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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.

Chapter Text

Holding back a sigh, Seokjin typed:
he asked if he’d taken our table – a very polite man
and I was kidding, btw, please don’t break up with your boyfriend
I just needed to blow off some steam, no big deal right? see you around sometime

After this, he deleted Sungmin from his contacts.

It was stupid to be upset about it, but of course he was. The loss of face was unbearable.

He knew what Namjoon was thinking: Kim Seokjin – gay and hooking up with men in bar toilets?! Kim Seokjin getting drunk and frisky and pathetic with any guy with a gym membership?! Fuck, the group had dodged a bullet there! To think they’d all shared a dorm with Seokjin, changed their clothes in front of him, towelled their balls dry in front of him – given him a whole free show! Thank god Seokjin had been cut from the team, thank god Seokjin had never debuted! Imagine the shit show they’d be tied to otherwise – stuck in a team with an emotionally unstable sexual deviant playing a straight boy.

Namjoon had probably taken a taxi straight to BigHit HQ and entered the building with, “Guess what, boys? Kim Seokjin? Gay now!”

There had been a slew of messages on his phone that he’d missed when drinking and flirting and then screwing around with Sungmin:
hyung I’m so sorry! I’ve been at choreo practice all day, it dragged on longer than I thought
are you still at the bar?
I’m heading out now I’ll treat you to any meal you want
you’ve probably gone, right? I’ll swing by
I’m really sorry, I completely lose track of time sometimes
are you here? I must’ve just missed you
Your jacket is here

Then: silence.

Whatever satisfaction he’d gained from hooking up with Sungmin had long vanished. What had he been thinking?

Easy: he’d just wanted to feel not pathetic. That was all: desired, wanted. Not sitting alone in a bar, heart heavy with rejection.

“Stupid,” he muttered, wiping at his cheeks as he sniffled on his bed, tissues balled up in his hands. “God, so stupid.”

He let out a small, angry cry of frustration before grinding his teeth, eyes firmly shut. Maybe he would have told Namjoon one day, but he hadn’t wanted it to go like this.

He was so angry with himself that he didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully, automated functions took over: he showered, did his night-time skin care routine, and went to bed with soothing gel patches placed on the dark circles under his eyes. He did not want to wake up all puffy tomorrow.

If he was going to be a loser, he could at least aim to be a beautiful one.

At 3:43 in the morning, Namjoon had sent him a long message: perfectly punctuated and written out.

A letter.

Hyung, I’m really sorry about today – for forgetting about meeting you, to get that out of the way, but more than that for how I reacted. It’s silly to be surprised by something like that, right? I guess we assume people are a certain way unless someone tells us otherwise, and in the moment I didn’t show you the best sides of me. What I’m trying to say is that I understand that this wasn’t for me to know like this, and I’m sorry for what happened. For what it’s worth, I’ve had a lot of fun getting to know you again and hearing your lame jokes, too. They’re still terrible, btw. You treat me like an old friend, and that means a lot to me. So I’d still like to get bingsu sometime, with or without Mystery Man, and definitely with condensed milk and all the trimmings. I’m always rooting for you, hyung, no matter what – fighting!

Outing himself to Namjoon didn’t really land in the Top 5 Most Mortifying Things that had ever happened to him. There was the time he’d gone home with a club hook-up and, as he’d been sitting on the couch enjoying a blowjob, the man’s older sister had walked in on them. Once, when he’d still been working at the Engineers’ Guild, he’d knocked a beer into his boss’s lap at a staff dinner and his hand had definitely and very accidentally made contact with his boss’s penis when he’d tried patting him dry. He’d found a new job a few months later – thank god. Another time he’d been playing MapleStory and forgotten he was streaming and loudly farted. He’d claimed it was the wheels of the office chair, but viewers had dropped from thirty-six to twelve, anyway.

So his life had not been one without the occasional public humiliation, but he usually moved on quickly enough. What did it matter in the scheme of the universe if he made a fool of himself? Weren’t they all fools, anyway?

When you mess up, this is what you do: apologise, get dressed/go sober up/wash your hands, etc., and move on. Be a better person and try and find a way to be happy – that was his philosophy in life, one he had forged at some point after his BigHit days had come to an end.

These days, he was good at not dwelling on things – and yet, after three days, he still had not replied to Namjoon’s message. The humiliation felt so much worse and, in some bizarre way, so much more personal.

Jiyoon stared at him from across the small meeting room. “Seokjin-nim, do you need another straw?”

He pulled the paper straw of his iced americano out of his mouth, chewed up to a pulp. He cleared his throat and smoothed over his blue dress shirt. “Stressful week.”

“Tell me about it,” Jiyoon sighed, typing on her phone. They were stuck waiting for the director of their division, who liked to make her importance known by being chronically late for everything.

“Jiyoon-nim.”

“Mmm?”

“I have a question.”

“Mmm.”

“About BTS.”

Her head whipped up. “Yes? What? Yes? I know everything.”

“I know you do,” he said, and she looked pleased. “I was just— You know, they have a very good reputation. Donate to lots of causes, all that kind of stuff. I just wondered, though, what they’ve said about gay rights? Just because I saw some weird comments online, that’s all.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Did someone say they’re homophobic? Those are antis spreading nonsense, you can’t believe them. Ah, ah, sit right there, I’ll come show you.”

Incensed, Jiyoon proceeded to show pictures on her phone of various members collaborating with or being friends with queer artists – some were foreigners, some Koreans. “See? They don’t care. I mean most people our age don’t, right – they’re just like us that way. It’s true they haven’t said much on record, but that goes for most idols. They’re not going to make any grand statements because— well, that’s just how things are. The i-lovelies don’t understand that sometimes.” Jiyoon sighed dramatically, and Seokjin decided not to ask what i-lovelies were. On screen Namjoon was posing with a group of Korean indie artists, out of whom Jiyoon had pointed out the openly queer ones.

Namjoon didn’t seem to care about people’s sexualities; between the letter, these artsy queer friends, and his general zen vibe that was obvious enough. Then what was it?

Seokjin had been thinking about Nonhyeon-dong again. About sharing a bedroom with a handful of others, listening to their snores while heavy guilt swirled deep in his belly. About the sleepless nights. About the times he’d snuck out.

The division director walked into the meeting room, and they stood up to attention as Seokjin realised what the problem was. Namjoon knew Seokjin had been hiding it – had even been lying about it. Like he was ashamed, when he wasn’t. Not anymore.

While his car was stuck in a red light on his way home, he finally replied: so when’s good for bingsu?

Namjoon said, “This has gone too far.”

“I agree. There has to be a line, right?”

“A sense of propriety.”

“Yes, that! What has become of this nation? Our people?”

“A mint choco bingsu? Disgusting,” Namjoon said with a wrinkled nose, spoon digging into the mango bingsu they were sharing. Back at the counter of the dessert café, the Flavour of the Month: Mint Choco Bingsu!!

It was nearly midnight, but the place was open late. For the most part it was quiet, with delivery drivers dropping in to pick up midnight craving orders.

Seokjin wasn’t in the habit of meeting friends so late, but Namjoon hadn’t been able to make any other time that week. He’d looked tired and stressed upon arrival – said that the songs he was working on were kicking his ass.

Seokjin avoided eye contact for the first ten minutes.

They still managed to talk about this and that, pointless and vapid things in a way that seemed to frustrate them both, until their spoons were scraping the bottom of the large dessert cup.

Only then Seokjin said, “I’m really sorry about what happened last time. I left like that because– well. I was embarrassed.”

Namjoon studied him – that was what it always felt like: Namjoon didn’t look at people; he studied, scrutinised, analysed. “I don’t care about who you like, you know. I just hope you’re happy. In your life. And as the person you are.”

“I am,” he said but it sounded defensive. How did you come back from fucking a rando in the toilets of an Apgujeong folk rock bar?

“You thought I was weirded out, right?”

He put his spoon down and sighed. “Look, coming out to people I haven’t seen in years is always a gamble because you never know what the reaction will be so— I just don’t tell that many people, unless we’re really close. And obviously we lived together when we were young, and I didn’t want to make that feel weird or anything like that.”

Namjoon frowned. “It doesn’t make it weird.”

Like it was that easy.

“Okay. Well, great,” he said but his tone was snappish. Conversation done then?

But Namjoon rubbed at his neck. “So that wasn’t like…?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, your first time?”

Seokjin blinked. Stared. Then laughed. “Oh my god, you thought—”

“No, no, but the vibes were weird, I didn’t know what to—”

“—have had many men! I mean, not like obscenely many. Not like triple digits. Not in the nineties either! That made it sound like— What I mean is that there’s been a totally normal amount and number of men.”

God, why was he still talking?

Namjoon’s cheeks had turned a little rosy even as he looked pensive, and Seokjin knew he matched him, except for the part where apparently he did not have a single thought in his head.

Namjoon nevertheless nodded, spoon scraping at nothing in the bowl, eyes fixed on the task. “Okay. That’s fine, I mean I’m glad that wasn’t, um… like a special occasion.”

Seokjin grimaced. God, Sungmin a special occasion?

“Since we’re talking about this, can I ask you a few questions? You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to. I can? Okay, first – back when we were trainees, you already knew, then, that you…?”

This was the one thing he did not want to talk about.

“Yeah, I knew.”

“Okay. That answers that.” A frown flickered on Namjoon’s face. “That must have been hard for you. I don’t think we ever… I mean, I just remember we talked about girls a lot – of course we did, what else are hormonal teenage boys going to talk about? But I guess for you that was always… a reminder. I don’t know. That can’t have been easy for you, is my point.”

“Compared to the choreo practices, it was pretty easy, actually,” he said, determined to dismiss this topic.

Namjoon shot a frustrated glance at him. “You know what I mean.”

But he would not talk about this – would not share his memories or experiences, nor think back to the summer before he’d turned twenty: when he’d snuck out of the dorm and headed to gay clubs, returning in the early hours of the morning to the sound of the others snoring. He only did it a few times, as some kind of juvenile attempt at rebellion – three in fact.

The last one only a day before he’d been called into Bang Sihyuk’s office.

“Alright, second question: the ex-girlfriends you mentioned – did you mean to say ex-boyfriends?”

Ah, his embarrassing lie was coming to bite his ass.

“I mean, sure I— I’ve had boyfriends, but it’s never been very, um. All-consuming or long-lasting.” He frowned, wondering what he even meant.

Namjoon let out a quiet hum that sounded understanding. “I guess that’s what we’re all looking for, right? Someone all-consuming.”

As much as he hated it, heat was creeping up his neck again. Who said he was looking for anything? And even if he were, he wasn’t about to tell Namjoon that. Was there anything more unattractive than saying you were desperate to fall in love – which he wasn’t, for the record?

“I mean I guess one day,” he said, ignoring how every time he spoke to his mother she asked if he’d been on any dates lately. He was thirty – shouldn’t he find a well-educated, good-looking, high-earning, and successful man from a good family background to settle down with? It turned out that being gay did not free him from high parental expectations.

“So the man you were with – not your boyfriend?”

“No, he— he was someone I knew. Like someone I’d kind of, uh, done a will-we-won’t-we thing in the past. I’d been drinking, and— well, you know how that goes.”

Namjoon rubbed at his jaw. “I actually don’t really know how that goes.” The smile Namjoon gave him was tight and ironic. “But anyway, thank you for indulging my curiosity. And for being honest.”

Seokjin crossed his arms, tired of Namjoon’s endless sympathy – he wasn’t here to be pitied. “That’s it – you have no other questions?”

Namjoon shook his head, popping the spoon back into his mouth. Perhaps sensing displeasure, he pulled the spoon out a little sinfully and said, “It’s fine with me, hyung. Really. I mean, we love who we love, right? Desire who we desire. Humans are such complex creatures, and sexuality is surely one of the most complex things about us.”

“And now you’re writing a whole thesis on it.”

Namjoon laughed. “Don’t roll your eyes like that. I’m just saying that we should consider ourselves lucky if we connect with another person on such an intimate level, that’s all. It always comes down to the person, right?”

Seokjin frowned because this was something he expected a self-assured pansexual to say, and not Namjoon who used to whine that BigHit was getting in the way of him getting his dick wet.

“Right,” was all he said: it was about connecting with another person.

“Although I didn’t expect that you could find that connection in the toilets of Don’t Think Twice, but—”

“Oh you know what, fuck you,” he snapped, and Namjoon grinned at him devilishly, even if he also still seemed cautious. They were free to take digs at each other now, was that it? Fine, he could play this game – also because he needed to direct this conversation away from himself and the painful knots in his heart. “You know, I heard a rumour that you’re married.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. That you have a wife you’re hiding somewhere in a luxury apartment. Probably a couple of kids, too.”

“What? God, people come up with the— You can’t believe social media over me, the actual me, sitting right across from you.”

“I didn’t say I believed it – I just repeated what I’d heard.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, I have no secret wife, and no secret girlfriend or boyfriend – nothing like that. No secret kids either.”

“Your parents must be distraught.”

“They’re breathing down my neck about it all the time, thanks,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin smirked. Finally something they had in common. Namjoon shrugged. “That being said, I get it, you know. Focusing on the person. Being attracted to a personality more than anything.”

Namjoon wasn’t blinking, which was a tad unnerving – looking at him like he was trying to get Seokjin to read his mind. Fine, fine, he got the memo: Namjoon was chill and enlightened. And, in all honesty, Seokjin was grateful for it.

Could he have told Namjoon ten years ago after all?

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Namjoon asked, and he nodded. Water under the bridge now. A ship that had sailed. A thought, a wish, that made no difference anymore. “Yeah? And we’re good?”

Shouldn’t Seokjin be asking this question?

“Of course we are,” he said, wondering why this seemed to calm Namjoon down so much. Had he been worried Seokjin would go on an online hate campaign, exposing Namjoon as a bigot? Namjoon was far too well-read to be prejudiced. Shame on Seokjin, perhaps, for doubting him.

They had, painfully and awkwardly, reached some kind of a consensus, and their still recently forged companionship was intact. They parted ways half past midnight, agreeing that next time they had to do something other than eat burgers and dessert.

They did not hug each other goodnight.

Seokjin never went to parties – clubbing, fine, he’d done some of that in his youth because he’d been a student whose classmates kept inviting him, and if he played his cards right men loved buying him drinks. By the age of thirty, he had grown out of that by a long shot. Parties were loud, messy, and stressful. It was too many people and too much awkward small talk. No, he’d rather stay at home gaming.

But: yo, you want to come to my birthday bash next tuesday? there’ll be music, drinks, and just some good vibes and good people

He had, on the first of September, messaged Namjoon happy birthday. today is jungkook’s birthday, hyung, not mine had been the reply, and he’d somehow sensed Namjoon’s pout. Shit.

I was only congratulating you early! Tell me honestly, haven’t I been the first person to tell you happy birthday this year?

I guess yes?

and you’re welcome, he sent.

A ‘birthday bash’ with Namjoon’s cool friends sounded like hell on earth. Who else would be there – the other members? He didn’t mind the thought of meeting them again, but the room would be full of people they knew far better. Would Hoseok or Jimin even remember him? And who else would be in attendance? Seokjin was bad with names; he’d forget them upon introductions. Could he ask for a guest list beforehand so he could research attendees and figure out what he could talk to and what about? What was he, a normie, doing with the country’s successful and famous anyway? What would he wear? Could he bring Taehyung or his mother, maybe? What would he—

thanks for the invite but I’m already busy that day

As soon as he pressed ‘send’, he calmed down and lay down on his bed, taking deep breaths – there, crisis averted. Of course Jiyoon would slap the shit out of him if she ever found out he’d turned down an invite to Kim Namjoon’s party, but she never had to know.

His phone, still in his hand, started ringing, startling him. It was a video call from Namjoon. What? Why this sudden escalation? They had only ever sent messages!

He quickly pulled the sheet mask off his face and sat up straight on his bed – his skin glistened as he took the call. Namjoon appeared on the screen, seated in what looked like a small, square room – Namjoon’s studio at BigHit, the most obvious place to find him at eleven at night on a Wednesday.

“Um, hi?” he said because Namjoon had never called him. They weren’t on video call terms.

Despite the late hour, Namjoon looked handsome – thick red lips, smooth skin, dragon eyes, his short hair shaven. “Just a quick call, hyung – I have a question for you.”

“…Okay, go.”

Namjoon swayed slightly in the office chair. “Are you really busy next Tuesday or do you just not want to come to the party? Honest answers only.”

He balked. What made Namjoon think he could be so forward with him?

He held his breath, stomach churning. Well…

“I don’t want to come,” he said and clutched the phone tightly. “I just— I’m better one-on-one than in group situations and meeting a lot of people I don’t know is stressful, and I just don’t like parties, and I know it’s going to be full of, like, accomplished creatives and I’m just going to feel very out of place.”

Namjoon frowned. “Hyung, come on. Everyone who’s coming is chill – and there’s gonna be all kinds of people. I think you’d have fun.”

What a sweet, naïve, innocent muscle hunk.

“Look, I… It’s super nice of you to ask. This is clearly, um, a VIP event. But honestly? I’d be counting down the minutes until I could leave.”

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing at his chin. “Alright, I get it. No sweat. Just know that the invite is there, alright? And that you can come along for five minutes or two hours, that’s completely up to you.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, knowing Namjoon hadn’t changed his mind. Was he being boring? He didn’t think of himself as a boring person – he found his life quite interesting, in fact. He just gauged ‘fun’ differently than most people.

Namjoon squinted at the screen. “Are those pyjamas – like proper old man pyjamas? Is that what you sleep in?”

Seokjin glanced down at the silk navy pyjamas that he cherished. “What do you mean old man pyjamas? These are great for sleeping! ‘Old man pyjamas’, what the hell are you talking about – what else should I sleep in?”

Namjoon shrugged. “You could sleep naked like me.”

He gawked at the screen, watching Namjoon break into a satisfied giggle – the fucker even covered his mouth behind his hand, suddenly all faux shy.

“Okay, I’ve had enough – goodnight, Namjoon-ah,” he said and ended the call. “Old man pyjamas… Old man pyjamas! Shows what he knows,” he muttered venomously, tapping at his face to rub the last of the sheet mask serum in.

He was not going to that party.

He was going to Namjoon’s party.

In the course of the week, he’d talked himself into it. He got the idea that Namjoon would take offense to him declining – that Seokjin thought himself better than Namjoon and his friends, that he looked down on them. That wasn’t the case at all! It was simply that the prospect of being the only vaguely normal person in attendance was nerve-wracking.

He then supposed he could simply say he was an ex-BigHit trainee, now worked in events management, and then amuse everyone with funny anecdotes about Namjoon before he was famous – that wasn’t so hard, was it? Stay for forty-five minutes, then go home. Don’t get silly on soju and blow a guest in the bathroom. Easy.

He could do that. He was charming, after all.

In the taxi to Gangnam, he took a Cheongsimhwan – the herbal pill that reduced anxiety and nerves. With this traffic, it should be kicking in just as he was arriving. Then a couple of drinks, and he’d be like a fish in water, right?

I’m going to a party, he messaged Taehyung.

did you lose a bet? Taehyung sent back.

Hahahahahaha
-_-
It’s a friend’s birthday party
Someone from way back, I didn’t know how to decline
But if you don’t hear from me tomorrow, pls send a rescue party

Aye aye captain
I’ll call you tomorrow
Have fun! Fighting!!

He should have told Taehyung that he’d been hanging out with Namjoon – the guy they had nearly debuted with – but he hadn’t, thinking Namjoon deserved some privacy. Yet why did he think he was the only ex-trainee that Namjoon thought it was worthwhile chatting to? Maybe Namjoon wanted to see Taehyung, too? He just needed to ask Namjoon, and then they could invite Taehyung along.

Yet the thought made him restless.

He liked their little get-togethers – just the two of them.

He refused to dwell on the implications.

The taxi dropped him off outside a small club tucked away on a Gangnam side street. At the doors were five or so security guys, and he nearly turned right back around, but thankfully he saw someone else go up to them, show ID and be checked against a guest list before being let in. He copied this and was ushered in just as efficiently. Once on the other side, a venue staff member led him up a set of stairs.

Working in events management himself, he recognised the smooth operation.

Music sounded already in the stairwell, and Seokjin held onto the gift bag tightly. The lights were turned down low in the corridor, setting the mood.

Seokjin might not go to a lot of parties, but he had known not to show up early – he was almost unfashionably late. And so he was led to a high-ceilinged club that was busy with guests, dark curtains draped along the walls, pink-purple lights giving everything a dreamy haze, with Bruno Mars playing loudly. Tall bar tables had been placed around the room, and people were gathered around these in clusters, chatting and drinking. At the back was an open space where people were dancing, and there was an open bar at each end of the space, as well as waiting staff walking with trays of prosecco flutes and dangerous looking shots. Some forty or fifty people were there.

Namjoon was turning twenty-nine.

Seokjin had attended Namjoon’s seventeenth and eighteenth birthday bashes: 2011 and 2012. In 2011, a bunch of them had gone to an ice cream parlour between school and dance practice, singing happy birthday and smearing ice cream on Namjoon’s face. Half-celebration, half-hazing. In 2012, Seokjin had lived in the dorm, and he’d cooked seaweed soup for Namjoon. Namjoon had beamed because he’d been pestering Seokjin all week to make seaweed soup for him – he’d done it for Jungkook’s birthday two weeks earlier, so surely Namjoon should be celebrated too?

At eighteen, Namjoon had only needed some soup to have a good birthday.

At twenty-nine, Namjoon’s expectations had risen.

Seokjin clutched the gift bag he was carrying. This was the moment he’d feared – dreaded. Walking into a party where he knew no one, and he would stand awkwardly in a corner all by himself while everyone ignored him, god he hated this, he—

“Jin-hyung?”

The question was high-pitched and surprised. He could have sworn that an actual, literal angel appeared in front of him in ripped, baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt with one of the Ninja Turtles on it. Jung Hoseok broke into a blinding smile. “Jin-hyung!”

In the next moment, he’d been engulfed in a hug. “Namjoon said he’d invited you – you came, that’s amazing! Hyung, you look exactly the same? How is that possible? How have you been? Come this way, come, come!”

Hoseok was clearly tipsy and excited, but Seokjin did not hold that against him: his fear of being ignored had proven untrue. He said he’d brought a gift, and Hoseok plucked the bag from him and handed it to a staff member easily. Soon he had a prosecco flute in his hand – no, correction, it was champagne. Of course it was.

He downed half of it in one sip, overwhelmed by the presence of Jiyoon’s bias: j-hope. Stunning, charismatic, with wide beaming smiles and loud giggles. When he laughed, he did so with his entire body, almost doubling over, feet unable to stay still. Rapper, dancer, singer. Fuck, he hadn’t changed a bit somehow, and yet he was intimidating in ways Seokjin never could have imagined.

“Wha, I couldn’t believe it when Namjoon said you guys were back in touch! I think we all thought we’d never see you again. Well, why would we? But you know what I mean,” Hoseok said, thoughts disjointed, but Seokjin nodded. It was true, after all – why would they ever meet again?

“I was so happy you guys debuted,” he said, and Hoseok laughed. Seokjin said it because it was true, and because he wanted to make sure no one thought he was bitter. Hoseok had a million questions, asking about his studies and his career.

Hoseok was talking a mile a minute. “You could’ve been a model. Honestly, can you believe the five of us made it with our faces? We barely had a visual in the team when we debuted.”

Hoseok was somehow unaware of how handsome he was, but he’d been the same as a trainee.

“You remember our Jiminie!” Hoseok then said, tugging a man away from a group of people.

Seokjin struggled believing his eyes.

Park Jimin was dressed head to toe in black: shiny leather ankle boots, black skinny jeans, a black leather belt, and a long-sleeved shirt that had a V-shaped collar, showing a bit of collarbones and skin. His hair was short and blonde, a touch of eyeshadow enhanced his eyes – Jimin had finished enlistment a few months prior. The dangly earrings and the thin chain around his neck looked expensive. Jimin, overall, looked expensive.

Seokjin felt fond at the sight of him: nostalgic, happy, and yet kind of terrified. Jimin looked like an idol now – an ethereal beauty. Where had the chubby cheeked high schooler with the emo fringe gone?

“It’s been a long time, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin managed.

Jimin did not move to hug him like Hoseok had, his gaze more evaluating. “A really long time. Glad you made the party.”

“Ah, yeah, I just about managed to squeeze it in,” he said.

“You look really good.”

“Well, of course! What, did you expect me to turn ugly? How would that even be possible?”

Jimin finally smiled, with amused warmth in it. Seokjin breathed easier catching it. Jimin had aged, but only in ways that suited him: chin more chiselled, face more mature. Jimin tilted his head. “Namjoon-hyung said he ran into you in a café a while back?”

“Yeah, we— I mean, it was right next to my work.”

“Wha, that’s wild, huh?” Hoseok said, drinking champagne and swaying to the music slightly.

“Just completely by chance?” asked Jimin.

“Yeah, of course.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “Huh.”

“Come, come, there’s people you should meet!” Hoseok said, tugging him along – and Seokjin welcomed this because Jimin was frankly unnerving. He’d been round with baby fat and overly shy before, the person who always stayed in the dance studio the longest and was working hard to lose his Busan satoori to blend in with the city boys. Jimin now had a confidence and self-assuredness that only wild success could bring.

The ‘people’ Hoseok wanted him to meet were fashion photographers and singers aka the kind of people Seokjin had worried about having to mingle with. That guy over there by the bar? Rain. That woman near the doors? IU.

“Bang PD isn’t here, is he?” he asked in slight alarm.

Hoseok laughed like even the suggestion was absurd. “Him? Please, he doesn’t leave his office for less than two hundred million won these days. Him at a party? I’d pay to see it.”

“And what about the managers we had? Sejin, Incheol?”

“To be honest, we don’t work with any of the managers we had back then,” Hoseok said, a little thoughtful. “Sejin got promoted, and Incheol left the company years back. The managers we have now you’ve never met.”

“I guess that’s how it goes,” he said, exhaling. Thank god.

Hoseok told people they had been trainees together, which should have prompted a question of ‘well why didn’t you debut together then?’ Thankfully no one asked this. When Seokjin said he did events management, people seemed to imagine something much grander than his actual job, and he let them.

He was on his third champagne when Hoseok left him with one of the clusters of people who— well. Were nice and chill, like Namjoon had promised. Still, his body was tense, his brain working overtime.

He only relaxed when he saw Namjoon the birthday boy. No point in coming if Namjoon didn’t even know he was there!

Namjoon appeared at their little cluster, a whisky glass in hand. He was in jeans and a white, loose fit t-shirt, with a black shirt hanging over it. The effect was casual but broad: strong legs, thick waist, wide chest. Namjoon took up space unapologetically, making everyone turn to him. “You guys having a good time?” Namjoon asked, taking them all in, an arm easily slinging around the shoulders of the fashion photographer. Their eyes met. Namjoon lit up a little. “Jin-hyung! You made it!”

He managed to hold eye contact for 0.7 seconds before he looked away, nodding by way of hello – thank god the lights made everyone a pink shade so that his face heating up wasn’t noticeable.

“Did you guys know he was a trainee with us?” Namjoon asked, like this was the most remarkable thing – the others knew this already. Namjoon moved next to him, arm sliding around his shoulders too. Namjoon did this casually, smiling at him, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I thought I’d drop by,” he said, stomach in knots, like attending a celebrity birthday party in Gangnam was just a walk in the park for him – wanting to both move away from and into Namjoon’s drunken affection.

Namjoon leaned in, hand moving to rub his upper back. “It’s great to see you. You look great.”

Namjoon said that every single time they met – a go-to compliment. This time it was delivered in a low, husky voice against the shell of his ear. Arousal pushed through him. Too much champagne.

Namjoon’s hand smoothed over his lower back. He smelled of a musky cologne and radiated warmth. Seokjin’s mouth dried. When he’d hooked up with Sungmin, he’d thought about Namjoon. His body. His warmth. It returned to him now in a champagne haze.

“Oppa, come take a picture with us!” a girl in a tight bodycon minidress said, because why leave anything to the imagination?

Seokjin stepped away from Namjoon, who looked at him for a few more seconds before turning to the woman. “Of course!” Namjoon’s large, warm palm pressed to his hip – a light squeeze. “Don’t leave before we get to chat properly – alright, hyung?”

He nodded with a weak smile and regretted the promise just as quickly. Namjoon was a touchy drunk – well, so was Seokjin as a matter of fact, all about hugs and sloppy kisses on the cheek when with his friends. And, sometimes, much more than that.

But he wasn’t with his friends, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to call out his pitiful crush. Was it even a crush? Wasn’t it just having a set of eyes? Namjoon was attractive and a nice, thoughtful person too. Who’d given him a hot body, obscene amounts of talent, and a good personality? Didn’t you usually only get one of those things?

Across the room, Namjoon was posing with a group of incredibly good-looking women, who were pressed tightly to him. It was a party – a touch didn’t mean anything.

He needed fresh air. He needed a single shred of sanity.

The smoking area was on a small balcony. The September night had a chill to it, but he breathed the crisp air in deeply – traffic fumes and all. The honking and hum of cars sounded from the main street into the alley below.

His hands landed on the railing, but he still felt warm. Those touches had elicited a response deep within, but he wasn’t kidding himself that there was actually anything there.

And yet here he was: at a party because a handsome boy had asked him to come.

He thought of early 2011 when he’d moved into the dorm. Rushing out to Hakdong Park to try and catch a snowflake when it snowed heavily on his first night there – just him and Namjoon because they were the only ones home. He hated being cold and wet. Why had he gone?

Because a handsome boy had asked him.

He closed his eyes, taking calming breaths.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin stilled. Turned.

In the corner of the balcony, Min Yoongi was observing him with a look that was somewhere between cautious and warm. “I thought I might see you here.”

The small private cabinet was much cosier than the actual club thumping with music on the other side of the wall. In the middle of the room was an oval table covered with gift bags and flower bouquets: Namjoon’s birthday presents. There was a liquor cabinet there too, and Seokjin accepted the highball that Yoongi had mixed for him.

“How is it? Pretty good, right? I make Jungkook highballs when he drops by – he’s still enlisting.”

“Jungkook drinks these days?”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi sighed, sitting on a small two-seater sofa with him. Seokjin was glad to be away from the noise and the dozens of people – away from Namjoon’s attentions. He’d thought he was managing it all relatively well, but in the calm of the cabinet he realised how overwhelmed he’d been.

They’d been talking for a while – in many ways, he remembered Yoongi the best. Who could say why, but even as trainees there’d been a certain understanding between them. They’d let the other get on with whatever he needed to do, supporting quietly rather than interfering.

“You know, Taehyung and I are still good friends,” he told Yoongi.

“Kim Taehyung? I always wondered what became of him – he was such a strange kid.”

“He’s now a strange adult. Very successful and obscenely good-looking to boot.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Yoongi mused. “It always felt unjust when he got cut from the team. It wasn’t his fault his performance dropped drastically.”

This had happened not long after Seokjin had packed his bags. “Why not?”

Yoongi let out an ‘ah’ before he shrugged. “Right, you’d already been cut. Well, his grandmother was hospitalised. I forget why, but it was something serious. He couldn’t handle that and our schedule.”

“And so he was cut from the team,” he said, trying to remember if Taehyung had ever told him this. Taehyung’s grandmother had passed away more recently, that he knew for sure, and so it appeared she had recovered from this illness coinciding with pre-debut crunch time. Did Taehyung regret letting her condition affect him so much that he’d been sent home? Taehyung had never talked to him about it.

They kept talking in calm, soft tones, like the music next door had been too much for both of them. Yoongi talked about some of his solo projects, relaxed and soft spoken in a way that was new – like he had mellowed out over the past decade. Yoongi’s black hair nearly brushed his shoulders, wild and a little messy.

“Did you ever get your shoulder fixed?”

Yoongi automatically reached for his shoulder, patting it. “Yeah, managed to get surgery when we halted group activities. Long overdue.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, thinking of the nights Yoongi had struggled finding a comfortable position to sleep in, letting out a whimper of pain – but never admitting to any of them that he was struggling.

“Not really. But it’ll never be as good as a non-fucked shoulder, if you know what I mean.”

He nodded, pleased to be hiding in the cabinet with Yoongi. He liked him still. He exhaled, digesting Namjoon renting out a whole club for a private event like this, of all these big names attending it, showing up with gifts that littered the table. “Yah, Yoongi-yah. You’ve done really well. I’m really proud of you.”

Yoongi smiled but looked away, taking a sip of his highball. “Thanks, hyung.” Yoongi cleared his throat. “You met Hobi and Jimin too, right?”

He had. Somehow he’d thought that the members would shun ex-trainees like him as awkward mementos of the past, as liabilities. Yet none of them seemed worried that Seokjin was there only to ask for a loan for some ill-advised business venture.

Yoongi, too, wanted to know what he’d been up to for the past ten years. He summarised it for Yoongi like he’d done for Namjoon. Yoongi took it all in, nodding and sipping his drink. Unexpectedly, he said, “When you left, there were all kinds of rumours about why you’d been let go. It came as such a surprise.”

Seokjin flinched.

Min Yoongi. Sharp as a geom. Innocent looking, but always two steps ahead of you.

He waved this off with a laugh. “Bet people came up with some wild stories. Much more interesting than the truth – that I had two left feet and had never sung before.”

Yoongi took another sip, observing him, and Seokjin stood up, picking up a picture frame with a ribbon tied around it: a present for Namjoon, showing the five members on a red carpet. The attached card said the gift was from Hoseok. “What award show was this? The Grammys?”

Yoongi snorted. “Us invited to the Grammys? Get real.”

They were still observing the picture when the lock beeped behind them.

Namjoon paused in the doorway and grinned at them. “Hey. I thought I’d find you guys here.”

Seokjin tensed up – caught red handed, but doing what? Namjoon had a sloppy smile on his lips. The party was still going behind him, but the sound muffled as the door closed.

Namjoon looked at Yoongi. “You all good?”

Namjoon and Yoongi did some kind of unnerving, silent communication with their eyes. “All good. Just reminiscing,” Yoongi said, turning to Seokjin. “Well, it was nice to see you. I better go say hi to some guests.”

“Yeah, it was nice to see you too.”

They hovered a little awkwardly.

Yoongi then offered his knuckles, and they bumped fists – a gesture as horrendously awkward as it sounded, like neither of them had ever done it before in their lives but didn’t know what else to do. The fact that they were persistently avoiding eye contact only made the fist pump more fumbling.

Still, if he never saw Min Yoongi again, it wasn’t a bad last memory. With time, it’d even turn fond.

Yoongi headed back into the party, giving Namjoon’s shoulder a brotherly pat as he passed him.

“This is a lot of presents,” Seokjin said to fill the silence once they were alone, highball still in hand.

“I told people not to gift me anything, but they feel obliged, I guess. You had a good time tonight?” Namjoon asked, sounding like he really wanted to know, so he assured Namjoon it’d been great. “Yeah? Not counting the minutes until you can leave?”

He glared at Namjoon. “Not everyone’s a social butterfly, you know.”

Namjoon walked over to him, smiling – clearly just teasing him. Seokjin recalled snow falling on the knitted hat Namjoon’s grandmother had made for him, that January night that had been Seokjin’s first at the dorm. Namjoon had had a young, boyish face with deep dimples and bright eyes, with snowflakes catching onto his eye lashes. And just the two of them in the park.

“Looks like you’re sorted for the next year, huh?” he said, motioning at all the gifts on the table. Many bags were narrow but tall: liquor bottles.

Namjoon nodded, coming up beside him. “A nice bottle of wine is a safe choice, I guess.”

“You know much about wine?”

Namjoon looked at the gift bags. “Yoongi knows more. You want some?”

“Sure.”

Namjoon pulled out a bottle from the bag closest to him. “French. Grenache. 2016.” Namjoon found a bottle opener in the liquor cabinet. He was already sitting on the sofa, and Namjoon sat down next to him.

They clinked the whisky tumblers half-full with red wine, and they smacked their lips and let out loud humming sounds to show they were evaluating the taste. “It’s very drinkable,” he concluded, and Namjoon laughed – the sound made his chest ache. He smelled Namjoon’s cologne again: earthy, musky. Namjoon’s eyes were dark and a little unfocused. He had stubble on his chin.

Namjoon met his gaze. “You’re staring at me.”

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Uh. Great party.”

Namjoon’s arm was slung along the back of the couch, fingers brushing his shoulder. “Come on, you hate it.”

“Parts of it.” He wrinkled his nose. What was Namjoon doing in the cabinet with him? Why wasn’t he at his party? “I liked some parts of tonight. Like Yoongi making me a drink. Or like when Hoseok hugged me.”

“He does give good hugs,” Namjoon said, hand resting on Seokjin’s upper arm now, brushing over the fabric of his shirt. Stroking absentmindedly.

Seokjin took another sip of the wine, his heart beating so fast he felt it against his ribcage. His eyes landed on the gift bags again and he stirred. “I got you a present too. In hindsight, I… Well, I didn’t know what to get you either. No, no, you don’t have to open it now.”

But it was too late, Namjoon had already put his wine glass down and was rifling through the gift bags nearest to them. Defeated, Seokjin pointed at one bag. Namjoon picked it up and pulled out a round thermos. Frowned. Turned it in his hands.

“It’s seaweed soup,” he admitted as Namjoon sat back down, realising only with the help of alcohol how stupid that had been: rushing to the shop that morning to buy all the ingredients. What kind of a present was that for a man who had everything? What was he – trying to be original? Stand out, maybe? Look at me, Namjoon-ah, I’m not like those others! I’m not trying to impress you with Rolex watches and Louis Vuitton bags and French wines – a simple country boy, I am!

He reached for the thermos. “Sorry, it was a stupid—”

Namjoon held the thermos out of his reach. “I think it’s great. I love it. Thank you, I’ll heat it up tomorrow. I love it – really.”

He pulled his hand back, unsure if Namjoon was fucking with him, but Namjoon looked sincere. He nodded, exhaling out the nerves. Hey, it was good soup. He wouldn’t have made it if he wasn’t confident in his skills.

“Well,” he said and stood up. A universal sign that he was heading home. He put his nearly finished wine on the table. “Thanks for having me. And hey – happy birthday.” He opened his arms, and Namjoon put the thermos down before stepping into the hug. He patted Namjoon’s back, eyes closed – how solid Namjoon was. How warm. Two strong arms wrapped around his midback, holding him tight. A hint of sweat had mixed with the cologne – Namjoon smelled nice.

The hug didn’t break.

Namjoon’s hands slid down to hold his waist. His palms felt hot even through the fabric of the shirt. They leaned into each other, entwined. As Namjoon’s arms looped around his waist, he was unquestionably in Namjoon's arms.

He stilled.

Namjoon’s breath ghosted over his skin – French wine. A nudge against his cheek – Namjoon’s nose brushing against the side of his face. He kept his eyes closed. A dance studio – him, practising there over ten years ago. His heart: thud, thud, thud – beating wildly. Sweat on his skin, his hair slick. Body heated up. Meeting Namjoon’s gaze in the mirror. Feeling a tug deep in his belly.

Now: thud, thud, thud. Same company, different building. Body heated up. Sweat on his skin. Namjoon pressed against him. A tug deep in his belly.

He began to step back. “I—”

Namjoon cupped the back of his head and kissed him. The kiss was wet, open-mouthed – red wine, champagne. It was commanding, bruising. Namjoon was so close that it made him lose reason, and he pressed into the warm body and the heated kiss with no resistance.

Namjoon caught his jaw between thumb and forefinger and kept him there: in the kiss. Their embrace tightened, their bodies encouraged and pressing together with heightened need. Namjoon’s tongue swiped over his lower lip, and he opened up without thought.

Namjoon murmured, “You wanted this?”, voice low and husky in a way Seokjin had never heard it. He was smart enough not to respond.

Namjoon deepened the kiss, tongue pushing into his mouth. He was an incredible kisser – of course he was. Seokjin’s breath caught in his throat, lips pressed against the soft mouth pressed to his own, tongue tasting Namjoon’s warmth.

The door beeped as someone pressed the code in.

If the young woman hadn’t been carrying an armful of gift bags over which her head only nearly peeked over, she would have walked in on them kissing each other. As it was, she focused on nudging the door open with one foot, struggling with all the bags in her arms, and in those few seconds of distraction they pulled away from each other.

Namjoon wiped his kiss-slickened mouth to the back of his hand before he said, “There were more presents? Here, let me help.”

“Oh!” the staff managed, freezing up where she stood. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were—”

“That’s okay, we were just— hanging out,” Namjoon said, taking bags from the woman’s arms and placing them amongst all the other goodie bags. The opened wine bottle was still on the table. Seokjin felt fucked. Ravished, or like there had been the promise of ravishment. His lips felt hot, his skin sensitive – his tongue still had traces of Namjoon’s taste on it.

The party sounded louder now, and Seokjin felt dizzy as he tried to make sense of it: the invite, the cabinet, the kiss. Most of all the kiss.

“I’d best be off,” he managed, head spinning. Unnerved.

Namjoon cast a sharp look at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Yup. Positive, I need to– How do I get out of here again?”

“I can escort you out if you’d like?” the woman asked helpfully. The warm, heated look in Namjoon’s eyes was gone – something cold had taken its place.

“Thanks for coming by,” Namjoon said, when moments earlier he had been whispering – what had he been whispering? Right between their mouths, words thick and wanting? They were drunk. They were drunk and tired and stupid and—

Five minutes later, he was in a taxi home, but Namjoon’s mouth and hands were still burning him up, the scent of him strong, the memory of him pressed into his skin no matter how hard he tried to sober up.

Namjoon had felt like absolution.

Chapter Text

Seokjin woke up late and rushed to shower before work, all the while nursing a mild hangover. As he drove to Banpo-dong, he was determined not to think about the events of the night before.

