“Yoongi, oh !” Namjoon’s screaming in the receiver; his cell phone’s hitched between his ear and his shoulder. “He’s bleeding, Kookie, he’s bleeding. , I broke him, I broke my son!”

Hysteria’s wrapping itself around him like a boa constrictor, and Namjoon believes he’s going crazy and on the verge of losing his mind. He knew this would happen; he’s not good with things. He’s known to break things, to destroy things. Deep down he’s always been afraid that one day, Jungkook, his precious, beautiful baby boy, would become a casualty of his general clumsiness. Why did he think he could raise a child?

“Namjoon, calm down. I’m sure he’s not broken. Tell me what happened,” Yoongi asks calmly. The man’s always composed holding Namjoon still like an anchor in the storm. It’s one of the many reasons he trusts the man so much, why Yoongi’s always his first call.

“He was playing, and then the next thing I know I hear him scream, then a crash, then blood. Oh god, Yoongi, so much blood.”

Namjoon looks around, eyes darting in every which direction as he tries to think of the next steps, but his mind is jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces; nothing makes sense as Jungkook whimpers in his arms. He’s a planner. He has a filing cabinet filled with possible scenarios and how to react if by chance they occur, but as he holds the limp bloodied body of his five-year-old close to his chest, he can’t for life of him figure out what to do next.

“Namjoon, breathe in,” Yoongi guides him.

He inhales.

“Good, now breathe out.”

He exhales.

“The doctor, have you called the doctor? The hospital? Yeah, just take him to the hospital. Children’s General is only about five minutes from your house.” Yoongi words turn on the lightbulb above Namjoon’s head that had failed to come on its own prior.

“Right, right…hospital, the hospital,” he repeats Yoongi words as he walks into the foyer and bends over the table, hooking the keys with his pinky as he runs out the front door to the elevator.

“Want me to meet you there? You okay to drive?” He registers the worry in Yoongi’s tone.

“Yeah, I’m good. I think I’m good. Yes please, come,” Namjoon begs, and his lips tremble around the reply.

“Okay, I’ll be there. Be careful, Joonie. Keep calm. I’ll be there, okay?” He nods his response then remembers they’re on the phone.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Tears sting the corners of his eyes, and by the time the elevator doors open into the parking garage, streams of hot liquid are streaking down the side of his cheeks and pooling at the clavicle bone protruding from his low-cut collar.

“Appa,” Jungkook’s voice is scratchy. “My head hurts, Appa.” The boy’s turned down lips begin to quiver.

“I know baby. Appa’s sorry, but we’re going to make you feel better really soon, okay?” He hugs his son closer as he walks to the black Mercedes, a gift from the publishing company due to the success of his last book. Namjoon can count the amount of times he’s driven the vehicle on one hand.

The car beeps to life after he hits the button with his thumb. He opens the back door and gently sets Jungkook in the booster seat, securing him with the seat belt. The child's head rolls and falls against the seat back. Blood is running down Jungkook’s temple, and Namjoon wipes at it with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Appa, kiss Kookie’s boo boo,” the little boy whimpers and tugs at Namjoon’s shirt, pulling him down.

Namjoon leans in, kissing the area as gently as possible.

“Better? Huh?”

The child nods his head. Namjoon smiles then immediately panics when Jungkook’s eyes begin to droop. He read somewhere that sleepiness after a head injury could be a symptom of a concussion and that it’s best to keep the injured person awake.

“Kookie-ah, Appa needs you to stay awake, okay? Appa’s afraid to drive this big car by himself. Can you sing Twinkle Twinkle Litte Star for Appa?”

“Appa scared? Kookie will keep you safe. I have bigger muskols now.” Innocent eyes look up at him with concern.

“Appa feels safer already. When did my kookiemonster get so strong?”

“Appa gives me yucky bevetables, because they’re good, and I grow biggerer and strongerer than all the bad things so I can beat them up and keep Appa safe.” He chuckles. Jungkook’s declaration has him feeling somewhat calmer.

He kisses the top of the child's head as he stands up and closes the rear door. He climbs into the front seat, pulls the seatbelt across his lap, and fixes the rearview mirror so he can see Jungkook sitting in the back. The youngster looks like a horror movie character, with blood matted in his hair and trickling down the side of his head and red blotches staining his favorite Ironman t-shirt.

“Ready to sing for Appa?” He sees Jungkook nod in the rearview mirror.

“Appa sings, too.” The little boy giggles and swings his feet

“But Appa’s voice isn’t as sweet as Kookie’s.”

“Appa sing, Appa sing, Appa sing,” Jungkook repeats the phrase until Namjoon relents.

Namjoon’s less frantic by the time they reach the emergency room. Jungkook’s still humming the song when Namjoon lifts him out of the booster seat and carries him through the sliding glass doors.

“Oh my, what have we here?” A female, Namjoon assumes is a nurse, asks as he walks towards the registration desk.

The woman has a kind smile and big bright eyes, and Jungkook giggles shyly when she offers him a balloon-shaped lollipop.

“What do you say when someone gives you a gift?” Namjoon reminds his son gently.

“Thank you,” Jungkook responds quickly

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, can you tell me where it hurts?” She smiles as she carefully examines the cut on his forehead. Namjoon feels a tinge of pride when Jungkook doesn’t cry or squirm but holds still, letting the nurse check his bump.

“My top head hurts,” Jungkook tells her and points to the base of his forehead.

“Aww, well after the doctor’s finished cleaning it. I have this Ironman band-aid,” she tells the wide-eyed five-year-old, holding the adhesive strip in her hand.  “You do like Ironman, right?” Jungkook nods his head so hard Namjoon’s a bit worried the child will get another headache. “Well, I promise that once the doctor’s all done, we can put Ironman right over your ouchy so he can help make it better. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Jungkook nods again, a little more aggressively than before.

“Good.” She chuckles and hands Namjoon a clipboard with papers to fill out. “Please fill these out as you wait. What’s his first name?”

“Jungkook.” Namjoon watches the woman’s fingers as they coast along the keyboard with ease.

“Family name?”

“Kim.”

“Date of birth?”

“September first, twenty-twelve.”

“Insurance?”

Namjoon nods and shifts Jungkook to his right side so he can rifle through his pant pocket for his wallet. Air is all he feels as he pushes his hand in the slit. He had left the house in such a frenzy he’d forgotten to take up his wallet.

“!” Namjoon exclaims in frustration.

“Appa, that’s a bad word,” Jungkook whispers in his ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart, Appa didn’t mean to use that word.” He turns to look at the nurse who’s trying but failing to hide her amusement at what just transpired. “I’m sorry, I ran out of the house in such a rush I forgot to pick up my wallet,” he apologizes.

“It’s okay. I can do a quick search for the information. I’ll just need your insurance carrier, your date of birth,  your full name, and your national ID number.”

Namjoon quickly gives her all the necessary information. She gestures him to take a seat once she’s able to retrieve all the information required to register Jungkook. By the time Namjoon finally sits, he’s exhausted, mentally and physically. He settles Jungkook on his lap; the child’s happily on his lollipop and swinging his feet as though he’s not covered in blood and still bleeding from his head.

“Does your head still hurt, buddy?” he asks, combing his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, straightening it the best he can.

“A little.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled by the candy in his mouth.

“Aww, it will feel better soo-”

“Mr. Kim and Jungkook?” A voice coming from behind cuts Namjoon off.

“Yes. Here.” He stands up, fixing Jungkook securely in his arms before turning around.

Two things happen when Namjoon turns around. Two things happen, one of which saves him from almost dropping his son on the ground a second time. Long, gangly limbs that seem not to know how to interact with each other make up Namjoon’s body structure. When he was younger, his mother used to liken him to a baby Ostrich. It wasn’t malicious; it was true. He stumbles easily and often times has to consciously concentrate on his actions to keep from tripping over himself. Awkward, it’s the best word to describe him. His penchant to be all arms and legs with no direction is one of the two things that happens when he turns around.

Two things happen when Namjoon turns around. Two things. He doesn’t expect it, the visual shock he receives when he spins with his child in his arms and sees what can only be described as a manga character come to life, and this, this unexpected occurrence, is what leads to the first of the two things. The doctor is the epitome of cold city man all wrapped up in warm skin, shining eyes, and thick, pouty lips. This sudden appearance of illogical beauty is what leads to Jungkook slowly slipping in his grip as his aforementioned limbs forget how to function. Namjoon’s brain forgets to tell his legs to move, his arms to cling, and his mouth to speak. So he stands frozen solid, like an ice statue at a charity event, staring, panicking, and unable to keep his child from sliding down his chest. This lack of dexterity is the first thing of the two things.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi’s calls from behind him, and it’s his salvation.

