Chapter Text
“Closer.”
Seokjin’s nose was already pressed against Taehyung’s neck, and the photographer wanted them to get closer? He heaved an internal sigh and wrapped an arm loosely around Taehyung’s waist.
“Good. Perfect — now, I want you to look like you can’t get enough of one another. Like you’re about to jump each other’s bones.”
Taehyung moaned exaggeratedly, low enough that only Seokjin could hear, and Seokjin had to purse his lips together for a split second to stop a grin forming. He was glad that if he had to do this, he could do it with a friend as kind and fun (and insubordinate) as Taehyung.
Mostly though, he wondered if he did have to do this. It was an editorial for Vogue Korea, he reminded himself, a huge opportunity. But they’d been at it all day now, and Seokjin’s skin felt dry and tight. He felt like his limbs had to look awkward and wrong in the elaborate costume.
For the theme 'Folklore & Fashion', they'd put him in uncomfortable gold contacts and painted dramatic red-orange makeup over his eyes and cheekbones. He was the gumiho, and Taehyung in black silk was the dog, meant to be hunting him. At various points, assistants had come to loosen Taehyung’s shirt and fix strands of Seokjin’s hair until it looked perfectly like sex hair.
As far as Seokjin was concerned, the whole thing was just an obvious and overly erotic attempt to capitalize off of his and Taehyung’s sudden fame. Only a few months ago, a Gucci ad campaign starring the two of them had taken off. All the hype led to the media christening them ‘ the Gwangsan Kims’. (Loyal fans who had known them since their shoot for Harper’s Bazaar huffed and puffed on their online forums).
Even their own agency had been surprised by Seokjin and Taehyung’s rise in popularity; in the modelling world, it was unusual to see so much public attention. The average person might be expected to know some idols and actors, but never a model. Why would anyone bother putting names to the faces that peered out at them from endless advertisements? But now, students across Seoul were sneaking issues of old magazines into class just to pore over every photo of Seokjin and Taehyung.
Fame was fickle, hard to achieve. All anyone could say was that the recipe for it included a healthy amount of followers on social media. And while Seokjin and Taehyung’s collaboration had led their names (and careers) to be intertwined, this was one area where their individual personalities shined through. Seokjin’s page was full of pastries and his sugar gliders and selfies one article had called ‘modest and intimate all at once’. That had of course made Seokjin laugh; nothing he shared on his social media could be called intimate.
Taehyung’s page, meanwhile, was moody and artistic. It was Basquiat paintings and eclectic selfies.
Still, while their use of social media was undeniably distinct, every time Taehyung shared a photo he’d taken of Seokjin with his finicky old film camera, the comment section blew up with heart emojis and ‘r u 2 dating??’s.
They were not dating. Seokjin thought that would probably be very messy; he was just grateful they didn’t resent one another, considering the stakes.
Now, the photographer spoke again, the shutter on his camera clicking wildly all the while. “Love it, now face each other and look deeply into one another’s eyes.”
Seokjin pulled back, lifting his head to meet Taehyung’s gaze. Their bodies were still wrapped together. Taehyung smiled reassuringly. “Shouldn’t be much longer, hyung,” he whispered.
A half hour later, Seokjin was scrubbing his face clean with a makeup wipe and gently removing his contacts to hand over to the makeup artist. “Thanks,” he told her, smiling. As tired as he was, he would never take it out on anyone else. He’d seen that enough in the industry.
“You ready?” Taehyung asked him once they’d both changed back into normal clothes. “I stocked up on peach Jinro just for you.”
“You’re a peach,” Seokjin said, winking and putting an arm around Taehyung’s waist — this time voluntarily — as they stepped into the elevator. “Tell me how my body is so sore just from standing around.”
“Standing around and looking pretty,” Taehyung amended, lips quirking up at the corners as he recited the phrase they’d heard said about their profession many a time. Seokjin hated that it technically was his job to look good, whether to sell things to the masses or for the sake of ‘art’. Still, the vitriol with which netizens treated those they didn’t find ‘attractive enough’ showed that they weren’t actually concerned with challenging society’s obsession with beauty. The whole thing nettled Seokjin’s skin.
“Exactly,” Seokjin sighed. “That last part is what really does me in.”
A shiny black SUV pulled up to the curb in front of them, and they slid inside onto leather seats. The driver, seperated from them by a partition, pulled away a moment later, not needing any instruction from Taehyung. Seokjin bit his tongue; the luxuries of fame were something Taehyung was much better suited to.
His apartment, a two-bedroom penthouse in Itaewon-dong, showed as much. Whenever Seokjin visited, he had to take a moment to pause and stare out the crystalline glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. They looked towards the Han River, which was dark and glinting under millions of city lights. Seoul was humanity settling itself amidst seven mountains and saying, ‘watch what I can do with this’. Seokjin loved it.
Taehyung padded up to stand beside Seokjin, holding his pomeranian puppy — another Instagram star — in his arms. “You love my view,” he said.
