“Hey, I’m heading out.”

Jimin said that a lot; he was always doing something, always practicing or hanging with friends who weren’t Namjoon. Sometimes he felt Jimin was trying to escape, to get away. “Oh, where?”

“Just with Tae and Jungkook. Tae wants to go to karaoke.”

Namjoon chuckled, “I thought you said he’s been getting on your nerves lately.”

Jimin put a jacket on and grabbed his keys and wallet. “He’s always on my nerves. Him and Kookie won’t shut up about this dancer at our school. And Tae’s not even in the dance program!” He scoffed and made for the door. “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few hours. Unless you wanna come with us? Like a room-mate double date?”

He always invited Namjoon. But Namjoon imagined that if a stranger stopped Jimin on the street on his way to Taehyung and Jungkook’s place, Jimin would have invited the stranger to karaoke as well. Because that was who Jimin was: someone with so much affection, someone popular, someone kind and easy to get along with. He was so different from Namjoon. And Namjoon probably didn’t deserve such a sweet room-mate, who invited him places even when he knew Namjoon would decline. “I’ve still got some work to do,” Namjoon said, “So I’ll skip out on this one.”

Jimin frowned. He frowned like he’d expected Namjoon to change his mind. But Namjoon would never want to interrupt plans (although, if Jimin’s friends were anything like him, they wouldn’t care). He did have work to do, that wasn’t a lie, but Namjoon couldn’t shake the feeling that Jimin had only invited him to be nice. So he always said no. He stayed home instead, and put on some music, and tried to convince himself that it was better to be alone.

---

Kim Namjoon liked people to think he was a simple man. Someone who lived in a monochrome apartment, wore plain clothing, and worked a typical desk job—the perfect façade for a person so involved, so complex.

No one ever called him out on it. No one ever said, “You’re a really complicated guy,” or, “I wish I could know what deep thoughts you’re thinking today.” But everyone knew, everyone who’d known Namjoon for more than a day.

When he started talking to Kim Seokjin, it was almost an accident. Just innocent messages on Twitter between strangers, Namjoon asking him questions because Kim Seokjin had offered and that was his job—to help people with food. One day it would be, “I need to know what settings you put your rice cooker on, for the best-tasting rice, you know,” and the next, “I heard that skim milk is better in cereal than two-percent. Your thoughts on this?”

But he didn’t care about any of that; Namjoon was perfectly content with cheap takeout and microwaved meals every day. He had no use for cooking, and yet he kept trying to talk to someone who was an expert in it. When Namjoon was younger, his mother had cautioned him about talking to strangers on the Internet, and while Namjoon would never want to cross his mother, he was an adult. A very lonely adult who declined karaoke offers in favor of staying home. And Seokjin always responded within ten minutes, always in the most polite way, with a, ‘Hope this helps!’ tacked on like Namjoon wasn’t bothering him at all. Suddenly, he was almost abusing the power, direct-messaging Kim Seokjin about pointless things at least four times a week.

He was too good to be true, Namjoon thought. He had everything in the world going for him, and maybe Namjoon kept pestering him with pointless cooking questions because he wanted to know how Seokjin did it all.

When Seokjin gave Namjoon his number, it was casual and understated, just Seokjin saying, “You know, I can just give you my number so you don’t have to DM me all the time.” And it was something Namjoon couldn’t argue with; it made sense. Namjoon loved things that made sense.

He never texted Seokjin about anything other than cooking. However, through Seokjin’s brief answers and advice that Namjoon would never use, he still ended up learning who the other man was: a man so patient, so genuine and willing to help others, a man firm and confident and powerful. And he wanted to know more, wanted to text Seokjin about something not related to food. But he knew that as soon as he texted Seokjin about anything else, he’d be a goner. He’d latch onto Seokjin in an instant.

Namjoon was hesitant. In everything he did, he was hesitant and indecisive and a part of him hated it. The amount of time he spent with his thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button, just curious as to what Seokjin’s voice sounded like, was embarrassing. Because after a few weeks of pestering Seokjin with stupid cooking questions, he’d grown attached; he’d text a question to Seokjin on a bad day just to know the man was there. But just as much as he was hesitant, he was clumsy, and one day his thumb slipped. His thumb slipped and the ‘call’ button was most definitely pressed, and Namjoon didn’t even try to disconnect; he simply sat there, staring at his phone with wide eyes and silent prayer that Seokjin wouldn’t pick up. And then he heard it, the soft click and the, “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything. He just kept staring and holding his breath, because that was Kim Seokjin’s voice.

“Hello? Is this Namjoon?”

“Oh.” Namjoon snapped out of his spell and brought the phone to his ear, “Yeah, hi.” He’d never been good at talking on the phone, especially if it was an accidental call. “Are you still there?”

He heard Seokjin laugh quietly and it made his breath catch. “Yes, sorry. It’s just—your voice, I—never mind. Did you need something?” Namjoon didn’t know how to interpret that.

“Um, no, actually,” he admitted, “I must’ve called you on accident. Sorry if you were busy, Seokjin.”

There was a pause again. “‘Seokjin?’ Oh, just Jin is fine. And I wasn’t busy, don’t worry.” Namjoon couldn’t believe it; his voice was so pure and clear and sounded like honey.

“Well, that’s good.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “That’s good.” He took the phone away for a second to clear his throat. “Didn’t mean to bother you. Sorry again. Talk to you later.”

“Alright,” Seokjin—Jin—said, “Talk to you later.”

Click. He wanted to call Jin again.

---

With Kim Seokjin, everything was a first. The first time Namjoon craved talking on the phone, the first person he’d ever hidden from his room-mate, the first time he’d ever felt a connection to someone so far away.

There was no romance between them, just some bizarre and makeshift friendship, and so Namjoon tried to keep down that feeling, the one he got in high-school when he was interested in a girl (or a girl’s brother).

Maybe the worst part was the miscommunication. He couldn’t tell whether or not Jin was flirting, or whether he was interested in men at all. But they’d slipped into a pattern, even in different cities, and that pattern involved Namjoon calling Jin three times a week just to talk. They stopped talking about just cooking and talked about everything—about how Jin got into cooking, about how Namjoon never learned to cook at all, about the weather, about everything.

