Love is a lie (interlude)

When illusions shatter, they haul pieces of our dreams away with them.

Those of Namjoon, however, had taken away such a large portion of his dreams that he wasn't sure there was anything left if not the sound of the echo, the last remnants before the void.

The worst part of the whole matter, even though it was hard to choose which part exactly deserved such an honour, wasn't really the fact of having deluded himself - something that was almost inevitable at his age, it was the fact that he hadn't noticed anything until he was slapped in the face by the truth and made realize that his certainties were resting on fragile premises. What burnt was the knowledge that, in spite of the cynicism of which he had always been proud, he had granted himself the luxury of letting himself go, and had hence stopped deliberately to asses the facts, accepting them exactly like they had been revealed to him.

He had begun to hope that everything could be real and, at a certain point, he had started believing it to be so. It was this, he told himself, the backlash of wanting something more than any other thing in the world.

Somehow, at some point, Namjoon had ended up wanting Jin and, in doing so, he had undermined the basis of whatever rational foothold that was keeping him together until then. The rest had been consequential.

Yet, he had not imagined his feelings, the acceleration of his palpitations when he was next to him, that sense of profound well-being he felt only when they were together.

How could love be a lie when love was the only thing that should have been real?

It was too big of a contradiction, an overly complicated equation that he could not solve. Once again, Namjoon had failed himself and the only thing he could do was hope that he could stay afloat, clinging desperately to the Kim's boring routine, which he had despised so much before, as if it were a life preserver, anything to keep his mind busy and not hear that obscene whisper that murmured in his ear how much he loved and how completely futile that was.

Since he had returned from Yoongi's house, Namjoon had done his best to hide what he had learned, the algorithm, his feelings, Yoongi, everything, deeply convinced that nothing could come out of his mouth, because how could that help? It would have only made those he loved more unhappy. So even if dealing with Jin had seemed a more thorny challenge than sharing the room with Yoongi that night, Namjoon had done it anyway.

He had returned to the villa then, exhausted and emptied but with the determination to carry out his task properly. Because he had no choice, because doing otherwise would not be useful. So he got up early like every morning, had breakfast with Seokjin and went to class with him. When their hours coincided they had lunch together and still together they returned to the villa every evening, at least when one of the two wasn't required elsewhere for duties related to the Kim family.

The rest of Namjoon's time was spent in the seclusion of his room, writing furiously in his notebooks lyrics of songs that he knew, he had now the absolute certainty, would never leave that room, interrupting occasionally just to text Yoongi who, despite his problems, seemed to have time to worry about him too. Namjoon imagined that evening he had probably made a great impression on him, he vaguely remembered that to Yoongi's questions he had replied with nothing but silence.

Everything was in order, Namjoon’s days were perfect in their copy and paste. Nothing looked different from an external point of view, it was always the same person who ate, studied and wrote texts in his free time, the one wandering inside the Kim mansion.

But even that was yet another illusion, the difference was that this time he had dived in willingly, he had finally stopped struggling and decided that it was better to be absorbed by that house, doing what he should have done from the beginning, when he still thought he had the weapons to make a difference and to be able to change something.

He had finally accepted the truth, and it mattered so little that it was the machine of the algorithm with its combinations - or destiny, as people liked to believe - or even just the cruel designs of someone in the shadows.

Namjoon could not have been anything other than the perfect partner of the Kim's heir and, as such, a Kim too.

In all his years as a child and teenager, Namjoon had often fantasized about the laboratory and how the place where the machine of the algorithm expressed its results in the secrecy of its hidden nest should look like. He liked to imagine the smallest details, despite the certain dose of sarcasm that was added as the years passed, starting from the size of the room, the level of sophistication of the equipment, the type of staff that could work and so on.

His favorite versions of the laboratory were essentially two, both very imaginative but also conflicting. There was the science-fiction vision made of purple neon lights, immaculate white walls and white-coat people; and then there was the decadent one, that pictured an old abandoned basement in an old house where a generation old computer randomly foretold its predictions.

