vi

True facts about Kim Namjoon’s life:

-He hates being called “Joonie”

-He is fine with being alone sometimes

-He wants to be original and have no one replace him

These are the facts that govern and flow with the boy’s existence until all three are brutally detonated at the tender age of six. Before The Undoing, as Namjoon has come to call it, he was the only cute, talented boy under 10 with the surname Kim. Yes, it’s a specific title, but it was Namjoon’s title. And then it’s stolen in the night.

His sister is the one who shakes him awake and says, “We have new neighbors. Come down and meet them.” He ends up standing at the front door in his racecar pajamas, rubbing the sleep away from his face, when he meets Kim Seokjin for the first time.

It takes him thirty-one minutes to figure out who the Alpha Kim is (unfortunately, not Namjoon). Namjoon has never met an only child before, but he is able to correctly and immediately label Seokjin as bossy, spoiled, and infected with an early case of narcissism.

The whole ‘play nice together’ thing is forced. Namjoon does not want to play nice with Seokjin, or even play with him at all; he wants to go back upstairs and sleep for a few more hours. When Seokjin finds Namjoon’s toy car collection, he says, “Let’s play. I’ll be the pink one, you be this ugly one. Let’s pretend my car is the most famous racecar ever, and yours is just a…a junk car, I don’t know.”

“You’re pretty egotistical,” Namjoon says, “What’s the point of playing if it will never be real?”

Seokjin drops the car and gasps, “What did you call me? An ego-popsicle? How old even are you, five?”

“Six. Are you five?”

Seokjin smiles. He’s missing fewer teeth than Namjoon. “I’m eight, actually. You probably don’t know this, but eight is way better than six. I don’t even want to be here—my mom’s making me.”

Namjoon holds out his hand for a truce handshake, which Seokjin interprets as a high-five. “Same with me.”

The Alpha Kim stands up. He’s taller than Namjoon, too, and his hair looks softer. “Then we have to be best friends.”

.

vii

When he’s seven, he sees Seokjin at a neighborhood barbecue. He doesn’t say hello because they’re certainly not best friends.

Namjoon only sees Seokjin on the second Saturday of each month when Seokjin’s mother goes out of town for some boring work convention. But to see him outside of his house, with sauce on his face and three kebabs wedged in his free hand, is almost surreal. “Seokjin,” Namjoon only approaches him because it’s bothering him, “Your face is dirty.”

“’S not dirt,” Seokjin talks around the food in his mouth, “it’s food. So my face is delicious. I still am the best-looking one here, even if I’m messy.” Namjoon wants to go home. “And call me Jin. Seokjin sounds ugly.” So bossy.

When Jin closes his eyes to savor the skewer more effectively, Namjoon’s small hands reach up and snatch one of the sticks. Jin stares at him accusingly for a moment (Namjoon adds ‘intimidating glare’ to his mental profile of Jin) and then shrugs. “I guess I could share with you—but only you, ‘kay? Just because you’re my best friend.”

And when Jin smiles after that, with a cheap synthetic flame lighting his features and two kebabs in his hand, Namjoon thinks that even if he never likes Jin, he’ll be someone very hard to let go of.

.

viii

He goes to Jin’s tenth birthday party that year. “I’m double digits,” the boy tells him, “Now I have no more fingers to count my age on.” When Namjoon says nothing, Jin continues, “Which means I’m better than you.”

“Happy birthday,” Namjoon says it as menacingly as he can, “I’m only saying that because I have to.” He pulls a present out from behind his back and s it towards Jin, “Also, my mom picked this out,” (It’s a lie. Namjoon had begged his mother to go to the toy store because he’d seen the Mario figure there weeks before, and it instantly reminded him of Jin).

“Thanks,” Jin unceremoniously tears the card off and throws the box into a high pile of others behind him, “Anyway, since it’s my birthday I get to smush cake on your face later.”

There aren’t many other kids at the party. Just Jin’s parents, and grandparents, and a few of Jin’s classmates, but no one else. Namjoon’s the only one there from the neighborhood. And it makes him wonder if Jin has other people to invite at all.

