Chapter Text
The chances of it were one in ten million. As a percentage, that was something with far too many zeros. Miniscule. And so Seokjin ignored the cautious ‘hyung?’ he overheard as he queued for his iced americano fix – that ‘hyung’, after all, could be aimed at anyone in the café.
He kept typing a message to Jiyoon, the co-worker he liked best, informing her that work was awful and that she should return from her honeymoon soon. Was there no consideration for his feelings and comfort at all?
“Jin-hyung?”
He stirred – confused. The call was old and familiar, yet foreign. No one called him that anymore, and yet he turned.
A tall and broad man was addressing him – well-dressed in beige slacks and an oversized white t-shirt, summer casual but not inexpensive. The sunglasses, brown baseball cap, and white mouth mask hid the man’s face nearly completely like he was some kind of a celebrity trying to keep things low-key at the café in Banpo-dong, which was amusing at first, and just as quickly it was not amusing at all: the man was famous.
“Mon-ah?”
The man smiled – potentially. It was hard to tell.
Seokjin stepped back.
Momentarily he was in a dance studio, at two in the morning on a Wednesday. He was dripping sweat and his legs ached, and he felt dizzy because he’d only eaten two chicken breasts all day, but he kept practising the dance moves, heart thudding, heart thudding, you’ve got this, you’ve got this, you have to do it, you have to, you have—
The barista wanted his order. Startled, he reached the counter with, “Yeah, can I have an iced americano, and, uh— Hey, can I get you something?”
Namjoon had followed him to the front of the queue. “Same for me.”
“Two iced americanos, thanks,” he said, tapping his card to pay as Namjoon thanked him. “Of course, it’s no problem,” he said so smoothly that he impressed himself.
In truth, he was trapped between sneaking glances at Namjoon and ogling at him rudely. He’d seen pictures along the years, of course, but the Namjoon of his memories had not been physically imposing. He’d been tall and scrawny – not tall and well-built like this, all bulked up. How had he even recognised Namjoon? Was it the ‘Jin-hyung’?
A little staring wasn’t out of place. “It really is you. I can’t believe it. This is surreal, right? I mean what are the odds? It must have been at least…?”
“Ten years?” Namjoon offered as the cogs in Seokjin’s brain refused to co-operate.
“No! What?”
But that had to be true: the subway had been full of posters a month earlier for BTS’s tenth anniversary. Ten years. An actual decade.
Nervousness filled him for reasons so ancient that he couldn’t instantly recall them. “My god, you must be right.”
The barista handed two iced americanos over, Namjoon taking both of them, and Seokjin tried to pick the right thing to say. In the early years he’d known what to say to them all: to Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon. Congratulations on debuting! Hyung knew you could do it! After a few years, however, he’d stopped imagining these reunions – and, as such, he’d never invented an updated greeting.
“Congratulations on debuting,” he managed, and Namjoon stared at him for a half second before he laughed – it was a low, deep rumble, and a shiver travelled down Seokjin’s spine. When had Kim Namjoon grown up?
Namjoon handed him his iced americano, their hands touching briefly. Namjoon took his sunglasses off, revealing sharp, brown eyes – there was no mistaking him now. Namjoon’s eyes were the same: almond-shaped, mono-lidded, chocolate brown, intense. Full of intelligence. The sturdy watch on his wrist looked expensive, silver in colour although it was likely platinum, with a large and intricate blue clockface. Definitely worth more than Seokjin’s car.
They stood to the side of the counter, air-conditioning and faux French jazz humming. Namjoon kept his back to the other patrons in a way that seemed intentional.
“Thanks. I mean we debuted a good while back, but—”
“But you made it. I always knew you would,” he said, tongue thick somehow. God, how the two of them had used to fight. Namjoon had been the most annoying out of all the other trainees: the messiest, the most stubborn, the most frustrating.
When he remembered that, he returned to himself – he was more surprised than actually tongue-tied. How was it possible to walk into Namjoon in an Ediya Coffee near his work like this? He remembered Namjoon as a high schooler walking around the dorm in nothing but loose boxers, headphones on and a small mp3 player clutched tightly in his fist. This kid!
“God, how did you even recognise me?”
Namjoon’s eyes squinted as he smiled, but he seemed a little unsure. “Of course I recognised you. You haven’t aged a day, hyung.”
“Haven’t I? Ah, good genes – I get it from my mother, you know.”
“Nor have your shoulders shrunk.”
“My father, that,” he nodded, but then didn’t know what to say. Namjoon’s gaze lingered on his face. “You’ve got good memory – remembering my name, even.”
Namjoon’s cautious smile vanished at this, and Seokjin knew he’d somehow said the wrong thing. Namjoon shifted on his feet, looking through the glass front of the café. “Well, I was just heading to—”
“Oh, of course, I don’t mean to keep you. I need to head back into the office myself.”
“You work near here?”
“Yeah, just around the corner,” he said, already moving.
Namjoon opened the front door for them, letting him walk out first into the warm humidity of mid-summer.
“Well,” he said, offering Namjoon a smile – squinting in the afternoon sunshine. “Crazy running into you after so long. I’ve always been pleased that you guys did so well.”
“Thanks, that’s— nice to hear. And thanks for the coffee,” Namjoon said, but a frown clouded his face. Seokjin gave a slight nod of goodbye and turned to leave, not wanting to keep a busy man, but Namjoon said, “Hey, can I get your Kakao ID? You know, for…?”
He stopped. “Uh. Sure? I mean yeah.”
He dug out his phone and found the QR code for his profile, but Namjoon tapped away from the code and just looked at the user ID, lips moving as he repeated it to himself.
“Okay, got it.” Namjoon smiled. “Maybe it won’t be another decade this way.”
“Ha, right,” he said, and Namjoon left with a semi-awkward “well, bye” and a wave of the hand. Namjoon had a long stride as he walked down the street – not too hurried, but still purposeful. He didn’t turn to look back.
Seokjin stared after him, iced americano in hand. He felt perturbed – he’d been perturbed. A decade? Fuck. He’d left the company eight months before the rest had debuted, and then his life had slowly moved on. A sharp, old pain stirred at the memory, but he pushed it aside. It’d been a long, long time ago now.
What a small world Seoul was. What a small, crazy…
He headed back to the office, steps slow. The mirrored wall of the old dance studio blinded him, leaving sweat on his skin, and his young, ambitious heart aching with a thud, thud, thud.
