2.2

The place was always full of people of all kinds and you could really be sure to find anything at the Pub.

At first, Namjoon had felt intimidated by such a different environment that was so diametrically opposed to his life, clean white shoes and home with an impeccably maintained garden. It hadn't taken long though for him to be fascinated by the confusion, the crowd, and the noise of excitement, which was his favorite background music when he stood on the stage, like a lull anticipating the heat that was going to happen.

The stage is intimidating, but it's also addicting. It was a phrase Namjoon had heard from one of the many musicians who, stacked in that same little room on the back that he and Yoongi used for the tests, waited for his turn. Namjoon had understood those words only afterwards, when he had been given the honor to finally step on that stage himself.

"Only when we are sure you won't make a fool of yourselves," had said one of his mentors, a much older and experienced musician who had been watching the impatience of the youngsters with seraphic fun.

It had been... how could Namjoon describe the experience in words? He had been terrified, he was quite certain that if it had not been for Yoongi who had pushed him forward, he would not have even remembered how to put a step after the other. Namjoon did not remember anything of that first time. He remembered, however, the sensation of adrenaline running wild in his system, and once he had come down from the stage, he had wanted immediately to go back. Was it possible to feel so alive, so at home with the simple act of shouting rhymes on a stage? Yes, it was possible.

He and Yoongi had looked at each other then, and they had seen the same hunger for the same dream.

"We have to do it, Namjoon. At all costs. " Yoongi used to whisper in those afternoons when a verse didn't sound right, no matter how many times they had tried to fix it. Namjoon had understood the sentiment so well, even though his determination did not arise from the same desperation thatYoongi had felt. For his best friend, it was as if the stage was his foundation, his only certainty,because playing music was his only way to escape and the only thing he would ever agree to do in life. The crowd and the stage, Yoongi would have sacrificed everything for them.

Namjoon was different. It was not the stage itself, it was connecting with the audience. He was much happier when someone came backstage and told him a piece made by him had meant a lot. He had to know that there was someone out there who had experienced similar emotions and that his music at least for someone made sense. That was what he could not give up. To know that the crazy lucubrations of his mind were not really crazy and that there were people who by listening to his words would think, for me, it's like that too. That was his need and for that, he would have done everything. Perhaps in a sense, the music had always succeeded in making him feel less lonely.

Inconceivable.

They would have said. Making us feel less alone is the role of our soulmate.

"Yoongi, do you ever wonder what would happen if we met our soulmate long before we actually met them?" Yoongi had looked at him for a moment and then without an apparent reason he had laughed as if he had heard the funniest joke of the year. Namjoon shook his head, and yet those laughter had never seemed to less joyful to his ears.

"Every day," Yoongi whispered later. Namjoon didn't make the connection until he had come home and realized that those words said so casually were the answer to his question. And if it were a thing and not a person? Namjoon had thought then. He shook his head, Yoongi would laugh again at that question.

That particular thought came to his mind when he had to climb over the window of his room so he could sneak out of Kim's residence and go to the Pub as he had agreed with Yoongi. That was what he was willing to do for his great love: music.

The task, though, had been particularly demanding, even when his room was on the ground floor, for a lot of different reasons. The first one was that the window was particularly high; the second one, although he had long legs, he had very little body coordination and it was very likely that he would have ended up smashing his face on the floor; lastly, someone, for example, Seokjin, could have knocked at his door at any moment and he would have lost the concentration, resulting in him crashing his face on the floor in any case.

Luckily, nothing of that kind had happened, he had managed to get out of the window with rare finesse, his jeans now had a hole, but considering his past accidents due to his clumsiness, it was something to be proud of. Of course, at that point escaping through the main door wouldn’t have been the smartest solution but it had been easy for him to remember that there was a service gate for the staff and he had assumed that his electronic pass would be the same of the front door, and also if that had not been the case, the height of that gate was lower. Luckily no acrobatic exercise was needed and his deductions had ended up being correct. Once in the street, it hadn’t been difficult to call a taxi and get to the place. Maybe for the next time, it would have been better if he had studied the area and the timetable of the buses, but for that time given the last moment plan, it was more than good.

So yeah, in the end, it had not been difficult to get out and meet with Yoongi at the time agreed.

It had been difficult, however, to shake off Seokjin's worried expression when Namjoon had declined his invitation to do something together with the excuse that he didn't feel well. Of course, his soulmate had believed him right away and he had also insisted on bringing him a cup of tea in the room. Don't think about it, he had said to himself while sitting on the back seat of the taxi.

Don't think about it.

Did all numbers two feel the same way when they were in the presence of their numbers one?