And now that Namjoon really had the chance to see this place with his eyes, for real and not only with those of his mind, he immediately realized that reality was both above and below his expectations.

The laboratory where the machine of the algorithm was kept looked like any ordinary office of any accounting and administration department of a company, even though it certainly had a more aseptic taste when it came to furnishing choices.

The main room consisted of numerous desks crammed into cubicles where anonymous-looking people were busily working (Namjoon imagined that trying to filter the amount of data the machine spit out at the minute required a lot of effort), however, Mr. Kim didn't even bother to glance at the room, ignoring the view in front of them as if there had been a solid wall to divide the corridor from the offices instead of simple glass windows.

They walked down the faux marble corridor quickly, Mr. Kim's hand resting lightly on his back to lead him forward, as if Namjoon were a guest of honour and the former his personal tour guide. Namjoon would have preferred not to be touched at all, because although gentle, even paternal, Mr. Kim's gesture seemed more like the paw of a predator rather than the caring gesture of a family member.

Namjoon glanced at the profile of the man who was now a relative of his, wondering once again where the resemblance to his son could ever be. Maybe there was something in his smile that reminded him of Seokjin and certainly their body build was similar, same broad shoulders as well as same gnarled fingers. But he had never seen Mr. Kim's smile reach his eyes even once, he had never seen his fingers grasp anything but documents or make even a small gesture of affection even small, whereas Seokjin often ran his fingers across his crumpled collar and gently caressed the skin of his neck and encircled his wrists to guide him in the right direction.

Although it was easy to get distracted at the thought of Seokjin, Namjoon tried to focus on the present in an attempt to gather as much information and details as possible.

For years, Namjoon had wondered what was behind the system, with a curiosity that had intensified since he had set foot in the Kim mansion and had been exasperated by the studies he had done on request of the family.

He couldn't deny that a part of him had even questioned his own skepticism, assuming that his conversations with Yoongi on the veracity or not of the algorithm were just rumors of those who had not experienced the process, and therefore not objective. However, even when Namjoon finally had the opportunity to experience firsthand what it meant to be a number two, his doubts had not been resolved at all.

Namjoon hadn't felt any different after the introduction, the center of gravity of his world had not changed after meeting Jin and the life in which he had been dragged had only exacerbated his doubts. If he had ever come to that point, to the point of feeling something deep and real towards Seokjin, Namjoon suspected it wasn't the algorithm, but mostly the older's merit. For the qualities he had, for the way he had always taken care of Namjoon, for his flaws that existed but made him more human, simply for the person he was.

So it was only natural that Namjoon felt deeply confused, and having under his eyes the experience of his best friend Yoongi, whose heart wasn't just split in two but literally trashed to pieces in the impossibility of going beyond his contradiction, certainly didn't help him to make up his mind. This moment, even though it frightened him, was very significant for him.

There were numerous closed doors that faced the corridor, but Mr. Kim pushed him straight. Any secret concealed behind them would have to remain unveiled. But after all it wasn't so important to learn everything that day, and neither he was eager for that to happen. He suspected that in any case over the years many of those doors would open to him, yet for the time being he would be content if only that one door opened.

Maybe that way he would be able to find the answer that would have made it all clear, the logical explanation that would have adjusted every distorted piece of the puzzle and put an end to his uncertainty and who knew, maybe even find a reasonable answer that could soothe Yoongi's agony.

The hallway soon arrived at its end and Namjoon found himself facing yet another sealed door. However, this time, it seemed that it would not remain so. He saw Mr. Kim approach the retina reader and soon after he heard the sound of seals being opened, the click of a lock disclosed giving the signal to proceed. Mr. Kim nodded at him in reassurance, inviting him to open the door with that characteristic smile of his that was pleasant but failed to reach his eyes.

Namjoon didn't wait for it to be repeated twice and, with a certain apprehension mixed with a veil of excitement, he turned the handle and opened the door.

