Chapter Text
There once was a time when Namjoon liked flying.
He was seven the first time he was on a plane. Taehyung was a few days short of six and their parents had saved up to take them to Tokyo Disneyland for Christmas. Namjoon was bouncing on his seat with excitement the entire plane ride — yes, because he was on his way to Disneyland, but also because he was flying . People flew on airplanes all the time, it was a normal occurrence and Namjoon intellectually knew this, but in that moment it felt something fantastic and impossible, and yet he was doing it. He was flying to a whole other country, so far away from home and everything he knew, it simply didn’t feel real. His face was glued to the glass, staring at the clouds and the endless ocean beneath him and he felt untouchable, like a superhero from the animations he liked watching, like Icarus from the children’s storybook their mother read to them.
On her seat next to him, even after taking her anxiolytics, their mother held both her hands to her chest, kept her eyes closed, and gasped every time the plane rattled. Across the aisle, Taehyung and their father slept peacefully. Namjoon remembers his belly stirring with embarrassment, cutting through his excitement every time his mother heaved in poorly concealed terror. Didn’t she know planes were safe? Why was she making a fuss?
Now, Namjoon is twenty-six, flying across the Pacific and he grips the armrest every time the plane goes through the tiniest turbulence. His heart is beating fast and he can feel sweat rolling down his forehead as Son Ye-Jin goes off on a desperate quest to find her daughter in the movie he picked out in hopes it would distract him. He has no idea where this newly found panic came from, but he’s completely paralyzed by it. Not ideal for a fourteen-hour flight.
He tries to keep his eyes focused on the screen and his face neutral, pretending to watch the movie. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him and be able to tell how distressed he is.
Next to him, Yoongi notices anyway.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking up from his laptop.
“Nothing,” Namjoon answers too quickly and it comes out dry. His knuckles are white around the armrest.
Yoongi eyes him for a moment, then offers his earphones to him. “Here, can you listen to this and tell me what you think?”
Namjoon takes them and lets Yoongi play a track for him. It’s the latest one he’s been working on, from the ones he convinced Namjoon to rap on. He picks out the sound of his own voice, but Yoongi has produced the hell out of it and it sounds pretty fucking incredible. He makes himself concentrate on it, trying to keep his mind off the turbulent plane. Namjoon checks his watch and takes a deep breath. Only ten more hours to go.
☁︎
They land at Incheon a little past six a.m.
Namjoon wasn’t able to get any sleep, too wound up for it and now he drags his heavy feet through customs. The lack of sleep and the liminal feeling of the airport have him losing grip on reality.
He lets Yoongi deal with everything, find their way to baggage claim, and locate their suitcases while Namjoon stares at the conveyor belt, contemplating his helpless, insignificant existence made evident by this sudden paralyzing fear of flying.
“A little help, Namjoon?” Yoongi demands, annoyed and Namjoon hurries to unload his own suitcase from the belt so Yoongi can get his.
It still doesn’t seem real that he’s packed nearly nine years of his life in only a suitcase and a backpack, but here it is. Everything he owns and everything of himself he could collect from his life in New York. It doesn’t feel like an end and not quite like a beginning, it’s just this , passing through an airport, a subway station, more long rides, more waiting.
They have a pretty embarrassing time figuring out the metrocard machine before they get on the subway. It’s a forty-minute ride to the train station and it’s rush hour, so they have to cram in with their suitcases.
Namjoon took the subway nearly every day back in New York and it strikes him how abysmally different this feels. The ride is quiet and sleek and clean and efficient. The lights flicker for a second — Namjoon and Yoongi brace themselves, but it’s over as soon as it starts. No one else bats an eye, the train doesn’t clatter, it doesn’t derail, it doesn’t stop abruptly. Yoongi looks up at him, a sheepish smile creeping in. Namjoon chuckles.
“Not in Kansas anymore, I guess.”
They have to rush through the train station to catch the eight-thirty train to Pohang, knocking suitcases together and pushing through the crowd, but they make it.
Once inside the train, Namjoon groans, drops to his seat, and grumpily tries to settle for sleep. It’s useless. His legs are too long, the space too small and the seat too uncomfortable. He whines.