* * *
Some five years earlier Heejun had reached out to them all to organise a reunion. ‘Almost BTS’ the group chat had jokingly been called, and Seokjin had gone because he had good memories of many of the BigHit trainees. There’d been as many as twenty of them at some point, some living in the dorms, and some living at home. Seokjin was one of the ‘local’ kids and did not move into the dorm when he was signed. Namjoon, too, could have lived at home in Ilsan, but it was clear Namjoon thought he needed to be in Gangnam in order to succeed.
The reunion had been strange to say the least. Heejun had organised it at a Chinese restaurant near the old dorm – not the eatery covered floor to ceiling in BTS posters, thankfully, but another old favourite of the trainees.
Still, the restaurant owners recognised them: seven ex-trainees showed up in total.
Heejun greeted him with, “Seokjin-ah, you’ve gotten more handsome!”
He grinned. “Well of course, what did you expect?”
At first everyone had caught the others up with what they were doing now: many were studying, one had just finished enlistment. One was an accountant in Ulsan, one was a full-timer in a noraebang in Mokpo. Jihwan had just gotten married, and Taehyung worked as an interior designer for a small but prestigious architecture firm.
After this, they inevitably talked about BTS, who had just won Top Social Artist at the BBMAs. That was in the US! They were famous even over there! As the alcohol flowed, they were soon reminiscing their trainee days. “I don’t think they would have been as successful with me on the team,” Jihwan admitted, and they all agreed.
“Those five who made it, they just had more passion than the rest of us,” one said.
“Still,” Heejun said, “it was the best time of my life when I was a trainee. All I ever wanted was to be a singer! I still want to make it, to debut. I go to auditions all the time.”
Heejun was a year older than Seokjin: a ’91 liner. He was twenty-seven now and sending audition tapes in hopes of debuting. Seokjin’s heart sank as he saw the reunion for what it was: not a chance to reminisce their youthful dreams of becoming mega kpop idols and laugh about it fondly, but Heejun’s desperate attempt to recapture what he had lost.
“When they told me I’d been cut from the team,” Heejun slurred as the hour turned late, “I felt like something in me died. My dream died. Jiminie was at the dorm when I went to pack my things – did you know that? He was so sorry to see me go. And, you know, Yoongi always said he liked my singing the best? I kept messaging Yoongi even after the debut, but they all disappeared from their socials at some point. Got too famous, you know.”
Jihwan patted Heejun’s shoulder in sympathy. Along with Seokjin, they had been the oldest trainees.
“We all lived it,” Jihwan said, looking around the table for back-up. “Being called into Bang PD’s office and being told to pack up and go home. We know how brutal it was.”
Heejun nodded, wiping at his reddened cheeks – face glossy, eyes unfocused. “When I told my parents, Eomma fainted – she was so upset, and I— I always wanted to buy my parents a house, pay off their debts. That’s why I worked so hard, barely slept in two years, but I… I never got to do that, and it’s never— I’ve never… When I went home, I didn’t leave my parents’ house for two months. Barely left the bedroom. I was such a failure, I really felt like I wanted to die. And that was before BTS even conquered the world.”
Heejun’s outburst embarrassed everyone, and Seokjin cited an early work meeting and got ready to leave. Heejun said that Almost BTS should start meeting regularly now, a few times a year! They were brothers, weren’t they? Maybe they could turn these meetings into something bigger even? Maybe like a panel to talk about their memories. ARMYs would come for sure, wouldn’t they?
Heejun seemed to believe, mistakenly, that ARMYs were somehow their fans. They were not.
Seokjin stumbled out of the restaurant into the late spring evening, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. His throat felt tight, and breathing was difficult. God, what had become of them all. What had—
“Hyung, which way are you going?”
It was Kim Taehyung, the high school kid who had been plucked from a farm somewhere to the BigHit trainee dorm. Seokjin remembered him well – there’d been a lot of talk of Taehyung being the visual of the group. Now Taehyung was in his early twenties and dear god what visuals he had – the face of a model, no doubt about that, and he had grown into those big ears, too.
They walked towards Sinsa Station together, with Taehyung lighting up a cigarette. “You know, if I’d debuted with BTS, I couldn’t walk down the street like this, smoking.”
“You couldn’t walk down the street, full stop.”
Taehyung laughed, eyes lighting up. “You’re probably right.” After they crossed the street, Taehyung said, “Tonight was— Well.”
“A shit show. That’s another thing we probably couldn’t do: swear.”
“No smoking, no swearing, no dating – god, we put up with a lot back then. Still… Poor Heejun-hyung, huh? I felt sorry seeing him like that…”
Seokjin nodded, burying hands deep in his pockets. He was glad he no longer dreamt of stardom, of having fans, of having made it. Some trainees entered agencies with big dreams but gradually realised it wasn’t for them, and then they went home on their own initiative. Some, however, waited to be kicked out – not quite having the courage to say that this wasn’t for them after all. Some trainees realised this was all they wanted out of life, but the agency cut them out anyway – that was Heejun. And some, the very small percentage, wanted to debut more than anything and actually made it.
And even after that, most groups failed.
What a gamble.
What an endless cycle of talented youngsters giving their all and risking absolute devastation.
He’d been one of them, once.
He remembered making ramyeon with Taehyung in the small dorm kitchen after he moved in to maximise his training. Taehyung had slept at the bottom of the bunkbed just across from him – he and Jimin had been inseparable, going to school together. Seokjin had often woken up early to make them and Jungkook breakfast. They’d just been kids back then.
Taehyung had been let go by the company a few months after Seokjin.
“Do you regret it? Not making it to the final group?” he asked.
Taehyung shook his head. “No – I signed with another agency afterwards, you know, but I left a few months later. It just wasn’t the same somehow. The other trainees, they… I don’t know, I just felt out of place. Do you regret not debuting?”
“Nah. Those five were more talented than the rest of us, anyway.”
Outside Sinsa Station they stopped. He liked Taehyung for not being nostalgic: the past was in the past, and what had not been could never be. Why be upset over that? He liked his life now, and the fact that he’d once been a kpop trainee made for a good story when meeting new people.
The fact that the agency had been BigHit and the group BTS, however, he did not mention.
“Hey, you want to grab another drink? I haven’t seen you in so long. You’re a designer now, right?”
Taehyung gave him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, sure – I mean, as long as you’re buying, hyung.”
