Namjoon finishes his stage with a grin, the adrenaline still pounding through his veins, his heartbeat matching the booming bass from the speakers. Amidst smatterings of applause, he makes his way off stage, weaving through the mass of dancing people to the bar, where the bartender waits with a bottle of beer and a smirk.

“You did well tonight,” Yoongi, the bartender and Namjoon’s roommate, tells him, hitting him on the arm with the beer. “Your crush over there really enjoyed it, he was ing burning up the dance floor.”

Namjoon smiles at first, then scowls, a flush rising on his cheeks. “He’s not my crush,” he grumbles, but the look on his face says otherwise. Yoongi just snickers, nudging Namjoon’s flaming cheeks with the beer until Namjoon swipes it from his hands, glaring.

Yoongi’s still smirking at him (the er), so Namjoon turns his attention back to the dance floor. There’s another rapper on the stage now, but Namjoon isn’t paying him much attention. Rather, his focus is on the dance floor, where he can see one dark-haired boy dancing like he owns the place.

He’s been coming in for a while now, often when Namjoon’s scheduled to perform. Namjoon always notices him, even on stage, because there’s something about the dancer that just draws his attention. His movements are sharp, but fluid at the same time, perfectly connected and flowing into each other, like he controls the music and not vice versa. Every beat of the drum, every strum of the bass is visible in his dance, and Namjoon finds his own sense of rhythm is stronger when he watches him dance.

It’s like dancing is a part of him, and even though Namjoon knows he doesn’t have the coordination for it, when he watches him, he wishes he did. It’s beautiful, the way he moves, and it’s amazing to see the music transformed in his dance.

It’s also amazing to see him walking towards the bar, a bounce in his step, a smile on his face - wait, what?

“Hey.” Namjoon blinks and holy  the guy is right beside him, grinning right at him. “Can I get one of that?” 

He’s pointing at the beer Namjoon’s nursing, and Yoongi grins and passes another one over. The dancer pauses, glances down at Namjoon. “Do you mind if I sit beside you?”

“Not at all,” Namjoon manages, and watches as he plops down. The dancer takes a few long swigs of his beer, and Namjoon totally isn’t watching the way his throat works as he swallows. Definitely not.

“You sounded great up there,” The dancer says with a grin when he’s done. “I can really feel the music when I listen to you.” 

Namjoon shakes his head, a smile creeping across his face when he hears the compliment. “It’s the opposite, really. It’s you that makes me feel the music.”

“I’m Hoseok,” the dancer says, reaching out to clink his bottle against Namjoon’s. “Dancer and choreographer over at Hope Studios.”

“Namjoon,” Namjoon says in return. “Underground rapper, lyricist, composer, producer.”

“Nice to meet you at last,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon downs the rest of his beer just to keep his mouth occupied, otherwise he’d probably embarrass the out of himself.

*** 

“He looks good tonight,” Yoongi says, nudging Namjoon pointedly. Namjoon shoots him a glare, but is mostly distracted by Hoseok on the dance floor, as usual.

It’s been a few weeks since Hoseok introduced himself, and since then, whenever he comes to the bar, he ends up sitting beside Namjoon, chatting throughout the night. 

Every time, Yoongi pushes at Namjoon to ask Hoseok out. Each time, Namjoon says he’ll do it, but chickens out by the end of the night. It’s not like they’re even friends or anything, right? Hoseok just likes his music. He’s just nice.

Once again, Hoseok leaves without Namjoon saying anything, and Yoongi sighs in exasperation. “Honestly, you’re such a damn coward. Ask him out tomorrow or I’ll ing do it for you.”

“Ok, ok!” Namjoon yelps hurriedly, a little cowed. The thing is, Yoongi would do it too. He doesn’t make empty threats. “Ok, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll ask him out tomorrow.”

“Good,” Yoongi says with a firm nod, whisking away Hoseok’s empty bottle. “You better.”

Namjoon lets out a long sigh, slumps over on the table. Suddenly, he’s nervous, now that he’s made the decision to actually do it, and he wonders what Hoseok’s response will be.

*** 

Namjoon waits at the bar that night, waits until the bar is almost empty and Yoongi is ushering the stragglers out, waits until Yoongi comes to him with his coat on and bag packed and a sympathetic look in his eye. “Guess he’s not coming tonight,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon just nods, numbly, lets Yoongi drag him out of the bar, drag him home. It’s just a coincidence, he tells himself. Hoseok’s life doesn’t revolve around the bar, after all. He’ll be back when he has time. He wouldn’t disappear without saying anything.

*** 

Hoseok doesn’t appear again. Namjoon waits, but there’s only so long he can keep his faith. Slowly, he lets go. He stops waiting. He tells himself Hoseok isn’t coming back, that he had no obligation to come back in the first place. After all, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything.

Yeah. There was nothing between them. Namjoon should just forget him.

*** 

Half a year later, Namjoon comes down from his stage, exhilarated, still grinning. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of standing in front of an audience and watching them move to the music that you make.

Yoongi hands him his customary beer, and Namjoon downs half of it in one go, mouth dry from the performance. He lets out a long sigh, wipes his mouth, glances at the empty seat beside him. It’s been empty for half a year, now.

And then - it’s not. Someone plops into it, and Namjoon looks up, startled. He’s about to tell the guy to get out, it’s not his seat (he doesn’t think of who should be in the seat) but then he realizes - 

It’s Hoseok looking up at Namjoon with a tired, bitter smile. “Hey.” He gives Namjoon a small wave, and Namjoon knows he’s staring, knows he’s gaping, but he can’t stop. “Long time no see.”

*** ***

Namjoon looks stunned, understandably so. Hoseok waves to Yoongi for a beer while he waits for Namjoon to recover. 

