Seokjin stretches his arms upward, his bones creaking in protest. They fall to his side as he stares glumly at the binder laying on the side table in front of him. It seems to taunt him, as if saying, You’re not free yet.

 

The sun has already set outside the hospital, the ceiling-high windows clear as crystal, completely devoid of fingerprints and revealing the darkening skyline in the far-off horizon. 

 

Seokjin sighs, rubbing his temples. Today had been a long day - there had been a violent break-in at a large government building nearby in the morning, an accident which left a few higher-up officials dead and even more injured. The limited details spared upon Seokjin had all been beyond his understanding (he typically preferred to stay out of politics anyway), but it had meant more paperwork than usual, more red tape to navigate and more hoops to jump through. So much of his afternoon, wasted on calming frenzied officials, telling off news reporters, and dealing with egos…

 

Reluctantly, Seokjin opens the binder and begins looking over the papers within. Sign here… Confidentiality… Agreement... The words all blur together in his mind. Blinking the bleariness and exhaustion out of his eyes, he reaches for one of the pens in his chest pocket. Numbly, he signs his name at all of the X’s, not bothering to read the fine print. 

 

Seokjin is in a hurry to leave for no particular reason; he just wants to go home, inhale some ramen, and knock out in his bed. He has an early shift tomorrow morning and he’s already stayed later past his responsibility. 

 

He closes the binder with a decisive snap and drops it off wordlessly at the front desk. His head is pounding and he walks briskly, barely acknowledging the receptionist’s sweet, “Good night, Dr. Kim” with a curt nod. 

 

The cold air outside hits him hard, forcing a quick inhale of freezing air into his lungs. Seokjin mutters a curse as he tucks his jacket tighter against himself, shoving his fingers deep into his pockets. He doesn’t remember the last time it had been so cold so early during the middle of autumn. He ducks his head so that his nose is hidden by the raised neckline from the chilly wind. His fingers toy with the keys in his pocket as he walks toward his parked car, and he’s about to push the button that unlocks the doors when he hears a faint shout. 

 

“Help! Somebody, please…” 

 

Seokjin whirls around at the plea, squinting into the darkness of the parking lot. Slowly, his vision resolves to reveal a man stumbling along the asphalt, limping and hunched over awkwardly. In his wake is a trail of dark liquid, staining the black of the asphalt. Seokjin realizes with a start that the man is carrying another figure, a more slender and feminine one. 

 

“Help her… please,” the man croaks out into the frigid air, a thin cloud of condensation floating from his trembling lips. 

 

Seokjin stares in shock, dumbfounded. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the urgency to run forward and help, but for an inexplicable reason, his feet remain glued to the floor. 

 

“Please,” the man cries out weakly, struggling to carry the limp figure at his side. 

 

Seokjin snaps out of his trance just as the man stumbles. He races forward and catches the lifeless woman as the man hits the floor with a quiet gasp. Slowly, Seokjin lowers himself to the floor, careful not to jostle the woman in his arms, and reaches out an unsteady hand  to check for a pulse. He realizes sadly that his fingers are already coated in blood - not a good sign. He nearly jumps out of his skin when an ice-cold hand flashes out to grip his wrist tightly, more tightly than should be possible, Seokjin thinks to himself. When he looks down, two piercing eyes bore up into him. 

 

“Help her…” The words are barely audible from the stranger’s lips. Then, without warning, the man’s fingers relax against Seokjin’s wrist and his eyes roll back in his head, his body going limp on the ground and leaving Seokjin with two unconscious bodies in the middle of the parking lot. 

 

So much for sleep, Seokjin thinks grimly to himself. He only allows himself a split second of sorrow, and then he’s moving, paging for stretchers and extra hands. A blur of medical activity descends around him quickly, and then he’s swept up in the bustling flow without the chance for further thought. 

-----

Snippets of conversations float in and out of Namjoon’s consciousness. 

 

… gunshot wounds… pierced internal organs… emergency surgery… need to get him stabilized…

 

He pries his eyes open with great difficulty and finds himself looking up at a pair of tired, but worried, eyes. They are a warm brown, softened at the outer corners as if someone had taken a brush and blurred the edges. 