“So, you’re still a brat,” Seokjin concluded, leading them along, their shoulders bumping together.
When Almost BTS arranged its next meet up, Seokjin did not attend. Neither did Taehyung.
They met each other often, however, talking about their lives like friends did – and that included their time as trainees.
* * *
“He recognised you just like that?” Taehyung asked, beer in hand as they sat in the popular bar, snacking on dried pollock and drinking post-work beers.
“Right? I was amazed too. And he could have pretended not to see me – I hadn’t clocked him at all.”
“Whaa, he’s like an elephant – doesn’t forget a thing.”
“He’s the size of an elephant too.”
Taehyung laughed at that, and Seokjin smiled into his beer before gulping it down. Taehyung had nothing but good memories of Namjoon, although Taehyung granted that he had been a bit “intense” and a lot “messy”. A bit intense? Namjoon had been up their asses, telling them to listen to The Best of 90s Hip Hop (as curated by Namjoon), insisting they do impromptu cyphers, and focus on becoming rap gods. Intense was an understatement.
“No wonder he made it,” Taehyung said. “He had that fire and drive.”
“But you know what’s funny? He had this famous person aura now – can you believe that? And it was weird because this was the man who used to download porn on the dorm computer.”
“Well, even famous people watch porn,” Taehyung said astutely, and they grinned.
Every now and then a BTS song played in the bar – a handful of years old now from the peak of their fame, before they announced they were starting solo projects and enlistment duties. When had that been? 2018, something like that. Not long after Almost BTS had first met, in fact.
BTS halting group activities at the peak of their fame had shocked everyone – at first it seemed like the group had disbanded, although BigHit had denied it. One of the members (Jimin? Namjoon?) had done a live stream and teared up, admitting they were exhausted and couldn’t keep going. The drama of it had been everywhere. Fans had protested outside BigHit, citing mismanagement. Foreign media had had a field day about how abusive kpop clearly was, as if Western artists never experienced burnout.
How had it all been resolved? Seokjin couldn’t quite recall. Some statements and more live streams from the members assuring that they were fine – they hadn’t broken up. It was just a break from group activities, and over the last four years they all had done well on solo work. The last of the members was nearly done with enlistment now – would the five members finally regroup? The fans were holding their breaths.
He thought back to Namjoon in the café – where had he been coming from? Where had he gone? Must be strange to know your plans so well while millions were desperate for updates. Must be hell of a lot of pressure.
Seokjin told Taehyung how Namjoon had asked for his KakaoTalk details, although it’d been well over a week now and he hadn’t heard anything.
“He was just being nice, of course,” he said, because not even in the moment had he thought that Namjoon intended to message him. Still, as the days passed and it’d become clear that asking had only been a nicety, slight disappointment had hit him. Why? Namjoon hadn’t even been his favourite.
Seokjin moved their conversation on because he didn’t want a youthful dead-end to be the only foundation of their friendship – and so they talked about music, movies, about Taehyung’s work and how his love life was going. “There’s this girl I’m going on a date with next week – she kind of looks like Jennie from BlackPink, totally my type.”
“That’s your type? Well, I’ll tell you what, if I run into Namjoon again, I’ll ask him for Jennie’s number to pass onto you.”
Taehyung looked thoughtful. “You think he has her number?”
“Oh, totally,” he said – a little distracted by a man who had taken a seat at the bar. Early thirties, thick and shiny black hair, devilishly handsome. Alone. Scanning the room. Meeting his gaze.
Taehyung had to head out as they finished their beers, and Seokjin went to the bathroom before bracing the subway ride home. On his way out, however, his steps slowed. The handsome man was still sitting by himself.
Now, sober Seokjin would go home, get into cosy pyjamas, maybe play MapleStory for an hour, and then go to bed. Tipsy Seokjin, however, was a different person altogether – a bit restless and a lot bold.
He took a seat next to the man with a confident smile. “Hi. You couldn’t get me another drink, could you?”
The man turned to him swiftly, breaking into a smile. “Oh. Hi. I was worried you’d left.”
“Worried?”
“With that hot guy. I thought my night was ruined.”
Seokjin laughed, feeling familiar warmth – attraction. Catch and prey. “Must be your lucky night then, huh?”
* * *
hey, just got back to seoul last night. pretty sure I owe you an iced americano?
Seokjin stared at the message sent to him in the secret chat mode on KakaoTalk, initially confused. Then, still doubtful, he went on Dispatch and searched for ‘RM’. The two latest items were Namjoon returning to the country at Incheon airport and, days before that, Namjoon leaving.
Seokjin looked at the message again. It was a pleasant surprise. how about you buy your hyung a meal? or have you forgotten all the meals I used to cook for you?
Namjoon’s reply was immediate:
right, I get it
payback time, is it?
Seokjin laughed, biting on his bottom lip. I’ll accept some pork belly.
And, to his surprise, he had a date with Namjoon for later that week.
He’d liked all the trainees, of course. Heejun had been a year older but, for the most part, of little help in keeping the dorm running, and Seokjin had not wished to live in squalor. He and Hoseok had made sure there was enough toilet paper, that there was some kind of edible food in the fridge, and that laundry got put out to dry. Namjoon and Yoongi had had their heads in the clouds, not seeing the practicalities of life as applicable to them, while the others had been too young to appreciate that dishes didn’t magically wash themselves.
After Seokjin left, all that stuff was probably left on Hoseok – poor guy. Well, a millionaire these days, so the opposite of poor, in fact.
But if he’d had to imagine a reunion with any of the five members, he hadn’t expected it to be Namjoon. If his memory served him right, they hadn’t exactly been what kids these days called besties. They’d started getting along quite well only before Seokjin left.
Who knew, maybe in another life they would have grown close – but it hadn’t happened in this one.
* * *
Seokjin had barely taken a seat at the back when Namjoon arrived to the barbecue restaurant. “Awful weather,” was the first thing Namjoon said, but the rainy evening seemed to have kept most people at home – the place was only half full.
Namjoon wore a brown beanie despite it being summer, no hair sticking out from underneath. No mask, no sunglasses this time. His t-shirt was black, the shorts were grey, and the black sandals were practical. Namjoon had a cut on his shin, already scabbed over. He looked like any other guy in his late twenties, out for a casual dinner on a summer night.