He’d slept with a ‘straight’ guy in university. One of those ‘I want to explore my sexuality’ kind of guys, and some part of him had thought it hot to initiate him. As it was, actually touching another man’s junk had taken more adjustment than the guy had expected. They’d still managed to get off – where there was a will, there was a way – but afterwards the guy had said, “Well, guess I’ve gotten that off my bucket list. Thanks, Seokjin-ah.” Relief that it was over.

Namjoon kissing him hadn’t felt like that: a personal dare or an experiment to ensure you hadn’t missed out on something. It had felt like the ground had opened up beneath their feet, with Seokjin plunging, and— No, fucking goddammit, he could not think of this right now!

Was that why Namjoon had invited him? Because after the whole Sungmin debacle, Namjoon had figured that after a few drinks Seokjin would be easy? And the other members had all been in on it, with Yoongi luring him into the cabinet like some kind of an insidious wingman pimp? Then what exactly? Namjoon could experimentally fuck him and call it a day, put him in a taxi home and keep partying with other A-listers?

The thought brought a sour taste into his mouth, his heart feeling heavy. Another part of him was aroused.

At the red light, he gazed across the street and stared into Namjoon’s eyes. What the fuck! A fan-sponsored birthday poster for Namjoon was there at the bus stop. He flinched and looked away.

He parked the car underground in the office building, then stopped in the 7-Eleven to get breakfast. He nervously gazed at the Ediya Coffee across the street: where he’d run into Namjoon all those weeks ago. No, no, he wasn’t thinking about him, he had to—

Opening the cold drinks fridge, he came eye to eye with Namjoon on a matcha latte. He let out a small yelp. Fuck! Get out of his head!

He grabbed a hangover cure from the shelf above the BTS branded iced coffees.

By the time he got to the office, he felt like he’d run ten kilometres. He collapsed at his desk, hangover cure in one hand, a roll kimbap in the other. “Morning,” he said bleakly to Jiyoon, who was by her Mang-decorated desk already.

He pressed his forehead to the cool surface of his desk. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Lifted his head.

Namjoon was right in front of him, on the screen of a phone. He scrambled backwards. “What the—”

Jiyoon, sitting on the corner of his desk, drew her phone back and looked offended. “That’s not a nice reaction!”

He pressed a hand to his chest, heart beating so fast that he was seconds from bursting his aorta. “You have to give me a warning.”

“He should come with a warning, you’re right,” Jiyoon praised, flicking through pictures on her phone. “Namjoon had a birthday party last night! G-Dragon was there – and here’s him and Hobi! Look at how handsome they are! And here’s Hobi with—”

“Can I see?” he asked and scrolled through the pictures. If Jiyoon spotted him in one of these, his life would be over. He thought he saw half of his arm in one picture, but that was it. He wasn’t famous; no one had tried capturing him in a shot.

Namjoon looked handsome, however, giving the camera a dimpled smile with his arm around the rich and famous (apart from the women – Namjoon had exceptional manner hands in those pictures). Had Namjoon hooked up with someone else instead? Had Seokjin been stupid to go home instead of taking up what was on offer, no questions asked?

He handed the phone back to Jiyoon. “Who parties on a Tuesday? That’s crazy.” He unscrewed the hangover cure and downed it. Closed his eyes. Longed for a peaceful life as a Buddhist monk.

His phone buzzed. He didn’t dare look at it until Jiyoon was back at her desk – and, sure enough, it was from Namjoon, making his stomach sink: Safe to say that I fucked up last night – I’m really sorry

The company’s building had a rooftop terrace, which they fondly called the Give Up Zone. When you had enough of work bullshit, you went to the rooftop to smoke or scream or call your mother, who convinced you not to quit on the spot.

There were views to the river from between other buildings, including Banpo Bridge. Sometimes when Seokjin worked late, he would take a break and come watch the light show.

No light show was in sight when Seokjin sat on one of the rooftop benches during his lunch break. The hangover cure had only helped little – he felt terrible. His knee bounced nervously as the phone rang, wind catching his hair, with only one person smoking ardently near the doors across the terrace.

can I call you today? Namjoon had sent an hour earlier.

He hated phone calls, yet here he was: calling Namjoon. The act underlined the urgency of the situation.

Namjoon picked up on the fifth ring. “Hyung.”

“Namjoon-ah. Hi.” He examined the nails of his free hand, shoulders hunched. Nausea swirled in his belly. He didn’t know what had happened between them, but he wanted to fix it either way: to say goodbye and that this was fun while it lasted, or whatever else was necessary.

He steadied himself. “I called to say that, ah, I’m sorry too about last night. I’d had too much to drink, and— and if you thought I was coming onto you or something like that, then I’m sorry.”

An unexpectedly long silence.

He stopped examining his nails, sitting up straighter. “Joon-ah?”

“Pretty sure I came onto you, hyung.”

His heart began to stutter in his chest, just like it had in the cabinet. So it had been intentional, then? Kissing him? Getting him somewhere private, just the two of them? Fuck, Yoongi really been a part of the arrangement to lure him away from the crowds. These men were sexual predators!

“You meant to kiss me?”

A pause.

“Well, no I— I didn’t know I was going to do it. I was a little drunk too.”

Okay, okay, Seokjin withheld from calling the police just yet.

He scratched his head and started giving a speech he’d given before. “Um, well, look, it’s natural to want to… explore. Like, you shouldn’t feel weird about that, everyone does it, and I am glad you felt safe to express that with me, and—”

“Explore?” Namjoon repeated, and Seokjin stalled, sensing his speech was unwelcome. “Hyung, you know that I— with men, I mean. That I’ve… I told you. When we went to get bingsu and talked about you. And then we talked about me? Remember?”

Seokjin stared across the rooftop unseeingly. What? There had been bingsu. Namjoon asking him about ex-boyfriends, about all that stuff. Then giving him a grand speech about how it was all about the person… connecting with them… Namjoon saying how human sexuality was complex. Namjoon saying he had no girlfriend or boyfriend…

Fuck. Fuck? Had Namjoon come out to him?!

Namjoon continued, “And so last night, I thought we were, uh, both flirting, and that you also felt…”

“Wait, that wasn’t your first time doing, ah, what you did?”

“No,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse. He was relieved, of course he was, but on the heels of that was the magnitude of Namjoon’s admission.

This was career-ending.

Namjoon was still talking, hurriedly saying, “But look, I was clearly wrong about what was happening with us, and I am really sorry. I misread the signals. Not that— I’m not trying to excuse it or anything. Just… trying to explain.”

Namjoon hadn’t misread anything. Seokjin had simply assumed it was one-sided.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. God, Namjoonie… Did this boy even realise how risky this was? Stupid, so stupid.

“When we got bingsu, I didn’t realise you were trying to tell me that you, uh. You know.”

Namjoon was silent a tad too long. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So last night I thought you were drunk and in crisis.”

“Shit, really? I mean that explains a lot, but… Was I too vague in telling you? Sorry, I— That’s another thing I don’t have much experience in: telling people. That and making a move, apparently.”

He let out a short, slightly panicked laugh. He was losing his mind. “Don’t apologise.”

Namjoon needed to be so goddamn careful about who he told this to. Seokjin knew himself to be a safe source, but even that made him anxious on Namjoon’s behalf. If the world at large ever dared dampen his smile… If they ever made Namjoon apologise for who he was…

“I’m still sorry, hyung. Really.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, dismissing his temporary idea of a Bangtan run sex ring for easy hook-ups – the kind of a celebrity scandal that rocked the country every few years. This wasn’t sinister, this was just the two not reading each other well at all.

“Apology accepted,” he said, even if he wasn’t sure one was needed. How had he not understood that Namjoon had come out to him? And, if he had understood it, what exactly would have happened last night? His skin felt warm just thinking about it.

The man smoking by the doors exited the Give Up Zone, leaving Seokjin alone on the rooftop. He wished they’d been having this conversation face-to-face, but he was also glad that Namjoon could not see how flustered he was.

“Can I ask you about it? Like how you asked me? Seeing as, um, when you actually told me it didn’t register.”

Namjoon sounded relieved. “Please.”

He thought of trainee family dinners in the small dorm, them all sitting on the floor of the living room around a low-set table, eating instant ramyeon and laughing. The joy he’d felt over inside jokes and comradeship.

“Do the members know?”

“Of course. The members and my parents were the first to know once I figured myself out. It was a while back, around the time we switched to solo projects.”

And, presumably, all these people had accepted Namjoon. What, was it that easy? ‘Hey guys, I know we’re public figures and every single thing we do gets scrutinised and criticised by the public, and one’s behaviour impacts the reputation of everyone, but that being said, I don’t exactly walk a straight line, wink wink, so hope it’s cool I start sleeping with whoever I want – peace out.’

Fine, Namjoon had probably put it more eloquently.

He wanted to ask if Bang Sihyuk knew, if the managers did. He wanted to know how exactly Namjoon had known, because he was relatively sure that pre-debut Namjoon had been obsessed with music and pussy and not much else. He wanted to ask how this worked, exactly, being the leader of BTS and being queer. Wasn’t the danger of scandal too much? Was the industry much more tolerant behind the scenes than Seokjin had ever realised? But how much, exactly, had the world changed since entertainer Hong Seokcheon had gone on record about being gay – what, over twenty years ago now? The backlash he’d received remained infamous, with no work coming his way and forcing Hong out of the entertainment industry. Then, when Hong started a restaurant business in Itaewon, the most liberal of neighbourhoods, people would show up just to tell him how disgusting they thought he was.

The irony of all this huffing over the past century was that homosexuality had been quite accepted in the Joseon era. With so-called modernisation, however, had come homophobia.

Of course it was true that Hong Seokcheon had rebuilt his career since falling from grace, now owning a small restaurant empire and finally back as a guest on TV shows, but it had taken him twenty years to do so, and in the meanwhile hardly anyone had joined his ranks as openly gay entertainers.

How did Namjoon live with these risks?

Seokjin had weighed them too, once. Theorised. Feared.

He didn’t ask how Namjoon coped and who exactly knew about him. Somehow, it felt better not to know.

“Have you ever dated anyone? Seriously, I mean?” he asked instead. “We couldn’t date as trainees, but it must be different for you all now.”

“Well, our schedules are kind of insane, so… it’s difficult to maintain a relationship. And now that we’re slowly preparing for a comeback, it’ll get crazy again.”

Seokjin hadn’t spent the past decade in an idol group, and he had found dating difficult too. What was his excuse? Ah, that he disliked most people – leave him to his cocoon, please.

He stirred. “Wait, did you just confirm an OT5 comeback?”

“OT5, look at you picking up lingo,” Namjoon teased, but he was busy processing the absolute insanity that BTS re-grouping post-enlistment would create. Jiyoon would lose her shit.

And that entire time Seokjin would be privy to the biggest secret he’d ever possessed.

“Must be such an exciting time,” he said.

Inadvertently, he had an answer to their kiss that he’d subconsciously been hunting for: Namjoon was busy and not looking for anything serious. A cabinet fuck would have been just that: a drunken party hook up.

“Well, uh, thanks for being honest with me. I’m glad we cleared the air.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t want to end the call. “See you around sometime?”

“Yeah, hyung. Sounds good.”

Taehyung sat on the sofa in the living room of his one-bedroom apartment, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. Seokjin kept making them dinner, eyes on the pot in which he was hopefully making something akin to kimchi jjigae.

“So you want me to play Guess the Gay: the Bangtan Edition?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“But you made out with someone from BTS and you’re not gonna tell me who?”

“Okay, I already told you: it was just a kiss and no, I can’t disclose that kind of personal information about this… this person.”

Look, Seokjin had thought long and hard about who he could confide in. At first, he’d thought no one – silence was the best option. But he’d also been driving himself insane thinking it over. He needed to talk to someone, anyone. Who else knew the five members like he did? Who else could even begin to understand the insanity of their lives? Who else would instinctively keep their secrets?

Taehyung studied him carefully, light brown hair curling around his ears prettily. “You think I can’t deduce who you made out with? Just watch. Five members? First off, Jungkook’s in the army. That leaves four. You mentioned something about strong, large hands? Jimin’s out – so is Hobi-hyung. Leaves two. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, the idol you sucked face with was— Namjoo…joe.” Taehyung looked both uncertain and pleased by his rhyming skills.

Seokjin’s mouth pursed shut, heart hammering. “I don’t see how that’s a logical conclusion at all.”

“No? I lived with you all, remember? I observed everyone. You, them. So if one of those music nerds is making a move on you all these years later, truly playing the long game? It’s Namjoon for sure. He has the vision. Used to be so desperate for your approval, not that you ever noticed. Now he meets you in a café and instantly asks for your number?”

“I—” His mouth was dry. That wasn’t what had happened! He hastily scooped jjigae into two bowls, placing them on the tray with bowls of rice. “I cannot confirm any of this baseless speculation.”

Namjoon? Had been desperate for his approval?

He sat on the floor by the sofa, their food on the small coffee table. They ate quietly, Taehyung looking thoughtful while Seokjin was too worried to say anything else.

He’d told Taehyung that Namjoon had, in fact, gotten in touch and they’d been hanging out a little. Upon hearing this, Taehyung had said, “Of course I’m a little mad you didn’t tell me, but I guess they’re famous now – I wouldn’t tell anyone if I was hanging out with an idol either. In case my famous friend thinks I’m bragging, right? I bet a lot of people do that – hang out with them just for the kudos.”

Seokjin hadn’t even thought of that – he’d only observed the little things that Namjoon did to protect his privacy: hats, masks, choosing the most private table possible.

He said, “I mentioned you to—”

Taehyung perked up. “To Jimin?”

“No, to Yoongi. He looked pleased to hear about you.”

Taehyung nodded but looked disappointed.

“He told me that after I left your grandmother got sick. I never knew that. I’m sorry.”

They’d all worn their hearts on their sleeves as trainees – so desperate to make it, so young and so lost.

Taehyung hummed, expression darkening as he scooped more jjigae into his mouth. After he swallowed, he shrugged. “That’s okay. People get sick, there’s nothing any of us can do about that. Grandmother always called me a fool, though, for worrying about her and missing out on debuting, but the way I see it, I got to see a lot more of her before she passed because I wasn’t in the group. If I’d debuted, I probably never would have had the time to even visit.”

What kind of a choice was that to give a teenager – debut or spend time with an ailing loved one? Seokjin didn’t wonder at Taehyung rapidly falling behind in training the winter he too had failed in his dreams.

“We were all too young back then.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung finished the jjigae, put the bowl down, and said, “But don’t think I’ve forgotten the real news here – all this about an illicit kiss with your new boyfriend Namjoon.”

“Okay, I told you I cannot confirm who it was; and secondly, how did you leap from a kiss to dating? Can you imagine how dangerous it would be for any of them to date a man?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I bet a lot of idols do. They have ways, you know, to keep that private. Come on, don’t be naïve – there’s definitely a lot of sexual minorities in the entertainment industry. Do we know who they are? No, although within the industry there’s probably quite a few open secrets. Why isn’t it public knowledge? Because we have some of the world’s strictest defamation laws.”

Seokjin was nevertheless worried, even as he thought of the heat of Namjoon’s lips on him.

He started gathering their dishes. “Even if that were true, it’s not like I’m going to fall head over heels in love with this man and elope. It hasn’t changed from when we were trainees, you know – having no time to date. And I mean, I might never even see him again.”

“Who, Yoongi?”

“No, Nam— You little shit,” he snapped, threatening Taehyung with a spoon, but Taehyung was already up on his feet, hands stretched out with open palms, seeking to calm him down. When Taehyung realised that he was actually upset, his expression softened. Taehyung wasn’t going to tell anyone – of course not. To this day, he said, there were secrets he knew about the five who’d debuted that he’d never told anyone, and he never would. Word of honour.

Seokjin calmed down, but the nervousness that even thinking about Namjoon filled him with remained. “You have to promise promise,” he implored.

Taehyung looked uncharacteristically serious. “Of course I promise. They were my brothers too, you know. And I loved them too.”

It was only after Taehyung had left that he wondered what exactly Taehyung had meant. Whose secrets was he keeping – even now, after all this time?

The café was in a renovated two-story house with a white exterior and a cosy wooden interior. At eleven on a Thursday morning, the café was mostly quiet, with Seokjin’s steps making the wooden stairs creak. Again, this was the only time Namjoon had been able to meet that week. Seokjin, having clocked in overtime hours at a conference the weekend before, had taken the day off just to accommodate him.

For once, Namjoon had arrived before him, examining the menu at his table. The creaking stairs made Namjoon look up. He had a khaki bomber jacket on, a black t-shirt, and dark grey sweatpants. His short, black hair glistened from the rain still falling outside. Seokjin had his umbrella in one of the plastic umbrella sleeves offered by the door. His hands felt clammy and sweaty, because of the rain of course. Not because his heart was beating fast, his skin heated and his breath quickened just at the sight of Namjoon.

Namjoon stood up to greet him, and they exchanged an awkward and unsure one-armed hug, during which they left plenty of space for Jesus.

“Do you know what you want?” he asked as soon as he sat down, taking a quick look at the menu before heading back downstairs to order. The young male barista gave him a buzzer, which he soon placed on the table between him and Namjoon. Namjoon was rubbing his hands to his knees. Seokjin’s tongue felt thick.

“So,” he began.

“So,” Namjoon said.

Their get-togethers had never been awkward before. Maybe a bit cautious at first, but they hadn’t been tongue-tied like this.

He was struggling to look at Namjoon, unsure how to do it without thinking of them tangled up and kissing. “Um, how’ve you been?”

Namjoon gave him half a smile, both nervous and friendly. “Good. Been a busy week. You?”

“You know, the usual grind.”

The usual grind? Who was he?!

Namjoon’s gaze landed on his lips. Maybe. Potentially. “The seaweed soup was excellent.”

“Oh, was it? I’m glad.”

They stared at each other. Namjoon had the warmest of eyes, like dark pools you wanted to see your reflection in. Their hands rested on the table. Seokjin’s fingers twitched. Namjoon’s hand inched closer, forefinger extending to brush against—

The buzzer started vibrating, and they both pulled back. Seokjin hurried downstairs to get their black sesame latte and white honeycomb tea.

After they both had sipped their drinks, Namjoon put his tea down and said, “I know I already said it over the phone, but I’m sorry I misread the situation so badly. Please know that I never met up with you because I, ah, expected anything. I was just happy to have made a friend.”

This all sounded rehearsed, but Namjoon looked happier having said it. Seokjin blinked. Taehyung had talked about friends too: fake friends, people who sought Bangtan out for kudos.

Namjoon had taken the bomber jacket off. He had thin leather bracelets around one wrist, next to an expensive watch. Thick veins crossed his muscular forearms. The biceps were large, half-hidden by the black t-shirt. Seokjin couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone so badly.

“I’m, ah, also happy to be your friend,” he said.

Namjoon lit up. “Yeah?”

Fuck. Was he fake too?

“Of course.”

Namjoon rubbed at his neck, brows knitting. “It sounds kind of silly, I know, but it’s not easy making friends. I don’t mean to sound like a pity party or anything, but most of the people at the birthday party were collaborators or acquaintances; they’re not people I’d invite to my home. Not that it’s those people’s fault or anything – they’re good people. But it’s just a bit tough, or complicated. Like, sometimes fans harass our friends to the point that they stop being our friends.”

“Why would your friends get harassed?” he asked, not comprehending.

Namjoon gave a small shrug. “I guess some ARMY imagine that they’re protecting us. Something like that. Those are the fans who’ve lost perspective of– of us as real people, of their access to our private lives. It gets pretty wild, and— and after a few death threats on Instagram, being friends with me doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Seokjin was stunned, knowing he’d have to ask Jiyoon about this. Surely this couldn’t be real? But Namjoon was telling him that it was. The more that people lined up to be friends with Namjoon, the harder gaining friends got.

“Must get lonely,” he said almost to himself, and Namjoon let out a non-committal sound. The thought of Namjoon, with his four members and millions of fans and fancy birthday party being lonely felt absurd. He doubted Namjoon wanted pity, however – he didn’t seem to be asking for any, his attitude practical. “Well, I’m not on any social media,” he said, ignoring that he did stream on Twitch sometimes.

Namjoon smirked. “You’re not missing out.”

Seokjin huffed. “With my face? Please, just imagine the influencer I could become if I wanted to.”

“You’d have a million underlings in a month.”

“A month? More like a week, with those mattress and VPN brand deals and all of it. And all of my followers would be desperately in love with me.”

“Of course,” Namjoon said, holding back a grin, and looking at him with a warmth that made Seokjin remember the kiss they’d shared.

“Well. I’m glad we cleared the air.”

“Me too, hyung.”

“And here’s to being friends,” he said, offering his latte, and they clinked their drinks together. Namjoon looked relieved in a way that made his heart ache – had Namjoon expected him to call everything quits? Over a stupid kiss, over the difficulty of being a friend? It wasn’t at all hard to be Namjoon’s friend. If anything, loving him seemed easy.

After he had taken an unnecessarily long sip, he smiled, and Namjoon’s mouth twisted in an amused grin. “What? Don’t laugh – what?”

Namjoon pointed at his teeth. “The black sesame. It’s giving you zombie teeth.”

Horrified, he got out his phone to check, rubbing at the small specks of ground black sesame from his teeth and gums while Namjoon laughed. He gurgled water, cheeks aflame.

“Don’t worry, you still look cute,” Namjoon said but then looked away too quickly, with a shake of the head – to himself, it seemed. Seokjin wanted to correct an earlier remark Namjoon had made: he did know how to make a move. God, he knew.

Seokjin sipped on his latte so that the liquid swirled to the back of his throat, avoiding his front teeth, and Namjoon sipped his tea.

When they eventually stepped outside, he opened the black umbrella for them. Namjoon took it from him, keeping it above their heads in the heavy rain. “You said you live near here, right? Let me walk you back.”

Their arms brushed as they huddled under the umbrella, talking about their plans for Chuseok. Seokjin would go spend a few nights with his parents; Namjoon would go visit his own – his parents no longer lived in Ilsan, but in an apartment in Gangnam. (Cha-ching, Seokjin thought.)

They skirted around puddles and passed by people stuck under shop awnings waiting for the rain to pass. As they stepped onto a road to cross it, Namjoon stepped straight into a deep puddle – causing him to curse and jump back, but after his black sesame teeth, Seokjin felt vindicated and laughed.

“Ah, it seeped right through! The sock is soaked,” Namjoon complained, voice loud to compete with the traffic and heavy rain, but even as he did so, he kept the umbrella above Seokjin’s head. The rain turned the khaki jacket darker.

“Come on, I’ll give you dry socks.”

Namjoon looked at him, short hair wet with rain. “Really?”

His throat was tight. “Sure.”

Namjoon’s expression was searching. “…Alright. Thanks.”

They looked at each other for longer than was polite.

They crossed two more streets and entered the tall apartment building where Seokjin’s one-bedroom was on the sixth floor. Namjoon brushed a hand over his short buzzcut on the lift ride up, jaw set tight, shoulders tense, and all Seokjin could think of was the sheer physicality of him. How tall he stood, how wide he spread. How his skin felt electric just by standing close to him.

Friends. It was good to have a friend. A new friend, a loyal friend.

“This way,” he said as the doors opened, and Namjoon followed, eyes fixed on him.

“Take your socks off, too,” he advised as they got in, pushing his shoes off in the entryway and heading to his bedroom to find dry socks. He found a black pair, which would look nice with Namjoon’s current outfit – in case some paparazzi filmed him later, you know, Seokjin did not want to be responsible for a fashion faux pas.

Namjoon had taken a few steps into the apartment, standing in the kitchen that the short entryway immediately led to. This short corridor then opened to the compact living room with large windows, with Seokjin’s bedroom to the right. “I chose the place for the views,” he said: the neighbourhood spread outside, the eye flying over the roofs of older two or three-storey houses, with more high rises splitting the cityscape. When an apartment was small and compact like this, the windows offered the illusion of spaciousness.

But he was not thinking about the view. He was thinking of Kim Namjoon, wet like a dog, in a khaki bomber jacket and rain-dewed hair, standing in his kitchen with no socks on, and with dark brown eyes fixed on him.

He pressed the rolled-up pair of socks into Namjoon’s palm. Felt a lump in his throat that made breathing difficult.

They’d passed one accessories shop with socks on display in the main window, and after that they’d passed one of those all-you-need vending machines that sold everything from tampons to umbrellas to hair pins to socks, and then they’d passed the CU convenience store in the corner of Seokjin’s building, which absolutely stocked socks on a shelf somewhere if one only just looked.

Seokjin met Namjoon’s fixed gaze. His blood soared. “You know that at your party… you weren’t misreading the signals.”

Namjoon took in a short, sharp breath. “I wasn’t?”

He shook his head, too flustered to articulate anything further. “So when we said earlier that we’d be friends… I wonder, uh, how committed are you to that?”

Namjoon’s fingers squeezed around the pair of socks. “Not even a little.”

“Oh. Good to know.”

He stepped closer and kissed Namjoon.

The socks dropped to the floor as Namjoon’s arms wrapped around his waist instantly. Namjoon’s mouth was soft – addictively soft, his thick lips meeting his. The kiss wasn’t rushed, but neither was it unhurried, with Seokjin’s eyes closing as he melted into it. He brushed the side of Namjoon’s face, thumb brushing over the cheek bone as they came up for air. He didn’t dare open his eyes.

All he could feel was the warmth of Namjoon, the taste of him, the feel of him – so close to him. He wanted him closer.

Drunk on it, he confessed, “I wish we hadn’t been interrupted at your party.”

“You do?” Namjoon asked, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it. He nodded, breathless, and Namjoon sucked in a breath. “What do you think would’ve happened that night if…?”

“We probably would’ve fucked.”

Namjoon’s hands on his waist squeezed him – restless, wanting. Seokjin opened his eyes, suspended in the sweetest and most torturous anticipation.

Namjoon looked at him like the rest of the world didn’t exist. “Well, uh. We can, maybe, I mean we could go on a date or—”

“We have. Several,” he said because in hindsight that was what they felt like: having dinner in traditional eateries and trendy restaurants, sitting in dessert cafés, getting to know each other all over again, with slow steps walking each other back to a taxi rank or a parked car. They just hadn’t known they were dates.

He studied the desire on Namjoon’s face that was turning into intense eagerness. God, hadn’t Namjoon even assumed that they’d…? Clearly a man who had never been exposed to Grindr’s ‘before I even consider getting to know you, we must fuck’ mentality.

Seokjin was moving too fast, was being too presumptuous. “Or, uh, we could go to a movie or—”

Namjoon’s hand slid to his lower back and pulled him closer. “I can make up for that night.”

“You can?” He swallowed, embarrassingly audibly. “Right now?”

“You have no idea, baby,” Namjoon said and kissed him deeply, wild and hard this time, with Seokjin’s arms twisting around Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon tasted of honeycomb tea and the rain, his tongue hot and precise, licking into his mouth as they moved backwards.

There was the living room with the nice view, then the bedroom with its unmade bed, covered in the clothes Seokjin had tried on that morning and discarded in his search for a perfect outfit. He pushed these onto the floor as they landed on the bed, caught in a heated embrace. Namjoon pulled his bomber jacket off, straddling him with knees on both sides of his waist. Namjoon wiped at his mouth, out of breath, then stalled – as if unsure where to go from here.

“Take your clothes off,” Seokjin said, head swimming. His heart was beating so fast that he felt the vibration of it against his ribcage.

Namjoon’s gaze darkened. He leaned down to peck his lips before peeling the black t-shirt off, still wet with rain, fabric clinging onto the stomach and chest. He was even bigger than Seokjin’s imagination had allowed him to conjure up: he had a flat stomach with the contours of a six-pack, leading up to large, firm pectoral muscles, extending to broad, muscular shoulders. Dark nipples, a round belly button – sculpted to perfection.

He pressed a hand to Namjoon’s stomach, the skin warm and moving with deep breaths. He licked his lips, hand moving to the top of sweatpants. This time he stopped. “I said take your clothes off, didn’t I?”

Namjoon huffed and stood up properly, pushing the sweats down thick thighs and well-formed calves before stepping out of them. The black briefs had a white band with ‘Calvin Klein’ on them, the outline of a thick cock stretching the front. It was like looking at a magazine editorial, each muscle discernible, each patch of skin perfect.

Namjoon pushed a hand over his hair, still wet with rain, muscles flexing. The black hair of his armpits matched the dusting of hair leading from his belly button into the briefs.

“Your turn, hyung,” Namjoon said, voice low like it had been at the party.

He pulled the jumper off with ease, followed by the tank top he’d worn underneath. If one assumed that his slightly damp skinny jeans were hard to take off, he proved such naysayers wrong: he unzipped and tugged them down and off, without him even getting off the bed. His exposed skin erupted in goosebumps, his head resting on pillows. He worked out too and knew that it showed, but Namjoon was undeniably larger and sturdier. A perfect match for him.

Namjoon moved closer, catching his ankle – pulling the sock off. He repeated this with the other foot, and Seokjin felt his cock hardening further. Namjoon then reached for his briefs – a perky red – thumbs sliding beneath the waistband. Seokjin nodded, lifting his hips as Namjoon slid these down and off him.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Namjoon said, climbing back on top of him slowly, finding his mouth and kissing him deeply. He wanted to touch Namjoon everywhere, not even knowing where to start – the pressure of hard dick against his own felt good. When had they last been this close, this bare? Probably when queuing for showers at the dorm in only their underwear, aged seventeen and nineteen. Fuck, that had been a lifetime ago, and Namjoon had not looked like this.

They kissed wildly: messy, wet, full of tongue, hands roaming. When they came up for air, Seokjin let his mouth brush over Namjoon’s. “Are we good? Do we need— I mean, I, uh, take PrEP if you—”

“Yeah, my doctor put me on it too.”

“Yeah?”

Namjoon kissed him, sounding distracted. “I think he panicked when I came out to him. He gave me leaflets and everything.”

“Leaflets are sexy,” he said – nonsense, leaflets were the opposite of sexy – but he did not have much sanity left when Namjoon was on top of him like this. “You want to fuck me?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please—

“Please,” Namjoon said, catching his lips, and Seokjin clenched in places Namjoon would soon know well.

“So polite,” he teased, and Namjoon chuckled in a sexy, low rumble that was just a little embarrassed. He kissed Namjoon desperately, needing him inside.

To his surprise Namjoon turned him around so that he was on his front. A wanton mouth pressed to the back of his neck, kissing down between his shoulder blades and down his vertebrae, sucking in kisses. Licking over his tailbone. Teeth scraping his buttocks. His cock sought friction from the mattress, hips shifting restlessly.

Namjoon’s palms smoothed over his cheeks, traversing to his inner thighs. They paused there. Then pushed his legs apart. Seokjin throbbed.

“Remember the bar when you hooked up with that friend of yours?”

“Painfully, yes.”

Namjoon chuckled, a kiss pressed to his tailbone. “Well, after I processed it all, I could only think of how fucking jealous I was of that guy.” Another kiss. Lower. “Just kept thinking of all the things I’d do to you if I could… How I’d love to get you off… Find out exactly what you like… Maybe make you cry a little…”

Seokjin was a relatively sane person with his perception of the world for the most part rooted in reality. As such, he had not expected to be eaten out by Namjoon that random Thursday morning, with him whimpering and drooling into his pillows. The rain was falling down harder outside, pitter-pattering against the bedroom window – matched with this were his ragged breaths as Namjoon ate him out, kissing him and teasing the rim with his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” he managed, grinding against the mattress – his cock trapped between his belly and the sheets. “That’s so good,” he managed, on the brink of losing sanity. Namjoon was so confident with it, in a way that Seokjin feared would ruin his life.

He all but offered his ass, writhing ever so slightly, obsessed with the mouth kissing over his hole. He was so sensitive there, and Namjoon wanted it, and he wanted it, and his toes curled as Namjoon’s tongue pushed over and almost into him.

Fingers soon joined the tongue, working him open – he was good at taking cock without much prep, but he didn’t tell Namjoon this because everything felt good and heated. What a nice change to meet a man who didn’t just go in dick first.

Namjoon pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses to his lower back, two fingers pushing into his spit-slickened hole. “Still want me to fuck you?” Namjoon murmured, just as the muscles of Seokjin’s thighs spasmed, hole clenching around the fingers. “That a yes, maybe?”

“Get the lube from the second drawer and get your cock in me.”

Namjoon grinned, kissing the skin of his left shoulder blade before reaching for the nightstand. The next wet substance against his hole was cooler than the spit – stickier too. From the corner of his eye, he saw the black Calvin Kleins land on the floor.

“Stay down,” Namjoon said when he attempted to rise to his knees, a large hand smoothing over his upper back, the other kneading his ass cheeks. “Just spread yourself a little more.”

A command. This man was clearly the leader of something.

And so he obeyed, knowing that he looked good – his slickened hole, dark pink and tight. Namjoon’s fingers brushed over him again before the crown of a thick cock was there, slowly rubbing over him. It was big. Fine. Seokjin remembered it being big, swaying slightly as Namjoon snuck into the dorm shower, his dick uncircumcised and hefty, with black pubic hair at its base. Even so, he hadn’t expected—

He moaned, loudly, as Namjoon pushed in. The slide was slick with lube, and the cock pushing into him a centimetre at a time was thick, forcing him to open up. Namjoon was so hard. Fuck, how could he be that hard? He moved his hips up a little, asking for more, and Namjoon stopped, pulled back a little, and then in one hard thrust finished the job.

He cried out, eyes screwing shut. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, just like that.”

Namjoon’s mouth was back on his neck, biting and kissing. “Just like this?” he asked, moving his hips – starting to thrust, starting to fuck.

“Yeah, fuck your hyung just like this,” he breathed, his body tingling with pleasure. Namjoon pressed his forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades and began to do just that, thick cock sliding into him repeatedly, hips smacking against his ass. The sound was loud, wet, a little obscene.

He was getting fucked so good.

His face buried into the pillow, his mouth open. Namjoon filled him up perfectly. He couldn’t stop the loud ‘ah’ moans that followed each powerful thrust.

The neighbours would hear. Midday Thursday, in this building? Sound travelled. Sometimes at nights one might hear noises from an apartment somewhere, but that was politely ignored – or, if it became an issue, the building management would be sent a subtly worded noise complaint.

Getting pounded in the middle of the day was unorthodox by anyone’s standards, yet he couldn’t stop moaning and whining with, “Deeper, give me— ah, harder, fuck just like that, oh god fuck me harder.”

He would never be able to meet the gaze of the sweet ahjumma in 605 ever again.

Namjoon pulled out, flipped him around onto his back, hoisted his legs onto his shoulders and pushed back in. Seokjin’s toes curled, his prostate getting stimulated from a new angle. Namjoon’s chest was heaving, body covered in slight sweat – gorgeous.

They looked at each other, the eye contact completely unnecessary and yet Seokjin could look nowhere but. He saw pleasure on Namjoon’s features, desire, want. He clenched around Namjoon on purpose, saw the shock wave of pleasure shoot through Namjoon’s body like a knee-jerk reaction. Namjoon moaned, pushed his hips closer. Namjoon was already moving his hips again, pushing into him. There was intense physicality to his movements: he was strong, firm, and Seokjin could feel his strength in each thrust.

Namjoon gripped his waist again. “You’re so fucking tight – god, you feel so good…”

“Yeah? As good as you thought?”

“Better – can’t stop looking at you.” Namjoon brushed a hand over the hard cock resting against his stomach. “You’re leaking…”

“Getting fucked makes me come so hard,” he admitted through a moan, just a little bit of embarrassment swirling in admitting it so willingly, but it was true. Namjoon swore, pressing a kiss to his leg.

The entire bed rocked to their motions as Namjoon picked up the rhythm, making him cry out and clasp a hand over his mouth. People could hear, people could—

His legs dropped from Namjoon’s shoulders, slick with sweat. His head was spinning.

Namjoon pulled the hand away from his mouth. “Are the walls thin?”

“The sound carries. People can hear us,” he managed, chest heaving, lashes wet. Fuck, Namjoon was making his eyes well up from how good he was getting fucked – just like he’d fantasised.

Namjoon shook his head, lacing their fingers together – preventing him from covering his mouth again. “No one here but you and me.”

With this, Namjoon pinned him down and began fucking him hard, fast, brutal. He tried muffling his cries in the crook of Namjoon’s neck, but this was pointless because he was so turned on that he was even louder than before. He was stretched so full, almost to the point of too much – but every nerve-ending was throbbing, sending pleasure into his body. He squeezed Namjoon’s hands so hard that it surely must have hurt, but Namjoon didn’t stop him.

They kissed deeply, moving in sync, and even if it was crazy Seokjin could have sworn their hearts were beating in sync. Their noses brushed together, lips pressing together, breaths mixing. Namjoon was so deep inside him, pushing into him so perfectly, kissing his lips, his chest, his nipples.

Namjoon then untangled one hand and licked the palm – wet, broad – and reached down to wrap it around Seokjin’s cock. He was leaking precum generously and was sensitive to the touch, back arching, but he pushed into Namjoon’s fist, then onto his cock, his fist, his cock, his fist, his cock, his—

“I’m so close,” he managed, trembling, and Namjoon— kept doing exactly what he was doing, thrusting and fisting him. Oh god. Oh no. There was no coming back from this, not for him, not ever, he— “I’m gonna come, oh fuck, oh fuck—"

He kissed Namjoon desperately, noting the needier, more urgent tone in Namjoon’s moans. He was so close, orgasm building up inside him, balls drawn tight, belly full of warmth. Namjoon kissed him back, and Seokjin felt his hole leaking, wet with precum Namjoon was fucking into him. It felt like they were chasing the high together, reading each other perfectly, eyes locked, lips swollen, breaths ragged, taking each other in, god Namjoon was watching him so hungrily, so greedily, no one had ever looked at him like that, and they kept moving together, kept going, kept climbing, and then finally just a little harder, just a little faster, just—

Namjoon spilled inside him, and Seokjin followed instantly. He clenched and clenched, shuddering around the thick cock, not even moaning but crying out as he spilled all over Namjoon’s fist and their stomachs. At the same time, Namjoon filled him up, making him leak cum onto the sheets, hole slick and claimed. They were kissing – somehow hungrier now than ever. An aftershock followed another, with them shivering and panting in each other’s arms. Exhausted, spent.

His legs were shivering. His balls ached, his hole clenched. Namjoon had him.

Namjoon brushed their foreheads together. “How was it?”

Seokjin had been fucked so well that speaking was difficult. They had literally orgasmed together – which never happened, for the record – and Namjoon was asking how it’d been?

“You’re really asking me that?”

Namjoon’s lips brushed his jaw, nipping at the skin. “Well, I— You have more experience, so…“

What did most tops do when you moaned that you were close? They started ramming it in like it was a homerun, and what did that mean? That you lost the wave you had been riding, orgasm getting further away. What had Namjoon done? He’d kept going: had kept the pace, the depth, the rhythm. Kept thrusting. Kept coaxing him. Kept the wave swelling. Then he’d added just a little more pressure, a little more depth: adding ten percent to his thrusts, not a hundred, and Seokjin had come so hard that his body was still shivering.

He pulled Namjoon closer and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips. “You fucked me so good.”

“Yeah?”

“God, yeah. Are you kidding?”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up, lips stretching into a grin – proud and pleased. Just a little smug. Fuck.

Seokjin kissed him wildly because it was the only thing to do.

Namjoon pulled out carefully, mattress dipping as he settled beside him, still turned to face him.

Lying together in the post-coital glow, he brushed his hand over Namjoon’s hair, no longer wet with rain but now damp with sweat. “We had a good half an hour there of being just friends,” he managed.

Namjoon’s fingers were tracing his stomach, over the mess there. “Guess this is something more than that.”

“Guess you’re right.”

Namjoon pulled him into a heated, filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

The noise complaint came two days later. In return, Seokjin wrote the ahjumma in 605 an apologetic letter, vowing it would not happen again.

It happened again.

Chapter Text

Across the office, Jiyoon wasn’t working. Granted, it was almost five thirty in the afternoon, and Seokjin too was checked out. The funny thing about office workers like them putting in nearly two thousand hours per year compared to, say, Germany with some 1400 hours, was that recent studies suggested that this love of work was no longer giving the country the competitive edge it’d had in the 1980s. Almost as if they all should take more time off and enjoy their lives a little more. Seokjin was all for it, of course, waiting for the blessed six o’clock – and not just because he was done with work.

“Jiyoon-ssi,” he called out in a slight pout. The other desks were empty because he’d sent their staff to a training programme in Busan for the day. Jiyoon did not react. “Jiyoon-ssi, I’m bored.”

Still no reaction – Jiyoon was sitting at her desk, gazing down at her phone almost unblinkingly.

“Jiyoon-ssi, I’m too handsome to be ignored!”

Jiyoon looked up, pulling an earbud out of her ear. “Sorry, what?”

“What’s more important than me?”

She waved her phone. “Namjoon came back from the US!”

Seokjin was at her desk in two nanoseconds, pulling an empty chair right next to hers. “Really? Are these pictures from today – wait, from ten minutes ago? What’s that, a video? Let’s watch— no, no, I’m not saying Dispatch aren’t sleazes, but the video is there, let me just click on— Oh wow, that’s a lot of people! Are those security? They did a good job, right?”

“The security tackles anyone pushing their luck,” Jiyoon said, mouth pursing in a pleased smile. “Why do you want to watch this? Are you getting into BTS?”

The hope and excitement in her tone were obvious. Seokjin assured that wasn’t the case – he was just very bored without his underlings, that was all.

He checked his phone, but he had no new notifications.

In the short video, Namjoon appeared through the sliding doors of the arrivals hall, hand already up in a wave, but his head downturned. Security surrounded him, ushering him along, and the fans behind the barriers all broke loose and surrounded the security men in a way that made Seokjin’s heart squeeze. A mob of fans and journalists followed Namjoon.

Yet it was an incredibly efficient operation: sixty seconds, perhaps, to get Namjoon into an SUV – ten more seconds and the car had taken off, leaving the mob standing on the curb.

