Archive of Our Own

The plane bounces once, twice as its tires hit the runway. Namjoon’s neighbor clutches the armrests, knuckles white, eyes pressed shut. Namjoon stares out the window—thank god he managed to snatch one on such a packed flight—watches with relief the reds, yellows, whites, and blues of the various blinking lights blur by as their plane comes to a stop. US to South Korea is a brutal trip, 15 hours altogether from Los Angeles. He hasn’t caught any sleep, impossible for him to in midair, even flying business class. But he’s here now. It’ll all be worth it by the time he gets home.

A short, balding man waits for Namjoon just outside baggage claim, carrying a sign with his name on it and everything. Internally, Namjoon chuckles. Yoongi is never one to half ass anything. “Anyeonghasseo,” he greets the man with a tired smile and a bow, the word rolling strangely off his tongue after two years

In the taxi, he still doesn’t sleep, shaken awake by all the lights glowing staggeringly bright against the backdrop of the night. Whatever sleep he gets tonight is going to be the best sleep of his life. He lowers the window slightly, needing more of that familiar yet strange air. Fuck, how he’s missed it. He wasn’t even aware he’d missed it so much until this very moment. In fact, he’s surprised he hadn’t yearned to be back until the moment he purchased those tickets a month ago. Not once in the two years he’s been gone does he recall ever wanting to be home, felt relieved to be gone in fact. And yet here he is, wondering how in the world he’s been able to stay away for as long as he has.

Exhausted body melded to the sit, head too heavy to carry any more, he’s slumped back like a sack of potatoes as he stares out the window, thoughts caught somewhere between excitement of recognizing places he used to visit, and apprehension at facing his friends and family after all this time.

It’s strange, that feeling—after having been gone from a place for so long—of having never left. Everything is different here: the feel and smell of the air, the attitude of the people, the homogeny. His driver plays Korean folk music, low and quiet. Even the sounds are different here. It’s like reverse culture shock. He’s lived all his life in Korea, two in the US, and they’re all just coming back to him now, those first 26 years. And still, it’s like he’s never left.

But he did. Too quickly, too out of the blue for some. And it wasn’t some quick vacation. Two years that feels like a lifetime. He’d left many people behind: friends, family, acquaintances, a boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

No, he’s too tired to think about all that right now. He just wants to get home to Yoongi, the one person he’s been in constant contact with after wiping his existence from Korea. The man’s got a whole room cleared in his apartment just for Namjoon, and the thought of a bed, pillow, and blanket is borderline orgasmic to him right now, he’s that tired. He does think about how he’d left things, though, those moments coming back to him now that he’s come to face their consequences.

It really had been out of the blue. He hadn’t told anyone but Yoongi simply because he’d been dying to say something to someone. The conversation had been short, left no room for second guessing or getting any form of emotional. His flight was to leave in four hours and a taxi was waiting for him just outside Yoongi’s apartment. For some reason he’d felt he needed to tell him in person. Yoongi’s hair was disheveled, pajama shirt on askew, still rubbing the tired out of his eyes when he’d answered the door.

“I’m leaving,” Namjoon had told him breathlessly despite having taken the elevator up.

“Cool,” Yoongi had mumbled in irritation. “Have fun.”

“I’m moving to the US,” Namjoon then clarified, and that got the response he wanted. The hand Yoongi had been combing his hair back with dropped to his side. Suddenly his tired eyes were wide open.

“The fuck do you mean you’re moving?”

Obviously, Namjoon hadn’t given himself much time to explain. “I mean I’m leaving Korea.”

Yoongi hadn’t been able to do more than blink at him stupidly, brain still too foggy to comprehend. “Oh. For how long?”

“I’m not sure. Long enough.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He grew angrier the more awake he got. “Do the others know?”

Namjoon shook his head. “They will when you tell them.”

“Well, that’s a fucked up way to leave your friends behind,” Yoongi snapped, eyebrows creasing. “And a fucked up thing to ask of me.” That’s the only way he was able to express his confusion, reiterating how fucked up this all was.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Namjoon had wanted to tell him how fucked up he would feel if he stayed, but he hadn’t come with an explanation prepared, just the facts. “But now you know. I have to go.”

And just like that, he’d left, ignoring Yoongi’s yelling of his name through the hall, ignoring the tightly wrapped knot in his stomach, the pressure behind his eyeballs. All in all it had been about a three minute interaction, the ride up and down probably longer than he’d stood at the door.

He was a different man then. No, ‘man’ is too generous a word to label what he was. He was an idiot boy, overwhelmed by the world around him, tussling demons he didn’t know how to handle, suffering from the symptoms of a broken heart. He likes to think these two years have done him some good, that he’s done quite a bit of growing up. Therapy, meditation, writing. Spending time with himself, exploring corners of the world he never knew of. Connecting with nature, unbound by anything or anyone, not even himself. Yeah, he’s different now. Otherwise all that time away would have been for nothing.

What feels like much longer than an hour later, he’s paying the driver for the ride and heaving his bags through the doors of Yoongi’s building. The elevator dings. How fitting that the last place he’d been to would be the first place he comes back to.

