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Kim Namjoon never thought he would be a dad. He also never thought he’d do a lot of things, like graduate with a masters in business or end up working as the youngest corporate manager for a fortune 500 company in the heart of Seoul - complete with corner office and business cards with his name and title listed on them. Kim Namjoon, Director of Business Operations.

He’s 26 and he’s tired. There’s a lot happening at work. Little fires everywhere, and  he’s  the one who has to delegate their extinguishing. On top of that, Taehyung has been texting him all morning, trying to get Namjoon’s opinion on rings and what he thinks Jimin would like (as if Namjoon has any idea at all about marriage or fashion, for that matter). 

Marriage used to be something tactile, something he thought he could touch. Once, he thought he might have found  The One,  but that turned out to be a complete fluke and only made for a lot of deception, yelling matches and inevitable heartbreak. Now, marriage is just a concept, one he thinks he’ll never wrap his mind around or even come close to ever again.

Namjoon types out: “Just go with your first instinct, I’m sure he’ll love it” – hits send, then sits back in his leather armchair and massages his temples.

It’s a lot for it not even being noon yet.

There’s something to be said though, about the tabs Namjoon has open on his desktop computer. There’s an article from Forbes detailing the decline of certain stocks, his work email containing 100+ unread messages from this morning, Jimmy Johns delivery, and the Google results page for “Top 100 Baby Names 2019.”

He’s not trying to think about it. It isn’t happening for a long time, anyway, if it even happens at all.

(His name has been on the waiting list for over a year now, and that’s just fine – except the more time that passes, the less he’s certain he’s even still being considered.)

Kim Namjoon would be a good dad.

The Jimmy Johns was not slam dunk. They didn’t make good on their promise to deliver freaky fast (although that might be relative). The rest of Namjoon’s day consists of a continuous stream of headaches, passive aggressive email chains, two back-to-back client meetings and the closing of a $300k annual investment renewal.

Just another day.

He’s heading back to the train station when his phone rings. An unflattering selfie of Park Jimin lights up his screen and he taps “accept.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon answers.

“What are you doing right now?” comes his immediate reply, and before waiting for an answer which he clearly has no interest in, follows up with: “You should meet Tae and me at Barnes and Noble.”

Namjoon sighs. “Jimin, I’ve had a long day.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be a wuss. I’ll get you a coffee. And by ‘I,’ I mean, Tae will.” There’s a sound of protest in the background. 

“I think I can buy my own coffee,” Namjoon cuts in.

“Perfect! See you soon.”

“Jimin–”

The line cuts out.

Namjoon keeps walking toward the train station for about half a block, then slows his steps, looks up at the darkening sky and lets out an audible groan... And then he turns back around and heads in the direction in which he came.

He definitely doesn’t need anything from Barnes and Noble. Jimin barely has time to read with his schedule (he’s interning for one of Seoul’s top dance centers), and Tae certainly does  not  need another art history coffee table book, presumably to collect dust after thumbing through it once or twice.

But,  he decides, breathing deeply and letting his eyes slip shut,  maybe I do need a pick-me-up.

When he gets to Barnes and Noble, he’s about to shoot Jimin a text that he’s arrived when he sees them leafing through the magazines near the front.

“Hey,” he calls, and Jimin looks up from the fitness magazine he’s holding to the direction Namjoon’s voice came from. He nudges Tae and sends Namjoon a wave.

“What’s up, bud?” Tae grins.

A long sigh blows from Namjoon’s lips. “You know. The usual. Work stuff.”

Jimin makes a vomiting gesture. “Gross. You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

In the end, Namjoon ends up buying the three of them coffee – Jimin and Tae are super thankful and it almost makes Namjoon feel a little bad, but he shrugs it off. It just comes with the territory of having your life together too young. 

“Why’d you guys call me here?” Namjoon asks.

“We were bored,” Tae says. “We knew you were getting out of work and thought it would be more fun. Plus, Jimin-hyung said he missed you.”

He doesn’t mean to, but the simple sentiment makes Namjoon smile a little. His dimples show.

“There,” Jimin says, grinning as he loops his arms around one of Namjoon’s. “I knew we’d make you feel better. See, I could tell, the way you sounded on the phone, your day sounded rough. I’m glad I called…”

Namjoon starts to tune them out, his mind wandering. The events of the day itself were really not so terrible in hindsight. It’s the… well, everything else. It’s the relationship he still feels bitterness toward over two years later. It’s the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in well over six months. And, it’s the baby.

Or, lack thereof.

“Hey, Namjoon – are you doing okay?” he hears Tae ask, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s subconsciously headed toward the parenting section. His eyes look up and he sees the sign on top of the shelf, then looks back at Tae. Jimin’s eyes are on him too. He can feel it – worry.

He quickly nods, looking down, hanging a left and leading them away. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Just a lot going on, you know.”

“It’ll come, Joon-hyung,” Jimin says quietly, squeezing his shoulder. Namjoon looks half-heartedly over his shoulder and nods, forcing a smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

He doesn’t know.

They all meander about the aisles, sipping each other’s coffees while Namjoon explains to them how books end up in the sales section, how manufacturers plan on books being sold there and making copies specifically cheaper for that purpose. Jimin pretends to be interested while Tae loses interest almost immediately and starts rifling through books about video game strategy. Jimin follows soon after, wandering to the young adult novels and admiring all the cute covers.

Namjoon doesn’t know how it happens, but despite trying to avoid it, he ends up back in the parenting section.

He didn’t always want kids. He really didn’t think he’d ever want them, if he was being perfectly honest. He was awkward around people, but especially kids. That, coupled with a late-blooming gay epiphany at age 18 – he figured the easy route to kids was out (if he ever even  wanted  them, which he didn’t).

And then, Kijung came along.

The two had met in college after several semesters spent experimenting, getting a boyfriend, realizing it wasn’t ever going to work out, then experimenting some more. They met in a totally normal scenario – both of them out that night drinking too heavily to be socially acceptable, then meeting, talking for fifteen minutes, and making out all over the bar before going back to Kijun’s place and hooking up. Namjoon had stayed over. The next morning, he woke up to pancakes and orange juice.

Namjoon sighs, grabbing a copy of a book he’s already read titled  The Expectant Father,  paging through it and trying to ignore all of the talk about  when the baby’s mother -this, and  when the baby’s mother -that. It doesn’t apply. So much of the content of these baby books does not apply to Kim Namjoon’s situation.

It is a little strange, he supposes.

He’d dated Kijung for years. Four years, to be exact. Marriage had been on the table.  Kids  had been on the table. It wasn’t something Namjoon had ever thought about. It wasn’t something he’d fantasized in his future, to be able to hold something so small in your arms that was all yours, something you could take care of. A human being. A baby. He hadn’t thought of himself as the kind of person to want something like this before. But, then suddenly, he was. He was finding himself thinking about it constantly –  how soon can we get married, and how soon after that can we apply for adoption  – questions that plagued his thoughts while at work, while in bed. He researched the adoption process in the morning while he ate breakfast, at night before he fell asleep. Kijung would sling an arm around him, burying his head into Namjoon’s shoulder and mumbling against his shirt  babe, it’s late. The babies will be there in the morning. We’ve got to get married first anyway, and before that we’ve got to–

Namjoon shakes his head. It isn’t worth thinking about anymore. Kijung did what he did, and that was the end of it.

But, Kijung or not, Namjoon still wanted a baby. He wanted and wanted and wanted until Seokjin sat him down and told him  you don’t need a partner to have kids – if you want something bad enough, do it.

And now here Namjoon is, alone in the parenting section, rifling.

He feels a chin suddenly rest on his shoulder.

“Whatcha readin’?” Jimin asks softly, peeking, and Namjoon looks quickly back at him, then back down at the book in his hands.

He shrugs. “Just… you know.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, smiling. “I know.”

“It’s just,” Namjoon goes on, closing the book and shelving it before picking up another one, “sometimes I just wonder if it’s coming, you know? Where I’m at on the list. If there’s still even a chance…”

“Don’t worry,” he hears Tae saying, then turns to see Tae approaching the two of them from around the corner. “Namjoon-hyung, you’ll get a baby. Trust me – the universe tends to unfold as it should.”

It is at this particular moment that Namjoon’s cell phone goes off.

“You want kids one day?” Jin asks.

Namjoon stares into the coffee cup nestled in between his hands. Steam rises between them. “I don’t know. It’s a lot. Having a kid is just… a lot.”

Jin takes a bite of his pastry and chews thoughtfully for a moment. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But I think it’d be worth it.”

“Do you want kids?” Namjoon asks, looking up.

Jin nods. “I do.”

Namjoon sighs, sits back in his seat. “You know… we’d… talked about kids.” Jin looks back at him expectantly. “I guess. Well. I guess I thought I’d be able to do it with a person. If there was help.” Namjoon takes great care in choosing his words. “Having a kid is too much for one person.”

“Yeah,” Jin sighs, popping the rest into his mouth and swallowing it after a few bites. “I can imagine it would be hard.” He watches Namjoon, the sounds of the coffee shop filling in the empty spaces of their conversation, closing the gaps. He watches as Namjoon picks at the napkin his cup sits on, tears a shred of it off, then tears that shred into a bunch of tiny pieces.

“Hey,” he starts again, and Namjoon looks up. Jin pauses a moment before he opens his mouth and admits: “I know you want kids.”

“No I don’t,” Namjoon says immediately. Defensive.

“Okay. Maybe not plural. But you wanted a kid. You  still  want a kid.”

Namjoon is silent. “It’s not a conversation worth having,” he decides finally. “It’s not even a possibility.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Namjoon stares back at him. Jin smirks.

“I mean it,” he goes on, “it’s like… Okay. I’ll just say it. Jimin told me you had told him and Tae that you and… Kijung… were going to try adoption. And that you were still thinking about trying for it.”

“I told him that in confidence!” Namjoon practically shouts, startled, hands slamming on the table. The people at tables around them look up to see what the commotion is about, and Namjoon flushes; he straightens his shoulders and swallows, running a hand through his hair. “I was drunk when I said it anyway.”

“You were definitely under the influence,” Jin states, like he already knows the story, “but you were speaking from your heart. Alcohol doesn’t magically turn you into a liar, you know.”

Namjoon goes quiet. 

“You’ve been sad lately,” Jin says, nudging Namjoons fingers with his own. “I can tell it’s more than just the breakup. It’s deeper than that.”

They both go quiet.

“It’s too much to do alone,” Namjoon repeats, as though he needs to keep reminding Jin, and himself. “I can’t even let myself think about it. I told Jimin I wanted to adopt on my own, but I can’t. I know I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jin asks, and his tone is unexpectedly soft. “What’s really stopping you? You’ve got your shit together, Joon. More than anybody I know. You have a lot of love to give.”

Namjoon’s eyes close. He raises the mug to his lips and takes a long sip, then sets it back down on the table before leaning back in his chair defeatedly.

Finally, he says: “It’s not that I can’t tell the difference between missing Kijung and wanting a kid. I know what I want. But I know I can’t have it because… I’m not… I wouldn’t be a good dad.”

“That’s a lie,” Jin states.

Namjoon tries again. “I work all the time.”

“An excuse. You’d make time.”

“I don’t want the baby to grow up in a family with half of it missing.”

“Namjoon, I am going to slap you in the middle of this coffeeshop if you don’t stop bullshitting.” Despite not being touched at all, Namjoon looks physically stricken. “I swear. Everything you’re saying, it’s all wrong, and you know it. Kids can grow up with one parent if that parent loves them. All they need is one person to love them with their whole heart and that’s enough.” 

Namjoon looks away. “It’s a broken family, Jin.”

“No it’s not. It’s a  family . Not broken. No family is perfect, but it’s the parts that aren’t perfect that make them special.”

“Did you rehearse this?”

Jin raises his hand. “One more word, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon’s mouth lingers open a moment longer before he closes it. His lips are a hard line.

“I’m saying this because you’re my friend and I love you and I want you to have everything you want in life, okay?” He waits for a nod before going on. “Namjoon, you’re the closest to a genius I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. But you’re also the dumbest fucking person on the planet.”

“Wow.”

“I’m being serious.” Jin takes a long sip of his frappuccino and crosses his legs. “I’m not the baby police. I’m not going to sit here and twist your arm into adopting if you don’t want to. But I know you do. And if you want something, you need to go and get it.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks out the window, thinking before he says anything more. 

“‘Someday’ doesn’t count,” he finishes. “Today does.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away from his ear slowly, looking down at it in his hand, lips parted. For the first time in a long time, he can’t process a single thought; it’s as though his mind is blank, a white sheet of paper without a scratch written on it. He breathes. Slow. Slow.

“What happened?” Taehyung asks, and Jimin grabs his sleeve. “Who was that?”

Namjoon keeps looking at the phone’s black screen. The weight feels heavy in his hand.

“Joon?”

After a long moment, Namjoon finally looks up. He looks at Tae, then at Jimin, and when he opens his mouth, he doesn’t register his own words. They come out clunky and awkward and unrehearsed, and when they do, they seem to hang in the air like something physical. Like something that hadn’t been there before. Something that he could feel.

“I’m going to be a dad.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide. Tae’s mouth drops open and he grabs his beret, jerking it awkwardly off his head and letting it fall to the floor before his hands move to fist in the fabric of Namjoon’s turtleneck.

“You’re–” he starts, then waits, and when Namjoon’s eyes rise to meet his again, he takes Namjoon squarely by the shoulders and jerks him forward into a hug.

Jimin throws his arms around both of them and screams – actually screams – in the middle of Barnes and Noble. “No you are not!” he shouts. “No you are  not !”

“Namjoon-hyung is going to be a dad!” Tae whoops, and Jimin laughs, and then Tae laughs, and then–

And then they realize that Namjoon has gone entirely silent. Jimin starts to still, pulling away slightly, and Tae does the same, unhooking himself from around Namjoon until they’re both standing in front of him, staring with wild eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks. “Aren’t you happy?”

Namjoon breathes. His breath feels jagged. He looks at the phone in his hand again, then back up at the pair of them, and when he does he can feel it. The burning.

He feels something slide down his cheek, and all at once he realizes that he’s crying.

His face pulls, eyebrows drawing together as his expression begins to crumple. Jimin catches him in a hug as his shoulders pull forward and he grabs at his own chest, clinging to himself as thick tears start running down his cheeks and collecting on his chin. Tae holds them both, pressing his face into Namjoons hair as Jimin coos softly: “Don’t cry, Joon. Don’t cry.”

Tae squeezes them both tighter, and when he speaks, his voice wobbles. 

“He’s happy.”

It doesn’t seem like there’s quite enough time.

Namjoon has one month to get the place ready for the baby. He paints the walls in the spare room yellow, gets a crib, receives enough diapers from coworkers and friends to last him several months at least. He buys a mobile with little zoo animals and Jimin helps him hang it (while being lifted by Namjoon, of course). Jin surprises Namjoon with a stroller. Taehyung gives Namjoon a framed original painting of a whale, which Namjoon immediately hangs on the wall near the crib.

The nursery,  Namjoon thinks when he wakes up that morning.  It’s not a spare room anymore. It’s a nursery.

The bottles have all been washed and are ready in the cupboard. He’s got formula in the fridge and dozens of jars of baby food locked and loaded in the cabinet – a little something of everything he could find at the supermarket, just in case the baby finds a favorite.

A baby monitor now sits on his night stand.

Namjoon walks from room to room that morning, trying to hold onto this memory of what it was like before everything changes. He tries to sear the silence into his brain, to remember what used to be quiet and still and lifeless.

Butterflies surge in his chest.

Today.

Namjoon’s palms are sweaty and he has to wipe them on his pants as he crosses the parking lot to the adoption center. He’s jittery like he just drank 12 Red Bulls. His heart is in his throat.

He’s nervous.

It’s his first time meeting his son.

He walks in and the women in the lobby look up at him, beaming. 

“Kim Namjoon,” one says, and he recognizes her. The woman from the phone. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well,” he replies back, and hopes she can’t hear the way his voice is shaking. His arms feel wobbly and weak. Are they physically capable of holding something? Of caring for something?

“He’s this way,” she says kindly after he signs in, “follow me down this hall and we’ll have you meet him.”

He swallows.

He’s really doing this.

Following closely behind the woman, Namjoon surveys the hallway. There’s lots of drawings hanging on the walls, things made by children out of macaroni. Namjoon briefly wonders if this child will be artistic. If they’ll make spaghetti necklaces together someday. If he’ll be the one to teach them to tie their shoes.

Suddenly the woman’s footsteps come to a stop in front of a door on their left. She glances back over her shoulder at Namjoon, and his eyes widen subconsciously. She smiles kindly at him, then places a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be scared,” she says softly, smiling. “He’ll love you.”

Namjoon holds her gaze for a moment longer, nods, then watches as she opens up the door and leads the way inside.

He follows.

There’s the sound of children. He ducks his head for no reason other than he isn’t quite sure where to look, not wanting to see something before he’s been allowed to. There are toddlers in the room as well, a little girl and boy playing with tiny race cars in the corner. There’s three cribs, and he can hear baby noises coming from each of them.

And then, he notices the woman seated at a table near the window, bouncing a baby on her lap.

“Ah, Kim Namjoon is here,” the woman he’s been following calls to her, and she looks up and over at the pair of them, smiling.

The baby looks up too.

It’s a boy.

His eyes are big,  Namjoon thinks.  Like a doe.

The woman stands, holding him still to her chest. She looks down at the baby and takes his tiny hand in hers, moves it up and down as she coos at him: “Your daddy is here, Kookie.”

Namjoon clears his throat. He can’t stop staring at the baby, which isn’t the tiniest baby he’s ever seen in his life. He should have known that. This one’s just nine months old. He was told this over the phone. He signed the legal documents and faxed them over. He saw the birth certificate. He should have known.

And, still. He seems so small. 

“I’m,” he starts, then loses his breath, looks up at the two women who are smiling back at him because  they know,  and he laughs nervously. They all laugh together, and the baby just stares. Looks around. Uncertainty.

“This is,” Namjoon starts again, and takes an uncertain step toward them. “This is… mine?”

“This is your son,” the woman corrects him, and before he knows it the baby is being held out to him. His hands rise immediately, then protectively encircle the baby as he’s placed in Namjoon’s arms.

He stares up at him.

Namjoon stares back.

And then, the baby smiles.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon tries, and even though he’s known this baby comes with his own name, the word sounds good to say. It rolls off his tongue and it sounds like something safe. “Jungkookie,” he tries again, and the baby grabs at his sweater.

They’re all quiet, the two women watching Namjoon with fondness in their eyes. Namjoon watches the baby in his arms a moment longer before he says, finally: “His hands are so small.” He covers one of Jungkook’s hands with his own and the little boy reaches to grab one of Namjoon’s fingers. He holds it tightly, staring intensely as though it’s the most interesting thing in the whole wide world, then looks up at Namjoon wide-eyed.

He doesn’t have to think.

He just does it.

Namjoon bends his head down, presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead and pulls him to his chest.

It’s the most natural thing he’s ever done in his life.

Min Yoongi never thought he’d be a daycare teacher, but here he is.

It’s the morning of the first day of his fourth week and he’s already exhausted. He stands in front of the mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door, pulling the black hoodie over his head before stepping into his overalls and fastening them on his chest.

You look stupid,  he thinks.  You look like you belong in daycare.

The daycare teacher aspect is actually the easy part of his job. He thinks about this as he chomps on his cereal and scrolls through Twitter, knees to his chest with his feet pushed up on the seat of the chair. The kids aren’t really the hard part.

It’s the parents.

He drops his phone, taking the last bite of Cheerios and groaning loudly as he leans back, eyes pinching shut. Maybe normal parents aren’t so awful – but it’s the fact that he is now officially employed at a daycare for “gifted children” that he now faces the epitome of snobby rich parents. It isn’t that the kids are gifted. They’re all under the age of four; how gifted could they really be? And yet, working at one of the top-tier daycares in Seoul is a territory that comes with dealing with wealthy upper-class members of society, paying premiums for things they probably don’t need to. It’s all rubs Yoongi the wrong way.

Still. He knows he should be lucky to have this job. He  knows  this. His brother pulled all the strings when he moved back to Seoul after dropping out of college to work on music. He couch surfed for years; in many ways, he supposes he should feel like his life is really starting to turn around. The first step into true adulthood – selling his soul to the eternal 9 to 5 struggle. Or, in his case, 7 to 6.

The money’s good. He doesn’t have to scrounge to make a dozen eggs last a week. He can buy special cheeses from the deli, and he can afford meats and quinoa and infused olive oils, and whatever other fancy foods he wants because the money isn’t so tight these days.

But is it really worth it? He finds himself thinking about this often, especially in the mornings before the parents drop off their little nuggets and proceed to tell him just how much they’re paying for this and what that means he should be doing for their kids. He thinks about it again when he wipes puke off his pants, or when changing a diaper goes awry and he ends up with piss all over the front of his overalls.

His eyes slip shut on the subway ride to work, and when he hears the overhead announcement call for his stop, he forces himself up out of his seat and off the subway. Drags his feet. Pinches himself awake.

“Yoongi, we have a situation,” is what he’s met with upon walking in the door. He looks up to find Jung Hoseok standing at the receptionist’s desk, going over some spreadsheet at the computer. Whatever he’s working on seems to be completely unrelated to the supposed “situation.”

Hoseok is a multi-tasker and averter of crises – which is good, because he’s the manager of a daycare for rich kids, and there is  always  a bomb ticking somewhere in the midst of things.

“One of the parents left a voicemail over the weekend and said her daughter came home with a rash. She now wants her kid quarantined from the other kids with private supervision for an indeterminable amount of time to monitor the rash.”

“Did you tell her to go fuck herself?”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from the computer. He rapidfire-clicks the mouse as his eyes dart around the screen, opening windows and scanning for information. “I told her we’d see what we can do.”

“Whose kid?” Yoongi asks.

“Lee Chansook.”

Yoongi groans. “Her kid is a nightmare. She tried to eat crayons on Friday. She steals other kids’ snacks.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already asked Jaeun do it.” 

Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief. 

“But that means you’re taking her spot on nursery duty.” 

The sigh of relief Yoongi had once breathed gets sucked immediately back in and he pinches the bridge of his nose. War flashbacks.

“Fine,” he says finally, because he figures that this is marginally better than being stuck in quarantine with a toddler for upwards of 8 hours – especially the toddler belonging to Lee Chansook, diva mommy extraordinaire.

“Can you go and make sure the nursery is all picked up? Give it another vacuum if it needs it.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just dips past Hoseok and pushes open the double doors that lead to all of the children’s areas. In his mind, he calls them holding centers.

This place is really just a glorified child prison anyway.

The kids can be cute, though.

It’s the end of the day and Yoongi is exhausted, picking up the nursery along with a few of the other workers, getting things back to resemble normalcy. He’s wiping down one of the cribs with disinfectant when he spots a pacifier wedged in between the bars and the mattress. Deftly, he pulls it out, looks at it for a moment. It’s small in his hands. It’s purple and, on it, the image of a duck.

He smiles without meaning to. The baby girl it belongs to had been cute earlier that day. Yoongi had been holding her, bouncing her to calm her in time for a nap, and when he was certain that she’d been lulled to sleep, he began to lift her from his shoulder.

And that’s when he realized her hands were balled up in the strings of his hoodie.

He’d looked down at them, then watched as her eyebrows twitched in the midst of sleep.

Yoongi held her a little longer.

The first month is stressful. Namjoon receives leave from work to take care of his new baby, which is greatly appreciated because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.

“None of the parenting books prepare you for this,” he tells Jimin on the phone at 2am, as he bounces Jungkook in his arms because he woke up and won’t stop crying. “You know, I probably read 30 books on it, took classes, watched YouTube videos… I did it all. And I still can’t figure out why he won’t stop crying. I tried feeding him, and he won’t eat. His diaper is clean. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, I don’t–”

“Babies just do that, Namjoon,” Jimin yawns tiredly. “He probably just needs to tire himself out and he’ll fall back asleep.” However, Jimin doesn’t make any move to get Namjoon off the phone. On the other end, he can hear Taehyung’s quiet voice asking a question, then the sound of rolling over. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just–” Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. Jungkook is wailing and he’s bouncing him up and down and trying to shush him, but nothing is working. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he finishes pathetically. He feels at his wits end.

“Did you try rocking him?” Jimin yawns.

Namjoon feels frantic and upset and he knows the energy he is putting out is only making it worse on Jungkook, whose face is red and wet with tears.

“No,” Namjoon replies.

“I think my mom said she used to do that for me,” he sighs. “I was a crier. You’ve got a rocking chair, you should try it.”

Namjoon pats Jungkook on the bottom, murmuring a hushed shh, you’re okay baby, and takes a seat in the chair. He starts rocking.

“He’s not stopping,” Namjoon says, and his voice raises in pitch with a sense of dread and urgency.

“Just keep going,” Jimin sighs. “It’s worth a shot, Joon.”

Namjoon rocks him. He rocks and rocks and rocks, and Jimin – bless his heart – stays on the line the entire time. Inevitably, after about seven minutes of rocking and bouncing and  it’s okay, you’re okay,  his cries start to come slower. His wails turn into sniffles.

“Okay,” Namjoon says finally, “I think… I think he’s okay.”

“Good,” Jimin answers, and there’s a tired smile in his voice.

“I’m sorry again.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I’m buying you dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll allow that.” He laughs lightly, then breathes deeply. “Night, Joon. Night Jungkookie.”

Namjoon smiles. His eyes slip shut. “G’nite.”

He places his phone on the table beside the rocking chair and leans back, hoisting Jungkook a little higher up on his shoulder. The baby stirs, makes a small irritated noise, then settles with his head pressed to the crook of Namjoon’s neck. He feels Jungkook sigh beneath his hands and his own eyes slip shut. He keeps rocking.

Namjoon suddenly remembers a lullaby his mom used to sing him when he was young, one he’d heard her sing to his baby sister a thousand times. 

He hums it quietly now for Jungkook. For his son.

They both end up falling asleep there. In the rocking chair. Jungkook’s thumb in his mouth, Namjoon’s hand resting gently on the back of his head. 

“I don’t want to go back to work,” Namjoon groans, lying flat on the ground as Jin shakes a rattle in Jungkooks face, the baby in his bouncer, bobbing up and down as his toes graze the floor.