“It’s alright. I still prefer the views in Jongno-gu.”
“Hm.” Taehyung tutted. “I’ll never get you to move away from that godforsaken district, will I?”
Seokjin laughed. “I don’t think so. Sorry, Tae.” He brought a hand up to scratch Yeontan’s furry chin, smiling as the puppy closed his eyes in bliss. “I only wish I lived closer to your adorable doggie.”
“Not me?”
“You, I can do without.”
“Even though I got you gummies and am willing and eager to watch every Seo Kang-joon drama with you?”
“You make a strong case, Taehyung-ssi. If you have a couch upon which I can recline my weary body, I might just be swayed.”
“By all means.” Taehyung waved a hand dramatically towards the white sectional behind them, and Seokjin flopped down in his favorite spot.
“Perfect. I haven’t had a sleepover in a while, you know.” He sighed happily. “Let me just reminisce on those middle school days playing Super Smash Bros with my bros until the wee hours of the morning and desperately trying to pretend I hadn’t had crushes on half of them.”
Taehyung barked a laugh. “That’s a little too on the nose, hyung. Did you read my diary or something?” He handed Seokjin a green bottle of soju and a pile of snacks before laying down beside him.
“To shared experiences,” Seokjin said, holding up his bottle to be clinked. “Now pull up my man.”
Taehyung turned on the TV, and they sunk into the couch to watch their drama. An hour later, they were buzzed and leaning into one another.
“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin whined, peering up at his friend. “I want fried chicken. Or anything fried. Why can’t we have it?”
Taehyung pouted back in response to Seokjin’s pout. “I have triangle kimbap in the fridge?” he offered half-heartedly. His words were a little fuzzy-sounding — he’d never liked the taste of alcohol, but flavored soju was alright for him. And when he did drink enough, he turned introspective. “Hey, hyung,” he said when Seokjin didn’t say anything.
“Mmhm?” Seokjin hummed, eyes slipping shut as his fingers scratched at the mullet Taehyung was beginning to grow. The fine hairs at the nape of his neck were soft.
“I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you doing, really?”
Ah. There it was. “How am I doing?” Seokjin repeated. “That’s the question, isn’t it.”
“You seemed a little… tired today. I know you don’t like all this, but it seemed worse than usual.”
Seokjin opened his eyes and saw that Taehyung’s mouth was set in a serious line. “I feel heavy,” he said, surprising himself with his own confession.
“Ah,” Taehyung said. Then, after a moment: “You know what I thought when I first met you?”
Seokjin shook his head, wondering at the sudden question.
“When you came up to me to introduce yourself,” said Taehyung, “Your eyes were all wide and so, so kind. And I thought, this is someone special.”
“Oh.” Seokjin swallowed, remembering that day a year and a half ago. He’d been signed by ESteem only a few months prior and was finally experiencing his first fashion show. They chose him to walk for VanHart di Albazar; the Spring/Summer collection was designed by Jung Doo-young and had him in a well-tailored baby pink suit and a lightweight peacoat in the same color. He looked good — nice clothes lended anyone a certain glow — but his hands were shaking with how nervous he was.
One of the assistants pointed out Taehyung as the other newbie, and Seokjin decided to approach him, hoping he wasn’t a total dick. Of course, he wasn’t at all.
“To be honest, as we got closer that kindness started to worry me,” Taehyung continued. “I don’t want to sound condescending, but I worried that you were so open, and that you were absorbing so many burdens into yourself.”
“No, that sounds right,” Seokjin said. His voice had lowered to a whisper, and he slumped so his head fell to Taehyung’s shoulder. “But please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, really. Fashion Week’s coming up, right? So I have to be.”
“You don’t have to be fine, hyung.” Taehyung’s fingers danced to the shell of his ear and tugged it gently. “I just want you to know that.”
“Thanks, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung smiled down at him, one of his genuine ones known for their healing power. “Are you sure you don’t want that kimbap?”
“Alright.” Seokjin smiled back. “Then, let’s keep watching. It’s only ten pm, and we have to beat our middle school selves.”
“Oh, we will. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes and settled back against the pillows. His heart was still pounding from their conversation, and he put a hand to his chest to try and calm it. He was here, with his friend, relaxing, trying to have a good night. There was no use dwelling on the things that made him upset.
At some point around two am, the two of them trudged into Taehyung’s bedroom, begrudgingly admitting that they didn’t have the same youthful vigor to stay up all night. Seokjin thought it was a sign that he was closer to being thirty than twenty that he couldn’t imagine anything more amazing than Taehyung’s king bed with its memory foam mattress. Then again, he’d always been like this. He collapsed onto the satin sheets, grunting when Taehyung tried to use him as a cuddle toy but eventually acquiescing. Neither woke for another ten hours.
Seokjin groaned and twisted his body, making his back crack. “Voo,” he said, nudging Taehyung away from him. With the curtains drawn closed, it could be any time, but a quick glance at his phone told him it was already twelve thirty. He groaned again. Sleep was a beautiful, beautiful thing that had stolen many hours from him.
