Archive of Our Own

Seokjin was sitting down in their old dorm, the one they lived in just before each one of them began moving out to their own apartments and their own space. It was late, with the darkness outside the window being the only indicator of the hour. But Seokjin wasn't tired, he just stared at his phone. The things on the screen were just a blurry mess that moved at the will of his finger. Suddenly, someone else was there.

Seokjin knew who he was before he heard him, no need to look up from his phone. Namjoon was standing in front of him, sheepish, hunched like a scolded child; as if that was enough to shrink his six-foot frame. Seokjin stood up, reached for his face, and caressed his cheek as he whispered three single words.

Welcome home, Namjoon-ah.

Being so close, it was easy to see the color rushing to the cheeks of his donsaeng. Namjoon cupped his hand with his own and leaned on his touch like a puppy. Seokjin chuckled, because sometimes he really believed that Namjoon was a dog turned human. 

Namjoon stared at his soul for what felt like a million years. His pupils black and shiny like obsidian pebbles, deep as the ocean at night when the only light its waters can reflect it's the moon and her stars. Namjoon was like a statue, a moment frozen in time Seokjin could play back and forward or even pause whenever he wanted, as if he was his once again. 

Only a little push would have made them kiss.

But they didn’t, not yet. Still, Namjoon leaned forward, getting dangerously close to his lips. In the end, he ended up only resting his head on Seokjin’s shoulder, with his nose deep in the crook of his neck, which tickled him with every breath he took. Seokjin chuckled, but his voice felt foreign, like coming from somewhere else that wasn’t his mouth.

Seokjin hugged him back, holding tight to his broad back like a lifesaver. Feeling the weight of the boy in his arms, the rest of the world was the last thing he cared about.

So he melted in his warmth, keeping his guard down as he felt complete for the first time in a long while. He was safe. And happy. He was…

“Fucking shit,” Seokjin mumbles under his breath, desperately looking for his phone under the covers. But the alarm, as annoyingly loud as it is, isn't much help. “I'm awake, I swear!” 

His fingers finally feel the corner of something square and solid, and Seokjin rushes to grab it. The first thing he does as soon as he gets his phone back is turning off the damn alarm. He frowns at the screen, the brightness a bit too high for so early in the morning, and slides to the right like an old man until peace and quiet return to his bedroom. Only then can Seokjin finally breathe, and soon he dives back under the covers to wring out a few more minutes of rest until his real alarm goes off.

His mind is hazy still, suddenly swept away from a deep slumber. But Seokjin is awake enough to process the fragments of his dream that still belong to him before his brain blurs them for his own good—he recognizes the hands, the dimpled smile, the sweetness of his words and the fuzzy feeling on the left side of his chest. And it all leaves a funny sensation in him. A weird aftertaste that isn't really that sour, yet not really sweet. If nostalgia had a taste, it's the one on his tongue, and that's enough to swear he is brushing his teeth as soon as he gets up.

Yet that's easier said than done, especially when it’s a cold winter morning, as cold as only Seoul can be, with that dry chill that irritates one’s nose until it bleeds. Only a fool would be so easily deceived by the illusion of a winter wonderland of white sidewalks and colorful lights into leaving the safe haven of his bed for unnecessary whims like work or money. Seokjin is no fool, and the closer the next hour gets, the deeper he burrows and the tighter he holds onto his blankets.

Seokjin tries to go back to sleep. Even if he just has a few more minutes, and responsibilities are creeping behind his back. He shuts his eyes tight, remains still, and slowly crawls back into Morpheus arms. But every time he's about to fall asleep, it stops him: the dream.

Seokjin doesn't want to take it where he left. That memory is complicated as it is—there's no reason to overthink it. Yet forcing himself to not think about it only makes him think more about it. He doesn't know why his brain would pull such a twisted prank on him, or if the order of the planets is to blame for dreaming about something that was buried in the darkest part of his brain. He isn’t awake enough to deal with it, or with anything at all. It's a shame, because just as his mind is about to wander again, the hypocritical marimba tune reminds him that there is no escaping his responsibilities.

It should be a crime. He thinks to himself, as he grumpily drags himself to the bathroom. The disheveled Seokjin in the mirror sides with him: making him work on Christmas day shouldn't be allowed. It’s anticonstitutional. A complete failure of the capitalist system they all live in.

But he’ll have to postpone the revolution; he has a couple of things to do first.

A dorm shouldn't have been scary, yet it was.

Seokjin had been in other scarier, trickier situations. Not that long ago, he was waiting in a room with twenty or so boys from ages thirteen to twenty-one. All of them were talented boys; singers and dancers and rappers with a little songwriter in them too. Seokjin didn't sing, or dance, or rap. He was an acting major that had just been lucky to have a handsome face that drew a scouter’s interest—or that was what his mind believed so firmly. His audition was a mix of good looks, luck, and star potential.

Still, out of the twenty or so boys there in the audition with him, Seokjin had been the only one to be called back.

In retrospect, auditioning to an entertainment company was way scarier than moving into a trainee dorm, and yet, Seokjin stood frozen in his place, unable to enter the room. On his right hand there was a backpack with all the stuff he could fit in it, while the other clutched in itself, leaving a set of moon-shaped marks engraved on his palm. 

He could do it, of course he could; but maybe he wasn't ready for it. What if he was kicked just a few days after moving in? What if the producer—what was his name again? Bang? Bang PD?—decided he didn't fit in the group at all and just ended his contract and left him with an unpayable debt? Heck, was signing a contract even a smart idea? Maybe he should've gone to some other company, one that wasn't on the brink of bankruptcy, one that he was sure would have the resources to actually survive until his debut. Maybe–

Seokjin opened the door, because if he was going to fall either way, at least he was making the leap into the void.

The dorm was smaller than he thought. A bit claustrophobic, even. Seokjin breathed in, then breathed out, and stepped inside. It felt wrong at first, coming into someone else’s house without a proper invitation, but he couldn’t wait outside forever. So he walked like he knew where he was going to and hoped it worked.

Fortunately, there was no one but him in the entire apartment. Perhaps they were at practice? Should he go practice too? Seokjin’s mind was caught in a whirlwind of insecurities, twisting his thoughts into a knot. He was almost 20, he was perfectly capable of trusting his gut and taking decisions on his own. And his decision was to leave his bag on top of a bed—careful to pick one that didn’t look like it already had an owner—and go downstairs to the practice room. The only one in the building.

When he got there, the lights were on and the door was slightly ajar. Seokjin approached it cautiously, not making any sound. Then, he took a peek: inside the room was only a boy and a speaker. He was tall, with long limbs and clothes as black as his hair. Although it didn't seem so at first, he was dancing. His movements were a little clumsy and lacked technique, but they were overflowing with energy. It was as if he was just learning to control superhuman strength. The boy was wearing a black tank top, and a pair of matching shorts, the type of clothing that thugs in movies tend to wear. But thanks to that, Seokjin could see he had big arms, and even bigger thighs. What on Earth were they feeding that kid with? And he didn’t look a day over eighteen. Could they feed him something of that too?

Seokjin didn’t come in, neither did he say anything at all. He had enough dealing with the myriad of emotions his whole body was going through at that moment. Curiosity, awkwardness, excitement. Seeing him dance, as peculiar as it was, made him feel a bit reassured, and hopeful—if he could stay, so could he.

Seokjin takes a deep breath and does as instructed. His eyes fix on the camera lens, his eyelids not moving an inch even though the flash burns his retinas. He's a professional, after all. Every so often he adjusts a little something; a different hand position, a fiercer expression, a gentle tilt to the side. The flashes of light don't stop, and neither does the photographer, who asks for more and more changes, more and more poses, more and more photos, for which Seokjin poses with innate skill. It almost seems as if his mind is truly there in the studio and not lost in his own doubts.

Why had he dreamed about that? Some say dreams are reflections of our most outrageous fears or desires, but none of those descriptions fit that strange dream. Or at least that's what he thinks. Years have passed since he was able to overcome the pain left by that terrible night, and even more years since it happened. That matter has no reason to linger in the corners of his mind again, and Seokjin tries his best to bury it, but he fails. He knows this for sure because it's the third time the photographer has asked him not to look away and to focus on what he needs to. Seokjin agrees: he needs to concentrate now; there's no time for distractions.

When they take a short break to touch up their makeup and change sets, Seokjin retreats his phone to escape his thoughts. There's not much to do, just the same old feed and a few notifications he prefers to ignore. At least the webtoon he was reading was updated, which is good. There are also some messages from his friends and a few more in the group chat. Seokjin taps the notification almost automatically.

BIGHIT Jung Hoseok: Any questions about the restaurant's address?

I'll send it anyway.

[📍BBQ]

Please don't be late for practice btw!!!

BIGHIT Park Jimin: You say that like we're always late…

BIGHIT Jung Hoseok: You better not say anything

BIGHIT Kim Taehyung: kekekeke

BIGHIT Kim Namjoon: What time are u guys arriving to the restaurant

?

7 or 8?

BIGHIT Kim Taehyung: Hyung, we're going together after rehearsal

Does the time matter?

kekeke

Seokjin is quick to type: “Don't test him, he's capable of going with us and still getting lost along the way,” and when he receives a couple of laughing emojis and a crying one from Namjoon in return, his anxiety eases. It doesn't disappear completely, but it does lessen to the point that when it's time to get back to work, it only takes a few minutes for the shoot to end and for him to finally be free.

Seokjin gets into his car, fastens his seatbelt, and drives. It's still early, giving him time to grab a quick snack before the torture—dance practice. Although he's been busy during the months-long wait while the other members finished their service, his body is taking some time to adjust to the new choreography, the presence of his six other bandmates, and the terror that is dance instructor Jung Hoseok.

