Archive of Our Own

“I’m going to eat three of them!”

Namjoon twitched at the sound of Jungkook’s whoop, Taehyung and Jimin’s voices mixed in. Their chatter was like ocean waves against rocks. A sound he enjoyed. Just not now.

“…said the grilled lobster with the kimchi mayo is always sold out!” Hoseok sounded like a sportscaster as he read out loud the reviews again. They read the reviews to each other all day after Seokjin crowed he finally got reservations at the popular seafood restaurant Gogi. Bang PD then surprised everyone in turn when he offered the company card to pick up their tab.

“Yuck, you can have my share,” Taehyung declared. “Just a steak for me.”

“Ooh, I heard they soak the meat in…”

Namjoon rubbed his forehead. It didn’t help. His head pounded. He glanced down at his lyrics notebook, the stack of printouts, and the company laptop. Several opened browser tabs waited for him to read.

A sigh escaped. Namjoon looked around the tiny studio. He was alone. Nevertheless, he pressed his lips together before another sigh could escape.

No, Namjoon, back to work.

Namjoon stared at the desk. His throat worked.

The comeback was in three weeks. Two new media sources applied to attend their press conference before the date. From America, in fact. Namjoon checked the press list twice because he couldn’t believe it at first.

The company always vetted the attendees. It boggled Namjoon’s mind they now held press conferences. They even needed to reserve rooms in fancy hotels because their little studio’s rooms upstairs weren’t big enough!

Namjoon searched for all the articles associated with each attendee. He tried to read all the articles. And he planned to read them once more in case he missed any subtext.

Jimin was smiling again since the blog post he read last month. Hoseok stopped his early morning dance practices; they began after he read the comments on one of his solo VLives. And Jungkook stopped looking like he wanted to hide behind Namjoon whenever they were out in public.

The mood during comeback preparations bloomed into something charged and energizing. Namjoon caught Yoongi smiling to himself as he edited a guide. Seokjin grumbled less about the extra dance practices. Jungkook danced tiny steps of their new routine every time they stopped. Everyone left the studios every night exhausted but also in good spirits.

Namjoon loved it when everyone was excited like this. He wanted to press a giant ‘Pause’ button and freeze this feeling forever.

But Hoseok thought some of the press lists looked familiar from before their debut. Another’s articles was from a name Namjoon didn’t know, but whose writing style echoed in a bad way.

Namjoon needed to read all of the articles again. Just in case. Because he needed to be sure. He needed to make sure before his guys step into the conference room.

Namjoon rubbed his eyes. He took off his contacts because everything kept going out of focus. But now even his eyeglasses didn’t help.

The air filter in the corner sawed loudly. His ears ached at the grating noise.

The media outlets submitted so many questions. Whose should they answer at the press conference? Which should be a company statement? Were these questions going to come up earlier? Did they already answer them in previous interviews? Should he thread some into that new VLive service? Would the others feel comfortable answering them? Should he ask for a translator for the English interviews? Or would it look like he was too lazy to help? Or would the others prefer he translate next to them?

A knock scattered the storm inside Namjoon’s head. He looked up at the tousled head poking out through the cracked door.

“Rapmon,” Jungkook murmured. “Are you sure you can’t come with us?” He eased into the tiny studio another step. “We could wait.”

And they would. These days, they shared every meal. Once, they sat out in the hallway with their takeaway because Namjoon and Yoongi were still in a meeting with Bang PD. Sejin almost tripped over their open containers of pork bulgogi and iced sikhye.

It was endearing. Usually. Not this close to comeback, though. And not when it felt like Namjoon could start shouting at anything or worse, at anyone.

“Hyung’s reservation is for 1800,” Namjoon reminded their youngest member. “And it took him—“

“Three months, four days, and eight hours on the reservation list,” Jungkook finished. He flashed a cheeky grin. “Yes, hyung said. Many times. I can sing it like a bridge now.”

Namjoon smiled back. Jungkook was more at ease with himself and with them these days. A bit of snark crept into the kid’s words of late.

Jungkook sobered. “You sure you can’t join us?”

He wanted to stand up, drop an arm over Jungkook’s shoulders and join in the teasing he could hear outside.

And then ruin their dinner by sitting in the back, frantically trying to finish everything? No fucking way.

“Maybe we could change the reservation time?” Jungkook grinned. “Or we could walk very slowly to the restaurant so you can catch up.”

Namjoon shook his head. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the offer. “Walk ten kilometers? No. Go. Enjoy. Besides, I don’t eat seafood. You know that.”

Jungkook appeared crestfallen.

“Pick up dinner for me?” Namjoon suggested quickly. “I won’t have time later. That would help.”

“We’ll bring back their house special fried rice. They’re famous for it,” Jungkook offered. He cheered up at the idea. “I’ll make sure they don’t put any seafood in it. I’ll get extra steak, too.”

Another impish grin. “Even if I have to steal Taehyung’s steak for it.”

“Sounds good,” Namjoon snickered, “Uh, the first part. Not the last. Go. Hyung’s lobster is calling him.”

Jungkook and Namjoon shared a smirk when Seokjin’s voice rang out about writing a love song to his lobster. Better hurry up, JK, Hoseok hollered, or his hyungs were leaving without him.

“I’ll bring back the best food for you, Rapmon-hyung!” The youngest closed the door, slamming it in his haste. His feet thumped down the narrow corridor to rejoin the others.

“Have fun!” Namjoon shouted through the door.

A few muffled “Work well, Namjoon!” and “Get home soon, hyung!” filled the hallway. Their voices grew smaller and smaller until Namjoon couldn’t hear their laughter anymore.

The studio seemed too dark and too quiet now.

Namjoon’s smile faded. He looked back at the desk. Alone again in the studio, he allowed himself one more sigh.

Namjoon copied the submitted questions onto individual cards; that way he could add notes when he reviews each question. Some were for the company to respond to. Others for the upcoming press conference. And there was a small pile of cards for the members to reply to personally. He repeatedly reviewed that pile.

Some asked about solo numbers. Others were interested in the next unit songs. Some prodded for hints on a possible new concert tour.

His laptop flickered. All those browser tabs. All those articles.

On the desk, Namjoon’s phone squirmed as another text came in.

The stack of sheet music stirred under the flow of the vents above.

The metronome at the corner click-clack louder and louder.