He realized immediately that the place was more protected than the simple wooden door would ever give away and probably that was the reason why the material had been chosen, in order to avoid attracting attention. The scanner had opened an armored door and other glass doors that Namjoon supposed were bulletproof.

His eyes, however, didn't dwell for a long time on these details and moved rapidly to scan the immensity of the room. Rows of machines followed one after the other, connected to one another by a bundle of cables that seemed to lead in one direction. As guided by a primal instinct Namjoon hadn't needed for Mr. Kim to tell him where to go, he knew that it would be enough for him to follow the direction of the cables row by row of that huge room, to get to their destination.

He felt his breathing turn labored and cold sweat gather at the base of his nape, but he didn't mind it, instead he accelerated his pace, even if it meant leaving Mr. Kim behind (a trivial detail, especially in front of what awaited them at the end) and did not stop until he arrived at what seemed like the last corner. Finally, when Namjoon looked over the last row of mega computers, he saw it, the primary computer that processed the algorithm, the source of everything, the machine that with its numbers moved world two.

It was a simple computer placed on a desk, one of those old wrecks that appeared on TV when they talked about past technology. The only thing that detonated modernity was the endless series of sequences of 1 and 0 that flowed on its screen. Each sequence appeared different from the other, and Namjoon hypothesized that those were the sequences acquired based on the genetic heritage of the different individuals.

For a long moment Namjoon stood there, staring at the screen as if hypnotized, aware that he was observing the flow of the world and its relationships. But he soon realized that those numbers, even when fascinating, were meaningless without a key of reading. He turned to Mr. Kim questioningly. If they had come here just to see this, Namjoon thought it was all time wasted, but Mr. Kim saw his look and smiled sardonically as if he had read his mind. A shiver ran down Namjoon's back.

"The first time I saw it, I also thought “is that all?”” Mr. Kim said with a mocking smile.

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek to not answer and tell him that no, he had not thought the same thing at all, his perplexity was towards Mr. Kim and not the computer. He decided, however, that it was better to listen to what the man's intentions were.

"This computer is not the original one, but the researchers driven by sentimentality have tried to recreate the appearance that was supposed to have a computer back then when they redesigned its layout. The only authentic piece is the motherboard that, although it has been adapted and updated over the decades so that it could be compatible, it has never been substituted. Many, and you will be surprised to know, especially among the scientists, tend to have almost a reverential attitude towards the matrix that first recorded the encoding, even coming to attribute to it a providential power. It seems a bit silly considering that they are the first to know that the string of the algorithm was conceived by a common human being like us, even though smarter and brighter than the average," said Mr. Kim, letting out a light laugh.

"But leaving aside these technical details, I guess you're wondering why I brought you here," he added, the tone turning serious all of a sudden.

Namjoon tried to hide his impatience and decided to answer laconically, "Yes, I asked so myself."

Mr. Kim nodded and then took one of the chairs placed next to the desk on which the computer rested to take a seat, as he motioned for Namjoon to sit on the other. Namjoon felt a surge of nervousness as he reluctantly sat down. He would have preferred to keep standing, but Mr. Kim's gaze was heavier than a command.

He took the chair that had been indicated to him and sat down in front of him.

"You once asked me what the coefficient of the algorithm was, and why there were no sources available that would explain the concept comprehensively and I told you that the coefficient was a subject covered by government secrecy."

Namjoon saw Mr. Kim caressing his chin, betraying the shadow of some sort of emotion for the very first time.

Namjoon said nothing, he waited for the man to proceed because he felt adrift, as if he had been guided deep in a forest and the only guide was that man. Mr. Kim suddenly opened a desk drawer, making Namjoon jump slightly, and it took him a moment to realize that Mr. Kim was only looking for documents. As they were passed on to Namjoon, their glances met and the young man noticed the same hazel of Seokjin's eyes in the face of Mr. Kim, a person he did not like at all. It annoyed him more than was rationally acceptable.

