Chapter Text
“You need to come home, Joon.”
“I know.” Namjoon sighs, “I need some time to get things in order here. The apartment, the job, the furniture…”
His mother pauses, listening to silence while Namjoon starts adding up all the things he would have to leave behind.
“How much time?”
“A month?”
“Alright, dear. We can make it work until then without you. Your father is..” she takes a breath, “Things aren’t going how we had hoped.”
Static hums.
“I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay, take care of yourself and try not to worry too much.”
Namjoon waits for the line to cut before his head sinks into his hands.
Just like that, four years in Paris come to an end. There’s no way he can refuse to come home, and, honestly, he doesn’t want to. The moment his dad had called to tell him two months ago, Namjoon had been ready to get on a plane back to Seoul.
Everyone had talked him down, promised him things were fine, swore the doctors were handling it. But things aren’t going how we had hoped.
It was time to come home.
Namjoon lifts his head and stares down the apartment. Sweats folded in the closet, new books, used books, a table he’d carried home in the pouring rain, his little bonsai, a stupid photography collection a pretentious ex-boyfriend had gifted him, a half-burned candle, an empty bottle of soju.
It all has to go. Packed, sold, or given away. It has to go. He squeezes his eyes shut one more time before opening them and grabbing the stupid photography book on the coffee table. It’s a good first victim, easy enough to sort out because it’s going straight to the trash. But as soon as he feels the weight of it in his hand, real and heavy, the determination leaves his walk.
Namjoon feels tired, and fucking overwhelmed. And he doesn’t want to get rid of anything today. Tomorrow. I’ll pack tomorrow.
He gets up, grabs a towel, and shoots off a text to Jin. Tonight, he just needs to enjoy himself.
Joon: Let’s go out?
Jin-hyung: say no more
Jin-hyung: 23h.
Jin-hyung: grands boulevards?
Joon: yes Please
Joon: one more thing hyung
Joon: do you want my plants?
Jin-hyung : plants????
Namjoon braced himself. Better to just get this out of the way.
Joon: i’m going back
Joon: to seoul
Joon: ..indefinitely
Jin-hyung: ……..
Jin-hyung: make that 22h
Namjoon chuckles, kicking his pants off and stepping into the shower. Seokjin is probably— no, definitely, the biggest constant in Namjoon’s life. Two years ago, he’d come into the gallery Namjoon was curating: gorgeous, Korean, and looking to buy a painting. Namjoon confused his boldness for flirting, and somehow fumbled his way into a friendship despite it. This was something Seokjin made sure to repeatedly and loudly thank God for later on, a witness to countless acts of Namjoon’s clumsiness and endless nights of indecision. Jin was not cut out to be his boyfriend, but he was a really, really, really good friend.
And tonight, Namjoon needs a good friend.
He throws on a pair of loose jeans and a pullover, checking the time again before shoving his keys in his pocket. The door closes behind him with finality.
————
“Jimin.”
Jimin. This is Jimin.
Jimin wants two pints, and Namjoon can help Jimin with that.
He pulls back and scans him quickly. He looks gay.
Namjoon leans across the counter and catches the bartender’s attention.
“Quatre pintes,” he shouts, fingers raised.
The bartender nods in recognition, still somehow dismissive in that typically French way, and reaches for the pint glasses tucked beneath the wooden bar.
Jimin seems to be listening to the music distractedly now, content he’s found someone to handle this for him. He throws a glance over his shoulder to another Korean man sitting at a table by the window. Namjoon catches the guy giving Jimin some kind of sign before sitting back down. Boyfriend?
“Are you with your friend?” He asks, hoping not to be corrected.
But something in his voice must have given him away, because Jimin’s energy suddenly shifts, albeit subtly. He looks at Namjoon again, and this time he feels like he’s being sized up.
Jimin gets closer to his ear, and the alcohol suddenly buzzes a little stronger when he feels Jimin’s lips brush them.
“Yea, that’s my friend.” He pulls back with a smile slow and unmistakable.
Namjoon wonders what to do with that.
I’m here to enjoy tonight.
Four beers appear in front of them, and Namjoon quickly slides a couple bills over before Jimin can intervene. He points at Jimin’s friend, and then outside, and starts heading that way with two of the drinks, hoping the message has been received.
Jin is waiting patiently outside, looking beautiful with a cigarette perched in his mouth.
“Garçon,” he says, snapping his fingers at Namjoon as soon as he catches sight of him.