 

“Can you hear me?” A voice asks, and Namjoon hears the words as if he were underwater. There is so much pressure in his head and his vision swims dangerously. He tries to grunt out an answer, but the effort makes his chest constrict painfully. He settles for a tiny, jerky nod. 

 

Relief floods through the eyes looking down at him, but it appears to be short-lived. Namjoon hears a rapid beeping, muffled but insistent, and with a start, he realizes it is the sound of his own heart giving out. 

 

“He’s crashing!” The words sound a million miles away.

 

Namjoon allows his eyes to close, too tired to protest as he lets the darkness drag him under.

-----

Seokjin watches the patient as he sleeps, eyeing him with mild curiosity and trepidation. 

 

The heart monitor is quiet but steady. The man had pulled through, miraculously and against all odds. They had nearly lost him a few times, but sheer determination seemed to keep him from fully slipping under. 

 

Only now does Seokjin allow himself to notice how handsome the man is, the sharp and defiant jut of his jaw, the smooth arch of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips, the delicate slant of his eyes. 

 

Seokjin is lost in his own thoughts when a weak voice cuts through his trance.

 

“Where is she? Is she okay?” 

 

The patient is awake, the delicate, narrowed eyes that Seokjin had been staring at now open and staring back, dazed in evident distress but still sharp enough to pierce. His face is pinched, mostly likely from the pain, and he looks paler than Seokjin would like. 

 

Seokjin wonders why the patient is looking at him so intently, and then he flushes when he realizes that he’s waiting for an answer. It takes Seokjin a brief moment to remember who he is, where he is, what he’s doing; his heart gives a painful clench when the details sharpen into acuity. He forces his voice to be gentle. 

 

“She died before we could get her past the hospital doors… There was nothing we could have done for her.”

 

The man seems to shrivel at his words, looking away, his jaw tight, and Seokjin feels a flash of guilt for causing the man even more distress. The man’s fingers are curled into fists on his lap, shaking slightly. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Seokjin says quietly, “Was she someone important to you?”

 

The man shakes his head tersely, to Seokjin’s surprise. In a weary voice, he says, “I have no idea who she was.”

 

“What?” Seokjin can’t help but let his surprise show. It’s not any of his business in the first place, but that wasn’t the response he had been expecting. 

 

The man sighs, closing his eyes.  “I need to get out of here,” he mutters lowly. He moves to get up but Seokjin promptly pushes him down onto the bed, giving him a hard look and ignoring the heat that creeps into his face at the contact. 

 

“No, you need to stay here and rest.”

 

The man meets his gaze with an equally grave stare. There seems to be a burst of panic under the hard glint of his eyes. “You don’t understand… I can’t be here. Please."

 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “We don’t even know your name.” They had found no ID on his person, nothing that gave any clues as to who he was, where he was from, or what he did for a living. 

 

The man hesitates, staring at him wordlessly. His eyes look pained, exhausted, but the way his lips are set into a thin line is is resolute, unyielding. 

 

Seokjin gives an exasperated sigh. 

 

“You just had surgery on multiple internal organs. You almost died from blood loss, heart failure, and more complications during surgery. You’re not well enough to be released and I’m not going to discharge you without further information. If you don’t tell me anything, I won’t be able to help you,” he says not unkindly, hoping his sincerity comes through. “I’m just trying to help you.” 

 

The patient eyes him as if he might attack at any moment, and Seokjin’s heart aches weakly. What exactly happened to him?

 

Finally, the man answers, his voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Kim Namjoon. And I can’t be here right now.”

 

Seokjin is quiet for a minute, relieved that he at least has a name, albeit not very much else. Then, he sighs decisively. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to stay here. But you’re going to stay at my place until you get better.”

 

Namjoon’s eyes widen fractionally. “Bu-“

 

“My. Place,” Seokjin cuts him off, the hard edge in his voice leaving no room for argument. “Unless you want me to call the police and investigate what exactly happened here.”

 

At the mention of the word “police”, Namjoon seems to flinch, eyes flicking away nervously. After a beat, he nods sullenly. 

 

“There we go,” Seokjin huffs, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

Namjoon doesn’t answer him and Seokjin wonders if he’s just made a massive mistake. 

