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oddinary4bts · 5 months

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I��m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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shina913 · 1 year

Text

On Tilt, Part 1 | KNJ

On Tilt, Part 1 Definition: a poker term for a state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a suboptimal strategy, usually resulting in the player becoming overly aggressive.

On Tilt Masterlist

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: idol!AU; angst; fluff; smut

Warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; dirty talk; clit play; heavy petting; oral sex (F-receiving); intercourse; orgasm denial; fingering; masturbation (mutual); exhibitionism; stamina!; multiple orgasms; pining; unrequited love; miscommunication

Word count: 4.5K words

Summary: You’ve said time and time again that you wouldn’t lose yourself to him. You were in control now. You were going to make better choices. For a minute there, you were able to keep up with it. It wasn’t ‘til Namjoon’s extended break that you found yourself falling into old habits. Will you ever learn to quit Kim Namjoon?

A/N: First off—boop! Title change! This was going to be called something else but decided to switch it up last-minute. I've had this sitting in my WIPs for a while. So long that ago that this was was actually drafted before the first hiatus announcement in June. This is the first time I am writing an idol!AU (please be kind)! I’m not sure how many chapters this will be yet…could be two, could be three. For now, please enjoy and let me know what you think! Now, excuse me while I get side-eyed by my WIPs.

You are jolted awake by your phone blaring loudly. What time was it? It was still dark out.

“Hello?” You croaked out drowsily–your eyelids fighting to stay closed.

“Hey.” You’d recognize that rich baritone anywhere.

“Uh…hi.” Your eyes flickered, pulling the phone away from your ear to figure out what time it was. Too early.

“Remember that dark blue strappy dress that you had?”

“W-what?” You responded after a beat once your brain lurched forward. “Where are you?”

“Los Angeles. Just chillin’ at the hotel,” he rasped. “Were you sleeping?”

“I was,” you answer dryly.

He chuckled into the phone. “You never used to need that much sleep.”

“Well…I’ve changed. And you have, too,” you point out while rubbing your eye, mid-yawn. “We’ve already had this discussion.”

“I know, I know,” he relents, effectively dropping that subject. You fall silent on the other line. A few beats later, he asks, “Are you alone?”

You scoffed. “Namjoon, who else would I be with?”

He laughed from deep within his chest and it tickled your ear. “So–can we keep talking about that dress?”

After rolling your eyes, you try to wrack your brain for any memories of whichever dress he was referring to. You owned so many over the years. “I don’t know…I’m kind of drawing a blank–”

“Whenever I pushed one strap off, the other would fall, too.”

As soon as he said it, that certainly narrowed it down. You zero-in on the dress and the memories came rushing back, hitting you like a tidal wave. You hummed at the nostalgia. The dress used to be one of your favorites–and clearly, it was his too.

“Now I remember.” It was a navy-blue, silky, cowl-neckline dress with spaghetti straps. It had an asymmetrical hemline–the longest falling right above your ankle but it had a pretty high slit that went up your thigh. If you picked your feet up too high while climbing some stairs, people would get an eyeful. Luckily, back then, you and Namjoon always took elevators. Except that one time when you both snuck into the emergency exit where you had a little private moment by the stairs.

You blink the memory away. “That was a nice dress,” you say leisurely, trying to fight off the drowsiness. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking about that scandalous-looking slit…or that night by the steps.

“And I also remember that it had that sexy slit that went all the way up your left thigh…” he drawled. “That came in handy that one time by the steps? You know, the emergency exit?”

Fuck. He could read minds now, too? You were wide awake now. “Uh huh…” you drew out while your eyebrows furrowed. What was he up to?

“Mmm…you had great legs.”

You sat up on your bed. “‘Have’.”

“Sorry, say that again?”

“I have great legs. Present tense,” you corrected.

He gave another deep, throaty laugh. “I will not object to that. I love your legs. I love having them wrapped around my neck—like that time I came home to you after that show?”

Your mouth went dry. That was the night he made you cum so hard that you bit him so deep on his shoulder that you drew blood.

“Joon…” you rasped.

******

“So, did either of you do anything fun last night,” Lani asked while she perused the brunch menu. You’re not sure why since she ordered the same thing every time.

“Happy hour with a couple of coworkers. We went to a bar that had an indoor bocce ball court. I’d never been but it was pretty chill. Also, everyone should try playing drunk bocce ball,” Jia giggled.

“What about you, YN?”

“Oh, you know—not much. I had a quiet night, after work; turned in early and then…had- accidental-phone-sex-with-Namjoon,” you say in rapid-fire succession.

“Sorry, w-what?” Jia chokes out as her eyes bulged out of their sockets. But before she gets another word out the server stops at your table to take your order.

After they walk away, Jia picks up on your last comment. “Now hold on a second–you can’t just drop ‘Namjoon’ and ‘phone sex’ in the same sentence and expect us to just take it in stride!”

“I didn’t know that you and Namjoon were into phone sex,” Lani says, waggling her eyebrows teasingly as she turned in her seat to face you.

“We weren’t. But their break is coming up and he’s been calling me for the past couple weeks–”

Jia sighed and admonished you. “YN, you shouldn’t be having phone sex with your ex.”

“Okay well, let me correct that–it was technically not phone sex but more of a…a trip down memory lane,” you clarified. “Also, he’s not my ex. We never really defined—whatever this is. So, how can you be ‘ex-whatever’ if you never really ‘were’ in the first place?”

“Fucking without labels. I like it!” Lani winked at you.

“What-everrr,” Jia says, annoyed. “He’s in and out of the country. When he’s here, he’s usually in the studio. You guys barely see each other but as soon as he calls, you come running.”

“Excuse me but I do not come running, Jia,” you argued.

“You just come,” Lani snorted.

You give Lani a deadpan look before turning to Jia again. “For real, though. I think that I’ve actually gotten better with this whole Namjoon business! Would it kill you to give me a little credit?”

Jia softens her expression at you. “Sorry, YN. It’s just that I really care about you and…when he left for that one tour then went straight back into recording the new album without seeing you–I saw how much it tore you apart." She reaches across the table to rest her on yours. "There are other guys out there. Other guys who can be present…who can love you and argue with you, in person. None of this complicated idol-bullshit.”

You tried. You really did. You put yourself out there, met other people…none of them lasted. Namjoon was always there for you. And you were there for him. You were familiar with each other. Neither of you needed a manual to navigate each other.

With Namjoon, it was just like stepping into that navy-blue dress. Easy, comfortable…and you always felt sexy.

It was just too much work dating–trying to get to know someone new and getting used to them. You had grown too impatient for that.

Or maybe you just had to admit that you didn’t want to find someone new…because all you really wanted was him.

******

After playing the last night of the band’s stadium tour, Namjoon picks you up from your place so you could head on over to another hotel, only to switch cars, to drive off to another hotel. It was like a shell game. He needed to play it safe because he never knew who’d be watching or following him. It all came with the territory.

It was just before midnight. You paused before sliding into the backseat next to him. “I’ll need you to take me back home tonight.”

Namjoon cocked his head to the side, looking slightly disappointed. “You won’t stay the night with me?”

You paused, leaning on the open car door–fully intent on standing your ground.

“I’d really like you to stay,” he added with a flash of his dimple.

The truth was, you really wanted to. And once, back in the day, you would drop whatever you were doing whenever he was back in town for his visits until you ended up resenting him for it. You may not have learned to stay away from him, but you’d picked up a thing or two about having a healthier relationship–more for your sanity. “Look, let’s just keep things simple, okay?”

His chest lifted and fell on a deep breath. “As you wish.” With that, you climbed into the backseat of the SUV with him, shutting the passenger door.

“Can I schedule time for you to spend with me?” He asks softly.

You sat so close to each other, thighs and elbows pressed together…but there was an unspoken distance between you. Even though you enforced it, you still wished it didn’t have to be there.

“When?” You ask him with a hint of exasperation.

“I was hoping for one more night this week and all of next weekend for sure.” They were on an extended break. The other guys would disperse and travel back to their own hometowns after a publicly-announced hiatus by the record label. He’s decided to spend the next three weeks in your area.

You nodded then glanced sideways out the window. He vaguely mentions that it was another 10 minute drive to the next hotel–giving you time to think about how the rest of tonight could go. More sex? More Namjoon? You craved both–more than you’d like to admit…and it would’ve been much nicer without so many doubts and reservations.

You missed how carefree you both used to be. When you first met, there was no sense of time or what day it was. You’d go whenever and wherever you pleased. His schedule was packed but he always, always made time for you.

Sometimes, he’d go as far as clear out a whole place for both of you. Once or twice, he paid to access some museums after-hours. You’d stare at sculptures and paintings. He’d wax poetic about each piece while you hung on to every word he said. Afterwards, he’d take you back to the dorms and fuck you into the morning.

And then…the schedules just got more complicated. International attention heightened. Next thing you knew, he was on planes more often than he was on your bed.

“Listen,” he began, “You should know this is hard for me, too.”

“At least you have a clue about what’s going on,” you argued softly, turning away from him to look out the window while the car zoomed past your quiet neighborhood and into the city.

The announcement of the extended break was a surprise to you but he’d vaguely hinted at it several times during one of your clandestine meetings. What he hasn’t disclosed were his plans during this break.

Namjoon turned in his seat and reached for you, catching you by the nape and pulling you in. You closed your eyes, anticipating the moment when his parted lips would touch yours. His tongue caressed the curve of your mouth…the feeling had you leaning closer for more.

“Can we worry about the rest on a different day? I just want tonight to be about…us.”

Us.

Even though you went months without seeing or talking to each other, he always spoke of you collectively–never individually…never apart.

You nodded and gave him a small smile. The subtle gesture lit a flame. You stared at each other in the dark–only catching flickers of your features as you passed the staggered illumination of dim street lamps and tunnel lights. You saw him moisten his lips with his tongue and in a matter of seconds–the flame had escalated into a raging fire.

“Always so sweet,” he murmurs while you feel his finger brush the shell of your ear. The darkness combined with his deep, silky voice sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m going to spread you across my bed and lick you from head to toe.”

You hummed. “You’re good at that.” You were needy in an instant.

He pulled back, as if to look away, then surged forward again, catching your lips in a heated, hungry kiss. His mouth devoured yours, his tongue stroking, exploring. You were just as greedy for him, your hand sliding into his hair, seizing the roots while you had your fill of him. He cupped your breast in his hand, massaging it, his thumb and forefinger capturing your aching nipple and tugging rhythmically. You moaned, turned on to the point of no return.

“Fuck, YN,” he groaned, releasing you and falling back against the seat. “I want you. Right here. Now.”

Truth be told, you were incredibly tempted to demand that he raise the partition so you could climb him right then.

“Tell your man to drive faster,” you said in a rush as you pressed your thighs together–as if that would stop your juices from flowing.

He threw his head back, his laugh booming through his chest. Moments later, he turned his head, leaning against the headrest to look at you. “Fine. But when we get to bed, I’m taking it real slow.”

******

And boy, did he take it really slow..

“Namjooooon,” you dragged out. Fisting at the sheets, your body arched off the mattress, lifting yourself greedily to the torture of his mouth. You’d almost forgotten what he could do to you, how he could penetrate your skin to get into the very heart of you.

He held you pinned at the thighs, his mouth on your throbbing center, his tongue licking leisurely. The slow rhythmic strokes over your clit had you gasping. The need for an orgasm was so fierce, you were drenched in sweat, legs practically burning from the strain while he held you wide open.

“My god, your tongue…” you whined.

“Yeah? Did you miss it while I was gone?” He gives your sopping core a quick flick of his tongue.

“Ahhh! Yes…Oh my god, yes,” you groaned.

He slowly pushed two fingers into you, making you gasp softly. After a few slow pumps, he paused to turn his wrist so his palm was facing upwards. His thumb was now circling around your clit while his two other fingers, still buried in you, curled and stroked at the bundle of sensitive nerves.

The sensation made your whole body clench tightly–it won’t be long now before you’d start to fall apart.

“Yeah? Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” you distractedly admitted. Your mind, clearly elsewhere while he dangled you over the precipice of your climax.

And then you felt empty. Having withdrawn his hand, you saw him sitting up, gazing down at you. “Show me?”

“Show you what?” You asked, trying to regain focus.

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’ve seen me touch myself.” You referred to previous nights when you’d call each other over video while he was away. “Now come on, please,” you begged. “Make me cum,” you almost whine.

“No, I want to see it in person,” he says.

“But you’re right here, how come I need to do it?” you argued. Any longer and you’d lose your lady-boner and call it a night.

“I’ll do it with you,” he answers. With a flash of his dimple, he sat back on his heels, dropping his hand to fist his cock.

Your eyebrows quirk, suddenly intrigued. You’d never touched yourself while he was in the same room with you. You shifted restlessly, your attention fixed on his long, nimble fingers.

“Come on,” he coaxes you while he stroked himself, squeezing right when he reached the tip, bringing a flush to his face.

Your core began to ache at the sight. Your fingers move of their own volition, sliding between your legs to rub your aching bud.

“Fuck, this looks so much hotter in person.” He was watching you closely, his gaze was hot and hungry. His tongue slid slowly along his lips, as if he was tasting you. When his teeth caught the fullest curve of his lower lip, you could have sworn you felt it.

You knew that look well. And you knew what came after it.

******

He thrusted hard, sinking deep in one lunge, wrenching a cry from you as you fell hard into orgasm. Neck arched and eyes squeezed shut, you laid on the bed as the pleasure pulsed through you, your core tightening around his cock as he kept his rhythmic ministrations.

He groaned, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets and pumping himself into you. The climax grew once more, spurred by the steady lunges of his hips...the feel of his cock fucking into you relentlessly.

You writhed helplessly, lost to him, desperately hanging on to the part of your soul that wanted to surrender. You gripped at the back of his broad shoulders tightly, your nails leaving marks and scratches at his repeated assault on you.

Namjoon’s lips were in your ear, his breath hot and needy as he growled after every thrust.

You felt the muscles flex as his body worked to give you another orgasm. You’d lost count after the second one.

His teeth sank into your earlobe, groaning in pleasure while his abdomen contracted against your stomach, his sweat and yours mixing together.

“You won’t believe how much I thought about you this whole time,” he gasped.

So he has thought about you. In what way? Thought about fucking you? Or thought about you just because? As much as you wanted to unpack that, you brush the thought aside. Right now, he was dicking you down real good–and that needed 100% of your attention.

“So g-good.” You swallowed past a dry throat.

He drove the point home with every thrust, fucking you so thoroughly you couldn’t think beyond the need to cum again.

Your body was not your own as he had come to fully possess your whole being.

Namjoon was the only one who could do this to you...make you mindless...drive you crazy. When you were in bed with him, you were his. Ready and willing to do whatever he wanted, to take whatever he chose to give you, knowing he would make you orgasm over and over...

You whined, feeling his grip tighten on you, every muscle on his body gathering as his own climax brewed.

You realized then that he was hanging onto you as desperately as you were to him, you felt that urgency in every breath, every touch.

Your eyes stung with tears when your orgasm hit, sucking the air out of your lungs, causing spots in your eyes. A long, drawn out moan escaped from your mouth–a mix of pleasure and relief.

“Ah, baby.” He kissed you, absorbing the sound, slowing until he was just circling his hips, feeling every hard inch of him inside you. “I love that sound you make when you cum. It tells me how good I make you feel…how much you love me touching you…being inside you…”

How much you loved being serviced by him. How much you loved—

He rips the thoughts away from you when he takes your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hips circled again, making you feel every inch of him. The slow, purposeful stroking over your nerves kept you hot and on-edge.

“I missed you so much, YN,” he whispered into the kiss. “Did you miss me, too?” He asks in a soft, almost pleading tone.

When you didn’t reply, he brushed the sweat-slicked hair strands away from your face and searched for the answer in your eyes.

You stared back at him wordlessly, your jaw slackened while your core rippled along his length. His eyes clenched shut and his lips parted, his body tightening along with yours. “No, no. Not yet. I don’t want to cum yet.”

“Please..come on, Joon….” You were begging and didn’t care. You just wanted him to come. You wanted it more than your next breath.

“No. I’m not rushing this.” He reached behind him to grab your wrist, bringing your right arm up and over your head. His other hand pushed beneath your bottom, lifting you into a smooth, easy thrust. “Hmm...so good. So perfect for me. Always.”

You wanted to tease him with your own little naughty comeback, to play the game just as he was, but you couldn’t think of anything. You were at a loss for words.

“Stop thinking and just feel it…feel me,” he murmured, nibbling on the corner of your mouth, dragging his lips across your jawline. “Let me make you feel good, baby. That’s all I want. To make you feel good.”

Turning your head, you caught his lower lip with your teeth and let him.

******

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His thumb brushed the corner of your brow and drifted down to your cheek, tucking stray strands behind your ear.

Your lips twisted wryly while you laid in bed, cocooned in him. You glanced up at him. “How sexy you are. It’s embarrassing how often I think about that. I need to get over it already.”

He cupped the back of your thigh and urged you tighter against him, teasing you with an expert roll of his hips. It was sickening how much he knew his way around your body. “As if I’d allow you to do that.”

You scoffed, pushing off him slightly. “Huh. ‘Allow me?’ A little cocky there, aren't we?” Deep down, heat slid through your bloodstream…your body becoming way too greedy for him.

“Don’t tell me you don’t prefer a fan who’s more starry-eyed and would easily drop their panties for you, Mr. Kim.”

He ignored your jab. “What I want,” he purred, cupping your jaw and rubbing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “...Is you being too busy thinking about me to think about anyone else.”

You pulled in a slow and shaky breath. You were completely captivated by the smoldering look in his eyes, his sexy-as-hell voice, his body, and the mouthwatering scent of his skin. He was your drug, and there were no signs of you kicking the habit.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, completely entranced.

With a soft groan, he sealed his mouth over yours, stealing away thoughts of what time it was with a lush, deep kiss…a kiss that almost succeeded in distracting you from seeing the slightest hint of insecurity he’d just revealed.

You pushed your fingers into his hair to hold him still and kissed him back, your tongue sliding along his.

His arms banded around you and tightened possessively. “I want to spend the weekend with you down by the coast—naked.”

He had a little known vacation property by the beach. There were suspicions from gossip sites but nobody could ever confirm. He had taken you there a few times. It had its own private beach access and was remote enough so nobody would randomly come snooping.

You giggled. “Sounds like every guy’s wet dream.” As big of a kick as you got out of Namjoon in a bespoke suit, you much preferred him stripped down.

“Is that all we’re going to do?” You wondered. “You want me laying there, all ready and splayed for you?”

He let out a deep, sexy chuckle. “We could go on a hike. Maybe swim? Watch the stars. We’ll have some food to eat…and then I’ll eat you out,” He traced vague shapes on your hip bone with his pointer finger, making you squirm.

“Haven’t you had your fill?” You ask him.

“Of you?” He laughed. “Can you fit the ocean into a cup?”

You scrunch your face in confusion. He was always good with his metaphors, which flowed easily into his lyrics.

“You and your damn hyperboles.” You remarked with a laugh.

“I don’t exaggerate. It’s just a fact,” he answers frankly. For a moment, your head floats up into the clouds again. You feel a light, warm fluttering within your chest.

“So–would you be okay with that plan? You, me–alone in a beach house…clothing completely optional?”

With a sigh, you acquiesced.

******

Lani eyed you as you slid onto a bar stool at her breakfast nook the next morning. She knew when she saw your makeup-free state, which betrayed the shower you’d taken just a half hour before. She quietly poured you a cup of coffee, sliding it towards you. She opens the fridge and puts the creamer next to you.

“I forgot how much I like Namjoon,” she said casually as she looked out her kitchen window, watching his black car with heavily tinted windows drive off.

You nodded while stirring in the creamer in your coffee. You liked Namjoon, too. Thing was, in his line of work, the way the band was just starting to hit their stride globally–it made things…painfully uncertain.

“You two gonna work it out or what?”

“I don’t know,” you say vaguely, taking a long sip of your coffee…as if it held the answers to all of your questions about him. “At least this time, I know the rules.”

“Okay so maybe I don’t like him so much anymore.” Lani poured herself another cup and took a sip and sighed. “I always had a feeling that he was in love with you,” she says unceremoniously.

“He’s in lust,” You countered dryly. “And…whatever, I can live with that. It’s the other stuff—the way he talks to me sometimes, as if there’s more. I keep running all of these scenarios in my head, about why he keeps coming back to me—that part is hard for me to deal with. It’s kind of a mind-fuck.”

“You know that I know some people who can knock some sense into him,” she deadpans as she peered at you above her coffee mug.

You smiled. “I think it would be better if those people knocked some sense into me instead.”

“We can do that, too. It’ll be like a two-for-one deal.” She tapped her mug against yours. “But you’ve got plenty of sense. You know what you’re doing. You just wished you weren’t doing it,” she chuckled. “And he obviously doesn’t have a clue or else he wouldn’t risk letting you get away. He’ll never find anyone better, you know. Someone who knows him inside and out.”

You snorted at her. “Don’t get all sappy on me now, Leilani. I might have to kick your ass.” She laughed at the way you invoked her full name. You were only half-joking. In reality, you felt emotional and…attached. Sex with Namjoon did that.

“Fine, if you want to skip the sappy shit, let’s just eat. Get off your ass and help me make breakfast.”

With a groan, you slid off the bar stool. You weren’t much for cooking–more about eating. “Damn. Can we get back to being sappy instead?”

Before you round the counter to head into the kitchen, your phone pings. It was a text from Namjoon, saying that he just got a last-minute individual schedule and that next weekend might be up in the air.

You scoffed after you read it, and practically flung your phone against the counter, where it lands with a heavy clack, startling Lani. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” you answer instantaneously, swallowing your irritation, hoping it would pass.

Did you really expect anything less? The company liked to keep them busy even with scheduled breaks. Just because he wasn’t traveling, did you actually think you’d get some quality time with him? It was easier said than done.

Lani stands there eyeing you suspiciously. But before she picks up on your sudden contemplative vibe, you distract her.

“What do you need help with? Do you want me to cut up stuff? Mix? Beat anything?”

She laughs and goes on asking you to take some scallions and eggs out of the fridge to make pajeon.

“Did you want anything else in it? Ham? Kimchi?” She asks you.

You sighed. “I’m cool with whatever,” you say, noncommittally.

She tells you to chop up the scallions, showing you the right way to position your fingers and hold the knife. You mimic her actions thinking that it wasn’t that difficult to learn.

Now, if only Namjoon were just as easy to figure out.

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Thank you so much for reading!

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Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @yu-justme

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shadowkoo · 8 months

Text

Chasing Clouds - Prologue

→ Summary: Namjoon made the decision early on in his training that he would abstain from dating or entering any form of relationship while in active duty. He’s determined not to burden anyone with the likelihood of being to be notified of his death or causing pain to someone he loves by his long absence. Ironically, he found himself drawn to you, a doctor who challenges his beliefs and contradicts everything he upholds.

↠ knj x f.reader | 1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: military au, angst (future chapters include: doctor au, s2l, slow burn, smut, fluff, romance

→ Warnings: Read at your own risk! war, ptsd, bombs, guns, violence, injury, death, blood, (future warnings include: murder, use of other weapons, smut warnings)

→ Author Note: my favorite kdrama of all time is descendants of the sun and in honor of my fifth rewatch, I wanted to write this series! it takes place about a year after the show ends, just so you know the timeline :) i would recommend that you watch it first, but it’s not a requirement - it just gives insight to some of the character's personalities (plus i’ll take any opportunity to tell people to watch it lol)

Prologue

MAY 02 - 0340 - USTANA

The darkness of the night feels heavy; its weight is unsettling as the soldiers start their most recent assignment. Namjoon has an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It’s twisting and turning like never before. He isn’t usually nervous before missions; he hasn’t had a reason to be. He's always followed through and completed his tasks without issue; which is one of the main reasons everyone has such high hopes for him.

Tonight is different though, and he knows the others have the same odd feeling as they all take off their dog tags and set them aside. If captured, they need to remain anonymous.

"You guys know the drill. Once we locate the hostage, everyone will need to be attentive because it'll only be a matter of time until the whole building knows it's been breached. This isn't another exercise boys, lives are at stake here,” Big Boss, Captain Yoo Shijin, says to his team of special force soldiers.

"As this is the last mission of your training term, I expect nothing but excellence in your delivery of the hostage. We've orchestrated the specifics of this mission in such a way that will prove whether or not you are cut for these types of diplomatic high-profile assignments," Wolf, Big Bosses best friend Seo Daeyoung, adds.

"Whatever you do, don't compromise the mission. Don’t use your birth name to communicate, use the nicknames you were given, as well as ours," Big Boss hollers, finishing off their short speech as the back door of the aircraft opened.

Ustana, the country they’re secretly entering, is known for its drug and weapons problem due to its corrupt government. If things end badly, it will reflect on Korea. That’s why the team’s identities and nationalities can’t be known.

The plane jolts, narrowly missing the projectile that was aimed at the steel bird in the sky, solidifying the seriousness of the current situation below.

