Chapter Text
Namjoon doesn’t have the time to set his bag down in his tiny room in peace; three seconds after he closes the door it opens again with an enthusiastic hiiii yelled by a no less enthusiastic Hoseok. Namjoon steps aside to avoid being tackled in a hug so Hoseok throws himself on his sheetless bed instead, butt bouncing on the mattress.
“Joon, my friend!” He exclaims. “I missed you so much!”
“You called me a week ago to tell me about your new pet turtle,” Namjoon answers. He rolls his eyes at his friend with a little smile.
“But calling is not the same as being together!” Hoseok protests. He takes the opportunity when Namjoon turns his back to him to grab him and throw him on the bed with him. “Reunited for two weeks, my bro! I missed your ugly face.”
Namjoon wrestles out of Hoseok’s embrace, shoving his hand in his face not too delicately. “I didn’t miss you at all,” He says. “Now get off, I need to make my bed.”
“What kind of fourteen years old grandpa are you, Joon? Teens don’t make their beds!”
“Well-mannered ones do,” Namjoon’s father says, appearing at the door and looking critically at Hoseok’s haphazardly made bed. Namjoon stiffens slightly and Hoseok immediately gets up from the bed, squeaking a bit under his gaze. “Hello, Hoseok.”
“Hello Mr Kim,” Hoseok says back as politely as possible. “It’s nice to see you.”
If his father wasn’t still there, Namjoon would laugh at him. Hoseok has always been a bit afraid of his father who he says is too rigid. Hoseok’s parents seem to be fun and sweet and loving and Namjoon doesn’t really know how to act when they pinch his cheek and ask all sorts of questions his own parents never ask, like Are you happy to be back? or Did you have fun this year?. Namjoon can see why his own father would make Hoseok uneasy. Sometimes when the two of them meet Namjoon wonders if he’s more embarrassed about his father or about Hoseok. He doesn’t like that feeling.
Namjoon’s father nods at Hoseok then turns to his son, depositing the suitcase next to Namjoon’s bed. “I trust you to train seriously, Namjoon. Do you have the money I gave you for the camp?” Namjoon nods. “Take care and remember to call your mother at least once a week, okay?”
“Drive home carefully,” Namjoon answers. He sags in relief when his father disappears and opens his suitcase to take his sheets out.
“Man, your father is so uptight,” Hoseok comments, grabbing the other side of the sheet to help Namjoon. “Has he ever told you he loves you?”
“Yes,” Namjoon answers, shaking the sheet out of Hoseok’s hands to annoy him. Once or twice, he doesn’t add. Hoseok’s mother tells him she loves him every single night; Namjoon knows it because his friend always blushes and gets embarrassed, mumbling a quick Love you too before the end of his daily call. Namjoon’s parents are just different from Hoseok’s, that’s all. It doesn’t mean they’re bad. Namjoon doesn’t want his friend to think his parents are bad.
“You wanna go to the beach?” Hoseok asks when Namjoon has finished organising his sports clothes in the shared closet. “Last day of freedom, let’s do something fun.”
“Don’t say that, camp is fun,” Namjoon protests, fishing his swimming shorts from under his underwear. Hoseok snorts but he doesn’t deny it : as much as he loves complaining about camp and it’s strict rules, Namjoon knows Hoseok loves table tennis just as much as he does.
They’ve shared a room at the camp every year for the five years they’ve been going and they’ve had several long, heartfelt discussions after curfew. He knows Hoseok’s expectations match his own: a professional team, dreams of winning the Open and the Olympics.
“If you say so. Now hurry up loser, I’ve been missing the sea too much!”
Hoseok happily sheds all clothes to run to the sea when they reach the beach but Namjoon, slightly complexed by his awkward long limbs, decides to keep his clothes on and simply stroll on the beach searching for crabs.
He finds only one crab and two of his camp friends instead. They call him over with large waves of their arms, gesturing to their shared beach towel to attract him quicker. Jimin is glistening with ocean water while Taehyung is clothed from head to toe, a large bob covering his entire face.
“Namjoon hyung!” Jimin says even before Namjoon reaches them. “Have you heard about the new guy in our group?”
“No?” Namjoon answers, carefully sitting next to them, a tiny crab delicately cradled in his hands. Taehyung aws at it while Jimin wrinkles his nose. He seems awfully excited about the new guy and that worries Namjoon slightly, though he knows Jimin has a tendency to get over excited over nothing. “Is he ranked?”
A scoff. “No! He doesn’t even play in a team! Mr Bang saw him play on the table in front of the center and he offered him to come.”
“In our group?” Namjoon asks, taken aback. “Not with the beginners?”
“He said he could tell the guy was talented,” Taehyung explains. “I agree that having him in the advanced group is a bit weird, but if he’s good…”
“We’ll see if he can follow,” Jimin says with a shrug. “Now please, please put that thing away from me before I fling it back into the sea.”
“I would like to see you try,” Namjoon answers. He still releases his little friend in the direction of the sea and watches it go, feeling vaguely sad over it. The ocean is so big. Namjoon wouldn’t like to be all alone in the immensity of it.
He shakes that idea out of his head and turns back to the discussion between Jimin and Taehyung who are updating each other on their lives since the last time they met. Namjoon is a human, and the perimeter he can go to is very, very limited. This is comforting, somehow.
The advanced group is small, immuable. Namjoon’s been returning to the camp every year for the last five years and the new guy is the new first introduction to it since little Jeongguk three years ago.
The addition doesn’t really make sense, according to Namjoon’s calculations. First of all, adding one person will make their group an uneven number which is clearly impractical for table tennis. Their coach will have to play amongst them, which means he won’t be able to watch them as well as they usually do. Namjoon wonders if his father knows it. He doesn’t think he’d be too happy to learn that.
Aside from the number, there is the fact that the guy apparently doesn’t even play in a team, if at all. Namjoon isn’t here for kiddie camp, he’s here to improve. He cannot lose any time playing anyone too easy, even if destroying the guy might make him feel good the first two times. Namjoon is here to meet serious opponents. Namjoon is here to become a champion.
So yes, Namjoon is yet to meet that guy but he already feels really bad about the new year.
The new guy isn’t here when Namjoon and Hoseok step in the sports room. Namjoon doesn’t think he saw him in the dining room either, but maybe the guy isn’t staying at the dorm, since he seems to be living in town.
Hoseok joins Yoongi and Jeongguk and sits next to them on the floor, launching in another agitated retaliation of his last months. Namjoon tunes it out; he’s been hearing it once when Hoseok and him chatted the previous day and a second time at breakfast when Hoseok told it to Taehyung and Jimin. He loves his friend, but not enough to hear about the match he played against a ranked player and almost won… one more time.
Instead he surveys the room, finding four tables instead of the usual three, confirming that there will be at least one more person in the group. The fourth table seems to take an immense space in the room, definitely reducing the space for each player to evolve in. Namjoon knows he’s not reasonable but, honestly, he doesn’t really want to be. He doesn’t really like changes.
The door opens to a chattering Jimin followed by a more quiet Taehyung and, just behind them, their usual coach and the camp director, followed by a taller, older guy. Probably even older than Yoongi, if Namjoon is right. The guy goes to sit amongst them, eyeing the free space next to Namjoon, but the director lightly takes his arm to stop him.
“Hello kids,” He says, addressing all six of them with a friendly smile. “Happy to see you all back this year. I know we’re not used to novelty in the advanced group but here’s Seokjin!” Namjoon is not blind enough, or annoyed enough, to ignore that the guy (Seokjin) is kind of gorgeous, the type of dude you’d see in a drama. Maybe one about sports rivalry, and… “He is sixteen, has never played in a team but we’ve been running some tests and we think he’d fit the group very well, could probably keep all of you on your toes. Please give him a warm welcome.”
The other boys all clap at Seokjin and Namjoon reluctantly does as well. Seokjin finally sits, next to him, and he sends Namjoon what must be a friendly smile and that Namjoon answers to with a vague grimace. Seokjin seems surprised but he laughs (He laughs at Namjoon!) and he turns back to listen to the instructions for the two weeks to come. Namjoon spends a bit longer looking at him because he can; he knows the program by heart already. Seokjin turns a minute later and catches his eyes, laughs again softly. Namjoon adverts his eyes and wills himself not to blush. He hopes Seokjin could read in his eyes that Namjoon is monitoring him and that he better do his best.