“You’re getting used to dad life,” Jin laughs, then makes a string of baby noises when Jungkook grabs the rattle and tries to stick it in his mouth. “Pretty soon you’re going to have a dad bod to go along with it. The five o’clock shadow will inevitably surface and then it’ll just be a thing you have going on.”

Namjoon thinks about this for a moment, then subconsciously touches his jawline to detect any trace of stubble. Sure enough.

He groans again.

“You ended up finding a daycare, right?” Jimin asks from across the room. He’s in the kitchen making sandwiches. It’s a lazy Sunday and no one has anywhere to be (for once), so they’ve let Jimin and Tae make lunch. (If they didn’t have all day, though, Jin would have just done it. Tae and Jimin are notorious for their slow kitchen work.)

“Mm,” Namjoon replies. “My sister found it for me. She said it’s the best one in Seoul. She took her kids there. There was an application process and stuff, like, I had to go in for an interview.”

Taehyung whistles low beside Jimin. “Must be expensive then,” he remarks.

Namjoon laughs hollowly. “Yeah. You could say.”

“Why even–” Jimin starts, then stops himself. “I mean, I guess I get it. It’s your first time. You just want him to have the best things. I get it.”

Jimin is right, on both accounts. Namjoon thinks it must sound crazy, to enroll a baby somewhere that feels damn near like he’s paying for college tuition. But, honestly, he’s scared. He doesn’t want to mess this up. He opens his eyes and sits up on his elbows, watching as Jungkook makes bubbles with his spit.

How many times will I look at you,  he wonders,  before I stop feeling like my heart is turning to a raisin?  There’s fondness in Namjoon’s eyes. 

Jungkook makes a noise, holding out two grabby hands in his direction before he screams ear-piercingly. Everyone’s eyes pinch shut as they wince, and a moment later, Jungkook laughs.

Jin looks over his shoulder at Namjoon, whose perpetual smile rest tiredly on his lips.

“You’re hopeless, dude,” he tells him. “You love this baby more than my mom loves to complain about why I haven’t settled down yet. And she  loves  that shit.”

Namjoon nods, then lies back on the floor and folds an arm across his eyes. “I know.”

Later that night, after Jungkook has been put into his crib and Namjoon has crawled into his own bed, he finds himself pausing in the middle of the book he’s reading. A thought occurs to him that he hasn’t had the time to think yet, not since Jungkook came home.

He looks up from his book, stopping. After a moment, he reaches a hand up to his chest and presses firmly above his own heart.

I wish there was someone I could share all these moments with.

It’s a thought that starts out small, something just simple enough to stop what he’s doing and think. There’s a pain in his chest that hadn’t been there a moment before – or, perhaps it had been there all along, but with the pace things have been happening lately, it got buried, pushed to the back. Hidden but not erased.

Namjoon sets his book down in his lap and shuts his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard.

I want someone to share this with,  he thinks, and his chest aches.  I want someone to hold my hand after Jungkook falls asleep. I want someone to read with in bed. Someone to share quiet moments with. Someone to hold. Love.

Namjoon’s heart is full of it – love – and as he shuts the light off and rolls over onto his side, he thinks about how cheated it all feels.

The day Namjoon meets Yoongi, everything changes.

Min Yoongi’s morning is going, in more ways than one, awry.

First off, he’s already had two parents yell at him, lecturing on the special care they intend their child to have, as well as another child that just puked in the entryway. Yoongi is certain that this Monday morning is coming for him. (What did he do to deserve this? He’s a good person.)

He’s back again on nursery duty with all the kids under one; the situation remains that the little girl who’d gotten a rash is being quarantined per request of the parents, thus effectively throwing a wrench in the staffing situation. Yoongi has learned to take this job as it comes, because the stress of worrying about these little things would be incapacitating if he didn’t let some things roll off his shoulders.

It’s 7:34am when he sees him for the first time.

Most kids get dropped off by their parents that ride in fancy BMWs and sports cars wearing baby Gucci. This is what Yoongi expects to see.

What makes him stop is the man who approaches from a distance, seemingly coming from the subway, holding a small bundle in his arms as his pace quickens. Yoongi squints as he sees him rounding the corner, headed straight for the entrance – and the closer he gets, the more Yoongi seems to internally shrink.

He’s handsome.

He must be close to 6-foot, broad-shouldered wearing a black turtleneck that looks to be just a little too-tight, hair swept over neatly to the left and a pair of glasses resting on his wide ski slope nose. Something in his expression looks… well, nervous. Yoongi takes in the sight of him, a man rushing, holding a baby rather awkwardly to his chest – a man he’s never seen before, because, wow. He sure would remember if he’d seen him at daycare before.

The closer he gets, he can see that the baby is squirming, wearing a pink onesie with bunnies printed on it and even a little tail that peeks out on the bottom. The man is patting the baby’s back and speaking softly, but as he begins to approach the threshold, Yoongi realizes that the baby is crying.

He stiffens. 

Crying babies, he can handle.

The impossible levels of attractiveness this guy is exuding, he cannot.

The doorman pulls the door open for him and he nods at him, giving a breathless “thank you” and moving forward. Yoongi’s legs move for him, and he bridges the gap between them.

The baby is wailing.

“Ah, hi,” the man greets him as Yoongi stops in his path. There are other workers around, assisting others with similar situations – kids not wanting to leave their parents. Yoongi looks up at him and tries smiling, but his brain feels a little numb and honestly, it might be affecting his expression because the guy doesn’t seem to feel incredibly at ease. In fact, he might even look a little more worried.

“You must be a new member,” Yoongi states finally, finding his voice. “I’m Min Yoongi, I’m one of the caretakers.”

“Nice to, um, meet you,” the man says, then interrupts himself as he starts bouncing the baby with a bit more intensity. Yoongi thinks:  He has no idea what he’s doing.  And honestly, it is a bit endearing.

“Looks like someone doesn’t want their dad to leave,” Yoongi says a little softer, and the man looks back up at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry for this,” he apologizes. “I’m– I’m Kim Namjoon, I’m… new. To here. And everything.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says, and without meaning to, he laughs. The man offers a sheepish smile back in return. “Here, want me to take him?”

The man pauses, looking down at the baby and quickly wiping the tears from his face with the knuckle of his index finger before he looks back up and nods, prying the baby’s hands from his shirt and sighing defeatedly as the wailing gets louder. “I’m sorry, Kookie,” he apologizes, “you’re okay, you’re fine–”

Yoongi reaches out and takes the baby into his arms and instinctively runs a hand over his head, smoothing his hair.

“Kookie?” he asks.

“Ah, Jungkook,” the man replies. “Kim Jungkook. He’s… mine. My son.”

Yoongi nods, rubbing Jungkook’s back, pressing his cheek to the baby’s head.

By some miracle, there’s a lull in the crying.

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little.

“Are you on your way to work?” Yoongi asks him.

“Um. Yeah. I’m. I’m on my way to the office.”

Yoongi nods to the receptionist across the room, who sits at a desk in front of several other parents checking in. “Usually you’ll go check in over there. I’ll take care of it for you though.”

“Ah, really, it’s no trouble,” the man – Namjoon – replies, shoving his hands into his pockets as his shoulders raise.

“You seem like you’re in a hurry,” Yoongi tells him. “It’s okay, I can handle it.”

Namjoon looks down at him, observing. “Clearly.” Then he laughs, one hand rising to the back of his neck where he holds it, perhaps a little nervously. His cheeks are pink.

“You’ll figure it out,” Yoongi blurts suddenly, the baby making one more soft crying noise before looking back at Namjoon with wide eyes. “I can tell. You care a lot.”  Some parents aren’t the same. Some parents’ love feels surface level.

“I’m… I’m trying,” Namjoon admits. “Thanks… ah. Yoongi.”

Yoongi hears his name in Namjoon’s mouth and it feels familiar. Safeguarded. He looks up at Namjoon, his own eyes widening slightly, then finds himself smiling again.

“Don’t be late for work,” he chides, and Namjoon perks up.  Right.

“Thank you again,” Namjoon says with finality, handing over the bag he’s brought with the essential baby supplies, and then turns to leave. “You are amazing, Yoongi,” he adds, seemingly out of nowhere, and then he’s out the door, headed at with a quick pace back in the direction from which he came. To the subway.

“You’re blushing,” he hears quietly behind him, and when he turns, it’s Hoseok standing there, clipboard in hand as he makes a note, scribbling something down onto the chart with urgency before looking up, both eyebrows raised and a pronounced smirk on his lips.

“Shut up,” Yoongi says.

“I won’t.”

Yoongi’s flush deepens and he turns away, taking the bundle in his arms to the nursery and making a mental note to come back so that he can check in Jungkook.

Kim Namjoon,  he thinks, and he feels the baby settle against his shoulder, tiny hands grabbing at the little metal fastening of his overalls.  Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon can’t focus at work. He’s trying to find someone on Facebook that clearly does not have a profile, he’s checking the complimentary Baby Watch Cam that the daycare has set up (so you can livestream your baby doing baby things all day long), he’s walking around the office and he’s pretty sure all of his coworkers know something is up. He never leaves his office. 

At one point, he finds himself Googling “how to ask someone out on a date” before immediately closing the tab due to sheer embarrassment. He can’t believe he almost just tried  Googling  that.

The baby cam is cute though, he thinks, for multiple reasons. Jungkook playing with the other babies is almost too cute, and like, Namjoon honestly thinks he’s getting a cavity after fifteen minutes of watching Jungkook trying to eat his own feet. It’s also a really cute feature because. Well. Because he keeps seeing Min Yoongi walking over to him, ruffling his hair, trying to help him figure out how to crawl (and making no progress). He feeds him lunch. He rocks him when he starts fussing, and when he falls asleep. He watches Yoongi in the rocking chair for five whole minutes before he closes the tab, only to reopen it twenty minutes later and check back.

It might be creepy. He might feel a little stalkery doing it. He recognizes this.

But he can’t help it – Yoongi is cute, and the way he keeps interacting with Jungkook is messing with his brain.

At 2:30, he texts Jimin:  You wouldn’t happen to have any tips on talking to people would you?

You mean just having a conversation with someone?  Jimin replies.  Or like, talking to someone in a way that’s like “hey sexy we should hang out after I put my baby to bed”?

Namjoon receives the message and looks out the window. His eyes are vacant.

Forget I asked,  he types back.

Kidding :) Ok but JOON. You like somebody??? You sneaky devil you haven’t said a word to any of us about it!

Namjoon bites his lip.  It just happened this morning. It’s honestly nothing. I just ran into a guy… He works at the daycare.

SCANDAL. Don’t tell me you’ve been watching him on the baby cam.

Namjoon does not reply, and when he doesn’t after five whole minutes, he hears his phone go off again.

I’ll take your silence as a shameful yes.

Disengaging from the conversation, Namjoon flips his cell phone over, closes the tab with the baby cam yet again, and decides that some fresh air is in order to clear his head.

He goes for a walk down two blocks and back again; the fresh air does feel good, and he is quite certain it’s helping get his mind right. He lets go of the fact that he has three separate proposals to review before he leaves for the day, lets go of the obsession this new baby cam feature has added to his life, and forgets about Yoongi.

Well, kind of.

Not really.

That part seems to have a little trouble unsticking.

Yoongi is bouncing Jungkook on his lap as he waits for parent pickup to be over with. Surprisingly enough, most of the kids have already been swooped by their parental units for the night and at 5:30, there’s only a few stragglers still left in each of the units.

Jungkook is the last one under twelve months. 

Yoongi decides he doesn’t mind giving him a little special treatment.

Jungkook looks up at Yoongi with the big eyes he’s been giving him all day long; curious and unsure, and maybe a little shy. Yoongi can tell when kids are shy, even if they’re not old enough to really show it yet. But Jungkook is sweet, the way he grabs at Yoongi’s hoodie drawstrings, the way he giggles when his hands bunch up around them, the way he looks up at Yoongi for approval and Yoongi smiles down at him with a tenderness that sometimes doesn’t come so easy in his profession.

Yoongi sweeps the hair from the baby’s forehead and, looking quickly to make sure no one is paying any attention, presses a quick kiss there.

Jungkook makes a happy sound.

Just then, the door opens and across the room, Yoongi looks up. Before he does, there’s something in the pit of his stomach that pangs. He knows who he’ll see walking in, and yet he looks up anyway.

“Ah,” he breathes, then looks down at the baby in his lap. “Your papa’s here.”

Namjoon doesn’t see him yet; his eyes immediately travel over to the receptionist, where he goes to greet her and explain who he is there to pick up. However, when Yoongi stands, his legs feel like jelly. He starts to cross the room from the corner where he sits with the others watching stragglers, and he hoists Jungkook up flat against his chest as he makes his way to the front desk.

“Kim Namjoon,” he hears him say to the woman standing there, folding his arms over the desk as he leans against it. He looks tired, but still just as handsome as he had looked that morning. His hair looks as though he’s run his hands through it a thousand times, and still. Just the same.

“Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi calls, nearly to him, and when Namjoon looks up and over at him – when he sees who rests safely in his arms – Yoongi watches in amazement as his face starts to glow.

This baby is his world,  Yoongi thinks with certainty, and then, almost painfully:  His partner must be lucky.

“Jungkookie,” he greets, and brushes his knuckles on the baby’s cheek. “You did it, your first day.” He looks back at Yoongi and gently tilts his head to the side. “How was he? Not too much trouble?”

“No, he was…” Yoongi starts, then trails off, patting the baby’s bottom with one hand and his back with the other. He clears his throat, looking down once at Jungkook then back up again at Namjoon. “He was really sweet. He did okay once he got over the morning. He’ll be okay.”

Something like a weight being lifted off Namjoon’s shoulders takes place and he sighs, smiling happily. He looks down. Yoongi swallows.

“Here,” Yoongi offers, leaning an elbow toward Namjoon to offer the bag on his shoulder back to him, and Namjoon immediately moves to grab it. Then he holds out the baby. Jungkook looks up at him with wide eyes and reaches his hands out, trying to grab onto him. Namjoon takes him carefully into his arms. “Back where he belongs,” Yoongi says, softer than he’d meant to. Jungkook settles against his chest and spit dribbles down his chin. Yoongi notices the way Namjoon doesn’t try to get him away, to clean it immediately; in fact, the way his hands rest on Jungkook seem to tighten their hold.

He’s happy with him,  Yoongi thinks, and without warning, his heart stings a little.

“Thank you,” Namjoon smiles, then glances down at Jungkook. “He seems happy here. I’m, um. I’m glad I picked this daycare.”

Me too,  Yoongi thinks.

“Are you working late today?” Namjoon asks.

“About another hour or so,” Yoongi says, stretching his arms slightly in front of his chest. “Not too bad.”

Namjoon makes a sound that is thoughtful. Yoongi waits for him to say something.

“Well, um,” Namjoon starts, then laughs lightly.  Is he nervous?  “Have… Have a good night then.”

“You too,” Yoongi nods. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Then he turns, walks out the door, and that’s it. That’s the end. One day in and, Yoongi thinks,  I’m already in way over my head.

“He’s single,” the receptionist says, rather bluntly, and out of seemingly nowhere.

Yoongi nearly chokes.

He sees her eyes peek up over the computer screen and she quirks an eyebrow. “Just saying. He came in for the interview and his file says he recently adopted. But he’s not married.”

“Oh,” is all Yoongi can think of to say. “Right.”

Later as he’s walking home, Yoongi wants to kick himself – firstly on how stupidly obvious he’d been, and how if the people he works with can tell what he’s thinking, there’s no way Namjoon wouldn’t. Secondly, however, he wants to kick himself for feeling like this at all.

Yoongi’s love life has been, to put it simply, rather dry.

‘Dry’ meaning, the Sahara.

Meaning he’s never held onto anything that’s lasted more than a few months ever.

It’s one of the things that he’s actually prided himself on. He’s seen a lot, done a lot. He worked on music for a long time, but when that didn’t work out, he relied on himself to figure out what to do with that. He trusts himself. He knows himself, knows what he’s capable of. He drifts, and honestly, it’s not as bad as it sounds.

But then there are nights like these, where he stops to get street food on the way and thinks about what it might be like to share a skewer with someone. To laugh and walk under the streetlights, to hold their hand as they make their way back to his shitty little apartment and watch movies together on the floor. Someone to eat popcorn out of the bowl with, playing the game of who can catch the most kernels in their mouth before they’re all gone.

Yoongi thinks,  Kissing someone would be nice, too.

His fantasies are simple. Maybe it’s a bit pitiful, what little he longs for.

But he lets himself get lost for a minute as he wanders back to his apartment that night. He lets himself think about what walking beside someone might feel like.

What walking beside Namjoon might feel like.

“I’m not going to say it again,” Namjoon states flatly. “I’m not asking him to come over and warm my baby bottles.”

“Why not?” Jin asks, seated across from Namjoon at the dinner table, shaking his glass full with beer as Tae and Jimin watch them duke it out over barbeque. “You know what they say. The open mouth gets fed first. Or something.”

“A closed mouth doesn’t get fed,” Namjoon corrects him. “I don’t even know if I want to get fed, dude.”

“Oh,  you  wanna get fed,” Jimin chimes in, and Namjoon looks over at him with an expression of betrayal. “You have been talking about this guy all week. It took you, what, two hours before you texted me about him?”

“Four, actually,” Namjoon corrects, but his defense is weak.

“I think you should go for it,” Tae says. He’s smiling. “You never know. Maybe he’s into you too!”

“Doubtful.”

Jin scoffs, sitting back in his chair. “That’s what I’m talking about. You need to assert yourself. Otherwise, what, you wanna just die alone?”

“This isn’t life or death!” Namjoon is getting frustrated. “This is just a. Crush. Thing.”

“A crush thing,” Jimin sighs, leaning his shoulder against Tae’s. “That’s cute.”

Namjoon groans. The whole table is quiet a moment before Namjoon throws his napkin on the table beside him and folds his arms across his chest.

In the highchair beside him, Jungkook makes a loud crying noise. They all look at him, and when he looks back up at them, he looks as though he’d never made any sound at all. Taehyung pokes his cheek and their eyes lock, Jungkook’s mouth opening and closing a few times. Tae grins. Then, they all look back at Namjoon for a follow-up.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “I’m awkward and not good at talking to people.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward on his elbows. “You guys know me. Making the first move is not something I know how to accomplish.”

“You’re just afraid of failure,” Jin says, and Namjoon looks up at him. “You were scared to get a baby because you didn’t think you could do it alone. But look, you did it. You’re out here doing it  right now.  Just, I don’t know. What’s the worst that could happen? You get rejected?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t take rejection well either, Namjoon,” Tae says sympathetically, reaching a hand across the table to touch his shoulder.

“None of us do,” Jimin agrees. “But… Namjoon… you can’t let that stop you. You’ve got to live your life. You’ve got to find your own happiness.” He pauses, looking down at his hands in his lap that play with the frayed edge of his t-shirt. “You told me that once.”

“Fill your own cup,” Jin says definitively. “Go for what you want.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon sighs. “Yeah. Okay.”

Easier said than done.

Namjoon awakens the following morning with a newfound zeal. He gets out of bed early, drinks a whole pot of coffee in between getting Jungkook up and out of bed, fed, and dressed for the day. He puts him in a onesie with little worms on it – one that Tae had gotten him, as he has taken to referring to his son as “wormy.” (Namjoon did not ask.)

He rides the train to the stop where Jungkook’s daycare is at, and with the baby in his wrap sling, he types out a quick email to one of his employees and tries to clear his mind.

Remember what Jin-hyung said. Be confident. Strong. Successful. Worthy. You are all of these things. Don’t fuck it up.

The second he walks through the door of the daycare center, he brushes past several workers in overalls and approaches the front desk.

“Ah, Kim Namjoon!” the receptionist smiles kindly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you as well,” Namjoon says politely, nodding once. Jungkook looks up at him as though he can sense something is up. Namjoon is not usually so zippy.

“Checking in Jungkook?” she asks, already clicking into her spread sheet and preparing to mark his attendance.

“Yes,” Namjoon replies, “but. Also. I was wondering, is... Min Yoongi here?”

The receptionist who has been typing and clicking at a fast pace suddenly pauses, glancing up at him. “Yoongi? Yes, he’s around. Do you need him for something?”

“Ah, yes – if that isn’t too much trouble.”

“No, not at all!” she replies eagerly, then makes a quick page over the intercom. “Min Yoongi to the front desk, Min Yoongi to the front desk. Thank you.”

Namjoon taps his fingers on the counter. He isn’t saying anything else, and the receptionist keeps looking up and squinting while she thinks he isn’t aware. He is.

Shake it off, Namjoon,  he thinks, craning his neck to crack it in one direction, then the other.

Jungkook makes a string of baby noises that Namjoon can’t ignore. He looks down at the boy and pinches his cheek gently, then kisses the center of his head quickly before resting an open palm on his back. Jungkook’s head turns to the side and he starts making noises at the receptionist, who giggles and waves back.

“Kim… Namjoon.”

Namjoon perks up, straightens his back a little, and when he turns around, Yoongi is standing there.

“Ah, good morning,” Namjoon greets him, then outstretches his hand as if to go in for a handshake.

Yoongi looks at it, then back up at him, then takes it unsurely and shakes it once.  You’re being weird,  Namjoon thinks.  That was weird. People don’t shake hands when they say good morning.

“You got through your first week,” Yoongi says, because it’s almost as though he isn’t quite sure what to say and doesn’t know why the receptionist hasn’t made any further move to speak to him regarding the page.

“Yeah,” Namjoon smiles, “so did you. Not your first week. I mean. Your first week with…” He trails off and looks down at Jungkook who has his hands in his mouth. Namjoon tugs them out and Jungkook looks up at him with confusion. 

He tries putting them back into his mouth. Namjoon pulls them out again.

“Please stop,” he asks quietly, as if Jungkook knows exactly what that means.

“Did you need something?” Yoongi asks again, leaning a little to the side as he sticks his hands into his pants pockets. His forehead creases lightly, brows pulling together. “Did you… were you the one who called me?”

“Um.” Wow, Namjoon has not prepared this enough. He thought he was ready. He clearly was not. Not even a little. “I was. Uh. C-Could I talk to you maybe,” he glances over his shoulder, “somewhere more private?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Ah.” He looks behind him in one direction, then the other, and when he turns back to Namjoon he doesn’t look up. Instead, he focuses on the back of Jungkook’s head, talking to that instead. “Yeah… follow me.”

I have made a terrible error,  Namjoon thinks.  I have seriously miscalculated all of this.

Yoongi leads him down the hallway of the left wing and hangs a right into a room that is currently unoccupied. The light still off. Yoongi flips it on and Namjoon follows him inside. Yoongi does not shut the door.

Namjoon swallows. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “I just. I don’t want you to think I’m being weird, or–”

“Why would I think you’re being weird?” Yoongi asks, pausing, then looks up at Namjoon. “Aren’t you going to freak out on me or something?”

Namjoon’s mind goes blank. “What?”

“You know,” Yoongi elaborates. “Yell at me. I’ve already been yelled at by three parents this morning. I can take it if you need to let it out. I’m just warning you that I’m very tired at this point, so if my reaction is lacking urgency, then–”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon starts, and when Yoongi pauses, Namjoon holds his eyes for a moment before saying: “I’m not going to yell at you.”

Yoongi stops abruptly, and a long moment of silence falls between them. 

“You’re not?”

“No.” Namjoon laughs suddenly, runs a hand through his hair and stops on the back of his neck, holding. “Ah, I was– I was going to ask you if you were doing anything later.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen .  “Later?” He looks around the room, and Namjoon thinks he looks anxious. “You mean like... tonight?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, then proceeds to shoot himself directly in the foot. “I just mean, you seem like a pretty cool person and I just thought, uh, as friends you know, we could go do something later like, um, just hang out or something.”  Nice going, asshole. “As friends”? You’re a moron.

Yoongi looks back up at him and raises an eyebrow. “Just as… Um. Yeah. I’ll have to check my schedule, but yeah. I could probably do something later.”

Namjoon knows he should feel like a complete failure, but the fact that Yoongi has just agreed to hanging out with him has erased almost every feeling of shame. A smashing success. Almost.

He’ll take it.

“Great,” Namjoon says, grinning wide. “I can give you details later, when I come pick up Jungkook.”

“Okay.”

“Ah, great. Well… yeah. That’s great.” Namjoon is grinning stupidly big and when Yoongi finally looks back up at him, he smiles too, shaking his head.

“Now you’re acting weird,” Yoongi grins, smiling at the floor.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m a weird guy kind of.”

Yoongi laughs – actually laughs – and Namjoon feels like there’s a sun bursting in his chest.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says finally. “I’m a weird guy kind of, too.”

Yoongi waits with Jungkook again as the day winds down. He bounces him on his knees, partially because it’s making Jungkook laugh and partially because he does this when he’s nervous – the knee bouncing.

I look so stupid,  Yoongi thinks.  I hope he doesn’t want to go right after this. I hope I have time to go home and change. These overalls make me look like a little kid. 

He doesn’t want Namjoon to think of him as a little kid.

(The irony of this is that Yoongi is, in fact, older than Namjoon.)

He can’t help it though. He feels very small around him. Externally, anyway.

“You good?” Hoseok asks, rounding the corner and taking a seat beside Yoongi. “You look like you’re stressed.”

“I’m… not,” he replies lamely.

“Oh-kay,” Hoseok says, then crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, letting his eyes slip shut briefly. “You don’t have to lie to me, Yoongi. I’m a pal.”

“You’re my  boss ,” Yoongi says. His tone is blunt now.

“Yeah, but we can still be pals,” Hoseok whines. “I’m like the cool boss. The cooliest boss, in fact.”

“You aren’t cool if you say you’re cool.” Yoongi wipes Jungkook’s drooly mouth subconsciously. “That’s uncool.”

“You look like you’re waiting for somebody.” Yoongi make a physical effort to keep himself from looking surprised. “And I don’t mean the parents. I mean. You know.”

“I  don’t  know, and I don’t need you to tell me what you think you know.”

Hoseok makes a soft whining noise, pouting his lips. “Okay, you don’t wanna spill it. But!” He straightens and points a single finger at Yoongi. “Just know that I have eyes and ears everywhere, bud. I’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”

And that’s when it all goes to shit, because at that exact moment, the doorman swings the front door open in the entryway, and both Hoseok and Yoongi look up to see Kim Namjoon walk in.