Number one was an expression that had always made Namjoon smile, the idea that it was an expression used only by numbers two to address their soulmate as if to say they were the two units that had finally found each other, looked too artificial to be true. Namjoon thought of himself as a rational person, perhaps too much for his own good, at least judging by the glances his mother threw at him whenever he did such comments. Despite his skepticism, though, he had to admit that some things were true. He did feel his heart tightening, this invincible attraction when it came to his number one. He was also weak to Kim Seokjin's smiles as he was weak to the worried expression he sported and felt a sort of relief when his hand casually hand touched Seokjin's, like a sort of inevitable chemical reaction.

But love. That sense of madness, of extreme rapture, of desire to be there for the other, that sense of total belonging that everyone had told was the love between two soulmates, no, he didn't feel any of that kind for Kim Seokjin.

He had tried to talk with his mother but she was convinced that his resistance was due to his animosity towards the Kim family's lifestyle. And maybe she was right or maybe not. Perhaps Namjoon preferred to think that she was wrong, because it was convenient for him to think that Seokjin was not his soulmate, so he could soothe his sense of guilt when it came to his little gentle feelings he felt toward his family and sometimes toward him for the very fact that he was part of it.

He shook his head.

He remembered then how Jin's gaze was full of concern as he had slightly bit his lower lip in an almost imperceptible gesture to anyone except the acute observer and Namjoon had always been one. And because honestly, it was difficult to misssomething about his soulmate’s perfect face.

He basically jumped out of the cab to escape his thoughts.

"You did it," Yoongi said, with the usual detached voice he used for all, as Namjoon entered the small room at the back. Namjoon only nodded and the other shrugged, but there was the shadow of a smile on his lips. "Let's go."

Namjoon shook himself, shuffling the pieces he had been working on for days in his head, before following Yoongi out of the room and towards the back of the stage. He took a deep breath as the bulk of the crowd grew in volume as if someone had opened a lid.

Over there, there was no place for anything else. No headache, no thoughtful anguish, no worries, no matter how futile.

Only him, his voice, and the screams under him.

The next day Namjoon felt horrible. He did not know how he had succeeded in being able to return to the Kim's villa without being discovered and above all without breaking something or breaking his bones in the difficult task of climbing back into his room. He had crashed to the ground so loudly that Namjoon was convinced someone would come to check but it was nighttime and the dependance was far from the other bedrooms and also from the surveillance staff rooms. When it became clear that no one would come, Namjoon went to bed still dressed in his jeans and dirty t-shirt which were probably still impregnated with cigarette smell and who knew what else. However, he was too tired to change and he had even less energy left to take a shower. He would have thought about it the next morning, he said to himself.

It had been a bad idea. The next morning, Namjoon did not even wake up with his second alarm and a waitress had to come to knock at his door. Namjoon had woken up confused, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened, the events of his night out, and the aching in his bones enough of a good morning. He rubbed his face feeling a rag. Perhaps staying with the same clothes that smelled of smoke had not been his most brilliant idea. Then his gaze fell on the clock on the bedside table.

He got up almost stumbling over the bedspread that had fallen on the floor during the night, and rushed in a hurry in the bathroom. He had only twenty minutes to wash, dress, and look decent.

Eighteen minutes later Namjoon was all dressed and he was standing at the main entrance, his shirt miraculously put in the right verse, though at the second attempt, and wearing new trousers without a hole. He saw Seokjin coming out into the driveway leading to the entrance door and Namjoon took advantage of that time to smooth his hair still wet with his fingers and try to catch his breath.

He approached him with his usual way of doing it so comfortably like he did not know the meaning of personal space between them. He felt his fingers tickling the base of his neck as Namjoon was doing his best to not stiffen.

"You still have the collar inside," Seokjin said kindly before leaving a paper bag in his hands. Namjoon almost dropped the content.

"What is this?" he asked, following Seokjin and heading towards the street where the car was waiting for them.

"Breakfast, you sleepy head," he said before opening the door of the car and entering. Namjoon stopped outside the passenger compartment for a moment, frozen. A horrible feeling of guilt struck him in the stomach.

He was a horrible person.

"Are you coming in or not? We'll be late," said Seokjin's cheerful voice from inside the car. Namjoon went inside and tried to appear normal. Someone closed the door behind him and the driver started the car engine.

"Are you feeling a little better today? You still look a bit pale," Seokjin asked. Namjoon did not know if he had to laugh or cry. How could he tell his soulmate that the dark circles he saw were there because of his night escape and that he had lied to him? And not only in that occasion but he that he had lied to himself and his circumstances from the beginning?