Two things happen when Namjoon turns around. Two things which, had he been a functioning human, one who could adapt in social situations, one who could admire flawless good looks without being completely overwhelmed by them, had Namjoon just been normal, neither of these two things would have needed to happen. But he’s not, and so they do. Yoongi’s voice breaks through his haze like some goddamn knight in shining armor, riding in on his white horse and saving the awkward as father in distress who’s about to drop his child on the ground because the emergency doctor looks like a cross between Satsuki Shishio and Azuma Yunoki. Yoongi walking in at just the right moment and Jungkook’s excitement at seeing the man are what saves the youngster from yet another tumble. Yoongi coming in just the nick of time (like he always does) is the second thing that happens and the thing that saves Jungkook from further harm.

“Uncle Yoongi!” Jungkook exclaims excitedly as he scrambles like a monkey swinging on a vine from his father’s grasp to Yoongi’s open arms.

“Kookie-ah.” Yoongi hugs the child to his chest. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I falled down and bumped my head. Then daddy brought me here, and the nice lady gave me a lollipop and said if I was good Ironman would make me better.”  

“Well, I’m not Ironman, but I do what I can,” the manga character speaks once again, and Namjoon remembers how to breathe. “You must be Jungkook?”

Namjoon’s almost at normal functionality by the time manga character, gets Jungkook on the examing table. He marvels at how easily the pediatrician gets the little boy to open up. Jungkook’s usually shy around strangers preferring to hide in Namjoon’s chest or behind his back. Currently, he’s explaining to the kind doctor that he was practicing how to fly by jumping from the chest of drawers to his bed when the ground knocked him down.

“The ground can be a pesky character at times, so rude.” The doctor sounds so earnest Namjoon does a double take to make sure the man is joking. He regrets his decision to glance in the physician’s direction almost immediately—why is he so damn perfect?

“It doesn’t seem like anything’s broken,” the doctor says, turning to face Namjoon and Yoongi who’s standing a little behind the man in the white coat. “I still want to run a couple of tests first. An X-ray of his left wrist; he seems to be nursing it, and I want to rule out a fracture. Secondly, while I don’t believe he has a concussion, he’s alert and responsive to all stimuli, I want to get an MRI just to be safe. Is that okay with you?”

For the second time since stepping through the glass doors of the children’s hospital, Namjoon loses his speech. He stares dumbfounded at the tall man with the broad shoulders and kind, gentle eyes, and he’s panicked because the neurons in his brain aren’t firing and he can’t form a proper response to the doctor’s question. He turns to face Yoongi and pleads with his friend silently to answer on his behalf.

“Yes, that will be fine. Whatever you need to do,” Yoongi answers in his stead, and Namjoon is both grateful and embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the doctor says to Namjoon. “I assumed you were his father.”

“He is my Appa,” Jungkook states with a giggle. “He has, uhm, what’s it called again?” The little boy squinches his brows in concentration. “A-floor-a-gobia? He doesn’t like a lot of people,” Jungkook declares as he slurps the juice from his lollipop.

Namjoon smiles awkwardly at the doctor, and he can feel the heat rising from his neck to his ears.

“Ahh, you mean agoraphobia. Wow, I’m very impressed with you for knowing such a big word, Jungkook. I think you deserve another lollipop for that. And…” the doctor begins, looking Namjoon squarely in the eye, “your dad deserves one too,” Jin says while ruffling Jungkook’s hair.

“Appa gets a lollipop too?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide with awe.

“Mmm, your dad’s a superhero, brave like Ironman because despite his fear he brought you here,” Jin explains to Jungkook as he lifts him off the table and gently places him to stand on the ground.

The youngster takes off, sprinting directly into Namjoon’s arms.

“Oh, I know that,” Jungkook declares without hesitation as he tugs at his father’s shirt. Namjoon bends and lifts the child into his arms. “My Appa’s strong and smart and fixes all my ouchies, and, and, and, he reads me stories and makes me hot cocoa when I’m sad.”

It gets him every time, Jungkook’s unconditional love. Namjoon’s not the best father in the world; he’s the first to admit it. He’s plagued by a crippling disease which keeps him locked in his home most of the time. If not for Yoongi, he’d be a complete shut-in, and Jungkook would never see the sun. The little boy loves him in a way that even Namjoon, a writer, a person whose profession it is to draw people in with words, can never seem to describe adequately. Jungkook’s head falls to his shoulder, nestling in the crevasse where it meets his neck. He can hear the child his thumb, and it dawns on him that it’s been a long day for both of them.

The father has been so lost in his thoughts of fondness for his son that he momentarily forgot they were in a hospital. He looks up and finds the manga doctor gazing at him, brows drawn together quizzically as though he’s a puzzle the obscenely handsome pediatrician’s trying to solve.

“Uhm, we don’t have to run the test today,” the doctor says, and Namjoon is thankful because he’s beginning to feel jittery and nervous. He needs to go home and shut his door and lock out the world, “but, I would like you to get them done as soon as possible, tomorrow if you think you’re up to it.”

The way the man says the last statement makes Namjoon feel warm inside. He’s used to being judged when people find out about his illness. He’s grown accustomed to receiving the look, the one that tells him without words that he’s a failure at life and parenthood. He doesn’t sense judgment from the doctor, nor is it sympathy, like he’s a project for the man to fix. What Namjoon senses is understanding, as though the pediatrician can empathize with him. Acceptance, that’s it, that’s what he feels, and it makes him emotional because it’s been so long since another human, apart from Yoongi, has made Namjoon feel normal.

“Uhm, th-thank you,” he stutters out, voice shaky.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor smiles. “Oh, here’s my card. I have a private practice not far from here, and, uhm…” the man turns the card over, writing something on the back before extending it in Namjoon’s direction, “here’s my personal number if, you know, you need help, or, uhm, something.”

It’s the doctor who blushes this time, and despite his growing uneasiness about being away from his home, Namjoon gives the man a dimpled smile as he takes the information from between the man’s crooked fingers. He bows to the man and turns to leave.

“Bye, Jungkook, it was nice meeting you,” the doctor says with a wave.

Namjoon’s sure Jungkook doesn’t respond. He hears the even breathing in his ear and knows the child is asleep.

“You want to leave your car here and ride with me?” Yoongi asks as they walk out the glass doors into the parking garage. “I can have my assistants come pick up it up in the morning.”

Namjoon thinks about saying no, but he’s tired and the thought of driving makes him want to throw up. He nods his reply and climbs into the back seat of Yoongi's BMW, arms clinging tightly around a sleeping Jungkook.

Sighing, Namjoon leans his head against the headrest after arranging Jungkook comfortably on his lap. The child’s head is resting on his chest, sweating slightly with the heat of slumber. He combs his fingers absentmindedly through his son’s hair and lets his mind wander. From his place in the back seat, the back of Yoongi’s head is his scenery when he looks forward. They’ve been friends since middle school, since before Jungkook, when Namjoon was normal.

“Thank you, hyung,” he whispers, and to his surprise, Yoongi hears.

Yoongi always hears.

“You’re welcome, Joon. I’m proud of you, you know? What you did today was brave and selfless.” Yoongi’s words of praise help to soothe the anxiety that has been growing in him ever since he was aware that Jungkook wasn’t in any mortal danger.

“Do you think I’ll ever get over this?” Namjoon muses out loud, to himself mostly.

“I do. I honestly do.”

Namjoon leans his head against the window; the glass is cool against his skin. He digs into his pocket to find the card the handsome doctor had given him. Twirling the card between his fingers, he flips it over. Kim Seokjin, it reads.

Seokjin

The name plays over in his mind as he gazes outside, the street lights creating streaks in his vision as the car swiftly passes them. Sighing, he contemplates the thought of calling the doctor. He won't, but thinking about it can’t hurt. He misses his old life, misses not being afraid of people, of the world. Jungkook mutters something unintelligible in his sleep, shifting in Namjoon’s lap, and he’s reminded that he can’t regret the illness either because it brought him Jungkook.

 

It was the eve of his nineteenth birthday, the first time he saw her. It’s funny the things you remember. She was beautiful... soft skin, innocent smile, long, wavy brown hair shining in the sun. Namjoon was instantly smitten and also too shy to talk to his dream girl. So he just stared, basking in the radiance of her beauty.

“You know, it’d be way less stalker-like if you just went up and said hi,” Yoongi says from behind him, climbing over the bench to sit beside him.