And indeed, it's the same, yet it’s not, all at the same time. Breathing within their own space has made them grow and change, but Seokjin doesn't think that's a bad thing. On the contrary: being there after so long, watching seven bodies with their legs and arms and hearts moving to the same beat, gives him enough energy to keep going. And they're only just warming up.

Nothing is as it was before, but it's similar. Jimin is teaching him the steps he doesn’t understand, and Hoseok is eyeing them like a hawk while looking for even the smallest mistakes. The shivers that go down his spine are just as intense and their laughter when Seokjin does something silly just to light up the mood. All in all, it’s worth it. 

Seokjin has missed them so, so much.

At first, it had been easy for him to slip into the role of the cool, tough guy who exuded confidence with every step he took. His incredible acting skills and impeccable sense of humor were the perfect shields during his early years of training and debut. Something they called “a college crush vibe”—Seokjin didn’t really understand why, though. Then, over time, his heart began to peek out from under his shell, slowly revealing itself to his bandmates when he felt it was necessary. After all, being the oldest in the group made him everyone's guardian angel, the person his younger members would turn to when they didn't know what to do. In a couple of months, he went from being the youngest in his family, to caring for six children who weren't that much younger than him.

However, he still kept some secrets. And that was fine; no one expected him to be an open book. Even though they had lost the shame of hanging around almost naked in their common room, everyone had those things they didn't share with the rest. Seokjin had a couple of those, too, things he kept truly secret, only to himself and himself only. Something private, not shameful but fragile like glass.

Seokjin thought he'd hidden it well, even though the signs were there for anyone who cared to look for them: his fondness for pink and the feminine nicknames fans had given him, how he avoided using certain words as insults, even jokingly, and his silence when the conversation turned to girls and how pretty and desirable they were. All of them could be justified as part of his idol persona, harmless quirks that made him appealing to the fans. Yeah, Seokjin had hidden it well.

Or so he thought.

They had arrived home from practice exhausted, practically dead inside, with just enough energy to drag themselves to their beds. They all collapsed, one by one, and Seokjin was the only one left standing. Although he too was tired, and the pain in his joints begged him to stop and rest, Seokjin still had to finish packing Jungkook's lunch. The next day was a school day, and the last thing the maknae needed was to focus more on his hunger than on his classes. Despite the tiredness, Seokjin appreciated the peace and quiet that staying up late provided: for once a day, he could enjoy a little extra space for his own thoughts in such a cramped dorm where every inch was shared. Although, deep down, he was grateful that Jungkook was getting closer to graduation.

He only had some dishes left to wash when he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. When Seokjin turned around, still holding a soapy plate, he found a sleepy Namjoon standing like a zombie. His hair was messy, and gray bags hung beneath his half-closed eyes. When he spoke, Seokjin almost expected to hear a grunt instead of words.

“Hyung.”

“Namjoon-ah! You scared me,” Seokjin whispered-shouted.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, regretful but unable to hide a smile. “Why are you up so late?”

“I was making lunch,” Seokjin answered. “Want to help?”

“I just wanted some water.” Seokjin nodded. Ah, poor thing. As if he would have let him get anywhere close to a burner in the first place.

“Ah, of course.” 

Seokjin scooted to the right to let Namjoon get a glass, and resumed what he was doing. He was almost done anyway.

“Hyung,” Namjoon’s voice came out a bit clearer this time, thanks to the refreshment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

The question surprised him, though it hadn't come entirely out of the blue. Seokjin remembered the conversation they'd had with the producer earlier that day: their next album was all about love, and it made sense that Namjoon, as one of the most involved in the creative process, was gathering information. Nothing unusual, especially considering that Seokjin was the only member who had actually had a “normal” adolescence before their path to stardom.

“I have, yeah.” It was true. In part. He had kissed girls, though girls weren’t the only kind of people he had kissed. “Why you ask? You like one? Aigoo, is Namjoonie-ah all grown up now?”

Namjoon shook his head, cheeks already pink. “It’s just that I-”

“Ah, I understand,” Seokjin cut him off just in time to save him the embarrassment. “Don’t worry, you’ll do, eventually. Once we are rich and famous, no girl won’t say no to a kiss from you.”

Seokjin puckered his lips and make kissing noises before bursting in quiet chuckles. But Namjoon didn’t react to his joke, didn’t laugh or even made any sign of disgust; he remained silent, pensive. Seokjin made a mental note to avoid the topic in the future, as it seemed it hit a nerve.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever kissed… a boy?”

Now that chilled his bones.

Seokjin gripped the edge of the counter, trying to maintain his composure. How long had he known? Why ask him now? His fingertips were freezing, and Seokjin wasn't sure if it was from washing the dishes or because all the blood in his body had rushed to his head, especially his ears and neck. What kind of answer was he supposed to give? And more importantly, what would his reaction be if he told the truth? Seokjin couldn't understand where the question was coming from. Did it come from reject? Was he going to blackmail him? Or report him to the company?

Or was it out of curiosity?

“Sorry, hyung. I shouldn't-” Namjoon was quick to catch on and immediately apologized, but his hyung interrupted him.

“I have.” Seokjin said. The sentence fell on his shoulders like a plow. It was done, no ambiguity, no reading between lines, and most terrifying of all, no going back.

Seokjin’s own curiosity begged him to face him, to look at his bandmate and study his reaction, but he was too scared, too abashed—not of who he was or what he liked, but of the rejection of the people he had come to consider friends, and maybe, in a not so far future, family.

“Hyung,” he said one more time.

“Yes, Namjoon-ah.”

“How does it feel?” Namjoon’s voice was weak as a dying flame, but Seokjin could feel it scorching his skin. “Kissing a boy.”

The restaurant is bubbling with energy by the time they arrive. One by one, they sit at their table—which, to be precise, isn’t exactly their table: they don't own it, and if it were already occupied, they would simply sit at another table, however, it's the spot they are always drawn to ever since they started going to that place. When Namjoon’s headcount reaches seven, they can start to order. They want this dish, and this other one too. Don’t forget the drinks and the banchan. They order like they’re going to feed an entire army, but there is no army, only bangtan. At least, that’s what Seokjin guesses, despite that girl from the other table trying so hard not to deliberately look at them and ridiculously failing at it each time.

It’s nice to sit with his friends after a while. The chat comes out easily, and jokes don’t stop until their cheeks ache. Running out of things to say feels impossible, as if their separation has been decades long instead of a couple of years. Heck; Seokjin could count the years since the seven of them sat on the same table for lunch, and he would still have a couple fingers left to spare. Except that the numbers don’t add up, and he remembers that, actually, the last time was probably in L.A., in their little late summer song camp. Seokjin smiles as he remembers that time when life felt like a weeks-long slumber party. But not even his sweetest memories can distract him from the enticing smell of food once the dishes start arriving at his table.

Impatient, Seokjin blows on his spoon before bringing it to his mouth, but ends up burning himself anyway. He groans under his breath and takes a sip of his drink, relieved that his mishap was apparently ignored by the others. The younger pair are arguing about who really has the biggest biceps, and the others make the mistake of fueling their nonsensical debate. Seokjin just rolls his eyes, sighs, and focuses on his food. The broth is still steaming with a translucent, enticing quality. Traitor, he murmurs at the soup, and then decides to lose some time chatting until his tongue stops tingling.

Nevertheless, that moment can’t last forever, and once their bellies are about to burst and while the hyungs fight back and forth in a generosity contest using their black credit cards as swords, they start to leave. Jimin and Hoseok are first: one says he has a date with someone he doesn’t want to tell, and the second has an appointment he actually mentioned to them, but Seokjin didn’t hear well and was too embarrassed to ask after the third “Huh?”. Whatever, Seokjin thinks. They have fulfilled their friendship quota and are free to go for now. Seokjin bids them farewell with a military salute and despite Jimin’s dramatic grimace, he can discern his eye smile peeking out from his cheekbones.

Seokjin looks at the clock: it’s not that late, and he still has a few more hours of social battery. Besides, five is still a good number to go out once again and look for a bar or a club for the after party. However, Jungkook insists that they go to his place instead, praising his new karaoke system like he’s trying to sell it to them. A vain effort, since Seokjin already had the yes at the tip of his tongue before he even finished talking.

After a half an hour drive, the catacombs where Jungkook lives—and still dares to call home—welcomes them with familiar darkness. As always, Seokjin is tempted to say something about it, like “Okay, let’s take each other’s hands so we don’t get lost,” or “Pick a partner and don’t split!” like a scout troop leader. Yet he doesn’t, and simply follows Hoseok’s giggles to guide him in the dusky labyrinth.

But everything is worth it at the end, because it turns out that Jungkook wasn't bragging for no reason. His karaoke system is, indeed, amazing. The sound quality manages to be immersive but without bursting his eardrums, especially after Namjoon's poor attempt to go from rapper to tenor. Fortunately, the song ends soon enough, and the maknaes are quick to drag Yoongi so that he can delight them with a No.1 Billboard artist performance. He picks a ballad, a very ahjumma-like choice, and sings. Despite the silly smile he tries to hide (if he asked Yoongi, he would say it was alcohol. But Seokjin knows it’s because of them) he can feel his emotion. Before they know it, the other four are taking the role of backing vocalists, holding each other by the shoulders and swaying side to side like seaweed. It’s not the same as performing in a sold-out stadium in front of their fans, but when the song ends and the score in the machine is ridiculously high, he feels as if he just won a Daesang.

As the night goes on, the euphoria passes and the alcohol starts to set in, heavy on his head and limbs. Yoongi succumbs first, lets out a big yawn that makes him yawn too, and calls a taxi. Then, Taehyung follows suit, and before Jungkook can offer him the guest bedroom, Taehyung is already asking him for an extra pajama set. Everything seems to indicate that Seokjin is next in line, and he is. In fact, he's already taking out his phone to call a taxi when Namjoon stops him.

