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glassbangtan · 3 years

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onto the next {kim seokjin x reader}

words: 15.9k

summary: you just need to start a new life. you need to get out of this small town and start fresh. you’re beginning to think you made the wrong decision until a kind man named seokjin offers to help you navigate the trains.

genre: uhhhhhh fluff??? angst???

notes: this literally has no plot, don’t let the summary fool you. but it’s cute!!! - masterlist - support my writing or ask about commissions!

----

you need to get out of here.

fuck, you don’t even know how it happened. you left school, and you had plans. so many plans. an entire life laid out ahead of you. once upon a time, you were one of those hopeful little kids, buzzing to get out of the education system so you could pursue the dreams you so desperately wanted to pursue.

but then you were actually given independence, and it spiralled from there.

you wouldn’t say it was too much. you’re not that dramatic. it was just a shift - a big shift. you ended up with a job at a nearby Chinese takeout, working from four in the afternoon to ten at night, dealing with drunk people and little kids and answering phones. it was good at first, just getting money, but over time, when the novelty wore off, you wondered what the hell you were doing there. this wasn’t part of your plan. you should be travelling the world right now.

so here you are, a few months into your mental breakdown, finally tipping over the edge.

you stare at the list of trains flashing overhead in bright red letters. in your pocket, your phone blares with the continuous text messages from your parents, asking how you are, if you’re willing to tell them anything yet, if you’re safe. you’ll text them back once you know what you’re doing, but for now, you just need to get out of here.

there’s plenty of options. more options than you can handle, really; you thought it would be easier than this. you’d just walk into the train station and pick a destination, and your life would finally begin. now, however, your mind is a tangled mess of emotions, doubt, and everything that comes with it.

you slump down on a nearby bench and duck your head in your hands. you don’t realise you’re crying until your sleeves start getting damp.

“are you alright?”

you don’t lift your head. “no.”

the bench creaks as the stranger sits down. a shoulder nudges your own, firm and warm, probably adorned by a bulky coat given the frosty weather of korea at the moment.

“oh. that’s not very good.”

you drop your hands. the next train finally closes its doors and speeds out of the station, leaving you with yet another hour to gather your thoughts; it’s the second train that you have let slip through your fingers, because you still don’t even know where you want to go.

you turn, glancing at the man beside you. he’s eating a packet of starburst, staring out at the railway tracks. he’s wearing a thick black coat over a hoodie, and he truly looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

he catches you staring after a few seconds and immediately offers you a starburst. “hungry?”

you hesitantly take one, though you don’t undo the wrapper. instead, you play with the sugary square, thankful to have something keeping your hands occupied.

“so,” the stranger continues, “why are you crying?”

how direct.

“i wasn’t crying.”

the man glances at you, raises a brow. his features are surprisingly handsome, a set of plump lips and kind eyes that take a little bit of fear from your body. “are you sure about that?”

“pretty certain.”

“did you miss your train or something? sometimes i feel like crying when i’ve missed my train; it’s very stressful.”

you blink. “no. no, i haven’t missed my train.”

he perks up. “oh, good! what train are you getting then? maybe i can help you with the times.”

that’s really the million dollar question, isn’t it? what train will you find yourself upon? what city will you find yourself travelling to?

you have no idea.

“i have no idea.”

the man pauses as if waiting for the punchline to some kind of joke. you unwrap your starburst and pop it in your mouth. overhead, a voice announces that the next train will be arriving in fifty minutes.

when the silence stretches beyond anything acceptable, the man awkwardly coughs and says, “you don’t know?”

“i don’t know.”

“so you’re just. . . crying in the train station for no reason, with no train to catch?”

“i never said i didn’t have a train to catch. i just don’t know what one i’m catching yet.”

the man nods. you can tell, somehow, that he still doesn’t understand what you’re trying to say, but he’s too polite to question you any further. instead, he looks up at the signs above and says, “i’m heading to Gwangju, if that helps.”

Gwangju. you’ve heard wonderful things about that place. it’s pretty, apparently, though you can only base that off things you’ve heard from others.

“Gwangju,” you repeat, as if testing the word. “why are you going to Gwangju?”

he shrugs. “i just need to get away for a little while.”

your heart stutters, eyes snapping round to look at him. he sits completely straight, fidgeting with a strawberry starburst; his fingers are lovely, long and slightly bent in places.

i just need to get away for a little while.

oh, how fate works in the most wild ways.

“so do i,” you say. “i need to get away, too.”

his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “really? is that why you’re here?”

“i’m kind of looking for a place to start fresh, i suppose, yeah. i woke up this morning, grabbed my bag and just. . . walked here. i have enough money for a decent train fare, but i don’t have any plans.” you shrug, awkwardly glancing to the floor. “i don’t think i really thought it through, though, because now i have no idea what i’m doing.”

“well, that’s the fun, isn’t it?” the man nudges your arm. when you look at him, he’s grinning again, tiny little dimples appearing just beneath the points of his mouth. “don’t be scared. it’ll work out. what’s the worst that could happen?”

your stomach turns; you were kind of hoping he wouldn’t ask that question, because that means you have to actually ponder over everything that could possibly go wrong, and you’ve got a list. a mental list, compiled from the very moment you decided this was your next course of action.

the man must notice your sudden hesitation, as his eyes widen and he leans forward, trying desperately to meet your gaze before you fall too deeply into your own pessimistic thoughts. “okay, maybe i shouldn’t have said that. look, let’s not think about the worst that could happen, alright? how about we start by making sure this is something you actually want to do.”

“it is.” the affirmative spills from your mouth with no hesitation. “i need to do this. i need to.”

the man nods. “good. that’s alright, then. next step is probably figuring out where you actually want to go.”

you risk another glance at the red words flashing above your head; they look no less daunting than they did the first time you looked at them. so many places, so many opportunities, and you’re not sure whether you’ll fit in with any of them.

but you have to make your decision now. you have roughly half an hour to make your mind up, buy a ticket and get on that god damn train, so you really shouldn’t be wasting any more time.

“Gwangju doesn’t sound like a bad shout.”

the man’s eyebrows shoot up once again. “really?”

you shrug. “well, you brought it up. i’ll give it a go.”

he grins. “it really is a great place. we can get the train together.” he stands up. “come on, let’s get you a ticket.”

and so, it begins.

your heart doesn’t steady the entire time. you buy a ticket with the man - seokjin, you learn- by your side before the two of you take a seat at the edge of the platform, waiting patiently for the train to arrive. he pulls out a bag of pretzels and shares them with you, even though your stomach feels like it’s going to turn inside out with every bite; you’re too nervous to do anything besides nod and hum to everything seokjin is trying to explain, and he’s trying to explain an awful lot.

he goes into detail about the sights of Gwangju, and how he’s booked a B&B, and it’s going to be such a fun trip. you have so many questions about why he’s doing this, how he has the confidence to just get up and leave home like he has no commitments to anything. the questions don’t make an appearance, though, because you’re fairly certain opening your mouth will result in you vomiting all over the place.

finally, after what feels like forever, the train comes screeching to a halt and the doors open. you’re frozen in place for a moment, seokjin staring at the side of your head, waiting for you to make the first move. you kind of appreciate the way in which he waits, how he’s not pushing you to just get up and do it; if you really wanted to turn your back on this opportunity now, he wasn’t going to stop you.

you inhale and rise on shaky legs. seokjin follows close behind, letting you guide him to the train. you clamber on board and grab a seat, seokjin sitting down beside you. he pushes his hood off his head once he’s finally seated, letting out a quiet sigh of relief; his black hair sticks up, only getting worse when he runs his nimble fingers through the strands.

“are you nervous?”

“i think that’s pretty obvious.”

seokjin chuckles, flopping back in his seat with a lazy grin. “i know. i just thought i should get you to speak to maybe take your mind off things.”

you sigh; you have to admit, now that you’re on the train, and you know you’re not fully, fully alone, your nerves are dissipating just a little bit. you can breathe a bit better than before, and you haven’t had the urge to burst into tears in nearly an entire hour - it’s progress.

“so,” he continues. “are you going to explain to me what’s really going on here?”

you flick your eyes up, raising a brow. “i didn’t lie; i was being serious when i said i just needed to get out of here.”

“yeah, i get that, but surely there must be something else to it. not everyone just. . . leaves.”

“isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”

seokjin shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. he’s slouched in his chair now, legs spread, head tilted back. he’s so low that you have to look down to address him. “i travel for work, if you must know. getting on trains and travelling the country isn’t something i’m not used to. you, however, didn’t even know how to work the train system.”

you scowl. “that’s not true. i could have handled this on my own perfectly fine.”

“i don’t doubt that. i’m just saying, i’m still not convinced you’re telling me everything.”

“and why should i? i don’t even know who you are.”

seokjin hums, staring out into the aisle as more people clamber onto the train; it’s getting very full now, with some people having to stand as the seats become more and more occupied.

“good point,” he says. “at least tell me this; on a scale of one to ten, how prepared are you for this trip?”

you don’t hesitate. “zero.”

seokjin’s eyebrows rise. “z-zero? like, you have no preparation whatsoever?”

“i have my bag with me.”

seokjin waits.

you don’t say anything else, because you have nothing else to say. you have the clothes in your bag, and the money in your wallet, and that is all.

“i was planning on making the big decisions once i actually got to where i’m going,” you elaborate.

“do you have any friends in Gwangju?”

“no.”

seokjin struggles to push himself upright. “do you even have a place to stay?”

“i literally didn’t even know i would be on this train a few hours ago; of course i don’t have a place to stay.”

seokjin looks borderline horrified, all wide eyes and open mouth. he’s staring at you like you have two heads, waiting for you to say “sike!” and put him out of his misery.

you glance down at your hands. “have you got any of those pretzels left?”

“christ, y/n, you’re really taking this spontaneity thing to a whole new level. a dangerous level.”

you roll your eyes, even though you know he’s right. “i’ll be fine. i have enough money for a B&B for at least a night or two, and after that, we’ll see what happens-”

“you’ll see what happens?”

“why are you so worried? i’m fine! i’ll be fine!”

seokjin shakes his head, eyes still wide. “i’m not going to let you walk around an unfamiliar city with nothing but your good intentions; you can stay with me at the B&B for a while - until you get yourself on your feet.”

you blink, certain you’ve heard him wrong.

he slouches again, shaking his head as he murmurs about how some people can be so dumb, and how he never would have helped you follow through with such an insane plan, and how you pulled on his heartstrings when he saw you crying, how he shouldn’t be so nice because then he ends up on trains to Gwangju with people who clearly have some kind of death wish-

you slap his shoulder.

“ow!” he glares at you. “what was that for?”

“i’m not raiding your fucking B&B.”

he rubs his shoulder. “you’ve got no other options. two nights isn’t going to be enough to find you a job, or a decent place to live - keep that money you were going to spend on a B&B and use it for - like - travelling to job interviews or something.”

“i don’t even know who you are!” and that seems to be the main argument here, the most valid. you genuinely have no idea who this bloke is, besides his name and a few weird facts he felt the need to tell you whilst you were waiting for your train to arrive.

he shrugs like such a fact is no big deal. “i’ll take a thank you, actually.”

you scowl, glaring at him, but he doesn’t look up. stubborn little bastard. instead, he tilts his head out and stares back through the centre of the train, that infuriating little smirk on his face that tells you he knows he’s getting on your nerves, and doesn’t really care.

you cross your arms over your chair and slouch in the same way he is. “fine. but if you murder me-”

“i won’t murder you.”

“how do i know that for definite?”

he shrugs. “you don’t. but you’re more likely to die from hypothermia after you end up homeless on the streets of Gwangju in the middle of winter.”

that shuts you right up. he has a point, and though you barely know him, you have been given no reason to truly believe he is out to harm you in any way, shape or form.

and so, in your huff, you pull your headphones from your bag and place them on your head. you blast music, ignoring seokjin’s eye roll; you know you’re being petty, but so what? you’re tired, and hungry, and his stubbornness has somehow managed to wriggle under your skin moreso than you thought possible. you’re not usually a very angry person - you let people get away with lots of things - but there’s something in the way seokjin talks, something in the way he looks at you, something in the way he is that just. . . gets to you a little bit.

it’s probably mean. judgemental. it’s one of those things your dad used to scold you for, one of those things you grew out of after your first year in school. but here it is, making a comeback specially for this stranger sat beside you.

the train travels for another hour and a half before finally coming to a halt in Gwangju station. you stare out the window, watching the bright blue pillars come into view, the flocks of people swarming the platform. people in business suits, with briefcases and grimaces on their faces. seagulls are pecking at discarded food on the floor. a child is throwing a tantrum whilst his mother hastily pats her coat pockets for any sign of her train ticket.

seokjin nudges your arm, even though he can see you staring out the window. “we’re here.”

“is it always this hectic?” you ask, tugging your headphones off your head.

“at this time of day, yeah.” he glances at his watch. “we should probably get going pretty soon if we want to grab a taxi; they’ll be packed right now.”

and so, you follow seokjin off the train, through the station and out into the world.

it’s not too unfamiliar; you’ve been to places like this. your home town was pretty densely populated, so the crowds do not faze you. the only thing is, this isn’t your home town, and that’s the part that’s getting to you.

it’s so similar, but you’re too aware of the chance to take that into consideration.

there are tall buildings, and small buildings, and tiny shops with smoke billowing from chimneys. the air is crisp and cold, forcing you to wrap your coat a little tighter around yourself. you’re standing stock still at the top of the station stairs, and yet already you are overwhelmed with the abundance of opportunities already throwing themselves headfirst into your life.

you’re going to throw up.

seokjin’s gentle touch on your elbow draws you back to reality. you inhale sharply, tugging your hand into your chest.

“what?”

he raises a brow. “you’re still in a mood with me?”

you scowl, dropping your hand to your side. “sorry. no. i just - i’m a little jumpy, that’s all.” you offer him a grin, tired and probably not worth the bother, but it’s something you hope he’ll accept given the circumstances. “let’s find that taxi, shall we?”

it takes a while, but eventually you and seokjin manage to clamber into a taxi together. when you offer to pay half the fare, seokjin glares and shoves your hand away, which only frustrates you. you say nothing, though, because you don’t want to seem ungrateful.

especially when you pull up to the B&B.

because it’s glamorous.

more glamorous than it has any right to be.

honestly, what kind of B&B has a chandelier in the room? not only that, but there’s a grand double bed in the centre, two bedside tables each adorned with a pitcher of ice cold water, plus a massive television set on a chest of drawers at the front of the room. the window, covered by a set of black out curtains, looks out over the city. in darkness, Gwangju looks like something straight out of a film. there’s a christmas tree glistening in the distance, and a few people dressed as elves are walking around, taking pictures with kids.

“okay,” you say. “this isn’t really what i was expecting.”

seokjin is shedding his coat, barely even giving the tremendous room a once-over. he glances over his shoulder, frowning when he notices you just standing in the doorway, your coat still on, your bag still on, your jaw dropped open.