Seokjin reads the card out loud like it’s something Namjoon would want to hear again: “‘Dear Seokjin, I hope your birthday’s not terrible. I don’t really dislike you even if it seems that way. Love, Namjoon.’” The older boy pauses for a moment, then a wide grin splits his face apart. His mouth looks like piano keys, wired in a pattern of teeth, no teeth, teeth, no teeth. “Thanks, Joonie! But I’m still smushing cake on your face later.”

For the rest of the party, Seokjin keeps the card wedged between his fingers.

.

ix

Seokjin becomes an adult overnight. He throws temper tantrums one day, and the next he’s an angel.

“I just thought I would try something new,” he tells Namjoon, “And besides, you need a positive role model. So I decided I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

Namjoon hates it at first, like he hates a lot of things about Jin at first. The boy makes him feel like an infant, constantly suffocated by attention and questions.

Like now—it’s not a big scrape, only a small gash at his ankle, but here’s Jin, ready with bandages and antiseptic. “Be more careful. I won’t be here every time you fall.”

But he will, Namjoon thinks, because Jin’s been attached to his side lately and he can’t imagine anything else. “I’m really accident-prone, we all know this.”

“Your one flaw,” Jin rolls his eyes and pats the bandage down with gentle fingers. “Alright, Clumsy, let’s go watch TV.” He’s stronger than he used to be, pulling Namjoon up by the hand.

Jin’s mother once told Namjoon that Jin looks up to him. That has to be a lie. It has to be the other way around; how can Namjoon not look up to this boy when he cares so much for people? Jin is infuriatingly put-together and important and Namjoon stopped hating his attention far too fast.

When Namjoon thinks about it, Jin’s already been caring for him a long time, just in different ways.

.

x

The boys in Namjoon’s class talk about celebrity crushes, and he can’t answer when it’s his turn. The models in magazines are pretty; they’re models.

“I like Choi Jiwoo,” he goes with a safe answer, “She’s a good actress.”

One boy—Hoseok, a new friend of Namjoon’s—laughs, “Yeah, but she’s old. Old people aren’t hot.

It hadn’t dawned on Namjoon that he could feel physical attraction to one of these celebrities, and the thought catches him off-guard. He remembers the models, who are pretty, but he’s not drawn to them.

Another boy starts cracking jokes: “I like So Jisub,” his voice shifts to mimic a girl’s, “His abs are so hot.”

And while the other boys are laughing, Namjoon starts thinking.

When Namjoon gets home from school that day, he walks over to Jin’s house and asks him about boys for the first time. “You should know about boys,” Jin tells him, “You’re a boy. Unless you’re secretly a girl.”

“I’m not!” He doesn’t know why he’s so frustrated. “I meant about feelings and stuff. Like is it possible for a boy to like a boy? I’ve heard people talk about it before, and I just guessed they were joking, but today I got to thinking and—”

“Namjoon.” Jin’s tone becomes serious. “I’m glad you asked me and not an adult.” This is when Jin feels like the older brother he never had: when he pats the space next to him and sits beside Namjoon with his arm draped over the younger boy. It’s protective, and Namjoon feels safe. “Boys can like boys. It happens when they’re born, in their heart.” That’s all he says for a while. And Namjoon soaks it up, this knowledge from someone with two years’ more life experience. “But some people don’t think that’s good. Mostly old people.”

Namjoon bows his head. He doesn’t care what old people think. “What do you think?”

And Jin smiles, ruffles his hair around. “I think anyone can love anyone! Why not?”

They talk about something else after that, but it sticks in Namjoon’s head. Because he feels good, like he can talk to Jin about anything. He trusts Jin.

Namjoon thinks that anyone can love anyone, too.

.

xi

Jin keeps calling Namjoon his best friend, but it doesn’t really feel like they are. The problem is, Namjoon can’t think of anyone else who would be eligible for the much-coveted ‘best friend’ position. So he asks Jin, “Why do you keep saying we’re best friends?”