“I can take you, hyungnim.” The sudden formality makes him want to chuckle. Or is that his drunkenness?

“You know the plan is for him to get home alive, right?” Jungkook says with a big grin, holding back a giggle and failing.

“I know how to drive, I got my license,” Namjoon refutes with a pout.

It’s the perfect time for Seokjin to chime in. “Namjoon-ah, it’s a kind gesture, but-”

“Don’t you trust me, hyung?”

For some reason, his words land differently in his ears, different from all the casual chatter they’ve shared that evening. But Seokjin isn’t in the right mind space to rationalize it, especially when Namjoon is giving him the biggest puppy eyes he can give. Those damn puppy eyes that he always makes without realizing, but that are a deadly weapon to his hyung heart.

“Aish, of course I trust you!” he says, patting his back with camaraderie. “It’s just that, ah, we’re a bit tipsy…”

“I’m way more sober than you, hyung.”

“I don’t wanna be a bother-”

“Your house is on my way anyway,” Namjoon diverts his excuses like a skilled fighter blocking each one of his opponent’s attacks. “And you’re never a bother.”

“You can stay the night too, hyung,” Taehyung suggests, although, again, this still is not his house. “We'll make room for you between Jungkook and me.”

Taehyung bursts out laughing, hugging Jungkook and making him laugh too. If his invitation is a joke, it’s a terrible joke, and if it’s not, Seokjin doesn’t want to find out tonight. He can third-wheel all he wants some other day, but tonight his only goal is to get to his bed in one piece.

“I’m fine, I mean it.”

“Seokjin hyung,” The voice makes his head turn by itself. It only takes a glance for Seokjin to know that he won’t be able to deny him anything for the rest of the night. “Please.”

Damn his puppy eyes!

“Okay,” Seokjin heaves. “Let’s go. But drive slowly, I’d rather not die on Christmas.”

“No promises.”

They laugh for a little bit. Their goodbye-chat extends for more minutes that they intended to in the first place but no one really minds. Still joking around, they take their coats, their stuff and close the door as they leave. Even though the city is covered in snow and his nose feels like it might fall off, Seokjin is burning up inside with something he can’t describe—or, well, that he doesn’t want to.

Sometimes, a series of coincidences, brought about by the alignment of the cosmos, create the ideal conditions for things to happen. The human eye rarely notices this, and when it does, it's only in retrospect. At the time, these coincidences were just that—coincidences—and not the steps of a complex plan designed by the universe.

And so it was that one ordinary afternoon, which under other circumstances Seokjin would never have considered significant, the seven of them found themselves in possession of a scarce and wonderful resource: free time. Between rehearsals, recordings, and studio sessions, it was almost impossible to find a moment to breathe without being overcome by profound exhaustion. That's why, when they saw an empty slot in their schedules that very afternoon, they felt like the world was at their feet, ready to be conquered.

Each of them rushed to make their plans: going out to eat, taking a walk, sleeping in, or catching up on the TV show they liked. To recapture a bit of that forbidden youth, the one they loved to express in their music, but whose work as idols truly prevented them from experiencing it firsthand. Seokjin, as the oldest, also had his own plan in mind, but he hadn't counted on his partner choosing his bed over their years-long friendship. Sadly, there was no way of interfering with the love Yoongi had for his bed.

In fact, Seokjin was already getting used to the idea of ​​staying overnight too, maybe wasting some time on his phone or playing games, when Namjoon arrived like a mirage in an oasis.

“Hi hyung,” he said. He was wearing an old t-shirt whose logo was barely visible, some shorts and nothing else. “Nice fit, you’re going out?”

Seokjin had to ignore the perfect view he had of Namjoon’s thighs to answer properly. “I was,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “But my date ditched me.”

“Oh, shit- Sorry hyung, I didn’t-”

“I meant Yoongi-ssi,” Seokjin was quick to clarify. “I wanted to go out to drink, he said no.”

Seokjin pouted, as exaggeratedly and visibly as he could; it was the oldest trick he knew.

“You’re going out, Namjoon-ah?” he asked, batting his eyelashes.

“Not really,” he looked at the floor, then at the ceiling, then at his hands. “I was…”

“Good. Go get dressed and I’ll see you in twenty.”

Namjoon looked up, taken by surprise by his boldness. “But hyung-!”

“Come on, Namjoon-ah. You’re young! Now it’s the time to go out!” Seokjin stood up from the couch he was sitting on, then put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s do this: you get to pick the place if you’re ready in fifteen.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Seokjin nodded.

Namjoon only sighed. “Ah, hyung. You are a case.”

A quick shower, less worn-out clothes and thirty minutes later, they were ready to go. However, Seokjin realized too late that perhaps he had been the one who had been truly fooled.

“I thought we were going for a drink.”

Seokjin stared at the water, perplexed, and then at Namjoon, waiting for an explanation.

“I never said we were going for a drink,” he clarified, hiding in loopholes and technicalities. “I said I knew a cool place.”

And although the Han River wasn't something out of the ordinary for Seokjin, it apparently was for Namjoon, so he didn't protest. Instead, he leaned against the railing to watch the gentle movement of the water. The sounds, crisp and jumpy, felt almost too perfect, like stock sound effects. There was no one else around, except for one person a few meters away with their camera pointed at the sky, waiting for the perfect photo of the sunset. The solitude provided them with comfortable privacy, enough for Seokjin to remove his mask and breathe the fresh air.

“I like to come here often,” Namjoon said, unprompted. “I don’t know why, but it brings me so much peace.”

Seokjin nodded, a silent validation. It was easy to put aside his worries for a moment and let himself be lulled by the sound of the cicadas.

“It's the kind of place you bring someone special to,” Seokjin added. He could swear he had seen that same scenery in a romance drama. And then, as if he didn’t care about the answer, he asked. “Have you brought anyone here before?”

Namjoon jolted in his place, snapping back to reality after getting lost in his thoughts, and shook his head.

“Nobody. You’re the first, hyung.”

Seokjin ignored the funny feeling in his stomach and answered, slightly cocky. “Ah, I see. What an honor.”

They laughed, and once their chuckles dissolved into the air, nobody said another word. There was no need. The sound of the river and the sight of the setting sun was enough for both of them.

“Seeing the city from here,” said Namjoon, gaze drifting off into the distance, “makes me feel so, so tiny. Almost insignificant.”

Seokjin looked at him, studied him like a statue in a museum. He tried to memorize every feature, every gesture, the way his eyelids fluttered with the breeze, the way his Adam's apple moved when he cleared his throat before speaking.

“But one day, I know I’ll be as big as those buildings,” Seokjin felt like an intruder, as if he was hearing something that was meant for Namjoon’s brain only. “So big, nobody will be able to ignore us.”

He knew where those feelings came from, and he understood. It wasn’t easy, coming from such a small company, to want to break into an industry full of people who believed only them deserved a place on the podium. People who only looked down with disdain, or to avoid getting their shoes dirty. But he also knew it was that people's problem, not theirs, not Namjoon's.

“I suppose it's all a matter of perspective,” Seokjin said, staring at the sky. “The sun is immense, but from here I can cover it with my finger…” he extended a hand and in fact, it was enough to cover it all. “To me, the sun is no bigger than an egg yolk. But the sun hasn't changed. It's the same sun we all revolve around, as immense and as shiny as it always has been.”

There was no immediate response. They simply stood watching the horizon, searching for the star that timidly hid behind the concrete buildings. The river rippled as always, and the mosquitoes soon began to buzz. By the time even the cameraman had gathered his things and left, only traces of gold remained in the sky above them.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know why I decided to bring you here?”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “Because you like it?” but Namjoon shook his head.

“You said that this place was the kind you bring someone special to,” 

Namjoon took a deep breath, enough to fill his rapper lungs until they popped. 

“You’re special to me, hyung,” Namjoon spoke as if the words had just slipped out of his mouth. He was red all over, no matter how much he tried to hide it with the mask. “You know that, right?”

He didn’t notice when their orbits had brought them so close together. Namjoon's shoulder brushed against his, and their hands were so close that just a little push was all it took. Seokjin stared at the scenery, controlling his own heartbeat before his heart climbed through his throat.

“Of course I do,” he said, with a chuckle. “You can’t live without me.”

“You’re right,” to his surprise, Namjoon added. “I can’t.”

Seokjin searched Namjoon's face, but there was no trace of mockery or teasing. Instead, there was something much more tender, gentle. Something so delicate that it could shatter into a thousand pieces with a single breath. And although he had plenty of suspicions, Seokjin brushed them off, not wanting to take any assumptions for the sake of his heart. But he hadn't counted on Namjoon daring to go further, stretching his pinky finger until it rested on top of his, intertwining them so discreetly that if he hadn't been watching, Seokjin wouldn't have noticed. Now there was no way to prevent the blood from swirling on his face, giving him away. 

Seokjin saw the way his gaze moved from his eyes to his lips, then his eyes, then the river, then his eyes again. Only to then realize Seokjin had been staring too.

“Why are you staring at me so much? Do you want to kiss me or what?” he said, chuckling. Humour always helped to lessen the tension, but the air remained still, the time frozen between them.

Namjoon’s response was silence. Silence, an almost cartoonish gulp, and keep staring at his lips.

“Namjoon-ah,” his donsaeng’s eyes finally went up. “Can I give you a kiss?”

It’s been a while since the two of them had been alone together. Usually, at least one of the members or someone from the staff is there as a timely chaperone, but the ride to Seokjin’s home is only the two of them. Namjoon, anticipating a potentially awkward silence, turns on the radio and tunes it to the last saved station. Internally, Seokjin is grateful to hear something other than the same fourteen tracks from their upcoming album: although he's proud of their teamwork, a bit of fresh air is always welcomed.