People really stood around for hours just for sixty seconds of Namjoon?

“Gosh, he looked handsome,” Jiyoon said, and Seokjin silently agreed: matching navy sweats, a grey baseball cap, sunglasses and mask. Namjoon had been in Los Angeles for four days to work with a producer there – flying all that way just for four days! But for Namjoon that was probably a commonplace commute.

“Looks a bit intense, huh?” he asked.

Jiyoon nodded. “The price of success, I guess.”

He returned to his desk and pretended to write emails. All the while he dwelled on what he’d done: it, the ultimate deed of fucking someone’s favourite kpop boy. Whose favourite? Maybe the 17.2 million people who followed Namjoon on Instagram. Fine, yes, he knew a significant number of those people did not wish to sleep with Namjoon, but also a significant number did, and he’d somehow managed to beat all of them to it.

He was extremely surprised by these developments, especially because he’d always thought that if he somehow bedded a kpop boy, it’d be EXO’s Kai. He liked tall men, so sue him.

But in truth, he only thought such things when he saw Namjoon escorted out of an airport like a rock star, with devoted fans scurrying after him. He knew intellectually that Namjoon was famous – those matcha lattes with BTS on them – but Namjoon didn’t feel like an impressive celebrity when they were alone.

To him, Namjoon felt like a soft glow at dawn, warm and inviting, all-consuming.

He checked his phone again.

No new messages.

He and Jiyoon called it five to six, and Seokjin pulled on his tan office coat before shutting down his computer for the day.

As he walked to the lifts, his phone beeped: back in the city.

He nearly walked into a wall as his heart soared, his body tensing up. welcome back, he typed.

you at work?

He suppressed the urge to beam as he got into the lift. leaving just now. how was LA?

There on his phone was his Namjoon and not the one beelining through a crowded airport. Almost EXO Kai tall and smart and handsome – a total package even to the objective eye. And yet this Namjoon was an old friend that he had reconnected with, and who he’d been sleeping with for a grand total of two and a half weeks now. It had been very casual but also kind of intense, and when Namjoon had said he’d be out of town for a while, Seokjin had thought this would be good for his sanity – a chance for him to regain some perspective.

The only perspective he’d gained was that he’d spent four days yearning for Kim Namjoon – if he’d known this to be his tragic, queer fate when they were trainees together, he probably would have died of mortification.

In the present day, the realisation left him conflicted. They’d sent some messages, but not many: Namjoon had been busy, and the time difference had been difficult. Seokjin pouting his way through the week seemed like an excessive reaction to something that had been very casual, even if frequent and wanton. He wasn’t ready to dwell on the implications yet.

Now Namjoon had gotten back in touch only shortly after landing, and Seokjin felt like he was floating on air – from the possibility of Namjoon being in Seoul again.

As he exited the lift into the lobby, his phone buzzed again: outside

Los Angeles had been outside? Of what?

He exited the building and slowed down as he spotted a black SUV parked there. It looked a lot like the car that had left Incheon Airport an hour earlier.

He came to an abrupt stop – elated, disbelieving – and yet the back door slid open ever so slightly. Not revealing who was inside but offering an open invitation.

His steps quickened, and the back door slid open further, with him quickly stepping into the privacy of the car.

He had been to Namjoon’s apartment briefly before the LA trip, but this time he spent the night.

Namjoon’s place was unexpectedly humble – a two-bedroom, not endlessly large – but the apartment complex was brand new and centrally located, and the marble floors were heated and the lights responded to claps to turn on and off. The apartment easily would have fit a family of four or five, and for a young, single man to live so spaciously and comfortably in a high demand, well-off neighbourhood signalled one thing: wealth.

Seokjin had imagined mounted skateboards on the walls and framed portraits of Run DMC in a shrine formation in the living room. To his surprise Namjoon’s home exuded rustic minimalism, with bespoke pieces of wooden furniture carefully placed to allow flow and create a sense of harmony.

The place was so tidy that Seokjin saw nothing to yell at Namjoon over, unlike the dorm days when Namjoon’s dirty socks could randomly be found in the kitchen sink. Now there was a wicker laundry basket in the walk-in wardrobe, and Namjoon would habitually drop dirty clothes into it.

“We lived in shared housing for eight years,” Namjoon had remarked on his first visit when Seokjin had been unable to hide his surprise. “When we moved onto solo work and I bought this place, for the first time in my life I didn’t need to share or compromise. And what I most wanted was something peaceful.”

“I think you succeeded,” he said because the apartment was calming, homey.

Namjoon shrugged. “Living on my own was a complete mindfuck at first, though. It was kind of a rough time back then.”

Namjoon had adjusted over the years, however, because Seokjin now woke up to music softly playing from the kitchen. It was a little after seven, and Namjoon was already up and awake – the sheets next to Seokjin did not feel warm to the touch.

He got up slowly, the ache of lovemaking clinging onto his body. He pulled on his briefs and let the blue dress shirt he’d worn the day before hang open as he slid the bedroom panel door to the side. The music playing in the living room brought back memories of the dorm where this same song had sometimes played.

Namjoon was in the sleek kitchen built into the corner of the living room, measuring protein powder into a glass. He was already in workout clothes: a tight sleeveless top that hugged his chest perfectly, and a looser pair of running shorts. He looked up as Seokjin padded in, breaking into a smile. “Hey. Morning.”

“Morning.”

It was the first time either of them had spent the night. Namjoon looked at his half-nude state with an intense familiarity and just a touch of heat, and Seokjin’s guts tightened in response.

“I hope I didn’t wake you? Jetlag hit me so I’ve been up since five.”

“Not at all, I usually wake up around this time anyway.”

He’d considered pouting over not waking up next to Namjoon – the pout masking a real sense of disappointment, followed by a concern of what did it mean that Namjoon had chosen not to wake up in his arms – but these lines of enquiry vanished over the simplicity of Namjoon’s absence: jetlag.

He motioned at the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. “The greatest female rapper of all time, right?”

Namjoon smiled wider, dimples appearing. “She still is.”

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill had been an essential part of Namjoon’s Hip Hop School for Fellow Trainees. The speaker played out a melancholic he was the ocean and I was the sand. She’d been twenty-three when the album came out, Namjoon had explained to him passionately a whole lifetime ago. Only twenty-three with more wisdom and life experience than people twice, thrice her age! Here’s a song dedicated to the son she’d just had, when almost everyone had told her not to have him but to focus on her music career instead. Here’s a song about unrequited love when she and her on/off boyfriend and ex-bandmate finally called it off for good, and it will break your heart because it captures the brutality of love and loss in a way most people will never have the guts to articulate in their entire lifetime. See, we have to make music about our experiences, our lives, our struggles! We’re young, but that doesn’t mean we have nothing to say. Just listen to this album!

Namjoon’s young voice echoed in his head in a way it hadn’t in years. It comforted him in unexpected ways that Namjoon was still listening to this album.

In the corner was the suitcase that a staff member had brought not long after he and Namjoon had got in last night. It now lay open, the contents rummaged. The man – a manager, an assistant, Seokjin wasn’t sure – hadn’t acknowledged him when bringing it in. He had stood to the side awkwardly, unsure what to do with his hands. The SUV driver, too, had not acknowledged Seokjin when Namjoon had picked him up, the two of them talking in hushed tones on the drive over.

He'd been too exhilarated to dwell on all of that in the moment, but now these small incidents swirled in him.

Namjoon was measuring out more protein powder. “I left out a fresh towel in the bathroom – I figured you’d want a shower? There’s new toothbrush heads in the cupboard too, just swap one onto the electric brush that’s charging, and use whatever products you want. I’ve also got new Calvin Klein briefs in my wardrobe, they gave Jungkook so many that he gave us all goodie bags, so please help yourself.”

This was luxury treatment in the world of Seoul hook ups. Namjoon caught his dismay and grinned. “What? You want me to join you in the shower?”

Namjoon sounded like he could be persuaded, but Seokjin would never make it to work on time if he spent his morning getting fucked under cascading water. (Office workers had received verbal warnings from their bosses for lesser causes, he was sure.)

Seokjin traced the outlines of his unease as he showered. Before they’d started sleeping together, they had met Out There, in restaurants and cafés. If Namjoon got spotted, then so what? Namjoon was allowed to know people. Mainly men, to avoid the obvious heteronormative rumours.

Now they met In Here. A few times at Seokjin’s place and a few more at Namjoon’s much nicer place. That was in part because they’d slept together each time they’d seen each other. Why meet in a café when you wanted cock and not croissants?

Namjoon getting spotted with a male friend – not Dispatch worthy. Namjoon getting spotted with a male friend that he was sleeping with…? Not that outsiders would know by just looking at them, of course. How could they? Neither of them had told anyone, right, and even if Seokjin was somehow exposed, then didn’t Namjoon have other queer friends already? It wouldn’t be a big deal.

Yet the shift from Out There to In Here signalled that whatever they had was now incriminating in a way it hadn’t been before. He thought of the staff again – the chauffeur, the assistant – who pretended they didn’t even see Seokjin.

Once he’d showered and pulled on brand new Calvin Klein briefs, he got dressed in the office wear from the day before, fairly confident no one at work would notice.

Returning to the kitchen where Lauryn Hill still played and Namjoon was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, glasses on and book in hand, Seokjin felt himself reach a limit and blurted out, “Have you told anyone that you’re seeing me?”

Namjoon lowered the book, placing it on the counter – expression curious. “No.”

He relaxed – smart, good, that was wise – and also did not relax: hidden and secret, a guilty pleasure. “Why not?”

“Because it’s too soon,” Namjoon said with an honesty that surprised him.

“But the staff and the managers, do they know that you’re…?”

“That I’m…?” Namjoon asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“A man of certain tastes?”

Namjoon chuckled, the sound of it a low, deep rumble. “No. Staff members, well, they come and go. They’re employees, not friends. And people like that, managers, security, they sign NDAs, so even if they did see something…”

Then it doesn’t get mentioned. Everyone wilfully looking the other way, ignoring it, and that included the people who had seen him and Namjoon together last night. Seokjin wasn’t sure why he hated the thought so much: that someone like him was essentially invisible, and yet even to his mind that was the safest option. Had the staff suspected they were something more than friends?

God, Seokjin hadn’t thought about any of this before getting involved with Namjoon.

“Why do you ask? Have you told anyone about us?” Namjoon asked, fingers curling around the tumbler containing the disgustingly greyish green protein shake.

He gawked. “Are you insane? Of course not.”

He’d met Taehyung for brunch the weekend gone and had revealed nothing – said that he and Mystery Bangtan Man had concluded that the kiss at the party had been a drunken mistake, which technically wasn’t a lie. He’d then omitted that he and Namjoon had proceeded to sleep together, anyway.

Taehyung hadn’t been fully convinced, but a lot of people underestimated Seokjin just because he was loud and often cracking jokes. When it came to something like this – something important like protecting Namjoon’s identity and reputation – Seokjin could fool even Taehyung. Mask all that he felt completely.

“I didn’t mean if you’ve told anyone that you’re seeing me, just that you’re seeing someone,” Namjoon corrected, but he shook his head. Why would he blab about this after only a few weeks of getting dicked? Namjoon was right: it was too soon.

And yet when Namjoon raised the topic, all cute with his glasses and book, Seokjin took to the bait. “Why? Do you think, uh, this could evolve into a thing where I could say that I’m seeing someone?”

“Well,” Namjoon said slowly, voice measured, “while I think it’s smart to keep this to ourselves for now, I… I kinda missed you while I was in LA.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I did. Quite a lot, actually. Did you miss me?”

“I missed your cock,” he said, quip at the ready.

Namjoon laughed. “I’m sorry – guess it was rude to deprive you of it.”

Seokjin hummed, disliking how conflicted he felt. He was under no delusion that they could run off into the sunset together – that wasn’t what happened when you became a closeted idol’s boy toy with NDA’ed staff around you. At the same time, Namjoon should become utterly devoted to him after all the late-night pining he’d done that week.

In his view, most things in life had simple solutions, but this time he was coming up short. It was uncharacteristic of him to be this agitated about anything.

There were a handful of things he hated in this world: large parties, mint chocolate, and emotional vulnerability. Namjoon hated only one of those things.

He thought of the disappointment he’d felt not waking up next to Namjoon. God, who was he kidding? Not Namjoon, clearly.

“Well, let’s say for the sake of the argument that I missed you too. What of it?” he asked, a slight challenge there.

Namjoon looked unexpectedly homey and boyish, eyes large and sweet. “Then I would say that’s nice to hear because I’ve been having a really amazing time with you, and I’m curious and excited about where this will go.”

Heat was creeping up his neck. “Me too.”

Namjoon broke into one of his ice cap melting smiles. “Sounds like we’re on the same page, then.”

Seokjin wasn’t sure they were even reading the same book in the same library on the same continent.

Namjoon saw him to the door, and they kissed there for a very questionable length of time. Seokjin staggered out eventually, lips all swollen again.

He was in over his head.

BigHit Entertainment was in northern Gangnam, these days a ten-story building. The old offices were only a brisk twenty-minute walk away but felt like different worlds: one teetering into bankruptcy and driven by the mad vision of a CEO with a bad, blond dye job and an acoustic guitar; the other considered one of the big four, alongside SM, YG, and JYP. BigHit was competing with these companies now! Madness.

But also impressive: Bang Sihyuk had, after all, been nothing but an underling at JYP once.

Speaking of which, did anyone know what had really happened between Bang Sihyuk and Park Jinyoung, anyway? Friends and rivals, mentee and mentor. Who knew, maybe the rise of BigHit was all some kind of a twisted attempt by Bang to win the approval of his hyung after JYP Entertainment became so successful. Bang and J. Y. Park had even gone to the US to break into the music industry there as young songwriters, penniless and crashing at a friend’s place – a whole decade before Bangtan debuted. They’d failed miserably: no one would buy their songs. Defeated, Bang had headed home and founded BigHit Music in 2005, but not before the stress of the failed US excursion caused the two men to fight bitterly about everything – mainly socks. Seokjin, the narrator of this story, would like to emphasise that this all actually happened, and that the reader can and should look it up because honestly there’s something so queer coded about the whole Bang/Park rivalry-mentor/mentee-bromance. One might even say that in the world of kpop genius duos who throw clothes at each other, Bang/Park walked so that Namgi could run.

One digresses.

Seokjin’s point was that now everyone wanted Bang PD’s songs, but did the man have time for songwriting anymore? BigHit looked like a small empire as Seokjin entered through the revolving doors into the spacious lobby, a line of security gates ahead of him where employees swiped themselves in and out. At eight o’clock in the evening, only one man was there apart from security.

“Seokjin-nim?” the man asked. “I’ll walk you through.”

They took the lift up to the sixth floor, with the manager not treating him in any suspicious way that Seokjin at least could discern. Along a sleek, grey-toned corridor, through a few doors, and the man knocked on a door, bowed to Seokjin politely, and went on his way.

Namjoon opened the studio door seconds later, greeting him with a wide smile. “Hey – you were showed through okay? Come in, come in.”

Namjoon’s studio was a distinct improvement from the cupboard they had been given as trainees, like they were a bunch of orphaned English boys waiting for a letter to Hogwarts. This studio was decently sized, and Namjoon got it all to himself now. On the way they had passed Yoongi’s studio – a welcome mat in the corridor with a cat drawn on it, giving the middle finger with a speech bubble of ‘go away’ – and what he suspected was Hoseok’s studio because a child-sized Kaws figure had been next to the door.

He'd seen Namjoon’s studio in a few video calls, so the space wasn’t new for him: there was an imposing desk set-up with monitors and some kind of keyboard looking things and other music making boxes with lots of buttons and dials.

Look, he’d clearly skipped the music production lessons when a BigHit trainee.

A small wooden coffee table with rugged edges was placed on a red-shaded rug, next to these a black leather couch and a light brown armchair created a nice nook to hang out in, and the open shelving on one side of the room had awards, figurines, frames, and a few plastic plants. Namjoon had no windows.

He studied these details in spite of the deep kiss Namjoon was placing on his lips – having pulled him into his arms. He gave up and melted into the embrace, butterflies in his stomach, his heart skipping beats, dizzy just from the scent of Namjoon.

“Did you run into anyone coming in?”

He shook his head, feeling a thrill from the clandestine operation.

“Good,” Namjoon said, thumb stroking his cheek. He kissed Namjoon again because he could.

They placed an order for food and then snuggled on the sofa, with Namjoon talking about his work and the photoshoot he’d done that day. He sounded stressed and a little high strung, but he didn’t complain – just said there wasn’t enough hours in the day. Seokjin complained about his boss, but only half-heartedly, because soon they were making out.

Seokjin would be thirty-one in a few months, and here he was, making out with a boy like he was a hormonal teenager. It’d been a while since he’d had done things like this: kissing just because it was nice and because he was so attracted to Namjoon that he did not know how not to kiss him. Maybe they’d all grown up too fast when they’d been trainees. No dating, no teenage fumbling… Maybe they were making up for it now with excessive infatuation – even him.

For instance, mid-working day he would think the following: he loved Namjoon’s hands. They were warm and dextrous, squeezing, rubbing, petting, massaging, brushing, holding, pushing, stroking, and god he loved everything those hands did to him and the way he melted from the touch. Sometimes Namjoon didn’t quite know his own strength, but this resulted in gentleness rather than force, with him guiding Namjoon to hold him tighter, to pull him harder, showing just how to handle him. Namjoon was a staggeringly quick study in a way that made him fear for his grip on reality.

There had to be more to life than making out with Namjoon – electricity bills, annual performance reviews – and yet, as they sucked face, did anything else in life really even matter?

A knock on the door. Namjoon detached himself to answer it.

The same manager who’d led Seokjin up had brought their food like a parent dropping by to check in on the kids. Yet something was different here: Seokjin’s memories of managers were for the most part negative. Scolding them, breathing down their necks, making vague threats of them being sent home, focusing on the many ways they were lacking… You could never please a manager: tough love all the way.

This manager bowed lower to Namjoon than he did to him. He worked for Namjoon, not the other way around.

Seokjin glanced at the awards in the studio. Namjoon had earned those. Had paid for at least a couple of floors of this building, too. BigHit had a few more groups now, but BTS had been their biggest success by far.

“Are there trainees in this building?”

“Oh, plenty,” Namjoon said, opening the food containers and breaking chopsticks apart. His mouth was a little swollen from them frenching for a solid fifteen minutes. “But they have their own areas on the basement levels, so I don’t really see them.”

The managers did not bow to those kids, that was for sure.

“You hungry?” Namjoon asked, and Seokjin focused on his second meal of the night, right after Namjoon’s tongue. He’d been eager to visit Namjoon at work, so to speak, because he wanted to see where Namjoon spent so much of his time. It was, perhaps, a little risky to stride into BigHit like this, but who could possibly catch them eating noodles in Namjoon’s studio late at night?

With that thought, a different, more melodic knock sounded on the door. They both froze, half-finished noodles before them.

Before they could react, the door opened and Jung Hoseok walked in – tall and handsome, black hair swept off his forehead, in baggy sweats. “Do I smell food? Did you order some— Oh! Seokjin-hyung? I didn’t know you were here!” Hoseok stilled, face one of complete surprise before his eyes lifted from him to Namjoon. “You didn’t tell me about this, Joon-ah.”

Why did all of BTS talk to each other in perfectly clear Korean, yet Seokjin never understood what was being implied?

Namjoon seemed uncharacteristically speechless, eyes a little wide. Hoseok said, “Did you think I’d gone home already?”

“Matter of fact, yes,” Namjoon said just as Seokjin shifted back from him, worried about their kiss-swollen lips.

Hoseok’s surprise shifted into a shit-eating grin as he took them in with increased intensity. “Oh. Well, I was doing some freestyling in the studio.”

“Right, I see.”

“Hadn’t left at all,” Hoseok said, a hand briefly pressing over his mouth before he cleared his throat. “Hyung, it’s nice to see you – been a while since the party!”

“Yeah, um, Namjoonie invited me to come see his studio.”

“Oh, he did? That’s nice of him. How do you like it?”

“Yeah, an upgrade from the one we used to share.”

“That’s definitely true,” Hoseok said but made no move to leave.

“You want to join us?” he offered, mostly at a loss and motioning at the vacant armchair.

“I’d be delighted!” Hoseok announced, looking intrigued and yet kind of intimidating. He sat down, manspreading ever so slightly. His eyes drilled holes into Namjoon, and there could not have been many people in the world who could make Kim Namjoon squirm, but Jung Hoseok was clearly one of them.

Namjoon cast a look at Hoseok that might have said ‘not now’ or ‘please go’ or ‘come on, stop it’, or perhaps none of those things. It reminded Seokjin of the pleading, caught look Namjoon made whenever he broke something.

“So, have you two seen much of each other lately?”

The question was directed at Seokjin.

“Oh, a little. Like not a lot,” he said, not even daring to look at Namjoon.

“Namjoonie’s been really busy lately, always off doing something. Won’t tell us what.”

“Huh.”

“But you’ve managed to fit each other in, it seems.”

“Luck, I guess.”

Hoseok nodded, and Seokjin did not feel relieved when he recognised mirth hiding in Hoseok’s stare – the fucker was trying not to laugh! “Always good to make new friends – or, well, I guess we’re all old friends here, now that I think of it. Right, hyung?”

“I guess so, technically speaking,” he agreed. Did Hoseok know about the two of them – had he put two and two together? If yes, Hoseok had already realised Seokjin was gay. Was he surprised? Shocked? Disappointed?

Seokjin shifted in his seat, mind whirring.

“Well, if you ask me it’s nice, you two being good friends again,” Hoseok said, mouth twisting with a smile that he was still managing to hold back. “Namjoonie here can be quite a handful, hyung, so I’m glad he’s under sturdy guidance. Oh no, no, I already ate – thank you.”

Seokjin pulled back the food container he’d offered. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, guess I’ll take the leftovers back home to my girlfriend.”

Both Namjoon and Hoseok stilled at this. Hoseok tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, mouth opening in an O. Seokjin clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know what to say – he didn’t understand this, whatever this was.

Hoseok’s confusion melted into a supporting smile. “I’m sure she’d like that.” Another mystery glance shared with Namjoon. “Well, I best get going, don’t want to intrude further.”

Namjoon escorted Hoseok out, which was unnecessary in such a small place. All he heard Namjoon say to Hoseok was, “Don’t put this in the group chat. I mean it, don’t.”

“Oh, you’re asking a lot out of—”

The door closed firmly, silence following, and Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. Took in a deep breath. Then stared at the door, a look of utter defeat on him. “I really should change the door code.”

Seokjin sat still, gathering his thoughts. But how could Hoseok know? Namjoon had friends in here often enough – he’d seen pictures of Namjoon hanging out with musicians right on this same couch! The two of them hanging out like this shouldn’t be incriminating, yet Hoseok had seemed…

“Have you told them?”

After they’d both agreed not to tell anyone?!

Namjoon blinked. Hands settled on his hips, shoulders tensing. “No, not exactly. But they’ve known me for so long, they could tell that the past month I’ve been acting a little… But I’ve refused to tell them anything. There’s no end to their teasing in case you couldn’t tell.”

Namjoon checked his phone, perhaps to see if the group chat was suddenly on fire.

“But now?”

“Now? Hobi absolutely knows.”

Shit.

“I didn’t mean to— Fuck,” he managed, digesting the remaining four members knowing about them, about him. He didn’t want Yoongi to stop mixing him highballs or Hoseok to stop giving him a friendly smile in greeting, and he didn’t want Jungkook to stop liking the memories of him making seaweed soup for his birthday, or for Jimin to freak out that the person who’d taught him to shave was a gay man. They’d accepted Namjoon, sure, but did they have a choice? With Seokjin they got a choice, whether that was for their perception of him in the present or the past.

Namjoon looked at him sitting on the couch. “You really should stop lying about having a girlfriend.”

The hairs at the back of his neck rose up. Namjoon had not used this tone on him in over a decade: reprimanding.

“Excuse me?”

Namjoon looked annoyed, upset for a reason Seokjin could not decode. “This was Hobi, not Dispatch. And no matter who it is, you don’t have to lie about yourself.”

Seokjin looked away, organised the food containers aimlessly, then stood up. He’d only tried to be helpful and to be mindful of Namjoon’s reputation. “You said it yourself that they’d tease you, and—”

“So now they’ll tease me about being a homewrecker instead? Is that better somehow?”

“Look, I just— It’s great, then, that all the members are so openminded and accepting! Good for you! But maybe I haven’t found this same place as goddamn welcoming,” he managed, a lump in his throat, hating the building he was in, this stupid BigHit building, this stupid fucking company, this stupid goddamn place that had forever changed the course of his life. How had he walked back into this den willingly?! Had he been out of his mind? BigShit, that was what this fucking place should be called, goddamn—

Namjoon looked surprised and, to his credit, kept his mouth shut. Seokjin grabbed his jacket and walked to the door. “I’ll see you another time.”

He only got lost twice on his way out.

Fine, perhaps Namjoon had a point that he should stop mentioning a non-existent girlfriend, but that was how the real world worked. Seokjin wasn’t closeted, far from it, but you had to be smart about who you told beyond your family and friends. At work, he kept his business to himself – and how was that so different from his straight colleagues, anyway? Many had girlfriends but said nothing of their existence until a wedding invite appeared. People were private about their love lives in general, and discrimination was real. Seokjin wasn’t being wilfully secretive – he was being smart and playing the game.

Namjoon surely had to play the game even more than he did, and Seokjin was being a considerate lover or boy toy or whatever he was to make sure no suspicion was cast on them hanging out together, alone, in the dim lights of Namjoon’s studio. Considerate by letting the members think he had a girlfriend and was screwing Namjoon on the side. Sure, that was a great look.

Namjoon had messaged him with can we talk?, but Seokjin had ignored this, wishing for Namjoon to show up knocking on his door anyway. Namjoon hadn’t.

Around three in the morning, Namjoon had sent him a Spotify link to an admittedly sweet and romantic song, and before heading to work Seokjin had responded with, can you come over tonight?

Namjoon had yet to respond.

What was the problem exactly? Was it that Seokjin was more determined to keep things secret than Namjoon seemed to be? Or was it not about Namjoon at all? Was it that within the walls of BigHit, Seokjin’s gut reaction was to hide – even now, ten years on – while Namjoon didn’t seem to grasp that not even BigHit was a safe haven for him?

Kim Heejun, the organiser of Almost BTS, happened to be visiting Seoul when Seokjin dropped him a message. Heejun was happy to meet up that very evening and, predictably, suggested one of the restaurants near the old dorm. Heejun loved that he was recognised there, even if nowhere else.

Seokjin managed to persuade Heejun to meet him near Seoul Station instead – just for a quick drink before Heejun’s train home since Seokjin had a big work deadline, yada yada…

Heejun had been a handsome trainee and was still handsome in his early thirties, but he didn’t stand out in an obvious way. Unlike Namjoon and the rest, Heejun hadn’t spent the past decade on an idol diet, with personal PTs and exceptional dermatologists attending to his needs. Sometimes there were bruises on Namjoon’s arms or face: oh that? A vitamin drip. That? Glutathione injection. That? A bit of botox.

Seokjin knew full well how looks obsessed the idol industry was. It wasn’t like he was immune to it either: twice a year he paid handsomely for an extensive anti-ageing laser treatment at a Gangnam clinic that boasted working on high profile celebrities, and afterwards Seokjin was convinced he could see a difference. (Could he? Was it just placebo after putting his credit card through hell?)

Namjoon’s looks were a central part of his job, but Seokjin was still glad when the bruises left by needles fully faded.

Heejun, freed of these pressures, looked less striking, although Seokjin was quite sure he’d had his jawline shaved.

“Seokjin-ah, you just don’t age!” Heejun gushed as they greeted each other, which he was happy to hear – not placebo at all! Take my money, extortionately priced Gangnam clinic!

They hadn’t met up in a few years, with Seokjin avoiding the Almost BTS gatherings. Heejun was still trying to become YouTube famous, and he’d recently hit ten thousand subscribers. That wasn’t nothing! Seokjin agreed that it wasn’t.

Heejun poured him some soju. “You know people are saying BTS are preparing a full-team comeback next year?”

“Oh, I know – Namjoon’s got the title track ready.”

Heejun looked at him funnily. “Really – what’s the source? Wha, you must really keep up to date on rumours. What accounts do you follow?” Heejun got out his phone to find said accounts, and Seokjin managed to stutter that an ARMY friend at work had told him so.

“Probably just a rumour,” he said, throat a little tight.

For once, however, he wanted to talk about their trainee days – a topic Heejun cherished. Seokjin barely had to prompt him for Heejun to go down memory lane, laughing about them trying to learn beatboxing even though they were terrible at it. “Didn’t you used to take Jungkook to school? And Taehyung, remember him? Wha, he and Jimin were inseparable. Having a same age friend is nice, I always thought. But, well, Taehyung got sent packing too. So much for that.”

Seokjin glanced out the window. They were on the second floor of the bar, with a busy road between them and Seoul Station plaza, full of taxis and travellers. He measured his words carefully. “I wanted to ask you something. When they told you that you wouldn’t make the team… what did they say?”

Heejun’s enthusiasm waned. He downed his soju. “Pretty sure they had that spiel fully scripted, don’t you? That the improvements weren’t fast enough, that you were getting left behind and couldn’t catch up. Which— I was sleeping two hours a night. I worked harder than anyone there, and… ‘You don’t fit the team we now have in mind.’ I remember that clearly. Man, I was best friends with everyone there, and I didn’t fit? Insanity. Absolute… Why? What did they tell you?”

A liability. That was what they’d told Seokjin: you’ve become a liability.

He thought of the way Namjoon laughed into his neck when they cuddled, in a way that made Seokjin suspect that he was in all likelihood developing feelings it was unwise to develop. Had he once more become a liability for the team? But, even beyond that, wasn’t Namjoon now a liability himself?

He considered telling Heejun about his departure from the company. He wanted to say, ‘Well actually the speech they gave me was a little different – mainly because they’d found out I was gay.’

Seokjin’s heart was heavy. “They told me the same – not fitting the team or improving quick enough. A rehearsed script, like you said.”

Heejun shook his head. “Maybe they just didn’t like the look of us. Guess we’ll never know for sure.”

“Who was in the room with you?”

Heejun frowned, scratching his neck. “Bang PD-nim, of course. And that one manager none of us liked – the one with the thick eyebrows.”

“Kang Incheol.”

“That was him,” Heejun said, snapping his fingers. “I wonder if he still works for BigHit? Between you and me, he was always an asshole. Treated us the worst.”

Seokjin agreed. He’d been in the room for Seokjin, too. Thankfully he knew that the man hadn’t worked for BigHit in years.

Heejun drank too much too fast, and Seokjin ended up escorting him all the way to his train, just to make sure he got home safe.

Namjoon got back to him the following day, saying he’d been busy all of yesterday but was heading to a friend’s place that evening. do you want to come?

Namjoon messaged him an address in Ttukseom, which turned out to be for a small, bricked building down a side street, with a rolled down garage door – the kind of place that fifteen years ago had been a drug den, but now had a pet’s clothing store next door. Seokjin parked outside and pressed the intercom.

“Uh, hi, I’m here for uh…”

He didn’t know if he could say Namjoon’s name.

The door opened anyway, and a cool looking man dressed in all black beamed at him, black hair tied up on a bun, round glasses on his nose. He looked like an emcee of a jazz bar. “You must be Seokjin. Come in, we’re at the back.”

The place turned out to be a recording studio, with vocal booths and a spacious live room, all of which were empty and on the other side of a glass partition. In the mixing room, across couches and chairs, were three men and two women, eating fried chicken and drinking beer amidst much talk and laughter.

Namjoon was there, standing up to greet him, expression brightening while still a little cautious. A weight he’d been carrying since storming out (determinedly exiting?) BigHit HQ lifted off of him – somehow, simply by looking at each other, Seokjin knew they were okay. More than this, he knew they’d both missed each other.

“Guys, this is Seokjin. Seokjin-hyung, this is everyone.”

Namjoon did more thorough introductions than this thankfully, and Seokjin desperately tried to remember people’s names – this was much more manageable here than at Namjoon’s birthday party at least. One friend was a producer – it was his studio – one of the girls a drummer, the jazz club emcee turned out to be a singer, one was a guitarist, and the second girl was a rapper. These were the cool, alternative k-indie scene queers Jiyoon had proudly shown Seokjin that Namjoon was friends with.

The rapper said, “We saw you at Namjoon’s birthday party, right?”

Maybe? Seokjin had been too busy freaking out over being in the same room as Drunken Tiger to retain new people’s faces in his memory.

“You don’t forget a face like yours in a hurry,” the drummer said, and Seokjin smiled shyly at the compliment, feeling surprisingly at ease. Namjoon tugged him to the couch to take a seat by him – a few drinks in, that was clear. They’d parted in confusion, but Namjoon was all open arms and warmth, and the group continued their in-depth discussion on music. Thankfully, Seokjin found a way to join in.

Namjoon knew these people well – there were references to past get-togethers and musical adventures from years back. Namjoon was enjoying their company, and Seokjin relaxed in turn, accepting chicken and a beer (just the one – he had his car).

When Namjoon’s hand came to rest on his thigh and did not budge, Seokjin let him. He liked the touch that could be friendly or romantic (that was for them to know and for others to wonder about), and somehow it did not unnerve him here.

At BigHit, it probably would have.

Eventually the drummer and guitarist – the token straight couple – left for the night, with the producer escorting them out. The rapper went to pee, and the jazz club emcee went outside for a smoke. Once alone, Namjoon’s attention was on him in a way that was quite overwhelming. He’d discovered over time that being the recipient of Namjoon's full attention was intoxicating.

“You okay?” was the first thing Namjoon asked, hand slowly rubbing his thigh.

“Yeah. They’re really nice, your friends.”

“They are. They like you.” Namjoon was so close that he caught the by now familiar cologne.

“Are these the kinds of friends you’d invite over?”

“Some of the rare ones I would.”

“Noted,” he said. He really needed to memorise some names. “Hey, did you notice how I didn’t tell them that I have a girlfriend?”

“I did notice that. I actually liked that bit a lot,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin laughed. Had the other day been their first fight? Well, first snapping at each other at least – in this lifetime. They had fought before over cleaning the dorm, taking out the recycling, about Namjoon’s loud snoring. Incidentally, Namjoon snored less now; he’d had surgery a few years after the debut.

Namjoon kept massaging his thigh, in a way that was truthfully more arousing than calming. “I’m sorry about the other day, you know. I know I made it sound like righteous be-true-to-yourself bullshit, but you know what I realised after you’d left? That I was jealous. Like, you saying you were dating someone else just made my stomach sink. I was literally jealous of a made-up person. Kinda pathetic, huh?”

He understood in that moment, with frightening clarity, just how deeply in love he’d likely fall. Throat tight, he said, “That’s exactly what I’m looking for: someone pathetic.”

Namjoon quirked an eyebrow, moving to sit even closer to him. “It is? Wow, guess it’s my lucky day.” If he thought Namjoon was simply being a little tipsy and flirtatious, the next question showed how sharp he was even a few beers in: “You said something before you left the studio. Something about the company?”

Seokjin knew what he had said: that the place hadn’t been in his experience all that welcoming.

He was used to Namjoon by now, but the other members still made him feel like he was a trainee, doing everything for the team, trying to improve, trying to help, and then fucking it all up anyway. BTS had been fine without him: a very successful five years before the 2018 burn out crisis. What, as if having people like him and Taehyung on the team would have made BTS more successful – secured invites to the Grammys and more grand prizes, with no burn out? He wasn’t arrogant enough to think so.

He thought of Bang Sihyuk’s office in October of 2012 – the very day he’d talked to Heejun about. Bang PD there, also Sejin, and manager Kang Incheol. The four of them had barely fit into the room. Bang PD motioning for Incheol to start: “Seokjin-ah, when I was out drinking with friends last night, I saw you coming out of a club.” That itself was bad. He had snuck out, broken the rules. “It was a gay club.”

“Hyung?” Namjoon asked.

He shook his head, erasing the memories of a handful of other boys sleeping in the small bedroom with him, snoring from exhaustion, head full of dreams. He’d loved them.

“I just meant— well, you said it yourself, the way trainees always used to talk about girls. It was easy to feel left out, that’s all. And that’s why I lie to Hoseok. It was a gut reaction. It was stupid.”

Namjoon was studying him. “You don’t need to worry about the members. You know they’re good people, right? I know you haven’t seen them in a really long time, but they haven’t changed that much – they’re still hard-working and kind.”

It was wild to Seokjin that Namjoon could not see how much they all had changed. The power and authority and success and wealth that they all exuded.

This confirmed what, in truth, he’d known since Namjoon’s studio. “So they know now?”

Namjoon exhaled, rolling his eyes. “All it took was Jimin cornering Hobi for him to crack like a dry biscuit in the desert.”

He chuckled, digesting the news. He had known it to be inevitable in some ways – and… the world was still spinning. He was still breathing. Nothing bad had happened.

He still wanted to wring his hands together, knew how agitated it would look, and held back. “And what did they say?”

“They mostly congratulated me for potentially not dying alone in my studio after all, saying they were amazed I’ve matured enough to pursue something other than music.” Namjoon looked like reading these remarks had not been pleasant and that he personally disagreed with this assessment of himself, making Seokjin smile. “I hadn’t told them yet because it seemed too soon. I didn’t want that to put pressure on… whatever we have.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Were they now officially telling people about their relationship? Had they in their own quiet way told the friends at the studio, with Namjoon and him sitting together tightly, skinship between them? No one had paid it any mind – the others had just smiled at them, with Seokjin finding himself at ease. That had probably been Namjoon’s plan all along: invite him here to show it could be done. That Namjoon’s circles could be welcoming, accepting. That it didn’t have to be a big deal.

Realising it fully only as he said it, he managed, “I just didn’t want the members to feel like I let them down, or for their memories of me to change.”

“Neither of those things have happened,” Namjoon said with genuine puzzlement in his tone, and Seokjin thought this was between him and a qualified therapist to unpack one day. “Trust me, okay? They’re fine about us. Yoongi and Jimin already thought something was up, ever since the birthday party.”

He frowned. “But nothing had happened with us then.”

“Yes, but they know me. It’s pretty obvious to them when I’m taken by someone. And now, I suppose, they figure you were unable to resist my charms.”

He rolled his eyes – as if! And yet that was exactly it. Namjoon had walked him home, holding the umbrella out for him even if it meant getting rained on himself, and what had Seokjin done? Dragged Namjoon into his bed. God, Seokjin had been charmed.

“So we’re okay?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah. Of course,” he said, but something still felt bitter. If acceptance had been this easy, then surely Seokjin was the biggest fool of all time.

It was fine. He’d let those dreams go already – he was fine.

Namjoon studied him carefully, concern in his eyes, and Seokjin wondered if Yoongi and Jimin had seen it on him too at that party: how taken he’d been by Namjoon, too.

He took the chance to kiss Namjoon: slow and sweet, not too rushed. Namjoon kissed him back instantly, with a force he hadn’t expected – want stirred in him. Something for him to channel all the turmoil into, transform it into release.

They pulled back when they heard someone coming. The producer returned, and Namjoon said, “Hey, we’re gonna head off too.”

Soon they were in Seokjin’s Hyundai, heading to Namjoon’s apartment in the dark of the evening. The wipers pushed the slow rain away as Seokjin navigated out of the neighbourhood. Like at the studio, Namjoon kept a hand on his thigh here too, thumb rubbing in circles. Seokjin could think of little else but that touch.

“Did you listen to that song I sent you?”

It had been a slow, sultry R&B track with English lyrics, wistful and sexy: lyrics a mix of ‘baby don’t go’ and ‘ride with me’. Seokjin knew enough English to get the innuendo, but in the song had also been an honest admission of longing and attachment. Namjoon listening to the song with him in mind made his heart race – it was far more than what they’d admitted to each other openly.

“I liked it.”

Namjoon’s hand moved higher on his thigh. “I’m glad.”

“I’m trying to drive here.”

Namjoon grinned, not lifting his hand. “Sorry.”

Seokjin’s heart squeezed, the hand so far up his thigh that it was on his crotch. Namjoon palmed his half-hard cock through the cotton of his trousers. Seokjin focused on the traffic lights, waiting for them to turn green.

“You’re hard for me,” Namjoon said, giving his length a squeeze. “Is it because we didn’t fuck the other night? Did I leave you wanting?”

His blood was running hot. “And when you sent me that song at three in the morning – what were you doing?”

“Missing having you in bed with me.”

The lights turned, and he took a left, following the edge of Seoul Forest with the park on one side, a long wall to a residential housing complex on the other.

“Pull over,” Namjoon said.

He pulled over.

The rain drummed lightly against the roof, an empty bus stop a little further ahead of them. Cars passed by, two lanes going each way, but hardly anyone was walking along the pavement. Good, because as they kissed in the front seats, seatbelts hastily off, they were truly putting the tinted windows to the test.

“We can’t here,” he said in a feeble attempt to be the voice of reason.

“We can.” Namjoon unzipped him quickly, hand down his front and cupping his cock, murmuring, “We just gotta be quick, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, tugging Namjoon closer but not knowing how to do it.

“Push your seat back.”

Namjoon had definitely done this before – either that or watched too much porn.

They adjusted their seats, and soon Namjoon was leaning over from the passenger seat, bending down and sucking him off. Seokjin tried to muffle his groans, hand on the back of Namjoon’s head to guide him. Namjoon’s mouth was warm and wet, sucking on him tightly, tongue dragging along the underside of his length.

“Shit, baby,” Seokjin breathed, hips lifting off the seat, cock so hard he was throbbing. Spit rolled down his length – it was wet, messy, perfect. God, he wanted Namjoon so much that it burned him.

A man walked past the car in a raincoat and a Husky on a leash, and Seokjin watched his retreating back while Namjoon pushed down to get more of his cock into his mouth. His nails pressed into Namjoon’s scalp, his body leaning back into the seat, relaxing as much as he could.

