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daechwitatamic · 1 year

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II. My Devotion's Been an Ocean || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo @/casuallyimagining and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

You and Namjoon get used to living together.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, pov switch to Namjoon at the end

WC: 7k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Monday August 31

Monday passes quickly, the biggest event being that your wifi finally gets installed. You don’t see Namjoon all day - his room is empty when you get out of bed. You spend most of your day lazing around in sweatpants, enjoying having high-speed internet at your fingertips again.

Although there aren’t classes due to the federal holiday, the cafeteria on campus is open since the administration knew most students would have moved in over the weekend. You could walk there - your apartment to the student center is a shorter walk than the student center to your furthest class - but Taehyung offers to drive you. Laziness, and a few minutes of time alone in his car, win over practicality.

Once you’ve made your plates and commandeered a small table near the back of the caf, Taehyung asks you, “So, how’s roomie life?”

You shrug. “Nothing to tell. He hasn’t even been home today. But I think it’ll be fine. I have a feeling we’ll just each… do our own thing.”

Taehyung nods. “That’s better than big drama. Do you remember Jungkook’s roommate last year?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, god, the toilet paper hoarder.”

Jungkook’s university-assigned roommate had indeed hoarded every extra roll of toilet paper in a secret location, meaning that if a roll ever got used up by anyone who wasn’t him, they could never find the new rolls to put out, even if they’d bought the replacements. Not only had Jungkook had to buy and then hide his own replacements, you and Taehyung had gone over and tried to help him search around for the hoard while his roommate was out, to no luck.

Taehyung snorts into his plate. “Man, that kid was weird. JayKay’s so lucky we had room for him this year.”

“I haven’t seen the place yet,” you point out. “Any major decor changes?”

Taehyung laughs again. “Just Jungkook’s punching bag. I swear, Jimin’s gonna break his wrist playing around with it.”

“Unlike you and your perfect form.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says defensively, pointing a finger at you. “When I’m goofing around, I don’t hit it hard enough to hurt myself.”

When you’re done eating, you walk back to Taehyung’s car. It takes literal minutes to get back to your brick building, and he idles at the curb.

“You want to hang out for a while?” you ask, hopeful. “We got the wifi installed today, we could watch a show?”

“Can’t,” he says apologetically. “I have plans with someone later.”

Plans with someone. That was Taehyung-speak for a date, or maybe “date” was the wrong word. Regardless, it meant he was seeing a girl later, getting something from her that he wasn’t getting from you.

“Ah,” you say. “Use protection.” You unbuckle as he scrunches his face at you.

“Don’t be gross,” he grouses.

“You know I have no choice,” you tell him solemnly as you climb out of the car. You pause, resting your head on the top of the doorframe, peering at him. “Good luck in class tomorrow. Text me if you want to eat or anything.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding, already thinking ahead to his schedule. “Lunch around one?”

“I’ll text you, I have to go look at my schedule,” you admit. You shut the door and wave goodbye, heading inside. You don’t say love you in goodbye; you never do when you know he’s leaving your company for another girl’s. As if, with this one silly little rule in your own brain, you can punish him for it, when in reality there’s no way he even notices.

Namjoon still isn’t home, so the apartment is silent and empty. You decide to devote your evening to prepping - both physically and emotionally - to start class tomorrow. You check your schedule, organize your books, make sure your laptop is charging. You get in bed early just out of sheer boredom. Around eleven pm as you’re scrolling around mindlessly on your phone, you finally hear keys in the lock, the thump as the door shuts again, Namjoon’s footsteps approach his own bedroom. You wonder absently where he was for fourteen hours.

It occurs to you that you know nothing about his personal life beyond that he’s a grad student. You don’t even know his concentration of study.

You wonder if you should go out to say hi, maybe under the pretense of getting a drink. Then you hear the sound of his door shut, and minutes later the boiler kicks on as his shower demands hot water. So, you stay put, turning out your light and setting your alarm for morning.

Friday September 4th

Your classes go well. The first week is always the professors going through the syllabus and outlining their expectations, anyway. Today, your morning class seems like it will be interesting, but tough; you’ve had this professor before and she’s a notoriously hard grader. You’d done okay with her the year before, though. Your second class, after lunch, is better. It’s a poetry course, which is your concentration, and you’ve had this professor - Professor Jemisen - twice already. He’s pretty laid-back, an easy grader, but you always find his lecture topics and assigned readings to be really interesting.