Namjoon repeats his orders to keep some level of sanity and peace of mind as he descended from the sky with the rest of the Puppy Pack, the soldiers in training to join the Alpha Team.

‘Find the hostage. Mislead the enemy. Return home. Stay alive.’

Once on the ground, he waits for the signal to ambush the guards watching the doors and proceeds to lead the group. Shijin and Daeyoung follow behind with the rest of the soldiers at their feet.

Daeyoung nods, giving Namjoon the go-ahead to align his gun on the enemy. This is the part he often tunes out. You need to be able to turn the switch, as he calls it, on and off with this kind of job.

He aligns his scope with the target and quickly pulls the trigger before moving to the others nearby before they even realize what’s happening. He watches as their bodies drop, waiting to see if anyone else runs into the room, but it’s quiet. Almost too quiet…

"Wildcat, All clear,” he says into his mic, letting the others know their access point is now safe for entry.

‘Find the hostage. Mislead the enemy. Return home. Stay alive.’

It takes less than two minutes for the group of highly trained soldiers to find the hostage. He’s badly beaten and unconscious, his body hunched over in the chair he’s tied to.

Wolf keeps watch by the side door while the team works on releasing the man. Jihoon, another one of the Puppy Pack trainees, helps Namjoon carry the man back to where the transport aircraft is waiting.

“I don’t want to jinx anything, but that was almost too easy…” Jihoon says, looking at Namjoon.

He agrees. Something’s not adding up…

He peers through the open door of the transport helicopter, gazing outside. They’re waiting for the last of the group to make their way onto the craft, and he just wants to ensure that everyone is safe. His shoulders relax when he can see their dark forms exiting the building.

Namjoon turns to look back at Jihoon, “I see them, they’re-” his sentence ends unfinished.

“What is that?” he says, taking a step closer to the unconscious hostage that Jihoon and a combat medic are helping. He points out the red blinking light on the man’s neck. It’s not a laser from a gun. It’s coming from inside his skin. ‘It’s almost as if…’ His thought trails off. “Run!” he screams, though it’s too late.

The bomb’s detonation rips through the helicopter, unleashing an intense burst of energy. In an instant, the searing shockwave propels fragments of debris outward. The air vibrates with a deafening roar, drowning out all other sounds.

The chaotic energy tears apart surroundings and scatters the remnants in all directions. A plume of smoke and fire billows upward, consuming everything in its path. The impact leaves a scene of devastation, marked by shattered glass, twisted metal, and a sense of raw destruction.

Namjoon feels the force of the explosion in his chest and is thrown far from his comrade, and debris crashes around him. His head bounces against the ground, and the ringing in his ears is so intense, he believes he will never hear again.

Jihoon is several feet away. His eyes are frozen open, and blood trails down his face from the head injury he suffers from. Namjoon reaches for his lifeless friend but it’s all too much.

Then, everything fades to black.

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justimagineok · 1 year

Text

the hate effect || knj || archive 3

Summary: Kim Namjoon has always been ambitious, even before he became an idol. He always wanted more for himself and didn’t mind giving up anything in order to achieve his dreams, even if it meant giving up on you too. But now, 10 years after debuting, the world-renowned idol has finally achieved everything he sought when he was young, but he couldn’t be emptier. Used to his new life where he has everything at his disposal and manages to reach higher and higher places, Namjoon has his usual life interrupted when Hybe hires a new staff, none other than his former youth love: you.

A/N: :) hi! your feedback is always welcome and feel free to send me asks whenever you want. Hope you like it!

Recommended song: how many things by Sabrina Carpenter

"I consider you, I'm not trying to

It doesn't matter whether not I want to

I can't help it, it's a habit

Your corner in my mind is well established"

Day one.

You opened the windows of the new apartment, letting the pure sun light up not only your room, but your mind as well. What is it about new things that amazes us so much? They make us lose sleep, roll over in bed in anxiety, as if sensing something bad to come. You took a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs and exhaling slowly, almost afraid to give back the air you were so careful to take.

What is it about new experiences that make us focus on such trivial details?

Is it fear of what the new experience will bring? Afraid of new sensations? Are there any new sensations to be felt? Is it fear of the people who will come with these new experiences?

You thought about all this as you brushed your teeth slowly, brushing each tooth as if it were your last time. Damn, why were you acting like that?

'It's just a new job, silly.', you thought to yourself. 'A new job at one of the best companies in Seoul, maybe Korea...', you reasoned.

'Just do your best. You've always done your best, just keep doing it. Good things await you', you repeated like a mantra as she put her hair up in a bun. Would a bun be too formal? Maybe loose? A little loose and a little tied up?

You huffed, frustrated at his lack of attention, slipping on different socks while still reconsidering your hairstyle. And why that lump in the throat?

Why this almost...bad feeling?

You put all those thoughts in the back of your drawer as you got in your car and drove to Hybe, your new employer.

'No, he won't be there.', you scolded your thoughts when they went where you most tried to avoid. 'actually, he'll be there, but it's no big deal. He will be your customer too. Nothing to worry about.', you mentally patted yourself gently on the back. You're a professional makeup artist and that's what she was hired to do. The fact that she had to work with her ex wasn't going to get in the way of that. Could someone you dated 10 years ago still be considered an ex? Could someone you dated growing up be considered an ex?

Could someone you dated 10 years ago still be able to keep you up at night wondering how he was doing, how he was living, if he was sleeping well and eating well, if he was loving or being loved? If he still remembered you. You'd like to ask if you meant anything even after all this time had passed. Did being abandoned like you were mean you were so insignificant? Were you just an impediment between him and the big dreams he had?

Was the ride to Hybe faster than you anticipated, or did thoughts distract you like that? 40 minutes passed in the blink of an eye.

You entered the building, presented yourself at the entrance and being received by one of the Staffs, called Da-Eun. A lady who seemed very kind and introduced you to the various sectors of Hybe as well as your new co-workers. Two women who would apparently take turns with you in the task of working in support of the Idols when it comes to makeup.

Na-ra and Seong seemed close, but even with just 15 minutes of observation, you could see that they didn't like each other. Not that they needed to, after all this was just a job and not a family, but you didn't understand why they insisted on showing a smile that clearly wasn't real. You wondered if this had something to do with the way the company worked, but it was too early to tell. You just didn't like it. Da-Eun showed your workstation and tools, all would be provided by the company, as well as all expenses would be covered by the company as well. You would be responsible for the entire makeup sector for older idols and solo projects, and another team would be responsible for makeup when it came to group work. So far so good. You already had work as a head of makeup before, and you were ready for it, but still, feeling the butterflies in your stomach was important. It means you care. It means you understand how much work it takes to be recognized for your work.

You already had worked as a head of makeup before, and you were ready for it, but still, feeling the butterflies in your stomach was important. It means you care. It means you understand how much work it takes to be recognized for your work.

The days and nights studying, practicing... the hours and hours worked, often receiving a much lower salary for the work I was doing. But it didn't matter. You had a dream, and you would fight for it until the end. Dreams are important, right? They are very important. That's what you heard, at least. It is the experience you have in this matter.

After showing you where you would be working and introducing you to the other makeup artists and staff, Da-Eun took you around the cafeteria. After lunch, Da-Eun said goodbye, leaving you with the two makeup artists, who would do the rest of your setting. Na-ra seemed particularly interested in learning more about you and her work, stating that she had seen several of her works before. Seong has been more quiet, addressing you only when necessary or when you have any questions.

You were about to go to the main hall when you saw a commotion going on. Even among the staffs, the correction of postures and sighs of admiration for the people who entered the room were visible. Na-ra and Seong also changed their attitude completely, putting a smile on their faces and offering seductive looks. You were ready to turn around and find out what the fuss was about when you heard the voice you would recognize from anywhere.

"YN"

Namjoon almost whispered your name as a statement to his own eyes that it was really you. In fact, you only noticed the whisper because it was your name. It was like a sigh. As if by saying his name out loud, someone could correct him and say there was no one there. That it was just a figment of his imagination. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen glimpses of you in the most random hours of his day. You turned around to see the clear confusion in his eyes. He blinked several times, nervous and speechless. It was really you."W-what are you doing here?"

You imagined this moment so many times, in so many ways... how you would present yourself to him, how you would react if he didn't recognize you, how you would react if he did.

"I'm sorry," you said as you bowed down. "I don't know what you're talking about, mr. Kim. I'm- "

"Oh! I forgot to tell you, Namjoon" Bang PD explained coming right behind him. "This is the new head makeup artist on the team: Miss YN. She was specially assigned to work with you on your projects. I hope you guys get along. YN, fighting!"

The CEO left soon after, leaving you and your ex standing in the middle of the room. Na-ra and Seong also left you there. You, who had been watching Bang PD leave, finally raised your face to look at Namjoon. You haven't seen him in person for 10 years... to be honest, you only heard about Kim Namjoon again a little over 4 years ago, seeing him and the members achieve ever-increasing success as BTS.

Right after Namjoon's departure 10 years ago, you also continued on your path. Working at the convenience store and paying for your makeup artist course, you've spent most of your life in Dongjak-gu, a small town in the interior of Seoul. But with hard work and perfecting your talent, the recognition finally came around 3 years ago, when you were asked to work as a professional makeup artist in some drama projects in Seoul and now, the company known worldwide as Hybe invited you to work in Yongsan as the lead makeup artist for the artists on new projects. It would not be a long-lasting job, but the recognition that would come from this work caught your attention, and you decided to accept the invitation.

Part of you knew the odds of finding Namjoon there were obviously high, but you weren't going to let that stop you from going after YOUR dream. He didn't hesitate for a second before doing the same 10 years ago.

He was much more handsome than he was 10 years ago, but there was something different about his eyes. They were cold, empty. Like a shell. Like someone who had already seen everything and could no longer be surprised by anything. Namjoon's estrangement didn't last long, and his surprised expression soon turned into indifference and apathy.

"Let's go.", he signed for you to follow him as he started to walk fast. "I believe you already know how the routine works", he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for your confirmation.

"Yes."

"Good. As you have been assigned to accompany me on my new projects and events, you must always be in the know and never be taken aback by any schedule." He turned to you, making sure you were paying attention. He looked…intimidating. And a bit hot.

Just a bit.

"I won't Mr. Kim.", you bowed. "I'll make sure there are no surprises in what depends on my work. I'll give my best."

Namjoon bowed just as you did and handed you a folder. Probably with the list of projects. It was strange to receive that on paper in such a modern age, but you didn't comment.. "I gotta go now. You want to give me your number, so we can communicate better?", he held out his hand, asking for your phone, and you hesitated for a second, but it was enough for Namjoon to notice. "Hey, I'm not trying to catch up or anything. This is work, right? I'm sure we're professionals, and we know how not to let the awkward atmosphere between us. Right?"

His eyes dared you to say otherwise, but you didn't. You reached out, handing over the phone, in defeat, and he smiled, remembering when you did the exact same thing, years ago, when you first met him. He typed the number and gave you back, offering a smile.

"My number is still the same. I had no reason to change it." you said in a playful tone, but he knew very well what you meant. He just chose to ignore it. It was something he had become very good at over the last few years.

"I look forward to work with you, YN.", Namjoon bowed one more and left the room.

"I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me I wonder how many things you wanna do, you think I'm in between And I feel myself falling further down your priorities And I still make excuses for you constantly I wonder how many things you think about before Before you get to me

Am I'm not Even a second thought?"

#the hate effect #bts fake texts #bts fic #bts fake chat #bts fake chats #bts scenarios #namjoon x y/n #knj x reader #knj fluff #knj angst #angst bts #namjoon x oc

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stacywaters · 10 months

Text

Written in the Pages (RM) CH7

𝄆 Namjoon POV 𝄇

"So she must like you back! What else would she mean by 'feelings'?"

"You don't get it," I grumble, "she isn't interested in me anymore. She doesn't want to hear from me."

"How oblivious can you be?" Yoongi jokes, "they must have said something that made her think we don't want her around. She's clearly just insecure, so why don't you show her how much she means to you?"

I ponder that for a moment, "how would I do that?"

"We should write a song for her!" Jimin pipes up.

𝄆 𝄞 𝄇

𝄆 Y/N POV 𝄇

It's been a week since I've heard from Namjoon. It may sound ridiculous, but part of me had hoped he would continue to try and talk to me. I guess he gave up, just like that.

I walk home slowly, feet trudging against the cobblestones I once skipped on. Along the way, I see the two girls from earlier chattering. they walk in the opposite direction, snickering at a glance of me.

I pull my hood over my head and try to walk faster. eventually, I arrive back home. The silence pulls me in, no one to laugh at me now. I don't understand, things were so much less complicated before Namjoon. Yet somehow, I still feel the thrills. Him talking to me gives me enough energy to do anything.

Then I remember the words from earlier. "They must be doing it as a joke, they would never sit with someone like her on purpose." And my heart sinks again. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of trying to figure out if he likes me as more than a friend just to be hit with the rejection of a punchline. I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to prove myself to people who don't care.

I need to love myself. Not the version others see. I need to focus on myself, and I can't do that if I'm trying to swim in pools too deep for me. Trying to date someone I can never have.

Trying to find myself in people who aren't me.

a knock on the door pulls me from my monologue. I open it without checking the peekhole.

"Y/N, thank god you answered. I need to talk to you. I know you don't want to listen to me, but please just hear me out. please" Namjoon begs from the doorway.

"How do you know where I live?"

"I.. I followed you home, I'm sorry, can I please come in?"

"You followed me home?" I demanded.

"Yes I,.. look I know this sounds bad but please just give me a chance. I can explain everything."

Sighing in defeat, I pull the door open wider and let him in. Leading him to the couch, he speaks before I can even ask.

"Okay. So, when you left that day at lunch, Jungkook had followed you to make sure you were okay. He filled me in on what they said and everything and I just want you to know that I truly do care about you. We all do. And I wouldn't pretend to be friends with someone as a joke, the only person who would do that is someone like those two girls who I rejected. I need you to know all this before I continue."

"Okay, well, thank you for saying that Namjoon." I force a smile, "but continue with what?"

"What I've been hiding from you for the past week," He replies. He takes his phone from his pocket, pulling up an app and pressing play. Suddenly, a song begins to play.

He softly starts to sing, "Just one day, if I can be with you

Just one day, if I can hold your hands

Just one day, if I can be with you

Just one day

If only we can be together"

The music fades out. He brushes his hand next to mine on the couch, slowly intertwining his fingers with mine. I let him.

"Y/N, I have been pining after you for so long. If you don't feel the same, I understand... but I wanted you to know. Since last spring, I've been admiring you. Your hair, your smile, the way you talk and the words you choose, how you treat people with kindness, your quiet demeanor, everything. I'm obsessed with everything about you. And..."

He pauses and I can feel his hands sweat from nerves as he fidgets.

"I'm in love with you."

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hollyhomburg · 29 days

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.68)

(Sneak Peek) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 12.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! fun fact that is actually my hand writing in the note in the moodboard....i couldn't find a pic of something i liked so i made it myself!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 68: Before I Leave you (Sneak peak)

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep.

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air.

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Checking the wounds on your hands and verifying that they’re clotting, the margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with minimal scolding). He stoops and presses a gentle kiss to the bandages after they are re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scared.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every word he says, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. you can give him one more minute) He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask. Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you. He nuzzles, and you huff a soft laugh that Namjoon feels against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?”

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tightening on your waist. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? or something? Wouldn't that be fun? Would you like that?”

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you loosely around your hips, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and emploring like a child.

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this- and imagine if you actually got your happily ever after. Just like in the movies.

But glass slippers cut. Dresses are rented not owned. Good dreams have the power to hurt- even when they’re good.

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack.

Namjoon would be a good father.

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard and even if it’s hard you do it together. Where you just get to live.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach?

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button.

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. you'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of you is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you.

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

Still- you can't resist asking Namjoon, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the worlds hurts (or to keep you in)

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Coming Saturday March 23rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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l0mljeonjungkook · 2 years

Text

Lost & Found | knj x reader

➤ Summary - eight years beside him were nothing but a roller coaster ride. Being a single mother wasn't easy, but your best friend, Kim Namjoon made your way smooth. You never knew you felt something for him until you read his diary, which you weren't supposed to read ever. What will you do, if not only you but Hyeon, your baby, and your best friend Namjoon, wants the same, what you desired for so long?

➤ Pairing - Namjoon x reader

➤ Genre - fluff, smut, angst

➤ Warnings - 18+ unprotected sex, grinding, lovemaking, explicit sex, confessions, hickeys +more.

➤ Word count - 9.6k+

"When are you getting spliced?" you questioned him while wiping off Hyeon's face daubed with the ice cream all over his mouth.

"y/n why do you ask the exact question every dinner night!! besides I'm better off alone." He pointed at you with the chopsticks in his hand.

"What? I have a license to interrogate, a license called best friends since uh--", you count on your fingertips and Hyeon laughs at you catching a glimpse of you amounting to something on your fingertips, "since seven years, yaah!! after all, you're diving into the 28th year of your life, Mr. Kim!!" You chuckle a pure sham chuckle.

"Hyeon, tell your mom, to concentrate on her food." He instructs Hyeon, who's heartily licking his fingers overlaid with ice cream yet his almond-shaped hazel eyes, are shaded with a craving for more ice cream, and mischievous eyes spot chocolate ice cream on the table.

"Hyeon is bored with mom and you", you both crack up.

You look back at the man sitting opposite you, "No, but seriously, when are you jumping on to propose Ji-a, enough of coffee dates now! I want you to start a family", you didn't ask, you implored, however, honestly you don't understand why.

"Coffee dates?? Are you-- insane? Coffee dates?? I never really got into such dates with her, if you ask me!! Who the hell told you so?" He blurted but instantly looked at Hyeon as if the kid heard his shoot voice and shut his eyes, "I'm sorry y/n, I didn't mean to shout out loud at you. Just to be transparent with you I'm currently not seeing anyone nor will see anyone in the future. And if you got your answer then let's leave, I'll drop you two."

You honestly don't get, why he gets so pissed off with your question.

"No, Hyeon needs more ice creams"

"Baby, no--"

"Which flavor my angel wants?" He questioned Hyeon, with fondness in his eyes.

"Chocolate one"

Barely a minute ago he was ready to drop you two home but isn't it obvious, that his love for Hyeon is out of the world?

"Why do you get so painfully angry about your marriage"

"Cause I don't want to!!!"

"Mom--"

"She's a nice--"

"Mom mom--"

"Yes baby", you wiped his face again.

"Mom I want you to get married to my friend" he announced, eyes on his ice cream.

You chuckled, looking at the man sitting opposite of you, "friend?"

"Yaa mom, Namjoon, he's good mom, then I'll tell everyone that my friend is my dad too." He giggles, and you both can only ignore him.

This question caught you off-guard. It startled you but it wasn't unfamiliar. You have been subjected to this question by none other than you, yourself. It didn't amaze you that much but what shook you was - the man himself in front of you.

It's been five days to be precise, since the last dinner on Saturday night you haven't heard from him. It's the sixth day, Friday morning, you couldn't sleep the entire night, questions eating your inner soul because Namjoon your best friend for 8 years, phones you every morning before you drop Hyeon to school and whether you said no to him for conceivably thousands of time, that you'll drop your kid to school, he still expects perhaps one day you'll let him, but latterly he ain't called you once. And you vow to yourself if today too he won't, you'll despite everything.

Kim Namjoon, where will you inaugurate him? There's only a beginning point, and you could purely start word-for-word about him but no final page for his efforts, love, respect, and support for you, it's something you have been subjected to a lot of instances where his efforts, love, care, and support for you only increased tripartite. There's only an open door in your heart for him but closed when he carved his room in there, and now he's been living there for 8 years.

How you two met was indeed one of the two, best parts, of that university.

You two met at New York University 8 years ago to be exact, both from the same place Ilsan in Goyang, Seoul, South Korea, albeit never met each other, registered for the same program in uni, attended the same classes, but never spoke to each other. It was one day when you dashed to the class and took a seat beside him, horrified by the professor that if he didn't let you in like the other day he did with one of your class fellows, but the sigh of solace left your lips when you saw your professor was late for the first time in 3 months, hah!

You're somebody who never initiates a conversation with someone whether known or unknown, and you would have never known him if he wouldn't offer you his bottle of water, "Drink it, the professor would be late fifteen minutes", you were zoned out until you heeded his deep baritone voice which startled you. You blinked owlishly when you saw his hand stretched out the bottle in front of you.

"Thank you", barely two words you managed to choke out, after taking two sips, you handed the bottle back to him. Still today you laugh at your naivety, how you treated him the first day you two met, though you two used to gawk at each other, yet never persuaded to exchange a word or two. But you remember how your inner self lauded the Lord, for arriving late to the class. If In case you were on time that day maybe... You'd have perched on your regular seat, and again you two would have been eyeing each other from east to the west of your class, and never would have been friends. That was day one of your friendship.

"Uh-- sorry but would you mind walking with me to the library, umm after this class," taking a view of the watch on his wrist as he puffs out a breath, "uh, Just for the group project, if you already are in some group then there's no rub. I'm still looking for a group--"

"Oh, no issue, I can connect y'know", why are you feeling so diffident in front of him, looking everywhere but him, tracing circles on your palm midst talking to him, "I-- uh I too am not in any bunch, so let's do this then?" You harrumph, rubbing your sweaty palms on your thighs.

And you smack your head and snappily shut your eyes at the remembrance, of how shy you were beside him, but not now, now you two are akin to birds of a feather flock together.

"Great, then," he said with a dimpled smile.

His dimpled smile from ear to ear and the dips on his cheeks, and the crinkles near his crescent eyes looked so adorable on him. Not to mention his eyes are like a crescent moon, you could even draw his picture with closed eyes. The picture of his face is engraved in the back of your head.

Those days with Namjoon were flooded with solace, giggles, and serenity until one glossy day turned grey when you met Hyeon's father - Jace, at that university the first and last awful and guiltiest memory at uni.

But why are you even calling him your child's father, ever he said was, one thing for your kid, that he's not his. No, not again this pang in your chest.

You met Jace in the second year of your university. Not to mention the initial months of your relationship with him were all glitter and gold. You both enjoyed your university life like a grad student usually does. Being at frat parties was a new norm for a girl from a small town. Being at pubs, getting some Dutch courage, getting totally jaked at those darty parties, and not least of all out for the count.

Honestly, you're not confident about all those darty party nights with Jace, the negative behaviour of yours, a post-break syndrome after being utterly drunk as you fail to remember the night's episodes. But where you still hung up on is Namjoon never attended such parties, maybe because Jace was with you and protected you? Perhaps he never preferred Jace because of his d2 group in Namjoon's words - douchebag drunkard group, who either would be bathing in alcohol or would be soliciting some women in pubs or frat parties.

So your only best friend wanted to stay off from you and your nerd ex like rigidly stayed away by a country mile.

It's been 5 years since Hyeon's birth which adds, that you never met your ex ever again, what you went through after Jace became acquainted with the fact that you were pregnant, still haunts you. Not that you never wanted Hyeon, but after your ex was subjected to the reality that you were pregnant, he cut all the cords with you. Jace left you, made up the false assumptions in his mind, about you're not pregnant because of him, no, no you recall back to his words by heart - "This ain't my kid, it's your best friend's or whoever you're sleeping with, WHORE!!" The ache earned by the slap of his words is still in your heart, he chuckled, dark eyes wandering over your body, and left. Making all the promises void leaving your heart barren. But you wished for once his words were true, about Namjoon as your child's father.

You look at Hyeon sleeping soundly beside you, he so looks akin to his father by his looks but his heart is purely like Namjoon. He looks so glorious just like sunshine whirled your miserable life into a garden full of lifelike and scented blooms. Jace only gave you awful memories - nightmares, but your baby is the best gift, and besides the tragic past with Jace, everything fades away with Hyeon and Namjoon by your side.

You are grateful to your best friend that he never gave up on you and stayed with you in the rain and shine, life is not always about sunshine and glitters but with him, it really was and still is!!

Whether Namjoon isn't your child's father, he never lets you feel like you would ever need Jace. Driving you to the hospital, discussing your health with her, eyeing your every med, not letting you attend the classes, even writing notes for you. Who so ever will marry him, gonna be a lucky girl, he's the ideal man. You never felt you were a single parent of your child, never. Maybe a father too won't do what he did for you and Hyeon. Honestly even Hyeon never asked about his father, maybe Namjoon's presence was only equal to his father.

Your child's question - on last Saturday's dinner with him, is the clue.

Perhaps, a father figure is important whether you play the mother and father's part in your child's life, there still would be room left.

You do want to confess your feelings to Namjoon. However, at the same time, you do not want to waste his life because of you and your kid.

And even if you envision this, you do get scared what if he said no, or that the room in his heart is already engaged? but it haunts you in case he doesn't reciprocate what you feel for him. That is the reason why you asked about Ji-a that dinner night. What frightens you the most is not being rejected but him distancing himself from you after your confession... That's still okay but you can't see your kid and your best friend staying away because that would be a fate thousand times worse than death.