He’s wearing a gray blazer with a simple cream colored shirt underneath. The top button is unbuttoned. (This information is vital.) Yoongi instinctively looks away, looks down at Jungkook and starts bouncing him on his knees again.

“Oh Yoongi,” Hoseok says in mock-pity. “You don’t have to tell me  anything. ” Then he gets up, holds his clipboard to his chest and starts to close the wide gap between himself and Namjoon. Yoongi watches in horror as Hoseok strides right up to him, grinning ear to ear as he holds out a hand to shake and, although Yoongi can’t hear what he’s saying, he knows this is going to be embarrassing as all hell and he doesn’t want any part of it. Nope. Not a single part. None.

Hoseok looks over at Yoongi. Namjoon looks over at Yoongi.

He can feel the back of his neck heating up.

Stop being so transparent,  he thinks furiously.  You’re making something out of nothing, which is exactly what this is. It’s nothing – just an attractive man you have to deal with seeing on the daily. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot guy before.

“Aren’t you soooo happy your dad’s here,” Yoongi says monotonously to Jungkook, his voice just above a whisper. With that, he forces himself up and makes his way across the room toward both of them, holding Jungkook a little tighter than perhaps he means to. Jungkook makes a noise as he squirms in his arms, then opens and closes his mouth around the top of Yoongi’s overall pocket.

“–Anyway, you’ve already met Yoongi,” Hoseok says brightly, and Namjoon nods, smiling, looking down for a moment at his feet as his hands find themselves in his pockets.

“Ah, yeah. We met the other day.”

“Hi,” Yoongi greets, then thinks:  Be cool.

Namjoon looks up at him and, when he smiles, Yoongi suddenly notices the dimples that poke into his cheeks.

“Hi,” Namjoon echoes back, then bends a little as he squeezes one of Jungkook’s little shoulders. “Hi Goo.”

At the touch, Jungkook instantly turns his attention on his dad and makes grabby hands at him. Yoongi’s chest swarms. He holds out the baby to Namjoon, whose eyes now only exist to look at his son, and he takes him into his arms warmly. Yoongi watches as Jungkook grabs at the collar of his shirt, yanking it down a little before Namjoon makes a noise in the back of his throat and hoists him a little higher.

“So, um,” Namjoon starts again, “like. Earlier, uh, I was saying, I’d give you the details on where to meet and stuff.”

Hoseok looks back and forth between them subtly. Then, he claps Yoongi on the back and calls: “Nice meeting you again, Namjoon!” as he heads back down the main hall and around the corner. Very casual.

Yoongi assumes he’ll get a text about this later.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods. “Details. So you have them?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, “and I mean. We could go there now but I’ve got someone to watch Jungkook for me tonight, since... uh. I thought we could just go together. Without kids, and stuff.”

Yoongi grins; he doesn’t even try to fight it, and instead just lets himself fall into the feeling. He feels happy. He knows he should be more cautious around Namjoon, but something about the guy makes him want to unfold. Like petals in the sun.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I, uh, wanted to change anyway.”

Namjoon grins. “You mean you don’t just wear overalls 24/7?”

Yoongi cringes, shaking his head, then lets a small smile unfold on his lips. “Nah. They’re not really my style.”

“Oh. Well, cool. That’s cool.” With his free hand, he takes his phone out of his pocket and opens KKT. “Here, will you put your number in for me? I’ll text you the address.”

Yoongi goes about inputting his number into the cell phone, and as he does, his eyes widen a little as he sees a text message preview pop up on the top of the screen.

He tries to look away, but he’s already read it before he can stop himself.

You handsome devil, you,  It reads.  You got this, Joonie.

He doesn’t see who it’s from. All it does is confirm his suspicions that Kim Namjoon has a significant other.

Maybe us hanging out tonight is just a guy looking for a friend,  Yoongi thinks.  Maybe that’s all that this is. He probably just wants to get out of the house for a little while.

Yoongi supposes, though, that it’s okay. Whatever the case may be, it’s okay – because single or otherwise, Yoongi still thinks that despite their limited interactions, Kim Namjoon might just be one of the good ones.

“Great,” Namjoon brightens, bending his knees for emphasis as he looks down at the phone, then straightens again and looks down at Yoongi through his thick frames. “I’ll text you then.”

“Cool,” Yoongi nods, then looks down at Jungkook who’s been watching him this whole time. His eyes look tired. “This one might need a nap,” he tells Namjoon.

“Ah,” Namjoon says. His voice is light and when he looks down at Jungkook, his expression softens. “He sometimes falls asleep on the subway home. It’s pretty cute.”

Yeah,  Yoongi thinks.  I’m sure.

“Well, I won’t hold you up,” Namjoon says, picking his bag up off the floor and hoisting it over his shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll meet you.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees, then waves to Namjoon as he takes his leave. The door closes behind him. He waits a moment longer, watching through the window as his back starts to get further away, and when he realizes he’s been watching for too long, Yoongi turns back around and goes to tidy up the nursery.

Halfway down the long and winding hallway, his pocket buzzes.

He fishes his cell phone out, opening the door to the room he’s been in for the better part of the day, and when he looks down at the screen, he sees a text message from Jung Hoseok.

His stomach twists.

Y’all are real cute.

Namjoon is waiting at the location he pinned and sent to Yoongi fifteen minutes early. He’s shocked he was able to accomplish so much in such a short span of time; he’d dropped Jungkook off at Jimin and Tae’s place, then headed home to freshen up and eat a quick meal before heading out again.

The Han River is probably not the most inventive place for a first date. Namjoon justifies this to himself because, specifically, he recalls mentioning this was a “just friends” date. So, not a date. 

Just friends.

He makes a fist and rests it in the middle of his forehead.  Stupid.

“Hey,” he hears, the call a little distant and, what with there being people walking around, he shouldn’t think anything of it. When he hears it though, some part of him knows who the voice belongs to.

Namjoon looks up, and when he does, he sees Yoongi.

He’s wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. Tennis shoes. On top of his mop head of hair, a beanie sticks straight up.

There’s something about the way the sun is going down and the way it hits the high points of his cheeks that makes Namjoon think poetically.

Maybe it’s just the way he looks in the light though.

Maybe that’s what’s tricking his heart into doing weird things.

His hands, nervously fidgeting, get shoved in his pockets to prevent him from looking uncool. He feels tall and gangly and awkward. He doesn’t know where to look.

“Hey,” he says finally, looking up and raising a hand in greeting as Yoongi approaches. Yoongi waves a hand back.

“You could have just said to meet at the Han River,” Yoongi says, his voice deep and a little tired sounding as he stops in front of Namjoon along the riverside. “I thought it was going to be someplace weird.”

“All day I tried to think of something fun,” Namjoon laughs, albeit nervously. “I couldn’t come up with anything. Maybe being a dad has turned me into cliche and boring.”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking off into the distance, but Namjoon notices the way the corners of his lips twitch upward. 

“I, um,” he starts again, and Yoongi looks over. Namjoon lifts the bag on his shoulder and nods to the grassy hillside. “I brought a blanket and some beers.”

Yoongi’s face brightens. “After the day I’ve had, I could use a drink.”

“Me too,” Namjoon says, even though his day hasn’t really been that bad. He just wants to commiserate. The two of them walk side-by-side across the sidewalk onto the grass, and as soon as they’re far enough away from people walking along the main drag, Namjoon stops to lay down the blanket. He motions for them both to sit.

Yoongi plops down with a heavy thud and sighs deeply, grabbing at Namjoon’s bag and pulling out a can. He cracks it open, then offers it to Namjoon. Namjoon takes it from him and watches as Yoongi pulls one out for himself as well, cracking it, then taking a long, deep sip. His adam’s apple bobs, and when he pulls the can away, Namjoon sees his lips are wet.

He looks away immediately.

“So, um,” he starts slowly, “do you have kids?”

“Nope,” Yoongi says simply. He looks out at the river and takes another sip. “I barely have my life together as it is. Kids would complicate things.”

“I suppose so.”

Namjoon can feel Yoongi glance over at him, feel his gaze slowly move to fall on him. “I wanted to ask you,” Yoongi starts again, “but how old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Namjoon says, and when he looks over, Yoongi’s eyes bulge. He can’t help the laugh that pries itself from his throat. “What? People have kids younger.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, but there’s reservation in his voice. “But unmarried men don’t.”

“It’s weird. I know.” Namjoon sighs and looks down at his hands, fiddling with the tab on the can. “Unmarried. And it was, um. My own decision. He’s just mine.”

Yoongi quite nearly spits out his drink. At this, he sits up, faces Namjoon a bit more directly, and when Namjoon looks up at him he leans forward a bit. “So, hold on. You’re telling me you’re… not even planning on getting married and you adopted a kid?”

“Not right now,” Namjoon laughs. He can’t explain why, but… something about this conversation makes him nervous. He’s never had to justify it to a stranger before – probably because most strangers assume he’s married or in a relationship. They don’t need details. Yoongi does though – and Namjoon wants to tell him.

He just isn’t quite sure if the answers he gives are the right ones.

(Not that he could change it. Not even if he wanted to.)

“So let me get this straight,” Yoongi says, placing his beer in the grass beside him and holding his hands up, using them to try and explain the situation aloud. “You… adopted a kid, and you  weren’t  planning on marriage when you adopted him, and you’re doing this… all on your own? With no help? And you’re twenty-six?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no – I have people in my life that help – and, yes.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Yoongi blurts: “You’re insane.”

Again, Namjoon can’t help laughing. His cheeks redden; he looks down. Runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re a fucking enigma,” Yoongi states. Namjoon looks up at him and he can feel the shyness spreading throughout his body; his eyebrows pull together and his smile goes sideways as Yoongi goes on. “Kim Namjoon, you are… the most determined human being I have ever met in my life.”

His eyebrows raise. “Determined? That’s a new one. Why would you say that?”

Yoongi’s hands ball up into fists and, Namjoon thinks, Yoongi is trying to find the right words. His stomach knots.

“What I mean is,” he says finally, lookup up at Namjoon with wide eyes, “that I have never met a person who wanted something so badly that they would do what you did. You traded everything to have this. You traded your whole life.”

Namjoon feels warmth spread through his chest. “Yeah. I did.”

Yoongi pauses, grabs his drink, then turns back to Namjoon. “Do you ever regret it?”

“You’re a blunt person,” Namjoon smiles.

“I’m just curious.”

There’s a warm breeze that blows and Namjoon contemplates the question, how to answer it. He takes a drink and leans back on the blanket, propping himself up on one elbow and straightening his legs. “I guess people might think something like this would be… I don’t know. Regrettable.”

“You don’t,” Yoongi says, his tone analytic.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’ve never regretted it. Not for a second.” The warmth in his chest settles, and he looks up at Yoongi without trying to hide the fondness in his eyes. “It’s not something I think anyone else has to understand. I won’t try to make you understand if you can’t. It’s just – I think, we needed each other. He’s mine and I’m his. And sometimes… I think I need him more than he needs me. It’s like… every morning, I have a reason to get up, and when I get up, I can’t wait to start my day because it means I’ll get to see him.” 

His eyes slip shut. He exhales deeply.

“Unconditional love.” Yoongi speaks the words simply, but there’s a weight to them that both of them can feel.

Namjoon nods.

They take a drink.

“He’s sweet,” Yoongi adds. “For what it’s worth.”

Namjoon opens his eyes, looking back up at Yoongi, and at once, both of them smile. Namjoon holds his drink out to Yoongi and clinks their cans together.

“What about you?” Namjoon asks. “I want to know more about you.”

“I feel like I’m on a job interview,” Yoongi says blandly, tugging at the collar of his shirt, and Namjoon can tell he’s kidding. He breathes a sigh and starts: “Well. I’m not like you, I can say that much. I’m twenty-seven and I just landed the first steady job I’ve ever had.”

“Daycare teacher,” Namjoon nods.

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you choose that?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I didn’t really choose it. My brother lined it up for me. I needed to move back anyway – I spent too long living like a nomad.”

“You traveled?”

“Yeah. A lot. Close to ten years.”

Namjoon whistles. “Wow. You’ve seen a lot. More than most people will ever see.”

“I’m less book smart than you,” Yoongi figures, “but street smarts... Mm, yeah. I spent a long time sleeping on couches. Living out of a backpack.”

“That takes a lot.”

Yoongi nods. “I wanted to be a musician.”

“So what stopped you?”

Yoongi takes another drink, and Namjoon watches him. His shoulders bow forward a little. There’s something inexplicable in the way his posture changes, the way he licks his lips, how his eyes soften. Something uncovers.

“It wasn’t working out,” Yoongi says finally. His voice is quiet. He looks quickly over at Namjoon, holding his gaze for a moment before he crosses his legs and starts to fiddle with the ends of his sleeves. “It wasn’t ever going to work out. I had to deal with continuous rejection. There was a time near the end of it... my work got stolen. It wasn’t good for me.”

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say.

“I came home because it was time to give up,” he says, looking up finally. “This job at the daycare is… it’s not the worst. The kids are cute. The parents blow. Well, for the most part.”

Namjoon swallows. Yoongi looks over at him and, gently, nudges his arm with one of his knuckles.

“I don’t mean you,” Yoongi says. He gives Namjoon a small smile.

Something in Namjoon’s chest rises.

“I just mean,” Yoongi says, going back to playing with the tab on his can, “it was something I had to reconcile with myself. Being in denial. Wanting something unattainable. And there’s a part of me that feels like I let myself down, and my family. I think sometimes you can have a dream, but it doesn’t mean you’ll ever achieve it.” He pauses. “Some dreams were just meant to stay in your head.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi looks at him. He waits for Namjoon to go on. “That’s a long time to spend… with rejection. Not seeing the fruits of your labor amalgamating to anything.”

Yoongi takes a drink. He’s silent.

“I think,” Namjoon goes on, “that some dreams just take longer than others.” He glances at Yoongi and, taking a deep breath, he reaches a hand over. Covers Yoongi’s with his own. Looks away. “I don’t want you to lose sight of what you want most.”

Yoongi stiffens. He looks off in the distance, but doesn’t make any move to retract his hand. They sit in silence for a while, the sun warming the earth as it settles along the horizon. Without realizing it, their breaths fall into a rhythm.

Eventually Namjoon pulls his hand away, reaching back into his bag for another drink. He gets one out for Yoongi, cracks it for him, and they each take a sip.

“I’ll always love music,” Yoongi admits. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give it up completely.”

“So you’re a performer?” Namjoon asks.

Yoongi sticks his tongue out, shaking his head. “Nah. Performing isn’t for me. I’m a composer.”

“I’d like to hear one of your songs sometime.”

“Absolutely not.”

Namjoon kicks one of Yoongi’s legs with his foot and scoffs. “Come on,” he insists. “Even if your songs were terrible, I’d still probably love them. Or at least I’d tell you I did.”

“That totally makes me want to share them,” Yoongi deadpans, and Namjoon laughs loudly. Yoongi cracks a smile. “Anyway, working at the daycare isn’t the worst. It’s… honestly, kind of fun. Kids do the weirdest shit.”

“I know,” Namjoon grins, running a hand through his hair. “Jungkook was dangerously close to eating my bonsai tree last week.”

“Maybe he thought it was a vegetable.”

“Doubtful. He has a very refined palette… you know. Like, stuff that comes in a jar.”

At this, Yoongi laughs. He lets out a long sigh and lies on his back on top of the blanket, looks up at the sky with a softened expression. His cheeks are pink. Namjoon looks down at him and watches him a moment, as his eyes scan the clouds in the darkening sky. He sniffs, his round nose raising for a half-second, and he lets an easy smile settle on his lips. It’s small, but Namjoon can tell that he’s relaxed. Content, maybe.

“You know,” Yoongi says suddenly, his voice soft, “I don’t know if I have any real friends here. I was hoping… that maybe we could be.”

The knot in Namjoon’s stomach loosens. His neck feels warm.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I was hoping, too.”

Namjoon looks up at the sky beside Yoongi and they watch as birds chase across the clouds. The wind rustles again. In Namjoon’s heart, something whispers.

When Yoongi gets home that night, he feels buzzed – a bit from the alcohol, a bit from being so close to something that feels good. Being with Namjoon makes him feel good, and he can’t fully explain why.

For the first time since he moved back home, he opens his computer and starts working. There’s still a sense of numbing in his mind, in his fingertips – but there’s also warmth that spreads like fire. In his bones, there’s excitement. Passion.

A song inside him demands to be heard.

The weekend is long, and at times, Namjoon doesn’t mind. It’s needed, a small reprieve from the heavy week working well over 50 hours. Saturday morning, Namjoon goes on a walk through the park with Taehyung, pushing the stroller with Jungkook inside as they soak in the sun’s warmth. They get ice cream and sit on a park bench, Namjoon bouncing Jungkook in his lap and laughing when Tae tries to feed him ice cream; Jungkook’s eyes go wide when the taste hits his tongue and he grabs at the cone for more.

He spends a quiet night at home on Sunday, breaking out some of the old records belonging to his parents and having a glass of wine while Jungkook watches Baby Einstein and rolls around on the blanket in the middle of the living room. Eventually he puts Jungkook to bed, then sits for another several hours, quietly listening to old music on the turntable and reading in the armchair. He thinks: life isn’t so bad sometimes.

And, eventually, the book he’s reading hits a dry spot and his mind starts to wander. He doesn’t try to fight it this time; maybe it’s the wine.

He sits back, takes a sip, and looks up at the ceiling as Simon and Garfunkel plays low through the stereo. He thinks,  I’ll see him again tomorrow,  and when the thought crosses his mind, he subconsciously brings his knees up and balls himself smally on the chair, wrapping his arms around his legs. He rests his chin there and sighs.

The weekend was long, and necessarily so – but he can’t deny that the lingering thoughts in his mind which have lain dormant are now all at once coming forward. 

He remembers Yoongi’s smile. His laugh. The way his hand had felt beneath Namjoon’s – soft – and how he’d never felt so nervous around another person… Nervous, and calm, and excited and uncertain and hopeful all at once.

Namjoon runs one hand through his hair, then the other, until it’s standing at end and he tucks his face into his knees.

He could write a book, he thinks.

How to Let a Crush Consume You in Seven Days or Less.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Namjoon asks, taking Jungkook and positioning him on his chest in the baby sling as Yoongi finishes packing Jungkook’s bag up. 

Today they meet in the nursery; Jungkook had been fussing and Yoongi went to go check his diaper (because, Yoongi learned, he always fussed the most when he needed to be changed), and Namjoon had arrived at some point in the middle of that. He’d been directed to the nursery, and when he walked in, Yoongi was making noises at Jungkook and saying softly: “Now! All better, aren’t you Goo? Hmm?” And then Jungkook laughed, and Yoongi laughed back – and Namjoon felt his heart spring out of his chest in one sudden burst.

Now he’s standing here, trying to play it cool while internally combating the swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

“What am I doing this weekend?” Yoongi repeats, and Namjoon glances at him, then looks back at Jungkook. He’s pulling his binkie out of his mouth and wiping spit on Namjoon’s turtleneck. Namjoon grabs it before Jungkook can drop it and pops it back in his mouth.

“I don’t... think... anything,” Yoongi says slowly, his voice turning up at the word  think . “It’s a little far off.”

“I know,” Namjoon says quickly, “it’s just um. I was kind of thinking if you weren’t busy, uh–”  Shit,  he thinks,  I haven’t thought this through at all.

Yoongi looks over at him, zipping the bag up and leaning against the changing table.

“Uh,” Namjoon repeats, shoving his hands into his pockets because they’re kind of shaking and it’s embarrassing as hell, “I was wondering if you wanted to come to this, um, barbeque thing.”

“A barbeque,” Yoongi echoes.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, then turns abruptly toward Yoongi. He notices the way Yoongi’s back arches a little, the way he almost draws back. Namjoon swallows. “Ah, my friend Seokjin, he – um – he’s throwing a party and I was wondering if you wanted to come. Maybe. If you weren’t busy.”  Smooth.

“Hm,” Yoongi thinks, looking back down at the bag. Namjoon watches as Yoongi’s hands fiddle with the straps. “Yeah. I can come.”

Relief floods through Namjoon; his rigid shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across his face. Yoongi looks up at him and, seeing Namjoon smile, he does too. 

And then it’s as if some balloon inside of Yoongi pops. His smile flattens, brow creasing, and he looks back down at the bag.

A moment passes between them, quiet, before Yoongi finally asks: “Are you bringing your girlfriend too?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to be confused.

“Girlfriend?” Namjoon repeats, and when Yoongi doesn’t say anything, Namjoon laughs. “Uh, I don’t have one of those.” He pauses to clear his throat, looks down at Jungkook and smiles a little. “Girlfriends aren’t really, ah… They’re not really my type.”

Silence. 

Yoongi doesn’t stop staring at the bag.

“Oh,” he says finally, and Namjoon still doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Well, anyway,” he starts again, deciding it now an appropriate time to reach over and grab the bag from Yoongi, “I hope you’ll still come.”

Yoongi nods, and Namjoon wonders why all of the sudden Yoongi seems so tense. (He knows why. He’s so certain he knows why. He just doesn’t want to think about it.)

“I’ll still come,” he agrees, and then looks up.

Namjoon can see something in his eyes, but he’s not quite sure what it is. There’s something in them that he can’t seem to place, something… unsure. Uncertain. Nervous.

He hopes he isn’t the cause of it.

(He knows that he is.)

“Okay,” Namjoon says, smiling at Yoongi, then offers him a hand. “Saturday at 7 – I’ll text you the address.”

Yoongi takes his hand and nods again, shaking hands.  His palms are kind of sweaty,  Namjoon thinks.

“Well, see you then,” he finishes shakily, offering one final smile before he turns around and heads out the door, leaving Yoongi alone in the nursery.

“He’s gay.”

Hoseok nearly chokes on his coffee. “For real?”

The cafe they’re currently posted up in after work was, well, impromptu. Yoongi had never invited Hoseok to hang out outside of work before, despite Hoseok having invited him out  countless  times. He’d always feigned busy. Today, however, he needed to talk. There was some bug in Yoongi’s ear that wouldn’t let him go home and stew – and he knew that Hoseok was a good listener.

He was also the closest thing to a friend Yoongi had.

Besides Namjoon.

But now… well, now that was different.

Yoongi sighs, arching his shoulders over his coffee. “I mean. I knew he wasn’t married. But I figured he had like, I don’t know. A smoking hot girlfriend, or something. Guys that look like that always do.”

“You said it,” Hoseok agrees. “That man is fine as wine at dinnertime. But, hey, how’d you find out, anyway?”

“Told me.”

Hoseok’s eyes go wide. “He  told  you?”

“Yeah, in the nursery today.” He pauses. “After he invited me to some barbeque thing.”

Something about this makes Hoseok laugh very hard – so hard that other people around them start looking, and Yoongi’s eyebrows draw together out of embarrassment.

“Wow,” Hoseok says finally, wiping a tear from his eye, “now  that  is rich.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything.

“You really think that’s nothing then?” Hoseok asks. “Listen. I saw it. I saw how you looked at him. And I thought I saw the way he looked at you. If I’m being honest, I honestly was just kind of joking about it all before, but – this is legit, dude. There’s an actual shot in hell and if you don’t take it I’m going to fire you.”

“You can’t fire me,” Yoongi says blandly.

“The shit and fuck I can’t,” Hoseok shoots back. “Okay, I wouldn’t  really  fire you. But. Yoongi. You know what  come to my barbeque  is code for.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.  What?

“It’s code for whatever the Ying Yang Twins wrote The Whisper Song about.”

“Are you actually twelve years old?”

Hoseok laughs. “I’m kidding. Sorta.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead. He sighs loudly. Thoughtfully. Hoseok waits.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Yoongi says finally, a little quietly.

“You don’t have to know right now,” Hoseok smiles, and his expression softens. “Just have fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I overthink everything.”

“Well, stop.”

“You say that like it’s something I can just shut off.”

“You’re gonna have to.” Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee. “He’s having fun. He obviously likes you.”

Yoongi scoffs, opening his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out Hoseok cuts him off.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Hoseok says. “You just did that scoff-y thing when I said he likes you, like you didn’t believe me. You’re down on yourself. You have no confidence. What, do you think he’s out of your league or something?”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

“You’re cool as hell. You make music. You’re good with kids. You don’t show it, but you’ve got a fire, you know? You have a drive. Your life has been fucking crazy and you’ve done some stuff most people never could have done.”

“Yeah. I did. And I failed.”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re worthy of being loved, Yoongi. Just like everyone else.”

Something Yoongi might have retorted with, something cold and witty and clapping back, seems to dissipate in his mouth. He swallows. He takes a drink of his coffee but his mouth still feels dry.

“You know that, right?”

Yoongi waits a moment, quiet. Then he nods.

“You’re gonna show up to that barbeque and suck that man’s–”

“HOSEOK.”

Hoseok stops mid-sentence, opens his mouth, tilts his head and points a finger at Yoongi. “Gotcha.” And then he grins the biggest, silliest grin Yoongi has ever seen.

Yoongi laughs.

“Finally!” Hoseok cheers, pounding the table with both fists and rattling their drinks. Yoongi immediately goes into fight or flight mode, making sure their beverages don’t spill, and Hoseok just carries on. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for  weeks , Yoongi. You’re freaking hard to crack, you know that?”

He shrugs, smiling still.

“Well, anyway,” Hoseok says, smiling back. “Just have fun. Don’t worry about  what if s. Just do what you feel. It’ll all work itself out.”

Yoongi thinks:  There might be some truth to that.

Namjoon races home that night to text Kim Seokjin.

I need your help,  he types out quickly.

Did you lock yourself out of your apartment again?  is the response he receives, followed immediately after by:  God. Wait. Don’t tell me you lost Jungkook.

No and no. I need you to host a barbeque this Saturday.

Why’s that? Barbeques are a lot of work. And why do I gotta host it? My house is messy.

Because unlike Tae and Jimin, you actually have a house. And because I need you to.

You’re being unreasonably demanding. Tell me why or I’m turning off your text notifications and ending this conversation forever.

Namjoon sighs, dangling a set of plastic keys over Jungkook’s head. He glances down every few seconds to make sure he’s still entertained while typing out with his free hand:  I’m trying to impress a guy.

