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“Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I’m begging.”
“I already said no,” Namjoon bends down to peer into his dishwasher, glad that he’s almost done. “Beg all you want.”
When Hoseok starts to get on his knees, expensive chiffon pants sinking into his dirty kitchen rug, he looks up in alarm. “Don’t actually beg!”
“I’ll stop begging if you do it.”
Namjoon groans. “Why do you care? You already had your party.”
“Because I want another one,” Hoseok says easily. “I like parties.”
“Well, I don’t.” He straightens up, heavy pot in hand, trying not to groan when he feels his back creak into place. Twenty-eight is too young for this kind of pain. “I don’t want to have to network my way through a crowd at my own party.”
“But you get to choose who gets to go. Because it would be your party.” Hoseok takes the pot away from Namjoon and goes to put it on the highest shelf, struggling a little. “In fact, I’ll help you with the guest list. Invite only people you like. No networking.”
He snorts. “That’s like promising me an open bar won’t end up with a couple people passed out on the ground.”
“That’s possible too, you know. We aren’t young anymore. We know how to handle our liquor,” Hoseok stands on his tippy toes, calves shaking as he tries to balance the weight of the pot in the cabinet.
“We know how to handle our liquor.” Namjoon gently pushes the pot in from behind before closing the dishwasher with his foot. “You have a water bottle inside of your fanny pack for us.”
“Namjoon,” Hoseok turns around, expression suddenly serious. “I want you to have a party for Indigo.”
He holds in a groan and goes into the living room, Hoseok marching behind him. “If you want a party, throw your own fucking party.”
“I don’t want a party for me, I want one for you. Three years is a long time to make one album, Joonie.”
“That’s actually about as long as it took you to make Jack in The Box.”
“Yeah, and I had a party to celebrate it.” Hoseok leans on the wall as Namjoon flings open a closet door. Books, clothes, and a mop fall out of it immediately. “It was a great party.”
“It was a great party,” he grunts, pulling the vacuum out by the nozzle and choosing to ignore Hoseok’s wince when Namjoon kicks the fallen objects back into its rightful place before shoving the door closed. “I’m going to vacuum now, and I’m going to stop hearing you, and when I’m done, we’re going to change the subject. Cool?”
“So cool,” Hoseok deadpans, pulling out his phone. “Don’t forget to get the entryway. It’s kind of gross there.”
Namjoon starts up the vacuum instead of answering, the loud sound giving him a false sense of privacy as he tries to ignore the irrepressible guilt he has whenever he declines Hoseok of anything. Hoseok hardly ever wants, hardly ever takes. It’s almost criminal to deny him this. He vacuums harder.
The underside of the coffee table is free of crumbs when he feels an earphone press into his ear. “What—”
“Joon-ah,” a tired voice says.
“Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon shoots Hoseok a glare, who only smiles brightly, the other earbud peeking out from beneath his dark curls. “What is it?”
“Hobi tells me you don’t want a party for the album release.”
He sighs, pulling hard on the vacuum’s power cord to get some quiet. Hoseok’s eye twitches. “Why are you always so cruel to your household appliances?”
“Why are you bringing him into this?”
“Because he owes me,” Hoseok shrugs the same time Yoongi says “Because I owe him.”
Namjoon frowns. He remembers it being a thorn in the group’s side for a while. “It’s not your fault you couldn’t go to his party. You were sick.”
“It’s his album release. It’s a big deal.”
“And Yoongi insisted that I owe him, so,” Hoseok wiggles his shoulders. “Let’s get it.”
“Let’s get it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, vacuum forgotten at his feet. “Can we have a party for D-3 instead?”
Yoongi snorts. “Yeah, great. So we’ll have a party in approximately eight years.”
“It won’t take that long.” His voice comes out unsure even to his own ears. Agust D has the tendency to bend the schedule to his own whim, deadlines be damned. Hybe has pulled out a lot of its own hairs due to that fact, but he remains adamant. Namjoon respects him deeply.
“Yours is done. It’s here now.” Clacking can be heard through the receiver. “Come on, don’t make hyung fuss over this, it’ll give me a headache.”
“You’ve been getting more headaches lately,” Hoseok says, cracking open the closet and starts organize its contents. “You should get that checked out. Health is no joke.”
And now Namjoon would look like an asshole if he lets his guest clean by himself. “Hob-ah, enough,” he says, huffing when he only gets a dismissive wave. To Yoongi, “He’s right. If it’s frequent enough, I can call our manager and he can book you an appointment.”
“I can make my own phone calls.” A sigh rattles through the earbuds.“Our Jungkookie is learning English again.”
Hoseok and Namjoon hum sympathetically. English has been a major roadblock for most of them, and they take lessons to remedy that. But instead of taking consistent lessons (Hoseok), or watching English media (Jimin), or make English-speaking friends online (Seokjin), Jungkook learned English in random, intensive bursts of energy with no warning, eventually dropping off after three weeks. Namjoon doesn’t mind, but Yoongi had always had somewhat of a vendetta towards learning English altogether.
“He’s just passionate,” Namjoon defends, waving a hand even though he can’t be seen. “And you act like you still can’t speak English.”
“I learned against my will.”
“Says the one taking more English classes than the rest of us.”