“what do you mean?” he asks. “take your coat off, bloody hell. i’ve turned the heating on. it’s gonna get boiling in here in about two minutes.”

hesitantly, you tug your coat from your shoulders, letting all your belongings clatter to your feet. seokjin straightens up, turning to you with his hands on his hips.

“are you okay?”

“seokjin, this room is so fucking expensive.”

he raises a brow. “how do you know that?”

you gesture to the room in question, as if that is answer enough.

and to any normal person, it certainly would be. nobody goes to a B&B expecting glamour, but that’s exactly what you’ve been given, and you’re shocked to find that seokjin isn’t even mildly surprised by it. he isn’t even taking the time to admire the thick material of the duvet.

the duvet of the only bed in this entire room, but that’s a problem you’ll sort out when it’s actually time to sleep.

seokjin glances around, that eyebrow of his still raised. “i stay here every time i come to Gwangju.”

“oh, good for you!” you push the door closed and dart towards the bed. flopping on your back, you wriggle your fingers, digging them into the duvet. “i could suffocate under this, you know.”

seokjin rolls his eyes, strolling over to where you have unceremoniously abandoned your things by the door. he picks them up and lobs them onto the sofa at the other end of the room, before turning back to witness your episode of complete fascination.

“so this is all it takes to get you out of your mood?”

your smile drops. “i wasn’t in a mood.”

“you seemed pretty moody to me. you didn’t say a word to me the entire train ride.”

heat rushes to your face; okay, maybe you let your nerves get the better of you. in all honesty, seokjin didn’t necessarily do anything wrong - yes, he was stubborn, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer, but he clearly has your best interests at heart. he’s giving you a room to stay in. he’s put up with you this entire time, and he hasn’t even known you a full day.

you sigh, hands dropping on your stomach. “okay, sorry. you’re right. i was a tiny bit moody, but i was just tired. and hungry.”

“you could have said that.” seokjin gestures towards the bed. “pick what side you want and i’ll go order us dinner.”

it takes you a minute to register what he’s just said.

when you do, you scramble upright, stopping him in his tracks. his hand is inches away from the phone, but he pauses to glance at you.

“what is it now?”

“we’re sharing a bed?” you bounce on the mattress, exaggerating your point. “like, this bed?”

“do you see any other bed in the room?”

you look around as if doing so will somehow manifest a single bed into your space. you’ll even take a camp bed at this point. a pull-out sofa. your standards aren’t high.

“i snore, you know,” you blurt out.

seokjin tilts his head. his smile reappears, those dimples showing beneath his mouth; they’re not cheek dimples by any means, but they border on cheek dimples, and they’re cute either way.

you don’t know why you’re focusing on them so much.

“i don’t mind,” he says. “i’ll be asleep anyway.”

“i also move around a lot,” you barrel on. “i might kick you, or hit you by accident. i once gave my best friend a nose bleed when she was staying over at my house.”

seokjin nods, reaching for the telephone. you can tell he’s turning your voice into background noise now, probably fed up with hearing your excuses.

“seokjin, sharing a bed with a stranger is weird,” you whine.

“feel free to sleep on the floor then,” he hisses over his shoulder. “now what do you want to eat?”

the mention of food is enough to bring you back to your senses. you bounce off the bed and grab the menu at the side of the phone, flicking through it as seokjin makes idle conversation with the girl on the other end; apparently, the two of them know each other. he’s calling her lily - a first name basis kind of thing. you can’t help your teasing grin, flicking your eyes to him every now and then.

finally, he nudges your elbow and says, “can i have...”

you point to each of the meals you want, and seokjin reels them off to dear old lily. he places his own order, says goodbye and sets the telephone down.

“happy days,” he says. “she says that should be about ten minutes; you ordered a lot of food.”

“i’m hungry,” you reply.

“no shame in that.” he glances at the clock hung upon the wall. “i’m gonna go grab a shower and get into my pyjamas before the food gets here. unless you want to go in first?”

you wave a dismissive hand. “i’m just gonna throw on a movie. anything you want to watch?”

“surprise me.” with that, he scoops up his pyjamas and heads into the en-suite bathroom, locking the door behind him.

---

the food arrives exactly twelve minutes after seokjin set the phone down.

you’ve been counting.

you had thrown on the movie Elf, basking in seokjin’s groan when he emerged from the bathroom - all wet hair and cute pyjamas - to see your film of choice. nonetheless, the two of you are sat in bed when the doorbell rings, laughing as will ferrel scoops a forkful of spaghetti mixed with sweets into his mouth and makes a comment about how tasty it is.

“i always wanted to try that,” you say to seokjin’s back when he stands to get the door. “i think it would be a real experience.”

“oh, definitely.” he pulls open the door. “hello. yes, that’s for us. thank you. thank you, alright. yeah. yeah. thank you. okay, bye! bye!” he closes the door and wheels the tray of food into the centre of the room. you bound away from your pillows, grabbing the first bowl you can get your hands on - just plain old rice, but you dig in nonetheless.

seokjin grabs the chopsticks and dips them into the bowl you are holding, taking a lump of rice for himself. you set the bowl down between you, giving him easier access.

“i can cook, you know.”

he says this so off-handedly, not even looking up from the phone in his lap. you, however, pause, chopsticks halfway to your mouth.

“you can cook?”

he nods. “been cooking with my mum and dad since i was a kid. it’s kind of a skill of mine.”

you drop your chopsticks into the bowl. “alright, fess up. is there anything you can’t do?”

he smirks, still not looking up. it’s a little bit cocky, and it sends a surprising thrill up your spine to see it.

you nudge his arm. “i’m serious.”

“i’ll cook something for you one day, how about that? then you can decide if cooking counts as something i can do.”

you nod; it’s a promising deal, though you can’t help but ponder over the hidden promises beneath those words. one day, a phrase often used to describe a time in the future.

which means he wants to see more of you.

it’s embarrassing that such a thought pushes to the forefront right now. again, you are reminded of just how little time you have spent with this man, a man who is essentially a stranger and nothing more, a man who has proven quite capable of getting on your nerves.

it strikes you then, with this little fact in mind, that you don’t know an awful lot about him. granted, you haven’t exactly had the time to dive deep into the kind of person he is, but you haven’t really made much of an effort, either. you spent half the train ride in a huff, and most of your time spent in the B&B has been spent fawning over the details of lavish living.

now, however, you stare at the side of his face. his jaw twitches as he eats, his eyes narrowing when he bites into a particularly strange piece of rice; he coughs into his fist, shakes his head and continues eating. he looks up once, meets your eyes and gives you the tiniest of smiles.

“what do you do for a living?”

it’s not exactly the first thing you want to know, but it feels like a good enough segway into his entire life story that you just roll with it.

his chewing slows. “me?”

“yes. you.” you take a bite of some beef in black bean sauce. “not just anyone can afford to stay in a place like this every other week. what’s your secret, seokjin?”

“i’m a chef,” he replies.

simple as that, you suppose. he’s a chef. he cooks for a living.

“do you travel to different restaurants?” you press.

“i’m pretty well-known around these parts; whenever certain restaurants are short on staff, i’ll go and help out.”

“so you must be pretty popular.”

he shrugs, the tiniest pink hue adorning his cheeks.

“you know, you look a little young to be a fully qualified chef.” you pause. “what age are you?”

“i’m twenty-six.”

“oh. good. i’m twenty-four.”

“and what does a twenty-four year old runaway do for a living?”

you scowl. “i’m not a runaway; my family and friends all know i’m here.”

he points his chopsticks at you. “from what i saw, you didn’t even know you would end up here before i showed up.”

he has a point.

you pop another bit of beef into your mouth, taking your time to chew. he asked you a question. you registered that question, and you have an answer, but it feels a little anticlimactic in comparison to the answer he was able to give.

seokjin narrows his eyes at your silence. he swallows the rice in his mouth and leans forward, fighting to meet your eyes in that same way he did back at the station. “so? what do you do?”

“i used to work at a chinese takeout restaurant.”

you wince, waiting for him to burst out laughing.

“what do you usually get from a chinese takeout?”

you look up. “what?”

already, he is back to chewing his food, rifling through a carton of vegetables with his chopsticks.��“what is your go-to meal from a chinese restaurant? i’m a big fan of the sweet and sour, but you can’t go wrong with a curry, either.”

you nod. “yeah. yeah, i like chicken curry, too.”

seokjin smiles around his chopsticks, and for just a moment, all you can do is stare at him. you’ve found yourself doing that an awful lot recently, just sitting there with your eyes trained on his face, him none the wiser to your gaze. he looks around the room, chewing thoughtfully, before his eyes widen and he grabs the television remote from the bedside table. he says nothing to explain his actions, simply turns the television on and crawls back to his pillows, where he lays over the top of the comforter, his bowl of rice balanced on his chest.

he switches netflix on. “have you ever watched the haunting of hill house?”

“no.” you crawl to your own pillows, flopping down beside him. “is it scary?”

“it’s creepy,” he replies. “think you can handle it?”

glancing down, you catch sight of his playful smirk.

you roll your eyes and say, “put it on.”

and so, seokjin does just that. together, the two of you eat and binge watch this creepy, confusing tv show. by the end of it, you’ve both crawled beneath the covers and are trying desperately not to jump at the jump scares; seokjin laughed at you the first time you did it, before nearly spilling his black bean sauce over his pyjama shirt when he did the exact same thing a few minutes later.

“i hated that,” you say once the final episode drifts to a close. “i hated that so much.”

seokjin places the empty bowls on the floor before slumping further down in the comforter. “it’s good, isn’t it? gets me every time!”

“next time, i get to pick what we put on tv.”

he raises a brow. “and what would you pick?”

you hum thoughtfully. “i kind of want to rewatch the one direction movie.”

“good choice.”

“but that’s for tomorrow.” you tug the quilt up to your chin, snuggling within it’s warmth; you’re still quite freaked out, glancing round the now-dark room, half expecting some creepy, paranormal figure to jump out of the darkness. “for now, i’m going to sleep.”

“what are your plans for tomorrow?”

your stomach curls. “i gotta just. . . get my life together, i suppose. might go job hunting.”

“i have work in the morning, but you can call me if you need anything.”

you blink, glancing over at him; he’s doing it again, that thing where he says such kind, heartfelt things to a complete stranger and doesn’t even seem fazed by it. he just rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and drifts off to sleep.

----

seokjin is already gone when you wake up. he’s left a note. it’s simple: “off to work. here’s my number.”

followed, as promised, by his number.

you punch the digits into your own phone and try to ignore the spiralling question of how you’re going to pay your phone bill at the end of the month. you have high hopes that you’ll have found your footing by then, gotten a job, have enough money saved up to get a decent flat you can call your own.

it’s just a matter of taking the steps to get there.

you get dressed in a nice turtle neck jumper, coloured black for good measure. pairing it with a pair of fancy grey trousers and a pair of black boots, you head out onto the streets of Gwangju, and are abruptly reminded of the fact you have never walked through these streets in your life.

everything is so new. you have to walk with your head ducked down, glancing at Google Maps every few steps because you honestly have no idea where you’re going. after searching up job vacancies nearby, you start your journey to the nearest one.

it’s a clothing store. the boss isn’t in, so you leave.

the second one is a little more promising; they let you leave your cv at the front desk, and the boy working seems nice enough to actually pass your details on to his manager. however, you don’t get much further than that, and you move on to the next one.

it’s a bakery.

it’s a small bakery, most likely a family-run business. as soon as you walk in, you’re greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and a smile peeking over the counter top; it’s a boy about your age, a flop of black hair covering one of his eyes. he’s wearing a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing some muscular arms. he’s got an apron on, too, that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ on the front, but no name badge is in sight.

“morning,” he says, despite it literally being 12:30pm. “you doing alright?”

you run your hands through your hair; was he asking you that just out of kindness, or because you look dishevelled? you feel dishevelled, but you were hoping you had managed to pull yourself together a little bit before walking in here.

he tilts his head. “what can i get you?”

startled back to reality, you rush to the counter. placed in batches is piles upon piles of pleasant looking treats, all looking fresh from the oven.

“hi,” you begin. “uh - hi, yeah. i was looking on the internet earlier and saw you had a job going? i was just wondering if that’s - uh - still a thing?”

the boys face lights up. “you saw the advertisement? that’s a first!”

“yeah?”

“dad! dad, we’ve got someone here asking about the advertisement!”

startled, you step back. an older, black haired man rushes from a room in the back, wiping his fingers on a towel. he’s frowning, but the expression quickly morphs into one of glee when he sees you standing there.

“really?” he says. “well, isn’t that a damn miracle. i was starting to think i’d be in here for twelve hour days; my name’s robert, and this is my son, malachi.”

“y/n,” you reply. “so - uh - i’m guessing the job is still up for grabs?”

“it is indeed,” robert replies. “give me two minutes whilst i freshen up, and we can sit down and chat. sound good?”

your eyes widen. “really? do you not want to read my cv or anything?”

robert waves a dismissive hand. “i’ll learn more about you through actual conversation than i ever will through a piece of scrap paper.” he turns on his heel. “i’ll be out in two minutes!”

you are stunned. this really isn’t how you expected things to go, especially considering your bad luck these past few months.

the bakery goes silent. you stare into dead space, waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down; the building is going to suddenly set on fire, or robert is gonna pop his head round the door and say “sike!” and you’ll have to trudge back to the B&B and inform seokjin of your failures.

seokjin.

his name startles you back to reality. quickly, you grab your phone from your back pocket, pull up his number and send him a quick text.

hi. it’s y/n. might have a job. it’s at the bakery down the street. will keep you updated.

you debate signing your message off with a kiss, decide against it and stuff your phone back into your pocket. it’s only then do you notice malachi’s eyes trained on you; he leans over the counter, arms folded, the tiniest of smirk playing on his face.

he’s handsome in a weird way. he’s tall. he’s got messy black hair, and you’ve heard that’s what a lot of people are fawning over nowadays. it kind of reminds you of seokjin a little bit, though seokjin’s figure is a lot. . . kinder than this boys. seokjin’s lean and tall, muscles in just the right places. this boys hands look like they could choke you out in a matter of seconds.

his smile is pleasant, though. it brings a glint to his dark eyes. he hasn’t got any dimples on his chin.

one point for seokjin, you suppose.

you return his smile, suddenly a bit awkward beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. “so, robert’s your dad?”

“yep. known him my whole life.”

you laugh, because you’re pretty sure that’s a joke he’s just told. “it’s a nice place you’ve managed to run with him. very cosy. we don’t have places like this in Busan.”

malachi’s eyebrows raise. slowly, he straightens up. “you’re not from here?”

“afraid not. i moved here just yesterday, actually - kind of a spontaneous thing, but it’s been working for me so far.”

“all on your own?”

you pause. “well, not necessarily. my - uh - friend and i are here together.” yes. friend. you can call seokjin a friend. “he’s a chef.”

malachi hums like this is some kind of grand revelation. “a chef, eh? i heard they earn quite a bit of money.”