He took the document from Mr. Kim's hands, focusing immediately on them as his eyes moved feverishly to read as quickly as possible. His first feeling was confusion. The document looked like a family history, full of all kinds of information about a series of individuals (he counted three) and for a moment he did not understand how this could answer his question on the coefficient. But just when he was about to give voice to his thoughts and ask Mr. Kim what all this meant, Namjoon finally came to the last page of the short file where percentages, in increasing order with a column chart that visually highlighted the disparity, were displayed.

He immediately noticed that the last two results were identical but also that one of these had been highlighted and chosen as the final result. A glimmer of understanding began to make its way into his mind, and when his eyes read the numbers, Namjoon felt a squeeze in his stomach, followed by a slight hint of nausea when he realized what those numbers indicated.

"Seventy-three percent?" Namjoon asked weakly to Mr. Kim, his heart beating wildly.

"Seventy-three percent is an excellent result these days," Mr. Kim replied with the good-natured tone of a teacher answering a particularly intelligent question from one of his students.

Horrified, Namjoon looked back at the numbers as if they could magically change, but they remained unchanged on paper. Seventy-three percent, his mind continued to read again and again in the hope that the meaning could be different but in vain.

Seventy-three percent.

Twenty-seven percent margin of error.

His fingers squeezed the sheets as more horror was added to his initial horror when the rest of the data was finally clearer. It was not even an absolute seventy-three percent, there were two final results with the same probabilities, and the scariest thing was the existence of at least a dozen results with a number very close to the chosen one, the difference barely visible in cents.

Namjoon felt himself freeze in his bones, rigid muscles that nailed him to his chair.

"This is a pairing, isn't it? A real match? "Namjoon asked, breathlessly.

"Yes. What you have in hand is the official document for matching a pair of numbers two. The genetic profile of these people has been analyzed and the algorithm has calculated their level of compatibility. The ones you see are the results," explained Mr. Kim, calmly. The peaceful tone, instead of reassuring Namjoon, ended up raging him, turning his shock into a cold rage.

"Seventy-three percent is too low, the margin of error is too wide and you are telling me that despite this result the combination has been approved?"

Mr. Kim remained unfazed even when Namjoon had raised his tone of voice to an almost hysterical level.

"Yes, if you consider that the minimum threshold is sixty-five percent." he replied, quietly.

Namjoon wanted to throw up. Thirty-five percent margin of error.

"It surprises me that you are so shocked, Namjoon. I thought you had been suspecting it for a while. In your essay, you said that the problem is not the system itself, but the people who carry on the system. The human factor," Mr. Kim replied, impassive expression staying on his face. "You know the history of the algorithm, you have studied it countless of times at school and have certainly had the opportunity to deepen the subject at my request. All those researches on the consular legislation that seemed so boring and useless had this as its purpose: to make you understand the degradation of the system.

Our founding fathers in their infinite wisdom decided to build a more just and fair world based on the algorithm, creating a system that, then they could not know, would solve most of the problems of our human society. Back then the main problem they were trying to solve, and the reason why research on the human genome had begun, was finding a way to reverse the dramatic decline in births. This decline was not so much based on infertility but on the high infant mortality rate that had spread and discouraged gestation. The first pairings made following the indications of the algorithm had immediately given positive feedback. Couples were not only able to conceive of one hundred percent certainty but were able to conceive healthy babies. From the first experiments, it was immediately evident that all the children who were the result of the pairings had a stronger genetic make-up and a longer life expectancy.

The step from encouraging the population to follow the indications of the algorithm to make the latter imperative was quite short, even if not painless.

It took decades of narrative and targeted propaganda to make the concept more acceptable, it helped that the combinations made through this method seemed not only to work on a genetic level but also on an affective one, with the lowest rate of separations ever recorded in the history of humanity. Soon this machine as an instrument of oppression turned into an instrument of providence. However, as you pointed out in your essay, the biggest flaw in the system is the human factor. We are weak Namjoon, no matter how many solutions we find, human beings always find a way to pollute their miraculous discoveries, we dirty them with our ambition and our personal interests. We trust the system blindly and wrongly so because there are people in the system and people are far from perfect. As you can imagine in the course of the century, though not numerous, there have been many interferences in the system," Mr. Kim ended up puffing with diabolical sarcasm.