Your overthinking took the best of you, it's currently 6 am you didn't shut your eyes for a moment. The alarm buzz makes Hyeon a little startle, so you quickly shut it. His tiny arms tighten their grip on your arm. You silently giggle at your baby's movement, as you kiss him on the forehead, ruffling his hair ever so lightly.

He shortly unfolds his eyes, "mom," he softly murmurs.

"Yes, my angel."

"Mom, Joonie will come" he manages to let those words out blinking his eyes to dust away the sleep and watch his mom's face.

"What? Baby sleep for a few more minutes,"

"No, I have to get ready for my school mom, Joonie is coming to pick me up for school," he smiles midst rubbing his eyes from the back of his hand to wipe away the slightest sleep left in his eyes.

"Oh, baby", you hug him tightly leaving kisses all over his face, "but he didn't phone me, baby"

"Mom, Hyeon called him," he points at you, "your phone," he chuckles at your baffled face, "hyeon told him if he will not come to pick me up for school," his eyes are on your night tee button which glitters under the dim light as he toys it, "then Hyeon will find a new best friend."

You chuckle and place a kiss on his forehead, at least your kid isn't like you, save for eating doughnuts and whatever sweet hooks his eyes, let alone unable to keep things in his heart, and you're delighted with him today.

"Then get ready for school."

Hyeon is quick at getting things done, maybe it's Namjoon's influence, sticking around him, eating occasionally sleeping, and repeating, under his friendship, is why he's fitting in the same frame as Namjoon.

It's nearly 8 am you assume, and Hyeon's school time is 9. Hyeon is chomping on grapes, as your eyes are fixated at the entrance of your wee apartment which you could only afford to live in with your baby let alone you have been staying here since you flooded back to Seoul.

You left your main door unlocked for Namjoon, waiting for him, as you're barely focusing on anything else.

There's a knock at the door initially, and your eyes spring instantly from your phone to the direction of the knock followed by a creaking sound of the wooden door being opened.

"Joonieee," Hyeon squeals as he jumps off his skyscraper chair, his voice muffles because of the grape in his mouth.

Namjoon sinks to the floor, and outstretches his arms to hug the kid scurrying toward him, and hugs him tightly placing kisses all over his face and you gush at the scene in front of you, of the two main characters of your life. Their giggles, flood your mini apartment with light and serenity that soothes your heart.

"Piggyback me now," Hyeon whines.

Namjoon giving Hyeon a piggyback... It's a norm between them. When so ever Namjoon visits, he parades straight to Hyeon's room and gives him a piggyback ride to the living room.

Is there anything Namjoon denied Hyeon? No. Hyeon really does know how to bring his friend to his heels.

Will he, right now? Conceivably no!!

Because before you even think of an answer, he gives Hyeon a piggyback ride to the couch.

You glance at him, but he only avoids your gaze. You swore you won't ever poke tease at him about Ji-a or another girl. It was a colossal blunder that evening and the least he could do is flash a smile!?... this is something you didn't save at least he could return a smile to you!! Annoyance bubbles inside you, as you narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms under your soft bosoms, rise.

Fine, he's being tough... Then I'm the toughest.

You parade toward your kitchen to prepare some tea for him and ramen for your baby. This Namjoon is not your best friend anymore, he's Hyeon's best friend now. The way his face glows merely talking to your kid tells a lot. At least for Hyeon's sake, he's here after five days. But why are you jealous? He's only talking to your kid but why is he so low?

They are relaxing on the couch, Hyeon sitting close to Joon.

"Hey Joonie", his soft baby-like voice sounds so dull in the morning.

"Yes, my little angel", remote in his hand and eyes on the TV, surfing Hyeon's favourite movie minions... And probably it's the 50th time today for him watching minions with the kid.

"I do not want to watch a movie", he crosses his arms and knits his brow in unison.

"Why?" Namjoon frowns as his finger halts on the remote button he places it aside because it's so unwonted apathy on Hyeon's face.

Hyeon looks in your direction before speaking, "Promise you won't tell mom!" He impetrates, His eyes zoned out, on the floor, perhaps mind on whatever he's been thinking.

Not wanting to waste a second, Namjoon blurts, "I promise." He leans closer to him, picks him up, and straddles him on his lap. "Tell me"

"My friend Ji-woo, said Geon is her best friend and I'm not." He pouts as he hugs Namjoon burying his face, against his chest.

Namjoon chuckles placing a kiss on his hair he pats Hyeon's back, "this was the serious thing you wanted to tell."

"Yes, she's my very good friend Namjoon," he stretches himself out to catch a glimpse of Namjoon, as he continues, "it's complicated."

He chuckles again, age just five but thinks like a fifty. But at some point, Namjoon too felt the same.

Does he still feel the same after these years?

Does he still love your sapphire eyes, which he fell in love with?

Hyeon's eyes are Sapphire too, and radiant like you.

Does he still want to spend the rest of his life with you even after you are a mother of a child?

Does he need to remind himself why is he still single?

Or is he waiting for someone who perhaps never loved him or will never love him??

"What are you boys chattering ... I too want to know", you asked aloud from the kitchen and startled him the messed-up questions which were already jumbled up are now whirled up like a Bermuda triangle... consuming him.

"Nothing mom, we can't disclose. It's our secret, right Namjoon", Hyeon questions, placing his tiny hand on Namjoon's cheek whilst poking his index on his deep dimples, as Namjoon titters at Hyeon's baby-like voice.

"it's hollow," he scowls, poking both indexes on either of his dimples, "Joonie, your cheeks"

"Heyyyy, told you to call him uncle", you yell at your kid.

And they snubbed you, again babbling about something which now looks suspicious to you, yet you are here in the kitchen preparing tea for Namjoon and ramen for boys.

Whilst yelling at your kid, you burnt your index, as you shriek yanking back your hand, and on spur of the moment, you suck your index - a reflexive response.

He looks at you, standing in the kitchen, face scarlet and a finger in your mouth. With due consideration, he gently places Hyeon on the couch and dashes hotfoot towards you. Taking your hand under his custody, he - on autopilot - sucks your index which was in your mouth a moment ago. His eyes looking darkly, deeply, into your eyes with something unfathomable which you don't understand but gives you wintery shivers down to your spine.

"Ar-- are you mad at me?" You stutter, at the nearness between you two, your heart is pounding at the speed of light years. Oh, my god. You in a jiffy, look at Hyeon, and he's eyeing you two with a scowl on his baffled face, surely he is out of depth. You hastily take a step back.

"PUSHED TO VIOLENCE MAD" he declares, dark eyes still not leaving you, peeping oh-so-wildly into your soul.

"But why", you murmur, managing to choke out, your eyes flutter.

"Where was your damn mind y/n?" He hisses with his gritted teeth, your eyes wandering across his honey tone skin glowing in sunlight that seeps through the window and meets his soft petal-like skin as your hands are hungrily desiring to nuzzle him, craving to feel him.

"Jooniee," Hyeon calls, annoyance dripping from his voice, "what are you two doing there" he quizzes you two, and in a flash look at Joon and a mysterious grin on the corner of his mouth.

"Coming", he let out, looking at you with his sexy grin.

Does he smile like this or it's just you, noticing it right now? He looks handsome today, Is he really single? or not? because of how such a beautiful-young-rich man like him is? how has no one ever proposed to him or approached him? maybe someone must have, surely proposed to him and this idiot would have rejected her like he always had. Namjoon with someone else, this picture in the back of your dense head, who's not you is undeniably painful, your heart is burning with just a mere image of him with someone else! What will happen if that image will pop out someday out of nowhere, what if one day you'll meet the love of his life, who, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is not YOU.

He claps in front of your eyes, "hey, I'm talking to you, where is your mind y/n", as your eyes flutter and instantly you focus on his being.

"Oh, Joon, I'm sorry.... yea maybe I'd take an off from work, today."

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yea, yea, I'm fine," you nod. "Just drop him today, if that's okay."

"This is what I came for. don't worry." he pauses, "I'm leaving to drop Hyeon to school, okay?" He traces your cheeks with his thumb and nods. "Are you sure, you're fine?"

"Yes 100%." you nod.

He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, a glow of warmth at the junction of your skin, under his touch. he nods, as he parades back to the couch.

"Come on Hyeon, will talk on our way. It's getting late"

"But Joonie your tea and, Hyeon's ramen," you stroll out of the kitchen and hand Hyeon his bento box.

"I'll be back y/n, don't worry about the kid we'll get something on our way!!!" He stretches out his hand towards Hyeon, as he holds his and the boys parade out of the apartment.

You plop down on the couch, and you hear a whisper from your right - what the hell was that y/n, oh my god. What Hyeon will think of you two, no no no.

Then the voice from your left utters - so what Hyeon too want him as someone more than a friend, maybe father.

Yea fair enough.

The voice from your right - do you too want him as Hyeon's father.

Then the voice from your left - Nah, not only as Hyeon's father!

Oh god, shut up!!!

"Joon left his bag here, probably because he's coming back." You, in a tick, remember about the novel you gave him last week, as he said he'll return in 2 days, and as said you two are meeting after a long five days, so you assume he presumably has read it. You lean closer to the bag and pick it up. You open it, searching for your book.

But you find something - more - interesting, which you thought you won't ever find it. It's the same eight years old diary which he used to hide from you, which you, one of those fine days found, not found - honestly, got your hands on, and you were just a second ago that he caught you and took rkive into his possession. It's still the same, just a little scratch on the borders, and you take a sharp intake of breath, it smells like him does he keep it with him, ever?

It's a white diary with dark blue on the south of it, with rkive written in black bold characters just on the top of the blue border.

You open it, the itchiness in your hands to open it right away and read all 500 pages in a shot, you jump over to the last page... He still writes, pages are blank at the end of it. Calm down - the voice inside of your head yells at you, with wide eyes.

Yes, she's right you need to calm your nerves babe, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room. But you halt in the between, catch a glimpse of the diary in your hand... It's wrong to read someone's secret journal.

The voice from your left howls into your ear - it's okay he's not someone for you.

And the voice from your right mumbles into your ear - what if it was your diary in someone's hand?

You pause and veer around to place it back in its place. But you hear a creaking sound of your apartment door, rather than keeping it back into his bag, just after you catch a glimpse of Joon, closing the door behind him, you whirl around - hot foot, and like hell for leather, you strut into your room, you bury the diary under your pillow and parade back to the living room.

"What happened, why are your top pale", he moves closer to you and traces your lips with the bend of his index, his eyes filled with desire are on your lips, he leans down, closer to you, but halts looking back into your eyes, as he shuts his eyes for a second and when he opens, the emotions you saw barely a second ago, faints.

He harrumphs, running his fingers through your hair, eyes not leaving you... But then he traces your lips with the back of his thumb, as he takes the tendrils of your hair around your lips and gently tugs them behind your ear. You shut your eyes, your heart thumping at his touch and a low moan slips your mouth, you angle your head to your left. His eyes land on your exposed neck and he a groan leaves his lips.

He harrumphs again taking a step back from you, "oh, office", eyes everywhere but you.

"Oh, yeah, uh-- I'm not going."

"Are you okay? I mean if you want I can stay with yo--"

"No, I mean I do want you to stay here, with me but you should really go to the office", you nod, a faint smile on your lips, " you should go Joon... I'm fine, if possible do visit again before going to your place."

"Yea I'll. And don't worry about Hyeon... I'll pick him up ok", he places his palm on your cheeks as you nod.

He gives you your favourite, dimpled smile.

And he leaves.

You make your way to your room, plop down on your bed take out his diary to read. It smells homey - the diary smells like cinnamon - like him. Finally, you're diving into his diary. "It's wrong I know but still I want to read it, sorry Joon but if you hadn't snatched it from my hand then possibly I wouldn't be doing this." You puff out a breath.

You open it, and the first page says... "You should not read someone's diary and if you're, then give it back to me and if I'm not there wait for me, I'll presumably come back to find it. Thank you."

You laugh uproariously, actually, you shriek with laughter, "Sorry Joonie I didn't tumble under your trap".

You flick to the next page, "Honestly it's wrong if you're still reading, but if you decide to stick on reading it till the last, then let me tell you something- one -- you can not tell anything to her. Two -- it's going to be exhausting because it's BORING. Thank you".

"WHAT IS THERE IN THIS? now, the chances of me not reading it are zero, Joonie, and blame yourself for this, THANK YOU," you yell.

You turn to the next page, "it's something I never really shared with anyone in my life and maybe will share it in the future with her someday(04.15.2014). Change in plan maybe it'll be just between me and this diary, but I hope to tell her someday okay but genuinely speaking I won't(11.05.2014)."

"Why did he cut that line? 11.05.2014 the day Jace proposed to me!! But what else happened that day, I remember he was with me and was fine too."

P 1: I never imagined writing a diary out of nowhere, but there's a reason why am I writing this.

So, it was my first day at the uni, I saw someone, though I don't know her name, she's the reason I am holding a pen in hand.

"He never spoke to me about someone, and why he didn't wish to let me know?"

P 5: I saw her today, again, she was sitting in the last seat at the corner of the lecture room. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She looked lovely in beige, I really wanted to confess to her, how pretty that colour looks on her, but she's too shy and I couldn't tell her.

A scowl takes its place on your face like a permanent resident. And your heart is thumping now, at his notes.

P 11: I saw her today, she has the most joyful and adorable smile. I was mad about something which right now I don't remember, and she's to blame for that, it's her gorgeous smile.

You flick through the next few pages, and you couldn't wait to know the name of the person he's been writing to, since day 1 of his uni.

P 57: I guess, I like her. She was gazing at me, but when I saw her, she swivelled her head away. Does she feel the same? But the negative point - is we both don't know the names of each other. But I think she knows mine. That day in class, the professor called out my name, so presumably, she knows.

You close the diary, anxiety is eating you up. "He literally wrote every fucking day about that girl."

Then the voice from your left interrupt - read it, maybe, you'll find the girl's name.

You open the diary again.

P 101: 07.24.2014, I'll remember forever more, my heart never jumped like today, and my hands, are still as warm as a hot spring. no... not running a fever.

She just came, more like blew in unexpectedly, I was reading something which all the appreciation goes to her as I can't remember anything, I'm confident.

I asked her to walk with me to the library and on our way, we chatted like we already knew each other, and got wind of the fact that she too is from my hometown.

It felt surreal beside her, never felt like this before, and honestly do not know what it is but maybe this is what I was waiting for my whole life. Don't want to sound sugary but she's the one I want to roll over to in the middle of the night and wake up next to her diurnal. We didn't talk much but I'm clear.

I swear I have never been so sure about something or someone in my entire life

And yes finally got to know her name, y/n, with bright sapphire blue eyes.

You shut the diary with a loud thump, and bring it close to your heart as you shut your burning eyes, a warm tear escapes your eyes. Stupid idiot nerd what not, he deserves every single... Oh, Joonie why didn't you let me know? You open your eyes wiping away your tear with the back of your hand, and you open the book again.

P 130: We just met a few months ago, but feels like we know each other, for a long time. I wish to stay by her side for a lifetime. A smile tingles upon my lips, at the thought of our friendship.

P 139: when my phone's screen lights up with her name, so does my heart and my eyes like sun rays on my face, bestowing nothing but joy.

P 148: I didn't know the meaning of happiness until I met her, her smile warms my soul like a sun in the winter mornings, like a warm blanket on a cold night. Until I saw her and now I'm unable to find a difference.

P 163: today we both visited the library.

I saw a girl over there, sitting in the corner while reading a book. It was raining like heavily, and the content smile on her face was like she finally feels at home, and safe.

I guess y/n, must be my library, my halt from meandering outside in the rain. The home I've been looking for forevermore is beside me.

"I dared myself to read this, if I didn't maybe I wouldn't get the heed of not only his but my feelings too. He sure is dumb, but I'm not. He sure took years and maybe will take forever to let it out, I won't and I can't. But before that, I need to know what he feels about me now."

P 178: we went to the cafe today, and she looked pretty in that beige dress.

I have been praying for her, for what feels like forever!!

P 196: Everyone told me I deserve better, it was okay for everyone else to say. But she too said it, she murmured into my ear, when we were in class, that I deserve better and Ara is fine. The funny thing is I don't even know who Ara is! I know, I deserve better, but I don't want better. I want her.

P 204: Oh, now I feel there's no need to even write ever again in this diary. She was the light in my dark life. She who was the sun to my winter mornings is now with someone else, yes she deserves better. It's my mistake I should have confessed.

P 205: writing after 3 years, just to keep this memory between the pages. She told me she was pregnant, and I'm more than happy.

P 263: what is tougher than a human heart, which shatters over and over and regardless of pain still lives. I'm the evidence. He left her yet her heart yearns for him.

P 278: Today we visited the doctor for her routine check-up. She said she isn't willing to have this baby and honestly it broke me to pieces. I wish I could tell her how much I love her and want not only her but her baby too. I wish to love them till my last breath.

Why I overlooked, his affection. How can I be so stupid?

You recall your memories, of when you were pregnant.

"I'm just a call away y/n, can call me at 3 in the morning I'll be there, please do not stress over things that weren't meant to be."

Just one call of yours used to shake him up. You two visited the doctor together even though you told him to stay off, pushed him away because it was your problem you wanted to deal with it alone, yet he never left your side.

"I'm not leaving, I can't see you like this, alone at this deserted apartment, where you two lived.... No y/n you're coming with me, I have a spare room at my place. I'll be content seeing you safe next to me."

"Joon I'm okay, really, I can stay he--"

"No, you're coming with me."

Even stayed up with you for nights, didn't let you attend the classes, wrote not only his but your notes too, and fought for you when you weren't there.

Took proper care, he even memorized your meds on the tongue and learned the dates of your routine check-ups, fruits, soups, juice every other basic need of yours, was his command. He did everything that a father should do, which perhaps is the only justification for why he loves Hyeon so much.

Nights when you cried over your ex, yet lied to him, that this is only a hormonal reaction but a little did you know about him, but he sure knew every reason behind your genuine or phoney smile, every single reason behind your single teardrop.

"Listen y/n, I know I have been reciting this for months but here again I'm going to say, this time not for you for ours. I -- I mean you-- your baby. I-- I want you to be strong y/n. You're going to be a mother but crying like an infant." He wipes away your tears whilst leaning to kiss you but halts and ruffles your hair.

"Heyyy Joonie", you hit his chest.

"No, but seriously, do you want me to kill that nerd? See y/n I can!! and I'll if you allow me. I'm very much y'know skilled, uh competent, even proficient," he sums his abilities on his fingers, and you giggle at his naivety, "not lying I hold a black belt in Judo and earned one in Karate too, he doesn't stand a chance in front of your best friend", he dusts off his palms as of stroking off dirt and crosses his arms around his chest.

"So dramatically proud you are, Joon", Now you're laughing uproariously, in reflex your hand finds its purchase on your middle, and he instantly notices.

"Hey, are you okay?" he immediately holds you, his eyebrows furrowed at your hand's gesture, but you're still laughing.

"Joon, I'm really fine, you should have actually played Mr. bean. where were you back then?"

"Was probably waiting for your landing."

"I love your face glowing with that peaceful smile y/n, do not cry over some nerd. I'm here with you today, what if someday, I'm not there beside you, to wipe away your tears, which merely shed but if they do, the sole reason is men." You hit his shoulder, "stop it Joonie we're friends till the end, do you get it you asshole? don't you dare say that shit again."

But he wants his last sleep beside you, his last breath beside you. His ever so firsts to be by your side and ever so lasts by your side, this is what he feels for you.

"And do you know, your taste in men is horrible, I don't trust you in that process?"

"I HATE YOU KIM NAMJOON."

You look down with teary eyes, p 278, and you skip to p380.

P 380: she deserves every star in her life, to glitter for her the way my eyes sparkle for her.

P 485: feels like we are two stars floating in the universe, yet light years away. She sure is with me but feels like those two stars, babbling on either side of the moon, neither I can reach where she is, nor she can where I'm. But, my heart cherishes every second, every moment, every single breath with her. I wish stars could collide someday, and we'll meet eventually.

P 525: a week to go, I told her it's a boy, and she said no.

P 540: It's a boy, we named him Hyeon. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever love my kid as I love Hyeon. And he has Sapphire eyes like his mom, another reason to love him even more.

You heard the clanking sound coming from your living room you shut the diary, wipe away your tears and hide it under your pillow.

You strut out of your room, "Oh you guys are back." And in the twinkling of an eye, you felt your cheeks warm, when Namjoon's eyes meet yours, like all the blood rushing up to your cheeks.

Perhaps your friends were always right about you two - that you two would make an aesthetically pleasing couple.

"Hey, come here,"

Heat pooling in the pits of your stomach, you sure did feel all of this before, but to be precise you're catching every reaction of your body, now. Those three words are just not mere words, they did something to you, the warmth between your legs is the evidence of those three words. You are eyeing him, hungrily, stop drooling you fucking idiot.

"Mom do you remember, it's Joonie's birthday tomorrow."

"No, Hyeon your mom won't--"

"Yes baby I know, there's something for him," you look at him, "will you stay with us today?"

He looks into your eyes, the glow in them, which he purely saw for Hyeon, is it for him? his brows knit together, "yes anything for you," he pauses eyes wandering across your face, "you two."

Your kid is smarter than you, when you secretly told him you need to prepare a cake for his birthday, he told you his plan, which is why they both went out, and here you're placing the cake inside the refrigerator.

You know he won't take a step forward, it's only you who could do such bravery. It's his birthday and a new start to every perfect day.

You make your way to your room to find a perfect dress for his birthday night.

You're wearing a black cold shoulder ruched flounce sleeve bodycon dress, the silk fabric just ends at the curve of your cheeks, and you complete it with a black thong and yes no bra today. It's normal for you to doll yourself up, whenever you three move out, for dinner, parties, or friends' weddings. But today is, no normal day because you have never spread out as far as to shave, lest yknow.

Brushing out your tangles, your makeup is tastefully done as you're touching up some lipstick - let aside hungrily awaiting for him to smear it, spraying some perfume all over your body, you bolt out of your room. looking around your living room, to be precise it seemed hideous barely an hour ago and now it's looking nothing but cheerful as you beautifully decked out your place with balloons on the floor which you assure Hyeon would low-key love more than your birthday boy, with a cake on the table in the middle of the living room.

There's a rattling sound of keys behind the door, and you know they're here. The front door opens, and you find Hyeon and Namjoon, standing at the door, Hyeon couldn't help but claps at the decor his eyes twinkles at the sight of balloons all over the floor, as he lets go of Joon's hand and take off to pick the balloons, but what you take a gander at Namjoon, not saying much but you can tell, he could cry any moment, he's eyeing the whole room, then looking at you, your heart is beating at light year.

He makes his way to you, "there are still three hours left for my birthday", his eyes wander across your body, and you silently praise the lord for the dress you found in your closet.

"Yes, I know Joonie, but Hyeon is really excited about your birthday, and in an hour you'll find him out for the count," you both laugh, looking at him playing with the balloons, his chuckle is canorous to your ear filling your apartment.

"Fair enough", he paused, "by the way you-- you're looking gorgeous y/n"

Three cheers finally my man noticed, "oh, thank you, I thought you won't ever notice."

"you already think so low of me, y/n," you see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"if so, what else do you like about me then," without a shadow of a doubt, you take a step towards him, as he too leans closer to you.

"Mom, I love the cake, it's looking yummy." You look at your baby.

"Oh, did you forget about Hyeon", he grins, teasing you to the core.

"Isn't it obvious today?" you take a step back.

"y/n are you flirting." he takes a gander at you and smiles mischievously.

"No", you stand tiptoe and lean closer to his ear, and warmly without qualms, "wanna be your sugar baby", you puff out a warm breath that gives chills down to his south as his tool twitches, "this is what I call is - flirting, Mr Kim, and I strongly believe you should take some classes, yknow? from me!!" you take a step back and make your way to your kid, who could sleep any moment.

you meet Namjoon's eyes, as he shares a knowing look, that he should probably slice the cake, "Hey my baby angel, would you cut the cake with me", he asks Hyeon.

"yess" Hyeon cheers excitedly.

You three celebrated his birthday like you have been doing for years now.

As you foretold, Hyeon is now in deep slumber. you pick him up, "uh-- you can sleep in my room--"

"No, I'll sleep with him today if that's okay with you?"

"Yea sure"

it's 1am, and you're tossing and turning, unable to sleep at the thought of Namjoon sleeping under the same roof, just a few meters away.

You are wearing a red drop shoulder belted satin lounge robe, with a matching thong and no bra. Craving for his touch makes you nothing but more frustrated, and your mouth dry.

you pick up your mobile, this should end today, he's an epitome of shyness, you want him deep yet harsh inside you, and you're seconds away to strut out of your room and dashing inside the room next to yours, and straddling his saddle, but you can't he's sleeping with your baby. So, you just text him to check if he's still awake.

you 1:10 am- I have a little secret, which I think, you should know.