“Not sure I agree,” Namjoon responds. “One of two things will happen: either I proceed to verbally throw up all over her in a diatribe of conscious thought that will more than likely make no sense, or I’ll turn into a statue the moment she looks at me. Both are far more destructive to my already bruised teenage ego.”

Yoongi looks at him thoughtfully before nodding his head.

“You’re probably right.”

“Jennie Kim is not someone a person like me has the right to approach, much less converse with,” Namjoon informs his friend.

“I disagree, but I shall not argue.” Yoongi never argues, and Namjoon’s thankful for it.

“So, you study for the trig test?” he changes the subject.

He watches in amusement as Yoongi’s eyes grow wide.

“, that’s today? , what chapters?”

“Uhm, six, seven and the first half of eight.”

Yoongi jumps up from beside him, grabbing the backpack he’d carelessly tossed on the grass by his feet earlier.

“Guess I’ll be skipping first period today. Make sure to take good notes. Find me in the library if you need anything; I won’t be hard to spot. I’ll be the one crying into my trig textbook.” Yoongi bows dramatically before walking away.

“Good luck, hyung,” Namjoon yells after the older boy at the same moment Jennie walks past him.

He almost chokes on his words, so stunned to have the girl this close to his general proximity.

“Morning, oppa.” Is she talking to me? Namjoon turns around fully expecting to see a buff jock standing behind him waving at the girl. But nope, no one.

“Uhm, morning,” he responds, and it’s awkward.

Jennie giggles cutely as she walks away.

 

“We’re here,” Yoongi’s voice breaks through the memory.

Namjoon thinks the disruption is for the best. He puts Jennie Kim where she belongs, in his past. Tucking Jungkook safely in his arms, he climbs out of the car.

“You need me to come in?”

“No, it’s okay. I have it from here. Thank you again, for everything, hyung.”

Yoongi smiles and pats him on the shoulder before getting back into the car.

He walks inside shutting the door behind him, turning the latch securely, locking out the noisy world.

 

 ****

 

Jin can't stop thinking about Namjoon. The dimpled smile the man graced him with has been haunting him for the last two weeks. Since giving the single father his number, his phone has become his closest companion. Jin's a doctor; he knows Namjoon’s illness will more than likely prevent him from using the information, but that hasn't stopped Jin from hoping every beep and notification is from the tall, lanky man with the unkempt blonde hair and nervous, shy eyes.

They never are.

"Appa, can I have ice cream?" Taehyung's squeaky voice comes from the living room.

"Sure, you can-"

"Yay!" Taehyung's shout of joy cuts his sentence short.

"But," Jin continues and can almost see Taehyung's countenance fall from his place in the kitchen, "you have to have dinner first."

"Okay." The child's response is far less jubilant than it had been previously.

"Speaking of which, go wash up, okay?"

He chuckles to himself at the sound of Taehyung's socked feet stomping on the tile as he runs down the hall to the bathroom. Jin feels light; it's been a while since he's been able to have dinner with Taehyung, much less cook it himself. He cherishes these moments. Taehyung comes tumbling down the hall a few moments later, and Jin has suspicions about the thoroughness of the handwashing.

Taehyung chatters through most of the dinner, regaling his father with stories about school and his teacher Ms. Wang. When the child finally quiets down, Jin decides to extend the conversation.

"Tae, how's Heentsyhotsy?" The little boy hasn't spoken of his imaginary friend in a while, and Jin has been curious as to why.

"Oh." Taehyung worries his lips. "Well... she's in jail," he declares nonchalantly before popping a carrot into his mouth.

"JAIL!" Jin says too loudly, and Taehyung looks up in surprise. The response has caught the father off guard. "Uhm, why's she in jail?" This time around he controls his tone.

"She said she didn't know that it's not okay to kill her girlfriend."

"What are they teaching you in school?"

"Numbers," Taehyung's response is immediate.

Despite the million and one things wrong with the conversation he's having with his son, Jin chuckles at the child's answer.

People don't see it, the thousands of insecurities hidden behind Jin's good looks and over the top personality. To the untrained eye, he appears confident, some might even venture to say arrogant. Those that know him, however, are aware of the truth, which is that behind his well-crafted bravado, he's  scared of failing. Taehyung’s turned his knife and fork into superheroes who must save the mashed potatoes from the cave of suffering, which Jin assumes is the child's mouth. He worries every day that he’s not doing things right, that he’s a bad father, not home enough, not spending enough time with Taehyung.

Jin was in his first year of medical school when he met and fell in love with Inna; he was an intern when they were married. Taehyung was conceived the night he graduated from medical school and born during his residency. When Taehyung was two, Jin became a single parent when Inna, a cop, was killed in the line of duty. He tried his best to shield his young child from the media frenzy that followed. The talk with his son has Jin completely shaken, and he worries that he didn’t do enough to shelter his child. Looking at Taehyung, he wonders if it's a sign, if this is the residual effect of having a lost a parent at such a young age. Taehyung’s five, five. He loves puppies and ice cream and cries when Jin has to kill the random bug that makes its way into their home, so why? Why is his child’s imaginary friend a murderer?

He clears the table after they finish eating and Taehyung runs off to the living room to continue playing.

Taehyung’s sitting crossed-legged on the floor creating what looks like a highrise out of Legos.

“Tae, Appa needs to make a phone call, okay? I’ll be right here in the kitchen if you need me,” he informs the child, pointing to his right.

“Mmm, okay, Appa,” Taehyung answers without looking up.

Grabbing his phone from the table, he makes his way into the kitchen. He dials the number as he sits on the black stool in front of the Island.

“Hey, hyung,” Hoseok answers the phone too cheerily.

“My child’s imaginary friend’s in jail for murder. I’m a failure as a parent.”

“I’m sorry, what? Who’s in jail for murder?” Hoseok sounds confused. Under normal circumstances, Jin would find the perplexed tone funny, but none of what he’s feeling at the moment is humorous.

“Tae’s imaginary friend, Heentsyhotsy. Apparently she didn’t know it was wrong to kill her girlfriend.”

“Your child’s imaginary friend is a lesbian?”

“This is what you find most disturbing, not the fact that my child has befriended an imaginary murderer?” Jin questions incredulously.

“You do know she’s not real, right? Plus, she’s in jail, so barring some form of imaginary prison break, Tae’s safe for now.”

Jin sighs and slumps against the refrigerator. He knows Hoseok’s just trying to make light of the situation. It’s the man’s nature to find the silver lining.

“Hoseok, I’m serious. Why would he make her a killer? Do... do you think it has anything to do with Inna’s death? Did I not do enough to shield my child from his mother’s murder? Is he scarred for life?”

“Hyung, Taetae was two when it happened. The chances of him remembering, much less understanding what was happening, are slim to none. This Hennypennysticky—“

“Heentsyhosty,” Jin corrects, cutting Hoseok off.

“Whatever, her name is too ing hard to pronounce. What you should be worried about are the names of your future grandchildren, but I digress. Look, by next week Taehyung would have forgotten she was incarcerated, and she’ll be the queen of Mars, eating ice cream served to her by the Sun.”

“That makes no sense, how would the Sun serve anyone ice crea-“ Jin doesn’t finish the thought.

Hoseok’s laughter on the other end of the phone has him grimacing.

“Jin, stop worrying so much. You’re an amazing father. Taehyung’s a smart, adorable, well-rounded, well-adjusted kid. I wouldn’t allow my precious Jimin, heir to the Jung throne, to be friends with anyone who wasn’t.”

Hoseok’s right, of course. A small part of Jin knows he’s overreacting, knows he’s stretching, looking for a reason beyond himself to satiate the guilt he feels for being so busy all the time.

“How’s our precious Jimin?” he queries. Jimin is Hoseok’s favorite topic of conversation.

“My beautiful boy is doing fabulous.” Hoseok’s response is exuberant, and Jin chuckles at his friend’s dramatic nature. “So, did the dimpled god bring his child back?”

He’d forgotten about Namjoon, and more importantly, forgotten that he’d told Hoseok about Namjoon.

“Well, his adorable son did come in to do the tests I ordered. I read the results today and copied them over to his regular pediatrician. I doubt Namjoon’s the one that brought him though.”

Disappointment tugs at his core, and he sighs into the phone. Jin’s aware that his chances of seeing the duo again are dismal, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing to hope. It’s been so long since anyone’s peaked his interest, male or female. The tall, lanky man with the dimpled cheeks is a fascinating creature, one part nervous nelly and one part overcomer of fears (when it comes to the people he loves). Jin’s had experience dealing with phobias; he’s acutely aware of the wall of fear Namjoon had to climb over to bring Jungkook to the emergency room. He admires the man’s courage and wants a chance to get to know him better. A part of him hopes Jungkook needs another pediatric visit while all the other parts of him yell in disgust at his selfish desire.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I doubt our paths will cross again,” Jin muses, mostly to himself.

