Nam Joon hesitated.

He stood in front of the door to his class, clenching and unclenching his fists as he silently debated whether or not he wanted to enter the classroom. The hallways were empty, not even the teachers were wandering around. Nam Joon had taken the first bus this morning in an attempt to be alone, and on the bus he was alone. Him, the driver, one old man sitting in a broken seat in the red taped area, and one middle aged woman with red clacking heels and exposed blank arms. Nam Joon was able to look out the window, see the green smog of Seoul’s sky and get lost in his thoughts. But in the classroom, once again, someone beat him to it.

There he was, sloped over a textbook, head buried in his arms, hair an unnatural shade of brown, legs curled underneath him, backpack open and resting against the chair, sitting in the front row on the far left next to the windows.

Nam Joon lingered for another minute. He in took a breath, ran a hand through his silver hair, smoothed it back, exhaled, then opened the door. He walked quickly to his desk in the middle of the classroom, avoided looking at the only other person in the room. There was an empty bag of sun chips in his desk, he grabbed it and walked to the desk where the trash can was hidden.

“I was wondering if you were going to come in.”

Nam Joon froze, arm half extended to throw the trash away.

“Or go outside and wait for the bell to ring.”

Nam Joon landed the bag in the trash can and turned to face the voice. He was now sitting up on his chair, arms crossed, a smirk on his face, “You’re more brave than I expected.”

Nam Joon scoffed, “You’re not exactly threatening.”

“Then why did you spend so much time at the door?”  he mock sympathized, “Were you blinded by my good looks?”

Nam Joon rolled his eyes, he looked away as he walked back to his desk, “You wish. I’m just amazed that pretty boys actually care about their classes.”

“Not all of us have daddy’s money paying our tuition. Some of us have to make good grades to stay at this school.”

“You don’t look like the studying type.”

“Remind me again who ranks number one in the class?”

Nam Joon began scribbling in his notebook.

Seokjin smiled and rested his head on his hand, “What’s wrong money bags? Did you lose your memory, or your pride?”

At that moment the rest of their classmates walked into the classroom. The bell had rung earlier, neither had noticed. Nam Joon continued scribbling, word after word spilling onto the page. Seokjin faced forward. His triumphant expression was replaced with a soft one, the kind of honest face that teacher’s blindly trusted. The classroom shuffled and the school day began.

~~

On the first day of the school year, Nam Joon was unanimously voted Class President. His mom smiled, rather she attempted a smile since the botox prevented true expression, when he later told her the news. Nam Joon’s reaction had differed drastically, because that day, right before voting him as president, his classmates had chosen Kim Seokjin for vice president.

The voting had been close. While Seokjin had a trusting face, not everyone was ready to accept a plebian in a position of power, even one as miniscule as class vice president. He only ever wore long sleeve shirts, but everyone knew. They would always know. So Nam Joon was surprised when Seokjin won over a Senator’s daughter by two votes.

For Nam Joon’s Class president status it was an obvious decision, he was the highest rank in the class. Seokjin had lazily raised his hand during the presidential voting, as if choosing Nam Joon was an afterthought. But when they were released for break, Seokjin walked right up to Nam Joon, and smiled when he said “Let’s have a good year, President Nam Joon.” Nam Joon clenched his fists when he replied, “Thank you.”

It’s not as if Seokjin had a bad reputation, for a plebian he was treated very well. The teachers would call on him to answer questions, and forgive him if he got an answer wrong, while Nam Joon was scolded for his mistakes. And in their second year of high school when Seokjin came to class with chesnut colored  hair instead of his usual mop of black, the principal complimented it instead of reprimanding him for breaking school rules. The next day Nam Joon went to class with silver hair. He knew he wouldn’t get challenged, but still, the hair was a message. A message that Seokjin received.

Since then, Nam Joon and Seokjin would fight back and forth for place ranking of their grade, and when Nam Joon became head editor of the school newspaper, Seokjin became president of the choir club.

This year, they were placed in the same classroom, they were actively competing against each other and the rest of the students were caught in the crossfire, hoping that they wouldn’t crash and burn.

~~

The city was divided. Those with blank arms lived in the center of town, those tattooed with blue bars lived in the “enamel” the ring between the center and the slums. And, of course, those with barcode tattoos lived on the outskirts of town, in the worn down building that made up the slums. Nam Joon’s family lived in one of the center buildings, his grandfather was the CEO of South Korea’s highest grossing electronics company. Out of all the perks Nam Joon received from being his oldest grandson, the shiny new cars were his favorite. Tonight’s vehicle was a silver Eclipse that reflected the lights of Hongdae in all of their brilliant artificial glory. Yoongi and Hoseok were in the back seat, deciding who would get the apartment for the night. Yoongi groaned while Hoseok fist pumped the air. “We should have brought Jungkook with us,” Yoongi said while playing with chain dangling from his jeans.