The coach claps his hands to signal the end of the speech and orders them to start with three laps around the room. At each clap of his hands he tells them to switch from running to sidesteps and every so often Namjoon glances at Seokjin to find that he doesn’t seem as tired as he thought he’d be. He’s vaguely disappointed about it.
After the running and a serious session of warm-up for their still stiff joints their coach rounds them up again.
“Since you’re an uneven number I’m going to train with one of you,” He announces, watching the boys one by one. “Today I’m going to be with Hoseok, Yoongi with Taehyung, Jimin with Jeongguk and Namjoon with Seokjin. Now, go grab your rackets and your balls.”
Namjoon follows after his friends to the corner in which they piled their stuff but there isn’t the usual enthusiasm in his steps. He doesn’t understand why the coach decided to humiliate him, the objectively best player of the group, by putting him against the inexperienced newbie.
"You can call me hyung," Seokjin says gently when he follows him to the table. “Coach told me I was the oldest of the group.” Namjoon notices that the racket he's holding looks kinda cheap and he avoids a grimace. How can this guy hope to beat him with that thing?
"You can call me Namjoon," Namjoon says back, maybe a bit too coldly. Seokjin’s eyes widen then he laughs and he covers his mouth with his free hand.
"Not Mr Namjoon? Not even Namjoon-ssi? So generous of you."
Namjoon shrugs, feeling vaguely embarrassed. Seokjin’s laugh would be cute on someone else but he finds it just annoying, too loud, squeaky. His joke wasn’t even funny.
“Your grip is sloppy,” Namjoon says before he can stop himself. Correcting his training partners on their position and grip is normal when you know them well, but he doesn’t know Seokjin and even if he doesn’t enjoy him being here he still doesn’t want to be downright rude. His parents taught him better. He clears his throat. “Your grip is sloppy, hyung.” He says, trying for a more gentle tone. There’s a light blush dusting Seokjin’s cheeks; he’s looking down at his racket, at his slightly crooked fingers, and Namjoon realises he might have been more indelicate than he originally thought. “What are you even trying for, Korean or Chinese grip?” He finishes quickly. Seokjin frowns. His ears are still red.
“Korean?” He says, turning his wrist to inspect his hold on the racket. He’s flexible, Namjoon notes. He’d already noticed during the warm up but he’d kinda figured Seokjin was showing off. Seems like he was unfair.
“Then your fingers need to be straighter,” Namjoon explains, moving to approach Seokjin who snorts softly. “What?”
“Nothing, sorry. Straighter fingers?”
“Yes, here.” Namjoon takes Seokjin’s hand in his, moving his fingers as delicately as possible. He presses his fingertips to the base of his middle finger and brushes up to the tip, encouraging it to take the right position. Seokjin’s skin is soft to the touch and despite himself Namjoon let’s his fingers run over it again, back to Seokjin’s soft knuckles, up to the folded index finger that he doesn’t even have to move.
He backs away quickly, not really understanding his own action. Seokjin’s eyes are travelling between Namjoon’s face and his own hand. “Thanks,” He says. Namjoon nods jerkily.
“We can ask the coach later to mark the racket so you can see the right place for your fingers.”
“Mark it?”
“With tape! It’s what we usually do with…” And then he blushes again, embarrassed.
“With the newbies, uh?” Seokjin says with a hint of a smile. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
Namjoon sobers up the moment he faces Seokjin at the other side of the table. The boy might be nice and pretty but he’s still a fucking newbie he has to entertain in place of working hard to train himself to get better. He fucking paid to become better, not to be a baby-sitter.
“Try to keep up,” He says, barely hiding the bitterness in his tone. Seokjin blinks, surprised, but he nods. Even his stance is wrong, Namjoon notices, but he’s not about to walk back then and moves his body too. The hand was enough kindness already.
They’re supposed to start simple with exchanges as long as possible just to warm up and get used to moving behind the table again; Namjoon doesn’t really need time getting used to it because he’s training six days a week anyway, but he decides to cut Seokjin some slack. The exercise is to work together, after all, not destroy each other. Yet.
Seokjin’s serves are childishly simple while Namjoon makes a show of throwing his ball high in the air, surveying Seokjin for each twinkle of surprise and admiration in his eyes. Despite that Seokjin keeps up well; a bit too well, even. He easily counters Namjoon’s slightly more aggressive attacks, moves fluidly despite his awkward straight back and once or twice actually makes a move that surprises Namjoon enough that he misses the ball.
The third time it happens, Namjoon is pissed enough that he serves more forcefully, putting a bit of effect in his ball and watches open mouthed as Seokjin easily counters it and places the ball square in the opposite corner of the table. He smiles brightly at his move then blinks and looks at Namjoon with a sorry expression.
“Excuse me please, that was such a beautiful ball and I couldn’t help myself…”
“Don’t apologise,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth. “I should have been able to catch it, that’s on me.”
“But the coach said we have to make the exchange as long as possible and I attacked out of nowhere and,”
“I said don’t apologise,” Namjoon says louder. Seokjin frowns. “I should have caught it.” He’s not about to tell Seokjin that he’s the one who should apologise because he’s the one who broke the rules of the exercise by serving with effect. He’s not about to admit Seokjin impressed him. “Let’s not play so nice anymore, ok?”
“Ok,” Seokjin says. He seems nervous, ah. As he should. He’ll learn how it feels like to play with someone who’s grossly better than you are.
The first serve actually takes Seokjin by surprise. He watches the ball fly past him with almost no movement but a small, impressed whisper and then he smiles like what Namjoon just did was funny.
Namjoon serves again. Seokjin hits the ball and sends it back just as forcefully and this time Namjoon is the one who looks it fly away stupidly.
“You’re really good!” Seokjin calls out with a wide smile. Somehow it just makes Namjoon’s blood boil; does Seokjin think he needs compliments from him?
So he serves again and this time when the ball comes back he’s ready to smash back, stuttering on his feet when Seokjin smashes back just as easily. He’s aware that the sound of aggressive balls hitting the table will attract the attention of the other members of the group but the coach is playing on the other side of the small gym room and Seokjin definitely needs to learn who’s the best here.
They exchange more and more aggressive balls and Seokjin glows happier and happier with each, smiling happily whether he wins or loses the point all while Namjoon starts making more and more mistakes, blinded by his anger. He’s aware that it’s happening and knows he should calm down and plays with his head but each little mistake plunges him more in blind anger, until he loses a stupid point and stops himself from throwing his racket by very little.
When he looks up Seokjin is biting his bottom lip, looking apologetically to the coach standing next to the table. Namjoon’s friends are here as well and Jeongguk takes a step back when he sees the anger in his eyes.
“See, kids, this is why we decided to put Seokjin in your group,” The coach says, putting a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Instinct! That’s not something you can learn, and he has a sense of the balls that some can only dream of.” Seokjin visibly bites down a little smile that Namjoon scowls at. Proud bastard. “What he lacks in techniques he makes up with his instinct and you’ve seen he’s a fast learner, been able to defeat Namjoon’s nastiest effects with a little try. I think you’ll all learn from playing against him.” His grip on Seokjin’s shoulder gets a bit heavier as he turns more serious. “Now, boys, did I ask you to get all snippy on each other like that?”
“Sorry, it’s my fault,” Seokjin quickly says. “I’ve never played against someone of Namjoon’s level, I was curious to see it.” He looks at Namjoon like he expects him to deny but Namjoon simply shrugs. If Seokjin wants to sell himself, he has no intention to stop that from happening.
“Okay,” The coach says though he sends Namjoon a sharp glance. “No more of that before we start the matches. For the next twenty minutes I want you to focus on serving. Grab the balls buckets and don’t worry about sending them everywhere. I’ll walk amongst you to correct you, players on my right start, then switch when I say so. Go!”
Seokjin trails after him to the storage room where the buckets wait for them. Hoseok jogs after them and whistles.
“You were giving Namjoon hell during that match, Seokjin hyung! I’m impressed!” Namjoon grits his teeth.