“Miracles happen every day. I mean, I’m your friend, so clearly it’s true.” Hoseok’s joke lightens his mood.

“Or, curses happen every day. It’s all about perspective,” Jin counters and laughs outright as Hoseok protests. “I gotta go. I left Taehyung alone in the living room. The last time I did that, he somehow managed to lock every door of every room in the house from the inside, and it took three hours and a two hundred dollar locksmith bill before I could pee.”

They hang up the phone, and Jin trots in the living room, joining Taehyung on the floor. Three hours later, after creating and destroying the world’s most colorful Lego city, three bedtime stories, and two glasses of water, Taehyung’s finally tired enough for sleep. Jin’s cotched on the edge of Taehyung’s bed, and the child’s curled into his chest, eyes drooping as the youngster tries to fight the slumber pulling at him.

“I love you the best, Appa,” Taehyung declares sleepily.

“I love you the best too, Tae.”

The sound of Taehyung’s even breathing hits his ear, and he breathes a sigh of relief, not because Taehyung’s asleep, but because Hoseok’s right. Taehyung’s fine, just fine.

 

 ****

Namjoon has bad days and not so bad days. What Namjoon hasn’t had since “the incident” two days after Jungkook turned two, is a good day. Worry is normal; all people worry. Some studies suggest even animals have moments of anxiety. However, when that fear keeps you from interacting with the world, when you find all manner of excuses to not leave the sanctity of your home because you’re frightened you might get trapped, then your problem is bigger than just being a little anxious. This is the explanation the doctor had given Namjoon the night they admitted him to the hospital.

Namjoon has bad days and not so bad days. That day, the day it all fell apart, was the worst of all days. Looking back, he should have seen it coming, he guesses; but hindsight is twenty-twenty, foresight, unfortunately, is not. When Jennie told him she was pregnant, Namjoon knew he wasn’t the father (that would have required them having ). He had a panic attack. The attack wasn’t major, just a bout of anxiety mixed with sadness that the love of his life was sleeping with someone who wasn’t him. He wasn’t angry about it; he didn’t have the right to be. They weren’t a couple—just friends.

The next time he found himself frazzled beyond all logic was the day Jennie came to him crying hysterically.

“He doesn’t love me, Namjoon. He told me he doesn’t want the baby.” Tears mixing with her mascara cause black streaks down her face. Despite it all, Namjoon thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

Sitting on the floor with Jennie’s head on his shoulder, her voice cracked as she told him that she had to abort the baby, “I can’t raise a child. I’m barely an adult.” That night, she cried in his arms and fell asleep in his bed. If Namjoon were Charles Dickens, he would have described Jennie asleep, nestled to his chest, as the best of times and the worst of times.

He woke alone.

Jennie left a note.

Why couldn’t it have been you?

Namjoon cried until he couldn’t breathe, until he was doubled over and curled into himself. It was how Yoongi found him. The doctor said it was an anxiety attack, told them it was nothing to worry about—the doctor was wrong.

Namjoon has bad days and not so bad days, and today, today’s a bad day, possibly beating “the incident” for the worst day ever.

“Namjoon, are you listening to me?” Yoongi’s yelling on the other end of the line. “I need you not to lose it, okay? Because I’m human too,” the older man rambles nervously on the phone.

Namjoon knows Yoongi’s right; he needs to gain control of his nerves, of his breathing, of his ing life, but Yoongi has just told him that he can't find Jungkook. Yoongi arrived at the child’s elementary school, at the designated pick up site, and Jungkook’s nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi sounds like he’s close to tears, and it rips at Namjoon’s core because he doesn’t have the strength to comfort his friend, to tell him he hasn’t done anything wrong. Words aren’t coming, and the four walls of his spacious pent house apartment are closing in on him. Jungkook, he can’t lose Jungkook; he won’t survive. Namjoon takes a jagged breath and leans his back against the wall before slowly sliding to the ground with feet extended in front of him, the phone pressed against his ear. He can hear Yoongi frantically talking to a school personnel who sounds equally as bewildered as his friend.

Beeping on the line signals another call, and Namjoon contemplates not looking, too afraid that he’ll miss something important, but habit wins over fear and he glances at the screen. He recognizes the number as Jungkook’s school and immediately answers the call, leaving Yoongi yelling on the other line.

“Hello, Namjoon-sshi.” Namjoon recognizes the voice as that of Jungkook’s principal. “This is Principal Lee. There’s been an incident, and we need you to come to the school. Jungkook’s in my office, and he’s safe--” Namjoon thinks the man should have lead with that.

“C-can I talk to him?” Bless the Lord almighty, words.

“Appa? Appa, Tae’s daddy’s nice. He doctored me and gave me lollipop and you too. Tae says we’re brothers cause we have the same last name, is that true? Can Tae come over? Pleeease?”

Namjoon listens intently to Jungkook, intently, like every mismatched bit of verbiage were the child’s first words.  An errant tear slithers down his cheek, and relief floods his soul. The burden that he had staggered under previously has grown lighter, and air is slowly making its way back into his lungs.

“Kookie-ah, are you okay, sweetie?”

“Uh-huh, and, and, and Appa, I got another lollipop from the lady at the office for being a good boy.” Jungkook’s excited tone has the shackles of worry which had Namjoon bound falling away.

“Mr. Kim, we’re sorry to have to do this--ahh, Mr. Min has just come into the office,” the principal informs him as he places Namjoon on hold to address a very frazzled Yoongi.

Namjoon can hear his friend calling out to Jungkook over the phone, can hear the relief in Yoongi’s voice, and he smiles despite the situation. Jungkook’s fine, Yoongi’s fine, he can breathe.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Kim,” the principal apologizes once back on the line. “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, given your medical situation, but because of the security breach, we’ll need you to come and sign Jungkook out personally. I kno-“

“It’s you!” Namjoon hears Yoongi exclaim on the line, cutting the principal off.

Namjoon hears a voice respond, but the background clatter is too much for him to recognize the owner of the voice.

“Mr. Kim, did you hear what I just asked?” Mr. Lee questions.

“I’m sorry, I was preoccupied. Do you mind repeating?”

“Ahh, yes. We’ll need you to come and pick Jungkook up in person,” the man restates.

Anxious thoughts meander about and crisscross in Namjoon’s brain, his heart is pounding loudly in his chest, and he can hear each thump distinctly.

“C-come in person?” The words stutter out his mouth and hurt his ears.

Namjoon has bad days and not so bad days, and today is hell.

Agoraphobia is a slimy, bottomless pit, and once you fall in, you tend to go deeper and deeper into the mire. Right now Namjoon’s waist deep in the quicksand of despair. He’s been staring at his front door, car keys in hand for the last fifteen minutes, wondering how, when, and if he’ll walk past the threshold. Logically he knows he has to if he wants to bring his son home, but emotionally there’s a war (which he normally loses) going on.

Principal Lee, who has been very understanding of Namjoon’s particular situation up until this point, was very clear; they would not be releasing Jungkook to Yoongi, despite Namjoon’s pleas for mercy. He needs to leave. It’s simple really. All he has to do is walk through the doors, take the elevator to the garage, get in his car, and pick up his child. However, in Namjoon’s mind, that particular scenario translates to ready your battle stations and prepare for a bloodbath.

Reaching a shaking hand forward, he grabs hold of the door knob and takes a moment to catch his breath before turning the handle. The door squeaks to life as it opens under Namjoon’s pull, and he’s startled by the sudden entrance of light hitting his eyes from the large bay window in the shared hallway.

“Well, the door’s open. Now what?” Namjoon questions himself as he struggles to step into the brightly lit hall.

He knows the answer, of course. Time’s ticking away, reminding Namjoon that life’s passing by as he stands in the rectangular door frame contemplating his next steps, literally.

His phone buzzes in his palm.

 

From: kumamongi

You’re standing at the door

Aren’t you?

 

 Namjoon nods.

 

From: kumamongi

Take a deep breath

Then take a step

You can do this Joon

 

Namjoon closes his eyes and takes a huge gulp of air. He steps forward. One step, then two, then three, until he’s officially out of the house and in the hallway.

 

From: kumamongi

Are you out?

 

He nods.

 

From: kumamongi

Good.

 

Yes good.

