Chapter Text
Another day passes, another “Hey, whatcha doin?” text from Namjoon ignored. It's Saturday, the day Namjoon was “finally” free. The day Namjoon finally had time for him.
Fuck you, Jungkook thinks miserably at his phone, lips pulling into a pout. He knows he doesn't mean it, which hurts worse. He can't even be mad at him. He blinks away the sudden heat in his eyes and pulls on his huge denim jacket, hesitating.
The quiet calm of a free afternoon had felt like a slow suffocation. He flipped through netflix, heated up a burrito, only managed to eat half of it, did push ups, scrolled through twitter. Everything felt itchy.
He slaps his laptop shut and it's deadly quiet, like his dorm room is waiting for him to explode. He realizes the harried tumult of exams and studying for exams and performances and practicing for performances for the last week had served as a fence of noise in his head between him and the feelings threatening to drown him.
He shoots to his feet, feeling like there are bees under his skin. It's early yet to meet up with Taehyung, but he grabs his keys and slams the door on the way out.
Taehyung was always a good distraction, especially paired with the buzz of loud songs he sorta knows and copious amounts of gin and tonic. He's perched on an ancient metal filing cabinet in someone's dusty garage, boots clanging against the side as he swings his legs. Taehyung is losing at beer pong and Jungkook laughs.
His phone is buzzing in his pocket and he knows who it is. He ignores it along with the jagged flutters in his stomach. What would he say if he answered? For two days he's imagined answering the phone and his heart being ripped open in two ways: hearing brittle, forced cheeriness from Namjoon, and crushing it by telling Namjoon he knew about Jin.
If he answers the phone, he'll have to hear how the guilt sounds in Namjoon's voice attempting to end everything in the nicest way possible. If he answers the phone, it'll be the end.
The phone goes still and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt like a violin string tuned tighter and tighter, and any next pluck of a finger would snap something inside. He jumps to his feet before he screams and hunts down another drink.
+
Namjoon stares at his phone as he sinks down to the dirty floor of Hoseok's balcony. The unease he'd been managing to keep at bay the last few days leaps to life like a flame in his throat. The floor is ice cold but he can't feel it.
Being left on read a few times wasn't so bad. He wasn't the greatest of texters anyway, and they had talked about how busy their finals week was gonna be. Jungkook was just struggling to keep afloat through finals week he assumed, same as he was. They had talked about it, he thought everything was fine.
But a third call unanswered, when Jungkook had just posted a snap of a drunk Taehyung doing the macarena in someone's front yard, something was wrong.
The panic rises ever familiar in his throat but it's worse somehow this time, worse now that the panic is about something rather than nothing.
A deep breath, Namjoon, a voice pleas in his head, but it's too far away. His fingertips are already numb and fumbly, skinny jeans pulling too much at his thighs.
He had just begun to believe they would actually stay together, to trust the idea that Jungkook wouldn't get sick of him and all his bullshit. He remembers the way he kissed Jungkook awake the last time they were together and hates it, and misses it. Stupid, he thinks. So stupid.
Stupid for thinking he wouldn't drive Jungkook away like everyone else who had better things to do than stay with him. Stupid for crumbling into a panic attack at a few missed calls. Stupid for assuming what they had meant as much to Jungkook as it does to him.
He folds his long legs into his body as best he can, huddling against the balcony railing. The metal digs into the side of his leg but he doesn't notice. Face buried in his hands, his body hiccups with the force of silent sobs. He's not breathing enough and his body clenches furiously. He felt pathetic, how relieved he'd been to present his dissertation last night and never have to think of it again, how excited he'd been to fill his time with Jungkook again instead.
The sliding door grinds open on it's rickety track, followed by an “Oh,” in the unmistakable voice of Jin. And in a move that sums up everything that didn't work between them, Jin leaves to get Hoseok.
Namjoon knows it's Hoseok he fetched by the signature pop of the knees that kneel beside him. “Joon. Hey, Joonie,” Hoseok whines, a soft sound of concern. His body tightens at Hoseok's warm hand on his shoulder. Quick, uneven breaths shudder through him.