“His father just got a promotion within your company, right?” Hoseok asked.

“My dad’s company, not mine,” Yoongi shoved him, “and yeah, he did. The kid’s got really good English, he lived in America for three years.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Nam Joon smirked.

Yoongi’s lips curved into his lazy cat smile, “Feeling better yet?”

“Yeah, sorry I punched you yesterday.”

“No offense taken, it must be tiring to be the heir.”

“It’s not that,” Nam Joon swallowed, “school has been stressing me out.”

“I thought Professor Kang was one of the easier graders?” Hoseok entered the conversation.

“Not on me, I think my mom told him to go hard on me or something.”

“Or that plebian kid really is smarter than you.”

Thank god they were at a red light, Nam Joon had just enough time to punch Yoongi on the shoulder.

Hoseok laughed, “He has to have the scholarship for a reason. Lighten up man.”

“Not until I’m number one.”

“Whoa, time out,” Yoongi held up his arms, “Why are we talking about school on a Saturday night? No more of this talk. From now on, we’re only allowed to drink booze and es.”

Hoseok scoffed.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “And guys too, I guess.”

“You should try it some time. I’m sure that first year kid on your basketball team can you show how it’s done.”

Yoongi shoved Hoseok into the car door.

Nam Joon smiled. They might as well have been back in elementary school arguing over who gets to go down the big slide first. As far as Nam Joon could see, nothing has changed.

Their favorite bar was hidden on the sixth floor of one of those lit up buildings decorating the skyline. The bouncers were more than willing to accommodate a few Chaebol kids, as long as their tip was somewhere in the ten thousand won or higher range. They were given their usual second floor lounge that overlooked the rest of the club, where the flashing lights illuminating the dance floor and the smoke drifting around the room didn’t affect them. The walls were decorated in graffiti to give that urban grunge feel that none of them knew first hand but pretended to be a part of. When your family made nine digit figures, you didn’t understand hardships of slum living. But Nam Joon didn’t want hardships. He wanted crystal glasses filled with dark European liquor and respect received without dropping names, earned only with a charismatic look. Nam Joon had it, the essence of someone in power. Hoseok once told him he looked like a mafia boss with his slicked back hair and black blazer. Even his dimples couldn’t deter that image.

Yoongi and Hoseok stayed in their lounge while Nam Joon made his way downstairs to the bar area, where the people of the night danced, transforming from individuals into a mob of sweating bodies. They enjoyed that, and Nam Joon enjoyed watching them. Maybe I will pick up someone tonight, he thought as he took a sip of the glass the bartender gave to him. His eyes scanned the room, assessing the people in the crowd, in their obnoxious colored outfits and various barcode tattoos or blue bars displayed on their forearms. Then Nam Joon saw him.

He was leaning against the wall with his mussed up hair and wide necked sweater.  He looked like sin. There was a thick metal cross at the end of a chain resting on his chest, oh the irony. His half lidded eyes stared at the dancers, then flicked down to his feet. Long fingers wrapped around the glass filled with amber liquid. He drank, slowly, methodically, showing a full view of the tantalizing smooth pale skin of his neck. Nam Joon swallowed.

Seokjin.

Nam Joon felt his fists clench when Seokjin caught his stare. And he smirked. The bastard smirked, and his lips and raised an eyebrow at Nam Joon as he took a drink from the glass in his hands. Nam Joon’s nails dug into his skin. This was around the time that he would break eye contact, but on all those other times he was never three shots into the night, in a club thumping with heavy bass and surrounded by strangers. The song got slower as Seokjin walked over to the bar, never breaking their eye contact. His eyes were still half lidded, though there was something twisted dancing in them. Black skinny jeans wrapped around legs that made him almost as tall as Nam Joon, so that he had to stare at big eyes lined with kohl and pink lips. “So money bags is brave enough to go out at night,” he said with a smirk, leaning against the bar counter, “not without body guards I assume.”

It took Nam Joon a minute to find his voice “I’m by myself.”

“Oh really,” Seokjin motioned to the second floor where Yoongi and Hoseok were sitting on a couch and flirting with some of the dancers.

“If I was being attacked they’d be no help.”