He also gives homework on the first week, which most of your professors don’t: an assigned reading and reflection for the first poet on the syllabus, plus a prompt to write your own, pulling inspiration from that poet’s choices in style, rhyme scheme, and use of imagery. You’ve already got an idea as you walk out of class and head in the direction of your new building - this particular poet used a lot of nautical imagery, ships and captains, and the ocean itself was always very nearly a character of its own.

You think as you walk, inspired by the lecture fresh in your head, toying with some ocean imagery and how you could stitch it into a turn of phrase. When you reach your building and sling off your backpack to hunt for your keys, you decide to stay on the steps for a minute. The sun is shining but it’s breezy, and it’s really pleasant. You pull out a notebook and some paper and start to draft what you might turn in.

Pulling pulling pulling, each

cresting wave a daunting hill.

Who would try to fight the tide,

the dark, the depth, the chill?

My devotion’s been an ocean.

I fear it always will.

One thing that the deep sea is:

it’s never still.

You frown at it, pen between your teeth. You like the idea of the shorter final line, but the flow is off. You’re still considering this - as well as already thinking about how you’ll need at least one but probably two more short pieces like this for the assignment - when someone stops in front of you, their silhouette blocking the sun and casting you in a sudden shadow.

“You locked out?” a deep voice asks.

You look up (and up, and up) to find Namjoon peering at you, concern on his face.

“Oh,” you say stupidly. For some reason, you feel embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something silly, as if doing homework outside during nice weather was something strange and secret, and not completely normal. “I was working on an assignment. The sun - it was nice out here. I’m not locked out.”

“Gotcha,” he says easily, fishing in his pockets for his own keys. You struggle to stand, knees a little achy after using them as a table for the last half hour or so, closing up your notebook. You might as well go inside, now. You aren’t going to write anymore at this point, anyway.

You follow Namjoon upstairs, trying to find a good distance to put between you: you don’t want to be right on his heels, nor do you want him to have to hold the door for you for an awkward amount of time if you’re too far back.

Inside the apartment, Namjoon drops his keys on the counter and heads for his bedroom door. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Have a good night.”

A good night? The sun isn’t even setting yet.

But, it seems Namjoon means what he says. He disappears into his room, leaving his door open just about three inches, and he doesn’t come out again for the rest of the afternoon.

You stay in the living room through the afternoon, preferring to do Professor Jemisen’s poetry reading by the large, living room windows. You can hear Namjoon doing whatever in his room - the clacking of keys for minutes at a time, bumps and clacks as his wheeled desk chair moves and taps the table as he shifts in it, occasionally his footsteps as he crosses the room towards his attached bathroom. Sometimes you hear him mutter a curse, bang once on the desk with - you presume - a fist.

You wonder idly what he’s doing - gaming, maybe? - as you finish your homework. You submit your assignment. The sun sets. You cook an easy one-pan dinner. You wash up the dishes you made while cooking, you put the leftovers in the fridge. You go shower and wash your hair, emerge back into the living room in your pajamas, and heat up some water for chamomile tea.

Namjoon’s door hasn’t moved at all, still open just enough for you to be able to tell that he hasn’t turned on any of the lamps even though it’s gotten dark; the only light from the room flickers blue and white, a tv or computer screen. The same sounds filter through the small gap as you let your tea steep - the chair, the keyboard, Namjoon’s low voice as he mutters to himself, something rhythmic and lilting, before the typing starts again.

When you turn out the kitchen and living room lights, close to midnight, and head to bed, he’s still typing away in there, the room still cast in black and blue.

Wednesday September 9

You’re surprised to find him in the kitchen Wednesday morning. You come out of your room at a clip, pretty ready to head over to campus - you’re just trying to find your wallet.

Namjoon is sitting at the breakfast bar, a mug of steaming black coffee in front of him, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little surprised to see you, too.

“Do you not sleep?” you ask, before realizing how bratty you sound. “I just mean, you were still up when I went to bed, and now you’re up before me.”

Luckily, he smiles at this, a bit sheepishly. “Not as much as I should,” he admits. “I got… I was working on something last night, so I was up later than I meant to be. I’d love to sleep in today - trust me - but I have to be on campus in–” he glances at his watch, “--twenty minutes.”