Yoongi does a double take when he sees Hoseok, then gives him a nasty glare. It’s not hard for Hoseok to guess why, when he glances at Namjoon and the way he’s still staring. He sends Yoongi an apologetic glance, but the scowl doesn’t fade, and Yoongi slams the bottle down in front of Hoseok without even taking the cap off. 

With a small sigh, Hoseok uses the edge of the counter instead to open his beer. It takes a few tries, but he manages, and glances back at Namjoon when he’s done. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Namjoon manages at last. He still looks tense, looks confused, but he finally looks Hoseok in the eyes. “How are you?”

Hoseok finds that he relaxes at that. Such a simple phrase. But it’s better than he expected, after being away for so long.

This is the perfect chance for Hoseok to tell Namjoon why he’s been away, why he disappeared so suddenly, but the words stick in Hoseok’s throat. “I’ve been… okay.”

It’s a lie, but Namjoon doesn’t need to know that. Hoseok keeps the smile on his face and hopes that Namjoon doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t. “That’s… good to hear.” He sounds sincere.

“How about you?” Hoseok asks in return, and Namjoon glances away.

“I’ve been good.” He doesn’t say anything more, and Hoseok’s smile fades just a little. He’d known it would be awkward, coming back here after so long, but he’d hoped that Namjoon would be a little more receptive.

When the silence stretches too long, Hoseok takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Look - Namjoon. I’m really sorry I haven’t been around. And… Sorry I kind of disappeared without telling you.” 

He leaves his apology like that. He has a reason, for disappearing for so long, but it’s not really a valid excuse, so he just leaves it like that.

Hoseok almost expects Namjoon to burst out at him, yell at him, or maybe he’d say it was ok, but instead Namjoon just shakes his head. “It’s not like you had an obligation to, right? Thanks though.” 

That stings a little – Hoseok had started to consider them friends, at least, even if they hadn’t actually exchanged contact information yet. The way Namjoon brushes it off, though, suggests that he thought otherwise. 

Nonetheless, Hoseok keeps going, a smile still on his face. “I… I guess. But if you’d like, I’ll give you my number, so I can’t disappear like that again.”

“Wait, really?” There’s something eager in the way Namjoon scrambles for his phone, but Hoseok tells himself he’s misreading it. After the way Namjoon had just denied being close enough to be friends, he must be. He’s just being nice, probably. “That - that would be great.”

Hoseok takes Namjoon’s phone, inputs his own number, saves his name and messages himself. He smiles as he hands the phone back to Namjoon. “I won’t be coming around as much, have to look for a job,” he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “Feel free to message me or call.” 

“Uh, ok.” Namjoon sounds still disbelieving, but he takes his phone back. “I’ll do that.”

With a deep breath, Hoseok stands, smoothing his pants against his thighs. “Well, I guess I’m off for now. I just came in to say hi.” He gives Namjoon a slightly apologetic smile, before turning to leave.

“Wait-” Namjoon’s voice sounds shocked. “Hoseok, wait, what happened to your leg?”

Hoseok turns back one last time. He keeps a smile on his face, and tells Namjoon almost flippantly, “Oh, this? I got into an accident.” He shakes out the leg with the brace on it, then continues out the door.

*** 

His face falls the moment he leaves the bar, and he slumps against the wall outside. Even this short walk outside the bar makes his leg twinge with pain, and he grimaces, staring down at the brace that’s outlined faintly under his pants.

His leg aches, but what hurts more is to be in the bar, to hear the music all around him and not be able to move to it, to feel the beat thrumming in his heart and not be able to express it the way he used to.

Finding a job was only an excuse to avoid the bar, really.

Hoseok takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He shoves himself off the wall, wincing again when his leg protests the sudden weight. 

Hoseok starts the long walk home, his leg throbbing with every other step, the pain a constant reminder of what he can no longer have.

*** 

“Where… what’s going on?”

“You’re in the hospital, Mr. Jung. What do you remember?”

“The car - there was another driver - I was in an accident, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“...I can’t feel my leg. Is that… normal?”

“Yes. We gave a local anaesthetic when we set your leg, it doesn’t seem to have worn off yet.”

“Is it - will I be ok?” 

“You’ll be able to walk without crutches, if you take care of yourself. It’s not the worst injury I’ve seen. You were lucky, Mr. Jung. Things could have been much worse.”

“Will I… will I still be able to dance?”

“…I’m sorry.”

*** ***

Namjoon starts spending a lot of time staring at his phone. Every time Yoongi catches him, he just rolls his eyes. “Just ing text him. It takes like 2 seconds. ‘What’s up?’ That’s all you have to say.”

Even though Namjoon has Hoseok’s number now (and even though Yoongi is constantly hounding him to do something with it), Namjoon never manages to send a message. He’s always considering it, but ultimately he chickens out. 

Fortunately for him, Hoseok doesn’t seem to be as socially inept. A few days later, Hoseok messages Namjoon with “I got a job, come in for coffee sometime?”

The next message Namjoon receives is an address. He ends up staring at his phone again, and when Yoongi passes by the couch, he smacks the back of Namjoon’s head. “You’re still at it? Just ing text-”

“He texted me,” Namjoon says numbly without looking up at Yoongi. “He’s working in a cafe. Invited me in for coffee.”

“Wait, really?” Yoongi leans over, and Namjoon tilts the screen in his direction. “Damn. You should be glad he even texted you, after you’ve ignored him for a good two weeks.”

Namjoon nods absently, still staring at his screen. “Yeah. ...Uh, Yoongi?”

“What.”

“...want to go for coffee tomorrow?”

“You are honestly so awkward.”

Namjoon can’t help but agree.

*** 

The next day, Namjoon walks into the quaint little coffee shop with Yoongi trailing a few steps behind him. “I still don’t get why I’m here if you want to talk to Hoseok,” Yoongi mutters. “I don’t want to be third-wheeling all day.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to retort, but then Yoongi grabs his arm suddenly, leans in close to Namjoon’s ear. “Actually, that. You chat up your barista, I’ll chat up mine.”