Yoongi always knows. Even when Namjoon can’t respond, doesn’t verbalize, Yoongi just always knows.

Namjoon walks carefully to the elevator, almost tiptoeing as not to alert the world to his presence. I’m fine. It’s fine, I’m good, it’s all good. He repeats the mantra in his head, hoping the positive words will stick. It almost works. Almost. As he stands waiting for the elevators doors to open, he hears the sound of a lock turning behind him, and his breath hitches.

God and Namjoon have become friends since the entrance of the disease; he prays silently that the door will stay closed until he has the chance to escape into the confines of the lift. His heart pounds against his chest, loud, erratic, like a bass drum being played by a toddler. People are talking behind him some distance down the hall. Namjoon pushes the button to the metal box several times, fast and furiously, silently pleading with the silver doors to grant him access.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, no—please no,” he whispers under his breath.

He can feel it coming; it’s a wave floating swiftly to Namjoon’s shore. Sweat pools along his hairline, trickling down his face. His hands are trembling as he jams his pointer finger into the button several more times. He feels cold, dizzy, and nauseous, and there’s a lump building in his throat, making it hard to swallow. The apartment door closes with a soft thud, voices flood the hallway behind him, and Namjoon takes his final steps into the rabbit hole of fear.

Panic is rising, filling him slowly, like a beaker in a science class; he closes his eyes trying to focus on anything that isn’t the voices getting closer and closer to his general locale. Fear grips him, wrapping itself around him like a snake. He struggles to fight against the tears that are pooling at the corners of his eyes and holds his breath to keep from screaming. Just when he thinks all hope is lost, that he’s not going to make it, that he’s going to dissolve into a puddle of crying mush in front of his neighbors, who probably already think he’s crazy... at the perfect time, God hears his cry for help, and the doors to the elevator give way. Namjoon escapes inside the four walls of the solid metal crate, hitting the close button and sighing in relief when the elevator obeys almost instantly, locking him in and shutting the world out. Slumping against the mirrored wall, he tries to catch his breath. A hand against his chest reminds him he’s still alive. He can feel the rhythmic beats of his heart thumping wildly against his palm. He needs to calm down and find his center; Jungkook needs him.

The car is a sanctuary, shielding Namjoon from the outside world. Windows up, doors locked, and air conditioning on, he’s the driver, and although logically he knows it’s not real, he feels some semblance of control. Two hours after Yoongi's terrifying call, Namjoon pulls into the parking lot of Bangtan Elementary. Ironically, he had chosen the school for security reasons. He parks the car and takes a gulp of air, inhaling it deep into his lungs. Taking a moment to gather himself, Namjoon finally feels steady enough to exit the vehicle.

It’s quiet as he makes he way toward the burnt brick building. Namjoon likes the rustic feel the color gives off. Pulling open the door, he steps into an eerily quiet hallway. The last time he walked this hall it was noisy and alive with the scamper of little feet and excited chatter. He prefers the silence. At the door of the principal's office, Namjoon takes a moment before opening the door. It has been a fight even to get this far, and he needs a wee bit of time to gather himself before walking inside. He combs his fingers through his hair and straightens the wrinkles in his black Stussy t-shirt, and once he feels composed enough, he opens the door and steps inside.

“Appa!” Jungkook barrels into him like a freight train at full speed, almost knocking him over.

“Kook-ah, are you okay?” he asks as he kneels to the child’s level, bear-hugging him.

After a few seconds, he can feel the youngster struggling in his grasps, but Namjoon’s not ready to let go. He needs this.

“I love you, Kookie,” he whispers into his son’s ear.

“I love you too, Appa.” Jungkook’s response is muffled with his faced pressed into his father’s chest.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Kim,” Principal Lee starts, and Namjoon forces himself to release Jungkook from his grasp. “I know this must have been difficult for you.”

“Yes.” It's all he can say for the moment.

“I’m so sorry about this,” a voice to the left of Namjoon apologizes. The tone strikes a chord with Namjoon; he’s heard it somewhere before. “I-I, Taehyung just…” the voice sighs, and Namjoon can feel the owner’s struggle to explain.

Namjoon turns around to face the apologetic tone and instantly wishes he’d taken a moment to center himself. He’s not sure who he expected to see. A man for sure, just not this particular man. Kim Seokjin is just as striking now as he was when Namjoon had taken Jungkook to the emergency room a couple of weeks back. Dumbfounded is how he feels, and yet again he finds himself unable to form proper sentences. As he stares at the anxiety stricken doctor who’s currently worrying his fingers, he feels empathy. There’s a child with the sharpest features Namjoon’s ever seen in the man’s lap. The little boy’s a mixture of mythological beauty and child like innocence, and Namjoon doesn’t need any guesses to know who the father is.

“Jungkook’s my brother, right Appa?” The little boy looks at his father with questioning eyes, and Namjoon can’t help but chuckle over the doctor’s perplexed expression.

“Sweetie, Appa told you already, Jungkook’s not related to us. He just has the same last name.”

As Seokjin explains to his child why Jungkook can’t live with them, it surprises Namjoon how clearly he can hear the tiredness in the doctor’s tone. Maybe he notices because he’s felt this way so many times, drained and unable to give anymore but needing to anyway. 

“It’s fine,” he says (it’s not really). “Jungkook’s safe, and there doesn’t seem to be any residual effects, other than he wants Taehyung—is that your son’s name?”

Seokjin nods.

“…he wants Taehyung to visit.” Namjoon wonders why he added that. He doesn’t do house guests.

There’s surprise in Seokjin’s eyes when he looks up, locking their gazes. A nervous tickle begins trailing up his insides, and Namjoon as to look away and remind himself to breathe.

“Well, I’m glad that's settled,” the principal interjects. “Mr. Kim,” both Seokjin and Namjoon respond. Clearing his throat Principal Lee tries again, “Kim Namjoon-sshi, if you wouldn’t mind signing this paperwork, it’s just stating that Jungkook’s fine and that you won’t be seeking any recompense from the school. You’ll be free to go after.”

The principal motions Namjoon to his desk, and he takes a seat and reads over the papers before adding his signature. Handing the signed sheets back to the man, he waits as the secretary makes a photocopy. A few minutes later an attractive female with a lovely smile gives him his copies with a bow. Namjoon had managed to lock out everything around him as he dealt with the documents, so it’s a bit of a shock when he turns around to find four sets of eyes all focused on him.

Focusing his own eyes on Jungkook, Namjoon stretches out his hand in the little boy’s direction. Jungkook for his parts trots over to his father, fitting his tiny hand into Namjoon’s palm. Namjoon bows to Seokjin and offers him what he hopes looks like a smile before turning to face Yoongi, who’s been unusually quiet during the entire escapade.

“Want to leave your car and ride with me?” Yoongi offers.

Namjoon nods.

They all walk out together. The adults are quiet, Taehyung and Jungkook, however, are having an animated conversation about having the same last name.

“My uncle Hoseok said that people with the same last name are family,” Taehyung states adamantly.

“My daddy said that our neighbor Mr. Kim isn’t relaytable to us, though. Isn’t that true, Appa?”

“It’s related, sweetie, not relaytable, and no, Jongin is not a part of our family?” Namjoon answers.

“But I want you to be my brother.” Taehyung’s tiny voice cracks and Namjoon feels it in his soul.

“Look,” Seokjin suddenly speaks up, and Namjoon freezes. “I know this isn’t ideal. My child basically kidnapped yours, but if you think you can handle it, would you be up for a play date? Taehyung’s not a bad kid, I swear, even if the current circumstances suggest otherwise.”

Yoongi replies on Namjoon’s behalf.

“This has all been a little overwhelming. Do you mind giving us some time to respond? I’m sure Jungkook would love to spend time with Taehyung, I mean he asked me no less than fifty times if Taehyung could come over as we waited in the office, but right now, I think Joon needs some time to process and formulate a plan before he answers.”

It’s silent for a few moments, and Namjoon sincerely hopes that Seokjin wasn’t offended.

“I get that. You have my card; contact me when you have made a decision. Again, Namjoon-sshi, I’m very sorry about this. I will explain clearly to Taehyung and ensure that this doesn’t happen again.”

With that, the doctor bows to him and Yoongi, then leads Taehyung to the car.

“Bye Kookie,” the little boy chirps cheerfully as he follows his father.

“Bye Tae,” Jungkook waves.

Namjoon watches quietly as the duo drive away; he feels a mixture of relief and sadness at the sight.

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice pulls him to the present.