But Namjoon also featured on billboards, standing there in tailored suits – selling cars or massage chairs or even chewing gum. Namjoon sold out stadiums around the world in five minutes; leftover tickets weren’t even a question these days.
“Aren’t you worried about being recognised?” he asked out of pure curiosity. He recalled those Dispatch articles and the masses of screaming fans following Namjoon through the airport.
Namjoon shrugged. “Well, I realised at some point that if you act like you’re famous, that’s how people treat you: like you’re not quite real but an unfeeling object. The flipside of that is strangers treating you too intimately like they know you, and they do in some ways, which makes it disconcerting until you learn to deal with it. But if you act like you’re human, just a regular somebody, then you shock most people into treating you like one.”
“Huh.”
The experiences that had taught Namjoon all this seemed daunting, and something in Namjoon’s tone was unexpectedly jaded for a boy who’d dreamt of fame.
Namjoon paused, expression softening. “You look nice.”
Seokjin glanced down at himself – at the black slacks and the matching black dress shirt. He’d agonised over what to wear and now wished he’d gone for something casual. All he needed was a jacket and he was ready for a funeral.
“I came straight from work,” he lied.
“You’re gonna have to tell me all about that,” Namjoon said before calling the waiter over. Squinting at the menu on the wall, Namjoon ordered the pork belly he’d promised, adding also other meats, a bottle of makgeolli and some kimchi jeon to the order.
“Sure, I’ll get that for you,” the waiter said, smiling at them like he was in on their joke – what joke? That Kim Namjoon, the leader of BTS, was sitting right there? The man looked excited as he went to get them drinks. Seokjin hoped no groups of fans would suddenly appear in the restaurant – that kind of attention seemed stressful.
Namjoon studied him, his skin looking golden in the soft lights. “You really look exactly the same. It’s incredible.”
“Well, you look a little different,” he said, because Namjoon had somehow become three times more handsome than he’d been in his teens. A glow up, they called it. The corner of Namjoon’s mouth lifted in a half-smirk, and Seokjin almost rolled his eyes. “You know, I remember that time you nearly shaved off your eyebrows because you had a two-week punk phase and thought drawing them from scratch would look better. And who talked you out of it? I did. So you should thank me.”
“I do remember that. Thank you,” Namjoon grinned, and by the time the makgeolli arrived, they were already absorbed in dorm memories. In a way, it was like meeting with Taehyung or Heejun: a fondness was there over shared memories, of a time that had been tough but also rewarding. And, to his surprise, Namjoon was eager to talk about the pre-debut days. When he noted this, Namjoon said, “We talk about it all the time, you know – when we used to live in the dorm. And how we used to get scolded for everything.”
“Yeah, we— you did,” he said, because the ‘we’ Namjoon was talking about did not include him. “Surely your lives have been much more interesting since those days, though.”
“Sure, but— I don’t know. There was an innocence to that time that I kind of miss now. Something that’s long gone.”
There it was again: that jaded tone.
They had finished the bottle of makgeolli and ordered another as they grilled the cuts of meat and ate the banchan. This was another Almost BTS gathering, just with a twist.
As it became clear that Namjoon had somehow stayed humble despite his rise to fame (although perhaps a little disconcertingly disillusioned), Seokjin felt more relaxed, asking all those questions about debuting and touring he’d always wanted to ask. Ten years since debut! Where did you even start?
Each achievement was coupled with a surprisingly realistic assessment of it. Namjoon didn’t romanticise the group’s experiences – he noted the hard work they’d put in, the sleep they’d given up, the hardships they’d endured. And yet Namjoon did not sound self-pitying at any point: he wasn’t complaining, far from it. He was just being honest.
If anyone thought hard work ended with debuting, it didn’t – that was when the real work began. Maybe that was why Namjoon seemed so fond of their trainee days: the simplicity of it all, tangible only in hindsight.
They were almost finished with their meal when Namjoon said, “Hyung, honestly, enough about me and the team. What have you been doing? I mean, ten years is a long time.”
He reached for some pickled radish with a shrug. “I finished my studies, did a Masters degree, enlisted, started working. Now I work in a media company as an events manager. That’ll eat up ten years surprisingly fast.”
“You’ve done so much,” Namjoon said, as if Seokjin’s life had truly been remarkable. “And are you dating – married? Do you have kids?”
Seokjin reeled because in no way was he ready for those things – more to the point, he knew those things would never be applicable to his life. Some of the Almost BTS gang, however, had already married. Some had kids, too. Namjoon’s question wasn’t an absurd one: Seokjin was thirty, as much as he hated that number.
“I had a pretty serious girlfriend, but we broke up during the pandemic. Different life goals, you know,” he said, surprising even himself. A complete fucking lie. “Now I have a cactus.”
Namjoon’s dimples deepened. “A cactus. Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”
“It is, you know. Not watering her takes a lot of effort.”
“I bet.” Namjoon leaned back in his seat, and Seokjin was unsure why he was being quizzed so intently. “You didn’t get into acting? I always thought I might turn on the TV one day and see you there.”
“Nah. I— I don’t know. I realised I wasn’t chasing success in that way, I guess. I mean I did a few acting gigs while I was still studying, and I got cast as the second lead in the pilot of a show that never made it into production, but it just didn’t feel…”
Namjoon’s steady gaze was making him heat up. “Was it because BigHit cut you loose? Did you get discouraged?”
He’d always wondered what the rest had been told about his departure, but Namjoon seemed none the wiser. That solved a ten-year mystery, at least: that Bang PD was a man of his word.
“I’m quite a private person, I realised. That seemed incompatible with a career in the public eye.”
Namjoon nodded slowly, glancing at all the dishes they’d emptied, the grill on the table now turned off. “I’m a pretty private person, too.”
“Are you?” he asked with just a hint of disbelief, but somehow this made Namjoon smile. “What? What’s the cryptic smile for?”
“You still give me shit.”
“Why wouldn’t I give you shit?” he scoffed, and Namjoon broke into a beam, like this somehow delighted him. What a weird, weird person Namjoon was. Maybe fame fucked you up like that.
They fought over who should pay, with Seokjin saying he’d been kidding – he was the eldest, of course he should pay – and Namjoon saying it was definitely his turn and treat. “Hyung, I mean it,” Namjoon said decisively, getting out a black credit card that Seokjin had only heard rumours of existing. Seokjin sat back, figuring that the restaurant wasn’t that expensive, at least, and he did need to fix the suspension on his car.