Namjoon clenched his jaw. He forced himself to read the last question again. He kept his head down. When he finished with the questions, he’ll work on everything else. Later.

Finally, Namjoon checked the time on his computer. He grimaced. It was almost 2100. Everyone has an early morning tomorrow.

Namjoon stuffed everything into his messenger bag. After a pause, he tucked his lyrics notebook inside as well. He couldn’t help but noticed how many pages were still empty. Namjoon flipped the bag’s flap over. He shrugged his bag to hang crossbody behind him.

For some reason, his bag grew heavier with each step further away from the studio.

There was a light under the doorway despite it being 2300.

Namjoon made a face. He should have called. He should have finished his work before he left. He should have calm the fuck down and go straight home instead of aimlessly walking in the dark.

Namjoon slapped his cheek to knock the thoughts out rather than hurt himself. But he must have left a mark. When the door opened before he could put in his key, Taehyung stared wide-eyed at his face.

“Are you all right?” Taehyung pointed to Namjoon’s cheek.

Namjoon loudly yawned and slapped the other cheek. He opened his eyes as wide as he could.

It worked because Taehyung shook his head. He murmured a fond, “Namjoon-ah, really.” He stepped aside, gesturing with a grand sweep of his arm. “Welcome home, our leader.”

Taehyung snickered when Namjoon yawned to Taehyung’s face again as he passed. Namjoon dropped with a groan onto the tiny couch that took up most of the common area. A few game controllers were wedged into the squashy sofa, jabbing Namjoon in his back when he tried to sink into the cushions.

“Is everybody asleep?” Namjoon screwed up his face when Taehyung put a finger to his lips.

“Seokjin-hyung was determined to beat the big boss. He only stopped ten minutes ago.”

“Did he beat the level?”

Taehyung shook his head. He snickered as he added, “I think the game beat him.”

Namjoon glanced around the room. His chest ached. The room was small, but it loomed empty with most of them asleep.

“I’m sorry I missed that. At least he got his lobster.”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to make a face. “They all did. Then they shared two more.”

“Ah,” Namjoon murmured. He wearily smiled. “Then it was a good dinner.” He was glad the company agreed to his suggestion to call the restaurant for Seokjin.

“From how everyone enjoyed the lobsters and the shrimp, I can see why it’s a popular seafood restaurant,” Taehyung agreed. “It’s a shame you didn’t join us.”

Namjoon patted the messenger bag tucked against him.

“We would have waited, Namjoon-hyung.”

Taehyung’s earnest reply, like Jungkook’s, was a balm. Namjoon sloppily grinned up at Taehyung. He raised an eyebrow at the younger.

“Three months, four days,” Taehyung giggled, “How could I forget?”

“And eight hours,” Namjoon added with a snort. “You would be so cruel to our hyung by making him miss his beloved lobster?”

“He would have waited, too.” Taehyung sounded certain, his voice deepened in his belief.

Namjoon shrugged. “You know I don’t eat seafood.”

Taehyung hummed. He brightened. “We brought back their house special rice for you.” His face fell. “It’s probably cold by now.”

“I’ll heat it up if it is.” Namjoon rolled his eyes at Taehyung’s skeptical expression. “I know how to do that, at least.”

“Hm, maybe I should do it for you.”

“No,” Namjoon said in a firm voice. “You have an interview very early tomorrow. Jimin as well. You should be in bed.”

Taehyung shrugged. “I was thinking about the interview. I was hoping to talk to you.”

Namjoon grimaced. “Ah, sorry. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Taehyung patted Namjoon’s shoulder. “It can wait until morning. Go eat, hyung.”

Namjoon intended to reheat the rice—he knows how to use a microwave, damn it. But when he plopped cross-legged down by the short table, all of his energy evaporated. He stared at the takeaway container and discovered he didn’t have the power to move anymore. His bag, all that work, dragged him lower to the floor. The thought of getting up to reheat food he wasn’t hungry for was too much.

There were interview arrangements to check over, meeting notes to copy, sheet music to memorize, research to be done, and questions to prep for. And a notebook that should be more than half-filled by now.

It felt like he did everything. And accomplished nothing at all.

Don’t start, Namjoon thought to himself. He grabbed the lid of the takeaway. The top crunched in his grip. He guiltily looked over his shoulder at the doorway that led to the small bedrooms.

No one appeared. He relaxed. But his expression twisted into a self-deprecating frown as he peeled the top back with exaggerated care.

Jimin and Taehyung have sit-down interviews with a Japanese print magazine at 0800. Seokjin has to finish his recording at 830 and Namjoon promised to be there. Yoongi also wanted some studio time with him at 1000. Hoseok asked for a meeting with the new choreographer after Seokjin and Namjoon’s extra practice session. Jungkook has a phone interview at, at…

Namjoon checked his phone. He scowled to himself for forgetting. Come on, Namjoon, get it together.

There were text alerts to new Twitter hits on the hashtags related to them. His message app flashed with red numbers of new unread messages; most from the staff double-checking on the changes they agreed upon during the meeting they had…yesterday? This morning? And he needed to figure out when (and whom) were hosting VLives next week.

Namjoon quietly sighed—everyone was asleep, lucky them—as he shoved a spoon into the rice. A few golden grains tumbled over the edge of the rectangle container and onto the table.

The first piece of steak was cold but flavorful. Jungkook wasn’t kidding when he promised to order it with extra steak. Namjoon chewed. The meat puffed up his right cheek as he skimmed the messages. When he checked before leaving the studio, there were fourteen messages. Now, there were twenty-nine.

Namjoon felt like a robot: one scoop of cold rice and steak. One flip of a page in his notes. One chew of even colder steak. One scroll of his phone.

Repeat. Again and again.

A third was done with the rice, yet Namjoon barely tasted the food. He should have set the rice aside for others to have for breakfast. Their efforts were wasted on him.

It took too much energy to pick up the spoon, eat, and swallow. His tongue burned with the effort to push the food to his teeth and chew. His eyes burned to try to keep his phone and his notes in focus. He alternated between reading and aiming the spoon from food to mouth. Namjoon caught himself reading the same paragraph again and again. His chest burned to try to breathe around the chore of eating and not thinking, at least not thinking about how much he still needed to do…

Namjoon lowered his spoon. He paused. He tried to take a deep breath.