“What?” A beat too slow, Namjoon glances up at the counter, where Hoseok’s working beside another man - oh. Ok then. Rolling his eyes, he watches Yoongi stride up purposefully to the counter, leaning on it with a lazy grin as he chats to the barista. Namjoon sighs to himself, shaking his head with a small smile at his friend’s antics.

Yoongi works fast, Namjoon thinks, watching him. The barista is already smiling at Yoongi, a spark of interest in his gaze. Meanwhile, Namjoon hovers a few meters back, hesitant, nervous, pretending like Hoseok hasn’t been eyeing him since he came in.

With a small sigh, Namjoon approaches Hoseok at last with a hesitant smile. Hoseok returns a giant grin. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to show.”

“Why?” Namjoon panics for a moment. Maybe Hoseok hadn’t wanted him to come after all.

“Since you didn’t seem too eager to call us friends, and you didn’t contact me after I gave you my number.” Namjoon flushes a little, realizing that his social awkwardness has given Hoseok the wrong idea.

“I was just worried I’d go too fast, or something.” All his eloquence with words on stage disappears when he’s in front of Hoseok, and a tiny voice in his mind (that sounds eerily like Yoongi) tells him how incredibly stupid he is.

Hoseok laughs a little. “Why would I give you my number if I didn’t want you to call?” He hands Namjoon a drink with a smile, waving off the payment Namjoon tries to push at him in return. “On the house, for visiting me today. But next time you’ll have to pay.”

Next time. That leaves a warm feeling in Namjoon’s chest, that Hoseok assumes there will be a next time. He smiles into his cup, taking a sip of the coffee (black and strong, but not too bitter - just the way he likes it) before he realizes Hoseok is saying something else. “Hey, do you want to stick around? I’ve got half an hour before my shift finishes, you guys have good timing.”

Namjoon glances over to where Yoongi is still chatting up the other barista. “Guess I’m sticking around,” he says with a shrug, jerking his head at the pair, and Hoseok laughs outright. 

“Take a seat,” he says with a grin. “I’ll be done soon.”

Namjoon slides into a seat near the counter and waits, sipping intermittently at his coffee.

The job in a coffee shop is good for Hoseok. He doesn’t have to move much, and the owner or whoever it is appears to have set up a seat so Hoseok can rest when he needs to. Hoseok’s smile is infectious, his friendly manner welcoming, and he charms customers without even trying. 

(Namjoon might be charmed too, by that bright smile, but if anyone asks he’s just admiring Hoseok’s people skills.)

Soon enough, Hoseok is taking off his apron, yelling at Seokjin (Yoongi’s conquest) to get back behind the counter (“Your break finished at least 20 minutes ago!” “Shut up, you’ve been making eyes at your boyfriend since he came in!”) (Namjoon flushes – boyfriend?) and then Hoseok is standing in front of Namjoon with a smile. “Let’s go?”

Namjoon glances at Yoongi, who just leans back in his seat with a smile. “Oh, no, you two go on. I’d hate to be a third wheel.” From the way he glances back at the barista, though, it’s nothing but an excuse, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, but tugs Hoseok out with him without another word.

Hoseok shakes his head as soon as he gets outside. “Yoongi’s going to get eaten alive,” he mutters, grinning.

Namjoon can’t see it, with how sweet and kind Seokjin looks. Hoseok gives him a slightly pitying glance. “Yoongi’s going to be eating out of the palm of his hand within the week, mark my words.”

They stroll around aimlessly, no real direction in mind. It’s a warm day, the sun’s out with a slight breeze, and they find themselves sitting in a park, enjoying the beautiful weather. 

Namjoon doesn’t bring up the six months apart, doesn’t bring up the accident. He talks instead about the music that he’s been making, how the bar’s been doing, how Yoongi’s still being a little , how Namjoon’s starting to get a little recognition for his music.

Hoseok listens with a small smile on his face, but it looks a little bittersweet. “How did you know you wanted to do music?” he asks in a lull in the conversation, and Namjoon hums a little thoughtfully in reply.

“I didn’t really,” he says truthfully. “It was kind of a hobby at first. I liked just listening, at first. Then I started using lyrics to express myself, find freedom where I couldn’t get it anywhere else. You know how parents are about school.”

Hoseok nods, a sympathetic look on his face, and Namjoon sighs. “I never really thought of pursuing music as a career, you know? Kept focusing on school instead. But when I was in high school, I had to get heart surgery. They said I only had a 30% chance to live.”

There’s no sound from Hoseok, and Namjoon lets out a deep breath, leans back. “Well, obviously, I lived. But after that, I realized… life’s too short, you know? It’s way too short to spend it doing something you don’t love. So I didn’t go to college, started making music instead. Started doing what really makes me happy.”

There’s a long moment of silence after that, and Namjoon thinks he might have said something wrong. He turns to look at Hoseok, but Hoseok’s face is blank, closed off. He can’t read it at all.

Then, so quietly Namjoon almost thinks he imagined it, Hoseok murmurs, “But what if your happiness has already been taken away from you?” 

Namjoon doesn’t have an answer for him.

*** ***

“How’s your leg feeling, love?” 

“It’s fine.”

“How’s your new job?” 

“It’s fine.”

“How’s your school applications going?” 

“What?”

Hoseok looks up from his food at last, startled. His mother looks back at him, eyes sharp, lips tight. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking of going back to school.”

“I haven’t,” Hoseok mutters, his gaze dropping back down. His leg is throbbing again, and he scowls.

“Really? Hoseok, honey, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t dance any more, can’t keep going in that field. You have to find something productive to do with your life.”

She says it nicely, but Hoseok hears the real meaning behind her words. His lips press into a thin line, and he glares down at the table. “I’ll think about it,” he manages to say, evenly.

“You need to have a future,” his mother says. “Working in a coffee shop won’t get you anywhere in life. Neither did dancing. You should go to school, get a degree in something useful.”

