Archive of Our Own

Day 1

Kim Namjoon looked up at the building and gritted his teeth so hard it felt as though his jaw might shatter like glass under the pressure.

Much like Namjoon so recently had. 

It was not the building’s fault, of course. It hadn’t done anything to Namjoon personally. In fact the nondescript building was indistinguishable from any other in Ilsan; an inoffensively basic three-storey with a commercial space on the first floor, the landlord’s apartment on the second floor, and a rental unit built onto the flat rooftop. Whitewashed on the outside, it was weathered and old but clean and well-maintained.

No, there was nothing wrong with the building.

It’s just that Namjoon hated it on principle. It was what it represented. 

To hell with this fucking building, he thought wrathfully. To hell with his company - well, ex-company, and to hell with his girlfriend. 

Well. Ex-girlfriend. 

Soo hadn’t stuck around for even a minute when he finally informed her he’d quit the law firm and was going to take some time off and head back to Ilsan to clear his head. Namjoon didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t for Soo to frown and lean back from the table. To her credit, she hadn’t dragged out the indignity for longer than she had to. She’d just shaken her lovely head regretfully and patted his hand lightly, but her eyes had been so cool as she told him I’ll be frank, I don’t think we can go on this journey together, oppa, but I hope things get better for you. 

Namjoon let out a stiff breath. He wasn’t exactly sure if he missed her that much. She probably didn’t miss him, either. She’d been a trophy girlfriend more than anything else, someone who looked good on his arm the way he looked good on hers. She had been just as determined as he was to climb the corporate ladder in powersuits and in her case, Louboutin heels. 

Soo had been supportive enough when he first lost the big case - a couple of losses were par for the course - but the ensuing repeated breakdowns, his ennui, and his apparent loss of ambition had quickly soured her against him. She was happy enough to date him when he was a hotshot lawyer with a slew of wins behind him, but once he was shoved on the back burner after that awful case he’d lost, once he showed he obviously couldn’t cope with real stress, she had noped out of his life real fucking quick.

To be fair, he wasn’t sure he could blame her, in any case. He wouldn’t want to date him either - a bitter, washed-up lawyer - ex-lawyer? - at only 35 years of age, burnt out and maudlin. Soo was a high-powered executive in her own right. Of course she’d want someone who could live up to her expectations.

And Namjoon was hardly living. 

Losing the case had been a terrible blow. Looking back, he knew he’d been much too brash, much too overconfident after his spate of successes. He’d overpromised his client, hadn’t managed their expectations despite his boss’ warnings. And then he’d paid the price. 

It had shaken him badly when he sat down afterwards to run through the case files again and realized how many careless errors he’d made, just because he thought he knew better. 

He should have known better. 

His hands had gone clammy and sweat pearled on his brow as he understood just how much shit he could potentially be in. He had been completely and utterly humiliated, too, when his boss ran him through the wringer so long and so loudly that the entire office had heard it. He hadn’t been able to live down being the sole focus of break room gossip. And worse still, not only had he lost one of the firm’s biggest clients, but they’d threatened to sue the firm, and Namjoon, for negligence. That crisis had been very narrowly averted due to a great deal of sweet fast-talking by the partners, but Namjoon couldn’t face his colleagues for weeks. He wondered if you could get PTSD like this. Every time he opened his laptop his palms went sweaty and his brain scrambled. 

He could have lost his job. It would have been justified, really. His boss had put him on probation, which was possibly even worse than being fired, and then when he crashed and burned, had ordered him to take time off to pull himself together. Only that obviously never happened. It took him a week of moping around the house to decide that he wasn’t going back - couldn’t go back. His boss must have been relieved that he had taken the initiative instead of forcing his hand. He’d quit his job, called his mother, and lost his girlfriend - in that order. 

Namjoon couldn’t believe he was back in his old hometown, jobless and dumped, useless and pathetically licking his wounds like some sort of kicked, helpless puppy. When he’d left the place more than a decade ago, with a full scholarship to Seoul National University and the unshakeable conviction that the world was at his feet, he’d thought he’d never see the back of Ilsan again. Even his parents had left years ago to join him in Seoul. 

Yet here he was, back at square one. 

Oddly enough, it had been his mother who first suggested it. God, sometimes it felt so good to call your mother and let her tell you what to do. 

Adeul-ah, you should go back to Ilsan, just for a couple of weeks, maybe even a month, his mother had said authoritatively, soothingly. Ilsan’s far enough away from Seoul and everything and everyone, isn’t it? A good place to take a break. Rest. Reevaluate. 

At the time it sounded amazing. And sure, it sounded a hell of a lot like running away, but who cared?

Namjoon, after all, wanted to run away, and so he had.

He’d called Seokjin after his mother hung up, tentatively mooted his new plan of escaping to their childhood town, and to his surprise, Seokjin had made approving sounds. You know what, Seokjin had said thoughtfully, let me arrange everything for you. You won’t have to lift a finger. Hyung will do it.

It had sounded like a great plan. Seokjin still had family in Ilsan, and Namjoon supposed someone in that family had connections to a landlord and a building and an available apartment that would be cheaper than a long-term hotel stay and less humiliating than asking relatives for an empty room. Lucky for him. It hadn’t taken Seokjin long at all to make some calls and get back to Namjoon with a name and an address, everything settled for him.

All Namjoon had to do was show up.

He checked the address in his phone one more time, just to be sure he was at the right place. Seokjin hadn’t said much, other than that the unit belonged to a family member, and that the peppercorn rent was a steal, even for Ilsan. Namjoon looked at the building doubtfully. It didn’t look like much. An external staircase ran up the outer wall, which Namjoon appreciated at least; it meant he wouldn’t have to go through the inside of the building and bother anyone when he went in and out. 

It’s a good thing he hadn’t brought much, either. Namjoon hefted his luggage and went up the external stairs directly to the second-floor apartment. Seokjin had told him to look for a Mr Kim. Some old ajusshi, probably, someone who might have known him as a little boy and who would likely smell strongly of rubbing menthol, or clove cigarettes. Namjoon wrinkled his nose preemptively.

The door to the second-floor apartment had a wilting plant outside it and a well-worn, standard-issue pair of black rubber slides tossed haphazardly on the doormat. 

Definitely an ajusshi. 

No one answered the first ring of the doorbell. 

But someone was in there for sure. There was a fluted glass panel set into the door and Namjoon could see light inside, plus he could hear music inside the house, some sort of strange, boozy jazz that made his brow wrinkle in confusion. Jerky, whiny and shrill, it sounded just like mosquitoes buzzing around his head at night. Namjoon much preferred good old rap. Did people listen to this sort of jazz these days? The sound was annoying, but some people were into that kind of music, and Namjoon wasn’t really the sort to judge music tastes. As long as the landlord didn’t play it loud late at night, Namjoon supposed it would be fine.

He rang the doorbell again, this time with more pressure and a little more irritable vigor. 

Somewhere in the house, the music stopped.

“Be right there,” a voice called from behind the door.

Strange. That voice didn’t sound like it belonged to an ajusshi. In fact, it sounded kind of familiar. It niggled at him. He should be able to place it. It sounded like - it sounded like - 

The door swung open.

Namjoon blinked. He blinked again. For the first time in his life he understood what it felt to have the breath knocked out of his chest, to have his feet metaphorically kicked out from under him. He choked, coughed, and blinked one more time, just to be sure of what - or who - he was looking at. 

Standing right in front of him was a tall, broad man who carried himself lightly, sleepily, as if he’d only just gotten out of bed. He had a lock of hair flopping over his eyes and one bread cheek lifted in a tender, familiar half-smile. 

In a sudden, startling moment, Namjoon’s memory instantly called up the phantom touch of that cheek under his lips, a memory so buried that Namjoon had not given it thought for more than a decade. Instinctively, he lifted one hand to his mouth.

“Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung said quietly. “It’s been a while.”

‘A while’ was an understatement. They hadn’t seen each other for… what was it? Fifteen years? Struck, Namjoon felt the weight of his heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

“Tae?” Namjoon said thickly. “What are you doing here?” He stepped back. Was this some kind of joke? Had Seokjin sent him to the wrong address?

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, as if the question was odd. “I live here.”

His eyes were still so liquid, so intense. His voice was still so gentle, deep, and warm, but the shock went straight through Namjoon like a blast of cold air. It all came rushing back to him now - the tonal quality of Taehyung’s voice, the way it had used to soothe him. The way it sounded when Taehyung held his name like something precious in his mouth, even when they were just lanky, awkward teenagers with shorn hair. 

Namjoon did not feel soothed at this moment. 

Taehyung was no longer lanky or awkward, and his hair was now a mass of dark, luscious curls that called like a siren for a hand to run through it. 

Namjoon also did not understand why he had to clench his hand to better resist that particular urge. 

“Wait. No. That’s not right. The landlord lives on the second floor,” Namjoon insisted, obstinate. He squinted at the address on his phone, but he’d already checked and double checked before. He knew he was at the right place. “I’m looking for Mr Kim?” Even as he said the name out loud, the penny dropped, and it dropped hard. 

He made an inarticulate noise. 

Taehyung nodded, almost amused. “That’s me. You’re renting my rooftop apartment.”

Oh, Namjoon was going to call Seokjin and give him a piece of his mind. He was going to tell him exactly what he thought of his little surprise. That devious, meddling hyung of his. Arrange everything for him, would he? Worried about Namjoon, was he? God, why had Namjoon been so stupid? How could he have thought he could trust Seokjin of all people to handle everything for him? And all this time he was plotting to have Namjoon shack up with his high-school boyfriend? Seokjin’s own little cousin?

Family member indeed. 

Namjoon stared, betrayed, at the man in question, who had certainly done some growing up in the interim years. Taehyung looked back at him mildly. 

“You knew I was coming here?” This seemed to Namjoon to be the most egregious, the most galling part - that he was the only one victimized and clueless in this plot. 

But Taehyung shook his fluffy head apologetically, and Namjoon could see the honesty in his eyes. Taehyung never did bother with lying. “I just found out, myself. My mother only told me she’d sorted a tenant for the rooftop unit, and I didn’t find out it was you until she sent the details this morning.”

Slightly less damning that Seokjin hadn’t actually recruited Taehyung into his little scheme, but still. It was even more debilitating, actually, that it sounded like somewhere along the line Seokjin had called Taehyung’s mother to discuss Namjoon’s calamitous fall from grace, and that they had both conspired for him to stay in Ilsan with the boy he used to date.

Namjoon fought the urge to punch something. Instead he opened his mouth and asked a graceless question: “You mean this building belongs to you?”

Taehyung shrugged one shoulder lightly. “Halmeoni left it to eomma, and I guess someday it’ll belong to me.” He indicated the inside of his roomy apartment with a gentle wave. “I stay here and take care of the place and the tenants.”

Which now included one Kim Namjoon.

“Eomma prefers to stay in Seoul, you know, so the job fell to me,” Taehyung continued. He pushed his hair back himself, a pointless gesture since the mop flopped back into exactly the same place. “Isn’t it funny, hyung? Usually the young folks go off to Seoul and the old ones stay in the provinces, but here you and I are in Ilsan, and our parents are in the capital.”

Namjoon did not think it funny at all.

In fact he hated the way that sounded: like he had regressed, somehow, gone backwards in the annals of time and become a helpless child again, with nowhere to go but this backward, podunk town. He scowled at Taehyung without really meaning to, his luggage forgotten at his feet and waiting patiently like a tired old dog. It was disquieting. Namjoon felt thrown off balance by the entire distasteful situation. It was almost as if he now owed Taehyung a favor which he’d never benefited from in the first place. Fruitlessly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say next in this conversation he did not want to be a part of. 

Taehyung’s gaze sharpened on Namjoon’s face, then softened as if he’d seen clearly beneath the spiky facade. “Look,” Taehyung sighed, “you don’t have to feel weird about this. It was a long time ago, right? You and me.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure there even ever was a you and me. We were just kids,” he said, not unkindly, but it stung Namjoon a little bit anyway. 

Defensively, Namjoon retorted, “It’s not that,” because it really wasn’t, but then he bit his lip, once more at a loss as to how to navigate the situation.

He really was not in the mood to get into his life story right there on Taehyung’s stoop. He wasn’t even sure how much Taehyung knew about his situation - and did not want to share more than was absolutely necessary, which was practically none of it, surely. Namjoon felt suddenly utterly drained, his shoulders rounding, his head drooping. He’d had a long day (a long month), and even if the rental apartment had to be directly above Taehyung’s, he’d take it right now just so he could have some place to sit down and rest. 

Once more, Taehyung glanced at him keenly. “You must be tired,” he said suddenly. “We can catch up another time. Shall I show you to the apartment?”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon muttered, biting back a sigh. He gripped his luggage with a tense hand and pushed his hair back with the other; god, he really hated how hot his shaggy hair was, and how his fringe constantly fell into his eyes, but he had not found the will or the energy to go get a haircut. Taehyung was already shoving his feet into the black rubber slides, and Namjoon followed him up the steps onto the roof. 

It would be considered a bog standard roof in most parts of South Korea, but a bog standard roof was not something Namjoon had had any reason to see often in his expensive condominium in the heart of Hannam-dong, and so the sight was all at once familiar and unfamiliar to him. The edges of the roof were clustered over with planter boxes, creepers and vines and stems spilling out of them every which way. Namjoon recognized the curlicues of winter melon, the sharp-edged leaves of perilla, and even the homely shape of cabbage. It seemed Taehyung had a green thumb, then. Namjoon racked his brain, but could not recall ever hearing of a young Taehyung being interested in plants in any shape or form. This was new. 

Right in the middle of the open space was the pyeongsang: the classic platform table no self-respecting Korean roof or yard would ever be seen without, and empty laundry lines swayed gently in the light breeze on the far end. 

A bog standard roof indeed. 

Namjoon desperately hoped the rental unit would be more impressive. Beside him, Taehyung fiddled with the electronic lock and then moved aside to let Namjoon set his own number code. He averted his eyes respectfully as Namjoon keyed it in. 

“Well, here we are.” Taehyung stepped into the apartment, leaving his slippers at the door. Namjoon entered behind him. 

It actually - it actually wasn’t half bad. 

Namjoon exhaled, slightly relieved. Perhaps Seokjin hadn’t messed up entirely after all. The modest unit wasn’t much more than a very large room, but Namjoon had definitely seen much worse, and it was much larger and much warmer than he expected a rooftop apartment to be. The room, just like the building, was dated but clean and well-appointed. In a sweeping glance Namjoon took in the narrow single bed, the generous shelving, the built-in closet, the low table for working and eating. There was a door in the middle of the room that likely led to the promised en-suite bathroom, and the door at the far end of the room probably led to the rest of the building (Namjoon privately resolved that it would stay closed and locked, permanently). 

It was good enough. It would do. The place even smelled nice, like fabric softener. 

Namjoon felt somewhat better. 

“There’s a portable stove in the drawer here if you want to cook something simple,” Taehyung pointed out, “and the en-suite bathroom is right there. Fitted with an instant heater, so you don’t have to worry about hot water.” He ran through the information briskly, as if he’d done it a dozen times, and he probably had; he showed Namjoon a hard copy list of phone numbers for food delivery outlets nearby, where the extra rolls of toilet paper were, where the winter blankets were kept. 

Would Namjoon still be here when winter came? He shuddered. That would mean that a few months would have changed nothing in his life. 

He kept silent and allowed Taehyung to continue walking him through the place. It did not take long. There was not much to show or tell.

Luckily for him, Taehyung did not seem overly bothered by his reticence. 

“That’s about all,” he said. He stood in the doorway without needing any other cue to leave. “Just let me know if you need anything. I make simple stuff sometimes - easier to cook for more than one, otherwise I end up with too much leftovers in my fridge. Japchae, gimbap. And if you need more, we have an arrangement with the ajumma renting the first floor shop. She cooks and packs meals for tenants living along our road.”

Namjoon shook his head adamantly. “That won’t be necessary. I really just came here for peace and quiet.” He emphasized the words peace and quiet with heavy tones, just to really drive the point home. He was of no mind to entertain idle chatter or neighborliness, even from Taehyung. He just wanted to be left alone. 

But Taehyung fidgeted a little. He thumbed restlessly at his nose, shifted his feet. Even after so long, Namjoon recognized the gesture; one that Taehyung made when he wasn’t done speaking. He waited patiently. 

“It’s just that I’m on the rooftop quite a lot,” Taehyung finally said. “Gardening, doing laundry. Sometimes grilling meat on the pyeongsang if it’s a nice night.” He opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted again, his eyes cautiously friendly. “You’d be welcome to join me anytime, if you wanted.”

Peace and quiet. That was all Namjoon wanted. It was what he’d come to Ilsan to find. Aloud, he said more gruffly than he intended, “No. I’ll be fine. It’s your rooftop. Do what you want.” He deliberately turned his attention to his luggage, not really looking at the man silhouetted in the doorway. “Thanks, Taehyung-ssi.”

If the slight formality bothered Taehyung, he didn’t show it. He simply inclined his head and waved and closed the door behind him.

Namjoon collapsed on the floor beside his suitcase and gently knocked his head against the wall. 

Kim Taehyung. Who would have thought? They’d broken up, almost predictably, after Namjoon moved to Seoul for university. A year younger, Taehyung was still in school back in Ilsan, and Namjoon would have to enlist after university, anyway - so all things considered, their childhood (childish, Namjoon mentally added) relationship simply wouldn’t have worked out. Such was the inevitable fate of young love. 

And they’d been so young. Namjoon, the hot-headed upstart who regularly burned the midnight oil and consequently graduated top of his class, and Taehyung; sweet, dreamy Taehyung with the heavy-lidded eyes, who was frankly considered a bit of an oddball by the rest. With rueful hindsight Namjoon could acknowledge they had not seemed well-matched. 

And yet to his surprise Namjoon also recalled how much he had adored Taehyung. Seokjin had been weird about it at first (my best friend, dating my baby cousin, he’d wailed with much dramatic hand-wringing, how am I supposed to accept this, Namjoon-ah) until Hoseok, thoroughly sick of the dramatics, drily pointed out that Taehyung being only a year younger was hardly a baby compared to them. 

Seokjin eventually grudgingly came around when he witnessed for himself how careful Namjoon was with Taehyung, how tender. I really do love him, hyung, Namjoon had confessed to a wincing Seokjin with youthful, honest agony. I love him so much it feels like my heart could burst. 

Namjoon stilled at the memory, slightly disturbed. He had not given his doomed relationship with Taehyung much thought in the interim years. Had he really been capable of such dedication, such heartfelt sentiment? It seemed absurd. High-school Namjoon had been someone else entirely. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so strongly about something - or someone - in the last few years. 

He’d forgotten he was once someone like that. A person who wrote ecstatic poetry and gazed like a lovesick fool at Taehyung’s selcas in his phone. 

But what was it Taehyung had said? I’m not sure that there ever was a you and me. We were just kids.

Oof. 

But Taehyung was right. They had only been kids.

What had a grown-up Taehyung been doing all these years in Ilsan, then, while Namjoon was clocking in excess of fifty billable hours a week? He had been so wrapped up in his own life that Namjoon knew his memory was not faulty - rather, he had deliberately and not-so-deliberately simply stopped being a part of Taehyung’s life. Their breakup had had an air of finality to it that meant that they had not kept in touch. 

It was not Taehyung’s fault. Namjoon had made little effort to keep in touch with anyone from Ilsan.

What he did know: he remembered Seokjin informing him that Taehyung had enlisted after his grandmother passed away. Seokjin had mentioned his younger cousin once or twice to Namjoon with an air of caution and tentativeness, unsure what reception he would get, but Namjoon had not shown any inclination that he was bothered or even interested in that particular line of conversation. Eventually Seokjin stopped mentioning him at all. And so even that tenuous link between them had dried up, and Namjoon had not heard anything about the boy he’d adored with a youthful passion. 

He suddenly wondered if it had been the same in the other direction. Had Seokjin mentioned him to Taehyung, only to be met with misty indifference? 

The thought rankled for some inexplicable, unfair reason. 

But…Taehyung looked good. Not just in a handsome way, though Namjoon acknowledged privately and objectively that from what he had seen, Taehyung was, certainly, very handsome. Well - Namjoon had always thought so, but now the rest of the world would, too. That beautiful black hair, the boxy, charming smile… Namjoon shook his head to clear it. No, that aside, what had struck Namjoon deeply was that Taehyung looked robust and healthy and just…glowing. What was it they said about people like that? Unbothered. Moisturized. Happy. Effortlessly put together, even though he’d only been in an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts. 

Like he had fully grown into himself. 

Like he was completely comfortable in his own skin, the way Namjoon no longer was. 

While Namjoon had been building his career in Seoul only to ruin it, Taehyung had been building a life in Ilsan. 

He didn’t know why that made him feel so lost. 

Day 3

Namjoon knew he had already waited too long to make the call. Seokjin had been texting him: first gentle questions about his well-being, then pointed ones when Namjoon hadn’t replied beyond a couple terse responses. Today Seokjin had begun sending blatant threats: I didn’t raise you like this; if you don’t call me back I am going to tell your mother you were the one who threw the ball through Mr Bang’s window when we were kids. 

Namjoon knew he could no longer delay. It was time. Seokjin was clearly waiting to hear how he was, how he had settled in, whether the apartment was to his liking. So he called, and it surprised him how much better he felt hearing Seokjin’s voice. There was no need for him to dance around topics with his hyung, no need to be selective about the adjectives he used or the number of expletives that peppered his speech. 

Seokjin, for the most part, understood him. It was a relief to be able to say exactly what he thought and felt.

“It’s about time,” Seokjin snarked. “Thought you fell into a well and couldn’t get out.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes but grinned. “No more wells in Ilsan, hyung, you know that.”

“So how’s Ilsan, then?” Seokjin asked facetiously. “How’s our childhood home treating you?”

Namjoon barked out a laugh. “Shitty,” he said, entirely seriously. It was bizarre to see that in the ten or so years he was away, Ilsan had hardly changed. It was almost annoying, how he’d been put through the wringer, how he felt as though he’d aged more than the decade he’d endured, only to come back and find that Ilsan remained untouched and unmoved, unaware of his turmoil. Offensive, even. 

On the other hand, Seokjin, unlike Namjoon, was thriving in the big city, while Namjoon had escaped into the country to hide.

He shifted restlessly in his seat, uncomfortable with the path his thoughts had taken. “What about you? How’s the rat race back in Seoul?”

“I think they lied to us, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin said sadly. “We’re the rats, all right, and I don’t think we’ll ever get to be the cats.”

Namjoon laughed drily. “Don’t I know it.” He twisted his mouth into a grimace that his hyung could not see over the phone. “Hey,” he said. “You know your cousin Taehyung lives here? In this apartment block? In fact, he’s my landlord,” Namjoon added with emphasis, in case Seokjin wasn’t quite getting the full scope of this drama. Your cousin, he’d said, and not my ex-boyfriend. 

“Yes, well. I just found that out myself, when I asked my mother where your apartment was.” Seokjin sounded apologetic. Namjoon strained his ears, but could detect no hint of a lie in his voice. “Sorry. I would have told you earlier, if I’d known, but you see, I’d just asked eomma if she knew of any available apartments to let in Ilsan, and I didn’t tell her whom it was for. I don’t think she even read the paperwork; she just sent it through.” 

“Taehyung figured it out pretty quickly, though. He was expecting me.” Namjoon did not mean to sound as accusing as he did, but it was too late to adjust his tone.

Seokjin cleared his throat cautiously, as though feeling Namjoon out. “Not that it matters, right?”

Uncharacteristically, Namjoon decided it would be wiser to hold himself back. He did not want to be thought petty and ungrateful, nor did he want to seem as though he was still hung up on a young man he had dated for slightly more than a year when he was barely eighteen. He was an adult now. They all were. At the end of the day it was of little consequence whom he paid for the use of the apartment, as long as he got his peace and quiet.

“No,” Namjoon said tiredly. “No, hyung, it doesn’t matter, really. Took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Seokjin’s protracted silence conveyed suspicion, but he decided not to press, and thankfully he let it go. “Settling in well, then?”

“It’s a nice apartment,” was all Namjoon answered.

“I saw some pictures,” Seokjin said. “Pretty decent for Ilsan rooftop digs, huh?” His voice gentled. “And you? Feeling any better?”

“I don’t know. No. Not really.” Namjoon knew it wasn’t much of an answer. He did not feel like elaborating, but he also felt like Seokjin, of all people in his life, deserved some honesty and more of an effort from him, so he made the effort. “I can’t really sleep, so I’m tired all the time. And I still feel…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to complete the sentence. Seokjin had been there with him as his world crashed and burned around him. 

“I knew I should have gone with you.”

They’d been through this. Seokjin had actually offered to cash in his annual leave and accompany Namjoon to Ilsan, help him get settled in. He knew the place like the back of his hand, after all! But Namjoon pointed out that he, too, had Ilsan imprinted deeply in his mind. Both of them, born and bred, but only one prodigal son was returning with his tail between his legs. 

It had taken a great deal of assurances before Seokjin, though he was still visibly concerned, finally relented. He’d tried to talk Namjoon into hiring a driver, but Namjoon was insistent. He had booked the bus ticket himself.

It had been soporific. He stared blindly out the window the entire time, his headphones plugged in, but no music playing, his brain on autopilot. The bus journey had passed quickly. Namjoon remembered nothing of what he’d seen out the window. 

He gathered himself with an effort, wanting to dispel the guilt that was palpable from Seokjin even over the phone. 

“No, don’t be silly, hyung. I’m all settled in. I’ve unpacked everything.” He figured the open suitcase kicked into a corner of the room counted, even if there were still several items sitting haphazardly inside it.

“Don’t stay indoors all day, Namjoon-ah. Go out and get some sun, you hear?”