Joon 1:11 am- you still awake? And what secret?

You 1:13 am- yes, and looks like we're awake for the same reason. And about that secret. Check your bag perhaps you should be missing something.

Joon 1:20 am- did you swipe away my diary from the bag, when I was away from home? Don't you dare read it!!!

You 1:22 am- over and done with it.

Joon 1:26 am- I'm sorry it was all in the past y/n, I promise it's nothing like that now.

You 1:27 am- SAD. Perhaps I'm alone in this.

Joon 1:29 am- you too?

Joon 1:29 am- I mean you too feel what I feel for you?

Joon 1:30 am- you don't understand how much I feel for you y/n, if you're playing the clown then don't.

You 1:34 am- save for I'm not, and there's something I low-key want you to know beforehand if you do feel for me. Joon there's nothing behind the scenes, I, yknow I cry often even if Hyeon gets some silly injury, though he laughs, and I'm the one who cries. I cry over things that have hurt me in the past, or things I'm so in love with. Yknow I'm afraid of being left, afraid of not being good enough, a good mother, a good daughter, and a good friend. I can actually count millions of things that I feel hostility toward myself. If we're going to be a thing in the future you should know that even if you'll tell me you love me countless times, I'll still be afraid of you leaving me. Jace broke my heart into bits, just don't blame yourself.

There's a knock at your bedroom door, he slides it open when he finds it unlocked. He peeps inside before entering, entering your room he looks at you, "y/n when will you, stop thinking so low about yourself", his eyes hungrily wander across your body, and you find him in waist shorts.

His eyes travel to your hardened peaks covered with red satiny material which he wants to slip you out from it, he harrumphs distracting himself, but something catches his eyes, his eyes travel along your smooth long legs on display and halt at your sheer red thong.

"I uh--" he looks away from your figure, eyes on the floor filled with serene moonlight, "y/n, nobody's perfect, even I'm not, you know every deep and dark arcane of my past..... I'm here to tell you that I don't care, I fell in love with you, not with your perfection. Since I fell in love, since then I love every crack in your skin and all your freckles. I didn't meet someone like you," he looks back at you, as he walks closer to you and settles beside you taking a hold of your hand in his, he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

"I'm grateful," you take out the diary, "that I found this," and hand him.

"Oh thank you I thought I won't get it back.... and did you just say found? Really?"

"Yaahhhh!!"

"I probably wasn't going to because of the perfumes it holds of its owner, but seems like my bed would smell like him from now on, so it's fair enough to return it, no?"

He gives you his coy smile as he nods, "rather my bed will smell like you because I won't let you and our kid stay here," he parks a soft kiss on your forehead, "and what are we going to tell Hyeon?"

"That we accepted his proposal and now he'll call his best friend his dad!" You chuckle.

In a shot, he looks at you, a puzzled look blanketing his face, "I still can't believe this, that all these years you too felt the way I feel for you, why you didn't you --"

"Same question I'm hurling on you," your eyes are hungrily tracing his lips as you tightly grip the sheet under your fist and he notices you.

Without losing away any minute he leans close to you, smacking his lips on yours as your breath hitches at his sudden whirlwind of ardor, as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly against his body and in a trice, he straddles you on his lap whilst kissing you breathlessly. your moan melts away into his mouth. you clung onto him, arms tangled around his neck.

His hand at the small of your back roughly snakes under your red satin robe. he slides his hand inside your thong, your skin flush at his touch, digging his nails into your cheeks for support. he's gently kissing you without letting you go but oh so rough on your body. sucking his lower lip, as you slowly tug his lip between your teeth leaning back to bruise it. you both moved apart breathlessly panting, hungrily looking into each other's eyes, travelling back to lips. you fiddle with the hem of his shirt, hiking it up, he's smirking looking at your eyes hungrily savouring his exposed chest.

you feel him grow under your heated core. he tugs at your robe belt as it slips down and pools around your butt. his sinful eyes filled with lust darkly eye your bosoms, he tenderly gropes your breast, he cranes his neck a little, enveloping your buds between his lips flicking it with his tongue as he takes it between his teeth, playfully biting it, your grip on his shoulder tightens dipping nails into his skin.

moans escaping from your lips making him groan, his warm breath hitting your bosom sending tingles on your skin, he places his palm gently over your lips and hushes you, "if you don't want to wake up our kid," retracting his hand from your lips, our kid that word did something like something incomplete is now perfectly complete.

He gently hurls you on the bed, you want to feel his body, you want him to kiss every inch of your skin, bite you and bruise you, your drunk eyes watch him, pulling down his waist shorts, freeing his shaft. He grabs his shaft using his large hands, and jerks himself for few times indirectly letting you know to get ready, low groans peep from his lips.

You gape at your man seductively, how he jerks his member in his hand, growing harder in his hold your stomach turns at his hard length. Fucking his fist in a pace, eyes never leaving you as he smirks at you drooling over his hard shaft. The urge inside you to take him in deep inside you, and fuking him much - very much better.

As he shoves his free hand between your legs, he spreads them apart.

He parks himself between your legs. His eyes on your bruised bosom with hickeys only make him want to bruise them more. He hooks his finger to the waistband of your thong and slides it down, your breath hitches at your exposed body in front of him as you close your eyes in self-consciousness, he gasps at his sight and leans down taking a lungful of your flavour as he parks a wet kiss on your heated - bare - wet pussy "beautiful" he murmurs.

His hands travel from your knees slowly to your lips, as he traces your delicate skin and dips his thumb in your slick, a low moan escapes your lips before you bite them to melt them inside your lips, "Joon, I can't wait, fuck me, baby", your voice seems to lower, sounding more like smooth whiskey and he knows you're only trying to make it hard for him.

"You want me to fuck your tight pussy, raw, that desperate huh!!"He parts your slit, as he flicks his tongue between your sensitive lips. "Don't you know how much I waited for you," without wasting another second he grabs your knees stretching them out for him, as your pussy slit opens. He grabs his hard cock, rubbing it.

Waiting for him to fuck you, you grab one of your bosoms and knead it desperately in your hold. He bends a little as his hands slide under your ass and grab them angling you for his cock, he slowly buries his shaft and your eyebrow furrow as he moves deeper and deeper inside you and halts drinking in your expressions.

He slightly pulls back then stops, and again pulls back eyeing you, "if you want, we can stop it right now baby", he leans down closing the distance between you two, his hands on either side of your head, and place a soft kiss on your forehead, you instantly open your eyes looking at him, his lips just an inch away from your lips, "no, I want you right now.... No more distance between us Joon," your hands cupping his nape to draw him closer as you park a soft peck on his lips.

He digs his fingers back into your flash, and retreats, slamming his dick back into you, as you whimper in pain, a tear escapes from your eyes. Glitters of sweat on his forehead under the dim light of your bedroom, doing no justice to how gorgeous your man is. Not only on his forehead but his chest too, deliciously sweaty. Seeing him on your top, your pussy clenches around his hard length, "baby", he groans dipping his head on the nape of your neck the warm breath breaking out goosebumps over your skin.

He doesn't stop now, his cock throbbing to match the crazy throbbing of his heart, arching your back you dip your head back into the pillow, "fuck Joon, shit.... Yeahhh babyy", you moan out loud, as he quickly kisses you nipping your lips to bite your moans.

He leans back, "baby, Hyeon wi--"

"Fuck me harder Joon," you murmur, breathlessly.

Without wasting any time, he's ramming his dick into your tight pussy again, as you grip the sheets under your skin.

The way he's making you feel, you never felt like this ever in your life though it's the first time after Jace, he too never made you as incredible as him. The way his hips are in a rhythm against yours, the pleasure making you clench around his length.

"I wanted you for so long y/n," he groans, pounding into you. "You are mine y/n, and I belong to you," your walls only clench tighter around his shaft, enveloping perfectly around his thick length.

"Yes, Joon, only you... Us baby" your breath hitches, looking at his dark eyes, you're close and you know he too is.

He groans as his knees buckle, striving to keep up the merciless rhythm, "should have confessed, before him but now I won't waste any minute", his words are only causing your walls to spasm and contract, fire in your abdomen with his words making your way to your peak.

"You can do this baby", he coos tracing your cheeks with his thumb. He could feel you close.

As your climax is near, your hips stutter against him, desperately, creating the heat and friction for the feelings and bringing you closer to your peak. You're writhing under him when you hit your orgasm, you're so wet that his thick shaft is easily sliding in and out of your pussy.

He's pushing into you inch by inch, massaging your walls slowly. He covers your mouth to hush you before emptying inside you, as your clenching walls only cause him to come inside you and fill you up to the rim.

He softens inside you, as he dips his head into the crook of your neck.

"happy birthday baby, I love you", you kiss his earlobe, panting heavily.

"I love you more..... the best birthday," he pulls back, looking deeply into your eyes, "can"t wait to see the joy in our baby's eyes".

you both chuckle, and there's a knock on the door, "oh, shit" you murmur.

Namjoon only chuckles, "seems like this is the time".

2K notes · View notes

eoieopda · 11 months

Text

aphelion (knj)

aphelion (n): the point in the orbit of a comet at which it is furthest from the sun.

Kim Namjoon was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x AFAB!Reader Type: Flashback Prequel | Genre: Fluff & Angst, Smut | Rating: M (18+) AU: Strangers ⇢ Lovers ⇢ Exes, Lacunaverse (aka Lacuna!AU) Word Count: 19K Content Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST; gratuitously autobiographical; POV switches; Namjoon and MC are both musicians but not envisioned as "idols"; emotional support producer!Yoongi; self-insert!OC, jinseo; panic attack implied (crying, rapid breathing, chest tightness); depressive episode implied (lack of self-care, lack of appetite); a relationship dying in slow motion (ouch.) Smut Warnings: Vaginal fingering, lil bit of biting, implied unprotected sex, reader rides it like she stole it. A/N 1: This is the prequel to Lacuna and its sequel, Redamancy. It takes place over the course of two years (2020 to 2022 — we’re pretending COVID never happened, btw) and will have month/date info. at the top of each vignette. You can read the series chronologically (starting here) but I definitely recommend reading in the order it was written (Lacuna ⇢ Redamancy ⇢ Aphelion) because I think dramatic irony is fun and sexy. A/N 2: Endless thank you's to my emotional support moots, @jihopesjoint and @here2bbtstrash for beta-reading this unabashed entry from my diary. A/N 3: To my "Namjoon" — You were the best thing I didn't get to keep. I hope you found the sun. Suggested Listening: Spotify Playlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

2020/7/18; 18:23

As awful as he knew it sounded, Yoongi was grateful to have someone in his life who was equally riddled with social anxiety. That flicker of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was easier to digest when there was a hand — metaphorical, mainly, because the real thing was the tiniest bit sweaty — to cling to whenever he had to feign extroversion. Before you popped up into his life, perpetually on vibrate mode in the way that he was, he’d ventured out of his studio even less than he did now.

With you, there had always been a silent understanding: neither of you ever wanted to attend the company events that appeared simultaneously on your calendars; neither of you ever successfully shook off the feelings of guilt and obligation that prevented you from bailing altogether; and neither had ever — would ever — consider attending without the other. Co-dependence at its finest, you wore each other like a backpack and held on tight.

One of the terms of this unspoken social contract was that, when it came time to rally for one of the aforementioned, godforsaken label parties, Yoongi rushed over whenever you put up the Bat Signal. Instead of a cartoonish symbol in the sky, it always came in the form of a text — usually with a minimum of six (6) very urgent emojis — declaring a fashion emergency. No questions asked, he showed up on your doorstep every time. Yoongi never had any valuable input to offer, but he could tell you when you looked nice.

You always did, but he tended to keep that part to himself.

When Yoongi finally arrived at your apartment this time, he didn’t bother knocking the way he used to. By now, he knew that part of your pre-party panic included unlocking your door for him whenever you sent out your SOS. So, he let himself in and left his shoes at the door. Immediately, he heard a relieved sigh waft out from your bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, thank god!”

He waited for the blush in his cheeks to fade before he continued his journey to you, willing his standard poker face back into existence before it ratted him out.

“Do I need to call in a helicopter evacuation?” Yoongi called out to you as he padded off in your direction. “How bad is the avalanche?”

Before he could get halfway to your bedroom door, you poked your head out through the doorway. You had those pink, plastic cylinders in your hair — the ones that looked spiky and uncomfortable, but that you somehow never complained about — and half your makeup done. Even in that cactus-printed bathrobe, Yoongi wouldn’t have been surprised if you wound up with a spread in the next issue of Nylon.

You grimaced. “Admittedly worse than the holiday party, but nowhere near as bad as the Great MAMA Catastrophe of 2017.”

“So…” Yoongi teased with a tilt of his head, “Yes to the helicopter evacuation, then?”

He didn’t have time to emotionally or physically prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side of your bedroom door because you grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him inside as soon as he was within your reach.

Oh, good god, kid.

Yoongi opened his mouth to express how impressed — terrified? — he was by the explosion of outfits littering every surface of your room, but he quickly realized that no words would do it justice. He opted for a trademark, flat-line smile and a quiet grunt. You grimaced a second time, knowing full well what he hadn’t said out loud

Scurrying around him, you tore like a tornado through the immediate area to clear a path for him. You were clumsy enough to trip over every stray shoe but had reflexes — shockingly — quick enough to right yourself before your stumbling could send you to the ground. Once the carpet was sufficiently visible, you gestured to the small opening on your bed with a platform boot you’d unearthed somewhere along the way.

“You can, uh —” You continued waving the shoe in the direction of your bed, searching for the rest of your sentence. Yoongi watched in real time as your train of thought left the station.

More than a little endeared by your scattered brain, he offered, “Sit?”

“Yes!” You snapped your fingers and pointed a finger-gun at him with a sheepish smile, “That. Do that while I try to find my vocabulary. It’s gotta be somewhere in this blast zone…”

Voice already petering off, you wheeled back around to your regurgitated wardrobe.

Yoongi dropped into the only open spot on your mattress and leaned back to rest his weight on the palm of his hand. Settled into his usual space and routine, he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time, as if the answer to that question would make a difference.

It was half-six.

Ugh.

As always, the pair of you would wind up late; and, as always, that would still somehow mean that you’d be the first to show up. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it — leaving later and later for every party — you were perpetually, dreadfully guests numbered one and two.

“I never know what to wear for these things,” you whined, once again a disembodied head appearing in a doorway.

When did you even sneak off into your closet? How were you physically able to reach it?

The rest of you reappeared underneath your head. You were clutching a dress in one hand and a skirt in the other, looking like your will to live had been hung up in their place. Worse, you had that little anime pout on, which didn’t bode well for the schoolboy crush Yoongi was secretly harboring, but you didn’t say anything. You just kept looking at him, eyes all pitiful and sparkly.

“Do you want me to ask him about the dress code?” he offered, unsure if that was what you were after but otherwise at a loss for solutions.

The look of mild-to-moderate panic washing over your face caused Yoongi to sigh. He knew you were thoroughly starstruck — he’d heard you gush over Namjoon and his new release for hours by now — but maybe he’d underestimated the extent. Your relief was immediate when he waved you off and said, “I’m not going to tell him that you’re the one asking.”

Yoongi [18:30]: on a scale of sweatpants to tuxedo, how hard do i have to try?

While he waited for an answer, Yoongi glanced back up to check your status. You’d once again disappeared in the few moments he’d glanced down at his phone screen. So damn sneaky. There was a significant amount of shuffling coming from the depths of your closet. Something shifted, then you yelped.

“You okay?” Yoongi called out, primed to get up and dig through the presumed rockslide for you.

Meekly, you popped back into view with one hand rubbing gingerly at the top of your head. You frowned. “I found my snow boots.”

“Sounded like your snow boots found you, kid.”

Yoongi’s phone buzzed in his hand. He ripped off the velcro-grip gaze he held on you and blinked down at the screen.

Namjoon [18:34]: Hyung, since when do you give a fuck about trying? lol

Yoongi chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure what information to divulge: that he wasn’t asking because he gave a fuck; that you were the one who did; or that the only reason Yoongi was having this conversation at all was because you were the one that asked him to. He settled on something vaguely truthful.

Yoongi [18:37]: fuck off, joonie. since i’m bringing someone special and i want you to meet her.

The reply was immediate and three-fold:

Namjoon [18:37]: Call me Joonie again and see what happens 🤔 Namjoon [18:37]: Wear jeans in case I gotta chase you down for that. For real, though, it’s casual. Namjoon [18:37]: Also 👀

Yoongi shoved his phone back in his pocket without bothering to reply. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did, anyway. You weren’t the kind of person he knew how to summarize in a quick text; so he’d have to let your presence speak for itself. It always did.

When he looked back up from his hands, you reappeared in the closet doorway in a flouncy little dress. He had to stop himself from asking if you’d wear it to his funeral when he inevitably dropped dead. Once he succeeded at that, he swallowed thickly and focused on the two pairs of shoes you were holding, one in each hand.

Your face scrunched up while you mulled over your options. Without looking up, you asked absently and borderline shyly, “Did he respond?”

It took a beat for Yoongi’s brain to catch up; sundress season truly was the silent killer. In the pause, your inquisitive eyes flicked up to see if he’d simply ignored your question. He fumbled, pointed to the chunky, heeled sandals in your left hand, and then shot you a thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes with a snort and knelt down to slip into his choice without further comment. As you did, you triple-checked that the ankle strap was secured and Yoongi didn’t have to guess why: the last time you wore them out, you hadn’t buckled yourself in properly. The thick tread had snagged on a curb; and your shoe didn’t come with you when you stepped up onto the sidewalk. You waited on one leg, the other foot bare in the wind, while Yoongi returned to the street to grab what you’d lost.

When you finished your ministrations, you stood back up to your full height — now with fifteen added centimeters — and brushed your hands against the back of your dress’ skirt. The expression on your face was somewhere between exhilarated and vaguely nauseous.

You clapped your hands together suddenly and sighed, “We doing this, Yoongs?”

He rolled his eyes so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He was endeared by that stupid nickname but unwilling to let you know as much. Still, he followed when you led him out of your bedroom; when you grabbed a laughably tiny and arguably useless purse off your hallway console table; and when you skipped out of your front door.

“Who’s driving?” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder at you as he hit the lock button on your door’s keypad. He didn’t need to ask — you had the alcohol tolerance of a newborn baby and couldn’t assume the wheel after more than two drinks — but he knew it made you feel better when he did.

Sheepishly, you pursed your lips.

He sighed with a microscopic grin, “Garage gate wouldn’t open, so I’m on the side of the building.” Then, he shuffled towards the elevator with you in tow. Even with the added height of your shoes, your short legs still struggled to keep up with his pace.

As soon as the elevator doors re-opened on the ground floor, you threaded your arm around his and handcuffed him to you with your elbow bent. Before he could make a joke at your expense, you raised a manicured finger and said, “Do not start with me, Min Yoongi.”

So, he didn’t. He simply opened his passenger door for you and closed it once you’d slid into your usual place. As soon as he slid into his and pressed the start button, your phone automatically hooked to his Bluetooth stereo; and he couldn’t even whine about that fact because you’d already queued up some song he’d never heard in a language neither of you knew well. True to form, you didn’t let that stop you from singing along as loudly as you could — all the way to the venue.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to find a spot or to parallel park in it, much to your amazement. It did, however, take ten minutes of silent sitting for either of you to say a word.

“Do we have to go in there?” you asked, damn near inaudibly.

Where you sat, your left knee bounced at a speed almost imperceptible to the human eye. Yoongi only noticed because his knee was doing the same. He exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held hostage and glanced at the time displayed on his car’s touch screen. He grimaced. “Shit started an hour ago. How much do you wanna bet that we’re still the first people here?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Even if we are,” you started as you pushed open the passenger side door, “I’m not waiting to start the clock until guest number three arrives.” You shot him a pointed look as you slid out of the car. Adjusting your dress once you’d made it to your feet, you added, “One hour of kissing hands and shaking babies, then we’re out of here, right?”

Yoongi clamped his mouth shut, but it did nothing to ward off the laughter that made his shoulders shake. He nodded firmly, let his feet hit the pavement, then let his car door shut behind him.

“Compensatory lamb skewers, as usual?” He asked once he rounded the back of the car to join you on the sidewalk. On instinct, you threaded your arm through his to keep yourself on your feet, and your feet in your shoes. “But not from that place you picked last time. I’m ninety-nine-percent sure they clean it with a garden hose at night.”

You grumbled something about never being allowed to pick the restaurant before reaching for the door handle and petulantly jerking it open.

The second your respective feet stepped over the threshold, you both froze. It was the social equivalent of rigor mortis, the pair of you standing with locked limbs and gawking at the sheer number of people inside the hole-in-the-wall venue Namjoon had chosen. Clearly, he’d intended this to be as quaint as possible. Even more obviously, management hadn’t given a shit or fuck about that goal.

“This is,” you inhaled deeply as if you’d never get the chance again, and on the exhale, you wheezed, “So much. Oh my god.”

No matter how many times his shaking eyes scanned over the crowd ahead, Yoongi couldn’t find a single person he recognized, let alone wanted to spend an hour talking to. He snapped to look at you in the same moment you turned to him.

“What an hour this minute has been.”

“Lamb skewers?”

“Yes, please.”

Just as quickly as you’d entered, the pair of you turned to head out the door. Yoongi couldn’t grab the handle before a loud voice rang out from behind, “Hyung!”

A hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, spinning him around and leaving his emergency exit out of reach.

“So glad to see a familiar face,” Namjoon’s grin took up his whole face, but his mouth didn’t move with his words. They were forced out through gritted teeth, pleading the way his eyes were: If you leave me here, I’ll kill you.

Yoongi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He would’ve asked you — not with words, anyway — to make up some excuse to get you both out of there, to grab take-out and watch Naruto on his couch, but you couldn’t answer. Your starry-eyed gaze was aimed above you, and he’d venture a guess that everyone in the room had disappeared.

Everyone but Namjoon.

Damn it.

Somewhere, somehow, Yoongi heard a record scratch.

“Oh, shit,” Yoongi coughed, suddenly aware of his obligation as a mutual friend. Gesturing languidly between you and Namjoon, Yoongi reported for duty. “Joon, this is —”

Namjoon finally seemed to realize that you were standing there with Yoongi. He tilted his head to look down at you, and as soon as he did, Yoongi watched in slow motion as Namjoon’s eyes grew three times their usual size. Your name barely cleared Yoongi’s lips before Namjoon was extending a hand for you to shake.

Somewhere, somehow, the music seemed to swell.

Am I having a stroke?

The next minute that passed felt like an hour, too, and nobody said a word. It was you looking at Namjoon; Namjoon looking at you; and Yoongi’s eyes flitting back and forth between his friends with a kind of bemusement he couldn’t fake if his life depended on it. He’d crashed-landed in the middle of a drama, and he didn’t know what else to do, so he cleared his throat and said, “Uhh — shots, anyone?”

The next hour flew by in sixty seconds, and Yoongi couldn’t wrap his brain around how that could be. He’d lost faith in the concept of linear time, he knew that much. The two people he sat next to were meeting for the first time, but there was a familiarity present that he couldn’t put a finger on. Like you were both saying hello in this life after saying goodbye in a previous one.

Throughout the conversation, Yoongi couldn’t keep his attention on the words being tossed back and forth; not even the ones he was offering up. Huh, he thought, so, this is what it looks like when people meet who they’re meant to.

“Listen —” You smacked your hand down on the tabletop, swallowing down a laugh as you faked incredulousness. You pointed directly at Yoongi, causing him to choke on his whiskey. “I don’t care if I have to read translations on an app, Nas’ lyricism is unparalleled —”

“Facts,” Namjoon chimed in with a tip of his glass.

The way your eyes sparkled in response wasn’t lost on anyone.

Yoongi rolled his. “Okay, but from a production standpoint, we all know that —”

Simultaneously, you and Namjoon sucked in breaths. The arguments you let loose didn’t match in words, but the sentiment was the same, downright seismic in its intensity.

“Don’t you dare bring Kanye West into this!”

“Hyung, I swear to God, if the next name out of your mouth is Kanye West, I’m leaving my own fucking party.”

The eldest raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine, fine,” he conceded. Yoongi slumped a little lower in his chair, accepting defeat. He glanced down at his phone to check the time — as if that wasn’t a lost cause — and when he looked up again, you and Namjoon had deviated down some winding tangent about the core of hip-hop being poetry.

It was odd, the way Yoongi’s stomach flipped then. Not jealousy, but fondness. Hunger, too, though that was secondary to the weird glimmer of pride he felt watching a bridge he’d unknowingly built link two spheres of his life together. There was a strange sense of clarity, to top it all off; one that changed all the question marks in his head to periods.

You and Yoongi would be friends.

Yoongi would be at peace with that fact.

The slightly sweaty hand that pulled you through that event wouldn’t be his; and he would be at peace with that, too.

Yoongi would grab lamb skewers on his way home and wait for your call tomorrow to hear how the rest of your night had gone without him.