The words they exchange are few but friendly. It's undeniable that now they've left the party, their bodies are tired. 

“We're not as young as we used to be,” Seokjin states with a lazy chuckle. 

“Aish, hyung,” he says, “you talk like an old man.” 

“Well, maybe I am. How old am I now? Forty? Fifty?”

His question is part joke, part genuine doubt: with Jungkook's tendency to always add years to his age, it's easy to lose track of how long he's been on this Earth. 

“I think it's been 33 years,” and then, he adds. “Don't worry, you don't look a day over fifty-five.”

“Shut up,” Seokjin abstains from hitting the back of his head, afraid of distracting his driver when his life rests on his clumsy hands. “Wait, is that international or Korean age?” 

“International. They dropped the Korean age system about three years ago.”

“Really?” Namjoon nods, and Seokjin knows it must be the absolute truth. “I forgot. My parents still used Korean age in the letter they sent for my birthday.”

“I guess some people find it hard to break old habits.” Namjoon remarks simply, his gaze fixed on the road. “Familiarity brings a sense of security… of stability. It’s something you can trust.”

Seokjin nods. Routine was the guide he relied on once he returned to civilian life, and it's still there now that they're all seven again. It's a path he can follow with his eyes closed because he knows it will always be the same. It is easy to trust.

The arrival at Seokjin's apartment is quick, thanks to the light traffic in the city; with only a few hours left before dawn, people prefer to stay indoors rather than directly face the sharp drop in temperature. Especially since it’s Christmas day, many couples must be already enjoying the warmth of a bed by then—but Seokjin doesn't want to think about it, about couples and holidays and warmth when Namjoon is right there to his right, and alcohol is tricking his mind. Well, that’s what he tells himself, because putting alcohol as his scapegoat is easier than admitting that those thoughts come from him.

Namjoon seems unfazed by Seokjin’s inner turmoil, and parks the car with ease in the building's parking lot. They stay put for a few seconds, knowing what comes next. Seokjin knows his lines by heart: he simply has to thank him for the gesture and go to his apartment. Only that. But right as he's about to speak, his throat twists in itself, keeping his words from coming out.

“We're here,” Namjoon states.

“Yeah,” he eloquently says, patting his thigh and beckoning him to follow him. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To my place, silly. Where else?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Ah, hyung, thank you but-”

“Just one drink,” Seokjin promises. Though both know he won't keep it. “For old times sake?”

Seokjin tilts his head to the side and smiles until his cheeks look round and pink. He knows that day is complicated for both, that each one carries a bag of mixed feelings that only the other is capable of understanding. Only the other could be the one to help take that burden off their backs. And even if they don't admit it directly, the day isn't completely over yet. He has enough time to start with the right foot. 

Besides, who says two friends can't just share a drink in peace without anything going wrong?

“For old times sake,” Namjoon says.

And so it goes. They go up in the elevator and walk down the hallway in complete silence. Both are holding their breath so they don't freeze. It's only when they're safely inside Seokjin's apartment that Namjoon takes a seat at the bar and Seokjin assumes the role of a bartender. 

“Alright, sir, what would you like to drink tonight?” 

“Just water,” Namjoon replies. His tone isn't dry, but not precisely eager. Seokjin is keen to change that.

“Just water? But that's too simple… How about a coke?” 

Namjoon sighs. “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“With a little rum?”

“That’s just a rum and coke.”

“I see you’re a fellow mixologist,” Namjoon chuckles, and it feels like a total win. “Alright, two cold beers coming right up.”

Namjoon laughs until his dimples come out. Seokjin opens both bottles and they clink before chugging. Seokjin makes a big “ah” like in the commercials, which is enough to finally break Namjoon’s icy facade.

“You know,” Seokjin murmurs, nursing his beer. “You can stay the night if you wanna.”

“So all this time, your courtesy was a trap,” Namjoon responds, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Seokjin takes a sip to hide the color of his cheeks. “That and that it's late, and it would be very inconvenient if something happened to you so close to the comeback.”

“Ah, how considerate of you,” Namjoon rolls back his eyes.

“I know,” Seokjin nods. “I'm very generous.”

Namjoon takes a few seconds before he speaks again, this time quieter, more timid—as if walking on thin ice.

“Is it okay with-?”

“I’m not expecting anybody else tonight,” Seokjin admits with pink cheeks. “And you?”

Namjoon thinks about it for a bit, and then shakes his head. Good, Seokjin thinks. This is good. And then takes another sip.

“I don’t want to bother.”

“What did you tell me before?”

“…That you were old?”

Seokjin wants to slap that grin off his stupidly handsome face.

“Before that.”

“That you’re never a bother.”

“Well, the same goes to you.”

Seokjin puts his elbows on the bar and rests his head in his hands, staring at him. He smiles, but it feels different now, heavier, with meaning. This is serious.

“You can stay, Namjoon-ah. But only if you want to”

Silence settles between them in a way Seokjin can't decipher. All he knows it’s that Christmas day is a difficult day to sleep alone, and that Namjoon’s common sense is really trying to discern what is wrong or right.

And (un)fortunately for both, he fails.

“Just this time,” They’re so close, so dangerously close, Seokjin can smell the ethanol on his breath. It’s not exactly sweet, but Seokjin likes to think that it is. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he confesses in a sigh.

“Just this time.”

Namjoon barely manages to pronounce his part of the deal before devouring Seokjin's lips as if he wanted to bite them off.

Their first time was just as unprompted as the others that came after it. 

It didn't even happen in Korea. They were overseas, staying the night after one of their concerts. The tour had just started, and the rush of adrenaline didn't leave their bodies even after the concert ended. Back at their hotel, everyone went to their own rooms to rest for the next day. And of course, Seokjin and Namjoon had to share.

It hadn't been easy, as it went against the usual order they distributed their rooms. But when Namjoon suddenly stood up amongst the organization chaos, saying he was staying with his hyung, everyone looked at him with confusion.

“I'll sleep with hyung!” When his words made sense in his ears, he quickly added. “We can share a room, I mean.”

“But I thought we were sharing.” Jungkook said with a pout. Back then, he still hadn't grown out of the boy crush he had on Namjoon.

“Stay with us!” Jimin, the first and hopefully the only one to catch on, grabbed the maknae and pulled him into a hug. “Sleepover! Sleepover!”

Not even the staff could manage the energy that an only-maknae room would cause, so they distributed them with the other two available roommates, leaving the leader and the hyung to breathe in peace.

But once the night arrived, the air filled with buzzing anticipation as they arrived at their room. It was fairly small, with two individual beds, a bathroom, a closet, and a TV. Namjoon was the first to get under the shower, having always hated the feeling of dry sweat on his skin. Seokjin followed suit right after, coming out of the bathroom with a hotel bathrobe and a cloud of steam behind him. The image reminded him of an astronaut getting out of his spaceship. 

When he came out, Namjoon had already changed into his pajamas, so he turned away to give him enough privacy to change too. Seokjin went for a simple shirt and pajama pants, and with the hair still a bit damp, he got on the bed. Then, he extended his arms at his lover, making grabbing gestures with his hands.

“Come to me,” he said.

“I will always come to you.” Namjoon answered, cheesy, and climbed on the bed, resting on top of his hyung.

“You're heavy.”

“Should I move?”

“Nope,” Seokjin hugged him tighter. “This is perfect.”

Then they kissed. Sweet and chaste, like they practiced before. Their lips fit into the other's with ease, as if they had known each other for lifetimes before that. Seokjin felt butterflies coil in his belly and fly down, just as Namjoon’s mouth went from his lips to his neck, and his chest, and all of him.

They kissed, and kissed again. They kissed until their kisses stopped being chaste, and clothing uncomfortably stuck to their skin. They took it off, and continued kissing, until the kisses weren't enough to satiate the ache they carried inside and everything felt too hot and too intense and too much.

They kissed all night, and just before the sun rose, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Seokjin is fucked. In both senses of the word.

It's undeniable—the proofs are right in front of him: his lack of clothing, the sting on his tailbone, and the traces of teeth all over his skin. If not for that, Seokjin would be able to gaslight himself into thinking last night was only a dream, because the other side of the bed, where the man he dreamed about should be, is empty.

His bed is half-empty, or half-full, depending on how one sees it. For Seokjin, it's a mess. They didn't change the sheets last night, and he hates waking up in a dirty bed. He must've been truly exhausted.

Seokjin contemplates the ceiling for a few minutes, as if postponing the start of his day could save him from all the ugly thoughts stalking his mind for the perfect moment to strike. He melts in the quiet, until his mind sounds static and not the three same annoying words.

What the fuck.

To say he regrets what happened last night would be imprecise—besides, regret is a strong word. He's embarrassed, yes. A bit anxious, too. A mix of dread and fear and concern lazily simmers inside his belly like a hotpot. He just hopes he isn't going to throw up. He's getting too old to throw up.

The sound of a door startles him, which tells him he might not be alone after all. But before he can call the police or an exorcist, a very handsome torso peeks inside his room.

“Hyung, can you lend me a shirt?” Namjoon’s hair is still dripping and clung to his forehead. Seokjin didn’t know something could look cute and stupidly sexy at the same time.

“Yeah,” he nods, just in case his words don't come out properly, as his view blinded him a bit. “Take whatever you need. Just let me sleep.”