Seokjin hummed, he looked at the bartender and ordered another drink while playing with the collar of his sweater. Nam Joon’s gaze followed his hand, circling around the exposed skin and collar bones and the bumps along his spine-

“So do you come here often?”

Nam Joon blinked, he looked back up at Seokjin’s eyes.

Nam Joon rested an elbow on the counter, his other hand playing with the whiskey glass, “Sometimes, when I’m stressed.”

“And what would the great Nam Joon possibly be stressed about?”

“Unrealistic expectations, the state of the economy, how long Korea will be self sufficient before we cave and start talking to other countries again.”

“Poor baby you have so many problems,” Seokjin mocked as he lightly rubbed Nam Joon’s arm.

“What’s your excuse? You’re clearly underage.”

Seokjin smiled. Nam Joon felt his heart beat quicken.

“You’ll be amazed at what you can get away with when you’re born with a face like mine.”

Nam Joon scoffed, “A pretty face isn’t a get out of jail free card.”

“No, but it’s not just a face. It’s pale skin and slim wrists and long legs,” Seokjin made his eyes bigger and tilted his head in a way that Nam Joon did not think was cute at all, “Don’t you agree?”

“You’re just taking advantage of people.”

“You didn’t say no.”

Nam Joon looked back at the crowd on the dance floor. He heard Seokjin’s laugh next to him, could almost feel it with how close their arms were. “Oh Nam Joon you are so easy to read.”

“You shouldn’t call me that, it’s disrespectful.”

“Why? Because I’m a plebian and your granddaddy is a CEO?”

“No, because we hardly know each other,” Nam Joon glared.

Seokjin made a surprised expression, “Really, we don’t know each other. Not in our first year of high school when we both sat in the back of Mrs. Moon’s class. Or the next year when your hair turned silver immediately after mine turned brown. Or even this year, when we have classroom duties after school.”

“Class room duties don’t count. You work so slowly that by the time you’re done sweeping I’ve cleaned the black boards, wiped the desks, and washed the windows,” Nam Joon raised an eyebrow.

Seokjin leaned in closer, not meeting his gaze, “Yes,” his hand barely brushed the skin of Nam Joon’s forearm, tracing over an elaborate red ink tattoo, “but you like it.”

Nam Joon swallowed, “What do you mean?”

Seokjin’s hand stilled above the black outline of a raven, he shrugged, “I don’t know.” He looked up at Nam Joon with wide eyes, “Just that most of the time you’re not even cleaning, you’re just staring at me.”

Nam Joon’s fists clenched, Seokjin began tracing the veins on his forearm. The other hand was half covered in a sleeve and propping up his head, “You’re not denying it.”

Nam Joon’s fists unclenched, he grabbed his drink and finished what was left before meeting Seokjin’s gaze head on, “What are you going to do about it?”

Seokjin motioned at himself, “I’m not going to do anything.” He leaned in closer, Nam Joon could count his eyelashes fluttering against his face. “But what are you going to do, know that you know that I knew, and I never stopped you?” and he smirked. The bastard smirked as he played with his sweater, exposing more of his smooth shoulders.

Nam Joon swallowed before leaning in barely brushing Seokjin’s lips before moving to his ear, whispering, “What if I want you? What if I want to take that stupid sweater off your body and put my hands where it once was?” his hands grabbed on to Seokjin’s thighs, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t by the little moan Seokjin made, “What if I want to bite you and kiss you everywhere, and bend you over the bar counter as I into you? And gripped your hair as you screamed? Would you stop me?”

“Why don’t you try?” Seokjin nuzzled against the soft skin under Nam Joon’s ear, “and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Nam Joon gripped him tighter, “What if I can’t stop?”

Nam Joon felt Seokjin smile against his skin, “We’ll have to find out.”

~~

Nam Joon had never been more thankful to have a private room in the club because he’s pretty sure he would not have made the twenty minute ride back to his rented apartment in the city. Not with the way Seokjin was mouthing at his jaw or his hand brushed over his crotch or his nails scraped the back of Nam Joon’s neck, on that sensitive part at the base of his head-

everything.