The burning sensation pressed against his ribs flared. Another deep breath and his throat felt tight, his head felt too heavy.

Oh no. Not this.

See, Namjoon chided himself. This was what he gets for thinking, for over-thinking, for dwelling on himself when he should focus on the others. Damn it, not now, not this close to comeback.

Namjoon took a slow breath, like the way their company counselor had taught him.

The feeling of his body squeezing around his bones persisted.

No, not now. There was too much to do. Too much to decide on. They couldn’t cancel another performance because of him. Not when they were going to announce—

Down the hall, a door loudly creaked open. Taehyung’s door. It never swung right after an impromptu game of tag, Namjoon’s penchant for destruction, and Jimin’s ability to scare the crap out of poor Hoseok.

Namjoon staggered to his feet. The room shrank around him and the floor rolled like an ocean. He blindly stumbled for the bathroom.

Sitting on the closed toilet, Namjoon wheezed as quietly as his chest would allow. He heard the tinny flop-flop of Taehyung’s slippers going past him. It stopped somewhere beyond.

Oh.

Taehyung was looking for him.

Namjoon dropped his head, his hands gripping his hair. Great going, Kim Namjoon. Taehyung wanted to speak with him before. Still can’t. Because Kim Namjoon hid in the bathroom. Great fucking leader.

Taehyung’s slippers went flop-flop past him again.

Namjoon’s shoulders slumped. Even Taehyung’s slippers sound dejected. His chest felt like a stone sat there, pinning him in place. He should calm down, get over himself and see what troubled Taehyung.

But the more Namjoon thought about getting up, the more his body refused. It felt like it was crushing his bones, squeezing all the air out, burning his insides from the base of his throat and all the way up to his itchy tongue.

Namjoon paused, unclenching a fist. He didn’t realize his balled hand was pounding the top of his left thigh until the dull ache registered. He took a mental inventory of his body.

Lightheadedness. Check. Difficulty breathing. Check. Hot all over. Check.

Itchy tongue? …check?

That was new.

Namjoon eyed the medicine cabinet above the sink. With a groan, Namjoon got to his feet, his bleary eyes fixed on the cabinet.

There wasn’t a lot in there and the ones he thought could work looked too small for what felt like a boulder growing inside him.

Pills spilled between clumsy fingers as he pried one out of the bottle. He swallowed it dry. He clutched another pill in his sweaty hand. He was tempted to take it but he should wait. Right? Or maybe he shouldn’t?

Namjoon dropped onto the closed toilet again. He took a deep breath. Then another. Was it better? No, it felt like it was getting worse.

The darkness in the bathroom brewed too many thoughts.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should have picked up the phone and called the counselor after all. The counselor said they could call him no matter the hour.

Namjoon glanced at the bathroom door. He shook his head. No. Everyone’s schedules floated in front of him. Everyone’s smiles flickered at the corner of his eye. He gulped down the pill he held instead. It stuck to his palm. It tasted bitter.

Again, Namjoon waited. He pressed a hand to his chest.

Maybe…maybe this tight feeling wasn’t…, no, it wasn’t that. Was it? Maybe…maybe he should take another pill. Maybe he should take one more? Three?

Namjoon bit his lower lip. His wheezing was louder. The sensation of weight on his chest grew heavier. Shouldn’t he feel better by now? Unless—no, of course, it wasn’t that, it wasn’t like Beijing and he should just—

“Yah, you gave me a heart attack!” Seokjin yelped when he opened the door. “Why didn’t you lock the door? What are you doing sitting in the dark—“

Soekjin’s voice trailed away. His eyes drifted to the sink.

The bathroom abruptly filled with light after Seokjin slapped his hand on the switch.

“How many did you take?” Seokjin sharply said. He took a step forward, halting when he got a better look into the sink.

“Those are my antihistamines,” Seokjin murmured. He blinked at Namjoon.

Namjoon set a palm on the base of his throat. He grimaced. He couldn’t speak, but it was enough.

“What are you guys doing?” Yoongi squinted around Seokjin. His sleepy expression dropped, his eyes now alert.

“Hyung?”

“I’m getting the car.” Seokjin dropped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. To Yoongi, he added, “Help him downstairs.”

By the time Yoongi managed to get Namjoon to his feet, the dorm was full of activity. Hoseok rummaged for coats for Yoongi and Namjoon. Taehyung insisted on slipping trainers over Namjoon’s feet so he didn’t have to bend down to do so. Jimin looked up directions for the closest late-night urgent care in his phone’s Naver.

“It was the rice, wasn’t it?” Jungkook stared at Namjoon with suspiciously bright eyes. He helped Namjoon into his jacket. “I told them no seafood. I didn’t know you were allergic!”

“None of us did,” Hoseok reassured Jungkook. He went around their youngest to jam a knit beanie over Namjoon’s head. “It might rain.”

“I should have checked the rice.” Jungkook wanly smiled when Namjoon patted—tried—his arm. “You’ll be all right, Rapmon. Hyung will get you to urgent care fast.”

“Faster,” Yoongi joked awkwardly. “Because I’m driving. He can hold Namjoon’s hand.”

“Lucky guy,” Jimin said shakily. His smile was unsteady.

Downstairs, Seokjin’s sedan screeched to a stop under the dorm’s windows.

“Call us when you know anything,” Hoseok shouted down the stairs as Yoongi and Jungkook supported Namjoon’s descent.

Seokjin only tsked when Yoongi snatched the keys out of his grasp. Seokjin switched places with Yoongi. He climbed into the backseat while Jungkook helped Namjoon.

Namjoon fell into the car. He felt clumsy, his limbs longer and larger than usual. A familiar feeling at every dance practice, but not here. Shit, this was bad, wasn’t it? He clutched the back of the driver’s seat until Yoongi murmured something soft and reassuring.

“…stay here,” Seokjin repeated to Jungkook through the open door. He was unusually terse with their youngest member. “We don’t need everybody to come with—“

“It’s just me!” Jungkook argued and uh oh, Namjoon heard the faint rebellion in the teen.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon croaked.

Jungkook started, his eyes wide on Namjoon.

“Find out what’s in the rice.” Namjoon smiled as best he could. His face felt tight, but he forced his eyes to open wider.

“It’ll help us,” Yoongi agreed. He turned the ignition; the engine rumbled to start.