Namjoon enters the room on his tiptoes. Seokjin closes his eyes, burrows deep under his covers and tries with all his might not to think about what exists under the towel around Namjoon’s waist. Seokjin knows he's big, even while soft, and now he doesn't have enough alcohol in his system to put the blame on for his actions. So he turns away, only hearing the sound of drawers moving and the light hum of Namjoon’s new beat. When it comes to music, there's no thing as having too many songs. They practically have enough material for yearly albums until 2030. But for Namjoon, music and blood are synonyms. It runs through his veins naturally, without having to think of it, sometimes peeking through his ears, like the tale of the kid that ate a watermelon seed and the leaves came out of their nose.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Seokjin sighs at his question. At least it's good to know he’s still a gentleman.

“Nothing.”

“You have to.”

“I'd rather sleep.”

“At least something quick. Like coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t breakfast,” Seokjin parrots against his pillow.

“And who says that?”

“You. Multiple times in the past.”

Namjoon sighs at his responsible past self and says. “Give me twenty.”

Seokjin doesn’t know if he means minutes or thousands of won, but he doesn’t care. He’ll give him whatever he wants as long as he can put to sleep the noisy drum banging in his head. Boom-boom-boom—it doesn’t stop, and Seokjin hides under his pillow until everything goes dark, and he can be in peace again.

When he regains consciousness, his phone isn’t any kinder just because he’s hungover, and Seokjin almost throws it at the wall to shut it up. But when he reaches for it, he discovers a bag waiting for him. Seokjin sits up and investigates: there are pills for his headache, a bag of the candy he likes, and something that smells like haejangguk—it's the basic hangover kit.

Seokjin's face suddenly feels hot, from his neck to the tips of his hair. Why is his heart racing at such a simple gesture? He can even practically feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach—until they're not. They're nausea. Seokjin quickly runs to the bathroom and flushes all his complicated feelings down the toilet, gagging again at its sour aftertaste of unwanted realization.

Even though they didn't say it out loud, there was something… different between them. The way they sat together when they got in the car, or how they were always the first to gather during breaks at practice. Sometimes, they were the only ones missing when everyone else decided to watch a movie or do some other group activity. But whatever it was, it was mostly an open secret. 

They both preferred it that way; it saved them the questions and the curious glances, a protection against the possible disgust or rejection. Though he doubted it, neither wanted to put it to test. After all, it was easier that way: just the two of them, together, without thinking about anyone else. Without thinking about what the company would say, or the public, or anyone but the two of them.

They were fine like that. They were happy.

But secretly dating your bandmate took a lot more skill than it seemed.

They learned how to sneak away in the right moment to go unnoticed, to find the hidden corners, perfect to steal a quick kiss; they learnt to shape their body language like a choreography, letting go of the other’s hand at the sight of someone else or feigning disgust and embarrassment whenever someone tried to imply that he and Namjoon could be something more than just good friends. Seokjin had fun making dramatic grimaces and turning away from his lover as if he had lice. Craziest thing was that they believed it—and the more exaggerated, the better.

Nevertheless, deep down he knew that, eventually, the day would come when they would have to tell the truth, maybe not to everyone, but the other members at least. And despite knowing they would probably not care about their preferences, there was still that tiny seed of fear that told him that everything he had worked for, everything he called home could crumble just by using the wrong words.

But that was a problem for future Seokjin. For the moment, he could just forget about tomorrow and enjoy their secret in peace. One that was just big enough to fit them both, without a label or a name, just their hearts beating at the same pace.

Ah, Seokjin was really, really gone for the dimpled rapper.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons he liked staying so late in the company building. Since hardly anyone stayed at that hour, Seokjin could always slip into Namjoon's studio under the guise of offering moral support while he stayed up late during his creative bursts. Especially when it meant that he was able to hear his new melodies before anyone else, sometimes even before Yoongi or Hoseok. A small privilege he wasn't afraid to take advantage of.

Well, that was whenever Namjoon cooperated, because right now, he was refusing to share his most recent masterpiece.

“Hyung! Give it back!” he begged.

“Nuh-uh,” Seokjin held his flash drive higher, avoiding Namjoon’s grip. The little USB drive had caught his attention since the moment he saw it. “Tell me what’s inside first. What does ‘Trivia’ mean?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon whined, dragging the syllables. “I already told you it’s a secret.”

“But I want to know,” Seokjin copied the melody of his whine.

“I can’t tell you!”

“Then I won’t give you this,” 

He showed him the flash drive one more time, cocky, before clutching it tight and putting it out of reach for him. Namjoon launched for another attack, but Seokjin avoided it just in time. It almost felt like dancing, and Seokjin took it as such, swaying and laughing without giving Namjoon’s treasure back.

“That’s enough.” Namjoon said, huffing. Seokjin feared he was truly mad, until he felt a couple naughty fingers run up his ribs.

“What are you- Namjoon!” Seokjin tried to hold back his laugh, but he couldn’t. Not when Namjoon’s hands reached his armpits. “Namjoon! Stop it!”

Namjoon’s foul attack made him squirm like a worm. He turned away, trying to escape from his touch, but Namjoon was relentless and held him tight while he heartlessly tortured him. Still, Seokjin didn’t let go of the flash drive, gripping it until his knuckles turned white.

“Namjoon-ah!”

Right as Seokjin exclaimed his name, the door of the studio opened. The click of the door was like a gunshot, making their hearts abruptly stop. Though their actions were innocent, their position could be easily misinterpreted by an unsuspected spectator, just like the one at the other side of the door. Seokjin feared the worst; that it was someone from the staff, someone that would put their secret in danger. But when Jimin peeked inside, a mop of blond hair, Seokjin didn’t know if he preferred it was Bang PD himself instead of him.

“Hyung, have you seen my- Oops,” Jimin  looked them up and down, trying to guess the situation and going for the most scandalous explanation. “Ah, sorry to interrupt. Keep going, don’t mind me.”

Seokjin stared at his friend like a deer in headlights, frozen in place and unable to respond properly. Jimin, however, didn't mind their clumsy explanations and sneaked in, taking the phone charger he had left on the sofa and slipped away like nothing had happened, not before giving them some advice.

“By the way, Namjoon hyung. Make sure to lock the door next time.”

In a blink, he disappeared, leaving the couple finally alone. They breathed, trying to calm down their nerves, but their faces were still glued to the door, as if they couldn't believe they saw a ghost.

“Do you think he…?” Namjoon hesitated to finish his sentence.

Seokjin shook his head. “No, but we’re never going to hear the end of this.”

And he was right. Because when Seokjin checked his phone in the car on the way back to their dorm, there was only one new message in his inbox.

BIGHIT Jimin: Congrats hyung kekeke

You just made me win 30k Won.

kekekeke

At the end of the day, his heart could relax, knowing the only thing they weren’t safe from was the teasing.

After Christmas night, neither Seokjin nor Namjoon utter a single word about what had happened. Everything goes back to exactly as it was before, with friendly greetings and casual banter when they are together. Seokjin still teases him when he messes up a step in the choreography, and Namjoon still occasionally sends him funny videos. There is no trace, at least not physical, of the night they spent together, of the whispers embedded with the other’s name, or of the pleasure they shared with the other. There’s only their memory, heavy and solemn, of what solitude can push people to do.

It was a one-night stand and nothing more.

Ha. How foolish was him to think it would end up like that.

Seokjin feels his hypocrisy bite him in the neck, sinking his teeth until they leave a mark he’ll have to cover up with makeup the next day. He can feel him grab him by the waist, pull him closer to his body and make him grind on his crotch. Seokjin sighs, feeling the bulge under his ass, and presses down, loving the way Namjoon whines his name.

“Hyung, Seokjin hyung.”

But Seokjin doesn’t give in, and keeps moving even slower than before, dragging out the pleasure between the two.

It was only supposed to be one night. That's the mantra Seokjin keeps hearing, the condition he set himself and quickly disregarded. Like a hardened alcoholic promising his last drink, Seokjin repeats to himself that this will be the last time he does it, that he'll accept Namjoon's invitation for a drink, or that he'll text him in the early hours. And yet, they both end up repeating it, drawn to each other by a natural magnetism neither can escape, no matter how hard they try.

And they know this won’t be the last time either, because they take their time playing with each other, touching without reaching more than their clothes allow, savoring their lips like it’s their last meal. Seokjin kisses and bites and etches his skin as if he’s claiming him, knowing that once the morning comes they’ll go back to pretending they’re nothing than close friends. Friends so close they know the other’s body like the palm of their hand, that have translated their skin into braille so they can read it out loud.

But saying is always easier than done, especially when once outside the bedroom—or their car, or the shower, or Namjoon’s new sofa—everything goes back to normal. They act as friends, fellow musicians, two people who can know what the other’s thinking with a single look. Still, sometimes the want is too much, and the facade slips just a little. It can start with a single glance, innocent at first, but that ends with a suggestive text and a sleepless night.

With a routine like that, it’s easy to know their limits. And it’s crucial to not forget them if Seokjin wants things to end differently this time.

Perhaps it might sound dumb, thinking something like sex could strengthen their bond. But their nightly escapades have pulled them closer than before, not just physically, but mentally too. Seokjin notices that they talk more than before, and spending time one on one—without counting the sex—is also easier. It’s like remembering a language they forgot they could speak, and now the words feel familiar on their tongue.

And it feels nice to get his friend back, after years of distance, of emotional disconnection, of the fear of trying to fix something and breaking it forever.

That’s why Seokjin can’t allow for things to go outside their limits.

Seokjin might take some extra time to learn, but he knows how this type of story goes. He has already made mistakes in the past and has decided he won’t let it happen once more. Not when what they have is still so fragile, when they’re just getting back at their feet once more.

So Seokjin is careful, as careful as he can be—though sometimes it accidentally slips.

Recently, Namjoon has been more… touchy, than usual. Despite his usual dislike for physical contact, Seokjin finds himself between his arms more often, whether it's with his arms around his waist or holding his hand when they go somewhere. And even though Seokjin knows he should stop him, he tells himself it's okay to stay in his embrace a little longer. Mornings can always wait.

