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joheunsaram · 2 years

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On With The Show (knj)

summary: Eight years after announcing their retirement, Dark & Wild seems to have been left behind. For Namjoon, he could never forget the time his dreams became a reality, and he's determined to retake the charts by storm once again. Struggling with raising a teenage daughter, the loss of his wife and poor writing projects with terrible bands, he’s now had enough. So with a little help from the only remaining active fan site, he embarks on a mission to convince his bandmates that a comeback might not be the mid life crisis they think it is.

word count- 33.9k (🥴💀)

pairing- retired bassist!Namjoon x lawyer!Reader

rating- R

genre- rockstar!au, s2f2l, fluff, smut, angst, slight slow burn, single dad!au

warnings- retired!bangtan, dilf!joon, lowkey making fun of Mötley Crüe but not really, recreational drug use, drug overdose, hospitals, minor character death, depression, protected sex, oral (m and f receiving), too many song references (namjoons catalogue mainly), soft soft joon, joon is dad to a 16yo, jungkook is a shameless dedicated dad to twins, joon is 36, invasion of privacy, lots of talk about being famous

playlist- don’t//aeon ft rm, ny state of mind//nas, bicycle//rm, spring day//bts, always//rm, human behaviour//bjork, death with dignity//sufjan stevens, seoul//rm, outro//maanu, heavenly//cigarettes after dark, trivia love//bts, on with the show//motley crue, war of hormones//bts

a.n- this fic is part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by @jeonjcngkook. please check out the other fics in the collab, they are all amazing!

I’m very excited to share this fic with all of you! it’s been in the making for a very long time and is the longest one shot I’ve written yet. Hope you enjoy this story and that you remember never to let your inner fan girl down! Hehe💕💕

special s/o to @raplinesmoon and @playmetheclassics for beta reading this for me and to @mapleglasses27 and @bluewhale52 for hyping me up and brainstorming with me! i honestly don’t know what i would do without you all! ily 🥺

Banner by the ever talented @hobeemin 💕😍

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

The guitar riff crashed through the speakers, loud and chaotic, distorted to a growl that got the heart beating. Notes cascaded over each other as if chasing themselves in a circle like kids in a park. Soon after, the drums and bass joined them, high hat crashing in time with the snare, the strings of the bass slapping against fingers, pinging loud and clear. A destructive medley morphing into a foot-stomping melody that bounced off the soundproof walls bringing a smile to Namjoon’s face.

A smile that dropped as soon as the vocalist started singing the verse.

“What are the colours of the skies really? They're bright black when falling apart Were our drifts back then okay?”

With a scowl, Namjoon straightened in his seat, turning off the recording,and hitting the button for the mic. The band seemed unbothered as they kept playing, bobbing their heads to the music. It would be commendable how absorbed they were in the music, if they weren’t completely fucking up Namjoon’s song. He cleared his throat into the mic, thankful for the abrupt silence.

“Vince, for the last fucking time. Those are not the lyrics,” Namjoon said, only to be met with an eye roll that boiled his blood. The audacity of these rookies was too high. They had barely debuted two years ago and somehow their egos seemed to have grown infinitely larger.

“And for the last fucking time, man. These work better,” Vince argued through the guitar pick secured between his teeth, using a tattooed hand to push his bright purple hair back. He looked to the three men next to him for support and all of them agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Well everyone except the lead guitarist, Mick, who as per usual was just staring into space, expression as vacant as Vince’s head.

“How do they make sense? What’s fucking bright black? And the colours of the sky?” Namjoon questioned, frustration making itself known from the tick of his jaw as he tried not to explode.

He hated this band. He hated this job. His name held a lot of weight in the industry, and he couldn’t fathom how he had even gotten to where he was right now; writing songs for an over entitled bunch of kids half his age.

Much like any other person in the music industry, Namjoon started with a dream. Well, a dream and a threat from his mom. When he was sixteen, his mother had looked him straight in the eye and given him one year to go out into the real world and make money from the music his friends kept playing in her garage, and if he was unsuccessful, he was to pick up his studies and continue on her dream of him becoming an engineer. And well, Namjoon was a stubborn, talented kid.

Within six months, his band had not only signed onto a label, but Dark and Wild had successfully started preparations for their debut album, one that charted number one worldwide and convinced his mother that the noise he was always playing was worth something.

That number one album turned into platinum, and then so did the next three albums. By the time Namjoon was twenty-two, he was the bassist of the hottest band in the world, his songs being chanted by people of all ages, all races.

World tours, whirlwind romances, and new hotel rooms every weekend became the norm. At the peak of his career, Namjoon was an ambassador for four luxury brands, three alcohol companies, and one electronics conglomerate, his face plastered over billboards from New York to Seoul to Paris. That was also when he became a husband and a proud father to the world’s most beautiful baby girl.

And then, merely a few years later, he lost the love of his life and his band in the span of four months. It wasn’t dramatic, it was life. Everything happens for a reason, and Namjoon believed that for him that reason was the beautiful girl his wife had gifted him.

If his band hadn’t called it quits, he would have never spent time raising her, learning how to be the best dad and learning the way his daughter’s brain worked, so intricate and creative that he sometimes got tears in his eyes just thinking about the fact that he was responsible for creating someone so extraordinary.

Which is why the fact that the bunch of kids in the studio were talking about her made his blood boil, his jaw tensing from all the expletives he wanted to throw at them.

“Dude I can’t believe you picked this boomer cause of his daughter!” Vince taunted his bandmate as he laughed, his nasal snort pumping through the vein now throbbing on Namjoon’s forehead.

“What can I say, man, that chick’s fucking hot, and the way she drums. God damn!” Tommy, the drummer, professed, his hands still holding the sticks now coming to rest on his chest as he leaned back on the stool, the bandana on his head falling backwards with the movement.

Raising a child alone in his mid-twenties had taught Namjoon a lot of things, most of all patience, but he was of the firm belief that not even Buddha would have kept his cool at Tommy’s next words.

“Yo Namjoon! You gotta bring her to the next session. I can really teach her how to bang those drums, if you know what I mean,” he answered with a smile as slimy as his greasy hair, and Namjoon couldn’t help exploding out of his chair, his notebook scattering to the ground as he swiftly made his way to the door of the recording room.

However, before he could pummel that disrespectful worm into the ground, the producer next to him was on his feet, holding him back, his small stature no match for Namjoon’s large build. Seeing red, Namjoon scrambled for the door, falling to the ground and in the process taking the innocent producer down with him. All while the band laughed at him. Generation Swine, what a fitting name for a bunch of pigs.

“Yo boss, you need this gig right?” the producer wheezed from under him, trying to calm down Namjoon with rationality but he didn’t know Namjoon. Thinking about the multiple zeros in his checking account and even more in his investments, his vision cleared, a calm surrounding him.

“I don’t actually,” Namjoon replied, getting back up and helping his coworker with an apology, before he turned back to the band with a condescending smile plastered on his face.

“I quit. And my contract says I can take back my songs. Enjoy an empty album, fuckers.”

With a middle finger in the air, he picked up his messenger bag resting on the couch and his notebook and strolled out. Why hadn’t he just done this before?

—-------

Even though he was notoriously a punk rock artist, nothing calmed Namjoon down more than old school hip-hop, and so as he drove to pick up his daughter, he blasted Nas, rapping along at the top of his lungs.

“Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes Y'all know my steelo, with or without the airplay I keep some E&J, sitting bent up in the stairway.”

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been spending hours everyday pouring himself into music that was insightful and poetic, only to be stonewalled by a bunch of unwashed children who thought what punk really was.

Did they really think watering down his lyrics would make them more relatable? He’d been going back and forth with the Swine for months, and yet they didn’t understand that music didn’t really mean anything unless it said something.

Anyone could string together a melody and talk about fucking and destroying property but the greats always had something to say, something to change. They didn’t chase empty avenues with mixed messages, they took a stand. That’s what punk was, not a distorted guitar with the goal to get laid. He knew that at sixteen and he knew that now at thirty-six.

Real music changed lives.

As the track changed to a more mellow beat, he let his fingers tap the steering wheel, cautiously turning into the cul-de-sac and waiting for the gate to Jungkook’s obscenely secure mansion to open before driving down the long driveway. Driving to his house always made him a little nostalgic, mostly because he was proud that his youngest bandmate had finally settled down from his much wilder days, but also because Jungkook’s home always felt like his home.

It was where he had spent much of his time after the band disbanded, his deep depression and the sudden sole responsibility of a six-year old turning him into a useless shell of a human. He would always be grateful to Jungkook for taking him in when he was at his worst and coaxing him out of the darkness. He shuddered to think of how much worse he would have gotten if he hadn’t had the courage to run to Jungkook eight years ago with his daughter in his arms and tears cascading down his face.

He smiled a little, eyes turning to the big box of gourmet donuts he had picked up for his friend’s family. Parking near the front door, he picked up the box, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the usually calming chimes grating his nerves when he saw his manager’s name light up the screen.

“What Sejin?”

“Don’t what Sejin me! You quit? Are you kidding me?” The usually cheery man yelled through the line, his exasperation easily conveyed through the static.

“Yup,” Namjoon replied stubbornly, popping the syllable at the end, still too happy to have left that band of wannabes behind to be bothered by the scolding he could see coming. “I realised, I’m literally a millionaire. I don’t need this job.”

“Literally a- Again, are you kidding me?!” Sejin sputtered, and Namjoon grimaced as he heard some of his spit land on the speaker. “You do realise you signed a contract right? A two-year contract, to write for them, exclusively?”

“And?” Namjoon egged him on. “There’s that clause right? That I can pay damages or whatever?”

“They are claiming that those ‘damages or whatever’ are over five million dollars! You either lawyer up, or you go apologise to the band.”

Namjoon snorted at the absurdity. The only way anyone could get him to apologize to that bunch of talentless fuckers was if they animated his dead body with Frankensteinian magic. Not wanting to spoil his good mood, he locked his car and made his way to the front door..

“Send me a list of lawyers,” he said curtly before hanging up on a seething Sejin. He should’ve been worried, or at the very least concerned, by a threat from a very large and influential record label, but Namjoon was finally free and nothing was going to get him down. Not when as soon as he rang the bell, he was greeted by his daughter, a large grin on her face, the dimples that matched his etching deeper into her cheeks.

“Dad! You know you don’t have to drive slow even on a driveway, right?” she teased, giving her father a side hug and greedily reaching for the box of doughnuts, which he raised above his head.

“Moonie, these are for the twins!” he chastised, returning her hug and ruffling her hair only to annoy her, chuckling as she whined at him.

“Joon! You gotta stop bringing sweets! I’m gonna lose my abs!” Jungkook shouted from the foyer, walking over with one of his boys in his arms, the other running behind him. Jun-seo copied his father as he pulled a wincing Jungkook’s hair, and Namjoon couldn’t stop cackling at how cute “I’m gonna lose my abs!” sounded coming from a three-year old’s mouth.

He greeted his friend before leaning down and swooping Hyeon from the ground in his arms, trying to make conversation with the shyer twin as his daughter took the box of doughnuts, opening to look for her favourite. It didn’t take long for Jungkook to coax him into having dinner with his family, laughing at the way Moon sighed in relief of not having to endure her father’s terrible cooking for the night.

Nothing could be more relaxing than having dinner with his closest friends and his daughter, Namjoon thought as he helped Jungkook’s wife wash the dishes, taking care not to let any of his clumsier tendencies shine through. There were only so many of her dishes he could break before she would ban him from the house completely. He smiled as she told him about her day and how the twins had somehow started a paint war with the neighbouring kindergarten class, resulting in her trying to talk the principal out of suspending them.

“They can suspend someone in kindergarten?” he asked, incredulous, wiping the last of the dishes and pouring himself a glass of water.

“You know how people are, Joon. Just cause we have our personal lives plastered all over they assume that we can’t parent,” she sighed, joining him at the breakfast nook, a sad smile on her face. “That’s why I’ve been so against nannies, you know… Because what if they’re right?”

“Hey they aren’t right. You and Jungkook are great parents,” he squeezed her shoulder as he consoled her, happy to see her smile more genuinely at his compliment.

“And we don’t need babysitters cause we have Moon,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk her sons had inherited from her before she softened. “You’re a great parent too, Joon.”

Namjoon’s heart warmed at her words. He had often thought that perhaps a lack of a mother would make Moon lonely, make her want a more stable female presence. He was happy that Jungkook’s wife had filled that role for her somewhat, acting like a mother even when she didn’t have to, from teaching her about periods to gossiping with her about boys. Things that Namjoon still found a bit awkward to connect with Moon about. It was not that he was bad at it, it was just that he had never experienced those things himself, so who was he to teach her about them?

The heartfelt moment was interrupted by Jungkook entering the kitchen, a scowl on his face as he looked at Namjoon.

“You quit?” Jungkook asked, voice strained as he poked the inside of his cheek. Namjoon could feel that his friend was angry but he was still too ecstatic from leaving that dreadful job behind, so he just smiled, nodding in response.

“They are gonna sue you! Are you serious?” Jungkook seethed, confusing Namjoon who couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was so upset, especially when he already had an amazing back up plan. At least not until his next words left him, making Namjoon bow his head in shame.

“You have Moon to think about. Do you think she’d like the media circus?”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he exhaled, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he came clean about his outburst, the days of building frustration as the band took his hard work lightly and spent hours drinking and getting high instead of working.

Jungkook seemed to soften as he spoke, and Namjoon couldn’t help but take the melting of his anger as encouragement as he continued, letting him into his backup plan, “We were so much more serious than them. We had a work ethic. We still could… Would it be so bad if Dark and Wild got together again?”

“P-pardon?” Jungkook sputtered at Namjoon’s words, coughing as he tried to wrap his mind around a comeback. Turns out Namjoon’s plan wasn’t foolproof and his heart fell as his friend vehemently disagreed, not wanting to be away from the twins to be back on the rock and roll train. He missed that life too, but unlike Namjoon, he had made his peace with it, happy to let it go to be a full-time father.

“I was a dad when the band was together,” Namjoon argued, not willing to let go of his renewed dream.

“And look what happened to Seo!” Jungkook spat, instantly regretting his words as Namjoon’s face fell. However, no matter how quickly Jungkook apologised, Namjoon couldn’t listen, the grief he had buried away clawing at his chest again. With a curt goodbye amongst the apologies, he asked Moon to follow him and made his way to the car.

“Dad… you okay?” Moon asked, once they were on the way home, worried about the way her father sat in silence when usually she would have a hard time making him shut up.

She knew he got this way occasionally, too deep in his head, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was whenever he missed her mom, and so when she didn’t hear a response, she leaned over, placing a hand over his on the steering wheel to loosen his grip.

Namjoon smiled at her, a hand leaving the wheel to squeeze her fingers between his. Sometimes he forgot that she wasn’t a kid anymore, that she was mature, empathetic almost to a fault, able to read his mind with just a look.

Namjoon promised himself that he would always be honest with her, be it about his feelings or things happening in his life. He had kept his promise whenever she would ask about her mom as a lost six year old and he kept his promise now as he told his sixteen year old about the argument he had just had with Jungkook.

In a lot of ways it helped him process the conversation, coming to terms with Jungkook’s fear from Moon’s insight. She was right when she said that it had less to do with blaming Namjoon when he was away from her mother, but more to do with her uncle’s fears of the same happening to his wife, no matter how irrational the thought was.

Namjoon couldn’t help but stare at her, mouth falling open in shock.

“Tell me again how you’re only in tenth grade?” he teased. “When did you get your psychology degree?”

“Come on dad. No one really needs university nowadays. You can just learn everything from Re-”

“You’re going to university. I don’t care how much Reddit can teach you,” Namjoon interrupted, eyes narrowed as he pulled into his designated parking space in the lot under their apartment. “You can get a real degree and then you can be my therapist.”

“I can’t be your therapist,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl that reminded him of her mother so much he couldn’t help but smile. “That's a conflict of interest!”

He burst out laughing at her words, getting out of the car and helping her carry the multiple boxes of food Jungkook had prepared for the two of them, insisting that they take them despite the cold exit. Moon melted at her father’s joy, punching the code for the top floor as she adjusted her backpack. When the doors closed, she looked at him grinning widely.

“You know, War of Hormones is going viral on TikTok,” she commented, laughing at the way Namjoon groaned at the mention of his slightly cringey debut single. “I think you guys still have fans. A lot of them. People are still making thirst traps of all of you.”

“What’s thirst traps?” Namjoon asked as the private elevator opened up to their apartment, the smell of cedar and sandalwood calming him after a stressful day.

“You know like this,” she said, following her father into the kitchen and placing the boxes on the counter before pulling out her phone and scrolling through the app. She handed Namjoon the phone and he had to stop his eyes from falling to the floor at the video in front of him.

Set to an extremely horny rap about wanting someone’s dumptruck in their little garage was a video of Hoseok thrusting into the air as he sang into the mic, following by a close up of Jungkook as he took his shirt off and threw it into the crowd, just as it moved to a video of Yoongi licking up the strings of his guitar, a smirk on his face as he made eye contact with the camera.

Then there was Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung at one of their sold out shows, ripping the buttons of their shirts simultaneously while winking at the crowd, and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at the how stupid they looked. The last clip was of him holding Moon as he brought her two-year old self on stage, big yellow muffs protecting her ears from the noise as he let her strum on his bass.

“Wait, why am I the only one not being sexy?” he questioned, frowning.

“I don’t know. I guess people love you being a dad,” she shrugged, taking her phone back, laughing at how ridiculous all of her uncles looked during their glory days, before looking at her father and giving him a tight hug. “I love you too, dad. And I think you still have a lot of fans who’d love a comeback.”

Namjoon’s heart dissolved in his chest, filled with warmth as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, returning her hug ten fold, squeezing her to his chest as she squirmed. That night after she had gone to bed, Namjoon researched his fans. If Moon thought that fans still existed, maybe he could convince the guys to give the comeback a shot. They always did love Shadows more than anything.

Scrolling through numerous web pages, he stumbled on to a fansite that was surprisingly still active, posting periodic updates about Dark and Wild’s current careers, as well as edits of their old selves, and pleading for a comeback. Perhaps the way to his band member’s hearts was a heartfelt plea from a Shadow, and how apt that the username was yummyjungkookie.

His scrolling through nostalgia was interrupted by a text from his manager, a list of lawyers that were fit to go over his case with him. Picking the first name, he sent an appointment request.

However, not before messaging yummyjungkookie and asking for a meeting.

—-------

With a heavy exhale, you entered your apartment, leaving your heels haphazardly by the front door and your bag littered on the floor. Today had been an exceptionally stressful day and you could feel every joint in your body creak as you laid on the couch. Stretching, you thought about the weird email you had received. Well, two very weird emails.

Somehow when you started working in corporate law, you wouldn’t have thought your trajectory would lead to working on celebrity contracts. Initially it was an easy choice; getting paid exorbitant amounts of money for advising clients and looking over contract disputes that usually never ended in court. However, now you were tired of behind the scene action. You wanted to see inside of a courtroom again, to argue, to research prior cases that would help you form the perfect closing statements. There was a thrill to fighting a case in the courts, and you envied your friends from university who were working on class action suits against greedy landlords and other corporate vultures.

Today was supposed to be the day you gave in your two week notice, to pursue something less money-based. It was a privileged position, but you were a single woman in her early thirties, and with your last relationship burning to the ground, you often looked at your ever increasing savings account with disdain, as if your ambition was responsible for Ryan cheating. But when you walked into your firm’s partner’s office with your resignation letter in hand, he convinced you otherwise by handing you a new case.

It wasn’t a particularly exciting case, a pretty straightforward contract violation, but the moment you heard who you would be representing, you couldn’t go through with your plan. Your younger self would have murdered you if you did so.

You could see your nineteen year old self, decked out in the Dark and Wild merch that still lived in your closet, standing behind your boss as he talked about the case. Because you would be representing none other than Namjoon Kim, notorious bassist of Dark and Wild. Even though he was arguably your least favourite member, considering that he used to be a bit goofy and a little bit of fuckboy even with a kid, you would carry on your duty as a loyal fan and get him out of this bind.

After all, once a Shadow, always a Shadow.

You were somewhat a menace in undergrad, from almost missing exams because the band was doing an album signing, to following them on tour each summer, to even getting their lyrics tattooed on your ribcage.

You chronicled your interactions with them in your blog with high quality photos, which became almost notorious in the Shadow circle, your followers skyrocketing with their fame. In a way their disbandment was a blessing for you, you were not sure how you would have dealt with the workload of law school if you were still keeping up with them.

Groaning you rose from the couch, deciding a drink would help calm you down. Pouring yourself a glass of cabernet, you settled back on the couch, opening your blog on your laptop and staring at the other email you had received out of the blue.

Either Namjoon Kim was stalking you or this eerie coincidence was the fruit of years of obsessive manifestation. However, if it was, it would be Jungkook Jeon emailing you. You wondered if he still had those fantastic abs from back in the day. God, those things could cut glass.

Controlling your sudden thirst, you took another sip of your wine, thinking best to reply to the email you had received.

Hi yummyjungkookie. You’re probably wondering why I’m messaging you. Well, I have a proposition. I was wondering since you are the only active fan site we have left, if you’d be interested in helping us do an analysis of current fan culture, well Shadow culture. Let me know and we can set up a meeting! -Namjoon PS: In case you think this is a troll, here’s a photo proof

Below his email was a photo attached of the man himself, round glasses making him look younger than his age with a card on which the date and time was haphazardly written.

You laughed at how seriously he had taken the request, although you were sure you would not have believed him if he didn’t attach the proof. Your laughs only got louder as you read the next message he had sent.

Oh shit. I guess I should also say, please don’t tell people about this. You won't, right? -Namjoon

“What are you cackling at?” your roommate, Hera, questioned as she stepped out of her room, hair a mess as if she had just woken up. Well, knowing her, she probably had. She was notoriously nocturnal, being a freelance artist had that effect.

“Nothing. Just a meme,” you replied, somehow endeared enough by the email to keep it a secret. Hera walked over to the couch, yawning and reaching for your glass, taking a big swig and ignoring your scowl. You loved Hera. You had been friends since law school, but somehow as soon as she dropped out of law school she had become a little overbearing.

“Alright. What’s for dinner?” she asked, stretching her limbs out on the couch as she leaned back and turned on the television. You rolled her eyes at her, getting up to finally change.

“I already ate after work,” you pouted to get off the hook easier before apologising and going to your room.

“Ugh. I guess I’ll go on a date then. Enjoy your sad nostalgia blogging, you loner,” she called from the living room, grating your nerves as you locked yourself in your room, waiting for her to leave, so you could order food and not share. It may be petty but you were tired of paying for her meals, on top of paying for the rent.

—-------

“Wait so you called us all here to ask us to get the band back together?” Yoongi asked, eyes scrunched in disbelief. Or the early hour, Namjoon wasn’t sure. To be fair, Namjoon should’ve seen the reaction coming, considering how Jungkook had reacted, but he still had hope.

Namjoon had spent the past two days going over the fansite he had found and it encouraged him to set up the brunch meeting with his friends. If a stranger was working so hard to keep their fans engaged, shouldn’t they also do something. Didn’t they owe their fans something? Apparently the argument wasn’t as convincing as he thought it would be.

“Okay I’m not saying I’m fully against a comeback, but come on Joon. We’re has-beens… Shadows don’t even exist anymore,” Seokjin said, sipping a mimosa, freshly tanned from an impromptu trip to the Maldives.

“Speak for yourself. I will never be a has-been,” Jimin sneered, cutting into his eggs before spouting about how his singles were still reaching number one.

“That’s cause you went pop,” Taehyung argued with a grimace, pretending to throw up into his frittata, just as the waitress came by to ask if they needed anything else.

“That’d be all. Thank you,” Jungkook answered her with a huge smile just to watch her blush, and Namjoon couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the man. Perhaps bringing the chaotic group together was a bad idea. Perhaps bringing them to a high end restaurant where the average diner was a retired businessman was an even worse idea as he tried to make his friends lower their volume, especially Hoseok who was very loudly protesting that his very full schedule of production didn’t have any room for a comeback.

“Guys!” Namjoon snapped, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Just please think it over–”

“It would take so long though. We don’t even have any songs… I haven’t even picked up the guitar in a while,” Seokjin interrupted, the mimosas taking their effect and turning his face a flushed red, as he looked sadly at the tablecloth, and Namjoon couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He knew the disbandment was his fault. If he had handled things better at home, they wouldn’t have lost their friend to the chaos of the lifestyle, and Moon would still have her mom. Thinking about it lodged a lump in his throat as he tried to console the group with the only solution he could think of.

“I have three albums worth of songs written,” he declared quietly, biting his lip and looking for a reaction, only for Yoongi to speak up.

“I may or may not also have two albums worth.”

“Same,” Hoseok and Jimin spoke at the same time, and Namjoon couldn’t help smiling at how even though everyone had apparently put Dark and Wild behind them, they still couldn’t let go.

“So do you guys think we can do it?” Namjoon asked hopefully, trying not to be dejected by the way Jungkook stared at his hands, deep in thought, fingers tracing the tattoos on his knuckles. The response from the rest of the men was lukewarm as it was in the beginning but somehow now they were all reminiscing too, talking about their glory days. About the time Jimin stripped on a bartop as a dare. About the time Jungkook got so high he thought the television was recording him so he did the most rational thing he could think of and tossed it out of their 40th floor hotel room window. About the time Namjoon ran away so fast from a groupie that he had missed that the glass door wasn’t open and smashed right through it – he still had a scar on his right collarbone from it. Somehow through the road of nostalgia, a little glimmer of excitement started growing, like the embers of a campfire dying out, but needing just the right gust of wind to relight.

“But what if we don’t have the same appeal now… We’re definitely not young anymore,” Seokjin said quietly, as if he was scared to voice out his thoughts, and Namjoon couldn’t help reaching out to him, placing a hand on top of his in a form of encouragement. He had the same fears. A band in their twenties was the norm, in their thirties, on the other hand…

Perhaps they were all being silly. Thirty wasn’t old by any means but the music industry was especially vicious when it came to age. However, Namjoon tried to put the question of their sex appeal to rest as he pulled out the fansite he had stumbled on earlier, sharing the seemingly unlimited ‘thirst’ posts from the blogger, much to the men’s amusement.

“Well I trust this person,” Jungkook said after a thorough scroll, earlier mood seemingly lightened. “I am in fact yummy.”

“And I really am World Wide Handsome,” Seokjin gloated, much to everyone’s annoyance.

“I contacted her,” Namjoon said carefully, hoping he wasn’t about to get a scolding, and when he received only curious looks, he continued. “I’m thinking we can get her opinion. A real Shadow’s opinion. Perhaps she has friends. She could really let us know if the fans are for us or not. Under an NDA, of course!”

“How do you know she won’t just be wishing for us to be back together?” Yoongi sighed, remembering the almost obsessive tendencies his fans had.

“You know that one fan that wrote a whole essay defending our disbandment?” Namjoon asked a bunch of nodding heads. “This is the one.”

“I can’t believe they published someone called yummyjungkookie in the New York Times,” Hoseok laughed, his contagious cackles cracking everyone else up as well, before the laughter petered into silence.

“Let’s see what she says, and then we can decide,” Jungkook ended the conversation decidedly, before the bill came and all seven men started arguing about who was going to pay, no one willing to put their credit card away much to the waitress’s chagrin.

—-------

Off the high of the semi-successful brunch, Namjoon couldn’t sit still in the lawyer’s plush office. He looked around, tapping his feet. It was a nice office, personal yet professional, warm with deep oak furniture and shelves full of law books and fiction alike.