“Thanks for dinner, mom.” Hoseok stands, deposits his plate in the sink. This conversation is over, as far as he’s concerned, and he leaves the room, feeling his mother’s gaze boring holes in his back.

*** ***

Namjoon’s never had a particular love of coffee. He doesn’t mind it, but he doesn’t live off it the way Yoongi does. 

That doesn’t stop Yoongi from dragging him to the coffee shop with him on almost a daily basis now. 

To be fair, it’s not like Namjoon puts up much of a fight. Namjoon knows Yoongi’s going for the cute barista (Seokjin, he reminds himself) but he’s got his own reason to visit the coffee shop, after all. It gives him an excuse, anyways, so Hoseok won’t think he’s coming on too strong (even though the knowing glint in Hoseok’s eye tells him otherwise.)

Namjoon might not be a fan of coffee, but he’s a fan of the drinks that Hoseok always makes for him. Hoseok, apparently, likes experimenting, and Namjoon’s come close to spitting out some of his concoctions, but always ends up drinking them entirely. 

Namjoon tells himself he must be imagining the gleeful glint in Hoseok’s eye when he drinks some of the worser-tasting ones. Hoseok wouldn’t do this to him on purpose, would he?

(The way Seokjin and Yoongi both snicker at Namjoon says otherwise. He rescinds his earlier observation of Seokjin looking sweet and kind; the man is a perfect match for Yoongi, the little .)

Between sometimes dastardly and sometimes heavenly drinks, Namjoon and Hoseok chat more. It’s nice, sharing the things that they do, sharing the thoughts that they have. Hoseok has more than enough free time these days, and Namjoon is more than willing to spend a lot of that time with him, wasting away the hours just hanging out without care.

Hoseok always has a bright smile on. It makes Namjoon happy to see too. He’d been a little worried, that maybe Hoseok was depressed or something after the accident, but then, it has been a while since then. Maybe he’s ok with it now.

“So - you’ve already found a job,” Namjoon says one day, after Hoseok’s shift. They’re in the park as usual, enjoying the bright summer day. “So how come you haven’t come back to the club?”

Namjoon had just been curious, but Hoseok’s face goes instantly blank. Taken aback, Namjoon starts to apologize, but then Hoseok gives him a small smile.

“…there’s no reason for me to go anymore. I can’t dance.” Hoseok lifts his injured leg, waving it stiffly in the air. The brace is faintly visible under his jeans, the outline clear if you knew what to look for. Namjoon glances at Hoseok’s face, and there’s a hint of pain in his gaze, faintly visible, only clear if you knew what to look for.

Hoseok lets his leg fall slowly back to the ground. His smile is still there, but stiff, fake, and Namjoon realizes - maybe all his smiles have been fake. Or maybe a lot of them. He swallows.

“What did you love about dancing?” Namjoon asks, cautiously. He’s tried to stay away from the accident, from what Hoseok’s injuries prevented him from doing, but now that it’s come up, he wants Hoseok to talk about it, wants to know more about Hoseok. He hopes he hasn’t gone too far. 

Hoseok gives a small bark of laughter. There’s no mirth in the sound, only bitterness. That same small smile is still on his face and Namjoon is starting to hate it. His heart hurts.

“What did I love about dancing?” he echoes, empty, aching. “Everything.”

*** 

The beat is heavy, thrumming under his skin, and Hoseok takes a deep breath. He knows this music by heart, knows every nuance of the melody and the bass.

With the music in mind, with the shape and flow of the crescendos and decrescendos in mind, he begins to move. The music is a part of him, an extension of him, his body only a medium with which to express it to others, and he revels in the feeling, of losing himself to the music.

There’s adrenaline pumping through his veins, matching the music booming in his ears, and Hoseok is grinning, sharp, dangerous, matching the music that’s almost deafening on the stage.

With every movement, every shift, he can feel the sweat dripping from his temples, sliding down his skin. His body will be aching tomorrow, his knees sore from the drops, his muscles screaming from holding his weight in unnatural positions, but right now, he only feels light, like he could dance forever.

But the music ends, and so does he. It feels too short, although this piece is already one of the longest he’s done. He’s stopped, panting, heaving so loudly that it echoes in the silent auditorium. His body is starting to catch up with him now and he can feel the slight tremble in his limbs, the way they don’t quite cooperate any more, but that’s not important right now.

What’s important is seeing the audience clapping, cheering for him. The pride of seeing other people watching him, feeling the music through him, learning it in a different way through his movements. The feeling of sharing something, sharing his interpretation of the music, with an audience.

The feeling of making other people satisfied, when they rise with a standing ovation as his solo finishes.

Hoseok bows to unending applause and thinks that there is nothing that could ever compare to this.

*** 

Hoseok ends the conversation quickly after that, saying he needs to go home for dinner. Namjoon lets him go without much protest, probably worried he’s overstepped his boundaries. 

He has, a little, Hoseok thinks. He wasn’t ready yet to talk about it, even though it’s already been more than half a year since the accident. He still likes to pretend it hasn’t happened, that he’s just taking a break, that one day he’ll return to it. 

He can only pretend for so long, though; his leg never gives him a chance to really bury the thought. It aches too much, too often, and he lets his smiles fade when he’s out of Namjoon’s sight, pauses for a few long minutes to massage his leg.

When Hoseok gets home, it’s empty, his mother out for a week on a cruise. He’s grateful for it. He doesn’t think he can deal with another lecture from his mother today.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights, stumbles up the stairs in the dark, foregoing a dinner he doesn’t really want. His leg aches. He doesn’t care.

He enters his room, drops his bag on the floor beside the door. Closes his door by leaning back, then just stays like that, back against the door, head bowed. 

You have to find something productive to do with your life.

She doesn’t understand. She thinks dance was a hobby, a passing phase. Now that it’s out of his life, he can move on, find something worthwhile to do with his time.