“Was I really?” Namjoon doesn’t look at him but Seokjin sounds surprised. “I think Namjoon really outplayed me, he’s so good. I had lots of fun though.”
“Oh believe me,” Hoseok says with a clap to Namjoon’s back. “You pissed him off alright! Namjoonie’s a bit impulsive though so don’t let that stop you. I love seeing him struggle.”
Namjoon steps away from the room, avoiding Seokjin’s curious eyes. Hoseok is not wrong, he is too impulsive when he’s playing; it might even be his biggest weakness. Once he’s swallowed by anger, not much good gets out of him. But struggling against Hoseok or any of his friends from the advanced group is alright because they’ve known each other for so long and Namjoon knows they train as seriously as he does. Struggling against a total newbie isn’t the same at all.
“Did I really piss you off?” Seokjin asks once they’re back at their table, eyes curious.
“Not at all,” Namjoon answers. He can hear how clipped and dry his voice is.
“I’m sorry if I did,” Seokjin says. He’s supposed to be the one serving now but he seems to be more eager to make sure Namjoon isn’t mad at him than anything else.
“You didn’t,” Namjoon says, drier even. “Please serve.”
Seokjin chews on his bottom lip hesitantly but eventually does as Namjoon said, hesitantly serving, eyes looking Namjoon more than the ball.
“You shouldn’t hide the ball with your hand when you serve,” Namjoon remarks. He can’t help himself. The whole point of camp is to review each other to get better. “You could get your point cancelled for it.” Seokjin nods, gets another ball in the bucket placed next to him on the table. “A bit better,” Namjoon comments. “Throw higher. Slouch a bit more.” Seokjin nods. Serves again. Again. Again.
By the end of the exercise Seokjin’s services are much better and Namjoon doesn’t really know how to feel about it. He doesn’t need Seokjin to get better, but he also doesn’t mind the glowing smile Seokjin addresses him and his gratitude. Feels good to be appreciated, he thinks.
The rest of the week goes arguably well. Namjoon slowly forgets about his bitterness. Seokjin isn’t actually unable to match his moves, and he’s a decent training partner. At lunch Seokjin follows him to the school nearby whose kitchen and dorms are rented by the camp director and he sits next to Namjoon, despite some older kids from other groups trying to attract him.
Actually Namjoon finds it pretty sweet, the way this older, prettier guy seems to be so attached to him. Seokjin’s admiration towards all the members of the group is clear but it seems a bit more evident towards Namjoon and it makes him feel… Good. The kids at his club all have some sort of deference towards him but Seokjin looks at him differently; Namjoon can’t tell what that difference is but he knows he enjoys being the center of his attention. If he shows off a bit more than usual, no one thankfully calls him out on it.
Seokjin comes with them to the beach after the training ends every afternoon and just like Namjoon he keeps his shirt on, playing in the water with Jeongguk and Taehyung, the black fabric of his shirt plastered to his back. He’s only sixteen but the muscles Namjoon can see are those of an adult, broad shoulders, strong arms, slim legs that he sometimes looks at when they’re training, long and bare under his sports shorts that ride up too high when he gets in ready position.
He fits well with Hoseok, joking easily and laughing freely in return. He fits well with Jimin, Jeongguk and Taehyung, always ready to run to the sea and jump on beds and hide in dark corners to pull pranks on the other boys. He fits well with Yoongi who seems less reasonable now that he isn’t the oldest of them anymore.
Namjoon doesn’t know if he fits well with him.
Sure, Seokjin seems to enjoy sitting next to him on the beach, his soaked through clothes drying under the gentle sun of the end of the afternoon, making fun of the smear of suncream on Namjoon’s chin.
He seems to admire Namjoon’s techniques, always asking him advice about this or that and glowing under each of his praises, maybe happier than when the coach comments on his impressive improvements.
He questions Namjoon on the book he’s reading (An English one for school, and he seems impressed that Namjoon reads in English and/or is reading for school during the summer break.), on his favorite musician (Right now it’s Tablo and Seokjin nods approvingly.), on his dream career (Professional table tennis player, obviously.).
There’s an apparent eagerness to get to know him and Namjoon doesn’t know if it is reserved for himself or just a testimony of Seokjin’s sweet personality. He decides he prefers the first option, because he’s a young boy and he craves attention. He craves validation. He wants someone to tell him he’s doing well.
At the end of the first week they have, as is tradition, a friendly tournament. Namjoon’s first match is against Jimin and he wins almost easily. His second match is against Seokjin who didn’t have to play before, courtesy of their uneven number. Jimin referees the match with an enthusiasm that slowly dies down as Seokjin, unexpectedly, starts leading the set.
Namjoon is able to recognise all the moves, all the services, all the effects as something he taught Seokjin himself but Seokjin outsmarts every single of Namjoon’s moves, looking almost effortless and apologetic as he does so.
They change sides after a first set won by Seokjin with only the reglementary two points difference and by this point Namjoon is already boiling with anger. The more angry he gets the more ridiculous his mistakes become and by the time the third set begins Jimin and Seokjin both seem worried.
Namjoon flails. He smashes too hard, moves too jerkily, wiping the sweat beading on his forehead every few minutes. Every point he wins fuels his anger; every point he loses fuels it even more. He already knows he’s losing so keeping on playing just feels like an humiliation. He thinks about what his father would say if he saw him like that; out of breath, angry, losing against a newbie with no formal training. Angry tears sting the corner of his eyes, that he wipes just as forcefully as he did his sweat.
Namjoon loses with such fury that Jimin doesn’t even dare announce the score out loud. He still shakes hands with Seokjin because he’s been raised well and it’s what he has to do. He doesn’t feel good about it, though.
Seokjin tries to congratulate him and Namjoon feels ridiculous because who does that ignorant newbie think he is, complimenting Namjoon and his years of training? Does he feels so fucking superior to him that he thinks his congratulations mean anything to him? Over Seokjin’s compliments he hears his father’s voice, snarky, pointing out each and all of his mistakes, telling him he needs to do better, to be better, to make him proud.
Namjoon knows it’s shameful but he flees the gym, finding solace under a tree in front of the building. He looks up at the sun filtering between the leaves, the shock of blue in all the green. The tears he was holding in slowly roll down his cheeks.
He’s glad no one followed him outside; he’s made a spectacle of himself enough already. His friends all have matches to play anyway, they’re too busy to look for him after his stupid little childish tantrum.
He stays under his tree and wonders what his life would be without table tennis, without competitions and training. There’s something his father likes to say about him : that his son is an ambitious boy, driven by his desire to outdo everyone. When he gets like that: feisty, irritated, dark… He wonders why his father says it like a praise when for Namjoon it’s a curse. Namjoon hates a lot of things when he gets like that, himself at the top of the list.
He lowers slowly his head to hide in his arms, forearms resting on his knees in front of him, and lets the tears fall freely.
More than angry or hurt he feels absurd, crying there in this state, sweat drying on his skin under the harsh summer sun. In his head, only one sentence on repeat: why am I like that why am I like that why am I like that.
Namjoon doesn’t know how long he stays like that; long enough that his ass falls asleep, that the bark of the tree digs in the skin of his back through his thin shirt. He realises with a sad pang to the heart that training is probably already over and that no one came to check on him. He has no idea how he can face any of them after his ridiculous episode and thinking about it makes him draw a new wet sob. He lifts his head to get some air just in time to see Seokjin walking to him. He’s still in his training clothes, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, and he looks… Worried? He kneels in front of Namjoon and lifts his hand like he wants to reach for him, seems to think better of it and stops mid movement.
“Can I touch you?” He asks. His voice is so gentle that it hurts Namjoon further. He shrugs and Seokjin hesitates, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Do you want me to touch you?” Namjoon shrugs again but he leans slightly towards Seokjin’s extended hand as he does so.
Slowly Seokjin crawls in his space and opens his arms and Namjoon lets himself fall in his embrace. He hides his snotty face in Seokjin’s neck, thighs and arms caging around him. With a surprised sound Seokjin hugs him back, arms circling him strong and sure, pleasantly warm even despite the heat. His hands rub gentle circles on Namjoon’s back, soft where the bark was so rough to his skin. He doesn’t say a word and neither does Namjoon; he’s grateful for the silence, when he knows talking would make him feel even more humiliated. He doesn’t like that he’s trying to find comfort in the one person who made him feel so bad in the first place.