Yoongi sighs. “It’s only four hours, Namjoon.”
“ Only four hours?” Namjoon snorts. “You say that because you were able to get a full night’s sleep on the plane. I’ve been awake for over twenty hours, hyung.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue. He has easily curled himself in his seat and is pulling out a book from his bag. “Since when are you afraid of flying?”
“Since never. I don’t know,” Namjoon says around a yawn. “I don’t know what happened.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Pretty common fear.”
“I never had it before.”
Yoongi looks up from where he’s flipping pages, trying to locate the old receipt he uses as a bookmark, and examines Namjoon. “That’s common too. As you grow older you get increasingly anxious about things you can’t control,” he explains, gesturing vaguely with his hand.
Namjoon frowns. “I have a control problem?”
Yoongi gives him a knowing sort of look that makes Namjoon frown deeper. “Planes are particularly scary and out of our control,” he says, not answering the question. “It’s normal.”
Namjoon still frowns. Yoongi sighs. “Listen, don’t worry too much about it. Forget I brought it up.”
Namjoon sinks into his seat, his legs folding uncomfortably in the cramped space. Coming from any other person, telling him not to worry about something would be a surefire way for him to worry exceedingly about it, but this is Yoongi. If Namjoon can allow himself to trust and be comforted by anyone other than his mother, that’d be Yoongi. “Okay,” he concedes. “How are you feeling? You know you can just say the word and we can get off at the next station and go back to Seoul. We would figure it out.”
Namjoon doesn’t want to influence Yoongi into anything, but he has to check. He knows the idea of home — the place they grew up in — is widely different for him. Namjoon has his parents and Taehyung to go back to, his childhood house filled with warm memories. Yoongi has a broken home and strained relationships.
“We’re not turning back, Namjoon. I feel fine,” he assures him. “It’ll be good to see Taehyung and your parents, go to the beach, have some of your father’s mussels soup, meet Jiwon’s baby,” he says. “I have a niece ,” he adds quietly after a moment.
Namjoon is not convinced, can’t help the foreboding feeling that he’s walking Yoongi back into the wolf's den he had so much trouble escaping from, but he knows when not to push. Yoongi is quick to stir the conversation away. “We’re only staying for the summer anyway, right?”
Namjoon nods. “We regroup, save some money and then we can try Seoul out,” he says. That’s the plan.
That makes Yoongi relax enough, his figure slumping. “Jimin messaged me. I just saw it when we landed.”
“What did he say?” Namjoon asks, keeping his tone neutral.
Yoongi curls into himself and tucks his chin over his knees. “Just that he heard we were coming back and if I wanted to get coffee sometime, I could text him.”
Namjoon snorts. “Does that mean literally coffee, or is it like a sexy thing?”
Yoongi glares. “Last time I spoke to him nine years ago he hated me, why would it be a sexy thing?”
“Because it’s Jimin .”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “For all I know, he wants the chance to punch me in the face and walk away. I would deserve it too.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t,” he says. “Are you gonna text him?”
“I don’t know.”
Namjoon pushes himself up in the seat. “Listen, I’m not saying you should go out with Jimin because I think it’s a bad idea, but maybe you should consider putting yourself out there.”
“Putting myself out there,” Yoongi repeats dryly.
Namjoon nods. “Yes, more than enough time has passed since Matt, right? And we won’t stay here for long, it’d be like a summer fling. It’d be good for you, hyung,” he says. “Eight months is an awfully long time to go without sex.”
“You know way too much about my sex life,” Yoongi points out.
“So do you, we had really thin walls,” Namjoon shrugs.
“Don’t remind me,” Yoongi says and then sighs. “You know I can’t really do casual, right? Besides, who am I supposed to have a fling with? The gay dating pool in that fucking town resumes to my ex-boyfriend, your brother and what? Jeonggukie from across the street? Come on.” He smirks, leaning forward. “Or if you’re propositioning me, Joonie-yah, just say so, your mother would be ecstatic.”