Out of all things, he thought of running into Namjoon at that café months ago now – at the first warm smile Namjoon had given him: so handsome, so charismatic. They’d likely wanted each other already then. Now—

“I’m really close,” he said, swallowing around the words, his head pushing back against the headrest. His hips bucked upwards. Namjoon tongued at his slit, sucking the crown in – soft, thick lips rubbing against the sensitive flesh. One large hand was in his underwear, cupping his balls and massaging them. Cars drove by. The windows were foggy. Namjoon sucked him. He was breathing fast. He fucked into Namjoon’s mouth. Pushed Namjoon’s head down. Cried out. Spilled.

Namjoon swallowed all of it, choking on his length a little but managing it. Seokjin rubbed at the back of his neck, the back of his head. “So good, Joon-ah… Fuck, you’re so good at that…”

Namjoon pulled back with an obscene, wet pop, not moving away but mouthing him clean, tongue sliding along the shaft. Lingering at the crown, with slow licks getting the last of the cum. Seokjin would never be able to sit in traffic without thinking about this.

He kissed Namjoon desperately when the other rose up, tasting himself in the shared kiss. Namjoon pushed the rest of his trousers down, with Seokjin lifting his hips to assist him. It was slightly clumsy work, with Seokjin toeing off his tennis shoes, but they got there.

“Now come sit on my cock,” Namjoon said, pulling him onto the passenger seat. There was some further fumbling with the chair settings – tilting Namjoon’s seat backwards to give Seokjin more room. Namjoon was wearing sweatpants, which were tugged down to his knees easily, cock sprung free and hard between them. Seokjin stroked him, mouth locked with Namjoon’s. Namjoon had a sachet of lube in his wallet. Who walked around with lube upon their person?

“I do,” Namjoon said, kissing him, lube covered fingers pushing into him. “At least ever since we started this, in case you want my cock when we’re out somewhere.”

“Like on the side of this road?”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin sat down on his cock – one knee on the seat, the other on the centre console, both hands clinging onto the seat behind Namjoon for balance. He whimpered, sensitive from just having come, but he was so full of want and need, and he fucked down on Namjoon’s cock the best he could.

More people passed the car. Was the car moving – rocking? Were they giving it away? What if someone called the police on them?

Namjoon was sucking bruises onto his throat, fucking up into him. Quick, they had to be quick. Seokjin moved faster, with precision, a desperate, wanton undercurrent to his movements.

“Want you so much,” Namjoon said, hands on his hips, pushing him down with hard tugs, his buttocks smacking against solid thighs. “You take my cock so well, baby – keep going, that’s it…”

Seokjin was still wearing his jumper and socks, bare otherwise. The stretch of Namjoon’s cock was just a little too much – he needed more lube, more prep – but it made everything raw and foolish in a way that left him light-headed.

“God, this is stupid,” he breathed, biting on his bottom lip. “We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Don’t give a fuck – keep going.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpered, fucking himself on the hard length.

“Did you miss this?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. He had, he had, he—

“Me too,” Namjoon groaned, picking up speed. They both enjoyed being talked through it, and Namjoon was full of words.

“I missed you all tight and stretched around me, just like you are now. You’re so fucking hot, baby, you get so needy when I fuck you just right, and it drives me insane knowing I can make you ride my cock on the side of a road like this. Don’t be shy about it… That’s it, god you look so good, keep going. I’m so close, just like that, fuck… Kiss me, come here. God, I always want to leave you dripping. You know I wanted to fuck you in my studio too? Wanted to leave you all fucked out on my cock. Yeah? You want that too? We’ll do it next time, alright? So good for me, baby, you were made for my cock, I’m so sure of it. You close? Fuck I— I know she’s looking at the car, she can’t see us, keep going. Don’t stop until you come, alright? God you’re so tight, you’re so perfect, I’m fucking obsessed with you, keep going, keep going, ah fuck, oh shit, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

When Seokjin parked the car in the visitor spot of Namjoon’s apartment complex half an hour later, they sat in their seats for a full five minutes, waiting for the two people by the lifts to leave. Namjoon had dried cum on the crotch of his sweatpants, and Seokjin had a wet patch on the back of his beige, cotton trousers. They were a fucking mess.

When the coast was clear, they beelined across the parking hall into the lifts, heads hung low. In the lift up, they suppressed giggles, sneaking glances at each other, awed by the fucking state of them.

As they took a shower together to get cleaned up, Namjoon said, “You should meet the members – properly, I mean. They know now, anyway – and look, it’s not like they don’t know you.”

Pouring shampoo onto his palm and admiring the way water cascaded between Namjoon’s firm pectoral muscles, he said, “It’s a bit different meeting me as someone they trained with versus the person their leader is sleeping with, don’t you think?”

“Of course it is, but they’ll still like you,” Namjoon argued, lathering his short hair. “We all like Jimin’s wife, for instance, and we welcomed her sincerely. She’s really fun, too.”

Startled, he turned the water off and wiped the suds out of his eyes. “Jimin’s what?”

Chapter Text

“Theoretically,” he said, emphasising the word, “if you were going to Hobi’s house for dinner, what gift would you bring him?”

In the office break room, Jiyoon poked at her lunch salad thoughtfully, expression thoughtful. “God, that’s such a good question.”

“Thank you, I like to think so.”

“Hmm, I really need to think about it. I have so many ideas.”

“Oh, take your time – just let me know by the end of the day. And, ah, if possible maybe it’s something I can buy from the convenience store after work?”

Jiyoon raised an eyebrow at him. “Come again?”

Hoseok lived a short five-minute ride from Namjoon’s apartment complex, but Seokjin arrived on foot, having left his car home that morning. Not that he didn’t trust himself and Namjoon around his car anymore, but rather that he expected to drink a little. (And, well, throw in a few beers, him, Namjoon, and his innocent Hyundai… Okay fine, maybe he did mistrust him and Namjoon a little, in a way that made his body heat up.)

hey I’m here, he messaged Namjoon, but received no reply.

Worried about being spotted outside (by whom, exactly? He wasn’t famous), he used the door code Namjoon had sent to enter the building and found his way to Hoseok’s apartment.

To his surprise, Yoongi opened the door – black hair unruly around his head, black circles under his eyes, but despite looking like he’d been on a week-long bender he was calm and relaxed, with flawless, moisturised skin. Yoongi even smiled. “Hyung, come in.”

He left his shoes in the entryway, clutching the small plastic bag with Hoseok’s present. The place was larger than Namjoon’s, but just as sleek and spotless. Hoseok indulged more in memorabilia: there were framed pictures of him and the members on red carpets, framed Number 1 singles and awards, and plenty of cartoon figurines, statues and collectibles in glass cases.

Yoongi showed him into the living room where – to his horror – Hoseok and Jimin were lounging, glasses of wine in hand and deep in conversation. Without Namjoon.

The conversation stopped and two sets of observant, knowing eyes landed on him.

“Hi. Hey. Wow, uh, the whole gang’s here. Is Namjoon in the bathroom?” he asked, craning his neck to see into the next room.

“He’s running late,” Hoseok said, standing up to greet him – not quite hugging him but patting his shoulder enthusiastically anyway.

He handed over the small bag. “Thanks for hosting – just a token of gratitude. Sorry I said that thing about a girlfriend the last time we met, that was really weird, right? But just to set the record straight – or the opposite, actually – I have no girlfriend, which, ah, you all know since I’m seeing Namjoon, of course, because one is gay, one being me. Nice place! Love what you’ve done with it.”

He sat down on the adjacent couch, crossed one leg over the other, primly put his hands atop his knee, and decidedly shut the fuck up.

Yoongi and Jimin looked bemused, while Hoseok opened the gift bag.

He pulled on the collar of his shirt nervously. Kim Jiyoon, the angel of his life, the mother of the children he never wished to have, please come through, please, please—

“Oh my god, where did you find these?!” Hoseok said excitedly, showing Jimin a pair of Snoopy socks that he’d found in the underground shopping mall of the subway station. “These are exactly like the ones I lost in Bon Voyage 2! Those were my favourite! Hyung, how did you know?”

“You’ve watched Bon Voyage?” Jimin asked in slight surprise.

He bit his cheek and shook his head. “No, um, actually I asked my colleague who’s ARMY what gift she’d give to j-hope if she could. And… there we go.”

But, somehow, this made Hoseok doubly excited. “It’s a gift from ARMY?”

“I mean, I paid for it?”

Jimin took the socks and examined them. “Wha, she remembered your socks, hyung. ARMYs are amazing.”

“Of course she remembered – no one knows us like ARMYs,” Yoongi said from where he was sitting in an armchair with a glass of whisky in hand. Hoseok and Jimin made agreeing sounds, admiring the socks, and Hoseok proceeded to put the socks on then and there, happily tapping his feet to the ground.

Seokjin was surprised by how sincere the members sounded as they talked about their fans. Namjoon’s words echoed in his head: that these were good people. That fame hadn’t changed who they really were – because trainee versions of Hoseok, Yoongi, and Jimin would have been excited by a gift of socks from a fan, too.

“Glad you like them,” he managed, feeling himself be silently evaluated. “Did Namjoonie, ah, send an ETA?”

Yoongi said, “He’s on his way – cycling. Did you drive here?”

He met Yoongi’s blank stare that gave nothing away, his heart racing. “Drive, me? I don’t see why that’s relevant; I don’t think Namjoon’s ever even been in my car? And even if he’d been I am sure it was only because I gave him a quick lift somewhere, and that was all!”

Hoseok had stopped fussing over the socks and gave him a look of genuine concern. “Hyung, are you alright? Do you need a glass of water?”

“God, yes please,” he said, wiping at his brow.

Jimin stood up and headed into the kitchen.

He’d used to order these brats around, but too much time had passed for him to march in with the authority he’d once had. He pulled on his collar again, thanking Jimin when he handed him a bottle of water. He took a sip, the three members taking him in not unkindly and with some concern.

The members likely had questions, but they were too polite to ask – or, rather, they cornered Namjoon with their questions and not him. Hoseok clearly still thought that the whole affair was hilarious but was looking at the other two for cues. Jimin made no remarks – he had his own domestic situation, as Seokjin now knew, and so perhaps he was withholding judgement – and Yoongi, Seokjin knew instinctually, would not involve himself in other people’s business.

The silence was heavy and loud.

The doorbell rang, and Seokjin shot up. “That must be Namjoon! I’ll go get him.”

Namjoon stood in the corridor, cheeks red from the cold, with a grey beanie on his head and a dark brown coat on him, round glasses a little fogged up but he was still all model-like, expression brightening at the sight of him. “Hey, you beat me to—”

He pulled Namjoon in from the lapels of his coat. “How could you be late for this? They’re being nice and in the words of high schoolers, it’s sus.”

“Babe, it’s not ‘sus’.”

“Don’t use air-quotes on me!”

Namjoon’s dimples deepened, eyes almost sparkling. “You’re so cute.” A peck to his lips – quick as anything, but enough to make Seokjin feel light-headed. “Of course they’re being nice – I told them to be.”

A-ha, so Namjoon had given his members instructions: How to Handle My Easily Agitated Potential Boyfriend. Speak in soft tones! Don’t make sudden movements. Avoid excessive eye contact. Give him water and smile in a vaguely encouraging, accepting way!

“Come on.” Namjoon pulled off the beanie before grabbing his hand and leading him back into the living room, greeting his members with an easy, “Sup. When’s the food getting here?”

After this, the evening turned less sus, mostly without any contribution on Seokjin’s part. The four members simply were so comfortable with each other that the atmosphere felt easy and relaxed. They anticipated what the others would say, and even the most obscure of references made sense to everyone and caused laughter and bickering, and all the while no one was putting on airs.

It was different from Namjoon’s artsy friends at the recording studio – Namjoon was more relaxed here, sharing the couch with him, arm casually slung over his shoulders in a gesture that was both possessive and reassuring. Namjoon brushed the hairs at the nape of his neck as he talked, subconsciously it seemed, and he doubted Namjoon would have been this unselfconscious in any other company. In truth, he too had shifted closer to Namjoon, needing to anchor himself, but soon he stopped thinking so fiercely about their proximity and body language.

The members had over a decade of stories, and the room felt too small to fit the four of them. “Aish, I wish Jungkookie was here,” Jimin said at one point, to which Yoongi said, “He’ll be home soon – not long at all now.”

The food arrived: Yoongi had ordered a copious amount of fried chicken, earning praise from the rest for being such a thoughtful and cool oldest member. “I’m full just watching you eat,” Yoongi said, but there was plenty for everyone.

Seokjin felt a pang of confusion – this had been his responsibility, once. Feeding the kids.

“We’re gonna have to start dieting soon so let’s enjoy this while we can,” Hoseok said mournfully as they all dug in.

“Because of the comeback?” he clarified and received nods.

The members talked about the new album, sounding eager to work as a five-piece group again after years of solo work. Most of all they reminisced their old tours, talking about how badly they wanted to hit the road again – there seemed to be tour plans for the spring and summer of 2024, after the comeback album would drop some three months post-Jungkook’s enlistment. “Bang PD is driving Jungkookie from the army camp straight into the recording studio,” Hoseok laughed.

“Are you kidding? Jungkook will tell him to drive faster, like this – ‘hyung, press the accelerator!’,” Jimin said, mimicking the scenario, hands grabbing an imaginary steering wheel. Hoseok laughed so hard his body shook.

Seokjin had now had two glasses of wine and said, “I’m going on tour soon, you know.” The members looked at him with interest and surprise. “The 2023 VR Con is in Daegu next month. All my staff are going too – we’re running panels and workshops. It’s the highlight of the year.”

Hoseok leaned closer to him. “And you – will you be on stage?”

“Oh for sure, when there are practical announcements. Fire safety instructions and guest introductions, stuff like that. I’ll chair a few sessions too.”

Jimin looked hesitating. “Is it a large venue?”

“The large hall fits three thousand.”

“Three thousand?” Hoseok said without a single hint of irony and looked around the room. “Wish that was us!”

It didn’t seem like the 2023 VR Con qualified as a joke to the members, who all murmured in impressed tones.

He gawked. “Yah, three thousand is nothing! Haven’t you performed for over thirty thousand people? I was making an amusing, ironic comparison, and it went over your heads!”

But it had been over five years since the group hiatus began, and so perhaps the members really had forgotten their stations.

Namjoon nudged at him. “I thought your comparison was witty and amusing.”

“Thank you,” he said, catching the warm look Namjoon was giving him, easily getting lost in it. God, he wanted to kiss him.

Namjoon’s fingers brushed the side of his neck. “But I also think your VR Con sounds impressive, and I think you’ll do a great job.”

Seokjin knew his ears were turning red and hated there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“I have a question,” Hoseok said. The members were studying the two of them more openly now – the fried chicken was mostly finished, and between the five of them they’d had wine, whisky, and numerous beers. “About this whole… development,” Hoseok said, motioning at him and Namjoon.

“Hob-ah, let them be,” Yoongi sighed, while Jimin tilted his head like he, too, had questions.

“Yesterday you told me you wanted to know, too,” Hoseok said, and Yoongi lifted his eyebrows in a ‘who? me?’ gesture, feigning innocence.

“Go ahead,” Namjoon said, voice calm and steady. Seokjin sat up straighter, heart beating faster, and also motioned for Hoseok to go on.

Hoseok opened his mouth, then through a teasing giggle said, “Did you have a crush on each other already at the dorm?”

Yoongi sighed, and Jimin’s eyes narrowed.

“An easy answer,” he said, overly aware of Namjoon’s warmth against him. “No.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you didn’t like Namjoon-hyung then?”

“Of course I liked him, just not like that,” he said, daring a glance at Namjoon, who was taking him in with a focused, molten expression. “It didn’t really occur to me. I guess there was, ah, enough going on that… And he seemed kind of straight, anyway.”

“It’s called overcompensation,” Jimin muttered under his breath, grinning devilishly when Namjoon shot an offended look his way.

“So, yeah,” he said, happy to clear the air. “I definitely did not have a crush on anyone at the dorm or anything like that, not even Taehyung – and you guys don’t even know how handsome he is these days.”

Jimin sat up straighter. “Kim Taehyung? You’re still in touch?”

“Yeah, of course. He lives in Seochon. Became an interior designer.”

“Seochon…? He’s in Seoul?” Jimin asked, voice searching. Seokjin didn’t blame him: he, too, might easily have assumed that post-BigHit Taehyung had headed back to his home farm and stayed there. Jimin studied him with an intensity that Seokjin had not seen on him before. “You two are close?”

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for years.”

Hoseok grinned. “He was a great kid! He always used to come up with all kinds of pranks, remember that?”

“The water balloon one,” Namjoon said, and the others laughed while Jimin still looked pensive. “Seokjin-hyung knows what quite a few different trainees are doing these days. We talked about that a lot on our first date, didn’t we?”

“Ooh, first date,” Hoseok teased, almost shaking Jimin, who tried to make sure that the last of his wine wouldn’t spill.

“They were not official dates,” he interceded, because dear god he’d hooked up with another man on one of those ‘dates’. “They were just, um, casual get togethers.”

“That has to be the most Namjoon way to meet someone – cluelessly,” Yoongi deadpanned.

“Wait, so does Taehyungie know about…?” Jimin asked, motioning between him and Namjoon.

“No, of course not,” he rushed to say. “I haven’t told him anything.”

This ‘anything’ now included all kinds of BTS knowledge that very few people knew. For instance, how Jimin had met Mia, a Korean American dancer, when he’d been doing US promo for his solo album right before the pandemic started. One thing led to another, and Mia had flown to Korea two weeks after they’d met – right before the borders closed. After this she had been unexpectedly but happily stuck in Korea, and these days she co-owned a dance studio in Hongdae and had no intention of moving back. Jimin had been with her for over three years. No, they were not married, but the infamous Bangtan group chat had started referring to her as Jimin’s wife, anyway.

Namjoon had used this case to highlight how it was possible for BTS to date and keep it secret. Three years, and no one had a clue – family and close friends excepted.

For Seokjin, this was entirely the wrong lesson to take away from these events. For him it was this: Park Jimin was straight? Him, out of all the five members? He didn’t mean to assume! Who was he to say anything!

But Park Jimin?

“Well I might not know much about these things,” Namjoon had said when perhaps detecting Seokjin’s dismay, “but a lesbian friend of mine once said that if a bi woman chooses you, a man, over all the women in the world, you say something along the lines of ‘thank you very much, my honourable lady’ and lock it down.”

Perhaps this was true.

Jimin might have a long-term girlfriend, then, but there was a key difference here: she was a woman. Seokjin telling family or friends about Namjoon would be him outing someone famous to them. At some point, of course, Seokjin needed to figure out what to tell Taehyung, and he likely needed to involve Namjoon in that conversation. Would Namjoon want Taehyung to know or not? What did Namjoon think was safe?

“Um, Jimin-ah, do you want Taehyung’s number, maybe? Because I can give it to you if you want.”

But Jimin shook his head, averting his gaze. The ’95 liners had been inseparable once, but ten years was a long time. Jimin seemed aware of that: that life had taken him here to a life as a kpop idol in one of the hottest entertainment companies in the country, whereas Taehyung lived modestly, with a 9 to 5 job at an architecture firm. Two very different realities.

Maybe Jimin thought what Seokjin had when first seeing Namjoon again: what do we have in common at all? What can we even talk about?

But perhaps he should have told Jimin how easy it was to slip back into an old companionship like theirs.

There had been something special about that dorm in Nonhyeon-dong – this was what he thought now. Whether you debuted or not, you had gotten to know the people there – who they were at their core, who they were when they were exhausted, broken down, hopeless and yet full of hope.

And if you had liked them then – had loved them then?

Well. A small, brief decade could not change that.

A little before midnight, he helped Yoongi sort out recycling in the kitchen, while Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin were talking loudly in the living room. He’d survived the night and lived to tell the tale.

“Shouldn’t you make the kids do all this?” he asked, diligently sorting out the plastic, metal, paper, and cardboard into their own containers.

“Yes, but they’re unruly,” Yoongi said, doing the dishes. Then, in a pondering tone he added, “And I suppose I spoil them.”

He huffed but recognised the difficulty of Yoongi’s task: saying no to the younger members. He’d been bad at it, too.

He was a little tipsy but thankfully not wasted. Alcohol nevertheless caused the loosening of his tongue as he said, “Were, you, ah, surprised when Namjoon told you? About him and me seeing each other?”

Namjoon wouldn’t tell him if the members had reacted badly, but Yoongi wouldn’t sugarcoat it.

Yoongi scrubbed a plate clean, shrugging. “Not really. If you ask me, it’s time for Namjoon to be doing all this stuff. Like, it’ll be good for his head, his ego, all of it – love, in general, is good for people.”

He nodded, a jolt running through him from the word ‘love’.

Yoongi picked up a glass to wash. “But in some ways of course it’s surprising that it’s you. I thought he’d meet someone through work or a friend, something like that. So you being here again, in this capacity, was pretty unpredictable, especially when none of us heard from you in years.”

“Of course you guys didn’t hear from me. How exactly would I call up BTS?” he laughed.

Yoongi paused, brows knitting. “I guess that’s fair, that we changed our numbers and socials. But now that I think about it, all those late-stage trainees who got kicked out came to greet us later – or sent messages sometimes or tried to keep in touch or even came to a fan sign to say hello. But when you left, we never heard from you again. And now here you are, making Namjoon… smile like a fool.”

There was no accusation in Yoongi’s tone – the observations sounded purely academic.

Eager to direct the conversation elsewhere, he said, “It probably wasn’t an easy job – being the oldest?”

“No. I think I failed at it too – at least I thought so when we decided to stop group activities. I’m not sure what I could have done differently, though.”

Such self-criticism surprised him: the three younger members adored Yoongi, that was more than clear.

As Yoongi kept talking, it was clear that the alcohol had hit him more than his calm exterior betrayed. “At the dorm, someone was always older than me, you know? And so I thought you’d become our oldest member, so I guess I was surprised or… or ill-prepared, you know, when suddenly I had to be that person instead. And I don’t think I ever grew into it.” Yoongi turned off the water, the dishes piled onto a drying rack on the counter. He picked up a kitchen towel and dried his hands to it, still talking evenly – a slight frown showing that his thoughts were wandering. “And it stands out to me that you never came to see us. It always made me wonder if that meant those rumours were true.”

“The, uh… What rumours?”

Yoongi shrugged. “That you got kicked out because you’d been caught partying. Yeah, sounds wild, doesn’t it? Because you never seemed the partying type, so I… Well. Maybe I remember that gossip because it sounded so unlike you.”

He listened to the laughter echoing in the other room – his dongsaengs. Younger kids he’d cared for so deeply, all grown up now – with no help from him.

He blinked too hard and fast, knowing it was a giveaway. “Well, that all was so long ago,” he said, picking up the plastic waste and tying the bag securely.

He’d been an irresponsible, self-indulgent child, putting his whims before the team’s. Him as the oldest member – with behaviour like that?

He’d never deserved the members.

“What matters is what we make of the present,” he said decidedly. “Dwelling on the past – on our past mistakes – can push you into such a dark place. I try not to do that. Learn from your mistakes, try and do better, all that, but don’t dwell on the past.”

What sage advice from someone who had only been dwelling on the past lately. God, he was a hypocrite!

And yet how could he not live in the past? Hanging out with the members felt like stepping into a time machine.

Yoongi smiled, however. “I agree. You have to kill the person you were.”

“Okay, a little violent, sure, but I agree with the basic sentiment.”

Yoongi grinned, reaching out for the bags of recycling. “Hand them over – I’ll make Jimin take them out.”

“Well, watching you try to boss Jimin around will be amusing, so here you go.”

Yoongi and Jimin bickered about said recycling for a good three minutes, but in the end Jimin conceded, but only in exchange for Yoongi praising him for his chivalry – which Yoongi reluctantly did, mostly to get Jimin to stop teasing him.

“Are they always like this?” he asked Namjoon.

Namjoon let out a low whistle. “If you only knew.”

He laughed and looked away.

God, how he wished that he did.

Leaving Hoseok’s apartment, Seokjin had thought they would walk across the neighbourhood to Namjoon’s building. Instead a drunken Namjoon coaxed him to sit on the rack of his bicycle and hold on tight while he cycled them down to the river. Of course Seokjin should have said no – don’t drink and cycle! (did anyone say that?) – and the early November night was at subzero temperatures.

However, that night he saw the entire world in the depths of Namjoon’s eyes, and so he did not say no.

He kept his legs awkwardly spread out to prevent them from scraping the asphalt as they made their way through the quieted streets, the post-midnight traffic gliding past them. They laughed the entire way, their breaths rising in the chill.

The bike lane cut through the long, narrow park that followed the northern edge of Han River, with Gangnam glistening across the broad, dark stretch. In 1950, countless had died trying to cross the river southwards, in an attempt to escape the armies advancing from the north. Gangnam had been a swampy wasteland back then – nothing much there. What a difference time made to everything: a country, a place, a person.

Did history matter – wasn’t it simply enough to kill the person you had been?

In a slightly drunken haze, they left Namjoon’s bike tipped over on the frost-tipped grass and settled on a south-facing bench.

“I won’t be able to keep cycling for much longer this year with snow on the way, but we’ll get you a bike when spring comes,” Namjoon said. “Then we’ll go on cycling trips – I know good routes and it’ll be, like, shit, it’ll be awesome.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, tongue thick. Even if you killed your past self, it was probably polite to hold a funeral: make a little announcement, hold a respectful eulogy. After all, how could Namjoon otherwise know that Seokjin the Trainee had long since died?

But what if Namjoon thought less of him upon finding out what had happened? Yoongi hadn’t prepared to be the oldest. Perhaps Namjoon hadn’t prepared to… what, exactly? Not have Seokjin around to compete for the title of Slowest Choreo Learner?

“Tonight was kinda fun,” he said instead.

It had all been a lot less dramatic than he had made it out to be in his head. The members clearly reflected on Seokjin’s sexuality a lot less than he’d thought they would. Why had he been so sure that it was a huge deal? Because of protagonist syndrome? Fine, maybe the world didn’t always revolve around him.

But back then it had been a huge deal. It had been everything.

“I told you it’d be a good time,” Namjoon said, keeping an arm on the bench behind Seokjin’s back but not curling the arm around him. The park wasn’t empty even at this hour – a man ran past them with a torch head band. “But I do have one issue.”

Seokjin pushed his hands into his jacket pockets, seeking warmth, and said, “You do?”

“Yeah. What’s this whole thing about you not having a crush on me when we were trainees? Like what, not even a little?”

He laughed, heart feeling lighter. “Oh, you want me to tell you that I was pining for your unwashed teenage self?”

“What? I showered every day!”

“Yeah, and then walked around naked drying your junk to a dirty towel – sorry that it didn’t woo me.”

Namjoon huffed, looking cosy with the beanie pulled low on his head, the jacket all zipped up. “Alright, fine, I can handle that. But you should know that I think I might’ve had a crush on you. I just didn’t realise it back then – that you bothered me so much because I wanted you.”

“I bothered you?”

You wanted me?

“You don’t remember?”

There had been friction between them: Namjoon was so serious about debuting, asking Seokjin often if he really was committed to this, too. Wanting to make sure Seokjin wasn’t just treating it all like a joke because Namjoon really couldn’t tell – somehow, with all the hours Seokjin spent rehearsing. Like anyone would put in so much effort over something they weren’t serious about. Sometimes they’d argued for hours.

Namjoon looked at him carefully. “You wanna know something? When I ran into you at that café, I felt that same… puzzlement. Unease, sort of, you know? It felt kind of nostalgic now, like real bizarre, because you still bothered me. That’s why I asked for your number, because something felt unfinished.”

It had felt unfinished to Seokjin, too. He’d just lied about it to himself for many, many years, that his time at BigHit meant nothing anymore – but it did. After all, why had he attended the first Almost BTS meeting?

Had he lied to Yoongi? Had he ever killed his past self?

It seemed so pitiful now: how fucking lonely he had been and how desperate for the kind of attention he couldn’t get at home, at the university, or the company. And the closer that the reality of debuting became, the more he’d panicked about the things he could never do: like dance in a club with men who desired like him, thought like him, moved liked him. He could explain it all to Namjoon, maybe, that he’d been a young gay kid (young? At almost twenty?) starved of validation, just wanting to feel… a little loved. That was all.

Had that been so bad? So damning?

“So you might have had a crush on me back then already,” he said, voice a little hollow. Had he had that kind of attention at the dorm – in Namjoon’s evaluating stare, without him ever even realising it?

“Yeah. Like, you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen – it was quite difficult for me to process.”

“I was the most beautiful?”

“Are.”

“Thank you,” he said, appeased – loving the way Namjoon laughed, shining eyes on him. He took in a deep breath. “Maybe I would have developed a crush on you too later on.”

The more he thought about it, the more clearly he remembered a younger Namjoon with his fierce dragon eyes and ridiculous hairstyles and big, soft lips, and his Hip Hop School curriculum, and how impressed by him Seokjin had been. How Namjoon had bothered him, too.

Namjoon gave him a sly and drunken grin. “Well, I hope so – I got cooler with age.”

“And god, so much hotter.”

“Thanks, I worked hard on that,” Namjoon said, lips stretched in a grin in the glow of the streetlight, his large body relaxed in a way that Seokjin had seen only alcohol or an orgasm induce. “You were definitely cool and hot back then. And you were a university student, and I thought that was so impressive.”

“Because it was,” he said boastfully, just to make Namjoon laugh, but he could not quite swallow down the lump in his throat.

Was that version of him alive or dead?

It was getting too cold for them to keep sitting out there like they were, but Namjoon was calmly taking in the view. “This is my favourite place in the city. I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time. I come here to— to think, shit like that. Sometimes, you know, there’s so much going on here.” Namjoon tapped at his head. “Especially with this comeback… You find yourself awake at five in the morning, thinking will the fans remember us? If they do, will it have been worth the wait? Can we ever be as good now as we were five years ago? The expectations are so insane for this – from us too within the team. Can we meet those expectations? Can we work together? Can we be BTS again or will we— just be relics? Like, you think about shit like that a lot.”

Namjoon gave him a tight-lipped smile, while Seokjin’s heart ached listening to him.

“Do you talk about that stuff with the members?”

“Some. But not all of it – it’s not a good vibe for the leader to be worried.”

“You can talk to me if you need an audience. Complain and catastrophise as much as you want – it’s one of my special talents.”

“I’ll very likely take you up on that offer sometime,” Namjoon said, breath in the air, shaking his head. “Shit, sometimes I wish that… Tonight was kind of funny but also kind of fucked. Like, having you and the members all in the same room… Yeah, it felt like a mindfuck. Maybe for the members too, because they were all so well-behaved.”

“That was them behaving?”

“Oh, definitely. They barely tore into me, you know, didn’t even let me have it – because you were there.”

“They didn’t want to embarrass you, I guess.”

“It wasn’t that. Before you left us, you ran the dorm, remember? And that’s still somewhere in our hindbrains, isn’t that crazy – that pecking order? It’s ancient and old and fucked, but not in a bad way.” Namjoon studied him, expression mellowing. “You look like you want me to kiss you.”

“I do.”

He needed Namjoon to kiss the fear out of him.

The tortured look on Namjoon’s face was new. “I wish I could.”

Both of them were aware of a couple walking on the pedestrian path not too far from them. Namjoon looked away with a frustrated air, and Seokjin dug his nails into the flesh of his palm.

“I just— I’ve had a few drinks, my mind’s just— fuzzy. With the comeback, and us all hanging out again, and you and me… It’s a lot, you know. Mostly good, definitely, but you know, with us all in the same room tonight, I don’t know, I just… It felt like it should’ve been like that all along, like you always should have been with me and the rest, I swear that… And who knows, maybe in another world you and I debuted together, and we would’ve gotten the chance to figure out what we feel for each other a lot sooner. That’s wild to think about, huh? That maybe you and I should have been together all this time, but it got fucked up. Like the universe fucked up, or Sihyuk-hyung fucked up, or something like that.”

Namjoon seemed mostly to be talking to himself at this point in a slight alcohol haze, but Seokjin was surprised by the anger and frustration in Namjoon’s tone. This was the perfect moment to tell him – to give Namjoon the eulogy for a version of him who he thought was both dead and not-dead.

But instead he said, “Speaking of, ah… the creator. Does Bang PD know about you?”

It was remarkable, in many ways, that he had managed to avoid this question for so long.

“Yeah, he knows.”

The chill that came over him had nothing to do with the weather.

“How did you… I mean, when did you— ah, tell him, I mean.”

“After the hiatus started – like, when I finally had a bit of time and space to be honest with myself. Yeah, I told him.”

“And?”

Namjoon’s gaze was fixed on the overwhelming darkness of the river. “And it was a long conversation.”

Parts of it Seokjin could guess. The rest? Not at all.

Even if the company was now one of the big four, it might not survive a scandal that big – not without terminating Namjoon’s contract, at least. Had Bang PD told Namjoon that? ‘Fine, be who you are, but know that if you ever get caught, you’re out.’

What would happen to BTS then – a four-member group, with Yoongi as the leader? Or would Namjoon stay on, with him always left out of promotions lest posters of him on the subway got vandalised?

Bang PD knowing was both calming – Namjoon was still the leader of BTS, so clearly the two had come to an understanding – and unsettling, with Namjoon’s jaw locked tight from thinking about it.

He swallowed, heart in knots.

In a tone that he forced to be light, he said, “Well, maybe in another life we both got kicked out and started sleeping together to numb the pain. Like, maybe we’ve been fuck buddies out of anger for a decade.”

Namjoon laughed. “That sounds— a little hot, but mostly miserable.”

“Misery is sexy.”

“Well, that’s true,” Namjoon said, rubbing at his face. “Sorry, I’ve been rambling a lot. Ah, I’m kinda drunk.”

“No shit, big boy,” he teased, and Namjoon looked at him with such open fondness and longing that Seokjin wanted to tell him to be more careful with those kinds of feelings. They were so fragile and so intimate, and Namjoon was putting them on display so freely. He wanted to kiss Namjoon – for a minute, for a decade. Yeah, let’s start with a decade.

“Let me get you home,” he said, linking their arms together and pulling Namjoon up to stand. “Ah, I know you can walk just fine, but be like the others and just don’t argue with your hyung – he can see you’re inebriated, and he’ll get you into bed.”

“Alone?”

“He made no such claims,” he said, leading them back to the bike.

Namjoon was still miraculously able to cycle in a straight line, and Seokjin hugged his middle tight, legs dangling, as they made their way out of the park.

The lower and middle level managers didn’t know – fair. But Namjoon had told the people who mattered, and that must have taken so much courage. In a way, Namjoon had risked everything – his entire career – by telling them.

Seokjin felt like a coward in comparison.

He hadn’t thought that omissions constituted lying – what exactly had happened back then was his business, after all, and no one else’s – but as they got closer to Namjoon’s apartment, the swirling guilt in his guts corrected him: You’re lying to him, it said. Look at this man – he’s been so good to you. Probably adores you – no, you know that he does, and you also know you’re the first person he’s opened up to like this in a long time. How special is that? So special. You know what’s growing between you two because you feel it whenever he so much as looks at you. Love is good for people – it’s good for him. And he thinks this is a fairytale, doesn’t he? The two of you meeting again, because you were robbed of a chance to get to know each other sooner. And now he’s taking risks, again, by being with you. So shame on you, Seokjin-ah, for not telling him the truth about the dead man you think your past self now is. Shame on you for keeping secrets.

“Hold on!” Namjoon warned him of a slight bump on the road, and they jostled but kept balance. “You okay?”

He held onto Namjoon tighter. “I’m great.”

You’re lying.

Late on a Friday night, Seokjin was in a dance studio with the BigHit logo on the wall. More bizarre than this, he was having fun.

He remembered their old practice studio well: underground (like this one was, too, in the basement of BigHit), with the ceiling so low that they couldn’t perform some of the lifts and flips there. They’d gone to Hakdong Park to practise the more difficult, grander moves, but when indoors the trainees squeezed into the small space, flattening themselves against the walls when someone took centre stage. Pungent sweat had filled the air – teen spirit.

This dance studio was the size of a basketball court, with one wall fully mirrored all the way up to the ceiling. Despite folding chairs being available, Seokjin seated himself on the floor in one corner, knees raised – out of habit more than anything.

“I’m nothing next to Jimin and Hobi,” Namjoon had said of his dancing skills, but over a decade of professional training was clear in each movement as the private lesson carried on, with the dance instructor praising Namjoon, who was copying him precisely. Seokjin remained seated by the back wall, eyes fixed on his lover. How could he look away?

The instructor was teaching Namjoon freestyle hip hop with a catchy and sexy song playing in the background. One step, two step, trat-trat-trat, move your shoulders, bend your knees, loosen up your hips, keep your arms flowing, twist and turn, trat-trat-trat. It was a question of how to move to the beat fluidly, to master movements so that you could improvise and go with the flow. Someone like Hobi didn’t need choreo; he could just make up movements on the spot. Namjoon struggled being creative with dance on command – Seokjin knew that he, too, was the same.

“Good, that’s it,” the instructor praised as Namjoon aced the footwork. Namjoon had a broad, cheeky grin on his face – he was enjoying this in a way he certainly hadn’t in their trainee days, probably because he was damned good at it now. Damned sexy, too.

Their eyes locked in the mirror, and Namjoon gave him a knowing smile. Seokjin bit on his lower lip, drinking in the sight.

“Having fun?”

He flinched, having completely missed Park Jimin creeping up on him – or even entering the room for that matter. “Ah, Jimin-ah. Hi.”

Jimin sat down beside him, dressed in loose sand-coloured trousers and a lilac sweatshirt. Angelic and beautiful.

Namjoon spotted them in the mirror, but he kept dancing – the instructor wasn’t done.

“Namjoon invited me over,” he said as if that wasn’t obvious. A staff member had once more been waiting for him in the lobby, ready to lead him to the basement.

“Yeah, I figured. You came straight from work?” Jimin asked, and he nodded. Blue dress shirt, black trousers – boring office attire. Jimin also watched Namjoon, but with an expression that was more scrutinising. He was looking for professionalism that Seokjin couldn’t evaluate. “He’s improving.”

For Seokjin, Namjoon could be doing the worm on the dance studio floor, and he’d be in awe.

He racked his brain for something to talk to Jimin about. He still felt like he was being tested, but he was unsure why – the joint dinner a week earlier had cleared some of the air, but not all of it. In his memories Jimin hadn’t been reserved, but a boy with the thick Busan satoori who’d been so keen to get his attention with a lot of ‘hyung, look at this pop and lock! Hyung, look at this body roll!’ Cut to now, and Jimin was acting coolly with him, with a quasi-wife at home and a solo tour under his belt.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, remembering Namjoon’s interpretation that the members kept him in age-old hyung-like reverence, whether he could notice that or not. Jimin nodded, and he added just a little bit of dare into his tone. “You don’t like us dating each other. Why?”

Jimin startled at this, looking at him with wide puppy eyes – mouth in an O, like he had never done a single thing wrong in his life. “What? That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

He’d had time to think about Bang PD knowing about Namjoon and that ‘long conversation’ they had had once. What could that conversation have been if not Bang PD spelling out the explicit dangers of getting caught? Now the group was getting ready for a huge comeback, and boom, here Seokjin was, distracting the hell out of their leader! He didn’t really even blame Jimin for being distant with him: the timing was terrible.

Jimin looked between him and Namjoon, doing some kind of quick maths in his head. When he spoke next, each word was calculated. “It’s not that I don’t like you guys seeing each other. Please don’t think that.”

“I mean, I get that this is an important time for the team, so—”

“It’s nothing to do with that. Nothing to do with the team. I just… I just know Namjoon-hyung never makes a move he hasn’t carefully considered.”

He blinked. “So…?”

“So he’s considered the two of you, probably deeply, before anything serious even happened. And you know he… he seems really self-sufficient. Like he’s got it all figured out and all that, but it’s not true. It’s a front.”

Seokjin knew that much already.

Jimin rubbed at his neck. “So that… that boy from the dorm? That’s still him, hyung. And I don’t know if you’re approaching this with the same… intensity or intent as he is. That’s all.”

He gaped at little Park Jimin from Busan – the penny dropping at last. “Wait, you’re worried I’ll hurt him?”

Jimin refused to look at him.

“Yah, Jimin-ah – is that it?”

His fellow ex-trainee Park Jimin! All reserved and icy like he’d been – because what? He’d felt protective of Namjoon, who was older than him and easily twice the size? More to the point, Jimin’s reservedness wasn’t because the members were about to make a post-enlistment return?

“Wha. When did you become so cool?”

“Quit it,” Jimin said, heat rising to his cheeks, but he was in disbelief.

“No wonder you have a beautiful girlfriend and all that. Really, anyone could fall for a cool guy like you. I think I just did?”

“I said quit it,” Jimin protested, shaking his head. “Aish, you’re exactly like Namjoon said you are.”

“I just think it’s amazing that— Wait, what did he say about me?”

“Nothing.”

“He did say something.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! What was it?”

Jimin covered his mouth and laughed. “Nothing! It’s so easy to rile you up, hyung.”

Seokjin wanted to huff but managed not to, eyes once more fixing on Namjoon, who was moving his hips in a way that would have made a Catholic call an exorcist.

Jimin was right that someone like Namjoon had to consider his love life with a critical astuteness most people did not need to bother with, including Seokjin – Bang PD had very likely told Namjoon that in no uncertain terms. Seokjin had dated enough men (a totally normal number of them, thanks) to know that being carried away too soon was ill advised; and to admit so soon that you were enticed, infatuated, taken by, enamoured, was foolish – a sign of weakness that the other might exploit.

But despite being magnificently well-read, Namjoon didn’t seem to have read a single page in the Standard Manual of Seoul Fuck Boys Who Will Break Your Heart.