With a signature, flat-line smile, Yoongi slid off his stool and slid his empty glass towards the bartender. Then, he clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. The younger stopped mid-sentence with a start and blinked up at Yoongi, whose smirk immediately dropped, deadpan.

He glanced at you and confirmed that you were too busy ordering another drink to overhear. Then, he leaned down towards Namjoon and whispered, “Don’t fuck this up, Joonie.”

Namjoon gulped. Yoongi could hear it as he turned away, letting that smirk reappear once his back was to Namjoon.

He won’t.

2020/7/18; 21:06

Namjoon’s face hurt.

There was a telltale ache in his cheeks that confirmed it: he hadn’t smiled that much, that completely, in a long damn time. At the rate things had gone over the last two hours, he wouldn’t be surprised to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror and find wrinkles demarcating just how crinkled his eyes had been. It was a wonder he’d been able to see you at all with the way his laughter leaked over his lash lines. Then again, your grin was burned into his brain already. Given the way you lit up, he was convinced that he’d see you — just you — even in the dark.

“Stop laughing at me!” you whined with your hand covering your mouth. Though you tried to hide it, Namjoon could still see you grinning, even with your mouth full. “I feel very attacked.”

He snorted. “Not an attack, just an observation. Can’t say I’ve ever witnessed someone order a beverage they don’t like just to eat the garnish.”

Quickly, you skewered another blackberry with the end of your straw and guided it under the hand covering your mouth. When you placed the straw back in your drink, the fruit was gone; your eyes were sparkling.

“Are you just jealous that you’ve never thought to do it?” You tilted your head to the side as you chewed. The little flex of your eyebrows made his stomach flip, so he swallowed hard and wondered if you noticed.

“Honestly,” he started with a sigh. He slumped down in his seat, looking as pathetic as possible while he eyed the remaining fruit in your glass. “Yeah. Little heartbroken, too.”

“Oh?” You pouted and Namjoon was on the brink of passing the fuck out.

The hand over your mouth dropped. You shifted on top of your stool, grabbed hold of your blackberry malt, and leaned in as you scooted it across the bar to Namjoon. The smile tugging at your lips was petal soft, though the flash of bright white teeth hit him like high-beams. He was a deer; he was frozen; and he didn’t give a shit if you ran right over him.

Elbows against the bar, you leaned even further. This time, when you tilted your head to the side, your hair gave way and left your bare shoulder in his line of sight. For the first time in his life, Namjoon finally understood why something as innocuous as a short-sleeve or exposed ankle was deemed pornographic a century prior. In the year 2020, he was losing his mind over an acromioclavicular joint and some — smooth, touchably soft — flesh.

“Because I haven’t offered to share?”

Jesus Christ.

He was seconds away from biting down on his fist to keep from groaning. That coquettish, candy-coated voice of yours was a problem in and of itself, but when you looked at him from under your lashes like that, Namjoon was ready to call in a bomb threat to his own party. He couldn’t simply fuck off with you, though — not without an excuse he could sell to Bang Si-Hyuk later.

Namjoon needed an out, now. Unfortunately for him, all he could think about was biting down on that shoulder, following the curve of it with his —

He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “Exactly. Rude.”

You smirked; he winked. To keep his mouth occupied, Namjoon grabbed the spare straw from your drink and speared a blackberry for himself. Holding his prize out in salute, he nodded his head with a smirk of his own. “Geonbae!”

You smiled sweetly again as you watched him pluck the fruit off the end of the straw with his teeth; but you grinned with all you had when the whiskey-drenched berry hit his taste buds like a punch. Sour, unbelievably potent after steeping so long high-proof liquor. Every part of him clenched at once, prompting you to laugh with your whole chest.

What a perfect fucking sound.

“Shit,” Namjoon sputtered. His face unpuckered and gave way to a grin that likely rivaled yours.

“How are you not tanked right now? Seriously, I’m twice your size and can handle my liquor. That —” He waved his hand towards your glass, “— nearly knocked me on my ass.”

You opened your mouth to respond — to tease him mercilessly, he hoped — but you were cut off by the horrendous sound of Namjoon’s phone vibrating against the bar and his own empty glass. The cacophony rattled in his rib cage. Both of you flinched at the sudden interruption, leaving him to wonder if you also forgot that anyone else existed.

Namjoon glanced quickly at the illuminated screen, then back up to you. He would’ve ignored his texts in a heartbeat — indefinitely, without hesitation — but you squeezed his hand as you slipped off your stool to your feet. With your promise that you were headed to the restroom and would be right back, he gave himself permission to look back down at his phone.

Yoongi [21:43]: you tell her about that comet thing? she’s an unrelenting nerd like you. she’ll be into it.

If he could have, he would’ve kissed Yoongi through the phone for two reasons. The first of which was that, in the time he’d spent talking to you, Namjoon had completely forgotten about the one thing he’d talked about incessantly for the past month: the upcoming appearance of Neowise. The second was that, once again, Yoongi had come in clutch with a reason to bail on a social obligation.

Namjoon [21:45]: You’re a lifesaver and I love you. Yoongi [21:46]: ew

Namjoon was still chuckling when, unexpectedly, he felt playful fingertips trail across his shoulder blades. You, he quickly realized as you walked behind him and sat back down on your stool. He shivered, even after the trace of your touch was gone.

“All good?” you asked with a soft smile.

Yeah, he thought, really fucking good.

Namjoon grinned automatically. He picked up the spare straw he’d used earlier and harpooned another blackberry, not having learned his lesson last time. The whiskey hit his tongue, burned beautifully on the way down, and emboldened him.

Without hesitation, he asked, “Do you wanna get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”

Your wide eyes blinked back at him, then they scanned the room to confirm that, yes, it was still packed with people — up to and including executives from the label. Yes, he did just offer to ditch all of them for you, consequences be damned.

“Yes,” you responded, as if that was the easiest decision you’d ever made.

Namjoon got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Not afraid of heights, are you?” His smirk all but dissolved when your fingers interlocked with his.

“Not if the fall would be worth it.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that statement — one so simple, made so easily as if it was a thought you repeated to yourself often. You’d stunned him, really, and Namjoon was uncharacteristically lost for words. So, you both fell into a comfortable silence as he led you out of the venue, ignoring every wayward stare on the way out.

Even after he opened his passenger door for you and slipped himself behind the wheel, he couldn’t get over what you’d said. It took root in the back of his brain. In all the years he’d been in this industry, he’d determined that there were only two types of people: the ones who jumped without thinking and the ones who only ever did the latter. You, it seemed, were neither.

Not if the fall would be worth it.

As he drove, you hummed along to whatever played on the radio, gaze taking in the city lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the neon from roadside signs wash over your face as they passed. Pretty in all colors, he thought, in every light.

Five minutes passed before he realized that you hadn’t even asked where he was taking you. Maybe you’d made an assumption that you were headed back to his place, which, while true, still wasn’t entirely accurate. Or maybe you simply trusted him. Determined that he was one of those calculated risks worth taking.

Namjoon was warm all-over when he finally reached his parking garage and turned into his assigned space. By the time he rounded the back of his car to open your door for you, you were already standing and smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

God bless sundress season.

“Didn’t realize you were a fan of his work.”

He froze. Oh, fuck.

Swallowing down the embarrassment of broadcasting his thoughts out loud, Namjoon shrugged. The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to ruin his nonchalance. “Credit where it’s due, you know?”

He then glanced down at his watch and confirmed that he was running out of time. When he looked back up at you, you were visibly puzzled but you didn’t question him. So, he questioned you:

“You didn’t develop a fear of heights on the drive over, right? Fall still worth it?”

Your response didn’t come in words. To his surprise, you held out your hand and stared expectantly — sweetly — at him until he took it.

You didn’t have the key code to operate the elevator or any idea where you were headed, but you tugged Namjoon along after you as you crossed the parking garage. It was then that he noticed the sheer height of the shoes you were wearing and how carefully you moved in them. Not like heels were foreign to you, but with deliberate steps as if you expected one or both of them to make a break for it. He made a mental note of it.

After typing in his access code to summon the elevator, Namjoon gazed down at you. Trying to hide his smile again would’ve been an exercise in futility, so he didn’t bother. Without thinking first, he mused, “You know, you still haven’t asked where I’m taking you. That’s a lot of trust.”

“I mean, if my untimely end comes at the hands of Kim Namjoon of all people, my ghost will have a really interesting story to tell.”

Your snicker made his knees wobble. You stepped into the elevator as it opened, leaving him to stand starstruck outside the doors.

“Coming?”

When Namjoon finally regained use of his limbs and joined you in the elevator, he pressed the button for the top floor, overshooting his own by three. With every second that passed as the two of you ascended, the centimeters slipped away — overcome by what Namjoon could only assume was a gravitational pull.

He’d orbit you if he could.

“This way,” Namjoon instructed. He gestured to the door at the end of the hall with a sign that promised roof access.

You stayed close, your hand so near to his that he could’ve grabbed it and held it a thousand times before you reached your objective. He held the door for you and watched you duck under his arm as you stepped through, damn near salivating at the way your perfume lingered in your wake.

The door in question opened to something halfway between an exposed patio and a fire escape. If Namjoon had to venture a guess, none of the other residents knew this place existed; it was exclusively for maintenance staff who needed to access the electrical meters contained in the locked room in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at it, understandably struggling to figure out why Namjoon had brought you to a place like this.

Sensing your confusion, he nodded his head towards a steep metal staircase which led up to the building’s roof. Staircase was a generous description, really. The only difference between those steps and a ladder was the presence of handrails and a slightly more forgiving angle.

When you caught sight of them, your confusion dissolved into surprise. You paused. Anxious eyes darted down to your heels as you shifted your weight from one to the other.

Weighing your options, Namjoon figured. Bare feet or twisted ankles.

He offered a third and crouched down in front of you, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Coming?” He quoted.

You looked at him in disbelief, like he couldn’t possibly be offering to take you up those steps on piggy-back — but he was, and he was dead serious. He said as much, and you had to bite down on your lips to keep your shy smile to yourself. As had been the case all night, your reciprocal offer was intrinsic trust.

Once you secured yourself on his back, you looped your arms gently around his neck. A quiet giggle immediately flooded his ears. Namjoon peeked at your face hovering over his shoulder and smiled when he saw that you were, too. Your laugh was music, more than anything else.

“This feels like that scene in Twilight.”

Because Namjoon has a sister, he automatically knew what you were referring to, as embarrassing as that was to admit. It was worth it, though, when he bought into your bit. You beamed like the fucking sun when he warned, “Hold on tight, spider monkey.”

He kept one hand on the railing and the other secured over your crossed forearms as he took the steps slowly. When none were left, it was just you, Namjoon, and an uninterrupted expanse of orange and pink.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, squeezing his bicep.

He took your silent cue and ducked back down so you could return to your own two feet.

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon kept his voice low as if he were in a place of worship.

In a way, he was.

You wobbled, not because of your shoes, but because you were staring straight up, spinning slowly in your spot while you drank in a fleeting, tangerine sky. As the sun continued to sink, bright white stars popped up to take its place. You seemed intent on counting them, but they couldn’t hold Namjoon’s attention — not with you fawning underneath them.

“Reminds me of home, kind of.” You matched his tone like this mattered as much to you as it did to him. “The buildings are always in the way here. After a while, I stopped bothering to look up.”

It felt natural, the way you reached out for his hand to keep you tethered. The same was true when he tugged gently and pulled you closer. You tucked yourself under his arm, nestled into his side. There was heat rising from his chest to his cheeks, but he still shivered.

Trying to keep his focus on the point of all this, Namjoon glanced down at his watch to confirm that the sun’s interference would be gone within minutes. Softly, he dropped his arm so he could place his hands on your waist. You let him turn you until you stood with your back to him; then, you followed his pointed finger with your eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the Northwest, alright?”

Playfully defiant, you turned your head to smirk up at him instead. “I’m admittedly shit at directions.”

Namjoon wouldn’t have noticed if the stars above him disappeared. For all he knew, they’d relocated to the dilated black of your pupils. There was a hint of a challenge twinkling there, too. He wasn’t known for backing down.

“This is the southeast.” Namjoon covered his fondness with a feigned frown and tapped your left hip bone with the pads of his middle and ring fingers. “The sun’s behind you.”

“I know it is,” you acknowledged. Despite that fact, you were still gazing over your shoulder at him.

Oh.

His eyes widened when he caught your meaning; yours crinkled at the corners. Namjoon didn’t have a single clue how you could smile that warmly without using your mouth at all.

It’s decided, he thought. Wherever this night takes us, I’m down for the ride. You lead, I’ll follow.

There was a distinct drop in his body temperature when you eventually — belatedly — followed his directions. Instinctively, Namjoon pulled you even closer so he could properly wrap his arms around your waist. Your shoulder blades pressed into his chest as he leaned down to your ear.

This time, you shivered.

“See that up ahead? Under the Big Dipper.”

You were quiet for a moment, likely searching for whatever secret he was pointing out to you. There was no room for doubt when you finally did see it because you gasped for the second time.

Breathless, you asked, “What is that? A meteor?”

Now visible against inky black, Neowise burned on the horizon.

“A comet,” he gently corrected you. “A new one — well, one we didn’t know about until March. It’s just now coming out of perihelion.”

At the forefront, its bright white mass led a slow charge down the sun’s gravity well. The tail was smeared behind it as if someone had dragged a paintbrush through the cosmos. Once-in-a-lifetime wasn’t scientifically accurate; and heavenly felt pretentious. Namjoon couldn’t think of a word in any language to describe the way he felt in that moment, but he prayed it would last.

You were equally awestruck. For a while, it was simple, silent wonderment as the two of you kept your eyes on the horizon. Peaceful, despite the faint blare of car horns wafting upwards from the streets below. Namjoon might venture far enough to call it perfect.

“What happens now?” You eventually asked. He glanced down at you when your voice cut through quiet, though your starry eyes didn’t register his movement. Thoroughly transfixed, you stayed still.

Namjoon felt himself frown. The answer was scientific fact, but it sounded like an unhappy ending.

Like leaving.

“Aphelion,” he sighed. “It’s headed for the point in its orbit that’s farthest from the sun. All that light you see right now comes from gas made by solar heat, so… it’ll grow colder the farther away it gets. Then, it’ll get so dark that it’ll be more or less invisible.”

You repeated that word quietly to yourself like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth. Aphelion. There was an undeniable heaviness to it. Namjoon wondered if you felt it, too.

He continued, “Not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.”

2020/7/18; 23:12

If you could have, you likely would’ve stayed on that rooftop until morning.

The back of your dress would be even dirtier from sitting down on the concrete the way you had; and your elbows may ache a little more after additional time spent leaning back onto flattened palms, but it’d be a small price to pay. Calm like that was invaluable. Until you stared at that uninterrupted sky, talking through every thought you’d ever had with someone who understood them all, calm like that was foreign to you.

You never had the opportunity to sit still, much less settle. Never got to be quiet, never got to linger. On that rooftop, you received a necessary reminder that your universe was bigger than a schedule full of obligations. Bigger than hotel showers, each less user-friendly than the last. Bigger than drinking boba tea alone in an airport, letting life carry you like a dandelion seed all over the map.

It was endless.

You wished that moment had been, but the news helicopter hovering nearby had said otherwise. As it turned out, television coverage of the comet was more important than your personal enjoyment of it. The loud chop of propellers against air had been bad enough; the gusts of wind those propellers kicked your way were even worse.

Even though he’d been sitting right next to you, Namjoon had to shout for you to hear him. You’d squinted as if that would make sense of the shapes his mouth had made — it didn’t. You’d heard his voice but not his words.

I need to learn to read lips, you’d thought. The problem with that realization was that the harder you’d focused on his, the more you wanted to nibble on them. And then the urgency you’d felt no longer had anything whatsoever to do with the aircraft. You hadn’t gotten the message until Namjoon stood up and offered his hands to help you stand, too.

Through the climb back down to the door, the walk up the hallway, and the elevator ride to his floor, Namjoon hadn’t dropped your hand. Now, it was taking longer than you imagined was usual for him to unlock his apartment door because the thumb of his dominant hand was still roaming over the back of yours.

“Finally!”

His sigh was half-exasperated, half-relieved, all swoonworthy when the key — at long last — did what he’d been begging it to do. Namjoon pushed the door open. This time, neither of you had to urge the other to come along.

The second your shoes crossed the threshold into his apartment, you damn near crumpled on the ground they occupied.

Holy shit —?

Less of an apartment and more of an archive, Namjoon’s space was artfully curated. In the literal sense. Everywhere you looked, there was some painting, some exquisite sculpture. All of it was breathtaking — and shockingly breakable, which made you wonder how they’d survived ownership by someone so endearingly clumsy.

He chuckled sheepishly when he saw the way you gawked, open-mouthed, at his collection.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a museum!” You were dizzy. “I swear, you’re going to have to get security to escort me out at closing time. I’ll stand, and ponder, and muse all day; and I’ll never leave.”

In hindsight, that sounded more like a threat than a warning.

Suddenly rushing so that you could explore more fully, you moved to bend down and undo the ankle straps of your heels. That was, coincidentally, the moment Namjoon attempted to address his own shoes. Your heads collided with a thud that made you both hiss and retract.

“You good?” Namjoon frowned apologetically. As he did, he lifted his hand to run his fingers gingerly over the bump likely forming on the crown of your head. You were too busy vibrating to do much more than nod.

Is one touch all it takes? This doesn’t bode well for you.

As if his goal was to kill you where you stood, he dropped his hand slowly, caressing the side of your jaw with his knuckle and a touch that was barely there. Deep brown eyes smoldered as they focused on you. Then, that husky voice completed the attack combination.

Knock out! Game over!

He tapped your chin with the pad of his thumb and said, “Stay here.”

As if you’d want to be anywhere else.

Before you could wrap your brain around the turn of events, Namjoon knelt in front of you. His right foot remained planted on the ground, leaving his thigh parallel overtop. Thank god for his black jeans. If you drooled at the sight of his quadricep straining against the denim, no trace would be left.

Knees wobbling, you followed his cue and shifted your weight to one foot. The other was guided up to rest against his thigh so he could address the ankle strap for you.

Is your mouth hanging open? Why is it so dry?

Your body shouldn’t have clenched the way it did at something so innocuous. Really, he was being polite. Self-preserving after your eagerness nearly left him concussed. But he must have heard your heart hammering against the wall of your chest because he looked up at you and — no, there was nothing polite about the way his eyes trailed over your body.

Nothing innocuous about his low voice wrapped in velvet saying, “You look like an angel when you look down at me like that.”

It was a miracle that you didn’t break skin with the way you pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

You must have blacked out after the first shoe was discarded; you weren’t mentally present to notice the other one’s removal. When your soul re-entered your body, Namjoon was back to standing at full height — and he was significantly taller now that you stood barefoot on his doormat.

Incapable of eloquence, you simply peeped, “Hi.”

Either you were going insane, or there really was a faint buzz of electricity humming in the few centimeters between Namjoon’s body and yours. Something was conducting through every nerve of your body, tingling.

“Hi.”

His little half-smile made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say next because the only thought in your head was something between a prayer and a plea.

kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

When the tip of his tongue broke through the seam of his lips to wet them, the only conclusion you could draw was that he’d read your mind. He didn’t listen, but the glint in his darkening eyes confirmed it: Namjoon knew exactly what you wanted and he was holding back. Instead of his mouth, he gave you his hand.

Not bad for a consolation prize.

His fingers slotted between yours like they were the reason those spaces existed in the first place.

That’s the thing about magnets — they attract what they’re meant to. You didn’t need to look for him to find him. Unpaired electron that you were, you knew it intrinsically when someone was spinning in the same direction you were. Even though it’d been the furthest thing from your mind in every moment leading to the present, you couldn’t deny it now:

You found someone that clicked.

There was static sparking in the air when Namjoon led you from the foyer into the living room. Every breath was charged, even the one that caught in your chest when you saw the full extent of his collection.

“I feel like I’m walking barefoot through the Met,” You hummed, eyes flitting from portrait to portrait. Traditional, contemporary, modern — all of it chosen thoughtfully and displayed the same way. “What’s it like to live in it?”

He paused and you paused with him. He looked shy for the first time all night. “Like I’m not alone with my thoughts, if that makes sense?”

Perfect sense.

“You’re not coming home to an empty apartment if you’ve got a piece of Yoo Youngkuk’s mind on the walls.” You gestured with your free hand to a painting hanging to your right. It filled the otherwise neutral space with bright blues, greens, and yellows. “Gotta have some enrichment in the enclosure, or the fishbowl we live and work in will drive us crazy.”

When you glanced back at Namjoon — who was silent and completely still — he looked as if your words had punched him in the chest. Not like he was in pain, but as if the wind had been knocked right out of him. He was silent, though his mouth was slightly parted, and he blinked slowly back at you. You didn’t know what that look in his eyes meant, but it was a far cry from the lust in them before you started rambling.

Now, you had to worry about whether you’d offended him somehow. Fuck. You’d done it again, piggy-backed off someone’s statement to add the two cents no one asked for. Have you ever kept a single thought to yourself?

You quickly pointed to a different painting.

This one, unlike the abstract pieces you’d examined so far, was earth tones in oil paints. Sitting in the center was a young woman in white, staring down at her bare feet as if one of them had stepped on something sharp.

“What’s her story?” You asked.

Namjoon cleared his throat to reactivate the vocal cords you’d seemingly paralyzed earlier. “That’s Eurydice on her wedding day. She married Orpheus, if his name rings any bells.”

It doesn’t.

“She got bit by a snake on her wedding night, which is — uhh, admittedly not ideal.” Namjoon visibly struggled to hide his smirk when you snorted in response. He continued, “She died, which is even worse, but Orpheus went to the underworld to save her.”

“Did he?”

Namjoon grimaced. “Orpheus was not great with rules.”

“Did Orpheus leave his own reception to chase a woman?” You teased with a raise of your eyebrow.

You watched his eyes darken in real time. Viper quick, he tugged at the hand he never let go of and led you right back to him. To keep yourself from colliding fully with his chest, your free palm flattened against it. His pulse raced at your touch, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the searing warmth radiating off of him.

“I suppose he did.” He leaned down, nose tip nearly bumping yours. “There’s an important distinction here, though.”

Namjoon’s hand left yours, lifted up to rest with his fingers under your jaw and his thumb above it. You were sure that your shallow, useless breaths were fanning over his chin, given how close in proximity his mouth was to yours. His breath hit your lips and left them tingling.

The best you could do was whisper, “And what would that be, Namjoon?”

“Orpheus went home empty-handed.”

You didn’t mean to growl in response the way you did, but he’d awakened something feral in you, and there was no turning back. No caging it in. Just your hands gripping tight to his shirt, pulling him down to kiss you the way you wished he had hours ago. That was primal, too. All teeth and tongue with his fingers threading through your hair, and —

And he laughed.

His shoulders shook just enough for you to notice. It was the quickened exhale of breath through his nose that gave him away, more than anything else.

“Is something funny?” You questioned him when you pulled back breathless. His eyes were crinkled, swimming with mirth.

Tease.

You and your now-unoccupied lips changed targets, dipping down to assault the exposed underside of his jaw. Mumbling against his skin, you urged, “Share with the class.”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to be on the brink of answering. Whatever words he might have found were lost again in an instant when your teeth nipped playfully where his neck met his shoulder.

“All those blackberries you ate — oh, fuck.” Namjoon groaned, even more so when your tongue flicked over the faint indents you’d left behind.

After leaving an opened-mouth kiss on his collarbone, you looked up at him from under a curtain of lashes. His head was thrown back, but he sensed your stare; half-lidded eyes fluttered down at you, transfixed. It was a look you felt everywhere, downright pulsing as it shot straight to your core.

You weren’t ready for the hands in your hair to migrate, and that fact was made abundantly clear by the tiny gasp he stole from you in the process. He reveled in it; the corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly upwards. His left hand resettled on your hip while the knuckles of his right hand brushed over the space just below your belly button.

Namjoon must’ve known he had you spellbound because his smirk was full-fledged when he pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers. Gently, he tugged what he’d claimed, causing the hem to flutter against the tops of your thighs. You were left damn near liquified. More puddle than person, dripping dizzy under such a torturously soft touch.

He didn’t know you were kerosene until he struck the match.

“If your kiss tastes like blackberries...” He trailed off, head tilting to the side. His right hand dropped further. It hovered, red hot, just millimeters away from your core. “How sweet is the rest of you?”

You erupted in flames when his fingertips finally made contact with your clothed cunt. Clenching your desperate thighs together did nothing to extinguish the blaze, nor did the arousal that slicked the innermost parts of them. Swallowing down the whimper building in your chest, you did your best to keep cool.

Eyebrow arched, you whispered, “Asking questions won’t get you answers, Namjoon. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

The intention might’ve been to wind up in his bedroom at the opposite end of his apartment, but the execution was short-sighted. The farthest your lip-locked staggering got you was the adjoining, open kitchen — more specifically, the kitchen island. The chilled, marble countertop forced a hiss out through your teeth when the undersides of your legs settled on it. With Namjoon’s hands scorching the tops of your bare thighs, though, you were far from frozen.