Of course,  Jin types back.  And I’m the most impressive guy you know, right?

Namjoon’s eyes roll so far back into his head he’s afraid they’ll stick.

Dude. It’s the daycare guy.

Well who else would it have been?  Jin types back, followed by several sideways-crying-laughing emojis.  Let me guess. You invited him to a fake fucking barbeque because you couldn’t think of anything else to say???

Namjoon is certain if Seokjin were here, at this very moment, he’d smack him upside the head.

Please,  Namjoon types back weakly. He hates begging Jin for anything, but right now, he has to. This one is for all the marbles.

You gotta say it first.

Jungkook blows a spit bubble and rolls over onto his stomach. Namjoon’s eyes light up; he’s been doing that a lot more lately, the rolling over thing.  Progress,  he thinks. He’s bound to start crawling soon.

Fine,  Namjoon types, but there’s no animosity – just amusement in knowing that Jin is actually letting him have his way.  Kim Seokjin is the hottest, most attractive, sexiest baddie out there and the world is missing out because he’s the bees fucking knees. And his body line is out of this world. Wow, he’s so hot. There, are you happy?

Extremely,  Jin texts back, then sends an up-close photo of his face, angled upward to expose his 30 chins.

Truer words never spoken.

Lol. Alright. So what do we need to get for this barbeque…

Yoongi’s been stressing about the barbeque all week. At one point, he actually texts Hoseok (on Tuesday at 1am, no less) and asks if he’ll come along as his wingman. He says it in fewer words than this – “ I need you to come ” is all he really says, but of course, no further explanation is needed. On Wednesday, Hoseok mentions the barbeque to Namjoon and weasels his way into getting an invite as well.

Everything is going according to plan. He has nothing to be nervous about.

Except Yoongi is actually fucking terrified.

“Stop that,” Hoseok chides him on Friday at 4:45.

“I’m not doing anything,” Yoongi responds, his voice even.

Hoseok knocks his shoulder into Yoongi’s. “Yeah, well, you’ve been refolding towels for the past forty-five minutes and I think if there was any indication of your brain short circuiting, it’d be this. You need to take a chill pill.”

“Buzz off. I’m working.”

“Nope,” he grins, leaning against the changing table on his elbows, looking up at Yoongi with that stupid smile spread across his face. “I’m excited. Tomorrow is going to be fun.  You’re  going to have fun.”

Yoongi makes an affirmative noise, but he won’t look up at Hoseok.

“Aiiiiish.” Hoseok sighs and stands back up, straightening himself. He claps both hands on Yoongi’s shoulders and squeezes tightly. “Hang in there, bud. It’ll all work out, I promise.”

Yoongi nods, then looks over his shoulder briefly at Hoseok and offers a small smile of his own. “Okay,” he says finally, hands stilling as he stops folding.

“You got this!” Hoseok cheers.

“Okay,” Yoongi repeats, his smile growing a little.

“Nothing can stop you! You’re on fire! You’re gonna get that man!”

“Okay okay  okay ,” Yoongi says, shrugging off Hoseok’s hands from his shoulders. “I get it. This pep talk was really unnecessary.”

“Just say thank you and I’ll leave.”

Yoongi shakes his head, silent for a moment.

“Thanks.”

Hoseok beams.

It’s Saturday.

Namjoon’s bedroom floor is a mess of clothes he’s put on, only to take off twenty times in pursuit of the perfect outfit. He settles on a loose-fitting vertical striped button-up and jean shorts, but even then, he feels like he’s settling. He wants to look his best, but he also doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard. (But, let’s face it, he is trying his  absolute hardest  here.)

Today, he puts Jungkook in a fresh new outfit, which he’s been saving for the exact right time. It’s a little black and white striped t-shirt, the tiniest black Converse he’s ever seen in his life, and – the piece de resistance – a pair of denim overalls.

He has never looked cuter.

“You ready?” Namjoon asks him as he feeds him his lunch, careful not to spill on anything but the bib. Jungkook’s big eyes stare up at him as he noms on the baby food. “I hope you are. I hope  I  am.”

Jungkook ties together a string of baby noises that sound like a sentence in some made-up language. Namjoon’s eyes go squinty as he grins, dimples showing. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

The baby claps his hands together twice and grins cheekily. Namjoon’s smile softens and he places a kiss in the middle of Jungkook’s forehead.

No matter what,  he thinks,  at least I got you.

“He’s freaking out. I don’t know why he’s freaking out.”

“Just give him a break, Tae - put yourself in his shoes. This is a big deal. I mean, on top of everything, we’re all meeting him too, and like. I don’t even think they’ve kissed yet.”

“I don’t even think they’ve held  hands  yet.”

“Stop it, Jin. God. Both of you are ridiculous. Hey, hand me the tongs, these need to get flipped.”

Namjoon is sitting where the others believe to be out of earshot, when in actuality, he hears everything. The commentary of his friends isn’t doing anything for his nerves. He’s sitting in the backyard, drinking a beer and watching Jungkook grab at the blades of grass with his tiny hands. Yoongi and Hoseok should be getting here at any minute. His watch says they actually should have been here  now .

Anxiously, he looks at his phone. The last text from Yoongi was 30 minutes ago letting him know they were on their way.

He sighs, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

And then, all at once, the doorbell inside the house goes off.

Namjoon shoots up, scooping Jungkook into his arms and racing to the back door, throwing it open as he calls to the others huddled around the grill: “I’ll get it!”

“Yeah you better,” Jin shouts back, and Taehyung laughs loudly.

He rushes through the house to the front door, Jungkook squirming in his arms confusedly, tugging at the collar of his shirt; he pulls his hands away, a bit out of breath, and in one quick movement, he throws the door open.

Hoseok is standing in front of Yoongi, wearing a sunhat and bright orange shades with a neon green bag clipped to his chest. He raises a tupperware of kimchi and smiles brightly.

“Hey there stranger,” Namjoon laughs, and Hoseok laughs back.

“Hey hey Joon!” he greets cheerfully, and each of them extend an arm to give a half-hug.

“Please, come inside,” Namjoon says, his stomach in knots, “we’re all out in the back. I think they’re just finishing up cooking - you can put that on the table out there if you like.”

“You got it,” Hoseok cheeses, breezing past him. Suspiciously, he leaves Yoongi behind.

Namjoon looks down at him. His hands are tucked in his pockets; Yoongi is wearing a navy striped shirt with a black, lily-printed short sleeve draped over it. His black pants are cut just above the ankle. Black birkenstocks on his feet. A black hat on his head.

He looks up at Namjoon from under the brim, eyes wide – and Namjoon can’t help it. His chest warms. He feels the back of his neck go hot.

“Yoongi,” he says, his voice a little softer. “It’s good to see you.”

Yoongi smiles up at him, shoulders which once were tight seeming to relax.

“You too,” he replies. Then, his eyes travel down to where Jungkook rests in his arms, and he reaches a hand out to grab one of Jungkook’s. “Hi, Kookie.”

Jungkook’s big eyes stare up at him, then at his hand. He grabs one of Yoongi’s fingers with precise intensity.

“That’s his version of a handshake,” Namjoon explains, as if he knows exactly what the hell Jungkook is doing.

“Ah,” Yoongi says, eyebrows raising, and he wiggles his finger up and down within Jungkook’s grip. “Nice to see you,” he says, bending his head downward a little and grinning at the baby.

Namjoon always stalls at moments like these – moments when Yoongi plays along with Jungkook so naturally. There’s a distinct fondness in his actions that can’t be faked.

He thinks,  Maybe moments like these just make me like him more.

“He looks like me today,” Yoongi adds, walking inside and closing the door behind him as they head side-by-side toward the back door. “You know. The overalls.”

“Yeah, it was intentional,” Namjoon laughs. “I thought it would be funny.”

“They look cuter on him.”

Debatable,  Namjoon thinks – but he saves himself from saying this out loud and embarrassing himself to the point of actual physical pain.

Namjoon throws the back door open and lets Yoongi walk out first. Hoseok is laughing with Taehyung and Jimin already as Jin flips the skewers on the grill, grinning. When they hear the door opening however, all of them look up.

And all at once, everyone is staring at Yoongi.

“Ah,” Namjoon says, his voice a little louder as if announcing something important, “everybody, this is Yoongi.”

Jimin wastes no time, immediately racing forward to greet him. “I’m Jimin,” he says, voice soft. Sweet. “Nice to meet you, Yoongi.” Before Yoongi can say anything, Jimin’s wrapped his arms around Yoongi in a tight hug.

“Ah,” Yoongi says when Jimin pulls away, standing back with a bright smile. “Nice to, um, meet you, Jimin.”

Jin clicks his tongs together above his head, then points them at Yoongi. “Yoongi-ah,” he says, lips pursed. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jin.”

Tae waves. “I’m Taehyung, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, and I’m Hobi,” Hoseok grins.

“And I’m Namjoon,” Namjoon laughs behind him, “and this is Jungkook.”

Yoongi shakes his head, laughing a little. He’s shy; Namjoon can see he’s not totally comfortable, and he wonders how much this must have taken someone as introverted as Yoongi to come to a social gathering where he hardly knows anyone. He feels proud, though, knowing this. He feels proud to see Yoongi standing in front of him, smiling, trying.

Don’t worry,  Namjoon wants to say.  They love you already.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Jimin chirps, “because we are making a  lot . Like, you’re going to have to take some of this home. There’s too much. Jin overprepared.”

“Hey, now,” Jin snaps. “It’s better to be overprepared than underprepared. If I’m having a barbeque, I’m not letting people leave hungry. Oh, Hoseok and Yoongi – drinks are in the cooler over there.” He motions with his tongs, clicking them together again several times before immediately going back to rotating the skewers.

“Can I get you anything?” Namjoon asks, starting toward the cooler as Hoseok and Yoongi follow him. Before he can get too far, Jimin extends his arms and takes Jungkook from him so he can help the others easier.

“I’ll have a soda, if you’ve got it,” Hoseok says. “Alcohol and I aren’t friends. Never have been, never will be.”

“You get a little too crazy?” Namjoon asks.

“The opposite actually,” he laughs. “I completely dissociate.”

“Okay then, no beer. Don’t worry, I think we have some soda too. Yoongi, you want something?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Yoongi says. “Alcohol and I get along just fine.”

Namjoon laughs at this, craning his neck to glance back at Yoongi. They lock eyes and Yoongi smiles.

God,  Namjoon thinks.  This is bad. If I already can’t stop looking at him like this… it’s just going to get worse.  He decides that he needs to get it under control. Relax. Be casual, be cool.

(Casual and cool are concepts Namjoon is not certain he is able to fully grasp at this juncture.)

He opens the cooler and grabs a Sprite for Hoseok, which he accepts enthusiastically, and for Yoongi, he takes a domestic in a bottle and uncaps it before handing it over.

Yoongi’s fingers graze Namjoon’s – slowly, delicately – as he takes the bottle from his hand. When realization strikes, he looks up at Yoongi, but Yoongi is already bringing the beer to his lips and taking a long sip before he wipes his mouth and looks off at the sun, which has just begun to dip in the distance. 

Human error is a terrible justification, turning intention into coincidence. 

Namjoon is sure that it’s nothing.

He’s positive.

(But he hopes it isn’t.)

After dinner, they play Disney movies on the TV (which Hoseok and Jin sing along to while entertaining Jungkook on the floor). The evening is filled with good food and lots of laughing. Bottles go empty. However fleeting, it seems that for tonight, everyone is happy.

It’s 11:00 and, in the middle of the backyard, Taehyung and Jimin are playing flipcup in the dark. Little fairy lights have been strung up all along the patio and tiki torches are shoved in the ground at each corner of the table, providing a little light but mostly serving to create an atmosphere. (It was all Jin’s idea.) 

When Tae loses the game, Jimin cheers wildly for his own victory before reaching forward to grab Taehyung by his shoulder. He pulls him down to catch his lips and, thoughtlessly, they kiss.

“You ever see something and think: ‘Wow, I’ve never felt so alone’?” Yoongi asks, watching it all transpire from the patio as Tae and Jimin go about setting the cups back up for a rematch.

“That’s my entire life,” Namjoon says. The two of them are sitting in folding chairs, staring off at the couple as they begin hastily attempting to flip a row of upside-down red solo cups. “The real kicker: they’re getting married.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs. “I saw the rings. I kind of figured.”

Namjoon takes another sip of his drink. “It’s disgusting and awful and I’m so happy for them... The last part isn’t sarcasm. It just sounds like it right now.”

Yoongi laughs, and Namjoon smiles, looking down.

“You have to wonder though,” Yoongi starts, and his voice is quiet; suddenly, he’s speaking from somewhere deeper. “Looking at them. You have to wonder if you’ll ever find something like that.”

Namjoon nods. “It’s what we’re all trying to find. But, when you’re looking, it never comes.”

“I kinda feel like it never comes either way,” Yoongi says starkly, “whether you’re looking for it or not.” He pauses. “For me, it’s… it’s always been hard connecting with people.”

“You’ll find someone,” Namjoon says with full certainty. “Anybody would… would be really lucky, you know.”  To have you,  he thinks, but it’s too much to say out loud. In his head, it echoes with far too much longing and he doesn’t have the guts to speak it.

Yoongi goes quiet. From the corner of his eye, Namjoon sees Yoongi rotating the bottle, watching the liquid inside slosh from one side of the glass to the other. Thinking.

“They’re spontaneous,” Yoongi says finally, and they both look up again to watch as Taehyung cheers loudly, jumping in the air while Jimin scowls and throws a cup of beer at him. They both cackle wildly, and Tae runs after Jimin to chase him through the yard. “I want that.”

Namjoon lifts his beer toward Yoongi. He looks over.

“Want me to throw this at you so you can chase me, too?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows pull together and suddenly he laughs, disbelief flooding his eyes. “What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

Namjoon laughs. “I know. But what’s stopping me? My legs are longer than yours. I could do it and never get caught.”

“That wouldn’t be fun, then,” Yoongi grins, watching as Tae grabs the back of Jimin’s shirt and yanks him backward, both of them tumbling to the ground, their laughter echoing. “It’s only fun if you get caught.”

“Okay then,” Namjoon agrees. “You throw your drink at me.”

“I don’t want to,” Yoongi says. “You look too good.”

Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. His hazy thoughts stop running so fast, and for a second, he thinks that maybe… Maybe that’s Yoongi trying to say something else. Something more. 

Maybe.

“Think Jungkook fell asleep yet?” Yoongi asks aloud, disrupting his thoughts. “It’s getting kind of late.”

“Probably,” Namjoon sighs. “Wanna go check?”

Yoongi shrugs, and Namjoon looks over at him.

“What?”

“I want to go out,” Yoongi says softly. “With you.”

Namjoon nearly chokes.

“What?” he repeats.

Yoongi finishes the last of his drink and places the bottle down at the base of the folding chair. “I want to go do something. Go for a walk.”

Namjoon needs a second to settle his heartbeat, which has taken several wild leaps. “Oh. Um, yeah. We can go out and do something if you want. There’s a little place not too far from here that’s nice to walk around at night.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, and all at once, he stands. When he does, his legs wobble, and Namjoon stands abruptly to catch him. His hands take Yoongi’s shoulders, steadying him. Yoongi’s hands immediately reach out to grab onto Namjoon’s forearms.

Just as he regains his balance, he looks up at Namjoon, lips parted, and then he laughs.

“Or,” Namjoon grins, “we could do it another night. And tonight, I could make sure you get home okay.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees. “We can go walking some other time.”

“Yeah. Like, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Yeah.”

They still have their hands on one another, and Namjoon realizes it first, his palms feeling as if they’ve just touched a hot stove; he draws his arms back sharply, and Yoongi’s hands fall back to his sides. Namjoon’s heart is racing. He thinks:  I could kiss him right now,  except that’s all it is. A thought.

He doesn’t actually kiss him.

But he wishes he could.

After a minute, Namjoon calls across the lawn: “Tae, Jimin – I’m taking Yoongi home.”

“Okay,” Jimin calls back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi!”

“Nice meeting you, Yoongi-hyung!” Tae laughs. “Hey, please don’t break Namjoon’s heart!”

In this exact moment, Namjoon is sure he could kill Taehyung and, in doing so, would feel absolutely nothing.

“Anyway, bye,” Namjoon calls quickly, then under his breath, says to Yoongi: “Okay, yeah, let’s go.”

Yoongi is quiet as Namjoon opens up the back door, holding it open as they head back inside. Namjoon’s whole body feels hot with embarrassment. He can’t believe Tae just said that. He can’t believe he let him  live .

When they get inside and round the corner, they see Jin, Hoseok and Jungkook all still lying in the same place they’d left them on the floor. The credits of Toy Story are rolling. They are all dead asleep.

“Should’ve known,” Namjoon sighs. “Am I a bad father if I just let them sleep here like this until I get back?”

“No. He’s safe. They got him.” Yoongi pauses. “If it makes you feel better though, you know, I can just take myself home–”

“No, no,” Namjoon starts. “Please, let… let me walk you?”

Yoongi grabs the back of his neck, rubbing it a moment as he looks down. “Okay. Yeah, I’d. Um. Like that.”

“Okay,” Namjoon smiles. “Good. Me too.”

Before he turns to start for the door, he swears he sees the tips of Yoongi’s ears go pink.

“I wouldn’t do that, you know.” Yoongi says, just as they’ve almost made it back to his apartment. After taking the subway and walking several blocks, their quiet breaks with this small admission. Yoongi’s voice is barely audible, and Namjoon is hardly sure he’s heard him say anything at all.

Namjoon tilts his head. “Hm?”

Yoongi swallows. “I said... I wouldn’t.” He pauses. Swallows again. “I wouldn’t break your heart.”

Namjoon’s mind goes completely blank.

“Just… whatever you want,” Yoongi starts again, and Namjoon can hear something in his voice. Shakiness. Nervousness. “So you don’t have to worry. Because… Because I wouldn’t, um.” He stops talking and never goes back to finish his sentence.

Silence hangs between them. It’s heavy. Namjoon’s vision blurs.

Finally, he says: “I’m not worried. I’m…” Namjoon’s sentence trails off, his eyes staring down at the ground as their pace slows. His lips feel numb, like they don’t want to work right. “Yoongi… I’m happy,” he finishes. “I’m happy right now. Walking you home.”

“I’m happy too,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon has never felt so small. He feels like his body is too little to hold the bigness of everything he feels. He isn’t sure how to keep it all in.

He isn’t even really sure this is real.

“Will you punch me?” Namjoon asks suddenly.

Yoongi stops walking. “What?”

“Punch me,” Namjoon says, stopping in front of him and straightening his shoulders, bending down a little and tapping his chin. 

“Why the hell would I punch you?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It could be a dream. I gotta know for real. You gotta punch me.”

“I’m not fucking punching you, Kim Namjoon.”

Namjoon waits, neither of them moving – when all at once, Yoongi takes a step forward and his hand moves, reaching. At the last second, Namjoon thinks he might actually punch him... but then he feels it. 

It’s the feeling of Yoongi slipping his hand into Namjoons. It’s the feeling of Yoongi’s fingers lacing with his, of their palms meeting. Flush.

“You,” Namjoon starts, but he can’t finish it. He can’t think of a single other word in the entire dictionary to say right now because all he can think is  you you you.

Yoongi takes a step sideways, tugging Namjoon’s hand, and they start walking again.

They don’t say another word until they’re standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment complex, both facing the door.

Namjoon breathes. He can feel it: he’s shaking. He wonders if Yoongi can feel it, too. He’s sure that he can.

“You know,” Yoongi says finally, “the first night, after we hung out… I came home and wrote a song. It’s the first time since I moved back here that I’ve done that.”

Namjoon looks at Yoongi. “I want to hear it.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to see you listen to it. It could be terrible and then I’d have to  watch  you listening to it, trying to figure out how to lie to me and say you like it.” He pauses. “I’ll send it to you after I get inside.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says. “I can’t wait to hear it. Really.”

Yoongi squeezes his hand, not looking up.

“I’m sorry I’m so awkward,” Namjoon starts again. “I’ve been trying to think of what to say to you this whole time but all I can think about his how sweaty my hand is, and you’re still holding it anyway.”

The last straw breaks.

All of the nervous energy that’s consumed them for the past half hour disappears, and all at once, Yoongi’s laughing. Then Namjoon’s laughing, and then their shoulders are shaking together and Yoongi’s head falls against Namjoon’s shoulder as he wipes his eyes with his free hand.

“I’m a disaster,” Namjoon chokes out.

Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re not,” he manages brokenly. “You’re my one shot in hell.”

Their laughter slowly dies, and then they’re facing each other.

Quiet, but not bad. They look at one another, really looking. Seeing. Namjoon reaches forward and lifts Yoongi’s cap a little, bending his neck down to better look into his eyes.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Yoongi says quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon smiles. “Do you… do you still want to see me again tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “If you wanna see me.”

Namjoon laughs again. “I always wanna see you.”

And then he feels it. The tug – deep down in the pit of his stomach. The pull.

He bends forward, tilts his head, and as quick and light as he can, he presses his lips to Yoongi’s cheek. 

Soft,  he thinks.

When he pulls away, he sees Yoongi’s wide eyes staring up at him a second before his expression turns soft; his eyes slip shut. He smiles.

“Tomorrow, then.”

Yoongi falls asleep that night, fingertips pressed to his cheek.

When Namjoon arrives back to Jin’s house, it’s late. The others have all left, and Jin is sitting on the couch with Jungkook in his arms, eyes half-lidded, the television playing some infomercial about miniature trains. Namjoon crosses the floor, takes a seat beside Jin, who makes no sound – just looks over at Namjoon briefly before looking down at Jungkook.

His little hands are fisted in the sleeve of Jin’s shirt.

“Thanks for watching him,” Namjoon murmurs.

Jin nods. “Did you take Yoongi home?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d it go?”

Namjoon thinks about it. For a moment, he isn’t quite sure what to say, but then –  I wouldn’t break your heart; I wrote a song; tomorrow, then  – Namjoon leans forward and cups his face in his hands. He breathes a deep sigh, and in it, there’s something distinctly hopeful. Happy.

“I like him so much,” he says quietly, out loud and for the first time.

Jin smiles, nudging Namjoon’s leg with his foot. “What happened?”

“I think he likes me too,” Namjoon says.

“Yeah,” Jin breathes. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

Namjoon looks up at Jin, who smiles back at him. There aren’t words in this moment, Namjoon thinks, that encompass quite what Jin has done for him in his life. He isn’t sure how to tell him.

“Thank you,” is all he can think of to say, and Jin nods.

They both end up looking down at Jungkook, whose sleep is so deep that he starts to make little snoring sounds, drool slipping from his open mouth onto Jin’s arm. Jin glances at Namjoon and Namjoon looks back.

“I’m proud of you,” Jin says simply.

And that, Namjoon feels everywhere.

So are you going to send me that song?  

Yoongi is eating breakfast the next morning at the small kitchen table, feet up on the chair, holding his phone and staring at the message. He shouldn’t have said that at all. He shouldn’t have brought it up, shouldn’t have promised he’d send it because – because, well, nobody needs to hear his music. He’s a failure, and music is just an extension of that.

Slowly, he types back:  On second thought, I really don’t think you need to hear it.

You’re wrong,  Namjoon sends back immediately.  I need to hear it, Yoongi. And if you don’t send it, you’re a total liar because you told me you’d send it last night.

Yoongi covers his face in his arms, leaning forward on his knees and cocooning himself there.  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you say you’d send that song. Why.

He hears his text notification go off again, and after a moment, he gathers the courage to look at it.

Please.

Yoongi’s heart is a mess. He wants to show him, and he doesn’t. He hasn’t shared his music in a long time; it’s the one thing in this world he loves the most, and yet, it’s the one thing that has brought him the most pain. He thinks about what Hoseok had said the other day –  you are worthy of being loved  – and he wonders, if he can somehow find a way to believe this, why can’t he feel the same about his music?

It was a moment of inebriated weakness, telling Namjoon about it. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut.

But… this text from Namjoon, and the way it had felt, holding his hand, leaning his head against his shoulder. The walk home and his half-assed confession. The way Namjoon had kissed his cheek, the feeling of being burned – and now this.  Please.  

Slowly, Yoongi opens iCloud and searches for the mp3 titled “NewSong_01.” His finger hovers above it, wondering if he is really doing this or not.

Tapping the share button is easy. Sending a file is easy.

It’s how he feels after he’s done it that he realizes there will be consequences to his actions.

Out loud, he lets out a deep-rooted groan. “You fucking loser,” he mutters, hiding his face in his arms again and forgetting about the cereal in front of him that is now most definitely soggy. He isn’t hungry anymore anyway.

Namjoon isn’t sure what he’s going to hear when he sees he’s received a file. All he knows is that nothing is stopping him from listening to it at that exact moment, not even the fact that he is out to breakfast with Taehyung.

“You got headphones?” Namjoon asks him suddenly.

Tae shakes his head. “I actually just cleaned out my bag a couple of days ago…”

“I’ll be right back.” Namjoon stands, pushing his chair in and rushing toward the door.

“Hey,” Tae calls after him, “where are you going?”

“It’s too loud in here,” Namjoon calls back above the sounds of the cafe. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside, it’s much quieter, but still – there are people walking, and Namjoon doesn’t want to be disturbed. He hurries down the alley between the cafe and a long row of apartments, flattens his back against the brick wall, hits “play” and brings the phone to his ear.

It’s not what he thought it would be.

It’s instrumental, and it isn’t. It starts with soft piano chords, light and airy and soft, which slowly begin to build, weaving through minors and majors – back to light, then, almost like a dance, they pick up. They lift. Soft 808s enter; gentle percussion; strings, soft then hard then soft again, and by the end of it all, the beat fills out, strengthening every note with a heavy weight, like a punch in the stomach.

The last few notes taper off, just piano. It ends on an unsatisfying note – one that leads you to feel there should be something more, either major or minor. But it never comes.

And then it’s over.

Namjoon pulls the phone away from his ear, staring at the phone in his hands, lips parted.

Something in his chest stirs.

Yoongi is still seated at the table when his cell phone rings.

No no no,  he thinks, picking it up and seeing the caller ID come in as  Kim Fucking Cute Face Rude As Hell Namjoon.  

“I’m not answering,” Yoongi says out loud, watching the phone keep ringing.