“Me too,” you say, starting to hunt around the living room. “But I can’t find my wallet.”

“Is it this one?” he asks, pointing to the counter near the spot that you’ve both wordlessly designated as the place to drop your keys.

“Yes,” you say, sighing with relief. You slide your wallet into your bookbag and zip it back up. You pat your pockets, checking - phone, keys, yes. “Are you walking over? Want me to wait for you?”

He considers this for a second. “No, go ahead,” he decides. “I need to get a few things organized first, I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Okay,” you say easily, hiking your backpack up a little higher on your back. “By the way, I won’t be around tonight, I have work. If you want the leftovers from what I cooked last night, feel free. They’ll go bad after today.”

Now Namjoon looks really surprised - his eyebrows jump and everything. “Really? Wow, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “I hope you like it.” You glance at the clock and murmur to yourself that you need to get going. “See you later,” you call over your shoulder as you leave. As you turn to give this goodbye, you see him watching you go with a small smile on his face, mostly hidden behind his large hand, fingers pressing against his mouth.

–

You have your senior thesis class on Wednesdays - it’s a double, with a break for lunch in the middle, and it’s with Professor Jemisen again.

“Two days in a row, huh?” he asks you as you pass his desk. You give him a quick smile and pick a desk near the middle of the room. As class starts, he outlines how the thesis will work - an intensive study and analysis of one or two poets’ works, as well as your own portfolio project.

“We’ll spend the first half each week working on the anthology study,” he tells the room, scanning the crowd of sleepy seniors to make sure everyone is listening. “After we break for lunch, we’ll spend the second half workshopping your portfolios. It’s going to be a lot of work, and you’re going to need to be ready to go each Wednesday. If you’ve made it this far half-assing it, I’m warning you today that it won’t get you to pass your thesis. I’d like to remind you that you must pass Senior Thesis in order to graduate.”

He spends the rest of the morning session going over some options for the anthology study, showing examples of previous students’ final thesis projects to model what he’s looking for.

By the time he flips the lights back on and you all stagger back to life, slowly shifting to pick up backpacks and shoulder bags, rising unsteadily from your chairs, your head is spinning. You could walk across campus to the student center and get real lunch, but this particular academic building has a coffee shop and a fast-food area. You opt for french fries and a juice, finding a few girls you’re familiar with and joining their table.

“This sounds like it’s going to be a lot of work,” one of them, a girl named Gloria, laments. You’ve had a few poetry courses with her over the last three years; she’s a talented poet, good at using a biting, precise syntax.

“I know,” you agree, twisting the top off your juice. “Any ideas whose anthology you might use?”

She hums, eyes far away, mentally flipping through poets she likes enough to type twenty-five pages about. “Not sure yet,” she finally admits. “You?”

“No,” you lie. Professor Jemisen had said there would be no repeats - if someone else picked a poet, no one else could choose them. You already knew exactly who you wanted, and you didn’t want to lose your chance. In fact, you leave the lunch break early to go stake your claim.

“Can I go ahead and put in my choice?” you ask Professor Jemisen as you re-enter the room, about twenty minutes before the second block is scheduled to start.

He frowns good-naturedly. “You don’t want to think about it a little? I’m not going to let you change in the middle.”

You shake your head, sure. “No, I know who I want.”

Professor Jemisen nods somewhat absently, looking around the scattered papers on the table before him. He finds what he’s looking for and lifts it, reaching to take the pen from behind his ear.

“Okay,” he says, finding your name on the roster. “Let me have it.”

“Edna St. Vincent Millay,” you tell him, mind already whirring, thinking ahead to which works would fit your thesis. “I was thinking of coming from a feminist angle… how she was so progressive for her time, how she pushed boundaries as a woman and as a writer.”

Professor Jemisen nods slowly, considering this. “That sounds promising. I look forward to seeing what you come up with, Y/N.”

Pleased, you take your seat, pulling up your school email and catching up on a few things while you wait for class to start again.

–

You actually like your part-time job at the on-campus bookstore. The busy season can be a little exhausting - those first few days when it seems like the entire campus comes at the same time to get their required reading. But after the initial rush each semester, it’s a pretty laid back job. Since this is your third year there, your boss trusts you with a little more responsibility, which is how you ended up getting the closing shift twice a week.