“Voilà, for you monsieur,” Namjoon responds easily, setting the pints down on the table with a flourish.
Jin takes a long drag immediately before looking up at Namjoon.
“So, who was that guy?”
Observant little prick.
Namjoon gives him pleading eyes, “Jimin, Korean, I don’t think he lives here, and I hope he’s coming out here with a friend soon.”
Jin regards him wickedly, “ah, so it’s that kind of night”
“It’s a regular night. Regular Jimin.” He shoots him a warning look. Jin is normally an excellent wing man, but a few drinks in and a mischievous attitude have earned Namjoon more than a few nights of waving off embarrassing innuendos.
Jin gives him a reassuring smile which puts Namjoon at ease.
“Sure, Joon. I want you to have fun,” he glances over his shoulder, “Don’t look now, but regular Jimin is coming over here with his regular friend.”
Sure enough, Jimin is by the entrance eyeing the crowd. Besides the eyelashes, there’s a lot to notice. Namjoon takes his time: pink hair, full lips, slim. Everything about the way he’s holding himself says superstar, even though he can’t be at ease in a foreign place where he apparently doesn’t speak the language. But there he is, dressed in black, silver chains dripping off him and rings covering a hand wrapped around the drink Namjoon bought him. He feels a stupid tug in his gut telling him that he needs to keep giving Jimin everything he asks for.
Jimin finds his eye and flashes him another stupidly gorgeous smile.
He hesitates for just a second as he approaches the table.
Jimin points at Jin and asks, “friend?” and behind the playful tone is a hint of something questioning, like he really wants to know the answer.
Namjoon nods, and Jimin seems to make his mind up, squeezing in beside him at the tiny round table.
————
“Banking?” Namjoon can’t help but ask, incredulous, as he leads them around a corner.
Jimin follows, pokes at Namjoon’s back from a few steps behind, “What are you implying, hyung?”
It sounds good when he calls him hyung.
“I don’t know,” he says quickly, “I don’t know. Just— I can’t picture it. You suited up, Wolf of Wallstreet.”
“Well, maybe that’s because you don’t know me very well yet.”
Namjoon, stupidly, fixes on that word. Yet. There’s no yet; Jimin is leaving and Namjoon is staying. No you’re not, a voice nags, but Namjoon pushes it away. He’s not ready to give up the act tonight.
So he keeps playing stupid, just for his own sake.
Jimin goes on, “I could always see it really clearly. I’d wake up, put on a suit. Take my briefcase, you know, like, this perfect rectangle in expensive leather, and I’d go into a perfect rectangle of an office.” He pauses again, “It felt like that was a world that would make a lot of sense.”
Namjoon nods.
Jimin breathes, walks a few more paces in silence.
“And I guess being a professional dancer is the opposite of that.” He runs a hand through his hair, “I mean, I’m not doing that either.” Another pause, “I’m just sort of… behind the scenes now.”
Namjoon briefly wonders how he got his own studio, but it doesn’t really feel like something he should ask about.
“There’s no better time to start investing than the present, you know”
Jimin chuckles, a little dry, “I think it’s better to accept where you are.”
So things were complicated. Namjoon was feeling especially sympathetic to that. He let the silence fall for a moment, not quite sure how to continue.
“And you? Why are you hiding out here?”
“Not hiding exactly,” Namjoon answers, although it somehow feels like a lie.
Jimin throws a skeptical look his way. It’s playful, but not so much that Namjoon misses Jimin seeing through his shit right away.
“Well, okay, I came for the art. But then I stayed," he shrugs, "And, I guess, God, this is going to make me sound so juvenile, but I just wanted to see something different from everyone I went to school with… or do something different, I don’t know”
“Aw, you wanted to be special?”
“Shut up” he whines, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and pulling him along.
After a moment he adds, “You don’t know that I’m older than you.”
“What?”
“You called me hyung.”
“How old are you?”
“26”
“Alright, hyung.” Jimin teases this one out.
————
Namjoon thanks God that his apartment is orderly and lets Jimin in, kicking his shoes off in the doorway
“So, where’s this infamous photography book?”
Namjoon points to the table.
“Help yourself.”
He pauses, “Want water?”
Jimin nods, sliding into the chair and cracking open the book, before closing it immediately.
Namjoon returns with a glass.
“I just realized I’m not at all interested in photography,” he says, fixing Namjoon with an expectant stare.
Jimin takes the glass, sips, sets it on the table.
He really is beautiful as all hell, his hair pushed off his forehead, his lips a little swollen, his thighs spread open as he sits back in Namjoon’s chair.