“Mmm, I’m better now. I’m just happy that Jungkook’s safe. Kookie, never do that again,” Namjoon reprimands as he kneels to the child’s level. “Uncle Yoongi and I were so worried. We didn’t know where you were or if something bad happened. Never get into another person’s car unless Uncle Yoongi or I give you permission, understand?”

“Sorry Appa,” Jungkook pouts.

“It’s okay.” It’s not, not really. He pulls Jungkook into his arms.

“Okay, I don’t know about you two, but I need ice cream,” Yoongi blurts out suddenly.

“Yay! Ice cream. Can I get strawberry with sprinkles?” Jungkook requests, and Namjoon nods.

“I’ll run in and get it. You won’t have to get out of the car,” Yoongi adds, knowing Namjoon would have apprehensions.

He nods. The drive is calming, Jungkook nestled in the crook of his arm, playing games on his phone, and giggling at whatever is happening on the screen. This is the second time in two weeks that Namjoon has left his house unplanned. It’s been overwhelming, but he has survived both instances. There’s a certain sense of pride that wells up in him at the realization. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to do what he’d done today. Maybe there is hope, a light at the end of what has been a pitch black tunnel. His mind drifts to the one single thread that has connected the last two events, Kim Seokjin.

Namjoon’s not into men, at least he doesn’t believe he is. He loved Jennie for many years and was devasted when she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. It’s not that he’s attracted to the doctor, but in many ways, the man’s illogical good looks and seemingly charismatic demeanor remind him of Jennie. Perhaps that explains why he finds the man so distracting. He mulls over the idea of a play date. Jungkook has never requested to bring a friend home before, and a part of Namjoon knows it’s because of him. Not because Jungkook’s embarrassed in any way, but even at his tender age Jungkook has been conditioned to know that his father wouldn’t be able to handle people in their home. The thought saddens him; he’s unknowingly taken away one of Jungkook’s childhood rights.

“Hyung,” he calls out to Yoongi from his place in the backseat.

“Mmm,” the man responds.

“Let’s do it, the play date.”

“Really? You sure you don’t want more time to think about it?”

He feels Jungkook shift against him and hears the catch of surprise in his son’s throat, and it’s enough to strengthen his resolve.

“I’m sure. I want Jungkook to have a normal childhood, you know. It’s not fair to him. I have one favor though, can you be there too? You know, just in case I can’t handle it?” he begs.

“Of course. You don’t even have to ask; I had already planned on it.”

He smiles because, again, Yoongi just knows.

 

Three hours and thirty-five minutes prior

Jin’s day has been rough. Waking Taehyung up this morning was a struggle; the child was an immovable rock, refusing to wake up, and thus made Jin late for work. It seems as though someone opened a flood gate of crazy parents who all believe their child is the most important. The final straw came when four-year-old Mia emptied the contents of her stomach all down the front of his Gucci shirt, his favorite one, mere minutes before he had to leave to pick up Taehyung.

He leaves to pick up his son smelling like spoiled leftovers and feeling like he wants to sleep for a year. He arrives some twenty minutes later more frazzled than when he left, having spent the entire drive arguing with a pushy nurse.

Jin hears the door shut as Taehyung enters the car.

“Hey, make sure to buckle up, okay buddy?” Jin reminds the little boy as he continues his conversation with a very determined woman wanting him to order medication for a patient.

“Okay, Appa. You too okay?” He assumes Taehyung’s speaking to him.

“…no, I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to my child. I want to examine the patient myself before I make a decision on giving a seven-year-old prescription pain meds. Yes, I understand that he’s hurting, but right now, over the counter children’s Motrin is all I’m allowing,” Jin responds.

Turning the key in the ignition, he puts the call on bluetooth and pulls out of the parking spot. Winning the battle with the nurse, he disconnects the call and gives driving his full attention.

“How was school today, Tae?”

“Good.” Jin’s taken aback by the response as Taehyung’s not the one-word answer type.

 “Something happen at school today?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“No, Appa,” another brief reply.

Jin’s raises a hand toward the review mirror, about to fix it so he can look at Taehyung in the back seat, when…

“Are you taking me home, too?” a voice not his son’s questions from the back seat.

 

Five hours prior

Taehyung’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for. His random actions, for the most part, have very logical reasons. There was the time he rearranged all the desks and chairs in his classroom, having snuck back in at recess, sending the room into mass chaos when his classmates returned. When questioned later by his teacher he explained he was making a clear path for Mina, a student bound to a wheelchair due to an accident which had left her without the use of her legs.

Taehyung’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for, but at the end of the day, he’s just a precocious five-year-old, no matter how wise beyond his years many of his actions may seem.

“But I dun wanna have a new seatmate,” Taehyung cries, wiping at the tears falling down his face.

“Jimin will be behind you, Taehyung-ah,” the teacher calmly explains. “See, just right there.”

“But, but behind is not the same as beside,” he counters.

“I understand that sweetheart. You are very right, beside and behind are not the same, but we’re doing something new. You like new things, right?”

Taehyung nods. He does, but he doesn’t like this new thing.

“Well, now we’re sitting in alphabetical order. Jungkook’s last name is Kim as well. You like Jungkook, right?” Taehyung nods. “You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, right?” He shakes his head.

“We have the same last name?” Taehyung peeks through teary lashes at Jungkook who looks like he’s about to cry as well.

“Yes, won’t it be fun to have someone with the same last name beside you?” the Teacher asks him.

“I guess, but, but, Jimin will be right behind me, and I can still be his bestest friend?” His teacher smiles, and Taehyung’s confused because he doesn’t think he made a funny.

“Taehyung-ah, you and Jimin will be best friends for all eternity, no matter where he sits in the classroom.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” the woman replies warmly, linking their pinkies together.

“Okay. Jimin, we’re going to be friends forever, all right?” An equally teary-eyed Jimin nods from beside him.

The teacher puts Jungkook’s text books on the shared desk as she helps the younger boy into the seat next to Taehyung. After Jungkook is situated, the teacher then helps Jimin into his desk, and Taehyung decides the distance between them isn’t that far after all. He’s able to lean back and touch Jimin’s hand; Jimin smiles at the contact, and Taehyung feels happy.

“You wanna share my crayons with me?” he asks Jungkook. “My Appa bought me a new set; these won’t hurt your stomach if you accidentally eat them.” He pushes the box in the center so Jungkook can reach them.

“Thank you.”

“My last name is Kim, is your’s Kim too?” Taehyung remembers Ms. Wang saying they had the same family name.

“Mmm, Kim Jungkook. My Appa is Kim Namjoon, and he writes stories, and we live in a house on the highest floor, and you can see the moon at night. I tried to touch it once, but my daddy screamed and told me not to get on the railing, so I haven’t touched the moon yet.” Taehyung shakes his head, as Jungkook continues to talk.

“I want to touch the moon too,” Taehyung says wistfully. “Wait, are you, my brother?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But, but we have the same last name, but Jimin’s last name is different, uncle Hobi said we’re not relaytabled. So you’re my brother.”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s confirmation is all Taehyung needs.

Taehyung’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for. There’s always a logical (five-year-old logic, but logic nonetheless) reason for his seemingly random behavior. Brothers should live together is, of course, the next thought that floats into Taehyung’s overactive mind. And this, this is how five-year-old Jungkook ends up in Taehyung’s car after school, happily kicking his feet against the back of Taehyung’s father's seat.

“Taehyung-ah, who is this? Wait, Jungkook?” Taehyung’s eyes widen when he father says Jungkook’s name.

“Appa, you know Kookie? He’s my brother. Ms. Wang said we have the same last name, and brothers live in the same house, and-”

“Tae, did, did, did-” his father cuts him off but doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Did I what, Appa?” Taehyung’s confused by the expression on his father’s face. It’s not the happiness he expected because he found his brother, but it’s not anger either. It reminds Taehyung of how he feels when he wants to poop but can’t.

“Taehyung, does Jungkook’s Appa know he’s coming home with you?” His father’s voice sounds as strange as the look on his face.

“But we have the same last name, just like you Appa.” Taehyung doesn’t understand the question.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--Jungkook and your dad has—oh my god. Taehyung what did you do?”

Taehyung decides against saying he found his brother, once again. It doesn’t seem to be the right answer.

“Is your Appa okay?” Jungkook leans in, whispering the question.

Taehyung shrugs.

“Dunno, maybe he’s not feeling good.”,

“Okay, we’re going back to school, right now,” his father says suddenly. Jungkook and Taehyung jump startled by the volume of the man’s voice. “Your father’s probably freaking out. Taehyung, of all the children you could have stolen, you chose Jungkook?”

“But it’s not stealing, Appa; we have the same name.”