“That would be Hobi.”
“My tutor actually recommended I stop taking lessons,” Hoseok says, tone mild but the glimmer in his eyes is bright. “Said I would improve better in real settings from now on.”
Namjoon makes a noise of surprise. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, bro.”
“No problem, bro.”
“Oh my god, stop talking, you’re making my headache worse. I can barely hear you over the sound of my fucking beats.”
“You called me,” he rolls his eyes.
“Hobi called me!”
“Wait,” Hoseok frowns. “Are you working, hyung?”
“He’s been working this whole time.” Trust him, anyone would know if they had Min Yoongi’s full attention.
“Hyung…”
The wince is obvious in Yoongi’s voice. “Let’s go back to the part where Namjoon doesn’t want to celebrate his successes.”
“When you stop working,” Hoseok insists.
“Then I guess he’s never having his party.
“Yoongi-hyung!”
“Yoongi!” An unexpected voice calls through the phone. “My bro! My friend and older bro!”
“Kook,” Yoongi says, tense. “Please, hyung is busy—”
Jungkook pays him no mind, barreling forward, English flowing out excitedly. “How is the weather? How was the weather? How is the weather going to be?”
“I’m gonna—” The dial tone kicks in, beeping at them incessantly.
Namjoon snorts, returning his earphone to Hoseok. “How did we survive in dorms for so long?”
“Am I missing something?”
He cracks an eye open to see Hoseok looking at him, his gaze reminiscent of late-nights in a studio with a deadline in three hours. “What do you mean?”
“The party.”
Namjoon represses a sigh before stepping forward. “Hob-ah,” he says, gently kissing his temple. “You’re worrying too much. It’s just a party.”
“It’s Indigo.”
“It’s an album.”
“It’s an album!”
“We’ve made plenty of albums.”
Hoseok’s mouth twists. “I’m not liking the sound of that.”
“You know what I mean.” Namjoon pads back into his living room, hands grazing canvases as he does. “It’s a good album, yeah. I’m sure it’ll get plenty of buzz whether or not we get a Bangtan Bomb for the party. And you loved it when you heard it, so did the other guys, and Yoongi will eventually listen to it and like it, too.” He leans against his sofa, hip pressing into the cushion. “That’s all I really need.”
A hum. “I’m going to be honest for a second,” Hoseok says. “I don’t care about a party.”
Namjoon gapes. “What?”
“I don’t care about the party. I’ve been to plenty of parties.”
“I know,” he continues to stare. “Then what the hell?”
Hoseok walks up to him, hands on his hips, and Namjoon wonders when his hair got so long. “I wanted to celebrate you, Joon. That’s really it. You’re so—“ he scratches his head. “I feel like you tend to put yourself between a rock and a hard place, but you’re also the rock and the hard place. You don’t have to be there, you know? Let me pull you out.”
He opens his mouth, defiance on his tongue, but the fight dies in his throat. Twenty-eight feels too young, but he’s spent twelve years of those with Hoseok.
“I just feel a bit awkward.”
Hoseok smiles. “It can be awkward.”
“And I know the album is good.”
“Extremely good.”
And the hesitation melts away, the way it always does, when words are involved. “I’m not worried if the album’ll do well. We’ve—I’ve done well, enough times. But a celebration about me? For what? Doing what I’ve always done?”
“Yes, exactly.” Hoseok inhales sharply, but when he speaks, it’s so, so soft. “I’d celebrate you every day, if you let me.”
Like the beginnings of high tide, Namjoon feels memories resurface from where he buried them. Memories of hiding under the covers, eyes dry as he does nothing but scroll mindlessly through the phone, trying to ignore Hoseok’s prodding about getting something to eat. Memories of Hoseok carefully going through choreography with him for hours, after everyone already went home, because he’s the only one who still can’t seem to understand. The memory of Hoseok tearing up when Namjoon reluctantly told him he’s finally going to therapy.
He bites back a smile as he maneuvers around Hoseok, putting away the vacuum. “I’d be okay with a dinner, I think.”
A laugh rings out behind him, light and relieved. “All that fuss for dinner! Aish, Joonie, what are we going to do with you?”
Namjoon throws his closet door open, pleased to see it tidy, before sliding the vacuum in. “No HYBE personnel. I want meat. And whiskey.”
He hears the tell-tale click of the Galaxy flip opening behind him. “Okay, whatever you want.”
“I want a framed picture of Seokjin-hyung there,” he says, just to be annoying.
“I’ll borrow Jungkook’s.”
“And I want a no-phone rule.”
“Say you’re joking.” There’s a sudden shove at his backside, which has him laughing. “I’m serious! How am I supposed to take pictures?”
“With your eyes.”
“Namjoon.”
Closing the closet door once more, he turns around, wrapping his arms around Hoseok’s waist, sighing into him. Hoseok hugs him back, humming happily. Despite himself, excitement bubbles in his chest at the thought of their dinner.
“Bring a polaroid.”
“Kim Namjoon.”
He laughs at how silly it is. As if he wouldn’t let Hoseok bring eight phones with him. As if he wouldn’t let Hoseok bring the entire company to their dinner if he asks. As if he wouldn’t give Hoseok anything he wanted, including the next twenty-eight years of his life, too.