As soon as the door was unlocked, Nam Joon pushed Seokjin on the couch and crawled right between his legs. He pushed that damn sweater up to Seokjin’s chin, and began at the exposed skin. He had seen it before, in the locker rooms before their PE class. But there’s a difference between looking at a well toned torso across the room and having it beneath you at your mercy. It was much better up close. Seokjin’s breath hitched when Nam Joon his , so he did it again, just to hear that beautiful whine. His hand teased at the other one, and Seokjin’s whines became more frequent. God why didn’t Nam Joon do this before? They always have plenty of time in the classroom before the first bell rings and then Nam Joon stopped thinking because Seokjin was scratching the back of his head again. So he took his mouth off of the pink bud and pushed the sweater all the way off of Seokjin. His mussed up hair and big eyes and smudged eyeliner and labored breathing stirred something Nam Joon, because how could Seokjin look so innocent yet so sinful at the same time. Seokjin his lips “Aren’t you going to do something? Because if you don’t, I will.”

His hands tugged at Nam Joon’s shirt, but Nam Joon quickly grabbed his wrists. He situated them above Seokjin’s head, managed to grip both of them with one hand, and used the other to hold on to Seokjin’s waist as he kissed him. He into his mouth, marveling at each moan and whimper Seokjin made. Nam Joon Seokjin’s tongue, he felt Seokjin’s body arch up against his. God, he was so thin, Nam Joon could almost wrap on arm around his waist. He again. He felt Seokjin’s wrists tug in his grasp. Nam Joon moved away from his mouth and began kissing against his jaw, “Not yet.”

“Joon- AH!” Seokjin cried out as Nam Joon bit into his neck, that same neck that had been mocking him all night. He on the soft spot and marveled at the mark it made. Like a red rose blooming on Seokjin’s skin. The rose looked lonely so he on Seokjin’s collarbone, then again closer to the juncture of the shoulder. He could feel Seokjin growing desperate, he could feel the tugs on the wrist and his torso squirming under Nam Joon’s grasp. But then he felt Seokjin grind their hips together.

Nam Joon will deny the noise he made.

“Do you need any help with that?” Seokjin panted out.

“Shut up,” Nam Joon gritted out. But when Seokjin rubbed their hips again, Nam Joon let go. Seokjin tugged Nam Joon’s jacket off, then ripped off the buttons of his shirt. He kissed Nam Joon’s pout, “You can afford a new one.” He on Nam Joon’s lower lips as wandering hands brushed against the now exposed skin.

Weeks later, Nam Joon won’t remember all of the details. He’ll remember Seokjin, and seeing him leaning against the wall his lips, looking like sin. Sometime after that, they ended up in the lounge. Nam Joon will remember being desperate. He’ll remember the look of ecstasy and Seokjin’s face and feel pride for making him look that way. But Nam Joon will remember everything about Seokjin’s hands, and the places they touched will still burn three weeks later. And while Nam Joon’s touches were forceful, leaving bruises of fingertips on Seokjin’s hips and thighs, Seokjin’s touches were delicate, just barely there brushes. As if he were afraid Nam Joon would break.

 Maybe he was fragile.

Because something did shatter.

His resolve.

And every day after that night, he would not, could not, go a day without thinking of Seokjin. Or his hands. Or his smile.

But that realization comes later.

After Nam Joon stripped off Seokjin’s clothes.  After he marked his skin.  After he got to taste the inside of Seokjin’s thighs and feel him clench around . After they both screamed their release.

The realization came when they were a finished sweating mass on the bed, lying on top of the comforter because it takes too much time and effort to crawl underneath it. And really what are bones. Nam Joon can’t remember what they feel like, or how they hold a body together and upright. All he can think about is Seokjin, and how good he looked when he was beneath Nam Joon only a few moments ago.

Nam Joon opened up the drawer to one of the night stands, pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. Seokjin half laughed, still fighting for air, at the sight, “You really do come here often. You even have your post stress relief.”

Nam Joon exhaled the smoke, already feeling the nicotine slow down his heart rate, “I don’t keep it here because of post whatever. I can’t smoke at my apartment, my parents come once a week and my mom would disown me if she found out. That hypocrite goes through three packs a week.”

Seokjin half smiled, still on his high “You should call her out next time.”

Their labored breathing was becoming even. When they next met gazes, it was Seokjin who was caught staring. He pulled back his arm from where it was reaching and stared back up the ceiling, cheeks visibly turning red. His eyeliner was smudged and his lips were swollen , and there were marks from where Nam Joon kissed his neck, but Nam Joon was sure there are red lines across his back from where Seokjin dug his fingernails into his skin, therefore they were even.

Later Nam Joon will look at his reflection and find that there were no marks, that the burn beneath Seokjin’s fingertips was all imagined. And that he could still feel it.