-----

Namjoon hisses as pain flares up along his left abdomen. The smooth ceramic of the mug slips past his fingers like butter, hitting the floor with a loud smash, hot liquid splashing onto his bare feet and stinging his skin reproachfully. 

 

“,” he mumbles under his breath, wincing. 

 

“Everything okay?” Seokjin’s worried voice floats into the kitchen, ever-present and always concerned. Namjoon rolls his eyes, ignoring the guilt that flushes through his body. 

 

“Everything’s fine. I just broke a mug,” Namjoon calls back lamely.

 

It’s been three weeks since he moved into Seokjin’s small apartment in Seoul, sleeping on Seokjin’s twin mattress which was decisively too short for him - his feet stuck slightly over the edge each night. Seokjin had graciously taken the couch despite Namjoon’s protests, had said that he needed to recover and that there was no discussion to be had. 

 

Seokjin pokes his head into the kitchen to stare blankly at Namjoon, flicking his eyes down to the ground at Namjoon’s feet and taking in the mess. In an instant, he’s on the floor, deftly collecting the larger shards of broken ceramic from the marbled floors. 

 

“Stay where you are,” Seokjin says without a hint of annoyance or anger. “I don’t want you to strain yourself and pull your stitches.” 

 

Ignoring him, Namjoon kneels down next to him, willing himself to not feel the stab of pain that shoots along his torso.

 

Seokjin sighs, “What did I just say, Namjoon?”

 

He smells clean, like detergent and soap, Namjoon notes, with the faintest trace of hospital chemicals. To Namjoon’s surprise, the scent is a familiar one by now, which he supposes makes sense after spending so many nights curled up in Seokjin’s sheets, in Seokjin’s bed, in Seokjin’s apartment. 

 

“You don’t have to keep taking care of me, you know?” Namjoon mutters under his breath, scowling.

 

Seokjin chuckles mirthlessly, “Apparently I do. This is the third mug you’ve broken this week. At this rate, we’ll be drinking out of bowls by next month.”

 

“I’ll be out of here by then,” Namjoon mumbles. “And I’ll pay you back for the mugs,” he adds, with the good grace to sound ashamed. 

 

“You’re leaving so soon?” Seokjin says in surprise, his fingers hovering frozen over the spilled tea. 

 

Namjoon looks up to meet Seokjin’s widened eyes. He frowns, “Well, I can’t exactly stay here forever, can I?”

 

Seokjin looks away, his cheeks dusted a light pink. “Of course not. I just meant that you could stay for longer… if you would like.”

 

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me. I don’t know how to pay you back for everything,” he says, sounding rueful.

 

“You don’t have to pay me back for anything,” Seokjin says, and Namjoon can tell that he means it. “I’m not exactly short of money,” he says without a trace of arrogance. “Besides,” he continues shyly, “It’s been nice having a housemate. Living alone can get lonely, you know?”

 

Namjoon lets out a dry laugh. “More than you could know.”

 

Seokjin bites his lip. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but he never gets the chance. His pager cuts through the silence with an insistent beeping. 

 

“Go handle that,” Namjoon says quietly. He gestures to the mess at his feet, “I’ll take care of the rest.”

 

Seokjin hesitates for a split second, and then he’s sweeping out of the apartment in a flurry of movement, the doors shutting behind him with a soft snick in his wake, leaving behind a pensive Namjoon. 

-----

One day, Seokjin comes home and all of the lights are turned off. 

 

“Namjoon?” he calls out into the dark, his teeth still chattering from the cold outside. The frosty December air is relentless and he rubs his hands together to bring back some warmth and feeling into them. He flicks on the light to the kitchen, expecting to see a note on the fridge, but he’s met only with an empty expanse of metal. 

 

“Namjoon?” Seokjin calls out again, turning on the lights in his bedroom. The sheets are mussed and the pillows misshapen, but the bed is empty. 

 

“Namjoon, where are you?” Seokjin’s voice pitches higher than it should, a hint of panic seizing his throat. 

 

He wouldn’t have just left without saying good-bye… would he?

 

Seokjin is surprised to find that, in the past few months, he had become accustomed to Namjoon’s company. Historically, Seokjin did not let many people into his life, nor did he do so lightly, and he had spent most of his life alone and taking care of himself after his parents had passed away when he was fifteen. He had been comfortable being by himself, and letting Namjoon move in had been an uncharacteristic break in his pattern of pushing people away. 