Almost no one comes in after regular dinner hours, which means once you’ve done a quick sweep through to make sure nothing got put away in the wrong spot and the items that need restocked are handled you can just sit around behind the counter and talk shit with your coworker, Kris. Kris started with you last year, and you get along well.

“Do anything fun over the summer?” you ask absently, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs, happy to be seated for a little while. Outside the store’s high windows, it’s dark. The lighting in the store is relatively dim, giving you a cozy, sequestered feeling.

“Went with my parents on vacation,” Kris tells you. “Barely survived.”

“Yikes,” you say.

“How about you? Any family trips?” they ask.

“Nah,” you say easily. “Just hung out with Taehyung, the usual. The biggest event from my summer was Penny bailing on the apartment with me.”

Kris makes a grumpy noise. “I wish I could afford it,” they complain. “I would have loved to help you out and live off campus.”

“That would have been fun,” you smile. “We would’ve made trouble.”

Kris cackles, a deepy, throaty sound. “We would have. The roommate is okay, though?”

You shrug. “Yeah, Namjoon’s really nice. He’s clean and quiet, so I really can’t complain.”

Kris sits up, eyes widening. “Wait, Namjoon? You’re living with Kim Namjoon? The TA?”

You hesitate. “Is he a TA? I’m not sure.”

They wave a hand at you. “It has to be the same,” they say insistently. “How many Kim Namjoon’s can there be on a campus this size?”

“Probably only one,” you admit.

“Probably only one,” Kris echoes in agreement. “And he’s beautiful. I honestly blame him for almost failing Medieval Lit last year. I was too distracted.”

You can’t help it, you crack up. “You failed Medieval Lit because you tried to take it on top of a full courseload,” you object. “And you tried to write your final paper about The Legend of Zelda.”

“I had solid evidence for my thesis!” Kris balks loudly. You’re laughing so hard you’re nearly crying, remembering how strongly you’d tried to help them focus on a better topic for that paper. Kris doesn’t listen to reason - not even when it comes from you. “And I’m telling you - it’s because I was staring at his gorgeous dimples instead of listening to the lecture!”

Gorgeous dimples? You haven’t noticed. To be fair, you’ve barely interacted with your new roommate; not a lot of chances to see him smile.

“How do you find all these beautiful men?” Kris laments, tugging at their purple hair in emotional distress. “It is truly unfair.”

You laugh; Kris spent much of last year bemoaning how much time you got to spend with Taehyung - and by proxy, Jungkook and Jimin. Kris had a collective crush on the whole bunch, starting from when they shared Freshman Seminar with Jungkook.

“They find me,” you shrug. “And you know I’m blind to the beauty, anyway.” Well, that was almost all the way true. There was one exception.

“You know,” Kris says thoughtfully, “they really don’t hang out with other girls. You’re the only one.”

“That’s not true,” you object. “Have you seen those idiots at a party? They’re like magnets. It’s almost gross how easy it is for them.”

“I don’t mean at parties, I mean in their circle,” Kris explains. “You’re the only one they let into the group.”

You consider this, weighing the validity of it, searching for reasons. “I think it’s because they all know -”

Kris cuts you off, eyes glinting with mischief. “They all know that you’re so in love with Taehyung that you won’t bother the rest of them?”

You know they’re teasing and that they mean no harm, but it stings a little. You let out a quick laugh, trying to cover it. “I was going to say they all know that Taehyung and I are a package deal,” you say, the words tasting like arsenic on your tongue. “But maybe you’re more right.”

Kris seems to hear the change in your tone, and their gaze softens a little. “Anything new with that?” they ask delicately.

Anything new. You consider for a moment the version of the story that Kris knows: the close friendship, the feelings you have. How does it look from the outside? Can they see the situation with more clarity than you? You’re afraid to ask, afraid to give the question any attention.

“What could be new?” you ask, the lie dripping from you. “We were best friends last year - we’re best friends now.”

Kris gives you a side-eye good enough to be a viral meme. You ignore them, turning away gladly when the bell over the door dings. A grubby-looking freshman comes in and stands before the spinning rack with your electronic accessories - knock-off airpods, charging cables, usb drives. He grumpily sorts through the chargers and grabs one, slapping it down on the counter in front of you.