“Easy,” Jin smiles at him. He’s much taller than Namjoon, and his shoulders have broadened out, and the way he ruffles Namjoon’s hair makes him feel very young. “Just because you are.”

“That’s it?”

To Namjoon, the concept of ‘friendship’ didn’t seem easy. It was a bond with another person, how could that be easy? But Jin’s older than him and knows more about these things. And Jin always gets his way. So Namjoon quietly accepts his position as Jin’s best friend. He’s not sure what having a best friend is supposed to feel like, but surely it can’t be this. Jin aggravates him to no end, patronizes him, orders him around. Namjoon’s positive there’s something else that can’t be friendship, something that sets Jin apart from the rest.

Still, every time Namjoon’s classmates ask who his best friend is, the answer is always “Jin.”

.

xii

“Hey,” They’re lying on Namjoon’s bed, staring at the glow-star constellations of Namjoon’s ceiling. “Namjoon.”

“Yeah?”

Jin turns his head to face Namjoon. “You ever kissed anyone before?” It comes out of nowhere, but the question was bound to be asked eventually.

“No,” Namjoon says carefully, racking his brain for any New Year’s party incidents or times playing Truth or Dare. Nothing jumps out at him. “You?” He’s afraid of the answer.

Jin looks back at the plastic stars. “Nah.” It comes as a relief, because if Jin kisses someone before Namjoon does, then that cements his position as younger and more innocent. “I want to, though. I’m fourteen; I’ve been thinking about it lately.” When Namjoon says nothing, he continues, “You remember my friend Yoongi? Well he told me he went to a party and they played spin the bottle. He had to kiss someone he didn’t even know.” Namjoon doesn’t know what to say, so he nods instead. “Joonie, let’s play.”

He laughs against his will. “You mean spin the bottle? There’s only two of us, so we’d end up just kissing each other—and before you ask, no you can’t kiss my sister. She’s nine.”

The older boy thinks for a while. “Then let’s skip all that and get right to the kiss. Will you try it with me?” It seems to Namjoon that Jin wanted to ask him since he brought up the subject.

But Namjoon isn’t about to make a decision that quickly. “We’re both boys.”

“I’m not kissing you for real, dummy.” Jin rolls his eyes, “I mean, we’ll really kiss, but it’s not a real kiss. Because I don’t like you. Like that, you know.”

He knows. And it makes sense. And truly, he has no reason to say no. He shifts closer to Jin. “What if someone finds out?”

Namjoon can see every tooth in Jin’s mouth when he smiles like that. “If you don’t tell anyone,” his long fingers curl around the drawstring of Namjoon’s sweatshirt, “and I don’t tell anyone,” the room gets hotter as Jin’s face gets closer, “then who’s gonna find out?”

The younger boy says nothing, just faces Jin so their breath tangles and their noses touch. He doesn’t think he’ll have a problem with kissing Jin because they know each other and it’s not a real kiss anyway. They’re best friends (but not really). He’s not sure where to put his hands, so he rests them on Jin’s shoulders, curling his fingers into thin cotton. He shuts his eyes tightly (it’s what they do in all the movies), and Jin laughs.

“I’m not gonna punch you; I’m gonna kiss you. But not really,” His palm falls on Namjoon’s neck, and it’s warm, “So relax.” Namjoon keeps his eyes shut anyway.

He flinches when something soft makes contact with his lips. It doesn’t feel like fireworks, or flowers blooming. It just feels like lips. Both he and Jin are completely still, and Namjoon would kill to know what he’s thinking about at that moment. Because as far as Namjoon’s concerned, kissing doesn’t live up to the hype.

Jin probably does it to mess with him—definitely does it to mess with him, based on the quiet, amused noise he makes—but he opens his mouth. As if it would be funny, or cute, or any other sadistic adjective Jin had in mind. And then Jin starts moving his lips, and Namjoon relaxes a bit, and it feels pretty good and maybe the whole kissing thing isn’t so bad and—

“Ow!” the older boy pulls back like he’s been electrocuted, hand covering his mouth. He speaks through his fingers, “Your braces cut my lip!”