It was uncanny how well Seokjin knew him.

“I will,” Namjoon said unconvincingly. 

“Do you have a stove in the room? Have you been eating properly?”

Namjoon knew exactly what Seokjin meant by “properly”, and he also knew very well that what he was eating was nowhere near Seokjin’s standard of acceptability, so he hedged. “Um,” he said weakly. “Yes. There’s a stove, and there’s an air pot for hot water, so I’m doing okay.”

Acidly, Seokjin remarked, “Eating cup noodles, aren’t you, Namjoon-ah?”

Caught red-handed. 

Interpreting Namjoon’s abashed silence correctly, Seokjin turned mournful. “If I were there, I could cook for you.”

“It’s all right. I can pour hot water into my own cup noodles, I don’t need you to do that for me.”

Seokjin sneered affectionately at this. “I know it’s too much to ask you to cook a proper meal, but isn’t there a place you can buy food? Jjajangmyeon, or the occasional gimbap roll at least? Hopefully something that isn’t reconstituted with hot water?” 

Namjoon frowned, recalling what Taehyung had told him that first day. “Taehyung did say the ajumma downstairs cooks, but I don’t really want to bother her. I don’t eat a lot, really.”

Seokjin made a sudden, pleased sound, as if a marvelous idea had just occurred to him. “Well, why don’t you just share a portion with Tae? He doesn’t eat much either. You should ask him!”

Perish the thought. Namjoon would certainly not suggest such a thing to Taehyung. How very dare Seokjin. 

“We’ll see,” Namjoon said neutrally. He changed the topic quickly. “So when are you coming to Ilsan to visit your dongsaengs? You can cook for both of us then.”

He winced. In his hurry to switch the subject he had inadvertently invited Seokjin to a meal with both him and Taehyung at the same time. What was he thinking? Now Seokjin would certainly do exactly that. 

“Cook for you and Taehyungie? Why of course I will, when I’m done with this portfolio. You know what it’s like, Namjoon-ah, clients are working my fingers to the bone.” But Seokjin seemed unaccountably pleased about it. Of everyone Namjoon knew, Seokjin was perhaps the one who most embraced corporate life. Not only did he cut a fine figure in a well-tailored suit, but he also cut a swath through his office in a blaze of ruthless efficiency. No, Seokjin was not like Namjoon. He would not crumble so pathetically under pressure, nor make the same foolish mistakes Namjoon had. 

Seokjin was cut out for success. 

Namjoon cleared his throat and his mind. “There’s that long weekend coming up in about a month,” he pointed out. “You could come visit then.”

Seokjin made a pleased sound of assent. “You know what? You’re right. I will. Blocking it out right now, what a good idea, Namjoon-ah. I’ll see you then. And in the meantime,” Seokjin said, more pointedly than Namjoon liked, “be nice to Taehyung, okay?”

This stung. Namjoon made a face. “I’ve always been nice to Taehyung.”

“Uh huh.” Unconvinced, Seokjin nevertheless once more did not press his advantage. “Try and get some sleep, Namjoon-ah. And keep me up-to-date, okay? I’ll check in on you when I can.”

And in return, Namjoon did not insist that he did not need to be checked on. After all, he was always honest with Seokjin. “Right. Bye, hyung. Take care.”

Day 4

But Seokjin wasn’t the only one who he had to report to over the phone.

“Yes, eomma,” Namjoon said obediently, “I have definitely been taking the supplements you bought me. Regularly, of course.” He purposefully turned his back on the brand new, unopened bottles on his table. “Twice a day, yes.” He listened patiently some more. “I’ve been sleeping just fine.” That, of course, was another lie. “Yes, the room is fine. Great, even. The landlord?” Namjoon huffs with indignation, certain that if not Seokjin, then surely his own mother would see his point of view in this. “Did you know the landlord is Kim Taehyung? That’s right, that Kim Taehyung. No, of course I didn’t know, eomma! Why would I want to live with my ex-boyfriend?” Namjoon ran his hand through his hair exasperatedly so that it all stood on end. “No, not in the same apartment, of course not! He lives downstairs and I’m on the roof… Well - no, we didn’t end on bad terms. I mean yes, okay, I know what you mean -” He inhaled deeply. It was unexpected and very aggravating that his own mother wasn’t taking his side. “Yes, obviously, I do realize we’re both adults.”

He rolled his eyes. Eomma had always adored Taehyung, but she would have to accept - fifteen years after the fact! - that obviously nothing was going to happen between them ever. 

By the time he managed to extricate himself and hang up, he had been forced to agree with his mother that staying in Taehyung’s house was not a bad thing, promised several times to take care of himself, take lots of vitamin C, and sworn that he would sleep early. He breathed a long sigh. All things considered, it was a reasonably good phone call. Namjoon’s eomma was a force of nature in her own right - a sweet, gentle lady, but with an immovable iron core to her. 

Many had said before, admiringly, that Namjoon had inherited that iron from her.

Where had that iron gone?

Lately, Namjoon felt much more like a limp, wet noodle. 

Since that first, unwelcome encounter with his new landlord (Namjoon scowled at the thought), he hadn’t bumped into Taehyung for the last three days; not that Namjoon was trying to actively avoid him, of course.

On Namjoon’s part, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do, anyway. He had already made himself familiar with the ajusshi at the local convenience stores, what with his daily runs to pick up cup ramyeon and whatever else took his fancy. Anything he could find to make the ramyeon more like a meal and less like a snack: maybe a single serving pack of kimchi, a shrink-wrapped sausage, a marinated egg, or cheese. Whatever he felt like - just don’t tell Seokjin-hyung. 

Each time he’d buy just for that day’s meal, so that he didn’t have to worry about leftovers. Sure, he was generating an alarming amount of plastic packaging waste, but it was the most thinking he had to do every day, and that was exactly how he liked it. 

It was almost five when he headed out on his usual food run and returned briskly with a fresh pack of ramyeon and assorted side dishes. No wasting time, no dallying about. The world wasn’t waiting for him. The street was relatively empty at that time, and as he passed Taehyung’s door he couldn’t help but glance through the fluted glass. It was dim, and there was no music. He wasn’t home, then.

Odd, that twinge he felt. Almost like…faint disappointment.  

He trudged up the rest of the stairs to his own door - and there he was. Clad in a loose white tank top and shorts, Taehyung was sitting cross-legged and barefoot on the pyeongsang, surrounded by piles of bean sprouts and plastic mesh baskets. The fading afternoon sun dappled his face and shoulders with gold. 

It was Namjoon’s instinct to keep his head down and just open his door and get in as quick as he could, but Taehyung glanced up. Too late to escape, Namjoon inclined his head in the universal silent hello, hoping that would be it, but Taehyung brightened. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung said. “There you are!” As if he’d been wondering, himself, where Namjoon had been. “Went shopping?” 

Namjoon held up the bag of ramyeon. It was self-explanatory. He really should just put his code into the door and get in and put his groceries away, close the door with Taehyung on the other side of it, but instead, inexplicably, he hesitated. “What are you doing?” he asked gruffly.

“Peeling beansprouts, obviously.” Taehyung held up a basket in return, filled with pale white tubes.

“Why do you need so many beansprouts?” It looked like a veritable mountain. Taehyung surely couldn’t eat that many himself. 

“They were on sale at the market,” Taehyung said. “And Mrs Ahn downstairs said she’d take some if I could help her peel them, so that’s what I’m doing.” 

Namjoon frowned. “Do you charge her for that?”

“No, why would I?” 

Taehyung looked genuinely baffled, and Namjoon decided not to press. He changed tack. “Isn’t it too hot out here?”

Taehyung blinked, then shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. “I like the sunshine,” he said confidingly. He gestured to the rooftop. “Isn’t it nice to be outdoors in your own house?”

“Not really,” Namjoon said gruffly. The rooftop made him aware of too much bright sky, too much openness. He preferred the night. The deep blue sky at midnight was less accusing, kinder, more conspiratorial. Namjoon’s darkness blended in; at night his faults were invisible, immaterial. Nobody noticed him: exactly how he wanted it. 

Quizzical but without any judgment, Taehyung peered at him as if seeing him anew. “Oh. You used to love the sun.”

In his head, Namjoon flashed back to a particularly warm day in his teenage years, lying on a mat under a tree in Ilsan Lake Park. Bars of sunlight had fallen over them as he eagerly tugged a giggling, mock-resistant Taehyung towards him for a kiss. 

Namjoon had indeed loved the sun. 

He cleared his throat and banished the visual image of Taehyung’s lips meeting his. He was clearly going crazy. “Things change,” he said shortly. “People change.” Everything changes, he didn’t say aloud. He didn’t need to drag Taehyung into his life problems. 

“That’s true. You might change again, then.” Taehyung darted an impish look at Namjoon. “And if you do change your mind, there are rental bikes along the main road, next to the tteokbokki shop. You can cycle all the way clear to Ilsan Lake Park. It’s lovely this time of year.”

Namjoon jolted at the mention of the park, as if Taehyung had read his mind. “Ah,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Um. Thanks. I’ll think about it.” 

“Yoongi-hyung’s shop is along the way, you know.”

Oh. Namjoon did remember something of the sort. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready to go see Yoongi.

He shrugged a shoulder at Taehyung, a clear gesture to forestall any further attempt at conversation. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it, then.”

“Wait,” Taehyung said. He beckoned Namjoon over. Puzzled, Namjoon took a faltering step toward the pyeongsang, then another. Taehyung looked at him solemnly. “Open your bag, hyung.” 

When Namjoon obliged, Taehyung dumped in a whole double handful of peeled bean sprouts. 

Bewildered, Namjoon stared. “What’s this for?” 

“You used to like sprouts in your noodles.” Taehyung winked. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about that too?” He beamed brightly up at Namjoon, irrepressible and full of light. A shriveled beansprout husk was tangled in his hair. The dusty scent of vegetables wafted around them. Above them, open sky.

Dazzled, Namjoon blinked in the sunshine.

Day 6

Kim Namjoon had never thought of himself as someone soft. That iron core he was supposed to have was what he built himself around. Steely. Unyielding. Unbending. A massive tree standing alone, challenging all who dared. 

A force to be reckoned with. 

But what Namjoon never reckoned was this: the tree that stands stiff and unyielding and unbending all by itself in the face of a storm will inevitably break. 

And break he had. 

Feeling drained, Namjoon lay on the pyeongsang and gazed up into the blackened night sky. It was different, here in Ilsan. In Seoul… well, in Seoul Namjoon rarely looked up. He went from home into the train and out into his office building, neck bent over his mobile phone most of the time, checking emails, tapping out memos, scrolling through briefs, then back the opposite direction without ever gazing up at the sky long enough to appreciate it. Back in his rented apartment in Seoul he had not had any opportunity for sky-gazing either; he lived on the thirteenth floor and had another twelve floors between him and the sky. In any case, the fine dust and the ceaseless lights of the city hardly made for a suitable view. 

But here in Ilsan, even just two hours out of the city, the air was clearer, the lights fewer, and out on the roof nothing came between Namjoon and the sky. Dark smudges of clouds drifted past the thinly slivered moon. It wasn’t the clearest view in the world, obviously, but Namjoon couldn’t remember when he had last seen these many stars. 

In all fairness, it had been a long time since he’d bothered to take the time to look up.

For the past few nights, Namjoon had taken to walking the streets. They had been disconcertingly unfamiliar, even though Taehyung’s building was in a neighborhood very near the one they’d grown up in. He’d cycled down these streets countless times as a child. Confident initially that he knew his way around Ilsan, his rash decision to rely on his memory had quickly proved to be a very poor one. At first impression Ilsan might not have changed much, but in truth enough subtle changes had taken place that the landscape in front of him and the one in his mind failed to match up. Namjoon’s memory was faultier than he thought. 

He made it two streets down before his heart began hammering. He had hardly gone anywhere but, palms clammy, he fumbled his phone from his pocket to check on Naver that he hadn’t wandered too far. 

Inevitably, he decided to stick to the road closest to Taehyung’s building (he couldn’t think of it as “home”) until he got better bearings. 

It meant, however, that he walked circles around and around and never really got anywhere. 

Namjoon fervently wished that all these parallels to his life would stop showing up. Surely it was all too on the nose. The universe didn’t need to keep reminding him what a loser he was. He already knew all too well. 

That evening he’d walked aimlessly for so many rounds that even the convenience store ajusshi had asked him, concerned, if he was lost. 

Namjoon nearly laughed aloud at that. 

Lost? Yeah, he was goddamned lost. Even though he was only walking in tight circles around his apartment. 

Shut up, universe. 

To appease the ajusshi Namjoon had just smiled and excused his behavior with “oh, just exercising, you know!” and then when the ajusshi hadn’t looked very convinced Namjoon ducked into the store and bought a couple of bottles of soju to placate him. That was the end of his walk, though. He decided to head back to the apartment to avoid needlessly worrying the people in his neighborhood any further. 

The way things were in Ilsan, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone living in the area took note and called his mother to tell on him. 

So here he was, lying on the pyeongsang on the roof, staring up at the midnight sky, two bottles of soju beside him pearling and warming in the summer heat. 

Namjoon wondered, idly, if Taehyung would like to share a drink. Then he wondered again, more purposefully this time. Maybe…? Would Taehyung…? Maybe some conversation would do him good. 

Just a drink. Why not? Finish the bottles. A neighborly gesture. Nothing more. Namjoon sat up slowly and pushed his feet into his slides (branded, of course; bought when he’d had a surfeit of confidence and cash). He took each step slowly, turning over the potential invite in his head over and over like an old coin in his palm. Taehyung’s light might be off. It would be a moot point, then. He could be sleeping. He might be…

But Namjoon could hear, quite audibly, the sound of jazz drifting from behind Taehyung’s door. The panel of fluted glass shone in the night. Namjoon’s heart inexplicably sped up just a little. He stood on the doormat and raised his hand but held it right over the doorbell, irresolute. One last hesitation: he turned the thought over in his head again. Was it silly to ask? Inappropriate perhaps? How would he phrase it…? No, it was silly to second-guess himself. He was simply asking an old friend, his neighbor and landlord, if he’d like to share some soju. Perfectly natural. Nothing more to it. Resolved, Namjoon firmed his jaw and prepared to ring the doorbell. 

But then he heard it, a distinctly different sound that wasn’t jazz at all. 

A man’s laugh.

Instinctively Namjoon glanced down at his feet. There, beside Taehyung’s black rubber slides, was a pair of worn sneakers tucked neatly against the popcorn wall. Unfamiliar. Namjoon hadn’t seen them on Taehyung’s doorstep before. In any case they were a size or two smaller than Taehyung’s slides. 

Namjoon frowned. 

From behind the door came a warm murmur of voices, and once more that deep laugh. Muffled, of course, through the door, but Namjoon did not need to hear it clearly to know that that wasn’t Taehyung’s voice. 

At least this time the universe had saved his stupid ass from making a colossal mistake. 

Fighting a swell of inexplicable disappointment, he slowly lowered his hand, then turned and walked back up the stairs and into his rooftop apartment alone. 

He left the soju bottles on the table, forgotten, and climbed into bed for another sleepless night.

Day 7

Namjoon came awake slowly, bleary in the half light, his head hazy with lack of proper sleep. He’d finally managed to drift off sometime in the wee hours of the morning but as always his rest was interrupted and subpar. It took him more than a few minutes to focus his mind and wake himself up properly.

No matter. He’d fix it with coffee, as usual. Black and fathomless as his future and as strong as his…bad luck, Namjoon thought dourly. 

But as he filled the electric kettle from his bathroom tap he heard, unmistakably, the soft, mellow sound of a saxophone coming from outside. 

He peeked out of the window. Taehyung, his unruly mop of hair pushed back with a terry headband, was bent in half, arms propped on the pyeongsang. Both his feet were stomping busily in a big pink plastic tub. Water was sloshing everywhere. 

Was Taehyung really hand-washing laundry - or should it be called foot-washing, Namjoon wondered incredulously - right outside his door? 

Only one way to find out. 

Namjoon hastily poured an extra cup of water into the kettle and went to put on a shirt that did not smell of stale sweat. 

Taehyung looked up, surprised, but his feet never stopped moving when Namjoon emerged blinking in the sunlight, two mugs of coffee in his hands. 

“Oh - Namjoon-hyung,” he said over the sloshing of the water. His voice sounded to Namjoon like melted chocolate. Rich. Dark. Bittersweet. “I’m sorry - did I bother you? Is my music too loud?” 

He gestured to a portable speaker on the pyeongsang from which the saxophone was tootling. 

“Not at all,” Namjoon said. He wasn’t even sure what time it was. Not that it mattered. He slept and woke whenever his exhausted mind and body permitted him to. Judging by the height of the sun in the sky, it was…daytime. Fuck if Namjoon knew how to read sun positions. Mankind had invented the clock for a reason. He proffered one of the mugs in his hand. “I made an extra cup of coffee for you,” he said, and the second the words came out of his mouth he felt instantly stupid. 

He’d forgotten. Taehyung didn’t drink coffee. 

Judging by the faintly wistful look on Taehyung’s face, he knew Namjoon hadn’t remembered. Namjoon flushed red with shame. 

“I’m actually not very fond of coffee,” Taehyung said gently, as if it was new information for Namjoon. He softened the blow with a smile: “But thank you for thinking of me anyway.” 

“I’m sorry. I remember now.” Namjoon was absolutely furious with himself. If he could actually have kicked himself he might have. He knew Taehyung didn’t like coffee. It was something he’d always known about Tae. What was wrong with him? Desperate to redeem himself, Namjoon stuttered, “I, ah, I owe you one, then. Oh! Iced tea!” he almost shouted, relief flooding him. “I remember you liked peach?” 

Anxious once again, Namjoon hoped fervently that Taehyung’s taste hadn’t changed that much in the interim years - or that his memory hadn’t absolutely failed him once again. 

He didn’t think he deserved the slow syrup sweetness of Taehyung’s smile, but he got it anyway. It made him feel much better. 

“I do love iced peach tea.”

It was the most minor of wins, but Namjoon would take it. 

“Next time,” Namjoon said firmly. “I’ll buy you one. My treat.” 

“Sure, hyung.” 

“So what are you doing?”

“Washing laundry.” Taehyung beckoned him over, and Namjoon set the mugs on the pyeongsang so he could comply. “Could you give me a hand with this?” 

Together, they hauled the dripping wet mass of cloth out of the tub. Namjoon didn’t let himself think about the cold water slipping down his arms and soaking his shirt. Instead he let his mind focus solely on the physicality of his actions - grasping the sodden quilt on one end and twisting it against Taehyung doing the same at the other end so that rivulets of water ran down and splashed noisily back into the tub. Or at least some of it went into the tub. They would have to be careful not to slip on the soapy puddles they’d created.

Namjoon glanced over at Taehyung, connected to him barely an arm’s reach away by a twisted rope of blanket. For the first time he noticed the muscles cording along Taehyung’s forearms, taut muscles and blue-green veins running under his tanned skin. 

He was not quite the same boy Namjoon had kissed years ago under the trees in Ilsan Lake Park. That boy had been skinny and pale and had stick-straight hair. He’d been young and naive and he’d gazed at Namjoon with stars in his deep brown eyes.

But both teenaged Taehyung and grown Taehyung called him “hyung” with honey and caramel in their voices. 

“One last rinse,” Taehyung murmured. Amidst the sloshing of the quilt being agitated in a second tub of clean water, Namjoon furrowed his brow.

“Why do you bother?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“Hmm?”

“Why bother?” Namjoon repeated, gesturing to the basins of water, their dripping shirts, the puddled floor. “We invented washing machines to save time and effort.” He couldn’t imagine what would make anyone want to wash blankets by hand. 

Taehyung shrugged cheerfully as he scrubbed. “The washing machine I have in the house is a little too old and clunky to manage the heavy quilts, so I wash them by hand. I have time to spare today, anyway. It’s the way my grandmother used to do it,” he added. “I find it relaxing, sometimes.” He grinned. “And if I do feel lazy then I’ll just bring them to the laundromat down the street. It all depends. It’s a nice day for laundry anyway, don’t you think? Here - help me squeeze again.” Taehyung wrestled the dripping blanket out of the tub and once more handed one end to Namjoon. 

It was surprisingly nicer than he expected it to be: the rhythmic squeeze, the wet burn on his palms as he wrung his handful of the blanket. Simple work that did not need him to think, or assess, or weigh his options. The sun felt good on his shoulders. Taehyung was right - it was a good day for laundry. They slung the first quilt over the clothesline and pegged it down. 

“Another one?” Taehyung peeked up at Namjoon, the corner of his lip twitching at the sight of Namjoon puffing, red-faced, shirt blotched with damp. 

But for the first time in a long time, Namjoon felt expansive, almost light. “Sure. Why not.” He pushed his messy fringe back, and almost wished for a headband like Taehyung’s to keep his hair out of his face.

If Namjoon was worried about having to make conversation, he soon found his fears unfounded. They worked in companionable silence for the most part, Taehyung seemingly content to work side by side with Namjoon without any need for aimless chatter. This felt soothing to Namjoon - that is, until Taehyung coaxed him into getting into the tub and stomping on the sheets. He unwound just enough to relent - ditching his expensive slippers at the side and climbing into the tub. 

“Just stomp?” 

“Just stomp,” Taehyung confirmed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Or you could do that little twist and shout move, that works too.” He demonstrated, and Namjoon obediently followed suit, twisting heavily and awkwardly at his hips. Taehyung immediately bent over, his palms flat on his knees, and laughed straight from his belly.

Instinctively Namjoon recognized that laugh; full of warm delight and zero malice. He’d heard that laugh before, sweet and full of amusement when he tried to dance with Taehyung years ago. He grinned, remembering the way Taehyung had put his palms on his hips to move them slower, more smoothly. 

“Hey,” he said, mock offended. “You can wash your own blankets if you’re going to laugh at my dancing!” He flicked water at Taehyung’s face, but the other man just giggled harder.

“Ah, hyung,” Taehyung finally said, chuckling, “come on, those hips are still too stiff, you need to loosen up.”

Loosen up?

Namjoon could not tell him that he had forgotten how. 

They got through four more sheets, scrubbing and rinsing and scrubbing and rinsing; then wringing them dry and pegging them onto the clothesline. Taehyung glanced up at him several times, as if he wanted to ask a question, but wasn’t sure how. Finally he spoke.

“Where do you go at night,” Taehyung asked quietly, almost tentatively, “when you go out?”

Namjoon startled. “You see me going out?”

“Sometimes I see you when your shadow passes my door, when the front light is on.” Taehyung did not say if he had seen Namjoon hesitate on his step the night before, contemplating if he should ask Taehyung to drink with him. 

“Buying food at the convenience store, mostly. Just…out and about,” Namjoon said slowly. Around. Looking for myself. Running away. I don’t know.

“Well, if my light’s on, feel free to knock if you want some company.” 

“I was going to, last night,” Namjoon blurted out unthinkingly, then stopped short. He could feel the blush prickling at his ears and he felt annoyed at it. “But you had someone over.” He knew the look he leveled at Taehyung was unreasonably accusing, and he fought with himself to tone it down. Of course Taehyung could have anyone over. For the first time Namjoon wondered jealously if anyone warmed Taehyung’s bed at night. Was there someone who took him on dates to the park? There must be. Someone as beautiful and as sweet as Taehyung couldn’t possibly be single. Namjoon mentally kicked his past self viciously in the shin for letting someone like Taehyung slip through his fingers. What was past him thinking? 

Idiot. 

“Oh!” Taehyung looked at Namjoon in genuine surprise. “If I’d known you were around I’d have asked you to join us.”

Namjoon reeled at this. He did not want to be the third wheel on one of Taehyung’s dates, what the fuck! He couldn’t think of anything he’d want to do less than sit there while someone else made eyes at Taehyung - or worse, the other way round. But Taehyung was still talking. 

“…will be back tomorrow and we should all hang out then. He actually asked about you, but I didn’t really say anything, you know? I thought it wasn’t my business. But he misses you, even if he won’t admit it.”

In his pique Namjoon hadn’t heard half of what Taehyung was saying. Who was he talking about? It couldn’t be a boyfriend? 

“…Seokjin-hyung?” Namjoon hazarded a guess, bewildered. 

“Jin-hyung?” Taehyung repeated, looking just as confused. “No, I was talking about Yoongi-hyung, right? He came over last night to hang out with me and have whisky. We have dinner together every now and then.”

Those sneakers at Taehyung’s door had been Yoongi’s? That laugh he’d heard was his?

“Oh.” Namjoon felt suitably foolish, but also inexplicably relieved. “Oh, that was Yoongi-hyung. In your house.” 

Not a boyfriend, then. Not that it was any of his business. Feeling more cheerful now, Namjoon returned to the matter at hand. Yoongi had been right there, and Namjoon had not yet gone to see him, even though by this time he’d been in Ilsan for a week. 

“He already knows you’re here,” Taehyung said apologetically. “I guess Seokjin-hyung might have told him.”

“I guess so.” Namjoon wasn’t sure how often Seokjin spoke to Yoongi, but it was definitely more than he ever did. There was the group chat, of course, which he had muted a long time ago. Perhaps he should think about unmuting it, since he was back in Ilsan… He no longer had work to excuse himself from interacting with the others. It wasn’t that big of a deal; it’s not like he was hiding from Yoongi or Hoseok or anything. 

Namjoon should go visit him, say hi. He just…he just hadn’t spoken to his old friends for a long time. 

Which was his own fault, obviously. 

“Maybe you could pop by his shop if you have a little time.”

Namjoon did not say yes or no to that hopeful statement, although Taehyung’s eyes were searching his for some sort of indicator. He simply made a noncommittal noise, and Taehyung did not pursue it, for which Namjoon was thankful. 