Fingers raking through his hair, you let him kiss you stupid — until you couldn’t remember how it felt not to. Whiskey-laced and wanting, you licked into his mouth with a stifled whimper and came to two irrefutable conclusions. They spun pirouettes in your brain as his fingernails scratched up your thighs and under the hem of your dress.

Kim Namjoon was made to be kissed.

Up, up, up, his hands moved slowly until you felt his index fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t have to ask for your help; automatically and eagerly, you dropped your hands until your palms flattened against the countertop and lifted your hips. Down your thighs, off your ankles, tossed carelessly over his shoulder, gone — accomplished with his bottom lip kept as a souvenir between your teeth.

Kim Namjoon tastes like blackberries, too.

He was panting when he finally broke away. Large hands slid under your knees and pulled you forward. Now sitting at the very edge of the counter with Namjoon’s body between your thighs, you could feel him throbbing behind too-tight jeans. You were seconds away from reaching out to touch him, but he was the quicker draw.

The tip of his middle finger slid through your folds, wading through the slick that had pooled there. He moved slowly from the button of your clit to your entrance. That teasing filled your head with static and the silence with obscenity: you cursing under your breath as your forehead dropped to rest against his shoulder; you gushing, though he’d barely begun to touch you.

“All for me?” He hummed. Namjoon’s eyes were locked on your face, as if he was collecting mental snapshots of the fucked-out expression he’d put there. “Sweet thing.”

His lips connected with the underside of your jaw in the exact moment his digit finally slipped inside of you. You were sure he felt the way your mouth fell open, even if neither of you heard your breath catching in your throat. It didn’t take much effort on his part to coax it out of you, though; just a few slow pumps, and then you were whimpering near his ear.

You had to rely on your arm around his neck to keep you tethered. If you let go, you weren’t sure where you’d end up — floating off to join Neowise in its orbit, or crashing down into a heap at Namjoon’s feet. But then he added his ring finger, and you clung to him so tightly that you might’ve wound up in his rib cage instead.

“Oh, s-shit,” you keened as his fingers curled upwards. He’d found his target and attacked it slowly, forcing you to walk towards your orgasm rather than sprint — the way you needed to. The way you were willing to beg for. “Namjoon, please. I n—”

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin. Before you could finish asking, he murmured low in your ear, “Say less, beautiful.”

The kiss he placed on your temple was the last thing you remember before his increased pace lit the fuse waiting deep in your abdomen. His thumb pressed against your clit, winding quick spirals, and he didn’t let up until he blew your mind sky-high.

When the smoke cleared and your pieces fell back into place, you had to blink to get the stars out of your eyes. “You should’ve warned me,” you panted. Namjoon was puzzled, which only made you beam. “You didn’t strike me as the dexterous type.”

The feigned shock on his face didn’t stick for long; it was quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin that made you tingle for an entirely different reason.

“These hands are good for two things, and two things only.”

You snorted, flexed an expectant eyebrow. “Breaking shot glasses, and…?”

Namjoon shook his head. His fingers were still shining with your orgasm when he brought them to his lips. It was ridiculous how he could still look pensive with you dripping down to his knuckles.

“Making you cum, first and foremost,” he corrected you matter-of-factly, like it was an undeniable truth dictated in one of the many books you’d seen littered around his apartment — and really, it should’ve been.

He took those glistening fingers into his mouth to clean you off of him; you couldn’t look away from his tongue as it ran down their length. You swallowed hard when he did. Then, he released them with a lewd pop that made you clench around nothing. “And making you cum again.”

You rolled your eyes, as if you weren’t still irreparably charmed by him. Namjoon bit back a grin, like he didn’t already know.

“My hypothesis may be confirmed, by the way,” he mused.

The magnetism you’d felt earlier brought him back to you again. His arms snaked around your waist so easily that you had to remind yourself — over and over — that they were strangers to you, not a home. That this was adrenaline; this was infatuation; this was one night.

You hummed in response, “Is it?”

It felt like home when Namjoon kissed you, softness laced with eagerness. Or like wax pooling on an envelope, the deed now signed and sealed.

“I’ll have to re-run the experiment, of course. Scientific method and all that.” He waved his hand, as if this was obvious. Yours landed a playful swat on his bicep that only deepened the dimple at the corner of his smile. He kissed you again and you let him. Lips still flush to yours, he mumbled, “Your pussy may be even sweeter.”

2020/7/19; 01:04

You should’ve been exhausted. Your social battery — and your physical battery — should’ve been depleted. You, an introvert and a homebody, should’ve been halfway to sleep in your own bed by now, in your own clothes.

When you left your apartment all those hours ago, you were already prepared to hibernate for twice as long as you’d spent on the outside. That was the way it always worked. A plan you never deviated from; one you never wanted to. But you’d been firmly rooted in the moment — every moment — since you arrived at that party, and you hadn’t spent a second since wishing you were elsewhere.

Your voice cut through the music flowing from the speakers built into his bedroom walls. “I’m not buying it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You twirled at the center of the rug and watched the fabric of Namjoon’s loaned t-shirt attempt to keep up with you. It hung over your frame like a potato sack, leaving a comforting weight as the excess material spilled over your shoulders and landed halfway down your thighs.

Funnily enough, it fit like the dress it’d replaced.

Pausing to swallow down the last sip of the soju you’d been splitting, you gestured towards him with the empty bottle. From where he sat on his bed, Namjoon raised his hands defensively. That sheepish smile admitted that he knew your offense was justified.

“You’re a musician who is fluent in English. You’re also a human being living in a society,” you huffed. “There is simply no way that you don’t know the words to this song.”

He had to cover his face with his hands to muffle his laughter. Even before he hid behind his palms, you could see the way his mirth made his eyes swim. They sparkled even more in that moment than they had in the thousand other times he’d looked at you throughout the night. Once again, you tried to convince yourself that it was due to the rose-colored glasses you couldn’t seem to shake off.

A trick of the light.

You were doing it again, and you knew it — conflating relief and hope; confusing the temporary sense of belonging somewhere with the ability to stay anywhere. You weren’t looking for this, weren’t looking for him, because you knew exactly what you couldn’t have. But you also knew that your heart was racing in your chest, and its rhythm was starting to sound more and more like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

Apparently, you’d been staring. Looking at Namjoon for too long made your knees wobble more than your sore muscles did, so you had to avert your eyes when you snapped back to reality. Brushing off that odd flutter in your chest, you brought the empty bottle back to your lips, tilted your head back, and belted out the lyrics you knew he knew.

“Oh, wake me! I'm shaking.”

You took your clumsy choreography to the next level with an exaggerated shiver. Namjoon watched through the cracks between his fingers, unable to ignore the person coming unzipped mere meters away. Undeterred, you threw the back of your hand up to rest against your forehead.

“Wish I had you near me now.” Then, you wiggled your hips in time with the ad-lib. It was barely audible underneath the chuckling from the audience. “Uh-huh.”

His hands dropped to his lap as yours shot straight up into the air, where you held them. The expression on his face was indecipherable when he gazed back at you. Whatever it meant, it was quickly morphing maybe into something more hopeful and — terrifyingly — committal.

“Said there's no mistaking —”

Namjoon said it on an exhale, weightless and without any effort. It sounded natural tumbling out of his mouth and into the space between you. It sounded a lot like:

“I think I love you.”

Without missing a beat, you reeled your arms back down and set the soju bottle onto a nearby dresser. Head tilted to the side, you crossed your arms and smirked. “How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

He didn’t seem at all surprised by the way you bought in immediately. You wondered if you truly expected him to be. After all, you weren’t, even if a reasonably well-adjusted person should have been. Perhaps, you thought, you weren’t one of those.

Namjoon’s response came just as easily as his first admission, a perfect volley. “At least seventy-nine percent sure.” You couldn’t see the way you lit up, but you’d have liked to imagine that it matched the way he did. Quicker still, he added, “And yes, I would. All in.”

There’s that magnetic pull again.

You skipped back to where he was waiting on the bed and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. Up close, you could see the sakura tint to his cheeks; it blended perfectly with the faint freckles dusting over the heights of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You’re beautiful, you thought, and it’s no wonder that the sun found you worth kissing.

Something about his proximity to you made you bold; you didn’t fight it. You simply smirked, “Then let’s make a deal, Joonie.”

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt.

“Two years,” you hummed as you tilted your head to the side. Then, with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, you elaborated, “If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

Namjoon nodded firmly. He put his hand out to shake on it, but you sat up on your knees. His gaze followed, leaving him to stare up at you as your fingers slid through his hair. You kissed him to finalize the contract, like all true devils do.

“Deal,” he murmured against your lips.

It scared you, just a little, how melting into him already felt like a routine. Like you’d done several times already that night, you spilled into his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs. Namjoon’s arms accepted you immediately; they enveloped you, kept you anchored against his chest.

This time, it was you who laughed.

Namjoon nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose. “What was that about sharing with the class?”

“I just — I’m not normally like this, you know? Completely unable to keep my hands to myself,” you snickered. “Can’t stop touching you.”

To emphasize your point, you removed your right hand from its place at the nape of his neck. Once your fingers were no longer woven through his hair, your fingertips traced light, languid lines, starting at his collarbone. Your eyes followed as your ministrations led you over the slope of his left pectoral muscle, down the bare warmth of his chest.

“So, don’t.”

When your eyes flicked back up to Namjoon’s face, you got the impression that he hadn’t stopped staring at yours. Right hand trailing further down, you maintained that eye contact and watched his pupils blow when you reached the bulge in his boxer briefs. Experimentally, the pad of your index finger whispered along the length of his cock; you relished the subtle twitch you received in response.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” You asked.

He was throbbing under your touch, growing hard once again, as if you hadn’t been at this for hours already. That didn’t stop you from driving him further wild. More breath than words, you teased, “Or here?”

With a light hand, you flattened your palm to encompass him more fully and squeezed, prompting him to curse.

“Fuck.”

Namjoon’s eyelashes fluttered, but he seemed entirely unwilling to let them close. Desperate brown eyes pleaded with you, sending heat straight to your core.

“Need you, pretty thing. Hand, mouth — doesn’t matter, just fuck me.”

Your fingers slipped away from the base until they resettled at the crown. Even without looking, you could feel the spot where his leaking tip had soaked through the fabric. He groaned when your fingers pulled away, though he stopped in his tracks when he realized where they were headed.

Namjoon shuddered when your hand dipped under the waistband of his briefs and picked up exactly where you’d left off.

“How do you want it, Namjoon?”

As you stroked him, you pressed your lips to his. Slow, hungry, like you’d die before you’d get the opportunity again.

To the best of his ability, Namjoon rolled his hips forward with each pass of your fist. And when you redirected that teasing pressure to his balls, he downright jolted, let loose some deep sound from the bottom of his chest. The sound hardly had time to dissipate before you felt the hem of your shirt lifting above your hips.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, it was gone in an instant, landing somewhere unseen off the edge of the bed. Ridding him of his briefs was a more concentrated effort. You pushed up on your knees so he could shimmy them down far enough for you to discard them entirely.

“How are your legs, pretty girl?” His palms warmed the tops of your thighs as he massaged his way from your kneecaps towards your hips.

Dipping his head down, Namjoon nipped affectionately at your earlobe and earned a squeak from you. His low chuckle vibrated through you. He was quick to redirect himself, though the teasing didn’t end at his teeth.

“You seem to like being bossy, but I can take over if you’re tired.”

You feigned a scowl. “Are you baiting me?”

The wicked grin on his face answered for him, but it was quickly replaced with wide-eyed surprise when you pressed your hands against his chest and pinned him back against the pillows.

He shrugged, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Not my fault if you take it, sweets.”

“Never would I ever have assumed that Kim Namjoon is a pillow princess.”

You pointed accusingly at him with one hand while the other slid into the space between you to line yourself up with his cock.

Impish grin still locked and loaded, he leaned up on his elbows until your extended finger was centimeters from his face. He kissed the tip of it chastely between his words, like his own tip wasn’t dripping with you, seconds away from obscenity.

“Hook — line —”

You dropped down on his length, and it shut him up immediately.

Though Namjoon was certifiably, world-endingly thick, you’d acclimated well enough to the stretch of him in your time together so far. He didn’t seem prepared for you to take him to the hilt in one fell swoop, if the way his head crashed back against the pillows could be taken as a hint.

With a swirl of your hips, you grinded down into his lap. Coquettishly, you finished where he left off. “Sinker?”

“Christ,” Namjoon groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, then followed up immediately with a sheepish laugh. “Feel like I can’t even watch you do this. You’re too fucking good — never gonna make it out of here alive.”

Pride bloomed in your chest at the compliment, even though he was prophesying his own downfall between your spread legs.

You imagined he could feel it for himself: you weren’t any more likely to survive. Not full of him, with your slick spilling down his cock as you bounced. Definitely not with the sick sounds of your ass colliding with his pelvis, squelching with every thrust.

There was something blooming below your navel, but this time, it wasn’t pride. A tingling heat coiled tight, desperate to snap again. You needed it, but the burn in your thighs was stronger by far.

“Joonie,” you whimpered, incapable of caring about how pathetic you knew you sounded. Your head, previously thrown back, drooped forward to find him and his flushed cheeks fighting to maintain composure.

God, he looked as fucked out as you felt.

Namjoon focused on you immediately, attentively, and your heart leapt of its own accord. He curled his finger and beckoned you to lean forward.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he sighed.

Less gracefully than you would’ve liked, you all but crashed into him, sweat-slicked chest to chest. Arms wrapped around you like they were made for that very purpose.

Anchored.

Dangling from the last, frayed thread of your resolve, you were damn near speaking in tongues. Namjoon pushed up onto his heels and buried himself in you — over and over and over — at a punishing pace, hellbent on unraveling both of you at once.

Your moan was halfway to a sob. All the words you knew had been knocked loose some time ago, leaving only his name and please. They rattled around your skull, alternating as they spilled out of your mouth.

“Say less, baby,” he panted.

There was a kiss pressed to your forehead, and then there were stars bursting behind your screwed-shut lids.

2020/11/2; 07:22

Namjoon sat across from you at his kitchen island with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book he’d forgotten the name of in the other. He’d started it over an hour ago, though the two turned pages might indicate otherwise. Instead, he’d spent his time attempting to read whatever scrunched-up, pensive expression you had written all over your face.

You hadn’t said much since the two of you sat down, just pushed your sliced fruit around your plate with chopsticks that had yet to pass your lips. Every now and then, you’d hummed in response to the random thoughts Namjoon relayed out loud. Ultimately, whenever you’d realized he said something at all, your eyes widened; and you’d blinked your way out of whatever daydream you’d gotten lost in.

He loved that about you, your internal wanderlust. Even if he didn’t always know where your train of thought was headed initially, he’d board it with you regardless, find out on the way.

Eventually, you plucked a blackberry off your plate and popped it into your mouth. Your eyes were still glued to your laptop when you started to chew. Then, he suspected that the tartness of it truly hit your tastebuds. The lightbulb switched on and you were back, beaming across the countertop, warming him like a UV lamp.

“Hi,” you peeped.

Namjoon loved that about you, too. Infinite hellos sprinkled throughout his day at random; feeling like you missed him whenever you looked away, and that you found it necessary to greet him when he finally stepped back into frame.

He lit up, too. “Hi. Where’d you go just now?”

You swallowed. Whether it was exclusively the fruit or anxiety, too, he didn’t know. That is, until you claimed your bottom lip between your teeth and mumbled, “Got a weird email from the Overlord.”

The sip of coffee Namjoon had taken while he waited for your answer was a bad idea. He sputtered, nearly spitting it out onto that book he couldn’t care about. The would-be spit-take made your brows raise on your once-crinkled forehead; your amusement was palpable, even if you did him the courtesy of not laughing in his reddening face.

“If Bang finds out you call him that, he’s gonna want it on the nameplate outside his office,” Namjoon coughed. Clearing his throat, he bumped his fist against his chest to shake loose any coffee that might be lingering near his airway. “Weirder email than usual?”

You nodded, then you waved him over to you. It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but he was glad you didn’t just turn your laptop around and scoot it towards him to read. You always took any opportunity for closeness.

When he crossed around the island to you, Namjoon threaded his arms around your waist and ducked down to rest his head on your shoulder. The second he laid eyes on your screen, he was paralyzed. You had so many browser tabs open that none had enough space to display what they contained.

Is this what the inside of your brain looks like?

“Jagi,” he started, breathing in deep to keep from laughing with his entire chest.

It was bubbling there beneath the surface, he could feel it. Begging for composure, Namjoon buried his face in your hair. Vanilla and honey. Instantly calm, perfectly prepared to nudge you further. “How — how did you even find your inbox?”

Just to fuck with you, he pressed his fingertips against that secret spot on the right side of your rib cage. It was the one place on your body he’d been able to confirm was ticklish.

Eventually, maybe, he’d learn his lesson. Today was not that day.

You squealed, thrashed wildly in his hold until your elbow wound up on the right side of his rib cage. It was hard enough to make your point, but way too gentle to hurt. Still, Namjoon had to capitalize on it. He sucked in a gasping breath and stood bolt upright to clutch his chest like he’d been shot.

With you watching wide-eyed, he staggered backwards — away from you, away from the kitchen — until the back of his knees hit the sofa in the adjoining living room.

At some point, Namjoon would have to shoot up a thank you to the God of Entertainment. Somebody had clearly been looking out for him when open-concept apartments came into existence. His slapstick would’ve been so underwhelming if there were doorways involved.

Flopping backwards, his limbs splayed out across the backrest and cushions. Whatever parts of him didn’t fit spilled over the edge and dangled above the floor. He froze that way, playing dead with his tongue jutting out of the side of his mouth.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Hope you watered the plants before you died, Joonie,” you called out. You sounded distant, like you hadn’t gotten up from your stool. “If you left it up to me, they’ll be dead soon, too.”

Joonie.

God, the way his heart still fluttered at that. Coming from you, that nickname didn’t sound stupid, or inspire him to choose violence. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t followed by some shit-eating grin. It was soft. Made him soft.

Jooniejooniejoonie.

“Actually, for all you know, I’ve got a tab open somewhere with an article on how to keep plants alive.”

Namjoon heard the faint scrape of the stool as you pushed it away from the counter. Then, the soft pad of your slippers coming his way. The hints were lost once you hit the plush living room rug, and so were you — until he felt your knees slotting on either side of his legs.

You settled down on top of him with your cheek pressed to his chest and your hair tickling his nose. Bravely, he didn’t sneeze.

Hand slipping down to the small of your back, he rubbed spirals into the space between the hem of your sweatshirt and the waistband of your sleep shorts. He hummed, “What’s on your mind?”

For more than a few moments, you were so quiet — so still — that Namjoon had to wonder whether his ministrations had put you straight to sleep. If that was the case, he’d keep going, blow off his to-do list for as long as he could just to keep you like this.

This.

Neither of you had settled on precisely what this was.

For nearly four months, this something was one of few constants in his life. Yours, too. It wasn’t a secret that needed keeping, but whatever this was felt too important to share. It belonged to the two of you, not anyone else — with the sole exception being Yoongi, who would’ve noticed the massive, tectonic shift whether or not he’d been the one to kick it off. Everyone else, though? Non-factors, as far as Namjoon could tell.

Until —

“Label’s expanding overseas.” It came out muffled, either because your cheek was smushed against his sternum, or because you really had fallen asleep in the pause. You continued, slightly clearer, “Putting a flagship sub-label in Los Angeles to crowbar their way into the American market.”

Namjoon wasn’t surprised, not really. Si-Hyuk had been daydreaming about this leap for as long as Namjoon knew him. It was only a matter of time before he got his little contractual ducks in a row. If anything, Namjoon was surprised that it took him this long to do it — what, with American money and American awards on the table.

But he knew you, knew that you didn’t give much of a shit about executive decisions, so long as they didn’t get in the way of your decisions.

That was precisely why he knew you were bringing this up for a reason.

“The hard launch is at the end of the month, so Bang is hoping to sign some of us over in the meantime. He’s trying to boost the curb appeal, I guess.”

You sighed and Namjoon felt the rush of air leave your lungs.

Namjoon nodded carefully to avoid knocking the top of your head with his chin. He sighed, too. “To water the plants.”

You didn’t say the quiet part out loud, but he could sense your brain working overtime; damn near hear your train of thought as it picked up speed. He half-expected to feel heat seep from your head to his chest while all your synapses fired off at once.

The warmth came from your eyes instead. You shifted so that your chin rested in the space between his pectoral muscles; and as soon as your gaze settled on his face, the crease between your eyebrows relaxed. Your pupils dilated, too, blown wide enough for him to notice the shift.

So, that’s what love looks like.

Not merely a neurochemical reaction or some grand, Hallmark-style gesture. Love looked like you, looking at him, while a wave of patent relief smoothed out the worry digging trenches in your features. And if he had to describe how it felt, well… The only word that came to mind was home.

“Is he asking or telling?”

Part of him wondered; the other part knew there usually wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

Even more quietly than before, you responded, “Asking — like, actually asking.”

The wrinkle in the center of your eyebrows reappeared, informing him immediately that you were split between the answer you wanted to give and the one you felt you should. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to make that call for you — to press down on either side of the scale — so he leaned forward and kissed you in the middle, right on top of that conflicted little crease.

“Joonie,” you started in a tone split three ways. Shy, sad, and sparked with a sense of hope that made you wary.

Bang Si-Hyuk wasn’t alone in his daydream. You brought it up considerably less than he did, but Namjoon sensed that this was because you didn’t want your motives to be speculatively linked with the prospect of profit. That would be the furthest thing from the truth.

For you, it was about your craft — Namjoon felt comfortable calling it that — and the million ways you could improve it with new collaborators, new ideas, new experiences.

For Namjoon, it was about you; and hoping that when you dove into life head-first, you never touched the bottom. Wanting everything you wanted to fall straight into your hands like confetti. And, if he could remain just a little bit selfish, he wanted to stick around and watch you catch them all.

If you wanted him, too, the rest of it would fall into place, one way or another. It’d have to, because Namjoon was struggling to remember how his days passed at all without you laughing through them. Maybe he’d have to reacclimate to sleeping without your knee pressed into his back, but he was confident that he could.

He could wait for you until this detour was over.

He would wait for you.

Without needing to think twice about it, Namjoon kissed your forehead and smiled with his lips still pressed to your skin. It was routine, as easy as breathing when he said, “Say less.”

You both stayed there on that couch for a while, though he couldn’t guess how long. Simultaneously minutes and months, but somehow — confusingly — it didn’t feel like the clock was moving at all. He could’ve easily believed that the universe has pressed pause on the moment, but you peeped and he had proof to the contrary:

“I’d be there by Thanksgiving.”

The realization clearly made you a little bit giddy. If your tiny gasp hadn’t given you away, your pulse would have. Namjoon could feel that hummingbird heartbeat against his own rib cage, and — shit, did that fondness squeeze his heart with a vice grip

You sat up, wild-eyed and urgent. “Is pumpkin pie just for colonizers, or are they obligated to share it?”

Fuck, he loved you.

“Joonie, this is serious.” You pouted and it was all he could do to bite back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

He nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose and smirked, “Just do what they do.”

“Steal it?” You snorted, devolving into a fit of giggles when he began to pepper kisses down your cheek, then along your jawline.

Eighteen in total, one for every stroke.

Saranghae.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Steal it.”

2021/6/19; 04:11

Most people — normal people — were in bed at four o’clock in the morning. You were not most people, though situations like this were becoming more and more normal to you. Unfortunately, you’d been forced to learn that normal and easy weren’t interchangeable. If they were, you’d have gotten used to taking the red-eye by now.

This was your third late-night flight. Not at all coincidentally, this was your third trip home since you left it for Los Angeles. You’d spent seventy-eight hours in the air, making this trip; flown more than 57,480 kilometers in less than a year.

Seven months, technically, but who’s counting?

The elapsed time seemed to run in dog years, though the calendar maintained that only seven months had passed. At the rate they slipped through your fingers, it felt like seven years of trying your best to take advantage of every break in your schedule. Flinging yourself across a black sky on a semi-regular basis, even if you’d just gotten off a tour of your own. Praying that the odd hours and lack of layovers meant your thirteen-hour trip didn’t steal a second more than was absolutely necessary.

Time, you’d learned, was a luxury you failed to properly budget for. Unable to do much else, you accepted whatever scraps you could afford. Make them worth it, you’d demand of yourself each time you landed at Incheon. Every time, your excuse would follow: I’m trying, I swear, but I’m so tired.

Instead of a bed, you were slumped in Namjoon’s passenger seat, clutching the small bouquet he’d brought you in a hand too exhausted to register the brush of soft, white petals. You’d never lose track of his fingers interlocked with yours, though. His touch was inimitable, and the warmth of it stuck with you long after it was gone.