Jungkook appeared to debate if he could jump into a moving car. Or worse, run alongside the car.

Namjoon patted Jungkook’s hand curled white-knuckled around the door frame.

“Text hyung when you find out. He’ll tell the doctors,” Yoongi added. “Let go of the car. We need to go.”

Namjoon breathed a sigh of relief when Jungkook stuck out his lower lip, but nodded. Jungkook pivoted around and raced back to the dorms. He shouted for Jimin and his phone.

“Good idea,” Seokjin muttered. He reached around Namjoon to pull the door shut. “I was worried he was going to chase after our car.”

“Me too,” Namjoon panted.

The car’s wheels squealed as Yoongi reversed them out into the main road. For once, Seokjin didn’t remind him to signal.

“Seven minutes,” Yoongi announced, louder than necessary, to be heard above Namjoon’s breathing.

“I thought your snoring was loud,” Seokjin weakly joked. His arm around Namjoon’s shoulders tightened.

Namjoon grunted. It took too much effort to talk. But the sound of him coughing and huffing echoed too much like another time. He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. He wheezed.

“Almost there,” Seokjin murmured. His other hand was on top of the passenger seat in front of him. He stared past Yoongi’s shoulder out to the windshield.

“Take the right.” Seokjin barely gave the directions on his phone another glance. “This right coming up—“

“I see it.” Yoongi didn’t complain about Seokjin’s backseat driving. His voice was even, his demeanor laser-focused as he kept his eyes forward, his hands tight around the wheel. But Namjoon caught the rapper’s eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror, to him.

“This came on suddenly,” Seokjin mumbled. “And fast. “

Namjoon spied Seokjin furrowing his brow.

“It didn’t,” Namjoon reassured. He coughed. “I felt like this for a while. It worsened even after I took a second pill.“

The arm around Namjoon’s shoulders jerked. Yoongi’s eyes snapped up to the rearview mirror. The steering wheel squeaked under his grip.

Fuck.

Namjoon fumbled. “I mean…it didn’t feel like it was that bad…”

“You should have told one of us anyway,” Seokjin said. He cleared his throat, but too late, Namjoon caught the way his words thinned. He felt how Seokjin’s arm twitched against his back as it tried to relax.

“Hyung,” Namjoon began but his words grew too thick. It became harder to push out of his throat. It was a feeling both familiar and alien.

Over Seokjin’s knee, Namjoon’s hand spasmed.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin murmured His voice went back to soothing. He covered Namjoon’s hand. He held tight.

The rapper’s gaze went up to the rearview mirror again. They widened a fraction.

The car shook as it took the right with a hard turn.

“…finished with the IV of antihistamines, he can go home. No, I don’t see a need for him to transfer to hospital. He only needed a stronger dose.”

The urgent care doctor who saw Namjoon repeated what he told Yoongi and Seokjin to their newly arrived manager. No, he didn’t foresee any complications. No, he didn’t expect long-term effects. Yes, it would be best to see an allergist in the future. Yes, they should carry Epi-pens when they travel.

The tape that kept the IV needle in place itched. Somehow the needle slipped out five minutes after the nurse administered the IV. Then the catheter detached from the IV bag and spilled its clear contents onto the clinic’s clean tiled floor.

After it happened for the third time, the visibly freaked-out nurse taped the tubing around his wrist and palm. Then secured the rest of the tubing to the IV pole.

Then told Yoongi and Seokjin to make sure Namjoon didn’t touch it again.

“…send over a prescription for a stronger antihistamine. I would also recommend…” The doctor gave them a little bow before he walked away to continue his conversation with Sejin, who asked question after question. He held up a phone with Bang PD in his ear. Sejin wore mismatched socks. He also missed a button on his shirt.

“Leave that alone,” Sejin warned as he left with a worried look over his shoulder. He nodded to whatever Bang PD said on the phone. “Don’t touch it,” he added.

“I didn’t touch it,” Namjoon grumbled. He lifted his left hand.

Yoongi, his eyes on the doctor and Sejin, wordlessly nudged Namjoon’s hand back to his lap.

“Don’t touch it,” Yoongi distractedly chided.

“I didn’t!”

Chair legs creaked as Seokjin abruptly stood.

“I should call Hoseok.” Seokjin fumbled his phone out. He walked in the opposite direction. He didn’t look back.

Namjoon watched until Seokjin went beyond the curtained treatment area. He dropped his head back onto the tall pile of pillows.

“Shit,” Namjoon mumbled. “Great going, Namjoon.”

“I’ve never seen him this pissed,” Yoongi agreed. He stared out the gap Seokjin departed from. “You should have told us you were allergic.”

Namjoon grimaced. “I didn’t think I still was.” At Yoongi’s sideways look, Namjoon amended, “I didn’t think my allergies were that bad. My throat got itchy whenever I ate lobsters and some shellfish. But that was when I was, what? Four? Five?”

“So not that long ago,” Yoongi quipped.

“Ha ha.” Namjoon rolled his eyes. “I stopped eating seafood after that. I didn’t have issues since.”

“You told us you don’t eat seafood,” Yoongi muttered. “Not that you can’t.”

“It never bothered me. Why bother you guys about it?” Namjoon bit his lower lip. Yoongi’s thoughtful expression was still cast towards where Seokjin left.

“I didn’t lie.” Namjoon dropped his gaze.

“I know.” Yoongi glanced back. “It doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell one of us when you first started to have a reaction.”

Namjoon exhaled. He stared at his hand, barely visible under the tape and tubing. Funny, he can’t feel the needle even though he knew it was there. He had stared, morbidly fascinated, as the nurse inserted the long flexible needle into a vein in the back of his hand. They couldn’t find a decent one in his elbow. Apparently, he was too dehydrated. Oops. Yoongi and Seokjin weren’t happy about that either.

“I wasn’t sure if it was an allergic reaction at first,” Namjoon confessed in a small voice.

Yoongi waited.

“…I thought maybe it was like Bei…like what happened in Beijing.”

Namjoon closed his eyes when Yoongi sucked in his breath. “When I started having trouble breathing, I first thought maybe it was a panic attack, and I…”

Namjoon opened his eyes when Yoongi was silent for too long.

“Clearly I overreacted,” Namjoon offered.

“I didn’t know it still bothered you.”