Namjoon leans forward, pulls the chair under Jimin closer, close enough, and kisses him.
Jimin doesn’t waste time, running an arm up Namjoon’s chest and wrapping it around the back of his neck. He rubs, grabs his hair, kisses back.
Namjoon feels a little electric.
It’s just a kiss, but it’s been a long time since he felt this drawn in. When he was younger, he knew for sure that he would have a thousand great loves before he died. Crushes were so intense, high and low and everywhere in between. But as he got older, he understood something: love doesn’t come often. Love is rare.
This isn’t that— has nothing to do with that yet, but Jimin is kissing him so soft and sweet, a little submissive how Namjoon likes it, and he just wants more, more.
Namjoon opens his mouth, inviting him deeper, and pulls at Jimin’s thighs.
“Closer.”
Jimin surprises him, pulling back and laughing sweetly with a little eye smile.
He stands, looks down at Namjoon, and runs his hands through his own pink hair. A step forward, and he’s between his knees.
Jimin reaches out, and presses a thumb into Namjoon’s mouth and down on his tongue.
“You’re so sexy,” he says, slowly.
Namjoon stares up dumbly at him, feeling the pressure of Jimin’s thumb still pushing his jaw open.
He blushes a little.
“You want to fuck me?”
Namjoon nods as Jimin pulls his hand back.
Jimin looks over his shoulder at Namjoon’s bed, pressed against the wall. It’s made, pillows in place, but the blue sheets are a little rumpled from where Namjoon had laid on it after his shower. The book he’d been reading is still half open, waiting to be picked back up.
The lamp on the table beside it is illuminated, carelessly left on when Namjoon had stepped out to meet Jin at the bar.
It casts a warm light on Jimin’s profile. Namjoon notices his lashes glowing, and the shadow cast by the bulge of his throat as he swallows. He flicks his eyes back to Namjoon before stepping towards the bed.
Jimin pulls his shirt off as Namjoon watches quietly, leaning back into his chair and adjusting himself unconsciously in his jeans. Jimin’s back is toned, and when he turns to seat himself lightly on the corner of the bed, perfectly aware of the eyes on him, Namjoon can see the rest of the muscles in his slim body.
Delicate shoulders, delicate arms, small torso, definition everywhere.
His eyes fall down to where Namjoon is still pawing at himself dumbly. He looks back up through his lashes with a smolder, a little challenge tugging at the corner of his full lips.
Want him.
Namjoon pushes himself up, hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans and following Jimin to the bed. He pushes his pants and briefs down just enough to pull his cock out, stroking himself, a little out of control.
Jimin waits patiently, hands folded in his laps, as Namjoon comes to a stop in front of him. He looks up at him sweetly, innocent, a look Namjoon can tell is practiced but can’t resist falling for, moaning as he takes his hand off his cock and threads it through Jimin’s hair.
Jimin leans forward, licking softly at the tip of his cock, wrapping his hand around Namjoon and testing the weight.
Namjoon moans.
“You’re so big,” Jimin breathes out, his voice a little wet and eager.
Namjoon’s turn to smirk.
“Are you a size queen?” he teases.
Jimin shoots him a reprimanding look.
“Shut up.”
The bites not there; Jimin can’t quite hide the excitement in his tone.
And then he takes Namjoon in his mouth, and moans. He feels so hot around him, so wet, and it’s all Namjoon can do not to fuck his throat. He closes his eyes, focuses on the way Jimin’s tongue curls around the underside of his shaft, licks softly at the head, pulls off to rub precum on his thick lips, and licks that off too before curling back around him.
Jimin looks up through his lashes, sucking softly at the tip.
In a raw voice,
“Is it good?”
Namjoon nods quickly, trying to piece together an answer, but Jimin rubs and pulls at the back of Namjoon’s thighs, urging him deeper.
“Come on, take what you want”
Fuck, fuck. Namjoon groans again, hearing the wet little sounds fill the room, seeing the line of spit connecting Jimin’s red lips to the head of his cock. He tightens his grip on his hair, and pulls Jimin onto him until his nose is pressed into the hair at the base of his cock. He thrusts into his throat a few times, circling his hips.
Tears pool at the corner of Jimin’s eyes and Namjoon lets him pull off, panting as he starts to soothe the back of his head.
“Okay, okay, stop, gonna come like that.”
Jimin leans back in to nuzzle at his cock.
“You can,” he whispers.
“No— fuck, ah— want to come in you.”