“oh, well, i don’t know. i don’t really ask him about his finances, if i’m honest.”

“and whereabouts are you two staying?”

“the B&B down the street.”

again, his eyebrows shoot up. “the lodge? that’s a pretty expensive place to stay.”

“we split the bill,” you say quickly, suddenly getting protective over seokjin; you’ve heard that tone in people’s voices before. malachi has probably made an entire sour opinion on seokjin purely because he’s been led to believe he’s rich.

“he works hard for his money,” you add, because you feel like you have to. “it exhausts him, poor guy, but he loves what he does.”

malachi stares at you. the pleasant grin from earlier has been wiped free from his face, replaced by a twist of his mouth. you look away, thankful to see robert bustling back, now wearing a clean white shirt free of apron and flour.

“sorry for keeping you,” he says. “let’s go out the back where it’s a little warmer. that weather today could kill!”

and so, shooting malachi one last smile, you follow his dad into the back. it is indeed very warm, the heat from the ovens immediately clinging to your skin. you shed your coat, throwing it over the back of your chair as robert takes a seat across from you and begins the interview.

it doesn’t last very long. robert doesn’t seem like the picky type, asking you about your family and where you’re from. he focuses very little on your level of experience, though you try your hardest to fit in all those stories of you growing up around bakers, just to give your reputation that little push.

he talks to you like you’re an old friend, laughing at your jokes, telling his own childhood stories. he’s a really easy guy to be around, making the interview feel more like a casual chat than an actual job interview.

finally, however, he claps his hands and says, “i think we have a winner!”

you blink. “wait, really?”

he reaches forward, grabs your hands and shakes them, both at the same time. “you’re a lovely person, y/n. i’d love nothing more than for you to be on our team.”

your heart thunders; that was so easy, too easy, but you’re not even going to ruin the moment by questioning it right now. instead, you grin and say, “i’d love that, thank you so much!”

----

when seokjin arrives back at the B&B, it is already dark out.

eleven pm, if the clock is to be trusted in this place. already, you’re sprawled across the double bed, television blasting, your phone held over your face. you’ve had a shower and tucked yourself into some pyjamas.

“you look comfortable.”

your head shoots up. “seokjin! did you get my text?”

he throws his coat from his shoulders, shaking the rain out of his dark hair. he looks exhausted, which makes you feel bad for having already taken up most of the bed, but you’re too excited to care too much.

“i got your first text,” he replies, tossing his gym bag on the bed. “did you end up getting that interview, then?”

“you bet i did!” you jump up, grinning from ear to ear. seokjin raises a brow, but chuckles when you throw your arms over his shoulders and say, “i got the job! i got the job! i got the job!”

he pulls away, holding you at arms length. his eyes are wide, that smile big across his face. “they gave you it then and there?”

“i make a wildly good first impression, seokjin, don’t you ever forget.”

he scoffs. “sorry. sometimes i forget considering the first time i saw you, you were bawling your eyes out in the middle of a train station.”

“literally no one asked you to remember that.” you pull him back in for a hug, squealing your excitement in his ear.

he laughs. his arms tighten around your waist, head nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and you might be imagining it, but you swear you can feel his joy, can hear it in his melodic laugh. he’s just as excited about this opportunity as you are, even though he has no reason to be.

you pull away, tipping back onto the mattress. “i start in two days time.”

“what are they gonna get you to do?”

“baking, i assume. working the tills. just. . . baker stuff.”

seokjin raises a brow, sitting down on the end of the bed. he smells like a kitchen. “do you actually know how to bake?”

“of course i know how to bake. i wouldn’t have gone for an interview at a bakery if i didn’t.”

“you never told me that.”

you pause. “sorry. i didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

seokjin shrugs, standing up again. he walks over to his luggage and tugs out another pair of pyjamas, this one adorned with little ducklings upon a blue background. “i just would have liked to know that, that’s all.”

you watch as he walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. seconds later, you hear water screeching out of the shower head, and you know then the conversation is over.

you aren’t really sure what to make of it.

he did seem a tad bit upset, but it’s difficult to tell with seokjin. you haven’t known him for very long at all, but within that short space of time, you’ve certainly been able to conclude that seokjin is more an optimist than a pessimist. he looks on the bright side of life, and even when he’s upset, he doesn’t really like to show it, like he’s afraid of spreading negativity.

it can’t be very healthy.

nonetheless, you were able to spot a few inconsistencies in his optimism during that conversation, and it makes you feel bad. you nuzzle beneath the covers and turn the television back on, wondering what on earth you did wrong.

----

work is hectic.

even though the bakery itself is never overly busy, there’s a lot to be done when it comes to hospitality. almost immediately you are put in charge of the tills, plus cleaning up when the mess gets too much. that means you spend your days darting back and forth between the front of the shop and the kitchen, trying to keep a healthy balance, but failing miserably.

malachi tells you it’s alright, that even he and robert struggle to stay on top of things, but it still puts you in a sour mood. you want to be good at this. it’s been a brilliant opportunity, and you’re not willing to spoil it just yet.

you’re on your second week of work when seokjin finally decides to pay a visit.

you know he got the day off, because you woke up this morning and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of him still fast asleep beside you; it left your stomach in knots, your heart stumbling in your chest. it’s not like he shouldn’t have been there - he’s fallen asleep beside you every night for the past two weeks. however, you’ve never actually seen him there. he’s always gone when you wake up.

but this morning, you rolled over and was greeted, startlingly, by the sight of his sleeping face.

his peaceful, adorable sleeping face.

now, however, he’s spritely and awake. with two cups of coffee in his hand, he waltzes up to the counter and says, “cosy place.”

you grin, taking one of the cups from him. “isn’t it?

he inspects the tiny bakery with a smile on his face, those dimples popping just shy of the corners of his mouth. “you never told me how cute it was in here; i would have visited much sooner.”

“with your busy schedule? absolutely not.”

seokjin rolls his eyes. “i would have made the time.”

you ignore how this comment makes you feel. you’ve gotten increasingly good at doing that these past few days.

you lean over the counter, taking tiny sips of your coffee. “so, what have you been doing with all your spare time?”

“nothing,” he replies, a little too quick. “absolutely nothing. i had a few emails from the people back in Busan to deal with, but besides that, i’ve been sat in the B&B, watching netflix.”

“sounds like a dream.”

he shakes his head, the tiniest pout forming. “it’s awful. i’m bored. i’ve never been bored in the B&B before; i think you’re having a negative effect on me.”

you shoot upright, jaw dropping open. “excuse me? you can’t blame me for the fact you have no hobbies!”

“who said i have no hobbies?”

“the fact that all you’ve done is watch netflix today kind of eludes to the fact that you have no hobbies.”

seokjin scowls. the expression is adorable on him, with those stray dimples making an appearance. you really have to stop staring at those, because it’s going to get obvious pretty soon.

“i have plenty of hobbies,” he grumbles. “in fact, i’ve been invited out for a few drinks tonight with my friends.”

you pause. of course seokjin has friends. you were never under any illusion that he didn’t, but he doesn’t really talk about them. being locked up in a B&B with him for two weeks straight has given you plenty of time to pick his brain, analyse the life he used to life, and not once has he made any attempt to bring up these so-called friends.

“oh,” you manage. “that sounds like it’ll be fun.”

he hums cockily, like he’s just proved you wrong.

“getting drunk isn’t a hobby unless you’re an alcoholic, by the way.”

his smile drops. “i can never win with you, can i?”

you shrug. “i’m just saying. why don’t you take up painting, or playing the guitar?”

“okay, okay, i didn’t come in here for a therapy session; how much are those eclairs?”

you giggle, but nonetheless, you duck down and pluck an eclair from the display cabinet. you place it in a bag and hand it over to him before saying, “don’t worry about it. i’ll slip some cash in the register at the end of the night.”

seokjin pauses. his hand is inches away from the bag you’re holding out to him, those perfect fingers twitching like he has to physically restrain himself from snatching it out of your hand.

you shake the bag to get his attention, but his eyes never leave your face. it’s kind of intimate if you let yourself think too much into it. “do you want the eclair or not? i made it.”

he snatches his hand back dramatically. “never mind then. you can keep it.”

you roll your eyes, grab his hand and place the bag in his palm. “don’t play the gentleman, seokjin; we’re all friends here. it doesn’t make you any less of a man to have someone buy you a fucking eclair.”

you know how selfless seokjin is. of all the little quirks he has put on display for you since you met him, his selflessness has been the one that stands out the most. you see him battle with it now, the way he hesitates, the way his free hand twitches towards the wallet tucked into his back pocket. you give him one final look before he sighs and nods.

“thank you.”

“now, tell me a bit about these plans you have for later.” you sip your coffee. “are these friends good people? do i need to be worried?”

seokjin scoffs. “they are great people - i’ve known them for years. we’re just going out for a few drinks, a bit of a catch-up. nothing to be worried about.”

“so i’ll have the B&B all to myself, will i?”

he raises a brow. “don’t say it like that. you’re worrying me.”

you roll your eyes, unable to fight the smile rising on your face. seokjin notices your amusement and shakes his head, because he knows you’re just winding him up. in all honesty, it makes you kind of glad seeing him go off and do his own thing. these past two weeks have really opened your eyes to just how much he works, and just how little time he has for himself. he deserves a bit of time with his friends.

he leaves shortly after, claiming he has errands to run. he tells you to call him when you get home, and you agree to do so before waving him goodbye, watching through the window as he turns the corner and disappears amongst the crowd of people.

a hand lands on your shoulder.

you jump back, startled. malachi laughs, holding his hands up in faux surrender; he’s a got a grin on his face, dimpleless, unlike seokjin, who has dimples just beneath the corners of his mouth, tiny little indents in his chin that you can never take your eyes off, because they’re so cute, and he gets so flustered when you point them out, and-

“was that the husband?”

you blink, certain you’ve heard him wrong. “what?”

malachi nods towards the window. he’s got flour on his face, and you absentmindedly reach out and brush it off. “was that seokjin, or whatever his name is?”

“did you just call him husband?”

now it’s malachi’s turn to blink. he raises a brow, flicking his gaze between you and the door seokjin has just fled from. “is he not. . . do you two not live together?”

“in a way,” you reply. “but we’re not married. he’s my friend, that’s all.”

malachi scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “you had me fooled. ‘oh, call me when you get home!’ ‘have fun with your friends!’ ‘i’ll have the house all to myself!’ you certainly sound like an old married couple.”

you really can’t believe you’re hearing this.

it’s bizarre. utterly absurd. you and seokjin are definitely comfortable with each other at this point, but that doesn’t mean anything. he’s your friend - a good friend, your only friend in this new place.

plus, you don’t speak like an old married couple. that’s a stupid way to think. you two communicate like nothing more than two people who have been forced to sleep in the same bed for two weeks.

you shake your head. “i don’t even want to listen to this.”

“so you’re telling me i’m wrong?” malachi demands as you shove past him into the kitchen.

“yes, you are. that’s mental that you would even think that. i haven’t even known him that long-”

“again, you could have fooled me! the way you two look at each other, it’s like you share memories from years ago.”

you scowl, heat rising to your cheeks. “when the fuck did you become a poet?”

malachi only laughs. you want him to shut up, because this is out of order. this is making you more flustered than it has any right to, and you don’t want to get flustered when you’re working with hot ovens.

it’s not like he has any idea what he’s talking about. he’s seen the briefest glimpse of seokjin, certainly not enough to know how you two genuinely interact with each other. he hasn’t seen the bickering, the fights for the covers, seokjin huffing with you when you make him get up to turn the television off at the end of the night.

so why are you getting so worked up?

you push the question away as you get back to work, trying desperately to ignore malachi’s snickers every time he passes you; he knows what he’s done, of course, getting you all worked up like this, but you can’t help it. what if other people see you and seokjin like that? what if seokjin picks up on this assumption and decides to cut all ties with you, too afraid to be seen that close with someone like you?

maybe you’re panicking over nothing. seokjin is a nice guy - the best guy. he won’t just up and leave you because of what other people think.

but then again, you’ve only known him for two weeks, so who’s to say he won’t?

---

seokjin has already left when you arrive home later that evening.

it’s dark already, the winter showing it’s ugly head. little droplets of snow cling to your coat, your hair, your cheeks as you stumble through the door of your shared B&B, teeth gritted against the cold that has deemed your fingers and toes numb.

left upon the bedside table is a note, the unmistakeable scribble of seokjin’s handwriting informing you that he doesn’t know when he will be home, but he still expects you to give him a ring whenever you finish work. you read the note over and over, unexplainable joy flaring within your system with the knowledge that he was thinking of you before he left, that he still wants to make sure you got home safe.

you don’t call him.

the thing is, malachi’s words have grated against your skull worse than you thought they should. he spent the entire day teasing you about your ‘little crush’ on seokjin, clearly relishing in how it made you squirm. it made you think, too, which is the worst part. you’ve spent these past two weeks on complete autopilot, just trying to make a life for yourself now that you’ve got a clean slate. you never once stopped to think about something as simple as relationships, or feelings, but now that malachi has sprung such a topic to the forefront, you can’t deny that the only person you can associate with such topics is seokjin.

you can’t bring yourself to speak to him just yet. you’re too tired, and your body is sore, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and pretend today never happened.

so that’s exactly what you do. turning your phone on silent, you get in your pyjamas and snuggle beneath the covers, trying to ignore the empty space at the side of you.

----

you wake up to the sound of the door slamming.

your eyes snap open, heart jolting from your chest. for the briefest moment, you are entirely convinced you’re being robbed. any minute now, the barrel of a gun is going to be pointed at your face and you’ll have no choice but to give up all of your belongings, all of seokjin’s belongings, will probably be forced back to Busan because of your trauma, and-

“oh shit. are you sleeping?”

you bolt upright, tugging the quilt to your chin. standing in the doorway, seokjin looks tall, illuminated only by the hallway light outside. he’s wearing a fancy dress shirt and trousers, the top button undone to reveal sweat slicked collarbones, the sleeves rolled up to reveal perfectly muscled arms. his hair stands on end, and he’s got a pout on his face that reveals his drunkenness in all it’s glory.

your heartbeat slows.

“seokjin?”

he shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no. no, sh. go back to sleep. i didn’t mean to wake you up.”

his words are slurred. he’s definitely drunk.

he stumbles towards the bed, using the bedside table to stay upright. he blinks drearily when his eyes meet yours; despite having just spoken to you, he’s looking at you now like he’s only just realised you’re actually in the room.

he clicks his fingers. “i had something i wanted to say to you.”

you blink. “o-okay. do you want water first? you look a little-”

“it was really important,” he continues. “i’m pretty sure i was mad at you.”

you swing your legs out of bed. “okay, you definitely need water.”

you scramble to the sink, grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it with ice cold water. seokjin slumps on the bed, running his nimble fingers through his hair, mumbling incoherent words to himself.

looking at the clock, you see it is two in the morning; he has work in five hours, and is clearly in no state to do a full day of work. you make a mental note to ring the restaurant and tell them he’s taken ill.

you turn, placing the glass on the bedside table. “did you have a good time?”