"I'm fine Jin, don’t worry," Namjoon replied.

"I'm not convinced, maybe for today it would have been better if you had stayed at home."

"You worry too much, I'm fine," Namjoon said trying to smile, even though he was sure it had come across as a grimace.

"You are my soulmate, of course I'm concerned," Seokjin replied with one of his brightest smiles. And every genuine smile of Jin took away a bit of him.

Namjoon grabbed Seokjin's wrist gently. Seokjin sighed a little surprised because it was rare for Namjoon to begin physical contact.

"Thank you," and Namjoon knew that it would have never been enough because his words were largely inadequate to express anything he felt and that he could not confess. But it wasn't Jin's fault, as dark as it was his reality, it would never have been his fault. Seokjin relaxed in the seat and Namjoon was pleased.

He felt the beginning of a slight headache at the temples but he tried to ignore it.

Dinners with Seokjin's parents at the Kim's residence were perhaps one of the many novelties Namjoon would have liked not to do. As if the horrible lectures at university that day weren’t enough, which by the way had not improved at all, when he had returned home, he had found an invitation from the consul Kim who had demanded their presence at dinner. Namjoon choked an inner sigh as he sat rigidly in front of Jin, who tried to comfort him with a small smile.

Seokjin's parents were not overwhelmingly terrifying, they were very courteous and interested in his life and that of Jin’s. But they were also very deferential, and although Mrs. Kim had an extraordinary beauty that her son had inherited, it often seemed glacial. She was nothing like Seokjin who was thoughtful and whose smiles illuminated all his face, but her behavior came out as cold, even when she used the back of her hand to his and his son's cheek. Namjoon did not doubt her parental love because it was evident in her eyes, but sometimes Namjoon wondered how Jin had managed to live in that big, empty house, where everything had to conform to a certain high level. Perhaps the garden of his home was small, his room even more, and they rarely went out to dinner because they could not afford it but his mother, even though he nagged non stop, gave him often big hugs, his sister had the habit of screaming too much but she was always supporting, and his father, though clumsy and awkward as he was, was good and understanding.

Seokjin's father, on the other hand, inflicted him a subjection Namjoon was not used to. Probably, he thought, it was his role that had shaped his character into what he was now and cause him to be so inclined to have everything under control and to look down on everyone. Namjoon did not dare imagine what it meant to be the first consul and the state ruler. It was said that he would probably end up finding out soon since his soulmate was going to be the successor.

Yet the more he observed the dynamics of the Kim family, the more Seokjin came out as different in that environment and it was not a criticism at all. Namjoon wondered if it was possible that a happening in their life could ever turn what Jin was, a kind and sunny and so extraordinarily disinterested person, in the marble mask that was the first consul Kim.

Seokjin was not perfect Namjoon realized, even if his instinct told him that he was. For example, the older had a crazy mania for order, he arranged and smoothed the folds of Namjoon's clothes, he always made sure they ate at the same table in the canteen and he didn't tolerate delays, he was too over confident and he honestly had a bad, bad sense of humor. But he was Jin, and he seemed to bring a light everywhere he go as if it were a damned light bulb lit at all hours. Although he had lived all the life between those walls and among those rules, Seokjin had lost almost nothing of his spirit, and in comparison him with just a few weeks he spent there, he looked like the Grinch of Christmas.

He sighed, which didn't go unnoticed by Seokjin who raised his eyebrows slightly, as if asking if there was something wrong. Namjoon shook his head imperceptibly and Jin rolled his eyes in the direction of his parents, as if to say that dinner was boring for him as well. Namjoon almost threatened to suffocate in the soup trying to stifle a laugh.

"Are you alright, son?" asked Mr. Kim.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied after it was obvious he would not die of suffocation. He glanced at Jin, who smiled amusedly.

"By the way, since we're all together for dinner, there's one thing I need to tell you." everyone's attention shifted suddenly towards the consul.

"As you know at the end of the month, our Namjoon will be nineteen years old," the latter had to make the effort to not sigh on that half truth. "The event will be celebrated with a big event worthy of the Kim heirs, a great way to introduce Namjoon officially to the society. In this regard, you will be instructed on the right etiquette starting from tomorrow and I'm sure Seokjin will be happy to help you with that too," Seokjin nodded as Namjoon felt the blood freeze in his veins.

Why was he learning about this only now? When was it decided that his birthday had to become a media show and by whom? And why nobody even thought about asking his opinion? Wait, nobody cared about his opinion in that house.