“Pretty,” you mumbled, gaze zeroed in on the flowers. You lifted your right arm to bring them in for closer inspection. It was futile, mostly, given how bleary your eyes were. You guessed, “Baby’s breath?”

This airport ritual of his combined two of your favorite things: the careful consideration he made in choosing flowers that conveyed messages, and the dimple that appeared on his cheek when you guessed correctly. Gifting you an additional prize, Namjoon raised your clasped hands off the center console. Without taking his eyes off the road for too long, he flashed a sleepy grin at you and kissed your knuckles.

Fuck, you loved him.

He turned onto the expressway, let your hands drift back down between you, and yawned. Automatically, you yawned, too.

As he drove, Namjoon’s sleep-drenched brain did its best to ask about all the updates you might’ve acquired since your last phone conversation. He asked about the extended play you were writing, the weird leak in your apartment, and the only friend you’d truly made in the time you’d lived there.

“What’s their name again?” He asked, visibly embarrassed that he’d forgotten. “Jisoo?”

With a chuckle, you corrected him, “Jinseo.”

He echoed you firmly under his breath, clearly determined to commit it to memory this time. Word association was apparently part of that process, you realized. Your heart fluttered wildly when Namjoon proceeded to state the first thing that came to mind about her, proving that he did listen when you talked.

“Jinseo’s the attorney who tried to slide into Yoongi’s Instagram DMs,” Namjoon stated, as if he were being quizzed. “He never looks at them. She’s been checking for three weeks to see if he’s even opened it.”

The way he recited this fact made it sound like he’d learned it from a book, rather than overhearing your friend’s complaints directly while he spoke to you on the phone. Still, he glanced at you for confirmation that he was correct. You nodded, proud.

Then, you provided the update he’d been seeking: “For the record, he still hasn’t.”

You mustered enough energy to laugh along with him, but neither of you was awake enough to keep the conversation going. At least, you hoped that was the case. The alternative — that you’d run out of things to talk about — was worse. It was all you could think about, and now silence crept into the lulls, sitting heavy.

Namjoon was the first to speak again, after a long pause: “It’s lunchtime back home, isn’t it?”

It was an innocent question — a caring one, checking in on you — but it struck like a sucker punch, nonetheless. There might come a day that association didn’t sting, but you knew intrinsically that this wasn’t it.

Los Angeles wasn’t home, even though you’d lived there for the better part of a year. Seoul wasn’t home, either. You had no real roots in either location, continuously jumping back and forth between the two. Namjoon was home, though he was beginning to feel temporary, too.

“It’s so early for you, Joon.” You squeezed his hand. “We can go back to bed, and grab food later. I’m not hungry yet, anyway.”

A lie, but a well-intentioned one. You hoped your stomach kept quiet, kept your secret.

Though he wasn’t looking in your direction, there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes that you couldn’t have missed if you tried. You were sure it matched yours whenever the sixteen-hour time difference made you miss his calls. His schedule lately had made them fewer and farther between.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sighed.

He meant it, and he emphasized as much with a reciprocal squeeze of your hand. It stung, knowing that he was apologizing for all of it, up to and including this moment; and that neither of you was at fault for any of it.

“We’ll be back in sync in no time. I’ll —”

You cut him off with a whisper and your best attempt at a smile, “Pssssst.”

Thankfully, Namjoon was stopped at the only red light that still separated the two of you from his parking garage. Otherwise, the way his alarmed eyes flitted in your direction may have had consequences.

“Say less,” you mimicked, like any of this felt the way it did before. He beamed, but his grin left just as quickly as it appeared.

Namjoon looked away when the light changed, unaware that your face fell before you could catch it. Something that insignificant shouldn’t have had the power to make you that sad; but it did, and you didn’t know what to do with that fact.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. If Namjoon also felt like that silence was suffocating, there were no hints about it in his expression or his posture.

Does this feel easy to you? Am I the one making it hard?

He had to let go of your hand to park in his assigned space, and he forgot to reach for it again when he finished. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t make it hurt less. Didn’t make the tears biting at the corners of your eyes any less embarrassing.

For two people as jet-lagged and otherwise exhausted as you were, it didn’t take long to drag yourselves from his car to his apartment. It took even less time for Namjoon to begin shuffling off towards the bedroom. Halfway there, he realized you weren’t still close behind.

“Where —?” He turned his head to search for you before he turned his body fully. Ultimately, he found you hovering near the kitchen island. The relief in locating you was quickly diluted with concern. “You okay?”

Are we? Is this?

“I think I left my phone in the car.” You patted down the pockets of both your joggers and your jacket, brows furrowed. Then, you picked up the keys he’d just set down on the counter top. “Gonna run down and look for it.”

Too tired to be steady, Namjoon swayed slightly where he stood. You couldn’t help yourself. That magnetic pull tugged you over to him, pushed you up onto your toes, and demanded that you kiss him until that confused frown curved upwards.

For a moment, you smiled, too.

“Go back to bed,” you whispered, leaving a kiss at his temple. You hadn’t meant to speak so softly. Your voice was caught wherever your breath was, and they refused to cooperate. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He nodded, accepting a proper kiss before his bedroom-bound shuffling continued. Out of sight, you heard the thump of his lead limbs collapse back into his mattress. You felt it in your chest, which was tightening by the second.

You turned for the door, ready to run, only to stop dead in your tracks. Just ahead of you, tending to a snake bite, was Eurydice. The sight of her portrait hanging on the wall threatened to rip out the sob you’d worked to keep buried. She was all you could think about when you slipped out the door, and stumbled down the hall.

Maybe Eurydice would’ve lived if she’d never met Orpheus.

Shoulders shaking by the time you reached the stairwell, you shoved your hand into your pocket as you crumpled downward onto the concrete steps. You pulled out your phone and gripped it tight, like closing your fists around it could keep you together, too.

With the extent of your tears, you couldn’t make heads or tails of that bright, white screen. You did what you could, though, like you always did. Warbled voice bouncing off the walls around you, you found a loophole and slipped through it.

“Hey, Siri —”

The swirling grey, red, blue, and green at the bottom of your screen looked more like a life-preserver than anything else. Automatically, you pleaded, “Call Yoongi.”

It was a fifty-fifty chance, calling him at this hour.

He’d either be awake because he never went to sleep in the first place, or he’d have just drifted off. Either way, you were already sorry for bothering him. When he picked up on the first ring, that was the very first thing you said to him.

Immediately, his tone shifted from the grogginess of his initial greeting. Now, he sounded worried. You wondered if you’d woken him up, but you didn’t ask.

“Hey — whoa, whoa, whoa — what’s wrong? Your plane didn’t crash, did it?”

He wasn’t trying to be funny and you didn’t mean to laugh, but you did. Sort of. It was some odd, gasping sound that felt wrong as it came out of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you kept repeating, as if you could manifest the outcome. “I’m fine. I just — I need someone to tell me if I’m crazy, or just doing this whole thing wrong —”

“Doing what wrong?” Yoongi cut you off. “It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing properly, if that’s what you mean. Can you take a deep breath? Count to five on the inhale and on the exhale.”

You did what he said. It helped with what it was meant to, but hyperventilation had been the least of your concerns.

“Sit on the floor if you aren’t already. If you can, lean your back against a wall and flatten your palms on the ground, okay? That’ll help you feel anchored.”

Halfway compliant, you slumped against the metal railing next to you. You threaded your left arm over the lower of the two rungs and held on tight. Part of you wanted to laugh at this, too. It wasn’t much different than the safety bar on a rollercoaster; the way your stomach dropped was identical.

“I can come get you if you tell me where you are,” Yoongi continued. “That twenty-four-hour place has lamb skewers now. We can eat, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You didn’t know where to start. All of it, you thought, it’s all wrong.

The answer you blurted out was, “I love him.”

“I know, kid,” Yoongi sighed, and it sounded like an apology. He didn’t need any further explanation. “I know you do.”

Your voice broke when you continued, splintering painfully in your throat. It wasn’t a question you had any conscious intention to ask. It was simply shrapnel flying out of your mouth:

“Is loving someone supposed to hurt this much?”

2021/11/13; 14:36

Your fourth trip home felt different than the rest. There was something in the air that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Whatever it was, it’d kept your stomach in knots from the time you left your apartment until you wandered through customs in Incheon.

It’d only gotten worse when you finally reached the sidewalk outside the airport. Your first instinct had been to cry, though not for the reason you usually did; you’d swallowed that urge with a hastily taken sip of boba. Just like he had for your three previous homecomings, Namjoon was waiting for you, flowers in hand.

Flower, singular.

Of the two of you, he was the one with encyclopedic knowledge of floriography. Regardless, you knew enough to understand what that lone, white tulip said. It was an apology; and by now, you were well acquainted with those. Even still, you hadn’t gotten any better about accepting them because he still hadn’t done a single thing to be sorry for.

Sorry.

That word had slowly mutated into a punctuation mark over the last year. It’d wormed its way into every sentence, whether or not it had any business being there.

Hi, sorry, I was in the studio when you called. I love you, sorry. I miss you, sorry. I’m so proud of you, sorry, I wish I could have been there.

You heard it even when neither of you spoke, felt it in every bit of quiet. It sat between you on the drive from the airport to that restaurant you used to like — the one by the lake. It filled your unoccupied hands on the walk in from the parking lot, rested like a centerpiece in the middle of your table.

Neither of you ate much. You wished you’d had some semblance of an appetite, if only to fill the pit growing in your stomach. To distract from the way Namjoon’s eyes went glassy whenever he looked at you, or to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

Silent and sorry, the two of you watched the wind force waves; which, in turn, forced anchored row boats to collide with the dock.

Anchored.

There was that word again.

It’d been sitting untouched in the backlog of your vocabulary for longer than you’d care to admit. You knew its dictionary definition, of course, but it’d never been a word you’d ascribe to yourself. Leading up to last November, it wasn’t a feeling you’d knowingly craved, either. If you were honest, you might have hated it and its synonyms, too.

Rooted. Tethered.

They were on the tip of your tongue now, finally yours to taste. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that your resistance to them had always been a coping mechanism. Your amygdala trying to intervene.

Until you met Namjoon, stability had been unfamiliar and elusive. It’d outrun you for so long, there’d only been one conclusion left for you to leap to: You didn’t deserve to catch it.

But you did catch it. You found him, opened yourself up to believing that you were the kind of person who got to have roots. For a year, you tried so hard to nurture them, loved the beautiful thing you’d grown in spite of yourself.

You earned them, so why couldn't you keep them?

Namjoon noticed your breathing pick up. He knew you well enough to see precisely what direction your brain was spiraling in; and that you needed a gear shift. So, he hummed, “Been thinking about changing up my hair.”

“Oh?”

It certainly caught you off-guard, but you figured that was the point. You weren’t sure if you should have — or why you felt you couldn’t — but you reached up to run your fingers through it. Longer than last time, lighter.

“I’m not sure if the blonde has ever actually suited me,” he laughed. “What do you think? And, seriously, give it to me straight.”

You nibbled on your lower lip as you studied him. No matter how many times you stared at his face, you uncovered some new, favorite feature. Today, it was his irises, warmer than you remembered them being. Namjoon became more beautiful the less you saw him, as awful as that thought felt.

“I do like the blonde,” you mused. His cheeks blushed, just barely, but it squeezed your heart to know that was still a reaction you could pull from him. “But I think it would be nice to see Kim Namjoon as he exists naturally, you know? I haven’t met him yet.”

He smiled — genuinely, with his eyes and all his teeth — and it ached.

“I’ll make a note of that,” he promised with a laugh. Then, he gestured to your largely untouched plate “D’you want a box for that before we go?”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. It slipped out before you could stop it. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

The corner of his mouth lifted again, less happily than the last time. You knew as soon as you saw it that his half-smile was an apology, too.

2021/11/25; 19:59

Over the last week, Jinseo Kang had spent more time in your apartment than in her own. The spare key you’d given her at the start of your friendship was intended for emergencies, and while this wasn’t what either of you had in mind back then, that was the only word she could use to describe the state of you now.

In twelve months of knowing you, she’d gathered enough trivia about you to fill a memoir. Of the facts she’d collected, two came to mind immediately whenever Jinseo thought of you. The first was that you were a workaholic to a borderline clinical degree; so resistant to rest that the mere thought of being unproductive gave you hives. The second was that, despite the cursed hours you kept, you were never not in contact with Min Yoongi.

Since you’d flown back from Seoul, you’d done neither.

Jinseo didn’t have to ask to know what happened; you didn’t need to say a word. In fact, you hadn’t — not that she’d heard — since you touched down at LAX, two days ahead of schedule. The only reason Jinseo even knew to pick you up was a direct reply on Instagram that didn’t look a thing like she’d hoped. Worse, the only way she’d been able to recognize you in her passenger seat was by the signature, mint green headphones clenched tightly in your hands.

Immediately, she’d noted the absence of your smile. That was a seismic shift, in and of itself. As was the case with those pastel headphones, that smile of yours wasn’t something you’d ever be caught dead without. Part of you never got off that plane, she’d thought then. Looking at you now, crumpled on your couch, Jinseo knew better. A piece of you was missing long before you boarded that return flight in the first place.

From your kitchen, she glanced over at the heap of blankets, though she didn’t know why she bothered. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t done much of anything since you shuffled out of bed at two o’clock in the afternoon. Still, she had to check for proof of life. Proof that you were still there, somewhere, even buried.

Illuminated by the television screen and underscored by A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, there was movement. Half-hidden by a pile of knitted throws, she spotted the top of your head. Like it did every other time she saw the tangled bun sitting crooked there, her heart sank. I know you’re in there. I’ll find you, I promise.

In the absence of an instruction manual, she’d have to make one. This was a crash course — what to do when love dies in slow motion — and Jinseo was flying by the seat of her fucking pants. Maybe she didn’t know how to pull you out of this pitfall you were trapped in, but she could hold your hand and refuse to let it go.

So, that’s precisely what she did.

Before making her way to you, Jinseo grabbed the dish she’d been preparing off the counter. Spare fork in hand, she rounded the kitchen island and made a beeline for you. You didn’t react when she reached you, unless you counted the way you hugged your knees a little tighter to your chest. Jinseo certainly didn’t; she would’ve sat directly on your feet if you hadn’t cleared the space.

This close to you, she could see the way your jaw was still clenched. Going on eight days now, it was impressive, in some sick way, that the unrelenting pressure hadn’t left you with a mouth full of dust. See? She wanted to grab your knee and shake it, make sure you heard it loud and clear: Look what you can survive!

She didn’t, though. Jinseo simply held out the plate in her hands and stared at you expectantly until you sensed her gaze on you. Red-rimmed and glassy, your eyes lifted to meet her face and she was not going to cry at the sight of you. Nope. Swallowing thickly, she glanced pointedly at the plate, then back up to you.

You were unfazed, barely conceding a blink. You didn’t even look down.

Please, sweet bean. Please eat something.

She tried again, nudging your knee with hers. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

For whatever reason, that holiday greeting was the only thing to reach you in a week. Finally, you looked down.

Jinseo hadn’t finalized her expectations prior to this moment, but the short list had included an eye roll, a groan, something. Even if you didn’t reciprocate, she would’ve been grateful for a response of any kind. Her list hadn’t included you bursting into tears over a piece of pumpkin pie, but that’s exactly what she got.

Charlie Brown can go fuck himself. There’s no such thing as good grief.

It was a reflex, dropping that plate onto the coffee table like it’d bit her. With her hands now free, she grabbed your shaking shoulders and pulled your limp body towards her until you all but collapsed in her lap. Even then, she squeezed you tighter.

I will not let you shatter. I will not let you slip away.

The two of you stayed there, just like that, for however long it took you to let go of the tears you’d stockpiled for eight straight days. And when you were finally quiet — finally still — Jinseo thought for sure that you’d finally fallen asleep.

“I think I hate him.”

Your voice was weak from lack of use; so much so that Jinseo could barely register that you’d spoken at all. Once she did, she didn’t know where to start.

Quietly, she asked, “Namjoon?”

With your head in her lap, Jinseo felt it shake. Again, you surprised her.

“Yoongi,” you whispered. God, you sound so broken. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know it makes me a bad person, but I’m so fucking angry at him. I went to that party because he begged me to. I wouldn’t have — I wasn’t looking for him.”

Your voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking for him, for anyone. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t know what to do now. I’m so angry that it hurts.”

“That’s grief, sweet bean,” she corrected you gently. You sniffled, glanced up at her from the corner of your eye. “Not anger. Grief is just love with nowhere left to go.”

At this, you sat up more fully than you had in eight days, albeit looking more hollow than you ever had. Face tear-stained and bottom lip quivering, you croaked, “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

“Call Yoongi,” Jinseo hummed as she squeezed your knee. “If you need a place to put all that love you have left, then write one.”

2022/7/7; 00:00

Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he had a day go the way it was supposed to; and frankly, he was getting sick of his own shit.

That morning had started off fine.

Scratch that.

It started off as well as he could possibly expect it to, waking up in an empty bed with no kneecap pressed into his spine. He drank coffee at his kitchen island, alone, and ignored the blackberries he’d unwittingly scooped onto his plate with the rest of his fruit. Dumped them in the trash before he lost his mind over a berry. Read half a book and remembered none of it.

All things considered, Namjoon was doing just fine.

Unfortunately, things started going off the rails somewhere around sundown. He and Yoongi had wrapped up the last track on Namjoon’s upcoming release; and for once, Yoongi agreed to leave his studio. Agog and aghast, Namjoon dragged his favorite recluse to every sordid bar in that pocket of the city. As he piloted his tailspin, Namjoon repeated one thought, over and over:

Any dive he stumbled into was better than an empty apartment.

As he spiraled, he drank enough to blur the image of you, which was plastered on every television and burned inside his brain — but not too much. Namjoon learned a long time ago that he couldn’t sleep if he went to bed alone, so he made a habit of not doing that. After all, he didn’t have to like himself; he just needed to live with himself.

Whatever her name was, Namjoon only fucked her because she looked like you.

Her presence on your side of the bed might’ve summoned you because, when he finally checked his phone, your name was tied to a missed call. Better — or worse, he hadn’t decided — there was also a voicemail. The thought alone left him dangling precariously between wanting to cry and needing to vomit. Phone in hand, he staggered toward the bathroom before he’d made his choice.

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon leaned back against the wood. Everything was spinning, though none of it could be attributed to the whiskey he’d had several hours prior. This was all you.

You and that gravitational well he couldn’t ever seem to leave, trapped at his furthest point from you and growing colder all the time. Darker, too.

Aphelion, he remembered with a humorless laugh, not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.

Fuck!

Namjoon startled himself when he slammed his hands down on the counter, less due to the involuntary action and more due to the fear of breaking his phone. In a panic, he glanced down. It was perhaps the one thing left that he hadn’t shattered.

Typing in the code to his voicemail felt like disarming a bomb, given how urgently his fingers moved. He needed it, whatever it was that you deemed important enough to say to him. Needed you, but this was the closest thing he had, and that was fine.

“Hey, Joonie. It’s me — well, that much is probably obvious, I guess? Uhh — Anyway, Yoongi mentioned that you finished cutting the album today. I just —”

Namjoon’s racing heart stopped dead in its tracks. You’d paused for so long that he feared the recording stopped there. Thankfully, you started up again, taking his pulse along with you.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations. You’re — I’m sure it’s incredible,” you sighed, “I hope you’re proud, and I hope you’re doing well.”

He was neither of those things. It’d been months, and it still hurt to breathe whenever he thought about you. He thought about you all the time, asleep or awake, no matter what — or who — he attempted to distract himself with. No matter how much of himself he lost track of in the process.

You were all he wanted, all he wants, all he’d ever want.

Namjoon caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Purposefully avoiding his own eye contact, he looked up, just above his crumpled brow. That bleached blonde hair still didn’t suit him, now even less so than when he asked for your opinion that day by the lake. He made a note of what you’d said, just like he'd told you then. It’d been sitting inside his medicine cabinet since the day after his whole fucking world exploded.

Jaw clenched, he broke the magnetic seal between the mirrored door and that bottle of black dye.

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @jihopesjoint @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @bbyorchid @persphonesorchid @quarter-life-crisis2 @zelchena @withluvjm @firesighgirl @whatthefsposts @iadelicacy @chimmisbae @cowboylikeyoongi @sailoryooons @axialitae @ugh-yoongi @minholykingofkorea @kookstempo @gimmethatagustd @Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhintothevoid @yoongiphoria

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outrogi · 11 months

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laura's joon recs

I’ve been reading fics in here nonstop way before I started this blog. It felt like a sin not compiling a list of some of the stories that I loved and hadn’t gotten around to sharing yet, a few of them safe in my drafts until I was ready to make this.

I will keep on adding onto this list as I keep finding stories I've read before and would love to share with you. Leave some love and appreciation to the authors if you can!

disclaimer: all stories that include mature themes will be labeled accordingly. DNI if you aren’t 18+

♡ - favorite

S E R I E S guilty by @xjoonchildx ♡ ◦ mafia au, angst, fluff, smut

out of the woods by @angelicyoongie ◦ hybrid au, angst, fluff, light smut

O N E - S H O T S

there was a bug by @kimnjss ◦ roommates au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut

forever rain by @ddaenggtan ♡ ◦ ghost reader au, mcd, light fluff, angst, smut

bloom by @hobidreams ◦ assassin au, florist joon, action, angst, fluff, smut

forbidden by @junghelioseok ◦ demon au, smut

not another holiday romance by @kpopfanfictrash ◦ one night stand, holiday au, fluff, smut warmth by @jincherie ◦ demon au, roommate au, fluff

give and take by @ddaenggtan ◦ mechanic au, fluff, smut

press play by @out-of-jams ♡ ◦ mcd, fluff, angst, implied smut

note #1: if any fic recommended is in hiatus, the author has yet to update or left altogether, please do not pester them with updates.

note #2: These are not all of my KNJ recs! There’s more with extensive commentary from me here and you can find more of my favorites here

#knj #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon recs #namjoon x reader #namjoon au #namjoon fics #bts x reader #bts au

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httpknjoon · 1 year

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to you, namjoon | knj; masterlist

plot | Great news! Your sister sent your handwritten letters to your ex.

genres | angst, fluff, exes!au, postbreakup!au

pairing | idol!namjoon x reader

note | My first fic on this site, initially posted on April 2020.

main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon fluff #knj fluff #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #bts fanfiction #namjoon angst #bts angst #to you namjoon

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oddinary4bts · 5 months

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Emotions of the Soul (teaser) | knj

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex and unprotected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, he calls her a slut in the heat of the action like once I think?

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: I know almost everyone wants Sinful Lust first but it's not done yet whereas this baby is finally readyyy so here it is, I hope you'll enjoy it <3 As per always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the complete fic here!

#emotions of the soul #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #namjoon #knj angst #knj smut #knj x reader #knj x you #knj fic #knj #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon fic #kim namjoon

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shina913 · 10 months

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On Tilt, Part 5 | KNJ

On Tilt, Part 5

Definition: a poker term for a state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a suboptimal strategy, usually resulting in the player becoming overly aggressive.

On Tilt Masterlist

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞

Genre: idol!AU; strangers-to-FWB-to-lovers; toxic relationship; angst; fluff; smut

Warnings: unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamic; cussing; miscommunication; bitchy friend with the reality check; trouble setting personal boundaries; neck kisses; light petting; soft, fluffy Namjoon

Word count: 5.9K+ words

A/N: Thanks for being soooo patient with my super-slow updates! I’m trying to pick up the pace here as next chapter will be date number 5 (huzzah)!!!

If you're still following this story, thank you 🥹 Also, my meager Photoshop skills were tested with this banner photo 😅 Sorry to Namjoon’s friend and the other museum-going guest in the background 🥴

"What are you doing?"

It wasn't the question that made your belly flutter, but the undertone behind it.

You direct your voice to your phone on speaker mode, which sits on one corner of the table, next to the piles of new author manuscripts that you had to review before the end of the week.

"Do you always have to switch to that voice when you ask me that question?"

Namjoon feigns innocence. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice already low. He then adds insult to injury by rasping, "This is my usual voice.”

He was in Spain spending some much-needed downtime with his family. Before that, he was in Italy for a scheduled public appearance, a week after he kept you company while you were sick.

The vacation was pre-planned and he offered to pay for your ticket so you could come along. While it sounded like a great offer, you declined. His family hadn’t seen him much and with his solo album gearing up to be released soon, free time would be more difficult to come by.

You pick your phone up off the table and lower your voice, mimicking him. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Namjoon’s laugh was deep and husky, it made your toes curl. “I can’t help how I feel when I talk to you while you’re not with me. I miss you.”

There was an ache in his tone now and you were missing him just as much.

“Are you feeling better?”

You sighed, “I miss you, too—and yes, I am. Thank you for asking.”

“I wish you’d just taken me up on my offer to come along. My parents would have loved to have you on the trip.”

You and Namjoon were communicating more openly and were better at managing each other's expectations these days. If one of you had to cancel plans, which he still did, but not as often, you no longer felt disappointed. Similarly, he was less cranky whenever you couldn't break pre-existing commitments to rush off to him.