“no,” he replies. “worried. i was worried the entire night.”

you raise a brow, trying your hardest not to look at the skin showing through his shirt. “worried? about what?”

he gestures, encompassing the entire room.

“seokjin, i can look after the room on my own, you know,” you say.

“i wasn’t worried about the room.” he scowls, glaring at the carpet like it’s upset his ancestors. “i couldn’t care less about the room. it’s whats in the room that worried me.”

you blink. “you’re losing me, mate.”

he groans, tossing his head back. the sudden jolt tips his entire body. you jump forward and grab his arm, stabilising him before he cracks his skull on the floor.

“seokjin, jesus christ, take a sip of your water.”

he pushes your hand away. “not thirsty. just worried.”

“about what?”

“you didn’t call me when you got home from work!”

you falter. you remember his note, of course, but you had promptly fell asleep before you could do as he’d asked; you didn’t think it was that big of a deal. however, he’s sat in front of you now with a pout on his face, eyes glaring like you’ve done something massively wrong.

you swallow, trying to ignore the butterflies rushing through your stomach. “y-you were worried about me?”

“i asked you to call me when you got home from work, and i didn’t get a single call the entire night. i thought you’d been kidnapped or something. the only reason i didn’t come storming back here was because my friends wouldn’t let me leave.”

he’s lying. of course he is. he’s lying, and he’s drunk, and he’s going to regret ever pouring his heart out like this tomorrow morning.

you hollow out your cheeks, overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion. you gently pat his cheek, making his eyes widen.

“what are you doing?” he asks.

“i’m putting you to bed,” you reply, and even to yourself, your voice sounds tired, fed up, a mere drawl in the darkness. “you’re not going to work tomorrow, but you need to sleep this alcohol off. come on.”

he scowls, glancing down at his attire; he’s still in his day clothes. “i can’t sleep in jeans.”

you stare at him. he stares back at you, making no move to remove the clothes he has such a grudge against right now.

you close your eyes, inhaling deeply. “fine then.” with that, you grab his belt and unbuckle it. a sharp gasp slips past his lips that you do a fine job of ignoring, even as it makes your cheeks heat up, forcing you to bite down on your tongue. you tell yourself on a loop that you’re just doing a favour for a friend, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them from his legs. the entire time, he stares at you with his mouth slightly open, tanned cheeks glowing red more from the alcohol than anything else. even in his drunken state, his gaze makes you weak. you’re not even making eye contact with him, instead choosing to keep your eyes firm on your trembling hands.

when at last his jeans have been tossed across the room and he is left in a pair of boxers, you shove him back onto the bed and say, “now go to sleep. i’m gonna go for a shower.”

seokjin rolls his head back. he sinks into the pillows, one side of his face completely engulfed by the fabric. “but it’s so late! what if you drown?”

you head for the bathroom, trying to calm your stampeding heart. “i won’t drown. stop worrying about me.”

“i always worry about you,” he grumbles. “you’re special to me.”

you pretend you haven’t heard him. it’s so much easier than dealing with those words, than letting them wriggle into your brain, because they will do nothing but torment you the rest of the night.

you slip into the shower, and it is there that you let yourself dissolve. you’re so tired, limbs heavy, heart still racing. not even the spray of hot water is enough to wake you up - the only thing keeping you on your feet right now is the memory of his drunken words, spoken slurred and rushed. he probably didn’t even mean them, but that doesn’t take from the fact he said them, and you heard them, and they’re going to complete destroy you if you keep thinking about them.

---

seokjin nudges your shoulder.

your eyes fly open, head jolting up. your neck cracks, making you yelp and fall back against the pillows - unfamiliar pillows, considering you fell asleep on the sofa the night before.

you groan, rubbing the back of your neck as you slowly rise into a sitting position. seokjin stands over you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth parted. he doesn’t say anything as you bring yourself back to reality, glancing around the room like you’ve never seen it before.

he takes a step back; he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, and he’s got a mug of fresh coffee in his hands.

you reach up and take the mug. “thanks.”

“it wasn’t yours, but okay.” he sits down beside you, placing your legs in his lap. “is there a reason you fell asleep on the sofa last night? it doesn’t look very comfortable.”

you blink, because for just a moment, you don’t think there is a reason. you’re ready to tell him nope, it was an accident, you just drifted off, haha, silly you!

but last night doesn’t take long crawling back to the forefront of your mind. his words, his silly grin, your fingers on his belt buckle-

you swallow the scalding drink and say, “i thought you might have liked the bed to yourself after your wild night out.” you nudge his arm. “how are you feeling today anyway? hungover?”

he rubs his temple, though he doesn’t seem to be in too much pain; by the looks of things, he’s had a shower, which means he probably went for one of his morning runs beforehand. “i’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing major. i don’t even remember how i got home.”

oh, thank god.

“i took care of you, don’t worry.”

seokjin scoffs. “i can see that. did i at least take my own trousers off?”

you take another hasty sip of coffee. “yes, of course. i wouldn’t go near that area with a six foot pole.”

seokjin rolls his eyes before standing up. he stretches his arms over his head, revealing a tiny lick of skin just above the waistband of his sweats. you look away sharply, causing another painful snap to course down your neck.

you wince. “fucking hell.”

he looks over his shoulder. “what?”

“just my neck.”

he drops his hands to his sides, turning to face you. his eyes narrow as he watches you rub the back of your neck, twisting your head from side to side in any attempt to get rid of the burning sensation dancing along the top of your spine. finally, he sits back down, puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you away from him.

you falter. “uh, seokjin?”

“i learned this when i was in Daegu a few years back.” he digs his fingers into the base of your neck, and immediately a pressure is released. it’s a pressure you didn’t even realise was there.

it disintegrates beneath his fingers, only to be replaced by another pressure, completely unrelated to mere muscle pain. it settles in your stomach, makes you stiffen beneath his grip, and he must notice, because he chuckles, and it takes the form of a breeze blowing against the back of your neck.

you swallow. this really isn’t how you should be feeling right now. this entire situation should not be happening. seokjin is your friend. he’s that guy who saved you from a potential, second mental breakdown. he’s that guy you share a bed with completely out of inconvenience. he’s the guy you tease and eat dinner with.

he’s seokjin.

despite being fully aware of how out of place this entire experience is, you make no effort to shift away from him. in fact, almost against your will, you sink closer to him, your back hitting against his knees, and again, that gentle breeze tickles the back of your neck.

“good?” his voice is gruff, quiet.

“good.” your voice is high pitched, embarrassing.

seokjin chuckles again, a third time, before you feel his lips against your shoulder blade.

the sensation is wild. it’s such a simple touch, nothing more than a peck against your flesh, but it sends your brain into a spiral. you hate yourself for it, how such a simple action can destroy you in seconds.

and it’s destroying you, sending your brain into overdrive, but you want more of it. you desperately, desperately want more of it, and maybe that’s why you lean into his touch. maybe that’s why you let his hands slide around your waist. maybe that’s why you close your eyes, tilt your head back into the crook of his neck, let his plump lips explore your neck. you are in complete bliss, unable to even form words, fairly certain you’re losing yourself in-

the phone rings.

you jolt away from him, gasping as reality floods back into you. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, you can’t believe you just did that. you can’t believe you let yourself get lost like that.

you jump up from the sofa and rush for the phone, too scared to spare seokjin a glance. he isn’t saying anything, which can only be a bad sign, and quite frankly, you haven’t even got your head screwed on well enough to deal with that.

you grab the phone and pull it to your ear, all without looking at the caller id.

“hello?”

“y/n?”

you inhale sharply. “robert. fuck. i’m late, aren’t i?”

“are you well? it’s not like you to be late.”

you run a hand through your hair, glancing at the clock on your nightstand - you’re only late by fifteen minutes, but that doesn’t change anything. you got distracted. you should have been paying closer attention.

“i’m fine. sorry. so sorry. just - uh - slept in. i slept in. i’ll be there as soon as possible.”

robert replies. you’re certain of it, but you don’t pick up on what he’s said. you slam the phone back down and spin, finally looking at seokjin. he’s dazed, staring back at you with eyes blown wide and mouth slightly open, slightly swollen, damp from where his tongue has surely traced patterns over them since you stood up.

you swallow thickly. “i have to go to work.”

“y/n-”

“you don’t have to say anything.” you snatch your keys off the bedside table, along with your phone and a pen that you don’t even need, but you just want to grab more stuff, just want to feel the heavy weight of objects in your hands. “i get it, okay? that was weird. we were both lost in the moment. you don’t have to explain yourself.”

he opens his mouth to reply, but you’re on a roll with cutting people off before you can hear what they have to say. you dart out the door, yelling “see you later!” over your shoulder before the door slams closed behind you.

you waste no time. if you stop, you’re going to think, and the kinds of thoughts that will surely rush to the surface are not the kind you want to be dealing with right now.

you arrive at the bakery in ten minutes, feet aching from how harshly they were slamming against the pavement in the cold, wet rain. nonetheless, you don’t care. you genuinely don’t care, not when you pull your coat off and slip your apron over your head, immediately snatching the oven gloves out of malachi’s hands.

his head snaps up. that award winning grin flashes across his face when he says, “y/n! you made it!”

“what are we making?” you ask.

malachi’s smile slips. “uh. . . i mean, it’s not that busy. there’s no rush. if you wanna grab a coffee or something before you start-”

“i’ll make muffins.”

malachi blinks. you don’t humour him with a response, instead getting to work immediately. you can feel him watching you from across the kitchen, dark eyes burning holes into the back of your head. you just keep working, even though your hands are beginning to tremble, and you can still feel seokjin’s mouth on your bare skin. your heart is yet to recover, still beating erratically in your chest.

“y/n?” malachi mumbles. “are you sure everything’s alright?”

you remember his words from the previous day, how bizarre they sounded when you first heard them; it just didn’t make any sense at the time that anyone would think seokjin had feelings for you, that he looked at you as anything more than a friend. you had gone home entirely convinced that you and seokjin would remain friends, and that was all, whether you liked it or not.

but then he just has to go and do that, messing up every logical thought you once held.

you don’t even know if he likes you like that, or if it really was just a spur of the moment thing. he might have still had alcohol in his system. maybe he didn’t even know what he was doing.

malachi’s hand on your shoulder startles you. you yelp, hands twitching, warm pan crashing to the floor.

“woah!” malachi grabs you, dragging you back before you can burn yourself. “careful there, mate.”

you close your eyes. “fuck, i’m sorry. i didn’t-”

“are you gonna tell me what’s wrong with you today or are we just gonna keep having incidents like this?”

you meet his gaze; there is no malice in his words, no threat or disappointment. he’s worried about you.

you sigh, falling back against the counter. “just. . . seokjin things.”

malachi pauses. “seokjin? the husband?”

“he’s not my-”

“the guy you live with? the guy who was here yesterday?”

“that’s the one.”

malachi picks up the warm pan with a towel. “what has he done? he seemed like a nice bloke.”

“he’s an amazing bloke,” your quick to say, though the words make your cheeks heat up. “he really is amazing. he’s just also . . . very confusing.”

malachi raises a brow. “confusing how?”

“confusing. . .” you gesture vaguely, as if that in itself is a good enough adjective to describe just how confusing seokjin is.

malachi nods like he understands. he leans against the counter, shoulder brushing yours. for just a moment, it truly feels like there is nothing left to say; how do you comfort someone in a situation like this? how do you comfort anyone, let alone a person you’ve known for only a handful of days, someone you only know the bare bones about.

nonetheless, malachi’s silence is reassuring. it calms you down to a point where you can gently take the pan from his hand and set it on the counter, your breathing straying back to a normal rhythm.

“so,” he begins once you start gathering random ingredients. “correct me if i’m wrong, but i’m guessing seokjin did something that messed with your feelings a little bit?”

you bite your lip, and that is response enough.

“ah.” he pauses for another brief moment. “you weren’t uncomfortable with any of it, were you? ‘cause i’ll hang him up by his balls if he-”

“no!” the word is ripped from your throat, urgent. “no, malachi, it was nothing like that. seokjin would never do anything like that.”

“then what did he do?”

“he kissed me.” you pause. “kind of.”

malachi’s eyebrows rise. you watch the cogs turning his brain, probably trying to understand the riddle you have just presented him.

you hasten to clarify. “him and i have been purely friends from the moment we met. we live together just for convenience. he never showed signs of wanting to date anyone, let alone date me, and then this morning he just. . . got a little touchy, and it confused me, because i always just thought he didn’t want that kind of relationship with me.”

“sounds like an awful lot of information on what he wants rather than what you want.”

you frown. “what i want doesn’t matter.”

malachi stares at you. you stare back, because you don’t want to think about what you want. you don’t want to dig into that dark crevice of your mind until everything else is sorted; you have to get your own life together before you can start thinking about sharing that life with someone else.

especially someone like seokjin.

someone who is perfect. someone who seems to have everything under control. he’s only young, not even thirty, and yet he’s travelling korea, cooking in top class restaurants, going out with friends who love him. he’s essentially living the dream.

you’re just the person who intruded on that dream-like life, stumbling through your own life tragically.

you look away as the thought strikes you; again, you can’t focus on that kind of thing. it’s scary. it’s uncharted territory, and you won’t let yourself be engulfed by it.

---

when you arrive home, seokjin is cooking dinner.

“ooh, something smells good!” you exclaim, trying to ignore the frantic thump of your heart.

seokjin glances over his shoulder; his cheeks are burning red, an apron placed over his pyjamas. his hair is ruffled, and you know for a fact he’s only just now getting out of bed. he probably spent the entire day watching tv, and honestly, you envy him for it. your feet are aching for the long hours you put in at the bakery, and you want nothing more than to curl up and turn on some eastenders.

“you’re home!” he replies.

“i’m home.” you shake your coat off and approach. “what are you making?”

“spaghetti bolognese. something simple.”

“i never took you as the type to do anything simple.”

he grins, shooting you a wink. you hide your smile with an eye roll and grab some bowls from the cupboards, setting them down beside his work station before getting to work on grating the cheese; you know seokjin loves to smother his spaghetti in cheese. you’ve teased him about it on countless occasions.

“so, how was work?” he asks, scooping the pasta into two bowls.

“quiet,” you reply. “malachi and i did some inventory for the ingredients, and robert was gone half the day for a business meeting.”

“must have been pretty stressful.”

you shrug, nodding a thanks as seokjin passes you your dinner. “it was nice. there weren’t too many customers in, so it was pretty chill.”

seokjin sits down beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

you frown, glancing at his bowl. “how come you got more pasta than me?”

“i cooked it.” he twirls some pasta onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth. “therefore, i get the majority of it.”

“i was at work all day, starved to near insanity-”

“bit dramatic.”

“let me have some!”

before seokjin can move, you dig your fork into his bowl, scoop some pasta up and slap it back into your own. seokjin’s eyes widen, splutters slipping past his lips. you simply grin, popping a forkful into your mouth.