Yoongi gazed back, his brow furrowed, his normally placid expression cloudy.

“I don’t think about it much,” Namjoon exhaled. His shoulders lifted then dropped. It felt like they dragged his entire body with it.

“And when you do think about it?” Yoongi asked. His tone was understanding. Too understanding. Like he already knew the answer but wanted Namjoon to say it anyway.

“Then it’s all I can think about,” Namjoon admitted. And hearing it out loud hurt. He blinked. Yoongi blurred in front of him.

Yoongi squeezed Namjoon’s shoulder. Just once but the warmth of his hand remained after he pulled away. He said nothing as Namjoon wiped his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

A quiet footfall beyond the curtains drew both of their attentions. A familiar broad-shouldered shadow hung back outside.

“Sejin is staying to finish the paperwork,” Seokjin said. He didn’t come in. “The doctor said we could go home first.”

After the silent ride back from urgent care, the chaos in the dorms was a shock.

“No, you can’t,” Hoseok groaned as they entered the dorms. “You can’t ask Army to post bad reviews!”

Namjoon sputtered. Before he could add his agreement, Jimin peered around Hoseok.

“You’re back!” Jimin exclaimed.

The room erupted into more chaos.

“Do you have to take any medication?”

“…turns out they cook the rice in a seafood broth first—“

“…should sue them for false advertising—“

“They should at least list it on the menu—“

“…could tell them to flood the restaurant with complaints!”

“Are you feeling better? You still look pale. Do you need to sit down?”

“—should have checked again. I’m sorry Rapmon-hyung—“

“…didn’t know you were allergic, why didn’t you tell us?”

The last question was from Hoseok. Namjoon grimaced when everyone quieted. All eyes were fixed on him.

Namjoon opened his mouth: to apologize, to admit he let things bother him when they shouldn’t, to—he wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t think it was important,” Namjoon croaked and maybe he should have worded it differently because they gaped at him.

Seokjin spoke up. After being quiet for so long, his voice sounded too loud. Namjoon started.

“Let’s give him a chance to get off his feet, okay?”

“I’ll get his slippers,” Taehyung volunteered.

“Here, give me that,” Jimin jumped in. His hands scrambled to tug Namjoon’s coat off his shoulders. “Are you cold? We could grab one of your hoodies—“

“Got it!” Jungkook was already back with one from the room they shared.

It should be irritating how everybody talked over him as they helped him wiggle into warm clothes. Hell, Namjoon should shoo Taehyung away as the younger coaxed Namjoon to toe out of his trainers and into fuzzy slippers. Last year during filming, Jimin and Yoongi complained about how cold their hotel rooms were. The next day, Hoseok got everyone fuzzy goofy face slippers from the hotel gift shop.

Everyone’s voices buzzed into a noise Namjoon couldn’t stomach right now. Their fussing made his skin too tight around his bones. And the attention he did not deserve gnawed his insides. But asking them to be quiet would be ungrateful of him.

A turn here, a “watch your feet, hyung” and another turn and wait a minute…

“This isn’t my room,” Namjoon rasped. Instead of the bunk bed he and Jungkook shared, it was the single bed Seokjin favored. Yoongi’s bed and his cluttered area of tech were on the opposite corner.

“You’re not climbing up that bunk bed,” Hoseok chided. He patted Namjoon’s shoulders and tried to push him further into the bedroom.

Namjoon didn’t budge. He glanced behind him with bleary eyes. Namjoon gulped. Where were Seokjin and Yoongi?

“I should go back to our room,” Namjoon mumbled. He should get his bag first. His stomach turned over when he thought about all that time wasted in urgent care. “Actually, I need to get my stuff—“

“I‘ll switch beds with Rapmon-hyung,” Jungkook suggested. He materialized by Namjoon’s side to curl a hand around Namjoon’s elbow.

“With the way you toss and turn in your sleep,” Jimin reminded Jungkook. “You’ll roll right off the bed.”

Namjoon blanched. That’s right. It was why they switched and put Jungkook in the lower bunk. That one time he rolled off and landed on Hoseok’s bed parallel to the bunks was loud. And painful. For everyone. Blankets, a startled Hobi, and a confused Jungkook in the dark equaled bruises and tempers. Sejin had rushed into the room wild-eyed and with a sauté pan in his hand. He thought a robber broke in.

“No,” Jimin said firmly. He shoved Namjoon into their hyungs’ room. “This is safer. For all of us.”

“Can someone get my bag at least?” Namjoon grumbled. His request was ignored as Jimin steered him toward Seokjin’s bed.

“I’m fine with the couch—“ Namjoon began.

“Nope,” Jimin said.

Before Namjoon could decipher the grin on Jimin’s face, Jimin pushed Namjoon into the blankets.

And into Jungkook, who was trying to pull the covers down.

“Hey!” Jungkook yelped when Namjoon belly-flopped onto the spot next to Jungkook. He scrambled off the bed.

“Get some rest.” Jimin’s hand gently scratched the back of Namjoon’s head.

“My bag,” Namjoon mumbled facedown into a pillow. It smelled woodsy. He couldn’t recall why it smelled familiar. He couldn’t roll onto his back. It felt like it would be exhausting.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok cooed. “Everyone, let him sleep, yea? Aw, look at him. So cute.”

“Hobi,” Namjoon grumbled. He endured Hoseok’s snicker and a pat on his head. He reached out a heavy hand and snagged a sleeve of…someone.

“Get my bag,” Namjoon asked. He raised his head. Almost. “My work…”

Another pat from someone. A blanket draped over him.

“Later,” Jimin promised. He ruffled Namjoon’s hair. He giggled when Namjoon swatted at him and failed.

Namjoon breathed out. They talked above him, their voices low and it would normally keep him up. But right now, lying on his stomach, his limbs like lead, their voices above him sounded like the hush of a breeze.

Later. Maybe for a few minutes. Then when they leave, he’ll get his satchel, his work, and finish everything, damn it.

A few more minutes.

As Namjoon drifted deeper, their voices went softer. The bed seemed to grab hold of his arms and legs.

One last thought lingered.

Seokjin-hyung was still nowhere in sight.

There was a flurry of thoughts like snowfall gathered around him with the reminders of all he still needed to do. There was so much. Like he was lost in the snow, he was blinded. What should he do first? What did they need?