It had stopped raining by the time they stepped out, but not before the waiter kindly asked Namjoon to sign a napkin so that they could frame it and put it on the wall. They were emphatically requested to come again – very polite and civilised, and very respectful. Namjoon said under his breath that it wasn’t always this considerate.
“Where are you parked?” Seokjin asked, but Namjoon had taken a taxi over because he did not drive. Seokjin thought of all the luxury cars he’d love to own if he was in Namjoon’s position, but then thought of the time Namjoon had tried turning a t-shirt into a tank top with the dorm kitchen scissors and ended up cutting into his own hand. Namjoon hadn’t needed stiches, thank god, but Seokjin had needed to whip out the emergency first aid kit anyway. In sum, it was perhaps wise that Namjoon did not drive.
They walked along the narrow streets towards the taxi ranks, still talking. Seokjin had had a nice time – a really nice time. “I like you more than I remembered,” he said.
Namjoon looked at him with faux offense. “You remembered not liking me?”
“Well, you were never my favourite.”
“Wow – ouch. Fine, who was?”
“Jungkookie, obviously.”
Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, checks out. He still talks about you – about some kind of breakfast bibimbap you’d make for him.”
“The perilla oil was the secret ingredient.”
“I’ll let him know when I next see him,” Namjoon said, steps slowing. Seokjin mimicked him, the two of them coming to a stop under a streetlight. Namjoon seemed to hesitate before saying, “You know, it was a tough time back then, with trainees constantly getting cut. One day your friends were there, the next they weren’t, but— we never had time to mourn that. You had to focus on your own game, or it’d be you next.”
“Bang Sihyuk was never going to cut you,” he pointed out, and Namjoon shrugged. There had been such obvious stars amongst the trainees: Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok…
“My point is that— that when you left, we just— moved on, you know. We had to. One night of crying over it, but then you moved on. Okay, fine, I think Jungkook cried for a week, but— but when I saw you at the café, I— I realised that the five of us have been telling stories about you for a decade. I think we— yeah. Some of the others we’ve forgotten, to be honest, but a few we haven’t. And we talk about you all the time.”
Seokjin smiled because it was nice to hear. He’d been a trainee for a year and a half, from mid-2011 to late 2012 and he’d spent half of that time living with the others. It’d broken his heart to leave. Heejun always said that: how the most awful part wasn’t that you hadn’t debuted, but that you never got to see your friends again. Like you’d been banished from a world that you’d loved.
“You’re trying to flatter me,” he said, thinking of all the far more interesting people the members had gone on to meet and work with. “I only would’ve held the group back, you know, so it’s only good that—”
“None of us ever thought that,” Namjoon said, oddly stern. “And I’m being honest when I say that – I have no reason to flatter you. You were just as good as any of us were back then. But the company had their own vision, I guess.”
Seokjin bit the inside of his cheek, taking a tad too long before nodding in agreement. What did that matter now? There was no way to go back in time and try again – and Seokjin knew what a liability he would have been, in ways Namjoon couldn’t even begin to understand.
He saw in that moment Namjoon the Leader. The decisive, commanding tone that left little room for arguments. The stern yet confiding look in Namjoon’s eyes. It was— attractive. Seokjin’s stomach lurched, slight panic and shame rising in him. Ten years on, and he was now attracted to Namjoon!
He looked away but knew heat was rising to his cheeks, his chest tight and belly full of warmth.
“Hyung?”
A large hand landed on his arm. Seokjin felt the touch everywhere. See, this was why he could never have been—
“You’re too nice,” he said, steadying himself and moving back enough for Namjoon’s hand to drop. Namjoon pulled back, fingers rubbing together. He avoided eye contact firmly. “Ah, the taxi rank is just there,” he said and moved them along.
In the taxi home, he sent, thanks for dinner, it was nice to catch up after so long
Namjoon replied with, pleasure was all mine
At the next traffic lights, his phone buzzed again: maybe some beef next time?
* * *
Seokjin had done his Masters degree in Business Administration, which had been just as spiritually fulfilling as it sounded. He’d ended up working as an events assistant for The National Engineers Guild, another soul-crushingly boring experience, but in the evenings he’d experimentally streamed his MapleStory sessions on Twitch and developed a decent following. He still streamed sometimes, but not professionally.
He'd made new connections through streaming, however, which led to an interview with a media company that specialised in gaming and VR. Events management there was far less boring, and it wasn’t a bad way to make a living in a world where each opening position received over five hundred overqualified applicants. And, to be fair, he was a perfectionist by nature: when everything for an event, a tournament or a panel came together just right from the venue, the catering, the speakers, the press, the printed program leaflets, down to the attendee lanyards, he felt an immense amount of satisfaction.
Still, when Jiyoon returned from her honeymoon, Seokjin instantly grabbed her for a two-hour “meeting” in Angel-in-Us to cover all that had gone wrong in her absence. She, in turn, gushed about her honeymoon in Hawaii.
“I’m glad you had a good time but that’s not going to fix these scheduling issues,” he told her, tapping at his notes.
“But did I tell you the best part?” she asked, reaching for his hand across the table excitedly. “When we landed at Incheon, the airport was full of press! And I saw all these girls with Mang headbands, you know Ma—”
“Jiyoon-nim, your desk is covered in Mangs – I am aware. So…?”
“So Hobi’s flight had landed right after ours!” Jiyoon all but screeched, almost jumping in her seat. As a hardcore ARMY, it was surprising she’d kept this in for so long. “And I asked my husband if we could stay and wait, just for a few minutes! And less than five minutes later, Hobi walked out! He must have been right behind us!”
Jiyoon swiped through blurry pictures of Hoseok on her phone. “He was so handsome! You should see him in real life, he just oozes charisma! And I shouted real loud, ‘Hobi-oppa, I love you!’ and I swear he heard me!”
“He’s not your oppa – he’s younger than you.”
“Oppa is a state of mind,” Jiyoon argued fiercely. “Anyway, he turned and waved, and I just nearly died, I was so happy! I cried all the way home!”
Seokjin tried to keep a straight face, taking a sip of his coffee. “So, the best part of your honeymoon was j-hope?”
“Yes! I— I mean, no? But yes?” Jiyoon grinned, putting her phone away. “My husband is a very patient man.”
“Clearly,” he said, thinking of the bright and determined person Hobi had always been.