 

It had not happened all at once, but somehow, Namjoon’s clumsy yet quiet presence, always bumbling around in the background, had become familiar to Seokjin. Grounding, even. There had been no discussion or agreement, but Namjoon had melted easily and wordlessly into Seokjin’s life. In fact, he can’t even remember what it was like to live without Namjoon in his apartment. 

 

A few nights ago, Namjoon had finally told Seokjin what he did for a living. It was clear that he had never told this to anyone else before, his fingers knotted nervously in his lap the whole time, his eyes constantly flitting around the room to look anywhere except at Seokjin. And yet, he had opened up nonetheless. 

 

Namjoon had started by explaining how he used to be a cop, how it had only taken a few years of dedicated service to realize that there was only so much he could do, that he was helpless to actually make a difference within the boundaries of the law. His voice had gone hard as he explained that there was corruption everywhere, and that the only people who came out on top were the ones who did what they wanted and took advantage of everyone else. 

 

It had taken the murder of his partner in the police force for him to finally walk away from the law. His partner had spent months investigating one of the larger mafia clans for their involvement in an underground drug ring, had been on the verge of a breakthrough, when he was assassinated by the heir to the leader of the clan. The very institution that Namjoon had spent years serving in the name of justice covered up the death as an accident. Collateral damage, the had said, as money exchanged hands somewhere above the ranks and lies were printed on the paperwork. 

 

Seokjin had been afraid to breathe too loudly, lest he missed a word, as Namjoon’s voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. He had quit the police force when he learned about what had happened and began carrying out his own illegal jobs against the criminals he had failed to put behind bars for years. This time, he delivered justice swiftly, avoiding the red tape and administrative barriers. Blood for blood, something no amount of money or influence could change. He told Seokjin that the lines between good and bad eventually started to blur, and that the only way to keep going was to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. 

 

Seokjin had tried to reassure him, murmuring gently that he was, in fact, a good person, but Namjoon had cut him off, voice tight and eyes bright with tears. Seokjin had gone quiet at that, never having seen Namjoon cry before. 

 

The woman whom he had brought to the hospital the night they met had been the wife of a mafia boss. That day, he had been trying to reason with the head of the clan, trying to call off a pre-planned attack of a government building, but it wasn’t working. Desperate, he had pointed his gun at the man’s wife, threatening to kill her if he didn’t call off his men. Numbly, Seokjin had remembered back to that day at the hospital - all the injured officials, the clamor, the paperwork.

 

“I wasn’t actually going to shoot her,” Namjoon’s voice had sounded pleading, “but I needed him to believe I would.” His voice caught in his throat. “He just laughed at me.” 

 

Namjoon told Seokjin how the man had pulled out his own gun and aimed it at his wife. “‘I can always get a new ,’” Namjoon had whispered, tears streaming down his face. “That’s what he said to me.” His hands were tightly fisted in his lap. 

 

“And then he pulled the trigger.” Namjoon had looked like he was going to be sick. “ I felt like I was watching in slow motion. I couldn’t even move... I can still hear her screams in my dreams,” Namjoon had choked out, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

Seokjin had been silent, not knowing what to say or do. “I barely escaped with my life, but you already know that. I grabbed her and tried to save her, but…” Namjoon’s voice had died away listlessly.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Seokjin had whispered that night, a sickening horror turning his stomach. 

 

After a moment, Namjoon had shrugged, the motion stiff and poorly hiding his grief. “It is what it is,” he had said, the words dull. “That’s why I do what I do. I know it’s a lot to take in. You can kick me out if you want to.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seokjin had said, voice flat. 

 

At that, Namjoon had looked at him with a mild surprise. “These people can’t be reasoned with. They have no humanity. They’re not afraid of losing anything except their own lives, the fear that they have over others.” He hesitates, then adds, “I’m the same way.”

 

“No,” Seokjin had said, shaking his head, “You’re not like them.”

 

Namjoon had looked at him sadly, then. “Why not?” He didn’t seem to be expecting an answer.

 

“You have more to lose.”