Of course, at the very last second, he lets out an aggravated groan and hits “accept.”

He doesn’t say anything – no greeting. He just waits.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon’s voice comes, cutting through the silence of the room and hitting him in some deep place in his chest.

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes.

Namjoon is quiet a moment, and Yoongi waits, anxiety ripping through him.

And then:

“That song… what you sent…” 

Yoongi takes a deep breath and holds it. 

“It’s the most beautiful thing that I have ever heard.”

That night, Namjoon heads to Yoongi’s place. Namjoon had texted him after breakfast saying nothing more than  I want to see you,  and by some miracle, he received a response from Yoongi that said:  Come over tonight.

Unfortunately, since everyone was busy that evening, the small baby strapped to Namjoon’s chest had been a deal breaker.

It’s okay,  Yoongi had sent.  You can bring Kookie.

“You’re real lucky you’re cute, kiddo,” Namjoon sighs, buzzing the apartment belonging to Yoongi as he waits on the front steps. Against his chest, Namjoon feels Jungkook’s feet wiggle in the baby sling. He sighs.  Really cute.

Instead of the door buzzing back to let him in, Namjoon’s eyes widen as it swings open; Yoongi is standing there, wearing all black from his hat to his t-shirt to his birkenstocks – but not in a goth way, more in the way that he just looks like he pulled anything from his closet and threw it on. Namjoon envies that; he spent way too long making himself look elegantly disheveled for Yoongi to come out here, making it look so easy.

“Hey,” Namjoon breathes, and he can’t stop the smile from unfolding on his lips.

Yoongi smiles back, closing the door and taking a few steps down toward him. “Hey.” He redirects his eyes to Jungkook, then extends a hand, ruffling his hair. “Hi, Kookie.”

Jungkook buries his face in Namjoon’s chest.

“Shy today?” Yoongi asks him, bending forward a little, and Jungkook peeks over at him. “It’s just me.”

Jungkook’s eyes go big and he leans back, realizing who it is, and extending his arms upward as if wanting to be held. Namjoon and Yoongi laugh, and Yoongi ducks his head, pressing a little kiss to the middle of the baby’s forehead. Jungkook giggles and rests his head back against Namjoon’s chest.

Namjoon is certain an arrow has just struck his heart.

He clears his throat. “So,” he starts, “what’s the plan?”

“No plan,” Yoongi says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I just thought we could walk. Maybe grab a bite.”

“Cool,” Namjoon says, but he’s far from it. His stomach is currently tied in seventy knots.

They start walking, side-by-side down the street, talking about how hot and muggy it’s been lately; this sunshine and cool breeze has been a nice change.

“I’ve been thinking about taking Jungkook to the beach,” Namjoon admits. “I got him little arm floaty things. And a wetsuit.”

“That’s probably unreasonably adorable,” Yoongi states, his tone inarguable. “He’d probably like it there. Watch out for the sand though. He’s always trying to eat weird shit.”

Namjoon laughs. “I saw him trying to eat his feet on the baby cam last week.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi laughs. “His hands, his feet… nothing is off-limits.”

A beat of silence passes, and then Namjoon sighs. “You know,” he starts again, “I gotta admit… I’m kinda jealous.”

Yoongi tilts his head, intrigued.

“Jungkook gets to spend more time with you than I do,” he finishes, grinning, and when he glances at Yoongi, he sees that he’s looking down, watching his feet as they walk. There’s a lump in Namjoon’s throat. His hand itches.

Swallowing his pride, he keeps one hand on Jungkook and, with his other, he reaches over to take Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi looks up at him, surprised. Namjoon glances back, and when their eyes meet, his eyes crinkle.

“Ah, your dimples,” Yoongi blurts, then looks down. He nods, as though trying to encourage himself to say it. He breathes, laces his fingers through Namjoon’s. “Cute.”

Kim Namjoon is a forest fire.

Jungkook starts dozing off against his chest after fifteen minutes, the sun beginning to set. “Working tomorrow?” Yoongi asks him.

“Every day,” Namjoon sighs defeatedly.

“Namjoon-ah, I never asked you what it is you do, exactly.”

He shrugs. “It’s not very interesting. Just… you know. Business stuff.”

“Sounds vague.”

Namjoon laughs through his nose. “I’m, um. A director. I keep the company I work for running smoothly. My job is basically to assist other account executives with acquiring new business, keeping them on track – and I also work with the accounting team, making sure they’re tracking progress and keeping all accounts billed and paid properly.”

“You sound like the middle-man,” Yoongi states.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“You have your own office?”

Namjoon nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Yoongi says. “And you’ve got a baby. Your life sounds like… I don’t know. You seem like you’ve got everything together.”

“Seems like it,” Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing most days. Being someone young in the corporate world. Being a father. It’s a lot. There isn’t a manual for any of this.”

Yoongi laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re doing a good job.”

Namjoon is quiet for a long time. He thinks about how Yoongi hasn’t stopped holding his hand, hasn’t tried to pull it away. He thinks about how their shoulders bump into one another’s every so often, how he keeps glancing over to see Yoongi licking his lips.

I want to kiss you,  Namjoon thinks.

“Ah,” Yoongi says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Their hands finally separate, and Namjoon scrambles to shove his back into his own pocket, unsure of what to do with it otherwise. “I forgot. I was going to show you earlier. Here.” Yoongi extends an earbud to Namjoon, careful not to tangle the cord. “Put this in,” he instructs, and Namjoon bends down, doing as he says.

Yoongi pops an earbud into his own ear, then scrolls through a long list of something until he finds what he’s looking for. Before he taps the screen, he shoots one glance up at Namjoon, a little uncertain.

Namjoon smiles back at him.

Yoongi breathes in, looks back at his phone, and hits play.

From the headphones, music floods. Namjoon’s eyes widen when, after a moment, he realizes that what’s playing in his ear isn’t just any song.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon starts, leaning down slightly and pointing at his ear, “did you write this?”

Silently, Yoongi slides the phone back into his pocket and takes Namjoon’s hand again.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I thought… maybe you’d want to hear some more.”

Namjoon breathes. Smiles. He straightens his back and holds Yoongi’s hand proudly, walking down the street beside him, listening to the exact same song at the exact same moment – the two of them connected.

Namjoon lies in bed that night, relistening to the same song over and over. He does it staring at his phone screen – no books, no lights. Just himself, bathed in the glow of his cell phone, staring at the title “NewSong_01” and thinking. Thinking.

It takes him fifty-seven listens before he realizes that he needs to forward it to Jimin.

Listen to this,  Namjoon types.  And tell me what you think.

Yoongi wakes up that Monday morning with a little more energy than normal. He looks at himself in the mirror, and when he sees the way he looks, he thinks:  Maybe the overalls aren’t that bad.  He eats a healthy breakfast and walks to the bus stop, hoodie tied around his waist, listening to music and reading a book titled “So Your Son Just Turned One.”

(He doesn’t have a son.)

(But Namjoon does.)

He makes sure to hide it in his bag before he gets to work. Hoseok doesn’t need to be informed of his reading material, after all.

He clocks in, actually says good morning to his coworkers, washes his hands and starts prepping for the start of the day.

“You sure look like you’re in a good mood, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok boasts as the parents start rolling in, dropping off their kiddos as the mad dash begins. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Sure,” Yoongi says simply.

Hoseok narrows his eyes. “Like ‘sure’ it was good or like, ‘sure’ it was really  really  good?”

“It was good,” Yoongi snips.

“I’m watching you, Wazowski.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yoongi takes a little girl by the hand and heads off in the direction of the 2 year olds rooms. Under no circumstances is he talking about this with Hoseok. He doesn’t want anyone to know, really. At this point, when he isn’t even fully sure what it is that Namjoon is looking for, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Saying something out loud could jinx it. Having other people know could jinx it.

Besides, he’s an adult. Relationships work like this. It isn’t real until it’s really real, and he’s seen enough relationships in his lifetime to know not to put all your eggs in one basket.

So, no. There will be no discussion or admission of anything. Not to Jung Hoseok, not to any of his coworkers – nobody.

It’s when he’s on his way back from the 2-year-olds wing that he sees Namjoon in the lobby.

His back is to him, and he’s speaking with the receptionist.  It’s sad I can tell just from his back,  Yoongi thinks, and then he sees Jungkook’s tiny face pop up over Namjoon’s shoulder and look straight at him. Yoongi’s heart flips.

“Namjoon,” he calls – but then, he sees that Namjoon is being told something by the receptionist, who looks around Namjoon and points right at Yoongi. She’s smiling.

Namjoon turns around.

And that’s when Yoongi sees it: in his arms, a bouquet of roses.

Yoongi freezes. His mind goes blank. His mouth dries. He feels like a computer program that just shut down; his life has suddenly become one great error message.

Namjoon smiles. “Yoongi.” And then, he crosses the floor. Yoongi sees several parents turning their heads, every single one of his coworkers standing around moving to look directly at him, and at the man walking toward him with flowers in his arms.

When he’s finally reached him, Namjoon stops.

“These are for you,” he says calmly, holding the bouquet out to him.

Yoongi waits a beat, realizes he needs to take them, then reminds his arms to move; he reaches up and takes the flowers from Namjoon, who just smiles down at him easily. Yoongi can’t stop looking at the flowers. He’s  never  been given flowers before.

They’re… beautiful.

His finger touches one of their petals, and it feels soft. They smell fresh, airy, floral, like they’d just been cut.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, looking up at Namjoon.

He just smiles. “For all of the songs. I wanted to give you something, too.”

Yoongi feels it, the redness. He can feel it in his cheeks, on his ears, the back of his neck; his head feels like it’s buzzing.

“You didn’t have to,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Namjoon tells him. “I just wanted to, is all.” Then, after a brief pause, he adds: “I’m sorry if it’s too much, I just thought maybe, um, you’d like them… or something…”

Yoongi’s eyes slip shut and he takes a deep breath, holding the smell in, committing it to memory. When he opens his eyes, Namjoon is looking at him with a different expression. Maybe he’s surprised. Maybe… maybe it’s something softer.

“I love them,” Yoongi admits. He looks down. “Thank you.”

Namjoon smiles again, this time wide and full and his lips stretch tightly. His dimples return. Yoongi doesn’t dare look back up.

“Of course,” Namjoon says softly.

This is dangerous,  Yoongi thinks, and it isn’t because of the bouquet. It isn’t because of Namjoon.

It’s because of the way his heart feels, full and beating, hard inside his chest.

Those flowers are pretty,  Hoseok texts him later.  I saw them in the break room. Saw they had your name on them.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, and thirty minutes later, he receives another text.

Wonder who got you those. ;)

Namjoon is sitting at his desk eating lunch when he gets a call from Park Jimin. His familiar unflattering selfie lights up the screen and Namjoon grins, swallows a bite of his salad, takes a quick drink of water and accepts the call.

“Jimin,” he says, touching the speakerphone button and sitting back in his chair.

“Hi Joonie,” Jimin answers. “How’s your day going?”

“Business as usual,” Namjoon says, refusing to click open the tab on his computer currently holding 74 unread emails. “How’s your day?”

“A little more interesting than yours.”

Namjoon takes another bite of his salad. “Hm. Why’sh that?”

“Well, for one thing, I had an mp3 sent to me at 1:45am which I just listened to about an hour ago.”

“Oh,” Namjoon grins. “Um, sorry about that. I guess I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“S’all good,” Jimin says, and Namjoon can hear him grinning. “But uh, about that song.”

“It’s good, right?”

“Yeah. It’s more than good. Like, I listened to it and, like. Namjoon. I could  see  what the routine to that would look like. I could see it with my third eye, which just opened, and I  freaking … Listen. I sent it to the head of the department for consideration.”

Namjoon goes quiet.

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Jimin continues. “And I think… I think that he’s considering using it in the next performance. Where the hell did that  come  from?”

Namjoon swallows, takes another drink of water. “Yoongi wrote it.”

“Shut up, he did not.”

“He did.” He pauses. “Sent it to me yesterday morning.”

“Holy shit.” Namjoon can hear the audible click of Jimin’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, thinking. “Well, if they end up using it, they’ll definitely pay him for it.”

“I would hope so,” Namjoon says, and he can’t stop grinning. “You know, I… I sent it to you because… I don’t know. I wanted something big to happen for him. And I think he’s a musical genius, and he deserves someone to realize it. And I knew you’d hear it and think it was just as good as I did.”

Jimin sighs. “God. That’s romantic.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Namjoon leans back in his chair and spins around. “I don’t think it’s romantic. It’s just–”

“Nope. It’s romantic. Shut up.”

Namjoon smiles stupidly, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ve got connections, Joon. I’m going to make sure they use Yoongi’s song.” Jimin pauses, hums. “I mean, I know I’m just interning here for now, but like. I’m getting pretty close with the head of the department and we share Spotify playlists on the regular. I bet you if I made a good case, they’d pick this up.”

“I want that,” Namjoon sighs. “I want that for him so bad.” He stops spinning and leans forward in his chair, crossing his arms at his desk and looking down at his cell phone a few inches away. “You don’t know how hard he’s had it, man.”

Jimin sighs.

“He’s had his work stolen before,” Namjoon says. “He got so much kickback. He tried getting into the music scene for years and I know it’s what he wants to do, and he’s so close to giving it up, and… And I don’t know. I don’t want that dream to be for nothing. I want… I want him to be able to reach out and touch it. I want it to be real.”

“You’re a good guy,” Jimin says softly. “Okay. Leave it to me. I’m gonna work my magic.”

Namjoon laughs. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“ Okay. ”

“Okay, I’m gonna go. We’re about to start back up with rehearsals.”

“Good luck. Um, break a leg, or whatever they say.”

Jimin laughs. “Alright. Later, Joon.”

You really didn’t have to get me flowers you know,  Yoongi sends that night, just as he’s finished trimming the stems and put them in a makeshift vase (an oversized mason jar). He places it on his kitchen table, centers it perfectly, and stands back, looking at it with his hands on his hips.

A long sigh blows from his lips and he visibly deflates. They look out of place here, in his world which is mismatched from the black and white checkerboard floors of his kitchen to the bright yellow curtains, from the pile of dishes in his sink to the living room which has music equipment strewn about everywhere. Coffee cups line the tables.

And yet, there they are. Despite everything, there’s a dozen red roses on his kitchen table, turned up to the light from the sunset that leaks through the cracks of the window through the drapes.

He takes a photo of the flowers with the lighting and sends it back to Namjoon. He doesn’t know exactly why he does it, all he knows is that some part of him was compelled to do so.

I’m glad you like them,  Namjoon replies, followed by a single rose emoji.

Yoongi sits down at the table and looks at them. He folds his arms and rests his chin on them, reaching a finger up to touch one of the petals again.

He thinks about Namjoon at the florist that morning. He wonders if he picked them out himself. He wonders why, out of all the flowers he could have picked – why roses?

Yoongi buries his face in his arms.

(He knows why.)

Thursday after Namjoon leaves work, he has a plan.

When he comes face to face with Yoongi, that plan falls apart.

(He’s nervous. And weak.)

“So I was thinking,” he starts, “and if you didn’t have any plans on Saturday, we could maybe, uh, go to the beach.”

Yoongi is busy with folding towels, so he doesn’t look up. “You mean like, just us two?”

“And Jungkook too,” Namjoon says hurriedly. When Yoongi looks up at him, finally, his eyes wide – Namjoon goes into defensive mode and starts backpedaling. “And, um, Jimin and Tae were going to come too. Like a whole group of us.”

STUPID, STUPID, STUPID,  he thinks, and mentally wants to punch himself in the forehead.  Namjoon, you are a fucking nitwit.

“Oh,” Yoongi says, and he stops folding. “Yeah. I’m free.”

“Great!” Namjoon says, smiling – but internally, he’s kicking himself, and he isn’t all that happy about it. The reality of the matter is that he’s too chicken to invite Yoongi out to do things on his own because there’s still some part of him that’s nervous about… well, everything.

Wanting something. Seeing it dangling in front of you and all you have to do is reach out and grab it, but it’s like your arms won’t move. It’s like your body is determined to keep you stuck in place, because there’s change that comes with choice. It’s debilitating. It’s the business of keeping stagnant out of fear.

Namjoon wonders if Yoongi ever feels like this, too.

Yoongi doesn’t like the beach. Not because it’s too warm, or the sun is always shining too bright, or even the fact that seagulls are a constant annoyance of begging and squawking and potentially shitting on you as they fly overhead. In the end, none of this really matters all that much to him. They’re little things that he could get over if he wanted to, if he had to.

The one thing that Yoongi hates most about the beach is the dress code.

That night, Yoongi looks at himself in the mirror. He puts his swim trunks on, crosses the floor and stands in front of it, eyes rising from the floor to his own gaze, staring back at himself. He takes in his reflection, all scrawny and pale and short, hands and feet that feel too big. Shorts that hang off his frame. He pinches the fat of his stomach. Slowly, his hands rise to cup his chest.

Yoongi doesn’t like how he looks.

And he definitely doesn’t want Namjoon to see him like this.

Why did you say you’d go?  he thinks bitterly.

As he throws his swim shorts off and pulls on his pajamas, getting into bed and burying himself in the covers, the reason is obvious.

It’s because it’s Namjoon.

“Please come,” Namjoon is begging. “Tae, come on. Please. I know you’re not busy Saturdays. The gallery isn’t open on the weekends, and Jimin said they cancelled classes that day.”

“Yeah…” Tae trails off, and Namjoon has a feeling he’s looking at Jimin as he’s speaking due to how slowly his words come. “Um, about that, we… were going to take a trip to the… the grocery store… no. The mall. We were going to go to the mall that day because Jimin needed new underwear. I mean, wait. He needs. New... clothes... to wear to the gala. Clothes. Nice clothes, which he doesn’t have. I mean wait. No, babe – your clothes are nice! I mean. Fuck. Namjoon, listen…”

Namjoon buries his face in a couch cushion as Jungkook bounces up and down in his high chair in the kitchen, screaming at full-volume.

“I told him you guys were coming,” Namjoon says, his voice muffled.

In the background, Namjoon hears Jimin saying something before the phone trades hands and Jimin sighs into the receiver.

“Namjoonie,” Jimin says, and Namjoon can already foresee the answer is  no.  “I’m sorry. We just… we just have plans and… alright, I’m just going to say it. You need to see him alone. He likes you. Don’t be scared – I know you’re scared. I know it’s being afraid of rejection that you’re holding onto, because of what happened with… Ah… Just. You know, in the past.”

He knows he’s right. He just doesn’t want to admit it – so, instead, Namjoon stays silent.

“We’ll be with you in spirit,” Jimin says. “This is a good thing. Don’t you want to see him, just the two of you? Don’t you want to plan a fun date and… don’t you want to kiss him?”

Namjoon groans sadly. He does not remove his face from the cushion.

“I know you do.”

“Ynnnh.”

“Pardon?”

Namjoon lifts his face. “I said  yeah. ”

Jimin laughs lightly, soft. “See. You don’t need us. You can do this.”

“I’m nervous,” he finds himself admitting. Jungkook shrieks again and his eyes slip shut in agony. “I just… I want to tell him how much I like him. And I want to show him. I just keep panicking.”

“Don’t panic this time,” Jimin says. “Namjoon, you can do this. You’re a strong, independent father who doesn’t need no man, but if you want one, you gotta go out there and get it. Besides, how the hell are you going to kiss him if we’re there, huh?”

Namjoon is quiet.

“Fine,” he says finally. “I know you’re right. And I’m being a baby.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, smiling through the phone. “We all deserve to be kind of a baby sometimes.”

Jungkook screams one final time before Namjoon shouts back: “Okay! Okay! I’m coming! Jimin, I gotta go. Speaking of babies, mine is throwing a tantrum in his high chair right now.”

“Give him kisses for me,” Jimin says.

“Me too!” he hears Tae’s deep voice shout in the background.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Bye guys… and thanks.”

Jimin’s voice softens. “Don’t mention it.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says, hopping in the rental and adjusting his mirror so that he has a better view of Jungkook, sucking on his pacifier and looking directly back at Namjoon. He’s already dressed in his baby-sized wetsuit and swimming trunks with kitty paw prints all over them. Namjoon breathes deeply, hands on the wheel, then he puts the car in reverse and begins the drive to Yoongi’s apartment.

He puts music on in the car and Jungkook tries to sing along. It’s way off-pitch and none of the words are actual words, but for a baby, Namjoon is honestly kind of impressed.

It’s a good distraction, anyway, from the tightness in his chest.

When he pulls up in front of Yoongi’s place, he parks the car on the side of the street and waits. He sends Yoongi a text,  We’re outside,  and surprisingly enough, it takes all of 30 seconds for Yoongi to appear at the door, closing it behind him and locking it quickly before walking across the road toward Namjoon’s car.

Namjoon looks at him, blinks twice, and thinks:  He doesn’t look like he’s going to the beach.

Yoongi is wearing a long-sleeve rashguard and black leggings underneath a black t-shirt and black swim trunks. His head is covered by a black bucket hat. Namjoon looks down at himself, feeling unfairly exposed in his maybe-too-short swim shorts and light gray cotton t-shirt. He tugs at his collar, then at the hem of his shorts and clears his throat. He unlocks the car doors.

Yoongi opens up the passenger door and, without greeting, blurts: “Where should I put this?” He motions to the bag over his shoulder, a tote filled with what appears to be… food?

“You can stick it in the back,” Namjoon says calmly. “What’s in the bag?”

“I packed lunches,” Yoongi says simply.

Namjoon’s heart shoots to his throat. Homemade cooking: his ultimate weakness.

(Cooking is not Namjoon’s specialty. Not by a long shot.)

“You didn’t have to do that,” Namjoon says as Yoongi slides in and buckles his seatbelt.

Yoongi shrugs. “Whether or not you have to do something… it has nothing to do with wanting to do it.”

Namjoon flushes, puts the car into drive, and takes off down the road.

“So, um,” Yoongi starts again, and Namjoon can see Yoongi glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye. “When are Jimin and Taehyung coming?”

If Namjoon could disappear forever, at this exact moment, he totally 100% would.

“They’re actually, uh… not coming.”

Yoongi’s quiet. He chews on his fingernails.

“Did they say why?”

Namjoon’s level of wanting to disappear raises to 200%.

“Um,” he says, laughing nervously as he runs a hand through his hair. “They uh… they had shopping to do.”

Yoongi makes a thoughtful sound. “So just the three of us then.”

“Yeah. Just… just us three.”

To Namjoon’s surprise, Yoongi doesn’t look upset. He shoots a quick glance at Yoongi and when he does, he notices that the corners of his lips are ever-so-slightly upturned.

The tightness in his chest eases a little.

They pull up to the beach at 11:30, and it’s harder than hell finding a parking spot. Namjoon hasn’t driven in a while, and his backing up abilities aren’t the sharpest; there are four different instances where he almost rear ends a car in the process of trying to park. Yoongi is visibly flustered. Jungkook won’t stop screaming.

It’s a mess and Namjoon is embarrassed. He rubs his temples after finally fitting their rental into a parking spot, and he feels Yoongi reach over to rub his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi sighs, sounding almost out of breath. “At least we made it.”

Namjoon looks over at him, his forehead resting against the wheel, and they share a smile.

“Okay,” Namjoon says, determined to raise their spirits. “Kookie, are you ready for the beach?”

Jungkook just stares, blinking back at him.

“If he knew what a beach was, he would be,” Yoongi grins. He turns around, grabbing Jungkook’s leg and shaking it up and down. “Hey, JK, it’s your first day at the beach! Yay!”

Jungkook giggles, wiggling in his carseat. 

The two of them get out of the car, Yoongi grabbing his bag along with the bag of beach toys and baby necessities Namjoon has brought for Jungkook. Namjoon unfastens Jungkook from the carseat, settles him into the baby sling across his chest, and grabs the two bag chairs and umbrella he’d purchased for this specific occasion out of the trunk.

“Between the two of us, I’d say we’re pretty prepared,” Namjoon laughs, crossing the street and breathing in the seasalt air as their feet hit sand.

Yoongi nods. “I’m determined to make beach day a success.” He looks over at Jungkook, whose eyes are wide as his nose twitches. Yoongi reaches over and brushes the hair out of Jungkook’s face. “I think he smells the ocean.”

Namjoon smiles softly, looking down at his son, then laughs involuntarily. “Cute.”

Yoongi looks from Jungkook up to Namjoon, his mouth curved to a soft smile. Suddenly, he seems to catch something out of the corner of his eye and, without warning, his eyes trail downward. Namjoon watches as Yoongi’s eyes stop – directly on his exposed thighs. Yoongi’s eyes widen a fraction, staring for a moment; he catches himself abruptly, and when he looks back up at Namjoon, it’s a rush for them both to avert their eyes.

Namjoon’s entire face is on fire.

Maybe the shorts were a bit much.

“It’s hot today,” is all Yoongi says.

“Mhm,” Namjoon agrees nervously, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.

They make their way across the beach, which is packed; it’s a gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky. The sun beats down hot and it must be close to 100 degrees. Namjoon wonders how Yoongi isn’t suffering under all the dark layers he’s wearing, because  he’s  sweltering despite being all thighs and arms.

“This spot ok?” Namjoon asks. It’s far enough away from the crowd while not being too far from the shore, and Yoongi surveys their proximity to everyone else before nodding, plopping his stuff down and pulling a blanket out from his bag. Namjoon places Jungkook on the blanket once it’s laid out then gets to work setting up the chairs and umbrella. Yoongi organizes their area and keeps Jungkook from eating sand, which he’s been eyeing since he’d been placed close enough to reach it.

Then, they sit. Yoongi picks Jungkook up and plops down into his chair, and Namjoon glances over as he starts bouncing him there on his knees.

“You going to take him into the water?” Yoongi asks.

“Absolutely,” Namjoon grins, pulling out two pairs of sunglasses from his pocket and leaning back, breathing deeply. “I got him little arm floaties and everything.” He passes one pair to Yoongi, which are infant-sized.

Yoongi smiles, sliding on his own sunglasses before putting Jungkook’s on for him, too. The glasses have a little elastic strap on the back so they’ll stay put on his face, and Yoongi adjusts it so it’s snug enough, but not too tight.

“He looks cool,” Yoongi says, looking down at Jungkook.

Namjoon laughs. “That is one cool baby.”