The ride is short, Yoongi is only on the third floor. He turns left towards apartment 309 and, ringing the doorbell, he’s glad to hear the familiar tone of the door unlocking. They don’t have those in America, at least not the places he stayed. Yoongi leans against the wall across the foyer, arms folded across his chest, waiting. He doesn’t help Namjoon with his bags, a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches him struggle to get them over the door ledge. When Namjoon finally closes the door behind him, he speaks.

“Well, well,” he says as calm as can be, reaching for the carry on handle to pull it further in. “Look what the rat dragged in.”

“It’s cat,” Namjoon corrects, grinning stupidly.

“If it was a cat, I’d be thrilled to let it in. Nah, only a rat would bring you along with it.”

If this is as cold as his friends are going to be, lighthearted and joking, Namjoon can definitely handle it. With his bags set against the wall and out of the way, he and Yoongi stand before each other awkwardly, Namjoon towering over his older friend. He looks exactly the same, Namjoon notes, looking him over. Fuller face, thicker arms and chest, but that’s Min Yoongi alright. Cat eyes, smooth features, expressionless brows. Namjoon wonders if a hug would be too much, but Yoongi doesn’t leave him questioning himself for long. He reaches out, unexpectedly pulling Namjoon against him.

“Welcome back you annoyingly large moron. I’ve missed you.”

As shocked as Namjoon is by this uncharacteristic display from his typically stoic friend, the affection is more than welcome. He hasn’t been told he’s missed for a long time, hasn’t been hugged for even longer. It surprises him, how emotional he gets in Yoongi’s arms, how quickly tears form in his eyes. He was never a crier. He blinks them away. There will be a time to process this, but now is not it.

He and Yoongi immediately fall into a familiar rhythm. There isn’t any of the awkwardness he’d expected to underly their interactions, and for that he’s grateful. Yoongi helps him unpack straight away, knowing Namjoon hates leaving things off for later. He doesn’t fully get settled in his new bedroom, but at least the bags are emptied.

“Thank you,” he tells his friend for the umpteenth time after he’s showered and changed. They sit in the living area, a can of beer and bottle of banana milk between them. Yoongi had made to grab Namjoon a beer too, but he was reminded that Namjoon’s been sober for a little over a year.

“You can stop saying that now.”

Namjoon ignores the humble comment, adds, “This means a lot hyung. Seriously, if it wasn’t for you I think these last couple of years would’ve been a lot more painful than they were. And then this…” He trails off, sweeping his hand around the apartment.

“Damn. Then you’ll be disappointed to hear that I’m doing this more for me than for you. I’ve just been real lonely lately.”

Namjoon chuckles. “I’m grateful either way.”

“Speaking of the last couple of years…you up for talking about it?”

Namjoon inhales deeply, drowns the last droplets of his drink. “I will be. When I get over this jetlag.”

“Fair enough.” Yoongi taps the side of his drink a few times. “You know, the guys are going to be all over you once they hear you’re back.”

“You haven’t told them?”

“Was that meant to be my responsibility too?”

Even if Namjoon had asked him to be the one to break the news, Yoongi wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want to.

“Anyway, there’s a shit ton I haven’t told them. They’re gonna’ want answers. And they deserve them.”

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon assures him. “I wouldn’t have come back if I wasn’t ready to talk.”

Morning comes upon him softly, muted sunlight filtered by the white sheer curtains. For just a few seconds his brain assumes he’s still in his bed in Burbank, like nothing has changed. Pretty quickly he remembers the long ass trip it took to get here and his eyes shoot wide open. He refuses to move, lets it all come back to him before sitting up. He’s in Seoul, in Korea. He’s at Yoongi’s place and will be for a while. Just a few miles away is the Han River itself, a few miles in the opposite direction a storage locker with his worldly possessions. He focuses his ears on the hectic city outside; light horns, rushing of cars, ringing of bicycle bells. Brave city birds chirping, screeching tires of city buses. Not too different from the city noises of LA, yet vastly different.

The smell of coffee hits his nostrils and suddenly his body feels the unbearable need for it. He throws the covers off, stretches his joints out before planting his feet on the ground. As expected, Yoongi is waiting on the espresso machine to finish brewing his drink. “Morning,” Namjoon greets him, running his hands back through his hair a few times to try and tame it.

“Morning. Want a cup?”

“Yes, please.” He pads to the island separating the kitchen and living room, hoists himself onto a stool.

“How was your sleep?” asks Yoongi, setting up another cup.

“Better than I could have hoped. It’s pretty surreal to be waking up here again.” Yoongi passes him the mug he’d originally made for himself, leans his hip against the counter as he waits for the second one to finish. “Thanks.” Namjoon grips it, lets the overwhelming heat wash over his fingertips and through his body. It’s still August, the apartment is relatively warm, but the comfort a cup of coffee brings him is unparalleled. He’s traded alcohol for caffeine, a drug he'll always accept happily. “Do you have work today?”

“Yeah. Actually, I have a session with Kookie, so I’m thinking of telling him you’re here. You know he idolizes you. And I’m sure he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut.”

Namjoon brings the mug to his lips, sips gingerly to keep from burning off his tastebuds. He did that once, couldn’t taste anything for a week. “Go ahead, hyung. No more secrets.”