A giant desk took up the northern end, in front of the glass wall that overlooked the city, a big leather chair seemingly belonging to the lawyer in question facing the desk. There were a few posters on the walls, classic movies as well as music festivals. A couch sat in the corner with potted monsteras, magazines scattered on the glass coffee table.

Namjoon felt oddly comfortable, but that might be because he was certain the lawyer used the same candles that littered his home, the soft pinewood scent relaxing him. Eyes roaming to read the titles of the books on the shelf, he couldn’t stop smiling at the little windchime attached to the corner.

People wouldn’t know it at a glance, but if you knew it was unmistakably his band’s merch – limited edition merch at that. He wondered if the lawyer he was meant to meet was a fan, or if they were just so old that they had received it from their children and put it up. Namjoon was pretty proud that the windchime he had designed was given a place in a room where everything seemed to be carefully handpicked.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon heard the slightly raspy voice call out, and he stood up to greet the person. However, he was a little taken aback when his eyes met yours, his throat running a little dry and his nerves spiking for no reason. Well no reason other than his immediate attraction to you.

It should be illegal for someone to look that good in a simple red suit and a pair of black heels. His eyes traced your features of their own accord, lingering at the little necklace that nestled between your collarbones, and the wisps of your hair that lined your eyebrows.

“Mr. Kim?” you asked, and a furious flush rose up his cheeks as he realised he hadn’t answered. Stuttering a response, he sat down at your insistence, agreeing to a coffee that you rang your assistant for. If you were a fan, you didn’t seem to give it away, jumping right into business as you talked about loopholes in the contract that could get Namjoon off with minimal penance.

While Namjoon was nodding along, pretending not to pay attention to the way your fingers looked so delicate pointing out the different clauses in the document, you were internally screaming. It took everything you had to keep your cool.

You had imagined that it would be business as usual meeting one of the guys you had spent most of your youth following around but your heart had other plans, beating stupidly fast. Even if Namjoon wasn’t your favourite member, it was still Namjoon Kim of Dark and Wild.

You could tell he wasn’t paying attention to whatever you were saying, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were boring him. You tried to lighten up the dry vernacular with a few jokes that went unnoticed, so you tried to shock him into listening at the end of your meeting.

“Ah, now that we’re done. Let’s talk about your proposition,” you commented off handedly, watching as he looked at you with rapt attention, biting his lip. Was he nervous?

The thought made you laugh. Why would he be nervous? You already explained that the case was easy to settle. It was pretty run of the mill. Contrary to popular belief, a lot of songwriters worked to break their contracts after a few months of working with a band. Creative differences were inevitable sometimes.

“Proposition?” Namjoon asked, swallowing hard, scared that his thoughts had somehow been vocalised. Perhaps you could read his mind. That would be a very handy superpower for a lawyer. Wait what if you actually had mind-reading powers?

What if you knew how he had just spent thirty minutes trying to figure out how he could ask you out for dinner, or if he could simply just bend over your desk.

Fuck, he really needed to reel it in.

“Yeah you emailed me about doing an analysis on fan culture?” you answered with a grin, enjoying the reveal. Namjoon had been a rockstar for most of his life, jamming out confidently on stage, so it was extra funny seeing him so clueless. That was before he became flustered, turning a bright red.

“Oh shit? Did I fuck up my emails? I meant to send that to… someone else,” he stumbled, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his emails.

“Yummyjungkookie, right?” you asked, relishing the way his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief before reaching your hand out, “Nice to meet you.”

“What the fuck…” Namjoon mumbled, taking your hand in his and shaking gingerly, before recovering. “You’re… you’re yummyjungkookie?”

“The one and only,” you grinned.

“But you’re a lawyer…” he said in awe. Never in a million years he would’ve thought the beautiful, polished, somewhat cold woman standing in front of him was the same person who evidently followed him on tour and wrote sonnets about Jungkook’s left bicep. He thought all his fans were kids in inappropriate clothing, but then again the last time he had seen his fans was when he himself was a kid in inappropriate clothing. It made sense that as he grew up, so did his fans – apparently into super intelligent, professional women.

“Yes I am,” you said smugly, loving the way he seemed so shocked. You hadn’t thought to reveal yourself, but your embarrassment over the nickname was taking a backseat to his surprise. It made you somewhat giddy. “So do I need to sign an NDA?”

“Yes. I can mail it to you. One second,” he said, gathering his wits as you giggled at the way he dropped his phone while scrambling for it. Once he had sent the email, you quickly printed two copies, signing after reading over the straight forward terms as he did the same.

You had to control your squeal when he laid out his plans. A comeback? Dark and Wild were actually getting together and needed your help to analyse if they had any fans. You had no idea whether you could actually help him, but just the fact that he had asked you was every Shadow’s dream come true, and you could see your inner nineteen year old jumping up and down in excitement, the banner you had made out of your dorm’s bed sheet waving in the air.

Maybe it was a good thing you were a loser who still blogged about your favourite band.

—-------

Namjoon hummed to himself in the elevator, Moon’s favourite pizza in his hands warming him as he smiled at nothing. Excitement was brimming through his body, uncontained as all his plans seemed to be working out. Generation Swine was taken care of, well pretty much. He trusted you with the case, and he trusted you with convincing the band that they were definitely not has-beens. He couldn’t wait to share the news with his daughter as he entered his apartment, placing the box on the dining room table before making his way to her door.

“I’m fine,” Moon’s voice carried through the door, and Namjoon had to stop himself from barging in when he heard her sniffle. Why was his baby crying? “It’s just that I’m worried about dad… When mom died, he was so broken.”

Namjoon felt his heart drop to his stomach, a lump forming in his throat as he eavesdropped. He hated listening in. Moon was pretty much an adult, she deserved her privacy, but when another voice spoke, dampened by the line of the speakers, he stayed rooted on the spot, vying for some insight into her sudden sadness.

“He’s better now, Moonie,” the voice said.

“I know. I know. But sometimes he still gets sad. He thinks I don’t notice but I do. I joked about smoking some weed the other day and it was like his life flashed before his eyes. He looked like he was going to cry… I just… I get scared of letting him down sometimes,” she sighed.

“You know you’re never going to do drugs. He knows you’re never going to do drugs. You’re not gonna let him down.”

“I know that but… I look like her,” she sniffled, and Namjoon felt his heart break further. Had he really been putting so much pressure on his teenager that he didn’t notice the way she seemed to be feeling so guilty. He was scared of her trying drugs, given her mother’s death, but he never thought that he was making her feel like she couldn’t be like her mother, especially when she continued talking.

“I’m scared that I remind him of her everyday, and that looking at me makes him sad. I just wish he found someone or even if he didn’t, that he went out more. He quit his job and I don’t want him to be depressed again.”

“He’s not sad to look at you, idiot. He’s your dad. He knows you look like your mom. It’ll be dumb if he didn’t!” Moon’s friend exclaimed, and Namjoon relaxed a little at hearing his daughter chuckle in response.

His mental health hadn’t been the greatest since his wife passed away, years full of ups and downs that he tried to hide from his daughter as he worked through therapy. But evidently he hadn’t been too good at hiding that part of himself, and a tear escaped without his consent when he thought about the burden she had been carrying.

He opted not to listen to more, walking to the kitchen to dry his eyes as he set the table. Once he was sure that he had his emotions under control, he called out for dinner, smiling when his daughter walked in after a few minutes in her pterodactyl onesie. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that she was almost an adult, that she had grown so much. Unable to help himself, he hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as she whined about being unable to breathe.

“Ew dad, why are you being so clingy?” she groaned, pushing him away.

“Just missed you today, is all,” Namjoon said, pulling the hood of the onesie over her head, just to annoy her as she sat on the table to eat.

“Gross,” she replied despite the smile on her face as she dug in, thanking him for the pizza. He laughed, telling her about his day as she shared about how she had finally mastered the drums for YYZ, a Rush song she had been learning for a week.

He beamed proudly when she played him the song after dinner, trying his best not to tell her that looking at her could never make him sad. That all he saw was how proud he was that despite his fuckups, she had turned out more than perfect.

—-------

Sitting on your dining table, you stared at the blank document on your screen, the blinking cursor mocking you for your lack of ideas. Sighing, you switched the tab to the google search you had done, littered with journal articles talking about fan culture. Although you had three case files to go over that your paralegal had been hounding you about, you really wanted to create a plan for Namjoon, regardless of your lack of knowledge.

“Working on your boring lawyer stuff?” Hera asked, placing an elaborate gold and ruby necklace around her neck before turning to you in a silent request to clasp it for her. You obliged, standing up from your chair, an idea forming.

“Hey. You have fans for your art,” you commented, grabbing a glass of water as she continued getting ready, lacing her ballerina stilettos. She hummed for you to continue. “How do you manage them? Like check their retention, interact with them, and all?”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” she laughed, opening her purse to pull out a lipstick, dabbing it on her lips with her front view camera as the mirror. “You just put stuff out there, fans will follow. They don’t need interaction or those fancy terms. You just do you, they come.”

You knew for a fact that she was incorrect. Even running your somewhat small anonymous blog you knew that the weeks you didn’t interact with your audience, when you didn’t answer their messages or reply to their comments, your popularity dipped. People liked being seen, especially from those they admire. It boggled your mind how she made money when she was always so blase about everything, coasting through life like nothing required effort.

“Where are you off to, anyways?” you asked, settling back into your chair to skim through the numerous articles you had found.

“Going out with my boyfriend,” she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows as you stared at her in disbelief.

“Wait, you’re dating? Who?” you returned her smile, excited for her to be in a relationship after she had been wanting one for so long. You couldn’t count the number of weekends you had to resort to headphones while she looked for the one between her bedsheets.

She was a hopeless romantic of sorts, thinking that a relationship was the cure to everything, yet she had notoriously high standards. You blamed her obsession with Disney movies for that, but you couldn’t help the way you warmed at the flustered look on her face, biting her lip as she tried to not smile.

“You know him actually,” she said much to your surprise. “But you can’t judge me if I tell you! Promise me!”

Laughing at her sudden pleading, you promised, waiting for her to continue. However, your laugh was short-lived when the name escaped her lips. She was right, you did know him. You knew him very well, had spent years with him, had almost moved in with him before he decided to stomp on your heart.

“Ryan? You’re dating Ryan?!” you couldn’t control your volume, the absurdity of the woman who had dreamt of prince charming settling for someone who didn’t even deserve coal at Christmas.

“You promised you wouldn’t judge,” she argued, standing up with a huff. “He’s changed. He became better for me!”

“Became better for you? What does that even mean? Hera, Ryan’s trash!” It was too hard to even say his name, your brain flooding with memories of how he had laughed at you when you asked him if he was cheating on you. How he had placated you with kisses, assuring you that you were being paranoid, only to be caught a few months later with a girl in your bed.

“Just because he couldn’t love you, doesn’t mean he’s trash!” she yelled back, unaware

how her words cut through you. Not knowing how to respond as she ranted about you being unlovable and how Ryan had told her he found you boring and uptight, you took your leave.

Grabbing your laptop you headed out, willing yourself to not break.

—-------

You didn’t know where you were driving to, running around the city in circles. Usually it calmed you down, to have your music playing so loud that your thoughts couldn’t infiltrate, but today it felt as if they were crashing about, the cacophony drowning the dulcet tunes of Hoseok’s singing.

Instead of clearing, your mind was full of the last memories of your relationship, of how the man you loved would manipulate you, make you feel small in moments where you should’ve felt out of this world. You had confided in Hera, had cried with your head on her lap as she stroked your hair and assured you that he was scum. You had believed her, used her words to slowly build yourself up, to learn to love yourself again.

But now it was Hera throwing the poisonous words that he had embedded in your self-image, ones that took too long to pry out, ones that left scars that you were too terrified to look at even after over a year. You couldn’t help the tears that flowed to the bass playing in the background, overwhelmed yet knowing that you shouldn’t be.

When your eyes got too blurry, you parked next to a random park, taking deep breaths and practising the techniques you had learnt. Hera’s words were just words, they didn’t define you, they didn’t control your emotions.

Only you were responsible for how you saw yourself, and even though you felt like shit right now, it would pass. You were allowed to feel the way you were feeling.

Your deep breathing was interrupted by the ringing of your phone, a name you never thought you’d see lighting up your screen. Clearing your throat, you schooled your voice to resemble normal before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry this is random, but I had a few ideas. Do you mind meeting up?” Namjoon’s voice broke through your thoughts and you sighed a little, finding comfort in his dulcet baritone. It was a different tone than the one he used for meetings or the one you had heard in interviews, and somehow it felt familiar. Blaming the feeling on your rattled emotions, you agreed to his request, fixing your face to drive to his studio.

Walking into the large skyscraper you were surprised that the security at the front already had your information, providing you with a temporary employee card rather than a run of the mill visitor pass.

With your sour mood, you really hoped helping Namjoon with his project wasn’t about to turn into a part time job. As dedicated as you were to being a Shadow, your days were often long and exhausting, and carving time for another thing just seemed like too much at the moment. Perhaps he would notice how stupidly incapable you were for the task and request an actual marketing firm to do the research for him.

Visiting his studio, however, was a dream come true. You had always loved the music he created for Dark and Wild, and immensely enjoyed the livestreams he would do describing his process after each album. It was always interesting to hear how much actually went into creating a seemingly simple track, how much he thought through his lyrics, how different the finished product sounded from the acoustic demos he showcased.

Much like the personality you had come to learn about in your time as a fan, his studio was a utopia of calm, plants scattered about, thriving even in a seemingly dark room. A glass separated the recording booth from the main area, which housed multiple cream couches decorated with colourful cushions, some even with the band on them.

On the walls were their records, different colours signifying which had gone platinum – most of them. There was a large monitor attached to the glass wall of the recording booth, a large gaming chair facing it on which sat Namjoon, fiddling with the mouse. The large screen embarrassingly enough had your blog on it as the man in question scrolled, laughing at your somewhat unhinged comments.

“Please stop stalking my blog,” you deadpanned and he turned the chair to face you with a large smile on his face.

“Only fair. You stalked me all these years,” he teased, loving the way your face scrunched in disbelief. He liked how you looked today, probably more than how he found you at the meeting. Dressed in a matching pink sweat suit, you somehow looked a little softer, and definitely less intimidating than the woman spouting the Federal Reclamation Law off the top of her head. It made him glad he had gathered the courage to ask you for a meeting.

“And it got you more famous. Your point?” you replied, ignoring the heat that was creeping up your back. You really should’ve gone through your blog and parsed through all the very horny comments you had left on their photos, but then again they should take it as a compliment. You were only appreciating them!

“My point is,” Namjoon began, leaning on his elbows as he gestured for you to sit on the couch in front of him, “You’re talented at getting people hyped up. And I want to make all the other blogs I found get active again. I have a list!”

His proclamation was followed by an actual list he had compiled that he handed to you, and being in the fandom for so long, you knew almost all of the fifteen names, some of them even personally. It may have seemed that the Shadow fandom was massive, but when it came to bigger blogs, it was actually pretty small, all of you constantly running into each other at events at some point of your fan careers.

“Well, six of these are moms now and they don’t even have time to breathe, let alone continue following you guys. I don’t know about these four, but Sera is in prison,” you said.

“Prison?! For stalking?” he asked, genuinely taken aback, and you just chuckled.

“No… for embezzlement. Turns out, she liked taking money more than pictures of you,” you quipped, laughing at his response.

“But she was so into me,” he scowled.

“Sucks to suck,” you responded as he scoffed, turning his attention back to his computer as he started to strategize different marketing tactics, some of which went over your head, especially when he started to talk about TikTok.

Perhaps Hera’s news had really exhausted you or perhaps it was the fact that marketing was never your forte, but you found yourself zoning out of the conversation, hoping Namjoon didn’t notice that you looked like a mess when you entered his office. He hadn’t acted like he noticed, but you were sure that your eyes were still a little red-rimmed, and that your face was puffy from crying in your car. You hadn’t realised how quiet you had gotten till his voice cut through your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, pausing his rant.

“Yeah. Sorry, just a little out of it today,” you replied with a smile, trying not to be affected by how concerned he seemed. Even after spending such a short amount of time with him, you had started wondering why he was your least favourite member, maybe you really did view your Shadow life through a very distorted, horny lens.

“You know what always makes me feel better? Chocolate!” he suggested with a grin, opening a drawer to pull out a giant bar of some Swiss chocolate and presenting it to you with a flourish. The gesture made you laugh harder than you anticipated, the random move making you wheeze. He joined you, unwrapping the chocolate to break off a piece for you, the gesture endearing you to no end.

“Ah! So this is why you never had abs,” you joked, giggling as he groaned.

“I had a kid to take care of! And… okay you’re under NDA so I can tell you,” he whispered, leaning in, and your curiosity peaked as he came closer. “Those teething biscuits are fucking delicious! Dude, those are like crack!”

The absurdity of the statement had you cackling once again, and you couldn’t help appreciating the effort he was putting into cheering you up, even when he didn’t know what was wrong. And perhaps it was the recent rehashing of your past, but you felt your heart warm, your grin matching his.

Unknown to you, Namjoon’s heart warmed too, just by hearing your laugh.

—-------

Somehow after the night in the studio, texting and hanging out with Namjoon became the norm. At least twice a week, you’d visit the little sanctuary he had created, spouting wild plans for twenty minutes before falling into a tangent that took over the conversation, trailing it to random topics that always distracted you till both of you were enjoying take out. For someone who had spent his whole life in the limelight, Namjoon was oddly normal.

Sure he had his moments like when he accidentally broke his extremely expensive watch because he was flailing animatedly while describing how he had once found a boy in his daughter’s room. But for the most part, he was down to earth, his stories mundane, nothing like the rockstar you had imagined.

However, what was exactly the same as the rockstar of your blog, was how attractive he was, especially in the suit he was wearing for today’s meeting. Sitting next to you on the couch, his glasses were low on his nose as he scoured through the research you had collected about building fan culture. The scowl on his face complimented him, and it reminded you of how he looked when he was busy slapping the bass when he performed, lip stuck between his teeth as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music playing through the speakers.

After almost three weeks of strategizing, despite you promising yourself this project wouldn’t take all your time, Namjoon had indeed hired a marketing firm, taking the insights the two of you found during your hangouts to them while you were at work. They had done an analysis and found that Shadows had indeed not died down, and that Moon was correct in her assumption that because of their songs going viral on social media, there was a steady growth of new fans, their old videos getting more and more comments. The news made you giddy, and it was getting difficult to hide how excited you were about the potential comeback.

“Wow… this is actually really great,” Namjoon praised you and you couldn’t help beaming at his words as he continued, “Are you sure you’re not a marketer? This is so so good!”

“Shut up. I just googled stuff,” you countered, getting a little flustered at his smile. He always seemed to be complimenting you during these meetings and you were sure your head was going to explode with how big it was getting.

“Oh speaking of google, did you know that it saves everything you search?” he asked, eyes widening in the shocking revelation he had seemingly made and you giggled at him.

“Yes, Grandpa. That’s how they make their money,” you teased, your early conversation getting steamrolled once again as you explained to him how the conglomerate actually used that data to make personalised ads.

“Wait… so like they can use my porn preferences to sell me stuff?” he exasperated, before realising what he had blurted out, a blush taking over his features. He really didn’t know how to control his tongue around you, somehow you brought out his no-filter self, something that only happened around those he was closest to. Maybe it was that you seemed to know him from his younger days, and that he had read all your unfiltered thoughts that you unapologetically owned up to, but he felt close to you despite only knowing you for merely weeks. It was weird. It was terrifying. It was exciting.

“Why are you googling porn?” you grimaced, cringing at just how bad he was at technology. Did spending so much time on his passion really make him this clueless?

“It has a video option!” he defended, ignoring how stupid he sounded even to his own ears, but then again what he said was even stupider. “What do you use?”

“Your music,” you deadpanned, immensely enjoying the way he turned into a tomato, sputtering in disbelief till you reassured him that you used a porn site like a normal human. However, Namjoon couldn’t help being stuck on the thought that maybe there was some truth to your words, and that alone had his heart beating and his lip twisting into a smirk.

“Oh yeah? What song?” he teased, an elbow meeting your shoulder as he snickered.

“Bicycle,” you said, smiling at the way he cringed in response.

“I wrote that song for my daughter, you heathen!” he exclaimed, gagging in response and all you could do was cackle, dissolving into breathless laughs as you leaned back on the couch. You missed the way he smiled at you, mirroring your position next to you, waiting for you to calm down.

“You’re a great songwriter,” you complimented once you had caught your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You regretted the sudden compliment that had escaped your lips, but the feeling was short lived because you got to witness the elusive shy Namjoon, smiling widely and shaking his bowed head as he brought his hands to between his legs, shoulders rising and a soft blush adorning his face. It made your heart flutter a little, making you avert your gaze.

That night the two of you barely got anything done, only deciding to create a presentation to convince the band. Namjoon insisted on having a special section chronicling Dark and Wild’s journey through your eyes. It was wholly unnecessary but he strong armed you with endless compliments and an offer to never get pineapple on the pizzas the two of you inevitably ended up ordering.

You never thought you would end up becoming friends with someone you used to follow around on tour, but somehow with all your meetings, it seemed that it was not only a possibility but a reality.

—-------

You found it odd when Namjoon changed up the routine one day, inviting you to his apartment instead of the studio, but you supposed that’s what friends did. So you had showed up with a bottle of wine and his favourite gummy bears, a decidedly small gesture but the way he squealed excitedly like a little kid at the candy had you giddy.

However, you learnt that somehow, this meeting wasn’t one for your flimsy professional reasons, but for just hanging out. You didn’t know why you were so surprised that he wanted to just enjoy your company, the two of you had developed a friendship but with the only close friendship you had with Hera still hanging on by a thread, you were a little skeptical.

“So how’ve you been?” Namjoon asked after he had set up a movie on the screen and popped some popcorn. His easy comfort made you worried, making you build up walls, refusing to share anything personal, and instead opting to discuss work and how his case was going.

Apparently, Generation Swine hated him and wanted to do everything but settle, desperate to keep the six songs he had written for them with full creative control over them. It was a preposterous ask, and you told him as such. You were determined to ensure that all his copyright would be given to him with as little payment from him as possible.

“They can keep them,” he said, speaking after a long silence. “I’ve made my peace with it. Just get them to take my name off.” You argued but Namjoon had made his decision. He knew that having his name on that album would just taint his reputation. He didn’t want to be associated with such scumbags who clearly respected no one, often not even themselves. And if he was being completely honest, he had just grown tired of the months long back and forth. If they wanted his music so bad, they could have it. He would be lying if he said writing songs came easy to him, but it just wasn’t worth it. Not when he knew they would water down his works to something unrecognisable. He just wanted to focus on making new stuff with his band mates, and moving on. Something he wished he could do with you by his side, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

The movie was some Japanese flick about a band working to achieve their dreams and everything that came with the industry, and when it ended you were left in charge of the remote. To break the odd tension that had risen after the silent resignation about Namjoon giving up his case, you decided to put on a documentary about Dark and Wild.

It worked, getting Namjoon distracted with nostalgia as he told you the background of all the scenes. Like how the footage of him ripping the wallpaper off the wall in a hotel was wrongly portrayed.In reality he had somehow managed to get his hand stuck in an already existing tear and couldn’t get it out. A few months ago you would have rolled your eyes and called him a liar, but after knowing him, you knew he was telling the truth. You had never met anyone with a bigger propensity for disaster than Namjoon. It was a wonder he was still alive with how clumsy he was. You told him so with a slap on his thigh and he just laughed along.

You had started the evening at different ends of his large couch, but somehow as he regaled you with more stories, you had moved closer, sitting side by side, sharing the popcorn on your lap and the gummies on his. It scared you how comfortable you felt with him, how he made you forget about everything, how he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. When he left to go pick up the food you had ordered from the restaurant next door, you realised that perhaps you wanted more of that comfort. You wanted to spend evenings just watching movies and making fun of him. You wanted to hear his stories, learn more about his life, and for the first time in a long while maybe you wanted to share your stories too.

Smiling at the thought, you scrolled through Youtube on the television, watching his old music videos, in awe of how much he had changed from the scrawny kid trying hard to seem tough to the dorky heartthrob he was now. You had always felt close to the band, related to them. That’s what made you a fan but somehow knowing the real him, made you feel nervous. There was no screen to hide behind, no image in your brain to project your fantasies on, because Namjoon was no longer just an abstract figment of your imagination, he was real.

“Oh… umm… hello,” a voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see a teenage girl standing in the living room, dressed much like you used to as a kid. Wearing black ripped jeans and a loose yellow flannel shirt, she seemed like a typical emo kid, her image solidified by the multiple piercings on her ears and chunky silver jewellery on her neck and wrists. She had dark hair that was tied in a half ponytail behind her head, and her dimples matched those on Namjoon’s face. You had seen her millions of times as a toddler, often dressed in fluffy pink dresses with giant yellow noise-cancelling earphones as she watched her father perform, and you felt oddly proud to see her all grown up.

“Hi! I’m a friend of your dad’s,” you said, moving the empty bowl from beside you invitingly, feeling a little awkward. Somehow you felt nervous as if you should’ve asked him if it was okay to talk to her before you did, every fibre of you wishing to make a good first impression.

“Oh, friend, you say?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with a grin that deepened her dimples. Dropping her bag at the end of the couch, she sat next to you, folding her hands in her lap confidently as she looked at the screen. You felt yourself flush with embarrassment as you followed her gaze to the obscenely large television where the music video was paused with the image of Hoseok mid thrust. You really should’ve paid more attention to which frame you stopped at.

Watching your horrified expression, she laughed, clapping her hands. “Don’t worry! That’s my favourite video too!”

Her laugh was a little weird, hiccuping between cackles, but it was extremely contagious, coaxing you to chuckle and breaking the ice. Most would think that the daughter of a renowned rock star would be spoiled, a little entitled, but Moon was anything but that, amicably finding topics to connect with you, cracking jokes at the expense of her uncles. Her humour reminded you of her father, goofy and light hearted. It was no wonder that soon the topic turned to him.

“Have you seen this video?” she asked excitedly, searching through her phone before casting her Youtube to the screen, playing a video of Namjoon from an old Dark and Wild vlog. The band had relegated him to cooking for them, the six of them sitting in chairs in front of him as he tried to cut vegetables. He had his lower lip between his teeth as he cut an onion in half and then proceeded to lay it on the round end, gingerly moving the knife and being unsuccessful almost every time while his friends laughed.

You had watched the video before. Of course, you had. It was a classic in the Shadow fandom, one that was memed again and again, but you couldn’t help wincing all the same, knowing full well that he wouldn’t hurt himself but worried all the same.

“Oh my god, dad! Flip the onion over!” Moon laughed at the screen before turning to you. “He hasn’t cooked for you, has he?”

“Oh god, no!” you replied automatically before biting your tongue, but Moon just chuckled along, fully aware of her father’s lack of culinary skills. Video Namjoon moved on to a carrot, struggling even more if that was possible and you couldn’t help joining along with Moon’s commentary.

“Watch your fingers,” you yelled at the screen just as he slightly nicked himself, hissing in pain, sheepishly pouting at the camera. When you had first watched the video, you were endeared by his antics, but now it felt as if your heart was bursting, making you almost coo at his younger self.

“I’m so glad I saved up my pocket money to buy him a food processor,” Moon commented, still giggling at the video. “Did you know he refused to buy me take out and then would accidentally cut himself like eight times a week?”

You could imagine Namjoon being stubborn as his daughter complained while he chopped vegetables in uneven slices, fingers covered in little bandaids. It wasn’t hard to notice how dedicated a father Namjoon was, but it warmed your heart to hear how much he cared for Moon from her directly.