Sometimes he knew Jin was a little tipsy, and sometimes he was a little tipsy himself, but those were perhaps the best conversations; there seemed to be more things to talk about, and Namjoon could hear Jin’s laugh more (it sounded like a broken hinge or a windshield-wiper). At the same time, it was dangerous. Namjoon knew he was playing with fire. The more he talked to Jin, the more complicated everything became. Namjoon didn’t think they were friends, but they weren’t acquaintances either. All he knew was that he wanted to talk to Kim Seokjin.

A part of him knew he was falling—had been falling since he first direct-messaged Jin on Twitter, or maybe before. And he hated it, because Jin kept pushing, kept insinuating things so lightly and Namjoon never knew if he was serious. He didn’t know if Jin was playing with his head on purpose, or if he talked to everyone like that and Namjoon was buying it for more than it was worth.

Jin asked the question first, during one of their more alcohol-driven conversations: “Namjoon, why are we talking right now?”

Namjoon kept his voice low so Jimin didn’t hear him, “I don’t know, because I called you?”

“Seriously, Namjoon? I mean, why are we talking? Like, I don’t even know you, really. And we don’t have much in common.”

“I can hang up, if you want—”

“No, don’t be stupid, I want to talk to you, I just don’t know why I am.”

He let Jin’s words hang in the air for a moment, then said, “Well, I want to talk to you, too. We don’t need a reason to talk to each other.” It came out as more sentimental than he’d intended. “But I guess, if we did need a reason, it would be wanting to talk to each other.”

Jin started laughing, that high-pitched and squeaky laugh. “Namjoon, I’m much too drunk for this. And I’ve only had three beers.”

“Lightweight.”

“Wow, I don’t know if I want to talk to you anymore,” he yawned, and even that was endearing, “I’m kidding. I’m also tired. I need my beauty rest, Namjoon.”

Namjoon smirked, even if Jin couldn’t see. “In that case, good night.”

“Good night,” Jin yawned again, “Talk to you later.”

---

There was something so temporary and limiting about technology that distorted reality. It was for that reason Namjoon detested anything with a light-up screen; they distracted him, made him lose focus on his work and on his life. And technology was unreliable, especially for someone with a destructive touch like Namjoon, making him remember how fragile the world was becoming.

But lately, Namjoon’s phone had become his lifeline. It was pathetic, the way he always kept it in-hand. Even Jimin noticed it: “Hey, why are you always hugging your phone lately? And you’re the one constantly complaining about how phones are the bane of society.”

In Namjoon’s opinion, images never turned out quite right on a screen. Photographs were nothing compared to actually seeing something, actually viewing something from every angle and absorbing the way the light hit its surface. This was also the case with Kim Seokjin. He looked amazing on camera, with every image he posted on social media. But the glare of a lamp, or that perfect-selfie angle, made Namjoon forget that Jin was real. Jin was an actual person who actually existed. And Namjoon would give anything to really examine him, in real lighting, and just take in his appearance and his voice for real.

He was the one who suggested it, when Jin texted him because, ‘I’m bored.’ Namjoon had texted him back with so little thought, just a quick, “You could video call me if you’re decent,” not really meaning to say it at all. Nevertheless, two minutes later he was looking out the camera of Jin’s laptop, the other man greeting him with, “I’m always decent.”

Jin sounded different on video, his voice rougher. He looked different, too, and Namjoon didn’t know which was more accurate to real life. Or maybe it was Namjoon’s headphones; he’d plug them into his phone, so Jimin couldn’t hear.

To Namjoon, Jin was like a goal. It wasn’t that Namjoon wanted to be Jin; rather, he wanted to get to Jin. A very unattainable goal, but one that seemed so close every time they talked. He wanted to get into Jin’s thoughts, wanted to make Jin laugh and wanted to confuse him, to catch him off-balance. He wanted to make Jin feel special, like he’d always have Namjoon’s attention. He wanted to get to Jin in the way Jin got to him.

And it got worse. Every day it got worse; with every video call he’d notice something little about Jin, like how his fingers were double-jointed or how he had one ear pierced or how broad his shoulders were. It was like an illness, consuming every aspect of Namjoon’s life, and all he could do was hope Jin was sick, too.

---

“Namjoon.”

“Yeah?” His words were sleepy, from a long work day.

Jin laid his laptop on his bed momentarily to change positions, giving Namjoon a generous view of his ceiling. “I was going to ask something, but never mind.”

Of course, it only increased Namjoon’s curiosity; Jin didn’t say it in a teasing manner, rather he was actually reluctant to ask Namjoon something. “No, you can ask me. I won’t laugh.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Jin smiled lazily at him.

“Don’t worry about anything.” Namjoon assured him, “If you want to, just ask me.”

Jin hummed to himself, “Fine, you’ve convinced me. I was wondering—” He his lips and didn’t meet Namjoon’s eyes—“do you ever, I don’t know, think about me?”

“Think about you in what way?” He was almost nervous to ask.

The other man stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I just think there’s something different with you than with other people I know. Like, we act different.”

And Namjoon knew what he meant and he knew exactly why: it was because they were careless. They were careless because there was no risk, no chance they’d bump into each other at cafés or at the mall, and so they flirted dangerously and teetered on the line of intrigue. So Namjoon sighed, he sighed and told the truth. “Yeah, I think about you.”

Jin closed his eyes for a moment, and Namjoon knew he wasn’t tired, “How?”

It was ridiculous that he had to ask. “You know how.”

Jin, from his bedroom hundreds of kilometers away, buried his face in a pillow to muffle his voice. “I think about you, too,” Then, in a sudden streak of boldness, he raised his head and looked directly into the camera, directly at Namjoon. “What should we do about that?”

Namjoon just smiled. Jin was leading his words, driving them from his mouth. “You ever had a boyfriend before?”

“Geez, this feels like a grade-school slumber party,” Jin laughed, and thought for what felt like a long time, then said, “Yes. Have you?”

Not even Namjoon knew the answer to that question. He decided on an open answer. “I’ve wanted one before.”

And Jin just nodded, like he understood, and then everything stopped. They dropped the conversation and talked about something else. It didn’t feel awkward, more like a smooth progression of topics that Namjoon welcomed. And he wondered just how much Jin thought of him, just how much he affected Jin. But he didn’t ask.