She doesn’t know that dance was his life, was the only thing he found truly worthwhile, the only thing he loved. She doesn’t understand that he’s lost, now, without direction, because he doesn’t know what else he can do.

Hoseok’s leg buckles under him. He slumps to the ground, not even trying to get back up. A fitting analogy, he thinks bitterly. He’s not even trying to find something to do with his life either.

Even though he knows his future depends on this, knows that he can’t stay stuck like this forever, living in his mom’s house with only a part-time job in a café and no degree to help him get a better one, he can’t bring himself to move on, to change anything.

He curls up against the door and thinks, again, what a waste of space he is. Not able to do what he loves, not practical enough to do something he doesn’t. Not driven enough to put effort into anything.

Here, only here, does his mask of smiles really fade. He’s crumpled against the door, his leg aching (he can’t even cry in peace any more, ) and he knows he’s useless, knows he’s pathetic. Knows it, but isn’t willing to do anything to change it.

He curls in on himself and wonders what it would be like to just go to sleep and never wake up again.

*** 

He calls in sick the next day. Rokhyun, the manager, doesn’t ask, just tells him to take care of himself, take as much time as he needs. 

Hoseok thinks that Rokhyun probably understands more than he lets on. There’s something in the older man’s tone, in the way he’s too gentle, too accommodating, in the way he tries to gently prod Hoseok into trying new things, always giving him flyers and ads for anything remotely related to dance.

Hoseok spends the day in bed, blank, empty. He can’t seem to find the will to do anything else, despite knowing he should. He lies there staring up at the ceiling and makes a list in his head, all the things he should do, all the things he could do, and doesn’t do any of it at all.

He rolls over onto his side, stares at his phone, scrolls through random pages and doesn’t take any of it in. He didn’t want to go to work, didn’t want to do anything, but this feels worse than anything else he could have done really.

The doorbell rings at some point in the day. Hoseok takes a few long minutes to consider getting up. If it’s important, the guy will probably ring again. Or they’ll just leave a message. Hoseok rolls over and pretends he didn’t hear it. He’s not leaving the bed today.

A few minutes later, there’s another tentative ring of the doorbell. How many times can he ignore it before the guy gives up?

Another ring and Hoseok decides that he should actually get up now. It’s a few more minutes before he manages to get out of bed and change into semi-presentable clothing and stumble over to the door, peering blearily through the peephole at whoever’s been outside his door for a good half hour by now.

There’s nobody there. Hoseok’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

With a sigh, he turns to go back to bed when he hears a familiar deep voice. “Hoseok?”

Startled, Hoseok turns back. There’s some scrambling outside his door, and when he pulls it open, Namjoon is standing there, still brushing off the seat of his pants. “What are you doing here?” Hoseok says, bewildered. He’s never told Namjoon his address, nor does Namjoon have any reason to be here.

Namjoon just shrugs, gives him a smile. “I went to the shop to see you today, Seokjin told me you were out. Your manager said you called in sick and asked me to check up on you. Gave me your address and everything.”

Hoseok wonders if he should kiss or kill Rokhyun next time he sees him. Maybe both.

“Oh. Well. I’m feeling fine now, so I guess you’ve done your job.” Hoseok goes to shut the door on Namjoon, but Namjoon shoves a foot in the door to keep it from closing.

“No. You’re not ok.” Namjoon looks at Hoseok, really looks at him, and Hoseok fights the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. “You haven’t been ok for a long time, have you?”

Hoseok says nothing, but the silence speaks for itself, and Namjoon lets out a tiny sigh. “...Can I come in?”

Hoseok just opens his door further and wonders if he’s made the right decision.

*** 

Namjoon sits quietly at Hoseok’s kitchen table, holding a cup of tea. Hoseok slumps down across from him, waiting for Namjoon to make the first move.

“What have you been up to outside of work?” Namjoon says at last, still cautious, probing gently into Hoseok’s life, the life that he’s tried to leave private until now.

Hoseok contemplates how he should answer. He could try to be flippant, or maybe lie about it. He could treat it the same way he talks to everyone, hide what he’s doing, hide how he’s feeling.
But the way Namjoon is looking at him - Hoseok takes a deep breath. Takes a risk.

For the first time since the accident, Hoseok lets his mask fall in front of someone else.

“Nothing,” he tells Namjoon, honest, blunt. “I’ve done nothing. I don’t want to do anything.”

Namjoon, to his credit, doesn’t react. He nods, slowly, glances down into his teacup, then back up. "Before, then. What did you do?"

Before. That's all Namjoon says, but they both know he means from before the accident. 

Hoseok hesitates, has to think. "I... There wasn't anything in particular." It's kind of sad to admit that to himself, really. But dance had really been his life, had been his focus, his purpose, and he'd never really had a need for anything else.

There's a few moments of silence, then Namjoon asks, "You answered this already, but. Try to break it down. What did you love about dancing?

Hoseok can only let out a shaky laugh. Shuts his eyes. Remembers. "It was- it didn't matter if it was practice or a performance. If people were watching or not. Just the feeling of moving, of pushing myself to the limits, was enough."

"Well, I say that, but I think the stage was always my favorite. Everything else paled in comparison. How do you explain how it feels to be on a stage, to have everyone's attention on you, to know that they're moved by your performance, that you've managed to show them a part of yourself, a part of your heart, and they liked it?"

"You don't have to explain it," Namjoon tells him quietly, reaching out to grab his hand. Hoseok starts, surprised by the sudden move, then grips Namjoon's hand tightly, feeling like he needs this anchor, a lifeline back to reality. "I make my living on a stage too."

And Hoseok had forgotten that, for a while. He’d forgotten that Namjoon owns the stage in a different way, that he of all people would understand what Hoseok was going through. Hoseok’s hold tightens on Namjoon’s hand, until he’s almost worried that he’ll crush it, but Namjoon doesn’t even flinch. “What would you do,” Hoseok says, softly, “if you lost that? If you couldn’t perform any more?”