Yoongi raises a skeptical eyebrow at that. “Yeah? So you plan on telling Jimin everything when you see him?”

The casual mentioning of Jimin’s name almost has Namjoon choking on his drink. It’s been so long since he’s talked about Jimin in a non-therapy setting that he’s caught off guard. Chuckling without humor, Namjoon tells him, “Mm, I might wait until the second or third time we see each other. That is, if he wants to see me.”

A conflicted look crosses his hyung’s face. He clearly wants to say something he thinks he shouldn’t. Namjoon pretends like he didn’t see it, busies himself with sipping on his coffee again. With a heavy sigh, Yoongi tells him, “Listen. I need to make a few things clear before you face any of them.” Slowly, concernedly, Namjoon sets his mug back down, clutches it in both hands as Yoongi captures his full attention. “We were all pretty distraught when you vanished without a word. I mean, even we were surprised with ourselves at the effect it had on us.” Ouch. “Also, Jimin might have been the one to end things between the two of you, but it wasn’t out of hate. He was still very much in love with you.” Was. “You were going through a rough time, but Jimin was doubly heartbroken. And you’re probably going to get a verbal lashing from him, along with everyone else.”

Yoongi’s blunt. It’s a characteristic Namjoon had despised at first, respected later on, and appreciates now. He doesn’t expect the pain he’s caused them to be sugarcoated when he hears it, neither does he want that. It’s part of his healing process, part of the growth and efforts he’s been making to better himself. But if he’s to be honest, he’s been avoiding thinking about his friends’ feelings while away. The focus has been all on himself. He hasn’t been able to even imagine what they might have gone through, especially Jimin. That’s why Namjoon is here now, though. To pick up the pieces of all the things destroyed in the aftermath of his departure. He may not be able to put any of them back together, but he can at least try to clean up his mess. It’s the least he needs to do.

“Do you think he’ll even want to talk to me?”

Something about the question softens Yoongi’s features. Maybe it’s the vulnerable way Namjoon asks, or maybe that’s part of who Yoongi is now, his own growth over the time that’s passed. He doesn’t try to keep up that faux hard exterior. “The kid believes in closure. Even if he can’t bring himself to face you now, he’ll want to eventually. And hell, you’ve avoided talking for two years. Knowing the two of you, you’ll probably avoid it even longer until shit starts to boil over.” With that, Yoongi turns back to his coffee. He picks up the mug, begins heading towards the living room. Namjoon follows, his own mug forgotten on the island top.

“Fill me in, hyung,” he pleads, crossing his legs as he sits down across from Yoongi on the same couch. “What do I need to know before I see any of them again?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows pull in and out. He mulls over his words, always the articulate speaker. “I don’t know how much you’ve been keeping up with their news…”

“I haven’t,” Namjoon cuts in guiltily. “I couldn’t,” he adds in hopes of gaining some empathy. He realizes how much more terrible this makes him, but it’s the truth. “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just—it would’ve messed me up. Seeing how all you were thriving while I—I’d taken ten steps back in life. And then my therapist suggested deleting all social media apps from my phone, so I can really focus on myself, so I—I don’t know much about the others.” His voice gets smaller as he tapers off.

Yoongi stares down into his cup, rubs his lips together as he processes. Though Namjoon had been keeping in touch with him, he only knows so much, just the bit Namjoon has wanted him to know. Right now, Namjoon can’t really remember if he’s ever mentioned he’s in therapy. “Okay,” is all Yoongi says in the end. “Okay, so I guess I’ll just give it to you as it is. The others can fill in the gaps. Who do we start with first?” he wonders aloud.

“Jungkook.” When he’d left, Jeon Jungkook was a fledgling adult. He was so ready to dive head first into the entertainment industry with the purest of intentions; to create art. Who could blame him for being so naïve as to what awaited him? The kid wanted to make music with no regard as to what effect it would have on every single aspect of his life. Namjoon just hopes he’s made it, and that he’s okay.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a fond smile at his lips. “He’ll piss himself when he hears he’s the first you’re concerned about. Remember how he used to follow you around when he first joined the company, all wide eyed and eager?”

“How could I forget?” Namjoon says with a small laugh. “Tell me he’s doing well.”

“Well?” scoffs Yoongi. “Kids one of the hottest idols on the market. He’s a trendsetter, marches to the beat of his own drum. Don’t tell him I said that, though. It inflates his ego too much.” Namjoon genuinely laughs. “He just had a comeback a few weeks ago, is still promoting right now.

“Good. That’s good.”

“You should listen to his stuff,” Yoongi urges. “He’s really grown into his voice. Of course, he’s not satisfied with any of his progress, but he’ll learn to accept himself one day.” Yeah, Namjoon can definitely relate to that. He just hopes one day is sooner rather than later for his dongsaeng.

And really, are artists ever satisfied? Namjoon doesn’t think so. “What about Tae?”

“Mm.” Yoongi hums into his mug, swallows the sip he’s just taken. “He’s hot on the OST line. There isn’t a production company out there not begging to work with him. Remember when the public used to make fun of how deep his voice is?”