Namjoon was still motionless in his chair, stiff as a sheet of ice as he listened to the truth from Mr. Kim's mouth.

"The system was manipulated..." Namjoon said, lips that were barely moving. "How many times?" He found the courage to ask, even if hearing the answer horrified him greatly.

"Does it matter? Even just once would have been enough to crack the entire balance. Every person who, for personal reasons, has decided to pilot the system in his favor to have a more advantageous combination, has ended up reducing the possibilities of others and with time - inevitably - they ended up undermining the quality of the combinations themselves. You read the decrees, the more time passes, the more frequent it is necessary to change the paradigm of the algorithm, in the hope of keeping the system intact even if it has been irremediably infected for some time," concluded Mr. Kim, relaxing on the chair.

How could this man remain calm in front of the evidence of the collapse of an entire system? Of human lives?

"And so with each generation that passes the bonds created by this machine are getting weaker and weaker, the margin of error tolerated wider, in a downfall that seems to reach no end." Namjoon pronounced with such a cold tone that he could not recognize it as his own.

A serious, dense silence followed this statement, the truth that weighed between them like a steel curtain and Namjoon wanted to tear his ears out to hear nothing else. Nothing else, because it was already too much.

"I know it's a difficult truth to digest. I know that very well,” Mr. Kim said, his sudden heartfelt tone that hid a note of urgency. His fingers tightened on his wrist and Namjoon wanted to tear his arm out of that claw, but the connection brain to muscles seemed to not work.

"I also found myself in that same chair, in your own uncomfortable position when my father revealed this same truth to me. It's something that changes you, I know that more than anyone else. But we cannot afford weaknesses, our society or even our family cannot afford it. The role you and Seokjin will have in trying to stem this fall is crucial,” Mr. Kim said with sudden vehemence, managing to shake Namjoon from his torpor. Why did Kims always seem to have a second goal?

"You and Seokjin are the perfect couple we've been waiting for. My son, God bless us for this, even though intellectually average, has the gift to result pleasant to ordinary people; while you Namjoon, with your skills, are the best adviser that a first consul could ever hope to have. The laws we promulgate will be more digestible if they have your face. When the time comes you and Seokjin will have to put aside your personal preferences and activities and act in the interests of us all," and he said it looking at Namjoon straight in the eye, and the latter had the horrible impression the other was perfectly aware of the activities that both he and Seokjin believed to do secretly. He also had the terrible feeling of being, once again, mere pawns in the hands of larger interests.

"What do you and the Senate have in mind?" Namjoon then asked, almost by inertia. He did not want to know, he never wanted to know, but what would have changed if he discovered it now or in a couple of years, the truth would have been thrown at him anyway. For the first time, he saw Mr. Kim show an inner turmoil. It did not calm him at all.

"The truth is that more than half of the numbers two barely exceeds the acceptance threshold. It is for this reason that to avoid unpleasant consequences, new laws, more severe but also safer, must be implemented. If the machine is left to work in peace, over time the minimum coefficient will rise, the concept of number two will be reborn and we will return to having a real majority.”

Namjoon had clamped his fingers on the documents so violently that he had made the latter unpresentable, but after all, he couldn't bring himself to bother with similar details when the only thing he wanted to do was take his head in his hands and scream.

It was all a fat, giant lie.

How many numbers two did go around believing in their status when mere cents separated them from the threshold? How many numbers zero had been deprived of happiness because someone had tampered with the pairings in their favor?

It was not the machine’s fault, it was these people's, these people who in their erse ambition had arrogated themselves the right to decide who was inside and who was out based on mere calculation and convenience and not on equity. And all this just to maintain a system that legitimized their power.

It was not providence, it was not destiny. They played with people's lives as if it were a dice game.

Unable to look the man in the eyes, Namjoon looked down as he tried in some desperate way to collect his thoughts and not get lost in the depths of despair. Later he would have cursed that moment, in which his eye, looking down, read on the battered paper an information that had escaped him before.