“Wha,” Taehyung said, voice squashed into the pillow.
“It’s already past noon.”
“Blergh.”
“Blergh,” Seokjin responded. He sat up and padded over to the window, pushing past the static in his limbs and mind to throw open the curtains. It was worth it for Taehyung’s shout even if Seokjin also winced at the influx of bright sunlight. “Rise and shine, Bela Lugosi,” he said, padding out into the kitchen.
A minute later, Taehyung emerged. The bottoms of his enormous pants trailed along the marble floor. “Bela Lugosi wasn’t even a vampire,” he said in a sleepy morning voice.
“Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin said. “He played one enough times.” He pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge as he spoke, giving in to an intense craving for sunny-side-up eggs.
“So does that mean if I get enough roles as a werewolf, people ninety years from now might be like, ‘Oh, it’s the full moon, watch out for Kim Taehyung!’”
Seokjin couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him at that. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know about the leash, Taehyung, please.”
Taehyung stuck out his tongue and sat down at the counter. “You know, I always think about how weird human beings are. Like, we’re over here being the most evolved mammals and then suddenly getting horny over things like leashes and monster dildos and all that.”
“Hm.” Seokjin’s lips pressed together as he tried to contain a smile. “Well, being evolved is pretty stressful. Maybe some people just want to regress to their primal roots. Personally I’d be more into cave painting and, like, discovering fire and things. Or if I was feeling a little evolved, I might create some mysterious Linear A type shit.” He paused, glancing over at Taehyung, who peered back at him. “But furrydom works, too, I guess.”
Taehyung tapped his fingers on the granite, an evil grin growing on his face. “Oh, I can totally see you creating an indecipherable script. Maybe you could use it to write the hybrid erotica I know you enjoy.”
Seokjin whipped around, jabbing his spatula towards his friend. “Kim Taehyung, you are a fiend. ”
“Face it, hyung, we know far too much about one another.”
“That we do,” Seokjin said. He cracked two eggs into Taehyung’s frying pan. “Now be a good boy and get out the bean sprouts.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Taehyung said in a silly voice. He liked to play characters for fun, and Seokjin had grown to really enjoy it. Their rapport was one that brought out his childish and carefree side.
“You have any schedules today?” Seokjin asked as they both sat down to eat.
“I have a meeting at two,” Taehyung said, tapping his phone to check the time. “Seungho is picking me up at one-thirty. But no shoots, today.”
“Hm.Hard to decide whether shoots or meetings are more annoying.”
“It’s all work at the end of the day. You know I’m doing an ad for a massage chair next week, just cause our boss has connections with the company?”
“Oh, joy,” Seokjin said. “At least you get a massage out of it.”
“Good point.” Taehyung put more rice on Seokjin’s plate as he spoke. “What are you up to today, hyung?”
Seokjin shrugged. “I’m surprisingly free. Thought I might enjoy the spring day.”
“That sounds nice. Just remember to be careful.”
“I will be,” said Seokjin. “I have expert-level camouflage.” He put his hands up in front of his face and peeked out from behind them.
Taehyung took a bite of eggs, looking unimpressed. “Yeah, stalkers ought to be fooled by that.”
“Taehyung,” Seokjin said. He knew this was a serious matter, but still. Taehyung’s face softened in response to the pleading note in Seokjin’s voice.
“Just — text me when you get home, alright?”
Seokjin nodded, nudging Taehyung’s shoulder with his own.
After breakfast, Seokjin changed into the fresh socks and undies he’d packed in his backpack and pawed around at the bottom looking for a shirt. A moment later, it became clear such a shirt did not exist. Technically he could wear the one he’d slept in, but ew. He did have standards for going out in public.
“Tae,” he called. “Can I borrow a shirt?”
Taehyung poked his head out from the bathroom, purple toothbrush sticking out from between his toothpaste-foamy lips. “Yuh,” he said. He disappeared and returned a second later, toothbrush free. “But I get to choose.”
Like that, Seokjin ended up strolling through Itaewon in Taehyung’s favorite abstract-patterned button down, blond hair tucked under a black cap. The neighborhood was bustling on a Saturday afternoon and would only come even more alive at night.
He let himself feel adrift and free in the sea of people. He felt much happier today, and his guard wasn’t totally up. Maybe this was silly of him, especially after Taehyung’s concern, but it took a toll on him to always be on the lookout.
After acquiring a large brown-sugar milk tea, he walked until he reached Gyeongridan-gil. Tourists blocked the sidewalks, but he weaved with ease around them. By the time he arrived at Noksapyeong Station, he was sucking up the last of his tea and digging around for a stray pearl amid the ice.
It was more than thirty minutes back to his place in Jongno-gu, with a transfer at Yaksu Station. Though Seokjin had the money to take a cab, he honestly liked the rhythm of all this. He settled comfortably into his seat for a bit and stood when a pregnant woman boarded. She smiled brightly at him, skirt flowing around her legs as she sat. Seokjin liked people, sometimes.