“you know,” he begins, voice low, “i would have given you some if you’d given me the chance.”

“that’s alright. i’ve got it now.”

seokjin scowls, slumping back against the sofa. he stares at the side of your head for what feels like forever, and you feel every goosebump his gaze induces.

he hasn’t brought up what happened that morning, which doesn’t make you feel too good. you spent the entire day reliving the scene in your head, feeling the echo of his lips against your shoulder blade, and he’s sat beside you now, pretending nothing even happened. does he do that with lots of people? is he just a natural flirt and you never even picked up on it?

because, at the end of the day, you really don’t know seokjin all that well. you’ve grown fond of his personality and him as a person, but how much does that tell you about a person? not an awful lot, that’s for sure.

you squirm a little, unable to hide your mild discomfort; there’s a tension pressing between you both, but you don’t know if he feels it, too. when you glance over your shoulder, he’s just lounging, that stupid smile on his face, staring at you like he knows how flustered you are and siphons nothing but joy from it.

you’re going to explode. any minute now, your body is going to go up in flames. you need to say something. you need to do something.

so you turn, open your mouth and-

his lips are on yours in seconds.

how he moved so fast, you are unsure, but the question doesn’t even matter as you melt into his grip entirely against your will. his lips mould against yours, so perfect, made for each other, but there is a voice in the back of your head screaming that this is wrong, that this is an entire friendship on the line, and are you really ready to destroy that for the sake of a passing fancy?

you let yourself kiss him back for a few more seconds. you just want to savour it. you just want to run your fingers through his hair a few more times before finally pulling yourself together.

you jerk back a little too hastily. he gasps at the sudden loss of contact, eyes wide, one hand still hovering in the air where he once cradled your face.

you swallow, standing up. you run your hands down the front of your jeans, shaking your head, trying not to make a scene, but all the emotions you felt this morning are coming back, and you’re just confused again. confused, and agitated, and you want nothing more than to ravish him, but at what cost?

he looks up at you. “y/n?”

it’s just your name, but it shatters you. it’s always sounded so good coming from his lips. it’s always sounded so natural.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out. “uh - i just - i don’t think-”

seokjin stands up. “don’t apologise. i’m sorry - i shouldn’t have just assumed-”

“i really like you, seokjin, but-”

“but not like that. don’t worry, i get it. i completely understand.” he rubs the back of your neck, cheeks glowing bright red. “we can just forget anything ever happened.”

your stomach curls; you don’t want to do that. you won’t be able to do that, but you humour him with a curt little nod. he smiles warily, hesitates just a bit before slumping down on the sofa and grabbing his spaghetti again. he doesn’t ask you to sit with him. he doesn’t ask you if you’re alright. he just turns the tv on and carries on eating, not giving you a second glance when you awkwardly walk right past the sofa and get into bed.

----

the days are awkward.

awkward, and borderline unbearable, to put it simply.

you go to work. so does seokjin. you both come home, eat dinner, and then go to bed, but neither of you know what to say or do in between those crucial moments.

seokjin doesn’t even joke around with you like he used to. he just laughs at your own pitiful attempts to lighten the mood before asking you what you want for dinner. once you respond, he uses it as an excuse to ignore you for the rest of the night as he goes off and makes it.

it really is ripping you apart. he was your friend, but he was also your crush.

yes, your crush. like some stupid high school drama. every time you saw him, your heart fluttered and you would go to sleep to thoughts of his arms around you, even if such a scenario once seemed so out of the equation.

and he likes you back. you know that. he kissed you, for crying out loud! nonetheless, there’s that voice in the back of your head reminding you that he is so much better than you, that he has his life together entirely whilst you don’t even have an outline of where you want yours to go.

two people so different in nature would never last long together, and that would leave you with not a trace of seokjin in your life. you didn’t want that.

but it’s kind of what you’ve been given anyway.

nowadays, you don’t even say goodbye to him when you leave for work, even if he’s awake. you just tug on your uniform and start walking, locking the door behind you because he has his own set of keys and he can unlock it whenever he wants.

you’re miserable at work, too, which doesn’t make you a blast to be around, a fact that malachi points out on a daily basis. every time he sees you, he rolls his eyes and tells you to cheer up, but you’ve gotten to the point where you just don’t care any more - you’re gonna bring the mood down, and that’s all there is to it. you’re not going to try and fix it until you’ve fixed yourself.

which is taking an awfully long time when you’re constantly surrounded by the problem.

it’s been a week and a half now. you walk home, sluggish and anxious, but stupidly excited to see seokjin nonetheless. that’s how this always goes. that’s why it’s so fucking confusing.

you unlock the door, step inside, and immediately your heart drops into your stomach.

seokjin looks up from his suitcase and gives you the weariest smile you have ever seen him wear. it’s crooked, the dimples not even appearing. it’s fake.

you pause in the doorway, fingers tightening on the door knob. “what are you doing?”

he looks back down at the pile of clothes - his clothes - he has stacked upon the bed. he bites his lower lip, takes a moment to respond, and your heart is going to burst.

“seokjin...” you step into the room, wincing at the door closing behind you. “what are you doing? why have you got all your stuff out?”

“i’ll keep paying the room. it’s the least i can do.”

you drop your bag to the floor. “fuck off. no way. you’re joking.”

“y/n-”

you stumble back as he stumbles forward. your back hits against the door, and he pauses like he’s just realised he’s scaring a timid animal.

“fuck off.” you shake your head, swiping your hand beneath your eyes; there are tears. already. great. “are you serious? you couldn’t have told me?”

seokjin rubs the back of his neck. “things haven’t been right since-”

“i know that! i know they haven’t, but god, what fucking age are you?” you’re yelling now, unsure where all this anger has come from. “we’re grown adults, seokjin! so what you kissed me? that doesn’t mean we can’t sit down and talk about you literally moving out!”

“this was never a permanent place for me anyway, and you knew that!” he exclaims. veins protrude from his neck. he looks so attractive, it’s almost dizzying. “it’s a fucking B&B, y/n!”

“that’s so far from the point,” you growl. “the point is, you’re moving out, leaving me on my own, and you didn’t even bother to tell me!”

“what would it have done?”

“it would have stopped us from having this argument!”

seokjin scoffs. “you having a bit of sense would have stopped us from having this fucking argument!”

you shake your head, raising a trembling hand. “nah, you know what, fuck you. all you are is a selfish little twat who only thinks about himself. so leave. go off somewhere, cook your fancy fucking meals, and don’t bother paying another penny towards this room because i’ve got it handled. i’m not that little bitch sobbing on the subway any more.”

“no. instead you’re that little bitch yelling at me for no reason-”

“are you serious?”

“you know what, i didn’t want to leave here angry. i’ve had some fantastic times in this room, but you just make it so difficult. you drive me insane sometimes!”

you laugh bitterly, head thrown back and eyes wild. “do i? do i really, seokjin? so why the hell did you kiss me?”

and something inside him snaps. you can see it in the flames that rise in his expression, in the way his knuckles immediately glow white with the grip he now has on forearm.

“because i’ve never met anyone who can do that to me, ever, and it was the hottest fucking thing in the world.”

not exactly romantic, but you freeze nonetheless.

seokjin tilts his head. “is that what you wanted to hear? do you want me to go into detail about how sleeping beside you without touching you was the hardest fucking thing for me? do you want me to go into detail about how i wanted to rip malachi’s head off when he made you laugh that one time at the bakery? do you want me to go into detail about how leaving is the only thing that is going to keep me sane, because if i’m around you for another minute with you hating me, i’m going to die.”

you blink. you blink, and blink, and you stare at him, waiting for the punchline. all he does is pant, shoulders rising and falling, cheeks flushed red. he can’t even look at you. instead, he turns on his heel and marches back to his suitcase, grabbing another pile of clothes and stuffing it haphazardly on top of the others.

“there,” he grumbles. “just rip the fucking confession out of me, will you? god, calling me selfish. if you want me to stay here when i’m being driven mental, that makes you selfish. i offered to keep paying for the house-”

“seokjin.”

“i wouldn’t just leave you with nothing. i’m not a dick. but if you really think that, then-”

shit.

you rush forward before he can sink further into that theory.

you grab his arms, pulling him round to face you, and with one hand clipped to the back of his head, you drag him down and kiss him.

it’s not practised. you certainly didn’t come home tonight thinking you would be kissing seokjin by the end of it, but you make the most of your spontaneity.

he stumbles a little bit, clearly taken off guard, but he catches himself soon enough and grabs your waist, pulling you closer. your hips clash against his. your hands ruffle his hair. his tongue bashes against yours because this kiss is more than just a declaration of. . . of whatever it is you’re feeling. this kiss is sloppy, and ravenous, and frustration all pulled into one, and it shows. it really, really shows as seokjin spins and pushes you back onto the bed, just managing to dodge his neat piles of clothes.

you shove one off the bed and drag him on top of you.

he groans, kissing your neck. “it took me an hour to fold those.”

“they’re gonna get messy anyway.”

his eyes sparkle. “oh?”

you pull him back down, determined to lose yourself in the feel of him against you, the feel of his surprisingly strong arms circling your waist. you forget everything. you let yourself forget everything, instead savouring this moment in all it’s entirety. it’s easily done when seokjin sprinkles fire across your neck, your stomach, your thighs. it’s easily done when he lets you do the same thing, touching him in places you once thought you would never touch.

you wonder, as his lips find your own, how you ever thought this would be anything less than perfect.

----

you wake up the next morning, knowing you don’t have to go to work, feeling more refreshed than you have in weeks.

you stretch, fingers snatching at the covers in search of seokjin. when they reach no conclusion, you peek open one eye and glance across the room, not surprised to see him standing in front of the mirror, fingers trailing through the hair your own fingers had attacked the previous night.

you slump back against the pillows. “can you not call in sick?”

his eyes snap up. he grins, those dimples popping just beneath the corners of his mouth. “afraid not. i didn’t know you were awake.”

“i wasn’t until approximately two seconds ago.”

he turns and walks towards the bed. kneeling on his side - and it has unconsciously become his side - he bends down and presses a kiss to your forehead; you wrinkle your nose, very aware of the sweat you didn’t wash off yourself last night, very aware of the fact you haven’t brushed your teeth or your hair, or made any effort at all.

nonetheless, seokjin grins at you. “who would have thought you would look so beautiful after we fucked.”

you gasp, shoving him away.

he chuckles, going back to fixing his hair in the mirror.

but now that he brings it up, memories of the previous night rise to the surface; you remember most of it very well, because it was the best you’ve felt in a very, very long time. it was pleasure and relief and happiness all rolled into one, and you never wanted it to end.

but then there was the moments before that, when you had both spoken words neither of you meant.

at least, you didn’t mean what you said.

seokjin must notice your sudden demeanour shift, as he glances over and says, “it’s water under the bridge.”

you sit up, tugging the quilt around your bare chest. “we should talk about it.”

“and say what?”

“and apologise.”

he turns. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i didn’t mean a single thing i said.”

“either did i.”

“good.” he turns back to the mirror. “that’s that sorted then. we can go back to being madly infatuated with each other.”

you purse your lips; maybe he is a little bit upset. in all honesty, you wouldn’t be surprised; you said some pretty hurtful things in the moment, things you will regret for the rest of your life. even though seokjin knows - he must know - that you didn’t mean any of it, that doesn’t mean it won’t plague his mind for the next little while.

you rise from the bed, forgetting the quilt - it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course. he watches your movements through the mirror, his lower lip slowly - sexily - disappearing behind his teeth.

you wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your bare chest into his back. you listen to his breaths, slow and trained, like he’s trying to keep himself calm. part of you wants him to just lose control, to just spin around and take you into his arms, to forget about work and everything else.

but he’s seokjin. he’s got his life together. he won’t do that.

you press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “i really am sorry. you’re the most amazing man i’ve ever met. the most selfless, amazing man in the world.”

he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “t-thank you.”

“and i can’t wait for you to finish work so i can show you just how much i appreciate you.”

he groans, low in his throat. “i have to go to work.”

you nuzzle your head between his shoulder blades. “i never said you didn’t.”

he pulls away, spins around and kisses you. deeply, feverishly, like he’s never going to return and this is the last time he will ever get to hold you like this. you melt against him, giggling against his mouth as his hands cup your face and he pants against you.

finally, he pulls away and shakes his head. his eyes are wide, blown out when he points at you and says, “we’re not finished yet, understand? i’ll be back in, like, eight hours.”

you lay back on the bed, all naked flesh on show. “and i’ll be right here waiting for you.”

47 notes · View notes

glassbangtan · 4 years

Text

stitches {kim namjoon x reader}

Words: 10.5k

Summary: People always said getting married at a young age was a mistake - could they have been right?

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - masterlist

---

You would think that after 4 years of marriage, two people would have more to discuss.

The silence begs to differ. You haven’t seen Namjoon in weeks, purely for this reason - you don’t want to acknowledge the awkwardness, don’t want to sit at your - his - kitchen table and pretend nothing has ever happened between you.

But you can’t stay quiet forever. You need to collect your things at some point. You need to be a mature adult at some point. You need to face the facts at some point, no matter how painful they are.

The one thing keeping you from bursting into tears right here and now is the fact that Namjoon looks like he’s already shed enough tears for the both of you; he sits with his head bowed, staring at his fingers folded upon the table. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s wearing his plaid pyjamas - enough to show you he hasn’t bothered with putting effort in today, enough to show you that he doesn’t believe he needs to make a lasting impression because this could very well be the last day you ever see him.

And it hurts. God, it fucking hurts, because it was only a week ago you were truly convinced Kim Namjoon was the one for you. And maybe that belief isn’t completely diminished, despite the divorce papers and the arguments; you look at him now and you don’t think of yourself as stupid or immature just because you got married at such a young age - you look at him now, and there’s a voice in your head telling you that you made the right decision, whether it worked out or not.

You inhale shakily, resisting the urge to reach out and tangle your fingers in his. “If you find anything of mine later on, you know my new address. Don’t - don’t hesitate to just send it all over. If you - if you don’t want it.”

He nods.

“And if - if you ever need anything from me, you can always call-”

“I don’t think that’s very smart.”

You bite your bottom lip; you expected that, of course. Namjoon has never been one for pretending things are okay when they’re not.

Despite this, you just need to hear him speak. “Why?”

He shrugs, messing with his bony fingers. “It’s just - like - this isn’t easy on either of us, is it?”

“Of course not.”

“So we might as well just. . . leave it as it is. I don’t want to get in another argument with you and then that’s all I can think about. I want to remember the good things, and the more we talk, the greater chance we have of tarnishing those good memories for ourselves.”

Ouch.

“So you just wanna. . . cut ties? You just want to pretend like we never happened?”

“That’s not what I said-”

“But that’s basically what you said.” You stand up; it’s not exactly fury you feel, more a heavy disappointment just below your rib cage. It will turn into a physical ache if you don’t leave now, just as it always does when you and Namjoon have an argument.