No one at work knew he had been a BigHit trainee, which had always been ancient history, anyway. Now he appeared to be on meme exchange terms with Kim Namjoon after a decade of silence. He felt guilty for not saying anything to Jiyoon, and yet he knew better than to even breathe about it.
Namjoon hadn’t messaged him in two days, however. Why was that making him antsy? Why did he care so much – he wasn’t trying to get some kind of BigHit approval after a decade, was he?
“So, listen. You’re all up to date with this Bangtan stuff, right?”
Jiyoon pressed a hand to her chest. “Of course.”
“Right, so – just out of curiosity, what are they up to right now?”
Jiyoon’s eyes lit up. “Do you really want to know? Seokjin-nim, finally! We’re gonna need more coffee.”
After another hour, Seokjin knew all about Chapter 2 and the impending Chapter 3. His memories of the 2018 drama were roughly correct. “Afterwards, you know, we found out that they almost broke up – they were so tired,” Jiyoon said, eyes glistening with tears.
Over the past five years, Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok had served their time in the military, and Jimin had finished enlistment only a few months prior. Now fans were waiting on Jungkook, who would be out by the end of the year – after this, all five would be together again, signalling the launch of Chapter 3. ARMYs had been waiting for years for it.
“And you’re sure they’re planning a five-member comeback?”
“Of course,” Jiyoon said, sounding offended he’d even suggested otherwise.
There had been solo albums and solo tours in the meanwhile, and Jiyoon was hopeful that Yoongi might do some kind of a solo concert before the end of the year, too.
“Have any of them ever dated?” he asked, thinking back to his stupid claim of a serious ex-girlfriend. Why had he even said that – to impress Namjoon?
No. To mislead him.
“No, of course not – I mean, not publicly. They’ll probably do the family drop at some point.”
“The family drop?”
Jiyoon nodded, sucking on the straw of her iced latte. “A classic idol move: announce that in two weeks you’re marrying your girlfriend and oh, by the way, there’s a baby on the way. They all do it that way – Jungkook will definitely be the first to do it, he’s such a romantic.”
Seokjin almost flinched at the thought of Jungkook, a middle schooler, being the father of a child – but middle school had been a long time ago, huh?
Idols pretending they had no romantic aspirations and/or sex lives was normalised practice, but even so he had no idea how the members had spent an entire decade pretending the only love they felt was for their parents and ARMYs.
“Although if I had to guess, it’s Namjoon who’s seeing someone,” Jiyoon said, eyes narrowing. “He’s so… well-balanced and confident, you know? That must come from having a healthy and supportive family life, that’s what I always think. He must have someone he really loves.”
There was a thought: was Namjoon a secretly settled down man? Namjoon must have had girlfriends – must have fallen in love. But did the secrecy inevitably suffocate it?
As they walked back to the office, it occurred to Seokjin how Namjoon had told him nothing personal or scandalous – probably a calculated, conscious move.
* * *
They arranged another dinner a few weeks later, which was more often than Seokjin saw most of his (few) friends. He enjoyed his own company to the company of others and rarely arranged to meet up with people. Others felt this to be too one-sided and so they gave up on him without him realising this – because, as said, he was content on his own.
He should have turned exes into friends, perhaps – so many seemed to excel at that. He’d tried doing this, but then he’d been accused of stringing them along, getting angry messages of ‘I’m still in love with you and you’re just friend-zoning me like I’m nothing!’
Long story short, like many people his age, he focused on work and hobbies, and not on acquiring new friends – he liked the ones he already had, like his older brother (siblings counted, right?), his mother (she definitely counted), his neighbour Mr. Park who was a retired chef in his sixties, a few old university friends, and Taehyung.
Namjoon said there was a great burger place tucked away on the slope between Hannam-dong and Itaewon – rich hipster central – and it was more than easy for him to schedule Namjoon in. He made sure not to overdress this time: skinny jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Done.
He checked his face in the rearview mirror of his car three times before getting out. Why did he care so much? Irritated, he hurried out of the car park and made his way into the maze of the neighbourhood.
The burger place had partitions between each table, creating private little nooks. It was a clever choice for someone famous.
As Seokjin waited, having again arrived first, he remembered when he’d last been in the area – an ex of his lived nearby. A real ex, not an imaginary fake one.
It had never been too serious between Taesik and him – the romance had lasted only for a few months. An architect, quite handsome, but… but Seokjin had preferred his own company to Taesik’s, and so the affair had faded out.
They’d had a few Sunday brunches along that very same street, however, with Seokjin even meeting a few of Taesik’s artistic friends. Many Western style cafés there: poached eggs and avocados after lazy morning blowjobs. It’d been a while since he… Well, maybe he had to download one of those apps to…? But lately he’d just resorted to someone noticing his good looks and hitting on him. Honestly, that worked just fine.
“Hey, you’re here.”
Namjoon was in dark denim jeans and a loose navy t-shirt, a corduroy messenger bag slung over his shoulder and resting against his hip. Simple, not trying too hard, and yet Namjoon looked so handsome that Seokjin’s guts tightened. His hair was short and freshly shaved, reminiscent of an enlistment cut, although Namjoon had finished service two years earlier.
“Do you mind if we swap seats?” Namjoon asked, and so Seokjin took the chair more visible to the restaurant, and Namjoon was more hidden between the partitions. Namjoon might act and look casual like he wasn’t a famed kpop idol, but the small gestures signalled that Namjoon was constantly aware of it.
“You look good,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin made some kind of a non-committal noise. Usually he would have just accepted the praise – it was nice to hear that especially from an idol – but now the words reminded him of the warmth he felt looking at Namjoon. The last time he’d put it down on the alcohol, but this time he hadn’t even drunk anything.
“It’s hard to look bad with my face,” he said instead, and Namjoon flashed white teeth at him, amused. They ordered their fancy hipster burgers – Namjoon had chosen the place because it was apparently close to a friend’s studio where he’d been working. Was that the solo album Jiyoon was hoping would materialise or, even better, the five-member comeback album?
“Are you still into music?” Namjoon asked, and the next time Seokjin became aware of the time, it was an hour later, they’d eaten burgers and ordered chocolate mud cake for dessert, and they’d talked non-stop about all the artists they’d been listening to the past decade. Namjoon lit up when he talked about music, with a concentrated intensity – it was beautiful to watch. A man in the right line of work, that was for sure.