He drops his hand and there it is: drops of blood hanging on his lip from a thin slice in the flesh. Namjoon grabs a box of tissues off his nightstand and says, “You shouldn’t have picked me, then. You know I have braces.”

Jin nurses his split lip with a tissue. “I had to pick you. Who else would I pick?”

At the dinner table later, when Namjoon’s mom asks what happened to Jin’s lip, the two boys just share a guilty glance and offer her a quiet, ‘Nothing.’

.

xiii

It’s the last day before winter break when Namjoon get confessed to.

She’s a pretty girl: timid, smart, with large eyes. She stands in front of the window when she says it, and the snow behind her truly sets the scene for Namjoon to accept her feelings. “I’ve admired you for a while,” she says, “I was hoping you admire me, too.”

But Namjoon can’t say yes. He can’t exactly say no, but he certainly can’t say yes. She’s so soft, and small, and Namjoon thinks she’d be a wonderful girlfriend—just not for him. He doesn’t know why, but it would feel wrong to say yes, to lead her on. He stammers something out, something like, “I’m—I’m just not—this is very flattering, but—”

“You don’t feel the same, do you?” she asks in a quiet voice. “I can’t control your feelings. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” The poor girl—Namjoon’s heart goes out to her. She doesn’t let her chin waver for even a moment. Maybe he didn’t deserve her anyway.

Namjoon can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day, wondering why he didn’t say yes. A lot of his friends had crushes or cute flings, and it always looked so desirable to him. So why didn’t he just say yes?

When he gets home and Jin is already there, there’s that immediate, “How was school? Anything interesting happen?” Jin says it in the caring tone he adopted somewhere along the line. He seems genuinely curious.

Namjoon sets down his backpack and joins Jin on the floor, in front of the game console. “No.”

.

xiv

Namjoon is fourteen when he notices it for the first time. His mother has always called Jin ‘handsome’ or ‘charming,’ but Namjoon never really saw that himself. He just saw Jin. But they sneak off to Jin’s backyard—one day when they should be helping Namjoon’s mother clean the floors—and sit under a tree, and the light filtering through the leaves falls on Jin’s cheeks and he’s suddenly beautiful. In that one moment, the familiar arch of his nose becomes just the right angle, his eyes become remarkably deep, and his lips become like the ones in magazines. And Kim Seokjin is perfect and Namjoon’s not sure how he never noticed before.

“Do I have something on my face?” Jin rubs at his cheeks but there’s nothing to rub away.

Namjoon shakes his head slowly, in mild captivation. He can’t say anything because how did he not notice that Jin is so beautiful?

There’s Jin’s smile and his mouth is full and bright. “Good. But you have something on yours.”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind,” Jin’s smile turns sinister, “That’s just your face.”

Namjoon takes it back. Kim Seokjin is ugly and Namjoon hates him.

.

xv

Jaehwan comes into Namjoon’s life like a spider slipping through the cracks of a wall. One moment there’s nothing, and the next Jaehwan is just existing and Namjoon’s life is terrible. And he wants to get rid of Jaehwan—swat him with a newspaper or flush him down the toilet—but he can’t.

Because Jaehwan is Seokjin’s boyfriend.

“I’m seventeen,” he says, “so I can get a boyfriend if I want.” Then Seokjin rattles off a list of reasons why he and Jaehwan are the perfect couple, and Namjoon’s not sure if he’s convincing Namjoon or convincing himself. “Plus, Jaehwan likes me. He asked me out.”

Namjoon doesn’t care about Jaehwan. “Sure, but his nose is weird.”

“I think it’s unique.”

“His ears, too.”

“Come on, his ears are cute.”

Jaehwan shows up after that in places where Namjoon would rather he not be. Even when Jaehwan’s not there, he’s still present. Namjoon hates how nice he is. How he slings his arm around Seokjin’s shoulders, how he cracks a tasteless joke and Seokjin thinks it’s the funniest thing ever.