 But now Nam Joon smirked and pulled the other boy closer to him. “If you wanted to cuddle just say so,” He didn’t look him in the eye. But he felt Seokjin smile against his skin and wrap his arms around his chest. Somehow he coaxed Nam Joon under the blankets and pulled the comforter on top of them before resting his head under Nam Joon’s chin. “Who knew the cold city boy liked hugs,” Seokjin half mumbled in his almost dream state.

Nam Joon ran his fingers through soft hair damp with sweat, then traced each bump down his spine. He put out the cigarette, not wanting to disrupt the smaller boy with the smoke. “Yeah, who knew?”

Nam Joon kissed the top of Seokjin’s head before he fell asleep smiling.

~~

The club was near empty when they woke up, the only signs of life were the janitors cleaning up the place and the occasional drunk hugging a bar stool or asleep in one of the booths. Nam Joon didn’t see Yoongi or Hoseok in the lounge but the car was still where he parked it last night. He sent them quick text messages asking if they were okay.

“Where do you live?”

“I can take a bus.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

So Seokjin dictated the directions while rubbing at his still sleep encrusted eyes. The sweater wasn’t slipping off now, and when it did Seokjin quickly pulled the collar back in place. With the other hand he covered up the bruises on his neck. At a red light, Nam Joon leaned into the back and felt around for one of Yoongi’s designer scarves.

“Here, this should hide them,” Nam Joon handed it over as the light switched to green.

“I can’t keep it.”

“Don’t worry, Yoongi has hundreds exactly like that one.”

Seokjin his lips, a habit Nam Joon noticed, and said thanks.

They pulled up to a rundown apartment building on the outskirts of Seoul.

“This is kind of far from the school,” Nam Joon commented.

Seokjin didn’t meet his gaze, “I can’t afford anything closer. Not all of us have daddy’s money paying for everything.”

Nam Joon nodded. He tapped the steering wheel. Seokjin tugged at the scarf, looking at the red skull print.

“Thanks for the ride,” Seokjin broke the silence and reached for the door handle.

Nam Joon grabbed his arm “Seokjin wait.”

So Seokjin stopped. Nam Joon stared, Seokjin stared back.

He made another move to leave but Nam Joon pulled him closer then, tentatively, kissed him. It was soft, sweet, what a first kiss should have tasted like instead of the hungry, lust filled one from last night. Seokjin leaned closer and wrapped a hand behind Nam Joon’s head, lightly brushing the skin beneath his fingers. They broke away, slowly. Seokjin his lips. Nam Joon kissed his nose.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Not like this.”

Nam Joon pulled away, Seokjin didn’t meet his gaze as he continued talking, “We can’t meet like this again.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll start going to a different club on the weekends.”

“Seokjin why can’t we meet like this again?”

“Think about it Money Bags!” Seokjin finally met his gaze, “I have a barcode on my arm that classifies me as belonging to the slums. Just getting the scholarship was a big deal. And you, you and your elite friends don’t even have involuntary tattoos, that’s how untouchable you are.”

Nam Joon glared, “It’s Nam Joon.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows furrowed together, “What?”

“My name isn’t money bags, it’s Nam Joon,” Nam Joon explained, Seokjin shrunk under his gaze, “and to hell with social markers. If I want to see you I will, the only thing that will stop me is you. Do you really want to pretend this was a one time thing?”

Seokjin his lips, he looked down at his hands when he whispered “No.”

Nam Joon smiled, he ran his hand through Seokjin’s soft hair, “I’ll take you to dinner next time. Does that sound fair?”

Seokjin smiled, still refusing to look up, “Sure, dinner sounds great.”

“We can still hate each other at school. I’m sure Professor Kang appreciates it.”

“Of course, he’s always asking if you bully me and if he should report you. I told you, a pretty face can get you anything, even when you’re a plebian.”

“Sure,” Nam Joon’s hand dropped down from Seokjin’s hair and propped up his chin, so that they were at eye level. They kissed one last time before Seokjin really did leave the car, and walked up the steps to a crumbling apartment. The black skinny jeans really did suit him.

Nam Joon smiled on his drive back home.

He was looking forward to going to the classroom early on Monday. And being one of only two people in the room. And classroom duties after school. And light brushes on his arm. And everything that makes up Kim Seokjin.

A/N: I fail when I try to write , I fail when I try to write happy things. Apparently I can only write angst -_-

- as stated before there will be more to this universe (called barcode!au in my drafts) and since these aren't a long story line as much as they are episodes within a universe, they should take less time to write. So hopefully, between studying and writing papers I'll be able to take time to write these. YAY!