You ring him up silently and he leaves after paying. Kris is still watching you, and you dread turning around.

“You know,” they say slowly, “he was at a party I was at the other night. With a girl.”

You force yourself to shrug. “Taehyung dates. We aren’t together - he’s allowed. We’re just friends.”

They look at you evenly, then purse their lips and visibly decide to drop it. “Okay,” they say lightly. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” you mutter, deciding to go check the stock room for absolutely nothing, just to walk away.

When you get home, sometime after nine-thirty, Namjoon’s door is shut - a little sliver of that same blue light slipping underneath the crack below the door. Your leftovers are gone from the fridge, the container washed and put away.

Thursday September 10th

Thursday brings heavy rain - the all-day kind, the kind whose noise permeates the whole day, greeting you as you struggle to consciousness in your bed, adding steady percussion to the quiet music you turn on. The kind that makes you turn on lamps in broad daylight, the darkness outside making it that much harder to stay awake.

The kind that brings a barometric pressure headache, just for you.

[12:02 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: This is Taehyung, looking for signs of life [12:02 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: anyone in there? Hellooooo? [12:04 PM] You: shhhhhh why are you being so loud??? [12:05 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ohh she’s got a weather headache [12:06 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: :( [12:07 PM] You: i want to push my thumbs through my eyeballs [12:09 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you have such a way with words [12:14 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you take anything for it? [12:15 PM] You: left the prescription stuff at lin’s house [12:15 PM] You: like an idiot 🤡 [12:17 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ugh i’m sry [12:18 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: hope it passes quickly [12:19 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: lemme know if you feel good enough to come to dinner at the caf w me later

You don’t answer, pressing your head back into the darkness of the couch cushion beneath you. The pressure across your browline is nearly unbearable. You had managed to get up and get dressed, drinking a mug of coffee out of sheer desperation, before collapsing onto the couch. You set an alarm on your phone for when you need to leave for class and pray that just resting and closing your eyes until then will help, at all.

You don’t know how much later it is when you hear the front door open and close. You hear a muted thump as Namjoon (you assume) drops his bag in the entryway, then his footsteps tracing through the kitchen. The fridge opens, closes with a click, and then the footsteps approach.

They pause somewhere in your vicinity.

You can almost feel the unspoken alarm. It must look bad - you aren’t even laying down, just slumped sideways from a sitting position, body twisted to hide your face from any source of light. You raise one pitiful hand and wave.

“Hi,” you say, not sure he can hear you through the couch cushion.

“Uh,” Namjoon says, taking one step closer, “are you… okay?”

“Relatively,” you say, rolling your head to squint at him through one eye. The soothing yellow lamplight seems stabbing, and you squint a little harder, trying to block it out. “I get bad headaches sometimes when it’s like -.” You wave a hand at the windows. Rain pounds against them, happy to finish your sentence for you.

Namjoon makes an understanding and sympathetic noise. “Can I do anything for you?” he asks after a minute, sounding a little ill at ease. “Does anything usually help? Do you need to go back to sleep or something?”

“I have class at two,” you grumble. “I don’t want to skip this early in the year. And yeah, I used to have a prescription for these kinds of days, but I guess I forgot to pack them.”

Namjoon disappears into his room, midconversation, which confuses you so much that you actually make yourself sit up, your head spinning from the change in position. You see the light shift in his room - he must have turned on the bathroom light. You can hear the rummaging of items, the rolling clatter of pills in bottles. He returns with a white bottle in hand, holding it out for you to read the label.

“You take these?” he asks, pushing his glasses back into place as you peer at the name.

“Not at that dose,” you laugh. “What are you, an elephant?”

He frowns playfully, pretends to pull the bottle away. “Well, I’m not going to share if you’re going to call me names,” he teases. “You think a half would be okay?”

“You don’t mind?” you check.

He scoffs lightly. “Of course not. I never use them all. I get about one bad migraine every six months, that’s all.”

“You’re a literal life-saver,” you tell him. He gives you a gentle smile, and you notice - really notice - those dimples Kris mentioned.

They are cute. Damn.

He places half a pill on the table before you, screwing the cap back onto the bottle as he walks into the kitchen.