He pulls his shirt off and leans over Jimin, pressing him back onto the mattress with his body weight and tugging at his pants. Jimin pushes at Namjoon’s chest to create some space, slipping his pants off.
They fall back together, and Namjoon can feel where their chests and stomachs press together warm. He can feel Jimin’s pretty pink cock leaking on his hip. He kisses at his neck, nipping and sucking at the pulse point as Jimin’s high whines and soft moans are urged into his ear.
Jimin reaches up to feel at Namjoon’s arms and shoulders.
“God, you’re kind of big everywhere”
Namjoon laughs into his neck, “mmm.. maybe you’re just small everywhere.”
Jimin scoffs.
“’s okay.. love pretty twinks.”
Jimin pushes at his chest again, blushing and squirming in false protest.
This time, Namjoon gives in to the little shoves, moving back to grab some lube and a condom from the night stand. He warms a little in his hand, and works Jimin open with one, two, three fingers until he’s pulling at his wrist, insisting he’s ready.
Jimin gasps when he finally pushes inside, shooting Namjoon an almost offended look at the stretch. Namjoon kisses at it, and keeps pressing in. Need to get closer, be deeper.
He moans, his body covering Jimin completely, fucking into him, lost in the way he feels so soft and pliant beneath Namjoon, arms wrapped around his neck, begging him for nothing specific.
Namjoon keeps going as long as he can, tension building in his gut before hurrying to pull the condom off, coming on Jimin’s stomach, chest, a little across his cheek. Namjoon leaves it there to cool and ducks down, softening slowly while Jimin combs his fingers through his hair, wriggling, until he too is coming in Namjoon’s mouth.
His thighs tremble and Namjoon falls beside him, heart pounding.
“Fuck.”
He pets Jimin’s side softly as his breathing slows, until it finally settles into an even rhythm.
The steady sound of their exhales is the only noise against the silence of the room.
Namjoon closes his eyes.
Gradually, beside him, he feels Jimin wipe at the cum on his face and flushes hot, a little excited and suddenly a lot embarrassed he’d been too caught up to ask if he could spill all over him. Groaning, Namjoon rolls off the bed and shuffles to the bathroom in the hopes of finding a small washcloth. A glimpse of himself in the mirror as he runs the cloth under the tap startles: hair wild, a little sweat cooled and pooling on his chest.
He walks back into the room to find Jimin stretched on his bed, his cock still pink and a little swollen, curved onto his hip, still wet with Namjoon’s spit. But the rest of his skin is white and smooth across the planes of muscle.
His hair is disheveled, a little moist where it meets the crown, and his lips are red from bites and sucking Namjoon’s cock. He’s still covered in his come.
The lamp still illuminated.
Namjoon blinks, meeting Jimin’s gaze, and comes close to clean him up. Jimin tenses as he reaches out with the cloth.
“It’s warm” Namjoon soothes in a hush, afraid to break the quiet magic of the room.
Jimin relaxes, letting Namjoon wipe down his stomach and thighs.
He plays absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers while Namjoon works, twisting a solid band on his hand.
His eyes keep drifting towards the door. Namjoon isn’t sure but he could guess that Jimin is calculating how to slip out and get home. A small part of Namjoon hopes he isn’t sure yet whether or not he should.
Ask him to stay, stay.
“Where’s your hotel, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin looks back to him.
“École Militaire,” he responds softly, his voice even.
“The metro is closed,” Namjoon informs, “it’ll take an hour to walk.” He lays back down beside him, dropping the folded cloth off to the side to be dealt with tomorrow. “Just stay tonight,” he offers, a little timid.
In the back of his head, he knows Jimin could just call a car— he’s a grown up with his own studio, could probably afford it. But tonight was make-believe, and in the Paris where Namjoon lived, would continue living, there were no cars to take Jimin away from his bed.
Jimin considers, shooting the door one last questioning look, before playing along.
“Okay,”
And just like that he flips onto his stomach, pulling a pillow under his head and waving Namjoon off.
“Your donsaeng is tired now, alright?” he huffed.
Namjoon chuckles again, settling into the mattress with resolve. He starts tracing little patterns on Jimin’s back, hums a little melody. The moments pass.
Jimin inches closer.
“What is that?”
“What?”
“The melody”
“Oh,” Namjoon continues, “French lullaby.”
“You know the words?”
“I do,” he answers, scared of the question to come.
“Sing a little?”