He stays there so long, face nestled against Seokjin’s neck. He knows Seokjin’s knees must be falling asleep as well, that he’ll have the imprint of every blade of grass in his skin, but his hand is strong and large on Namjoon’s nape. He doesn’t know when he last got hugged like that.
“It’s almost dinner time,” Seokjin says finally. The sound of his voice startles Namjoon hard; he’d somehow forgotten who the arms he was in belonged to. “They’re going to search for us if we don’t show up.”
Namjoon jerks away from him so violently that Seokjin falls on his ass. He looks shocked.
“Why did you come here? He asks, humiliation cold at the bottom of his stomach. “Do you pity me that much? Or were you trying to humiliate me?”
“I was worried,” Seokjin answers. He looks a bit scared. “I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not,” Namjoon answers. He stands up and dust his ass. He’s not even lying : the person he’s mad at is himself, not Seokjin. Seokjin is only an inconvenience in his life and as he does with most inconveniences he will simply avoid him starting now.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hoseok asks once they’re back in their shared room. Namjoon shakes his head. “Okay. Do you want to go to the common room to play mario kart?”
Namjoon agrees and relaxes finally. He’s aware that Hoseok is letting him win and he’s also aware of Yoongi telling the three youngest not to interrogate him about his anger fit but that doesn’t make him as mad as he was expecting. He’s lucky to have those friends in his life. The rest he can ignore.
He doesn’t see Seokjin of the whole weekend. He doesn’t ask where he is but he hears Jeongguk talk about how beautiful his mother is so he deduces that he went home for the break. Not that he cares.
When the training resumes on monday morning Namjoon is polite with him, not more or less. He points out his mistakes and grits his teeth when Seokjin points his’. He can tell that Seokjin is disappointed by his attitude but he can’t help it, when Seokjin’s simple existence is giving him such problems. At first he can tell that Seokjin is making real efforts; he sits next to him at lunch and frowns when Namjoon leaves the table as soon as he’s inhaled his plate. He tries to engage the discussion at the beach and Namjoon stubbornly keeps his nose in his book, even going as far as taking his earbuds and putting them on while Seokjin is talking. At one point Namjoon scoffs at his use of ping pong, loudly announcing that serious players use table tennis instead. His friends don’t appreciate it, he can tell, but they’re also too unsure of the way they should address it so they let it slide.
Namjoon feels petty. He feels detestable. It feels almost good, as if his exterior finally matched the way he sees himself. But most importantly, he manages to actually convince himself that Seokjin is up to something evil. Maybe Seokjin sits next to him to slip more food on his plate so he’ll get a stomachache, or maybe he’s talking to him at the beach because he wants to convince Namjoon to get into the water with him so he can be stung by a jellyfish he saw earlier. Namjoon thinks it’s only reasonable to be wary of someone who could imagine such evil, evil plans.
When they have the friendly tournament at the end of the second week he asks to play Seokjin first so he can get out as soon as possible. He gives him hell but not enough to win, just like he knew he would. When he loses he goes back under the tree, feeling no less desperate than the first time but not as angry anymore. He wonders where is the ambitious boy his father likes to describe.
When his father comes to get him home he asks to talk with the coach before he even greets Namjoon so Namjoon waits in the hallway. He stands straight, his suitcase and bag neatly aligned to the wall next to him. Seokjin lingers next to the door with his own bag in hands. Namjoon wonders if he’s waiting for his parents. He’s never seen them once, even if he now knows they’re on holidays in a resort closeby. Then again Seokjin is sixteen; more than old enough to go back to the hotel by himself. Seokjin sends him a nervous glance. He puffs his cheeks out, blows on his fringe in annoyance. His eyes cross in the process. Namjoon almost finds it cute.
Then Seokjin walks straight to him and suddenly Namjoon doesn’t find him cute anymore, at all. He stops in front of Namjoon, drops his expensive looking bag and puts his fists on his hips as if to give himself courage, then says, “I’ll see you next year?”
Namjoon is actually surprised by this obvious challenge; somehow it makes him feel a bit better about himself. Seokjin wants to see him again. He’s fit to be something to Seokjin, even if he beat him. He’s still deserving of Seokjin’s interest.
“I’ll be there,” Namjoon answers. “Will you?”
Seokjin smiles, the big glowing smile from the first week, and extends his hand for Namjoon to shake. “Of course, I will.” He keeps Namjoon’s hand clasped in his’ a bit too long to be strictly polite, probably to solidify their pact of rivalry. When he retracts his hand he brushes his fingers against Namjoon’s in a way that reminds him of the first day, when he had corrected Seokjin’s grip on the racket. Seokjin seems to notice as well because he drops his hand like he’s mildly embarrassed. Then he smiles again, his eyes twinkling, and says, “I can’t wait to play ping pong with you again.” that makes Namjoon’s blood boil. He leaves with a little wave over his shoulder. His parents really didn’t come, Namjoon notices.
It’s more than a surprise when Namjoon and his team arrive at the gym for a match and he finds Seokjin in the team they’re playing on that day. He realises then that Seokjin actually lives not too far from him when he’s not on holiday on the island. He hadn’t really taken the time to think about Seokjin’s everyday life.
Seokjin smiles at him and greets him like they’re friends and Namjoon feels vaguely embarrassed, especially since he’s ignored the several texts Seokjin had sent him under ridiculous pretenses of asking for advice. He saved him in his phone as that one guy. The idea of Seokjin seeing that makes him blush.
Seokjin is wearing light pink shorts that Namjoon’s father scoffs at. He doesn’t even try to seem discreet or polite about it and once again Namjoon is unsure of who he should be ashamed of. Internally he curses Seokjin for his stupid choice.
Seokjin’s teammates are all of the same level of him but Namjoon manages to beat them with minimal struggle. The only match that’s more of a challenge is, coincidentally, the one Seokjin referees for. Namjoon prefers to tell himself it’s because that player was the strongest of the team and not because Seokjin was looking at him with such focus in his eyes, not missing one point the way Namjoon himself does when a match is too long. He knows this player is the one with the lowest ranking but he pushes this aside. It’s probably just his playing style that was particularly efficient against Namjoon’s. Namjoon hates blocking.
Namjoon plays Seokjin last. By the time they're face to face, the table separating them, he’s had the time to wonder if he should play seriously or just let himself lose. The second solution seems like less of a blow to his ego, somehow, but he’s sure to receive comments he’s not sure he’d be able to deal with from his father. So he plays as furiously as he can.
Seokjin beats Namjoon, not easily but enough to make him feel humiliated all over again. More humiliating is his father’s reaction: he goes straight to Seokjin once Namjoon and him have shaken hands and doesn’t even let him the time to grab his water bottle before he places a hand on his arm. Namjoon internally cringes.
“Really good match, boy! Your name is Seokjin, right? I don’t remember seeing you play before?”
Seokjin sends a sideway glance to Namjoon but smiles politely at his father. “It’s my first year playing in a team,” He says politely. “I learned a lot at the camp thanks to Namjoon-ah.”
To say Namjoon is mortified would be an understatement.
“Namjoon didn’t say anything about you,” His father comments. The smile doesn’t leave his face but Namjoon can see the gears turning in his head. “Clearly my son doesn’t have anything to teach you. You said it’s your first team? Did you only start formal training this year?”
Once again Seokjin looks at Namjoon with a hint of panic. “Yes, Mr Kim.”
Namjoon’s father squeezes Seokjin’s arm. “I see. You are talented, Seokjin. Others aren’t that lucky and have to compensate with hard work all their life.” The jab at Namjoon is so obvious that Seokjin visibly flinches, sending him a sorry look.
“My parents taught me the value of hard work,” Seokjin answers. His voice is clipped, polite but cold. “I’m sure you know how to appreciate it as well.”
“Of course,” Namjoon’s father agrees, clearly oblivious of the rigidness in Seokjin’s demeanor. “Are you going back to camp next summer? This time I think you should be able to teach Namjoon some lessons, right?”