His good mood lasted until he stepped outside at Gyeongbokgung Station and paused for a moment to change his music. A figure in the corner of his eye shifted in just the right way that it made his hair stand on end. He glanced at the ground as if observing his shoe and sensed a camera being lifted in his direction.
Ah, there they were. The lovely stalkers Taehyung had been so wary of. Go out in public for long enough and word would spread through their little forums on your location. Thus far, they hadn’t managed to track Seokjin to his apartment, but now they were too close for comfort.
Seokjin took a left and started up the slight incline of the main road, hoping he could lose them somewhere along the way. As he sped up his pace, so too did they; sweat was beginning to bead on the back of his neck. Footsteps sounded a few yards behind him as he abruptly turned a corner.
His vision narrowed in on the most ramshackle building on the street, an old secondhand bookstore with chipped blue paint and a traditional-style clay tile roof. Seokjin had walked past it many times but never gone inside. He glanced behind him — coast was clear — and practically threw himself through the door before tripping over an uneven floorboard and landing hard on his knees.
“Shit,” he cursed, wincing. That wince fell off his face as a pair of well-worn black Vans appeared below his nose. Those sneakers, as he discovered seconds later, were attached to a pair of impressively long denim-clad legs and a pair of meaty thighs.
Then, a gentle voice. “Are you alright?”
⚘
Kim Namjoon woke at seven am, a mere thirty minutes before he had to be at work, and refreshed his email. His body was well-trained; it understood that wakefulness was achieved first by the opening of his eyes and then by the unlocking of his phone. That little old machine contained boundless possibility.
Such as the possibility of a yes. But there were none to be found, today. At least there weren’t any no ’s either.
Namjoon was tired of rejection. Yes, everyone hated it, everyone had received hundreds of polite emails thanking them for their application, but he wanted to wallow in his misfortune just a bit without remembering the rest of the world.
See, he’d been trying to get his poetry collection published for months now. On top of that, he was writing songs at the speed of light, songs about love, in the hopes some huge entertainment company would take one on. And when you were trying your damnedest like Namjoon was and still saw no results, you began to wonder if you were the problem.
Anyways, it was fine. He was actively working not to become jaded by it all. He was a poet — he loved life! He loved his teeny apartment in Jongno-gu’s Cheongunhyoja-dong, filled to the brim with plants and books and records and production equipment.
He loved that he could afford to pay his rent and afford jajangmyeon from the family-owned noodle joint he lived next door to. He didn’t love his job at his great uncle’s secondhand book shop, but he loved that it paid for those things, and wasn’t that enough?
(Maybe not). Acquaintances tended to think that a job involving books was perfect for him, and he did enjoy interacting with the few customers they got, recommending them a poetry collection or novel, but. Sometimes customers wouldn’t even glance in his direction, or they’d get mad at him for some reason or another. He wanted something more, something fulfilling.
Who knew when that would come.
Setting down his phone, he heaved himself out from bed and winced as his feet touched down on the cold tile. Methodically, he brushed his teeth, washed his face, threw on an outfit Hoseok would call ‘tree hugger chic’, and headed out the door. As always, he fumbled with some change as he bought his egg sandwich from the vendor on the next street over. There was an ancient coffee machine at the store that would provide him his much needed caffeine.
He’d perfected this routine, and was just pushing his card into the machine to get punched when the analog numbers changed to show that it was 7:30. Namjoon sighed, moving to switch on the store’s lights and sweep the floor half-heartedly.
At eight, he flipped the sign on the door to display to the world that they were open, but as expected no one came in until ten — some tourists. Namjoon helped them find an art book they could put on their coffee table.
At one, he went over to the nearby CU to pick up lunch before he settled into the rolling chair behind the register— the register being a wooden desk with a cash box tucked inside.
Of course, it was around then that things started to get interesting. Interesting as in, a man looking very much like a prince from a fairytale crashed into the shop. Literally crashed through the door before promptly sprawling out on the ground with a curse.
Namjoon blinked once before standing and moving to help.
“Are you alright?” he asked, hands hovering in the air, unsure whether to touch. He knew exactly which floorboard had been the culprit, and he could almost feel the pain in his own knees.
The man’s eyes traveled up Namjoon’s legs before he tilted his chin up and met Namjoon’s gaze. Namjoon caught a glimpse of fathomless brown doe eyes and platinum blond hair before the man said, “Quick, I need to hide.” He scrambled on the ground past Namjoon and took cover behind the register.
Namjoon just stood there, gaping, for a good long moment. A gaggle of teens passed outside the shop, noses glued to their phones as they walked hurriedly up the street.