---

For the next three weeks, Namjoon made a transition; everything became Jin. The more they talked, the more puzzle pieces he gathered, the more he stuck those pieces on the life already around him. The coffee at the convenience store that he swore was too bitter—that was Jin’s coffee; the pink sweater at the mall he and Jimin walked right past last week—that could be Jin’s sweater; the jjajangmyeon he ate for lunch—Jin could have eaten that. It was astounding, how many things reminded him of Jin. Namjoon was teetering on the edge of giddy with his thoughts.

They started video chatting every night, until dawn or until Namjoon’s phone died (whichever came first). And Namjoon thought he was just a little bit addicted.  Even the way Jin would sit, with his legs crossed and leaning forward like Namjoon had all of his attention, was borderline seductive to Namjoon, even if it wasn’t intended to be. Namjoon hated how selfish he was, how he craved every word that fell out of Jin’s mouth.

He was different. Different from anyone Namjoon had ever met—Jin was both controlled and reckless, he was so masculine and yet enjoyed feminine things, he loved food and still looked like a model. And he cared; whenever Namjoon would say something without thinking, something unexpectedly deep, Jin would just blink and rest his chin against his palm and ask, “Why do you think so?”

It was a dark day, at least where Namjoon was, storm clouds hanging overhead. So Namjoon just stayed inside, sitting in the kitchen while Jimin was at the studio and Jin was projected on Namjoon’s phone. He didn’t know why Jin said it, perhaps just to mess with him: “You look nice today.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Mhm,” Jin nodded and a comfortable silence washed over them, broken a moment later. “Namjoon.”

“Yes?”

Jin started laughing then, and Namjoon knew he was either going to say something stupid and ask something stupid. “Remember when you said you wanted a boyfriend before?”

Namjoon smiled; he was right, of course, and Jin covered his face with his hands in regret. But he answered Jin anyway. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you want one now?” Jin kept laughing, and Namjoon felt it too, this giddiness that just appeared and neither of them could explain it. Namjoon thought that even if he hid the truth from everyone else in his life, he could for some reason never hide it from Jin.

“Yes.”

And Jin sat up, like he needed to be in good posture to express his thoughts. “Then let’s do it.”

It felt surreal, and foolish, and spontaneous, all at the same time. Out of nowhere, but it had been coming the whole time. Because Namjoon hadn’t dated since high school, and it felt like so long ago, and even if he’d dated a hundred or a thousand people, he knew being with Jin was entirely out of his comfort zone. Sometimes, though, Namjoon thought it was good to be a little bit foolish. So he nodded.

“Alright.”

---

Their conversations after that were different. Almost startlingly different, and Namjoon couldn’t tell if that was a good thing (but he thought it was). There was an underlying tone to each word they spoke, almost an implication of something. If they’d been careless before, it was nothing compared to after that night; he swore Jin was trying to virtually seduce him, constantly talking in the sweetest voice and wearing pajamas that hung too loose on him in their video calls.

Namjoon thought it was a joke. He thought Jin was drunk that night, when he’d proposed a relationship. He thought, at the least, they were testing the water and just seeing how things worked. But it became very clear very fast that Jin was dead serious, and instantly Namjoon felt a sense of commitment that he’d never felt in his life. He didn’t know when it happened, maybe weeks before, but he was devoted to Jin.

And it became real; Namjoon was in a relationship—he had a boyfriend named Kim Seokjin and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. For once in his life, he didn’t care if he was being selfish or not; he spoiled himself with Jin’s presence, let Jin talk to him like he was everything in the world, and it was real.

He craved Jin’s good-morning texts, craved Jin’s compliments, craved when they said good-bye and Jin would blow him a kiss through the screen. And it felt right, more right than any relationship Namjoon had been in and he loved it. Jin was positively an angel. And everything in Namjoon’s life could have been falling apart around him, but Jin would still be there, just a phone call away, and Namjoon never wanted it to stop.

---

“Jimin, can I tell you something?”

Jimin looked up from the small television with a raised brow. “I mean, yeah, but it sounds scary when you say it like that.”

Namjoon in a breath, a silent one, but filled with all the air in the room. Nothing was particularly embarrassing, and yet he could feel every drop of blood trickle into his cheeks and clog his throat, delaying his words. “I’m—and promise you won’t make a big deal out of it,”

“Promise.”

“Great. Well. I’m in a relationship.” He said it cleanly, quickly just like he’d discussed with Jin. They’d been together a week and Namjoon couldn’t act like he wasn’t smitten anymore; he needed to tell someone. Despite his heartbeat and his shaking voice, an involuntary smile spread Namjoon’s lips apart.

The air grew silent; even the television muted for half a second. Then Jimin sprung up from the sofa and did a 180 to face Namjoon. “Seriously? This is so exciting! Okay, okay, tell me about her. Where’s she from, what’s her name, how did you two meet?”

Hearing the assumption in his tone wracked Namjoon with incredible guilt. Of course Jin had to be a girl. But Namjoon wouldn’t admit it. “Woah, slow down. The only name you have to know is ‘Jin’; it’s a nickname. Jin is tall, blond, and looks like a supermodel. I know, hard to believe.”

Jimin seemed lost in concentration, then muttered, “Wow…And when did you meet her if you’re, like, a social recluse? Is she an office secretary? How scandalous—”

“No, we met online.” The words exited his mouth before he realized how pathetic they sounded. “And not on a dating site. I’m not that desperate.”

He didn’t like the way Jimin wiggled his eyebrows.

Because he had to live with it—live with Jimin, live with the teasing, knowing that it was all lies, because not telling the truth is sometimes worse than lying.

---

Namjoon rarely talked to his sister, even when they’d lived under the same roof. Kim Eunmi—she seemed to detest Namjoon when they were younger, because of his intelligence, and they’d never really patched anything up. But he didn’t know who else to call, who else to talk to; everyone at the office was over thirty, and Jimin had already cemented the idea of Jin being a girl.

It was odd to hear her voice again, the same high-pitched tone he’d endured throughout childhood, even if she greeted him with a sigh and a flat, “What do you want, Namjoon?”

“Hello to you, too. Are mom and dad around?”

“No. Call the home phone if you wanna talk to them. I’m at the salon, but my hairdresser’s sure taking her sweet time finding the dye.”