Of course Namjoon remembers, how could he forget? It inhibited Tae’s confidence for the longest time, always being told he didn’t have that poppy-idol sound. He and Yoongi have had plenty of discussions about this back in the day, predicting that when he officially debuts he’ll change the tide of what people expect from an idol. Sounds like they were right.

“Anyway,” Yoongi continues. “His sound is so unique. You throw him something warm, rough, soulful, he can nail it.” That, Namjoon knows. He’d written most of the material on Taehyung’s debut album. From what he can remember, Tae was actually working on another one before Namjoon left. “But his progress has been slower than Kookie’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been promising a new album for years now and keeps pushing it back. You know how self-conscious he is about his work. I actually worry for him. A single every once in a while can only keep you afloat for so long.” This slightly dampens the joy Namjoon had gotten from hearing about Jungkook. After taking another drink of his coffee, Yoongi adds, “Maybe now that you’re back you can get him into it again. He’s always been most comfortable working with you.”

Namjoon looks away, shrugs.

Yoongi is in disbelief when he asks, “Wait…don’t tell me you’re not thinking of working in music again?”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Namjoon just shrugs again. “I didn’t really come back with that in mind, hyung. I’ve got other priorities right now.”

“Wow. Who even are you?” Yoongi exclaims, so taken aback by this he has to put his mug down on the coffee table next to them. The reaction is warranted. One upon a time, Namjoon would have done anything but sell his soul to make it mainstream. He wasn’t lying about having other priorities, though. “You’re a fucking lyrical genius. The industry needs good writers. What else could you possibly do?”

“Honestly,” he inhales slowly, exhales roughly. “I have no idea. But I have time, hyung. I have so much time to figure it out.” Things aren’t how they were before. At least now he has value to his name, companies that will be clamoring to hire him the second they catch wind he’s looking for an exclusive contract. But that’s beside the point of this conversation. He changes the subject, asks about Jin-hyung instead.

Of course, Yoongi doesn’t let the distraction slip past without comment. “You’re an idiot if you think I won’t make it my lifelong mission to get you selling songs again, but fine. We’ll talk about hyung. Where was he when you left?”

“Mm…working on a ballad’s album?” Namjoon tries to recall.

“Right! Well, it didn’t quite take off. Trends and all that bullshit, people weren’t ready for it. So he took a short break, then ventured into acting. He’s essentially the only actor anyone wants to work with these days.”

“That’s good! Not about the album, about acting,” he clarifies quickly. “He’s putting his degree to use.”

“Yeah, and the timing was perfect. It helped that a lot of his senior actors who were popular at the time enlisted, so TV was looking around for some new faces. Of course, he already had made a name for himself, but he’s finally getting the acknowledgement he deserves.”

It’s unexplainable, the connection the seven of them have. Of course, it all has to do with their roots, how they came up from a company that was nothing and inexplicably found success as they built the thing from the ground up. They only had each other during those days, writing for one another, singing and rapping each other’s songs. And they were talented. Boy, were they fucking talented. If they weren’t so sure of themselves surely all of them would have given up so long ago. For him to have left when he did, when their names were finally on the rise…his timing couldn’t have been worse. Then again, a lot of things happened then whose timing wasn’t ideal.

“Honestly,” Yoongi goes on, nursing his coffee again. A true addict. Namjoon must get it from him. “Hyung has changed least of all. No matter anything any one of us go through, his consistency is what holds us down. Him, and Hobi.”

Shit, how he’s missed Hoseok-hyung. If there ever was a person as well rounded, they’re long gone down. Hoseok can rap, sing, dance…you name it. “What’s he up to these days?”

“He stuck to dancing, but none of us were surprised. His first mixtape made a lot of waves, but we’ve always known how passionate he is about dance. Now that HYBE has a lot more artists under its wing, he’s always busy directing one or another. He’s also Jimin’s choreographer.”

And they’ve arrived. It’s no coincidence Jimin is saved for last. He’s the hardest to talk about when Namjoon is involved. Namjoon fidgets uncomfortably, picks at a loose string at the ankle of his pants. “H-how is he?” he asks hesitantly. There’s so much packed into that question, so many directions Yoongi’s answer could go. But the producer keeps it professional, as he has with the rest.

“He’s Korea’s It-Boy, no surprise there,” he speaks, and Namjoon can’t help but note the change in tone. Yoongi speaks slower, quieter, eyes Namjoon more carefully. Though there’s been an consistent undertone of pride as he’d spoken about each of their friends, there’s a special reverence when Yoongi talks about Jimin. “Everyone adores him.” Of course they do. He’s been made to be adored. “He releases material nonstop, each song better than the last. He’s a multi-award winner, promotes overseas, friends with practically every artists we ever dreamed of working with.”

Something like pride swells within Namjoon. Flashes of conversations he and Jimin have had about the future, about their career’s, their personal lives, flitter through his mind’s eye, a Pandora’s box of emotion and memories. None of those moments had taken place with the consideration that they wouldn’t be there to watch the other’s success, so although Namjoon is relieved and proud to hear of the love Jimin is receiving, there’s a small part of him that’s resentful with himself. He swallows, looks up to meet Yoongi’s gaze. “I’m really glad to hear that,” he says simply, but sincerity weighs heavy in his voice, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it.

