Archive of Our Own

Kim Namjoon had always been just a little too cold, just a little too calculating

In highschool, everyone knew him as the quiet guy with headphones until he was dubbed the smartest kid in class. It all started when he scored a ninety-nine percent overall average in his first semester and became an integral part of school lore. It was a joke among their peers and it was fun until it got weird. 

It turns out, fancy private high schools like to think they birthed their brightest students themselves or at least, have no qualms acting like they did. The awkward teenage Namjoon quickly became their pride and joy. 

From the principal to the janitor, to the teachers, the students and their parents, Kim Namjoon became a household name within their community, his academic brilliance shrouded in myth, despite being fact on paper. He was the universal point of comparison and to this day, younger grades admitted that some teachers still brought him up, used his essays as examples, even though he graduated years ago. 

What teachers failed to bring up or, more so, didn’t know to bring up, was the ways in which Kim Namjoon was always just a little too cold, a little too calculating. 

Of course, that was far from the only omission. Their year was one of the most high achieving graduating classes in the history of their private high school, but why bother with that part? Why bring up the second best student or even the third when the first shined so brightly? Why bring up Jung Hoseok when there was Kim Namjoon?

There was no reason to mention that it was Jung Hoseok's desk that was consistently surrounded with students seeking help during free-period. No value in the heads that turned towards Hoseok every time a teacher announced group work. When they organized study sessions for finals, nobody knew that they always ended up at Hoseok's house, and not just because his mom bought the best snacks.

Kim Namjoon was just a little too cold, and for every class ranking he topped and every average he skewed, Hoseok was always waiting in second place, just a little too warm. 

Standing in front of his desk now, with saliva accumulating in his mouth at alarming rates, Hoseok is reminded of their contrast when Namjoon's sharp dragon eyes look up from his notebook. The years have done little to dull them. 

This is how Bilbo must have felt when he first entered Smaug's den, Hoseok thinks. He does not miss the dense scribble of notes etched tightly into the paper and reminds himself that Bilbo succeeds in stealing the arkenstone at the end of the book.

"Can I help you?" Namjoon asks. He does not lean back in his chair, he does not relax his shoulders or his face. Namjoon remains curled over his notebook in an almost protective stance. At the sight of Hoseok, his eyes narrow. This was to be expected. 

Hoseok swallows, his trembling fingers curling into fists at his sides. This is an act of desperation, he knows, but cannot let Namjoon find out. His resolve will never achieve the stone chill of Namjoon's, but he can still leave this interaction with some dignity.

More importantly, he will spare no warmth for Kim Namjoon.

"Yes, actually," he starts. "You can."

That makes Namjoon budge. He reclines his large body back, sliding his bare forearms over the wooden desk and flipping the notebook shut without breaking eye contact.

He crosses his arms over his chest and arches a single brow high up towards the edge of his baseball cap. His eyes run up and down his body and Hoseok can't stop his arms from wrapping around his torso. It makes Namjoon smirk and then scoff when he is met with Hoseok's frowning face. He suddenly misses the gangly teenager he used to know, but shoots that memory down before it can even try to form. 

"I want you to tutor me for this class," he says. "I took it as an elective because it looked interesting, but it's giving me some trouble," he adds before Namjoon can get a word in and braces himself for inevitable rejection.

"Aren't you in arts?"

Hoseok tenses.

"Uh, well no."

He doesn’t like how Namjoon studies his face, brow arched high in consideration

"No?"

Hell, he doesn’t like how Namjoon studies the rest of his body either. 

"Kinesiology."

“Right…”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Namjoon takes his time to really look at Hoseok, take in every inch, making it a point to pause on each trembling part, the ones he damn well knows Hoseok is desperately trying to conceal. 

"So, tell me," Namjoon finally says and picks up his pencil, twirling it between his fingers. "Why is a science student with a kinesiology major taking a fourth year level sociology seminar?"

In Hoseok's defense, he didn't know what a seminar was when he signed up for the class. He only found out after walking into the small conference room on his first day and counting a total of twelve heads, including the professor.

He can’t let Namjoon know that either. Instead, he takes a deep breath and lets his hands fall back to his sides.

"Like I said, it looked really interesting, so I took it for fun," he shrugs.

"You took 'Sexual Politics and Modern Theories in Gender' for fun ?" Now with both brows arched and pencil frozen between his fingers, Namjoon does not look the least bit convinced. 

"Y-yes, I did."

"And now you're screwed," he deadpans and begins to pack up his things.

Hoseok wasn’t expecting to talk to the same Namjoon from high school, but this dry arrogance was definitely new. 

"What? No, not screwed," Hoseok panics. "I'm just having trouble keeping up."

"Sounds like screwed to me."

Namjoon now has his back to him, fiddling with the contents of his bag. Everyone else in the class has left. No one sees Hoseok's approachable face twist in anger. They don't see his eyes well up with frustration.

"I'm not screwed, " he grits out. "I can pass it just fine without your help."

"So, why don't you?" Namjoon challenges. He hoists his backpack over his shoulder and fixes Hoseok with a final look.

"Because passing is not enough. I need to maintain a certain GPA..." he trails off and prays that Namjoon does not inquire further. He knows he will. Namjoon always did. It used to drive the shittier teachers crazy.

"Or else what?"

He crosses his arms back over his chest and Hoseok wants to just strangle him. Or at the very least, smack that arrogant look right off his face.

He does the opposite. He reels it all in and bullies his body into a false sense of calm. Hoseok relaxes his face, slows his breathing and promises not to kick himself too hard for not meeting Namjoon's gaze this time around.

"Or else the fucking government stops giving me bursaries," he spits, staring down at his shoes.

His pride tastes like bile in his throat.

At this point, a part of him hopes that Namjoon refuses. He knew he would have to provide him with context eventually, but he absolutely hates the way Namjoon's snark softens into something kinder. Even from the corner of his eye, he can feel the buckets of pity pouring over him. He hates it. 

Namjoon clears his throat and Hoseok flinches.

"I see." His voice is ridiculously loud in the empty classroom. "Well, I guess I can help? Is... is once a week enough?"

"Yeah," Hoseok mutters. "Once a week is great, Namjoon."

He forces himself to look at him. The arrogance is gone, but Hoseok does not appreciate what replaced it. He only returns it with more anger. 

"Cool, cool... You still have my number since...?"

Namjoon gnaws at his bottom lip, tension clouding over his usual confidence. If Hoseok didn't know any better, he'd think that Kim Namjoon is worried about him, but years of observation testify to his awkwardness. Hoseok did not enjoy making Namjoon uncomfortable, but this was the only win he was taking home after exposing himself to a man who played hot potato with any emotion that wasn't his own. 

"Yeah."

"Great. Um, see you next week, then."

"Sounds good."

Kim Namjoon leaves as fast as he can without tripping over a chair. Somewhere deep in his gut, shame eats Hoseok's ego alive.

Hoseok books a private room in the university library for their first session and arrives fifteen minutes early to panic in peace.

He sets up his laptop, his notes, and the textbook on the far end of the table. He sits down and spends a handful of slow minutes staring anxiously through the open door before he moves to the opposite end. He knows he won't be able to school his expression in the dreaded moment when Namjoon appears from around the corner, so he leaves it up to faith.

The reading for this week is an online article and Hoseok immediately recognized the author's name when he pulled it up the night before. One does not get far in their university career without stumbling onto Michel Foucault at least once. Hoseok had never read Foucault's writing before, but had seen enough citations to last him an undergraduate degree.

Hoseok had no trouble understanding the reading, but it left him with so many embarrassing questions that he debated dumping a shot of tequila into his coffee mug before meeting Namjoon. 

As he scrolls through his annotations and the passages he highlighted, heat creeps up his neck. It is a small consolation, he thinks, that even if Namjoon makes fun of him in his head, there will be no way for Hoseok to tell from his stoic face.

"That's a lot of notes."

"Fuck!"

He almost smashes the back of his skull against Namjoon's chin when he jumps out of his chair. Namjoon backs up in time to save them both the humiliation and Hoseok makes it a point to glare at him properly as he sits back down.

"You scared me," he says.

"Sorry," he shrugs. "You were real focused."

Hoseok doesn't say anything and tries not to whine when Namjoon pulls up a chair right next to him. He collapses his large body into the seat, dumping his bag right at his feet and pushing the edge of his beanie further away from his forehead. 

He is the image of nonchalance and it irritates Hoseok to no end. 

"Show me," he says. 

Hoseok leans back when he leans in and Namjoon gives him a once over,  before twisting his laptop towards him. Hoseok registers the annoyance in the dragon eyes as a win in his books, despite how visibly tense he is, sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

He watches Namjoon scroll to the very beginning of the reading and start bobbing his head as though he were listening to a song with a really good beat. He is only skipping through the parts Hoseok highlighted, taking the time to read his notes and questions in the margins. Halfway down the page, he nods and leans back in his chair.

"Okay," he begins. "So this is an excerpt from Foucault's book on the history of sexuality. He's basically criticizing the repressive hypothesis. Do you know what that is?"

Hoseok is caught off guard by the question. He knows what Namjoon is referring to, but actually formulating an answer seems impossibly uncomfortable. If it's the wrong answer, he doesn't want Namjoon to know. He doesn't want Namjoon to know that he doesn't know, tutoring be damned. 

He tries to remember why he thought this would be a good idea. The intrusive thought of his bank account is reminder enough. 

"Uh, yeah. It's like, people thought that the taboo surrounding sex starting from the 17th century made people sexually repressed," he explains to his laptop, fingers awkwardly pressed against the edge of the table.

"Right," Namjoon says, slowly.

"But Foucault doesn't think that's right."

"No, he doesn't. Foucault is of the mind that people will act on their sexuality no matter what. It is just a question of what is socially acceptable. Society will decide what is a 'proper' sexuality and what is a 'deviant' sexuality, but that won't stop people from being 'deviant,' get it?"

At some point during his explanation, Namjoon manages to draw Hoseok's averted gaze back to him. When Hoseok nods, he does so glaring right into the dragon eyes. His brows are starting to cramp. 

"Yeah, so where Foucault is going with this is... well, he's saying that sexuality has a lot to do with power. People in power decide what's deviant, they decide what labels to assign and what those labels imply."

"Right," Hoseok nods again. His hands have slipped off the edge of the table and are now sitting uselessly in his lap.

"Right?" Namjoon arches a brow and glances at the laptop screen. "You don't seem to think so."

"What... what do you mean?" Hoseok blinks and leans over to peek at his own notes.

"All of your notes for this part put Foucault's critiques into question. Here..."

Namjoon pulls the laptop closer to him, vaguely pointing a particular note in the margin.

"You wrote 'but people might be repressing their sexuality anyway? Fear of judgement? Shame?'" Namjoon reads out loud, much to Hoseok's horror, and looks over to him, waiting. "So?"

"S-so what?" Hoseok frowns. "I'm just asking. I'm not saying he's wrong or anything..."

"You can."

"What?"

"You can say he's wrong. You're allowed to disagree with him," Namjoon says and then snorts. "Well, maybe that's ill-advised for the exam, but Foucault isn't exactly all-knowing either."

"Okay... I agree with him about the power stuff, but I'm not sure about the repression," he says and hopes that he sounds at least a little confident. "I just wouldn't rule it out completely, you know? I mean, even today... isn't 'being in the closet' just a form of repression?"

Namjoon fixes him with a narrowed stare. Hoseok feels his legs fidgeting underneath the table and remembers how this was something Namjoon used to do in high school, a small unconscious habit that drove many of their teachers mad. One that made Hoseok bite clean through a pencil during an exam once.

Namjoon lets out a deep breath and leans back in his chair again. He joins his hands together above his head and stretches his arms backwards. He’d always been tall, but Hoseok doesn’t remember him being this big . His shirt rides up and Hoseok looks away when he glimpses a strip of skin.

"That's very true, but what Foucault is implying here– actually, what he's implying in his entire book is that sexuality, whether it's considered normal or perverse, is a social construction. Since labels are a social construction, then all sexuality as we define it becomes a social construction."

Hoseok is not sure if he doesn't understand or doesn't want to understand. Either way, it must show on his face.

"I think what he's saying is that we create these labels to create difference, to distinguish ourselves from others. But you can't take that in today's context, right? Like, the intention behind creating that difference wasn't inclusivity, it was to establish a power structure."

Hoseok wants to ask another question, but holds back. He's not sure if what he wants to know is within the scope of what Foucault is saying, but if it's not, he fears that Namjoon might end up with some questions of his own. It's only their first session; Hoseok still has time. He checked the coming modules and they look a little more promising than whatever this French philosopher has to offer. He really doesn’t want to regret taking this class. 

They don't reach the end of the article. Instead, Namjoon manages to cover most of Hoseok's notes and questions in the margins. When the hour is over, he announces it and begins to pack up his things.

"Don't worry too much about Foucault," Namjoon sighs. "The more you come across him, the more you piece together what he's talking about. I've been dealing with him since first year."