And that's exactly how they are that night, their naked bodies a little cold after a shower, warming each other up. Both Namjoon's leg and part of his torso are pressed against Seokjin's body, and although in the past Seokjin would have complained of feeling suffocated, the extra weight feels strangely comforting. Like a weighted blanket. A weighted blanket that snores and murmurs in its sleep. Seokjin feels he should move him, see if that helps him breathe better or at least snore more quietly, but he doesn't have the courage, not after all the effort the man has put in to regain the ability to sleep for several hours straight without waking up. So Seokjin accepts his fate as a human pancake and tries to rest too.

Namjoon is dreaming. He keeps mumbling things under his breath, and Seokjin secretly loves it. Loves listening to his sleepy voice, deep and heavy and a bit raspy but exceptionally attractive. He mostly speaks nonsense, parts of conversations he has in his dreams. Seokjin almost drifts into sleep, lulled by his noise, until a word catches his attention like a sleeper agent with a code word. Hyung.

“Jin hyung…” Namjoon mumbles, as if pleading.

Seokjin opens his eyes, his vision slowly getting used to the lack of light. What’s happening? Is he hurt? Is he having nightmares again?

“Namjoonie,” Seokjin whispers with a pout, but his donsaeng only holds him tighter, pressing their bodies together while repeating the same two words.

“Jin hyung, Jin hyung,” 

Feeling his breath graze his ear gives him goosebumps. For an instant, he wonders if he’s dreaming about the two. And there should be no doubt, going just by the way he craves the physical contact even in his sleep. His ego puffs up, relishing on the indecent ideas his brain comes up with, until his next words erase the smile from his lips.

“Jin hyung,” Namjoon says, as if he didn’t want to leave room for doubt. “I love you.”

There are worse things to hear. He could’ve said another man’s name, or something he did behind his back. But that confession, as simple as it is, makes his stomach twist. Because it’s not supposed to go like this. This can’t happen again.

He’s going to have to put an end to this before it’s too late.

Seokjin was sitting down in their old dorm, the one they lived in just before each one of them began moving out to their own apartments and their own space. It was late, with the darkness outside the window being the only indicator of the hour. Seokjin stared at his phone to pass the time. He didn’t want to pay attention to the time, and instead, scrolled mindlessly through social media. He was tired, awfully so. But he was determined to stay awake waiting for dawn, or for a certain person who was not yet home, whoever came first.

The door clicked, and Seokjin didn’t raise his head. He didn’t need to, especially since he already knew who it was. He heard footsteps, heavy, each weighting a ton. They approached him, and it took all of Seokjin’s will to not succumb to him and look up. But curiosity won at the end, and he found himself with a sulking Namjoon in front of him, standing like a scolded puppy that knew it can’t hide a bitten shoe.

Seokjin put his phone away and made the effort to let go of his frustrations with a sigh. He stood up, caressing his face like it’s something precious, and mumbled so quietly.

“Welcome home, Namjoon-ah.”

He smiled fondly, nuzzling into his touch like he was starving for it. They were so close Seokjin could hear his heart beating inside his chest. Then, Namjoon rested his head on his shoulder and let himself fall, almost completely, knowing Seokjin was there to hold his weight. Their bodies interlocked like they were made for each other. He could finally breathe in peace.

“Why are you up so late?” Namjoon said.

“I wanted to,” Seokjin answered. “Today deserves it.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Is today special?”

Seokjin froze, his heart stopped for a second. “You… don’t remember?”

His tone was enough for Namjoon to know he had screwed up. “Remember what?”

Seokjin didn’t say anything. He only let go of his embrace, his arms falling to the sides, lifeless.

“You know what? Let’s talk tomorrow. You’re right, it’s late.”

Namjoon’s guilt climbed up to his throat, coaxing him to talk.

“I’m sorry. I was at the studio fixing some things and I didn’t think-”

“I know, I know. I completely understand.” Seokjin sighed. “You have a compromise, and you’re a man of word. There’s no way you could break an agreement.”

“Hyung–”

“Don’t ‘hyung’ me,” Seokjin swatted away Namjoon’s hand. “I don’t want to talk right now. I’m taking a walk.”

“But you just said you were tired… Hyung!”

Seokjin let go of his hand once again and walked towards the door. But as he was about to reach it, he tripped, almost falling. Seokjin let out a groan and kicked the nearest thing; a pair of boots he knew all too well. Heat climbed up to his head, red and smoky like a burning kettle.

“For God’s sake, Namjoon-ssi!” Seokjin exclaimed, not caring about his volume. “How many times have I told you to leave your boots in the rack?”

“I'm sorry, okay? I was in a rush, I didn't notice.” Namjoon huffed. Seokjin did too.

“That’s what you always say. You were in a rush. You forgot. The rack was already full,” Seokjin rolled back his eyes. “Just be honest and say you don’t care.” 

“I do care.”

“Ha, good try, but I’m not that gullible.”

“It was one mistake,” Namjoon said, fed up. “Don’t make a fuss.”

With every attempt Namjoon made to extinguish the fire, Seokjin's rage only grew louder and louder. 

“Oh, this? Pfft. This isn't a fuss. This is nothing. You want to see a fuss?”

“Oh my God, calm down. It’s just some shoes.”

“No it’s not.”

Seokjin sighed. It was the only thing he could do, because it was clear Namjoon didn't understand a single thing. How come that a 148 IQ wasn't enough to comprehend something so simple?

“Then what is this about? Tell me.”

“Do you even know what day it is today?”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Tell me what fucking day it is today, Namjoon-ssi.” 

“Tuesday.”

“It’s our anniversary.”

His words hit like a bullet, piercing the air and leaving a suffocating silence behind. Namjoon's expression morphed into a mix of regret and confusion, suddenly lost. Seokjin didn't have the energy to laugh or say "I told you so".

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing he said.

“I know,” Seokjin crossed his arms. He wasn’t mad, he was disappointed. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Namjoon seemed like he wanted to say something else, something that justified his mishap, but he couldn’t. On any other day, Seokjin would just leave things as they were, go to bed, and wait until the next morning to talk it out. But that night, Seokjin had enough. When they were about to make their way into their respective rooms, he spoke.

“What changed between us, huh?” Seokjin said, not daring to look him in the eye.

“What do you mean?” Namjoon turned around, baffled.

“I know we're busier than ever but we've been busy before and we always found a way to be together,” Seokjin’s voice sounded tired, as if he was a hundred years old. “We used to fight for… us.”

“Fight? Hyung, I… All of these years I've given you everything. Everything. And I'd give you all of it again if you asked me.”

Namjoon got closer to Seokjin, his hands curled into fists.

“But you have to understand I have responsibilities. Us, the band, the company, the fans, the media,” his voice was cold, emotionless. Almost professional. “All of their fucking eyes are on us right now. We rose too fast, and now they wait for us to make a mistake and kick us into the nothingness again.”

“We're a team, Joon-ah. The seven of us, we're a team.”

Seokjin reached for his hand, but it was Namjoon to turn him away.

“Hyung, sorry, but it's not you who they expect to answer. You've seen me. Interview after interview, stupid question after stupid question. Even the tiniest, the simplest and stupidest pronunciation error would give them a reason to talk about us.”

He had been there, standing next to him and listening to people talk to them in a language he didn't understand, asking questions that put them on a tightrope. And Namjoon always was in the eye of the storm, a jester in the middle of a merciless court.

“Then why don't you come to me? Just like you used to do before,” Seokjin had lost count of how many times he had listened to him rant about his fears, about everything he hid in his chest. “I could help you, if only you let me.”

“Don't you see I'm trying to protect you? To keep you away from all this mess?”

“That's exactly the problem. You're pushing me away.“

“The media–”

Seokjin cut him off. “I'm not talking about that. I know what this damn country thinks about people like me,” he had felt it with his parents, with his friends, the inability of sharing that side of his identity. “I'm talking about them, the members.”

“We discussed it before.”

Namjoon looked away, but Seokjin chased his face. He needed to see his reaction.

“I get why we were secretive the first few years. We wanted to have a steady fanbase or whatever. But what's your excuse now?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Didn't you listen to what I just said?” his voice came out an octave higher.

“I heard it all, loud and clear.”

“I'm scared.” Namjoon admitted, eyes closed shut, as if he was scared of his own words too.

“No, you're not. You're ashamed.” Seokjin accused, pointing at him. Namjoon groaned.

“What do you want from me?” The question made Seokjin take a step back. “Do- Do you want me to contact fucking MBC? Do you want our faces in the news? How about I schedule another fucking interview at that fucking show so I can correctly answer a hookup question again,” Namjoon's voice reverberated inside Seokjin’s skull. “Answer in English, sprinkle some racism over the homophobia, hmm? How does that sound?"

Seokjin fought back the tears; it wasn't the time to let his emotions overflow.

“But they're not like them. They're our friends. We've lived together for, what? Seven years? We're family. At least, we used to be. Why can't we tell them? Are you going to hide me forever?”

Namjoon took a sigh before he answered. This time, his voice was quieter, but it still carried some of the anger from before.

“I get that you didn't have any problem about coming out but-”

“Exactly! That proves they wouldn't mind us!”

“You don't understand! I keep talking and talking and still you can't listen!”

Seokjin’s vision blurred, but he quickly wiped his tears with his hands. His voice was trembling with each word, just about to break, but that didn't stop him from speaking.

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t listen. It’s as if you hated me! Is that it? Do you hate me?”

Namjoon groaned from the depths of his chest. “This is why I didn't want to date you!”

“Ah, is it?” Seokjin took a breath. “Don't worry. We're over.”

In a blink, Namjoon's face went pale, all of the blood in his body gone in an instant.