The shock must had been evident on his face because his soulmatemade that expression of affection that Namjoon found almost unbearable again. It was concern, sense of protection, kindness, all feelings similar to those his mother had on her face whenever her son's fever had been too high and didn't want to come down.

It was the expression of uneasiness that people felt towards the suffering of those who they love. And it was there, painted on Jin's face.

"However, we understand that this may make you nervous, Namjoon," added Mrs. Kim. "You just attended two events and they certainly could not prepare you for an event of the size of your birthday party . Luckily, the son of the second Consul Park will get have his birthday party on Thursday of the next week and I think it's a great opportunity to do a test,” he said with one of her rare smiles.

"So it's better if you will be ready for then. Seokjin I count on you," concluded Mr. Kim. He saw Seokjin nodding and his father smiled delighted, after which the talk was left to die and everyone began to eat. Everyone except him, who could hardly swallow the little soup left on his plate.

"Namjoon, Yoongi, what if you are the main s in the show of the next night?" a sked them the organizer of the event and owner of the Pub. Namjoon had to tighten his jaw to prevent himself from doing something embarrassing as to keep his mouth open like a fish while Yoongi, who had always been better than him in keeping his face collected, had only a very short moment of lost before answering with a simple okay.

They had waited till they were safe in the little room on the back, now empty, before jumping in the air, Namjoon, and cursing, Yoongi. Finally, after countless nights spent as fillers, they had their chance. Namjoon was happy, at least his escape was more than justified.

It took a second to his super fast brain to make the counts in his head and realize that that event coincided with the special evening he and Yoongi had earned at the pub.

Namjoon had a plan. It wasn't exactly a brilliant plan but it was a plan. Their turn at the Pub would not start until eleven and a half. Dinner party at the Park would officially start at seven o'clock and Seokjin had assured him they would only stay for a couple of hours. So according to his logic, there was time to go home and sneak out of the window and go to the Pub. He had even checked buses' timetable which had resulted into a more difficult task that what he had assumed since he basically didn't have time to breath. Between regular studying stuff, the new lessons about etiquette, which he had miserably failed, and all the pauses and hours or rest spent instead to composing, Namjoon was exhausted every day.

He and Yoongi had an obsessive correspondence by message, audio files and exchanged feedback sent at all hours of the day and the night. Yoongi had seemed busy and nervous more than usual, with the result that he was stricter than ever with every verse they composed. Again, in his mind, he wondered what was happening to his best friend and again he almost called him and asked him directly what was wrong, but he did not. If everything went well, Yoongi would be more keen to open or answer his question after the show, considering all the adrenaline still in his body.

Or more like Namjoon would take advantage of that moment of distraction to interrogate him.

"We have to do our best Joon. I really need us to do our best,” he had told him once they had come out of the Pub the night of the offer and in the fresh air. And there was so much desperation in his voice that Namjoon, usually more eloquent between the two, had just nodded, though Yoongi probably did not even notice it because he was staring somewhere else, lost in his thoughts.

Those moments passed together could now be memory. Those were the words of the lyrics Yoongi had sent to him encouraging Namjoon to open up too. His friend had asked him to write something different for this time, something that came from himself, and Namjoon had been trying to do it pushed by his words. He was fifteen, though, almost sixteen, and he felt that some things were still unclear and confused for him compared, whereas Yoongi seemed to have his chaos more sorted out. "I've lived for longer," would his friend. But Namjoon felt that perhaps, that way of intending music and that particular way of writing would be more the style of Yoongi and not his.

Because how could he express in words the endless hours of his new life that were heavy on his shoulders, how could he express the guilt that was consuming him from the inside and blended cruelly with an avoidable sense of duty, how could he express his feelings for his soulmate who was always there to hold his hand yet he had never asked him to? How could he express all of this when he just felt lost and confused? How could he?

When everything was too much.

He couldn't possibly take out a nice song from such a terrifying feeling.

"You look really good," Seokjin said from the door of his room. Namjoon had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He didn't look good at all. He looked like a masked penguin in that smoking. Jin instead looked like a fashion model.

"How much do we bet that I can spill something over myself in just an hour?" Namjoon asked with a grin. Seokjin laughed slightly.

"Maybe even less but it does not matter. You'll still look good. Chardonnay's stain on or not, " Seokjin commented, smashing an invisible fold on his shoulder. Namjoon shook his head, then, shrugging his reflection in the mirror, took his cell phone from the bedside table and put it in his pocket. He could not afford to forget it, it was essential to see the time and read Yoongi messages.

They stayed for a while in his room to talk a bit about silly things, Seokjin was always interested in the books that Namjoon read, he always said that he had a taste for interesting readings. Finally, they came to call them.