Seokjin doesn’t answer or agree but Namjoon’s father doesn’t notice it, his attention already turned to Namjoon again.
“Your services were sloppy Namjoon,” He says, analysing what Namjoon already knows. “If you’ve played this boy before you should have been more prepared to his technique. Lots of pushes here to counter the backspins, I don’t see how you didn’t come to that conclusion yourself. What were you thinking about?”
Namjoon opens his mouth to answer but is cut by a call of his name, and a sheepish Seokjin acts like he doesn’t realise he’s interrupting a discussion.
“Could you show me your racket please? I am interested in comparing rubbers with you.”
Namjoon is only half surprised that his father doesn’t care about the interruption. He reluctantly follows him to the bleachers where Seokjin retrieves his bag and encourages Namjoon to sit next to him. The pink shorts ride up a bit when he sits, revealing a bit more of the legs he hadn’t thought about for months. Not that he’d thought about them before. That would be weird, right?
“Have you been well?” He asks Namjoon. He doesn’t talk about the unanswered texts.
“Been busy,” Namjoon lies through his teeth. “Lots of training.”
“I’m sure. Namjoon…” Seokjin trails, seemingly unsure. “Does your father play as well?”
“He used to, why?”
“I’m sure you’re better than he is, right?”
“I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon says, feeling the need to defend his father suddenly. What, does Seokjin want to brag about being better than Namjoon’s father now? “Why?”
Seokjin twirls his racket in his hand, looking at the table where Namjoon’s father is engaged in a discussion with one of his teammates. Namjoon always beats that guy when they play against each other and he’s lost two matches today but Namjoon can see even from here that he’s congratulating and encouraging him.
“You’re great, Namjoon, you know?” Seokjin says, making him shift his attention to him instead. “I mean, you’re a great player. You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that. He has no right to talk to you like that.”
“What are you saying?” Namjoon hisses. “He’s looking out for me because he wants me to do better!”
“Can’t he do it in a kinder way? I think you played beautifully.”
Namjoon grits his teeth. “You beat me! Your opinion hardly counts.” He stands up, looking down at a frowning Seokjin. “Do you still wonder about my rubber or can I leave?”
“Namjoon…” Seokjin starts. He’s looking at him the way he did the first time he beat him, pity dripping from his eyes. The memory of that first humiliation is still fresh in Namjoon’s mind, as is the feeling of being held in Seokjin’s arms. He blushes in anger.
“I need to go.”
As usual during the drive home Namjoon’s father gives him a detailed review of everything he did wrong in front of all his teammates crammed in the back of the car. This time instead of feeling sad about it Namjoon thinks about the careless way Seokjin told him he has no right to talk to you like that, like some sort a spoiled person who didn’t grew up under their parent’s constant scrutiny and he gets so mad he blocks out most of his father’s speech.
Halfway home he receives a text from Seokjin apologising for being harsh to him and Namjoon wants to tell him off because Seokjin wasn’t harsh to him; he just totally invalidated Namjoon’s life experience with easy words and he acted like everything Namjoon knew was wrong right after beating him and humiliating him a second time.
His thumb overs once again over the block button. He turns his phone off instead.
The next summer is the first the camp opens for a whole month and obviously all the members of the advanced group sign for the totality of it. Namjoon rooms with Hoseok again and as usual Hoseok avoids his father as best as he can.
It’s in the same gym as usual, the dorm and cafeteria are rented from the usual school. The beach is still the same, the director and the coaches didn’t change. Namjoon really likes that everything is as he’s used to.
Seokjin once again doesn’t talk about the texts that Namjoon didn’t answer to but he smiles and talks to him like they’re as friendly as the other boys. Namjoon doesn’t know what he’s trying to achieve with this. He thought he made it clear that Seokjin and him are rivals, nothing more. He really feels like Seokjin is trying to humiliate him further by showing their friends that Namjoon is the petty, unfriendly one while he himself tries his best to extend a hand. Namjoon can’t stand it. What he hates even more is Seokjin’s new friends, a handful of older guys from lesser groups that he might have met in his club who are always hanging around during breaks.
He hates it even more when one evening Hoseok waits for the door to be closed before he announces that Seokjin is having a little party in his room and that he’s invited Namjoon as well.
“Why would I go there?” Namjoon asks, brows furrowed. His whole body hurts after the first three intense days of training they’ve had and all he wants is to crash on his bed and not spend the evening with a cocky pretty boy and his as stupid older friends.
“To relax?” Hoseok suggests, apparently oblivious to how much Namjoon would not relax with Seokjin in the same room. “Hyung said there would be alcohol.”
Namjoon grits his teeth. “How’s that an argument? I’m here to train, not to waste myself in stupid distractions.”
“Well, I’ll go and waste myself,” Hoseok says. Namjoon can tell he’s a bit hurt by his angry spouting. “Suit yourself to stay here. Maybe you can go smash some balls alone in the gym, it might do you and your anger issue some good.”
Namjoon clenches his fists. He knows he was hurtful and stupid and he realises he should probably apologise but excuses never really come naturally to him. He feels like admitting he was wrong is simply too hurtful. And after all, isn’t Hoseok the one really at fault for deciding to drink in the middle of training? Isn’t Seokjin really responsible for that mess? Why should Namjoon apologise for saying the truth and being smartest and more reasonable?
He sulks in his bed all evening, spying for the sound of drunken boys or angry coaches and staff members telling them off but he hears nothing at all.
When the alarm goes off the following morning Hoseok is back in his bed but he doesn’t wake at all. Namjoon shakes him half heartedly but he doesn’t even stir. Namjoon is still hurt and angry. He decides it’ll serve him a lesson and doesn’t insist too much.
When he sits at the breakfast table alone Yoongi lifts his head that was pretty much in his rice bowl and sends him a sharp glance. “Hobi’s not with you? He’s feeling sick?”
“He didn’t wake up,” Namjoon mumbles, feeling embarrassed by his petty attitude now. Yoongi frowns.
“Really?” Namjoon nods but he knows he also blushes. “Did you try very hard?” He shrugs. “I’ll go get him.”
Namjoon is aware of his friends staring at him as Yoongi escapes the cafeteria for the dorm. He doesn’t feel very proud of himself anymore.
“Hoseok said you fought yesterday night,” Seokjin says suddenly. “He didn’t say why but he was really regretful about it. I know you don’t really like me but don’t let this damage your relationship with your friends. Everyone here appreciates you a lot Namjoon.”
Shame burns at Namjoon’s cheeks. Didn’t he criticize Seokjin just yesterday for not being reasonable? And yet he’s the one letting his petty, angry side take the best out of himself, to the point of almost sabotaging one of his best friends. Even if he acknowledges that Seokjin is right admitting it out loud seems simply too painful, especially in front of everyone. He shrugs.
“I’m not,” He says. “I just thought Hobi needed to sleep longer after spending the night with you. I would have gone to wake him up before the training started.”
The lie sounds evident to him but it’s apparently enough to fool Seokjin because he stares at him a bit longer. “Okay, then. I apologise for assuming you wouldn’t,” He says, and that’s even worse, having Seokjin apologising when he wasn’t wrong in the first place.
“It’s okay,” Namjoon mumbles. He can tell Jimin and Jeongguk are looking at him with worried eyes. He barely stops himself from telling them off.
Just last year Seokjin was the outsider in their little group but he’s managed to get so well loved that Namjoon is the one put aside now. His friends can’t seem to understand his animosity towards Seokjin, even when he tries to explain to them that Seokjin is too nice to be honest, or that there’s no way he can be that good if he only started playing a year ago. Once sweet Jimin even accused him of being paranoid and Namjoon can’t get it out of his head. Is he really letting his initial bad feelings about Seokjin obscur his judgement? Can he really be blamed for wanting to be the best and not wanting him to put himself between Namjoon’s and his dreams?
Hoseok apologises profusely when he enters the cafeteria, almost even cries a bit and Namjoon feels even worse if possible.
Namjoon trains with Jeongguk that day and he feels terrible every time Jeongguk looks at him with his sweet, slightly worried eyes, smiling hopefully at him like he’s hoping Namjoon won’t get mad at him over some little mistakes.