Namjoon slides down into his seat again. He groans. “Shut up, she tried to tell me the other day that if we got married abroad and didn’t invite her, she’d understand.”
Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “Can you imagine? Coming back to that village with a husband ,” he says. “If the drinking wouldn’t have already killed my father, that certainly would have done it. Not before he tried to beat it out of me, though.”
Namjoon can’t help how tense he goes at that. “Good thing the drinking did it, then,” he says gravely.
Yoongi nods. “But we’re not married.”
“We are not,” Namjoon agrees. “You would marry me though, right? If we’re still single by the time we’re like thirty. For financial security and shit.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “I’m thirty in two years and you have been single ever since you got out of high school.”
Namjoon smiles, waggling his eyebrows. “Marry me, hyungnim. My mom would be ecstatic.”
“We’ll see,” Yoongi says, his mouth quirking into a slow smile and they’re joking around but it still gives Namjoon peace of mind, it has him grinning in delight. “But I’m not having a summer fling,” he says decisively. “If it’s something that you want to do, though, go right ahead. I support you. Wear condoms.”
Namjoon snorts. Okay, so he pretty much only does casual. Not because he has any problems with commitment or anything, really, he’s just been busy. Between classes and jobs and his independent studying hours, there just wasn’t any time for a serious relationship. The last one he had was in high school with a girl named Nabi. He tried dating in New York, but it never really worked out for him beyond one-night stands and a few regular fuck buddies over the years. “Thanks, hyung. Your approval means a lot,” he says and he’s only half-joking.
Yoongi hums. “Only if you do it with Jimin, I don’t want to know about it.”
“I wouldn’t sleep with Jimin,” Namjoon scoffs, appalled by the implication.
“Good. Now go to sleep and let me read.”
☁︎
Namjoon does get some sleep. It’s not by any means comfortable but he’s way too tired, so next thing he knows, Yoongi is shaking him awake.
“We’re here,” he mumbles as he reaches over to get their things.
They walk out of Pohang station, Namjoon still clinging to sleep, and are immediately hit with the humid air and ocean breeze. Taehyung is waiting for them, bouncing and smiling wide in an awful tropical shirt and a bandana in his hair.
He throws himself into Namjoon’s arms as soon as he’s within reach. He smells like an old vintage store and the lavender fabric softener their mother uses and a little bit like fish sauce. He smells like home.
He pulls away and makes a move to hug Yoongi, but Yoongi flinches on reflex and immediately looks apologetic about it. Taehyung laughs.
“Still not a hugger, I see,” he says, reaching out with his fist. Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when he fist bumps him.
Taehyung leads them into their old family wrangler, still kicking after all these years. Taehyung drives with one hand on the wheel, the windows down and the music loud. His other arm hangs out in the air, something their father always scolds him for. He’s a sight to behold driving alongside the ocean and Namjoon won’t stop staring at him.
Taehyung gives him an amused look and turns down the music. “What?”
Namjoon smiles. “You look good.”
Taehyung laughs. “Hyung, you just saw me on Christmas. I look the same.”
Taehyung and their mother went to New York for Christmas to visit him. He didn’t look the same. He looks brighter, happier here under the sun of their seaside village, just south of Pohang.
Namjoon hums. “How’s mom? Dad?” he asks.
Taehyung shrugs. “They’re just the same, you know? Good,” he says. “Mom has taken up knitting, she probably has a sweater or something waiting for you.”
Namjoon smiles fondly. “And dad? The restaurant?”
“Same. Dad’s impossible, the restaurant is doing good,” he says. “You’ll find much is exactly the same around here.”
Yoongi leans forward, resting his chin over Namjoon’s seat. “That’s exciting.”
Taehyung shoots a look back at him, a guilty smile tugging at his lip. “Sorry. I mean, I’m really sorry about your father.”
Yoongi shrugs. “He was old and a drunk,” he says. “So, what’s hiring this summer?”
Taehyung purses his lips. “Well, Mr. Park at the convenience store was looking for a new delivery person.”
“Is that a joke?”