You could tell by her tone that even though she masked it under humour and inconvenience, she truly admired her father for all the effort he put in, and somehow the picture in your head morphed till you were laughing at him alongside her, pushing him aside to take over the chopping as he leaned sheepishly by the counter complaining and insisting he had it handled.

In your imagination, he wrapped himself behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, annoying you while you worked as Moon teased the two of you for being dorks. You startled at the image, not knowing why your brain had decided to drift that way, heart beating oddly, and eyes blinking to rid yourself of it.

As if on cue, Namjoon entered the room, precariously balancing boxes of pasta and dessert on two plates, a bottle of wine tucked under his elbow, and for the first time since you had met him, you felt starstruck. In awe of how tightly he was holding the cutlery in one hand but how lightly he was holding the plates, swaying from side to side to ensure none of the four unevenly stacked boxes tipped over. You felt frozen, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks before leaping into action after a little “help!” escaped his lips.

Reaching for the bottle, you took it in your hands just as Moon grabbed the boxes, leaving Namjoon with just the plates and the cutlery. He still managed to drop a fork on the ground, cursing at himself before his daughter picked it up and went to replace it from the kitchen.

“Grab yourself a plate too, Moonie,” Namjoon offered, sitting next to you and oblivious to your sudden crush, casually plating a bit of everything for you. You realised he did that alot. Always making sure that you were served before him, that you were given the first piece of any snacks you both shared, and always asking if you were comfortable.

How did a passing comment from his daughter have such a profound impact on you? You felt like one of those girls who wrote fanfiction, your imagination going wild with scenarios when he had only just been kind. Perhaps you needed to follow Hera’s misguided advice and get laid after all.

“Nah, I have homework,” Moon replied, placing the fork on the table before smirking at the two of you. “Enjoy your date,” she snickered before prancing out of the room.

“It’s not a date!” Namjoon called out after her, bringing your overactive imagination to a screeching halt, forcing you to chuckle with him and dig into the food, missing how brightly his cheeks were shining at his daughter’s offhand comment.

You were still not speaking to Hera, but maybe you should strike a truce with her. If only so you could go with her to a club and no longer give yourself false allusions of being with a famous rockstar.

—-------

“Thanks for coming guys. I know you’re all busy but I just wanted to–”

“Oh my god. Stop giving a speech! Show us!” Seokjin interrupted Namjoon, bouncing on his seat on the couch, making Yoongi groan as he invaded his space. Although Namjoon’s studio was spacious, it was crammed for seven people, Hoseok and Taehyung sat squished next to Yoongi and Seokjin with Jimin perched on the armrest, wincing as Jungkook sat on his lap. Namjoon shook his head at his friend, appreciating the encouragement but still nervous.

He hadn’t showcased a song to the whole band for a long time and even though he knew that they were always supportive, he still felt a little uneasy. The new songs were different from the ones he used to write for Dark and Wild – while the former were debaucherous and often horny, his new stuff was something that held more of him, bared him with a vulnerability his younger self used to hide behind bravado. Not to mention that all he had was a guitar and his notebook, nothing like the demos he used to show them before, usually filled with samples of instruments manufactured from the mixer in his computer.

When Hoseok asked everyone to be quiet, Namjoon took a grounding breath, starting to pluck the strings slowly, building a melody that had haunted him for weeks. The acoustic version wasn’t how he heard it in his head, but he hoped it was enough to inspire his friends to imagine how easily they would fill in the gaps. He picked the strings individually, separating the chords so that they could speak to the emotions he was aiming for.

Soft strings echoed through the space, slow and resounding, and he cleared his throat before closing his eyes and singing. He always hated how he sounded but somehow in that moment he lost himself to the melancholy, letting it guide his vocals.

Maybe cherries are blossoming And winter is going to be over I miss you (I miss you) I miss you (I miss you) Wait a little bit, just a few more nights I’ll be there to see you (I'll go there to meet you) I’ll come for you (I'll come for you) Pass the end of winter's cold Until the spring day comes again Until the flowers bloom again Please stay, please stay there a little longer

The room was silent when he opened his eyes, six pairs of eyes staring at him. They had all leaned forward, Jungkook now sitting on the floor, legs crossed below him as his head rested on his hands. There were no words and Namjoon felt himself getting nervous as Yoongi spoke.

“Holy fuck…” he whispered, and Namjoon jumped straight into defense.

“I know my voice sounded terrible. You guys know i can’t sing, but I was just thinking, if we added some drums and then Seokjin you added some of the melody or maybe Jimin with a solo in the middle with Yoongi’s production… it could be… umm… something?” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Taehyung asked, his voice deep and serious, and Namjoon felt himself deflate a little, shoulders slumping before the next words left Taehyung’s mouth, “This is fucking incredible.”

It seemed that his words broke everyone out of their trance, praise flowing through the room as they excitedly left the mixing part of the studio to join Namjoon on the recording side, picking up their designated instruments.

“This is 4/4 as usual right?” Jungkook asked, taking a seat at the drums, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck before twirling the sticks between his fingers.

“And what’s the key again?” Seokjin questioned, plugging his guitar into the amp, taking a determined stance as he smiled warmly at Namjoon and Namjoon couldn’t help mirroring his expression, his cheeks splitting with how wide his lips stretched.

“E-flat,” he replied, discarding the acoustic guitar to the side to pick up his bass, setting the dials to the sound he prepared, the pitch a higher than usual for a bass.

Soon the song transformed from an empty plea to a celebration of friendship, the instruments gelling together in a sound that went from mournful to inspiring. It somehow changed the message of the song from longing and waiting to reuniting. It was as if the melody was meant to be tweaked, his friends adding in their flair that changed how Namjoon had always heard the song in his head into one he could never fathom.

By the time Hoseok and Jimin finished singing, with Seokjin and Taehyung harmonising at the chorus, Namjoon couldn’t help choking up a little. It was as if he was transported back in time, back before he knew what it was like to lose his dream – to the time when he didn’t even know what loss was. He felt irrevocably happy and his eyes glistened as the last chord echoed into silence.

“Fuck I missed this,” Hoseok gleed into the microphone, jumping a little in excitement and the band joined in on the sentiment, their voice a cacophony of chaos as they all complimented each other and Namjoon for writing what they perceived as a hit. Soon, everyone was pulling out unfinished works, some scribbled in notebooks, others in their phones, one even on a napkin – Taehyung had a moment of inspiration in a Jazz club three months ago.

It was as if the previous years had been erased, their usual teamwork gelling into place like muscle memory, ideas flying and morphing into melodies that were lighthearted and poetry that struck a chord. Namjoon knew they were still wary about a comeback, but just seeing the joy on their faces as they brainstormed song after song, convinced him it wouldn’t be too hard to put their worries to rest.

Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they jammed together.

—-------

It had been a few weeks since you had talked to Hera properly. Conversations that used to last hours were subdued to passing remarks about groceries and chores. She stayed out most of the time, giving you space. Sitting on your living room couch with ramen on a Saturday night, things were dull, your mind wandering on your relationship with her.

They say absence makes the heart grow stronger, but it didn’t seem to be the case for you. The more she stayed away, the more you had time to dwell on how your friendship had faded over time, how she had gone from a confidant to someone you tolerated. It made you feel a little guilty, but everytime that guilt would be overshadowed by how it seemed that you were always putting in more effort, from housing her during her financial crisis to not thinking twice about any favour she asked of you.

It wasn’t always bad, you remembered her getting you out of your introverted shell in law school, challenging you to strike a balance between coursework and hobbies. But in the past two years, you couldn’t recall a single time she had even mildly inconvenienced herself on your behalf. She was often passive-aggressive, seemingly exasperated at you. Perhaps it made sense if she was talking to Ryan during that time, his manipulative nature probably influenced her. But if she was so easily swayed was she truly your friend?

As if she was honed into you trying to let her go, she waltzed in through the front door, a huge grin on her face and smelling of alcohol. Squealing your name she startled you with a hug, her arms wrapping tight around you. It felt suffocating, unnerving.

“I miss you,” she sniffled, and usually her crying would be enough for you to forgive her, but you knew she was an emotional drunk. You sat in silence, letting her cry into your shoulder, not knowing how to react when the last words she said to you were accusations of how you had forced your ex to cheat. You didn’t know why you were being so harsh, but maybe it was because you had started to watch the Dark and Wild vlogs again, envying their friendships, comparing it to how the two of you interacted.

You patted her on the shoulder, waiting for her to sit up, and when she did you smiled, not knowing what else to do but tell her it was okay. As soon as the words left your mouth she was perking up, tears forgotten and drunken ramblings commencing. She talked to you about her night, about how Ryan was the perfect man, and you couldn’t get over the bitterness you felt. Was she trying to show off how much of a better boyfriend he was to her than you?

A ping from your phone saved you from the conversation, your face lighting up when you read Namjoon’s text.

So what do you say to a private concert? Wanna meet me at the studio in half an hour?

You couldn’t control the giddy smile as you responded, thanking him in your head for saving you from this awkward conversation. Hera didn’t like it when you excused yourself, complaining about how you didn’t like her anymore. She wasn’t wrong, but you were too excited to leave to fight her on it, apologising and rushing to your room to change, ignoring the pout she threw your way.

When you knocked on the studio door you were expecting only Namjoon to be there wanting to share some of the newer songs he had alluded to working on. However, when you entered you were met by the whole band, seven men sprawled on the couch, the coffee table cluttered with an array of snacks. They stood up at your arrival, greeting you excitedly in a mismatched unison, Jungkook’s voice the loudest among the crowd.

“Yummyjungkookie!” he exclaimed, the wink he tossed your way making you flush. You never imagined your teenage celebrity crush to ever greet you, let alone scream your embarrassing username at you. It made you wish that you had been a little more subtle when choosing it.

“Guys you are overwhelming her,” Jimin chided the men, moving away from the group to hold out his hand. “Hi Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Finally?” you questioned, grasping his hand in yours, a little dizzy at the sudden appearance of people you had only seen on stage or in magazines. You should’ve been used to it after spending time with Namjoon for so long but Jimin was right, it was overwhelming to see them all in one place once again.

“Yeah Joonie’s told us all about you,” Hoseok smirked, side-eyeing his friend who glared at him.

“He couldn’t shut up about you,” Seokjin added with a mischievous sing-song lilt to his voice, elbowing Namjoon who cleared his throat loudly before speaking.

“Okay!” he exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together once. “Now that everyone is acquainted–”

“Oh I’m not acquainted,” Jungkook interrupted, moving towards you with a teasing smile, pushing his hair away from his face. It reminded you of his stage persona, his already sexy allure hammed up with fan service and it took every ounce of control you had to not swoon. The reaction had been engraved in you for years, after all. “So am I as yummy as you thought?” he asked, flexing his biceps.

Luckily you didn’t have to answer because as soon as the words left his mouth, Jimin scowled, smacking him atop his head. “You have a wife and kids!” he scolded.

“Aw hyung! I’m just trying to figure out if I’m rusty,” Jungkook whined, the earlier suavity melting instantly as he pouted, making you giggle at the sudden change. That was the Jungkook you were a fan of. Sure the sex appeal was appealing but you’d be lying if you said the real thing that gravitated you towards him was how dorky he was.

As all of them started arguing and teasing Jungkook for being a “rusty old man”, you started realising that they all were, in fact, dorks. It comforted you, helped you bring them off the pedestal you had placed them on and back to how they were just how you hoped they’d be – just a group of normal friends.

With everyone settled and introduced, and your pick of dinner ordered, Namjoon made you sit in the large comfy chair in front of the glass separating the recording studio and the mixing room. The band settled in the other room, picking up their instruments and making last minute tune ups.

“Okay. Someone told us a busy lawyer had been spending her precious free time to help us with our stupid hang ups, so we thought that we’d show our appreciation,” Hoseok announced, adjusting the mic stand. “For our favourite Shadow, after eight years, we are Dark and Wild!”

His introduction was immediately followed by Jungkook banging his sticks with each other, counting into the first song, and you were immediately transported to the time when you fought to be in the front row. They started with War of Hormones, Hoseok and Taehyung’s more mature voices and Seokjin’s new ad libs, changing the song into something fresher, something you thought you would never get to see live again. Before you knew it, you were standing from your chair, rocking along to the music as you grinned.

Namjoon watched you as he performed and he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt at seeing you so into something. You were often stoic, having a tight lid on your emotions. It made him want to work harder to get you to open up, often cracking jokes he knew were terrible to get you to laugh. If he knew he would get to see this expression on your face by just convincing the boys to put on a show for you, he would’ve begged them earlier.

He didn’t know when he had started seeing you as someone he wanted to pursue. The feeling was foreign. He never thought he would feel this way again, the bubbling anticipation for when he would see you next, the giddy joy when he saw your name light up his screen, the heart stuttering nervousness when you were near. He had assumed that those feelings had died in his youth, buried with Seo on that rainy day that tore his heart out.

He had tried to move on after her, had multiple one night stands, friends with benefits, even a girlfriend at some point. After a while he had figured that he would never feel that euphoria again, but somehow you had come in with your business formal skirts and secret thirsty blog and embedded yourself in his thoughts. And with it came the need to hold himself back, his once bulletproof confidence wavering to insecurities that he never felt before.

You never shared much of your personal life with him, never deviated from the strict line of friendship that had cemented itself between you, and Namjoon didn’t know how to break that. Every time he flirted, it seemed like a joke to you. Perhaps he was a joke too, a washed up musician with a grown child, who only met you because he was fighting with children and pathetically trying to convince people who had moved on to move backwards with him.

He didn’t realise that his gaze was unwavering as he stared at you through the glass, fingers moving over the strings automatically as Hoseok sang their old hits, but you noticed. Between your jumping, you saw how all of a sudden, his face had fallen, his jaw tightening as he zoned out like he did sometimes when you were hanging out. You didn’t know what he was thinking in those moments, but something told you it wasn’t pleasant.

His mood didn’t lift during the rest of the set, even when you tried to engage him with a smile and a wave. He returned your smile briefly before going back to the same forlorn expression that you couldn’t help being worried about.

“Thank you! You’ve been a great audience,” Yoongi said cheekily, winking at you after the last song before he was ushering everyone into the other room with you. He pulled up two stools, switching his pedals around and taking a seat while offering the other to Namjoon.

“For our last song, we wanted to show you a new one. One written by none other than Namjoon Kim,” Yoongi announced, plucking the strings as his foot toyed with the pedal, changing the tone to a fuzzier one that was overlaid with a delay, adding an ethereal ambience to the sound. Behind you the boys piled onto the couch, cheering loudly and you followed suit, clapping loudly as Namjoon adjusted the height of the mic and sat down.

He smiled at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t one of the happy ones, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as Yoongi looped a sound and started plucking the strings with a melancholic tune. “Also sorry my singing sucks,” he chuckled dryly.

“No, it doesn’t!” Seokjin argued loudly as everyone whooped.

“Go Joon!” Jungkook joined, and somehow the encouragement paired with the soft smile you sent his way made his nerves dissolve, letting him sing the song he had written years ago for the first time. It wasn’t just a surprise for you, it was for the rest of the band too. No one but Yoongi had heard it before. Initially, Yoongi had told him to showcase the song, but after trying to sidetrack him with other songs and getting the idea to invite you, Yoongi had had enough, instructing that he sing the song at the end for everyone.

It was silent while he sang, his friends behind the glass listening intently. He hadn’t sung this song properly in a long while. When he wrote it, he was in the deepest pit of his depression, often leaving Moon at his mother’s house to spend the night wasted writing rubbish on pages and then ripping them out when the words didn’t pass his harsh self-criticism.

Yoongi had found him on such a night, curled up on the floor, humming the melody as he banged his fist against the floor, fighting against his sore eyes. Of all the members, Yoongi wasn’t one he was closest to then, but it changed when instead of telling him it would be okay and coaxing him to bed, Yoongi had sternly told him to sit up and finish the song. He stayed with Namjoon the whole night and then for three nights after, subtly ensuring that he didn’t overdo his drinking, or turn to something stronger, as his self loathing crawled into the cathartic poetry dancing on top of Yoongi’s catchy rift.

Somehow writing that song had made him feel a little less sad, as if he had let go of the sorrow by transforming it into something productive. But singing the song he hadn’t even attempted to hear for so long, it was inevitable that he was transported back to that time where he was always in such a haze that the days seemed like an endless burden tied to his ankle as he sank, flailing to swim to the surface that kept moving more and more out of reach. It made him choke a little on his words.

One morning, I opened my eyes And wished I was dead I want someone to kill meIn this loud silence I live to understand the world But the world has never understood me, why No, that half is missing It's trying to hurt me I miss me, miss me baby I wish me, I wish me baby Wish I could choose me

You pursed your lips as his words reached you, feeling an undeniably need to soothe the pain that seemed to be dripping from his every pore. Namjoon had always been open, always made you laugh, unknowingly brightening your mood when work or problems with Hera refused to let you relax. He had talked about his daughter and wanting to get the band together. He had talked to you about his songwriting process, and he had told you his thoughts about the industry. But in that moment, you felt that Namjoon wasn’t always as open as he seemed to be, that beneath his usually cheerful demeanour, he seemed to be suffering, silently at that.

Why is it that I'm being so earnest Yet it's not working out Always Always (I lost my all ways)

He sang the last line abruptly, standing up as soon as he was done and excusing himself. You watched as he left the studio, yearning to run after him, but then again, all his best friends were in the room. Why would he need your comfort when he could have them?

“Go. He’s probably in the next room,” Yoongi said, walking back into the mixing room and placing a hand on your shoulder to break you out of your trance. When you looked at him with doubt, he just smiled, slightly nodding towards the door. Not wanting to overthink the reasons and too worried about Namjoon, you followed his advice, leaving and knocking on the next door.

“I’m fine, Yoons,” Namjoon called out, his voice eerily cheerful, making you suspicious. He opened the door, shock momentarily washing over him before he affixed a smile on his face. But you had learnt what his real smile looked like in the months you had gotten to know him. You didn’t miss how it didn’t reach his eyes, how his lighter right dimple never poked through his cheek, and how his lower lip quivered ever so slightly.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, instantaneously wrapping his arms around your waist, crushing you to him. Your scent overwhelmed him, an amalgam of lavender and honey that he had only ever gotten faint whiffs of now crowding his senses, coaxing him to lose the control he had tried so hard to keep over the last few minutes.

“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to clear the lump from his throat, loosening his grip, attempting to chuckle despite his heart beating erratic and his emotions threatening to overflow. “So embarrassing…”

“I’m not judging,” you whispered, holding on to him tightly. “You can cry if you want to. It’s okay.”

The moment the words left your lips, Namjoon couldn’t hold it in anymore, your permission somehow breaking his barriers and a tiny sob escaping him. He buried his face in your neck, his tears probably ruining your blouse. You could feel him shaking in your arms, and you stroked his scalp to comfort him, letting him cling onto you as he cried. You tried to control your own tears, but they followed anyways, silently tracking down your cheeks in empathetic trails. You didn’t know what to say to console him so you let him cry till he was straightening up, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

He settled on the couch at the corner of the room, and you followed, looking around. The small room was some sort of a meeting area. Two large couches lined the walls in an L with a coffee table between them, the walls covered in a few paintings, and a single lamp in the corner lighting up the space. It was cosy.

“Sorry,” he laughed hollowly, and you reached out to hold his hand in an attempt to comfort him, hoping that he realised he had nothing to apologise for, nothing to explain. But he explained anyways, talking about how when he wrote the song he was in the deepest despair he had ever felt and somehow till today he had forgotten how he had felt, how broken he had been.

“We never showed it on the cameras, you know? How fucked up everything was,” he said, fingers gripping tightly onto yours, needing something to ground him as his memories flashed before his eyes.

Everything was always glamourized in front of the camera; their friendships, his relationship. All everyone knew was they were a little chaotic, a bunch of hyper dudes who would get drunk and joke around. They didn’t know that alcohol wasn’t the only vice they used to cope with the sudden plummet to fame, to cope with the stresses of releasing album after album of hits, of endless days of putting on personas that merged into a haze till they forgot who they really were.

It was okay when he took his first hit, it was meant to relax him, all the ones in the industry before him assured him that it wouldn’t turn into anything more. So the band would gather in their hotel rooms after some shows when the pressure felt like it would rip them to shreds and shoot up. It would let them slow down, float in a space where their brains weren’t capable of thinking, of overthinking everything.

That’s when Seo started joining him too, when they were just friends with benefits, before the birth control had failed, back when he was just a kid trying to emulate his heroes. He didn’t know how it would spiral, how his one off would become her everyday. He still blamed himself to this day for being too busy to notice the way her light faded, to notice how her mood swings were too drastic. He never saw her enough to put it together, not until he was getting a call from her mother blaming him angrily, screaming at him for ruining her life.

He broke down for the first time that night, apologising to Seo’s mother, and sobbing into his cellphone. That was also the last time he turned off his brain, before taking a week off to care for her. He sat in the hospital holding her hand while she slept with ventilators, just praying to a god he didn’t believe in for her to wake up.

When she finally opened her eyes, doctors warned her to go to rehab. “This will kill your baby if you’re not careful,” the stern physician warned her, and that was the first time Seo and Namjoon found out that she was pregnant, that amidst their fucked up rocky relationship they had somehow accidentally created something that was pure. They cried in each other’s arms that night under the fluorescence of the cold white room, promising to be better for their child. That was when he fell in love with her.

It was under the same fluorescence that he fell in love with her again, when she held his hand tight, her nails breaking his skin that still carried the crescent scars, as she gave birth to his daughter, the moon of his life. The nine months leading up to the day had Namjoon rediscovering Seo, had him realizing that he never noticed how kind she was, how she always put him first, shielded him from things she needed so as not to burden him. It made him realize how he had taken her devotion for granted for years and he promised himself to never do so again.

But promises are meant to be broken and it was only a few years later when he started falling back into the same patterns, using work as a cover to escape from his daughter’s shrill cries when she threw tantrums for no reason. He had promised to pick her up from school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when he was in town. It was his responsibility as a parent but even when he was tired, he cherished those moments, listening to Moon ramble on about school and the friends she was making. He was proud of her, or so his memories liked to tell him, but he knew that inside he would always ignore her, too tired from endless practice to pay attention, placating the child with hums and nods.

It was a time when he was working on Dark and Wild’s last album, the label pressuring him to change every song he sent for approval, the guys relying on him for advice when his brain was sapped dry. He was in a haze, he didn’t know what time it was, what day and at the end of his rope, he had just stopped going home. Things with Seo weren’t bad, and they weren’t good, they just were, like a routine that had been embedded in him – one that he had no motivation to break. He would pick up Moon from school, drop her home and see Seo greeting him and he’d only wave before turning around and going back to his studio, biding his time before coming home late enough that Seo would be asleep. He’d sneak into bed and hold her till he fell asleep.

Those nights, he always knew she was awake but he didn’t have the energy to talk to her, so he would stay silent, and hope that his arm around her waist was enough. It still pained him to admit that somehow along the way, his own wife had become a stranger to him. Somehow the woman he had vowed to love in front of his friends and family as she held his daughter in her arms, had turned into something akin to a pillow he would hug at night. He would feel guilty those nights, tearing up as he held her but then his brain reminded him that the only reason he was working so hard was because of her and Moon, that it would be worth it, that once their contract expired next year he could take a break and rebuild the relationship he had. Little did he know that that would never happen. He still remembered the night he lost her, vivid in his mind like a haunting film on repeat.

He had come back from the studio like always, sneaking into his own home at 2 am. He checked on his daughter, smiling tiredly at how she had her entire body wrapped around the giant pink bunny Jungkook had given her, her long dark hair falling over her face. He tiptoed into the room, picking up the blanket from where she had kicked it onto the floor and covered her up, smiling ever wider when she nuzzled into the soft material further.

Quietly walking into his bedroom, he saw his wife buried under the covers and decided to take a shower, relishing the warm water on his sore muscles. He decided to use her body wash that night, a habit he had developed for when his days were long and he needed the comfort of her scent enveloping her. Perhaps he would wake her and kiss her this time, feeling too needy to care if he got scolded. He had argued with Yoongi that day and he needed her to relieve the stress.

Crawling under the covers he reached for her, cuddling her close till he was kissing her neck, the skin oddly cool below his lips. That was the first sign, one that made him panic as he sat up in bed and started shaking her. He could still remember how loud his heart was pounding in his ears, how his hands shook when he ran to turn on the lights, and saw how blue her lips looked. He was crying on the phone when he called the ambulance, and while he waited he held her hand, trying not to yell in despair as he begged her to wake up, ignoring the familiar paraphernalia on the bedside table.

He was still sobbing when the sirens rang out and rotating red lights invaded through the curtains of his bedroom. Still sobbing when he woke up Moon, gathered her in his arms and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Still sobbing when the doctor told him he was sorry. He didn’t know he had such a large reserve of tears, one that didn’t stop even when the cameras followed his family when he buried her, when he bowed in front of Seo’s mother, clasping onto her feet for forgiveness, when he had to explain to his daughter where mommy was.

And he sobbed again when he told you everything, baring his soul in a way he had never done before, not knowing what he was hoping to accomplish. But when you pulled him to you, wrapped your arms around his head and shushed him, he felt his chest fill with warmth. The memories that had assaulted him faded into the background, your small noises of comfort lulling him into content. He hadn’t meant to recount his life story to you in such a way, he only wanted to tell you why the song had such an effect on him, but something about you had him spilling out his truths without even thinking.

“You’re okay,” you assured him as he apologised, reaching out to the table to hand him the box of tissues that was placed there above the stack of random magazines. With the comfort of your words, he pressed the soft cotton to his eyes, steeling himself, his breaths becoming stable as you gently rubbed his back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face as you shook your head. You didn’t know why he felt the need to thank you, all you had done was sit next to him and listened. You should’ve been the one to thank him for letting you in and for sharing his burden. You told him as such and he laughed, a light watery thing that made you join him. When he stood up, you wrapped him in a hug once again, hoping to heal him.

You had never thought that you would ever spend an evening at a private Dark and Wild concert, but more than that you had never imagined that Namjoon would somehow etch himself into your heart in such a short time.

Maybe that’s the thing about love, you never know when it will come and embrace you.

—-------

Birthdays were never your thing. You never knew why people were always so excited to celebrate another revolution around the sun. Your friends had always called you jaded, but you didn’t believe in celebrating the fact that you had just existed. A birthday wasn’t an accomplishment, everyone had a birthday from serial killers to misogynists – why should such a mundane fact be marked with a party. Yet despite your protests, your friends and family would always shower you with gifts and surprises. When you got older the parties toned down to gatherings at a bar or a restaurant, and slowly you became used to them, even expecting them.

Sitting in your room with the early evening sun pouring through your window and the latest Netflix show on your laptop, it didn’t feel like your birthday. Sure, you had received multiple messages reminding you of the fact, but with your family in another city and your friends scattered around the globe, this year it felt a bit empty, a little lonely. You didn’t know when you had started enjoying the celebrations, but the lack of one was jarring, even when you knew rationally that celebrating birthdays was stupid.

Sighing after yet another episode ended, you decided to pamper yourself, to celebrate not that you were a year older, but that despite missing your friends you were still mostly happy with your life. You gathered your favourite bath bomb and bubble bath from a little box under the bed and put on your fluffiest robe before venturing into the bathroom and lighting too many candles. The little speaker you had hooked on the door came to life with your favourite playlist as the tub filled with warm water, the bubbles increasing in volume and the colour of the water changing to a bright violet.