Hoseok freezes like time itself just stopped and almost drops his laptop to the floor. 

"Since first year," he says, very slowly. 

"Yeah, you do Foucault in first year sociology and then just... don't stop, I guess," Namjoon shrugs and rises to his feet. Hoseok follows the movement with his eyes, heat beginning to simmer behind his stone gaze.

When he asks the next question, he thinks that his voice has never been steadier.

"You're a sociology major?"

He is bent over his backpack still hanging off the chair, but he does not budge, not even by a blink of his burning eyes. Hoseok is holding his breath and it shows. Namjoon eyes him again, from head to toe, but he can’t care. He is too preoccupied with what’s about to unfold before him. 

"Yeah," Namjoon says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if there could be no other answer. "Most people who take a sociology seminar are."

Namjoon's cocky smirk falls when Hoseok straightens his spine. Even when he’s glaring, there is no coldness in Jung Hoseok. It’s a burning heat, always a burning heat that boils inside him, fuelling the fury that turns his voice to stone.

"Right."

The word is dry and it is final. Hoseok can't even bring himself to relish in having the last word as he storms out of the room, leaving a bewildered Namjoon behind.

The walk home does little to calm him down. Hoseok is furious when he bursts through the door of his apartment.

He opens his mouth to start shouting into the hall, but Jimin is already there, sitting on the couch with two bottles of his favourite beer, waiting for Hoseok. His anger curdles into fondness and he feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he kicks his shoes off.

"Don't start crying now," Jimin snorts, "you have tea to spill."

"Jimin," Hoseok whines, jogging to the couch and shedding his jacket and bag on the way.

He tackles his roommate into a hug and presses his nose into the hollow of his collarbone. Jimin smells so sweet, so inviting, that Hoseok almost feels guilty taking advantage of the comfort he emanates.

"Was it that bad?"

Hoseok feels Jimin flinch against him while petting the back of his head, but he doesn't know how to answer. 

Truth is, it wasn't bad at all. Namjoon was as obnoxious and frustrating as ever, but they managed to avoid any incidents until the very last moment. Even then, Namjoon didn't seem too aware of the weight of his words and for that, Hoseok can't really blame him.

"No," he sighs and pulls away. "It was actually fine. He's... helpful."

Jimin chuckles and squeezes Hoseok's cheeks together between his thumb and middle finger.

"Helpful, huh? How much did it hurt to admit that just now?"

Hoseok snorts and slaps Jimin's hand away.

"It didn't."

"Oh? We're complimenting Kim Namjoon now? In this house? Man must be as charming as I remember him," Jimin whistles and Hoseok pouts. "After just one session too..."

"In what universe is Kim Namjoon charming?" he says. "He makes me so fucking mad."

"You’re an outlier,” he rolls his eyes. “On a bad day, the letter N can make you mad."

Hoseok looks away, biting down hard on his bottom lip in hopes that it will stop trembling. He can't cry about this. The acceptable time frame of when he could cry about this had long passed. He's over it. He's been over it for a long time now and yet, he can’t shake off these ghost pains, the pangs of old scars. 

"Hey..." Jimin's soft voice announces a hand on top of Hoseok's knee. "Did something happen?"

"He–" Hoseok lets out a shuddering breath. His eyes water, but he's not crying, he will not cry over this.

He scrambles to his feet, standing in the middle of the room with his arms hugging his torso protectively. He will hold himself together. He will not cry over this.

"He... he didn't go into music," he spits and when the tears quietly slip down his face, his one comfort is that they are not sad, but full of rage.

"What?" Jimin yelps. "He– are you serious?"

Hoseok nods, lip trapped between his teeth again.

"But that was his dream. That's all he talked about," Jimin frowns. "I wonder what– wait! Is he in like, sound engineering or–"

Hoseok is shaking his head before Jimin can continue.

"Sociology."

"Sociology?!" Jimin sits up, feet hitting the floor.

"Yeah."

"But why?" Jimin's frown is calculating. Hoseok can see his brain working all over his face as he gazes into nothing. "That's all he cared about, he wouldn't shut up about it. Everyone saw him stress over his portfolio for months, I know he applied..."

"Did he?" Hoseok scoffs.

He couldn't imagine Kim Namjoon receiving a rejection letter. If anything, the university probably begged him to enroll. Well, that wasn't exactly far from the truth either, but there was enough turmoil in Hoseok's gut for the night without bringing that memory up too.

Besides, he was over it. He wasn't allowed to be any other way.

"I wonder what happened," Jimin mutters to himself.

"Why do you care?" Hoseok asks and rips him out of his thoughts.

"Why do you?" Jimin retorts.

Hoseok is about to deny that he does, but he just barged into his own house on the verge of tears, so denial is not going to work in his favour right now.

He wishes he didn't care. Hoseok, with all his heart, wishes he could tuck this new bit of information away and never think about it again. He wishes it could pass through him with the rest of the daily debris of information his brain accumulated, but it gnaws at him. It pours salt into ugly welts that Hoseok let fester for too long. Hoseok lets it eat him alive until he cries for help.

Sympathy, empathy, a compassionate tilt of the head, Hoseok doesn't even know what he wants from Jimin. He certainly doesn't want pity, but in Jimin's defence, Hoseok thinks he must look beyond pathetic right now.

"I thought it was for music," Hoseok explains, with a shaky exhale. "And it doesn't change much now, but I figured at least it was for his dream, you know?"

"A dream for a dream," Jimin says softly. "I get it."

"Exactly. It's not like I think about it anymore, you know. It's not like it matters. But the least he could've done is pursue it instead of..."

Finishing that thought sounds awful, even if the person isn't present, even if Hoseok dislikes him. It's not the kind of thought you finish.

"Wasting it?" Jimin finishes it anyway.

"That sounds terrible." It sounds terrible, but it’s exactly what Hoseok was thinking. 

"I know," Jimin shrugs. "But it's why you're feeling this way. It's still true in your head."

Hoseok cringes. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"It makes you a person."

Jimin grabs their untouched beers and stands up, making his way to their dining table just as their oven chimes.

"Look, we don't know why Kim Namjoon decided to give up his dream in pursuit of sociological enlightenment." He places the beers on the table and disappears into their kitchen. Hoseok hears the rustle of the oven mitts and the creak of the oven door opening and then shutting.

"All we know is that he did," Jimin continues. "And after everything, it's okay that you're upset."

Jimin reappears, balancing two platters of pizza.

"But I don't know his full story," Hoseok argues.

"Yeah well, you never told him yours either."

The anger circles back to guilt and Hoseok wonders if his body is capable of feeling anything outside of that spectrum of emotion.

"I don't owe him anything," Hoseok mutters and they begin to eat.

Jimin doesn't bother with the reply. Hoseok knows that it too, will circle back.

Hoseok is quieter during their second session, mostly because his brain is exploding. What’s worse, is that he can’t believe just how great a tutor Namjoon is.  

If only Namjoon was a bad tutor, they wouldn’t be diving so deep into the nuances of what gender identity constitutes and how its perceived limitations change so drastically between communities and cultures, not to mention throughout history. If only Namjoon wasn’t so thorough in his teaching, maybe Hoseok could have gotten away with regurgitating their professor’s notes. 

“Do you get it?”

“Uh,” Hoseok blinks. “Yes?”

“You seem confused.”

He’s not confused, just very overwhelmed. The readings for the week were dense and many of them heavy with jargon, so much so that Hoseok couldn’t possibly imagine what Namjoon would have to add to it. 

“I’m not,” Hoseok snaps. “It’s just a lot to absorb at once.”

“Well, yeah,” Namjoon scoffs. “You’re not supposed to do it all at once. I just gave you three course levels worth of information condensed into a tutoring session.”

“You didn’t have to,” Hoseok frowns. Did this guy want a medal? No one asked him to do this. “You could’ve just stuck to the course material like last time.”

“The words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, Namjoon.’”

“I promise you they are not.”

They glare at each other for what feels like a comical amount of time, but Hoseok’s resolve proves more stubborn when Namjoon breaks into a smirk and looks away first. Even then, Hoseok holds it, pinning Namjoon with the most unimpressed scowl he could twist his face into. He could not let his guard down. He would not risk sparing Kim Namjoon any warmth. 

Kim Namjoon takes a deep breath and exhales with his eyes closed. 

“About the readings,” he begins, his calm voice teetering on a ledge. “They reference basic theories that you haven’t encountered. Like Butler, for example. I figured you should be familiar with her work before trying to grasp what her contemporaries are proposing.”

Hoseok hates to admit it, but Namjoon’s crash course on Judith Butler shed a lot of light on their class discussions this week. Even his own notes started making a lot more sense.

“Yeah, it helped,” is all he says. 

“I’m glad,” Namjoon replies without even looking at him. He sure as hell doesn’t look very glad either, but he does look mighty satisfied with himself. 

“But if you preferred the structure of our first session better, we can go back to just looking at your reading notes,” he adds. “If you think that’ll help you learn better.”

Hoseok wants to smack him across the face. He doesn’t have any proof, but he knows in his gut that Namjoon is being sarcastic. Years of watching him stoically sass their high school teachers has turned him into a professional in the field. He’s being condescending and he’s doing it on purpose, just subtly enough that he can call Hoseok crazy if he calls him out on it. Unfortunately for him, Hoseok knows better than to take the bait. 

It is out of pure stubbornness that Hoseok says, “I’d rather work with my notes, if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself,” Namjoon shrugs and it makes Hoseok vibrate in his seat with rage. 

“I already booked this room for next week, by the way,” he says as he gets up from his chair. “I didn’t want to wait too long and have the slots fill out.”

Hoseok is going to kill him. He’s going to kill him and finally light a fire in that stupid expressionless face. 

“So that’s one less thing for you to worry about,” he continues casually, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. “And you can focus on next week’s readings.”

“Thanks,” Hoseok grits out, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Anytime. Have a good night, Hoseok.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to turn the corner and screams into the crook of his arm. 

One time, in high school, Hoseok scored higher than Namjoon on a math test. It was a fluke, probably, but their classmates still made a huge deal out of it. They called Hoseok a genius, poking and prodding at his lanky limbs, all the while teasing the actual genius in their class. Namjoon was a good sport about it, of course. He laughed along and even let them go through his exam answers for the sake of theatrics. 

“For shame, Namjoon,” Jimin gasped in horror, shaking his head at the one answer Namjoon got wrong. “For shame! What if your sponsors find out? What then?”

Namjoon laughed even louder when Jimin pretended to faint across his desk. In high school, at least, Namjoon liked Jimin. Hoseok suspected it was the chubby cheeks, but his best friend was one of the few who could make Namjoon smile all the way. 

Hoseok was not. 

“Nice catch on that last question,” Namjoon said to him later in the hallway. His heavy hand landed on his shoulder, patting him a few times as he walked by. 

Namjoon smiled a full grin too. His teeth were perfect and Hoseok’s were in braces. He smiled big and bright, but it never went to his eyes. At no point since he’s met Namjoon has Hoseok seen the smile make it to his eyes. No matter how wide the smile, Hoseok still found himself frozen on the other end of that permanent dragon stare. 

While the smile isn’t as bright, that same razor gaze currently fixes him over the edge of his own laptop. 

“Your notes are mostly question marks,” Namjoon chuckles and glances back down at the screen. “And your actual questions don’t make sense.”

The article doesn’t make sense, Hoseok wants to say, but swallows it down in a loud gulp. He is frustrated, more so than he was last night when he first read through the module so inaptly entitled “Queer Theory.” This was one of the weekly topics he was looking forward to. At the very least, it sounded promising, but Hoseok barely made it through the articles without sobbing under the weight of discouragement. He went to bed feeling heavy, trying to wave away the new swarm of questions plaguing his anxious mind. 

The words that come out of his mouth do so very slowly, only because they are so painfully hard to admit aloud to his tutor. 

“I couldn’t understand the overall argument and so had trouble formulating comprehensive questions.”

The formality just sounds sarcastic when Hoseok grinds the words out through his teeth. This seems to amuse Namjoon, who leans back in his chair to flash him a crooked grin. Hoseok can’t help but think this is what Jimin meant when he called Namjoon charming. 

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok spits.

“I really like your notes,” Namjoon says, unbothered by Hoseok's change in temperament. “Especially the ones all along here that just say ‘okay and’ with eight question marks.”

He chuckles some more, gesturing at the screen with his pen. At least, when he glances back at Hoseok, his smile falters a little. 

“I’m not making fun of you,” he adds quickly. “I swear, it’s just…”

“Just what?” Hoseok’s glare doesn’t waver, it won’t, not until he’s sure there is truth in what Namjoon just swore. 

“I don’t know where to start here,” he gestures to the screen again. “I want to help, but it just looks to me like you were annoyed with the authors all throughout.”

Hoseok lets the dragon stare take him apart for a moment longer before deciding that Namjoon is being genuine. Despite being the one to basically force him into this tutoring gig, Hoseok is still baffled by how willing Namjoon is to help him when he could easily half-ass his way through it without Hoseok’s knowledge. 