Taehyung laughs. “You asked. Jimin doesn’t even hang out at the store or anything, so you wouldn’t see him. But hey, there’s always work at the fish market. Or maybe if you sweet-talk dad, he might need a new kitchen assistant.”
Yoongi grunts and sits back.
“Jimin texted him,” Namjoon supplies. “Asked him out for coffee.”
Taehyung’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh?”
The feigned surprise isn’t lost on Namjoon. Taehyung and Jimin have been inseparable since they were toddlers, there is nothing Jimin does that Taehyung doesn’t know about. Taehyung catches Yoongi’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you gonna go?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “How is he?” he then asks, quieter.
“He’s really great. He’s teaching kindergarten now at the school and he loves it.”
Namjoon looks back at Yoongi and catches the tail end of a sad little smile. “That’s cool,” is all that Yoongi says.
After forty minutes or so, they finally drive into the village and everything does look exactly the same. The market, the school, the park, the boardwalk — all staples of Namjoon’s childhood, frozen in time, exactly as he remembers them. He’s attacked with a wave of nostalgia and also the same suffocating feeling that drove him away in the first place. He doesn’t know which one to listen to.
“Am I dropping you off at your brother’s or are you coming home?” Taehyung asks simply, looking back at Yoongi. He’s opening the door for Yoongi but not pushing. Yoongi doesn’t go for it.
“My brother’s,” he says. “They’re expecting me.”
Taehyung shares a quick look with Namjoon and then just shrugs. “Okay.”
Yoongi doesn’t let them come out of the car to help him with his suitcase, so they just sit there and watch as Yoongi drags his belongings to the front door. Yoongi knocks on the door and immediately waves them off.
“I’ll call you! Say hi to your parents from me,” he calls.
They wave back and then Taehyung is driving away.
“You think he’ll be okay?” Taehyung asks.
“I hope so,” Namjoon answers. “He has not wanted to talk about it.”
Taehyung hums. “Well, may he rest and peace and all, but he was a real dick to Yoongi. What goes around comes around.”
“Of course, but he was still his father. He must be feeling something .”
“Sure, and he might even talk about it when he’s ready. You have to give him time.”
“I am giving him time,” Namjoon says. “How are things with you?” he then asks, moving along. “You look so… happy.”
Taehyung keeps his eyes on the road, but a smile tugs at his mouth, a small, shy one. “I am.”
Namjoon smiles, fighting the urge to ruffle Taehyung’s hair. “I’m glad.”
“Am I allowed to ask about you?”
“What do you mean?”
Taehyung shrugs. “You just called one day saying you were coming home all of the sudden. It didn’t sound like you wanted to talk about it. I don’t even know how long you are staying for.”
“Can’t I stay for good?”
Taehyung looks at him then, pulling into their home’s driveway. “You have always done whatever you wanted,” he says with a shrug. “I just don’t think staying here falls in there.”
Taehyung turns off the ignition, and then he’s hopping out of the car. Namjoon follows him out after a moment, glad that the conversation seems to be over.
Their house rests on a little hill overlooking the ocean. It’s both exposed brick and sea-foam green painted walls and brownstone coated roof tiles. There’s a huge oak tree looming over the yard, a wooden swing hanging from it. Namjoon’s heart feels tight at the sight.
Taehyung helps him unload the suitcase and before they even reach the doorway, their mother is bursting out and coming toward Namjoon.
She shrieks and flings her arms around him. “Welcome home, honey.”
She pulls away and grabs Namjoon’s face in both of her hands. “Oh, sweetheart, I missed having you home.”
“Mom,” he whispers, unable to say anything else, and hugs her again, dropping his backpack and holding on tight. Taehyung gets Namjoon’s bag from the floor and takes everything inside.
His mother follows, dragging Namjoon with her, asking about everything from the plane ride, to the train, to Yoongi, to how Namjoon’s finding the village, and the weather, and when did he dye his hair silver.
“It’s platinum blonde, mom,” Taehyung says, climbing up the stairs.
She waves him off. “Whatever, it suits you,” she says. “You look so handsome.”
Namjoon smiles, awkward. “Um, thanks.”
She laughs. “Come, sit down.”