Seokjin, too, was careful in his own, low-stakes way about who he dated. Truthfully, he at times worried he was desired for his body and face, and not much else – experience having taught him how hollow that left him feeling.

Namjoon never made him think such thoughts. Namjoon looked at him so deeply, studied him so carefully – far beyond the physical.

He watched Namjoon dance, his heart full, and said, “Well, you should know that I… I’m kind of, what was it? Approaching him with intent and intensity, too.”

To know him is to love him. Who’d said that – was it a movie, a book, or a song? It had been written specifically about Namjoon, that he was sure of.

“You’d be a fool not to be,” Jimin said – so cheeky, this dongsaeng, who needn’t worry. Seokjin would rather hurt himself than Namjoon. He’d rather hurt himself than any of the members. That, he supposed, hadn’t changed. “You want a drink? You look dehydrated.”

“Sure, I—”

Jimin’s eyes shifted between him and Namjoon. “Like, you look real thirsty.”

You little shit, he managed not to say as Jimin laughed again, delighted by his own wit. He gave Jimin a small shove and followed him out of the dance studio, with Jimin pointing the way to a break room further down the hall. He continued around the corner, however, to use the bathroom – even the toilets were spacious and spotless. BigHit had really made it, well, big, huh?

On his way back, his steps slowed outside a studio – upbeat music sounded from within, combined with quick footwork of more than one person. It wasn’t only Namjoon who was dancing late into the night.

He pushed the door open.

Ten or so boys were squeezed into a room that was only a third of the size of Namjoon’s dance studio. They had their backs to him, mid-choreo, facing a wall-length mirror. By the door were school bags, one open with a physics textbook and a Korean-English dictionary spilling out. The air was stuffy and warm, sweat heavy in it.

Seokjin did not recognise the song, but the boys knew it well: they moved to the beat with precision, performing a complex choreography in which they rotated who was at the centre, taking turns passionately lip-syncing to turned off microphones. Most of them must have been fourteen, fifteen – just kids.

“Oh, we’re sorry!”

The kids almost bumped into each other when they spotted Seokjin in the mirror’s reflection. They stopped dancing in a mess of flailing limbs, turning around quickly to greet him – two of them removing their baseball caps before bowing deeply to him, a slightly older one hurrying to turn the music off.

Seokjin was still holding the door open, stuck halfway into the studio and half out. “Oh. Hi.”

“You must be the new manager,” the one who’d turned the music off said. He looked a little older – eighteen, maybe. The others crowded behind him, nervous and curious. He must be the leader.

“Wha, he’s so handsome,” someone whispered.

“He’s a manager? He looks like an idol.”

The older kid started making introductions, but Seokjin didn’t listen. Instead he studied the way the kids were looking at him: a few with defiance – I’ll prove myself to you! Just watch me! – a few cautiously – please be nice to me! I work hard, and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do! I’m the best at taking direction, I really am!

Many were scared just by the sight of him – not because he looked particularly intimidating in his boring office wear, but because they thought he was the person who held their futures in his grip. Because every moment mattered – this, making a good first impression, mattered, and they were not yet sure what kind of power Seokjin would yield over them, but the power was unquestioned and absolute.

Seokjin did not feel powerful. He felt ill.

It was late on a Friday – the weekend was here. These boys should be playing video games or, hell, painting graffiti on an abandoned house somewhere, or just sitting in the family living room, snuggled into their mother’s side. They shouldn’t be doing this: giving up their youth for nothing.

“No, ah, the new guy is still on his way,” he managed, finding his voice. “But, ah, BTS is practising next door, and they heard you and—”

“Oh, we’ll turn the music down!” one of them piped up, panicked.

The boys expected harsh words only. Because that was all they were used to getting.

Seokjin took his phone out, gritting his teeth. “Actually, they wanted to order you guys some food for working so hard and for making such good progress.”

There were entire days when he hadn’t eaten as a trainee – he had to be slim, had to be toned. If he gained too much weight, he’d be sent home.

The group of kids came alive, excited and astonished, and Seokjin randomly added jjajangmeyon and kimbap and tteokbokki to the order – a bit of everything. He didn’t know the building’s address. The leader did.

“Make sure to eat it all,” he encouraged. That one looked like a young Taehyung. That one there – like an even younger Jungkook. The leader? A little eerily like a younger version of him, around the time he first signed a contract with BigHit. The boys’ brows were shiny with sweat, bags under their eyes. All skin and bones. Probably slept two hours a night.

The pain in his heart was piercing.

“And when your manager comes, tell him that— that Namjoon and Jimin of BTS ordered you food for being such good dancers, and they ordered you to eat it all up. Alright?”

“Okay!” one of them said, almost vibrating with excitement.

“Good. Excellent. Keep at it – you’re all doing super well.”

When the door closed behind Seokjin, the room erupted in a ruckus, the kids’ voices all competing with each other. BTS thought they were good dancers! They’d earned a treat for their hard work! They’d been acknowledged! They’d all debut for sure now – they must! This was the best day of their entire lives!

When most of those kids went home with broken dreams, Seokjin hoped they would remember Kim Namjoon buying them dinner one time, back in the days when they still had hope.

His steps were slow as he headed back, feeling the weight of the above-ground floors rising up into northern Gangnam. In the dark underbelly of the building, talented kids spent night after night chasing eluding fame.

Those kids were plenty just as they were. More than they’d ever know.

He was so caught up in the sudden explosion of feeling in his chest that he didn’t even notice the man stepping out into the corridor from one of the studios. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” he said, having nearly walked into the man – he bowed automatically. “I wasn’t looking.”

He hurried on.

“Seokjin-ah?”

His stomach dropped.

The voice sounded unsure, but there was something familiar to it.

He turned and recognised Son Sungdeuk, BTS’s choreographer. He had spent endless hours learning dance moves from that man, and he was taken aback both by how much Sungdeuk had aged, and yet how he looked exactly the same: the bearded face, the somehow melancholy eyes, and the trendy baseball cap.

Sungdeuk had been promoted several times, of course – no longer a mere choreographer, but a performance director. Probably rich beyond belief, too. Sungdeuk had seen hundreds of trainees come and go. How could he possibly remember them all?

And yet, as they locked eyes, recognition was clear in Sungdeuk’s alert gaze.

He felt the urge to bow and deeply, as one did to their former teacher. He jerked almost violently, suppressing the reactionary ninety-degree bow.

“I think you’ve confused me with someone else,” he said instead, blood soaring in his ears.

\\

He bowed – twenty degrees only – turned around and hurried on. When he turned the corner, he broke into a run.

Namjoon was alone in the dance studio, with the instructor having gone.

He caught his breath only a little as he grabbed his coat from the floor. “Sungdeuk-seonsaengnim is back there,” he announced.

Namjoon walked over to him, patting his sweat-glistening neck with a small towel. “He is?”

“Yeah, and he saw me – I think he recognised me.”

Namjoon stopped, expression curious. “Did you speak to him?”

Speak to him?!

He shook his head. “I told him he’s confused me with someone else.”

Sungdeuk and Bang PD had been close in the early days, more buddies than employer and employee. They likely still were. So if Bang PD had told someone about Seokjin’s gay club habits, then Sungdeuk was a likely candidate – and if someone would inform Bang that ex-trainee Seokjin had magically reappeared in the building, without any reasonable explanation, it would surely be Sungdeuk.

And then what?

“Why did you say that? We can just tell him you’re visiting – that I invited you to check out the new facilities, something like that,” Namjoon offered, blissfully unaware how incriminating Seokjin was within the walls of this company.

“I think it’d be better if we— did not do that,” he said, constantly moving to the door – worried Sungdeuk had decided to follow him. Hundreds of trainees Sungdeuk must have worked with! Hundreds! God, why did he have to be so charming and memorable? His own fault, of course.

“Babe—”

“I better just go. You know what a bad liar I am – he’d just get really suspicious.”

“But—”

“I’ll call you, alright? Cool, great. Amazing dancing, can you teach me how to move my hips like that sometime? Great, that’s a date. Well, see you soon – I love you, bye!”

He waved hastily and hurried out of the studio, barely catching the surprised look Namjoon gave him. He pulled his coat back on and aggressively pressed for the lift button up. He even pulled the hood over his head, holding his breath. How could he explain to Sungdeuk why he was there? God, of course it’d look so suspicious – the man would put two and two together, because surely Sungdeuk knew about Namjoon too.

As he exited the building, he passed a food delivery man parking his motorbike. The man got out several bags of food, enough to fill the stomachs of starving trainees.

That was a win – fleeing from Sungdeuk a loss.

He walked faster towards the subway station. Replayed the frantic encounter in his head. Recalled Namjoon’s stunned stare.

Wait.

Wait.

Had he said…?

Oh fucking shit.

Taehyung deadpanned at him from across the bar table, mouth drawn in a thin line, arms crossed. “Well, you’re fucked.”

“I know.”

“Like massively, majorly fucked.”

“I know,” he repeated, opening another bottle of soju.

The bar was busy on a Saturday night, and Taehyung had given him a stern lecture at first – why had Seokjin been avoiding him for so many weeks? They’d had one measly brunch date that Seokjin had hurried to leave from, and Taehyung had grown genuinely concerned for his welfare.

Turned out that Seokjin had been hanging out with celebrities – and more than that, obviously, like confessing his fucking love to them.

Of course he shouldn’t have told Taehyung everything, at least not without consulting Namjoon. Make that Mistake 434 that week, alright? So he wasn’t perfect! What else was new?

“You might want to slow down,” Taehyung said, watching his soju intake with some concern.

“Says the man who didn’t just— just blurt out their love for someone and then walk right out!”

“I think you make it sound worse than it was.”

“I really am not. He texted, ‘can we talk about how we conceptualise love’. Conceptualise love! We! Talk! God, you-know-who must think I’m an idiot.”

His brain might have been soju-soaked, but he knew better than to drop names in the middle of the bar. Namjoon could have graciously pretended to ignore it, of course. It was clear Seokjin had been in a state of heightened emotion, just rambling away, and not really thinking. Surely whatever he said didn’t count in such a situation, right?

And so: ignore it.

But no.

Namjoon had texted him with: can we talk about how we conceptualise love?

sure, that sounds super fun!!!! :) :) :) :), he had replied and then switched off his phone and screamed into a pillow.

Namjoon had thankfully been booked for the filming of an ad campaign that day, giving Seokjin a bit of time to think. He had two options, both equally bad: take it back or double down. Yes, I goddamn love you! Or: yes, I know I said that I love you, but actually I don’t.

Conceptualise love?

Date a big-brained intellectual, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

Namjoon had tried calling him a few times, but he’d only sent sorry, busy rn back, once with a kissing emoji. He was hiding from Bang PD, Son Sungdeuk, and Kim Namjoon, and frankly it was a lot to deal with in the year of our lord 2023. And on top of all that, Park Jimin would likely come kick his ass if he hurt Namjoon with his antics.

“Look, I’m really happy for you two,” Taehyung said, and Seokjin snorted. “I get that you confessed a bit— casually, and in a stressful sounding situation, but also doesn’t that kind of stuff reveal our true feelings?”

“Don’t psychoanalyse me,” he complained. It was far too soon to talk about love! Love was what happened if your relationship reached six months and you had settled on a favourite lube flavour together. Okay, fine, maybe that happened after five months? He wasn’t sure, to be honest. “And what do you think will happen if Bang Sih— you-know-who finds out I’m in love with his star protégé?”

“He’ll send you flowers?”

“You think? You-know-who won’t say that I’m jeopardising you-know-who’s entire future with… with all this?”

Taehyung made a face. “Okay, I can’t keep up with the you-know-whos.”

“God, me neither.” He stared at his empty soju glass. “Fuck, what if, like, they make me disappear?”

“Okay, I doubt that Bi— Sizable… Banger… is in the business of killing people,” Taehyung said, which the rational part of Seokjin’s brain deemed reasonable, but also didn’t power corrupt people? Who knew the lengths that Sizable Banger would go to?

He buried his face in his hands. “God, I was just so freaked out. You know what running from Sungdeuk like that reminded me of? Us hiding what we did from the managers. Like, all the times when we ate extra meals or skipped practice or tried to set up secret KakaoTalk IDs. That whole episode last night felt just like that. My mind was all over the place.”

Taehyung’s fingers traced the rim of the soju glass, a distant smile on his lips. “I remember once Namjoon-hyung bought the two of us ice creams when we were supposed to be dieting, and when we were walking back to the dorm, we saw a manager walking our way – and we stuffed the half-eaten ice creams into our jacket pockets just to avoid getting told off.”

Seokjin huffed. “Gross.”

“We finished eating them.”

“God, double gross. But yeah. That’s exactly what it felt like – like I was the ice cream Namjoon shouldn’t be eating.”

Taehyung gave him a sharp look – the one he gave when Seokjin was being too critical of himself.

And yet – Sungdeuk might know everything about Seokjin. Meaning that Seokjin did not want to reconnect with the man, because he still hadn’t sat Namjoon down to explain his departure from the company. Worried, as he was, that Namjoon’s opinion of him would change, and he cared about Namjoon’s good opinion even more now because he was, apparently, a little in love.

The layers of fuckedness in the situation were plentiful, and Seokjin downed his soju and poured himself some more.

“You know what I’ve kept thinking about today? That maybe I really meant it.” He swayed a little. Frowned. “I mean that I must have said it because I’m ready, like, in my life, and, like, emotionally and— and financially! And spiritually. Ready to be in love with him. Or already am, or maybe I want to be. And now I’m like… whaaaat. When did that happen? You know?”

“Sure,” Taehyung said, reaching for the soju bottle and placing it out of his reach. “You probably wish you were hanging out with him and not me, huh?”

“God, I always want to be with him. I just— think about him constantly. He’s wonderful. And he’s so talented, and so goddamn humble about it, like it doesn’t occur to him that not everyone’s a walking genius. And he jokes around with me, like sometimes I’ll be extra silly more as a dare than anything, and he just goes along with it every time. It’s a small thing, but I love that he does that, and he’s so gentle and— And his body. God, maybe that’s why I said it? You need to see him, Taehyung-ah, pictures don’t do him justice. But the— the physique is like… only the fifth most impressive thing about him.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why the hell did I say that to him? Conceptualise love… Conceptualise a fuck-up.”

“Hey, can I text my dad?”

“Sure,” he said, handing Taehyung his phone before carrying on with his existential crisis. “I’m too old to be hiding from Sungdeuk-seonsaengnim. I’m too— too old to be sucked into the company hierarchies! And I’m too old to act like a goddamn teenager over you-know-who. Fuck, it sucks.”

“Sucks balls,” Taehyung said, typing quickly.

“He must think I’m being so desperate. Or, like, flimsy.”

“Very likely,” Taehyung agreed and gave him the phone back.

An indistinguishable time later, Taehyung’s phone lit up, and he said, “Hey, let’s go get fresh air.”

Seokjin, belly full of alcohol and brain full of fumes, agreed, and they stumbled out onto the Itaewon side street together, the road aligned with one bar after another. Crowds of sexy and cool youngsters stood outside the bars smoking, and Taehyung too lit up a cigarette and led him along.

Down another side street, then another – away from the crowds. Seokjin said he knew a cool little bar not far from here, they should go get more drinks there. Anything to forget what he may or may not have said.

Taehyung hummed, still smoking – Seokjin decided that was agreement.

At the next crossing, they passed a hooded figure in all black, standing in the glow of a convenience store. Seokjin paid the man no mind – until Taehyung pushed him into his arms.

He stumbled, confused – two large hands were on his waist, steadying him. “Wha—”

He looked up at the man. Recognised him. “Oh fuck.”

Namjoon laughed – knuckles brushing his cheek. “That’s one way to greet me.”

Oh no, no, no, no, this was too humiliating, too—

“Thanks for bringing him over,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin realised he had been betrayed. He looked between Namjoon and Taehyung in quick succession. What? How?!

“No problem,” Taehyung said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Figured the best place for him right now is— well. You.”

A Sizable Banger insider!

“How did you…?”

Had Taehyung summoned Namjoon through magic?!

Namjoon and Taehyung were busy studying each other, both of them smiling.

Namjoon broke the silence first. “God, it’s nice to see you. Seokjin-hyung’s told me you’re really handsome these days – an understatement, clearly. And you’re a designer now, right? That’s so great.”

“You’re looking good too, hyung. Congrats on— him,” Taehyung said, motioning at Seokjin, who was quite offended by this, but Namjoon somehow lit up, grinning widely.

The two exchanged a slightly clumsy hug because Namjoon was still holding onto Seokjin tightly.

Taehyung stepped back, looked up and down the street and flicked his cigarette. He motioned at Seokjin. “Go take him somewhere where he can sober up.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

“He’s talked non-stop about how wonderful you are.”

Namjoon laughed. “He has?”

“But how the company complicates things,” Taehyung said, and in the dark of the evening Seokjin could see Namjoon’s jaw tighten.

“Have fun, you two,” Taehyung said and winked – aish, so handsome that Seokjin didn’t even know how to be mad – while Namjoon hailed a taxi and guided him inside.

Namjoon gave the driver the address of his luxury complex and, weighed down by the exhaustion and the alcohol, Seokjin let his head rest on Namjoon’s shoulder on the drive over. Their driver complained about road works in the neighbourhood, saying he didn’t see what his taxes were being used for, and Namjoon offered a few comments politely.

Seokjin was grateful of anything that directed the attention away from him and the general mortification that his existence was.

But it was nice, thankfully, resting his weary head on Namjoon’s broad shoulder. It was nice, breathing in the clean, boyish scent of him. It was nice, Taehyung cutting through all the bullshit and delivering him to Namjoon. And it was especially nice, Namjoon showing up – no questions asked.

No wonder he maybe, kind of loved him.

As they got into Namjoon’s apartment, Seokjin kicked off his shoes and said, “So I told Taehyungie about us.”

“I figured.”

“I know I didn’t ask if that was okay.”

“Well, I’ve introduced you to trusted people already – it should be reciprocal. I want it to be.”

God, what a diplomat. Why not just tell him he’d been drinking and careless?

Namjoon guided him to the bedroom and to the bed, where Seokjin lay down, rolling over onto his back. He’d had too much soju for sure.

“In the morning, we should talk – don’t you think?” Namjoon said, brushing his stomach gently, and he nodded. Double down or take it back. Either way, he was in no condition to discuss it right then.

He watched through a haze as Namjoon pulled the socks off his feet, raising an eyebrow of interest as Namjoon unzipped him and pulled his trousers off. “You have no idea how much I want you,” Namjoon said with a kiss to his brow, “but you’re far too wasted, baby.”

He pouted. Why was he being denied good dick?!

“Kiss me, then,” he said, jutting out his chin defiantly.

Namjoon studied him before leaning down and pressing their mouths together. The kiss was deep, their lips parting – tongues moving together, tasting each other. Then something switched, and Namjoon really kissed him. Hand cupping his cheek, the other supporting the back of his head. Kissing all oxygen and thought and want out of him. The kiss was so intense and deep that Seokjin felt it in his toes.

Namjoon pulled back slowly, chest heaving, eyes closed – like he was savouring it.

Seokjin’s chest ached. Had he ever been kissed like this? No wonder he’d said it. No wonder.

“Is this how you conceptualise kissing?” he asked in a mix of teasing and self-mockery, causing Namjoon to look at him sharply.

Two minutes later, he’d passed out.

In the morning, however, they could have a productive discussion about their relationship or the concept of this and that, like two grown adults.

…but Namjoon would have to catch him first!

Okay, it wasn’t that Seokjin wasn’t good at serious conversations or that he was fleeing per se, but rather he was hungover like hell: after thirty your body hated you.

He woke up next to Namjoon, who was fast asleep – face relaxed and sweet. In the early morning slumber, Namjoon was also making sleepy snuffling sounds, and Seokjin wanted every morning to start just like this. Just without the hangover.

He felt fragile and, in the moment, worried that talking to Namjoon would result in something mortifying like him crying. God, how pitiful would that be? No, he refused – this conversation was better saved for when he felt physically and mentally stronger, and it was not on this quiet Sunday morning, without the sun even having risen yet.

Had to go – thanks for tucking me in. I’ll call you later ♥

He almost crossed out the heart – would Namjoon think it was a second confession? – but concluded that a crossed-out heart would look high-key psychotic.

He left the post-it on the pillow next to Namjoon and tip-toed out of the apartment, but not before grabbing one of the mineral waters from Namjoon’s fridge – he needed rehydration and badly.

He’d cook them dinner – that was it. He’d go all out, invite Namjoon over, it could be romantic and thoughtful, and they could Talk, and it would maybe not be terrifying. Including the circumstances under which he’d once left the company, of course.

His past self might be dead – he liked to think that this was true.

But being with Namjoon meant reckoning with BigHit, and this meant Namjoon needed an explanation as to why Seokjin felt so conflicted about the whole place.

If Namjoon dumped him, then… well, fuck. Better now, when he was only a little in love.

He took the lift down to the basement because exiting through the parking hall was more discreet than crossing the inner courtyard between the different complex buildings, overlooked by windows and balconies on many sides. Jimin lived in the same complex, but a different building – who knew, maybe Jimin was monitoring them and was prepared to kick Seokjin’s ass for fleeing?

He put his earbuds in, continuing a fishing podcast he’d been in the middle of, and took careful, measured sips of the water.

Entering the parking hall, he started crossing the large, eerie space to get to the exit. He was surprised to spot a figure in the distance, a good twenty cars away. Someone else was up early, too.

He kept walking, although through the earbuds he might have heard someone call out something. He glanced over his shoulder, confused.

The figure was still there – at the dark end of the parking hall. The dark shape of a large looking man facing his way.

He walked faster.

A few seconds later, a car honked, like it was trying to attract his attention.

He pulled an earbud out just in time to hear a car door slam and an engine start. The sounds echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet parking hall. A car started moving.

His steps quickened.

He remembered his envisioned BigHit kill squad and knew they had found him. Walking out of Namjoon’s apartment early on a Sunday morning, pillow imprints still on his cheek – what other evidence did such people even require?

The roar of the car came closer.

He was not quite running but taking hurried strides in the direction of the ramp that led both cars and pedestrians up to street level. While still a good twenty metres away, a car turned onto the long avenue of parked cars behind him and was now coming up fast – a huge, black SUV with windows so dark you couldn’t see anything inside.

Exactly the kind of car he’d seen BigHit staff use.

Fear surged inside him.

He ran up the ramp, dropping his water bottle in the process. He was being chased – this was clear now.

He was no match to the SUV, however – it caught up with him. Passed him. Curved to block the pedestrian walkway at the top of the ramp, stopping right in front of him.

He came to a jarring stop, out of breath, eyes fixed on the dark windows. Please no, please no—

He wouldn’t have taken it back. He would have doubled down. He loved him. God, what a realisation to die on! He loved him!

The window rolled down and a man in a camouflage uniform and a shaved head stared out at him. Special forces. A VIP execution squad.

The man smiled – which was fucked up for an assassin. “Jin-hyung!”

He blinked.

The voice had changed significantly. It had deepened. Matured. Yet there was a timber to it – a lightness, an intonation. Only one person had ever said ‘Jin-hyung’ in that precise tone.

He stared at the man in disbelief. “Jungkook-ah?”

The car door opened, and Jungkook stepped out onto the pavement. He was almost as tall as him now (Disturbing! What the hell, puberty?!) and, in a word, huge, having gained breadth and heft, like a tree adding growth rings. His hair was even shorter than Namjoon’s, and the army uniform and boots gave him a militant hypermasculine look – the kind of guy you expected to wring your neck.

But this image was shattered by the beam and nose scrunch, with Jungkook smiling widely. “Hyung! Why were you running? Are you in a rush?”

“Well, I—”

Jungkook pulled him into a hug so tight that it winded him, with Jungkook burying his face right into the crook of his neck, and— and Jungkook still smelled the same. He smelled exactly like the fourteen-year-old kid he’d forced to get dressed in the mornings, soft, boyish, homey.

Through the adrenaline rush and hangover, Seokjin was shocked that the scent was so distinct all these years later.

He wanted to cry.

Jungkook pulled back, hand still resting on his shoulder. “I tried calling out to you, but I guess you didn’t hear me!”

He wiped at his face quickly. “Jungkook-ah. I barely recognised you, I— God, you’ve grown so much.”

What he meant was ‘look at you – I’ve missed out on so much’.

Those wondering eyes? The same. That button nose – the same. The sweet smile – the same. Jungkook had been thirteen when they’d met and fifteen when they’d parted.

Jungkook smiled even more broadly. “And I can’t believe how handsome you are, even now!”

“Ah, well, good genes and— Wait, what do you mean even now?”

“Well, for your age.”

“My age.”

“Yeah, since you’re, like… what, thirty?”

“Thirty is the new twenty!”

“Says who?”

“Everyone!” he argued, but even as he raised his voice, Jungkook only beamed wider – delighted.

“You need a ride?”

“Yes, I need a ride. You scared the shit out of me – I thought you were a mercenary,” he complained, rounding the large SUV and climbing in. He buckled in and said, “Did you know that SUVs are super common child killers because you can’t see right in front of the car due to its ridiculous size?”

“No, I did not,” Jungkook said, sounding worried.

“These cars are death machines. Parents run over their own kids in the driveway. So think about it the next time you buy a car.”

“I will,” Jungkook said with complete sincerity, in an obeying tone that was eerily familiar. The hyung card – he had it here, too, and unlike the other members where Seokjin had felt on unsure footing, with Jungkook he felt completely comfortable – even in the midst of a hangover and considerable emotional turmoil.

He stared at Jeon Jungkook in the driver’s seat – in army uniform and boots, head shaved. Back in their trainee days he had driven Jungkook to school in the mornings, because of course Jungkook had no license or car – he’d been a kid.

The man next to him was not a kid, and yet Seokjin had always known him. Always would.

God, he was handsome. Looked exactly like an idol – so effortlessly good-looking and charismatic. Golden maknae, Namjoon had always called him.

“Where are you heading?” Jungkook asked, typing into the GPS as Seokjin gave his address. Jungkook was driving back to his base two hours outside of Seoul. He’d spent the night at Jimin’s apartment, which was in the same complex as Namjoon’s although not the same building.

“I knew I’d see you at some point,” Jungkook said as they got to the first set of traffic lights. “I kept wondering when. I would’ve come over to say hi if I’d known you were at Namjoon-hyung’s.”

“Yeah, I— wasn’t really supposed to stay over, but uh.”

He’d blurted out ‘I love you’, then started avoiding Namjoon, then gotten trashed, and then ended up in Namjoon’s bed anyway. He decidedly did not tell Jungkook, a twenty-six-year-old middle schooler, this.

“You choose the music,” Jungkook offered as they reached the next set of lights. Seokjin had always let Jungkook choose the music during their school runs, and this had often been songs from Namjoon’s Official Hip Hop Playlist, but several times Justin Bieber’s Baby had snuck in.

It was a cold November day, with the shitty kind of snow falling that resulted in poor visibility and was wet, too, sliding sluggishly down the windscreen. Seokjin’s older brother had been based at the same camp Jungkook was serving in, and so they talked non-stop the entire way, comparing notes. He quizzed Jungkook on everything: his army superiors, his squad, his test scores. He quizzed Jungkook on the university BA he was nominally enrolled in, his vocal lessons, English lessons, dance lessons.

“I know I have to catch up fast for the comeback – the guys are already training for it, but I can’t yet. But I’ll catch up, I’ll make sure of it!”

Jungkook jutted out his chin – self-imposed challenge accepted.

The rest had changed. Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon. They all had changed.

His Jungkookie? Not at all.

“Aish, you’ll do great,” he said, turning to look at the Han river to their left – an unexpected onslaught of nostalgia hitting him, a mix of sadness and fondness. His eyes felt suspiciously moist again. God, he’d been right not to stay at Namjoon’s apartment – he was hungover, tired, and overly emotional. He’d probably have sobbed all of his feelings into Namjoon’s shoulder like he’d never been loved in his life. Unattractive.

He blinked fast, wiped at his cheeks, and cleared his throat.

“Can I say something, hyung?” Jungkook asked as they neared Seokjin’s neighbourhood.

“Anything.”

Jungkook bit on his bottom lip. “It was pretty, uh. Unexpected seeing this thing with… ah, you and Namjoon-hyung unfold in our group chat. Like not in a bad way but still kind of wild. But I had a good feeling about it, you know, the second I found out.”

“You did? Really?”

“Yeah, I thought you guys might be really well-matched.”

He shot a suspicious glance at Jungkook. “It’s not weird?”

“No, it’s—”

“Like, now me and him make out and stuff. You’re telling me that’s not weird?”

Jungkook squirmed in his seat but laughed. “Well, it is if you put it like that!”

“With tongue.”

“I know you want me to say that’s gross, but I’m not innocent about that kind of stuff anymore,” Jungkook said defiantly, and innocently.

Saying goodbye to all the members had been hard but saying goodbye to Jungkook had been the hardest. Yoongi was right: he’d never visited. Never gone back.

Why?

Because he didn’t have it in him to leave twice.

In that moment, with fondness filling him up, he re-remembered why this kid had meant so much to him.

“Well – thank you for your blessing,” he said and in truth meant it. He worried on the inside of his cheek. “I, uh, think I might be in love with him.”

Jungkook smiled. “That’s nice.”

He exhaled – god, he’d said it. Properly this time. It wasn’t as scary as he’d thought it’d be – and it felt more real this time, too.

“Yeah. I guess love is good for people,” he said, Yoongi’s words coming back to him. Jungkook only hummed in agreement, seemingly excited. Fuck, was he going to put this in the group chat? He didn’t even know yet if Namjoon returned any of these feelings.

Jungkook pointed. “This street here?”

“Yeah, that’s my building at the end.” He focused. “You know, ah, Namjoonie told me that he and Bang PD had a serious talk when he came out. I mean of course they did – there’s implications for the team, too. Do you think this… thing with me and him, and the comeback, is it all— kind of bad timing?”

“Can love have a bad timing?” Jungkook asked, parallel parking with ease right outside of Seokjin’s building.

“Of course it can.”

How do you conceptualise love?

Right time, right place. Start with that.

Jungkook turned the engine off, expression thoughtful. “You’re right that Namjoon-hyung and Sihyuk-hyung talked about it back then.”

“Wait, you call Bang PD hyung now?”

“He told us we could,” Jungkook said, smiling sweetly. Shit, of course Bang PD had. Motherfuckers – the whole lot of them! “And I think they concluded that it’s not really relevant until it’s relevant.”

“Not relevant until it’s relevant means… what?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Well, Rapmon-hyung was single back then. I mean, maybe he’s had a date or a fling here or there, but Sihyuk-hyung, I guess, argued that his sexuality didn’t matter when there was no relationship to report. It’d only become relevant if that changed.”

“So he figured it was dormant for now.”

“I guess so.”

Seokjin didn’t think something like that could ever be dormant, but from a business perspective he understood Bang PD’s approach. It was better than firing his most talented recruit.

Snow landed on the windshield. They sat in silence, watching it glide down.

Jungkook rubbed at his brow. “Well, I’m happy we saw each other. I wanted to tell you that I’m happy for you two, and I hope we can hang out sometime – I’ll be out of the army soon, so maybe we can, like, see each other more. Maybe go get some drinks?”

“I’d really like that.”

They exchanged KakaoTalk details, and Jungkook said he’d sent him the best TikTok videos ever. How could Jungkook forgive him so easily for disappearing from his life like he had? Wasn’t there even an ounce of Jungkook that was angry or felt estranged?

But no. Apparently not.

Ah, Jungkook had grown up well. Yes, Seokjin had done a good job raising him for those few years.

“About what you asked,” Jungkook said, just as Seokjin was about to step out of the car. He stalled. Jungkook’s mouth was tightly pursed. “That was back then when it wasn’t relevant – but it’s relevant again. Namjoon-hyung’s… private life. So— just be ready.”

He thought of the BigHit kill squad again and suppressed a shiver.

“Ready for what?”

“To stand by his side,” Jungkook said, simply. “A lot of people have tried getting with him, you know, like a lot lot of people, but I think he’s been looking for someone… stronger than most people. Because that’s what it’s gonna take.”

“Okay, what do you mean by a lot lot? Ten? Twenty? …What, more? …Fifty?! Okay, don’t tell me – I’m better off not knowing.”

Jungkook grinned wickedly.

He stopped by the convenience store and bought Jungkook a triangle kimbap before letting him drive off. It was a long two-hour drive to the camp, after all, and Jungkook needed sustenance. “I’ll message you later!” Jungkook said, taking off in his pointlessly large SUV.

Seokjin stood on the pavement, watching until the car turned the corner – and although he meant to shower, he ended up crawling back into bed and falling asleep. When he woke up, Namjoon had messaged him:
hey, just woke up. hope you slept well? everything okay?

A few minutes later, Namjoon had added:
I heard Jungkook drove you home, how was it?

In this Bangtan group chat he had heard so much about, nothing remained secret for very long.

It was great – he’s still my favourite, he sent back.

Namjoon sent, simply: …

Okay fine, you’re my favourite now. He studied the screen, thinking it all over: that Namjoon’s sexuality didn’t matter within the walls of BigHit until, of course, it did. Say Namjoon met someone. Say Namjoon fell in love.

Then it became a problem. Then Namjoon, too, became a liability.

Seokjin knew all about that.

Seokjin did not have to do much, some might say – just stand by Namjoon. What did that mean? Fight for him. Fight like hell for him.

hey crazy idea, he sent, do you want to do something fun next week like idk, take down BigHit?

Chapter Text

Don’t say ‘I love you.’

He focused on that one semi-coherent thought, on his knees on the couch of Namjoon’s studio.

Say something like ‘god, you’re fucking me so good right now’ or ‘give it to me hard, big boy’. He had his forearm pressed to the wall for balance. With his free hand, he fisted his swollen cock and reached behind himself to touch Namjoon’s sweat-slick skin.

‘I love you’ wasn’t a dignified thing to say when getting rawed doggy style in a BigHit studio. Missionary, sure – you could get away with it in missionary. But doggy style with an ‘I love you’? Absolutely not.

Namjoon gripped his waist, cock sliding in deep, with an arm wrapped around his chest. Hot breaths brushed his upper back, lips pressing wet kisses to his shoulder, and he closed his eyes and moaned, “Your cock’s so fucking big, baby, fuck.”

Good job! Not a confession, but a fact. God, what a fact – thick, hard, making his toes curl with pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” Namjoon breathed, teeth nipping at his earlobe. His hole clenched, body and mind overwhelmed, and he bit back a sob. He felt good, and he felt even better as Namjoon touched him, hand rubbing his chest and pinching his nipples. He jerked, clenched harder, didn’t say ‘I love you’.

“I’m so close,” he breathed, his buttocks warm from the repeated slams of Namjoon’s hips against him. His balls were drawn tight, his cock leaked pre-cum, and he trembled – lost and on edge. Namjoon left open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and down his shoulder. God, he was being devoured. “Please, please.”

He didn’t even know what he was begging for.

Namjoon slowed down the pace, hand taking a hold of his jaw. In the next moment he was being kissed, head turned to the side to meet Namjoon’s mouth. The kiss was bruising and messy. His knee almost slipped off the couch edge. Namjoon hauled him back with ease.

“Don’t stop,” he asked, breathless.

“Never,” Namjoon said, kissing him. “But let’s get you on the floor.”

Namjoon stepped back – cock sliding out in a way that almost made him sob again. He tried to catch his breath as Namjoon pushed the nice wooden coffee table to the side.

The floor, really?

But then who’d initiated this?

He had, turning Namjoon’s kiss of greeting into something much more fiery.

He got to his feet – wobbly – but Namjoon was already there, kissing him, guiding him onto the goddamn studio rug. It was a nice rug, he discovered as he laid out on it, the fluffy kind that made the experience more pleasant than the bare floor would have.

He desperately pulled Namjoon on top of him, sighing with pleasure as Namjoon pushed back inside. Missionary. Fuck.

Don’t tell him you love him.

Their sexual chemistry had become apparent already during their first time together, but more recently having Namjoon like this had become something more than just getting fucked so hard that he forgot his name. It’d become a need, a pining, burning want in his chest and belly, all clingy and wanton and stupid.

He didn’t want sex in the abstract; he wanted Namjoon in the most physically intimate way he could – in a way that, he acknowledged, was typical of someone freshly in love.

He kissed Namjoon deeply, tasting him on his tongue. Don’t say it.

“You’re comfortable?” Namjoon asked, voice breathless and deep. Hovering above him, chest flushed a blossoming pink, lips ruby-red and swollen, forehead glistening with a hint of sweat, Namjoon could have fucked him on hot coal bricks for all he cared.

“Yeah,” he breathed, needy and beckoning.

Namjoon’s gaze dropped to his lips, making his heart skip a beat. “Good.”

Namjoon pinned his hands above his head and kissed him.

Oh fuck fuck fuck.

His back arched, warmth spreading in him from how Namjoon took control. “F-Fuck,” he hiccupped, with Namjoon fucking into his prostate just right. “Please, oh god, please fuck me.”

Namjoon too was close to orgasm, his thrusts harder and faster. Seokjin yearned for the moment that only lovers could share, wanting Namjoon’s moans of pleasure and stuttering hips and blown pupils and all-consuming kisses. He wanted the release that washed over Namjoon, making his flushed body wind down. How soft Namjoon was in those moments, in a wild contrast to the intensity of him before.

Namjoon kept his arms pinned down, wrists held in one large grip – mouth on his. The other hand was jerking him off.

“I—”

Don’t say it.

“—‘m gonna come,” he managed, words muffled against Namjoon’s mouth.

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked, picking up speed. Those goddamn hips of his and how he knew to use them. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck, I—”

“Gonna come all pretty and fucked out for me?”

“Oh my go—”

The orgasm was ripped out of him, leaving him trembling, white strikes of cum all along his stomach and chest – and Namjoon’s, too. His belly was rising with his breaths, his thighs clamped down around Namjoon’s broad waist like tight vines.

Namjoon fucked him through it, picking up speed – erratic, needy – grip slipping from his wrists. He pushed his freed hands over Namjoon’s sweat-slick hair and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss, feeling so wanted and bare and vulnerable that he could barely stand it.

Namjoon pulled out seconds before he came, spilling against his groin with deep moans of pleasure, the cockhead rubbing against him. Seokjin whimpered – empty but sated and fucked out.

“Fuck, I lo— ve us doing this.”

“God, me too,” Namjoon breathed, kissing him wildly.

He hadn’t said it. A job well done.

But he felt it, the emotion staggeringly powerful as he pulled Namjoon tight against him. In the moment he didn’t care that many people had the code to Namjoon’s thankfully soundproof studio – or that, although it was late at night, there were definitely people in the building. He didn’t care. He had his man.

When they came to their senses a little more, he reached for the nearest item of clothing – his own t-shirt – and used it to wipe them both clean. Namjoon lay next to him on the rug, resting on his side, breaths still evening out. Seokjin threw the soiled shirt away before pushing into Namjoon’s bare chest, seeking his warmth.

He would happily lie on this rug for hours, just to be in Namjoon’s arms.

Namjoon kissed the top of his head and said, “So I’m not sure how exactly that was us taking down BigHit, but I can’t say I’m complaining.”

“That was only step one. By step seven, you’ll see my master plan.”

“I’ve no doubt. Remind me, though, why are we taking down my company again?”

“Glory and prestige.”

“Okay. Got it,” Namjoon chuckled, holding him.

He pressed his forehead to Namjoon’s skin, eyes closed. Held his breath.

He was out of time now – or, perhaps, it was time now. One of the two.

He’d been beside himself with nerves all day. In case tonight did not go well. In case he had to stop himself from doing something stupid like seducing Namjoon just to smooth things over – or had he done that already?

“I know I’ve been acting a bit unhinged lately.”

Namjoon hummed. “Refreshingly unpredictable, I’d say.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know,” Namjoon said, fingers brushing the skin of his midback.

“Can we get dressed?”

“You cold? Come on.”

Their clothes were scattered on the studio floor, but at the end of pulling clothes back on Seokjin was left without a shirt – unless, of course, he wanted the cum-stained shirt back on himself. Namjoon opened a cardboard box by the door and pulled out a red hoodie with an abstract geometric swirl on the front. On the back was ‘RM’ – BTS merch.

Seokjin pulled the hoodie over his head. “Kind of looks like a boyfriend hoodie,” he joked, not joking at all. “Are you gonna wear one too?”

For a cute couple outfit.

“They only gave me the one. Looks better on you, though,” Namjoon said, gaze warm. The hoodie was a size too big for him. “The colour’s nice, too – suits you.”

“Yeah. Is red, like, the BTS colour?”

Namjoon shook his head, lifting the coffee table back to where it’d been before they’d fucked mid-studio. “We don’t have a special colour. Guess the marketing team just liked red this time.”

“Still – it’s cute,” he said, knowing he was buying himself time with needless questions about a hoodie. “You should, ah, have a seat.”

Namjoon frowned but obeyed, sitting on the couch they’d just fucked on. Namjoon leaned into the couch, manspreading with a post-orgasm glow. Despite this, his expression was cautiously curious. “This feels like an interview now. Is it?”

More like Seokjin was in the witness stand and Namjoon would act out as judge.

“Babe?”

He stopped wringing his hands. Nodded. Sure, he was great, just great.

Namjoon clearly didn’t believe him. “Well, let’s talk it out, whatever it is. Like, remember when we’d stay up late talking into the night – talking about our worries and fears? Just you and me.”

He remembered it vaguely: Namjoon’s boyish charm and pearly white teeth, and the enthusiasm and severity of his musical sermons. Namjoon had taken himself so seriously as an artist, even at age seventeen. It’d been such a long time ago now.

Had he told Namjoon about his worries?

Maybe the superficial ones.

Not the worst ones.

He was usually a very smooth talker, but this time he was unsure where to start.

As the silence stretched, Namjoon said, “I might not have a lot of experience about these kinds of things” — Seokjin caught the tension in the measured words — “but this seems like the kind of set up that you arrange when you’re breaking up with someone.”