You decided to go all out, exfoliating and shaving your skin, and adding a clay mask to your skin. Dipping into the warm water felt luxurious, the heat relaxing your muscles. You hadn’t realised how long your days had gotten, how little time you had spent on self care, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way your body sank into the tub, the water caressing you like a lover, the scents making your eyes droop in content.

You finished up your impromptu spa day with painting your nails a bright pink, a colour you rarely used, even going so far to spend extra time blow drying your hair into silky voluminous waves. It felt nice to forget about everything that had been bothering you lately, from Hera’s constant insistence to be friends to your sudden feelings for Namjoon. It was nice to disconnect.

However, you had barely dressed when you heard your roommate, her bed squeaking through the walls as she wailed your ex’s name, souring your pleasant mood. God, you needed a drink.

Not thinking twice, you swapped your comfiest sweats for a nice dress and grabbed your purse. Just because you didn’t have anyone to celebrate with didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy a birthday drink and indulge in some decadent cake. Walking to your favourite coffee shop, you decided to get a cake first, picking the extremely tall eight layered chocolate cake and settling on a seat.

Usually, you would pull up a book you were reading on your phone, or scroll through social media, mindlessly watching TikToks, but today you didn’t feel the need for distractions. Savouring the melting rich mousse on your tongue you looked around the little shop, making up stories about its patrons as your eyes trailed over them. There was an old couple sitting in the corner, sharing a quiche, and you imagined that they had just dropped off their grandchildren after spending a day with them. Then you saw a teenager, standing at the counter, biting his lip, torn on what to choose and you imagined that perhaps he was getting a drink for a crush, hoping to woo them with his choice. When he finally settled on a special strawberry milkshake with a swirl of whipped cream and two straws, you mirrored his smile as he sat next to a wide-eyed girl beaming at him.

Every new customer that entered, you would give them a back story, some more mundane than others. Like when a man with a scar over his eyebrow in a suit came to order an espresso you imagined that he was a stuntman, going into a night shoot. Or when a woman came with a bunch of kids, you imagined she was an au pair, paying her way through a social sciences degree. The stories weren’t crazy, but you liked imagining their lives to be simple, it was comforting.

You were in the middle of another daydream when your phone vibrated, a text lighting up your screen.

Hey. I think after last time, I owe you a drink. You free?

It was a simple message, but the moment you read Namjoon’s name your heart skipped a beat, stories forgotten as your daydream morphed from strangers and their lives to hanging out with Namjoon, his arm around you, his lips on yours. It didn’t help that he was somehow psychic, somehow knowing how much you hated drinking alone.

I’m actually on my way to 88… join me!

You smiled, anticipating hanging out with him for no reason other than his company. You knew it was far-fetched to think about anything happening between you, even if last week had seemed like a turning point in your relationship. He was a famous rockstar with a family, there was no way there was any room in his life for you. Even if you were friends now, once he would convince the guys of the comeback, the two of you would go to occasional hangouts and random text messages, the need for frequent brainstorming sessions over.

Finishing the last bit of cake on your plate, you grabbed your purse when your phone pinged again.

Oh if you’re with your friends, I don’t want to intrude… I was just going to offer this stupidly expensive bottle of champagne I found.

Chuckling at his oddly endearing response, you asked him if he was at home or the studio, and when he confirmed the latter, you hailed a cab and made your way to the familiar glass skyscraper that was beginning to feel a little too comfortable to go to. A knock on the wooden door later, you found yourself face to face with Namjoon, his smile making your own lips lift at the corners, your heart feeling as if it was home.

“Hi… umm… hey. Hello,” he greeted a little awkwardly, moving to the mini fridge under the mixing desk to pull out a large bottle of champagne, the gold label glittering in the low light of the room. You settled on the couch, noticing that he had already put out glasses and snacks, various packets of chips and candy littering the coffee table.

“So champagne, eh? What are we celebrating?” you asked, leaning back comfortably as he joined you, a concentrated frown on his face as he fiddled with the corkscrew, bottle between his legs, attempting to wrestle it open. It popped open with a fizzle, a little bit of the liquid spilling onto his sweats as he chuckled victoriously.

“That you don’t hate me,” he replied with a smile, pouring the drink into the flutes and handing one to you. He felt nervous, not knowing why he had said what he said. He knew you didn’t hate him, you didn’t strike him as the person who would scoff at vulnerability, but still, he felt a little guilty about unloading on you the other day. He didn’t want you to think of him as fragile or that you had to carry his emotional baggage with him.

“I don’t hate you,” you protested, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip, the smooth sweet liquid bubbling through you. It really was expensive champagne, the taste unlike any you had had before, crisp yet alluring. “You had a moment. We all have them.”

Your words made Namjoon relax, confirming that his view of you was correct. He felt light as if a weight had been lifted, making him more confident. Out of everyone he knew, somehow you had made it to the top of the list of people he felt most comfortable with. It scared him how easily you had crawled into that space, without him even realising, but Namjoon had been to too much therapy to discount you, to run away like he usually did.

He watched you as you rose, walking to the speakers you had made yourself familiar with, connecting your phone till a dance pop melody was filling the room. Sitting next to him, Namjoon couldn’t help but notice how you were closer this time, your body heat almost palpable on his knee closest to your thigh. You hummed along to the music as you finished your drink, refilling your glass and then his when he followed suit.

He sat sideways, an elbow at the back of the couch and his hand holding his head. The silence was comfortable, letting him just bask in your presence. You looked different than you usually did, your hair falling in nice waves over your shoulders instead of in a ponytail, your body covered in a dress that worshipped it, wrapping in all the right places that made Namjoon’s mouth run a little dry. He cleared his throat, starting a conversation to distract himself.

“You’re all dressed up,” he commented as casually as he could, wondering what you ditched to hang out with him in his lackluster studio. His head wanted him to feel guilty for pulling you away from something but his heart was giddy that you chose him instead. “Sorry if I interrupted something. I should’ve checked in.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him with a giggle. “I was just going for a drink by myself. You interrupted nothing.”

“What were you celebrating?” he recited your earlier question with a grin, leaning closer to you to refill his glass, the fruity scent of your moisturiser tickling his nostrils deliciously. He wanted to nuzzle into you, to deeply inhale the strawberries from your collarbones, but that would be creepy so he moved back to his earlier position, taking a heavy swig to calm himself, not that the alcohol that was starting to buzz through him helped much.

“My birthday, actually,” you replied offhandedly, laughing as his mouth fell open in surprise. You assured him that you didn’t think birthdays were a big deal, but it seemed that Namjoon didn’t care, scrambling to wish you before he was out the door. You chuckled at how adamant he was about doing something special, taking another sip, before he returned, much quicker than you thought he’d be. He held a plate in his hand, stacked with twinkies, a tiny candle poking out from the one on top.

“Here in the Kim house – well, studio – we go all out for birthdays!” he exclaimed, balancing the plate precariously on the arm of the couch before pulling a lighter from his pocket and setting the wick on fire.

“Yes, all out with twinkies,” you teased, placing your glass on the table and standing next to him.

“Well some people like to hide their birthdays. This is the best cake on short notice,” he joked before starting to sing happy birthday, swaying a little side to side, a wide grin on his face.

This morning when you woke up without any plans and knowing no surprises awaited you, you felt empty, but with Namjoon’s tenor wishing you repeatedly, your eyes glistened a little, the warmth in your chest overwhelming you.

Blowing out the candle, you wished that the warmth never went away, oddly ecstatic that somehow in thirty-three years of living you had been fortunate enough to always have at least one person who wanted to celebrate you despite your protests. Namjoon picked a twinkie from the plate and held it to your lips, and somehow the convenience store confection tasted sweeter than usual. Taking the piece from his hands, you returned the favour and he happily munched on the dessert before placing the plate on the coffee table.

The two of you settled on the couch, and between the sips of champagne, he told you about how much he cherished birthdays and never took them for granted. He always went all out on his own, renting large venues to treat his friends to absurd things like skiing trips and jumping castles.

He told you about how for Moon’s birthdays he always implemented the no “no” rule where he would do anything he asked, sharing stories about the time she had gotten him to take her to Disneyland when she was nine and puked from one too many churros, and how for her thirteenth the duo had embarked on a hike in Costa Rica finding hidden waterfalls and cataloguing bugs they found on the way.

“Birthdays with you sound magical,” you remarked, a little jealous that your dad never took you to a rainforest for your birthdays. You could just imagine the way Moon’s face probably lit up when going on her dream vacation.

“Birthdays are magical,” he replied, pouring the last of the alcohol into your two glasses, cheeks flushed from how tipsy he was. He handed you your glass, smiling at you wistfully. “It means you lived another year. It means that you’re here, alive, with me. And that’s worth celebrating.”

You felt the warmth from earlier invade you again, magnified by the bubbly wine in your veins and the way his hand was still holding the glass under yours, sending tingles up your arm. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips landing on his in a brief impulse that sparked till your toes. But it seemed that you weren’t the only one who wanted to do so. You had barely moved away when he was leaning forward, his free hand gently resting on your waist as his lips captured yours once again.

Never in a million years would you have imagined kissing Namjoon Kim on his couch after he forced you to celebrate your birthday, and yet with a flurried haste you were moving your joined hands to the table to deposit your glass, winding your arms around his neck. The glass fell on the table with a little tinkle, the champagne spilling over the surface, but Namjoon couldn’t care less, taking the opportunity to pull you closer, his tongue tasting your peachy lip gloss before delving in and enjoying the sweetness of the wine on your tongue, relishing the little moan you made, your tongue twisting with his.

It was hungry, the two of you wrestling with the feelings that were brewing for months, his hands roaming your sides, squeezing at the flesh, and your fingers tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, making him keen. It seemed that the moment would last forever, neither of you willing to part even to breathe. That is, until the song changed.

It's your birthday, so I know you want to ride out Even if we only go to my house Sip mo-eezy as we sit upon my couch Feels good, but I know you want to cry out

The moment the R&B vocals filled the room, you couldn’t help bursting out in a laugh, cackling at the oddly specific lyrics your phone had decided to throw at you. Namjoon didn’t notice at first, his lips continuing to move from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, nipping at the skin. However, as your laughs got more hysterical, he finally tuned into the song playing, cringing before he joined your cackles, breathless with his forehead against yours.

“So Google really does listen in,” he deadpanned, his humour adding to your joy as you clung on to him, half in his lap before standing up to grab your phone from the table. As funny as the song was, you really didn’t want a soundtrack describing what Namjoon would do to you. A little voice in your head told you to not get your hopes up, that no matter how much you liked him, it was still just a kiss.

However as soon as you turned around, Namjoon put your fears to rest. Unlike how hesitant he had seemed earlier, he was now sitting with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, legs spread and a smirk lighting his face as he stared at you. His eyes roamed your body as he bit his lip, making you feel a little overheated.

“So it’s your birthday,” he commented casually, head tilted slightly, eyes intensely boring into yours. “Wanna ride it out?”

You knew he was teasing you by quoting the silly song but your body didn’t know better, your stomach aching with lust at his deep baritone. The Namjoon you knew was a goofy, clumsy dad, but this Namjoon was the notorious bassist of your youth, cocky and fearless as he sat up straighter, hands landing on your waist to pull you between his legs.

“I’ve read the tags on your blogs, y’know?” he teased, his hands running up and down your waist, the few inches they travelled leaving fire on your skin. “I remember one,” he mused, pulling you down till you straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. “‘God I’d pay all the money to sit on those dimples’ isn’t that what you said?”

Your mouth flew open at his words. You never thought your horny 3 am thoughts would ever be recited back to you by the subject himself and you had no words, every witty retort dying on your tongue to leave you with a lame, “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“And you weren’t supposed to make me fall for you,” he replied, earlier bravado falling away in favour of sincerity. He cupped your jaw, thumb running softly over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. “Can I kiss you?”

As soon as you whispered your consent he brought your face to his, lips reuniting to a taste he realised he could never get enough of. It was addicting how your hands gingerly clasped onto his shoulders, how you shivered when he traced his tongue over yours, and how you moaned softly when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

It didn’t take long for him to get needier, for his hands to grab onto your ass over your dress and mould to your flesh, to move your hips against his in a rhythm that made him heady. He wanted you so much that he felt breathless, running out of time even though he knew he wasn’t. His actions made you breathless too, like with every touch he was leading you to the edge of a cliff, hands shaking in anticipation of what was to come, but your brain refused to turn off, to forget whose hands were touching you till you were pushing him away, your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry… I’m a bit out of practice,” you apologised in a whisper, but he just grinned, dissolving your insecurities with his words.

“Me too,” he giggled, kissing your lips, once, twice, three times, his hands clasping onto yours, fingers lacing together. “We can practise together if you want… or we can wait. Whatever you like, birthday girl.”

Somehow his hands in yours and the cheeky smile on his face comforted you. You had been imagining the rockstar, the person you watched grow up through your screen and go wild on stage, but the more you looked at him, the more you saw who he really was.

His flushed cheeks, the little constellation of freckles on his face and the one hidden below his lip, the way his eyes searched yours so eagerly. He wasn’t a rockstar, he was just Namjoon, the one who made stupid jokes and stashed snacks in every drawer. The one who got bullied by his daughter and complained to you about it. The one who was brave enough to open up to you about his life. You knew him, he was real, and, like him, you were falling too.

With his hands still in yours, you leaned forward, kissing him again, confident and undeterred, and he followed suit, deepening the kiss before he was holding onto your waist and spinning around. You barely registered lying on your back before he was upon you, his weight cushioning you deliciously into the couch, the soft fabric of his sweatpants caressing your inner thighs.

“Hi,” he whispered, adoration dripping from his pupils as he smiled, fingers stroking your hair and you couldn’t help leaning forward to capture his lips once again, legs tightening around his waist. You could hear the blood rushing through you, an ambient backdrop to the sounds of his lips moving down to your neck as his teeth nipped at the skin of your collarbone. It had been so long since you had touched someone, been worshipped by someone like Namjoon was determined to do so that you couldn’t help canting your hips against his, relishing the way his pants left nothing to the imagination, his rapidly hardening cock providing the friction you sought.

With all the bravery you could muster, you detangled your hand from under his to the side of your dress pulling the zipper down with a loud purr Namjoon felt shooting through him. With the dress loosened, it gave him room to roam your skin further, his lips soothing the heated skin of your chest as he pulled the straps down to reveal your nipples. Namjoon had seen many bodies in his life; on the screen, in strip clubs, writhing under him; but something about yours made him pause to drink it up. He could see the way your lips fell open, swollen and red, the way your chest rose with your heavy breaths, nipples perked in anticipation, and the way your eyes looked up at him, wide and inviting. And right below your chest, sprawled on your right rib, were the words he wrote so long ago now.

And the swings that can't look at the sky on their own, and the kids all grown up, and me who’s a little late

His mouth fell open as he tried to wrap his head around how perfect you were. He felt a familiar rush through him. One he hadn’t felt in so long that he was almost afraid he had outgrown it – the pure endorphins of a crush fulfilled. With a muttered curse, he buried his face back in your neck, almost desperate to inhale your scent once more. His hands planted themselves on your chest, squeezing the flesh, making you moan his name in a desperation that only fuelled him further, lips moving to encase a nipple between them to add to your ecstasy.

You whimpered when his teeth came to play, the blunt edges hardening them further, making you grasp his hair and arch your back. Leaving goosebumps in their wake, his hands moved down your body, wrapping around each of your thighs, pushing your dress to your waist, denting the flesh. He had missed the feel of soft skin under him for so long, much more so since you started featuring in his life and his dreams, but touching you was better than any wet dream. The melody of your mewls intensified when he switched to your other breast, his fingers dipping to the apex of your thighs to indulge in the way your panties stuck to you, so wet all for him.

You felt your legs shake out of their own accord as Namjoon moved down your body, still relentlessly tracing you over your ruined panties. You had forgotten intimacy after Ryan, always talking yourself out of potential new relationships, one-night stands never something that satiated you, but somehow Namjoon had sneaked in and weakened your defences. When his lips sought out your clit over the thin lace, you couldn’t help but thank the heavens that he had appeared in your life, pleasure coursing through you. With every flick of his tongue, you felt yourself getting closer to coming undone, muscles tightened in suspense of his next actions.

Impatient and desperate, Namjoon couldn’t wait any longer, pushing aside the fabric that guarded you from him to dip his finger in, your walls welcoming him with a pulse as if emitting a secret in morse code just for him. With fervour, he wrapped his lips around your clit, another finger joining the first, pumping in time with your gasps. Your grip on his hair tightened and he went faster, eager to see you fall apart.

There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room, enough syllables in any language to describe how he made you feel in that moment. It was as if you could feel every drop of blood inside you rush through your body, haphazard and chaotic, brewing like a storm deep in your core, getting wilder and wilder. Your senses were hyper focused, each touch making you quake, each moan that Namjoon made between your thighs vibrating through you. It bordered on too much, building until there was no way to escape.

Silence.

That’s what it sounded like. As if you were thrown underwater, your whimpers sounded like distant noises from a different universe, muffled and overwhelming. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath but when his tongue flicked under your clit, and his fingers hooked into that one spot, you finally remembered to breathe, your entire body relaxing to a point where you shook so violently that he had no choice but to look up at the euphoria painted on your features.

Eyes closed tight, all you saw were stars as his fingers rode you through your high, slowing to a pace you could relish. Soon, his lips were on yours, swallowing your soft moans, and your hands were around his shoulders holding him close.

“Okay?” he asked between kisses, heart skipping a beat at the way you beamed at him, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. Gathering your senses, you pushed him away, sitting up and pulling his shirt off, wanting his skin on yours.

He welcomed you with open arms, when you discarded your dress next to his shirt and climbed on his lap, once again uniting your lips. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, wanting his lips to be thoroughly chapped if it meant he could never stop kissing you.

“More,” you whispered, against his lips, hands roaming his strong chest and down to his abs, the muscle jumping under your fingertips.

“More?” he asked, dazed.

“More,” you replied once again, fingers trailing the little hairs under his belly button before slipping under the waistband into his underwear. His skin was soft, velvet under your touch, and he was so hard, tip messy as you played with him. He twitched in your hold, thighs flexing under you and his hands on your thighs gripping tighter, but you didn’t stop, stroking him slowly till he was keening, scrambling to push you off and get a condom.

“Condoms in the studio? How convenient,” you teased, enjoying the way Namjoon’s already flushed skin turned a deeper shade of red. However, his expression didn’t betray his flustered state as he confidently walked back to the couch, dropping his sweatpants and boxers on the way.

He stood like an adonis in front of you, sculpted and hard, his cock at eye level as he put on the condom, slowly teasing you before sitting next to you, arms sprawled on the cushions next to him.

Resisting him was futile, and your body moved on autopilot, underwear coming off without hesitance before you straddled him once again, resting your wet thighs against his. You traced his biceps, running your fingers up his shoulders to find him staring up at you. You lost yourself in his eyes, tracing the pattern of his irises, how the darkness melted into a warm chocolate.

Bringing his hands to your waist, he mirrored your movements, fingertips lightly grazing your sides. He knew you were joking, but something about your teasing made him feel guilty, made him want to dispel your worries, even if they didn’t exist. Capturing your lips, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours before speaking.

“Haven’t needed them for two years,” he murmured with a kiss, chuckling at the disbelief so easily painted on your face. “Told you I was out of practice.”

“You are definitely not out of practice.”

You could still feel the buzz in your body, the way he reduced you to nothing, just a mess blabbering his name. If this was him out of practice, you were almost afraid of knowing what he was like when he was more comfortable. You hoped you would find out. Cupping his face, you kissed him again before guiding his length into you, sinking down in one swoop, the stretch making you keen, thighs shivering.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his breath fanning your jaw as he tried to calm the urge to buck his hips into you. “You’re not either.”

You set a gentle pace, wanting to feel him for as long as possible, your breaths mingling together as you clung on to each other. But with one kiss, patience ran out. Tongues wrestling with each other, Namjoon lifted you up only to move you over his cock faster, jostling you into compliance as his hips thrust into you in time with his arms. Everytime he sunk into you, your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin deliciously, making him go faster and faster.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

As he went faster and his pace threatened to chase your sanity away, you brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves faster and faster, matching the way he grunted into your mouth, untethered, unhinged. It felt like an eternity, dangling so close to the edge that you could feel your walls closing in on him, his cock struggling to keep up with the earlier smooth movements.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, bringing your mouth back to his to lap at your lips. He thought he was so desperate because he missed sex, but nothing he had experienced came close to the way he felt lost in your warmth, unbelievably hard, forgetting the way his calves were cramping. He was so close, he could feel his eye twitching, his lip quivering with each of his moans. And then you came.

Your pussy clenched around him, pulsing, massaging him to an orgasm that made him float into the air, made him lose all sense of time, made him lose all feeling except for the way your arousal gushed into his lap, covering him, marking him as yours. And he wanted to be yours so bad. With a strangled whimper of your name, he held you still, rubbing his hands over your back, partly to sooth you and partly to ground himself, to remind him that you were real and not just one of his daydreams.

He lifted your head from where it was buried in his shoulder, lips chasing yours, tongue gently caressing, head heady with a satiated glow he felt emanating from his chest to the tips of his toes.

“Wow,” you breathed, bodies still joined together, hands playing with his hair, eyes drinking in the endeared look on his face. He didn’t reply, only smiled brightly before meeting your lips once again, getting you lost in his bliss.

You sat there kissing for a while before Namjoon’s phone rang, eliciting a groan from the man who refused to let you go. When the jingle persisted, he held you at the waist leaning forward to pick up his phone to see his daughter’s face lighting up the screen. Namjoon felt bad about sending his child to voicemail, but he had just gotten a taste of you. He didn’t want it to end, not yet.

“Sorry, Moon,” he whispered before pressing the red button to silence the call and kissing you again. You giggled on his lips at his antics, but he silenced you with his tongue, deepening the kiss with a moan that signalled the beginning of a second round. However, before you could lose yourself in him again, you heard a loud voice.

“Daaaaaaaaaaad! Daaaaaaaaaad!” Moon’s whine was clear through the static of the line, Namjoon’s eyes widening in shock before he stared at the phone. He was so sure he silenced the call! With an apologetic glance at you, he picked up his phone, clearing his throat before speaking, while you tried to control the laughter bubbling in your chest.

“Hi Moonie,” he answered, pouting at you exaggeratedly as you moved off his lap to grab your underwear. You had barely put it on before he was pulling you back towards him, an arm locked around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he continued the conversation. “Yes I know… I’ll get it. No, I won't forget! When have I ever forgotten anything?” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

The whole exchange would be adorable if it wasn’t for the way his hands moved from your waist to your chest, fingers playing with your nipple almost absent-mindedly. When he hung up, he turned towards you, kissing you once again.

“Wanna come over for pizza night?” he asked, pecking your cheek, enjoying the way your lips rose into a smirk before blooming into a grin. He knew it was too early, but he wanted to make you smile like that every day, as long as you’d let him. When the two of you dressed, he pulled you into a hug, letting his arms encompass you before whispering what he wanted the most, “Stay over after?”

Your heart fluttered in its space, growing wings and vying to get out, effervescent and giddy. Going up on your tiptoes, you captured his lips once more, softly, hugging him tighter.

“I’d like that very much.”

—-------

The week after you spent the night with Namjoon didn’t turn out to be the blissful week you thought it would be. With his case with Generation Swine coming to an end, there were a lot of meetings and paperwork. With their lawyers adamant about copyrights, you spent the majority of your time pouring over historical cases with your paralegal. Exhausting every resource, there only seemed to be one solution that you could come up with, a compromise that left you frustrated because you wanted to win.

Your communication with Namjoon was mainly relegated to succinct text messages that made you feel a little insecure about the evening you had spent with him – not to mention that his case made you feel a little guilty about building that kind of relationship with a client. However, your solace was to find a solution and put the situation to bed. Namjoon was the first man after Ryan who had made you feel safe enough to even think about another relationship and you didn’t want your constant excuse of work to dwindle the flame like so many others in the past.

Wine glass in hand, you sat on your living room couch, trying to write the final agreement and even though you knew that Namjoon had fully agreed to whatever you would come up with, you couldn’t help wanting his opinion one last time. A frustrated sigh left your lips as you reread the terms Generation Swine’s lawyers had put forward and with a large gulp of the wine, you dialled Namjoon.

“Hi,” he answered, his deep drawl making you remember how he had whispered the same word before he ruined you. Gulping, you tried to clear your head with another sip of your drink.

“Okay I have a question,” you said, scrolling through the document, ready to dive into the proposed agreement before he interrupted you.

“Me too. What are you wearing?” His tone was cheeky, an audible smile making you giggle, trying not to get sidetracked by him like you always did. There was a reason your usual twenty minute client meetings went on for hours.

“What am I wearing? Really?”

“Mhm. Missed you this week,” he replied with a raspy voice that made you squeeze your thighs together, wanting to abandon your earlier plan, but you were too close to the finish line, too close to genuinely give him your time without the added weight of dating a client.

“Namjoon Kim! I’m trying to work here!” you chastised, despite the growing need in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, so work with me!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “Is it that cute lace thing you were wearing that day?”

“Stop,” you whined, covering your flushed face even though you knew he couldn’t see you as he cackled through the phone. However, you did note to wear similar lingerie the next time you saw him, smiling to yourself.

“Sorry, sorry! What do you need darling?” Deciding to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, you put him on speaker, leaning forward to read the screen and dictating the points to him.

Essentially, the label and their lawyers had decided not to sue Namjoon if he paid the minimal contract breaking fee and gave them the rights to the songs he had already sent them demos for, four in total. You had countered that with the demand that the song may never be used by Generation Swine and that they may be used by other artists of the label if they gave Namjoon full credits, including in the title and changed none of the original lyrics.

Initially, you had been surprised that they had easily agreed. You had thought they would fight you more on it, but they were happy to agree and sign, and despite your reservations, you were obligated to provide this information to Namjoon.

“That sounds… great actually,” he said after a pause. “My name in the title too? That’s kinda crazy they agreed to it.”

“Perhaps your name carries more weight than you thought,” you commented, eyes still glued to the screen, lip between your teeth.

“I mean especially if we do a comeback,” he replied, a little smug and you couldn’t help but knock him down a notch, just to tease him.

“Last I heard, no one wants a comeback,” you grinned.

“Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?” he volleyed back, his laugh carrying through the static making you mirror it.

“I’m sure Hoseok would love to hear that you're the leader,” you teased, only to get a scoff in return.

“Hobi knows I’m the leader,” he gloated.

“All hail President Kim,” you acquiesced through a giggle.

“That’s right,” he said, pleased and you could just imagine him puffing up his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way… What are you wearing?”

“I am not sexting you, Namjoon!” you protested, laughing at his one track mind and crossing your legs.

“Okay fine. What about… a date? When are you free?” he asked and you couldn’t help the way a blush grew on your cheeks, a giddiness you hadn’t experienced in too long bubbling inside you.

“As soon as you sign this agreement,” you answered, emailing him a copy of the document as you took him off speaker and leaned back on your couch. “So after the final meeting with the label tomorrow?”

“Well lucky for you, I can’t wait to see you,” he said, his sincerity easily flowing through the line and melting your heart in your chest.

—-----

Namjoon was livid. Pacing around his living room, he scrolled through his twitter to find himself trending. Thousands of people were talking about a Dark and Wild comeback, every single person referring to one video in particular. A blank screen with his voice echoing through: ”Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?”