“Oh,” you call after him, feeling a little like you should stop him. “Hey, I can get my own…. drink,” you finish lamely as he sets a cup of water next to the pill.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, something warm in his voice, and then disappears into his bedroom again.

You’re staring absently at his empty, open doorway as you take the medicine. He’s a mystery, this roommate of yours. There are probably lots of sides to him that you haven’t seen yet, many things you haven’t discovered about him. But you decide, right there, that he’s nice.

–

[1:41 PM] You: i left my headache meds in your bathroom :(

[1:59 PM] Lin: oh noooooo

[2:02 PM] You: :( can you mail them? is that legal? Lol

[2:17 PM] Lin: i’ll find out

–

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: did it help??

[4:37 PM] You: :( why are you so nice

[4:39 PM] You: took it from Death Mode to a dull pounding

[4:43 PM] Namjoon: i’m really glad

[4:44 PM] Namjoon: i was going to order smth for dinner in a bit - you want in?

[4:47 PM] You: oh yes pls

[4:49 PM] Namjoon: Ondubu Menu.pdf

–

[4:41 PM] You: just said (typed) the word ‘pounding’ to my roommate

[4:42 PM] You: can i die now???????

[4:42 PM] Kris: lmfaooooooooooo i love you

[4:43 PM] Kris: the context, i BEG

[4:45 PM] You: i mean very unsexy context lol

[4:46 PM] You: was in regards to the HEADACHE FROM HELL >:(

[4:47 PM] Kris: let’s work on sexying up the context

[4:48 PM] You: bye 🚶‍♀️

[4:49 PM] Kris: #TeamNamjoon

[5:24 PM] You: #TeamYN

[5:24 PM] Kris: #TeamDimples

[5:25 PM] You: we’re done here

–

[6:06 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: dinner at the caf? want me to come pick u up?

[6:08 PM] You: sorry, i ate, namjoon ordered us takeout

[6:09 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ah. okay.

[6:12 PM] You: come over later?

[6:13 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: headache?

[6:14 PM] You: all better :) come over?

[6:19 PM] You: tete... please?

[6:20 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah

[6:21 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah i will

–

“I’m glad you feel better,” Taehyung tells you from his end of the couch.

“Me. Too.” You wiggle your feet against his ribs. “It was truly terrible this morning.”

You’re on opposite sides of the couch, as usual, one blanket thrown over your legs. You balance your laptop on your thighs, trying to work on some homework. Taehyung scrolls through his phone.

“I was thinking, you guys should have people over this weekend,” he muses, not taking his eyes off his screen.

“Like a party?” you clarify, still typing.

“Mhm,” he nods. “A housewarming?”

You laugh a little. “That’s kind of last minute, Tae. You offering to help buy all the snacks and drinks? And clean?”

He meets your eyes long enough to make sure you see him roll his. “You don’t need help,” he grouses.

You sigh, hating that you don’t hate the idea. “Could we keep it kind of lowkey?” you ask, as if you wouldn’t be the host, and thus in charge of these decisions.

“Just the guys?” Taehyung suggests, sounding a little hopeful now that it seems like you’re cracking.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Jungkook, Jimin… maybe the others? I don’t remember all of their names.” You mean Namjoon’s friends, the ones who had helped him move in.

“I’ll ask the groupchat,” Taehyung promises.

Friday September 11th

In the end, Taehyung gets confirmation from Jimin, Jin, and Jungkook - the others seem more like maybes. Although you’d asked to keep it small, you feel the need to diversify a little, and you extend the guest list to include Kris, plus Gloria and a few more of the girls from your classes.

Of course, needing to maintain a positive roomie experience, you make sure you ask Namjoon if it’s okay. In the morning, you wait a while after you hear his shower run to make sure he’s properly awake, and then knock on his door.

“Yeah?” he calls, sounding a little distracted.

“Namjoon?” you ask, nudging his door just a little. Yeah isn’t the same as come in, necessarily. “I wanted to ask you something.”

He’s sitting at his desk, his back to you. At your words, he reaches up to pop out his airpods, and clicks to minimize the screen he had up - what looks like a word doc, from your vantage point in the doorway.

“Okay?” he says, stretching his long legs towards you, leaning back in his swivel-chair.

“Did Taehyung talk to you about tonight?” you venture.