The date of birth of the first person registered in the file was familiar.

Then, as if seized by a feverish anxiety, he reopened the file and reread each page, line by line, trying to ignore the weight of the gaze of the other who was watching him.

Height, weight, blood type were plausible but it could still have been a coincidence if it had not been for the date and place of birth. And then he reread the other two profiles attached, a male and a female, the two that corresponded precisely to that seventy-three percent and saw how the female was chosen to the detriment of the male.

"This dossier is not a random dossier. You showed this to me with a specific intent,” he spat out in disgust as he prayed in his head, hoping that Mr. Kim would contradict him. He had to contradict him.

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze limpid as if he did not care about tearing his world apart.

"You're right, I showed you this on purpose so that you fully understand the weight that this family bears and will continue to carry in the future. Your friend's case is not the only case with binomial compatibility, and if the decoy won't be managed it will not be the last one.”

"Based on what criteria it was decided that this was the best combination, what nasty reason was brought to justify such disregard of the free will?" Namjoon asked, getting up from his chair. He wanted to tear the file to pieces and throw it in Mr. Kim’s face, but the deep and serious gaze of that man froze him on spot.

"Based on the most logical solution. Between two peer candidates but of different es, the machine will always favor the choice that allows reproduction,” Mr. Kim replied with simplicity.

The first pairings made by the machine were intended to promote the conception of healthy children.

Namjoon stood there, paralyzed in anger at something that existed and that he could not prevent, full of indignation towards this individual who seemed to feel no concern, and crashed by the desperation to realize that everything he had believed could be untrue and all he had suspected could be certain. Because, after all, he had in his hands, in those crumpled sheets of paper written in black and white, the evidence of manipulation and the primary cause of so much unhappiness.

And if it happened to Yoongi, why not to many others, why not to Namjoon?

What made him a number two, what percentage was written on his and Jin's file, what guaranteed that their combination was lawful and not the result of some ad hoc adjustment? The perfect match Mr. Kim had defined them, with a sense of pride in his voice that sounded sinister and hurt Namjoon in ways he had not anticipated.

The possibility that his relationship with Seokjin might have been piloted, that his feelings might have been induced, plagiarized, was concrete.

He understood then when he realized that it might have been all fake, only then he understood how deep his attachment to Seokjin had become.

"You can stay here and reflect for as long as you want Namjoon and when you want to leave, it will be enough for you to press the red button at the entrance. I know I asked you a lot today son, but with time you will understand and thank me," said Mr. Kim, standing up and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. Namjoon did not even spare him a glance. He stood there, impatient to hear the steps that were moving away and only when he finally heard the sound of seals closing only then, in the solitude of that labyrinth, Namjoon allowed himself to collapse.

His legs gave away and he went limp on himself, unable to support his weight, unable to stand the truth. Unable to wrap his head around it.

They had no escape, they never had, they were trapped inside the system of which they would soon be accomplices. But more than anything else, everything that had happened to him, from beginning to end, could have been a devilish machination to lead him to that moment.

The proof of how far the interference and manipulation could be pushed was in that file. In Yoongi's life.

Please, someone tell me that what we have is real. That you and I are real.

Namjoon stood on his knees for a long time.

Namjoon woke up tired and hot.

He had not slept well that night. To tell the truth, he did not sleep well any night, and due to his weariness, it had been difficult to carry on the daily activities. Lately, he was having trouble sleeping, his brain did not want to turn off and tortured him with terrible headaches, and even when he finally managed to fall asleep, he slept little and badly and his sleep was tormented by nightmares.

So that afternoon, when he got back from class, he had taken a nap. For once he did not have to do any studies for the Kims and with Seokjin having a lesson that ended up late, Namjoon had not felt guilty about going home on his own and recovering some sleep.

In fact, that evening both he and Seokjin had been invited for a charity event, and as heirs of the consular title their participation was not only desirable but required.