Namjoon looks at Hoseok for a long time. “The stage is only one part of music,” he says simply. “I’d miss it, but it doesn’t define me. I’ll make my music known one way or another.”

“What if,” Hoseok persists, trying to make Namjoon understand. “What if- what if you couldn’t make music at all? Maybe you go mute, go deaf. What then?”

And Namjoon does understand, but he just gives Hoseok a small smile. “Then I find another way to make my message known. Sure, I might not be able to make music, but I can write lyrics. I’ll miss the sound of music in my ears, but I’ll never lose the true core of what I love.”

When Hoseok doesn’t respond, Namjoon gives his hand one last squeeze. “Think about it,” Namjoon says carefully. “Try to figure out what you like to do, what might interest you. Nothing’s ever going to be the same as dance,” and Hoseok’s heart gives a pang, “but there’s no point in lingering on the past. What’s done is done. You can only move forwards, right?”

Namjoon leaves Hoseok sitting there, nursing a slowly cooling cup of tea, lost deep in thought.

*** ***

Hoseok isn’t in the shop again the next day. Namjoon hesitates, and in the end decides not to visit again. Hoseok probably needs some time alone to think things through. This is something that Namjoon can’t help him with.

Even so, he finds himself curled up in a corner of the coffee shop, hoping that he hasn’t made things worse.

*** 

On the third day, when Namjoon visits during Hoseok’s usual shift, he’s there. His smile is less bright, less enthusiastic, but somehow serene, more genuine. There’s a spark in his eyes that hasn’t been there for a long time now. Namjoon hadn’t noticed it was gone until now.

“Hey,” Namjoon says as he approaches the counter. “How are you?”

Hoseok looks up at him. The smile on his face fades, replaced by a pensive expression. He’s seriously considering the question, and Namjoon waits patiently for his conclusion.

“Better,” Hoseok says at last, his smile returning. “I’m better. Not good, not yet, but better.”

“That’s good.” Namjoon reaches out, grabs Hoseok’s hand again. “I’m always available if you need me, ok?”

Hoseok nods, and that’s all that Namjoon needs to feel better too.

*** ***

It gets better from there.

Hoseok doesn’t know what he wants to do, yet. It’s not that easy to change your dreams, your future, even after what Namjoon said. But at least he’s trying.

He’s keeping an open mind, trying new things. He takes up a part-time job teaching back at his old studio. He can’t teach the advanced classes, not any more, but his leg still allows him to do the easier movements for the children’s classes. The kids love him too, too young to find his leg brace creepy or frightening, and Hoseok finds that he enjoys imparting the love of dance to the younger generation.

He considers other forms of stage performance, but theatre doesn’t hold the same appeal, neither does singing. There’s a pang in his chest, but he doesn’t think he’ll get to have that rush of performing ever again.

“I think that’s what I miss most,” he tells Namjoon, sadly. “It’s - everything else has an equivalent, you know? But performing - that’s something else entirely.”

Namjoon hums in response, thinking. “I think I should show you something tomorrow,” he says, and Hoseok agrees to go.

*** 

“This is where I make my music.”

Hoseok gapes, wide-eyed, at the small studio. He isn’t sure what he expected to see today, but it wasn’t this. “I’m - wow.”

Namjoon laughs at his eloquent reply. “I mean, I’ve seen you dance, seen your place before, I figured I should show you mine, right? This is where I spend a lot of my time. Yoongi comes here a lot too.”

“He makes music? I hadn’t realized.” Yoongi had never performed in the club, not that Hoseok had seen anyways, and he’d always just thought he was a bartender.

As though he knew what Hoseok was thinking, Namjoon says, “Yoongi never really liked performing. He doesn’t mind it, but he prefers the behind-the-scenes work. He’s a damn good producer, so I usually get him to do a check on my songs.”

Reaching over to the computer, Namjoon presses a few keys. The machine hums to life under his fingers, and music starts to play. Hoseok recognizes Namjoon’s voice, hitting the beats, but something seems off about it, he thinks. “This is one of our newer pieces. I’ve got the lyrics written, but my voice doesn’t fit this rap.” He’s right, Hoseok thinks, thinking vaguely that a higher pitched tone would fit better. “I’ve been meaning to get Yoongi to record it, but I thought of an alternative yesterday.”

Hoseok blinks, and there’s a bunch of papers in his face. He stares. “Namjoon, what’s this?”

“The music. You’ll need it if you’re going to record.”

“What?” He must have misheard. There’s no way Namjoon’s suggesting what Hoseok thinks he is. “Namjoon, I can’t rap.”

“You won’t know until you give it a try. You have a good sense of rhythm from dance, and it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with hip hop. Just give it a shot, you might like it.” Namjoon shakes the papers in front of Hoseok, insistent. “Even just once. Try it?”

Hoseok stares at Namjoon for a few long minutes. “I’ll it up,” he warns at last, and Namjoon just grins. 

“How many times do you think I had to record this track? Nobody gets it right first try.” The papers are shoved into Hoseok’s hands and he’s pushed into the recording booth. “Put on the headphones and we’ll give it a go. I’ll play the track with my voice so you can follow it the first few times, then you can go yourself.”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, puts on the headphones. Namjoon gives him another grin and says, “Let’s go,” and presses play.

It’s not the same, of course. Nothing’s ever quite the same as dance. But Hoseok enjoys this, the flow of music through his body, the words, the sounds, translated by him into something new. Every person that sings this track does it in a different way, interprets it differently, and that’s reminiscent of dance, where every movement can have infinite interpretations.

He could learn to like this, he thinks.

Hoseok comes out of the booth grinning as widely as Namjoon, who’s practically cackling in glee as his fingers fly over the keyboard, over the mouse. “Oh, Yoongi’s not going to be happy.”