It’s a first boyfriend, so Namjoon shouldn’t have expected them to last. But there’s a disgusting feeling that twists in Namjoon’s stomach, one that lasts for two weeks—the longest of Namjoon’s life—until Jaehwan breaks up with Jin.

“He didn’t break your heart, did he?” Namjoon asks, “Because I’ll kick his if he did.”

Jin laughs. They’re eating ice cream straight from the tub because according to Jin, ‘That’s what you’re supposed to do after a break-up.’ “No, no, Jaehwan’s too nice to break anyone’s heart. He just said I spent too much time with you. That’s not weird, is it?”

“He’s just jealous,” Namjoon says, “I mean, I’ve never been jealous, but I’m guessing that’s what it is. So don’t let it get to you, okay?”

“I keep telling you, Joon, I’m not even sad.” And he dips his finger into the ice cream and flicks Namjoon’s nose with it.

Jin’s too good for Jaehwan anyway.

.

xvi

Seokjin starts taking him places every week. Before, they would just sit indoors and play stupid games, but suddenly they’re going everywhere together. It always seems like a date, and Hoseok teases Namjoon every Friday when he can’t hang out because he’s with Jin.

“Hey, let’s go to Lotte World before the summer’s over. We can take Yoongi and Hoseok, too—it’ll be fun.”

He wants to go, but the question tumbles out before Namjoon can stop himself: “Why? Why are we going all these places?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jin laughs and blows a loud kiss at him, “I wanna spend time with you before I leave, Joonie.”

“Leave?”

The air grows tense then, and Jin nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to college in Gwacheon, remember?”

Of course he remembers. Seokjin has been excited about college for months, but Namjoon never made the connection that they’d be apart. It seemed impossible. And there’s this feeling, like his insides are vacant and numb. But all Namjoon says is, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the day or the rest of the summer. Before Namjoon realizes, Seokjin’s room gets emptier each time he visits, little bits of Seokjin being transferred into large boxes until all of him is gone.

When fall comes, Seokjin leaves Namjoon with a kiss that burns into his forehead.

.

xvii

There are a lot of boys around, Namjoon discovers, that want like he does. Attention, pleasure—and Namjoon knows it’s never serious, but he can’t help wishing for something more.

He dates an underclassman named Jimin for a few months, and it feels guilty. They don’t make it public, but every time Namjoon sees him when they’re alone everything is hot and desperate. He learns more about romance from Jimin than he should, but he learns nothing about love.

And when he and Jimin break up and stay as friends, Jimin introduces him to other boys. Namjoon learns how to flirt and how to really kiss and how to break hearts.

This is part of the ride. That’s what Jimin said once, and Hoseok agreed with him—that being stupid is supposed to happen. He should enjoy it. And he tries, maybe too hard, but Namjoon never learns to like this part of life.

The other boys keep coming and going in what are the most experimental months for Namjoon. He keeps doing this, he tells himself, because he likes pleasure—who doesn’t?—and because it interrupts routine. So he flirts, and messes around, and it’s fine.

None of them will ever be Seokjin.

.

xviii

When Seokjin knocks on his door, Namjoon realizes he’s been looking forward to this for too long. He hates how he knows it’s Jin just by the knock. Nobody else knocks like that.

“Did you miss me?” It’s the first thing Jin says, a cheeky smile at his lips.

“No.” Namjoon did miss him.

Jin sweeps him into a hug before he can do anything about it. “You totally missed me.”

He hasn’t seen Jin in a year. All the other times Jin has visited home, he’s been out with his family and all Namjoon can do is catch a glimpse of him at the car. But being back together doesn’t feel like they were ever apart. In his arms, Jin freezes, and Namjoon worries it’s because he held on too tight. “Joonie,” he holds Namjoon at arm’s length and there’s something different about him, or about them together, or—“Joon, when did you get taller than me?”

That’s it. It’s only a few centimeters’ difference, but the gap feels large between them. He’s not the little boy now who would stand on his tiptoes next to Jin for photos.

And then comes the possibility—he can see Seokjin’s eyes better like this, and hugging him is more comfortable like this, and maybe it’s better to kiss him like this but he doesn’t know. Next comes the emotion, all the agonizing and beautiful emotion he’s built up for Jin over twelve years, rushing to his head at one time.