 

That had been a few days ago. Ever since then, Namjoon had been a bit quieter than usual. Seokjin had given him space, had told himself that he had been too overbearing… 

 

The thought of never seeing Namjoon again hurts Seokjin more than he would like to admit, and he is surprised at the sharp pang of pain in his chest. There’s a knot in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow down.

 

“Namjoon?” he calls out one more time, his voice sounding small in the empty space. There’s no answer - of course there isn’t, Seokjin thinks to himself, the tiny sliver of hope he had been clinging onto shattering - and he realizes with a sinking feeling in his chest that Namjoon is gone. 

 

A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness washes over Seokjin and he staggers backwards until his back hits the wall. Slowly, he slides to the ground, realizing that the burning sensation he feels against his face are hot tears spilling down his cheeks. The grief crashes over him in torrents, the loss hurting more than he was expecting - actually, he hadn’t really known what to expect, hadn’t thought far enough ahead to plan for the day that Namjoon eventually left him. 

 

Feeling drained, Seokjin rests his forehead against his knees, wrapping is arms around his legs, letting the sorrow fill his lungs.

 

He falls asleep in that position, sitting on the floor with his back slumped against the wall, head buried in his lap, tears drying on his face, chest aching with exhaustion and anguish.  

 

He doesn’t know what time it is when the lights suddenly flicker on, waking him up. 

 

Seokjin squints at the brightness, his puffy, bleary eyes straining against the light. There’s a figure standing in the doorway, gangly and long-limbed and awkward and achingly familiar. He brings up a hand to rub his eyes and feels the dried tears cracking on his cheeks. 

 

“Seokjin?” A worried voice calls out. Namjoon is at his side in two strides, crouching beside him, his hands fluttering around him worriedly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

 

Seokjin blinks away his exhaustion, glaring at Namjoon. He ignores the urge to bat the light clumps of snow from Namjoon’s soft brown hair. “What happened?” He seethes, “What happened?" Namjoon flinches slightly and Seokjin is filled with a mild gratification.

 

“Where the hell where you?” Seokjin grits out angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Namjoon, who looks more lost than usual. Seokjin had never lost his temper with Namjoon before, had only ever been kind and gentle around Namjoon, and seeing this side of Seokjin seems to stun Namjoon into a shocked silence. “I thought you had left.” To Seokjin’s chagrin, tears spring to his eyes and he dashes them away with a rough swipe across his face. 

 

“You’re an , Kim Namjoon. All of the lights were off. You didn’t leave a note or anything. You didn’t say anything. The apartment was completely empty and you hadn’t told me anything. I thought you had run. I thought you left me…” Seokjin hates the way his voice cracks, but he can’t help it. The anxiety and the fear is just below the surface and it threatens to spill over. “I don’t even have your ing number,” he mumbles pathetically. 

 

It’s only now that he notices the flowers and plastic bag on floor to either side of Namjoon. 

 

“What,” he spits out venomously, “is that?” The acidity in his voice is somewhat neutralized by his sniffle. 

 

Namjoon reaches for the bouquet on the floor and raises it toward Seokjin weakly. 

 

“I wanted to surprise you,” he mumbles sheepishly, finally having found his voice. “I got you flowers and a cake… for your birthday…” he finishes lamely. 

 

Seokjin stares, completely dumbfounded. Slowly, the cogs in his brain strain into motion and he realizes that today is, in fact, his birthday. With everything else going on, he had completely forgotten, not that he normally celebrated his birthday anyway. 

 

“Y-you… My birthday?” Seokjin sputters, the panic and anger slowly washing out of his system. “What do you mean?”

 

“You told me a few days after I first moved in that today was your birthday,” Namjoon mumbles quietly, “December 4th.” He studies the floor with a fierce determination. 

 

“I-“ Seokjin chokes out, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. “I can’t believe you remembered that…” he trails off, completely at a loss for words. 

 

“The only flower shop open at this hour was halfway across town and by the time I had gotten there, the bus lines weren’t running anymore, so I had to walk,” Namjoon explains awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be so late… I just wanted to surprise you.”

 

Seokjin’s heart melts, touched that Namjoon had gone to such lengths for him. “Thank you,” he murmurs softly. Then, his cheeks heat in shame. His voice is feeble when he apologizes, “I’m sorry for assuming that you had run. I should have trusted you.”