“Hey, come on. Come here.” Hoseok can't get Namjoon to budge, so he scoops his arms all the way around him and topples him to his chest like a stone statue, hands clapped over his face still. “Hey, it's okay. Breathe in, remember? Good, yeah, big breath out,”
Namjoon tries to exhale but a loud, heavy cry wavers instead. It's a pathetic sound. “It's too much,” he chokes out. “Why doesn't anyone want to stay with me? Am I so hard to—to—“ words dissolve into tears against Hoseok's chest. “I'm not gonna ever be enough for anyone, I try so hard but no one wants to stay,” his voice breaks, lungs trying to pull in too many shallow breaths for the words to push around them. "I try so hard but it looks like shit to everyone else."
The words sting at Hoseok, not even knowing what brought them on. It was so out of character for Namjoon to outburst so emotional, and he knows he'll be embarrassed about it later. He rests his cheek on the top of Namjoon's head and rubs over his arm, hoping to god Jungkook hadn't really left him.
“Take a deep breath, Joon,” he murmurs, but Namjoon is too far gone. He takes Namjoon's hand by the wrist. “Here, feel the rug? It's scratchy, right? Right?”
There's a pause. “Yeah.” A tight, small sound. A beat before a sob bursts out with renewed vigor; “And I hate sleeping alone, I hate when he's not there, what if I never—“
“Shh, here, feel the banana plant leaf? Doesn't it feel like rubber?” Years ago, when Namjoon had first had a panic attack with him, Hoseok googled a list of things to do to help. This was #6 on the list, "tactile distraction". It helped pull Namjoon out of the panic loop in his head the most. He curls Namjoon's hand to the bars of the railing. “Cold, right? And smooth?”
Namjoon sniffles and stays silent, but he's stopped shaking for the most part. “And this dead rat,” he continues, guiding Namjoon's hands to pet over a fuzzy sock that had dropped from his little laundry rack.
“I'm kidding, just kidding,” Hoseok laughs when Namjoon jerks his hand away.
“Fucker,” Namjoon grumbles, sitting up, eyes trained on the ground. Hoseok can see for the first time how violently puffy his face had grown.
“Joonie, what happened?”
"He just, he's done I guess. I knew it was gonna happen, it's stupid that I'm surprised." He tries to suppress a cry in the back of his throat, but his face scrunches in pain, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
"But did something happen?" Hoseok pulls his arms inside his t-shirt with a shiver.
He gives a broken little laugh. "No. That's probably the whole problem, huh? Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all." He could practically taste the bitterness in Namjoon's words.
Hoseok frowns and tries to pull Namjoon to his feet. "I don't, I don't wanna go back in yet," Namjoon says softly. Hoseok studies the tear streaked swollen face and doesn't blame him, thinking of everyone inside. They were supposed to be celebrating the end of finals week, and it had been Namjoon stretched the thinnest this last week.
"I'll bring you a blanket? A cup of tea? Peanut m&ms? My big stuffed Eeyore?" Namjoon shakes his head at every option, fiddling with a dead leaf he found on the floor. Hoseok pats his shoulder and goes inside. He starts making water for tea anyway, frowning in thought at the kettle.
"Is he alright?" Jin asks from the doorway.
He sighs. Jin had always been like this. He was great for Namjoon in the way that he made him so...happy isn't quite the word. Jin kept him distracted from his sadness, most of the time. Not in a fake way; it was a valuable, wonderful thing the way he could pull Namjoon from his own head. But the sadness wasn't something that ever went away, and when it inevitably surfaced, Jin was at a loss.
You can't force someone, or yourself, to be what the other person needs. But Hoseok can't help but resent Jin for it a little anyway, because it was Hoseok that saw the way Namjoon isolated himself even more after they broke up. It was some kind of preemptive self protection, to keep from hating himself when someone else leaves.
Jin knew that the break up had been harder for Namjoon than it was for him, but he hadn't been there to see the way it changed him.
Hoseok reaches for a mug and a box of teabags. "Namjoon will always be alright," he says, not even to Jin, not even to himself. It's a wish to the universe, a spell, as if declaring it will send it floating on the night air to settle in Namjoon's bones.
“I know you think I'm a dick, but, I just, I know you could help him more than I ever could, so,” Jin shrugs.
I don't think you're a dick, man,” he chooses to believe, and claps Jin on the shoulder. “You help him in different ways.”
By the time the tea is made, Namjoon has snuck past all of them to Hoseok's bedroom, wrapped around his giant Eeyore after all. To his surprise, it's Yoongi who sits gently at the edge of the bed.
"Hey Joon," his voice is a comforting rumble. There's no answer besides a sniffle. "Look, you gotta talk to him."
"I tried," he whispers. "I don't wanna bother him. He obviously doesn't want to talk to me. I don't wanna annoy him more, it's getting embarrassing."