He flinched.

Namjoon was looking at him intensely. “Which is, truthfully, confusing because you just told me that you love me.”

His stomach dropped. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”

He’d held it back!

“Not now, but before, I mean. And it’s also confusing because we just fucked unless that was— intended as a goodbye fuck?”

Heat rose to his cheeks, his heart beating wildly. “No, I— This isn’t that. God, I didn’t mean to make you think that— I didn’t come over to end things, please don’t think that’s what this is.”

“No?”

Relief flooded Namjoon’s face. Jungkook’s words returned to Seokjin then: that Namjoon needed someone who’d stick by him. Someone strong and a little stubborn. Seokjin knew he could be strong when the occasion called for it.

Namjoon sat up straighter. “Well, good. It would have been embarrassing to cycle home sobbing.”

“Joon-ah,” he chastised because Namjoon had made him laugh. This wasn’t funny! But Namjoon smiled, self-irony and warmth in it. He suppressed the urge to cross the distance between them and climb into Namjoon’s lap. Kiss him until all was well again. Forget about the past – who cared?

Except the past wouldn’t let him be – it was even making Namjoon think that he wanted to walk away. God, not at all.

“So what’s going on, then?” Namjoon asked, voice a little coaxing. ‘You can tell me’, his voice said. ‘I’m here and I’m listening. Go on, then – we’ll figure it out together, whatever it is.’ “Jungkook said you guys had a good chat, but that you thought you were being chased at first, which is, well… a bit intense?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I thought— I don’t know, that maybe a manager was onto us or something.”

“Why are you so worried about what the company thinks?” Namjoon asked, which was a fair question. It was Namjoon who worked for them – not Seokjin. A perfect segway if he’d ever been offered one.

And so it was time.

“I’m sorry I’ve caused you to worry. I’ve just been kind of overwhelmed and… majorly overthinking, which is extremely unlike me. I mostly don’t overthink things, but just go with my gut. Like, I used to have this red crop top that I wore whenever I went to gay clubs. Just knew I had to buy it the second I saw it, and I was right. It always got me so much attention, I loved it.”

“I’m not surprised it did,” Namjoon said, a half-smile on his lips. “I hope you’ve got some pictures.”

“Ah, somewhere, maybe… I’d never wear something like it now. But you know, back when I was younger… When I was coming into my sexuality, that stuff felt important.”

Namjoon’s expression had changed. He’d picked up on this not just being an idle ramble, but that Seokjin was trying to say something real, and he was. God, he really was.

It all tied together, he saw it now: his history with BigHit and all this love in his chest. How do you conceptualise love? Putting a person’s well-being before your own. Caring more about them being happy than being happy yourself.

Someone probably would have disagreed with that: love can’t be all-sacrificing. Love can’t be something in which you put yourself second.

But if that was how Seokjin loved, then who were others to criticise him for it?

“I was living at home before I moved into the dorm. Gangnam was a whole world, right? You remember that too. And between university and training with you guys, well, I never had much time to myself. But— But I was aware, you know, that there were gay clubs. There was one just a twenty-minute walk from the dorm. Did you know that? Well, why would you have… But I’d pass the street it was on whenever I drove Jungkook to school in the mornings. And I thought will I ever get to go? You know? I’ll debut soon, I’ll debut next year – then I’ll definitely never get to go, not until we disband or— if I make it, if I become a successful idol, I will never get to go to a gay club and dance with a cute boy. Never, not even once. And suddenly that was all I could think about. All the stuff I’d miss out on. All the stuff I’d never get to do. It seemed such… such a small thing to ask for.”

Understanding appeared in Namjoon’s gaze. “So you went.”

He stood still in the studio, buried deep in the maze of BigHit – years and years later.

“Yeah.”

His voice broke on the single word. His arms fell limply to his sides.

It was funny how the admission seemed ridiculous when he was surrounded by a life of luxury and power he’d given up in exchange. What had he been thinking?

“Just one time, I told myself. Just go once, just so that I didn’t miss out on it. So I went, and hot men bought me drinks, and I danced, and I kissed someone in the toilets, and I— felt so fucking free and alive. Like… god, I felt my heart beating. I felt my blood pulsing through me. I felt the air in my lungs. I thought that feeling probably was the same as taking drugs, you know? Ah, I didn’t do drugs, don’t look so alarmed – it’s an analogy. Just… experiencing this intense vibrancy of life. That’s what I mean. And after it was done, I— I pulled a hoodie over my red crop top, and I snuck back into the dorm where you guys were all fast asleep, and I slipped into bed pretending like nothing had happened, and I told myself that I’d never do it again.”

Namjoon’s eyes were wide. “That was brave of you.”

“In a way, I guess.”

“I had no idea that you… Did any of the others know?”

He shook his head. “You didn’t suspect a thing, right? That was how I planned it. And that’s not the end of it, because I went out three times during the time I lived with you guys, and I would have done it a fourth time hadn’t I been caught.”

Namjoon sat up straighter, as if reacting to an electric shock. “You were caught? By whom? Jungkook?”

He shook his head, reluctant – but he had to say this. At last.

“Someone else? Yoongi?”

“Kang Incheol.”

The look on Namjoon’s face spoke for itself: Seokjin had been fucked.

“I didn’t see him that night, but he saw me – outside the club, or going into it, I don’t even know, but he saw me. And he knew what kind of club it was.”

Namjoon had paled. “Wait, when did— when did you say all this happened?”

He felt sick to his stomach.

“Late 2012.”

Namjoon was a clever man – he could piece most of what remained from context alone.

He paused to take a deep breath because this? This was the hardest part.

“And so when I ran into Sungdeuk-nim, I— I panicked, because he probably knows about all of this, and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. You said that— that you wished I’d been with you guys all this time, but I wasn’t, and that’s because the day after Incheol saw me, I… I was called into a meeting with the managers.”

Namjoon knew now. It was clear on his face: astonishment, dismay. Disbelief.

He remembered those late evenings in the dorm living room better now – when they’d been trainees. When Namjoon had told him at length about his vision for the team, about them debuting together and taking over the world.

And how he’d let Namjoon down.

Maybe Namjoon was right: that they would break up here and now.

That was an option. A possibility.

“And at the end of that meeting, I— I asked Bang Sihyuk to tell you guys that I’d been sent home because my skills were lacking. I thought it was better than you guys knowing the truth.”

“What?”

Namjoon looked completely shocked.

He wrapped his arms around his middle, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Well, that’s just… how it ended up.”

Namjoon stood up. “Wait, hang on. It was never about your performance? You weren’t sent home because you’d ranked last?”

Bang PD had kept a trainee ranking board in his office. That day in October 2012, Seokjin’s name had been fourth. Fourth was pretty good. Fourth was safe. After he’d moved into the dorm, both his singing and dancing had improved at impressive speeds. He’d never come last – not once.

That month last had been Min Yoongi.

Yeah, right.

As if Bang would ever have sent Yoongi home.

You didn’t send a fourth home either. Bang Sihyuk wasn’t that foolish.

“Hyung. You need to tell me what exactly—”

He was almost relieved when Namjoon’s phone started ringing, forgotten on the studio desk. Whatever he said now only would only make things worse – add more humiliating detail. Namjoon didn’t move at first, but he motioned for Namjoon to pick up.

Namjoon passed him, movements restless, and Seokjin knew he had fucked up.

“It’s Hyowon-hyung,” Namjoon said, glancing at him. “Hey. Yeah, man, I’m still here, but— Really, you finished it? Shit, that’s great, but— …Right, sure. But look, now’s a bad time. I can drop by later or—”

“Just go,” he stage whispered, motioning to the door. He was fine! Namjoon did not need to stay! Pdogg needed him? Likely important, in fact far more important than this bomb shell he’d dropped on Namjoon! “Just go,” he mouthed again, forcing himself to give Namjoon a huge, supportive smile.

Namjoon hesitated. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”

Namjoon slipped the phone into his pocket.

Seokjin said, “Sounds important – we can talk about this later, alright? Or not, I guess this was all more an fyi, but now you know and— and that’s what matters.”

Namjoon was rattled, the soft postcoital glow long gone – something dark having taken its place. “I’ll come over once I’m finished here, alright? And I’m gonna need you to tell me everything.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Wait up for me. Please.”

How could Seokjin say no? So he nodded, and Namjoon pressed a kiss to his temple and squeezed his hand before leaving, a dark air to him.

As soon as the door closed, Seokjin slumped down onto the armchair.

Perhaps the real shocker was that he did not feel better in any way whatsoever.

Namjoon messaged that he was stuck in the studio – Pdogg wanted to re-record something ahead of a pressing deadline – but that he would come over ASAP. Of course Namjoon would want to know everything. Why had Seokjin ever thought that he could give Namjoon an abridged version of what had happened?

Trying to relax, Seokjin headed into the bathroom to shower, cleaning himself from the sex. He wanted to enjoy the intimacy of this post-sex ritual – smoothing over spots that were sore from fucking, scrubbing away the traces of Namjoon’s release on him, recalling acts of passion with tenderness – but he was too restless to find pleasure in this the way he usually did.

In the bedroom, he pulled on the hoodie Namjoon had given him. A boyfriend hoodie, he liked to think of it, even if he was unsure if he was one. Had Namjoon been disappointed by his past actions? He’d been shocked, that was clear, and Seokjin hadn’t even told him all that had happened.

God, it was going to be a long night.

He paced in his apartment, from the door to the living room to the bedroom and then back again. He had to be up for work in the morning, but he was too high strung to do anything.

Defeated, he went to the small desk in his bedroom to play MapleStory – the only distraction that would likely work, placing his phone to charge near the bed so that he’d be alerted the second Namjoon was on his way.

To distract himself further, he started streaming the game on Twitch. “It’s been a while, right?” he said to the total of seven viewers who instantly joined. He was too busy these days to stream much at all, but he still had some loyal viewers.

This distraction finally worked – the game absorbed him, and the comments kept him entertained.

“Oppa, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he read aloud and shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? If you’re younger than me, it’s past your bedtime for sure. Oh, shiiiii— Aah, why!”

He’d fallen through a portal, and he groaned in frustration. A flurry of comments filled the screen from ‘kekekekekke’ to commiserations, with the viewership up to a respectable two hundred as the hour turned. When he’d streamed more regularly, he’d gotten decent attention, likely because he was personable and handsome.

“How’s the game going? Well, it’s not going like I wish it was,” he said, clicking on buttons furiously, mixing chatting and playing expertly. “Just gonna go this way now and… Favourite ramen? Jin ramen, obviously. Spicy Jin ramen! Aah, I crave it now. You’re gonna send some over? That’s kind but I can feed myself. Is Jimin my ult bias? Uh. Jimin isn’t my bias, sorry, I’d get in trouble for that I think – but a bias wrecker, sure.”

People asked the most random shit sometimes, so he just went with it, but then he focused on the game for a difficult part. When he next glanced at the viewer stats, he’d jumped to three thousand viewers.

“Oh. There’s a lot of you.”

He stopped mid-play, taken aback. Why the sudden onslaught of viewers?

His phone beeped. “One second!”

He swirled in his chair and checked the phone: on my way

Relief flooded him.

“Sorry guys, I’m gonna have to call it a night,” he said, turning back to the screen. The chat was going crazy with BTS4evaaaa!! and r u ARMY??? He paused. Why were people asking him this kind of stuff? He’d never even brought BTS up.

Namjoon biases unite!!!

He stared at the comment.

His blood ran cold.

Why were the comments about Namjoon? How? Why?

i want one too
where are they selling them??
RM OUR ULT LEADER
how did you get it?!?!

“Whatever it is, go buy your own,” he said until his eyes caught yo for real that Bangtan hoodie was only made for the members?? did you steal it or what?? He looked down at the hoodie Namjoon had given him – the distinctive ruby red with the abstract geometric pattern that Seokjin had perhaps seen on a few things in Namjoon’s studio. Likely something for the comeback.

RM on the back!!! someone commented with heart-eyed emojis.

They were right: the hoodie spelled out ‘RM’ on the back. He’d shown it to everyone when he’d turned to check his phone.

He sat very still in his boyfriend hoodie, which was unreleased, exclusive BTS merch. Which Namjoon had gifted him merely hours earlier. Which no one should wear or own, unless a BTS member.

“Alright, so – until next time,” he said and smiled to make sure that he didn’t look like his world had just come to an end.

In slow motion, he turned off his computer. He unplugged it from the wall. He picked up the cables and rolled them up. He turned off the wifi. He drew the curtains. He pulled the hoodie off, and then just stared at it in a bizarre daze.

When Namjoon arrived, he opened the door calmly and let him in. Namjoon, sensing something was off, asked, “What’s wrong? Babe, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you dizzy? Are you running a fever? Do you need to sit down?”

“This hoodie,” he said, still clutching it in his hands. “Where did you get it?”

“What? From our staff. I think it’s for Bon Voyage – they made matching outfits for the members. Why do you ask?”

“So there’s only… only five of these in circulation. In existence. Each with a name.”

“Yeah, I guess so – or four, really, because Jungkook doesn’t have his yet.”

…fuck.

Hoseok said, “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”

“Hob-ah, come on,” Namjoon said, rubbing at his brow as the two of them remained seated in Hoseok’s living room.

Hoseok had received them kindly, with Namjoon deciding not to go home but to lay low.

The last hour had been a whirlwind. First, Namjoon had told him to pack – did any of the viewers know his full name? His occupation? Was he traceable? Who knew who could turn up at his door demanding answers.

So he’d packed – underwear, toothbrush, lotion, work laptop – but they hadn’t gone to Namjoon’s apartment. What if Seokjin got spotted entering the building complex only shortly after wearing Namjoon’s clothing? What if they got spotted together?

Jimin had shown off his hoodie – identical except for the name on the back – during a live stream the day before, not that Namjoon or Seokjin had known that.

No wonder fans had recognised it.

Seokjin had spent the last half an hour putting on news alerts for all variations of ‘Namjoon MapleStory’, ‘RM hoodie’, ‘Namjoon streamer’, and so forth, while Namjoon had been looking at his most active fansites for any leaked stories. They had no idea if this would spread anywhere and if yes, then in what form.

“You wearing that hoodie doesn’t prove anything,” Namjoon said to him when Hoseok went to set up the guest room. Namjoon was right, of course, that no one could prove they were romantically involved just based on an item of clothing, but to attract any kind of attention to them was potentially disastrous. While Seokjin lived privately, he wasn’t closeted; he could be IDed and then linked to Namjoon in ways that were suggestive.

“And look, I can always just say I left the shirt, I don’t know, in a museum or some shit. I lose stuff all the time.”

Seokjin chewed on his bottom lip. “And so I’ll say I stole it from a bench somewhere, is that the plan?”

“God, I don’t know,” Namjoon admitted with a sigh. The stress radiated off him, and guilt clung onto Seokjin. “But this is my fault, alright? I wasn’t thinking. You just— looked so cute wearing it. I didn’t even think twice.”

“We’ll put that in the press release. Cause of public scandal: he looked real cute.”

Namjoon snorted, rubbing at Seokjin’s back gently like he was the one who needed comforting.

They checked their phones again: no huge news article.

Yet.

Hoseok came back into the living room. “I’ve made the bed for you guys. Any news?”

They shook their heads.

Namjoon had contemplated calling one of the managers to alert them to the situation, but they’d decided to wait out the night – to see if rumours started circulating, or if people would simply brush it off. Who knew, maybe Seokjin was a fanboy who had made his own hoodie after seeing Jimin’s? That was no news at all.

It was past three in the morning when the two of them finally got into bed, both exhausted. While he’d gone to brush his teeth, he’d heard Namjoon and Hoseok talking in quiet tones. It was obvious to all of them what the risk here was: Namjoon being outed. The reverberations of that would reach who knew how far, to public disgrace or disbandment or, or…

Hoseok had sounded serious and stern. Not at all like his usually bubbly self.

Namjoon was taking heat.

In the dark of the bedroom, Namjoon pressed to Seokjin’s side and lay his head on his chest – coming in to be cuddled despite taking up more space, smelling of a floral body wash that Hoseok must use. Seokjin wrapped his arms tightly around Namjoon and held him, neither of them speaking or daring to fall asleep.

In the dark of the night, Seokjin felt oddly calm again. When something truly disastrous happened, he could have an almost chilling calmness – a detachment that provided clarity.

He breathed in the scent of Namjoon’s hair – a wood scent mixed with bergamot. It was calming. “What did Hobi say? Is he mad?”

“Not mad but scared.”

“For you?”

“For us.”

His fingers traced Namjoon’s upper back, regret filling him. He’d had enough time to go through numerous scenarios in his head, each more damning than the next. Voice low and steady, he said, “I don’t want to be what ruins you.”

It was to Namjoon’s credit that he picked up the thread instantly, shaking his head. “You couldn’t be. You’re not responsible for me, hyung. I’m grown and I make my own decisions.”

“Like giving me an exclusive hoodie that has your literal name on it?”

“I didn’t say I make smart decisions.”

“But I looked cute.”

“You looked so fucking cute.”

Somehow, in the midst of chaos, they managed to laugh.

Namjoon wrapped his arm tighter around his waist. “Look, I knew the risks of dating you when I first kissed you, and I wouldn’t take back a second of it. I’ve never walked away from something just because there was risk involved. The risk only means it’s worth pursuing.”

He closed his eyes, bittersweetness filling him. That was how they differed: because Seokjin was the kind to walk away when the risks got too costly. Or, at least, he historically had been.

He breathed in Namjoon’s scent. ‘Am I yours?’ he wanted to ask. He wanted to be.

His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, but somehow this made talking easier. “You sure it’s been worth it? Because this is not the first time we’re careless. Like, we once fucked in my car right in the middle of a residential neighbourhood.”

“And it’s easily one of the best things I’ve ever done,” Namjoon said, pressing a brief kiss against his pyjama shirt. “I’ve got to live, right? I’m human, just like everyone else. I have to live. And the fact is that if I ever get Dispatched, it’s the act of me dating anyone at all that would cause the scandal, and not that it’s you.”

He frowned. “You know that’s not true. This, with us…? It’s career ending.”

“Career debilitating,” Namjoon corrected in a stubborn tone. “You can come back from it these days, even if it’s not easy. Maybe when we debuted… Back then it likely was a bigger deal. Back when you were caught. I mean, I still know it’s a big deal, but I just— I get it now. I thought about it all night, and it finally makes sense. Because none of us could believe it when you were sent home. And you just… vanished. I called you a few times after you left, but you never answered, like you’d somehow died, and— I get it now. That silence.”

In the midst of the current crisis, they’d hardly talked about what Seokjin had revealed to Namjoon earlier that day. All of that seemed like yesterday’s news now – secondary and inconsequential.

Returning to it now, Seokjin felt heartbroken over a truth that Namjoon didn’t know at all. Namjoon thought he knew, but…

Namjoon let out a deep sigh. “They’ve treated me differently than they treated you. I was established already, but you were a trainee. That must have been the difference, right? I had leverage, whereas you… You’ve got every right to be angry about that. I’m so fucking angry about it, and I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

“But I’m not angry about it,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. He’d been angry with Kang Incheol at points – what an asshole – but the man was who-knew-where these days, and so those feelings felt like wasted energy. He’d been more anxious than angry: he’d left disgraced. Who knew how he was remembered now?

“How can you not be angry?”

“Well, because I fucked up. All the stuff I told you – about needing to experience, I don’t know, queer liberation. I knew even back then that it was selfish. Like, you guys didn’t go to clubs and dance with girls, did you? I was just making excuses to— to indulge. And when we met again, I just— I didn’t think it mattered anymore, what actually happened when I left the company, so I said nothing. That was obviously a mistake because I got so worked up about it again. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t apologise – they should apologise.”

He was quiet for a long time – not speaking until he was sure he could do so without his voice breaking. “But I was so reckless back then. Selfish.”

“Hyung.”

“I only thought of myself and not the team.”

“We were kids. Looking back, we were all kids, every last one of us. You can’t blame yourself.”

“But I was the oldest. I ran the dorm, remember? And I just— fucked it all up. Let you all down.”

“We all misbehaved.”

“Not like that,” he said, throat painfully sore.

At Han River, Namjoon had drunkenly complained about Seokjin not being with them. Complained about a life without him in the group. If he wasn’t mad at Seokjin, he should be.

Kindness and forgiveness were easy when rooted in partial truths.

Namjoon tightened the embrace in which he held him. Invaded his space. Claimed him. Seokjin wanted to fall into him like a tree uprooted in a storm.

“What you were giving up wasn’t the same as the rest of us. Fuck, I know that more than anyone, because I’ve never been to a club like that. I can’t go. I debuted, and I’ve had to balance my sexuality with that, and trust me, it’s not the same as what the other members have given up.”

“But—”

“Babe, listen. I’ve spent more hours agonising over this stuff than anyone can guess, long before we met again. I don’t blame you for what you did back then, not even for a second. I just— I’m just mad at myself for not knowing about any of it. God, I wish you’d come to me. We’d have figured something out.”

He huffed gently. “Sure, big guy. We could have organised a demonstration outside the dorm for my right to party, just you and me.”

“Vive la resistance.”

He laughed quietly, nosing Namjoon’s short hair. Love and regret swelled up in him in equal measure. He’d missed out on so many years with Namjoon, and he’d never been pained over it until now. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Let it go.”

Namjoon exhaled – a protest somehow in that single breath. Of course Namjoon did not want to let it go. ENFP: the campaigner.

“I don’t want you to stage any protests or go demand any answers, alright? It’s ancient history now. And besides, we’ve got far more pressing problems to deal with,” he said, hoping that Namjoon did not pick up on just how desperate he was for Namjoon to let it be. If Namjoon went to the old managers about this, then they would have to go into the full-length version of events, and Seokjin had not revisited those since the day he left.

Self-preservation.

He didn’t want to let Namjoon down more than he already had – or Hoseok. Jimin. Yoongi. Taehyung. Jungkook.

“Namjoon-ah?”

“But—”

“Promise me.”

“But—”

“I’m asking you kindly. It happened to me, not you. I decide what to do, and I want us to let it go for now. There’s too much going on.”

Finally, Namjoon said, “…Alright. Okay.”

The tone of his voice said that Seokjin was making the wrong decision, but Namjoon would tolerate it for his sake.

Namjoon pulled him closer, sighing. “Now let’s sleep, alright? In the morning we’ll see if anything’s leaked, and whatever has happened we’ll deal with it.”

He nodded, wondering where Namjoon got such calmness from when his entire career and reputation was on the line.

As they were drifting off to sleep, Seokjin let himself imagine, however briefly, a world where he’d debuted with the members. Of years spent laughing and singing and touring and arguing and goofing around with Namjoon. Of loving him like he deserved.

He bit back sudden tears and whispered, “You know, I wish I’d talked to you back then.”

“When?”

“Each day I didn’t see you.”

Namjoon pressed a sleepy kiss to his neck. “Mmm, me too.”

In the morning, Hoseok woke them up to the welcome news that there had been no headlines about the hoodie overnight. Hoseok, meticulous and efficient, had poured over twenty different news outlets and five different social media platforms. He’d found one set of screenshots of Seokjin – so evidence was out there – but the text had congratulated Namjoon on always having the most handsome fans, including this random MapleStory streamer with angelic looks.

“We live another day,” Hoseok said, half-joking, half-serious. “Who wants breakfast?”

“You’re distracted,” his mother said, mouth pursing with displeasure as they lunched at the Café of Her Choice. They did so once a month when she went to get her hair done on Garosugil where her favourite stylist ran an upscale salon. After this she would drop off a small pile of banchan at his and his brother’s apartments, and then have lunch with Seokjin. Somehow this luncheon part was reserved for the gay son and not the straight son.

If Seokjin wanted to be annoyed about such differing treatment, he wasn’t. His mother had supported him through acting dreams, idol dreams, subsequent failures, a coming out, a reality check MBA, and all of it. And yet he was surprised when she said, “Boy trouble?”

Same-sex marriage not being legal didn’t faze his mother. She would pester him about acquiring a life partner often while still knowing Seokjin would inform her of such a suitor when he’d materialised. (But she did remind him, frequently, of these expectations.)

Seokjin examined her with surprise, fork still in his salmon quiche in the French-styled café where, predictably, Edith Piaf played. He was sure Namjoon could have given them a Brief History of the Modern Chanson on the spot – but, as it was, Namjoon was at work, getting ready for the biggest event of the year: the Bangtan reunion, with Jungkook’s enlistment days nearly numbered.

Back in the office, Jiyoon was beside herself with excitement.

Amidst all this, there had been no grand Dispatch article entitled RM of BTS dating unknown Twitch streamer (a man!!!! gay!!!!)?!. Seokjin had been checking every day for a week now, and no further ‘news’ had leaked: ARMY thought he was simply a fanboy. The hoodie must have been made by him, after all, because what other option was there?

He and Namjoon had breathed easier. No one was ruined, and they had vowed never to borrow each other’s clothes ever again. Lesson learned. Life back on track. Nothing to be anxious about!

And yet…

He put his fork down, holding back a sigh that would have betrayed him.

“Well?” his mother prompted, her patience running out. “This is about a boy, isn’t it?”

“Eomma,” he protested, but had nothing to follow it up with.

“Of course it is,” his mother said with a hint of smug satisfaction. “Well, it’s been a while but I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there. You’re too handsome and well-mannered to be single, I always tell you this.”

“Eomma.”

“I won’t pry!” she insisted, gazing out of the window at the cold afternoon snow fall – her features youthful for her age, her black hair long and sleek. You wouldn’t catch her donning on the stereotypical ahjumma perm – not her, not ever. She sighed, sounding a little tortured. Ah, another thing about her: the most dramatic person alive. She stopped trying to look saddened and leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Just one question.”

“Okay, you get one.”

Her mouth pursed. “Birth year?”

“1994.”

“Blood type?”

“That’s two.”

“I can count, thank you. Well?”

“A.”

“A good job?”

“Yes.”

“Handsome?”

“Incredibly.”

“High praise.”

“He’s sculpted like a god, believe me.”

“Is he now? Hmm. Height?”

“181.”

“Well, my oh my.”

“I know.”

“An MBA? PhD?”

“No, he— maybe finished a Bachelor’s?”

His mother’s enthralled expression turned into a frown. “He lacks education but has a good job? It can’t be a very good job.”

“It is, I promise.”

“Really? Who does he work for?”

“A big company.”

“Oh? Samsung? Hyundai? LG?”

“An entertainment company.”

“Kakao? SM? Fine, you’re not telling me. This Bachelor’s degree, is it from a good university?”

“I think an online university?”

“A what? Seokjin-ah, are you sure he’s not a swindler? Don’t be fooled by good looks on a tall man. Is he from a good family – has he told you about his parents?”

“Yes, and they’re good people.”

Their parents had met, in fact, and liked each other.

His mother folded her napkin with nimble fingers. “Well, I must say I am still worried by his educational background and career prospects.”

He’s a multi-millionaire was on the tip of his tongue. He held it back.

“He’s very successful. He even bought his parents an apartment.”

His mother reached across the table to clutch his hand. “Well, why didn’t you just say that? He sounds like a very filial son, someone who takes care of those he loves. That’s very respectable. A whole apartment. Where, ah, where exact—”

“Quite close to your hairdresser’s.”

His mother squeezed his hand so hard it hurt. “I hope you’re not teasing me. You know I’m not materialistic – I just want the best for my sons.”

He assured her that he was not kidding, and she pulled her hand back, muttering, “Entertainment business… I suppose it is lucrative… A talent scout? Something like that maybe? Well, no wonder he spotted you, you’ve always been so talented.”

He did not dare roll his eyes at his mother, but his heart was beating a little fast. It was risky telling her anything at all, especially after recent near-exposure, yet she knew him in a way only a mother could. If her son was in love, she would know – and she had clearly sensed it.

His mother had once bought Namjoon gloves when she’d visited the dorm and had seen Namjoon coming in from the cold, rubbing reddened hands together and breathing warmth onto them. Namjoon had lost his gloves – he was always losing things. She wouldn’t have that and had returned half an hour later with thick winter gloves just for Namjoon.

He wondered if Namjoon still had those gloves, and if his mother even remembered this episode.

“He’s great, really, Eomma,” he said, while he meant to say Namjoon was amazing. “But, um, you should know that he has to live a strict double life.”

“Oh? How strict?” she asked, tone evaluating.

“His family and friends know about him, but, you know, professionally…”

“Seokjin-ah, that’s hardly a problem. Many people do that. You do that! Why would that be an issue?”

“I don’t know, because I might never be able to introduce you to him?”

“Who meets the parents at such an early stage, anyway? I don’t need to meet him for another decade, so don’t be silly – just focus on the two of you.”

She was clearly drunk on the apartment in central Gangnam without, of course, realising the extent of the privacy and secrecy required, and Seokjin didn’t blame her. Plebs like them couldn’t imagine what it took to be famous and to keep your private life private.

His mother sipped on her sparkling water – seemingly warming up to the potential spouse Seokjin had vaguely characterised, the lack of formal education aside. “So why exactly are you brooding? Because you have to keep things so private – is he quite elusive?”

Namjoon was all but elusive. Between the almost-scandal and Seokjin finally explaining how he had left the company had brought them closer together: they called each other every day – even now when Namjoon was getting ready for the big reunion – and they messaged each other good morning and good night, and all that was for days when they didn’t see each other. Namjoon’s schedule was manic, and Seokjin worked long hours, but they always managed to find an evening, night, or morning to meet up. In truth, Seokjin had never dated a man as determined to find a way to see him.

“I don’t know, we’ve just… had some difficult conversations lately, but in a way that’s brought us closer? And now he’s got this big, er, project at work and he’ll be out of town and busy, when I wish we could, like, take some time to ourselves and—yeah.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re giving your mother attitude because you miss your boyfriend?”

“Aish, forget it.”

“Seokjin-ah, you must be quite taken by him.”

“This is embarrassing, please stop.”

“You know, when I first met your father, we—”

“Nope. No.”

“Well, I’m just saying it’s quite normal to miss each other, so I understand. Don’t look so shocked – I was young once. And trust me, there’ll come a time when you wish you could get away from him for a week or two.”

“Romantic,” he said, stabbing at the last of his quiche. He chewed on the food, hesitating. His mother was artfully quiet – clever little thing, sensing there was more. He swallowed. “There’s also stuff we still don’t know about each other. And we’ve been, um… sharing our past experiences? And I still haven’t even told him everything.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Why would you tell him everything?”

“Well, because—”

“Please, all relationships need mystery. Knowing everything kills the romance – you’d be a fool to tell him everything. I could write a book about the things that your appa doesn’t know about me, and it’d likely win the Nobel Prize for Literature.”

“I’m gonna tell appa you said that.”

“Go ahead. I dare you.”

They grinned at each other.

“So then.” With great theatrics she got out her little notebook and pen, found an empty page, and got ready to write. “He was born in 1994, you say – do you know the date and time?”

“Okay, this conversation is done,” he said, because he did not need his mother to call him that night with a fortune teller’s evaluation of their compatibility. His mother huffed and reluctantly put her notebook away.

As they parted outside the café, she patted his cheek, reaching up to him because he was a good twenty centimetres taller than her. “Try not to worry about things so much, Seokjin-ah – it’s bad for the skin.”

This was her way of saying she cared, and Seokjin – a little overcome by emotion – pressed a kiss to her hair, which she did not take at all kindly to. She’d just had her hair done, after all, and she loathed public displays of affection.

Seokjin got into his Hyundai and headed home.

Was she right – that no one should know everything about the person they loved? After all, hadn’t he told Namjoon enough? Practically everything, really. About the club, about Kang Incheol, about the managers.

Nearly everything.

Seokjin remained seated on Namjoon’s bed, watching with a broken heart as Namjoon packed. Iceland was stupid. Iceland was far away. Why couldn’t those tectonic plates just have, like, merged instead of spewing out a stupid island in the middle of an ocean?

“And what about this?” Namjoon asked, holding a t-shirt to his chest.

All outfits would end up on Bon Voyage, and Namjoon didn’t want to look scruffy – ARMY had waited so long for the OT5 reunion, which was taking the form of a campervan ride along the southern coast of Iceland. Jungkook was getting a lift straight from the military base to Incheon Airport – top secret, of course. Even the press hadn’t been informed.

Seokjin had seen the itinerary set up by BigHit staff: lagoons, waterfalls, volcanoes, whale watching and black sand beaches, with adorable little Icelandic cabins to spend the night in along the way.

“That looks really nice,” he said, because all outfits looked nice on Namjoon.

Namjoon checked the t-shirt again – a camouflage green – nodded and packed it. He was getting picked up soon.

Seokjin would spend most of the time that Namjoon was away at the VR Con in Daegu. They would both be busy working, but he was nonetheless restless over their separation. Namjoon was excited for the trip – for being with his members again, all five of them after so long, and here Seokjin was, making it about himself. Ugh.

He rolled and unrolled a pair of Namjoon’s socks, cross-legged on the large bed. In the walk-in closet, Namjoon was counting how many pairs of briefs he should pack.

“I had lunch with my mother the other day. She knows I’m seeing someone.”

Namjoon poked his head out, eyebrow arched. “Really? You told her?”

“Well, more like she told me, and I confessed.”

Namjoon grinned. “You must really like me if you told her.”

He would not react to such coaxing and crossed his arms. “She’s concerned by your lack of a PhD from Harvard. Did you ever even get a Bachelor’s degree?”

“Yes, from a super legit online university,” Namjoon said, disappearing again. “And I’m now on my fifth year of a super legit online MBA that I haven’t done a single thing for in three years! Be sure to tell her that!”

He looked around Namjoon’s pristine bedroom. “Wow, she’ll be super impressed.”

Namjoon rummaged in the closet, and Seokjin tried to cheer up – to match Namjoon’s good mood. Wouldn’t Namjoon miss him at all?

Namjoon reappeared with an armful of socks and underwear, dropping it all into the open suitcase on the floor. Namjoon brushed his brow and said, “Your mother bought me gloves one winter. I liked her. Maybe we should meet – you, me, your parents.”

Seokjin froze.

Namjoon stared at him, hands on his hips. “What? I don’t want her to think you’re dating some fuck boy.”

He pictured his parents finding out he was dating Kim Namjoon. Dear lord.

“How about you do your Icelandic saga first and we’ll circle back to this afterwards?”

Namjoon shrugged and started arranging the contents of the full suitcase, squatting beside it. Seokjin pulled on his collar, suddenly feeling needlessly heated. How could Namjoon just announce out of nowhere that he thought they were at the meet-the-parents stage?! His own mother had given him a decade to work up to it!

“Your parents probably expect you to marry one of those girls from Blackpink or Itzy, or someone famous at least.”

Namjoon was trying to flatten a thick woollen jumper atop all the other clothes. “I am pretty sure those Itzy girls are too young for me, for one. For two, my family’s come from very little – we remember that still. And, for three, my success means that I have the freedom to date whoever makes me happy, and not someone who will advance my social status.”

Why did Namjoon have to be so rational and diplomatic when Seokjin craved for a little drama?

He pouted. “Are you saying I don’t advance your social status? Have you seen how handsome I am?”

Namjoon looked at him at last, eyes warm and smile sweet. “I see it all the time.”

God.

Seokjin wanted him. How much time did they have? Maybe they had time for a frisky quickie?

Namjoon checked his phone. “Shit, the managers are already on their way.”

Together they squeezed the suitcase shut, and Namjoon reasoned that in case he’d forgotten something they sold clothes in Iceland too. Passport? Check. Toothbrush? Check. Phone and chargers? Check.

Namjoon was wearing a forest green hoodie with ‘RM’ on the back, with a thick winter coat thrown on top. The ruby red hoodies had been scrapped after the near-scandal – Yoongi had asked for new ones, saying he didn’t like the design. BigHit had hurried to please the members, no questions asked.

Seokjin followed Namjoon to the living room, trying his utmost not to be extra about Namjoon’s departure. How the fuck would he handle a world tour if he couldn’t handle this?

Namjoon was going through the kitchen cupboards, trying to find protein bars for the Seoul-Istanbul-London-Reykjavik marathon of flights. “So, listen, before I go I wanted to talk about something – because I know I haven’t said it back yet.”

“Said what?”

“That I love you.”

Seokjin stilled, momentarily speechless – which happened to him very rarely, but which Namjoon had managed to do twice in the space of an hour. He flushed, heat rising to his skin. “I— Well— Uh—”

Namjoon turned to him, protein bars in hand. “It’s just that sometimes I think I know what love is, and then the next day I wonder if I know at all what it is. You know? So I just… kept thinking that I want to be sure when I say it.”

He’d blurted out his confession to Namjoon in such an embarrassing way that, in truth, he hadn’t agonised over Namjoon not saying it back. And yet he hadn’t revoked it either – because the feelings were true. Everyone could see it, from Taehyung to his mother to, he hoped, Namjoon too.

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s fine – I don’t mind being pathetic.”

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth twisted upwards. “Babe.”

“I mean it, really,” he insisted just as the doorbell rang, causing him to flinch. Stupid Iceland! Stupid tectonic plates! Had anyone even checked that Eyjafjallajökull wasn’t about to erupt again?!

Namjoon had one large suitcase and a smaller one, and the manager who came in took them both, giving Seokjin a greeting before saying they’d wait downstairs. Seokjin, used to being invisible, stuttered a greeting back – he’d seen the man a few times by now, but no official introductions had taken place. Did the man know they were lovers or was Seokjin just A Very Good Friend Who Was Always Hanging Around in his estimation?

He sighed, restless, pushing a hand through his hair as Namjoon tied the laces of sturdy winter boots. Now left together in the entry way, Namjoon straightened up for a final goodbye. “I’m sorry I’m gonna miss your birthday.”

“That’s okay, I’m gonna be working on my birthday this year anyway. Go have an amazing time. I know how special this is for you all.”

The members were Namjoon’s life – his brothers and soulmates. Seokjin could not compete with that. Namjoon should go make new, precious memories with them, reconnect after all these years.

“I’ll let you know ahead of time when I can call you, alright?” Namjoon said, arms looping around his waist and pulling him in. “We’ll celebrate your birthday once I’m back. Have a good VR Con. Go be amazing.”

“I’m always ama—”

Namjoon kissed him, soft and tender, and Seokjin felt like he was floating. Oh god, he was so gone for this man. He pulled Namjoon closer and kissed him back deeply, stomach dropping as Namjoon’s hand slid from his waist to the curve of his behind.

“Copping one last feel, huh?” he asked as the kiss broke.

“Who could blame me?” Namjoon said, looking at him intently. Namjoon flinched as if in pain. “God, you make saying goodbye hard.”

He leaned in, but Namjoon didn’t kiss him. Instead he looked strangely serious, hand lifting to his cheek. “I love you.”

His breath caught at his throat, shock and surprise filling him. “You don’t have to—”

“I didn’t get to finish earlier. I wanted to say that I kept wondering how you can know something is love, but then I realised that love isn’t something you can know – it’s something you feel. So if I say it, it must mean that I feel it, right?”

When Namjoon kissed him next, it felt different from before. Seokjin couldn’t explain how, but it did. He pulled Namjoon to him, overcome with emotion.

Namjoon was gone before Seokjin had even processed the confession, with Namjoon promising to send him updates. “To be continued,” Namjoon said, looking just a little pained as the door closed between them.

Stupid fucking Iceland!

He left Namjoon’s apartment ten minutes later, still in a complete daze of disbelief, joy, and bliss – while also forlorn and bereft. Namjoon loved him. They were in love. Who had known this was actually something that happened to people in the real world?! Holy fuck!

The lift took him down to the parking hall, where his car was in the visitor spot. He thought of the members reuniting, now all finished with their enlistments. The joy and excitement had been clear in Namjoon’s eyes – boyish and full of light. He smiled thinking of it, longing and contentment both competing in him. Namjoon deserved this – an adventure with the boys (and two dozen staff) – but god, he hoped that Namjoon would come back to him soon.

Which Namjoon would.

Because they were in love.

“Oh. Hi again,” he said, recognising the manager from earlier two car spots down, texting on his phone. The man gave a small bow, taking him in. What was the man just hanging around for? “Not going to Iceland then?”

“Not this time,” the man said with a half-smile.

“Yean, me neither. Maybe next time, right?”

Funny – the way the man held his phone almost looked like he was filming Seokjin instead of texting. Then the man started typing again, and Seokjin got into his car.

When he stopped at a red light, he sent two texts.

To Namjoon: text me when you land, I love you

To his mother: 19:23, 12th September 1994

Heading to the fortune teller’s right now, she responded promptly.

It was a good day.

The exhibition and conference centre in Daegu was bustling with thousands of VR enthusiasts, with international companies and small start-ups competing for attention. Seokjin, Jiyoon, and their underlings were staying in a hotel across the complex, where he shared a room with their intern Boohyung.

Boohyung, bless him. Very eager to please and mostly terrified he was going to get fired on any given day. He also snored relentlessly, which only made Seokjin miss Namjoon.

Thankfully, Jiyoon kept him firmly up to date.

On their first night there, Jimin posted a picture on Instagram of five champagne glasses clinking, being held by five hands.

Jiyoon cried for an hour.

Seokjin had known, of course, that ARMYs like Jiyoon had waited for the five-member reunion for years. Jiyoon called this filming trip a BTS honeymoon, explaining that it meant so much for the members. Seokjin knew all of this but watching Jiyoon cry tears of joy and love in the hotel lounge put it all in a new perspective.

“There, there,” Boohyung had said, offering Jiyoon tissues.

“Th–They— m–must be s– so— happy,” Jiyoon wailed. She cried so deep and hard that her bony, bird-like frame shivered. She didn’t need to see the reunion or be a part of it – for her it was enough to know that the members were happy.

She understood it. Putting someone else’s well-being ahead of her own. Recognising that as love.

Namjoon was right, too: that love was something you felt rather than knew.