“Do you know you’re my biggest inspiration, hyung?” Jeongguk asks when they’re taking a short break. Namjoon blinks.
“I can’t really see why,” He admits, trying his best to not sound too harsh.
“Well, you’re really serious about table tennis, right?” Jeongguk asks, brows furrowed. “When you put your mind on a goal I can tell you’re always working your hardest to achieve it. That is very respectable. I’ve thought so since I met you.”
“Is it really, when I haven’t been able to beat someone who’s been playing for barely a year?”
Jeongguk follows his sight to where Seokjin is drinking between two sets against Yoongi. His throat looks menacingly long and he looks unfairly good even sweaty and tired. Seeing him wipe his sweaty forehead then his mouth doesn’t even really disgust Namjoon.
“I don’t admire you because you’re able to beat everyone, Namjoon hyung,” Jeongguk says, a little pained. “I admire you because you always do your best to become better. Don’t you think Seokjin hyung is like that as well? Isn’t he respectable too?”
“I guess he is,” Namjoon answers, watching Seokjin serve. He throws his ball in the air so easily, a perfect backspine service. No one could cancel his point over a bad service anymore.
“Hyung, sometimes I wonder… Did you choose table tennis because you loved it or because you were good at it?”
Namjoon hadn’t chosen table tennis as much as it had chosen him, actually. He’d started baby ping training when he was three and he simply never stopped.
“Can’t you only love something because you’re good at it?” He wonders out loud. “I don’t think I’d have any fun playing a sport I’d be mediocre at.”
Jeongguk hums. In front of them Seokjin loses a point and laughs loudly when the ball crashes in the net. “I think Seokjin hyung would play even if he was bad at it,” He says. “There’s value in that mindset as well, don’t you think?”
Namjoon tears his eyes from Seokjin to look at his friend. He ruffles his hair and Jeongguk protests with a high pitched Hey! “I think you’ve become really smart, Jeonggukie! When did you become so articulate, uh? What a good boy.”
“I’ve been trying to get as smart as hyung,” Jeongguk answers, pushing his hand away. “But I don’t think you’ve been that smart lately.”
That stings but Namjoon can’t say he doesn’t think Jeongguk is right.
“I promise I will get on top of my game again,” Namjoon promises. “I’m sorry for making it a hard time for all of you.”
Jeongguk grabs his racket and stands up. “It’s okay, I’m going to get my revenge by destroying you in our next match.”
“You wish!” Namjoon calls after him, grabbing him and ruffling his hair once again. Jeongguk pushes him away but he’s smiling as he does so. Namjoon only realises now how much he’s missed seeing him smile.
Jeongguk manages to win one set out of four and he’s glowing with happiness as they shake hands. Namjoon wonders to himself what the difference between himself and his friends is, that they can lose against him and not hold it against him when he’s unable to accept his defeats to Seokjin.
That evening after the training he agrees to go to the beach for the first time since the first day of camp and he sits in the sand next to Seokjin, whose cheeks and ears are already red from the sun.
“I have something to tell you,” He says. Seokjin turns to send him one of those smiles that are too pretty to be honest. His finger is tracing shapes in the sand, occasionally finding and piling smooth rocks and pretty shells.
“I’m listening.”
“I realise I’ve been unfair to you,” Namjoon starts. “I’ve convinced myself I could treat you coldly because you’re better than me, when what I should do is train myself to become better.” Seokjin tilts his head. He’s looking at Namjoon intensely and Namjoon feels an embarrassed blush creep on his cheek under such serious scrutiny. Seokjin’s stare has always intimidated him. “I want you to know I really consider you a valuable rival.”
“Oh,” Seokjin says softly. He turns his attention to the sea in front of them. Does Seokjin sometimes feel like the ocean is too big, too? Is he sometimes afraid to get lost? “A rival. I see.” Namjoon frowns a little at his reaction. A rival, in his opinion, is the highest honor.
He finds a cute little shell, soft pink reminding him of the color of Seokjin’s shorts. He grabs it and drops it on the little pile growing between their thighs.
“Rivals. It’s the most important relationship two sports players could have, don’t you think?” He asks, desperate for Seokjin to see his point.
Seokjin’s cheeks are already redder and Namjoon has half a mind to advise him to put suncream on. He toys with the little pink shell a moment before picking it up and putting it in the pocket of his shorts. “If you say so,” He says.
Namjoon can tell he’s a bit disappointed but he honestly doesn’t know what he can say more than that so he focuses on searching other pretty pink shells for Seokjin. In the end, he’s unable to find another as pretty as the first one.
Despite his nice little declaration Namjoon doesn’t start trusting Seokjin more than he did before. Seokjin is still too pretty, too talented, too kind to be honest, in his opinion, but at least now he pretends he doesn’t notice it to please his friends. When Seokjin talks to him Namjoon smiles and answers like he doesn’t believe Seokjin is the fakest person ever. When he sits next to him Namjoon acts like it doesn’t make his skin crawl. When Seokjin plays against him and is oh so obviously better Namjoon grits his teeth and congratulates him with his most sincere tone.
Seokjin glows under his praises and clings to him in a way that would be endearing if it wasn’t, obviously, a scheme to ruin Namjoon’s life in a way or another. Still Namjoon can see he’s playing him better now; his pushes are better, he’s more ready for Seokjin’s surprise attacks when he’s not blinded by anger. He even notices that he has… Fun? Playing against Seokjin. It had never happened before.
When they have their first end-of-the-week tournament Namjoon wins two sets and he’s proud to be able to say he gave Seokjin hell.
He still stubbornly refuses to go to any of Seokjin’s little underground parties until he overhears Seokjin’s older friends laugh and call him boring behind his back.
“Why do you want this boy to come so bad?” One of them asks. His back is to Namjoon and he probably has no idea he’s still in the room. “All he talks about is table tennis. All he does is play table tennis. I’m sure the only balls he’s ever touched are…”
From where he is Namjoon can see Seokjin blushing violently. He whacks his friend and shushes him before he can say more. “Namjoon-ah is really interesting,” He protests. “You’re just jealous because you have no talent and no goal in life.” The two boys laugh and Seokjin blushes even more. His eyes find Namjoon and they widen a bit, like he’s incredibly ashamed of being caught defending Namjoon in public. Ah, what a good actor he is. Namjoon knows Seokjin would have never defended him like that if he didn’t knew he was still there.
One of the other boys turned around to see Namjoon standing there and he laughs even louder, punching Seokjin’s arm. “Well done, loverboy,” He says with a cackle. Namjoon scowls at him and he laughs even more, pushing Seokjin in Namjoon’s direction. “Aren’t you happy your boy waited to walk to training with you?”
Seokjin splutters and stumbles in Namjoon’s direction under their laugh.
“I’m sorry,” He says softly when he reaches Namjoon. He shoves his hands in his short’s pockets and follows him to the gym. “I don’t believe you’re boring,” He says. Namjoon shrugs.
“I probably am.”
Seokjin looks like he’s about to protest but he stays silent, kicking a little rock in front of him instead. He shrugs minutely. “You probably don’t need to hear it from me,” He says. Namjoon doesn’t really know what that’s supposed to mean.
Namjoon thinks about it for the rest of the day. That evening, when Hoseok starts putting on his best clothes and tells Namjoon once again how happy it would make Seokjin if he came, Namjoon awkwardly stands behind him and announces he wants to come. Hoseok barely stiffles his triumphal scream and takes off his jeans again to throw them at him, announcing that Namjoon has to wear them to be the hottest guy in the room. Namjoon doesn’t see how he could be hot at all, least the hottest guy in the room. He’s aware that he’s far from being very attractive with his too long hair and his big glasses. He has some pimples from training in such hot weather and being sweaty more often than not. His body is athletic, but that’s more or less all he has for himself, he thinks. His legs are still too long and gangly. Hoseok seems so enthusiastic that he doesn’t have the heart to refuse the impromptu makeover, though.
He finds at the back of his closet a light pink shirt that his mother gifted but that Namjoon never wore. Hoseok calls the neckline indecent! in a delighted shrill and tugs a bit of it to show Namjoon’s collarbone. Namjoon tugs it up as soon as he’s turned his back.