He rakes his hands through his hair, finally looking up from the table long enough to watch you scramble in your attempts to grab your stuff. “Y/N, that’s not what I-”

“I get it, Namjoon,” you say. “You wasted your entire life with me. You’ve seen your chance to get away and you’re taking it - who can blame you?”

Namjoon stands abruptly. “This isn’t a chance to get away. This is me putting both of our best interests at heart-”

“You don’t have a right to tell me what is for my best interests. Because let me tell you, getting a divorce in front of the entire world most certainly isn’t what I would class as my best interest.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “You do this all the time. You overthink everything I say and make it seem like I’m out to get you.”

“No I don’t!” You’re on the cusp of yelling. Your chest is aching. Your hands are trembling, gripping the handle of your bag; a few more paces to the left and you’ll be out of here, away from him, away from this argument - but instead you stay rooted to the floor, ready to start screaming your head off all over again. “My entire life, Namjoon, I have put up with shit from you that nobody else on the planet would have the willpower to put up with!”

His nostrils flare. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about constantly being in the press? How about me not being able to step foot outside of my house without people jeering stuff at me? How about me not being able to go online because there’s millions upon millions of people constantly claiming I’m using you for money, or you’re cheating on me, or I’m cheating on you-”

“I can’t control that.”

“I know you can’t, but you also can’t sit there and say I make you out to be the bad guy all the time when it’s me who’s put up with all this shit for the past eight years!”

Namjoon scoffs. He scoffs, and it sounds close enough to a laugh that a fresh wave of anger soars into your system, hitting you with the startling urge to throw something at the wall.

“Alright then, Y/N, alright,” he says. “If being part of my life bothers you that much, I don’t know why you’re still here. Them divorce papers gave you a Get out of Jail Free card, so why the fuck are you still standing in my kitchen?”

Never in your life have you heard Namjoon sound so angry. Your stomach stirs, a mix of interest and terror as you snatch your bag from the chair, turn on your heel and flee from his kitchen before any further words can be spoken.

You’re trembling. Your feet hurt with the speed at which you’re walking, trying desperately to get through your own front door before the tears start streaming, but it’s pointless - so, so pointless considering you were already crying before you’d even escaped the confines of the house you used to call your own.

It all escalated so quickly, so pointlessly, but at the end of the day, that’s how it has been for months. It’s the littlest things that set you both off, and by the end of it, those little things added up, were engraved into the divorce papers that neither of you really wanted to sign but did anyway, just to see if it would make a difference.

It did make a difference, of course. You moved house; you sleep on your own now; the media sees you as nothing more than a gold-digging whore, no matter how many statements Namjoon, BigHit and the boys of BTS put out claiming it was a mutual, respect-filled decision.

Yes, things have changed. Supposedly for the better, because at the end of the day, you’re single now, can potentially do whatever you want - but that can only be seen as a good thing when you ask for it, and you never asked for it. You never asked for a life without Namjoon. You never asked for your best friend to hate you.

---

Taehyung is nice for meeting up with you, even though he knows the inevitable backlash that will follow - mainly directed at you.

The coffee shop holds only a few customers this morning, and none of them stay long enough to pay much attention to you and the worldwide celebrity sitting in the corner. Taehyung with his beanie pulled over his head and his oversized coat, a passing glance is not enough to distinguish him as anyone important.

He stares at you as soon as you sit down, not saying hello in that cheery way you’ve grown so accustomed to in your seven years of friendship with him. You set your bag on the floor, look at him and meekly say, “How are you?”

Taehyung raises a brow. “I don’t think I’m the one that should be answering that question.” He leans forward, and it’s then you know this isn’t going to be some innocent little catch-up conversation; Taehyung most likely saw Namjoon last night and now wants all the details you can give. “What happened?”

“Can I at least order my coffee first?”

Taehyung slides his own cup towards you, folds his fingers on the table. “He was a wreck when he got to the dorms. Wouldn’t tell any of us what happened. Not even Yoongi.”

You fight off the wince that wants to fight to the surface; Namjoon hardly ever leaves his band members in the dark about anything.

“I don’t - I don’t really know what happened,” you begin, unsure whether it’s a lie or not. “We just started arguing. Namjoon said some things, I said some things-”

“I know how arguing works.”

“We just hurt each others feelings, and I ended up storming out.”

Taehyung sighs. “Again.”

“It was better than letting things get worse.” A lump forms in your throat at the thought of how things would have progressed if you hadn’t fled the scene. “He didn’t want me there in the first place.”

Taehyung perks up. “Oh yeah. Why were you at his house anyway?”

“Getting some bits and pieces I left.”

Silence. Taehyung continues to stare, like he’s waiting for another bit of a story that ended a while ago; acknowledging the fact that the house you remember picking, the house you lived in for four years, the house that holds so many memories for both you and Taehyung is now no longer a part of your life - it hurts. It makes it real. It makes all of it real.

You shrug, taking a swig of Taehyung’s coffee. “But yeah. Namjoon and I are probably just better off not communicating at all. That’s us done for good.”

Taehyung’s shoulders drop as if a boulder has fallen upon them. “You’ve got to be having a laugh.”

“Nope. Last night showed me exactly what happens when we’re in the same room together, and there’s no point putting either of us through that shit again.”

Taehyung looks baffled. A cartoon-ish type of baffled, with the knitted brows and the open mouth, leaning forward as if he’s convinced he misheard; you take a sip of your coffee, looking away as nonchalantly as you can muster with the lump in your throat.

“So how have you and the boys been?”

Taehyung slaps the table. Heads spin, you jump, salt pots rattle, but he doesn’t care.

You slosh coffee down your front. “Tae!”

“Oh, my poor little ears have heard it all!”

“Keep your voice-”

“I did not spend eight years listening to you flirt and have sex with Namjoon for you to sit here and tell me you’re not even gonna bother standing in the same room as him!”

You grab Taehyung’s hand and tug, a desperate attempt to get him to shut the fuck up.

But he barrels on, face growing redder with each word spoken. “That’s just - that’s just pure waste! Wasteful!”

“Okay, I get where you’re coming from, but-”

“I don’t really think you do, Y/N, or else you’d be apologising to me for getting me so panicked by even suggesting-”

“Alright, Tae, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Now can you be quiet, for fuck sake?”

He inhales deeply, flipping his hand over and tangling his fingers with yours. “That wasn’t very funny.”

You slump back, glancing around nervously; thankfully, most of the people who once surrounded you have left, either to head off to work or scared off by the lunatic yelling in the corner. The only person still staring is the bartender, an elderly man who can’t stand up straight.

“You weren’t being serious, were you?”

You look across the table and shrug.

Taehyung sighs. “I understand there’s tension between you both at the moment - coming to terms with a failed relationship and all that - but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to just. . . pretend the other one doesn’t exist. Me and the boys still want to see you - how are we gonna do that if you don’t even want to stand in the same room as Namjoon?”

You run your hands through your hair, gripping the roots tightly. “It’s not just a failed relationship, Tae - it’s a failed marriage. A marriage of four years, for gods sake. It’s a bit deeper than what you seem to think it is.”

Taehyung throws his head back and groans. “Fuck that.” He looks back at you. “The only difference is a lousy piece of paper that means fuck all in the grand scheme of things. A bit of legal stuff, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything. The only thing that matters is the fact that you and Namjoon love-”

“Loved.” You taste the lie even as you say it.

Taehyung pauses, purses his lips before barrelling on like you never even interrupted. “-love each other very much. You have done for a very long time. So where’s the logic in pretending none of it ever happened?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You can’t think of a valid response, because Taehyung has once again offered you a question that does nothing but back you into a corner.

You shrug, sipping your coffee slowly.

Taehyung hums, snatching the cup out of your mouth to take a sip of his own. “That’s what I thought.”

You sigh. “It’s just awkward, though.”

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.”

“That’s not-”

“Why don’t you come to rehearsals tonight and have a chat with him there?”

You freeze. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You rack your brain for an excuse. A quick one. “Bethany and I are going to Spaniel’s tonight.”

Taehyung raises a brow. “Spaniel’s? That club that nearly got shut down last month because someone got threatened at knife point?”

You snatch the coffee back. “That’s the one.”

Taehyung hums, slowly leaning back in his chair, all the while staring at you intently. “Fair enough. Good to see you’re still getting out there.”

“Mhm!”

“Well.” His words take on a slower drawl, and you know instantly he can see right through you; he’s Kim Taehyung, for crying out loud. He’s not easily fooled, no matter how much he wants people to think he’s the opposite. “I hope you have a good time. Drink responsibly and all that.”

“I will.”

“Would you and Bethany like a lift? I know Namjoon can’t drive, but-”

You raise a hand, notice it trembling and immediately lower it beneath the table again. Taehyung’s brows knit together. “No, thank you. We’re getting a taxi, so don’t worry.”

�� Taehyung nods. His lack of argument is just further proof that he does not believe a single word you are saying - you decide then and there that you need to get in touch with Bethany as soon as possible to organise a night out. You would not put it past Taehyung to show up at your house just to make sure you weren’t lying.

You smile and sip your shared drink. “So, how are the boys?”

---

You only start truly regretting your decision when you’re walking into Spaniel’s.

The thing is, Taehyung was right; there’s no point locking yourself in your bedroom for the foreseeable future. You’re still young, still have an entire life ahead of you, and wasting that life because of some boy would just be stupid on your part.

But you’re also not used to this - going to a club without Namjoon, who once offered a certain sense of protection. You’ve never been big on dancing, never been big on drinking. Back in the day, you and Namjoon used to just sit at the bar and talk for hours over steady drinks that left you only the tiniest bit tipsy by the end of the night but sober enough to understand that you’d rather spend any night out with Namjoon and nobody else.

Now you have Bethany and her motley crew keeping you company, and it really doesn’t feel the same. They started on the pre-drinks before you had even arrived at Bethany’s house, and are down-right hammered by the time they get in the door of the club.

“This place is shiiiiiit,” Anthony, one of Bethany’s friends, says. “We should have gone to Monroe’s or something.”

“Monroe’s is even worse on a Wednesday night,” Bethany points out.

“Most clubs are pretty dead on a Wednesday night,” you mutter.

You don’t want to be here, but you don’t want to make that obvious, either. Prying Anthony’s arm from your own, you tell them you’re going to get yourself a drink and saunter off in the direction of the bar; you don’t really know what it feels like to be downright hammered, but at this point, if the rumours are true, you’re willing to try it.

You order your usual vodka and coke before taking a seat behind a fairly tall man, hoping his towering height will hide you from the group of people you walked in with.

The drink burns your throat on the way down, but you’re grateful for it. It’s gone in a matter of minutes, and you’re moving onto your next one.

It’s so frustrating that you feel this way, like you should be curled up in your house, wallowing in your own self pity. It’s such a shame that the mere thought of someone who once provided such comfort is now nothing more than a nightmare, a teasing thought in the back of your mind because you know for certain you can’t have him back again. You lost him once, and that’s it - your final chance has been taken from you, leaving you bare and drunk and sad, and it’s so frustrating.

You down another drink.

“Alright mate, there’s no need to rush.”

You jump, glancing to the side just as Anthony takes a seat beside you at the bar. His eyes are bloodshot now, black hair dangling in his face soaked in sweat that certainly wasn’t there thirty minutes ago. Leaning forward a little bit, you’re able to latch onto the pungent smell of weed wafting from his clothes. Immediately you crane your neck in an attempt to catch sight of Bethany; you would not put it past her to be high out of her head right now, and you care about her too much to let her wander around the club on her own in such a state.

Anthony leans to the side, blocking your view. “You feeling alright, love?”

You pull back, scowling. “I’m fine. Where’s Beth?”

“She’s with Joshua,” Anthony replies like that answers your question at all. “It’s just you and me now, I think.”

You turn back to the bar. “I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in what?” He slumps forward, knocking his elbow with yours. “You just looked a little lonely and I thought you would appreciate some company.”

It would be so easy right now to just tell him to leave you alone; you don’t want the company, you don’t appreciate it at all, you want to go home - but the better half of you pushes to the surface before anything else. You give Anthony a small smile.

“Thanks.”

He grins right back, settling down on his chair. “So how come you’re here all on your own then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” He tilts his head back, stares up at the ceiling with eyes unfocused. “It just seems a little. . . bizarre to me that someone as pretty as you would be sat here on your own. No boyfriend? Girlfriend? Significant other of any kind?”

“Well, I have-” Your heart lurches into your throat and you catch yourself before the words can get much further forward. Anthony notices the sudden hitch in your speech, raises a brow and leans forward in an attempt to catch your eye, but you’re quick to look away and take yet another sip of your vodka and coke - it won’t be long until you can’t see straight. “Nope. I’m single.”

Anthony hums. “Weird.”

“Is it really?”

“Well, I think it’s weird, but that might just be because you’re the prettiest person I’ve seen tonight.”

His flirting doesn’t flatter you in any way. You glance at him through the corner of your eye, trying for another friendly little smile, but it fails and you instead take another drink to hide your distaste; comments like that don’t sound right when they’re coming from someone who doesn’t even know you.

Now, Namjoon on the other hand - he knew you better than anyone. He knew you better than you knew yourself. He would say things like that to you and you’d genuinely believe them, because if there was anyone in the world who knew the truth about you, it was him.

This guy has been in your presence for a grand total of twenty minutes and he’s only saying all this stuff because he’s drunk and high and horny.

“Do you have many hook-up’s, Y/N?” he asks suddenly, taking a sip of his own drink.

Your head snaps round. “Why would you ask that?”

“I was just wondering,” he replies, smirking into his glass. “You seem like a good egg. I can’t imagine you falling into anyone’s bed by accident.”

“By accident?”

“Unless, of course,” he continues, “you want a little bit of fun tonight.”

The anger claws its way into your system, but before you can say anything to hurt this guys feelings, another voice echoes out from behind you.

“Y/N! There you are!”

You whirl around just as Taehyung wraps a heavy arm round your shoulders, tugging you into his side. You gasp, surprised, but Taehyung barrels on before you can say anything to make Anthony believe you had no idea Taehyung would be here in the first place.

“Who’s this then?” he asks, motioning to Anthony who sits with knitted brows and pursed lips.

“Uhhh…”

“I’m Anthony.” He reaches forward for a hand shake. Taehyung stares at it a moment before slowly taking the offered hand.

“You two friends?”

“He’s friends with Bethany,” you reply quickly, before spinning in your seat and pushing Taehyung back, stumbling up after him. “Do you mind coming with me to the smoking area?”

Taehyung giggles. “You don’t smoke-”

“Be right back, Anthony!”

“Will we?” Taehyung asks once you’ve finally managed to push him through the crowd towards the back doors.

“Of course not,” you hiss, shoving him into the open air where he finally bursts out laughing. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re meant to be at rehearsals!”

“The good thing about being your managers best friend is that he lets you reschedule important meetings,” says Taehyung. “The whole group.”

You glare at him, even though you knew this would be the case from the moment Taehyung’s voice rang out behind you only minutes before; your stomach does a flip, one that you recognise as dread but wish was something else. Excitement, maybe.

