. The two share a look so brief and unexpressive it couldn’t possibly communicate much. "Of course," Seokjin says. "Now?"
"Please." Wriggling out of his beloveds’ varying-degrees-of-stubborn holds — Taehyung will not let go until Hoseok's face has been kissed a half-dozen times — he takes stock of the closed and cracked-open doors lining the hall.
"Where is Yoongi-hyung" Namjoon asks. Understandable question.
"On his way." Hoseok takes Seokjin's wrist and pulls him towards the closest unoccupied-looking room, Jungkook stepping out of the way. Locked. Next one. Unlocked. Good. And empty, and dark. Seokjin has already identified the lightswitch, turning on half of the overheads as he closes the door behind him.
Okay. Hoseok opens his mouth, then closes it. Now that he’s where he wanted to be, he’s not sure how to begin. He thinks Seokjin is the only person who will be able to understand his thoughts, and the only person whose opinion he wants to hear; but Seokjin is also sensitive, mentally, in a way that’s scarily confusing. The last thing Hoseok wants would be to trigger a bout of his… unwellness, a setback, again, by pushing him too hard.
"Hobi-yah." Seokjin's face appears, or comes back into focus, in front of him. "Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about?"
"Yeah, but- I don’t want you to have to think about- about bad things that you shouldn’t have to worry about anymore." Fuck, he’s saying too much. He should have taken time to collect his thoughts. Instead, he’s burdening Seokjin before even starting. "I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to be involved, and here I go, asking-"
Seokjin cuts him off with a chastising tsk. His thoughtfully concerned expression is so painfully familiar. "I promise I’ll be okay." Seokjin's hands reach down to take hold of both his own, their fingers mutually calloused, Hoseok's still streaked with grease. Seokjin touches him deliberately yet with ease, as if it isn't a miracle. "Helping you makes me feel better." His smile is obviously fake but it works, signaling the very patience and care that Hoseok was hoping for. Seokjin is here. Another click of the tongue. "But you look like you’re about to faint."
"I’m not," Hoseok protests, weakly. Nevertheless, he lets Seokjin guide him into the nearest chair. They’ve stumbled into a dingy little meeting room, where someone’s forgotten mug of coffee sits on top of loose pages of notes. Messily scrawled numbers… currency conversions, investment.
Seokjin blocks the view when he hops up to sit on the table. "Talk, please, Seok-ah," he demands.
He takes a deep breath.
The scene that comes to mind is that of Seokjin on the hill, looking across the empty tarmac, with Hoseok and Jimin gazing up at him; that was the moment Hoseok understood that his situation was never going to return to 'normal.' Hoseok can even recall — he thinks he can recall — Seokjin's exact words. You should know: under no circumstances will I be made to fly.
"How did you decide… How were you able to say that you weren't going to fly anymore?"
"It was easy for me to say," Seokjin immediately replies. "It wasn’t a matter of stopping, here, if that's what you're talking about. It was a matter of not restarting, right?" Hoseok nods; Seokjin continues more softly. "Do you want to stop? Is that what you’re saying?"
"Yeah." There it is. A second person knows. "But- I mean, I don’t want to, but there's no…" He huffs. Come on. He's already said it. He can keep talking. He keeps his eyes fixed on Seokjin's knees. "It doesn't make sense." The work doesn't make sense, that is — pointless and miserable and grotesque. "I've known it doesn't make sense for a while, but now…"
Now — without Seokjin there, or rather, with Seokjin safe — very little remains, for Hoseok, up there: neither Seokjin to monitor, to protect, nor Seokjin alongside him, which will never happen again.
"Yoongi-hyung pointed it out to me, how bad it is. I felt terrible this time," he confesses, the momentum of speaking allowing him to come clean. "I hated it." Seokjin takes his hand again.
To become the self who performs the work and to perform the work accordingly — he doesn't want to do it. It hurt and it will hurt again next week. But stopping is not so simple. Well, maybe it is simple, literally — Yerim would have a hard time physically forcing him to go, — but he doesn't know what life after quitting would look like.
If he was overdramatic, he would also say he's also unsure what Hoseok-after-quitting would look like, but truthfully, this far along in his life, he does have his own identity. His sense of self could survive the break. There is a key truth of which he is certain: his home is with the people he loves, no matter if they’re here doing this or somewhere else doing something else. That's important because he doesn't think they'll be able to stay here after he resigns. If that's what he's going to do, a giant disruption for everyone becomes inevitable.
Rather, Hoseok won't be able to stay. He likes to think they would come with him but he is scared to be proven wrong. And, anyway, where would they go? This compound is where their story started and where it has unfolded ever since, the only place they all share in common, where they became and lived as two-three-four-five-six.
"I'm glad he was with you, then," Seokjin says. "Are you afraid you're going to miss it?"
Flying itself? Of course. That was all younger-Hoseok cared about. "That's one thing."
"Well, if we can't tolerate it, there are ways. We'll do air mail. Back and forth to Taipei every week with important letters, how does that sound? Or we could join the circus!"
Hoseok smiles, grateful for Seokjin's peculiar attitude and, finally looking up, his endearing expression, the portrait of half-sarcastic wisdom, brows raised sternly but eyes sparkling. The thought of traveling the world with tigers and elephants and clowns — the mental image of Namjoon trying to take up juggling — actually makes Hoseok laugh.
But, no, unfortunately, giving up his plane, as major as that is, doesn't make up even half of the problem. A final giggle and then he feels his smile slide right off, and he slumps down with it. He allows himself to rest his head on Seokjin's thigh. "I'm afraid because I know it will cause a fuss." He sighs. "If I quit, it's going to be a big deal. A problem for everybody."
"I'm not sure they will see it that way — or, I hope you're not talking about Yerim, because you shouldn't care what she thinks." Seokjin's hand retracts before then landing on Hoseok's head, fingers lightly brushing through his probably unpleasantly sweaty, short hair. "I imagine everyone will be relieved, if you make a decision that keeps you safe and makes you healthier. Don't you think they worry about you when you're gone? I was worried, this week."
Hoseok actually hadn't considered that angle. He swallows, a little embarrassed. "Our lives are would be uprooted."
"Oh, I don't know- I'm no expert, but I think Jiminie won't care, at least. I won't care. Jungkookie would be ecstatic to get out of here."
Ah. Jungkook. Right.
"Don't worry about that part, yet. Think about what is going to be the best for you," Seokjin says, "and if you really never want to go back up there, then- What did you tell me? Hyung won't let that happen. That won't happen."