He clipped the last wooden peg in place. The laundry was done; they had washed and hung all of it, and now there was nothing left to do. They poured the remaining water down the drain hole, and flipped the tubs upside down to dry. 

“Well, I really appreciate the help. It went a lot faster with you here.”

“It was my pleasure.” To Namjoon’s surprise, this was not a lie. 

“The invite stands, by the way,” Taehyung added, already one foot on the stairway back to his second-floor apartment. “If you need company, just knock. Or drop me a text - you have my number, don’t you?”

He did, but to his horror he realized the number was still saved in his phone as Ilsan Landlord Mr Kim. Namjoon flinched to himself. He should change it, and quickly.

“I’ll see you around, hyung,” Taehyung threw over his shoulder.

Back in his room, with a spring in his step, Namjoon carefully placed the two bottles of soju into his mini fridge.

Day 8

He took his time returning the city bike he’d rented to cycle there, and then fidgeted on the sidewalk outside Yoongi’s shop. But he had psyched himself up and had already come this far - he would not turn back now. 

The shop sign was classy and simple: it read ‘D-Day’ in light gray font on a black background. So very Yoongi. 

D-Day was what he and Yoongi had always counted down to - the next gig in a dingy club somewhere, the competitions they’d signed up for - even a performance in a hotel room once where they’d rapped earnestly for an agent who’d lain on his bed half-clothed the entire time. That birthday party they’d played at for some young socialite in Seoul. 

D-day’s coming, they’d promised themselves, eyes alight with hunger and determination. D-day’s coming soon. 

When they were teenagers, Seoul had been the goal, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They’d believed with all their hearts that a gig like that birthday party would take them a tangible step closer to their dream - signing with a label. That was the real, ultimate D-Day.

Namjoon should have remembered the fairytales he’d devoured as a child. Leprechaun gold disappeared the next morning. A fool’s errand. Only idiots chased after it. 

Or maybe Yoongi should have remembered those stories. 

Because they had been good, really good. All they needed to get going was a lucky break. And then they actually got one, because the D-Day they’d hoped and fought for finally arrived, and with it all the promise and potential of what they’d hoped to achieve - a name card from a scout from a big entertainment agency, and the tantalizing offer of a contract. 

But by that time another unexpected option had opened up for Namjoon. In his left hand he held the contract, and in his right hand he held a letter that announced he had been awarded a full scholarship to law school. 

He looked left and right, and then he made his choice. 

After all, Namjoon reasoned to himself, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. 

The road to Seoul was already paved for him: except the path for Namjoon led to university, and not to Big Hit Entertainment, as Yoongi so desperately hoped. 

Guilty but defiant, Namjoon informed Yoongi he was really sorry but he couldn’t sign, wouldn’t sign the contract. He planned to accept the law scholarship, for which he would be bonded for a number of years after graduation. His uncle had agreed to be guarantor. If Namjoon broke his bond and ran off to pursue music, his uncle would be liable for millions of won he did not have. But Yoongi, Namjoon had said earnestly, Yoongi should go ahead and sign the contract. Go ahead without Namjoon. He could do it! He should do it. 

But it turned out that without Namjoon, without an entire half of the promising young rap duo, the agency would rescind their offer. It was both of them, or neither of them, the scout emphasized. The scout, a tall, portly man with spectacles and an assessing frown, had shaken his head at Yoongi, unmoved. It was too bad about his friend, but he understood, didn’t he?

Just like leprechaun gold, Yoongi’s opportunity evaporated into the wind. 

Namjoon had felt awful about it, but his hands were tied, and Yoongi… well, Yoongi had moped disconsolately for a couple of days and then philosophically shrugged it off. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be, he’d said laconically. But Yoongi did not have the grades Namjoon had, and he had received no scholarships to send him to Seoul. D-Day was all Yoongi had to pave his way there, and now there was no contract.

He ended up enrolling in a community college in Ilsan, got himself a diploma in business accounting, and then washed his hands of school. He was done with all that. 

No one had been very surprised when Yoongi opened a shop not far from their high school, selling instruments, supplies and sheet music. He seemed happy enough. 

The name of the shop, though; that was the one little thing that clued in everyone who knew Yoongi well, that told them he would never fully get over the death of his dream.

Do you think he hates me? Namjoon had half-sobbed to Seokjin and Hoseok one night before leaving for Seoul. He’d had one glass of beer too many. 

Of course he doesn’t, Hoseok had consoled him. You know Yoongi-hyung. He could never hate you. He doesn’t hold any grudges against you.

Namjoon was uncertain, but it seemed that Hoseok was right. When Namjoon graduated, Yoongi, Hoseok and Seokjin were all there, with flowers and beaming smiles. Seokjin was in a long, sleek pea coat, Hoseok in his beret and military uniform, Yoongi in a black hoodie with faded patches on the elbows. Yoongi had hugged Namjoon tight.

I’m so proud of you, Yoongi had said, his eyes shining, throat choked up. You did so good, Namjoon-ah, I’m really proud of you.

Sweaty inside the stuffy graduation gown, Namjoon had nonetheless buried his face in Yoongi’s fuzzy black shoulder, grateful for the absolution he hadn’t realized he’d desperately needed. 

But Namjoon always carried a seed of doubt in his heart, and after graduation, time and work had pulled them apart. 

Yoongi had of course invited Namjoon to the grand opening, but Namjoon had begged off. He had just passed the bar, and he couldn’t remember what it had been - some company event, or a case he was working on. Something that kept him too occupied in Seoul to attend. He’d dutifully flicked through the pictures they’d sent, of course, and at the last minute had ordered an extravagant flower arrangement to be delivered on his behalf. 

Store looks great, hyung, he’d texted, past midnight, amid piles of paper on his office desk. Can’t wait to see it in person.

But he never had. 

Seokjin he saw frequently, but Hoseok signed on to the military as a career soldier and was posted to a camp near the border, while Yoongi’s shop kept him mostly in Ilsan. He’d missed most of the get-togethers they’d had, constantly begging off because he was busy, too busy to take the trip back to Ilsan, too busy to leave work even on the infrequent occasions Hoseok or Yoongi came into Seoul for a visit. 

Namjoon could not recall when he stopped responding to the group chat, either. He had eventually muted it. He’d blamed it on being busy, then he simply couldn’t catch up with texts… and well, it was good enough that he was still in the chat group, wasn’t it? It proved he was still connected, or something… 

Now, staring up at the shop sign, Namjoon swallowed. 

The truth was stark and unavoidable. Namjoon was not, in fact, connected to them in any way. He had no clue what went on in Yoongi and Hoseok’s lives; he admitted to himself that had Seokjin not been in Seoul with him, he might well have lost contact with him too. And Namjoon had not realized how much he missed his childhood friends. They, above all others, had loved him for who he was, and had never judged him for his choices. They’d embraced him, and he had repaid them by letting himself drift away. 

The door jingled and swung open.

“Are you going to stand there all day with your mouth open, or are you going to come in and say hello?”

Indeed Namjoon stared open-mouthed. Hoseok flashed his trademark grin at him, all sunshine and brightness, even with his ultra-short hair and in his pressed military fatigues. 

How many times in Ilsan would a door open and leave Namjoon flabbergasted?

“What are you doing here?” Incredulous, he allowed Hoseok to usher him into the shop. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Yeoncheon?”

“Booked out this morning and caught a bus back home,” Hoseok said, and Namjoon marveled at how sincere Hoseok sounded when he used the word home, as if he truly meant it, as though Ilsan was a place he returned to because he felt he belonged there, and not just a place to run to because it was convenient. 

“Did…did you know I was coming?”

Hoseok gave him an affable shrug. “To Ilsan? Yeah, Seokjin-hyung mentioned it in the group chat.” He eyed Namjoon, a trace of reproof in his tone. “But you don’t read our messages anymore, do you?”

Caught, Namjoon winced. 

“Didn’t know you’d be on D-Day’s doorstep though. That was just lucky.” In the coziness of the shop, surrounded by musical instruments and the smell of new books, Hoseok smiled, and the smile was genuine. “Welcome back, Namjoonie. We’ve missed you.”

The other half of the ‘we’ that Hoseok referred to watched Namjoon keenly from the counter inside the store, and Namjoon regarded Yoongi uncertainly, less sure of his reception there. 

“Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi looked levelly at Namjoon, then unbent enough to gift Namjoon with his usual half smile. “It’s good to see you, Namjoon-ah.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” Namjoon said in return, and he meant the words with all his heart. He lurched awkwardly forward, halted, half-lifted his arms and then self-consciously dropped them, feeling like he was much too large for the space. It was Hoseok who crossed the three steps quickly to wrap his arms around Namjoon. 

The hug felt extraordinarily good. It was a shock to Namjoon, who had not wanted to be touched by anyone for longer than he could remember. Fighting a swell of emotion, Namjoon leaned fully into Hoseok’s embrace and breathed in his smell: dusty like barracks, the sharp tang of metal and sweat, but underneath it all the familiar, homey scent of Hoseok. It was as though he was a teenager again. He hugged Hoseok back tightly, and then he clapped him on the back and pulled away. 

He turned then to Yoongi but they did not embrace - it just had never been a thing they did, really - but Yoongi held out a welcoming hand and they leaned into the half hand clasp, half back pat thing they always did. Tears burned in his eyes at how easily they fell back into old habits. 

This feeling in his chest, expanding throughout his entire being? 

Perhaps this was what Hoseok felt when he talked about home.

“Sit down,” Yoongi instructed. “Have coffee. Catch up.” He waved away Namjoon’s demurral. “I’ll handle customers if they come in, don’t worry about it.”

The feeling of awkwardness Namjoon carried subsided only somewhat. How did one overcome a decade of distance, both physical and emotional? And yet something in him felt as though he slotted perfectly back into place with these friends. All they lacked was Seokjin to make the quad squad whole. 

He had stayed away far too long. 

“God, it’s been so long,” Hoseok said fervently, echoing Namjoon’s own thoughts unconsciously. He poured espresso and water over ice and slid the glass over to Namjoon. Yoongi had an entire professional coffee setup in the shop to serve customers; Namjoon liked it. Yoongi had always had a thing for fancy equipment.

“It looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” Namjoon said, gesturing around the shop. It was much larger than Namjoon had envisioned, or maybe the photographs he’d seen were outdated. If he recalled correctly, those pictures showed a store that was smaller, pokier, more cluttered. It had a cement screed floor and whitewashed walls. But this store? The walls were paneled in fluted wood, it smelled heavenly, and the whole place felt classy, expensive. The kind of place Namjoon had not expected to find in Ilsan, but was clearly thriving.

Yoongi shrugged demurely. It turned out that plenty of children in Ilsan were learning the piano, or the violin, or the guitar, and many of them had parents willing to fork out money in the hopes that their little one might someday become a musical star. Yoongi brought in good instruments and a wide variety of sheet music, and he had sponsored a couple of programs at the schools. He had made enough to take over the adjacent unit and knocked them both into one, sprawling shopfront. There was even an office and a small studio in the back where Yoongi dabbled in recording and producing. He lived in the apartment on the second floor. Namjoon assumed the apartment had the same footprint as the store. A generous space indeed. 

Namjoon was suitably impressed. Yoongi had clearly made a successful life for himself in Ilsan.

Catching up didn’t take very long. Namjoon kept the details of his escape from Seoul scanty, but he could tell from the expressions on their faces that they pieced most of it together. That was fine. He appreciated them being able to read between the lines, and he was glad he could be honest without having to go into detail. That was a benefit of long term friendship he had missed. To his surprise Seokjin had not said much to them about what had happened - he had half expected as much - but he felt relief that Seokjin had honored his privacy. 

Hoseok patted his hand, eyes sympathetic. “It’s a good thing you’re here,” he said. “It’s a good place to rest.” 

“I hope so.” Namjoon made the effort to pull his shoulders out of his hunch, to loosen the tight stricture of his back. “Did Jin-hyung tell you I’m staying at Taehyung’s place? The rooftop apartment, I mean,” he amended quickly.

Yoongi nodded. “I was just there the other night,” he offered casually. “You should join us next time if you’re free.”

“Right. Taehyung mentioned it.” Namjoon did not say that he’d mistaken Yoongi for a gentleman caller. That would be far too embarrassing. Instead, he turned to Hoseok. “How long are you here for?” 

“Have to catch the bus back tomorrow to get back before 1159.” Hoseok grinned when Namjoon made a face at the reference to military time. “Long time since you had to book back into an army camp, huh?” 

Namjoon’s enlistment had passed without fanfare. He remembered little of it. At the time, he’d been itching to get to Seoul. 

“Are your parents still living in Hugok?” he asked. 

“Yes, but I probably won’t see them this time.” Hoseok shrugged affably. “It’s fine, I come back often.”

Confused, Namjoon ventured, “Oh - you’re not staying at home, then?”

Hoseok jerked at Namjoon’s question, then frowned. He turned to Yoongi. “He still doesn’t know?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “If he’d just read messages in the group chat, he’d have known long ago,” he retorted. 

“Well then, aren’t we going to tell him?”

Namjoon looked between them, clueless. “Tell me what? What’s going on?”

“I live here,” Hoseok said. He pointed upward and to the back, to where there was presumably a staircase. “In the apartment above the shop.”

“Oh. I thought Yoongi stays here.”

“I do stay here, too.” Yoongi looked directly at him, but Namjoon could not parse his expression. 

“Right. So, you’re roommates?” Namjoon thought he understood, but wasn’t sure why they seemed to be making such a production out of telling him this. Hoseok probably wasn’t in Ilsan all that often, anyway; it made sense that Yoongi would offer him a room to stay in. It wasn’t always easy for people their age to continue living with their parents. 

But Hoseok was shaking his head, leaning forward, the look in his eyes intent as if he wanted Namjoon to really listen to what he’s saying. “No, Namjoon-ah. Not just roommates.”

Yoongi took a very deliberate step sideways so that he was pressed up against Hoseok’s side, and slipped a proprietary hand around his waist. 

Hoseok actually blushed, the tips of his ears going red, but he did not push Yoongi away. Instead they both gazed at Namjoon expectantly, tight against each other like a single unit. 

The penny dropped. Namjoon gaped - he was not that dense, honestly, he got it, of course he did - and then he closed his mouth and opened it again. 

“Oh my god,” he said, stunned that this, apparently, was something he had missed entirely. “You two? Are you together?” 

Yoongi looked reproachful. “We got together just after Chuseok,” he said mildly. 

Namjoon counted the months mentally. “Oh! So just a couple months ago!”

“Last Chuseok,” Hoseok elaborated, laughing. “God, Namjoon, you really didn’t have a clue?”

More than a year? Namjoon was dumbstruck. How had he not known this for an entire year? Had he muted the chat for that long? But this pairing was not that out of left field, now that he actually thought about it. Yoongi and Hoseok had always had something special between them. Falling in love with a childhood friend? Certainly not unheard of, and perhaps, with everything said and done, a wise choice. 

And Namjoon knew that Yoongi and Hoseok were well-matched. 

“Well - but - but this is fantastic,” Namjoon stammered, and once he had grasped the fullness of the news, delight washed through him, and with it a surprising desire to hold them. “Can I - can I hug you both?” 

“Of course you can.” Hoseok giggled, probably amused at being congratulated on a relationship that had passed its first year, but he opened his arms. And for the second time that day, Namjoon found himself enveloped in an embrace that felt more like grace than censure. 

“We didn’t hide this from you, you know. I’d hate for you to think we did.”

“No, I probably…” Namjoon swallowed, breath halted in his aching throat. “I did mute the chat, I’m sorry. I have no excuse.”

“No, we understand. Life is really hard in Seoul. You needed to cope however you could.” Yoongi sounded so understanding, so reliable, Namjoon wanted to put his head on his hyung’s shoulder and allow himself to be taken care of. It was hard. Life in Seoul had chewed him up and spat him out. He’d been a fool for thinking he could handle it. 

“Did you ever resent me?” The question burbled out of him before he could stop himself. 

“Resent you?” Hoseok looked so shocked, so confused. “Why would we resent you?”

“It was my fault Yoongi didn’t get to sign that contract.”

“Contract?” Yoongi looked genuinely bewildered until his eyes opened wide with realization. “Wait - you mean the contract with Big Hit?”

“Namjoon-ah, I thought I told you back then, of course he didn’t -”

But Yoongi laid a hand on Hoseok’s thigh and immediately Hoseok fell quiet. Yoongi leaned forward, his eyes keen. He didn’t normally make much eye contact, so when he did, Namjoon knew he was serious. He shook his head emphatically. “I never resented you. Never.”

“But D-Day,” Namjoon said, helpless and aching. “It’s what you wanted. What we wanted. Success in Seoul. A contract with a label. Wasn’t it?”

Yoongi laughed, and Namjoon stared at him with wet eyes. It was a laugh full of unfettered joy. “It’s what you wanted,” Yoongi said comfortably. “It was different for me. I wanted it because you did, but I knew I would be happy here too, and I am.”

“Oh, Namjoonie,” Hoseok mourned, cupping Namjoon’s face in his hands, “have you been beating yourself up all these years? Is that why you were avoiding us?”

“I did. I felt guilty.” Namjoon hadn’t even realized it fully till then, but Hoseok was right. "Why did you name the shop D-Day, then?"

Yoongi shrugged peaceably. "D-Day wasn't just about signing with a label," he explained, "at least not for me. The whole idea of D-Day was about me finding my path in life." He winked. "There isn't only one path to success, is there?"

And not only one kind of success either, Namjoon realized. There was so much worth in what Yoongi was doing, even if it wasn't what he'd planned at the beginning. Even if it wasn't exactly what he thought he'd wanted at first. How had Yoongi been able to understand and accept that so easily? That it was okay to reroute, to take a different path?

Namjoon still struggled to wrap his head around the concept.

“I’m happy here,” Yoongi said with a sureness and confidence that Namjoon envied. “I’m sure I would have loved becoming a bona fide rapper with you, too, but it wasn’t meant to be, and I love what I do here too.” He glanced over at Hoseok, who was beaming at him. “I never would have gotten Hobi to say yes to me if we were signed to a label in Seoul, either.”

“I thought… I thought that…” Namjoon shook his head. “I was so full of myself. I didn’t really think about what you wanted. I just assumed…”

“You were full of drive and ambition and you knew exactly where you wanted to be,” Yoongi said. “There’s no shame in that.”

Namjoon still felt the weighty burden of it: the shame of letting down his friends, the shame that he had snatched everything he’d ever wanted and he’d still let it go to waste. The shame of not being more, not having more, not being able to handle more. The shame of being broken. 

But here, with Hoseok and Yoongi smiling tenderly at him, safe in the cradle of his childhood town, he felt like maybe now he could start to put himself back together. 

***

Namjoon left D-Day feeling as though they’d put a soothing patch on his soul. Back in his room, Namjoon read back through hundreds of messages on their chat group. For more than an hour he scrolled, laughing at old jokes and realizing he really had missed all the clues, both implicit and explicitly stated - Hoseok saying he was going back to Ilsan for Chuseok and saying he’d be staying with Yoongi’s family. Photos from Yoongi and Hoseok’s trip to Singapore, a few months back, mentioning their anniversary, and Seokjin congratulating them heartily. Their anniversary, holy shit, how had Namjoon been so oblivious for so long?

Namjoon couldn’t even find the last message he’d ever sent to the chat group. 

It was time to change things. 

Thanks for today, he typed, after thinking and rethinking the message. I really enjoyed catching up.

Wah, Joonie, got the shock of my life, Seokjin replied almost instantly. Thought I was seeing things when I saw your name pop up.

Don’t worry, hyung, we got him, Yoongi said.

Let’s all hang out soon, Hoseok said. Let us know when you’re coming back to Ilsan, hyung.

There followed a short barrage of messages as everyone chimed in. Namjoon did his best to participate. It felt a little overwhelming, but he had taken that first step. It would get easier. It would get better.

Sleep did not come easy for Namjoon that night. It never did. But the heaviness on his chest had begun to lighten.

Day 10

Despite Seokjin’s urgings, Namjoon hadn’t yet discussed sharing meals with Taehyung, and so he kept making his ramyeon pilgrimages to the convenience store. On that day’s trip, however, the usual ajusshi wasn’t behind the counter. Instead, a fresh-faced young man with an incongruous lip piercing and a tattoo sleeve stood there with eyes far too bright and a smile far too engaging to go with the convenience store uniform. 

Namjoon groaned internally. Staff like that too often wanted to make conversation.

Sure enough, as Namjoon set his meager purchases down, the cashier beamed at him. God, the kid practically had sparkles in those giant eyes. Namjoon braced himself for a social interaction he wasn’t really interested in, but the cashier, whose name tag read Jungkook, just grinned at him and jerked his chin comfortably at a basket of gummies on the counter as he rang up Namjoon’s items. 

“Would you like to add any gummies? They’re on sale right now, one pack for 1000 won.”

Namjoon’s instinct was to say no, but the gummies were cheap, and maybe Taehyung would like some? What the hell. He nodded shortly and pushed a pack forward. 

“Oh, strawberry! Great choice! I love the purple grape flavor myself, just can’t stop popping them!”

Namjoon paused. What flavor would Taehyung want? He didn’t want to fuck this up again. He’d already agonized enough over which brand of iced peach tea to get, standing indecisive and staring for much too long at the available choices in the store chiller. Canned? Bottled? Sparkling? Low sugar? 

It was an unprecedented tea-related crisis of confidence. 

He’d ended up getting four different kinds, just in case. You know. Like a normal human being.

Wracked with more indecision, he stared at the packets of gummies. Strawberry. Pear. Purple grape.

Strawberry. Pear.

Purple grape.

“Hey,” Jungkook said brightly, pleased that he’d come up with the perfect solution to Namjoon’s dilemma. “Ajusshi! Why don’t you get all three flavors?” He grinned widely and beatifically, as though he hadn’t just shattered Namjoon’s ego wide open.

Ajusshi? Ajusshi?? Namjoon couldn’t have been more than a few years older than this bushy-tailed bunny manchild, how very dare he?

Namjoon glared at the clueless young upstart, but there was only so much animosity he could aim at someone as bouncy and chirpy (and happily oblivious) as Jungkook. If he were fueled by better nutrition than just dehydrated noodles, he might have had the wherewithal to fight back. 

Defeated, he just nodded. “Okay,” he muttered. “All three flavors.” And he watched as Jungkook cheerfully swept all three packs of gummies into his bag. 

This time, as he walked up the building’s external staircase, he paused at Taehyung’s door. The light was on, the jazz was playing. Namjoon did not let himself think twice. 

He knocked.

“Be right there,” Taehyung called out, and it wasn’t a moment before the door swung open and Namjoon was abruptly gazing directly into his beautiful liquid eyes. Taehyung was in a pair of striped shorts and a loose white tank top falling just off the curve of his collarbone. Namjoon’s brain emptied entirely of what he was going to say. Stupidly, mutely, he held up the plastic bag in his hands.

“Instant ramyeon, hyung?” Taehyung said reproachfully. “What would Jin-hyung say?” 

Namjoon scratched his head, abashed. Would Taehyung tell on him? It seemed likely, and yet he stood there like a hopeful puppy wagging his tail. 

“I brought you peach tea,” he blurted out like a fool. “And gummies. Strawberry. Pear.” For the life of him he couldn’t remember the last flavor, but then he heard the perky cashier’s voice in his head. “And purple grape. I didn’t know which one you liked, so I got them all.”

Taehyung softened. “That’s sweet of you.”

Was it sweet of him? Namjoon shuffled his feet, awkwardly pleased, as Taehyung looked absolutely comfortable lounging leisurely against the doorway and watching Namjoon squirm. 

Finally Taehyung spoke again. “You hungry?” 

“I could eat, yeah.”

“We can barbecue some meat on the rooftop. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Namjoon said, relieved. The ramyeon could wait another day. He could not only tell Seokjin that he’d had real food, but he could also say he’d shared a meal with Taehyung! Progress. A definite win. Namjoon would take it. 

“Come help me with the food, then.” Taehyung had already turned away in the direction of the kitchen. Toeing off his shoes at the door, Namjoon trailed behind him, looking around curiously as he went. The second-floor apartment was much larger than his, obviously; he counted four doors, at least one of which was presumably a bathroom. Taehyung was busy pulling boxes from the fridge. He had a cooler box all ready to go, which they loaded with kimchi and banchan and meat.

Namjoon would not let Taehyung carry it. He hefted the cooler box. “Do you do this often?” 

“Often enough. Hang on, let me grab the ssamjang.”

He had to admit it was really nice. The sky was already deepening into a violet haze, the breeze just cool enough, the meat juicy and perfectly seasoned. They squabbled briefly over who should grill meat for whom, each insisting that age gave them the privilege, but Taehyung eventually won the tongs and smirked adorably about it. Namjoon instead went to haul soju from his fridge and harvested some fresh perilla leaves for their wraps.

Was there anything better than this quintessential Korean experience? Sitting on a rooftop at sunset, grilling up meat. Namjoon laid a hot slab of beef on a perilla leaf, overlaid it with raw garlic, fresh kimchi, a generous swipe of ssamjang. Namjoon pushed the wrap into his mouth and stifled a moan of delight at the burst of flavor. 

“Better than cup noodles, isn’t it?” Taehyung asked pointedly, grinning at him through wafts of steam from the grill.

Of course it was. Namjoon did not discount the fact that the food was being served to him by one Kim Taehyung. 

It just made the food taste even sweeter. 

At the end of the meal, Namjoon leaned forward to snag his drink and growled in annoyance when his hair flopped into his eyes. Savagely he pushed it back, but it simply fell forward again unrepentantly.

“Never saw your hair this long,” Taehyung observed. His eyes roved over Namjoon’s head. “You used to like it shorter.”