Yoongi grabs them each a bottle of water out of his bag and Namjoon rifles around for Jungkook’s bottle, which he proceeds to fill with cool water before handing back to Yoongi. Jungkook starts drinking right away. Namjoon chugs the rest of his bottle and lets out a refreshing sigh.

Then, placing the empty bottle on the ground, he scoots forward in his chair and pulls his t-shirt off.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and makes no move to take off his own.

“I brought sunscreen,” Namjoon says, dragging the bag out from under his chair and pulling out the bottle of the highest protection he could find at the drugstore. He squeezes a fat glob of it onto his hand, then proceeds to apply it everywhere; legs, chest, neck, face, and back (to the best of his abilities). He stands, squeezing some more out, then hands it to Yoongi. “For you.”

Yoongi takes the bottle, squeezing a little out and dabbing it on his cheeks and nose while Namjoon bends down onto his knees in front of them and starts applying lotion to Jungkook’s face. “Hey, hold still, buddy,” Namjoon says softly, rubbing it into Jungkook’s skin, massaging gently. Jungkook pinches his eyes shut.

After finishing Jungkook, Namjoon looks up at Yoongi, and he can’t help it. He laughs.

“You need to rub it in more,” Namjoon says, motioning to his cheeks.

Yoongi tries getting the spots he’s missed, then looks back up at Namjoon for confirmation the he didn’t miss anything.

Namjoon shakes his head, laughing again. “No, you– you gotta– shoot, here.” Then, without warning, he leans forward, still on his knees, and reaches out with both hands for Yoongi’s face.

Yoongi looks down into his eyes, and when he realizes what Namjoon is trying to do, he leans forward. He slides his sunglasses off and his eyes slip close.

Namjoon takes Yoongi’s face in his hands, palms soft and flat against the curves of his cheeks. His thumbs brush wide strokes across his skin, slowly tracing the line of his jaw and the slope of his nose.

“Want me to get your neck a little?” Namjoon asks. His voice comes out softer than he’d meant it to, and Yoongi doesn’t open his eyes. He just nods.

Namjoon squeezes out a little more sunscreen, lathers it in his palms, then places them gently against Yoongi’s neck. He rubs from the tight neckline of Yoongi’s rashguard up the sides of his neck, then, palm flat, slides up the center over his adam’s apple. His fingertips press into the back of Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi leans forward a little further; Namjoon is acutely aware of how close his face is, but the fact that his eyes are closed gives him a little more confidence.  At least he can’t see the way I’m looking at him right now.

Finally, he pulls back. Lets his arms fall to his sides.

Yoongi opens his eyes, sitting back in the chair.

“Thanks,” he says, lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck.

Namjoon nods, looks away.

He goes back to his chair and sits down, leaning back, closing his eyes and chewing on his lower lip.

His hands still feel sticky from the sunblock.

For lunch, Yoongi prepared jajangmyeon, kimchi, rice and cut fresh watermelon. After Namjoon has finished feeding Jungkook, Yoongi hands Namjoon his lunch and a pair of chopsticks. They sit on the blanket, Namjoon in the sun and Yoongi in the shade, and Namjoon’s stomach growls audibly.

“This looks amazing,” he says, taking in everything Yoongi had prepared for him before looking up at Yoongi, smiling. He clicks his chopsticks together excitedly and picks up some of the jajangmyeon.

Yoongi waits patiently for Namjoon to finish his first bite. He chews. He can feel Yoongi’s eyes on him, watching. Careful.

And then, his eyes light up.

“Yoongi, this is delicious,” he says, going next for a bite of kimchi. “Oh, man,” he says, holding his stomach as he leans back, eyes pinching shut tightly. “Tastes like how my mom makes it.”

Yoongi stares down at his own lunch, finally taking a bite for himself. “It’s nothing special,” he says quietly.

“I’m gonna ignore that,” Namjoon says, grinning. He keeps eating, singing praises as he does, until Yoongi starts laughing, telling him  I never knew you’d be so impressed by so little, Namjoon.  

When he’s finished, he tosses the rind of the watermelon into the lunchbox and plops down on his back in the sand beside Yoongi, arms stretched out over his head, letting out a happy sigh.

“Thank you for the lunch, Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin there. “It was nothing.”

Namjoon’s smile softens, then he glances up at Yoongi. “I could get used to this,” he says, only after the words leave his lips, he makes sure to fold his arms across his face.  Embarrassing,  he thinks, cringing at himself, wishing the sand beneath him would swallow him whole.

Yoongi is quiet a moment before he says: “I could make you lunch next week, maybe. If you want.”

Namjoon moves his arms, peering up at Yoongi through his hands. “You don’t have to do that, Yoongi. That’s a burden.”

He looks back at him, unmoving. “I don’t mind.”

Namjoon’s heart doubles over. He reaches a hand over without thinking, open palm outstretched to Yoongi. He waits, and then, Yoongi reaches back, lacing his fingers through Namjoon’s.

Namjoon smiles up at him.

Yoongi smiles back.

And then, Jungkook makes a sound. They both look over to see Jungkook, and when they see what he’s doing, Namjoon shoots up.

“No way,” he says, rushing around to Jungkook’s side. “Yoongi, Yoongi – take a picture!”

Yoongi scrambles to open his camera, unlocking it and pointing it at Namjoon and Jungkook, then takes roughly twenty-five live photos.

“He’s crawling!” Namjoon says, and his voice wobbles. “You did it Kookie, you’re crawling!”

Jungkook is on his hands and knees, making his way across the blanket, slow and unsteady, but sure. Namjoon cheers him on –  come on, Kookie, come on!  – and Jungkook pauses, looks up at him wide-eyed. Then, he crawls forward a little more. A little closer.

“You’re doing it,” Namjoon says, and his voice shrinks, full of awe. “Yoongi, he’s doing it.” He looks up, wide eyes bright as Yoongi looks back at him, grinning so wide his gums show.

“That’s my boy.” Namjoon’s voice is just above a whisper. Jungkook crawls a few inches further before he falls over onto his side, and Namjoon and Yoongi bust up into laughter. People walking by cheer on the baby, and Namjoon regards them with a wide grin.

Namjoon picks him up and cradles him, not minding that Jungkook’s tiny hands feel sticky. “Is it weird that I could actually cry right now?” he asks, disbelief in his voice.

Yoongi shakes his head, then crawls across the blanket to them, placing a hand on Jungkook’s back.

“It’s not weird at all.”

“I’m going to take Jungkook in,” Namjoon says decidedly, sitting up from the sand. “It’s getting too hot.”

Yoongi looks off, his eyes watching the waves, and he nods. Namjoon picks Jungkook up from the blanket and hoists him up against his chest.

“You coming?” he asks.

Yoongi’s quiet. He shakes his head after a moment, looking down. “I think I’ll just stay here,” he says.

Namjoon bites his lower lip. “You know, they have restrooms… you could change and come out.” He pauses. “You must be warm.”

He doesn’t know how to respond; Yoongi rubs his hands up his arms, pulling his knees up. “That’s okay,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Namjoon looks down the beach, observing those still scattered on the sand in the midday sun. He bounces Jungkook, and his eyes turn down again at Yoongi.

“Okay,” Namjoon decides finally. “Well, if you change your mind.”

Yoongi nods once, looking out at the water, and he watches as Namjoon goes; he watches his back as he approaches the shore, watches the muscles contract as he lifts Jungkook up a little higher. He thinks about what his own back would look like, how pale he’d look in comparison. How out of place he’d look beside Namjoon, whose height and muscles and melanin were all just… just perfect.

He reaches down, grabs a fistful of sand and squeezes tightly.

Namjoon was right; he  is  hot. He’s been hot all day, but in his mind, he’d rather be hot than let his skin show. He’d rather burn under a hundred layers than let anyone see him.

Especially Namjoon.

His eyes trail after Namjoon as he steps out into the water, not going too far; he dips Jungkook’s feet in the water, and even from his place in the sand, he can hear Jungkook’s shrill laughter as the cold touches his skin.

He hears Namjoon laugh.

I want to be with you,  Yoongi thinks desperately, tugging at his sleeves.  Both of you.

After ten minutes, Yoongi gets up, looks around. He starts walking toward the restrooms.

He goes in, finds an open stall and shuts the door. His back hits it as he clicks it shut. Yoongi stares at the wall.  You’re really doing this, huh? Really going to let him see you like this?

Grimacing, he pinches the bridge of his nose, then reaches upward and pulls his hat off. He takes off his clothes, peels back the leggings and the rashguard and pulls his swim shorts back on. He balls up all his extra clothes into a wad and squeezes it tight against his chest, which is hot with sweat from the layers he’s been suffocating in all day long.

He breathes in.

Exhales.

Then, he walks out of the bathroom, drops the clothes on the blanket, slaps on some sunscreen and tries not to look around to see if anyone is staring at him. He feels eyes on his back, boring holes into him – even if they aren’t there. 

This was a mistake.

He starts walking toward the water. His eyes scan the shore, and when he sees Namjoon, his back is to him. He’s holding Jungkook’s back upright, knees bent, looking down as the tide rolls in and washes over Jungkook’s legs. He yells happily. Namjoon smiles.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Hey.”

Namjoon lifts his head and turns toward the direction of the voice, and when he sees Yoongi approaching, his eyes widen.

A mistake,  Yoongi thinks immediately, and his footsteps falter.

“Ah, Yoongi,” Namjoon calls out to him, then stands, halfway turned to face him. A slow smile spreads across his face; Yoongi can see behind his sunglasses, the way his eyes travel from his face down his body. Perhaps he does it unconsciously. Yoongi wants to run, wants to hide.

When he finally gets close enough to Namjoon, he stops, shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks out at the water. Then, he looks up at Namjoon; his eyebrows pull to the middle. He can feel it – everything about him must look nervous.

“Hey,” Namjoon says to him, his voice soft. He lifts a hand, knuckles slow as they brush against Yoongi’s arm. “You look good.”

Yoongi swallows. “I look like a ghost,” he says, then laughs despite his anxiety. “A scrawny, awkward fucking beach ghost.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling at him. He looks right into Yoongi’s eyes, holds his gaze.

“You don’t.” He pauses. “You’re the best looking person on this entire beach.”

Something bad inside of Yoongi shatters. 

Something good fills its place.

Namjoon’s knuckles trail down Yoongi’s arm, stopping at his hand. He slides his hand in Namjoon’s and they stand there a moment, briefly, letting the waves wash over their feet. The wind rustles through their hair.

Yoongi wonders how he knew – why he said what he did, how he found the right words.

Namjoon’s hand tightens around his. Yoongi looks down. Smiles.

“Ahh,” he sighs, then lets go of Namjoon’s hand as he bends down beside Jungkook, who is hitting the ground with his tiny palms, spraying wet sand over his legs. Yoongi scoops a pile up and lets it drip slowly onto Jungkook’s thigh. The baby’s eyes go wide, watching as it pools on his chubby leg. Then he looks up, and Yoongi looks back, and his arms raise; he reaches his hands up at him.  Hold.

Yoongi’s chest warms. He picks Jungkook up, then looks at Namjoon, and together they make their way out into the water.

“You missed a spot,” Namjoon says later as they sit under the sun, baking under the afternoon rays. Yoongi looks up at him; Namjoon’s eyes are fixed on his shoulders, at the haphazard way he’d applied sunscreen before meeting him in the water. Without warning, Namjoon gets out the sunscreen, reaches over, and massages it into his skin.

Yoongi doesn’t shy away from him.

Namjoon’s hands press into his back, and Yoongi’s eyes slip shut. He leans back, leans into it. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

As Namjoon’s hands finish rubbing the lotion into Yoongi’s shoulders, he stops himself, fighting against the urge to press his lips to the back of Yoongi’s neck.

There are photos in Yoongi’s phone that didn’t used to be there. 

Pictures of Jungkook crawling for the very first time; pictures of Jungkook gumming a popsicle to death, eyes wide from the powerful sugary flavors he had never experienced before; pictures of Namjoon when he wasn’t paying attention, looking out at the beach with a subconscious smile on his lips; pictures of Yoongi, after he’d fallen asleep and woken up to find himself covered in sand, which had been molded over his lower half to shape a mermaid tail, and Namjoon posing at the fin flashing a peace sign proudly at the camera; pictures of Jungkook trying to feed the seagulls as Namjoon batted them away from his helpless son; a crab Namjoon caught, cupped gently in the palms of his hands; and one picture of the three of them together. 

A selfie.

Jungkook on Yoongi’s lap, one of Namjoon’s arms wrapped tightly around Yoongi’s shoulders, and Yoongi, pressed up against Namjoon’s side.

Eventually, the day comes to an end. The sun starts to set; its rays cast an amber glow over the water, the warm air blowing a little cooler now than it had before.

Yoongi pulls his t-shirt back on. Namjoon does the same.

“Guess we should pack up,” he decides, and Yoongi can hear in his voice that he really doesn’t want to.

Yoongi sighs, leaning forward. It’s one of the few days in his life that he’s ever wished wouldn’t end.

“Jungkook’s getting tired,” Yoongi says finally. “You guys should get home.”

Namjoon nods. His shoulders are slumped forward.

“Okay. Let’s head back.”

They put the chairs away, wind up the umbrella, dust the sand off the blanket and fold it back up into Yoongi’s bag. Namjoon tucks Jungkook back into the sling and, as they make their way back to the car, Jungkook dozes off against his chest.

“He fell asleep,” he says quietly to Yoongi as they start loading the car. Yoongi looks over, then looks up at Namjoon, smiling.

“He’s had a long day,” Yoongi says, his voice low and even. “Here, I’ll finish packing the car.”

Namjoon nods and busies himself, carefully removing Jungkook from his chest and placing him back in the car seat, clipping him in and smoothing his hair across his forehead. When he’s finished, Yoongi has just closed the trunk, and their eyes lock across the car.

This is the end, I guess,  Namjoon thinks, as he puts the car into drive and pulls off down the street. He glances over and sees Yoongi looking out the window. He swears he can feel it – the sadness rolling off the both of them like something palpable.

“Hey,” Namjoon finds himself saying suddenly, “wanna make one more stop before we head home?”

Yoongi smiles. “Okay.”

“It’s a little out of the way.”

“I don’t mind.”

So they drive. Yoongi plays dj, picking songs on the radio, keeping the volume low enough not to wake Jungkook but loud enough for them to still enjoy it. Namjoon hums, then jokes that he’s an awful singer, which Yoongi disagrees with.

“I like your singing,” he tells him. 

Namjoon’s cheeks warm.

They drive for forty minutes, past the edge of the city, where the hills start to roll and there’s far less light pollution. Namjoon drives and drives until they’re crossing over Haengju Bridge.

“You’re taking me  where  now?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon laughs.

“Obviously somewhere to kill you,” he says.

“Ah, great. The perfect end to a perfect day.”

Namjoon laughs again. “Nah. It’s actually a place I used to go as a kid. It’s kind of hard to get here unless you have a car, so I don’t come very often.” He pauses. “You’ll see why.”

Namjoon cuts down several side streets, drives up a steep hill, and then somewhere at the top parks the car. He cuts the engine, then turns back around in his seat to make sure Jungkook is still asleep; he’s still out like a light, the binkie in his mouth wiggling as dreams.

“Okay,” Namjoon says, looking back at Yoongi. “Ready?”

Yoongi nods.

They unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car, closing the doors quietly. Namjoon motions for Yoongi to lead the way, and as they approach the axiom of the hill, Namjoon focuses his eyes on Yoongi. He’s seen this place before – but there’s nothing like seeing someone experience something you love for the very first time.

It’s the perfect view of Seoul. Across the water, lights reflect from the buildings still operating at such an hour. The sun has almost gone down completely, but some refraction still keeps a muted gray glow in the air.

Stars collect in Yoongi’s eyes.

Namjoon watches as Yoongi looks out at the scenery. “This is the kind of place they don’t tell people about,” Yoongi says.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin it for the people who know it exists,” Namjoon agrees. “It’s no North Seoul Tower. But it’s definitely got its charms.”

“This is better,” Yoongi decides. “You used to come here as a kid?”

He nods. “Could walk here from my house, before the car was needed.” He laughs lightly through his nose. “Some of the most beautiful memories I have are from this place. Nobody else, just me. Sometimes I’d bring the dog. But just watching the city like this as a kid made me think… I don’t know. Like maybe someday I’d be there instead.”

“Ah,” Yoongi says. “You used to dream about it?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, stepping forward to lean against the small fence curved around the edge of the hill before the dropoff. “Used to dream a lot. I don’t remember what any of those dreams are anymore though.” He pauses. “I think what I’ve got is better than anything I could have come up with then, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, leaning beside Namjoon. His hands fold together in front of him. “I’m happy for you. You found your own path.”

“You’re still on yours,” Namjoon says. He can sense in Yoongi’s tone that he doesn’t think he’s found his way yet. “You just don’t realize it yet. Good things will come for you. I promise.”

Yoongi smiles, looking down. “I’m… I’m starting to see it now. The good things.”

Namjoon looks over at him. His stomach knots.

Yoongi goes on. “What- What I mean is. Ah. I feel like there are good things happening to me right now.” He glances over at Namjoon, then back again. “Lately it’s been something I’ve been thinking about. How it seems like everything is going right, and it’s… I don’t want to jinx it. I don’t want to go back to the way it was before.”

The wind blows, rustling the leaves on the trees. Everything is quiet. Namjoon can hear his own heart beating in his ears.

“Namjoon–” Yoongi starts again, and all at once he stops himself, thinking. “No, nevermind.”

“Hey,” Namjoon says. His voice is quiet. “Tell me.”

“No,” Yoongi says with full certainty.

Namjoon takes a step closer to him, resting his arm against Yoongi’s.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “Now I gotta know.”

Yoongi won’t look at him. “It’s not important.”

“How can you say that,” Namjoon asks, but it isn’t a question. “You… everything you say is important.”

“This isn’t.”

“That’s a lie.”

Yoongi’s close to breaking, and Namjoon can tell. He sees Yoongi take a deep breath, watching the way he holds it in his throat, waiting to see what he’ll do with it.

“Namjoon,” he starts again, and suddenly, he looks up at him. “Ever since I met you, I feel like there’s something driving me. Like there’s a purpose in… in every little thing. Anything I do, all day – getting up in the morning, working, writing music at night ‘til I fall asleep at my desk – there’s something inspiring me to do it all.” He looks down, tugging at his wrist. “And I… I think the thing that’s keeping me doing it all. I think it’s you.”

Namjoon’s mind goes blank. His mouth dries. There’s something electric that starts buzzing inside him, something big, and he can’t tell what it is because before he knows it, it’s racing through him like a train. It’s something he doesn’t know how to stop.

It happens in one fell swoop.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi.”

There’s a long moment of silence that follows. Yoongi stares up at him. After a moment, Namjoon sees the realization in his eyes; his lips part. Namjoon eyes widen; in this silence, it hits him what he’s just done. What he’s said.

And he can’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his words all hurried and jumbled and uncalculated. “I’m sorry if it’s not what you want. I’m sorry if it’s a lot. It’s too much. I don’t know how else to say it. Yoongi, I– when I wake up, you’re the first thing on my mind. When I go to bed, you’re the last thing I think about. I want you. I want to be with you, kiss you, read books in bed with you. I want to listen to your music and ask you about your day when you get home from work, and eat your amazing cooking and – god – and I don’t want to feel guilty about it. But that’s what this is, this whole thing. I’ve felt so guilty about it and I don’t know why. I don’t feel like I’m allowed you. I don’t even feel like I’m allowed to entertain the thought of being with you. And that’s the problem, when you want something so bad. It’s like, after a while, you just don’t know how to stop, and I–”

With one hand, Yoongi grabs Namjoon’s arm. With the other, he pulls Namjoon by the neck – down, down, down, until all at once, Namjoon feels the collision.

Yoongi’s lips come crashing into his, eyes slipping shut, world bursting like a star. 

Namjoon’s head tilts to mirror his. His hands move on their own accord; one on Yoongi’s jaw, one on his waist, his hand fisting in the fabric of Yoongi’s t-shirt. He feels an ache inside him. He feels that ache start to burn.

“I,” Yoongi starts, pulling away. His hands are shaking, his brow furrowed. His expression looks pained. “Namjoon, I’ve. I’ve loved you since I met you.”

Namjoon’s face crumples. It takes three whole seconds before his mouth is back on Yoongi’s again. The burning inside him grows hotter and brighter, forcing its way closer and closer to the surface. He realizes, in this moment with Yoongi beneath his hands, that he’s been chasing the same heat for weeks.

When their lips part, Yoongi breathes, pressing his forehead to the crook of Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon’s arms encircle him, and he wraps his around Namjoon’s waist. They mold to fit each other, the curves of their bodies snapping together like something magnetic.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Yoongi murmurs.

Namjoon laughs softly. “Me neither.”

Yoongi looks up at him. “You’re supposed to be the one that has their shit together,” he states dryly.

“Yeah, well. I am only 26. Give me a break.” Namjoon grins so stupidly big that Yoongi can’t help grinning too. Then, suddenly, he laughs. “Hey, want to know something funny?”

Yoongi looks back at him expectantly.

“You know the barbeque?”

He nods.

“Yeah, well. I made that up on the spot. I made Jin throw the whole thing together because I needed an excuse to see you.”

Yoongi throws his head back and laughs. Hard. “What the fuck!” he says through laughter.

“Listen!” Namjoon shouts back, taking his hand and running it through Yoongi’s hair. “I… I panicked and I had to think of something for us to do! It all ended up working out, though. I think.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re a really good bullshitter.”

Namjoon smiles back at him, and without thinking twice about it, he leans down and kisses Yoongi at the corner of his mouth.

“Nah, I’m not a good bullshitter,” he says quietly. “Just really good at tricking you into falling madly in love with me. It was my plan all along, you know.”

“Wow,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, twining their hands together. “Kim Namjoon... you sure are something else.”

When Namjoon pulls up in front of Yoongi’s apartment, he feels Yoongi’s hand tighten its hold on his.

In the back seat, Jungkook’s still sitting there, asleep, the soft sound of him snoring heard just above the low groan of the engine.

Namjoon puts the car into park and, sighing, he leans back in the driver’s seat. Yoongi takes Namjoon’s hand and brings it upward, pressing his lips to the back and holding it there. His breath shakes. There’s a moment that passes when Namjoon looks over and sees the way Yoongi’s eyes slip shut, lips against his skin — and Namjoon’s heart rises in his throat. It’s a beating that feels uncontrollable. Insatiable.

Yoongi draws his lips away and looks out the window, then looks back down at their hands clasped together in his lap.

“I guess that’s it then,” he says.

“It’s not.” Namjoon’s voice comes out hard. “For tonight. But not… not forever.” He looks over at Yoongi and their eyes lock. “Unless you want it to be.”

“No.” It comes immediately from someplace deep, someplace endless inside Yoongi that Namjoon hears as untouched. “I want… I want you.” He pauses and inhales sharply, looking down. “I meant it. That I— I love—“

Before Yoongi can finish, Namjoon’s hand is at the back of his neck and he’s pulling, grabbing, taking Yoongi in his arms and drawing their lips together. He holds him there, mouths pressed, and he feels Yoongi’s small mouth open and close against his own.

I want to see it,  Namjoon thinks.  I want to see his lips after I’ve kissed them. I want to see them swollen and pink and touched.  He wants Yoongi’s mouth to always look as though he’s just kissed it. He wants Yoongi’s lips to always look as though they’ve just pulled away from his. He wants them wet and red and open — and longing.

“I love you,” Namjoon breathes, his voice just above a whisper.

Yoongi nods, and his forehead finds its place against Namjoon’s neck.

“I just want you to feel the same way tomorrow,” Yoongi says quietly. He says it like he can’t believe it, like it won’t be true the way it is now when Namjoon wakes in the morning.

It will always be you,  he wants to say.

“Tomorrow doesn’t change anything,” Namjoon finds himself saying instead. His hand grabs the hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck. “I’ll wake up and… and I’ll still be wishing you were there next to me.”

“Maybe I could be.” Yoongi’s lips form the words slow against Namjoon’s skin. “Maybe there will be a day when I get to wake up and you’re there. When I wake up and you’re holding me. And I get to hold you back.”

Namjoon presses his lips to Yoongi’s temple, drawing in a breath.

Yoongi’s neck tilts upward and he searches for Namjoon. Without another thought, Namjoon catches him, kissing Yoongi with everything he has. He feels like a bursting of light, like a burning ember. Everything in him warms. Breaks.

“Please,” Yoongi murmurs. Namjoon can feel him form the words against his lips.

Namjoon nods, drawing a final kiss from Yoongi’s open mouth. “I promise.”

The next morning, a few minutes after Yoongi opens his eyes and stretches, it hits him what transpired the night before. He freezes, staring up at his ceiling completely still, and his stomach twists harshly. 

Yoongi grabs his phone off the bedside table and unlocks it.

There’s a text from Namjoon.

He immediately jerks upright, taking a breath before he opens anything. Deep. Hopeful.

And then he clicks it.

His chest aches.

I meant it,  the text reads.  Last night — and always.

When Namjoon walks in the door to the daycare on Monday morning, Yoongi is waiting at the front desk talking to Hoseok. He’s been stalling there for the past five minutes – Namjoon usually arrives punctually at 7:35, and. Well. 

He wants to see him.

Hoseok’s talking to him about the potential of being semi-permanently placed in the infant care unit when suddenly he stops, cutting himself off. His eyes flash upward, past Yoongi, and when he looks back down, a soft smile appears on his lips. Hoseok nudges him.

“Hey. Joon’s here.”

Without hesitation, Yoongi’s head turns. It’s been raining all morning, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees Namjoon walking in through the door shaking an umbrella. Jungkook’s fiddling with the rain-wet cloth of the baby sling. He’s dressed today in a yellow jacket and little red rain boots.

Yoongi crosses the floor.

When Namjoon looks up, it’s instant – the way he visibly brightens. Yoongi can feel it. He wonders if everyone else can, too.

“Hey,” Yoongi greets.

“Hey,” Namjoon echoes, handing over the bag full of Jungkook’s things, sliding it carefully onto Yoongi’s shoulder. “Sleep well?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I was up again.”

“Writing?”