How did he ever cope with this before, or ever deny it? How did he keep his mouth from screaming he loves him, and how did it ever start?

Namjoon could break down from how overwhelming it is to see this man again. Instead, his jaw just quivers and he sputters out, “I don’t—uh, it’s genetic, so I’ve always been taller than you. Biologically.”

All Seokjin does is drag Namjoon back in and press his cheek to Namjoon’s jaw in a heart-wrenching embrace.

The most perfect thing happens: Seokjin lets out a sigh where all of him relaxes, and he says, “You know, I missed you, too.”

.

xix

Christmas has always been one of Namjoon’s favorite times of the year. Maybe it’s the smell; growing up, his house at Christmas was filled with sweets and spices.

Seokjin didn’t come to the Christmas party last year. Namjoon knows this because he’d been looking for Seokjin against his better conscience. But this year, Seokjin waltzes into Namjoon’s childhood home like it’s his own, hugging Namjoon’s parents and grabbing food immediately. “Merry Christmas,” Namjoon greets him, shaking his head when Seokjin chokes around a piece of shrimp.

“Joon!” Jin leans into him in the warm hug he always gives, and Namjoon hates that he wants to hold on for longer. “How have you been?”

Seokjin looks so different. His hair is a nice shade of brown now, but more than that he looks like an adult. His clothing is something an adult would wear, and the man radiates this confidence he only pretended to have when they were kids. For the first time, Namjoon is drawn to his maturity; it’s not annoying anymore.

“Busy. I’m sure you have been, too.”

Seokjin laughs. When Namjoon had last heard that laugh over the phone, it hadn’t sounded this sweet. “I’ve got more free time now that I don’t watch after this kid named Kim Namjoon.” His hand rests on Namjoon’s arm so naturally. “You’re not a kid anymore, though. I mean, look at you!”

Maybe they’ve both grown up since they last saw each other. They clink champagne flutes together and Namjoon remembers when they would do the same thing with apple juice.

Near midnight—and Namjoon thinks this was bound to happen, with how they’ve been by each other’s side the entire party—the two end up beneath the mistletoe Namjoon’s sister had hung. And Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the face and press a loud kiss into his cheek. “You were my first, after all,” he says with a wink.

Jin gives him a present later, a book, and Namjoon’s relieved that he bought Jin a present, too. Just in case Jin showed up.

.

xx

“What in God’s name,” he’s flailing his hands around now, illustrating his frustration, “let you think it was a great idea to get -faced with Hoseok and have the poor taxi driver dump your lifeless body on my doorstep?”

Seokjin has asked that question at least five times tonight, but Namjoon can’t give him a solid answer. “I never said it was a great idea.” He cradles his aching head in his hands. The hangover’s already creeping up, and he’d love to sleep it off—if Seokjin would let him fall asleep.

“Sometimes I swear you’re not thinking straight,” Jin’s face is red; he’s angry. Namjoon hates seeing him like this, even when it’s not his fault. “You can finally drink, but that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. If anything, shouldn’t you be more responsible?”

Here he goes, delivering the speech on adulthood he’s given Namjoon countless times. “You’re not my dad.”

“I know, bless his heart,” Then Jin stands him up, lets Namjoon sink his weight onto him, leading him to the couch. Namjoon’s head is in Jin’s lap and it feels so normal, the way Jin’s fingers mess with the thinnest tips of his hair, “But remember when I promised I’d always take care of you? That wasn’t a stupid promise; I meant it.”

All these years later, Namjoon thought he was the only one who remembered. He vaguely wonders how many other tiny details Jin remembers about him. “That’s good,” Namjoon says, “I mean, if you ever need it, I’m here for you, too.” He laughs. “I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re drunk, so I can say this,” Jin shifts a bit, “Namjoon, you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met. And because I met you, I’ve realized that intelligence has nothing to do with the fact that you’re as dense as—as that cheesecake I ate last week.” He’s rambling. “But the cheesecake was dense in a good way.”