Taehyung continues to grin, but it’s easy for him. He’s not the one who has to deal with the awkwardness. He’s not the one who’s just had their night completely ruined.

“You’re an asshole,” you spit.

He shrugs. “I’m not trying to set you two up - if you’re happier on your own-”

You glare at him, because he knows full well you’re not.

“-then I’m gonna respect that. But I couldn’t just go to the club and not bring Namjoon, you know? That wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

“Oh, God forbid you’re not very nice.”

He nods solemnly. “I know. I know. Now, can we go back inside? It’s fucking freezing.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, merely turns on his heel and starts back towards the club. You suck it up - you have to, because at some point, people are going to forget you and Namjoon ever existed and this fear you have developed will be seen as nothing more than stupid and irrational. You might as well start making the progress now.

The club suddenly seems ten times more crowded than it did when you first walked in; people are dancing, drinking, singing at the top of their lungs, and you can hear every word, feel every limb as you shove your way through the thickening crowd. Taehyung is taller than a lot of the inhabitants, and with his good looks and glowing smile, most people move out of the way when they see him walking towards them; it’s not too difficult to keep up with him.

But then you see Namjoon, and you don’t really understand why you’re following Tae in the first place.

“Oh, God,” you whisper. Taehyung glances at you, tries for a comforting smile, but the look on your face must be something else, something not even Taehyung can try and settle. Instead he reaches back, grabs your hand and pulls you forward, more to keep you from sprinting out of the club than to give you any type of comfort.

Because Namjoon looks so good, as he always does, and you remember nights like this when the other boys would force the two of you from the comfort of Namjoon’s studio, or the comfort of your shared home, and the two of you would just waltz around the dance floor, lost in each other and nobody else. It feels wrong to be in his presence in a situation like this and not have that kind of connection, and when he turns and meets your eyes, it’s obvious from the sudden drop of his smile that he feels the exact same way.

“There you are!” Jungkook exclaims, bursting out from behind Namjoon and giving Taehyung a hug. “We were wondering where you’d run off to!”

“I was collecting a friend,” Taehyung replies, dragging you forward. The other boys turn, grinning as soon as they lay eyes on you. You are bombarded with hugs and incoherent yelling, questions you can’t answer because they pile on top of one another with little to no gaps in between.

“Hi,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

The boys continue talking over one another, but you zone out. Namjoon stands a little bit behind everyone else, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, his eyes drawn to the floor as he waits for a change of topic - a topic that doesn’t involve you. His black hair hangs over his eyes, and you want nothing more than to reach forward and brush it out of his face, just like you used to do, but you don’t. You instead keep your hands knotted at your sides, smiling and nodding to whatever nonsense the six other boys are spewing at you.

“Right!” Seokjin suddenly exclaims, clapping his hands. “I’ll grab the first round of drinks. What does everyone want?”

Orders are tossed left right and centre, and somehow, Seokjin picks up on them all. You offer to go with him to help carry the tray, and it’s only by the grace of god and Seokjin’s obliviousness that he agrees and lets you break away from the other boys. You follow him up to the bar and wait for him to order.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says as the two of you wait. “What a coincidence! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I know,” you reply. “I came here with Bethany.”

Seokjin nods, even though he has no idea who Bethany is. “It’s good to hear you haven’t been isolating yourself - Namjoon’s been a right pain in the ass to get out of the house recently.”

You freeze. “Has he?”

Seokjin hums, messing idly with a paper straw he found discarded on the counter. “He’s been in a right mood. Obviously, like, we can’t blame him - he’s been going through a lot recently.” He flicks a glance at you. “You both have, huh?”

You shrug. You don’t have to lie if you say nothing at all.

Seokjin turns back to the bar. “But yeah, he just hasn’t been handling it very well. Hasn’t been handling himself very well.” He shrugs. “I suppose if you’ve been spending your entire life with somebody else, it’s kind of difficult to get back into the swing of doing things on your own, you know?”

You do know. You know far too well.

You nod slowly, biting your lower lip to stop the tears that suddenly want to make an appearance; you’re too drunk for this. You should be at home, not stuck in a club trying to avoid your ex-husband.

The drinks are passed across the bar once they have all been made. You reach out to grab the tray, but a voice by your ear startles you before you can pick them up.

“Where did you go off to?”

Both you and Seokjin whirl around at the same time. Seokjin grins when he sees Anthony standing by your shoulder, though Anthony does not repay him with the same level of courtesy.

“Who’s this?” Seokjin asks, already reaching out a hand in greeting.

Anthony scowls at him. “I’m Y/N’s friend. Who are you?”

“Oh, me too,” Seokjin replies. “Do you want a drink? You can have mine if you like vodka and-”

“I’m just here to retrieve Y/N.”

You pause, certain you must have misheard. Even Seokjin, forever the man to stay calm in moments like this, freezes with his hand hovering over the top of his drink.

Together, you both say, “Huh?”

“Well, Y/N came in with us,” Anthony says. “I don’t like the idea of walking around with someone I don’t know - especially when she’s slightly drunk.”

“I’m not-”

Anthony grabs your arm. “Let’s go.”

Seokjin grabs your other arm. “I don’t - uh - I don’t think that’s too good of an idea.”

“And why is that?” Anthony gives Seokjin a smile, warm and welcoming, but it’s the flash of anger in his bloodshot eyes that convinces you he doesn’t mean any of these niceties he’s trying to present. You quickly snap your arm from his grip, stumbling into Seokjin’s chest.

Anthony looks at you, tilts his head. “Y/N-”

“I’m going with Seokjin,” you reply. “Tell Beth I’ll call her when I get home.”

Anthony opens his mouth to respond, but you don’t stick around to hear what he has to say, certain it will be nothing more than a drug-induced attempt to get you to stay. Instead, you turn on your heel, grab Seokjin’s hand and drag him back through the crowd, Seokjin fumbling with the tray of drinks as he tries to keep up with you.

“Who was that guy?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder in bewilderment.

You tug on his hand, a silent plea to just ignore Anthony, who has now taken to yelling across the dance floor at you. “He’s friends with Bethany - they’re room mates or something. I don’t really know.”

“He’s frightening,” Seokjin says. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He’s just high. You watch, I’ll have an apology text tomorrow morning.”

Seokjin snickers as the two of you finally arrive at the table one of the other boys managed to dig out. Seokjin sets the tray down and hoists himself onto the bench beside Namjoon, who is purposefully and oh-so-obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

At this point, you don’t even care; perhaps the alcohol has settled in your system at long last, leaving you slightly tipsy despite still being far too connected to reality. You’re still overly aware of Namjoon’s presence, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s just because he’s Namjoon. Around you, girls and boys continue to glance at him over their shoulders, whisper amongst themselves, pointing in a way that makes you want to wrap your arm around his just to tell them he’s mine.

But you aren’t his anymore, so you occupy your hands by grabbing a drink from the tray and turning to talk to Yoongi, who is busy tapping away at his cell phone.

As the night draws on, you become looser, more willing to have a good time than you were before. You and Hoseok have a dance battle that everybody laughs at, claiming you won despite the obvious winner being Hoseok himself. The bartender asks for your number, but Taehyung cuts in and says you don’t have a phone, and the bartender is too intimidated by Taehyung’s grand height to argue; you don’t even care. Taking another sip of your drink, you grin and thank Tae for a reason you are unsure of.

And the entire time, Namjoon keeps his distance.

It’s as the night starts drawing to a close that things start getting blurry; out of the seven boys you’ve been spending time with, three are left in your presence by the time midnight rolls around. Taehyung, Yoongi and Namjoon gather round the table as you stand beside them, too angsty to sit, too drunk not to make your presence known. You sip your drink as the boys talk, idly swaying your hips back and forth, not really paying attention to what they’re saying…

“Don’t you think it’s getting a little late?”

If it was anybody else, you could have convinced yourself not to turn around. But Namjoon’s voice has some kind of appeal to it that has you spinning, nearly sloshing your drink over yourself at the speed of which you do so. You half-expect him to be looking elsewhere, keeping to the pattern of the night of completely ignoring you, but this time, he’s staring right at you, one eyebrow raised.

You stare right back.”Huh?”

“Oh, come on, Namjoon,” Yoongi scoffs, not taking his eyes off his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

“I know, but Y/N doesn’t like staying out late, and-”

“I love staying out late!” Your voice is shrill, much louder than you originally intended, but you’re too far gone now to change that. “Now that I don’t have anyone to come home to, staying out late is my forte!”

Taehyung spins, eyes wide, face paling. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

You keep your eyes on Namjoon, watching his expression shift from genuine concern to anger. His teeth grit, fingers curling into fists upon the table.

“Oh,” says Namjoon slowly. “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” You sip your drink, wrap an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. He looks up, startled, from his iPhone, cheeks growing red as he glances uncertainly from you to Namjoon and back again. “It’s like this sense of freedom, you know? Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I believe it’s called being single? Really great.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s pretty good,” Namjoon mutters.

“Okay!” Taehyung exclaims, sharing a concerned look with Yoongi. “I think Y/N’s had a bit too much to-”

“No, no,” Namjoon cuts in. Taehyung and Yoongi close their eyes in exasperation, but you keep your gaze firm on Namjoon, who keeps his firm on you. “Y/N wants to stay out late, then she should stay out.”

“And who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky!”

Namjoon’s scowl deepens. “Maybe.”

His indifference just makes you angrier; he should be yelling, telling you to stop teasing him, saying he misses you and that this divorce is the worst decision he’s ever made…

But he isn’t.

He’s sat in that stupid chair with his stupid half-drunk drink, and he’s scowling at you but he’s not doing anything to put a stop to whatever you’re saying because at this point, you don’t even know what it is you’re trying to say.

“Do you think Anthony needs someone to go home with?” you continue, tightening your hold on Yoongi.

“Anthony?” Namjoon suddenly bursts, the first sign of proper anger he’s shown tonight. “The drug addict?”

“He smokes a little weed every now and then.” You wave a dismissive hand at your ex-husband. “You just never liked him because he’s not willing to settle down with anyone - he’s living his life. He’s doing what people our age should be doing.”

Namjoon’s guard cracks.

Taehyung reaches for his arm, but it’s really no use - Namjoon is taller, broader, angrier, and he barrels past the table before you can do so much as blink. His fingers are wrapped around your upper arm in seconds, a feather light touch that does not equal the stormy expression on his face. You squeal dramatically, stumbling into him as he drags you away from the table.

“What are you gonna do to me?” you demand.

Namjoon scowls, says something to Taehyung and Yoongi before he’s dragging you out of the club.

“Get off me!” you exclaim, though you make no attempt to shake yourself from his grip; even in your overly-intoxicated state, the feel of Namjoon’s fingers on your skin - after so long - is like sipping water after months in the desert.

The two of you walk outside. Once you pass the exit doors, Namjoon lowers his hands to your waist, spins you around so you’re facing him and says, “What’s the matter with you?”

You’re taken aback. You stare at him, eyebrow raised.

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk. You hate getting drunk.”

“You have no idea what I hate,” you shoot back. “You don’t know anything about me anymore, Namjoon!”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, give me a break. We’ve been broken up for two weeks!”

“And you don’t think I’ve changed in them two weeks?”

“Well, apparently you’re a lot more fucking stupid-”

“Oh, go to hell, Namjoon. So what if I had a drink? Not all of us want to be stuck-up little piss-babies like you!”

He scoffs, closing his eyes. “Is that your idea of an insult now?”

You wriggle out of his grip, even though it takes every fibre of your being, even though you want nothing more than to stay locked in his embrace forever. “I’ll do what I want, okay? And tonight, I want to go home with Anthony.”

“You’re gonna regret it in the morning.”

“I’ll deal with that in the morning.”

You spin on your heel, starting towards the door back into the club, but you only manage two steps forward before Namjoon has grabbed your wrist and is tugging you back; you’re ready to throw a hissy fit, a genuine, toddler tantrum if he doesn’t let you go, because looking into his eyes right now is hurting you so, so badly, and-

“Come home with me instead.”

You stumble, certain you’ve heard him wrong. Even through your drunken haze, you can’t bring yourself to believe he has truly said what he’s just said.

“What?”

“Just so I know you’re safe,” he mumbles, as if embarrassed to be admitting such a thing. “I’ll sleep on the sofa, you can take the bed. But I don’t like the idea of you going home on your own when you’re in this state.”

You stare at him; is he pitying you? Is that what this is? You can’t put your finger on it, but your heart is thumping at a million miles per hour, and your drunken brain is seeing this invitation as nothing more than an opportunity, a chance to spend one last night with him, whether it be completely platonic or not.

“Okay,” you croak out. “That sounds. . . Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”

Namjoon nods, once and certain, before he turns and starts walking back towards the car park.

----

The house hasn’t changed, and maybe that’s the worst part.

There’s still evidence of you once living here, and that bothers you. It irks you that Namjoon can sit amongst photographs and things that once belonged to you and not completely break down. Stood on the mantelpiece is a picture you and him took a few years back, still framed in the same old brown frame that you planned on replacing ages ago, but never got round to. One of your hair ties is still on the coffee table. A pair of shoes you grew out of are still tossed in the shoe basket by the front door.

He hasn’t touched a thing.

You swallow the thick lump forming in your throat, stumbling through the door. Namjoon goes to catch you, but you flinch out of his grip before his fingers can make contact, suddenly much too afraid of what is happening; you’re meant to be getting over him, for crying out loud. Yet here you are, walking into this house with this man with not a thought racing through your head.

“Let me get you a glass of water,” he says, keeping a loose eye on you even as he walks into the kitchen. You sit down on the sofa, cover your face with your hands and inhale deeply; this is going to be a mighty long night if you don’t get your head on straight.

Namjoon returns a few minutes later. He places the pint of water on the coffee table before sitting down beside you; his hands hang awkwardly between his knees as he continually shoots glances in your direction. Neither of you know what to do, or what to say. Do you even bring up what happened tonight? Do you apologise? Do you ask him why he even cared so much in the first place?

You do none of those things, instead choosing to bask in the silence. Your heart is thumping in your chest, the alcohol still pumping through your veins; you know you messed up somehow tonight, but you’re becoming too exhausted to really care about it.

Namjoon is the first to speak. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Tired.”

“I’ll go set up the bed.” He starts to stand, but you grab his wrist before he can get very far. He pauses midway, glancing back at you. “You alright?”

“I’ll take the sofa.”

He raises a brow as if the mere idea of you sleeping on the sofa is ludicrous. “Don’t be an idiot.” He shakes his hand out of your grip. “Stay here and drink your water. I’ll be back in five.”

“Namjoon, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” And then he disappears around the corner, leaving you in the living room all on your own.

You take this moment of alone-time to wander the place that used to be yours. With your pint of water in hand, you slowly walk around the living room, glancing at old pictures and smiling at old memories - all of which he has kept, and not just placed subtly around the room; they’re at the forefront. To the untrained eye, it would look like you never even left in the first place.