“What?”

“You heard me. We're over. Done.”

“Hyung, this isn’t- This isn’t what I meant- I-”

“You've said enough.”

Seokjin went to his room, closing the door behind him.

They're back to square one.

Seokjin groans when he finally loses his last life and the screen tells him it's game over. Now he'll have to start the level from the very beginning—and he hates water levels.

The clock reads 2:14 a.m., but Seokjin has no intention of going to sleep anytime soon, as if it weren't Sunday night, and he had to wake up in a few hours for work. In any case, no matter how hard he tries to sleep, his mind races too fast to let him rest. The game console in his hands is the only thing keeping his mind from spiraling into despair.

He’s fine, that’s what he tells himself. He’s just tired, a bit stressed for the comeback, that’s all. He’s not hurt, and he’s definitely trying to distract his mind from thinking about Namjoon. He shouldn’t, taking into account things ended better this time, calmer. They weren’t shouting or curses this time, just two adults agreeing to stop something that shouldn’t have started in the first place.

Seokjin is fine. Why wouldn’t he?

Namjoon and him are friends, true (another great plus since last time) but they’re coworkers first. And it would take a single look at any of their schedules to understand why they don’t have time to lose in something that’s not going to get anywhere. What they have as seven—the group, their music, their synergy—is way more valuable than causal hookups and complicated feelings neither of them wanted to solve. Of course, it was nice while it lasted, but everything has an end. C’est la vie. It’s always better to stop while it’s still good, than to wait until things starts being dragged out longer than they should’ve until they fumble like the end of a bad sitcom. He prefers to save the mess.

Then, it happens, because Seokjin knows since long ago that he’s nothing but a greater being’s punchline in a set of twisted jokes: just as he finishes gaslighting himself, his phone pings with a notification. Curiosity killed the cat, but Seokjin still decides to take the risk, unlocking his phone to see what it is. It turns out to be one of those random automatic messages from his gallery, the kind that remind you of the anniversary of old photos you've completely forgotten about. So far, so normal, but what's truly hilarious is how, when he expands the message, there's a photo of him and Namjoon, hugging and smiling at the camera.

Today, 11 years ago, the caption reads. Seokjin stares at his past self, coyly smiling while safe in the embrace of his then lover. Namjoon is resting his chin on his shoulder, as he always used to. He has one eye closed and his dimples out. It almost seems as if the reminder is mocking him. Today, 11 years ago, you were in love. But where are those boys now? All grown up, lost to time? Or frozen in their place, their tiny bit of borrowed time, safe from the reality in a bubble called nostalgia.

Seokjin should dismiss it, get back to his game—or better, go back to sleep. But he makes the mistake of looking up his old photos, the ones buried in his account. Covered in digital dust, Seokjin's memories come to him and fill his head with questions. The good times, the bad times and everything in between. Is it his nostalgia talking or is it his heart? Was it even real in the first place? Could he be missing something that only existed in his mind?

Missing. The word feels too much at the same time. Does he really miss what they had? No, it's better this way. Less complicated, less problems. They are fine like this.

But maybe, just maybe, it could be different. They had grown, learned. Namjoon isn't the same person he was 11 years ago, and neither is Seokjin.

Seokjin keeps scrolling, the pictures and the videos a reminder that there was a time when they were happy as something else. And perhaps that's where that happiness should remain: in pictures and memories and dreams, because it's sweeter to keep it that way and avoid polluting it. 

He knows that staying away is the best for both.

But is it what his selfish heart wants?

He had been told before he was too much, too demanding—that his heart was like a plant that wilted if it wasn't watered every day, at every second. Seokjin tried to change, to shape himself to fit other people's love, but he always failed. He always ended up alone. 

Some say love, even the one that doesn't work out, are lessons, but Seokjin was tired of trial and error. He wanted, for once, something that stayed. Something he could fall in with his eyes closed because he knew there would be someone ready to catch him. He wanted someone who understood.

Someone like…

Seokjin feels tiredness settling in. His heart pounds inside his chest, and he doesn't know how to prevent it from escaping through his mouth.

When Jungkook became old enough to legally drink and the hyungs lost their only excuse to avoid the matter, they had the talk.

Having seven men sharing a common dorm was messy, even with someone like Hoseok around to kindly remind everyone that clean should be the standard of how things should be. But the mess wasn't limited to the physical world, it also referred to the gossip.

They were all grown up, believe it or not. And as grown-ups, they had urges, desires, needs—and all eventually would require a place to fulfill those urges. 

Their dorm, of course, wouldn't be it.

Their dorm, as messy or dirty as it got at times, was sacred. A safe place so close to their hearts, their vulnerability, that no one but them could enter, so that no one from the outside world—the polluted, scary outside world—could taint it. Like the Continental hotel in the John Wick movies: nobody could do their business inside their dorm. No exceptions.

Seokjin had agreed to the rule without thinking too much about it. He didn't care who the members saw after work, but he wouldn't mind eventually meeting their lovers if things became serious enough. That rule gave them the possibility to choose when and how, and he liked it.

That was until life—that bastard—wanted to laugh at him.

It was a Tuesday night. Seokjin remembered it well because they were too tired to cook something, and they were waiting for take out to arrive. When the doorbell rang, Seokjin, like the good hyung he was, stood up to get it. But when he opened the door, there weren't any signs of their food—only a man with round glasses and a black face mask.

He had a small frame. Cute, he would have said if he had been able to see his face beside his eyes. He seemed nervous, with his ears bright red and probably the rest of his face too. Seokjin’s anxiety shot him with a warning. A sasaeng?

Before Seokjin could slam the door shut, Namjoon got between the two.

“Don't wait for me. Tell the others I'll see them at the company tomorrow.”

Namjoon gave the stranger a smile—full, dimpled, like the ones he saw so rarely those days—and took his hand before both left. No acknowledgement or explanation—just two sentences, a couple words each, still heavy in their meanings. Heavier than an anvil free-falling all the way to the bottom of his belly. A hook to the liver that left a burning sensation all around him, like an allergy he couldn't scratch.

Seokjin told himself to be rational, to wait until food arrived to process everything he had on his mind. He was an adult, after all. Adults didn't feel uneasiness when seeing their ex—who was also their friend and bandmate, mind you—leaving their shared dorm holding someone else's hand. Adults, at least the mature ones, would brush off something as superficial and simply go back to wasting time on his phone until delivery arrived.

He was an adult. He was going to behave like one.

Deep down, however, Seokjin wished he had closed the door shut when he had the chance.

Seokjin dreams every night. The dreams about Namjoon don't stop. 

He appears, even in the background, like a desperate actor taking every role he can find to pay before the bills are due. But those are movies he has watched before, stories he knows perfectly because he was there when they were written. The role he plays in all of that is himself, with his flaws and his bleeding heart. A Namjoon that isn't the one that exists in real life, or maybe it does, he doesn't know. He doesn't want to know.

So when Seokjin feels like he's another restless night from really going crazy, he goes to the one he knows will hear him before judging, who won’t ask or comment if he doesn’t want to: Min Yoongi.

Yoongi is the perfect person to listen. He’s like a rock, but with feelings. And despite being a 24/7 workaholic, somehow always finds time for him if he really needs it. He just needs to call, and in a blink, he’s there at their favorite bar, ready to share a drink and their sorrows like the old times. This isn't an exception, of course. And that's why now Seokjin sits at the opposite side of the table, nursing his glass, feeling how the alcohol gets his tongue loose like oil on a rusty hinge.

“Yoongi-chi,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever thought what it would be like if we dated?”

Yoongi thinks about it for a moment, takes a sip of whisky and scrunches his nose—not because of the drink, but the picture in his mind.

“Not really,” he answers. At least he is honest. “I think it would be weird, but we'd make an amazing married couple, though.”

Seokjin opens his eyes wide. “Really?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Well, we shared a room for what? Ten years? And we didn't kill each other,” he adds with a pout. “That should be enough proof.”

Seokjin can’t help but chuckle at his point of view. “I haven't been married, but I think it's different from being roommates.”

“You share your life with someone, split the bills, do your taxes, realize you don't know how to do your taxes, pay someone to do your taxes and then sleep on the same bed.” Yoongi doesn’t even look from his glass. “That’s the same to me.” 

Marriage always had been this great life milestone one day he would’ve had to fulfill, something that happened because it had to happen, not whether you wanted it or not. And though he has been there at tens of podiums talking about how sometimes people find their other half, Seokjin still wonders if there will be a time when it’ll be his turn to be in the groom’s place. The sole question makes him shudder.

“Except from some minor differences, of course.”

“Like?”

“You don't wear matching rings with your roommate.”

“We could, what’s stopping us?” Seokjin chuckled, wiggling his fingers. “It'll feel like a secret club.” 

“A forever singles club?” 

“A cool uncle club,” Seokjin speaks in the same tone of a door-to-door salesman. “We can just enjoy the fun part of kids and when they start getting bratty, we just give them back to their parents.”

“A really thought out plan.” 

“Thank you,” he says, with his head held high.

When their glasses are almost empty, and his defenses are low, Yoongi attacks with a punch straight to his gut.

“You know you can’t ignore your feelings forever, right?”

“What,” Seokijn said, because he really didn’t expect a blow so low.

“Whatever’s been bothering you won’t disappear if you ignore it.” Yoongi says, like an immortal monk sharing his wisdom. “You have to confront it. Like a man.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you also write the papers in the fortune cookies.”

Yoongi rolls back his eyes and sighs. Seokjin wants to test his limits and see how long it takes for Yoongi to leave, but he keeps quiet, afraid he will read his mind again.