“I- I was,” he deflates. “It was really frustrating ‘cause I knew what they were talking about? But at the same time, I didn’t really get the point.”

“You didn’t get the point of… queer theory?”

“No, I get that . Obviously, queer theories are important–”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon interrupts, holding a hand up. He’s holding back a smile and Hoseok wants to punch him. “Queer theories?”

“Yeah, theories about queerness,” he continues anyway. “But this article doesn’t even list them! I mean, what are the queer theories? Where are they? I don’t– Namjoon, I know you’re trying not to laugh and I want you to know I think you’re an asshole.”

Hoseok huffs and crosses his arms over his chest to glare at Namjoon. 

At that, Namjoon actually does laugh. It’s a soft laugh, not a drop of cruelty in it, and Hoseok feels his tension melt watching it make Namjoon’s shoulders shake. 

“I keep forgetting you’re not a sociology student.”

“I keep forgetting you are,” Hoseok mutters and rolls his eyes. 

Namjoon scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok tenses all over again. Namjoon is watching him and while the animosity does stay at bay, the dragon eyes are searching him again, like they’ve known all along that he was hiding something. They almost look excited.

“I just–” he shrugs and averts his gaze to recompose himself. He has no business looking like a deer in headlights in front of Namjoon. “I figured you were in music this whole time.”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything and Hoseok is too scared to look at him. 

“... like you wanted…” he adds, as if he needs to clarify. 

He musters one brave look at Namjoon’s face and feels like a complete idiot. He’s searching his face again. Bearing down on Hoseok with his sharp, unmoving gaze, Namjoon fixes him so hard, Hoseok thinks he’s trying to break him. 

He’s always been a little too cold, Hoseok remembers, but when it came to their passions, they were a pair of burning flames. For a moment, Namjoon looks like he’s about to remind him of that, of just how hot that fire can burn. He overstepped, he knows that, but it looks like Namjoon is still trying to figure it out for himself. 

Hoseok can almost see him asking if there was poison behind that question, if the comment was meant to sting in the first place. 

When Namjoon relents and retreats into his seat, Hoseok quietly releases the breath he was holding. He can’t help but feel a little guilty for getting away with it and escaping Namjoon’s ice cold anger. 

“I didn’t get in.”

And then, he feels so, so much worse.

“What?” Hoseok blinks rapidly at Namjoon, disbelief split wide open across his face. 

“I didn’t get into the music program, so... “ he gestures at the laptop screen. “Sociology.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods and turns back to the screen. 

He drones on for what feels like a few more minutes, but Hoseok’s brain is too busy processing this information to bother with the passage of time. He knows Namjoon is talking, he can see his blurry form glancing back and forth between his notes and Hoseok’s face as he reads, explains, and elaborates every point. His vision loses focus, eyes most probably glazed over as he stares off into space. He can’t move. 

After painfully twisting and struggling, something in his chest finally loses a battle and drowns in an ocean of anguish. It’s Hoseok’s cue to let his fists fall on top of the table. 

“What the hell do you mean you didn’t get in?” he spits, interrupting Namjoon in the middle of his rant about intersectionality. 

“Excuse me?”

“Why?”

“ Why? ” Namjoon does not look amused. His tone is a warning, but Hoseok is a fool.

“Yeah, I want to know why you didn’t get in,” Hoseok growls. “Every asshole and their great-aunt knows you had the grades for it.”

“The grades weren’t the problem…” Namjoon says and hesitates. He looks less threatening than he did seconds ago, definitely more puzzled. 

“So?”

“So?” Namjoon scoffs. “They told me my portfolio was lacking in diversity. Happy?”

He glares at Hoseok, challenging him to keep going, daring him to overstep. The warning would have registered, perhaps, if only Namjoon hadn’t misread Hoseok’s volatile rage. It was too late to pull it back. 

“Like hell!” Hoseok roars, arms flailing in outrage. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re a highschool student, where the fuck were they expecting you to get diversity? That’s the fucking point of an arts program. What kind of dumbassery...!” he huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Hoseok–”

“Like a fucking seventeen year-old is supposed to have a studio built in his basement. Fucking diversity…”

“I think the other applicants came from arts high schools,” Namjoon provides, but all it achieves is turning Hoseok’s glare in his direction. 

Namjoon looks amused; Hoseok sharpens his glare to a point. 

“Bullshit.”

“Hoseok,” Namjoon sighs and the sound, at the very least, lets Hoseok relax his shoulders. It’s laced with laughter, but he can’t shake off how sad it all sounds. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Hoseok holds his gaze and for once, the anger stays put inside him. The flames do not lick beyond his own bonfire, they do not reach for Kim Namjoon like they always have. He is not the enemy today. He will be again, tomorrow, but for now, Hoseok torches himself to ashes and with him, years of resentment and pain.

He will not like Kim Namjoon tomorrow, but if he burns bright enough now, he will forgive himself. 

He will forgive himself, but he will spare no warmth for Kim Namjoon. 

He takes a deep breath to feign calmness and fixes Namjoon with an empty stare. 

“Tell me about queer theory, Namjoon.”

The smallest of smiles stretches across his face before he resumes his explanation. Hoseok is sure he imagines it, but it reaches his eyes. 

When he eyes his assignment sitting on the table, the bright letter grade staring back at him like a brick wall, a dead end, Hoseok finds himself at an abandoned finish line. He is the only competitor and the ribbon is already on the ground. There are no cheering crowds, and certainly no medals. The course did not loop and Hoseok is an exhausted mess with no idea where he is. 

He regrets taking this class. 

It’s their fifth session together, the last one before reading break, and Hoseok is more lost than ever with nowhere else to go. 

“Oh, you got an A,” Namjoon says when Hoseok slides the papers over to him. “Hoseok, that’s great!”

Hoseok watches him flip through his assignment, nodding along to his arguments as he scans through paragraph by paragraph. 

“This is really good,” Namjoon grins down at the assignment and Hoseok swears, for a split second, he sees it reach his eyes again. He doesn’t know why he’s even checking. 

“Thanks, I think I got the hang of the material,” Hoseok mutters, eyes fixed blankly on his assignment. “I just don’t get it.”

“Well, you did a great job hiding it,” Namjoon finally looks up from the page. “What don’t you get? We can go over it again, if you want…”

Hoseok takes a deep breath and forces himself to return Namjoon’s gaze. 

“I don’t get the point. It’s just people making observations about sexuality and it’s cool and all, but it doesn’t really do anything. Like, fine, you can define queerness in a multitude of ways, but what does that mean for queer people? It’s… discouraging.” He shrugs, rubbing at his arm.  

Namjoon nods along with him, an unreadable expression on his face. He pauses for a moment before retrieving his bag from the floor. 

“Actually, I have something for you.”

“For… for me?”

"I don’t know how much this will help, but I was thinking about all the questions you've been asking and I thought you'd appreciate something a little more uh, tangible?"

Hoseok quirks a brow in his direction, but his tutor is distracted, too busy rummaging through his backpack. Oddly enough, Namjoon looks excited, his voice a little higher than usual.

"Tangible."

"Yeah, like..." Namjoon hums, rolling his eyes upwards in a moment of thought. "Maybe not tangible exactly but, more real life applications instead of just theory. Something that has a point to it!"

Hoseok is still skeptical, but that's mostly due to Namjoon's sudden change of tune. He starts pulling out packets of stapled paper, flipping through them until he comes across the right one and then actually smiling.

"Forgot you had dimples," Hoseok snorts. Namjoon ignores him and drops the packet right under his nose.

"Alexander Doty," he proudly announces.

Hoseok stares at the packet for a second, but is unable to get a word in before Namjoon starts rambling again.

"He's really cool. This is my favourite work of his, it talks about texts and queerness. He makes the argument against default heteronormative readings of texts and argues that queerness is just as real and present, maybe even more so!"

"Oh."

Hoseok perks up, partially because of Namjoon's weird enthusiasm, but also because the article actually sounds interesting. He flips past the title page and reads through a few random lines in the introduction.

"He's also really funny and sarcastic," Namjoon beams.

"Funny?" Now Hoseok is actually skeptical.

"Yeah," he actually chuckles. "He makes really good arguments but also makes sure to tell people off. The heterosexuals, mainly."

Hoseok nods along, skimming through the pages with a quizzical brow arched high on his forehead. He catches some of the humorous passages Namjoon was referring to and has to fight a smirk; he can't let him know just yet.

He takes his time, more so for the sake of his own composure than torturing Namjoon with suspense. The article seems as cool as Namjoon’s ramblings suggest. It’s the gesture that unnerves him, sitting uncomfortably in his gut. He didn’t realise Namjoon was even keeping track of his questions, let alone picking out enough patterns out of them to locate an article aligning with his interests. Of course, Namjoon was a sociology major; he knew where to look. It’s the fact that he looked that’s so upsetting. He looked for this article for Hoseok. 

“I thought you might like him a little better, since he talks about real things and real situations, not just overarching theory. Plus, he’s way more of a pleasant read than anyone else that the prof included in the syllabus and it’s reading break next week, so I thought it would make for some light–”

"Hey, Namjoon," Hoseok calls and only looks up when he sees Namjoon stir in his periphery. His face still betrays his giddiness, his smile much tamer behind his eager surprise, but definitely present. Can dragons even get caught in headlights?

“Seriously, nice dimples.”

“Shut up.”

He’s starting to like Doty already. 

                                      ––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Ever the master in time management, Seokjin rolls down the window to start yelling at him early as he makes his way to the car. They had a long ride home ahead of them, but clearly not long enough for the lecture Seokjin had prepared for the special occasion. If Namjoon were a little more lucid, he’d have fun yelling back. 

"I swear Kim Namjoon, you better have the excuse of the century ready in that big brain of yours or so help me– do you even know what time it is?!"

Namjoon does. It's four in the morning.

"You gave me a fucking heart attack! Did you take a fucking cab here?!"

Namjoon did. It hurt so much, he didn't know what else to do. His body was screaming at him to get the hell out of there and by the time the cold air rushed against his face and the adrenaline wore off, his knuckles were the only things left screaming.

"You should've just called!"

Namjoon almost did, but then they would be spending the night in the emergency room with him. He could not spare himself the sleepless night, but he could spare them. If the doctor hadn't given him painkillers, he would've taken the bus home.

He gets into the backseat and with a single glance at him through the rearview mirror, Yoongi drives off. Namjoon waits for Seokjin to continue ranting, but Yoongi's fingers touch Seokjin's wrist over the medium and Namjoon sees Seokjin's shoulders relax.

The rest of the ride home happens in silence. When they get to the apartment Yoongi and Seokjin share, it is Yoongi who breaches the tension.

He jerks his chin at Namjoon's bandaged hand, as he tosses his keys into the bowl. Even at four in the morning, Yoongi manages to look incredibly cool.

"So what happened?"

Namjoon doesn't answer immediately. He moves to the couch to drop his tired, almost hungover head between his knees.

"I was at a party," he says.

"Get too drunk?"

Yoongi sits down on the chair across from him, while Seokjin places a glass of water at his feet before taking a seat next to Namjoon. He rubs a hand soothingly over Namjoon's tense shoulders and it does wonders, it truly does.

"No," he sighs and gently lifts his head. "I wasn’t sober, but definitely not drunk."

"Did you fall?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" Namjoon snorts.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and snorts right back. "No, smartass, you haven't told us shit."

"We were worried," Seokjin cuts in. "You called us from the hospital with no other explanation."

Namjoon feels a little guilty for that, but explaining everything to them seems like a terrible idea. He's convinced they won't understand or maybe, that they'll understand a little too well. Namjoon is too tired for revelations tonight, no matter how brightly they brim on the edges of his mind, thoughts and ideas begging for an ounce of attention to spill over. 

"I punched a guy in the face and broke two of my knuckles."

Compared to his boyfriend, Min Yoongi is not the most reactive person. For a moment, Namjoon thinks that the broken knuckles are worth seeing his best friend's jaw drop to the floor.

"You what?!" Seokjin's soft touch disappears for a second to shove at his shoulder.

"You? You punched someone?" Yoongi screws his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he was imagining this whole conversation.

"Who? Why?! "

This is the part where Namjoon makes up a story that won't prompt more questions. Logically, this is the part where Namjoon lies to his best friends, so they don't worry about him. More than anything, he wants to keep this to himself, let it die inside him when he's distracted with all other parts of life, and never think about it again.

"Some dance major, I don't know his name."

Jungkook invited Namjoon to the party the day before, which meant that he was desperate. It took little coaxing for him to admit that his other friends had bailed on him and that he didn't want to go alone. Namjoon took pity on him, but mostly, didn't want to leave Jungkook alone at a party with people neither of them knew.

So, he went. And despite his promise to himself that he wouldn't drink much, drank enough to socialize with strangers. But this one guy… he wasn't even talking to this guy. He was standing among the group right next to his, but his voice carried and so did his words, crystal clear in Namjoon's ear.

"Jung Hoseok?"