His hyung smiles proudly as he agrees. “You wouldn’t believe the artist he’s become. Honestly…” He hesitates, probably wondering if he should say what he’s about to say. It doesn’t take him long to make the decision, however, because when he continues it’s to say, “I’m surprised you’ve been able to hold back from keeping tabs on him,” and Namjoon understands why he would need to think twice before saying that.

Guilt. It makes Namjoon feel guilty, a disgusting, sickening guilt that makes him feel like the worst utter human on the planet. How could he not follow his friends’ work, especially Jimin’s? What kind of person is as cold hearted as he to walk away from everything and everyone he’s ever held close to his heart and not think twice about them?

His voice is far away, detached from his body as he speaks the words while holding back the pain they bring him. “I don’t know how I did it, hyung,” he can admit. “I just knew it was in my best interest not to.”

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, officially done with his glass, setting it aside again. “I hope that time away really was for your benefit. How are you doing these days?”

Namjoon blows out a heavy breath, rubs his hands together, a nervous tick. “That’s one complicated question,” he speaks honestly. But he can answer it now, unlike before. “I have good days, and bad. It’s constant work, you know, keeping my thoughts from eating me alive. But right now, I’m okay.” He laughs at himself. “I wouldn’t be able to sit through this conversation if I wasn’t.”

Yoongi surveys him worriedly. Namjoon knows that look. It’s the one his hyung used to give when he wanted to offer constructive criticism but was too afraid of hurting any of their feelings. There’s something else he wants to say, he just doesn’t know if he should. “Joon-ah,” he says regrettably, and Namjoon mentally preps for hearing something he won’t like. He can take it, whatever it is. He’s been training his mind to handle things he doesn’t want to hear appropriately, he wouldn’t have come back if he couldn’t. “I’ve only told you what you need to know about their professional lives, but there’s still so much you don’t know.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings by saying this. I just don’t want you to find out from anyone or anywhere else.”

Despite clearing his mind, he catches the way his pulse speeds up. “You’re triggering my anxiety by being so cryptic, hyung. What is it?”

Yoongi rubs his lips together, runs a restless hand back through his messy raven hair. Whatever Namjoon is expecting…it’s not what comes out of Yoongi’s mouth next. “Jimin is dating someone.”

Namjoon can’t collect himself quick enough before the muscles in his face sink, giving away his shock. His eyes go out of focus as Yoongi’s words replay again and again in his mind, as if they weren’t real the first time. At first, they repeat in Yoongi’s voice. Then Namjoon’s, and finally he needs to scream them into the void inside as they settle in his bones and begin to slowly, excruciatingly crush him.

“Hey!” Yoongi reaches out, placing his calloused hand on Namjoon’s knee. “You still with me?”

He blinks away the shock, quiets the voice down. Slowly, Yoongi comes back into focus. “Y-yeah,” he mutters, and he can’t even hide the pain in his voice. “I-I’m with you.”

Though he has nothing to be sorry for, Yoongi looks apologetic. “Listen, ever since you told me you’d be back, I’ve been wondering how the fuck I was going to tell you. I know this isn’t something you want to hear.”

“Hyung,” he breaths, stopping him from saying any more. Because after two years, he shouldn’t be as crushed as he is. Really, it’s not like he came back with the expectation of winning Jimin back. And yet…

Yet it still hurts. Knowing how madly he’s still in love with him, how difficult it’s been for him to move on, and Jimin…Jimin’s love belongs to someone else. It’s only going to cause him more pain knowing, but he still clears his throat and asks, “For how long?”

Yoongi sits back, eyes boring into Namjoon as he analyzes every twitch of his muscles, every slight emotion that passes through his face. “Almost half a year now.”

That’s all Yoongi gives him. Nothing more, nothing less than a direct answer to his question. But Namjoon wants to know more. Needs to know more, needs to understand just how—how real this is, because he can’t picture it. Jimin having the connection he had with Namjoon, only with someone else. Namjoon can’t even fathom it. He needs to know, and Yoongi is going to make him ask.

“Are they…public?” Sure, it’s a strange question to ask, and Yoongi’s expression indicates as much. But he doesn’t know of the strain that particular topic had had on Jimin and Namjoon’s relationship.

Thankfully, he doesn’t voice his confusion, but offers Namjoon what he’s searching for. “Yeah.” The air is knocked out of Namjoon once again. “Yeah, Jimin made it clear from the onset that if they were to date, then he wasn’t keeping it a secret. Why?”

The fact that he has to ask tells Namjoon that Jimin hasn’t said much to their friends about their relationship. Of course, their little circle was well aware of how ooey-gooey in love they were, but many aspects of their relationship had been just between Namjoon and Jimin, two naïve kids so enamored they were afraid of anything bursting their little bubble of infatuation. If Namjoon could only admit it to himself then—that had to be one of the many reasons of their downfall; they were utterly consumed by each other, the real world and its problems was so uselessly insignificant. As were their problems, and that’s where Namjoon knows he really went wrong. Avoid, avoid, avoid. It was the mantra of his life, and it lead to him losing Jimin. And now Jimin’s love belongs to someone else.