“I knit you and Yoongi sweaters,” she says as she pushes a basket full of yarn aside and makes him sit on the couch next to her. Namjoon last saw her just six months ago in New York, but she also looks different at home. She looks like the mother he grew up with. She’s wearing a knitted top and a patterned long skirt and her wavy hair is long and wild where it’s loose, her skin is glazed with a light sheen of sweat and her eyes are crinkled in a kind smile.
“I missed you, mom,” he says earnestly. She smiles.
“I missed you too, honey,” she says and grabs Namjoon’s hands in hers. “How are you? How was the trip?”
Namjoon sighs, finally able to relax into the familiar couch. “Exhausting. I barely got any sleep, the plane got me anxious.”
“Oh baby,” she says, squeezing his hand. “I should have left you some of my pills when I was there in December.”
Namjoon shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have taken them anyway, I didn’t think I’d need it. I was never scared of flying before.”
She purses her lips, eyeing him sympathetically. “It’s my fault. I passed it all along to you.”
“No, it’s not,” Namjoon sighs. “Yoongi said I’m afraid of things I can’t control.”
His mother hums. “Oh Namjoon,” she says kindly, carding her fingers through his hair. “It’s this wonderful head of yours. You want to understand everything about everything.”
Namjoon frowns. “I understand how planes work.”
“The plane is just a symptom, Namjoon,” she says. “This is what I mean, you overthink things. Let go from time to time. You can’t know every single thing.”
Namjoon frowns, thinking it over. His classmates always accused him of being a know-it-all because he knew the answer whenever teachers called on him. Later on, his girlfriend Nabi would call it his fatal flaw and Namjoon always thought she was being overly theatrical. In university, it became an asset. He doesn’t know what to do with it now.
His mother reaches out and smoothes the frown on his face, gently caressing with her thumb. “How’s Yoongi?” she asks, bringing him back.
“He’s alright,” he says. “You know how he is.”
She’s pruning her mouth, thoughtfully. “My boy, he’s been through so much,” she says. After a moment, she smiles. “It’s cute how he followed you to New York and now you followed him back.”
Namjoon shifts uncomfortably. “It’s what we wanted to do, mom. No one followed anyone.”
She chuckles. “If you say so. I’m glad you always have each other, either way.”
Namjoon nods. “Yeah, me too.” He thinks about explaining to her that his and Yoongi’s relationship really is not what she thinks or wants to think, but ultimately he doesn’t see the point. He and Yoongi have the relationship that they have and that’s that, none of them has ever worried about other people’s assumptions.
“Mom, I’m taking the car,” Taehyung announces, walking into the room. He’s changed clothes and he smells like perfume.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m coming with Sora to get her nose pierced.”
“Are you getting pierced?”
Taehyung’s eyes go wide. “No, just her. But what if I was?”
“Nothing, I’m just asking,” she says. “I don’t suppose I should expect you for dinner?”
Taehyung smiles wide and squinty-eyed. “You suppose right,” he says before turning on his heel. “Bye, hyung. Welcome home!” he calls and then he’s out. Their mother watches him go.
“A girl?” Namjoon asks as soon as she looks back at him.
She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “A girl,” she confirms, but doesn’t offer anything else. She gets up and heads to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Your dad left kimbap and I was gonna make some naengmyeon.”
“Maybe later, I wanted to take a nap right now,” he says, already settling on the couch. It’s soft and inviting, the most comfortable couch he’s ever laid on.
“Okay, but don’t sleep for too long or your sleep schedule won’t adjust.”
Namjoon mumbles something back and almost immediately he’s drifting off to sleep to the sound of his mother fumbling in the kitchen and watching the plum juice stain on the carpet from the time Namjoon thought it would be funny to scare Taehyung while he watched a Simpsons’ Halloween special. He feels safe.
When he wakes up, the sun is setting and his mother is nowhere around. He paddles around the house, getting familiar with it again. It is brick and wooden finishes, and patterned drapery, drenched in orange sunlight coming in from a window at every angle. The last time he came home was around five years ago, before his last year of university, and he only stayed a few days. It’s somewhat overwhelming to be back here and face his childhood and adolescence stamped on every surface.