“I don’t usually keep it this long,” Namjoon agreed. He shoved ineffectually again at his hair. “But I just haven’t gotten around to cutting it.”

“I have a pair of electric clippers downstairs,” Taehyung said casually around his mouthful of potato. He gestured at Namjoon’s head. “Want me to have a go?”

For a sudden, absurd moment, Namjoon panicked at the immediacy of the action. “I…I don’t know,” he stammered, and he could hear his voice shake. “Cut my hair?”

How could something so trivial feel so momentous? It was stupid, and yet Namjoon trembled. But Taehyung leaned forward instantly as if he understood. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” Taehyung said. He laid his hand on top of Namjoon’s, and Namjoon felt the weight of his palm ground him. Solid. Steady. Firm. “You don’t have to get it all cut. I could just help you trim the front, so it doesn’t get in your way, or we could look at headbands.” With his other hand he brushed gently at Namjoon’s fringe, running his fingers reassuringly through his hair. “You’d look cute in a headband, don’t you think?” 

Options. He had options, and he wasn’t stuck in a corner, and he had options. Deep breaths, Namjoon told himself. He sucked in a breath, held it, and thought about his hair. He exhaled, and repeated it over and over, until the world felt less rocky and he could bring himself to speak. 

“Feels like a lot,” he managed. “Maybe too much.”

In the dimming light, Taehyung looked just like the boy he’d left behind in Ilsan.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he said softly. “Why hold on to things that are weighing you down?”

He made it sound so very simple. 

Namjoon breathed. In, hold, out. 

Taehyung’s hand on his anchored him to reality, and Namjoon let the bad thoughts fall away like scales. It was simple. The old him wouldn’t even have blinked at a haircut - although, of course, the old him wouldn’t have kept it this long, either. But if he could let go of the old him, then why not a head of hair? Why, indeed, would he hold on to things that were weighing him down? His hair, at least, was something he could let go of for himself. 

“Would you…” Namjoon inhaled, held it, exhaled. “Would you cut my hair for me?”

“Are you sure?” Taehyung’s eyes searched his, but all Namjoon could see in them was compassion. 

Resolved, Namjoon nodded before he could change his mind. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he would try to cope. “Yes. I want it all off.”

Taehyung went down to get the clippers, while Namjoon cleared the remnants of the food and packed whatever was left back into the cooler box. The mundanity of the chore helped to calm him even further, and by the time Taehyung came back, Namjoon felt somewhat better, on a more even keel.

“Here,” Taehyung said. He spread newspaper on the pyeongsang, and patted the spot right in the middle. “You should remove your shirt, or you’ll never get all the hair off.”

Obediently, Namjoon tugged off his t-shirt, and sat right where Taehyung indicated. 

“Ready?”

Namjoon stilled, hearing Taehyung’s voice so near his ear, but unable to see him. “Ready,” he said. 

He breathed. 

Taehyung ran a comb through Namjoon’s hair, getting the tangles out as gently as he could, and all the while he talked. 

“Did you know,” he said conversationally, “whenever Hoseok-hyung needs a haircut, he comes to me? And that’s very often, because of the military, right? He doesn’t get it all shaved off, but he likes it cut close. He looks good, doesn’t he?” Taehyung carefully tugged out a knot, holding Namjoon’s hair at the root so it wouldn’t pull at his scalp. “So you know I’m very skilled, hyung, you don’t need to worry. I get lots of practice.” 

Taehyung picked up the clippers and held them out for Namjoon to see. 

“There’s a guide on it, see? So it won’t be too short.”

“I trust you,’ Namjoon croaked. “It can be… it can be short. I want it short.”

“All off?” Taehyung meant to tease, but Namjoon nodded resolutely.

“All off.”

Taehyung slid the switch up. The soothing flow of dialogue was broken by the shaver’s buzzing sound, harsh in the evening quiet, and Namjoon, ever so slightly, began to tremble. 

“It’s okay,” Taehyung crooned. Namjoon felt his body press tentatively up against his back, and the contact was soothing. “It’s okay. I’m going to start, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

The buzzing touched his head, and Namjoon tried not to flinch as his hair began to fall away. Locks of hair tumbled inexorably down onto his shoulders, his back, and onto the newspaper around them, and all the time Taehyung pressed close, so Namjoon never felt alone. The electric buzz was loud and strident, but Namjoon focused on breathing, and Taehyung grounded him as his head grew lighter and lighter. 

“It’s a good thing you want a buzzcut,” Taehyung teased. “I can barely see what I’m doing in this light.” 

Namjoon knew it was a joke. The rooftop was actually fairly well lit, with lights along the exterior wall of his apartment illuminating the area. Still, he managed a smile. “Just don’t cut me,” he joked weakly back. 

“I won’t. Close your eyes.”

Taehyung drew the clippers over the top of his forehead. Obediently, Namjoon closed his eyes and felt the strands slither over his skin. Gradually he got used to the sound of the clippers and the way Taehyung smoothed over his scalp after every pass. He tried to ignore the itchy bits of hair that were poking him in the neck and the bubbly prickle he got when Taehyung’s hand drifted over the back of his neck. 

“I didn’t know Hoseok and Yoongi were together,” Namjoon confessed quietly. It seemed easier to say such a thing when he couldn’t see Taehyung. 

Namjoon could feel the vibrations of Taehyung’s voice through his back. “They’ve been together for more than a year,” he said from somewhere behind and above Namjoon. His tone was neutral. He was simply making an observation.

“Yeah. And it wasn’t like they didn’t tell me or anything. I just wasn’t listening, you know? I wasn’t interested. I just… checked out. Maybe part of me wanted to leave Ilsan behind so much that…”

Wincing, Namjoon trailed off, acutely aware of who else he’d left behind in Ilsan, all those years ago, without much thought. The clippers continued to hum smoothly over his head, and Taehyung said nothing. 

Namjoon swallowed. “I haven’t been a very good friend to them, but they welcomed me back as if nothing changed.”

Taehyung sighed. “I used to be so envious of the four of you. I didn’t have a friend group like that back then. You guys were always together, and anyone could see how close you all were.”

Namjoon wrinkled his nose. He did remember. There were days when he had to beg off spending time with Taehyung because he wanted to hang out with the guys, although they had always been happy to have Taehyung join them too. And after he’d left for Seoul, he knew Yoongi and Hoseok had continued to watch over Taehyung as a favor to Seokjin-hyung. Tae was probably closer to them now than he’d ever been.

“Maybe you did leave them behind,” Taehyung continued, the clippers making a pass around the backs of his ears. Namjoon did not comment on the fact that Taehyung said them and not us. More hair fell around him. “But you’re back now, and you know you made a mistake, and you’re trying to make things better, aren’t you?”

It was a generous way of looking at things. That had not been Namjoon’s intention when he had decamped to Ilsan. Once again it had been a selfish decision, one he had made to save his own ass, because he was thinking about himself, because he felt he had no better choice. 

But maybe Namjoon could make it better. Maybe Namjoon could be better.

“I am trying,” he allowed. “I don’t… I don’t want to be that person anymore. The one who forgot about… about my friends.”

“Well then. Here’s to new beginnings.” Taehyung turned off the clippers and ran his palms briefly over the top of Namjoon’s new buzzcut. “There. All done.”

Namjoon’s head felt so much lighter like this; for the first time in a long time he could look around without his fringe flopping annoyingly in his eyes. He put his hand up and touched the curved bottle brush of his head. It was evenly shaved. Taehyung had done a good job, just as he’d promised. Under his fingers, his hair felt softer than he’d expected, like velvet on budding deer antlers. Namjoon was surprised at how freeing it felt. 

“Thanks. It feels good.”

“Hold on,” Taehyung said. He was still somewhere behind, where Namjoon couldn’t see him. “Let me get all this hair off you.” 

Namjoon braced himself for Taehyung to dust his shoulders off, and when Taehyung’s palms made contact, he could feel something different about the texture of his hands. A frisson ran through him as Taehyung smoothed over Namjoon’s bare shoulders, carefully brushing the stray hairs off. There was a familiar scent in the air. Namjoon sniffed.

“Baby powder?”

“That’s the trick to it. Gets all the hair off your skin easily. Water just makes it stick more.”

Namjoon was wrong. The part he should have braced himself for was when Taehyung came around to his front and tried to brush hair off his bare chest. The second Taehyung’s hand came down on his skin, goosebumps popped up all over.

He jolted away. 

“Ah, thanks,” Namjoon mumbled, the tips of his ears aflame. “I can uh… I can do this part myself.”

Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Sure.” He packed up the clippers and hair-strewn newspaper while Namjoon cleaned himself up and put his shirt back on. “Feeling okay?”

Namjoon nodded. He did feel better, a cold relief dripping through him at the lightness of his head. He settled back onto the now-empty pyeongsang. The wind blew clean over his head; his scalp prickled. It was a weird kind of deja vu. The sensation brought him back to his days in the barracks, where all he had to do was keep his head down and obey whatever instructions were yelled at him. 

Namjoon almost missed it. Life was simpler then.

Taehyung flopped down on his back on the pyeongsang. The sky above them was a beautiful speckled blue, the sun by this time well and truly set and the moon on its upward arc.

Namjoon settled down next to him, leaving a respectable space between them. They lay side by side on the pyeongsang in comfortable, companionable silence, soaking in the breeze and the night sky. It had been years since they had lain down like this together, Namjoon thought. He felt drowsy, full of meat and soju. He could feel the warmth of Taehyung beside him. 

“Who shaved your head when you enlisted?” Taehyung asked. 

“Seokjin-hyung did.”

“I guessed as much,” Taehyung said. “He shaved mine for me, too. He said that-”

“-your hyung should do it for you,” Namjoon finished the sentence, laughing a little at the memory. “I was just going to do it myself, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You look really nice like this, though. Not like a soldier at all.” Taehyung turned on his side, facing Namjoon, and Namjoon’s heart stuttered into his throat. Taehyung reached out his hand and ran it over his freshly-sheared scalp. 

Namjoon held his breath. 

“Sorry,” Taehyung said unrepentantly, “but it feels so nice to touch.”

“You can…” Namjoon cleared his throat. “You can touch whenever you want to.”

“Yeah? I get a free pass?”

“Sure. A free pass.”

Taehyung passed his hand over Namjoon’s scalp once more, his touch gentle, almost like a caress, and then he grinned. “You know what, you look like a mole,” he said. 

“A mole?” Namjoon gaped, outraged. “You just said I look nice!”

Taehyung was giggling. “It is nice!” he protested. “It’s just that your head is so perfectly round, and your hair is so black, and it looks kind of like a mole, you know? It’s cute,” Taehyung insisted, laughing at the face Namjoon was making at him. “No, I really like it. It suits you.”

“You little punk. I’ll revoke your pass,” Namjoon mock threatened.

“No, don’t do that!” Taehyung was trying hard to stop himself, but he clearly was having little success, and he curled over like a shrimp as he laughed. 

What was this feeling? Namjoon felt instinctively that he would let himself be the butt of the joke any day, just to be able to witness the way Taehyung’s eyes crinkled up and his mouth curved into that beautiful, boxy smile.  

Something in Namjoon’s chest unfurled. 

Then Taehyung sighed a little, and his face grew serious again.

“I never got to see you with your head shaved,” he said quietly. “You enlisted after university, right?”

“Yeah, I…” Namjoon’s voice was thick. “Yeah, I don’t think I saw you with your head shaved, either.” He poked Taehyung in the shoulder, trying to lighten the atmosphere once more. “Maybe I should repay the favor, shave your head too, so I can see what you looked like.”

“No way.” Taehyung was emphatic. “I like my hair like this. I’m never shaving it again.”

“You probably looked cute, though.”

“Cute?” Taehyung wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue. “I’ll have you know I served as an elite Special Forces soldier. I looked very manly and very macho, okay?”

Awestruck, Namjoon goggled. Yet another piece of information he had not known. So that was where Taehyung had gotten so built. It was so difficult for him to imagine. Sweet, skinny, awkward Kim Taehyung, a soldier in the Special Forces? Not just anyone could get into that unit. You had to pass some seriously difficult aptitude tests, not just in fitness but also for mental acuity. Those guys were hardcore - they worked in counter-terrorism and disaster relief! Namjoon could not believe that his gangly, awkward high school boyfriend had been rappelling suavely through the air when Namjoon himself had spent most of his enlistment playing the saxophone in a military band? 

He decided at that moment that wild bears would not drag this information out of him in front of Taehyung.

And then, because he clearly had little in the way of self-control but plenty of imagination, he pictured newly-muscled Taehyung with a close-shaved scalp and sunglasses, wearing the black fatigues and boots of the Special Forces, and he nearly choked on his saliva. 

“That’s amazing, Tae. Wow, I…wow, I didn’t think you’d sign up for that.”

Taehyung settled on his back, looking back up at the starlit sky. “Yeah,” he said. “It was a real experience.”

He did not offer more, and Namjoon did not see fit to press, happy for them both to lie there quietly and gaze at the sky together. During the mandatory enlistment, young soldiers frequently could talk about nothing else; just military talk ad nauseam, but once they were discharged, most people deliberately put all that behind them and moved on with real life. It was no different here. 

But it meant that there were gaps in what he knew of how Taehyung had spent the interim years, and Namjoon wanted to know, wanted to hear everything he had missed. 

Would Namjoon spend the rest of his life not knowing any more about Kim Taehyung? 

The thought hurt him more than he thought it would. 

“By the way, hyung,” Taehyung said. “Just so you know, for next time…”

“Hmm?” Namjoon glanced over, but Taehyung was not looking at him. He was smiling dreamily up at the stars. 

“Strawberry gummies,” he murmured. “Those are my favorite.”

Day 17

Namjoon started to get bolder on his walks as the landscape grew more familiar to him and less disorienting. Slowly he expanded his route, making one extra turn each time. What else was there to do? He could not sleep much. 

His daily routine was more or less established. He would toss and turn all morning in a hazy, interrupted half-sleep; by late afternoon he would head out on his rounds, pounding the pavement and circling the same few blocks around the building. He’d work himself into a sweat silencing the angry, accusing voices in his head, then end up at the convenience store to buy that night’s dinner.

Sometimes Jungkook was manning the counter, and sometimes it was the ajusshi. He decided, despite Jungkook’s initial faux pas, that he actually quite liked the kid. He was earnest and friendly and mostly left Namjoon alone - until he got to the cashier counter and Namjoon was forced to make polite conversation while Jungkook rung his items up. Every time Jungkook offered him a discount on some special item, Namjoon would inevitably take him up on it. 

Funny though. The discounted stuff Jungkook recommended was always a hit with Taehyung. Once it was a can of caramel milk, another time it was chocolate turtle chips, and the third time? A water gun, of all bizarre things. 

Taehyung laughed hard when he got that last gift, and Namjoon thought this time surely he’d struck out - but the day after that, Namjoon found Taehyung calmly watering his rooftop plants with the gun. 

Namjoon supposed it worked. 

He tried not to impose his company on Taehyung too often, but he could not help himself. Three times this week he’d found himself standing at Taehyung’s door, unable to pull himself away, bearing some sort of offering in a plastic bag. Each time though Taehyung smiled at him and pushed his door open wide as though he’d been expecting him. They talked about anything and everything, and Namjoon filled his days with everything he had missed in those interim Seoul years.

If he stopped to ask himself, Namjoon did not know what he was doing. 

All he knew was that for the first time in years, spending time back in Taehyung’s orbit was somehow helping him to get through the days without wanting to throw himself off the roof. 

He didn’t know what it was, either. Maybe it was the way people looked at him in Seoul - like he was damaged goods. Even Hoseok and Yoongi regarded him somewhat cautiously, like he might possibly explode, or implode. Seokjin, who loved him better than anyone else, looked at him like he was a younger brother who needed his attention. 

Taehyung simply looked at him like he was the entire world. 

Namjoon knew he didn’t deserve it, but he basked in it anyway. 

It was thinking about Taehyung that got him into trouble this time on his usual walk. When Namjoon glanced around him, his heart bounded into double time. Nothing looked familiar. The buildings were alien, the landscape unrecognizable. 

His feet had taken him too far without him realizing it. 

Palms sweaty, heart racing, he fumbled his phone out of his pocket to open the map, but there, bright on his screen, was a message from one of his friends back in Seoul. 

“Friend”. 

Hey, Namjoon, heard your law firm already filled your position! Guess that door’s really closed, huh? 

Namjoon’s vision whited out. He doubled over. Palms on his knees, he gasped for breath, his lungs screaming for air. 

The quiet part in the back of his head observed him dispassionately and admonished him for the temerity to have a panic attack in the middle of Ilsan. Attention-seeking. Troublemaker. Failure. Loser. 

Namjoon trembled and shook and wheezed. 

He did not know how long he stood there, thankfully braced by the wall, heaving and shaking, everything around him blurry, until he heard a door slide open nearby. 

“Shibal sekki. Are you drunk?” someone snapped. “Don’t you dare throw up on my doorstep!” 

Namjoon hadn’t the presence of mind to respond. He was too busy trying to breathe through the fire in his chest. 

The face of a young man with plush lips and tousled hair swam into view. The man leaned in and sniffed angrily at Namjoon, but when he identified nothing but sour sweat and desperation, he relaxed somewhat, his attitude changing from combative to something slightly more solicitous.

“Are you okay? Hey. You okay?” 

Distraught, Namjoon could do nothing more but shake his head at the stranger. His throat had closed up and his hands were clammy, his face damp with cold sweat. He felt the world turn around him alarmingly fast. 

He felt the young man touch his shoulder tentatively, then more firmly as he guided him to sit down on the sidewalk. “Are you ill?”

Namjoon began to cry. 

“Ah, shibal. Hey, it’s okay.” Taken aback, the stranger nonetheless fumbled some tissue paper from his pocket. “Here, take this.”

The young man stood beside him like a bodyguard, waving away other curious passersby, letting him have his breakdown in peace. It took a good few minutes for him to get the sobs out of his system. He finally managed to stop crying so hard, but even with the donated tissue he knew his face was red and blotchy and probably grossly snotty. He’d never felt so thankful for a stranger in his life. 

Namjoon lifted his head and sniffled gratefully at the man. “Sorry,” he heaved. “S-sorry.”

He nodded briskly at him. “Forget it, it’s fine. My name’s Park Jimin. What’s yours?”

“Ki-Kim Namjoon.”

Jimin frowned, all of a sudden. “Kim Namjoon?” he repeated, but seemingly to himself - as if he recognized the name. “You’re Kim Namjoon?”

Oblivious to anything but his own misery, Namjoon just sniffled wetly, and Jimin sighed. 

“Okay, Namjoon. You got anyone you can call to come get you?”

I got no one, Namjoon thought self-pityingly. I have no one. 

But he knew that was not strictly true. 

If he were in Seoul, he would call Seokjin, who would drop everything to come get him and who would nag at him comfortably all the way home. He could call Yoongi, but then he realized it was the weekend. Hoseok would be home from camp. He didn’t want to take up their precious time together. 

Which left one person. 

His hand felt weak and shivery, but he managed to get his phone out, swipe away the offending message and scroll through his contact list until he got to Ilsan Landlord Mr Kim. He still hadn’t gotten around to changing it.

He looked up at Jimin, who was watching him anxiously.

“I…” Namjoon cleared his throat. “I have somebody I can call.”

Just saying this out loud helped him to calm down. Even then, he had to try his best to squelch his shame and embarrassment when Taehyung answered the phone. He did not want to go into details, but Taehyung picked up on his quivering voice quickly, and Namjoon did not need to explain much. He rattled off the address that Jimin gave him. 

“Just stay where you are,” Taehyung said firmly. “It’s not far, I know the place. I’ll come get you.”

Namjoon sat on the sidewalk, trying to remember how to breathe. How did he get here? Which wrong turn did he make? Which signs had he ignored? He wished he knew. If he’d seen the signs, if he realized earlier he was going the wrong way, maybe things would have been different. 

Maybe he would not have gotten so turned around, so lost. 

“Your friend coming?”

“He’s coming.” Namjoon said it with a surprising certainty. Taehyung would come get him. He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone from the building, or where Taehyung was, but Namjoon felt sure. 

Taehyung would come get him. 

Jimin huffed beside him, frowning, maybe because Taehyung was taking too long. Namjoon felt bad that Jimin did not feel he could leave him, but the young man stood his ground anyway. No amount of reassurances would make him go. 

Namjoon didn’t clock the sound at first. It was just another background noise in a soup of background noises. But then the tinny putt-putt sound grew gradually louder until Namjoon, gaping with disbelief, saw a figure on a scooter pull up beside him. 

“That’ll be Taehyung,” Jimin said, quite unnecessarily, but much more cheerful now that he would soon no longer have to be responsible for the bizarre stranger melting down on his doorstep. “Hi, Tae.”

Namjoon simply gawked at the improbable but heartwarming sight of Taehyung getting off the battered little bike. 

“Hey, Minnie,” Taehyung said. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

Jimin jerked his chin towards Namjoon. “Is he who I think he is?”

Bewildered at this back and forth between the two men who clearly knew each other well, Namjoon did not know how to parse Jimin’s question. Who was he to Taehyung? Childhood friend? Some guy? Tenant?

“He’s my hyung,” Taehyung said simply. Namjoon felt his body crumple with relief. 

Jimin just sniffed. “Found him melting down on the sidewalk,” he said. “You’d better help him get home.”

“Do…do you know him?”

“Minnie and I were classmates in high school,” Taehyung explained. “We’ve been best friends for a while now.”

Namjoon racked his brain and vaguely remembered - yes, that was right. That was the year they had broken up; they had already been drifting apart. Namjoon had not paid as much attention to Taehyung as he should, but he recalled Taehyung mentioning Jimin now and then. Namjoon struggled with an odd feeling of envy and jealousy. Park Jimin had recognized the intrinsic value of keeping Taehyung in his life, and he had not, and now he was melting down on a pavement in Seoul, and his life was worth nothing.

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asked Namjoon cautiously. 

Suddenly exhausted, Namjoon nodded. “I just want to go back to the building.”

Taehyung held something out to him. 

“You’ll have to wear this, then,” he said. 

Namjoon looked at the helmet in Taehyung’s outstretched hand and began to laugh much harder than he should. He didn’t know why the prospect of wearing the small round helmet and riding on the Vespa was so funny, but it was. His body shook weakly, but he couldn’t stop. He bent over at the waist, his clammy palms flat on his knees, and laughed until his face hurt. 

Jimin and Taehyung watched him have his hysterics in concerned silence. 

“Are you sure he’ll be all right?” Jimin asked Taehyung dubiously. 

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung said. “I’ll get him home safe.” He patted Namjoon on the back. “It’s okay, hyung. Get it all out.”

It took quite a long time. Finally getting his giggles under control, Namjoon hiccupped. He couldn’t even imagine what he must look like. A mess, obviously; face blotched and smeary, first sobbing his heart out and then hysterical with laughter. His whole body felt completely drained. He couldn’t even lift his arms. Taehyung simply reached up and tugged the helmet over Namjoon’s head. It went on easily - after all, Namjoon no longer had any hair to get in the way.

“Ready to go?”

Namjoon nodded obediently at Taehyung, then turned to Jimin. “Thank you for waiting with me,” he croaked. 

“Yeah,” Jimin said. He nodded brusquely at him, although Namjoon could see the way the lines of his mouth softened. “You take care now. Bye, Tae. See you around.” He waved at Taehyung cheerfully and went back into his building. 

Tentatively, Namjoon clambered awkwardly behind Taehyung and wrapped his arms around him, holding on for dear life. In another world (Seoul) he would have scoffed at the scooter, considering it beneath him, but here he could find no reason to say no. He steadied himself. 

“Come on, hyung,” Taehyung said. “We’re not far away, okay? Don’t let go of me.”

What a concept. 

Namjoon wished fruitlessly that he had told himself, fifteen years ago, not to let go of Kim Taehyung. 

It felt good, warm and comforting, to be plastered against Taehyung’s back, which was much broader than Namjoon remembered it. He didn’t mean to press so close, perhaps, but even though the scooter could not go very fast, the wind was cold and Namjoon was only in a thin shirt, and the scooter seat was not built for a pillion rider of Namjoon’s size. He remembered little of the ride back; only that he felt safe with Taehyung, but even then he was surprised when he abruptly recognized his surroundings.

There was the convenience store he went to for dinner every day. 

He hadn’t been very far from the building at all. 

A pojangmacha had opened for the night just down the street from the building, so they stopped to pick up rose tteokbokki and hot yuja tea - the latter was Taehyung’s idea. They’d contemplated adding some soju for a second, but Taehyung had eyed Namjoon up and down and had made an executive decision against buying any alcohol. A wise decision, probably. Namjoon felt wrung out, like a wet towel squeezed until the last drops had fallen, like a balloon deflated completely flat. 

He let Taehyung lead him up the stairs to the rooftop. Things felt so much easier, this way; all he had to do was follow someone obediently and put one foot in front of the other. Namjoon hadn’t realized how hungry he was, how empty his belly was, until he put the first spoonful of tteokbokki into his mouth.

“Good?” Taehyung asked, and he nodded wordlessly, shoveling mouthful after mouthful in, until Taehyung laughed delightedly and told him the tteokbokki wasn’t going to run away. Sheepishly, Namjoon slowed down. The food felt good in his belly; warm, filling, satisfying. 

They didn’t speak much until the tteokbokki was all gone - which did not take very long. The yuja cha was no longer steaming hot, but it was still soothing, and Namjoon drained his cup. 

Finally he didn’t feel quite so hollow inside, and his chest no longer felt so tight.

Above them the navy sky prickled with stars, heaving with them like a lapful of unruly children. Was it the tea or the tteokbokki? Or perhaps it was Taehyung, who sat so companionably beside Namjoon on the pyeongsang, perfectly content to sit in silence without giving him any pressure to talk. And yet it was that accepting silence that made Namjoon open his mouth. 