There was only one explanation for why this was suddenly going viral. There was only one person who had access to this. His heart plummeted to his stomach at the thought. He had trusted you. Trusted you with his secrets, trusted you with his authentic self. But you were just like everyone else, weren’t you? Just a clout chaser that went to the press at the first opportunity. He had to commend you. You played a long con, most of the women he had been involved with leaked pictures of him the moment he let them into his house, but you had been cunning, waiting till he had handed you his heart on a platter to shatter it mercilessly.

He could feel his hair stand at the thought of what else you might share of his life. Would you be like the first woman he had dated after Seo? The one who went on television with an exclusive interview talking about his dick. The interview his daughter’s classmates had bullied her with. He felt panicked as he called you. Would you go for an interview too? Expose how he had introduced his wife to a drug that took her life? Expose how much a failure he was and destroy the carefully curated narrative his PR team presented to the world?

His feet moved faster as if they were trying to keep up with his heart, each ring distracting him further, making him bump into the coffee table, spilling his morning coffee on the spotless surface. He watched the brown liquid cover the glass expanse before trickling onto the marble one drop at a time, mimicking the sweat that gathered on his forehead.

When you picked up, his body responded like usual, warming at the sleepy rasp, the one he remembered from a few weeks ago when you had woken up with your limbs wrapped around him, the sunlight brightening your smile. Stupid. He was so stupid!

“Why would you do this? I trusted you! I trusted you with my plans! My life! How the fuck could you do this to me?” he yelled, his frustration manifesting in a lump in his throat, choking his words, making them spill out strained and distorted. He didn’t let you speak, interrupting your feigned confusion. He didn’t have time to be nice. He had to figure out how to fix this. He needed to check on the guys. He needed to check on Moon. This was too much.

So he spoke even faster, let his bitter betrayal flavour his words with the worst expletives he could muster and ending the call with a simple threat, “Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me. I never wanna fucking see you again. I hope that degree is good enough because I’m gonna sue you out of every fucking penny you have. Mark my words, Y/N.”

He was panting by the time he hung up, lungs aching as they expanded, tears flowing as he realised just how much it hurt. His grip on his phone tightened and before he knew it he was throwing it across the room, shattering it against the wall with a frustrated scream.

“Dad?”

His daughter’s surprised voice pulled him out of his head, freezing him where he was still pacing, the adrenaline from earlier vanishing into exhaustion. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and mustering a smile before turning around, trying immensely hard to put up a brave front. But he had forgotten how precocious his daughter was, how she saw through him as she held his hand and settled him on the couch.

She brought him a bottle of water, waiting for him to drink before sitting next to him, posture impeccable and jaw tightened in a scowl. He saw himself in her at that moment, the expression one he would give his band members when they strayed out of line. Now he knew why they listened, even on a sixteen year old the look was intimidating.

“Dad, was that you talking to Y/N?” she asked, arms crossed across her chest and for a moment Namjoon felt sheepish, guilty that she had heard the ugly words he had spoken. Yet that guilt did not extend to you. He knew that if he didn’t threaten you, the things you might say to the press would have a lasting impression on his daughter.

She knew the circumstances of her mother’s death, but she never knew how complicit he had been. She always looked up to him as a role model, and he didn’t think his heart could ever take it if that illusion shattered. But he got a glimpse of that when he quietly affirmed her suspicion and watched her face fall, the scowl replaced with a sadness he wished he could erase.

“I’m really disappointed in you, dad,” she sighed, shaking her head and her words felt like a sword piercing through Namjoon’s chest. He had worked so hard to make sure she never felt that way. He knew she deserved a much better father than him, and he had tried so hard to ensure that; he had worked jobs he hated, he had read hundreds of parenting books, and he had gone to therapy. Yet the words seemed to come so easily to her, permeating the air with a tension that stiffened Namjoon’s shoulders and put him on the defensive.

“Have you seen the internet? She betrayed us, Moonie,” he retorted, voice a little colder than he wanted, but he couldn’t help it, fire stoked once again.

“Did she tell you it was her?” she replied with an eye roll, so naive.

“There could have been no one else. It was a private conversation between us.”

“But did you hear her out? All I could hear was you yelling,” she protested and Namjoon couldn’t help but shake his head. Not only had you fucked with his head, but you had also somehow put his daughter under your spell as well, especially when she continued, “You were mean. You threatened her!”

“It was to protect us. We can’t have random people think they can get away with stuff like this,” he tried to explain, watching his daughter get agitated and looking like a kid once again with her pigtails bouncing. She kept telling him he was wrong despite his efforts to remain calm and expound on his stance.

“You like her! She’s a lawyer. Why would she do this?” she argued and Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how innocent his daughter was. He hoped she remained this optimistic forever, that she didn’t have to go through the duplicity he had experienced in his life. The more he tried to explain to her that that’s what people were like sometimes, that it was hard to trust anyone other than family, the more agitated he got at her denial.

Any other time, he would be proud of her for sticking to her stance and arguing through her thoughts, but Namjoon was exhausted. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he had found out this audio was leaked was not because of the news, but because his PR firm had called him about it. They had traced the origin to a dummy Twitter account which had posted and tagged it multiple times. They had also traced the IP address to where he knew your apartment was. There was no room for doubt when everything was crystal clear.

And so for the first time, he snapped at his daughter.

“Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I’m the parent, not you. Go to your room.”

He always hated parents that dangled their authority over their children. His parents were like that and although he was past it now, he remembered resenting them for it when he was younger. He resented their inability to talk things through, to listen to his point of view. It had taken him years to get over that feeling, but he never felt true empathy for them until this moment, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter angrily stomp towards her room.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face in defeat. With the anger fading, came the heartbreak. He really had thought you were special, someone who somehow understood him. A chance encounter that led to him shedding the walls he had reinforced in the past ten years. He was upset about the betrayal, but his fear was more pressing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to trust anyone again and that thought chilled him to the core. Years of therapy had taught him out of his usual defence mechanisms, to replace the toxicity with healthy coping, yet his chest felt tight as he felt the intense need to wallow.

An arm over his eyes, he tried not to notice how his skin turned moist and instead focused on what he did when he felt this way. Standing up, he grabbed his keys and headed to his studio.

—-------

You were still in bed, hand clutching your phone as Namjoon’s words rang in your head. Scrolling through the news you could see why he was seething. If you were him, you would’ve jumped to the same conclusion, but you knew it wasn’t you that leaked the video. Being hacked was out of the question, you had obscenely long passwords and two factor authentication on everything – working with high powered clients tended to seep into paranoia. Additionally, it wasn’t like you were recording the conversation in the first place. It was as if someone was in the room with you, taking notes of your conversation. Namjoon had even mentioned something about being sure it came from your address.

And then it dawned on you.

Phone clutched in your hand, you headed to your spare room, knocking furiously till a yawning Hera appeared. Her long hair stuck out at weird angles, pajamas frumpled and the impression of a pillow still on her face. She seemed like she was sleeping so soundly and it only made the anger licking at your veins ignite further.

Holding up your phone, you played the video, seething. “Did you leak this?”

“Ugh, this is what you woke me up for? Yeah. Now, let me go to bed,” she yawned, moving to close the door before you stopped her.

You expected her to deny it, to make an excuse but her blatant admittance to invading your privacy had you spiralling. You had put up with a lot with her. You had excused her shitty decisions, you had excused her inability to ever pay for anything, but this was too much.

“This was a private conversation, Hera,” you gritted, getting angrier as she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Celebrities aren’t private,” she replied nonchalantly. “Think of it like I was a paparazzi.”

“But that’s the thing. You’re not. This was a private conversation and you recorded it. Do you not understand how fucked up that is?”

“Oh my god! Give me a break! I didn’t even release the juicy stuff. I could’ve told the world you were dating that guy but I didn’t because I’m your friend.”

You couldn’t help but sputter at her rationalisation. It was absurd how she thought it was okay to do this. You knew her morals weren’t always aligned with yours, but you never realised how far they had truly skewed. How had you missed this in all these years? How had you not realised how one sided this relationship had become? Why did you keep putting up with her when she never showed you an ounce of respect?

“Get out,” you said, trying to hold back your vexation.

“What? You’re kicking me out now?” she laughed as if it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

“I said get out. I want you out of here by tonight.”

“Come on! I’m sorry Y/N. Is that what you want to hear?” she pouted, turning her voice higher to be cuter. Perhaps it would have worked in the past. Maybe it had, for her to pull it out of her arsenal, but she had gone too far. Much too far. When you repeated your words once again, she seemed angry, spitting at you how she knew you were trying to get Ryan back and she needed to always record you to make sure she could trust you. It was absurd and you didn’t want to expend any more energy on her. You were done.

You left her screaming at you, grabbing your keys and sending her one last warning before slamming the door and going to your office.

“You take your stuff and you get out. If I find anything missing or if you’re still here when I get back, I’m calling the police.”

—-------

Despite the odd look security gave your outfit as you walked into your building on a Sunday morning, you were too wired up to care. It wasn’t unusual for you to be one track minded when it came to something. You often got borderline obsessed, and today you had only one thing on your mind – get that video off the internet. Settling in your office, you scanned your shelves for books on defamation and invasion of privacy. It would make a flimsy case, Namjoon said his name on the recording after all, but if you could find a precedent, you could perhaps develop a useful argument.

When your shelves did not give you the answers you were looking for, you made your way across the empty floor to the in-house library, picking up anything of use. Before long, you were sitting at your desk, piles of books and the internet calming your nerves. However, the more you read, the more the pit in your stomach grew. It felt fruitless, looking for a needle in a vast ocean.

You needed this win to clear your name, but more importantly, you needed it to help Namjoon. It had been so long since anyone made you feel safe, made you feel as if you were worthy of their vulnerability and your heart ached as you imagined how he must have felt seeing your private conversation in the headlines. Head pounding, you tugged at your hair in frustration, reading the same line over and over till the words held no meaning at all.

You opened your drawer, rummaging for some painkillers till your hand closed around the bottle. Pulling it out, your eyes landed on the chocolate bars Namjoon had insisted on you stashing in your office. “In case you ever have a bad day!” he had exclaimed when he handed you a bunch of his favourites. The memory seemed bitter now, but you still picked up a bar, ripping it open and letting the sweet taste distract you with its endorphins.

Maybe it was pathetic crying in your rapidly darkening office with chocolate smeared on your face but everything felt overwhelming all of a sudden. If you had only lost Namjoon perhaps you would have been able to hold it together. You had dealt with breakups, not sure if the short lived stint with the celebrity even counted as a breakup. But it was the loss of Hera that had you sniffling, curled up on your chair. She wasn’t the greatest of friends but she was your best friend, had been for years and you would do anything to protect her. It pained you that she didn’t even think of extending you the same courtesy, that for her you had somehow gone from a confidant to an untrustworthy roommate.

Despite your efforts, she seemed to always look for the worst in you. As you ruminated over the decade-long friendship, more instances became obvious. It was as if every toxic red flag had been ignored by you. Were you really that desperate for kinship that you let every time she put you down slide by?

They weren’t big things, you thought. A slight here, a ruthless comment there before she was telling you to chill out and hugging you. You always thought that her comments were innocent, that they were just a part of her love language. She liked to joke around, poke fun at your outfits, your hobbies, but the more you thought about it, the harder it was for you to remember moments when she had been kind, when she had stood up for you.

Perhaps it was your fault for forgiving her time and time again, for putting up with her behaviour. Maybe this whole leak debacle wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you had called her out on her bullshit earlier. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered your friendship when she never offered to pay rent, or when she started dating your cheating, hateful ex. Was she really at fault if you had never set the boundaries in the first place?

Sighing, you set your head on the table. Hoping to will away the headache, you closed your eyes.

It seemed merely minutes had passed when your phone chimed, startling you awake but the time on the screen alarmed you. It was just past 1am. Somehow you had spent the majority of your day sleeping at your desk. Your back ached from the angle, but the pain was forgotten when your phone chimed once again. Wiping your eyes you took a closer look at your screen.

Namjoon - Missed calls (5)

Namjoon: Is Moon with you? Namjoon: Please call me back Namjoon: Please Namjoon: I’m really sorry but please I can’t find Moon

Panic surged through you at his words, your fingers flying on the screen as you called him back. The phone rang twice before Namjoon’s ragged voice was bombarding you with questions, “Where are you? Is Moon with you? Has she contacted you?”

“No, but we can find her. Namjoon, listen, calm down. We’ll find her.” You tried to comfort him but it seemed that he was spiralling, muttering about being a bad father. It was a drastic contrast to his earlier fire, alarm dousing his tone in helplessness. He went on to tell you that her phone was at home, that he hadn’t seen her for hours, and the police had told him they’d make the case a priority.

“What if she was kidnapped? What if people think that I’m famous again and they can put her for ransom?” he rambled, clearly distressed. Trying to distract him from his dark thoughts, you asked him about all the places she could be and when he informed you that everyone was looking at her usual spots, you decided to search up other spots in the city where she could be, looking up parks and concert venues. With assurance that you will look for her, you hung up the phone, ran to your car and started your search of the city.

1 am on a Monday doesn’t lead to many crowds so it was easy to go through the top spots that you had listed. You even rented a bike and biked up and down the Han river park but other than a few drunks, you found no trace of her. Back in your car, you tried to run through every conversation with her, there had been so few, and she hadn’t mentioned anything. Giving up, you hoped that they had found her and forgotten to tell you. You were an insignificant part of their lives anyway.

Calling Namjoon didn’t work, his phone just rang through each time. You knew you should just go home and let him deal with it, he had his best friends and the police on his side, he didn’t need you, someone he didn’t even trust anymore, to tag along. But the unrest in your chest wouldn’t let you turn your car around. Instead, you drove to his apartment as if on instinct. If he wanted you out, he would tell you, he clearly had no problem making his opinions known when he wanted to.

When you knocked on his door, you were met by a Namjoon you hadn’t seen before. Eyes red, hair a mess, he let you in before starting his pacing again, rambling about how he was a terrible father, interrupting you angrily when you tried to tell him otherwise.

“I told her to go to her room! Do you know how fucked up that is?” he yelled, confusing you further.

“Namjoon… a lot of kids get sent to their room. That’s not a bad thing,” you cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Not Moon. She was… so disappointed in me. I’m not supposed to be like those other parents! What if… what if that’s the last thing I say to her?” His lip quivered as he spoke, facade crumbling as he fell to his knees, taking you with him. For all the vitriol he had spewed that morning, it seemed that Namjoon just wanted you close, clinging on to you in his panic. You couldn’t help but hold him close, even if it was temporary, wishing to provide him with comfort as long as he allowed.

It was in that position that Moon found the two of you when she returned, immediately running to her father.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, kneeling next to you as Namjoon stared at her before pulling her into a bone-crushing bone crushing hug.

“Where were you? I was so worried!” he scolded, unable to stop the huge relieved grin on his face. He patted her hair as if to feel if she was real and you couldn’t help but be endeared by the pure display as they bickered, It was heartwarming to see Moon trying to explain to her worried father that she had merely forgotten her phone at home and gone to a concert with friends.

“You could’ve messaged from someone’s phone or left a note!” Namjoon argued, still hugging her.

“I left a note on the fridge!” she replied as Namjoon sheepishly made excuses as to how he had been too worried to even check the kitchen fridge.

The two were in their own bubble and it made you a little awkward to be watching such an intimate family moment when before the disaster it was made clear that you were no longer welcomed in Namjoon’s life. With a heavy heart, you stood up taking your leave despite Moon’s insistence for you to stay the rest of the night.

As you were leaving, Jungkook and Yoongi came by, both equally relieved to find their niece safe and sound. When the elevator doors closed in front of you, you decided that it was better to have gotten a glimpse into the lives of people you admired than to have never had that time with them at all. It still hurt to have Namjoon distrust you so easily, even if rationally it made sense as to why he did. You were only a fleeting moment and that was okay.

You were grateful for the time you spent with him.

—-------

It had been a week since he berated and then asked you for a favour, and Namjoon didn’t think he could ever feel so empty again. He stared at the glass of whiskey in front of him, trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to call you. Would you hear him out, let him apologise or would you just brush him off?

You hadn’t apologised for the leak and even if he did overreact in the moment, he knew that it was unfair of you to do that. But after how quick you had jumped in to help him search for Moon and how none of his other secrets came into the limelight, his gut told him that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you had gotten hacked, or he had gotten hacked. Maybe there was an explanation that didn’t lead to him losing you from his life. But then again, did he even deserve to invite you back in when he had so ruthlessly shoved you out. Damn, he even threatened to sue you!

“Joon hyung! I’m trying to tell you all something!” Jungkook whined, the addition of the term of respect alluding to Namjoon that he had been calling his name for a while. The guys had dropped the honorifics once they had disbanded, an effort to see each other on equal footing as friends, but the habit was especially hard to drop for the youngest. Namjoon chuckled at his friend with a nod as the rest of the band grumped at Jungkook to continue.

“So… the leak was actually good huh?” he commented, large eyes scanning the faces of the six men around him eagerly. For someone who was dead set against a comeback, it seemed that the sudden downpour of support from old and new fans alike had swayed Jungkook.

Jungkook was barely even a teenager when Dark and Wild launched, so it was no surprise that Shadows held a very big spot in his heart, multiple tattoos alluding to the fact. Namjoon remembered when a doe-eyed Jungkook had excitedly shown him his first fan letter, one that was still framed in his living room.

It was endearing to see him this excited about returning, but for all his plans, Namjoon felt guilty that the thing that convinced the members to pursue a comeback was not his and your hard work but a mistake. He felt uneasy, a clawing feeling in his chest making him feel as if he had forgotten something behind.

He knew it was you.

Somehow in the months of planning, you had become intertwined with his vision of a comeback. When he imagined picking songs for the album, he thought of your input. He imagined your name in the end notes of the cover. He imagined you in the studio during practice and in the wings at the first concert.

It wasn’t a comeback if you weren’t there to enjoy it with him. Even if you never wanted to talk to him again, he wanted to experience everything because you had so easily given him access to your time and your intelligence. Perhaps he should’ve never crossed that line. Perhaps he should’ve remained professional and not let his lonely heart fiddle with his brain.

“So wait… we all want to actually do this?” Jimin asked, the men continuing their discussion, oblivious to how Namjoon had once again reverted into his head. Everyone nodded along, except Seokjin who sat with a frown on his face.

“I don’t know… Go back to the limelight? Do you think we’re ready for that again?” he asked tentatively, his lower lip between his teeth. “It was a lot of pressure on all of us, all of our partners too.”

“We’re older now. We know our limits better now. We know ourselves better now,” Hoseok consoled quietly, slurring a little and sipping his drink, his face already flaring red from the alcohol. Seokjin laughed at the juxtaposition of Hoseok’s serious tone and sleepy eyes.

“Okay. If you can beat me at rock, paper, scissors, I’m in,” he joked holding up a fist as Hoseok squared up, much to the annoyance of the rest of the band.

“Why do we always have to do rock, paper, scissors for everything?” Taehyung bemoaned, leaning back on the couch staring at the ceiling with a huff as Jungkook coached Hoseok through whispers.

“Because democracy,” Seokjin grinned, chanting 'rock, paper, scissors’ before leaving his fist as is to signal rock just a few seconds after Hoseok showed his hand, paper.

“I won!” Hoseok gleed excitedly before stopping short and staring at his friends. “I won… We’re doing a comeback?”

“We’re doing a comeback,” Seokjin laughed, trying not to hint that he had agreed before the game even started, even when Yoongi smiled knowingly at him. “Good job, Joonie.”

Namjoon couldn’t help getting a little flustered at the sudden praise from his bandmate, his heart beating faster. He had waited so long for this, that it seemed surreal that it was happening. Standing up, he raised his glass to the middle, proposing a toast.

“Dark and Wild,” he cheered, the men echoing him as seven glasses clinked together.

Fuck, they were really doing a comeback, weren’t they?

—-------

When you had left Namjoon’s apartment two weeks ago, you were sure that you would never return. There was no reason to climb the gilded elevator to the cosy home, especially with the radio silence that had continued between the two of you. You were sure he still thought you were responsible for the leak and you should’ve been mad that he never tried to hear you out, but your empathy wouldn’t let you. It made sense with how guarded he was to assume the worst, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t hope that he would call you and make things right.

Waiting for the elevator, it wasn’t Namjoon that invited you back, but Moon. She had messaged you requesting your presence at her birthday and after Namjoon had explained how he tried to make each of her birthdays magical, there was no way you could refuse. You knew it would be awkward, stilted as you tried to go through a group of Namjoon’s friends and family, but you would hate it if you were the one who took away the magic of birthdays from a girl that always believed in them.

You watched the buttons light up as the elevator ascended, a set of drumsticks gift wrapped in your hands. Your nerves flared the closer you got to the penthouse and you laughed at how ridiculous you were being. Namjoon wasn’t even an ex, he was just a beginning that never led anywhere. If anything you should’ve been grateful that it never led to more. It would have broken you if it had. But you were strong, ready to impart your birthday greeting with a brave face and leave after ten minutes.

It was only ten minutes. You could do it.

However, when the doors opened to the apartment, you didn’t see the crowd you had been anticipating. There were no balloons in the living room, no music, no lights. Only Namjoon, seated at a table in the middle of the living room.

The couches and coffee table that usually occupied the space were absent. Instead there was a table with a white cloth draped over it and two chairs. A large dish of pasta sat on the surface, along with a basket of bread, place settings for two, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. Candles on the table gave the room a soft glow, your heart stuttering as Namjoon walked over, biting his lip sheepishly and fiddling with his fingers.

“Hi,” he said, flushing as you looked up at him. Before you could answer, he was apologising. “I’m really, really sorry for being an idiot. I should have never blown up at you like that. That was fucked up and I’m really sorry.”

“Where’s Moon?” you asked, ignoring his apology, just to see him squirm a little more.

“Um… her birthday wish was for us to make up… So she’s at a sleepover with her friends.”

“Well… I got her a present,” you stated awkwardly.

“Oh! I can take it. Thank you,” Namjoon said, taking the present and placing it on the table before clearing his throat. “I’m serious. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I don’t care if you leaked the clip, I’m sure you had a plan and I was an idiot for not lis–.”

“I didn’t leak anything,” you cut him off quietly, watching how his eyes widened in response, a soft “what” escaping his lips. “I didn’t leak it. My roommate recorded us without me knowing. Well, ex roommate.”

“Fuck,” Namjoon breathed before laughing bitterly in disbelief. “I really am an asshole. Wow.”

“I get why you did that though. You had to protect yourself and Moon,” you defended his actions, but he didn’t let you, apologising once more before offering you a seat. When the two of you were settled, he told you about his past, about how other partners had scarred him, how he had somehow been hardwired into accepting the worst in people, and for the first time, you let him in too, sharing your fight with Hera.

“I’m a lawyer, Namjoon. I signed an NDA,” you replied, a finger tracing the wine glass in front of you. Namjoon’s sudden laugh startled you, your eyes meeting his as you watched him cover his mouth.

“Sorry but that’s what Moon said too,” he replied, the tension in the air melting at the comment and a smile lifting your lips.

“Smart daughter you got there,” you complimented, raising your glass. He clinked his own against it before taking a sip.

“That I do,” he easily agreed.

“Tell her that her birthday wish came true.”

“Wait really?” he asked with a grin he couldn’t control. “We made up?”

“If you still want to be friends, I’m okay with that. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon,” you replied, confused as his smile dropped suddenly, his eyes leaving yours to his fingers that traced meaningless patterns against the tablecloth.

“Yeah, friends. I’d love to be your friend. Pasta?” he asked, holding up the bowl overflowing with aglio ollio, a stiff smile plastered on his face. You helped yourself to the food, commenting on the bright flavour as he admitted that he had learnt how to perfect the dish as it was Moon’s favourite, and basically the only thing that he could cook well. The conversation flowed stonely, awkward and even with the conclusion that you were friends, it felt stifled, like the two of you were playing a part in a play, small talk seeming scripted and wooden.

When the dinner came to an end, he protested you clearing the table but you stubbornly carried the plates to the kitchen, starting to wash them as Namjoon tried to stop you. He gave up halfway, content to watch you clean, your earlier words echoing in his head. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon.

He didn’t want to be your friend though. He thought he did. He thought that he would be happy just to have you in his life at a safe distance, but the moment those words had left your lips it was like his stomach fell to the floor. He didn’t want to give you up. He missed you, missed that he had just indulged in you once, woke up next to you once before he had fucked it all up. And before he knew it, those words were escaping him.

“I don’t want to be friends.”

His words rang through you, the last plate you were rinsing slipping slightly from your fingers. You knew it would come to that eventually, that he would realise that it was almost pointless to be your friend. You had hoped it wouldn’t have happened this soon though. With a practised smile, you placed the plate onto the drying rack, wiping your hands on the dish towel stowed next to the sink, ready to take your leave.

“Oh… okay. Thanks for dinner then.”

But before you could move he was coming closer, a hand raised tentatively as he stared at your face, eyes roaming your features and lip tucked beneath his teeth.

“Don’t leave. I… I just… I don’t want to be friends.”

Your eyes met his as the meaning of the words registered slowly, hope blooming in your chest. It lit beneath your skin, coating you like honey, warm and sweet. But you still needed the assurance, “Then what do you want?”

“More,” he whispered, impossibly close now, the air between you sparking, nothing like the insulated tension from earlier. It was as if you could see it in front of it, golden glitter permeating in your vision, softly dispersing as he moved his hand till it was resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking the sparks into a fire.

When he leaned in, he moved slowly, the dark brown of his irises melting into his pupils as they searched yours for any hesitation. And then his lips moved, stealing your attention with their murmurs, “So much more.”

You lashes flickered on their own, eyelids closing seamlessly as his mouth gently met yours with the care you had come to expect of him. In the past months, you had learned that Namjoon cared wholeheartedly for everyone he deemed worthy. He gave his all – his strength, his weaknesses, his whole heart. And with his lips on yours he reminded you once again that you were one of those people he had decided to let in. There was no doubt left anymore as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Chest to chest, you could feel his heart beating against yours as his hands caressed your back as if testing the silk of your blouse before landing on your ass. Fingers squeezing the flesh, he moaned into your mouth eliciting one of your own, a sweet harmony once again united to string together. His body pushed against yours, his arousal impossible to hide as he pushed you against the counter, grinding into you slowly before he was picking you up and depositing you on the surface.

Your legs opened on their own, making space for him as he solidified his place in your heart. His lips migrated to your jaw, your heavy breaths the soundtrack to his journey down your body, each kiss leaving you thrumming and weightless, his long fingers unravelling each button with delicate care. With your shirt wide open, he took a moment to leave your skin to stare at you, the lacy red bra catching his attention before he haphazardly unbuttoned his own shirt, dropping it on the floor and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in a kiss that was no longer gentle but a frenzy.

His tongue wrestled with yours, his mouth swallowing each of your whimpers as he pushed your shirt off, his fingers tracing the lace and pulling it down to release your nipples so he could trace them with his thumbs. You could feel your heart race, your thighs tightening around him as lust flowed through you. It was as if he had your body memorised, knew where each nerve ending sparked into pleasure.

His teeth bit into your neck, blunt and delicious, making you keen before his lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking in a way that made you see stars and dig your fingers into his scalp. You could feel his smile painted on your skin, your eyes seeing how his dimples would pop out in his cheeks even when they were closed. But you wanted more, so much more.

With a shove against his chest, he unlatched from you, staring at you in confusion before you were slipping off the counter and getting on your knees. He could feel the way his dick twitched at the position. He had never imagined you like this before and his mind screamed at him for such a blunder, but then again even he wasn’t creative enough to conjure an image as perfect as your eyes glistening up at him through your lashes, lips swollen from his kisses and hands unbuckling his belt at lightning pace. Before he knew it, his pants were halfway to his thighs, his boxers pushed along with them to reveal his cock.