Namjoon’s too drunk for this. “Am I dense in a bad way?”

Jin pats his cheek a few times, like he wants to slap Namjoon. “In this case? Yes.”

“Well I’m sorry if my denseness is inconveniencing you.”

“I care about you, okay? I don’t think you’re understanding the situation, Namjoon.” He talks like there’s a problem, some huge apocalyptic event swirling around them that Namjoon is completely oblivious to.

“Enlighten me, then.” He just wants to sleep.

Jin’s eye is twitching and he keeps biting on his lip, and Namjoon can tell he’s trying so desperately to hold back. He wonders what will happen if Jin lets everything go. “God, you have no idea how much I want to—I want—” He doesn’t finish. Jin just lets his shoulders fall and hangs his head like he’s given everything up. The corners of his eyes are shining a little bit and Namjoon realizes he’s never seen Jin cry before. “Just go to sleep. I’ll make you haejangguk in the morning.”

Namjoon wakes up with a heartbeat in his temple and a fuzzy memory. The soup tastes delicious, and after he finishes, Jin smiles and says, “Now get out of my apartment and don’t give any more taxi drivers my address when you’re drunk.”

Life moves on.

.

xxi

Like the storm he is, Jin never stays away for long. He calls Namjoon, lets him know he’ll be in Seoul for a week and that he’d like a place to stay (and Jin never expects a ‘no’ from him, so a few days later sees Seokjin sleeping on Namjoon’s futon. Seeing him again is hard).

They have a lot of catching up to do. There have been texts between them, and the occasional phone call, but it’s different in person. Easier. So Namjoon, like an old woman, dusts off a photo album his parents had given him and flips through it with Seokjin.

Each page is thoroughly walked through, and Namjoon never thought about how much of his childhood was spent with Seokjin by his side. Jin enjoys it, too, laughing at Namjoon’s round baby cheeks and filling in the gaps of stories Namjoon forgot long ago.

One photo stands out, of two boys sitting underneath a tree, eating ice bars together. The larger boy has the smaller one’s hand in a tight grip, slouching his weight onto the other boy. Namjoon was too young to remember this exact moment, but when they reach this photo Seokjin hides his face in his hands and groans, ‘Oh no.’

“What?”

“Nothing.” Every time Seokjin says ‘nothing,’ he knows it’s something. “Actually, you know what? I’ll tell you. It’s pretty funny; I don’t know how you didn’t notice.” Jin takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then goes on, “Don’t think this is weird or anything, I mean I was like twelve, but I remember thinking you were really cute back then. It’s stupid. I had this little crush on the boy next door—but this was years ago, mind you—and that was a huge deal for me. It and I felt like a ert.”

Namjoon takes longer to process this than he’d like. But then it sticks, and he instantly becomes obsessed with the regret that he’s done nothing about his own feelings. He swallows. “And now?”

Jin still won’t look at him. “It told you, it was when we were kids. Who am I kidding, you’re still cute,” Jin reaches over and pinches Namjoon’s cheek like an old relative, “They say old habits die hard, right?”

It’s not a direct answer, but Jin doesn’t always give those. His eyes catch the tightness of Seokjin’s lips, the way his fingers rake through his hair right after they leave Namjoon’s face. And Namjoon wants to ease whatever strain is between them, the dangerous pressure that comes with every touch or word.

He wonders if Jin feels this, too.

.

xxii

Their play-dates were once marked by going next door and playing with cars. Now they involve Namjoon driving and hour to Jin’s apartment in Gwacheon.

“Do you want anything?” Seokjin always asks him, “Drinks, a snack?”

He still talks like Namjoon is a child. And Namjoon always says he doesn’t want anything, but he wants a lot from Seokjin. It’s hard to keep up the façade, that after all these years he’s still foolishly invested in this man and he pretends not to be.

Sometimes Jin drives him wild, like when he moans at a bite of good food or when his hand falls on Namjoon’s arm without thinking. And at some point, everything he does drives Namjoon wild.