Just as snarky as Namjoon remembered her. “Don’t hang up; I know you were going to. Listen, I know we were never really on the best of terms. But I’m an adult, and you’re almost an adult, and it’s about time that we act like it. I should be able to call you up without the apocalypse happening, don’t you think?”

He heard Eunmi sigh again, “Fine, we’ll give it a shot. Do you need something from me?” Even though she was never as smart as Namjoon, she was still smart.

“Actually, kind of. I just have some…news.”

“Good news or bad news?”

If that wasn’t the question Namjoon had been asking himself the whole week. “It depends. And it’s like a two-part news.”

Eunmi paused for a second, “Hold on, my hairdresser finally showed her around here again. Okay, give me News Part One.”

The first part was easy; it wasn’t any amount of small news, but it seemed like nothing compared to the part he dreaded. “I’m in a relationship.” He said it flatly, not giving Eunmi any room for false interpretation.

“Well. Congratulations,” He thought it was the first time she’d ever said that. “And let me guess News Part Two: She’s pregnant?”

Namjoon in a breath. He needed to just tell someone, even if he hadn’t talked to that someone in months. And if that someone couldn’t be Jimin, it had to be his sister. “No, I’m not that kind of guy. The second part is that I don’t have a ‘she’.” Silence soaked through the other line, and Namjoon though that Eunmi didn’t really understand his implication. So he continues, “More like a ‘he’.” And suddenly Namjoon wanted to tell her everything; he wanted to scream to the universe that Kim Seokjin was his. When he heard Eunmi stutter out a response, just incoherent murmuring, he clarified even further: “I’m dating a man, Eunmi. Please say something.”

Then, the phone exploded with laughter, laughter he hadn’t heard in a long time. “Oh, my God, Namjoon, why would that be bad news? I haven’t cared what or who you’ve done for years!” She paused, “Is it serious?”

Relief was an understatement; to know that someone knew Jin existed and didn’t mind was more than comforting. “I mean, I’m serious about it, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s serious enough that I’d call you about it. I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t serious, if it were a one-night stand or—”

“Calm down, Joon. Now tell me about this guy—I know you’re dying to.” Even over the phone, Namjoon was an obvious romantic.

“His name’s Kim Seokjin. We met online—not through a dating site—and started talking, and got together. Obviously. He lives a few hours away, and works as a food critic. And he’s really good-looking, Eunmi. You know that actor you obsessed over in middle school? He’d look like next to Jin.” Namjoon didn’t even go into specifics, like how Jin’s laugh sounded or that face Jin made when he was disappointed. Because he could’ve talked about Jin for eternity if someone would listen.

Eunmi laughed. “Well, you know I need a picture now. And a normal picture, please, don’t you dare, like, crop a or something.”

“You foiled my plans,” Namjoon chuckled, “I’ll send a good one after this. But they’re all good ones, in my opinion.”

And after that they just talked. Just caught up on each other’s lives, caught up on the drama and the happiness and the embarrassment they’d missed sharing. Re-told stories they’d forgotten and just laughed together, the way only siblings could. Yes, Namjoon had missed it, had missed his sister, when he’d never admit that to her face or to the years behind them. So much time had passed, and yet no time had passed at all.

When he hung up with Eunmi, it was because, “Oh, here she comes. What if I don’t even want my hair dyed anymore?” and the good-bye was so casual, like when they were kids and Namjoon knew he’d see her every day. But he had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time he called Eunmi, not at all.

4:51 P.M.

To: Kim Eunmi (sister)

[Image attached.]

4:52 P.M.

From: Kim Eunmi (sister)

YOU’RE LUCKY!!!! i’m meeting him some day.

4:52 P.M.

From: Kim Eunmi (sister)

If he treats you badly i’ll kick his .

Maybe, at that point, it was all Namjoon needed to feel normal.

---

Jimin was sneaking around. Namjoon knew it, and Jimin knew it, and it was so unlink Jimin. Because Jimin told Namjoon everything. And this time, Namjoon didn’t even know what kind of ‘sneaking around’ Jimin was doing. If it was with another person, they certainly weren’t a girl, or Jimin would have told him for sure.

Maybe it was for the better. Maybe Namjoon was right—maybe Jimin really was so unsatisfied living with him that he stayed out until far after the sun set, and Namjoon didn’t even know where he was going.

But those were assumptions. And it would be hypocritical to start making assumptions, when he’d told Jimin for half a year that assuming anything would get him in trouble.

So Namjoon let him be. He didn’t push Jimin, didn’t threaten Jimin. He just let Jimin keep disappearing and returning home with a look on his face that made it hard not to assume—to assume there was a new person in Jimin’s life.

They were both keeping secrets. And Namjoon didn’t know whose was worse, because he didn’t even know Jimin’s secret. But they were both keeping secrets and that was fine, that was okay, because people had to keep secrets from each other, especially if they lived together.

And when Jimin would come home and not feel like talking, and when he’d seem so anxious to get out the door, and when he stopped inviting Namjoon to hang out with him or go to stupid karaoke—

It was fine.

---

Jin brought up the idea first, in the nonchalant way he brought up everything that scared Namjoon. It was always hanging between them, between the telephone line and between 270 kilometers, “I wish I could see you right now. Like, really see you.”

He knew—they both knew—that their relationship wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t going backwards or forwards, and that was simply due to their distance from each other. It had progressed, yes, from something tentative to something almost frustratingly intense, but Namjoon had reservations. He wanted to meet Jin so badly, but was nearly afraid to.

It took Jin two hours to convince Namjoon. “If we’re together for six months—” and of course they would be; Namjoon knew that from the start—“then promise you’ll meet me. Talking on the phone can’t satisfy all my needs.” And that was certainly a way to convince Namjoon.

Namjoon showed up to the train station thirty minutes early, maybe in case the trains were extremely ahead of schedule or maybe just to prepare himself mentally. He sat on an uncomfortable bench and jumped every time a train rolled in. He kept his head down and tried not to get worked up, so nervous, until a pair of long legs stopped in front of the bench.

And then Jin was there, standing directly in front of him, and Namjoon didn’t think he looked real. He was dressed simply, in a pink jumper and light jeans, but he looked positively radiant. To see that smile in person, where his full lips would pull back to show a set of straight teeth, was unbelievable. Namjoon, for a fraction of a second, forgot how to breathe. And suddenly he was being hugged, tighter than he’d been hugged in years, and Jin’s arms were linked around his waist and his head was in Namjoon’s shoulder and he smelled wonderful. Neither of them cared, in that moment, that they were at a train station, among hundreds of people.