 

 ****

Jin sighs, remembering the events of the day. His bed has never been as inviting as it is right now. He’s exhausted. Trying to explain to his five-year-old why kidnapping is wrong is harder work than he thought. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have told the youngster that he could go to prison for his actions because, well, that just lead to one solid hour of crying (he timed it) with Taehyung screaming that he doesn’t want to be crimianimal.

This day has been the longest of Jin’s life. Yet he’s smiling thinking about the expression on Namjoon’s face when he realized he was in the room with him. It’s unnerving, the effect the single father has on him; there’s something so vulnerable about the man, something magnetic that draws Jin in every time the tall blond is around. Or he just needs to get laid, and Namjoon’s his scapegoat. He hopes it’s the latter of the two.

Uncontrollable laughter bubbles up in his chest when he thinks about the look Taehyung gave him as he explained that Jungkook had the same last name as them. The youngster definitely keeps him on his toes. His shoulders are shaking, and tears pool at his eyes he places a hand over his mouth to muffle the cackles that are trying to escape as he recalls his and Taehyung’s conversation.

"But. But Jungkook said okay.” Taehyung looks so serious, like in his little mind, he sees Jin as the crazy one for not understanding.

He tries not to laugh. He doesn’t want to hurt Taehyung’s feelings.

“Honey, I get that, but that still doesn’t mean you can take him home with you.” He tries but fails to make Taehyung understand.

“But we have the same name, and uncle Hobi said we’re relaytable.”

“Related?”

“Yes that, relaytabled,” Taehyung repeats his mistake, and this time Jin does laugh.

He lets the argument die when Taehyung’s bottom lip juts out and his nose turns red. Sometimes he forgets that Taehyung’s only five. He pulls his son in arms.

“Maybe Jungkook’s dad will say yes to the play date, then you and Jungkook can spend some time together, okay?” He’s not sure if this is the right thing to say, but he doesn’t want Taehyung to start crying again.

“Can Jimin come too?” Taehyung begs, voice cracking around the question.

“Sure, if uncle Hobi says it’s okay.”

Lying in his bed, unable to sleep, Jin wonders if Namjoon will agree to the request. Turning his head a little to the right, a wayward groan escapes when he notices the time on the clock. The LCD display reads 1:04 AM in neon green. He needs to get up in four hours. Pulling the covers over his head, he reaches his hand out, pulling the chain of the stained glass lap sitting on the night table next to his bed. Rolling around, cocooning himself in the blankets, he sighs loudly and the sound echoes through his sheets.

“Go to sleep Jin; all your worries will still be there tomorrow,” he tells himself, closing his eyes.

 

 

 ****

“No mother, we’ve had this discussion.” Hoseok tries to keep the anger building inside out of his tone; the last thing he needs is a guilt trip from the woman. “The answer is no. Jimin is five and my son, not yours.”

“You’re being unreasonable, Hoseok. Jimin’s the heir to Jung Enterprises. Your father and I should have a say in how he’s raised,” his mother argues.

For a brief moment, he contemplates tossing his phone in the river of the park where he and Jimin are. Jimin likes the jungle gym, and Hoseok likes the normalcy of it all. Here he’s not Jung Hoseok, heir to a throne that he does not want. Here he’s Jimin’s dad. Jimin’s hot dad according to many of single mothers and nannies.

“I'm not unreasonable, and Jimin’s not the heir to Jung Enterprises. Jimin’s my five-year-old son who loves puppies, parks, and me. I will not have you turning him into some emotionless drone who lives to do your bidding.” His mother makes a remark that Hoseok doesn’t hear, he’s so blinded by his rage. “You don’t want to start this war with me, mother. Remember I’ve learned from the best, you and dad. I won’t lose, and if you continue to push me on the matter, I’ll make sure the next time you see Jimin he’s a college graduate.”

He disconnects the call and looks at the river one more time before dropping the phone in the pocket of his oversized blue/gray cardigan.

“Jimin-ah, it’s time to go,” he yells out across the park.

“Nae,” the little boy responds as he comes barreling down the path in Hoseok’s direction. “Appa, Appa, Appa,” Jimin calls, out of breath. “Can’t we stay longer? I wanna play s’more.”

“Minnie, we’ve been here for an hour. It’s starting to get dark, and tomorrow’s a school day. Go say goodbye to Mino, okay? We can come back on the weekend.” The child pouts at his answer.

Jimin walks back at a snail's pace toward his friends. Hoseok chuckles at the child’s reluctant movements. The little boy takes longer than necessary to come back, but Hoseok doesn’t nag. This, Jimin’s freedom, is the fight he’s forever having with his parents, and it would be hypocritical for him to reprimand the child for acting his age.

The walk to their high rise apartment is perhaps Hoseok’s favorite time of any day. Jimin’s happy chatter about his day, his friends, and school makes Hoseok’s heart soar with happiness. There’s something about the ruddy faced youngster that warms him from the inside out. Before Jimin’s entrance into his world, Hoseok didn’t know the kind of love he feels for his son existed in the world.

“Taehyung stoled Jungkook from school and had go the princeapal’s office. But they have the same last name, so Taehyung says it’s okay. Can I have ice cream?” Jimin’s tiny hand is swallowed in Hoseok’s larger one.

“Jungkook?”

“Mmm, Ms. Wang made us alphabetic, and Jungkook took my chair,” the corners of Jimin’s lips begin to drop. Hoseok has a flash of illogical anger at the thought of someone doing something that made his child sad, “but it’s okay because Jungkook likes Ironman and orange crayons, and he’s Taehyung’s brother.”

“How exactly did Taeyung steal Jungkook?”

“I dunno, he just did.” Hoseok’s less than satisfied with the child’s response. “Appa,” Jimin’s brows take a serious stance, and Hoseok prepared himself for what may come next, “can I have ice cream?”

Hoseok’s laughter fills the air around them as the walk home.

“Yes, you may, but after dinner, okay?”

“Nae, Appa.”

Jimin’s smells like freshly cut grass, dirt, and sweat and it’s Hoseok favorite scent in the entire world. It reminds Hoseok of growing up, of the one year his parents relented and allowed him to go to summer camp. It reminds him of sunshine, freedom, and the innocence of youth. They make it to the building, and Jimin takes off running toward the doorman, who always manages to have the child’s favorite candy prepared.

“Ahjussi, hello,” Jimin bows and stretches out his hand, ready to accept his prize and, as always, the older man does not disappoint.

“Sir,” the doorman bows to Hoseok as he enters, and he returns the gesture with a smile.

“How come you never have candy for me, Sam?” Hoseok jokes; it’s their tradition.

“You’re not as cute as Jimin, sir.”

Hoseok chuckles as he ushers Jimin through the elegantly decorated waiting area to the private elevator that leads to their penthouse. The child slumps against him with a sigh once inside the metal box.

“Tired buddy?”

Jimin nods, and Hoseok feels a sense of satisfaction because he’s done it, he’s freed Jimin from the prison that was his childhood. He promised Yong-Sun that their child would grow up differently from them, that Jimin’s goal in life wouldn’t be to run away from his family the first chance he had. He’s kept his promise, and Jimin’s sweaty, metallic scent is confirmation.

“Alright champ, take off your clothes. Appa will meet you in the bathroom in a second, okay?”

Jimin nods and takes off down the hall, shedding his shorts and t-shirt on the way; it’s not quite what Hoseok meant.

“Hey, put those in the dirty hamper, please.”

He hears Jimin scamper back into the hall, socked feet sliding along the tile.

After the bath, dinner goes pretty quickly, mostly because Jimin nods off several times during the meal, unable to keep his eyes open long enough to have his ice cream. On the final drop, when Jimin’s tiny head hits the table, barely missing his tomato soup, with a thud—Hoseok lifts the child from his seat, carrying him to his room.

Hoseok’s a er for snuggle moments, Jimin’s head in the crook of his neck, exhaustion flowing from the youngster like an untamed river, pudgy fingers disrupting the collar of his t-shirt, and tiny puffs of contentment hitting his skin. This, treasures like this, Hoseok thinks, are what being a parent is all about.

“But, but, I didn’t get ice cream,” Jimin reminds him sleepily as Hoseok tucks him into bed.

“I know, I promise tomorrow you can have ice cream before dinner.”

“Can I have two ice creams?” Jimin requests, holding up three fingers.

“No,” Hoseok answers and chuckles, ruffling the child’s wavy black hair. “No, you may not.”