Then something more pressing crosses his mind, and he snaps his head up to look at Yoongi again. “How did the public react?” In their line of work, with Jimin being an idol, news like this can break someone’s career. Namjoon doesn’t need to imagine the barrage of hate and vile comments his precious Jimin could have gotten, he’s witnessed the wrath of fans firsthand when his industry friends so much as made mention of a personal life. He panics for a moment, picturing the turmoil words like that would have caused Jimin, but Yoongi quells his fears straight away.

“Times are changing,” his friend says casually, eyes still drinking in every movement Namjoon makes. Yoongi is a body language expert. Half the time a person doesn’t need to speak for him to know what they’re thinking, and right now Namjoon is giving him a feast to evaluate. “There was the usual shit talking, but people’s support overwhelmed all that. No need to worry.”

“Good,” Namjoon exhales. “That’s…good.”

“How about you?”

“Huh?”

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t date anyone all this time?”

“No.” No he hasn’t. He’ll never have what he had with Jimin. He doesn’t want anything—or anyone—else. Sure, there’s always the occasional hookup, but those were desperate times. Human errors, not one of them as emotionally profound as anything he’d had with Jimin.

Yoongi blows out a puff of air, sinks back against the armrest of the couch. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon sighs. “Yeah.” Then another question occurs to him, and he wonders if—for the sake of his own sanity—he even should know. But Yoongi said the relationship is public, so he’ll find out soon anyway. “Who is it?”

Another sad smile. “Taemin.”

Taemin. He knows Taemin. He’s worked with him before, written for him. They’d become buddy-buddy over soju and music. Of course, Taemin never knew he and Jimin were dating. Does he know now, what they were? Would he care? Does Jimin care?

“Joon, I didn’t tell you all this to hurt you,” Yoongi feels the need to remind him. “I just want you to be aware that—that things are different right now. For all of us. We’re all in different places, we’ve grown so much. And so have you. But things aren’t simple enough to where you can just pick up where you left off, yeah? You need to be aware of that.”

“No, I know. I know. Thanks, hyung. For filling me in.”

With a heave, Yoongi rises from his seat, picking up his mug to rinse it off. “I have to beat traffic to get to work on time. Get comfortable Joon-ah, do whatever it is you need to do before you jump back into everything. I’ll try to hold the kids off for as long as I can.” He passes, pauses just past Namjoon to grip his shoulder. “I don’t know how easy or difficult this will be for you, but hyung is here, yeah?”

The air is humid and a bit dusty, not too different from LA’s, minus the lingering scent of saltwater. He walks down the busy streets with a mask and sunglasses on, hands tucked into his washed out jeans. The city is busy as usual. It feels comfortable and foreign at the same time to hear people around him using his mother tongue. Although his English was fluent to begin with, any longer in California and he would have accidently begun thinking himself American.

A group of teenagers whizz by on electric scooters, leaning forward in their stance, racing down the sidewalk. An ahjumma stands outside a storefront, dusting the merchandise displayed there. Two old men sit in plastic, bright orange chairs in front of a store just a few doors down, holding onto their walking sticks and having quiet conversation. Namjoon needs to see his parents soon, but he’s taking Yoongi’s advice, getting reacquainted with all of this before everyone begins asking for explanations.

He sees it now, just how big Jimin’s star status has grown. Every billboard he walks near advertises him or something of his. Every major outlet has posters of Korea’s Pride plastered to their windows. There are even Jimin themed stickers covering the entirety of the walk cross he waits at now. Funny, how things play out sometimes. He had deprived himself of all things Jimin only to come back home and be bombarded by the essence of his presence.

That’s not wholly true, actually. He did attend a concert Jimin held in LA months ago, though it feels like it’s been years since. He didn’t have the best seats, was too far away to make out his features, could only watch him on the display screens. Still, he was distanced enough to enjoy the show without thinking too much of how physically close they were for the first time in, what felt like, forever. And when he’d gone home it was easy to forget who Jimin was to him and not feel tortured by having been so close, yet so far. His therapist had been proud of him, said it was a sign of his maturation. What will she say when she hears of his reaction to the dating news?

She’d warned him against coming back home, told him she didn’t think he was ready. Though he’d made great progress between his first visit and now, she still didn’t feel he was in a place where he could handle revisiting where his troubles began. Or the people. But the need to be back was a nagging one. It was consuming his every waking thought, even his dreams and nightmares. With the same spontaneity he’d acted on when he’d left—his entire bodily system had begged him to get the hell out of Korea—he’d come back.

He laughs at himself when he sees where he’d ended up. It wasn’t on purpose; the HYBE building had moved since he’d last been here, and he wasn’t exactly in the loop on where the new location was situated. How ironic that he’d ended up right underneath the skyscraper.

Oh, how far they’ve all come. He should meet with Bang PD-nim sometime soon, catch up with an old friend. What Yoongi said this morning comes back to him, about how necessary his talent is to the industry. When the time comes, maybe he’ll ask for his old job back. He’s got enough royalties to keep him afloat for a lifetime, but writing is in his blood. It would be comfortable to work at the same company where he got his start. At least that one aspect wouldn’t have changed.

Yeah, he’ll look into it. He doesn’t see Bang Shihyuk denying him anything, despite how he’d left things.