He finds the washed-out bloodstain on the vintage dining room chair from when he was five and climbed up on the chair only to plunge a loose nail on his knee. He finds the thrifted colored glass vase that he and Taehyung chipped in to buy for their mother’s birthday with their first ever allowance.
He steps on the loose floorboard where Taehyung would hide snacks until it drew mice in and their father had to set up traps. Taehyung would climb onto Namjoon’s bed and cry when he could hear the mice getting stuck in the traps, squeaking desperately all night.
He finds the window seat, covered in the same cushions he remembers always being there. Namjoon would sit there with Nabi and talk for hours and hours on end. He broke up with her on that window seat.
Light-headed and heavy-hearted, Namjoon walks to the kitchen and he finds a note from his mom on the fridge:
I went to the market.
There’s food in the fridge!
Love you ♡
Namjoon hops onto the counter and wolfs down the noodles his mother left for him, rejoicing in her cooking after so long, then he decides to go for a walk.
The village is small and everywhere you go you get a view of the ocean. He walks aimlessly, his eyes trained on the water and the pink sky as the sun slowly makes its way down.
He strolls down to the beach, kicking his sandals off and feeling the sand under his toes. Namjoon used to come here a lot to just think, organize his tangled thoughts, and write what he could on the little moleskine journal he always carried around then.
He felt suffocated by this town where everyone knows each other and everyone minds everyone’s business and there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to be.
He has grown so much and so far away from that kid who was raised here, but being back not much feels different. The line between his past self and his current self is blurry at best. He fought so hard to leave as far away as possible, to make a home for himself somewhere else, and now he has given it all up to come back even if it’s only temporary. Because he knows how comfortable it can get here, under his mother’s warm affection, her roof, her cooking. As tempting as it is, he doesn’t want to get comfortable. For so long he was off fending for himself and it was grueling sometimes, but he felt happy and fulfilled in a way he never did before.
Did he just dump himself back to square one? His breath falters.
He pulls his phone out and types a quick text to Yoongi before making his way out of the sand and back into the street.
min suga
[Sunday, 26 June]
you [19:12]
tell me we’re not making a mistake coming back here
Back on the sidewalk, Namjoon walks, trying to shake the sand from his feet, when he hears a loud clatter.
“JEONGGUK! WHAT WAS THAT?”
Namjoon looks up and he sees what can only be Jeon Jeongguk scrambling to collect the frozen fish he just dropped all over the restaurant’s parking lot. Namjoon didn’t even notice he was walking in the direction of his father’s business.
“The gwamegi slipped, I got it!” Jeongguk yells back.
Namjoon hurries to kneel next to him and helps gather the fish up. Jeongguk looks up at Namjoon and his eyes are impossibly wide, his cheeks pink.
Namjoon smiles. “Hi.”
“Namjoon-hyung,” he breathes. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, I just got here today,” he says, dumping fish inside the cooler. “Taehyung didn’t mention I was coming home?”
Jeongguk nods as he struggles to pick up a particularly slippery gwamegi. “Yeah, yes. He mentioned it.”
Jeongguk’s hands are trembling, so Namjoon takes pity on him and gets the fish himself, ends up doing most of the work, but he doesn’t mind. He also doesn’t miss Jeongguk’s nails painted dark blue and his tattooed fingers.
Once they’re done and pull to their feet, Namjoon can get a good look at him and his throat promptly goes dry.
He doesn’t look anything like the Jeongguk he remembers. Lanky, shy, little Jeonggukie from across the street, with his bowl cut and his polo shirt buttoned all the way up, is nowhere in sight. Instead, there’s this muscled-up Jeongguk, with his wind-swept hair and his tattoo sleeve bleeding out into his hand, his ears all the way pierced, his lip pierced.
“Jeon Jeongguk? ” he asks dumbly.
Jeongguk blinks up at him. “Kim Namjoon?”
Namjoon laughs, a little breathless. “Sorry, I’m sorry. You just look… different.”