He and Namjoon seemed to get on better than when they’d been trainees – maybe because this time Namjoon wasn’t asserting himself as a leader, telling them all to work harder, to become better rappers, singers, dancers, hip hop artists. And, somehow, Namjoon didn’t seem to look down on him despite his own success.
“Ah, I need to go on a diet after this,” Namjoon said, rubbing at his stomach.
“That’s one thing I never missed, you know – the constant dieting. After I left, I didn’t eat chicken for a year. I was so sick of those boiled chicken breasts.”
“What? Not even fried chicken?”
“Not even that.”
Namjoon let out a low whistle. “You were traumatised.”
“Not an exaggeration.”
Namjoon smiled – almost a grin, making his dimples deepen. “So many of my pre-debut memories are about food. Like, do you remember that time you and I went to eat bingsu but because we’d just been scolded for being chubby, we didn’t even pour the condensed milk on it?”
“I didn’t even eat the mango! I was just eating shaved ice! And I remember that manager – he was chubby! Had a beer belly and everything! And then he came to me to say I was chubby? Yah, I was so mad!” he said, his arms swinging wildly as he pointed at the imaginary manager next to their table.
“You were never chubby.”
“No, I wasn’t! And even if I was, I still would have been beautiful!”
“Yes,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin meant to continue his rant but drew a blank. Warmth stirred in him, and he shifted restlessly. What was he even saying?
Namjoon tapped his knuckles against the table. “Hey, so – maybe bingsu next time? With condensed milk and all the trimmings. We’ve earned it, right?”
“Yeah. Sounds good,” he said, ignoring the fluttering sensation in his chest as they started gathering their things.
Namjoon headed to the bathroom while Seokjin stopped at the cash desk to pay. When he stepped out into the evening, a handful of people were queuing for tables at the burger joint. He exhaled a little shakily, a hand brushing through his hair. He needed to keep himself in check – he knew he was a little excitable when he felt at ease, but he didn’t want Namjoon to think he was being too friendly.
Someone in the queue called out to him. It was a girl with a green pixie cut: Mina. Ex-architect-fling’s fashion designer friend who lived right around the corner.
“So nice to see you!” she said, chatting to him brightly. He remembered how intense, for the lack of a better word, she’d always been. “What brings you to the neighbourhood? Yah, isn’t this place nice? My friend runs a food blog, she gave them five bagels! The bagels are her rating system! Isn’t that cute?”
“Ah, well,” he managed, looking between Mina and the queue and the restaurant door.
“Ah, I was so sad when Taesik said he wasn’t seeing you anymore. I thought you two made such a nice couple! Yah, oppa, you’re still so handsome – do you want to join us for drinks, maybe?”
“Well, the thing is—” he began, with Namjoon walking out and spotting them, but not approaching.
Mina saw him looking at Namjoon who, thankfully, was looking the other way then – a few of the queuers had stirred, with Namjoon likely already recognised.
“Oh, you’re not alone! Is that your new boyfriend?”
“No, of course not,” he said, realising only then the damage that even hanging out with him could cause Namjoon. Deviant by association. He rushed to wish Mina well, needing him and Namjoon to exit the scene.
“Let’s go,” he said, ushering Namjoon along. They walked downhill together, Seokjin with his heart in his throat and his head hung low.
“Who was she?”
“Hmm, what?” he asked, glancing at Namjoon, who was adjusting the strap of his messenger bag. “Oh, just, like, the friend of an ex.”
“That ex you told me about?”
What ex had he told Namjoon about? Wait, his fake ex-girlfriend.
“No, another one.”
“Another one? You’re popular, huh?” Namjoon said in a tone that sounded teasing but somehow lacked heart, like Namjoon only said it because it was what he should say. Seokjin made some kind of an inconclusive gurgling noise. Namjoon wasn’t wrong: Seokjin had never struggled attracting attention. He just—
“Some of us are born to be heartbreakers, I guess,” he said like some kind of a cocky asshole.
When they parted ways, they gave each other a brief, one-armed hug.
* * *
Seokjin had what some of his friends called ‘straight-passing privilege’. It was intangible, whatever it was: with some men, another kind of ex had told him, you knew they were gay. Doesn’t matter what they’re doing, where they are – from their grandmother’s funeral to a trip to the convenience store, you take one look and know. Don’t ask how! It’s queer science, okay?
But you! You’re a bit of a mystery. Because every gay guy will wish you were gay because you’re absolutely gorgeous. Of course they will – but they won’t be sure. Not unless you keep eye contact with them for that fraction too long, and it’s you who gets to make that call.
Seokjin didn’t know if he believed any of that pseudo-science, but this mystery offered protection and privacy: at work, on the subway, and wherever he went. People might look at him and think ‘there’s a handsome young man’ but not ‘wow, what a raging homosexual’. And Seokjin was smart enough to be tight-lipped – it had taken him a whole year to even tell Taehyung, worried that it would change their friendship.
“I know this is the wrong reaction,” Taehyung had said, “but I kinda figured that out already. You talk about Lee Dongwook too much for a straight man.”
Touché.
Thankfully, he and Namjoon did not talk about their personal lives much – neither of them had been invasive in that way. So while he felt bad about a few omissions or fabrications, their personal lives didn’t seem relevant to their get togethers. It was nice to have friends like that, wasn’t it? It was fine.
you want to grab a drink this week? Namjoon sent, and Seokjin said sure. Namjoon sent the time and location, saying that the bar was a favourite of his. Seokjin arranged his plans around the invite.
The place wasn’t busy on Sunday night which, again, was likely carefully calculated on Namjoon’s part. Seokjin got himself a beer and chose a table that he thought would offer Namjoon the best privacy. He was a few minutes early as always and expected Namjoon to be a few minutes late as always. The bar was a few steps down from street level, with no windows and a low ceiling that gave the room a cave-like feeling. They played 60s folk from the US, with a whole wall of LPs that customers could browse and request to be played. No wonder Namjoon liked it.
Seokjin sipped his beer and looked around the bar. A little nervous. A little excited.
This isn’t a date. It was like having a drink with Taehyung – chill, casual, non-romantic.
And still waiting for Namjoon made him restless.
When Namjoon was twenty minutes late and Seokjin was done with his beer, he messaged, hey I got us a table at the back
A moot remark because Seokjin was easily visible to the main door and bar area. No response.
He browsed the news and sipped a second beer.