"That's not how love and shit works though." The bed creaks a little as Yoongi crosses his legs.
Namjoon sits up and turns to him finally with a brittle laugh, Eeyore shoved aside. "You're gonna tell me how 'love and shit' works? You're gonna tell me how to talk to someone? Really?"
Yoongi doesn't meet his eyes. "That's different."
"It's not. In theory it's great and all to just fucking, go around announcing feelings and making declarations of love with wild abandon in the name of 'telling the truth'. But the reality is, relationships have more to do with decisions than some fated feelings bullshit than we'd like to think." Namjoon had gone into a tired version of one of his quick-tongued rants, limbs gesturing less frenetic than usual.
"I just, don't give up, is all I'm saying. You don't even know what happened yet, right? It's worth it to try, it's worth it to make yourself look dumb. It's worth it to call six times when you think five is too much. I know how much you like him, don't let it just fade."
He sees Namjoon opening his mouth to argue and cuts him off. "And don't give me some bullshit about how 'if it can just fade away it was meant to fade', because like you said, relationships have more to do with decisions than fate."
Namjoon stares at him as sharply as eyes that puffy and exhausted could. Biting words were melting away on his tongue in favor of a thoughtful gaze, somewhere between pity and camaraderie. It made Yoongi more uncomfortable than any jabs at his lack of action with Hoseok could have. He could see the thought on Namjoon's face, "he's gonna end up brokenhearted by his own fault, just like me."
They're lost in thought beside each other for a minute. "Is Jin still here?" Namjoon asks, tugging the stuffed Eeyore back to his lap.
"Nah, he was supposed to pick his boyfriend up from the airport tonight, remember?"
Eyes glued to the black bed sheets, Namjoon nods and blows out a big breath. "I hate being like this. No one-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head.
"Hey, you're fine, ok? You're fine."
+
It's noon before he wakes up in Hoseok's bed still in his jeans and a hoodie, memory of the night before immediately present when he opens his eyes. He shuffles into the bright living room, the day feeling oddly fresh compared to his weary body, his weary heart. He presses his palms into his eyes and sighs.
Yesterday's pain is replaced with a calm dullness. Namjoon realizes it's been one whole week since he's seen Jungkook. Besides the anxiety that aches in his bones, his misses him, plain and simple. His soft hair between his fingers, the lilt of his voice, the weight of his body on his. The dumb jokes and the look like he just saw a ghost when he's deep in thought. How Jungkook holds his hand in both of his when Namjoon gets anxious in public.
It's quiet in the apartment, and he assumes everyone has already left, better things to do on a sunny Sunday than sit around. He stares out the window for a moment, adjusting to the light and the idea of a new day when last night felt like the end of everything.
There is always a new day, he reminds himself. The heavy remnants of anxiety dims any hunger, but he tells himself to eat something anyway. He heads to the kitchen, and leaps back at the scene he's met with. There's a colander of noodles spilling down the side of the counter to the floor, a pot of tomato sauce splattered across the linoleum.
In the middle of all this, Hoseok is in Yoongi's lap, pinned back against the cabinet door, skinny legs wrapped loosely around Yoongi's waist. He's whimpering a bit into Yoongi's mouth as his hands clench at the back of his shirt. His foot is stuck in a puddle of sauce and he doesn't even seem to care. Namjoon watches his toes curl when Yoongi pulls him closer.
They don't even see him until Hoseok arches his neck back for Yoongi to suck on, and his lust-heavy eyes land on a stunned Namjoon in the doorway. He screams and Yoongi wrenches away from his neck.
"Jesus christ what-- oh, it's just Namjoon. Fuck, Hoseok," he breathes.
"I'm gonna just, go," Namjoon croaks, amused at the two of them avoiding eye contact with anyone. He turns back to the living room. "Thank fuck," he yells back in approval.
He stops at the park between his apartment and Hoseok's and watches a huddle of ducks follow each other through the dry grass. A smile plays at his lips, wondering if Hoseok and Yoongi are fucking by now or if they were being shy and stupid. He finds that he's not jealous at all, and it's a relief that his heart is free of that particular ugliness.
It turns into a meandering sort of Sunday afternoon. The idea of laying around his lonely apartment doesn't sit well, so he sits at the patio of a tiny cafe and watches sparrows bounce among the pastry crumbs under the tables.