“Uh,” Namjoon finally managed, tentatively stepping towards the register. The remnants of his lunch were scattered there, and he was oddly embarrassed by this. “What’s up?” he asked the new occupant of the desk’s underbelly, who had drawn his knees to his chest. “I mean, are you okay? Is someone after you?” His mind conjured images of gang members from B.A.P’s One Shot MV, and he swallowed. Or maybe it was the Seoul Police? He wasn’t sure whether he was ready to harbor a fugitive, despite having seen the Harrison Ford movie many times.
“Yeah,” said the man, surprising Namjoon. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just.” He gestured with one well-manicured hand. “Had to duck into the first place I saw.”
“No, it’s fine. You’re under my protection, now,” he said, then immediately winced. Who the fuck said something like that? He saw a slight grin make its way onto the man’s face, though, so maybe that was good. “Here, uh, you seem out of breath.” He ran to the little closet that housed the coffee machine and mini fridge, grabbing a Pocari Sweat of indeterminate age from inside.
The man took it, eyes glittering with mirth. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so out of breath after power walking for five minutes,” he said with a laugh.
“Adrenaline,” said Namjoon, taking back his seat and feeling only marginally awkward at the suggestive position it put them in.
The desk’s new resident blinked once before taking a long sip of his drink. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and then let his fingers hover over the pile of books beside his thigh. Namjoon had been intending to shelve those for a few days. On top was a thick, beaten paperback volume of Cao Xueqin’s Dream of the Red Chamber , written in Mandarin.
Namjoon was surprised again as the man picked it up and flipped through, seeming to search for something specific. He paused after a minute, eyes darting over the page, and chuckled. “I like whoever owned this last,” he said. “They highlighted good parts.”
“You can read it?” Namjoon asked, impressed. His Mandarin was passable in the speaking department, but his knowledge of characters was abysmal.
“I can,” said the man. “I wrote my thesis on this book, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh, wow,” Namjoon said, taking another second to absorb the stranger in front of him. God, he really was incredibly beautiful, with plump pink lips and strong brows. Namjoon’s eyes were drawn to his leg, which had snuck towards Namjoon’s, the line of his ankle in Converse High Tops. “There’s no shortage of things to write about when it comes to that book,” he managed.
The man hummed. “There's really nothing like it. I just love these tales of grand estates and great families and all the different people they’re made up of. Just living and trying to understand life.” A self-indulgent smile played on his face for a moment before it fell and his ears lit up red. “Sorry.”
Namjoon was interrupted from falling in love when the bell over the door chimed and the same teens as before stepped hesitantly inside. The sunlight beaming in behind them illuminated thousands of particles of dust hanging in the air.
“Hello,” said Namjoon. “Can I help you all find anything?”
“Uh,” said the teen in the front, probably the leader of the group. He fiddled with his hands. “We’re just looking for our — friend. Blond, broad shoulders?”
A hand circling around his ankle startled Namjoon for a second before he calmed and realized what was happening. He pointedly didn’t look under the desk. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” another of the group squeaked, pulling her friend's sleeve. In an awkward rush, they disappeared back onto the street.
Namjoon glanced down, ignoring how his heart raced due to the point of contact between them. Curse his ankle fetish and touch-starved brain. “So,” he said. “I must admit I was picturing more men with tattoos and less pubescent faces.”
The man laughed, retracting his hand from Namjoon’s pant leg. “Tattoos have no bearing on a person’s morality, you know,” he said. A playful eyebrow wiggle indicated he was joking, but Namjoon still sputtered.
“I know,” he insisted. “I have one myself.” Again, he wondered why he had spoken, spinning in the chair for something to do with himself.
“Aha,” said the man. “And you have so graciously protected me today, so my point is proven.”
“Yeah,” said Namjoon, ducking his head. “Uh, so, anyways, what was your thesis about?”
“Oh. You really want to know?”
Namjoon nodded vigorously.
“It was about Baoyu’s gender identity,” the man said, “you know, how he deals with the masculine/feminine binary imposed on him. And like, how there’s all sorts of binaries that make up his world.”
Okay, that was weirdly hot. “That sounds very cool,” he offered. The man smiled up at him, cheeks pushing out adorably. Then, an awkward pause as they both realized how odd this situation was. “So, uh. Do you think we managed to drive off your pursuers?”
“What, you don’t want me at your feet all day?” The man grinned as this remark made Namjoon heat up like a furnace. “Sorry,” he amended. “Just messing with you. I won’t stay under your desk forever, I promise.”
“No, no, it’s totally fine,” said Namjoon. “Just trying to make sure you can get home safely. You know, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“I am.” The man sighed. “Too bad, I was so ready to enjoy my afternoon off dozing at the park. Do me a favor and don’t become famous.”
“Hm,” Namjoon hummed. “I don’t know, I kind of wish I were."
“Really?” Incredulity colored the question.
“Yeah," said Namjoon, a little defensive. Just last night he hadn't been able to fall sleep, thinking what it would like to be known. "Or at least, I’d like to have some modicum of success. Have people know my name.”
“Ah. I get it. What’s your name, then?” the man asked, shifting back so his weight rested on his palms.