“You’re real,” Jin breathed it into his shoulder, then pulled back at arm’s length and they just looked at each other. “I mean, hello.”

“Hi,” Namjoon grinned. He wanted to touch Jin’s face and his hair, but couldn’t because of where they were. At the same time, however, he didn’t want to move; he wanted to just stay and look at Jin. “You’re…I don’t even know what to say.”

Jin laughed, a laugh he’d heard hundreds of times, but this time it sounded like music. “Do I look better in person?” He winked and put a hand on Namjoon’s arm, and it made Namjoon embarrassed almost. Which it shouldn’t have, because Jin was his boyfriend.

“I don’t know, do I?” Two could play at the playful-teasing game that Jin always initiated.

“You do,” Yes, Jin was definitely flirting and Namjoon was playing right into his hands. “Now, it’s been lovely standing in front of a train, but I’m hungry and this bag is kind of heavy.”

He hadn’t even noticed that Jin had a bag. “Of course, sorry. We’ll just take the bus back to my place and then go out to eat. If that’s okay, I mean.”

Jin brought his hand down to Namjoon’s own, so briefly, then seemed to remember that they were in public. “It’s perfect. Anything is perfect. I’m just glad I’m here.”

They rode the bus in silence, as Namjoon usually did when he was alone. But instead of plugging his ears with music, Namjoon just sat there and actually had to listen to the silence. He was actually involved, this time, connected to another person, even when it was quiet. His hand weighed heavy at his side, too close to Jin’s, because he all he wanted then was to hold Jin’s hand, but he couldn’t. Jin wanted it too, he could tell, from the way his fingers twitched to how he moved his hand to his lap, away from the temptation.

“I’m sorry if my place is kind of a mess,” Namjoon explained as they walked to his apartment complex, “And if my room-mate’s there, we’ll have to resort to Plan B, because he should be at his friend’s place. He thinks I’m with my girlfriend now.”

“Don’t worry, I guarantee you mine is worse; I have food everywhere, even the floor. I live alone, so there’s one less person to pick everything up.”

“But I have one more person to make a mess in the first place.”

Jin laughed and scanned the street, then quietly linked their fingers together when he deemed it empty enough. “You’ve got me there,” Jin’s fingers were so long and thin, and it just felt so good to hold his hand, “And what’s Plan B?”

Namjoon tried not to concentrate on how warm Jin’s hands were. “In Plan B, you’re my cousin.”

He laughed again, and Namjoon decided he was the luckiest man alive to have caused that laugh. “I like Plan A better, the one where we go on a date.”

It sounded so childish when Jin said it, and it probably would have sounded more childish if Namjoon had said it. Still, he shifted his grip in Jin’s hand (already six months into their relationship and they still had to learn how to hold hands). “I like that one better, too.” And they didn’t say anything the rest of the way there, not like on the bus when people would listen, but because they didn’t need to say anything else.

Jin didn’t have many comments about his brief view of Namjoon’s apartment, just, “It definitely looks like you’d live here,” and Namjoon supposed that was a good thing.

The restaurant wasn’t overly fancy because Namjoon couldn’t afford anything overly fancy for two people, especially with Jin’s habit of over-eating.

The waitress was a young girl, and it didn’t take her long to figure out that the two men were on a date. Namjoon supposed it was somewhere between when Jin said, “Table for two,” and when Namjoon ordered a cheap wine, just to make things feel upscale.

He’d watched Jin eat before, just casually during a video call when Jin was grabbing a late meal, but he didn’t truly believe that Jin ate like that all the time. It became clear, however, as soon as Jin’s food arrived, that Namjoon would be broke within the hour.  Before he ate nothing, Jin started laughing to himself.

“What’s funny?” Namjoon asked.

“Nothing, it’s just—this is so weird,” he explained, “It’s like, we’ve eaten together before but never in person. Those were terrible ideas, by the way, your little ‘video dates’; I almost spilled barbecue sauce on my carpet.”

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you. Anyway, this time you’re really here. Tell me that’s not weird.” And with that, Jin shoved a good amount of noodles in his mouth, and it was perhaps the most unromantic thing ever.

Namjoon laughed. He’d end up spitting out his wine if Jin kept enjoying his food so comically. “Really? You got half in your mouth and half on your face.”

Jin rolled his eyes and gestured to Namjoon’s plate, “Eat your food. I’m still handsome.”

It was late when they got back to Namjoon’s apartment; Jin rarely went to Seoul and ended up dragging Namjoon into more stores than he could count because “that one looks cute!” Jin picked up his bag not ten minutes after stepping past the doorway, mumbling something about not wanting to overstay his welcome.

“Should I go now?” Jin asked, but they both knew what the answer would be.

“No.” Namjoon took his hand—he had a lot of lost time to make up for, not holding Jin’s hand—and dragged him into the room. “Because if you leave now, it’s so early that I’ll end up calling you tonight anyway.”

So they sat on the sofa and Namjoon thought it was like having a normal phone conversation, just face-to-face. Which was much better, because he could see Jin how the laptop camera would never show him, and fell his gentle touch and feel where their knees bumped together because of the couch’s angle. And he didn’t know when it happened, but Jin pulled Namjoon’s head into his lap and played with his hair and all Namjoon could think about was how he wanted that every day.

He wanted to kiss Jin. Of course he did; Jin was his boyfriend. And with someone like Jin, someone with such full and pretty lips, it was hard not to picture what kissing him would feel like. So when Jin got up from the couch, just for a drink, Namjoon had to do something. The urge had been pressing him all evening and he’d never acted on it. But he didn’t want to ignore it for another minute; he rose with Jin and caught the man’s waist in his arms, and by the way Jin brushed his nose against Namjoon’s and curled his fingers around Namjoon’s sleeve, he knew what was coming.

“Namjoon,” Jin tilted his head almost teasingly, driving Namjoon mad with no intention of leaning in farther.

So Namjoon did it for him—he kissed Jin like they’d been dating for six months, because they had been, gripping Jin’s hips and devouring every noise he made, and his head swam and he swore his life flashed before his eyes, because he was kissing Kim Seokjin, kissing his boyfriend for the first time and it was incredible. Everything he could smell and taste and hear and feel was Jin. Jin was the one who made it messy, on Namjoon’s lips and tongue and messing up his hair, and neither of them considered it too fast because they’d been dating for half a year and had been anticipating such a moment all that time.