He was at a party with dance majors; hearing the name was not too out of the ordinary, but the man spoke it as though it were an insult and his voice prickled uncomfortably all across Namjoon's skin. He tuned into the conversation, looking at the guy over his shoulder. They had their backs to each other, but he could still see him gesture with his arms as he spoke at just the right volume for ugly rumours to spread.

"Nah, it's done with him. Piece of advice, don't fuck guys who think they're pan," he said and if Hoseok's name wasn't insult enough for this guy, he spoke the word 'pan' like blasphemy coming out his mouth.

"Like, just tell me you're a whore and go," he scoffed. "Besides, gotta stay safe. I don't know where he's been."

Namjoon's entire body tensed. He remembers almost shattering the bottle in his grasp right before putting his drink down. He couldn't explain what was shooting through his body like shocks of lightning, other than that it was scorching. It was hot and bright white and took hold of his gut in a fierce grip that reminded him of Hoseok’s glares. Except he wasn’t enjoying this half as much. 

His vision blurred and sharpened at the edges, but he didn't feel dizzy. In fact, he felt dangerously sober all of a sudden. There was nothing sloppy or impulsive about what Namjoon did.

What he did, some mere hours ago, he did it with intention.

Some of the people in his little group were on the verge of laughter, but Namjoon's body moved faster. It was too late. He was shaking. If he remembers one thing right before the impact, it's how much he was shaking.

Namjoon's hand landed on the guy's shoulder and very gently, spun him around. His other hand, closed tightly into peaks of white knuckles, went flying and landed the punch right at the side of the guy's temple. Somehow, the cracking sound was louder than the blaring music.

After the collective gasp of the room, he heard people shouting his name, but he was out the door before they could catch up to him. He made it stumbling and panting down four or five blocks before he realized his knuckles were probably shattered.

When Namjoon finishes the story, he braces himself for a scolding that never comes. 

"Jung Hoseok, the guy you're tutoring? The one who hates you?" Seokjin asks. 

Namjoon nods. He’s still not sure if Hoseok actually hates him. He sure enjoys acting like he does, but Namjoon enjoys being on the end of that glare even more, so who’s the real winner?

"He's pansexual?"

"Yeah?” Namjoon snaps his gaze to Seokjin and frowns. “Apparently?”

"You didn't know?"

"No, why would I?" His frown deepens. He doesn't understand why Hoseok's sexuality is suddenly a topic of conversation, when Namjoon definitely punched someone in the face earlier tonight.

"You're tutoring him in for a class on gender and sexuality." Seokjin looks dumbfounded, which makes Namjoon look right back at him, mirroring the expression.

"What? Wait, how– how would that come up? Why are we even talking about this?” 

“I just think it’s weird that you found out he’s pan and defended his honour in the span of two seconds,” Seokjin shrugs and looks over to his boyfriend for support.

“We just figured that it would’ve… come up?” Yoongi provides. 

“Is that how you think a gender and sexuality course works? Yeah so, that's the Kinsey scale, Hoseok! Now, as a group exercise, let's place ourselves on it!" Namjoon says, tone sarcastic, but also a little nervous. His laughter comes out strained and slightly manic. 

Seokjin and Yoongi blink back at him. 

“Well…” Seokjin starts and shrugs. “Kind of?”

“Oh my god, no!” Namjoon shakes his head, a little scandalized. The movement sends a ripple of nausea coursing through him and he thinks that maybe he’s a little more intoxicated than he initially thought. 

“We’ve never taken one, Joon.”

This time, when Namjoon stares between his best friends, he is met with three facts that his exhausted, foggy brain tries desperately to piece together. First, Seokjin and Yoongi are business majors. Second, Jung Hoseok has never taken a gender and sexuality class. And finally, Jung Hoseok’s garbage ex-boyfriend doesn’t seem to think pansexuality is a real thing. 

Namjoon's gaze falls out of focus and he’s looking blankly at the edge of the carpet, where some of the tassels are tangled together. 

“But Hoseok is pansexual,” he says to himself. He isn’t sure if this is a fourth fact or the entire picture, but he knows it’s important enough to say out loud. 

Something is off, but that’s all the clarity Namjoon’s drunk and drugged brain can muster. There was an answer in there somewhere, with all these pieces coming together, but the image they made fell short at the tip on Namjoon’s tongue.

Jung Hoseok is pansexual and suddenly, Namjoon wants to run back into the crisp early morning air.

                                ––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Practical anatomy for the moving body, one of the few mandatory courses in the dance program, consisted of gruelling three hour lectures every Monday morning with almost the entirety of the cohort and a handful of other masochistic students who took it as an elective. The ungodly hour paired with a monstrous final exam that counted for most of the grade left Hoseok hating the class with a burning passion one week into the semester. In fact, Hoseok is convinced that no one in the history of dance graduates has ever hated the class as much as he does, mostly because he doubts any of them had their ex-boyfriend sitting two rows behind them. 

He’s not even a dance student, he reminds himself. Certainly a masochist when it came to electives, but not a dance student. 

Calling Jihoon his ex-boyfriend is an overstatement, almost like referring to a kind retail worker as your good friend. Both very helpful if you're feeling a little lost in the store, but you still need to pay for the outfit yourself. Being with Jihoon answered a lot of questions for Hoseok when he was first trying to navigate his sexuality. It was his first time with a man and Jihoon was ever so  patient all throughout the process, so willing to show Hoseok the ropes and play guide. Hoseok fell into him in a single grand splash. He resurfaced, surrounded by the ripples, alone.

Jihoon was the first person he came out to as pansexual and in hindsight, maybe that was his first mistake. His second was sticking with him for as long as he did, especially after he insisted that Hoseok was gay multiple times, often in front of his friends. He was the type of guy who liked to talk, but worst of all, he was the type to brag. Any dirty comment directed at Hoseok was written off as a joke, but any at his expense were an attack on his person. This became a problem very quickly, when Jihoon decided that Hoseok’s sexuality was worth commenting on. 

Beyond his insistance that Hoseok was clearly gay, Jihoon was beyond thrilled to be his “gay awakening.” The only thing he was more insistent about was their lack of real relationship. He was always quick to remind Hoseok that they weren’t serious, that he liked him enough to let “his favourite baby gay” experiment on him. He confronted him about it shortly after and it got ugly very fast. 

“And what do you know?” Jihoon challenged him. “You haven’t done shit, I’m all you know.”

But Hoseok knew he was pansexual, no matter what truths he believed behind Jihoon’s words. He knew he was pansexual, but decided, at least for the time being, to be the only person to know. 

Hoseok walks to class on Monday morning carrying the same dread he always did. Entering the classroom was a gamble. If he was early, he could take his seat with his back to the door and never have to look at Jihoon's face. If he was late, he would have to walk past him and his friends, none of whom had any qualms about staring Hoseok down as he made his way to his seat next to Jungkook, his only solace and friend in the class. Hoseok didn't know what Jihoon told them, but he must have spun one hell of a story if his posse was under the impression that Hoseok was the one to have somehow wronged him.

As he rounds the threshold, it is clear that this week is not so lucky. In fact, it is especially unlucky, but even that stops being clear altogether.

For once, Jihoon is staring at him too. His gaze snaps at him, almost reflexively, the moment he steps foot into the classroom. Hoseok can't help the soft gasp that crosses his lips. The ugly bruising on the left side of his face, blooming from his temple all the way to his cheekbone and brow sharpens his glare to a terrifying degree and almost makes Hoseok stop dead in his tracks. His feet shuffle against the linoleum before his brain can get them back in line, but his eyes are left to their own devices. He can't look away.

"Yeah, yeah, take a good look," Jihoon spits and Hoseok forces himself to turn away. He hears some of his friends scoff behind his back as he makes his way to the front row. 

"What the hell..." he whispers as he sits down next to Jungkook. "What happened to–"

Jungkook is staring at him too, eyes rounded in concern and lip trapped between his gnawing teeth.

"Kook?"

"I have to tell you something," he blurts and looks away.

"What?" Hoseok frowns, ducking his head to try and regain eye contact. "Kook, what's going on?"

Jungkook looks at him and takes a deep breath before asking, very slowly, articulating each word as though they were mines in a field.

"How do you know Kim Namjoon?"

Hoseok freezes. Jungkook notices. Hoseok notices Jungkook noticing. Neither of them are subtle in the slightest and as Hoseok body turns to stone in his seat, Jungkook's eyes roam all across his body until they land on his hand, gripping the edge of the desk so hard that his knuckles bleach.

"Why?" Hoseok shakes his head. "He– he's a friend from high school, he's tutoring me for a class right now."

Jungkook perks up a little. "He's my friend too! Um, I mean– I'm happy you know him, I don't know how I'd explain this to you if you didn't. I guess it makes more sense, since you're friends..."

"What makes more sense?" He frowns, but then shakes his head again. "Look, I wouldn't exactly say we're friends, but we definitely know each other. What the hell happened?"

"Well, he must think you're friends. I can't imagine anyone punching a guy in the face for someone they just 'know,' especially Namjoon of all people."

"Excuse me, what?" Hoseok blinks. He reaches across the desk and wraps his fingers around Jungkook's wrist as tightly as he was gripping the table. "What did you just say?"

"I know, right?" Jungkook huffs. "Never knew he had it in him."

"He punched... he punched someone? He punched Jihoon ?" Hoseok hisses.

Jungkook nods vigorously and grips Hoseok's wrist in return.

"You know there was that party with all the dance people?"

Hoseok nods slowly. He doesn't like where this is heading.

"Well, he’s not really a party guy, but I convinced him to come with me..."

Hoseok can't imagine Namjoon at a party. He can't imagine Namjoon drinking or playing games or dancing. The thought of him actually punching someone in the face is even more far fetched.

"At some point I thought I lost him and next thing I know, he's socking a guy right across the face and bolting through the door."

Jungkook seems just as confused as he is. Hoseok thinks that perhaps Jungkook was hoping he could provide him with some missing pieces, but Hoseok was still trying to connect the dots. Somehow, this was supposed to lead to him. Namjoon punching Jihoon was supposed to connect to him, but he could not for the life of him imagine how.

"Do you know why?" Hoseok asks. "Why he punched him, I mean."

"Um," Jungkook clears his throat and blushes. "Did you date that guy or something? I didn't really hear what happened, but apparently he was saying some pretty nasty shit about you right before Namjoon..."

Hoseok feels like he's about to throw up. Something wedged deep in his throat is threatening to crawl out, roaring at him to run out the door as fast as he can. He needs to get out of the room. No, he needs to get out of the building. He needs to be outside right now, or else his heart is going to burst through his chest. 

"Jungkook," he chokes. "Kook, I need to go."

"It's okay, class starts in five minutes."

"No, I mean I need to go. I can't be here," Hoseok's breathing is speeding up. He's having trouble speaking clearly, without heaves interrupting his syllables.

"I know," Jungkook nods and starts stacking his stuff on his desk. "I'm saying let's ditch before the prof gets here. This class sucks balls, anyway."

Jihoon doesn't say anything when they walk past him, but Hoseok still holds his breath until they are out in the hallway.

"I'm hungry," Jungkook announces.

Hoseok feels like any food he puts in his body right now will make its way out of him relatively quickly. This probably means that he should definitely eat something.

Hoseok is grateful when Jungkook guides them past the indoor food court and out the front door. Their school is on a small hill and the main road at the bottom, past some of the dorm buildings, has some really great cafes and restaurants. He assumes that’s where they are headed. 

"There’s a cafe that does good breakfast," Jungkook explains, pointing in a vague direction towards a restaurant neither of them can see yet. "Cheap too," he adds.

They make their way down the hill and Hoseok pretends he doesn't notice Jungkook glancing over at him the entire time. He must look as distressed as he feels.

The cafe is quiet and Jungkook asks the waitress if they can sit by the big windows with a big toothy smile. He's unbearably cute, Hoseok thinks, and the blushing waitress seems to agree.

"I already know what I want," Jungkook declares, pushing his unopened menu away from him, and snuggles into the warmth of his jacket.

"You come here a lot?" Hoseok asks for the sake of asking. It's clear he does, but every second of silence that passes between them sends Hoseok's brain spiralling. He can't afford to lose his only chance at a distraction.

"Few times," Jungkook beams. "Namjoon brought me."

Well, there goes that.

"Are you, uh... close with Namjoon?" he asks, lowering his gaze to the menu.

"I'd say pretty close," he chuckles. "We met a couple years ago because two of our friends started dating. I was super intimidated by him at first, until I realized he's just an awkward gay."

"I... see..."

Hoseok has no idea what to say. He can't get the image of Jihoon's busted face out of his head, not to mention the convenient reminder that Namjoon was the one who busted it. The reason behind it is territory that Hoseok will not dare tread.

The waitress shows up and takes down their orders. Hoseok zones out throughout their short interaction and ends up ordering the same thing Jungkook is getting.

"Don't worry so much," Jungkook says. "I doubt that guy even knows his name."

"What?" Hoseok blinks, snapping out of the haze of his thoughts.