“Um. Kim Namjoon?” His voice rose at the end as if it were a question.
“Okay, Kim Namjoon-ssi. Why should I know your name? C'mon, I can join your fanclub if you tell me. ”
“Oh." Namjoon hadn't expected him to care. "I, uh, I write songs. And, well, poetry, too, but I don’t expect any fame from that.”
“Poetry is what makes us human,” said the man, casually, as if he wasn’t intending to sound wise. He bit his lip, then, grimacing at himself. "I just mean, I admire that you write. And I believe people will hear your words, eventually."
“Eventually,” Namjoon repeated. Voices on the street made him look up. “Oh, looks like your ‘friends’ are still here.”
“Ugh, no. If they find my apartment, I’ll never be alone again. They’ll probably catch me playing Just Dance in my undies and plaster it all over the internet.”
Namjoon laughed, bringing his hands to wring in the front of his shirt. As he did, an idea popped into his head. “Hey,” he started. Then, “Never mind, this is probably a terrible idea.”
“No, what is it?”
“Okay, fine. How tall are you?” Namjoon asked.
“179,” the man offered. “60 centimeters in the shoulders, though.”
“Okay, well I’m 181 centimeters. No idea what my shoulders are.”
“Hm. I think I’ve possibly cottoned on to your plan, here.”
Namjoon shrugged, a bit sheepish. “It’s stupid, but they know what you’re wearing, right? So if I leave, and they spot me, maybe they’ll follow me far enough that you can slip away, incognito.”
“Are you actually such a good person, Namjoon-ssi, that you’d do this for me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know your name, but — you seem nice. And I have nothing better to do, so.”
“Alright, then. You can call me Jin.”
“Jin,” Namjoon repeated. “That’s pretty.”
Jin flushed again. “Why thank you. So. Let’s see if this goes disastrously wrong or not.” He stood, groaning as his knees straightened out, and Namjoon saw that they were pretty much the same height. But yeah, those shoulders were noticeable.
“Make sure to hunch your shoulders,” he suggested.
“I will. Evidently I wasn’t stealthy enough before.” Jin brought his hands to his shirt, which was unbuttoned enough to show a pretty mole on his collarbone. “Shall we change here in the middle of the store?”
“Wha— no ,” Namjoon said. “We can go in here.” He gestured towards the coffee closet, and Jin quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve played Seven Minutes in Heaven, but from what I remember, it was fun.” He pulled a lip balm out of his jeans pocket and applied it, starting with his ample bottom lip.
“Oh my god,” said Namjoon. “We don’t have to go in together. I’m just — who’s gonna stand out here shirtless and pantless while the other changes?”
“You make a good point. We can just keep the lights off in there.” Jin giggled now, and it was squeaky and so fucking adorable that Namjoon had to grin in response. He followed Jin into the closet, where it was dark enough that he could only sense the other man.
Somehow he could tell that Jin was unbuttoning his shirt further, and after a moment he felt a piece of fabric being thrust into his hand.
“Here,” Jin said, voice sweet in the darkness.
“Thanks.” Namjoon’s hands played with the hem of his green t-shirt before he slipped it over his head. He heard the clanking of a belt buckle and clunk of shoes on the floor, and then Seokjin cursing as he tumbled forward into Namjoon.
Namjoon wasn’t sure, but he thought that was a pair of lips involuntarily smushing against his pec. His own mouth fell open as steadying hands landed on his biceps. And then the warmth was gone.
“Holy hell, I’m so, so sorry,” said Jin breathlessly. “I just tripped over my own pants.”
“It’s okay,” said Namjoon, who was not at all mad. “Your limbs aren’t cooperating with you today, I get it.”
“Yeah.” Jin laughed softly, though mortification was still coming off of him in waves. His hand brushed over Namjoon’s as Namjoon handed Jin his t-shirt. “Thanks.” Then, “So, uh, do you work out very much?”
Namjoon, who had just taken off his pants and felt terribly vulnerable, heated up again. “Recently I started going to the gym more,” he confessed. He kind of felt weird about it and about the way he would sometimes stare at his newly-defined chest in the mirror before he showered.
“That’s good. For your health, and all.” Jin cleared his throat. They exchanged pants, and Namjoon struggled for a minute to pull up the skinny jeans. “You good?” Jin asked.
“Yeah, fine. Just losing circulation in my legs a bit, but it’s chill.”
“Har har,” said Jin. “Is it okay if I open the door now?”
“Go ahead, said Namjoon. When the light filtered into the room, he saw that Jin looked like a completely different person. “Oh wow.”
“What? You think I can’t pull off your look?”
Namjoon laughed into his hand. “You just don’t seem the type to wear cargo pants.”
“Of course I’m not,” Jin said, bristling like a hedgehog. “There’s no reason I can think of that someone would need this many pockets.”
“You’d be surprised. Anyways, I think I have some candy in one of the pockets, so help yourself.”