“A bit. Almost finished with another song.” Yoongi yawns, and Namjoon laughs. Good timing. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Jungkook was up crying again last night,” Namjoon sighs. “From what I’ve read, it might be because his teeth are about to come in.” He places his hands underneath Jungkook’s armpits and lifts him up out of the sling, holding him out to Yoongi whose hands are already there, ready to take him. 

Jungkook looks up at Yoongi with wide eyes, then starts grabbing at the fastening of his overalls.

“Well, I gotta go,” Namjoon sighs, looking down at them. “Duty calls.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, but he can feel the soft sting of disappointment. He knows Namjoon has to get to work – he just wishes they had more time.

Namjoon looks down at him. A moment passes when Yoongi thinks he might say something; he sees his lips part, and his eyes dart to the side as if in thought.

Then, Namjoon looks back at him and in one quick movement he bends down, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek.

Yoongi freezes.

“I’ll see you later,” Namjoon says, breathless, grinning so wide that Yoongi can’t help it when he feels himself smiling back. “After work and, uh, on the baby cams.”

“Creep,” Yoongi calls as Namjoon turns to leave, and Namjoon shoots a goofy smile back at him before raising his hand to wave and ducking back out into the rain.

Just as soon as he’s gone, Yoongi deflates.

“Woah,” the receptionist says, just loud enough that Yoongi can hear her.

Hoseok laughs loudly at her desk, grabs his clipboard, and says just before leaving: “Guess somebody finally got their shit together.”

KIM NAMJOON.

Namjoon looks down at his phone at 8:57, which lights up with a single message from Park Jimin.

Then another. And another.

Then from Jin.

And Taehyung.

WHEN WERE YOU PLANNING ON TELLING US, YOUR FRIENDS, THAT YOU ARE OFFICIALLY OFF THE MARKET?

WHAT ARE WE TO YOU?

CHOPPED LIVER????

What the fuck, Namjoon. I thought we were bros. I thought you could tell hyung anything. And you managed to leave out the fact that you and Yoongi finally got together? I’m hurt. No, I’m more than hurt. I’m betrayed.

Namjoon-hyung!!! When I say I’m hurt but not surprised it’s only because you are sneaky when it comes to your love life. You could have at least given us a courtesy call or something.

The group chat has been compromised.

Namjoon types back:  This is why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you guys to make a big deal about it! It’s not a big deal. Really.

Narrator Voice:  Jin types back,  That was a lie.

Who told you?  Namjoon writes, adding a few crying-laughing emojis for good measure. In reality, he’s currently the red-face-sweating emoji. He knows should have said something, he just didn’t have any time to process it. Having a baby  and  pursuing the guy you maybe-want-to-help-raise-your-kid-but-can’t-admit-that-out-loud is unbelievably time consuming.

Hobi-hyung told us,  Tae replies.  Our trusted ally.

You better meet us for dinner tonight so we can get the scoop,  Jimin says.  And I’ve got news to tell you, too. 

Wtf?  Jin types back.  So y’all are keeping secrets now, huh? The disrespect.

I don’t know what’s going on either,  Tae offers.

Sometimes,  Jin writes,  I think Tae is the only one of you fuckers I can trust.

See you at 7,  Namjoon taps out, then hits send and flips his phone over. He sighs deeply, leaning over his keyboard as his hands run through the front of his hair and grab hold. He really hopes they aren’t expecting a play-by-play. He doesn’t think he could make it through one without his entire face catching on fire.

He does wonder, though, what news Jimin has been withholding.

--

Namjoon walks into their favorite local spot and sees Jin, Taehyung and Jimin already sitting in their booth. They’ve got a highchair waiting at the end of the table.

Taehyung looks up from across the booth and sees Namjoon enter, his eyes lighting up as he raises a hand and waves him over. Jimin looks up, grinning, and Namjoon sees Jin turn around in the booth to get a look at him.

“Hey,” Jin calls. “Mr. No Longer Single. There’s a beer here with your name on it.”

Namjoon can’t help it; he flushes, looking down with a big cheese spread out across lips, and Jimin  aww ’s at his reaction. When Namjoon gets to the table, Taehyung stands and wraps him in a big hug, pinning Jungkook between their chests as he squeezes tightly.

“I’m so proud of you, hyung,” Taehyung says, grabbing Namjoon by the back of the head and rustling his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” he says. He feels profoundly bashful, smoothing his hair back out as Tae takes Jungkook and sits him down in the high chair, clipping him into his seat and flicking him beneath his chin.

Namjoon sits down and grabs a menu. Before they can get into anything, the waitress comes over and takes their orders, and Namjoon scrambles to figure out what to eat. When she leaves, the four of them take a drink in sync before taking turns looking at each other, waiting for who will be the first to break the ice.

“If you want me to tell you my news, I want details,” Jimin says after a moment, sitting back with a smile.

“Must be pretty good news,” Namjoon laughs.

Jimin grins slyly. “You could say that.”

“Okay,” he breathes, folding his hands. “What do you want to know?”

“Start with the roses,” Taehyung interjects, and Namjoon’s eyes widen. He can feel his neck starting to go warm already. This is going to be bad.

“Just so you’re aware, we know about everything,” Jin grins, leveling with Namjoon. He claps him on the back, rubbing his shoulders through his shirt. “Well, everything that’s been happening when you drop this one off in the morning.” He jerks a thumb at Jungkook, who slaps his hands on the table several times before quieting.

“I want to hear how it happened,” Jimin says, sighing dreamily, leaning against the table with his hands under his chin.

“Well, it all started when I walked into a flower shop,” Namjoon deadpans, and Tae cracks up while Jimin rolls his eyes.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know. It’s really not as crazy as you think.” He swallows, then realizes his mouth has gone dry and takes a sip of his beer. “You know most of it already, but, um. We. We went to the beach on Saturday and I guess that’s kind of when we figured it out.” He pauses. “We haven’t discussed what…  this  is exactly. I don’t know. Last time I was in a relationship, with Kijung–” 

He takes a breath. He hasn’t said his name out loud in a long time. It sounds foreign to him now, like the name doesn’t belong on his lips. 

“Before we were together, we had a whole conversation about being in a relationship. And all that. I don’t know, this is stupid. It’s only been a few days.” He leans back and rubs his hands over his face, through his hair. A long groan rolls from somewhere deep inside him.

“It’s not stupid!” Jimin starts. “I… I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Namjoon. I just wanted to hear about it. We all just wanted to know what was going on, right?”

Jin nudges Namjoon with his elbow. “This was just an excuse to get together, Joon,” he says, his voice a little quieter than Namjoon had expected. “It’s almost been two weeks since we last saw you but... it feels like a lot has happened.”

“It was  really  just an excuse to see Goo,” Tae grins, sticking his tongue out at the baby who looks up at him confusedly.

“And,” Jimin says, breathing deeply, “it was an excuse to talk to you about something.”

Namjoon looks across the table at Jimin. He doesn’t know why, but he feels slightly anxious.

“What happened?” he asks.

Jimin bites his lip. “It’s not anything bad,” he starts. “Actually, you… you’ll be really happy.”

Namjoon laughs. “Well, come on then. Tell me. You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s… about the song,” Jimin says.

Namjoon’s ears ring. “Yoongi’s?”

He nods, takes a drink. “Yeah, well. You know how I sent it to the director for consideration a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Did… did you hear from him?”

Jimin licks his lips. “Most of the time, when the studio is deciding on music, it takes a long time to come to a decision on it. Sometimes months. One time, I heard it took a whole year for them to come to a conclusion on what the selections were going to be – and even then, it’s something that they will have in the works for years. They line up the music so that there’s enough time to decide on it, come up with choreography, and do it orderly so they can make a really cohesive show.”

The way Jimin ends his sentence, Namjoon feels like something is coming.

“But?”

“But,” Jimin goes on, breathing, and all at once, a smile envelopes his lips. “But the director sent out an email last night with the song attached, to myself and to the heads of each dance department. He said… hold on, let me get the email.” Jimin whips his phone out and scrolls through his mail list, searching, tapping – then he passes it across the table to Namjoon.

“Just read it,” Jimin instructs, and Namjoon nods, looking down.

Silently, he reads:

Staff–

A meeting will be held on Friday, August 11, wherein we will discuss new changes to the winter showcase theme and music selection. Attached is an arrangement for you to listen to and generate concepts surrounding. When I received the piece earlier this week, I listened to it once, then twice, and after perhaps the thirtieth listen, I realized that in recent years our song selection has become too rehearsed and prolonged. When you listen to this arrangement, pay attention to the tone and mood. There is something about it that sounds relevant to this season, and to ignore this would be a failure on my part as director; perhaps it’s because, to my knowledge, this song was arranged sometime within the past month by an anonymous composer.

We are currently working to track down the artist and will likely contract to arrange an entire set of new concepts for the upcoming performance series.

Despite much preparatory work having already gone into the creation of the upcoming season, there are some moments in life that you realize that you must push past what you have already done to unlock the potential of what can be possible. Creation is something fluid.

Again, please take a listen to the attached composition, and I look forward to speaking with you all next Friday.

Best regards,

Lee Cheolmin, Director of Music

Yasaenghwa Dance Company

Namjoon holds the phone in his hands, rereading the words:  Anonymous composer. Contract. New concepts for the upcoming performance series.

He looks up at Jimin, mouth agape, and Jimin smiles knowingly back at him.

“They like his music,” is all Namjoon can think to say.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, grinning in a way that is both relieved and proud at the same time. “And they want more than just one song. They want a whole show.”

Namjoon slowly hands the phone back to Jimin, and he tunes out the rest. Taehyung is whooping, Jin is asking questions about Yoongi and why no one bothered to tell him he was a composer – meanwhile, Namjoon looks over at Jungkook with wide eyes.

His heart fills.

“I have to tell him,” Namjoon says quietly.

“Yeah, call him!” Jimin says, raising his glass to cheers.

Namjoon looks back at him and shakes his head. “I can’t… I haven’t even… I didn’t even tell him I sent you his music, Jimin. And now he’s up for a contract, I… I have to go tell him.”

Jimin nods affirmatively. “Okay.”

“ Go ?” Jin repeats incredulously, although there is something in his tone that reads humorous. “You just got here and you’re leaving?! What kind of crap is this, Namjoon?!”

Namjoon is standing before he realizes what he’s doing. “He… he deserves to get the news in person.”

Tae reaches across the table, nudging Namjoon in the shoulder. Namjoon looks up at him wildly, and Tae holds his gaze evenly. Understanding. “If it’s important, you gotta go tell him. We can watch Jungkook.”

His mind is going a mile a minute and he feels flustered, like he isn’t sure what to do. “I can take him,” he tries, but Jimin laughs and reaches a hand over to Namjoon’s, touching him softly.

“We got this,” Jimin says, smiling, urging him on. “Go.”

Namjoon hands Jimin the bag of Jungkook’s stuff, presses a firm kiss to the top of his son’s head, then takes off sprinting out of the restaurant.

Tell me you’re home,  Namjoon texts Yoongi frantically, hopping on the subway headed uptown.

I’m home,  Yoongi texts back.  Is everything okay?

Yeah, everything’s okay.  Namjoon takes a breath, then adds quickly:  I’m coming over.

Namjoon stands at the foot of the stairs leading to the front door of Yoongi’s apartment building. He rings the buzzer twice, and – oddly enough – he isn’t met at the door. This time, the door knob lets out a beeping noise, signaling that it’s unlocked, and Namjoon hurriedly grabs onto it, twisting it and pulling it open before it has time to lock again.

He looks up the staircase.

“Namjoon?” he hears from somewhere at the top.

“Yeah,” Namjoon calls, starting up, his hand trailing on the bannister.

“Third floor,” he hears, and Namjoon starts taking the stairs two at a time. When he gets to the third floor, he looks up to see Yoongi, down the hall, standing out in front of his door. He’s no longer dressed in his work uniform, but rather in sweatpants and a loose fitting t-shirt that hangs from his neck, collarbone exposed.

Namjoon smiles. Something in him that was nervous before has disappeared. Something warm grows in its place.

“Hey,” Yoongi greets, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks toward him, taking Yoongi by the waist, hands digging into the flesh on his hips. His lips catch Yoongi’s, pressing hard, and just as Yoongi’s hands come up to touch his chest, he pulls away.

Yoongi looks up at him, confusion riddled in his expression. “What’s going on?”

“I did something,” Namjoon starts, and Yoongi pulls back. “No, it’s not bad. I don’t think. If it is, I didn’t mean it to be. I just– I just think, uh. Maybe you should sit down.”

Yoongi swallows. “Um, my place is… it’s kind of a mess. I don’t know if you need to see all that.”

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon says.

He shakes his head. “No, really. And it’s… uh. Not anything like yours, I’m sure.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon says. “Yoongi, I don’t care what your apartment looks like.”

Yoongi stills, looking up at Namjoon with an expression that makes Namjoon think he’s fighting some internal battle. “Fine,” he says finally, turning and opening the door to his apartment. He cracks it open a little at first, then opens it up the whole way.

He was right,  Namjoon thinks.  It is a little messy. But not in a bad way – it looks lived-in. It looks like a home.

“Roses are still alive,” he remarks, glancing into Yoongi’s kitchen and smiling a little when he sees them in the mason jar, still kicking.

“They’re hanging on for dear life,” Yoongi sighs. “They’ve been losing petals…”

“I’ll get you more.”

“Namjoon, please,” Yoongi starts, brow furrowing. “Just… go take a seat. Want some water or anything?”

“No,” Namjoon says. His hands feel shaky; he clasps them in front of him, following behind Yoongi as he heads for the couch and takes a seat. Namjoon sits beside him, leaning forward.

Yoongi reaches over to take his hand. For a moment they’re both quiet, and Namjoon finds himself holding onto Yoongi’s hand with both of his. 

Then, he speaks.

Yoongi’s heart is in his stomach.

“Remember the song you sent me?” Namjoon asks. Yoongi nods. “Well, you know how I told you it was amazing–”

“You said it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard,” Yoongi corrects him. “Which I think is a complete overexaggeration.”

“It wasn’t,” Namjoon says, shaking his head, and Yoongi’s chest swarms. “I meant what I said. You’re honestly one of the most talented people I’ve ever met and, when I listened to it, one of my first thoughts was that I couldn’t believe no one ever… really appreciated it.”

Yoongi flushes, then shrinks back. It feels strange to be praised for something that has become something of a sore spot; the invalidation of his passion, for so long, has created a hardness in his heart. 

They’re both quiet a moment.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi starts, eyes staring down at their hands. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I told you that I did something,” Namjoon says. “I don’t want you to get mad because–”

“I won’t be mad.”

Namjoon takes a breath. “I shared your song with Jimin.”

Yoongi stills.

“Okay,” he says slowly, justifying it to not only Namjoon but also to himself. “I… I wrote it for you, so if you wanted to share it with someone, that’s okay.”

“I didn’t know that,” Namjoon says, ducking his head.

He nods, nervous as he finds himself admitting it aloud. “I’ve written a lot of songs about you.”

Namjoon pauses his story. He looks down at their hands, the way Yoongi’s twine with his right hand as his lower one cups the smooth skin on the back. He brushes his thumb over his fingers. For no reason at all, Yoongi is suddenly embarrassed. He has knuckle hair. He’s always thought it was weird – something to feel self-conscious about – but he watches Namjoon turn his hand over, bringing it upward, pressing his lips to his knuckles gently and holding it there for a moment.

His chest feels so inexplicably full. Like a balloon that could pop at any second.

“I did it for a reason though,” Namjoon goes on, his voice soft and low. His words come slowly. “I did it because… because it was late, and I’d been listening to it for hours, and I knew that if I shared it with Jimin, that there would be something that resonated with him, too.” He pauses. “I just didn’t know exactly what would come of it.”

Yoongi nods, waits. Patient.

“Jimin sent it to someone else,” he says. “The director of music at the dance company he works for.”

There’s something that feels like it’s lodged in Yoongi’s throat. He breathes, but it feels forced. Something inside him is building.

“The director heard it and sent it to the entire staff,” Namjoon says, and finally, he looks over at Yoongi. Their eyes lock and Namjoon’s grip on his hand tightens. “Jimin showed me the email, and he… He said they’re looking for you. They want to hire you to write music for their entire winter performance series.”

Yoongi’s mind goes blank. He feels his lips part, cracked and dry and stuck frozen. He stares back at Namjoon in complete silence.

For the first time in a long time, he can’t think of anything to say.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says softly, head tilted down as a smile spreads across his lips. “They love your music.”

“I,” he starts, looking away, eyes scanning his living room without seeing anything. He swallows. “I,” he tries again, and when he looks back up at Namjoon, his eyes sting. Wet.

Namjoon’s smile remains, but his eyebrows pull together, creasing at the middle as his chin juts out. He feels it, too – the ache in Yoongi’s chest. It’s an ache that exists because, for the first time in his life, his dream feels physical. Realized. Not just within his reach – but, rather, in the palm of his hand.

“You didn’t have to,” Yoongi says, and when Namjoon’s hands find themselves at his cheeks, he realizes all at once that he’s crying. “Namjoon, do you know… Do you know what this means to me?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, nodding, and Yoongi sees there’s tears in his eyes, too.

“Namjoon,” he breathes, and then his eyes pinch shut, eyebrows pulling together. His expression crumples and all at once, a wracked sob escapes his lips; he buries his face in the crook of Namjoon’s neck, something inside him breaking and healing, both at once. He sobs hard against Namjoon’s skin, and he feels arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. Namjoon tucks his head beside Yoongi’s, thumbs brushing over his shoulder blades, soothing.

“You–” he tries saying, but a hiccup cuts him off and Namjoon sighs, one hand rising to cup the back of his neck.

“It’s okay,” he says softly.

Yoongi takes a shuddering breath, and with tears still staining his cheeks, he lifts his head, looks at Namjoon, and says: “You changed my life.”

Tangled in each other’s arms, their eyes meet. Yoongi’s lips crack into a smile; Namjoon lifts a hand to wipe the tears stuck at the edges of his eyes. 

Yoongi’s shaking hands find the sides of Namjoon’s face and he pulls him, urging him closer, until their lips press together, holding, then parting. Yoongi tilts his head, Namjoon’s grip on his shoulders tightening – and when they part, Yoongi’s breath quivers.

“You deserve it, Yoongi,” Namjoon breathes. “You deserve everything.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Yoongi replies.

Namjoon shakes his head, laughing. “I’m the one… I’m the one that doesn’t–”

Yoongi cuts him off, kissing him again, this time smiling, and he can feel the wetness of tears on Namjoon’s skin that have transferred from his own. He kisses him like he wants to tell him how thankful he is, that ever since he’s come into his life, everything has changed. 

He feels love – everywhere.

“Kiss me,” Yoongi says.

“I am,” Namjoon grins against his lips, but Yoongi shakes his head, pressing harder, and Namjoon responds with the same pressure; his hands, splayed across Yoongi’s back, turn to fists which wrap tightly in the fabric of his oversized t-shirt. Yoongi feels his own chest heaving. Nervous. Hungry. His shoulders rise, hands running up Namjoon’s neck as his fingers press along the sharp curve of his jawline.

Namjoon’s breath is hot on his mouth. Yoongi is suddenly acutely aware of the position they’re in, the way his body has somehow pulled itself on top of Namjoon, whose head rests against the arm of his couch; Yoongi’s lips pull away from Namjoon’s, heavy-lidded eyes staring down at him.

I love you,  Yoongi thinks, tears drying.  I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Do you, um,” Namjoon starts, but his cheeks are warm and Yoongi can feel the nervousness flowing through him, the same nervousness that weighs heavy in his heart. He tenses, freezes.

Then, he nods, eyes slipping shut again, bending down to catch Namjoon’s lips softly with his own.

“Bed?” Yoongi asks quietly.

Namjoon nods; and before Yoongi can get up, Namjoon is lifting him. He lets out a small surprised sound, legs scrambling to wrap themselves around Namjoon’s torso.

“Put me down,” he urges, “you’ll drop me!”

Namjoon shakes his head, laughing lightly. “I won’t.” He kisses the corner of Yoongi’s mouth and Yoongi wraps his arms around his neck. 

“It’s the door on the left,” Yoongi says, eyes darting down the hall.

Namjoon, true to his word, does not drop Yoongi. Not until he’s kicked the door open and brought him to the bed – fresh and unmade – does he set him down on the mattress. He kneels forward, arms pressed on either side of Yoongi’s head, knees at the sides of his waist. Yoongi’s arms rest above his head and he looks up at Namjoon, waiting.

He smiles down at Yoongi, stopping for a moment. Just looking. Seeing. Feeling.

Then he bends his neck down and presses their lips together again. Yoongi sighs. Being kissed by Namjoon is like floating down a river, like waking up on a Sunday morning.

And yet – it’s electric. Like every nerve in his body being shocked at once.

Namjoon runs his hands through Yoongi’s hair, pushing it out of his face. His hands slide downward, slipping beneath the hem of Yoongi’s shirt, pushing it upward and tugging it off. He tosses it to the floor.

Yoongi feels exposed. Something about now, about how they’re completely alone and he isn’t surrounded by a beach full of other people, feels even more nervewracking.

Namjoon’s hands touch his shoulders, mouth pressed to his chest. Yoongi takes a shaky breath, his own hands tugging at Namjoon’s shirt. After a moment, Namjoon leans upward, pulling his shirt off. Yoongi holds his forearms, staring up at him, taking all of him in.

“You’re not real,” he blurts.

Namjoon laughs hard.  His arms fold over his chest, hands grabbing his shoulders. He looks shy, Yoongi thinks, and it’s as though the thought had never crossed his mind that maybe Namjoon was embarrassed of himself, too.

“Stop,” Yoongi says. He’s smiling. Warm. He reaches for Namjoon’s hands and tugs them away, pulling him down. Namjoon’s chest presses up against his own and it’s here that Yoongi feels warmth. Heat. Patience. Urgency.

Namjoon has latched onto a part deep inside Yoongi and pulled. Tearing. In the moment where skin meets skin, Yoongi breaks open. He feels everything.

The way they kiss now is different. It’s sudden, sharp. Yoongi tastes Namjoon’s mouth and he thinks:  I want you.  Namjoon’s hands grip the soft skin at his waist and he presses himself down.

“Namjoon,” he breathes, and Namjoon nods.

“I want to,” Namjoon sighs into his mouth.

Yoongi’s whole chest aches. “Me too.” His back arches, body curving upward to meet Namjoon, mouth stuck halfway open as Namjoon’s palm flattens at the small of his back, holding him there.

Lips find Yoongi’s neck. Namjoon sucks hard, and – breathless – Yoongi wonders if it will leave a mark. If he’ll wake tomorrow to find traces of Namjoon on his skin, and if he does, how long they’ll last.

He wants Namjoon’s lips on him forever.

“Need,” he chokes out. “Need you.”

Namjoon nods. Kisses him again.

When he leans back, he looks down at Yoongi, takes his hands and holding them for a moment. He takes in the sight of him, and Yoongi’s eyebrows pull together, nervous.

“Tell me if– if you want to stop,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi nods. Namjoon lets go of his hands and hooks his fingers around the top of Yoongi’s sweatpants, watching his eyes and he pulls down. A shudder runs through Yoongi as cool air hits bare skin. Namjoon drags them down his legs, thumbs pressing into his skin as he does, then he moves back, situating himself between Yoongi’s legs.

Slowly, he moves one hand up his thigh, then brushes his thumb over the bulge in Yoongi’s boxers. Subconsciously, Yoongi rocks his hips upward, breath leaving his lips with a shaky sigh.

Namjoon bends down, hands taking him by the waist, and his lips drag up his length over the fabric. Yoongi moans deeply, eyes slipping shut. His hands cover Namjoon’s, and when he feels Namjoon’s tongue dart from his mouth, cloth wetting, he lets out a choked sob. His fingers curl tightly around Namjoon’s.

“Good,” Yoongi says shakily. “F-feels good.”

Namjoon’s tongue smooths over the head of Yoongi’s cock, applying pressure as his fingetips curl into Yoongi’s hips, sharp. His hands move, and as he pulls them back, Yoongi feels his whole body catch fire. He feels burning, everywhere.

He lifts his hips, and Namjoon pulls. His knees bend and he opens, staring up at Namjoon. He breathes.

Namjoon looks down at him for a moment before he pulls himself overtop of Yoongi and bends down, taking Yoongi’s lips with his.

“Beautiful,” Namjoon breathes, and Yoongi hears the way his voice shakes. 

Yoongi smiles. The word seems to echo all around him.

A moment later, Yoongi’s fingers hook on Namjoon’s pants and he tugs, willing them to come off. Namjoon smiles, kneeling back, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off, then his briefs. Yoongi’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of him. His mind is hazy. He’s nervous – he hasn’t been intimate with another person before. Not like this, anyway. Not with feelings. 

It’s different,  he thinks as Namjoon slides against him, mouth pressed once again to Yoongi’s neck. Their hands are everywhere. His mouth is dry.  It’s different when you love someone.

“Have you done this before?” Namjoon whispers, and Yoongi can suddenly feel how quiet the room is.

He nods. “A few times. It’s been a while.”

Namjoon nods, and once again he says, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Wordlessly, Yoongi’s hips rut upward and he brushes against Namjoon again, moaning against Namjoon’s lips as he catches them in a kiss; it’s hot and open-mouthed, and Namjoon’s tongue finds Yoongi’s, smooth and wet as his grinds downward, hips curving as they move together.

Namjoon’s hands slide down, grabbing Yoongi and pulling his body closer to the edge of the bed.

“The drawer,” Yoongi says quietly, pointing to his bedside table, and Namjoon nods, crossing the floor. He hears the drawer open, the sound of Namjoon rummaging, and after a few minutes, Namjoon comes back. Yoongi’s stroking himself, not wanting to lose the edge he’s on, and Namjoon moves back between his legs, resting one hand on his thigh. Yoongi’s eyes open, half-lidded. He smiles, and Namjoon smiles back.

“I want you,” Yoongi breathes.

Namjoon applies a generous amount of lube to his fingers. Yoongi pulls his legs upward, hand still on his cock, and when all at once he feels Namjoon’s middle finger enter him, his breath catches in his throat. He works him, slowly, then adds another finger. Yoongi wonders if it’s easier than Namjoon thought it would be. He wonders if Namjoon is thinking about how often he’s done this, or if he’s thinking about what else he might have seen in Yoongi’s bedside table drawer.