“I freaked out,” he admitted to Taehyung, staring through blurry eyes at the sky. “Earlier, when I was out walking. I got lost, and I wanted to look at the map, but there was a message from an acquaintance back in Seoul…” he trailed off, unsure how much Taehyung knew about Seoul. 

“Bad news?”

“No - it wasn’t that. I quit my job,” he blurted out, and then he proceeded to completely unburden himself. Taehyung listened quietly as he explained about the botched lawsuit, the burnout, the exhaustion. “And I have insomnia. I can’t sleep properly. When I try, my heart races and my brain prickles, and I end up awake and groggy all night.” He told Taehyung about how helpless he felt, retreating to Ilsan with his tail between his legs, not knowing what to do next. 

“You don’t always need to know what’s next,” Taehyung said simply. He swiveled to face Namjoon, and the openness of Taehyung’s face, the lack of judgment, undid Namjoon. “You can only hold your breath for so long before it kills you, right? Just put one foot in front of the other. One step at a time, one hour at a time. One day at a time. Breathe,” Taehyung told him. “And just be. That’s all you need to do right now.”

Namjoon stilled. No one had ever told him it was okay to breathe, that it was okay to go slow. 

Why had he needed permission to breathe? 

Why did something so simple feel so much like a revelation?

Testing himself, Namjoon took a deep, long breath. It hurt, but the sensation felt good, down in his chest, like massaging an aching muscle.

“And you can text me,” Taehyung continued quietly. “If you can’t sleep. I stay up late a lot, anyway. Maybe we can stay up together.”

It was not helping, the way Taehyung was looking at him - or maybe it was. Namjoon opened his mouth to say something in return. There seemed to be a stone lodged in his throat. Taehyung looked at him expectantly, but Namjoon just shook his head mutely.

Taehyung’s eyes were so wide, so sweet. In an instant Namjoon felt as though he had been tipped backward into the past, with straight-haired, baby-faced Taehyung staring at him with hearts in his eyes. 

Namjoon acted on instinct. He leant forward and kissed him. 

How soft those lips were under his own. 

With a terrified thrill he was certain he felt Taehyung kiss him back. The sensation was all at once familiar and utterly new, like reopening a book, or visiting an old haunt. Like a remixed melody or a restored artwork, Namjoon suddenly knew the wonder of rediscovering something he thought he’d left behind forever. Pliant and welcoming and tender, Taehyung opened willingly under his lips, and Namjoon greedily drank his fill. A soft noise escaped Taehyung’s throat.

Who needed soju? Light-headed, warmth spilling through him, Namjoon was utterly intoxicated. He reached to cup the back of Taehyung’s head so he could deepen the kiss. Already he felt that he couldn’t get enough. 

But then Taehyung pulled away. 

Lips already shiny and swollen, they stared at each other silently in the dusky light.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon croaked finally, aghast that he had perhaps misread Taehyung’s reaction. “I didn’t mean to-”

But Taehyung put his hand over Namjoon’s instantly, an easy gesture of comfort, and Namjoon forced himself to shut up.

“That’s okay.” Taehyung smiled then, a glimmer of sadness in those long-lashed eyes. He looked wistful. “You taste the same as you always did.”

Unsure, Namjoon gazed at him for a moment, then leaned tentatively forward again, hopeful, yearning, but Taehyung shook his head minutely and squeezed his hand. 

“Not now. When your head is in the right place, hyung,” he said, but he did not sound disapproving or judgmental, just matter of fact. 

He hadn’t said if, Namjoon pondered, but when. 

Taehyung sounded so certain of something that Namjoon had not yet even understood himself. 

***

Back at the house, Namjoon brushed his teeth and got into bed. It might turn out to be a futile exercise, but he’d promised Taehyung he would try to sleep. He stared at his phone for a long time before he finally texted Taehyung: thank you for getting me. 

Namjoon did not explain if he meant to thank Taehyung for picking him up, or for understanding him - he thought it would adequately explain both. 

The reply came almost immediately: anytime, hyung. Try to sleep, ok?  

His efforts were indeed futile. Namjoon did not sleep, not really. He drifted in and out of a hazy dreamless rest, but his preoccupations were different tonight. His thoughts were fully absorbed in the boy - the man - somewhere in the apartment below his. 

Day 18

There’s food at your door if you’re hungry. 

Blearily Namjoon rubbed at one eye as he read the text message from Taehyung. He must have fallen asleep after all, although he vaguely remembered watching the thin strip of window visible under the curtain grow light gray with the dawn. How much sleep had he gotten today?

He was surprised to find it was already four in the afternoon. 

Experimentally he rolled his shoulders and found that they did not feel quite as tight as they usually did. His face, in the mirror, looked puffy and sallow, but he had not expected any less after the unprecedented amount of crying he’d done the day before.

He winced. He had never been that sort of person, to feel so free with tears. In fact, he’d thought them a sign of weakness. 

Seokjin had ridiculed this once, when he’d found out how Namjoon felt about crying. There was nothing wrong, Seokjin ruled, with a healthy show of emotion. He’d actually looked disappointed in Namjoon, but Namjoon had scoffed in return. I can’t afford to show feelings, he’d insisted. I’m a lawyer. Feelings are for the weak. 

That had certainly come back to bite him in the ass. 

Namjoon would not admit it to Seokjin, perhaps, but he did feel better about unburdening himself - although he was sensible enough to admit that he was thankful it was Taehyung he’d been with. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for such a public show of emotion in front of anyone else. 

The food, when Namjoon pulled open his door to check, was a couple of gimbap rolls tucked into a plastic bag hanging from his doorknob. Namjoon flushed with delight. Gimbap made with leftover kimchi fried rice was his favorite. Had Taehyung made it especially for him, or had he just had too much leftover fried rice?

He allowed himself to think that Taehyung had remembered. He felt slightly ashamed. He should be making food for Taehyung, to thank him for coming to his rescue, for picking him up and for letting him unburden himself. 

For the kiss. 

Unconsciously Namjoon lifted a hand to his mouth. It had been fifteen years or more since he’d last kissed Kim Taehyung, and yet the way their lips had molded together had felt instinctive, perfect. And Namjoon knew Taehyung had kissed him back. 

Namjoon hoped desperately that it hadn’t been out of pity. He could bear a lot of things, even now, but he didn’t think he could bear that. 

His stomach rumbled. 

Fuelled with gimbap, Namjoon set off on his daily walk with some trepidation. This time, wary of getting lost again, he made sure to stick to his tight, concentric circles around the neighborhood. He pounded the pavement, round and round for hours until he was drenched with sweat, the sun had set, and the moon was high in the sky. He glanced at his watch. Almost nine. 

Time to head back. 

He made his usual stop at the convenience store where Jungkook happened to be on duty, and as always was far too enthusiastic and excitable for…whatever time it was.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed happily. “I hoped I’d see you today!” The boy did a double take. “Oh wow! Look at your hair! It looks really good, though! It suits you!” 

Who actually talked in exclamations? Only Jungkook, that’s who. He’d been prattling away at Namjoon just the other day and had addressed him again as ajusshi - and Namjoon this time corrected him. 

I’m only thirty-two, you know, he’d said as pointedly as he could. Not an ajusshi.

Omo. Jungkook’s eyes had grown impossibly larger. I’m sorry, I call everyone that, I didn’t think!

It’s fine, forget it, Namjoon had said, waving it off.

No but isn’t it easier to speak informally? Jungkook had answered excitedly. I think of you as hyung already anyway!

Another question - who called a frequent customer hyung ? And yet Namjoon wasn’t sure how to say no to someone with eyes as huge as Jungkook’s. Certainly he’d been unable to dredge up the strength to resist or object. Funny - Namjoon had once been very adamant about things like propriety, and proper respect, and hierarchy, but this cute kid with the misplaced lip ring had bounded past his defenses. 

Anything was better than ajusshi, anyway. 

Jungkook rang up his items, but before announcing the total he gestured at the day’s special offer as usual. This time, it was little plastic sticks of honey. 

“Look, hyung,” Jungkook said, eyes sparkling, “aren’t these so cute? Single serve, so you don’t waste a drop! They’re great for a midday refresh, or you could use them for tea!”

Taehyung would probably like them. 

Clutching his unlikely bag of honey sticks and instant ramyeon, he trudged up the stairs. He did not need to look into Taehyung’s darkened door-window to know he was not home; he could hear the mosquito jazz tootling from the rooftop.

Both his heartbeat and his step quickened. 

Taehyung was perched on the pyeongsang in his customary tailor’s seat, but this time he was surrounded by an assortment of flowers. Namjoon couldn’t get over how pretty the sight was, Taehyung amongst the flowers. He stood there staring for a moment, unable to speak. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Taehyung teased, looking up at him.

“I…ah.” Namjoon was suddenly acutely aware that he was sweaty and gross. Self-conscious, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Thank you for the food.”

“Oh, not at all. I had some leftover fried rice, anyway, and I thought I remembered you liked it in gimbap…”

Namjoon ducked his head to try and hide the stupid smile that wiped over his face. He took another step forward. 

“What are you doing?”

“Making tea.” Taehyung indicated the steaming glass teapot in front of him, sitting on a wooden tray. The center column of the teapot was filled with flower petals. They looked familiar. Namjoon had liked plants, once long ago, before his head had been filled with clients and cases and himself. 

He racked his brains and hazarded a guess. “Butterfly pea?” 

“Very good.” Taehyung beamed. “Some of these I picked on a walk,” he said, “and others I grow.” He pointed at the blue and white butterfly pea flowers on creepers behind him, twined along thin wooden stakes. “Join me?”

Why would Namjoon ever say no? “Let me just go wash up and I’ll be right out.” 

When he emerged freshened up (after what was possibly the quickest and most thorough shower of his life; washing up was so much faster now that he barely had any hair to shampoo), Taehyung was just pouring out the hot tea into double-walled glasses. 

“Just in time.” Taehyung beckoned him over, and Namjoon took a seat across from him. “Now watch, hyung.”

The steaming tea was a natural deep blue from the flowers. Taehyung sliced a lemon in half, then squeezed juice carefully into the glasses. As the lemon juice trickled downward into the tea, the rich sapphire blue began turning into a sweet purple, the bright colors like a microcosmos, a tiny galaxy swirling in a glass. 

“Look at that.” Taehyung looked so proud of his concoction. “It’s good for stress, you know. Reduces anxiety. And isn’t it so pretty?”

Namjoon nods, entranced by the universe in a cup. “Very pretty.”

“Do you want sugar?” 

“Oh-” Namjoon fumbled for the plastic bag from the convenience store, thrilled that he had something suitable to offer. He’d have to thank Jungkook once more for the serendipitous purchase. He held out the honey sticks to Taehyung bashfully. “I have honey, if that works?” 

Taehyung beamed at him as if he’d had the most brilliant idea ever. “That’s perfect.”

The tea was not just pretty, it also tasted good, especially with the honey drizzled over and stirred in. Namjoon knew he should be relaxing, should be able to sip his tea and hum in contentment like Taehyung was doing, but instead his heart was rabbiting. 

The view from the rooftop was not excessively spectacular; it was mostly made up of other rooftops, but even under the blanket of darkness the rolling green hulk of Apsan was a peaceful backdrop from the perch of the pyeongsang. The air was cool, his belly was pleasantly full, and the hot, sweet tea was delicious. Not to mention that there was a beautiful boy lounging next to him. 

Yet Namjoon struggled to relax. As he sat on the pyeongsang next to Taehyung his foot jiggled, his fingers tapped restlessly, his heart thumped, and his eyes darted all over the rooftop. He simply could not relax the same way Taehyung was - his body lax and loose and still as he absorbed his surroundings. 

Taehyung could not fail to notice Namjoon’s jitters. He angled his body towards Namjoon, his eyes concerned, his voice gently curious. “Are you okay?”

He was technically fine, but he struggled to articulate it in a way that Taehyung would understand. 

“How do you do this?” Namjoon asked finally. He made a vague, all-encompassing gesture. “All this. Relaxing. Breathing. Why is it so easy for you?”

Namjoon did not mean for the question to sound accusing, and Taehyung thankfully tilted his head at him without any animosity. 

“Wasn’t always easy,” Taehyung answered quietly. And then he asked a question that made Namjoon choke on his tea. “Do you remember why we broke up?”

Chagrined, Namjoon remembered. Of course he did. He remembered it like a solid punch to his solar plexus. 

He’d been an ass. 

Back then, he had just gotten his scholarship to Seoul National University. Even though it had killed him to break the news to Yoongi, Namjoon was almost delirious with excitement, brimming with the confidence of brash youth. He was ready to spread his wings, to fly high and far and across borders, to leave Ilsan far behind him, to exchange fields and rundown two-storey buildings for glass-lined skyscrapers and roaring expressways. 

Taehyung’s grandmother had already fallen sick, then. The two of them had planned for Taehyung to travel with Namjoon to Seoul and stay for a few days to help him get settled in, but halmeoni had been doing badly that week, and Taehyung had decided last minute that he could not leave her in Ilsan in her condition. Namjoon had felt partly frustrated, partly guilty at leaving Taehyung behind. Was he supposed to delay his departure and wait for Taehyung to be ready? Hope that his halmeoni would be better in a day or two? It seemed unlikely. Namjoon was reluctant to go without his boyfriend, but at the same time he was itching to leave, and Taehyung could sense it. 

“You should go, hyung,” he’d told Namjoon, his young voice shaky but resolute. “It’s okay. You should go without me. I’ll come visit as soon as I can, and I’ll join you in Seoul in a year when I graduate, anyway! Halmeoni will be better soon. I’m sure of it.”

So Namjoon left alone for Seoul on the bus, waving as Taehyung’s figure grew smaller and blurrier through the window.

But Taehyung‘s grandmother hadn’t gotten better. Taehyung, frantic with worry, never made it to Seoul, and Namjoon had been so busy spreading his wings and flying that it was all too easy for them to slip apart: him up in the sky, Taehyung’s feet firmly planted on earth. Taehyung continued tending to his dying grandmother in Ilsan while Namjoon burned through his books and studies in Seoul with high-focus intensity, and when Taehyung called Namjoon months later and confessed tearfully that he had decided not to apply to any universities in Seoul after all, so that he could stay and take care of his grandmother, Namjoon just shrugged, numb to Taehyung’s excuses.

By this time, even though they’d been a couple for just over a year on paper, they’d been apart for nearly a third of it. Namjoon had returned to Ilsan once or twice in that time, of course, but they’d hardly gotten any time alone. 

It was Taehyung who eventually suggested they break up. 

To tell the truth, Namjoon was partly upset that Taehyung had taken so long to decide. Their relationship had been hanging by a thread for some time. There were so many desirable, attractive people in university, many of whom had expressed interest in him already, and Namjoon could have already been dating other people if he had been single! 

Namjoon was actually relieved that the decision had been taken out of his hands; this way he could say it was Taehyung who had given up on them. Plus, he told himself, he had more important things to worry about than his high-school boyfriend back in his podunk hometown, who cried half the time about his sick grandmother, and who clearly didn’t have enough ambition or drive to keep up with him, a Very Important sophomore in Seoul National University. 

Still, it stung, somewhat. He squashed it down hard. 

“Yeah, okay,” Namjoon had replied, almost nonchalant, proud of himself for being such an adult. He deserved an adult relationship with other university students worth his time, not whatever this was. “I understand. No hard feelings, right?”

“No hard feelings.” Taehyung had hesitated. Even through the phone line Namjoon could tell that he was wavering. His voice had cracked. “Hyung, fighting. You’re gonna be great, I know it.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon had said, already eager to hang up. “Hey, Taehyung-ah, don’t worry about it, okay. Hyung will see you around.”

They’d never seen each other again. 

Namjoon’s belly churned uncomfortably, and he took a sip of honeyed tea to calm it. He’d tried so hard to be a grownup but ended up being utterly childish. 

Taehyung’s grandmother had passed away a month or two after their breakup. 

“I’m so sorry about halmeonim,” he said aloud to Taehyung, awash with a terrible wave of guilt he hadn’t let himself feel all those years ago. “I couldn’t - I didn’t even make it back for her funeral.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung contemplated the skyline of rough roofs and the shadowy hump of Apsan. “After we cremated her, I didn’t get out of bed for three days. I’d always had something to do, looking after her. Feeling needed. Wanted. Nobody ever wanted me to give up my life to take care of her, least of all halmeoni herself. But I wanted to. So no, it hasn’t always been easy for me. After she died I vacillated between anger and grief. Was that all there was to her life? How could this be it?” 

Undone, Namjoon helplessly watched grief and anger flicker over Taehyung’s face like an open wound. Taehyung stared into the distance. He looked wan and tired all of a sudden.

“I gave up college for her, I gave y- I gave up Seoul for her. And she still got taken away from me. I thought - I thought if I did all those things, if I sacrificed enough, maybe she’d get more time.” Taehyung’s voice cracked, the brittle shear of it sounding exactly the way Namjoon remembered it from their breakup. “I miss her, you know? I gave up everything for her, and I don’t regret it at all. I’d have given her more of me if I could.” Taehyung dragged in a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling. “I just miss her so much.”

“I know,” Namjoon murmured, devastated. “I know.” 

What he’d known was nothing. 

He hadn’t known how Taehyung felt, all those years ago, had been so full of himself that he hadn’t stopped to worry about Taehyung losing his pillar, his rock. Namjoon had sent a wreath to halmeoni’s funeral, the same way he’d sent flowers to Yoongi when D-day opened. A proxy, easily purchased with the right amount of money and a quick click on a website. 

He’d never shown up for them in person, not once, since he left for Seoul. 

This time, he would make it right. Tentatively he reached out and pressed his palm on the back of Taehyung’s back. Taehyung gasped at the touch, but let Namjoon gather him to his chest. He wasn’t crying, but his body shivered with the heaviness of grief, and Namjoon’s only thought was to lighten the burden he carried. Was it penance or comfort or both? Whatever it was, Namjoon tucked Taehyung close, soothing him, trying to match the pace of his breathing to the man he held next to his heart. He dipped his nose into the crest of Taehyung’s head and breathed his scent in, his arms wrapped tight around Taehyung’s slender body. 

Faced with the solid, warm weight of Taehyung against his chest, everything else suddenly seemed so inconsequential. 

For the life of him, Namjoon could not think of a good reason why he had ever let Taehyung out of the circle of his arms.

Day 24

Hoseok didn’t always manage to join them for their weekly dinners, but they had gotten lucky that week with his leave schedule. It was the first time Namjoon had gotten a chance to visit their apartment above the shop. It was nice - cozy, not exceptionally large, but more than big enough for two, especially since they had done up the place with an open concept to make it feel even more spacious. Namjoon could clearly see both of their influences in the decor - for instance the vintage vinyl player in the corner was obviously Yoongi’s, and the brightly colored crocheted afghan tossed over the edge of the worn corduroy couch was so very Hoseok. And yet it all blended very well, seamless, even, in a way Namjoon had not expected. 

It wasn’t just the space that blended. Now that Namjoon knew his friends were a longtime couple, he could see it clearly, in the way they behaved around and with each other; that casual, comfortable familiarity and ease. When they walked past each other their fingers coasted gently along the smalls of each others’ backs; when Hoseok bubbled over with laughter on the opposite side of the room Yoongi turned his face toward him like a flower seeking the sun. Namjoon kept seeing more and more of these signs and berated himself silently for a fool for not realizing earlier. He watched, envious, as Hoseok plated Yoongi’s favorites for him, and Yoongi quietly pushed napkins across the table the second he clocked that Hoseok had looked around to locate them. 

It seemed effortless; or at least they had gotten plenty of practice, living together, even if Hoseok spent most of the week in an army barracks a couple hours north. A year was a long time to be together. 

To his surprise, Namjoon actually found himself envying them. 

He had never lived with any of his partners. He liked having his own space. He’d never been with someone he wanted to orbit at all hours of the day, had never cared for anyone enough to even consider cohabitating. Not Soo, for certain, and not any of the people he’d dated before her. 

And yet, faced with the possibility of what could be, he began to wonder.

What was it like? To come home to music and a warm smile and someone you wanted to wake up next to in the morning?

He glanced at Taehyung, who was laughing with Yoongi over some dish they were preparing. Namjoon did not know what it was, except that they had shooed him out of the kitchenette when he’d tentatively offered to help, and that the house was full of a spicy, savory scent that made his stomach rumble.

“Here you go.” Hoseok slipped the stem of a glass of red wine between his fingers, and Namjoon smiled gratefully at him. Hoseok always seemed to know what to do. He moved so effortlessly, so lightly on his feet. Namjoon felt large and ungainly beside him. A lump, a rock, a potato. 

Hoseok tilted his head at Namjoon. “Something on your mind?”

How had he known? Namjoon shrugged, voiceless. The night before, he’d officially sent in his request to terminate his rental contract on his apartment in Seoul. Even though the rent that Taehyung charged him wasn’t very high, Namjoon hadn’t enough savings to cover rentals in two different cities. He wasn’t ready to return to Seoul, and so it only made sense to give the Hannam-dong apartment up, even though it hurt to sever that last, tangible tie. 

Thankfully he’d cleared most of his personal stuff out already.

He must be a lot more transparent than he thought, for Hoseok to notice that he was feeling out of it. Or maybe that was just his default now - people checking up on him to make sure he wasn’t about to spiral into an abyss. 

Still, it sucked, signing that apartment away. It wasn’t that Namjoon had decorated it or invested in it to make it look quintessentially him, the way Hoseok and Yoongi had. The furniture had stayed largely the same all the years he lived there - provided by his landlord, a generic Japandi-style decor you could find in a million apartments in Seoul. It was what it represented - that he had made it to a level where he could actually afford to rent his own place in Seoul right in the middle of one of the most expensive districts. 

Even though he wasn’t used to spilling his heart, Hoseok’s sympathetic smile made the floodgates open. It was the kind of understanding smile that Namjoon had not seen much of in Seoul, now that he thought about it. The smiles he got there often rang false, or uninterested, or lasted only a couple of seconds before slipping off their faces as their eyes flitted away from his. Hoseok, though - his smile felt like an electric blanket in winter, and Namjoon felt nothing but encouragement and comfort as he haltingly explained why he was feeling low.

Hoseok hummed in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry. That can’t have been fun,” he said earnestly. “It must have felt really lousy to give up your apartment.”

“It did make me feel lousy,” Namjoon said, partly surprised that Hoseok agreed with him. He’d thought his feelings were a little silly. He nodded at Hoseok, wide-eyed. “It felt like I was giving up for real, you know?” 

“I can see how it’d feel that way. But do you want to go back to Seoul?” 

The question should be simple. It shouldn’t make Namjoon’s pulse race - not in a good way, but in a way that made his collar feel tight and sweat begin to bead along his shaved hairline. And yet beneath the skin-crawling sensation of anxiety, Namjoon had one resounding thought. 

He did not want to go back to Seoul. Not this week, not this month. Not this year, even. 

Namjoon sucked in a breath. This was news to him. He had not come to Ilsan with the expectation of staying. His mother had suggested a couple of weeks, but those couple of weeks had passed a long time ago - and Namjoon had no timeline for his return.

Hoseok could sense that he was in a crisis. “You don’t have to answer that, really,” Hoseok said soothingly, “just that having an idea about whether or when you’re inclined to go back to Seoul might help crystallize what you’re feeling.”

“It just feels like I should be better than this. Doing better. Not…not weak like this.” Namjoon couldn’t quite look directly into Hoseok’s eyes, but he could still see the frown that tugged at the edge of Hoseok’s lips.

Hoseok laid his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. “But it’s not, you know.”

“It’s not what?”

“Weak,” Hoseok said carefully. “It’s not weak to take a breather.”

A breather. It was only a couple of letters away from break, but it sounded so much better, somehow. A breather, so he could take a breath, could pour some oxygen into his lungs so he could take the next step. He was taking a breather. Not a break. 

He was not broken. 

“A breather,” Namjoon murmured. He liked the way it sounded. It reminded him of Taehyung, looking at him under the white balcony lights, under the sparkling night sky, telling him to breathe.

Namjoon straightened his shoulders, just a little bit. 

“And that’s not giving up, either,” Hoseok added. “Would you say Yoongi gave up on being a rapper?”

Namjoon might have said yes to that previously, but he knew better now. “No,” he said slowly. He was beginning to understand. “Yoongi-hyung realized he had a different dream.”

“It’s not that he didn’t want to sign with Big Hit, you know. He would have been happy if he became a rapper with you. But since that didn’t end up happening, he reevaluated his options. He took a breather, too. And he decided it was okay to redirect and take a different path.” 

Was it really possible to have more than one option in life? Was there something else he could do and enjoy as much as he had enjoyed being a lawyer?

Namjoon had never had to consider this before, but now it was something he had to think about. 

Half smiling, Hoseok gestured towards Yoongi. “Do you think he’s happy?”

Namjoon looked over. There, in the kitchenette, Yoongi was feeding Taehyung something on a spoon. There was a smear of red sauce on his apron, his hair was falling into his face, but his smile was gummy and pleased as Taehyung groaned in appreciation for whatever he had just tasted. Yoongi looked so at home in his cozy apartment, with his friends and his boyfriend and his homey decor and steaming pots and pans at his fingertips; his successful shop just down the stairs.

Yeah, Namjoon knew Yoongi was happy. He radiated with so much joy and contentment and satisfaction. 

But Hoseok was not done. He looked at Namjoon, giving him every last bit of his attention, and cocked his head. “What do you need to be happy, Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon jolted. It was almost funny, that question. Just a few months earlier Namjoon would have answered confidently, quickly: more wealthy clients. His own office. His name emblazoned on a desk plaque and on his door. Making partner someday soon. 