Jin huffed a laugh. “Alright, Namjoon-ssi.” He stepped back into the main store and sat to tie his sneakers. “So, how would you prefer I get these things back to you?”
“Oh, um. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I guess you could come to my place after I get off work and we can do a switcheroo. Unless you don’t want to come back out? But I’m not off until six, anyways.”
“Namjoon-ssi,” said Jin. He seemed to enjoy saying Namjoon’s name. “Was all this a ploy to get me back to your apartment?”
“What?” Namjoon exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. “No, holy shit. I’m not like that.”
Jin smiled. “No, really? Maybe I’ve lost my touch, then.”
“That’s not it,” Namjoon said, probably too quickly. “You definitely still have your… touch.” He cleared his throat. “Look, we can meet at a cafe or something, if you want. I just figured, for convenience.”
“I’ll come to yours at seven, then,” Jin said softly. “If that works?”
Namjoon nodded, grabbing an old library slip from the desk and writing his address on it. “Here,” he said.
Jin slipped the paper into his cargo pocket and lifted his black Balenciaga cap to fix it on Namjoon’s head backwards, covering most of his hair. “Alright. You wanna head out there first?”
“Yeah,” said Namjoon. “See you on the flip side.” He pushed open the door, head bent. A moment after he veered right and started to walk back towards the main road, he heard some murmurs and footsteps sounding after him. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping desperately that Jin could get away safely.
After five minutes, he lifted his head and casually glanced back. As he did, the gaggle of teens following him stopped in their tracks, looking confused even from a distance. Namjoon smiled to himself and ducked into an alley he knew would lead him back to the shop.
There, he settled back into his routine, shelving a box of new arrivals. His eye caught on the cover of Dream of the Red Chamber as he did. On a whim, he set it aside, and recognized that he was searching for any way to see Jin smile again. Jin probably already had a copy, anyways.
He shook his head fondly as he thought of the man. Seven o’clock, he reminded himself. Something to look forward to.
⚘
As soon as Seokjin saw the stalkers follow Namjoon back towards Gyeongbokgung station, he hurried out of the shop and took the next turn possible, following a winding path back to his apartment.
Once he had locked his door behind him, he took the card Namjoon had given him out of his pocket. Then, he laughed. Of course Namjoon would live in the same building as him; that was exactly as strange as this day merited. It was somewhat surprising they had never run into one another in the lobby, but then, Seokjin kept odd hours and tended to avoid interaction with unknown people.
Maybe if he had known there were lovely cargo-pant-wearing poets running about, he’d have paid more attention. God, yeah, he would have paid a lot of attention, because Kim Namjoon was exactly his type. And he wasn’t just saying this cause he’d had his face smushed into his chest a half hour earlier. Though that was nice. Really nice.
Seokjin smoothed a hand over the soft cotton of his t-shirt and took a moment to observe in the hallway mirror how different he looked in these clothes. Namjoon really could pull them off way better than Seokjin. Or he could just pull them off Seokjin. Good one , he told himself.
If Taehyung were here, Seokjin would tell him that joke just to see Taehyung roll his eyes. Taehyung always said Seokjin made way too many suggestive jokes for someone who blushed when people flirted back and turned away every hook-up offer he got.
His phone chimed then. Speak of the devil, Seokjin thought, swiping to open the chat.
kimtae95
this meeting is boringgg.
sugargliderpapa
lol, sorry bro
here, I’ll entertain you. you’ll never guess what just happened to me.
kimtae95
???
sugargliderpapa
i basically reenacted Notting Hill. met an adorable bookstore clerk while on the run.
and he didn’t know who I was 😍
kimtae95
on the run from WHOM
sugargliderpapa
uhhhhh
kimtae95
okay we’ll address that later, Julia Roberts.
tell me more about this encounter. did he spill anything on you?
sugargliderpapa
no, but get this. we had to switch clothes!! so I could escape!!
kimtae95
shittt, where’s *my* rom-com plot arc?
sugargliderpapa
it awaits you, worry not little bear
kimtae95
:'(
update me when you get my shirt back and see him again hehe
sugargliderpapa
yeah, yeah
if you could see what I’m wearing now you’d have a field day
kimtae95
send pics
Seokjin snapped a selfie in the mirror so that his face was obscured by his phone and sent it off. Then he collapsed on the couch. He had hours to do nothing, and it was undeniably a pleasant feeling. The feeling of a drowsy Spring afternoon.
After a second of consideration, he shucked off the cargo pants and t-shirt that smelled of unfamiliar soap and headed to run a bath. As the tub filled up, he put a load of laundry in with his nicest smelling detergent. He felt it was the most polite course of action to wash somebody’s clothes after borrowing them. Hopefully Namjoon wouldn’t be mad, or allergic to Downy, or something.