They take more time getting ready than planned and leave their room, whispering to avoid attracting attention, later than Hoseok intended. He explains Namjoon in a hush that the most awaited guests should always be late, anyway, in a slightly too loud voice. Namjoon’s heart is pounding the whole time it takes them to walk to Seokjin’s room, six doors away.
Honestly, the party is not much like what Namjoon was imagining. There’s no music, of course, because they have to be discreet, no light other than their phone’s torches lit up in strategic places because the electricity is cut during the night to avoid, Namjoon imagines, the exact scenario happening right now. There is the promised alcohol, two plastic bottles full of a pink mixture that smells more of cheap strawberry syrup than alcohol and that one of Seokjin’s older friends apparently smuggled during their free time of the weekend.
Namjoon squeezed himself in the small space between Seokjin and Taehyung and now he’s sitting there slouched over himself, plastic glass of the disgusting beverage in hand, the warmth of Seokjin’s body getting closer and closer and closer. Jimin decided they should play truth or dare and so far Namjoon has picked truth twice because he sadly has no secrets to hide, except maybe for the weird feeling he experienced when Seokjin opened the door to him and smiled like the absolute bestest thing of his life just happened. This feeling is still kind of a secret to himself; a mystery. He doesn’t think anyone could ask him about it.
“Seokjin hyung!” Yoongi announces happily when it’s his turn to ask. “I have good ones for you, hyung. What do you choose?”
“Truth,” Seokjin says. Hoseok and Jimin boo but Yoongi smiles a wicked smile that doesn't announce any good. Seokjin shifts imperceptibly closer to Namjoon.
“Is there someone, in this room, that you would like to kiss?”
Seokjin looks down under the cheers of the other boys, ears reddening immediately like they always do when he becomes the center of the attention. He would never admit it but Namjoon always finds it kinda cute.
“Yes,” He answers. Namjoon is taken aback. He scans the room, looking at each of the people here; there are all his friends from the advanced group and his stupid older friends from other groups and Namjoon has no idea which of them Seokjin could want to kiss. He figures he would have noticed, if it was someone from his own. For a reason he can’t explain he finds each of the other boys present more ugly and uninteresting the more he looks at them.
Seokjin leans a bit more towards Namjoon when the whispered yells die down and another boy is asked a question Namjoon doesn’t listen to. Namjoon startles when soft hair brushes his cheek and a weight presses delicately on his shoulder. He looks to the side and finds that Seokjin’s head has dropped to his shoulder, eyes closed and lips parted and shiny with the remnant of his drink. Namjoon remembers how good he had felt with Seokjin’s hand on his nape, strong and soft, and without thinking he reaches to place his’ at the juncture between Seokjin’s neck and his shoulder, pressing his fingers slightly in his skin. Seokjin’s lips open further around a sigh. His lashes flutter but he doesn’t open his eyes.
“Namjoon hyung,” Jimin calls cheerily, snatching him away from the bubble he was in. “You aren’t allowed any truths anymore! Dare!” He keeps silent for a couple of seconds for ultimate drama. “I dare you to kiss Seokjin hyung.”
“What?” Namjoon gapes at him. “Jimin, that’s not proper!” The weight of Seokjin’s head is still on his shoulder and Namjoon cannot imagine betraying him that bad and kissing him when Seokjin just admitted there’s someone else in the room he wants to kiss.
He would never tell any of his friends but Namjoon has never kissed anyone, and the last thing he wants for his first kiss is to be with someone he hates and who’s pining for someone else. He’s about to protest when a soft touch to his hand makes him look down at Seokjin. His head hasn’t moved but he’s now opened his lids and is looking at Namjoon with big, pleading eyes.
“Am I not good enough to kiss?” He asks, voice a bit sad. Namjoon hears Jeongguk whisper a soft little oh.
Namjoon swears he goes for a short kiss when he leans towards Seokjin, just the length necessary to make his friends satisfied, but when their lips meet and a soft hand finds a way to his cheek he decides he might as well make his first kiss a memorable one. Seokjin’s lips are soft and gentle and sticky and out of pure curiosity Namjoon decides to stick his tongue out to lick them, finding them sweet with a fruity cocktail taste. Immediately afterwards he tenses, wondering how weird it was of him to just lick Seokjin’s mouth unannounced and tenses even more when he realises Seokjin has stopped moving.
Seokjin pushes at Namjoon’s shoulder until it hits the frame of the bed he’s sitting against and Namjoon has apologies ready to spill from his mouth that he has no time to say because a second later Seokjin is on him again, mouth half opened and his own tongue touching Namjoon’s lips. As Seokjin settles half on top of him Namjoon is struck with the realisation that he’s being kissed by the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and he wonders what image they make, the nerd with lanky limbs and out of fashion haircut, his glasses askew on his nose, being kissed by the prettiest boy in the world.
He knows Seokjin is probably kissing him in a weird attempt to make whoever he’s crushing on jealous. It feels a bit stupid to choose Namjoon to make someone jealous, he thinks, but as Seokjin’s nails scratches his nape Namjoon efficiently stops trying to make sense of the situation. He presses an hesitant hand to Seokjin’s waist, surprises himself by finding it so small under his palm. Seokjin makes very soft sounds that Namjoon is probably the only one hearing and he loops his arms around Namjoon’s neck, tight but still leaving space between their bodies. A year ago Namjoon remembers being wrapped in those same arms, feeling so desperate but warm at the same time. He feels the same this time too, desperate for Seokjin’s mouth on his’, warm in his embrace, shame licking at the bottom of his stomach at making such a spectacle out of himself.
He wonders how often this type of scene happens during Seokjin’s parties, for their friends to act like nothing is happening. How often does he find a boy to sit on and kiss, and who is it usually? Namjoon doesn’t like this thought much. All he can hope is that out of all those boys he’s been the best one so far.
“You taste sweet,” Seokjin says when he takes a small break from kissing Namjoon. There are lights dancing in his eyes that Namjoon’s realistic brain acknowledges as the reflection of the lit up phones but that his drunk (?) side wants to call, weirdly enough, millions of stars caught in his irises.
“That’s the drink,” Namjoon says because he’s dumb and boring. Seokjin laughs like he’s absolutely charmed and gives Namjoon another small kiss.
“I’m really happy you’re here.”
Namjoon thinks, indeed, that it’s rather nice of him to let Seokjin kiss him to make his crush jealous. Very convenient. Seokjin can be happy. “Well, I’m here,” He says because he is.
Seokjin laughs and it sounds so sweet. He’s kinda glowing. He also looks terribly beautiful. “I finally caught you,” He says gently, rubbing his nose to Namjoon’s. “I’m very pleased.”
“I’m here,” Namjoon repeats because, once again, he has no idea what Seokjin means. Seokjin gives him another kiss.
“You are,” He says. He hides his face in Namjoon’s neck and laughs softly. He’s so sweet; Namjoon can imagine what it’d be to really be the boy Seokjin has a crush on, to be experiencing his tenderness for real.
Namjoon doesn’t drink more; he doesn’t need to when he has Seokjin’s lips to taste instead, his little laughs to get drunk off. He’s growing more and more tired, the seven hours of training straining his muscles. He yawns in Seokjin’s face and feels terribly ridiculous when Seokjin giggles against his cheek.
“You should maybe go to bed?” He suggests softly. Namjoon is only half ashamed to admit he whines a bit.
“Won’t I look lame and boring, leaving before anyone else?” Seokjin laughs again.
“Namjoon, baby,” He says gently, peppering kisses all over his face. “They all left a long time ago, didn’t you notice?”
Namjoon whips his head, taking in the empty room and abandoned plastic glasses. He really didn’t hear the others leaving and has no idea if they’ve been alone for a long time; but it makes even less sense for Seokjin to be kissing him now, when his crush isn’t in the room to watch.
Even if he encouraged Namjoon to leave Seokjin seems to struggle with letting him go. “You’ll still talk to me tomorrow, right?” He asks softly. He sounds… Fragile. Maybe he’s just tired.
“Of course, my one and only rival,” He says. Seokjin’s laugh seems a bit nervous. “I need to go hyung.”