A group of nearby girls pose underneath the HYBE sign, throwing up piece signs as a friend takes a picture. Namjoon approaches. “Join them, I’ll take the picture for you,” he offers. She’s quick to thank him and hand her phone over, a little too trusting if you ask him. The girls rearrange themselves, fix their hair and outfits. Namjoon shoots a bunch of frames from all possible angles, filling the gallery with plenty of options to choose from and post.

“Thank you,” the phone’s owner says giddily, speed walking towards him to scroll through the images.

A friend that’s just a few feet behind throws a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, I know you!” She’s pointing at Namjoon discreetly, like she’s afraid to call him out in front of all the commuters passing by. “You’re Kim Namjoon!”

Namjoon wasn’t an idol, never dreamt of being one. He likes his privacy, likes remaining behind the scenes. That doesn’t mean he’s held onto his anonymity for dear life; he’s appeared in a few HYBE artists’ behind-the-scenes footage now and again, so he’s aware some of his old colleagues’ fans know of him. He just didn’t think he was recognizable enough, especially with a mask on.

“No way,” one of the girls screeches, and suddenly they surround him like he’s one of the artists themselves. “Do you know Jungkook?”

“Is he just as handsome in real life?”

“Do you still write for TaeTae?”

“Why haven’t we seen your name on credits in so long?”

“Hey!” one of their friends shouts, an artificial blond standing just outside the circle the rest have formed. “He doesn’t work for HYBE anymore. He hasn’t in two years.” Namjoon had figured out quite long ago not to question the knowledge of some fans. When they wanted to know something, they found a way.

The onslaught of questions begins again. “Why not?”

“The music during your days was so much better than it is now,” the phone owner comments seriously.

“But the music now is still good,” the one next to her chastises.

“Of course it is, I’m just saying. I liked Jimin’s old stuff more.”

Though he hasn’t written for any HYBE artists for as long as he’s been gone, that comment still offends him somewhat. “Those songs haven’t gone anywhere. You can still listen to them any time you want,” he reasons gently.

They nod their heads without really hearing him and proceed to ask for a picture. Namjoon isn’t one to flaunt a fame he doesn’t have, so he’s almost just as surprised when he demurely agrees and leans in front of an outstretched phone. He keeps his mask on. After thanking him profusely, the group walks away with their heads teemed together over the images. Through his peripheral he catches the blond throwing him one last look over her shoulder, a bit of a sour expression on her face. He can’t imagine the theories swimming about him and his disappearance online—doesn’t quite understand the preoccupation some company fans have with mere employees—but doesn’t dwell on it too much. Much of what’s online has no basis anyway.

Moving along on his walk, there’s no shortage of HYBE artist advertising surrounding him. If Yoongi hadn’t filled him in on how far their friends have come in the span of nearly 24 months, he would have been taken aback at seeing blown up images of their faces eyeing him as he walks on.

When he’s gone too far to make the walk back, he rents a city bicycle to get back home. Speeding down the sidewalks with warm air fanning over his face and neck is just as sweet as the bungeoppang he chews on. He feels light, comfortable. Home. Despite LA being just as much a city as Seoul, nothing compares to the streets he’d grown exploring.

He stops at a red light, hurries through the rest of his snack so he can ride the rest of the way comfortably with two hands. To his left, across the street, is the HYBE building once again. A black van is parked right out front this time, its windows tinted beyond necessary. His light turns green, but he hesitates, waiting, hoping. He feels a bit creepy doing so, then again a gaggle of people has also stopped in their tracks and taken out their phones to catch a glimpse of whatever artist is about to step out. Around him, the everyday-ers mumble at his being in their way and side step him to get across the road before the light changes back.

Security guards exit the black and glass building first, creating a safe route for the artist—or artists—to walk down. They spread their hands, ready to catch any unruly bystanders. The doors open once again and someone decked in black from head to toe—from the hat pulled down low, to their mask, t-shirt, and pants—exits. Namjoon can tell just by the walk who it is.

His breath stutters, catches in his throat despite not a sliver of the person’s face visible from where he stands all the way across the street and over. The artist hesitates. Namjoon swallows back his nervousness, feeling silly. Jimin can’t even see him from all the way over there.

Lifting his head slightly, Jimin looks around. His manager pauses next to him, takes him by the elbow to keep him moving. But Jimin is looking for something, searching through the gathered crowd. Of course, he doesn’t think to look all the way in Namjoon’s direction. He doesn’t know Namjoon is there, and yet Namjoon hopes for their eyes to catch if only a single second.

It doesn’t happen, because of course not. It’s coincidence enough that Jimin happens to be leaving work just as Namjoon is passing by. How unrealistic to expect…

The back window of the van comes down all the way. Despite his efforts to tamp down any expectation, Namjoon’s heart rate beats wildly as Jimin pokes his head out and turns his entire body around to look right at him.

Their gazes catch, Namjoon’s expressionless, Jimin’s wide in utter shock. They remain locked until the van begins to pull away.

Namjoon kicks his feet onto the pedals and rides away.