 

“I wouldn’t leave you like that,” Namjoon reassures him quietly. “Unless if you want me to leave,” he says hastily, eyes flicking up nervously to gauge Seokjin’s reaction.

 

“No, Seokjin protests quickly, blushing harder. “I don’t want you to leave.”

 

“Okay.” Some of the tension seems to leave Namjoon’s shoulders. “… Good.”

 

A beat of awkward silence passes. The flowers seem to droop ever so slightly. 

 

Suddenly, Namjoon says, out of nowhere, “Can I kiss you?”

 

“W-what?” Seokjin stutters, caught off guard once again. He’s not sure if he heard correctly. 

 

Immediate regret seems to rush through Namjoon as he scrambles to backtrack, waving his hands as if that might retract the words. “Ah, nothing. Never mind. Ignore me, I’m being stupid.”

 

Seokjin collects himself first. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asks softly, faintly amused.

 

Namjoon gapes at him quite uselessly, and Seokjin has to stifle the urge to giggle. 

 

“You can kiss me if you want,” Seokjin says, partially teasing, mostly serious. 

 

The world seems to hold its breath as Namjoon stares back at Seokjin, his eyes wide and unsure and wanting. 

 

It happens so quickly that Seokjin almost misses it. In fact, he’s not even fully sure it happens. And yet, all of the uncertainty seems to melt away from Namjoon, leaving behind a completely different person. The error-prone dork who never seemed to know where he was or what he was doing, who overthought everything to the point of frustration, who lost his train of thought mid-sentence more times than Seokjin could count was suddenly gone without a warning, and in his place was someone who moved with a firm certainty, leaning his face toward Seokjin’s, reaching up with a tender hand to cup gently at Seokjin’s chin, sure and steady as death. 

 

Seokjin’s breath catches in his throat as Namjoon’s lips, still cold from the wintry air outside, presses against his own, soft and tentative at first, and then more insistently, pulling him closer, deeper. Seokjin feels like he can’t breathe, his heart slamming against his ribcage, and he brings his hands up to tangle through Namjoon’s hair, fingers pulling away damp with melted snow. 

 

“I’ve been waiting to do this for so long,” Namjoon breathes against his lips, and the words seeming to burn against Seokjin’s skin. Namjoon’s lips mold perfectly against his own, moving against his own in a way that makes all of his muscles go pliant. Desire burns fiercely through his veins as a hand snakes behind him, cool fingers trailing up to hold his head in place, so that he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. He can’t help but let out a small gasp as Namjoon’s tongue slides past his lips, hotly into his mouth.

 

After what feels like an eternity, Namjoon finally pulls away, not without difficulty. Seokjin lets him, reluctantly, and he sees through the haze of longing that Namjoon’s lips are tilted up into a crooked smile. Slowly, his senses come back to him, and he narrows his eyes. 

 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” he says coolly, but there’s no edge to his voice and Namjoon knows it, chuckling. 

 

“So, birthday boy, you want my number, huh?” Namjoon wiggles his eyebrows deviously, sounding very satisfied with himself.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Seokjin says, laughing as he shoves Namjoon, who loses his balance and falls with a yelp.

-----

Upon Namjoon’s insistence, Seokjin had finally gotten rid of the twin bed and replaced it with a much more spacious king bed. The first night they spend in it together, Namjoon is tracing a path with his lips along Seokjin’s jaw all the way down to the smooth column of his throat when Seokjin suddenly stiffens beneath him, recoiling from the ghost of Namjoon’s breath against his skin. Namjoon immediately draws back, brows furrowing in concern. 

 

“What happened? Did I do something wrong?” 

 

Seokjin refuses to meet his eyes, seemingly withdrawing into himself, and a pang of worry tugs at Namjoon’s gut. Seokjin’s voice is almost completely level when he breathes out, “No, not at all. I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Namjoon asks, and he can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”

 

“Nothing happened,” Seokjin answers tersely. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay,” Namjoon murmurs, not wanting to push any more. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice as soft and gentle as the kisses he leaves along Seokjin’s face. Seokjin gives a small nod, as if to say, “It’s okay,” and Namjoon wraps his arms around Seokjin, drawing him closer, holding him firmly against his chest. 