Jeongguk looks down at himself. “Um, well it has been a while, hyung,” he mumbles, not looking up to meet Namjoon’s eyes. Oh, he’s still shy, Namjoon notes a little deliriously.
“Is it bad?” Jeongguk looks up then, his doe eyes boring into him.
Namjoon shakes his head a little too quickly. “No, no. Not at all. It’s good, you look really good,” he says.
Jeongguk smiles at that, his front teeth sticking out cutely. And he’s still adorable. “Thanks. You look really good too,” he says. “I like the hair.”
Namjoon runs a hand through his unstyled platinum hair self-consciously. “Oh, thanks.”
“Jeongguk! What’s taking so long?” comes Namjoon’s father’s voice then. He’s stepping outside of the restaurant.
“Sorry, sir. I was just saying hi,” Jeongguk says and starts walking back inside with the cooler. “See you around, hyung.”
His father spots Namjoon then and his frown softens. “Namjoon-ah!”
He comes over to him and drags him down into a quick hug. “Your mother said you were home sleeping.”
Namjoon smiles. “I was. I just thought I should go out for a walk.”
His father nods. “Yeah, yeah, get some fresh, unpolluted air in you. How was the trip? Good?”
“Sure,” Namjoon says.
“Good, good. Come on in, have you eaten?”
“I have,” he says, following him inside.
“Well, you can eat again. We have the best mussels soup in town.”
“Yeah, dad. You’ve had the same menu for over twenty years.”
His father looks back and clicks his tongue at him. “Don’t get smart with me, Namjoon,” he warns. “The recipe has changed. Jeongguk has improved a lot of the food here. He’s a great cook, who would’ve thought.”
Not Namjoon. For as long as he can remember, Jeongguk worked as a busboy at the restaurant whenever he could. Namjoon never knew he had an interest in cooking.
The restaurant looks mostly the same. It’s still small, still too crowded. The wallpaper might’ve been updated and the chairs look newer, but it’s essentially the exact same restaurant it was when it opened.
His father makes him say hi to some of the patrons, people from town, neighbors, family friends, and then pushes him down on a table. “Mussels soup?”
The thought of reminding his father that he doesn’t like seafood crosses his mind, but he doesn’t want to argue. He shrugs. His dad will serve him whatever he wants, anyway.
“Jeongguk! Mussels soup!” he bellows. Namjoon winces and looks up and sees Jeongguk already peeking through the window looking out from the kitchen. He gives a thumbs up and disappears.
His dad goes back to the little table in the corner where some of the men from town like to sit and play cards. Not even that has changed.
Namjoon sighs and checks his phone.
min suga
[Sunday, 26 June]
min suga [19:15]
i can’t tell you that
but it’s only three months max, right?
you [19:28]
promise you won’t let me stay longer
min suga [19:28]
everything ok?
you [19:29]
yeah yeah
you?
min suga [19:31]
sure
Again, Namjoon doesn’t push it. With these things, there’s never been anything else to do but trust that Yoongi will come to him if he needs it.
The bell at the door rings and Namjoon looks up to see Park Jimin come in. He looks gorgeous as ever, plump lips and feathery soft blond hair framing his face flatteringly. He’s holding a bouquet of pink roses.
Jimin waves at Namjoon’s father and when he spots Namjoon, his face lights up with a smile.
“Hyung,” he says, coming over to sit with him. He casually puts the flowers down on the other empty chair and props his chin on his hands. Namjoon gets a noseful of the same sugary vanilla smell he’s associated with Jimin since they were teens.
“Jimin,” Namjoon smiles. “How are you?”
“I’m good! You? You look great,” he says, eyes twinkling.
“Oh, thanks. You look great, too.”
Jimin giggles. “Thanks,” he says before leaning back in his chair and dragging his eyes over Namjoon. Namjoon blushes and squirms under his gaze. “You bulked up, hyung.”
“Ah, yes, yeah, I guess,” he stammers. “I work out.” Namjoon would never admit it out loud, but when Jimin and Yoongi started dating, something shifted for him too. Jimin went from being his little brother’s best friend to being his best friend’s charming and alluring boyfriend. Even now, Namjoon is flustered.