He manages to get a few errands done before arriving back at the apartment. A new SIM card for his phone, some snacks he’s missed, and groceries he’s noticed Yoongi missing or running low on. After depositing the bike at a rental station, he has about a 5 minute walk to the building. The sun is setting behind him, the sky glowing a beautiful orange-pink. Even the sunset looks better here somehow.

Kicking his shoes off in the foyer, he notices that Yoongi is back already. “What’s all that?” his friend asks from where he’s sunken into the soft cushions of a couch.

“Things missing from your fridge.”

“Any takeout in those bags?”

Namjoon freezes. How did he not think about dinner? Yoongi chuckles. “Don’t worry, I ordered delivery.” Without being asked, he struggles out of his comfortable position and joins Namjoon in the kitchen, begins to unpack the bags and place everything where it goes. “How was your day?”

“Relaxing,” Namjoon tells him, ripping open a bag of honey butter chips and diving into it. “I got a new phone line. Remind me to send you my number.”

“Perfect. I tried texting you today and realized halfway through searching for your number that you don’t have one here.”

“Did you want me to bring anything else? I can go back out since I’m still dressed…”

“No, no. I could’ve brought all of these back myself if you’d just asked. It’s just…Jimin messaged me.”

“Oh?” Namjoon doesn’t have to wonder why.

Yoongi’s back is to him, standing on his tiptoes as he tosses the snacks into their designated cabinet over the counter. “Yeah. He says he thinks he saw you outside of HYBE.”

“Technically, I wasn’t outside of HYBE…”

“So you saw him too?”

Namjoon looks deep into his bag of chips, as if its spiced depths are a worthy distraction. He tries to sound nonchalant when he asks, “What else did he say?”

Yoongi closes the cabinet and begins grabbing at all the bags to toss into the recycling bin. “Asked if I knew you were back. He wasn’t happy that I was aware, so I might have left out the part about you staying with me. And Jungkook knows now, too. He wanted to come, but his schedule is keeping him quite busy these days.”

“So Hobi-hyung, Seokjin-hyung, and Tae are all whose left,” Namjoon mumbles. It’s like ticking them off a to-do list. Once they’re all informed, there’s the matter of explaining himself. And then when the shock has worn off, everyone settles back into their busy, individual lives, and Namjoon can only hope that he remains a part of those.

“Jungkook will probably have told Hobi by now. I’m awaiting the excited phone call just as soon as his shift ends. Tae and Seokjin won’t be happy they’ve been left for last.”

“Come here,” Namjoon waves him over. He pulls out his phone, preps the camera.

Yoongi raises and eyebrow. “You want to take a selfie? Really?”

“We can just send this in the group chat, and then they’ll all have been informed. Saves us the repetitive conversations.” Shrugging, Yoongi comes to stand by his side. The man is nearly a foot shorter than him, so Namjoon’s face looks wonky with the high and downward angle. But he’s never been one to give too much thought to impromptu selfies, so without further ado, he opens up his phone messenger to send it through and…

“Oh!” he realizes. He should have figured. “I’ve been removed from the group chat.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Yoongi sighs. “Tae is admin. I’ll have him readd you. Send me your number.” He does so.

Namjoon tries not to pout. He walks away from the kitchen, heads to his bedroom with the excuse that he needs to change, he smells too much like outside, which isn’t a complete lie. After tossing his dirty clothes into a corner of the room, he throws himself on the bed, one arm tucked underneath his head, and unlocks his phone. At first, he’s aimlessly scrolling through the gallery. However, he’s only lying to himself. He knows exactly what image he’s searching for, one that is buried under two years’ worth of photographs and memes. He never clears anything out, and the image he enlarges now happens to be a screenshot of a chat that once felt like a simultaneous shot in the heart and a lifeline. It goes:

He flips through all the screenshots to read them. Once he’s gone through them once, he reads them again, lingering on I still love you. An unhealthy amount, I think. If he hasn’t memorized the messages in their entirety, he’s surely memorized those lines.

Namjoon didn’t come here after all they’ve both been through to get him back, no. That would be unfair to Jimin, especially a Jimin who is thriving and in a relationship, apparently. But Namjoon’s feelings, those haven’t subsided, not in the least. He doesn’t think they ever will. Despite his intentions for coming back to Korea, he can’t help but hope. Even if Jimin never wants to see him again, Namjoon hopes he still has it in him to love him.

A notification comes through that he’s been added to a group chat called Bangtan, their old chat. He takes a deep breath, clicks on the option to add an attachment, and sends the snap of him and Yoongi standing in Yoongi’s kitchen. No words, no message, just the image. He doesn’t expect any responses straight away, especially with the hectic schedules of entertainment company employees. Hoseok-hyung, he never disappoints though. A mere two minutes pass by with Namjoon’s arm thrown despairingly over his face when the device vibrates in his hold. It’s embarrassing how quickly he goes to check the notification, even to himself. Hoseok has sent a picture of himself grinning broadly, eyes squinting tight, giving Namjoon finger hearts.

A slow smile creeps across his face. He sits up, exhales roughly. He doesn’t respond straight away, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he drafts what to say next in his head. Just as he begins to type, however, another notification comes through, a new message box popping up in the chat. It’s from Jimin, and it’s so simple he can’t put a tone to the words.