At one point, he couldn’t breathe again, his throat tight. His chest ached as the vise around him cinched tighter and tighter.

He whined; a reed-thin sound between his clenched teeth.

A hand settled between his hunched shoulders.

He twitched.

“Sh, it’s just hyung. Go back to sleep.”

He needed to…There was so much…

“Later,” a voice murmured, rough with sleep.

He tried to open his eyes, tried to move, but the hand rubbed his back. It ironed out the swirl inside.

“Later. Just sleep. The morning will be here soon enough.”

The hand continued to go up and down between his hunched shoulders. And the thoughts erased one by one with each touch. Until all that remained was “Later.”

His nose itched.

Namjoon screwed up his face or tried to. His right cheek was smooshed into that woodsy smelling soft…something.

Pillow?

Hyung’s bed.

His eyes flew open.

Another pair of eyes blinked back.

“Gah!”

Namjoon reared back and collided with what felt like another body. Someone yelped.

The eyes in front of him crinkled. Someone snickered.

“He’s awake!” Taehyung announced as he leaned back. “And he looks adorable!”

“Aw, good morning, Joon-ah,” cooed Hoseok from behind. He poked Namjoon’s cheek. “Look at you all pink and puffy. Good sleep?”

“You’re heavy!” Jimin complained from somewhere underneath Hoseok. “Get off. Why did you have to land on me?”

Namjoon blinked blearily. Fog clung to him from too much sleep, or at least more than he was used to these days.

“Heavy?” Hoseok squawked. “Who ordered the extra lobster last night?”

“That was Jungkook!” Taehyung protested. He peered cross-eyed at Namjoon. He patted Namjoon’s head for some reason.

“I only ordered it because Yoongi-hyung said he was still hungry!”

Wait, when did Jungkook get in here?

Jungkook’s head popped up behind Taehyung.

“Did you sleep well, Rapmon-hyung?”

“JK!” Hoseok’s hand flapped above Namjoon. “There’s room over here!”

“No there isn’t!” Jimin yelped as Jungkook threw himself into somewhere beyond Namjoon’s sight.

“Slumber party!” Taehyung declared. He rose to his feet.

“Huh? No, no, no, wait, Tae—“

Elbows and feet collided. The mattress bounced. Pillows flew. Someone yelped. Another screeched. Namjoon couldn’t tell. He and Jungkook were too busy laughing, laughing so hard one may have been crying. Maybe.

Eventually, everyone settled in a comfortable (not really) pile of limbs on the bed.

It was hot. His ribs were sore from laughing. He couldn’t tell whose arm was draped over his shoulder from behind. His nose itched.

He didn’t want to move.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok sighed. Moist breath disturbed the back of his head.

“We’re sorry we almost killed you yesterday,” Jungkook mumbled. He was squished between Jimin and Taehyung.

“You didn’t kill me,” Namjoon exhaled against what he thought was Taehyung’s ear until Hoseok grumbled.

“You didn’t know,” Namjoon continued as he extricated a foot out from under Taehyung. Or was it Jungkook?

“That’s right,” Hoseok said with mild reproach. “We didn’t know.”

“We should have.” Jimin pinched Namjoon’s cheek.

“Ouch. All right, I’m sorry.” Namjoon rolled onto his back.

“Whoa, watch it.” Jimin grabbed Namjoon’s left shoulder before he rolled off the edge of the bed.

“This bed’s too small,” Taehyung observed. He squinted at Namjoon from his perch on top of Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook. “This was a terrible idea.”

Jimin snorted into the mattress. He reached behind him to smack Taehyung’s ass.

“Ouch!” Jungkook yipped.

“Sorry!”

Namjoon fondly smiled as the four struggled to untangle themselves without too many feet and elbows. They giggled like they were trainees again, awake past curfew. He thought of the slippers—one jammed awkwardly under his lower back. He thought of how they constantly complained about sharing one bedroom as trainees yet here they were. Namjoon smiled even as his eyes burned.

Time didn’t stop. But it slowed enough for him to enjoy this moment.

“Are you feeling better?” Jungkook asked. His hair stood up in spikes. He looked permanently startled.

“Aw, JK,” Hoseok cooed. He threw an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders.

“You look like a Pokémon,” Jimin laughed as he sat up.

“Which one?” Taehyung wanted to know. He blinked at a socked foot too close to his face. He gave it a poke. Jimin yelped.

There was more kicking. Some more laughter. By the time everyone calmed down again, everyone’s faces were flushed with joy.

“We’re going to break the bed!” Namjoon snickered despite himself.

“You look better,” Taehyung observed. “Not as stressed.”

Namjoon sobered.

“Aw, you ruined it,” Hoseok groaned.

“I’ll fix it!” Jimin smacked his palms on either side of Namjoon’s cheeks and squished.

“Hey,” Namjoon sputtered. It sounded more like a squeak with his mouth pursed. He shook his head free. He laughed when Hoseok decided Jimin’s face needed fixing too. Jimin rolled, slipped, and hopped on the bed to hide behind Jungkook.

“You do look better.”

Taehyung studied Namjoon with solemn intensity, with the kind of scrutiny he gave each new song sheet.

“I feel better,” Namjoon reassured Taehyung. He sat up higher to avoid a flying foot—whose he wasn’t sure—and he patted Taehyung’s knee. “The doctor gave me a higher dose of antihistamines.”

“No.” Taehyung shook his head. “I meant to how you looked all week.”

Namjoon blinked. “Me? Was I taking it out on you guys?” he worried out loud. “Was I—“

“Cut it out.” Hoseok thumped a pillow on Namjoon’s arm. “You were fine.”

Namjoon exhaled. Ever mindful of their schedule, Namjoon glanced over to the alarm clock across from Yoongi’s desk. He blanched.

“It’s—fuck, it’s almost 0820,” Namjoon gasped. “We were supposed to leave forty minutes ago!”

“Not moving,” Jungkook mumbled, his face in the mound of covers. “I want juk. Can hyung make juk?”

“Ooh, I want it with the kimchi we bought back from dinner,” Jimin eagerly agreed.

“Maybe hyung could use the fried scallions?” Taehyung piped in.

“I wanted hyung to make eggs with those scallions,” Hoseok protested.