“Yeah, I can tell,” he says. “You and Jeongguk can be gym rats together now.”
Namjoon blinks at him. “Oh, um, yeah.”
Jimin laughs again. “Are you back for good?”
Namjoon swallows down uncomfortably. “Um,” he says unintelligently.
He’s saved from having to come up with an answer by Jeongguk who’s approaching with a hot bowl of soup.
He smiles toothily at Namjoon as he presents him with the bowl. “Mussels soup?”
Namjoon nods. “Thanks, Ggukie.”
Jeongguk looks taken aback by the nickname but quickly recovers. He turns to Jimin and his roses. “What is that about?”
“I ran into Minho, he was closing up and he gave them to me.”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “He’s so cheesy. Did he finally ask you out at least?”
Jimin smiles. “I think it’s sweet, and no, he didn’t ask me out.”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes again and then turns back to Namjoon as he’s taking the first spoonful of soup.
Namjoon blinks up at him. “This isn’t mussels soup.”
Jeongguk snickers and shakes his head. “No, you don’t eat seafood. It’s a Ginseng Chicken soup I was trying out earlier today, but I’m flattered you were willing to eat the mussels,” he says. “Is it good?”
Namjoon is gobsmacked that Jeongguk would remember Namjoon’s eating habits. He clears his throat. “Um, yeah. It’s really good, thanks.”
Jimin looks very amused and raises an eyebrow at Jeongguk but doesn’t say anything after Jeongguk shoots him a pointed look. “Let me finish cleaning up and we can go.”
Jimin nods, still smiling. “Sure.”
“I’m glad you liked it, hyung,” Jeongguk says and starts walking back into the kitchen.
Namjoon gobbles the soup down but doesn’t miss a silent sort of discussion between Jimin and Jeongguk right before he steps into the kitchen. Jimin discreetly gesturing toward Namjoon.
When Namjoon looks up, Jeongguk is gone and Jimin is smiling sweetly at him. “Hyung,” he says. “Jeongguk and I are meeting Tae and some friends at the Deokdong pier. Someone’s bringing beer. Would you like to come?”
Namjoon considers it. Back then, his friends and Taehyung’s friends didn’t really mix, the age gap felt bigger. Jimin would sometimes join Namjoon and his friends once he started dating Yoongi. But that’s all he was, Yoongi’s boyfriend.
It’s different now. Taehyung and his friends are adults now. Namjoon’s friends from school are whatever goes after that in a town like this, married with children, or have simply moved away. Namjoon feels stuck somewhere in between. Still, he thinks hanging out together might be a little awkward, and Taehyung didn’t invite him anyway.
“Um, that’s nice of you to ask, but I better get some rest. It was a long trip.”
Jimin smiles sympathetically and nods. “Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he says. “Maybe next time?”
Namjoon smiles politely. “Next time, yeah.”
☁︎
Namjoon returns home and finds his mother knitting in the living room. She smiles at him. “How was town?”
“The same,” Namjoon answers. He kisses her forehead goodnight and heads upstairs.
He walks into his room and he finds it… exactly as he left it. His hip-hop posters— and that Christina Aguilera one— lining up the walls, his Epik High record collection, his books, his Digimon pillowcase.
He sighs and drops onto the bed.
min suga
[Sunday, 26 June]
you [21:06]
why does everything look the fucking same
min suga [21:08]
i don’t know what to tell you, joon
what exactly did you expect to be different?
Namjoon grumbles and shifts on the bed. He looks at his bedside table and its contents — his old copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, his moleskine notebook, and a little figure of an intentionally disproportional and displaced head, an odd experiment on cubism. Jeongguk used to make them out of clay and paint them, he had a multitude of them. He gave this one to Namjoon right before Namjoon left for New York. Jeongguk was exhaustively casual about it, but Namjoon could tell it was a front and that it meant a lot to Jeongguk, so he valued it. He smiles thinking about it. Thinking about always artsy Jeongguk and his myriad of tattoos and piercings and his Ginseng Chicken soup.
At least something in this godforsaken village has changed.