“Tonight?”

Why are you nervous?

“Yeah,” you say. “He had an idea to have your whole group come hang here, like a little housewarming thing? He said he’d text you all.”

Namjoon glances at his phone, as if to corroborate your story, but doesn’t turn the screen on to actually check for the text. “I didn’t see it,” he admits.

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well, he should have invited all of you guys. I mean, you don’t need to be invited, you live here. I just, um, I wanted to make sure it was okay with you? To have people over tonight?”

You watch it on his face as he understands that you’re asking for roomie permission. He sits back up, already starting to swivel back around to his screen, nodding easily. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for asking first.”

You frown at his back; you hadn’t really felt like the conversation was over, but he’s already pressing his airpods back in with his thumbs, feet tapping with the bass.

“O-kay,” you say, backing out of his room. You have a date with a vacuum cleaner before your living room fills with people. On your way to the closet where the vacuum lives, you text Taehyung, begging him to make a liquor run for you.

–

The truth is Namjoon forgets what you asked him about twenty seconds after you leave his room. He gets back to work, trying to get back into the flow he’d had before you knocked. He doesn’t hear you leave for class, doesn’t think about it again when he leaves for his own an hour later.

[4:49 PM] Namjoon: bar tonight?

[4:50 PM] Yoongi: did we not…already have plans with you tonight?

[4:51 PM] Hobi: no, we did

[4:53 PM] Namjoon: we did? idr. can the plans be bar at 8:30?

[4:55 PM] Hobi: you’d rather do that??

[4:57 PM] Namjoon: than what?

[5:00 PM] Yoongi: we were supposed to go to your place?

[5:01 PM] Yoongi: taehyung texted us yesterday

[5:03 PM] Namjoon: oh yeah

[5:05 PM] Namjoon: i mean you all know i love taehyung…

[5:06 PM] Hobi: but…..

[5:07 PM] Namjoon: but do i want to sit around my living room with a bunch of undergrads tonight?

[5:08 PM] Yoongi: i get the feeling the answer to that is ‘no’

[5:10 PM] Namjoon: so, i repeat. bar? 8:30?

[5:10 PM] Yoongi: 👍👍

[5:15 PM] Hobi: that won’t hurt your roomie’s feelings???

[5:16 PM] Namjoon: she’ll be fine

Still, when 8:30 rolls around and Namjoon notices you bustling around the living room like a crazy person, he feels a stab of guilt in his stomach. Resigned, he asks, “Can I do anything to help you get ready?”

“Taehyung is supposed to be helping me get ready,” you grumble, as you line up a bowl of chips next to a smaller bowl of popcorn. “But is he here helping? Despite this being his idea?”

“That feels rhetorical,” Namjoon observes. You shoot him a look.

There’s a knock at the door, which saves him from your wrath, he thinks. As he watches you hurry to the door, wiping your hands once on your jeans out of nervousness, he knows he can’t leave - not yet. Silently damning both his conscience and his mother for raising him to have one, he texts the guys that he’s running late. Then, he reaches over and pops the top off one of the beers you’ve set out.

He might as well, right?

It’s an entire hour later than he finally feels like maybe he can slip away. Taehyung finally showed up about half an hour ago, three girls slipping through the front door behind him. Namjoon can’t help it - his eyes fly to your face, watching for a reaction. If you’re upset, you don’t show it, instead hurrying to show them around, pointing out where to grab drinks and where the bathrooms are located.

When Jungkook and Jin arrive - clearly having pregamed - Namjoon rises, inching his way closer to the door. Someone with a mop of bright purple hair comes through the door with Jimin, and the volume in the room triples instantaneously.

Now’s my chance, he thinks, and glances your way to see if he'll make it out unnoticed.

Would it not be easier to say, ‘hey, Y/N, this was fun, but I have plans with Yoongi’? He wonders. Probably, but that would potentially result in seeing the hurt look on your face, and he’s trying to avoid that.

On the couch, you sit close to Taehyung, legs touching, his arm over your shoulders. You’re laughing maniacally at something, using his torso to hold yourself up as you cackle, eyes squeezed shut. He looks down at you, smile large and boxy, laughing along.

Namjoon grabs his keys and slinks out the door.