He groans, dropping his forehead onto Jimin’s shoulder, “please, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Jimin shifts enough to shoot him a pleading look, “Hyung, just a little. One little verse. Please.”
And there it is, that stupid urge to give Jimin everything he asks for, pushing at his gut.
“God..” Namjoon begins, singing to the honest best of his ability,
“À la claire fontaine
M'en allant promener
J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle
Que je m'y su—“
He stops, cut off by Jimin’s barely contained giggles muffled by the pillow.
“Oh, hyung, sorry,” he starts, “Broken my ear”
Namjoon covers his face in shame.
“No, really, it was pretty” he consoles playfully, wrapping an ankle around Namjoon’s, “What does it mean?”
“Mmm…” Namjoon hums again, considering patiently.
“It’s about a clear fountain, and an oak tree,” he combs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, moving closer,
“a nightingale, and roses,” he drapes himself across his back,
“and a lost love you won’t forget,” he kisses at his shoulder.
Jimin sighs, closes his eyes.
“What do kids know about love?” he asks, his voice half-muted by the pillow he’s pressed into.
Namjoon nips at the nape of his neck.
“Maybe it’s for the one singing.”
He breaths along the lines of his shoulder blades, his back, sees the chills appear on Jimin’s toned thighs.
He feels his cock stirring where it meets Jimin’s ass.
Namjoon licks at the shell of his ear.
“Can you take me again?”
Jimin nods, sleepily, soft, “Want to.”
Namjoon reaches down, curling a hand around his cock to work himself back up slowly. It’s a little dry, uncomfortable, but Jimin’s back ripples beneath him, sweaty and hot, and Namjoon keeps biting, licking at his shoulders and neck. Small bruises were starting to bloom on the skin. Jimin whimpers, and when his hips start to really rock into the mattress, searching, Namjoon feels out the bedside table with clumsy urgency, the lamp tilting dangerously and flickering off in the process.
Jimin spreads his legs and curves his back under Namjoon. This time is slower, quiet, both of them too sleepy and fucked out already to do anything but take their time. Honestly, it’s too intimate for a one night stand, feels a little weird to be fucking lazily in the dark, Namjoon’s cheek pressed into his pink hair, moaning low. But they let themselves get away with it.
For the first time, Namjoon wonders if Jimin is also pretending at something tonight.
Still, he lets it build, speeding up, losing his rhythm until he hears Jimin gasp loudly beneath him, shaking a little and definitely cumming all over Namjoon’s clean sheets.
Namjoon slows down with a little difficulty, starts pulling back, not wanting to hurt him.
But Jimin starts clawing at his bicep, whines “Hyung, come inside, inside me.”
Namjoon doesn’t really need to be told twice. He keeps fucking Jimin, who curls into himself, muscles twitching, overstimulated, Jimin, who keeps taking it even though it sounds like it might hurt. It kind of makes Namjoon curious how much Jimin would take if he asked, if he wanted it. He hikes his leg up higher, fucks into him a little deeper, and spills into the condom.
They still, staying close until their breathing evens out again. Namjoon pulls away, hears Jimin inhale sharply in discomfort at the sudden emptiness. He ties the condom off and throws it at the bin, hoping his aim was good in the dark. Eyes closing, Namjoon swears to himself he’ll get up in a moment to clean properly.
————
He wakes up with a start to the unmistakable sound of the garbage truck thundering down a cobblestone street. Somewhere in the distance, glass bottles shatter one by one as they’re dropped into the recycling. The light is still soft in the room.
He’s a little disoriented, head pounding slightly, mouth dry. Jimin’s pink hair is fanned out on the pillow. The sheets of Namjoon’s bed curl up around one leg, leaving the rest of his white back, his too perfect ass, exposed to morning sun. Namjoon gives himself a moment to appreciate that and the sleepy pout of his lips before he forces himself to look away. It’s too early for another round.
Jimin, meanwhile, stirs, undoubtedly disturbed by the same bellowing sound of the trash collectors.
He blinks awake, turns an eye to Namjoon.
Seems to consider him.
“You.”
Namjoon gives him a crooked grin, amused by the grumpy, sleep-heavy voice clawing its way out of Jimin’s throat.
“It’s too early for dimples,” Jimin groans in irritation, burrowing his face back into the pillow.
Then, he wiggles uncomfortably, groans again.
“Oh my God,” he twists his arm to wag a finger at Namjoon, “you did not let me sleep in my own cum!”
Namjoon’s smile widens despite himself.
“Let you?!” he questions back, disbelieving.
He gives Jimin’s ass a little tap.