"Namjoon won't get into trouble," Jungkook explains in what Hoseok is sure he thinks is a reassuring way. "Besides, it's not your fault, yeah? Namjoon made that decision on his own, it's not like you asked him to punch that guy."

At that moment, it dawns on him that Jungkook is under the impression that Hoseok is worried about Namjoon getting into trouble and he almost laughs. It's a funny thought, but what's less funny is the real reason Hoseok's body refuses to calm down from panic mode. This real reason eludes him and remains a mystery no matter how hard he tries to make sense of the situation.

"Right, for sure," Hoseok nods and hopes his acquiescence is believable enough for Jungkook to drop the subject

"It's kind of nice, though! For Namjoon to throw a punch... he must really care about you. Getting into trouble is an afterthought at that point," Jungkook chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Hoseok stares up at Jungkook; he can feel the absolute horror painted dark all over his face, but Jungkook is too busy staring out the window with his chin perched in his palm. He looks younger, basking in the sunlight with a small smile on his face. For every bit he looks serene, Hoseok feels his panic roar into a louder and louder boil.

"But damn, the look on his face," Jungkook whistles softly. "I’d never seen him mad like that."

Shut up, Hoseok begs in his head. He can't breathe. He needs to breathe, but Jungkook won't stop talking.

"Didn't know he was that strong, either," Jungkook snorts. "Kinda hot, to be honest."

Hoseok is going to die in this restaurant. He's going to die in the restaurant Namjoon brought Junkook to and he's going to die thinking about Namjoon. He's going to die with the image of Namjoon, with his big body and wide shoulders, punching the object of his nightmares across the face. This is how he meets his end, with the memory of a Namjoon he didn’t even get to see himself.

"Oh, shit!" Jungkook exclaims, bursting out of his own reverie and slamming his hands against the table. "Please don't tell him I said these things! I'm not even sure I was supposed to tell you about the punching thing... I don't know if that was supposed to be a secret."

What gave Namjoon the right to punch his ex? Why would he? Hoseok supposes he's allowed to punch whoever he wants, but now he's involved in this. Namjoon's little outburst has associated Hoseok with him and his misplaced heroism. The thought makes his chest heat, it makes his heart pound with excitement. It can only mean one thing. 

He has to take advantage of this. He simply has to. It’s the only logical choice. For once, Hoseok knows something Namjoon doesn't. For once, he has the advantage.

"Dont worry, Kookie," Hoseok mumbles absently. "I won't tell him."

They have a tutoring session coming up, their first one since reading break, which means Hoseok needs a game plan. He knows something Namjoon doesn’t, but he needs to know more. 

He needs to know where they stand, because it seems that the other knows what the other is missing and Hoseok is determined to find out what. 

The advantage stops being satisfying the moment he sees Namjoon’s bandaged hand and the harsh reality of the situation sobers him. 

He is already sitting at their table when Hoseok arrives five minutes early to their sixth session. He watches Hoseok as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. He follows the movement of his body until he sits down across from him and keeps staring when Hoseok doesn’t speak. 

The dragon eyes are far less breathtaking with dark circles hanging from them. Namjoon looks drained, down to the last drop.

Hoseok has seen him tired before, but never enough to stop the fidgeting. Namjoon is so exhausted that his built-in anxiety is exhausted. Hoseok hesitates, the fight inside him suddenly harder to find.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," Namjoon replies, but his voice croaks, like these were the first words he's spoken aloud in days.

He's flipping through various reading print-outs, organizing them into piles or slipping them into a clear folder he then sets aside. Hoseok watches him with a frown; Namjoon looks frazzled, clearly unused to his new, limited mobility. When one of the sheets snags on a crooked staple and Namjoon almost rips the packet in half, Hoseok's hands glide across the table.

"What happened to your hand?" he asks, gently tugging the stubborn sheet loose. "Here," he adds in a whisper, once it's free. Namjoon either doesn't hear or resents the single moment of kindness Hoseok has shown.

"None of your business," Namjoon mumbles, dragon eyes lowered towards the mess of papers. He shuffles around a few more before finally looking at Hoseok.

"Let's start," he announces.

"Okay," Hoseok says in the same soundless whisper. The fight is no longer lost in him, but gone entirely. This was not the Namjoon it wanted to spar.

"I wanted to take a different approach for today's session,” he begins, but makes no move towards the readings or even Hoseok's laptop. "So, let's start with you telling me why you took this class."

"None of your business."

The words are out of his mouth before Namjoon gets through the last syllable of his sentence and it's their first session all over again.

Hoseok sits straight in his chair, spine straining and hands gripping the edge of the table.

"Excuse me?" Namjoon arches a brow, but he is clearly not amused. Something in the air tells him that Namjoon came with some of his own fight. His guard is up, so Hoseok raises his. The fight in him finds its way back and paints a smug smile across his lips.

"It's none of your business why," he scoffs.

"I don't know about that," Namjoon replies. Hoseok is furious when he matches his smile. He's wearing the smugness he was supposed to be wearing, the same smugness he was supposed to use to finally put Kim Namjoon in his place. When did the tables turn? Why was Kim Namjoon ready for a fight? What did he know?

"You ask me to tutor you for free and I agree. I think the least you can give me in return is an explanation," Namjoon finishes, folding his hands together on top of the table as best he can with two fingers wrapped together. 

He stares at Hoseok with that dead look he hates, the one that calculates and refuses to be calculated in return. Hoseok knows there are raging waters behind that solid wall of sharp calm, but he has yet to see anyone break through it.

The fight roars inside him, all flames and hellfire. Unlike Namjoon, it's probably written all over his face.

There is an edge there somewhere and Hoseok makes a running start towards it. He wonders what he could possibly say to piss Namjoon off and then, says it.

"Tell me how you hurt your hand and I'll think about it," he smirks and then sneers like a maniac when Namjoon's eyes actually widen. 

When it's taken aback, Hoseok thinks, the dragon makes for quite the kitten. He enjoys it more than he should. 

"I told you, it's none of your business," he spits.

"Great, right back at ya'," Hoseok shoots back and shrugs.

Namjoon takes a deep breath that does little to calm him. "I think it's a reasonable–"

"You would think it's reasonable." He rolls his eyes and for one beautiful moment, for a single burning second, Namjoon looks like he's going to launch himself across the table. Hoseok even braces himself for it, manic grin and all, but nothing comes.

To his absolute horror, Namjoon pours cold water over the heating tension Hoseok had so meticulously sparked and relaxes in his chair. He pulls the sheets of paper closer to him and begins to scan through them.

"Fine," he says, bone dry. "Let's skip to the articles, then."

"Fine," Hoseok hisses through grinding teeth, and it's anything but.

He can't believe Namjoon diffused the fight before it even began, subdued Hoseok and robbed him of his raging brawl. This wouldn't do. He needed to backtrack, cling to the receding embers of heat still radiating off Namjoon. He was mad, that was for sure. Hoseok had been so close, he'd seen it. He was mad . How does he light that fire again? How does he make a fire out of ice?

He needs to be careful, practice some stealth and steer them back to the fire. 

"I made some notes for you this time, I figured we could compare–"

"Why did you punch my ex?!" 

Hoseok shouts the question, slamming both his hands against the table and rising to his feet.

It doesn't light a fire, but at the very least, Namjoon looks more like a baffled kitten again, rather than anything that can breathe fire. 

"Why are you taking this class?"

Hoseok attacked first, but Namjoon is not far behind. They stare at each other, Hoseok breathing hard and Namjoon unblinking, each waiting for the other to show his hand first, now that the bets have been raised.

For a second, it looks like Namjoon recovers. The dragon eyes flash in Hoseok's direction, but there's something in them that stumbles, tripping over Namjoon's soft frown and twitching lips. It's sharpness dulls above the flush across Namjoon's cheeks and the soft wrinkle of his nose.

And then, right before his eyes, Namjoon does the unthinkable and finally melts.

"Don't look at me like that," Namjoon whispers and Hoseok almost trips over himself at how desperate he sounds, a plea more so than a complaint. "I can take all the glares and the dirty looks, but I hate it when you look at me like that."

"Like– like what?" Hoseok frowns, trying hard to keep the flames of his anger alight. He wasn’t expecting that. Of all the things he could call him out on, Hoseok didn’t expect Namjoon to look so hurt over the burning scowl he’s directed at him from the moment he walked up to his desk. 

Namjoon stands up and takes a step towards Hoseok. He doesn’t tower over him, but he’s tall enough, his gaze still sharp enough, to make Hoseok feel small. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t feel small next to Kim Namjoon. 

“Like you hate me,” Namjoon says, voice impossibly low. “Like I’ve wronged you, somehow.”

“Well, maybe you have,” Hoseok snaps back with all the insolence he has left in him, but it doesn’t work. Namjoon looks worn out, more damage in the dragon eyes than Hoseok could even dream of inflicting, way more than he intended to. He suddenly feels very sick. 

“Then why ask me to tutor you?” he asks like he already has an answer. “Why did you take this class, Hoseok?”

Hoseok is shaking. He can’t believe he stormed into their tutoring session ready to confront Namjoon and now he’s the one answering questions. No matter how bold his moments of confidence, Namjoon always has him cornered, always calls the shots. 

Fingers wrap around his wrists and Hoseok feels like his feet just hit the ground. The roughness of the gauze scrapes lightly against his skin. When Hoseok looks down, he doesn’t understand why he’s surprised to see a bandaged hand against his. 

Namjoon holds his wrists in his hands and brings them up between their bodies. 

“You’re shaking,” he says to Hoseok’s hands.

“I…” There is little Namjoon can do to stop Hoseok’s voice from quaking too. “I can’t believe you punched my ex,” Hoseok manages. 

“I can’t believe you took this class to validate your sexuality.”

In true Hoseok fashion, he bursts into tears. 

Somewhere in the scramble of his thoughts, he reminds himself that he is an ugly crier, but can’t bring himself to break free from Namjoon’s hold to cover his face. Instead, he grips back tighter as another sob wracks through his body. He can feel the tears running down his face and the snot about to drip down his nose, but ultimately, he feels that there is nothing he can do about it. There is nothing he can say to make sense of this defeat. 

Hoseok clenches his teeth together when Namjoon tugs him just a little closer. The gesture is made small by the hesitation in his touch. There is nothing sturdy about Namjoon’s grip, just delicate fear for the delicate and fearful person that Hoseok is. How naive of him to think that he could make it through this with his nemesis of all people. How stupid of him to look to the horizon and choose to see Namjoon instead of the oncoming breakdown. 

“Hoseok…” 

It is a sour warmth, but warmth nonetheless. 

Coming from Namjoon, he’ll take it. If it’s coming from Namjoon, he’ll take it, still thawing and terribly damp. 

“What’s the matter?”

He doesn’t ask about the class. He knows it’s not about the class. Namjoon has slid all the papers away from them. Gender studies is not the culprit here and judging by the fingers running slow circles across the back of Hoseok’s hand, Namjoon might think he is instead. 

“Is it me you’re mad at?” 

“What?” Hoseok sniffles.

“I said,” Namjoon speaks slowly, voice so low that it makes the hairs at Hoseok’s nape stand. “Is it me. You’re mad at.”

“I don’t know,” Hoseok whispers and tries to pull his wrists out of Namjoon’s hold. He doesn’t try hard enough, not in the least. He doesn’t try on purpose. He can’t deny the relief he feels when Namjoon’s hold only tightens. 

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “What if it’s not you?”

“Then tell me, so I can help,” Namjoon tugs at him gently, but Hoseok follows like someone had shoved him into Namjoon. 

His forearms are almost pressed against Namjoon’s chest. His neck tilts far back to meet the dragon eyes halfway. They search him far and wide, they beg him to speak when they find nothing. 

“What if it is you?” he whispers and gasps when Namjoon pulls him closer, even if there is nowhere to go. Even if all it does is press Hoseok closer to him. 

Hoseok shivers violently when Namjoon’s face dips to the side, when his lips graze against the hair at the crown of his head. 

“Then tell me,” he whispers right into his ear, “so I can help.”

Hoseok doesn't think Namjoon can help him anymore. It feels wrong to ask. He's not sure Namjoon even understands the task at hand, the magnitude of what he is offering. It's unfair to ask Namjoon to waste efforts on a hopeless case. That's a cruel trick, even between them.

If only he hadn't asked so sweetly. If only Hoseok’s will stood as strongly as his grudges.

"I don't get it," he admits. "I thought I'd get it by now, but I don't."

"You're not talking about the class."

Hoseok sighs and frowns at their joint hands. He has trouble recognizing them as theirs. "I am, in a way. It was supposed to help... You see the course title and think if anything is going to make it make sense, it's this."

"I see," he breathes.

"Do you?" Hoseok dares to glance up at Namjoon. He almost gasps when he finds him already staring, considering him with a slight tilt of his head.

"I see where you're coming from, but the humanities aren't for finding answers. It's about critiquing and questioning," he explains and almost looks sorry for doing it.