“What? Why?” Curious, Hoseok leans over, watches the work Namjoon’s doing on the screen, even though he doesn’t understand any of it. “Did I mess up?”

“No. You did great.” Namjoon’s wolfish grin is almost scary. “Yoongi’s going to be pissed that he’s got competition now. You’re ing great. You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Definitely not. This is all new to me.” Hoseok leans closer, practically pressing against Namjoon’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

“I’m just adjusting some of the music, changing volumes of things, trying to bring out your voice more. Oh, Yoongi’s going to be so mad.” Namjoon’s gleeful tone is a little jarring with those words, but Hoseok has long since learned to accept the way Namjoon and Yoongi’s odd relationship works. They’re not the most dysfunctional pair of friends Hoseok has seen, but they definitely are pretty high up in the rankings.

“Hey, Namjoon?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok wraps his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders in a quiet back hug. “Thank you.”

Namjoon goes stiff under his touch, and Hoseok thinks that he’s gone too far this time, that he’s misread the signs, but then Namjoon reaches a hand up and touches his arm, holds it tightly, as though holding Hoseok to him.

“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot of work to do.” Namjoon’s tone is gruff. “You might be good, but you still have a lot of room to improve.”

Hoseok just smiles and lays his cheek against Namjoon’s hair. It’s a little spiky, too dry from multiple bleachings and dye jobs, but it’s nice, and Hoseok sighs happily against it. “You’ll teach me everything you know, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get off me, I have to work.”

Hoseok lets go, but Namjoon doesn’t, shifting his grip so that his left hand is gripping Hoseok’s right. When Hoseok glances inquisitively down, Namjoon doesn’t look him in the eye. “I can work one-handed,” he says, ignoring the blush on his cheeks. “It’ll slow me down enough to explain things to you, too.”

Grinning, Hoseok settles in beside Namjoon to listen as he explains the program and the music and the beat, their voices still playing in the background.

*** 

A few months later, Namjoon takes Hoseok to the club to perform. He pulls out one of his old tracks for it, makes Hoseok learn Yoongi’s part. Hoseok takes it and rewords some of it, plays around with the lyrics until they suit him better. 

It’s not the same, he reminds himself. It’s still not the same as dance. Nothing will be the same as dance.

But the feeling of exhilaration, watching the audience cheer for him, watching people move because of him - that’s something else entirely, something that’s just as beautiful.

True to Namjoon’s words, Yoongi comes stomping up to them after the stage. He starts up a giant rant at Namjoon for “butchering our old song, how dare you perform it with someone else, I’ll kick you out of my damn club,” but Namjoon is laughing his head off, so Hoseok figures the threats are empty. Maybe.

When Yoongi whirls around to start in on Hoseok, he actually flinches back, but all Yoongi says is “Where the have you been all this time? We could’ve used a third years ago,” and this, Hoseok supposes, is Yoongi’s way of saying he approves.

*** 

“Hoseok, you should really go back to school.”

He stares down at the applications in his hands. His mother is still desperate to send him off to school, but he still hasn’t felt the urge or need for it. He hadn’t felt like there was anything to do in school that he’d like.

But there’s another application in his hands now, one that Rokhyun had slipped him one day at work. “I heard you like music,” Rokhyun had said, a smile on his lips. “Give this school a try?”

He thinks of the music, thinks of the rhythms running in his blood. Thinks of the best way for him to pursue his life, to live while enjoying what he does.

Thinks of his mother.

Thinks of Namjoon.

Hoseok takes a deep breath, and makes his decision.

*** ***

Hoseok seems more dejected, today. Namjoon notices, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s learned that Hoseok, more often than not, prefers to say things on his own time.

Instead, Namjoon acts like normal, shows Hoseok the new music, the lyrics he came up with the other day. “I kind of want to know what you and Yoongi sound like together, maybe we can record something tomorrow? He’s been wanting to work with you too since that stage you did, he’s still mad at me for keeping you to myself for so long.”

Namjoon’s halfway through explaining the concept for the song when Hoseok finally speaks up. “Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m heading back to school,” Hoseok tells Namjoon quietly. 

Namjoon feels his heart stop, then lurch back into action, hammering furiously in his chest. “Wait - what? Why?” Why now, he wants to ask, but he clamps his mouth shut. It feels like rejection, burning in his chest, Hoseok choosing to go back to school after Namjoon has tried so hard to give him another path.

Hoseok just smiles, a little sad, a little bittersweet. “I like making music with you, but it’s not enough.” You’re not enough is what Namjoon hears, and he swallows hard, keeping his face still. Hoseok probably didn’t mean it like that, but it hurts nonetheless.

But then - “It’s just, you know, I feel like I have so much to learn still. I’m not good enough to work with you or Yoongi, and frankly, I’m feeling a little useless when I’m here with you.”

“Wait, what?”

Hoseok laughs. “Silly. I’m not going to school to ditch you. I’m going to school for music.”

He’s waving a flyer in his hands, and Namjoon reaches for it, snatches it out of his grasp. Wild-eyed, he scans the page, mouth falling open when he sees. “Oh my god - music? Really? You’re going to a music school.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok grins. “It’ll be fun. I really want to see what I can do on my own, you know? I can’t write lyrics or make music like you or Yoongi, but maybe this will help me.”

“And then?”

“Then I’m going to come back and make the best music the world has ever heard.” Hoseok sounds confident. Sure. For the first time in almost a year now, he knows what he wants, knows what he’s doing, and Namjoon is so proud of him, really, it’s so great to see him like this, so why is his heart still hurting?

“I… I wish you all the best, then. You’re talented, it’ll be cool to see where you end up.” Namjoon looks down. 

“Hey. Hey, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks up.

“Who said I’d be doing it alone?”

And Hoseok’s eyes are sparkling, warm, and Namjoon can’t look away. “Namjoon, you’re the one that makes music come to life for me. I wouldn’t make anything without you.”