"They're not so terrible you know," Seokjin said once they were in the corridor seeing how Namjoon was nervous. The latter gave him a glance.

"Well okay, maybe a bit they are. But eventually, you'll get used to it. "

"Sometimes I wonder how you managed to survive among all these constraints," Namjoon blurted out unable to stop himself. He bit his tongue a little later. He should not have said that.

Seokjin looked at him but he did not seem to be offended at all.

"Sometimes I ask that myself too, Joonie. I know it's not easy for you, believe me it's not easy even for me. Every now and then I have the impression that the meshes of this cage will never loose but they will continue to shrink but then before succumbing to a negative thinking, I try to say myself that I'm lucky that it could have been worse. I could have much worse destinies. I could not have a soul mate, I could not have met you." Seokjin said.

Namjoon had always bragged about being a person who could express himself well. Everyone had always said that he was a good speaker, but then there was Jin who with simple words always managed to break down every response his brain could formulate. Luckily, some staff and the bodyguards came to pick them up. Security that day had been doubled and Namjoon felt a bit weird about that. When they finally arrived at the Park's residence, the feeling of loss became acute. There were so many people, all number two of the highest lineage and then there was Kim Namjoon, his only merit, or misfortune, was having an over-average intelligence and being the soulmate of a Kim. Then he felt Seokjin's fingers intertwine with his.

It was a way to reassure him that it would be all right, that they would get through that as one together. Namjoon took a deep breath. The evening had just begun.

A lot of people came to talk with them, including the second consuls Park and their son, who after having received their congratulations proceeded into politely interrogated him with all sort of questions. Namjoon tried to respond to everything with grace.

"Kim Namjoon, nineteen years old, I study economics," was the juice of what he kept repeating. My name is Kim Namjoon, I'm fifteen and I want to make music.

"You said that these events were not so bad," Namjoon complained after another person had come across them, preventing them from reaching their table.

Seokjin replied, tilting his head to the side with a strange smile. "I'm sorry today is actually harder than usual, at least the food looks divine and we can always have some fun by gossiping about some of these people what do you think? I mean, according to you, who told consul Park that a white smoking was a good idea?”

Namjoon broke out laughing.

The hours kept passing by, and finally, he and Seokjin were left in peace and free to eat a bit, the festivities were reaching their culmination with the arrival of the cake and the toast of birthday boy. Namjoon had hoped that would be their cue to finally leave. He looked at his cell phone worried: it was ten o'clock.

He took a napkin from their table and began to play with it nervously. He had said nothing about this event to Yoongi and he certainly couldn't tell him now it was too late. The show of that night meant too much for the both of them.

However, another hour passed and none of the Kims seemed willing to go back home too early. Namjoon tried to calm himself down and not to panic.

But eleven were approaching and he was caged there. He was still tied to his duties of that new life.

The minutes passed by. Inexorably. He heard the phone vibrate. One time. Then a second time and he knew who he was. He excused himself from the table with the excuse of having to go to the bathroom under Seokjin's attentive look.

The phone continued to vibrate, almost screaming in the pocket of his pants.

Namjoon saw the name of Yoongi flash on the display.

"Where are you?" Yoongi's voice was low and threatening, but it also sounded scarily clear even with the loud music and background shouts.

"I don't know if can come in time. I'm still at a stupid party and I thought it would end by now but I'm still here and I don't know what to do. " Namjoon confessed desperately.

"Tell me you are kidding. Namjoon tell me you're joking!"

"I thought I could do it, but ..."

"I don't give a damn what you thought Namjoon!"

"Yoongi! Do you think I wouldn't prefer to be there rather than being here? Do you really think I don't want to? "

"I do not care what you believe! I needed you Namjoon. I need you now. But you're not here!"

"I–"

The line fell but it was quite certain that Yoongi had just hung up on him.

Namjoon took his head in his hands.

"Namjoon is everything alright?" Seokjin asked. Namjoon wanted to turn around and tell him that no, nothing was alright that everything was going down the hill and that he was probably the most horrible soulmate as well as a bad best friend on earth and everything, everything was going wrong and he had a brain but he was still useless because he could fix nothing, and he would never have succeeded in fixing anything, and he was just good at ruining whatever it had the misfortune to cross his path.

"Yes. I'm just a bit tired,” Namjoon lied. And another boulder fell on him to the weight of another lie.

"I asked my dad if we can retire and he said yes. Come Namjoon, let's go. You look really exhausted," Namjoon nodded and let himself being led by Seokjin's warm hand.

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