“Guys, no. Get up. We’ll get breakfast by the studios. Is Sejin-hyung here? Damn it, I forgot to set the alarms. Get up, get up!” Namjoon glowered at Jimin and Taehyung. They slumped against Hoseok. “You two have that reporter coming in at—Shit, who has studio time today? Taehyung, what did you want to ask me last night—“

“Stop with the schedule.” Jimin whacked Namjoon with a pillow. “We’re not leaving.”

“What? No, guys. We need to—“

“Bang PD rearranged everything,” Hoseok explained when he spied the panic on Namjoon’s face. “Sejin told us we have the day off.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sagged back against the wall. This was…good? He’ll have a chance to catch up. He could read the rest of the articles. Maybe he could do a phone meeting with—

“Stop thinking.” Hoseok took another pillow and swung it at Namjoon. “It’s a day off. Stop working.”

“And stop worrying about us,” added Taehyung.

“Stop worrying about worrying us,” Jungkook piped up.

Jimin threw his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders in one of those all-encompassing hugs he was known for.

“Just stop being our leader for today,” Jimin murmured against Namjoon’s ear. He gave Namjoon another squeeze before he pulled away. “Today, you’re just our Namjoon. Okay?”

Namjoon choked up, for a different reason this time. He gave a thumbs up, opened his mouth to apologize once more, then ducked the pillow Hoseok swung towards him again.

“Yah, what are you doing to my bed?”

Seokjin stood under the threshold with a mug in one hand. He considered his bed with an arched eyebrow and open dismay.

“Whose idea was this?” Seokjin whined.

“Jimin,” Taehyung threw out as he struggled off the bed. He grabbed his slippers and slipped past Seokjin, an indignant Jimin hot at his heels.

“It was Hoseok’s idea!” Jimin tossed over his shoulder as he fled.

“JK suggested it first!” Hoseok yelped. He jumped over Namjoon’s outstretched legs, twisted away from Jungkook’s reach, and hooted as he zipped past Seokjin and out into the common room.

Something ceramic broke.

“That was Taehyung!” It wasn’t clear who howled.

Jungkook blinked up at Seokjin. He looked at Namjoon. He blinked up at Seokjin again.

“This was your idea?” Seokjin drawled. He folded his arms across his chest.

Jungkook canted his head up towards their hyung.

“Pardon?”

Seokjin growled half-heartedly. He swatted towards Jungkook, who scrambled past him, out the door, half-squeaking, half-laughing, “Sorry, hyung!”

“Really,” Seokjin grumbled. The corners of his mouth, however, twitched up. His small smile faded when he considered Namjoon.

“I feel better,” Namjoon promised.

“Do you now?” Seokjin harrumphed. “Thank you for finally telling me.”

Namjoon winced. They were going to have to talk. That’s what everyone agreed before debuting because it hurt more not to say anything at all.

It didn’t make it any easier, though.

“I didn’t lie. I thought…” Namjoon sighed. He hugged the pillow Jungkook gave him. It smelled like cedar wood. It struck him it smelled like hyung.

“You know what I thought?” Seokjin said. He looked as serious as Namjoon has ever seen him. “When I first went into that bathroom? And saw those pills?”

Namjoon’s brow knitted at first. Then, his eyes widened.

“You thought I—“ Namjoon shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you guys. I wouldn’t do that to any of you. I wouldn’t let you find me like that.”

Seokjin sighed.

“What you should be saying is you wouldn’t do that to yourself.”

Namjoon studied the other’s profile and the dip across the broad shoulders. He reviewed the past few weeks. He exhaled. Ah.

“That’s why everybody insisted on eating every meal together?” Namjoon knew he guessed correctly when Seokjin fidgeted. “Did everyone think I was going to hurt myself? I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”

“We were all afraid any one of us might,” Seokjin muttered. He gave Namjoon a sideways look. “The past few weeks proved to us it could happen to the person we least expect.”

Namjoon’s stomach twisted. Of course, everyone was worried about each other. Two suicides within a month among the idols and here he was stressing over comeback. He was blind to everyone’s needs—

“Stop it,” Seokjin said. He switched to English. “Stob.”

“Stop.” Namjoon corrected, stressing the last letter.

“Pppppp,” Seokjin vibrated. He grinned when Namjoon snickered.

“Better,” Seokjin said, switching back to Korean. “I saw steam coming out of your leader brain.”

“My leader brain?” Namjoon repeated. He ran a hand through his hair. It was getting too long. Taehyung was as well. Should they coordinate with the stylist for comeback? Or is it too soon? He better—

Seokjin sighed.

Then bonked Namjoon with a pillow.

“Here, you’re not the leader,” Seokjin scolded. “Not our leader, but our Namjoon.”

Namjoon smiled crookedly. “I know.”

“Do you? You always forget. You’re the leader all the time.” Seokjin shook his head.

“Was I becoming bossy?” Namjoon fretted. “I try not to be demanding when we’re home, hyung. I don’t mean to be—“

“That’s not what I meant,” Seokjin interrupted. He sounded sad. He offered the mug he held to Namjoon. “Here. You didn’t finish dinner yesterday.”

To Namjoon’s surprise, it was kimchi jjigae. It was warm. A little cube of tofu bobbed hello on top of the swirls of yellow soybean paste and red chili broth.

“I asked Jungkook to make it,” the older explained, “When I called them.”

Namjoon pulled the mug closer. There was an inexplicable fear it was going to disappear. “I was sure you stayed away because you were pissed.”

“Nah, I was scared,” Seokjin admitted. He shrugged, discomforted by his own reply. “If you wouldn’t come to us when this bothered you, what else were you not telling us?”

“I’m not hiding—“

“Namjoon, drink your soup before it gets cold.”

Namjoon drank. But the warm soup sat funny in his stomach.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys about this,” Namjoon admitted. “There’s so much we need to focus on for comeback. And we have an English magazine who asked for interviews and there might be one more if I could only finish my research on him first and—“

“Namjoon, breathe.”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. When it felt like his bones stopped shaking, Namjoon hid his face behind the mug. He drank the rest of the soup.

“You worry about us a lot.” Seokjin’s eyes slid away. He faced Yoongi’s unmade bed. “We know. We see how much this bothers you.”

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon protested. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“You don’t seem to mind it,” Seokjin conceded. “But hyung knows you worry about us. You worry so much about what we need, you ignore your own needs.”