He’s a patient man. Namjoon’s always believed that patience is the way to get things in life. But Jin keeps him waiting. He plays this game where he touches Namjoon—not obviously, just a light touch here or there—and just when Namjoon considers leaning into him, Jin backs away like he was never there at all. It’s like chasing the end of a rainbow, and Namjoon doesn’t want to accept that there are things he’ll never reach.

And now they sit across the table from each other, a bowl of disgusting chips between them, but Namjoon keeps eating because Jin meets his eyes sometimes when he does. The air feels like electricity and there’s no storm outside.

The next time they lock eyes, neither of them looks away. Jin still pops a chip past his lips, but their gazes never disconnect. If anything, the link is intense, causing pressure to well up inside Namjoon’s brain.

Namjoon’s been tired for a long while. It’s late at night, but he’s been exhausted for years, all because of Jin. Loving someone is exhausting.

Suddenly Jin’s dark eyes leave his, and Jin stands to push his chair in and go do something else. “I’m full,” he says, when they both weren’t hungry in the first place. A snack seemed necessary.

So Namjoon stands up, too. He doesn’t want to feel like this anymore. Doesn’t want to feel like the only thing he’s good at is silently chasing Jin (but he knows he’ll always chase Jin, no matter what).

The moment is so odd; Namjoon’s never experienced anything so weirdly intense. They keep looking at each other, and something inside Namjoon unravels, a string that’s been twisting for sixteen years.

“Namjoon?” Jin’s voice sounds so small. He lifts both hands to rest at Namjoon’s jawline and chuckles a bit to himself like an ironic fate has just reached him. “I don’t know when I started wanting to have you with me forever.”

“But you do?” Namjoon craves the contact between them, touching Jin’s wide shoulders with his own hands. He has to know that Jin feels the same, that this life they’ve shared for years runs deeper than just a friendship.

And if he knows Jin—which he should, he must by now—he knows what Jin wants. It’s written in the way he nods softly, leans in until his nose is against Namjoon’s cheek. It’s not romantic, but with Jin, nothing is.

Jin kisses him anyway.

.

xxiii

“Remember when you used to hate me?”

“I never hated you,” The sensation of Jin’s lips at his shoulder is energizing, yet insanely distracting, “But I would’ve vomited as a ten-year-old at the thought of us in bed together.”

Jin hums against his skin, wraps his arms around Namjoon’s bare waist. “Babe, you totally hated me.”

A lot can happen in a year. Seasons change, people come, people go. Over time, all the years add up and create something big. Oysters take years to form pearls, seeds take years to become trees.

Namjoon almost grew tired of waiting for his something big.

But eight months is a long time, eight whirlwind months of learning and sharing and feeling. It’s unreal, Namjoon thinks, that he’s spent most of his life with this man, and only got a true sense for how Jin lives when they decided to become permanent to each other. Their stubbornness could only go so far before they both caved and slapped a label on their tentative relationship, which has grown every day since.

One thing he’s discovered about Jin is that mornings with him can get crazy very fast. He’s reminded of this now, when Jin presses Namjoon’s shoulder until he’s on his back and Jin’s lips have a straight shot down Namjoon’s body. The feeling of Jin will never become stale, his pink mouth inching down the skin of Namjoon’s chest. It’s ticklish, and Namjoon almost laughs at the touch.

“What are you doing?” He can’t hide the amusement in his voice, or stop his hands from reaching for Seokjin’s hair.

And Jin kisses the skin of his stomach once before glancing up with wild eyes. “Taking care of you.”

Namjoon wouldn’t have it any other way.

.

---

Two weeks ago, I graduated from high school. And even though I started writing this fic a while ago (in March of last year, according to my draft), I thought now was a good time to finish it when the content was most applicable to my own life. Nobody in my high school is going to the same university as me; I’ll lose a lot of people who are close to me, people who grew up with me. But I hope a few of them stick around, too, and we can do some more growing up together.

I’ve been obsessed with editing lately, so I hope there aren’t mistakes, but let me know if you catch one!

Tumblr // AO3