Jiyoon had loved the five members for a long time, but Seokjin had loved them longer. Before anyone had even known their names.

“They’re a family,” Jiyoon sniffled when she’d calmed down a little. Boohyung, bespectacled with a bad, shaggy haircut, kept supplying her with tissues. “They should always be together, that’s all. They should never be split apart like they’ve been.”

And, as with most things Jiyoon ever said about BTS, Seokjin agreed.

hope you guys are having a great time, he texted Namjoon before going to bed. He did not add ‘I miss you’, although he wanted to. He knew he would never get Namjoon all to himself – that he had to share him with hundreds, if not thousands, and most of all with four men Namjoon had spent his youth with. They got dibs.

He stared at the hotel ceiling for hours, listening to Boohyung’s loud, wheezing snores.

Namjoon’s snores were prettier.

At four in the morning, Namjoon had texted him back a series of hearts and thks bb ur so wnderfol

“I wonder what the boys are up to – it’s getting late in Iceland right now,” Jiyoon said wistfully as they sipped on iced americanos in the EXCO convenience store.

“They’re getting absolutely trashed, that’s what they’re doing,” he said. Sipped his drink. “I mean, one might surmise.”

drink some water and take painkillers before you go to bed

After that, he didn’t look at his phone for hours – rushing as he was around the convention centre, making sure that the various panels and demonstrations their company had organised were running smoothly. At the end of the day he had two missed calls from Namjoon, after which Namjoon had sent an update: Worst hangover of my life. We went a bit overboard.

No shit.

Jungkook threw up outside after breakfast and Hobi has sworn not to drink for a year. Yoongi’s not hungover at all, and Jimin is mixing more cocktails in the back of the campervan. We cried a lot last night, then we sang so much that my throat feels fucked. Hobi is trying to find a fried chicken place but there are no takeaways in Kirkjubæjarklaustur. It was a great night.

Followed by: How’s the con going?

He tried calling Namjoon back, but no luck – so he typed out an answer, eating instant ramyeon in the same convenience store he’d started his working day in some, oh, fourteen hours earlier. He was so tired that even Boohyung’s wheeze-snoring didn’t keep him awake that night. God, he really wasn’t paid enough for all this…

But the next day of VR Con was just as gruelling. Seokjin was there for the whole four-day event. One of his team members got sick – food poisoning, allegedly – and got on the train back to Seoul. As a good manager, he took the woman’s shift at their showcase booth where people were welcome to try a beta version of a VR game their company was co-developing with a tech company. He sipped on a Namjoon-fronted matcha latte by Lotte to keep himself going – and because it was nice to think Namjoon was keeping him company in bottle form.

“My daughter is a big fan of theirs,” a man he’d been chatting with said. There was something familiar about the man in the nice suit, who had listened to Seokjin explain their VR promo with great interest. Seokjin got the eerie feeling they had met before, but he couldn’t place him.

“Oh, is she? I can’t say I know their music well,” he said politely.

BigHit, his brain supplied after the man had left. Had he seen the man at BigHit – from a distance, in the lobby? No, surely not. Why would BigHit representatives be at this event?

He brushed this off.

He knew Namjoon was having an extremely meaningful and important experience with his members, but god he missed him. Fine, he could admit it – he was a little jealous of the members, who got dibs. He was jealous that Namjoon would cry and sing with them until the sun rose, because he wanted Namjoon to cry and sing with him, too.

When he got to the hotel room that night, Boohyung had used up all the clean towels.

Of course he had.

He patted himself dry with a t-shirt and crawled into bed.

This week couldn’t end fast enough.

Jiyoon met him at the EXCO GS25 at six thirty on the final day. It was early December, and Seokjin had steeled himself to meet Jiyoon’s well wishes – she was the kind to remember.

That morning, however, Jiyoon was busy tearily showing him a picture from Hoseok’s Instagram: a selca of the five members gathered around a table laden with food, in a cosy looking cabin of some kind. Jungkook was beaming with his army-short hair, offering a contrast to wild-haired Yoongi. Jimin had an arm around Namjoon, who was winking at the camera and offering a V with his fingers, and Hoseok kept the phone at arm’s length, angling the shot. back in business with my boys, the caption read. They all looked happy – even Yoongi was smiling from ear to ear.

“We haven’t had a group picture in four years,” Jiyoon said – happily, but then her voice broke.

“You can’t start crying yet – it’s only six thirty-five.”

“I know,” she said, but her eyes had swelled up with tears. He hugged her.

Namjoon had not messaged him since lunch time the day before, which perhaps meant that Bangtan was on a bender, and that was fine, of course. But Namjoon could at least have messaged him something drunken and sweet.

A few hours later his brother sent a video of his nephews chorusing ‘happy birthday, Uncle Seokjin!’ His parents were on an Alaskan cruise and sent a picture of themselves drinking mimosas. Ah, to be fabulously retired…

when are you heading back to Reykjavik? Your flight back is tomorrow, right? he messaged Namjoon in between duties. He did not even have time to eat, with the day passing in swirling scenes of endless movement.

But he also hadn’t lied to the members when telling them weeks earlier that he’d have an audience of thousands: his final task at the VR Con was emceeing a roundtable In the large convention hall. He was so nervous that he couldn’t imagine how the members handled performing to tens of thousands every week.

He hid his nerves well, however, and got on stage to enthusiastic applause. He introduced himself, bowing and smiling. Thankfully the attention was more on the speakers than on him, and as the panel members debated the dangers of the uncanny valley in virtual reality, he gazed at the enthralled audience and, for a brief second, stilled.

He’d recognised someone sitting to the far left, at the end of a row – a middle-aged man with round glasses and a round face. What? No. Surely not. A lookalike.

He had to ask the panellists the next question so he couldn’t look the man’s way again – that would have been too obvious – but his hand was sweaty around the microphone. When the panellists continued their debate, Seokjin pretended to examine his cue cards before glancing to the side again, and—

The chair was empty.

Whoever had sat there had already left.

What the fuck, he thought. He had lost it – gone insane, become paranoid. He was seeing BigHit everywhere.

He calmed down – he’d always had a vivid imagination – and kept the event going.

Afterwards, an objectively beautiful woman came over to slip him her phone number. He discreetly deposited it in the bin of the convention hall lobby moments later.

At the end of the day, he bought himself a red bean bun from the convenience store. Call it a birthday cake: thirty-one years. Congratulations, Seokjin-ah.

He checked his phone as he walked back to the hotel and had a message request from a Kakao account he didn’t recognise:
namjoonie dropped his phone into the lagoon (￣￢￣*)
after I told him to be careful!!
the footage is so funny, though, you will die laughing when you see it
he’ll call you when he has a new phone working! he asked to tell you not to worry ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

At least now he knew why Namjoon hadn’t gotten in touch all day. thanks Hobi, he sent back. give all the members my love!

The lanyard he’d worn for days got stuffed into his pocket as he entered the hotel lobby. His feet hurt like hell. He’d clocked twenty-six thousand steps that day and not sat down once.

Happy birthday, Seokjin-ah. Go get some sleep, and in the morning you’ll be on the train to Seoul – the best birthday present he could get.

Finally giving into the sweltering feelings in him, he texted, I really miss you. At least Namjoon could read this first thing on his new phone.

Boohyung was not in the room when he got there, and so he sat on his bed, loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, exhaling out the chaos that the con had been. The knock on the door came only minutes later – Boohyung had probably last his key card again, this goddamn boy – and so he opened the door without checking the peephole.

Standing outside his hotel room in a neat, tailored black suit, with his hands clasped in front of him politely, was the man he thought he’d seen in the audience that afternoon.

Bang Sihyuk, CEO of Big Hit Entertainment.

Seokjin took a faltering step back.

Bang Sihyuk smiled. “Seokjin-ah. How have you been?”

His heart was beating so fast it drummed against his ribcage. Half in shock, half on automatic, he bowed. “H– Hello. Good evening.”

Bang knew.

Of course Bang knew.

How? Since when? Why else would he—

Sihyuk kept smiling – calm and perhaps even a little warm. “It has been a very long time, hasn’t it, Seokjin-ah? You know, I always thought that I hadn’t seen the last of you.”

His hand was squeezing the hotel door so hard that it hurt. Namjoon. Was he really okay? Had those messages really been from Hobi?

Sihyuk looked down the corridor and rolled on the balls of his feet. “This hotel has a tolerable seeming bar up on the top floor. What do you say you and I go have a very overdue drink? After all, I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

“I— How— You remember me?”

Sihyuk now looked surprised, as if Seokjin had said something absurd. “Well, of course. Kim Seokjin of Gwacheon. Silver voice. I don’t forget a trainee like you in a hurry – my greatest failure, in many ways.”

Seokjin stared at Sihyuk blindly, recalling his own, youthful voice in Sihyuk’s office all those years ago – anguished but final: Please… you can’t tell them.

“No one else ever did what you did.”

Please don’t tell them.

Seokjin-ah, you can’t just—

I can. And I just did.

Sihyuk looked at him, a startling bitterness in his otherwise calm demeanour. “And now here you are at last: the only trainee who ever quit BTS.”

Chapter Text

On the final night of the con, the hotel bar was lively. Bang Sihyuk was not distracted by this, not leading Seokjin into the midst of the revellers, but crossing the room to a side door. A man who looked like security in his all-black outfit opened the door into a cabinet, where two further men bowed as they entered. One of the men had come to Seokjin’s company’s beta demonstration just the day before. The one who’d declared himself a BTS enthusiast. The one Seokjin thought he might have seen at BigHit at some point.

Never distrust your instincts – your gut.

He’d been right all along.

Whether the two men were assistants or security, Seokjin had no idea. The men stayed standing while Bang led them to a circular table and two armchairs that faced the Daegu skyline.

Bang was wearing a dark suit that matched the serious and sombre mood, hair a shiny black, glasses round. He’d worn old band tees and Hawaiian shirts once. Dyed his own hair questionable colours.

Even so, he’d always radiated genius that had impressed all of them. He now exuded immense power, too.

“Please, have a seat,” Bang said, and Seokjin obeyed with a docility that annoyed him. He wasn’t a trainee anymore, juggling university and idol training. Lost, but ambitious. Eager, but unsure. Desperate, but determined not to show it.

The man opposite him was no longer a god.

Bang gave him a smile that didn’t lack warmth, exactly, but neither was it overjoyed. Seokjin crossed one leg over the other and placed his hands on his knee. Held his head high.

One of the assistants came over, placing two crystal tumblers on hotel branded coasters and showing Bang a bottle of whisky. Bang read the label, nodded, and soon offered a glass to Seokjin.

They both took a sip. Seokjin nearly downed half of his without meaning to.

“So, you’ve been a busy man since we last spoke,” Bang said, as if two months had passed instead of eleven years. “You’ve done well by all accounts. A sergeant with early promotions, then an MBA from Yonsei University – top marks. Now an events manager at RH Media – quite an impressive company in its field. Two promotions there already, I’m told.”

Was he going to tell him his coffee order too?

“Do you still sing?”

“Only when drunk at noraebang.”

Bang let out a laugh, nodding. “You know what? Me too these days.” But, as always, Bang quickly moved from small talk to business. “And most recently the boyfriend of RM of BTS, an artist in my company.”

Seokjin’s leg slipped from resting over the other, the whisky nearly spilling over. He could not read Bang’s expression at all: it was blank in a way only a fierce businessman’s could be.

Seokjin did not know what happened next. In TV dramas, the wealthy parent would bribe the pauper to leave, asking them to be considerate of the promising son’s prospects and reputation. Sometimes this was accompanied by a thorough exploration of the pauper’s inadequacies and arrogance to even pursue someone so far beyond their station.

“I wonder,” Bang said into the heavy silence, but in a calm, measured voice, “if we’d been having this same conversation years ago had you stayed on the team. Maybe you two would have found each other even when working together, or maybe that stress would have meant that you didn’t. It’s interesting to wonder about, isn’t it?”

Namjoon had wondered about the exact same thing.

“I don’t know what your source on these rumours are, but they’re complete fabri—”

—cation, he wished to say, but Bang motioned one of the assistants over, who slid a manila folder onto the table for Seokjin to pick up. Hesitant, Seokjin took out the contents. Pictures.

The first one was only a few days old, taken of him going to his car on the day Namjoon left for Bon Voyage. The manager in the parking hall had taken it.

The next handful were CCTV stills – grainy and poorly focused, but with dates and times in the top left corner. A handful of him in the large lobby at BigHit: arriving and leaving, usually late at night. More chillingly, a few pictures of him by the lifts of Namjoon’s luxury apartment building – two of him alone, and one of him and Namjoon arriving together late one night, then one of him leaving the following morning. He’d obviously spent the night.

There were several screenshots of him streaming MapleStory in Namjoon’s hoodie, including one with his back turned to reveal the two letters on the back.

Finally there was a picture taken at Namjoon’s birthday party months earlier – two men were posing for the camera, but behind them Namjoon was talking to a group of people, including Seokjin, with his hand resting on the small of Seokjin’s back.

Namjoon was looking at him only, smiling widely.

“To be honest, I am impressed by how little my people managed to dig up.”

Seokjin looked up, sickened. “What did it? The hoodie?”

Bang frowned before his expression cleared. “Ah, the hoodie. Yes, I heard about it, but at the time it seemed like that was no real news – some random streamer, that sort of thing. No, no, it was the music.”

“The music?”

“I’ve listened to the songs Namjoon has submitted for the new album. Even a layman would realise here’s a man in love. Now, the artists in my company have been trained well, and they know the boundaries – I don’t monitor what they do in their own time. But with Namjoon, I was surprised by the music. So I asked a few people, I admit that, and I was told there is a man he’s been spending a lot of time with – very handsome, small face, tall, that sort of thing. I wasn’t given a name, so this man could be anyone, right?”

Seokjin slowly placed the pictures back on the table. “So you had them find out who I was.”

“There was no need for that – I knew this man must be you.”

He flinched. Stared.

Bang gazed out of the window, dangling the whisky glass in a way that irritated Seokjin. “It was thanks to Sungdeuk, I suppose.”

“He saw me.”

“Yes, and came to ask if I knew what’d become of you. I had no idea, I told him. But your name was back on my mind after that. And, well, when it became apparent that Namjoon was involved with someone – who else could it be? You’ve been seeing each other since the summer, I take it?”

Confess? Deny?

We are just good friends… Nothing here proves that we are romantically involved… A love song or two? That’s your evidence base here, is it? Pfft, get real.

“Yes,” he said instead. Voice defiant, but it masked dread.

“Well, you’ve kept it under wraps well… I couldn’t have guessed it.” Bang put his drink down. Moved closer. “There’s something I’ve always wondered about you. Something I have to ask.”

Seokjin held his breath. He sensed it coming.

“Have you regretted it? Quitting BTS?”

He exhaled shakily, hand trembling around the glass of whisky.

Bang PD’s office had been small in October 2012. They had barely fit into it, the four of them: Bang. Sejin. Incheol. Him.

“Seokjin-ah,” Bang had said into the long, tense silence. All of the trainees knew that nothing good came out of being called into the office. Seokjin’s blood, too, had frozen when he’d received the call from Sejin. He could be getting a warning, perhaps, or a stern talking to – or it could be a dismissal. All trainees lived in fear of it.

The night before was only the third time he’d gathered the courage to go out to the gay club near the dorm. He’d danced, that was all. Let some guys put their arms around him on the dance floor. Had let men buy him drinks. A feather, that was it: he’d felt as light and as high as a feather, care-free, floating. Soft. Alive.

The lights of Bang’s office were aggressively fluorescent white. They hurt Seokjin’s eyes.

Kang Incheol stood in front of the door like he was blocking it, arms crossed and gaze fierce. Seokjin and Bang were sitting down. Sejin, restless, leaned against the wall.

“Well? Is there anything you want to correct about Manager Kang’s report?” Bang asked, but Seokjin was shaking out of fear. He could not correct the report or add to it. He could barely speak.

Bang said, “Let’s put aside the fact that you went out partying when you know that’s a breach of your contract. That’s an issue, but not the main one. Can you tell us, in your own words, why you went to that kind of a club? Did a friend ask you to go?”

He kept his eyes fixed to the floor. He was so ashamed that he couldn’t look at anyone.

Sejin said, “Our friends make us do all kinds of ridiculous things, right? Or was it a dare – someone from the university invited you to go, maybe?”

He shook his head.

“You went alone?”

He nodded.

Bang sighed, a long silence following. The managers were looking at each other with an anxious air. Did they want him to lie? He was so confused.

“Seokjin-ah,” Bang said a little more flatly. “I’m just going to ask, then, alright? Did you go because you’re gay?”

His cheeks burned with humiliation, eyes swelling with tears.

His gaze remained on the floor. He nodded again.

A slight commotion. An exasperated sigh from Incheol, a softer one from Sejin. From Bang, nothing at all.

Seokjin was nineteen. He hadn’t come out to very many people yet, and certainly never like this. He knew well that once he debuted, he’d have to keep this to himself – unless, of course, the group failed in making it and disbanded and faded into obscurity, but failure was not an option. No, they had to make it, had to! And that meant Seokjin would succeed as an idol, become famous, and never tell anyone. Never dance with a cute boy again – not like that, in a way that openly admitted desire.

And so he had tried it now, just a few times before debut. Just a few times before he was famous.

And Incheol, out for post-work drinks, had seen him.

“I told you,” Incheol said to Bang. “I told you this morning that this one’s gay. It’s a statistical inevitability, practically, but we have to catch these things earlier.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Sejin said, voice a low boom. “Put it in a form when kids sign contracts with us? Tick the box here that you’re straight?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“It’s a dumb as shit idea, Incheol-ah.”

“Don’t speak to me so informally. I’m the one here diverting us from a public scandal.”

Seokjin looked up, alarmed. “Scandal?”

Incheol squared his jaw. “Yeah. Scandal. Because you tell me, then, what do we do when two years from now pictures of you at a gay club resurface? Did you even stop and think about that? We pay for your food, put a roof over your head, train you up, and this is how you repay us? And if we let you debut with this hanging over you, what do you think people will say? Huh? What do you expect us to do when people go hey I recognise him from a gay club? From now on, you’ve become a liability. Do you get that? Someone will go to the press with this story, and the whole group is ruined, just because you and a bunch of other fre—”

“Leave us,” Bang said.

Incheol silenced, mouth twisting angrily. He and Sejin obeyed, but the small office did not feel any less oppressive when the door closed behind them.

He wiped tears from his cheeks, taking in shuddering breaths. He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t thought of…

“Goddamnit,” Bang muttered, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. He was silent long enough for Seokjin to start feeling ill. Bang then took in a deep breath. “Alright. Talk to me. Do any of the others know about this? No? None of them?”

“No, I— It’s private.”

Private. Hardly, when everyone in the management team knew.

“Have you ever told anyone?”

The only people who knew were men he’d flirted with or fooled around with. His mother knew, but it was unspoken between them. He’d never had a boyfriend, and he’d never slept with anyone – not like that, going all the way – and wouldn’t until a few months later when busy drowning his sorrows at a university party. When exposure didn’t matter anymore.

So he shook his head. No, he had never really come out to anyone – properly, officially.

“So there isn’t much of a trail. That’s a good thing.” Bang looked considering. “But while Incheol might be an asshole, he is right, too. It’d do a hell of a lot of damage if this got out – yes, even after a single night out.”

“I didn’t think about that,” he managed, trying to stifle tears.

Bang patted his pockets and pulled out a questionably balled up tissue and offered it to him. He took it, feeling like he was caught in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He wiped at his sore cheeks.

Bang meant business, but momentarily sympathy was in his gaze. “Look, Seokjin-ah. I couldn’t care less who you like. Incheol, he’s— misguided. Just look at— Ah, well. I shouldn’t name names, should I? But there are plenty of idols already debuted who are…” Bang paused. Sighed. Rubbed at his brow. “What I’m saying is that art as we know it would not exist without people like you, and that’s a fact. Doesn’t mean you’re any less suited for this.”

But…

“But…” Bang started. “We’re gonna be in trouble if something surfaces. At the very least, I’ll have to cut you loose to try and save the group. We just… we cannot afford to fuck this up. We cannot afford it.”

The way Bang said it, Seokjin knew he was talking about real money. BigHit was always on the verge of bankruptcy.

“So here’s what I need from you right now, alright? I need you to think real hard about what you did in that club, and I need you to be honest with me. Was someone taking pictures? Is there footage of you touching men, or them touching you? Is there anything like that, something that might surface in the future?”

He’d danced to Lady Gaga and had a few drinks. He’d had two guys give him their socials. He’d felt happy, free. Ah, this is what my life might be! This other life where I can do what I want!

The boy at the toilets had been so cute, so sexy – they’d made out a little, and then a lot. The man had clearly wanted more, but Seokjin, well. He’d gotten a little shy.

And all that time the rest of his teammates had been asleep at the dorm, unaware Seokjin was setting them all up for a scandal years down the line. Seokjin had been unaware of it too.

Panic swelled in him.

Had people been taking pictures?

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know.

Just say ‘no’. Of course not! No pictures, no evidence. So we’re fine, right? He could stay, right? Because he really loved this – being a trainee, performing, recording music. He might be really good at it even, if he got to stay and work on his skills.

Say no. That they were in the clear. Beg forgiveness and train harder than ever – prove to all the managers that he had earned his spot. Take Jungkook to school in the morning, sort out laundry with Hoseok, send Taehyung and Jimin to buy them groceries, make sure Yoongi has eaten, and pull the headphones out of Namjoon’s ears when he falls asleep listening to music again.

Say no and debut. See the wild smiles on everyone’s faces when their first single drops – when they film their first ever music video. When they perform at a chart show! When they have a fan meeting. When they are professional musicians! They’ve worked so hard, haven’t they? They’re all so different, the seven of them, but they have a collective dream. Teamwork, Namjoon says sometimes, makes the dream work. He wants to be in on the dream. He wants to be a part of turning it into reality.

Say no. Debut. Wake up one morning to a phone call. ‘Oldest BTS member known around gay clubs in Gangnam.’ Headlines everywhere. Pictures spreading like wildfire. Immoral. Corrupt. Deviant.

Six members looking at him – shocked and angry. How could you do this to us? Namjoon and Yoongi swearing. Hoseok beside himself with worry. Taehyung – not angry, just disappointed. Jimin not sparing his feelings at all but letting him have it. Jungkook silenced by the fighting.

Shows cancelled. Invites revoked. Parents telling their kids to listen to some other group instead. Fans abandoning them like a biblical exodus.

Say no. No pictures, no evidence – even if he can’t be sure that there is none.

Risk all of it – the others’ dream for his own sake.

“Seokjin-ah?”

In a moment of clarity, he was surprised by how much he had grown to love them all.

It was a warm glow in his chest, blooming and radiating. Capable of anything.

So this was it. This was how it ended.

The glow shrank, like being pulled into a black hole. Darkness remaining. What could he do? What could he possibly do? What else if not—

“I quit.”

Bang flinched. Frowned.

“I quit,” he repeated, the declaration more forceful. Becoming more real.

But he had wanted so badly, so desperately to—

He shook his head, biting on his bottom lip. Felt a tear roll down his cheek and drop into his shirt. “But please… you can’t tell them.”

Sitting in the hotel bar, he took in Bang Sihyuk who looked wiser than he had been a decade earlier. He put down the whisky, glad that his hand did not tremble as he did so. He hadn’t dwelled on those memories for years – not even lately when his departure from BigHit had reared its head. He had managed, admirably, not to revisit that final day until now.

He took a deep breath. “No. I never regretted quitting.”

“No? Not even after all this success?”

He’d never wanted the members to be disappointed in him because of his actions or because of his sexuality. He hadn’t wanted them to think he’d quit because he didn’t believe in the bulletproof boys they were trying to be – it would have been a blow to hear that Seokjin, their oldest, had decided to go home.

Better to lie about all of it. About whose decision leaving had been. About why it had happened.

He shook his head. “But the more successful that they became, the more it proved to me that leaving had been the right decision. Because it was true that I’d jeopardised the team. That I’d become a liability.”

“But were there ever any pictures of you in that club? Did you ever find out?” Bang asked, and he just shook his head. He didn’t know. Had never looked into it – for his peace of mind.

He almost hoped there were pictures because then it would mean that his sacrifice had been necessary. Had been worth it.

But, as it was, he would never know.

He’d been bitter at times, that he could not deny. Angry with the company, the whole industry. Angry because he had been young and scared. He didn’t have much of anything positive to say about how trainees were treated, except that they’d had each other.

They’d had each other.

And that had almost been enough.

He glanced at Bang, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I was grateful, sometimes, that you tried to convince me to stay. Given the circumstances, it was kind of you.”

Bang huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Kind? You were immensely talented and had the other members wrapped around your little finger. Of course I tried to get you to stay. I thought the team needed you. But then I thought, well. Maybe he would never be happy with this life. What could I do then?”

It was easy to forget these days just how precarious the label’s existence had been. He could not, hand on his heart, be sure that his actions wouldn’t ruin the group a month or a year later. He could not be sure there was nothing scandalous now on his record.

And he couldn’t do that to them. To RapMonster, Suga, j-hope, Jimin, V and Jungkook.

He couldn’t take their dream away from them.

But he could do it to himself.

He’d been alright. Built a decent life for himself. Refused to think about his departure from BigHit again. Let the members go – good and talented kids who were better off and more successful without him.

Such try-hards with their thick eyeliner and chained bad boy outfits.

The memory still made him smile. Still made that ancient glow pulse somewhere deep in the chambers of his heart.

And then Namjoon had spotted him in a café, after so long that his departure from BigHit had been distant. He’d been ready, even, to reminisce about the old days, without feeling the sting of it. Curious to find out what had really become of them all, hoping that Namjoon would message him and keep inviting him out for drinks and food. A little confused by Namjoon’s interest, but accepting it nevertheless.

Because why not?

There was no harm in it anymore.

He hadn’t been harmful anymore. Or so he’d thought.

He cleared his throat and forced himself not to shed a single tear. Smiled. Shrugged. “Quitting was the last thing I could do to protect them. I’ve never regretted it.”

Bang took a sip of his whisky, frowning. “But they nearly didn’t debut, you know. Namjoonie, Yoongi, Hoseokie… they’re all very intense musicians. Perfectionists. Taehyung, you’re friends with him now, the report said? So talented too. I thought afterwards that maybe he just needed someone to tell him things would be alright, to worry less, just something simple like that to make him laugh, and it would have kept him going. You’d have been good at that, I think. But the older trainees were too caught up in their own problems, and the younger ones mimicked that stress, and Taehyung’s performance dropped just when I thought he’d be in the final six. That was another disappointment for me. These group dynamics… they’re such fragile ecosystems.”

“But BTS has been a wild success.”

“Yes,” Bang said, modestly. “But I also believe they could have achieved more. I once dreamt of us building a global music label, things like that. I guess I still do. But then the surprise hiatus… Well. Miracle in a lot of ways we’re still here. And now, here you are again, too.”

He looked at the pictures on the table, which were real in comparison to those incriminating pictures of a younger version of him, which no one knew for sure existed. He looked at the picture of him and Namjoon at the birthday party – the way Namjoon was looking at no one but him, smiling. Tender. Curious. Hopeful.

Seokjin had to protect that now, with whatever he had left in him. “This, me coming back, isn’t revenge. In case that’s what you’ve been thinking. I just…”

Bang raised a single eyebrow. “Fell in love with my best talent?”

It was an invasive question asking him to reveal too much.

But he took a deep breath and got ready to fight. “What of it? Many would think it romantic,” he said, awed by how bold he was. Awed by how far away that shy boy with eyes full of tears was. He was speaking to Bang Sihyuk with an audacity he hadn’t expected of himself – like they were equals.

Bang seemed to sense this too, but he was receptive to it. “I’m more of a dreamer, I’d say, but not the self-sacrificing kind like you.”

Seokjin had always put others’ happiness before his own.

This was how he loved.

He knew of no other way.

“But just so you know, I’m not particularly concerned about this,” Bang said, tapping at the picture of him and Namjoon at the party – the night they had first kissed, not that Bang knew it. At least, he hoped Bang did not know such details.

He frowned and straightened his posture. “I am sorry to sound disrespectful but… if you’re not concerned about it, why are you in a chain hotel in Daegu right now with a pile of pictures like you’re running an expose?”

Bang chuckled. “Fine, I will correct myself: I am no longer concerned about this. When I first had confirmation, I didn’t know what to make of it. It’s important that our artists are happy, that they live their lives, but it was such a surprise that Namjoon was seeing you. So I’ve had my people on you for a few days now – you probably noticed? I want to apologise for it, but we’d do a background check on anyone the members would date, especially if they’re a non-celebrity like you. We did the same with Mia – have you met her yet? Well, I came to the same conclusion there: that I am not concerned. And unlike Mia, who we had to explain local celebrity culture to, you understand it already. Better than nearly anyone, as it is.”

“…So you came to give us your blessing?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Not exactly.”

Bang stretched out his hand, and one of the assistants handed him a tablet.

Bang scrolled down a document on the screen, pausing. “Let’s see here… Name: Kim Seokjin. Age: thirty-one as of today. Happy birthday. Occupation: Senior Events Manager, RH Media. Displays admirable leadership skills and is great at motivating his team of six, usually through humour but this is tied to real authority. A frequent winner of the company’s top performance rewards. Admired by his team, although he seems to be unaware of this. Will do tasks below his station to ensure collective jobs are completed, thereby inspiring his team by showing all roles are important – mm, that’s always good to hear. Crisis management skills are world class – something here about a colleague of yours who has been crying all week?”

“Who, Jiyoon? She’s ARMY.”

“Ah, that would do it. Big week for her.”

“It has been.”

“What else… Public speaking skills – confident, eloquent. Fluent in Japanese, also competent in Mandarin. Saw that myself at the panel – great work. Flexible… Thinks on his feet… Pretended not to know who his own boyfriend is on more than one occasion. Discreet. Articulate. Empathetic. Experienced, professional, and talented.”

Bang looked up in slight dismay and glanced at his assistants. “Well, I never even asked them to write such a flattering report – sounds like they fell in love with you just by observing you.”

One of the assistants cleared his throat, cheeks flushed.

Bang put the tablet down. “When I was on my way to your hotel room, I was informed that Namjoon has taken an earlier flight out of Reykjavik.”

At the mention of Namjoon, his stomach dropped. “What? Why? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, everything’s fine – he just knows I’ve come to see you and has needlessly cut his trip short. I had people spying on you, and he had people spying on me. So much for any kind of privacy in this company… So, I thought, perhaps you and I could settle matters before he gets back.”

Ah.

Here it was.

The ‘you must break up with him’. The ‘do it for the group – you did it once already.’ The ‘he is above your station and you will ruin his life.’

“What exactly needs settling?”

Bang rested his hands on the swell of his stomach, gaze estimating. “Come work for me.”

He stared at Bang Sihyuk, disbelieving.

Boohyung was already fast asleep when Seokjin returned with an envelope that Bang had given him. A contract. Read over it carefully, he had insisted. Don’t make a rash decision – think it over.

Seokjin sat down on the bed in the dark, shivering.

Trembling.

“I can’t believe I missed him.”

Seokjin didn’t react to Jiyoon’s words, watching the countryside whip past the window of the bullet train. He was too tired to respond, having barely slept all night.

Jiyoon had been full of energy that morning, however, reporting to them all that Bang Sihyuk, the CEO of BigHit Entertainment, had been spotted with his own personal security at the VR con. He must be interested in VR! Maybe BigHit was expanding their business model? Had anyone seen him?

But none of them had.

Undeterred, Jiyoon had been in detective mode ever since. Why was Bang interested in virtual reality? Was he planning to make a VR game based on BTS? She had started envisioning this during the train ride back to Seoul.

“You should work for BigHit, you have such great ideas,” Boohyung said, impressed by her plans.

Jiyoon shook her head. “Oh, no thank you! How would I ever get work done knowing BTS are in the building? No, no, I want to keep my work life and my fan life quite separate.”

Seokjin was stirred enough by this to ask, “Really? You wouldn’t want to work for them?”

“Cheering the boys on from afar is enough for me! Still – I am gutted I didn’t get to see Bang. I wanted to thank him for creating BTS. And did I tell you another thing? Namjoon had to leave Iceland early,” Jiyoon said, showing Boohyung her phone. Boohyung nodded, feigning interest, but Seokjin’s interest was real. Had that made the news overnight? Because the last he’d heard was that Namjoon had dropped his phone into a lagoon – then nothing, and that had been nearly sixteen hours ago. He’d written Namjoon a very long message after Bang had left, but how would Namjoon even read it without a phone?

“The, uh, why did he leave?” he asked, scratching his neck.

Jiyoon shrugged. “Not our business to know, but a shame, isn’t it? I’m sure they would have wanted to wrap up filming together.”

“Sunbaenim, they will be together often now,” Boohyung said encouragingly, and Jiyoon smiled at that.

Seokjin checked the time and found two missed calls from an unknown number. He never answered a call from someone not saved onto his phone. Was it Bang Sihyuk calling him to ask if he had read through the contract? Because he hadn’t, for the record. He hadn’t accepted or declined the job offer – he’d simply been too stunned.

He now nervously glanced at his colleagues sitting across the aisle from him and pushed the phone back into his pocket.

What should he do once he got back to Seoul? Should he go to Namjoon’s apartment and wait? Should he—

His phone started ringing – the unknown number, again. His heart rate picked up.

The past few days had not been good for his nerves.

“I’ll just go get this,” he said and walked to the end of the carriage, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he was out of earshot. “Hello?”

“Mr. Kim?”

He did not recognise the voice.

“Speaking,” he said, pulling on his collar to get more air in.

“Park Wonjoon from BigHit Entertainment.”

Ah. Fuck. Already? He wasn’t capable of handling this right now.

“Look, ah, whatever Bang Sihyuk wants, I—"

“We are heading to Incheon Airport, and I’ve been requested to collect you.”

He paused. “What, why? Am I going somewhere?”

“No, but RM of BTS is landing soon.”

He was startled. “He is? Wait, let me just— My address? Uh. I’ll be at Yongsan Station in twenty minutes. Pick up at Exit 5? Sure, yes, I’ll be there. Wait, this isn’t a ploy to kill me, is it?”

A pause on the line. “Certainly not.” The voice sounded vaguely amused.

As promised, one of the intimidating BigHit SUVs arrived at Exit 5 only a few minutes after his arrival. A man – presumably Park Wonjoon – got out to greet him, taking his small suitcase for him. “Hope you enjoyed Daegu,” Wonjoon said politely, which did not help Seokjin’s blood pressure.

Seokjin recognised Wonjoon as the man who had taken those pictures of him in Namjoon’s parking hall – spying on him for Bang Sihyuk.

A little distrustful, he got into the SUV anyway, where it was just him, Park Wonjoon, and the driver. The back was spacious, the seats extra padded and soft, and Wonjoon told him to help himself to the bottled water, but Seokjin had seen Vincenzo and would not be fooled so easily.

But they did get to the airport, where Wonjoon told him to stay in the car. “This is not an official arrival, but there are media and fans around, anyway. Word spreads during a thirteen-hour flight, so please wait. And please move to the backseat.”

He moved to the second row – the SUV seated seven all in all. Otherwise he’d be in line of sight when the door opened.

He fidgeted, trying to see into the terminal through the tinted windows, but he couldn’t make out anything.

They waited for over twenty minutes, giving Seokjin plenty of time to freak out. Finally the arrival doors opened, and a half dozen men all in black walked out, followed by people holding cameras. In the middle of them all was a man taller than the rest.

The door opened. Namjoon climbed in, bundled up in layers of winter clothes. Relief washed over him – Namjoon was in one piece, alive, well, and back within reach. The door shut instantly.

“There you are,” Namjoon said, climbing into the back with him and clutching his hands. “Are you okay? Are you sure?”

People kept calling out Namjoon’s name and taking pictures of the car, but they took off, going down the ramp from the arrivals hall. The loud noises faded into the hum of the SUV.

Namjoon cupped his cheek, as if to check with the simple gesture that he was okay. “What’s going on? What did Sihyuk-hyung want? Because when I heard he went to see you without telling me, I got so pissed off. Why wouldn’t he talk to me first? And are you sure you’re okay?”

He hadn’t seen Namjoon in a week nor heard from him in over two days – and it’d been a lot. Everything from the stress of the VR con to the longing and loss he’d felt because Namjoon was so far away, to Bang’s visit, to reliving the past again, to the devastating fear that he would be asked to walk away from Namjoon – and now the overwhelming relief and gratitude to be reunited.

Not having the words to explain all that, he pulled Namjoon into a kiss, and Namjoon returned it, pulling him closer. Like maybe he felt some of that too.

“Put your seatbelts on, please. BigHit policy,” Wonjoon said loudly.

Read the fucking room, Wonjoon!

But they obeyed, clicking seatbelts in place. They then kissed each other again.

Wonjoon turned the radio up while loudly clearing his throat.

“What did he want?” Namjoon asked, voice low. “Tell me everything. I tried to get a hold of him through our producer, but I couldn’t reach him, and I, well, my phone is at the bottom of a lagoon somewhere, but that’s not the point. He still could have called any of the members to reach me. He’s been direct with me about most things – we’ve built respect over the years.”

He took Namjoon’s hand in his – just to make sure Namjoon was real. Just to make sure he wasn’t a vision. “I guess he thought that we had unfinished business – just me and him.”

Namjoon looked disbelieving – was he thinking it too? The kdrama intervention where the new love interest was told to break up with the promising, handsome heir? But Bang hadn’t asked for that at all.

“Was it to do with you getting kicked out?” Namjoon asked, voice searching.

He nodded, studying their tangled hands. “Yeah. Because back when I got caught and— and outed, and all that, I asked Bang not to tell you guys about any of it. Because I didn’t want to upset any of you.”

“Baby, that’s—”

“I quit,” he cut in, needing to say it. Namjoon frowned. “Bang wanted me to stay in the group, but Incheol didn’t. They were worried there’d be pictures of me with men. I didn’t know if there were. There might have been, I mean it was plausible, and I wasn’t sure, so I— I quit. To make sure there would never be a scandal, you know? And Bang came to see me because he wanted to know if I’d regretted it. Quitting.”

Namjoon jerked back, but his hand remained in Seokjin’s. Namjoon’s expression shifted from intense concern to something else. To something a little heartbroken.

“God, baby. Why did you do that?” Namjoon whispered and pulled him into a hug.

“It could have been so different.”

Namjoon had said that a dozen times already that day, and Seokjin tried not to feel an onslaught of guilt each time.

“I know,” he whispered, slowly brushing over Namjoon’s hair, the two of them reluctant to get out of bed. They had napped, made love, and napped again. The outside world with companies like BigHit Entertainment felt distant when they were cocooned together like this. “But whether it would have been, like, ‘public scandal and disgrace’ different, or ‘wow we’re getting a Grammy’ different…”

Namjoon kept his fingers circling on his bare hip, the covers soft over them as they huddled together more for proximity than warmth. “I didn’t mean different like that. I meant this – us.”

Namjoon had told him all about their Bon Voyage adventures – about seeing the northern lights and whales and glaciers. About wishing Seokjin had been there to see them too, vowing to take him next time. Apologising that he hadn’t gotten Seokjin a souvenir because he’d rushed home, and he hadn’t gotten the time yet to finish Seokjin’s birthday present, but it was nearly, nearly done.

Seokjin was mostly just relieved that Namjoon knew it all now, even if his mother thought that was a mistake. But what did she know, anyway?

But this – Namjoon feeling regretful? This was bitter.

He let his fingers scrape Namjoon’s scalp slightly, knowing Namjoon enjoyed it. “What would you want to change exactly? Haven’t the past few months been good, too?”

“Yes, but I’d change some things – I’d kiss you sooner,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin scoffed – even as his heart felt warm.

“You’re that confident, huh? I might’ve pushed you off of me.”

“Unlikely.”
.
He tried kicking at Namjoon’s feet a little, making him laugh.

Look, he’d lived a good life. So what he didn’t own expensive cars or luxury watches? So what his face wasn’t on vanilla lattes at 7-Eleven? So what he’d never heard the roar of an adoring crowd or flown on a private jet – or even first class?

Did that make his life a sad one? Was an ordinary life something to be pitied? Of course not.

He didn’t regret the life he had lived.

But at the thought of having spent all these years with Namjoon, he ached.

He looked deep into Namjoon’s eyes, memorising the hues of brown in his irises. Tried to stay calm in the swell of his emotions. “Maybe we just need to make sure that we don’t waste time again, that’s all. That, going forward, we make the most of having found each other again.”

Namjoon brushed his fingers over Seokjin’s lips, silently tracing his features. You couldn’t have paid Seokjin to guess what he was thinking.

“Let’s do that then,” Namjoon said and kissed him.

The contract Bang Sihyuk had given him remained in his suitcase.

He hadn’t told Namjoon about it.

Taehyung looked at him like he was crazy. “You told him what?”

“That I’d think about it. What, you think I don’t know he wanted me to keel over and say ‘oh thank you, kind sir’?” he asked, taking the stairs up to his apartment. After the CCTV footage of him waiting by the lifts of various buildings, he had quite unexpectedly realised that using the stairs was good for his health. “What did he think, that doubling my salary would win me over?”

“Doubling your…? And you’re keeping him waiting? Hyung, are you insane?” Taehyung asked, hopping two steps at a time and not even getting out of breath.

“Probably.”

He’d read the contract now.

Page by page, line by line.

Double the income for a managerial position in the BigHit events team – twice as many underlings as he had now. First promotional evaluation after twelve months. Great benefits, with dental included.

So what? Was he supposed to believe Bang wanted to hire him for his impressive professional skill set? No. It was because he was dating Namjoon, and that was it. The job was intended to silence him. Sign an NDA, eliminate the threat.

Taehyung kept pace with him. “Mind you, I guess you don’t need to double your salary when your boyfriend is an idol. Just embrace your life as a kept man, hyung. You’re living the dream.”