Namjoon didn’t seem like the angry type, in any case. Seokjin put on his rock ballad playlist and let his imagination run wildly; it told him that in a couple’s fight, Namjoon would be the one to say he was disappointed. He huffed a laugh, dipping a toe into the tub and discovering that it was probably hot enough to boil a lobster. Perfect. In the cabinet was one of Yoongi’s recommended bath bombs that was meant to turn everything a pretty lavender color. Seokjin dropped it in, then himself.
This was the best method of self-care, in his opinion. It wasn’t at all about how you looked, it was about how you felt. It was about taking care of your body instead of beating it into submission.
After a half hour, the water was getting cool and Seokjin’s eyes were getting heavy. If he didn’t get out now, there’d be a news headline about an up-and-coming model drowning in his own bathtub. He pulled himself out the water reluctantly and dried himself off before grabbing his fuzzy robe.
When he had the day off, when it was his day, he wanted to exist in a cocoon of comfort. He didn’t even check social media, that demon creature. Sometimes he had to ask Taehyung to post to Instagram for him because the act of sharing a photo with millions of people made him so incredibly nervous.
Video games weren't nearly as stressful. And so he found himself laying down on his bed for a few hours and playing MapleStory. Eventually, he moved to put the laundry into the dryer, then strolled into the kitchen. He’d gotten fresh produce delivered yesterday morning, everything he needed to make japchae. With chicken breast instead of sirloin, of course. He yearned for the day he could eat as much beef as his heart desired.
As he washed spinach and marinated mushrooms, he felt himself becoming more and more aware of the time. It was six pm when he finished cooking and sat down to eat. All by himself, with so much goddamn healthy japchae.
Maybe Namjoon would appreciate a good home cooked meal? Especially since he would have just got back from a long shift. Seokjin stood and packed the remaining noodles into his best glass tupperware, fully prepared to return to Namjoon’s at a later date in order to get it back. He was attached to his tupperwares, what could he say.
At six forty-five, Seokjin realized he was indeed only wearing a robe, and quickly threw on the nearest sweatshirt and pair of jeans. Then he paced for another ten minutes before stepping out into the hall and making his way to the second floor, unit 4.
Seokjin knocked. “Be right there,” called a voice. Deep and smooth. When Namjoon opened the door, his face was as earnest as Seokjin remembered. “Hey, Jin-ssi,” he said with a smile.
“Hey. I brought your clothes,” Seokjin said. “I washed them, too, I hope you don’t mind?”
“Oh, wow,” Namjoon stood up a little straighter in the doorway. “You didn’t have to do that.” Seokjin handed him the bag, then, and he peeked inside. “What’s all this?”
“I made too much,” Seokjin said, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets. “It’s japchae with chicken.”
“That’s — really sweet, wow. Sorry, I keep saying wow.”
“No worries.” Seokjin smiled at him. And it’s the least I can do, you know, to repay you.”
“I didn’t do much.”
Seokjin hummed. “Don’t be so quick to say that. You did what others might not have. And you were kind, so — that’s not nothing. That’s what I wanted to say.”
Namjoon ducked his head, and when he raised it there was a smile and two incredible, adorable dimples. Seokjin’s heart thumped. “Well, you’re welcome, then. I’ll enjoy this very much. Some blessed relief from instant ramyun.”
“Oh? I’m extra glad I brought it, in that case. But just so you know, I’ll be back for that tupperware. It’s a family heirloom.” He raised an eyebrow playfully.
“Alright, sure,” Namjoon laughed. “You know where to find me.” He swung the bag in his hand for a moment, and then his mouth fell open. “Oh, wait.” He came back with Seokjin’s clothes and hat and handed them to Seokjin. “Here these are. I fooled your pursuers pretty handily, I must say.”
“Yeah, you really did. Lucky I was under your protection, eh?” Seokjin said, poking fun at Namjoon’s hilarious words from earlier.
Namjoon groaned. “Stop, I don’t even know why I said that.”
“Maybe you’re just that noble,” said Seokjin. He cleared his throat once, heart beginning to thump traitorously again. “I wondered if I could give you another token of my appreciation? You can say no, of course.”
“What is it?”
Seokjin could feel his ears turning tomato red as he spoke, following some impulse he didn’t want to examine too deeply. “A kiss on the cheek. If you’re willing.”
“Oh.” Namjoon blinked, lips falling apart slightly. “I mean — yeah, I am. Very much.”
Seokjin nodded and took a step forward, glancing down at Namjoon’s socked feet before he leaned in just enough to let his lips brush against the soft skin of Namjoon’s cheek. He smelled the same soap that had been on the t-shirt, a clean and nature-y scent.
Seokjin pulled away and saw that Namjoon had drawn his bottom lip between his teeth. “Good night, Kim Namjoon-ssi,” he said, smiling in a way he hoped conveyed all his genuine thanks and turning to leave.
“Goodnight,” he heard Namjoon call after him. “Jin-ssi.”
Here was a man who didn't know Seokjin’s name, didn’t know who he was. And yet, he felt this connection, a spark between the two of them. He knew he would see Namjoon again, that he wanted to see him again. The only question was when.