"Yeah, I figured that one out after the first class," Hoseok snorts and then pulls his hands out of Namjoon's hold, but finds that the hostility is not directed at him.

"Hoseok?"

"But you'd think one of these fucking authors would at least fucking mention pansexuality once !" he snaps, gesturing at the heap of readings they left scattered across the table. "You'd think you'd stumble upon a goddamn honourable mention in a goddamn gender and sexuality course, but no! How are you gonna talk about queer theory without talking about the queers– are you laughing at me?"

Namjoon's uninjured hand is plastered over his mouth, but his quaking shoulders give it all away. He's laughing and Hoseok can't even be mad about it. He tries to remember the last time he heard this laugh and comes out empty. He thinks that it might be genuine.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chuckles, waving his hands in front of him. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise. You're..."

Namjoon's gaze softens to such an alarming degree that it makes him look drowsy. He takes a step forward and gives himself permission to take hold of Hoseok's wrists again. He uses the thumb on his good hand to press into Hoseok's palm and watches it run softly along the skin.

"You're right," he says and is granted Hoseok's full attention. 

"I am?"

"Yeah, I'd definitely call it a shortcoming, one of many. But..."

Namjoon lowers their hands and pulls Hoseok back towards him. Hoseok’s hands land on his broad chest, palms open and fingers spread. When Namjoon sighs, Hoseok feels his own body shift forward, in spite of the heat gathering in his stomach and creeping up his neck.

"You're looking for genuine human support at an academic circle jerk."

"Is– is that an actual expression?" Hoseok blinks.

Namjoon laughs again and Hoseok doesn't fight the smile sneaking across his lips.

"No, but what you're looking for... Hoseok, you were never going to find it through a university course." 

The look on Namjoon’s face falls just short of pity, which makes Hoseok suspect compassion in its stead. He finds he likes it, being on the other end of Kim Namjoon’s compassion. The chaos that looms above his head feels infinite, but at the very least, Namjoon’s hold on his hands reminds his feet to touch the ground. 

“What do I do?” he asks and tenses, wondering if this is too far for Namjoon’s help to stretch. 

“I mean, I guess you talk to someone? This is shit you talk about with your friends over coffee or whatever, just… just not from fucking Foucault, okay?”

Hoseok sniffles and nods. The weight lightens enough to become bearable and he allows himself a nice, deep breath. He feels himself calm down right in his chest and judging by his face melting into a smile, Namjoon feels it too. Hoseok pretends he’s not relieved when Namoon still doesn’t let go. 

“So when?” he asks.

Namjoon lets go.

He blinks. “Uh, what?”

“When do you want to go for coffee? To talk,” Hoseok asks, frowning. What the hell was Namjoon’s problem?

Namjoon’s entire face heats up rather dramatically. A bright pink blush spreads across his cheeks and a similar blotchy redness patches his neck as well. His eyes are wider than he could ever imagine them being, as they shifted in every direction but Hoseok’s face. 

“Wait, me? You want me? ” he splutters.

“You said you’d help me!”

“I said– I… yeah, I did,” he relents, scratching at the back of his head. “I definitely want to help.”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to snatch his wrists. He tugs them away from his neck and cradles them gently in the air between their chests. He has no idea what he’s doing, but it made him feel better when Namjoon did it, so he’s returning the favour. 

“It’ll be like tutoring, yeah? We can even do it at our usual time?” he shrugs. “Just a different location.”

“Right, yeah…” Namjoon clears his throat and stares widely at their joint hands. “Just like tutoring.”

Hoseok almost beams, while part of him wonders why Namjoon is looking a little pale. He wants to ask him, but the other questions buzz much louder in his stomach. He stares down at the bandaged hand, almost in disbelief. It’s all the evidence of what Namjoon did right there in front of him. He cradles the injured hand in one of his, while he traces the edges of the gauze with his finger.

The study room is dead quiet. The sound of his own breathing is the only sound he hears as he continues to draw patterns against the bandage. Oddly enough, he can’t hear Namjoon’s.

“Did it hurt?” he asks, quietly. His thoughts are a mess, but somehow he feels at ease. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon admits, voice hoarse. “Just a couple fractures, though.”

Hoseok hums and frowns at the hand. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, let alone how to describe it. Looking at the bandaged hand makes him upset, but the anger is not directed at Namjoon. He doesn’t understand this anger. It doesn’t cut through him like a fiery blade, it doesn’t rob him of any control and it especially doesn’t cloud his thoughts. 

He wants to ask more questions, he can feel them swarming his brain, but he can’t seem to formulate them into coherence. What does he want to know, exactly? What else is there to know? Hoseok has all the information, all the details of what happened, but still can’t make sense out of any of it. What’s missing in this picture?

“I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t you,” Namjoon says. 

“W-what?” Hoseok stammers, glancing between the injured hand and Namjoon’s face. He has him fixed again, the dragon gaze narrowed and staring hard into his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have punched him if he wasn’t talking about you,” he elaborates and swallows loudly. “If that’s what you were wondering.”

When the swarm in his mind settles, Hoseok realizes he can’t remember the last time his thoughts were so quiet. The buzz dies down and the boil simmers to a stop. His body is enveloped in a tranquility it does not recognize. 

Or more so, a warmth he thought had escaped him long ago. 

“I– thank you,” he sighs. “You didn’t have to but–”

He yelps when Namjoon pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Hoseok’s shoulders. His nose bumps into his collarbone and Hoseok takes the opportunity to breathe in Namjoon’s scent, a weird mix of earth, deodorant, and cologne. He likes how comforting it is and leans into it. 

All of this is fleeting, he thinks to himself as he reaches his arms around Namjoon’s body. It’s fleeting and so, he must take as much as he can before it’s gone again. Hoseok spreads his fingers wide apart against the expanse of Namjoon’s back, trying to touch as far as possible. 

In this moment he is convinced is fleeting, he allows himself this tenderness. 

When Hoseok relays the events that took place during their last tutoring session to Jimin, he does so in passing, casually mentioning the embarrassing details as they cook dinner together. It takes him a couple seconds too long to realize that Jimin has long dropped his knife and is staring at him.

"W-what?" Hoseok stutters.

"Coffee."

"Yes?"

Jimin nods once and then some more to himself. He looks like he's about to pick up the knife again, but changes his mind, turning to look at Hoseok instead.

"Not for tutoring."

"N-no..." Hoseok doesn't know why he's nervous, but Jimin is looking at him like his inquiries have wrong answers. "Just to talk."

"About your... sexuality."

"Right."

Jimin nods again and this time, actually picks up the knife before dropping it on the counter again a mere second later.

"Can you just–"

His shoulders tense, Jimin grips the edge of the counter and bites down on his lip. Hoseok isn't exactly sure what's wrong with him, but he looks like he's thinking hard about something.

"Chim?" Hoseok leans over to try and get a better glimpse of his face. Jimin screws his eyes shut, like he's desperately trying to hold something back.

"Can you just promise me one thing? One thing. And I won't say anything else?" he speaks, very quickly.

"Uh... sure?"

Hoseok was already confused, but is even more so when Jimin chuckles to himself before looking at him again. His face is infinitely more relaxed than it was moments ago, but there is a glimmer in his eyes that almost makes Hoseok want to run away.

"Let me dress you."

"What?" Hoseok yelps. "For the coffee thing? Why?"

"Just–" Jimin pauses and takes a deep breath. He reaches over to wrap a hand around Hoseok's wrist and looks at him with a tight smile that does not reach his eyes. "Please? Just let me dress you this once?"

"Okay..." Hoseok agrees, albeit with great reluctance.

A grin curls and stretches over Jimin's face. "Fantastic," he says and picks up the knife for good this time.

Hoseok cannot make sense of the exchange, but Jimin does not bring up his coffee meeting with Namjoon until the following week. 

It was nearing the end of his first year of high school when Hoseok's parents gave him an ultimatum. 

This was how it started.

He remembers that Sunday, the afternoon sun seeping through the kitchen window, his mother's eyes brimming as his father spoke. It was a simple choice and, in the standards of a financially precarious household, a fair one. Even then, between his young age and bright dreams, he knew his folks meant well when they broke his heart. Even then, he did not hold it against them, he did not put up a fight, but in classic Hoseok fashion, he cried himself to sleep every night for the rest of the week.

They were not rich. They had never been rich and compared to his classmates' situations, they weren't exactly comfortable either, but Hoseok never thought that they'd make him choose. It never crossed his naive teenage mind that this instability would ruin his goals, that his parents' financial worries would stretch so far that they seeped and stained their way into Hoseok's future. In the end, that's all it was. They were worried about money and they were worried about him. They were worried and for that, he couldn't blame them.

It still hurt when his parents sat him down one afternoon and told him that they could not pay for his university if he enrolled in the arts. With the tuition a little steeper and the job prospects a lot riskier, his parents were not willing to fund his dance career, but were more than happy to help with any other major outside the arts. If he didn't love his parents, Hoseok would have applied to the religion department out of pure spite.

But he did love his parents, so after the initial storm of devastation had passed, Hoseok threw himself into some research and came across a silver lining. If his parents wouldn't fund him, he would fund himself.

The government grant would cover most of his tuition. It was specifically meant for low-income students and Hoseok definitely met the academic requirements for it. He made sure to continue meeting those requirements all throughout high school and occupied the top ranks in all his classes until the very moment he graduated. He flung his existence into it and guilted himself straight to hell in the moments of weakness where he didn’t. Jimin and Taehyung scheduled study dates to trick him into hang-outs. His sister called him a nerd. His teachers praised him. For once, he felt like a protagonist. He felt like he was working toward something worth a sacrifice. 

No one was surprised when Kim Namjoon was appointed valedictorian. 

Hoseok made nothing of it. He expected it. But this was where it got worse.

He cried tears of joy when he was accepted into the program.

He was devastated when he was refused the grant that same week. 

On the weekend, Jimin came over. They drank in his bedroom until Hoseok was drunk enough to refuse his acceptance into the dance program he dreamed about, but could not pay for. Sprawled on his bed moments before passing out, he asked Jimin to hit accept on his second choice program offer. In the morning, he was a kinesiology major and the grant stopped mattering. 

Weeks later, Hoseok almost threw up on stage at their convocation when their principal announced Namjoon’s name and congratulated him for receiving said grant, among many other awards. Suddenly, the grant mattered again. 

The rest of the day went by in a haze. He celebrated with his friends and their families, scattered across the field outside, and managed to avoid talking to Namjoon, but did not let him out of his sight. He hugged relatives and smiled for the pictures, but his eyes always trailed over to Namjoon, took note of his brand new suit, the necklace his mother was wearing, the shiny cars his family piled into. He’d been to his house before. He remembered it did not look like his. 

“You should text him,” Jimin said that night, after the party was over and everyone had left. He glanced down at his phone, nibbling anxiously at his lip. “He’s asking if you’re okay. He wants to know what he did wrong.”

“I can’t believe he applied,” Hoseok sniffles. He was lying on his back, arm slung over his eyes, he couldn’t stop shivering. “He didn’t even tell me. He doesn’t even need it.”

“I understand, but you really should talk–”

“He knew I applied, Jimin.” 

“... he sounds worried.”

Hoseok snorted an ugly laugh and sat up on his elbows to look at Jimin. His best friend was sitting on the edge of the mattress, one hand running up and down his leg soothingly, while the other scrolled through a text conversation, presumably with Namjoon.

“He wasn’t worried when he applied to a grant made for low-income students, why the fuck is he worried now?”

“Hoseok…” Jimin's voice broke and Hoseok backed off. “I– I know, but… it’s not like he’s not allowed to apply. It’s shit but… Hoseok, he doesn’t even know that’s what you’re mad about. I’m just saying you should talk to him.”

“Fine,” Hoseok hissed and lay back down. “Then can you just let me be mad, please? Just for a little bit. Can I have that? Am I allowed to be mad?”

Jimin pocketed his phone and crawled up the bed. Hoseok felt him shift next to him until Jimin was cradling his head in his lap, running his fingers through his damp hair. 

“Of course… Hoseok, I–” his fingers stalled for a moment, but ended up dragging down his skull. 

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok.”

Jimin did not bring it up again and he appreciated that. The issue, however, was that neither did Hoseok. 

The issue was that Hoseok stayed mad. He stayed mad until he got used to it and then, at first, it became a fact known between friends that Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon hated each other. 

Hoseok didn’t know if Jimin stayed in touch with Namjoon and Taehyung was never that close to him anyway, but this fact traveled and traveled among their classmates through unexpected run-ins and impromptu reunions. It traveled until it was common knowledge that Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon hated each other, to the point where Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon themselves thought they hated each other.

These things meant the world the way everything did when you’re in high school. None of it mattered anymore, not the way it did, but they were all living behind the grime of its residue. 

Now, standing outside of the cafe where they’re meeting, Hoseok catches his reflection in the window. It confirms his suspicions. He looks as ridiculous as he did in his mirror at home. The only difference is that this reflection does not have Jimin lurking behind him, whispering lies into his ear. 