“I wasn’t—“ Namjoon exhaled when the other gave him a sharp look.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Namjoon muttered. He stared at the bottom of his mug. There was a thin sliver of kelp spinning in the dregs of the soup. “I tell you guys I don’t eat seafood. I tell you guys all the time.”

“Don’t,” Seokjin pointed out. “Not can’t. It’s a big difference. It would have been nice to know.” He paused.

“Was that why you didn’t join us at Gogi?” Seokjin’s brow furrowed. “We would have made sure to get you something without seafood. We always did. Taehyung doesn’t eat seafood too, remember?”

“I remember,” Namjoon mumbled. He gestured towards the door, towards the common area, towards where he knew his satchel lay and all the work he still needed to do.

“That bad?”

Namjoon’s chin dropped to his chest. He stared at the crumpled blankets on the floor. He nodded.

Seokjin patted Namjoon’s knee. “I see. So we were in the way.”

Namjoon’s head shot up. “What? No, you guys weren’t in the way! There was so much and you guys were so excited about comeback and I wanted to make sure everything was…” He swallowed.

“You weren’t in the way. I was.” Namjoon blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

“Sitting in Gogi and not seeing you there spoiled the mood,” Seokjin pointed out in a stern voice. “Finding you hiding in the bathroom struggling to breathe spoiled the mood.”

Namjoon drew up his knees. He sighed as he dropped his chin on top of them.

The two sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder.

Namjoon scrubbed his face with his palms. When he lowered his hands, Seokjin was studying him with a hooded expression.

“I overheard you and Yoongi talking when I came back. I didn’t know it still bothered you.” Seokjin didn’t elaborate on ‘it.’ He didn’t have to.

“It doesn’t. Not all the time.” Namjoon sniffed loudly. He stared at Yoongi’s messy bed. Did his snoring keep his hyungs up?

“You never said.” Seokjin fidgeted. “We didn’t know.”

“I thought if I didn’t think about it,” Namjoon sighed, “Then I could put it behind me and…I-I don’t like thinking about it.” And everything that came before. And after. And knowing he wasn’t as strong of a leader for them as he should be.

“Everybody has been so happy,” Namjoon croaked. “And we’ve been doing good in the charts and we have a new comeback. I didn’t want to ruin it by dwelling on my issues.”

“Like your allergies,” Seokjin murmured. “If you didn’t talk about it, then it’s not an issue.”

Namjoon rested his chin on top of his knees. He sniffled again.

“We agreed to talk everything out.” Seokjin’s shoulder gently bumped against Namjoon’s. “That should include you, too.”

Namjoon bit his lower lip.

“You do the worrying for us,” Seokjin muttered. “For work. I get it. It’s because you’re leader. But…” He shrugged. “You shouldn’t do the worrying here as well. Stop worrying about bothering us. If it bothers you, we want to know.” He raised an eyebrow at Namjoon’s small head shake. “You disagree with hyung? I am the oldest, you remember.”

“Are you?” Namjoon joked weakly. He smirked faintly at hyung’s snicker.

“I’m sorry for worrying everybody.” Namjoon chuckled under his breath at Seokjin’s arched eyebrow. “Okay, I’m sorry for not mentioning it and having everybody worry because of that.”

Seokjin scoffed. “All right, that’s an acceptable apology.”

Namjoon sobered.

“We have a day off.” Seokjin patted Namjoon’s shoulder. “So no more worrying today, okay?”

Namjoon shrugged. “A day off is good. I need to catch up. I had to bring work back here.”

“Ah.” Seokjin scratched his jaw with a finger. He appeared sheepish. “Then that bag was important? Hm…”

Namjoon stared. “What?”

Seokjin made a face. “I supposed we could call Sejin and ask him to bring it back. He came by to the dorms to check on you, but you were asleep. You mumbled about your bag and work. He thought you meant to leave the bag at work. So he took it back to the studios.”

Namjoon gaped at his hyung, aghast. “He did what? It’s not here? B-but—“

Seokjin shook a finger at Namjoon. “It’s our day off.”

“But—“

Seokjin shook his head. “Sejin asked you to call him later. Bang PD and he thinks you should divide the work among other people.” He paused when he glanced over at Namjoon. He made a sad smile.

“Ah Namjoon-ssi,” Seokjin murmured. He patted Namjoon’s hand clasped over his knees. “It’s fine. They’re not unhappy with your work. It’s because they’re worried you’re doing too much.”

Namjoon realized his eyes burned at the corners. Everything was suspiciously out of focus. He hastily scrubbed his eyes with the back of a hand.

Seokjin sighed. It sounded weary. It made something in Namjoon’s gut hurt.

“We should have helped you more.” Seokjin shook another finger at Namjoon, interrupting his protest. “We can’t help with the English, but maybe there are other things we could help with?”

Namjoon slowly nodded. “Maybe you guys can help me with the next Bon Voyage? The company was thinking either Malta or Turkey but I didn’t have a chance to—”

Seokjin gave Namjoon a frown. Namjoon shut up.

“Sorry, hyung.”

Seokjin tsked. “We’ll talk about that. Tomorrow. Not today. Today is our day off.”

Seokjin patted Namjoon’s shoulder again.

“You’re our leader the moment we step foot into the studios, but the moment we’re here.”

Seokjin patted his own chest.

“We’re your leaders.” Seokjin pointed at Namjoon’s empty mug.

“Which means you will finish another mug of soup.” Seokjin winked. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, hyung,” Namjoon rasped. He smiled faintly. It was a good soup.

A beat later, Namjoon’s brow knitted.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

Namjoon peered into the mug. “This was from last night?”

Seokjin scowled. Uh oh.

“No. I made another pot this morning.” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Yoongi and I went to the market early. I made more just now.”

Namjoon boggled. “Did they eat the entire pot yesterday? After that huge dinner?”

“No, they tried to change the recipe because silken tofu is your favorite. But they crammed too much into the pot and everything boiled over.”

Namjoon gulped. “How bad was the kitchen?”

“When Yoongi lifted the pot lid last night, tofu exploded. He swore he’s never stepping into the kitchen again.”

“That sounds horrible,” Namjoon choked back a laugh. It wasn’t funny. Poor Yoongi.

“Hoseok is in charge of the mess in the kitchen. He’s going to make sure those three brats scrape every bit of tofu off the ceiling.”