“Come on, you can shower. I’ll change the sheets.”
Discomfort seems to win over any desire to stay in bed, and Jimin rolls out with another sleepy pout, keeping the sheets curled around his waist.
“I’ll just show you how it works quickly. Not as intuitive as you’d think,” he explains, walking towards the bathroom.
Jimin stumbles after, eyes barely open.
Namjoon turns the water on, tests the warmth with his palm, “Pull for hot, push for cold. Towels there.” He points to his left.
He’s about to step out, give Jimin some privacy, but he ventures to ask, “Do you want some coffee or.. tea? I don’t know?”
Jimin drops the sheets. “Coffee would be amazing, darling,” he deadpans, stepping into the shower.
Eyes up, eyes up.
“Uh, di—“ Namjoon clears his throat, “did you want to eat something?”
Jimin hesitates, stretches his neck.
He looks away.
“I think I should get going, actually.”
Namjoon agrees nonchalantly, closes the door behind him.
He puts the coffee on the stove as quickly as he can, leaving ground espresso everywhere, as expected, before rushing over to change the sheets. He forgets about the coffee immediately, until he hears it bubbling over and hissing on the stove top. He’s rushing back to the kitchen when Jimin steps out of the bathroom, rubbing at his pink hair, now wet.
Namjoon tries to focus on pouring the coffee neatly into a cup while Jimin gathers up his clothing, pulling on each item with a pretty stretch.
When he finishes and comes to collect the warm mug waiting for him on the counter, Namjoon observes him closely, silently sipping on his own cup. He’s wearing the same thing, but he looks different today. Namjoon can’t really tell if something new is untucked or rolled down or if he pocketed a necklace, but Jimin looks so laid back and pretty. There’s a little stubble growing from just the bottom of his chin, and he looks right at home drinking Namjoon’s coffee, mumbling a word of thanks and leaning into his cupboards.
“What’s your plan for today?” Namjoon asks, teasing a little, “Eiffel tower?”
Jimin snorts.
“Saw that already.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Instead, he finishes off the rest of his coffee wordlessly and moves to pull on his shoes by the door.
“Hyung, is there a train close to here?”
Namjoon starts to feel a little panic rise in his chest. He’s just going to let Jimin walk out right now? Jimin, who has no idea Namjoon is coming back to Seoul, who has no reason to think this could be a repeat thing even if he wanted it to be.
But Namjoon knows and he’s not saying anything. This isn’t something yet, but he has this feeling it could be. It’s so easy to see how magnetic Jimin is, how pretty, and just thinking about last night has Namjoon wanting to collapse back into bed and jerk off like a teenager.
Still, the words just die in his throat. He can’t admit yet that this moment of his life is over, all this freedom Paris brought him, the nights out doing coke with Jin and his model friends until the sun rose, the failed flings, his little art world, his little apartment, the slow battle with the French language he eventually won, being out, gay, and not worrying about what his family or anyone else thinks, just being.. Namjoon.. no baggage, no history.
And so even though he’s beating himself up as he does it, Namjoon clears his throat, and says, “There’s a station a minute from here. Just turn right when you go down and you can’t miss it.”
Jimin nods again, and finishes lacing up his shoes.
When he stands, Namjoon leans over and yanks the heavy door open.
Jimin ducks out under his arm, turns to say goodbye.
Namjoon sneaks in a little kiss on both cheeks, figuring, hell, we’re in Paris, and mutters bisous but not without embarrassment coloring his chest and ears red.
Jimin laughs, big eye smile, and says, “au revoir,” in the worst Korean accent ever, before turning and disappearing down the stairs.
Namjoon bangs his big idiot head on the door before going inside.
He closes the window and goes back to sleep to avoid thinking.
When he wakes up, he jerks off remembering last night, imagines he had fucked Jimin again this morning in the shower, imagines he’d lifted him onto the counter in the kitchen and ate him out, imagines Jimin moaning hyung the whole time. When he comes, his head feels a little clearer, but he kind of feels a lot worse.
He finds his phone, plugs it in, and when it’s charged he sees that Jin had sent him a series of truly embarrassing and suggestive set of texts this morning. Turns it back off.
Showers.
Makes another really bad shot of espresso.
Drinks it with a grimace.
Finally, he sits at the table with his laptop and starts looking at flights. He books a ticket, exactly a month away, a direct flight from Paris to Seoul, one way.
Turns his phone back on.
Joon: Jin-hyung
Joon: can you come get your new plants on Sunday?