“Oh, yeah,” He scrambles on his feet, reaching for Namjoon’s hands to lift him up. He links their fingers and silently opens the door of his room, checking quickly if someone’s outside. “If someone catches you, say you were going to the toilets,” He advises, though going to the toilets dressed up at three in the morning doesn’t sound very believable. Seokjin must truly be more tired than he looks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, giving Namjoon one last, longer kiss that makes his heart skip a bit.
“I’ll see you,” Namjoon agrees.
He goes back to his room in a daze, finds Hoseok passed out on his bed still dressed up, snoring softly. He himself barely finds the energy to undress and slips under his sheet. He falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow.
He wakes up to bangs on his door. The sun is shining outside, much higher than it should be at eight in the morning. Hoseok’s bed is empty, and there’s someone banging at the door.
“What is it?” Namjoon calls, swiping the surface of his bed table for his phone. He doesn’t find it.
“Namjoon?” It’s the voice of one of the supervisors of the camp, and he seems vaguely worried. “Are you sick, Namjoon?”
“I’m fine,” Namjoon says. He finally finds his phone in his jeans pocket and unlocks it to find out it’s ten in the morning, and he’s definitely missed breakfast and the first hour of training. “Sorry, I think… I think I forgot to set up my alarm.” He doesn’t get why no one woke him up but it’s okay. It’s alright. The people at camp are understanding, and…
“Your father’s here, Namjoon,” The supervisor says. Namjoon can tell that he’s sorry. “I could tell him you’re sick, if you want.”
Before Namjoon has the time to gather his thoughts and answer he hears quick, furious steps, and new knocks on the door paired with the calm but furious voice of his father.
“Namjoon,” He says. “Pack your bag. I’m back at noon to get you home.” And he leaves in the same quick, furious steps.
The supervisor knocks again after a while, obviously embarrassed. “Do you need something, Namjoon? Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”
“It’ll be alright,” Namjoon manages to say. He doesn’t feel like it’s going to be very alright.
He’s literally sitting there, in his underwear, waiting for his father to come back and collect him from a place he doesn’t want to leave, all because he overslept. He starts imagining hundreds of arguments to convince his father to let him stay, more and more insane with each passing minute. He imagines pleas. He imagines elaborate lies. He imagines actual normal talks, where Namjoon would simply explain that he overslept because he’s a teenager and his father, an intelligent, rational adult, would understand his point of view. It helps a bit keep the panic at bay, despite knowing his father will never listen to him and will definitely make him pay for this mistake.
He keeps thinking plans as he packs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands to keep the tears from falling. This is all a terrible misunderstanding he says to no one, I can explain. He can explain.
When Hoseok comes back to the room before lunch he finds Namjoon sitting on his bed stripped from its sheets, suitcase and bag neatly waiting next to his legs. He gapes at him and Namjoon very nearly starts sobbing.
“What does that mean, Joon?” He asks. His racket case has slipped from his hand. It almost makes Namjoon laugh.
“My father is here,” He says, emotionless. “Don’t ask me why. He’s here, and he knows I accidentally skipped training and he told me I was leaving. Honestly, that’s all I know.”
Hoseok’s eyes widen and his bottom lip starts quivering and, without a warning, he starts loudly bawling.
“That’s my fault!” He sobs. “I should have woke you up but you went to bed so late and you wouldn’t open your eyes even when I was shaking you and I thought you deserved a bit of sleep and…” He’s crying for real now, twisting his hands nervously. “And I was still a bit mad about you not waking me up that other time so I thought it would give you a lesson, I’m so sorry Namjoon. I’m so, so sorry, I should have listened to Seokjin hyung and come back to wake you up. I’m so sorry.”
“Hyung told you to wake me up?” Namjoon asks. He feels like his blood turned to ice.
“He said I was being mean but then I… I told him he could always wake you up himself and he got embarrassed and…”
“He knew.”
Hoseok looks up from the floor. “What?”
“He knew. Seokjin knew, that’s why he wanted me to be at his stupid party so bad, he knew my father was coming and he wanted to humiliate me so he would get rid of me. That’s so evident.”
“What? Dude, that’s insane. Why would he do that?”
“He’s been humiliating me since the first day, Hobi, don’t you see? He’s been beating me since the first day and he likes it. That’s why he was so happy to see me yesterday night, because he knew my father would come and I’d ridicule myself in front of him after not sleeping enough hours. Don’t you see?”
“Joon, honestly, that’s crazy,” Hoseok says, shaking his head. “Really. I don’t know why you hate him so much but I promise, I promise hyung wasn’t secretly conspiring against you. He’s going to be devastated that you have to leave.”
Namjoon doesn’t have the time to tell Hoseok that Seokjin being devastated about him is actually impossible because his father shows up then, rigid as always. He looks critically at Hoseok.
“Were you too part of that little party, Hoseok?” Hoseok blanches.
“I was,” He admits softly, looking down like he’s expecting Namjoon’s father to announce to him he’s punishing him as well and making him quit the camp. Instead he just shrugs and grabs Namjoon’s small bag, leaving him to take the much heavier suitcase.
He loads both in the back of the car and waits until they’re leaving to finally talk to his son.
“Your mother and I went here for the week-end as a surprise,” He says. “But when I arrived at the gym you weren’t there, and the director told me about those ridiculous parties you boys think you’re sneaky about. I thought you were serious about this, Namjoon. I thought I could trust you.”
Namjoon’s head already hurts. “I am serious about table tennis. You know that.”
“I thought I did but you obviously aren’t as serious as you’re saying. Your mother and I pay you an expensive training camp and you thank us by going to little illegal parties? Is this what you’re calling being serious, Namjoon?”
“It was the first time,” Namjoon explains softly. “There’s been many since the beginning but I never went before.” Then, after a pause, “Everyone else goes.”
“These other boys aren’t my sons, their parents will deal with it how they want. I don’t care about others, Namjoon. I care about you doing something stupid and disrespectful to me and your mother.”
“Why is it that you never care about others when they also do bad but always do when they do better than me?” Namjoon asks. He hears the flare of anger in his voice and he doesn’t like it at all. If he keeps going he knows he’ll start crying again. “Nothing I do is good enough if I’m not the first but if everyone fails suddenly you can’t compare and realise maybe the failure is normal? Why can’t you ever be proud of me?”
“I’d be proud if you gave me a reason to be,” His father cuts. “Right now, I can’t think of any.”
On other occasions Namjoon would probably consider himself dramatic for wishing he’d get love and respect simply for being himself. Today he allows himself to imagine what it’d be to live in Hoseok’s family and to be told I love you every night, or to live in Jimin’s and get an ice cream after every match whether he’d lose or win. He wonders what his life would be if he didn’t spend so much time trying to impress someone who will never appreciate any of his efforts.
He lays his head against the window, hoping the coolness of the glass will help him calm down. Soon enough his father parks in front of a small hotel. His mother is waiting in the room, twisting her hands, worry written all over her face. She keeps glancing at her husband, waiting for him to leave the room to take Namjoon in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” She says. “I tried to tell him to leave you be but he didn’t listen to me.”
Like a child, Namjoon allows himself to cry in her arms, his feelings a mix of anger and sadness and humiliation. He thinks about the night before, about how he let Seokjin kiss him so he could best act his little revenge plan on Namjoon, tricking everyone with his pretty eyes and pretty lips and pretty hands. He cries about giving his first kiss to someone who not only wasn’t interested in him but was also probably mocking him. He wonders if Seokjin had laughed at him after he left his room, laughed at the little nerd who thought he was good enough to kiss the prettiest boy in the world. He wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much, but it does. He hurts even more when he finds several texts from Seokjin in his phone, all apologising and telling him he doesn’t want to lose contact and hopes Namjoon will still want to talk to him and meet with him when the summer is over. This time, Namjoon really blocks his number. It doesn’t mean much anyway because the second his father comes back he takes his phone, and he keeps it until the summer ends.
Instead of beaches and the ocean and training with his friends, Namjoon spends days not being talked to, and evening training under his father’s scrutiny. He’s never been so eager for school to start again.
At least, he reminds himself, Seokjin isn’t here.