 

“You can tell me whenever you’re ready,” Namjoon whispers against Seokjin’s skin, pressing another tender kiss against his temple. Seokjin’s only response is to bury deeper into Namjoon’s embrace. 

 

A few days later, Seokjin approaches him, footsteps alighting the floor as soft and timid as a feather. Namjoon sets down the papers he had been looking over without a word and Seokjin sits down on the couch beside him, curling his knees to his body. He wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his kneecaps, and is quiet for a few moments. Namjoon waits patiently. 

 

Eventually, Seokjin begins talking in hushed tones, telling him the story of his ex-boyfriend. 

 

Seokjin tells him how his ex had been sweet and kind to him at the beginning of their relationship, and how the sugary words had soon turned to poison after they moved in together. Seokjin tells him how quickly his tender gestures had turned to violent blows and how he had been too afraid to escape the abuse. Seokjin tells him how he had hoped to change him, that he blamed himself for losing the compassionate man that he had once loved. 

 

Namjoon’s heart swells in his chest until he feels like he might burst, a fierce sense of protectiveness blazing through his veins. 

 

Seokjin tells him, sadness cracking his voice, that it was only after his ex had pinned him to the floor with a hand around his throat, had forced himself upon him, had spit in his face as he had laid curled on the floor afterward and told him he meant nothing, that he had finally left, taking all of his belongings and leaving without a word the next morning. 

 

Black tints the edge of Namjoon vision as a terrifying fury engulfs him, burning through him, threatening to consume him. He can’t think, can’t breathe - he doesn’t even notice himself reaching for his gun and striding toward the door, is only aware of the singular desire to exact retribution. It is only Seokjin, in tears and pleading, tugging at his arms in a frantic desperation, who finally manages to calm him down and promise never to do anything about it. Between sobs, he manages to choke out that he doesn’t want revenge, only to forget the past. 

 

Namjoon, never having been able to tell Seokjin anything but the truth, lies straight through his teeth, the words like acid on his tongue. “I promise.”

 

The very next day, Namjoon begins looking for the man, digging meticulously through various databases and sending feelers through his network of contacts. It takes him only a few days to find the man and only a second to pull the trigger that kills him. 

 

Namjoon returns home that night with his head down and tells Seokjin what happened immediately - he had never been able to lie to him, except for that one time. He speaks softly but his tone is unapologetic, and though Namjoon expects Seokjin to be angry, Seokjin only sighs and walks away. 

-----

A few weeks later, Namjoon walks home and is greeted by a very drunk Seokjin. 

 

A dazed expression of happiness glazes over Seokjin’s face when he realizes that Namjoon is back, and he hops up quickly from where he was sitting and stumbles over to the doorway, arms outstretched. Namjoon swallows down a gag as Seokjin pulls him close, the pungent scent of bitter alcohol on his breath washing over him. 

 

“You’re back,” Seokjin mumbles into the fabric of his jacket, “I missed you.”

 

Namjoon can’t help but smile, pressing a kiss to Seokjin’s slightly sweaty forehead. “I missed you too.”

 

“Kiss me,” Seokjin whines huffily, making grabby hands at Namjoon’s face. Namjoon dodges them with ease, laughing.

 

“I am kissing you, silly,” he teases, dropping another kiss on Seokjin’s cheek.

 

“S’not what I mean,” Seokjin slurs slightly, and his pout is too cute for Namjoon to resist.

 

“Okay, okay,” he finally relents, dipping down to brush his lips against Seokjin’s plush ones. He quickly shucks off his jacket, dropping it on the floor in a disheveled heap behind him, and brings his hands up to cup Seokjin’s flushed face.

 

Seokjin leans into his touch, his fingers climbing up the front of Namjoon’s chest to clutch at the fabric and pull him closer. Entangled together, Seokjin stumbles backward tipsily, dragging Namjoon along with him until they tip over onto the couch in a messy heap. 

 

Seokjin lets out a little giggle as he watches Namjoon struggle to dislodge his arm from underneath Seokjin’s body, making zero effort to help. 

 

“You’re hopeless,” Namjoon says breathlessly, his voice half-teasing and half-adoring. Seokjin grins blithely, voice sounding very far away as he responds cheekily, “I know.”