He forgot to breathe when you smiled up at him radiantly, such an innocent look before you were licking up his length, fingers wrapped around him. You kissed against the head, your tongue circling the skin devilishly before your lips wrapped around him, suckling him slowly. You went deeper with each suck as if wanting to swallow him whole and Namjoon couldn’t keep his wits. How did he get this lucky?

With a large laugh that peetered out into a moan, he braced himself with his hands on the counter behind you, relishing the way your tongue traced his skin each time your head bobbled, turning him into a slow mush. Before he could stop himself, he thrust in your mouth, your moan vibrating around him in such delicious torture that he pulled back abruptly, too afraid to cum before he even got started.

Pulling you up by your hand, he crashed his lips on yours again, hands too eager to rip your pants off you as he wiggled out of his own. It was a silly dance, one that left you giggling in his mouth and had him chuckling back, euphoria bubbling through him.

When both your clothes were discarded, lost in his kitchen, he picked you up, letting you wrap yourself around him like a koala as he walked to his bedroom. He had dreamed of you back here, lost in his sheets as he lost himself in you and if there was one thing Namjoon did, it was go after his dreams.

Depositing you on to the bed he crawled between your legs, forgetting all about teasing to devour your arousal right from the source. A quick squeak left your lips as his tongue met your folds, flicking at your clit as he licked up your slit, stealing your breath. His hands roamed your thighs, eliciting goosebumps and whimpers, squeezing the flesh as his lips latched onto your clit. You were on the brink of your sanity, your vision clouding as he kept up his pulsating suckles. Your fingers wrapped around the sheets, pulling them from the corners as your back arched, hips canting against his face before he was holding them down, lapping at you furiously. His hands, his lips, his fingers all played a part in unravelling you, but it was when you looked down at him and caught the hunger in his eyes as he watched you squirm that made you explode, a loud whimper floating into the air at his unrelenting efforts.

He let you ride out your high before his lips let go, instead moving to kiss at your thighs, leaving little nibbles as they climbed up your body, from your stomach to your breasts to your neck, paying special attention to your tattoo, before he was kissing your lips once again, letting your tongue burst with your flavour.

“More?” he asked, his forehead against yours, his breath cooling your heated cheeks and you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, meeting his lips once again.

“So much more,” you echoed his earlier words, earning his dimples as he pecked your lips, once, twice and then once more before sitting up and reaching in his bedside drawer for a condom. His fingers were nimble, shaking a little from his excitement as he ripped it open and quickly rolled it on. Meeting you in another kiss, his forearms rested next to your head, his hips grinding into you.

Fingers caressing his back, you reached lower till your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it slowly inside you. He entered leisurely, carefully stretching your walls, eyes gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them. The two of you exhaled when he was fully buried inside you, the stillness of the room echoing around you as his fingers slowly moved your hair from your face.

The silence was broken first by your lips meeting eagerly and then by his hips leaving you only to slap back against yours in an intense thrust that led to your moans punctuating the sound. With each one of his strokes, his lips moved further away from yours, your breaths mingling with each other as you lost yourselves. It was ecstatic, the way his body moulded against yours, his chest cushioning you to the mattress, while your legs wrapped around him.

In all your years and all your relationships no one had felt this perfect, this quickly. How every cant of his hips brought you closer to your high, pulled out noises from your lips you had never imagined. He grunted along with you before the tightening of your walls compelled him to reach for your clit to prolong his pleasure more, to make you writhe around him more, to make your lips seek for his more. He met your desperation with his own, tongue meeting your teeth in a flurry as his abs clenched tighter, your thighs trapping him against you, your fingernails digging crescents into his ass.

Like a wave ebbing higher and higher, you wrapped yourself tighter around him, limbs locked in ecstasy before you crashed with a high-pitched whine of his name, your legs jerking with the sudden pleasure coursing through you in a rush. He moved faster, harder, keeping you suspended as his lips found yours again. Chanting your name in a stuttered whine, his high followed quickly after yours, leaving him breathless on top of you, his face buried in your neck.

When your heart had steadied, he leaned up, kissing you decadently, luxuriating in your taste, a gentle aftermath of the flurry from earlier. His fingers stroked your scalp, leaving behind content tingles that soothed you, your fingers mirroring his actions through his hair.

You had never felt so at peace.

When he had his fill of your lips, he stood up, admiring your body before pulling you with him into the shower. Slowly kisses under warm water never felt better, your hands indulging in his body, roaming over his sculpted chest and toned stomach.

“I missed you,” he confessed, arms around you as water flowed from him to you, both of you revelling in the warmth of the water, of the moment.

“I missed you, too,” you replied, standing on the tip of your toes to kiss his nose, enjoying the way the action made him blush and shyly hide his face with a giggle.

Dressed in his oversized t-shirt, you climbed into bed, watching as he tidied up, folding your clothes. It was an endearing habit, one he picked up from cleaning Moon’s toys when she was younger, too many legos under his feet a painful motivator. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket before climbing in next to you, his chest moulded to your back, long arms around you as he told you about different songs he had been working on. He didn’t have the strongest of vocals, but his low gruff was comforting, it’s unpolished notes a serenade as he scrolled through his demos, playing snippets.

“I might’ve been inspired by the night of your birthday for this one,” Namjoon admitted quietly as he played the next song, his face buried behind your shoulders. It was a fast beat, the bass notes popping with a fun melody, electronic drums bouncing along. But what truly made your heart flutter were the words, his husky voice singing them softly.

Too many words circle around me But none of them feel how I feel I just feel it Like the moon rises after the sun rises Like how fingernails grow Like trees that shed their bark once a year That you are the one who will give meaning to my memories Who will make a 'person' into 'love'

You pouted as the song continued, a beautiful confession that had you turning in his arms to kiss him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. No one had ever written you a song, no one had ever expressed their feelings like this before, in a way that was almost bordering on magical. If your younger self knew that the lead of your fantasies would be singing you something he wrote solely for you, she would’ve passed out. The song ended with the chorus and a request.

You're my person, my person, my person You're my desire, my desire, my desire You're my pride, my pride, my pride You're my love One and only love You know... We were always meant to be... Destiny... I hope you feel the same with me..

“I do feel the same,” you murmured against his lips, kissing his smile as he pulled you closer, legs tangled with yours.

“Good because this is going in the album and it would suck if it didn’t make you smile every time I played it,” he teased, kissing your nose before you leaned away, looking at him confused.

“Album?”

“Comeback album. Dark and Wild’s back.” He grinned widely and even though usually you’d be distracted by his dimples, this time no matter how large your eyes got you couldn’t register them. Because in your head there was a childish giddiness you had thought you would never experience. Holding up a finger, you turned away from him to grab a pillow, screaming in excitement, limbs flailing as your adolescent dreams of a reunion came true. You knew it was going to happen but you never imagined how much the news would affect you.

Namjoon laughed, pulling the pillow from over your head and kissing you once more, your excitement making him even more eager for the comeback. He laid you on his chest as you asked him questions and he regaled the story of how the decision was made based on a game of chance and your roommate’s stupid actions.

“Thank you for helping me get my dream again,” Namjoon whispered, grateful that he had written to you and that you had responded.

He owed a lot to fate for whisking you into his arms.

—————

Epilogue

It was dark around you, but that was only because the lights on stage were so bright. Music boomed. Guitar riffs were clean even with their distortion. Drums were loud, cracking in the air. Hoseok’s growl echoed through your bones as you watched Dark and Wild perform, the sweet smell of manufactured smoke surrounding you. Yoongi did his signature move, licking up the fretboard of his guitar as Jimin grinned, lip between his teeth, and muted chords spilling from his amp. Right at the chorus, Seokjin kneeled on the ground, blowing a kiss to the audience as he played along, right when Taehyung started belting, licking his lips and letting the words float out of him. Jungkook played faster, increasing the tempo of the song just as his drum set was lifted into the air, spinning in circles, metres above the stage. You cheered loudly as the song ended, Namjoon looking for you in the wings and tossing a wink cheekily.

It was like being thrown back in time. It was surreal. Yet, it was so real.

Moon squealed next to you when Hoseok introduced her, a stark contrast to how she was tapping her drumsticks on her legs nervously a few minutes ago. “Good luck,” you whispered with a hug, and she squeezed you tight before running onto the stage in her ripped jeans and black tulle top, a grungy throwback to the outfits she used to wear as a kid.

Sitting on a second drum set, she waved to the crowd as Jungkook timed her in, the two setting off into a vicious solo together as Seokjin and Namjoon provided the background to the melodic dissonance. The crowd went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs, and you even saw someone throw their bra on stage, just like old times.

The show ended with the first song the band had ever released, War of Hormones. The lyrics were a little cringey with time, but the band laughed along as they played, bantering about how stupid their teenage selves were during the guitar solo. But you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you watched them perform, your face hurting from how hard you were smiling, your fingers wrapped around the pass on your neck.

Heart pounding in time with the bass, you watched the guys finish their last song to an earth shattering applause, the crowd going wild. It seemed that the floor was shaking with their stomps and claps.

Centre stage, the men took a bow, before Namjoon put Moon on his shoulders and the group recreated the photo they took on the last day of their tour before retiring. He made a stupid joke about his back hurting when he put her down, Moon returning her own quip about him being old as the audience laughed.

With their arms around each other, Hoseok spoke into the mic, beaming into the crowd.

“Thank you Shadows! We’ve been Dark and Wild and fuck it’s good to be back!”

taglist - @awhnamjoon @alpacaseoks @raplinesmoon @codeinebelle @aislinnstanaka @miscelunaaa @moonchild1 @shydestinyyouth @itsjaneeet @piecesofapril11 @yoontaethings @jeonyreads

Thank you for reading this fic! If you liked it, please tell me your thoughts. I worked very hard on this and would appreciate your feedback! 🥰🥺

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elphiej · 1 year

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Be My Light - Chapter 9: Welcome to The Magic Shop

*Genre: Mafia, Angst, Slow burn, eventual smut

*Warnings: Mentions of violence, abuse, and torture

Authors Note: I have risen from the darkness!!! To any of the readers who are in my tag list that are still interested, thank you so much. I completely understand with the inconsistancy but I promise to try better. Like I said in the alert, I really wanted to get this out before Jin’s enlistment, then Hobi’s and Yoongi’s birthday. But I was finally able to finish it before my own birthday. I’m so excited that it’s finished and I am so proud of how it came out. I do hope any who read this will enjoy it and be patient for the next. There is so much happening soon. If anyone is going to be going to the Chicago concert, I’ll be there and would love to say hello! Stream D-Day all, it’s giving me some new inspirations. I love and appreciate everyone. Please feel free to drop a comment, like, or anything.

Tag list: @lolalalooo, @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine, @mrsfortune1306, @lovesick-heart0, @iamnamjoonsbxtch, @deathkat657, @deeepvibes, @sugamonster22, @weiinihao, @hemmofluke, @rainbow-zebra-unicorns, @joyfullyobsessed-blog, @elvencantation, @thefreddieman, @whateveritis616, @crewzie-chan, @wyomingphantom, @killbillv1, @kyrah-williams, @utterlynuts, @ot7jellostan, @zahraaelamira, @shesaysweirdthings, @toriluvsfics, @emu007, @zae007live

Chapter 9: Welcome To The Magic Shop

Jungkook loved the smell of the sea. It reminded him of his life before Bangtan. If he closed his eyes, he could see the sandy beach that was just outside his hometown that his family would visit every summer. He could almost feel the warm sand under his feet, the cool splash of the water, the sounds of his parents laughing and calling out to him. But when he opened his eyes, there was no sandy beach, and his parents were so far away. What he was looking at was the dark, murkiness of North Central Harbor, still and quiet in the dead of the night.

Surveillance was not Jungkook’s favorite job; it left him too much time alone with his thoughts. He preferred to be as active as possible, surrounded by his teammates. But ever since the disastrous exchange with Choi and his band of idiots, RM had been giving him easy jobs until Jin cleared him of his injuries. He loved his hyungs more than he could explain, but they were smothering him more than usual. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the extra attention, like Jin feeding him his favorite foods, lounging against Jimin while Taehyung played with him, or even curling up next to one of his hyungs in their room. And there, he’d be met with slow backrubs, feather-light fingertips brushing against his skin, being babied and worshipped in all the best ways. But he wasn’t allowed to do any fun vigorous activities or be on protection duty because they were worried that he’d hurt himself more. And with Choi rearing his ugly mug again, Bangtan had been treating him like that little boy who had they had just rescued from the Royals ‘recruitment’ van, like he was too pure and delicate to help. Like they were scared he’d get hurt or taken again. He wasn’t that nervous fifteen-year-old who was unprepared anymore. He was an experienced, highly trained fighter who was more than willing to do whatever it takes to get things done. He was missing the rough side of their love. And maybe when he got home, he’d use those skills to pin his hyung down and show them that he was tired of the gentle caress and slow, over-thought movement.

But for now, here he was, alone, watching ships unload things that didn’t mean anything to him. He had been stationed at the docks for three days since Namjoon got word from Jackson that something of interest was coming in. But in true Jackson style, he never gave more details as to what or when. Only that it was very interesting. The harbor had its normal ships coming and going that had no affiliation to be seen. Jungkook had been able to hack into the harbors scheduling system and downloaded the documents of incoming and outgoing details. But none seemed worth their interest. The only thing that the young man thought Jackson could have found interesting was the ship that had docked itself just outside the harbor. Jungkook had recognized its flag instantly. While the majority of gangs and Mafia families were spread throughout the districts, a few had chosen to go the route of modern piracy. Under the signa of a red compass, the Ateez crew had made a formative name for themselves. Bangtan had had a few tussles with them in the past, but Jungkook wouldn’t classify them as enemies. As far as he was concerned, the pirates weren’t affiliated with anyone but themselves. They were only out for their own interest by stealing, selling, or trading whatever their community needed.

For the past three days, Ateez’s black ship lay still on the outskirts of the harbor, with the members shuttling over on smaller vessels. From what Jungkook had seen, they weren’t doing too much more than shore leave. But why wouldn’t they bring the ship closer? This couldn’t have been what Jackson was talking about. It wasn’t interesting. The maknae was so bored of watching the pirates go to and from the town, chatting on what dive bar they wanted to go see. They hadn’t come to shore since the previous evening. And he would have gone insane with boredom had it not been for Jimin and Taehyung keeping him up to date on all that was happening at the hospital. Taehyung had informed him of what all had happened between you and Yoongi and how upset you had been. And while his elder hyung’s behavior didn’t surprise him, he was disappointed that he had hurt you. Jungkook couldn’t really explain it, but he enjoyed being around you, even if he had spent the least amount of time with you since that first night. He found you to be quite genuine and nice; someone he wanted to be friends with. And it had been some time since he felt so comfortable with someone that quickly since he had first met Namjoon. Hell, he had known Jackson for years and still didn’t fully trust that he wouldn’t send his hyungs on a wild goose chase.

Jungkook had seen that Taehyung had added you to the group chat before he was given his assignment. But you weren’t very active in it, making simple or one-word responses to anything directed at you and nothing else. Jungkook thought about sending you a private text after he had heard what happened. But he wasn’t sure if he should. You weren’t responding to Jin or Taehyung when they had messaged you over the last few days, according to them, so why would he be any different? And what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, how are you? My hyung can be a dick but don’t take it personally. I’m bored. Let’s talk.’ Yeah, that would go over well. Sometimes, he wished he was better at words. He hadn’t even been responding to the players on the online forum he was a part of who were wondering why he hadn’t been active in so long. His favorite opponent, ElectricLlama, had been sending quite a few over the last few hours. But he couldn’t very well tell them that he was currently on a stakeout and didn’t bring his gaming laptop. God, he was so bored.

It was after 2:00AM when something started to happen.

The Ateez boys hadn’t left the ship the whole day. Jungkook brought his attention away from a text from Hobi when the sound of engines firing up broke the silence of the night. While pirates never stayed in one place too long, something seemed off. The ship moved from open seas into an empty spot in the harbor. The crew had secured the ship in record time and started to unload some cargo. While this seemed normal, what they were unloading, and the twitchy way the crew kept looking around, was intriguing. It was no secret that the local dock workers were easily bought to unload the cargo and fake documents so they could easily blend into the rest of the ships. Of course, it wasn’t difficult since Ateez was known for bringing in high-end clothes and merchandise that most of these dock workers could only dream of having. But what they were unloading on their own was not high end; there were boxes of cheap cellphone accessories, anti-smoking products, and a few other random bits that just seemed odd for Ateez to have. It still wasn’t farfetched that Jackson may have been messing with them. Maybe they were just contracted to get random stuff for a high price?

Then, a familiar black car rolled up that made Jungkook swallow his past criticism of Jackson. Yao stepped out of the car first, still bruised from their previous encounter. The Suit surveyed the work before moving to the back of the car. Choi stepped out, looking clean and pressed as always. And he was followed by another. The newcomer has their head down and hood up so Jungkook couldn’t get a good look at them even after he had moved closer to the scene. If he had to guess, it must be a new client of the Royals, or a new gang leader coming to partner with them. Or worse.

Hongjoong, Ateez’s leader and captain, hopped down from the ship and came to greet them. The mullet-haired leader ushered the two towards the stacked boxes and opened one to be inspected. Jungkook had been taking pictures the entire time to send to Namjoon. He zoomed his camera in to see that the products in the box were indeed what was written on it and not some clever way to hide weapons. Choi turned towards the hooded one and received a nod of approval, before snapping their painted fingers. Yao responded to the newcomer’s signal and presented Hongjoong with a briefcase. Who ever this hooded one was, they had enough power to wordlessly order the Suits around. Once the pirate took the briefcase and bowed to them, Choi called out for his men to back a truck up and load the goods. And as quick as the transaction was, the Suits were packed and gone. Jungkook made sure to get clear pictures of the truck’s tags, the people moving them, and the boxes, and sent them to RM.

So, he thought, Ateez is working with the Royals now? They must have been promised something big. But what would Choi want with such trash. And who was that with him?

He didn’t have long to linger on that as RM sent back a quick response.

Rapmon-Hyung: Great work, Bun. We’ll need to go over this with the others. Now get out there. You did very good.

Me: good enough for a reward?

Jungkook smiled at the text, knowing Namjoon would pick up what he was asking for. And if he said no, the maknae was not above going full brat-mode. He knew his hyungs well enough.

Rapmon-Hyung: Well, you have been stuck out there for some time and been so good. What does my Bun want?

Me: hard and rough? I don’t hurt anymore, and I miss you. The others don’t play like you do. They’ve been too gentle. Barely a make out session

Rapmon-Hyung: Such a naughty bunny. I didn’t hear you complaining a few nights ago. And here I thought you like all that attention.

Me: But not like that all the time! I’ve rested long enough and been so good

Rapmon-Hyung: We can talk to Jinie when you get back and see if he will give you the all clear. You’re not getting me into trouble with him.

Me: I won’t tell him. I can be quiet. AND I promise not to bite too hard to leave a mark

Rapmon-Hyung: Now we both know that is a lie. You can’t help it. I’ll ask later.

Me: please Sir! I need you!

That should do it. Jungkook knew exactly what to say to rile his hyungs up, knew each little thing that would affect them. He prayed Namjoon would just give in and not shut him down. Calling Namjoon ‘Sir’, even in text, always made his leader melt. Of course, if Joon drew the line, Jungkook wouldn’t push for fear of disappointment or even punishment. And not the fun kind. But if Namjoon said no, maybe he would switch his attention to Hobi or even Jimin. Sometimes it was easier to guilt and toy with them into giving him whatever he wanted. And Joon hadn’t responded as quickly as he had before. Jungkook was worried he was going to say no. Maybe he should have taken a less direct path, maybe wait until he was in person and tease until Namjoon lost control. Or a different tactic in general. Then his phone buzzed.

Rapmon-Hyung: Meet me in my study and we’ll discuss what my needy Bun wants. And if he asks me nicely, I may just go against hyung’s orders and give him what he deserves.

Jungkook could already feel his body reacting to that promise, practically hearing Joon’s husky response. To say he was excited was an understatement; if he wasn’t in public, and possible danger, he would have jumped up and danced in pure joyful ecstasy. It had been such while since he had been with his leader like that. The last time he shared a bed with Namjoon was a few days before he had been sent out with the others to the construction site. And even then, it had just been him curled up against his hyung reading a comic book while the other read his favorite psychology book. No sex, just being in each other’s presence until they feel asleep: it was nice and domestic, nothing more. But after all that had happened, paired with the heavy make out sessions and light touching that went nowhere fast that the others did under strict instructions of their resident medical professional hyung, one couldn’t blame Jungkook for being over stimulated and frustrated. And he was to meet up with Joon in his study? It wouldn’t be the first time they had gotten carried away. He could practically feel the surface of Namjoon’s desk against his back.

Jungkook shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head of all the images a single thought spurred. He still needed to get himself to his motorcycle and get back to the Magic Shop. And he knew from experience that trying to drive it while hard was not a pleasant experience. He forced himself to think on the fact that he was going home, back to his own normalcy, and away from this dark, cold dock. He slid his phone into the back pocket of his black jeans and zipped up his leather jacket. His surveillance bag lay at his feet, carefully packed and ready to return home. He reached into the front pocket of the bag for his bike keys. Yoongi-hyung and Jimin-hyung had bought it for him as a birthday present, remarking how it fit his adventurous attitude. Jungkook had hidden it well amongst the covered equipment not too far from where he was stationed. He just needed to sneak back to it. Brown eyes moved back to the pirates, still milling about the dock. But thankfully, they were not paying any attention in his direction, too busy congratulating themselves and gathered around to look at the prize they had just received. It should be easy to get away. He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned away from the interesting, yet depressing site.

Only to come face to face with one of Ateez’s high-ranking members, Seonghwa Jungkook remembered his name to be, who glared down at his with sharp eyes. And perched on top of upper railing like a cat ready to pounce, was the pirates’ most unpredictable fighter, San. Jungkook had gone up against San before, years ago when Ateez and Bangtan got caught up in a mild misunderstanding on territories. And from what he could remember, San’s was tough back then. He could only imagine how he had changed over the years. But Jungkook had been training too and he would love to see how they compared now. However, fighting was not on the agenda. RM had made that perfectly clear that he was only to observe, not cause trouble. However, if they started it, he was allowed to defend himself.

“Well, well, look what we found here, San. A small, Bangtan rat hiding amongst the trash where he belongs,” Seonghwa said, stepping up to be nose to nose with Jungkook.

“You’re a long way from home, little boy,” San sneered down. Jungkook almost laughed, seeing as he was two years older than the pirate.

“To what do we owe the snooping? One would think you’d have enough decency to come make yourself known, like the gentleman you and yours always say you are.”

“Yeah,” San agreed with his hyung, hanging further over the railing, “what are you doing hiding like a common rat? You’re lucky we didn’t shoot onsite. We sometimes do that on the ship when we get bored.”

“And what a political nightmare that would have been for you,” Jungkook countered, shooting the cocky pirate a stunning look. “The docks are not under any territory. They are neutral grounds. Which means, you half-drowned idiot, I can be here for no other reason than I want to be. One might wonder what you’re doing here?”

“Seems like you answered your own question,” Seonghwa retorted. “We are allowed to be here if we want too. Just here on holiday. Seas been kinda rough.”

“Seems like more than that from where I was sitting.”

“Ah, so you were spying on us. What would the other clans think about that?”

“Nothing in the code says I can’t if I happen to already be in the area. I’m not blind, nor am I dumb. I was told there was something interesting and I came to investigate. And I found you lot and the Royals. You know how most of the Mafia families feel about that. Especially after what Choi tried to pull on our last meeting on Hallow Ground.”

“Yeah, we heard about that. Shame,” yet Seonghwa’s voice sounded less than sincere. “And who said there was anything happening? We just had a business transaction. Nothing more. We have nothing to hide.”

“Is that so? Then who was that with Choi?”

“An old friend, I assume. My job wasn’t to question who I was meeting. If you were so interested, you should have come say hello. I’m sure they would have loved to have seen you face to face. The only thing I know about them, is there is something stirring up in the ranks.”

“Then as a business man, information can be bought. We can set aside our past for a price.”

“You’re money is worth less than you think. We wouldn’t stoop so low,” San snarled.

“But we will share this little secret with you for free.” Seonghwa retrieved a box of matches from his coat pocket. He slipped one out and struck it against his jacket, flame igniting with expert practice. Only to be blown out immediately, the smoke dancing around Jungkook in a telling way. “Misfortune is in your future. There’s a change in the air, whispers amongst some of the families, a change in perspective. Some of them are not too happy with how things are anymore. Not happy with how your little group has shifted the playing field. They say Bangtan’s all talk and lies. They’re starting to think that all that talk of what you did all those years ago with the Royals is all bullshit and that you paid for your allies to collaborate with your story. Especially with some new information being spread in the shadows. So, you best prepare yourselves. The tides are about to change and you better hope that you and yours don’t drown. Wait, doesn’t one of yours already have experience with that?”

Jungkook’s anger surged before he could control it, snarling as he pushed up against the smirking pirate. His fists were shaking as he restrained himself from breaking Seonghwa’s jaw.

“Watch it, tiger,” Seonghwa tsked in a condescending tone. “Looks like we struck a painful nerve. Tell me, cause we’re all a little curious. What’s hurts more to remember: seeing him under the water or hearing him scream after you guys revived him?”

“You better shut your fucking mouth,” Jungkook growled, teeth grinding as he tried to keep it together.

“Or what? You wouldn’t want to start a feud with us. How would that look to the masses you’re trying to keep on your side?”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t throw the first punch. But I’ll finish it.” Jungkook had promised RM that he wouldn’t start anything if he was discovered and act as diplomatic as possible. But the maknae was sure his leader would understand if he knew what the pirate had said. None of them would let that slide so easily. He knew the pirate was just trying to get a rise out of him to use against him. Though, anyone who knew the whole story would most likely understand. “You’ve heard what we’ve done to people who try and fuck with us. Hell, you’ve seen what we did back then. I can assure you, we’ve only gotten better. And we don’t need to pay anyone off. They know what we did back then. And we can do it again. So, don’t try me.”

“Well,” Seonghwa said, stepping back from the enraged boy, “from what our new friend can attest, you don’t know what you’re talking about. But who am I to ruin the surprise. Just remember the bigger they are, the heavier the smoke they’ll leave behind when all those lies go up in flames. You keep feeding into those stories your hyungs keep sowing. Meanwhile, we’ll do what we do best and ally ourselves with whomever can get us the farthest. Until we don’t need them anymore. Now, how about you run along home? I’m sure the Mad Leader will be wondering where his little toy is.”

“You wait, Seonghwa. Choi may be able to spin a web of lies that sound better than the truth. But once he gets what he needs, he’ll turn on you and wipe out your whole crew. He learned from Ji how to use people until they break. Then, he’ll move on to the next. Now that Ji’s gone, he’ll just keep the toxic cycle going.”

“Speaking of going,” San drew his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud whistle that cut through the silence of the dock, alerting his crew in a practiced cue. Instantly, everything behind Jungkook stopped and he could feel more than a dozen pairs of eyes on him. They didn’t move, waiting for the next signal to pounce. Jungkook knew it was just a scare tactic; he would have been attacked up by now if that was the plan. And while he was certain he could take a few of them down, he needed to be smart. He had enough information for Namjoon to work with, and still promised he wouldn’t cause any trouble.