Out of breath between the fifth and sixth floors, his life did not feel glamorous.

“I have no intention to live as a kept man. Do you even know how many sugar daddy offers I’ve turned down in my life? It’s a lot.”

Taehyung pushed his hands into his pockets and whistled as they got to his apartment, with him punching in the code for his keypad. “I wish I had your problems.”

Seokjin was carrying groceries, because there’d hardly been anything left in the fridge. Taehyung made himself comfortable – Seokjin had promised to feed him – and they kept debating what Bang really wanted. Had Bang tried to silence Mia, too? But she didn’t work for BigHit – was she less of a threat because she was a woman?

“Bang said they gave her training – or, like, made sure she understood celebrity culture here, something like this,” he said, pausing in his chopping of onions. “See! He meddles! Says it’s not his business who grown ass musicians date but meddles. Manipulative, that’s what it is, and— goddammit, did I forget to buy the tofu?”

Taehyung stood up. “I’ll go buy some – and maybe a few beers?”

“God, yes please,” he sighed, and Taehyung squeezed past him. He continued cooking, but the more he tried not to think about the job offer, the more it consumed him. He’d wanted to at least read the contract before telling Namjoon about it. The contract was too good to be true – and, so, it couldn’t be true.

When the doorbell rang a while later, he hastily opened the door and returned to frying the onions. “You know, another thing that gets me is his god complex, and— Oh. Shit. Hello?”

In the entryway was not Taehyung with beers and tofu, but Park Jimin and Min Yoongi – the younger with short blond hair, the older with messy black hair, bundled up in matching black winter jackets. Jimin’s scarf had puffins on it, with ‘Iceland’ embroidered into it. Yoongi was dressed in all black, expression calm.

Seokjin wiped his hands to the back of his jeans and switched the stove off. “Uh, hi uh – come in? Uh, before someone sees you. How do you know where I live?”

Jimin raised a single eyebrow, stepping into the narrow entryway. “That’s really not difficult for us to find out.”

Well, that was chilling.

“Snowing a lot out there,” Yoongi said, pushing off his shoes.

Bewildered, he guided them to the living room. “You guys got back last night? Was it a fun trip? Ah, can I get you something to drink – there’s beers on the way? Or there’s some good green tea, or…?”

Jimin looked around the compact living room, the winter jacket still on and staying close to Yoongi, who had sat down on the couch. Yoongi brushed his hair back. “It was a great trip, thanks.”

Two fifths of BTS in his living room. A completely normal state of affairs.

Yoongi and Jimin exchanged meaningful looks. As ever, it was a complete mystery to Seokjin what they communicated to each other.

Whatever it was, Jimin huffed and crossed his arms. “Look, Namjoon-hyung invited us around this morning – you know, for one of his big-brained team meetings. And he, well… He told us that you quit back then after Manager Kang outed you. It was quite a shock to us all, to be honest.”

Yoongi said, “I never liked that man.”

“Me neither,” Jimin said.

“I’m surprised Jungkookie didn’t cry – he looked like he was about to.”

“Really, did he?” Jimin asked, turning to Yoongi in mild alarm.

“But he didn’t. Maybe the army really toughened him up,” Yoongi shrugged, and Jimin looked doubtful.

Seokjin had a lump in his throat.

Namjoon had asked if he could tell the members – fine, go ahead, he’d said. But it was my decision, and while it was a tough one, it was necessary, and I don’t regret it. He didn’t want pity or guilt – or, potentially, anger. He wasn’t sure what Yoongi and Jimin had come to offer.

At a loss, he said, “Look, um… I’m sorry it’s taken so long for you to know what actually happened. I never meant for it to become some huge lie, I just…”

“Wanted to protect us,” Yoongi said, nodding, like it made perfect sense to him. Seokjin had intended to say ‘I just didn’t think it mattered anymore’. He blinked, surprised.

“Well, I just think there was no need for that,” Jimin said, arms firmly crossed. “For any of it – you quitting or us being told you’d been cut from the team when that wasn’t true. No one asked for that kind of chivalry – it was stupid.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “You dare talk to your hyung like that?”

Jimin flushed but did not uncross his arms.

“Yeah, how dare you,” Seokjin said, a little loudly. Heart beating fast, heat creeping up to his cheeks. He pointed at Jimin with a finger. “Yah, I was your most considerate hyung, wanting you to succeed – and this is my reward? Wha, Jimin-ah, I can see no one was around to teach you manners with me gone.”

With socked feet, Jimin kicked the floor a little, frowning. “I just think it was damned stupid, that’s all.”

Momentarily, Seokjin thought it was not Jungkook who they needed to worry was about to cry. Jimin was blinking too much.

The doorbell rang again, and Seokjin was relieved for something to fill the silence. Who next? Hobi and Jungkook? Why not have the entire band in his apartment? That would not be at all difficult to explain to his neighbours!

But instead he let in Taehyung, who came in with a plastic bag in his grip, rattling on as he pushed his shoes off. “Hey, it’s really snowing out there, started out of nowhere. I got us some soju, I thought we needed something stro— …Jimin-ah?”

Jimin had finally uncrossed his arms. “…Taehyung-ah?”

Seokjin looked from one man to the other, surprised by the innocent wonder on both of their faces, like they had stepped into a dream. He took the bag from Taehyung. “Ah, I had some surprise guests. You remember—”

“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung repeated, yelling when there was no need – and opened up his arms. With no hesitation whatsoever, Jimin took a few running steps and launched into the hug with an emotion filled, “Taehyung-ah!”

Seokjin inched out of the small entryway where the two men were hugging fiercely and not letting each other go.

Yoongi had stood up, hands in his jean pockets, examining the scene.

“Guess we’re staying for dinner,” is all he said.

After enough soju had been downed, Seokjin cut to the chase – what kind of a deal had Bang offered Mia when she’d started dating Jimin? Was it to be a BigHit choreographer or dance crew member or what? But Jimin frowned. Mia had never been offered a job at BigHit. Why would Seokjin think that?

“Really? They never tried to NDA her?”

“Of course not,” Jimin said, looking at Taehyung with a ‘what’s wrong with him?’ expression.

The four of them had eaten the sundubu jjigae but continued the night with soju, seated around Seokjin’s living room that barely fit them all. He’d rolled in his gamer chair from the bedroom for himself.

Yoongi got chattier the more he drank, while Jimin and Taehyung had been glued to each other all night, talking about anything and everything, covering the span of ten years proficiently. Jimin, who had walked into the apartment in a mood, was a completely different person now. Taehyung, who Seokjin had been good friends with for years, was happier than he’d ever seen him. He was vividly reminded of the dorm. Of the people the two ’95 liners had been back then.

Sometimes people could be reunited after decades and pick up exactly where they’d left off, like they’d never been apart. Seokjin now knew that could truly happen – it was happening before his eyes. No estrangement, no hesitation, no forced politeness, no awkwardness. Just joy and pleasure.

“Why would you think Mia was offered a job?” Yoongi asked, lounging on the armchair.

Taehyung motioned at Seokjin and said, “Because Bang PD offered him a job, but he thinks it’s a gag order.”

Yoongi sat up straighter. “Really? A job doing what?”

Seokjin sighed, the soju having loosened his tongue. “Event management like my job is now too, just on a bigger scale. It’s all in the contract Bang gave me to read.”

“Let’s see it,” Yoongi said, getting out a tie to pull his hair back.

Yoongi read the contract quietly, sipping on his drink, while Jimin asked what Taehyung did these days. Interior design? Maybe BigHit needed interior designers, too! Who knew? Did Taehyung want Jimin to ask around? Because he would!

“We don’t really need designers – it’s a different industry,” Yoongi said, making Jimin pout. Yoongi handed Seokjin the contract. “It looks standard to me.”

“But the money – that’s bribery, surely?”

“It’s at the top range for that kind of a role, I think. BigHit pays pretty well – and there’s extra because of the tour clause. Maybe Sihyuk-hyung feels bad that you’re not, you know. One of us.”

He looked at the contract, clicking his tongue. “So it’s a pity offer.”

Taehyung sighed. “Hyung, why can’t you just say yes to a great thing? Also, what tour clause?”

Seokjin rubbed at his brow. “I’d be involved with tours, too. I don’t really know what that means apart from the irregular hours and international day rate listed here.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, you’d be going on tour? I would love to go on tour with Jiminie!”

Jimin tugged at his sleeve. “You should come!”

Yoongi leaned back in his chair. “This offer isn’t that odd because BigHit is recruiting right now, with the world tour in the works.”

“Here’s to a year and a half on the road,” Jimin said, lifting his soju and then downing it.

Yoongi looked at Seokjin’s shocked face. “Yeah, you heard him – a year and a half. We’ll be in Korea at some point, but mostly we’ll be in, well, around South East Asia, South America, North America… Where else, Jimin-ah?”

“Europe, Australia… Oh, Johannesburg!”

“Johannesburg, right, and Abu Dhabi, Mumbai, and, basically, everywhere except Antarctica. The pay for staff who come along is good because tour life is goddamn hard. Namjoon probably hates the tour grind more than any of us. I mean, we love the shows and seeing ARMY, don’t get me wrong – I’d start the tour tomorrow if I could. But it’s hard and lonely and cuts you off from reality and all your loved ones. Who knows, maybe that’s why Bang wants you to come work for us.”

“To keep Namjoon from getting tour angst,” Jimin said, nodding his head and thinking it over.

Seokjin had known that BTS would do a large world tour, but he hadn’t known the scale. A year and a half…? He’d barely survived without Namjoon for a week!

“That’s, ah… an interesting point,” he managed, throat dry. He had never travelled much. Would he even enjoy that kind of life? But then he thought of Namjoon saying how he’d longed to have him in Iceland, to see the sites and wonders with him – and his own jealousy in missing out, his longing to be a part of Namjoon’s adventures. He pushed down the cautious hopefulness swelling in him. “But then again, should you ever work where your significant other works?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s a big company. A big tour crew. Definitely wouldn’t mean you'd be spending all day together. You’d likely travel separately from us, too.”

Jimin shot a knowing look at him. “I bet Namjoon would find a way to share his hotel room with you. You know, off the record.”

Taehyung and Jimin exchanged teasing glances and snickered, like actual high schoolers – like they’d travelled back in time, just the two of them, and loved every second of it.

They finished the soju, and Seokjin got out some leftover liquor for them. Yoongi asked him to put on some music, in no rush to seemingly go anywhere.

The hour turned late, and they got drunker. Jimin said, “Maybe I should get Mia to join the dance crew? Seems unfair only Namjoon-hyung gets someone with him.”

“I didn’t say I’d accept the offer!” he protested, wondering when the last time was that he’d hung out with this many people in his home, just having drinks and talking shit. It’d been so long since he’d had good friends.

“Maybe I could learn to dance, too,” Taehyung said.

Jimin gasped excitedly, covering his mouth. “Oh my god, I think you’d be so good at that?”

“Right?!”

Jimin grabbed Taehyung’s hand. “Oh, I’ll have Mia teach you! Tour starts in five months, you can be a professional dancer by then! She’s at her dance studio, do you wanna go over there right now?”

“Right this literal now? I’ll call us a taxi!”

“No, no, I’ll call my chauffeur!”

“Jimin-ah, you have a chauffeur? Wha, you’re so cool now!”

“Ah, but you’re handsomer!”

“Jimin-ah!”

“Taehyung-ah!”

The two stumbled out of Seokjin’s apartment, drunk and tangled up together, to apparently kick-start Taehyung’s career as a professional dancer. Likely the two would realise this was an unlikely prospect once sober – Taehyung hadn’t danced in a decade.

He and Yoongi were still seated, blankly staring at the now closed front door. He scratched the side of his head. “Did, uh, Jimin forget about you?”

“Little chance of that, to be frank,” Yoongi said – and smiled, loopy from alcohol. “I’m still a bit hungry. You want to order some samgyeopsal?”

He tried to hide his relief, and joy, that Yoongi wanted to stay.

He quickly had a delivery app open. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” he said when Yoongi said he’d pay. “No, really, this is hyung’s treat, so put your wallet away before I smack you.”

Yoongi grinned, conceding, and the two of them talked and drank until three in the morning.

They, too, could time travel.

Seokjin had a hell of a hangover the next day.

Seokjin sat cross-legged on the couch of Namjoon’s studio, working on a presentation for the company’s directors. He edited stats from the Daegu con into eye-catching graphics, listing his team’s achievements.

Every now and then, he glanced at Namjoon also working, with three monitors around him, mixing a track with large headphones on. Namjoon was nodding to the beat and letting out small “yeah”s and “uh”s, which he himself did not hear, but which were making Seokjin smile.

“Shit, that’s fire,” Namjoon said eventually, taking the headphones off. “Baby, you wanna hear this?”

He closed his laptop and moved to the chair next to Namjoon. The song was catchy and rocky, with a slight R&B feel to it – the comeback single.

“What do you think?” Namjoon said, expectation clear.

“I think you’re getting a Grammy nomination.”

“What, just one?” Namjoon asked. Seokjin rolled his eyes, making Namjoon laugh, just as he intended.

He leaned over and kissed Namjoon, but instead of pulling back for air he wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Namjoon opened up for him, and he thought there was no chance whatsoever that he’d ever tire of kissing Namjoon.

When the kiss finally broke, Namjoon nudged his nose against his. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” he asked, pecking Namjoon’s lips slightly. But he knew why: in his laptop sleeve was the contract. He pulled back, holding back a sigh. “Ah, what would you say if, in theory, Bang offered me a job working for BigHit?”

Namjoon blinked. Frowned. “Wait, he offered you a job? When?”

“Back in Daegu,” he admitted, and Namjoon looked surprised. He rushed out, “I didn’t tell you because I was trying to figure out what the catch was, but I’ve had people look it all over – the contract is generous, but otherwise standard.”

“He gave you a contract?”

Namjoon was soon leafing through the contract, eyes flying over the text. “I can’t say I understand all this, but I can ask my lawyer to look it over? Or one of her associates who specialises in this kind of stuff? They’re not BigHit affiliated.” Namjoon paused. Tilted his head like a curious puppy, peering at the contract. “There’s a clause here on tour pay. Would… would you be coming on tour with us?”

“I mean… in theory.”

Namjoon opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Put the papers down. Rubbed at his neck. “The, uh. I mean, what do you… think about this? Is it something you want?”

I want you, he thought, but that seemed like a poor way to plan his career.

If a non-BigHit company offered him a job like this, he’d say yes in a heartbeat. It was great career progression.

“I’m not opposed to it. Like, I think I’d enjoy the job, I just…”

He was scared.

He hadn’t realised that until then. Scared of what? Of Bang? No, not him. But of failing. Of wanting too much. Wasn’t it greedy to ask more out of life than what he already had? His life was ordinary, and that was plenty. Why ask for more when you might fail?

Namjoon snapped quick pictures of the contract to send over to his lawyer – just to get a professional opinion. “I’ll give her a call to explain what’s going on,” Namjoon said, excusing himself to a meeting room further down the hallway. Seokjin insisted that it wasn’t that urgent, but Namjoon was already in leader mode, determined to figure out what was going on.

Seokjin remained seated by the desk while Namjoon went to discuss matters with some hot shot Gangnam lawyer. Nerves swirled in him. If the contract was fine, with no hidden agendas, then what was stopping him apart from the fear?

He tried to imagine himself as an events manager at BigHit, travelling around the world. Spain today, Italy tomorrow!

He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t imagine his life being so exciting and interesting.

Maybe Kang Incheol had been the reality check for him. The man who’d taught him to stop dreaming.

Feeling restless, he pressed ‘play’ on Namjoon’s laptop again. He hummed to the beat, watching the waveform roll on. Ah, this would go number one around the world – easy.

Then he noticed another audio file in the ‘recently opened’ list.

for seokjin.mp3

He pressed a hand to his chest. “For me?”

He looked at the door. Looked at the file. At the door again.

How long would Namjoon take – five minutes? Half an hour?

The pointer hovered over the file.

Well, it was for him, wasn’t it?

He clicked.

A song started to play.

He hadn’t expected something so soft and mellow – a slow-paced acoustic track with whistling and melodic ‘ooh ooh’s. Not your typical Bangtan track at all. He sat very still, mesmerised. He thought back to what Bang had said: that he’d known Namjoon was seeing someone because of the songs he’d been writing. A song like this one.

From what he could understand of the mostly English lyrics, the song was about the restlessness of infatuation, of waiting for the person you longed for, of being reunited with them after wistful time had passed. “I see you come back to me,” Namjoon crooned, in a way that would have made anyone swoon.

No one had written him a song before.

Startled, he wiped away a tear rolling down his cheek. Ah, god, why was he tearing up?

The door beeped behind him.

He clicked back to the comeback single with lightning speed, loudly saying, “It just gets catchier the more I— Oh, Jungkook-ah. Wait, do you all have the code to this studio?”

Jungkook beamed at him, his short enlistment hair still making him look like a fuzzy mole. “Of course we do. Do you want to go for a ride?”

Jungkook dangled car keys in the air.

“This model is super safe,” Jungkook explained as the three of them got into the dark red sports car. Seokjin adjusted the seat to give Namjoon more leg room in the back. “I can see right in front, like, if there’s obstacles or something, I would see it straight away.”

“That’s great, Kook-ah,” he said, putting on his seatbelt. Normally a brand-new Mercedes AGT would have excited him, but Namjoon’s song was still playing in his head. Was the song the delayed birthday present Namjoon had mentioned? Was it a Christmas present? He was so full of love and longing that he didn’t know what to do with them.

Namjoon had said his lawyer would get in touch within a few hours.

Let’s double check.

Let’s make sure we get this right.

Jungkook drove up from the parking hall into the evening traffic of Gangnam. “Listen to that engine purr! Do you hear it, hyung? And such control in the corners, I really don’t understand why I was driving that SUV.”

He kept glancing at the rearview mirror to see Namjoon, who was taking in the view, looking pensive.

“You guys wanna go to the river and eat some ramyeon?” Jungkook asked, and Seokjin knew exactly the spot in Hangang Park that Jungkook had in mind. They’d used to go there as trainees, especially in the summers.

Jungkook and Namjoon were both hooded, hatted, and masked in the 7-Eleven by the car park of Hangang Park, choosing between the different instant noodles. Jungkook went for kimchi noodles, Namjoon for spicy noodles, and Seokjin for spicy seafood noodles.

They debated toppings. “I want cheeee-eeeese for suuuuure,” Jungkook sang, throwing string cheese into the basket. “Maybe egg too?”

“Definitely egg,” he said, picking items from the shelves. “And some shredded gim to sprinkle on top.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “That too?”

“Of course, we’ve earned all the trimmings – each and every one of us,” he said, taking the basket from Jungkook. He once more insisted on paying – then he thought that while he was everyone’s hyung, did it make any sense for him to keep buying meals for literal millionaires? Yah, these kids!

Namjoon had his ramyeon done first and headed out to find them a bench, while he and Jungkook cooked their late-night meals at the noodle station.

“Remember how we did this sometimes when we lived at the dorm?” Jungkook asked. “We came to this exact shop to buy ramyeon.”

He nodded, mixing up his noodles, sensing somehow why Jungkook was bringing up the past. Why Jungkook had driven them down to the park to get noodles from this shop.

Jungkook wanted to recreate the past.

They all were doing that lately. Him and Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung…

He hesitated before asking, “Are you mad at me for quitting? Because it’s fine if you are. I understand.”

Jungkook looked at him, eyes large and surprised – the only part of his face that was visible. “What? No, I’m not angry.”

“No? Because truthfully I felt really sorry that I wasn’t around to drive you to school anymore.”

“It’s okay. The bus got me there, too.”

But the bus had taken forty minutes compared to the ten-minute drive. That extra half an hour of sleep had meant a lot to a teenage kid like Jungkook.

“When Rapmon-hyung told us what’d happened, I was just sad, but not angry. We all were pretty sad.” Jungkook shook his head, as if to chase away such thoughts. “But you’re here again, and that’s what matters.”

Like it was that simple.

Jungkook seemed to think so.

Bang seemed to think so.

They stepped out into the thankfully mild night, breaths rising in the air. The grass was frosty, scrunching under their feet. “So, are you going to take the job Sihyuk-hyung offered you?”

He sucked in a breath, heading towards the dark figure of Namjoon on a bench, facing the river. “Jimin told you?”

“Yoongi did.”

“He did? Ah, well, I’m still thinking it over.”

“I think it’d be great,” Jungkook said.

The three of them squeezed onto the bench, steam rising from their noodles. On the other side of the river, Hannam-dong glittered. When would the lawyer call back? Namjoon was a little restless – he was thinking about it too.

Why was he so worried about wanting too much? Why was it alright for others to pursue their dreams, but not for him?

Why couldn’t his life be extraordinary? Wasn’t it already, squeezed between Jeon fucking Jungkook and Kim fucking Namjoon?

Dandelion.

That was likely the name of the song – it’d been the refrain. A sweet, simple love song. Namjoon was like the Han River to him: deep and powerful, something he could spend his entire life exploring without managing to cover it all. Who’d known Namjoon had been writing songs like that about him?

Why not be extraordinary?

Why not be in Spain today, in Italy tomorrow – with Namjoon by his side, and the other members too?

Why not, when his heart felt so big just thinking about that kind of joy and wonderment?

Namjoon’s phone beeped, the screen glowing in the dark. Namjoon read the message and then showed it to him: All above board re: contract. Very fair terms. I would recommend negotiating the overtime compensation.

“What is it?” Jungkook asked, stopping mid-slurp to peer over.

“Boring work stuff,” he said, heart beating fast. Namjoon was looking at him expectantly – hope reflected in his eyes. He gave Namjoon a small nod, and Namjoon broke into a wide smile, dimples deep, reaching out to cup the back of his neck. Just to hold him a little. Caress him a little.

They’d used to come to the Han River to dream.

That was a skill that he had to relearn.

The phone conversation was efficient and to the point.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Hello. It’s Kim Seokjin.”

“Seokjin-ah. I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

“Mm, well, I’ve had my people look into your offer. There are a few points I want to negotiate.”

“Such as?”

“The overtime compensation. I want to choose whether it’s time and a half or time in lieu, depending on what I prefer each month.”

“That’d be unusual, but manageable. What else?”

“I won’t sign an NDA.”

Silence on the line.

Then:

“I’ll have HR draft a new contract to exempt you from one.”

“…What, really?”

“You won’t sign one. So be it. But I will ask you not to disclose that to other employees. It’d likely seem, ah. Like favouritism.”

“But… just like that? You’re not worried that I’ll go running to the press first thing?”

“Worried?” Bang paused. Sounded oddly stern. “You might not quite understand it yet, but no one’s done more to protect those boys than you. So no. I’m not worried.”

“…Oh. Right. I see. Well, ah. Those were my, ah, two points that I…”

“I’ll have our Onboarding Manager meet you in the lobby on Monday at ten o’clock sharp, and he’ll finalise everything with you. I’m sorry, but I have a meeting starting now.”

“Sure, okay, I—”

“Seokjin-ah?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome back.”

“Would you just come back inside? It’s freezing.”

Jiyoon shook her head, wrapped up in her long, black winter coat, her hair whipping in the freezing January wind. “This is the Give Up Zone, and I’m giving up!”

Seokjin sighed, holding the door to the rooftop open. “Some might call this needlessly dramatic.”

Jiyoon shot daggers at him. Look, no one had been happier than Jiyoon that Seokjin had been headhunted by BigHit. That BigHit representatives had been so taken by Seokjin’s skills at the VR con that they had called him out of the blue with a job offer! She had been beside herself with excitement! Would Seokjin get to work with BTS? Did he know yet? Had he seen any of them? Were they as polite and kind as everyone said? God, she was so excited for him!

Jiyoon had been full of pride and joy each day of Seokjin’s one-month notice period, messaging him nearly every day because he needed “to be educated”. She’d sent him Bangtan Bombs from 2013 and unreleased SoundCloud tracks, and on Christmas she’d texted Namjoon just dropped this new song! Go listen to it now so that if you run into him, you can talk about it! The song was called Dandelion, and Namjoon had already sent it to him two hours before its official release.

But on his last day at work, Jiyoon was facing a different reality: of running the place without him.

“No one else here knows shit!” she said, still refusing to come inside. “Boohyung’s been promoted to junior assistant, and he doesn’t even know the difference between PowerPoint and Excel!”

“That is very valid, but he will learn from you. You’re a great mentor.”

Jiyoon glared at him. “Don’t try buttering me up, Seokjin-nim.”

He glanced at his watch. “We stop being coworkers in forty-five minutes. Maybe we could speak casually from here on? Would that be alright, noona?”

Jiyoon crossed her arms, estimating. Gave a small nod. A little pleased.

He managed to get Jiyoon back inside, thank god, and once back on their floor he ushered her into a meeting room. “Stay here – I have something for you.”

He passed his desk, already emptied and taken up by a single large cardboard box with the last of his belongings, ready for him to take to his car and home. He got Jiyoon a hot chocolate from the break room’s vending machine, sagely ignored Boohyung trying to put paperclips into a stapler with a confused but determined air, and returned to the meeting room.

“Alright, drink this to warm up, and then watch the video I’ve just sent you.”

Jiyoon huffed, giving him her classic ‘you can’t tell me what to do’ stare, but she obeyed, getting out her phone.

Seokjin had already watched the short clip that he’d been sent that morning and so he knew what Jiyoon was looking at.

Jiyoon stilled.

On the screen of her phone was Hoseok in his studio, beaming at the camera.

“Hi, Jiyoon-ssi!” A wave and a cute head tilt – then a pout. “Jiyoon-ssi, I heard you’ve been ARMY for a very long time. Is that true? Jiyoon-ssi, that’s such a long time, right? Have you been well? Have you stayed healthy? You must have been through a lot supporting us all these years. Wha, I know you must have had a hard time when we’ve had hard times – ah, you must have suffered a lot! That’s not easy at all. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that you must be a remarkable person for working so hard. So I want to thank you for always supporting us, for walking this path with us! Remember to take care of yourself! Eat a lot of yummy food and dress warmly because it’s still so cold, alright? You promise, don’t you? Don’t get sick! And we will see you soon when we tour, and I hope you will cheer for us loudly, and I will look into the crowd and find you! I will go ‘oh! There’s our Jiyoon-ssi!’ and I will wave at you like this, and you will wave back extra hard! Okay, Jiyoon-ssi? Shall we do that, Jiyoon-ssi?” Hoseok beamed brightly and offered his pinkie. “Promise me, won’t you? I love you! See you soon!”

Hoseok blew the camera a kiss, waved, and the video ended.

Jiyoon had not moved at all. Seokjin stirred. Had he broken her? Was she alive?

“Are you… are you brea—”

Jiyoon looked up, tears streaming down her face, and began to sob, clutching the phone to her chest. “Oh, he was so kind. Oh, he was— Oh, I can’t breathe, I—”

She watched the clip three more times and cried for every single one of them, offering her pinkie to the screen – but they were tears of awe and joy and love, and Seokjin saw nothing wrong with that.

He was glad that Namjoon’s hair had finally grown long enough for him to grab it, tugging at the strands. “I need you out of here.”

Namjoon grinned against his neck, pushing him into the mattress. “Yeah? Is that why you keep begging me to go harder?”

“Asking, not begging,” he corrected, kissing Namjoon messily. Namjoon grinned into the kiss. Who didn’t enjoy an afternoon quickie? He certainly did, especially during this week off between his old job and new job, but he also had to start getting ready.

Unfortunately for him, Namjoon had stopped moving, naked and warm above him, cock buried deep in him. Namjoon reached out to the nightstand. Seokjin tried to stop him in vain.

“Stay,” Namjoon said, in a way that made want shiver down his spine – the command was reinforced by Namjoon’s palm pressing against his sternum.

He moved his hips a little restlessly – fucking the thick cock halfway in him. He wasn’t begging, he was asking. Oh god, that felt so good…

Namjoon rose up slightly, shifting his weight onto his knees. “Today, at sixteen minutes past noon, and I quote: ‘the ahjumma in 605 just left for her monthly book club’, and I replied with ‘so?’ and you said, ‘so you should be inside me right now’.” Namjoon looked down between them, as if to make the point that he had done as commanded. “And now you’re trying to kick me out? When you booty-texted me?”

His hand slid to the back of Namjoon’s neck and tugged downwards. “I’m a busy man – this is all about efficiency.”

Namjoon laughed. “Sure it is.” They kissed again, and Namjoon said, “Do you know how fucking hot it is when you tell me you want me?”

Thankfully, Namjoon started moving again, and Seokjin moaned, toes curling in pleasure. Their grins pressed together, their hands firm on each other, sharing the pleasure.

Still, this was taking too long.

Seokjin had to use all his strength to flip them over, but he managed it, and Namjoon arched an intrigued eyebrow at him – splayed out beneath him, all flushed and pretty and his. Namjoon’s hair had grown out enough to stick to his forehead, and Seokjin brushed the strands aside as he got settled. Slowly, he sat back down on Namjoon’s cock. He bit his lip, holding back a moan that would have sounded too needy – but god, this was so good.

“Now you stay,” he said breathlessly, hand pressing Namjoon's chest. “Accept your fate as my service top.”

“Is that what am I to you? Baby, how— Ah, fuck,” Namjoon groaned, sucking in a breath as Seokjin started riding his dick. Seokjin’s body was full of hot pleasure, skin sensitive, nerve-ends tingling – working his hips hard and fast. He needed Namjoon out of here in ten minutes, but he also needed them both to orgasm before that.

He worked his hips faster.

Namjoon jerked beneath him, legs and shoulders rising off the bed. “Oh fuck, oh shit, what did I do to you? Oh my god, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet.”

He pushed Namjoon back down, knees digging into the mattress, and rode his cock. His head rolled back, sweat trickling down his spine. As he adjusted his hips, Namjoon pushed in even deeper, and he whimpered from the pressure against sensitive spots.

“Don’t come yet, I’m so close.”

Glancing down, Namjoon’s mouth was slack and open, breaths deep. He had a glazed expression, overwhelmed by pleasure, fingers digging into the meat of Seokjin’s thighs. Perfect in every way, body all wound up, and Seokjin wanted to come for him so badly that it overrode every other thought.

He spat into his hand and started fisting his cock, feeling himself lose reason. He didn’t fight it, but let himself fall, soon clenching and trembling and crying out as he climaxed. Namjoon, sounding anguished, asked, “Fuck, can I please come now?”

“Yeah, fuck – please,” he managed, choked up, and Namjoon swore, hands still politely squeezing his thighs but hips bucking upwards, and released inside him. Seokjin kept riding him, but slowly, winding now, feeling wrecked. His hole clenched, cum dripping out.

Namjoon leaned up to kiss him, shivering. The kiss was momentarily sweet and loving, both of them lost in it.

Collapsing back against the mattress, Namjoon said, “Maybe we should, like, look into orgasm denial.”

“Oh, should we?”

Namjoon wiped at his glistening forehead, mouth slack, pupils blown. “Yeah. That, like. Activated something in me.”

“Interesting,” he said, grinning, and Namjoon laughed and kissed him. He returned the kiss only briefly, because the next moment he was out of bed and telling Namjoon to get dressed. Time was running out, and he desperately needed a shower – which he did in record time.

Namjoon was pulling a t-shirt on when he re-emerged shower fresh and in a pair of briefs.

He ushered Namjoon to the apartment door, smoothing over his back. “So, I’ll come pick you up in the morning?”

Because Seokjin had a few days off, Namjoon had suggested they get out of the city together. They were heading to the seaside – some producer friend of Namjoon’s owned a big house near Taeanhaean National Park, just sitting empty. Seokjin couldn’t wait.

Namjoon pushed his feet into a pair of expensive sneakers. “Or, potentially, see you tonight? If you want to pack and come over, then we just leave first thing in the morning?

His mood lifted instantly. “Even better.” They kissed. “I’ll call you later.”

Namjoon said, “And then come over?”

He all but pushed Namjoon out of his apartment.

Namjoon stepped out backwards, eyes fixed on him, a boyish yet sweet smile on his face, dimples appearing. “I love you.”

Instantly, Seokjin was completely disarmed. “Love you too,” he said, the words coming out a little breathless.

Namjoon smiled wider, but Seokjin closed the door on him because while love was nice and all, he had to get ready.

He returned to the bedroom, hastily made the bed, and then opened the wardrobe to get out a chic outfit. His parents had insisted on taking him out for a meal to celebrate his new job, and they would be arriving in, oof, only ten minutes? He pulled out beige slacks and a nice black belt, then selected a white dress shirt that needed ironing but in truth he did not have the time.

He was in the bathroom dabbing aftershave on when the door beeped open – his mother felt free to let herself in, no questions asked. He checked his watch: they were early! God, they’d cut it fine.

“I’m running a little late!” he announced, buttoning up his shirt as he returned to the living room.

In the small entryway was his mother and behind her his father, and between them was a tall, large man who looked worryingly like the person he had kicked out of his apartment minutes earlier.

He froze.

Namjoon, stuck between his parents, stared at him with a ‘what do I do?’ expression, towering over his mother.

“Seokjin-ah! You will never guess who we ran into outside!”

His mother was beaming like she had found a lost puppy.

“It’s Namjoon! You remember Namjoon? What am I saying, of course you do – Namjoonie, you remember Seokjin, my son? Remember how you trained together? I insisted that he come say hello to you! He was right outside your building, can you believe that?”

Seokjin felt faint.

Took a faltering step backwards.

Yes, as it was, he could in fact believe it.

He unfroze. Recovered. “Oh. Ah. Oh my goodness! It’s Kim Namjoon of BTS! I can’t believe my eyes!”

He’d studied acting, for god’s sake – get your shit together.

“You didn’t have to come all the way up here,” he said loudly, taking his mother’s coat, watching in horror as Namjoon mimicked his parents in taking his shoes off. “You must be extremely busy – you were likely on your way to something important? Were you? Probably?”

“Uhh,” Namjoon said, tongue-tied for seemingly the first time in his life.

His mother looked elated, while his father – a less expressive person – had given up on leading the household in 1989.

“Please, take a seat, I insist!” his mother said, guiding Namjoon in. This was her house now and Namjoon was her guest. “You and Seokjinnie must have so much to catch up on! Oh, and Namjoonie! Did you know Seokjin will start working for your company soon? You likely would have met very soon, anyway! Isn’t that surprising!”

“Ah, yes, I know about that,” Namjoon said, finally getting a word in, sitting down on the couch, stiff as a log. Eyes landing on a slice of Seokjin’s exposed chest.

In a panic, Seokjin finished buttoning up his shirt.

Namjoon blinked. “Er, I mean, I read the news in— the, uh, monthly staff bulletin? Yes, the bulletin. Congratulations, hyung. It’s, ah, great to see you.”

His father sat down on the armchair, unbuttoning his dinner jacket. Distraught, Seokjin watched his mother go through the kitchen cupboards. What was she even intending to serve Namjoon? No, no, this farce had to end, he had to kick Namjoon out again, before—

“Darling, do you have any of that nice tea I got you in Jeju? Is it in this cupboard?”

“It’s in the bottom drawer,” said Namjoon.

Seokjin, mouth open to answer but not having managed to say anything, turned to Namjoon in shock and exasperation. What the fuck! Namjoon blinked. Looked caught out and guilty. Blushed a little.

His father’s eyes narrowed.

His mother was still holding the cupboard door open, but she was looking at Namjoon like he was the second coming.

Seconds ticked by.

“Well, fuck me,” Seokjin said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Language,” his father said, deciding to finally speak.

His mother closed the cupboard door. Took a few faltering steps into the living room, taking them all in. “Wha… What did you say, Namjoonie?”

Namjoon shot back up, making everyone flinch. Namjoon cleared his throat, grinding his teeth together. Seokjin shook his head – or shook his eyes, at least, trying to signal a universal ‘shut the fuck up.’

Namjoon bowed deeply to his mother – a full ninety degrees. “Eomeoni.” Same to his father. “Abuji. You see—”

“How tall are you?” his mother cut in.

Namjoon blinked. “Me? 181.”

His mother pressed a hand to her chest, clutching Seokjin’s arm with the other. “My oh my. It’s, ah— That’s the exact, ah. Seokjin-ah?”

His father cut in with, “They’re wearing each other’s socks.”

In horror, he and Namjoon both looked down, but they were wearing plain white socks and that was all.

His father huffed. “See? It made them look!”

His mother perched on the armrest of the armchair, hand still pressed to her chest, eyes wide. This, Seokjin realised, was likely the best day of her life – never mind her graduation, wedding, or the births of her two children.

With no face left to save, he stood next to Namjoon and cleared his throat. “So, ah, well, you see. You see… Namjoon-ah, what do they see? Ah, well, that we’re dat—”

“I am deeply in love with your son.”

“—or that, sure, let’s just jump right in there, why won’t we?”

His mother nodded, drying away a tear that wasn’t even there. Fake ass b— “Of course you are. Of course. I always felt like you were the son I never had, you know.”

“You literally have two,” Seokjin said, but this deterred her none as she stood up and pulled Namjoon into a hug, patting his back firmly. Namjoon kept his hands in the air, not hugging her back, looking to Seokjin for advice. He just shrugged. What? He wasn’t going to help Namjoon, who’d done this to himself.

His father got his phone out. “Well, we clearly can’t go out now with everyone knowing who he is. I’ll order us some chicken feet, shall I? And you, young man, you tell me how I can get my hands on some BigHit stocks.”

His mother sat Namjoon down, clasping his hand for some unknown reason. Namjoon was flushed but handling the attention well, and Seokjin longed for death or at least a getaway car.

“I’ll make us that tea, shall I?” he asked a little loudly to remind everyone he also existed.

When he looked over a few minutes later, his father was quizzing Namjoon on investments – Namjoon said he had invested in art, no, not NFTs, real art – and his mother had calmed down enough to look his way. ‘Perfection’, she mouthed, doing a discreet head nod at Namjoon.

That fortune teller had told his mother the same thing weeks earlier. Oh, these two? A harmonious match! An excellent balance of warm and cold energies, leaning slightly to the colder side but she hadn’t been too worried.

And so Seokjin had done it: produced the perfect son-in-law.

Seokjin queued in the busy café with Taehyung, eyeing the BigHit staff pass hanging around Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung was busy typing on his company phone, looking determined and energetic.

“But what does a personal assistant do, exactly?” he asked.

Taehyung let out a low whistle. “What don’t I do? Let’s see. This morning I booked Jimin’s dentist’s appointment, got the dry cleaning picked up, made some calls to find the perfect nutritionist because he really needs more fibre in his diet, and shortlisted three present ideas for his and Mia’s anniversary. Sure, right now I’m doing the coffee run, but it’s a lot more challenging than that.”

“Didn’t you enjoy being a designer?”

“Oh, I’m also redoing his entire apartment – he’s barely done anything with the place, it looks like a prison. I’m doing Jungkook’s after that. I’m a busy man.”

He scratched at his neck. “So, ah, you’re enjoying it, then?”

Taehyung looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you kidding? This is the best job I’ve ever had, hands down. I schedule in play time every day too. That’s when we act out different scenarios like, oh, you be Jack from Titanic and I’ll play Rose! It’s so funny – Jimin’s so funny.”

“Well, that sounds… normal.”

Taehyung beamed, content to have his life revolve around Park Jimin.

Their order was placed in two plastic bags, the iced americanos pushed into cardboard holders. They exited the shop across the street from BigHit, carrying a bag each, and compared notes as new employees. It was seven o’clock in the evening and they had technically stopped working for the day, yet here they still were.

In the lift down to the basement levels of BigHit, Taehyung asked, “Hey, did Heejun message you about the next Almost BTS meeting? Are you going?”

He’d gotten the invite, the tone as enthusiastic as ever. Heejun did not know that he now worked for BigHit, or that Taehyung did too. He’d thought about going for the first time in a while. In a way, those men were the likeliest peer group he’d ever have.

How many were there like him, after all, who could claim that ambivalent, bittersweet title of Almost BTS? There weren’t many of them. Not many who could understand that gold-tinged longing and fondness for a dorm where they’d learned what brotherhood was, nor the soft and enduring sadness a decade on for having lost it, nor the awe and pride that filled them when seeing what had become of the group they’d almost been a part of.

There were not many in the world who understood what all of that felt like, but they were out there.

Serving you a cup of coffee. Picking up their kids from school. Squeezing into the rush hour bus.

Almost BTS.

But—

“Nah. I don’t think I’m going. Are you?”

“I don’t really feel the need to,” Taehyung said, the two of them heading towards the practice room. “Maybe it’d be a bit weird to go now, anyway. You know what I mean?”

They entered the dance studio, where cheers erupted over their return with much needed caffeine. Five men were flushed from choreo practice, in sweats and loose t-shirts, working night and day as they prepped for a world tour. Jimin and Jungkook all but ran to get their coffees, while Hoseok stretched his arms above his head, slowly making his way over, saying, “Ah, is this one for me? This one? Wha, hyung, I love you so much.” Yoongi followed, thanking them – not able to hide his joy of practising with the members again, eyes twinkling.

Namjoon was still by the mirrored wall, working through a choreo sequence in slow motion. Trat-trat-trat. One-two-three – then bam. Head roll, kick and turn. Namjoon nodded to himself, wiping at his brow. Sweat on his skin. Heart beating fast with exertion. Thud, thud, thud. Dance studio, late at night.

Their gazes met in the mirror, and Namjoon stopped. Smiled. And, for a single second, his expression was exactly like that of an eighteen-year-old Namjoon.

“You need your americano fix?” he called out, holding the drink for Namjoon.

Namjoon grinned and walked over to where the six of them were talking loudly, everyone’s voices and laughter filling the studio. Namjoon bumped shoulders with him, his way of being affectionate without being obvious – professional while at work, as they’d agreed. As if no one would see “the obvious heart eyes you guys keep making”, as Hoseok had called it.

He’d message Heejun back and decline the invite. Taehyung was right – why go?

There was nothing, after all, that he had lost.