He doesn’t know why Jimin insisted on dressing him, let alone why he chose this outfit, but the entire ordeal left him feeling bubbly and nervous all at once. He looks different, way different than how he sees himself in his mind’s eye. Watching himself return his stare in the window, he becomes very aware of his existence and the fact that he is about to meet up with Kim Namjoon for coffee.

In the reflection, against the background of the cozy cafe they picked out together, Hoseok looks at himself and thinks that he does not look like a person who hates Kim Namjoon. 

“Hey.”

At the sound of the nearby voice, Hoseok spins around and vows to never question Park Jimin ever again.

It’s unfair how good Namjoon looks in a denim jacket and glasses. Hoseok especially doesn’t appreciate the lack of headwear, a staple in Namjoon’s usual outfits. It’s clear that he’s made an attempt at wearing his hair away from his face, but the autumn breeze is having none of it. This must be the ‘charm’ Jimin wanted to prepare him for. 

“Hi,” Hoseok chuckles when Namjoon jogs up to him. He looks disoriented, eyes darting from Hoseok to the cafe window and then, very quickly, back to Hoseok. 

“Hey,” he says again, a little breathless. “No colours today.”

Namjoon gestures at his outfit and Hoseok looks down at himself, snorting at the black leather jacket and white T-shirt combination. 

“Jimin’s monochrome masterpiece,” he explains, pulling the ends of the jacket away from his body to showcase the black jeans and black belt. The leather moves stiffly; he’s worn the jacket once before. 

“Jimin dressed you?” Namjoon seems surprised, as he reaches to open the door to the cafe. 

“He insisted,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “He’s a big fan of yours.”

“Is he now…”

Hoseok hums and walks past Namjoon. The cafe is not as quiet at their usual study space, but the atmosphere is lighter. Namjoon guides him to a table in one of the brighter corners of the space, the one surrounded with the most houseplants. 

When Hoseok sits down, Namjoon doesn’t.

“Vanilla latte?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah…” Hoseok blinks. He must look surprised because Namjoon grins, bright and mischievous. 

“I pay attention, Jung,” he says and winks at him before heading to the counter. 

Hoseok watches him retreat and proceeds to gape into empty space until Namjoon returns with their drinks. He places the latte in front of Hoseok, who almost forgets to thank him, too busy trying to remember the exact moment he shared his drink order with Namjoon. He comes out of his thoughts empty handed. 

“Thanks,” he says and takes a tentative sip. It burns his tongue, but it’s good. 

“No worries,” he smiles. He looks way too casual, sipping at his coffee, eyes wandering around the cafe before they land back on Hoseok. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Good?” Hoseok shrugs and flinches when his voice cracks. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Come out to you when… well,” he shrugs. 

“When some jerk at a party did it for you?”

Namjoon looks mad when he says it and it sends a thrill tingling up Hoseok’s spine. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles. “Don’t really know where to start.”

“Why don’t you start there,” Namjoon suggests. “If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“With Jihoon?” Hoseok balks.

“Oh, is that the asshole’s name? Good to know,” Namjoon huffs and looks away to take a sip from his coffee. 

Hoseok is endlessly amused by this. Whatever this weird masculine persona is, Hoseok is enjoying it a little too much when it’s both directed at his ex and coming from Namjoon.

“What is this?” he laughs. “Who is this macho Namjoon, mad at a guy he doesn’t even know?”

Hoseok laughs some more, but the smirk on Namjoon’s face is hardly impressed.

“The shit he was saying about you…”

Hoseok sighs. He’s over this. He’s been over it for some time now, despite all the weird repercussions that relationship ended up having on his sexuality. When it came to Jihoon himself, that was not a loss Hoseok took too personally. But clearly, Namjoon needs some help joining Hoseok on the other side. 

“Let me guess,” he sighs again and leans back in his chair. “He said that I think I’m pansexual, then something about him wasting time being my gay experiment, and then calling me a whore to finish it off? Oh! Or maybe a joke about me sleeping around?”

Namjoon stares back at him with wide eyes before lurching forward against the table. 

“He refers to himself as your gay experiment?!” he spits, eyes alight with a fury that Hoseok himself could never conjure in Kim Namjoon. 

“Ah, so he left that part out this time,” Hoseok chuckles. “But, yeah. In hindsight, wrong guy to entrust your first time with a man. Totally skewed my perceptions.”

“I hate this guy.”

“I mean, you did punch him,” Hoseok offers. Namjoon looks distraught and he doesn’t know if he should keep speaking so casually about Jihoon. 

“I’m glad I did,” he says, sneaking a glance to his bandaged hand before turning back to Hoseok. “He’s wrong, you know. I don’t even know where to start with how wrong he is.”

“Right, I know that. It’s just… I get it, okay? Sexuality is a social construction and whatever and there’s a bajillion labels and it doesn’t actually matter if I’m this or that–”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Namjoon interrupts, frowning over the edge of his mug. 

“Because it’s not real? Like, you go online and people aren’t even sure what pansexuality really is or why it’s different from bisexuality or just being queer or… It doesn’t really matter.”

“Hoseok, do you identify as pansexual?”

“Yes?”

“Then it matters.”

Hoseok throws his head back and sighs even louder. He understands what Namjoon is getting at, but at the end of the day, it’s all meaningless. 

“What’s the point of having all these sexualities if people won’t even know what you’re talking about?” he says. 

“Other people aren’t the point here,” Namjoon says and nudges him under the table with his foot until Hoseok is looking at him. “It’s what you feel comfortable identifying with. The label is for you, Hoseok. If you want to explain it to people, that’s up to you, but a label you choose? If you choose one, you choose it for yourself.”

“But there’s so many!” he argues. “There are so many labels, it’s stupid. What’s the point?”

“You’re the point,” Namjoon emphasises again and leans over the table. “Hoseok, is Jihoon gay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How come he can have a label and you can’t?” Namjoon shoots at him. “Why is it stupid when you have a label, but there’s no question about his?”

“It’s… it’s not,” he says and looks away, fighting the stinging in his eyes. “It’s not stupid. It’s just… why does it feel so complicated? Sometimes, I’m not even sure I understand it. I couldn’t even argue with him because he knew I didn’t fully...”

“He used it against you.”

“Oh, he had zero issue using it against me,” Hoseok scoffs. 

Right, so maybe he’s not completely over it. That makes sense. If he can hold on to a high school grudge for so long, a bad relationship should be a walk in the park. 

“I’m sorry you had a shit experience, Hoseok,” Namjoon says.

Hoseok startles in his seat when he feels Namjoon’s hand grab his. When Hoseok looks at him, he is overcome with the very odd desire to make Namjoon feel better. He’s glad he shared this with him, but Namjoon looks distraught and even more so, worried. He doesn’t want him to worry, not about his stupid ex of all things. What a waste of time. 

“It’s okay,” Hoseok says and offers Namjoon the brightest smile he can muster. “Besides, I’m the better dancer.”

“You still dance!” Namjoon jumps up in his seat. “That’s great!”

There’s something weird in the air, all of a sudden. Hoseok doesn't know whether to cling to it or let it float by. 

“Yeah, with Jimin and Jungkook. We’re part of a crew and everything…” he trails off and sends Namjoon a precursory glance. “You still… write music?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says and Hoseok can see it on his face when he senses it too. The tension in the air isn’t thick, but it hangs over their heads menacingly. Hoseok prays Namjoon doesn’t address it, he really hopes he doesn’t breach the topic. Not here, at least, not in the pretty cafe with the sweet drinks and the nice plants. Not with their hands warm against each other.

“Actually,” Namjoon continues. “I have something dropping next week. A mixtape, my first one.”

Hoseok feels like someone poured soda into his chest. A bubbly smile stretches across his face against his will, but it makes Namjoon’s eyes sparkle, so he doesn’t mind so much. 

“Hoseok…” Namjoon warns, but he’s a blushing, grinning mess sitting across from him. He looks so lovely flustered, Hoseok thinks. He’s never seen him flustered and he regrets not having figured out the formula ages ago. 

“Please?” Hoseok giggles. 

Namjoon eyes him, but it seems that Hoseok’s giddiness is contagious.

“Fine,” he grins.

Hoseok usually comes to this park on the weekends; he likes to cut through it on his way to the train station. The pretty trees and the small creek make for a more pleasant walk compared to the busy street on the opposite end of the block. The short bridge crossing over the creek is his favourite part. It’s a fancy bridge with a black iron railing, but it looks silly in the small park, out of place stretching over the man-made creek that most people could leap over. 

They walk past the line of tall trees and the bustling noise from the street fades behind them. The silence between them grows just heavy enough before Namjoon clears his throat. 

“This was supposed to be about you,” he says, glancing at Hoseok out of the corner of his eye. 

“We talked about me!” Hoseok protests. 

“For like, a second!”

“That’s all I needed,” Hoseok grins up at Namjoon. “You see, I have this really great tutor–”

“Shut up.”

“–he’s very smart and apparently, very strong–”

“Do not.”

Hoseok cackles as he reaches into Namjoon’s jacket pocket to pull out his bandaged hand. He holds it out in front of them and gasps dramatically, ignoring Namjoon’s embarrassed groaning. 

“–defends my honour in the face of queer gatekeeping!”

“Oh my God.”

Namjoon uses his other hand to cover his face, which only makes Hoseok laugh louder. 

Hoseok sees the bridge coming up on the trail, but doesn’t expect Namjoon to come to a halt right at its edge. 

“Here,” he announces. “It’s quiet enough and it’ll be nice with the water… trickling and shit.”

“Trickling and shit?” Hoseok snorts a laugh.

“Shut up– I just… Damn it ,” Namjoon curses to himself, struggling with the tangled mess of wire that are his earphones. He’s blushing and Hoseok is suddenly very excited about all of this. 

“Say, Namjoon,” he leers, leaning against the railing with his hands in his pockets. “You wouldn’t happen to be nervous, would you?”

Namjoon freezes in the midst of his battle with technology to glare at Hoseok. 

He jerks his chin at him and leers right back. “Say Hoseok, won’t you dance for me?”

Hoseok can feel the stupid flush burning up his neck and up to his ears. Judging by Namjoon’s shit-eating smirk, he must be sporting quite the shade of red. 

“You fucking–

“Oh? Nervous, are we?”

“Just– give me that!” Hoseok sputters and snatches the earphones out of Namjoon’s grasp. “Point made, now stop smiling like that.”

Namjoon does not stop smiling until Hoseok has untangled the earphones and they each have a bud in one ear, the wire hanging awkwardly to bridge the distance between them. He waits for the music to start, but Namjoon is taking his sweet time scrolling up and down his screen, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

“Namjoon,” he calls softly. “It doesn’t matter, I’m going to like it either way.”

“You don’t know that,” he shakes his head. “It needs to be–”

Hoseok reaches between them and taps blindly at the screen. Namjoon gasps when the music starts playing, but doesn’t make a move to stop it. He clicks the screen shut and raises his eyes to watch Hoseok, as the music flows between them

Namjoon’s voice follows and it’s Hoseok who’s left gasping. 

He’s singing. Namjoon is singing so softly and sweetly, it makes something in his chest clench so tight, it’s unbearable. He didn’t know he could sing. The few bits and pieces of his work Hoseok has listened to before were always rap. He never knew Kim Namjoon could sound like this. 

The rapping comes, eventually, but its lull cradles the same sadness of the rest of the song. So much sadness that it overflows with it, so much of it that it makes Hoseok feel safe surrounded by lonely lyrics. 

Namjoon is watching him, his face holding the worry of the entire world and Hoseok wants nothing more than to wipe it away, to bring the dragon eyes back to life. 

He holds his gaze, reaching for him, and ends up grasping the hem of his jean jacket. He wants to tell him how beautiful the song is because it is. The song is beautiful. The lyrics are beautiful. His voice is beautiful. Every piece of Namjoon that made the song and every piece he left behind inside it are beautiful.

They don’t move as the song goes on. Namjoon was right about the creek, too. Hoseok doesn’t want to move away from here, he doesn’t want the moment to wind down. He tugs desperately at the hem of Namjoon’s jacket trying to keep it all afloat. 

Despite his efforts, the song flows to an end. But this time, when he gives the jacket one last tug, relief floods him when Namjoon follows.

The earphone wire sways and folds downwards as Namjoon takes a single step towards him. The distance closes in a single sweep and then disappears entirely when two hands appear on either side of Hoseok’s face. The gauze scratches against his skin when Namjoon runs his thumb across his cheekbone. 

“Okay,” Namjoon mutters in a soft whisper that dances over Hoseok’s mouth. “Alright.”

He shivers against the warmth of his breath and then again when their lips crash together. 

The second song begins and it’s just as soft, but with a fading sadness. Namjoon’s voice sings at a higher pitch, nurturing the soul and yes, healing. The second song must be about healing. He can’t make out the words well. Namjoon is kissing him. They are somewhere in the park and the words are somewhere in the background, but they are definitely healing. 