But now? The question begged for more consideration, more careful thought. Whatever it was, he understood that Seoul didn’t necessarily factor into his happiness anymore.

So what did that mean for him? Would he be able to redirect? Choose a different path?

What did he need to be happy?

Once more his glance flitted over to the kitchenette. This time Taehyung caught his eye and pointed at the bowl Yoongi was filling with what Namjoon could now identify as bibim-guksu. Taehyung rolled his eyes heavenward dramatically and gave him a thumbs-up. 

“Namjoon-hyung, it’s so good,” Taehyung called. “You’re gonna love it.”

Beside him, Hoseok slapped a comfortable arm over Namjoon’s shoulder. 

“You gotta find that happiness inside you, Namjoon-ah.” His heart-shaped grin was blinding, a blast of sunshine and hope. “I have faith in you. You’ll get there yet.”

Namjoon did not get a chance to respond, because Yoongi and Taehyung were bustling over with side dishes and bowls of noodles, and he and Hoseok quickly pitched in to help. The table was soon laid and they sat down to eat. It was simple enough fare, just regular home-cooked food, but everything smelled incredible. Seokjin would have been proud.

Namjoon’s mouth watered. 

“Everything okay?” Yoongi asked quietly, his gaze searching. “You two looked like you were talking about something serious.”

Under the table, where no one could see, Taehyung put his hand onto Namjoon’s knee and squeezed it, offering wordless comfort. Namjoon didn’t have to look down. He slipped his own hand into Taehyung’s before he could move away. Taehyung flushed slightly with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he laced his fingers tightly with Namjoon’s.

Here was the strength Namjoon needed to be honest, not only with himself but with people who actually cared about him. He looked around at each of them and met each of their glances squarely. 

“I’m not great,” he said, “but I’m getting better.”

It was a start.

Namjoon didn’t know yet exactly what he needed to be happy, but as he watched three smiles unfold on his friends’ faces and felt the reassuring squeeze of Taehyung’s hand in his, he thought he might be starting to get the idea. 

***

The walk home was nice; the breeze was blowing, the air was cool enough that their light layers kept them warm. They’d chosen to walk both ways, knowing they’d be drinking, and both their bellies were warmed with good food and good whisky. 

But the nicest thing about the walk was that somewhere between D-Day and their building, Taehyung had quietly tucked his hand into Namjoon’s and they had walked like that all the way back, side by side, hand in hand. 

Namjoon was proud of how smooth he’d been. He hadn’t let himself overreact. He had done his best not to let his internal delight fizz over too obviously, but he allowed himself to reach over and tuck a lock of Taehyung’s hair quite unnecessarily behind his ear, just because he could. He thought he deserved to do that, at least. 

There was something so simple, so precious, in just walking together along the river with a beautiful man who made his heart beat faster. 

“Remember that playground?”

Namjoon glanced over where Taehyung was pointing. It took him a moment, but as the hazy childhood memory resolved in his mind he nodded. 

“That’s where Seokjin-hyung knocked you off the top of the jungle gym,” he said. With a shudder Namjoon recalled then how they had laughed at first at the sight of Taehyung flailing and toppling to the ground, then the uncertain, fraught silence right before the clarion jangle of Taehyung’s agonized wail burst out across the playground. 

Namjoon remembered only too well the cold frisson of fear that had caused him to scramble off the gym and snap at Seokjin that something was seriously wrong. There had been yelling, and a lot of crying, and Seokjin’s boyish voice begging Taehyung in urgent, trembling panic not to tell either of their mothers.

Obviously that had not happened, not with the way Taehyung was cradling an arm that could not be moved without him screaming, and he had been conveyed by ambulance (an unexpected highlight amidst the terror) to the nearest hospital. 

“I still have the scar. Look.” Taehyung proffered his elbow, and Namjoon leapt at another chance to touch Taehyung’s skin, running his fingers over the bumpy line that would never disappear. 

“It doesn’t still hurt, does it?”

Taehyung shook his head adamantly, but then he laughed unexpectedly. “You know, I think that was when my giant crush on you started.”

“What? Why?” Namjoon asked, light-headed and amused. If he recalled correctly he had been a scrawny, awkward fifteen-year-old then, Taehyung a year behind. Taehyung had nursed a crush on him for that long? Namjoon almost blushed. He hadn’t realized.  

“I don’t know. The way you picked me up and cradled me like Superman. And how you were so furious with Seokjin-hyung for hurting me. Made me feel so protected, I guess, and I really liked feeling like I had a big, strong hyung looking out for me.” Taehyung chuckled again, the sound like velvet and woodsmoke. Namjoon itched to swallow the sound up in his mouth. 

“We were so young,” Namjoon said. “So young.” Before the world had chewed him up and spat him out. The thought of childhood crushes and their teenage romance made him feel soft, though. Things were so uncomplicated back then, before they found out that grandmothers died and work could be hell and that they could fuck their entire lives up in an instant.

And yet Namjoon felt he was beginning to make his peace with that. He was understanding better how to navigate his feelings, his imperfect life. He squeezed Taehyung’s hand. “We aren’t those cute little kids anymore.”

“I still see that guy when I look at you. That big, strong protector,” Taehyung said quietly. “Obviously none of us are the kids we used to be, but I see you, hyung. You’re still kind, and caring, and sweet. You’re still the kind of guy who brings me presents just because.”

Namjoon was glad that the dark allowed him to blush freely this time. 

“Am I still…” he cleared his throat, feeling unreasonably shy but desperate to know. “Am I still the guy you have a giant crush on?”

Taehyung burst into tickled laughter at that. “Hyung!” he exclaimed. “I was fourteen!”

Namjoon blushed even more furiously, his face burning in the night air, and was in the middle of cursing himself for a fool when Taehyung spoke up once more, low and confiding and wistful.  

“You’ll always be my first love, Namjoon-hyung.”

At this, Namjoon’s throat closed up so that he had to clear it once, twice, and still he croaked when he replied gruffly, “You are too.”

They could not stop smiling the rest of the way home. 

At Taehyung’s door, Namjoon scuffed his feet like a nervous schoolboy. Was he meant to simply say goodbye and walk up the remaining steps to his own apartment just like that? But Taehyung sparkled at him, and it was clear he was waiting for Namjoon to do something. It was slightly unsettling for Namjoon to realize that even lounging against his doorframe, Taehyung was just about as tall as he was - had it always been this way? He could have sworn that the last time he’d held Taehyung in his arms, before university, he had been more than a few centimeters shorter, but now Taehyung’s eyes were level with his. 

The thought of holding Taehyung in his arms once more propelled him into action, and he took a stumbling half-step forward. 

They caught one another’s eyes. 

Oh, Namjoon thought, enraptured by the longing he saw mirrored there. Oh. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung whispered into the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, in the breath before their mouths connected, “I’ve missed you.”

This time their kiss felt more rushed, more hurried, their eagerness catching each other alight. Taehyung’s palm came up to rest over Namjoon’s chest. Namjoon wondered if Taehyung could feel the frenzied beat of his heart through his hoodie and a t-shirt and muscle and flesh and fat. Obeying his instincts Namjoon slid his thumb under Taehyung’s jaw and tipped his head back against the door, deepening the kiss the way he’d wanted to do before. 

This time, Taehyung let him. 

They never stopped kissing even as Namjoon slipped his hands under Taehyung’s hoodie. His hands greedily roamed over the plane of Taehyung’s body, learning the new measurements off by heart. He ran desperate hands over each gentle bump of rib, down to the narrow dip of Taehyung’s waist and back up the knobs of his spine, all the while working Taehyung’s mouth open with his own. 

This - this was what he’d forgotten, and yet was something he’d never had before. Taehyung at once was both the boy he’d loved years ago and a man he was touching for the first time. This Taehyung looked at him with eyes that understood the world. This Taehyung was older and wiser. This Taehyung had corded muscle rippling down his back and fit against him in a way he never had before. 

Namjoon wasn’t sure if Taehyung was aware he was making sounds as they kissed fervently - tiny, husky groans panted out so quietly they vibrated in his chest - but it ignited something within him. Burning with need, Namjoon devoured each sound that came from Taehyung’s lips. Taehyung curled a fingertip against Namjoon’s nipple and he arched at the electric shock that rippled through him and went straight to his groin. 

Namjoon nudged his thigh between Taehyung’s.

“No,” Taehyung murmured, his voice throaty. “Not...not here.”

Not here? Not here? Fuck. Namjoon’s fevered brain took a moment to process the refusal, but swiftly initiated a shutdown even as he shook his head to clear it. He gulped in a tortured breath and carefully removed his thigh, pulling away reluctantly but determinedly, already regretful that he’d tried to go further. If Taehyung wasn’t ready, he would not push.

“Okay, just…just give me a minute.” Namjoon desperately willed his cock to go down quickly, but it wasn’t easy; Taehyung was still within the circle of his arms, just a whisper away, and he looked so wanton, so ravished already, his hair mussed, his lips bitten and red…Namjoon’s balls ached. It was not helping. Regretfully, he took a step backwards and immediately missed Taehyung’s warmth. 

“Hyung?”

Namjoon shook his head. “It’s okay,” he croaked manfully. Quick dick check. It wasn’t going down fast enough for him, but it would have to do. He waved Taehyung into the house. “You should go in now. Get some rest.”

Taehyung stared at him, speechless, wide-eyed and astonished. It stung a little that he seemed so unable to believe that Namjoon was willing to accept his boundaries, but Namjoon just carefully shifted his bag in front of the bulge in his crotch and leaned forward to drop one last chaste kiss on Taehyung’s forehead. 

Brow furrowed, Taehyung opened his mouth to say something. “But-”

“No, it’s okay,” Namjoon said encouragingly, heroically. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He smiled and backed away up the stairs, needing to put some real space between them before he lost all the willpower to leave. “Go on, go in,” he mouthed, waving Taehyung away and into his apartment. 

God, his cock felt almost sore, full and cramped in his jeans, but he was determined to be a gentleman and he felt pretty damn good about himself for stepping away. Finally, Taehyung shook his head, almost laughing for some reason, and stepped through his door. Satisfied that he was safe and sound, Namjoon went up to his own place for the coldest shower he could manage in an effort to cool himself down.

It was a long shower. Namjoon hummed under the freezing spray for a good thirty minutes and thought conscientiously about philosophers and theories of economics as he willed the blood away from his groin. He felt quite proud of himself as he exited the bathroom. It was nice having his hair so short - he hardly needed to dry anything.

Where was his phone?

He flopped onto his bed and thumbed his screen open to a barrage of waiting messages from Taehyung. Namjoon smiled fondly, almost smugly. He appreciated Taehyung’s restraint, actually, now that he thought about it. Of course Taehyung would want to conduct a test of sorts to be sure that Namjoon didn’t just want Taehyung for a quickie, a booty call that lived just downstairs, and he was confident he had passed with flying colors. No, this time Namjoon wanted to prove he was here for the long run. He was happy to demonstrate to Taehyung that he had self-control, that he could stop himself if Taehyung wanted him to. That he would listen to Taehyung and his needs. He opened the first message. 

Hyung, it read with a distinct air of amusement, when I said ‘not here’ what I really meant was for us to take it inside the house. Together…

You’re so chivalrous, hyung ㄱㄱㄱ

He gaped dumbly at the laugh-crying emoji Taehyung had then sent. 

It’s okay, I guess it’s been a long day. Or maybe you want to come back down and join me?

What the fuck? Namjoon’s mouth dropped open. 

Okay, you’re not replying, I guess you’re either under a cold shower or jerking off… if the latter, I wish I were there with you…

The sound he made was indiscernible from a wounded whimper. 

Goodnight then, hyung, I had a really good time tonight. And maybe I’ll go rub one out and think of you, too…

This time the emoji winked saucily at him. 

Frantic, Namjoon checked the timestamp: twenty minutes ago. Taehyung would be done by now, if he’d been doing as he said, all while Namjoon was standing under a cold shower thinking about Marx. He stared once more, speechless, at those last words, and his traitorous brain giddily conjured up the image of Taehyung one floor below him, leaning against the wall in his own bathroom, fist sliding slippery and tight around his cock. He imagined Taehyung’s sultry, throaty voice grinding out Namjoon-hyung, Namjoo- oh… and nearly wept when he pictured the glorious sight and sound of Taehyung coming all over his own hand. 

With growing self-pity, Namjoon realized it could have been his hand. 

Fuck! 

Namjoon dropped his phone and groaned in actual agony. He curled up abjectly around his newly hardened dick. 

He was going to need another very cold shower. 

Day 30

It crept up on Namjoon when he wasn’t expecting it, early one morning when he awoke and found himself well-rested. 

Or perhaps he should say it dawned on him, but he wasn’t Seokjin. Dad jokes weren’t his thing the way they were an indelible part of Seokjin’s entire being. But what Namjoon had realized, rumple-haired and yawning, was that he had actually been getting some decent sleep lately. 

Namjoon couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he had started being able to close his eyes and fall asleep, but he remembered the morning - or afternoon, rather - that he’d woken up and found Taehyung brewing blue pea flower tea on the pyeongsang. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been, but he distinctly remembered falling properly asleep that night and being surprised in the morning about it. 

It probably wasn’t linked at all - he’d spent a good part of his law career differentiating between causation and correlation and he knew better than to jump to conclusions. And yet it was undeniably true. He’d started getting better rest at night after he’d first kissed Taehyung out there on the rooftop.

He frowned. It wasn’t the kiss, Namjoon thought, not that exactly, though he’d like to think so. 

It was the night Taehyung told him it was okay to breathe.

That hadn’t been all that long ago. A week, maybe more. The days and nights blurred somewhat for him; when there were no work days or weekends, each day smushed into the other like a thumb pressed into soft clay. But he knew he’d been in Ilsan for almost a month already. 

What was it about Ilsan? Namjoon fervently hoped that he was not just trying to relive the halcyon days of his childhood. He wanted to be sure it was more than that, even if he was once again hanging out with his childhood friends and even - fine - making out with his high school boyfriend on roofs and in doorways. But Namjoon had been putting in the work, too. He’d deleted some contacts off his phone - people he knew were not worth keeping around him. He had been eating better, thanks in no small part to Yoongi and Taehyung. He had even started taking the supplements his mother had sent him. 

Over the last few days, Namjoon had tentatively started widening his rounds. He turned his phone on focus mode so he wouldn’t be interrupted by unwelcome texts. He bumped into Jimin once, too, and the blond man had unbent enough to greet Namjoon and tell him to say hi to Taehyung for him. 

“Thanks for taking care of me when I got lost that day,” Namjoon had said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I really appreciate it.”

“Lost, huh?” Jimin had raised an eyebrow, kind enough not to mention Namjoon’s panic attack, but he smiled suddenly. “Well, you know what to do when you get lost, don’t you?”

Nonplussed, Namjoon had shrugged. Call Taehyung? 

“Retrace your steps,” Jimin had said, as if it were obvious. “Until you get back to a place you recognize.”

Startled, Namjoon had mulled over that piece of unexpected wisdom for a day or two. Because wasn’t that what he’d done, after all? He’d lost himself, and then he’d retraced his steps from Seoul all the way to Ilsan to find a place he recognized. To find the Kim Namjoon he’d thought he’d grown out of, the one who remembered how to smile.

Something inside him felt like it could be knitting itself together. 

He was learning. Learning that it was okay to be vulnerable. That it was okay to admit he made mistakes, and it was okay to admit that he wasn’t sure what the way forward really was. 

He had been spending quite a bit of time with Taehyung, though they hadn’t taken things any further than a few leisurely kisses. They drank tea on the pyeongsang, or shared dinner. One time they’d taken out Taehyung’s laptop and had watched old YouTube videos of him and Yoongi rapping, which had had them rolling about snorting with laughter. And some days they gardened on the rooftop, Taehyung showing him what was ripe for harvest, and what needed more time to grow. A couple of days back, they harvested the cabbage and made kimchi in huge tubs. They’d brought up gochugaru and fish sauce and tins of pear juice and every ingredient Namjoon hadn’t known was needed for kimchi. It had felt strangely good to massage the paste into the cabbage and radishes with gloved hands. They’d packed the jars and containers tight with spicy-scented vegetables, and on a whim Namjoon had sent a couple of them off to his mother with a note that deliberately omitted any unnecessary pronouns.

I’m good, the note read. Made some kimchi today with the cabbages growing on the rooftop. Did you know that you can use potato puree instead of rice flour for the paste? Works great. Hope you like the kimchi. Your son, Namjoon 

If anything else, he knew that would both confuse and delight her. Kimchi that Namjoon had made himself? With cabbages growing on the rooftop? Handy tips, even? Namjoon had outright chuckled when she predictably called in shocked disbelief the night before to tell him she had received the package. 

This time, he was able to tell her he was taking his supplements without having to lie. He assured her he was fine. Doing well. 

Taking his breather. 

Tentatively, though, his mother asked if he had perhaps considered setting a date for his return to Seoul. Not that she was rushing him of course, she hastened to assure. She was just wondering. 

A week or more before, Namjoon might have had his hackles raised by that question, the way he’d felt when Hoseok had posed much the same question to him. He might even have had another panic attack. But as it was, he took a breath, and felt more than able to answer with honesty and thoughtfulness: not right now, eomma. I haven’t really thought about coming back…yet. He tacked on that last word so that she would be less likely to worry.

And then, as if an afterthought, he added: but you know, probably not so soon. 

Namjoon’s mother was no fool. She did not pry, but she was more than able to read between the lines. Her tone grew keen and interested. Oh, she remarked quite innocently, oh, I see. I suppose you’ve settled in quite happily where you are? 

Namjoon made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, and because Namjoon’s mother knew her son well, she did not bring up the conversation from all those weeks ago, where he had complained so vociferously about his new landlord, and about whom he was now suspiciously silent.

All right then, she continued, thanks again for the kimchi, adeul-ah. She got in one last pointed comment: you should call your eomma more often.

Namjoon actually felt good when he hung up. Bless his mother - she had always been a beacon of support, even if they weren’t as close as she might like them to be. 

In fact, Namjoon felt so good about the new day that he decided to do something he had been thinking about for some time. He packed a bag with a water bottle and a couple of snacks and headed out to find a city bike to rent. That path down Ilsan Lake Park had been calling to him, and he felt like it was something he could finally tackle. He hadn’t ridden a bicycle for years, but Namjoon suddenly missed the feel of the wind in his hair and the burn in his thighs from cycling. He slung himself onto the city bike and marveled at how familiar it felt. How easy it was, how natural.

Just like breathing, he thought, and smiled to himself. 

Funny - Namjoon could have sworn that Ilsan Lake Park was much bigger. When the five of them were children the park had been their entire world; brand new at the time, they had made it their playground. They’d climbed trees, picnicked on its grounds; they’d played football and the mugunghwa flower game, and they’d caught tiny fish in the lake with nothing but paper cups they’d stolen from nearby food stalls. But the park seemed so small now, even though it retained its charm; he made a round of it so quickly that it seemed like no time had passed. Namjoon felt a great deal of fondness for this place. It had been such an integral part of his childhood, a core memory. 

There was the large tree with the spreading branches that he and Taehyung had lain under, giggling and kissing like schoolboys in love.

Indeed they had been. 

But lately they had made some new memories, hadn’t they? 

And maybe they’d make some more.

Revitalized by his successful jaunt, Namjoon was so energized he felt as though he could cycle down the Hangang all the way back to Seoul - although of course he had zero intention of doing so. Instead he cycled down another familiar path on his way home and opened a door he had come to know as well as his own. 

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon called as the bells jangled. “It’s me.”

Yoongi glanced up and immediately scowled. “You’re soaked, Namjoon-ah - is that sweat?”

Namjoon grinned widely and opened his arms. “Come give me a hug.”

“I’ll punch you in the face if you take one step closer to me.” 

“Don’t worry. I have a towel.” Namjoon brandished it proudly and mopped his face, careful despite his joking not to drip on Yoongi’s immaculate hardwood floors. “Was just passing by; thought I’d drop in and say hello.”

“I see you found your way back on a bike.” Without needing to be asked, Yoongi automatically started the coffee machine. “Went to the park?”

“It’s a lot smaller than I remember it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a lot bigger than you used to be.” The hum of the coffee machine filled the quiet shop. Yoongi must have done something to the soundproofing of the place. Things sounded different inside D-Day. The tinkle of ice cubes as Yoongi stirred the coffee sounded like sleigh bells. Yoongi handed the iced Americano to Namjoon without a word. It tasted perfect, and Namjoon slurped it down happily. God - cold coffee tasted so good after a workout. 

“Do you ever wish you were a kid again?”

Yoongi laughed. “No,” he says emphatically. “Never. I like being grown-up.” He side-eyed Namjoon. “Why, do you?”

Namjoon shrugged philosophically. “Not really,” he said. It was just that he had stopped for a minute to watch kids playing in the park. He’d been one of them so many years ago, lucky to grow up in Ilsan with such good friends by his side. A wave of nostalgia had washed over him momentarily. But he agreed with Yoongi. Those glorious days were behind them. They had long since grown up.

“We really ran wild when we were kids, huh? Remember that night when our football landed up in the lake?”

Yoongi chuckled at the memory. It was a good one. “What do you mean ‘our’ football? It was Hobi’s football, and if I recall correctly, you were the one who booted it so hard it went right over our heads and into the water.”

Namjoon stuck his nose in the air with an air of superiority. “Hey, it’s not my fault I was playing with a bunch of kids who couldn’t defend.”

“Kids!” Yoongi spluttered, quite enjoying the banter. They had been kids, for sure - but obviously Namjoon had been one too, and Yoongi would not stand for this slander on his football skills, even if he hadn’t kicked a ball in a decade or more. “You made Seokjin wade into the lake to get it! We nearly got arrested by the police!”

“Come on, they wouldn’t have arrested a bunch of kids, really!” Roaring with laughter, Namjoon recalled the way Seokjin had stormed down into the water, ranting all the way, but adamantly refusing to let anyone else go. Hyung will do it, he’d snapped. You idiots stay out of the water, it’s fucking cold! Sweet, straightlaced Hobi had gasped in delicious shock at Seokjin’s colorful cursing. What would his parents say if they heard their golden boy speak that way!

But Namjoon rallied to defend himself once more. “I didn’t make hyung do it,” he said cheerfully, “he went in because, ah…” he trailed off, remembering exactly why Seokjin had gone into the water.

“Yeah,” Yoongi needled, knowing exactly what Namjoon had remembered. “Because?”

Because Taehyung had been about to throw himself bodily into the water to get the ball for Namjoon, and Seokjin could not have allowed it. He’d already faced weeks of castigation for pushing his little cousin off the jungle gym, and so big brother Seokjin had duly gone into the water himself to fetch Hoseok’s ball out.

“I didn’t ask him to, either,” Namjoon pointed out, a little bit embarrassed.

“You didn’t have to. Taehyung would have done anything for you.” Yoongi cast an inscrutable look at Namjoon. “Probably still will.”

Namjoon did not answer, but he could feel the tips of his ears turning hot.

“And Seokjin-hyung was always really protective of Tae, too,” Yoongi continued inexorably. “Still is.”

“Okay,” Namjoon said hurriedly. Now his face was hot. “I get it.”

“I hope so.” Yoongi grinned then, to Namjoon’s relief. “We can see the way you look at each other, you know. You’re both transparent as fuck.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon tried to hold the smile back, to look serious in response to Yoongi’s arched eyebrow. It was a losing battle. 

“Something you want to tell us?”

“No - well, yeah, I guess - I guess there’s something there, but it’s not like… I mean we haven’t talked about it or anything.” Stupidly bashful, Namjoon fiddled with his coffee. Even if he did not quite know what to call it, Namjoon knew for sure there was something there. It was just that he was not sure how to explain it to Yoongi. 

Because how could he explain how looking at Taehyung made him feel? How could he explain the way his heart raced when he held Taehyung in his arms?

But he remembered the way Hoseok and Yoongi gazed at each other - as if there was no one else around them - and he knew that if anyone would understand him, it would be them. Yet it felt too new, too raw to define, especially when he and Taehyung had not even discussed it themselves. His chest felt full to bursting.

Yoongi looked at him knowingly. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. But you both look…happy, and that’s good enough for us. I take it everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s good.” For the first time in a long time, Namjoon meant it. The blood was humming under his skin. His head felt clear. Yoongi and Hoseok’s implicit approval of…whatever was going on between him and Taehyung emboldened him. He wondered idly if Taehyung would like to have dinner with him someplace nice instead of on their rooftop. 

“Yeah? You look good, too.” Yoongi’s tone softened unexpectedly. “You’ve put on weight.” He held up a hand before Namjoon could object to that assessment. “No, you look so much healthier now. You were so gaunt and pale when you came to Ilsan, did you know that?” 

Namjoon wrinkled his nose. He had to confess that he did know. His appetite had been poor then. Who had the mood to eat when they thought their life was basically over? 

“You’ve come a long way, Namjoon-ah.”

“What, to Ilsan? Not that long. It’s only about an hour’s bus ride from Seoul.” Namjoon smirked, pleased when his lame joke made Yoongi’s expression flicker into amusement as he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Seokjin-hyung would be proud.” 

“His jokes are way worse-”

“No, really,” Yoongi interrupted. He scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, but he was clearly determined to say it even if it killed him. “You’ve gone through so much but you’ve picked yourself up despite everything. Jin-hyung really is proud of you. And so are we.”

This time Namjoon had no witty comeback. The shy smile that broke over his face was uncharacteristic. Abashed, he studiously focused his glance in another direction so that he and Yoongi would not have to make eye contact after a bombshell like that. He cleared his throat a little, and Yoongi awkwardly shuffled his feet a little, and Namjoon noisily slurped the last of his iced Americano and crunched some of the ice.