Yoongi’s hips rock back against Namjoon’s fingers, and when he feels Namjoon add a third, his stomach twists. “Want,” Yoongi chokes out. “Want this.”

Namjoon swallows. He pulls out slowly, fingers brushing over his entrance, and at once, Yoongi feels empty. He wants Namjoon, wants him inside of him. He craves it, that connection, that intimacy.

“Tell me what you want,” Namjoon says, and at once, Yoongi feels him pressed against him. Waiting.

Yoongi’s hands reach out for Namjoon’s and he’s met there, fingers twining with his own.

“I want,” he starts, then swallows. “Please. I want to feel you.”

Namjoon lets go of one of his hands, guiding himself, then pushing, pressing into him, slow and gentle, and Yoongi’s eyes pinch shut tightly; he can feel himself stretching around Namjoon. He forces his eyes back open and he looks down, watching as Namjoon moves inside him, and, god – it feels good. He feels tight, full.

Namjoon kisses him then. Slow, as soon as he’s pushed all the way in. It stings, but the lube and the condom help.

“God,” Namjoon breathes, his mouth hot as he pulls back out, then presses back again. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

“You are so hot,” Yoongi blurts suddenly, and Namjoon freezes, looks down at him with wide eyes. And then, he’s laughing.

“What!” Yoongi shouts back, and Namjoon shakes his head, still laughing.

“Nothing,” Namjoon says, pulling himself out and pressing in again. He breathes, then laughs once more. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere.”

“Why not?” Yoongi asks, and his hands reach upward, touching Namjoon’s chest. “It’s true. You look really hot when you’re fucking me–”

Suddenly, Namjoon pulls back, all the way out – then slams back into him, hard, with intention and force and Yoongi gasps, hands shaking.

“You’re, mmf–” he tries saying, but all that ends up coming out is, “Deep.” His heels brace the bed, digging in, gripping at Namjoon as he rocks into him, gaining momentum. Namjoon’s hands wrap around Yoongi’s thighs and he stares into Yoongi’s eyes, holding. Then, without warning, one hand moves to take Yoongi’s cock, stroking him in rhythm with every thrust; each movement sends Yoongi’s mind further and further from stability, and he can feel it. He’s close. He should be embarrassed. He should be worried to come so easily, but he isn’t; he wants it. He wants Namjoon to see him when he does, wants him to see the way he makes Yoongi feel.

“S’ good,” Yoongi breathes. “Feels s-so good, fucking– Namjoon, I’m–”

Namjoon leans in close, but he doesn’t stop moving. It comes faster, the way he presses in deep, moves out, only to fill him again with no time to recover. Relentless. Pounding.

“You gonna come for me?” Namjoon asks, and there’s something raspy in his voice. Need and want, both twined together.

Yoongi nods, hooking his arms around Namjoon’s neck and he lifts his hips higher, arching, hoping – and then, he feels it.

“There,” Yoongi says, and he can hear the way it comes out. Begging. Senseless. “There, Namjoon, ah– don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He can feel himself approaching the edge, so close to the precipice, and he yearns for it. Something about the way Namjoon is fucking him isn’t just physical, but mental – being held by him, feeling his body warm against his. It feels concrete. It feels electric – like shockwaves.

“Mm, Yoongi,” Namjoon says, and his voice sounds far away. “I wanna see you come for me, baby. Can you feel it?”

Yoongi nods again, roughly, and his teeth hook on his lower lip. He can feel wetness collecting in his eyes, tears forming along his eyelashes as he opens them and looks back at Namjoon. His lips part. They feel swollen. Aching.

“Baby,” Namjoon says again, then huffs, grunting. His hips jerk out of rhythm, and Yoongi gasps.

“Gonna–” he starts, and suddenly it’s there. He can feel it. “I’m– I’m–”

His vision goes white; as Namjoon hits inside, deep and unending, his body spasms, stomach clenching and unclenching as his hips buck upward. His grip on Namjoon tightens and he feels the waves of his orgasm spreading all throughout his body, erratic; then, at once, Namjoon’s pace falters. Their chests press together, and Namjoon buries his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. He presses in hard, then again, and again, and Yoongi cries out until everything around him slows. He feels his own come, spread out all across his stomach and chest, on Namjoon’s hand which has frozen in place until, lazily, he unwraps his fingers and presses his palm flat against Yoongi’s chest.

“You,” Yoongi tries, but his breathing is heavy and words don’t come easy. “Did you?”

Namjoon nods, smiling back at him, and then he laughs. Yoongi laughs. His hands, trembling, take Namjoon’s cheeks and he pulls him toward him, kissing him. He doesn’t stop smiling.

“That was, um,” Namjoon starts, then presses a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi laughs, and his fingers slide from Namjoon’s cheeks down to his chest, which he holds with splayed fingers. “God. I meant it. You’re fucking hot.”

Namjoon just shakes his head, grinning stupidly huge. “I wish you could have seen yourself,” he breathes, his hands curving slow around Yoongi’s legs and, slowly, he pulls himself out. Yoongi shudders as he does, and he looks over at Namjoon as he rolls over top of him, landing on his side. He faces Yoongi, reaching an arm over, and he takes Yoongi around the waist, pulling him close. 

“I want to kiss you again,” Yoongi says, and Namjoon smiles. He kisses him again, slow and unhurried.

Steady.

The bedroom is dark, the sun having just set. Beneath the covers, Yoongi’s hand trails up Namjoon’s side, stopping at his waist, and Namjoon looks over at him, dragging an arm up under his head. It feels like an hour they’ve laid like this, and Namjoon thinks:  This feels easy.

He smiles. There’s a thousand wings in his chest, all beating at once against his ribcage.

“I wish I could stay,” he says suddenly, voice quiet.

“Where’s Jungkook at?” Yoongi murmurs.

Namjoon sighs, brow creasing. “Not sure exactly. I was out to dinner with Jin, Jimin and Taehyung, but… it’s a gamble who ended up with him.” Suddenly he sits up, reaching over the side of the bed to grab his pants from off the floor. He fishes his phone out of the pocket, throws them back to the floor, then lifts the phone up. The screen glows white. 4 unread messages populate the screen, all of them from Jimin.

“Signs point to Tae and Jimin,” Namjoon says, then swipes his phone open and taps his messages.

We’re taking Jungkook home with us,  Jimin had written.

Let me know when you’re leaving!

Are you STILL over there?

Kim Namjoon you better answer me or so help me god. Unless you guys are boning then I understand completely and will wait patiently for your response.

“He asked me if we were boning,” Namjoon deadpans, then looks down at Yoongi. Yoongi looks up at him, then casually reaches over and places his hand on Namjoon underneath the covers.

Instantly, they both burst out laughing. Yoongi falls onto Namjoon and Namjoon drops his phone on the bed, leaning over as he laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder. They’re a tangle of arms and legs, and there’s something deep in his chest that seems to break open.

As soon as he catches his breath, Namjoon wipes his eyes and grabs his phone again, typing back:  Thanks for watching him for me - I’ll be over to get him in a little bit.

He sighs, leaning over to put his phone on the bedside table. It’s then that something catches his eye – a book situated on the nightstand, overturned somewhere about three-quarters of the way through. He makes a thoughtful noise, placing his phone face down, then reaches to grab the book. 

“You read in bed too?” Namjoon smiles, and when he goes to look at the cover, some invisible switch inside Yoongi flips. He shoots up, hands slapping Namjoon’s arms, flailing in an attempt to get the book back.

“Don’t look at it!” Yoongi shouts at him, and Namjoon’s eyes go wide, raising the book out of Yoongi’s reach.

“Why not?” he asks, then winks. “Is it a romance novel?”

“No it is not!” Yoongi barks coldly. “Give it back!”

Namjoon looks up at the book, raised high above both of their heads. Somehow, despite Yoongi pulling at him, clawing at his arms and trying desperately to get the book back, Namjoon makes out the title on the front.

So Your Son Just Turned One.

“No way,” Namjoon says, slowly lowering the book to get a better look. As soon as it’s within arms reach of Yoongi, he snatches the book out of Namjoon’s hands and chucks it across the room.

Namjoon looks at Yoongi, heaving, and a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“He turns one next month,” is all he says.

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi starts, then visibly deflates. “You gotta be prepared.”

Namjoon’s entire chest fills with something bright, glowing. He reaches for Yoongi, takes his face in his hands and pulls him closer until their lips are at once together. Yoongi’s eyes slip shut. He presses his hands to Namjoon’s thighs and allows himself to become pliant beneath Namjoon’s hold.

“That’s probably the sexiest thing you have ever done,” Namjoon cheeses.

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Reading a book about babies?”

“Reading a book because of  my  baby,” Namjoon corrects, then kisses him again at the corner of his mouth.

He can feel Yoongi’s cheeks warm under his hands.

“I wish I could stay,” Namjoon says again. He sighs. “I don’t know even want to know what would happen if we didn’t have jobs. I could just lie in bed and kiss you all day.”

Yoongi’s flush deepens. “Yeah. Jobs. And a baby.”

“Yeah. That too.” He laughs lightly, through his nose. Yoongi’s lips curve, the corners of his lips tweaking upward as he smiles back at him.

“You gotta go,” Yoongi breathes.

Namjoon nods. He holds Yoongi a moment longer, dragging it out as long as he can. Yoongi’s thumbs smooth over his thighs. He breathes.

“You make me so happy,” Namjoon says, unabashed.

“Cheeseball,” Yoongi grins, shaking his head as his eyes slip shut.

“Maybe,” Namjoon shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says. His tone is sharp. His hands, once gentle, push Namjoon away and he leans back, throwing his legs over the bed and picking his pants up off the ground.

Namjoon groans, leaning over the other side, picking his clothes up as he starts redressing in the dark. He knows Yoongi is right, and it’s getting late – he can’t put Jimin and Taehyung out any more than he already has.

(Jimin and Tae don’t think of it as being put-out. He knows this. Still, it’s only been a few hours and already he feels something akin to a phantom limb without Jungkook.)

Yoongi doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on, and Namjoon’s chest warms at this. He remembers the day at the beach, the way he’d dressed under layers upon layers of clothes, hiding himself, and the way he’d looked so scared standing beside him in just his swim shorts.

As they walk together down the hall and toward the front door, Namjoon lifts his hand and trails his knuckles down Yoongi’s arm.  He doesn’t realize it,  Namjoon thinks,  how beautiful he is.

He’ll show him, though. As time goes on – Namjoon will show him.

“Tomorrow,” Yoongi says, turning the doorknob and opening the door; harsh fluorescent light floods the dimly-lit apartment.

“Tomorrow,” Namjoon echoes, turning back to look at Yoongi one last time before he leaves. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. See you.”

Namjoon starts to slip his hand from Yoongi’s, and at the last second, Yoongi reaches forward, his hand taking Namjoon’s shoulder. He pulls him back.

In the frame of the doorway, they share one last kiss.

If all days ended this way,  Yoongi thinks as he climbs into bed that night,  I think I could live with that.

A week before his first birthday, Jungkook’s two front teeth come in.

“It’s a birthday miracle,” Namjoon says, his thumbs flipping up Jungkook’s lip as Yoongi cooks dinner in the kitchen. “I was starting to get worried, it’s taken so long for them to come in.”

“It’s normal,” Yoongi says, stirring the noodles in the pan. “That book I read said most babies get teeth around six months, but some it takes up to a year and a half. He’s doing fine.” He pauses, looks over his shoulder at the two on the living room floor, then back again. “He kinda looks like a little rabbit.”

“He’ll be able to chow down on his birthday cake,” Namjoon grins, “won’t you, Goo?” He proceeds to kiss Jungkook all over his tiny face, knocking him down to the ground as he tickles his tiny armpits and underneath his chin. Jungkook laughs uncontrollably, arms flailing above his head like a wild animal.

A wild, helpless, goofy, precious baby animal.

“He looks so cute,” Jimin says, smoothing Jungkook’s tiny pink dol-bok, tugging the hat a little further down on his head.

“He’s getting so old,” Tae remarks, chewing on a banana he grabbed from the kitchen which was not at all a part of the meal Yoongi and Jin have been preparing for the past two hours. “I can’t believe he’s a whole year old. Where did the time go?”

“I haven’t had him a whole year, Tae,” Namjoon reminds him as he busies himself setting the table. Tae shrugs, sitting down on the arm of the couch in the living room.

“Well, I know that,” Tae says, eyes turning up to the ceiling as he thinks for a moment. “Still though.” Then, he looks back at Namjoon and shrugs, as though a point has been proven. Namjoon just stares back at him, his face devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

“He’s gonna like the cake I brought,” Hoseok says, playing with his little booties from the floor as Jimin bounces him on his lap. “I might have put a little extra sugar in it. Maybe. Sorry Namjoon.”

“Don’t say sorry to me,” Namjoon laughs, then glances across the room into the kitchen. “Say sorry to Yoongi. It’s his turn to put him to bed.”

Jin makes a gagging sound, wiping his hands on a towel and throwing it over his shoulder. “You guys are like a freaking married couple. It’s been, what, two weeks?”

“A month,” Yoongi corrects, monotone. He doesn’t even bother turning around. “And thanks for nothing, Hoseok.” 

“Sorry not sorry. But! If I’m being honest, I mostly just want to see him wipe cake all over himself.” Hoseok laughs. “That’s the real fun of it, anyway.”

“We’re taking this off first though,” Jimin warns, grabbing the sides of Jungkook’s head, pausing from bouncing him briefly. “Namjoon has to save this. Dry cleaning a dol-bok is avoidable and unnecessary. Besides, we can put him in the brand new outfit I got him.” He sighs wistfully. “You’re gonna look so cute, Kookie.”

After they finish setting the table, Jin announces that dinner is ready; they all take a seat at the table – even Jungkook, who sits at the head between Namjoon and Yoongi, gets his own place in his highchair.

“Everybody put your hats on,” Jimin tells everyone, not taking no for an answer. Despite the opportunity for protest, everyone grabs their hats from beside their plates and pulls the elastic strings around their chins.

“Yoongi-hyung looks like he’s four years old,” Hoseok says cheekily, and everybody laughs.

Yoongi looks back at him, expressionless.

“Before we eat,” Namjoon starts suddenly, “I just want to say, um, thanks everybody for coming. Thanks Yoongi and Jin for the amazing cooking – it smells delicious – and thank you guys for all of the presents that Jungkook definitely does not need, but I’m sure he can’t wait to open.”

Tae whoops, blowing his party horn.

“Okay,” Jin says, clapping his hands together and snatching up his chopsticks. “Dig in.”

Jungkook’s eyes are huge. He stares at the plate in front of him, han-bok off and bib-on. His tiny mouth opens, hands raising slowly.

Namjoon pushes the plate a little closer to him.

“Yoongi, are you getting this?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Turn it sideways,” Jimin tuts.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. He turns the cell phone sideways.

All of them stand around, watching as Jungkook’s hands reach for the piece of cake, pausing a moment before they touch down into frosting, hands immediately covered in blue sugar and sprinkles. Everyone cheers as his tiny hands squeeze it, taking little bits of cake and raising them toward his face.

“It’s gonna get everywhere,” Hoseok grins, rubbing his hands together. “God. I love this.”

However, much to everyone’s surprise, Jungkook does  not  get the cake everywhere. In fact, the efficiency of which he is able to maneuver the cake into his tiny gob is shocking. As he goes back for another fistful, Namjoon thinks:  Maybe it was a fluke.

“No way,” Jimin gasps as Jungkook places the cake perfectly into his mouth, closing it around his hand and going back for more. “That… that is…”

“That’s fucking weird,” Jin says with full certainty. “Babies shouldn’t be that clean.”

“Let him eat it how he wants,” Namjoon says. “Quit calling my son weird.”

“You’re a bully, Jin,” Tae grins, and Jin pretends to kick him in the shins as Tae erupts in laughter.

Hoseok moves in closer, watching Jungkook eat up close. “This doesn’t make any sense to my brain,” he says. “How does a baby know…”

Jungkook looks up at Hoseok, then over at Namjoon. He grabs another hunk of cake in his hand and, instead of eating it himself, extends his hand to Namjoon.

“Cute!” Taehyung yells, crouching down, hands squeezing into fists.

Namjoon’s whole chest fills. “Thank you,” he tells him lightly, then leans in and makes eating sounds at Jungkook’s hand. “Mm, that was good.” Jungkook just looks back at him with wide eyes.

“Right now he’s thinking: daddy’s a  liar ,” Jin says. The whole group busts out laughing. 

After a while, Jungkook slows down, stops eating, then starts slapping his sticky blue hands all over the high chair table. Yoongi turns the camera off and grabs a wet cloth, moving toward him and wiping his hands for him before Namjoon pulls him out of the high chair and holds him against his chest.

“You did so good,” he tells him softly as the group starts to disperse into sidebar conversations. “You were the cleanest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Yoongi dabs at Jungkook’s mouth, which has a small ring of blue frosting around it. “What the hell did Hoseok put in this frosting?” Yoongi asks, brow furrowing as he rubs Jungkook’s lips. “His lips are gonna be stained blue forever.”

“It’s okay,” Namjoon smiles. “I’m sure it’ll come off eventually.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon can hear the joke in his voice. “What then? You’re just going to have a son who people think have a weird medical condition where he’s always got a blue ring around his lips. They’ll call him Blue Lip Boy.”

“Ahh,” Namjoon sighs, grinning. “My son will be famous.”

“Infamous,” Yoongi corrects, smoothing Jungkook’s hair, pushing it out of his face.

“Hmm. Maybe,” Namjoon shrugs, and Jungkook tries to grab his face. Namjoon leans back, lips vibrating together, and Yoongi laughs, pulling Jungkook’s hands back. “I’d still love him,” Namjoon grins.

“Me too,” Yoongi decides, his cheeks warming.

Namjoon looks at him, hoisting Jungkook a little higher up on his shoulder, and when Yoongi looks back at him, they smile.

Click.

Yoongi’s head whips around, looking for the source of the noise, and when Namjoon turns to look too, he’s not surprised to find it’s Taehyung.

“Cute,” he remarks, looking down at his phone, then back up across the room at Yoongi and Namjoon. He smiles at them, and Namjoon finds himself smiling back. “Really,” Tae says, then looks back down at his phone. Jimin takes his arm, leaning over to look at the picture, and Namjoon’s stomach twists happily when Jimin’s face scrunches up, grinning.

“That,” Jimin says softly, “is one good looking family.”

Namjoon tosses the last of the decorations in the trash, sighing as the lid slips closed. He shuts the kitchen light off, then the dining room light, then the lights in the hallway as he heads toward the bedroom.

He’s about to pass Jungkook’s room, but he sees the light is still on inside, creeping through the crack in the door.

For a moment he thinks about just putting his pajamas on, crawling into bed and passing out (which, he knows, he has the capacity to do after the long day he’s had). 

Something pulls him back though. Something makes him open the door.

It cracks open, and when he looks up, he sees the light on at the table beside the crib. There, sitting upright in the rocking chair near the window, Yoongi cradles Jungkook in his arms. His tiny hands rest on Yoongi’s shoulders, lips parted. Both their eyes are closed.

Namjoon walks quietly into the room and leans his back up against the wall, just watching them for a moment. He realizes that somewhere in the midst of Yoongi putting Jungkook to bed, he’s fallen asleep too; he can hear him snoring softly from where he stands.

He remembers the way he felt before all this. He remembers how hopeless he’d felt after he’d just broken things off with Kijung, when he thought he’d never find love again – let alone ever be able to raise a baby. 

And yet, somehow, he found this.

He crosses the floor, bending down and placing a hand on Yoongi’s arm. He shakes him gently and watches the way Yoongi wakes – slowly, lips closing, barely blinking.

“Mm,” he breathes, then looks down at Jungkook. “Gotta get him to bed.” He stands, stretching his back as he carries Jungkook to the crib, then lifts him over the side and sets him down onto the plush mattress. Sleepily he rubs the baby’s back, then turns toward the door. Namjoon waits for him, waits until he’s close enough, then lets his hand rest against the small of Yoongi’s back, walking silently together. It shuts behind them with a soft click.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Yoongi says groggily.

“You must have been tired.” Namjoon laughs. “You know, he’s my kid. I was only really joking about it being your turn to put him to bed–”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi cuts in. “I don’t mind.” He means it.

Namjoon smiles. 

They pull their pajamas on – Yoongi is still borrowing Namjoon’s oversized t-shirts because he never remembers to pack a bag – and the two climb into bed. The covers get pulled up. Yoongi sighs, sidling up to Namjoon’s chest and tucking his head under Namjoon’s chin. Arms wrap around him, holding him there, and Namjoon breathes deeply.

“Thanks for cooking dinner earlier,” Namjoon says, his voice just above a whisper. “And for staying.”

Yoongi slings an arm over Namjoon’s side. His hand goes limp. “Well if you’d have tried doing it, you might have burned the house down.”

Namjoon pinches the back of Yoongi’s neck and he shrinks up, tucking his legs up high and ducking his head away. Namjoon can’t help but laugh.

“I honestly don’t know how I was staying alive before I met you,” he grins sleepily. “I’m a terrible cook.”

“Jungkook would have suffered,” Yoongi breathes, then lifts his head, pressing his lips to Namjoon’s collarbone. “Don’t worry,” he goes on. His voice is heavy with sleep. “I’ll make you into a chef someday.”

“Okay,” Namjoon agrees, eyelids slipping shut. “Someday.”

Yoongi is nervous. He has been chewing his lip all day, picking at the skin around his thumbs. He’s a carbonated bottle that’s been shaken vigorously, just waiting to crack open and explode – and nothing anyone says makes any difference. Not even Namjoon, who now walks proudly through the auditorium at his side. With his hand pressed to the small of Yoongi’s back, he can tell he’s trying to comfort him in some small way. He’s watched him all day, pacing throughout the morning, letting out sighs after every couple of minutes. They’d gone out to lunch and Yoongi had picked at his food.

Now, the way his eyes roam the halls, the way he looks at the giant chandeliers hanging from the cielings – how out of place he feels. How unlike himself.

Maybe it’s a good thing,  he thinks.  Maybe it’s good to feel important.

He also thinks that Namjoon might have something to do with that.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon tells him quietly as they walk down the hall, through the sea of well-dressed people; the place is packed, and just above the excited voices surrounding them, Namjoon’s voice can be heard. “It’s going to be amazing, Yoongi. And… you made all of this happen.”

Namjoon is right – he has. Without the music, none of this would be possible. Without the countless hours of work, without his help conducting, without working privately with the group to explain his vision and lend aid to the precise portrayal of his songs – this night would not exist. Not for him, anyway, and not the way that it is now. Not the way everyone will experience it.

Yoongi sighs again, once more for good measure. “This is just a big deal for me,” he says, uncertain.

“It’s a huge accomplishment,” Namjoon agrees as they continue forward, walking side-by-side down the long winding hallway. “You’ve put everything into this. You should be proud.”

Yoongi swallows.  I am proud,  he thinks.  I just hope you will be.

He hasn’t told Namjoon anything. Aside from the first song he’d written – the song he had sent to Namjoon – he hasn’t let him hear anything else. No titles, no tracks. Nothing.

“Give up,” he’d told Namjoon one night after an hour of him begging to hear what he’d been working on. “I want to see your reaction when you hear it all together for the first time.”

It had been a good strategy. Yoongi never had to show anything he was unsure about to Namjoon, never had to reveal anything too private as the story took shape through every new addition to the series. Something about the process of writing these songs had been too personal to want to share, too close to his heart. Tonight, though – tonight, Namjoon will get to hear everything.

It’s the opening night of the winter performance series.

And, standing here in his new black suit, Yoongi is sweating.

As they approach the usher at the entrance to their seats – a private box along the balcony, reserved just for them – Yoongi takes a deep breath. He holds it in.

Somehow, without saying a word, Namjoon feels it. His hand takes Yoongi’s, twining their fingers together until their palms meet. Firm. Comforting.

The usher smiles, bowing slightly as his gaze fixes on Yoongi’s. “It’s an honor,” he greets, holding a set of pamphlets out to them. They bow in return. Namjoon smiles, nodding, and takes two programs from him as Yoongi silently walks past, leading them to their seats. His face and neck are heating up. He goes back to chewing on his lip.

As soon as they take their seats, Namjoon moves to wrap his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. He squeezes him close, rubbing his hand up and down Yoongi’s arm. 

“Listen,” Namjoon starts, “it’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. I think you worry too much.”

“I think I have a lot to be worried about actually,” Yoongi huffs.

Namjoon smiles warmly. He looks at the stage, then to Yoongi. “I don’t think I told you already yet but, you... look amazing tonight.”

Yoongi glances back at him, just as Namjoon’s hand stops rubbing his arm. He notices the hand holding the pamphlets is fidgeting. He takes in Namjoon’s posture, the way he fills out his all-black suit. His glasses. His tiny hoop earrings.

It all rushes in him at once: confidence. It’s confidence that comes from within, and from the person sitting next to him with his arm around him. It comes from this thing they’ve built together. This love.

“You look handsome,” Yoongi murmurs, and Namjoon laughs, retracting his arm and covering his mouth. His shoulders rise upward and he smiles with his whole body. Yoongi can’t help smiling back.

Eventually Namjoon sits back in his seat a bit more comfortably, visibly preparing himself. He glances down at his watch – the performance should be starting at any moment – and then, he looks down at the programs in his hands.

Again, Yoongi finds himself holding his breath.

Silence hangs between them as Namjoon stares down at the booklets, bringing one closer. Yoongi watches him read the cover, once – then again, and again, and after a long moment, he looks up at Yoongi.

“‘I Wrote These for You,’” he says, reciting the title. Disbelief makes him look back down at the program for confirmation that he read it correctly. Then he looks back at Yoongi, whose heart is in his stomach, all tied in fifty knots.

Namjoon’s lips have parted. His eyebrows pull together, eyes wide. “Yoongi, is this…”

Yoongi’s fists clench. Then, just as the house lights dim, he nods.

“For me?” Namjoon whispers, leaning closer to Yoongi, hand reaching out to touch his arm.

Yoongi breathes, staring back at him. The stage lights turn on in a flash of white light.

His hand finds Namjoon’s shoulder, pulling him – down, closer.

Yoongi’s lips press against Namjoon’s, and all at once, the music begins.