First impressions last a lifetime, Seokjin knows how to reset that particular clock. Be it handshakes or laughter or eyes locked across a crowded room, he’s learned how to draw people in all over again. When you have that kind of power, reputation is a moot point. He can be a right rotten bastard one month, and an unparalleled delight the next, it’s as easy as walking up to an old friend and pretending you have never seen them before in your life. 

People don’t like feeling left out of the loop, Seokjin finds this less hasssle than apologising. He marches up to Namjoon, holds out a hand to shake, straight back stiff upper lip the starch of his collar crackling as he fights back a smile too personal to be the first of many. 

Namjoon hesitates. They always hesitate. Here are the options - take what is infront of you in as good a grace as you can manage. Don’t protest, don’t ask questions. When the rising tides of all that has come before rise up and threaten to overwhelm you, hold fast. There’s no need to cause scandal or drag out bitter memories in the form of cold shoulders and sleepless nights. Shake the hand, wipe the slate clean, move on. 

Or, take things as they are. Call this a farce and walk away. You can choose to keep this sordid chapter of your life in the public eye and watch the people around you divide themselves into those who support you and those who do not and know that neither are on your side. For a short while you will be the talk of the town, then you will be nothing. The scandal will end you. 

Seokjin always chooses option one. He chooses it with such ferocity that any fool who might think to dance the dreaded dance of bad publicity is cowed into following his lead. He has walked into rooms and watched a countess sign away her chance at inheritance, a duke fall upon the sword of inaction, seen servants swallow rumours that could unseat empires - all of this with no more effort than a smile. 

“You wouldn’t want to cause a fuss.” 

Just for a moment, Namjoon wavers. Seokjin doesn’t think about the smell of the young duchess’s perfume drifting up from beneath his clothes, he’s had his fair share of other women. 

So here’s what’s at stake - is the knowledge that you broke a heart worth inciting a riot over. All the bodies Namjoon has had pressed against him that were not Seokjins, all the many nights when they should have both been alone but only one of them was, just how badly do you want to keep those memories? Shake a hand, sign a contract, throw that life away and start over. You only have as many first impressions as you let yourself have. 

Namjoon reaches out, they shake, “of course not,” he smiles. 

This time round there will be no secret rendezvous and there will be no clandestine meetings in the small hours of the night. Seokjin shrugs off the weight of everything that has passed between them and the story of his life gains another empty page. 

The frayed edges of the page that had to be torn out in it’s place are still noticeable, however. The cut of his suit may be as neat as any other man here, but when Namjoon smiles he has too many sharp edges, dust gathering in corners that cannot be fully swept out. This is not a first impression, this is deja vu. 

“You should come out to the country some time, it’s lovely this time of year,” Namjoon mumbles vaguely over wine that’s too expensive to taste this bad. You have to steal yourself for the acidic bite at the back of your tongue and pretend that you don’t know you are swallowing pig swill. 

Over by the buffet table, the mayor’s daughter is dressed in silver satin, her eyes drawn to Namjoon in exactly the same way Seokjin’s are. You can’t spot the trajectory of this story from first impressions, you need experience to see the bigger picture. 

Seokjin swallows his pride, it’s not worth the scandal, “what was it you said your father did?”

“Oh please,” Namjoon scoffs, but his eyes are on the mayor’s daughter. No remorse, no recollection, no regrets.