Again, it bothers you that he can sit in here so casually. Back at your place, all pictures of you and Namjoon have been shut tightly in cardboard boxes and shoved into the roof space - not out of spite, but because seeing them everyday and remembering a time better than your own would be a form of torture.

You care too much. Maybe Namjoon doesn’t.

You trail a hand along the outside of a white picture frame, the inside containing a photo of the two of you backstage at the Grammys. This was the very day Namjoon and the boys won their first Grammy award; in the picture, Namjoon is sweaty with his shirt unbuttoned just a bit, and you look glamorous and happy with your arm around his waist and the biggest smile on your face, tears continuously flowing down your cheeks even as the picture is being taken.

“I can take them down if you want.”

You jump, spinning around just as Namjoon steps out from the darkness of the hallway.

“If you don’t want to look at them, I mean,” he clarifies upon seeing your puzzled expression.

You wave a dismissive hand. “No, it’s okay.” You turn back to the photo. “Remember this?”

“How could I forget? It was one of the best nights of my life.”

“I know. Though I’m surprised you remember it with the amount you and the boys drank at the after party.”

Namjoon scoffs, coming up behind you to get a better look at the photo. “I didn’t drink that much.”

“I basically had to carry you home.”

“You didn’t have to do anything.”

“So, what? You just expected me to leave you there?”

Namjoon shrugs, picking the frame up to get a better look at the picture. You watch his eyes soften, grip tightening just that little bit; you know exactly what he is seeing, because it was only seconds before that you were seeing the exact same thing. A happily married couple with not a care in the world, a love so strong and so ever-lasting that - at the time - it seemed impossible to break. You’re all smiles and hands-around-waists and dreamy gazes being sent across the room; it was such a perfect day.

You wonder how anything could have broken you both after that day.

Namjoon coughs and hastily sets the picture back down on the mantelpiece. “The beds set up for you.”

You nod, because you don’t know what else to do; do you thank him? Do you argue with him again? In truth, you don’t even want the bed - the idea of sleeping upon the same mattress you and Namjoon used to sleep on together is just taunting, and you would much rather sleep on the sofa anyway.

But Namjoon doesn’t seem to be taking that as a suggestion. He wades across the room and throws himself down onto the sofa, placing one hand behind his head and closing his eyes, even as you stand over him, waiting for the conversation to move onto something you both know needs to be discussed.

Upon hearing no signs of you leaving the room, Namjoon cracks open an eye and looks up at you. “You alright?”

“You ask that an awful lot.”

“Yeah, well, it’s polite.”

You glare. “I’m fine. Just. . . Are you sure you don’t want the bed?”

He closes his eyes in response.

You groan loud enough for him to hear. He simply smirks - the bastard - and that is enough to have you cracking. You throw a pillow at him before marching upstairs and into the master bedroom - the master bedroom which still looks the exact same as when you last stood within it. The double bed with the checkered quilt cover, the bedside table with the broken lamp, the window with the curtains that are never closed, but which you now yank closed because the sun will be most excruciating tomorrow.

You throw yourself down on the bed. The scent of Namjoon explodes within your senses.

You start crying.

It might be the alcohol. It might be the memories. It might be the fact that you’re so young and already have one divorce under your belt, a divorce from the man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with, a divorce from the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You’re in his house, and he’s downstairs on the sofa, refusing to let you sleep in such an uncomfortable space; why would you not want to spend the rest of your life with someone like that?

You pull your shirt off over your head, kick your jeans off and slip under the covers without replacing them with anything; you’re too tired, too emotional to really care about the consequences of such an idea.

It’s not like Namjoon hasn’t seen everything anyway.

----

You are woken by the sound of rustling in the corner of the room.

It doesn’t strike you as anything odd for a moment; you’re groggy, comfortable, can already feel the beginnings of a headache fighting to the surface. At this moment in time, you would gladly let a thief rummage through the wardrobe if it meant they left you alone to sleep.

However, as human nature entails, curiosity gets the better of you. Your eyes creak open slowly, head popping up inches from the pillow just enough to see Namjoon kneeling on the floor, rummaging through the chest of drawers.

“Morning,” you say.

Namjoon looks up and smiles. His eyes drift down a little bit, but he gives no reaction to your bare chest, and you can’t think of why he would; this used to be the state he saw you in every morning, and so you make no attempts to cover up as you sit up and watch his investigation.

“What you doing?”

“Looking for clothes,” he replies. “Do you want to borrow anything for today?”

“Yes, please.” You crane your neck as if getting a better look at the drawers. “Can I steal that grey hoodie you have?”

Namjoon sends you a glare. “That’s my favourite hoodie. And it’s always massive on you - you could wear it as a dress, for crying out loud.”

You simply pout. Namjoon rolls his eyes, digs a little deeper in his pile of clothes before he pulls out the grey hoodie in question and launches it at you.

“There.”

You grin. “Thank you!” You don’t slip it on, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the familiar sleeves whilst staring at Namjoon’s morning physique for a little while longer.

Finally, he sighs and slumps back on his heels. “I really need to reorganise this entire thing.”

“When do you ever have that kind of time, Namjoon?”

“I know. I’ll just have to do it when I get home from work one day.”

You scoff. “You’re exhausted when you get home from work.” You stand, dragging the hoodie with you but still not putting it on; when Namjoon looks up, again, he barely even registers that you’re currently topless. This is a sight he has seen plenty of times. “You get yourself off to work. I’ll reorganise everything while you’re away.”

You kneel down next to him and shove his shoulder, an attempt to get him out of the way though he’s quick to catch himself, refusing to move. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” You tap your watch-less wrist. “Now get going or you’re gonna be late.”

Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, and it makes your stomach flip; only two weeks ago this would be the moment he leans in and kisses you, tells you he loves you. Now, however, he simply bites his lip, nods his thanks and exits the master bedroom.

You’re too groggy to think too deeply into it; you’re still tired, and you’re cold, but you’ve got a task to do that will hopefully get your mind off it all. You spend the day marching around your - Namjoon’s - bedroom, finding clothes in the most random of places, subconsciously looking out for clothes that may signify somebody else has been staying the night.

But there is none, and by the time nine o clock rolls around, you have the entire house back to full organisation, and not a single one of your feelings have been shattered. You would call that a day well spent in comparison to the horrible few weeks you’ve been having recently.

You slump back on the sofa and turn the TV on, pulling your knees into the oversized hoodie you’re wearing; Namjoon used to always tell you off for this, never appreciating the way you stretched his already four-sizes-too-big hoodie. But in the same breath, he never stopped you, knowing it was a habit you had gotten into when you were younger.

Namjoon returns at quarter past nine, carrying a bag of takeout. You glance over your shoulder, give him a smile that he quickly returns as he struggles to kick the door closed behind him. You giggle, standing up to help him, though you end up doing nothing more than trailing him into the kitchen.

“I was hoping you were still here,” he says, setting the takeout bags on the counter. “I got your favourite from the Chinese.”

You peek into the bag and grin. “Sweet and sour!”

“Of course. Grab a plate, will you?”

You do just that. “How was work?”

“It was alright,” he replies, sucking a bit of honey from his finger. “Yoongi and I are working on a song, but it’s proving to be a bit of a pain, I won’t lie.”

You furrow your brows, setting the plates on the counter before leaning forward to catch Namjoon’s eye. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the song. Yoongi knows exactly what he wants for it, but my head just. . . hasn’t been in the right place.” Your stomach drops, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice the implications of his words as he continues bustling about in search of napkins, pint glasses, knives and forks. “They always give you so much. How am I meant to dish it out if-”

“Have you been alright?”

Namjoon pauses, thumb halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

You grab his hand, taking the fork from his fingers and setting it down. “I’ve never known you to have trouble with something like that. Are you alright?”

“I - what - I mean-” He flicks a desperate gaze towards the living room, as if there is someone standing there that can help him out of this awkward situation. You don’t let it drop that easily, though, as you lean into his line of sight and raise a brow.

“Well?”

He deflates. “We just got divorced, Y/N. No, I haven’t been alright.”

And even though you knew - even hoped - that was the answer, it still makes your heart crumble. You stare at him, biting your lower lip as he shrugs as if to say ah well, what can you do? and turns back to dishing out the food. He starts humming to himself, dropping the subject as quick as it was brought up.

But you’re not that easy; even after he hands you your meal and leads you back into the living room, his words play on a continuous loop in your head. You flick glances at him, spirits lifting every time you see him laugh at something on the TV, dropping again when you remember what he’s just told you.

It’s so weird that only a few days ago the two of you were screaming bloody murder at each other. It’s so weird that only a few weeks ago you were scribbling your signature down on a set of divorce papers. It’s so weird that only a few weeks ago, you were convinced you had fallen out of love with him.

But god, how can that be true when the mention of his hardships make you feel this way, like they’re your own, like you should be the one comforting him when he gets home from work?

After dinner has been eaten, you offer to wash the dishes. Namjoon gives you a look as if to say are you crazy? and doesn’t even reply before he’s taking your plate from your lap and heading into the kitchen on his own. You clasp your hands in front of you, watching him leave, your stomach turning with the uncertainty of this entire thing - you want him to feel the same way. With everything in you, you want him to feel the same regret you currently feel at the signing of those papers.

But what are the chances?

You close your eyes, slump back on the sofa and wait for him to return. You used to talk to Namjoon about everything. He knows every single one of your deep, dark secrets - it won’t be difficult to just ask him how he’s feeling. Hell, that used to be something you did all the time, on a daily-

Your phone rings.

You jump, grabbing it and looking at the caller ID. Scribbled across the top of your phone is the name ‘ANTHONY.’

“Him?”

Your head snaps up. Standing above you is Namjoon, a prawn cracker in his hand and a scowl on his face.

“What the fuck is he ringing you for?”

You quickly click cancel, shoving your phone back on the coffee table. “He’s probably just ringing to make sure I got home alright. Are there any more prawn crackers?”

Namjoon grunts, throwing the bag of prawn crackers onto your stomach before taking a seat on the sofa - the sofa opposite you, whereas once before he was quite content sitting right beside you.

You stare at him, open mouthed. “Are you being serious?”

He doesn’t look away from the TV. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you huffing?”

“Huffing? What would I be-”

“Namjoon, I don’t like Anthony like that. Hell, I barely like him as a friend. You know that!”

Namjoon furrows his brows, taking a furious bite of his prawn cracker. “How am I meant to know that when you were talking about fucking him yesterday?”

You freeze. “Oh, Namjoon…”

Namjoon scoffs, head snapping round. “Yeah, I remember. You two were getting pretty fucking cosy last night.”

“I was drunk!”

“I don’t care!”

“Well clearly you do if you’re getting this worked up about it-”

“I’m not worked up.”

“Oh, really? How red your face is getting begs to fucking differ.”

Namjoon stands. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, so you want the bed tonight, yeah? Shall I take the sofa?”

“Do you want to change the storage room into a guest bedroom so you can invite Anthony over, too?”

“I don’t even-”

You pause, having just realised what has just been said - neither of you acknowledged the fact that you could easily just go back to your own home if you didn’t want to sleep in the same house as Namjoon. Neither of you wanted to admit the fact that this house is no longer yours, that you can leave of your own free will if you so choose.

Namjoon purses his lips and looks away. “Or you could go back - go back to your house…”

“Do you want me to go back to my house?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?”

A pause, and then, “Not really.”

You close your eyes. “Namjoon, what are we doing?”

He falls onto the sofa next to you, dipping his head in his hands. “I don’t know. It’s been driving me mental, though.”

“Me too.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of you sure where to go from here; it’s been two weeks of constant pain and heartbreak, two weeks that could have been avoided if you’d just done this - sat and talked about it all before things got worse.

“What is going on between you and Anthony?”

You groan. “You know full well I wouldn’t touch Anthony with an eight foot pole.”

“So why did you say-”

“I was trying to make you jealous, Namjoon,” you burst. “It’s not my fault you have every single girl’s eyes on you when you walk anywhere. If you wanted to move on from me, you could have easily done so - I took the first bit of attention I was getting and jumped on it.”

Namjoon pauses. “Right, but if I could have moved on from you so easily, why haven’t I?”

“Because you’re sweet and-”

“Because I love you.”

You grit your teeth, digging your nails into the sofa cushion; you’re going to cry. You can feel the tears rushing to the surface, either from relief or terror that this is just another step in the wrong direction. You didn’t get a divorce for no reason - back then, it was the right decision to make, so what could have possibly changed now?

“Namjoon, please don’t say that.”

His shoulders slump forward. “Okay.”

And maybe it’s how deflated he sounds, how tired he sounds that makes you do it. Maybe it’s the fact that - only minutes before - you were coming to terms with the fact that you still love him just as much as you loved him when you were in the honeymoon phase, just as much as you have always loved him.

But you turn so quickly, grab his chin and kiss him, because you’re certain you’re going to explode if you don’t. He grunts against your mouth, eyes widening for only a split second before he’s shifting in his seat and wrapping an arm around your waist, cupping your face with the other in that way he always used to. You could bask in it, could literally live in this state if only it was him, always, always him.

You pull away first, tears slipping from your eyes. Namjoon rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, ridding you of them with a soft expression on his face that makes you want to melt into him all over again. Instead you choke on a smile, shaking your head in disbelief that this is really happening, that you were both so stupid to think you could live without the other.

“What are we doing?” he whispers, not once taking his eyes off you.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “But I’ve never known what you and I are doing. Ever. For eight years straight.”

He smiles. “Me neither, to be honest. And it was perfect.”

You bite your lip, your gaze being enough to form the silent question between the two of you; is this it? Is it over? Is the pain and suffering finally through?

Namjoon answers the question by kissing your lips, and you laugh against his mouth.

----

“Kim Namjoon and ex-wife Y/N L/N caught walking hand-in-hand through the streets of Seoul early this morning! Are the love birds finally back together?”

Taehyung looks up from the newspaper, examining the scene of you sitting in Namjoon’s lap, him messing idly with the necklace around your neck. Taehyung looks back down and says, “I think so.”

“You know I’m gonna take the piss out of you both for this for the rest of my life,” Seokjin says, biting into some seaweed strips. “A two week divorce. Almost as bad as a two week marriage.”

“We won’t acknowledge the divorce,” says Yoongi. “Look at them - it’s like they were never apart in the first place.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, tilting his head back. You resist the urge to press your lips to the column of his throat, even though you know full well that’s exactly what he wants you to do. “Look, we’re young. We’re still figuring this shit out.”

“Have you got it all figured out now?” Hoseok asks. “Because I don’t think I can take much more of your brooding, Namjoon. It was like you’d lost a limb.”

You chuckle, sitting up so you can look into Namjoon’s eyes. He stares right back at you, not even trying to deny what Hoseok has just said. You press your lips to his cheek, uttering a quiet “Aw,” against the skin.

He tightens his hold on your waist. “I already told you I missed you.”

“But like you’ve lost a limb?”

Namjoon scowls. “Shut up.”

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