“Thanks, hyung,” Namjoon said finally. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he thrust the empty glass out towards Yoongi. They both knew he was not talking about the coffee, but Yoongi nodded and took the glass self-consciously. Namjoon grinned foolishly at the floor. Yoongi studied the glass in his hand and struggled to hide a smile. 

Namjoon felt ridiculously fuzzy inside. 

He was proud of himself, too.

***

Namjoon leaned his elbows on the parapet of the rooftop. He’d texted Taehyung earlier with an offer of dinner somewhere else - something easy, maybe fried chicken and tteok, or bulgogi, or whatever. Namjoon would eat whatever. It was his treat. Taehyung had said yes immediately, which made a foolish smile spread over Namjoon’s face, but Taehyung was out running errands and wouldn’t be back for a bit. That was fine. Namjoon could wait. He’d looked up some breathing exercises online the other day and he thought he would try them. 

He checked his phone for the instructions. Breathe in for four slow counts, hold the air in his belly for four slow counts, breathe out for four slow counts. Simple enough. 

He breathed in, all ready to relax. 

The sound of the scooter from downstairs made him huff out his held breath out a lot faster than he was supposed to. Taehyung was home! He restrained himself from calling out, to preserve some decorum at least. Should he run down the steps and say hello instead? Or should he stay quiet and enjoy the sight of Taehyung coming up to him? But as he watched Taehyung park the scooter and dismount, something looked off. His gait seemed uneven. Namjoon squinted. Yes - Taehyung was definitely hobbling, favoring one leg. Even from here he could see the unsightly red on Taehyung’s knee and calf, like a garish swipe of paint from a cruel brush. 

His heart plummeted into his stomach.

Fuck breathing. Fuck breathing! 

Namjoon hurtled down the steps so fast he nearly turned his own ankle. The look of naked relief on Taehyung’s face as he saw Namjoon coming did not help ease the desperation in his chest. 

“You’re bleeding,” Namjoon said, very loudly, and very unnecessarily. He knelt to examine the wound, unheeding that they were right in the middle of the sidewalk. It was road rash - a wide, raw scrape covered a patch of Taehyung’s leg, but thankfully it did not look deep. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung croaked. “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.” He tried a smile, but it came out somewhat shaky, and Namjoon was not fooled. He throttled the urge to simply scoop Taehyung up in his arms and run to the hospital. Instead he let Taehyung gingerly put his arm around him and they went slowly up the steps.

“What happened?” Namjoon demanded as they moved slowly up the stairs. If someone had hurt Taehyung, if someone had done this to him… Rage and terror bubbled queasily in his gut. For the first time in his life he genuinely contemplated violence as a valid response. 

“I’m fine, honestly,” Taehyung said sheepishly. “Just a scrape because I was silly. Took a corner too fast and skidded on a wet patch.”

That damned scooter. In the absence of someone to punch, Namjoon wanted to fling the entire thing into the Han river. But he had to focus on Taehyung now. Namjoon got him settled down on the couch, then headed into the bathroom and rattled around in the cabinet for supplies on Taehyung’s directions, finding antiseptic and bandages and saline and bringing them all back out to clean the wound. It was hard, watching Taehyung wince as he worked, but the scrape wasn’t as bad as he’d first imagined. He dabbed ointment gently on the raw skin, careful not to miss a single spot. It wouldn’t scar on his watch.

“It doesn’t look terrible,” Namjoon admitted, after washing his hands and keeping most of the medical supplies away. Still, his heart squeezed that Taehyung’s beautiful skin should be marred like this. Kneeling between Taehyung’s thighs, he unwrapped the largest bandage Taehyung had. 

“Told you.” Taehyung sounded rueful, but he seemed happy enough to lean back and let Namjoon tend to him. 

Namjoon carefully smoothed the bandage Taehyung had over the graze. 

There. He was done, but try as he might, he couldn’t make himself pull his hands away.

He stroked his palm gently over the bandaged section one more time, his hand lingering. Mouth dry, his fingers traced where the bandage met skin. When he suddenly realized he’d been staring at Taehyung’s leg for far too long, he glanced up at his patient, heat rushing to his face. He found Taehyung simply regarding him silently.

Namjoon’s hands paused at the soft crook of Taehyung’s knee. His fingers flexed uselessly. 

He could not pull away. 

“Why’d you stop?” Taehyung asked, his voice husky. He put his hand over Namjoon’s. “Don’t stop, hyung.”

Namjoon’s head felt light. He tried to breathe. “But your wound,” he stammered.

“Just be careful,” Taehyung said. The chocolate of his voice was so warm, so persuasive, Namjoon felt himself sway towards the other man without even trying. Taehyung stroked his cheek. “You’ll be careful with me, won’t you, Namjoon-hyung?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper, and as if he were hypnotized Namjoon slid his hands up Taehyung’s thighs until they slipped under the hem of his shorts, higher and higher. Namjoon squeezed gently. It was a revelation when Taehyung’s breath hitched and his muscles tensed under his hands. Namjoon felt overwhelmed, all of a sudden, as if there wasn’t enough blood in his brain to think with. 

Above him, Taehyung pulled off his shirt, then lifted his hips to let Namjoon carefully ease his shorts and underwear off over the wound. There Namjoon knelt, between Taehyung’s legs. 

He was beautiful. Nude, spread out in front of him, Taehyung looked like a Greek god.

Taehyung wasn’t completely hard yet, but he was halfway there, cock plumping up and lolling in the curve of his thigh, and Namjoon’s mouth watered. Taehyung was not small - quite the opposite, even though Namjoon guessed he might still be bigger. Even half-hard he was long and thick already, the head of his pretty cock round and so smooth Namjoon desperately wanted to feel the satin of it against the flat of his tongue, wanted to suckle him and feel him swell to full hardness in his mouth. 

“Go on,” Taehyung said, smiling faintly when it became clear Namjoon once more couldn’t move. “You can touch me.”

He let his thighs fall open invitingly. 

Unable to help himself, Namjoon let out a muffled groan. 

“Can I?” He watched the tanned skin of Taehyung’s thighs turn pale under his hands as he squeezed them. Perhaps he should display more self-control, but with Taehyung laid out in front of him, willing and watching him with desire burning in his own eyes, there was nothing Namjoon could do but allow himself to feast. 

“Have you been thinking about me?” Taehyung asked. 

“All the time,” Namjoon admitted. His voice came out muffled because he had his cheek pressed to Taehyung’s thigh. 

Taehyung made a sound of approval and wanting, and let his head loll back on the couch, but even through heavy-lidded eyes he watched Namjoon chase his fingers with his mouth, tasting a trail up his thighs. Namjoon pressed his nose right into the space beside Taehyung’s balls and mouthed messily at it. It smelled so good, musky and warm. Namjoon inhaled deeply. 

Hold it in for four long counts, exhale for four long counts. 

It wasn’t enough. Namjoon pushed his own shorts down, just under his balls so he could free his cock from confinement. He was already wet at the tip. He tugged once, twice, just for the sheer relief of it, and involuntarily moaned against Taehyung’s skin. 

“What have you been thinking about?” Taehyung grasped his cock at the root and mirrored Namjoon’s movements. The swollen head slipped through his fist. Namjoon returned his hands to Taehyung’s thighs, where he stroked them restlessly. 

“Kissing you,” Namjoon choked out. “Doing this.” Was this a dream or real life? He could hardly believe he was allowed to do this. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue, hovering just where Taehyung’s cock would bump against it each time it popped out of the tunnel of his fist. Fuck - it tasted good, even like this; a bead of precome oozed from Taehyung’s slit and smeared onto his tongue, the strand connecting them as Taehyung jerked off slowly. Whatever he wanted, Namjoon would give him. Whatever he wanted. 

“This?” Taehyung rubbed his cockhead between his finger and his thumb. So tantalizing. When had shy, awkward Taehyung learned to tease? Namjoon wanted it desperately, but Taehyung wasn’t done playing with him, it seemed. “Did you think about doing this?” 

Namjoon nodded, almost glassy-eyed with wanting, and opened his mouth in a silent plea. Give it to me. I want it. 

“I thought about this too,” Taehyung said breathlessly, and he tapped his cockhead on Namjoon’s lower lip so that Namjoon opened up obediently. “Thought about doing this too.” 

Taehyung really was big. Namjoon couldn’t fit the whole length of him in his mouth. But he hollowed his cheeks and did his best and felt powerful, even down on his knees, as Taehyung moaned and writhed and went taut under his ministrations.  

Namjoon couldn’t say if Taehyung tasted familiar, the way his kisses had. They’d never taken it very far even as horny young adults - they’d shared several sloppy handjobs, and Taehyung had once tried to suck Namjoon off. It being the first time for either of them, Taehyung had been clumsy and unpracticed, but absolutely undone, Namjoon had blown his load roughly 30 seconds in anyway. 

And yet Namjoon still felt the same way - like he could come too fast because he was just that turned on. He let go of his own cock and applied his entire focus to pleasing Taehyung. Namjoon had always been a good student, and he listened attentively for the way Taehyung’s moans splintered and broke off at the edges when he licked just here and rubbed his lips right there, learning the best way to pleasure him, the best way to coax those delicious sounds out. He slipped his hand under Taehyung’s balls and rolled him heavy in his palm. God, it was fucking him up, the hoarse little groans, and the way Taehyung’s face was so expressive even with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. 

Namjoon wanted to suckle a bruise right there at the base of his throat. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung said on a rolling moan, “ah, hyung, fuck, wait, stop,” and Namjoon felt calm and wild all at the same time as Taehyung pushed gently at his shoulder to get him to move. His breathing was ragged. “Come up here. I want to touch you.”

Namjoon wiped at his mouth. There was probably a wet spot beneath Taehyung on the couch, but it was too late to do anything about it. 

He caged Taehyung in, kneeling on either side of him on the couch. This way he could get at Taehyung’s mouth, kiss him deeply as Taehyung grasped their cocks together with both hands. The sensation drove him wild, their two hard lengths pressed against each other, slick and sliding with precome and Namjoon’s spit. His knees were shaky. He felt insane, sensitive, their cockheads rubbing together in a way that made his thighs tremble and his breath stutter into Taehyung’s mouth. 

Would Namjoon ever know anything as pure as this again?

“Taehyung,” he murmured, and his voice was gravelly and hoarse. “You’re so - let me - hyung wants to -” He couldn’t even think of words, and he didn’t know what he wanted. Everything. Anything. All of it. But it was already too much; already he was cresting, needing hardly anything but the hot friction of Taehyung’s hand and cock against his. He shuddered with the effort of holding back, and Taehyung seemed to read his body as if he’d spoken aloud.

“You can come,” he said, low and persuasively, “hyung, you can.” Namjoon had permission. Filled with desperate, undisguised relief, he threw his head back, pushed into Taehyung’s hand a few more times and burst like he never had before. 

Taehyung’s forehead was pressed against his, his mouth panting into his. The come rolling down his fist made the slide even slicker, and it took Taehyung just a couple more thrusts, frantic and fast, to join Namjoon on the other side. Namjoon kissed the sweat off Taehyung’s brow, covering it with little pecks until weakly Taehyung’s hands fell away from between them. 

“Kiss me,” Taehyung demanded, tilting his chin up, and he laughed outright in the split second it took for Namjoon to direct his next kiss onto his mouth. This must be heaven, Namjoon thought, almost delirious as he took Taehyung’s lower lip into his mouth; take my heaven, take it all. 

After all these years, Namjoon had the sense that he had finally come home. 

Day 36

Seokjin, of course, made his return a grand production. They all knew he would not accept anything less. And so it was that Namjoon, Taehyung, Yoongi and Hoseok found themselves preparing an entire welcome home party for their hyung. Personally, Namjoon had suggested simply stacking up a curated selection of cup noodles. Hoseok had first burst into rollicking laughter and then when he realized Namjoon was serious, said: Namjoon-ah, I love you but I love not getting yelled at by Seokjin-hyung more. 

Namjoon conceded that one easily. 

By the time Seokjin was due to roll up at D-Day, even Yoongi was feeling the stress of managing their own catering. Taehyung had brought several types of banchan from Mrs Ahn, their downstairs neighbor, but Yoongi had perhaps been a little too ambitious, having taken it upon himself to make four different main dishes. The kitchen had been bustling all morning. 

Namjoon, not knowing how to contribute meaningfully except by keeping out of the culinary mayhem, had long since been banished downstairs to man the music shop, which suited him just fine. Hoseok had been the one to suggest he pick up some shifts at D-Day just once in a while, to give Yoongi some time to manage his other projects. Namjoon had shrugged agreeably - what else was he doing with his time anyway? He’d spent a couple of afternoons in the shop learning the basics of how to use the point-of-sale app, and he could now handle most transactions. While the other three scurried around the kitchen upstairs to make Seokjin a meal he’d approve of, Namjoon sat in the quiet sanctuary of D-Day, welcoming customers cheerfully. By noon, he had sold a couple of books, a box of saxophone reeds, and a music stand. 

Not too shabby. 

“You okay?” Taehyung appeared at the bottom of the staircase. 

Namjoon snorted. “I should be asking you that.” 

“Crisis averted. We found an extra packet of sweet potato noodles in the cabinet, so everything’s good.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon put out his hand to tug Taehyung into the circle of his arms where he belonged, and kissed him as leisurely as he knew how. God, the taste of him - Namjoon never got tired of being thrilled that he was allowed to taste him. 

“What’s this?” Taehyung murmured, delighted. He kissed back just as thoroughly as Namjoon did. One of his hands slipped downward to give the meat of Namjoon’s ass a tantalizing squeeze. “Did you miss me already?”

“I always miss you, baby.” 

Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with good humor at that heartfelt admission. After all, when had he really given Namjoon any time to miss him? They’d spent the last week tucked into each other whenever they could. They’d slept together every day, too, drunk on the dizzy thrill of rediscovering each other’s bodies. 

Namjoon would never forget the beautiful sound that had punched out of Taehyung the first time he slid into him. Fuck, Taehyung had gasped, clutching blindly at Namjoon’s hips as the thick cockhead nudged deeper into him, fuck, hyung, you’re so big, what the fuck. 

The admiration and desire in Taehyung’s voice had been a balm to Namjoon’s soul. He’d rolled his eyes up to heaven and thanked a god he didn’t believe in for divine blessings he didn't deserve. 

What was it about Taehyung? It was more than their childhood connection, more than the way Tae had been there to help set him on his feet. More than anything tangible, Namjoon looked at Taehyung and felt like he’d found a part of himself he hadn’t even realized was missing. 

Suddenly sentimental, Namjoon tucked his nose into the crook of Taehyung’s neck and inhaled. To his surprise, Taehyung smelled like salt and sesame oil. Delighted, Namjoon nibbled teasingly along the line of his throat, dragging a murmur of protest from Taehyung. 

“You smell good enough to eat.” Namjoon nuzzled in deeper. 

“Funny man. I stink,” Taehyung insisted, laughing when Namjoon demurred vehemently. He put one hand on Namjoon’s chest and pushed slightly so he could look him full in the face. “Food’s finally all ready.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon’s belly rumbled at that, and Taehyung snorted at the puppy expression on his face. 

“Don’t worry, we can eat soon, once Seokjin-hyung gets here.”

As if on cue, the bell at the door jangled, and startled, the pair sprang apart almost guiltily. Lucky for them, Seokjin was too busy looking down, trying to wrangle his suitcase through the door, and hadn’t seemed to notice their obviously compromising position - at least Namjoon fervently hoped so. 

Namjoon sprang forward, coldness prickling at the nape of his neck as he put more distance between himself and Taehyung. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, or anything like that. They just hadn’t said anything to Seokjin yet - and this certainly wasn’t the way they wanted him to find out. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure how to declare this new state of affairs to their hyung. 

“Jin-hyung!” he practically shouted. “You’re here.” 

Fuck, he was really starting to sweat. But he breathed a silent sigh of relief when Seokjin just clapped him on the shoulder, seemingly oblivious.

“Oh, Namjoon-ah, there you are. Here, take my bag, will you?” 

Namjoon obediently took over, wrestling the oversized suitcase up the doorstep with an astonished grunt. What was in this bag? Didn’t Seokjin only intend to stay in Ilsan for a couple of days? Namjoon shook his head in fond disbelief. He’d bet his bottom dollar Seokjin had brought presents for all of them - a typical doting elder brother.

Full of cheerful bonhomie, Seokjin swept grandly past a muttering Namjoon, now demoted to porter, and advanced on Taehyung with arms wide open. “Taehyungie, my baby cousin, look at you! So big now, oh my god, come hug your favorite hyung.”

Taehyung embraced Seokjin in return, but retorted, deadpan, “Hyung, you’re being ridiculous, we saw each other just last year.”

Thoroughly unbothered, Seokjin waved a careless hand in the air as if to say that was entirely irrelevant. It was hard to believe that he was a cutthroat executive on weekdays. “Where’s everybody? Don’t I deserve a welcoming party?”

“They’re all upstairs. Come on, hyung,” Taehyung said, beckoning. “Wait till you see what Yoongi-hyung made for lunch.” Arm in arm with Seokjin, Taehyung went up the stairs chattering while Namjoon, making discontented noises, first locked up the shop, turning the sign over to indicate they were closed, then bumped noisily up the stairs with Seokjin’s bulging luggage. 

The reunion went wonderfully. It was not clear to Namjoon what Yoongi had ever fretted about when it came to lunch, because everything tasted delicious to him - and to everyone else. To their relief, Seokjin not only made approving noises, he cooed over all of Yoongi’s painstakingly prepared dishes and found a way to compliment them individually. 

The rest of them scoffed, quite amused, at how pleased this clearly made Yoongi, even if he did his best to seem unmoved by the praise. Everyone knew better - and Namjoon caught him secretly smiling to himself when he thought no one else was looking. 

They made short work of the food. It didn’t take them even twenty minutes to make serious inroads into everything.

“I have one complaint,” Seokjin said, looking quite serious, even with his mouth full of meat. “There’s not enough food.”

Yoongi sneered half-heartedly, content now that his trial by fire (almost literally) was over. “It’s your turn to cook for us all next time, hyung,” he said comfortably, and Hoseok burst into delighted cackles.

“I’ll cook for you tomorrow, Yoongi, don’t worry,” Seokjin promised. “Hey, Taehyung-ah - I wanted the last perilla leaf! You brat!”

Once again Namjoon marveled at how easy it seemed for them to slip back into their easy camaraderie. He’d missed out on so much - he wasn’t sure if he would ever stop regretting the loss of those years when he’d been too arrogant and too stupid to give his childhood friends the time of day. 

Amidst the remains of their lunch, they’d inadvertently formed a circle - not by design, but they’d simply naturally sat down like this. Taehyung was lounging just in front of him on the rug, dreamy and relaxed; Seokjin holding court from a dining chair, describing the fish he’d caught on a boat trip he’d taken some months before, while Hoseok and Yoongi took up the couch. The four of them were so attuned to each other, laughing at Seokjin’s animated reenactment of the way the fish had thrashed on the deck. Namjoon, having pushed his chair back, was slightly removed from the circle, all the better to observe the dynamic, and it made his chest ache with emotion. 

Was it joy? Contentment? Namjoon found himself naming it with confidence, something he hadn’t been able to do for some time. They were all so invested in Seokjin’s story, eyes sparkling, mouths slightly open, Hoseok giggling like a fiend as Seokjin exaggerated everything for their benefit. 

He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from tugging upwards. 

That was when Taehyung put his hand on Namjoon’s knee, aware that he had distanced himself a little bit. Namjoon looked at him inquiringly. 

You okay? Taehyung mouthed, but he could tell that Namjoon was feeling soft, not distressed, and he offered up a boxy, beautiful smile. 

Later, Namjoon would realize they had both been lulled into complacency by that feeling of comfort and belonging. Because by pure reflex, from force of habit and without giving it a second thought, Namjoon instinctively leaned in to kiss that smile. 

“…am I right, Namjoon-ah?”

Halfway to Taehyung’s lips, he froze. Taehyung’s eyes, heavy-lidded and expectant, widened in realization. 

“Uh,” Namjoon said intelligently, and he leaned back slowly, all too conscious of Seokjin’s piercing eyes on them. “What were we talking about again?”

Yoongi grimaced as Taehyung very carefully removed his hand from Namjoon’s knee, trying to look as casual as possible. Namjoon could swear that Seokjin was tracking the movement. 

Fuck, was it just him, or was it hot in the house? Namjoon tugged fruitlessly at his collar. Why wasn’t Seokjin-hyung answering the question?

“Hyung was saying,” Hoseok said quickly, bless his heart, “that we should all go fishing one of these days. Wouldn’t you like that? Do you remember the time we cut school and went to Haeundae beach? We had so much fun fishing on that trip, didn’t we?”

Seokjin clapped. “That’s right,” he said, suddenly jolly again. “I’d forgotten about that! Hey, that was a great trip, wasn’t it?” and then he was off again, recounting something that had happened at Haeundae during that trip long ago, while the rest of them obligingly chimed in here and there.  

Thank fuck for that. It looked like they had successfully distracted Seokjin. A crisis had been averted. 

For now. 

***

Namjoon’s relief was short-lived, however. He’d offered to wash dishes - it was only fair, since he was the only one other than Seokjin who hadn’t participated in cooking the food. He was yellow-gloved elbow deep in suds as he washed each dish meticulously. He could hear the murmur and swell of conversation outside and wished he were back there to be part of it. 

It wasn’t until he had washed almost all of the dishes that Taehyung slipped quietly into the kitchen and pressed the lightest of kisses against the back of his neck. Namjoon let out a pent up breath he didn’t know he had been holding and his body visibly relaxed into Taehyung’s. Namjoon didn’t know how he always managed to do this - with one touch Taehyung would be able to release all the stress Namjoon was holding in his body. 

“Do you need help?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes good-naturedly. His gloves were dripping all the way to his wrists, and he regretted that he could not reciprocate Taehyung’s touch. What he could do, though, was tease back. “You come in here, when I’m almost done, and ask if I need help?”

Taehyung shrugged saucily. His eyes were sparkling, his tone light. “Well, you looked like you were doing just fine on your own.”

Namjoon lunged towards Taehyung teasingly with the sponge, spraying him with soapy water, and Taehyung just cackled and dodged easily, backing out of his reach. It was so easy, this kind of happiness. It had slipped out of his grasp so easily before, like clutching at a bar of soap underwater, but now? 

Now Taehyung was standing right in front of him, both literally and metaphorically. Without even looking Namjoon had found everything he did not realize he had been missing. 

He ached to kiss him, ached to take him into his arms and nuzzle his way down Taehyung’s neck, but he had gloves on and the murmur of conversation outside the kitchen door reminded him that he couldn’t. 

Namjoon’s greed must have shown too clearly in his eyes. Taehyung smiled ruefully. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can come over tonight,” he said. He tilted his head at Namjoon. “Seokjin-hyung’s staying with me, remember?”

Namjoon stifled a groan. How could he have forgotten? 

“It’s just one weekend,” Taehyung said sympathetically. “But hyung… aren’t we going to tell him?”

“Tell him what, though?” Namjoon immediately regretted the gruff way it came out, because Taehyung’s face fell noticeably, and the beginnings of a gulf opened between them even though neither of them had moved. Namjoon felt an icy drip down his chest immediately. “No - baby, come on, that’s not what I meant.”

Taehyung simply stood there, expectant but silent, watching him with hooded eyes. What did he mean, then? Namjoon’s brain felt fuzzy and uncoordinated, that old panic-anxiety response kicking in as he searched for a way to sort through his thoughts. 

Finally he spoke: “I just…” he swallowed and tried again thickly - “I just.”

Quietly, Taehyung waited. 

“I’m afraid that Seokjin-hyung won’t let us be together,” Namjoon blurted out finally. There - there was his greatest fear writ large. That having tasted happiness, it would be too quickly ripped away. Now that he knew what it was like to lie down beside someone he would die for, he could not bear the thought that someone else could stand in their way. Surely Taehyung understood this too, if he felt the same way about him. 

He did not expect Taehyung’s face to register first astonishment, and then to crumple - Namjoon, in that split second, was afraid he was about to cry. But what came out of Taehyung’s mouth instead was a full-fledged guffaw. 

Namjoon gaped, water dripping off his yellow gloves and into the sink. 

“Honey,” Taehyung gasped out finally, “hyung, this isn’t a drama serial, you know?” He looked so tickled, his eyes full of merriment and sweetness. He laid a gentle hand on Namjoon’s face. 

Abashed, Namjoon wrinkled his nose. Had he been unnecessarily catastrophizing in his head? Well - that was what he did. 

Past tense.

He had to keep reminding himself that things were different now. Things were looking up. This was not just happiness - short-lived, ephemeral. This was joy, which stayed the night and cuddled in his arms and woke up beside him the next morning.

“I guess not,” he said. He felt a little foolish, but Taehyung blunted the blow. 

“And? So what if Jin-hyung doesn’t approve? Will you wail to the full moon? Cast yourself onto the ground? Tear your robes and blame the heavens?”

Namjoon grinned sheepishly at that mental image.

“Would you break up with me just because he says so?” In mock anger, Taehyung wrinkled his nose like the cutest little threatening teddy bear ever. 

Wait. 

Break up? What did that mean? Did that mean they were already together? An item? Namjoon and Taehyung? Boyfriends? 

Namjoon hadn’t known that. 

“We’re together?” he said faintly. 

“Aren’t we?” It sounded like a challenge, but Namjoon nodded fervently back at Taehyung. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes.” Something inside him uncurled and bloomed like a flower in the sun. He scuffed his foot. “I just want Jin-hyung to believe that we’re good for each other,” Namjoon said imploringly.