“Look who decided to show up to the gathering that he planned,” Yoongi drawls when Namjoon finally slides onto the barstool beside him. Hobi gives him a sheepish look, one that says sorry about him… but also, he’s right.

“I felt bad leaving,” Namjoon explains. “No one was there yet, and then I wanted to finish the beer I opened…”

“Mhm,” Yoongi intones, and Namjoon almost asks him what that’s supposed to mean, but decides to let it go.

They talk over a pitcher of beer, Hobi filling them in on how auditions for his dance team are going, Yoongi on his current classes.

Namjoon’s phone buzzes against his leg and he slips it out of his pocket far enough to see your name on his screen.

[10:03 PM] You: did you… leave??

[10:04 PM] Namjoon: yeah

[10:06 PM] You: it wasn’t bc of us right? I thought you said this was ok???

[10:07 PM] Namjoon: no it wasn’t. just not really my scene. have fun though

[10:10 PM] You: ah ok. i just assumed since some of ur crew are here you’d join us

Yoongi’s chin is practically on Namjoon’s shoulder as he peeks at his screen.

“She wanted you to hang out, you dick,” he says.

Namjoon balks, shaking his head. “She’s just trying to keep the peace. Doesn’t want drama with her roommate.”

“No, dude,” Hobi insists, peeking over Namjoon’s other shoulder, giving him a perfect angel and devil scenario. “You are, in fact, an asshole. She’s definitely upset that you left.”

Namjoon growls in frustration, shimmying his shoulders to knock his menaces loose. “I don’t want to talk about Y/N. Let’s talk about something else.”

From either side of him, Yoongi and Hobi exchange a knowing look.

“What?” Namjoon demands.

The shared look now incorporates some eyebrow movement. Then, cool as a cucumber, Yoongi leans back in his seat, takes a long pull from his beer glass. “So,” he says, so casual, “how are things with you two, anyway?”

“What you two?” Namjoon counters.

“The roomies,” Hobi supplies. “The odd couple.”

“We are very not a couple,” Namjoon says flatly, irritation simmering.

“But seriously,” Yoongi pushes. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” he says, a defensive edge in his voice. He pauses, tries for a second to get his act together. “As far as roommates go, she’s good. Keeps the shared areas clean, isn’t noisy. She’s not rude or anything.” He shrugs, hoping this will be enough to get the jackals off his scent.

“That’s good,” Hobi says, nodding. “Do you talk or anything?”

“Nope,” Namjoon says, which is true. “We just kind of do our own thing.”

“Her ‘thing’ being Taehyung, right?” Hobi asks innocently.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think anything’s actually going on there. To her dismay, it seems.”

“I wonder why,” Yoongi muses. When the others look at him in confusion, he explains, “I mean, why nothing’s going on. It seems like they’re attached at the hip. What’s missing? What’s stopping them?”

“He is,” Namjoon tells them. “How she looks at him, and how he looks at her… it isn’t the same. It just isn’t there for him. I won’t presume to know how he feels, but it seems like he’s just enjoying the benefits of her company until she figures out that it won’t go anywhere. If that ever even happens.”

He hadn’t realized he had an opinion about this until the words are out of his mouth.

“Kind of sad,” Yoongi remarks, pouring himself another beer.

“Maybe she just needs someone to snap her out of it,” Hobi says thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” Namjoon agrees, and changes the topic as smoothly as he can.

Honestly, he agrees with Yoongi. It is sad - even from the outside, even from the limited interaction you’ve had, he can see the stars in your eyes when you look at your best friend. And he can see the disappointment that swims there when Taehyung, just by existing, lets you down, over and over again, day after day.

Maybe you do just need a distraction, someone new to divert your attention. But Namjoon can easily see that it’ll be an uphill battle for whatever poor soul tries that route, and he doesn’t feel like he has the emotional energy for it. He’s been there and done that before, and he doesn’t like to repeat mistakes.

No matter how cute and funny he might find you.

He hurries to drown that thought in another pint of beer.

Thank you so much for reading!!! Let me know what you think!!! Theories? Questions?? Keysmashes???

Section III will post on Friday, January 27th - hope to see you there!

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#fic: mffmhh #rm fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #rm angst #namjoon smut #rm smut #(eventually lol)#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #strangers to lovers #s2l #college au #roomie au #slow burn #bts fic #bts fanfic

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