Hoseok wraps his arms around Namjoon’s neck, pulling their bodies closer. He feels the railing dig into his lower back, as Namjoon crowds him against it. What began as a hesitant kiss turns into something urgent, as Namjoon pries his lips apart with his and licks into his mouth. Hoseok complies and let’s go of whatever he was trying hard to hold back. He matches Namjoon’s intensity and kisses back with burning fervor. 

Namjoon moans low in his throat when he sucks at his bottom lip and Hoseok decides to do whatever it takes to hear that sound again. 

Hoseok lets his hands slide down from Namjoon’s neck and over his broad chest. It takes the entirety of his willpower to stop himself from squeezing as he moves down to his abdomen until his hands make contact with the leather of his belt. He glides his fingers across the waistband of Namjoon’s pants until he feels them. 

He slips his fingers through the belt loops of Namjoon’s jeans and pulls as harshly as he can without sending them flying over the edge. 

Namjoon grunts against his mouth when Hoseok's thigh presses between his legs. For a moment, they are panting inches apart, mouths open, before Hoseok pulls him back into another wet kiss. Namjoon melts into it and brings his hips flush against Hoseok’s before pulling away. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Hoseok, I…”

“Joon,” Hoseok whines and hooks a finger onto the collar of Namjoon’s shirt.

“Are you sure?"

Hoseok nods frantically, but stops Namjoon when he leans in to kiss him again. 

“Uh, it’s getting dark.”

It’s the truth. Namjoon looks up and Hoseok follows his gaze to the tops of the trees, where the evening light is fading dark behind the foliage.

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes and looks at Hoseok. “Guess it is.”

He begins to pull away slowly, but Hoseok doesn’t let him do that either. He almost laughs when Namjoon tilts his head to side, puzzled frown falling over his eyes. 

“Come home with me?” Hoseok asks, fingers still teasing the edge of Namjoon’s collar. He bites his lip, nervous about the answer he’s going to get. 

He can see Namjoon hesitating and as much as he hates to admit it, he saw this coming. Namjoon was far from an inconsiderate person and based on the type of day they’ve been having so far, Hoseok can’t blame him if he deems the situation too delicate. One of them has to be responsible, and Hoseok would regret it later if he chose to fulfill that role. 

“Hoseok,” Namjoon breathes and leans in. Hoseok lets him press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

Hoseok can’t help the smile that comes along with his nod. 

“Hoseok,” he says again and cups Hoseok’s face in both his hands. “You… you have to be sure, okay? I can’t do this if tomorrow you… I can’t handle that.”

“I won’t,” Hoseok says, nodding again. “I… I’m sure. I want you to come home with me.”

He feels Namjoon relax as the reluctance floods out of his body. Hoseok laces their hands together and drags Namjoon back to his apartment. 

Hoseok’s mouth is back on Namjoon’s the moment they burst through the door of his apartment. Namjoon manages to close it behind him, but the second the latch clicks into place, Hoseok shoves him against it. 

“This isn’t real,” Namjoon says, as Hoseok kisses up his neck. “There is no way this is real.”

“Shoes,” Hoseok breathes over a mark he just sucked right above Namjoon’s collarbone. 

They kick their shoes off and Namjoon lets Hoseok push him down the hall and into one of the bedrooms. Hoseok thanks the gods that he is a neat person in general and hopes that Namjoon doesn’t care much that his bed isn’t made. It doesn’t matter much; Hoseok pushes him towards the bed until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

Namjoon looks fantastic with his hair disheveled and his jacket hanging off his shoulders. He looks like something Hoseok wants to sink his teeth into and a single glance at his thighs straining against the material of his jeans gives him similar pleasant ideas. 

Hoseok straddles Namjoon’s hips and grinds down hard against him. The moan slips out of Namjoon’s lips again and Hoseok takes advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue between his parted lips. He kisses him, slow and languid, pushing and pulling again Namjoon’s mouth as he works their hips together. 

When he tastes the bitter coffee on his tongue, he freezes and pulls off. 

“Wait,” he pants and lets his forehead drop against Namjoon’s. “Hold on.”

“What is it? You okay?” 

Namjoon begins to pull away, but Hoseok tightens his hold on him. 

“You paid for the coffees,” he says. “And your hair is... You paid for the coffees and then we went for a walk in the park and you played your music for me on the bridge and you kissed me and–”

“And?” Namjoon breathes, looking up at Hoseok, confused and disoriented with the sudden breach of topic. 

Hoseok pokes a finger into Namjoon’s chest, but it’s weak, no heat to it. 

“You– you took me out on a date!”

A growl. It’s the only way to describe the guttural sound that leaves Namjoon’s throat when he flips their bodies over. 

Hoseok gasps and, in a flash, finds himself flat on his back with the mattress shifting underneath him, as Namjoon crawls over his body. His palms land on either side of his head, as he lowers himself down until their noses are almost touching. Strands of his hair come undone and fall over his face. Namjoon really has no business looking this attractive. 

“You’re crazy if you think this date was my idea,” he says right into his face and ducks down lower to nose at Hoseok’s neck. “...fucking years and… and you just… fuck , it’s still– ”

Hoseok takes Namjoon’s head in his hands and pushes him upwards so he can see him. Something’s not right in his voice, a little too broken for Hoseok’s liking. He wants to look at him when he says it, he wants to make sure he understands that he means it. 

His heart collapses somewhere into his ribcage when Namjoon’s eyes meet him. They’re damp and angry and Hoseok deserves every bit of it, he thinks. He’s finally managed to draw out the anger he’s always craved and now that it’s here, he never wants to see it again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I was mad and then I just stayed mad and I’m so sorry, Namjoon. I wish I hadn’t.”

Namjoon searches his face for a moment before kissing his lips, dry and soft. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he whispers. “For everything, but… but for the grant too.”

“Oh.” Hoseok startles and blinks.

Namjoon huffs a breathy laugh. “Jimin told me. He told me years ago, Hoseok. I really am sorry, if it means anything after all this time.”

Hoseok feels his eyes well up. This was it. This was the apology he spent so long chasing after, the validation he sought for his anger and resentment. This was it. It was the ultimate irony that the universe would wait for his anger to evaporate to deliver it to him. Of course, it would wait for him to taste Namjoon first, wait for him to drown surrounded by Namjoon before letting him have it. Namjoon apologized and Hoseok doesn’t even want it. He doesn’t even care. 

He finally has it, but he’s greedy. He doesn’t care. He wants more. It seems like he will die wanting more from Namjoon, but this time, he asks for it. 

“I’m not mad,” he whines and feels a tear run down his cheek. “Namjoon…”

Namjoon slides up his body and presses a kiss to the wetness in his eye.

“What is it? What do you need?” he asks, pressing kisses down the edge of his jaw. 

“Touch me, please.”

Namjoon swings his leg over to straddle him before kissing him again. The entire apartment is quiet, but the wet sound of their mouths and pants fill the room. Hoseok lets his hands wander down Namjoon’s body until he can pull his shirt up to his chest. Namjoon does not need to be told twice. He shrugs his jacket off and reaches back to tug his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the floor. He barely gives Hoseok enough time to take him all in before his mouth finds his neck again. 

When Namjoon finally sits up, Hoseok reaches out to trace a finger from his sternum down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“Take yours off,” Namjoon says and turns his attention to Hoseok’s pants.

Hoseok watches him unbuckle his belt and tug his jeans down to his thigh in one strong pull. He realises his boxers are bright orange and looks away from Namjoon’s smirk. 

“Hoseok,” Namjoon whispers. He runs his hand up his stomach, pushing the fabric of his shirt up with it. “Off, please.”

By the time Hoseok gets his shirt off, Namjoon is leaning down between his legs to mouth along the hardness in his boxers. A whine breaks out of Hoseok’s as he reaches to bury his fingers into Namjoon’s hair. 

“So pretty,” Namjoon speaks against the thin fabric.

“Don’t call me pretty,” Hoseok complains, but all the bite melts into another moan when Namjoon cups him over his boxers. 

“Will you get mad if I do?” Namjoon chuckles. His fingers slip under the waistband and pull. 

“Namjoon,” he whimpers when the cold hair is followed by Namjoon’s tongue running up his length. 

“Love when you get mad,” he breathes and Hoseok feels him smiling against his cock. “When you look at me all pissed off.”

Namjoon takes him into his mouth and sucks hard at his head, making Hoseok arch his back off the mattress. 

“Ah! Should’ve… should’ve known, you weirdo– ah, fuck!”

He hums as he takes him deeper, pretty lips sliding up and down. Hoseok feels the heat build inside him; he’s never been so sensitive before, but no one has touched him the way Namjoon is right now.

He sits up to sneak a peek and finds that he likes the dragon eyes best when they are gazing up at him from between his legs. 

“Namjoon, please,” Hoseok gasps and throws his head back, all the while reaching out a hand towards Namjoon. 

He lets his cock slip out of his mouth and fall, wet against Hoseok’s stomach before crawling up his body to meet him for a smoldering kiss. 

Namjoon’s eyes are dark and hooded, his hair out of place from where Hoseok’s fingers had tugged at the strands. He ruffles the neater side with one hand, while he reaches between them with the other. He smiles as Namjoon’s gasps into his mouth when he takes them both into his hands. 

“Let me take care of you,” he says and squeezes a whimper out of him. 

Hoseok jerks them off with Namjoon panting and whining against his mouth. He makes the most beautiful noises and faces, it almost distracts Hoseok from the pace he’s trying to maintain. 

“Hoseok, sweetheart, please,” he hisses.

“I’ve never seen you so good,” Hoseok teases softly. “How will I ever be mad again?”

Namjoon buries his face into Hoseok’s neck, hot breath spreading all across the sensitive skin there, as Hoseok picks up his pace, tightens his grip on them.

“I’ve got you, Joon,” he coos, but it leaves his mouth broken into pieces.

He feels Namjoon tremble against him as he comes, Hoseok following a few more strokes later. They sit there breathing hard against each other, hiding in each other’s necks. 

They’ve barely calmed down when Namjoon reaches between them, swipes at some of the come and spreads it over Hoseok’s chest. 

“What the fuck?! What was that for?” Hoseok yells and tries to scramble away without making an even bigger mess. 

He pushes at Namjoon’s chest, but doesn’t get far. Namjoon’s arms are wrapped tightly around his body, holding him in place to gaze right into his face with a bright, awful smile.

“There he is,” he beams.

Hoseok is not sure he actually slept through the night, too giddy and shell-shocked to keep his eyes closed long enough, unable to look away from the big body cuddled at his side hogging the sheets. 

He spends the first lazy minutes of his morning propped up on an elbow, tracing lines across Namjoon bare collarbones, all the way up the side of his neck, until his fingers bury into soft locks of hair. It’s probably what also wakes Namjoon up, but has trouble feeling too bad about it. 

“You okay?” Namjoon grumbles, rolling over to better snuggle Hoseok. 

“Hmmm… After that, definitely better,” he smiles. “You know what, maybe I’m just gay.”

“You know, you can be into me and still be pan, right?”

“Is that so?” he chuckles, tracing his finger down Namjoon’s forehead and along the bridge of his nose. 

“It is. Michel Foucault said so,” he mutters, his sleepy eyes crossing to look at Hoseok’s finger. He is obnoxiously cute and it’s an absolute crime. 

“Oh, did he?” Hoseok laughs. “Can you cite your sources, please?”

“Mmm, called me last night–” 

Hoseok snorts and rolls over giggling. 

“He did, he did. He said, you tell Hoseok that you can suck his dick and he can still be pansexual.”

“Stop!” Hoseok squeals in embarrassment and covers his face with the bedsheets. 

“He did!” Namjoon shifts next to him and he can feel his big body hovering over him. “I would’ve put him on speaker, but you don’t understand French.”

Hoseok pushes the sheets down with a gasp and looks up at Namjoon.

“And you do?!”

“Mmhmm,” Namjoon hums, a lazy leer stretching across his lips. “Here, let me show you.”

Hoseok yelps when Namjoon pulls the covers over their heads and slithers his way down Hoseok’s naked body. The dragon eyes are particularly cute in the morning, he thinks. 

“Mm, dragon eyes,” he says, running a hand through Namjoon’s hair. 

“Hm? Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hoseok smiles lazily and pushes himself into a seated position. Namjoon meets him halfway, sheets sliding over the crown of his head and down his shoulders. 

He reaches out to cup Namjoon’s hazy, blinking face and giggles. 

“What?” Namjoon huffs. 

“You know, you never showed me the rest of your music,” he says, finger tapping at Namjoon’s nose. He flinches with every tap and it’s a hundred worlds of endearing to watch. 

“Hmm,” Namjoon nods, eyes falling shut. Hoseok thinks it’s hilarious that he was about to blow him again in that state.  “Mind if we do it in bed?”

Namjoon pushes them back down against the mattress and curls himself along Hoseok’s body, warmth returning between their bare skin. He pulls the sheets over them and throws his phone into the tangle of their legs. 

He presses lazy kisses right under his ear, as the second song plays again. It’s the one about healing.