Half an hour late.
you want me to order you anything?
No response.
Well, this was rude – standing Seokjin up. He’d rearranged his entire Sunday to be here, and he’d fretted about what to wear again, and he didn’t even live near Apgujeong, and the beer had cost him 17,000 won.
But Namjoon was— well, Namjoon. He’d probably been held up by someone important doing something impressive. Hell, maybe Namjoon had flown to Shanghai to work with a cool producer or something.
He switched to soju and, after he’d waited for forty-five minutes, he thought he might as well make it a full hour. Just in case Namjoon had mistaken the time or something.
But the clock struck nine, and Seokjin had finished his bottle of soju. Namjoon clearly wasn’t coming and not as much as a message to explain why. He felt wronged – a whole night gone to waste. He could have been gaming or, more realistically, doing laundry.
The disappointment that filled him betrayed his casual approach: if Taehyung had stood him up like this, he’d be annoyed, sure, but he wouldn’t feel hurt and rejected.
In a sour mood, he scrolled through his contacts. Paused on a name. Raised an eyebrow. Sent break up with your boyfriend, I’m bored and a couple of drinks in at Don’t Think Twice. This place is near your apartment, right?
This time, the answer was immediate: shit, you for real? I’ll be there in ten
Sungmin was a passing acquaintance from his MBA days – they’d made out after a few nights out but it hadn’t really gone anywhere between them, like maybe they were waiting for the right time.
Well, maybe now it finally was the right time.
Sungmin arrived, taking the red leather armchair that he’d hoped Namjoon would occupy, smiling at him knowingly. “Seokjin-ah. You called?”
“And you came,” he said, and Sungmin gave a faux modest shrug: his knight in shining armour.
“Did you get stood up or something?” Sungmin asked as they downed shots of soju. The drunker Seokjin got, the more annoyed he was by it all. That Namjoon hadn’t shown up or even messaged to cancel; that he’d waited a whole fucking hour thinking Namjoon was surely on his way; that he was arranging all of his plans around that tall music nerd because ten years later Namjoon was somehow one of the sexiest men Seokjin had ever seen. And so what? He could pine after Namjoon all he wanted – all Namjoon was looking for was someone who’d reminisce with him about being young, broke, and idealistic. Seokjin was easy prey.
All of it made him feel powerless and pathetic – but now he had Sungmin. “Yeah, I was stood up. A shame because I’d decided I’d definitely blow him tonight.”
Sungmin choked on his beer. Licked his lips. “Well, he was a fool.”
“I think so too,” he said, letting his eyes travel on Sungmin’s arms and chest – he worked out and it showed. Seokjin had an itch and it needed scratching. “You live nearby, right?”
“Yeah, but— I share the apartment, uh. Would you— We could go to a hotel?” Sungmin had flushed, but Seokjin didn’t want to commit to an entire night in a hotel room. It was a scratch, not a full-blown rash.
“This place has surprisingly nice toilets,” he said and stood up, knowing Sungmin would follow him.
In the cubicle they kissed messily, hands in each other’s hair. He hadn’t lied either: the toilets were nicely decorated, with some kind of folk-rock playing to create ambience even here. Sungmin was hard after a few strokes of his dick, and soon Seokjin was on his knees in front of him. Sungmin was— how to put it delicately. On the smaller side. But he had gorgeous thick thighs and a well-defined V to his hips, and Seokjin took the cock into his mouth expertly.
He hadn’t been with anyone in a while – he was kind of drunk, and Drunk Seokjin was horny and stupid. Sungmin fisted his hair just right, and he bobbed steadily, eyes closed – god, sucking cock was nice. He was into this, want burning in him.
He’d seen Namjoon naked – he’d seen all of BTS naked, as a matter of fact. And it wasn’t like he’d been taking notes at the dorms, but of course the trainees had been keeping tabs on each other’s dicks – who was circumcised and who wasn’t? Whose dick curved funnily and whose didn’t? In a small dorm full of teenage boys, these were necessities everyone wanted to know.
Namjoon had not been on the smaller side. When erect, he was likely thick and long. Veiny. He’d probably make Seokjin choke a little and make his eyes water, but he’d commit to it, god he’d suck him so well – put on a show. Namjoon would probably push his head down just how Sungmin was doing right then, inhale all shakily with ragged breaths. Seokjin could edge him and make him beg; he was sure of it.
Sungmin tapped his shoulder in warning before coming into his mouth. He swallowed the release before standing up and letting Sungmin return the favour. They were in the cubicle for, what, ten minutes? Not long.
But the itch had been scratched, and Seokjin’s night was no longer ruined.
They kissed again before zipping up. Sungmin had mints with him, and Seokjin popped one in his mouth – better than cock breath for sure.
“Wow,” Sungmin said as they headed out, with a wide ‘I just got blown’ grin on his lips.
“Pretty good night out, huh?” he asked, looking over his shoulder while Sungmin followed him back to the bar like an eager puppy.
“One of the— Is that RM of BTS sitting at our table?”
They froze just a few meters from where they had been sitting – and where their emptied soju bottles still stood. Namjoon was in the red leather armchair, a whisky glass in hand. They were looking at him. He was looking at them.
Seokjin, having felt rebellious and frustrated and insolent, had barely looked at himself in the mirror of the men’s room – had not stopped to fix his untidy hair, had not properly pushed his shirt back into his jeans. Had not waited for the flush to fade from his cheeks, and could not do anything about his swollen, reddened mouth.
Sungmin did not look any better.
So that was why they called it feeling petrified. You turned solid, unable to lift a finger.
Namjoon sat up straighter, looking alarmed and put off, and Seokjin’s stomach sank. Sungmin was saying something – was clutching his arm, stage-whispering if they should go ask for a picture – while humiliation and dread filled up every crevice of him.
He hadn’t wanted Namjoon to know. He hadn’t wanted—
He walked to the table in three long strides and grabbed his jacket still folded over the back of the chair.
Namjoon stood up. “Hyung, I— I was stuck in practice, I— Are you alright? Who is—”
“Please don’t,” he managed, not looking Namjoon in the eye, not looking at anywhere except his feet. The shame was too much. “I’m sorry,” he managed, the apology burning his throat and making him feel physically sick. Exposed, all of it.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated and backed away. When he glanced at Namjoon, he saw exactly what he’d expected: shock. Dismay. Disappointment.
He’d expected little else.