“Hyung,” he says. Seokjin feels the heaviness of being Yoongi’s oldest best friend. “I mean it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s Thursday,” Yoongi says, as if that’s enough to explain it all. “You never go out on Thursdays because that’s when the episodes of your show come out. And if you rather drink with me than watch your show, then it must be serious.”

Seokjin can’t go against that logic, so he only looks down at his empty glass. He wants another shot, despite knowing he shouldn’t. And that perfectly sums up his whole predicament. Wanting something he knows he can't have.

“Hey, I’m not going to ask the details if you don’t want to, but…” he rests his head on his palm. “I’m just going to remind you that you’ll be okay.”

Words are just words, and real life is way more complicated than that. Still, Seokjin wants to believe him with all his heart.

For months, the only thing Seokjin wanted to do was to be alone; to be back in his apartment, in his room, with a bed all for himself instead of barracks filled with civilians turned soldiers by a law written half a century ago.

Most of his memories of that time were lost after his discharge. It felt like a fuzzy dream where he wasn’t himself, where Seokjin had borrowed a body that wasn’t his and lived in it for a year and a half.

He had to go first. Not just because he was older, but because he was their hyung, and he had to be brave and show his boys how it’s done. It was like desensitizing a child: you do it first to show them that they don’t have anything to fear and that they’ll be okay, even if everyone knew they won’t—military service wasn’t the ideal vacation that was advertised in the brochure. Still, Seokjin had to go because he had to show them all that he would survive, that they were going to be okay. That the pain of today was tomorrow’s joy.

But when the 18 months came to an end, when the confetti and fanfare ceased, when the members returned to their bases, Seokjin found himself alone in an apartment, empty, and utterly silent.

Suddenly, the bed he had missed so much felt too big for just one person, too empty. Although he was back in the life he had put on hold a little over a year ago, the place felt alien without anyone to keep him company.

It still felt like he wasn’t himself.

Seokjin turned to the music, and the fans, and the lyrics. He tried to sing, to lose himself in a melody so that the wait until the members returned didn’t feel as long. Then Hoseok was discharged, followed by Taehyung, Namjoon, and finally Jimin and Jungkook. Yoongi was still working at the office, but he would come to see them in the afternoons. They would go out for drinks and chat about what had happened to them during that time. Seokjin had returned to where he belonged.

When he first met Namjoon after his discharge, still followed closely by a very giddy Taehyung that was 50% smile and 50% muscles, he encountered a different version of the man he thought he knew by heart. He was bigger, but more worn, as if his soul had aged a hundred years, and then he put his skin back on. But when he saw him smile in his presence, when Seokjin measured the lines of his dimples and the curve of his smile and realized they were the same—he knew that this man was still the one he had once known. The one that he had loved so much, and that he still loved, but in a different way.

He was different, but the same, all at the same time.

And Seokjin wanted to get to know Namjoon all over again.

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin’s nervousness shows more than he wants, but he carries on. “We have to talk.”

His words, too serious, too solemn, sound like they’re coming from someone else that isn’t him. But no matter how much he wants to run away from him, even the river seems to quiet down to let them speak, and it would be too rude to disregard its gesture. So Seokjin looks at Namjoon, waiting for an answer.

“Okay.”

He still doesn’t look him in the eye, but at least he’s there, so they’re off to a good start.

Seokjin had sent the message last night without expecting much of an answer. Perhaps a simple, “I’m busy” or “Can we meet a different day?”. Something that would make it easier for him to pay attention to his anxiety and put off that conversation. But Namjoon answered that he would be there, at the time and the place he had asked, and he had fulfilled his promise—which means that now, Seokjin has to face what he fears most: his own feelings.  

Who would say that the Han river looks the same after more than a decade? It’s a miracle he remembered how to get to the exact same spot without asking. Seokjin holds into the railing because he doesn’t know anywhere else to put his hands. Both know that what there is between them is fragile, and a single sigh could break it all. Seokjin has already broken it too many times before.

“Namjoon-ah, I-”

“No,” By the time Seokjin untangles his tongue, Namjoon is quick to cut him off. “Let me talk this time.”

Seokjin takes a deep breath, the tension makes him forget he needed to breathe. Namjoon, on the other side, seems rather quiet, probably pensive. He has always admired his smart brain, his ability to formulate words in advance. Seokjin has never asked, but he guesses it comes from all those years freestyling. Still, it takes a few more seconds of silence before he can hear what he has to say.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

Out of all the things Seokjin expected him to say, an apology wasn’t even on the list.

“What do you-?”

“Hyung,” he pleads, and Seokjin promises to not say another word until he’s allowed to. “I’m tired.”

His voice sounds more like a kid, his cold, heartless facade now turns into a trembling confession. 

“I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m fine with this. That we can live like this,” he sighs, staring at the distance. “You know that when we… That night, on Christmas. We… I mean, we made an agreement.”

“No feelings,” Seokjin says.

“No feelings,” Namjoon parrots. “And I bet that by that alone you can guess how the cliche goes.”

Seokjin stands there for a few seconds, ears red and speechless.

“But I’m done being the grown-up. Of pretending that I’m a good ex, that I can let you live your life on your own with me as a spectator. That I’m okay with you seeing someone else, marrying someone else. Learning how they like their coffee and knowing what size of ring to get them on their birthdays without having to ask.”

Seokjin’s heart beats inside his chest like it wants to come out and throw itself to Namjoon’s arms. But he knows he can’t, not yet, not until he says everything that he has been keeping for himself.

“I’ve become very good at pretending, but I’m stopping this now,” Finally, Namjoon looks at him. “You win. I can’t move on. I thought I did about a thousand times. I- I dated, and hooked up and even tried to reconnect with my own exes—don’t look at me that way, we both did the same—and it didn’t work. I lost.”

Something breaks inside him when he sees the hints of redness all over his face: his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. It’s a hurtful image, one that Seokjin is sure will be etched in his mind forever. It’s the worst, knowing someone he loves is hurting and not being able to do anything because the reason he’s hurting is him.

“This isn’t a game. Or a competition.” 

And even if it is Seokjin doubts he’d won.

“I know it isn’t. But me, being here, opening up myself like this before you, it feels–” Namjoon babbles parts of words that never fully come out, tripping on his tongue. “I feel so fucking weak. And you’re the only one who can get me like this. Don’t you understand?”

He does, Seokjin knows he does.

“You're the space under the blankets where I hide when I'm scared. You're the mantra on my lips that calms me and tells me everything will be okay.”

The sound of his broken voice makes Seokjin want to cry, too. He can't help it. Not when they're alone, away from the cameras. Not when it's Namjoon, the strongest, fiercest and brightest person he has ever met. Not when he sees his first love, for the first time in ten years, cry just like the boy he fell in love with at nineteen.

“You're my home, hyung,” Namjoon says, finally. “You've always been.”

Seokjin has seen him cry before; tens, maybe hundreds of times. He has held him through his pain, through the sleepless nights of crawling anxiety. But he always knew whatever dripped was barely the top of the dam. The few droplets that had escaped, while surface tension held back the rest. A waterfall he had to deal with alone. And now, inexplicably, unexpectedly, Namjoon has cut open his chest and let the dam overflow freely.

He isn't sure what happens next. Neither the order nor who starts it, but it's okay. He doesn't need to know the details once he finds himself between his lover's embrace, warm like an oven and wider than the universe. Seokjin knows he is safe, deep down, in the bottom of his heart. It's muscle memory, like when something flips the switch inside his brain and his body moves perfectly at the rhythm of a song after weeks and months of practice. Seokjin has years of experience being held in Namjoon’s arms, and he knows where to fit his chin so it doesn't hurt and how to cling to his back so he doesn't fall.

For once, in so many years he has lost count of, Seokjin closes his eyes and cries.

He finally lets go.

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin's voice is barely a mumble, but he feels as if he has a megaphone in front of his lips. “You're my home too.”

Seokjin clings into Namjoon’s clothes, like the prince holding onto Cinderella as the clock strikes midnight. His heart races, getting ready to catch on to the pumpkin carriage before it disappears into starlight.

“But if you want to stay– wait, no–” Seokjin makes a pause, letting the weight of what he's about to say settle before continuing. “If you want to give this another try… it will be forever.”

Namjoon keeps listening in attentive silence. He's almost sure his heart has stopped to listen better, since he’s so close to his chest. So Seokjin takes a breath, the biggest he has ever taken his whole life, and tries to find the right words.

“Forever means we won't break up ever again. Forever means we’ll live together for the rest of our lives, until we grow old and gray, until we start to hate each other and one day, while I'm making your morning coffee, I'll add a little poison too. Capisci?”

When Namjoon chuckles, his laugh reverberates through Seokjin’s body as if he's laughing too. And maybe he does without noticing, because his smile is still too shy to fully come out.

“And I'd gladly drink that coffee,” he answers, his smile so obvious in his voice, “as long as it means keeping you close.”

Seokjin isn’t sure when he’s going to wake up, so he digs his nails into Namjoon’s hoodie, clawing at the little time he might have left.

“But are you ready for it?”

The few seconds of silence until Namjoon answers back feel like a thousand years.

“I am.”

And that’s all he wants to hear.

There are so many emotions inside his chest, and if he isn't careful, they might rip his skin and spill all over the floor. But inside Namjoon’s arms, he feels safe. The problems are still there, and despite what has happened, it still feels too early for an “I love you”. However, complicated things can wait. They can sort things out later, when they’re calmer, and they feel steady on their feet again. Right now, Seokjin deserves to enjoy this moment without fearing he’ll wake up, because it’s real. It’s happening, and it will continue to be real when he wakes up tomorrow, with Namjoon snoring on the other side of his bed.

With his weight between his arms, and the fabric of his hoodie under his fingers, Seokjin is certain that whatever happens, they're going to be okay. 

He’s sure, for once, that spring has come again. 

And they'll welcome it together.