It was somewhere around when Jin moaned or when Namjoon slid his hands underneath the back of Jin’s shirt when they heard it: a human sound, most definitely not from either of them. Namjoon had never been more still in his life when Jin separated from him and they were greeted by Jimin’s face.

He started automatically defending himself, but Jimin didn’t take any of that. Namjoon didn’t think he’d seen Jimin so disgusted before. He had to choose between Jimin thinking he was a cheater and Jimin thinking he liked men (and only one of those was true).

So Namjoon handed it to Jin. He let Jin explain and closed his ears, not wanting to hear his room-mate’s reaction. And then Jimin was laughing and apologizing and he was the best room-mate in the world.

All of the pressure in his head was relieved then, and maybe all of the pressure in the room. Because Jimin knew; he knew Kim Seokjin was a man and he still didn’t hate Namjoon. He’d worried himself for weeks—months—over nothing. And later, sitting alone once again with Jin, just kissing him softly in silence, Namjoon’s only regret was that they hadn’t met sooner.

---

Suddenly, there came a new name into Namjoon’s life: Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the one who appeared at Namjoon’s doorstep with Jimin’s jacket and a flushed face; Min Yoongi, whose name Jimin whispered as if it were holy; Min Yoongi, a name that didn’t mean anything to Namjoon, but meant everything to Jimin.

He’d lived with Jimin for a long time. And somehow, he’d never seen that look in Jimin’s eye, so genuine and precious. He wondered, just in passing, what was so special about Min Yoongi, but Namjoon knew the answer: nothing. He was just a person, like Namjoon was a person and Jimin was a person, but nothing had to be special in order to fall in love.

---

Seeing Jin regularly took some time to get used to. Because after their first meeting, he found he always wanted to be with Jin. So every week-end, Jin would commute to Namjoon’s apartment. He always offered to travel instead, to save Jin the trip, but Jin simply replied, “How am I supposed to win Jimin over if I’m not there?”

Namjoon’s attitude towards Min Yoongi changed from cautious to thankful almost instantly; with Jimin not coming home until late, Namjoon could indulge himself. He’d kiss Jin until there was no more air left in their lungs and it felt like learning to walk, studying every detail of Jin’s body, every way to make him sigh or shiver.

If Jimin knew the things they did when he was away, he’d kick Namjoon out for sure. While Jin was pure and perfect in appearance, he was ually devious in a way that Namjoon adored. He swore Jin would get him into trouble, with every touch he snuck and every dark spot he bit into Namjoon’s skin, but he loved all of it. He loved Jin.

He loved waking up on Saturdays with Jin’s chest against his own, legs tangled and hardly any clothing, when everything smelled like and Jin. He loved when he stopped getting ‘good-morning’ texts and Jin told him in person instead. He loved when Jin took him out, even just for a walk, and he’d link arms with Namjoon and laugh at Namjoon’s dumb jokes. He loved how permanent Jin felt, wearing Namjoon’s shirts like they were his own or getting food without asking, ‘Can I open your fridge?’ like he did at first. He loved how there was nothing wrong with anything. He loved how it felt too good to be true.

But maybe it was.

---

He didn’t remember hearing his phone ring, didn’t remember accepting the call, didn’t remember saying, “Hello.” His mother’s voice sounded so tired, not in the way that she hadn’t been sleeping, but in the way that something was wrong. Namjoon did remember the feeling of Jin’s head nestling in his the crook of his neck from behind, as he often did when Namjoon talked on the phone, delicate and quiet kisses being sprinkled on the skin there.

Namjoon answered his mother blindly, as he always did, the flow of conversation routine and predictable. And then he was thrown. “Namjoon, you’d tell us if you were in a relationship, right?” And that voice, it knew more than she was letting on.

He pat Jin’s hip behind him and mouthed, ‘One second,’ then held the phone tighter to his ear. “Mom, you know that eventually I’ll—”

“I’m talking about right now, Namjoon. Are you seeing someone?”

And Namjoon hesitated. He hesitated and that could have dug his grave. “What makes you think that?”

They went rounds for a few minutes, just lightly brushing the answer to his mother’s question. Perhaps that was the problem: Namjoon talked too similarly to his mother. He should have surrendered from the beginning. It was when Namjoon asked, “Did Eunmi say something to you?” that Jin began to panic. He got closer to Namjoon’s cell, hearing bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Is he there right now?” They both knew who she was talking about.

Jin shook his head, trying to make Namjoon lie, but Namjoon felt it better to stall, “Who?”

“Your boyfriend.” The words came like venom in his ears. Namjoon’s brain went numb and all he could see was Jin, Jin’s lovely face filled with so much fear. And Namjoon couldn’t lie anymore. He wanted to tell the truth, wanted to finally take a breath and feel rewarded by the fresh air.

But more than anything, Namjoon didn’t want to disappoint his mother. She meant so much. And Namjoon looked back at Jin—beautiful, beautiful Jin who had changed everything in Namjoon’s life—and realized that he had a choice. So he gently cupped his palm on the back of Jin’s neck, just to feel how real he was, and spoke into the phone: “Yes.”

Everything after was hell. He’d never heard so much betrayal in someone’s voice, so much anger. And after Namjoon had emptied his throat of words he didn’t mean (“You’ll never get a grandchild,” “We live separate lives now,”), he stood and listened. Namjoon wedge the phone between his ear and shoulder, wrapped both arms around Jin’s middle, and listened to every word his mother spat at him.

It was like a roller coaster; he just held onto Jin, closed his eyes, and waited until it was all over. At the end, his mother’s voice was hoarse and uneven. “How do you feel, Namjoon? How do you feel, knowing that we raised you like this? To become… just a disgrace?” When Namjoon didn’t say anything, she hung up.

And for the first time in years, Namjoon cried.

---

Since he’d started living with Jimin, two years ago, Namjoon had always ordered from the same pizza place. It always tasted the same, with cheap canned-tomato sauce and not as much cheese as Namjoon would like, but it was affordable and nothing short of tradition for him and Jimin. His room-mate claimed that pizza was “the true college experience. And I know you’re not in college but still.”