In order to maintain an image of a charitable and generous couple, the Kim's entourage had said, even though judging from Seokjin's expression it was clear he found nothing worthwhile in doing that as he too, like Namjoon, considered that another occasion for the family to show off. It was the hypocrisy and the calculation behind it that made everything hateful.

That's why in view of a boring as unpleasant evening, Namjoon had decided to try and recover some of the lost sleep.

"Namjoon?"

A sweet and clear voice came from behind him. Namjoon opened his eyes suddenly, trying to fight the remains of sleep and focus. He was in his room exactly where he remembered he had fallen asleep. Seokjin had to be back from a class before time and somehow had decided to take a nap next to him. That explained the feeling of warmth on the back, from where he could feel the body of the other give off heat.

Namjoon turned slowly, though reluctantly. He knew he could not ignore the older's presence and follow the instinct that told him to hide his head under the pillow, so he turned to look at him even, though Seokjin's sight hurt in ways he could not confess.

Seokjin was perfect even with his eyelids still heavy with sleep and his hands furiously rubbing his eyes to wake up. When their gazes met, Namjoon still felt that feeling of well-being that the older brought to him lately, but at the same time, he felt betrayed and dirty from the truth that poisoned his mind and heart and prevented him from enjoying his feelings for Jin with serenity.

“I had come looking for you I don't even remember for what, but then I saw you were asleep and you tempted me, and I told myself what if I lie down for a moment, and before I realized I fell asleep too like a sack of potatoes," Seokjin explained, scratching behind the back of his neck and almost managing to make Namjoon smile.

If only everything could be reduced to those moments when there were only the two of them and their affection. But they could never have that, they were trapped inside the rest.

"Luckily I woke up in time, if we slept a little longer we would have got into trouble. It's better if I go and get ready in my room so you can get ready too," Seokjin said fondly, nudging Namjoon.

Seokjin could be unaware of his thoughts, but it was as if he could unconsciously understand the disturbance of the other as his attentions towards the younger were more thoughtful, his smiles sweeter and his gestures always aimed to show his affection.

Having this Seokjin in front of him, so attentive and caring, made everything so wonderful that it hurt.

And then Namjoon did something that he had rarely done because he had never allowed himself to accept feelings that he thought were inconvenient, much less succumb to them. However, the time to lie to himself had come to end, the only reason why Seokjin's sight hurt him so much was the fear that their story might have been distorted. So he threw his arm around his torso, tugging him closer, drowning himself into his warmness to possibly forget his terror for a moment.

The terrifying doubt that Seokjin did not really belong to him. The possibility that soulmates for them was just a word that was even more empty than what he had initially suspected. That they did not belong to each other and that there was someone out there with a coefficient higher than his, more perfect for Seokjin and that could make him more happier than Namjoon could ever be able to.

"Five minutes?" Namjoon murmured, dragging him under the covers, down, with him. He didn't need to look at Seokjin's face to see that he was surprised, his body stiff as common sense protests seemed about to leave his lips.

Yet, as always, Seokjin indulged his wishes, closed his mouth and opted to relax in the clumsy embrace of Namjoon.

He had once thought that discovering that he had always been right by obtaining the proof that the system was rigged, would have given him a kind of euphoric satisfaction. But Namjoon was young and naive then, he had not met Seokjin yet.

He had not fallen in love with him back then.

He felt silly for his infinite weakness that made him feel guilty for loving, almost as if he needed permission to do so.

Maybe it was not love, maybe it was just need, maybe it was just a fortuitous feeling, maybe it was all fake and he was deceiving himself, but he had come to the point where having Seokjin by his side was too important, even if it meant stepping on his beliefs and his dreams.

Their position was uncomfortable, his arm was asleep under his weight, but Namjoon did not mind. He buried his nose in Seokjin's shirt finding, comfort in the sweet familiar scent of the other.

He felt Seokjin's fingers caress his hair at the base of his neck and Namjoon tightened his grip.

Five minutes to steal Seokjin away from the cruel reality of their world.