Taehyung softened immediately. “Hyung,” he murmured this time. He stepped just an inch nearer. Namjoon felt dazzled by his closeness. “We don’t need Seokjin-hyung’s approval to know that we’re good for each other, right? But anyway,” he patted Namjoon on the shoulder almost avuncularly, “I think we can make him see sense, even if he doesn’t.”

Optimism. Namjoon had forgotten what it was like to be an optimist. Had he ever been one? Perhaps not - but with Taehyung by his side he was beginning to think it was possible to become one in the future. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. You’re right.” 

“We’ll tell him together, okay?”

Taehyung made it so easy. He always did. Fuck the dishes, fuck everyone outside, Namjoon would burst if he didn’t get to kiss that beautiful, tousle-haired man.

But even as he stripped off the gloves to try and catch Taehyung in his arms, Seokjin came in through the doorway with an armful of wine glasses. Namjoon nearly tripped over his own feet pulling away from Taehyung.

“There you are, Namjoon-ah. Here you go, more to wash!”

Grinning, Taehyung backed out of the kitchen, leaving Namjoon alone with Seokjin and more things to be washed. “Hwaiting, hyung,” he called out with a raised fist, and disappeared into Yoongi and Hoseok’s living room. 

In defeat, Namjoon pulled the gloves back on again, but he applied himself to his task with vigor. Dirty dishes he could handle, after all. 

The Kim cousins, however - they were a different kettle of fish entirely.

***

Namjoon sulked. 

There was no other word for it. He sat on the pyeongsang with his bottle of cold soju and sulked. And yet the sky, spread wide above him like a woollen blanket on a cold night, seemed welcoming. That blue sky in the middle of the night. That sparkling canvas. Namjoon should be under it with Taehyung.

He missed him sorely.  

Namjoon sipped his soju and thought about the future.

It was about time he made his plans concrete. He had spent enough time in Ilsan to know what he wanted, now. Not for him the blunt, smooth cruelties of a life in litigation in Seoul - no, if Yoongi really wanted to have him, he would stay in Ilsan and help to run D-Day. 

Yoongi was the one who had brought it up earlier that night. He’d been getting more jobs lately, both teaching and producing, and he wanted to take them on - but he wanted to keep D-Day going. 

And that was where Namjoon came in. 

He was familiar enough with the point-of-sale system, and Yoongi said he trusted Namjoon to handle most of the day-to-day business. Everything else could be learned on the job. It wouldn’t pay very much - certainly nothing on par with a lawyer’s salary - but Yoongi named an amount that would do. It would be enough. Yoongi would have more time to grow his business, and Namjoon would run D-Day for him on a daily basis. 

“If you plan to stay, that is,” Yoongi had said, not quite looking at Namjoon. “You know. Only if you want to.” 

Hoseok had beamed sunnily with almost-not-quite tears gleaming in his eye; behind them, oblivious to their conversation, Taehyung and Seokjin had been singing some trot song at the tops of their voices. The Kim cousins had good, solid pipes, and they knew it. 

Well, why wouldn’t he stay?

The question no longer roused anxiety in him - instead, it brought him a new sense of calm. I’m staying. Something that has caused his heart to race and his palms to sweat now seemed so easy. Now that he had come to terms with leaving Seoul, now that he had a new purpose in life, he no longer had to worry about it. 

He could give his answer to Yoongi immediately. It wasn’t some sort of pity offer, after all; Yoongi had been complaining for weeks about not being able to juggle all the projects he wanted to, which was why Namjoon had offered to help out with shifts in the first place. And so he had put down some roots without even noticing it - first with Taehyung, and now he had a job. 

This was not where he had expected to be, weeks from his thirty-sixth birthday. 

But he was glad he was. 

“Mind if I join you?” To Namjoon’s surprise, it was Seokjin. He walked over to the pyeongsang and stretched out beside Namjoon without asking. 

“Soju?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Seokjin took a swig from Namjoon’s glass and passed it back. “God, that hits the spot.”

If Seokjin was out here, what was Taehyung doing? 

Namjoon tried very hard not to glance over to the staircase as if Taehyung might come up behind Seokjin. When no footsteps were forthcoming he glanced at his phone to see if there were any messages from Ilsan Landlord Mr Kim. 

The screen stayed dark. 

He lost the internal battle swiftly. “Taehyung not home?” Namjoon asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. He took another sip of soju. 

“Nope,” Seokjin said, quite unhelpfully. He leaned back and gazed out over the parapet of the rooftop. “So what’s going on with the two of you?”

If Namjoon had been paying just a jot less attention, he would have dropped his glass. 

“Two…of us?” 

Seokjin let out a long-suffering sigh. “Namjoon-ah, hyung is not an idiot.”

“I never said you were!” His mind was racing. Seokjin, as always, was sharp as a tack. Namjoon did not know how to get out of this.

“Well, don’t bother trying to lie to me. I can tell, you know.” Seokjin turned and regarded him evenly. 

Under this penetrating gaze, Namjoon quailed. They had known each other long enough that Namjoon felt he owed him an honest explanation, and yet Taehyung had said he wanted to tell Seokjin together. Well then - Namjoon could delay the inevitable for a little bit. A distant echo of defensiveness and panic fluttered in his chest, but he pushed the feelings deliberately away and pictured Taehyung’s hands on his chest, steadying and gentle. He breathed - in, out. 

He could do this! Easily!

Namjoon was quite pleased with how nonchalant his voice sounded when he said, “Nothing, hyung, really.” 

“Nothing?” Seokjin said, disbelievingly. He stared at Namjoon, brow furrowed. “Sleeping together is nothing?” 

Namjoon gawked immediately, dumbfounded. What the hell? How did he know? His bravado collapsed immediately. “Wait, Taehyung told you? But I mean -”

“Oh my god,” Seokjin interrupted loudly, throwing his hands in the air, “oh my god, you’re sleeping together?” 

It struck Namjoon that he had been played like a very bad violin. 

He knuckled his eyebrows. Oh, he was fucked. He glared at Seokjin, affronted. “You tricked me.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Seokjin retorted stormily, rolling his eyes. “What do you mean, anyway? Sleeping with my cousin is not nothing!” He poked an angry, stiff finger into Namjoon’s chest. “You should know better than to play with him! How dare you!” 

“I’m not playing! I wouldn’t have said it was nothing if I knew you knew!”

“Well I didn’t know!” Seokjin yelled. “I was just fishing! Why are you sleeping with Taehyung if you don’t love him?”

“Who says I don’t love him? Of course I love him!” Namjoon shouted back, infuriated beyond measure, but the minute the words left his mouth, he knew he’d fucked up even more. 

An awful, awkward silence descended between them. 

Namjoon stared at his soju glass and wondered how to drown himself in it. He did not need to look up to know that Seokjin was staring at him. He could feel Seokjin’s eyes burning a hole in his cheek. 

“Kim Namjoon,” Seokjin said flatly. “Look at me and tell me what you’re saying.”

To hell with it. It was too late to keep it in, anyway, and this was Seokjin-hyung, who knew Namjoon better than maybe he knew himself. Namjoon glanced reluctantly at him but saw no judgment in Seokjin’s eyes, only exasperation and frustration and a bit of you got to be kidding me.

“I love him so much, hyung,” Namjoon said haltingly. “I love him so much it feels like my heart could burst.” He was alarmed to realize his eyes had filled with tears and his throat felt full of cotton wool. 

This wasn’t the way he had wanted to say how he felt about Taehyung, but there it was: he had confessed what was in his heart, but to the wrong Kim. 

Seokjin’s mouth fell open at this. After a moment he finally spoke: “We’re in Ilsan,” he said incredulously, “we’re in Ilsan, and we’re eighteen again, and the last fifteen years were all a dream, because you’re right in front of me telling me you’re in love with my baby cousin Taehyung.” Then something seemed to occur to him, and he frowned, his handsome features painted over with bewilderment. “Wait. Does Taehyung know?”

Namjoon stared back at his hyung, mouth parted, red-rimmed eyes wet, but nothing came out of his mouth. 

“Oh, you fool,” Seokjin sighed, a gusty, tired sound. “You utter idiot.” He regarded Namjoon with pity. 

Undone, Namjoon sniffled.

Relenting, Seokjin wrapped an arm around Namjoon and tugged him into a hug, shaking his head. Namjoon leaned gratefully into the embrace. He was so lucky, really. Lucky that he had friends who loved him. Lucky that it seemed as if Seokjin wasn’t about to smack the back of his head, as he had once long ago when Namjoon had kicked Hoseok’s ball into the lake. 

Instead, Seokjin kept his arm tight around Namjoon and patted his knee.

“It’s all right. Tell hyung everything.”

***

“I’m just saying, I would have liked to have heard it before Jin-hyung.”

“Baby, come on,” Namjoon said helplessly, but Taehyung just sniffed petulantly and pointedly looked away - not fast enough, though, to hide the amusement flickering over his face. 

“Can’t believe you told him you love me before I ever even heard it from you.”

“To be fair,” Namjoon pointed out, teasing, “I did tell you I loved you when I was eighteen, so you’ve already heard it from me.” A surprised laugh bubbled out of him when Taehyung pushed him playfully. 

What a beautiful night. Taehyung had indulged him on this walk together to the convenience store. It had surprised Namjoon how easily Taehyung had agreed to let him eat convenience store ramyeon for a late-night snack, but they’d had a busy, exhausting weekend, after all. In any case, the walk was pleasant and the air was much less polluted than it was in Seoul - where Seokjin had just returned. 

The talk had gone much more smoothly than Namjoon expected. He gave Seokjin a stuttered, emotional rundown of their relationship, trying his best not to mention ‘sleeping together’ or ‘love’, because Namjoon’s shot nerves could only take so much. He told Seokjin how much better he was sleeping, how well he was eating because he was finally happy again - and Seokjin allowed that he could see this for himself. 

All things considered, Seokjin took the revelations pretty well. He heard Namjoon out, spoke to Taehyung, called Hoseok and Yoongi to canvass them for their opinions, and then he yelled at all of them for not telling him sooner. 

My best friend and my baby cousin! he had fumed, and Yoongi had sighed loudly.

Hyung, he had said, matter-of-fact, we don’t have to do this again. We already went through this fifteen years ago.

Seventeen years, actually, Hoseok had called cheerfully from somewhere in the room.  

Seokjin had immediately hung up on them. 

The next day, however, Seokjin had cooked them all an enormous, delicious meal. While they tucked in, he subjected them all to a long, rambling speech about how wonderful a hyung he was, various disjointed anecdotes about how idyllic their childhood had been, and finally concluded by declaiming who was he to stand between two lovers if their love was truly meant to be?

It was at that point they realized Seokjin had drunk quite a bit of the rice wine while cooking. 

Namjoon was worried, at first, although Taehyung had been more sanguine about everything. He still couldn’t be entirely sure exactly how Seokjin felt about them dating. But the day after, when Taehyung and Namjoon waited with Seokjin for the car that would bring him back to Seoul, he hugged them both tightly. 

Take care of him, he said to Taehyung. Be good to him, he warned Namjoon. 

Namjoon chuckled fondly, and said: Don’t you mean it the other way round? He was the hyung, after all. If anyone was taking care of anyone, shouldn’t it be him?

But Seokjin had fixed him with a thousand-yard stare. 

No, he said archly. He grinned impishly and pointed at Namjoon. You should tell Taehyung what you told me, he said. 

Frozen, Namjoon had watched Seokjin wave, get into the car and drive away, while Taehyung peppered him with questions: what? What did you tell him? What’s going on?

Namjoon had done this all wrong. He’d wanted to confess to Taehyung with flowers, diamonds, balloons, cake - all the romance that Taehyung deserved. Instead, it was there on their rooftop, sitting cross-legged on the pyeongsang, that Namjoon took Taehyung’s hand in his and told him, hoarsely, that he loved him. 

What did you say?

So, heart hammering, Namjoon had repeated it. Taehyung, baby… I…I love you. 

Taehyung had stared at him silently for a few seconds and then had tackled him to the pyeongsang. Namjoon grappled with initial shock and an armful of Taehyung but very quickly got the idea of what Taehyung wanted. They’d kissed furiously all the way to Namjoon’s door, wet and desperate and wild, wrenching clothing off each other as they went and barely making it to the bed. 

Would Namjoon ever forget the way Taehyung had dropped to his knees and tried to take his entire length into his mouth? No - he didn’t think so. Taehyung had settled for mouthing messily around the entire head of Namjoon’s cock while Namjoon lay there and moaned and saw stars and tried not to thrust too hard into his boyfriend’s mouth, the boyfriend whom he had now declared love to, thank you very much. 

And then Taehyung had ridden him to within an inch of his life. It had been some of the best sex Namjoon had ever had: shuddering into Taehyung, having the blissful freedom to pant out I love you, Tae, oh god I love you so much into the crook of his neck as Taehyung gasped and sucked him deep in. 

Feels so good, hyung, Taehyung moaned, his head thrown back, oh my god, you’re so deep, fuck you’re so big - and the heartfelt praise made Namjoon’s hips kick up even harder. That guttural sound Taehyung made, raspy and deep, would fill Namjoon’s dreams for weeks. They came one after another in quick succession and stayed wrapped up in their sticky, sweaty embrace - unable to move and frankly, not wanting to. 

God, it felt like their bodies were made for each other - he fit inside Taehyung so snugly he had to wait to go down before he dared to ease himself out, and if Taehyung had gone on whispering naughtily in his ear about how full he felt, plugged up with Namjoon’s cock that way, well - there had been a distinct chance that Namjoon could have just gone straight to round two. 

But more than the physical pleasure was the slow, sure feeling that this was right. Namjoon felt so free with Taehyung, unburdened from expectation and self-consciousness. It was eye-opening - this kind of sex, this kind of relationship, where he knew he was seen for who he was and accepted completely. 

Namjoon had to throw an arm over his face to hide the sheen of sudden tears. 

It seemed as though Taehyung knew how he was feeling in that moment: emotionally tender, heart worked open at the seams, because he brushed his hand over the line of Namjoon’s back and murmured sweet nothings into his ear as their heart rates slowed like syrup. 

Namjoon had never known such comfort.

He wanted to stay in bed with Taehyung for the rest of the week. For the rest of his life, even. That would suit him just fine.

Unfortunately they’d peeled themselves apart eventually and got in the shower together. It was a tight squeeze, but they made it work, and then the post-coital hunger pangs had kicked in. And now here they were. Hand in hand, Namjoon and Taehyung strolled down the path that Namjoon had pounded multiple times a day since he came back to Ilsan. 

The counter was vacant when they stepped into the convenience store, but the back room door was ajar. Namjoon guessed that it was probably Jungkook inside based on the music selection that was playing, some awful bubblegum girl group pop. When the other cashier was manning the counter, he played trot. Yes - it was definitely Jungkook. Namjoon could hear him singing lustily from inside the back room.

“You’ll like this cashier,” Namjoon said confidentially to Taehyung. “Nice kid. Really sweet. Gives me lots of great recommendations, you know, stuff that you like!”

“Oh? Really?” Taehyung smiled innocently and sweetly at Namjoon, who struggled to stay on track while admiring how adorable his boyfriend was.

“Really,” Namjoon affirmed, then he hesitated. “Although he called me ajusshi once.” He scowled when Taehyung snorted with good humor at this. “I’m not an ajusshi!” 

Taehyung patted his arm consolingly. “Of course you aren’t. You’re only a year older than I am.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

They bantered easily as they browsed, picking what they wanted from the shelves and from the chiller. Taehyung chose a tuna samgak kimbap, and Namjoon deliberated over which flavor of ramyeon he wanted, and it felt so beautifully domestic, like something he’d never dreamed he could have in his lifetime - or even knew he wanted.

“You done, baby?”

“Mm,” Taehyung replied. He seemed absorbed in the ingredients list of a pack of chips. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Namjoon put his armful of items on the counter. 

“Hi, Jungkook-ssi,” he called. “Can we pay?”

Jungkook poked his head out of the back room, and burst into a huge grin when he saw Namjoon. 

“Hyung! Hi! Having a good night?”

Namjoon still did not know how Jungkook managed to turn everything into an exclamation. But he nodded. A good night indeed. “Yeah, I’m here with my boyfriend.”

It was the first time saying it out loud to someone else. Namjoon beamed. It felt so good to say it, an open declaration of their new status. He could now introduce Taehyung to Jungkook, the unwitting recipient of all those discounted impulse buys over the past few weeks. Funnily enough, he felt sure the two of them would hit it off.

“Oh! Taehyungie-hyung is here?” Jungkook craned his neck to catch sight of Taehyung amidst the shelves. “Hyung! Your favorite gummies are in. Want some?”

“Thanks, Kookie,” Taehyung said, coming up behind Namjoon. “I’ll take one strawberry and one purple grape.”

“Jimin-hyung bought some already, you don’t have to buy one for him!”

“Brat.” Taehyung ruffled Jungkook’s hair affectionately. “I’m buying it for me.”

Namjoon was befuddled, and his gaze bounced between them like a pinball in a machine. “Wait. You know each other? How do you know each other?” Although if he thought about it, it seemed to make sense; Taehyung had lived here for a long time, after all. He must know most of the people in the neighborhood. Namjoon didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before. 

“Hyung tutored me through high school,” Jungkook said brightly. “And Jimin-hyung taught me to dance.” 

“Right.” Namjoon recalled the bleached blond stranger who had stood over him like a protective angel on the sidewalk. 

“Taehyungie-hyung always gushed to us about his super smart, very hot, insanely talented high school boyfriend, mostly when he’d had too much maekju to drink, and-” Jungkook dodged the smack that a blushing Taehyung aimed at his arm. “And he told us you’d come back to stay on his rooftop.” Jungkook winked at Namjoon. “And I knew Taehyungie-hyung was making blue pea flower tea that one night.”

“That’s why you told me to get the honey sticks.” It all made sense now. Namjoon put his hand dramatically on his chest. “I feel so used.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook said, suddenly worried. He glanced at Taehyung anxiously. “Hyung, I promise, that’s not what I -”

“Relax, Jungkook-ssi,” Namjoon said, amused. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

“Really?” Jungkook perked up instantly again. He pushed their purchases across the counter into Namjoon’s hands. “Okay! Then you really should join me and Taehyungie-hyung and Jimin-hyung for our next board game night!”

Half a year ago Namjoon had been dining at three-Michelin-starred Mosu with his girlfriend.  He’d thought it the height of luxury, then. A sign that he’d made it. They’d eaten a dish of ember toasted acorn noodles that the maître d' had casually shaved a palmful of French black truffle over. He’d worn a cashmere sweater and a pair of leather shoes that cost about as much as his monthly rent. 

Game night and ramyeon with Taehyung and his two friends sounded worlds better than any of that.

“Anytime,” Namjoon said to Jungkook warmly, and he meant it.

Taehyung squeezed his hand.

***

They ate their ramyeon outside the convenience store, the deep blue sky above them billowing with even deeper blue speckles. Taehyung fed him a grape gummy, and then a strawberry one, and Namjoon decided he liked the grape ones more. 

They decided to walk the long way home, just because. The lights twinkling in the reflection on the lake was pretty, and they stopped to admire the tree they kissed under, all those years ago. 

What would eighteen-year-old Namjoon have said, if he had known then this was how his life would turn out? 

Thirty-five-year-old Namjoon knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was the man now snug in his arms.

“It kind of feels like we did everything backwards,” Taehyung mused. 

Namjoon knew what he meant, though he preferred to think they had come full circle. Dating in high school, breaking up, then getting back together. Moving from Seoul back into the heartlands. Telling someone else he loved Taehyung first. And yet…there was nothing Namjoon regretted, not anymore. He’d accepted that this was the path his life had taken. Even though it had been circuitous, even though it had sucked horribly at first, Namjoon was content with where he had ended up. More than content.

“Does that matter to you?” Taehyung prodded.

“Not at all.” Namjoon squeezed Taehyung’s hand - look at them, holding hands in public! - and marveled at how much his life had changed for the better. “It got me here with you, and isn’t that the only thing that matters?”

“Goodness,” Taehyung said, shaking his head but looking very pleased, “Namjoon-hyung, you’re such a sweet talker.” 

“Hey,” Namjoon said suddenly, frowning a little bit. “You haven’t said it back.”

“Said what?”

“That you love me.” A horrified chill dripped down Namjoon’s spine. Had he gotten this wrong again? Did Taehyung actually love him back? 

But Taehyung nipped his catastrophizing neatly in the bud with teasing. He casually stuck his tongue out at Namjoon. “I said it back to you when I was seventeen,” he pointed out loftily, “so you’ve already heard it from me.”

That was probably deserved. 

“Baby,” Namjoon said, pouting just a little bit. “I’d like to hear it now.”

Taehyung couldn’t fight against that expression for long. Relenting, he turned to Namjoon and took his face between his palms. Namjoon ached inside with feelings he couldn’t quite express. He knew he would always find comfort here, in Taehyung’s arms. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung said softly, his eyes searching Namjoon’s, “I never once stopped loving you.”

“Say it,” Namjoon demanded pleadingly. He needed to hear it. “Please say it.”

“I love you. I’ve loved you since I was a kid trailing after my big cousin and his two best friends.” Taehyung swallowed, his eyes sheened over. “I loved you when you were far away from me and I love you even more now that you’re back. And I can’t believe you came back to me, hyung. I’m so lucky.”

All this time, Namjoon thought he was the lucky one. 

Overwhelmed, he leaned over so their foreheads touched. Here was his finish line, his goalpost, his summit. 

***

“Eomma? It’s me. Just calling to check in,” Namjoon said. “Yes, I found new accommodation. I, ah, moved into the apartment on the second floor. Oh, the same building.” He suppressed a grin and glanced over at Taehyung, who was shelving the last of Namjoon’s books. “Yes, that’s right, I did mention the landlord was living in the apartment.” God, Taehyung was so cute - his boxy smile so distracting. Namjoon itched to pull him against his body and pull that loose t-shirt aside and nibble his way down his collarbone and - “I know what I said, eomma, but ah, I guess I changed my mind about Taehyung.” Namjoon winced and held the phone away from his ear. His mother could get shrill when she was overly excited. “We are living together, that’s right. Eomma. Eomma!” Namjoon, laughing, exasperated, could not get a word in sideways. “Yes, I am very happy.” 

Taehyung came over and twined his arms around Namjoon’s neck. Unable to help himself, eager to indulge, Namjoon nosed along the line of his throat and breathed in that warm, silky scent he loved better than any other smell in the world. 

“Of course Seokjin-hyung knows! And approves,” he added smugly. “What, for Tae? Yes, I think he’ll like that very much. No, do not surprise us with a visit. We’ll let you know when you can come,” Namjoon said firmly. 

Now that the rooftop apartment was empty, his mother could bunk there for a visit - and Jungkook had been saying it might be nice to move out of his parents’ apartment and find his own place. Maybe they would find themselves a cheerful new tenant sooner rather than later.

Taehyung nestled his head on Namjoon’s shoulder, and Namjoon decided he really needed both hands to hold him properly… “Look, Eomma, I have to go,” he said with finality. “Talk to you soon. Yes, I’ll say hello to Taehyung for you.” 

He clicked the phone off and tossed it onto their bed, which they’d only just made up with fresh sheets. It was embarrassing, really, the frequency with which they were washing bedsheets on the rooftop, but that thought was quickly swept aside as he savored the feeling of Taehyung in his arms. 

“What did she say?”

“She wants to buy you supplements,” Namjoon relayed, half groaning, half laughing. If he knew his mother, she would send a truckload - bottles of vitamins, convenient single-serve packets of ginseng essence, creams and lotions. It was how she showed love, after all. “And,” Namjoon said with an arched brow, “eomma said she always knew we would end up together.”

“Not just a beautiful woman, but insightful and intelligent,” Taehyung said, delighted. “You must have gotten all that from her.”

Past Namjoon, young and brash and ambitious at nineteen years of age, did not know or understand what he would be losing when he gave Taehyung up. And yet if he had not gone through everything that he had, present Namjoon would not have appreciated what he had regained. With age came humility and maturity and wisdom, and Namjoon now knew that he would never let go of Taehyung again. 

A thought occurred to him. 

“The first day I got to Ilsan,” he murmured into Taehyung’s hair. “Do you remember? You said there had never really been a ‘you and me’. Did you mean it?”

Taehyung pulled back, looking confused for a moment, and then it clicked. He laughed outright. “Of course not. I was just worried I’d scare you off my doorstep,” he confided. “I didn’t expect to see you, and then you looked so sad, and so angry, and so lost, you know?”

Namjoon did know. His hurt and bitterness had turned him prickly and had closed him off to the world. And yet Taehyung had looked at him and had seen beyond all that to what was worth loving.

Taehyung wound his arms around Namjoon’s neck. His presence was solid, grounding, something to lean on and keep him afloat when he felt like he was being pulled beneath the surface. He pressed his cheek against Namjoon’s, so that Namjoon felt him speak more than he heard him. “I just wanted you to feel better. I wanted you to smile again.”

“You did make me smile again.” Like tracing a constellation, Namjoon ran his finger slowly, lightly, over Taehyung’s arm. He’d always loved these freckles, and now he could touch them whenever he wanted. The curve of his rib. The angle of his hipbones. The tiny hairs on his upper lip. Everything. “I’m so grateful for you, more than you know.”

“I’m so grateful for you too.” Taehyung gestured between them. “And now we’ll always have this. Won’t we?”

“Have what?”

Taehyung sparkled at Namjoon like the most brilliant star in the blue sky at midnight. “You and me, of course.”

Full of love, full of feeling, they kissed until they were both breathless and laughing. You and me, Namjoon thought rapturously, you and me. It might have taken them years and a round-trip journey, but neither of them would have to be alone ever again.

This moment would be forever.