With a mask of unbothered ease, Jungkook waved off the pirates, grabbed his bag from his feet, and made his way away from the docks. The two only watched after him until he rounded the corner, then he could hear them laughing as they returned ship side. The sound rubbed the maknae the wrong away. How he wanted to wipe that grin off of Seonghwa’s face, especially after what he said. But there were more pressing matters. Jungkook stopped in front of his motorcycle, hiding amongst the cargo. He pulled it out and mounted up, bringing it roaring to life. It was time to get home and let Namjoon know what he just found. As he tore out onto the road, on a confusing route to throw off anyone who may have been trying to follow him to the Magic Shop, he replayed the interaction over in his head. Ateez had always been neutral, no matter who they fought against. Even when they had gone against Bangtan, the pirates made no sign that they held any ill will against them. There were so many neutrals who maintained their stance to only work for the good of their people. But it would seem like Choi and whoever the shorter person was had been able to manipulate Ateez into believing something that turned their allegiance. He could only hope that whatever Choi was doing wouldn’t spread to other gangs. Jungkook hoped Namjoon could make sense of it. He just had to believe.

***********************

“I can’t believe you wrestled me away from the cashier just so you could pay for me,” you hissed at J-Hope with no real venom attached, trying not to smile at the situation. “I don’t think I can ever show my face at Holli’s Café again.”

J-Hope laughed at you as the two of you made your way out of the hospital elevator towards Yoongi’s room. He took a sip from his coffee as he bumped his hip against yours. “No, I can’t believe that you still won’t let us pay for you. It’s been two weeks now.”

“Okay, well,” you countered, trying to continue this game, “I can’t believe that you won’t let me use the money that you pay me. I’m pretty much caught up on my rent. I would love to actually enjoy it.”

“Well,” J-Hope said, “I can’t believe you don’t realize how much money we actually have. And how nice it is for us to spoil someone that’s not us. And there are more of our drinks here than yours,” to emphasis his point, he lifted the drink carrier in his left hand. “So, it only made sense to pay for it. And, if you had just let me pay when I first said, I wouldn’t have to lift you up and spin you away. So there.”

You sighed. “I can’t even win a word game with you. You guys have paid for everything: my food, my tea, this coat. One of these days, I’d like to use my pay.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Those eyes may work on Jimin, but I have three boys at home who use those same eyes on me when they want something. I’m not falling for it. Don’t fret so much. Most girls love to be pampered. I mean, didn’t your old boyfriend ever pamper you?”

You paused just outside the door. You hadn’t mentioned anything to them about the past you could remember, let alone your miserable excuse of an ex. And why should you have? That wasn’t professional or necessary, no matter how friendly you had gotten. Thinking back to when you could remember, Daniel had been nice at one point to you but still never did anything like what they were doing. Sure, he bought things, but they weren’t specifically to be sweet once you actually looked at it. He bought you flowers once. But that was after he had said some nasty things to you. You couldn’t consider that? But hadn’t he taken care of you when you were recovering from the accident? Did that count? You weren’t even sure anymore. Surely your father had before the accident. But it was all a blank. But Amber must count, right? She had given you a place to stay, consistency, a friend. She bought you coffee sometimes but would let you pay, too. Or was that what she did because she knew your background or was it because she knew you needed it? It felt different.

“I don’t know,” you answered, slowly, as you felt his gaze on you. It was a calculating gaze that made you wonder what he gathered from your silence and expression. Taehyung was the same way on the first day. “I wish I could remember from before. I must have. But I can’t really say that I have. And I’d rather not think about my ex if you don’t mind. I’ll just say this whole having people be like this is a new experience for me. It’s a little weird. I feel a little bad excepting all of it sometimes. I know you all keep saying its nothing, but all these things must add up. I don’t want to cause any trouble. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just taking and taking like some parasite.”

“Oh, that’s not true. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up some harsh memories. I forgot about the…um.. condition. But honest, we like taking care of things. It’s like our love language. And after all you’ve done for us, we want to say thank you. We’re so used to each other just taking it that I guess we forget that it can be overwhelming. I’m sorry if we made you feel that way. But it really doesn’t bother us. Trust me. I forget that this can be a bit much to people who never had someone do these things. Back when we first got together, we barely had enough money to afford a one-bedroom studio and food. We struggled a lot in the beginning. I remember when we first got Jungkookie, it was around his birthday. So we scrimped and saved to buy him some graphic novel he had been looking at. He was so sad when we gave it to him because he thought we starved ourselves. But we wanted to make him happy. Even now, buying gifts for each other is more about what’s behind it than the gift itself. And it’s not like we go around buying diamonds and oil rigs every day. We are smart with our income. We invest and save. Hell, we donate to charities all the time. Anonymously of course. So, we don’t mind. But we can try to be more considerate of your feelings.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me buy lunch today?”

“No, but not for the reason you think.”

As he gave you a reassuring smile, you couldn’t help but think about what he said. Who had heard of a Mafia lord donating to charities or being so thoughtful about their gifting. There wasn’t much information about Bangtan’s beginning that you could find through the internet or newspapers. Did they really struggle? Was turning to drugs the only way they could survive? But they seemed so wholesome when they were with you.

You swung open the door to Yoongi’s room and were caught off guard by what you saw. There was a strong smell of chemicals erupting from the room. And Taehyung was snapping off a pair of used gloves, covered in something orange. Next to him on the table were a few bottles, gels, a mixing bowl, and an application brush. Yoongi sat on the bed, a towel draped over his head. The younger smiled at you as he rubbed the towel across his hyung’s hair.

“Hobi-hyung, Y/N, what do you think of my masterpiece?”

With a flourish, he yanked the towel away. Yoongi groaned, clearly over Tae’s dramatics, as he tried to smooth down his damp hair in a more pleasing way. His platinum blond hair was now a ginger color. Once it dried, you were sure it would look very natural against his pale skin. You tried not to stare but he didn’t make it easy on you looking the way he did. He had, also, changed into more normal clothes: a pair of jeans and a white sweater. His sling was on, meaning he and Taehyung must have done it after the shower Yoongi must have taken, judging by the residual steam coming from the adjacent bathroom. Doctor Na must had been by before you got there and removed the IV from his arm. You supposed the doctor deemed it unnecessary since Yoongi was healing quite well.

“Oh, my goodness, Hyung looks so cute! He reminds me of that tabby cat that hangs around the Magic Shop,” J-Hope all but gushed, running over to inspect Yoongi’s hair closer.

Yoongi reached down for a handheld mirror that was laying on the bed. “You couldn’t have made it black like I asked for?”

“We’re out of it. And with all the missions Namjoon-hyung’s been sending me on the last few days, I haven’t really had the time to order some more. So, I had to work with what I still had in supply. Luckily, I had some of this red left over from when I did Hobi-hyung’s.” Taehyung placed his hand on Yoongi’s forehead and tipped it back so he could stare down into the elder’s eyes. “Be thankful. I could have gone with the pink that I have from dying Jin’s hair.”

J-Hope gasped. “He would look so cute in that too. He looks good in any color. But with his pale skin and pink hair, he would have been our resident cotton candy! So sweet and tempting.” You were sure had Hobi been on Yoongi’s other side, he would have been hit with more than just a glare.

“Very tempting,” Taehyung said, “but I think the red suits you more. You definitely have the temper to match it. Besides, you always go black or brown. I think this makes you look so sexy. The guys are going to love it. And I needed something unexpected yet natural enough not to draw attention.”

Yoongi grumbled something that you couldn’t hear. But Taehyung laughed and released his hyung while he looked for something in his bag. His dark eyes fell on you and a tinge of color erupted in his cheeks when he caught you staring.

“What do you think, Y/N?”

You snapped out of it. “I think it looks nice on you. Very suiting.”

“She definitely means sexy,” Taehyung teased as he returned to his work, combing his hyung’s hair. Now both of your faces were turning red.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your embarrassment. “So, were you a hairdresser before or just got bored and he couldn’t escape?”

“Hardly,” Taehyung laughed. “Just a street artist looking at a different canvas.”

“Taehyung always helps us when we want to change our look. He’s got an eye for it. Besides, we can’t keep the same look for long. The enemy would have an easy time finding us if we kept our hair the same for more than a couple months. Choi’s men will be looking for a platinum blond when we leave. This will help us blend in. They haven’t seen me since my color faded. And Tae can hide his under a beanie. It’s all pretty simple.” J-Hope handed Yoongi his Americano and Taehyung a hot chocolate before hopping up from the bed and picking up some items from the room.

You reached for the charts and looked through everything to get you prepared for the day, not that you weren’t already in a routine; morning medication with something to eat, followed by some physical therapy with Yoongi’s shoulder, then some down time before lunch and more medicine. Maybe you could convince Yoongi to get out of this room and go for a walk around the hospital again. He was already dressed in warmer clothes; perhaps he was looking forward to it. You left the room for a moment to grab the medication from the counter. What was odd was there were very full bottles waiting for you. Normally these were for when the patient was going home. But you hadn’t heard of Yoongi being discharged. It wasn’t in his file. You supposed it was a mistake, or it was just to be readily available for when he did eventually leave, and your contract was over. You took up the medication bottles and shoved them into the pockets of your jeans. Since the guys had insisted that you could be more relaxed in your dress code, you had dressed for the cold and donned a pair of warm black jeans, a grey thermal shirt, and the purple coat Yoongi had given you. You always had a pair of extra scrubs to change into if needed hidden in your backpack.

“Alright,” you said as you reentered the room and handed Yoongi his medicine for the morning, “after we get some food in you, how about we work on some new exercises for your shoulder? You seemed like you may be up for it yesterday. Then perhaps a nice stroll around the hospital wings again?”

You were met with a deafening silence and three sets of confused eyes that stared back at you. The three exchanged glances with each other, communicating with raised eyebrows and head tilts that meant nothing to you. But with years of practice, they seemed to understand.

“What,” you questioned. “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want. I was just suggesting…”

“Did Namjoon speak to you,” Hobi asked.

“No,” you said, warily. “I haven’t spoken to Namjoon since the first day. Why? Did I miss something?”

Yoongi ignored your question and looked between the other two. “Didn’t Namjoon say he was going to explain everything a few days ago? Or was I high on pain meds?”

“No,” Taehyung dragged out. “Point one: you haven’t been that doped up since that time that Jin-hyung was so tired that he doubled our doses after the Big Fight. And point two: Namjoon-hyung definitely said he was going to tell her a few days ago at dinner. He swore he would explain everything and get it set up.”

“To be fair, it seems like he started to. But with all that’s been happening over the last few days,” Hobi interjected. “I mean, what with all the extra assignments he’s had to monitor, the conferences he’s had to deal with, the information Jungkookie came home with…”

“Not to mention Jungkookie…,” Taehyung smirked, only to have J-Hope reach out to smack him on the back of the head. You didn’t try to understand why as you were still trying to figure out what they were alluding to in regard to you.

“For a genius, he can be such a dumbass,” Yoongi groaned.

“Either way, he’s been a bit stressed out. We can forgive him for forgetting. He must have gotten his days confused and didn’t set a reminder to tell Y/N.”

You stomped your foot to grab their attention. “Please, can someone fill me in on what I’m supposedly missing here?”

The three gang members, suddenly, looked so small, almost like they were all trying to figure out how best to explain. You wondered if calling Namjoon would have been easier.

Yoongi cleared his throat. “Look, I’ve been in this hospital for almost two weeks. That’s too long. And the longer I’m here, the more dangerous for the innocent people who are here it becomes. The Royals have been scouting out this place, just trying to get a glimpse of any of us. Not to mention you. So, I’m leaving today. That’s why Taehyung had to dye my hair quickly and make me look as inconspicuous as possible. I can do the rest of my healing back at the Magic Shop, under Jin-hyung’s care. Doctor Na already came in and said things were ready to go.”

And that was why the full medicine bottles were there, you realized. You looked about the room and finally noticed that all the things they had brought Yoongi was missing. All his papers were placed in a file, sitting neatly on the table next to all of Taehyung’s supplies. All of it pieced together in your mind. They were actually leaving. That meant that you were free of them, right? Your contract must end when Yoongi set foot off the property. Of course, you were relieved. But you would be lying if there wasn’t a small part of you that would miss them. Despite how you felt at the beginning, they had treated you very well and gave you a lot to consider. Though, there was main part of your brain that reminded you that they were purposely keeping their real work from you, the U4-1A part. You couldn’t wait to be free of that stress. You were thankful for all they had done and would take that as full payment for this ‘life-debt’ they kept saying they owed you.

“Oh,” you said, composing yourself as you would for any patient that was leaving your care, “I see. I didn’t realize. Well, I’m sorry to see you guys go so soon. Here, let me make sure everything is in order. I have all your medications here; the instructions are on the bottle. But I’m sure that Jin will know what to do. Let me double check all the paperwork before you go to make sure Doctor Na printed out all the correct things. I’m sure there’s no release papers since all this is hush-hush.” You made your way over to the folder and flipped through it, blind to the confused faces that stared after you. “Oh, he didn’t print out the instructions for your shoulder exercises. I can do that really quick. You remember how to do them right? I mean, you have my number so you can call me at any time if you have questions. It was quite the adventure meeting you. I hope the next time we meet it’s under different circumstances.”

“Wait, Y/N, I think you’re confused,” Yoongi said, grabbing your attention. “I’m just leaving the hospital for everyone’s safety. But there is still treatment needed. We are just changing locations. Besides, we still need to keep an eye on you. There are reports of Choi’s men still trying to locate you. And you’ll be safe at the Magic Shop. No one but us knows where it is.”

“Wait, what?”

Taehyung smiled. “You’re coming home with us. You’ve been promoted to in home care.”

“Your contract is until Hyung’s treatment is complete,” Hobi reminded you. “And all of this can be done in the safety of the Magic Shop. Don’t worry. Jin-hyung basically has a fully stocked hospital room set up with all the things you will need. Plus, it will be easier to keep an eye on you there. By the time we get there, lunch will be ready. See, I told you it wasn’t for the reason you thought.”

“I’m not so sure about this,” you said hesitantly, nerves suddenly rising. “I never realized that I would be working outside of here.”

“It’s going to be okay, Doll,” J-Hope assured you, dropping a new name for you that rolled off his tongue with such ease. “Everything will be ok. Everything is still the same. You’ll still go home afterwards. But instead of this boring hospital room, you’ll be with us. And we have everything at the Magic Shop to occupy yourself.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung said, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. “You’ll love it there. I’ll give you a tour. And the others are home, and they will love to see you again. It’s gonna be so nice. And I promise, nothing will change. We will still keep the bad talk down.”

“Please, Y/N,” Yoongi added, voice so calm, it soothed your nerves against your own judgement. “I promise everything will be ok.”

You met his eyes. And just like every other time, you felt compelled to trust him. You couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was just a well-practiced trick he had acquired over the years. But that one part of you that wanted to believe him, clung to that feeling that he cared. The tension and apprehension left your body. You gave a defeated smile and nod, knowing that there was no use trying to disagree, and not just because of how you felt.

Taehyung and J-Hope made quick work of collecting the items and moving them out. Yoongi kept his eyes on you, trying to come up with something to say that could remove that defeated look you wore. He wanted to make you understand them better. When he had snapped at you when you had tried to ask about his past, he didn’t see the point at the time. After a few days, he understood it would strip the idea of this dangerous, violent killer that the media and public had described him. He had struggled with deciding on what to say, or if it would help, when to try and talk to you. But each time, he decided against it. While it would probably help, it wasn’t something he enjoyed talking about. Even Bangtan knew not to bring up certain things with him. Only Joon, who experienced much of the same and was there for him in some dark moments, was able to talk him through some tough nights. He needed to be brave. Though, he was still trying to understand the pull you seemed to have on him. He had been around many different sorts of people and none of them affect him the way you did with a simple look. No one else, except his own Bangtan.

While the other two were taking the last of their things down to their cars, you grabbed a stray jacket on the bed and helped slip it over Yoongi’s shoulders. “Mind your shoulder,” you said as he slipped his good arm into the sleeve. “It’s supposed to be cloudy and cold today.”

“We’ll be alright once we get to the Magic Shop. It’ll be warm and safe.”

“I can’t see how a shop that sells magic wands and trick cards is safer than the hospital,” you grumbled. He started to laugh, low and soft. You stood before him with your hands on your hips. “What’s so funny?”

“You’ll see soon,” was his cryptic response. He reached out to touch the trim of your purple jacket. “Looks good on you.”

“Thank you. Taehyung knows how to pick a good one, doesn’t he?” It was your turn to laugh at the sour look the crossed his face. “I’m kidding. You picked out a really nice jacket. I can’t thank you enough. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is. And so are..”

“You two ready to go?” Taehyung was leaning against the door frame, pulling a black beanie over his grey hair.

Yoongi praised Taehyung’s impeccable timing before he had said something he hadn’t realized. Thankfully, you didn’t seem like you had focused on it. You shrugged your shoulders and gave a defeated nod, still uneasy despite your joking behavior a moment ago. The two of you fell into step behind Taehyung as he swung the last of the bag over his shoulder and started down the hall. Yoongi couldn’t wait to get out of this hospital. But his joy was overshadowed by your uncertainty. He trailed behind you and Taehyung as the three of you made it to the elevator, and he could see how tense your shoulders were, the way you clenched your hands. He could practically hear your thoughts. He had known this was going to be a difficult experience for you. Namjoon, Jin, and him had discussed it prior. Joon and Jin thought that with time, you would be more open to their presence and joining them at the Magic Shop would be an easy topic to bring up. But they were too optimistic. Yoongi knew about anxiety, and yours made his assumption very clear. While you were more comfortable with them during the schedule they had made, there were many safe places and familiar people. Now, you were going to be in unfamiliar territory with only them. The stench of fear and uncertainty rolled off you. If only Joon had remembered to talk to you before today, maybe they could have eased you into this.

As the elevator door opened to the parking level, Hobi turned to the group once he determined the area clear. “Okay, here’s how we’re going to do this. Yeonjun has been scouting all morning and reported there’s been some Royal goons hanging out front. So, Taehyung is going to take the SUV and pick up the decoy we have coming out front. I’ll text Huening Kai once we split up. And when they follow them, Tae’s going to lead them in circles until they lose him. Meanwhile, I’ll take Hyung and Y/N in the town car. We’ll take the long way home just in case.”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung said, squeezing your shoulder in assurance, “this is the easy part. I’ll be there just in time to give you a tour of the Magic Shop.”

You didn’t know what to say. All of this was happening too fast for you to process. Before you knew it, Taehyung was darting over to the familiar SUV you had used this morning with Hobi while you were being led to a car that was made to look like a fancy taxi. The inside was spacious with leather seats, dark, wooden finishing with soft lighting across the roof that looked like stars, and a partition that separated the driver from the passengers. The windows in the passenger’s sections were tinted so dark you could hardly see the other cars parked nearby. The windows were, also, thick with a shutter in between the panes. You climbed into the back of the car and were followed by Yoongi. Suddenly, your world was closed in, and you felt so hopeless. Hobi whispered something to Yoongi before shutting the door and hopping into the driver’s seat.

After departing from the parking structure and pulling out onto the main road, all seemed like it was going well. There was plenty of traffic and other luxury taxis from you to blend in without a thought. In the light of day, you still couldn’t make a lot out through the heavily tinted windows. However, as you pulled around to the front of the hospital, Hobi pointed out Taehyung’s SUV was in place. You squinted and could make out the familiar frame leaning against the black car, waving at someone. As your car came to a stop at the light just adjacent to him, you could make out someone walking over to him dressed in a large, hooded coat with platinum hair sticking out, and holding his arm to sell the fantasy that this was Yoongi. Had he not been sitting next to you, you would have been fooled. Taehyung played his part well; he ran up to the decoy and hugged him, fussing and ushering him to the SUV while looking about for anyone who may be watching.

“Will Taehyung be okay,” you asked as the SUV pulled away.

“Don’t worry,” Hobi said as he shifted the car and followed the stream of traffic. “If the Royals follow him, Taehyung knows how to get away. He’s gonna have them following themselves by the end of it. He knows these streets better than anyone. I’m sure by the time we get to the Magic shop, he’ll be right behind us. Speaking of, I’m going to close up the windows back there. Nothing personal Doll, but we can’t let you know where we’re going. You understand, right?”

“I understand. It’s not as if I already don’t know where we are. I only know a small part of the city. But I get it.”

The car fell into an uncomfortable silence after that. Once the shutters in the back rolled down, the lights from above turned brighter. You wrapped your arms about yourself to keep from panicking. It was this same yoyoing situation you kept battling when it came to anything Bangtan related. Yes, they kept reminding you that they were going to protect you. But you still felt trapped. All the random turns Hoseok made were making you sick. From what you could see from the front windshield, you couldn’t tell where you were at. You hadn’t been lying when you said you only knew a small part of Central; you followed the same route every day since you had arrived. Central was so vast, Amber had told you it was easy to get lost if you didn’t know where you were going. So, she helped you learn the simple bus route from her place to the hospital, and from your apartment. You were already confused about where you are. And that didn’t help your anxiety.

It only intensified after twenty minutes of twists and turns when Hobi’s phone rang. He announced he needed to take this and started to roll up the partition to give him more privacy. Just before it was fully rolled up, you heard Hoseok state, “yep, we got her. It’s going according to plan.” What plan? While a part of you tried to justify what he said, one part of you started rotating through every horror option it could come up with.

“I can almost see smoke coming out of your ears,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the silence of the car and stopped all the cycling in your mind. “Everything is going to be fine. We already told you this. He’s just talking to Jin-hyung. He’s checking in on us. He must have already talked to Taehyung. You’re going to be fine.”

“You guys keep saying that. And as much as I want to believe you, this is so much for me to take at one time. I don’t know what’s going to happen, if I’m going to wind up in some locked-up room until this contract is up. And then what happens? It’s not like I can just walk away, right? Isn’t that what the movies get right? Am I going to get scared into silence or bought, or drugged, or…”

“Hey,” he reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, “nothing like that is going to happen. We’re not the monsters here. Just calm down. I promise you’re not going to do anything that isn’t ultimately going to help you. Just take a breath and enjoy the ride.”

“Oh, that’s so easy to do,” you said as sarcastically as possible. “Every time I start to let my guard down, I get thrown into another scary situation that just reminds me of who I’m dealing with. You guys don’t understand what I’m feeling.”

“Sure, because none of us were ever forced into something. At least you get to ride in a car with someone trying to make it easy. At least you have people who are trying to explain it to you and show you some kindness. And ultimately, you have people who are changing everything they would normally do to make sure that you are comfortable. Your life isn’t broken and cut off; you still get to see those you want and go home at the end of the day. I would have killed for that. So, trust me if anyone in this car knows how you feel, even just a bit, it’s me. You’re allowed to be unsure and nervous. But know that you are in better hands than I was. You are much safer than I was.”

He took his hand away and turned to stare at his own reflection in the covered windows. The car once again fell into an uncomfortable silence. You found yourself remembering that day in the hospital when you two had fought. You remembered him telling you that he didn’t have a choice and how angry he got. Maybe he did get it. He wasn’t dismissing your feelings as it may have sounded to any passerby; he was giving you a different perspective. You turned to look at him and saw him struggling with himself, like he was trying to find something else to say but nothing was working. He let out a deep sigh, coming to a resolution after a long moment.

“I never wanted to do this. Never wanted to join a gang, you know. I really don’t like having to explain this…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you interjected. “I’m sorry, it’s been hard and I just couldn’t handle my own emotions. I should have taken those anti-anxiety pills Dr. Na wanted me to try. But please don’t feel like you have to tell me things just to make a point.”

“Stop,” the command had no harshness or power behind it. It was more of a plea. “You had asked me before and I blew up because I was angry and thought you were just being intrusive. But once I thought about it, I figured it would help you see us for what we really are. To see we’re not what people think. This isn’t a fun subject for me. Hell, I don’t think I told the others until a few years after we all got together. I think only Namjoon and Hoseok knew the whole story first. It’s been so many years, you think I would be over this. But just now, I found myself struggling to find the words. But I need you to understand us. I want you to see why we’re here and that you are in safe hands. Safer than I was.”

You nodded, giving him your full attention.

“My family lived in a small town outside of Central. My family was poor but hard working. It was just my parents, my older brother, and I in a small apartment. My parents worked all the time just to make ends meet. I assume they cared about me. They never beat me or anything like that, but I wasn’t their primary focus. My brother could do no wrong in their eyes. Whereas I couldn’t meet their expectations. I would come home with B’s, he would have A’s. Nothing I ever did measured up to him. When he graduated, he told my parents he was going to move to Central and open a restaurant. They were so happy. After he was gone, they had asked me what I wanted to do when I was done with school. I wanted to pursue music. I had always loved it and found myself writing lyrics or playing on a piano that was in the lobby of our building. Yes, I was good at it. You can imagine how disappointed my parents were. They told me I needed to find something practical, a job that benefited society. They figured it was a phase and I would come to my senses. But I could never make them happy. After a while, they just ignored me. I think they hoped that I would drop everything to get their attention again. By the time I was thirteen, they had completely given up on me and just considered me a lost cause. I was just a shadow living in their house.”

“I’m sorry you were made to feel that way,” you told him.”

“The funny thing was, I was doing so well in school and everything else that I was in line for a scholarship to college, something my brother hadn’t done. My teachers were telling me that I was a genius, that I was going to make it. But there was still a part of me that wanted to make my parents happy. So, when I was fourteen, I started working odd jobs to help them pay the rent. I tried to buy their love and attention. My brother had written to me over the years, supporting my ambition and telling me how hard he was working. He told me once that once he made it, he would help me in my dream. And I believed him because I loved my brother more than my parents or music or myself. I was so stupid back then to believe him.”

“I was fifteen when my brother had come back to our apartment. Said he was taking a break from work to come see us. He had worked in a bunch of places before using all his savings to buy a place in the high-end part of Central. My parents were so proud that they didn’t even think to ask how he was making it work. They were just so excited to tell the rest of the building how successful their son was. But my brother wasn’t ready to open this place. He didn’t know how to run it. He was in so much debt. He had sold all his belongings to try and save himself. When that didn’t help, he borrowed money from my parents, and they didn’t question it. He should have started smaller or keep learning for a few more years. But he ended up making a deal with the head of the Royals, Ji. My brother didn’t read the fine print where they were to be paid back with interest or they’d take it back in other ways. So, when he came back to our apartment, I knew something was wrong by the way he was acting. Ji and his team came banging on my parents’ door. I suppose my brother thought he could hide but they found him. They came barging in, breaking up the place, and began beating my brother. Ji planned on taking back his money either in cash or in years under his thumb as a slave. My parents begged Ji to spare their son. They were so desperate that they offered to pay his debt. But my parents didn’t have the money. But they had a spare to send in his place. I was younger, could work harder than my older brother, be a better asset to Ji than a broken body who could only cook and gamble away his money. My parents called me out and told me to go with Ji. They said, ‘if you love our family, you’ll finally be useful’. They promised once the debt was paid, we would be a family again. I thought they were crazy, how could they do this to me? But Ji decided he liked the idea. So, I was dragged out of the apartment, screaming and begging for them to do the right thing. But they didn’t. I was thrown into the trunk of a car and taken to their headquarters, where for days I was starved and beaten until I agreed to do whatever they wanted. That’s how they get people to agree to join the Royals, you know. You either die or join.”

“You really didn’t have a choice,” you concluded with a shocked expression. “That’s awful. How did you survive all that?”