That night, however, the pizza tasted different. It tasted like a turning point, like a decision and like a loss. He sat across from Jin and just looked at him. Jin’s eyes were deep and so sad, holding something he could never say to Namjoon out loud, but it was there. Namjoon had never seen Jin look so distressed while eating food; the man lived for food, delighted in it with a passion that made Namjoon almost jealous. And he knew that pizza was a favorite of Jin’s, as he once told Namjoon to “give up on trying to pleasure me, because you’ll never be as y as pizza,” (Namjoon kept trying anyway).

When he glanced at Jimin, it felt like an out-of-body experience. To know that Jimin was by his side, and had supported him for years—Namjoon was overwhelmed with gratefulness. He was reminded of his childhood, sharing meals with his sister and parents, and Namjoon thought that maybe Jimin and Jin were all he needed to have a family. That maybe ‘family’ was more of a concept than a unit, more of a feeling than a position.

“Ugh, guys,” Namjoon snapped out of his trance at Jimin’s cautious voice, “I love your relationship and all, but can you save the bedroom eyes for after dinner?” He supposed Jimin only said it to lighten the mood, just to break the air up a bit, but it still earned him a scolding from Jin.

“Jimin, we’re overcoming a hardship here, with pizza. If you’d like, you can take some over to Yoongi later.”

It didn’t make Namjoon feel better. If anything, it made him feel worse, dousing shame in humor. “I’m full,” Namjoon said, “Take as much pizza as you want, Jimin.”

“Now, don’t be like that, Joonie,” Jin took a rather large mouthful of pizza, “Eat up. It’ll make you feel better—”

“—No, Jin, my family just practically disowned me. Pizza isn’t going to fix anything.”

They both knew it was true. Maybe pizza would be like a Band-Aid, just something to cover up the hurt, but it would never heal the wound. So Jin stayed silent and ignored his appetite for once. He leaned forward and kissed the crown of Namjoon’s head so softly. And Namjoon held onto Jin with one hand and kept a pizza slice in the other, and tried to forget.

---

-Three months later-

---

“I know I haven’t called you in a while, but I really want you to be there. Please?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule—”

“Wow, lying to your own sister. Just show up; you’ll be fine. And bring a plus-one. Hey, if you come to my graduation party, I’ll come to your wedding.”

Namjoon sighed. “I’m not getting married. And you can’t compare a graduation party to a wedding.” He thought of everything Eunmi had done for him—supported him, kept his secret—and said, “But we’ll be there.”

---

The back yard was smaller than Namjoon remembered. It still smelled the same, still had the same tacky lawn ornaments, still the same paint chips in the same places. The decorations were new, however, a white canopy pitched and balloons hanging everywhere.

He’d navigated the cab driver easily through the suburbs he’d grown up in, the eerie sense of familiarity surrounding him. “This is so exciting,” Jin had said, “just to see where you grew up.” But Namjoon didn’t think it was exciting at all; rather, he was worried. Worried about seeing his parents again, worried about the future and about everything.

Eunmi wasn’t hard to find. She tracked Namjoon down as soon as they’d stepped out of the cab. His sister had certainly grown up in the time they’d been apart; her hair was longer, and she wore a dress that Namjoon would have described as too mature years ago. She hugged Namjoon first, catching him off guard. “Woah! Nice to see you, too, Eunmi.”

He found Jin in his peripherals, just standing there, looking insecure and out-of-place. He smiled, just to let Jin know he was alright, then yanked him forward by the wrist. “Eunmi, this is Jin.” No explanation, just, ‘This is Jin,’ because Eunmi knew exactly who he was.

Jin seemed to loosen up then, extending an arm to shake the girl’s hand. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Eunmi refused his handshake, instead pulling him into a hug much like she had Namjoon. Namjoon wasn’t sure if she was being welcoming, or if she just really wanted to hug Jin. “I’m Eunmi, Namjoon’s sister. Don’t act like a stranger; if Namjoon likes you, I’m sure I will, too. But I don’t know why you like him.”

“Hey, I’m desirable!” Namjoon looked to Jin for support, finding none. “Fine, I won’t tell you congratulations, then.”

His sister pouted at that, then her eyes lit up. “Oh! I’m supposed to tell all the adults that there’s fancy alcohol over there. Old people like you love drinking, right?”

Namjoon ruffled Eunmi’s hair, careful not to mess it up too terribly, “But you wouldn’t know anything about alcohol, would you?” Eunmi shook her head innocently. He felt a hand on his back then, recognizing it as Jin’s.

“Be careful, I’m older than your brother,” he warned, “even if I look better.”

Eunmi laughed and turned to Namjoon, “I like him already. Go get some drinks, Namjoon—I wanna talk to Jin for a while.”

The look on Jin’s face was almost frightened, but Namjoon simply shrugged and walked to the small canopy, easily seeking out where the ‘fancy alcohol’ was. Namjoon was on high-alert; he didn’t need to be, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother would pop up at any second.

When Namjoon returned with two flutes of champagne, Jin and Eunmi were both laughing, and Namjoon knew he’d been talked about. He didn’t know what crazy stories Eunmi had told Jin (or the stories Jin had told Eunmi; he didn’t even want to think about that), but Namjoon didn’t care. His sister got along with his boyfriend and that was enough for Namjoon.

Jin accepted the glass and sweetly clinked it against Namjoon’s. “Cheers,” he said, still giggling from whatever Eunmi had said.

They were halfway through their drinks—Jin perhaps a bit further—when all hell broke loose.

Because that was definitely his mother’s voice, the soft and breathy, “Namjoon?” and he felt Jin freeze next to him.

“Mom,” he said, nodding towards Eunmi as a sign for her to leave. Seeing his mother was so different. She looked the same and yet not the same at all, with more wrinkles carved into her skin and more graying hairs at her scalp.

That scowl she gave Jin, that look made Namjoon close his eyes and wish all of it would disappear. “And who is this?” But she knew.

And suddenly, Jin regained all his confidence and ease, stepping forward and initiating a handshake just like he had with Eunmi, with the knowledge that this one wouldn’t end up as a hug. “I’m Kim Seokjin.” Yes, Namjoon’s mother knew that name—it was the name she’d screamed over the phone, the echo of, ‘That’s a man’s name!’ still echoing in Namjoon’s mind. And she just looked at Jin as if she’d never seen a person before.