Jimin’s bottom lip juts out in a pout but is soon overtaken by a wide mouth yawn accompanied by droopy sleep glazed eyes. He leans down to place a soft kiss on Jimin’s forehead. Jimin’s eyes flutter shut, and a moment later the child’s even breathing fills the room.

“Night buddy. Appa loves you,” he whispers.

Hoseok leaves the door ajar as he exits, walking back the living room.

Spying his cell phone on the dining room table, he grabs it, then heads to the couch. Throwing himself on the soft leather sofa, he dials Jin’s number as he situates himself and drops a throw blanket over his lap.

“Yes, Hoseok,” Jin answers, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“Had another riveting convo with my mother as to why her and my father would be the best options for raising Jimin.” He hadn’t realized how much the talk with his mother affected him until Jin gave him an opening.

“Why are they so adamant about this all of a sudden?” Jin’s question is the one Hoseok’s been asking since the battle started three days after Jimin’s fourth birthday.

“I’m not sure, either. Fours years, hyung, four full years without so much as a birthday card, acknowledging Jimin’s existence. Now suddenly they want to raise him and make him their legal heir. I just don’t get it.”

“Sorry, Hoseok-ah. Have you talked to Yong-Sun about this? Does she know?”

Hoseok sighs loudly.

“No.” The last thing Hoseok wants to do is drag Yong-Sun into this mess. “She’s just recently gotten herself back to a good place, you know? I don’t wanna do anything that might disrupt that.”

“I get that,” Jin tells him, and Hoseok pictures his friend nodding his head on the line.

“I’m nervous, you know? I don’t say it out loud because I don’t want to acknowledge it, but there’s this pink elephant -- make that pink King Kong sized fear eating me up. I’m worried that they’ll try to take him away,” Hoseok admits, for perhaps the first time.

“I’m sorry, Hoseok-ah.” Jin’s voice is soft and soothing, and Hoseok thinks this sound may be the reason he called; he just needs to know someone in on his side. “Is there anything I can do?”

Hoseok shakes his head. He knows Jin can’t see his response, but he just needs a moment without words.

“How are you, hyung?” He changes the subject. He needs to.

“Well, I made my child cry for an hour last night, so I’m doing amazing. I’m thinking about getting into the running for parent of the year.” Sarcasm and sadness drip from Jin’s voice.

“Ahh, Jimin told me that Tae went home crying because you wouldn’t let him take his brother home. You holding out on me, sunshine?” Hoseok wants to lighten the mood.

“Did you call just to make fun of me?” Jin seems to catch on and plays along. “Because if so, that makes me question our friendship.”

Hoseok chuckles; banter is their love language.

“Please, if that were true, this friendship would have ended on day one. So, what happened anyway? My son was not forthcoming with any facts, only that the kid likes orange crayons and Ironman.”

“It seems Taehyung’s new classmate has the same last name as him, and someone who shall remain nameless, Jung Hoseok, told my very impressionable five-year-old that people with the same family name are all related. Now he thinks that Kim Jungkook is his brother. So, you know, thanks for that by the way.” 

“Happy to help.” He chuckles, laughing at Jin’s cluck of disapproval.

“There’s more,” Jin says sheepishly, and Hoseok finds himself leaning into the phone.

“More?”

“Mmm. So it turns out that Taehyung's new brother happens to be my adorable patient from three weeks ago.” Jin sighs on the line, and Hoseok can feel the man’s stress in his gut. “Oh, and did I mention the day it happened, we had an emergency just before I went to pick up Tae? A patient throw up all over my favorite Gucci button down, and I didn't have time to change, and I was arguing with a nurse on the phone when Taehyung got in the car so I didn’t see him smuggle another human in…and why’s my life like this?”

“Wait? Hold up, the single dad with the dimples so deep you want to do jello shots out of them?” He can almost feel Jin shrivel in embarrassment on the line.

“You know, you don’t always have to repeat my drunken statements back to me,” Jin deadpans.

“Why? They’re so much fun to relive, like your favorite episode of Friends, only sloshed Jin style.” Hoseok laughs at his joke.

“I hate you right now,” Jin declares.

“No, you don’t.”

Jin sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

“Anyway, yes dimples. Apparently, all this time Jungkook, his son, has been in the same class as Jimin and Tae.”

“Well, that’s somewhat fortuitous,” Hoseok points out.

“Not really. I have no time for a relationship; I barely have time to eat. Plus, dimples has, uhm, issues. Also, my child tried to kidnap his, so I think it’s safe to say I’m on the do not contact list.”

“Issues? What issues?” he questions Jin.

“He’s agoraphobic,” Jin states simply.

“That’s fear of crowds, right?” Hoseok’s not up to date on his social anxieties.

“Yes and no. It’s more fear of not being in control. Like you’re scared that you won’t be able to manage a situation or a place and so you avoid it all together.” Jin sounds like the medical personnel he is, and Hoseok can’t help but smile.

“Is it an unsurmountable phobia? Can people overcome it?” Hoseok asks.

“Yes, with treatment. There are cases too, where people just get over it, like a switch turns on and they’re no longer afraid.”

“Jin, this is the first time in a while that you’ve been remotely interested in someone who wasn’t a patient or a cartoon character. Why are you closing the door without ever walking inside?’

“Because, Hoseok. I’m ing scared.”

 

 ****

“Jungkook, Uncle Yoongi’s here to take you to school,” Namjoon calls from the front door.

“Nae, Appa.”

“You okay?” Yoongi asks Namjoon, brows drawn in concern.

“Yeah, I’m... Jungkook’s fine. He must have asked me when Taehyung was coming to visit at least fifty times last night. He likes this kid, and he’s never really had a friend over or gone to a friend’s house. Am I a bad parent?” The question has been eating him up all night.

“You’re an amazing parent, Joon; Jungkook’s proof of that. He’s also never asked to have a friend over before. Stop beating yourself up.”

Yoongi’s words are meant to encourage him, but deep down he knows that Jungkook’s never asked because even at the tender age of five he understands that his dad’s not normal. Namjoon sighs and pats Yoongi on the shoulder in a silent thank you. Seconds later he hears the patter of little feet along the tile as Jungkook rounds the corner to the foyer, Ironman backpack in tow.

“You have everything?”

“Yes, Appa.” Jungkook nods.

“Remember what Appa told you last night.”

The little boy’s bottom lip juts out in an instant pout.

“I can only get in Uncle Yoongi’s car.” Jungkook responds almost automatically.

“Good boy. Have fun at school.”

Namjoon gets down to Jungkook’s level, kissing the little boy lightly on the forehead.

“Appa, can I still let Taehyung be my brother? It’s fun having a brother.”

The child’s innocence breaks him, and Namjoon prays that this part of Jungkook never goes away, never gets tarnished by the world. Looking up at Yoongi from his position on the ground, he’s expecting to see the answer to Jungkook’s question looming over the man’s head like a light bulb or a speech bubble in a comic strip, he finds a question mark instead.

“Taehyung’s not your brother though, sweetie.” He’s not sure how else to respond.

“I know, but we can pretend, right?”

How can he say no to that?

“Yes, you’re absolutely correct, you can. Say hi to Taehyung for me, okay?”

The smile Jungkook graces him with is brilliant, blinding, and it chases all of Namjoon’s darkness away. He hugs the little boy tightly, kissing the top of his son’s dark brown locks before releasing him into Yoongi’s charge. He watches as the duo disappears down the hall to the elevator, hand in hand, Jungkook jumping up and down, happily chatting. Namjoon’s both grateful for and jealous of Yoongi. That should be him holding Jungkook’s hand. He should be taking his child to school and hearing his excited morning chatter. Instead, Yoongi has become somewhat of a surrogate father to Jungkook, enjoying all the moments in the little boy’s life where Namjoon’s not well enough to participate.

Closing his front door on the now empty hallway, he shuffles back to his bedroom to grab his laptop off his bed. He’d fallen asleep making tweaks to the most recent chapter of the story he’s working on. Leaning over to grab the computer, he spies the white business card on the nightstand next to him. Sitting on the bed, computer momentarily forgotten, he picks up the card. Seokjin’s name is written in a soft pink color that, for some reason, has Namjoon thinking about clouds and kittens.

He twirls the white, three-by-two card in between his fingers, mulling over his next steps. Flopping backward, his back hits the mattress with a small thump. Holding Seokjin’s card above his head, Namjoon stares at the name for what could be construed as an absurdly long time, and sighing, he sits back up and reaches under his pillow to retrieve his cell phone.

Before he lets his fear and the nervous electricity that’s pulsing through his veins talk him out of it, Namjoon smashes the doctor's numbers on the screen and hits send.

 

 ****

“Your eight o’clock