His latte tastes like toasted marshmallows beneath the bright blue sky, and it already feels like the kind of nothing day that will linger vivid in his memory anyway. Mind too tired to create the constant swarm of thoughts, he just soaks in his surroundings for once, everything more literal and present. He feels like a winter tree, bare and barren beneath the rays of sunlight, waiting for potential futures to open up like spring.
It's 5:30 p.m. and Jungkook hasn't called him back. What happened? his mind asks, over and over. No matter how he thought about it, the only conclusion was that a week away from Namjoon just made Jungkook lose interest, plain and simple. Jungkook was too nice; he'd never say that, so he was just... not answering, and hoping Namjoon got the idea, probably.
The thought causes a fresh shudder of hurt. A couple tears roll down his face in the open light of day. He quickly wipes them away and downs the last bit of cold coffee.
He ran out of places to wander to, and his apartment is just as lonely as expected. There's nothing of Jungkook in here besides memories. He flips the light switch and tosses his keys in the vintage frog bowl on the end table. It's too quiet, though quiet is what he had been seeking all day. He quickly turns on his stereo, the fake happiness of tv shows unappealing in his current raw mood.
Favorite pink blanket wrapped tight around him, he snuggles into the corner of the couch and stares at the wall, letting the music wash over him. The sun is down when he pulls his phone from the blanket nest, limbs weak still from the strain of last night.
It's pitiful, but he misses Jungkook's voice singing the anxiety away so badly. It had been the most real presence of beauty in all his young life. In a wooden trance, he dials Jungkook's number and ignores the warm tear traveling across the bridge of his nose. It goes to voicemail again. Attention tuned to the song, he grits his teeth against the dip in his heart and recalls what Yoongi had said. The voicemail beeps, and he closes his eyes.
+
"Hoseok? Look I'm sorry if you're like, trying to fuck Yoongi right now but-"
"I am not tr-"
"BUT I maybe just did something dumb," he barrels over Hoseok's protests. "I called Jungkook again just now."
"Okay, well good, you should-"
"And I left a voicemail." Wrapped up tight in his pink blanket still, he's pacing circles like a penguin around his couch.
"Okay..." Hoseok says, a bit wary now.
"I sang. Sang a song on his voicemail and hung up."
A laugh bursts through the phone. "Aw, Joon. That's kinda cute. Well, I guess it depends on the song, if it was like, Slipknot or something..."
"Slip-no, it was 'Wonderful'. That Lianne La Havas song. You do too know it! Listen, here," he shuffles over to his laptop and restarts the song, sticking the phone in front of the speaker.
Did the world get a little bit colder, Not wiser just a little bit older, So slow that we're bound to fall over.
Did the heart grow a little bit harder, too much, too late, too far, too gone.
But, wasn't it kind of wonderful? Wasn't it kind of wonderful, baby? Wasn't it kind of wonderful, wonderful.
"Ohh, that song, yeah," he hears Hoseok say when the chorus plays and puts the phone back to his ear. "So you sang that emo ass song and just, hung up?"
"Yeah, yep," he says nervously, plopping to the floor like a blanket dumpling.
"Are you drunk?" Hoseok laughs.
Namjoon shoots back to his feet. "Do you think he'll think I just drunk dialed him?"
"I mean I dunno-"
"Fuck," he hisses and hangs up, for no discernible reason now sitting under his dining room table. The thought grips at his lungs as he tries to breathe steady, dialing again in a rush. He knocks the top of his head into the wooden underside of the table over and over as his listens to the call ring and ring.
He's almost used to the stab of it going to voicemail. It beeps. “Jungkook, I... I just don't want you think I drunk called you just now." A dry, brittle laugh.
"I just, missed your voice, and... remember the first time I called you? I honestly wasn't drunk then either, I just wanted to talk to you so bad. You were—are in my mind constantly, you have been since I first saw you. I got through this last week of hell by counting down days until I could see you. But if it's not the same for you, if...”
“Look I...” he sighs, a shaky thing. “I want you to be happy so bad, so I want to say it's fine if you don't wanna be with me anymore, if it's too much, but. But the truth is, I still want it all, I, I want you, I miss you so bad.” He voice gets that tight sound he hates when he tries not to cry. “I don't want to annoy you but, I guess I thought I had to tell you, to not be scared and, and tell the truth for once.”
He can taste the pleas on the tip of his tongue for Jungkook to call him back, to answer his texts, to reconsider, to anything. He hangs up before the words can leap out of his mouth.