 

Namjoon shakes his head, chuckling to himself, his fingers deftly ing the front of Seokjin’s shirt. Gently, he presses another kiss against Seokjin’s lips, and then lowers himself to bring his mouth against the sharp edge of Seokjin’s collarbone. Seokjin gives a little gasp at the contact, and Namjoon is careful to avoid touching Seokjin’s neck as he leaves a small trail of kisses down the smooth expanse of Seokjin’s chest.

 

Suddenly, Namjoon feels familiar, slender fingers wrap around his wrists and he looks up in confusion.

 

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Seokjin whispers, any hint of amusement or joy wiped from his face. His voice is as fragile as glass and he’s not looking at Namjoon. 

 

“You’re glad who is dead?” Namjoon asks gently, his mind still slightly dazed and a few steps behind. 

 

Seokjin squeezes his eyes shut, as if chasing away a painful memory. “M’glad you kill him,” he mumbles quietly. 

 

“Ah,” Namjoon sighs, the realization washing over him like a bucket of cold water, instantly sobering him up, even though he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol.

 

Seokjin opens his eyes, looking at him through a watery lens of distress, and Namjoon can only stare back helplessly. 

 

“Does that make me a horrible person? Seokjin mumbles sadly, sounding as if he’s afraid that Namjoon might answer. 

 

Namjoon gives a hopeless little smile, bringing his arms up to wrap around Seokjin. Seokjin allows him this, his fingers falling away limply from Namjoon’s wrists. 

 

“No,” Namjoon says gently, drawing him closer. Seokjin rests his head on Namjoon’s shoulder, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rest against Namjoon’s chest, feeling his heart beat thrumming just below. “You’re not a horrible person. In fact, you’re the most wonderful person that I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Namjoon breathes out, a sad smile ghosting his lips. 

 

Seokjin only sniffles in response.

 

Namjoon pulls back so that he can look Seokjin in the face, but Seokjin refuses to meet his gaze. 

 

“I love you.”

 

The words slip out before Namjoon can take them back and Seokjin’s eyes flutter open in surprise, his red-rimmed eyes flicking up to meet Namjoon’s.

 

With a jolt, Namjoon realizes that he’s never admitted that aloud before. 

 

A few weeks ago, Seokjin had said the same words to him. It had been late at night, under the alluring and secretive cover of darkness, while they had been lying in bed together, limbs tangled together and breaths mingling. Namjoon hadn’t been able to respond, could only let the words hang heavy in the air. Seokjin hadn’t seemed to mind. He did not have a problem with loving someone who did not love him back. 

 

Namjoon had not let it bother him too much, either. It was something he never believed he was capable of, falling in love, and he told Seokjin as such. There was always too much wrong with the world, too much to do, too much danger and death and collateral damage. It was easier to believe that love was something he could never have, something he could never even let himself think about. 

 

And yet, saying the words out loud, he knows that they are the truth. 

 

He would do anything for Seokjin. 

 

“Y-you what?” Seokjin stammers, blinking rapidly. 

 

“I love you,” Namjoon says simply. The words sound so sure and right coming out of his mouth that he suddenly feels ridiculous for not having said them earlier. It was so obvious, so true. 

 

A sound of disbelief catches in the back of Seokjin’s throat and his tears finally spill forth, leaving behind warm trails of dampness down his face. He lets out a little sigh of contentment as Namjoon wipes away the wetness on his cheeks with his thumb.

 

“Thank you,” Seokjin murmurs against his hand, inhaling the familiar scent of Namjoon. He leans forward against Namjoon’s chest again, sighing as familiar arms snake around him and hold him steady. 

 

“He’s gone now,” Namjoon whispers against his skin. “He can’t hurt you ever again.” Seokjin shivers in his arms.

 

“I know,” he breathes out, muscles going slack, settling in Namjoon’s embrace. He traces a single finger along the curve of Namjoon’s face, marveling at the man holding him in his arms. The dizzying lull of alcohol tugs at his consciousness. 

 

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again,” Namjoon says quietly. A promise. 

 

“I know.” The words are barely a ghost of a whisper. Seokjin’s eyes drift shut and he lets himself fall into the darkness.

 

He knows that Namjoon will be there to catch him.