Just as you no longer felt the need to move your whole schedule to fit his, he’s also made some concessions to spend time with you, which was refreshing.

“Next time,” you say in consolation. “Besides, you know I’ve got way too many things going on right now. Between work and house-hunting.” You groan at the thought.

“How’s that going? Are you closing in on any properties?”

You shared your initial plans to buy a new home, but they became more concrete when Lani told you that she and her boyfriend, Kai would move in together, speeding up your timeline. Investing in purchases that would contribute to your future was crucial at this point in your life, but browsing listings online was overwhelming. Jia, who worked as a realtor, stepped in to help.

You hummed in disappointment. “There are a couple of good candidates.” You suddenly remember Jia’s email this morning about another possible listing. You make a mental note to check it out after you hang up.

“Remind me why you’re getting kicked out of Lani’s place again.”

“She’s not kicking me out,” You correct him. “I just didn’t feel like becoming this third wheel. Anyway, Jia says based on market trends, it’s the perfect time to buy. I’ve got enough money saved up from the last two years. It’s the perfect storm!”

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

"Not unless you have information on affordable real estate in the downtown area. Otherwise…" you trail off as you walk back to your desk.

"Actually, I might have a lead on something if you're interested," he offers.

"Really?" Of course, Namjoon would have leads to the best properties. Some of them were probably not even publicly listed.

“It’s about half an hour from downtown, without traffic.

“Oh.” You scrunch your face in disappointment at the prospect of a longer commute. You spin your chair around to face the window behind you in your office, which had a beautiful view of the bridge over the bay.

"Now, hear me out for a sec,” he says. “It's on the east side and I know you said you didn’t want anything farther than a 15-minute commute. But it’s in a nice area and I happen to know the listing agent and the owner.”

You smile at Namjoon's attention to detail. Even though the city you lived in had a commuting culture, it wasn't something you pictured doing for the rest of your life.

"Can you send me the information? I can have Jia connect with them."

“Sure, I can give you the contact info right now, whenever your ready.”

“Okay, hang on,” you say hastily while turning your chair back around to reach for a pen and a piece of paper.

“Also, I don’t think Jia needs to get involved. At least not much.” He had a slight edge in his voice when it came to her. Even though they had a silent truce, it still didn’t ease your discomfort.

But you didn’t feel like hashing that out during this call. “Namjoon, the number?” You ask him.

Namjoon dictates the number on the other line. After jotting down the last four digits, you pause and stare at your handwriting. “Are you shitting me? This is your phone number!”

“And?” He says, unperturbed.

You groan. "Come on! Be serious, please."

"I am being serious! Three bedrooms, two full baths, and a sizable kitchen. It's fully furnished with the basics. The downtown area is also very accessible. All you need to do is call Kim Namjoon!"

You snort. “You sound like one of those late-night infomercials.”

“Aw, don’t make fun of me,” You practically hear him pouting. “I’m trying to sell you on my place!”

You choke on nothing. "Yours? Uhm...are you moving out or something?" He just bought his place less than two years ago.

"Nope," he replies simply.

"So, if you're not moving out...then…"

He laughs at the panicked tone in your voice and assures you, "Relaaax! I figured you'd run for the hills if I asked you to move in with me."

He was right about that.

"Not gonna lie, though. It's crossed my mind before,” he adds nonchalantly. "But I know that would be inappropriate of me to offer since we’re taking things slow.”

His casual admission is a huge surprise to you. Before you could say anything about it, he quickly adds, “Anyway, I own the unit next door. That’s what I’m offering."

You stifle a laugh. “Okay, let me get this straight: You thought it was inappropriate to ask me to move in with you, so you’re proposing that I move in next door instead?”

“Well…” he laughs, feeling cheeky. “Worth a shot!”

"I don’t understand how or why you even own a second unit," you wonder out loud. “You’re barely in your main home as it is.”

"It was sort of an impulse purchase six months ago. The woman who used to live there decided to sell it. I even got into this stupid bidding war with Seokmin,” he adds begrudgingly. “Anyway, my plan was to knock the wall down to convert it into one huge space. But between the last tour wrapping up and finishing my album, I just haven’t had the time. So right now, it’s a glorified storage closet!”

Welp, he had a lot of disposable income. His rationale also quelled your skepticism. "Oh, okay."

"I figured, it would at least liven up the space if someone was living there instead of my clothes and books."

"That’s really tempting, Joon, but you know I can’t afford your place."

"You didn't think I'd give you the family and friends discount?" he teases.

You snort. "Oooh…friend, huh?"

“Or girlfriend,” he corrected himself. There was that word again, ’girlfriend.’

“Don’t you think we’re too old for those terms?” You say in jest.

He laughed heartily into the phone. “Would you rather use, ‘person whom I’m in a committed relationship with’?”

You giggle at his suggestion but your cheeks warm at the sentiment. He was making an effort to define what this relationship was. It certainly counted for ‘more’ in your book. “How about we shorten it to ‘person’? Like, I don’t know…” you sigh, “You’re my person and I’m your person. What do you think?”

You’re met with dead silence on the other line. You think the call has dropped.

“Namjoon? Are you still there?”

Still nothing.

“Fuck. Hello?” Maybe it didn’t drop, you think. Maybe he thought your idea was so stupid that he just hung up.

Seconds later, you hear faint trilling on the other end. You pull your phone away to check the screen, thinking it was your other line ringing. Instead, you see Namjoon trying to convert your call into a video one.

You feel a sense of relief to see him call back, knowing that he didn’t just hang up on you. You press the green button to accept it and his face immediately comes into view. He was already in bed, his hair all mussed up.

“I think I lost you there earlier.”

“Nope. I was on the line the whole time,” he says with a wide grin.

“Okay, well…You know, w-what I said, uhm, earlier…” You’re feeling completely flustered, thinking that your suggestion was idiotic.

“I like it,” he interrupts softly. “You’re my person and I’m your person.” His dimple flashes on-screen.

You laugh nervously. “Yeah?”

He nodded his head gently, rocking back on his pillow. Your chest flutters in response and your cheeks hurt from grinning so hard.

"Ah, man," he sighs when he sees you smile. "Now I really wish you were here with me."

The warmth in his gaze pierces its way through your phone screen. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him looking restful and relaxed. Could you love this man any more?

"I know that look.” He shifts in bed, his words interrupting your completely wholesome thoughts of him.

"I am not giving you a look."

"Are you sure? I don’t think we excluded phone stuff from our agreement," he wiggles his eyebrows.

You laugh. "Nice try, but we’re not doing ‘phone stuff’ either! Not to mention I’m at the office, for crying out loud!”

“Damn,” he clicks his teeth and pouts in mock defeat. “But it’s not like that’s ever stopped us before. Remember that one flight from Tokyo? The Wifi was shitty on board but my god, your thighs were–”

“Oh my god, Namjoon! I’m at work!” You squeak in between a fit of giggles. Your office door was shut but people who walked by could still see you through the partially frosted glass wall.

“So was I! Do you know how hard it is to hide under those standard-issue blankets? Do you know how big I am? I had to ask for two just to make sure that my movements weren’t too obvious!”

You let him continue his tirade while your stomach hurts, wheezing from laughter.

As you sip on your mocha at the cafe table, Jia peers up at you. "Please tell me you told him, 'Thanks, but no thanks,'" she says after hearing about Namjoon's offer.

You hesitate before answering. "Well...I didn't exactly rule it out," you grimace.

Jia groans in disappointment. "YN, I thought you two were taking it slow. Now you're telling me he's asked you to move in with him?"

"No, he didn't ask me to move in with him,” you insist. “It's a second unit that he owns in the same building where he lives. It's right next door to his place but completely separate.”

"Tomato, to-mah-to," she says dismissively waving her hands. "Wasn't the goal to buy your own place?”

“Well, yeah…but have you seen his place? The area is a little bit farther but it’s super nice out there and the neighborhood has changed a lot–" You babble aimlessly.

Jia rolls her eyes. She knows that the only person you are trying to convince is yourself. Seeing as she’s tuned you out, you get right back to the point. "Anyway, if I decide–and this is a big 'if'– to take him up on his offer, at least the unit is already paid for. All I’d be paying for is annual taxes!"

"Okay, sure," Jia responds, clearly unconvinced. "But at the end of the day, the unit won't be under your name." She pauses, taking a breath and rubbing circles on her temples. "I don't know what to say anymore." She shakes her head in exasperation.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” you argue, growing annoyed at how rude she was sounding. “I'm only telling you out of courtesy since you've been so helpful during the loan application process and finding great listings.”

Jia, feeling a pang of guilt, changes her approach and softens her tone. "Look, I'm not trying to be overbearing. Obviously, I can’t tell you how to spend your money. At the end of the day, it’s your decision. And if you’re choosing to go with Namjoon…" she trails off.

But you couldn’t simply ignore her being dismissive of Namjoon. "I just wish you could see how much things have changed this time. If you did, perhaps you wouldn't keep writing him off."

She purses her lips in thought before continuing. "It's not that I'm 'writing him off'," she gestures with air quotations as she tries to explain herself, "I'm only worried about you. I care about you and I love you. I don’t want you to be disappointed again."

You sigh in frustration. "And I'm grateful and appreciative of that, Jia. I know you're just trying to be a good friend–which you totally are. But things really are different this time, and we're both on the same page now."

Jia continues to stare at you silently while you rationalize your relationship.

“This is also the last chance I’m giving him and myself. If this blows up in my face, then that’s on me,” you say, placing your hand over your chest. “But if it works out, then he and I could be happy and…that’s what’s keeping me going. And not to throw this in your face, but I always thought you would be more understanding of my situation since you went through something similar with Yeonjun,” you said, hoping to appeal to her better nature.

When Jia and her boyfriend Yeonjun broke up a while back, she was devastated. But when there was a chance that they could get back together, you encouraged her because she still loved him so much.

“But Yeonjun is a normal guy. He’s not an idol,” she said, reasoning. “We split up because of his job. The whole long-distance thing was taking its toll on us. I was tired of waiting around–”

She fell silent when she saw you staring at her wryly. “What?” she asked, scrunching her face in confusion.

You slow-blinked at her. "I mean, I don't know, Jia... your story sounds exactly like mine, except for the part where Yeonjun is not an idol."

Jia opened her mouth to argue, but immediately shut it in concession. "Okay, fine. But the difference between Yeonjun and Namjoon is that my man is not tied to some contractually obligated schedule. He is entitled to vacation time and even sick days. Does Namjoon have the same benefits?"

You couldn't deny that Namjoon's career obligations weighed on you. You also had your own flourishing career keeping you busy. Striking a balance and making compromises between your professional lives would prove to be challenging. It was definitely something worth discussing in detail if you both wanted to make this work.

"I know that Lani and I have different approaches when it comes to Namjoon, but I swear to you – the one thing we have in common is that we would never shit on your happiness. You're one of my best friends! Of course, I want you to see you happy!"

Back then, Lani used to tease you, saying that she didn't know where you started and Namjoon ended. You were so into him and adept in his ways. However, that was precisely what made it difficult to break away from him and realize that things just wasn't working for you.

You feel a twinge in your chest as you ponder what to do next.

"Congratulations and welcome home!" the agent tells you.

"Thanks," you smile as you look up from the documents you just signed. The agent hands you the keys, which you accept. You shake hands with them, and they shake hands with Jia. It's been over two weeks, and you've closed on the multi-level townhouse that was only 15 minutes away from your office.

"Will there be anything else?" the agent asks.

"Nah, I just need to take these back to the office, but other than that, we're all set," he smiles politely.

"Thanks again," you tell him before he shuts the door.

Jia beams at you before wrapping you in her arms in a tight hug. "You did it, babe!"

You laughed at her. “No, we did it. Thanks for finding this place for me.” You looked around the room, which was a blank canvas for now, but you couldn't wait to fill it with furniture and memories.

Her face softens and she fixes her gaze on you. "I know it's not exactly a luxury high-rise--"

"Jia," you say with a hint of warning, "He was perfectly fine with my decision. He’s happy that I’m happy so, can we ease up on him now?"

Jia bit her tongue. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she offers sincerely.

“Thank you,” you tell her.

Afterward, she continues to ramble on about some new fixtures you could include in your place, practically planning out how your space should look. You rolled your eyes, nodding and smiling as she gave you suggestions.

Right before move-in day, as much as Namjoon wanted to help out, his schedule wouldn’t allow it. He had several meetings that day–mostly involving his album release.

He was apologetic and to make up for it, offered to hire and pay for the moving company. Lani and Kai were there to help unload and unpack some of your items the day of.

It was after 10PM by the time your friends left after you bought them some dinner. It was the least you could do, after they bickered while they mounted the TV in your living room.

You had a few minutes of quiet so you decide to put away the empty takeout containers to continue unpacking. While sorting through some dishes and kitchen utensils, you hear a knock on your door. You walk over to check the peephole and immediately grin.

"Hi!" You beam at Namjoon.

With a tilt of his head, his adorable face appears behind the arrangement of gardenias that he carried, along with a bag of takeout. You greet him with a quick kiss before taking the bag and flowers and setting them both on the counter.

"This actually looks nice," he remarks as he turns his head, scanning the kitchen and living room area.

"I told you, the videos make it seem misleading," you tell him. "I can give you the grand tour so you can see for yourself!"

He slowly settles into a still shrink-wrapped barstool. "Let’s do that later. For now, I just want to look at you."

As he regards you, you take the opportunity to drink him in, your gaze sliding all over him. He looks exhausted but still handsome, your eyes burning just from looking at him. The way his black hair falls above his eyes makes your fingers twitch with the urge to run them through it.

Before you can say anything else, you round the corner of the kitchen counter and slot yourself between his legs to grab his face and kiss him.

When you pull away, a big smile breaks across his face. "Wow,” he says breathlessly, “What did I do to deserve that?"

"Well, I missed you,” you smile at him. Then, you inhale sharply, taking in a luscious scent. “Is that fried chicken and jjajangmyeon?" You pull away from him, reaching out to grab the bag of takeout to dig in.

He swipes the bag away to tease you. “On second thought, maybe you should give me that tour now!” He laughs.

******

After a quick tour of your new place, both of you settle in the living room, sitting on the floor and eating fried chicken while drinking beer. It feels like an impromptu picnic, much like like the old days when he had a couple of hours free between shows. Before their group hit it big, you and Namjoon used to sit on the grass at the nearest park wherever they were playing that week, and snack on fried chicken and noodles.

You start discussing what upgrades you would make to the place–some recessed lighting and a new backsplash in the kitchen. The house that you bought was slightly older and despite the previous owners making some modern additions, you still wanted to customize a few things to fit your taste. In the end, Jia was right about some of her design suggestions.

"Well, you could have just taken me up on my offer. Then you wouldn't have to worry about outdated fixtures."

Recalling your conversation with Jia, moving into Namjoon’s place would further blur the lines between you both. You were in denial about it at first but you knew she made a good point. It wasn’t that Namjoon’s offer was bad but you wanted to make more independent decisions that didn’t directly involve him. It was hard to break away from that pattern but it was necessary. If you didn’t make those decisions, then you’d end up resenting him again.

"I really have no problem sharing. In fact, I could sign it over to you," he nonchalantly drops that comment in just before taking a bite of fried chicken.

You gasp at his ridiculous suggestion. "Joon? What–"

"Don't worry. I'll pay taxes on it and whatever maintenance or repairs needed. Only difference is legally, it would be yours." He said it as if it was just as easy as settling the check at a restaurant.

"I need you to stop doing that," you say calmly.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to pay for everything. The movers were great and that was a big help for me but signing over property to me?” You shook your head. “That’s too much and I don’t need you to do that. I have money, too. Not as much as you do but I have enough.”

He shifts in his seat, looking apologetic. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean for it to come off like that. I thought, hey, I have the resources and I can help. I figured it would be one less thing for you to worry about."

"And I appreciate that. But I need to do things for myself," you say.

Namjoon nods in agreement. "I understand. But I hope you’ll understand where I’m coming from, too," he hesitates, biting his lip. "I just want to show you that I can be here for you…even when I can’t be," he mumbles.

"That's what you're worried about?"

Namjoon looks at you with trepidation in his eyes.

You look at him calmly, then gently take one of his hands to clasp it with yours. "I don't need you to give me a condo or pay for flights just to assure me that you’re here for me.”

His lips narrow into a thin line. “I just feel guilty that I can’t make a lot of compromises when it comes to my work. I can take small breaks and make time for our dates but there are times when I feel like I’m not doing enough.” he sighs. He doesn't want to keep using work as an excuse, but there's only so much he can do.

“Some days, I think that if it were up to me, I’d just say ‘fuck it all’!”

"You don't really mean that," you say quietly. “You love what you do.”

He holds your gaze, hiding nothing and letting you see his insecurities and fears. "I just don't want us to end up in the same spot we were in before."

“And you think that me living next door to you solves all that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe? I like having you close.”

“And I do, too. But that’s not always possible, is it?”

He pauses for a few beats then says, “I hate it when we’re apart for too long. I just miss you so much and then here I am, acting like a selfish asshole again.”

"We'll keep working on the distance thing," you say but it doesn't placate him. He takes a long swig of his beer, then sighs wistfully.

"Hey," you rest your hand on his arm. "We can only learn from the past, right? It's not about our missteps but how we move on and grow from them."

After a pause, his frown fades, replaced by a half-smile. “I thought that was my line.”

You snort at his lighter tone. Reaching forward, you brush his dark strands away from his eyes. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me, Kim Namjoon.”

His lips quirk up slightly. “And I cannot wait until this fifth date to rub off on you.”

You pause to smack him on the shoulder with a laugh. “You are so not helping!”

Namjoon laughs again, his deep chuckles reverberating throughout the living room. He tightens his arm around you, pulling you in closer to him, and places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. As you feel his lips on your hair, you sense a shift in his demeanor. His mood appears to have improved, if only slightly.

"So, one of my meetings today outlined the marketing and promotional schedule for the album."

"Oh?" You welcome the change of subject, but deep down, you are anxious to hear about his schedule.

"It's pretty exciting. We're kicking it off with a launch party in two months. I'd like for you to be there if you can?" It was a plea that was hard to resist. But it has also been a while since you attended any "official" appearances with him—and by "with him," that meant you being smuggled into a separate entrance by a manager or lurking in the background of a party until he could retreat backstage, largely inaccessible by cameras or fans, so you could pretend that you were on a date.

"Is it safe?"

"I'll make sure of it. We have a guest list and only a few members of the press covering the event. They're ‘friendlies’,” also known as members of the media who were in the record label’s quid pro quo payroll.

“Could you include Lani or Jia to the list so I could hang out with somebody while you mingle?” This was also a standard protocol from before. You’d have your girlfriends with you so you’d have a cover story in case some tabloid decides to put two and two together. You weren’t sure if Namjoon’s bandmates were inviting dates to this event as well.

"I could but it might be lonely for them since I was hoping you’d be right by my side."

Your mouth falls open at his suggestion. “Uhm…what about…” you hesitate to finish your thought. Actually, you weren’t sure about what he was thinking, taking you as his date during his solo album launch–where all eyes would be focused on him.

“What if people asked questions? What does your label think about bringing a date to a huge event like that?”

He straightened but the warmth in his gaze remained. “But you’re not just my date. You’re my person, remember?”

Your eyes start to sting with emotion. You bit your lower lip, heart twisting in your chest, then agree without further argument. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes, smiling warmly before planting a soft kiss on you.

******

After a few more bites of jjajangmyeon, you ask, "So, when do I get an advance copy of this? Will just send me a link or do you have a demo CD that I can listen to?"

"Nope," he says with a laugh, surprising you. "You'll hear it first when everyone else does. Which is on the day of the party!"

"But you always give me first dibs," you whine.

"Can I be honest?"

"Of course."

He blows out a shaky breath. "I'm really nervous about it," he confesses. "I know I keep saying that I can't wait until this whole thing is done, but in reality, I'm fucking terrified." He laughs humorlessly.

You tilt your head to the side, looking concerned. "Why?"

"I went for a different vibe on this album. I've been anxious about it the whole time. And when I say nobody has listened to this--I really mean nobody! Apart from my co-producers, of course. Otherwise…" he trails off.

"Okay, now I'm really intrigued," you say before turning away to take another piece of chicken.

He shrugs. "I started working on this project three years ago, so there were a lot of intense, unfiltered feelings there."

As you pause, you slowly peer up to find him staring. Your face can't hide all of the thoughts running through your head. During those three years, you took a break from him and had a real relationship with somebody else.

Namjoon always turns his pain and joy into art. Although you are worried about what kind of pain he channeled into his album, you don't want to be presumptuous. You give him an encouraging smile to let him know that you can't wait to hear what beautiful things he's created.

"I'm sure it will be great," you state confidently. "You always question yourself before a release, but it always works out."

"You believe in me too much." He smiles sardonically.

"Am I not supposed to?"

He smiles sheepishly, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He remains seated on the floor and leans back against your couch. Tugging at your arm, he beckons you to sit on his lap. "C'mere."

You laugh softly but eventually oblige.

You gingerly climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and drape your arms around his neck. He tilts his head forward to touch his forehead to your chest. You feel his breaths through your shirt, warming your skin.

You run both hands through his hair, nuzzling against him. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"Thank you," he murmurs against you.

"You don't need to thank me. I'm not the one who did all this work to record an album."

His head falls back, and he gazes up at you. "Not the album. I meant this. Thank you for giving us..." He pauses to correct himself. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

You brush his hair back again, noticing how tired and worn he looks. The past few months of nonstop work and trying to make time for you have taken their toll. His fingertips slide gently down your cheek as you continue to silently stare at him.

Being this close to him makes you realize how much you've missed him, how much you've craved physical contact. You lean in and kiss him with ease.

The feel of his mouth on yours sent a searing trail of goosebumps racing up your arms, stirring memories of his mouth on other parts of your body. He groans when you move your lips down to his neck to suck on it.

You hear and feel him gulp audibly, trying to regain control of himself. “Baby, slow down...”

You ignore his pleas and push his hands under your shirt. “Touch me, please,” You sigh against his skin. He gasps when your warm breath brushes at his earlobe. You nuzzle deeper, taking in his scent. It was intoxicating.

"We can't." All of his teasing in the last few days and his little joke about rubbing off on you earlier tonight have pushed you past your limit, and now you are sitting on his lap, all hot and bothered, and he decides to turn you down while you’re practically begging him to rip your clothes off? What kind of mental edging is this?

You sit up and whine, "Why not?"

"This isn't even our fifth date," he chuckles. "I just wanted to bring you some dinner and flowers."

"Please, Joon...you did it last time," you purr, trying to entice him again by dipping lower to lick his earlobe.

He lets out a pained groan when he feels your breasts press against his chest. He fights off his natural instinct to palm them and instead makes a pitiful effort to dislodge your mouth from him.

"I just really want us to see these five dates through," he says.

You playfully jerk your neck back. "Excuse me, Mr. 'Are you sure that 5-date rule is non-negotiable?'" you recite the same words he said during your first date after making this agreement.

A deep laugh rumbles within his chest, then he pulls you closer. "I know, I know... but..." His expression turns wistful. It's as if he knows something you don't.

"But what? Tell me," you coax him.

"There was something you said the last time we were together. It's been on my mind these last few weeks."

The last time you were together, you were a congested mess hopped up on cold medicine. What could you have possibly said to him? Did you suggest more dates?

Nervously, you ask, "And what exactly did I say?"

He purses his lips for a moment, seemingly unsure whether he wants to reveal it or take it to the grave.

He looks directly into your eyes with a calm expression on his face. "You said you loved me."

Your mouth falls open, as you don't recall verbalizing it to him. Perhaps you thought about it so often that your subconscious ended up blurting it out for you.

He cracks a smile. "You're not denying it."

There's no point so you just stare back at him, with gentle eyes.

"Did you mean it?" he asks.

His question takes you back to your old apartment, lying face-to-face with him while you tried to define your relationship. You were falling for him then, but you settled for whatever crumbs he could give you, downplaying labels.

This time, even though you had taken your foot off the gas, you weren't intending to slam on the brakes. You were cruising at a steady speed. Easy. Comfortable. Familiar.

"Yeah," you nod softly. "I did...I do." It isn't how you imagined saying it to him, but since it's been on your mind for a while, the words just decided to slip out on their own.

He smiles sheepishly at your admission, eyes drifting down to his hands. "I really want to earn those words, enough for you to say them to me when you're wide awake.”

"I can tell you now."

"No, don't do that," he says, loosening his hold on you. "I want you to decide when I deserve to hear it. At that point, I'll know that I deserve you, too."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He's always been poetic and an expert at wordplay when it comes to his lyrics.

"I love you," he says effortlessly.

You stare at him and let his words sink in. Like it or not, Namjoon was the only one who can make your heart soar to the highest of highs, but you also knew that he could very well pull the rug from underneath you. If that happened again, you weren’t sure whether you’d survive that fall.

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