 “Shake his hand, mom.” He didn’t want this, he didn’t even want them to meet. His mother stared at Jin’s hand like she was a small child and he was a strange man, almost cradling her own hand to her side like she was afraid of Jin’s touch. Namjoon hated talking down to her; it made him understand just how adult Jin was, just how much control he had over his own life.

Jin smiled at her so gently, at the woman who hated him without knowing him, and it made Namjoon’s heart ache. “I’m Kim Seokjin,” he said it again, and kept that smile on his face like there was nothing wrong. His hand was still extended towards her, as if she were a cat who needed to feel him before she could trust him.

She never shook Jin’s hand.

“I’ll go get us some more champagne,” Namjoon felt Jin’s soft and familiar touch on his shoulder, squeezing his shirt fabric lightly before he turned away to the canopy. 

The whole atmosphere shifted between mother and son while Jin was gone, all the tension in the woman’s body shaken off into the air and a disapproving expression morphing her face. “Champagne?”

“I can drink now, mom. I could drink when I last saw you, too, I just didn’t.” Namjoon forgot how long it had been since he saw his mother.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “How old is he? That man,”

Namjoon chuckled. “Jin? He’s 26. Two years older than me.”

“That’s much too old for you.” She said it quickly, almost spitting the words out like she’d planned to say them no matter how old Jin was. Namjoon’s eyes caught on bleached-blond hair in the crowd, and his mother sighed. “I must be going blind. My eyes have been tricking me into seeing some crazy things lately.”

“Like what?”

She let a pause interrupt them. “I wish you two didn’t look good together.”

He took his gaze off of his love to face his mother. “We don’t look good together. We just look normal together. Comfortable. And I’m comfortable with him.”

“Isn’t that the same thing as good? You’re really arguing with me on this?”

“Well, you don’t think it’s good—our relationship,” Namjoon said, “So either you’re lying about us being good together, or you’re lying about us looking good together, and only you know which it is—”

Namjoon’s mother cut him off sharply. “There you go again, Namjoon; you’re always on that high horse of yours. What’s it going to take to bring you down? When will you realize that you’re delusional? You’re wasting so much time chasing after older men—”

“I’m not chasing after him, mom. I’m with him. We’re together. And I’m sorry if you don’t approve, but right now, Jin is always there for me, even when my own family isn’t. This isn’t just a fling, mom, it’s a serious relationship. And I know I’ve never really had one of those before, but I’m an adult now. I know what I want. And he makes me so happy. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

She sighed. Just a sigh, like Namjoon was inconveniencing her. “Your father can’t find out you were here.” He could see Jin to his side, hesitant to approach them, but eventually decided to stand next to Namjoon. He didn’t even have any champagne, but Namjoon thought that was a good thing; they’d probably be leaving soon anyway. “I apologize to you, Namjoon, that our relationship has come to this.” It sounded so final. “Now, I don’t care if you call a cab or what, but you can’t wait for it here.”

“I understand,” Namjoon locked his jaw, “Tell Eunmi I said ‘Congratulations.’ I’m here for her, after all, and I never really said it properly.”

His mother just nodded, and she looked so small. Jin offered Namjoon a weak smile and rubbed circles into his back, then whispered, “Let’s go.” So they turned around, walking off the grass and down the road until his childhood home was no longer in sight.

---

“That went well.”

Namjoon couldn’t help himself; he laughed. “Well? Did you miss the part where she kicked us out?”

They kept their voices down, in case the cab driver overheard. “No, I was there. She wasn’t really mad, Namjoon. Just confused.” Namjoon would’ve described it as almost fearful, that lost look in her eyes Namjoon had never seen before. “And your sister was lovely. They both look like you.”

“I’m sure if you told my mom that, she’d deny any resemblance. But Eunmi? She’s great. She’s got a small crush on you, which is cute. I’m almost jealous.”

Jin grinned and shook his head. “Too bad I’ve already got one-too-many Kims to deal with.”

He pushed Jin lightly, just at the shoulder, “So do I.”

The cab, for a few extra won, dropped them directly in front of Namjoon’s building. He was more than ready for a relaxing evening, just something to take the stress off of everything, but it became clear he wouldn’t get that when Min Yoongi was standing in his kitchen.

“Oh. Hi.” the man said. Namjoon had to admit he liked Yoongi and how low-profile he was. Yoongi was older than Namjoon but it really didn’t feel that way.

“Hey, Yoongi, is Jimin here?”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the bedroom door. “Yeah, he’s in there. He called me over so he didn’t have to watch dramas alone, but I didn’t think he’d cry this much.”

And then Jimin appeared, massaging beneath his eyes and sighing. Yoongi just laughed at him. “Oh, shut up, I bet if we played romantic piano medleys for two hours you’d look like this, too. Hi, Namjoon, hi, Jin,” his next question was hesitant, “How did it go?”

Jin wrapped an arm around Namjoon’s shoulders and offered Jimin a smile. “Let’s just say it’s been an emotional day for all of us.”

Jimin looked like he didn’t know what to do and neither did Yoongi. Everyone in the room seemed to take a deep breath and just absorb the atmosphere for a moment. And then Namjoon moved; he sat at his and Jimin’s small table and some music, not really to listen but just as some noise. Eventually, Jin joined him and Yoongi and Jimin followed.

They were all around him: people who cared, people who loved him or respected him. Namjoon thought back to another time he’d sat at that table, after a phone call that maybe didn’t matter anymore. Jin lifted Namjoon’s hand and kissed his knuckles, and Jimin didn’t even make a snide comment, instead taking Yoongi’s hand and doing the same.

For the first time in Namjoon’s recent memory, he made an assumption. He assumed that the best time in his life was still waiting for him; he assumed he already had something that would last forever.

He assumed that everything would work.

Ahhh, it's finished! I'm sad, because this was my first chaptered fic, but I'm also satisfied with the result and I'm ready to write more!

By the way, I m sososo sorry that I didn't get this out sooner; I was at an oil painting program for two weeks and then I wrote like a manic but this is way longer than I expected it would be. It's almost a third of the entire fic woah

Also please follow me on Tumblr because I juuuust made a K-Pop blog and I have zero followers :((( tragic

Thank you, everyone, for reading!