“I had to adapt. I held onto hope that my brother would start working again and buy my freedom. I held out hope for a few months. But I gave up on them like they had with me. I needed to survive so I did whatever I needed to. I changed my name to hide myself. I learned to steal, shoot, intimidate people into giving me what I needed. And when I was weak, they would make an example out of me for any new person. Choi’s favorite way to punish kids was to beat them until they were on the brink then lock them in a freezer. He’d let you out just before death took you. They thought it would create this dependency on them, brainwash you into believing you needed them to survive. That was Ji’s philosophy. The other three generals were just as bad if not worse. Sol was the one who monitored everything for Ji, making sure it didn’t go too far. He was the one to go out and find the new ‘recruits’. Then, when we were being punished, he would whisper to the new ones how lucky they were to be with him and not with Choi or D or the other. Choi was all about physical punishment. D was sadistic. Someone said he went mad a long time ago and reverted to this childlike state. He made this ‘playroom’ which was a torture chamber, and we were the toys for him to use. He had a tank of water to drown you with, or things to stretch you. Too many things. The youngest general liked to use drugs to mess with you. Meanwhile, Ji would come in and make himself the savior, so you’d swear allegiance to him and escape the pain. I tried not to lose myself. I put up so many walls to protect myself for years. I never stuck my neck out for anyone because no one was going to do that for me.”

“Then I met Joon. He was kidnapped from some club he had gone to on some school trip. He was so smart but also so dumb. I found myself in him, I suppose, and wanted to protect him. He was just a kid, not yet full of anger like me. And he was always watching and learning. I figured he could be useful. So, I would pair up with him a lot. And for the first time in a long while, I found someone I could rely on. He saved me from falling into the darkness, supported me. We, even, bonded over music together. I guess you could say that we became really good friends in that shit hole. We tried to run a few times. One time we made it to a police station. But Ji already had them in his back pocket and they were just as bad as the Royals. We were put in jail for a few nights before they delivered us back to Ji. And we got in a lot of trouble. But as long as we were still together, we could endure it. After a while, we figured there was no real out except advancing. So, we worked together to keep our real selves from disappearing like Ji wanted.”

“So how did you get out? Did you just advance enough?”

“I was eighteen when we finally got out. Three full years for me, two and a half years for Joon. We had learned a lot, had plans. But the one thing neither of us did was kill someone in cold blood. We had learned to shoot, but we had only been in fights where we had to defend ourselves. We had been teamed up with some younger kids to go collect some protection money from a store in the poor part of town. And Sol was with us to make sure we passed his test. The family didn’t have enough to pay and Sol dragged out their kid. Must had been no more than eight years old. Sol handed his gun to Joon and told him to shoot the kid to send the family a message. It would have destroyed Namjoon to do that. Despite what you’ve seen, Namjoon isn’t a coldblooded killer. He’s this big kid just trying to keep it together. And I’m sure Sol wanted to destroy that innocence. He tried to reason with the General, but Sol pushed him. Said if he didn’t shoot him, then Joon would take his place. I didn’t want Joon to do it, couldn’t see him be destroyed or killed. So I pushed Joon out of the way, took the gun, and shot the father in the leg instead. I tried to reason with Sol that shooting the kid wouldn’t make them pay us back, just make them fall further behind in their grief and that wouldn’t pay the bill. I justified that us taking mercy and giving the father a wound as a reminder would be enough. But he didn’t see it that way. He saw disrespect, an act of disobedience that the newer members would learn from. And weakness from Namjoon. So, I was sent to Choi for my punishment. I was always Choi’s favorite to hurt because I’d fight back or say something to fuck with him. And he wanted to be the one to put me in my place. He beat me with fists and metal pipes. Anytime I would pass out, he would wait and then start up again. This went on for hours. Finally, he dragged me to a walk-in freezer and locked me in. Either I would freeze to death or succumb to my injuries, or he would start all over again until I gave in. Unless Ji took mercy on me. He told me that Joon had been sent to somewhere where they would break his mind and leave him there. And I was going to live with that guilt forever. I can’t tell you how long I was in there, but I was so sure that I was going to die.”

“The next thing I remember was someone shaking me back to consciousness. They picked me up from the frozen ground and brought me out into the detention center and started to wrap up the worst of my wounds. They even put a coat on me. I guess one of the Suits had a change of heart. Couldn’t tell you why. I didn’t recognize him at the time. Probably could now if I saw him. If he’s still alive. But he had told me he was proud of me for saving the family and my friend. Said he saw how I was still human after all that time. I remember telling him that I didn’t care what happened to me but if anyone needed to be saved it was Namjoon. I begged him to rescue him instead. Then he said to me ‘you two are so alike, caring more about each other than yourself. That’s why you’ll be a great team and survive’. He had already rescued Joon. He was waiting outside for us. The man helped us get out of the Royals’ detention center and through the fences that secured it. Once we were in the city, he gave us money and told us to never look back, to find our light of hope. After that, we met Hoseok, and he helped us hide for a while. Then, we started meeting the others and came to the same conclusion that we wanted to make sure the Royals couldn’t continue doing this to others. And Bangtan was formed. We started by intercepting their kidnapping circuit and freeing the kids, then their supply lines, then performing rescue missions. We started protecting, selling, and creating just to destroy them. The rest is history. We led an uprising, the Royals fell, and Ji is dead.”

You sat there in silence, digesting every word he had said. You couldn’t believe what he had been through. And it made you want to learn about the others’ journeys. But it also made you realize how you had really been letting the preconceived image of them affect you. They weren’t these murdering, drug peddling thugs that you assume all gang members were. They had been tortured but still trying to do something against a greater evil. While you still didn’t approve of the selling of U4-1A, there was so much more to them than you had thought. You felt so bad for him for all the years he had gone through. No wonder he was so angry at the police when you brought it up. Had your father been around back then, you were sure he wouldn’t have been bought by that monster. And Yoongi didn’t have anyone else to turn to but those who had been in his shoes. There was so much more to them than you thought.

“Did you ever see your family again?”

His eyes shifted to you for the first time since starting his story. Of course, he had tried to see them again. The first time he had escaped he was almost home when he realized that they wouldn’t want him back. Sol had found him and showed him his brother’s debt, told him how his family hadn’t tried to come for him or buy him back. He, even, drove him to the apartment which had been sold not long after that night. While he had hoped that this was just some mental trick by Sol, three years had made it hard. Then after they had started to make a name for themselves, Bangtan had tried to have some closure with their pasts. He could remember walking on the dirt road to a small house that his family had moved into after that night when he was taken. Jin had pulled some records for him, not that he had asked the elder to do so. Hobi had driven him out there. Said it would be good for him to make amends or something. Actually, all of them had pushed him to see his family again just to help him close that chapter of his angry life. The others had reached out to theirs, whether for good or not. Yoongi remembered seeing his brother’s beat up truck out front as he made his way to the door and knocked on it. He didn’t want to do this. He was still angry, still hurt. He didn’t want to have a family with them anymore. He had found a family that actually wanted him. Why come back to this? Yoongi was about to leave when his brother had opened the door. After five years, his brother hadn’t changed. He looked tired and worn, but the same. But Yoongi looked different, dressed not in hand-me-downs as he had for years, but in expensive clothes he had bought himself with the money he had made from Bangtan. It took his brother a good minute to recognize him. It was the first time he recalled seeing his brother cry as he reached out to hug him.

“Little brother,” Yoongi remembered him crying, “you’re alive! I’m so happy to see you!”

“So happy, yet you didn’t try to get me out,” Yoongi had retorted, voice turned gravel over the years of anger and abuse.

“I know, Yoongi. Trust me, I wanted to so bad. I tried. They didn’t make it easy. I wanted to get you, but I had to get things right. After all the medical bills and the move, it was hard. But I promise you I was trying. I never stopped thinking about you. Eomma and Appa are working but they are going to be so happy to see you when they get home.”

“I doubt that. They were so ready to give me away. Why would they care if I survive? You can stop pretending like this was some mistake. I’m not here to stay. I just thought you’d like to know I got out without your help. Not that you were actually doing anything. I’m just here to let you know I won’t be around anymore, so you don’t have to pretend.”

“No, please, it’s not like that. I swear, I was trying. They were trying. They knew they made a mistake that night. I didn’t know that’s what they did until it was too late. We wanted to get you back, but they kept raising the interest on my debt. Every time I thought we were close, it doubled. We asked them to tell you we were trying. We tried asking to see you, but they wouldn’t let us. I filed with the police, but they came up with nothing. Please come inside. Let’s talk about this. You’ve grown up so much, I didn’t recognize you. You’ve been through a lot.”

“And all because of you. I took a punishment for you because of your stupidness. If you had just done what you were supposed to do, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have had my life taken away because I was the screw up spare. You were the screw up. But Eomma and Appa loved you more. I hope you enjoyed your life because I paid for it. Tell them the screw up paid your debt and is now going to be more successful than their favorite. Tell them that I don’t need them because they made me that way. They never cared about me. Ever since I told them I wanted to follow my own dreams, I was nothing to them. Well, they get their wish. I’m now a full member of society, just not how they wanted, I’m sure. You didn’t try anything; I saw the debt you still owed. So, don’t try to sell me this bullshit of how you tried or how you loved me. If you did, I wouldn’t have spent all those years in Hell. If any of you cared, you would have not taken that money or gone in my place like you should. For years, I survived beatings, starvation, and torture all for you. And what do I get out of it? Knowing that for all these years, my parents valued a failure over someone who had a college career laid out for him so he could be someone they could be proud of. Some family. And yet, I’m still doing things for you. Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope full of money, “I paid your debt for you. And I’m buying my freedom from you. Spend it, burn it, gamble it for all I care. But you tell them that I, the screw up who was useless to this family, made it by working harder than you ever did. And there is more there than you could have made in a year at your little restaurant. You know, the one that closed in a month because you had too high ambitions and not enough sense. Just had to make them proud and prove you were better than me. Well, now you’re the only son. And I’ve once again helped you out of debt. My final gift to you is a clean slate. There’s enough there to get you to a comfortable state. But if you waste it again, you won’t have me to save you.” He couldn’t stand there anymore. His anger was gushing out like a bleeding wound. It was taking everything in him to not break down. Because that’s not who he was in this moment. He wasn’t the younger brother who was upset with his family for forgetting him. He was the monster who was fueled by the hate of being abandoned for all those years. The person he had to become to protect himself. His members had worked so hard to help him, and this was supposed to be the clousure to help with his pain. He wanted to go home. He turned from his stunned brother to head back to the car.

His brother grabbed his arm and turned him back, throwing the envelop to the ground. “Yoongi, please…”

Faster than his brother could anticipate, Suga had yank his arm free and had his older brother pinned against the door frame, with a gun pressed under his chin. “Min Yoongi is dead,” he screamed! “I killed him because of you! My name is Agust, not Yoongi. Not anymore. He’s dead. Your baby brother is dead and gone. Only I remain to tell his story.”

Yoongi snapped himself out of his memory and back to the present. He hadn’t seen or tried to reach out to his family since. He hadn’t kept track of them either. Yoongi had fallen into a depression after that where the others had to struggle to pull him out of it. But they were there for him, and they were his family. He hated remembering that day just as much as his time with the Royals. But Yoongi needed to remind himself that he had grown from that, and he was fine. He was not ever going to be abandoned again.

“No,” he told you after taking a second to compose himself. “I know who my family is.”

At that moment, Hoseok rolled down the partition. You had never seen this part of town before and were sure you had almost crossed into another country at this point. He smiled in the rearview. “You two doing ok back there?”

“How much longer are we going to drive in circles? Pretty sure she has no idea where we are and if anyone is still following us, I’ll be surprised,” Yoongi asked as he slouched down in the seat.

“Relax, you grumpy kitty. No one followed us. Taehyung thinks he had someone following him for a bit, but he’s been in the clear for the last twenty minutes. We should be at the Magic shop in ten. You ready to see the Magic shop, Y/N?”

“I suppose I don’t have a real say in it. But I’m ready for anything at this point as long as I can stand up for a bit.”

“Don’t worry, Taehyung’s really excited to give you a tour of the place,” Hoseok rolled the partition back up with one last smile to you.

True to his word, the car came to a halt after ten minutes. Yoongi had fallen silent again, leaning heavy against the window. You figured that trip down bad memory lane had been a lot for him mentally. At one point, the car sloped down and there was a hollow echo as if you had entered an underground tunnel. Was the Magic Shop so well hidden from Choi because it was underground? But how could that be? Then, the car pulled back up and leveled out again. But this must be normal as Yoongi didn’t react to it. The sound of the road changed from the familiar sound of pavement to gravel before coming to a stop.

Then, Hobi opened the door.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t an abandoned, run down train yard paved with gravel stone and packed dirt with weeds. You weren’t sure where in the city you were, but this place looked as if it hadn’t been touched for years. Looking behind the car, you could see the road you had driven in on led to a tunnel that traveled under an elevated part of the old tracks that led all over the yard. Old, rusted strips ran as far as you could see with old, forgotten train cars scattered here and there covered in rust and age like a dead homestead. You swore you could make out a few people shifting between the cars; homeless maybe? There was a long chain length fence that surrounded the stretch of land with ripped and mended privacy tarps and caution signs. You could make out the words ‘condemned by order of the city’, ‘do not enter’, and ‘no trespassing’. Where were you? Looming ahead like a chilling shadow was a building to match the signs. It was large, an old attempt at a train terminal you assumed. The windows were boarded, there was rusted scaffolding leaning heavy against the exterior. The building must have been planned to be a grand travel sight with its arching roof and high clock tower. The three-story building had seen better days. The grounds were unkempt, with vines and weeds taking over. It appeared that the side of the building was covered in more fencing and tarps to hide its decay from the elements. Dead electrical wires lay broken against the structure. Bricks were broken or missing entirely. You could make out layers of graffiti from years of vandalism. And trash littered everywhere. The whole place was dying, taking a final breath before being forgotten by time. The sound of dogs barking echoed across the emptiness of the abandoned yard. You couldn’t hear any cars from the street or any sounds of the city. How far away were you from civilization?

That feeling that you were about to be left for dead came back.

“We found this place a long time ago,” Hobi said as he took a look about the place with a fondness you couldn’t understand. “Seokjin said that about seventy years ago, some rich bastard wanted to make a lavish station with shops and a hotel, where trains from all over the country could come. There were some drawings in some old records that showed crown molding, stained glass windows, marble everywhere. It was going to look like a palace when it was done. But there was a bankruptcy, or a fire, or it changed hands too many times, I can’t remember. But it was forgotten. It fell into ruin and the city sectioned it off. They were gonna demolish it a while back after some people got hurt sneaking in for a prank. But it was forgotten during the first big gang war. Now, it’s just an eye sore in this part of town. Not that there’s much around here. It was perfect. After Jin blackmailed his father, he bought it for us.”

“I don’t think I understand. It looks like it’s about to come down. This can’t be where you live,” you said, hugging the straps of your bag closer to you.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a good hideout if it looked like a mansion.” Well, he got you there.

From the other side of the monstrous building, the familiar SUV came into view. Taehyung parked it by an overturned shipping container that must have fallen from one of the transport trains years ago. He hopped out of the car, followed by the decoy Suga. Without the tinted windows in the way, you were able to get a better look at him. He was young, much younger than you anticipated. Without the hood up or the act, he looked nothing like Yoongi up close. And he was taller. He had a boyish shyness to him as he greeted the others. How young did Bangtan start recruiting? Yoongi had been fifteen when he was taken by this Ji they had referenced before.

“Any problems,” Yoongi asked, falling into his ‘Suga’ tone of voice you had started to differentiate. This was more authoritative, calculating, and colder. Whereas Yoongi was quieter and calmer.

“Not too much. The Suits were definitely watching us. We were followed for about twenty minutes before I lost them in NCT territory. Baby Kai did his part well didn’t he? Trained him myself, Y/N.” Taehyung threw his arms around the boy, who shrank into himself from the sudden attention.

“Tae, stop teasing him. Kai, can you take care of the cars for us? I think I saw Taehyun and Beomgyu down in the shipping containers. They can help if you want. Then start doing some rounds. I assume Soobin is still in the lab, so just do the basics.”

Heuning Kai gave another bow to Suga before taking the keys from Taehyung and moving the SUV out of sight.

“Can we go in now,” Yoongi grumbled as he ran his good hand through his now red hair. “I’m still hurt if you all forgot and would like to lay down.”

“Sorry, Ahjussi,” Taehyung sighed, earning a glare from his hyung. “Come on, Y/N. It’s even prettier on the inside.”

You wanted to question his statement- in fact, you wanted to question a lot of things- but he presented you with his arm and a boxy grin that compelled you to follow the three of them up to the large entrance. Off a small staircase to the concrete platform, there was a large set of double doors, highly embossed brass arching doors from a vintage design plan. There were wooden planks nailed across the frame that towered above you, making it impossible to open the door from the outside. Before you could ask what magic word they had to speak to get the door to open, Hobi balled his fist and knocked hard on one of the boards near the middle of one of the doors. Your eyes widened as a small square of the old wooden board swung open on a hinge. It was a hidden panel that hid an old keep pad and a doorknob. There was no seam, so they had to know exactly where to hit it and you were sure with years of practice, they knew what they were looking for. Hobi’s fast fingers typed in a code that seemed to have too many numbers before you heard a loud click that made you jump. Taehyung couldn’t hide his laugh and you could have sworn you saw Yoongi smile too before you brought your attention back to Hoseok. He gave the knob a quick twist before shutting the panel, and it disappeared from your sight as fast as it appeared.

And a normal sized door swung open before Hobi, just as magical as the panel had been. You weren’t sure how it could be possible for it to be so well hidden. Hobi and Yoongi stepped in without a thought, disappearing into the inky blackness beyond the door despite the sunny day. Taehyung gave you a reassuring squeeze before trying to take a step towards the door. But your feet stayed rooted, too scared to follow. But he was patient, still giving you an encouraging nod. He stepped partway into the door, slightly disappearing into the darkness, and presented his hand out to you. This is so crazy, you kept saying. But there was nothing behind you for an escape and you had to trust them, right? You took a deep, uneasy breath, adjusted your bag across your shoulders, and took Tae’s hand. And he pulled you into the darkness.

The door swung closed with a heavier clang than you expected that sent you stumbling into Taehyung’s arms. You felt his whole chest vibrate with a silent laugh. You held on tighter as the biting chill of the room set upon you. It must have been more than twenty degrees colder in the sealed room than outside. There were small streams of light flooding in through broken pieces of ceiling above you. As your eyes adjusted to the hazy shadows, you could make out a small entrance space with arching columns lining either side with broken benches leading to closed off doors that seemed just as sealed as the double doors you had just passed through. The floor was a dusty tiled mosaic that you were sure would have looked beautiful in the light from the glass roof and crystal chandelier had either of those been uncovered or well maintained. The streams of light seemed to all verge on the same thing at the end of the room; a small, caged ticket window that was currently occupied by a masked and hooded figure that made you gasp and hold on to Taehyung more.

“See hyung,” Hobi’s cheerful voice cut through the suffocating silence, “I told you that old mannequin would be good there if anyone broke in. Gives the place a real haunted vibe. And it scared someone other than me and Jin-hyung.”

Yoongi ignored him and looked back at you. Through the dim lights, you could have sworn he looked concerned about you. “It’s okay, Y/N. This is just the façade to scare trespassers away. Not that we have many anymore.”

“Yeah, we don’t come in this way too often. We usually go in through the garages. But we wanted to give you the full show,” Taehyung said, sounding almost giddy, like he was proud of this.

“Well, I’m officially freaked out. I’m supposed to be trusting you with my safety and I get a horror show. Is this why it’s called the Magic Shop? With appearing doors and haunted house effects?”

“Not necessarily,” came the response, but from who you couldn’t tell as Taehyung started to move you forward. As you got closer to the caged ticket booth, you could just make out an old plaque hanging on it. You could just make out a few words, ‘Wanted to become your comfort and move your heart, to take away your sadness and pain. Open the door and this place will await, it’s okay to believe’. You weren’t sure what it meant but for some reason, it eased your fear in a way you couldn’t explain. The four of you stood in front of the sealed door to the right of the booth with seemingly no place to go. Hoseok turned to you with a grin.

“Are you ready to see what’s next?”

“I don’t think I have any other choice. So, show me.”

“I’ll show you.” And he reached up and yanked on a dusty wall sconce that was shaped like an old hourglass.

The door swung open into a huge atrium that must have once been designed as the main lobby for the massive train station. It was so bright from the stained-glass skylight that it took your eyes a moment to adjust before you could take in everything. The whole grand room was bathed in a beautiful array of colors, with dimmed lighting fixtures you could only assume would brighten as the sun went down. The room was warm and comforting. Compared to the outside that was modeled with a vintage flair, the inside was so new and modern. There was a grand stairway in the center that led up to the second floor made from white marble and iron that arched in a fine design. Where outside there were dying plants and rusted facades, inside there were beautiful, green plants and art work hung about that gave it a revitalized feel. Where you could assume based on their descriptions of what it was supposed to be, on the second floor there were three open archways that led into halls that may have been meant for shops and lounges, and down on the first floor there were passageways on either side of the stairs that must have led to the train platforms at one point. You could see a small sitting area just by the stairs, and another set of stairs leading down beyond it. Maybe those lead to the garages Taehyung was talking about. You felt Tae slip out of your grasp and step away, admiring your shocked expression as you took it all in. It was like you had stepped into a fantasy. All fear that you had dulled as you let the curiousness of the place overwhelm you. There had to be some magic at work for this to be possible.

Before you could form a question, you heard footsteps echoing from one of the halls on the ground floor. From the hall to your left, Namjoon appeared reading a book, thick glasses perched on the end of his nose with his white hair messy and falling across his gaze. He was dressed in a baggy, white t-shirt and black sweatpants, a very relaxed homebody look that didn’t give off the air of the ‘heartless leader of a notorious gang’. There was a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand. Perhaps that way was where the kitchen was? Nevertheless, he didn’t really seem to notice you all had entered. Could they be so sure that no one would find them that this was normal? By the way that Hobi rolled his eyes and Yoongi gazed at the other, this seemed normal to them. They watched as Namjoon continued to make his way across the atrium, muttering the words on the page to himself in a gruff voice, the corners of his lips lifting in an amused smirk that you couldn’t help but find cute. As he got closer, you started to notice little marks that could just be seen from the laxed collar of his shirt; fresh bruises on one side of his neck and a few on his wrist. And on the other side of his throat, it almost seemed like there were faded bite marks. Had he been in a fight? Was that why you hadn’t seen him or why he had forgotten to talk to you? But he seemed fine now. He was all smiles and relaxed. Unless this was, also, normal for them.

As he was about to walk past the four of you, he seemed to finally sense that there was someone else there. His warm eyes glanced up at you before he returned to his book. “Hey hyungs, Tae. Morning Y/N.” And he continued to walk, as if nothing was odd or unexpected. He made it to the main stairs before his body jolted to a stop and he slowly turned back to face you all with a look of pure confusion and dread. His eyes darted around like he was trying to search his brain for an answer to some many questions. His whole posture shrank in a sheepish way that was almost adorable for the large man. “What day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday, Namjoon-ah,” Hobi chided. “You know, the day you decided we were gonna bring Y/N here. We talked about this.”

“Shit,” the leader grumbled as he snapped his book closed and deposited it on the stair banister along with his coffee. “I’m so sorry. Things just got so caught up. I thought it was still the weekend. With all these meetings and Jungkook coming back from his mission. I was still waiting for Jackson to get here and give me the report I asked for. I lost track of time and got the days confused-”

“You know,” Yoongi interrupted, “for someone who is revered for being a genius, you sure are a dumbass. But I guess that’s one of your lovable qualities.”

Namjoon’s cheeks turned a cute shade of red as he pulled his glasses off his face. “Nice to have you home, Hyung. Y/N, I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you about this to make sure you were going to be comfortable with this. I hope the guys eased you into it.”

“I mean, they tried. It was a bit of a shock. But I promise to get over it. I’ll make sure not to mess up your home. This is definitely not what I expected.”

“It never is. Especially when you see the outside. Most of the time, we blindfold people until they’re inside. But we decided to trust you more. Since you did save Hyung’s life and all.” He stepped down the stairs and came up closer to the rest of you. You could see the marks better then. The bruises were definitely fresher than the faded bites on his neck. Bruises were something you were quite familiar with. The one on his wrist was more defined, almost resembling a handprint. “Sorry, if I had remembered what day it was, I would have dressed better. I just rolled out of bed.”

“Oh,” you said, tearing your eyes away from his neck and trying not to blush, “it’s fine. I mean, this is your home after all. I don’t want to intrude on anyone’s habits.”

“Don’t let Jimin hear you say that,” Taehyung whispered behind you. Even Yoongi snorted out a laugh.

“Are you okay,” you asked, trying to sound as clinical and professional as you were supposed to in your role as in-home care. “Those marks look pretty bad. Did you get into a fight?”

Namjoon’s hand flew to cover the deepest bruise on his neck, suddenly looking very nervous. Hobi put his hands on his hips in a very direct way and Taehyung leaned forwards over your shoulder, like they were expecting a very interesting answer from him. Yoongi eyed the younger man with a very intrigued look that dared Joon in a way you couldn’t decipher.

“This? Oh, um… it’s nothing really. This is a… CrossFit injury. Yeah, CrossFit.”

“CrossFit,” Yoongi echoed. “Really?”

Taehyung leaned over to Hobi and whispered, “CrossFit, that’s a new nickname for Jungkookie,” which was hidden over Hoseok’s loud laughter.

“No, really,” Namjoon defended, cheeks so red, “I had a CrossFit session with Jin last night. It’s a good stress reliever but can leave some… odd marks.”

“Jin? CrossFit? Oh, this I have to see. Maybe we can catch an encore session? See if we can get some pointers?”

“You guys, knock it off,” Namjoon hissed, voice raising in a more serious way that only seemed to encourage Hobi and Taehyung more. “Don’t listen to them, Y/N. They love to fool around.”

“Us fool around? Maybe we should ask Jin and Jungkook?”

“It’s okay,” you said, not really sure what all the fuss was about, other than the others getting a chance to rile their leader up after his embarrassment. “I think I’ve read something about that. That CrossFit can leave bruises on beginners if they don’t do something right. I’m sure the hospital has seen a few cases here and there.”

“Seriously,” Joon had a look of disbelief on his face before he seemed to realize what he was saying. “I mean, yeah. I knew that. I read about it. That’s why I knew that.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, what are you all planning to do? I should probably call Jackson and see why he’s taking so long.”

“Yeah, nice save.” Yoongi pushed past Namjoon and started up the stairs. “I’m going to lay down for a while. No one bother me unless someone is dead or it’s time for my medicine.”

“Hyung, let me help you to your room at least. Wouldn’t want you ‘accidentally’ locking yourself in the Genius Lab to work when you shouldn’t,” Hoseok dashed up and took ahold of Yoongi’s good hand. Yoongi growled something you couldn’t make out, but it made Hobi laugh again. You watched as they ascended the stairs and disappeared through one of the halls.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung said with a bounce in his step. “I promised you a full tour of the house. That’s okay, right Joon-hyung?”

Joon looked like he was contemplating some factors that you didn’t know. You were about to suggest that Taehyung just show you where you were going to be set up and not bother with anywhere unnecessary, but he smiled.

“I was going to wait for the report. But I think it’s fine. Just the main parts. I wouldn’t like to know what the guys’ rooms look like right now. Especially this grubby one,” Joon shoved Taehyung, who grabbed his arm with a playful wail.

“Ow, you bulking behemoth! I’m so delicate! Besides, my room is immaculate. You’re the dirty one.”

“It’s called controlled chaos. And at least I know where all my stuff is.” Namjoon went back to collect his coffee. He turned back to you before he left with his arms stretched out in a grand manner. “Have a good tour, Y/N. Welcome to the Magic Shop.”

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