“But - school - why? Me and Yoongi never went, so…”

“Yeah.” Hoseok grins. “I figured one of us should. I mean, I know that you and Yoongi have always done your own thing, but if I get a degree it could help, you know? It’s about the only thing I can do to bring something new to the table.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to, you know. We’d be happy working with you just like this.”

“Yeah, but I want to. I want to do this, Namjoon.”

And who is Namjoon to stop Hoseok from doing what he wants?

“If you’re sure. Just - stay in touch, yeah? It’s far from home.”

“Yeah. I’ll stay in touch. You’re the one that never texted me, you know.”

“Shut up!”

And then they’re both laughing, even though it’s bittersweet. 

*** 

Four years is a long time.

It doesn’t really hit Namjoon until they’re at the airport to see Hoseok off. Four years. Six months had been bad enough, and they hadn’t even been friends then. What is Namjoon going to do for four years?

“Hey.” Hoseok is in front of him now, smiling. “You look upset.”

“No,” Namjoon denies automatically. “I’m just… no.”

Hoseok laughs. “I’ll miss you, you know. Actually text me now, you . Don’t leave me hanging, ok?”

“I’ll wait for you,” Namjoon blurts out. Hoseok pauses, startled, and Namjoon just keeps barging on. “I mean, I don’t know - I don’t know if that’s ok, but. If you want.”

“I want.” Hoseok says, quiet. “I didn’t know if you wanted.”

They sound so stupid, but as long as they understand each other, this is enough. Namjoon takes a deep breath. “Then I’ll wait. Come back soon, ok?”

“Ok.”

And then Hoseok is gone.

Namjoon didn’t expect anything else. They hadn’t said anything, after all, other than a promise to wait. But that’s all they need.

Yoongi’s surprised when Namjoon returns with a smile on his face. “I thought you’d be crying because your boyfriend left.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Namjoon says, but the statement doesn’t hurt. Instead, it holds hope.

He’s not my boyfriend yet, but he will be.

*** 

Four years later, Hoseok stands on a stage. It’s the last number in a short set that he and Namjoon had gotten together. Yoongi’s there too, but he’s not performing tonight, more for moral support. It’s Hoseok’s first performance back here, after all.

He and Namjoon had performed together before, but this is the first solo performance Hoseok’s done, without Namjoon at his side. Instead, Namjoon is in the audience, standing beside Yoongi, watching Hoseok intently. Hoseok swallows.

The music starts to play, and Hoseok takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Counts the beats in his head, listens to the harmonies. He can do this. 

Music that he composed, that Namjoon produced, is ringing in his ears. He opens his mouth, and lyrics that he wrote, that Namjoon wrote, flow seamlessly from him, naturally, like he was born to do it. Like it’s easy for him, as simple as breathing.

(It isn’t. He had worked hard for it, the same way he had worked hard for his dancing, doing the most difficult parts over and over and over again until they seemed easy for anyone observing. It was never easy, but it made other people think it was effortless, and that was what performing was about.)

In the audience, Hoseok can see Seokjin dancing. He nearly laughs – Seokjin’s never been a great dancer. But there’s a carefree joy in the way he moves, and it makes Hoseok grin to know that Seokjin is moving because of him. Because of his music.

Seokjin tugs Yoongi beside him into a dance, and Hoseok’s glad that the song has a few moments of rest, because he actually does snort at this. Yoongi has never danced in front of them before, but Seokjin coaxes him into it easily with nothing more than a smile and a few words. Told you he’d be wrapped around his finger, he thinks smugly, his eyes flicking to where Namjoon stands.

Namjoon, in the audience beside Yoongi and Seokjin. He’s bouncing too, listening to Hoseok’s song, letting the music dictate his movements. Letting Hoseok dictate his movements. 

Their eyes meet, and Hoseok starts to rap again, but he’s watching Namjoon the entire time.

You are the music that makes me move.

Namjoon starts to dance too, and if Hoseok hadn’t seen it before, he’d have had a mental breakdown on stage, because he swears Namjoon dances with his face more than his body, but the idea is there. Namjoon is moving because of Hoseok. Because of his music.

Hoseok finishes off strongly, hears the claps and cheers from the audience, but only has eyes for Namjoon. Namjoon, who is smiling, who is cheering, who is looking at him so, so proudly.

Ten minutes later, Hoseok’s sitting at the bar, where Yoongi’s already got a bottle of beer for him. “I might not be the bartender here, but getting you your beer’s my job,” he says, grinning.

Namjoon slides in beside Hoseok, grinning. “Hey. Can I get one of that?”

“Get your own damn beer, Namjoon, I’m not your slave.” Yoongi tells Namjoon, nudging him roughly as he stalks off, but neither of them are listening.

“Do you mind if I sit beside you?”

“No, not at all.” Hoseok passes the beer to Namjoon, watches as he drinks it down. “Definitely not.”

“You sounded great up there,” Namjoon says when he’s done. “I could really feel the music when I listen to you.”

Hoseok snorts. “Namjoon. You looked like a dying monkey out there. If that’s the music you feel when you hear me, then I’m doomed as an artist.”

“Dude, I was doing a thing! You rude .”

“Imagine, Namjoon. If you’d had the balls to say something to me then, we wouldn’t have had to wait almost five years to get to this. You coward.”

“Agreed!” yells Yoongi from a few seats down (“Shut up, Yoongi!” Namjoon hollers back), and Hoseok is laughing.

“Well, let’s try this again then.” Namjoon says once he’s calmed down. “Hey. I’m Namjoon. I really like you. Want to go out some time?”

“I’d love to.”

And it feels only too natural when Hoseok leans forwards and presses their lips together.

“How are you?” Namjoon asks, quietly, against his lips, and Hoseok smiles.

“I’m good.”

Really good.

*** 

Fin